Wilco- Lone Wolf - Book 3

by Geoff Wolak

  Rocko moved quickly and fired twice before I could react, two rebels knocked down in the rocks off to the left. Kneeling, we waited, listening, a good sixty seconds spent feeling the cold wind on our cheeks.

  Up and moving, we advanced quietly, and fifty yards on I spun right and fired, hitting a single rebel in the rocks off to the right. Again we knelt. And again we waited, listening.

  Up and moving, but slowly now, I followed a faint track off to the right as Rocko led his team on along the main track, and cresting a rise I could see a dull electric light ahead shining onto the rocks, and soon we came to find that we were above the mine entrance, but with no one around.

  ‘Rocko, we’re above the mine entrance. Follow that track around in a circle, you’ll see the light and the entrance.’

  ‘Moving.’

  Five minutes later I saw him as his team stealthily approaching. He walked right up to the mine entrance, but what he could see that those of us above could not see was a pair of metal doors. He peered through a crack.

  ‘It’s Rocko, I can see inside, no one there, but I can hear something further in.’

  ‘We’re not going in,’ I adamantly stated. ‘Back up, get fire positions covering the entrance, we’ll stay here. Henri, take your men down the track, five hundred yards, and see what you can see.’

  ‘Roger,’ came back, always sounding like ‘Row-jair.’

  We all got comfy, as comfy as you could sat on cold jagged rocks in a cold breeze, and we waited as Henri’s men plodded on down the track and out of sight.

  Fifteen minutes later, as I sat getting chilled, my collar now done up, the radio crackled on. ‘Wilco, it’s Henri, there is a truck coming.’

  ‘Ambush it when it passes you.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Again we waited, soon seeing headlights flickering between the rocks and marking the unseen track for us. Two minutes later and we heard a short sharp volley of fire.

  ‘It’s Sergeant Crab, what was the firing?’

  ‘Henri’s men stopped a truck, no one else around at the moment.’

  A few minutes later and Henri came on. ‘Wilco, we have stopped the truck, killed eight men.’

  ‘What’s in the back?’ I asked.

  ‘Mines, some mortars, RPG.’

  ‘Drive the truck up here please.’ I stood. ‘Captain Moran, on me, rest of you stay here and keep an eye out.’ I led Moran down in an ungraceful scramble and slide, and we entered the dull yellow bulb light as Rocko and Rizzo came out to meet us, the truck trundling up the track, someone murdering the gears something terrible. It squeaked to a halt in front of us.

  A French soldier jumped down. ‘One careful owner, no.’

  ‘Be needing some new gears,’ Rocko told him.

  ‘Go back to Henri, please,’ I told the soldier and he ran off down the track. I faced Rocko and Rizzo. ‘Get the RPGs out the back.’

  They clambered up and handed down the RPG launchers and heads as the lads assisted.

  ‘Boxes full of mines and mortars,’ Rocko reported.

  ‘Good,’ I loudly commended. ‘Rocko, you drive, rest of you open those doors. Rocko, in a hundred yards and stop, then get under it and cut the fuel line.’

  Rocko started the truck, scraped the gears as badly as the French soldier - getting some ribbing from Rizzo as he did, and we opened the two metal doors, no one seen down the tunnel, a good view afforded us thanks to a pearl string of lights.

  Rocko revved, edged slowly inside, and accelerated as he drove deeper, coming to a halt as we covered him. He jumped down, had a good look down the mine, knelt and rolled onto his back, a minute spent cutting the fuel lines. He ran back.

  ‘OK, Rizzo, RPG. Hit that damn truck. Everyone else, get back and get some cover.’

  ‘What we doing?’ Rocko asked as he drew level.

  ‘We’re going to smoke them out. Take cover. Rizzo, after you fire, run clear, the blast will come this way.’

  Stretch helped Rizzo load as we all observed. Rizzo knelt, positioning himself about ten yards from the mine entrance, knocked off the safety and aimed. The RPG back-blast shook me a little, I was just ten yards away, and the head shot off out of sight. Rizzo dived clear as the blast echoed, then nothing.

  I waited, cursing Rizzo’s aim, and peeked inside. It looked like he had hit under the tailgate. ‘Rizzo, you’re pants. Try again.’

