Circle of Death - Strike Back Series 05 (2020)

by Ryan, Chris

  ‘Watch out for any deadfall. Loose branches trapped in the trees above. One of them comes loose in the night, they’ll fall right on top of you. Break an arm. And place your poncho closer to your hammock. A few inches should do it. If it’s too high and there’s a strong wind blowing, it won’t stop the rain from coming in. You’ll get drenched.’

  ‘How do you know all that stuff?’

  ‘Jungle phase of Selection,’ said Bald. ‘That’s where the Regiment cut its teeth. Where we find out who’s mentally strong enough to become a Blade.’ He crammed another forkful of egg into his mouth. ‘You lot might have the edge when it comes to the water, but in here we’re the masters.’

  A few minutes later, McGee trooped across from his shelter and parked his colossal frame on the edge of the bench. Hulk, setting down his coffee, gave him a searching look.

  ‘The fuck sort of time you call this?’

  ‘I overslept, chief. Bite me.’

  McGee rubbed his eyes and yawned. The smell of whisky on his breath was so thick you could hang washing from it.

  ‘You look like shit,’ Bald said. ‘How much did you put away last night?’

  ‘Screw you. I can handle my drink.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing. Looks like the Colombians drank you under the table.’

  ‘I ain’t hungover. Even if I was, it’s none of your fucking business.’

  ‘It is if you can’t perform. Maybe you want to sit this one out, mate. Let the real men do the work.’

  ‘Eat a dick, asshole.’

  Bald’s muscles tautened with anger. Across the table, McGee wore a big shit-eating grin. Like he was goading Bald into a fight. Like he knew his sheer mass gave him an unassailable edge, and he could do whatever the fuck he pleased. It took every last shred of restraint for Bald to keep his fists by his side, instead of connecting with McGee’s smug face.

  Hulk checked his watch and stood up. ‘Let’s go. Time to get to work.’

  A short while later, the team gathered in a circle at the edge of a wide clearing located a short distance from the gully. The low, grassy field was covered on both sides by gentle slopes and thick clumps of forest. Uribe’s men had constructed a crude replica of the ground floor of the stronghold in the clearing, according to the plans given to him by Hulk the previous evening. Rooms inside the building were marked out with two-metre-tall timber posts, with strips of white mine tape around them, measured at the correct distances from one another. More posts and tape marked out the guardhouse and perimeter fence. On the ground in front of them, Hulk and Bald had sketched out a rough overhead view of the stronghold, measuring six feet by six. Scraps of paper denoted the buildings, with sticks for the fence and leaves for the mango grove in front of the mansion. Stones marked out the positions of the team members. They would run through the plan using the sandpit model, making sure everyone knew their jobs before they progressed on to the full-size facsimile.

  ‘To get inside,’ Hulk said, ‘we’re going to have to draw the guards away from the front gate. Along with anyone else on duty. Otherwise, we’ll get cut down before we can make it to within spitting distance of the damn place.

  ‘Our best bet, as Porter explained yesterday, is to create a diversion. If we do it right, an explosive device, placed along the perimeter fence, should divert the guards and buy us enough time to prosecute the assault.’

  McGee rolled his eyes. ‘We know. We’ve been through all this already, chief.’

  Hulk shot him a look that could skin a rattlesnake. ‘And we’ll keep going through it, until it’s automatic. That way, everyone knows what they’re doing and we stand a better chance of making it out of there alive. Unless you’ve got something better to do, Bobby?’

  Hulk stared him out. Then he picked up a stick and pointed to five stones grouped in an area outside the stronghold.

  ‘Once we get the green light from the Company, we’ll advance to the target until we reach this hillock, four hundred metres due south of the stronghold. At this point, Dudley will break to the left and establish a sniper position on top, using the bushes to conceal his position from the enemy.’

  He took one of the stones and placed it to the left of the assault group. Then he took the four remaining rocks and moved them closer to the guardhouse.

