Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Three hours maybe.’

  ‘The rebels won’t reach this area for a day or so at least, sir, so if you’re quick you could get somewhere useful while those roads are clear.’

  ‘We’ll do that then.’

  ‘Have them form up at the bridge, sir, fast as you can.’

  He stepped out.

  I faced Lt Col Marsh. ‘I have a tasking for your men, sir. Got a paper and pen?’

  The major stepped over, pad ready.

  ‘Have a large patrol, thirty men, move northeast through the trees to the high ground. They’ll then see the camp below them. Report if there’s anyone in the camp. If no large force is there, send them north and around the edge of the camp in the river reed beds, all very quiet, and on half a mile to a dirt airstrip. Get eyes on the dirt airstrip.

  ‘If there’s a large force, back off. If not, set-up OPs, and have a re-supply chain set-up, regular patrols back and forth along that route. As soon as you’re ready, sir.’

  He stepped into the radio room.

  ‘Finally, something useful to do,’ Marsh keenly noted, a look at the map. ‘That airstrip could re-supply the rebels.’

  ‘If they have suitable planes, sir, and in the past they have had.’

  A 2 Squadron lad appeared. ‘Sir, it’s time to shoot that cow.’

  Faces adopted frowns.

  ‘You do it, a head shot.’

  He stepped out.

  ‘Cow?’ Marsh repeated.

  ‘Some farmer’s cow wander in, so ... barbeque later.’

  ‘Ah, good. Steak!’

  The Paras reported the patrol made up and dispatched half an hour later, the Pathfinders reporting in before lunch that they were down and walking. I updated the map.

  The Ghurkhas reported half their men at the bridge, so I gave them to the go ahead, to move to a strategic cross-roads and take hidden positions.

  Stepping out, I called our helpful dictator. ‘It’s Petrov.’

  ‘Ah, some ... news?’

  ‘The main force is moving east through Guinea, and will cross south today.’

  ‘You cannot ... stop them?’

  ‘We don’t want them stopped, we want them dead.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I see.’

  ‘There are British soldiers moving across the river bridge and east, make sure your men are nowhere near, and tell them not to shoot at white faces.’

  ‘I have told them, yes, they understand.’

  ‘By the end of today there may be engagements.’

  ‘We have cut the roads around Monrovia, we are ready.’

  ‘Be careful, Mister President, we believe they will try and assassinate you, so they must have someone close.’

  ‘I am very careful anyway, my men loyal. At least ... my inner circle.’

  ‘I’ll update you if anything interesting happens. We now have men all over the north reporting movement.’

  I chatted to the medics, who were bored, and I warned them the first actions would be later today. Inside, the Paras updated the map table as their patrol moved northeast and eventually reported the camp empty except for squatters. They moved on down to the river.

  The Pathfinders called in, now above the main highway, and that trucks had passed in both directions. I had them spread out along the road. Rocko also reported trucks moving both ways, which meant that the trucks had offloaded something and were heading back for more.

  I called Liban and discussed that, and he would block the road as the trucks returned. 1st Battalion French Paras were moving slowly east, some men walking, others in jeeps with GPMG fitted, some with 105mm fitted, and we knew that their movement would soon be reported to the rebels – and to their paymaster.

  As I studied the map I wondered what was on the mind of the man in charge over there, and why he was not afraid of me given the damage I had inflicted previously.

  My phone trilled. ‘This is Michael Paper calling.’

  I smiled. ‘This is Papa Victor.’

  ‘At the village of Jombolo, the rebel make ambush for the cars, they hide in the trees with big guns.’

  ‘Thank you. Papa Victor out.’

  I marked the map, the village north of where the Gurkhas were heading. ‘Fucking odd.’

  ‘What is?’ Marsh asked, men closing in.

  ‘The rebels are creating ambush points for us.’

  ‘But we’re not driving in,’ Marsh noted.

  ‘No, but they think ... we would.’

  ‘Well, typical army move I suppose,’ Marsh noted.

  I called the Ghurkha major and updated him, but his route would be miles from that ambush point. And he was nearly there. The Paras then called in, but by radio, a transport plane offloading soldiers on the dirt strip, thirty men down and erecting tents.

