Wilco- Lone Wolf - Book 3

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Aye, bollocks.’

  ‘Any wounded?’

  ‘Couple of ricochet, no drama.’

  ‘RAF Regiment lad lost an arm, French lad killed.’

  Crab glanced over his shoulder at the medical tents. ‘Would have been a lot worse if that lot had come up the hill and surrounded us. And the fucking French, they’ve been here months, and they just sit and take it, casualties all the fucking time.’

  ‘Politics,’ I said.

  ‘No need to swear,’ Crab joked.

  Hamble said, ‘If you fight a war, you aim to finish quickly for fuck’s sake.’

  I shook my head at him. ‘Most wars are slow, testing each other, sometimes just a show of force, pieces on a chessboard. I aim to get the job done with surgical precision, not piss about, but history ... is full of different strategies.’

  ‘Like the First World War,’ Hamble noted.

  ‘This ain’t so different,’ Crab noted. ‘Fucking French been in them holes for months.’

  ‘What ... er ... comes next?’ Hamble asked, and I had to puzzle his meaning and his state of mind.

  ‘Next ... after we rest and clean-up, we do what we started to do, and apply small unit tactics and ambushes in the hills, maybe a hostage rescue or two.’

  Seeing Moran, I said, ‘Head count, Captain.’

  ‘Done, double done, wounds checked,’ he came back with.

  The drone built and we peered up, men moving from the centre of the camp in a hurry. I shouted across, ‘Get the wounded out!’

  The Puma landed with a blast of sand, eight men jumping down, and it looked like it was about to leave when it was waved down, stretchers placed in the rear whether the crewman liked it or not. It looked like he was not expecting to ferry the wounded.

  Our medics had other ideas, men on stretchers with drips in arms placed aboard, nurses clambering in as well. Three stretchers went in, five walking wounded, and off it went, men soon striding towards Henri.

  ‘My colonel,’ Henri informed me. ‘And the general in charge of land forces here.’

  ‘Taking a risk, aren’t they,’ I noted as they closed. ‘Out from behind a desk.’

  Henri saluted. I had no head gear on and so simply snapped to attention and nodded when I made eye contact, rifle in my left hand.

  They exchanged words in French, Henri explaining the battle, then gesturing towards me.

  ‘You are Cap-ee-tan Vilco?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Welcome to Camp Bad.’

  ‘Camp ... Bad?’

  ‘It’s a bad place to be, sir,’ I said with a smile, Henri smiling widely.

  ‘You are in good spirits.’

  ‘It was a great victory, sir. But ... me and my men do not officially exist, so ... you should describe it as your victory. We were never here.’

  ‘But ... it is a joint venture,’ he puzzled.

  ‘You can say we were in the hills, sir.’

  The colonel glanced at his boss and they exchanged words, shrugging. ‘Anyway, well done, and thank you, a spectacular image from our helicopter, great losses for the rebels. We will check on the wounded now.’

  Henri saluted, and they headed off.

  ‘I guess he forgot to check on the wounded first and felt guilty,’ I told Henri, who shrugged.

  ‘Why give us the victory?’ Henri puzzled, and from his look I could see he was onto me.

  ‘Because our plane dropped gas and smoke, and many men died from it, and cement bags.’

  ‘Cement?’

  ‘Cement powder, to make concrete. Many rebels suffocated, and the press will complain about it.’

  ‘So, they died. If we shoot them they die, if they suffocate they die?’

  ‘How they died ... will be criticised.’

  He could not see the problem, and wandered off. I checked that everyone was back, spoke to the French, and then the second Puma came in, or maybe the first back again, the senior officers leaving with six walking wounded and a nurse.

  I grabbed Moran. ‘I know you’re tired, but take four men out a thousand yards. Two sleep, two watch. We don’t need rockets coming in.’

  He nodded, indeed looking tired, and grabbed some of the lads. I asked Henri to send out a patrol to the north east, and four tired men ambled out.

  At the SBS I said, ‘Get some food, then some sleep. If you hear firing, wake up.’ At the SAS I gave similar instructions.

  At our section I found Mouri smiling. ‘Good show, skipper.’

  ‘It was. Now, how awake are you?’

