Wilco- Lone Wolf 10

by Geoff Wolak

  Phone away, I led the team on, a slow walk along a narrow goat trial, a few sheer drops to worry about, and we found a small plateau. I kept to the eastern edge of the plateau, not wanting to be caught out in the middle of it with no cover, and we made good time along the ridges and towards the dark camp.

  A mile away, I transmitted. ‘Halt here, close up at the rear, we’re a mile from the camp, above it. Close up.’

  Twenty minutes later we were all bunched up, but still strung out in a line through the rocks, the sun threatening to rise in the east, over the Red Sea.

  Moving on, slow and steady, I closed to within a hundred yards of the hillside testing area seen in the satellite photos, twisted car parts strewn around. ‘Rocko, come up, right hand side of me.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Rizzo, high ground to the right of me.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Mahoney, come up, take the west side, fifty yards from me.’

  ‘We’re tabbing and yomping,’ he said, making me smile.

  ‘Snipers forwards.’

  ‘Moving.’

  I found a good rock formation to get behind, facing east to a grey Red Sea, flat ground between me and Rocko’s team - but dotted with large boulders, Rizzo ten foot higher and behind us. ‘Nicholson, study that camp.’

  Five minutes later, Nicholson said, ‘We in the right spot, Boss, because that camp is dead?’

  ‘Any smoke?’

  ‘No, nothing. No vehicles on the far side, the road.’

  I sighed, and heaved a breath. ‘Bugger.’ I transmitted, ‘Listen up - it’s a trap, they know we’re here. Get a solid fire position, all round defence, they’re likely to be behind us. Robby, Sasha, Dicky, turn around, get good position. Mahoney, get solid cover, aim west in pairs, don’t bunch up. Stretch, to me.’

  Stretch wove around the boulders in a grey dawn light.

  I told him, ‘Gloves off, check the dirt around here, look for wires and bombs – and mines. Fast.’ I transmitted, ‘All of you, if you’re stood or sat on sand or dirt, take your gloves off and look for wires and bombs. And fast.’

  I glanced left, the sun threatening to rise soon.

  Moran whispered, ‘You think they left bobby traps? They had no time.’

  ‘They didn’t just abandon that place in a day, and they’re all bomb makers, so if I was them I’d have a few devices up here ready to go pop. Problem is, no radio towers, so they need line of sight to signal a phone bomb. Or a wire. Mines are not much use on rocks.’

  ‘It’s Stretch, I found a wire.’

  ‘Shit,’ Swifty let out, now worried.

  ‘Follow it back, use you torch, check the bomb. Everyone get down, but keep looking for wires.’

  A minute later, Stretch transmitted, ‘Found the bomb, simple set-up, disabled it.’

  ‘Keep it, I want to throw it at them. Put it somewhere safe, hidden, and keep looking.’

  ‘It’s Fuzz, I got a wire.’

  ‘Stretch, get to him.’ I checked the ground around me with my fingers, Moran and Swifty now checking in haste, Mitch feeling around.

  I called the Pentagon, Colonel Mathews. ‘Colonel, it’s Wilco, and we’re in the shit.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘They knew we were coming, the camp is abandoned, and we’re finding wires and bombs where we’ve taken up position.’

  ‘Can you withdraw?’

  ‘I’m doubting that, sun is rising, and if they see us moving they’ll press the button. So we’re stuck, and we have to make do and fight. If you have an E3 with signals kit, fly it over.’

  ‘I’ll check now.’

  I tucked the phone away.

  ‘It’s Stretch, defused this other bomb.’

  ‘It’s Mahoney, we got a wire, but my guy Bobby Lee is shit hot with ordnance.’

  ‘Defuse it fast. Rest of you, keep looking.’

  ‘It’s Sasha, patrol behind us coming in, mile out.’

  ‘Let them get to six hundred.’

  ‘Pssst,’ came from Swifty. I turned and he pointed down the slope, movement seen.

  ‘Standby, standby, movement all around us. Single well aimed shots, prepare grenades, we could be here a while. Some of you get ready to shoot, some keep searching the sandy areas.’

  ‘It’s Robby, I got a wire, following it back ... found it ... detonator out ... I threw it down the slope.’

  ‘Keep searching, we’re running out of time, sun is coming up.’

  I glanced left, the pink horizon about to turn yellow. ‘Facemasks on, brown cloth on, get ready in a hurry.’

