by Geoff Wolak
The second door, behind me, had remained open twelve inches, a trooper – Morris I thought his name was, holding a GPMG and checking the ground below carefully. I peered past him at the ground as he diligently scanned for anyone shooting up at us, and ten minutes must have passed. I grew sleepy for some reason.
Passing my rifle to Moran, I eased forwards and grabbed the spare headset as the French crewman observed me. ‘Pilot, this is Wilco, what is the status at the airfield?’
‘On the radio we heard that that one Hercules landed and took all of the hostages.’
‘All of them?’
‘Yes, but thirty were children and youth, and the other Hercules and our transports - they circle at altitude. They wait, they loiter.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The Chinook crew is safe?’
‘One, a girl medic, she was killed, the rest are OK.’
‘Your men, and our French soldiers?’
‘One French soldier, a fatal wound, some small injuries to the rest.’
‘You are hurt?’ the co-pilot asked after glancing at me.
I got a hand to my forehead. ‘Just a ricochet.’
‘Who are they?’ the pilot asked me, and he pointed into our one o’clock position.
I peered out the window and down at the main road, the road we were following to the airfield. ‘Shit.’ The pilots exchanged looks. ‘They’re an elite infantry brigade.’
‘They’re go to airfield?’
‘Yes. Get there quickly, sir.’
Back in the rear, I took in the close-up sweaty faces of the lads as they huddled in the cramped cabin, and I clicked on my radio, the only way to make myself heard properly. ‘Listen up, that infantry brigade is on its way to the airfield. We’ll get there about fifteen minutes ahead of them, and our aircraft are circling, waiting for us.’
‘Be tight,’ Moran commented, uneasy looks exchanged, and I nodded.
I stared back at Moran. ‘If half of us go, and some remain, those remaining may get caught by that infantry brigade. Any mechanical fault ... and we’re fucked.’
‘How many of ours will be at the airfield when we get there?’ he asked. ‘Left to transport out?’
‘Thirty five-ish hostages, twenty four SAS, twenty two French, fifteen RAF, eight with Henri, us seven. But that don’t include the Puma crews, they need to refuel first, or fly north to the border – a risk. Can’t get everyone on a Hercules, could spread them across the French transports, but might be tight.’
‘They might have to abandon the two Pumas, and the final Chinook if its fuel is low,’ Moran stated, and I nodded. ‘That would be four lost helos on this job.’
‘I have no intention of losing four helos,’ I told him, and he waited, clearly concerned. ‘And part of this mission is to reduce UNITA.’
His eyes widened. ‘Are you mad?’
I did not answer him.
As I peered out of the broken glass in the door we approached the airfield and slowed.
‘We might not have a choice,’ I finally told him. Easing up, I grabbed the headsets again. ‘What’s the status of the transports, sir?’
‘The Hercules will land in maybe ten minutes.’
‘Not enough time. Tell them to stay circling, and warn the transports about the infantry brigade coming. The infantry could shoot at an aircraft on the ground in fifteen minutes or less, we can’t take the risk.’
‘What will you do?’ came with some concern.
‘Set an ambush. After you land, fly to the far side of the airfield, keep the engine running, and leave if you have to, fly north. Tell the Chinook pilot to take on the hostages and do the same, and ask him his fuel and range please.’
Coming in to land, the dawn coming up, I got a good aerial view of a small wood, the access road, and now noticed ditches, bushes and trees, a plan forming in my mind.
The pilots exchanged worried looks as we touched down, and they got on the radio as my lads exited the Puma, and I could see the Chinook, its rotors still turning, the hostages sat down in a line near the make-do HQ area. The Chinook would need fuel if it was to make the ROB, or a light load – preferably it should be empty for the trip. The Chinook crew queried my instructions as I knelt behind the Puma pilots.
‘I have operational control on the ground,’ I reminded the pilots. ‘We don’t have time to get the hostages off, or refuel, so we must ambush the infantry brigade. Tell the Chinook pilot what my orders are. I want the hostages on that Chinook, and if necessary they can fly north to the border or set down half way and still be safe. Those are my operational orders.’
Easing off the headset, I tapped the trooper – our door gunner - on the shoulder. ‘Stay here!’
