by Geoff Wolak
‘Won’t the damn Red Cross do something!’
‘This is Africa, there are a hundred million boys just like him.’ Rocko placed the baby in the back of the jeep. ‘Drive the boy back, sir, quickly, get the medics to him to amputate that arm.’
‘Christ,’ O’Donnell let out, gritting his teeth in anger and frustration, the jeeps soon pulling away.
‘Should we search?’ Moran casually asked.
I took in their expectant faces, and took in the burning huts. ‘I’d like nothing better than to rescue every orphan here, but our time is better spent stopping them becoming orphans in the first place. If we kill the gunmen here, then maybe a few kids will grow up with both parents.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Form up, ready to leave.’
Mahoney and Moran stared back at the village, and as we walked off they glanced back, nothing more said.
I used the road to walk back, facemasks off, a “denial of area” exercise to let the locals know that we were about, and we made it back without incident and in good time.
I told Rocko and Rizzo, ‘One hour and we leave, get RPG and GPMG, top up ammo and grenades.’
In the command room I found our Army liaison with O’Donnell and Morten. I made eye contact with Morten, our doctor stood in his white gown for a change, blood on it. ‘How’s that boy?’
‘Amputated the arm at the elbow, as you called correctly, he should make it. The baby is in good enough health.’
I nodded, getting a coffee.
2nd Lt Fisher put in, ‘I’ve spoken to the officer in charge at the airfield, and the embassy here, the massacre has been noted, but they seem ... doubtful that the government here will come out and do anything.’
‘So we leave them for the birds to peck at?’ O’Donnell gruffly asked.
I faced Morten. ‘Got plenty of cash?’
‘Had more delivered.’
‘Maybe you could pay the villagers to dig a trench and dump the bodies. I’ll get some cash sent down.’
‘That had occurred to me, yes, be a bit unsanitary otherwise. I’ll chat to my contact, he’s always keen for some work, and they have a mechanical digger.’
I told Major O’Donnell, ‘I’ll take my men out in an hour, sir, and we’ll go across the border and thin them out a bit.’
‘Perhaps that token force ... were the men you encountered.’
‘Part of it, sir, and they must be hurting already.’
I found Max in the next room, sat at a make-do desk and sending out images and text. ‘Getting the massacre out there?’
‘I’ve syndicated it, be a double spread tomorrow. Took snaps of the boy being worked on, and the baby, so ... well, bit of a human interest story.’
‘We’re tabbing out in an hour,’ I told him. ‘You look knackered, so don’t go tagging along if you need a rest.’
‘I’m OK, just ... well, a bit numb really. We in The West, we don’t come across this sort of thing.’
‘You shot one of them, so you did your bit.’
‘Would have liked to kick him to death after what I saw at the village.’
‘Try and borrow a pistol from someone, keep it handy just in case, get some training in,’ I told him. ‘You insist on risking your balls.’
With my own pistol ammo topped up, two fresh magazines in my bandolier, the damaged back-magazine handed to curious RAF Regiment lads, I topped up my water, puri-tabs in, and I was set.
Stretch came to me from the medics. ‘They got it out, just a small lump, I’m good to go.’
I nodded. ‘Get your kit.’
Remembering Smitty, I went looking for him, finding him with the medics, leg bound up. ‘How’s that leg?’
‘Be out of action for a few days,’ Morten told me. ‘Should really go back and have it heal properly.’
‘He’s my best man, so he stays unless you insist he goes.’
Morten made a face. ‘Give us two days to assess any infection.’
‘Get the lazy sod looking after the babies!’ I told Morten.
The lads formed up outside later, and I issued 66mm to every man not lugging either an RPG or a GPMG, and I strapped two 66mm to my own back webbing. We had flysheets and ponchos, extra rations, extra tins of meat each, so we were ready.
‘What’s the plan?’ Mahoney asked.
‘We move northeast across the border ... and kill every last fucker we find till we run low on ammo. Any questions ... regarding the plan?’
Swifty and a few others laughed. ‘Could you go over it again, it sounds complicated,’ Swifty requested.
