by Geoff Wolak
‘Here it’s black and white, no office politics, simply right and wrong, and you can all tell right from wrong in a place like this. Whether you understand what it is you’re doing here or not, you’ve just done an excellent thing, the right thing, and the people in that town may have a chance at a life for a short while.
‘What we did was illegal, don’t ever discuss it, but what we did was also necessary, right, and noble along with it. This is why I put up with the politics and the bullshit ... and the wounds on my body, so that I can be in a place like this and make a difference.
‘When I met the Serb lad recently, lad I wounded in Bosnia, I told him that Bosnia had changed me, that I stopped fearing death, and that I got used to killing men, and that I was thankful for that. Bosnia helped me do this without feeling for those I shoot, and without any fear, but Bosnia also put things in focus.
‘I saved a group of people about to be executed, and later they escaped to London, the woman in the group pregnant, and I met them again recently. She ... puts it all in focus for me, why I do this, and why I like it – when some people think I need my head examined.
‘I enjoy killing the bad guys, and do it now without a second thought and without remorse, yet you – Mister Castille – are still struggling in your own mind how all this works, upset about the loss of your man, worried about what your boss will say.
‘For me it works differently. Every time I get to come here, every next trip, I get to play sheriff and make a difference one more time. What you have to consider, Mister Castille, is what motivates you to stick at it. Smile nicely, take the shit, so long as you get the chance to play sheriff one more time.
‘Regular SAS get stress. I have no stress, I see it clearly, and I love it. When you finally get it all in focus the stress goes. Fuck your boss, fuck the military, play their game so long as they allow you to play yours.’
Swifty put in, ‘If you asked David Finch for a few weeks down here for training, he’d say yes, and we could clean-up this place.’
‘Good attitude,’ I commended. ‘Nicholson, you ... ever think about the men you kill?’
‘I trust you, so if you say shoot ... I shoot. But you explained things before, and I understand better now: we play sheriff, and some cunt down there doesn’t rape and kill the girl.’
‘Swann?’
‘First time I pulled the trigger for real I felt sorry for the guy, but you often made the reason clear, why we were on the job. And yes, I like it as well; less fucking scumbags out there. I love that old Charles Bronson film – the vigilante one.’
‘Leggit?’
‘First time I killed a man I worried like fuck I might be arrested or something, but I have it all sorted in my head now. Regular army says: shoot that man. You explain the job first.’
‘Transport should be here soon,’ I noted.
‘You didn’t ask me,’ Tomo noted.
‘Tomo ... I often doubt you have an ability to think, let alone rationalise a complex emotional topic.’
They laughed at him.
‘I know why I do it,’ he protested. ‘You gave me a few pointers when I moved over, set me on the right track, told me to use my anger for the right thing – and to always shoot them in the balls.’
The guys laughed as I shook my head at Tomo. ‘Mister Castille, Tomo here is not representative of the rest of us, some of my guys are almost sane.’
‘Almost,’ Castille repeated.
Two days later we landed back in the early hours, and it was raining, but freezing rain, Whisky having caught a ride back with us. We all had to get jackets from the crates, or freeze to death. We bid farewell to the Deltas, our guests heading back up to London to some warm piss beer.
The short trip back was punctuated with death threats aimed at the driver if he did not turn the heating up, and the driver was glad to see the back of us.
MP Pete had left me a note. ‘Today will be Sunday, milk in fridge.’
I got the kettle on as Swifty fiddled with the house heating, and we sat with coats over our jackets, tea mugs in hand, shivering. I finally said, ‘Chilly old house.’
Swifty nodded, staring into his tea. ‘Have to get Pete to turn the heating on.’
‘I would have figured that, so why didn’t he?’
‘It was on automatic, to come on in half an hour.’
‘Ah...’ I sipped my hot tea.
‘Pity about that Delta guy,’ Swifty noted.
I nodded. ‘Shot by a fucking hostage. But Deltas are supposed to tie up their hostages, standard practise, Helsinki Syndrome, so ... we’re all to blame I guess.’
