Wilco- Lone Wolf 5

by Geoff Wolak

  He looked away, and though about that. ‘No, not if you’re not there. I liked the fighting and the training, never liked Tomsk, or making that fat dwarf rich.’

  I laughed. ‘Don’t worry about my boss, or working with him. He’ll get you a house, a car.’

  ‘I always wanted to visit England, see the castles and the churches.’

  ‘Now you can. Take some time, think about what you want. You should be dead, so this is your second chance.’

  Sat on the deck, getting a tan – but clothed, I thought it through, and I was partly saddened at leaving Petrov behind. I called Bob back.

  ‘OK, how about this. Wait a few days, I call Tomsk on re-direct from Bogota. We say ... the communists got me, then sold me to the Colombian gangs that wanted me, but the truck taking me was stopped by the police. I slipped away, helped by a local man, who got me a doctor, now wants some money. Tomsk delivers the money, and a week later I tell him I’m back in the UK, you got me out.’

  ‘You are wasted as a soldier, you know that. Yes, good plan, and Petrov is alive and well for the future.’

  ‘Alive and busted up, Bob, maybe to return. Oh, I spoke to Sasha, explained who I was.’

  ‘He knows the truth?’

  ‘I think he likes working with me more than Tomsk.’

  ‘You think he’ll work with us?’

  ‘Yes. He wants to visit the castles in England, see the damp green land, cup of tea and scones.’

  Before I left, I asked the Captain if I could thank the crew. He was hesitant, but allowed the broadcast.

  ‘This is Captain Wilco, SAS, a badly kept secret here on the ship. Before I leave I’d like to thank the Lynx pilots, they saved my life and the life of the man with me. Another few hours and I would have been mourned by many a housewife in Hereford.

  ‘I’d like to thank the doctor and the medical team that assisted me, and that saved the life of my associate. I know that some would like to report my presence here, I am a good looking chap after all, but we need to keep security tight to help save the lives of men still working undercover.

  ‘And I never knew that you lot had girls on board, or that the food was so good. You lot have an easy life, so get a proper job, eh.’ I handed the phone back to a smiling commander, everyone on the bridge either smiling, or complaining about that easy life.

  My old apartment was reclaimed two days later, my police escort thanked. The MPs checked the apartment before they set out shopping for me.

  That evening, Bob called; his men had been sneaking up on my lads in pubs and taping the blabbing, he even played me a tape, and I got no sleep that night. What a welcome back; I could have shot Bob dead for what he had done, and how it had made me feel.

  First morning back, and it was not going to be a good morning back. I hid in the Major’s office till he arrived, ignoring people, and I sipped my coffee, chatting to him till most had turned up.

  Exiting the Major’s office, many welcomed me and asked the obvious questions, but I gave them a flat palm and they backed off. They could see my mood. They gathered as I waited, the officers facing the men as usual.

  ‘OK, settle down,’ I called, remaining standing, and I waited, taking in their faces, most of which I had not seen for quite a while. And none knew about this morning’s problems.

  ‘Elkin, stand.’

  He stood, puzzled looks exchanged with a few of the Salties.

  ‘On the weekend you were out drinking – and blabbing. Unfortunately for you, the man stood next to you tape recording it was Mi6.’

  He now knew he was in trouble, so did the rest, faces turning to him.

  I continued, ‘You named names, you described operations in detail, and you stated that we ... left no one alive and finished off prisoners. If that man had been police then many in this room would have been arrested this morning, facing long jail terms, our reputation in tatters, the unit just about finished. Probably disbanded.

  ‘The only reason you’re not in hospital right now is because of your good service with us, and time spent in action. You are hereby returned to unit, effective immediately. You will leave this base, never to return, all kit handed back.’

  I took a moment as people glanced at him, shocked. ‘Your file will reflect your time in action, but will also state your breach of security. As for your SBS friend, Hampson, he will be picked up today, six weeks in a cell – just to make a point, a message to be sent to those interested in our operations.

  ‘You can go visit his wife and two daughters, and explain why daddy is not coming home for a while. And Elkin, if I hear a peep from you in the future I’ll put a bullet in you. Get out.’

