by Geoff Wolak
Rocko called in, sounding out of breath. ‘We pasted them. They was so busy with the mortars they didn’t see us or hear us till we were fifty yards out, then we knelt and fired, killed the fuckers, double-tapping now.’
‘Anyone hurt?’
‘No one shouting for help.’
‘Headcount, then torches on and search the jeeps for booby traps, then I want phones and ID cards.’
‘We could drive this lot back, ain’t far.’
‘Do so, lights on, toot the horn as you approach, got 1 Para strung out in a line and dug in east.’
‘1 Para? I might just drive over them on purpose.’
Life returned to normal for the teams, the life of the nervous anticipation of what was next, and Rocko drove in half an hour later, the jeeps parked up outside our gate, mortars taken down and lugged to the sand banks, 2 Squadron handed them, to be used against attacks on the wire. We had six tubes set-up, thirty shells, but Rocko had left several rockets behind, stacked up in a pile, a bonfire lit under them.
Harris and Hunt collected phones and IDs and would track back, our hardy studio types now brave enough to venture out and to ask questions. I had Rocko sent straight back out, but on foot.
Captain Lester called in, and I could tell he was not happy to just lay there.
I told him, ‘It’s called the hard routine by the SAS, waiting in a lying-up position. It’s dark, so you can move around and stretch your legs, but after dawn you stay down. If you’re not up to it then walk back in.’
‘We’re up to it,’ he said defensively, not ‘I’m up to it.’
At 1am, as I slept with my rifle, a Para captain found me and shook me awake. ‘We have movement, six hundred yards out, we sent men to sneak and have a look.’
‘What did they find?’ I teased. ‘Pixies?’
‘Four men with long rifles seen.’
‘Have the RAF Regiment drop a mortar or two as a distraction, then shoot the fuckers. Next time, just shoot.’
I eased up as he rushed off, and I slowly wandered through the huts to the mortars, whispered comments going back and forth, the direction and distance being guess work. A mortar blasted out of a tube, and fifteen seconds later the blast echoed, soon the crackle of small arms fire.
It fell quiet, so I went back to bed.
At dawn I eased up, the huts quiet, 2 Squadron lads sat ready near the mortars and looking like a scene from some old Vietnam War movie, Haines and a Para captain with them, radios to hand. I nodded at Haines and headed to the gate, soon to the Para HQ.
A sleepy Major welcomed me.
‘All quiet, sir?’
‘Fired a mortar, shot them, got their rifles, we’ll get the bodies today,’ he reported.
‘Watch for booby traps, sir.’
He nodded, half asleep.
Rocko called in, they had slept out, men posted on stag, a comfy spot found in the sand, a small rise that gave them some view of the surrounding area. The Wolves had also found a good OP site and so had taken up residence, Moran leading out a patrol as I returned to the huts.
Clambering up the sand bank above the mortar tubes and squinting east, I wondered about strategy here. Our Saudi friend had paid a lot of money for men to attack us a few weeks back, and he had a grudge and a half levelled at us. So how would I beat him?
As I stood there I considered that the only way to piss him off would be to get the hostages, a good newspaper headline, and to go home with few casualties. There was little else I could do to affect things around here.
The day warmed up, dusty patrols venturing out or returning, and I patrolled the lines, chatting to some of the 1 Para lads, and by noon we had no reports of shots fired. We had heat, we had dust, we had flies, but we had no incoming.
At 2pm, the day damn hot, Rocko spotted a four-jeep convoy of armed men out at 1,000yards from his OP, so he had Leggit use his Elephant Gun, the lead jeep halted after it’s driver was rudely shot in the head. Leggit blasted away every six seconds, each jeep damaged, tyres hit, men hit.
Unfortunately a jeep caught fire, the smoke lazily hanging around, and that let the survivors run off north, away from Rocko. When he called in I told him to re-position, just in case.
Sat on the sand banks with Fishy, chatting away above the mortars, my phone trilled, an odd number. ‘Da!’
