Wilco- Lone Wolf 11 Read online

  I sighed, and closed my eyes for a moment. ‘I’m going to have words with that Lebanese cunt.’

  ‘You are there?’

  ‘Yes, and we shot down two of Libintov’s An12 aircraft stuffed full of weapons.’

  ‘He will not be happy...’

  ‘The planes were sub-leased, he gets paid for them.’

  ‘Ah, well that’s something then.’

  ‘Keep trying to find out all you can, I might live longer.’ Off the phone, I eased up, my look telling Hunt that something was up. ‘Our Saudi friend just doubled-down, and has paid for more weapons, and now heat-seeking missiles.’

  ‘Jesus, what the fuck is on his mind? And those missiles could bring down a Hercules.’ We headed to the road kicking up sand.

  ‘I’m thinking ... that he wants more than that, maybe a Kenyan airliner.’

  ‘Why hit a Kenyan airliner?’

  ‘Why’d you think?’

  We stopped at the road.

  He began, ‘Pressure on the Kenyans to get rid of us and to have a quiet life.’

  I nodded as we boarded a jeep, soon speeding across to the command room. Inside, a tip of my head at Franks, and I loudly began, ‘We have a problem. The paymaster behind the fighters ... has not been deterred, he’s now spent even more money for even more rockets to fire at us, and he’s bought heat-seeking missiles.’

  Shocked comments circled the room.

  ‘Send it up the line,’ I told them. ‘Franks.’ I led him and Dick outside, Hunt still with me. ‘You have any carriers that can get here?’

  ‘There’s a group up near the tip of Somalia, could hit something at range. F18 will fly four hundred miles out and back, more with E3 refuelling.’

  ‘Have them steam south, emergency deployment, but they may be too late. Anything else?’

  ‘B2 bombers.’

  My eyes widened. ‘Where’re they based?’

  ‘Missouri.’

  ‘Missouri!’ both myself and Hunt loudly stated.

  ‘In the Gulf War they flew from Missouri and back.’

  ‘Shit...’ I let out.

  ‘There are bases in the Middle East they can refuel at, and Ascension Island in the Atlantic.’

  ‘So if I get a fix as to where the missiles are being delivered to, say 24hrs from now, they could hit that location, F18s as backup?’

  ‘I’ll mention it up the line, but at the mention of missiles they’ll sit up and take notice for sure.’

  ‘Do so quickly. Before these al-Qa’eda chaps do something daft, like bring down an airliner.’

  He turned on a heel and headed off.

  I called David Finch as men walked back and forth or tended aircraft. ‘Right, Boss.’

  ‘Ah, Wilco, good show this morning, had a few notes from the MOD, they’re happy.’

  ‘Got some bad news.’

  ‘What’s that?’ he worried.

  ‘The paymaster over the border was not deterred, rather he was well pissed–off, and he’s just paid for more hardware to throw at us, plus heat-seeking missiles.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Go see the PM.’

  ‘What’ll you do?’

  ‘Half the men are dispersed a few miles east, RAF here can move out, and my men can insert and go cause some trouble. Rockets here won’t be a problem.’

  ‘Take all precautions, yes, I’ll get back to you.’

  I called Tinker. ‘Listen, those phone intercepts you got last time, arms dealers and the like connected to Somalia, have another close look again today, the same fuckers are active.’

  ‘I’ll go have a closer look at the data.’

  I got a ride back, jumping down and finding Haines. ‘Get shovels, get some wood, dig into those sand mounds, you’ll get some rockets tomorrow. Have all your men somewhere where a rocket is less of a problem - barring a direct hit.’

  ‘Thought you shot down their planes with the rockets on?’

  ‘We did, so they ordered up twice as many just to spite us. Get ready.’

  ‘There’s concrete over the way, and paving slabs, we could borrow them.’

  ‘Do so, pronto,’ I urged. In my hut, I shouted, ‘Listen up, we’re in the shit. The paymaster of the bad boys was not impressed with us shooting down his planes and destroying his rockets, so ... he’s just ordered twice as many from the supplier.’ They exchanged looks. ‘He’s also got himself a shit load of heat-seeking missiles, so flying around is now an issue.’

