by Geoff Wolak
‘Well, yes, but a hell of a risk taking him.’
‘If I have a doubt I’ll isolate him, but Sasha could arrange an accident after we make a plan. I need Roach to think he’s safe till the day of the job.’
‘A risk, but yes – we need Roach being smug.’
Before I went to bed I checked the doors and windows, but also knew that the MPs would have a man watching all night, our kit being well guarded by a keen wet nose and sharp teeth.
I had just started to relax when my phone trilled, a silent curse issued. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Bob, sorry to wake you, but we have Mally’s prints on the window at the para school.’
I let out a long sigh. ‘Could it be ... that maybe he just got drunk and wanted to spite us?’
‘Either way, he’s our man.’
‘Don’t be hasty, check the print pattern. If I was going to do something like this I’d want a fall guy.’
‘There’re there now, I’ll have them double check.’
Ten minutes later he was back on. ‘You’re a pain in the arse sometimes, you know that.’
‘What’d I do?’
‘Those prints, odd pattern, so they could have been placed.’
‘Either way, we proceed carefully.’
‘Yes. Goodnight.’
I was asleep when the shots rang out, the dog-barking waking me, and I was not sure what I had heard. But when the floodlights came on, the base alarm sounding out, I was left in no doubt, scrambling for my clothes, trainers eased on, pistol in hand and down the stairs in the dark, someone following me.
Out the front door I knelt, an MP running in with his rifle, someone else around the back of my house.
Russian words identified Sasha as we moved cautiously around the house. An MP stood with dog barking, his rifle slung, someone knelt by the outer fence facing outwards.
‘Intruder down!’ MP Peter called through the dark.
Swifty moved in alongside me as I advanced towards Peter. ‘I was having a lovely dream...’
‘What happened?’ I asked Peter.
‘Man in the field, moving stealthily. I observed him for a while, but then he seemed to have spotted me so I shot him. Ten or twelve times.’
‘Did you shout a warning?’ I asked as I stood.
‘Er ... should I have?’
‘I heard a warning shouted,’ I told him. ‘That’s what woke me.’
‘Me too,’ came Swifty’s voice. ‘And next time, shout quietly, get a fucking silencer as well. And can someone turn off that fucking alarm?’
I turned my head to the dog handler. ‘What did you hear?’
‘I heard a warning given, sir.’
‘Go around, let the dog loose, see if that guy is alive.’
‘He ain’t alive,’ MP Peter muttered as the dog handler ran off.
I lifted my phone as Moran came running with Mahoney, pistols in hands, and dialled SIS.
‘Duty officer.’
‘It’s Wilco, SAS, at the GL4 base. Attack in progress, shots fired, man down. Get me MPs from Brize Norton, police and SOCO, helicopter or two.’
Phone away, the alarm was cut.
‘Captain Moran, I want everyone in uniform, kitted out, weapons and ammo. Use the old SLRs, our kit is boxed up.’ I pointed at an MP as Moran, Mahoney and Swifty ran off. ‘Go wake everyone in the white cabins. Especially Bongo the armourer. Bang loudly!’
I observed as the dog eventually got the body, barking at it, biting it, but then settling when it got no response, the MP closing in from the side, MP Peter covering his mate.
‘This guy is dead, fucking round through his head, most of his head missing!’ came from the field.
‘Good shooting,’ I commended. ‘Fifty yards, and dark.’
‘He has a pistol!’ came to us.
‘Check for bombs!’ I shouted. ‘And put that pistol in his hand.’
‘No bombs,’ came back.
‘Then he was not alone,’ I suggested. ‘Maybe a decoy. We need a full sweep.’
Shots echoed across the airfield, so we ran to the MPs Land Rover.
MP Peter raised his radio. ‘Report!’
‘Man down, but he shot my fucking dog!’
We drove straight across the grass, screeching to a halt in front of the brightly lit hangar, a dead dog and a dead intruder on the damp concrete.
I checked the body, a pistol found. ‘Just a fucking pistol?’
Boots on tarmac announced a four-man team running in, uniforms and pistols; Nicholson, Smitty, Tomo and Gonzo.