  ‘Shoot at the fucking plane!’ I shouted, the major shouting orders at the radio man.

  ‘Expensive things, planes,’ Marsh noted.

  ‘Very expensive. And it could block that runway. Have more men sent to that strip, sir, another thirty at least, GPMG and 66mm. It’s going to get interesting.’

  Major Taggard approached the table. ‘My men are not far off that place.’

  ‘Update them, sir, maybe they can cross the river – without drowning – and circle east, but I want one troop on that track, eyes on.’

  He nodded as he took out his sat phone and stepped away, Max having a look at the map and taking notes.

  The Paras major stepped in ten minutes later, smiling. ‘That plane taxied down the strip, starting to turn, and we hit it in the nose with a 66mm, blew it to bits, burnt quickly. The gunmen there ran to it, thinking it an accident, and we shot the fuckers – all of them. Chalk thirty kills up to us.’

  ‘Excellent, Major,’ I commended. ‘Now tell the men to shoot down any aircraft that lands, but to run away very quickly should a thousand men drive onto that strip.’

  ‘Oh, well, yes, could be a bit outnumbered.’ He headed off.

  ‘First action to us,’ Marsh proudly stated.

  ‘First action to the UK police with us, who shot dead thirty rebels a few days back.’

  ‘They’re police, they don’t count!’ Marsh said, his chin out.

  Moran called in. ‘Wilco, we lost some trucks.’

  ‘Lost them?’

  ‘A long column drove south past me, but they never got to that junction, and Sasha is there.’

  ‘Then where did they go?’

  ‘Map shows a track or two, no main roads.’

  ‘Then they stopped somewhere. Maybe for repairs.’

  ‘Smaller group went past, five trucks, and they reached Sasha.’

  ‘I’ll have a look at the map. Oh, Paras are at that old base we hit three times. They moved to the dirt strip beyond it, plane taking off after dropping off rebels, and hit it with a 66mm.’

  ‘So they’re having all the fun. When can we ambush someone?’

  ‘When the French block that road up north. Which could be soon.’

  I had a look at the map, and there it was, a track west, a dead end, a village and a river. I stepped out and called Mister President.

  ‘It’s Petrov. You know a village called Kame?’

  ‘Yes, it was an old base.’

  ‘What’s there?’

  ‘Barracks, runway, a village.’

  ‘Runway? Ah, I see now why they heading there. The British just destroyed a transport plane, near that camp where I met you.’

  ‘Good, that will cost money to replace.’

  ‘Can you find me someone who knows the Kame base, and have him describe it for me in detail.’

  ‘I will do so. Do you have a fax number?’

  ‘Hold on.’ Inside, I had Max to write down the number of his clever machine, and I gave that number over. ‘Papa Victor out.’ Phone away, I told Max, ‘Expect a fax for me. And should anyone ever ring that number and ask about me ... play dumb.’

  ‘That won’t be hard,’ Max said with a cheery smile.

&nb
sp; I called Moran. ‘It’s Wilco. Those trucks turned west down a track a few miles. There’s a barracks there and an airstrip.’

  ‘Then we should go take a look.’

  ‘Yes, after we cut the roads. For now, let them gather there. But I’m thinking that it’s some sort of command centre.’

  ‘Our main target then.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Twenty minutes later Max had three pages of drawings for me, the detail not too bad.

  I placed them on the table. ‘This, gentlemen, is enemy HQ.’

  ‘Just the one access road, so a bit foolish?’ Taggard noted.

  I nodded. ‘Unless there are tracks we don’t know about.’ I turned to Franks, tipped my head to one side and he followed me out. ‘Could you stick a 2,000lb bomb in a runway for me?’

  ‘Easy enough.’

  ‘Send the request in, for an hour after dawn tomorrow, that HQ airfield.’

  ‘And the media will get ... what?’

  I smiled widely. ‘What would you like ... the media to get?’

  ‘I’ll discuss that up the line as well.’

  After my tasty evening meal of chunky steak, well done, Major Liban called in, the road blocked, trucks on fire, contact ongoing. I called each of my teams in turn and told them to start ambushing at their discretion.

