by Geoff Wolak
‘I’ll do some research.’
Stood there staring down at the dam, thinking, I called Tomsk. ‘Listen, you heard of a Nigeria called Izillien?’
‘That name came up, he was on my list of people to kill, he wants into Liberia.’
‘He also wants into Senegal, British and French trying to stop the coup he started. Try and find out who he’s hiring aircraft from, stop them. He lost a helicopter already, and a small plane, and he’s probably lying to them about it.’
‘He may have hired them from a man I know. I make some calls and fuck him over.’
Next call was David Finch as I sat on sharp rocks, a few lads popping out to take a piss. ‘It’s Wilco. Libintov was supplying arms here but has pulled back thanks to Petrov, but the coup is being funded by a Nigerian oil and mining guy, Izillien, at least I think he is.’
‘He’s on our radar, as being a backer for the Liberia coup.’
‘Do me a favour, and put out on Reuters that he is suspected of being behind both. It will spook him, and maybe he stops dropping bombs on my head. They flew over and dropped RPG heads, as I did in Liberia.’
‘They pinched your trick. That’s cheeky.’
‘And two RAF Regiment wounded – so far. Oh, French Echo are here.’
‘I got the note from the French, yes.’
‘I’ll try and wrap this up tonight, minimum casualties, plenty of French here, plenty of us.’
Sat there, I sipped my water, thinking of the best strategy – and the least casualties.
Mitch came out, a piss taken. ‘What they up to over there?’
‘We got a lead on the paymaster, and some of my friends in low places will try and screw with him. That may mean they lose heart, maybe no more planes or helicopters to screw with us. French Legion are on the right flank, French Echo on the left flank, and we’ll move down after dark.’
He came and sat next to me, his own water sipped. ‘Nice spot, I like the desert, I’ll retire to Arizona someday.’
‘If you live that long,’ I teased. ‘Mahoney was lucky, damn lucky. A year with us and you’ll pick up a round or two.’
‘Well, I wanted this, rather than a desk job writing up new recruit stats. Another year or so and they would have given me a desk for sure.’
‘How you finding us so far?’
‘You, as the CO, have an odd style, and very unlike our officers Stateside, or any I worked with. They would have planned this in detail, all in computer, satellite photos, the works, then panicked on the ground, started to blame the next guy. You treat this like a training run for men of equal rank, and I noticed a lack of tension here.
‘If a guy here makes a mistake, he asks you or tells you, not cover it up. Your guys are relaxed but competent, and I never really knew how uptight we were till I saw this lot. This lot are relaxed on the trigger, but good. Ours are uptight and tense on the trigger, some of them good.
‘There’s proficiency here without worry or blame setting, urgency without panic, risk without worry. I’ve seen guys looking at photos of their wives and girlfriends, saying prayers before action, and I thought that was normal. This lot don’t have any fear.’
‘If one of mine looked at a photo of his wife and kids before a battle I’d have him kicked out,’ I told Mitch.
‘I’m seeing a difference in the eyes between your lads and these regular SAS, and a difference in style. Some of these regular worry more than your lads.’
‘I moved away from the regulars, away from the world of blame setting, of being sneaky and competing. I hated all that.’
‘My first captain, he lost it – shot dead a man who screwed up a weapons drill and accidentally discharged a round into the sky. They put him in a padded cell.’
‘Tightly wound, yes,’ I agreed. ‘I knew an SAS captain a step away from that, men screwing with his kit. Some take it too seriously.’
‘Stateside, they fall back on the regs a lot. If in doubt, don’t have the balls, fall back on the regs, state the rules. The French lads are reported to be good.’
‘They used to get tight plans handed to them by Paris, now they have ground control and make loose plans till they see the ground in front of them.’
‘Amen to that, but not much room for freelancing with us. So what’s next for dislodging these guys?’
‘French are left and right, we’ll move down after dark and overwhelm them with distant sniper fire. At night, the blacks couldn’t hit you at fifty yards, let alone at five hundred.’
‘You use your advantage,’ he noted.
