Wilco- Lone Wolf 16 Read online

  ‘Send me an expert, quickly.’

  ‘I will do, we need to secure that mine and declare it.’

  ‘What’s the link between our sleeper agents and uranium?’ I asked.

  ‘Not one I can think of, they’d be no good in BP. And the evidence points towards the Americans, not Russia!’

  ‘Maybe the forensic team will find something. An old note explaining all this would be handy.’

  When I saw Morten I told him, ‘Any old men come into your medical tent, and speaking some English, ask if they ever worked here in a mine underground. If they did, send them my way, dollars in hand.’

  ‘A local mine worker might shed some light on those bodies, yes.’

  It was not the bodies I was curious about.

  An hour later a Chinook set down, twelve men in civvy dress lugging kit out the back, one with a camera around his neck.

  ‘I’m Metropolitan Police, forensics,’ the first man said, and we shook. ‘Four of us, and a Home Office pathologist. We’ve done a few jobs around Africa, and Bosnia of course, we’re not rookies.’

  ‘Good to know. Find Doctor Abrahams in the mine after you dump kit inside, plenty of spare rooms – all very basic. You shit in the dirt and bury it.’

  ‘Ah, that basic.’

  ‘For now.’

  He walked past with his team as I closed in on the man with the camera. ‘Who the hell are you!’

  ‘I’m from the Telegraph, worked on war crimes in Bosnia,’ he said defensively. ‘They gave me permission in Freetown.’

  ‘I never gave you permission! And I’m in charge, and not wanting to take responsibility for you taking a bullet!’

  ‘I know the risks -’

  ‘You stay if I let you stay, whether you know the risks or not! Show me some ID!’

  He handed over his ID, so I called SIS as he stood looking put out. ‘It’s Wilco, check this reporter’s ID.’ I read it out. ‘Then check his attitude, known associates, and if I need to shoot him. Then send a man to The Telegraph with a letter, stating that we don’t take responsibility for his death. Have them sign it and witness it, this is not a fucking holiday camp.’ I cut the call.

  ‘I met Max from The Sun, he can vouch for me.’

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Someone send Max out to me, the runway.’

  I turned, and led the reporter towards the main door, Max appearing. ‘You know this refugee?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, he’s OK, pays for his round.’

  ‘Keep him with you, don’t let him get killed on his first day, eh.’

  Max led the man off, leaving me shaking my head. I called David Finch. ‘We have a journalist here, from The Telegraph of all papers. Someone in Freetown gave him permission, so shout a little – they don’t fucking send someone unless I say it’s safe and I know who they are. I already asked your lot to check him out.’

  ‘I’ll look into it, we need to be careful around journalists.’

  Doctor Abrahams came up from the basement with a sweaty face, so I handed her my water bottle. She drank, but spilt some down her lily-white cleavage.

  ‘You spilt some,’ I noted, taking back the bottle.

  She glanced down at the drops on her cleavage, cocked an eyebrow at me with a coy smile, and headed inside without a word.

  When Rizzo stepped out for a pee I waved him over. ‘You’re well enough to teach, so take over 14 Intel - survive, escape and evade - then we’ll drop them in random spots and they walk back here.’

  ‘And the girls?’

  ‘Yes, all of them. They want to be spies, so they take the risks. Cover jungle hides, rain shelters, water sources, edible plants and animals – have them shoot and eat, trap and eat. Then navigation.’

  He nodded, had his piss in the white dust, and headed back inside.

  Moran called at 2pm. ‘Tobo found our suspicious man, seen using a sat phone up on a roof. He’s Russian.’

  ‘They grabbed him?’

  ‘In the trunk of a car, heading to a meet with a Puma in a quiet spot.’

  ‘Drop him here, Tobo’s men go back to you. Give them time off in Conakry if they want it, dollars in hand.’

  ‘Slider there yet?’

  ‘No, he’s taking his own good time. Has he contacted you?’

  ‘Last night, they were setting ambushes on roads, stop and search.’

  ‘OK, good.’

  An hour later, the day damn hot and many people inside, my phone trilled. ‘It’s Wolf Brigson, Boss, and we got three small planes like a Spitfire, rockets on the wings, heading your way -’

  ‘Shit.’ I cut the call. ‘Incoming!’ I shouted. I transmitted, ‘All men with rifles get outside and disperse. Anyone near the treeline, get in the treeline and stay there. 2 Squadron, ready for incoming aircraft! Look north!’

