Wilco- Lone Wolf 5
Page 43
‘Fifty odd.’
‘In two fucking trucks?’ I queried.
‘Bit of a squeeze in the back.’
‘Knobbers,’ Swifty repeated.
‘Rocko, Rizzo, Salties, your teams, up the back of the steep ridge to me. Who else is down there?’
‘Pathfinders here, Boss.’
‘Go straight for the villa, don’t be seen, get to the wall.’
‘Haines here as well.’
‘Go far left and around, don’t be seen, watch those machineguns on the roof.’ I could see the trucks driving off. ‘Where’re the trucks going?’
‘Off for the rest, and the Wolves,’ Rocko reported. ‘They’re jogging this way.’
‘French?’
‘Fucking loads of them, tabbing this way, long line of them.’
‘OK.’
Peering through my sights, I waited as the team came up and around, soon heard, and I directed them along, and to take up position. I had my team back-up and get behind a log. Swifty was under the log, dirt mound to his front.
‘This is Haines, we’re in position to snipe at them.’
‘Hold for now, report any close movement.’
‘Pathfinders here, there’s a dead guy and his dog, but the dog is still twitching.’
‘Move past, backs to the wall, watch your sides, watch that doorway.’ I eased down behind the log, and took a drink.
‘Ambush?’ Moran nudged, so I made a call.
Captain Harris reported, ‘Bit of a mess. Some hostages killed, one French soldier, some wounded, some SAS wounded. The SAS are holding off the blacks, the French drove the trucks off to the strip, aircraft should be there by now.’
‘OK, thanks. Echo are here, plus Externals, waiting on the rest before we move.’ Phone down, I found expectant faces. ‘Some killed and wounded on our side, some hostages killed, but the hostages are at the strip, planes landing, SAS holding off the irregulars.’
‘Day ain’t over yet,’ Swifty noted.
Moran suggested, ‘If we hit the compound, maybe they’ll call back their men. Take the pressure off “A” Squadron.’
I gave that some thought, then nodded. I clicked on the radio. ‘All of Echo on the ridge, snipe at the men on the roof. Open fire.’
Cracks sounded out, Swifty firing, soon a crackle of automatic fire, but no rounds came our way.
‘Got six of them,’ Mahoney noted. ‘Rest are hiding.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Shoot out all the windows. Haines, your men as well.’
I peeked over the log, seeing the windows shatter. My phone trilled.
‘It’s Sasha, we are near the compound, we hear firing.’
‘How far?
‘Say ... six hundred, under.’
‘Open up on any movement, and any vehicles. Don’t take risks.’ Phone down, the cracks sounded out, but we were getting very little incoming fire.
‘Where are they?’ Moran asked. ‘Sleeping?’
‘Haines for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘There’s an air vent behind me. Is there something under us?’
‘Tunnels!’ I shouted. ‘Everyone watch out for tunnels. Watch your rear. Haines, try and find where it comes out.’
Rounds hammered into my log and we got down. ‘Where’s that coming from?’ I shouted.
Swifty said, ‘Patch of grass down there on the left. Fucking tunnel firing position.’
‘Haines, try and withdraw sharpish, stay low. Pathfinders, stay down, they have tunnels - and they can shoot out from them. Hide yourselves. Salties, back down the ridge the way you came, see what you can spot.’
‘Need smoke,’ Swifty said, and started firing rapidly.
‘What you aiming at?’ I asked.
‘That fucking chopper.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Those with a shot, hit that chopper.’
‘This is the Pathfinders, we’re close to it, so we’ll do it, rest of you fuck off firing at us.’
Bursts of fire were followed by, ‘It’s on fire!’
I peeked over the log, seeing a blaze, and plenty of smoke. ‘Pathfinders, sneak along to the doorway, shoot vehicles and try and set them ablaze.’
‘Moving.’
‘It’s Rocko, we can hit vehicles from here.’
‘Do so.’
I called Sasha. ‘Move in. Make some noise, start fires. They have tunnels, they’re all in tunnels.’
‘OK, moving now.’