  I put my facemask on and got comfy, brown cloth tied onto my forend grip, cammo netting out and over my head. I called Franks. ‘You awake?’

  ‘Just up and sipping the coffee.’

  ‘We just walked into a well-laid trap, surrounded on all sides, bombs and wires all over the fucking rocks. Track this location, we’re say a hundred and fifty yards north of the top end of the test ground, three hundred yards from the huts, and about to see some action.’

  ‘You need extracting?’

  ‘Any helo getting close will be fired on, bombs set off – you’ll lose a helo.’

  ‘So ... what’ll you do?’

  ‘Wear them down, wait till nightfall. A bit low on options. Wilco out.’

  ‘It’s Mahoney, we can see a wire in front of us.’

  ‘Following it back, it might be the other side of a rock, but it’ll still kill you.’

  ‘OK.’

  We waited, and I cursed that yellow sun as it started to rise, the grey rocks now turning brown, the distant black ocean turning blue.

  ‘It’s Bobby Lee. I found it, pulled the detonator. Was right close as well, would have given us a headache. But this is low grade mining dynamite, not plastique. These here mountain boys ain’t spent much on this; I’m feeling kinda cheap.’

  Laughter echoed.

  ‘It’s Nicholson. I can see a cheeky chappy with binoculars, in a wooden hut. Reckon I could get him when he pokes his head up.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I transmitted. ‘Think about what you just said.’

  ‘Boss? I ... reported a man in a hut ... ah, wooden hut. Yes, sorry.’

  ‘Tomo, Nicholson, set auto and hit that fucking hut.’

  The quiet cracks sounded out for ten seconds – they had silencers fitted, the hut suddenly blasting apart with an ear-splitting bang, all of us ducking down as bits of wood landed all over, the camp shrouded in smoke.

  ‘It’s Nicholson. I think something exploded.’

  Moran turned to me. ‘Where’d he learn to be so cheeky, eh.’

  ‘Nicholson, you see another wooden hut?’

  ‘Yes, Boss.’

  ‘Hit it.’

  The cracks sounded out, but no explosion came.

  ‘It’s Nicholson. Wounded men fell out the hut. No other movement ... oh ... hang on ... patrol coming up the far road.’

  ‘How are they dressed and armed?’

  ‘Dressed in ... long Arab clothing, webbing on – Russian, black head scarf, AK47.’

  ‘Facial features.’

  ‘Arabs, I’d say.’

  ‘Buck teeth, big nose, thin face, high cheeks...’

  ‘No, Boss; Bugs Bunny ain’t with them.’

  I turned to Moran and Mitch as they took aim. ‘Arabs, not locals. So they could be well-trained.’

  ‘Apart from the fact that they keep explosives in a wooden hut,’ Moran quipped.

  ‘Well yeah, apart from that. Those may have been locals.’

  ‘It’s Sasha. We are going to get a visit from the rear, and they don’t bring vodka.’

  ‘Open fire to the rear.’ The cracks sounded out. ‘Anyone with a clean shot, take it, but conserve your ammo.’

  I eased over the rock I was behind, aimed down, and saw a man watching where he was walking. My round knocked him backwards, and he rolled down the slope fifty yards.

  Swifty fired, Moran fired, men hit.
Rounds started to crack overhead or ping off rocks, and in here ricochet would be an issue, a big issue.

  ‘It’s Swann. Man with an RPG.’

  ‘Hit him just before he fires.’

  The blast registered a few second later, an RPG head whizzing past us and out to sea, a smoke trail left above our heads.

  The rocks in front of me pinged and twanged, Swifty glancing at me. I eased over the rock and aimed down, seeing a man with an RPG, for all the good that would do on a ridge. I aimed, and hit him in the stomach. He accidentally fired, hit a rock and blew himself backwards and down the hill.

  From somewhere a machinegun opened up, rounds pinging off the rocks, heads kept down for a few minutes.

  ‘It’s Tomo. I got the box-fed machinegun. And that guy did look like Bugs Bunny.’

  ‘It’s Nicholson. There’s a small aerial device on a rock, wire attached to it.’

  ‘Radio detection. They picked up our radios a few miles away,’ I transmitted.

  Moran turned his head. ‘They planted those bombs in an hour?’