‘It’s Libintov, I have some information. You said you were interested in movements in Somalia, and there is one. They are my planes, but are sub-leased to another man. He is transporting fighters and weapons in two An12, from the east to the Kenyan border area.’
‘Do you know when and where they will land?’ He gave me a name and I wrote it down. ‘What’s on those planes, exactly?’
‘Fighters, plus many towed rocket units.’
‘I know some people that will not be pleased, and they will want those men stopped – or killed. You will attract interest from some unhappy people if they are your planes.’
‘Well, they are sub-lease as I said, I have no control over their use, and I found out without them knowing I found out.’
‘And if the planes were shot down..?’
‘Then he owes me the full value.’
‘This man is playing a dangerous game, because Aideed now has support from The West.’
‘Ah, I had heard rumours, and Aideed got a loan from somewhere.’
‘Be prepared to lose those planes.’
‘I am covered, but ... it is less than ideal.’
‘They may not be shot down, I’m just saying that some powerful forces don’t want the fighters moved around like that.’
‘I understand, and thanks for the warning, I will avoid sending planes to Somalia for now.’ Phone down, I stared at Fishy as he squinted back at me. ‘We got a problem. Get your senior men to the command room.’ I sent 2 Squadron lads to warn everyone else, and I drove with Haines and a few men across to the command room, grabbing the Squadron Leader and the 16 Squadron senior staff, sending the jeep back for the 1 Para officers.
The control room was full by time everyone assembled, the MOD teams in with us.
‘Listen up, we have a problem. Tomorrow at dawn, transport planes will bring in a hundred Somali or Arab fighters, trained men, plus towed rocket units. Those rockets can hit us from five miles out, and they may have lots of them, plus plenty of rockets.’
Worried looks were exchanged.
‘I know when and where the aircraft will land, and we could be sat there waiting for them, but if spotted it’s a shootout before they land, and if they land away from us or early we’ll be outnumbered, so moving on them early might not be best. I’ll make some calls, think of some alternatives, but we need to prepare for an evacuation of this base at midnight. Pass it up the line.’
‘Men are spread out,’ the 1 Para Major reminded me.
‘We have valuable helicopters here, plus support staff,’ I reminded him. ‘A hundred rockets could see twenty men killed, and that’s not an enquiry I want to sit when it can be avoided. That many rockets, Major, and they will get one of your positions, a few men killed – and explained at the enquiry.
‘If they attacked without warning that’s one thing, but we know about the attack so we can be blamed for not planning. And if we don’t disperse ... we find a hundred well-armed men coming in and firing RPGs and machineguns – and they will get some of us.
‘I know people think I’m a risk taker, but the fact is I always like to stack the deck in our favour, so we have a few hours to come up with a cunning and brilliant plan, and those Chinook will need to fly off with support crews before the rockets start landing.’
I stepped out with Hunt. ‘We could shoot down those planes,’ I suggested.
He considered that. ‘Fighting a war is one thing, but shooting down civvy planes, any civvy plane, is frowned upon. Could be a few innocent civilians on those planes.’
The sound of an aircraft had us turn, a Piper aircraft setting down, a small twin engine aircraft. It taxied arou
nd whilst being cautiously observed by men with rifles, Franks and Dick clambering out with bags, sunglasses firmly fixed in place.
I greeted them as their ride took off, the two men wearing beige utility waistcoats over short-sleeve shirts. ‘You’re replacing Baker then.’
‘Temporarily, and not in the UK,’ he told me.
‘First job: do you have any carriers nearby?’
‘No, none.’
‘Bugger.’
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘The bad boys are flying two An12 full of rockets at dawn, to a spot near here, to fire those rockets at us here.’
Dick was worried. ‘We’ll be hit in the morning?’
‘All out rocket attack, unless we do something about it,’ I told them, leading them inside. Franks greeted Captain Harris and had a look at the map as I stepped out and called the Air Commodore.
‘Wilco, you OK?’
‘Yes, sir. Listen, I need two Hercules for a job that is ... unprecedented.’
‘What the hell you up to? Another cement bombing run?’
