by Geoff Wolak
Two minutes later came, ‘It’s Nicholson. Red smoke to the right of the hut still standing, say sixty yards out.’
‘It’s Sasha. Red smoke behind us ... say four hundred yards.’
‘Watch both locations, keep looking for the red smoke.’ I turned my head left, to Stretch. ‘Stretch, get that last bomb to Sanderson, grenade fitted, drop it if the hole is big enough.’
He ran off bent double kicking up dust.
‘Wilco,’ Moran hissed, and I slid towards him. ‘Look down my rifle for the red smoke.’
I looked over his shoulder, and in amongst the rubble of the blown hut I could see red smoke wafting. ‘Trap door escape route.’
‘Be hard work for us to get over there in one piece,’ Moran complained.
‘It’s Stretch, and the hole is big enough. I’ve broken the bomb into two sticks of two, each with a grenade, so ... here goes the first one.’
We waited, a slight rumble felt through our knees.
‘Look!’ Moran shouted, smoke blasting out of the demolished hut. ‘Anyone in there is now choking!’
‘Men coming out!’ Nicholson shouted.
‘Open fire! Look for them and shoot!’ I transmitted in a hurry.
A dozen men fired outwards as I repositioned over to Nicholson, in the centre ground. I could see men emerging from beyond the remaining hut, all cut down, Rocko and Slider hammering out rounds.
‘Smoke down the slope!’ came an American accent. ‘Fighters emerging! The whole ball team is coming out.’
I moved over to Mahoney on the east side and slid in next to him after calling his name – he was well camouflaged, soon peering down the east slope.
‘They running out of enthusiasm yet?’ he asked from behind his facemask.
‘Running out of air to breathe - if they were in the middle of that cave.’
The man next to Mahoney said, ‘What about an airstrike, sir? Whole carrier battle group sat out there doing squat.’
‘Any bomb that hits them send rocks flying at us,’ I told the man.
‘Helos? Door gunners?’ the same man pressed.
‘RPG will bring down a helo at a thousand feet, and to be any good we need the helo in tight, and I’m not risking a helo in here. Not yet.’
‘RPG!’
We all ducked down, the blast deafening.
‘Anyone hit?’ I shouted as sand and small stones landed on us, smoke wafting. No response came.
‘It’s Sasha. That last RPG came from northwest, long way out.’ ‘Someone with a long lens, aim that way. OK, every second man, get a brew on; it’s going to be a long day.’
‘Tea break!’ came an American accent, laughter heard.
‘I won twenty bucks,’ Mahoney told me. ‘Said you’d call a tea break in the middle of a battle.’
‘It’s a lull,’ I insisted. I moved north and found Stretch. ‘After the tea break, use that second bomb, use the snap fuse maybe. Keep the grenades going, keep them out of that fucking cave.’
Back with Swifty I got a brew on, the firing light and sporadic as the day warmed up. My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Franks, what’s happening?’
‘We’ve stopped for a tea break.’
‘You ... you’re having a tea break?’
‘Sure, why not. We stuck a bomb in the cave we found, smoked them out, hit them when they exited, sporadic fire now, RPGs coming in.’
‘Estimate of numbers?’
‘Two hundred plus, a bunch of keen Arab fighters in the mix with less-than-keen locals. This was not just about teaching bomb making, it was a full-on training camp, and these boys were training to go somewhere, so start figuring out the intel.’
‘Ships here are scanning the airwaves and getting intel. You need some help up there?’
‘Not yet, and it’s too risky to bring in a chopper. A few small wounds, nothing life-threatening yet.’
‘We could drop supplies...’
‘Not sure how, not without the helo getting an RPG fired at it.’
‘Marines..?’
‘They could land a mile away and create a diversion, but I don’t want a dead Marine when I don’t need a dead Marine.’
‘Must be something we can do. Jet with missiles?’
‘Just as likely to kill us – we’re a few hundred yards away from those shooting at us.’
‘And after dark?’ Franks pressed.
‘We could leave, you level the place, come in at dawn and get some paperwork and bodies.’
‘OK, that’s an option. I’ll discuss it here and up the line.’
Phone away, I sipped my brew. ‘Nice day. I mean the weather.’