  ‘Maybe they’d been in the ground a while.’ I transmitted, ‘Stretch, go have another look at the bombs, tell me how long they’d been in the ground.’

  ‘OK, moving.’ A minute later he came back on with, ‘They’ve been in the ground a while.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  Swifty noted, ‘Nervous, cautious little puppies ain’t they.’

  ‘If they were nervous, then they were up to no good, and not just training next year’s bombers,’ I insisted.

  ‘They’ll need a new training hut,’ Swifty noted. ‘Some comfy furniture, a kettle.’

  Another box fed opened up, Mitch getting a piece, a loud cry issued followed by loud curses. I crawled over to him, his headgear off, the wound washed and cleaned, cream in, three large stitches in his scalp to some loud and colourful language.

  ‘You’re good for a few days,’ I told him as he put his facemask back on.

  ‘Stings like a bitch.’

  ‘Focus on staying alive – and shooting the bad guys. Day is only just starting.’ I crawled back around the boulders and to my fire position as the rocks serenaded me with a familiar ‘twang’ as flattened and distorted rounds spun off whistling.

  Getting comfy, I aimed down, and I found a man desperately trying to both watch his feet and watch the ridge at the same time, more of a hope than a practicality. With the man in my sights, crosshairs on his chest, I squeezed the trigger beyond the second pressure, a jolt in my cheek, a small puff. His head snapped to the side and he rolled down the slope.

  Swifty fired. ‘I got the man in charge down there.’

  We heard the “whoosh” and ducked, the high ground behind us hit, the blast deafening.

  ‘Report the wounded!’

  ‘It’s Fuzz, I got some shit in my leg.’

  ‘Anyone else?’

  I got no response, so ran bent double to Fuzz, first aid kit out. Trouser torn, gloves off, I felt around and pulled out a piece of metal, making him wince as men nearby fired off at distant targets. Cream in, it took a while to get three large stitches in, tape on top. ‘You’re good to go.’

  ‘Another fucking hospital appointment, Boss.’

  ‘Goes with getting ambushed.’ I tapped him on the shoulder and ran bent double back, rounds pinging off rocks, my bandolier suddenly hit. I knelt and had a look when back at Swifty; something had hit a magazine.

  I peered over the side, seeing a group bunched up behind a large rock thirty yards below us. It looked like Swifty had them pinned down. I transmitted, ‘Stretch, gather up all the bombs and come to me. With the bombs.’

  Five minutes later he slid in next to me kicking up dust, his hands full, his rifle slung over his back.

  ‘Got any snap fuses?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, hang on. Might have those two left.’

  He dug about in his webbing, pulling out two snap fuses in plastic. He discarded the plastic.

  ‘They thirty seconds?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Too long.’

  ‘Well ... I can snap and count.’

  ‘OK, snap, count, and with five seconds to go lob it down. Have a look, I want it other side of the big rock.’

  He had a look forwards. ‘If I can hit that rock on the left, that should do it.’

  Knelt on sand and dirt, he placed in the detonator, got ready – a look exchanged, snapped the fuse, and started counting aloud, and on twenty five he threw it. We ducked down, hands over ears, the blast soon washing over us, a large angry cloud of sand engulfing us.

  Peering down, we could see bodies off to the right and further down the slope. A man staggered out, hit by Swifty.

  ‘Job done,’ I told Stretch. ‘Keep that fuse, we’ll need it. Stay there, because they will be back, and inside an hour I reckon.’

  ‘It’s Mahoney. I’m teaching the boys to get a grenade detonating above the heads of the bad guys. Rick here threw baseballs semi-pro. Grenades are detonating forty yards out.’

  ‘Good work. I just got a group with a thrown bomb – their own cheap bomb.’

  ‘It’s Sanders,’ came an American accent. ‘Despite the captain’s enthusiasm here, I can see a road, and now trucks, and a hundred ragheads dismounting down the way.’

  ‘Open fire at six hundred, clean shots only, make them count. Swann, Leggit, reposition to Mahoney – I want the man in charge down there.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Sasha, report.’

  ‘They cannot get close, we hit many.’

  ‘Nicholson, report.’

  ‘They’re all ducking down, well back.’

  Moran turned to me, ‘Fucking stupid to try and come up here and get us. I thought these Al Qa-eda boys were switched on.’

  ‘If they can get box-fed over by that road, we’ll get worn down. And if they get box fed behind us we’ll get worn down. And if they have mortars we’re fucked.’