He nodded as I clambered down and ran to the HQ area. In front of me were the hostages, SAS jeeps, troop captains and troop sergeants, Henri’s men, the rest of the French across the airfield, some of the SAS grouped around the access road and the falling down brick building. Only now I noticed that the ground was mostly brown mud, a few patches of green.
I pointed at Henri. ‘Bring all you men over here. Quickly!’ I pointed at the troopers in the jeeps. ‘Collect your lads at the ends of the runway, quickly.’ They started engines as I faced the main group.
‘Listen up!’ I shouted as I approached. ‘Gather around.’ I stepped closer as they faced me. ‘First, I want all the hostages and wounded on the Chinook, just in case. It can fly off north.’
‘Why just in case?’ Captain Hamble asked me.
‘Because ten minutes down the road is a vehicle convoy of twenty trucks, the elite UNITA infantry brigade, on their way here for a nice cup of tea and a chat. We flew over them on the way here.’
‘How many men?’ Crab asked, the concern written all over his face.
‘Three hundred plus, heavily armed, probably with RPGs, and our Hercules could land in ten minutes, but the helos need refuelling, so we’ve got no time to play with.’
‘You want to take on three hundred men!’ Crab loudly asked, everyone now worried.
‘I have operational control here, you know that, so this is the plan. Listen carefully.’ I took in their faces, and their faces told me I was crazy. ‘The hostages get to the Chinook, the Chinook and the Pumas fly over to the far side and wait, they’re the bait.
‘The RAF crews here, they run off over the airfield when the brigade gets here, they’re also the bait. Everyone else gets in the ditches by the access road, and we ambush the brigade, who will be focused on the helicopters over the airfield.
‘If we stay hidden, and if they stay in their trucks, then we have the advantage and we can take them. If not ... then you’ll all be either dead, or prisoners, by the end of the day. We have ten minutes till the brigade gets here, not enough time to land the aircraft and leave. Does anyone ... have a really fucking clever idea, or does anyone wish to try and countermand my orders?’
As I waited they exchanged horrified looks, but no one had an alternate plan – nor wanted to take the blame, and the clock was ticking.
‘Are there any more GPMGs in the boxes, or ammo?’ I asked.
‘Four more, plenty of ammo,’ Crab said.
‘Break them out now, get everyone to the ditches. Quickly!’ I roared.
I turned as men tore at the supply boxes. ‘Captain Moran, Henri, get your men to the ditches, left side of the access road. Go!’ They ran off.
I stepped away and to the line of dishevelled men waiting. ‘Hostages! Stand up, get to that Chinook!’ I pointed at the Selous Scout and the French conscripts. ‘Follow my men. Run!’ They ran off after Moran.
I turned back. ‘RAF personnel, close in,’ I called as the hostages ran towards the Chinook, and I could see the French contingent in the distance running back across the airfield. The two Pumas lifted off and flew away at low level and slow speed.
With the RAF lads around me, I said, ‘These are your orders, don’t argue, lives are in the balance – your fucking lives. Ten minutes from now a
convoy of green army trucks will come down that road. When you see them, you run as a group across to the Pumas, try and look disorganised and afraid.’
‘That won’t be hard,’ came from a sergeant.
‘Wait over there till we call for you. If the fight goes badly, get in the Pumas and fly north to the border. Got that?’
They nodded, some stood with rifles. I turned and stepped across to the troop captains. ‘Get yourselves a GPMG, and get to the ditches on the right of the access road. You have five minutes.’ I turned to those tearing into the remaining supply boxes. ‘Sergeant Crab, all of your lads, ditches to the right, fast as you can, get down and get hidden.’
I jogged towards the access road, the SAS who had been there coming towards me. I pointed off to the right. ‘Over there, get in the ditches, get down and hidden, get ready, company is coming. You’ve got five minutes!’
They ran to the nearby ditches, M16s in hand, as I walked left past the brick building, and into a ditch as Echo Detachment took up fire positions, my Selous Scout next to Moran.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Henri, move down twenty yards, have the rest of the French further down when they get here. Radio them to run faster.’
