Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘The Lynx have never done as much, or will do so again,’ I told them. ‘They shot up that base with the hostages, and shot down four attack helicopters and one fixed wing, and now the TV crews are making a documentary.’

  ‘That film will be shown at every recruitment office,’ the PM put in. ‘And the spike is huge, more than treble.’

  ‘What’ll the Yanks do with the kingpin behind this, sir?’

  ‘We’re asking for him to stand trial with us, or in the Hague, but they first want to know what his connection was with the kidnappers. He made a mistake, apparently, being interviewed on some aircraft carrier. He was asked why he was staying in a building with kidnapped American citizens, to which he replied that they were ... being held in a hut.’

  We laughed.

  ‘He put his foot in it,’ I suggested with a smile.

  ‘Americans have told him he’ll get the electric chair, so he’s keen to cooperate,’ the PM noted.

  I nodded. ‘Do you want me to try and launch mock missions here, sir, more experience for the various units?’

  ‘We’ll send back the Paras and rotate other units, three weeks here at a time,’ he told me. ‘The Marines were due a large exercise, but they’ll come here now.’

  ‘Plenty for them to so, sir, there’s lots of jungle to search, many small groups out there. When will the pull-out be?’

  ‘In five days or so,’ he said.

  ‘Then seven days after that five days,’ I began, ‘we should organise a huge event at Brize Norton, like an air show, families and hotdogs, all the various units there, a fly-by. And the French of course.’

  ‘Yes, will be a good show, a chance to thank them all,’ the PM agreed.

  ‘A chance to hand the Lynx pilots some formal commendation, sir, to milk it in the press.’

  ‘You have a talent for manipulating the press,’ he said with a smile. ‘And yes, an award, ahead of the New Year’s honours.’

  ‘Navy don’t get to shout about much, this will help,’ I suggested.

  ‘You had the FBI here again?’ the PM nudged.

  ‘Yes, sir, and it was Colonel Clifford who told them to fuck off this time.’ They laughed. ‘Not me.’

  ‘They got prisoners and weapons, what more do they want?’ the PM asked.

  ‘They wanted us to hand over those weapons, but my lads are using them, sir.’

  ‘The total cost of aircraft destroyed in Ivory Coast was estimated at well over a hundred and sixty million pounds,’ the PM noted. ‘But we blamed the Americans.’

  ‘There was a very sexy sleek black Augusta helicopter sat on the apron, so my lads used it for target practise.’ They laughed. ‘And I fooled the US Marines into joining in, so when the FBI landed they went ape. They were trying to log weapons, the US Marines trying to fire them.’

  ‘The American news had their men rescuing the hostages, no mention of your men, and that their men walked through the jungle.’

  ‘Their men did walk through the jungle, sir, following my men.’

  The PM glanced at the head of the Army. ‘The MOD was a bit put out that you ... called in US airstrikes, instead of going through channels.’

  ‘Time was of the essence, sir, but if I am required to go through channels I will do so.’

  ‘Given what your men do, and the laws they stretch, I think we all know it’s best not to go through channels, or write things down.’

  I faced the head of the Army. ‘I consulted with Colonel Clifford every step of the way, sir, and with the head of operations at SIS, and I discussed the para drop with many.’

  He nodded. ‘We appreciate you, it’s just that the rest of the Army uses channels.’

  ‘If you knew some of the things my men have done you’d not sleep, sir, so think yourself lucky that the reports don’t come across your desk.’

  ‘And we hope none of that ever gets out,’ the PM noted.

  ‘It is unlikely to, sir.’

  ‘And the Americans..?’ the head of the Army nudged.

  ‘They call most days, sir, Colonel Mathews at the Pentagon, and I have – several times – staged a rescue for his men, their publicity benefit. As a direct result, when British servicemen were at risk, they helped with their aircraft. Lives were saved.’

  ‘So we can’t complain about that relationship too much,’ the PM put in.

  The head of the Army began, ‘How has the support from back here at the airport been?’

  ‘We get everything we need double fast, the front line units fully supported, supplies always on time or early. Colonel Marchant’s team have done an excellent job.’

  ‘And the RAF?’ the head of the RAF asked.

  ‘The Chinook pilots have done a fantastic job, sir, they must be exhausted, and the para drops all went off without a hitch.’

  ‘And this strange use of our parachute school instructors?’

  ‘Some in the SAS used to feel that ... being taught HALO by men who had never fired a shot in anger was wrong. That has now been dealt with, because they have fired a shot in anger, and parachuted behind the lines. I’d like to keep them here a while, sir, they have more experience to gain.

  ‘And upon my return I suggest a combined forces HALO development group, regular meetings, regular practice.’

  ‘I could organise that, yes.’

  I began, ‘Gentlemen, small wars are good for the military, good for recruitment and training, experience gained, next year’s NCOs. If we go ten years to the next war, men go stale, and I can stage-manage small conflicts in the years ahead. May sound odd, but what soldiers need is that small war now and then, or they get bored. It’s like training a racing car driver that never gets to enter a race.

