Wilco- Lone Wolf 18

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘And the French boat crew?’

  ‘They were in the best shape, hadn’t been locked-up that long, they should be fine. Father of the yacht owner met them in Muscat, five-star hotel booked by the Crown Prince – a step up from that cave.’

  ‘A big step up, yes, from sleeping on the floor with the cockroaches - to a Jacuzzi. We also helped a group of Houthi hostages to escape when we hit the camp south of the caves. They overpowered their guards, grabbed weapons and started shooting.’

  I pointed at the RAF Squadron Leader. ‘Any input, Squadron Leader?’

  ‘A war is managed chaos, and we managed it well enough, and the Omanis helped greatly with what we needed. Aircraft and helicopter maintenance teams were not pushed till the extraction of men, then they had to go without sleep. Our RAF pilots got some added experience, the Chinook crews got plenty of experience of this terrain, and the Omani pilots saw plenty of action – and did well given that they’ve never seen any action before.

  ‘The Omani Hercules crews and the Lynx crews are now old hands at it, a new swagger about them, a new-found confidence.’

  ‘And the crew that were shot down?’

  ‘In a comfy hospital in Muscat, best of care. The rear crew will recover, and they’re hopeful for the pilots to walk again, but those pilots won’t return to service.’

  ‘Pity. Still, when you’re hit by three heat-seeking missiles there’s a price to pay. They’re lucky they never burnt alive, my men there to get them out in minutes.’

  I pointed at Kovsky. ‘Any comments, Commander?’

  ‘Well, we kind of stuck to the plan, which started off step-by-step and methodical, but then we started to react to the enemy moving around – which is always the way in a war I think.

  ‘You saw the opportunities, the fighters bunched up, and called in airstrikes – that was effective, and our crews did well, good coordination between AWACS and F18 and helos, and all of the Fighter Wing got themselves some valuable experience, not least of dodging heat-seeking missiles.

  ‘Many of the pilots dropped ordnance or strafed, so they have that added to their service records, and the Operations Room staff on ship have some experience of … a lack of quality sleep.’

  They laughed.

  Admiral Jacobs put in, ‘Some men looking like zombies on ship. When I see them I order them down for 24hrs.’

  Kovsky added, ‘Many were off the coast of Somalia when you inserted, and so they’ve got it down now, life at General Quarters; if war breaks out they know what to do. But you see a better attitude amongst the crews, and they help each other.’

  I pointed at Colonel Clifford. ‘Sir?’

  ‘This has been my third time with you on a job, so I’m getting the hang of it, but as was mentioned – war is organised chaos, and it’s not just about filling in forms and checking stores - when the building shakes from a rocket attack. And now I have a cat to feed.’

  ‘A cat?’ Admiral Jacobs asked.

  I told him, ‘The Greenies brought it back from the desert.’

  ‘Surprised they didn’t eat it.’

  Hicks told him, ‘Wilco suggested we adopt it, sir, and we presented it to the press when the men got back, a feel-good story. Makes us look human.’

  Admiral Jacobs noted, ‘Take more than a lost cat to make your men look human, Major.’

  Smiling, I pointed again at Clifford.

  He added, ‘The mission was to set back al-Qaeda, but such desires are just that – they’re desires. We got here and started to get incoming, and I must say, Wilco, that all of us hate the fact that you not only predicted it but seem quite at home getting shelled.’

  They again laughed.

  Clifford continued, ‘We ran the operation well enough, and Major Harris and his team had it down like pros – they have the tick lists for this kind of operation, the MOD certainly doesn’t. At Sandhurst they don’t train you for the unexpected, only the mundane, something I will be looking at when I get back.

  ‘This operation had some objectives, but as was mentioned – we had to react when the fighters changed our plans for us, and the bomb in Muscat was a very great worry for us all – averted with a few hours to go but at a great cost in Omani lives.

  ‘An operation like this is a plan to control the chaos, something you do well, Wilco, you don’t let it get to you. Each of these jobs is unique, and the politics are unique, and the surprises are all … surprises; they should definitely call this chaos management. Unfortunately, they don’t run courses on it, we learn as we go.

  ‘This time around we had cruise missiles, a new dimension and a great worry, but you anticipated the suicide bombers and the booby-traps, and I understand now why you shouted over and over at the teams – keep your damn distance. You knew what was going to happen, lives saved.

  ‘Overall, I could not find fault here, no desire to shout at anyone, it worked well given the circumstances we found ourselves in. I’d just like Major Hicks to clean the cat shit from my office.’

  A chorus of laughter shot around the assembled men, echoing in the large hangar, Hicks promising to send a man.

  I gestured Admiral Jacobs up, and I moved aside. He stood facing the assembled officers, his fingers pressing down on the table.

