Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Any word on the irregulars?’

  ‘Those that made it to the harbour are commandeering boats at gunpoint. But few have reached the harbour.’

  I sighed heavily. ‘Standby choppers to come get us tonight, the smoke will provide cover.’

  ‘You think it best to pull out?’

  ‘We reduced them, there are no hostages here, and we should probably distance ourselves from this.’

  ‘Well, yes, perhaps. I’ll have the helos ready.’

  ‘Send them in thirty minutes. Wilco out.’

  Off the phone, I transmitted, ‘All units withdraw to the HQ area. Rocko, Rizzo, come over. Mally, cover them. All units, we are leaving. Withdraw in covering pairs, be careful.’

  At the HQ building men were already gathering.

  ‘Captain Hamble, head count, check for injuries,’ I said as I passed him and “D” Squadron.

  Major Liban informed me his men were on their way.

  ‘You don’t look happy...’ Moran nudged.

  ‘Our fault or theirs, we just ruined an island’s eco-system and put smoke in the eyes of women and kids.’ Looks were exchanged. ‘Civvies are evacuating at the harbour, but there’s no way there are enough boats.’

  ‘Yanks have tubs,’ Swifty put in.

  I raised a finger, and stepped out, phone in hand.

  ‘Franks.’

  ‘It’s Wilco. Listen, you have tubs nearby, so any landing craft?’

  ‘Yes, plenty.’

  ‘Think about it: humanitarian disaster, your lot to the rescue, you take off civvies, a good newspaper headline. Send it up the line now, official request from me. And think what the headline will be if women and kids are asphyxiated.’

  ‘OK, I’ll send it up the line now.’

  The first two Seahawk’s took out “D” Squadron, after I shouted at them to make-safe, the next two Seahawks grabbing the Aussies, who demonstrated their weapons empty to Nesbit.

  The French went next, followed by Sasha’s team, Whisky and the para instructors - one wounded slightly, the US Navy seemingly with a large number of Seahawks available today.

  Rocko and Rizzo marched in with Mally, headcounts done, weapons made safe. I sent off Robby’s troop next - after quietly warning them never to admit about the fire, Rizzo’s troop, Rocko’s, and finally it was just my four-man team knelt on the roof, the next Seahawk picking us up, and from the air we could see the raging fires to the west, plenty of supplies left behind, excess ammo thrown down into the mine.

  As we left the island I could see many lights in the water, ships, so maybe the locals were getting picked up by fishermen, I considered.

  We hit the brightly lit airfield with a bump, Morten and Harris stood there with Haines, my team out and running bent-double, our ride lifting off, a wave of thanks given.

  ‘All back safe,’ Morten noted. ‘A few minor wounds.’

  I nodded. ‘We were lucky, and they were crap.’

  ‘And this fire?’ Morten pressed.

  ‘RPG sparked a fire. Bad timing, it was all tinder dry, half the island gone.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Morten let out. ‘Civilian casualties?’

  ‘Probably,’ I admitted as we walked to the command room, 2 Squadron gunners on patrol. ‘How’s your girl?’

  ‘Should make a full recovery, in a hospital in Kuala Lumpur.’

  I greeted Franks and his buddy.

  Franks said, ‘We’ve had landing craft picking people up for the last hour, dropping them on the Malay coast, the Malay officials and Army organising assistance with some relish, not least because they have claims on islands nearby.’

  ‘Civilian deaths?’

  ‘Not reported so far, fire is halting at the farm areas.’ He glanced at the others. ‘Unfortunately, the bulk ... of the force you engaged doesn’t seem to have fared well.’

  I also glanced at the others. ‘Fires start all the time from dropped cigarettes, and they were in the wrong place.’

  ‘Weapons fire in a tinder dry forest...’ Harris noted. ‘Recipe for disaster.’

  I accepted a cold can of Fanta before Franks nudged me outside.

  He began, ‘We think more than fifteen hundred men landed, and just fifty got off the island. Not including those you hit on day one and two. Powers are delighted, Philippines Government is delighted, but you ... don’t seem happy.’

  ‘That fire could have killed civvies, and that’s not what I’m about.’

