by Geoff Wolak
He nodded and headed out.
I turned my head to Swifty. ‘Your lot OK?’
‘Yeah, no drama with that lot, all look and talk like Echo now.’
‘Wounds?’
‘Got some head wounds, ricochet from yesterday.’
Moran lifted his head from cleaning his kit opposite me. ‘SEALs had two legs blown off, three I think. A foot and two legs, one hand. Nasty. First fatality was the Pathfinder lad, shot at close range.’
‘There were others?’ I puzzled.
‘An American Marine died, fell off a rock, and a Marine died from an infected wound on ship somehow.’
‘Anyone know how many hostages died?’
Ginger put in, ‘Two here, three on ship. At least that number. One was a woman, her pussy turned black with infection, couldn’t save her.’
‘Nasty,’ Swifty let out with a pained expression.
I turned my head to him. ‘Twenty of the hostages had limbs turned black, gangrene in fingers and toes.’
‘What they keep them for?’ he puzzled.
‘Power, I think. It makes a man feel powerful when he has the power of life or death over someone else. Why are some people cruel to animals – because they can feel power over something.’
I woke as it got dark, after a good rest, but getting up off the bed was agony, my back stiff.
‘When did you turn sixty?’ Swifty asked me.
‘In Bosnia,’ I retorted.
Crab and Duffy walked in, kitted for war.
‘Where you been?’ I asked as I stretched my back.
‘On the Lynx, shot a few wogs, spent a day with 2 Squadron.’
‘Go see the American Wolves and get ten volunteers to stay a while, border patrol.’
‘We pulling out?’
‘We were ordered out of Yemen, not from here, so we might be here a while.’
‘We continue on the Lynx?’
‘Go tell them – no patrols across the border, five miles inside at most.’
After a much-needed shit, Robby stepped in. ‘Any orders?’
‘What they been doing, besides healing?’
‘I kept them busy. Some range time, some Lynx patrols, some foot patrols.’
‘And those two captains?’
‘Better now. They did like twenty Lynx missions, some foot patrols around here, better look about them – look like soldiers now not desk drivers.’
‘Good. Keep them at it, we’re not leaving just yet.’
Parker walked past.
‘Parker, that RPG you fired, was it yours?’
Men looked up and puzzled that.
Parker puzzled it as well. ‘No … er … not mine.’
‘Did you ask permission to borrow it?’ I teased, but with a straight face, Moran staring my way.
‘Er … no, boss.’
‘So you used someone else’s RPG without asking them?’ I pressed.
‘Uh … yeah, boss.’
‘Captain Moran, do we teach our lads to take other people’s things without permission?’
‘No, we most certainly do not. Shocking behaviour.’
Slider closed in on Parker. ‘Did you replace the RPG head you used?’
‘Replace it? No, I didn’t have one in my pocket!’ Parker told him. ‘And you lot can fuck right off!’
He walked out, the lads laughing.
‘Captain Moran, when we get back we’ll reprimand him for taking someone else’s property.’
‘Damn right,’ Moran agreed.
After a good wash and some fresh clothes I put my bandolier back on, only four full magazines left so it was light, webbing on top, rifle checked, and I stepped out as we lost the light. In the HQ room I greeted the usual senior men, a coffee handed to me.
‘You smell better,’ Clifford noted.
‘I should think so, yes,’ I agreed. ‘Major Harris, where we at?’
‘The British teams are still driving, but making good progress, no incidents so far, and they’re beyond the last point where someone could attack them – at least drive to by jeep. But if there’s a hostile camel train with some nasty spitting camels…’
‘America teams?’
‘All accounted for.’
‘I think … that day after tomorrow we call in Admiral Jacobs for a meeting, a full debrief, senior men from the SEALs and Marines to attend.’ I faced Kovsky. ‘Ask him.’
Kovsky nodded.
I walked around to the Greenies tents and spent half an hour chatting about what they got up to, giving them my tales from the caves and the camp, soon to the American Wolves, finding out exactly what they had done after their insert – which was not much.
In with the British Wolves they gave me the story of the column attacked from above before I moved on to the six spies, sitting with them for twenty minutes and getting their take on things.
Later, in the make-do officers mess, I spoke to the pilots, points discussed about pallet drops and night landings in dodgy places, Cecilia sat quiet in a corner, but I caught her looking a few times.
Over at the American’s MASH unit I spoke to those medics on duty about the hostages, and about their excitement at flying out in helicopters and dispensing life-saving medical treatment whilst knelt in the sand.
In the morning I found that our long jeep convoy was at the border, the lead jeeps passing 2 Squadron, a few broken down on the way, Chinooks sent for them with strong slings. The Chinook crews practised this in the UK, it was no surprise for them.
I observed as slung jeeps were landed beyond the medics tents, and after lunch a long line of jeeps appeared from the west, Max and the reporters all filming the approach, the SAS in goggles, woolly brown hats and with mouths covered by Palestinian style scarves – little danger of having their faces filmed.
One wound was reported, a finger lost to an engine overhaul accident, the man to report to the medics. For the next two hours we witnessed groups of jeeps driving in, something for the press to busy themselves with.
