by Geoff Wolak
‘Only shoot gunmen when you are very sure!’ I shouted, Moran repeating that in French, the plane below now burning down to a shell.
On the radio, I transmitted, ‘Rocko, go building to building, but be careful. Grab the machineguns and hammer those huts first.’
‘It’s Robby, move out the way,’ came over the radio, men seen ducking, a GPMG opening up on a hut, fired from the hip, a second joining in.’
‘Watch that fucking fuel tank,’ I transmitted.
A second and third GPMG joined in, the huts racked over and over, the first now being searched.
‘It’s Rizzo, we found the weapons stash, but it’s mostly empty, all empty racks.’
‘Boys took it to the beach,’ I told him, GPMGs still hammering out rounds in front of me.
‘Swifty, where are you?’
‘Down here.’
I stepped towards him. ‘Shoot the ground down there, just in case there are mines.’
He stood, Mahoney up next to him, and they opened up. A blast, we ducked, and I had my answer. ‘Listen up, mines outside the wire, stick to the roads.’ Thinking on, I transmitted, ‘Rizzo, try and get a truck working.’
‘Hang on.’ I could see him running to a truck with a smashed windscreen and jumping in. He stuck his head out the window. ‘Keys are in it!’
‘Drive forwards fast, between the huts, smash the fence and keep coming up the slope, but expect anti-personnel mines.’
The truck revved, moved forwards and picked up speed, hit the fence and went through, three dull blasts shredding its tyres before it hit a sand dune and stopped.
‘On me!’ I shouted, and ran down a track that was easy to navigate thanks to the white sand. In front of the truck I fired into the ground, no blasts deterring us, and I clambered up onto the jeep’s bonnet as Rizzo climbed into the back.
With men close behind me I scrambled over the cab and into the back, leading Rizzo on. We jumped down into the tyre tracks and walked carefully for ten feet before getting across the flattened fence. Looking back, the rest were following, being damn careful where they walked and cursing.
The GMPGs were now on the floor, empty, the lads peeking into huts.
‘Wilco!’ Robby shouted from a brick building, and myself and Swifty jogged over.
‘Weapons,’ he reported.
‘Great. Start getting it all outside.’ I called Nicholson.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Wilco, where are they?’
‘They just stopped. We’re a mile and a half away I reckon. Wait. Yes, they’re turning around.’
‘Stay with them, don’t be seen.’ Off the phone, I said, ‘Rocko, that fuel truck, try and drive it out the gate and onto that road.’
With no keys found, bodies were checked nearby, a set of keys found and tried, the truck coming to life, Rocko driving it past the burnt-out plane and across the strip, out the gate and turning right, blocking the road with it. He ran back in, at least half way before he simply ambled across.
A call, and I turned, five men now back lugging GPMGs, chains of ammo around necks, led by Slider. ‘You lot with GPMGs, out the gate, left a hundred yards, up the slope, get position aiming east. Go!’
They walked off in a line, Rizzo and four others lugging RPG towards me. ‘Get into the sandbags positions this side and hide,’ I told them. ‘That column is returning.’
Liban had six men with box-fed Russian machineguns, one spare box to each of six men. ‘Send them back over the truck, carefully, and up the slope to the top.’
Liban issued orders, the men lugging their heavy kit towards the fence.
Robby appeared, struggling with a 105mm and a tripod.
I told him, ‘Edge of the brick building, aiming towards that fuel truck, you and two others.’
Swifty and Mahoney slung rifles and picked up box-fed machineguns, bags of grenades grabbed by other lads.
‘OK, everyone else on me,’ I called, walking towards the strip. ‘Major Liban, organise the French left here, follow us.’
At a quick pace I led the teams across the strip, the landing lights still on, out the main gate and onto the road, a look both ways, and left fifty yards before turning up the slope.
A hundred yards up the slope I led them in a long line behind a cluster of dense trees and halted with a partial view of the road. I transmitted, ‘Wait here, bunch up, watch all the angles. We move after they get back, they’ll suspect this ridge.’
