Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘And my snipers could choose which eye to hit at a thousand yards. My team is at 400yards, and for them that’s like being stood next to the guy. They could cut his hair without drawing blood.’

  ‘Why Russian standard?’

  ‘Pick up ammo of the dead,’ I told him. ‘In a recent firefight, one of our teams shot so many blacks they ran out of ammo and had to grab AK47s off the dead. We grab ammo off the dead all the time.’

  ‘For the jungle we figured M4s were best.’

  ‘For tight jungle, yes, but here we need to snipe as well, and break the glass, puncture vehicles and aircraft. But one of these rifles with a silencer fitter is a bitch in tight jungle, yes.’

  ‘Trucks approaching,’ came from Nicholson.

  ‘Leave them alone,’ I transmitted.

  Captain Hamble re-transmitted that.

  Ten minutes later, Robby reported, ‘Two trucks, loading up crates.’

  ‘That’s normal activity, everyone stay down,’ I ordered.

  I could feel that it was starting to get lighter, and I checked my watch; 0515. When my phone trilled it was my Navy FAC, asking if we were still on schedule.

  The base fell quiet, hardly a man seen moving, just a few sleepy guards being observed, that chicken still wandering around.

  ‘Nicholson for all units: these bad boys are all tucked up in bed now with their favourite teddy bear, can hardly see any movement at all.’

  And it remained quiet as the tree frogs headed off to bed, the grey dawn light starting to illustrate the base. The main taxiway lights shut down, a few outside lights switching off.

  I checked my watch. ‘Robby, move closer, get ready, dead quiet. Rocko, Rizzo, form up, start moving down. American teams get ready, you know your objectives.’

  I eased up and stretched, Swifty at my side, Moran and Mahoney nearby. Wondering what slimy creatures were stuck to my head, I took off my facemask and gloves and shook them quietly, and the team copied. I transmitted, ‘All those moving inside the base, facemasks off, show your lily white faces.’

  A final look over my shoulder, and I led my team down slowly, a glance back at the Seals, and we moved to the edge of the tree line, nothing stirring around the huts. And we waited, the tension building, men considering if they would pick up a wound in the next half hour.

  I could see Rocko to my left, Rizzo to my right, the opposite of what I had asked for - not that they could tell right from left, Bishop behind and appearing concerned at what he was about to do. I quietly checked my rifle, and waited.

  ‘Helos coming in!’ came from Nicholson.

  ‘Robby, get ready to hit those crates, and the big building, on the first bang from the Lynx. Snipers, hit the guards as soon as they react to the helos. Standby everyone.’

  The drone grew.

  ‘Lynx to Ground-Wilco, over,’ crackled in our ears.

  ‘Go head.’

  ‘Sitrep, over?’

  ‘All aircraft are facing east, so approach from the south and north, over.’

  Less than thirty seconds later a blast registered, a hiss and whoosh followed by an almighty blast, and a huge pawl of black smoke as a transport plane was hit.

  ‘Seal Team One, go! Fast!’

  They ran past me in a blur as I checked every direction.

  Cracks sounded out, an RPG flying in from the right and detonating inside the large building, a muffled blast heard, glass blown out as I moved forwards, soon walking between the huts and peering in.

  Seeing men sat up in bed, blacks, I fired through the glass and at each man in turn, shots reporting all around me, another two loud blasts from Lynx missiles, now the horrendous cackle of the 30mm cannons, and I could see the Lynx just beyond the trees.

  Bursts of automatic fire signalled the Seals, and I glanced their way as they moved into the hostage hut. Moving to the next hut, the door suddenly opened, myself and Swifty both firing instinctively, a half-naked black knocked backwards.

  A glance at Swifty and I poked my rifle in, followed by my head, and I shot two startled men, naked men, smoke now wafting from those aircraft on fire, a nearby fire crackling and sparking.

  Running from the end of the wooden huts, I reached the main brick building and knelt with my back to the wall, my team copying. Captain Bishop stuck his head out the hostage hut. Seeing me, he shouted, ‘We have eight hostages, all alive!’

  ‘Stay there,’ I shouted back before moving around the large building on Robby’s side. The first window was broken and I peeked inside, seeing men crawling. I awkwardly held my rifle high and fired down at them.

