by Geoff Wolak
‘Yes, anyone with a shot, take it.’
A GMPG opened up, the red tracer visible, the trucks and jeeps hit, men diving for cover, numerous rifles firing out from the base.
Without me asking, Rocko stuck another flare up, but I used the opportunity to hit men close by, the lads below me firing out, the irregulars well and truly decimated, those remaining running off.
Scrambling down the tree, I landed with a thud and a curse, collected my team and back-tracked slowly, rounds still hammering the irregulars. We came across a dark outline and fired, knocking the man down, and made it to the wire in one piece.
Inside the wire I halted the team, a dark corner adopted, and we sat, backs against the wall.
‘That sort them?’ Swifty asked.
‘If they hang around now ... then they have more dedication to the job than we do.’
Sat quietly for ten minutes, the firing eased.
I clicked on the radio. ‘It’s Wilco, get some rest - those men not rested, I think they’ve gone for now. Rocko, leave two men in the mortar pit just in case, but not you, get some rest you grumpy old fucker.’
‘What did I do?’ came back.
‘I can always tell when you’re tired, and grumpy, so get some rest.’
I sat quietly, listening, an eye on the gap in the fence and the trees beyond.
‘Who were that lot?’ Stretch idly enquired.
‘There are dozens of factions down here,’ I whispered. ‘Got their trucks and jeeps, so that will cost them.’
Ten minutes later, and Swifty asked, ‘What’s that noise?’
We eased up and peered down towards the front gate.
‘Sounds like a jeep or lorry at the front gate.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘It’s Wilco, I want that 105mm active, two volunteers.’
‘We’re awake, we’ll do it,’ came an unknown voice. ‘Some ammo left.’
‘Drive out towards that helicopter, aim at the front gate.’
‘Moving now.’
We could hear the jeep start, then manoeuvre, and I caught a glimpse of it. ‘This is the handy 105mm team here, what’s your pleasure?’
‘Hold on. Mortar team, flare at the front gate.’
A long three minutes later the flare popped out the tube and burst into life. As it did, a mounted Duska burst into life.
‘Fifty cal, take cover! 105mm, open fire!’
I set automatic, knelt, and fired long bursts, the team copying, the Duska slamming rounds into the buildings. The 105mm fired, but hit a sandbag position. I kept firing, changing magazines, a GPMG joining in, red tracer seeking out the Duska, which might have had mounted armour plating around it.
‘Mortar crew, hit the front gate!’ I transmitted.
A round popped out almost straight away, landing short.
‘Mortar is short eighty yards, but in line!’ I hurriedly transmitted.
As rounds cracked overhead and slammed into buildings the 105mm fired again, hitting sandbags on the opposite side of the gate, but the mortar round silenced the Duska.
‘Mortar crew, another two rounds, same settings.’
Peering through my lens, I could see the Duska jeep on its side, men rushing in to push it back over, but the next mortar round separated their legs from their bodies, the Duska jeep well and truly alight. The third mortar hit the illuminated area beyond the road, bodies seen flying.
‘Ceasefire!’ I called over the radio. Blowing out, I sat back against the wall. ‘It could be a long night.’
As the dawn came up I was tired, and wet from the rain. We had dealt with six incidents during the night, a few lone snipers, and the grey morning light revealed carnage on top of carnage, the bodies on the parade ground smelling ripe already.
Back at the HQ building I got a brew on, the Americans stirring. ‘Get much sleep?’ I asked Running Bear, who looked like hell.
‘Not really, people kept shooting at me.’ He pointed at the scrapes in the ceiling, and then the holes though the desks. ‘Not the best hotel I’ve stayed at.’ He rubbed his face. ‘Is it safe to bring in the FBI team?’
‘It’s quietened down now, and we can snipe at distance after sun up,’ I idly commented as I boiled my water, Swifty getting coffee mugs ready – one careless owner.
‘Who attacked during the night?’ Running Bear asked.
‘Liberian irregulars, not from this town. They had trucks, so they drove here, fuck knows where from. The airfield is littered with their bodies.’
‘This place will become a health risk real soon, buddy.’
