Wilco- Lone Wolf 10

by Geoff Wolak

  Thinking on, I called Tinker, and I asked that CGHQ give some radio interceptors to the Wolves when they came down.

  ‘Two of the Wolves are checked out on installing them already, and they’ve put a few in place.’

  I sighed. ‘Secrecy is good, but it would be nice to know these things.’

  Back at the hut, stood on the sand bank with Nicholson – his stag rotation, I took in the arid land, a small cultivated area not far away, a water wheel and donkey, old men and young boys tilling the land.

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Max, where are you?’

  ‘Small airport.’ I spelt it. ‘South east.’

  ‘It’s listed here, so I can get a small plane down there.’

  ‘When you land, call me, or explain who you are, we’re at a base half a mile away with the French Foreign Legion.’

  ‘I’d love to do a story on them.’

  ‘And they’d love the attention, they just said so.’

  ‘See you later in the day.’

  I had just put my phone away when it trilled.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Colonel Dean.’

  ‘How’s the weather there, sir?’

  ‘Bloody freezing. How’s it where you are?’

  ‘Nice and warm and sunny, sir.’

  ‘I spoke to Major Horrocks, and he’s keen to send two troops, one left to deal with any issues in Liberia.’

  ‘The RAF know where we are, sir, to bring them out. And what happened to the Territorials’ Christmas exercise?’

  ‘Was cancelled when the panic button was hit, they were on standby for mass-panic poison work in the UK, but just sat around for a few days getting cold. Going to reschedule it. What’s this new job?’

  ‘Hostages, sir, but they’re sat in the middle of six hundred soldiers.’

  ‘Are you about to do something brave and stupid?’

  ‘I’ll find a way to get the hostages that does not involve my men getting killed, sir. Or your men. And our paymasters would like the soldiers reduced in potency.’

  ‘I see. Well you’ll have operational control on the ground, but keep casualties down. “G” Squadron is getting back up to strength, just time to heal a myriad of skin grafts. They call it the Frankenstein Squadron now.’

  I laughed. ‘I’ll keep your men away from the main action, sir, and this is desert, so distant sniping. If you have some VEPR at the base, send down a dozen, and ammo. Maybe some fifty cal and ammo.’

  ‘I’ll organise that now.’

  I gave him the name of the base, a quick chat about the Legion men based here.

  Stood chatting to Nicholson about desert tactics, the Air Commodore rang me. ‘You have a job on?’

  ‘Who told you that, sir?’ I teased.

  ‘I see the transport orders.’

  ‘Yes, sir, job in Mauritania, all hush-hush for now.’

  ‘Could you make use of some of mine?’

  ‘They’ve got a good write up, what more’d you want, sir?’

  ‘I want even more of a good write up. New government in May, new round of defence cuts, so it all helps.’

  ‘You are indeed a sneaky little shit, sir.’

  ‘Didn’t get this far without thinking ahead.’

  ‘I could do with a flight of 2 Squadron lads, their sniper boys. And medics are always useful.’

  ‘I have them on standby. They all had a quiet Christmas – after the panic, and I’m damn sure they’d love to be away from the snow! If I could wangle it – so would I.’

  ‘You dear wife would miss you, sir.’

  ‘She just got a puppy, a spaniel, and it’s already shitting in my slippers!’

  I laughed. ‘That’s what they do, sir, which is why I don’t have one. Send your team to the same place as you see my Wolves heading. South Mauritania.’

  ‘I’ll hold the flight till my lot get there,’ he threatened.

  Back from lunch, Moran was grinning. ‘You met Sambo?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said with a smile. ‘Keep the lads in check.’

  When everyone was back I told them to check what browns we had, informing them of more on the way. Sambo was tasked with finding light brown cloth.

  He came back with some suitable cloth, handed out, as well as brown camouflage netting, enough to hide a few tanks. I had the lads cut it up into eight foot squares, enough to hide a man.

