by Geoff Wolak
‘Why the change in plan?’ a damp and muddy Fishy asked.
‘A bomb has gone off in Freetown, British servicemen killed, we’re going after those responsible, and it’ll probably get a bit hairy. Get extra ammo, 66mm, RPG, we’ll be leaving inside of two hours.’
Fishy gathered the “A” Squadron lads, explaining the new job.
Half an hour later, the FOB busy, a Lynx set down, four Wolves clambering carefully down past the missile pods. I briefed them and pointed them towards the ammo as Echo lads got ready.
A Westland Commando set down half an hour later, a man running over with a handful of sheets of paper for me before running back, the helo lifting off. Inside, I placed down the sheets. I matched up the village name, and it was indeed close to where 2 Squadron had landed, a river delineating the border.
The sketches indicated a runway north to south, trees on the west, apron on the east, buildings, then a road running north to south before the start of a village. But there were many funny little symbols, and I finally realised that they were aircraft, large and small, and that some twelve aircraft sat on the apron.
Stepping out, I called Mister President.
‘Petrov?’
‘Do you know what aircraft are based at this airfield in Ivory Coast?’
‘I was just talking to the man. There are some big transport planes, some small ones, some helicopters, and the small plane with rockets on the wings.’
‘And who do they belong to?’
‘This place is mostly for smugglers, not many people live near here, only jungle, a few mines.’
‘How far to the nearest army base?’
‘A long way, say eighty miles.’
‘And does the Ivory Coast have an air force?’
‘Some helicopter, some small planes, not much.’
‘Any big towns near this place?’
‘No, it is jungle for thirty miles till a town. The smugglers use this place because it is isolated.’
‘Soldiers at this base?’
‘No official soldiers, some armed men, yes.’
‘Thank you, Mister President, you have saved me some time in getting this information.’
Phone down, I studied the diagrams. Making a face, I interrupted my Navy FAC and asked for all three Lynx crews to land here urgently. Two were on their way with Wolves anyhow, the third would have to come from ship.
Moran appeared at my side. ‘Any intel?’
I pointed at the diagrams. ‘A lot of aircraft sat on the apron, not many soldiers, ten miles of jungle in any direction.’
‘Suits us more than them,’ he noted.
Franks appeared the other side of me. ‘Ivory Coast?’
‘A map reading error,’ I told him.
‘Need any help?’
I glanced at Moran, then back to Franks. ‘You’d upset the Ivory Coast Government. So send it up the line.’
He tapped the map. ‘That place is on our list of known terrorist hide-outs. State Department did complain about it, last year I think.’
‘Send it up the line anyhow, for an hour after dawn tomorrow, a runway to ruin.’
He stepped away, but was back ten minutes later. ‘They’re not that keen, but discussing it. Might have a decision before dawn.’
‘It’s not essential,’ I told him. ‘I want to damage the aircraft and send a message.’
My phone trilled as Colonel Clifford started to question what I was up to. ‘Papa Victor,’ I answered.
‘This place you are interested in, there are two American hostages, they came there today, and three Germans.’
‘That is ... interesting news indeed. Thank you.’ Off the phone I faced Franks, and smiled sadistically at him. I looked up a number, and punched the digits, getting through to Colonel Mathews as I stepped outside.
‘Wilco?’
‘Yes, sir. I have two American hostages, but they’re over the border in Ivory Coast, just twelve miles. But if your Marines could pick them up...’
‘We’re definitely interested yes. When?’
‘Hour after dawn tomorrow.’
‘I’ll get back to you real soon.’
Back inside, I stared at Franks as he puzzled my look. ‘There are two American hostages at that airfield.’
‘Ah...’
‘And the nice chaps in the Pentagon now know about it.’
Two Lynx set down, the Wolves clambering down, the final team of Wolves heading for an RV with a Westland Commando on a supply run. The Navy pilots stepped in, and were handed tea by the young lad that had discharged his rifle. I had to try not to stare at that lad; he looked so painfully young to be here.
