Wilco- Lone Wolf - Book 4

by Geoff Wolak

‘Henri, why did you not report them!’

  ‘They have not come from the camp!’

  ‘Rizzo, did they come from the south road?’

  ‘Could have done, we don’t have a good view here.’

  ‘Ambush them as per the plan. Henri, standby to withdraw.’

  ‘There!’ Moran called, and we peered down through the foliage, now spotting the six jeeps that had left earlier. ‘They got a call and turned around.’

  Losing sight of them behind tall trees, we had to simply wait.

  Cracks suddenly sounded out, echoing around the valley, bursts of automatic fire following, the GPMG hammering out rounds, birds shrieking and taking to the air. The sounds of the exchange reached a crescendo before they died away to a steady exchange of fire.

  ‘It’s Rizzo, we battered them, many running off. But Wilco, there’s some white faces down there.’

  I exchanged a look with Swifty and Moran. I clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, keep firing till they’re dead or gone, I want to know who the white faces are, go down to them, be careful, and watch out for you own fucking grenade traps, go the long way around. Henri, what’s happening in the camp?’

  ‘No vehicles moving, many men now firing towards us.’

  ‘How many did you hit?’

  ‘Must be ... thirty or forty I say. But many dead inside the building maybe, it was a big explosion, the building burnt down.’

  ‘Stay put, Henri.’

  I sipped my water and faced Moran. ‘Mercenaries?’

  ‘They train people down here,’ he agreed.

  ‘Bit cheeky,’ Swifty noted.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Rizzo, I recognise this guy, was a captain with us.’

  ‘Shit.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Got a name?’

  ‘Malloy.’

  ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘Not for long.’

  ‘Stick a grenade under him, withdraw to me. Henri, withdraw to me.’ I took out my sat phone and dialled. ‘Bob, it’s Wilco. We sniped at the camp, no counter attack - I think the missiles killed many of them, and we ambushed a vehicle convoy, killed most of them, but Bob, there were white men in the convoy, including one SAS officer, a Captain Malloy.’

  ‘Oh ... fucking bollocks.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Was “E” Squadron, then disappeared off the radar two years ago.’

  ‘He just got back on the radar, Bob.’

  ‘He alive?’

  ‘Not for much longer, no.’

  ‘Another fucking embarrassing episode.’

  ‘What this means, Bob, is that the main force over the border is getting some good training.’

  ‘Yes, so ... be careful.’

  ‘They’re not as good as us, Bob,’ I teased. ‘Anyhow, we’re going to withdraw, because the other kids are not coming out to play. There’s a road they may use to the border, I’ll take a look, ambush a few jeeps maybe.’

  ‘OK, let me know.’

  ‘British mercenaries?’ Max asked.

  I considered what to tell him. ‘There are British and French mercenaries here in Africa, some South Africans, no Americans. Not much we can do about that.’

  Henri led his men up, radio contact maintained, Rizzo not far behind, and they grouped behind me as I sat on the log, head counts done, water sipped, brows wiped.

  Rizzo closed in on myself and Moran. ‘That captain had been training them.’

  I nodded, checking that Max was not close. ‘He was “E” Squadron, then he disappeared.’

  ‘He works for an ex-colonel of ours, Roach, runs a mercenary company.’

  ‘Bob will look into it.’ I jumped down. ‘OK, form up into your teams, and let’s put some miles between us and them. Max.’ When Max drew level I said, ‘There are some ex-SAS mercenaries training the bad boys, I don’t need that reported.’

  He nodded. ‘No worries.’

  I led them off to the east down an animal track, the going hard, the humidity high, everyone soaked in sweat. As we moved through and past bushes our kit gathered creepy crawlies, and the guys often stopped to check each other and remove something from another man’s arms or webbing. When taking my kit off I always had to shake it off, then brush myself down to get all manner of crawling or slithering creatures off.

  Finding a gurgling spring of cold water we all filled up, puri-tabs dropped into bottles for five minutes before drinking, faces washed, bodies cooled down.

  After dark we were following the river, cultivated land tracked across, a few huts avoided, a few dogs barking at us, and we walked at a slow pace till sun-up. Finding someone’s banana crop, we pinched away many each and, coming across the road I was interested, in we made camp above a bend in that road.

