Wilco- Lone Wolf 11

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘I know how you feel, sir, I’ve sat those enquiries, too many.’

  ‘Rumours here about the paymaster and middle man, but the White House is suppressing the news.’

  ‘That same paymaster is spending money here, but I’m costing him a fortune. We killed hundreds this past week, just wrecked a compound of tanks and APC, about to thin out the local armed men.’

  ‘That’s something, but I’m mad as hell, but with no one to strike back against. Carrier group now off Somalia, no targets to hit and no permission to hit them if we did.’

  ‘We have your Lieutenant Mitchell with us, so ... organise a fly-by of where I’m stood right now, photograph the damage, make up a story about US special forces on the ground attacking a compound that stores missiles, as well as tanks and APC. I’ll back you up.’

  ‘That could help a little, the media has given the nation a real downer, we’re feeling helpless right about now.’

  ‘Get the photos, run the story, sir. And if I find a suitable target I’ll let you know, you might get permission to launch a strike.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Call ended, I stood tapping my chin with it. Thinking.

  An hour later Rocko navigated around rocks and joined us, sitting on a rock with his box-fed as the light improved.

  A drone caught on the breeze, and we all looked up and around, soon two loud Lynx above us, close enough to hit with a stone. A whoosh, and the poor fuckers below us got their early morning wake-up call. Three additional rockets, and the compound was against shrouded in smoke, but I could see that a rocket had hit a wall, a section of it down.

  The Lynx slid forwards and left, off at speed, but as we observed they flew down to the strip and buzzed it, circling around, soon coming at the compound from the west. They hovered, nose down, two streaks of smoke, two blasts, now even more smoke shrouding the compound. A further two missiles, and they blanked hard around and sped off.

  Rocko appeared at my side. ‘Those fuckers down there must be well pissed-off by now.’

  ‘We may have spoilt the tempo after their staff office party,’ I told him.

  ‘They didn’t move any vehicles out that compound last night,’ Rocko complained.

  ‘Probably warm to the touch,’ I suggested.

  A blast, a plume of smoke, and the sound hit us a few seconds later, soon a “popping” sound, followed by something twanging off the rocks near us.

  ‘Get down!’ I shouted, and I dived into a crevice, something hitting the rocks above me.

  After it finally fell quiet, I eased up, Rocko easing up from the other side of the track.

  Rocko noted, ‘Fifty cal ammo went up.’

  I nodded as I cautiously stood, no more “popping” on the breeze, the compound enveloped in smoke, a building on fire. ‘Rocko, silencer on, aim at the town beyond the compound.’

  Grinning, he fixed his silencer and got his box-fed ready. Standing, he aimed over the compound smoke and let loose, arcing left and right and back again. Weapon down, he said, ‘Might have broken a few windows.’

  I walked back down to my team, some food on the agenda.

  An hour later, Fishy came on with, ‘Foot patrol coming in! Eight of them!’

  ‘Get ready, ambush them, use silencers. Wait till they get close.’

  ‘They’re about to see the tail end jeep!’

  ‘Is it empty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wait as long as you can, then shoot.’ I eased up and peered down the sandy track, but it curved – a benefit to us since it hid us from view.

  The crackle echoed, but it lasted less than thirty seconds.

  ‘We got them,’ came Fishy’s voice.

  ‘Go and make sure!’ I told him. Facing my team, I said, ‘We’re now on the clock.’

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Libintov, and that plane will be with you inside an hour.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll make sure it is released.’ I called Hunt. He sounded sleepy. ‘Listen up, plane on its way to your airfield from my friends in low places. Offload the weapons quickly, ignore the crew, let the plane leave – or we’ll have a big problem. Understand?’

  ‘There are hundreds of witnesses!’

  ‘They don’t know what it is or who it is, so take charge and get it sorted. Then get me the Chinook crew and the “A” Squadron lads.’

  He sighed theatrically. ‘Kenyans may ask about that plane!’

  ‘Fob them off.’

  Phone away, I wandered back up the track with my team, and as an expectant group we stood peering down.

  ‘How long before those men are missed?’ Moran posed.