‘Haines, you hear me? Got grenades?’
‘Yes.’
‘Get to that vent you saw, break it and drop some.’
‘We’ve got smoke as well.’
‘Drop it down.’
‘Moving now.’
Another burst of fire raked my position, keeping our heads down.
‘The main man has a panic room, I bet,’ Mahoney said. ‘Could survive in there for weeks.’
‘He’ll have a redecorating bill when he emerges,’ Moran quipped.
‘It’s Rizzo, got two trucks alight, plenty of smoke.’
‘Good, keep at it.’
‘It’s Haines, we shot the vent and dropped grenades, heard screams, dropping smoke now.’
I lifted my head up and peered down the slope to Haines just as the ground down there very oddly lifted and dropped back. The blast hit us, and flames climbed high in several places.
‘What the fuck!’ came from several directions.
‘Haines, you alive?’
‘Bit shaken up, just got tossed twenty yards, dropped our rifles. I think something exploded.’
Laughter came from the ridge, and I shook my head, a look exchanged with Moran through our facemasks.
‘Look,’ Swifty said. ‘The house.’ Smoke was now billowing from several windows. ‘They had RPG or something in the tunnels,’ Swifty added.
‘Trucks coming,’ came Dicky’s voice. ‘Our lads.’
‘Go meet them, be careful, watch for tunnels.’
‘There!’ Swifty shouted, and we looked at the compound, local black men seen running.
‘Open fire on the compound!’ I transmitted.
Five minutes later came, ‘It’s Dicky, where’d you want these lads?’
‘Who are they?’ I asked.
‘Crab and the Wolves, bunch of French.’
‘This is Sergeant Crab.’
‘Sergeant, move left around the wall, stay 200yards from it, meet up with Sasha near the road. Oh, you got RPG?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Fire them from where you are, aim high, hit the building. Dicky, have the French search for tunnels.’
‘OK, will do.’
A minute later an RPG whooshed past us and went straight through a window, the blast blowing out glass, smoke billowing. Three RPGs followed in quick succession, one hitting a wall, two penetrating the windows and exploding within rooms.
Five RPGs followed, five after that, the building pock-marked and smoking, a fire seen. They were taking a beating.
With the RPGs finished, Crab moved off left.
‘Pathfinders for Wilco: most of them are at the front of the house.’
‘Go right, around the wall to the road, snipe at them.’
‘Moving.’
‘Haines, you alive?’
‘I bit woosy, two men concussed.’
‘Stay where you are, protect our rear, and look for tunnels.’
Ten minutes later, Crab came on. ‘There’s fucking loads on the road and over the road.’
‘Then shoot the fuckers!’ I responded.
Automatic fire sounded out, and we peaked out.
‘That’s those Russian box-fed machineguns,’ Mahoney casually noted.
‘Roof!’ Swifty noted, and fired.
I got comfy behind the log and fired at heads peaking over the roof walls, damn hard to hit, the wafting smoke not helping.
‘It’s Dicky, trucks are back.’
‘Have the French assemble ready, wait for them all.’
I turned my head to Moran. ‘Go down, liaise.’
He moved off bent-double as I watched, and after chatting to the French captain in charge he asked what the plan was.
I said, ‘This is their hostage taker, their attack, their glory. They go in through the side gate and take the building, we cover.’
We soon saw two lines of French soldiers running bent-double below us, past the burning helicopter and to the wall, soon spread left and right of the wall. As I peered down, they lobbed grenades over the wall, a dozen overlapping blasts echoing, soon cautiously moving inside in squads.
‘This is Wilco, to all British soldiers, fire at the upper windows and roof.’ I aimed, and put two rounds into each window in turn, soon seeing the French enter a side door. ‘Ceasefire! Listen up, French are inside the building, I repeat – French are inside the building, do not fire at the building, only fire at a black face, and only then if you are sure. Check your fire!’
I lifted up. ‘On me! Echo on me! And facemasks off!’
