Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Maybe in a few years. We’ll see.’

  ‘Yee want the job, sir?’ Major Taggard asked him

  ‘Not sure, is the simple answer. I spoke to Colonel Rawlson after he quit, and he hated the politics.’

  ‘The blame game,’ I noted. ‘I got where I am by being lucky. A few fuck-ups and I’ll be sidelined quickly enough; neither the politicians, nor the press, like failure.’

  Max turned his head. ‘They’re reporting rioting in Paris, outside the headquarters of Elf. The French citizens fucking hate that company.’

  Trucks pulling in caused me to walk out, Army Medical Corps arriving. ‘Don’t stay here,’ I told the captain that jumped down. ‘Drive up to the Paras, set-up near them, we have RAF medics here.’

  I led him inside and showed him the map, questions fired at him by the Lt Col, and the trucks were duly turned around. The unit would be based on this side of the border, close to the Paras – but also close to the Gurkhas. I updated the map with a post-it note as Rocko assembled Echo ready.

  Outside I checked them over, and then made sure each man had a 66mm to carry. Dicky had borrowed a GPMG off the Gurkhas, the Salties all displaying long chains of ammo. Sasha asked about an insert, and I relented, his team grabbing 66mm.

  ‘Right, listen up. You’ll be dropped by Chinook, landing on a road facing north. That road runs north south. North a few miles is a junction. Sasha, get your team up on that junction. Dicky, when you get off the helo go right, which is east, into the trees, set an ambush above the road.

  ‘Rocko, go left into the trees, leave a four man team opposite Dicky, then send a team northwest a mile, and you’ll come across another road, heading up to that junction. Get eyes on, but don’t ambush anyone yet.

  ‘If you do get the signal to ambush, do what we did before: open up for two minutes, move back away from the road, re-position five hundred yards, hit them again, and keep doing that.

  ‘I’ll try and get supplies to you by parachute, but take extra everything and dump it at your base camp. Take a few Gerry cans of water, but there’ll be streams there.’

  ‘Who’s near us?’ Rocko asked.

  ‘Moran is a few miles north, Rizzo a few miles northwest. Paras are twenty miles west, “G” Squadron are twenty miles northwest, French are up in Guinea. The President’s army are all down in Monrovia defending the capital. Any black face is fair game.’

  Slider asked, ‘Where will we be ... in relation to that camp we hit?’

  ‘From that camp, if you went east by road twelve miles, you’d hit that junction I mentioned. One long road.’

  ‘And the bad boys?’ Tomo asked.

  ‘Two groups of five hundred men, somewhere on the roads north of you. If the helo pilot sees any movement he’ll drop you someplace else. A column could be south of your position by now.’

  They were all set, keen to go, Nicholson ribbing Tomo about shooting straight, Henri and Jacque rudely being asked if they were being paid double – once by us and once by Elf.

  ‘I stood and watched as they boarded the Chinook, wanting to be going with them, but I had to co-ordinate things back here. The heavy drone soon became just a distant hum, the tree frogs back to their serenading.

  Inside, I updated the map, and waited.

  An hour later, at 9pm, a helicopter landed, but an American Seahawk, a shock to see Franks and his buddy setting down with bags, the Seahawk lifting straight off.

  ‘I don’t remember inviting you gentlemen,’ I teased. ‘And you’re a long way from the Pacific.’

  ‘I’m sure it all went through channels,’ Franks quipped as I led him in. Haines found them a room to dump their kit, and I introduced them to the officers present.

  ‘This is Mister Franks, deadly CIA assassin, knife strapped to his shins.’

  Franks shot me a look. ‘I’m just an analyst for Military Intel, like your Captain Harris.’

  ‘Are the Americans involved?’ Lt Col Marsh puzzled.

  ‘They are now,’ I quipped. ‘Aircraft carrier offshore.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Marsh let out.

  Franks had a good look at the map. ‘Got men in place I see. Any shots fired yet?’

  ‘None reported, and I’m waiting for the main body to move south.’

  He straightened. ‘Paris is seeing rioting on the streets, a lot of left wing groups keen to lynch Elf Oil, along with most everyone else wanting to lynch them. This latest episode comes on the back of a long list of scandals that cost the French tax payer hundreds of millions. French President is ... a bit harassed, to say the least.’

