Wilco- Lone Wolf 2

by Geoff Wolak

  The next day I discussed my intestines with Kate and her team and they provided liquid supplements. I kept to the omelettes, but avoided anything that required too much chewing, and I went Monday to Friday on that diet, starting to put on weight.

  In the evenings it was just me most of the time, a TV to watch, the news scanned, channels flicked through. I had considered that I would get nightmares, but none had bothered me so far, and my dreams were mostly about sex, or my childhood, not a cold damp forest hell-hole.

  When I stopped to consider the forest my emotions varied greatly, but when I allowed myself to I was proud of surviving. I kept blaming myself for Tyler and the lads, and my mind went around in circles. Fact was, I was not quite sure how I felt about my experiences.

  Day by day my pain eased a little, and the tugging sensation eased, helped by a twice daily massage from a physiotherapist, a Jacuzzi session and ultra-sonic massaging. At the end of the week I started to stretch more, and each day meant a few extra millimetres of movement, tendons relaxing after warming up.

  The RSM appeared on the Friday morning with a file, and I warmly welcomed him, getting the kettle on. ‘Good to see you again, sir.’

  ‘Always sounds odd when someone calls me sir, you’re just about the only one.’

  ‘I have high standards.’

  He pointed. ‘Your head.’

  ‘Got shot a few times, cracked my thick skull in three places, but they say that I’ll heal, and that the joins will calcify and be stronger than before, but that it’s a slow process. Other option was graphite pins, but they may not be necessary.’

  ‘And the rest of you?’ he asked as I handed him a tea. ‘You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.’

  ‘No bone damage, some tendon issues that are getting better – possibly an operation or two, intestine is improving and I’m not peeing out of a tube any more. I walk a few hours a day on the treadmill, nothing strenuous yet, and Kate is hoping for some miracle recovery.’

  ‘Then you may be back.’

  ‘I may be back,’ I repeated.

  ‘I have some mail for you, some forms to sign – not least the loss of kit.’

  ‘I never lost any kit, sir, it was blown up by enemy action, therefore you can’t bill me without meeting my legal counsel.’

  He laughed. ‘I’ll put it down as having been destroyed by enemy fire. I’ve no wish for a court case. Oh, Rizzo kept your jacket and trousers, and webbing. They washed it, and now it sits on a manikin over there. People have a look at the holes in it.’

  I nodded. ‘Then I don’t need to pay for that kit, just sew up the holes.’

  ‘He has your AKM, cleaned. They’ll bring it back when they come,’ the RSM said with a smile.

  I checked the mail, signed a few forms, and cheekily asked about compensation.

  ‘You’ve not lost a limb or an eye, and if you return to us then you’re deemed fit, so no payout.’

  ‘What ... I went through all that and you can’t chuck me a few quid?’ I mock complained.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Bugger.’

  He took a moment. ‘How was it out there?’

  ‘A shock to start with, the loss of the lads, then ... then I figured I’d not be getting out of there, and I still wonder why I fought back. I guess ... that the alternate was to let them torture me, or shoot me, so I kept hiding and fighting. Cold, wet and muddy, and people using me for target practice every hour.’

  ‘You’ve set the standard, one man against that many.’

  ‘Rizzo and Swifty could have survived in there I reckon, I was lucky. Artillery landed left and right, and missed me. It all comes down to luck.’ I sipped my tea. ‘Scariest part was the dogs. There was a deep dark wood, black as night even in the daytime, and they sent in dogs, and a few grabbed me out of the dark, pulling me down and dragging me.

  ‘I stabbed one to death, shot others. And later on, in the north, they set thirty dogs after me, and I shot many, but killed the last one with the final 9mm round I had.’

  ‘Dogs would worry me, they scare me on the streets. Had dogs after me during survive, escape and evade courses, and that’s scary enough.’

  ‘Trust me, when it’s pitch black and you hear a growl, that’s when life gets interesting. And the artillery -’ I shook my head. ‘- I was curled up like a baby hoping for it to stop, and when artillery lands a hundred yards away it’s like someone kicking you hard. When they land close, it’s like falling off a roof and landing on the concrete.’

