by Geoff Wolak
Hamble approached. ‘I have a camera. OK to take snaps?’
‘Sure, just ... not the faces obviously.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Moran, Rocko, see any movement in that second camp?’
‘This is Moran, no movement, but a few faces poking over the sandbags at the far end.’
‘Rocko?’
‘Can’t see anyone inside it.’
I turned. And I stared at Rizzo as he stood next to a mortar. ‘Rizzo, put that mortar tube in the trailer, mount up your lads, and drive to that bunker, set-up the tubes there.’
They got started on the heavy mortar tube. I turned back west. ‘Rocko, move some men down a bit, cover that bunker with the mortars.’
‘OK.’
‘It’s Slade, we’re right above it.’
‘Stay there then, lads coming up.’
Mounted up, Rizzo drove the jeeps down the sandy track, and I just about had a view of its roof.
Two minutes late Rizzo came on with, ‘Wilco, what we aiming at.’
‘West, thousand yards. Captain Moran, call it out.’
A pop, and we waited, a blast echoing down the valley.
‘This is Moran. Good aim, but go left and right and longer.’
‘Rizzo, after each shell ... adjust the settings a bit. Rapid fire.’
‘OK, firing.’
A pop registered with us every three or four seconds, the blasts echoing, the weekend warriors getting a pounding.
Ten minutes later, and after a great many mortars had been fired, Rizzo came on with, ‘No more mortars.’
‘Come back. Captain Moran, how’s it look?’
‘Like Flanders during the First World War. Got to be a hundred plus dead down there, jeeps hit and on fire, right old mess.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘Withdrawing for the most part.’
‘OK, French, Rocko, Robby, get ready to move.’
Robby’s troop formed up in front of me as Rizzo drove in, Henri and Jacque hanging onto the sides of the jeep. I waved them over.
‘Rizzo, take Robby’s troop and go join Rocko.’ They moved off up the ridge. I transmitted, ‘OK, listen up. Rizzo and Robby are moving up to Rocko. When they get there, go over the ridge and west till you’re close to the burning jeeps, snipe at them from distance, then keep moving west, see what you can see.
‘Captain Moran, same deal with the French, down the south side, try and stay opposite our lads. I’m not sending anyone down the middle, could be wounded men lying hidden. Move out when ready.’
Off the radio I said, ‘Captain Hamble, four man team please.’
He assembled four men, and they ambled over in particular no hurry.
‘Right, around here may be some wounded men, or men just hiding. So, you four go hunting. Behind us, the ridges, in front of us. Be careful. If you see a body that looks a bit ... not dead enough, shoot.’ I thumbed towards the beach. ‘Off you go.’
They ambled off towards the nearest thick bushes, soon peering in, rifles held ready.
Captain Hamble swigged his water. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Wear them down ... whilst not getting flanked. Boat could land on the beach, or nearby. After dark we’ll move west. Make sure your lads get some rest and food before sundown.’
Half an hour later, a poncho rigged up for shelter, Swifty was cooking again when my phone trilled. I was sat with my back against the sandbags, my legs covered in powdery white sand.
‘Wilco.’
‘Colonel Mathews, Pentagon.’
‘You involved with this show, sir?’
‘I’m involved with most covert action.’
‘None of your men here, sir, save one Delta on loan. Seals are back at the FOB getting a tan.’
‘Did you wish to involve them?’
‘Not unless there are American hostages, no.’
‘So how is it there?’
‘Be smelling ripe by tomorrow, a few dead bodies around.’
‘We had photographs scanned and sent to us, we could see them from the air. How many casualties on their side?’
‘Somewhere over three hundred.’
‘And your casualties?’
‘None so far, sir.’
‘Good going then.’
‘Not really, these local boys are a bit crap. They were lined up on parade when we hit them.’
‘So how come the Philippine Government fared so badly?’
‘There’s a big difference between fighting an insurgency and fighting a war. Here, I’m fighting a war, not manning a roadblock or walking through a town. The authorities need to police the area, not fight like an army. They suffered mines, roadside bombs, sniping.’