We moved down the back of the slope, sliding some of the way, around to Haines – grabbed Dicky and the Salties, and followed the well-worn muddy route the French had taken to the side door in the wall, still a squad of French knelt there. Seeing us, they moved inside.
‘Spread along!’ I shouted, my back to the wall, Swifty peeking inside, Rocko the other side of him, small arms fire echoing.
Two French soldiers dragged a third with a wound, out past us, put him on the grass and started work on him.
I transmitted, ‘Pathfinders report.’
‘Most ran off down the road. A few stragglers.’
‘Sergeant Crab, report.’
‘Fuck all left to shoot at, they drove off or ran off.’
Another French soldier was dragged out and worked on, two more with minor wounds as the echo of gunfire ceased. I led my team inside, but upright and casual, and to the door.
A French soldier came out, and seeing me said, ‘Come.’
I followed him inside along a white marble floor, past smashed vases and upturned furniture, past bodies, and to a group stood next to solid double doors.
‘Panic room,’ Moran informed me.
I banged the doors with a fist.
‘Metal, not wood,’ the French captain said.
I turned to Moran. ‘Have them look around for RPG or explosives, there must be an outbuilding somewhere.’
Moran shouted orders in French, radios messages sent.
As we waited, I faced Moran. ‘Did you ... happen to breach the house with the French, Captain?’
He took a moment, and shrugged, knowing what he had done wrong, the French not understanding.
Boots echoed, and pairs of French soldiers brought long wooden boxes held by rope handles. In the first sat ten anti-tank mines, RPGs in the next.
‘Swifty, get to work. Everyone else out, and on the double, headcount beyond the wall!’
Moran shouted orders and the French ran, my lot with them. It grew quiet as I helped Swifty stack the mines up against the wall, fuses out. Safety cap off an RPG, Swifty placed the end in the hole left for a mine’s fuse. Under the RPG he placed paper card, then straw from the wrapping, finally newspapers.
He looked up. ‘Doorway. Check they’re all out.’
I ran down the marble-floored corridor and out, not seeing anyone. ‘Anyone who can hear this, withdraw on the double, building set to blow. Run like fuck. Pathfinders, report.’
‘We’re running,’ came a strained voice.
‘Sergeant Crab?’
‘We’re moving away.’
‘Sasha with you?’
‘Yeah, all here.’
‘Everyone do a headcount. Moran, where are the French?’
‘Back beyond the burning chopper.’
‘Have them headcount, wounded on the trucks, send the trucks now.’
I peered down the long corridor as Swifty came running. Turning as he drew level, we ran to the gate in the wall, his footsteps echoing - so I knew he was with me, and we made it through the gate, soon passing the burning chopper and its acrid smoke, and to the tail end of the French column. We eased to a walk and glanced back.
‘Sure you set it right?’ I asked.
‘I ain’t going back in there,’ he adamantly stated.
The blast was seen before it was heard, the smoke billowing out the side of the building and, as we watched with the French, the top two floors dropped onto the lower floor, a massive plume of dust and smoke rising.
‘Buried them in the safe room,’ Swifty noted.
‘Must be a tunnel somewhere,’ I noted. ‘Fucker might have gotten away.’
As I reached Haines the trucks were driving off, full of French, their wounded having been loaded, a hundred men stood around.
‘Two of ours on the truck,’ Haines reported.
I took in their damp muddy clothes, some of the Externals wide-eyed and panting after the action, a glance back at the rising smoke. ‘OK everyone, long walk, in your teams, Echo first.’
I stepped down off the plane to find the Major waiting with the JIC and the MOD staff, plus many from SIGINT, Samantha smiling.
‘Still in one piece?’ the Major asked.
‘Only a few French lads wounded, sir,’ I responded as I halted. ‘What about at the ambush?’
‘Two hostages killed, a few wounded, one French lad dead, eight wounded, two SAS wounded – not serious. And Sandra.’
My face dropped. ‘Sandra?’
‘Through and through, she’ll make it.’
‘She insisted on some action,’ I said, shaking my head.
‘Shouldn’t have been there in the first place,’ the Major loudly complained.
‘Bob would send her into danger anytime.’