  ‘This day has long been sought, by myself and others, and this has been the first real Middle East campaign, my team doing the jobs they’re paid to do, the jobs they’re trained to do, the jobs they’re supposed to do – but have been held back from doing.

  ‘Wilco got the successful track record, and his government kept sending his team of bad boys out, and that track record grew, to the point where Wilco now tells his government what he wants to do.’

  Faces creased into smiles. I cocked an eyebrow at Jacobs.

  ‘Unfortunately, it took Wilco and his track record for the White House to see sense and to let us loose and do the jobs we’re supposed to be doing. We have a great deal of expensive hardware, a great many well-paid smart officers with grand job titles, but it don’t mean a damn if we just sail about the oceans looking mean and ready.

  ‘Now and then we have to actually do what we say we can do, we have to go kill some terrorists or rescue some hostages, but we’ve been held back year after year till now.

  ‘This has been a good first Middle East mission in many ways. We set back al-Qaeda and destroyed the terror training camps, we rescued hostages – and we looked good doing it, and we chalked up a victory for the ideas and principals that I’ve fought for long and hard.

  ‘But more than that … we came away with minimum casualties and good press coverage, a step along the path that Wilco took many years ago, a path that leads to a track record of successful missions, thereafter to have the guy in the White House less apprehensive about us doing the damn job we’re supposed to be able to do.

  ‘The future should see our special forces and counter-terrorism boys getting sand on their boots, but not just exercise after exercise, training after training. I got a ship full of intelligence officers, some with job titles I don’t even understand, men that produce reports about potential operations that get sent up the line – only to be filed away because the politicians back home fear coffins coming off planes covered in flags.

  ‘This has been the first large scale operation, the second operation involving our multi-national forces after Camel Toe Base, and we worked at it together. I’m happy with the way it went, very damn happy with the TV minutes, and optimistic about the future, a future when a Naval Intelligence Officer produces a report that is actually read by someone.

  ‘From this start point we hope to go forwards, causing a shit load of trouble around the region, the terrorists running scared when CNN reports that Admiral Jacobs and his bad boys are in town.’

  Laughter swept around the officers.

  Jacobs asked technical questions of officers, putting his “boss” hat on, and used up twenty minutes on the detail. With tea and coffee made, cake offered, we stood in small groups
and chatted for another half an hour, ideas shared.

  At 4pm a USAF Hercules landed, the Greenies waved off and whisked away, a second Hercules taking Colonel Mush and his tents, team in tow.

  After sun down, the dust shaken off French Echo and 1st Battalion, they caught a ride towards Saudi, waved off again. At midnight the two RAF Hercules burst into life with three of the Omani Hercules, jeeps and men loaded, Paras and Marines and “B” Squadron for the short hop to Salalah, Tristar sat waiting, C5 sat waiting some heavy cargo under tight security.

  Keeping the resident men awake, the Hercules returned for kit as Omani drivers took a very long convoy of jeeps south to Salalah, the tents on the far side soon devoid of smelly dusty men.

  In the morning, my lads all complaining about the noise during the night, I spoke to the RAF Squadron leader and the Parachute Instructors, and some training was on the cards for the Wolves – as well as our six spies.

  The six spies, with Mitch and Greenie, were dropped by Puma sixty miles north, and told to walk back without sleeping. 14 Intel were dropped as a group fifty miles away northeast and told to walk back, one two–hour stop for food and rest allowed, their captains to lead and to navigate.

  The Wolves were kitted out with static line chutes and kit pods, reminded of drills, and dropped sixty miles due east, told to walk back without stopping to sleep. One broken ankle meant that a Lynx was dispatched.

  The next morning, Mitch and his spies walking in looking dusty and tired, I assembled a select group with the Omani major. Captain Moran, Major Harris and the lady Intel captain, Colonel Clifford - and finally a perplexed Cecilia. Overnight bags packed, they boarded a Puma, and we flew northeast forty miles and landed in a tight sandy valley with high sides of orange rock, met by Omani soldiers with tents set-up, a barbecue going.

  With the Puma pulling away I led the group to the tents, bags dropped, then led them down the dead-quiet wadi, around a narrow bend in high rocks and towards the sounds of running water, a spring found at the base of high straight walls of orange rock, a lonely palm tree growing in a spot of sunlight.

  The Omani major gave us the story of how an angel had fallen here and created the mini oasis, the lone palm tree holding his soul, the major’s words echoing.

  Stripped down to my underpants, Moran copying and soon Clifford and Harris copying, I walked into the cold water and lay down, the sun on my face. Cecilia and the lady captain did not strip down, but took off boots and rolled up trousers, paddling in the cold water.

  The water was too cold to stay in long, and drying off I could see the look on Cecilia’s face.

  ‘You’ve seen too much action,’ she told me as I dressed.

  ‘The hostages we found, that gets it all in focus,’ I told her. ‘Why we risk our lives.’ I studied her, the others out of earshot. ‘Are you put off?’