‘Yes, good point. So what comes next?’
‘My lads are moving west as we speak, stragglers dealt with, and we’ll all move west after dark, looking for hostages.’
‘You think there are any?’
‘No, but we need to be seen to be looking.’
‘I understand. And when you reach the other end?’
‘We’ll leave, and think about the hostages. I know where they are, got some local intel.’
‘We think we know as well, and we’re interested in a big show for the press.’
‘We would need to convince the irregulars that we were still here, sir, on this island. I can leave some men behind for that.’
‘And this odd story about Russian gunmen?’
‘I got a sat phone off a dead commander, and when it rang I told whoever was down the phone that we were Russian gunmen after Russian hostages ... just to confuse them.’
‘That it did.’
‘Will you have any high altitude photos of Jolo, sir?’
‘Already being sorted, be waiting for you on the mainland. Goodbye for now, and ... good luck.’
Phone down, Swifty turned to me. ‘Who the fuck we working for these days?’
I swiped away a fly. ‘London always sucks-up to Washington, so what difference does it make; we mallet the bad guys and rescue hostages. And London sanctioned the contact from the Pentagon. The Pentagon has stretched that permission, but still – hearts in the right place I think.’
‘Not sure I trust them,’ he grumbled.
‘If they help me bury a few idiots, I’m happy enough.’ I pointed at the nearest body. ‘That guy is part of a communist Islamic separatist group -’
‘How can they be Islamic and communist?’ Swifty asked with a curled lip. ‘Fucking communism is non-religious.’
‘Same way as Egypt and Syria were in the sixties. Islamic dictators, yet supposedly socialist.’
‘Supposedly, yeah.’
‘Fact is, this lot don’t have a clue what they are or what they’re fighting for. They don’t align themselves with anyone, they preach communism and yet practice Islam, they run girls into Malaysia and do drugs – against Islam, and shoot anyone that disagrees with that. So fuck ‘em all. World is better off without them.’
‘You weren’t always like that,’ he noted.
‘I think I was, deep down, I think everyone is: good versus evil, day job as a postman ... or kill people. Killing those INLA men was the right thing to do, and not just for the UK security services. And if I disagreed with any of this I wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t risk your life and the lads for something that was just politics.’
I pointed towards the “D” Squadron lads. ‘I’m better than that lot ... because I know what I’m fighting for and believe in it. They just like this soldiering lark, the training, and being with good mates.’ My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Moran. We hit the weekend warriors, few left moving around, big old pile of bodies. Moving west.’
‘Go a mile at most and stop, we’ll join you after dark, but I’m in two minds about leaving the beach unguarded.’
‘They could land more men.’
‘They’re probably doing that right now, at the main harbour, easy enough.’
‘How
far is that?’
‘Twelve miles from me, ten from you.’
‘Could have a look by dawn.’
‘I’ll catch up to you later, call me if anything interesting happens.’
As the sun edged towards the horizon I had “D” Squadron form up, the men on the beach called in. I stood and stared towards the beach.
‘Still unsure?’ Swifty asked.
‘Within an hour we’ll be a long way off, so it don’t matter. They can’t flank us if we’re not here.’
As the sun set I led “D” Squadron off south – no one left on the beach, and to join forces with the French, the smaller force out of the two. We kicked up sand as we trekked up a gently sloping ridge, and we paused to take in the view as we moved across the top, the beaches below viewed, nothing seen to worry about.
I kept to the ridge, a nice cool breeze blowing, a picture postcard perfect sunset, a fantastic ocean view. If it was not for the fighting then this place would have offered some five star resorts to western tourists.
As we lost the light my line of men plodded on along sandy tracks, a look down into the second camp, no one seen moving around, and ten minutes later we could see the devastation brought about by our mortars, wrecked jeeps everywhere, bodies everywhere, and we started to lose the light as we moved southwest and around the bodies.
