by Geoff Wolak
‘Yes, shit storm in progress here, high level meetings, media about to get the story.’
‘SO13 will be happy, and I’m training their men here, so Rawlson won’t be happy – I never told him about this intake.’
‘It’s going to be a long day for some.’
Phone away, I stepped back in, Moran and O’Leary in the admin section with the Major. They could see my mood. And they waited.
‘”B” Squadron were tasked with a domestic house siege, north Oxford, isolated mansion, four hostages, one gunman. They stormed the house a short while ago ... four hostages dead, gunman left alive.’
‘What!’ the Major hissed.
Moran said, ‘We’ll get the fucking blame!’
I nodded at Moran. ‘S013 will try and use this at a political level, and we have their men here, so the regulars will be pissed at us.’
O’Leary put in, ‘Trigger happy fuckers.’
I stepped out, and lifted my phone, a call into Max. ‘Listen, “B” Squadron SAS just raided a house in north Oxfordshire, complete screw-up, they shot the hostages and left the gunman alive, political storm brewing, media about to get it. I want to you make sure that the public knows the difference, and that me and my unit are listed as abroad.’
‘I can sort that yes. Got a quote for me?’
I gave that some thought. ‘Quote is: This has been a regrettable episode, and more care is needed in the planning of such hostage rescue actions, more finesse on the trigger finger.’
‘OK, got that, leave it with me.’
I called General Dennet.
‘Captain?’
‘We have a problem, sir. Regular SAS just ended a hostage siege in north Oxford by killing all the hostages and leaving the gunman alive.’
‘What! The fucking media will be all over it!’
‘And SO13 will make good capital of it, and I have their men with me, so the regular SAS will be pissed with me.’
‘What a bloody mess.’
‘I’ve been a bit naughty and spoken to my friendly reporter, and I’ll make sure that my unit is seen as separate.’
‘I don’t blame you for that, but Colonel Rawlson may have some harsh words for you.’
‘He’ll have a few harsh words directed towards himself all day by the Cabinet Office. Sir, I think a high level inquiry is in order.’
‘You do? To what ends?’
‘To the end that ... regular SAS are not trigger happy, men punished.’
‘Yes, that would be a step forwards. I’ll make some noises.’
Call ended, my phone rang. Donohue. I sighed long and loud as I stood at the mouth of the hangar. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Commander Donohue. You heard about “B” Squadron?’
‘Yes, and it’ll be bad all around, but not for those police officers calling for their own unit.’
‘I was not gloating, but...’
‘But what? You see this as an opportunity? Wait till it’s your men killing the hostages and you have to explain it. That day will come.’
‘I’ve handled a few fuck-ups over the years, so I sympathise with those lads on the job. How are my lot doing?’
‘All asleep, they were on a 24hr speed march.’
‘How’d they do?’
‘Your best four scored as high as my lot.’
‘That’s encouraging. Listen ... if Colonel Rawlson tried to stop my lads training with you -’
‘He won’t be able to, so don’t worry.’
‘OK for me to pop down Thursday?’
‘Sure. Call first.’
I had all the Echo men on the base assemble in the briefing room. ‘Listen up, we have a ... problem. “B” Squadron fucked up a siege this morning in Oxford; they killed four hostages and left the gunman alive.’
‘Those wankers,’ echoed around.
I held up a hand. ‘There will be some harsh press coverage -’
‘We’ll get blamed for this!’ Tomo put in, others echoing that.
I exchanged a look with the Major. ‘Yes, because the public think we are all one and the same, but I have spoken to Max, and he’ll run a story, and the regulars may be a bit pissed at us. And SO13 will try and use this to beat up the regulars, and we have their lads here training, so a rift is on the cards.’
‘Not our fucking fault,’ came from a few.
‘Back to what you were doing, but watch the news tonight.’
The men had shuffled out cursing and complaining when my mobile went.
‘Wilco, it’s Bob. There’re a few calling for Rawlson to resign. Pressure is building, inquiry being called for, a few Labour MPs want blood, not least because one of the dead hostages was a labour peer.’