  Poking my upper body in, a quick and rough aim taken, I hit three men that were still alive, someone shooting out the windows above me, glass raining down on me – Swifty cursing from behind.

  ‘Navy Seal Team Two, go!’ I transmitted as I knelt and hugged the wall, and they ran past bent-double and to the main door.

  We lifted up and ran after them as automatic fire registered.

  The Seals grouped near the main door, dead guards littering the floor around us, then shot out the glass of a door, smoke grenades tossed in, followed by a standard grenade. The glass in the doors blew out as the Seals ducked, doors soon held open, and they rushed inside. We followed them inside, finding a stairs on the right, and that the Seals were already up it, footsteps echoing.

  I loudly fired down the corridor, simply to keep heads down, and we moved forwards. I knelt and transmitted, ‘We’re inside the big building, no one shoot at the big building. Robby, forwards, set a perimeter.’

  Dull blasts echoed from the second and third floors as I moved down the corridor going room to room, this level mostly empty, not used for sleeping quarters. But I did find a big steel safe.

  Back outside, I saw Robby’s team approaching, Rocko examining crates. ‘Robby, get a 66mm, there’s a safe in there, last room on the right. Don’t kill yourself.’

  ‘Lynx for Wilco, we’re departing, over.’

  ‘Wilco to Lynx, thanks, good job. Out.’ I stepped to the edge of the brick building, hugging the corner, and I peered out through the wafting smoke across the apron. Two large transports were ablaze, one Skyvan on fire, one Skyvan all smashed up. One of the small helicopters was ablaze, and at the far end the monoplanes with rockets were ablaze.

  I took aim at the small helicopter that was not ablaze and blasted at it, soon turning my aim to the sleek black Agusta as it sat there. Ten rounds and it started to smoke.

  Rocko appeared at my side and blasted at the Agusta. ‘Nice chopper. James Bond will need to file an insurance claim.’

  I clicked on my radio. ‘Sasha, come forwards.’

  ‘It’s Hamble, there are trucks coming, three of them.’

  ‘Stop them, destroy them.’

  The glass on the lower level blew out on the runway side; Robby trying his hand at safe cracking. I headed inside and through the smoke, automatic fire now coming from the upper levels.

  Robby turned and smiled, hands full of cash.

  I told him. ‘Tuck some away, rest is evidence for the Yanks.’

  ‘These marbles?’ he asked.

  ‘Blood diamonds, you Knobber!’

  ‘Diamonds?’

  ‘Un-cut.’

  ‘Ah.’

  I wandered down the corridor and collected my team, heading up the stairs. Rizzo had cleared the second floor, white men tired up, a few bleeding. On the top level a Seal knelt at the door, a nod at me as I moved inside.

  Two blacks lay dead, but did not look like kingpins. Two others were trussed up in their white underpants, three others dragged from a room and thrown down, naked black girls screaming.

  A roar of helicopters, and six Seahawks circled, having a look down before setting down at the south end, men soon running across. I moved to an open window and waved, showing my white face, but could see the hostages being led forwards. Those first few men off the Seahawks helped the hostages.

  I turned. ‘Get the prisoners downstairs now!
Move it!’ I grabbed a fat black man at the elbow and lifted him. ‘Got a nice cell for you, in America.’

  ‘America?’

  ‘Yes, good food, TV, and they bring girls in for you – not!’

  At the lower level I threw him down the last flight of steps as Marines stepped inside. ‘Take him,’ I told them, other prisoners being dragged down behind me whilst offering large sums of cash for their freedom.

  Outside, I greeted a Marines Major with a playful lift. ‘Morning, sir. Nice day for it.’

  ‘How many hostages?’

  ‘Eight, sir, and about that same number of gun-runners, plus the Russian pilots.’

  ‘We secure here, Captain?’

  ‘So far, sir.’

  ‘FBI want to come in and log everything.’

  ‘Send them, sir, but it’s hard to know how long it’ll take before someone comes up that road. Maybe a few hours.’

  He nodded and turned to a sergeant, that man manning a radio, barefoot and half-naked protesting blacks now being dragged towards the Seahawks.