I slowed up, eyes everywhere, and stopped a few times to check dark corners, and half an hour of slow slog brought us to a small forest of short trees, easy enough to negotiate them. My radio crackled, but it was distorted.
The coastline jutted out south, lights seen in distant houses and hamlets, a few cars seen driving around. Beyond the mini-forest I found what seemed to be a ploughed field, but edged around it just in case, and we passed a derelict brick house, no one around after a quick peek inside.
Moving on, the radio crackled again, but now I could hear Moran and Rocko chatting. I kept going till the speech was clear.
‘Wilco for Moran, we’re coming in east of you, flash your torch.’
I could see the flashes up ahead and adjusted my course, soon hearing French voices from small bushes. The torch flash led me to Moran and Liban.
‘Anything interesting?’ I asked.
‘Not so far,’ Moran’s dark outline replied.
‘Many dead, no,’ Liban said.
‘Yes, many dead,’ I agreed. ‘A step forwards for freedom and democracy over Islamic communist.’
‘Islamic and communist?’ Liban queried. ‘How so?’
‘You ask them that,’ I told him. ‘Follow us. Moran, Mahoney, with me.’
We formed up, a headcount sounded out in the dark, the French to follow “D” Squadron all as one group and, seeing lights in the distance – the centre of the island, I led the teams that way at a slow pace.
‘Rocko, you hear me?’
‘Yeah, clear enough.’
‘I’m heading for those lights.’
‘Yeah, us too.’
‘Make sure you end up north of them, we’ll stay south.’
‘No one left behind?’ Rizzo asked over the radio.
‘No, all together here. If they want to put their towels on the beach before anyone else they can.’
Thirty minutes at steady pace brought us to a high point, but it was not that high, just that most of the island was flat. Peering through my sights, I figured the lights to be the original camp seen on the map.
Pressing on, the breeze cooling us, we found the going tough, long grass and small bushes to trip both the unwary traveller and special forces operator alike, and I used up a steady hour to get close to the camp, but also to get above it.
Halting, I peered down a gentle slope, and only now could make out the runway. On my side, the south side, sat a dozen huts, some brick buildings, what looked like fuel trucks, military style trucks and jeeps, a few sandbag positions.
‘It’s Rocko, you hear me?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘We’re in trees on a ridge, and there’s a column of men below, moving out from the camp and heading back towards the beach, fucking hundreds of them.’
‘Let them go, get back and stay quiet, move west till you’re above the middle of the camp.’
Off the radio, I said, ‘On me,’ and led my group along the ridge wherever we could find some cover, halting above the end of the huts, the men spread along behind the me the length of the camp.
‘Moran, tell the French to get down, get solid fire positions. Rest of you, get down.’ I got behind a sand dune and took out my sat phone.
‘Captain Harris here.’
‘It’s Wilco. We moved from the east end of the island, now a few miles inland, close to the centre of the island. Large group of reinforcements are moving quietly towards the beach, and we’re letting them go. We’re above a camp with an airstrip, so could get a Hercules in here. Go ask the Malaysians if that would be possible, let Franks know where we are for helo casevac.’
‘OK, I’ll do that now. What’s your plan?’
‘Attack the camp, then set an ambush for the irregulars. Wilco out.’
Ten minutes later, Rocko came on with, ‘Wilco, the tail end of the column has gone, but we reckon on two hundred plus, soldiers not farmers, good kit, neat teams.’
‘We’ll worry about them after we hit the camp. In fact, Rizzo, give Nicholson your sat phone, I want Nicholson and Tomo to follow that column from above, no risks, report their position.’
Five minutes later came, ‘Wilco, it’s Nicholson, I got the phone and know what to do, heading off now.’
‘Test that phone.’
‘OK.’
A full two minutes later my phone trilled as I peered down at the camp, a cooling breeze blowing, all around me blackness. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Nicholson. I got Captain Harris first, had a chat.’
‘Don’t waste the battery, and don’t be seen.’
‘We’ll be careful. Nicholson out.’
