Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Maybe they are,’ Swifty pointed out.

  I gave that some thought. ‘Rocko, have two men sneak north and have a look, just in case someone is flanking us.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘It’s Slade. The dopey fuckers are all bunching up again, wounded taken away, more arriving.’

  ‘Keep the reports coming.’

  Swifty asked, ‘Hit them again?’

  ‘They’ll know we’re still here.’ I sighed. ‘Can’t play that card twice.’ I took out a tin of meat and opened it, spooning some out as we waited in the heat, most of the lads sat with backs to the sandbags around the mortar pits.

  ‘Moran for Wilco, you hear me.’

  I eased up. ‘Just about.’

  ‘I’m up on the ridge, south, level with the second camp. There’s a large patrol down on the beach trying to flank us, another patrol further back.’

  ‘Bugger,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Set an ambush for the beach patrol, or both patrols. Silencers to be used.’

  ‘Moving now.’

  ‘Slade, how many men down there?’

  ‘Fucking hundreds, more arriving.’

  ‘Should have left, eh,’ Swifty noted.

  I took out my sat phone. ‘We double down.’

  ‘Franks here.’

  ‘Send the rest of the British SAS, quick as you can.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Whole island population is armed, and coming to me.’

  ‘You want extraction?’

  ‘No, I want to kill them all. Send the lads straight away, same LZ, it’s safe for now.’

  ‘OK, your call.’

  ‘Double down?’ Swifty puzzled.

  ‘When gambling, or trading the stock markets, if you have a losing position you split it and double the bet on each part. You can win ... or lose a heck of a lot more.’

  ‘With “D” Squadron here as well we should be able to turn this, especially after dark. And in the daylight we can snipe, and they can’t.’

  ‘Travis for Wilco.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Patrol sneaking along the north shore, maybe twenty men.’

  ‘Rocko, deal with that patrol, then back sharpish, hit them from distance then back to where you were.’

  ‘OK, moving.’

  ‘It’s Nicholson, we’re about to get a close-up visit.’

  ‘Wait the last moment then shoot.’ I turned my head. ‘Rizzo, if you hear any firing, lob three mortars.’ I turned to Swifty. ‘Get ready to snipe at that camp.’

  Swifty moved to a sandbag wall on the west side and got down with Robby’s troop, and got comfy.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s David Finch. I hear there are problems.’

  ‘It was going well, we destroyed two camps, up to two hundred men killed, but now we’re about to be on the receiving end of five hundred men; every fucker on the island has come out to play.’

  ‘The civilian population probably had weapons training, card carrying members of the local communist party – or else. What’ll you do?’

  ‘Too late to leave, so either we win or they do, but it’s less than ideal.’

  ‘And “D” Squadron on the way. Is that ... wise?’

  ‘With that many men here we can push back for fewer casualties – we have the snipers. We’d have sixty men down, more than enough. Without them ... we’d take casualties, yes.’

  ‘And this could have been avoided ... how?’

  ‘Accurate local intel ... of which there was none. Lesson learnt. But ... the powers wanted us to reduce them, and this is the way to do it. We could even say that the teams came in to rescue those here, at least to help cover a withdrawal.’

  ‘Well, a side benefit ... provided there are not too many casualties.’

  ‘I’ll avoid close up fighting, I usually do.’

  ‘OK, keep me informed if anything changes.’

  ‘Right, Boss.’

  Phone away, cracks sounded out. Rizzo’s troop dropped the shells down the tubes, three rounds flying out. I darted across to Swifty and knelt, rifle muzzle resting on the sandbag wall. I found men staring this way, and I fired, aiming at the top of the chest, two men hit before the rest ducked.

  I panned left and could see movement, two men hiding, and I hit both men. ‘Nicholson, you OK?’

  ‘Yeah, we got them.’

  ‘I got the two you missed. Stay put, snipe at anyone you can reach.’

  Swifty fired just before the three mortars popped.

  I halted Rizzo. ‘Slade report.’

  ‘Mortars hit quite a few of them, did some damage, and this second salvo set fire to a jeep. They’re scattering again, but loads about to reach the camp. Those in the camp are firing south, I think Nicholson is sniping at them.’

