by Geoff Wolak
I nodded. ‘We shipped out a few tonnes of weapons already.’
‘Some of that is evidence,’ he cautioned.
‘Not to me it’s not. If you want to look at it you’ll find it over in Sierra Leone. Still, over there you can examine it at length, no one shooting at you.’
‘Need to prove that it’s here,’ he stated. He called two names. ‘Go down, photograph everything, and the loading process.’
The men rushed out.
‘You telling me that you need evidence more than the State Department already has on that guy Oleg?’
Running Bear shrugged. ‘They want him caught in the act, which he was I guess. Your testimony will be critical.’
‘That’s his helicopter out there smouldering, might have something useful in it.’
He lifted up and peered out the window, sending a man.
‘French want him to stand trial in The Hague.’
Running Bear stopped scanning the documents. ‘They do?’
‘Yes, and they were here an hour ago. They wanted your prisoner.’
He considered that, but not with his happy face on, and went back to his study of the documents and sat. ‘Need a paper trail.’
‘There is one,’ Max offered. ‘Codeword CASTLE-6, a delivery, a payment with that codeword, and onward sales with that codeword, dates and times. And it clearly indicates rifles and ammo.’ He stood over our guest and pointed it out.
‘Freaking brilliant,’ Runner Bear let out. ‘Saves a lot of time.’ He stood. ‘I need to call this in.’ And he pulled out a sat phone. I stepped to the window and observed the loading of two Chinooks.
Running Bear appeared at my shoulder five minutes later. ‘We’d like an FBI team to come in, in the morning. They’re in Ghana.’
‘If we hold, they will snipe at us tonight, maybe try and sneak in. Are you staying?’ He nodded. ‘Then it could get interesting later. Make this room your base, find some camp beds, move some bodies.’
Back outside, I called Bob. ‘Listen, Americans want us to stay the night, FBI team coming in tomorrow. What are you orders?’
‘Cooperate please.’
‘OK, we’ll bed down here. But it’s a big fucking base to defend with just sixty men.’
A blast from across the parade ground, and Bob said, ‘What was that?’
‘We’re demolishing the base, building by building.’
‘OK, let me know if anything happens. Be nice to the Americans.’
Phone away, I clicked on the radio. ‘This is Wilco, listen up. We’re staying the night, Americans coming in the morning, FBI, so shine your shoes. “B” and “G” Squadrons, come back over this side, find a building and bed down, set a stag. Salties, back to me, all Echo, back to me.’
I stepped across to Rocko and Rizzo as my troop sergeants leant lazily against sandbag walls. ‘Keep some mortars handy, they may counter attack. Get your men in the HQ building top floor, get fire positions, set a stag, get some food on. Grab some GPMG or Russian machineguns, plenty of ammo.’
Seeing Henri, I said, ‘Take your team plus the 2 Squadron lads and the Pathfinders, into the building with the white flags, get comfortable, get a stag rotation set-up, stay sharp after dark. Get some RPG and heavy weapons.’
Moran stepped out of the armoury, glancing around. ‘We staying?’
‘FBI team arriving in the morning. Take charge of the armoury, sleep there, get some lads.’
As we started to lose the light, “G” and “B” Squadron walked around en masse, troop captains at the front. They halted in front of me.
I told them, ‘Get some heavy weapons, just in case, use that end building or the one beyond the white flags, set up a stag, they may counter attack or snipe at us. We’ve done the job here, so we don’t need men killed for nothing.’
They split up, two buildings adopted, the 105mm still with them and parked up.
I called Major Bradley and gave him the story, then called Major O’Donnell. ‘It’s Wilco, sir.’
‘How’s it going over there? We have enough munitions here to start a war.’
‘Ask the lads not to open boxes or mess about with it yet, sir, the FBI want to photograph it and take serial numbers.’
‘FBI?’
‘Arms sales team, they’re coming to us in the morning, we’re staying the night, but we’re well armed and we don’t expect too much trouble.’
‘Any more wounded?
‘Just two of your lads. How are they doing, sir?’