A hot hour later my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Tinker. They’re unhappy now, talk of being abandoned or sold out.’
‘Good. Are they leaving?’
‘Some are, yes.’
‘I’ll let them go.’ Off the phone I transmitted, ‘Anyone here this, ceasefire, tell the rest.’ I called Moran. ‘Some are planning on leaving, so ceasefire till dusk.’
‘OK.’
I called Nicholson, finally getting him. ‘Ceasefire till I say so, be ready to move down after dark.’
‘Right, Boss.’
It fell quiet, many men coming up to have a look, or to sunbath.
As I observed the camp with Mitch and Swifty, trucks drove out, six of them, some jeeps, tyres obviously intact. I called Captain Harris, for him to warn “D” Squadron – and not to approach them!
“D” Squadron meanwhile had found half a brain cell and moved north, so that the next convoy would not see the damaged vehicles and stop. I was impressed when I heard about it.
They called back half an hour later to say that the convoy had stopped a mile from them, open ground all around, and had made camp off the road. That left me scratching my head and discussing this odd turn of events with the team.
Swifty suggested, ‘They know the road has ambushes, and they figure the base will be hit, so they’re hedging their bets.’
I thought out loud, ‘Why is the future leader of Senegal – who needs The West – taking hostages. He’d get a lot of shit for it.’
I called David Finch. ‘Right, Boss. Listen, the hostages taken, do you know who and what they are?’
‘Hold on ... five mine workers, three red cross. A few French, some Belgian, some local blacks.’
‘Why would the future president of Senegal get involved in hostages? It would mean no loans from The West.’
‘Yes, true, it is odd for him, but so is raping and killing the local women. So maybe he’s just a typical African nutjob, a puppet.’
‘A puppet for Izillien. But such a nutjob puppet would never get the popular vote, nor help from The West or the African Union, so ... does Izillien want this to fail, in so much as he destabilises Senegal for some reason, no realistic idea that this Major Dodoo will take power and hang onto it.’
‘A very interesting angle, and now a great concern. It would make sense if this was about destabilizing the country.’
‘Find out who Izillien’s main competitors are, and if they’re deeply entrenched in Senegal.’
‘I’ll get back to you, you’ve worried me now.’
‘It’s what I’m here for, Boss.’
The team had been listening. Swifty said, ‘So the paymaster wants the country in turmoil, somehow benefitting him.’
‘It would not be the first time around here,’ I quipped. ‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ I transmitted, ‘Resume firing, hit all vehicles!’ I called Moran and Nicholson, similar orders issued.
‘Don’t want to reduce their numbers by allowing some to leave?’ Mitch queried.
‘Not till I know what they real story is here.’ I stood, set automatic, aimed and fired, a whole magazine, the men down there keeping their heads down. Others copied, Max taking snaps.
Nicholson called back ten minutes later. ‘I can see men left of me, they French?’
‘French Echo. Are they being stealthy?’
‘Mostly, but I’m above them. The men in the camp would neve
r see them.’
‘After dark, you come to me here with the rest of your team.’
‘OK, Boss.’
Captain Harris called as I observed a big black beetle moving sand. ‘Men in “D” Squadron can see white hostages now.’
‘In plain view? In daylight?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’d say it was trap. Have them sneak around out at 1,000yards and see if anyone is waiting for them. Tell them I bet them a £100 on it being a trap – lives lost.’
‘You have operational control here...’ he reminded me.
‘But I like to be subtle. Do it.’
‘OK.’
‘A trap?’ Mitch asked.
‘The hostages were driven south, just short of the last ambush point, camp set on open ground, hostages paraded around.’
‘That is fucking odd, yeah,’ he agreed. ‘Bait.’
‘Major Dodo is a thinking man,’ I told them. ‘So what surprises does he have for us?’ I studied the base. ‘We’ve held off getting close, so he thinks we fear getting close, and he has lots of men hidden, ready to fight close up. He can’t drive south, he’s lost too many men to be confident of attacking the sitting president, so ... it’s about survival – and the radio intercepts confirm that his paymaster has stop taking his calls.’
