Wilco- Lone Wolf 9

by Geoff Wolak

  Back at Echo, I told them to go for a run, to bend and stretch, to check all kit and then to sleep from 3pm to 8pm, when it was warm. I popped in to see Colonel Marchant and updated him on the operation, a chat about the peacekeeping operation in Liberia – now his remit as well as Sierra Leone.

  Back at the hotel, someone having written “Fawlty Towers” on the wall after the British comedy sitcom, I quickly stuffed down some lunch and drank plenty of water, and I put my head down at 4pm, Swifty already dosing.

  I woke at 7pm, wide awake, so got up quietly and left Swifty laying on his bed. Downstairs I found it all quiet, and helped myself to cold water before setting out. At the RAF command room I checked for updates, and everything was as planned, crews sleeping till 9pm.

  In the Intel section I found just a few officers, Captain Harris asleep and set to be in all night. Only then did a lady captain inform me that CGHQ had signals intel from the area, and would I like them.

  ‘Of course I fucking want them!’ I told her, frightening her. ‘When did they come in?’

  ‘Half an hour ago.’

  ‘And what do they say?’ I testily asked.

  ‘They placed three devices around that town and triangulated the signals to one building on the outskirts.’ She opened out a street map of the town. ‘This building, south east side. The word “hostage” has been recorded, translations on-going.’

  I blew out. ‘How many more maps like this are there?’

  ‘We have three.’

  ‘I’ll take two. Check with CGHQ now ... and keep the updates coming, there’ll be a final briefing before we leave. What assessment on numbers do they have?’

  She read the detail. ‘Radio usage suggests two separate groups in two buildings, a few men on watch on the roads, the commander and his deputy identified by name.’

  ‘Send my sat phone number to GCHQ and ask for any updates of significance to come to me, or to your lot here then to me. I want to know if the bad boys are awake and moving around after we land.’

  I called David Finch. ‘Did you know GCHQ had placed devices near my target in Mali?’

  ‘I just got a note about it today, signals intel to be passed to Army Intel down in Freetown.’

  ‘I just got the detail, a few fucking hours before we leave. Would have been nice to know what the fuck they had planned.’

  ‘They are a law unto themselves, and their agents only report devices in place afterwards as a rule.’

  ‘It’s good to have the intel, but maybe some joint planning would have been nice. And if one of theirs was caught I could have been walking into an ambush.’

  ‘If one of theirs was caught, I’m not sure they’d admit to it.’

  ‘Fucking marvellous. How good it is to see you all cooperating so well.’

  ‘Just be thankful they’re helping. You all set?’

  ‘Yes, off around 10pm. Job seems straight forwards enough, French on standby, but with this intel I may move on the hostages tonight.’

  I kicked up Echo, the French and the Deltas, all of the men getting some cold water and a sandwich, all advised against a large meal. Personal kit was checked before I led them over for the briefing. In the RAF command centre I adopted a white board, most of Echo stood at the back, Captain Harris and his team to one side, para instructors all keenly listening in.

  ‘OK, we now have fresh intel ... so we may go for the hostages tonight; the spooks have devices near that town and are monitoring the local chatter. We know which building has the hostages, and where the armed men hang out, we’ll also get some warning of ambush

  ‘Hercules, I need you to get back here and to refuel, then to stay ready till after dawn. If we don’t call you, you rest in the daytime. If it looks OK, we’ll grab the hostages, calling you an hour before we move. That gives us two hours to do the job and get clear, and to get to the road.

  ‘If not, we study the place for 24hrs then go in, so that would be as previously planned. Intel ... I want those updates regular if they’re chatting about anything other than the weather.’

  The lady captain raised a sheet. ‘Fresh intel. It reports the man in charge heading to a wedding tonight, a nearby town.’

  ‘So the numbers will be reduced,’ I noted. ‘Good, so I’m inclined to go for the hostages tonight.’ I drew on the white board, the detail coming from the street map I had been studying. ‘OK, main highway runs southwest towards Niger, but near the town in runs due east, and there are low hills a mile north – try not to land on them.