We turned and walked, a lengthy debrief on the cards, my damp muddy state the subject of some debate.
‘And this chap Jamal?’ the JIC asked after I was halfway through a cup of tea.
‘Locked himself inside a safe room, and the French used too much explosives to try and blow the lock, brought the house down on his head.’
They exchanged disapproving looks.
Captain Harris reported, ‘Fifty seven hostages alive, and given the complexity of this – a damned good show; three operational HALO drops. French are jubilant, all over the French news. Max got pictures out to Reuters.’
Back at the billet I dropped my sodden muddy kit on the floor, a shower needed, many of the men sleeping already, a few washing. After a lukewarm dribble of a shower I was clean, dry clothes on, and on my bed I spooned out a tin of meat, washed down with warm water from my bottle.
And, as I observed, things either crawled or slithered out of my webbing. Easing back on the bed’s dusty mattress, I came down off the high, and slowed down, suddenly feeling like something had been left behind or lost. It was almost a sad feeling.
After a brief two-hour sleep I was awake, and so I cleaned my muddy kit and rifle – creepy crawlies and leaves removed, a few men stirring, and I headed out into a warm but overcast day.
I checked in on the medics and what they had done, what wounds were treated in the backs of planes. The Mi8 pair of medics had been diverted to the SAS strip and had worked on wounded men, and had then flown back in the French transports. The Mi8 flew back with just the pilots.
Next I checked in on 2 Squadron, most sleeping, a few missing and off to hospital - possibly some inner ear damage, then jogged across to the Wolves, finding Sasha with his gang sat cleaning weapons.
He jumped up and shouted, and we hugged. ‘I survived another battle.’
‘And your team?’
‘They did well, no injuries, some scratches.’
I thanked his team and chatted for a while, then moved along the line of Wolves as they sat in the sand, all tired, but all in good spirits. Leggit and Swan, the Sniper School corporals, were in high spirits, and they c
laimed many kills, Tomo and Smitty winding them up. I thanked Crab and Duffy, who were now going to get some much needed sleep, and I finally wandered back to the command room.
‘What’s the plan now?’ Captain Harris asked.
‘If Bob and the MOD agree it, we’ll train the Wolves here a little longer,’ I told them.
The Major began, “A” Squadron will go back to Kenya and finish their stint there. French are packing up as we speak.’
‘And Major Chalmers?’ I nudged.
‘Has been reprimanded, but will carry on for now. You going to push for an enquiry?’
‘No, sir.’
The JIC mandarin shook my hand. ‘We’ll be off on the next plane, so well done on a good show.’
‘Thank you, sir. Safe flight.’
Samantha mentioned, ‘I’ll interview the Wolves tomorrow, this has been an excellent field study.’
I nodded as the Major shot her a look.
Outside, in the bright sunshine, I called Bob.
‘Ah, just the man,’ Bob began. ‘I just briefed the Prime Minister. Tell me ... the French casualties..?’
‘The ambush was their plan and their operation, and they wanted to storm Jamal’s jungle palace – they could have said no.’
‘They’re not too fussed on the casualties, I just wanted to get it straight – just in case.’
‘You heard about Sandra?’
‘Yes, and that could have best been avoided.’
‘Not really, it’s all a risk, and anywhere around here she places a foot there’s danger. And she wanted to go, so maybe she learnt a lesson. How badly is she hurt?’
‘Just a through and through, missed her appendix. Oh, one of the French soldiers took pictures of Jamal’s place, before and after, it’s all over the French news. The French do like their revenge. Oh, and an odd aside: Colonel Roach.’
‘I had almost forgotten about him.’
‘Your good friend Jamal killed him, and all those around him, day before you killed Jamal.’
‘Well that closes a chapter, eh. And we don’t get blamed for anything.’
‘And a high ranking French DGSE man has met with Tomsk in Panama.’
‘I’ll find out what he said and let you know.’
‘What’ll you do now?’
I scuffed sand with my boot. ‘If it’s OK with you, we stay here and train the Wolves a bit. Week or so.’