The third Lynx arrived ten minutes later, but with a portable generator, just in case. I welcomed the crew inside, then dismissed anyone that I did not want to hear this. Rocko, Rizzo and Robby were stood with Captains Hamble and Moran, Fishy off to one side.
‘OK, listen up,’ I loudly called, and it fell silent. ‘Earlier today a bomb went off in Freetown, killing British soldiers, and we may expect more bombs, and more deaths, till we get the people behind this. Some of those people, and many of the expensive aircraft they own, are sat twelve miles across the border with Ivory Coast. They also have hostages.
‘So, gentlemen, we’re going after them. I’ve spoken to London, and the way this will work ... will be that we do the job whilst having no official blessing. Should something go wrong, London would deny sending us.
‘The reason that you Lynx pilots are here ... is because I need you to make a navigational error at dawn, of twelve miles. Your official mission is to hit any aircraft on the runway here.’ I tapped the map. ‘There are no aircraft, there are RAF Regiment holding that base – please don’t bomb them.
‘What I need ... what I would like you gentlemen to do ... is to strafe the aircraft on the other apron just after dawn, those aircraft belonging to the people that were based in Liberia and Guinea causing trouble, but are now hiding out in Ivory Coast, the paymaster behind the coup. Those Mi8 helicopters you shot down, they came from this base.
‘And gentlemen, tomorrow we may see more aircraft coming from that base, British servicemen killed, so it’s a high priority. It’s also a volunteer job, and I’ll understand if any of you have reservations about straying over the border.’ I pointed at our hero pilot, Commander Christophers. ‘What do you say?’
‘I’d say ... what the fuck is the Ivory Coast Government doing about that base?’
Franks cut in, ‘It’s been there a long time; they get their cut to look the other way.’
Commander Christophers said, ‘In that case, fuck the Ivory Coast Government. If they sponsor this kind of shit, they deserve all they get.’
I pointed at the next pilot.
He said, ‘My No.2 is fucking useless in the mornings, his map reading is shit.’
Most of those in the room laughed.
‘No seriously. This morning we missed the ship by two miles. They had us on radar and asked where we were going.’
‘Faulty kit,’ the man in question put in with a smile.
I pointed at the third pilot.
‘I’m short time, six months, so if I can shoot-up some place - great.’
The pilots laughed.
‘So then,’ I began. ‘You move your ships down the coast tonight, and fly north up the border before dawn to this strip, then turn east, aiming to arrive at dawn, 0600. You approach at tree top height, three hundred yards back from the fence; that way no one will know what type of aircraft you are. You hit anything sat on the apron, in particular the small monoplanes with rockets, Mi8s, plus anything else you have time for.
‘Sixty seconds, turn around, off dead low, climb to two thousand for the trip back so that no one reports a British Lynx. My men will be on the wire at dawn, so make radio contact to confirm things, you should be able to talk to us, RAF helicopters can.’
‘Need to hit the aircraft from the side,’ Commander Christophers put in. ‘Which way
they facing?’
‘No idea, but if you want to move around, fine, just stay in the trees or at distance, don’t get close. Up to you, but they don’t have heavy weapons, not many soldiers.’
‘Judge it by eye when we get there,’ a pilot suggested.
I said, ‘Radio me a mile out, and we’ll tell you which way they’re facing and where they are.’
They nodded.
‘Back to your ships, and don’t risk a mechanical fault on a job tonight, please. Get a good night’s kip.’
They filed out, to see if their helos would start up. If not, they had that generator.
Franks closed in. ‘Seals on their way, they want to insert with you, Seahawks ready for the rescue, top cover provided.’
I nodded. ‘Gentlemen, we got the game on.’ They chatted amongst themselves as I requested both Chinooks.
The Chinooks arrived fifteen minutes later, Echo split between two helicopters, Wolves aboard plus the SAS regulars, supplies loaded. The teams would wait for me at the 2 Squadron base, and the helicopters disappeared east.
