Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Fuck no, we want them worked hard.’

  ‘One thing that struck me ... is that they look and feel like a regular Army unit. So ...’

  ‘They could be ... on a base, uniforms, joint training.’

  ‘More soldier than cop some of the time, and respect from the Army. Like my Lone Wolves. They’ve been operating like soldiers, even parachuting, so a direct comparison can be drawn with the SAS for a handover to your lot.’

  ‘You’ll sign them off?’

  ‘Yes, and soon. You need to plan the next batch, plan the re-training, and think what they’ll do when not needed – which is most of the time. Sat on a base and training might be an idea.’

  They exchanged looks. ‘We can use The Factory a few days?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And your place?’

  Again I nodded.

  ‘We’ll make some plans.’

  I made some plans as well and called Major Bradley and discussed it with him for ten minutes. Ordering up a Sea King, I was told a Lynx was close by and that they could take me and Colonel Clifford to the airport. I asked the FAC what the Lynx was doing, since no one had told me they were active.

  ‘Just took some of the press for a joy ride around the Gurkha area.’

  ‘Ah.’ I had an idea.

  The Lynx picked up myself and Clifford, a Navy crewman and a journalist in the back, a ten minute flight to the airport, during which I briefed the journalist on a few things, the Marines action now seen as heroic, and against the odds.

  At the airport I stepped down to see a row of Hercules, six in all. A Chinook landed, closely followed by a second, Paras walking out with their backpacks. I led Clifford first to Intel in the old French area – no French seen, all faces turning to me, and I greeted Captain Harris and those I knew.

  Captain Harris told me, ‘Several small rebel groups moving east, towards that HQ airfield.’

  I nodded. ‘Let me know if they go off-road anywhere. Oh, command meeting in an hour.’ I checked my watch. ‘Say 1pm.’

  ‘There is a room big enough.’

  ‘I want all the pilots, senior para instructors.’

  Outside, I flagged down a jeep and we got a ride to the far side, and to Colonel Marchant’s office, the place now bustling.

  ‘Ah, Wilco,’ Marchant began after I saluted him. ‘A few unanswered questions about this para drop.’

  ‘I’ve asked for a command meeting at 1pm, so maybe we can wrap it all up then, sir.’

  ‘Yes, that should do, get the questions and answers sorted.’

  He made us both tea, and we sat for fifteen minutes, catching up, the ceiling fans whirring away.

  I told him, ‘I’ll be meeting with the ambassador soon, a chat about peacekeeping. You tasked to stay on, sir?’

  ‘Yes, eight months left.’

  ‘British and French troops will probably patrol the bulk of Liberia for a while, a gradual handover. More paperwork for you, sir.’

  ‘It’s good to be busy, and at the centre of things. Some saw this posting as a quiet backwater.’

  At 12.50 we found the designated meeting room in the main terminal building, and I was just about the only one with a rifle slung. I greeted familiar faces, Hercules pilots – the famous cement bombers, a nod at Lt Col Marsh and his senior men. Two Navy officers stood there, twenty RAF officers – including the para instructors Flight Lieutenant and his Squadron Leader, and various Army units.

  Colonel Clifford did the rounds, Colonel Marchant and his senior staff greeting people. I found the CO of 2 Squadron bounding over to me.

  ‘Ah, Wilco. Hope you have an idea about a drop for my lads as well.’

  ‘I’m sure I can magic up a suitable job, sir,’ I told him.

  ‘Good, good, we need the practise. Any airfields to seize?’

  ‘Might be a few dirt strips still in rebel hands, sir. I’ll check with Intel.’

  At 1pm I stood at the front, the noise level dropping. ‘OK, are we all here? Anyone know of a senior body that should be here?’

  They looked around.

  ‘OK,’ I began. ‘There is that which we would like to do tomorrow, and that which we might be ready and capable of doing. So, are the para school instructors ready?’

  The Squadron Leader began, ‘We have the chutes, we have the men in place, and the aircraft are in place, and rigged. Final inspections of kit in an hour or so. We would, however, like an hour with anyone on the drop who is ... less than confident.’

