Wilco- Lone Wolf 11 Read online

  I closed my eyes, and when I opened them I turned my head; 3.52am. I smiled and knocked off the alarm, easing up and kicking Swifty’s bed, the dull hut lights turned on. ‘Let’s be having you! Wakey wakey.’

  Grumpy men started to stir as I sat on the floor and got my cooker going, grumpy men not on the job complaining at being woken. With Swifty joining me ten minutes later others got a brew on, chocolate Rolos down throats, biscuits nibbled mostly in silence.

  With a full brew in me I felt better, and Swifty had cooked his ravioli with new potatoes, so we were well fed. With a jeep pulling up on cue I shouted at Rocko to get ready – he had one minute, and I hopped aboard the jeep with Swifty, Moran and Mitch. A second jeep would ferry Rocko and his team. Each team would take with them an Elephant Gun, the last two available.

  On the apron the Chinook’s rotors started to turn, a test of the engines, a sleepy technician informing me of the portable radar unit.

  ‘Where is it?’ I asked.

  ‘They drove to the border, sir.’

  ‘To the border? Are they mad? Who authorised that?’

  ‘Not sure, sir.’

  ‘Can they be contacted?’

  ‘Not sure, sir.’

  ‘Then what’s the point of an early warning with no fucking early warning! Go find out!’ I called SIS London. ‘It’s Wilco. There’s a mobile radar unit from the Army, somewhere near me on the border, and I can’t contact them. Get hold of HQ in Nanyuki and scream a little, get that unit on the phone.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  Cursing to myself, I checked the gun mountings of the GPMGs, one either side poking out the rear side safety-exit hatches, both with boxes of ammo fed ready. Rocko drove in with his team, less than fresh.

  ‘Get a brew on,’ I told them. ‘Not going anywhere yet.’

  The drone grew, becoming distinct, two Hercules on approach with their lights blazing, a nice target for gunmen on the wire or a mortar crew. They touched down in sequence, taxiing the short distance around to us, loudly halting where directed by ground crews, engines soon winding down.

  The crews came and found me as dawn threatened to arrive, one being the famous Cement Bombers.

  I smiled. ‘Gentlemen, you’re about the make the history books again.’

  ‘Damn right, it’s never been done before.’

  I pointed at the crewman. ‘You ready?’

  ‘All set-up, sir, just need a nice slow-moving target.’

  ‘An An12 is a very slow-moving target,’ I assured them. ‘If you can’t hit it ... you’re Girl Scout panties. And just to keep you on your toes ... film crew will be aboard.’

  They suddenly looked worried.

  I told the lead pilot, the man bald save a few strands, ‘Comb your hair for the camera, sir,’ his crew laughing at him till glared at.

  At 5am, the dawn rapidly approaching, engines started to turn, men stood ready, and even Rocko looked fresh and awake now.

  My phone trilled as I stood at the mouth of the hangar, the sky a dark blue. ‘Captain Wilco?’ came an unknown voice.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Major Roberts, mobile radar unit.’

  ‘Who the fuck told you to go to the border, sir?’ I barked.

  ‘Well ... the tasking said to get as close to the border as possible, and we looked at the map.’

  ‘You’re in the middle of a war zone, hundreds of rebel fighters moving this way!’

  ‘What? Oh, no one told us.’

  ‘Jesus. How many men do you have?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘Fuck. Get them all armed, and get ready to drive off very fast if armed men approach you, leave the radar unit behind. As soon as this job is done, drive like fuck away! If you don’t hear from me by 7am, drive like hell or be killed.’

  ‘Oh, right oh.’

  ‘Are you set-up ready?’

  ‘Yes, unit is working.’

  ‘Anything on screen yet?’

  ‘Reason for the call, two large contacts fifty miles out, five thousand feet, slow moving, they’re bearing 055 magnetic to us, flying southwest roughly.’

  ‘Excellent. Leave now, pack your kit and get the fuck away fast!’ Phone away, I shouted, ‘Let’s go!’ with a thumbs-up to the Hercules crewman, my words echoing around the vast hangar, and teams ran aboard the Chinooks, the Hercules to utilize just their rear crew on the GMPGs. I moved forwards to the pilots and got the spare headsets on. ‘Got radar contact, fifty miles away, so they’re twenty miles from the strip, five thousand feet.