‘Search the back of the hangar,’ I told them. ‘Team covering positions, be careful.’
They ran around the hangar, Nicholson back just a few seconds later. ‘There’s a bag, Boss.’
The MP had a torch, so we ran around. I knelt, opening the bag. ‘Petrol, grenades, Cemtex even. That’s more like it, proper attack.’
I lifted my phone, moving people away from it.
‘Duty officer.’
‘It’s Wilco, SAS. We just found Cemtex, second intruder killed, get bomb disposal down here pronto.’
Call cut, it rang straight away. ‘It’s Bob, what’s happened?’ came a fraught voice.
‘Two intruders, pistols, grenades, Cemtex.’
‘Cemtex? Jesus.’
‘These ain’t “E” Squadron lads.’
‘No, I should think not. And they know you sleep with a pistol. You’ll leave as planned?’
‘Why not? Got to be safer than around here.’
‘Only you could be so casual about something like this.’
‘We need an ID on the bodies by the morning.’
‘I’m heading into the office. I’ll get local SOCO to send prints and photos up to us.’
The lads started to appear, driving around, uniforms on, SLRs grabbed, or the last few AK47s.
‘Staff Sergeant Rocko, I want you and three men, outside the wire, torches, look for prints, follow them back to a car. Mahoney, Swifty, in your car, out the gate, keep turning left, find that car. And watch out for a get-away driver. Go. Rizzo, protect the barracks, check that area.’
They all moved off, much asking about torches – and where to pigging find some.
Our divorcee Intel captain turned up looking flustered, but with no weapon. ‘What can I do?’
‘Come with me, collect all the torches from stores.’
With torches handed out to Rocko, and then Rizzo’s team near the barracks, I headed inside the barrack block. The Wolves were all up and in uniform.
‘OK, listen up,’ I loudly called, Tomo and Smitty now back, SLRs in hand, the Wolves all stood by their beds as if for inspection. ‘You’ll be up all night, you can sleep in the morning. As you may have heard, two men tried to infiltrate this place, armed with pistols and a bomb.’
‘IRA?’ one of the civvies asked.
‘No. We ... have an idea who they may work for. Not to worry, they were amateurs, we killed them, and this thing doesn’t happen often.’
Tomo and Smitty laughed. Tomo said. ‘A dozen people have tried to kill you, and that’s just this year.’
I pointed a finger at him. ‘It was no more than nine ... don’t exaggerate.’ I took in their faces. ‘You lot need to face the security issues with what you do, or intend to do; someone may come for you at home. They’d only do that if you blab down the pub about what you do. Here ... well, lots of people know we’re here.
‘Now, there are six armed MPs, with dogs – one dog a bit dead, and they foiled this attempt, and they’d foil the next one so relax, but be vigilant. If you’re afraid, then ... maybe you should consider a change of career. Keep the lights on, lie down. My lads, stay here, stay sharp, set a stag with the NCOs here.’
Outside, the gate offered flashing blue lights, and I could hear a helicopter. Moran ran over. ‘I had a look at the Cemtex, laid it out. Bomb hadn’t been primed, basic timer fuse – reminded me of Northern Ireland.’
‘Let Bomb Disposal earn their ke
ep.’
‘Would they have blown up our kit?’ he puzzled.
‘Would set us back, delay us,’ I thought out loud. ‘But if the bomb was in the kit, that would have been an issue. In the morning, open everything, have a good look.’
He nodded. ‘Roach knows we’re coming.’
‘That he does.’
‘We still go for him?’
‘Sasha will.’
‘Sasha?’
‘Sasha is a ... well known Russian gunman working for another well known Russian. He can call in favours down there. But don’t mention that to anyone.’
‘Roach won’t know about Sasha,’ Moran noted as we peered up at the police helicopter now making its presence felt.
Mahoney drove around with Swifty, to the floodlit hangar front. ‘Found the car,’ he began. ‘Hidden in a lane. I put a round in the tyres, save it driving off in case we missed someone. Sent the cops to it, got the registration to the cops.’ He focused on me. ‘We still going?’
