by Geoff Wolak
‘Moving!’ crackled out, a bit distorted.
With loud sloshing footsteps behind me I moved forwards, checking all the angles as I went, soon seeing men hugging corners, but men with white faces. Glancing over my shoulder, the hostages were making reasonable progress and so I pressed on, soon alongside the SBS lads.
‘That way, straight on, go on ahead,’ I told them. ‘Check your fire.’
At the next junction I heard the radio crackle, distorted, echoing reports of automatic fire reaching us.
‘It’s Wilco, anyone hear me?’
‘It’s Rocko. French are shooting at someone down that direction they took.’
‘Radio them to withdraw when they can.’
A long fifteen minutes was used up reaching the first branch in the mine that we had taken, Rizzo and Stretch knelt on one corner, Rocko and Slider at the other.
French soldiers came running past in their pairs and on, back towards the entrance.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Henri, you hear me?’
‘Yes, we come back, some rebels here.’
‘You need help?’
‘No, we come now.’
Five minutes later, and with the hostages turning for the home leg, Henri and four men came running – their footsteps echoing, one man wounded and being assisted.
‘Report,’ I told him as I knelt in the wet.
‘We killed most, a few left.’
‘Go!’ I told him. Facing my lads, I said, ‘You four, lie down, random fire down that way.’
They got down into the damp floor, soon blasting away as I observed the shrinking image of the hostages. Changing magazines, I set automatic and fired long bursts into the dark, hoping that anyone down there would give up and go away.
I eased up. ‘Covering fire in pairs, Rocko and Slider up.’
‘Moving, firing,’ echoed down the mine as I walked backwards, finding Moran at my shoulder, Swifty further down. Turning, I could see people in the distance, now hard to make out, but they were still in line of sight for a stray round.
Moran slung his rifle and popped two CS gas canisters. He ran forwards and threw them. ‘Gas! Withdraw.’
We ran thirty yards, stopped and fired, long bursts through the light grey smoke before turning and running full pelt, soon past the wreckage of the lorry, still smouldering, and out into the fresh air. With Rizzo and Stretch through last, we closed the metal doors.
I grabbed for my sat phone.
‘Captain Harris here.’
‘It’s Wilco, send the choppers, all of them, we have the hostages, and we have wounded, we’ll use torches to signal them.’
‘They’re ready, be with you in fifteen minutes, I’ll dispatch them now, and we have medics here. Standby.’
I put the phone away. ‘Move the hostages up the track, on the double, back to the top! Helicopters coming in!’
Thirty torches lit the way as we followed the curving track, a slow procession. At the top, I clicked on my radio. ‘Sergeant Crab, where are you?’
‘We’re over where we landed, found that trap door, but it was full of smoke. Shot three men nearby.’
‘Helos are coming in, I’ll send one to you, get ready to leave. We got the hostages, all of them, so back for a nice cuppa.’ I could hear Henri’s voice behind me. ‘Henri, headcount all your men. What happened to the men up here that went east?’
‘We found them in the mine, our wounded man was an accident.’
‘Oh dear,’ I let out.
‘You’re British SAS?’ came a refined English accent in the dark, and I had to figure out where it was coming from.
‘Who said that?’
‘Here,’ the man said as I shone my torch in his face.
‘Who are you, sir?’ I asked.
‘I work with the embassy, visa control, was grabbed on a side road a few weeks back, been in that damn place ever since. Forgotten what daylight looks like.’
‘Good job it’s night then.’
‘Someone called you Wilco, yes?’
‘Captain Wilco, at your service.’
‘I’ve read about your exploits, never expected to be in need of your services, hope to never see you again.’
I laughed loudly. ‘I won’t take that the wrong way. Listen, any idea on numbers down there?’
‘Well, there were lots of soldiers marching past, hard to tell how many.’
‘And hostages?’
‘I only saw my group, there was no exercise regime, my damn legs feel like jelly.’
‘Well, we’ve done what we can, just hope there are no more hostages down there.’
