Wilco- Lone Wolf 9

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘What was that?’ Castille’s dark outline quietly asked.

  ‘Our French rescuers are in need of some rescuing themselves. Swifty, Mahoney, go take a look through the windows, dead slow.’ I transmitted, ‘Sniper Team, men moving forwards for a sneak peak, cover them, watch the guards on the roof.’

  ‘Roger that,’ came back from Nicholson.

  Ten minutes later Nicholson transmitted, ‘Who’s next to the wall, right hand side?’

  ‘Me, Swifty.’

  ‘Reckon you could climb that low roof?’

  I lifted up and peered at the main building, not seeing Swifty.

  ‘Standby,’ came Swifty’s voice. Five minutes later came, ‘It’s Swifty, I’m up on the low roof, no windows this side, air conditioners are hiding me. I can see the compound, a few jeeps and trucks, kids playing still, six armed men wandering around. There’s a single storey room at the back, kitchen, men sat eating, looks like a dorm.’

  ‘How much room where you are?’ I asked.

  ‘Could hide another two men in here easy.’

  ‘Mahoney, get up there if you can.’

  ‘Moving up now.’

  ‘Swifty?’ I transmitted. ‘Did you get a look in the hostage room?’

  ‘Yeah, but I only saw a dozen sets of legs on the carpet, all sat with their backs to the outer wall. Couldn’t see faces, but they wore western clothes. One bored guard sat on a chair. Other room was a toilet, one was a kitchen, some old ladies in it. Mahoney is with me now.’

  ‘Stay there, call it out.’

  ‘Hang on...’ Swifty called, and I waited. ‘Mahoney found a crack in the roof, got an eye to it. Twelve western hostages, this big room on your right, door in the courtyard.’

  Off the radio, I said, ‘We can move now, whilst they’re at the wedding, or wait till they’re back – and all asleep. Problem is ... when they’re asleep the door will be locked, but now ... people coming and going, less than twenty armed men seen.’

  Castille’s dark outline said, ‘Chances would be better now, but we have to wait a ride out.’

  ‘Or we steal the jeeps,’ Moran told him. ‘Hercules can pick us up on any road.’

  ‘Well ... luck seems to be with us now,’ Castille noted. ‘Later on we have locked doors and a lot more men, eighty more.’

  ‘So we go now,’ I suggested. I stood. Transmitting, I said, ‘All teams standby, we’re moving soon, whilst the main body of bad boys are absent. When I move forwards, Rocko moves to the right hand side, to hit the men there and move past the door on that side. Rocko, hold that street.

  ‘Swifty, Mahoney, you aim at the barracks come dorm. Snipers, hit the men on the roof only if we’re spotted, or at the first shot fired, then anyone you can see. Delta Team Two, left hand side, cover that street. Rocko, me and Moran will be next to you, Delta Team One to go inside for the hostages. Standby.’

  I called Stretch, his number on a sheet of paper, Rizzo’s phone.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Wilco, we’re going to storm the place in five minutes then come past you on the way out. You’ll need to run south three hundred yards when you see vehicle headlights.’

  ‘OK, all quiet here.’

  Phone away, dark outlines upright and ready, I led Moran and the Deltas forwards, four Deltas breaking left bent double. I stepped quietly bent double, and we made it to a small outbuilding. I sent Rocko off to another small building to the right. As he got there, two quiet cracks sounded.

  ‘Shit,’ I hissed, turning and running. ‘On me!’ I fired from the hip at the group of men near the jeeps, ten rounds without a silencer, before I slammed into the wall, peering around the corner as cracks sounded out from all sides. Rocko and his team ran down the road, firing as they went, stopping and kneeling as I ran in to the side door.

  I had just brought my rifle level when two men appeared. Two shots tore holes through their abdomens from two inches away and they folded as I pushed past, rounds cracking out from above me, which had to be Swifty.

  Rifle lifted, no idea if the door was locked or not, I blew the lock to pieces with five rounds and kicked it open, Castille piling in, two rounds fired from the hip. I spun and knelt, Moran already kneeling and firing across the compound. I saw movement left and fired quickly, two dark outlines hit as they emerged from a doorway.

  It fell quiet.