  He nodded. ‘Must have been hell.’

  ‘All quiet in Armagh?’

  ‘No major incidents, but the Garda are still asking questions about that border incident. They think we had a hand in it.’

  ‘Any evidence to that effect?’ I asked.

  He took a moment to study me. ‘No, just the lack of prints. And anyhow, those who survived were promptly arrested, and they all face lengthy sentences. As for the families of those who died, they need to explain what their loved ones were doing at that farm with an illegal AK47. They hardly look innocent.’

  I nodded. ‘If you can, get Johnny Bristol over here, I’ll meet him, keep him sweet.’

  ‘Some of the Loyalist families still want compensation, and they’re still calling for further court action,’ the RSM mentioned. ‘Some of those you clobbered were sixty years old. But the government is blocking those attempts.’

  ‘Are my fans in 14 Intel still an issue?’

  He smiled. ‘Of course, they still claim you went south of the border.’

  ‘And the latest view on their man?’ I asked.

  ‘Double agent, they say, but Mi5 says he was dirty.’

  ‘I’d say double agent more than dirty. But, then again, who would have figured Captain Bromley.’

  ‘That lady captain was court martialled and then let go, no sentence for her; they want it hushed over.’

  I nodded. ‘Good looking bird she was. Pity.’

  Smurf came over that evening to cheer me up, and snuck in a curry, Kate off at a function, and the weekend MP Corporal joined us, a few cans of beer snuck in.

  On the Monday, Kate’s team performed a bank of tests on my movement, finding that two tendons were damaged, that movement was restricted, and that operations may be necessary. I agreed to a week’s work on those particular tendons, extra physiotherapy and ultra-sonic, and after a week the improvement was fifty-fifty, almost enough to stave off another operation.

  My walking had improved, in that it did not hurt so much, and I ached less afterwards. I still had a nap most days, simply because I was not sleeping well at night. Turning over at night would cause shooting pains in my spine, and I had a soft helmet to wear at night - which was damned uncomfortable.

  The pads, dressings and bandages were removed one by one, others replaced after I showered, a laborious process. Still, the nurses were nice, in awe of me, but there was little I could do with Kate around most days.

  Kate then asked if I was up to being interviewed, and I agreed, a call put in to Colonel Bennet.

  ‘My dear lad, my reputation precedes you, and they have already contacted me – scared shitless. So I’ll be there tomorrow at 10am.’

  I laughed, soon back on the treadmill.

  At 10am the next day a convoy arrived, glimpsed through the window, and Colonel Bennet spoke with me first for ten minutes, introducing the officers; a Major from Intel, a Lt Col from General Dennet’s staff that seem vaguely familiar, and a Mi6 officer – well wishes passed on from Bob Staines.

  The Lt Col began, ‘The purpose of this debrief is to establish the facts, but we think we have most of it anyway; we have a detailed timeline. And, just so that you’re not worried, your patrol has been classified Secret, so few below the rank of Colonel would ever see it. The Defence Secretary and Prime Minister will get a sanitised cut-down version.’

  He began with the insert, and what we had been told of Serb movements in the area – which was nothing, no brief on them, but
I indicated that I had elected to read the local intel reports. I could not say that the Major had not been briefed before sending us, that they would have to ask him. The patrol’s radio contact was detailed, as was the use of the sat phone, and any variations from normal procedure.

  Time was then given to that first morning, and they puzzled my role as advanced scout, running around and spotting the Serbs.

  ‘I’m very fit, and good at what I do, so ... it’s normal for the Patrol Leader to send me off to scout around, sir.’

  ‘And in Armagh you often went out alone?’

  ‘I did, sir, and I’m perfectly at home in a dark wood with bad boys creeping about.’

  ‘We listened to the sat phone calls -’

  ‘How?’ I puzzled.

  ‘American satellite records them, I mean the Americans do at their end, but they don’t listen unless we ask them to.’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll avoid using them to place bets on the horses in future.’