‘There seem to be a great many bodies lying around,’ he noted.
‘The soldiers who marched past you, yes; they’re all a bit dead. If they get back up and walk with their arms out straight, panic.’
‘You take these things lightly, but I guess you’ve seen a fair bit of action.’
‘No more than once a week, and I get weekends off.’
The SBS performed a head count when I asked them to, Henri attempting a head count – but it was not easy, and Moran performed a head count of my team as we waited.
The drone of helicopters resonated off the hills a long five minutes before we saw them, and as they approached they turned their lights on full.
‘Move to the sides, make a clearing!’ I shouted. ‘Wounded on first helicopter!’
The first Puma touched down sharpish, a blast of cold air for everyone as we knelt, wounded French soldiers and wounded or ill hostages loaded on, and it pulled away, the second quickly touching down.
‘Ten French soldiers!’ I called, Henri sending men forwards, and I repeated that with the next Puma, a heavy drone created by circling helicopters, and I knew the Chinooks were up there from their distinctive heavy drone.
‘SBS, next helo, two French soldiers. Henri, tell the last Puma to go to the original landing zone, and pick up the SAS, take them back to Camp Bad, yes.’
He used his aircraft radio to convey that, and a Puma swung south, the first Chinook coming in.
‘Remaining hostages, Bravo Troop, next Chinook, you too Henri, your final three men. Alpha Troop stand fast.’
The Chinook came in low, slowed down and blasted us, but then spun around, its ramp down, the hostages led aboard, the crewman puzzled as to why we were waiting, but I waved him up.
The final Chinook came in, slowed and spun, and we ran aboard, a quick head count given by Rizzo as we headed down the valley, the ramp remaining open, and barely six minutes later we bumped down at Camp Bad, running out and claiming fox holes, a few men with minor injuries off to see the medics.
Stood on the cliff face, Tomo and Mouri in high spirits and winding each other up, I called Bob. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘Just sat down with a cup of hot chocolate, cold day and my old cottage is cold at night.’
‘You’ve ruined my impression of you as a super spy, you know that.’
‘I had a call, or six, earlier; you found some hostages.’
‘We found and rescued all of the hostages by accident, and killed two hundred of their best men. So pull us out.’
‘Pull you out?’
‘We have the newspaper headline, Bob, nothing good can come from staying, just more injuries.’
‘OK, a good result, two good results I suppose, and we’ll talk up the hostage rescue of course.’
I laughed. ‘Of course. Oh, and request that my opposite number in the French Paras, Henri, and one other be placed with us permanently, at least a year.’
‘There have been foreign placements before, but I don’t think any were French, just colonial men.’
‘Do it, it will help.’
‘OK, I’ll get the ball rolling on your withdrawal.’
I went and found Dicky. ‘How’s the local area?’
‘Dead quiet, you had all the fun.’
‘Create a stag rotation tonight, boys are tired, probably sleepy.’
‘Right, Bo
ss.’
I headed to my fox hole and got a fire going, Henri appearing after fifteen minutes, explaining that some of his men had minor wounds. Those with serious wounds had been flown back to the coast.
‘How do you feel about a year with us?’ I asked Henri.
‘With ... you?’
‘Based in England, coming on operations that are not just North Africa.’
‘Well, I go where my colonel says.’
‘Good, because I made an official request.’
‘You did?’
‘If you’re with us for a year ... you might learn something, like how to shoot straight.’
He gave me a long list of French curses and some arm waving as I laughed at him.
I woke cold and stiff, and got a fire going, a cold breeze blowing. Henri woke just as I handed him a hot tea, and he cursed the cold weather.
An hour later I checked in on the wounded, two French kept on beds for observation, then chatted to Haines and the RAF Regiment lads for a while about the night’s operation, and they were keen for the detail. I warned them that we may pull out today, job finished.
Walking back, and stopping to inspect the growing concrete edifice, my sat phone trilled.
‘It’s Captain Harris.’
‘Go ahead,’ I said after he paused.
