Wilco- Lone Wolf - Book 4

by Geoff Wolak

  Hearing a crack, I turned around. Rocko had hit a man fishing in the stream. I was no longer so sure we were alone in here. Pressing on, heads down low, we eventually found jungle in front of us, and moved through slowly. Approaching a clearing, I could see a patrol four hundred yards off, near the base outer fence, and so I skirted left and around, soon back in the long grass and the reeds.

  ‘Bunch up, don’t spread out,’ I transmitted. ‘Stay low.’

  Stopping every fifty yards to pop up and take a look, I could see marsh land north, the base to the south of us some four hundred yards away.

  The long grass gave way to forest, and we moved through it quickly, right to the northeast corner of the base. Halting, and peering through my lens, I could see wounded being worked on, jeeps and trucks coming and going, but few armed men were moving around.

  Studying this side of the camp, I could see that the fence was down in places, and that low buildings acted as the back fence in other parts. I made a choice and moved quickly forwards, through the fence and around a building, two surprised cooks hit whilst firing from the hip. A third peered out the rear of a building and I put a round through his chest, pans loudly dropped.

  I clicked on the radio as Swifty covered the door. ‘Rocko, Rizzo, go on, left side is yours. Henri, Salties, right side of this big building. 2 Squadron lads, hold this courtyard, everyone else on me and move inside, get a high firing position.

  Moving past Swifty, I entered the rear of what must have been a canteen, no one around in the kitchens, the corners checked, but I could hear voices next door. An eye to a door crack and I could see twenty men sat down, most displaying minor wounds, and none looked armed.

  I gave Swifty a nod, lowered my rifle and took out a grenade, the pin pulled with my teeth. Stepping around the door, faces turned towards me, the grenade lobbed, landing on a table as I threw my back to the wall. Shouts preceded the blast, and spinning in and kneeling I fired through the smoke, Swifty firing over the top of me, the room full of screams and shouts.

  Moving left, my back to the wall, I fired at those men trying to get to the door, and clicked empty as Swifty and Moran loudly finished off wounded men, groans coming from a dozen men. Reloaded, I turned into a stairway and moved quietly upstairs, rifle levelled.

  A man appeared at the top of the stairs fumbling with a rifle, hit through the heart and knocked back, a second man rushing to his friend’s aid, a head shot taking him down. Reaching the top of the stairs, men coming out of offices, I fired five times, five men down, and I knelt, Swifty moving up and past me.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Those with me, move upstairs, clear the rooms, get front window positions.’

  Moving into an empty office, I rushed around to the windows, smashed a window with a jab of my rifle, and took aim. Men were running this way, curious about the grenade explosion. Aiming down, I fired, the men more surprised than shocked, since it seemed that their own commanders were firing at them.

  Swifty shot out a window and joined me, men hit in the back as they ran, walking wounded finished off, and I had more than a hundred men to aim at, few armed, all taken by surprise, none of them too keen to fire at their own HQ building.

  Long bursts of fire echoed around, and lifting my aim I took careful pot shots at men on the barrack roofs, several killed. I clicked on the radio. ‘Some of you try and get the men on the barracks, those up on the roof.’

  Seeing a sandbag position, men moving a GPMG, I fired four times, hitting them, the machinegun left pointing up at an odd angle. Returning to scanning the rooftops, I hit two men with careful shots, soon none left to aim at. Lowering my aim, I hit wounded men out at four hundred yards, I hit jeep tyres, but then focused on the barracks, men in doorways firing on us. Several well-aimed shots put four rebels down.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘If you’re near a sandbag position, get to it, get the GPMG going.’

  An ear to the window and I could hear a GPMG hammering out rounds, and it was not firing at us. ‘On me,’ I called, and collected Moran and Mahoney from another room, a few lads covering the stairs, and I took the next level of stairs up. Seeing a ladder I clambered up it, pushing the skylight hatch open, a quick peek out before moving out.

  The roof offered a low wall, about eight inches high, and I crawled towards it. Looking left I could see Rizzo and Travis below, facemasks off, hammering out rounds on a GPMG. I pulled my own facemask off and tucked it away as my team crawled to me.