  ‘The main assault team will then advance two hundred metres to the edge of this mango grove and form up within striking distance of the gate.’ He picked up one of the four stones and placed it near the corner of the fence. ‘At the same time, the fifth man will carry the breaching charge and move towards the south-west corner of the perimeter fence, covered by Dudley on the high ground and the rest of the assault team at the mango grove. That guy’s job is to place the explosive, crawl back fifty metres and then detonate. Bobby, that’s your job.’

  ‘You sure he can handle it?’ Bald goaded. ‘Maybe me or Porter should place the charge. Someone with a bit more experience.’

  ‘Fuck you, chief. I’m good for it.’

  ‘You look a long way from that. Christ, I can smell your breath from here.’

  McGee stared at Bald. The veins on his neck bulged like lengths of tensed rope. He turned to Hulk and said, ‘I’ll handle the charge. You can count on me, Hulk.’

  ‘Okay, then.’ Hulk indicated the piece of paper representing the guardhouse. ‘Soon as the explosive charge is triggered, that’s the cue for the assault team to advance towards the gatehouse. Bobby will link up with the rest of the group before we hit the gates. We’ll then engage any targets and make for the front door. We should encounter minimal resistance.’

  ‘How can we be sure?’ asked McGee.

  ‘When the charge goes off, the enemy will naturally assume the attack is coming from that direction. They won’t be expecting an attack on the gate. They might leave a couple of guys to defend that position, but no more. The assault team will then clear the main residence, locate the hostage and clear out before extracting south towards the gully, covered by the sniper.’

  ‘Dudley’s going to be exposed on that high ground,’ Bald said.

  ‘We’ll be wearing olive-green clothing and using suppressed weapons. In the darkness, with no muzzle flash and firing from a concealed position, the enemy won’t be able to locate him. At least for a short while. Enough time for us to carry out the mission and get the heck out of there.’

  McGee said, ‘What’s the explosive?’

  ‘A four-ounce lump of C4,’ Bald replied. ‘Should be enough to create a fucking big bang and set the corner tower on fire. We’ll need to get hold of an empty container from Uribe, too. A gallon bottle should do the trick. And some washing detergent.’

  A weak laugh escaped McGee’s mouth. ‘You planning on doing some laundry while we’re there, chief?’

  Bald shook his head. ‘We’ll pour a fifty-fifty mixture in the empty container. Detergent mixed with fuel. We’ll slap the plastic explosive on the side of the container. When that charge detonates, it’ll ignite the mixture inside the container and stick to anything it comes into contact with and burn it. The fence, the tower. We’ll give the enemy a strong visual point of attack. They’ll see the flames from the other side of the compound. It’ll be like drawing moths to a light.’

  Porter frowned at the model. ‘How much time have we got? To mount the assault.’

  ‘We aim to be inside and out again in less than fifteen minutes,’ Hulk responded. ‘That’s how long Taylor says the soldiers in the barracks will be tied down.’

  ‘Assuming the Company’s plan works,’ Bald added. ‘If it doesn’t, we’re screwed from the start.’

  Hulk gave him a searching look. ‘You don’t think we can trust them?’

  ‘I served in the Regiment for eighteen years. You last that long, you learn not to trust the top brass about anything.’

  Porter shook his head fiercely. ‘I’m with Jock on this one. What can your people do from several thousand miles away, anyway? Send them a strongly worded
email?’

  ‘Drone strike, perhaps,’ Bald speculated. ‘Drop a couple of five-hundred-pound bombs on the base. That would sort them out.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s what they’re planning,’ Hulk murmured.

  ‘What do you reckon it is, then?’

  The American stared at him with a blank expression. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, brother.’

  Bald grunted. ‘Whatever it is, it needs to be fucking solid. If the CIA lets us down, we’re going to be overrun as soon as that explosion rips through the fence.’

  A thought struck Porter. ‘We should rig a Claymore near the breach.’

  ‘What the fuck for?’ McGee wondered.

  ‘Think about it. When that charge is triggered, all them guards will be rushing over to deal with the breach. If we put a Claymore ten metres back from the fence, we can trigger it once they’re in position. We could take out ten or fifteen guys in one go. Any survivors would be tied up dealing with their wounded. Give us more time to bust the hostage loose and get out of the stronghold.’