  ‘We could have got by without that para drop, but you all saw it on the news, and you know the effect that footage has, both on the public and the servicemen. This small war has advanced the British Armed Forces by years.’

  ‘Yes, we’re very well aware of that,’ the PM put in. ‘And keen to milk it before this wraps up. The feel-good factor in the military has never been better.’

  ‘I’m afraid, Prime Minister that I’d struggle to find any scenario that made use of our heavy tanks.’

  They laughed.

  ‘They’ll have to stick to Salisbury Plains,’ the PM said with a smile.

  They asked Colonel Marchant questions about logistics and the Sierra Leone Government, then followed my suggestion of a Chinook ride.

  Two RAF Police with rifles accompanied the PM, and we flew first to the FOB, down and out, the Chinook to wait, its rotors idling. I had called ahead, so most were awake and with it.

  I introduced Colonel Clifford and his team to the Prime Minster, questions answered, the Welsh Guards stood in a line, the Prime Minister chatting to young lads. Inside, they examined the map board, tea offered, and I had Nicholson, Swan and Leggit come down with Captain Moran, knowing that they would behave.

  Nicholson displayed his rifle and sight, questions asked about the custom design, and I had my snipers come with us, just in case.

  Next stop was the Marines jungle base, a surprised bunch of Marines saluting, the Marines major dishevelled. He showed the PM his camp and detailed what they had been doing as the Chinook sat idling.

  Next stop was the Para’s new field HQ, a crossroads, and we set down on that crossroads, puzzled Paras peeking out. Lt Col Marsh stepped out of the trees with his senior staff and saluted, leading our party back to their make-do camp, flysheets up, a quick description given of their operation. Since he had two wounded men they would fly back with us.

  Final stop was the base I had hit three times, and we were met by Dragoons and Gurkhas, the same questions asked, hands shaken, photographs taken, a look at the POW camp, now with more than two hundred men in it – all well fed.

  ‘What’ll we do with them?’ the PM asked me.

  ‘Best bet would be to give them civvy clothes, some money, and push them out the gate,’ I told him. ‘If no one is payin
g them they won’t take up arms.’

  ‘Seems fair enough; it is their country, so they can melt back into the population and we don’t have that headache.’

  The Chinook dropped me and my snipers back at the FOB, the PM waved off, and he headed back to the airport, and to his ride out.

  Inside, Moran asked, ‘Go off OK?’

  ‘Yeah, quick visit, no one shooting at him.’

  ‘What’s next for us?’

  ‘Some rest, then we’ll see, but the Paras will be pulled out in a few days, and we’ll probably hand this over to the regular army.’

  And two days later the Paras got their orders, a large force of Marines about to land. The Paras were trucked back to Freetown, 1 Squadron and 2 Squadron recalled, Marines to hold the base near the border jointly with French soldiers. The Wolves were brought back in.

  But I had tasked the para school instructors with several mock HALO inserts, and they all dropped at night and walked ten miles to the nearest road, a lift back. They dropped again during the day, and again the following evening.

  I had called Major Liban, and he was being pulled out as well. He reported that the villagers had returned to their homes, and that they had been paid to bury bodies, and to fix buildings, the French making a happy home and fixing the runway. French transports had landed.

  2 Squadron returned to the FOB by Chinook, trucked to the airport after I thanked them all. After a good wash, Paras boarded a Tristar bound for the UK, not returning to Kenya, their kit in Kenya being sent home.

  The police now had a great many patrols under their belts and so were withdrawn, a holiday promised to the men, all now with beards – and very dirty finger nails.

  The RAF’s Hercules aircraft had departed on their long trip north, some heading to Kenya, the Chinooks to remain and to be bolstered, four to be operating.

  After my lads had packed crates and checked them a Marines Colonel flew in, and I briefed him on what was left to do. He had four hundred Marines, and they would patrol out with the Gurkhas and Welsh Guards, who were tasked to stay on a while.

  The last thing I did before leaving the FOB was to hand the map and post-it notes to Max, and have myself photographed with the young lad who had misfired, my facemask on.

  Our Tristar took Echo, Intel and the Wolves back to Brize Norton, and we landed at 3am in the rain, cold damn freezing rain, everyone complaining. The buses were steamed up for the short trip back, and in our house Swifty found a note from MP Pete, as well as a dozen newspapers. The note said: “It is Thursday, fresh milk in the fridge”.

  We got a brew on and then sat quietly in our cold abode, our clothes stinking.

  After a few minutes I said, ‘I’ll get the guys some cash next week, a week off. I spoke to David Finch. He’ll change the US dollars to pounds.’

  ‘Going anywhere?’

  ‘London, I have things I want to get sorted. And they’ll want a lengthy debrief. A lot happened.’

  Swifty nodded.

  ‘You going anywhere?’ I asked him.

  ‘Hadn’t thought about it. Winter here, so ... Tenerife maybe.’

  I nodded. ‘Warm sun, sandy beach, girls in bikinis, cold beer, no one shooting at you.’