  As some of the lads sat in the sun chatting, Harris appeared, map in hand. ‘This map has that town on it.’ He unfolded it on a bed, Moran and Mitch closing in. He pointed. ‘Barracks. And the military area is surrounded by river on three sides, but it’s just a dried river bed most of the year, thirty yards across.

  ‘There’s then a two hundred yard killing zone, and the French lad who’s been there said there are old concrete and sandbag positions on the north side, facing out, the river around it, so attack from the north would be a bad idea.

  ‘South is a wire fence, main entrance, then the town, and ... south of the town is a lonely highway, so if they move the hostages that’s an option. That town is about two miles across, no large buildings, all single-storey, but the barracks has four rows of two-storey buildings, flat roofs, men up top.’

  Mitch asked, ‘How many men at this base?’

  ‘Six hundred,’ I told him, his eyes widening. ‘Six hundred well-trained soldiers, intent on moving on the capital.’

  ‘Ah,’ Moran let out. ‘Not just about hostages.’

  ‘What does well-trained mean?’ Mitch pressed.

  I replied, ‘It means they can shoot straight and are not drugged up.’

  Captain Harris tapped the map. ‘If you approach through the town, you can get to the wire without being seen, then a hundred yards to the barrack blocks.’

  Mitch countered with, ‘Town will have dogs, and people.’

  I nodded, studying the map. ‘We’ll make an assessment and have a close look.’ I put a finger on the map. ‘Across the dried river bed is just sand, looks like five hundred yards, then a ridge and rocks, small hills. We can get close, make a sketch, have a think – and see if they patrol out.’

  Moran said, ‘If they patrol out, patrols can be ambushed, numbers reduced.’

  I told them, ‘Problem will be ... if they get spooked they drive off south and attack the capital, as they plan to do. So ... if they do we hit the road convoy.’

  Mitch made a face. ‘Blow the road, or part of it, single lane slow-moving traffic, somewhere with a hill above it.’

  ‘You are indeed thinking along the right lines, Lieutenant,’ I commended.

  An hour later, Moran and myself inspected a squad of twenty-four Legionnaires assigned to us. I asked if they had desert browns, and they had some in stores, but not enough. I had what was there distributed, as well as brown cloth, the rest in drab green.

  Tearing up the brown cloth, I tied strips onto a Fammas rifle held by a man, explaining to all what I wanted when we were in the desert.

  Taking the men outside the sand mounds, I used twigs to hold up brown cloth, many holes cut into it, and had a man lay down behind it – to fire through it. The remainder of the men walked twenty yards and looked back.

  ‘He can see out and shoot through the cloth, no dust blown up, no smoke, but the enemy will struggle to see him.’

  Using a brown poncho, L-shape cuts still in it, we rigged it up over the man, water bottle placed down with rations.

  I told them, ‘You may be in such a hide for 24hrs, no movement. In the desert, we use distance because we can shoot straight at distance, the part-time rebel soldiers cannot. Danger is a stray round, so dig out a shell scrape and stay low. You should always have a partner, then in teams of four, two teams of four make up a patrol.

  ‘Partner up today, and stay in those teams, crate a fire position in those pairs, next pair ten yards away. One sleeps whilst one is awake, two hour rotations.’ To their captain I said, ‘You have sniper rifles?’

  ‘Some, yes.’

  ‘Issue them, please, and plenty
of ammo, rations, first aid kits, we will leave in the morning or tonight, better to move when it is dark. And pistols for each man if you have them.’

  He led his men off to get organised.

  At 7pm we got word of Max landing, a jeep sent for him and his heavy kit, and I introduced him to the keen Major in charge. Max would start on a story about the Legion.

  At 10pm we got word of a Tristar landing, having heard it screech overhead, buses organised, jeeps sent, huts to be made ready in a hurry. But I halted that preparation - if we could use the Pumas to insert tonight. After a phone call we were told that the Pumas could be utilised - and that they were now being checked over. And I knew the lads would be cautious about those Pumas; I was as well.

  I greeted the Wolves, all in desert browns and mostly with brown rifles, and they keenly greeted me – questions about Paris, a hut allocated for them, twelve lads, 2 Squadron in with them; eight lads, one corporal, one sergeant, plus Mister Haines. Mister Morten had brought eight medics and lots of kit, so we were covered for any sunburn before the action started.

