Wilco- Lone Wolf 2

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘So what happens now?’ he asked.

  ‘I give a report about you, and ... maybe they’ll wish to take the matter further. Do you ... speak any languages?’

  ‘Was good at German in school, did a few trips over there.’

  ‘Anything else that you’re good at?’

  ‘Computers, I take them apart in my spare time. And radios. Was qualified in the Engineers on radios.’

  ‘That always helps.’

  I drove him back to the base an hour later, he grabbed his kit and claimed his car, and off he went. Back in my apartment, I called Bob Staines at home.

  ‘Got a minute, Bob?’

  ‘Yes, fire away.’

  ‘Not got a few teenage girls in there with you?’

  ‘Only in my dreams.’

  I laughed. ‘Listen, you said to look out for younger versions of me, and I found one.’

  ‘You have?’ came an excited voice.

  ‘Yes, he’s a TA SAS lad, was Paras and Engineers, two years each, not a people person – he’s a loner.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘He did my three-day scenario this week, and got 78%.’

  ‘Excellent again. Any languages?’

  ‘German for now. But he’s shit hot with military radios, and he takes computers apart for fun, so he’s technically minded.’

  ‘All good. What’s his day job?’

  ‘Part time painter decorator, waste of his talents. If you want to speak to him, call the RSM and get his details, name is David Tomkinson, 21st SAS down in Newport.’

  ‘Will do, and thanks. Oh, if we like him, can you train him up?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I drove over to Cheltenham, to the Programme HQ, and found Smurf in reasonable spirits, and he admitted to seeing a nurse – fast work. I had been worried about his state of mind, but the dirty little bugger was banging a nurse already.

  I drove back wondering if a very short Smurf was banging that very tall nurse I had met when I was there. It made me smile.

  A week later Captain Moran appeared at squadron orders, and in uniform, and I welcomed him back.

  The Major announced, ‘As you can see, Captain Moran is back with us, light duties, paperwork, some healing yet. His first week was a hell of a first week, still some sand in his shoes.’ We laughed. ‘Smurf is doing well by all accounts, his arm getting better.’

  After orders, the Major asked me to follow him, and waiting for us was Bob Staines and his line manager.

  ‘Morning, Bob,’ I offered, and we shook, and I greeted his line manager before we all sat.

  ‘We like Tomo,’ Bob said. ‘Well done on that. He has ... a bad personality for most things – after careful testing, an excellent one for what we want. He’d travel overseas by himself, do a naughty job and return, and not blab about it. His lack of fulfilment in his career makes him ideal.

  ‘We’ve offered him a six month training and assessment period with “E” Squadron, rather than with us directly yet. We’d like you to set a training programme.’

  ‘To what ends?’ I said, my hands wide.

  ‘So that he could go overseas, and whilst there infiltrate and come back out, and if spotted he fights and gets out. Say ... he goes to an Arab country, sneaks over the border, walks fifty miles unseen – or parachutes in, takes some pictures, gets back out by foot, or boat or car or truck. Most “E” Squadron members like Swifty can do that.’

  I made a face and nodded. ‘Straight forwards enough, and I can practise some of those tasks myself. And does he know what will happen if he gets caught?’

  ‘He does, but ... he also knows that his life here is very dull.’

  ‘Not as dull as ten years in a small cell, Bob, that could be very dull day to day,’ I quipped.

  ‘That’s where the training comes in, it lessens the chances of a prison cell.’

  I faced the Major. ‘Did you not want to steal him away for “D” Squadron?’

  ‘Not after hearing about his psyche profile, no. We like team players. And despite what some believe, you work well in a team, and you lead a team well.’

  ‘Sir, I lead a team ... very well,’ I pointed out, making them laugh. I asked the Major, ‘Do I get to use facilities for the new lad?’

  ‘Yes, because otherwise Bob will pull strings ... and have me shot.’

  I faced Bob. ‘When does he start?’

  ‘As soon as you’re ready, he hates his day job anyhow.’

