Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

  Wilco:

  Lone Wolf

  Book 8

  Copyright © Geoff Wolak

  Started January, 2014

  This book is historically very accurate in places, technically correct for the most part, yet it is fiction, really fiction, definitely fiction, and any similarity to real people or real events – although accidental - is probably intentional. Some characters in this book may be based on some of the wankers I have either worked with or unfortunately met over the years.

  www.geoffwolak-writing.com

  A new era

  Bob Staines was gone. Not caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but his dick in a small boy, a seemingly common occupational hazard for those in positions of power in London. I had liked the man, we had got on well, and he had supported me through tough times - and even tougher times.

  He also knew enough to send me to prison forever, and that was now a worry. If someday he wrote he memoirs I’d be in trouble, along with a few others.

  It was Sunday afternoon, and I was in two minds about a great many things. Swifty was out, so I could not kick ideas around with him. I made a call to Credenhill.

  ‘Duty Officer.’

  ‘It’s Wilco. Call the Colonel wherever he is and get him to call me. Right now.’

  ‘OK, leave it with me.’

  Five minutes later my mobile trilled, the silly same tune that it had offered when Bob handed it to me, and I was not about to alter it. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Colonel Dean. Sounds like you have a problem?’

  ‘More like you do, sir. Bob Staines has gone, new guy takes over on Monday.’

  ‘Ah. And a new set of ideas, issues, and things to bitch about. You know this man?’

  ‘It’s the Deputy Director, a step down, but more like sideways since Head of Operations is the job everyone wants. I met him twice, but I don’t know anything about him. So we need to meet.’

  ‘I’m not far from you, family thing, kids - yuk. Give me thirty minutes.’

  And half an hour later he drove himself in, no posh car or driver today, a simple silver BMW, a few years old. Out the car, I pointed him towards the runway, and we ambled side by side, the MPs observing us from a distance.

  ‘Biggest problem, sir, is if this guy has firm ideas about how he wants to do things.’

  ‘Yes, new man, new ideas, new style. Like me and Rawlson.’

  ‘You need to blur the lines more, sir, and by 5pm tomorrow.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he let out. ‘How about ... two PTIs here. I was thinking that we do your 24hr route march here, and the 20 mile run, and that way its standardised and controlled.’

  ‘And then, sir, a range test and a pistol test, and you have a good benchmark to work with.’

  ‘Yes, good idea. It would mean that my lot are always here, no chance to change this into a spy HQ.’

  ‘And the TA use it a great deal, sir. And the parachute set-up here is good, no waiting on the RAF.’

  ‘Yes, so we send men to jump here when the weather allows, no sitting around waiting a Hercules.’

  ‘There’s a nice wooded area there, to the north,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s MOD land. If I can grab it, we make it a paintball range, standard contests, individual and team.’

  ‘My lot got the idea from you; we just got our first paintball guns.’

  ‘They’re great for practising stealth, sir.’

  ‘So there are a few things we can do to blur the lines, save your unit moving away.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  We walked on, past the parachute portakabin.

  ‘What do your men think?’ he asked.

  ‘Think, sir?’

  ‘About the Regulars based here now?’

  I shrugged. ‘They have had issues with your lot’s attitude from time to time, and with your lot shooting each other, but if there was more of a buzz around here it would not be a bad thing. It used to quiet some days. Fact is ... my lot would show your lot up.’

  ‘How are my lads doing? The new troop?’

  ‘So far so good, sir, but they’re still settling in.’

  ‘What happens when Major Bradley goes?’

  ‘Some have suggested that I’d get promoted, but...’

  ‘But what? You’d rather be soldiering?’

  ‘Yes, sir, it is what I’m good at – so the papers say. Bob Staines saw me as the man in charge of his private little army, but I’d rather be part of something bigger. You may help with that, sir, because you’re more like Richards than Rawlson.’