‘Yes.’
‘Be a warm welcome,’ he cautioned.
‘There are things you don’t know, and I hold all the aces,’ I told them. ‘Relax.’
Moran put in, ‘That MP was upset, his dog killed.’
‘They raise them from pups, train them, live at home – it’s like losing a child,’ I explained.
When Rocko returned, he had found the prints backtracking to the car, the police at the car. It had been two men, and just two men.
I called Bob. ‘You in the office?
‘Yes, manic here. And I’ve trebled security at Brize Norton, and your aircraft will be searched, and guarded, extra security in Kenya.’
‘We got the getaway car, found the footprints - just two men. What I’m thinking here, Bob, is that these men knew little of our abilities. Ten quid says they’re foreign.’
‘We should know soon, we have the registration of that car – stolen in London.’
‘”E” Squadron men wouldn’t steal a car in London.’
‘No,’ he agreed.
‘And this could have been better planned. Whoever planned it was not ex-SAS.’
‘Maybe they had limited time, men and resources.’
‘Maybe,’ I agreed. ‘But it looked like they were set to blow up our kit, or put the bomb in our kit. First man was coming for me, but he had little chance, I’m a light sleeper.’
‘They don’t know that.’
‘Mally does, he was with me in Bogota.’
‘Well ... still not sure about him, but he could have made a better job of it, yes.’
‘Those chutes would have been checked in Kenya, and probably spotted. So far I’m not that impressed with Roach.’
‘As I said, limited time and resources. But this does suggest he’s not well protected down there, or he’d have set a trap in-country. Doesn’t sound like he has a hundred well-armed men around him.’
‘Good point, and yes, it seems odd,’ I agreed. ‘What about our Moldova gang?’
‘That might make more sense, with Roach providing the Intel on you.’
‘Roach would never assume six armed MPs on duty,’ I pointed out. ‘They never had armed men on duty at the old SAS base.’
‘True. Anyhow, you can sleep on the plane.’
‘Will have to, we’ll be up all night.’
As the dawn came up, a cool fresh breeze blowing, my lads were still patrolling, several police cars dotted around with armed officers, SOCO men in white overalls moving around, Bomb Disposal just now heading home after two controlled explosions on the grass. We’d not be popular in the village in the morning.
The bodies had been removed, two Land Rovers from Brize Norton here, RAF MPs patrolling around. The dead dog had been bagged up and taken away, the blood washed down before Max drove in, having been to see relatives down in Bristol.
‘What the fuck happened?’ he asked.
‘What happened ... was that you got yourself an exclusive,’ I teased. We filled him in on the detail, told him what he could and could not report, and he took snaps, his kit set-up to send in the detail to London, and he was on the phone for ages.
With RAF buses due in an hour, I called in all the lads to hangar. ‘OK, listen up. Weapons back to the armoury, someone find Bongo and wake him, then we unload all our kit, open it and check it, and we search the lorries and jeeps. They came with a bomb, we stopped them, but maybe they had two. So, we search ... or a bomb goes off mid-flight. We have under an hour till the buses get here.’
Half an hour later, and Mally drove in, kit down. ‘What the fuck happened here?’
‘Two men tried to sneak in with a bomb, we killed them,’ I told him, gauging his reaction. ‘Seems like they wanted to put the bomb in the kit, timer so that it would go off mid-flight.’
He looked terrified. ‘Who?’
‘Don’t know yet, but some have suggested Colonel Roach, since he’s hiding out in the Congo.’
Mally’s face dropped. ‘Roach?’
‘Is there ... something you should be telling me now, before we find out later?’
He took a moment, a glance past me. ‘I had a visit, odd visit, old friend, Stan they call him, we served together. He mentioned Roach. And that he was recruiting men.’
‘And..?’
‘Told him I wasn’t interested, I’d not do mercenary work in Africa.’
‘But you should have reported that conversation.’
He lowered his head. ‘Well, should have done, maybe.’
I inched closer to him. ‘Our chutes were tampered with, but we spotted it.’ His eyes widened. ‘Your prints were found on the window that was forced.’