‘Trapped animal,’ Mitch noted. ‘Dangerous fucker.’
Swifty put in. ‘If he wired a truck, he’s wired a few buildings as well. But why doesn’t he leave?’
‘And go where?’ I posed. ‘His men were all promised a bounty, good jobs, but now that’s an issue – morale. His paymaster has fucked off, hurt in the pocket, so ... he takes a select group and sneaks out after dark, to try again next year. Fine, I’d let him go.’
‘You’d let him go?’ Swifty queried.
‘He’s a toothless tiger without the backing and the men and the weapons. Our job was to stop the coup, and we’ve done that. Hostages are an issue, but about to be blown sky high.’
I sighed, loudly, and called Moran. ‘Listen, no one inside 500yards, those are my operational orders, I think they’ve wired buildings. The hostages went south, also wired to blow. His paymaster has fucked off, coup called off. This is not worth a single life, clear?’
‘Yeah, clear.’
I called Liban and had a long chat as he moved into position. For now they would snipe only.
Swifty got the water boiling for some food as Mitch asked about past operations.
‘Cement?’ Mitch queried.
I lifted a finger, and called Captain Harris. ‘Is there a C160 sat there?’
‘Two of them.’
‘Try and find me about fifty bags of cement.’
He laughed. ‘You want a diversion, and some well-pissed-off people.’
‘You know what to, get back to me. Target time is just after dark, but the height must be over fifteen hundred.’
‘Cement?’ Mitch queried as Swifty laughed.
We gave him the story of the cement bombers over ten minutes as we cooked, the sun now low.
Rocko called, on his way with his team, and they arrived after dark. I informed all of them that the plan had changed, and was now fluid, and we were waiting intel. They ducked into the cave to chat to the others.
Half an hour later, and the drone registered as we sat sipping our tea. Mitch looked up, then looked at me, Swifty not reacting. The drone grew, but I simply sat there and sipped my tea. With the aircraft directly overhead, two of them, Mitch craned his neck upwards, not seeing much.
Dull blasts registered, barely audible.
Mitch turned to the camp. ‘Smoke. Lots of smoke. Fuck, whole place is shrouded in smoke.’
Swifty laughed.
Mitch took in our dark faces. ‘That ain’t smoke, is it.’
‘Nope,’ I told him.
‘They dropped cement bags? From height?’ On a live operation, onto a rebel base?’ He faced the camp. ‘Shit, it’s shrouded.’
I transmitted, ‘All men, open up on the camp.’
Swifty stood, aimed and loosed off a magazine and dark blobs appeared from the caves, all firing down, brass cartridges tinkling off the rocks as I sat there.
The flash registered first, suddenly three in sequence near the north side of the camp, the blasts registering a few seconds later.
‘Fuck me!’ Mitch shouted. ‘Front line was wired to blow!’
The teams stopped firing, two additional flashes at the sides, the French well away from them, the loud blasts registering a few seconds later.
I calmly stated, ‘Right now, the main man – Major Dodoo – and his inner circle, are leaving in the confusion.’
Moran called. ‘They blew it.’
‘It was wired to blow,’ I agreed. ‘Stay well back, but shoot at movement.’
Next call was Liban, his men shocked. He would snipe from a distance.
I had the GPMGs open up, all spare ammo used up.
My phone trilled, Captain Harris. ‘The French are wondering how their aim was.’
‘Spot on, and as soon as they figured it a diversion they blew many buildings. If we had been close we would have lost people.’
‘No casualties?’
‘None of ours closer than five hundred yards.’
‘What’ll you do now?’
‘Bore them to death, snipe at anyone left behind, then mop up.’ Phone away, I said, ‘In your teams, rotate for an hour each, snipe down, rest of you sleep or eat or ... read a book. Rocko, first hour, then Rizzo, then Robby, then “B” Squadron, then the Wolves.’
Rizzo said, ‘They blew up their own fucking men!’
‘They figured we were moving in behind the smoke.’
Rocko noted, ‘Good fucking job we didn’t move in then. But will we?’