Waiting was agony, and I was second-guessing myself about strategy, and was this a good idea? And what had I said to David Finch about no close-up fighting.
When my phone trilled it was Nicholson. ‘They’re almost to the airstrip.’
‘Shadow them high above, we’re up the slope ahead of you. When we open up you can snipe at them. Try and get the main man.’
‘I see him, waving his lads on.’
Off the phone, I said, ‘If we snuck back to the beach, those men would be pissed at us.’
Swifty laughed. ‘If they turn around once more they’ll be dizzy.’
Five minutes later, Mahoney said, ‘Here they come.’
‘Ease back and hide,’ I whispered. ‘Major Liban, tell your men south to use rifles only when they see the men, slow steady fire.’
Liban got on the radio.
‘Robby, your hear me?’
‘Yeah, go ahead.’
‘Wait my signal, then try and hit that fuel truck, then the gate area. Don’t hit us, we’re up the slope. Rizzo, wait the signal, stay down. Slider, you ready?’
‘Yeah, and I think I see them. Lights are still on, so they’ll be exposed.’
‘Wait the signal, but you let me know what they’re doing, I have no view up here.’
Five minutes later Slider was on. ‘They’re moving around the fuel truck ... to the main gate. Wait, patrol going up the slope towards you, rest sneaking in along the wall.’
‘Major Liban, men on south slope, open fire with rifles.’
The cracks reached us, a slow steady pace, fire returned from below.
‘It’s Slider. They’re focused on the south hill, spreading out, still bunching up along the south wall.’
I could hear voices nearby, directly ahead, even see torches being used.
‘It’s Rizzo, they’re getting close.’
‘Major Liban, one single box-fed fired towards the men getting close to the sandbag positions.’
A few seconds later the echo of the bursts reached us, and they kept going, a whole box of ammo used up.
‘It’s Rizzo, they’re pulling back a bit, many hit.’
The voices were getting close now.
‘Robby, now!’
A blast, a second blast, and night turned to day, screams heard on the breeze as we knelt. I eased out and fired at dark outlines, Swifty and Mahoney joining in with their rifles, six men down. We knelt and listened through the dark, no movement seen close by, flames throwing long black shadows around. But as bright as it was the fire was not to last, and it died quickly.
‘On me.’ I moved forwards bent-double, moving left and behind the ridge and on a hundred yards, voices heard below, outgoing fire and incoming fire on the breeze. ‘It’s Wilco. Men behind me, get position, something solid, not a bush. Men with grenades, get them ready.’
I peeked down, the men below in disarray. ‘Rizzo, now.’
As I observed, knelt behind the white sand ridge, an RPG hit the slope above the road, sparks flying, men caught near it. ‘Slider, open up!’
A bright flash, the blast in my ears, and Robby had fired again, a second RPG flying in and hitting the front gate guard post and blowing it to bits.
Grenades started to detonate below, Swifty and Mahoney hammering out deafening rounds from the box-fed as the fuel truck still threw some illumination on the ambush spot. The French on the south slope were firing their own box fed, and I could see tracer rounds spin off and dart about through the night sky.
‘Swifty, Mahoney, ai
m left!’ I shouted, and they moved past me, knelt and fired, down the road as the irregulars ran off.
An RPG detonated a bit close, curses aimed back at Rizzo, suddenly a bright flash to my left, the 105mm throwing up dirt.
‘Out,’ Swifty said, dropping his box fed.
‘Out,’ Mahoney repeated.
I moved past them, set automatic and emptied what was left in magazine. I could not see the irregulars, but I could see the distant road, Swifty and Mahoney copying.
‘It’s Slider, we’re out.’
‘Snipe at them.’
‘Wilco,’ came a French accent. ‘South men are also out.’
‘Roger that. Rizzo, how you doing?’
‘Plenty left.’
‘Keep them. Slider, what can you see?’’
‘Those left alive ran off, we’re picking off those moving.’
‘All teams, standby to withdraw. Rizzo, take some RPG, back over your truck, up to the French. Robby, go with him, but use that 105mm to destroy the buildings if you like. You have two minutes. Slider, stay there for now. Teams with me, turn west, slow move off.’