  ‘Max, you still with it?’

  ‘Fucking half dead, the heat saps you.’

  ‘Get water in you, a bite to eat, then eight hours kip, that’s an order.’

  The GPMG ammo had gone, and Stretch had dumped the weapon in a deep stream en route, parts taken off first, so two four-men teams were set to ambush jeeps without the benefit of the GPMG. With two men on stag above us, the rest of us got some sleep as the day warmed up.

  At 2pm I was awake and stretching, brushing myself down and removing slimy slugs before I considered taking off my facemask and gloves, finding slugs on my facemask and shaking them off, a daily ritual.

  With the guys laughing I closed in on them, and they used Max’s own camera to photograph a huge spider sat on our reporter’s facemask as he slept.

  It was too warm to cook, so I simply swigged my water as I peered through the foliage at the road below.

  Swifty appeared at my side, also peering down at the road. ‘It don’t get much use, that road. I heard a few cars, a motorbike, fuck all else.’

  ‘There’s another road a few miles south, we’ll take a look later. This road is the quiet one, so I thought maybe they’d use it instead.’

  With my kit back on, facemask off, I sat on a log with Henri and peered down at the road, the log well positioned to offer some shade from the sun. ‘Sleep OK?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes, maybe six hours. Easy to sleep when it is so hot.’

  ‘You been around here before?’

  ‘I don’t recognise this area, I think we were south and west. I was a young soldier.’

  I released and checked my magazine, checked the breech, running the slide a few times, and reloaded, adjusting the cammo cloth on my telescopic sight and around the fore end grip. Silencer off, I peered through it and blew through it, placing it back on.

  Henri pointed, a large chameleon on a tree seeking some juicy grubs, but very, very slowly.

  ‘Stand to!’ came over the radio, Rocko’s voice. ‘Jeeps coming from the ... the east I think. Off to the right.’

  Weapon cocked, I eased down the slope a little and peered east, my rifle lifted. Through the sights I could see a snaking column of green jeeps laden with armed men, a few trucks in the mix.

  ‘Everyone get a fire position, Salties go east along the high ground. Henri, your team, east along the ridge, stay together as a team. Go! Moran, Swifty, Mahoney, on me.’ I put my facemask on after shaking it.

  Swifty appeared at my side, rushing to get his kit on and done up, Moran doing likewise, Mahoney on my left.

  ‘Everyone, set automatic, empty a full mag into the jeeps. Who’s on the left down there?’

  ‘I am,’ came Rocko’s voice.

  ‘Who’s on the right?’

  ‘Rizzo is,’ Rocko added.

  I set automatic and found a fallen tree, kneeling behind it, my team copying, the convoy approaching. ‘Wait my signal. Salties, aim at the furthest vehicles to start with. Henri, ignore the first eight vehicles to start with. Rocko, first two vehicles, Rizzo, next two, my team - vehicle four onwards. Everyone, make sure you have something solid to hide behind, and an escape route.’

  Men got comfortable in their fire positions.

  ‘Listen up! Rocko and Rizzo, you fire for si
xty seconds and withdraw west, away from them. Everyone else, back to the camp on the withdraw order and up the ridge. Standby.’

  Counting jeeps, I noted the fifth vehicle, a truck. That one was mine to fire at. I waited till the convoy passed Rizzo’s position, timed it, then issued, ‘Open fire!’

  With Moran and Swifty hammering out rounds, brass cartridges flying past me or hitting me, I aimed and fired, holding my rifle steady as I released long bursts at the truck, ignoring what was going on around me.

  Finally turning my head as I reloaded, Moran and Swifty reloading at the same time, I could see jeeps off the road, windscreens shattered, men hanging out, bodies on the road.

  Reloaded, I set single shot and picked off three men running into the trees as a hell of a racket sounded out, plenty of fire coming back towards us, but they could not see us. Back down the road I could see dozens of fighters running from a truck, and it was obvious that thirty plus men had reached the safety of the trees.

  On my third magazine - aimed simply at the trees where the fighters had run to, I halted and eased up, tapping Swifty on the shoulder. I led my team back to our camp. ‘Get our fly sheets down, grab any spare kit!’ I cut a chord holding up a flysheet.