  ‘That’s what some of your lot did during the Falklands,’ the major noted. ‘Americans were not impressed.’

  ‘The decision not to surrender...?’ they asked.

  ‘None of the lads were keen, and we still had a chance to sneak out, and ... SAS lads don’t like to surrender, sir.’

  ‘Captain Tyler?’

  ‘Was probably thinking of the men under him when he suggested that we may have no choice.’

  ‘You disagreed with him?’

  ‘As far as I am concerned it’s a personal choice, since we could have been separated, tortured and killed and then buried; no one would have ever known.’

  ‘And if he had ordered you to surrender?’

  ‘Then ... I think I would have gone along with it; Captain Tyler and I were very close, we met several times a week for drinks and curry. I was the only one in the patrol on his side.’

  ‘The others resented him?’

  ‘No, but they showed little respect – as is traditional for troopers.’

  ‘But not for you?’

  ‘No, and I encouraged the lads to behave better, threatened a few, and things were OK towards Tyler. Besides, the lads knew that Captain Tyler and I were close, and so wouldn’t upset Tyler.’

  ‘Because ... why?’

  ‘Because I’d clobber them, sir.’

  ‘Is the rank of captain not deterrent enough?’

  ‘Not in the SAS, sir, no.’

  He nodded. ‘You were ordered to snipe at the advancing Serbs?’

  ‘Yes, by both Tabby and Captain Tyler. To buy us time.’

  ‘And that sniping halted the approach, but also brought in the artillery.’

  ‘Yes, and if you are hinting that I blame myself ... then yes I do. No sniping and they would have simply walked up and surrounded us.’

  ‘The last satellite call reflects that you were ordered to snipe at the Serbs,’ he thought he needed to mention. ‘And just one shell killed the five men?’

  ‘Five rounds landed with each salvo, and one hit the patrol den dead centre, the next twenty yards away. There were two salvos a few minutes apart, then a break. I buried Captain Tyler with his body parts, and other body parts I found. If you track the sat phone location, as I know you can, that’s where the Red Cross can find the body.’

  He nodded. ‘Already in hand, and within a few days the Red Cross may visit that area.’ He opened his case and pulled out a map, already annotated. ‘Would you say that was accurate?’

  I studied it for five minutes. ‘Yes, sir.’

  He showed me A4 black and aerial photos, looking like an Amazon logging operation. ‘You survived the artillery ... where?’

  ‘In various places, sir, but mostly dead centre.’ I pointed. ‘The line of trees you see here were blown down by plastic explosives, and I hid under them and used them as cover. I also hid in the holes made by the artillery.’

  ‘And they had mortars?’

  ‘Three tubes that fired together, a minute apart, 20mm.’

  ‘And the timing and nature of the shelling was down to you fighting back?’

  ‘They sent in patrols of half a dozen men at first, and I shot them. Every time I did they would try and target me with mortars and artillery, but they were way off, and often hit their own people.’

  ‘But the shelling was in response to you fighting back,’ the major noted.

  ‘Yes, sir, it was responsive and escalated, as were the sizes of the patrols they sent in.’

  ‘How big did the patrols become?’ the Mi6 guy asked.

  ‘Up to a hundred men.’

  ‘That many, in a small wood, was foolhardy,’ he noted.

  ‘Yes, and I deliberately positioned myself between the patrols and opened fire before legging it. They fired at each other for half an hour.’

  ‘And for ammo...?’ the same man asked.

  ‘I picked that up of the dead, and grenades, and the grenades were effective in dense woods.’

  ‘Did you try and sneak out?’ the major asked.

  ‘Several times, sir. First, after the heavy artillery, when the whole area to the east was shrouded in smoke. I got three hundred yards through the smoke, but came across fifty men advancing. I fired and ran, but got hit in the arse.

  ‘Second, to the north, when they hit their own snipers with artillery, and I got beyond them.’ I illustrated where on the map. ‘But further north were even more men blocking me.’

  ‘How did you shoot their officer in charge?’ the MI6 guy asked.

