by Geoff Wolak
‘Now what?’ Rocko asked after a few minutes.
‘Jeep,’ I said, and we focused on a jeep being driven at breakneck speed down from the direction of the cock fest. I did nothing other than observe it, so the lads did likewise, and it sped towards the prison, distant shouts eventually heard as the vehicle screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust.
Men could be seen running around, more men, then a few vehicles, but the vehicles grouped instead of heading off.
‘That a Duska?’ Swifty asked.
‘Yep,’ I agreed. ‘Twin fifty cal, and can be fired horizontally, so we’d best avoid it.’
We waited, and with around fifteen vehicles in convoy they set off, many men sat in the backs of the vehicles. It grew quiet.
‘Fucking ... hell,’ Swifty let out.
‘What?’ Slider asked through the dark.
‘They emptied the town of fighters for us. They’re all up at the cock fest. Some dead, granted, but certainly fucking absent.’
‘We go have a look?’ Rocko asked.
‘Swifty, Barretta,’ I called. ‘Rocko, Slider, sniper cover from that last mud wall. That’s ... say ... hundred fifty yards to the road. You see someone running like fuck towards you, don’t shoot – it’ll be us. On me.’
We eased up over the mud wall and ran forwards, halting at the last mud wall, now seeing a guard on the roof of the prison. He was brightly lit, we were in the dark, but as we crossed that road we would be seen.
The echoes of firing caught our attention, and we glanced around, the Duska in operation in the hills.
‘They’re shooting at ghosts,’ Swifty commented.
I nodded unseen, pistol in hand, rifle slung. ‘Slider, guard on the roof with his thumb up his arse. Shoot him.’
Slider took aim, resting on the wall, and hit the man, bending the guard double and knocking him backwards.
‘Anyone else, same deal, so long as there’s firing coming from behind you,’ I ordered as I jumped up and ran. I could hear Swifty hot on my heels, and we legged it across the road whilst being brightly illuminated.
Shouts, calls. Something was up. Swifty shoved me, firing with a quiet crack as I turned my head. The dark outline was holding his cock and moaning. Swifty fired twice, knocking the man down, but now the man just rolled around on the floor screaming.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ I let out as Swifty ran forwards ten yards, knelt and killed the man – a head shot, and ran back.
As he reached me a shadow fell over us, and we both looked up as a face and shoulders peered down. I hit that face, and the man slumped, ever so slowly slipping over the wall and down to us with a thud.
Tapping Swifty’s knee, I led him off around the corner, straight into a man taking a piss in a dark spot, his rifle slung. Without a break in stride I placed the end of my silencer at his face and fired, and the man dropped. More shouts echoed, coming from within.
The old wall was broken in many places and I climbed up, peeking my head over the wall just as a guard on the roof was hit, a crack permeating the air, and he fell backwards and off, landing with a thud that caused two men to come running from my right.
I aimed carefully as they ran, hitting one in the neck. His colleague took a few more steps before realising he was alone, and spun around, my silenced shot hitting him in the abdomen and bending him double. He slowly crumpled and knelt, the first man getting up, a hand to a gushing neck wound.
I aimed and fired, the man’s head knocked sideways. With the second man on the floor I clicked empty, cursing myself. Reloading, I fumbled it – but I had the time, my intended victim not going anywhere in a hurry. Reloaded, I hit him in the chest and scrambled down.
‘No points for me.’
‘What?’ Swifty hissed.
‘Fuck all fighters inside that I can see.’ I clicked on the mic. ‘Slider, Rocko, to the prison gate on the double, watch for movement.’
‘Moving,’ came back.
Myself and Swifty, both now bent double, crept to the gate, ignoring activity down the street. We heard footsteps, and glanced over our shoulders as the lads closed in.
‘Slider, our rear, Rocko, this street. Wait to be called,’ I whispered before entering the open gate.
Lights were on in a few places, but there was no one to greet us. I hugged the wall looking for cover and shadows, hearing Swifty behind, and crept up to the largest building. Tapping my knee as I knelt down, Swifty got the idea and eased up, a peek into a brightly lit high window with bars.
Back down, he said, ‘Dozen hostages sat reading paperbacks.’
I stared at him, and we exchanged looks. ‘How do they look?’
