Wilco- Lone Wolf 18

by Geoff Wolak

  Ten minutes later came, ‘It’s Moran, and we’ll lower the camera and have a look.’

  We waited in the dark, getting chilled.

  Finally we heard, ‘It’s Moran, and there’s like twenty fighters sat around, behind them a brick wall in there, window, barrels, all sorts of junk.’

  ‘Can you get down without being seen?’

  ‘Not if we want to live, no.’

  ‘Block it then, use a poncho. Parker, can you get up top of this outcrop?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Do so, tell me what you see.’

  Five minutes later he was back on with, ‘I can see three cave entrances. First is say 200yards, some cover to get to it. Second is a hundred yards on, third about the same, third is the big one, jeeps outside. Track comes in from this side, up to the second cave and third, this first one has a footpath only.’

  ‘Guards seen?’

  ‘On the second and third caves, I don’t have a clear view on the one closest.’

  ‘Aim at the entrances, stay there, cover us, liaise with Nicholson.’

  With Moran and Salome back down to us I led them scrambling down a steep dirt slope and around the bottom of the outcrop, up the other side fifty yards before we glimpsed lights and the cave. There were small bushes, and ridges, so we had some cover as we moved, and I was soon having to walk bent-double.

  ‘Wilco for Liban,’ I tried.

  ‘Go ahead, I hear you.’

  ‘You are in position?’

  ‘We are a hundred metre from the east cave, guards seen. We are above them, a way down.’

  ‘Silencers on, send men down to kill the guards and move to the next cave, we’ll start to move now, but we need some luck here – and a cave that doesn’t have five hundred men or is wired to blow.’

  ‘We look and see, and maybe run away,’ Liban noted.

  ‘It’s Mitch, I can hear you, and we have a ten-jeep convoy on approach!’

  ‘Mitch, open fire at 200yards. Liban, go now!’ I was up and moving quickly, not as quiet as I would have liked, the dirt sloping down to my left, my rifle held level, and I reached the path in one piece, hearing voices. I waited for bodies to move in behind me.

  Nudging around the rocks, the entrance obscured, I could see three guards stood wrapped up warm and chatting. I aimed, three quiet cracks before I ran, aiming into the cave as I knelt, two men hit as they leant against a wall, Moran behind me and double-tapping the guards.

  I ran in, finding a pearl-string of dull yellow bulbs above me, plus a strong damp smell. The cave appeared natural, but it was obvious that sections had been chipped away. Here in the entrance sat barrels, some old, a few new barrels and not rusted, rusted equipment scattered about, the cave bending around to the right, towards the smoke chimney.

  ‘Rizzo, take two men, next cave along, don’t shoot at the French – let them go in they have more men. Go!’

  I walked steadily inside, sensing men left and right of me, a sandy base yet an oily sand. At the first corner I noticed the cave increase in size and now branch both ways, the right fork offering brighter lights and loud chatter.

  Easing my head around the edge I could see down the cave, old rail tracks heading both ways, towards the second cave as well as towards the smoke chimney. And in the distance sat an odd brick house, complete with chimney, dirty frosted windows showing movement inside.

  I eased back. ‘Ginger, take two men, go left, but be careful, watch the cross-fire here.’

  He called names and moved that way, a glance down the cave at the funny little subterranean house. I led Moran, Slider and his remaining few men onwards, soon running quietly along the sandy oily base and to the house.

  Stood against the corner, the door open just inches from me, I glanced down the cave and saw it bend to the left, no one seen, rusted old equipment on the sides.

  Turning, I pointed Moran to the dirty glass window, Slider to run out wide. A nod, and I spun around, silencer poking in as I started to fire, Moran pumping in rounds at the same men I was hitting – glass shattering, Slider firing through a second glass window.

  Head poking inside, I was satisfied that the six men were dead, their late-evening meal interrupted, soon sprinting along the cave, the sounds of men behind me. At the bend I stopped and poked my head around, seeing a vast opening, a high roof, a central cooking area and roaring fire, and on the right was the start of a dilapidated two-storey brick building.

  Between us and that brick building sat a sandbag wall and a box-fed Russian machine gun, not manned at the moment.