At 4pm, the sun low, I drove over to their tented city and wandered around from group to group, getting the funny stories and the complaints – too much sand seen for a while. With Pritchard and his command team I gave them the story of the caves and the camp, and the detail of the hostages – none of whom were still with us here in at the base.
I made a point of thanking Morten and his team, a mini-meeting called with Colonel Mush and his medics, a long chat about what could have been done differently and better regarding field surgery and wounded hostages. Mush was writing up a report for his superiors about what they had learnt here.
What I had learnt was that gangrene up to the knee was a death sentence, even if the limb was removed and the patient got the best possible care, because it took about ten days for the gangrene to reach the knee, and by then the poison had destroyed cells in the liver, the brain and in other vital organs. A patient who survived the leg amputation would most likely need permanent medical care for the rest of their lives.
The next day we made ready for the big pow-wow, the reporters to be kept away from it, but Admiral Jacobs and his staff had no issues with being filmed and giving interviews, so after he landed he spent half an hour with the news crews – and I was sure he was loving the attention.
In a corner of the hangar I had desks brought in and arranged, chairs behind them, enough chairs for many groups, tea and coffee made and transported to the hangar in large silver urns, cake available.
The US Marines senior staff that had deployed were here, plus senior staff off the ship. I welcomed them and asked about wounded men.
A major responded, ‘Had one guy fall off a rock, damn stupid accident, and the second guy got an infection on ship – he had a sexual disease he was hiding and somehow they screwed up his meds.’
I gave him and his team the story of the caves and the camp.
‘Did you hold our men back from the main action?’ he finally asked.
‘Yes, because they’re not spe
cial forces … and the idiot in the White House has an eye on wounded men here – and his TV ratings.’
‘We all know how it works,’ the major complained. ‘Politics getting in the way.’
I greeted the Air Commander from the AWACS and thanked him, and he introduced the Air Wing boss. I began, hiding my smirk, ‘So, in Top Gun the Air Wing boss is smoking a cigar on ship…’
He glared at me and then at the AWACs Air Commander. ‘If I ever get hold of the director of that fucking film.’ He faced me. ‘It was all bullshit for the big screen. No smoking on ship unless it’s on the weather deck or nominated places – not in the Operations Room. And no, F14s don’t dog fight, they fire missiles from thirty miles away or more.’
‘And F14s flying inverted?’
‘They can, but it’s not recommended. Old buddy of mine tried it once, pens and maps ending up on the canopy, along with small objects that should not have been in the damn cockpit – like a unit pendant. Still, it’s a great way to find something you dropped!’
I chatted to Holsteder about what he got up to, and the kitten, a chat to Admiral Jacobs’ adjutant about the mood aboard ship as cruise missiles were coming in.
He tipped his eyebrows. ‘We were at general quarters for a week, all the crews exhausted. Fleet is now in Omani waters by eighty miles or more, a bit of a much-needed rest. Your frigate got a good write-up in the British press we heard, they don’t fire missiles in live action often, not since the Falklands War.’
‘They all need to practise now and then,’ I told him, heads nodding.
I finally called order, senior men around the desks, white boards set up, maps displayed – armed men keeping reporters well away. And for the first time in a while I had no webbing nor rifle.
Stood at the front, I thanked the Omani major and his staff for hosting us, and for all their support.
‘When you leave I shall sleep for a week!’ he told me, the group laughing. ‘We have gone from no action at all … to all this.’
‘That is the whole point, to get you and your men some experience, to hone skills, and to get ready for a day when those skills may be needed. And you can expect suicide attacks here for a few months to come, don’t let your guard down.’
I faced the group. ‘You can all be assured that the media coverage has been good, and extensive, most everyone in the world was watching the action here, a great many TV minutes in the States and in the UK, so don’t be modest when you get back.’
They laughed.
‘And, as usual, the French media is reporting that their men did it all.’
Liban shrugged as men laughed. ‘This makes me look good, no, free meals in Paris.’
‘Our SAS, Paras and Marines set something of a record with their nice drive in the sand, some practise for the future.’
‘Seen enough sand for a while,’ Pritchard told me. ‘I love the desert, but driving across it for twelve hours solid is not my idea of a fun day out. Next time we’ll try camels.’
‘I saw one, a camel train, as we flew back, north of the wadi.’
‘We never saw a soul!’ he complained.
‘British Marines and Paras, you didn’t see much action, but you have gained some experience for the future, a new skill to add to the list, and you got time away from the British winter.’
The Paras major responded, ‘Men are looking forwards to some rain, and some green fields.’
The Marines major put in, ‘Most of my lot are set for Norway soon, a slight contrast to being here.’
The group laughed.
‘Admiral, we thank your F18 and helo crews, and the F18s made a huge difference - we’d have taken a beating without them. But as I told my men … without that support we would have never tried such a large and risky venture as this one.
‘And, for those who have already asked, yes – I kept the main fighting to British and French Echo, that is what they’re paid to do, but I did not hold back the SEALs and Green Berets from frontline action, just that Echo went further.