‘They’re in some facility in Freetown, don’t have the detail yet, but they were hurt bad by all accounts.’
‘I saw them loaded, and they looked alive and stable, sir.’
‘Well, that’s something. Marines are here and a few Dragoons.’
‘They are?’
‘Arrived half an hour ago; twelve Marines, twenty infantrymen, most up on the roof. Did you not request them?’
‘No, sir, but maybe my boss anticipated the need since we have all your lads here for the night.’
‘Yes, but the main force has been diminished by all accounts.’
‘Yes, sir, and no one leading them or paying them. But still, more than a hundred got away.’
‘We’re ready if they come this way, and we had local labourers digging trenches, got quite a few slit trenches now, dirt piled up for fire positions, dirt banks against a few walls, even got more sandbags.’
‘How’s the baby?’
‘I had her on my knee today, odd looking child.’
‘Albino Africans, they do look odd. Good night, sir.’
I called Bob. ‘You moved men to the FOB?’
‘Yes, didn’t want to take any chances with all the weaponry there. Trucks will come for it tomorrow, most will be handed to the president, some kept for us.’
‘Americans are staying the night, they’re going through the paperwork. French were here earlier, not happy that our prisoner went to the Americans.’
‘We’ll get no favours from a trial at The Hague.’
‘You are indeed mercenary, Bob.’
The fatigue hit me, as well as the need for something to eat. I sat with Swifty in the corner of the main office, a breeze blowing from the broken windows, and I got my hexamine cooker going. I ate half a tin of meat as I waited for my water to boil, apricot flakes dropped in, two packets, but the resulting goo never tasted like apricots.
The light outside faded, it started to rain, but we still had power on in this building and so knocked on the lights, everyone told to stay down, the Americans up-ending desks and blocking windows.
After my tasteless apricot flakes, plus the rest of my tin of meat, I sat against a wall with my brew, Swifty’s eyes closing. He massaged the bridge of his nose.
‘You take the first four hours,’ I told him.
Running Bear turned his head. ‘When did you get any sleep last?’
‘Not last night,’ I told him.
Swifty downed his brew, made a bed from several flags and abandoned jackets, a pen removed from a jacket and tossed away, and he tried to get comfy, facemask back on, gloves back on.
The Americans had observed him. ‘Facemask keeps the mosquitoes off, eh?’ Running Bear asked.
‘And it stops things crawling up your nose in the jungle,’ I added. ‘We have a cold weather facemask, this is our jungle facemask. If they can’t see you, they can’t shoot you.’ I yawned.
Nicholson stepped in, dumping down tins and bags. ‘Sugar, coffee and tea bags, Boss. Lots down there.’
‘Thanks. And get lads moving bodies, eh. Dump them outside, a few yards away from us here.’
Running Bear commented, ‘Those bodies will be ripe by the morning.’
‘That they will,’ I agreed. ‘But we’ll be leaving after your FBI visit.’
Distant fire crackled out. I clicked on the radio. Calmly, I said, ‘This is Wilco, report.’
‘Civvys from the town wandering in, we fired warning shots.’
‘Good, keep them out.
’ I turned my head. ‘Swifty, you asleep?’ I got no response.
The Americans took cushions off a sofa, one man on the bare sofa and one on the cushions. One found a camp bed and lay down, one sat in a chair, his feet on the desk, arms folded, the rest stood guard, windows peeked out of.
‘How’s Mahoney working out?’ Running Bear idly enquired. ‘I heard he had been placed with you.’
‘He did well on our three-day scenario, otherwise I wouldn’t bring him along; he can keep up and shoot as well as my lads, and that matters.’ I yawned. ‘We’re alive and a large force is dead because we’re fit, we shoot straight, and we’re well motivated. But the one thing I teach my lads is rapid accurate fire, and to believe in themselves.
‘If one of my lads comes across a ten man patrol he’ll drop them, not run away. And my lads ... they get bored just training, they want action; they love being here.’
‘Soldiering can get to be like that. I knew a guy that re-enlisted and went back to Vietnam a few times. The jungle made sense to him, the city streets didn’t.’
