Wilco- Lone Wolf - Book 3

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Now, the RAF Regiment here -’ I pointed at Haines ‘- were brought into this to protect aircraft bases and for some experience, so they can sit out the attack if they object to the plan. If they chose to do so ... they will, of course, never again join us for an operation, and I will make sure that everyone ... everywhere ... knows that they sat it out.’

  Rocko laughed at Haines’s shadowy outline.

  ‘So, you know the plan, and I think the risk is acceptable. Henri, any objections to using your men?’

  He shrugged. ‘We came to fight, and the plan seems OK. If we hit them hard and fast, and some luck, we turn this fucking war.’

  I faced the French captain. ‘Are you OK to fight with us?’

  He nodded. ‘Oui. If we wait, theez come here zom day soon. Quick fight better than slow fight.’

  ‘Sergeant Crab?’

  ‘I’m in.’

  ‘Captain Hamble?’

  ‘I’m in, yes.’

  ‘SBS?’

  ‘We came to fight, and for experience, so we can’t shy away from such things.’

  I nodded. ‘Tomo, you ... getting anywhere with the nurses?’ I asked, my lads laughing at him. ‘Could stay and protect them.’

  ‘Bollocks, I’m fighting.’

  ‘Good lad. Smitty, you in?’

  ‘I’m in. Get my count started.’

  My lads laughed.

  ‘Good lad,’ I commended. ‘But if you’re wounded Bob will be mad at me.’

  ‘I joined to fight, not to fucking read about it.’

  I nodded slowly. ‘I came to fight,’ I loudly repeated, ‘not read about it – that should be our detachment motto.’ I took in their faces, and turned to Henri. ‘Are you ready to do something really stupid?’

  ‘That’s what they said on my wedding day!’ he retorted, many laughing. ‘This is easier, and less painful – certainly less expensive.’

  ‘OK, everyone get ready. We want all the GPMGs, lots of ammo, light kit only – you’ll need weapon, ammo and first aid, not much else. To the south wall when ready.’

  They eased up, and I walked past many on my way to the medical tent, who were yet to be told of the plan. I ducked my head in. ‘OK, we ... are going down the hill to ambush the bad guys, you ... stay here. Wounded will be brought up, but you could use jeeps to fetch some. You drive?’

  ‘Most do,’ they confirmed.

  ‘Great. Then ... wish us luck,’ I said as I ducked out the flaps. I found my detachment in the dark from their rude banter and led them down past the French position, stringing them out in a line to my left, Moran on my right. We walked forwards ten paces and halted, glancing over my shoulder through the dark, the men being black outlines on a grey canvass.

  The RAF Regiment stood on the far left, then the SBS and SAS, and on my right the various French platoons strung out, but unseen.

  ‘Henri, tell them ... one straight line as best as possible, close to the enemy they spread along, five yards apart.’

  He shouted orders as I started forwards, and we soon stepped over a low stone wall, some men having to weave around a lonely tree. Fifty yards down, and the black outlines were well silhouetted against the light brown soil, so I could see most of them. Quietly, we plodded on.

  After two hundred yards we could see and hear the vehicles below, and beyond that we had to cross several old and broken low stone walls, soon to an area that must have been ploughed within a year.

  At the next stone wall I halted, and clicked on the radio. ‘Stop here, kneel down.’ Ducking behind the wall, I got my sat phone out and dialled.

  ‘Captain Harris here.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, what’s the ETA on the Hercules?’

  ‘Hold on ... taking off now, Pumas are ready.’

  ‘The Pumas will attack at night?’

  ‘Yes, they said they were happy with that.’

  ‘OK, tell the Pumas to take off straight away, fly to the road but aim to get to the road after the Hercules, and to strafe along the road, but – most important – they must not aim at anything other than the road and vehicles, because they could hit us. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll make sure they have that now.’

  ‘And tell them to watch out for fifty cal below a thousand feet.’

  ‘French Army are standing ready to move out.’

  ‘Yeah? Then ... tell them to hit that road with everything they have, make use of the bottle neck, keep sending the Pumas back for coordination of the ground forces.’

  ‘OK, will do.’

  ‘Wilco out.’