  ‘Get the hostages out now!’ I shouted, and Castille led them out a moment later, a long line of men mostly barefoot, long beards on many of them.

  ‘I was a soldier,’ came an American accent, a hostage. ‘I can fight.’

  ‘Get moving!’ I shouted, and shoved him out the door. With the last Delta past me I had a quick look in the hostage room, one dead guard, and withdrew, collecting Moran.

  Out the gate and right, I followed the hostage line back towards the fallback position. ‘Swifty, Mahoney, down now! Rocko, any jeeps?’

  ‘Hang on.’

  Headlights came on, three jeeps pulling forwards and around.

  I transmitted, ‘Hostages in the back of jeeps.’

  ‘Not enough fucking jeeps!’ Moran shouted. He ran down the side street as Swifty landed next to me.

  ‘Go with Moran!’ I told Swifty, Mahoney following.

  Behind me, the hostages were being shoved aboard the jeeps. When they had boarded I ran to the side street and peered down, a truck pulling forwards, lights turned on just before it nearly hit me.

  I ran alongside it. ‘Delta Team Two, on me, get in the truck! Anyone else, get in the truck!’ I transmitted, ‘Sniper Team, to us now. Everyone get into a vehicle!’

  Swifty, Moran and Mahoney clambered aboard the truck with the Deltas, weapons soon aimed out.

  ‘It’s Wilco, is anyone not on a truck or a jeep?’

  ‘Wait!’ Tomo shouted, and laughed. He clambered up onto the truck with the rest of the sniper team. I rushed to the front jeep and opened the door, slinging my rifle and standing on the door join. ‘Go left down that track, slow and steady.’

  We pulled off, Slider driving, and I peered down the side street as we drew level with it, women and kids out and wondering what all the shooting was, dogs barking, but no armed men were charging down the street.

  The jeep I was on bumped down the sandy track, the truck following twenty yards behind the last jeep, and we made steady progress, the town lights diminishing. Movement left, and four dark outlines ran in.

  ‘Get on the truck!’ I shouted at Stretch.

  Cresting a ridge, we started down the other side, and the track improved a little, the speed increasing. Holding on with one hand, I transmitted, ‘Any wounded hostages need attention?’

  ‘It’s Castille, they’re all fine, no wounds.’

  A mile on and I called a halt, moving a hostage back to the second jeep to even them out. Hanging onto the side of the truck I ordering the convoy onwards. The track turned south, and we hit a better road, a good speed maintained for an hour before the lorry died on us. I had the jeeps halt on the side of the road, a flat expanse all around us.

  ‘We can’t all fit in the jeeps,’ Moran noted as he came and found me.

  ‘Nope,’ I let out, scanning the dark horizon.

  ‘This road is straight enough for a Hercules, up there it is.’

  ‘Hercules is hours away,’ I said. ‘I’ll try the French after getting a position fix. Everyone out! Get a brew on for the hostages!’

  I stepped away onto the sand and called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco, we have the hostages, half way to Niger, but our transport just broke down.’

  ‘Yeah, well there’s bad news on the Hercules. One burst a tyre on landing, major job to replace it, and one lost an engine. Third Hercules is halfway back from Kenya.’

  ‘And the French?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Fix this position, then contact them.’

  ‘OK, give me ten minutes.’

  Looking at the dark outlines at they stood near the jeeps, I decided not t
o tell the hostages anything yet. I transmitted, ‘Listen up. Hercules are out of action for now, several hours at least, and the French are in a small insurrection, so it’s just us, but don’t worry the hostages, tell them we’re waiting our helicopters.’

  I called Castille and Moran to one side.

  ‘Hercules not coming?’ Castille asked.

  ‘One blew a tyre, one lost an engine, one on its way from Kenya, so seven or eight hours from us here. And the French are tied up.’

  ‘Where are we exactly?’ Castille asked.

  ‘We’re now southeast of that town, about thirty miles or so from the Niger border. Could walk it.’

  ‘Some of the hostages have no shoes, and are old,’ Castille pointed out as I took out the video camera and started to film the hostages making camp. I filmed the jeeps and the truck before I tucked away the camera.

  With several fires started the men sat around those fires, a stag rotation set-up and men posted, Tomo up on the cab of the truck. I sat with the first group, their faces flickering orange from the flames, small dried bushes now burning.

