Wilco- Lone Wolf 8 Read online

  Our metal crates were stacked outside, so we grabbed them and brought them in, names shouted, general gear stacked in the hangar. I put two men on stag straight away, noticing cars driving past the main gate, a worry. Those cars were inside 250yards.

  Grabbing my counterpart, I asked about local maps. He led me to an air-conditioned room under air traffic control, a few large maps pinned to walls or laid out on table, a handful of men sat around, some seemingly Malay signals and Intel.

  ‘We here,’ he said, a finger on a map.

  ‘And other military bases?’

  He pointed them out, none close by.

  ‘And your soldiers and police?’

  ‘We patrol this area, look for Filipino.’

  ‘Have your men pull back, please, and police.’

  He faced me. ‘Why we go?’

  ‘I want the Filipino to think you have gone. Keep some men here, ten or twenty, and my men will look for the Filipino gunmen, as arranged between the various governments,’ I lied.

  ‘Filpino men vely dangerous,’ he warned.

  ‘We’re more dangerous,’ I assured him. ‘Please, ask for no patrols, soldiers gone.’

  He nodded, and issued orders to a man with a radio. I went and fetched Captain Harris and his team and showed them the command room, which they would now adopt as a happy home. Given the air conditioning, many threatened to sleep under the desks.

  The Hercules finally returned with the rest of the teams, and most of the kit, parachutes included, four parachute school instructors in combats. Getting off the plane, they looked a bit lost.

  It took a while to offload the kit and to find an empty shed to store most of that kit in, the lads working up a sweat. And if the medics did not make use of their tents at some point we would have run out of huts to use with visitors.

  As the sun set we were almost ready, men on stag, the first patrols to go out in the morning. But when the local captain informed me that the army and police had legged it away, just ten men left here, I had six two-man static positions set-up for the night, rotations every four hours of 2 Squadron lads.

  I patrolled the huts and chatted to each group, instructions or advice given, and they asked questions about the plan, and about facilities here – but answers were light on both. Most were told to take it easy, but be armed ready, and to hit the floor if there was any shooting.

  With outdoor benches just sat there, and looking like leftovers from a barbeque, the lads moved them closer and then sat at them and cooked rations, but half an hour later a civilian truck turned up, let inside by the Malay soldiers, Morten purchasing twenty live chickens and twenty fried whole chickens.

  The ready-cooked chickens were handed out, soon devoured, the live chickens held in their small pens – which we would have to return to the guy with the truck as part of the deal.

  Morten had also bought half a tonne of rice, a large pan borrowed, so we would have rice tomorrow.

  Later, in my hut, I shouted, ‘Listen up, small fire in here always, lots of smoke, keep the fucking mozzies away, and sleep with facemasks and gloves on!’

  Rocko got a rolled up magazine going, smoke soon wafting, and I closed the windows, telling the lads to keep the doors closed, not wedged open.

  Stood outside at midnight, few sleepy yet, I stood on the edge of the runway with Swifty, Moran and Mahoney, plenty of illumination coming from the large hangar and its lonely Nomad aircraft.

  ‘Patrols out tomorrow?’ Moran casually asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘Step one: eliminate every gunmen inside thirty miles.’

  ‘If we don’t,’ Mahoney began, ‘they’ll report our movements.’

  ‘Yep,’ I agreed as I took in the distant black tree line.

  ‘At least we have reasonable grub,’ Swifty noted.

  ‘Any beaches nearby?’ Moran asked.

  ‘A few miles away,’ I told him. ‘But a tad dangerous.’

  I was stood in the same spot as the dawn came up, having grabbed four hours kip, and I called in via sat phone to say that everything was OK – and would anyone be joining us? If they did, space would be a premium.

  After breakfast teams were made up, eight man patrols, Rocko, Rizzo and Robby taking out their troops, Rizzo a man short and so Mahoney would partner Rizzo.

  ‘Lieutenant,’ I loudly called, faces turning. ‘I have a difficult job for you, but ... after all of your training with us, some skill, some courage and determination, I think you could pull it off. Lieutenant, you are hereby tasked with partnering Rizzo and waking him in the mornings.’

