Wilco- Lone Wolf 11

by Geoff Wolak

  The lieutenant nodded. ‘We did an exercise like this.’

  ‘Don’t get killed over there!’ I warned. ‘Hide yourselves well, and high up. Plan your escape before you make a cup of tea.’

  After dark our convoy turned out to sea, but after a few miles the ship listed as we turned northeast, now twelve miles from the coast. I had not slept, and I did not need to sleep yet, I would keep going.

  A few of the lads would have backpacks, extra water and rations, extra ammo as per Eritrea, the same men carrying long lenses as on previous missions.

  As we got ready a French officer came and found me. ‘An American Hawkeye just took your men.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I told the man before he headed off.

  ‘What was that? Crab asked.

  ‘US Navy Hawkeye aircraft landed on the American carrier, took off Hamble and Whisky, heading for a Saudi hospital.’

  ‘End of Hamble’s career,’ Moran reflected. Men exchanged thoughtful looks. ‘Wonder what he’ll do?’

  ‘If he can walk on a prosthetic leg ... he can do paperwork for us,’ I told him. ‘If he goes back to Civvy Street ... he’ll probably take his own life. OK, quieten down! Those that need it, get some shut-eye.’

  In with Liban I finalised the plan, suitable insert locations picked out on the map before I headed up to the bridge, detail of that plan relayed. The captain would radio the Kearsarge and request helos for us, two batches, fifteen men on each run, anytime after 2am.

  On the dark deck, I found Sambo on watch. ‘You OK?’ I asked him, a firm breeze cooling us, salt water spray cooling our faces.

  ‘Not tired, sir.’

  ‘We go in tonight, to shoot some of these bastards.’

  ‘What they want to fight for, sir?’

  ‘The Somalis fight amongst themselves to see who will be president, but the Arab fighters want to hit Americans, British and French – who they see as the enemy.’

  ‘Why they see us as the enemy, sir?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Long story, but our countries have interfered in the Middle East for hundreds of years, and we prop up dictators and supply weapons. But the truth is that even when we’re not around the Arabs fight amongst themselves and kill each other. If we did not exist they would still fight and kill.

  ‘Each group thinks that they are correct, and that god is on their side. But some men don’t want to have a regular job, and once they have a feel for a gun in their hands and some power ... they like it.’

  ‘I see this before in Africa, the man with the gun and the power, and they like the power, yes.’

  ‘It’s the same the world over. Some people are hard working and honest, others are bad and pick up a gun.’

  ‘I saw the young boy killed, sir, but he was not screaming, so that was better.’

  ‘Eighteen years old.’

  He shook his head. ‘He knows nothing of life yet, sir.’

  ‘You ever think about starting a family?’

  ‘I have a child with a woman in Mauritania, but we do not live together. If I am not a soldier then I do know what work I can do in her small town, and how I can make money, but she always ask for me to be in the house.’

  ‘I have a daughter, but I don’t live with the mother. She is ... high society.’

  ‘Ah ... I see. You be the soldier, sir, and she want the prince.’

  I laughed. ‘What, I don’t look like a prince to you!’

  ‘More like the beast than the prince, sir. And I see in your eye when you shoot a man, the eye of death. Maybe not good for a small baby to see, sir.’

  I nodded, taking a reflective moment as I stared out at the dark horizon. ‘I cannot be a good father at home ... and do this job at the same time.’

  ‘And what of the captain with no leg, sir?’

  ‘He has no wife or child to worry about, but also no wife or child to comfort him. For my men, they are family to each other.’

  ‘Always be like this with the soldier, sir.’

  ‘Be careful when we are over there, no silly risks.’

  ‘It is in the hands of the gods, sir, we only be the player on the stage. I hear this in a movie, and I think about it a long time, and after I sleep better.’

  ‘Yes, best to trust to luck. I do. In Bosnia, an artillery shell landed and killed my team and left me alive, just twenty yards difference.’

  ‘One time, sir, I am shot, and I look and see the blood, but the bullet go under my arm and kill the man behind me. It was not my time.’

  ‘I’m hoping you’re not injured over there, you’re too damn heavy to carry.’ I left him laughing quietly.