‘There’s some bad news.’
My lads were all here and safe, so I wondered what the bad news was. ‘Go on.’
‘A Puma went down half an hour ago, flying from the coast towards the forwards airfield.’
‘And ... on it?’
He gave me the detail, and I felt sick. ‘Thanks, I’ll ... let them know.’
‘MOD, we’re pulling out today, Hercules on the way.’
‘OK, let me know the plan later.’
I halted one of the RAF Regiment lads. ‘Have all of your section report to me. Go.’
I stepped to the SBS. ‘Everyone assemble,’ I told them, the same at the SAS section, then with my lads. Finally I told Henri to assemble all his men quickly.
I waited as they gathered, and they could see from my look that something was up. When they were all stood around I took in their faces. ‘A helicopter, a French Puma, has gone down.’
The French exchanged words. I faced the SBS captain. ‘Two of your lads, recovered wounded coming back to us, have been injured and burnt, they’re not expected to make it.’
The exchanged shocked looks, names spoken aloud.
I faced Crab. ‘Of your two, Marsden is dead, the other burnt badly.’
Shocked faces stared back at me.
I took in my lads, then glanced at the SBS. ‘Westy and Snotty are alive, but they’ll never return to duty.’ Dicky crumbled and turned away being consoled, his best buddy having been burnt.
‘What about Smitty?’ Rocko called, the concern written all over his face.
‘Smitty and two French soldiers jumped clear, and Smitty survived the drop, and he pulled men from the burning helicopter, or they’d be dead.’ I faced Henri. ‘One of the French soldiers who jumped died, one is too badly injured to return to soldiering, two died in the crash, along with the pilots.’
Henri threw his arms in the air and walked off into the rocks, his men cursing greatly, but at no one in particular.
‘We should be pulled out today anyhow, since we got the hostages. Dismissed.’
The upbeat mood had been killed, well and truly killed, and I found Henri sat on a rock and staring down the valley. I sat next to him, nothing said for a minute.
He finally said, ‘We survive the shooting, now this shit. I have lost more men in accidents than shooting.’
I nodded. ‘We can’t train for accidents. We can be fit, we can shoot well, then a fucking helicopter goes down. You know, in my first month in the SAS we were on an exercise in Scotland, we had just finished and were coming back, then bang – the helicopter started shaking and going down. I opened the door, I grabbed Rizzo, and four of us jumped into a lake, the pilots killed.’
‘You were lucky.’
‘Two of the men I saved, they’re dead now.’
He nodded. ‘Saved them just to die later.’
I took in the valley. ‘I miss them sometimes.’
‘We always do.’
‘We’ll be leaving today, not sure what your government has in mind for you. Job here is finished, infantry and can take over.’
He made a face. ‘If you go, we go – we came to support you.’
‘Then pack up ready, my friend, get your men ready for a nice comfortable flight.’
He coughed out a laugh.
I thanked the medics and told them to pack up quickly, to pack everything – we were leaving. The RAF Regiment abandoned their holes in the ground, kit packed in a hurry.
A Chinook led to a Hercules, Smitty meeting us with his wrists bound up and cuts and grazes on his face – men forcing smiles for him, and the Hercules led to a Tristar, men sleeping, or subdued when awake, and a full thirty six hours after leaving camp bad we touched down at Brize Norton, coaches taking our zombie-like detachment back to base. Cars were started, men drove off in pairs or alone, and I found myself back at my apartment at 8am, the place damn cold.
Heating on, kettle on, I had a long hot shower then sat with a mug of tea as the apartment warmed up, radiators clanking. With the heating turned down from maximum I eased into bed - not even sure what day it was, sighed loudly, and I closed my eyes.
I woke at 5pm with a headache, absolutely starved, little in the fridge, my bread grey again, and I popped out for a bag of fish and chips, bumping into Napoleon. He had the same idea. I invited him back, he followed me in his car, and I knocked on the kettle before we sat with our smelly fish and chips, chatting about Djibouti, and I got his perspective on things and asked him what he had been up to when I was not around.