  I turned to peer down the runway, the Engineers too far away to shout to. I fired a burst in the air. They looked my way, so I waved them off the runway and they ran towards the mine, equipment dropped.

  ‘Wilco for Tomo, get the medics in the treeline, get ready to shoot down a small aircraft.’

  ‘On it, Boss,’ crackled back as men came out in a hurry, kit being placed on in a hurry.

  ‘Run! Disperse!’ I transmitted, ‘All men with rifles, run, spread out, a hundred yards to the next man! Move it!’ I stepped towards the main door and called Admiral Jacobs in hurry as I scanned the sky. ‘Sir, it’s Wilco, we have hostile aircraft incoming!’

  I cut the call, already hearing the drone as Max and our new reporter ran out and towards the mine. I glanced at the mine, wondering about the forensics team, but there was fuck all I could do in time, no time to alert “D” Squadron either as I took aim north.

  The drone became a buzz, and grew in intensity, then I glimpsed them through the trees, three small single prop aircraft partly hidden behind the trees, rockets under wings.

  ‘GPMGs, fire as soon as you see them!’ I transmitted. I aimed, a wide stance taken, men still running past me, and as the leaves gave up hiding the planes I started to fire at the propeller of the lead aircraft, single well-aimed shots.

  A loud cackle erupted from my left, rifle shots from my right, at least two or three Elephant Guns blasting out without silencers. As the planes came quickly over, still in their tight formation, I was aiming up, then straight up as I pumped out rounds, soon twisting and firing as I focused on the retracted wheels.

  A blast above me, and a wing detached from the lead aircraft. The stricken aircraft spiralled down in one second, a huge blast throwing out limestone from the mine, the wing landing just twenty yards from me and burning fiercely.

  Lowering my rifle as the buzz passed its crescendo, I saw the left-most aircraft on fire and smoking as it banked hard left, the final aircraft banking right, still a roar of cracks from all around me, the GPMG still firing out.

  Stood there, mouth agape, I observed as the smoking plane curved around, heading towards Tomo and Nicholson as if suicide was the plan. It seemed to slow, and to bank hard over at the end of the runway, a sudden dip, and it hit the dirt behind the medical tent, a puff of black smoke, and the blast registered with us a few seconds later as the plume of smoke rose quickly.

  Turning around, I found the final aircraft, that attacker now banking hard over and coming at us as if to rudely land uninvited on our runway. My eyes widened as I saw it line up with the Greenies building, two of the 2 Squadron lads stood on the roof with GPMGs held like rifles and now pumping out rounds.

  I saw the puffs of smoke and my heart stopped. I stopped breathing, stood wide-eyed as the rockets flew directly towards the Greenies building, but from my perspective I judged their trajectory wrong, and they hit the middle floor not the men on the roof.

  The blasts registered with us almost straight away, a large pall of black smoke moving out sideways, and through the smoke two missiles came in, missing the 2 Squadron lads by inches. The first slammed into the French side of our building, the second hitting the roof and s
kidding along it.

  From the corner of my eye I caught the movement, a man with a GPMG hitting the edge of the roof and rolling over the edge and down. The blast had me ducking, sandbags thrown up and towards me, a thud as the man hit the dirt, a second and third thud as sandbags hit the dirt.

  Through the smoke the plane came on, the buzz increasing, and I lifted my rifle to aim just as its prop came off. Banking left was a possible intentional on the part of the pilot, but he dropped quickly, cartwheeled and blew to bits, four loud blasts as his rockets hit something hard enough to detonate them, men nearby diving for cover.

  ‘Medics to the Greenies!’ came over the radio.

  I ran to the door. ‘Medics! To the Greenies building!’ I grabbed an Engineer who had been knelt aiming out the door. ‘Get a jeep, get the doctors back here! Go!’

  He ran to the line of jeeps as I closed in on the 2 Squadron lad who had been launched from the roof, both man and weapon now covered in white dust, the man moaning.

  ‘It’s Wilco, report the wounded!’ I transmitted as I knelt next to the man, others closing in.

