by Geoff Wolak
‘Would you like a cuppa inside, gentlemen?’ They moved towards the door, so I handed a waiting Smitty my weapon and webbing.
One Chinook departed with the wounded and the hostages, the rest of the men getting cleaned up, and seemingly in high spirits, rude jokes cracked – and heard in the canteen by the senior officers.
‘They seem to have bonded well,’ General Dennet noted as we sat around the tables, the big Welsh sergeant handing me a tea.
‘The last two days were steady gun battles and no sleep, rain and mud, wounds to suffer, but they all walked twenty miles back through the jungle. And ten years from now some of them will bump into each other and remember being here, a tall tale to tell over a beer.
‘If you can expose soldiers to small wars, minor wounds, modest hardship, they mature from it, and they teach others with a confidence backed by experience. After the Falkland’s War we had many good NCOs and officers with experience.’
‘I’m one of them,’ Colonel Dean put in. ‘And it changed me forever. I learnt more in six weeks than the last six years.’
A brigadier put in, ‘What I learnt in the Gulf was how to sit in a tent a long way from the action. Damn waste of time.’
General Dennet said, ‘I cut my teeth in Oman, as a young lieutenant sat getting shot at and bombed daily. I never fired a shot in anger, but I felt it every day.’
‘Gentlemen, experience cannot be manufactured,’ I told them. ‘But here I managed to conjure up a few skirmishes, and I kept the risks down. And many of those young officers now know what it’s like to pull a trigger and kill a man.’
‘Any chance of criticism of that?’ Parker’s father asked.
‘No, sir, all exchanges were within the rules of engagement here.’
‘Those skeleton hostages are still being discussed far and wide,’ an officer noted. ‘Disgusting to think how the hostages are treated.’
‘The local gunmen are savages,’ I responded. ‘But those hostages were taken in Mali by Islamic extremists, not here.’
‘A few of which you put in the ground,’ the colonel noted.
‘I did, sir, but there are always more gunmen out there.’
‘Americans are still at the airport,’ the colonel noted. ‘Hoping for further intel.’
‘I’m done here, sir, so they’ll go in without me if there is any intel.’
‘And those two rescues; you set them up for the Americans?’ the colonel pressed.
‘I did, because that’s what the Cabinet Office wanted.’
‘Sucking up,’ Dennet noted.
‘Politics, sir.’
‘No need to swear,’ an officer quipped, smiles breaking out.
‘You’ll make individual assessments of the young officers?’ Dennet asked.
‘Unlikely, sir, I only had them a few days, not sure I could put a name to a face. Only knew Parker because he was wounded.’
‘And how did he do?’ his father asked.
‘Fine, sir. Nasty leg wound, but kept shooting, and tried to hobble along with us till I made him be carried. And then no complaining, no asking for a helicopter,’ I lied.
‘And how do we, in future, manufacture a skirmish?’ Dennet asked.
‘Not difficult around here, sir, and this is a good spot, always some idiot with a gun. I have fixed map reading and patrol exercises down here, so if an officer led a patrol on those exercise routes he’d know he was in danger.’
Colonel Dean said, ‘Could bring down some Para officers next week, standard patrol route. And if every officer did the same, a benchmark would be set. Since we are supposed to be patrolling this humid hell-hole, we kill two birds with one stone.’
General Dennet turned his head. ‘At your discretion.’ He faced me. ‘The ex-Liberian Army chaps. They a problem?’
I faced Colonel Dean. ‘If you drive some large columns around up near the border the villagers will report it, and the Liberians will stay away. Some helicopter over-flying. They don’t like a scrap. And London and Paris have, in the past, funded them and armed them, so there may still be some channels open, sir.’
‘And the tin-pot dictator in Liberia?’ Colonel Dean asked.
‘You’re not supposed to know, but back-door channels have been opened by Intel, and he’s agreed to stay away from here – on condition that we don’t shoot his men full of holes again.’
General Dennet put in, ‘London doesn’t want to be seen getting its hands dirty talking to someone like that scumbag.’