  ‘I’m good for a while.’

  ‘Take a buddy to the OP, rotate it, four hours or so. Don’t fall over the fucking side.’

  ‘Right oh, skipper,’ he said, leaving me smiling.

  Stood at the edge of the cliff, I used my binoculars for ten minutes, but I saw no threats approaching, nothing at all, and I figured they would be on the back foot for a while.

  At the medical tent I found them cleaning up. ‘Get some rest when you can, some food. Any wounded left?’

  ‘Minor cuts and scrapes,’ they informed me.

  I stepped the short way south to the 2 Squadron position, the men back in their holes, Haines still awake. ‘Men OK?’

  ‘One lad has gone on the helicopter, lost an arm, one with a scrape, a few have minor cuts.’

  I took out my sat phone. ‘You know your phone number at Abingdon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I handed him the phone. ‘Give them an update, especially about the wounded man. 0044 first.’

  He dialled as I stepped down to some of the men, tired faces looking up at me from fox holes. ‘You lot OK, your first action an all?

  ‘Still alive,’ one commented.

  ‘What happened to the convoy?’ another asked, no energy in his voice.

  ‘We gave them a pasting, that’s what happened. They were making ready to fire rockets at us, and mortars, but we took them by surprise. The Hercules dropped CS gas, grenades and bags of cement – and killed many of them, certainly distracted them as we fired.’

  ‘I shot a dozen or more, but they were just black outlines, could hardly see them.’

  ‘You did well, all of you, a good victory, and I’m sure the British newspapers will get to hear of it, and your RAF magazine. So don’t be modest when you get back. Now ... get some sleep, every second man, four hours, shouldn’t be any hassle today.’

  I stepped across to the French captain as he sat eating. ‘You lost a man?’

  He nodded, now just as tired as that first day. ‘Oui, but ... weez won, theyz not come here for some time.’

  ‘Get some rest, every second man, four hours, should be quiet today.’

  Again he nodded, and I kicked up brown sandy soil as I returned to Haines as he stood against a grey rock, half of his happy home.

  He handed me back the sat phone and I checked that it was off. ‘I updated them, they’ll go see the family.’

  ‘Has to go through the FCO normally, proof of death or injury, a signed form before they can release the news. With a death anyway. Get some sleep, that’s an order, four hours.’

  Walking off, I heard jeeps and turned around, a line of French soldiers coming up the hill. I changed course and met them, a captain stepping down.

  ‘I’m Captain Wilco,’ I told them. ‘I’m in charge of operations here.’

  ‘I speak some Engleesh. We ... look for men, here and down, and help you, you wounded.’

  ‘Wounded gone, helicopter. My men ... out on patrol, no rebel fighter here, maybe south. Look south.’ I pointed and he looked. ‘If you are here today, we sleep, OK?

  He nodded. ‘Yes, sleep.’

  Returning to my fox hole, I told Henri, ‘French infantry here today, thirty maybe, so sleep. I’m going to sleep some.’

  He nodded, looking dead tired.

  I woke to find it late in the day, the sun low, and that I badly needed a pee. Henri was wrapped up and asleep, so I left him. Taking a pee, I could see that Moran was back. I
stepped across to him.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Dead quiet.’ He pointed. ‘Detachment mascot?’

  I glanced at the goat, now being fed by Tomo. ‘Wild, but the French used to feed it. Anyone out there?’

  ‘Rocko, Slider, Rizzo and Stretch.’

  ‘God help the rocket crews,’ I mocked, Moran laughing. ‘Did you get any kip?’

  ‘Two hours, was then awake.’

  ‘I just got five or six hours, so I’ll be awake all night now. You take it easy.’

  Moran said, ‘I spoke to the French earlier, and the French infantry took a hundred prisoners, many wounded, and they say a hundred got away – but they think many had small wounds, so far a hundred bodies recovered.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Questions being asked about the cement.’

  ‘I told the French colonel that came visiting to grab the credit, so let him explain it.’ We laughed as my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Bob, how are things?’

  ‘Fine, quiet day, got some sleep, all the wounded got away.’

  ‘French are claiming a victory, no mention of our men...’

  ‘I told them to.’