‘Gentlemen, one foot in front of the other,’ I called, and waved at the guys up on the roof, Haines watching us depart. Across the runway we adopted the track north, expecting to find a “G” Squadron OP at the end of the track.
I set a steady pace, eyes everywhere just in case, and an hour’s hot slog brought us to the OP, greetings exchanged, and we moved across the bridge in daylight but spread out, past the burnt out carriers and north onto the track besides the river, an hour’s slow and cautious progress to get to the narrow bridge, civilians seen crossing, but avoided.
About to break out of the tree line near the bridge, I spotted four lazy soldiers sat smoking, across the road and sheltering under a tree. I clicked on my radio. ‘Four plus men, across the road. My team, silencers on, rest get down, get ready, watch the trees, watch our rear.’
With silencers clipped on, the four of us knelt, one man each. ‘When I fire, you fire.’ A few seconds later I had my man in my sights, and squeezed the trigger, a hit to the chest knocking him back. By time I looked up, all four men were dead. I waited.
‘Rizzo, go right a hundred yards inside the tree line, stay sharp.’
‘Moving.’
‘Only four of them?’ I asked my team as we waited knelt down.
‘It’s Rizzo, I can smell someone smoking, up the ridge a bit.’
‘Stay exactly where you are, get solid fire position. Rocko, up and around behind them, dead slow and dead quiet.’
‘Moving.’
Knelt in mud, I scanned the tree line over the road, not seeing any movement as we waited.
‘Jeeps!’ Mahoney hissed.
‘Shit,’ I let out. I grabbed Swifty and tore off his 66mm, turning and allowing him to grab mine. ‘Use these,’ I whispered. I clicked on the radio. ‘Henri, close up, get ready.’
Hearing the rustling of bushes, I unclipped both ends of the 66mm tube, pulled out the safety pin at the top, and got ready as Swifty and Moran checked their tubes. The sounds of the jeeps grew, and they would have had to be blind to miss the bodies across the road.
As Henri and Jacque moved in on my left, rifles aimed, the first jeep slowed right down and halted directly in front of me, some fifteen yards away. A quick glance to see that Moran and Swifty were ready, a look behind me to check it was clear, and I fired, the blast assaulting my ears.
Swifty and Moran fired in almost the same instant, the first jeep hit twice, the second hit once. I had hit the engine of the first jeep, the bonnet blown off, Swifty had hit the driver’s door, the roof of the jeep peeled back like it was made of tin foil, black smoke enveloping the jeep. Moran had hit the driver’s door of the second jeep, the men inside killed, some jumping down as the cracks sounded out.
With my forward vision blocked by black smoke, my ears ringing, I remembered Rizzo and Rocko.
‘Rizzo, Rocko, report!’
‘Hang on!’ came back, making me smile, cracks echoing through the trees.
‘We got eight up here,’ Rocko said. ‘Some ran down when you hit the jeeps.’
‘It’s Rizzo, we got two coming down the slope.’
‘There’s a GPMG up here, trained on the bridge,’ came Rocko’s voice.
‘Disable it, nick their ammo. I want everyone across the road sharpish. Henri, go now, cover us.’
Henri, Jacque and their team ran down and left, around the smoking jeeps and across. ‘2 squadron, Salties, Pathfinders, across t
he road now.’
They ran past and across as Rizzo came back in. ‘Get across,’ I told him.
Rocko came down in his own good time, ammo strung out around his neck and around Slider’s neck.
‘On me,’ I called, and we moved out cautiously, checking the road both ways, across and past the bodies, into the tree line and up the ridge, teams following in some semblance of order.
I clicked on the radio as I reached a point some one hundred yards up from the burning jeeps. ‘OK, get fire positions on the road, spread out, but take positions with an escape route. Rizzo, up over the ridge a hundred yards, hide yourselves, listen out.’
I found a muddy hollow and got inside it, my rifle placed down, grabbing Mahoney’s 66mm off his back. Facemask up, I sipped my water.
‘We wait to see who comes out to play,’ Moran noted.
‘Yep,’ I agreed. ‘Slow attrition.’ I turned my head. ‘Rocko, that ammo you nicked, use that up first, save carrying it. Get a GPMG trained on that road.’