‘Once we’ve left, the town’s people will come in and rob everything, and the clothes off the bodies, gold teeth. They might bury the bodies or burn them.’
I was halfway through my coffee when helicopters buzzed overhead, coming around several times before setting down in a spot that would not involve landing on a body, the Deltas having gone out to meet their compatriots as I tackled my breakfast.
Heavy footsteps preceded the Deltas returning with their guests, the helicopters lifting off. I slowly stood, coffee mug in my left hand.
Running Bear introduced the man in charge, a grey haired guy in a white shirt and beige magnolia utility waistcoat - Agent Manstein. We shook, and I nodded and smiled at his colleagues before I returned to my breakfast.
‘What the hell happened here?’ Manstein asked. ‘It looks like a war zone.’
‘It is a war zone,’ I quietly responded. ‘And has been for a long time. Still, we hope Africa will quieten down someday, eh.’
‘Got to be two hundred bodies lying around.’
I made a face. ‘At least. Look, I’ve had two hour’s kip in three days, so why don’t you look around, get the paperwork, and we can all get the hell out of here before those bodies swell in the midday heat.’
‘Sure.’ Manstein dispatched his guys, many with cameras, Running Bear handing him paperwork. ‘I guess it was you who leaked the story to the press.’ He sat opposite me, next to Running Bear.
‘Which story would that be?’ I idly asked.
‘The mercenary company, Brussels.’
‘Ah, that would be Max, our embedded reporter. Was it ... a good story, well balanced, correct detail?’ I toyed.
‘Belgium government has raided the officers, arrest warrants issued, British and European TV news ran it yesterday, and some airtime in the States. Interpol say that the main players have fled down here, to Africa.’
I made a face. ‘That’ll make it easier for me to catch up with them.’
‘That would be taking the law into your own hands...’
I frowned at him. ‘Take a look out the fucking window. Is anything I did here legal?’
‘You were sent, I assume, so your government takes responsibility for your actions.’
‘Still, no war declared, or it would require a UN remit, which we would never get.’ I sighed. ‘Anyhow, this was a hostage rescue. Twelve hostages rescued, five hundred bad boys killed, arms recovered. Seems fair to me.’
Manstein cocked an eyebrow. ‘And the arms?’
‘Most are still in the armoury, some at our FOB in Sierra Leone, you can pop in for coffee and note the serial numbers.’
‘We’ll need to confiscate it all.’
‘Like fuck you will.’ He blinked, and stared back. ‘And the stuff left here, you have thirty minutes, then I blow it all as we leave.’
‘It’s evidence in an international case, we have jurisdiction.’
‘Listen ... without me you would’ve never even known about this base, or the arms, or got hold of Dermov. I ... invited you in, so don’t overstay your welcome. You’ve had decades to come in here and make arrests, and yet ... no fucking arrests, no American boots on the ground in Africa save a fuck-up in Mogadishu.
‘East of us are dozens of rebel groups, lots of illegal weapons, numerous Russian arms dealers. So why don’t you drive east and arrest them all?’ I waited.
He stood, deflated. ‘I didn’t make the world the way
it is.’
‘Funny, I keep telling my boss that. You’re on the clock, get working, and an hour from now ... if you are stood right there, there’ll be a few rounds coming in the window.’ He took in the damaged window. ‘You could, of course, arrest the men firing at us, retrieve their illegal weapons, ask them where they got them from...’
Not looking happy, he wandered out.
‘You trying ... to piss them off, buddy?’ Running Bear asked me.
‘They come in here making demands, yet your government has never lifted a finger to help Africa. What I did here ... why the fuck didn’t you do it, eh?’ I waited. ‘One American infantry brigade could clear this place and Sierra Leone in five days. So ... why haven’t they?’
‘I’m no politician, don’t blame me.’
‘You sent six thousand Marines into Grenada, zero ... into Sierra Leone. When you figure that one out, explain it to me.’ I took out my phone and called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco, you awake? Good. Arrange the helicopters for thirty minutes plus, two runs, or ask the French for some. Thanks.’
‘I’d best make a call as well if that’s the timescale.’