  He nodded. ‘You could have seen it as your fault, I understand that. But you set them back, many leaders killed, their best men, kit lost. They’ll think twice about grabbing hostages.’

  I held up a finger, took out the sat phones we got off a dead commander, and I recalled a number.

  A local dialect came.

  ‘I speak some English, you speak some English?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We are the men from Bongao. You send back all hostages tomorrow, boats, or we come to Jolo and kill everyone. You tell boss man, yes.’

  ‘Yes, I tell him.’

  ‘You have one day.’ I cut the call.

  Franks was staring at me. ‘You think they’d give up the hostages?’

  ‘Would you, if you knew how many men you lost?’

  ‘Well ... I’d say ... they’d shit themselves to think you’d land on Jolo.’ He coughed out a laugh and shook his head. ‘If this works...’

  ‘If this doesn’t work we do it the hard way, and HALO in. So, worth a try. Anyhow, I need some kip.’

  I headed back to my original hut, dozens of men moving around at the benches. ‘All of you, settle down, get some rest!’ I shouted. In my hut, I plonked down next to Swifty, Moran and Mahoney opposite, the rest of the lads down the hut. Webbing off, bandolier off, boots off, I sighed and lay down. ‘Why do my feet ache, we didn’t walk anywhere.’

  ‘Heat on your feet,’ Moran sang out. ‘Causes swelling.’

  I poured water over my feet and let them cool, the gang boisterous, but it was good to see them in high spirits.

  I was not sure at what point I drifted off, but I woke in the dark and put my facemask and gloves on, only to wake at dawn with mozzy bites on my feet that itched like hell. I sat there quietly cursing myself.

  Cream on the bites, socks and boots on, bandolier on and webbing lifted, I quietly stepped out with my rifle. After a pee, I sat at the benches in the grey dawn with 2 Squadron lads, a brew on, recanting some of the detail. I downed a tin of pears, suddenly hungry, some chicken offered by the 2 Squadron lads.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Colonel Mathews, didn’t know if I’d find you awake.’

  ‘I’ve been up half an hour, sir.’

  ‘We heard you were an early riser, yes. Are you and your men all OK?’

  ‘A few minor wounds, sir, that’s all.’

  ‘Remarkable, given the casualties on their side.’

  ‘They were badly trained and badly led, sir, all bunched up for us. And that fire accidentally caught many of them.’

  ‘It did, yes, and a bad way to go, being burnt, or asphyxiated. But the various interested parties are very happy, you’ve set the separatists back a long way, some of the leadership gone. Philippine Government might just tear up that peace deal.

  ‘But the reason I’m calling is to say that a boat landed on the Malay coast forty minutes ago, sixty hostages released, including Filipino soldiers and police. According to our reports, you rang them and threatened to land on Jolo unless they handed over the hostages.’

  ‘It was worth a shot, sir.’

  ‘A few CIA types around here were a bit surprised by that, to say the least, then surprised again when they let the hostages go. And overnight our landing craft picked up hundreds of civilians and dropped them on the Malay coast, TV media reporting that fact here, and the media has just got wind of fighting on the island.’

  ‘Any idea on the number of civilian deaths, sir?’

  ‘No figure listed yet, but if there had
been many we would have heard about it.’

  ‘That’s good to know, sir.’

  ‘No particular reason to for you to hit Jolo now...’

  ‘No, sir, so maybe we should not press our luck.’

  ‘We’ll talk again soon, no doubt.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Wilco out.’

  Phone down, I stared at it for a minute then called Max in London. He was at home. ‘Get an atlas, map of Borneo, pen and paper.’

  Over half an hour I gave him the story, with a little spin, and he would be rushing into the office with it.

  That day the men ate a lot, lounged around, cleaned kit and their clothes, the various groups all bonding and chatting, winding each other up about who did what. And the para instructors, they were in the thick of it, two displaying bandages over wounds, Whisky admitting to having recaptured his youth.

  Sasha and Nesbit were now best buddies, Sasha teaching him how to insult in Russian, not quite a step forwards. Morten agreed that his team were getting used to the hardships, that the medics often complained, but then got bored when back at base and wanted to be on the next job.

