by Geoff Wolak
Tomo wandered over and sat. ‘Me fucking head is throbbing.’
‘Have the medics give you some antibiotics, check for infection.’
Nesbit turned his head. ‘For a minute there I figured you had a hangover.’
‘No such luck around here,’ Tomo retorted.
‘There was some beer on the truck yesterday,’ I idly informed them.
Nesbit asked Tomo, ‘How long you been in?’
‘In what? In Echo? Three years now.’
‘Short timer, eh,’ an Aussie commented down the table.
I turned my head to the man. ‘He has over a hundred confirmed kills, one of my best snipers. If you want some good advice on soldiering, ask him,’ I cheekily told the man, who lost his smile.
The Aussie stared back. ‘A hundred?’ he asked with a sceptical look.
‘My men go on live jobs every month, have done for years, and in places like Sierra Leone they fought every day for weeks, each killing twenty men or more a day. They stop keeping score after a while.’
‘How come you get so many jobs?’ Nesbit asked.
‘After our first few successes, our bosses, and the politicians – British and French, wanted more good newspaper headlines. We kept going, few injuries and deaths, plenty of hostages and good results, and jobs like Angola caught the headlines. So we keep going ... until we fuck it up and get a bad headline.’
‘I read about Angola,’ Nesbit put in. ‘And Somalia. And your unit is separate to the regular SAS?’
‘My unit recruits from all armed forces, and foreign armed services, the best men. We have a Delta Force lieutenant, two French, a Kiwi, even a Russian defector. Two troops, sixteen men plus support staff, but we often bring along regular SAS, like this job. One regular troop here, two on the way.’
Dalton asked, ‘This Delta, he any good?’
‘More kills than you have fingers and toes, many months of action in all terrains. He’s solid, all my men are, and they’ve all completed a few operational HALO drops. Even my youngest lad, Smitty – taken out of military prison, has more confirmed kills than he could remember.’
I pointed at Tomo. ‘My lad here has a fondness for upsetting small boys.’
‘You what?’ Nesbit asked, a glance at Tomo.
‘On his first job, in the deserts, a ten year old kid walked up to him, pulled a pistol and stuck a few rounds in him.’
‘Still got the scars,’ Tomo noted with a grin. ‘Two rounds hit my kit, or I wouldn’t be here.’
‘Hell of a first job,’ Dalton noted. ‘Nearly your last.’
I faced Dalton. ‘One evening, back at base, he drives in with a girl, shags her on the bonnet of his car at the end of the runway, figuring no one about. He didn’t know that we had guests for training, seventeen men hidden at the end of the runway and told to write down what they observe from their hidden OPs.’
The men laughed loudly.
‘Bloody perverts,’ Tomo let out.
Nesbit asked Tomo, ‘Did they give you a good score, marks out of ten? Good shag technique?’
I added, smiling, ‘He shoots well, but has been fined for shooting gunmen in the arse, or in the balls.’
They laughed again.
‘But Nicholson is better, the perfect soldier, a good attitude. He always hits what he’s aiming at, even from 800yards out.’
‘And you always have these AK47?’ Nesbit asked.
‘AKML, 7.62mm Russian standard, 20inch barrel, telescopic or barrel sight. Very reliable, and we take ammo of the dead,’ I told them. ‘I’ve never had a stoppage, not in the jungle or the sand. French Echo have copied us.’
‘They as good as you?’ an Aussie asked.
‘Not quite, and they don’t have as much experience, but they’re solid, good boys, lots of experience of the deserts in West Africa.’
‘And the Deltas you worked with?’ Dalton pressed.
‘Have good men and good skills, not that much action seen over the years. And seeing action makes all the difference, no paper targets.’
The roar grew, a Seahawk coming in.
‘More of your lot?’ I asked Dalton.
‘Not expecting any.’
Seahawk down, two men jumped down, civvy clothes and beige utility waistcoats, bags lugged. They came over, so I stood.
‘You Wilco?’ the first man asked.
‘I am, I’m afraid.’ We shook.
