by Geoff Wolak
‘Ah, the news is full of the story, the cartel leadership all arrested, much fighting in Cali city, many dead. The houses of the bosses were burnt down?’
‘Yes, Minister, and we are now destroying their drug labs. But ... I found the boy.’
After a long silence came, ‘He is dead?’
‘Worse than dead. We can discuss it when I get back. Tell his father that his son is dead, I have seen the body, and that the Americans may recover the body today.’
‘I will do so, I know this man all my life.’
‘I’m bringing back the man who killed him, for trial or ... otherwise.’
‘I understand, ask for any assistance you need.’
Phone away, I could not get that boy’s image from my mind; what that boy went through must have been unimaginable. And they had tortured him as an example to others, camera ready. If you ran a cartel, fear was the key, not threatening to dock someone’s pay – a written reprimand in the post.
Four miles on, and so far we had only seen domestic or agricultural traffic but, as we slowed on a steep climb, around the contours of a hill I could see a roadblock of sorts.
‘Get ready!’ I shouted, and adopted my own rifle. I transmitted, ‘Rizzo, next valley has a roadblock, so all smiles, slow down and then speed up past them.’
‘He looks like a Mexican bandit anyhow,’ Tomo noted.
‘This is Colombia, Dope,’ Nicholson told him.
‘All fucking spics,’ Tomo complained.
We edged around the hill, a steep drop off to the left, and caught site of four jeeps, ten armed men, who all burst into life at seeing us.
‘They’re happy,’ Nicholson said as he peered through his sights.
‘Friendly faces in a time of need,’ I noted. ‘They want reassurance that life as it was will go on.’
I waited till we had turned the inside corner and faced them, their jeeps some seventy yards away. ‘Standby ... steady ... fire!’ I squeezed the trigger and hit a man off his feet, the remaining men all cut down quickly, none having had rifles held ready, most having stood with their rifles slung, smiles waiting for us.
We passed them slowly, Rizzo bumping over bodies in low gear and squishing a few fellas.
‘If they weren’t dead, they are now,’ Rocko noted as we rounded a corner.
Two miles on and I had Rizzo turn off, and to head north, aiming to arrive at the main drug complex from the south. Problem was the map had a line for a track, not a good road; the access road was to the north.
Our convoy started down a gentle slope, still on a tarmac road, and wound through a darkened cave created by tall trees hanging over the road, and we covered two miles – but slowly. There our luck ran out, a dirt track ahead. I had the trucks follow the track as best as possible another mile, then halt, all of us shaken about – and not just by Rizzo’s driving.
With the trucks and jeeps hidden in the trees, branches thrown over them, we abandoned them, our captive well tied up, as well as tied to the back of a truck.
Formed up in teams, I led them off up the track, but since the hill offered a fire break I followed that, and fifteen minutes later I caught site of cartel guards stood chatting, rifles slung. Around these parts, the site of armed men was enough of a deterrence, but to soldiers it was a live target asking for a bullet.
I led the teams into the trees, slow movement, and spotted two other men off to the east. ‘Tomo, Nicholson, up the ridge on the left, a hundred yards, don’t be seen. Team Two, go right and around, four guards ahead, could be others.’
Kneeling, I observed as the men moved off, and I gave them time to get position.
‘This is Tomo, I see four ahead of you, two further along the valley, then some trees, then a shit load of trucks and men.’
‘Tomo, Nicholson, get the distant pair. Team Two, what do you see?’
‘We see four.’
‘On my command ... kill the four, British get the two. Standby ... fire.’
Quiet cracks sounded out, so I moved forwards briskly, checking all the bushes and dark areas, grabbing magazines off bodies before I moved on. Approaching the distant pair, both men quite dead now, I could hear the trucks and the earnest activity of drug distribution beyond the trees, these men still operating without a leadership, or maybe someone of a lesser rank had taken charge.
‘Tomo, Nicholson, go high left, get position. Swann, Leggit, go high right. We wait. Team Two, on my far right, Team Three on my right, Teams Four and Five on my left. Move up slow, form a line.’
