Wilco- Lone Wolf - Book 4

by Geoff Wolak

  Cracks echoed around the trees as I observed through my telescopic sight, and I saw four men fall. I stood. ‘Close up, on me, we’re moving on the double. Salties, 2 Squadron, close in. Nicholson, you there?’

  ‘Yes, Boss.’

  ‘Come to us on the double.’

  ‘Moving.’

  I broke left and down the slope, running more than walking, left past the smoke and flames, across the track and into grass as tall as I was, up a ridge and into the trees. Halting, I looked back, seeing a line of green men, soon moving on at a good pace. I found a track and followed it, a risk, but I wanted to be half a mile north quickly.

  Reaching a clearing, I peered right and approached the edge, soon getting a good view of the valley below, huts spread out between tall green bushes. There seemed to be a shop, a few larger single storey huts looking like schoolrooms, men ambling around with rifles lazily slung, a few sat around drinking, and a few wandering around in their white underwear, clearly stoned.

  ‘Listen up. Come to the clearing, I’m on the right, then in your teams spread along the ridge facing the valley below. Stay in teams, but spread out twenty yards apart. Rocko, Rizzo, go past me, on my left. Salties, past me a hundred yards, Externals, on my right, fifty yards back. Rest of Echo, close to me, on my right mostly. Spread along, get good fire positions, something solid.’

  I waited as men moved past me, and I counted twelve. After five minutes I called, ‘Rocko, report.’

  ‘In position, we can see everything down there.’

  ‘Rizzo?’

  ‘In position.’

  ‘Henri?’

  ‘We are back down the way we came, in position.’

  ‘Dicky?’

  ‘Got good fire positions, guv.’

  ‘2 Squadron lads?’

  ‘Back beyond Henri, Pathfinders on our right.’

  ‘OK, good. Nicholson, I have a job for you, but I think you’re up to it. Take your silencer off, go back the way we came till you’re close to the burning jeeps, fire a few long bursts, and then run like hell back here. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Moving.’

  Waiting, I scanned the men below, and a boy scout with a pistol could have killed most of this lot; the locals had been at the home made brew and the drugs. Still, there were some reportedly good boys somewhere.

  Bursts of fire echoed.

  ‘OK, listen up. When I say go, hit armed men on the far side first, work forwards, just those in front of you. Leave the walking zombies for now, unless they pick up a weapon. Standby.’

  The men below were now peering down the valley, some checking weapons. One cocked his weapon and accidentally killed the man stood next to him. Beyond him, men with weapons came running.

  ‘Standby ... hold it ... open fire!’

  I took aim myself as the cracks sounded out, and I killed the man with the misfire, his white t-shirt soon red, a dog near him barking like crazy. A group of men in the centre of the valley figured out where the firing was coming from and let loose long bursts our way, no one hit, the shooters soon killed.

  The firing eased to just the odd crackle, few men seen moving.

  ‘Cease fire, get comfy, have some water, watch your front, hit armed men only.’

  Walking back to the track, I took off my facemask and splashed water on my face, Moran and Swifty joining me.

  ‘They’re drugged up to fuck,’ Swifty noted. ‘Like Angola.’ He sipped his water, pointing out a large spider on a tree.

  Mahoney closed in, taking off his face mask, his sweat-soaked hair standing up. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘Depends on them,’ I said. ‘How many, how good? We wait and judge. And if possible ... we go down and check those larger buildings for hostages.’

  ‘That wasn’t hard,’ Mahoney noted.

  ‘So why hasn’t your government sent men here?’ I asked, a loaded question.

  ‘Good question,’ he retorted. ‘But not all these boys are half asleep.’

  Moran casually asked him, ‘What happened in Mogadishu?’

  ‘The locals fired out of bedroom windows and off their roofs. Everyone had an AK47 under the bed, and they all opened up. Some were bound to hit our guys, we took casualties, and the President pulled the plug.’

  ‘Should have stuck at it,’ Moran suggested. ‘President should set direction, not field command decisions.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Mahoney let out.

  ‘Wilco,’ came over the radio. ‘There’s a woman with a baby coming up the ridge.’

  ‘Don’t shoot her, and when she gets close show her your white face, she might speak English or French.’