  Cursing under his breath, he reloaded, knelt, aimed and fired, again diving clear, but a little slow, the effect of a dozen overlapping blasts knocking him off his feet and wobbling everyone else, the light lost as the electric wires were severed by the blast, an angry monster of dust billowing out a hundred yards. We all had to turn away and run if we wanted to breathe.

  ‘Wilco, what the fuck was that?’ came Crab’s voice.

  ‘An explosion in the mine, we detonated mines in a truck.’

  ‘There was a flash near us, and now there’s smoke rising.’

  ‘It’s the mine, it has vents, so the blast went up the vent. Keep an eye out for movement, because any poor bastard inside will probably want some fresh air – and some Anadin.’

  With the smoke rising I walked back to the mine entrance, coughing. Using my torch, I could see nothing but dust. ‘Rizzo, you got some RPGs left?’

  ‘Yeah, two.’

  ‘Fire them inside.’

  Coughing, he got ready, men bitching at the dust they had inhaled, and he knelt. Firing again, we heard no blast for six seconds.

  ‘That went a long way down,’ Rizzo noted. Firing again, we again heard no blast for six seconds.

  I knelt in front of the mine entrance, selected automatic and emptied a magazine into the mine, aiming at what I considered was the centre. No rounds came back at me.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Crab, we got movement.’

  ‘Where?’ I asked.

  ‘Up the track. Hang on. Down the track as well, movement both ways.’

  ‘Get down, get ready, ambush them, but let them get in close. Call us back if you need us.’

  ‘Standby.’

  My sat phone trilled and I answered it as I stood in the dark. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Captain Harris, what’s happening?’

  ‘We killed the rebels we came across, more than a hundred, and we got the mortar tubes away, and we just hijacked a lorry full of mines and blew it up inside the mine. Those inside the mine are coming out in different places, so we’ll be mopping up for a while.’

  ‘We had an enquiry about hostage rescue.’

  ‘What about the hostage swaps?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Negotiations stalled, and another French convoy was attacked, so they think ten or more French soldiers are alive and held, plus six or more French civilian workers, two French helo pilots.’

  ‘We can have a look at the map when we get back. How far is that place anyhow?’

  ‘From where you are now, twenty miles north.’

  ‘OK, we’ll discuss it in the days ahead. Wilco out.’

  The echo of gunfire suddenly reached us, and it built rapidly, echoing off the hills, the distinctive crackle of GPMGs. Thirty seconds later and it eased.

  I clicked on my radio. ‘Sergeant Crab, report.’

  ‘We got most of them, rest have legged it away. Can’t see fuck all now.’

  ‘Call us if you need your arse rescuing.’

  ‘Aye, bollocks.’

  Moran closed the metal doors shut. ‘Keep the smoke inside,’ he suggested. Facing me, he said, ‘If there are any more minefields around here...’

  ‘We’ll have to be careful in the dark, or we head back,’ I acknowledged.

  ‘Wilco,’ came Sergeant Crab’s voice.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Some movement back where we landed, some fuckers with torches.’

  ‘Take pot shots at them, discourage them.’

  We soon heard an echoing crackle through the dark.

  Two minutes later, and Moran put an ear to the metal doors. Then he peered
inside. ‘Someone coming!’ he hissed as he jumped back, and we all ran into the rocks and up the banks.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Movement in the mine, get ready, but let them get out first, wait the last moment. Move back and hide.’

  I scrambled over rocks and hid myself some fifteen yards from the mine entrance, and we waited, minutes passing, the breeze again chilling us.

  ‘Wilco,’ came over the radio earpiece as I hunkered down. ‘It’s Crab. The fuckers over the way are calling out to us, like – don’t shoot I reckon.’

  ‘They don’t know who you are. Let them get close if you can.’

  A torch beam penetrated the dark near the metal doors, and a minute passed, the doors eventually squeaking open. I could hear French accents.

  ‘What the fuck...’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Hold your fire,’ I whispered. ‘They’re French. Moran, call out to them.’

  Moran called out through the dark, the men kneeling before easing back up, a long exchange. ‘Wilco, they’re French helicopter pilots! They were being held inside, and there are others inside!’