Stood there staring at the road, I said, ‘Still can’t figure why they wiped out that village. They parked their carriers in that village first, no mass panic, so they knew each other – or had dealings, then the carriers come and attack us, then the people responsible for the carriers wipe out the village.’
Moran said, ‘When the carriers failed to return, maybe the main man here figured it was the druggies, not us.’
‘He’d send someone to look first, to find out,’ I suggested.
Mahoney put in, ‘Maybe the main man figured we’d been using local trackers, and men from the druggy village.’
‘Diamond deal gone wrong,’ Swifty added. ‘Drug deal gone wrong.’
Mahoney commented, ‘We wiped out the men in the village, so maybe someone in the village didn’t pay on time. Or maybe the women there grabbed the loot – new handbags.’ We laughed.
Half an hour passed, a civilian car driving past as if nothing was wrong, Mahoney handling a giant tarantula with his gloves and showing us. Finally two jeeps arrived, men seen in the back.
‘Rocko, use the GPMG!’
Rounds hammered out, windscreens shattered and men hit, men jumping down and running, but most ran our way by mistake. I picked off two, the rest hit a dozen times, the men below having no idea where the firing had come from. Tomo destroyed both jeeps with his GPMG fire, one catching alight.
I clicked on the radio. ‘OK, get ready to move. Rizzo, go east along the ridge, nice and slow, keep the road in sight, call it out.’
‘Moving.’
Leaving two wrecked jeeps looking like Swiss cheeses, one burning, we adopted a single file through the dense jungle, the going slow, and I tried to keep the road in sight. An hour’s hard slog had us all sweating, and I rested the men as the sun hung low on the horizon, a great sunset provided behind us.
‘It’s Rizzo, personnel carriers coming ... hang on ... they stopped ... men out ... men into the trees both sides of the road ... coming on.’
‘Mahoney, 66mm,’ I called. He knelt. I clicked on the radio. ‘Rocko, ready your RPGs, Salties, same deal. Rizzo, set an ambush where you are. Henri, go north fifty yards and stop.’
‘Moving,’ came back, but in a French accent.
The distinctive growl of the carriers grew, and I could soon see them through thick green foliage.
Mahoney asked, ‘Best place to hit them?’
‘With a 66mm, aim and hope, they’re not accurate.’
Mahoney aimed, readied his three fingers on the three-point pressure trigger, and squeezed down. A blast, our ears ringing, and the projectile hit a wheel, rubber sent flying, the remaining rubber starting to burn as the carrier halted, its driver having no idea where we were. Its turret turned away from us, fired a burst, then turned towards us, another burst fired, but way down the slope.
The second carrier had slowed and then stopped, a hundred yard shot, but Rocko fired. The head hit the ground underneath the nose of the carrier, the carrier engulfed in smoke but otherwise intact. Slider fired, a very lucky shot, the driver’s hatch hit, the rear doors blown open.
From somewhere to my right someone fired a third RPG, the carrier below hit on the side, a perfect shot blowing a hole in it, the rear doors blown open, flame erupting from the driver’s hatch.
‘Not a pleasant way to go,’ Mahoney noted as we stood staring down at the two funeral pyres, the men inside roasted alive.
‘It’s Rizzo, men coming up, and they’re being stealthy and half decent.’
‘Everyone get hidden in your teams, get ready.’
‘It’s Rocko, fucking Nicholson and Lassey are up a tree again.’
‘Nicholson, call it out if you see movement, watch that road.’
‘Right, Boss.’
The light faded, the burning carriers lighting the road below, and we waited as the temperature dropped and the tree frogs came out; it seemed like a thousand of them were on the tree next to me, but I could never find them when I looked. I had turned away from the road, myself and Swifty sat tucked into trees, facing northeast.
Five minutes later we heard quiet cracks.
‘It’s Rizzo, four down. And we can see men running across the road from the other side, coming up this side, maybe twenty or more.’
‘Roger that.’ I opened a bar of melted chocolate Rolos, badly in need of a drink afterwards.
Quiet cracks echoed out, a burst of fire, then nothing.