  At 3am the first French Echo team flew off in two Pumas, the French commandos on the coast having landed much earlier and reported in the local movement – which was plenty. We waited ten minutes, two Seahawks coming over to us, my team jumping aboard, the doors closing. The pilots had the coordinates already, so I did not have to relay them.

  I could see that we had climbed as we sped inshore, and that we would cross the coast west of our intended target area. The ocean gave way to desert, soon black hills, and we banked sharply to starboard, a minute later banking the opposite way.

  ‘Can this fucker fly?’ Rizzo asked.

  ‘He’s trying to confuse the Arabs!’ I shouted back.

  Another hard right turn, and eventually we slowed, door open, a bump and we were out and running in fine sand, soon knelt in a line. When the sand storm finally allowed me I lifted my head to see that we were in a tight valley, and high up, sand around us but steep black hills either side, the smell of damp rocks and sand in our nostrils.

  ‘Radios in, get ready!’ I shouted. With me was Swifty, Rizzo and Stretch, Henri and Jacque, Tomo and Nicholson, Sambo, Sasha plus his men. I waited as the black blobs moved around, and I finally performed a radio headcount in the dark.

  ‘Tomo, back behind us five hundred yards, slow and steady, then report back. Nicholson, forwards. Go. Rest of you, sit down and get comfy.’

  The two scouts plodded off in different directions in soft sand.

  I took out my sat phone and called Captain Harris, knowing that he should be on the bridge of the Joan de Arc. ‘It’s Wilco, we’re down safe, hope it’s the right spot, no one around.’

  ‘OK. This phone will stay on the bridge for emergency calls. Oh, French commandos reported the Somalis all asleep after a bit of a barbeque. One speedboat came out to us, hit by an American helo.’

  ‘They must be running short on boats and warm bodies by now,’ I quipped.

  ‘Makes you wonder what motivates them, or who motivates them.’

  ‘Indeed. Wilco out.’

  I sat with my team, men chatting quietly.

  ‘It’s Nicholson. We’re in a sandy valley up high, but I just come to the steep bit down, and half a mile below are twenty jeeps, a few fires going.’

  ‘Stay there, observe them, we’re coming to you.’ I stood, the lads easing up. ‘Tomo, you there?’

  ‘Yes, Boss.’

  ‘Back here now, unless you see lights.’

  ‘No lights, just black mountains. Coming back in.’

  We waited till Tomo was close before plodding off east after Nicholson. Reaching Nicholson, I had the lads hide, and I took out my sat phone to call Moran.

  ‘I was just about to call you,’ Moran said. ‘We can see a group below us, across the valley.’

  ‘Flash a torch that I could see, but not someone below.’

  ‘Hang on.’

  There it was, across the valley and further south.

  ‘OK, I see you. We’re northwest about a mile. And we both have open ground to cover to attack that group. I reckon I can get within five hundred yards, so you go look for another target.’

  ‘Need a decoy?’

  ‘I don’t want to wake them till we get close. I’ll call you if we do. Moving down now.’

  Off the phone I led the teams down a sandy track, the camp half a mile below us, but I found a way north. That
would get us a bit closer, and hopefully get us there unseen.

  I plodded on slowly, sand and dirt kicked up, rocks negotiated around, steep slopes traversed, but we had an outcrop of rock on our right, shielding us from view.

  A long half hour later I could see the road, and now I followed the rocks tightly as we dropped down and headed east towards the distant road, some traffic seen. This was a bad spot to be caught out in, but they would need a mounted fifty cal to worry me, their radios hopefully jammed, ours not jammed. At least, ours were not jammed yet. I had images of Van Halen blasting out as I snuck up on someone.

  Finding a path behind rocks I followed it south, not seeing the camp below, and ten minutes of arduous work brought me to flat rocks. Crawling over them, I had a view of the roadside camp, and we were within five hundred yards.

  I turned my head. ‘All radios off, just in case. Pass it on. Close up here.’ I turned my radio off as Swifty and my team did likewise, heard but not seen, and I could soon see that the back blobs were all spread out on the flat rocks, facing down, but badly exposed to anyone higher up.