  The youngest present, smiling happily, told me, ‘You could have used me back there, I was a Marine.’

  Castille shot me a look. ‘A bit young ... to have been a Marine.’

  ‘It’s the moisturiser I use, it keeps me young. That and my bible studies. Father is a pastor.’

  I began, ‘And your father didn’t object to you joining up?’

  ‘We had words about it, yeah. I was with the OTC in college, so he was used to me being away, or in uniform.’

  Castille again shot me a look. ‘Couldn’t have served a full six years.’

  The young lad angered quickly, but then forced it away. ‘I moved on to ... undercover work. That’s what I was doing here when I was caught.’

  I could see the looks from the other hostages.

  ‘Bullshit,’ a man quietly let out.

  I eased up and checked the other groups. Ten minutes later, I was walking back to Castille as one of his men knelt next to him. The young lad moved quickly, a pistol grabbed, five rounds fired before I had a chance to react. I put two rounds into the lad, Rocko adding four.

  ‘Man down! Man down!’ came from several sets of lungs as I rushed in, rifle down, first aid kit out.

  The hostage I turned over was dead, a good hit to the heart, so I left him as men rushed in. The next hostage had a shoulder wound, the soft spot, his eyes wide. ‘You accidentally got hit in what’s known as the soft spot, place in a shoulder to hit a man without killing him. It’s going to hurt, but there’s no chance of you dying.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No, so take it easy.’

  I moved to the next man, finding that it was Mahoney, and my heart skipped a beat. Shirt up, bandolier and webbing undone, his abdomen was covered in blood. ‘Move back, get me some light here!’

  I checked the first wound under the light from half a dozen torches. ‘That’s a rib scrape, not fatal, but maybe a punctured lung. If you rasp when you breathe, shout it out.’ Lower down, I inspected a stomach wound. Getting my nose right on it, I sniffed. ‘No bile or shit, so the intestine is OK, and it’s not pumping, you’ll live. Mahoney, I had worse in Bosnia, you have days to go.’

  I stuffed a tampon in the stomach wound, causing a strained gasp from my patient, and taped it up. With cream on the rib-scrape, I got gauze on, a pad, and taped it up tight. Cigar case out, I got a needle ready. ‘Anyone else hit?’

  Castille said, ‘Davey is dead.’

  I glanced at the body, then at the dead lad. ‘That fucking idiot.’

  A hostage put in, ‘Knew he was full of shit, and right unstable. His damn story changed every day, and he started spouting the bible at us.’

  After injecting Mahoney I told him to stand, and they eased him up. ‘Breathe normally,’ I told him. ‘But if you feel yourself rasping, tell me.’

  I turned to the nearest hostage. ‘What was his name, that kid?’

  ‘Said it was Billy Cramer, if anything he said could be believed.’

  I stepped away, wiping my bloodied hands in my trousers, and called Colonel Mathews.

  ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Got some bad news, sir. Operation went off well, quick in and out, but a hostage grabbed a pistol and killed two men.’

  ‘He ... what!’

  ‘Young lad, said he was a Marine, but the other hostages said he was just full of shit, so this was our hostage soldier.’

  ‘His name?’

  ‘Said his name was Billy Cramer.’

  ‘Billy fucking Cramer!’ came a scream.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Fucking arsehole got himself caught crossing into North Korea when he was just sixteen, we had to get him out, then he was deported from Russia, then arrested at the Israeli border. He’s certifiable.’

  ‘He’s also dead, sir.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘We shot him.’

  ‘Jesus, his father’s a billionaire bible basher.’

  ‘One of your Delta Force men is dead, one wounded, one hostage dead, second wounded, and our transport has failed. We’re in the shit big time, sir.’

  ‘We have nothing near you, would take us eight hours to get there!’

  ‘Then we might be walking southeast from this position, sir. French may send trucks or a helo. Wilco out.’ I called Captain Harris. ‘We’re in the shit, two dead, two wounded.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Hostage lad, with a record of mental illness, grabbed a pistol and started shooting.’

  ‘A hostage ... shot people?’

  ‘Mahoney is wounded, a Delta Sergeant is dead, a hostage dead, a second wounded, but they’re stable, OK for a few hours or more.’