I nodded, and sipped my tea.
‘And Guinea, their soldiers?’ Colonel Dean asked.
‘Would love you to do their jobs for them. They have little control over the east of their country, and would give you permission to attack groups up there, some of whom were previously funded by Paris and Washington.’
‘Passed around like a whore,’ Parker’s father noted. ‘Last year’s freedom fighter is this year’s terrorist.’
I smiled. ‘You do indeed have a good grasp of the local geopolitics, sir.’
Dennet turned his head to Colonel Dean. ‘Make good use of this place as a training ground whilst we have it, won’t be here more than a year. I want a great many officers all discussing how they did on the Sierra Leone route march.’
We chatted for half an hour, the mud drying on me before I waved off my guests, their Chinook departing west. Many of the vehicles were now gone, just two medics left, who I grabbed to deal with my scalp – and with Swifty’s forehead splinter.
Cleaned up, I was informed that most all of the young officers were asleep, those awake asked to be quiet, and I sat in the canteen with Rocko and Rizzo, eating, and going through the events of the last few days.
Before I got some sleep I sent out the Welsh Guards in convoy, money provided by our RCT Captain, and they returned with beer in bottles, plus two oversized dead pigs.
At 6pm, just after sundown, Whisky organised the fires for the pigs, beer issued, the young officers in buoyant mood, chatting to Major Liban about their adventures.
Stood with beer in hand, rifles slung, Moran and I ate sliced pork off paper plates.
‘Went off OK,’ I told him, my forehead throbbing.
‘No one killed.’
‘Well, yeah, there is that. But they’ll send more men down here to patrol out, to make use of it.’
‘Beats the Brecon Beacons,’ he noted. ‘Some element of risk.’
‘When we get back we’ll risk upsetting the regulars?’
‘How so?’
‘Police are set to create their own hostage rescue team.’
‘Are ... that will upset a few, yes. We’ll train them?’
‘We will, and Colonel Rawlson will be pissed off.’
‘They must have asked him first.’
‘They did, he said no.’
‘His fault then,’ Moran noted.
Rocko and Rizzo grabbed large portions of pork and extra-roasted their pieces on sticks over the fires, Tomo and Smitty sneaking in for second helpings as I spoke to Major Liban.
‘We have run out of time,’ I told him. ‘But you are ready, and I will tell your bosses that. After this ... you need luck only.’
‘We think we are ready, keen for a job with just my men, credit only to us, a rude letter to the GIGN.’
We laughed, toasted each other, and sipped.
Two days later, having thanked our RCT Captain and the Welsh Guards, and having briefed Colonel Dean at length, we arrived back at GL4 in the rain at midnight. As usual, fresh bread and milk was waiting for me and Swifty in the house.
After a brew, little said, we checked doors and crawled into bed, today being Sunday night.
I had just started to relax when my phone trilled. I read the number. ‘Mister President.’
‘I have some hostages for you, eight Americans – maybe a Canadian.’
Knocking on a light, I wrote down the village name, a rough place description given. ‘Thank you, Mister President, I will have this matter loo
ked into by our friends. The hostages are there now?’
‘They have been there a month or so.’
‘Thank you, and good night, sir.’ Call cut, I called Running Bear in Sierra Leone, waking him. ‘Listen, we have provisional human intel, eyes on, eight American hostages in north central Liberia, been there a month.’ I gave the village name, and spelt it, a description of the area. ‘Listen, intel came from the same source, our friend in La Palma, but no one can admit to that.’
‘I’ll say you came up with it, no one will question that.’
‘Get a team in, land by helo at least ten miles away an hour before dawn, sniper rifles, get eyes on for 24hrs, and no mistakes, eh.’
‘I’ll let you know what we find.’
Phone down, I tried to get some sleep, unaware of events unfolding in north central Liberia. Running Bear had roused his men, the coffee down throats, helos requested, and he inserted an hour before dawn.