  They watched him leave, all shocked more than angered towards him.

  ‘Tomo, stand up.’

  Rocko snapped his head around at Tomo. ‘What did you do!’ he barked.

  ‘Nothing more than most in the room have done, but he got caught,’ I stated, no energy in my voice. Tomo looked terrified. ‘Tomo, you were also tape recorded, but your blabbing was not as severe as that of Elkin. You are hereby fined £500. Rocko, find some shit tasks for him, make sure he suffers. Tomo, sit.’

  I took in their faces as they glanced around, all now very worried. ‘Many of you were also taped, some phone calls listened in to, and in future you may all expect to be monitored for blabbing to outsiders.

  ‘Now, let me explain something to you; civil law can override military law. If you’re drunk, but admit to finishing off a wounded man, a case can be brought and you’ll get twelve years if found guilty. But if a case is started, you’ll be kicked out before it comes to trial, so you’ll be on your own, no MOD to help you.

  ‘And it would do no good just telling the police that you were following orders, you would need to prove that. So let’s get this into perspective. You shoot an enemy soldier, he goes down, unconscious. Ten minutes later, that unarmed man is found to have a pulse, you put a round into him. That’s twenty-five years in a prison if it gets out.’

  I let them think about it. ‘What we do in the jungle ... should never make its way back here to the UK, and gossip should be kept down, as well as blabbing when you’re drunk. But if anyone asks, then you did not do it.’

  I took a breath. ‘If an enemy soldier goes down, how do you know he’s dead?’ I held my hands wide. ‘You don’t. So walking up to him is dangerous, and we avoid it.

  ‘Maybe he’s wounded, pin pulled on a grenade, hoping you’ll walk forwards. If he reaches for a weapon then you’re legally allowed to shoot again. If you approach him and he’s got his hand on a grenade, you’re allowed to fire again.

  ‘In essence, you keep firing till you no longer think you’re in danger, and that’s the qualifier – you think you might be in danger. You shoot a man, he spins and goes down, chances are he’s wounded – and mad at you, and very dangerous. So you shoot again and again till he stops moving. That’s not finishing off a wounded man – that’s good practice.

  ‘But what some senior officers think, what some civil rights lawyers think, is that if we shoot a man once and he goes down ... we should not shoot again, we should rush forwards and give first aid. Problem is ... if we did that we’d be killed pretty damned quickly.

  ‘As the officer in charge during a battle, I would be called to account if I sent you forwards, to break cover and give first aid and you were killed. So we don’t. We shoot again till we’re reasonably certain that they’re dead.

  ‘And what of a man three hundred yards away, walking away from our patrol? Seems like shooting him in the back would be wrong. But what if we let him go? He walks a few more paces, hears us, lifts his radio for a mortar barrage, men are killed and wounded. Just because he’s walking away doesn’t mean he’s no danger us.

  ‘I’ve not yet shot a man with a white flag, or begging for his life, or surrendering, and I hope that none of you ... ever do. That would definitely be a court case. But when we leave no one alive, it’s seen by the top brass as a shoot-to-kill p
olicy. We don’t take many prisoners, wounded or otherwise.

  ‘The reason for that is simple: we’re a small unit behind enemy lines mostly, moving quickly. If we stop to give first aid we’d have to stay with the wounded, and how do we do that in the jungle. Do we call in helicopters to get the wounded out, all fifty of them? No, because if we hang around we’ll get killed.

  ‘For a small unit behind the lines ... moving quickly is the key to surviving, not stopping to give first aid, and no one says we must throw away our lives or risk our lives to save an enemy soldier. Besides, we come up against terrorists and scumbags, they’re not soldiers. Many are fanatics who would pull a pin on a grenade quite happily.’

  I raised a pointed finger. ‘There is no law that says you must risk your life or throw away your life to help an enemy soldier. And if anyone ever asks, the criteria we use is this: if we’re in enemy territory we’re in danger, and if we’re in danger we shoot any enemy that may pose a threat, and we don’t stop and give first aid because that would mean breaking cover – a risk, and kneeling over a wounded man would probably get us killed. Remember that; if anyone ever asks, it may save you some time in a jail cell.’