  ‘A few hours,’ I suggested. ‘Not long.’ I walked back down the track a few yards till I was in a better position to transmit. ‘Listen up. We’re on the clock, they’ll be coming, so I want Fishy and his men to stay there and watch that track, everyone else up here. Grab all the extra ammo, someone carry some water, could be a long day. Bring the RPGs.’

  Rocko and his team neared me. ‘We’ll grab the extra ammo. But what about that fifty cal?’

  ‘Could we get it up here?’

  ‘Point down at the road down there,’ he suggested.

  ‘OK, move some jeeps about, point it that way, get Sasha to stay with it.’

  They jogged down the track.

  Back at the top I drew level with Moran. ‘We’ll point the fifty cal north, might help some, deter anyone coming up that track.’

  He nodded, having now discarded his robes, as had most of the lads.

  Those lads came up in teams, some weighed down with extras, and I had them duck into the rocks and to wait; we would not deploy till I knew what we were up against, and from which direction.

  The Duska finally got position after an horrendous six-point turn, Sasha getting some shit from the lads, the jeep lights all smashed, but it was finally pointing the right way.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Hunt, and that plane is down and offloading, but it’s not a big An12, it’s a smaller thing. About eight boxes offloaded. It’s taking off now.’

  ‘Check the goodies for me, get me the Chinook pilots -’

  ‘They’re here. Hold on.’

  ‘You there, Wilco?’ came a new voice.

  ‘Yes, stood on a sandy ridgeline. Listen, I want you to attempt a daylight bombing run, but ... might still be a missile out there.’

  ‘We have flares fitted, we can use them at a key moment. And they’re tough birds, missile will have limited effect. Those missiles are for soft-skinned aircraft.’

  ‘Then grab the SAS lads there, find some boxes, put the RPG heads in facing up, caps on, rope around the base of the box. Then shove them out after you take the caps off. Chat to those Lynx pilots-’

  ‘We did, they were boasting all night, we know the set-up.’

  ‘Come in from the northeast, no lower than five hundred feet, shove out the RPGs over the main compound and surrounding area.’

  ‘And civvies?’

  ‘Would have fucked off long ago; the compound spewed out fifty cal rounds when it burnt.’

  ‘OK, we’ll get ready.’

  ‘And quickly please.’

  Phone down, Swifty complained, ‘We doing this in daylight?’

  ‘We’re not setting the agenda here. But if they don’t come after us we wait till after dark, yes.’

  ‘No movement towards us yet,’ Mitch noted. ‘Do these guys sleep in late or what?’

  My phone trilled ten minutes later. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Hunt. There’re large jars of powered chlorine, and large CS gas canisters.’

  ‘Have them in the boxes, to drop over the town.’

  ‘And the chlorine?’ he asked, sounding worried.

  ‘Same stuff they put in swimming pools, won’t kill anyone, but if the wind takes it they all close their eyes. Same with the CS gas, but it’s outdoors so limited effect.’

  ‘There’re explosives as well.’

 
‘Put them to one side, somewhere isolated. And guarded.’

  ‘OK, I’ll get that sorted. Oh, Lynx pilots said they could cover the Chinooks.’

  ‘Sure. Get them on my radio frequency.’

  ‘And the SAS are whinging, they want to put in door gunners.’

  ‘Good idea. Just make sure that no one shoots at the fucking ridge line, that’s where we are.’

  Phone away, expectant faces waited.

  ‘Chinooks will drop a few hundred RPG heads, CS gas, then I’m thinking that we’ll have at them from distance and leave.’

  Dusty and tanned faces nodded, all of the men unshaven.

  ‘What’s that?’ Moran asked, and we turned our heads like owls.

  ‘Helo,’ Swifty noted. We all peered down towards the strip.

  ‘Behind us!’ Rizzo shouted, and we span around, looking.

  ‘It’s Fishy! Fucking Mi8 coming up the valley!’

  ‘Get to cover!’ I shouted and ran down the track to get a better look. I transmitted, ‘Anyone with an Elephant Gun, aim into the valley. GPMGs ready! Spread out and get some fucking cover!’

  I ducked into rocks on my left as Moran, Mitch and Swifty followed, rifles made ready.