  ‘Radio the Hercules to go high and get behind them, we’ll be closer to the base just in case. Take off now!’

  I moved back and to the side emergency exit positions, both side exits open above waist height, GPMGs hoisted on wires ready, crewman checking the weapons and ammo as the ramp closed. We started to roll forwards – the vibrations felt through my boots, my ears assault by the internal drone, and we gaining speed, arse end up, nose down, and we were off, and ahead of the Hercules.

  I peered down at the grey pre-dawn scrub below us, and we skimmed over it as we headed towards the border, flying at about a hundred feet off the deck, but we soon started to climb as I held on, and I guessed us to be at 1,000 feet after five minutes, a nice cool breeze in the back but a hell of a roar.

  I moved forwards to the pilots and knelt, headset grabbed. ‘How we looking?’ I asked as I peered at what detail I could see ahead of us.

  Large green helmets turned towards me. ‘Hercules are in the air, we’ll slow down and go southeast and around, they’ll be our eyes and ears. They’ll go high and south and around, to get above them, but if the An12 has radar...’

  ‘They have weather radar I think.’

  We climbed as we moved southeast, the dawn’s amber sun in our eyes now, and I could read the display; 1,500 feet.

  The radio crackled into life, the Hercules reporting radar contact, soon visual contact at 3,000 feet, the unseen pair of Hercules above and behind the unsuspecting pair of An12 as our targets descending on approach. We banked left and came around in a large circle, low hills seen to the north, the sun rising over my right shoulder, and I was thinking of all the things that could go wrong here. It was a long list.

  In a brilliantly timed move, MOD film crew in the back, both Hercules dropped at the same time for maximum surprise and opened up, wings and engines hit on the An12, both An12 breaking away hard right and nosing down, but under control, the Hercules banking away left, the An12’s zig-zagging defensively whilst smoking.

  I had to wonder what the cockpit chatter was amongst the Russian pilots right now, and the looks on their faces right about now.

  ‘Have the Hercules break off and return!’ I ordered. ‘Job done, no legal action, they attempted to force down the An12s. Get to the strip and get us close after the An12s land, watch out for ground fire.’

  I could hear the radio chat to the Hercules, who departed, seen over the top of us a moment later, the strip coming into view.

  ‘There!’ the pilot screamed.

  The An12s were on approach, but smoking badly as we came at them from the south.

  ‘I need you to time this right. I want the An12s down and halted, men getting out, then I want to be three hundred feet above them for thirty seconds and off.’

  Radio instructions were sent to the trailing Chinook, and clarified as we flew east parallel to the runway, a thousand yards out at 600 feet, and we would be visible to anyone below – and loud as hell. I could see jeeps below us so they could damn well see us.

  The first An12 landed with a puff of dust, the second on its tail and dangerously close. We banked hard left, nose down, and I moved back – trying to stay upright.

  Light flooded into the hold from the open side exits, the ramp now down. Approaching the crew handling the GPMGs I pointed out and they got ready, Swifty lying down on the ramp – harness fixed, Moran lying out the opposite side, Mitch hanging on and looking worried. I stood behind a crewman and held
on tightly, my legs wide for stability, peering out and down.

  A burst of fire, brass cartridges flying out, and I could now see the An12s on the strip, the huge lumbering aircraft both smoking, their doors open, men seen below those doors. The GPMG this side hammered out rounds for twenty seconds, the Chinook’s nose suddenly dropping, and we sped off, the GPMG the other side suddenly hammering out rounds at something.

  I rushed back to the cockpit, grabbing the headsets. ‘How did it look?’

  ‘Men got out, but the An12 were well ablaze as we left, so whatever is in the back won’t be offloaded.’

  ‘Go back around, but stay a thousand yards out.’

  We banked hard left and came around, radio message given, and flew in a large circle. I could soon see the runway again, as well as the two smoke columns. As we closed in, I could see both An12s burning.

  A blast, and an An12 blew apart, debris flying high.

  ‘Get the fuck away from them!’ I ordered. ‘Back to base!’

  My ride banked hard over and dropped its nose, the pilot stealing a quick final glimpse of the airstrip. He turned his large green helmet. ‘Job done,’ he noted with a smile. ‘They won’t fire the rockets at the base, and a few men got out – say twenty.’

