Wilco- Lone Wolf 18 Read online

  I had greeted the Greenies off the Pumas and walked them to their new accommodation, questions being asked back and forth, the detail swapped of what they saw and what they did.

  The Paras had left three jeeps and ten men next to the pallet drops, with three jeeps of the Marines, as everyone else drove west in a long line. It was not many men to leave behind, in the event of an attack, but anyone attacking the position had a mile of open sand to negotiate, plus six GPMGs to negotiate.

  After chatting to the dusty Echo lads for half an hour I called Swifty. ‘You still in one piece?’

  ‘Just had a nice sleep in the sun, nice and warm now.’

  ‘Any action?’

  ‘It’s all quiet as fuck, so someone shooting at us would lift the boredom. When the wind drops you hear the rocks cracking.’

  ‘They warm up in the day and cool down at night, and make noises, yes. Some go mad from it. Supplies OK?’

  ‘Yeah, lasting us, water is not an issue. We drink a few cups of tea after dark, don’t move around much midday.’

  ‘Keep moving down that road, report any dangerous gerbils.’

  Franks came and found me. ‘We can’t use that story about a bird strike, White House found out and they want to give the pilot a medal.’

  ‘Makes little difference, and he was a hero for chasing it – would have been hard to explain a ship on fire.’

  He tipped his eyebrows. ‘Fucking hard! Oh, we got the phones and IDs they brought in, and some are Egyptian and some are Pakistani, agency is looking at them all now, good intel.’

  ‘Al-Qaeda is made up of mostly Saudis, but yeah – they take anyone who wants to fight against The West. And blaming Iraq?’

  ‘White House has put out that some weapons track back to Iraq. And it’s leaked that you’re here, the Greenies and the SEALs, so CNN is running it with the mainstream media.’

  ‘SEALs had a reporter with them, so the images of that camp might surface soon.’

  ‘A bit messy, by all accounts…’ Franks floated.

  ‘Let’s hope the images don’t get released, they’ll do more harm than good, especially here in the Middle East.’

  ‘Two major camps destroyed already, could be six hundred fighters killed, and that’s half of their best men,’ he commended.

  ‘Crap planning on their part, luck on our part, but now it gets tough, because a large camp is easy to find and to hit, one man with a bomb is damn hard to hit. Weak spot is that road. The Omanis stop a jeep, it blows, a few soldiers killed and hurt each time.

  ‘And now that they know we’ll bomb the fuck out of them they’ll be spread out. Ask the Navy for fresh aerial photos tomorrow. And ask your SEALs for phones and IDs they collected up, and that my lot brought back.’

  I sat in with the wounded 14 Intel men and ladies for a while, but they were in reasonable spirits.

  Back in the command room, Harris reported, ‘Robby is closing in on a radio signal north, no visual, some high sand dunes. Lynx are standing by.’

  The lady captain put in, ‘A Lynx searching west found a body, at least parts of one, black patch of sand, a crater.’

  ‘He primed his bomb too soon,’ I noted.

  Moran stepped in, a glance at the map table. ‘What’s been happening?’

  Harris filled him in on the action, and the movements west down the wadi as I sat with a brew.

  Moran finally asked me, ‘So what do they do next?’

  ‘Scatter, I would say.’

  Moran nodded. ‘They know about the US Navy, so they’d have to be stupid to stay bunched up.’

  ‘How was Salome?’

  He smiled. ‘Keenly shooting up the Arabs, yes. If that got out…’

  ‘It won’t,’ I assured him.

  ‘She took some risks to get IDs and phones.’

  ‘If you ordered her not to, and she did anyhow, then that’s an issue. You go make it clear to her where the line is drawn, the chain of command on a live job, and that we’ll send her packing.’

  ‘She is a major,’ he reminded me.

  ‘She’s a guest, she pulls no rank,’ I insisted.

  Robby called in to say that they had found a body with a live phone, no bomb on the body, and that he was bringing the phone in, no one else around. I had a Lynx sent up to search before we lost the light.

  Max stepped in, blood stains on his brown shirt.

  ‘Where you been?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Came back and was chatting to the medics, then the new Omani Paras, got some photographs.’