  ‘It’s Fishy, road is blocked, trucks burning.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘What was that?’ the major asked.

  ‘Main road is blocked with burning trucks, I have a team there, sir.’

  The major nodded, soon barking orders at his men.

  Robby appeared with a bag of blood diamonds, a glance at me as I lifted my eyebrows – a signal. He handed them to the Major. ‘For you, sir. Evidence. Blood diamonds like.’

  The major looked inside the bag before handing it to a Marine. ‘Your men are honest,’ he noted as Robby walked off, cash bulging from his webbing.

  I hid my smile. ‘Yes, sir.’

  One of Robby’s labs handed me a heavy bag. ‘All the papers from that safe.’

  I handed it straight to the Major. ‘For the FBI.’ Hearing gunfire, I transmitted, ‘Who’s firing?

  ‘It’s Nicholson, a few planes not quite fucked-up yet.’

  ‘Move in and do it at close range, Stupid!’

  A blast, and the Marines dived down, something in a burning plane exploding. They lifted up and glanced around, cursing.

  ‘Made a mess, Captain,’ the major noted.

  ‘That was the whole idea, sir, to stop them dealing weapons.’

  Another blast had us all kneeling, debris raining down, three Seahawks lifting off.

  Seeing my lads doing nothing, I shouted, ‘Start opening crates ready for the FBI!’

  They slung weapons and opened boxes, heads inside, rifles pulled out, plus RPGs.

  I faced the Major. ‘Sir, what I could do to help you is get my Chinooks in here and move some of this back to Sierra Leone. FBI can examine it there’

  ‘Sure, good idea.’

  I called Captain Harris, finding him awake, and asked for the two Chinook pronto, not revealing my true motivation to the Marines.

  I stopped a Marines sergeant. ‘Got any grenades?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘See those helicopters – blow the fucking things up.’

  He glanced at his major, who nodded. Shouts given, he lobbed a grenade inside the smart Augusta and ran, the blast failing to set it alight. Four men stood back, aimed, and fired long bursts. Still no fire. A second grenade, and now a fire took hold, the Marines dropping a grenade in the small two-seat helo, but again not setting it alight. Seeing the fuel tank, they fired at it till it exploded.

  The major turned to me. ‘Got to be a hundred million dollars worth of aircraft sat burning. Someone is outta business.’

  ‘Hope so, sir.’

  ‘And what the hell are your men using?’

  I lifted my rifle for him. ‘See that jeep over the runway. Kneel, aim, and fire at the glass.’ He hit the glass five times. ‘Twenty inch barrel, heavy barrel, 7.62mm.’ I set automatic for him. ‘Try some bursts.’

  He again hit the jeep. ‘Not much muzzle rise.’

  ‘And it packs a punch, sir. Hit one man, kill the man behind him.’

  He handed me back my rifle.

  ‘Quick release magazine switch, fast reload, and very reliable.’

  Nicholson walked over, so I grabbed his rifle. ‘Put that on my shoulder, sir.’

  The Major aimed at the jeep, the fore end grip balanced on my shoulder. ‘Jesus, hell of a magnification.’ He fired. ‘I hit the wing mirror off.’ He handed it back to Nicholson.

  ‘Your men ever fired an RPG, sir?’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘Be a shame to waste the training opportunity here…’

  Five minutes later a Marine blasted the broken tail of a plane, two Marines using Russian box-fed to blast the burning helicopters, silly smiles adopted. After twenty RPGs, the planes were all in bits, jeeps now being targeted.

  My Chinooks landed, calling a halt to target practise, but I had them move so that their tails were almost touching the crates. Shouting to be heard, I had my lads load crates of rifles, box-fed and RPGs.

  When loaded up, the Chinooks pulled off, and their heavy drone eased just as the FBI set down, Agent Manstein leading his team across, keenly photographing everything as they progressed.

  ‘Wilco,’ Manstein greeted me, as if labelling a nasty disease.

  ‘Agent Manstein, a pleasure as always. And before you start whinging, we have the blood diamonds for you, and the paperwork.’ The Marines major handed them over. ‘We also moved crates back to Sierra Leone so that you can examine them without getting shot at.’

  ‘It’s safe here?’