  Rizzo asked, ‘What about our insert team over there?’

  ‘The missiles won’t be in place for at least a day, maybe two,’ I assured him.

  Rocko complained, ‘Makes moving around fucking hard. Let’s drive in.’

  ‘Might just do that,’ I told him. ‘Or we walk, it’s only thirty miles or so.’

  I went and warned Fishy and his men.

  ‘One step forwards, three steps backwards,’ a man complained. ‘And the hostages?’

  ‘We might drive to them, and from tomorrow you’ll need to be out these huts and a few miles away or you’ll get a rocket on your heads.’ I left them to whinge and to complain.

  At 2pm, Nicholson and the insert team drove in, in two stolen jeeps, bullet holes and blood seen.

  I stood with Moran, Rocko and Rizzo as the team jumped down, all smiles. ‘Nicholson?’ I nudged.

  He began, ‘We got to that strip, but it was just like hard dirt compacted down, not concrete or anything but with white powder instead of paint, a few small huts, tents, and very little else.

  ‘There were a few jeeps, like four separate groups, and those two planes were still smoking, one blast as we watched them, then this one group starts arguing with the other, then they started to shoot, so we joined in and shot at another group – who figured it wasn’t us, so they were all shooting at each other – and we killed those left. And Tomo’s driving hasn’t improved.’

  ‘His ... driving?’ I asked.

  ‘He found a lorry with a thing to make the runway flat, so we knackered it up and dragged it, and it tore up the dirt, nice deep cut, so Tomo zig-zagged up and down the strip, right old mess made, no planes will be landing on it now.’ He seemed very pleased with himself. ‘We nicked the jeeps and drove back.’

  ‘You’re orders were to observe the airfield, not wreck it,’ I calmly pointed out. ‘Tomo, we may have wanted to make use of that strip.’

  Tomo now looked worried.

  ‘Damaged a nice strip,’ Moran noted. ‘Criminal damage, denied us the use of it.’

  ‘Nicholson, you are herby fined fifty quid.’

  ‘Me?’ Nicholson queried.

  ‘You ... I gave the order to, to observe that strip not wreck it. Staff Sergeant Rocko, what should he have done?’

  ‘Picked up the fucking phone.’

  ‘A lack of professionalism,’ Moran noted.

  ‘Deviation from the orders,’ Rizzo noted, shaking his head.

  I told Nicholson, hiding my amusement, ‘Be warned, soldier; stick to the orders. Now park that jeep outside the gate and sort your supplies out.’

  With Tomo smirking at Nicholson they moved the jeeps.

  I stepped away and called Tomsk, thinking about airfields. ‘Listen, try and find out when and where the weapons will be delivered.’

  ‘OK, I bribe some people.’

  I called Libintov.

  ‘Ah, Petrov, I ... just got word that my planes were shot down.’

  ‘Your sub-lease guy is playing a dangerous game.’

  ‘Does ... anyone think those planes were mine?’

  ‘No, you are safe, the interested parties know the truth. Listen, I heard a rumour ... that the man who paid for those weapons is mad as hell and has paid for twice as many, as well as heat-seeking missiles.’

  ‘Missiles? Bad business, that will attract the Americans.’

  ‘You can be sure of that. Do you think you could find out when and where the weapons will be delivered?’

  ‘Yes, on one of
my flights from Ukraine today, leaves at 8pm, but what’s in the crates is not always declared to me.’

  ‘I’ll try and make sure that you and your flight are not targeted. When and where will it land?’

  ‘Somaliland, remote strip.’ He gave me the details.

  ‘Thanks. Have your planes leave as soon as they drop the supplies, even if they fly just twenty miles away.’

  ‘I will make sure, yes. You are assisting Aideed?’

  ‘Interested parties want him in power rather than the alternatives.’

  ‘I understand. And now I work with Monrovia’s government, some good deals – they talk very highly of you, and ... are terrified of you...’

  ‘If you avoid the more hazardous shipments you may thrive longer, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I do, yes, but some of my contractors are less than reliable and less than truthful sometimes.’

  ‘I understand, and I don’t blame you. Take care.’

  Jeep grabbed, I drove over to Franks, dragging him outside. ‘Weapons land tomorrow at dawn, Somaliland, so close to the tip of Somalia.’

