Wilco- Lone Wolf 20 Page 4

  ‘Paper says we have to wear it or not get paid. Some insurance thing.’

  I faced Max. And waited.

  ‘I forgot mine. Fuck ‘em.’

  I shook my head at him. ‘I’m not paying a claim for you. Besides, you’re rich now.’

  I walked south towards Running Bear and took in the view in a cool breeze, estimating the valley floor to be six hundred feet below us.

  This strip was higher than the surrounding hills, but only by sixty feet or so. Those surrounding hills were all gently rounded and covered in grass, a few bushes, but with tall trees covering the valley floors between the hills, tight trees in the centre of the valleys.

  As I walked I could see probably ten miles in all directions, and recalled that I had once landed here with Sasha.

  Reaching the southern end, Running Bear turned to me. ‘There are bodies down there, at least parts of them.’

  ‘A hundred FARC moved in at dawn, ready for us.’

  ‘Yeah, so how’d they know our plans?’

  ‘A leak.’

  ‘A leak? Where?’

  ‘Pentagon.’

  ‘You shitting me?’

  I shook my head and peered down, the valley turned over like a giant’s garden, trees splintered and on their sides. ‘Anyone still alive down there?’

  ‘No movement,’ Charlie reported.

  ‘When you’re sure, get some shovels and pickaxes, and make two-man trenches here, deep, get ready for mortars.’

  ‘We planning on keeping this real estate?’ Running Bear asked.

  ‘We’ll patrol out, but when back here we’ll need cover.’

  I trekked back to my team. ‘OK, Doc, kit off. You too, Max and Trevor. Dump the body armour.’

  ‘Should I get my kit off?’ Salome asked, Doc Willy shooting her a look, Trevor puzzling that question.

  I hid my grin. ‘No, just … pitch in and help please.’

  I placed down my own kit, rifle on top, and grabbed a pickaxe, finding a natural dip and swinging away at it, the soil loose enough and not hard going. I soon had a shallow grave six feet long and I started with a shovel, the loose dirt made into a wall.

  Slider walked back in and grabbed shovels and pickaxes.

  I told him, ‘I want good and deep two-man trenches where you can aim down. Get comfy, could be here a while. Oh, Trevor here was 42 Commando, check his story.’

  Slider led Trevor to one side as Salome joined in the digging, starting a second trench with Max. Slider walked back to me ten minutes later. ‘He’s genuine. He hated the cunts I hated.’

  When the Hueys returned we were all sweating, but stopped to look up. The Hueys came in low, but never landed, shovels and pickaxes dumped out as they slowly advanced a metre off the deck, plus empty sandbags, wood, all sorts.

  When the last Huey pulled away I grabbed some wood and inspected it, placing the stores on the side on the strip in case we needed it.

  In a cool crosswind, Doc Willy assisted with my trench; I would break the soil with the pickaxe and he would quickly shovel it out. And it was soon four feet deep. I halted the dig and we grabbed wood, a square frame nailed together and placed over the trench, small holes dug for the wooden legs.

  With the frame in place, a drink taken, we made a roof from the lengths of wood, but with two-inch gaps.

  Rizzo walked over, sweating. ‘What you making?’

  ‘Command centre. Grab some sandbags, use the dirt, make a happy home.’

  ‘Can I have some wood?’

  ‘Three pieces, a frame nailed together.’

  He made a frame and dragged it back. I had Max help us fill sandbags with dirt, and we placed them on the roof first, protection from mortars.

  When the Hueys returned, an hour later, I had a decent command centre, and some protection from incoming. The Hueys set down the SAS teams, and once the Hueys had departed - the noise lessening, I called them all together, Major Taggard at the front with the captains.

  ‘OK, listen up. Where we’re stood is just a few miles north of the Colombian border. This, gentlemen, is bandit country, so be careful. In the valley behind me are the charred remains of a hundred FARC rebels; the US Navy got them. It may smell in a day or two.

  ‘My men are digging in, and so will you, so grab shovels and pickaxes, and sandbags. You’ll be out on patrol some of the time, but when here you need a safe place to live, so dig deep two-man trenches, ponchos up. That’s your first priority, then you rest.