  ‘After landing, all teams walk west to me, we form up and move south across the road. One team of four will take position in sight of the northeast corner of the town, eyes on the road. The rest of use move southwest and around, till we hit a small road heading southwest.

  ‘That road leads straight past the main target building, but there are domestic abodes about, so we have to be quiet, and careful. We move on the main building, and try and get eyes on the hostages. There is a second building about four hundred yards northwest, which houses armed men, but may also house the hostages – we’ll make an assessment at the time.

  ‘Final attack plan will be decided at the time. If we get the hostages we reverse course, but keep an eye out for trucks to steal. We withdraw to a point a mile east, and maybe we have to carry wounded hostages and wounded men. The Hercules pick-up will depend on a good stretch of clear road, and on us not being followed.

  ‘If we are being followed then we abort the Hercules and ask for French helicopters. OK, my lot: check kit, check sat phones and radios, batteries, top up water now, use the toilet. Get ready. Henri, make sure the extra two French lads have the right kit and radios.’

  Echo moved out as the para instructors and pilots got ready, a few final questions for me, and I nudged them for an early take-off, a wedding to keep our hostage takers distracted, although I figured they would not be drunk.

  Parachutes on, we had one team of three, which was OK, one member of the team to hold the bag with his right hand to even out the spread. Two Deltas would drop with Smitty and Gonzo, the two French lads dropping with Stretch.

  Seeing the team of three, a para instructor suggested he tag along. He had been in Borneo, and had been behind the lines down here, so I asked his Flt Lt, who made a face, considered it, but then finally agreed.

  I had Moran go back and unlock our crates with the para instructor, an extra rifle and kit handed over, the para instructor donning a bandolier first and soon stuffing magazines in, a spare set of webbing grabbed, rations, water from the fridge, small first aid kit, some brown cloth.

  They returned fifteen minutes later, the man claiming a chute and checking it after I ran through his kit before stuffing it in his group HALO bag. Grabbing his Valmect, I stripped it down and had a look, and ran the slide a dozen times, finally happy with it. ‘No heroics,’ I told him with a pointed finger.

  The MOD propaganda officers approached me. ‘Got a video camera and still cameras. Can you take them?’

  ‘Take them, yes, survive the landing – don’t know.’ I placed them in my HALO bag, but handed Castille a small camera.

  ‘I got one,’ he said, handing it back. ‘I stuffed it in my bag.’

  With the HALO bags on towed bogeys, many hands helping, we made our way to the Hercules across the floodlit apron, two aircraft sat with engines idling, 37 Squadron lads waving at me. Sitting on the Hercules’ frame seats, I found many water bottles stacked in a crate and tied down, plus two of Morten’s medics sat looking nervous. I greeted both with a smile, shoulders shaken.

  With the teams all seated, yellow ear defenders handed out, the aircraft started to move, the ramp slowly closing, and I noticed a few of the propaganda team. Power up, nose up, and we were away, a glimpse down at a road with orange street lights, soon just blackness below as we turned north. I stretched out my legs, folded my arms, and switched my brain off.

  An hour later, and a flashing light on my chest signalled a call on my sat phone. The
number was for Captain Harris. I put the phone under my ear defenders. ‘Can you hear me?’ I asked.

  ‘Just about, yes. Listen, French helicopters are in action, may not be available for a few hours, some fighting going in.’

  ‘OK, got that.’

  ‘You want to abort?’

  ‘No, we can steal a truck. Keep me up to date. Wilco out.’

  Off the phone, I had to wonder if I was doing the right thing, since our back-up was tied up in a firefight, and French Echo were probably tied up as well. Maybe they would be free by dawn. We had the Hercules, and I had twenty eight men with me, so we were a large force.

  A further hour in, and I walked forwards to the cockpit and grabbed the spare headsets. ‘How we doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Not far off, making good time,’ the pilot reported after glancing at me.

  ‘Listen, the French are doubtful if they could assist, but I’m not aborting. So ... fingers crossed for your return, otherwise we’re walking out of there.’

  ‘Many bandits in that area?’ the co-pilot asked.

