Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Your lads are a helicopter ride away, sir. And a siege would go on for days.’

  ‘True. So ... how does David Finch see things progressing with Echo?’

  ‘At the moment he’s still finding his feet, a little timid even, no firm opinions. A bit of a bean counter, not so ambitious.’

  ‘A different personality to Bob Staines.’

  ‘Bob was hungry for success, and that was a good thing ... in that he pushed us along. Now that we’re established he’s not reaping the benefits.’

  ‘Well, if the guy sticks his dick in odd places then that’s his fault when his career is ended.’

  ‘Plenty of those in power,’ I quipped.

  ‘Don’t see it in the Army. So, what’s next on the list of things to interest me or worry me?’

  ‘No worries at the moment, at least not this week.’ He laughed. ‘Next is ... more police training, more Sierra Leone, and probably ... more American interest in us.’

  He eased forwards. ‘Funny you should say that, I met American officers in London last week, and they were curious about us and joint operations.’

  ‘In Malaysia they provided helos and supplies, overly keen to assist.’

  ‘And ... their agenda?’

  ‘Us doing their dirty work probably, no casualties for them to explain away at a Congressional Hearing.’

  ‘Ah. But the PM would never go for it.’

  ‘He did this time, because all sides want at the oil in the region, including the PM’s school-day friends.’

  He eased back, nodding to himself. ‘So more joint operations, as in the Gulf. It would be unwise for me to resist.’

  ‘Yes and no, sir. It would be prudent to be cautious. I’d tell them ... happy to assist, on a job by job assessment.’

  ‘You are indeed a politician at heart,’ he quipped. ‘But if the Americans provided helos or ships, and we went in with their men, what are the issues?’

  ‘Command and control for one. Any operation we’d be involved with would not be like the Gulf; we’d be the 1% and they’d be the 99%. But if the Prime Minister agrees it then we’d have to go, but I’d make sure I understood what it was we were fighting for. Sometimes the Americans like to teach the bad boys a lesson ... rather than make any gains or rescue hostages, and that would not be something I’d want to part of.’

  ‘No, me neither. And this new conflict in the Congo?’

  ‘Oil, sir, it’s all about oil. Elf, the French company, control most of the Congo oil under agreement, but the Americans want to get in there, so they’re stoking the fire. Some new tin pot dictator will take over, more oil concession to the Americans, less to France. Same old bollocks in Africa.’

  ‘So who would we side with?’

  ‘We would, quite sensibly, stay the hell away from taking sides.’

  ‘Yes, choosing between the States and France would have repercussions. And East Timor?’

  ‘Would best be left alone as well. It’s a grey area as to who has the claim, and after the indigenous peoples there helped the Americans and Australians against the Japs they were promised independence from the Portuguese, which didn’t come with an end to the war.

  ‘When Portugal finally pulled out the Indonesians invaded, and hold it to this day. And the people there don’t really attack anyone or take hostages, they just want to be independent, but the Aussies sided with Indonesia. I’m not sure I would have.’

  ‘I’ll get a book on it,’ he threatened. ‘Make myself look smart. I was at a briefing, and Eritrea and Ethiopia are at it again, but no western interests seen.’

  I nodded. ‘No small wars for you at the moment, sir.’

  He gathered the senior staff present, and in one of the new ultra modern classrooms I used a white board to detail the recent operation, the pros and cons, what might have happened, questions answered – and the politics of the region discussed.

  I had lunch with the Colonel in the officer’s mess, all a bit too posh for me, but the meal was OK, then headed back after a quick tour of the base, realising that its layout had been set by the old camp down the road. It was almost a copy, but with new brick buildings and yellow clad sheet-metal roofs.

  The next day, still a day off for the lads, I was informed that my Finnish weapons manufacturer wanted to come see me, a prototype to hand. I was surprised, but invited them down.

  They turned up on the Thursday, many of the lads back in training since they were bored, and my non-blond Finns brought two prototype rifles. I sat with Moran in the briefing room, rifles taken out of boxes and handed over, a green finish to them.