  ‘Do me a favour, and stick him in The Programme for a few weeks, chat to Kate, get him very fit, and use the spare time for study, and language tutors, and geography. QMAR fitness, QMAR study.’

  ‘Yes, excellent idea,’ Bob’s line manager agreed.

  ‘I’ll pop in and see him regularly.’

  With Captain Moran back, and Smurf well enough to travel, the Major suddenly announced tea with the Queen. I thought he was kidding till we organised transport and Captain Tosh leant me his No.1 uniform again – lanyard removed, no rank displayed.

  I got calls into Bob, he got calls in to the COs of Slider and Rocko – the matter already in hand apparently, and we were at the Palace two days later, stepping down from a blacked-out coach, jackets carried and put on inside, shoes touched up.

  After a short wait, and meeting up with Slider and Rocko – looking smart in the No.1s and having the piss taken out of them by Swifty, they led us into a high ceiling function room with pale blue walls, the room already quite full. I recognised the Defence Secretary, and when a man turned around I recognised the Prime Minister.

  He stepped purposely over. ‘Hello again,’ he offered, and we shook. ‘And well done ... again, a good show.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but a team effort.’

  He moved along to the Colonel, and I spotted a bunch of staff generals, but then puzzled the Navy. Then it hit me: Ark Royal’s crew. I wandered towards them and nodded at the ship’s Captain. ‘Hello again, sir.’

  ‘Made it back with no injuries?’ he said with a smile as we shook.

  ‘Few minor wounds, sir.’ Whispering, I said, ‘What’s all this fuss for?’

  ‘They always milk a success, you should know that.’ He introduced his officers, I remembered them, and I said hello to the Marines captain. They had four Sea King pilots and two crewman here today, even the two Marines that were aboard fetching hostages.

  A grey-haired man came up to me as people nudged by. ‘Remember me?’ he asked.

  ‘Er ... no, sir.’

  ‘The Deputy Ambassador.’

  ‘As yes. Sorry, sir, it was dark, and your face was...’

  ‘Yes, black and blue, thanks to my captors. Still, I lost weight during my captivity, something not achieved by either fastidious diet nor earnest exercise.’

  I laughed. ‘A silver lining, sir. Glad you made it out.’

  ‘Not half as glad as I am, I can tell you. They executed people in front of us, dreadful business.’

  I nodded. ‘It was going well till we reached the French base, then a helo full of hostages was shot down. They all burnt to death.’

  His features fell. ‘I saw it from the runway, kept me awake that did, I can tell you. Like being in a plane crash and burning.’

  I nodded, my own horrid memories of that day returning, Bob Staines squeezing in. ‘Milking it, Bob?’

  ‘Damn right. Good to have things going our way for a change.’

  ‘When do you become section head?’

  ‘Well, now ... technically.’

  ‘Better office?’ I toyed.

  ‘Better everything.’

  ‘Bigger budget?’

  He lifted his eyebrows and nodded. ‘The politicians won’t throw good money after bad, but success gets the cash. Harold Wilson dismantled our old Special Ops branch, then in 1987 we got the new UK Special Forces Directorate, which brought back together a few sections under one roof, and then “E” Squadron - which was unofficial for a while, and 14 Intel – but I’d like to see them disbanded,
they have a mind of their own.’

  ‘That they do. Can you influence them?’

  ‘They resist, and talk direct to the Joint Intel Committee. Their loss, we’ve isolated them.’

  I nodded. ‘Rumour has it .... I’m off their Christmas card list.’

  He laughed, and checked over his shoulder. ‘They want to operate on the mainland and overseas, but too many fuck-ups. Good results get the sweeties from No.10.’

  ‘Then I shall try to keep being lucky, Bob, you may be director some day.’

  ‘Hah, they’re picked from a young age, the right old school connections.’

  ‘You don’t seem at all bitter,’ I quipped.

  I stopped to chat to Rocko and Slider, commenting on trimmed hair and moustaches, and what nice ladies they looked today. Half an hour later and the Queen came in, and a moment before we had been lined up in a half circle, the Ark Royal crew photographed at length, then again with the Queen. It was if they had done the rescue themselves.