  ‘That’s actually a bloody good idea,’ Bald said, a clear note of respect creeping into his voice. ‘Maybe you’re not as lame as you look.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘It’ll even things up some,’ said Hulk. ‘That’s for sure. Bobby, you’ll carry the Claymore mine and the explosive device. Place ’em both at the same time and then belly-crawl back to the firing position. Dudley and the rest of us will cover you. Questions?’ He glanced round at the others. ‘All right, then. Let’s start practising.’

  The team spent the next two hours doing walk-throughs on the facsimile range. They looked at every possible tactical situation. What they would do if they were compromised during their approach. What would happen if the enemy showed up in force midway through the assault. They studied each other’s individual arc of fire, to reduce the chances of getting accidentally plugged by their own side. They paced out the distances between the guardhouse and the entrance and the dead ground. They went through every step of the plan repeatedly, until they were thoroughly sick of it. Apart from McGee, nobody complained. Everyone understood the risks. They were going into a hostile situation, against a force that heavily outnumbered them. Their lives depended on making sure that the assault plan was tested to destruction.

  Then they progressed to a real-time run-through of the assault. As close to the real thing as possible, minus the enemy targets. They wore their plate carriers and armour inserts and carried their spare clips, grenades and other accessories, along with their M4s and holstered Glock 17 pistols. Explosive charges. The whole operational load. Anything that they planned on taking with them on the night of the actual assault, right down to their choice of clothing. A pain in the arse, especially in the afternoon heat of the jungle. But better than getting to the stronghold and realising that their pacing was off because they were weighed down with too much kit.

  They agreed that the use of live rounds was unnecessary. And dangerous, given the absence of any rubber-clad walls to absorb the bullets. They couldn’t afford to suffer any accidents, Hulk argued. They were already facing some formidable odds. The last thing they needed was someone getting hit by a stray round. Both charges would be assembled to make sure McGee could carry them unaided, but they wouldn’t be detonated during the exercise. No need. They were veteran operators, with decades of experience handling explosives. They all knew the destructive power of C4.

  While the others checked their equipment, Bald assembled the breaching charge. He fetched an empty one-gallon milk container from the guerrillas’ cookhouse, along with a jerry can of fuel and a two-litre bottle of laundry detergent. Then he poured the fuel and detergent mix into the plastic container, sealed the cap and fixed the slab of C4 to the side of the container using a strip of black masking tape.

  As he finished setting up the charge, he caught sight of McGee assembling the Claymore anti-personnel mine. The guy was kneeling in front of a box-shaped green case with the words ‘Front Toward Enemy’ stamped across the side. On the ground next to the mine were two long spools of green-coated electrical wire, a satchel and a hand-held clacker firing device the size of an office stapler. Squeezing the clacker fired an electrical pulse down the length of wire, triggering the detonator. Which then triggered the plastic explosive in the Claymore. The resulting blast spewed out hundreds of ball bearings in a horizontal arc, shredding anything within a hundred-metre radius.

  He watched McGee for a beat and said, ‘Word of advice, mate.’

  McGee looked up from the assembly and scowled. ‘I’ve used Claymores before, asshole. May as well teach your grandmother how to suck eggs. Bet she knows how to suck a bunch of stuff, too.’

  Bald stared darkly at him. ‘You’re carrying two explosive devices.’

  ‘So fucking what?’

  ‘That means you’ll have two sets of electrical wire and two sets of clackers. You should mark one of them clackers with tape. So you know which one is for the charge and which one operates the Claymore. Otherwise you could trigger the wrong one. If that Claymore goes off before the breaching charge, we’re all in the shit.’

  McGee smirked. ‘That’s what you people do in the SAS? Sit around, thinking about stupid little shit like this? No wonder you couldn’t defeat the IRA.’

  Bald felt an irresistible urge to throttle the Bostonian. ‘It’s them stupid little things that lead to mistakes and get people killed. So maybe start listening to me.’

  ‘Fuck off. I don’t need advice from some antiquated haggis-eating motherfucker. I got this covered.’