I told Franks to contact the US Navy and to pick me up, calling Haines and telling him to expect us. I grabbed extra magazines and 7.62mm, my bandolier full, and I checked my rations. Water topped up, I checked my medical kit and hitched my larger medical kit, two Seahawks landing ten minutes later as we started to lose the light.
Colonel Clifford wished me well, and I asked him to hold the fort, running bent-double to the first Seahawk, my rifle unloaded and checked. Inside, I grabbed the spare headsets as the door was closed.
‘Co-pilot, look on the map for a small village called Mbeleou, close to the Ivory Coast border.’ I leant over and pointed as he held up a map in the dull green light.
‘OK, got it. Heading ... zero eight five, fix on the road junction and turn north.’
We lifted off, and I could hardly see the faces of the men with me. But I did notice that they held M4s. Compared to them, I was carrying an elephant gun.
Our Seahawk sped east at 500ft, and I peered down at villages and small towns, vehicles on the roads – some could have been ours, and fifteen minutes later we slowed and turned north, spotting the strip at the last minute, the pilot now lowering his night-vision goggles.
Torches flashed on the ground, so we were in the right place. Hitting with a bump, the doors opened and we stepped down, bent double as we moved away from the helicopters. Both Seahawks lifted off and turned west, the tree frogs finally making themselves heard.
I could hear Haines through the dark.
‘Wilco, over here.’
‘OK, everyone, in a big circle, two men deep, torches on, weapons slung. Not 2 Squadron.’
They formed around me as I used a stick and drew a diagram in the hard mud by torch light, the Seals to one side.
‘Who’s the Seal’s senior man?’ I asked.
‘I am, Lieutenant Bishop.’
‘OK, we’re now just about three miles west of the border with Ivory Coast, and it’s a river border, so I hope we find a bridge or a shallow spot, or this mission will be over before it starts.
‘We’ll move due east for twelve miles, hoping to arrive for dawn, but one of the reasons we’re walking is because I want to see that border area, and see who’s around, and what our escape route is like.
‘It’s now ... 18:30, so we have plenty of time. When we get there we’ll make an assessment of the guards, the defenders, any men in barracks, the plan being that we move on the hostages just about the time when our helos are striking the aircraft parked on the apron.
‘In the noise and confusion we’ll go for the hostages whilst other teams deal with any defenders. Should we get the hostages away, and you have the opportunity, shoot at any vehicle, building or aircraft you like, the aim being to maximise the cost to the arseholes who operate this base, who attack British servicemen, and who kidnap people.
‘Gentlemen, if we find that the area is swarming with patrols we’ll modify our approach or pull out, but Intel suggests that we have just the jungle to worry about, and sore feet. For you Seals to know, we’ve fought these men many times over the years, and they like their beds of an evening, and are crap around dawn.
‘Despite the blacks being born and raised here ... they hate the jungle and avoid it. I’d be impressed to hell if they had an ambush at night in the trees.
‘OK, I want you in your teams, one long line of men, one set of tracks only left behind. Those in the middle and the rear will not be much use if the front end is ambushed, but move forwards and to the sides when asked to do so. “A” Squadron, “D” Squadron, get on my radio frequency, but stay off the air unless it’s urgent.
‘You Seals, you should be able to pick us up, the Deltas did. I’ll transmit, you try and find the frequency.’ I counted up and down.
‘Got it,’ came from several men.
‘OK, when we move out, it will be me at the head with my team, followed by Rocko’s troop, Rizzo’s troop and Salties, but then I want the Seals next. Robby, behind our American guests, then Sasha’s team, then “A” Squadron, Captain Hamble in the rear, but when we get there you’ll each have a sector and a job. OK, Lone Wolves, on me, I’ll brief you separately. Mister Haines?’
‘Here.’
I stepped towards the stone buildings, the Wolves following, 2 Squadron men hidden. ‘OK, Wolves all here?’ They counted heads, the men just dark outlines. ‘OK, the chances of this place being attacked are high, especially after we attack that airfield tomorrow. So, Mister Haines will make a plan, and pairs of Wolves will set out in every compass direction, a mile or so, looking for rebels, and tomorrow looking for tracks.
