Wilco- Lone Wolf 5

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Sure, I have some time, I’ll rope in some lads.’

  ‘Work out what days you can, call me. And I want you to talk to them about Oman, the Gulf War, and SAS attitude...’

  When my phone went it was Bob. ‘Hey Bob, how’s London?’

  ‘Greyish, as usual.’

  ‘We just threw Sandra out a plane.’

  ‘You did? Why, for god’s sake?’

  ‘We may go in my chute.’

  ‘I would have sent in ahead to scout around. Please don’t damage her.’

  ‘She’s having weapons training, keeping fit, and now parachuting. So she won’t slow us up any.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well I was ringing about Sasha.’

  ‘He better?’

  ‘All better, getting fit, and willing to work for us.’

  ‘For us, or with us? He could make money back with Tomsk.’

  ‘He doesn’t like Tomsk much, he had his near death experience as well, and he’s accepted a deal with us; right to live here, wage. He’s already provided valuable intel on a few people.’

  ‘What you got in mind for him?’

  ‘The Congo, for now.’

  ‘Congo? Well, yes, be ideally suited. Him and me, we could pretend to be Russian arms dealers.’

  ‘You could do Petrov, and there’s a Russian we’re interested in, and he’s in the same town as Roach. They may even know each other.’

  ‘Two birds with one stone. Send Sasha to me, he needs some training if he’s coming.’

  ‘You’ll have to explain him away.’

  ‘Fine, don’t worry. Got a fake ID for him?’

  ‘Got a whole new identity for him and back story, and he’s memorised it.’

  ‘He’s not called John Smith, is he?’ I teased.

  ‘Sasha Lubov, son of a Russian defector in the 1960s.’

  ‘Now get him another ID, for the Congo, make him a bad boy with a record.’

  ‘He could ... use his original. Do you think Tomsk would be mad if he found out?’

  ‘Not sure, but I doubt it. Let me make up a story and call Tomsk.’

  With the RSM chatting to lads around me, I stepped away and called Tomsk, getting Big Sasha.

  ‘Hey Big Lump.’

  ‘Petrov. And I’m not a big lump, eh.’

  I laughed. ‘Is the midget around?’ I waited.

  ‘I’m not a fucking midget!’ came a minute later.

  ‘You are to me. Listen, No.2, he’s not dead, he’s in a prison in Bogota.’

  ‘Alive, eh. Been there are while, and busted up?’

  ‘He was badly hurt, somehow the communists got him, then lost him. My English contact will try and get him out.’

  ‘And do what with him?’

  ‘Probably question him at length, and try and turn him.’

  ‘I could ask for him back, no, we have good relations with your man.’

  ‘I’ll chat to No.2 on the phone when he gets outside Colombia, if the deal goes through, see what he says. For all we know he lost an arm and a leg.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Well if he survived the crash he’d be in a bad way. How are you healing these days?’

  ‘I can walk OK, but get migraines, back is a problem. Bed sweats are a problem, hot and cold all night, and I don’t shit very well these days.’

  ‘You’re a walking dead man, my friend.’

  ‘How’s your empire coming along?’

  ‘We hit the communists just across the border, did well, be none left soon, and we hit a gang in Panama City, no bodies left behind, police got their drugs, I got their cash.’

  ‘And your waistline?’ I teased.

  ‘Better, I have a new girl, she keeps me fit, and I swim a lot now.’

  ‘I’m jealous.’

  ‘You will ... do work for the Brits?’

  ‘Will do soon, or they won’t be happy.’

  ‘Family OK?’

  ‘Daughter is OK, her mother would prefer me gone I think.’

  ‘Always the way, my friend, always – but she’ll like the money to keep coming.’

  I laughed. ‘When I’m dead she gets millions, but she don’t know about it yet – she might finish me off. I’ll let you know about No.2.’

  Sandra made her second jump without incident, Rocko being teased about his groin position, and by the end of the day she had completed three tandem drops.

  ‘I can do this now,’ she insisted. ‘I am not so afraid.’ But then went to lie down in her room and fell asleep.

  Friday evening, 5pm, and the local pub was bustling, most of my lot in it.