  The drone grew, and suddenly an angry Mi8 appeared stalking up the valley whilst proudly displaying what looked like eight rocket pods. And it was flying low enough to be driving up the track, it’s heavy resonating drone echoing and making it appear all the more sinister as it growled at us.

  Two puffs, and we all stood for a better look as a jeep blew to pieces below us, other jeeps shrouded in smoke as cracks sounded out. I could see a GPMG hammering out rounds, Nicholson and Leggit over my shoulder and blasting out with their Elephant Guns.

  A further two puffs, and the front end of the jeeps blew, smoke caught in the wake of the helo’s downdraft and circling out, around, and upwards in symmetrical vortices.

  When the Mi8 climbed and turned towards the lads my heart stopped, and I stared wide eyed at it, but it dropped like a stone onto a jeep. Three loud blasts, and it rolled off and down the slope, a further blast, a plume of flame followed by thick black smoke angrily rising, and our attacker was now burning fiercely.

  Moran jumped up and ran a few steps. ‘The jeeps!’ He turned. ‘We lost most of the fucking jeeps!’

  ‘It’s Fishy! Men down, men down!’

  I ran down the track kicking up dust, men following. At the base of the track I sprinted past wrecked jeeps, the daylight blocked by black smoke in places, and I ran down towards Fishy, finally seeing men carried or assisted.

  I dropped to a knee, rifle down, first aid kit out, a nasty leg wound to deal with. I lifted the leg till the boot was over my shoulder, tourniquet out and the thigh tied off as the man grimaced. Scissors out, I cut the trouser leg as acrid smoke wafted by, men choking – and cursing.

  A blast had us all ducking, rocks and metal raining down, the Mi8 not quite finished, men cursing even louder.

  I could see something deep in the leg wound, so I bound it up tightly for now, testing the leg. ‘Bone is not shattered, you won’t lose that leg,’ I assured the man.

  I moved to the next man, his arse exposed. Again he had something deep in the wound, so I taped it closed. ‘You need surgery, so we’ll get a chopper in. Who else?’

  Fishy said, ‘I got something in my arm, buried, but it’s not bleeding much.’

  I stood and took out my phone, calling Captain Harris as the wounded were moved up the track. ‘It’s Wilco, we need helo casevac quickly, three wounded men, not life threatening.’

  ‘I’ll chat to the Lynx Major, he’s here. Where are you?’

  ‘The valley above that target town. Be quick.’

  Halfway up the track I stopped next to the lads as they peered back down at the burning jeeps.

  ‘That could have gone better,’ Rocko quipped. ‘Three jeeps left, bit of a tight squeeze in the back.’

  ‘We’ll get a Chinook ride,’ I suggested as the smoke wafted. But soon the people in the town would see the rising smoke, if they had not heard the explosions. Men exchanged worried looks as we waited.

  When my phone trilled it was Captain Harris. ‘Chinook is off, plus two Lynx as top cover. Chinook will bomb them first then come around.’

  ‘Can you signal them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then have a fucking Lynx land, it’s just three wounded!’

  ‘Ah, right, yes. I’ll tell them now.’

  I transmitted, ‘Everyone get ready to snipe down at the men below, some stay with the wounded, Lynx coming in for them, be fifteen minutes.’

  ‘How badly are those men hurt?’ Ginger asked, now squinting in the bright sunlight.

  ‘Not career ending wounds,’ I told him. I sipped my water, and we waited, expecting a reaction from the town.

  Fifteen minutes later Nicholson reported, ‘Movement in the town, lots of movement!’

  A sudden roar, and the Chinook appeared flanked by the two Lynx, the Lynx higher and perhaps two hundred yards apart laterally. All heads craned upwards for a moment, following the Chinook as it thundered over us, its ramp down.

  Boxes out and oscillating in the wind, we could just make out the RPG heads as they fell, as well as the canisters. A rippling wave of flashes carpeted the compound but continued well into the town, smoke left in its wake, the blasts reaching us as an odd sound, like a drum roll as the Chinook banked away left at speed.

  A roar behind me and I spun, a Lynx dropping down, dust blown up, a dangerous manoeuvre since the pilot could see little. He touched down behind the fifty cal jeep, Sasha’s team holding headgear down, our wounded loaded, a door gunner seen, and the Lynx pulled up a few feet. Nose down, it sped down the valley that the Mi8 had come up, gone in a blur, the dust wafting after it.