  She bit a lip and shook her head, a glance at the others. ‘I’m back as soon as you wrap this up.’

  ‘Then I won’t keep you here too much longer.’

  Sat in the sand in a circle, beers in hand, the Omani Major told us of his childhood adventures, and the history of this place, till our barbecue lamb was ready, everyone tucking in, sat with sand at our backs.

  Around the wadi a soldier appeared, mother and baby camel in tow, people jumping up to go have a look and to take photographs, Cecilia feeding the young camel – which was still taller than her.

  Moran noted, ‘Be nice to come to a place like this without the fighting.’

  ‘That Lynx flight, when we were ordered out, I was saddened a little; I love it here, could stay and fight for years.’

  ‘Better than the jungle in many ways. Here we don’t have the bugs, snakes, slugs.’

  ‘Yep,’ I sighed, swigging my beer.

  After dark, and stood with amber faces from the barbecue coals, I told them tales of carrying Sergeant Crab across the deserts of Mali.

  At one point, when it was just myself and Clifford, he asked, ‘That good looking young RAF lady…’

  ‘I dated her sister a long time ago.’

  ‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you, so I think she wants to keep it in the family.’

  ‘Beats me why women find me attractive.’

  ‘You’re the hero of the big screen, the TV news and the newspaper, even more so this week. Women like powerful men, they’re drawn to them. My brother ran a call centre for a while, many young girls, and he shouted at them often, disciplined them, yet despite all that they often tried to throw themselves at him.

  ‘You have the power, and they pick up on that, the fame and the celebrity.’

  ‘I have … several women like that at the moment, but no time and little inclination.’

  He eased closer. ‘Don’t be a fool, you could be dead next month. Enjoy life while you can, it doesn’t last, nothing lasts.’

  I slowly nodded my head, a hand over the warm coals as it turned cold, everyone wrapping up warm.

  The two ladies stayed in one small tent, the rest of us in two larger tents, guards posted.

  We got back to the airfield to find the teams all back, feet sore for a few, limbs aching, knees hurting.

  ‘Let’s not press our luck here,’ I told Clifford. ‘Call in the Hercules.’

  I had a list of ten American Wolves that had volunteered to remain and to patrol the border area, six British Wolves, and twelve American Wolves would join Admiral Jacobs aboard ship – and possibly take part in operations without me, a worry. It was like my kids were leaving home at last.

  Clifford would remain a few days, the MOD wanting all kit back in good order, and that evening the Hercules took us to Salalah, Cecilia on the flight but not sat near me. I had Salome for company again.

  After Salome sat, she told me, ‘My boss is pissed with me.’

  ‘Why?’ I puzzled.

  ‘White House and your government thanked Mossad, and your government mentioned me – your name mentioned. So now he can’t get rid of me.’

  ‘He wanted to get rid of you? That’s why you came to me?’

  ‘Partly, yes, and I had no mission to train for. They wanted me to go into Beirut again, but I told my boss to fuck off.’

  ‘Can’t imagine you being rude to anyone.’

  She shot me a look. ‘Don’t forget dinner.’

  ‘What do you need dinner for, you proved your worth to your boss and now you can go back..?’ I waited.

  ‘I may have told my boss that there would be a similar job soon.’

  ‘Keen to stay with us, or keen to avoid going back?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘I’ll have to discuss you with my boss.’

  ‘Ha. You tell him what you do.’ She turned her head to me. ‘Will you … let me stay?’

  ‘Would we have gotten the timely intercepts if you had not been with us?’

  ‘No. I called a friend, used up a favour, got the intel. That pissed off my boss.’

  ‘Then you can stay a while, assigned to Rizzo.’

  She elbowed me in the ribs.

  A long seventeen hours later we landed at Brize Norton, all of us stinking. Warm jackets placed on, we boarded the buses and drove in the rain back to GL4 under heavy escort, and I reclaimed a warm house with Swifty, the fridge stocked.

  MP Pete knocked the kettle on. ‘It’s been boring, no one shooting at us. Oh, new recruits in the wooden huts.’

  Siwfty and I exchanged puzzled looks.

  ‘New recruits?’ I repeated.

  ‘For No.1 Field Recon. Six men, all did well on your three day then had some interviews. Rocko has been training them for the past four days. They speak various languages.’

  I nodded, in need of a good warm comfy bed, and I crawled into that bed half an hour later, my mind on Cecilia, and Salome, but the naked image of Tiny in Jamaica would not go away. I went to sleep with a stiff dick, wondering just what I might do, and with whom, if at all.

  Cecilia seemed like a safe bet, away from the base, and I had her p
hone numbers. There was just the small problem of Trish, and how I felt about her. When I thought about her it hurt still, and would the two sisters talk about me - they were close?

  I sighed loudly. ‘I need a hooker, or a life away from here.’