I found Major Liban in the dark. ‘Tell your men the plan, the men south. Have them move west to join us.’
As we moved west past the thick trees Slider’s team were still firing out, the 105mm in action on the far side, albeit short range action. A hundred yards beyond Slider I called him in, and we waited till the dark outlines appeared, soon moving off west, the strip now quiet.
‘Robby, time to go.’
‘Moving.’
‘It’s Nicholson, we’re coming in, hang on.’
‘Shit, I forgot all about him,’ I told Swifty.
Swifty tutted me. ‘Some captain you are, eh. Trouble counting up to ten as well.’
I led the teams off at a fast pace, figuring any irregulars around here would have quite sensibly legged it away in fright, and we dropped down onto the road past the airstrip, a quick jog to a dirt road heading south, and we followed that dirt road till we found the French, Rizzo and Robby. I had teams re-form, moving off south at a brisk pace, soon turning west off the road an up a track.
Finding a tight valley and dense trees, I had everyone rest. My water out, I swigged, topping it up from a plastic water bottle in Swifty’s backpack.
‘No wounded?’ Mahoney’s dark outline asked.
‘None reported,’ I told his black outline.
‘Guess they listened to you after all?’
‘Huh?’ I let out.
‘You’re always nagging them to get behind something solid, so I guess they did.’
‘That ... and enemy soldiers used to planting roadside bombs, not a stand-up fight. That lot are useless for the most part. Who the fuck walks along roads all lined up?’
‘Romans,’ Swifty adamantly stated. ‘Definitely the Romans did.’
‘The Romans ... were not up against machineguns,’ I pointed out. I clicked on the radio. ‘Every second man, two hours sleep, then rotate. Captain Hamble, your men are fresher, so set a stag rotation please. And it’s OK to cook in here.’
With Swifty getting a brew on, because I was wandering around the men, I finally sat with him cross-legged and had a look at the map.
‘Jungle up ahead, small hills and tight gorges,’ I commented.
‘Suit us, not them.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking.’
‘Re-supply?’
‘I’ll have some dropped by helo in a day or so. I saw the lads grabbing magazines back at the strip. You low?’
‘Three left, just under.’
‘Me too.’
‘Water is getting low,’ he noted.
‘Those hills may have streams and springs,’ I idly commented as I studied the map in torch light.
Just before dawn I led the teams off, Rocko and Rizzo a little less than with it, men complaining of being stiff and tired. From the trees we snaked up and down ridges, the landscape changing rapidly, and we progressed from a sandy base to a dirt base, and finally into a dry jungle. The vegetation seemed to be the same as near the FOB, but here it was dry under foot and not humid.
A slow steady climb through dense jungle brought us to a track running north, and I followed it till I found what the map had displayed. We were now close to the highest point on the island, and glimpsed through the trees east lay the remnants of a mine, the earth’s skin torn off, exposed rocks and red dirt displayed, a few rusted old vehicles to be seen.
Along the track, no signs of any recent use, we stumbled across an old concrete building perched on a ledge, the mine spread out far below it.
‘Swifty, Mahoney, down the track fifty yards and eyes on.’
They moved passed me and on.
I transmitted, ‘Everyone get in the trees on the left and rest,’ and I led Moran inside the single storey two-room building, vines growing over it. From a window, no glass to prevent a nice breeze, we peered down a hundred feet to the mine and found that we had a 180degree view out a mile or more. ‘Perfect. This’ll be home for a few days.’
I transmitted, ‘All officers and troop sergeants forwards, find the concrete building on the right.’
Moran started kicking debris aside and I joined in, the men gathering over two minutes.
When they were all here, and facing me, I began, ‘OK, this is our new command HQ for a few days, and I’ll try and get supplies dropped here.’
Turning, I found a white wall and picked up a piece of what looked like charcoal. I started to draw a map. ‘OK. There’s a line of hills north to south, four peaks. This is the highest one. North is one peak, south are two. North of us is a road, and we’ll get eyes on soon.’