  I eased back and transmitted, whispering, ‘Large open area, big cavern, brick building on right, sandbag wall with machinegun, cooking in the middle.’

  The wall near me spat out as it was raked with fire, men diving down and tucking themselves in. I poked my rifle around the wall and fired a dozen rounds, giving whoever was firing at us something to think about. But they could not see us, and we could not see them, no direct line of shot.

  ‘No grenades or smoke,’ Moran complained.

  Monster ran forwards and knelt. ‘I got some of those French flashbangs with CS gas.’ He fetched two out, pulled the pins and threw high around the wall.

  Salome casually walked up and threw a gallon-tin forwards, the tin hitting the wall as spewing its contents. She aimed, fired several times, the tin finally bursting into flames.

  ‘What about any fucking hostages!’ Moran complained. ‘They could be killing them all now.’

  ‘No ransom, no return of prisoners,’ I told him. ‘Why would they still be alive? It’ll be a good job if we get the bodies home.’

  I poked my head around, the smoke blocking my view. I aimed where I remembered seeing the sandbag wall and raked along it, soon back and changing magazines as Moran fired at random, Monster setting automatic and loudly raking the area without a silencer.

  ‘Wait here,’ I told them, and ran outside. I stood staring down towards the track. ‘Mitch, report.’

  ‘World War Three here. We hit the jeeps, now they’re out on foot and in a gully.’

  ‘Any French soldiers with a shot at the jeeps?’

  ‘It is Liban here, and 1st Battalion are maybe 1,000metre.’

  ‘Aim high, one magazine each man!’

  I heard the outgoing as I knelt, a glimpse of French soldiers entering the second cave.

  After thirty seconds, Liban transmitted, ‘They fire, we keep their heads down.’

  ‘Mitch, report.’

  ‘We saw jeeps hit, men up and running away and hit, so that helped, yes. Got some RPG coming in.’

  ‘Can you hold?’

  ‘Yeah, this lot can’t get across the open ground to us, this is a First World War stalemate.’

  ‘It is Liban, I send one platoon back and above them.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘Parker for Wilco!’

  I peered around and up. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Movement at the chimney!’

  ‘Get in close and shoot them! You should be able to hold a narrow opening!’ I faced south. ‘Nicholson, report?’

  ‘Can’t see anything now, no guards.’

  ‘Head here, double time. Sasha, you read me?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Any movement back there?’

  ‘Not so far. We come to you?’

  ‘No, stay there, eye and ears open.’

  ‘It’s Parker, and it’s a woman!’

  ‘Say again!’

  ‘A fucking woman in a white t-shirt!’

  ‘Help her!’ I ran inside. ‘Moran, Salome! Here!’ They came running. ‘Get back to the chimney, the fucking hostages are climbing out of it!’

  ‘They … what?’ Moran puzzled.

  I shoved him west. ‘Go!’ I transmitted, ‘Morten, where are you?’

  ‘I can see you, we’re west fifty yards.’

  ‘Get back around that outcrop for the hostages! Bring them here.’

  I rushed back inside, Smi
tty, Monster and Slider firing around the corner in turn. ‘There are hostages, a woman climbed up and out. Keep those men busy, more might escape behind them in the confusion.’ I turned. ‘Sambo, get to the French, get CS gas!’

  He ran off, Henri closing in.

  Slider and Monster fired, Henri having a go, the wall opposite us hit from time to time.

  ‘What if these fuckers blow themselves up?’ Monster asked me.

  ‘We’ll have sore ears,’ I told him. He shot me a look.

  Sambo returned, pulled pins and threw, the grenades bouncing off walls and landing beyond the sandbags. A hacking cough, and Monster risked stepping out, two men shot dead before he ducked back.

  ‘Two down, but like six heads there.’

  A burst of fire came our way, the wall hit, but we were in little danger of ricochet.

  I walked back outside. ‘Parker, report.’

  ‘He’s gone inside,’ Moran reported.

  ‘Why, for fuck’s sake!’

  ‘Went in as we got here, saw his boots.’

  ‘That woman OK?’

  ‘There are six hostages here, all doctors, most are French, all malnourished but OK, not been here long. They reckon on fifty hostages.’

