Wilco- Lone Wolf 7

by Geoff Wolak

  The big Welsh sergeant said, ‘I was in Bosnia when you were lost behind the lines, sir, odd to finally meet you.’

  I nodded. ‘That seems like a long time ago.’

  ‘Serbs went mad looking for you...’ he nudged.

  ‘They made mistakes, namely sending a lot of men into dense woods. All I had to do was fire off in any direction and I’d hit someone. I would see two patrols coming in parallel, fuck all coordination going on with them, and I’d get between them, pop up and shoot and get down. They fired at each other day after day.

  ‘But the dogs were the worst part, which is why I have lots of dogs on my three-day test. They sent thirty or more dogs in after me, some I fought hand-to-hand. When you’re in a deep dark wood, you don’t want dogs after you. Their hearing is fantastic, their sense of smell.’

  Whisky said, ‘You didn’t fight hand to hand, it was hand to paw,’ everyone laughing.

  Remembering my sat phone, I turned it back on and placed it down. It beeped to show a missed call. Finishing my mince meat, washed down with tea, I lifted my rifle and stepped out, sat phone in hand, and moved outside into the blackness, the crickets chirping happily away.

  I recalled the last number to call me, an odd dial code sounding out in my ear. I was cautious about who it was, having half an idea. It rang.

  ‘Hello?’ came a refined English voice, but obviously from an African.

  ‘You called me?’

  ‘Yes, and I guess you have seen the news.’

  ‘Yes, Mister President.’

  ‘It happened ... exactly as you said it would, these Delta men landing at Freetown when you said, and no blame towards me. I was ... most impressed, if not greatly concerned at the stage play. You are indeed well connected.’

  ‘And the interested parties thank you for your part, sir.’

  ‘It would have been a mistake ... if as you say the Nigerians were behind the attack on me, so I am glad how things turned out. A return to status quo, as they say.’

  ‘Do you know of any other hostages?’

  ‘There are a group of French nationals just twenty miles north of that camp, next to the border, a small place called Wanga.’

  ‘I will have a look at the map, and thanks, the French will be happy, and will get to learn of where the information came from.’

  ‘I will have more information soon, a start to a new friendship.’

  ‘Thank you, Mister President, I will let the interested parties know of your kind assistance. And you may get a call tonight. This number is best?’

  ‘Yes, a Chinese sat phone, allegedly secure.’

  ‘Good night, sir.’

  Phone down, I stepped inside and sat, grabbing a paper and pen, the number written down before I stepped out again, but now stood under a bulb. I called Tomsk.

  In Russian, I began, ‘Hey Big Lump, he awake?’

  ‘It’s 2pm in the afternoon, so yes. Hold on. And I’m not a big lump.’

  ‘Petrov?’ came a few seconds later.

  ‘Yes, Boss. Get a paper and pen.’

  ‘Hold on ... OK, go ahead.’

  I read out the number. ‘That’s the President of Liberia, secure Chinese sat phone – so he says.’

  ‘I have a Chinese phone, so if I call with that it is secure maybe.’

  ‘Try it. He thinks you arranged everything that happened today-’

  ‘I saw it on the news, yes, American soldiers rescuing hostages, one killed.’

  ‘He also knows you arranged the Congo release of French hostages, and that you tip off the Americans and Brits about drugs – I had to confide in him. Listen, Nigerians tried to kill him, the Nigerian oil barons, so maybe you can help with his oil exploration.’

  ‘I know an oil company, Russian, I just bought a stake.’

  ‘Then you could get a concession in Liberia, the first one, and he would protect your men and your interests.’

  ‘That could be lucrative, my new partners will be very pleased – you make me look good to them.’

  ‘If you make a few dollars, you can send me some later. Now, write this down. Town called Wanga, northwest Liberia, on the border, French hostages, so tell your French contact, and that you got the information from this idiot in Liberia. Do that now, then ring the President and talk oil. Oh, and he thinks you have people near him, and he’s afraid of you.’

  ‘That helps, you have set the scene. Good.’

  ‘Talk to the French right away.’

  ‘OK, I do that now.’