  ‘Snipe at them as well, save those box-fed.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Rizzo, all round defence, watch the ridges.’

  My phone trilled as I knelt next to Swifty. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Moran. We hit the patrol on the beach from three hundred yards out, most dead, some hiding, and hit the distant patrol at the same time, dead and wounded, and they’ve run off.’

  ‘I need you up on the high ground, watching both directions, two teams.’

  ‘OK, moving now.’

  I said to Swifty as we peered over the sandbag wall, ‘French have got the south side covered, Rocko the north. When “D” Squadron get here they can hold the centre as we go flank the irregulars.’

  ‘Plenty of mortars left in that bunker,’ he noted. ‘Just have to risk fetching them.’

  Five minutes later, the odd distant crack heard, Rocko came on. ‘We hit the patrol coming in, a few ran off, maybe one hiding, most dead.’

  ‘Have two men on the high ground always. French are south, they have that sewn up, north is yours, make use of Slade and Gonzo. Nicholson, you there?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Come to me if it’s clear, no risks.’

  ‘We got most of this lot, rest are hiding. Moving now.’

  Swifty wiped his brow. ‘I’m going to shoot one of those fucking seagulls soon.’

  ‘They want us gone,’ I noted.

  ‘They ain’t the only ones that want us gone.’

  The sound of a plane caused us to look up, a light aircraft coming in.

  ‘Spy plane,’ Swifty quipped. ‘Not quite supersonic.’

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Slade, use the box fed, try and hit that plane, don’t be seen. Rest of you, take pot shots at it, but don’t waste ammo.’

  A crack, and a seagull flopped onto the sand. I faced Swifty. And I waited.

  ‘What?’ he said as he turned away. ‘Fucking thing was distracting me.’

  ‘Good aim,’ I said with a sigh.

  The distant crackle sounded out, the Cessna too low, and it banked hard over the north ridge – as if its pilot was looking for Slade. A puff of smoke, and it dropped like a stone onto its prop and, crumpled, and started smoking.

  ‘Good work, Slade.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Say again?’

  ‘Gonzo is a bit hurt, plane landed on him.’

  Swifty burst out laughing. ‘What were the chances?’

  ‘Gonzo, if you need help, come to me.’

  ‘Got a mild concussion from something breaking off and hitting him,’ Slade reported. ‘Be OK in a bit, but he ain’t happy with me. Anyway, his fault for not ducking.’

  Tomo and Nicholson were laughing as they ran in, faces shiny with sweat. They knelt, puffing out.

  ‘Get around to Rocko,’ I told them, and I pointed out Rocko’s position.

  For ten minutes it was silent, no cracks on the breeze, the Cessna burning, the smoke being blown west, the peace then disturbed by the Seahawks. I stood and walked east to the wall and observed as they came in, all three soon lifting off and heading east. But, as I observed, one banked hard around and landed.

  ‘H
amble for Wilco.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Down the middle of the valley six hundred yards. Walk down to us.’

  ‘Standby.’ The Seahawks circled half a mile out. A minute later came, ‘Wilco, Seahawk has a fault, crew out of it, shutting it down.’

  ‘Will the crew be picked up? Helo is safe where it is, it can be salvaged.’

  ‘They have emergency radios. Wait, Seahawk coming back in.’

  It landed as I observed, but I could not see who got aboard.

  As it left, Hamble came on. ‘Crew have gone, asked us to watch the helo.’

  ‘Leave two men with it, it’s in a safe area.’

  ‘OK, coming to you now.’

  ‘Expensive toy,’ Swifty noted.

  I called Franks. ‘It’s Wilco. One of your Seahawks developed a fault, crew taken off, but it’s down safe, in a safe area, so get some engineers for it.’

  ‘I’ll chat to them now. But you say the crew is away.’

  ‘Yes, picked up. I have two men sat with the helo in case anyone tries to steal the wheels.’

  ‘What’s happening there?’

  ‘They tried to flank us but failed, then sent a Cessna spotter plane over, but it developed a fault and crashed and burned.’