  ‘Salties, withdraw past Henri. Henri, after they pass you come back. Rocko, cover Rizzo. Rizzo, pull back and past Rocko, cover him.’

  Back at the edge of the camp I fired a long burst down the road and into the trees, a few rounds cracking overhead, suddenly surprised by smoke canisters popping on the road, red mist rising. Someone down there was paying attention.

  Reloaded, I simply fired into and through the smoke, keeping their heads down as the Salties ran up to us.

  ‘Got a scrape,’ Dicky reported.

  ‘Go fifty yards west, get fire positions. Check the wounded later. Henri, withdraw with covering fire.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Wilco, it’s Rocko, we’re up the ridge, just about still see them.’

  ‘Lay down covering fire.’

  Moran had rolled up the flysheets and stuffed them inside his webbing straps, Swifty folding three ponchos and stuffing them down the back of his webbing. I knelt, rounds now getting close, my team copying me and kneeling.

  Henri came running in.

  ‘Keep going!’ I shouted. ‘Up to the high ground west, find Rocko.’ We counted them past, Smitty last. ‘Go, Smitty, go.’ I stood. ‘On me.’

  As a tight group we followed along behind Smitty bent-double, rounds cracking overhead.

  Cresting over the high ground I led them down at the double, no time to be stealthy, and we jogged four hundred yards around a ridge and to the far side, turning back north till I had a view of the road below.

  ‘What the hell we doing?’ Moran asked.

  ‘They won’t expect to be ambushed twice on the same fucking road. Rocko, back along the trail we left, grenade trap or two, trip wires. Rizzo, set an ambush on that track fifty yards back, pick a good spot.’

  ‘Moving.’

  I tore off my facemask and knelt. ‘Dicky, show me that scrape. Anyone else hurt?’

  ‘I got a ricochet,’ came Tomo’s voice as I took out my first aid kit.

  ‘Show me. Captain Moran, set an ambush on that road, please.’

  Moran organised the lads as I looked at Dicky’s scrape, Max and his long lens getting into position. I got antibiotic cream in, a pad on, but could not stitch it, the sides were two far apart. I injected him with antibiotic.

  ‘You need to be out of here inside eight hours,’ I told Dicky, turning my attention to Tomo. ‘That’s a splinter,’ I informed Tomo, and with a clean scalpel I cut the skin, tweezers used to get the splinter out. ‘Could still be a small piece in there,’ I told Tomo, ‘so it’ll get infected in four hours.’

  Antibiotic cream in, I taped it up, soon packing up my first aid kit. Tomo rejoined Rocko, Dicky rejoined his team, now on the road ambush, and we all caught our breath as we waited in the sticky heat.

  ‘It’s Rocko, we set grenade traps, Rizzo has an ambush set-up, where do you want us?’

  ‘Come to me,’ I told him.

  When he drew level I pointed. ‘See that big fallen tree. Get behind it, and batter the fucking jeeps when they come.’

  Rocko led his team down.

  ‘Swifty, up that ridge, up a tree, I need eyes on.’

  He eased up and scrambled up a steep bank.

  ‘Mahoney, turn about, please, watch our rear.’

  With Mahoney moving past me I stood staring through the lush green foliage down at the road, wondering what was on the mind of the man in charge down there. I was also wondering how long that column had been, and how many men now faced us.

  I dialled Bob. ‘Bob, listen, we just ambushed a vehicle convoy close to the border, ten miles east of where we were. We hurt them, many killed and wounded, but it was a big convoy, well-kitted men again, so part of the same group.’

  ‘You’ve set them back then.’

  ‘Depends on how many men they have, we’re waiting to see how they react. And we have wounded, so we need to be extracted before sun down. Call Captain Harris and put the French on standby.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Phone away, I waited, a small wild pig running out of the trees, right past me, ignoring me. Mahoney turned his head, watching it scamper off.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Swifty, vehicles coming on, but two long lines of men coming into the trees, a few white men at the head of each column.’

  ‘That’s cheeky, being shot by ex-SAS lads,’ I noted.

  ‘We’re better than they are,’ came Rocko’s voice.

  ‘Swifty, what timescale we looking at?’

  ‘Vehicles are nudging other jeeps aside, got sixty seconds, a good ten minutes before the men reach us.’