  I clicked on the radio as I peered through the dark. ‘Hercules will be here in fifteen minutes. Wait my signal to move, wait my signal to fire. Standby.’

  I turned to Moran’s dark outline. ‘Pumas will come out, and the French ground units are moving out as well.’

  Peering down, we all saw the flash and heard the screech, a rocket cresting over us and towards the camp, but from where I was knelt I believed it hit to the west.

  Two minutes later, and a pop signalled a mortar, maybe 81mm or similar, and the blast seemed to be close to the base, our poor medics probably face down at this time and now feeling lonely.

  Checking my watch, I clicked on my radio. ‘Move down to the next wall, stay low, very quiet.’

  In a cool breeze I eased through a gap in the wall and moved bent-double across soft sandy soil that was raised into ridges, soon crunching dried crops whilst trying to be quiet, and we made it to the next wall without being shot at, now about three hundred yards from the jeeps, voices heard, lights seen. I peered left and right, happy enough that our line was intact, at least from what I could see. Breathing in cool night air, I clicked on the aircraft radio.

  ‘Wilco for Hercules?’

  ‘Hercules here, five minutes out,’ came back.

  ‘Wilco for Hercules, we’ll begin our attack when we hear your engines close by. Wilco out.’

  Clicking on my other radio, I said, ‘Five minutes, aircraft approaching.’

  The drone grew in my right ear as I turned my head like an owl. ‘Move to the next wall quietly, and in line.’

  I threw a leg over the wall and started across the field at a quick walk, others catching up with me, the drone growing second by second, and we made it to the wall just as the fifty cal erupted, orange lines streaking out and bending and curving as they sought out the Hercules, and the clatter helped mask our approach.

  At the wall I knelt and peered over, seeing a man stood peering right back at me some twenty yards away. Waiting, I glanced left and right as our men took position, the clunking heavy GPMGs heard as they were carried, and I clicked on my radio after ducking down. I could wait no longer. ‘Open fire!’

  Lifting back up, I could see red tracer tearing into the vehicles from both sides of me, and I aimed at the man in front of me as he ran, hitting him in the back. Aiming at the nearest vehicles, I emptied my magazine quickly, reloading as the drone reached a crescendo. Looking up, I could see the outline of the Hercules as it flew over the road, to my mind painfully slow as the orange fifty cal tried to make contact with something solid.

  With the Hercules passing over I lowered my gaze and strained to see, saw nothing, but heard a few loud smashing sounds. I was then startled as a hundred grenades went off in sequence – as if a cluster bomb had been dropped.

  ‘What the fuck?’ came from Moran, his surprise as great as mine.

  Now I could see smoke illustrated by vehicle headlights, billowing clouds in several places, and I fired into those areas where there was no cloud of smoke. To my left that cloud appeared to be white, and it grew like and angry monster as it moved off to my right, like a giant creature swallowing the line of vehicles.

  Easing down, I clicked on my radio, ‘All GPMGs, fire till empty.’

  Easing back up, I swapped magazine, selected automatic and sprayed anything I could see worth hitting, rounds cracking overhead or hitting the wall in front of me.

  ‘Wilc
o,’ came a shout. ‘Choppers!’

  I looked left with Moran, and we were soon seeing the Pumas approach at speed, door gunners opening up with a crackle, no fifty cal outgoing this time. Six Pumas roared past and down the line before banking south and around. They came back the opposite way, fire crackling out again, and ahead of me I could see dark outlines approaching.

  But this was no counter attack, these were either wounded rebels, or they were rebels loudly coughing their guts up. My section picked off all of those visible, I had no idea what was happening down the line, but tracer still streaked out into the blackness and hit the vehicles.

  ‘Do we go?’ Moran asked.

  ‘No, we finish them, all of them,’ I encouraged as the Pumas passed yet again, and I had used four full magazines so far.

  ‘We need to fucking see them,’ Moran complained.

  I clicked on my radio. ‘Cease fire! Cease fire!’ The crackled eased off. And we waited. ‘If you see movement, shoot, don’t waste ammo.’

  ‘Can’t see fuck all,’ Moran complained, smoke still wafting by. And now we could smell the CS gas.

  ‘Henri, report any wounded,’ I called.

  ‘Some men have carried others back up the hill.’