  ‘It’s Tomo,’ crackled in my ear. ‘Nurse got some shrapnel, not serious, but they had some rude words for us.’

  ‘It’s the Greenies here, Major, and we got a man with a foot blown off, shrapnel in a man’s gut.’

  ‘Get them to the runway, I’ll get a helo in!’ I glanced down as people assisted the man in front of me. ‘You OK?’

  ‘I dived clear,’ he strained to get out.

  ‘Dived clear? Shit, I thought you’d been hit, proper wound.’

  ‘Your bedside manner needs work, Boss,’ he complained.

  Looking down the runway, I could see two tall stacks of smoke, one smoke stack coming from the mine. I sighed and shook my head. ‘Fucking hell.’ I transmitted, ‘All teams back to normal routine, check your teams, headcount, look for any wounded men, then sit and get a brew on.’

  ‘Cease fire, tea break!’ came from an unknown voice.

  ‘Haines for 2 Squadron men. Ceasefire, tea break!’

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ came from the winded man at my feet.

  I transmitted, ‘Wilco for the 2 Squadron men on the tall roof. Come see me for a cash bonus, then see Mister Morten – and get your fucking heads examined!’

  ‘I’m still here,’ came from the man at my feet, an Engineer attending him.

  Laughter rippled around me as men walked back in, many of them now dusty and white down the front, white dust seen on knees and on boots.

  Max appeared with the man from the Telegraph. ‘Who sent those?’ he casually asked.

  ‘Good question, but I think … a new player. All the old players are dead or captured.’

  ‘Who’ve you upset now?’ he joked.

  The guy from The Telegraph was looking pale, his hand shaking as he held his camera.

  ‘You. Sit down, have a cuppa,’ I told him. ‘Get inside.’

  Max shoved the man inside as the Greenies carried men around to me, three wounded men. I shouted at people to grab stretchers from inside, and we soon had the wounded on those stretchers with a nurse in attendance as a jeep screeched to a halt.

  Morten jumped down with a lady doctor and a male nurse, soon to the stretchers and knelt.

  A Greenie sergeant calmly explained to Morten, ‘Rick here lost a foot, we got a tourniquet on five minutes ago, it ain’t pumping. Jed got a piece on in the gut, and Trask got a nasty bit under the ribs.’

  I lifted my phone, suddenly startled by two F18s tearing past at speed. They banked around and passed overhead a second time.

  ‘Hawkeye, Ground Wilco,’ crackled.

  ‘Wilco here, go ahead.’ I peered up and around.

  ‘Hawkeye, Ground Wilco, what’s the situation there?’

  ‘We shot down three small aircraft attacking us, but I have three wounded Green Berets here. Can you land?’

  ‘Hawkeye, Ground Wilco, standby.’

  I waited, the wounded being well tended, drips set-up, many men ready to assist.

  I heard the drone and peered southwest, the odd-looking radar Hawkeye on a steep approach, banking around and lining up with the runway. It came in over the Greenies building.

  ‘Move them now!’ I shouted, the stretchers up and moving quickly as a drone came from the Hawkeye, close enough to reach up and touch.

  The Hawkeye touched down just 200yards away and halted quickly, it even seemed to be going backwards for a while. Hatch open, steps down, crewmen came out and peered our way as the stretchers were walked quickly towards the aircraft.

  I transmitted, ‘Wilco for Hawkeye, take the wounded aboard ship, local hospitals are a bit crap.’

  ‘Hawkeye, Wilco, roger that.’

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco, it’s Admiral Jacobs, what’s happening there?’

  ‘We had three small aircraft attack us, but we shot them down. I got three Green Berets with some nasty wounds being put aboard your Hawkeye, get your surgical teams ready, sir.’

  ‘I’ll call them now.’

  ‘Your F18s got here a few minutes too late, sir, but we only got two minutes warning anyhow.’

  ‘Not enough damn time!’ he complained.

  ‘Listen, sir, if you want to be helpful, have your jets buzz any strip in northern Guinea, or town, make some noise, let them know you’re here. The boys that attacked us had no idea you were around.’

  ‘OK, we can do that, it’s just some loud noise. I’ll have them bust some eardrums!’

  I heard the Hawkeye power away. ‘Sir, your Hawkeye is on its way back, get the medics ready.’

