Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  The French opened up at about the same time as the Paras, catching those rebels fleeing the Paras, buildings and vehicles hit with RPGs and set alight. Echo were mostly sat in trees, and they sniped at anyone on the south side. That left a gap, the south track, and so many of the newcomers fled that way, running straight into “G” Squadron, who had moved forwards.

  “G” Squadron opened up, a large pile of bodies soon blocking the track, the rebels turning around, some running into the dense jungle.

  Thirty minutes of action in the camp resulted in a great many rebels having been killed in the confusion, but more again were firing back, firing off in all directions, some of them being well dug-in and hidden.

  RPGs started to hit trees on the perimeter, and box-fed opened up, the Wolves having to duck and hide, the French taking hits and accruing wounded from a hard core of about a hundred men in the main barracks, some positioned up on the roof.

  With a Lynx available, and with me now getting the report of a stand-off, I sent in that Lynx. It blasted onto the scene at high speed, two missiles stuck into the main barracks, which was soon shrouded in smoke, windows blown out, fires started. The Lynx sped over the top and disappeared, only to re-appear on the same track, 30mm cannon used, a long loud crackle, the barracks hit again before the Lynx flew off to re-arm.

  Wounded men staggered from the barracks, picked off by Echo, little outward fire now being witnessed.

  Over the space of an hour the Paras built up their numbers at the fence, all of the other units sniping at movement on the base, the first platoon of Paras moving across the minefield and inside, to the wooden huts. One by one they cleared the huts as more Paras moved inside, visible to the Wolves and the French, the main barracks now well alight.

  The Paras used grenades through windows, followed by shooting through those windows before clearing each hut, many of the huts damaged or smouldering. Rebels, some half naked, would run off, only to be cut down by the Paras, those rebels moving towards the Paras sniped at by the Wolves at the west end.

  Seeing the smoke wafting, Major Liban took a gamble, and his entire team used the broken fence to climb over the minefield, and they ran through the smoke to a burnt-out transport plane, and into a large hole in the runway left by a 2,000lb bomb. They got down, got hidden, and opened up in support of the Paras.

  For half an hour the same story repeated itself. Rebels would run off and be shot, others would move towards the Paras and be hit, the Paras gaining ground for just two minor wounds so far, scrapes.

  Back at the FOB I was coordinating it all carefully, worried about friendly fire causing casualties. Tomo and Nicholson had snuck forwards and found a suitable tree close to the wire. From there they were sniping, and in danger of running out of ammo they were hitting so many rebels.

  The bulk of the rebels had been squeezed south, towards “G” Squadron and into the trees. “G” Squadron were also racking up a high body count, and were taking rifles and ammo off the dead to use, their M16s slung.

  As the Paras reached the main brick barracks it was clear that hundreds of rebels had fled south, and I was in two minds about going after them. Considering the potential casualties brought by searching the jungle, I decided against it.

  The Lynx was soon back, and itching to do something, so I had them hit the brick barracks, unaware of just how close the lead Para platoon was. Those men got a nasty shock, blown off their feet and covered in glass, beating a retreat as the Lynx demolished a brick barrack building.

  As the smoke lifted, and after the Paras stopped cursing, they surged forwards, firing into the lower level, and into stairwells as rebels ran down those stairwells and out – save being burnt alive. The first Para was killed, a head shot, his three mates wounded by the same burst of fire.

  The bulk of the Paras were now inside the wire, but I had many sent south and around, to consolidate that area, and to fire on the vast tented area. The brick barracks were on fire, so the job was being done for them.

  The second brick barrack was putting up stiff resistance, keeping those Paras facing it pinned down. I asked that the Paras wait the return of the Lynx. That return was beaten by six Sea Kings, GPMGs in doors, and they targeted the remaining barrack block, the only building not smoking.

  After the fly-past, the volume of fire coming from the barrack block had lessened, Paras opening up, 66mm used.

  The return of the Lynx was almost a damp squid as both missiles refused to fire. It came back around and opened up with its 30mm cannon, slicing up the barracks.