  Bongo offered me some crisps as we sat in a group. ‘Better than Brize,’ he idly commented. ‘No one to give me shit here.’

  ‘I could, if it would make you feel homesick,’ I said above the background noise.

  He shot me a look. ‘So this black bird is some sort of spy, eh.’

  ‘She’s a guide, but if she comes with us she trains.’

  Swifty began, ‘I think we got that Mi8 sorted, but it’s like that Mercedes truck; getting used to things an odd way around. I could take off and land if our lives depended on it.’

  ‘Skyvan?’ I asked Moran as he tackled a pub curry.

  ‘I could do it, but I’d like more practise, get some night flying in, some bad weather.’

  Sandra came in with Henri, drinks ordered, faces turning for a moment.

  ‘She making progress?’ Swifty asked, sipping his drink.

  ‘Did three tandem freefall drops, and hasn’t cracked yet. She’s fit, weapons handling is good, and she don’t like Tomo.’

  Those around the table laughed.

  Swifty said, ‘Tenner says the old timers start fighting next week.’

  ‘They’ll be too tired,’ I responded. ‘They’ll be sat popping blisters and early to bed.’

  Moran asked, ‘We not taking Nicholson to the Congo?’

  ‘No, he’s on the course with Tomo and Smitty, and this course is what Bob originally wanted for Smitty.’

  ‘Congo is a big old place,’ Moran warned.

  ‘Hence the Skyvan training, we’d be in and out on something like it,’ I said.

  ‘That Skyvan will take no more than twelve with full kit,’ Moran cautioned, and I nodded. ‘It does have a range of almost 700 miles though – if slow. Book says 19 people at most, but we topped that out a few times already, and full kit.’

  ‘For a quick para drop around here, overloading it is OK,’ I suggested over the background hum and crappy music.

  Sandra and Henri sat with Rocko and Rizzo, who made a space for her, and I kept an eye on her. Our four regular newbies were back from some course and sticking together, but as a group they were chatting to Stretch and Slider.

  I cornered the landlord. ‘Not making too much noise I hope.’

  ‘No, you’re fine there, and I’m doing good trade. Locals know to use the other bar now.’

  I could see Tomo and Smitty chatting to the young barmaid, and I was worried – we’d end up getting banned from here. Mahoney noticed them too, a look exchanged with me as he stood with Dicky and the Salties.

  An hour later, and MP Peter came in, in uniform and with pistol still on hip. He sought me out, someone behind him, then Sasha stepped out. I walked over, hands in the air, a big hug, and led him in. Faces turned towards me.

  ‘Everyone, this is Sasha, Russian Army, wanted Russian gunman, and a great friend. He’ll be with us in the Congo.’

  I thanked MP Peter, who was on guard outside, and got Sasha a large vodka. He sat with us, and I tried to introduce people.

  ‘Russian?’ Swifty asked me. ‘Isn’t there a ... you know ... security risk an all?’

  ‘He’s a defector, don’t worry. And I trained him, he’s a very good soldier.’

  ‘You trained him ... when?’ Moran puzzled.

  ‘Not allowed to say, even to you lot.’

  They exchanged looks, and started questioning Sasha about his life, and his military training.

&nbs
p; With time called, everyone mostly drunk – eyelids drooping, the gang headed for cars, but when I exited I found a police car waiting. It seemed to be here to catch drunk drivers, of which we were all very guilty. I wandered over to it and rudely knocked on the window, still in uniform – as most were.

  ‘You here for drunk drivers?’ I asked, bent over.

  ‘Been drinking, sir?’

  ‘Yes, and we’re all going to drive down that road, nothing you can do.’

  The two big coppers eased out, hats placed on. ‘Nothing we can do, sir?’

  ‘See that tree there, that’s the start of MOD property, and you’re well aware that you can’t go onto MOD property.’

  They peered at the sign. ‘We can still stop drunks getting into their vehicles, that’s still an offence, sir, even if it’s only twelve inches of public road.’

  I shook my head. ‘Two things. One, my name is Captain Wilco, SAS. Two -’ I unzipped my jacked to show my holster. ‘- all these men are armed. You can leave, or I make a phone call and end your careers.’