  ‘Not reported no, and I have plenty of men with me.’

  Sat back down, I whiled away the time thinking through the map features, conversation all but impossible inside a Hercules.

  The crewman eventually signalled for people to stand, and all started to put on their facemasks and gloves in the subdued light, and to form teams, non-oxygen masks on, radio mics fixed inside. I sounded off my team, the next team copying. With facemasks on, plastic goggles on, the low-light video cameras were now pointed at the lads – waves given, the ramp lowering, the red light on.

  Green on, and my team shuffled to the edge of the ramp, bag held with left hands, two teams at our sides, each other’s shoulders held, heads turned towards the light. The green light flashed and we tumbled out whilst pushing on each other’s shoulders till the air buffeting prevented contact, soon enveloped by a black roar, facemasks fluttering. If all had gone well, the other teams would be nowhere near us.

  Peering up, I could see the points of green light denoting the other teams, and they were far enough away, and I was relieved. Looking down, no clouds to hinder that view, I could see the town, but not the road yet.

  After a few seconds, counting in my head, I thought I could see a car on that road, and gradually the road’s black outline became distinct, the desert a lighter colour.

  The tone started, and we broke. ‘One thousand ... two thousand ... three thousand.’ I pulled on four, a sudden jerk and a moment to settle. Looking up, I could see three green lights and the chutes, happy that we were not about to tangle and kill ourselves.

  Looking down, I could see the dull bag light through its green chute. I turned towards it, and it was well north of the road, and drifting further north by the look of it. I could see the darker hills, but they were not close enough to be a worry.

  With a truck on the road below my feet giving me some idea of altitude, I bent my knees and got ready, following my bag. The bag hit with a clear thud, and I landed on its fluttering chute a moment later.

  Scrambling to me feet, I took in the flat expanse and transmitted, ‘This is Wilco, down and OK, good position north of the road, no one about.’

  Thuds around me indicated my team hitting the hard sandy soil.

  ‘Anyone hurt?’ I asked in a loud voice, getting no response through the dark as I tucked in my chute and tied it up in a bundle. Bag opened, light turned off, I grabbed a bandolier, then my webbing – a white strip on it showing that it was mine, finally lifting a rifle as Swifty appeared at my shoulder.

  I handed him a bandolier, which he put on as Moran and Mahoney came in. I loaded and cocked my rifle, seeing chutes east of me. Still, the road was far enough away south.

  ‘Wilco for Rocko.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘You down safe?’

  ‘No broken ankles.’

  ‘Stretch, you down?’

  ‘Just landed, OK so far.’

  ‘Move west when ready, we’ll flash a torch.’

  Moran got his torch ready as I scanned the area, and Rocko came in five minutes later, as I updated Captain Harris on the phone.

  Two quiet cracks sounded out through the dark.

  ‘Report the firing!’ I transmitted.

  ‘It’s Tomo, I dropped a goat herder.’

  ‘Check the body for a phone and then hide it, check the area for others.’

  ‘Moving now.’

  Stretch was soon with us, and sat down on a sand ridge, Henri and his team close by. I had taken out the low-light video camera and now filmed as the Deltas walked up, and finally Tomo and my snipers ran in.

  ‘Wilco?’ came through the dark as I packed the camera in my webbing, the still-image camera placed in my bandolier.

  ‘Over here,’ I responded.

  ‘Just the one fella, no phone,’ Tomo reported. ‘Dragged him into a gully and kicked sand over him.’

  ‘He’ll be missed, so we’re on the clock,’ I told those sat nearby. I transmitted, ‘Form up in teams, you know the sequence, follow me. And Tomo, next time knock him down and tie him up, he’s just a civvy.’

  ‘Right, Boss.’

  I headed south towards the distant road, and towards an old stone wall that afforded us some shelter from view. The traffic was light, but steady. Seeing a gully, I moved west and dropped down into it, small bushes helping to hide us. Near the road I bent double, the others copying, and we halted just twenty yards from the road.

  ‘Bunch up, get close, get ready to run.’