  As it banked away, both missiles suddenly decided to fire, and they hit the trees beyond the Paras, who all wondered what they had done to upset the fucking Navy this morning. Frantic calls were made, the faulty missiles explained. I had to explain that it had not been deliberate aim.

  As “G” Squadron neared the wire they were nursing many small wounds, and had each killed more men than they could count. But unknown to me at the time was that more than six hundred rebels had slipped out.

  Those rebels that were left in the camp surged south through the smoke, Paras firing from the west, “G” Squadron firing from the tree line south, a massacre playing out, many of the rebels unarmed, some half naked.

  More Paras moved south and around, wounds picked up as those desperate rebels fired back as they tried to flee, random rounds started hitting the Paras, a second man killed, a dozen wounded.

  I sent shouted orders, for the Paras to fire from a distance and not charge forwards. Moran had moved Echo past the village, the villagers all having run off south, and Echo took position in a tree line and opened up on the main body of rebels remaining, all now corralled into a small area – many unarmed.

  After thirty minutes of firing, smoke wafting, few rebels were left alive, and a calmness descended over the camp. Men eased back and sipped water.

  I ordered that the Paras consolidate, and to check bodies and to tie-up the wounded rebels. Helicopters were dispatched for our own wounded, to land inside the camp at the west end, a Chinook setting down, a dozen wounded taken off.

  Echo double-tapped bodies, but did not move inside. The Wolves joined the French and moved inside as a team, double-tapping bodies down the east side, a few buildings cleared and checked.

  Lt Col Marsh and his team landed by Chinook and joined their men, and my words to him were clear, and loud. He repeated those words to his men, a HQ set-up, medics nearby, Bomb Disposal wandering around.

  The Paras split into teams of three. Two men would check a body as one covered them, aiming at the head of the dead or wounded man. A sudden movement by someone pretending to be dead would result in a knee in the back, or a head shot.

  Echo were told to move in and to join the Wolves, the French 1st Battalion now pouring in, Major Liban reaching Lt Col Marsh, hands shaken.

  ‘Two dead, two dozen wounded,’ I stated as I stood over the map table. Officers exchanged looks.

  ‘What did you expect the numbers to be?’ Colonel Clifford asked.

  ‘I expected them to be higher, sir, but I hoped them lower.’

  ‘And their dead?’ he asked.

  ‘Over a thousand, sir.’

  ‘Then we did well,’ he suggested. ‘Although I fear some criticism from the press, something of a massacre here.

  I faced Max. ‘Get yourself a helicopter ride up there. On a Lynx.’

  Max faced the FAC as that man made a call.

  Morten stepped in. ‘We’re packed ready to go.’

  ‘I’ll get you a Sea King,’ I told him, and I dispatched Morten’s medics over to the rebel base, but mostly to offer medical services to the rebels, and to be seen by the press to be doing so.

  Echo moved inside and found a brick building on the east side to claim, bodies removed, ammo and food pinched. The Wolves joined them, men getting some rest, others getting some food on.

  “G” Squadron were still tied up, and now found themselves surrounded. Rebels who had fled earlier were wandering
back to see what was happening, the “G” Squadron lads in constant contact.

  I had forgotten about the “D” Squadron men till Captain Hamble mentioned them, five now wounded. They had found rebels running away down a track and had opened up, only to find that eight “D” Squadron lads were up against over a hundred rebels, most of the rebels armed.

  An hour of fierce fighting had seen many rebels killed, “D” Squadron taking ammo off the dead, and running low several times. They were now within earshot of “G” Squadron, and in radio contact, a few of the rebels caught between them.

  The south finally fell quiet as the last of the rebels fled into the dense jungle, and “D” Squadron limped towards “G” Squadron, and together they limped into the base, young Paras rushing to assist, hardly an SAS man without a wound, many displaying several wounds.

  Morten and his team were down, and they nudged the wounded SAS towards the northwest end of the strip, a Chinook inbound, all but ten SAS flown out. Those remaining joined Echo for a rest, the epic battle recanted over a brew.