  ‘Developed a fault..?’

  ‘Faulty maintenance, like your helo.’

  ‘Your position is under attack?’

  ‘Not at the moment, they’re regrouping. Wilco out.’

  Hamble led in two troops ten minutes later, and they took in the bodies, and the distant smoke plumes. ‘Been having fun?’ he asked, his men spreading out and adopting the sandbag walls next to Robby.

  ‘Textbook insert,’ I told him, Swifty laughing. I continued, ‘We got shit intel, we landed right on them, and we overlooked the fact that most adult males eighteen to sixty have a gun – and are card carrying members of the local fanatics party. But apart from all that ... text book.’

  ‘So a fuck-up then.’

  ‘Pretty much,’ I told him. ‘Right, this wall is yours, spread out on the left, aim at that distant camp, let no one get close. French are on the far left, my lads on the right, so don’t shoot at the ridges. Let your men know. And ... keep your heads down.’

  ‘You have mortars,’ he noted.

  ‘Yes, a few shells left, more to be had ... over there in that camp, a few bad boys around it.’

  ‘Ah.’ He spread his men out in pairs, right along, many with VEPR, and we were soon covered, Rizzo’s troop grouped around the mortars and sat down.

  ‘Get some food on if you like,’ I told them.

  At 2pm my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Colonel Dean. Can you talk?’

  ‘Yes, sir, go ahead.’

  ‘You’ve called forwards “D” Squadron, so I gather it’s not going well.’

  ‘Yes and no, sir. Helo put us down a stone’s throw from a rebel camp, waking them up; intel was light. We ran off, circled them, wiped them out, then turned around their own mortars and hit a second camp west of the first one, then moved on that camp and wiped them out, some running off.

  ‘That led to a full mobilisation of ... everyone on the island, all carrying a gun, and they came at us, but bunched up nicely so we dropped mortars on them. They tried to flank us, but we set them back, and now ... now they’re considering their options after their spy plane crashed and burnt.’

  ‘Spy plane?’

  ‘Low flying Cessna.’

  ‘Could have been a tourist.’

  ‘Let’s hope not.’

  ‘So you’re in a bind then.’

  ‘Not really, given that part of this mission was to reduce them, and ... we’re doing that in abundance.’

  ‘And the hostages?’

  ‘Given what’s happened here ... will be moved and heavily guarded.’

  ‘So no good newspaper headline.’

  ‘Doubt it, but ... you never know.’

  ‘Casualties?’

  ‘One lad hit by a low flying Cessna, but he’ll be OK.’

  ‘And your plan is?’

  ‘To reduce them as much as possible for the fewest casualties.’

  ‘And the risks?’

  ‘We have almost fifty snipers, open ground, and the irregulars are ... a bit crap.’

  ‘So a bit of a standoff. Can you flank them?’

  ‘No, sir, unless we swim.’

  ‘Could someone else flank them..?’

  ‘The Aussies could land a few miles away. But the Aussies would be out-gunned and isolated. As it stands we could leave by helo, apart from the fact that a Seahawk is sat not far from me getting a tan.’

  ‘It crashed?’

  ‘Minor fault, set down in good order.’

  ‘Americans won’t be happy.’

  ‘Their maintenance, not ours.’

  ‘So not much happening for a while.’

  ‘No, sir, but I’ll let you know if something changes. Wilco out.’

  Swifty cooked, and we sat chatting, still a few seagulls darting in, but now mobbing “D” Squadron.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Franks. We have some very odd signals intel and ... the leadership think you’re Russian gunmen for some reason.’

  ‘That’s because I spoke Russian to them, and said that two Russian men were kidnapped recently and we want them back.’

  He laughed. ‘If this get’s out...’

  ‘Who’d believe Russian gunmen in US Seahawk helos?’

  ‘Maintenance team want to fly in. Is it safe?’

  ‘Very safe, the irregulars have pulled back.’

  ‘OK, they’ll be with you soon. Look after them please.’

  The drone of a helicopter registered fifteen minutes later, and it set down next to its buddy, down for just a minute before it pulled off.