  ‘Position the trenches so that you can see down and shoot down, in your troops. Trenches should be ten yards apart. Do that now, before we get any incoming. Use the north-west half of this hill, on the side, Wolves are due north of you.’

  I faced Taggard. ‘Create a command Trench, big enough for four or six. We have wood here.’

  He nodded. ‘Kids in the sandbox, eh, digging holes.’

  They grabbed shovels and pickaxes, and walked off to the have a look for a place to call home.

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Major Morgen. Is it safe to fly out to that LZ?’

  ‘Yes, for now, but get the helos to touch and go.’

  ‘We’re at the airstrip, and there’re supplies here.’

  ‘Bring what you can, priority are shovels and sandbags.’

  ‘Seems like plenty here.’

  He arrived half an hour later, the sun now low, a long line of Seahawks coming in. They loudly touched down in sequence, kit dragged off, Marines with heavy backpacks soon stood away from the helos - M16s and tiger-stripe camouflage with square-top caps.

  I shook hands with Morgen. ‘Welcome to The Nam.’

  ‘Looks like it,’ he agreed with a smile. ‘Colonel is at the strip organising the medics and the supplies.’

  ‘I want some medics here when we have a hole dug for them.’

  With the Seahawks thundering away, I pointed. ‘See that hill east, that’s yours, and so is the one west. Take one first and dig in, then the second, or split your men. Your command post is here, dig a trench next to mine.’ I pointed it out.

  Orders shouted, teams formed up, shovels awkwardly lugged, and two captains led about eighty Marines off east down the hill whilst Morgen - with two sergeants and two captains plus our original two Press officers - remained with me.

  I led them to my trench. ‘Here’s one I made earlier.' They smiled. 'Copy it whilst we have the light.’

  With Morgen and his team getting to work I filled more sandbags, building up the walls as Doc Willy shored up the front, he even camouflaged it a bit.

  I dug two holes, placed wooden poles in and compacted the soil, soon running a large flysheet from my roof, over the poles and then on, pegged into the ground. I now had space for ten men, or a command meeting in the rain, almost tall enough to stand up in.

  I could soon see the Marines on the next hill, some aiming out whilst most started to dig in as I did the rounds, a few trenches deep and ready, some needing work, but all soldiers knew how to make trenches.

  Rizzo had found a cut in the dirt, as if the hill had cracked, and his trench was big enough for six men, wood up, flysheet over it, sandbags at the front and sides. Men could aim out from the gently sloping sides, or hide in the deep section. He already had a brew on.

  After sun down, helos reported inbound, we flashed torches, the Seahawks disgorging more Marines, and when we could hear well enough to talk they were dispatched to the next hill west.

  I shouted at them, ‘Dig a shell scrape, poncho up, wait the dawn.’

  My phone trilled, Colonel Mathews. ‘Wilco, who’s down?’

  ‘Echo is down, Running Bear and his team, my British Wolves and some of your American Wolves, British SAS, and two flights of Marines came in, all dispersed and dug in. You got a map of this area, sir?’

  ‘In front of me?’

  ‘Contours?’

  ‘Yes.’

  From my position, LZ2, first hill east is Marines, call it LZ2-east. West, the first hill is also Marines, LZ2-west. That
’s it for now, but we are dug in.’

  ‘No incoming?’

  ‘Not yet, sir.’

  As the temperature dropped a little, myself, Doc Willy, Trevor, Max and Salome made a home under the flysheet, and we could duck into the trench if need be. Morgen and his team were still digging, the Press officers given Salome’s trench and they soon had ponchos up.

  I had rotated the stag with Doc Willy, and he woke me at 5am, the cold dawn about to arrive in the east, the sky above me now a rich dark blue, herringbone clouds seen. I took a pee in a stiff cool breeze, a glance at Morgen’s trench, that effort now deep and with a poncho up. Across the valley I could see Marines moving around.

  Walking south to Running Bear’s area, Charlie peered up. ‘Your turn on stag?’ I asked.

  ‘Two of us at all times, sir.’ He pointed down. ‘Thought I could hear voices down there last night.’

  ‘Some poor wounded bastard,’ I noted. ‘Not pleasant.’