  In the command room, I loudly announced, ‘Gentlemen, Operation ... Liberian Freedom has begun, all units told to engage the enemy. That will take the form of set ambushes, to block the roads and wear them down. The full team of Gurkhas is now in place, so they can do more than just ambush.

  ‘Paras, move to the end of that road, in sight of the town, but don’t go near the town yet.’

  ‘We got jeeps across that narrow bridge,’ the major told me. ‘Slow, tight fit, but we did it.’

  ‘Excellent, then you can re-supply your men.’

  ‘We moved the medics over as well,’ he added. ‘And that road is good for a Chinook landing.’

  ‘Yes, sir, better for casevac.’

  Major Taggard put in, ‘Men are across the river, nay drowned either. They’re east of that airfield, can see the burnt plane.’

  I faced the Paras major. ‘Let your men know, sir, so that they don’t shoot at each other.’

  My phone trilled as men buzzed around the busy command room. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Rocko. We just hit a truck with 66mm, shot up the trucks and jeeps, and they ran off into the trees, those alive. Trucks are burning, some of them.’

  ‘I’ll mark that road as blocked for now. Wait to see who stops to help, then shoot them as well.’

  ‘Anyone else in action?’

  ‘Not yet, just 2 Para. They hit a transport plane with a 66mm.’

  ‘While it was flying?’

  ‘No, Dope, sat on the ground.’

  ‘I was gunna say, good fucking aim otherwise. Tell them from me that anyone can hit a plane on the ground. Rocko out.’

  Smiling, I faced the Paras. ‘Rocko says any fucker can hit a plane on the ground. If you want to impress him ... hit one in flight.’

  ‘In flight?’ the major repeated.

  ‘Cheeky bugger,’ Marsh put in. He turned to his major. ‘In the morning, if another plane comes in, hit it before it lands. That’ll shut up the SAS.’

  Smiling widely, I turned to Taggard. And waited.

  ‘Wee competition, is it?’ he asked. ‘My men are in a good spot, and if we see a plane coming in we’ll hit it.’

  ‘Twenty quid,’ Marsh told him.

  ‘Yee’s on, sir.’

  Marsh turned back to his major. ‘Make sure they don’t lose me that twenty quid, or I’ll leave them in the damn jungle.’

  Half an hour later, and the Paras had driven two jeeps south down the river track on the Liberian side. It was tight in places, muddy, but they made it to the bridge, other British units guarding the bridge, some Gurkhas still there. They now had a supply line for heavy items.

  Rizzo ambushed a small convoy, the para instructors in action, but Swifty had accidentally hit the back of a truck stacked with munitions, ears ringing, RPGs flying out in all directions and detonating against trees, the para instructors not impressed at all, face down in the dirt and avoiding getting blown up – and cursing Swifty.

  No one had approached the Gurkhas position, which puzzled me; the rebels seemed to be waiting for us to go to them.

  As I stood there, I felt like a general in the last war, stood over a map of the battlefield, or Caesar stood in a tent and looking at a hand-drawn map on an animal hide. The trick was to know the ground, and to know your enemy. I knew the ground well enough, but my opponent was a complete puzzle. His tactics made little sense to me.

  Tomsk called, so I stepped out. ‘Da!’

  ‘I have some information, I paid a bribe. That arms dealer, he mentioned a name, so I got hold of that man, paid some money. There’s a ship on the way to Monrovia docks, will land tomorrow night, armed men on board, two hundred. They will move on the President after some mortar and rocket attack from that ship. The mortars will land all over, smoke and stuff, to spread panic.’

  ‘And help the men get in place, yes. The President’s compound is not far from where that ship could land. You should warn him now, and I’ll see about intercepting that ship.’

  ‘OK, I call him now.’

  Inside, I found Franks and led him out. ‘There’s a ship full of armed men, going to dock in Monrovia tomorrow night, quick move on the President’s compound.’

  ‘We could intercept it at sea, something for the Navy to do.’

  ‘It’ll be heavily armed,’ I cautioned. ‘RPG, machineguns. Six Marines sliding down a rope won’t last long.’

  ‘I’ll warn them.’

