by Geoff Wolak
The Paras moved back and bunched up, RPGs made ready, their view partly obstructed by two planes, one still burning. They benefitted, however, from six GPMGs targeted across the strip, and plenty of ammo.
Reports came in to excited officers; two lines of black irregulars, heavily armed, walking onto the airstrip and taking in the burning truck and burning plane. The rebel force stopped and waited. We waited. “G” Squadron waited, and so did the Paras at the strip.
After fifteen minutes of discussion, the rebels bunching up, the man in charge of those rebels split his force. Some would follow the tree line around towards “G” Squadron, the bulk to head for the camp through the trees. On the main road, two hundred men wandered towards the town and the camp gate, and so far this was looking like the largest encounter to date.
The Paras on the strip waited till the last moment and opened up, GPMGs hammering out rounds, sixty men firing across the strip. That distracted the men about to trip over “G” Squadron.
The rebels fired at the Paras, turning their backs to “G” Squadron, who waited, and waited some more as they snuck closer, then opened up, some rebels hit from just ten yards behind as they were distracted.
The mortar on the truck then decided to blow, a few rebels caught by the blast, a second slow-roasting mortar detonating five minutes later.
Those rebels that had reached the main camp gates heard the battle and figured they would sneak around behind the Paras, through the camp. They moved cautiously through the camp debris, a single platoon of Paras hidden in the burned-out buildings, and in the wrong spot at the wrong time.
The platoon opened up, a few rebels hit, the rest scattering, that platoon of Paras soon pinned down and calling for help. Luckily there was bare concrete between them and the rebels, a no-man’s land, so neither side would be advancing on the other any time soon.
The Paras at the road ambush quickly abandoned their positions and cut through the trees at a sprint, coming out behind a damaged barracks, the men taking position in the rubble, and opening up.
In the space of an hour, more than a hundred Paras snuck into the camp and engaged the rebels, who started to withdraw. The first Para was killed when he fell off rubble and hit his head, a simple accident.
At the dirt strip, few rebels remained in the fight. Those alive had fled, walking wounded had been picked off. “G” Squadron ran through the trees, the same route taken to steal the truck, and found a disheartened shambles walking off down the road. They opened up, most of the rebels running or hiding, few firing back.
Across the river, a bored troop of “G” Squadron lads suddenly found thirty men sneaking along and ambushed them head on, ten rebels killed, the rest running off.
In the command room I updated the board, a Chinook with medics sent to the north end of the Paras camp, eight wounded Paras withdrawn, mostly scrapes and ricochet, one dead body recovered.
Marsh straightened. ‘Not bad at all, save one silly accident. Less than ten minor wounds, and after a battle against three hundred, a lot of rounds fired. Men did well.’
‘You may as well move into that camp and hold it now, and block the road from it, sir,’ I told him.
He nodded, and issued orders. ‘We’ll get weapons off the dead as well.’
‘Have every second platoon rest and eat, sir, we don’t know when the next attack will be. And you’ll need to move bodies, they go ripe in hours. Best bet is local people from the town, a few quid to dig graves – that’s what we did before. If you have no cash we can arrange some.’
He issued orders as I ordered a Chinook loaded with supplies to land at the camp and to offload the goodies.
Morten stepped in.
‘Ah, Doc, you have dollars?’ I asked.
‘Yes, always have them these days.’
‘Right. I want you on a jeep up to the Para’s camp, cash in hand, bodies to bury. But I also want facemasks, rubber gloves and lime before you go.’
‘There are supplies at the airport, but I’ll have to ask about the lime.’ He headed out.
At 5pm I was tired, but the food was keeping me going.
Franks stepped in, phone in hand. ‘Navy intercepted that ship, or at least tried to. When they got close they had RPGs fired at them, no hits, but close. So the F18s landed a lucky hit.’
‘Lucky hit?’ Marsh challenged. ‘Your lot have computers and guided bombs; they could choose the right port hole to hit!’
Franks turned back to me from Marsh. ‘They hit the engine room fuel, blew the tub in half. It rolled and sank quickly, few survivors.’
‘Best place for them,’ Marsh firmly noted. ‘Bottom of the ocean.’