  ‘Why..?’

  ‘Some of the deaths will be damned hard to explain, especially around here. RAF dropped industrial size CS gas, and they literally gassed to death fifty fighters, and killed another fifty with cement powder inhalation. You want to explain that to a journalist?’

  ‘No, and I see your point, yes. But the MOD had a thank you from the French, the French press are all over it as a turning point, a quick victory to follow.’

  ‘Well, it’s mountainous terrain, there’ll be no quick victory for any side.’

  ‘What’s your plan now?’

  ‘Tomorrow we start again what we had been doing - looking for fighters and ambushing them, slow attrition.’

  ‘And the hostage rescue?’

  ‘More doable now, we’ve reduced them greatly. But I’d like to move slowly towards them then make an assessment.’

  ‘Your Sergeant Crab must have a sat phone, he spoke to many at the base, exaggerating the great victory. I think he single-handedly killed a hundred or more - with his bare hands.’ I laughed. ‘Still, Bradley says more want to come out, so that’s something.’

  ‘Try and find out if Smitty and Westy will come back to us inside of three weeks, I’d say yes knowing the wounds.’ I ended the call with a broad smile, the damn goat stood peering up at me, Tomo smirking. ‘Shoo,’ I told it.

  Two days later, and those that remained had recovered and were in good spirits, a new swagger about the 2 Squadron lads. We were down six British lads - two of mine, two SAS and two SBS, all off with minor wounds, and I figured the doctors might send them back to the UK for a week or two.

  I had asked the French for camp beds and got twenty, plus tents, as well a shit load of sandbags. Keeping fit and passing the time involved filling sandbags, and we had a shit load stacked up now.

  I had the new tents erected next to the medics, against a lower part of the stone wall, and we sandbagged the area, many lads now using the tents to rest after a patrol, and being allowed eight hours sleep. Re-supply had come by Chinook, and we were eating well.

  That evening I sat down with Henri and the senior staff in the second medical tent, now free of patients but offering a table and some chairs. So what if it was a surgical table and shaped like a bed, a little blood on it, we would make do I told them. We studied the map.

  ‘OK,’ I began. ‘Tomorrow morning I’ll take a patrol out to the northwest, and we’ll drop down and cross the valley, up the other side.’

  ‘In daylight?’ Henri queried.

  I smiled.

  Henri said, ‘You want to be seen.’

  ‘Let’s see who comes out, yes? You take a patrol northeast, the same, but have only a few men seen.’

  He nodded. I faced Crab. ‘Take a patrol due west, find a way down and across, and linger on that road for a spell. Twenty four hours and back.’ I faced the SBS. ‘Short patrols, four hours, thousand yards out.’ They nodded.

  I faced Haines, who had recovered well and now displayed a keen attitude. ‘Rotate some of your men in the OP, and two in a front fox hole, four men patrol south towards the wrecked jeeps and back, but don’t go near the wrecked jeeps, stay three hundred yards back. Any trouble and sing out, covering fire and withdraw, no heroics – that’s an order.

  ‘OK, all of you check supplies, work out what we’re using, list what you need. When seven days is up I want some of the medics rotated back for three days, same for all men who wish to go – might get some time on the beach. Twelve on a helicopter at one time.’

  ‘Rubber mats?’ Haines asked.

  ‘I’ll put in a request, yes, sixty of them or more.’ I turned my head a notch to Henri. ‘Try and get a mobile shower unit, eh.’

  He considered that, made a face and wrote it down.

  ‘And some antiseptic soap. Let’s make sure that we don’t fall sick here, or that the men get into bad habits. Next week I’ll have the medics test every man. Any questions?’

  ‘We still thinking about hostage rescue?’ Crab asked.

  I responded, ‘French government is trying to swap the prisoners they got, so ... might not be any hostages soon.’

  In the morning I led my patrol out along the goat track, our unit mascot watching us leave. I took out Moran, Swifty, Rocko and Slider, Stretch and Rizzo - Mouri tagging along for experience.

  We took it easy through the hard parts, trying not to trip, and we finally reached the valley plateau, a good track to follow, soon to the edge of the ridge and down the track previously used by the rocket crews.