‘No, sir. I need them to pick up another aircraft on radar a few miles out, get above and behind a slow moving An12, and let me fire down at the An12 with my lads.’
‘Fire on a moving aircraft, from a Hercules?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, it’s simple enough, just ... never been done before, and shooting down civvy aircraft is not exactly legal. Who’s on those aircraft?’
‘A hundred fighters, plus towed rocket units to be used against this base. You’ll lose RAF personnel, so I’m preparing to evacuate this base at midnight, unless...’
‘Unless we stretch a few rules and laws. You’re sure that the aircraft are carrying terrorists?’
‘Got the intel, and if they are where they should be when they should be that confirms it.’
‘Yes, it does I suppose. Give me an hour.’
‘Work fast, sir, clock is ticking.’
I went and found the Chinook pilots, 7 Squadron men.
‘Hey Wilco,’ they lazily offered as I neared.
I led them and their rear crewmen outside, and we formed a circle on the apron. ‘I have a job for you, not confirmed yet, and we may do the job via two Hercules. You’re our fallback position. There are two An12 about to be flown to an airfield near here at dawn tomorrow, hundred fighters inside with towed rockets to fire at this base, followed by a ground assault. I’m thinking of evacuating everyone at midnight.
‘What I’ve asked for, with the Hercules, is that they fly above and behind the slow moving An12, get above them, and my lads shoot down, damaging the aircraft – which hopefully crash and burn.’
‘Jesus,’ a pilot let out.
‘Question is ... are you lot good enough to do that, to save this base?’
They exchanged looks.
A pilot began, ‘An An12 is big and slow, not armour plated, slow on approach, weighed down with cargo in the back. If we were above it and behind, moved alongside, then yeah ... door gunner can hit it, and we have GPMG, lads are a dab hand with them now.’
‘Whether we get the go ahead on the Hercules or not, I want you to consider the plan, send it up the line, it is a bit ... unconventional. If it’s a go ... you lift off half an hour before dawn, and we hope we catch them landing.’
The same pilot said, ‘We can loiter at 1500feet, a mile apart near the airstrip, one of us might get them.’
‘I’ll drop some men in to get us some warning,’ I offered them. ‘Send it up the line, cover yourselves. If not, we evacuate.’
Back in the command room I called order. ‘I had an idea, discussed it with the Air Commodore, and he may let us use two Hercules and two Chinook. The An12 transports are slow, and on approach to the airstrip over the border our Hercules could fly above them, five hundred feet, and my lads can fire down. The same applies to the Chinook, and both have door gunners and GPMGs.’
The Squadron Leader stared at me, wide eyed. ‘Shoot down a transport plane, from a Hercules?’
‘An12 is large and slow, sir, very large and very slow. On approach it will be vulnerable. If not ... we evacuate, reposition, have-at the men on the border when they turn up.’
The MOD propaganda team asked, ‘Can we film that?’
‘Why not,’ I offered them with a shrug.
Outside, I called David Finch, and stunned him. He would discuss it with the Cabinet Office.
The Air Commodore called me back as I sat near the mortars. ‘Wilco, we think it can be done, but there are a few questions of legality. Technically, they should be shooting at you first, and we can’t be exactly sure who’ll be on those planes, plus the pilots are innocent – sort of.’
‘There is one other possibility, sir, and that we hit the planes on the ground before they take off. But if we do, they’ll drive here not fly here, we’ll just put it back a few days, then your RAF personnel get killed by rockets.’
‘I see.’
‘You could give the order to damage those aircraft and force them down ... that might cover you.’
‘Yes, it might. I’ll discuss that here.’
‘And you tell the Chinook pilots that I have operation control on the ground, and to follow my orders. That way I get the blame if I use the Chinooks for the same thing.’
‘I’ll get back to you.’
I had told all patrols to be back before midnight, and that no fresh patrols were to venture out. Trucks were now available to move RAF personnel, but the special forces lads would walk out a few miles and circle around before dawn, 1 Para left in place with 2 Squadron – all of whom were earnestly digging trenches or deep slit trenches. Sandbags had been found, filled, and were now being employed with some haste.