  ‘Nicholson, what can you see?’ I whispered.

  ‘Two guards posted, stood chatting, lots of little lean-to tents held up with sticks, some men asleep in the backs of jeeps.’

  ‘Count them.’

  Five minutes later he whispered, ‘Forty-two I reckon.’

  ‘Listen up. Those on the left, aim left, those on the right, aim right. Nicholson, Tomo, the guards. Rest of you hit the sleeping men, the tents, then movement. Silencers on. Spread out and get a comfy spot if you need to. Standby.’

  Standing, I studied the hills behind us for a minute, a look to the north, and I finally turned south, no one around apart from us and the happy campers below. Easing down, I whispered, ‘Tomo, Nicholson, count to five and open fire on those guards.’

  I moulded the rifle butt into my shoulder, my elbows on hard rock, and I got comfy, but I had no intention of firing unless necessary.

  Two quiet cracks sounded out, the guards falling, a sudden overlapping roar of cracks, each of my lads firing a few times quickly before moving their sights to a new target and firing again, at least two rounds per dark target.

  A jeep started to burn, adding some extra illumination to aim by, the moon providing additional illumination. I saw a man run off down the road, but Swifty got him on the third round fired.

  The firing eased, eyes strained as we tried to see movement, Tomo and Nicholson still firing down. It eventually fell quiet as we studied the roadside camp.

  My phone quietly trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Moran. We can see a fire.’

  ‘We hit the roadside camp below, all dead I think, jeep on fire. I’ll wait here a bit, see who stops on the road. Wilco out.’

  I had Sasha and his team move into a gully and get a brew on for everyone as we waited, men chatting quietly, a jeep reported fifteen minutes later. The jeep slowed, stopped, had a good look, weapons soon stolen away.

  ‘Nicholson, shoot that fucker.’

  Several cracks sounded out, two men hit, soon lying in their own jeep headlights, the tyres of the burning jeep now well alight.

  As I sat there on a hard rock, brew in hand, I observed the fire burn down, the jeep finally just a smouldering wreck. The next jeep to pass slowed down but did not stop, so I left it alone.

  My phone trilled quietly. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Moran, we’re now north of that jeep fire, opposite you, moving north.’

  ‘I’m going to hang around a while and hit anyone nosing around below, repositioning before dawn. See any convoys, call me.’

  ‘Will do.’

  I put my jacket on to stay warm, many of the lads already in jackets, but it certainly wasn’t cold here, just a chilly breeze from the north. Pairs moved back in turn to get some food on, and I finally noticed the dawn coming up.

  ‘OK, pack up, on me.’

  I led them off when ready, and we re-traced our route in, stumbling and struggling up sandy slopes till we were behind the outcrop. Noticing a break in the rocks, I followed the opening higher, sweating by time we reached a high plateau, the sun starting to rise.

  The plateau was a good spot to make camp, and from the edge we could clearly dominate the road below, even if it was a 1200yard shot.

  Tomo screamed, and I turned to see him up to his waist, Nicholson grabbing him. I ran over.

  ‘Quick sand!’ Tomo shouted.

  ‘It’s not quicksand, you moron!’ I told him as we pulled him out, the lads laughing at him. When he was free, I knelt and had a look at sand that was disappearing like water down a plug. ‘It’s a cave.’

  The sand finally revealed a hole, the hole got larger, and the hole was just about big enough for a man. I eased down and put my face in. Easing up, I said, ‘This way,’ and led the lads quickly off to the southwest fifty yards, down a steep sandy slope and into the cave.

  Inside, we found a cavern big enough for a fifty men, a few openings to the front.

  ‘Look!’ Swifty said, and he picked up a newspaper.

  I had a look at the faded paper. ‘British, 1923. So some idiot explorer was here on an expedition.’

  ‘He never left,’ Nicholson told me.

  I turned and noticed the skeleton, soon digging it out with others. Whoever he was he dressed in a military uniform, sand coloured. I lifted the skull, a bullet hole clear. ‘Methinks there was some skulduggery here.’

  Ten minutes of digging revealed a water bottle, backpack with rusted old tins, a faded map, and some clothing. And nothing else. His belt had “R.S. Skinner” on the inside of it.