  ‘Serves him bloody right,’ Lt Col Marsh put in. ‘Never thought my men would be in danger from a French oil conglomerate. They don’t teach that at Sandhurst.’

  Tea in hand, I sat with the police outside the mess tent, all of them in good spirits, glad to be at the centre of things, asking questions of the various units and what was happening. With Sergeant Crab making the suggestion, I agreed to two OPs on the river, one north and one south, Crab and Duffy soon leading many of the police off on a practise patrol, but to a live OP.

  Rocko finally rang in. ‘We’re all down and set.’

  ‘Would have been nice if you told me that a minute after you landed, Staff Sergeant.’

  ‘Well we had a cup of tea first.’

  Smiling, I said, ‘Keep the updates regular, or I might send Sergeant Crab out to rescue you by mistake.’

  ‘Like he could find us.’

  Inside the mess tent, I told the sergeant, ‘Fewer people around now, so cut back a bit, but more lads could arrive. Patrols have gone out, so fewer to serve tonight and in the morning.’

  ‘How’s the war going, sir?’ a chef asked, so I updated them, all keen to get the detail.

  At midnight, two Chinooks rudely disturbed the night, just as I was settling down. I walked downstairs and out to greet whoever it was, finding “D” Squadron lads lugging heavy kit, Captain Hamble with them.

  ‘Grab tents at the rear,’ I told them, greeting familiar faces.

  The second Chinook had brought Pathfinders, and I wondered why no one was bothering to tell me the movements – I was just the guy in charge after all. I again greeted familiar faces and showed them to tents, pointing out the mess tent.

  I ducked into the mess tent, finding them playing cards. ‘Never believe a word I say, forty hungry mouths to feed.’

  ‘We’ll be ready in ten minutes, sir.’

  Ten minutes later, Hamble appeared in the command room with mess tin full of food, tea mug in the other hand, a Pathfinders captain with him. They greeted everyone, the Pathfinders captain known to all the 2 Para staff.

  As Hamble ate I detailed the dispositions on the map, but his men were knackered and wanted some rest before they tackled anything. They had gotten up early, had sat at Brize Norton for hours before the flight down in a Tristar, and were groggy, everyone in the room slagging off the RAF, even Morten.

  ‘Think yourself lucky,’ Lt Col Marsh told him. ‘They shipped us over in a Hercules from Kenya, eight long hours.’

  I headed back up to my lonely room at 12.45 and lay down, facemask and gloves on.

  A kick to my boots woke me. ‘Sir, 5.15am, sir.’

  ‘What happened to your watch?’ I asked as I eased up, the grey dawn light penetrating the rooms.

  ‘No one told me till just now, sir.’ And off he went, some breakdown in communications somewhere.

  Downstairs, I got a brew thrust in my hand by police officers that had pulled an early stag. With half a mug in me I wandered around to the mess tent, finding a few people outside sat eating already.

  Inside, I said, ‘When do you lot sleep?’

  ‘We rotate it, sir, we’re OK. Few Army lads on duty overnight, so we told them what times to be here, and they all got some grub.’

  I got waffles, beans and poached eggs, and I sat outside on a metal crate chatting to a Para captain who had pulled an early stag on the radio, the sun threatening to ri
se sometime soon. His men had enjoyed a quiet night, one sent back this morning after being bitten by something.

  I nodded. ‘One of the regular SAS, he was bitten by Mongoose type of animal in Zambia, size of a cat, but the way he still describes it is being over six feet tall.’

  ‘That’s a fucking big Mongoose to be facing in the jungle. What is the biggest creature?’

  ‘Jaguar. But they’d run a mile at the smell of men. My men all have facemasks and gloves, no skin exposed, so we don’t get the bites.’

  ‘We have standard face veils, and use them at night, sleeves rolled down.’

  ‘Those face veils don’t keep mozzies away. You’ll have to get some of ours. We have a cold weather version as well, very comfy in the bogs of Northern Ireland.’

  ‘Talk of a peace accord being signed soon in Northern Ireland,’ he noted as we ate in the still dawn air.

  A 2 Squadron lad approached. ‘Sir, there’s a cow approaching.’

