Wilco- Lone Wolf - Book 3

by Geoff Wolak

  I had all men check each other for grenades and smoke, a few grenades tossed away, pins still in. We made safe our weapons as we waited, the line of trucks burning fiercely, a smoke column a mile high.

  Ten minutes of hard work, and the Chinook had enough fuel to make it – make it if empty in the back, and it rolled across the dirt and slowly climbed, soon heading slowly west, but it would not use a dog leg route.

  Waiting, we cautiously studied the road and the long column of burning trucks, and when the Pumas took off - the remaining RAF crew aboard them, we suddenly had an empty airfield – cardboard boxes littered around, the lads all jogging around to the rear of the Hercules and up the ramp, the plane moving off before the ramp had started to lift.

  Full power selected, and we were leaning sideways as we sat, the nose up just as the ramp finally closed, a steep bank and we were off, smiles exchanged between the lads. Levelling off, Rocko waved me over, and I found Swifty with his eyes open and blinking, but looking a little lost. Easing out my water bottle, I sat him up and let him drink.

  Sitting again, many eyes already closed, I closed my own eyes, but sleep would not come, so I simply stared ahead. The vibration came up through my boots, there were no ear defenders to hand, and so after a while my ears just registered a high pitch whine.

  Half an hour later, and as I started to relax and feel sleepy, the drone on my ears reduced significantly. Turning my head with a puzzled frown, I peered out the window, wondering if we were there yet. I saw a static propeller when it should have been turning. Jumping up, I moved forwards and to the cockpit, soon knelt behind the pilots, noticing red lights flashing as I got on the headsets.

  ‘It’s Wilco, sir, what’s up with the engines?’

  They glanced around. ‘Not sure, I don’t think we took a round, but we’ve lost two, so we’ll need to set down, final two will overheat.’

  ‘How far out are we?’

  ‘Still forty minutes away.’

  ‘We’re a bit heavy, sir, jeeps in the back. How about we ditch the damn jeeps and any spare kit?’

  ‘Ditch the jeeps?’

  ‘Push them out the fucking back!’ I clarified, and they exchanged looks. ‘You do it with cargo pallets!’

  ‘We’re over populated areas.’

  ‘Find some unpopulated areas. How far will we get on two engines as it is?’ I asked.

  ‘We might make it in.’

  ‘But..?’

  ‘If we lose another one we’re in trouble, and we’re losing height.’

  ‘So find an area below without houses, and the chances of hitting someone is remote anyhow. Reduce height, reduce speed, tell the crewman to lower the ramp, and let’s stop pissing about before we all end up in a UNITA prison. You’re in charge of the aircraft, but you can always say I ignored you and did it anyhow – I’ll back you on that.’

  The exchanged looks. ‘Reducing speed now, descending. We’ll lower the ramp at the right speed, get ready.’

  I took off the headsets and hung them up. Back in the hold I signalled for the lads to look at me, a few kicked awake, and I moved around the hold till I had everyone awake. Stood at the rear, I used hand signals to convey, ‘Engines fucked, we’re going down, ramp will lower, jeeps out.’

  Sergeant Crab looked horrified at the prospect of losing the jeeps, but not half as horrified of crashing, or of being captured. We had two RAF crewman on board, and they had seen the signals, and no doubt heard my conversation with the pilots through their own headsets, and now they unclipped the jeeps in haste. I joined in, so too the lads.

  Grabbing GPMGs, I placed them in the back of the jeeps, as well as my own webbing and bandolier, the lads copying with wide eyes and startled looks. I held up two magazines, a signal for all to keep just two magazines plus their own rifle.

  Five minutes later, and with the crewmen’s and pilot’s kit also on the jeeps, men sat in the jeeps and steered as the vehicles were pushed back, the ramp powered down, a hell of a breeze created.

  With Stretch at the wheel we pushed the first jeep back to the start of the ramp, and with the handbrake on he jumped out. Looks exchanged, nods given, he reached in and released the handbrake and jumped back, a few of the lads pushing the jeep at a slow pace but gaining some speed. The front wheels fell over the edge, but it got stuck.