  The gang laughed at Rizzo.

  ‘By god, man,’ Mahoney loudly mock-complained. ‘This is above and beyond the call of duty. This is medal winning territory you’re sending me into.’

  ‘Fuck off, Yank,’ came from Rizzo as the men taunted him.

  Maps checked, features listed, Rizzo was sent northwest - dense jungle to negotiate, Rocko was sent north - a village to sneak around, and Robby was sent south with Swifty, farms to look at, all to be back at dawn.

  Whisky was tasked with lecturing the parachute instructors on jungle survival, as well as weapons training; they would work hard or get a kick from me. Mally and Sasha’s team would patrol east to the coast together and then south a ways as 2 Squadron held the airfield, small static positions as well as high visibility patrols, a man up on the roof of the ATC tower with binoculars.

  At noon the same Hercules returned, Major Liban stepping down with French Echo, kit lugged.

  I greeted the major as the engines roared in my ears. ‘Keen for some action?’ I asked with a smile.

  ‘It is something new, never before do we come here to the Far East,’ he replied, organising an ant-like chain of men.

  ‘You have tents?’ I shouted.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, only a little room in the huts.’

  He nodded, tents soon being erected next to the huts, and just in time for a quick downpour, the French organising themselves as the medics boiled rice and cooked chickens, two French lads keenly assisting. I took Liban and his captains to the command room, familiar faces greeted, and showed him the map.

  ‘I have four patrols out, back for dawn, see what they say about local gunmen. You acclimatise today, patrols tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, we rest, shit flight here.’

  Our civvy truck appeared at 3pm, bottled water bought for next to nothing, some beer, and a shit load of fresh fruit, a hundred bananas placed on the benches – still attached to the branches they had recently hung from and still green.

  My sat phone trilled after I had downed a banana. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Rocko, first blood to us. No one else shot anyone?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘So first blood to us, eight gunmen, funny uniforms because they’re more grey-blue than green.’

  ‘Not local soldiers, I hope.’

  ‘Nah, gunmen, AK56 rifles. Locals use M16s, and their uniforms are green, a bit like ours.’

  ‘Any ID, any phones, back to me.’

  ‘There’s a phone, and some wallets, some cash.’

  ‘Hide the bodies well out the way. Where are you?’

  ‘Say ... six miles north, past the village.’

  ‘Any gunmen in the village?’

  ‘Not seen, but loads a fucking dogs everywhere. Bad place to sneak up on.’

  ‘Oh, can you follow their tracks back?’

  ‘Yeah, easy enough.’

  ‘Do so, see where it leads.’

  ‘OK. Rocko out.’

  I stepped into the command room. ‘Eight gunmen killed, six miles north.’ I put a finger on the map, Captain Harris making a note, my local captain keen for the detail. ‘My men will bring back ID, give to you,’ I told him, keeping him happy.

  ‘And dead body?’ he queried.

  ‘I can give you the position, you can get them later maybe.’ He did not seem like a happy bunny.

  I sat on a bench and ate with Liba
n, talk of his rescue in Mauritania and how the team were training. When my phone went, it was Rizzo. ‘It’s Rizzo, we shot four fuckers, and got a hostage.’

  ‘A hostage?’

  ‘A local policeman. They had him tied up, beaten badly, ear missing. Young lad as well.’

  ‘Get to the nearest road, then call in the position to Captain Harris, I’ll send out jeeps.’

  ‘OK, we’re not far from a road.’

  ‘And Rizzo, first blood went to Rocko, he got eight,’ I teased. ‘So pull your finger out, eh.’

  In the command room, I asked Captain Wey to ready a jeep patrol to go fetch the policeman prisoner, and he got his men ready.

  Sat back on the benches with the French, that jeep patrol returned half an hour later, the medics alerted, a young policeman to render assistance to.

  Captain Wey came over to me, M16 held, his boots halfway up his legs and shiny, his belt shiny. ‘They kill two police, one alive. We get information now.’

  I nodded. ‘If you know where they are, we’ll go out and find them.’