  Aiming left, I peered through my sights at the main gate, and took well-aimed shots at the men there, five hundred yard shots, most of the defenders hidden behind sandbag positions. Swifty joined in, and hearing someone behind me I turned around, Nicholson and Lassey coming up, and crawling off to my right.

  Peering left, I suddenly smiled. ‘Rocko, Rizzo, hundred yards left of you, mortars. Get to them, use them!’

  ‘It’s Stretch, the armoury door was open, killed the fuckers inside, lots of toys to play with!’

  With the smoke clearing I could see Rocko knelt next to a mortar, sandbags around him. He turned something like crazy till the tube was almost pointing straight up, Smitty dropping in a mortar. The round blasted out as they both bent away. I looked to my front, the mortar landing in front of a barracks, all of the windows blown out, men nearby blown off their feet.

  Adjustment made, Smitty dropped another shell down the tube, the roof of a barracks hit, smoke blown out of windows below.

  I clicked on the radio as round pinged off the wall below me. ‘Rocko, use a mortar tube on the front gate, they’re massing at the front gate!’

  Off to my right I could see “G” Squadron lads around a sandbag position, a GPMG firing toward the front gate.

  ‘It’s Rizzo, see where this lands.’

  The mortar shell popped out the tube, landing on a shack across the road from the main gate.

  ‘Rizzo, you just hit a bunch of fucking civvies having lunch in a cafe, aim shorter,’ I said, Swifty laughing.

  Smitty dropped a mortar down the tube, the barracks opposite us exploding on the second floor, Rocko adjusting the aim.

  An RPG flew out, so I lifted up and peered down, Stretch shouldering the launcher, the head having hit the barracks.

  ‘Any spare men, get to the armoury!’

  Rizzo popped off another mortar, the front gate shrouded in smoke a few seconds later.

  ‘Rizzo, smack on, keep them going.’

  When my phone trilled I rolled over onto my back. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Bob, how’s it going – is that gunfire?’

  ‘Yes, I’m on the HQ building inside the rebel camp. We hit them this morning in the trees, then skirted around as they dropped mortars on our original position, and we’ve infiltrated their base from the rear, now in the process of demolishing it – cheekily using their own weapons, we got their armoury open.’

  Mortar blasts reached me.

  ‘What was that?’ Bob asked.

  ‘Mortars. Do me a favour, have the Chinooks move to the FOB in say forty minutes, get the rest of the SAS ready to come out, helos to bring wounded back.’

  ‘You have wounded?’

  ‘Nothing serious, but the day ain’t over yet. Wilco out.’

  Rolling back, I could see Max keenly taking pictures, and I shook my head at him. Rocko had moved his aim to the second barrack block, the first now well alight, Rizzo pounding the front gate. Hearing the blasts, followed by the whoosh, I peered over the wall, four men knelt with RPGs, Sergeant Crab cocking a Russian box-fed machinegun and firing from the hip, a box magazine emptied towards the front gate.

  Finding few worthy targets, I simply rested on my elbows and peered down, four men now firing Russian machineguns across the parade ground, all of the windows opposite broken, several jeeps on fire, a few trucks billowing smoke. Someone would have a hell of a bill to pay.

  ‘Wilco,’ Moran called. ‘Last barracks on the left, look left of it and out beyond the wire.’

&nb
sp; I peered through my sights, seeing many men moving about. ‘Rocko, Rizzo, last barracks on the left, hundred yards longer, a few rounds each. Those with RPG, aim at that area.’

  Adjustments made, mortars popped out, four landing in sequence behind the barracks, that area soon shrouded in smoke, RPGs disappearing into the smoke.

  ‘Rocko, Rizzo, adjust your aim left and right, same distance, beyond the barracks,’ I called over the radio. ‘“G” Squadron, form up, move right and around, to the last building on the right. Salties, go left down the side towards the main gate. Henri, go with them.’

  Nicholson and Lassey were still finding men to fire at, so I led my team down the ladder, Pathfinders firing out of the front windows on the second floor.

  ‘Moran, Mahoney, check all these offices; I want any naughty paperwork, gold bars and diamonds, leave the cocaine.’

  On the ground level I exited at the rear with Swifty, the 2 Squadron lads now gone, and we walked around to the armoury, halting as the 2 Squadron lads loosed off RPGs.