  ‘Fuck knows,’ I told him. ‘Work quick. And your prisoners are ... with the Marines, the gun runners.’

  ‘Ah, good.’ He stared at the crates. ‘Your men opened the crates, didn’t they.’

  ‘Only to assist you speed up the process.’

  A Marine blasted a jeep.

  ‘That RPG is fucking evidence!’ Manstein shouted at the major.

  ‘Put the complaint in writing,’ came back from the major, Manstein storming off. The major faced me. ‘He a friend of yours?’

  ‘Last year I attacked a gun-runner’s base in Liberia, and Manstein showed up. He wanted to log all the weapons, but I had him shipped out after half an hour, and ten minutes later the place was overrun – but I got no thanks.’

  ‘You saved his ass.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but he still don’t love me. And those weapons we took, I’ll make use of them just to piss him off.’

  Franks called me. ‘We on schedule for this airstrike?’

  ‘No, FBI are here and being a pain, so it’ll be after they leave, so ... exactly one hour from now. And ask them to hit the buildings as well, make a mess.’

  ‘One hour exactly,’ Franks repeated.

  ‘What was that?’ the major asked.

  ‘Your Navy will hit this place with 2,000lb bombs in exactly one hour.’

  ‘Best not to be here in an hour then. And the FBI?’

  ‘We could leave them here...’

  He grinned as he walked off.

  A blast had us all ducking, an aircraft in the hangars exploding, or at least its cargo exploding. A 66mm fired, and a fuel truck went up, the FBI not impressed, they were a bit close to it.

  Seahawks took many of the Marines away, twenty left to look after the FBI, my guys taking pot shots at anything they liked. They hit small buildings with RPGs and set them alight.

  With fifteen minutes to go the Seahawks returned, the FBI ordered out – and protesting that move. The Marines major threatened to leave them behind as my men moved south, out the way we came in.

  As the last Seahawk lifted off I led my teams back to the ridge, headcounts performed, teams double-checked.

  I transmitted, ‘Captain Hamble, “A” Squadron, withdraw on the double, American airstrike in ten minutes, stay away from the runway.’

  ‘Moving now,’ came from Hamble.

  ‘This is Wilco, to anyone left in the base – run like fuck, airstrike imminent!’

  I led the team
s off at a fast pace, till we were on high ground around three hundred yards south of the perimeter. I stopped and looked back with my team, checking my watch, not seeing any movement in the base, a great deal of smoke wafting.

  The whine of a jet preceded the runway lifting up, a huge blast reaching us, dirt thrown a hundred feet into the air, concrete raining down.

  A second blast, near the crashed transport, and the runway was torn up, a third blast at the north end of the runway, the concrete strip well and truly ruined.

  The main building blew out its lower levels and collapsed in on itself in a cloud of dust, the barracks hit and demolished, the hangars hit and partly collapsing. It grew quiet.

  ‘Well we had a smashing time,’ Rocko let out, looking back at the airfield. ‘And James Bond will need a new ride.’

  ‘On me,’ I called, and turned west, and twenty minutes later we rendezvoused with Hamble and “A” Squadron, facemasks put on, our route reversed.

  I called Haines as we trod down the grass and mud. ‘All quiet there?

  ‘So far. How’s it your end?’

  ‘We got eight hostages away, some prisoners, and demolished the base, no wounded. Might see a reaction soon, when the news spreads.’

  I followed the same track, and the imprints of fifty men were easy to follow, but I figured no one would have had time to react yet, no troops in place. Besides, there was no road between here and the border, nowhere for trucks to offload troops.

  I maintained a good pace for an hour before I rested the men, none now lugging 66mm or RPGs.

  Smitty had taken his facemask off. ‘What’d you reckon, Boss?’ he asked, a red mark on his face.

  ‘That scratch is infected,’ I told him, and I got some cream in it, injecting him with a half-dose of antibiotic.

  I approached Robby and led his troop aside. ‘The cash, stick it in my first aid pack. All of it. If you’re caught - that’s ten years in a cell. I’ll declare it by phone to SIS, and we’ll get a good cut – and stay out of prison as well.’

  Robby reluctantly stuffed the money into my backpack, some in my webbing.