  The crewman waved forwards the second jeep, and we pushed it faster, but it failed to move the first jeep completely. Wearing a harness on a long tether, the crewman started the second jeep, got it in gear, reached in with a GPMG and jammed the throttle, and it did the trick, the first jeep nudged out, the second following it slowly over the end with its engine running. Ramp closing, the men sat, and I went forwards as Swifty stared at me as if I was mad, white bandage around his head.

  Headsets on, knelt and scanning the instruments for flashing red lights, I said, ‘How’s that now, sir?’

  ‘She feels better, we got a little extra speed and height after the release. Now we see, we’ll have to coax her in gently on two engines.’

  ‘Were we over a town at the time?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, but there was some low cloud.’

  ‘Someone down there could have gotten themselves some weapons and ammo, so let’s hope it all landed in a lake or river. If you need to, sir, land on an isolated stretch of straight road. We have our weapons, and we can commandeer a bus or truck and get back that way. Oh, and your webbing went out the back.’

  ‘What? I’m blaming you for that, I’ll have to explain it,’ the pilot said.

  ‘My fucking sandwiches were in my webbing,’ the co-pilot said, twisting his head to face me. ‘And my thermos. Wife bought me that.’

  ‘I’ll buy you another thermos, sir, if we live to talk about it.’

  I sat back down, everyone staring at me, and I held up crossed fingers, a few of the lads peering nervously out at the engines, or down at the terrain below, wondering if we would live or die.

  Time moved slowly, and I checked my watch often, and the lads checked my face often, and after thirty minutes - and with a lack of crashing and burning - I went forwards again, seeing that we were no higher than five thousand feet. ‘How we doing, sir?’

  ‘Downwind leg, on approach. We raised them and they’ve got fire trucks ready, but we should be able to coax her in.’

  ‘Just in time for a full English breakfast then.’

  ‘It’s past noon.’

  ‘Any time ... is a good time for a full English breakfast, sir.’

  I stayed on the flight deck till the runway appeared under the nose of the aircraft, and returning to the hold I gave everyone a thumbs up, the tension palpable, and people blew out, visibly relieved.

  We drifted down and hit gently, soon turning off the runway and taxiing to the apron, fire trucks seen waiting. The ramp powered down after we stopped with a jerk, the brakes hit hard, and I lifted Swifty under the arm and walk him out, our wounded man mostly recovered and now with it.

  A group of RAF medics waited and I handed them Swifty, several 2 Squadron gunners milling around. Past the fire trucks we found the Major, Captain Harris, Bob’s guy and many of the others stood waiting, all appearing tired. I had smiled, but stopped smiling when I saw Fl. Lt. Morten.

  ‘Sorry, sir, lost a girl of yours back there.’

  He nodded. ‘We got the story from the others. Still, could have been much worse. What was it you said at the briefing: if a chopper goes down...’

  ‘They hit a power line, sir.’

  Again he nodded, saddened.

  I faced the Major. ‘The RAF crews insisted we ditch two jeeps, and the GPMGs, to lighten the load, or we’d not make it,’ I lied.

  He nodded. ‘We heard you were coming in on two engines, lucky to make it down at all. You hurt?’

  ‘Just scrapes, sir. How many hostages made it back?’

  ‘One hundred and twenty nine, a fucking record, as good as the Raid on Entebbe! Prime Minister has been apprised of the situation, all
over the British and French TV.’

  ‘French soldier, hit in the liver?’

  ‘Dead on arrival,’ Morten stated.

  I nodded, and we fell into step as we walked across to the rooms we had made use of that first day, the 2 Squadron gunners staring at us. Then I realised that it was just yesterday we had made use of these rooms. Inside, Smitty welcoming us, the tea on and cake offered, we collapsed into seats, tired looks exchanged. I nodded at Tomo and smiled and he nodded back.

  ‘Your first action, Tomo, and I saw you knock down a man.’

  ‘One confirmed kill then,’ he said, and I nodded.