  ‘Ceasefire!’ I called. They turned their heads. ‘Grab some RPG ammo, follow us. Sergeant Crab, keep their heads down over there, but watch out for “G” Squadron lads on the right.’

  Running bent-double, I moved around the rear of the mortar pits and onwards, seeing Henri and the Salties firing at a building. We moved up behind them.

  ‘Report,’ I called.

  ‘Many men in that next building,’ Henri reported.

  I looked over my shoulder and pointed at a man. ‘Aim at the next building; step out, fire, and back in sharpish.’

  Rounds pinged off the wall in front of us, cracks sounding out overhead. Blast and whoosh, and the building was hit a second later, now shrouded in smoke.

  ‘Use the smoke, fire now!’ I told the 2 Squadron lads, and two fired RPGs quickly. ‘Forwards,’ I called, and ran around the wall and to the next building, firing from the hip at lower windows, slamming my back against a wall. Grenade out, Swifty pulling the pin, I lobbed it through a broken window, the blast blowing out what was left of the window.

  Rifle pointed in at arm’s length, I fired off ten rounds, ducked under the window and to the door. Rifle down, pistol out, spare mag out, Swifty copied, Henri the other side of the door and copying. Grenade out, pin pulled with my teeth, I lobbed it in and eased back, the blast echoing, smoke billowing as I rushed inside bent low under the smoke, Henri right behind me.

  A body on the floor, round to the head. Room left, man crawling, round to the head, cracks coming from behind me. Next room, man hiding, two rounds through a cabinet. He fell out, a round to the head.

  Reaching the stairs, smoke gently climbing, I pointed up and started up the stairs, aware of two men close to me. Halfway up a face appeared over the banister, a head shot, he fell back. Almost to the top, peering down the corridor at floor level, two shots at a face peeking out. Magazine swapped.

  Walking up the stairs sideways, a shadow seen, a door fired through, groans let out. Left into the first office, no one home. Next office, door kicked in. A burst hit the wall as I moved back. An eye to the door crack, moving back, four rounds fired, clicked empty. Pistol away.

  Last grenade out, pin pulled, I tossed it inside, shuffling heard. The blast blew out the windows, a man screaming. Swifty moved inside on his knees and elbows, and hit the man under a desk.

  Cracks sounded out from other rooms, a blast, and I moved back to the corridor, men ahead of me knelt down or moving bent double.

  ‘Clear!’ finally came back, and I led Swifty back down, rifles retrieved, the 2 Squadron lads waiting, RPGs loaded.

  ‘Skipper, a white flag!’ someone shouted.

  I peered around the edge of the building, the next building offering several white flags, which was odd. Using my sights, I could see no black faces, then caught an image of a white lady.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Building with white flags has western hostages, check your fire!’

  Checking the angles, I ran across to it with Swifty, some of the lads on my heels. The door was open and we inched carefully inside. The first room on the left was clear, and it looked like a classroom, the first room right also clear, again looking like a classroom.

  ‘Anyone here?’ I shouted.

  ‘Up here! Don’t shoot!’

  Moving to the stairs, we aimed up, seeing white faces and a few black faces, all in civvy clothes, and all looked well tended. ‘Come down. Are there any soldiers up there?’

  ‘No, they ran off.’

  A dozen hostages came down, hands up. I lowered my rifle. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Some have been hostages a long time, some just a few months,’ came and American accent.

  ‘How many Americans?’ I asked.

  ‘Six of us.’

  ‘We have American Delta Force with us.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Lieutenant Mahoney to the building with the white flags.’

  An attractive blonde lady squeezed through. ‘Hello again. Remember me?’

  ‘Uh ... nope,’ I said, Swifty giving me a look.

  ‘Doctor Susan Melham, I know Kate, we met at a function.’

  Swifty let out a sarcastic sigh.

  ‘Oh ... right. How come you ended up here?’ I asked, blasts echoing from outside.

  ‘I had a six month stint with the Red Cross, got grabbed up in Guinea and brought down here.’

  ‘Helicopters will be here inside an hour, we’ll get you out.’

  ‘You have blood in your hair, need me to look at that?’

  Swifty told her, ‘Didn’t ask me if I was hurt.’