I turned and faced them. ‘Right, gentlemen, this is what you trained for, this is real special forces work, jungle and hills, small unit tactics, hit and run, wear down the enemy as our predecessors did in the Malay campaign. Now it’s our turn.
‘I want facemasks on, gloves, leaves on webbing, over-boots. I want tracks avoided, I want you sniffing the air, I want good invisible OPs. Think here as you did in Sierra Leone.
‘Right, first. Robby, have your troop come forwards, go up the hill to the high point, wet-cover OP, two men. Six men go down the other side three hundred yards, another good OP – somewhere with a good view. Go.’
He stepped out, using the radio to call forwards his men. ‘Rocko, Rizzo, take your teams north along the track, down the slope, across the road – without being seen, up the other side, eyes on the road. I want one four man OP on the road, one at the top, one team patrolling around, one resting. When you sleep and eat is up to you. Off you go.’
They stepped out and called in their men, who were seen traipsing past a minute later.
‘Captain Hamble, I want your men in the trees outside, ready to react when called, every second man to get four hours sleep, up to you. You’ll be based here.’
He stepped out.
‘Major, your men will go south, to the next high point, make an OP, send out patrols around the hill, out to half a mile at most. You will remain here.’
He nodded, and stepped out.
I transmitted, ‘Swifty, Mahoney, back to me.’ I started to clean out the rooms, the others joining in, kit off. We found an old table, three legs, but propped it up, making it the map table, an old stove cleaned out, a fire started, Hamble and Liban returning and pitching in after kit was taken off.
I faced Hamble. ‘Put a man down the track a hundred yards both ways, rotate it. Swifty, at that window, rotate it every half an hour. Captain Moran, up on the roof, see if a helo could put its wheels down and drop kit. Mahoney, stove, brew on. Major, you will be on duty tonight, so get some sleep today.’
He nodded, opening a tin and taking in the view.
‘Robby for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Got a fucking great view from up here, I can see the town and the harbour in the distance.’
‘What’s below you?’
�
��Steep slope on the left, shit jungle, lads making an OP on the right down the slope. I can see a track and a path down there, easy spot to defend.’
‘Report movement on the road if it looks like military. And every second man get some rest.’
‘Roger that.’
Moran scrambled down. ‘Solid roof, no trees too close, easy access from the east, big enough.’
I took my phone out.
‘Captain Harris.’
‘It’s Wilco, we need a supply drop, and you can bring in the rest of the guys - carrying it. Ask Franks for choppers. I want the Aussies first, extra kit lugged, our ammo, ration packs water, or have some kit stuffed into bags.
‘Trace this position - it’s an old concrete building at the west side of a mine, just about the highest point on the island. Helo comes in from the east, over the mine, wheels touching, men and kit down. Tell Franks it’s a solid building for just wheels, but not – you know – landing on.’
‘Hostiles nearby?’
‘None so far, so use the opportunity.’
‘I’ll get back to you.’
Swifty turned his head, ‘A few locals way down there in the tree line, chopping trees. They’ll report the chopper.’
‘Good.’
Moran lifted his gaze. ‘Bring them to us, set piece ambush.’
After a brew and chat I wandered outside, chatting to some of the “D” Squadron lads about tactics here, then followed Robby’s tracks up to his OP. Knelt under his flysheet, I peered down the island west, a commanding view offered.
‘See for miles,’ Robby noted.
‘But can you see any sneaky bastards three hundred yards out, that’s the question?’
He pointed to a tight cluster of trees. ‘Boys are in there.’
His mate put in, ‘Better type of jungle this, cool dry breeze.’
‘That beach was nice,’ I noted. ‘Pity about the irregulars, we could have gone for a swim.’
‘You think they’ll come up here looking for us?’ Robby asked.
‘If we see a military vehicle we’ll snipe at it, let them know where we are. I want them where we have set ambushes.’
‘They seem a bit dumb,’ Robby noted.
‘They have some better boys on Mindanao,’ I told them before easing out.