  I turned. ‘Major, I have things to do, and a doctor to see, please take over.’ And I left them to debate the issue.

  The Major turned up at my apartment unexpectedly at 8pm one evening, civvy clothes, and my posh apartment had now been in my hands for more than the original six months I had agreed with Bob Staines.

  ‘Women problems, sir?’ I casually asked as I let him in. ‘In need of some ... marital advice?’

  ‘Got the kettle on, man?’ he loudly asked, ignoring my question.

  I smiled, the kettle knocked on as he took in the view from my lounge windows.

  Finally sat, tea in hand, he collected his thoughts and began, ‘The base will close soon, the move can’t be put off any longer. Bob ... Bob still has ideas about his own private army, and now is the time to squeeze us.’

  ‘Because the new base is a little smaller, and if we have our own base we’ll have some distance between us and the regulars,’ I noted and then sipped my tea, blowing on it first. ‘But given the number of external members, we can’t just have a desk in the corner of some air-conditioned shed with florescent lights.’

  ‘No, quite, hence the squeeze,’ the Major noted. ‘He will, of course, look to you for direction.’

  ‘What has the MOD said?’

  He made a face. ‘Rawlson would like us gone, and he would then treat us like a separate unit, competing with us for the jobs. It would suit him if we were elsewhere, and funded differently.’

  ‘I’m very much ... not in favour of that happening.’

  ‘I figured as much, so there’s a conversation you need to have with Bob.’

  ‘Conversation I need to have is with MOD and the PM, the rest follow orders,’ I tersely pointed out. I sipped my tea. ‘What would you say ... was the most important aspect of what Echo does?’

  He considered that. ‘Getting good newspaper headlines would be the flippant answer, and its currency to all.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be currency to Rawlson if the next rescue failed to mention the SAS.’

  ‘He’d feel the heat, and questions would be asked,’ the Major firmly stated. ‘He’d have less power, less influence, and maybe less of a budget. And, god forbid, should Echo do a good job when the regulars muck one up.’

  ‘I’m not in favour of diminishing the regulars, or re-inventing the wheel. I think we should always have fifty percent SAS on loan and a close working relationship.’

  ‘Me too, or we compete – and become like 14 Intel.’

  ‘So the answer is...’ I nudged.

  ‘Not sure, and it’s keeping me awake. Could have a room at the new base, then the lads drive out to the facilities.’

  ‘But with Externals to consider?’ I floated.

  ‘Yes, nowhere to meet unless we use the factory. It’s already a good little base.’

  ‘So, what’s the most important aspect of Echo?’ I thought out loud, taking in the water-colour painting on my magnolia wall. ‘Rescues, or fighting like we did in Sierra Leone?’

  ‘It’s been rescues up to now, IRA aside,’ the Major pointed out.

  ‘If we become the preferred rescue option, Rawlson and the MOD may want a scrap,’ I noted. ‘And budgets would be argued over. We’d have Rawlson sending a man to kill me.’

  The Major tipped his eyebrows. ‘He’d have a few willing volunteers from the regulars, especially if we were taking jobs off them.’

  I raised a finger, grabbed my mobile and dialled Bob after checking the time. ‘Bob, listen, if we had to move from the base, with this new base being a bit smaller, where would you like to see us based – off the top of your head?’

  ‘In an ideal world, probably at a small abandoned RAF base I had a look at recently, ten miles from Brize Norton.’

  ‘The old balloon school?’

  ‘Yes, good guess. You know it?’

  ‘Did an exercise or two there, when I was at Lyneham with the medics. So what budget would be available for renovation and facilities?’’

  ‘There’s a barrack block in good shape, and a dozen modern houses that were used as a married quarters for officers from Brize Norton – empty now save a caretaker, big hangar still in good shape, a few brick buildings and offices, twenty five yard range, and much of the ploughed land around it is MOD owned and leased back to the farmer.’