  She worked her way along, greeting the Deputy Ambassador and asking after his ordeal, and finally turned to me, a Lord Lieutenant behind her, much braid and brass displayed, a sword on his hip.

  ‘You need no introduction, young man,’ she said, and I bowed my head.

  ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Another rescue, and so soon after the last one. They keep you busy.’

  ‘They do, Ma’am, and by they ... I mean the world’s terrorists.’

  ‘Indeed, it hardly seems that a week goes by without some of our embassy staff in hot water or under threat.’

  ‘Would you like me to introduce my team?’

  ‘Please.’

  I stepped out so that I was besides her. Gesturing with a hand, and very officer like, I said, ‘This is Rocko, he’s from the Parachute Regiment on loan to us, a very good sniper, Ma’am.’

  Rocko bowed his head. ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘And were you in Somalia as well?’

  ‘I was, Ma’am.’

  ‘Well done on that as well,’ she said as we moved along.

  ‘This is Slider, from the Royal Marines at Deal in Kent, also on loan to us.’

  ‘Well done,’ she offered. Turning her head to me a notch, she said, ‘You can take men from the various regiments?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am, if they’re outstanding.’ We moved an inch or two. ‘This is Rizzo, team leader for the second team in Mauritania, Ma’am, the remainder of the men all being SAS.’

  ‘And you always use code names?’ she noted as she shook Rizzo’s hand.

  ‘Apologies, Ma’am, but we use them so much I could not rightly remember the correct names.’

  She nodded and we worked down the line, Smurf with his arm in a sling. ‘Were you injured?’

  ‘Shot in the shoulder, Ma’am.’

  ‘All better?’

  ‘Getting better, Ma’am. Thank you.’

  ‘And this is our troop captain, Captain Moran,’ I introduced next. ‘He was shot in the stomach, a nasty wound, but fought on, not wanting to leave when the helicopters arrived.’

  ‘How brave of you, and it must have hurt greatly.’

  ‘It did, Ma’am, but in the excitement the adrenaline masks some of the pain.’

  She nodded.

  ‘This is Major Bradley, our Squadron CO, he planned the operation and coordinated it.’

  ‘Well done, Major, a very good show indeed, and coming so soon after other successes.’

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am.’

  ‘This is Captain Harris, Army Intelligence, he provides maps - and information about the terrorists, local conditions.’

  She again nodded, shaking his hand. ‘Do the officers not have code names?’ she idly enquired.

  ‘Not normally, Ma’am.’

  ‘And you’re up for a commission I understand.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘And this French Major I heard about?’

  I stopped dead, not sure what she meant. She looked up, and waited. ‘He ... followed orders from Paris, knowing his men would be ambushed.’

  ‘Since you advised him of that.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘And did you have words with him after the fighting was over?’

  I blinked. ‘No, Ma’am, I ... bit my tongue.’

  ‘But it sounds like you would have rather had words with him.’

  ‘I would have rather ... shot him in the leg. He threw away lives to please his political paymasters.’

  ‘Difficult choices have to made sometimes, as I am sure you’ve made in the heat of battle.’ She waited.

  My features hardened. ‘I consider my team, and the hostages, not a medal or pat on the back. I’ll sacrifice my career to get just one of my men back out alive.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’ll make a fine officer,’ and she turned to greet the Navy.

  The Colonel approached. ‘What was all that about? You looked like you were getting irate?’

  ‘She ... wanted to know if I disagreed with that French major, and what I would have done.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I told I would not throw away lives, that I’d sacrifice my career first.’

  ‘That day will come soon enough, and you’ll have to choose.’

  We exchanged knowing looks, and I blew out.

  That Thursday I drove over to The Programme, finding that Smurf and Tomo had bonded and were best mates, Smurf having briefed Tomo on myself and my own time in The Programme. Tomo wanted to equal my scores, and was keen about his new job.

