Wilco- Lone Wolf 5

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Leave it with me. And the first intake has been brought forwards to this weekend, Sunday.’

  ‘We’re ready. How many?’

  ‘Sixteen, but they’ll drop out quick enough I guess.’

  Phone away, I was determined that sixteen pass – by training them right.

  A car came around to the hangar, a taxi, MP Peter in tow. He jumped down first. ‘This lady is here to see you, she says.’

  A young and slim black lady stepped out the taxi, bags lugged, and I puzzled her presence here.

  In a heavy accent she said, ‘I am looking for Captain Vilco.’

  ‘You found him.’

  ‘Mister Bob Staines sent me, I work for him.’

  ‘And...’

  ‘I was born and raised in the Congo.’

  ‘Ah. In that case, you’re most welcome. And ... looks like you’ll be staying a while.’

  ‘Yes.’ She waited.

  I faced MP Peter. ‘Add her name to the list. Thanks.’ I lifted her bag as people stared at her. ‘This way.’ I led her to the visitors centre, our first official visitor, those lads coming out the canteen eyeing her carefully as they passed us.

  ‘What do I call you?’ I asked her.

  ‘Sandra. My real name is Sanli Mguntou. But I am now Constable Sandra Montgomery.’

  ‘Constable?’

  ‘Metropolitan Police, immigrant advisor.’

  I led her inside and upstairs to a room, key left in the door. I dumped her bags on the bed, the room very much like a hotel. But in this hotel the bedding was not on the bed but folded in neat squares or still in plastic bags.

  She opened a cupboard. ‘It is very nice. I thought maybe a soldier’s room.’

  ‘You’re a lady.’

  ‘I am not soft,’ she insisted.

  ‘Leave your stuff, grab the key, I’ll get you a cuppa.’

  She closed the door, pulled the key out and checked that it was locked, following me down and back to the HQ Portakabin, attracting more odd stares.

  In the admin area, the Major stood puzzling her, Harris and O’Leary as well.

  ‘Gentlemen, this is Constable Sandra from the Met, London. She was born and raised in the Congo, so will be advising us.’

  She turned her head to me. ‘I will be your guide in my country.’

  ‘Guide!’ the Major queried. He faced me. ‘You’d take a girl along?’

  She closed in on him, to a threatening distance. ‘When I was ten years old I was raped. When the man fell asleep, I cut his cock off with a razor.’ The Major blinked. ‘When I was thirteen I was gang-raped by four soldiers. When they slept, high on the drugs, I stole a gun and shot them all, and I cut off their cocks and nailed them to the door.

  ‘When I was fifteen I joined a resistance movement, and I killed my first man with a rifle a day later. At sixteen I made it to Uganda, where I studied and won a scholarship, and I travelled across the Sahara to Tunisia, a boat to Spain, then on to England on a fake passport and asked for asylum.

  ‘I passed my exams here and entered the police as an advisor to immigrants, but your government asked me to go back to my home. I have been back twice before, and killed men each time.’

  The Major stared back, wide-eyed.

  I took her by the shoulders and turned her around, pointing her at the door. ‘I like her,’ I told the Major with a smirk.

  Across the hangar I found Crab and Batman in stores, their surprise evident. ‘Sergeant, find some boots and combats that will fit this lady, webbing and bandolier.’

  She shot me a questioning look.

  ‘She ... joining us? Like that lady in “B” Squadron?’

  ‘On loan for a while.’

  She was the same size as Crab, so the kit was easy enough, and I helped carry it back to her room. ‘If the boots are too big, wear two socks.’

  She slipped off her shoes and tried the boots. ‘Yes, maybe two socks. This is for when we go?’

  ‘No, this is for some training for you, then maybe I take you along.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You have gym kit?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, in my bag,’ came back heavily accented.

  ‘Do you keep fit?’

  ‘I was running with the school when I was young, I could have been the champion. Now I run sometimes on the funny machines in the gym.’

  ‘You can run around the airfield when it suits you, but between now and when we leave we’ll get you some training in, and it will be tough.’

  ‘I am good with the gun and the soldiering, you don’t worry about me.’

  ‘My men walk sixty miles in full kit without a break,’ I teased.

  ‘Then maybe they carry me a while.’