  ‘I see your team as asset, not the competition, and it’s our common reputation that you’ve boosted, few know the difference. And as you said, I’ve inherited what Rawlson started, attitudes are better. My attitude about the SAS was formed in Northern Ireland long ago, and they do seem better day to day.’

  We reached the north fence and stopped, a rabbit scampering off.

  I began, ‘We’ll need to reorganise the counter-terrorist rotation of your lads in London. They don’t like it, it’s boring as fuck - nothing ever happens, and the police want that role. I’d suggest a tactical response team here, two troops, helicopter sat ready maybe.’

  Colonel Dean nodded. ‘They could be training here, but ready to go quickly – and anywhere in the UK, not just London.’

  ‘I’m working on an approach ... whereby we have a police support team in London, four men, one week or two, explosives, fifty cal. Police are in charge, our men ready for surprises.’

  ‘The police get the blame,’ he noted.

  ‘They want the jobs, so they can get the blame.’

  ‘And in support we can do what they lack. Yes, a good approach.’

  ‘Could rotate some of mine and some of yours, sir.’

  ‘When will you meet with this new guy?’

  ‘Probably very soon, sir, after he’s sorted out the problems in his in-tray,’ I commented.

  ‘Then after you meet him we chat, and I’m conscious of the fact that you wanted a chat out here, away from bugs and tapped phones.’ He faced me and waited.

  I picked sheep hair from the fence. ‘I have no solid evidence that they listen in, but if I was them I would. Bob was a suspicious man, and ambitious, so I can well believe that he monitored me, and so might the next guy.’

  ‘And if we’re seen to be plotting ... they may get their knickers in a twist.’

  ‘They’d not shoot us, sir, but they would try and manipulate things their way. Fact is, if this was controlled by SIS ... then a few opposition politicians would be kicking up a fuss.’

  ‘What does parliament not allow them to do?’

  ‘That’s a grey area, sir, but no government after Wilson has allowed them their own little army. Fact is ... many politicians still don’t trust SIS.’

  ‘Your assistance to the police has gained you an ally, and I can see that I need to pinch an idea or two from you, some tactical thinking. We need friends in London, not enemies.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. You are indeed a wise leader.’

  He shot me a look and smiled. ‘It’s not just about soldiering, you taught me that in Sierra Leone.’

  ‘The team now has the police on its side. And me? I have most everyone on my side, except maybe Mi5 – they’re jealous of what I did for Bob Staines. And 14 Intel don’t like me of course.’

  He nodded as he took in the north field. ‘I need Mi5 on board for domestic terrorism, but if the police have their own team then we reassess that relationship a bit. JIC seemed fine when I met them, UKSF Directorate were hopeful of a lack of fuck-ups.’

  ‘UKSF Directorate rubber stamps what SIS or the JIC want, sir. Not sure why we even need them anymore. But if you offer a can-do attitude then things should go smoothly. Colonel Rawlson held his me
n back when he should have been looking for jobs.’

  ‘Was he worried about casualties?’ Colonel Dean thought out loud.

  ‘Circumstances dictate. Bob Staines went looking for jobs for us, knowing that a long list of good newspaper headlines would get him promoted. Your lot have held back a bit. But that scorecard meant that he could get most anything he wanted.

  ‘If an important job comes up, you don’t hold back because the last job saw injuries. You do the job come what may ... and the next job after that may be a year down the road – men bored.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, would be odd to refuse an important job simply because it came close on the heels of another job.’

  ‘Colonel Rawlson made that mistake; it almost got him sacked.’

  ‘Well, I’m hoping you’ll assist me avoid the career ending fuck-ups.’

  ‘Unfortunately, sir, when men fire guns there’s an enquiry, and blame setting, even when he hits the right person.’

  I had received a letter via the Regiment many weeks ago, a Finnish weapons manufacturer wanting to design a rifle for me. I liked the idea, not least because they made 7.62mm Russian standard rifles based on the old AK47, but gas and bolt operated, not fixed bolt. I wrote back via the Major, and now a pair of Finns were at the gate.