  ‘Fifty? Shit!’

  ‘They were in one room, other hostages in rooms, no movement between them allowed, hole in the floor to shit in. They say there are four rooms, plus other rooms down the cave.’

  Nicholson and Tomo came running up the track, puffing, Tiller and Brace behind them.

  I told them, ‘Stay here, aim down, look for movement.’ Inside, I found the cave reeking of CS gas. Back to the wall, I told them, ‘Hostages escaped up that chimney, but they say there are fifty more.’

  ‘Fifty!’ Slider repeated. ‘What fucking condition they in?’

  ‘We’ll be carrying them most likely.’

  The blast had us diving away, sparks seen, the smoke soon wafting.

  ‘Not a grenade,’ Monster suggested, coughing.

  We heard eight quiet cracks.

  ‘Pistol,’ Monster noted.

  ‘It’s Parker,’ echoed to us. ‘I got this lot!’

  Puzzled looks exchanged, we edged around the corner under the smoke and ran forwards, seeing Parker on the left. Over the sandbag wall I aimed down with the others and double-tapped.

  ‘I found an RPG, fired it,’ Parker reported, blood on his face.

  Slider closed in on him. ‘How close were you when you fired it, idiot!’

  ‘Well, like twenty yards.’

  Slide whacked him across the top of the head with a gloved hand. ‘Fucking idiot!’

  I led them forwards as Liban came up with a French troop. I turned to Liban. ‘The other caves?’

  ‘Cleared, no hostages.’

  Pistol out, rifle down, Slider and Monster copied, and we approached the old wooden doors of the first room on the ground level, backs against walls. A nod, and Monster kicked the door open, my pistol thrust inside.

  ‘All dead,’ Monster noted, recoiling from the smell.

  ‘No, that’s dead flesh not dead people. Look, that one’s moving. Liban, carry them out!’ I moved to the next door, a nod given again, door kicked open. We found hostages in beds and chairs, unable to move, hardly able to look at us.

  ‘Someone go get the medics!’ I shouted, my words echoing.

  Monster led us on, up old wooden steps, heads poking over the top, pistols levelled, the damn stairs creaking. At the next door Monster kicked and jumped back, a group of female hostages found, and they shrieked at the sight of us. That shriek labelled them as being alive, but I could not label them as being well.

  ‘British Army, we are here to release you.’ In Arabic I said, ‘You are safe now,’ many of them appearing Arabic.

  In the final room we found six hostages, all well enough, but tied up, rope burns obvious as we untied them.

  ‘You speak English?’ I asked, these six being Westerners.

  ‘Some, yes,’ came back with a French accent.

  ‘Sail boat?’ I asked.

  The man nodded, surprised, his face black and blue.

  ‘Outside, quick.’ I rushed down, grabbing my rifle, and past the limping hostages, Morten rushing in with Max. In fresh air I lifted my phone and called Kovsky, waking him. ‘Get awake, get with it! Get my coordinates from the Intel team, and get me as many helos as you can, to the caves.

  ‘Send the Chinooks, and have them stuffed full of medics. I want those American medics to create a triage area here, at the caves. Get your Navy to send every available Corpsmen with full kit, lots of stretchers, we have fifty plus hostages, most in a bad way.’

  ‘On it now,’ he assured me.

  I rang SIS London as I stood there, hostages coming out into the cold night yet not dressed for the cold.

  ‘Duty Officer.’

  ‘It’s Wilco in Yemen. Track back this location, get it to my Intel team in Oman and in GL4 straight away. Update all parties that we’ve secured fifty plus hostages, French minister’s son is here so alert the French straight away. Got that?’

  ‘Got that.’

  I cut the call. Turning, the walking and limping hostages were brought out and sat down, but Monster and Slider had a door with a body on. I checked, and that body had a pulse; problem was the necrotising leg wound. The man had a day or two at most.

  ‘He gunna make it?’ Monster asked.

  ‘He has less than 24hrs.’

  ‘Good fucking timing then,’ Monster noted.

  Looking up, I could not see the stars now but a dark blue, the dawn an hour away.