  ‘Close in, use torches, no firing!’ I transmitted. ‘Henri, bring your men up here on the double!’

  Torch beams lit the faces of the men, clearly white men in green flight suits, their faces bruised.

  ‘You speak English?’ I asked as I closed in.

  ‘Yes, some.’

  ‘How many more hostages inside?’

  ‘Maybe ... ten, separate rooms.’

  ‘How did you get away?’

  ‘The blast, everyone sick and falling down a little, and we crawled away, then comes smoke, so we go under the smoke.’

  I shouted, ‘We’re going inside, get ready. Rocko, Slider, Rizzo, Stretch, in beyond the truck and wait, see what you can see - and hear.’ They opened the metal doors wide and disappeared inside.

  I turned on my sat phone as Henri and his men appeared, the air soon full of the sounds of questions and answers in French.

  ‘Captain Harris here.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, we just found two hostages in the mine.’

  ‘Hostages?’

  ‘Yes, so let the French know that the hostages are not being held at that hill fort, they’re here in the fucking mine, so we’re going in after them. Have the helicopters on standby to come fetch the hostages, where they landed before. Wilco out.’

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Sergeant Crab, they are hostages in the mine, two just walked out, so we’re going in. This is what I want you to do: tell the French up there to go east along the track, try and find an entrance and go in, but very slowly and carefully. SBS go west along the track, again try and get in.

  ‘I want your troop to double back right to where you landed by helicopter, there’s a trap door with rocks on top, and shoot any fucker along the way. Try and find that trap door, it’s in the middle of the valley, lots of tracks, use your torches.’

  ‘Do we go in?’

  ‘Only if it’s safe, it’s a long way down, just don’t let anyone other than us come out of it. Go now – and watch that fucking minefield, use existing footprints!’

  I faced Henri, who had heard everything. ‘In the mine there’ll be many branches, and we’ll split up, but we must be careful and move cover to cover. Radios won’t work in there. Have your men form two lines, five yards apart when they go in, and to be very careful who they shoot.’

  I turned around. ‘Elkin, Mouri, you guard this entrance. If a large force turns up ... get up that cliff again and keep them busy, you won’t be able to warn us. In fact, if you get trouble here, bang the metal doors with something hard. Everyone else on me, don’t bunch up.’

  Torch out, but clipped on my webbing, I moved inside and to the left, Moran on the right, the top third of the mine still enveloped in smoke, and I had to duck. Reaching Rocko I knelt. ‘Anything?’

  ‘We can hear something, long way off.’

  ‘On me,’ I said, and I walked forwards with my head down, watching where I placed my feet, the remnants of a rail track evident.

  It grew eerily quiet, just the footsteps near me for company, my torch flickering left and right as I walked, and we penetrated two hundred yards, soon seeing a grey haze. Fifty yards on and we realised that the lights this far in still worked, just that they were shrouded in a ghostly fog. I knelt on a damp floor and turned my torch off, the others copying.

  Above us stretched out pipes, most rusted, and ahead I could see a turning on the right. Easing up, we approached it quietly, weapons levelled, and Moran peered around the corner. After a minute he said, ‘Sounds, long way off.’

  ‘Stay here,’ I said, and walked forwards beyond the turn off, knelt in the wet and I waited, my head turning side to side. I turned back and hugged the corner. Clicking on the radio, I said, ‘Henri, you hear me?’ my words echoing a little.

  ‘Yes, good signal.’

  ‘You go straight on, we are going right. Every time you find a turn you cut your men in half, understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I eased up with Moran and led my team right, along roughly hewn rock walls, a few places to hide in should we get into trouble. Thirty yards on and a hissing sound indicated water, and we squelched through an inch of mud, a pipe hissing water in a fine spray.

  Fifty yards further and the mine branched both ways, faded signs on the walls in a language we’d never understand. Using the radio I said, ‘Rocko, Slider, go left. Rizzo, Stretch, go right, rest with me.’

  ‘Ladder!’ Moran whispered. He pointed, and looking up we could see smoke rising.

  ‘That could be ... on that west track,’ I suggested as I moved forwards, Swifty behind me, Moran on the right.

  A hundred yards on and we passed dated metal wagons, a few sounds heard on the breeze, and we found another junction.