  Driven around to me, I sat in the briefing room with them, coffee made, and they were both black-haired, not the fair hair I had expected from Finns.

  The lead man began, in almost perfect English, ‘We are aware of course about the SAS for many years, and about you, so we thought it might be interesting to fashion a rifle for you and your men. You get a custom rifle, we get some publicity. Although ... you government has written to say that they would never endorse such a rifle - or even admit you exist.’

  I smiled. ‘Leave the government to me. What did you have in mind.’

  ‘You use AKML, we saw this in photos.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We can make a custom AKML. Simple.’

  ‘Got paper and pen?’ I nudged.

  They opened briefcases and got ready.

  I began, ‘Such a rifle must be closely modelled on the AKML, not least for reliability. We use Russian standard 7.62mm because we take ammo off the men we shoot, so we carry less.

  ‘Barrel should be around 20inches, but no foresight or back sight.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘No. We like to use pipe sight or telescopic. So, no foresight. But I want an attachment on the end of the barrel for a silencer. Six inch standard, clip on and twist, simple clip off. Then a twelve inch silencer. The six inch reduces noise and muzzle flash, the twelve inch tries to eliminate muzzle flash all together.

  ‘Silencers should be lightweight, aluminium maybe, and the front must be soft – so that a damaged silencer does not see someone get their face blown off.’

  They nodded and took notes.

  ‘The fore end grip should be longer than normal, wider at the bottom than the top, for men with big hands. I want a slide-on slide-off rubber covering, green or brown, with lumps, so that a man can grip with a wet muddy glove.

  ‘Fore end grip should have a sling attachment, we often use slings. Butt of the weapon should be straight at the top, like an M16, not sloping.’

  ‘That means the sights must be higher,’ they commented.

  I nodded. ‘High like an M16,’ I told them. ‘I want a strong fitting for a simple twelve inch pipe sight, fin inside to half height, precision made. At 100yards, if someone is visible through the sight, they’re dead a moment later.

  ‘Same mounting for a telescopic sight, but I want to be able to fit the pipe on top of the telescopic sight. At night, in the jungle, we use the pipe sight, but if a jeep is burning we can use the telescopic sight.’

  They made notes.

  ‘The gas feed should be as far forwards in the barrel as possible, but covered by the grip. And I want a simple switch to turn off the gas, so in sniper mode it works like a bolt-action rifle.

  ‘The 32 round magazine is too long, often in the way when lying down, so we use 20 round magazines often. If you can make a shorter but fatter 32 round mag that would help, but it must be very reliable. I would want the magazines finished in green or brown, desert or jungle, no black. If you can do a green or brown finish – great, or we paint them.

  ‘On the back of the butt I want a rubber strip, detachable, to be replaced with a one inch or two inch strip for taller men.’

  ‘We do this now,’ they pointed out.

  ‘I want the pistol grip bigger, hook at the bottom, rubber grip that can be removed. Always think about a man wearing wet gloves. Right, magazine receiving port: wide and sloped, smooth sides, I want a man to change magazine quickly. Standard magazine release is OK, but if there was a thumb switch for it as well – all the better.’

  ‘For quick release,’ they noted. ‘You keep empty magazines?’

  ‘Not always, no.’

  ‘What is the most important aspect to you?’ they asked.

  I eased back. ‘My policy is rapid accurate single shots ... at 200-300 yards, plus sniping at 500-600yards. When we storm buildings we use pistols.’

  ‘A lightweight rifle?’

  ‘No, definitely not. A heavy rifle is more accurate, so it can weigh the same as an old FN SLR.’

  ‘Bi-pod?’

  ‘Yes, a clip-on bi-pod would be useful. What we use are spikes that fit onto the fore end grip. If you’re sat behind a fallen tree, the spike goes in and you have a very stable platform.’

  ‘We can make the barrel a little thicker,’ they offered.

  I nodded. ‘And high spin. The rest is covered by the AKML design.’