  I sat and chatted to our JIC mandarin at length, the man amazed at my cheeky phone call, but also concerned that the Americans were being so helpful all of a sudden.

  At midnight our time the Major rang. ‘Evening, sir.’

  ‘Morning here, and your story just hit the news, TV and newspaper. The Sun newspaper has a four page spread, maps and diagrams, mention of the Australian unit and the French, US Navy. American news reported their ships picking up islanders. So, you burnt down half the island...’

  ‘RPG fire started it, sir. Was all tinder dry, bad spot for a firefight. So how are my coppers doing?’

  ‘They were up at the Factory, I viewed them once, and they seem to be good, yes, getting there, high ranking police observing them – all very keen. Pistol work is much better as well. You heading back now?’

  ‘Probably, hostages were released.’

  ‘No doubt the people on Mindanao didn’t want you to burn down their island as well.’

  ‘Talk soon, sir.’

  I found our JIC mandarin awake and asked that he organise planes, then left a message with SIS for David Finch, the wheels turning on our extraction, messages sent to Paris and Canberra.

  The next morning I had all kit checked, much of it put into the crates, a Hercules landing at noon for the Aussies, hands shaken, rude jibes exchanged, the Aussies facing a long uncomfortable flight home.

  A Malay Hercules landed for us half an hour later, and we began to rewind the route taken here.

  A very long forty two hours later we arrived back at GL4 at 4am, in the cold rain, and at the house I got the kettle on, my clothes stinking.

  Swifty sat and sighed, and took his boots off, adding to the smell. ‘Nice, that cold rain, after the heat. Then, after a few days, you want the heat back.’

  I nodded, mugs made ready, teabags in, sugar in. Drinks in hand, we sat and sipped, nothing said for a minute. ‘Still thinking of taking the coppers to Sierra Leone, and the Para instructors.’

  Swifty sipped his tea. ‘The instructors bonded with some of the “D” Squadron lads, got some confirmed kills. No live drops though, so yeah, maybe Sierra Leone for them. Lassey back here?’

  ‘Not sure, MOD has to look at that hand of his, but I’ll nag at them.’

  ‘He can still shoot, just not left-handed. And how often do we fire left-handed? Anyway, what day is it?’

  ‘Fuck knows.’

  ‘Have MP Pete write a note, with the milk, on what day it is.’

  I smiled widely, and sipped my tea, nodding. ‘Never got that New Zealand advisor.’

  ‘He probably turned up today. Hello, anyone here?’

  I sipped my tea, dog tired from the uncomfortable flight. I would have been less tired if we been walking and fighting all this time. ‘Let’s agree to no more long flights, eh.’

  ‘Fuck, yes. That was too long, my arse is asleep before I am.’

  I stared into my tea. ‘That fire worried me.’

  ‘Why, could have happened anytime?’

  ‘But it didn’t happen anytime, we started it deliberately.’

  ‘Well, Robby’s knobbers did, you never ordered it.’

  ‘But I’m responsible, and when we took off in that chopper I could see the flames and ... I was thinking that women and kids were in its path. Still not sure if anyone was killed, and if they were ... well.’

  ‘Well ... what?’

  ‘If some newspapers reports that a hundred women and kids died, then ... then I’d quit.’

  He turned his head. ‘You’d quit?’ he softly asked.

  ‘Could you go on, with that pinned on you? What would you do if ... if you fired an RPG at a hut and killed twenty women and kids by mistake?’

  ‘Well ... not sure, but it would screw with my head, yes.’

  ‘We hold the moral high ground, at least we try to. I do. If I’m going to take a bullet, or some of the lads are, then I want it to be for a good cause, the right cause.’

  ‘And if the Yanks asked you to do a naughty job?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d make an assessment of it at the time. If it was ... go kill a bunch of terrorists, fine. If it was ... blow up their house with their family in it, no – fuck ‘em.’

  Swifty sipped his tea. ‘I suppose, if I’m going to be killed, better for a good cause, yeah, not some political bollocks. We went to Zambia because the Prime Minister’s old school buddies had mines there. Not sure I want to get killed for something like that.’