‘I’m sure a few others would agree with that,’ I told Marsh, but held me eye contact on Franks. Outside, I called Mike Papa.
‘Hello?’
‘Mister President, it’s Petrov. The US Navy sank the ship heading towards you, no survivors.’
‘My ... god.’
‘And the British and French soldiers are doing well, so you can relax.’
‘That is good news, yes, indeed. Mister Tomsk certainly is well connected.’
‘Talk soon. Papa Victor out.’
I called Tomsk. ‘US Navy sank that ship.’
‘They did? Dear god.’
‘That’s what friends are for. How’s that waistline?’
‘Ah, not so good. I wake in the night and have a snack sometimes.’
‘A snack ... or a burger?’
‘Well, if I drink I need something solid.’
‘Leave a salad out.’
‘Salad? After drinking. Pah!’
Back inside, I stared hard at the map board.
‘Something?’ Lt Col Marsh asked. ‘You seem ... troubled.’
Colonel Clifford closed in as I tapped the map. I said, ‘Fixed position ambush for us. But why?’
Men turned towards us.
‘Figured we would drive in,’ Marsh noted.
‘Never have before, sir, and these boys have been getting kicked by me for two years.’
Major Taggard put in, ‘Maybe they figure on the Monrovia army to move by road.’
I shook my head. ‘On each previous encounter, or any kind of trouble, the Monrovia army protects Monrovia – and to hell with the rest of the country.’
‘Are there such ambushes reported anywhere else?’ Marsh asked, Colonel Clifford keenly listening in.
‘None reported,’ I let out with a sigh.
Major Taggard suggested, ‘Maybe they stopped for a pause whilst that ship was bound for Monrovia, waiting to see the outcome. And if the outcome was nay good they’d turn around and fuck off home.’
I wagged a finger towards him. ‘There are ten different groups here, being drawn together.’
Colonel Clifford put in, ‘And maybe some have designs on the top job.’
‘They’ve been at each other’s throats for years,’ I noted.
Major Taggard tapped the map. ‘That HQ is way over yonder, main man sat tight and well protected whilst the other groups fight us. He’s a canny one.’
‘He’s a coward,’ Marsh told everyone. ‘He’s sat waiting to see what happens, and if that ship had landed and the dictator had been removed, he could fly down and take control.’
I nodded. ‘Or he sits and watches what happens, because with the dictator gone there would be a free for all – no rules.’
‘Now that the ship was been dealt with..?’ Colonel Clifford floated.
I glanced at him. ‘The main man would now like to go home, sir, but don’t dare show fear in front of his men. Besides, we cut all the roads north, so he’s stuck.’
Haines put a hand to his ear mic. ‘Shots fired on the road!’
Men grabbed rifles as I calmly listened.
‘Suspicious vehicle.’
We all glanced up as the GPMGs on the roof hammered out rounds. A moment later the blast shook the building.
‘Any injured men?’ I asked Haines.
; ‘A few lads knocked off their feet, that’s all’.
‘Get them to the medics, get more men on the roads.’ I called Colonel Marchant. ‘Sir, we just had a car bomb here, another one. You’re next, sir, so get ready.’ I called Captain Harris.
‘Ah, Wilco, we were just about to call you, some odd signals near you.’
‘We just had a car bomb attack, no one hurt, but could have used that warning sooner.’
‘We’re on the ball, it was just a minute ago,’ he insisted.
‘Round up some extra soldiers for this area, send them down. Thanks.’ Phone away, I said, ‘Car bombs are the emotional reactions of a trapped man.’
‘How’d they get through our lines?’ Marsh asked, frustrated.
‘Up that road and left is a town, sir, lots of traffic. We’d need stop and search them all. Anyway, sir, you look tired – you haven’t slept in two days, so how about some rest?’
‘I’m OK.’
I faced him. ‘They’ll not attack till after midnight, we’ll not attack till dawn -’
‘Save a car bomb or two.’
‘Sir, you’ll need to be fresh for dawn,’ I insisted.
‘You’ve been awake longer,’ he quietly protested.