‘Steve Franks. Somewhere we can talk?’
I led them to the brick buildings, enquiring after rooms for them. The Malay major would have his men move out, six extra beds freed up. My new guests dumped bags, then we went for a stroll.
‘We’re CIA, based in Manila, attached to the fleet.’
‘I figured.’
‘We’ll help coordinate things. What’s the set-up?’
‘I have three troops with me, two more on the way, your Seals are here, just eight, now the Australian SAS, two troops. When we got here I sent out patrols, and we’ve been stacking up the bodies, been attacked here twice, men on the wire at night.’
They took in the fence and the road, now worried.
‘And the plan?’
‘Plan is to kill every gunman in a fifty mile radius then think about the hostages, not worry about this base, or people watching our movements.’
‘Seems like a good approach,’ the first man noted. ‘But what about Malay soldiers?’
‘I had them all moved back, I don’t want what we do here ... seen.’
They exchanged looks. ‘Something we don’t know?’
‘Depends on how high up the food chain you are.’
‘Not as high as you, so spill.’
‘Washington would like the bad boys reduced, as an aside to getting the hostages back.’
‘Here?’ they puzzled.
‘No,’ I told them.
‘Ah, the islands. Hell of a task..?’
‘We’ll take it step at a time. So far, the way we’ve pissed them off, they’re all coming here.’
‘We could step-up naval patrols.’
‘Don’t, let them come, we don’t want them arrested.’
‘Timescale?’
‘I have nowhere to be this week,’ I quipped.
‘What do the others know?’
‘Just about the hostages, nothing else, but they know we need to reduce the bad boys first.’ My phone trilled. ‘Excuse me.’ I stepped away. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s your boss.’
I smiled. ‘Right, Boss.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Like the Olympics, men from many nations here. Australians, Americans, French, all sorts.’
‘Any problems?’
‘So far ... we’re knee deep in local gunmen and not even thinking about hostages. Had two attacks here as well.’
‘Attacks? So they know you’re there!’
‘They do, and they want revenge for their sixty or seventy fallen comrades.’
‘Bloody hell. So much for a low profile. What’s the plan?’
‘We’ll patrol out till we stop finding men to shoot, then go see about some hostages.’
‘Got all you need?’
‘More than enough, thanks for asking,’ I flippantly offered. ‘Oh, CIA are here, being helpful.’
‘I’ve spoken to my opposite number, met him a few times before, we’re on the same page, Prime Minister as well.’
‘Then we take it a day at a time.’
I organised some food for our guests, who sat and chatted to the Seals.
‘Who are those guys?’ Nesbit asked me away from the tables.
‘CIA.’
‘I’ve worked with a few, would rather not.’ He held his stare on me.
‘They won’t interact with you here, no making policy, that’s my area. But they know where the hostages are, so we need them. All one big happy family, eh.’
He did not look convinced.
Most of the Echo lads, and the French, were awake and eating at 5pm, an
d the area looked like a barbeque party and not a military base. Whisky had a fire going, pigs having been shot and brought back in, now being roasted.
Sasha and his team got ready, Mally and his team also getting ready, and they were sent off first, east to the beach, one to move north at towards the inlet, one south, back for dawn. I wished them well.
Echo were ready an hour later, three troops formed, three French troops formed, being observed by the Aussies and the Seals, a few 2 Squadron lads enjoying the pork and ham.
I sent Swifty and Robby south again, they knew the area, Rocko northwest, Rizzo north east to the coast and then north. The French would place one troop five hundred yards north, in the trees, two troops to move southwest again, now that they knew the terrain.
We soon had a quieter base, men sat chatting or eating, Moran on patrol with the French again.
Sat with the Aussies an hour later the roof boys opened up, everyone hitting the deck. I rolled over, raising my rifle and diving behind the sandbags, soon aiming at the front gate, a truck stopped, a body on the road. I opened up into the truck, Aussies and Seals joining in, anyone in the truck shredded.
‘Ceasefire!’ I shouted, then transmitted it over the radio to 2 Squadron.