  The first helos to arrive were US Navy Seahawks, two of them stuffed full of medics, the Corpsmen dropped off, the Seahawks pulling away, enough light now to see by. The hostages got some extra medical assistance, Morten and the Americans shouting technical comments back and forth.

  Morten stuck a tourniquet above a knee, and waved Monster over. ‘Shoot the leg off below the knee. Go on!’

  Monster placed the barrel close, firing through the leg into the dirt as people glanced at him, the bone shattered, the skin torn, Morten moving in with a scalpel to cut away what was left.

  ‘No time to piss about with some of these,’ Morten told us.

  I observed the worst cases as they benefitted from injections and saline, notes written on card and placed on the unconscious hostages. I assisted where I could, the teams helping.

  A heavy drone, and the two Chinook came in from the east, two Lynx seen above them. The Chinooks set down on the track, but would be staying a while, engines winding down as a small army of medics came up the track kicking dust, Colonel Mush as the head.

  Morten faced him and shouted, ‘We have a dozen limb amputations, right here right now! They’re necrotising!’

  Team split up, the worst cases each got a warm body to fuss over them as the Chinooks idled engines, crewmen out and peering around. I had my lads make tea, brews offered to hostages and medics alike. Most medics got a mouthful of coffee poured into them as they worked.

  The next four Seahawks brought in keen civilian reporters and took away those hostages able to walk, the hostages heading for the fleet offshore. I had many of the lady hostages sent, each having been gang raped repeatedly. I gave the reporters the story, a warning about photographing the faces of my men.

  Max walked up, brew in hand, looking tired. ‘I got several stories on Reuters, my machine sending back images now.’ He blew out and shook his head. ‘How’d you get used to this?’

  ‘You meet the hostages six months later, and their families.’

  He nodded. ‘Some of them are better off dead.’

  ‘Some won’t make it, too far gone. But this has saved us, saved this mission from those who might criticise us. Get the story out there, Max, make the fighters look bad, make us look good, and that helps.’

  ‘Don’t need to spin this one, this is like the fucking Holocaust.’

  The next six Seahawks dropped off Marin
es with supplies, and many stretchers. A few hostages were sent off, but many were too sick to risk moving; I could smell the dead flesh as I walked around.

  Moran walked up to me. ‘Sick bastards.’ He meant the fighters. ‘What’s the point in just keeping people locked up till they die?

  ‘What’s the point in shooting up a bus load of tourists? Neither really achieves anything.’ My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Pritchard, and we took the strip, shot a dozen men here, found about eight hidden hides, still looking, lads spread out, some digging trenches.’

  ‘No wounded?’

  ‘Hardly,’ he scoffed.

  ‘We found fifty hostages in a cave, most half dead, medics here now. What happened to the HALO drop?’

  ‘They landed northwest of us, called me, tabbing south now, a mile or so west of us by now I think.’

  ‘My British Wolves are on that track south of you, so I doubt you’ll get any company. Call Major Harris, have a pallet drop, and have some US Marines land. How’s that strip looking?’

  ‘It’s been compacted down by something, all solid enough. I’ll send men to walk down it.’

  ‘Land a Hercules only when you’re sure, don’t face an enquiry.’

  ‘I’ll double check, yes.’

  I called Harris. ‘What’s happening in other areas?’

  ‘SEALs had a man step on a mine, leg blown off, six wounded. They were airlifted to ship. Green Berets were hit by an RPG, twelve men with ricochet, not serious. Two Squadron shot a man. That’s about it, action is with you.’

  ‘That strip is quiet, so grab it, land Hercules and Lynx, make a show of it, men from all teams.’

  ‘How’re those hostages?’

  ‘Be glad you can’t smell them, most are half dead.’

  It took an hour, but Mush and Morten were happy to start moving patients, many with arms and legs now missing to save the poison spreading. The Chinooks wound up, most of the serious cases to be taken to the triage tent in Oman, a dozen set to fly out to the fleet offshore. Colonel Mush informed me that a few of the surgeons from the fleet were heading for Oman to meet him, scalpels sharpened.

  I made sure that the reporters got a ride out, and we started to form teams, headcounts done as the wounded were loaded to the Chinook, IV drips held.