  ‘Captain Moran,’ I loudly called as we descended, kicking up dust.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you killed the last rocket crew, did you move the bodies?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Cover your mouths with scarves, that’s why, idiot!’

  ‘What? Oh yeah. I told Rocko to do it.’

  ‘You what?’ Rocko asked as they laughed.

  Mouths in elbows, we stepped past the rotting corpses, a million flies buzzing around, and on down, the stench unbearable. Still, it would deter anyone coming up the track. Looking back up, I could see Rocko kicking bodies over the side, making a clearer path.

  Down at the road we halted for half an hour - passing traffic must have seen us, and we crossed as if there was no danger and entered the fields beyond, hard-working farmers bent over and glancing up at us. We waved. They didn’t wave back.

  Two hours later we sat atop a ridge looking back. ‘There,’ I said. ‘That’s the OP, you can see the tents just about.’

  Everyone peered at their temporary home from this new angle and I scanned the hills below Camp Bad with my binoculars, seeing no movement, the lads sat against rocks and chatting, a few eyes closed – faces pointed up to the hot midday sun.

  I lowered my glasses and handed them to Moran. ‘Those farmers weren’t happy to see us.’

  ‘They think we’re French, and they want us gone. Can’t blame them.’

  ‘No, but how many are making smoke signals as we speak?’

  ‘Smoke signals?’ Moran queried with a smile. ‘This ain’t the Wild West.’

  After a fifteen minute break we moved off, higher into the hills, soon reaching a ridge and peering over it. To the left stretched a plateau of farmland, neat little squares with sand-coloured low stone walls, a few small stone houses, old men bent over in the fields. I could see some sort of dated water wheel turning, as well as the irrigation ditches it fed.

  To my right the land was too uneven for crops, and I scanned it for ten minutes with the binoculars.

  ‘Psssttt,’ caused me to duck down and get my rifle, everyone getting ready.

  Rocko raised his rifle into our three o’clock direction and we all took positions. He eased out his silencer and clipped it on whilst staring intently ahead. Kneeling, he took aim and fired.
Jumping up, he whispered, ‘On me.’

  Thirty yards along we found a body, a head shot, the man wearing webbing, an AK47 in his hand. Looking left, I could see a cave and gave it a chopping motion with my hand, the lads spreading out.

  I turned, pointing at Mouri, and had him turn around, Swifty aiming left, Slider aiming right, the rest aiming at the cave. Easing up, I bent double and moved left quietly, Moran and Rocko following, and we reached the mouth of the cave, a peek inside revealing no movement.

  I faced Moran and Rocko. Whispering, I said, ‘They use this to observe the camp,’ getting back nods. ‘Must be a changeover at some point, and that fucker will be missed. We wait.’

  They eased back and found fire positions and got comfy as I climbed above the cave entrance and up to the ridgeline. Peering down the other side I could see six men at a stream, filling buckets or bottles, some washing, all jabbering away, all armed.

  I clicked on my radio. ‘Listen up: six men, fifty yards down the ridge, be back up some time. Mouri, watch our rear and side, Swifty, Slider, aim to the right of the cave, get down and get ready. Moran, Rocko, back away a bit, you’re too close.’

  After observing the lads reposition I focused on the fighters below, but also checked the surrounding area.

  Fifteen minutes later and two men started up, but just two men. ‘Moran, come up to me, quickly. Rocko, two men coming up, use your silencer.’

  Rocks moving a minute later indicated Moran closing in and I didn’t even bother to look around. He eased in on my left. I whispered, ‘We take those four down there. You take the two washing.’

  ‘Right,’ he whispered back.

  ‘Rocko, two men, you got two minutes till you should see them. Let them get close. Standby.’

  Two quiet cracks, and the two now-cleaned-up fighters dropped behind me, and I quickly killed my two, Moran hitting his. Peering down, I double-tapped mine, Moran copying. Waiting, we looked up and all around, a good sixty seconds to make sure we were alone.

  I clicked on my radio. ‘Anyone see any movement, sing out. Swifty, Slider, down the track, check the bodies, look for a radio or phone. Rocko, check your bodies, but watch that damn cave.’

  ‘Moving.’