‘We could take you to our FOB, and you could be picked up from there. And you can photo the weapons there.’
‘Good idea, but I’ll check up the line.’
I put my earpiece in and clicked on my radio. ‘Listen up, this is Wilco. Be ready to leave in thirty minutes. Stretch, make ready to blow what’s left, or move it outside and blow it. And I want these buildings blown, nothing left.’
‘Why blow the base?’ Running Bear asked.
‘Stop the next group from using it to train men and launch attacks into Sierra Leone.’ I pointed at the ceiling. ‘This would have cost them, they’ll have to find the money, time to rebuild. The group that attacked last night ... they lost many men dead and wounded, many trucks and jeeps lost, so that will cost them to rebuild.’
‘Sets them back, I guess.’
When my phone trilled, it was Bob. ‘You up early, Bob?’
‘Always. What’s been happening there?’
‘The FBI just got here, sniffing around, but we’ll be out in thirty minutes plus hopefully. Had a large force move on us during the night, not from around here, decimated the fuckers.’
‘We’ve had intel. That group, they were from the nutjob who grabbed power a year back, and he thinks he’s being invaded. He’s sending more men to you, lots more.’
‘How soon till they get here?’
‘Not today I don’t think, maybe late tonight.’
‘We’ll be out of here soon.’
‘He’s a threat to the FOB,’ Bob cautioned.
‘Good, because it saves me going to find his lads, they can come to me. I can fight sat down, cup of tea in my hand.’
‘Your guy Max got a story out, might have been best to run that one by me.’
‘The mercenary company?’
‘Yes, all over the news, but it suggests that British companies are involved with such things, and that’s not a spotlight we need, we make use of such companies.’
‘You can call Max direct and chat about these things next time, barter a bit; he wants the story, you can twist his arm. But I wanted it out there, because we can’t have some shit like that attacking his own people.’
‘He’s fled with his family. Did you say you called him?’
‘I did, told him he was off my Christmas card list.’
‘Whatever you said frightened him, he’s heading for the Congo we think.’
‘Pleasant spot for him.’
‘Let me know what the FBI say and do -’
‘They’ve already suggested that they have jurisdiction, and that they should confiscate the arms.’
‘Like hell, and they don’t have global jurisdiction, they just like to think they do. We invited them in, we could have prosecuted the Russians ourselves, the cheeky buggers. Let me know if they become difficult.’
‘I’ll use my charm on them. Wilco out.’
I needed another coffee, I was knackered, and I made one for Running Bear as we waited. Sat there, an almighty blast shook the building, Running Bear running to the window and peering out.
‘One of the barracks blew.’
‘It’s Wilco, report.’
‘It’s Stretch, we put anti-tank mines in box, made a charge, drove it over the way and set it off.’
‘Good, get all the buildings, leave some explosive for these buildings after we vacate. Oh, and blow the drains as well.’
‘Drains?’ Running Bear queried.
‘Must have taken ages to build this place, so let’s hope it takes ages again.’
The FBI were now searching this room, the next blast scaring them, the lads with the 105mm demolishing the building they had slept in.
Thinking, I clicked on the radio. ‘Nicholson, you up on the roof?’
‘Yeah, Boss.’
‘Can you see the runway?’
‘Part of it.’
‘Mortar crews, try and hit the runway. Nicholson, call it out.’
Coffee finished, I clambered up the ladder to the roof, a salvo hitting the distant airfield.
Nicholson looked up. ‘That hit the burnt out trucks, Boss, runway is a bit further, and left and right, I guess it goes a long way each way.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Mortar crews, extend range fifty yards, aim left and right, eight rounds.’
From where I stood I could see part of the runway, and the rounds landing on it and potholing it, but it was a big runway. After the second salvo I ordered, ‘Mortar crews, left and right more, it’s a big old runway.’
The blast from behind wobbled me, another barrack block brought down, a huge plume of dust rising. A second later the 105mm fired, the hostage building hit, a corner collapsing.
An RPG whooshed out and hit the Mi8, which had never caught fire, it had just smouldered. Now it caught fire.