  ‘Is it armed?’ I teased.

  ‘It has horns, but we were thinking ... barbeque. Chefs say they could do it.’

  ‘Wait till people are awake, then shoot the fucking thing,’ I told him. ‘In fact, I’ll use my silencer. Remind me later.’

  ‘Right oh, sir.’

  ‘Someone might come looking for his cow,’ the Para captain said with a smile.

  ‘And we would deny seeing it – and eating it.’

  ‘It was you who shoot those three cows in Armagh?’

  ‘Yes, and one stayed upright. I was hoping they wouldn’t notice it.’

  After my second mug of tea men started to stir, Pathfinders heading to the mess tent with “D” Squadron men. I sat and chatted to two of my externals, and they had all been down here just a month ago, so were familiar with the local area, and all had facemasks and gloves, good first aid kits and anti-venom.

  ‘What we got planned, Boss?’ one asked me.

  ‘I’ll insert you by Chinook, you get eyes on a few roads, and when the time is right you harass the rebels, hit and run tactics. Take some 66mm, plenty of rations.’

  ‘We brought some GPMGs and ammo.’

  ‘Good, useful for ambushes. Don’t forget, shoot into the canvas backs of trucks as they pass.’

  The RAF Medics were now up and wandering around, and getting some hot food.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Passing you over to the Prime Minister.’

  ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And aren’t you supposed to ask your Defence Minister to talk to the MOD, to talk to Army, who talk to me?’ I teased.

  ‘Which is why I call you direct, to cut through all the nonsense. How is it down there?’

  ‘Men are in position, we’re observing the rebels as they move, but I’m waiting for more of them to move south before we attack.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you want them deterred till next month, or gone?’

  ‘I see what you mean, yes. If they’re forced back they try again later.’

  ‘We’ll box them in, sir.’

  ‘And the dictator in Monrovia has pulled his men back?’

  ‘Yes, he’s more than happy to assist any which way.’

  ‘We got a note from the French, their men in Guinea now, moving east.’

  ‘My hope there is that they cut off any retreat, after the fighting starts.’

  ‘All of our units working well together?’

  ‘So far, sir, no bickering.’

  ‘That makes a change. I had a request from the Marines.’

  ‘If they sent a small force, I could manufacture a low risk operation, and they’d get a good headline, good for recruitment, sir.’

  ‘As we previously discussed. OK, I’ll let them send a small force. Have the Americans contacted you?’

  ‘Two CIA chaps sat eating as we speak, ships offshore.’

  ‘They always puzzle me, quite what their motivation is.’

  ‘Probably just want a good newspaper headline, sir.’

  ‘As do we all. And right now I’d not want to be the French President. I think he slept in a tin hat, riots overnight, a lot of damage. The suggestion that Elf tried to blow up French soldiers has rocked them.’

  ‘No suggestion, sir, they nearly did blow up French soldiers, though I doubt they knew any were here at the time.’

  ‘A few Elf executives were found dead this morning, cause of death not revealed yet. It’s a mess over there, some of the rag newspapers here asking people not to buy French goods – which could best be avoided.’

  ‘I’ll chat to The Sun reporter here, ask him to tone down such things.’

  ‘Will the various units get some necessary exposure?’

  ‘You can bet on that, sir.’

  ‘I’m going to allow in a few other papers, maybe the BBC, or they will be critical of me.’

  ‘I can see that, sir, and we’ll protect them down here. Tell them to wear some suitable clothing.’

  ‘Yes, good idea. Talk soon.’

  I called a sleepy Captain Harris, now concerned at the responsibility on my shoulders. ‘I want one Chinook ready to go at all times, four medics on board fully kitted. Lots of men in the field now, someone will get hurt soon enough. And have the Army medics now up with the Paras have two people in a jeep at the bridge down here.’

  ‘I’ll sort that now,’ came after a yawn.

  ‘Let me know if there’re any mechanical faults or down time. Have the pilots rotate.’

  Lt Col Marsh stepped out, looking less than fresh. Like everyone else he was in just a green shirt, sleeves rolled up, and creased to hell. ‘Sleep OK, sir?’

  ‘Hell no, that camp bed was sticking into me all night.’