  ‘I’ll do that now.’ He cut the call as two F18s screeched past, everyone looking up.

  Dicky and Mouri walked past. ‘Dicky, get down the mine and see if they’re hurt, the forensic team. Go!’ They ran to the mine.

  The 2 Squadron lads from the high point came walking over, GPMGs in hand, smug grins on faces. ‘You … er … got a cash bonus for us, Boss?’

  The Marines Press major jogged up. ‘I got that on tape!’ He was about to have an orgasm and cream his pants.

  ‘Let us have a copy, please,’ I told him. He rushed inside.

  From my webbing I pulled out a wad of euros.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ the corporal let out. ‘You know that we love working with you an all, but some cash now and then would not go amiss.’

  I counted out five thousand euro and handed it over. ‘You pay your lads curry night. Convert those to British pounds when you get back.’

  ‘Thanks, Boss.’

  As they kicked up dust I called SIS. ‘It’s Wilco. We just had three small aircraft fitted with rockets attack us, we shot them down, but three Green Berets were hurt, one foot blown off, no British casualties, and the forensic teams are all still alive. The reporter from The Telegraph is going to need a stiff drink and some new pants.’

  I heard laughter.

  ‘This is a new dimension and a new player. Update all interested parties. Wilco out.’

  I called Moran and warned him that he could be a target. He had a few men still in the FOB building, but most were dispersed.

  Doctor Abrahams walked past, looking harassed, white limestone down her front. She stopped near me, lifted her arms wide and let them drop, issued a loud sigh and walked towards the door. As she did she vigorously wiped her boobs of white powder, a dozen men stopping to observe.

  Morten and his team appeared beside me, back from the Hawkeye.

  ‘How do they look?’ I asked.

  Morten wiped his brow. ‘Guy with the foot blown off is stable, no issues – except that his career is ended. The lower abdomen wound has internal bleeding, so tricky, and the man with a piece in his lungs needs surgery quickly. But if they land on ship in twenty minutes they’ll be fine.’

  ‘Just out of curiosity, could you have dealt with them all here?’

  ‘The missing foot, an hour’s surgery – and yes we could but conditions are not sterile so we risk in
fection. Stomach wound we could operate on and pause, but he would need a surgeons table in ten hours. Chest wound would need his chest cracked open unless we had a small metal detector and the piece was close to the surface. All three cases need a sterile environment. Here we preserve life, not fix the issues – remember your training!’

  I smiled and nodded. ‘And your tent?’

  He shot me a look. ‘Nurse got a wound, small piece in the leg, we’ll treat that here, tent is burnt on one side.’

  ‘Get another tent sent over sharpish please, more hearts and minds.’

  He led his sweaty team inside, a nurse arriving by jeep and soon being carried towards the door.

  She fixed me with a look. ‘Your flipping blinking men shot down that plane, wounded me, ruined my kit – and our tent! Sir.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ll have a word with them,’ I offered before they carried her inside. I tried hard not to grin.

  The Engineers major walked in. ‘Are we supposed to work in these conditions?’ he complained.

  ‘If war broke out with Russia, what conditions would you work in? And do you want me to get General Dennet on the line?’

  He walked inside in a huff.

  Fifteen minutes later a drone was heard, men nervous and peering skywards, a Puma coming in and touching down. A white man, trussed up, was rudely thrown out, the Puma pulling off straight away.

  Henri noted, ‘Santa Claus, he needs some work on his delivery technique, no.’

  We walked over and grabbed the man, lifting him upright. He displayed a cut eye, and was now covered in white dust.

  In Russian I began, ‘You can talk to me, make a deal, or we string you up in the jungle and leave you there. You talk, I give you some money, you get dropped in a town.’

  He stared back at me, surprised. I pulled out a large wad of euros, my own lads eyeing it, and showed the man. It was a lot of money.

  ‘So, you want to die slowly or cut a deal?’

  ‘They’ll kill me.’

  ‘We’ll kill you. At least you have a chance with us.’ I waited, fanning the notes in the wad.

  ‘Man’s name is Ludwig, but a Russian, big fat bald man in northern Cyrpus, but they call him The Banker.’

  My eyes widened. ‘The Banker? He … is wanted by the FBI, yes.’