Peering over the side, I could see Running Bear with the launcher. ‘Hey, Yank, that’s evidence.’
He smiled up. ‘I got the serial number, honest.’ His second shot caused the Mi8 to explode into flames, black smoke climbing high.
Checking my watch, I ordered everyone down off the roof. On the second-floor landing, I shouted, ‘Everyone out! Evacuate this building!’ I found the FBI guys stuffing bags with papers. ‘Gentlemen, we have intel, a large force moving this way, a very large force. You don’t want to be hostages for a year or two.’
They did not have their happy faces on, and Manstein reluctantly moved them down.
‘Anyone else here, evacuate now!’ I shouted.
I found Swifty and Moran downstairs, Mahoney chatting to the Deltas. ‘Captain Moran, head counts please, get the lads outside.’ Stepping out, I clicked on the radio. ‘Listen up, evacuate all buildings, headcount in your teams, double check.’
Hearing a heavy dull drone I knew that the approaching helicopters were Chinooks. ‘”G” Squadron and “B” Squadron, on the helos first. Line up, kneel down, headcount your teams, weapons made safe! Sergeant Crab, out on these helos, please.’
The regular SAS lined up and knelt, weapons checked, and the first Chinook almost flattened the troopers, its ramp that was that close. They ran aboard, the second Chinook easing down and taking on men, both helicopters soon lifting up and tipping forwards, banking right and over the fence.
The mortars started up again, the distant runway hit, my lads on the 105mm having great fun, and they succeeded in bringing down the hostage building, a cloud of dust rising.
Stretch walked out and to the left a hundred yards, lifted a manhole cover and dropped a bundle, running like hell back towards us. As he reached us the blast could be felt through our feet, an area of tarmac thirty feet across lifting up, smoke billowing.
‘They’ll need a plumber,’ Swifty dryly noted. ‘Bogs will get a bit smelly.’
Smiling, Stretch ran the other way, bundle in hand, another manhole cover lifted, bundle d
ropped. But he had only gone five yards when the blast hit, the ground lifted, and he went flying, hitting hard and rolling over and over. Some of the lads closest ran out to him and carried him back.
‘Stupid fucker!’ I shouted at him. ‘Be careful!’
‘Dodgy fucking fuses.’
‘Are you hurt?’
‘A bit sore, nothing serious,’ he said as he limped off, the lads laughing at him.
Ten minutes later we could hear helicopters, and I halted the mortar teams. These were Seahawks.
I turned to Running Bear. ‘You know where our FOB is?’
‘Yeah, saw it on the map.’
‘Meet us there then. We have Cajun chicken.’
He nodded. ‘Sounds good.’
Three Seahawks set down, the Deltas and the FBI loaded, and they pulled away, hardly on the ground thirty seconds.
Waiting, we blasted the HQ building with the 105mm, Rizzo manning it.
‘Wilco!’ came a scream.
I turned to see Nicholson pointing as he stood atop the single storey armoury. Coming in the front gate was a column of armoured personnel carriers, some with turret mounted weapons.
‘Shit...’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Everyone withdraw, on me, on the double!’
I ran around the HQ building and through the fence. Halting, I said to Swifty, ‘Go ahead, back the way we came,’ and I counted teams and men, panicked by missing men then realising that some had been sent off yesterday, the wounded.
I heard a blast, followed by a distant explosion, and wondered if Rizzo was still on the 105mm. With everyone past, including Max, I began back, no sign of Rizzo, but he appeared around the rubble.
‘Is that everyone?’ I shouted.
‘Yes! And I got a fucking personnel carrier!’
We turned around and ran, rounds cracking out overhead, and we raced through the trees and back to the reeds, a few rounds a bit too close. The path through the reeds had been trodden down, so following it was easy enough, and as we hit the second patch of trees, near the northwest edge of the camp, it was obvious that those firing at us didn’t know our position.
More reeds appeared, and we sloshed through the mud, the guys glimpsed ahead. Reaching the jungle, I found the guys knelt in their teams and I rushed to the front, finding Swifty. Halting, I took out my facemask and put it on, Swifty copying, soon everyone copying.