  Hamble came over to me. ‘Our lads down there are reporting four engineers, two pilots, and some heavy kit dumped on the beach, panels opened.’

  I nodded, squinting in the bright sunlight. ‘Expensive item to lose.’

  ‘Quiet enough now,’ he noted, taking in the ridges.

  ‘They may wait till dark.’

  He stepped away, but a gull swooped in, Hamble’s green cap lifted and dropped. ‘What the fuck..?’ He lifted his hat as the lads laughed.

  ‘This is seagull nesting territory, and it’s seagull nesting season,’ I told him. I pointed. ‘That gull there, it pissed off Swifty, so he shot it.’

  Hamble walked back, wary now.

  ‘Moran for Wilco.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Anything happening?’

  ‘They pulled back at bit, so I reckon they’ll come after dark. Before then I might try and flank them, or bore them to death, not sure which yet.’

  ‘It’s Slade. I reckon we can get close enough to use the box-fed, to within three hundred yards.’

  ‘Rocko, make up a four-man team, leave Gonzo out if his head is hurting, sneak up and hit them for sixty seconds then duck away.’

  ‘OK, moving soon.’

  I nudged Swifty. ‘Time for a walk,’ I told him, heading east to the beach and soon retracing our steps from our walk in, but now using the sandy paths – and in less of a panic.

  Swifty began, ‘I was expecting jungle and swamp, like the FOB, but this is all dry as fuck, fine white sand.’

  At the beach, we stopped and admired the brilliant white sand before turning right and along the water’s edge, the clear water shallow and damn inviting; we wanted to go for a swim. At the Seahawk we found two troopers guarding the crew as they worked.

  ‘How’s it looking?’ I shouted up at them.

  ‘Need more time,’ came back, the pilot sticking his head out the cockpit.

  ‘You don’t want to be here after dark, they may sneak up and attack,’ I warned them.

  ‘We can call in a ride,’ they suggested.

  We ambled back along the brilliant w
hite sand, our pristine beach not cluttered with tourists, and headed inland. But as I turned I spotted a boat, and it was getting closer.

  I turned towards the two troopers, waved, and pointed. They could now see it.

  Phone out, I recalled a number.

  ‘Franks.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, we have a suspicious boat closing in, a threat to your helo and its crew.’

  ‘I’ll have a helo dispatched to check it out.’

  Phone away, we waited on the beach, wondering if anyone would try and put ashore, or even to open fire from out at sea.

  Little more than ten minutes later another Seahawk came in and buzzed the boat, the helo banking hard around, letting the boat crew know that they were under threat. And I could see doors open. The boat pulled a 180degree turn and chugged slowly away.

  Heading inland, we kept an eye on the ocean, but the horizon was clear. Reaching the sandbag walls, the Seahawk burst into life, it’s rotors winding up, and after a long six minutes of just burning fuel and disturbing the wildlife it pulled up and away without so much as a goodbye.

  Hamble came over to us. ‘You want any men left down there?’

  ‘Yes, watch for boats landing. Rotate them.’

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Rocko, we’re in position, about two hundred yards above them, and these fuckers are arguing with each other.’

  ‘OK, have at them quick, then back.’

  The crackle of fire reached us a few seconds later, and it lasted under a minute, its cessation followed by isolated cracks.

  ‘Rizzo, one mortar, longer than before.’

  He adjusted a tube, and Smitty dropped a shell.

  ‘Wilco for Moran, where did that land?’

  ‘Hit four jeeps parked up in trees, they’re on fire. Good aim. And that machinegun fire ... lots of bodies down there now.’

  ‘Any movement your side?’

  ‘Long way off, nothing close.’

  We all looked up as a jet screeched over, at about 1500feet off the deck.

  ‘That’s an F14,’ I told everyone. ‘US Navy taking pics. Rizzo, show them your arse.’

  With the lads laughing, Swifty asked, ‘Why they taking pics?’

  ‘Curious I guess, something for the CIA to look at.’

  ‘Be cheaper for us to take pics and hand them over,’ Swifty complained. ‘What’ll the fuel on that thing cost, eh? Fucking knobbers.’