‘It’s Henri, five down.’
‘Acknowledged.’ I faced Swifty. ‘In the jungle, whoever has the static position wins.’
He nodded.
A twig snapped.
He readied his rifle as I pulled mine in tight and got lower, moulding myself into the tree.
We waited, peering through the dark.
A long five minutes later another sound gave away someone moving, but I could not pin them down. There was nothing for it but to wait.
‘Wilco, get down, grenade!’ came Nicholson’s voice, myself and Swifty ducking back behind the tree.
Three seconds later the blast reverberated around our part of the jungle, quickly followed by a second blast, shouts and cries issued, loud noises indicating men running away.
Quiet cracks echoed. ‘It’s Rizzo, we got the noisy fuckers as they ran past.’
‘Nicholson wounded them first, he has the credit,’ I transmitted as it grew very dark.
An hour later, and no new contacts were reported; they had thought better of it and legged it away home.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Poncho’s up, every second man get two hours rest, no fires, but everyone eat something.’
One poncho down, one rigged up, I sat eating with Swifty, Moran and Mahoney taking the first watch, and with a stomach full I eased back and closed my eyes, cradling my rifle.
As the dawn came up it was still quiet, the camp taken down, and I led the teams off north, knowing that we had a few miles of bad jungle to cross. I reported in to Haines and Captain Harris as we progressed, the jungle humidity a constant drain on our strength.
Finding a clearing, a brisk stream and wide rocks, I had everyone rest, teams taking it in turn to wash in the cool water, the men allowed to cook food and get a brew on.
After an hour’s break we struck out north following a stream, and we walked down it making good progress. A mile on and we happened across the tail rotor of a helicopter, Russian writing on it.
‘A helo went down here somewhere,’ I told my team. ‘And we’re miles from anywhere, so there’s every chance no one ever found it.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘All teams close up on me.’
Rizzo closed in.
‘Go due north 400yards, and back to us here, look for a helicopter, stay sharp.’
He moved past me. ‘Rocko, go due east 400yards and back, don’t get lost. Henri, go due west 400yards, and back. Rest of you, search this area in your teams, don’t go far.’
Little more than six minutes later Rocko came on with, ‘Found it.’
‘Henri, back to me, Rizzo back to me, follow our tracks east.’ I led the remaining teams east, following the muddy tracks, and found a rusted Mi8 on its side, vines growing through its broken windows.’
‘Two old bodies inside,’ Rocko told me, most of the lads now with facemasks off. ‘But some fucker survived the crash, there’s a camp fire.’
Stretch appeared with a huge grin, and two gold bars.
‘No, you can’t keep them,’ I told him. ‘They go towards new kit for us, and some beer money.’ He handed them over and fetched more. Rocko handed me a briefcase green with mold, and we smashed open the lock, diamonds inside, as well as cash and papers. ‘Max!’ I called.
When he closed in we moved out of the way and he photographed the rusted hulk and the bodies, and when asked he photographed a few of the documents.
‘Set up your kit, send the document images now,’ I told him. I called Bob. ‘It’s Wilco, we came across a crashed Mi8 helicopter, gold bars and diamonds, papers, a few bodies. Max is uploading photos of the papers now, go see his editor for them.’
‘I’ll send a man.’
‘Listen, Lynx has a winch for rescues, try and send one. Trace this call back, let me know soon, I don’t need to be lugging gold bars around.’
‘I’ll get back to you.’
‘Hang on.’ Rocko handed me faded passports. I read out the names.
‘One of those names I recognise, I’ll get a team on it. Good work.’
‘Lucky find.’ I hung up.
‘Wilco,’ Mahoney called, and I closed in on him. He pointed. ‘Bird was hit with fifty cal, by mistake or deliberately.’
‘No one came to look for them,’ I noted. ‘Odd really, given the gold and the diamonds, so I’m thinking some arseholes fired without knowing who they were firing at.’
Nicholson closed in. ‘Bones over there, Boss.’
Swifty said, wiping the sweat of his brow with his sleeve, ‘The guy who survived the crash, maybe injured. Not a pleasant spot to have a broken leg.’