  ‘Pukka.’

  Back in my room, the team was stirring.

  ‘Warm water downstairs, I had a strip wash, clean kit on.’ I sat, starting to clean my rifle. ‘Some warm grub as well.’

  Ten minutes later, as they sat cross-legged with brews in hand, I began, ‘Listen, over the years ... I’ve practised impersonating Russians, and I impersonate a particular one well.’ They were all ears. ‘The back-story for that persona cost a great deal of money, and co-operation with Intel in many nations. I’ve used that persona to get info that’s very valuable for Britain and America, and France more recently.

  ‘What I did yesterday ... was to make use of that persona, and it worked, and the hostages got out – all bar two I hear. You’re not supposed to know, or to ask, and you Mahoney – your government would be upset with you if you blabbed, and they’d protect their investment in the intel.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, I’m protecting the investment made in the project, and I need you to clamp down on any of the lads discussing this.’

  Moran put in, ‘The Russian men in the Congo, they recognised you, and feared you.’

  I nodded. ‘Back-stop story has been well put together.’

  ‘And if it got out?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘Me and Bob Staines would get a cell to share for the next two hundred years. Prime Minister doesn’t really know, few do, and we’d never argue that the end justified the means. But look at yesterday, the hostages being saved when they were due to be shot and buried – no witnesses. It’s a risk, but ... I think it’s more than worth it.’

  ‘Major Bradley don’t know?’ Moran asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘We in danger now?’ Mahoney asked.

  ‘No, because I hold all the cards. Without me they have jack shit.’

  ‘Couldn’t replace you?’ Mahoney asked.

  I smiled. ‘No. Never. And for now ... not up for discussion.’

  The corridors became a hive of activity as the lads cleaned kit and re-stocked.

  An hour later, Liban came and found me in my room. ‘We have a call from Paris, they know of hostages near here.’

  ‘How far away?’

  ‘Twenty five miles only.’

  ‘Then make a plan, Major. You go get them, we support you.’

  ‘We can move out quick?’

  ‘You can send a team to get eyes on tonight, helicopter insert a few miles away, Henri and Jacque with them, and Captain Moran. Say eight men in total.’

  ‘We arrange that now.’

  ‘I’ll check the helicopters, get me some coordinates.’

  Major Liban turned on a heel and headed off.

  Moran noted, ‘Good to have a live test rather than a dummy village, but there may not be anyone at the location, or all dead.’

  I nodded. ‘French intel, so we’ll see if they’re right.’ I stepped out into the corridor. ‘Staff Sergeant?’

  ‘Here,’ Rocko responded.

  ‘We have a live op’, maybe, French government thinks they know where there’re French hostages, twenty five miles north. Have the men kitted to go but sat waiting, sleep in full kit, French will go in, 24hrs eyes on, we’re the rescue team if it’s a fuck-up.’

  He nodded, and started barking orders.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco, it’s Bob, just heard that the French got intel, that they want you in support.’

  ‘Hang on.’ I rushed downstairs and out. ‘Intel came via a circuitous route,
via Monrovia and Palma.’

  ‘Ah. Well ... looks like this new alliance may help some after all. Does anyone there know?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Keep it that way. Do they ask questions about you walking into that camp?’

  ‘I gave a half-truth kinda explanation to Swifty, Moran and Mahoney; they saw it, and they’re not stupid. But they also know to clamp down on anyone discussing it.’

  ‘Well, given that they all saw you walk into the camp ... hard to hide the fact. What’ll the French do?’

  ‘Helicopter-in to a nearby spot, 24hrs eyes on, then we’ll see. But they tend to ask me what to do, and we’ll support them, more than enough warm bodies sat around here.’

  ‘OK, let me know if anything changes.’

  ‘Oh, what do you know about Liberian oil?’

  ‘There was a survey done without their permission, underwater explosions and echo surveying equipment, and they have the right rocks that are part of the shelf that Guinea drills into. Experts say it’s almost a certainty. Why the interest?’

  ‘Tomsk asked about it. Listen, could you get me a fix ... on where Tomsk should drill?’