‘Westerners, well fed, no bandages. They took good care of the hostages, hoping to get some ransom money I guess.’
I shrugged before easing up, and to the open doorway, soft music coming from within, along the sound and smell of cooking.
A name being called, then again. Footsteps. We got ready.
A young lad appeared holding a towel, a shot through the heart at three feet bending him double and down. I peered over his body, seeing a long straight corridor, soon stepping inside, pistol and silencer aimed down the corridor. The lights went out, and I knelt.
‘That was me, sorry,’ Swifty whispered. ‘Light switch.’
I smiled widely. ‘Fucker.’ I stood and inched forwards, and we ignored the closed doors, reaching the end of the corridor, two youths stood cooking, seen through a crack in the door.
A name was called, then angrily bellowed out. We got down. A teenager appeared, stopping to stare at us before getting two rounds to the heart. We rushed inside, the second teen hit in the chest by me, his pans clattering as we checked all the angles. It was clear, and I peered down as his black skin and buck teeth as he stared up at me.
‘Ammo,’ I called.
‘Getting low,’ came back.
I tossed away the Barretta, and took out my Browing, Swifty copying, spare mags in hands as we inched down the corridor, doors opened, empty store rooms found. The last room had plenty of sounds coming from within, and I knelt, an eye to the key hole, a man seen on a chair, AK47 cradled, safety on.
Standing, I faced Swifty. ‘One, maybe two,’ I delicately whispered. Turning back, I studied the door, seeing that it was not locked. Placing away my spare magazine, I grabbed the door handle, exchanged a signal with Swifty, and opened it.
A surprised gunmen, wide-eyed, looked up as Swifty and I both put two rounds into his chest. Screams filled the air as I swung left, finding no gunmen. ‘Clear!’
‘Clear!’ came from behind as people screamed.
‘British soldiers, French helicopters on their way!’ I shouted, and the screams abated. ‘Can you move? Is anyone injured?’
‘My legs are sore,’ an old lady stated, but apart from that the group appeared to be OK, varying from crying to smiling to shocked, a mix of men and women of all ages. ‘How many of you are there?’ I asked.
‘Eleven,’ came several people at the same time.
‘Any held anywhere else in this building?’
‘No,’ came back. ‘Not that we’ve seen.’
Some started to stand.
‘Stay here, stay quiet!’ I barked, and I closed the door on them. Outside, I clicked on my mic. ‘Slider, Rocko, inside on the double.’
I put away my pistol and readied my rifle, silencer detached, Swifty copying as the lads ran in and found us. ‘Up on the roof!’ I shouted. ‘Shoot anyone with an AK47 on his chest, any vehicle.’ They clambered up stone steps.
‘What’s the plan?’ Swifty pressed, and he seemed concerned.
‘We need only get those hostages to a quiet spot for the choppers, but this town will be alerted soon enough, and those up the hill will come back. We’re on the clock.’
Men appeared at the gate, and I shoved Swifty before I fired, four rounds into two men, a burst coming back our way.
‘Games up!’ Swifty called as he fired at a man peeking around the gate
s.
‘Forwards,’ I called as I ran, and reaching the gates I fired twice from the hip on the move, cutting down two men who were not ready to fire back. I shouldered the gate, getting a squeak, but it closed soon enough. Stepping into the street and kneeling I found plenty to shoot at, a dozen targets fired at, some seen to be knocked down as Swifty pushed on the second heavy gate.
‘Inside,’ he called, and I ducked in just before he closed it, a bolt put in place. ‘We’re trapped in here!’ he complained.
I faced the marked-out and well-lit soccer field. ‘Plenty of room for a chopper,’ I said as we ran back to the main building.
‘Not under fire,’ he snapped. ‘Fucking Frogs won’t risk it!’
‘True, very true, so ...’
We spun and lifted our weapons as a shadow appeared in the doorway of the main building, but we stopped short of firing, a grey-haired westerner stood there in a shirt that had seen better days.
‘Get back!’ I shouted. ‘Dangerous out here.’
‘What? Oh, yes, but I thought I may help. I was an officer in the Engineers before the Diplomatic Corp,’ he got out as we approached.