‘Something to think about on the next job; cable ties.’
I nodded, and half an hour later I claimed a cold bed.
I woke at 10am, and had to puzzle that for a while, till I realised that I had gone off to sleep at 4am. The house was warm, a hot shower appreciated, and at least it had stopped raining. Dressed up warm, I jogged over to breakfast, few about, our PTI’s waiting some trade.
They came and sat near me. ‘These para instructors are having weapons training, so why don’t we? We used the pistol range up at Credenhill, and the Ross range.’
‘I have no problem with that, see Sergeant Crab when he’s here and free, or grab whoever is around and ask them, use the ranges. Extra men are always useful.’
‘And if we ... excelled at the weapons?’
I frowned at them. ‘What are you after?’
‘We’re very fit, so ... if we’re good with weapons as well we could come on a job.’
‘Guys, if you pass the tests and make the grade ... then you make the grade. Simple. If you do my three day and get a good score, I’ll help you get your bollocks shot off, a shallow grave someplace.’
‘Well, we’d like to avoid the shallow grave part.’
‘Then you’ll need to be lucky more than good. Talk to Nicholson to ask his mates to get you on the three day say ... a month from now. Give’s you time to get the weapons training in.’
‘We’ll talk to Nicholson then.’
In the Portakabin I found O’Leary. ‘In on a Sunday?’
‘I have some old timers coming in. How’d it go?’
‘Text book, and simple, till a hostage grabbed a pistol and started shooting people.’
‘I heard, yes. Pity about that Delta guy. Oh, David Finch said there’s something on tonight, about the rescue. BBC documentary.’
‘Already?’ I puzzled. ‘Must have been fed the film I took by the MOD. A bit keen aren’t they?’
At 9pm I sat down with Swifty, Moran and Sasha in with us, tea made, Moran now living alone in his house, talk of Hamble moving in. The documentary did contain my footage, as well as that taken by the MOD propaganda unit. They had us boarding the Hercules - para instructors fussing over kit, leaving the aircraft in teams, then the footage I filmed.
They then showed a picture of Cramer, zooming in on his face and his sinister eyes as they described his bizarre antics around the world, images of him on trial in North Korea, and a cut to actors – one grabbing the pistol and about to fire. You heard the shots but did not see anything, followed by my film of the bodies in their ponchos, the police and ambulances in Binko Fasso, five minutes about the life of Sergeant David Gersh, Delta Force, and his grieving parents.
Moran said, ‘You could cut the politics with a knife it’s so thick.’
‘Kid was an arsehole,’ Swifty put in. ‘So fuck him.’
Staring at the TV, I had to puzzle the true meaning behind the film, and just what the MOD was up to; the film would have made Stalin proud. It was all true, but the tone was very odd, and they zoomed in on people for dramatic effect. I had to wonder what the producer was trying to achieve.
We came off well, it was all heroic and dramatic, but as expected it was down as having been led by the Deltas, not us. We were ‘in support’.
Monday morning we met for a briefing at 9pm, the topic of the week being the postponed HALO meeting at Briz
e Norton. I was the key speaker. This week we would also have a few sedated pigs - and some doctors giving first aid training, map reading and route planning tests, indoors because rain was forecast.
Robby and his troop were still off doing courses, Crab and Duffy and the Salties up with the police still, and Captain Hamble had completed the ten mile and twenty miles runs, and had logged a respectable number of laps on the 24hr speed march – pushing himself to the point of collapse. This week Hamble would be on the pistol range and Killing House, the week’s activities set to be out of the cold rain.
On the Wednesday morning the senior staff travelled the short distance to Brize Norton, the Major along, Colonel Dean and his team to meet us there with the Pathfinders, SBS and 2 Squadron. 2 Squadron were not normally HALO trained, but many had jumped with me and so they would be included.