  French soldiers now patrolled the east side of the camp, rifles being collected up and stacked. Morten had issued gloves and facemasks to a dozen Paras and a dozen French soldiers, who now started to move bodies into a central area.

  With a bulldozer to hand, a French soldier expert in its use, he started on a large hole just outside the wire. A second innovative French soldier drove a truck along the minefield, setting off anti-personnel mines as the British Paras observed, thinking the man crazy.

  Colonel Dean called me. ‘Wilco, what the hell happened to my men?’

  ‘Well, sir, “G” Squadron plus eight men of “D” Squadron were to the south of the rebel HQ, and when the fighting started most of the rebels ran off – south into the trees. Your men were in the way, and they opened up, an hour’s firefight, and by all accounts they ran out of ammo regularly, taking weapons and ammo off the dead to keep fighting.

  ‘The negative news ... is that “G” Squadron is now stood down till further notice, and till they have a man that can stand upright. The positive news ... is that they’re all alive and got a great deal of experience, all have dozens of confirmed kills.’

  ‘Not a man left standing?’

  ‘Not a man left without a wound in “G” Squadron, sir.’

  ‘Jesus. Well they begged to get the job over there, so they can’t complain about it. How’s it going?’

  ‘The main rebel camp has been destroyed, its leader dead, its men mostly dead, some ran away. A great victory, sir.’

  ‘I heard about this Lynx action - that just appeared on the midday news, and mention of the drop, and I’ve been reading the The Sun every day. MOD are happy with it all.’

  ‘The para school instructors got something to do in the drop, sir, and experience before, so they should be happy now.’

  ‘Even got the Marines with you.’

  ‘Yes, sir, they saw some action, but picked up lots of wounded.’

  ‘I got the detail, but was it a cock-up?’

  ‘No, sir, it was a Gurkha cock-up, a man firing ten minutes early by mistake.’

  ‘You need replacements for “G” Squadron?’

  ‘No, sir, be just mopping up now. But if you have some lads that need the experience they’ll get some live patrols, stragglers to shoot.’

  ‘Plenty of men whinging at me, so I’ll send some. I’ll withdraw “G” Squadron to the local nursing home.’

  Stood looking at the map, I considered what area the French would patrol after the fighting eased, and I called the Cabinet Office.

  The PM called me back. ‘We’ve had a look at the map, and your suggestion makes sense – French in the north and east, our lot southwest – shorter supply lines.’

  ‘Then I’ll move the British from that base tomorrow, sir. Stragglers will take a while to round up.’

  I requested two Chinooks to bring back Echo and the Wolves, and as the sun started to hang low on the horizon they stepped down, but with the last few men of “G” Squadron and “D” Squadron as well – but even they were displaying minor wounds. I greeted Sasha and his team, a quick chat, and looked over the Wolves for any wounds.

  The lad who had been under the falling Mi8 had suffered a slight concussion, a splinter and a small burn, but was feeling much better now. He would soldier on.

  Major Taggard greeted his men and got the detail of the fight, the same for Captain Hamble, Taggard now aware that he was being pulled out – destined for the local nursing home with his men.

  I told Echo to get cleaned up, then to rest, and they claimed rooms upstairs. A few displayed minor wounds but had patched themselves up, even stitching a few wounds. I sat with Swifty, Moran and Mahoney as they got a brew on in our old room, all with stubble on their muddied faces.

  ‘Without you here I was sleeping downstairs on a camp bed,’ I told them. ‘But the food was good – I think I’m putting on weight.’

  ‘We staying here?’ Moran asked.

  ‘For a bit, hit the stragglers. “G” Squadron was wiped out, so they’re being pulled out – those left standing, others on the way down. But the part that the press don’t know about, and many here don’t know, is that around six hundred well-armed rebels ran off south into the trees. We’ll need to thin them out a bit.’

  ‘They ran into “G” Squadron,’ Mahoney noted. ‘Lads said they clicked empty a dozen times. One swung his rifle at a man.’

  ‘Same problem with the Marines, and they had eleven men wounded,’ I told them. ‘When the Gurkhas hit a rebel camp the rebels ran off, and straight into the Marines. Marines ran out of ammo they shot so many.’