  I made sure that they did not unpack yet, Echo and the Wolves to be fully kitted ready, ration boxes having been brought down on the Tristar, plus extra ammo, as well as our extra desert browns. I now had a brown cap - and a brown jacket for cold nights, those lads with green trousers changing into the browns.

  Two of the Wolves showed me radio interceptor devices, and they knew how to turn them on and how to set them. Battery life was around two weeks.

  When finally ready, all lined up with the Wolves, Moran and I went through kit, sat phones tested, radios tested, batteries swapped, water topped up, extra water bottles to be lugged. I was finally satisfied, most of the lads now with ten full magazines and damned heavy.

  With the Legion Major waving us off, we boarded the bus and headed the short distance to the two waiting Pumas, the lads voicing their complaints about our pending ride.

  Rotors turning, crewman to hand, we clambered aboard, but I limited the runs to eight men each, just in case. Still, it was close to the maximum loading anyhow for these Super Puma.

  Before we lifted off I told the crewman we wanted the doors left open, just in case we needed to jump. He checked with the pilots, shrugged, and we pulled away as a pair, soon heading southeast. We could all see the desert terrain below clearly enough despite it being night, a few car headlights seen on the roads, villages passed, and the twenty minutes went quickly, a bump and we were down, all round defence in the dirt – eyes closed.

  With the two Super Pumas pulling away, eyes closed tight, we waited in the dark, soon finding that we were alone, and isolated, no lights seen, nothing heard on the breeze. I could see black huts, and we walked carefully towards them, rifles ready.

  The huts were empty, checked with torches, men posted on stag, sandbag positions looked over, a small brick building looked over, and we returned to the huts. With the back doors closed, I let the lads get a brew on, some to sleep, Nicholson and Tomo sent out to perform a circular sweep five hundred yards out.

  The Super Pumas returned, my men down safe and across to us, and into the hut, Crab and Duffy organising supplies, Whisky looking a bit lost.

  2 Squadron landed an hour later, some men in the huts, some in the brick building, which would be their HQ area, a man up on the roof. And all of them had brought with them the Valmects I had previously sent 2 Squadron, and all were in suitable desert browns.

  On the hour the medics arrived, their tents lugged, and some of those lads awake assisted to raise the tents, but the medics were now expert at getting their tents up in a hurry, even the lady medics.

  I finally got some sleep at 2am, and woke as the grey dawn light seeped through the dusty and cracked old windows. Outside, I stood and took in the desolate and bleak base, if it could be called a base. It was two old wooden huts and an old brick building, a demolished brick building further out, some falling down old sandbag positions, and a track leading away, and that was it.

  Around us was flat scrub land, sand and small bushes, part of an old wire fence that looked like it was there for sheep. South was a low ridge, north a few miles some nasty steep hills, and that was it.

  Noticing Whisky awake, I told him to look for tracks when he was ready, and I walked to the scrubland for a piss.

  An hour later, lads now awake and cooking, Whisky reporting no recent tracks, I had Rizzo make up a four-man patrol, and when ready I dispatched them south five miles, to have a look. They kicked up sand as they headed off, the sand changing colour minute by minute as the sun climbed higher. With Rocko gathering his team, I had them tasked with trekking due east five miles and back – and to avoid being seen.

  I went and found Haines, noticing a man on the roof and waving up at him. Haines was sat cross-legged and cooking in the brick building with four of his men.

  He lifted his head. ‘If I had known what was lurking in this building I would have slept outside. Family of scorpions in here.’

  ‘Always pays to check,’ I told him.

  ‘We have facemasks and gloves on, and they left us alone – so far,’ he noted. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘When the French get here, and “D” Squadron, as well as some supplies, we’ll go have a look south at the bad boys, about sixteen miles as the crow flies. We’ll set-up OPs, then make a plan to go get the hostages.’

  ‘How many men down there?’ Haines asked.