‘That’s good to know, sir,’ I offered. ‘And we may have a use for you, assisting the others -’
‘There’s a weapons stash there,’ he said, pointing between myself and Swifty, and we turned to glance at an empty courtyard, thinking him crazy. ‘Underground.’ He shoved past. ‘I saw it through the window many times, but they never saw me.’
‘Sir?’ I called, but there was no stopping him.
He stamped down, Swifty and I exchanging looks, then he found something in the dark, lifting a rope. ‘Here it is.’
We closed in, each grabbing the rope and yanking on it, pulling off a wooden cover, revealing two flat metal doors. Pen torch out, I knelt with Swifty.
‘Could be booby trapped,’ he cautioned.
‘No, no,’ the ex-officer said. ‘They come and go all the time, at night.’
I grabbed a handle and lifted, finding the doors to be light enough, Swifty ducking inside with his pen torch on. Two minutes later he returned as I knelt.
‘Ten tonnes of anti-tank mines,’ he reported. ‘For all the good they are to these fuckers.’
‘Make a big bang for a diversion when we go,’ I enthused.
‘I can rig a mine, slow burning fire underneath, gives you ... from five to twenty minutes.’
I nodded. ‘We have a plan of escape then,’ I said just as Rocko and Slider opened up on someone unseen.
‘RPGs down there,’ Swifty said, just his head poking up.
‘Get them,’ I urged. ‘I’ll cover you.’
‘There’s a light switch,’ the ex-officer said as he nudged past me, the tunnel soon illuminated.
Moving to the corner of the main building and finding some shadow, I checked the soccer field, seeing movement at the other side, some 250yards away. I took aim, tried to figure the dark shadows, and fired off a few rounds. A man ran straight into the illuminated area and I winged him. Down on the floor, I fired twice at him as he lay there, unsure if I hit him or not.
Noise behind me revealed two figures lugging RPG launchers and rockets. ‘Up on the roof!’ I shouted. I turned back to the soccer field, the body still prone, but movement in a doorway caught my eye, so I popped off five rounds, clicking empty and cursing myself. I threw away the magazine and got another in quickly, weapon cocked.
‘Wilco?’ came Swifty’s voice from above me. I looked up to the roof. ‘What the fuck we aiming at with these?’
‘The town square, then anywhere beyond three hundred. Make some noise.’
A minute later a bang and whoosh signalled an RPG winging its way towards the brightly lit town square, and thud coming after ten seconds, a flash. Noise caused me to turn, a face appearing from the tunnel, the old man lugging RPGs. I ran over and grabbed a kitbag full of rockets, lugging them up the steps to the roof, the old guy hot on my heels, his thin hair beading with sweat.
I stepped past Slider as he fired off at someone, Swifty firing off an RPG into the distance, Rocko complaining about the noise – he was trying to hit vehicles 500yards out.
I dumped the RPGs next to Swifty. ‘Use them, all of the, don’t bother aiming,’ I rushed out. ‘Hit some cars, make some fires if you can.’
He reloaded, took aim as I knelt with the old guy – the man’s hands over his ears, and fired at a lorry some 300yards away, hitting its engine grill and setting it alight.
‘Good shot!’ I commended.
Reloaded, I pointed and shouted at the far side of the soccer pitch. Swifty lowered his aim and fired, a burst of sparks and smoke denoting a wall hit, a few fighters a bit too close by and injured.
Standing, I set automatic and emptied two magazines into the town square, hoping to cause some confusion in an area other than where I was currently standing. Kneeling and re-loading, the old man sat at the top of the stone steps and keenly watching us, Swifty fired every twelve seconds or so, a few fires started. Then he hit something by accident, a huge plume of fire rising.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Slider shouted as the flames grew, illuminating that area of town.
‘Fuel oil or cooking tank probably,’ Swifty said. ‘Maybe a lorry or a tanker.’
‘Wilco!’ Rocko called with some urgency, and we all turned. In the distance the convoy was returning.
‘Time to go!’ I said. ‘Swifty, hit the street outside, and the wall down there. Rocko, Slider, edge of that roof, hit any fucker in the street.’ I faced the old man. ‘With me, sir,’ and I led him down to the echoes of gunfire, back inside and to the hostages. ‘Time to go!’