  I shot him a look. ‘Watch the damn hostages,’ I curtly told him as I stepped out and called Bob. ‘Listen, we have twelve hostages, six are Americans, so let Chuck know, have the Yanks come fetch them.’

  ‘Is it safe to land?’

  ‘So-so, still some firing, but most of these fuckers have run off, lads are demolishing the place. I’ll call in the rest of the lads at the FOB now.’

  I dialled Haines. ‘It’s Wilco, send the rest of the SAS, but tell the pilots to land on the east side of the rebel base, not to fly over the west or the town, tell them to look for the smoke column a mile high, can’t miss it. We have hostages and wounded to take back.’

  ‘OK, I’ll let them know.’

  ‘Wilco, this is “G” Squadron section, there are loads of fuckers in the trees to the west.’

  ‘Mortar teams, aim beyond the barracks, keep going longer till you hit our flysheets up the top of the hill.’

  ‘Roger that,’ came from Rizzo.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Stretch, there’s ten tonnes of weapons here, what we doing with it?’

  ‘Going to try and take some back with us, come in handy at the FOB. Stack up the useful stuff outside, but use the RPGs, I want every vehicle destroyed, every building.’

  Back in with the hostages I said, ‘Helicopters on the way, stay away from the windows, stay down, please.’

  ‘Wilco, it’s Moran, come back to the HQ building.’

  I led Swifty out. To the 2 Squadron lads I said, ‘Protect the hostages, batter the next building.’

  Back inside the HQ building we climbed the stairs, Mahoney waiting at the top. He led us to a room, Moran thrusting a piece of paper at me. I glanced at the detail, an invoice from a British mercenary company registered in Belgium.

  ‘Good find,’ I commended.

  Max appeared with a gold plated AK47. ‘What you reckon?’

  ‘Take it back,’ I told him with a smile. ‘Ours now.’

  Mahoney lifted a gold bar and waved it around.

  ‘Take any of those back as well, beer money for the lads. Now go see the American hostages, practise lying.’

  With Mahoney rushing down the stairs I called Bob. ‘Listen, I got an invoice here from the mercenary company, KLT, Brussels, Belgium, a Colonel Roach.’

  ‘I know him, he takes on the jobs that no sane person would take on.’

  ‘I think, Bob, me
and the lads will go pay him a visit when we’ve finished down here.’

  ‘I’ll deal with him.’

  ‘We have some gold bars we’ll bring back, so you can turn them into cash for the lads night out, some money for wounded lads.’

  ‘How much gold?’

  ‘Not much, a few bars. Got a nice gold enamelled AK47 as well, Max is wearing it like a handbag.’

  ‘How’s it going there?’

  ‘Not much incoming fire, they all ran off, and we’re dropping mortars onto them. Chinooks should be on their way.’

  ‘Americans have been alerted, they should have helicopters on the way as well, we gave the coordinates.’

  ‘Safe enough to land now. Anyhow, I’m going to call a certain mercenary company. Chat later.’ I dialled the number on the invoice, an odd ring tone.

  ‘Hello?’ came a young girl’s pleasant voice.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Colonel Roach, please.’

  ‘Who may I say is calling?’

  ‘Wilco, SAS, calling from Liberia.’

  ‘Wilco, you’ve left the Regiment?’

  ‘Not really...’

  ‘Putting you through.’

  ‘Hello,’ came a few seconds later.

  ‘Colonel Roach?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wilco, SAS, calling from Liberia, from a large base with five hundred dead bodies scattered around, buildings burning, vehicles on fire, a bunch of white guys lying dead, not least Captains Malloy and Trelassey. You could try calling the base, but no one will be answering.’

  After a long pause, he said, ‘Those men were not following instructions from us.’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing. Next to me I have an embedded reporter, and he has your invoice. And tomorrow’s British newspapers are going to accuse you of the deliberate deaths and wounding of British enlisted men, the deliberate attempts to kill SAS troopers.

  ‘But that’s the least of your worries, because as soon as I’m finished here I’ll be coming for you with my lads, and I’m going to kill you, kill your family, kill everyone who works for you - and the girl answering the phone. And Colonel, your death will not be quick.’

  The call was cut. Moran, Swifty and Max were staring at me. ‘He hung up. Must have been something I said.’ I handed the invoice to Max. ‘Send the story, destroy that fucker.’