  ‘Sergeant Crab, any wounded?’

  ‘Got a scrape and a ricochet, not life threatening.’

  ‘SBS, report?’

  ‘Got a ricochet, no panic.’

  ‘RAF Regiment, report.’

  ‘Got one man badly wounded, being taken back up, some minor wounds.’

  ‘Echo Detachment, report.’

  ‘Smitty has a scrape,’ came Rocko’s voice.

  ‘It’s Westy, got a bitch of a ricochet in my shoulder.’

  ‘Get back up the hill. Go! Take Smitty.’ I turned my head to the left and could see the dark outlines running bent-double. ‘Anyone out of ammo is to withdraw up the hill.’

  A burst of fire raked the wall in front of me, but I could not see any movement, cracks permeating the blackness.

  ‘Stay down, we wait till dawn,’ I said as the Pumas made another run.

  Knelt, we waited in the dark, the odd duel of fire and counter fire, single rounds cracking overhead, and I sipped my water.

  ‘What’d you reckon?’ Swifty casually asked me.

  ‘Could be a few left, far side, away from us. French ground forces can run them down – if and when they get here.’

  The Pumas flew off and disappeared, leaving it relatively quiet. From somewhere I could hear jeeps starting and manoeuvring, but I could not see them, vehicle headlights left and right of me. Two fires burnt in front of me, jeeps, and the smell of burnt rubber hit us. Peering left I could see half a dozen fires burning, more again on the far right.

  The sniping duel carried on for two hours, a grey half-light slowly revealing the carnage that the dark night had hidden. Looking through my telescopic lens I could see a group of jeeps covered in cement and I smiled. I could also see bodies, grey and covered in it, another brilliantly embarrassing episode for the annals of our great RAF.

  Seeing movement, I killed the man, but he looked half dead anyhow. Moran fired twice, then paused and studied the jeeps. I acquired a face peeking out and hit it, a few sporadic cracks heard on the breeze.

  ‘Haines for Wilco.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Jeeps approaching from the left, French Army.’

  ‘Make yourself seen somehow, no risks, wave at them. Henri, try and raise them, give our position.’

  The crackle of a GPMG disturbed the dawn, and it kept going.

  ‘Haines, report.’

  ‘The French are firing at the convoy, soldiers moving forwards, they know we’re here, an officer coming around to me.’

  ‘Send him down the line to us.’

  ‘Understood.’

  I found a black face as I waited and I hit it, a man seen wandering around as if drunk and I hit him. Footsteps behind me preceded a dozen French soldiers bent-double, led by an officer.

  He knelt next to me in the light brown soil when I turned to intercept him. ‘Cap-ee-tan Vilco?’

  ‘Yes, welcome, and ... we’re glad to see you. How many men do you have?’

  ‘Men? Three hundred.’

  ‘Good, then you can take over from us, we can get our wounded back to base.’

  He nodded as Henri ran bent-double to us and knelt down, a few rude gibes exchanged with his colleagues.

  I clicked on my radio. ‘All units withdraw, keep your heads down.’ I faced the officer and slapped his shoulder. ‘Good luck.’ With Moran left of me and Swifty right we ran bent-double to the next wall, then just stood up and ambled up the hill, a fifteen minute walk in the cold grey dawn, a few birds scavenging for seeds.

  I took out my sat phone and hit #1 as I walked.

  ‘Hello?’ came a sleepy Bob Staines.

  ‘It’s Wilco, chalk up another great victory.’

  ‘Yes? Well that is good news, I was worried.’

  ‘They fucked up, they bunched up, and we took them by surprise, but the best part was our Hercules, they dropped CS gas, grenades, and cement. They killed more than we did, so I want them awarded, a citation for the pilots, send it up the line.’

  ‘Will do, talk later, I’m going back to bed.’

  I dialled again.

  ‘Captain Harris.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, we’re returning to base, just pasted the bad guys, a few wounds, the French Army down there and cleaning up.’

  ‘It went off OK?’

  ‘Yes, we set them back. Now we’ll rest a bit. Send a Puma or two back for the wounded, and some ammo today.’

  ‘Will do.’

  I fell into step with Haines, his men trailing behind. ‘Your first action, and a very successful action.’