  Looking left, I waited for a truck to pass – its headlights illuminating the desert floor, and then sprinted over the road and into an irrigated area, low stone walls and tall produce, soon hiding behind a wall as the teams came across. With everyone across I moved off slowly through the dark, wary of farmers guarding their crops in this area.

  A hundred yards of roadside agriculture led to sand and bushes, and I became happier with the terrain, the lights of the distant town in my three o’clock position.

  Five hundred yards on, no one seen, we came across an abandoned building, rusted vehicles strewn around, rusted oil barrels littered about. Using my torch I checked for tracks, but there were no fresh tracks here to worry me.

  I transmitted, ‘Stretch, your team stays here, get someone up top, report any large convoys on that road or local movement.’

  ‘Roger that,’ came back as I led the teams off southwest.

  I could smell smoke from the town, the gentle breeze coming at us head on, soon the smell of cooking reaching us as darkened huts and abodes started to appear. Finding a field of the same spiky produce I moved into it and down the middle, avoiding the spikes growing from the cactus-like plants.

  Easing over a low stone wall onto a track, I crossed the track and clambered over the next wall, soon in an orchard of small trees. A goat bleated, and we all knelt, rifles pointed at it. It was tied up and alone, so we pressed on, and now I could see the dark outline of the main target building in the distance.

  At the next wall we found the town’s rubbish dump, and we soon crunched things under-foot as we crossed the smelly tip. A dog barked and ran off, no human response coming from nearby houses.

  Finding a line of part-demolished houses with their roofs missing I moved the teams inside and from one empty shell to the next, a view of the target building from the glass-free windows. Halting, I had the teams take fire positions as I climbed up a wall and had a look west.

  I transmitted, ‘Sniper Team, there’s a water pump to the right, a flat roof building, go get up it and get ready, silencers on.’

  I could hear them pass me, soon seeing dark outlines move off to the right. Remembering the low-light video camera, I pulled it out and filmed the Deltas as they peered at the target building. ‘Take aim, look professional for the camera,’ I told people, and moved along the line.

  Five minutes later came, ‘This is Tomo, I can see the town and the main building. Inside th
at building there’s armed men, and on the lower right side is a window with a strong metal grill, white faces inside but with sexy long man-beards.’

  I replied, ‘Months in captivity will give you a beard, yes. Anyone on the roof?’

  ‘Two men on the roof, stood chatting, weapons slung.’

  ‘It’s Nicholson. The north side street has a line of jeeps, half a dozen men stood chatting.’

  ‘It’s Swann. South side street has four men sat on bricks, fire going, playing cards by the look of it, little cafe further down, dozen civvies sat smoking the shishka.’

  I transmitted, ‘All teams, these damaged houses are our fallback position and rally point. Two extra French lads and two spare Deltas stays here, watch our rear and sides, cover us if we move back under fire, come forwards if called.

  ‘Sniper Team: first shot fired and you kill any armed men, or anyone moving towards the main building, leave the civvies. Start with the men on the roof.

  ‘Rocko, right side is yours; I want some jeeps stolen if and when we need them. Second Delta team, left side is yours, to hold that street. Everyone ... sip of water, check kit and rifles, take ten. Nicholson, study that building ... and the best way in.’

  I sipped my own water as I peered at the distant building. I could hear traffic and smell cooking, dogs barking in the distance.

  ‘What’s it look like?’ Castille asked, and he did not mean the view.

  ‘We can pick off the men outside, but I’d rather do that when we’re close to the hostage room.’

  ‘And if some of the hostages are being held elsewhere?’

  ‘Then it’s a fuck-up, but we’ll count those we can see anyhow.’

  My sat phone trilled; Captain Harris. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Got some fresh signals intel from GCHQ. Normal traffic reported, man in charge now at wedding, sick hostage asking for a doctor.’

  ‘OK, we’re camped out in sight of the hostages, white faces seen. Call me when the Hercules land back with you.’

  Half an hour later, most men sat with backs to the walls, my phone trilled. ‘It’s Captain Harris. French are still tied up.’

  ‘OK, fingers crossed then.’