  ‘I fired at distance, at tents and cars 700 yards out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was trying to create confusion partly, and partly I figured that they might pull back and re-group – or maybe even give up and go home. Foolish notion, but when you are tired and hurting you think these things.’

  ‘And your escape?’

  ‘On the second night I found a way north, and on the third day I was hidden, very sick, and I had been knocked unconscious twice by rounds to the head.’ I tapped my head gear. ‘That third evening I was delirious, and I collapsed, and woke after sixteen hours feeling a bit better. When I moved north there were fewer patrols around, and I made it through their lines.’

  The Lt Col said, ‘That third afternoon and evening, were you ... here on the map?’

  ‘No, I was a mile or more south, and semi-conscious,’ I lied.

  ‘Could you, in a semi-conscious state, have been there?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I wasn’t. Why?’

  ‘There was intense fighting in that area.’

  ‘I heard many fire-fights when I was nowhere nearby, sir, and I saw a distant rebel patrol. Either it was them, or I was sleep walking, sir.’

  ‘Well, everything matches up to the signals intel, your timeline, apart from that action on the third day north of you. So ... maybe a rebel patrol, they do operate in that area, and the people you rescued were part of such a rebel force. We also have Sigint reports of three contacts at the same time, and even you can’t be in three places at the same time – sleep walking or not.’

  The major said, ‘We’ve studied the signals, and noted the times of each patrol that you hit – or maybe fired on each other – but even a conservative guess would have you sniping at thirty six separate patrols, and wounding two hundred men.’

  ‘I don’t believe I fired that many rounds, sir, and at night they often fired on each other, and when I checked bodies in the daylight I never found radios. They were not coordinating their efforts, sir.’

  The major nodded. ‘We’ve recorded signals of people screaming at each other that they were firing on each other’s patrols.’

  ‘Take a look at the map, sir, and how wide that area is. It’s three hundred yards end to end. Fire a rifle with that many men around and you’re bound to hit someone, and the rounds will travel out 700 yards.’

  He nodded. ‘It was a ludicrous plan of theirs.’

  ‘Do you know why they poured so many men in, sir?’

  ‘They
were hunting a rebel patrol, and a certain rebel leader, a valued prize,’ the major explained. ‘And that man may have been north of you, hence the action on the third day, maybe earlier. They certainly thought he was there, but no bodies were found.’

  ‘I came across murdered civilians to the north, many of them.’ I pointed to the map. ‘And then I came across a group of rebels being tortured and killed. I doubt, sir, that such bodies – as evidence – would be carried out as evidence and indentified. It seemed that the Serbs just raped and killed for fun, so I doubt that any rebels that were sliced up would have been reported anyhow.’

  ‘Yes, a good point,’ the major conceded.

  ‘The British sleeper agent you met,’ the Lt Col moved onto. ‘You identified yourself to him as SAS?’

  ‘I had no choice; I was losing consciousness, shaking, partial sight. I had an hour left before going into a coma. It was a gamble, but I was happy with the people I rescued. I trusted them.’

  ‘Did he question you?’ the Mi6 asked.

  ‘He proved my identity through questions about the base and Hereford area, till he was happy. He asked about the action in the woods, but I was vague.’

  ‘And the value of his assistance?’ the Mi6 guy pressed.

  ‘He saved my life by using his sat phone. I owe him. The SAS owes him.’

  ‘The woman you saved was his daughter, and you saved her husband, so I think you can call it even.’

  ‘Ah,’ I let out. ‘Well thank him anyway.’

  The Mi6 guy began, a glance at the others. ‘14 Intel were in Bosnia, and have ... taken an interest in the action and have all the transcripts and have more detail than we do. They persuaded the defence chiefs to allow them to double check our data, and some of their conclusions ... vary, shall we say. They have you down as starting the action, and of wounding more than five hundred men whilst ignoring opportunities to escape, or killing the wounded – some with your bare hands.’

  I smiled. ‘And did they actually try and present that to anyone?’

  ‘They did, and were laughed out of the room.’