  Peeved, they got back into their car, and sat there, stewing as we drove the very short distance to the base. At the gate, Tomo managed to clip Travis, and there would be a bill to pay.

  Through the gate, a very drunk Travis drove straight across the grass, across the runway in a direct line to his cabin, smashing a light when he stopped. Tomo would be later found by the MPs asleep in his car, Sergeant Crab to be found wandering around and not remembering where his room was.

  In the morning, MP Peter whinged at me because it was still an offence to drink-drive on MOD land. I shrugged and told him to just ignore it – please. Sasha had the small bedroom in my house, no bedding for him yet – just a sleeping bag, and I briefed him on the base facilities, making sure the MPs knew who he was. It took some explaining.

  Checking my watch at 5pm, I called Tomsk, trying to get the time difference right. ‘Hey Big Sasha, is His Majesty around?’

  ‘Hold on.’

  A minute later came, ‘His Majesty? You think I’m ostentatious now?’

  ‘How much did you pay for that stupid painting on the wall?’

  After a pause, came, ‘It’s an investment.’

  ‘Would be, if it was any good. Listen, No.2 is in the hands of the Brits, heading here to England.’

  ‘Is he busted up?’

  ‘Not much good for soldiering, but he walks now.’

  ‘And ... you spoke to him?’

  ‘Yes, and he’s had enough of Central America for a while. The communists were not very good to him, neither the police and prisons there.’

  ‘The British will ask him about me?’

  ‘No, you they love at the moment. Besides, what does he know?’

  ‘Well, nothing important. He was not with me long before you came along.’

  ‘You know someone called Yuri Stempof?’

  ‘Yes, and I’d like to get my hands on him.’

  ‘Might get the chance, British want him, so I may go after him. He’s in the Congo.’

  ‘Congo, yes, he runs guns.’

  ‘So ... you’d give me a few dollars to kill him then?’

  ‘You just said the British want you to do the job!’

  ‘Maybe you heard it wrong,’ I said, laughing.

  ‘You’ll be doing me a favour.’

  ‘I’ll let you know if I get him.’

  That weekend I finalised the course detail for the Lone Wolf programme, and the final exercise, checking maps of the Brecon Beacons, Swifty assisting because he would be involved.

  ‘You think ... Henri and Sandra?’ he posed as we stopped for a cup of tea.

  I made a face. ‘Don’t know, and I hope not, because if one is hurt in the Congo it’s a problem.’

  ‘She’s quite cute, good figure, and seeing her fire a rifle...’

  We laughed. ‘Only you could be turned on by a girl in combats.’

  ‘This Russian...’ Swifty nudged.

  ‘He and I worked together, I can trust him with my life, and he’s shit hot. The lads won’t have a problem with him when they see what he can do.’

  Saturday night I headed out with just Sasha, and we had a long chat about old times – and the future. He was not keen to return to Tomsk, liked working with me, and was now keen to get back to some training.

  ‘I like the English country land,’ he told me. ‘Small villages, these old churches and castles.’

  ‘And risking your life for me?’

  He made a face. ‘Like before. Now, here, I am James Bond, no.’

  ‘No, you’re the enemy of James Bond, the deadly Russian assassin.’

  We laughed.

  He said, ‘If I live, and I have a house here, a car, maybe a woman, then it’s not so bad. The heat in Panama was a pain.’

  I nodded. ‘They’ll send you on jobs, dangerous jobs.’

  He made a face. ‘I’ll ask you about them if I think it’s a one way trip, but I like the excitement as well. Your men, they remind me of the men we trained, that same look, same attitude.’

  ‘Same kit, as you’ll find out Monday. Tomorrow, Sunday, we have men coming, old men from the group called “E” Squadron, assigned to Intel. Mostly they have a bad attitude, watch them. We also have a new intake of fresh faces from a sniper course I designed, they’ll be in the barracks.’

  Sasha nodded. ‘I like the idea of getting back to training men, or at least working in teams.’

  ‘You have to work very hard not to mention Petrov or Panama, they’d shoot you.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m good with these cover stories I learnt.’

  On Sunday afternoon the “E” Squadron men started to appear – some grey haired, names checked at the gate, beds adopted in the barracks, kit bags placed down. Malcolm from Bogota turned up, soon his mate, and we chatted about protecting the ambassador – and driving pink Skoda cars.

