by Geoff Wolak
‘It’s Nicholson, good aim, but go longer each salvo.’
I lifted my rifle, a wide stance to steady myself, and could see the camp now that the truck was ablaze. And there were up to a hundred men in view, a worry.
I jumped down. ‘Mortar teams, rapid fire! We got company.’
The machineguns opened up, red tracer arcing over slightly and slamming into the distant camp as the next three mortars popped out.
Back with my team, Moran said, ‘The idiots down there will be confused – they think it’s their men firing at them.’
‘There’s no fire coming this way,’ Mahoney noted, a lilt in his voice. ‘They think it’s a mistake.’
Swifty’s dark outline put in, ‘Be pissed at us soon enough. How many men down there?’
‘Hundred plus,’ I told them. ‘And that was just those I could see.’
‘It’s Nicholson, can we open on the second camp?’
‘Yes, but get solid cover first.’
‘It’s Tomo, I got the man in charge I reckon.’
‘Tomo, was that before you asked for permission to open up?’ I teased.
‘No, I just got him, second ago like.’
My team laughed as we stood in the dark, the next three mortars popping out, three machineguns hammering out rounds, and they sounded like GPMGs.
My sat phone trilled.
‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Franks, can you talk?’
‘Yes, go head.’
‘What can I hear? Are you in a firefight?’
‘Yes, we just hit a camp. We landed right in front of it but moved off before they got their pyjamas off and boots on, otherwise it could have been nasty. Now we’re assaulting the second camp, neither of which are on the damn map!’
‘Well, I got more bad news. Radio traffic if going crazy the past ten minutes, calls to the other islands as well.’
‘I can imagine yes, our entry was noticed. I’ll update you in an hour. Wilco out.’
‘What was that?’ Swifty asked through the dark.
‘Radio traffic is going crazy around here, maybe a call for reinforcements from the other islands.’
‘So much for a quiet insert to get hostages,’ Mahoney noted. ‘We landed on their front lawn.’
‘Nicholson for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘They’re running around fighting fires and doing first aid, they’re not noticing us shooting at them, we got like twenty each so far.’
‘Keep at it. Where are the mortars landing?’
‘Half way up.’
‘Where are the huts and brick buildings.’
‘Left side mostly.’
‘Rocko, aim right slightly, leave the buildings, might be hostages.’
Rizzo wandered over. ‘No ammo left for the GPMGs.’
‘Go north along that ridge, till you’re above that camp, get solid positions and fire down.’
He shouted for his team and led them off at the double.
‘Robby, where are you?’ I called through the dark.
‘Here.’
‘Your men, this sandbag wall, aiming west.’
‘That’s where we are.’
‘Well bloody hell, you’re all mind readers now, doing it before I even ask.’
‘We’re top boys,’ someone told me, unseen men laughing.
‘Wilco,’ came Rocko’s voice. ‘Another ten mortars, then that’s it.’
‘OK. Let me know when you’re out.’
‘Why, can’t you officer types count? Can’t miss the noise,’ Rocko grumbled, the lads laughing.
The next three mortars popped out as I led my team to the huts, torches used to search them, mostly just beds and cooking areas found within. A door kicked in, and we found three RPG tubes with about twenty rockets.
‘Take them,’ I said.
Outside the hut, we walked towards the next camp through thick long grass, dragging Robby’s troop along with us, skirting around small bushes, a stream crossed.
‘Rizzo, Nicholson, we’re coming down the middle, check your fire. And we have RPG.’
Five minutes later, as we stopped and knelt - a few rounds still cracking out, came, ‘Wilco, it’s Rocko, out of mortars. I counted them carefully...’
‘Go down the left side, cheeky fuck, and join Nicholson.’
‘OK. Moving.’
Off the radio I said, ‘Mahoney, that truck, or you’re pants.’
He stepped left, knelt, loaded by himself in the dark, took aim and fired, hitting the truck’s windows, the cab blown apart, a two hundred yard shot.
‘Beginners luck,’ Robby told him.
‘Swifty,’ I called. ‘That jeep.’