  ‘Look!’ Moran called. Peering up, we could see that all of smoke here escaped up a shaft. ‘Those French hostages didn’t come this way.’

  ‘No, but there are sounds, so ... maybe someone else.’

  Plodding slowly on in dull yellow light, the sounds grew, the mine splitting left and right. The sounds were from the left, so we ventured left, soon in single file and pressing on slowly as the mine curved around to the left, and we hugged the wall in dim grey light, soon seeing brighter lights ahead, and now came the pleasant smell of cooking.

  Sniffing cigarette smoke, I faced the guys and warned them with my look. With my rifle into my shoulder I inched around the curve of the mine, soon finding a man stood with his back to me, chatting to someone unseen – and he did not sound happy. With little in the way of options here I simply pressed on forwards, the man in my sights.

  When his chatty companion walked out he saw me, his eyes wide, but I was the last thing he saw, two rounds in his chest, two rounds through his colleague, the gunshot reports deafening as they echoed in the tight confines. I ran forwards and spun into the room, firing twice, two chest shots for a man as I moved inside.

  ‘Clear!’ I shouted, knelt down and being stared at by eight French soldiers, all tied, and all had been beaten. ‘Cover the shaft!’

  I lowered my rifle and cut the binds on the soldiers as fast as I could. ‘Pick up weapons, get ready.’

  With all of the soldiers free, two having to be dragged along, I led them outside. Pointing, I said, ‘Go that way, straight over next junction, then left, speak French at each junction or you may be shot. Understand?’

  ‘Oui!’

  They hobbled off as a group, some armed, some dragged along. Turning, I could see Swifty and Moran covering the mine shaft.

  ‘They would have heard that,’ Moran suggested.

  The distorted echo of gunfire reached us, coming from a long way off.

  ‘Nothing for it,’ I said. ‘If we find six civvies then that’s most of them, but they could be elsewhere.’ I strode forwards with a purpose, rifle held level and ready, and we covered a hundred yards in dull yellow light, wooden boxes inspected as we progressed, droppe
d cigarette packets and discarded cans of Coke glanced at, additional echoing gunfire reports reaching us.

  At the next junction I slowed and peeked around the corner, peering right into the face of a man peering back at me. I got my rifle up first and hit him through the chest, knocking him back, kneeling and firing at his buddy, loud echoing reports disturbing the peace and dramatically announcing our arrival.

  A face appeared at a door on the right and I hit that face, and I was soon running forwards. As I sprinted past the door I aimed in, had half a second to decide, and fired off a round, spinning a man. Skidding to a halt I grabbed my pistol and dropped my rifle, dived down and placed my pistol just around the edge, then peered inside.

  Two men with rifles were knelt taking aim, but not looking down, and I hit both of them twice. In the lying position I took careful aim and hit them again. Jumping up, but leaving my rifle where it was, I inched inside and checked to the right, seeing an arse going up a ladder and I hit that arse three times, the body dropping, a head shot finishing him. ‘Clear!’

  Faces lifted up off the floor, white faces. ‘British, SAS,’ I told them. Turning my head, I said, ‘Moran, speak to these people.’

  He inched inside and started jabbering away in French as I grabbed my muddy rifle, Swifty checking the mine both ways.

  ‘That’s most the hostages that we know about, so we’re leaving,’ I told him as I wiped mud off my rifle. ‘Could be more French soldiers somewhere, but that’s tough. Get to the corner.’

  He ran a few steps and skidded to a halt, peeking down the mine both ways.

  ‘Moran, can they walk, we’re leaving!’

  ‘One has to be carried, rest are OK more or less.’

  ‘C’mon then, rally them,’ I urged as I stepped to Swifty and claimed a corner, the angles checked. I clicked on the radio. ‘Any other units hear me?’

  ‘This is Masters, SBS, we hear you. You must be up ahead.’

  ‘Stay there, we found all the hostages, back up ready to leave, we’re coming now.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  The hostages moved as a group, so I went on ahead, back down the mine.

  ‘This is Rocko,’ crackled out. ‘Anyone hear this?’

  ‘This is Wilco, we’re leaving, back track, warn the others as you go.’