  ‘What’s the plan here, sir?’

  ‘The plan is … to try and out-think the guy over there, my opposite number.’

  ‘The FARC commander?’

  ‘No, the white man advising him.’

  ‘Ah. More of them.’

  ‘Where you have drugs and money, you have … them.’

  With the light improving I woke the team and we got a brew on, and after a breakfast of tins from the hotel I filled more sandbags, our happy home improved and built up.

  Max and Salome continued their trench after the Press officers had vacated it, wooden poles placed inside, a poncho rigged up, sandbags placed by Salome as I added sandbag walls to the sides of my flysheet camp.

  Morgen reported Seahawks and Hueys inbound, and the calm still morning air was soon rudely disturbed by a monstrous drone.

  The Hueys set down 2 Squadron first, and I waved them over and to kneel well off the side of the strip, my troop of regulars with them. I sent my regulars to Moran to sort out, Stiffy leading them across the dirt runway.

  The Seahawks dumped down new faces, young men led by a familiar American NCOs as well as Crab and Duffy, the new batch of American Wolves, at least part of them. I waved them over and they knelt near 2 Squadron, all looking a bit lost. They had webbing, no backpacks.

  With the Seahawks departing I stepped to Haines. ‘The teams are dug in, two-man trenches, but will patrol out much of the time. Today, your men also dig in, but when Echo moves out you move your men around to cover all the angles here.

  ‘Take a look at my fantastically built command centre, and make one like it close by. Start your men with shell scrapes in case we get incoming, but also to dig trenches. You’ll also rotate it with the other teams and patrol out.’

  Haines organised his men, slit trenches to be started, and we still had spare sandbags and shovels. We also had shovels and pickaxes that were now freed-up, Echo having completed their Trenches.

  I walked past the American Wolves. ‘Sit down, wait.’ I turned and shouted across the strip. ‘Echo, form up! Five minutes!’ To Slider, close by, I said, ‘Take Murphy and his buddy.’

  ‘They’re shit hot.’

  ‘Leave me Mitch and Greenie.’

  Back with the new large collection of Wolf recruits, I took in their keen young faces as they stared up, sat in three rows. ‘My name is Major Wilco, and you lot have landed in the shit. This next phase of selection and training will be here, in bandit country. And as you sit there you are surrounded by heavily-armed communist rebels, the FARC, as well as drug dealers.

  ‘Yesterday, a hundred or more FARC were killed here, bombed by your Navy, and you will soon get to smell their rotting flesh on the breeze. Get used to it, recognise the smell. We may get incoming here, mortars and rockets, so you are in danger, real danger, and we may get a large force moving on us.

  ‘You’ve passed selection so far, you’ve had some training, and if you were not up to the job you would not be here. So I assume that you are up to the job, and want to do the job, and to take revenge for these bastards firing cruise missiles at your Navy.

  ‘OK, here on this hill we have Echo, my team, we have British SAS, we have veteran Lone Wolves - British and American, we have American special forces and Marines. On that hill -’ I pointed and they looked. ‘- are Marines, same for the next hill west. Don’t shoot at anyone unless you’re sure who it is.

  ‘NCOs, teach them how to make a trench, at the side of the hill aiming down, ten yards apart, but also make a command centre near me, like the one you see. I want shell scrapes first, just in case we get incoming. Work fast.’

  The men stood as teams were formed, pairs, and the NCOs spread the men out. I fetched pickaxes and handed them out as Echo formed up in no particular hurry.

  To Moran I said, ‘Your radios can be tracked, so be careful. Use the sat phone for casevac. First, you drop south to the valley bombed by the US Navy, because I want ID cards and phones. Not a pleasant task.

  ‘When you’ve searched, you go south but east a little down the valley, there are tracks from wounded walking off. Follow them all the way, even if its thirty miles. And be expecting someone to be coming the opposite way.’

  ‘The new troop?’

  I considered them as they stood ready. ‘You don’t have many men, so yes, take them.’

  He finally led the teams off, Wolf Murphy and his buddy tagging along, but I held back my four spies with Mitch and Greenie.

  ‘OK, you bad boys are here to be tested and developed, and so you shall be. You all have water and food?’