The soldiers at the main gate had dived down, and now got up and moved cautiously forwards, examining the truck, bodies dragged down.
I clambered up to the roof position. ‘Who fired first?’
‘I did, sir, saw a man with a rifle, trying to cock it.’
‘Good work, but be careful, could have been local police or Army.’
‘Not in a shitty truck like that, sir, hopefully - and it drove past three times.’
‘Good work, stay sharp, night ain’t over yet.’
I walked out to the truck and had a look, eight dead gunmen, rifles recovered.
Back at the barbeque, Nesbit said, ‘How the fuck we supposed to get any sleep? And in tents?’
‘You got the sandbags, so it’s either the tents, or a hide in the jungle.’
‘We could put our camp beds in that hangar.’
‘Fine, help yourself.’
Another Aussie said, ‘How about we move the bloody tent, between those brick buildings, sandbags an all.’
Nesbit gave that some thought. ‘OK, all of you, grab that bloody tent and lift it.’
As I sat there with the Seals we had the amusing scene of a large tent in motion. ‘Left a bit, your left, steady...’ Plonked down, a tight fit, entrance flaps facing this way, they moved the sandbags and built a wall, camp beds moved, kit lugged.
Whisky brought me the last of the ham as our JIC man appeared, clothes on this time.
‘You OK, sir?’ I asked as he sat. I handed him water.
‘Slept heavy, jetlagged. Did I miss anything?’
Dalton caught my eye, and hid his grin.
‘Three days of running battles. You slept through that?’ I asked.
‘Three days? My god. I thought we got here yesterday.’
Dalton turned his head. ‘Yesterday was your naked sleep-walking adventure, Buddy.’
Our JIC man looked horrified. ‘I didn’t, did I?’
‘You did,’ I confirmed. ‘But not to worry, you weren’t sleep walking during an attack.’
Dalton tapped the man’s arm, and thumbed at the road.
Our JIC man took in the bodies as they were being moved. ‘Crikey.’ He faced me. ‘Sorry. You ... won’t be mentioning that to London?’
‘No, sir, relax. Drink plenty of water, it helps. Oh, they want you back tomorrow, to fly out. Apparently they tried calling you, and when I explained that you were unwell ... they decided to replace you.’
‘Bugger. Still, shit hole of a place, this.’
‘I think it’s comfy,’ I told him.
Dalton said, ‘I’m gunna rotate some men on guard, help out. This is a lively spot, comfy or not.’
‘It all helps. Thanks.’ I wandered over to the Aussie tent later, Nesbit coming out. ‘Can you start a stag rotation, could be a long night.’
He nodded. ‘For some here, that’s their first shot in anger.’
‘Wait an hour, might be their second shot,’ I quipped.
In the hut, it was just me, Tomo, Nicholson and Slider for now.
‘Drama over?’ Slider asked.
‘Drive-by shooting that never was. Walls in here are OK.’
‘What the parachute instructors doing?’ Slider asked.
‘Probably under their beds,’ I told him. ‘They had some training today, a patrol, no shots fired.’ I eased up. ‘I’d best reassure them.’
In their hut, shared with the 2 Squadron lads, I gathered them. ‘Set a stag, two men on, two off, rifles handy, but be damn careful who you shoot at. These walls are OK.’
‘What was that truck?’ one asked
‘They were just about to open up on us, men on the roof spotted them first.’
‘This is not quite what we signed on for, sir,’ one mentioned.
I cradled my rifle. ‘Well, here’s the thing. The SAS don’t want to use you for HALO training because you’ve never fired a shot in anger, nor HALO dropped for real. So, now is your chance to earn some respect. Whether you do or not ... is up to you. Simple. And I write a report at the end, for the Air Commodore.’
They exchanged worried looks as I left.
I checked with the gate guards, the Malay and some 2 Squadron lads, had a look from up on the ATC roof and put Nicholson and Tomo on standby with Slider, in case there was trouble. Even Whisky was told to be ready.