‘I did hold back the US Marines to some degree, as well as the British regular army teams, who saw some action in two places, yet were always in great danger, not least from mines in the sand, and the dangers of rockets and mortars dropped on their heads.
‘There was no favouritism or nationalism shown, just the practicality of men with experience verses men with less experience – or none. The Greenies and the SEALs now have three successful jobs under their belts; Liberia at the mine, Camel Toe Base, and now here, so the experience is building – as well as the good TV reports and newspaper inches.
‘The American Wolves also saw plenty of action, and when we leave a few will remain with British Wolves to patrol the border here, since suicide attacks are very likely. Admiral, we have a few days to play with so I’ll arrange training here for those Wolves, para drops and long walks.’
‘I want a team on ship afterwards.’
‘They’re ready, sir, and they have the experience. Greatest danger is the boredom on ship – something to think about.’
He nodded.
I pointed at Major Hicks. ‘Major, is there anything you’re unhappy about … with the way this operation was planned and executed?’
‘It was odd to be under someone else’s control, but I saw sense in the plan, even to wait and let them come to us here in the first few days. The medivac and support was fine, so too the parameters of the mission, and I was kept informed of movements every step of the way.
‘We have a number of minor wounds, and some serious wounds, but that goes with the job, and the Pentagon sent us - their responsibility and no one else’s. We were not held back, not given unreasonable objectives, we had a loose plan, a patch of dirt, orders to seek and destroy, the detail left to the men on the ground, who called me every day.
‘We did the job for no fatalities and no screw-ups, so we can’t complain, and as you said – a military success is simply absence of screws-ups, which is the norm.’
Heads nodded.
I pointed at the SEALs commander. ‘Any comments?’
‘We came to and from ship, a slightly different set-up and mission parameters, but the same style and objective as the Greenies. The men saw some heavy fighting, and they had a bad habit of stepping on mines; we have five men that won’t return to duty.
‘They’re alive, they’ll go on to lead productive lives in a civilian setting, but it is a price to pay for the mission here.’
‘My tolerable fatality limit would have been three of yours dead. We hope for less, but I would not have been beating myself up if three had died and - given the terrain, the duration and the fighters - you were lucky. To undertake a job like this with a hope of no fatalities is foolish. If a helo goes down you lose ten men. Admiral..?’
‘We hope for the least casualties, or the White House starts to shout. The Pentagon doesn’t shout, they understand how it all works, and when men shoot at each other there are always accidents, or a helo goes down, or we drop mortars on our own damn people, or someone drives a truck packed full of explosives at us.
‘I worry about the casualties, because this campaign was elective, and I asked for it. Guy in the White House wants us to set back the terrorists, a bit low on detail as to how we go about that, and how we keep the risks to … fucking nil.
‘That’s how the Wolves came about, men trained to sneak in unseen, do a job and out, and not the involvement of SEALs and Greenies and the politics and bullshit involved in selecting and moving the various units.
‘We have twelve men with serious wounds, three dead Marines – two of those accidental, so I’m damn happy with the casualty rate. Given how many of the bad guys we killed … very damn happy with it.
‘We could have just bombed them from the air, but we’ve asked for permission for that many times and it never comes. Hostage rescue - led by you with our support - is a pill they can swallow.
‘Getting those hostages was the lucky break, and we justified wha
t we did here, made the fighters look bad, real bad. The folks back home got to see what these idiots are capable of, prime time news at 6pm.
‘No one Stateside will be worrying about the men we killed, the numbers, because they all saw the hostages and the state they were in. That put everyone stateside firmly behind us, and behind the teams here.’
I told them, ‘One of my men, he crawled through a small opening and snuck up behind the hostage guards as we engaged them, a bit of a stalemate because they were behind a sandbag wall and we couldn’t get to them.
‘He found an RPG, aimed and fired at the men he found, then stopped to consider he was a bit close, got blown off his feet – he was just twelve yards from the men he fired at.’
The group laughed, heads shaking.
‘I told him off.’
Admiral Jacobs noted, ‘I think the men he fired at were a bit pissed with him as well.’
I pointed at Colonel Mush. ‘You got some good publicity, sir?’
‘Hell yes; before this no one knew we even existed! Spoke to your Doctor Morten, and we have in mind to offer a small team of medics to go into harm’s way. Our wartime role is to provide triage tents in the rear of the action, but we can stretch that a bit – like flying in to hostage caves and amputating limbs in the sand.
‘If someone had asked me a month ago about that I would have thought them mad; we broke every damn rule in the book about how you conduct medicine. Still, circumstances dictated.’
I addressed Mush but pointed at Morten. ‘He had one of my men shoot off an infected limb.’
‘Whatever technique works,’ Mush loudly commended.
‘Will any of those with infected limbs make it?’ I asked.
‘Not many, is the simple answer, but we live in hope. Two feet were taken off, they’ll live, and one leg had a tourniquet put on by the damn patient himself, five days, flesh was dead already. He should make it.’
‘And the women?’
‘Those that were forced into prostitution are all in bad way, all have syphilis and a cocktail of other diseases – probably HIV positive, and some will be affected by it the rest of their lives – not to mention the mental scars!’