  ‘Get some extra rubber mats, sir, there are some upstairs.’

  He nodded before heading into the mess tent. Back with me, he sat on sandbags as men moved back and forth to the mess tent.

  ‘There’ll be BBC and others coming down, so ... might need to look a bit more with it before stepping out in the mornings, sir.’

  ‘BBC? Christ. I’ll clean my teeth.’

  ‘And prepare some notes, sir, a checklist. What do we hope to achieve here? How has the Sierra Leone government assisted you? Is the dictator in Monrovia a threat to our boys? How long will this campaign last? What do the British taxpayers get out of it? Are your men a bunch of blood thirsty killers who enjoy fighting?’

  ‘Someone asks me that I’ll hit them.’

  ‘If someone asks you that ... you’ll give a diplomatic answer, sir, or the Prime Minister will personally kick your arse.’

  ‘Hmmm. Fucking press.’

  ‘Create a checklist, sir, sit with your major, and bounce it back and forth till you have it down.’

  He nodded as he ate, men walking back and forth to the mess tent. ‘Don’t want to be wrong-footed by them, no. Glad you warned me. I did a course on it this year, forgotten most of it.’

  ‘They won’t be here till tomorrow, then some will want to be embedded with your men. But the Army Press officers might be with them.’

  ‘That should help a bit.’

  I had just reviewed the 2 Squadron lads, all in high spirits, when a jeep column appeared, Colonel Marchant stepping down.

  ‘Time out of the office, sir?’ I asked as I saluted. ‘No golf course around here.’

  He took in the activity. ‘Freetown golf course is not bad, so I heard, not that I have the time. I thought this place would be stuffed full of men.’

  ‘All earning their keep in the jungle, sir, not many left around here.’

  I led him inside and introduced him to the officers, and he knew Lt Col Marsh, a brew made. He stood with drink in hand as I detailed the map board.

  ‘Anything you need?’ he finally asked.

  ‘More jeeps, sir, if you can ask London. Plastic flysheets for the jungle, same people who supply us. Hasn’t rained too much these past few days, but it will.’

  He nodded, studying the map. �
��I pop in and chat to the Intel section every day, and they keep me up to speed on things. And I have a team of men working out rations and water per day per man, and we have more than a thousand men down here now.’

  ‘Might want to add antiseptic cream and soap, sir, bic razors, a shit load.’

  His assistant made a note before the group inspected the mess tent, had a nose around the building, and finally headed off.

  An hour later, and the Para major asked if his men could creep along that road and have a look. I agreed, but they were not to approach the town yet. I also agreed for a large patrol to move north along the river track and back.

  Liban then called in, reporting a line of trucks a mile long moving east, including water trucks and fuel trucks, and what looked like stacked wheat sacks. I told him to let them go, then to move east and not let them return to the west. We wanted them inside Liberian territory.

  Off the phone, I said, ‘OK, everyone, we have the game on.’ I updated the map. ‘The main force is moving east, not going to try and tempt us by entering Sierra Leone, and that means they’ll use one main road south, then maybe split up.’

  ‘And the size of that force?’ Lt Col Marsh asked.

  ‘Two thousand plus, the bulk of the men north, and that should put all of them inside Liberia.’

  ‘They’ll split the country,’ Marsh noted.

  ‘The north has nothing but shit swamp, so that would be a bad move,’ I told him.

  I updated Moran and Rizzo, followed by Rocko, on to “G” Squadron. The Pathfinder captain reported his men ready to deploy, and I sent for a Chinook, choosing an isolated spot three miles from a main road, not far from Lorax Hill in the north.

  Hamble was ready to go, but I wanted two troops left here for rescues and surgical strikes, and for him to remain. He complained, but quietly. That led to the Gurkhas major turning up, and wanting some action.

  ‘Problem is, sir, a real lack of roads to use. And if you drive down the wrong road you’ll come face to face with a very large force, no time to deploy.’

  ‘Then we walk in. It’s not a big country.’

  ‘No, just a two or three day walk to get somewhere useful,’ I considered. ‘Still, we have the Chinook, and they could insert sixty plus men at a time.’ I studied the map. ‘How quickly could you get all your vehicles and men to the river bridge just north of us?’