‘Nice view as well,’ Swifty noted, sipping his own brew as we stared down at the Red Sea.
I peered over the rocks, seeing movement down the slope, beyond 600yards. I eased back and finished my brew, chocolate munched, a few dried biscuits dunked and eaten, and I was squinting now in the bright sunlight.
Fifteen minutes later, the firing having eased to the odd isolated crack, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Tinker. GCHQ are excited, some great new phone data. We matched your coordinates to some old packet data and found a match, and linked the sat phones we found to Yemen and Somalia, even Gaza and Lebanon, so lots of high level phone calls back and forth.’
‘Contact the US Navy, via Mister Hunt, and ask for their intercepts as well, their ships are scanning the airwaves.’
‘I’ll call him now. What you up to?’
‘We’re on the top of a ridge, pinned down and surrounded, but they can’t get close, and we’ll probably leave after dark. Wilco out.’ Off the phone, I told my team, ‘Boys here are in contact with Gaza and Lebanon.’
‘Proper training camp then,’ Moran noted.
Ten minutes later my phone trilled again. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Colonel Mathews, on my way to the White House Situation Room. What’s happening on the ground?’
‘Stalemate, sir. We’ve killed many of them for a few slight wounds, and we dropped a bomb into a cave as they were sat around cooking breakfast, and it drove them out of the cave, and we shot a fair few as they fled. Now it’s sporadic fire.’
‘And what’s likely to happen next?’
‘Stalemate, till after dark. Your CIA suggested we leave, and that your boys level it.’
‘We want the intel, so we’ll wait on levelling the place.’
‘Why you off to the Situation Room late at night?
‘We’ve linked that place to Gaza and Lebanon, and to men who attacked us – al Qa-eda, so this is serious stuff.’
‘Then tell the National Security Advisor that us British are in support of Captain Mahoney and his team.’
‘You do indeed know how Washington works. Warn Captain Mahoney about calls.’
Call ended, I moved bent double across to Mahoney, now sat with his facemask off, blood on his face. ‘You might get a call from the White House.’
‘The White House!’
‘Colonel Mathews is on his way to the Situation Room, a late night briefing about this job, so think what you’ll say – and I told him you’ll take the lead and that us Brits are in support.’
‘If they think that, and a man is killed or this goes wrong, I get the shit!’
‘You’re the Captain now. Man up,’ I told him with a smirk.
He shot Sergeant Devil a worried look.
Back with my team, I said, ‘Mahoney is about to get a call from the White House Situation Room, and crapping himself.’
‘I would too,’ Mitch put in. ‘They don’t like mistakes.’
‘So what’s the plan?’ Moran asked as he leant back against a rock cradling his rifle.
‘Wait till dark and fuck off, let the Americans claim this job. Al Qa-eda is their area.’
‘It’s Stretch. Smoke has gone, so do we drop again?’
‘Yeah, go ahead.’
A minute later we felt the dull rumble, smoke
seen rising in the same places.
I saw the ground lift up around the demolished hut. ‘Get down!’ I shoved Swifty and dived down, my head under a rock, the blast washing over us, my legs impacted by falling rocks, and I knew I was hurt.
Shaking my head, I lifted up and found that I was in a sandstorm, and blind and coughing, small rocks pelting my head.
‘Man down!’
‘It’s Wilco, report the wounded!’
‘Slider is hurt!’
‘Wait, I can’t see fuck all,’ I shouted.
‘Dicky is hurt,’ came Sasha’s voice. ‘Some of my men, we all get some shit.’
‘Tomo is hurt.’
‘Fuck!’ I let out. ‘Swifty, you alive?’
‘Just about,’ came a voice.
‘Moran!’
‘Still ... here ... just ... about.’
‘Mitch?’
‘My ribs,’ he strained out.
I took my phone out, hard to see it, and called Franks. ‘It’s Wilco. The cave beneath us blew, we have serious wounded, standby my next call for casevac, you may have to make smoke and distract them first. We have ten men down, update Colonel Mathews fast.’
The dust cleared, so I checked Swifty over, Moran, a hand on Mitch’s ribs before I moved bent double to Slider. He was semi conscious, a blow to the head. Facemask off, I cleaned up his wound and got a fast crude stitch in his scalp. It was not bleeding too badly.