When everyone was in place I transmitted, ‘Take a sip of water, check magazines, tap the next full magazine, check rifles, no mistakes.’ I gave them two minutes. ‘Standby. Those on the right, hit men on the right. Those left, hit men left. English, hit the leaders. Standby.’
Ahead of me, through the thick trees, stood two guards smoking, rifles slung, and beyond them an open area, an obvious underground facility – given away by the trucks. The entrance seemed to be behind trees on the left, and in the open stood perhaps thirty men loading trucks, ten guards seen.
‘Hit the guards first, then the leaders, standby. Open fire!’
Men next to me fired, the two guards in front spun and sent flying, and as I observed through the trees the men before me did a little dance, or flew backwards or sideways, all seemingly swatted by a giant invisible hand – the hand of retribution.
The truck handlers had knelt, but soon heads exploded, blood spattered on wheels or on the grass. A few ran, not getting far, and ten seconds on it was all over.
‘Who can see the entrance?’ I transmitted.
‘It’s Swan, we see it. Standby.’ Cracks sounded out. ‘Got two men knelt in the entrance.’
‘Cover it. Anyone got charges left?’
‘Here,’ came in Russian.
‘Move forwards, all of you, double tap, be careful.’
I led my team on through thick bushes to the open loading area, bodies double-tapped, trucks checked, and the two Russians with charges left headed for the entrance. ‘There must be escape routes, be careful!’
I knelt next to a truck as fuses were snapped, charges thrown inside. The two Russians moved back.
Smoke blasted from the entrance, and anyone inside would now have a bit of a headache, cocaine powder forced into lungs to ease the pain.
‘I see smoke!’ Tomo said. ‘Ahead of you a hundred yards, left thirty yards, in the trees.’
‘Get to it!’
‘It’s Swann, behind you fifty yards!’
I spun around, sending Team Two at the double.
Smoke started to rise from small vents, the vents unseen till now, and a woman staggered out coughing, a flimsy t-shirt not hiding her swaying breasts. She held up her hands and ran, which I figured was counterproductive given the enthusiastic whistles and shouts from the men.
Trying not to smile, I said, ‘Let the women go, send them north!’ A line of young women slowly appeared, few wearing bras or covered up, hands up, soon a few old men. ‘Let the old men go, send them north.’
‘They’re all bit tasty,’ Rizzo noted.
‘It’s a warm country, and damn warm underground,’ I told him.
Women ran, the old men following slowly, all terrified of the soldiers in green facemasks.
‘It’s Tomo, we got three, now some tasty birds climbing up.’
‘Send the women north up the road. And keep your mind on the job.’ I heard quiet cracks behind me. ‘Team Two report.’
‘We kill two armed men, now some women come up.’
‘Send the women here. Rest of you, check trucks, but stay alert, could be more armed men around. English snipers, stay high and look out. Someone watch the road north.’
Five minutes later, Rocko said, ‘Shit load of drugs in the trucks.’
I nodded, just as my phone trilled; Tomsk.
‘I have another helicopter,’ he began. ‘Easy to get now, everyone thinks Cali Cartel is finished, they respect me.’
‘Mi8.’
‘Look on the maps for the location of the main drug lab, send it quickly. Wait, where the fuck is it, Panama?’
‘No, only ten miles from you!’
‘Good, send it, I make smoke, we are say ten miles due west from the villas we burnt. Be quick, we move some drugs to the safe house.’
‘No, I have a ship, I drop it on the ship.’
‘OK, good. Sent it now.’
Thinking, a sip of water taken as women and old men walked past, I called Franks. ‘Listen, I’m using an Mi8 helicopter, supplies from a ship off the coast. Make sure your lot don’t intercept it.’
‘OK, I’ll warn them now. They got the body, and evidence, and demolished that place.’
‘Good. Make sure the body is flown to Panama draped in a flag, C130, senior officers and diplomatic staff present. Go some way to mending bridges with Panama, eh, they fucking hate your lot.’
‘I’ll pass the suggestion up the line.’
‘Oh ... how about an airstrike?’
‘Airstrike?’
‘On a drugs lab with no one left alive, to show that you’re winning the war on drugs. Track these coordinates, but give us an hour.’