  ‘Get changed, come back to where we were.’

  She looked up at me. ‘Mister Bob says you have seen much fighting, that you are the best soldier. You were in Sierra Leone.’

  ‘We were, yes, and we killed many gunmen – which I enjoy greatly.’

  She shot me a horrified look, followed by a puzzled look.

  I inched closer. ‘In Bosnia I came across soldiers raping and killing, and I killed those soldiers and rescued the women.’

  She lowered her gaze.

  ‘My men know what they are fighting for, so try and get along with them. But, mostly they are children. Humour them.’ I closed the door.

  Outside, a gang walking past, Rizzo asked, ‘Who’s the black lady?’

  ‘She’s a spy, works for Bob. Grew up in the Congo.’

  ‘She coming with us?’

  ‘She is. And a word of warning; she specialises in killing men by being nice to them, seducing them, then when they’re asleep she cuts their cocks off.’

  The lads exchanged looks, wincing.

  Stretch said, ‘Let’s volunteer Rizzo to bed her,’ the gang laughing.

  She appeared ten minutes later, bandolier and webbing on, getting even more odd looks. I led her back to Crab, Bongo sat in with him. ‘Sergeant, get this lady an AKM – which she is familiar with, a table and chair to use, and supervise her stripping and cleaning, then some range time.’

  ‘Oh, er ... right.’

  Bongo idly commented as he sat, ‘Should be more ladies in the military, all the one’s I meet are tough as fuck. My last bird could beat me in an arm wrestle.’

  ‘This one would break your neck, so don’t upset her,’ I told him. I faced Sandra. ‘At 5pm come find me, or go to the canteen. You will get some odd looks, just be nice – or I’ll throw you off the base.’

  ‘Yes, Captain.’

  At 5pm I led her down to the canteen, the place bustling, and got her a meal as men stole a glance at her, puzzling what she was here for. We sat near Rocko.

  ‘Staff Sergeant, this is Sandra, and she’ll be our guide in the Congo. She is ... a tough lady. Organise some training for, keep her busy, but I want her eating with the lads and getting to know everyone.

  ‘Get her on the pistol range tonight for an hour. When you’re on the range, take her, she’s familiar with the AK47. Some jeep driving lessons.’ I faced Sandra. ‘Are you parachute trained?’

  ‘Parachute? From ... the aeroplane? No.’

  I faced Rocko. ‘Get her static line trained, then freefall.’

  ‘I am to jump from a plane?’ she asked, horrified.

  ‘We may go in by parachute. Are you ... afraid to try new things?’

  ‘No, but .... I don’t like to be high up.’

  ‘Time to overcome your fear,’ I told her with a smirk.

  She lowered her head to eat her food, looking worried.

  The next day the Army Engineers were back, but unexpected, to raise two sheds – for Colonel Rawlson.

  I exchanged a look with the Major and set them to work, a metal frame thrown up quickly, yellow steel cladding clipped in place, and by the end of the day we had two large sheds with doors that would lock.

  In the canteen, at 5pm, I sat with Sandra and Rocko. ‘How was your day?’ I asked her.
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  ‘I practised with the rifle, cleaning many times, and shooting many times from different places, and then running and shooting. And the pistol I am now good with. I make progress.’

  ‘Staff Sergeant?’

  ‘She can hit the target, getting better as she goes. Determined to get it right. And she calls Tomo “cock weasel”, so she can’t be bad.’

  Those in earshot laughed. Henri exchanged a sentence with her in French.

  ‘You speak French?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes, we had French missionary teachers.’

  I turned my head to Henri. ‘Make sure this lady has what she needs; any shopping, drive her out, please.’ He nodded. I faced her. ‘Henri is our father figure, he will look after you.’

  ‘He is not so old. I am twenty six now.’

  ‘Hear that, Henri, a young lady said you are not so old, so hope for you yet,’ I said, those nearby laughing. I turned to Sandra. ‘Feet OK in those boots?’

  ‘Yes, but not so much running in them today.’

  Moran stepped in with Swifty. ‘How’s the flying?’ I asked them.

  ‘That Mi8 is a pig,’ Moran said, Swifty agreeing. ‘Lots of controls, all upside down.’