  I showed them around the base, and they keenly observed some of the police firing those very same AKML rifles before heading off. And I wondered when they would be back; a year I considered.

  Later, in the canteen, Robby was sat with his two cute daughters, seven and eight years old, and he caught my look as I sat with Rizzo and Henri.

  He left with his daughters ten minutes later, but returned and sat near me. ‘Is it ... OK to bring my kids in, Boss?’ he asked. ‘You didn’t look happy to see them.’

  ‘It’s not your kids using this place that bothers me, it’s getting to know them that bothers me, and what I say to them when you take a bullet in the head.’

  ‘Oh...’ He exchanged looks with Henri and Rizzo.

  I continued, ‘I don’t get to see the families of others, but I met the family of one of the MPs several times, cute daughters, and I’d think twice about sending him off on a dangerous job.’

  Robby pointed out, ‘Most time-served NCOs are married with kids.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t socialise with the families,’ I pointed out in return. ‘Seeing your kids may affect what jobs I take you on.’

  ‘Well, I came to fight, not read about it, so ... I’ll keep them away.’

  ‘Find out if any houses in the village are up for rent, I can help with your rent,’ I told him.

  ‘Wife would be keen, she don’t like the kids here, and if we had some help with the rent ... all the better.’

  ‘Go look, like ... today. It ain’t far.’

  He headed off.

  Henri began, ‘It is a problem, yes. I lived next door to a corporal, and his wife and mine were always together, his kids. When he was killed ... I wanted to be living someplace else. After the funeral they were living next door for a month before they moved, a hard month.’

  I nodded. ‘Rizzo, don’t have a family.’

  ‘Not much chance of that,’ Rizzo quipped.

  ‘No,’ Henri agreed.

  ‘What’d you mean, no?’ Rizzo challenged.

  ‘You are too ugly,’ Henri told him. ‘With the caterpillar on your face.’

  I laughed as Rizzo ran a hand down his moustache.

  Robby was back to me an hour later. ‘Three houses for sale, none for rent, but the estate agent said they may work a rental deal for a year, these houses
ain’t selling.’

  ‘What are they like?’

  ‘Nice enough, same as here, good gardens for the kids, quiet cul-de-sac.’

  ‘Let me see what I can do.’ Phone out, I called SIS. ‘David Finch, please, it’s Wilco.’

  ‘Wilco?’ came a minute later.

  ‘Yes. Listen, I appreciate you’re just settling in, but I need a favour. How much is in that Cayman Islands bank account.’

  After a pause, came, ‘Several millions.’

  ‘Good. So this is what I want: there are three houses up for sale in the village outside my base. I want you to either buy them as an investment, or work a year’s rental for them, and you’re not short of cash ... cash that I was instrumental in delivering.’

  ‘Short of rooms on the base?’

  ‘No, but I don’t want families here. Be hard for me to send men into harm’s way if I play with their kids on a daily basis.’

  ‘Most soldiers are married, with kids...’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t associate with those families. And I won’t.’

  ‘You also have a daughter...’

  ‘Who I see now and then, and don’t think about much. I have no issues with sending myself into danger, or Echo, but these new Regulars have families – and I don’t want to see them.’

  ‘I’ll have a man on it soon -’

  ‘Like today soon, please.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  The next day I was called early, and soon in the car and on my way up to meet David Finch for the first time. I was dressed in civvies with MP Pete, leaving instructions with Moran about the training schedule for the police lads.

  The traffic was not too bad till we hit London, and then it was the usual manic pissed-off drivers all trying to kill each other, a few Rolls Royce spotted, Pete a fan of the cars and a bit of a petrol head. We arrived at 10.45am, parked and signed in, Pete waving his paperback at me as he headed for a waiting area.

  Bob’s former assistant walked me in.

  ‘So what’s your new boss like?’ I asked.

  ‘I knew him before, almost twelve years, and he’s pretty fair. He worked in Research and Admin, dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s, save a pound here and there.’

 
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