He looked horrified. ‘My ... prints?’
‘I think your friend Stan wanted more than just a chat, he wanted your prints as well. Bob is considering ... a shallow grave for you somewhere.’
‘I ... I didn’t tamper with anything.’
‘Then your good buddy Stan got your prints and stole your car. And set you up to get yourself killed, or a life term in prison.’
‘That ... bastard.’
‘So, this is what you’re going to do for me. One, you don’t reveal this to anyone yet. Two, you turn your shiny red car around, drive home, and start finding out who else Stan spoke to, go visit all of your old buddies – be insistent. And maybe ... you stay out of prison.’
‘If I find him, the police will find his fucking entrails.’
I made a call as Mally drove off.
‘Duty officer.’
‘It’s Wilco, SAS. I want an all-out effort made to find an ex-SAS trooper known as Stan. He’s our man behind the attack, let Bob know. And have the airports look out for him.’
An exhaustive search of the base revealed no bombs – but one field mouse wanting a ride to a sunny climate, and when the buses arrived we loaded up, using the buses’ luggage spaces for our metal crates, and in two buses we headed to Brize Norton with MPs and police in tow.
At Brize Norton we found police on the gate, and MPs at the Departures Lounge, few about this early on a Sunday. And as expected, we had to sit around and wait two hours, not least because explosives sniffer dogs were tearing our ride apart.
The 2 Squadron RAF Regiment lads turned up in time, two flights of them – our Externals in the mix, so too the Medics, but they had not caused the delay, and I welcomed them all like a zombie. The Pathfinders eight-man team was here, but with an officer in tow for some reason. SIGINT would be on a different flight.
At least Max was happy, re-acquainting himself with old friends.
‘You OK, sir?’ was asked of me a few times as I sat looking tired, last night’s excitement recalled to amazed listeners, not least because they expected a warm welcome in Africa, Morten more than just a bit concerned.
Morten headed off with a medic and returned with sandwiches, plenty of them, my lot starving. Tea from a vendor washed down the sandwiches, till the vendor stopped working.
We finally boarded, and I fina
lly closed my eyes, everyone told to be quiet. Since everyone was as tired as I was, it was like telling the dog to chew its bone.
I woke seven hours later, stiff, my neck aching, our aircraft not far from its destination, the RAF aircrew come hostesses fetching me a tea, and I slowly started to feel better, my lads stirring.
Our ride landed at Nairobi for some reason, not the base – which did have a perfectly good runway, and civvy buses were waiting for the two hour journey, which became three hours as the sun set. Our dangerous and valuable kit was left to local airport handlers and civvy lorries, not impressing us.
Sun down, and we finally pulled up next to single storey buildings with parched grass neatly edged by whitewashed pebbles and stones, armed MPs on duty – stood in short-sleeved shirts. Kit out of the buses luggage area, and we wandered inside where directed, brass ceiling fans working but no air conditioning, beds grabbed, this billet just about big enough for us all – Sandra and Sasha in with us.
Kit down, I took a wander, finding a MP sergeant directing his men. The Medics were next door, 2 Squadron beyond them, then the Pathfinders in a billet with plenty of spare beds.
‘Sergeant, you in charge?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell your men to stay sharp, we’re expecting trouble.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes, here, professional gunmen, mercenaries.’
‘Why would they come here, sir?’
‘Because we’re planning on flying to where they are ... and killing the fuckers.’
‘Oh, right, sir. And you are..?’
‘Wilco, SAS.’
‘SAS? We were told it was RAF.’
‘And do the RAF usually need this much security?’ I barked.
‘Well, no sir. Your lot have a room here on the base, sir, the SAS, there’s a major there. And sir, you seem to have mixed men and ladies..?’
‘So what; they work like that in the field. No separate lady’s tent in the jungle, Sergeant. Now, how about some food and water?’
‘Officers mess will be open, sergeants mess will be open late, enlisted men’s canteen ... well, there are several, but you’re supposed to be isolated, sir. Shop not far that sells bottled water, will take English money.’