  I faced the town. ‘Nicholson, what they doing?’

  ‘Mounting jeeps and trucks, driving off to the right.’

  ‘Shit,’ I let out. I transmitted, ‘Everyone turn around, aim at the road north. Sasha, get ready, they’re coming! Staff Sergeants, re-position the teams, get good fire positions on the road north.’

  Henri, Jacque and Sambo moved quickly past me with GPMGs and chains of ammo, Rocko and Rizzo following with their teams, the snipers moving off along the ridgeline.

  ‘It’s Sasha, we have company.’

  ‘Wait till they’re close, 600metres.’

  ‘We play chicken, no.’

  ‘Lynx for Wilco,’ crackled.

  I peered around, not seeing them. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Any targets of opportunity?’

  ‘Yes! The whole fucking town is driving north and coming around to us!’

  ‘We’ll take a look. Standby.’

  Jeeps appeared on the north road.

  ‘Stretch,’ I shouted. ‘Did you blow the right fucking road!’

  ‘They could have fixed it maybe,’ he said.

  ‘Knobber,’ Swifty told him as we got ready.

  A loud echoing “Rat a tat tat” sounded out as Sasha fired, slow repeating fifty cal fire, Henri opening up with a GPMG at targets out at over 600yards.

  A distant blast echoed, and I peered around, no idea what it was. Three other blasts followed, soon a loud Lynx over our heads.

  ‘Lynx for Wilco, we hit three APC, figured them the priority.’

  I craned my neck up, close enough to shout the instructions at them. ‘Good work, now circle around, come in fast down that road and use your door gunner, but watch the ground fire.’

  ‘Standby.’

  The Lynx banked left and slid over the ridge and south, soon out of sight and not heard as men fired down the north road. A round hit a rock near me, a subtle reminder, so I ducked low and knelt in the dirt.

  A buzzing sound, and the Lynx sped up the valley and past us, the door gunner soon firing down, the Lynx banking left and out of sight in seconds.

  ‘That road is blocked,’ Moran noted. ‘Jeep on fire down there as well.’


  I transmitted, ‘Ceasefire unless you have a good shot. Snipers, do your thing and earn your pay. Someone with an RPG, up to me.’

  Dicky’s team moved up to me lugging the RPGs.

  ‘Some of you, go down towards the town, and hit that dam where it’s concrete at the front, then back up here.’

  Smiling, they moved past me and over the ridgeline.

  Moran turned to me. ‘The fighters down there don’t know what to do, no coordinated attack,’ he scoffed.

  ‘Never been to Greenwich,’ Ginger told him.

  The Mi8, now burnt down to a shell, decided on one last fanfare, a huge blast rocking the valley. All heads turned that way for a moment, puzzled looks adopted.

  I wiped my brow and blew out. ‘Best laid plans, eh.’

  A screech, and we all peered around, an F18 whizzing past.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ Ginger asked in a panic.

  ‘F18,’ Moran told him. ‘US Navy.’

  A shocked Ginger asked, ‘US Navy?’

  I informed him, ‘Carrier offshore. They’re taking photographs.’

  ‘Is that ... normal?’’

  ‘Yeah,’ Swifty told him.

  Another screech, and it passed over the town and was gone.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Dicky, some planes coming in!’

  I transmitted, ‘Spread out, take cover, get ready!’

  Dicky added, ‘No, American planes like.’

  ‘You fucking dickhead!’ I transmitted, the lads laughing. ‘It’s just the Americans taking photographs!’

  We heard the screech, the cackle of firing, two F18s whizzing past the north road junction and banking over.

  ‘They fired!’ Moran puzzled, turning to face me.

  ‘Fuck knows how they got permission for that, they told me they had no permission.’

  ‘It’s Dicky. I can see a column of jeeps on that road, all on fire by the look of it, them American jets made a mess during that simple photo run!’

  I exchanged a look with Swifty, shoulders shrugged. I transmitted, ‘Rocko, Rizzo, French, take your teams down the north road, rock to rock, attack the men down there and report the resistance. Sasha, up to me.’