  ‘I have an idea, stay where you are, don’t move.’ The call was cut.

  Moran and Swifty closed in. ‘So what’s the plan?’ Moran asked.

  ‘Plan is ... we have few options, so we stay here till they send something. Captain Harris seemed to think he could organise something.’

  ‘That Skyvan is there,’ Swifty put in.

  ‘Not big enough for us all,’ I told him.

  ‘Could get the hostages and wounded away, rest of us walk, only thirty miles,’ Swifty suggested.

  ‘Not a bad idea, but that Skyvan is four hours away. So ... we wait a while. Get some food on, because we ain’t going anywhere fast.’

  ‘Wounded men?’ Moran asked as we scuffed up sand towards the camp fires.

  ‘They have a few days till they need a hospital.’

  Food cooked, I checked our wounded men, Cramer’s body put in a poncho and moved to one side, the dead Delta put in his poncho, his kit removed from his body and placed down. The Delta who had removed the kit stood, stared at the poncho covering Cramer, and then kicked the body repeatedly, perhaps fifty times, as hostages glanced at the odd scene.

  ‘Well if he ain’t dead,’ Rocko began, ‘he’ll have a bruise in the morning.’

  The Delta finally sat.

  I began, ‘The dead man, your buddy?’

  He lifted his head for a brief moment. ‘We started out together.’

  ‘And if he had taken a round on a job?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s the job, and I accept the risk, but this ... this is beyond sick.’

  ‘That guy Cramer, he was arrested in North Korea when he was sixteen, your State Department had to get him back.’

  ‘I remember that,’ the Delta noted.

  ‘And he was arrested in Russia and Israel,’ I added. ‘The guy had a thing about crossing borders.’

  ‘There was a documentary about him,’ Castille put in. ‘But I didn’t recognise him; kid with a pastor father. They said he did it to force his father to acknowledge him.’

  ‘Not enough hugs at bedtime,’ Rocko noted.

  ‘Was going well,’ Castille noted. ‘Quick rescue, damn quick. You made it look easy. Now this shit.’

  ‘Best laid plans,’ I quipped. ‘That’
s why it’s often best not to have rigid plans. You see the ground in front of you ... then you decide.’

  I checked in on Mahoney, but he was in good spirits, and his breathing was clear for now. Our wounded hostage was whinging, but stable, and to shut him up I let him use my sat phone to call his wife. I should have been listening, because he told her about Cramer shooting him, and that we had shot Cramer dead.

  Nicholson informed me later.

  I sighed heavily. ‘Nothing we can do now, and we are allowed to shoot someone shooting at us.’

  My sat phone trilled; Captain Harris. ‘Some good news?’ I asked.

  ‘Hercules on its way, should be with you in a few hours, they’ll use the radio, they have your position.’

  ‘We can survive that long, and there’s a road east they can land on. Be getting light by then.’ I informed everyone of our transport, but ten minutes later lights were seen northwest, jeeps coming.

  ‘Sniper Section, get up on that truck, and I want the lead jeep stopped at 1200 yards ... by hitting the engine grill only, or I dock your wages.’

  They ran to the truck.

  ‘Why not shoot the fuckers?’ Rocko asked.

  ‘Because they might just be farmers heading out to harvest their fucking crops,’ I told him.

  Five minutes later a crack sounded out, followed by two more.

  ‘They’ve stopped,’ came over the radio. ‘Hang on, dozen armed bad boys.’

  I transmitted, ‘Then earn your keep and shoot the fuckers.’

  ‘Will we be OK?’ a worried hostage asked, sounding British.

  ‘Of course you’ll be OK,’ I told him. ‘Because those four lads may seem a bit flippant, but they are some of the world’s best snipers, and they have the world’s best rifle in their hands.’

  Cracks sounded out.

  ‘Where were you kidnapped?’ I asked the nervous man.

  ‘North Mali, I was at a mine. I’m a chemical engineer.’

  ‘Will you get a good payout?’ Rocko asked him.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure.’

  ‘How long were you held?’ I asked.

  ‘I think ... three months, not sure, one day like another after a while.’

  ‘Family?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, and they know, I spoke to them.’

  ‘You spoke to them?’ I queried.