  ‘In range of the F18s for sure,’ he enthused.

  I gave him the details. ‘You must not ... hit the An12; they belong to a friend and he got me the detail.’ His eyes widened. ‘When you see the An12 lift off, you wait five minutes and bomb the shit out of whatever trucks are on the ground. Oh, and leave the runway intact.’

  He squinted at me for a moment, but then took out his sat phone.

  David called me back half an hour later, as I stood chatting to the 2 Squadron lads as they dug in. ‘Prime Minister is worried.’

  ‘Don’t be, the American Navy will bomb the weapons delivery at dawn tomorrow, I got the shipment details.’

  ‘Oh, excellent, but afterwards..?’

  ‘Afterwards ... the Prime Minister shouts at the Saudis?’

  ‘Very unlikely.’

  ‘So afterwards ... fuck knows. Best guess is that our friend keeps paying for weapons and we keep getting hit, at least in this part of the world.’

  ‘Well, we’ll do what we can against al-Qa’eda, joint missions with the Americans, but it’s their problem more than ours, their back yard – they have lots of hardware in the Middle East.’

  ‘If we stick to west Africa ... less hassle,’ I agreed.

  Off the phone, I mounted the sand bank and stared east. Thinking.

  Back over in the command room, later, I grabbed Hunt. ‘Organise the Kenyans, send some men to the local town with some money, I want thirty long Arab robes and thirty headscarves, black is best, and I want them in an hour.’

  He tipped his eyebrows and headed off towards the ATC tower, where a small detail of bored Kenyan soldiers hung out. I found Harris. ‘French hostages. I want a quick snatch of them today, before things go pear-shaped around here.’

  He showed me the map, the hostages believed to be forty miles northeast of us. I could see that the terrain evolved from being flat at the border to undulating hills near the hostages, which helped us some. There was also a tight valley sided by hills. I nodded. ‘We’ll go in by Chinook instead of driving, so I’ll see if they’re serviceable. If they are we go now.’

  ‘No eyes-on?’

  ‘Bit pigging short on time and options.’ I walked along to the hangars and found the SAC in charge of the helicopters. ‘These Chinook ready to go?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I want one of them for an insert forty miles northeast in half an hour, get the pilots. Oh, and the medics don’t need to be onboard.’

  I drove back and jumped down. In my hut I shouted, ‘Get ready for an insert, hostage rescue, we go now. Get some grenade launchers and box-fed.’ I stepped to the “A” Squadron hut and found Fishy. ‘Rally five men, you come with us on a rescue, you have five minutes then meet us out front.’

  Seeing Haines, I shouted, ‘We’re off on a rescue, be a few hours, maybe overnight, stay sharp – and stay down.’

  He nodded, looking hot and dusty.

  The lads gathered their kit, the Russian speakers absent with our French speakers, Rocko carrying a box-fed, ammo handed to a few lads, Stretch copying, Rizzo carrying a grenade launcher in a back pack, Swifty as well. I checked and topped up my water, a good drink taken, and I knew I had some rations with me.

  Ginger asked if he was in on this. I glanced at Moran, who shrugged, and I nodded.

  Tapping my bandolier pockets, tourniquet touched, I waited outside as they gathered, Fishy and his men appearing. With everyone ready I led them off at the jog and around to the Chinooks, rotors starting to turn on one of the helicopters.

  ‘Why a Chinook insert?’ Moran complained as he stood sweating.

  I showed him the map. ‘Tight valley, five mile walk to the hostages, won’t be heard, and I’ll have the Chinook decoy-land a few times.’

  He reluctantly nodded.

  ‘That or we’re walking.’ I shouted, ‘Make safe all weapons,’ and I unloaded my own. I could see that we had three Elephant Guns with us, one of Robby’s troop carrying one.

  Rotors winding up, our ride checked by keen RAF technicians, we were finally waved aboard, seats taken, and I went forwards, map in hand. I grabbed the spare headset. ‘This valley is where you drop us, quick touch and go, but you dog-leg east a fair way and come down it, and then you decoy-land a few times further south, but not anywhere too open and not near a village.’