  ‘Sounds like an excellent idea, sir, and it adds to the safety of the drop.’ I turned my head a notch. ‘Lt Col Marsh, please see that anyone who has not dropped this year ... has that hour.’

  ‘I’ll be there myself.’

  ‘OK, what we have ... is a rebel HQ in the east, and a tough nut to crack; they’re dug in tight. They have fences, guard dogs, patrols out, a minefield, heavy machineguns, and mortars. They also have two thousand men, more arriving.

  ‘We ... are a smaller force, but they lack the will to fight when the shooting starts. All around that base I have my men, and we’ll keep them awake and thin them out a bit, so when the Paras get there they may find a dispirited bunch rushing to get their pyjamas off.’

  The men laughed.

  ‘We also have the French moving in from the north, and may have several hundred men in the northeast sector for dawn. The Paras must stick to their sector, and when inside the perimeter they must not shoot outside the perimeter.

  ‘So, tonight we’ll drop the Pathfinders at a spot roughly two miles west of the rebel HQ. Between that LZ and the rebels lies two miles of shit jungle, swamps and streams, not easy going. Some of the Pathfinders could patrol that area before dawn. Lt Col Marsh, please sit with them and make a plan.

  ‘The Pathfinders will report if there’s any rebel movement on the LZ, and we could abort. If all is OK ... we land as many Paras as quickly as possible, the largest live drop since Arnhem, 1944, so make sure the press spell your names right ... kids will be reading about you in books for years to come.’

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘Given the minefield, a small number of Bomb Disposal lads will drop with the Paras. There are ways through the mines, the rebels use them, but we need to be safe. Paras ... have the mine boys at the front when you get to the fence.

  ‘Once the Paras are down, Chinooks will land with medics and supplies. Supplies will be pushed out, any men with broken ankles pushed in. The Paras field HQ will be in the trees on the east side of the LZ, and will remain only till the base is taken, then to move inside – with the medics.

  ‘I would suggest that a Chinook takes the medics, save walking through a swamp with good medical supplies. Where the Pathfinders are ... is up to you. It is, however, important that the Paras and Pathfinders stick to just the western fence area, or you’ll trip across SAS and my men.

  ‘Once the Paras hit the fence, the idea is that my men open up, and to cover your men as they move inside, when it’s safe to do so. Please, no heroics, let’s keep the casualties down. Fire at them till they run off, then move forwards and consolidate, building by building. My men will not enter the base, but will snipe from the wire and deal with patrols outside the wire.

  ‘Now, we have the use of Navy Lynx, two at least, and they’ll be tasked with hitting the mortar positions in the base five minutes before the para drop, so it will need to be carefully coordinated. The Hercules needs to tell the Navy they are ten minutes away, and the Lynx has to be in position.

  ‘The Lynx will also have a look at the LZ, and report any problems. Hercules and Lynx must chat and coordinate things, the Lynx there in case an old Mi8 helicopter is missed. Those helicopters could have ground attack missiles, they’ll not have air-to-air missiles, and we’ve not seen any surface to air missiles here.

  ‘The danger will be if one of those Mi8 helicopters fires at one of our helos as it sits on the deck. All helicopter pilots ... keep your eyes peeled for any Mi8. See one ... run away. Or i
ndeed fly away.’

  ‘What about a door gunner?’ a man asked.

  ‘In what?’

  ‘A Sea King.’

  ‘Yes, a GPMG will help, but I don’t know if a GMPG will bring down an Mi8 at distance. It would crack the glass and make them think twice, and my men have shot down an Mi8 with rifles.’

  ‘It’ll make them fuck off,’ the man said.

  I nodded. ‘By all means take a man with a GPMG, but we’re hoping that the Lynx will be close by if needed. On that note, I propose that we put two TV cameras in the Lynx, and that they film the Para drop for posterity. I also suggest that the Pathfinders have cameras, and snap the drop for the history books.’

  A man raised his hand. ‘We got a shit load of those disposable cameras from the gift shop. 35mm, twenty snaps.’

  ‘Please hand them out, encourage their use. And if there is a video camera, someone in a Hercules filming the drop.’