Rizzo called me, he had seen the news and they described the SAS hostage rescue in Djibouti, so I turned the TV on just as Swifty turned up with takeaway curry. We all sat facing the TV, and Swifty shared some of his curry as we watched the TV, the news detailing the rescue, but getting many facts wrong.
We laughed loudly when they made it look like we flew from Brize Norton to Cyprus to Djibouti, jumped into helicopters, flew out and rescued the hostages all in one go.
‘Fuck I’d be tired after that flight!’ Swifty noted. ‘Can you imagine doing a rescue straight off the fucking plane?’
‘We’d be shooting each other and the fucking hostages,’ I suggested, curry sauce now on my chips.
When the door buzzer went it was the Major, and I let him in, a small portion of chips and curry handed over as we discussed the news.
He began, ‘The good thing is ... that your ops are always labelled as SAS, and that I get free cigars and whiskey.’
We laughed loudly.
I began, ‘We found the hostages by accident, after having tried to blow up and block the mine they were in.’
‘The public don’t need to know that,’ the Major quipped. ‘Any wounded?’
‘Smitty has a few bruises, sir, he jumped from a helo going down – don’t know who he learnt that trick from.’
‘I heard part of it from Captain Harris, Smitty up for an award from the French, from us as well maybe.’
I nodded, ‘Two of our SBS on loan won’t be coming back, they got burnt, but I have requested that our French lad Henri comes over for a year.’
‘French?’ He made a face. ‘Don’t recall any French. Had a lad from Ghana once, he lasted a week.’
‘We’re two men down, Stretch has a leg wound, but he could be fit in no time.’
‘How did you get on, Nelson?’ the Major asked.
‘Napoleon, we call him,’ I said with a smile. ‘He’s a good lad, fit and keen, no problems, he just needed a good team around him.’
‘And the Kiwi?’
‘Mouri, great lad, always happy and smiling, never complaining. Calls me Skipper. I got no complaints about any of them,
if I did they’d be gone.’
‘Sergeant Crab is describing his part as if he did it all himself single handed.’
We laughed. ‘He’s helpful enough, but he’s also a pain from time to time.’
‘And the SBS?’
‘No complaints, sir, they did their jobs, saw some action, got some experience. But they’re down a few lads, so they’ll be hurting for a while.’
‘I spoke to my opposite number there, and you can’t do much about helicopters going down, we know that. He’s not mad at you. Oh, “B” Squadron lad, got ninety-two percent on the three-day, you can have him.’
‘Why, he a handful?’
‘No, just that we all recognise the benefits that your publicity brings, makes life easier, recruitment is well up, powers are happy.’
‘How long before we fuck-up?’ I asked.
‘Don’t fuck-up, keep being lucky,’ the Major insisted, and I exchanged a look with Swifty.
The next morning, a Thursday, I headed into work in uniform, figuring on a mountain of paperwork. As expected, I found Moran in and face down in the files with O’Leary and our corporal.
‘You have some time off, Captain,’ I told him.
‘Rather get this done and out the way, then next week I have less paperwork to do.’
I made myself a cuppa, sat down and tackled those forms relevant to me and to Alpha Troop, including assessments of the men in action, any outstanding deeds, any medal prospects. We checked who was injured, sent the various forms off to the MO and to the Admin Section, checked who had accrued holiday time - which was all of us, and by noon we had reduced the pile.
I answered my mobile to Bob.
‘You back in work?’ he asked.
‘Yes, just tackling the paperwork.’
‘I hear Moran likes to get in early and get it sorted, probably did the same in the Paras, more time for soldiering that way I guess.’
‘Yes, and he’s better at the forms than I am, I’m still new to it all.’
‘Smitty up for an award,’ he stated.
‘Yes, he jumped from the chopper and then saved a few lives.’
‘Trying to emulate you, no doubt.’
‘Yes, similar circumstances to my flying egress in Scotland. I hit the water, he hit a bush and some soft soil by all accounts.’