‘No way,’ Mahoney teased as Moran loaded by himself.
Swifty aimed carefully and fired, but was low, a bounce and he hit the jeep’s grill, the engine exploding into flames.
‘Hey, lucky shot,’ Mahoney complained.
‘I meant to do that,’ Swifty insisted, Moran laughing.
‘Captain Moran, sandbag position.’
Moran aimed, adjusted himself, and fired, his shot high, and he hit something behind the sandbags, a blast too big to be from the RPG.
‘What did you hit?’ I wondered out loud.
Flames shot high into the black night, the area suddenly well illuminated.
‘I was aiming for that,’ Moran insisted, Robby’s team chuckling.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Use the light to double tap and hit stragglers. All out effort.’ The men with me opened up at anything they could see.
Mahoney loaded and fired, a distant truck hit, several vehicles now alight, Swifty blasting out a rocket at brick building, a shower of sparks thrown high.
I saw a man get up and run, hit him and spun him, someone else double-tapping the body. Moran hit a wooden hut, blowing a hole in it, Swifty again hitting a brick building. If there were hostages then they could have gotten themselves out by now I figured.
With all the RPG gone, the camp was ablaze.
‘Rocko, go left around to the far end and stop, look for stragglers. Rizzo, go right. Don’t get too close.’
I led my team forwards, and to a sandbag wall. Stood there, we double-tapped a dozen bodies, soon aiming at the bodies further out as trucks, jeeps and buildings burnt.
‘It’s Rizzo, men running off down the road.’
‘Aim at them, but don’t follow.’
Looking up, I realised that it was starting to get light. Moving left around the camp, I led my team cautiously inside, the smell of smoke choking us, and we peeked into several huts and brick buildings, no hostages seen, two men found hiding and killed without a second thought.
Towards the rear of the camp I found a teenage lad in combats, but held off firing. He had an arm wound, I noticed, as I knelt in front of him. I took my facemask off. ‘You speak English?’
‘Some,’ he got out.
‘You talk, we help, or you shark food. Understand?’
He nodded, clearly terrified.
‘Hostages, from England, Australia?’
‘Jolo.’
I took out a map and showed him, and he pointed out a spot, a description given. I bound his arm and dragged him to his feet. ‘Walk.’ I pointed him southeast, to avoid Rocko’s troop. ‘To the beach, then home. Go quick.’
He ran off into the thick bushes and out of sight.
‘It’s Rocko, we got a few stragglers, can’t see anyone now.’
‘Nicholson, Tomo, slow walk west half a mile, report what you see. Rest of you, back into the camp, destroy everything.’
‘Moving,’ came Nicholson’s voice.
As the grey dawn light illuminated the camp we wandered around, noses into sheds or buildings, RPGs found, ammo found, food and water, all sorts. Rizzo pinched away many cans of Fanta. Rocko found a bunker full of mortars and some box-fed Russian machineguns. He also found two sat phones on bodies.
As I was holding them one rang.
�
�Da!’ I answered.
A long sentence came in an odd tongue.
‘Pa Ruski?’
After a few seconds, another man came on. ‘Ruski?’
‘Da.’
In Russian, he asked, ‘Who are you?’
‘We are Russian mercenaries, we killed all your people here. Maybe you want to negotiate.’
‘Negotiate? Negotiate what?’
‘You took two men hostage, Russian men, from near Kota Kinabalu. My boss wants them back.’
‘We have no Russian men!’
‘My boss says you do, so we kill you all.’ In English I added, in slow and carefully pronounced words, ‘Have - a – nice - day.’ Phone off, I tucked it away.
‘What was that?’ Moran asked.
‘I tried to convince whoever it was at the end of that phone that we’re Russian mercenaries looking for Russian hostages.’
Mahoney smiled. ‘That’ll confuse them.’
My own sat phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s your boss,’ came David Finch. ‘You wanted me to call you.’
‘To call me like yesterday.’
‘I was on a plane. Was it urgent? The JIC chap filled me in on everything.’