  ‘One of the reporters has two small video cameras.’

  ‘Ask that reporter to go in the Hercules and to film the egress, please. Let’s just hope it all goes well. Paras, stack up what you want and need, to be loaded to a Chinook, the first Chinook to re-supply you. Have plenty of ammo, and GPMGs, on that first helo. And all helicopters should have medics on board at all times.

  ‘The LZ is easy to fetch men out from, but the jungle is not, so Paras – look for marshalling areas in the jungle as you progress, somewhere a wounded man can be lifted. Best place would be 500yards from the fence, sorted out before the shooting starts. Navy – please have extra Sea Kings with Naval medics on board, on standby ready, we may need them.’

  One of the two naval officers raised a hand. ‘The Marines on Fearless are itching for something to do.’

  ‘How many helicopters are left onboard?’

  ‘Six, and they’re all serviceable.’

  ‘Then have Marines with GPMGs and plenty of ammo on board, a time when the Paras reach the fence. Paras – make the timing call, and the helos can fly past and fire down, a diversion when you move in. Navy, those helos must be at a thousand feet, and five hundred yards from the perimeter laterally. The rebels have fifty cal, RPG, so your aircraft could take a hit if too low.’

  ‘I’ll discuss it with them. But what about the Marines?’

  ‘There are a dozen small groups out there, and after the main camp is hit – even more splinter groups, so I’ll task the Marines with search and attack missions when we spot groups. But have them on standby tomorrow, just in case we get a surprise.’

  ‘And when that camp is taken?’ a man asked.

  ‘Then we have a large area to police, many small groups to hunt down. It will take weeks to deal with them all, but they work for pay – and if the main man is dead or captured they lose interest very quickly and fuck off home. They’re not fighting for their country, or ideals, just hard cash and a few false promises.’

  An RAF pilot asked, ‘Did the para school lads really go behind the lines?’

  I took a moment. ‘Many weeks ago ... some in the SAS suggested that HALO be taught by people like the Americans, because our own RAF instructors had never fired a shot in anger. I discussed that with the MOD, who allowed me to get them some experience.

  ‘I took some of them to Borneo, and they saw action, confirmed kills. Some came here with me a few weeks back, and they practised HALO dropping here, a different environment to back home – and not very safe.

  ‘I then had eight of them, all volunteers, join my men on a HALO drop deep behind the lines. They were behind the lines for many days, killing rebels, living rough, so have been doing the job that the SAS do – and doing it well. My men had no complaints about them.

  ‘There are now para school instructors here who have a dozen confirmed kills, when many SAS and SBS men don’t have that. The aim is ... when the fighting here eases, that they HALO into known hostile areas and develop the skills that some on the SAS said they lacked. That debate is now all but closed.’

  A major raised his hand. ‘We have fifty Dragoons here, and surplus to this area.’

  ‘They would be of most use joining the Gurkhas, sir, and pushing north from the rebel camp that the Gurkhas took this morning.’

  ‘I’ll send them to the Gurkhas then.’

  ‘What about recovering all the chutes?’ an RAF officer asked.

  ‘I would send the para school lads out in a Chinook later in the day. So someone pencil that in. Paras, and Pathfinders, please stack them somewhere dry ready to be collected, or the MOD will be counting the costs – and shouting. Oh, do we have RAF Forward Air Controllers?’

  ‘Several, in with the RAF Regiment here.’

  I asked, ‘And Navy FACs – other than the one with me already?’

  ‘We can get some,’ offered the Navy officer.

  ‘I want an RAF FAC, and one Navy, on the first Chinook to reach the Paras after the drop, and by that I mean that the Chinook should touch down five minutes after the last man lands. They stay with Lt Col Marsh.’

  Colonel Marchant asked, ‘Road supply, once that base is taken?’

  ‘Not for many days, sir, there are still hundreds of rebels between here and there. We’ll need Chinook re-supply for three days at least.’

  ‘Be cut off then,’ he noted.

  ‘Yes, but this is about cutting off the head of the enemy, after which the rebels don’t get any more orders, and no pay, lose interest and melt away.