  ‘Hostage?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘What, with a baby?’ I countered.

  Five minutes later she walked down the track, a coffee coloured lady.

  ‘I’m looking for the commanding officer,’ came a refined American accent.

  ‘American?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Yes, I was with the Red Cross when I was captured.’

  I pointed at the baby with a heavy frown. ‘Yours?’

  ‘I was captured two years ago, raped, held captive.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Moran let out.

  ‘I’m Lieutenant Mahoney, New York.’

  ‘Boston,’ she replied.

  Mahoney asked, ‘Does the baby need medical attention, ma’am?’

  ‘No, but I’ve not seen a doctor since she was born.’

  ‘We’ll take you back with us,’ Mahoney assured her. ‘Sit and rest for now.’

  ‘Are there more hostages?’ I asked.

  ‘I heard them talking last night, about the prize people, that’s what they call them. They’re in the big building.’

  ‘Can you point it out, please?’ I asked, and I led her to the edge.

  She pointed. ‘That one, blue door, I think.’

  ‘Could there be others, other places?’ I pressed.

  ‘Not here, I’d see them.’

  ‘Thank you, get some rest.’ We turned back. ‘Mahoney, rations and water for the lady, please.’

  ‘We move on it now?’ Moran asked.

  I nodded. ‘They’re still half asleep.’

  ‘Wilco,’ came over the radio. ‘It’s Rocko. Lots of women wandering around down there now, but they don’t look to unhappy we killed their men. Some are taking the drugs from the men’s pockets.’

  ‘Rocko, Rizzo, ready to move down, straight for the big building with the blue door, supposed to be hostages inside. Salties, stay put, watch that track behind you. Rest of Echo to me. Nicholson, you still in one piece?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Watch that track.’

  Men appeared next to me, kneeling. ‘Without using the radio I said, ‘Cover Rocko and Rizzo,’ and they got comfy. ‘Rocko, Rizzo, off you go, be careful.’

  I took out my sat phone. ‘Captain Harris, see if there are Pumas ready to come get some hostages.’

  ‘What, already?’

  ‘Good first day, we’re earning our keep. Call me back.’

  I could see eight green bushes moving down in pairs, four sets of two, and I was happy that they were keeping their professionalism. They moved tree to tree, bush to bush, pausing and checking the angles, a few bodies double-tapped. At the blue door they put their backs to the walls. Someone then fired at the lock, the door kicked in, and they waited, two men moving around the sides.

  Pistols out, rifles down, two men poked their heads and weapons in, and disappeared inside. A minute later a line of people ran out, some with their hands bound. When some ran left and right they had to be rounded-up like sheep and directed back towards us.

  I could see two men kneel and fire, cracks sounding out, and they withdrew with covering fire.

  ‘Up here!’ Mahoney called, terrified white faces staring at us.

  ‘This way,’ Moran called, and the hostages grouped, some with no shoes on, many in just t-shirts, a fat man struggling up the hill, his face red. I counted twelve.


  ‘Bind their feet with dressings,’ I loudly called. ‘They won’t get far like that.’

  Rocko appeared next to me, face mask yanked off. ‘That all of them?’ he asked, out of breath.

  ‘Not sure.’ I faced the group as they panted. ‘Are there any more hostages?’ They exchanged looks. ‘Have you seen any others?’

  They hadn’t, the lads offering them water and chocolate.

  My sat phone trilled and I stepped away. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Captain Harris, we only have the one helicopter.’

  ‘In that case, we’ll meet back at the FOB in a few hours. I’ll try and borrow a jeep or two.’ I cut the call.

  ‘Pity we set fire to those three jeeps,’ Swifty teased.

  ‘Yeah, whose idea was that anyway?’ I approached the hostages. ‘OK, listen up. We have a long walk, a few miles, but we don’t expect any gunmen on the way. Is there anyone who can’t walk?’

  ‘I can’t walk too far,’ the fat guy suggested, sounding South African.

  ‘How far could you walk if your life depended on it?’

  ‘Well, a few hours I suppose.’

  ‘Good. Follow us.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Salties back to me, 2 Squadron, everyone get ready to leave.’ I led the hostages off, Mahoney sticking to the Boston lady and her baby.