  ‘Lot of bodies at that camp,’ Moran noted. ‘Be fucking ripe tomorrow.’

  I told them, ‘By all accounts the best two hundred men walked off north yesterday, ambushed by the French – who said they were up against good lads.’

  ‘The Lynx made a difference,’ Swifty noted as he warmed his water. ‘Would have taken all day otherwise, to wear them down.’

  ‘The Lynx hit two Mi8 and a fixed wing aircraft, all over the news,’ I told them. ‘Never been done before. And that small aircraft could have shot down a Chinook. That would have got me some shit, a real worry. And the fucker funding all this, he knew about the para drop, so maybe he had spies at the airport.’

  ‘Who’s behind it?’ Mahoney asked.

  ‘Nigerian oil barons. They want to get in here, there’s oil offshore. And your Navy did their bit, holed that runway and shot down the main man’s plane.’

  ‘Earning their pay, eh,’ Mahoney let out.

  A Seahawk came in and landed. ‘Ah ... bollocks,’ I let out as I peeked through the window.

  ‘What is it?’ Moran asked.

  ‘The fucking FBI.’

  ‘Tell them that girl was over sixteen,’ Mahoney quipped.

  Downstairs I offered a frosty welcome to Agent Manstien. ‘How pleasant to see you again,’ I told him and his colleagues, four sour-faced FBI agents now stood staring at me, all of them wearing beige utility waistcoats, bags lugged.

  Manstien pointed at empty weapons crates. ‘They came from over the border?’

  ‘And are now being used by our men, yes. If you see someone wandering around with Russian kit you can get the serial numbers.’

  ‘That’s evidence, and your men are walking around with it!’

  ‘Was there something I could help you gentlemen with?’

  ‘Your government said you would cooperate.’

  ‘And I am. Mess tent down there, toilets out the back, grab a tent if you like.’

  ‘A plane was forced down here.’

  ‘Yes, and we offloaded the weapons, then the pilots stole it before we had a chance to identify them, but we did at least feed them and give them a bed for the night.’

  ‘You know how serious a charge you face?’

  ‘You know how much I don’t give a fuck, seeing as the pilots were working for the CIA,’ I lied.

/>   ‘They ... what?’

  I nodded, smiling. ‘They intercepted the shipment, and London paid the pilots to fly here. So ... if you have a question, ask someone who’s higher up the food chain than a lowly captain.’

  They exchanged looks. ‘We want access to that camp your forces hit.’

  ‘It’s ... sort of safe-ish now, so fly over there.’

  ‘We’ll log these boxes first.’

  ‘Anything you need, I’m here to please you,’ I quipped. They did not look pleased as I walked off.

  I called David Finch. ‘Fucking FBI are here nosing around, and they’ve already threatened to arrest me.’

  ‘I got a note about it, and we want to cooperate, so please don’t shoot any of them.’

  ‘I’ll try playing nice.’

  ‘What’s happening at the rebel HQ?’

  ‘All gone quiet, bodies being buried.’

  ‘All over the news here, including film of the para drop.’

  ‘How’d they get it so quickly?’

  ‘They transmit the film via satellite from Freetown. They had images of the Paras boarding the Hercules, the Hercules in flight, and then the doors opening and the Paras dropping, and some film from inside that Lynx. Going to be a one-hour special on it later tonight.’

  ‘Good job it went off OK, but without that Lynx we might have had a Chinook shot down, a few men hurt on the ground. And there’s still the question of where those aircraft came from, and who was funding them.’

  ‘We made a protest to Ivory Coast, a few economic threats levelled, and they promised to tighten up the border area. We can’t do much about the Nigerians.’

  ‘I could.’

  ‘Well ... we have to be careful with these things.’

  ‘You hint to me who you think is responsible in Nigeria and I’ll have my friends in low places investigate.’

  After a pause came, ‘Leave that with me.’

  ‘I’m sure the Prime Minister will be keen for the Nigerian interest in this place to be reduced, and I’m sure that the Prime Minister has an eye on the oil as well – if you get my drift.’