  I flicked through his study material, and he had his QMAR study sheets all filled in. Asking Smurf to test Tomo on how he would have handled the Mauritania rescue, I set in motion a chain of events that I had not considered.

  Captain Moran had kept his detailed sketch of the village, and with the Major present I asked if he could draw up a test scenario for others to use – how they would have attempted the rescue, their fall back plans, etc, and in great detail. The Major was keen, Moran very keen – he had time on his hands, and a few days later we had a detailed scenario, and a list of questions for candidates.

  With several new troop captains in the regiment, I had a word with the Colonel and he had each sit a two hour test, followed by a question and answer session with me – what they would have done if this happened, or that. The aim was not to trip anyone up, but to open their minds and to get them thinking about logistics and planning.

  The Colonel himself then handed the test to a new major in “B” Squadron, and asked the questions himself with myself present, after which I gave the major a thorough briefing on what happened blow by blow.

  The CO mentioned it to a fellow colonel, and General Dennet rang me. I was summoned, paperwork to be brought. In uniform, I signed into the MOD building at 9am on a wet Tuesday morning, and found a room with twenty officers in it, Majors and Captains mostly, Marines, Paras and infantry regiment officers.

  General Dennet simply said, ‘Put that lot through the scenario, take charge. We have a photocopier.’

  With the papers, sketches and maps being photocopied, I made myself a tea and introduced myself, the officers wondering what they were doing in the room – and what I was doing there.

  Handed back the papers, and issuing them, I began, ‘You will not talk to each other, gentlemen, you may take a piss of course, but try and hold it in. You will read the test scenario, then write down in great detail how you would plan the rescue of British hostages.

  ‘You have a list of kit, of men, of conditions, politics and history. You should read for forty minutes at least, make notes, then start the planning, you have three hours in total. No plan is right or wrong, and later we will discuss them – and I will, I’m sure, discuss with General Dennet if you’re a useless bunch of fuckers.’ They blinked. ‘You may begin.’

  Wide-eyed, they made a start, and I sat sipping my tea. After lunch, papers left on desks – the room locked, I went through the operation stage by stage, and asked for raised han
ds if they had considered a point or not, and why, and an hour later I went through the rescue step by step, General Dennet and his senior staff coming in and listening in as we debated pros and cons of the operation.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ I called. ‘The French Major accepted the order to go in after I warned him, and he threw away lives.’

  ‘He had to follow orders,’ several complained.

  ‘Political orders, not based on facts on the ground,’ I countered with. ‘Gentlemen, if you carry out an operation that is successful you get a medal, a promotion, tea with the Queen. Fuck it up ... and you face the consequences. But what if you’re ordered to make a bad decision, to use helicopters say – when you know they have surface to air missiles?

  ‘The Prime Minister of this country is entitled to ask us to rescue the hostages, he is not entitled to say we drive or use helicopters or swim there, that’s your job. And that fuckwit of a French major could have made use of me and my men, and he could have had men sneak up the night before. He was playing chess with set pieces, and he threw away lives, and those French ministers up the chain were forced to resign by public pressure.

  ‘So, if you’re given an order by a minister, and you know that it’s going to be a fuck up, and the same minister will be forced to resign, what do you do?’

  ‘Your lot refuse orders, we don’t,’ a major said.

  ‘That French major had complete operation control on the day, and he could have modified his plan.’

  ‘He was afraid,’ General Dennet loudly called from the side. ‘By sticking to a standard set-piece move he could not be criticised later, by his bosses or the press.’

  I nodded, taking in the faces. ‘He allowed it to be a fuck-up, lives lost, so long as his arse was covered. So, gentlemen, if you’re ordered to do something that you know will get men killed ... do you do it, or modify the plan, or tell your boss to fuck off? Do you look into the faces of the young men in your charge and say – I won’t sacrifice your lives for my career.’

  I let them think about it.

  ‘My lot would tell the General to fuck off, and I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing. We don’t throw away lives, they matter, and we don’t have that many men, a great deal of time and money spent on training our lads. They’re not cannon fodder.’