‘That would be expected.’ I sighed. ‘Fuck. This did have to happen whilst I’m training the police here.’
‘Might be a blessing in disguise, because the police won’t throw mud at the SAS without pissing you off, and they don’t want to piss you off this week.’
‘A small glimmer of hope, eh.’
‘They will argue their case with the politicians though.’
After the call, I stood staring across the airfield for a minute, and finally decided to call Rawlson.
‘Captain?’
‘I take it you’re up to speed on the siege in Oxford, sir.’
After a pause came, ‘Of course.’
‘There are powerful forces in London seeking your resignation, sir.’
There was another pause, longer. ‘To be expected with a screw up like this.’
‘Sir, before you get pushed out, deal with the men behind this, the entry team, the troop sergeant. That is what’s best for the linear history of the Regiment. Get mad, sir, very mad, and deal with them, or it’s all for nothing.
‘And if you see my comments in the press, sir, they’re not about you, they’re about me protecting all the good work I’ve done from a few trigger happy idiots. I don’t want all I’ve done thrown away because of someone else’s screw-up.’
‘Me neither, so I have some RTUs to issue. Thank you, Captain, you are correct, as ever.’
Back in with the Major, I said, ‘I spoke to Rawlson, and he’s going to get mad and deal with the men responsible, whilst he’s still the CO.’
‘You think they’ll force him out?’
‘Powerful voices in London wanting his head, and I don’t blame them, the entry team were trigger happy. Each victim must have been hit three times or more, so that was a lot of rounds fired. And how come they entered without having fixed the hostage positions and the gunman?’
‘A bad plan, badly executed, and I’ve seen a few in my time. As you say, you fix the hostages position first, and the gunman, or you’re firing blind.’
‘And they went in during daylight hours.’
‘How’d they mix up the hostages in daylight? And with just one gunman, you deal with him, no panic on the hostages - simple enough.’
‘Too simple,’ I said, staring out of focus.
‘What..?’
‘Get your car, sir, and Captain Moran.’ I stepped out and recalled a number.
‘Colonel Rawlson.’
‘It’s Wilco, sir, don’t do anything for an hour, not a damn thing, I’m on my way to the scene.’
‘What for?’
‘Trust me, just sit tight, no RTU, no shouting.’
I called Bob. ‘It’s Wilco, I want access to that crime scene, and a police escort, right now.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Something is off. Just do it.’
‘OK, I’ll sort that now.’
‘Oh, what’s the address?’
The Major fetched his car, Moran jumping in with me, and we drove to the gate, waiting a police escort, but then decided to just go.
‘Why we heading there?’ Moran asked.
‘Because something doesn’t add up.’
It took thirty minutes to get there, our police escort catching us as we got there, and not impressed at all. We flashed ID and got ins
ide the grounds of a posh old country house, the regular SAS teams now gone, two captains left, Military Intel with them, SOCO on scene in their white overalls.
‘Who’s the man in charge?’ I asked as we stepped down onto a gravel forecourt in the shade a three story old Georgian house.
I was pointed to a senior local officer.
‘I’m Wilco, pull your men back a bit, I want access to the crime scene.’
‘I just had a call, and this is all highly irregular -’
‘I want five minutes, and an explanation of what happened for my good friend the Prime Minister,’ I lied.
They reluctantly led us inside, and to one particular room, the bodies still in place, blood everywhere. An officer was nudged, and then he began, ‘Your men came in through the main door, it was unlocked, room door – unlocked, in here and started firing, four victims hit, gunman gave himself up ten minutes later, he managed to sneak out.
I had a close look at a dead man in his fifties. The entry wounds were typical 9mm, the entry team having used MP5s as usual, and the way he was dressed there was no way he could have been mistaken for a gunman.
Standing, I pointed at the thick curtains. ‘Were they closed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Odd to have thick curtains on a day room.’
‘Day room?’ the police puzzled.
‘This is a day reading room – I know old houses, and I’m not seeing good electric lights. So why have thick curtains?’