‘He’s Wilco,’ Colonel Clifford stated. ‘You’re a mere mortal. So you be a good patient and get some rest. That goes for anyone else who’s pushing themselves.’
‘I’ll be getting a few hours kip now, sir, ready for midnight,’ I told Marsh, and he relented, heading off for some rest.
I made use of Mister Haines’ camp bed downstairs, Captain Hamble offering to alert me if anything happened. I closed my eyes, dead tired, and found someone kicking my food a moment later, but somehow it was three hours later. ‘Eh?’
‘Your phone, sir.’
‘What? Oh, right.’ I grabbed for my phone as I eased up.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me,’ came from Tomsk. ‘You sound like you were asleep.’
‘Been a long few days.’
‘Well listen, I bribed some people down there, and there’ll be an attack on the British at the airport tonight, mortars, and then some attack on some captain who was in the newspapers.’
‘I’ll let the British know, and you get the credit. Anything else like that, let me know straight away. Thanks.’ I eased up and rubbed my face, taking a sip of water. Rifle slung, I stepped out. ‘Stand-to everyone,’ I told Haines. ‘Company is coming.’
I called Captain Harris as men rushed around, weapons checked. ‘It’s Wilco. Real time human intel, mortar attack, your airport. Set a perimeter a mile out, men hidden. If they hit a plane there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘I’ll alert everyone now.’
Phone down, Lt Col Marsh now awake, but definitely not with it, Captain Hamble reported his men ready and spread out. I stared at the map, wondering what form of attack it would take, assuming that I was the target. I finally turned my head to Franks, who had also been sleeping. ‘Check the radar. Quickly, please.’
He made a call as coffee was thrust into my hand. I took a few swigs and handed it to Marsh, who needed it more than I did.
‘How long was I asleep?’ he asked.
‘Three hours and a bit, sir,’ Hamble informed him.
Franks turned towards me, phone to his ear. ‘Intermittent radar contact, possible helicopter, ten miles north, heading south towards us here.’
‘I want the medics in here with the cooks, every able man with a rifle outside and spread out.’ I faced Marsh. ‘Sir, get some of your officers together, get the 66mm, and get to the middle of the strip. And, sir, should you hit that helicopter ... there’re few of high enough rank to call you Smartarse.’
He smiled. ‘On me!’ he told his officers.
‘I want lights out in two minutes!’ I shouted. I called Captain Harris. ‘Do we have any helos up flying right now?’
‘No, all down, all sat here.’
‘Double check, because we’re about to shoot one down. Call me if there are any up.’ Next call was Major Liban.
‘Oui?’
‘It’s Wilco. Do you have any helicopters heading for me right now?’
‘I don’t think so, there are three Puma, but used for medical, we have a fight ongoing here.’
‘Double check, we’re about to shoot it down. Call me if it is yours.’
‘OK.’
The medics ran in, kit with them, the cooks coming in the back way.
‘We have incoming, so get down!’ I shouted, moving past the medics and outside. I double-checked my weapon as the lights went out. ‘Men on the roof, get ready for a hostile helicopter.’
‘We’re over here,’ Lt Col Marsh called, and I jogged forwards onto the strip, reaching their dark outlines. ‘We have dozens of 66mm.’
‘Spread out, and check your rear before firing!’ I shouted through the dark. ‘Move left and right.’
‘Wilco?’ came Captain Hamble’s voice.
‘Here.’
‘Where’d you want us, I have a flying squad.’ Weapons clicked, unseen in the dark.
‘Right here, get ready to shoot a helo from the north. Hope it’s not one of ours.’
‘Did you call the airport?’ Captain Hamble asked, caution in his voice.
‘Yes, and they said they’re all sat on the tarmac. Plus we got a tip-off that it’s hostile.’
‘That always helps.’
‘I hear something!’ a man shouted.
‘Get ready!’ I shouted. ‘And spread out, you’re still too close to each other!’ I knelt, rifle adopted, facing north, and now I could hear it. ‘That’s a Russian helo, so not one of ours!’ I shouted. ‘Fire only when you are sure of the shot!’
I set automatic, the resonating drone growing, then I saw it, and it was moving towards the east end of the camp, not on course for the building. ‘There it is! Standby!’