  ‘No one would, apart from most of the SAS regulars – who have no idea why they’re fighting. They like the training, they fight for their mates, but fuck all read a newspaper and know why they go someplace. And Rocko and Rizzo, they just like fighting.’

  ‘Well, that’s what the Army wants; people who follow orders, not think about why they go some place. Or the SAS might argue the legality of a few jobs, and the morality of them.’

  I nodded. ‘I aim to steer our lot on a tight course, morality on our side. Which is why that fire worried me so much, and still does.’

  When I woke I was still worrying about that fire, and so I called SIS, asking for details. As I sat there on the edge of the bed, my boots stinking - and wondering why I hadn’t left them downstairs as usual, SIS called back. Reuters had reported a few people hospitalised for smoke inhalation, a few old people reported missing, and that the smoke affected people but not the fire – as far as civilians were concerned.

  The rains had come, and the following day bodies were found below the high ground, hundreds of bodies, making me wonder why the men had not fled. I figured maybe they had been ordered to remain, a bandana over their mouths, but had judged the fire wrongly - till it was too late.

  A look at my watch, and it was 11am. After a shower, no sounds heard from Swifty’s room, I dressed in civvies, holster on out of habit, and with trainers on my feet I stepped out into chill air, angry dark clouds rushing by, and I walked to the canteen, the airfield quiet.

  In the canteen I found just Henri and Jacque, plus two PTI’s and a stores guy from Hereford. I had to puzzle why they were here for a moment, then remembered as I ordered a breakfast, the ladies appearing bored today.

  Sat near the PTIs, I started on my breakfast, and they filled me in on what they had been doing, which was very little save assisting with the police.

  ‘What day is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Monday, start of the week.’

  I stuffed my face, very hungry this morning. After a cup of tea and a chat to the stores guy I wandered up to the hangar, a few Intel staff around.

  ‘Ah, you’re awake,’ O’Leary greeted me.

  ‘Just about, long old flight back.’

  I could hear the Major ending a call and I stepped in and sat.

  ‘So, you’re back then,’ the Major loudly noted. ‘Jungle all washed off?’

  ‘Just about, sir, but I think
my boots need airing.’

  ‘Yes, could be a bit smelly. Haven’t seen anyone else. No families either!’

  ‘Why?’ I puzzled.

  ‘You sent them packing, that’s why. Get with it man.’

  ‘Ask me again tomorrow,’ I quipped.

  ‘MOD grabbed three houses, and they moved the families whilst their men folk were away. I went to see each, and they’re much happier than being here, nice gardens, no one carrying a gun, so all’s well that ends well.’

  I nodded. ‘I won’t let any back on the base.’

  ‘Robby did say before he left, and I’d not want them here, I’d not want to tell them to leave after someone was killed. They’d have thirty days at least, often longer, and we’d be seeing the family every day.’

  Again I nodded. ‘How’re the police?’

  ‘On holiday. Their bosses said to give them a week, so this week they’re all off wherever they go when not here. You have the next step planned?’

  ‘The next step, if they meet the grade, is Sierra Leone.’

  ‘In harm’s way. And what the hell did you do with those para instructors? Their CO rang me and bitched down the phone. Loudly.’

  ‘At the FOB they had training, live patrols, then I explained that the regular SAS wanted to stop using them, and that being on a live job might help with credibility. So when I had a secure base on that island, risks manageable, I called them in.

  ‘And ... they did well, dozen or more confirmed kills, a new swagger about them, and they gelled with a few “D” Squadron lads. I’ll take them to Sierra Leone, a live HALO, after which things should be better.’

  ‘Maybe Colonel Dean will just tell the regulars to shut up and get on with it. I’ve met him a few times, and we had a curry, and he won’t stand any crap. Lot of the old timers gone as well.’

  I made a face. ‘Fact is, the regulars are not wrong about the para instructors; they’ve never faced danger. If they do a few live patrols and live HALO, it can only be a benefit.’

  ‘Well, maybe, yes. But don’t go losing any.’