“A” Squadron were ready to drive their jeeps out of here. My lads, the Wolves and the Pathfinders were ready to tab out of here, a loose plan that involved circling around behind the rocket crews, assuming we could find the rockets – and that we could move unseen across open terrain.
The Air Commodore called back as the sun hung low on the horizon, expectant faces turning towards me. ‘Wilco, we’ve issued orders to the Hercules pilots to assist you in forcing down the aircraft to arrest the men within those aircraft, Chinook pilots have been told to follow your orders, but there are some nervous faces around here, many of us to be in early or to stay up in London and to follow the action.’
‘Thank you, sir. Can you get the Hercules here for at least an hour before dawn?’
‘Yes, and we spoke to our people there and the ATC tower has no working radar, so we have a portable Army unit on the way to you. Range of thirty to fifty miles, might help.’
‘I’m going to insert men, sir, to warn us. That airstrip is thirty miles away from here.’
‘Good luck.’
I fetched my snipers and had them all grab Elephant Guns and tungsten rounds, and I fetched four Wolves - who grabbed Elephant Guns off 2 Squadron, tungsten rounds handed over. They topped up water and rations, but they would be gone a day at most – hopefully.
I led them over to the Chinooks and grabbed the pilots, a map laid out on a trestle table. ‘This is the target airstrip in question, thirty miles away east roughly. Pilots, I want you to insert a four-man team here, five miles east of the airstrip, another team here, five miles north east, but without going anywhere near that strip.
‘Snipers, there are some small hills, get up on them, get hidden, cover your tracks. At dawn you report two An12 aircraft if they show. I want accurate aircraft positions relevant to the strip, and the aircraft heading. So ... aircraft are five miles east, heading 280 degrees, etc.
‘You must ... avoid all contacts tonight, not least because you’re alone and isolated. Call if you have wounded. If those planes come in low, shoot at them. If they’re at 1500 ... don’t bother. Chinooks will pick you up from an agreed spot an hour after dawn, call in your coordinates to Captain Harris, no mistakes.
‘Chinook pilots, I want several decoy
touchdowns before the final touchdown, and that touchdown must be three seconds and off. Snipers, jump out the rear from a few feet up. Pilots, fly a dog leg route east and around, south, then back north to here.’
They nodded.
‘You insert whenever you’re ready.’
A pilot suggested, ‘Do it now, then we get some food and rest for the morning.’
‘Up to you,’ I told him. I faced Tomo. ‘Tomo, anyone gets close to you ... shoot him in the balls.’ The laughed. ‘If you use a tungsten round for that ... I’ll dock your wages. But if you kill three men with one tungsten round ... that’s OK. Good luck to you all, but you don’t need it.’
Tomo raised a hand. ‘What does an An12 look like, Boss?’
‘Big fat civil transport, four propeller engines, glass nose.’ Tomo was about to say something when I held up a flat palm. ‘Ask me what colour it is and I’ll thump you.’
He lowered his head as the lads laughed.
As I reached the huts the Chinooks were winding up rotors, soon heading off south for their dog-leg route.
I gathered the senior men on the road between the huts; they stood in a circle, squinting in the bright sunlight. ‘Listen up. The plan is ... that we don’t evacuate, we’re going to insert men now who will warn us of planes approaching that airstrip - hopefully. We then have Chinook and Hercules armed with door gunners and some lads ... who are authorised to force the planes down.’
‘What the fuck does that mean?’ came from a regular.
‘It means that they’ll shoot at the engines and wing tanks.’
‘Planes will burn and crash and burn some more,’ a man puzzled.
I shrugged. ‘I’m not seeing a downside.’ They laughed. ‘Should the planes land ahead of time we move out and around. Get some rest, but get ready to move out as well. And, if a hundred rockets land on us during the night ... run like fuck out the gate.’
I had everyone in my hut bed down after some food and water, the alarm clock set for 4am, and I lay back, my head better but not perfect, still a dull headache.