  ‘RPG is no good on a ridge,’ Swifty insisted. ‘To fire it they’d have to stand tall, and then risk being shot.’

  ‘So ... what was their great plan for defending this place?’ Moran queried. ‘Those bombs?’

  ‘First, the bombs,’ I began. ‘Then a shoot-out. Must be more bombs down below us, near the car parts. That would stop us in our tracks.’

  ‘Controls for those bombs were in that wooden hut,’ Swifty noted.

  ‘Or where they..?’ I transmitted, ‘Tomo, Nicholson, scan that camp for an underground hide.’

  ‘Underground?’ Swifty repeated.

  ‘First of all ... their stockpile of explosives should have been set away in some bunker underground,’ I told him. ‘Second, if I was as paranoid as they seem to be ... I’d want a cave or a bunker.’

  Rounds pinged off the rocks, all of us staying low, Moran getting a piece in the forehead and cursing loudly. Facemask off, I squeezed his skin like an acne spot, a sliver of lead removed, one large stitch to some equally loud complaining, taped up.

  ‘It’s Swann, I got the man in charge down there, as he did roll call.’

  ‘Don’t you boys now anything about protocol,’ came an American accent. ‘You don’t shoot an officer during roll call, you politely wait till he’s finished.’

  Laughter echoed.

  I transmitted, ‘Staff Sergeant Rizzo, have you failed to teach our lads the correct protocol?’

  ‘Yeah, bollocks.’

  Mahoney came on with, ‘Rizzo, you’re a credit to the British Army.’

  ‘Fuck off, Yank. And I never forgave you lot for David Cassidy.’

  Laughter echoed.

  ‘OK, you got us there,’ Mahoney agreed. ‘I apologise for my fellow countrymen not shooting David Cassidy.’

  A long burst of automatic fire filled the air.

  ‘Report the firing,’ I transmitted.

  ‘It’s Swann. After I hit the main man they stayed on parade, so I just wounded twenty of them. They’ve now decided to duck.’

&nbs
p; ‘Good work,’ I transmitted.

  ‘It’s Dicky. I found a guy hiding, so shot the rocks next to him, face full of ricochet. He walked off, but was shot in the head by his own boss.’

  ‘Some of these boys don’t want to be here,’ Mahoney noted.

  Rounds slammed into the rocks, and I got a piece in the scalp, Swifty as well, curses abounding. I cleaned up his wound, he tended mine, both now with streaks of blood down our faces.

  Rocko came in bent double. ‘Wilco, I got some shit.’ Facemask off, he was streaked in blood as well.

  Water poured, I had a good look, finally using tweezers to pull out an inch-long sliver of lead from his scalp. I handed it to him, three big stitches without a word of complaint. He was still bleeding, so three other stitches followed, cream on. ‘Back to me inside an hour if that keeps bleeding or if you feel faint. Reposition your lads, stay down, drink plenty.’

  ‘Gunna be a long fucking day,’ he grumbled as he moved off bent double.

  Ten minutes later came, ‘It’s Sanderson, and I can smell cigarette smoke, and I don’t think it’s us.’

  ‘Look for a vent or cave or a hole. Fast.’

  ‘There are caves?’ Morn cursed. ‘Fuckers could pop up anywhere!’

  ‘It’s Swann. The men down the hill disappeared into the rocks, so maybe a cave. Can’t see a single one now.’

  ‘It’s Sanderson. I found a hole, can smell cooking now.’

  ‘Drop a grenade.’

  ‘It’s Mahoney. We don’t exactly have a good track record with caves and mines.’

  ‘There are no hostages we know about,’ I told him. ‘And yes – the top of the mountain we’re sat on might blow off like a volcano.’

  ‘Cheerful fucker,’ came from Mitch.

  ‘It’s Sanderson, say a prayer, hold them balls tight, grenade going down.’

  We waited. No blast came.

  ‘It’s Sanderson, and that blast was way down below, say thirty metres at least. I can hear shouts.’

  ‘Drop another grenade. Anyone got smoke?’

  ‘It’s Mahoney, and we have red and green smoke for choppers.’

  ‘Stick two red smokes down the hole.’

  ‘Standby ... OK, red smoke down.’

  ‘Everyone, wait a minute and then look for red smoke on the hillside.’