‘No, not urgent, just a chat about the Malay colonel clipping our wings.’
‘You’ve inserted to an island I hear.’
‘Well, here’s the thing,’ I said, Swifty smiling widely. I kicked sand with my boots. ‘We landed by American helo right next to a camp, and that camp was six hundred yards from another camp, the remnants of which are still burning, two hundred bodies on the floor.’
‘Jesus. So much for a stealthy recon.’
‘The camps ... were not on the Intel map, Boss.’
‘Could have been hairy then. Anyone hurt?’
‘Not yet, but the day ain’t over, day is just starting. Looks like it may be fine as well.’
‘What’ll you do?’
‘Clear this island then have a think. I got some human intel on where the hostages are.’
‘I don’t want to know how you got that information. Keep me posted.’
Phone away, I took in the smouldering vehicles as the lads wandered around. ‘Swifty, see if you can rig those mortars to blow.’
He headed off to the bunker.
Slade and Gonzo now had box-fed Russian machineguns plus spare ammo, rifles slung, and walked up to me. ‘Might come in handy, Boss.’
I nodded. ‘Hang onto them for now.’
My earpiece buzzed. ‘Wilco, it’s Rizzo, one jeep still working. We keep it?’
‘It’s a very small island,’ I told them. ‘Unless you’re really tired.’
‘Be faster for casevac,’ he complained.
‘Sure, keep it. OK, every second man, to the east sandbag wall, brew on, share it.’
Half an hour later, the sun out fully now, I stood with my team, brews in hand, chatting away, pesky seagulls darting about overhead. The trucks and buildings were still smoking, a acrid smell of burnt rubber everywhere, and the place was littered with bodies.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Swifty asked.
‘Catch our breath, move west. Can’t be too many men left here.’
‘Nicholson for Wilco,’ came a poor signal.
I stood on top of the sandbag wall. ‘Go ahead, poor signal.’
‘Company coming, some in civvy clothes but armed, long line of vehicles.’
‘Pull back on the double. Everyone ready to move back to the first camp.’ I turned my head to Swifty as the lads got ready. ‘You rigged those mortars?’
‘Just need a fire, and there’s petrol and diesel.’
‘Skip that. Rizzo, get that jeep, and you see that trailer, hitch it. Rest of you, load the mortars up. Move it!’ Seeing Slade and Gonzo I stopped them. ‘You two, up on the ridge, two hundred yards up, and don’t be seen moving there. Go!’
They ran off.
Rizzo brought the jeep around, the rusted old trailer soon hitched, boxes of mortars carried between two men, the boxes damned heavy. I ran to the road and stared west, not seeing anything, and I had a clear view out 800yards, green grass and bushes, stunted trees, all seemingly growing out of a white sandy base.
With the trailer full of mortars I had Rizzo’s team get in and drive off, back to the mortar tubes, the rest of us running down the middle of the valley across the long grass.
Seeing a low but steep ridge with short thick trees I had Rocko’s troop diverted to it, to get in and behind the trees. I led my team on, as fast as we could negotiate through the scrub, and reaching the first camp I halted and looked back, Nicholson and Tomo seen on the south ridge and coming in, Robby’s troop adopting the same sandbag wall as before and aiming west.
‘Nicholson, stay there, ready to snipe. Get up the ridge,’ I puffed out.
‘Moving position,’ came from Nicholson.
‘It’s Slade, we can see them, but they’ve halted. They’re out and walking, half professional.’
‘How many?’
‘Fucking hundreds of them, more further back.’
I exchanged a look with Moran. ‘We get the choppers in for us, or we get extra men in?’
‘Extra men,’ Moran said after a glance at Mahoney. ‘These boys are crap.’
Swifty nodded.
I nodded back at Swifty and took out my sat phone, wiping my brow with a sleeve, facemasks now off for most lads.
‘Captain Harris here.’
‘It’s Wilco, send the French to us as fast as possible, same landing spot exactly, then “D” Squadron, Aussies on standby.’
‘OK, I’ll sort that now.’