‘Fuck knows,’ my guide said. ‘Might get to ask a surviving relative.’
‘Pull those curtains please.’
He did as asked, the room suddenly very dark, even with a lamp on.
‘Dark enough to make a mistake,’ the Major noted.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘So how did the gunman get away? There’s one door.’
Curtains opened, we took in the room.
The police said, ‘He must have been in another room when your men raided.’
‘They would not have done that,’ the Major insisted. ‘They would have had his position. And one man is easy to sneak up on and kill.’
I took in the position of the bodies, and moved back, then back again, finally standing on a chair. ‘Were the bodies moved?’
‘Of course not,’ came from the police.
I turned around, and studied the huge fireplace. Pulling out the dated fire-guard for a coal fire, I peered up. Backing out from the fireplace, I studied the old picture on the wall, a dark blue-black in places, and there it was, a hole, a light scene from inside the chimney, and like all these old houses the chimney had steps.
I pointed at my guide. ‘Get inside that chimney, and tell me how clean it is.’ SOCO were now at the door, and mightily inconvenienced.
My guide ran a hand around the inside of the chimney. ‘It’s ... spotlessly clean.’
‘The gunman waited till the entry team burst in, and fired out from the chimney, there’s a hole, and from that angle you’d hit the hostages and have bodies ending up where they are. The chimney has steps, leading upstairs, where you’ll probably find something like an MP5.’
I yanked the painting off the wall, revealing the hole in the wall.
‘It was a set-up,’ the Major noted.
I took out my phone. ‘Bob, it was a set-up, gunman hid in the chimney and shot the hostages when the SAS team came in. Let everyone know.’
‘You are a genius, you know that.’
I called Rawlson and the house was searched.
‘Captain?’
‘It was a set-up, sir, the gunman hid in the chimney, a hole to fire out from, and he shot the hostages when your men entered, then he climbed up and out and surrendered. If anyone is calling for your resignation, sir, tell them to fuck off. Wilco out.’
I called Max as I stepped across the gravel, a line of ducks waddling across the neatly mown grass. ‘Listen, hold the front page, this botch SAS job was a set-up, the gunman hid in the chimney and shot the hostages as the entry team came in, which caused them to open up as well I guess.’
‘Who is this guy?’
‘That’s the question, but he knew how the SAS worked. I’ll get back to you with more when I have it.’
A SOCO guy appeared with an MP5 in a plastic bag, holding it up for me to look.
I nodded, and he took it away. I hit a number.
‘Duty officer.’
‘It’s Wilco. I need a background check done on the shooter at the botch hostage rescue in north Oxford, links to the military or the Intel community, and I need it right now.’
‘We’ll get back to you soon.’
The Major and Moran stepped out. ‘Found the MP5,’ the Major noted. ‘Damn set-up.’
‘I have the spooks looking into this guy’s background.’
‘14 Intel?’ Moran asked.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me. And maybe someone figured that we’d be the entry team, Echo.’
‘That someone couldn’t be close to the SAS,’ the Major challenged. ‘They know we don’t do domestic terrorism, and so do
14 Intel, so it’s not them.’
‘Someone in the Intel community would know that we don’t respond to domestic jobs,’ I put in. ‘So whoever this guy is, he’s not well connected, he reads paperbacks about the SAS. Anyway, lunch.’
Back in the car, we headed off, chatting about who could be behind this.
Almost to the base, my mobile trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘Duty officer here. The shooter was an ex-army captain, Artillery, who was dishonourably discharged after an incident with a prostitute in Bosnia in the early days.’
‘That explains his knowledge of the SAS, but how about his motivation.’
‘He’s related to Colonel Roach.’
‘Ah. OK, thanks, but keep digging please.’ Phone away, I said, ‘Shooter was ex-Army, a captain kicked out after some trouble with a hooker in Bosnia, and he’s related to the late Colonel Roach.’
‘That scumbag,’ Moran let out.
‘Who did he want to get back at?’ the Major thought out loud.
‘He never knew ... that we would not be called to a domestic job on our doorstep,’ I considered.