  Jacket off, shirt off, I washed myself with refreshing cold water as the lads either used the toilets or washed the grime off. Stepping into the second room, and with my top off, I found Henri and his team, tired smiles exchanged, and I found our Selous Scout sat with a cup of tea, hostages in an adjoining room.

  ‘You OK, sir, no wounds?’ I asked him.

  In a strong accent he said, ‘I’m fine, just a little tired. Not as young as I was.’ He pointed at my naked upper body. ‘What in blazes happened to you, man?’

  ‘Soldiering, sir. Soldiering ... happened to me.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve been hearing stuff about you, you’re some big shot special forces sergeant.’

  ‘Don’t believe a word of it, it’s just rumour. And don’t forget to talk to my Major, you’re due a day’s pay for being drafted like that.’

  He laughed. ‘You definitely remind me of my old sergeant, he didn’t take life seriously either.’

  I grabbed Henri around the neck and hugged him, patting his back. ‘You smell as bad as me.’

  He laughed loudly. ‘We need a bath, yes.’

  ‘Your wounded men?’

  ‘Being taken care of now, they will make it. I think they went to a local hospital.’

  I nodded, soon stepping through to the hostages, many medics fussing over them, but none seemed injured. I found the big guy who had taken charge, and shook his hand. ‘You did well back there, thanks.’

  ‘Glad to be free, I can tell you. Won’t be coming back down to Africa. Not around here anyhow.’

  I turned to find a baby, all smiles, the mother and father all smiles. I gripped the baby’s tiny hand for a moment, then stepped up to my two French conscripts. They stood as if I was an officer.

  ‘You are both now honouree members of my detachment,’ I said as I shook their hands and patted shoulders. ‘Make sure that you stay in touch.’

  They looked past me, and I turned, Henri stood with a French soldier. From their looks, I wondered if a fight might break out.

  Henri explained, pointing, ‘These two served together for many years, best friends, then he married his sister and ... things did not go well, and they have not spoken in four years.’

  I stepped back. ‘You should both be dead, and the woman you know would mourn you both.’ I waited, and Henri stood back.

  The French soldier closed in, uttered a curse in French and got one back, then they hugged. One levelled a curse at the other’s sister, who shrugged and agreed, Henri laughing. I wandered off, shaking my head and smiling.

  An RAF lady doctor, who I recognised from Kate’s circle of friends, looked at my leg and agreed that I needed to have a shard removed, but it would wait till we got back, my head wound cleaned up. With a tight brown t-shirt now on I followed her back to the medical bay, my own antibiotics having gone parachuting without a chute.

  In the medical bay, a hangar grabbed and converted, tents up and a full surgical team to hand, I found Morten with the RAF crewman, but he was not a crewman, he was a medic and a sergeant. As I approached, both the medic and Morten looked as if I might hit the guy.

  I stopped and faced the medic. Calmly, I stated, ‘If it was my choice I might court martial you and kick you out the military.’ Faces turned to us. ‘You disobeyed a direct order under fire, you dropped your rifle, and you lost your ability to think, and you could have got some of my men killed.’

  Morten had not responded, and appeared to be embarrassed for the man.

  I added, ‘But maybe you’ll learn from this, and teach others how it should be done. Maybe ... the time and effort invested in you won’t be wasted.’

  Most faces had turned now towards me. I turned a little, addressing the larger group. ‘For those of you who were in the backs of the helicopters ... thank you, you risked your lives, and one life was lost. Unfortunately, when things went wrong one of yours crumbled.’

  I took in their faces. ‘Take a good look at the clothes you’re wearing; they’re combats, and you’re all in the military. What that means ... is that every now and then a war comes along, like the Falklands or The Gulf, or this hostage rescue. When those wars come along ... you fly around in helicopters and Hercules, and there’s always a chance that you’ll crash, some people killed.

  ‘What’s required by wearing that uniform ... is that you behave like stone cold professionals, and if a helicopter goes down and ten of you are killed ... the rest carry on and save lives.

  ‘You all know each other and like each other, some of you may even be in relationships, but what that uniform requires is that – for the duration of the conflict – you try and become robots, that you do the job without cracking when some of those around you are hurt or killed.