General Dennet had sent a man to monitor progress, and we all got to know each other over a cup of tea before things kicked off, small groups chatting, Rizzo still limping – his injury being a topical HALO injury, the room housing a hundred men.
The para school CO finally took to the podium in the room, a white board behind him, and he detailed the recent HALO drops in Liberia, Sierra Leone and Mali, and the kit used. He listed known kit failures, and my report added to that, a bag light failing, a tone altimeter failing. He finally called me up.
I began, ‘Gentlemen, the purpose of these meetings will be to plan the development of UK military HALO, and to organise some practise sessions. Since the weather outside is typical for the UK, let’s try and arrange a date for a group trip to Sierra Leone, a few drops - and a chit-chat about those drops, and I think that all ... para school instructors should have a record of jumps made and where, so that they get a variety of drops.
‘Mainly, I think that all should have at least four HALO drops into Liberia, at night in the jungle, a ten mile walk back – weapons loaded. That should be followed by four drops in the desert somewhere, similar scenario, after which we can all be sure that they have the experience ... and know what they’re talking about – as many now do.
‘I would also hope that they then think up new techniques and new bits of kit that may help us in the future. I know that the SBS lads are lacking in jumps, so Sierra Leone should be a priority for them, and a few Pathfinders need the jumps as well.
‘2 Squadron lads do not – officially – need the jumps, but my External members within 2 Squadron do, and with the kit available and the HALO bags, and a Skyvan, I see no reason why all of 2 Squadron don’t get a few jumps in down in Sierra Leone. So someone pencil that in, twelve men at a time going down for five days say.
‘We also need to send a few men to the States once a year, to see what new kit they have. The HALO bags I use came from an idea seen in a magazine about the American military HALO teams.
‘OK, whilst on Sierra Leone, we have an opportunity for some winter training, and I see no reason why the para school does not run courses down in Sierra Leone whilst we have a military presence.
‘And that military presence will probably be less than six months. If you have twenty men lined up for the next course - do it this winter in Sierra Leone, and that saves men sitting around waiting for a nice day.
‘At the moment we use a base in France much of the year, but Sierra Leone offers combat conditions, still a few bad boys lurking behind the trees.
‘As an aside, for those of you that asked, and saw it in the papers, the American DEA in Panama organised a raid last week, four Huey helicopters and twenty men, all heavily armed, the latest kit. A helicopter dropped CS gas and smoke as the teams landed in a professional manner, and they used plastique to blow in some windows – all very professional and rehearsed beforehand no doubt.
‘Unfortunately, instead of raiding a drug baron’s villa ... they attacked a local nursing home by mistake.’
The room erupted into loud laughter.
‘Just be thankful none of us have done that, it would be ... embarrassing to say the least.’
The Squadron Leader raised a hand, still smiling. ‘We had a request from the French, to make use of Sierra Leone to practise.’
‘Great, sir, we can get some combined drops in, some cooperation between us. And Morocco has calmed down, so we can make use of French bases there to drop. OK, next we’ll look at a video of US forces and their kit, after which we have cake and tea, the idea being that we chat in small groups.’
After the video the Squadron Leader and General Dennet’s man made a list of units and their potential needs in Sierra Leone and Morocco, a short-term plan agreed to. Those men without the jump numbers would be a priority.
I chatted to Haines and his CO, then the SBS, who were feeling left out - and who wanted some action. Many of them would be heading down to Liberia anyway for jungle patrols, a three week deployment.
The Air Commodore turned up, he had been stuck in traffic – so I taunted him about his driver, and we discussed running HALO courses down in Sierra Leone and Morocco. He was keen, and I asked that his medics get some jumps in.
Colonel Dean spoke to many groups, and we discussed sending down his new lads to Sierra Leone for some static line and HALO practise. “G” Squadron had a few extra men back, more than half back in uniform now.
‘Captain Hamble settled in?’ Colonel Dead asked.
‘Yes, sir, but I left him out of the Mali rescue, he has some anger to work out; his lady wife is divorcing him. But he’s working hard at all the fitness tests and he passed them all well enough, and this week he’s on pistols and first aid.’