As I was checking kit with Moran, and tackling paperwork with the Major, Running Bear and his team had eyes-on, the hostage takers noted, and noted as a drugged-up gang – not part of the President’s army, legit or otherwise.
Running Bear called me at 5pm with a plan and we kicked it around, the plan to be implemented at dawn, the gang seen to be late to bed - and correspondingly late risers.
In the early hours, helicopters were dispatched from Freetown, Running Bear and his men soon quietly stabbing men to death as they slept, one group locked inside their dorm building.
As the sounds of helicopters grew, grenades went into that dorm building and one other building, the hung-over gang members shot in their underpants, few still alive as the helicopters touched down, eight hostages out and running, four of them Afro-Americans.
The helicopters were on the ground less than two minutes, Running Bear and his team extracted, grenade traps left under bodies and attached to doors.
Bob got a thank you from the CIA, surprised, but blagged it and called me, not surprised by the source of the intel, but deeply worried about this getting out. And the Delta Force lads, they were building a reputation for themselves in the media Stateside.
Given what had happened in Liberia in recent weeks, I was summoned to London the next day, MP Peter driving, no hotel booked, despite the fact that we got to the MOD building after 5pm. Signed in, I was led into a meeting with Bob, the Director herself, CIA Chuck and his line manager - the London Station Chief. We shook hands.
‘Good work in Liberia,’ Chuck offered me. ‘But damn risky, boy.’
Settled, Bob began, a glance at his boss, ‘We’re here to discuss Liberia, and this ... new turn of events. Although I was in regular contact with Wilco in Liberia, I expressed my concerns for his safety before he walked into that camp and met the Liberian president. I was not aware of what would happen next.’ He focused on me. ‘Could you explain it, please, and also ... your reasoning.’
I gave it some thought. ‘Simple. I had a lot of hostages to try and get out, not enough men, no time to get more, and a shootout with that many hostages would have seen many killed. I saw an opportunity, not least because I had a Russian with me, my No.2 from Panama. So ... I walked down as Petrov, not as Wilco, no English kit on me.
‘I walked in, and right up to the President, but there was a Russian advisor stood with him. When I explained who I was he crapped himself, the president keen to meet me and chat, so I asked that we chat in private.
‘I told him that Tomsk had me doing jobs in Guinea, and that when I heard about the plane I came down with a team of men, and I also told the president that Tomsk had people close to him, which bothered him a bit.
‘He knew of Tomsk, and of Petrov, and I laid it on thick, and the President was quite stunned that I was there just as the plane landed. I knew that the Deltas were due to land in Freetown, and I told him that, and it spooked him later when they did land.
‘What I told the President ... was that Tomsk was in secret cooperation with elements of western businesses, corrupt ones, and as well as western intelligence agencies, that there was a super-secret club that he could join if he wanted to, and that we’d help him with drugs and guns.’
‘We ... who?’ the Section Chief asked.
‘Tomsk primarily, but also unspecified western Intel agencies. I told him that it was not the CIA that had tried to kill him, but the Nigerian oil barons, and he bought it, and ... we got on well. He was paranoid to start with, and when I detailed Tomsk being part of a secret club he stated that he had always believed it the case – and was keen to join such a club.
‘I asked him to return to Monrovia, but to leave fifty men behind, and that those men would be ... sacrificed. He had no problem with that.’
‘Jesus...’ Chuck let out. Looks were exchanged.
‘My men attacked with the Deltas - when they arrived on scene, and the Deltas got the hostages, my men withdrawn before the hostages could see them or talk to them. And, as you know, you got a very good result.
‘Later, the President rang me on my sat phone and offered up other hostages. As with the first batch of hostages I made it clear we wanted dramatic rescues – because he offered to simply drive them to the border and hand them over.’
The Section Chief said, ‘Getting us the good headlines. Three good headlines in fact.’
I nodded. ‘I then called Tomsk, filled him in, and he rang the President – a very productive chat, and it was then that the President gave Tomsk the hostage details that were passed to me – Tomsk keen to keep everyone happy. They’re planning oil deals together, maybe some dodgy deals.