  They showed me the clip-on clip-off silencers, small and large, and they were easy to fit, yet solid when fitted. There were no foresights nor back sights, as requested, the telescopic mount a little higher.

  The butt had detachable rubber in several sizes, and I added on a half inch, peering through the sights. The magazine receiving port was great to use, and quick, and they had a spring-pressure switch to drop the magazine where a man’s thumb would rest – similar to the old FN SLR the British Army had used.

  The fore end grip was the right size for me, the rubber cover making it easy to grip, the pistol grip larger and with a lip, also now displaying a rubber cover, and it made gripping the weapon easier.

  Their final innovation was a special magazine, the rounds not in a line but overlapping each other as with most magazines, so it was shorter. I was happy with it, so we grabbed ammo. The lads were curious and so many followed, and on the range I checked the barrel and slide, loaded up the new magazine, and I fired away. It felt no different to a normal AKML, maybe a bit heavier, but the rubber grips helped.

  Short silencer on, the noise and muzzle flash was reduced, and with the long silencer on the weapon was quiet, better than our other silencers. They had a new sight, much bigger and heavier than the sights we normally used, and I tried it lying down, hitting a sparrow that had landed in the wrong spot.

  Handing the weapon to Nicholson, I stood with our Finns. ‘I like it, we’ll test these two, but how soon could you make a few?’

  ‘The changes were simple enough, so we can be quick.’

  ‘Give us a price for fifty, with a follow-on order for fifty, ten magazines per rifle. I want only two large sights.’

  ‘We can have a price soon, a good price to you, but what about endorsing us?’

  ‘Leave that to me. I’ll have a story in a British newspapers when we get the rifles, or before, and we don’t mind paying a suitable rate.’

  With the Finns gone, and now happy, and with the Major not here, Nicholson and the others got up on the barracks roof as Crab and Duffy managed a target. With the large telescopic sight fitted, gas reload switched off, Nicholson hit ten out of ten bulls, his grouping the size of a fist, and at eight hundred yards.

  Rocko and Rizzo fired a great many rounds, stripped and cleaned, and fired someone more, not finding any faults with the new rifle. I had them put gloves on, wet them in the canal, and then fire and move. They found the new rubber grips to be perfect, a happy bunch of men all now nagging to get the new rifles.

  I called Colonel Dean. ‘Sir, we just took delivery of a prototype new rifle, made in Finland by people who used to make AK47 lookalikes. It’s basically an AKML with a few refinements I asked for. I’m going to order fifty, we have a big budget doing nothing, but I think we should order them through you.’

  ‘Yes, certainly, and we have money ring-fenced for you. But we should get some for ourselves as well.’

  ‘Yes, sir, on evaluation to start.’

  I spoke to Henri, he rang Major Liban, who then ordered twenty on evaluation for his own team. I took a prototype home that night and sat fiddling with it, thinking about other innovations, but few came to mind. Swifty handled it and stripped it, finding it very similar to our AKLMs, but he liked the green finish and the rubber grips.

  David Finch rang me the next day. ‘These new custom rifles, they’re not expensive, just £40
0 per basic model and £100 of extras.’

  ‘They hope to get some publicity from it as well.’

  ‘Perhaps you could ask them not to supply the world’s terrorists with them?’

  I smiled. ‘Yes, Boss, but these rifles make a difference in skilled hands, not irregulars. And the world’s terrorists like cheap weapons. I think if anyone buys just the one it will be pricey.’

  Max rang me later, just wondering if there were any good stories going, so I invited him down the next day, Friday.

  I had Nicholson sling the rifle, and Max photographed Nicholson from behind, webbing on, and Nicholson was snapped in the prone position. I gave Max the detail of the rifle, and he headed off.

  Monday morning, and MP Peter handed me a copy of The Sun. On page four they had a large photo of the new rifle, the technical details listed – and why we wanted those features, the weapon labelled as the “Wilco Special” and only used by British and French Echo hostage rescue teams.