‘And that SIB unit is growing, I met them, and we’ll cooperate,’ Colonel Dean told me. ‘Hopefully, less shit in the future.’
I sighed theatrically. ‘I won’t be holding my breath, sir, plenty of old timers out there.’
‘”B” Squadron lad asked us if he could come across to you, scored 93 on your three-day.’
‘Then he has potential, but we have full troops.’
‘He speaks Spanish fluently, and doesn’t get on with his troop sergeant or troop captain. Bit of a loner.’
‘Ah ... then Intel may like him, sir. Send him to me. What’s his name?’
‘Blake, they call him Fuzz.’
‘Fuzz?’
‘Did a year as a copper before they kicked him out, and they kicked him out because he liked kicking civvies too much.’
I smiled and nodded.
‘That DEA raid sounded painful,’ Colonel Dean noted.
‘It made prime time news over there, sir, the White House pissed-off to fuck.’
‘Intel fuck-up somewhere.’
I nodded. ‘Definitely, sir. Definitely.’
Early on the Friday morning “Fuzz” arrived, bags in hand, and we found him a room in the huts. For now he was assigned to Rocko. He was taller than most at about six foot, black hair and stern features, and he looked like he was in pain – or just uncomfortable.
At the morning briefing I began, ‘We now have with us Fuzz, whose real name is Blake, but be was once a copper – hence Fuzz. He scored 93 on the three day, so he won’t slow us down. He’s also reported to be a right unsociable misfit ... so he’ll fit in well with us, but he’s not been kicked out of the regulars yet.
‘This week I want him on the ranges, Valmect, then all weapons. Next week, fitness tests, and let’s slot him in for a trip to Sierra Leone, some static line and HALO, some patrols. After that ... he should be up to speed mostly.
‘Fuzz, you will make an effort to fit in and get along with people here, or you go out the gate. If you piss about, this is not like the regular Army or SAS, I’ll kick the shit out of you, shoot you in the leg and arrange for the police to find drugs on you. Fuck with me ... and it’s going to hurt,’ I told him, the Major shooting me a look.
‘Right, sir.’
‘You address the Major as sir, me as Captain or Wilco, rest have nicknames, apart from Nicholson, Swann and Leggit – too straight for nicknames.’
‘Ah ... well we’ll have a look then. I’ll send a man down.’
‘Name of Blake, they call him Fuzz.’
That evening I got a call, a Washington area code. ‘Wilco here.’
‘Deputy Chief. Can you talk?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I just spoke to David, and he agreed to my calling you. I need an answer to a question to prevent some people getting sent to prison over here. Did the DEA fire on that villa?’
‘No, not a single shot.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
‘Positive.’
‘Well that helps. And the bullet holes seen?’
‘Tomsk made them for the TV cameras.’
‘To embarrass us.’
‘Yes.’
‘David has provided us with the detail, because this is a serious problem for us. One of mine got three million dollars?’
‘Yes, dropped in Nicaragua.’
‘That narrows it down, but so far no one has been seen in a shiny new red Ferrari.’
‘He’ll tuck it away, keep his head down, then leave.’
‘No ID on the man?’
‘No. But he’s senior, he knew about me and Petrov.’
‘He did? Well ... that narrows it right down.’
‘The guy never said he was CIA, he could have been DEA.’
‘None of the DEA there know about you – I hope.’
‘Are you mad about the money, because you owe the guy a thank you? You could have had twenty dead DEA agents.’
‘That would have been an issue, yes. And you took the decision to intervene without consulting with David...’
‘Better that way, blame lies with me and not the government.’
‘And your reasoning?
‘Twenty dead men who did not need to die, simply that.’
‘Then I can’t fault your reasoning. But if we wished someday to move on Tomsk?’
‘I’d follow my government’s direction on that, not go against them. I tend to make decisions because London has no plan as such, it’s an area they can’t be seen to be playing in.’