Sat on the benches at 10pm, thinking that it was my task to try and reassure everyone and keep spirits up, I heard the slight whistling sound and dived down whilst shouting, ‘Incoming!’
The mortar hit the outer fence, too far away to hurt anyone, the Aussies piling out the tent and getting behind their sandbag position.
‘Stay down!’ I shouted. Phone out, I called Moran. ‘Where are you?’
‘A few miles southwest.’
‘Come back in, we’re getting mortars, coming from the south I think, so double time and find that mortar, say a thousand yards south, maybe more. Get both your patrols back in.’
‘OK, moving now.’
My phone trilled as I lay there on the damp dirt. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Mally, we heard a blast.’
‘Mortar came in. Where are you?’
‘Mile southeast, near the beach.’
‘Move inland, assume the mortar is 1,500yards south of us, French are moving up from the south, so check your fire.’
‘Moving now.’
Liban had gone out with the static position north, and now called me. ‘You are OK?’
‘Yes, mortar came in.’
‘You want us back?’
‘No, stay there, protect the north, your patrols south are coming back in.’
‘OK, we stay here.’
Phone away, the whistling came again.
‘Incoming!’ many men shouted.
The mortar somehow went right through the hangar roof and hit the Nomad, a huge burst of yellow flame lighting up the area.
‘Mister Haines, get the men down off the roof!’ I shouted as I eased up.
Slider, Tomo and Nicholson appeared at my side. ‘We upset someone?’ Slider calmly asked.
I faced them. ‘You well enough to go out?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’
‘Go south, end of the strip, and on five hundred yards, look for that mortar crew. But Mally is coming in from the east, Moran and the French coming up from the south, so be very careful who you shoot at. Go.’
They ran off at the sprint.
‘Medics, grab some sandbags, small wall in front of your door, and the back door.’ They ran to the sandbags, the girls pitching in as well. ‘Seals, grab some sandbags, create two long lines, two bags high, so people can dive into it. Like you people. Go!’
The medics stacked up six sandbags, supports made as Nesbit ran over.
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‘If a mortar hits that bloody tent..!’
‘Risk of the job, Captain. And if it’s too much of a risk, go hide in the jungle till dawn, then we send you home.’ I turned away.
‘Cheeky bastard!’ he growled, and I turned back. ‘I wasn’t saying we’re afraid, I have to think about my men!’
‘Then make a risk assessment,’ I told him. ‘Stay or go, sandbag or not. But inside of ten minutes we’ll have killed the mortar crew. OK?’
He looked past me. ‘If I lost ten men to a mortar...’
I sighed. ‘I know, and you’re still hurting, and this is not your fight, but you don’t hold back on this job because the last job lost men. When you go back you may not fire another shot in anger for a year or more. Think about that.’
He blew out. ‘I’m responsible for the lads,’ he said, calmer now. ‘Maybe over protective.’
I took a moment. ‘Back at base I met the kids of my man Robby, then had him find somewhere else to live. Seeing his kids ... I didn’t want to bring him along on this job.’
He nodded. ‘I know that feeling. When’s daddy coming home?’
‘I won’t associate with the families of my men, and I’m yet to write to someone’s parents. Others do that for me.’
‘Does London think you’re a risk taker?’
‘No, but everyone wants fewer casualties. They’ve seen me warn of dangers, and in the field I don’t send my men forwards to check bodies. I try and keep the risks down.’
The whistling has us down, shouts echoing, the mortar damaging a hut, the one closest to the hangar.
‘Their aim is good,’ I noted.
Distant cracks sounded out. I adjusted my ear piece as I stood. ‘It’s Wilco, report on the shots fired.’
‘It’s Slider, we hit them from four hundred yards out, three down.’
‘Don’t approach, but cover the mortar.’
‘It’s Mally, we were just about to open up, we’re fifty yards away east.’
‘Double tap, wait for Captain Moran.’
I glanced around at people on the floor. ‘OK everyone, mortar crew are dead, business as usual.’
The Seals got out of the sandbag shell scrape.
‘Any wounded?’ Morten asked me.
‘Not reported,’ I told him.