  They nodded. ‘What about those missiles we heard about?’

  ‘They’ll be delivered up in Somaliland tomorrow, Americans will have at them.’

  Again they nodded.

  I sat down next to Swifty and Moran, Ginger looking keen, the rear full of men. With the Chinook easing forwards I suddenly figured we should have taken two helicopters to lessen the risk.

  We lifted up, nose down and arse up, gaining speed, the huts passed, the parched brown scrub soon whizzing past as I bent over and looked out the small window.

  Five minutes later we banked hard right, banked hard left, the lads wondering if Tomo was flying this thing.

  After ten minutes I could see hills, soon some nasty small outcrops. A hard bank left, straightening up, and the crewman waved us up as the ramp powered down, and we landed in a sand storm, Robby’s troop off first and running. I was out last, a wave at the crewman. I tripped over Swifty and knelt, and we waited as our ride blew up a sandstorm.

  With the roar abating, the sand settling, I orientated myself and moved left, west into the rocks and up a ridge at the sprint, halting at the top. Peering around, we were quite alone, a bleak landscape of gentle brown hills covered in isolated rocky outcrops, many trees and bushes dotted around.

  Compass checked, map out, I threaded my earpiece and the lads behind copied. Stood tall, I pointed at my ear, waited, and told them to check teams. Turning, I led my team off first, Ginger tagging along with us and staying close.

  We descended a gentle slope kicking up sand, climbed again, skirted a grey rocky outcrop and carried on, an hour used up before I called a halt in a cluster of tight grey rocks, a good defensive position afforded us.

  ‘Take fifteen,’ I transmitted.

  ‘They tracking these radios?’ Swifty complained as he wiped his brow.

  ‘Fuck knows,’ I told him. ‘The good lads, yes, these kidnappers – hope not.’

  He pointed, and in the distance I could see a goat herder some 800yards away south. I patrolled the line, most men leant back against rocks, water swigged, a few sat smoking.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Fishy asked as I neared him.

  ‘Try and find the hostages.’

  ‘Ah, going for the detailed technical plans these days.’

  ‘Tomorrow will be dicey, so we have today, so ... we make do and chance it.’

  ‘And 1 Para?’ a man asked, his old unit.

  ‘On the border, denial of area. They have sand, heat and flies.’

  ‘We never go fight in pleasant places, Guv.’

&
nbsp; ‘We went to Malaysia,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Shite wet jungle and swamp!’

  ‘There’s no pleasing some people,’ I quipped.

  Break over, I led them off north and away from the goat herder, but I doubted he had a sat phone in his robes. We wove between the rocks, a zig-zag route up and down, but it was easy going. Climbing higher up a ridge, we finally caught a glimpse of our target village. It was a large village strung out along a road, so maybe it was referred to as a small town in these parts.

  Below us, five hundred yards down a gentle slope of dotted rocks and trees, rested a square concrete compound that looked like it had been built by a team of blind men after a heavy drinking session.

  Moran asked, ‘Who the fuck built that wall?’

  ‘They built it an hour at a time, a bit each day,’ I suggested.

  ‘That our target?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I transmitted, ‘Snipers forwards.’ They moved up to me. ‘Go left under the trees, rock to rock, don’t be seen, and to within about three hundred yards, see if you can see white faces in that compound. Silencers on. And Nicholson, if you’re going to freelance a bit, let me know eh.’

  ‘Right, Boss,’ he said sheepishly as they moved off.

  I transmitted, ‘Everyone else, get hidden, get a brew on, all round defence. Fishy, set a stag behind us.’

  Swifty ducked into a rock crevice and got his kit out. I sat on a rock near him, but just about seeing the grey walls of the compound. ‘What’d you reckon?’ he asked.

  ‘We do what we can in the next hour and fuck off, because that base could be hit any time. Could be a nasty surprise for us back at base, not out here.’

  Brew in hand, I eased back against a rock, observing the road below, a few cars passing, no armed men seen.

  ‘Nicholson for Wilco.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘No one in that compound that we can see, no one at all. Down to the road and over is a yard with jeeps, armed men moving around, a mounted fifty cal. Left of us 400yards down the slope is a long building with bars on the windows, and we saw a white face in there.’