It grew larger, a black outline, no lights on, but I thought I could see lights on in the cockpit.
‘Standby!’ Its heavy drone filled the air, and I could feel it shaking me. ‘Three ... two .... one ... fire!’
The 66mm blasted out, almost knocking me off my feet, and for a few seconds I could do nothing but try and stay upright as all hell broke loose around me. Opening my eyes, I could see a spinning fireball, dozens of tracer rounds hitting it. There was no point in me firing. The fireball slammed into the grass towards the far end of the strip, a huge shower of sparks thrown high, followed by three almighty overlapping blasts.
‘Twang!’ Something hit the ground near me.
‘Man down!’ echoed, and from several areas.
‘Get the lights on!’ I shouted. ‘Medics outside! Medics!’
Men ran in several directions, and I assisted a man being carried, only realising when the lights came on that Marsh was carrying a captain of his.
Lamps came on in the medical tent, and I helped lay the man down, shrapnel in his gut. I grabbed a lamp and had a close look as a dozen people tried to cram inside the tent in one go.
‘That’s not fatal,’ I assured the captain. ‘Nice scar, story to tell.’
With the medics trying to get inside I pushed the non-wounded outside, and we walked back to the map table, the wrecked helicopter burning fiercely.
‘That could have gone better,’ Marsh let out.
‘Not really,’ I said as I glanced at the map board. ‘It came in over the trees, no time to intercept it, and if they had been on the ball they would have put a few missiles in this building, us lot quite dead.’
Colonel Clifford asked, ‘Should we reconsider this position?’
‘No, sir, it’s the best spot to be, but I’d feel better if some of the more senior officers were back at the airport.’
‘Bollocks,’ Lt Col Marsh let out. ‘I’m staying here. We’re in a war, and we’re winning. Just unfortunate that the helo had ten tonnes of explosives onboard, a few men wounded.’
‘No fatalities?’ Colonel Clifford asked.
Captain Hamble stepped in. ‘One of mine got hit in the head, out cold, but it doesn’t look serious. One got a shard of metal in his leg.’
The chief cook stepped in from the back door. ‘Captain Wilco. Sir. There’s a big hole in the mess tent, so good job we were not in it, a bit of a helicopter mixed in with the eggs. In reference to what you said about it being quiet around here, sir.’
‘From now on it should be better,’ I told him.
‘Well on behalf of the lads ... your definition of quiet needs some fucking work, sir.’
Colonel Clifford stepped forwards. ‘This is Wilco’s idea of quiet. You should see it when he says it’s going to be loud.’
‘Rather not, sir. And we’re pinching sandbags to build a wall, and we hereby formally request helmets and body armour.’
‘Sergeant,’ I began. ‘How often do you have a great tale to tell over a beer, about some action in a far off country?’
Major Taggard faced the chef. ‘Yee has a great story now, not to mention a campaign medal at the end no doubt.’
‘And a personal letter of thanks from me,’ I added. ‘If you survive the next few days of course.’
Lt Col Marsh closed in. ‘Sergeant, without you we’d be stuck. We need you. I’ll try and get you some helmets, and more sandbags.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ the chef offered, taking in the faces, but still looking peeved. He shot me a look before he left.
‘I’ve upset the most important people here,’ I said with a sigh.
‘That helicopter...’ Colonel Clifford began.
‘An emotional reaction from a trapped man, a desperate measure,’ I told everyone. ‘We can expect the roads near his HQ to be mined, all sorts of traps laid, a few bombs going off over here.’
‘We have good intel,’ Captain Hamble told everyone. ‘We got the warning.’
‘Dodged the bullet three times already,’ Lt Col Marsh noted. ‘And in a rear base.’
‘So who hit the helo?’ I asked with a grin.
‘Hard to tell,’ Marsh conceded, his chest out, his chin out. ‘But I did hit it.’
‘Smartarse,’ Colonel Clifford let out, the officers laughing.
Little more than ten minutes later a Chinook put down, lights on, no one shooting at it, the wounded stretchered off, a total of eight men taken away, a concern for me. But Morten insisted that they would all live.