‘Be quick! Wilco out.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Rocko, you in place?’
‘Yeah, good spot, solid fire positions.’
Turning, I could see the mortars being made ready, fuses put in – but very delicately, shells lined up, the lads working up a sweat. When they were ready, they faced me. And waited.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Slade, report.’
‘They’re grouping, spreading out in teams, not moving forwards yet.’
‘Distance from us to them.’
‘Hang on.’ After a minute came. ‘I’d say 1400yards, Gonzo says a bit further.’
‘Got that.’
I turned to Rizzo, who made adjustments.
‘Fire three for effect,’ I told Rizzo. The shells were placed and dropped, men ducking away, the mortars popping out.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Slade, report the spread.’
We heard distant blasts rumble towards us.
‘It’s Slade, good aim, got to be thirty men killed or wounded. Rest are scattering.’
I pointed at Rizzo, three additional shells dropped.
‘It’s Slade, got a few jeeps that time.’
‘What they doing?’ I asked as Moran squinted west in the bright sunlight.
‘Moving to the sides and back, one or two small patrols running forwards.’
I turned to Rizzo. ‘Left and right, and longer.’
Adjustments made in a hurry, three shells were eased in and dropped.
‘It’s Slade, more men hit. This lot don’t seem that bright.’
I gave Rizzo a flat palm, and told the men to rest. They keenly swigged water.
My sat phone trilled as I kicked up white powdery sand. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Franks, helos inbound to us to fetch the French. Same LZ, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any hostiles near the LZ?’
‘No, they’re all beyond 1500yards west at the moment. I’ll update you if that changes, but we’re holding them off.’
‘Where are your men?’
‘All about six hundred yards west of the beach.’
‘OK, I’ll get you an ETA soon.’
Phone away, I shouted, ‘Some of you get ammo off the dead, stack it up on the sandbag wall.’
‘If we’re here tonight this place will be ripe,’ Mahoney pointed out,
and I took in the dozens of bodies.
‘Slade for Wilco: first patrol at the camp.’
‘Leave them, report the movement, hide.’
I grabbed three spare magazines and tucked them away, Swifty copying as the day grew hot, those damn seagulls still swooping low.
‘What’s up with the birds?’ Swifty asked.
Mahoney suggested, ‘This is probably their nesting ground. Poor fuckers probably flew half-way round the world, and here we are – disturbing their nests.’
‘Since we flew half-way round the world as well,’ Swifty began. ‘Sod ‘em.’
‘Is this half-way?’ Moran idly asked.
‘No, long way off,’ I told him.
‘It’s Nicholson, got some cheeky chappies sneaking along.’
‘Let them get close first,’ I transmitted. ‘How many?’
‘One patrol almost to the end of the camp, two or three behind them.’
When my phone trilled, five minutes later, it was Franks. ‘ETA is ten minutes or so. Any change to the LZ?’
‘No, quiet enough. I’ll have someone stood there.’
Off the phone, I turned to Moran. ‘You and LT, to the LZ, meet the French, but take them left and beyond the ridge, right down, ready to flank the irregulars.’
‘LT to the LZ? Moran repeated with a curled lip and a smile. ‘Starting to sound like a Yank.’
‘Hey,’ Mahoney protested as they walked off.
Sat straddling a sandbag wall, I peered through my sights, now seeing movement. And they were within 600yards. I eased lower. ‘Get down!’
Men knelt where they were and got ready, soon the resonating throb of helos on the breeze. I looked east and finally saw them stalk in low and touch down, but could see little more. They pulled away inside a minute - the drone increasing for a brief moment, and they flew off east.
‘It’s Moran, all down, moving south.’
‘Roger that.’
‘It’s Rocko. I think the dopey fuckers down there think we left on those choppers – they walking around like we’ve gone.’
‘Good. Everyone stay low, we’ll hit them when they’re bunched up.’
‘If ... they bunch up,’ Swifty countered with off the radio. ‘Maybe they’re cautious now.’
‘If they were cautious ... they’d be hidden in the trees and flanking us.’