  ‘If you don’t intercept it they’ll get it at the dock anyhow.’

  ‘Let me pass it up the line.’

  ‘This is why they’re behaving oddly, they’re waiting for our dictator to get his nuts shot off, and they probably have a man or two on the inside. With the dictator dead, the rest of the men will have to choose sides.’

  ‘Or fight amongst themselves, and then the rebels move down when it’s chaos.’

  ‘And you’re just a military intel analyst, eh,’ I teased.

  By midnight everyone was busy, reports coming in thick and fast of engagements, of trucks and jeeps destroyed, rebels killed. At the dirt airstrip, “G” Squadron had seen three trucks drive in, and so engaged them, the occupants of those trucks jumping down and firing back, which allowed the Paras to close in and shoot the rebels from behind.

  The Paras moved forwards, “G” Squadron moved back into the tree line, and the Paras offloaded RPGs, several NCOs familiar with them, and firing them was not difficult anyhow.

  I got the report, sixty Paras now at the dirt airstrip, the remainder not too far away, a patrol sneaking around the old destroyed camp.

  An hour later, and a line of jeeps and trucks - reported as maybe twelve, approached the old camp. A jeep drove in and had a nose around, found it all wrecked – young Paras hiding, and it drove back out.

  The column then foolishly drove straight between the Paras positions, the signal given, the vehicles shot up, the unfortunate vehicle occupants running toward those trees where Paras were hiding. No rebels survived, the road blocked by a few vehicles on fire after being hit by 66mm.

  I got a coffee, and I remained at the map table, not least because most of the action was happening right now, no lull for some down time, the Paras officers wide awake and planning their own small war in their own small quadrant.

  One young Para had gotten himself a bad ricochet, so had walked down the road west till he had been picked up by a Land Rover, driven down to us, the medics now with something to do, some minor surgery on the cards.

  When I wandered into their tent here at the FOB I found three wounded men. ‘I was told one wounded man.’

  ‘Two drove their jeep over a pot hole and went flying out of it,’ Morten told me.
‘Got a broken collar bone and a dislocated shoulder.’

  ‘OK, traffic accidents I don’t care about.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ came from a patient.

  ‘Not that I don’t care, but I’m responsible for men getting shot, not bad driving,’ I told him. ‘Drive slower next time, and watch were you’re going – it creates paperwork for me. Who are you with anyhow?’

  He glanced at the faces. ‘Transport, sir, I’m a driver.’

  ‘Keep at it, you might pass your test soon,’ I told him.

  Morten hid his smirk as I left.

  The roar built, a Hercules circling low, and after a glance down at the dark strip it put its lights on. A steep approach, and down it came, levelling off and touching down, halting quickly. Ramp down, a long line of men walked out and to me under the roar of the engines. I recognised the faces and smiled; Swan and Leggit, the Wolves behind them.

  Swan began, ‘Fourteen Lone Wolves, Boss, some off sick or doing jobs, and one quit I think.’

  I looked past him.

  ‘Royal Marines, fifty odd of them. Some sort of recon platoons.’

  I pointed the Lone Wolves to tents as a Marines captain approached with his men, Bergens lugged, rifles ready.

  ‘Captain Naysmith, and you must be Wilco.’

  I shook his hand. ‘Welcome to the FOB. Grab tents, kit down, mess tent there, rest and acclimatise, and we’ll send you off when you tell me you’re fit and ready.’

  ‘Fit to drop at the moment. Food, then rest.’ He led his men off.

  Back inside, I announced, ‘Royal Marines are here, so you Paras can make some real wagers now.’ The grumbled. ‘As well as my Lone Wolves.’

  ‘And what exactly do these Lone Wolves do?’ Lt Col Marsh asked.

  ‘Naughty jobs overseas, and if they’re killed we deny that they’re with us.’

  ‘Oh, that kind of work.’

  ‘They’re all well trained – by me, and great snipers.’

  I was interrupted by the Pathfinders Captain. ‘Got a man with a shoulder wound, not pumping, but bad.’

  ‘I’ll organise a Chinook, but they must disengage the contact and move at least five hundred yards, to an open space. Get me a fix on them.’