  ‘Tomsk? Drilling for oil? When the fuck did that happen?’

  ‘He used his drug money to buy into a Russian oil company. And with mention of Liberia ... he’s interested.’

  ‘He’d make even more damn money!’

  ‘Some of which would wing its way to a certain Cayman Islands account...’

  ‘Oh ... well ... that could be a benefit, yes. But the PM would be furious.’

  ‘If he knew. So ... that location?’

  ‘I’ll get it ... but I’ll have to be careful, British companies in bed with the Nigerians want to make use of it at some point.’

  ‘So long as our tin-pot dictator is in power, the Nigerians will never be welcome.’

  ‘Hence their desire to remove him.’

  ‘And your desire ... now that he’s onboard?’

  ‘Well, I’d have to give that some thought.’

  ‘Do so, let me know, I am but a humble soldier.’

  ‘You’re a little rascal. And the Americans have invited me for top level talks in a few days, so don’t get killed.’

  ‘Bob, your concern for my wellbeing leaves me all warm and glowy, you know that.’

  ‘After this episode, even more powerful voices want Petrov out the closet.’

  ‘Out the bag, Bob, Petrov was never in the closet.’

  Laughing, he hung up.

  Inside, the French had kicked the Welsh Guards out the canteen and now had maps laid out, Whisky offering his skills. That reminded me, so I stepped out again and made a call.

  ‘Captain Harris.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, we need a Chinook ready for an insert tonight, say midnight.’

  ‘I’ll check with them now.’

  ‘This is a live job, hostages, so insist.’

  ‘Americans are here, loads of them, they have a part of the terminal for their use, snipers on the roof.’

  ‘Let them know we got intel on French hostages and that we’re going to set-up an OP nearby.’

  ‘OK, will do.’

  ‘Let me know about that Chinook.’

  Phone away, I headed back in, coffee grabbed, and I stood with Sasha for a while as the French studied the maps.

  Liban finally turned to me. ‘OK, we land five miles east, walk in, OP for a day, sketches made, try to see the hostage building and any hostages. Then we make a plan. Today, we have no idea of the town, the buildings, the guards, or the hostages.’

  ‘Step by step,’ I told him.

  ‘We are ready to go soon.’

  ‘I’m waiting for news on the helicopter.’

  That news came an hour later, a Chinook inbound. It loudly announced its arrival, touched down on the strip with its lights blazing, eight men running aboard, Moran to give the landing zone co-ordinates to the pilots. The noisy beast pulled away three minutes later and headed north.

  Rocko came and found me downstairs, near the front door. ‘Men are kitted ready, but what’s the plan?’

  ‘French will land east of the target and walk in, 24hr eyes on. I want eight men sat here ready to go at all times, four hour rotations say, the rescue party if there’s a fuck-up.’

  ‘There’re jeeps out front.’

  I nodded. ‘If no Chinook, we drive up.’

  ‘And the hostages?’

  ‘Handful of French supposedly. Listen, keep the guys exercising, bending and stretching, or come sun-up they’ll be no good to anyone. And if you like, take a French patrol out tomorrow, practise something, this OP thing could drag on.’

  He nodded and headed off.

  ‘Major Liban,’ I called as I stepped into the canteen. He turned towards me. ‘We have a rescue party ready, so why don’t you send an eight man patrol up to that village and back, practise for them instead of just sitting around.’

  ‘Yes, good idea.’

  A captain was tasked with taking the patrol out, so I tasked Sasha with taking his men back to the bridge to create an OP, to be back for dawn. I let Rocko know about Sasha’s team, myself, Swifty and Mahoney soon sat reading magazines, the three of us to be on the second rotation of the rescue team.

  Two hours after the insert I was called down, the French team having eyes on the small town, but with no idea where the hostages might be housed.

  Moran called me an hour later. ‘We found a big building with gunmen wandering around, some smoking weed as usual. French lad climbed up a wall and had a nose in, white faces seen, three men and three women, in a room with bars. He says they looked tired and beaten.’

  ‘So they’re not visiting relatives. How does the entry look?’