  ‘Get some rest, might have an insert for you tomorrow.’

  ‘I have some great photos, SAS in the desert, and great photos of the desert. I’m going to make a book, large one, colour photographs.’

  ‘Your paper running this?’

  ‘Four page spread yesterday, and today. And tomorrow we detail that cruise missile.’

  ‘Make the pilot look like a hero, which he is. That, or he’s fucking crazy.’

  My phone trilled so I stepped to the window. ‘Petrov, I have some information,’ Libintov began. ‘The Yemen Islamists took delivery of eight old anti-ship missiles.’

  ‘Eight?’

  ‘And they have two Syrian men with the missiles, experts on these missiles.’

  ‘Who sent those men?’

  ‘They were taken from prison in Cairo apparently.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’ I faced the expectant team. ‘Starting at first light, I want all Lynx and Pumas searching for launchers of cruise missiles, there are seven left. Have my lads sat on those helicopters.’ I pointed at Kovsky. ‘Get your birds up looking, before you get a missile hitting a carrier. You search around the main camps, we’ll search the east of those camps.’

  He stepped out.

  Harris noted, ‘If they fire them all at the same time..?’

  ‘Then some will get through, and we’ll have a carrier on fire.’

  They exchanged worried looks.

  Half an hour later I was stood on the apron watching the Lynx come and go when my phone trilled. ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Sergeant Mace, 2 Para, positioned east of the pallet drop.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘We had men south looking, and they saw a cruise missile.’

  ‘Which direction was it flying?’ I shouted.

  ‘East.’

  I cut the call. ‘Incoming!’ I ran back towards the HQ room as the RAF Squadron Leader shouted people to cover. In the corridor I shouted, ‘Incoming! Get under a desk!’

  Outside, I ran to the ATC and up. ‘Warn the helicopters, we have a cruise missile coming in! Send them off!’

  Outside, on the flat roof, I fired a burst on automatic. ‘Incoming!’ I could see Echo lads clambering up onto their roof, Tomo and Nicholson with Elephant Guns, the Greenies dispersing to ditches.

  A minute later I heard the shouts and I peered west, but the sun was now low and making it hard to see anything. Then I spotted it, racing in at about sixty feet off the sand, and it was well south of us and set to miss us. ‘Don’t fire at it!’ I shouted, but it was too late as what sounded like three GPMGs opened up, the Elephant Guns blasting out.

  A puff of smoke, and it started to arc north towards us, soon nosing down. It hit hard, a plume of sand thrown up, but it took a second to make up its mind before exploding, a huge plume of sand thrown up, the blast wave reaching us and wobbling me.

  I stepped into the ATC as they shouted for medics in Arabic. ‘Who are the medics for?’

  ‘The Paratroopers were on the shooting range, sir.’

  ‘Shit.’ I rushed down, grabbed a police driver and sped down the apron and around the southern end of the runway and east as other jeeps sped that way ahead of me, the angry brown cloud slowly wafting north.

  Down from the jeep, I ran through the cloud, finding men bent-double and hacking, a few seen helping along other men, and I stopped to help a man with a head wound.

  The Para’s major came stumbling along.

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p; ‘You OK?’ I asked in Arabic. ‘Are you wounded?’

  ‘Just … dizzy … I think.’ He dropped to his knees.

  Ten minutes later, the dust cloud gone, and Morten informed me that there were no fatalities but that he had twenty or more slight head wounds, that everyone was concussed, and that a dozen men had breathed in dust and sand. And that the brigade was now stood down.

  Back on the apron, outside the HQ room, I found the Omani major.

  ‘How are the men?’ he asked, looking horrified.

  ‘None dead, but … we’ll be sending the brigade back to where they came from. Ask for another unit please.’

  ‘They are all wounded?’

  ‘Pretty much, yeah.’

  ‘The Crown Prince will want someone’s head,’ he worried.

  ‘Relax, they’ll recover.’ Inside, all faces turned towards me. ‘That fucking missile was just going to sail by and miss us, but the men opened up and it crashed near the range, and the Omani Paras were on the range, all now down, some serious head wounds, all choking. Arrange a Hercules for them, send them all off.’

  Harris stared at me wide-eyed. ‘They’re all wounded?’