‘If he’s related to Colonel Roach,’ the Major began, ‘then he knows people who would have told him that.’
‘Regular SAS were in Sierra Leone last year,’ Moran put in. ‘Maybe he saw us all as a target. Bob will find out.’
I called Max. ‘It’s Wilco. Listen, early exclusive for you: the hostage taker in Oxford was related to Colonel Roach, so invent some conspiracy theories. It was a set-up to embarrass the SAS.’
‘Christ, this gets better and better. Thanks.’
Phone down, I said, ‘Max has a hard on. And by tomorrow night this will be put to bed.’
At 5pm the coppers were seen to be still alive, and eating in our canteen, feet sore, trainers worn. And, after their food, none were seen venturing towards the pub.
Colonel Rawlson drove into the base unexpectedly at 8pm, a knock on my door. I led him inside, and to the kitchen, the kettle knocked on.
Swifty stood. ‘Sir.’
Rawlson nodded at Swifty, and sat. We sat. ‘I wanted to thank you. I was ... a small step away from resigning, and the JIC had expressed ... concerns, but they had to eat their words. And now talk of Colonel Roach being linked in, dead as he is, and it’s all worthy of a good spy novel.’
‘We’re yet to find out if someone was nudging this guy along,’ I told Rawlson.
‘Well, you have a knack for the spy work, so I guess you may be right, someone nudged him into it, or at least assisted. And MP5s are not bought at the local corner shop. What we do know is that the man had been sectioned, and also treated for some nasty venereal diseases picked up in Bosnia, and he may have been HIV positive as well I guess, nothing to lose.’
‘Makes for a dangerous nutcase, sir,’ I agreed, tea made and handed out.
‘I understand you have the police back?’
‘Yes, sir, an advanced selection process, but this lot are better, fit and strong, not down the pub.’
He nodded, but seemed distant. ‘Another mistake I made, but I doubt very much that our lads training them would have worked.’
‘There is still an odd culture with your lot, sir.’
‘And you don’t see the police as taking jobs off us?’
‘I see the police as wasting a lot of their time pointing guns at some guy with a dangerous dog.’
Again he nodded, staring into his tea. ‘Yes, waste of time.’ He looked up. ‘Our entry team, I ... could have shot them myself, I was livid. And ... I see why you’re so damn careful in men and methods.’
‘If my men did something like that ... it might end my career.’
He nodded, pursing his lips. ‘We are judged by those we rule.’ He sipped his tea. ‘It’s lost its flavour.’
‘The tea?’ I puzzled.
‘No, this job.’
‘You’ve done a good job at changing attitudes, sir.’
‘Shouldn’t have had to.’ He stood, tea down. ‘I may resign, wind has gone from my sails, and I hate the fucks in London, don’t know how you stomach them.’
I had stood, along with Swifty. ‘They are a bunch of snakes, yes. And when my winning streak runs out I’ll be dropped like a hot potato.’
He made firm eye contact. ‘It shouldn’t be like that.’
‘It’s always been like that, sir, it’s just that we learn to suck up as we go.’
He nodded, deep in thought, and walked out.
I sat back down with Swifty, teas lifted, one wasted.
‘Poor fucker,’ Swifty said. ‘Not his fault. System is at fault.’
‘System was at fault when I won the marathons, and got a brick through my window.’
‘Be nice if we could just get on and do the job and not deal with the politics and the bullshit.’
‘Our job is politics, because they say that warfare is simply political rape.’
The next day, the lads calmer now, the coppers were split into three teams, pistol work for some, range work for others, and worked hard all day. Provisional test scores were good.
After the evening meal, they gathered in the briefing room, pens and paper ready, and I stood at the front with Moran. ‘OK, hostage rescue. First and foremost ... there’s no point in mounting a hostile entry if the hostages are all killed, and – historically - most hostages are killed most of the time. If you think your bosses have come up with a bad plan ... tell them, don’t just go with it. Always say to your bosses – do you want a bad newspaper headline and an enquiry?