  ‘But the greatest danger will come from isolated groups shooting at our vehicles as they pass. Road travel will be deadly over there until we clear the area. If not, we’ll take more casualties after the fighting than during it. Best time to move by road will be dawn, because they like a lay in.’

  The assembled officers laughed.

  ‘I’ll be heading back to the FOB now, to coordinate my men and Intel, so the success of this is down to you, and don’t forget what the newspapers will report; make any screw-ups look intentional and heroic.’

  I spoke with many of the officers in turn, half an hour used up, then myself and Colonel Clifford flew back in a Sea King, on its way to move supplies to the Gurkhas.

  Back at the map table, Haines, Hamble and Major Taggard with me, my phone trilled, the Prime Minister.

  ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘All set for tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and it’s straightforward enough. Oh, could you issue an urgent D -Notice, so that no one reports this raid till after noon tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll make a note now. How’s it going?’

  ‘After tomorrow the man in charge should be out the picture, and then it’s just mopping up.’

  ‘And the dictator in Monrovia will not interfere?’

  ‘No, sir. But can I tell him we’ll spend some money on roads and the like?’

  ‘Yes, and we would anyhow, hearts and minds.’

  ‘What’s the press coverage like back there, sir?’

  ‘News is full of it, little else getting reported.’

  ‘Should have a good story out there tomorrow, sir, and the men are taking video cameras and still cameras, so it’ll get good coverage.’

  ‘And have you ... stage-managed this?’

  ‘You might think that, sir, I couldn’t possibly comment.’

  ‘So this parachute drop is for good press coverage?’

  ‘It’s for excellent press coverage, but more than that, for next year’s keen young recruits.’

  ‘There’s been a spike in recruitment, in that recruitment offices record who walks in and chats, numbers per day.’

  ‘Be a lot more next week, sir, a lot more.’

  ‘Well good luck.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Sat eating, I called Sasha and caught up on what he was doing, in Russian, getting odd looks from those around me, then chatted to Moran on the phone for ten minutes. They had ambushed a small patrol, twenty men, all killed quickly, and now possessed a radio with which they list
ened into the rebel patrols.

  Major Taggard was in touch with his men, and after I had finished eating he reported them as having hit an isolated outpost, a tall tower in a clearing, a small camp below, thirty men, none left alive. That was a worry, because the men in the camp would know that we now surrounded them.

  When my phone trilled it was Swan. ‘Boss, a fucking plane just landed.’

  ‘But the runway was out?’

  ‘It landed on the taxiway, long enough.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Two engine transport, quite big.’

  ‘Anyone get off?’

  ‘No, but there’s a group walking towards it. Looks like the main man.’

  ‘Call you back.’ I pointed at Franks. ‘Got any aircraft nearby?’

  ‘Always an alert flight ready.’

  ‘Launch them now, get to the rebel HQ, there’s a transport on the ground, man in charge is about to fly off. Force it down or damage it.’

  Franks made a call as officers closed in, all keenly listening. He finally reported. ‘Five minutes. They had aircraft up for training, but they have ammo in the guns.’

  I called back Swan. ‘What’s it doing?’

  ‘It’s taking off ... speeding up .... nose up ... shall we shoot at it?’

  ‘No, stay quiet, US Navy on its way.’

  I paced up and down, staring at the map board, for all the good that would do.

  When my phone went it was Swan. ‘It’s coming back around. I heard the jets, and now it’s back, but with an engine on fire.’

  ‘It’s going to land?’

  ‘Trying to, but it’s at an odd angle.’

  ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘Right wing is down, left wing is up. Hang on ... fuck, it just clipped a wing on a building. Shit ... that could have gone better.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘That plane is toast, in ten pieces and burning.’

  ‘Did anyone get out?’

  ‘Not bloody likely, Boss. They’re all deep fried and extra crispy.’

  ‘Is that taxiway clear?’

  ‘No, blocked now.’

  ‘OK, report anything interesting. Wilco out.’ I faced Franks. ‘Your planes damaged it, and it tried to land, but cart-wheeled and broke up, now burning.’