Rocko’s elbow was hit, his left arm out of use. I moved forwards, to Tomo. He was bleary-eyed, a nasty cut on his head, a swollen area felt.
‘Tomo, can you hear me?’
‘Uh ... yeah.’
‘Count down from ten to one.’
‘Ten ... nine ... eh ... six.’
I poured water over his face. To Nicholson I said, ‘Keep him down, it’s just a mild concussion, facemask off, he might puke. And he couldn’t count at the best of times!’
Turning north, I wove around the boulders, eighty yards to Dicky, my legs killing me, Dicky now being tended by Mouri. Water poured over his face, Dicky shook his head.
‘Shoulder,’ he croaked out.
I tested his shoulder, finding it badly bruised, a bump on his head.
‘Sasha, Robby, use the confusion and smoke, take your men north rock to rock, get to them and beyond them. Go!’
They moved off in a hurry.
I left Dicky with Mouri and ran back. ‘Any able-bodied men left standing, and not tending the wounded, form up on me in the centre.
Mahoney came in with Devil, Devil’s face streaked with blood, his facemask off. Swifty came in with Moran, Rizzo came in, Swann and Sambo, and that was it.
‘We make use of the confusion and get position now, and we get the wounded out. On me, stay sharp.’ I moved forwards and transmitted, ‘This is Wilco. There are teams going into the camp, teams going north, check your fire!’
Beyond Nicholson - now seen tending Tomo, I ran rock to rock and down the slope, left whilst avoiding the wrecked cars, and along the ridge, a few rounds cracking past us or pinging off the rocks.
Beyond the cars I ran across open ground and to the track, sprinting along it despite my legs protesting in pain, smoke still wafting. We passed the demolished hut, bodies everywhere, body parts strewn about. I kicked a dented old metal kettle as I ran, and I just avoided stepping on a severed leg.
I kept going south till the first large rocks presented themselves, stopping and kneeling as the smoke dissipated. ‘Get in the rocks,’ I whispered, men moving past me on the left.
When the smoke cleared we moved forwards, right into a line of confused fighters. Eight of us opened up, rapid shots, the fighters knocked back or spun as we moved forwards double-tapping, RPGs dropped by the panicked fighters.
Beyond them we found their marshalling area, six wounded finished off, an open area found some ten yards in radius, boxes of weapons and ammo stacked up ready, RPG heads laid out on bits of old carpet.
Men in grey thobes appeared from down the slope, surprised looks as we shot them, and adopting a line of rocks we fired down for sixty seconds, twenty fighters hit, others running off.
‘If we hold this area we can get choppers in,’ I told the lads. ‘Some of you - grab the box-fed and RPGs, use them.’ I walked back to the road. ‘Sasha, you hear me?’
‘Yes, just about.’
‘What’s the situation there?’
‘We killed a few, now we hold the high ground, some ran off down the slope.’
‘Can anyone see any large groups, anyone moving up?’
No response came.
I called Franks. ‘It’s Wilco. Stick Marines on the choppers and send them, take off the wounded, have medics on the birds. Have them land where they’re waved to, north of the camp huts by 100yards.’
‘I’ll send them now. What about hostiles?’
‘We have a window of opportunity for half an hour, no need for smoke or diversions.’
‘OK, sending them now.’
Off the phone, I transmitted, ‘Listen up, choppers coming in, get the wounded into the centre, get ready to move them. Able bodied men to remain, Marines coming in. Take charge of those Marines, and don’t let anyone walk around those damaged cars, I saw wires.’
I turned. ‘Mahoney, go back, take charge of those Marines!’
He ran off up the track as Devil loaded an RPG, took aim, and fired down. Sambo held a box-fed, and now keenly poured out rounds down the slope as I moved to the eastern edge, calling over Swifty and Moran.
‘Here, you two, cover that slope.’ I aimed down and fired twice, a man spun as Swifty and Moran moulded themselves into the rocks and started picking off fighters below.
I knelt and stared down the slope. And sighed. ‘That could have gone better.’
Moran said, ‘Fuckers were moving something, blast nudged them, set it off.’
Swifty noted, ‘We’ve not had a lot of luck with caves. Let’s avoid caves. And snow. Caves in snow.’