  ‘Six hundred.’

  They all looked up. ‘Six hundred?’ Haines repeated, wide-eyed.

  ‘And heavily armed, and well trained apparently.’

  A sergeant began, ‘We’re a bit outnumbered, Boss.’

  ‘We always are. But we have wide open spaces and sniper rifles, so we’ll hit them a long way off. But I’m not planning a straight fight, we’ll probably ambush them on the road south.’

  ‘Any chance of them coming here, Boss?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘If they knew about us, and our intentions, then yes,’ I told him. ‘But they’d have to cross the border, and that would bring down local soldiers, and they don’t want that. But, you know, stay sharp anyway.’

  Outside, I scrambled up onto the roof, and stood near the man on stag, peering out into the distance. Other than this roof there was no high ground nearby, but I could see a high point on the ridge south, maybe a mile away. Back down, I kicked up sand as I returned to the huts.

  ‘Swann, Leggit, go due south and you’ll see a ridge, one part higher than the rest. Make a good OP facing south, eight hours then back here to swap. Rizzo is south, don’t shoot him – even if tempted.

  ‘Robby, take your troop with Sasha north a few miles, have a look, don’t be seen, back well before dark.’

  I observed them move off five minutes later, just as the drone of the Super Pumas registered. They landed in a cloud of dust, and from the dust emerged Max and his heavy kit being assisted by Legionnaires.

  With the helicopters departed, the soldiers having knelt in lines, I walked across to them as they stood, backpacks over their webbing. To the captain I said, ‘There is not enough space for us all, so your men will be in the sand, but we will move out of here soon, maybe tomorrow.’ I led him to the wire fence, and had his men make a home with ponchos against the wire.

  He told me, ‘There is water here, I am told, an old pump.’

  We glanced around.

  ‘There,’ he said, and he led me across to a lonely pipe sticking out of the sand. Finding a detached well-head we dusted it off and attached it, put on the rusted old handle, and started to pump. ‘It needs water in the pipe first, to work.’

  I fetched two large plastic water bottles, and with the head off again I poured till the pipe was full.

  Head back on, handle attached, he pumped, and clear water changed to shitty brown water, finally to clear water again, a puddle created in the sand.

  ‘This is OK to drink?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘To boil first I think. OK to wash.
’

  Back at the huts I let everyone know where the pump was, soon to Mister Haines, and all would use it to wash.

  With the French now under ponchos as the sun grew hot, I suggested they cook or make a brew, and explained that we had patrols out.

  The Super Pumas returned, more French soldiers, supplies lugged, word that “D” Squadron had arrived, soon a long line of ponchos rigged up to the fence.

  Rocko returned at 3pm, his team all sweating, Henri complaining about the heat and the sand. Rocko reported, ‘There’s a road, runs southeast, traffic on it, about three miles east of here. We didn’t go over but had a look south, a few houses, shacks, goats and shit.’

  I nodded. ‘Get some shut eye in the heat, we’ll probably move out after dark. And there’s a water pump, OK for washing, OK if you boil it.’

  Robby returned at 4pm, also sweating. He reported, ‘There’s a road, runs east, about three miles north, this side of those hills. Fuck all else.’

  ‘Get a brew on and rest.’ I greeted Sasha as he passed, and half an hour later the drone registered approaching helicopters, two troops from “D” Squadron setting down, nowhere for them to bed down, the whinging starting. But it was not raining, nor likely to, and I told them that we’d move out after dark anyhow. They sat against their Bergens in the sand and got a brew on.

  I grabbed their troop captains and sergeants, grabbed the French senior staff, Moran and Mitch, Mister Haines, and drew a map in the sand. ‘We are here. Three miles north is this road, three miles east. South is a ridge, sixteen miles is the rebel base. After dark we’ll move out and find a forward area on the border, which is then just a mile or two to the rebel area – the river is the border.

  ‘But I will want to be further back than that or helicopter supply will be seen and heard. When we move out tonight we do not want to engage the enemy or be seen.’

  ‘Do we hold this place?’ Mister Haines asked.