  ‘He was robbed and shot,’ Swifty suggested.

  ‘1923 would have been when the Italians were here,’ I told them. ‘So he was a spy maybe. OK, make camp. Nicholson, Tomo, up top, two hours and down. Henri, Jacque, watch the road from in here. Anyone that needs to eat, do so, or get some sleep.’

  I placed my sat phone on a natural ledge exposed to the sky, the dull grey dawn light now seeping in and cutting the room in half, and I sat with my back to a ridge of sand that I had piled up high.

  Swifty dug a hole to start the cooking. ‘Fancy trekking around here with just a little water bottle and a map.’

  ‘The water wells would have been on the map, and people moved from water to water. Route you took was dictated for you.’

  With sachets of chicken curry and beef curry mixed with dried biscuits, Swifty and I sat back and wolfed it down. Water added to the dregs, we stirred, and we ate what was left, water boiling again for a brew in a clean tin as the lads cooked.

  My phone trilled. Easing up, I lifted it, leaning into the opening. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Moran, large convoy moving south. We’re hidden, but a bit low.’

  ‘We can hit them. We climbed up, found a nice plateau, and a good cave. We’re in the cave, found the skeleton of an explorer from 1923.’

  ‘Shit ... well you got five minutes before they reach the mess you made last night. Moran out.’

  Phone down, I shouted, ‘Get ready to snipe down some of you, radios on.’ I clambered out of the entrance bent-double and up to Nicholson and Tomo, my radio knocked on. ‘Put your radios on,’ I told them when I saw their grey outlines.

  At the edge of the plateau I found a hole shaped like a seat and jumped into it, seeing the convoy approach. ‘I reckon on 1200yards.’

  ‘We were just discussing that,’ Nicholson said.

  ‘Aim at a point just above the top of the head and you’ll hit them in the solar plexus.’

  Sasha and two of his lads came across and found positions as I peered down. The convoy of jeeps and trucks slowed and stopped, men out and running, all around defence – sort of.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Nicholson let out. ‘Who’s in charge down there?’

  ‘Bugs Bunny,’ Tomo suggested.

  ‘Look,’ Nicholson said. ‘Two guys with rifles balanced over their shoulders. And there, a guy
kneeling ready with an RPG, an empty RPG.’

  ‘Now now, we shouldn’t judge others by our standards,’ I quipped.

  ‘They’re collecting up the weapons,’ Tomo noted.

  ‘Try and get the man in charge, then jeep tyres.’

  Nicholson took aim, a quiet crack, and I observed a man fall.

  ‘What the hell,’ I said to myself. I set automatic, silencer clipped on and twisted, took aim and fired at the trucks and jeeps, Sasha and his lads soon copying, the men below in disarray.

  With my rifle upright, I observed the men running about below, some of them running our way to get into cover. But they had four hundred yards to reach some desirable cover, and then not much of it. Most got down behind the jeeps.

  After ten minutes we could not see anyone, they were hiding, but they would have to move at some point. Tomo and Nicholson fired once every few minutes, an arm or a leg hit, but apart from that we had a stalemate.

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Moran. We can just about see that convoy. What happened?’

  ‘They’re out and hidden behind the jeeps and trucks. We killed a few, rest are hidden to us.’

  ‘Hang on ... there’s another convoy ... trucks ... hang on, towed rockets.’

  ‘How far are you from the road?’

  ‘Well over a thousand yards, maybe two. Wait, they’ve stopped.’

  I peered north. ‘I can see them now.’

  ‘There’re setting up the rockets ... shit, white man with them.’

  Off the phone I shouted, ‘All radios and phones off now! Sasha, tell those below!’ I turned my radio off. ‘Moran, you there?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We’ve turned off radios just in case, and I’ll cut this call, but he can’t do anything without triangulation. He’d need some clever kit in the hills.’

  ‘Maybe he has some.’

  ‘That would be a worry, but if he had he would have moved on us last night. Turn your radios off, put your sat phone behind a rock. Call you back later.’ I turned my phone off, just in case.

  Ten minutes later the lower levels of the slope exploded, but they had been hit by mortars, smoke mortars.