  We picked up men as we progressed, and I told Nicholson to take point. Fifteen minutes later we passed the burnt out jeeps, tyres still roaring, an acrid smell filling the air. The hostages were all horrified by the bodies, some of those bodies badly burnt, and we rushed across the road and up the bank.

  At the top of the bank I halted Nicholson. On the radio, I said, ‘Rocko, Rizzo, at the front, and on two hundred yards. Go on ahead and make sure it’s clear.’

  The hostages plodded slowly on, feet now muddy, three walking with dressings bound over bare feet, a bit awkward. Rocko’s and Rizzo’s teams passed us at the double, and were soon out of sight.

  I faced a man as he plodded along. ‘Where you from?’

  ‘New Zealand.’

  ‘We have a New Zealand lad with us. How come you ended up here?’

  ‘Red Cross. Eight of us are Red Cross, rest are mine workers I think. They stop vehicles on the road, but our escorts deliberately let us get caught, took bribes. I was face down, but I could see them smiling. The escorts are never hurt.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll go have a chat with them in Freetown,’ I suggested.

  ‘Government is corrupt, they’d sell their kids for the right money. Red Cross has to bribe them to deliver aid.’

  ‘Seems wrong somehow,’ I quipped. ‘How long were you held?’

  ‘Two weeks just about, some much longer. Food was poor, my stomach is all to hell, and I think I have malaria now. I could have escaped, but it’s a long walk back, and the locals – they sell you back to the gunmen. How far are we from Freetown?’

  ‘Thirty miles.’

  ‘And to where we’re going?’

  ‘Three miles or less. It’s not hard going.’

  ‘I can make three miles. Worth it just to spite them.’

  ‘They treated you badly, you don’t seem hurt?’

  ‘They were drugged up a lot of the time, played Russian roulette.’ He smiled. ‘First time they did that the guy blew his own brains out. Second time the gun jammed, and when they tried to clear the jam the guy blew a finger off.’

  I smiled as we trudged along the track.

  At a clearing with a stream I halted them. I clicked on the radio. ‘Dicky, you still with us?’

  ‘Yeah, Boss, back here a ways.’

  ‘Pathfinders?’

  ‘With the Salties.’

  ‘2 Squadron lads?’

  ‘Here, Boss.’

  ‘We’re stopping to rest the hostages. Watch our rear.’ I approached Mahoney and the Boston lady. ‘You holding up?’ I asked her.

  ‘I can walk. Mahoney here has been giving me chocolate, first time in two years.’

  I had a look at the baby. ‘Kid holding up?’

  ‘Sleeping for now.’

  After twenty minutes I urged them on, water handed out with glucose tablets first, and we followed a track made muddy by our first use of it, and Rocko and Rizzo’s use of it as they scouted ahead of us.

  Ten minutes later Rocko came on. ‘Wilco, you still coming?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re all good.’

  I could hear two American accents, and drew level with the men. ‘Americans?’

  ‘One American, one Canadian,’ they informed me. ‘Doctors with the Red Cross.’

  ‘Any other Americans?’ I asked.

  ‘Just a nurse. She was a military medic before she joined us.’

  ‘Military ... medic, eh?’ I nodded. ‘Not too far to go.’ I stepped away, and took out my sat phone. ‘Bob, you awake?’

  ‘It’s noon here, and you’re in the same time zone.’

  ‘Just checking. Listen, we have three American hostages -’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘We got up early. Anyway, one is a doctor, one a Red Cross lady who’s been here two years and had a baby from being raped, one is a nurse who was US military, so tell Chuck to send a naval chopper to my FOB in about two hours if he can. He can pick them up and make any claim he wants.’

  ‘The hostages will be interviewed, they’ll give away the detail.’

  ‘Mahoney was the first person they saw and spoke to. Well ask him anyhow, to pick them up.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you.’

  Phone away, a wild pig walked right past me, a line of piglets running behind, and they disappeared into the bush.

  Swifty said, ‘If we were lost in here, we’d have bacon at least!’

  For an hour we trudged slowly on, the hostages encouraged along, even the fat guy keeping up, but we were leaving a hell of a muddy trail, a trail that anyone could follow.