  ‘Most just concussed, dust in their lungs, but they’ll be fuck all use around here for a week, just sitting ducks. So send them to Salalah tonight. Get a plane in.’

  ‘That could have gone better,’ Clifford noted.

  I made firm eye contact, ‘If it had landed a hundred yards closer, we’d have sixty dead Omani soldiers.’

  ‘We’re using up our nine lives,’ he noted.

  ‘Need to find those damn missiles,’ Harris put in.

  I led him to the map. ‘Paras here saw it so … it was close to the camp we hit.’

  ‘Those missiles are big and heavy,’ Franks noted. ‘They need trucks!’

  ‘Here,’ Harris noted. ‘A track that might allow a truck along it. If it’s marked here on the map then it must be a good track.’

  I faced Kovsky. ‘I want an infra-red high-altitude pass of that area, after dark, top priority.’

  He had a look at the map and noted grids, soon stepping out with Franks in tow.

  When Moran stepped in I told him, ‘Echo goes in if we confirm the missile launchers.’

  ‘Why not the US Navy?’ Dick asked.

  ‘Because the launchers are probably spread out and camouflaged. Besides, I want the serial numbers.’

  ‘Six left,’ Harris noted. ‘One fired every day.’

  Dick put in, ‘Damn hard kit to maintain, twenty-year-old Russian technology subject to heat and sand and cold. They must be working overtime to get them ready to fire.’

  My phone trilled, the Crown Prince. ‘Your Highness?’ I began as I stepped out.

  ‘The base was hit by a cruise missile?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but no one was killed, just … minor wounds.’

  ‘Who was wounded?’

  ‘Your Parachute Brigade.’

  ‘How many men?’

  ‘All of them.’

  ‘All of them!’

  ‘Yes, sir, they’re all concussed, twenty head wounds. I’m flying them out tonight for Salalah.’

  ‘The people will want blood!’

  ‘We’re searching for the missile launchers, and my men will go after them tomorrow morning. Sir, don’t hide the fact that your men were hurt, use the public opinion, this was an act of aggression against you.’

  ‘The people will not be pleased, we look weak.’

  ‘Then list just ten men slightly hurt, which is almost true. Oh, and send me another unit, eh.’

  ‘My god…’

  ‘It could have been worse, much worse. We don’t need too many people at this base, it’s a target.’

  ‘Never before have we had our borders breached like this.’

  ‘Never before have you had me here. I’m the target.’

  ‘As you were elsewhere. Do you have insurance I can claim against?’

  I laughed. ‘No, sir, no insurance.’

  ‘I will send another unit.’ He sighed. ‘How do I report this?’ he asked himself.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something, sir.’ Back inside, I told them, ‘That was the Crown Prince, in need a Valium and a stiff drink. He’ll send another unit.’

  Max asked, ‘What do I report?’

  ‘The truth; cruise missile launched by al-Qaeda. The Americans believe the missile to have been supplied by the Iraqis.’

  Max stepped out.

  ‘It wasn’t the Iraqis,’ Harris noted.

  ‘Politics.’

  ‘No need to swear,’ Clifford told me.

  I walked around to the Echo billet. ‘Who the fuck fired at that missile?’

  They all looked up, now puzzled.

  ‘I hit it,’ Tomo boasted.

  ‘It was going to miss us, you fucking knobber! It was well south of us and heading past, but hitting it meant that it veered north and landed next to the range, and wounded sixty Omani paratroopers!’

  ‘Wasn’t my shot that hit it, I just remembered,’ Tomo told me, Slider slapping him on the back of the head.

  ‘They are hurt bad?’ Henri asked.

  ‘Twenty head wounds, all concussed, dust in their lungs, they’ll be pulled out.’

  Sasha noted, ‘Not the best result, no. Only here one day.’

  I told them, ‘Get some rest tonight, be ready to move out early if we find out where the missile launchers are. Russian speakers, we’ll try and capture the missiles and have a look, and we’ll read the paperwork if there is some.’

  I left them to taunt Tomo.

  Back in the HQ room, Harris began, bent over the map, ‘The British Paras saw the missile, and so it had to be close to them – inside a mile, so I think I know where they are.’