‘When I’m sure that they’ve given up, yes. Or I might just send in Sergeant Crab.’
The lads laughed though the dark as they headed back to the cave.
I sat back with Swifty and Mitch, our cooker still going, a small amount of light given off.
‘Jesus,’ Mitch let out. ‘How the fuck would I write this up Stateside. This makes Laurel and Hardy look organised.’
‘In fairness, Mitch, it went well. I used intel, and cunning, and we figured them out, lives saved, objective achieved, four hundred rebels inhaling cement right now.’
Swifty laughed loudly. ‘Love to be down there, see the looks on their faces, their grey faces, big eyes bulging. Cement, big blasts, their bosses gone. Be some confused looks.’
I smiled. ‘I can image men pointing guns and saying: Joshua, is that you? How do I know it’s you? And shooting each other.’
Tinker called. ‘Signals intel suggests Major Dodo is gone.’
‘Major Do-doo, not Dodo, he ain’t extinct yet.’
‘Well his men can’t find him, some accusing him of running off. What happened?’
‘French planes accidentally dropped ten tonnes of cement bags. Major Dodoo thought we were moving in behind smoke, and blew most of his own base to pieces.’
‘Bloody hell. So what’ll you do now?’
‘Bore them to death, limit the risks.’
I had gone to bed in the cave at midnight, up at 5am as the grey light penetrated the front of the cave, Swifty and Mitch left to sleep, dozens of men sleeping quietly as I crept out.
After a piss, I walked up to the top, finding Wolves stood there, but not firing down. ‘All gone quiet?’
‘They’ve gone. Not seen a single person in an hour.’
I called Moran, waking him. ‘You seen any movement?’
‘Movement? Hang on ... nothing seen in an hour, reports of men seen walking out.’
‘Don’t go inside yet, and tell the French not to fire on anyone unless approached, something is about to happen.’ I called Liban, a similar message, my next call being Libintov. He was a few hours ahead, and awake.
‘Send your planes and men now, the blacks have gone from the base. I can’t say if you will be sa
fe, but the French are not there yet, the base abandoned. I’m leaving now.’
‘OK, thank you, I’ll send the planes and helicopters now, they are close by.’
‘Let me know what happens.’ I sent one of the Wolves to warn those awake: no shooting at anything till I say so, and I sat with the Wolves, a brew on, jokes exchanged, the lads in high spirits.
Half an hour later the drone registered, an Mi8 coming in and landing near the barracks.
My phone trilled; Liban. ‘My people say that white men are loading weapons and searching buildings.’
‘Make sure no one fires on them, leave them alone, I will explain later.’
‘OK, I got back to sleep.’
The Mi8 finally pulled off, but left men behind. Fifteen minutes later the drone registered, louder, and two An12s glided in and landed – pissing off the town’s folk, jeeps driven off the planes, wagons pulled behind those jeeps, Libintov’s men loading weapons and crates, the Wolves puzzling it – and why I was allowing it.
‘Those men down there are FBI, collecting weapons,’ I told them.
‘Boss, you wouldn’t be fibbing to us, would you?’
Half an hour passed, and both An12s lifted off, and had gained height as the next two landed.
‘That’s a big operation, Boss,’ a puzzled Wolf noted. ‘For the FBI, I mean. Those FBI lads dressed like Russian mercenaries.’
‘Intel job, don’t ask.’
When the two An12s lifted off it grew quiet again, the sun threatening to rise. I saw the blast before I heard it, and jumped up, soon seeing debris flying out and arcing over – and in danger of hitting the French.
The blast registered, and wobbled us as we stood there, the Wolves horrified; they could have been down there. The base was shrouded in smoke, burning items arcing over and falling.
Moran called. ‘Wilco, I think something exploded.’
I laughed. ‘Pack up and withdraw, we ain’t going near that place.’
‘Got a few men wounded, bricks fell on them.’
‘It it’s serious I’ll get a helo to you, no fucker around. Let me know.’
Liban called. ‘I think we go home now, eh.’