  ‘Easy to get up on a high roof, then down to a lower roof, then onto the ground. Problem is ... this compound is a stone’s throw from residential housing, dogs everywhere, people moving around, no clear exit unless on foot.’

  ‘Hostages are mobile?’

  ‘Yes, but could be wounded on entry.’

  ‘It’s a French choice, try and hang back with your opinions, and we’ll kick around a plan back here. See what it’s like tomorrow, that compound. Wilco, out.’

  Downstairs, I found Major Liban sat over a sketch made from a description given by sat phone, the keen captains making plans. ‘How does it look?’ I asked.

  ‘Not difficult to get in,’ Liban enthused.

  ‘How about extracting the hostages if hurt?’

  ‘There are vehicles to take.’

  ‘And on foot?’

  ‘Would be harder, yes, at least 2km to a safe helicopter landing place.’

  ‘And how close are the houses?’

  ‘Very close unfortunately.’

  ‘And dogs ... at dawn?’

  ‘Yes, a problem maybe.’

  ‘Guards?’

  ‘About twelve seen, so far.’

  From 3am to dawn I grabbed two hours, but could not sleep more and so cooked a breakfast as Mahoney and Swifty stood down with me on rescue duty.

  After a bite to eat I led keen young Welsh guards into the jungle, a lecture on making hides, moving quietly, and detail of the kit I carried. I had two of them set a hide on the old trail north, and to rotate the stag, two on the airstrip for a high-vis patrol – should anyone be in the tree line observing us.

  Today was Thursday, the time having gone quickly, and I gave some thought to the patrol routes that the young officers might use, those routes certainly safer now. And there was little chance of the idiot dictator next door doing anything aggressive along the border.

  By 6pm the French had a firm plan, many sketches having been cobbled together from the OP reports. Two uniformed French Intel officers turned up unannounced by jeep, two French soldiers driving them, Welsh Guards behind as escort.

  Major Liban welcomed the men inside, the plan detailed first to the Intel staff, then to me. It seemed solid enough, a Chinook called for, my team of eight along
with a French team of eight to join those already in the OP for midnight, to move on the hostages at around 4am.

  As we sat discussing the plan, a Seahawk put down, six men running across to us as their ride lifted off.

  ‘Back so soon?’ I asked Running Bear, and shook his hand. He had a sergeant with him, plus two middle-aged men in civilian clothes and utility waistcoats, plus two naval officers.

  ‘We heard the chow was good,’ he quipped.

  ‘The only way the chow is any good around here is if you brought some with you,’ I said as I led them inside. ‘This a visit, or you hanging around?’ I shouted over my shoulder.

  ‘Hanging around, if that’s OK.’

  ‘Best ask the snakes and millipedes, not me.’ In the canteen, I told our RTC Captain, ‘Get some camp beds and rubber mats sent up from the airport, more food and water, and like right now.’

  He stepped out looking harassed, a glance at our guests.

  Major Liban and his captains greeted Running Bear, our Delta not introducing his guests other than by DOD and Navy, being carefully eyed by French Intel. Heavy bags were dumped down.

  ‘There’s a room, sir,’ the big Welsh sergeant told me. ‘Not too bad. Some of mine can sleep in the jeeps as well if you want a second room.’

  I pointed our visitors towards the sergeant, and he showed them the bare concrete room. But at least it was devoid of deadly slimy beasts. They dumped kit, the Welsh lads making tea and coffee for our visitors.

  The first American civilian sat, French enlisted men kicked out the room by Liban, and now we had more space. I noticed that in the man’s utility waistcoat rested two sat phones.

  ‘These hostages up north, you sure they’re French?’ he began.

  ‘The French got the intel,’ I told him.

  He turned to Major Liban. ‘Your government trusts the intel?’

  ‘Very much so. They were more enthusiastic about its source than at other times.’ He introduced the two Intel officers.

  ‘And you’ve had eyes on all day?’

  ‘Yes, and there are seven hostages, three women. And we know that three French women were taken from Guinea, across the border, so this fits,’ Liban insisted.

  ‘And you’ll try and rescue them tonight?’