  Bald swallowed his anger, tamping it down deep into his guts. He looked on silently as McGee inserted the plug at one end of the wire spool to the clacker, linking the explosive to the battery. Flicked the safety bale on the clacker to the lowered position.

  McGee noticed him watching with interest. Set the equipment down. ‘Got something else you want to say, old man?’

  Bald eyed the clacker and the green-coated wire connected to it. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, mate.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Linking the battery up before you plant the mine. You might trigger the thing by accident. Blow yourself up.’

  ‘I know what I’m doing, asshole.’

  He shoved the Claymore, wire and clacker inside the satchel. Slung the satchel over his shoulder, grabbed his M4 and started towards the edge of the range. Stopped abruptly in his tracks.

  ‘Shit. Almost forgot.’

  He wheeled back around, snatching up his shamrock-engraved hip flask. Across the range, Hulk called out to them. ‘Assault team. Into position. Now.’

  Bald hefted up his weapon and the charge and walked over to Porter and Hulk. They had formed up at their starting point, a hundred and fifty metres south of the stronghold. Dudley was already in position at their seven o’clock, lying in a prone position on top of a nearby mound, gripping his sniper variant M4. Essentially the same weapon as the carbine, but with a longer barrel to improve accuracy by increasing the stability of the round during flight. All five of them had suppressors fixed to the muzzles.

  McGee waddled over to join the rest of the assault team, weighed down by his big frame and the amount of kit he was carrying. He was wearing his aviator gloves and a long-sleeved shirt over his T-shirt, the Claymore satchel hanging from his side and the pouches on his vest bursting at the seams. Porter gave him a disapproving look.

  ‘Got enough kit there? Anything you’ve left behind? Kitchen sink?’

  ‘Screw you.’

  ‘Just saying. You’re carrying a lot of gear.’

  ‘I can handle it, old man.’

  Hulk looked around to make sure everyone was ready to go. ‘On my command, we’ll move towards the target. Make sure you’re all watching your respective arcs.’

  ‘Roger that,’ said Bald.

  ‘Got it,’ said Porter.

  Hulk nodded at McGee. ‘All set, Bobby?’

  ‘Fuckin’ A
, chief. Let’s do this!’

  ‘Good.’ Hulk glanced across his shoulder. ‘Ready, Dudley?’

  ‘I was born ready, son.’

  Hulk set the timer on his watch. ‘Ready . . . Go!’

  As soon as the order left his mouth, McGee, Bald, Porter and Hulk broke forward across the open ground, making for the X-shaped strip of mine tape indicating the edge of the mango grove. Bald moved along at a brisk but controlled pace alongside Hulk, with Porter lagging a few paces further behind. McGee brought up the rear, breathing heavily, slowed down by the weight he was humping.

  After fifty metres they reached the ‘X’ and then Hulk yelled, ‘Assault group, going prone!’

  Bald, Porter, McGee and Hulk simultaneously went down on their fronts, lying flat on the ground with a direct line of sight to the guardhouse a hundred metres away at their one o’clock and the far-left corner of the fence at their ten o’clock. The assaulters started covering their arcs and in the next second Hulk shouted another order.

  ‘Diversion, move forward!’

  Which was McGee’s cue to advance. He scraped himself off the ground and hustled towards the corner fence post a hundred metres away, clutching his rifle in one hand and the explosive charge in the other, with the satchel containing the Claymore hanging at his side. After fifteen metres he dropped down and began belly-crawling the remaining distance to the post. Bald observed him through his weapon’s iron sights, covering the guy while Porter and Hulk checked their respective arcs at the guardhouse and the opposite corner of the fence. At their six o’clock they heard Dudley barking out, ‘Sniper covering!’

  Bald kept his sights focused on McGee as he inched forward. The guy was fifty-five metres from the fence post now. As he crawled down a slight dip in the land, a shiny object slipped out of the side pocket of his trousers and clattered against the rocks, catching the sunlight.

  The shamrock hip flask.

  ‘Shit,’ McGee said.

  Bald looked on as McGee stopped and reached around for the flask, rolling on to his left side and extending his right arm towards his knee. Like an out-of-shape guy trying to do a complicated Pilates pose.