  He trotted off.

  Liban said, ‘Maybe some information is good.’

  I faced him and nodded before continuing to spoon up rice. But the rice was bland, and in need of a sauce. I made a note to ask the guy with the shop-in-a-truck.

  Mally and Sasha wandered back in with their teams, all looking tired, hot and tired, no one seen to shoot at, a very nice beach found though.

  At 9pm another truck arrived, this one offering girls. I had to, reluctantly, send them on their way. And they were all Filipinos, some a bit young, and not looking like they wanted to be hookers.

  But this stretch of coast was where illegal Filipino migrants landed as a career choice, and where they adopted an uncertain future at the hands of the local trafficking gangs, some girls to be smuggled across the water to Kuala Lumpur and beyond, some making it all the way to Saudi.

  At 10pm cracks sounded out, people rushing around, Haines soon reporting two dickers shot dead in the tree line. I had men sent over, bodies carried back in ponchos. Since the men were local, they were light.

  Bodies dumped, Chinese AK56 rifles handed to Captain Wey and inspected, the local soldiers were now wary of who was out and about. I made sure Haines had a good night-time plan of static positions, Mally told to rotate his men with them, Liban to have men patrolling around the buildings plus four men on the front gate.

  Robby called in at 2am, waking me. He was walking back in with minor wounds, no less than twelve gunmen killed, rifles taken, ID and phones taken.

  Stood waiting, and a little apprehensive, I met them at 3am, Captain Wey not disturbed as he slept, AK56 rifles placed down, ID and phones put on the main map table, the epic battle recounted. I had kicked up the medics, and they treated a scrape - saying the man would have to go back, as well as treating several wood splinters, some nasty.

  Sticking to procedure, I called SIS and left a sitrep, as well as a request for a plane, our JIC guy having spent most of the day and night sleeping, a bad reaction to the long flight, which was why I had wanted sleep patterns regulated.

  I was up before dawn, and now wary myself, checking with 2 Squadron about the tree line and any action overnight. It had just been our hapless pair, their bodies going ripe under ponchos.

  Rocko arrived back just before Rizzo, a report given by each. Rocko had followed the tracks back to a small wooden dock on a muddy inlet, so we knew that the men were using small boats. I made sure they had a bite to eat and plenty to drink before they got some rest.

  After breakfast I had Sasha take his team north, Mally to go south, and I placed my 2 Squadron Externals with them, a pair each. They set off as it started to rain, the rest of the lads sleeping. Whisky took the parachute instructors east, a live patrol.

  Captain Wey arranged for the bodies to be moved, just before a Huey landed. It took our wounded man out, but it left behind a local Malaysian Major and his aide.

  I saluted the man, a bit short and overweight. ‘Major.’

  ‘You are Captain Wilco?’

  ‘I am, sir.’

  He smiled widely. ‘I have been studying in Greenwich, and your name is mentioned often, examples of live jobs.’

  ‘I’ve been to Greenwich a few times, a few courses,’ I told him as I led him towards the command room. ‘But they keep me busy.’

  ‘Indeed they do, I have read about of all of your rescues.’

  In the command room, the locals stood or saluted the newcomer, and I introduced Captain Harris and his team.

  ‘Overnight, Major, we killed twenty-four gunmen.’

  ‘Already?’ He was staggered, and I had to wonder what his soldiers were doing in these parts, other than sitting around with thumbs up arses, local girls delivered off the truck with bananas.

  ‘And one hostage released, sir, a local policeman.’

  ‘I thought maybe you would acclimatise first.’

  ‘We did, sir, the first day.’

  He nodded. ‘There are Americans on the way, they’ll be here today some time.’

  ‘Come to show us how it’s done,’ I quipped, making him laugh. ‘If you have any tents ... that would help.’

  ‘I can get tents quickly, yes, a base not too far away. I will arrange that now.’

  ‘And some provisions.’

  ‘Yes, that we can do for our guests.’

  Sat with a coffee, we chatted about London and the courses, military law and conflicts of interest, and the politics around here. He admitted that the Kuala Lumpur government concentrated mostly on Kuala Lumpur, not backwaters like this mosquito infested swamp.