  Three others I had met briefly, the rest were unknown to me, various degrees of respect shown, and we had eleven with us, one missing.

  The Lone Wolves started to arrive from 6pm, Sgt Crab ticking a list and showing them where things were.

  When the “E” Squadron men were all gathered, I said, ‘Don’t go down the pub, you’re running at 6am.’

  ‘6am?’ a few unhappy faces queried.

  ‘You don’t have to be here,’ I told them. And I waited. ‘You can quit any time you like.’ They shut up. ‘Get some rest when you can, your poor old bodies will be sore each day. Now, downstairs are some fresh faces for a sniper course. Chat to them if you like, but if I hear one negative word then the speaker of that negative word gets a nice long stay in hospital. Is there anyone who would like to see what happens ... when you piss me off?’

  They remained silent.

  ‘Good. You lot chose to do this, so you’re in my good books, and if you do well you get to come along on jobs. You don’t need to be as fit as you were, I’m looking for a good attitude more than anything else. The rest is up to you. And there are four Regiment newbies using this room when they’re around, same deal – no negative words.’

  ‘This going to be the new Regiment base?’ one asked.

  ‘No, this is Echo, my people, but we have storage sheds for the Regiment here, some of their injured lads, some wannabes. New base is a bunch of yellow steel-roofed modern air-conditioned offices with computers.’

  ‘I heard,’ Mally said.

  ‘MOD down-sized a bit because most of the Regiment lads are away most of the time.’

  A man asked, ‘We can train here?’

  ‘You can, this is your official home base. It comes down to attitude.’

  ‘And accommodation? Batman and Robin are here,’ a man with a bushy moustache asked.

  ‘You’d have to chat to O’Leary and Bob, and then we’d assess your attitude, your take on security, and your fondness to get drunk and blab down the pub.’

  ‘But it could be possible?’ he pressed.

  ‘Yes, and there is roo
m. Impress me and we’ll see.’

  ‘What are the metal bars for outside?’

  ‘Pull-ups and push-ups,’ I explained. ‘Well, for those men young enough to still do them.’

  I waited till the wannabe Wolves were all in, and wandered into the barrack’s busy lower room, all the lads in civvy clothes.

  ‘Ten-shun!’ Sgt Crab called.

  They snapped to attention and faced me, bags dropped.

  I took in their inquisitive young faces, some quite young and appearing nervous, others looking like Rocko – and confident with it. There were round faces, sharp pointy faces, strong faces with short hair, a right old mix.

  ‘At ease, men. My name is Captain Milton, they call me Wilco,’ I loudly stated. ‘Welcome to GL4. That’s our postcode ... because we’re too lazy to give this place a decent name.’

  I stepped forwards. ‘Get settled in, rest, canteen is open late for you lot, open till 10pm, and there’s a NAAFI shop. 6am in the morning, kit on, green lightweight trousers, shirt and jacket, well-worn boots, green cap on your head, no berets.’ I stopped. ‘Any NCOs?’

  Several raised hands. ‘Swann and Leggit, sir, Sniper School,’ the two closest said.

  ‘Welcome. Nicholson is across the way in the white cabins.’ I faced the main group. ‘Those that are NCOs, don’t wear rank unless it’s sewn in, you’re all candidates here, you don’t give orders to others, but we may appoint people as team leaders.

  ‘Now listen up. Upstairs are some old timers, and you’ll come across SAS regulars, time-served like Sgt Crab here. If you sit and chat to them you may find they have attitude – not Sgt Crab here. Some old timers will tell you that it’s all a load of bollocks and that you’re better off out, being a painter decorator.

  ‘Such men never made an effort, they never achieved anything, they wasted their time. I got up early and ran, I studied, and I got back from the military what I put in. It’s quite simple: you make an effort, you get noticed, you get the good jobs, and if you’re really unlucky ... you work for someone like me.

  ‘If someone says to you – you’re better off elsewhere, then your response should be: why don’t you fuck off elsewhere then. They had their chance, they fucked it up. This is your chance. Now, who are the lads that did time in the Glasshouse?’