  ‘Rizzo, you got sixty seconds to set a few more grenade traps as you withdraw to me. Move it! Swifty, back here on the double. Rest of you, listen up, time for some hide and seek. After we hit the vehicles we go down and across the road, up the other side, they won’t be expecting it. Get ready.’

  Finding a stick, I cleared a patch of dirt and wrote “22 SAS” in the mud, a message for those following us, and a warning.

  Joining Moran, I heard, ‘Here they come.’ I set automatic, took aim, and as the fourth jeep came into view I opened up, several long bursts, the jeeps careering off the road, men seen jumping out and scattering.

  Rizzo appeared at my side at the same time as Swifty, both panting, both opening up on the jeeps below.

  ‘Ceasefire!’ I called a minute later. ‘Everyone on me, on the double.’ And I led my team down and to the left, past Rocko and on, moving parallel to the road. The forest gave way to grassland cut by exposed brown dirt, and we skidded down it and to a part of the road not visible to the jeeps we had shot up.

  The ground levelled off and we ran across the tarmac road into tall grass, soon in the tree line opposite. I halted my team and we turned, to cover the road, and with Henri across, the Salties bringing up the rear, I clicked on the radio. ‘Headcount, check your teams!’

  Happy, I moved off slowly to higher ground, just inside the tree line, my team all here.

  After five minutes we could see down the slope to the jeeps we had hit, men there still firing south into the trees. I ignored them, telling everyone to be stealthy, and we moved deeper into the trees.

  Fifteen minutes of hard slog on muddy slopes brought us to a point above the initial ambush. I paused my column, peering down, wounded seen being tended below.

  Distant blasts registered. ‘Rizzo, did you leave any grenades behind?’

  ‘Might have done, aye.’

  A second blast echoed.

  Rested, I led the men on, and towards the rear of the convoy, finding a senior officer making ready his men, perhaps a hundred in total, a few white faces stood around.

  ‘Everyone get a fire position. I want the white faces killed first, and the officers and NCOs.’

  I adopted a
tree, Swifty next to me and snuggled into another tree, Mahoney lying down with Moran, good sniping body positions adopted. I waited.

  ‘OK. Swifty, officer in charge. Mahoney, his second in command. Captain Moran, the two white faces down there. Rizzo, Rocko, hit the men lined up, Salties hit those vehicles that look serviceable. Rest of you - hit anyone you like. Standby.’

  A third dull blast echoed from the other side of the valley.

  ‘Standby ... open fire!’

  The officer in charge fell forwards, hit in the back, a sudden escalating crescendo of cracks building, like someone dropping a bag of pennies. I fired at the white faces, hitting a man and spinning him whilst wondering if he had been with the SAS. His white buddy was down on the ground next to him, hurt and crawling, so I put a round in his back.

  The men who had been lined-up a moment ago had scattered, thirty left in a pile, many crawling away. I sniped at those that fell into my scope, no shortage of men to aim at. Rounds cracked through the trees above us, but ineffectually.

  Swapping a magazine, I realised that I was using them up at a fair old rate. Sniping down, I aimed at men rushing to the opposite tree line, well aimed single shots, but it soon grew difficult to spot anyone.

  ‘Get ready to move! Pull back!’ I ordered, Mahoney and Moran standing, Swifty closing in.

  ‘I reckon we got eighty down there,’ Moran offered. ‘More.’

  ‘They won’t be moving on the capital,’ Mahoney adamantly stated.

  ‘On me!’ I called, and led my team further into the dense jungle, but I found a stream heading the right way and followed it, its sandy bottom a great benefit to our progress, a little deep in places, the mud washed off my boots well enough. The stream led us down into a tight gorge, a track leading up the other side followed, damn steep in places, a few curses issued from men slipping.

  At the top I halted the lads, who were panting a little, the day damn hot, and after a five minute rest we pressed on east, down the tree line and beyond the tail end of the column. I pressed on a quarter mile to a bend in the road, everyone bunched up before we ran bent double across the road, all across before a jeep sped past, perhaps heading back to Liberia to report the bad news.

  As the sun hung low on the horizon I followed a shallow stream, a flat bottom offering us easy going, and I realised that we were hiding our tracks as a by-product of our desire to find easy footing.