‘I can’t walk fast,’ the old lady complained.
‘I carry you,’ came a French accident. The thirty year old man faced me. ‘I am doctor, Medicine San Frontier.’
‘Let’s go then!’ I urged, and people moved past me and outside, the ex-officer leading the way. I made sure that the room was empty and followed them outside, blasts coming from the street.
‘Swifty!’ I shouted up. ‘Down here!’ I marshalled the hostages around the main building as Swifty came down. Seeing him, I said, ‘You got five minutes to set that decoy,’ soon turning and leading the hostages to a hole in the wall made wider by Swifty’s RPG action, the smoke lingering.
Peering outside, I pointed and fired at someone creeping along the wall. I shouted up with some urgency, ‘Slider, Rocko, cover us!’ and stepped through, the road clear, but the lingering smoke made it hard to see every angle. The hostages followed me cautiously as I led them across the road and into the ploughed field.
‘Go to the wall and wait the other side,’ I told them, mounting a dry mud wall and scanning the street. It looked clear for now.
With the hostages almost to the mud wall, I clicked on the mic. ‘Slider, Rocko, to me on the double.’
‘Moving.’
I could see the convoy snaking along, and getting closer. Footsteps preceded two dark shadows running, and they stopped to kneel next to me. ‘Get the hostages to the vehicles, no firing unless absolutely necessary, stay hidden and quiet.’ I tapped a shoulder and they legged it across the field towards the mud wall.
I waited, wondering how safe Swifty was with no cover, and realising that he wasn’t safe at all. I ran back across the road and jumped through the hole, sliding to a halt and firing at dark movement across the soccer pitch, a dozen rounds fired, a few rounds pinging off the walls behind me.
Getting up and running to the right, and I followed the side of the building, rounds cracking overhead, and reached the illuminated weapons store. ‘Swifty?’
‘Nearly done!’
‘Out of time!’
I waited, probably thirty seconds, and peeked inside. He burst forwards and scrambled up, and we ran, a few rounds cracking overhead.
‘I set a booby trap as well, in case the fire don’t do it,’ he got out in a hurry as we sprinted, rounds cracking overhead.
/> I skidded to a halt at the hole and thrust my face through, the wall above me spitting dirt as it was hit. The road was clear, and I leapt through, Swifty behind me, and I ran like hell to the field. I could hear Swifty and so did not slow down till beyond the mud wall. There we stopped and turned, fire positions taken.
‘Don’t shoot unless you have too,’ I got out between ragged breaths. ‘They won’t figure us over here.’
‘Look!’ he called, the convoy joining our road. But instead of coming towards us they headed towards the fire. Thinking that we were in the clear, the last three jeeps came our way, drove past us at speed and to the prison gates.
‘Now,’ I said, up and running, soon making a horrendous noise as we fought through the tall crops, about as stealthy as a herd of elephants in a glass factory.
‘That you?’ came a shout.
‘Yes, don’t shoot,’ I replied, and a set of headlights came on. ‘Turn the lights off.’
I helped the hostages into the backs of the jeeps, and performed a head count. Eleven, old lady moaning loudly and whimpering. Three vehicles had been loaded for some reason, so we left the last one and I got in with Swifty, window down, rifle ready. He backed up, getting the gear eventually, and bumped onto the track, the others following as I thrust my head out the side window to watch them.
‘That road will be an issue,’ Swifty warned. ‘Any jeeps coming head on...’
‘We’ll wave nicely, then shoot,’ I quipped. ‘Fingers crossed.’
Hitting the tarmac road, I was nervously looking every which way, no lights close by, and we turned south, Swifty flooring it till I told him to wait. The others caught up, the speed increasing, and I rushed to sip some water, my mouth dry, the bottle passed to Swifty before putting it away.
‘How much fuel?’ I asked.
‘Fuck knows,’ came back through the dark. ‘We have what we have.’
‘Only need a mile or so.’ I took out the sat phone and switched it on and hit #1. And waited.
‘Wilco?’
‘Yes, sir. Sitrep: eleven hostages rescued, none injured, none left behind, driving south in borrowed vehicles, helicopter pickup in thirty minutes, location to be fixed, probably near the coast, where we landed. Got that?’