‘I did well enough before Bosnia, but Bosnia changed me. I was shot so many times I got used to it, killed so many men it became routine, and I lost all fear. Now, getting shot is a consequence, I don’t fear it – I fear not doing the job well.’
Running Bear nodded, lifting a document to scan. ‘We read about your rescues, they always send us the files, and we heard about our men placed with you for games and tests. Did you really drop cement bags from an aircraft?’
I smiled. ‘For an exercise I wanted to simulate an airstrike, so a Hercules dropped a cement bag, similar appearance, puff of smoke. On the day of the rescue I asked for the same decoy, but they dropped many bags, and the bags smashed through the roof of the target building, killed half the fighters in there.’
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. ‘And Angola I liked, quite complicated, many factors. You really drove there in beer trucks?’
‘Yep. At every checkpoint the driver allowed the soldiers to steal some beer, save them checking the back of the truck.’
‘You are unconventional, I give you that, but you get the results. And you came here with thirty men?’
‘In the jungle, one of mine is worth twenty of theirs. My lads would probably outshoot your lads after three days with no sleep, that’s how they’re selected, that ability to think and shoot when dog tired. I draw men from many services, after they tackle my three-day test. And if they do well at that, then this is easy. My lads would rather fight here than tackle the three-day again.’
‘It sounds like a bitch.’
‘Your guys are going to copy it exactly, so I guess you may find out just how much of a bitch it is. Let me know your score.’
He lowered his head. ‘Only if I do well at it...’
An hour later I needed a coffee, and the coffee helped, and two hours after Swifty put his head down he lifted up, which was common.
‘I feel awake,’ he told me as he stretched, checking his watch. ‘I’ll have a coffee, you ... take a break.’
I grabbed his make-do bed and settled down, making sure that the diamonds were tucked away.
Swifty woke me two hours later, coffee under my nose. ‘Get with it, we have movement outside the wire, I think they want their beds back.’
Easing up, the Americans were all awake and ready for action. I sipped my water first, and then downed the lukewarm coffee, a glucose bar tackled. I shook my head awake, checked my kit, checked my rifle, and clambered up onto the roof, the diamonds still in my webbing.
‘Report,’ I whispered as Swifty crawled to the edge and peered out.
‘Lots of movement behind us, Boss,’ Nicholson reported.
‘Civvies trying to steal stuff?’ I whispered.
‘Can’t tell.’
‘Got any grenades?’
‘Couple, Boss.’
‘Get them ready.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘This is Wilco, stand to, movement at the rear. When the grenades go off, open up for a few seconds and then stop. Get some GPMG or Russian machineguns targeted at the trees behind us.’
I waited, hearing boots on the tarmac below, and aimed into the trees. ‘OK, throw.’
Nicholson and the man next to him pulled pins and threw hard, getting back down.
For a second I had an x-ray view of irregulars, not soldiers, two quick blasts followed by hell on earth erupting, red tracer tearing into the trees. I fired off at random, aiming at muzzle flashes.
An RPG flew out, a bright flash giving me a mental image of the men near it. I set automatic and sprayed left and right, rolling onto my back and swapping magazines, spraying again, a tremendous amount of fire laid down.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Ceasefire.’ Off the radio, I shouted, ‘Ceasefire!’
It grew quiet, a few bursts fired back at us, but it was obvious that whoever they were they had legged it away. Moans and cries haunted us for a while, wounded men calling out.
A distant machinegun opened up, rounds cracking overhead.
‘Stay down or get below,’ I shouted, and I scrambled down the ladder. At a front window I peered out, seeing the muzzle flash between two barrack blocks. I clicked on the radio. ‘Guys with the 105mm, try and hit those fuckers, they’re between the last barracks on the left and the next one. Mortar teams, get active.’
The window above me shattered, a stray round, and I ducked. Staying low, I led Swifty down and out the building, running bent-double to the mortar pit and hiding behind sandbags now damp from the rain, puddles evident.
A blast to my left, the 105mm, and a barracks was hit, a flash across the parade ground.
Rocko walked casually past. ‘Bit of a flap on?’