  ‘Could you fly it if need be?’

  ‘In time,’ they said.

  ‘You may have two weeks or less.’

  They exchanged looks, lips curled. When they sat, they puzzled Sandra.

  ‘This is Sandra,’ I explained. ‘Our guide in the Congo.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Moran offered, Swifty nodding.

  Later, I noticed Sandra jogging with Henri.

  In the morning, I took in the briefing room, many new bodies to accommodate these days, even a black face, Bongo looking as scruffy as ever in his tatty oil-stained grey overalls.

  ‘OK, listen up. Next week we’ll be busy. We have a potential job in the Congo - hostage rescue, and it will be tough, a bad place to get it wrong, a long way from helicopter rescue. As you may have seen, some are having lessons in an Mi8 helicopter, some lessons on the Skyvan – we won’t be walking in.

  ‘Also, from Monday, we have “E” Squadron old timers here to do a refresher, and many of you will assist with that. Be warned, you may clash with them, try not to – report any issues to me. And don’t listen to the bullshit war stories, you have far more experience than they do. Rocko, keep the peace of an evening, visit the barracks, hit people if you have to.

  ‘In addition to the old-timers, we have some sixteen servicemen from far and wide here for Lone Wolf, and again many of you will be involved in training them. Tomo, Smitty, Nicholson, you’re down for it. Gonzo, I understand you volunteered for it?’

  ‘It seems like the kinda stuff I love to do.’

  ‘Fine, you can do it, but that takes you off any live jobs for now. But don’t worry, lots of live jobs across a year. My lads on it: you’ll cover some stuff you already know, or should already know, just go through the motions and do well.

  ‘And my lads, if any of these Lone Wolves are psycho killers wanting blood let me know about it. We want men with good attitudes.

  ‘OK, the “E” Squadron men will be in barracks, upstairs, Lone Wolf candidates downstairs. Batman and Robin, Crab and Duffy, you’ll be helping out, and guy with the broken arm – you’ll be used as well, umpire stuff.’

  O’Leary said, ‘That trench gets water today ... sometime. But it ain’t straight, has a kink in the middle.’

  ‘Being straight doesn’t matter,’ I assured him. ‘You have the extra kit?’

  He raised his eyebrows, and raised a sheet. ‘I have ... snorkels and masks, a variety of old wetsuits, various fins, maps, map cases, old webbing, notebooks, canoes, black zodiac – damaged but repaired, we’re getting today-ish ... old FN SLRs and extra AKM, extra telescopic sights, rabbits, chickens, pigs, rats and goats.

  ‘Should be here soon ... will be facemasks and gloves times thirty, combats times thirty - no boots, plastic camouflage flysheets, extra ponchos, three old trials bikes on loan. Other things will be arriving in the weeks ahead.’

  ‘Good, sounds like we can make a start. Sgt Crab, stores helpers, I need that lot separate kindof, some in the new sheds, and pens and cages for the animals – need to feed them as well. Go to a garden centre and buy some fencing.’ I faced the Major,

  The Major said, ‘Get some cash from me first, or price it up.’

  I pointed at broken arm man. ‘You just became chief animal guy. Fence them, feed them twice a day – don’t eat them. OK, Intel, you ready for some lectures on the Congo?’

  ‘We have the detail, maps and geo-politics, a couple of videos.’

  ‘OK, arrange evening sessions. Rocko, Rizzo, organise the lads. Captain Moran, Swifty, helo is back today for a few hours, keep at it, then at the Skyvan, but we have RAF pilots on the way for both.’

  ‘Skyvan is available today,’ Moran put in. ‘Wind is low, and it should get better. Shall I ask for chutes?’

  ‘Yes, please. Rocko, Henri, get Sandra trained.’

  They glanced at her as she stared back looking worried.

  ‘Major, Mister O’Leary, captain Harris if you can help out, Sgt Crab and Duffy, Batman and Robin, please remain, rest of you to whatever you’re doing today.’

  After they had filed out I began, ‘We need to make plans. Major, if you could oversee everything, time permitting. We need lists of names to each department, charts on walls of people and progress, we need the canteen to have enough food, the NAAFI shop more stock. Stores people, we need a list of kit issued to each new man, damages and replacements, ammo levels checked.