  With the police back, many of the lads would help out with police training prior to Sierra Leone, Robby’s troop on test and assess this week, so their feet would be sore. Sasha and his team were in London for unspecified training with SIS.

  The Major and I had taken a look at the woods north of us last week, and we had kicked around a few ideas, our RAF facilities manager now building what looked like log cabins and assault courses.

  Around the edges of the copse, a hundred and fifty yards wide and about three hundred yards long, they had planted evergreens to reduce the light and had erected green plastic fencing cloth in places. Above our heads, that same green cloth made a few areas darker.

  The plan was to break up the woods so that it would be harder to see someone at distance. So several log walls had been erected between trees, six feet tall evergreens planted in rows to block the view. They had also dug a few deep ponds for the unwary at night, a few low obstacles, some few high obstacles to bash your head on if not alert.

  When the dirt had been dug out it was put into mounds, so someone could stand on the mound and try and peek out, but that would make them a target easy enough.

  That evening, teams of two were made up, paintball guns checked, facemasks and goggles put on, bets laid off and insults levelled. Tomo and Nicholson would be up against Slade and Gonzo, and Sergeant Crab would be sat on a chair outside, torch ready.

  Tomo and Nicholson had quickly run a hundred yards to get position, whereas Slade and Gonzo had run twenty yards to get position, and then on the north side. After twenty minutes of slow movement, Slade and Gonzo were hit from behind, the cost of a beer lost.

  Next up was Moran and Mahoney against Rocko and Rizzo, jibes levelled before the start – “Rupert killing time”. Moran and Mahoney rushed in twenty yards and went quiet, Rocko and Rizzo slow and steady, reading the ground, keeping their distance from any obstacles, finally on their bellies past a pond, a stone thrown the other way.

  Moran figured on the decoy, and lobbed a large stone, Rocko suddenly splashed and soaked. Moran used the moment’s confusion to step quietly past Rocko and Rizzo and around, coming up behind, my staff sergeants hit in the arse.

  The police were up next, and having grabbed a few hours of kip they would be up late. Three-man teams went in with a nominated leader, hand signals used.

  In the morning I got the scorecard, but who had won was less important than what they had practised; stealth through a forest at night, their nerves going, teamwork to the fore.

  The coppers were awake around 11am and sent back into the trees – this time with heavy camouflage, those waiting making use of the pistol range, many of my lads up at The Factory for three days, Robby’s troop having clocked the ten mile run, and today on the twenty mile run, our two PTIs now with something to do.

  That evening the coppers were again in the trees, experience being accrued, albeit of cold damp British nights. The wind was up, which made it harder to hear movement. I had also nailed up a large mirror, so the unwary would see themselves and shoot at their own reflection.

  One team fired at the mirror, puzzled it, and were hit from behind, complaining all the way back, the rest getting damp and muddy as they practised silent moving.

  Robby’s troop had a day to rest after the twenty mile run, and on the Thursday they began their 24hr endurance march at 9am. Our PTIs would tackle the 24hrs as well, both men super-fit.

  I walked with a few men overnight, chatting away, and again at 5am, finding tired faces yet determined faces. They all finished the course, the best times as good as my lads, the worst being just about good enough. They now had the rest of the day off and the weekend, and they would be climbing cliffs in Cornwall next week as I headed to Africa.

  I had spoken to the Air Commodore, and he had reported a good attitude with the para instructors, despite their CO’s initial rant and rave. That Squadron Leader had relented, and could see the sense in what I was doing, and we would have ten men along with us in Sierra Leone.

  Also along for the ride would be Donohue and a few other senior officers, the official story being war crimes and bodies to investigate. 2 Squadron had nagged to go, despite not having long got back, so one flight and a few medics would be coming along, but with many people rotating for experience.

  Considering where we were headed, I called Tomsk that evening. ‘Is Napoleon around?’ I asked Big Sasha.

  ‘Hold on.’

  ‘Ah, Petrov, where have you been?’ Tomsk asked a minute later.

  ‘Little jobs here and there. How’s that waistline?’