‘What is clear ... is that the idiot dictator in Monrovia will not screw with The West, kidnap and kill, at least not without discussing it with Tomsk or myself. He wants to play ball – as you guys say.’
The Section Chief glanced at the Director, and blew out. ‘You blagged him. You walked up to him and had him eating out of your hand. And few doubt that your motivation was the hostages, not least because you could have walked away with a great deal of money in Panama. And now this odd twist on things.’
I held my hands wide. ‘The idiot in Monrovia is willing to cooperate. So ... what do you want him to cooperate on?’
‘Well, keeping his arse out of hostage taking is one. Helping us find other hostages in the region would be two, already demonstrated. The rest would be him shooting himself in the head and organising free and fair elections.’
I smiled. ‘Little chance of that.’
‘Well, if we think of something, we’ll let you know.’
I asked the Station Chief. ‘Is the deal with Tomsk ... working out OK?’
‘As far as it can, yes. We’ll never stop the drugs, and one idiot is better than a hundred idiots. He’s still hitting the communists, perhaps for his own interests, but it all helps. And he’s keeping the cartels out of Panama; crime rates have dropped sharply, economy has picked up – Tomsk investing in infrastructure, even schools.’
The Director eased forwards. ‘We have some concerns ... about you making deals without prior consultation.’
‘I had to think on my feet and get the hostages out, Ma’am. Rest was not important to me. I ... tend to get involved in the moment, and two hundred hostages was worth risking my life for.’
She said, ‘We’d rather you not throw away your life, even for two hundred hostages.’
I gave that some thought. ‘Tough.’
She cocked an eyebrow.
I added, ‘In the meantime, the idiot in Monrovia deserves to have The West ease off him a bit. He gave up the hostages, he wants a new start, he’ll leave Sierra Leone alone – saving British taxpayer’s money, and the lives of young soldiers. I’d call that a win-win situation.’
‘So would I,’ Bob put in, a look exchanged with his boss.
Chuck began, ‘Any way to reduce the potency of the cartels in Colombia? Save some US taxpayer’s money.’
‘Only by direct conflict,’ I told him. ‘And that is best avoided. Bu
t if you tighten up on the ocean routes, and Tomsk controls the land routes, the cartels will be reduced in income at least.’
‘There’re a few bad boys in Guatemala that we’d like reduced as well,’ the Station Chief risked.
I turned my head to the Director. She glanced at the Station Chief, back to me and nodded. I told the man, ‘Have the details sent to me, I’ll persuade Tomsk.’
The Director asked me, ‘Do any of your men know about Petrov?’
‘Only Sasha, and he doesn’t blab. They all saw me walk down into that camp, but few questioned it, none know the name or know about Tomsk, not even O’Leary, but I told my team a half-truth, and that it would endanger them to discuss it, and they know that, and they trust me, and they don’t ask.
‘They have very little detail, no one outside this room does, and not even the French know about Petrov.’
‘And Tomsk never suspects what you’re doing here in London at the centre of things?’ the Station Chief asked.
‘No, but I do tell him that I have a tuxedo and an Aston Martin, girls on my arm. That makes him laugh. He saw me save his life, and I built up his business and handed over hundreds of millions of dollars. Even if you convinced him who I was he’d welcome me with a hug.’
‘And this man Sasha?’
‘He’d rather work with me than go back to Tomsk.’
‘Remarkable how your men like working for you,’ the Station Chief noted.
I pointed at him but faced Chuck. ‘Would you take a bullet for him?’
‘Fuck no,’ Chuck said, making us laugh.
With the CIA gone, the Director was worried. ‘If this gets out...’
‘If it gets out, few would believe it, it’s too far-fetched, and I’d say that it was an American idea, and that I was doing it for them after you released me to go work for them.’
Bob laughed, the Director smiling. ‘That’s not a million miles away from what we’d say as well.’ She stared back at me. ‘You sure your men don’t know?’