  His Huey was back for him an hour later, waking the sleeping lads no doubts, and he certainly wasn’t going to be sleeping rough with the rest of us, he’d be in some nice air conditioned officers mess.

  As the sound of his Huey abated, my mind on Panama – and missing it a little, my sat phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘British Consul, Kota Kinabalu. We have your chap here, we’ve given him civilian clothes, and he’ll fly to Kuala Lumpur and have a minor operation, skin graft, few days in hospital then sent back to the UK.’

  ‘OK, thanks. And his uniform?’

  ‘Sent back to the UK in a parcel, cleaned first I hope.’

  I laughed. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How is it there?’

  ‘We killed twenty-four local gunmen and rescued one hostage.’

  ‘Christ, the separatists will go mad, and I’m surprised they sent you here. Civilians will be in harm’s way now, maybe a bomb or two.’

  ‘You’ll need to express those concerns to London, sir, and pretty soon there won’t be any separatists around here.’

  ‘What do you mean, you were supposed to go after the hostages?’

  ‘The powers want the area quieter, there’s oil apparently.’

  ‘Oil? Yes, I read the report, off the islands. But they’d never quell those islands.’

  ‘I agree, but they want a message sent I guess. And I follow orders. And you and your staff want British tourists safe.’

  ‘I’m not sure that kicking over the hornet’s nest is the best way to achieve that!’

  ‘That’s a matter for London, sir. Thank you for your assistance. Wilco out.’ Call cut, I tapped my chin with it, thinking, and wondering if he was right. Would they back off, or get mad? And it was a big area.

  I called Credenhill and left a message for Colonel Dean, requesting his two troops.

  As we started to lose the light the Echo lads were up and hungry, helicopters heard, and I spotted two grey Seahawks. They touched down in front of the hangar, eight men out and running, but none I recognised.

  The lead man, a lieutenant, came up to me. ‘You must be Wilco.’ We shook. ‘Dalton, Navy Seals.’

  ‘Off a ship?’

  ‘Yeah, tub is southeast.’ His men dumped their kit.

  ‘Got fuck all room for you here,’ I told them. ‘Tents on the way. We’ll try and sque
eze you in, but my lot will be off on patrol in two hours, rooms free for 24hrs.’

  Dalton nodded as he took in the tree line. ‘No big deal.’ The Seahawks loudly pulled off and headed east.

  ‘I surprised they sent you,’ I told him.

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘Washington wants the local bad boys reduced, but not the blame.’

  ‘Since when the hell has Washington told a grunt like me what the hell they’re thinking!’

  ‘What are your orders?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Assist, advise, liaison with the tub.’

  I nodded, taking in his men and their bags and rifles. ‘Keep a low profile. Anyone asks, you’re Australians.’

  He laughed. Turning to his men, he said, ‘Hear that, boys, low profile, pretend we’re Australian.’

  ‘I can do the accent,’ a man joked. ‘G’day, mate.’

  I told them, ‘Malaysians won’t know the difference. Come and get some chow.’

  They dumped bags together and slung their M16s, soon sat chatting to the lads, or the French, rice and chicken shared, a party atmosphere created.

  Once Echo had eaten I had Rocko, Rizzo and Robby form the same teams – Swifty with Robby again, the same patrol routes to be taken, and the Seals observed as the teams moved off. The French were next, sent west and southwest into what looked like a shit tip of swamp and jungle, asked to look for paths and tracks, and villages. Moran would lead a patrol.

  It was soon myself, Liban and Haines sat opposite a few Seals, talk of kit and tactics, the Seals interested in our past rescues. When Sasha joined us he took some explaining.

  My phone trilled, so I stepped away. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Major Bradley. How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine so far, sir. What time is it there?’

  ‘8am.’

  ‘We sent out patrols and killed twenty four gunmen yesterday, so we’re in the right spot, one hostage rescued. But it makes you wonder what the Malaysia Army was doing before we got here.’

  ‘Vehicle patrols probably, no jungle work.’