  ‘Major, O’Leary, we may have claims for petrol and travel from the “E” Squadron men, not so from the Lone Wolves, but they will have subsistence from time to time, travel warrants to get home on leave. So we need to be organised. To make it more complicated we need to train for the Congo as well.

  ‘And the new men will all have a next of kin, we need to know, and phone numbers of units in case of accidents.’

  ‘They filled in forms,’ O’Leary put in. ‘Should hand them in when they get here, some last minute drop outs. I have a list and some details, but it’s not complete.’

  I clapped my hands, and sat. ‘Right, let’s make some plans, delegate some tasks. First, we’ll need to hire some coaches and minibuses for the Lone Wolves.’

  ‘RAF Brize Norton will accommodate us,’ the Major put in. ‘They’ll support us on a few logistics. Got the use of their pool as well.’

  I faced O’Leary. ‘Folding stock AK47s, on loan, for the Congo.’

  He made a note. ‘Bob has some strange kit for ... altimeters.’

  ‘Yes, I was expecting it, good.’

  ‘And a strange kitbag with a parachute attached,’ O’Leary added.

  We were still at it an hour later, plans made, tasks delegated, and the Major would be busy, our admin corporal to be kept busy.

  As we broke up the meeting the RSM drove in and parked-up. ‘Bored were you,’ I teased. ‘Time out the office?’

  ‘Dispersed stores.’

  Green three-tonne lorries trundled up. ‘Two yellow sheds,’ I told him, and directed the lorries, regulars offloading crates and boxes and stacking them in the sheds. They also unloaded canoes and zodiacs, and a strange assortment of dusty old kit from the old Boat House in Hereford, puzzling the Mi8 buzzing about - and landing badly, the Skyvan seen taking up lads.

  I drove around and observed as Sandra learnt to arch her back, close her legs and bend her knees, then roll.

  With the Skyvan down, Pete stood with me, I asked him, ‘Got any tandem chutes?’

  ‘Four, no instructors bar me, and I’m flying it.’

  ‘Rocko,’ I called. ‘Tandem rig, take Sandra up. Try that first.’

  Pete assisted Rocko, Sandra puzzling the odd arrangement, Henri, Jacque and Travis with freefall rigs, and off they went, the RSM coming over in his car.

  ‘Lot of warm bodies here,’ he noted.
r />   ‘Come back next week, another twenty five.’

  ‘This new Lone Wolf thing?’

  ‘Yeah, and some old “E” Squadron guys.’

  ‘The Colonel ... seems better these days,’ the RSM delicately floated as the Skyvan took off.

  ‘We get on fine now,’ I responded. ‘How’re things in the new base?’

  ‘Old base is a ghost town now, a bit sad for me, I was there a long time. But the new base is modern, some high tech facilities for Intels and Signals, blue carpet and white ceiling tiles – feels like a London office compared to the old base.’

  ‘You staying to the end?’ I teased.

  ‘Applied for a commission.’

  ‘Wow, a traitor to the poor humble lads.’

  ‘Look who’s talking, Captain.’

  A few minutes later the Skyvan came over, dots appeared, and we observed as the dots grew, four chutes deployed in time, and they all headed straight for us, Rocko landing well enough – but ending up in a heap with Sandra as we grabbed his chute. Unbuckled, she stood, taking off the helmet and goggles.

  ‘How was it?’ I asked.

  ‘I was very scared at first, and the wind was tremendous, but now I like when I land safe.’

  ‘Good. Rocko, take her straight back up, three different lads.’

  ‘What ... now?’ Sandra queried. ‘I want the toilet.’

  ‘Bushes over there, be quick,’ I told her.

  ‘No one looking,’ Mouri told her with a cheeky grin, getting glared at by Sandra.

  She cursed something in a foreign tongue as she ran to the bushes, the lads collecting chutes, the Skyvan landing, the Mi8 seemingly being flown sideways by a drunk.

  ‘Who’s flying that Mi8?’ the RSM puzzled.

  ‘Captain Moran is having lessons. Tough bird to master apparently, all the instructions in Russian.’ I turned to face him squarely. ‘Listen, I could use a good man to assist with the Lone Wolf programme, some territorials now and then.’