‘East of us is a road. I want two Wolves and two RAF Regiment lads there at all times, an early warning. Take 66mm or RPG, hit an approaching road convoy then leg it away.
‘Mister Haines, if a very large force arrives, withdraw into the jungle and run like fuck, covering fire, no heroics, and report the action early on. Set an ambush on the track from that road, and halfway down the strip position men with RPG and 66mm. If an Mi8 comes in ... blast the damn thing. Have some GPMG aiming up after dawn.
‘Rest your men tonight, be ready after dawn for some reprisals, and they’ll figure we used this base to attack across the border. So be ready.’
‘We’ll be ready,’ Haines’ dark outline assured me.
I wandered back to the large pack of men as they stood chatting in the dark. ‘OK, gentlemen, one foot in front of the other at a fast pace,’ I loudly called. ‘If you need to stop, call it out, but there will be regular pit stops.’
Swifty was at my shoulder, Moran and Mahoney behind, Mahoney chatting to the Seals before I led my team off, only now loading my rifle and cocking it. I avoided the shacks and moved north around them, and after three hundred yards of easy going we came across the road, no traffic seen as we ran across it.
I could see open fields, but they offered just long grass, no crop as such felt under-foot as I moved quickly east. In places the grass squelched, but otherwise these fields offered us a stable footing, and I wondered just how many slugs were now fixed to my legs.
Finding a track leading northeast I followed it, not expecting an ambush, but I was alert anyway. Finding a dark section, I took out my torch and scanned the dirt, no footprints evident.
To Swifty I said, ‘No one been down this track in months.’
More square fields of long grass aided us till we hit some nasty tight jungle, my jungle eye now adjusted, and trees were black, everything else green-grey, almost luminescent.
I clicked on the radio. ‘It’s Wilco, some tight jungle here, so stay close, never lose sight of the men in front, keep the pace.’
Thirty minutes of that said tight jungle led to a stream with a shallow base, and I followed it down as it led to the river, water heard crashing over rocks.
Moving left through reeds, I fought my way through, and we finally came to large flat rocks, gaps between them where the river
flowed quickly. I started across, none of the jumps being an issue, and at the other side I paused as the team joined me, soon moving up a steep bank.
At the top of the bank I found an area of high trees, but with the trees well spread out, the topography easy to follow at a good pace, and finding an area of high ground I halted.
I clicked on the radio. ‘It’s Wilco, we’ve halted, so when the man in front stops, you stop. Take a drink, have a piss if you need to.’
‘It’s Rizzo. Henri had an early bath.’
My team laughed.
‘This is no time for a bath, Henri,’ I transmitted.
‘I smell better, no,’ came back.
A few seconds later came, ‘This is Bishop. One of mine had a bath as well, but we’re glad you lot did it first.’
‘How difficult were those rocks?’ I said with a sigh.
‘Special Forces?’ Swifty let out. ‘Ha.’
With Hamble reporting no bath time, I set off again through the dark, the going easy enough for now.
I found a track heading southeast, and my torch revealed no recent use, and then just someone barefoot. The wind was coming front-on - I would be alerted to anyone smoking, and so I maintained a good pace.
When the track turned south I left it and pushed northeast into the jungle, having to detour to avoid a small lake, a stream penetrated at its north end. The tree frogs serenaded us, the crickets chirped, and monkey’s shrieked above us – their peaceful night’s kip being rudely disturbed by us.
After two hours I called a halt in a clearing, the teams bunching up. I called Captain Harris and he got a fix on our position, and he suggested I was too far south, but kind of half way – almost.
The Americans lit cigarettes, a few of “A” Squadron joining them, chatting quietly.
My phone trilled, a familiar number. ‘Da!’
Tomsk began, ‘It’s me. The President told me about this place the British will attack, and it was familiar, so I made some calls. It is where the weapons were offloaded by a man I know.’
‘Is he there now?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you like him, tell him to leave right now, to make up some excuse. You trust him?’