‘I’ll send it up the line.’
‘Don’t bomb till we’ve gone, eh!’
‘I’ll get back to you,’ he said whilst laughing.
‘Rocko, Rizzo, move a truck away then set fire to it as a signal.’
After five minutes, no more women workers we seen, I sent in a Russian team, pistols out. They emerged to say that they had killed two men only, the lab quiet, but vast, lots of drugs.
‘Masks on, start moving drugs, but only if it is in plastic!’ I dispatched two teams.
Rocko and Rizzo walked back, facemasks now off, a truck in the trees now on fire.
‘What the fuck have you done!’ I shouted at them, everyone nearby focused on my staff sergeants.
They looked at each other, glanced at the truck, puzzled frowns adopted.
‘What?’ Rizzo asked.
‘Did you check what was in the fucking back first, idiots!’
They glanced at the truck as white smoke wafted.
Rocko turned to me. ‘Is that marijuana?’
‘Yes, you fucking knobhead! Every monkey and bird within ten miles will be high as a kite! You just set fire to a million quid’s worth!’ I shook my head as they laughed.
‘It’s Swann, is someone smoking weed down there?’
‘Knobhead Rizzo set fire to a truck, didn’t check the back. Don’t breathe it in, move position, or you’ll be asleep soon.’
‘That’s a big joint!’ Tomo transmitted, No.3 and my team laughing.
‘We don’t tell Tomsk, no,’ No.3 quipped.
Half an hour of earnest labouring, facemasks off and faces sweating, and we had trucks loaded with twenty tonnes of cocaine and as much marijuana. Engines tested, fuel tested, I sent teams back for our other trucks, and we waited as the drivers bounced our original trucks along rough tracks, just as the Mi8 decided to loudly arrive.
I waved it down, and had men start loading it, white Russian pilots and a white Russian in the back. When they would take no more it lifted off and headed north.
‘We wait?’ No.3 asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Stack up some cocaine here, they can load it themselves, and scatter some around for when the Americans get here.’
Ten minutes of labour by many hands had a wall of plastic bricks four feet high, and I was considering driving off when the Mi8 appeared again. Touching down next to the wall of cocaine bricks, many hands threw the bricks aboard, the helo soon lifting off again.
‘OK, we wait,’ I told No.3.
The Mi8 returned every twelve minutes, so it was not going far, and when it got there it must have just thrown the bricks out. We were about ten miles from the coast, so the ship must have been anchored close inshore. I hoped that the Americans were not observing it.
When the sweet-smelling white smoke from Rizzo’s burning truck started to get closer I had all of the trucks move north five hundred yards, plenty of cocaine left behind, and I now had a convoy of twelve trucks to consider moving. It was hardly inconspicuous.
Walking off north, a burst of fire had me dive down, quiet cracks following. I spun right, a missed guard now dead, but also one of mine, a Russian. I ran over and knelt. ‘Shit. Take his rifle, ammo, radio! Quickly!’
Glancing back at the body, a few men joining me in that sombre movement, I led the teams off, telling the snipers to move along the ridges – and to stay alert.
At the head of the trucks, Franks called me back. ‘We can do the airstrike.’
‘Why so keen, they never were in the past?’
‘Publicity is very good, all good coverage, White House is happy.’
‘Fine, hit that base after eyeballing it, avoid my Mi8 helicopter, then have helos land and get evidence, papers. Oh, and masks to be worn, lots of drugs, and we set fire to a marijuana mound.’
‘You set fire ... to a mound of marijuana? Jesus, boys will be high!’
‘Yes, so be careful when landing.’
I called Tomsk. ‘How many men do you have at the safe house?’
‘Was two, then I send ten more.’
‘We’ll try and get there by road soon, if we don’t meet any roadblocks.’
‘You have some drugs?’
‘We have twelve trucks full.’
‘My god.’
‘Oh, is that small helicopter still around?’
‘Yes, at the safe house.’
‘Send it down the roads from the safe house to where I am, look for roadblocks.’
‘OK, I send it now.’
‘And tell that Mi8 it has only half an hour at most before the Americans arrive. Still some drugs there, not much.’
‘What will the Americans do?’