  ‘Ah, not so good, Big Sasha complaining I like his food too much.’

  ‘Listen, anything happening with the president in Liberia?’

  ‘Yes, we talk regular, a few deals going, and the oil. We rented a platform, then they tried to stop us, so we bribed a few people in Nigeria, and now we have the platform, some African workers, many European. It’s going well.’

  ‘I may have a job for the British down there, so anything changed?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, all seems quiet now.’

  ‘You still tip-off the British and Americans about drugs?’

  ‘Yes, but not so much my own, I have spies. We bribe people, and I tip off about my rivals.’

  I laughed. ‘A good policy. Panama minister OK?’

  ‘Yes, he was here the other day, some money for him. But my new American friend, he asked if I was involved in some small island off Indonesia.’

  ‘That was British special forces; the week before I was there with Sasha sneaking around, looking for hostages. I told this guy that if he kidnaps Russians you come for him, so maybe he puts two and two together.’

  ‘I’ve never been there, no interests there, don’t even know where it is on the damn map.’

  ‘The West was very happy with the outcome, so ... if some think you were involved ... great.’

  ‘Well ... I suppose. But it’s odd to be thanked for something I didn’t do. But will some idiot come for me?’

  ‘From those islands? Ha. Never. Fucking half-arse Maoist separatists part-time soldiers. But if anyone asks, say that some Russian friends were kidnapped on holiday in Malaysia, and you sent men to get them back. Leave the rest out. It will add to your reputation – but not on that island.’

  He laughed. ‘I’ll look on the map.’

  ‘Ask someone about the South Philippines conflict, get a history lesson.’

  ‘South Philippines. OK.’

  ‘I might be in Africa next week, if you want me to speak to that president guy. Oh, and ask him if he knows about any hostages.’

  ‘I will do, we chat often, maybe a second platform soon. How’s the family?’

  ‘I don’t see them much, and I volunteer for dangerous jobs to occupy my mind.’

  ‘You need a war to fight, my friend.’

  ‘How are the communists these days?’

  ‘Quiet, no trouble now.’

  ‘You struck a deal with the cartels?’

&
nbsp; ‘Yes, I buy from them at a set rate, all OK so far, a pipeline to Canada and Australia now.’

  ‘And the oil?’

  ‘I have a deal here for it, they’re very keen, but I denied it to the Americans.’

  ‘Good, keep it quiet. Pukka.’

  On the Monday morning we all met at Brize Norton, 2 Squadron and the medics, the para instructors, the medics displaying a few new faces. With me I had Swifty, Moran, Mahoney, Rizzo and Stretch, Sasha and his team, as well as Crab and Duffy - since they had been instrumental in training the coppers.

  Whisky was not on this trip since the police did not need to know how to read tracks in the jungle and how to catch their supper in Greater London.

  Morten, Haines and I sat and chatted about the last job, and about planning and strategy, about the para instructors and the future of the British Armed forces. Since the para instructors were on their home turf they were late, a Flight Lieutenant along to either keep an eye on them, or to stop me from risking his lads too much.

  Chutes had been packed, a great many, as well as our HALO bags, the para instructors also bringing their own chutes along, their officer most insistent that all be returned in good order. He would probably be disappointed. The four men from Borneo were along and they greeted the lads, Haines and Morten like old friends to them.

  The police sat off to one side, all in combats, Donohue and his mate turning up just in time, a bit late. Two other officers would meet us down there. Since those other men were FCO guys who had dealt with Bosnia’s war crimes they added a level of legitimacy to the cover story.

  As we were called to board our aging Tristar aircraft I gathered everyone apart from Echo and the coppers. ‘With us on this trip are a group of police officers, and their participation on this exercise is classified as secret, so you will not question them nor discuss them outside this group.

  ‘They’re British police officers, SO13 armed officers, but they’ll work with war crimes officers in places like Sierra Leone and the Congo, gathering evidence. As such, they’re going to get some combat experience, some jungle training, so that they can protect themselves and others when investigating mass graves in the jungle.