  My radio came to life. ‘Wilco, it’s Rocko, we’ve reached the base, what you want us to do?’

  ‘Go in and get the kettle on. We can’t be too far behind, it’s a good signal.’

  And we were not far behind, ten minutes and I recognised features, soon seeing two RAF Regiment lads. The hostages were escorted across our mud airstrip, medics waiting, Max knelt and keenly taking pictures, all of our guests due a medical and some hot food, plus a large dollop of tender loving care from the medics.

  I halted next to Haines.

  ‘That was quick,’ he commended.

  ‘Three miles, and a bunch of drugged up arseholes who couldn’t focus enough to shoot. But get your men ready, because we left a muddy trail that anyone could follow. Have a GMPG trained where we came out, two men there, two men this side watching the two men there always.’

  ‘I’ll get on it.’

  Inside, I walked upstairs and found Rocko. ‘An hour from now I want a four man ambush four hundred yards back up that track. We left a muddy trail that anyone could follow and, with a bit of luck, they’ll follow it. Two hour rotations, let everyone have a go, starting with the Salties.’

  ‘Take those fuckers a day or two to clear the crap from their veins and sober up,’ Rocko scoffed.

  ‘How many did we hit?’

  ‘Well, eight then ... four, plus eight and four, then ... fifty in the village, and three in with the hostages, and three outside, so ... seventy plus.’

  ‘Keep a scorecard.’

  I dumped my kit, slung my rifle and went downstairs to the medics, my armpits soaked. Many of the hostages were being checked over, but most were doctors and nurses anyhow, and so could check themselves, the fat guy complaining of chest pains and now red in the face, his feet muddy.

  ‘How’s our albino?’ I asked a nurse.

  ‘Sleeping now, was screaming earlier, and we don’t have pampers.’

  ‘Who are you, exactly?’ the American doctor asked me.

  ‘Joint force, British, French and American. There are American Delta Force here, in-country,’ I lied, Mahoney not reacting.
‘Ships are offshore, and we got a call into the US Navy, so we may have you out quickly.’

  When my sat phone trilled I stepped away.

  ‘It’s Bob, American helicopter on its way.’

  ‘OK, I’ll get them ready.’ Back in with the medics, I called, ‘American and Canadian nationals, outside please in five minutes, helicopters on the way for you.’

  ‘What about us?’ came from the fat South African.

  ‘French helicopters on their way, just relax.’

  Outside, I alerted Haines, and twenty minutes later two grey Seahawks stalked in low as we waved to them, the hostages nudged forwards, Mahoney stood with them. One helicopter came in, crewman kneeling out of the door, one circled, and the hostages were waved over, Mahoney kneeling and waving them off. Inside a minute they were gone, the camp quiet again.

  Max approached, but not with his happy face on. ‘Can I send out a pigging story now?’

  ‘Yes. But make sure you mention that we are in Sierra Leone, absolutely no mention of Liberia, and give our exact position – and that we’re here for hostage rescue. You can photograph the medics as much as you like, the RAF Regiment, but do me a favour; mention that French and American special forces are also here, as if they had equal numbers to us.’

  ‘Just two French and one American here,’ he puzzled.

  ‘Like I said, do it for me, and you keep coming on jobs with us. Oh, and send out a story about the albino baby, eh.’

  Mahoney stepped over to me as Max stepped away, Mahoney not looking happy. ‘You got some story concocted for the press?’

  ‘I don’t, but your officials may have, and you being here will be reported, a little flag waving for the folks back home.’

  ‘Why go along with horseshit like that?’

  ‘Because publicity is key, my good man. The Prime Minister is motivated by vanity, he tells the Army what to do, they tell little old me. That, my friend, is the chain of command.

  ‘Sometimes, we do things because there’s a need, sometimes to make the guy who pays our wages look good. Here, there is a need, and you just helped rescue hostages. Max, our reporter, will exaggerate the story a little, and young men will read it, think it exciting, and join up.

  ‘The more people wanting to join up, the more the entrance exam can be tightened up – so we get better people, and a better army, navy and air force, and that’s good, and something I endorse.’