‘Blow it up, say they destroyed the drugs.’
‘Ah, good, yes.’
Stood there, thinking, I was aware that the men needed rest, and not a major gun battle on the road. So I waited, telling men to eat and get a brew on in the trees, the trucks being an odd spectacle, a very valuable crop of drugs sat there.
I heard then saw the Mi8 come in and land, a resonating drone whilst it was on the ground, and it soon flew over us after grabbing white bricks, its door open, a man peering down. Its drone had dissipated, it fell quiet in the trees, but the peace was suddenly disturbed by the screech of a jet.
‘Shit!’ I grabbed for my radio. ‘Take cover! Take cover, get down, get behind something solid!’ I repeated it in Russian as I ducked behind trees with my team.
The ground moved, and two seconds later the blast was felt, a wall of white mist passing us, birds blown out of their branches. After I lifted up I ran out and peered down towards the drug lab, a huge plume of smoke rising, a few white bricks landing nearby.
‘It’s OK,’ I transmitted. ‘That was supposed to happen.’
‘It’s Tomo, plane coming in!’
I turned around to see a F18 on an attack run, a run at my trucks. ‘No! You stupid...’ I ran and dived behind the trees as thirty mil cannon loudly tore up the trucks, several set alight, a screech of jet pulling away, a second F18 finishing the job – our trucks shredded. They climbed and flew off.
Tomo transmitted, ‘That could have gone better. We’re walking now.’
‘What the fuck..!’ No.3 let out as he lifted up, men walking out of the trees to look at the damage.
I could hardly call Franks and complain. Sighing, I called Tomsk. ‘Listen, fucking American jets just shot up all the trucks.’
‘They ... what?’
‘Send the Mi8 back to try and get some drugs, still a lot of drugs here. I’m heading to the other drug lab, but I’ll rest the men first.’
‘The Mi8 got a good load to the ship already, I send it back to you.’
‘Send it to the burning trucks to grab what you can, don’
t worry about that small helicopter and the roads.’
Rocko and Rizzo appeared at my side. ‘So no bonus then,’ Rocko said with a sigh.
‘We got a good load away already, cash, jewels, shares,’ I told them. I transmitted, ‘Form up in teams, we are leaving to the east.’
‘What about the prisoner?’ Rizzo asked.
‘What? Shit!’ I ran across to the first truck, smouldering, and dropped the tailgate. A pair of terrified eyes stared back at me as I dragged him out through the smoke and off the truck.
‘Lucky fuck,’ Rocko noted.
‘He won’t be, not when we get him to Panama.’
I called Tomsk, a ride booked for our friend. I had to insist the prisoner get back alive; I had a head to deliver to keep a promise.
I led the teams north, men glancing back at the burning trucks, and we crossed the valley whilst watching for F18s, up the side to meet Swann and Leggit, and over the ridge.
The Mi8 had landed once and loaded up, the Jet Ranger had fetched my prisoner, but as we crossed the ridge I could see a line of Seahawks west a mile. I shook my head, sighed, and walked on down the slope. A hundred million quid’s worth of drugs up in smoke.
That destruction was what Captain Wilco wanted, what London wanted, but not what Petrov wanted. And Wilco wanted a bonus out of this as well, cash for the lads, some new kit.
Finding thick jungle in a tight valley, I had the teams spread out a little and rest, four hours sleep for every second man, a stag rotation set up.
I eased back against a log and called David Finch after checking my watch.
‘Ah, Petrov,’ he said, not “Wilco”. ‘How’s it going?’
‘We destroyed two drug labs, and I coordinated with the Americans for them to land and claim credit, and they just stuck a 2,000lb bomb in one drug lab, strafed a long line of trucks full of drugs, so they got their good headline.’
‘Wounded?’
‘Two Russians dead, rest are OK.’
‘So a good result all round. PM is very happy, papers hinting at our men on the ground but no official comment yet, news is full of it, Americans more than just a bit happy. Something of a rebellion going on in Cali city, a bloodletting.’
‘Yes, I can imagine.’
‘So what’s next?’ he asked.
‘We hit a few more drug labs, then we see who comes out to play.’