  ‘As far as any enquiry is concerned, we targeted the weapons not the men,’ I suggested.

  ‘What about your men down there?’

  I considered that. ‘Leave them, I’ll have them observe that strip, might be few other nasty surprises for us today.’

  I moved back to the hold, a positive nod to the keen expectant faces staring my way, and we flew low level and high speed back – GPMGs manned and pointed outwards, soon bumping down on the apron, a crowd waiting, the two Hercules down already.

  Out the rear we walked as a group, and to the command staff as they stood at the hangar mouth, the drone from the Chinooks loudly resonating.

  I stated over the roar, ‘The attack on us has been called off, both An12 on fire, their cargo on fire – but their crew and passengers got out alive, so no criticism of the operation.’

  Hunt smiled and shook his head. ‘Crazy fucker.’

  I faced Rocko with a grin. ‘Staff Sergeant, go back to bed.’

  He nodded and led his team off.

  Franks closed in. ‘Crazy Fucker seems a bit mild. You hit aircraft in flight ... from a Hercules.’ He shook also his head.

  I shrugged and smiled. ‘We made use of the limited British military tools to hand – which are always fucking limited.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now we start again from scratch as if we just arrived, and try and do it properly; perimeter, supplies, men, intel, hostages.’ I faced Haines. ‘Get together with your counterpart in 16 Squadron, I want the perimeter sewn up tight. Go tell 1 Para to be ready to move out.’

  He headed off.

  I pointed at the Squadron Leader. ‘I want an inventory of supplies, sir, and a plan for re-supply.’ He nodded. ‘I pointed at Harris. ‘Start again on the intel, let’s start thinking about those hostages. The French hostages first.’

  I led Hunt back to the command room, a cold water sipped.

  He began, ‘How much of a blow was really dealt?’

  I made a face as I considered that. ‘Those planes and their weapons were expensive, so the paymaster is out of pocket, but more than that – the weapons supplier and transport guy is very out of pocket, so further supply is an issue even if the paymaster is keen.

  ‘And they lost some of their best men, and the rest will now be wary. They also lost men around here, so they’ll sit and think, and no amount of money will make a man accept a suicide mission.’

  Hunt nodded. ‘So we’re in a better position. But will the paymaster throw a temper tantrum?’

  ‘Yes, for sure. A bomb somewhere, maybe servicemen here, maybe in the UK.’

  ‘That’s a concern.’

  ‘We have no choice in it, we’re not about to back down and go home – are we.’

  Max closed in. ‘What can I send out?’

  ‘You can send out an epic tale,’ I told him, and I started to detail it. He was soon sat behind his keyboard.

  My phone trilled so I stepped outside.

  ‘Captain, Cabinet Office, passing you through.’

  ‘Wilco?’ came the Prime Minister’s voice.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We just got word that it went well.’

  ‘Our orders were to stop the movement of weapons so we damaged the planes – which landed safely, men got off, crew got off, and then we shot the planes, which caught fire unfortunately and ... exploded, what with all the munitions in the back.’

  ‘Excellent work, we were worried, but the crew got out, so not criticism of us there. But could we be accused of anything?’

  ‘MOD film crew got it all on tape, sir.’

  ‘They did? Oh, marvellous.’

  ‘The RAF were reserved in their use of force, and broke off after the target planes started to smoke. We let them land safely, all on camera.’

  ‘Were men still on board when they exploded?’

  ‘Many fighters, yes, but no one will be venturing to that strip to have a look, no one that wants to live; bandits are nasty over there.’

  ‘Yes, quite, so no journalists snooping around.’

  ‘Not a chance, sir.’

  ‘Great work, thanks, talk soon.’

  Phone away, it rang, another London number. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ah, Wilco, another good show – and on tape!’ came the Air Commodore’s voice.

  ‘Yes, sir, great for recruitment. Give those pilots an award.’

  ‘We will do, we’ll milk it. All went smoothly they said. What’ll you do now?’

  ‘Try and get some hostages, sir.’

  ‘Good luck, I’m quitting early and going back to bed!’

  Phone away, it trilled. ‘It’s Nicholson, what happened to our ride?’