  ‘Stacked up,’ they told me with grins.

  ‘Mitch, you go down the west side, south whilst avoiding the bombed-out area, and in the distance you’ll see a hill with a jagged rock on it, say two or three miles. Below that rock is where three valleys meet, you get eyes on and report back.

  ‘If you see a small patrol of FARC, you ambush them. Wounded, and call me on the sat phone. Don’t use radios, they’ll detect you. Two or three days then back. Go. Wait. Mitch, if you want to set a trap, you could use your radios for a while.’

  He nodded.

  I watched them traipse off west across the strip then closed in on Haines as he and a sergeant continued to make their command centre. ‘Mister Haines, I want an eight-man patrol. When you’re ready. But grab four British Wolves to tag along. Make that eight, two teams. Check with Swifty.’

  His sergeant grabbed his rifle and walked off north down the edge of the dirt runway.

  To Haines, I said, ‘Later, check all the trenches.’

  Stepping to Morgen, he was now building a wooden frame like mine, and would join two trenches into one long one, the Press officers digging more than filming but making good progress.

  The front of my trench was now solid, dirt stacked up, and I had cut the turf and placed it down to camouflage the position some. Stood in the trench, I could see out and aim out, but it was too deep for Salome. She created a step for herself with wooden slats that I had not seen arrive. And every time she moved past me she managed to rub herself up against me.

  I filled more sandbags and helped to secure the walls around my command post, dirt piled up against the outside walls, the floor in the centre dug down six inches - and now I could stand up under the flysheet. It fluttered a little in the breeze, and I wondered if it would hold up in a storm.

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Rocko, we’re at this airstrip, some Yank colonel in charge.’

  ‘Get a helo ride to LZ2, but drag any spare supplies they have, water and food, wood, plastic sheets.’

  ‘There’s a shit load of green rubber mats.’

  ‘Yeah? Bring them. What’s up and running at that airfield?’

  ‘Dozen green tents, medics in some, Marines patrolling around, Marines on the wire, jeeps and trucks - and some nice lady reporters.’

  ‘Come out when ready.’

  Phone down, I stepped across to Major Taggard. His trench was round, room for four men at least, flysheets over half of it, a wall
made, some sandbags placed.

  ‘There’s wood to use, hammer and nails,’ I told them. ‘Your men ready for a leg stretch?’

  ‘Aye, they got a good night’s sleep last night,’ Taggard told me.

  I pointed northwest. ‘See the isolated hill.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘They go visit, stay the night and back, say sixteen men, two troops of eight. And as soon as they’re down the hill they stay sharp, this is bandit country. If they see locals they leave them alone, drugs growing – they leave it alone, we don’t upset the locals here. Wounded, and call me, we’ll get choppers in.’

  I walked back across, asking Haines to check the gaps in south side and to move men around. I had him dispatch the patrol of his men and British Wolves due north a few miles, to be back before dark.

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Moran, and the lads are cursing your fucking name.’

  ‘What did I do?’

  ‘There’re body parts everywhere, and it stinks.’

  ‘Then search quickly and move off.’

  ‘Wait … got a live one, leg missing. Shit, it’s a young woman.’

  ‘Bind the wounds, take her halfway up the hill, we’ll meet you.’ I turned, ‘Doc Willy, grab your medical kit!’ I walked to the south side as men wondered who was hurt. ‘Running Bear, send some men down the hill, wounded female prisoner.’

  He dispatched four men, the others peering down. I could see Moran, and soon saw them carrying someone up as Doc Willy appeared at my side.

  When the woman arrived, and she was light to carry, Doc Willy had a look. ‘Leg blown off below the knee, pulse is OK, she’ll make it.’

  ‘Helos are coming in, put her on one.’

  They carried her towards the command area as heads peered out of trenches, and I waved over the Press officers, who immediately started to film the wounded FARC irregular. One spoke Spanish and so he chatted to her.

  Trevor noted, ‘Odd to see a lady soldier.’

  ‘I’ve killed a few here, and if she had the chance she’d slice you up and castrate you.’

  ‘Sounds just like my ex-wife. And when she couldn’t find me she smashed up my car.’

  ‘Were you cheating?’

  ‘Well … not really?’