  ‘Send a Lynx with night sights to fly past fast, as if it hasn’t seen them, no loitering. Do that just after dark, one flypast only.’

  An hour later, after I had eaten in the officers mess, the Lynx in question set back down. The pilot reported thermal signatures where there should be no thermal signatures – and that it was not a herd of camels sat resting.

  I went and notified Echo that we would leave at midnight, to some moaning. They had five hours to rest, more than enough I considered. Back in the HQ room I asked Harris to arrange Pumas and Lynx for midnight – we were off to war.

  For the first time here I topped up my water and rations, so far not used, and checked magazines and my rifle. Sat in Clifford’s office I got two hours sleep but then woke suddenly, soon too awake to sleep again, so I stuffed my face with eggs and ham, washed down with a large coffee.

  Many of the team had taken naps as well, the HQ room quiet till they started to drift back in, many yawning.

  At 11pm I checked that the Pumas and Lynx would be ready, night sights to be employed, but landing at night in the wadi was straight forwards enough. Harris marked the insert place on my map, two miles north and four miles east of the target, and half-way between two of our wadi outposts.

  The plan was simple enough. Out the helos and south till we hit the rocks, west four miles then south two miles. That would take us to a spot that was about three miles due east of the camp that had been hit. The track that any missiles would have taken was well south of the camp, not crossed by Moran and the team when they had inserted.

  At 11.30pm I shouted men up in the Echo billet, but half were sat ready anyhow. Brews were downed quickly, water drunk, weapons clanking as they were checked.

  ‘Listen up. Salome, Sasha and his team, you’re with me, the forwards team. Captain Moran, Rizzo, Monster, Nicholson, Swan and Tomo, second team. Rest are with Slider behind us.

  ‘Russian speakers will get to the missiles first, assuming we find them, and we’ll shoot the operators and any fighters there, cover from the sniper team, then we’ll get the paperwork. No one … shoot the fucking missiles, they’re evidence.’

  Faces turned to Tomo.

  ‘Who, me?’ Tomo feigned.<
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  ‘When we’re off the helos we go south, form up, speed march west, simple. Need a shit, have one now. Fifteen minutes. Outside when ready, on the apron, headcount. And make safe your fucking weapons, eh, like the professionals you’re supposed to be.

  ‘But if you’re on a Lynx then be cocked before you step down, and if you see some trouble when coming in to land then you can open up – if you’re sat facing out. Don’t accidentally shoot the pilots, eh.’

  I walked back around to the ATC and checked the detail with them, and all was set. ‘Did a Hercules land for the paratroopers?’

  ‘After dark, yes, sir.’

  At midnight the teams head-counted in the dark, Hicks, Holsteder and Kovsky stood watching.

  Franks walked up to me, ‘Dick is shit hot with old Russian missiles.’

  ‘He up for some adventure, is he?’

  ‘To get a close look, yeah.’

  ‘Get him, fast.’

  Dick appeared five minutes later with a beige utility waistcoat, bottle of water and a pistol as the Pumas slid over.

  I told him, ‘Make no noise when we get close to the enemy camp, you stay with Captain Moran. If you can’t keep up, sore feet, tell us.’ Facing the teams, I shouted, ‘Six men only per Puma, four per Lynx!’ making sure we were not bunched up and at risk of a missile hitting a helicopter.

  I led Salome and Sasha’s team into the first Puma, both doors open, and we soon lifted up. Nose down, we started forwards, speeding across the light-coloured sand below us, the stars out, the visibility good.

  We reached the wadi and banked left, slowing a little, and we followed the southern edge of the wadi as it meandered, and I was sure I could see a jeep camp of our Paras or Marines as we passed over it. The wadi was empty and featureless, so the four black objects had to be our jeeps.

  Slowing, I loaded and cocked, many of the lads copying, and with Salome nestled into my left shoulder, boobs rubbing into my arm, we flared and bumped down.

  Hand on the edge, I jumped down, running forwards bent-double for twenty yards before kneeling, seeing black outlines line up behind me as the sand hit us on exposed skin like a million annoying insects. I finally closed my eyes as being the safest option as the Puma roared away, other Pumas heard but not seen as I kept my eyes closed.