I glanced over my shoulder from the ditch, the French lads in two columns and running – some lugging GPMGs, loudly encouraged on by their sergeants, and four minutes later they joined the ditches, Henri stood up and pointing where they should position themselves.
Hearing a loud jeep, I glanced over my shoulder, an SAS jeep pulling up in a cloud of dust across the access road, four men jumping down, a second jeep arriving a minute later.
I clicked on my radio. ‘Sergeant Crab, get the jeeps across to the Pumas, they join the fight after we open fire, not before. Send them now! Everyone else, get down, get hidden, but get ready.’
I stood in an inch of stagnant water and glanced left down the ditch, happy enough that everyone was hidden. ‘Henri, tell the French to get down and hide, wait the signal.’
It grew quiet, and I peered off to the right, the SAS contingent down and hidden the other side of the access road, so I eased down, swiping away a large beetle.
‘So what happens now?’ came from our Selous Scout, not quite camouflaged in his dirty white shirt.
‘We ambush an entire infantry brigade. Either we win, or they do. If there are men firing at us we can’t get the aircraft in, simple as that.’
‘You’re calm under pressure, you remind me of a sergeant I knew.’
I took in the flat grassy terrain in front of me. ‘Most of the time our choices are made for us; we get stressed when we try and make two options when we have only one. Best just accept what choice you have.’
He nodded, and checked his rifle, Swifty’s rifle.
A French accent came of the radio. ‘Trucks are coming.’
‘Everyone get down, get ready, two minutes. Wait my signal to fire. It is essential you wait, or we’re all dead. Wait my signal. When the trucks get here, aim into the rear, the men in the back, and at the drivers, but get the men in the back first. Men with GPMGs, aim at the soldiers in the back. Everyone ... maximum fire, don’t stop till I say. Standby!’
I eased my head up, soon seeing the convoy approaching, three jeeps at the front, followed by about ten trucks with green canvas backs, and that road would bring the trucks to within just seventy five yards, maybe less. Looking over my shoulder, I could see the RAF ground crew peeking out from behind the brown supply boxes, and with the trucks now three hundred yards away the RAF ground crews got up and ran across the airfield, and they looked suitably nervous.
As I peered through long grass the trucks halted, an officer jumping out and mounting his jeep bonnet. With binoculars in hand the officer studied the Pumas in the distance, the two jeeps and the RAF personnel running. He jumped down, got back in, and waved the convoy onwards with some urgency.
I waited till they turned off the main road and onto the access road, hoping that the tail end would be in range. When the lead jeeps nudged the broken down old barrier I could wait no longer. ‘Open fire!’
A hell of a racket assaulted my ears, and it reminded me of Bosnia on that first day, and now I aimed at the man in charge, putting four rounds into him, a few into his driver. At least ten GPMGs were hammering out rounds, and I fired into the jeeps to make sure no one got out of them.
Magazine swapped, I swung left and stood, seeing a few men tumble from tailgates, and I hit several of those that I could see, the closest of the trucks showing patches of dark blood through the green canvas, glass splintering, wheels puncturing, and two trucks had caught fire.
Sniping at movement when I saw it, no one from the convoy moved towards us, but I could see under the trucks that some had run into the trees beyond.
Sixty seconds and I called, ‘Ceasefire.’ The firing eased to a crackle and halted. ‘SAS, right flank, move forwards, fire at the trees. French soldiers, left flank, fire at the trees. Echo Detachment, forwards, double tap bodies.’
I clambered up and out of the ditch, running forwards ten yards and kneeling, soon a line of men knelt at my side, and we hit the bodies, a few wounded blacks tumbling from the tailgates and hit. Moving forwards again I shouted, ‘Anyone with grenades, or smoke or CS gas, in the backs of the trucks.’
Reaching the first truck, I patted myself down and pulled off a CS gas grenade and tossed it in, Slider lobbing a grenade.
‘Down!’ I called, those close by kneeling as the blast registered, soon back up and to the trucks, firing at the trees beyond. Tomo knelt and fired at someone, and I saw the man fall.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Henri, get the Pumas up and looking in the trees for us.’ I backed up as blasts registered. ‘Set fire to the trucks!’ I shouted.