Bent-double, we moved inside the mortar pit and knelt, rounds cracking overhead. ‘Far side, left, last barrack block, right hand end.’
Rocko adjusted a mortar tube as Smitty grabbed a shell, and when Rocko was ready Smitty dropped the shell down the tube. After the pop we all looked up, the shell landing behind the barracks.
‘You’re long twenty yards, come shorter,’ I told them, Rocko making adjustments.
The 105mm blasted out a round, the barracks on the left hit, a moment before Smitty dropped a shell, the right spot hit this time, no more incoming rounds.
‘Got the fuckers,’ Rocko noted.
‘They’re not the same men,’ I said as I stood.
‘No?’ Rocko puzzled.
‘No, they’re a militia group, maybe from another town. They probably heard this place had been hit and came looking for weapons. So ... we need to wipe them out or face them next week. And we don’t know how many there are, could be hundreds of the fuckers. Anyhow, stick some mortars in those trees.’
I found Mahoney in the armoury. ‘You awake?’
‘I got a few hours.’
‘Come with me then.’
Outside, I stopped Rizzo and his team. ‘Who got some rest and feels awake?’
‘I’m good to go,’ Stretch said.
‘I’m good, Napoleon,’ offered.
‘OK, with me, rest of you ... get some rest, eh.’
I led my new team southeast down the wire, past the Salties holding the former hostage building, and on past the next building – “G” Squadron lads at home. I warned them that we would be outside the wire.
‘We’ll try not to shoot you by mistake,’ a lad quipped.
I put the end of my barrel against his cheek and adopted the trigger, his mates suddenly terrified. ‘Dick about on a live job, and I’ll leave you here, a round through your fucking leg.’
‘Right. Sorry Captain.’
‘Be the professional that you like outsiders to think you are.’
I eased back and walked off, leaving a dead quiet room. We passed under tall trees, around a building that was still smouldering, bodies scattered, and to a gap in the fence. Halting and kneeling, I put my facemask and gloves on. Moving through in sequence, we tried to be dead quiet, eyes everywhere, and I
led my little team southeast and towards the start of the town, lights seen on in distant shacks.
A whistling sound, we ducked, and mortar landed a hundred yards north. It was fortunate for us that it did, because it highlighted a sneaky patrol coming in.
‘Rocko, it’s Wilco. Last mortar position, slightly right, slightly longer. Fire one only.’
A few seconds later the whistling came, a good hit, men killed and wounded, the rest running away.
Pressing on southeast, I could hear men north of us, speaking a local dialect, and finding a large tree I clambered up. ‘Rocko, fire a flare, same position.’
A grumpy ‘Hang on’ came back, making me smile. Two minutes later and night turned to day, stark black shadows created. I aimed and fired, six men hit, the men having no idea where the firing was coming from – they fired back towards the base. Before the flare died I had hit twenty men, magazine swapped.
‘Rocko, another flare, but longer by two hundred yards.’
‘OK, hang on.’
A crack below, and Swifty had hit a man close to us.
When the flare erupted I peered due east, seeing trucks on the dirt airstrip, and a great many irregulars.
‘Rocko, get all mortar tubes ready, get some men. Set your target to be the same position as the flare plus one hundred yards, I want four rounds in quick succession.’
‘Hang on,’ again came back, making me smile.
Seeing movement below, I took a rough aim and fired twice, a cry issued.
A long five minutes later Rocko came back on. ‘Wilco, we’re ready.’
‘OK, fire eight, then a flare.’
The whistling came, but feint, four blasts in quick succession – a truck set alight, men screaming and running around, the second salvo finding many men out in the open, a truck blow to pieces, a jeep on fire.
The flare exploded into life above me. I took aim and hit ten men quickly, the lads below firing out.
‘Rocko, adjust the tubes, add on fifty yards, right a click or two, fire four.’
I could hear the ‘pops’, four blasts in quick succession, a jeep blasted in half, a truck set alight, men caught out in the open. I picked off six men illuminated by the fires.
‘Wilco, it’s Nicholson, I can see the fires, should we open up?’