Off the radio, I said, ‘Swifty, Mahoney, down to the camp dead slow, see what you can see.’
I heard them move off, whispers exchanged.
Major Liban came and joined me a minute later, lying prone next to Moran. ‘This camp, it is like a training exercise – how we get in. I say ... we set fire to the fuel truck or something, make it look like an accident, no, and after we see how many men.’
‘Major, you have indeed been trained well,’ I told him, Moran laughing. ‘You want the honour of the infiltration team?’
‘Oui. We show you how it is done.’
‘I’ll stay here and get some sleep then, shall I?’ I teased.
‘You have wine?’ Liban asked.
‘No.’
‘Pah. You are no fun, Captain.’
‘Maybe some wine down there, but since they’re Muslim ... probably not.’
Around twenty minutes later Swifty was on. ‘Wilco, we can see most of the camp, soldiers moving around, sandbag positions, machineguns facing outwards. Looks like a minefield on the east perimeter, so one to avoid.’
‘Any dogs?’ I asked.
‘None seen or heard.’
‘Patrols?’
‘Around the inside, yes, and the fence looks solid.’
‘If they’re not patrolling outside, then maybe mines in a few places. Everyone, be careful.’
‘Wilco,’ Moran hissed. ‘Plane coming in.’
I looked left and could see its lights. ‘Swifty, get down, plane coming in.’
The runway lights burst on, a sudden sharp image of what had been black outlines a moment ago. The plane eased down, a two engine transport with room for maybe twenty men, and it taxied around towards the fuel truck.
‘Swifty, Mahoney, use silencers, hit the engine, the noise of the engines will mask your shots. Everyone else - get ready.’
The roar from the engines reached us, and I could not hear anyone firing, but as the plane eased to a stop an engine started to smoke, flames seen a few seconds later. The plane came to a
dead stop, men jumping out and running away a few yards before looking back, the pilots out and running. And the men in the back appeared to be commanders of some sort, ranking officers.
The flames grew, as did the panic, men rushing around, their fire truck being on the list of things to buy when they had a few quid. Men came out of huts and had a look, others moved men back, a hose brought out, but a water hose, little use on a petrol fire.
The wing caught, a blast, and the wing snapped, a huge plume of flame reaching skyward. I performed a quick count of men at thirty. ‘Standby to fire, standby, get position! Rocko, Rizzo, Robby, move down ready to get in there, use the road, watch for mines off the road.’ I waited. ‘Standby. “D” Squadron, hit the sandbag machineguns when I say.’ I judged the men below to be as best positioned as possible. ‘Open fire!’
The crackle started as I aimed down, the senior officer hit with a head shot, his second in command hit in the back, Moran and Liban pouring out rounds next to me, and within a minute the men off the plane were all dead, bodies seen all around the burning plane.
Amidst the crackle I aimed at a hut with lights on, looking like canteen, and emptied the rest of my magazine into it, movement seen within. Re-loaded, rounds hammered into the ground around us, coming from four hundred yards west. Taking careful aim, I spotted the muzzle flash and quickly fired off ten rounds, silencing one machinegun.
Aiming at the camp again, I fired at trucks and jeeps, smashing glass and puncturing tyres till I clicked empty. Re-loading, I could see the muzzle flashes of Echo at the main gate. Setting automatic, I sprayed the huts below in long bursts.
Onto my next magazine, the firing eased. I clicked on my radio, ‘French soldiers, check your fire, British moving in from the far side, aim at the huts only. “D” Squadron, check your fire. Rocko, report what you see.’
‘Not much fire coming our way. We’re moving along the wall, firing as we go.’
‘French soldiers, go down the hill, no closer than fifty yards to the wire.’
Liban shouted orders as he got up and moved off at the double.
‘”D” Squadron, have some men watch our rear, south and east,’ I transmitted as I eased up, Moran following me down the slope.
The French stopped and formed a line on a track, picking off lone men, still firing into huts, but when I saw movement to the right I had them all ceasefire.