Devil blasted off another RPG, Sambo still firing, Rizzo firing west with a box-fed.
Back in the centre, I helped Devil load, and I pointed at a suitable target, men hidden behind rocks 500yards away. Devil fired, and hit the rocks behind the men, the unlucky fighters getting some hot shrapnel and some stone ricochet in the arse.
Ten minutes later I heard the helicopters, and finally saw them east, coming in level with us from behind the sun, four of them. I transmitted, ‘Pop green smoke, get the wounded ready to move!’
Green smoke started to climb as I observed, the first Seahawk soon down, Marines out, wounded helped on, a line of Marines soon knelt. The Seahawk lifted off and climbed, taking no chances as the second Seahawk landed, Marines out, the wounded aboard.
The third Seahawk landed Marines, but took no wounded, the final Seahawk setting down men, and the resonating drone abated as the mid-morning sun warmed the ridge. I sipped my water, suddenly very thirsty.
Mahoney returned to me with two platoons of Marines, and I recognised Lieutenant James.
‘Lieutenant, take a platoon back to that hut, search the area, collect up phones, wallets, paper, anything that may be useful. It’s not pleasant, there are bodies everywhere, and be damn careful what you touch – it will go bang.’
He ran off with his platoon, the others already adopting rocks and firing out at movement below.
Swifty and Moran walked in to me. Swifty said, ‘Those left are moving away, fuck all to shoot at.’
‘Get a brew on then, we’ll be out in an hour.’ I called Franks. ‘Get a helo to do a wide sweep and see who’s about, then you and your buddies get here for a few hours before we lose the light, get the evidence away. Bring a camera.’
‘OK, I’ll get a ride now.’
Sat on a rock with Moran, I said, ‘Wonder what blew?’
‘Box of dynamite,’ he said. ‘They were moving it, something set it off.’
‘Box of Semtex more like,’ Swifty noted as he got the cooker going, Samb
o still firing out.
Devil came and sat. ‘Can’t see Jack shit now.’
I nodded, but then noticed the nearest Marines sergeant. ‘Marine Sergeant!’
He turned to me.
‘You know how to fire an RPG?’
‘Sort of, sir.’
‘Have a go, find something to hit. Give your men a go.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘Rizzo, Sambo, hand those box-fed to the Marines.’
‘What you doing?’ Moran puzzled, blood and dust down his face.
‘FBI might come in,’ I told them, making them laugh.
Sat with a brew, the day now damn hot, the view spectacular from up here, the young Marines blasted away at distant targets for us.
Moran pointed, I looked, and a blood-soaked white man was being led towards us by two Marines, an Arab being dragged along behind.
I eased up and met them. ‘Marines, he’s a wanted terrorist. Bind him, look at his wounds, never take your eyes off him, search him. And the other fucker.’
A minute later they handed me his wallet, the man sat staring defiantly back at me.
‘Brendon Fraser,’ I noted, pinching away his cash and pocketing it. I made eye contact with the man. ‘I think it was your brother I killed in Northern Ireland. I’m Wilco.’
His eyes widened.
‘And you, you’ll be in an American stockade - not with your buddies in a comfy Belfast prison. You’ll get your own orange jump suit, being fucked up the arse by big black guys.’ I called David Finch. ‘Right, Boss.’
‘I heard there was a problem?’
‘Small one, a few minor wounds. Listen, I have one Brendon Fraser sat with me.’
‘Ah, we’ve been after him for some time. Excellent.’
‘The camp has been destroyed, many killed, Marines here now and getting evidence. We have no fatalities, but six or eight men wounded, not shot, they were hit by falling debris. We’ll evacuate to the ship in an hour. Wilco out.’
Mahoney’s phone trilled, and he went white as he glanced at me. ‘Captain Mahoney. Yes, sir ...’ He stepped away.
I sat on the sandy ground and sipped my brew. ‘He’s taking the call that no officer wants. What did you do, Mister - and why?’
‘Worked out OK,’ Swifty suggested. ‘No one killed, a few sore heads.’
Two Seahawks glided in, a third circling around us. They landed right in front of us, Franks and his buddies clambering down, Hunt with them, six Marines as escort, our two prisoners bundled aboard. With the Seahawks climbing away, our visitors walked over.