Moran turned his head. ‘Why?’
‘Why?’ I repeated. ‘Because we can’t go inside and check every pulse, can we? Just do it!’
Sporadic fire cracked through the air around us as we fired at the truck’s fuel tanks, a Puma sounding out overhead, and as we looked up a door gunner opened up on the trees, many long bursts heard.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Withdraw to the airfield. Henri, call in the transports, get the Chinook back and the RAF crews to refuel. Rest of you, covering fire as you withdraw.’
Jogging towards the old HQ area, I met the jeeps as they returned. ‘Go get the RAF personnel,’ I told the drivers. ‘Tell them to get the helos refuelled on the double. Go!’
They sped off.
Moran appeared at my side with Captain Hamble as I peered up, seeing a Hercules circling.
‘It worked,’ Hamble flatly stated.
I faced him. ‘You say that ... as if we had a choice, sir. We had no choice, no time.’
‘Could have used the jeeps to intercept them up the road, and held them off a while,’ Hamble suggested.
‘And if someone on a jeep was wounded, then we go rescue him, and then the rescuers are wounded, and we go rescue them as well...’
He shrugged as the lads closed in.
I faced Moran. ‘What am I always telling you about plans, sir?’
He shot me a peeved look. ‘Not to make firm plans till you see the ground.’
‘And our very well thought out plan at the prison..?’ I pressed.
‘Would have been fine, if there had had been just the sixty hostages we expected.’
‘There’s always the unknown, and you two – troop captains that make plans – need to make fluid plans, and expect the unexpected, and to think outside the box. We got there in dangerous civvy transport, and setting fire to the prison fooled the brigade. Lessons learnt, for us all, hopefully.’
Sergeant Crab strolled up, GPMG lazily slung over a shoulder. ‘We just wiped out a fucking brigade, three hundred men.’
With a smile, I said, ‘I think, Sergeant, you should claim ... perhaps a dozen kills, I’ll confirm them.’
‘I think I will, I hit at least that many,’ he said, the Puma still fir
ing down at the woods over the road.
‘But you don’t win that curry,’ I told him.
‘Well, half a curry, because without us here you’d have faced that brigade alone, like.’
‘Bollocks,’ I carefully pronounced. ‘I requested you here, part of my plan.’
Henri appeared at my side, blowing out, dirt on his face, some blood, line of sweat on his brow. ‘Puma reports ... men in the woods, running away.’
‘Any wounded?’ I asked him.
‘Two men, but they will live. A man fired out from the back of the lorry.’
I faced Moran and made eye contact. ‘Good job we didn’t go into the backs of the trucks, eh, sir?’ He shot me another peeved look.
I looked past him, all the trucks now alight as they stretched back down the road, some well alight, SAS still taking pot shots at the convoy, smoke billowing high. Grabbing Henri’s shoulder, I said, ‘You and your men did well, so ... dinner at the Alyzee Palace, no?’
He laughed loudly as our Hercules circled at two thousand feet, the French transports lower.
‘Henri, have the French transports land first, take the hostages, all the French, one troop of SAS, the helicopters fly empty.’
The Chinook stalked low across the airfield at just six feet off the ground and landed near the fuel buggy, the hostages and wounded taken off – I sent Rocko and Slider to fetch Swifty when I noticed the hostages carrying him and, as we observed, the first French C-160 landed on a dime, the hostages led across to it, the French soldiers boarding under the directions of a large and loud sergeant.
‘Sergeant Crab, we can get two jeeps on that Hercules, not least because you’re responsible for them, and I’m sure you don’t want to explain why they were left behind.’
‘Damn right. Taking back the GPMGs as well, or there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘Captains Hamble and Moran,’ I called. ‘All round defence, please, till we refuel the helos.’
The second French transport took Henri’s team, waves given, plus one SAS troop and a few of the RAF personnel that were not essential, just three men left to refuel.
With the helicopters being refuelled in a hurry the remaining Hercules landed, ramp powering down, our two jeeps being driven on. I performed a headcount, Crab copied for his troop, and we waited in a group near the front of the Hercules so that the pilots could see us - and not forget us.