  ‘If a helicopter went down here you would be required to survive, escape and evade, and to pick up your rifle and to use it – and to shoot and kill, because around here they rape and kill the female hostages, not too nice to the men either.

  ‘Some of you are doctors and surgeons, half the time in an NHS hospital, but at times like these you need to stop being doctors when that helicopter crashes ... and you need to shoot and kill.

  ‘Take a look at the ladies here, many of them slim and attractive, and consider just what UNITA fighters would have done to them. Those male doctors here, and trained surgeons – you may save the ladies a fate by shooting a few men dead, then running and hiding.

  ‘Pilots attend survival courses, and you all have weapons training, but I wonder how many of you will crumble if someone is shooting at you.’

  ‘We’re not all robots like you,’ came from a senior doctor.

  I stepped towards him, and pointed at the attractive lady doctor as I faced him. ‘Take a good look at her, and think what the gunmen would do to her if you failed to fight back. Tell her ... your ethical standards would not allow you to shoot, but would allow you to watch as she’s gang raped, her throat slit in front of you.’

  The room was deathly quiet.

  ‘I trained with some of you many years back, and I know that for some of you this is a career step, that you never expect to go war. Well take a look at where you are. Your people were on a Chinook that went down, one was killed, the other required to use his rifle. This is not an exercise.’

  I faced Morten. ‘Your people, sir, need survival training, weapons training, and to understand just where the fuck they’re stood right now. What I need to know, what the MOD needs to know, is that this is a military medical unit, not a bunch of well qualified nice people good at medicine.’

  I turned and faced the main group. ‘Six months from now you may find yourself in a war, and on a helicopter. Please ... before that time comes, get the training in, and consider what you might do if you’re on a helicopter when it goes down behind the lines. We all want the same thing, and that’s for you to make it safely back, not least for the time and money the RAF has invested in each of you.’

  ‘Will you ... be criticising us up the line?’ Morten asked.

  ‘If I think it will save lives, sir,’ I told him as I left.

  Later, when my sat phone trilled, I fumbled for my jacket and pulled it out, thinking that maybe I had tossed it out the plane with my webbing. ‘Wilco?’

  ‘It’s Bob, you’re on speakerphone. Well done, all back safe I hear.’

  ‘You can mark it down as a great victory, Bob.’

/>   ‘This is the Prime Minister. Well done again, a good show.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, minimum casualties, on our side at least. If part of the mission was to reduce UNITA, as I’m sure it was, then we set them back a bit. They sent out their best infantry brigade and we made toast out of them. They won’t be kidnapping anyone for a while.’

  ‘How many casualties on their side?’ he asked.

  ‘Five hundred plus, probably more, and more again at the border. So they’re on the back foot.’

  ‘That’s good to know. Were you injured?’

  ‘Just a few scrapes, sir, be right as rain in no time.’

  ‘A hundred and twenty nine hostages is something of a miracle, all over the news here.’

  ‘Yes, sir, a miracle. We were expecting sixty hostages, and if there had been sixty then we would have removed them in six minutes and set a new record, but an additional sixty arrived just the night before, so we were stumped, sir, and had to wait and fight.’

  ‘Well done anyhow, we’ll chat when you get back. But I understand your flight back was also a small miracle in itself.’

  ‘Yes, sir, we lost two engines and had to push our jeeps out of the back of the Hercules, as well as equipment, to lighten the load, or we’d not make it. If I could ask a favour, and have the kit replaced soon, sir, that would get me out of hot water with my Major.’

  I could hear laughter.

  ‘This is the Defence Secretary,’ came a voice. ‘I’ll organise it.’

  ‘Goodbye for now, get some rest,’ came the Prime Minister.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ And the line was cut, Bob probably sat in on a COBRA meeting, and loving the attention. I could just imagine the look on his face.

  Some beer and wine made it in that evening, our Tristar due in the morning, and everyone relaxed, the French soldiers singing. After checking the beer labels and where it came from – it was French, I had enough to send me to sleep, and I was up at 5am. Our rifles were already in the metal crates, no webbing or bandolier for me to check, and a post mortem meeting had been arranged for 9am.