  ‘So why there, what’s your thinking?’ I pressed, the Major studying me.

  ‘It’s isolated, good for security, but close enough to Hereford and The Factory, close to Brize and Lyneham, short drive to Gloucester and Bristol, same distance to Cardiff.’

  ‘Interesting. We’ll have to take a look soon. Wilco out.’ I faced the Major.

  ‘He wants us on some old airfield?’ the Major asked.

  ‘South Gloucester, forty-five minute drive from here, close to Brize and Lyneham, isolated, plenty of land, barracks and houses.’

  ‘And for the lads? Living and drinking?’

  I shrugged. ‘Hereford is a bit crap, Gloucester and Bristol are close enough to this place, so too Cirencester. Good thing would be security, no prying eyes, and helicopters and Hercules could pick us up, no one would see.’

  Bradley nodded. ‘Being away from here might be a good thing, you know how they gossip; security is an issue. But the lads might not like the isolation.’

  ‘They don’t like it now, Hereford is a fucking village - we all go to Cardiff!’

  He nodded. ‘Runway to hand would be good. But if we’re there, and doing well, Bob can ramp things up, and before you know it we’re competing head on with the SAS – and back to square one.’

  ‘As I said, I need to find out what the powers want, not what Bob and I want. If they make a decision then I go with it. What’s needed ... is a plan that keeps everyone happy.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ he scoffed.

  The next day I went and found Colonel Rawlson. ‘Got a minute, sir?’

  ‘Come, sit. I’m just sorting the new base,’ he said in his usual detached way. ‘And the MOD want the locals to look it over, show that there’s nothing sinister, no cells, no bombs about to level the local neighbourhood. So, what are you after, Captain?’ Whenever he used my rank I knew he was trying to put me in my place.

  I eased back. ‘This move makes life difficult for Echo, because we’re growing and the new base is a little smaller. What Bob Staines would like is for us to have our own base -’

  ‘Empire building, is he?’

  ‘He wants to run the whole show,’ I quipped. ‘Anyway, the problem is this: if there was a separate base, and if we grew, and if funding came direct, then we’d compete directly with you and ... Bob would try and have your budget reduced and your numbers reduced – since we’d be doing that which the MOD had tasked you with.’

  ‘I aim to fight such things,’ he firmly stated.
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br />   ‘Me too, sir, since I don’t want the regulars diminished nor to re-invent the wheel. I’m in favour of Echo always having a large portion of your lads on loan, with you in support, and I would fight a change to that.’

  ‘And if you have a base in Essex?’ he teased.

  ‘A base in Essex would make it more difficult to communicate, yes. I’d go where the MOD ordered me to go, but ... I do have some influence, I can sway the lads, and their opinions count. What’s needed, sir, is a joint front from us.’

  ‘Us, you and me, Captain?’

  ‘Yes, sir, you and me, Colonel.’

  He considered that. ‘I’ve shaken things up a great deal, got rid of the dead wood, and new standards have been taken onboard, so if we were to compete in the future then we’d give you a run for your money. I aim to get back the jobs that suit us.’

  ‘There will always be jobs that don’t suit you, handled by us, and if they go off well then we get the credit, whereas now the SAS gets the credit. If there was an ... Echo Brigade, and we did compete for jobs, then Bob would work hard to swing it our way – and he has the backing and the budget.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  I could see that I was getting nowhere fast. ‘Sir, you’re in that chair for the next eighteen months.’ He stiffened, angered. ‘Perhaps, sir, you should give some thought as to what’s best for the linear progression of the Regiment beyond your time, and what the fucking MOD and Prime Minister wants you to do, and will order you ... to do.’ I stood. ‘You could be one small step away from a mistake that costs you that chair, sir.’

  I saluted, and left behind a quietly stunned Colonel.

  I called Bob after chatting to Moran. ‘Bob, arrange a meeting, please. You and me, General Dennet, Defence Secretary, UKSF, Joint Intel Committee and ... Rawlson.’

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘Not at all, we just need to settle what direction Echo goes in, and where it’s based.’