  ‘Change of plan. We hit those An12s and destroyed them. Oh, did you see them?’

  ‘Reported them to Captain Harris.’

  ‘Both burnt, so I want you to move on that base and have look, but no risks. Got the number of the Wolves?’

  ‘They just rang me.’

  ‘Join up, get to the base, don’t be seen, report what you find.’

  ‘OK, moving off.’

  The Para’s major pulled up in a jeep. ‘Where we off?’ he asked.

  I pulled out a map from my leg pocket, placing it on his jeep bonnet. ‘We’re here, sir, border is here – ten miles due east give or take. Walk your men east ready for trouble, five miles, then look for a good spot to camp out between there and the border, stay inside the border.

  ‘Set camp, dig in, send out local patrols - denial of area, say three miles out at most. I’m going to assign the Pathfinders to you, and some SAS with jeeps, and medics, so you’ll be a large force. Jeeps can go out more than three miles, they can go north and south ten miles.’

  ‘So denial of area,’ he said with a nod.

  ‘You may get mortars and rockets, sir, so spread out and dig in. If you are on the receiving end ... drive around and shoot the fuckers.’

  ‘And those mortar tubes behind the huts here..?’

  ‘Pinch a few by all means, find a jeep or truck.’

  I sat on his jeep bonnet and they dropped me back at the huts. I stepped to the medics. ‘OK, get packed up ready to move!’ I shouted. ‘I want a four man team – or ladies, to go with 1 Para east, take a tent, find a jeep, but the SAS jeeps will be going. I then want two medics in each Chinook at all times.’

  ‘That’s just about all of us!’ Morten complained.

  ‘Plenty of Army medics here in Kenya, get some sent over, and fast.’

  Next door I found the Pathfinders, Captain Lester. ‘Get ready to move out, you’re walking five miles east with 1 Para. Behave yourselves, don’t clash, major is in charge. They’ll make camp, you’ll patrol towards the border, excellent chance of gett
ing your bollocks shot off, so keep it professional.’

  ‘When do we move out?’ Captain Lester asked.

  ‘Inside an hour, go see 1 Para and co-ordinate it all.’

  Outside, I turned right and to “A” Squadron. ‘Listen up! I want two men on each jeep, plenty of supplies, you’ll go with 1 Para and the Pathfinders due east a few miles, patrol the border in jeeps – so you’re the Long Range Desert Group.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Senior man, go see the major in 1 Para now, offer him a lift. And stack up the water.’

  ‘What about us?’ Fishy asked.

  ‘HALO in for some hostages soon. In the meantime, stay sharp, get back on the wire, half the men here are leaving.’

  In with the Wolves, I had them make up two four-man patrols and I dispatched them north and northeast, 24hour patrols ten miles out.

  Back at my bed, Swifty asked, ‘What we doing?’

  ‘Hostages, either HALO or Chinook.’

  Moran lifted his head. ‘Fucking Chinook can be heard twenty miles away!’

  I nodded at him as I checked my kit.

  1 Para got themselves ready, sand scrapes abandoned, backpacks on, mortars borrowed, the Pathfinders to lead the movement, SAS jeeps at the rear, medics in a jeep at the rear. As the day started to warm up they tabbed off east.

  I sat with Sasha and Casper, the detail of what happen given, and when they complained of little to do I allowed them a patrol, but with Henri, Sambo and Jacque along.

  Hunt came and found me as I sat on the sand banks looking at the map. He scrambled up to me, just one mortar position manned by 2 Squadron lads now, three tubes left. He took in the horizon. ‘What’s your thinking with 1 Para?’

  ‘Bait.’

  He faced me. ‘Bait?’

  ‘Nice big target, a few skirmishes, and the bad boys think we’re at the border not here.’

  ‘A distraction,’ he noted. ‘Will they get wounded men?’

  ‘No more than sitting around here.’

  Hand over his eyes, he took in the horizon east. ‘Bleak spot, but those little trees look well tended.’

  ‘Plenty of life around here, it’s not devoid of villages and farmers.’ My phone trilled; Tomsk. ‘Da!’

  ‘Frank reported the British in Somalia again, so I made some calls, that Lebanese supplier, and he’s been busy. He lost some weapons, so he just got paid again for more, towed rockets, but also ten heat-seeking missiles.’