  ‘Does it get easier?’ he asked, seeming to be completely spent.

  ‘How so?’ I puzzled.

  ‘I feel like hell.’

  ‘The adrenaline keeps you going, then it knocks you down. My lads run marathons and tackle twenty-four hour route marches, so that helps, but mostly its state of mind.’

  ‘State of mind?’

  ‘You need to feel pleased with yourself, a job well done, fewer gunmen and killers on the loose. Allow yourself to smile and to breathe, and to feel alive, not worry about things. You or your men will get injured whether you’re in a good mood or not, but being positive lessens risks – you use less adrenaline.’

  ‘I suppose you got used to it.’

  ‘It took time, and I fucked up here and there. You’ve got through this in one piece, a good result apart from the wounded, but ... we came to fight and they signed up to fight, part of the job. Anyway, when you get back, check on your wounded, sip some water, check the men and then let them rest, and you get some rest yourself. You’ll feel better in a few hours.’

  Back at Camp Bad our medics triage area was busy, but at least they had something to do now. There were many minor injuries, and I scanned the uniforms and faces, enquiring after the injuries, Westy with a pad on, Smitty wincing as he lay down.

  Inside the first tent I found an RAF Regiment gunner being worked on. The surgeon, in combats but wearing a blue gown and face mask, turned to address me, lowering his mask, his patient under anaesthetic.

  ‘Arm had to come off under the elbow I’m afraid, no time. Patched him up, he’s stable, when can we move him?’

  ‘Helicopters should be on the way,’ I informed them as a group. ‘When you hear them, get the important cases outside, ask for help.’

  I pointed, and they turned, legs under a poncho.

  ‘French lad, bled out, shot to the chest.’

  I nodded, then pointed at the middle bed.

  ‘Another French lad, he’ll probably lose that arm.’

  ‘Final bed?’

  ‘RAF lad, collapsed lung, but he’ll make it.’

  ‘Any in the next tent?’ I asked.

  ‘Just lightly wounded there.’

 
‘Thanks, keep at it, but the shooting is over. Might be some stragglers with minor wounds.’ I ducked out and bumped into Napoleon lugging his GPMG towards the medical tent. ‘You wounded?’ I asked, looking him over.

  ‘Just a little cut, Boss, needs a stitch.’

  ‘How was your first action?’

  ‘No problem, we battered them something terrible. Wish I had more ammo, ran out, four hundred rounds fired. Then I fired with my rifle till I got low.’

  ‘Get some rest, some food and water, take it easy.’

  Striding across to Henri, a slap on the back for Dicky and a smile exchanged, I said, ‘French soldier is dead.’

  ‘Not one of my men, he is Infantry,’ Henri said as we walked to the north end of the camp.

  ‘British soldier has lost an arm.’

  ‘Ah, not so good.’

  We reached our bolt hole as the sun started to rise, and we took in the view.

  ‘We set them back,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe now we turn this shit war around. We have been here too long.’

  I nodded. ‘The more we do, the fewer of your infantrymen suffer.’

  Standing near our happy home, we both had a piss in the rocks, dropped webbing and took large gulps of water, chocolate bars chewed as men ambled in looking tired, most in groups, old fox holes possessed again.

  ‘Get some rest,’ I told many.

  Hamble stopped alongside me and looked over his shoulder.

  ‘All back?’ I asked him.

  ‘Sergeant Crab did a quick head count, some gone to the medical tent, small bits of shrapnel. That fucking stone wall spat out at us often enough.’

  ‘Lessons learnt, Captain, about stone walls. Low shell scrape is better, but ... circumstances always dictate.’

  ‘How many you reckon we got?’

  ‘Hundreds dead and wounded, not least a shed load from CS gas asphyxiation and cement dust asphyxiation.’

  ‘What the fuck was that cluster bomb?’

  I smiled widely. ‘Grenades in jam jars, pins pulled. When they hit, the glass breaks, and ... bang.’

  ‘Awesome sight, wouldn’t like to have been on the receiving end of that lot.’

  Crab walked over, rifle lazily slung. ‘Fucked that lot, didn’t we.’

  ‘We did, sergeant, I’m glad you stayed. They must have known you were here ... and shit themselves.’