Wilco- Lone Wolf 2 Page 5

  ‘Why?’ a girl asked. ‘Do you always go for the best looking girl?’

  ‘Me, no, but my mate over there, he won a couple hundred quid and he intends to blow it all this weekend on the best looking girl he can find, even talking about a posh hotel room.’

  ‘Which one is he?’ another girl asked me, glancing at the gang.

  ‘The guy with the moustache. And you know why he has that silly moustache? He reckons that when a girl feels it on her thighs it makes going down on them better.’

  The girls almost chocked, but then laughed.

  ‘Are you soldiers?’ a girl asked.

  ‘That obvious is it?’

  ‘Yes!’ they said in unison.

  ‘I’ll buy you all a drink if you waste my friend’s money this weekend. But don’t tell him you know.’

  ‘I’ll do that, no problem,’ said a girl with a big pair.

  I led them across to the gang and introduced everyone, the girl with the big boobs hooking her arm around Rizzo’s elbow, our fearless killer quite taken aback and unsure of himself. When I got him alone I told him to spend some money, go crazy, live a little this weekend. I also bought most of the rounds, but I had the cash to waste, the guys didn’t.

  Sunday lunchtime I called Kate, and she had been cooking, which meant she had been sipping the wine – and could I pop around? I sighed, needing more willpower. I liked Kate, but it would have been nice if I was not just the human dildo to use when she was tipsy.

  On the Monday, Smurf told me that Rizzo was boasting about this great girl he pulled, and his all-weekend marathon session with her. He was, however, now a bit skint, but I had brought some cash into work with me. When I noticed him alone I handed over £100.

  ‘C.O. said I should make it up to you for clobbering you, so I’ll share what Foster gave me. Sounds like you need it after your weekend anyway.’

  He was mildly shocked, but did not hand it back.

  Magsee

  Former SAS Sergeant and living legend, Magsee, came in the following week, and we drove up to the woods nearby. There he started at the beginning and asked me to find tracks, animal and human, some damned hard to spot. He made footprints on different types of ground, and I tried to spot if the person had been walking forwards – or backwards to fool me.

  He built a hide, then a shelter, and gave me some great advice. I dug down a shell scrape, filled it with dried cone needles, covered it with three inches of soft green branches and built my hide around it, poncho used like a tent. I strung up a line, covered the poncho in branches, and was then taught how to use a coke can to house a candle for heat – but without giving out any light.

  The next day he made a water purifier with sand and mud from a stream, a plastic bottle and some old cloth, and explained how to do it on a large scale in some place like Africa.

  Many hours were spent on choosing a place to make a hide, and how to conceal myself, how to cover my tracks, how to approach and leave, and – most important – how to stay warm at night.

  We set traps overnight, and each day skinned and cooked the rabbits we caught. He bought a live chicken from a farmer and supervised me killing it, cleaning it and cooking it. He then handed me several books on edible plants, my homework.

  A few days later he was back, and I was to be tested. We drove down to the Wye Valley and to the Forest of Dean, where he led me to a wide brisk stream, soon pointing out various edible plants. I got most correct. He then showed off by using a piece of wood as a spear and getting a trout. I was told to cook it for him.

  He caught a duck after he threw a stone, crippling it, and wading in to get it. I was told to cook that for him as well, as he went hunting. He returned with four small bird eggs, and I cooked those as well.

  Next came hide and seek, an exercise. I was told to take full kit, no weapon, to avoid being seen, and to create an OP overlooking a distant building, and to try and hide from him. I arrived in the Forest of Dean at 2pm, circled around and decided on a good spot, tried to hide my tracks, then made my hide and camouflaged it, figuring he’d probably be hiding nearby right now and spying on me. Still, he said he would arrive at dawn.

  At dawn I was cold and stiff, but well hidden, and I had slept OK. I both heard and felt footsteps. He walked right past me, and to the edge of my hide.

  ‘Come out, Wilco.’

  I stood, took a big step, and grabbed him from behind. ‘You’re dead.’

  ‘How the fuck..? Where were you?’

  ‘Hiding near my hide. Always a good idea to have a fallback position, is it not?’ I showed him my second hide.

  ‘Well I’ll be buggered. First time one of you lot tricked me like that.’

  ‘Do I pass?’ I asked, retrieving my kit.

  We had breakfast in a pub, and I needed a cup of tea, or three, to warm up. He was off abroad to help a BBC documentary crew in the jungle, so I thanked him after he dropped me off.

  At the base, the Major called me in. ‘You tricked Magsee. Unheard of.’

  ‘I do my best, sir.’

  ‘See if you can trick Crab and Taffy.’

  And of I went to find them, and exercise set up for the next day. We drove to a nearby hill, and they outlined the limits of the area, which happened to be enclosed by a fence anyway. It was about three hundred yards across, and consisted of some open fields, a wood - parts of which were dense, and a stream. I got to work.

  First I walked backwards through the muddy areas, then forwards, then around in circles, right around the wood, a trail that anyone could find. Stopping near the start point, I created a star-shaped set of trails going in all directions before walking backwards to a spot by a stone wall. There was plenty of long grass, and in one place the ground dipped. I got my knife out, and started to cut an outline of two squares, both three feet wide and three feet long.

  Lifting the squares, I cut the roots as I lifted and I carefully shook the turf. With the grass folded back, I stamped down on the soil, flattening it and making it lower. Laying out my poncho and folding it, I eased inside it and sat up, covering my legs with the poncho, soon pulling over the first bit of turf and checking it.

  I pulled the poncho over me like a quilt, just my head and arms out, and eased the second square of grass over me, and got comfy, a small area to see out of.

  With half an hour to kill, it dragged on. My radio earpiece eventually crackled.

  ‘Are you ready, Wilco?’ came Taffy’s voice.

  ‘Yes, did you have a nice coffee down the pub?’

  ‘We did. Coming, ready or not.’

  I saw them walk in, a cursory glance at the tracks.

  ‘Fucking loads of false trails,’ Sergeant Crab noted. They walked around the wood before starting in on it. And half an hour later they were still circling around, even looking up the trees.

  ‘Wilco, have you slipped out of the area?’ Sergeant Crab asked over the radio.

  ‘No, Boss.’

  ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

  I peered. ‘Two, and that’s rude.’

  ‘How many now?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Three.’

  They exchanged looks, and went around the outside again, following my false trails, and came right down past me and on, back into the woods.

  Half an hour passed. ‘What’s wrong?’ I teased. ‘Are you getting old?’

  ‘Cheeky fucker.’

  They appeared at the front of the wood. ‘Wilco, if you are over the fence it doesn’t count, and you’ll be cleaning the toilets.’

  ‘I’m inside the fence, and stop picking your nose.’

  They circled again.

  ‘OK, fucker, come out.’

  ‘Keep walking,’ I told them. ‘Down. Getting warmer ... warmer ... OK, you’re very close.’

  They hunted around, still not seeing me, even testing the ground with their boots. With them stood in front on me, and suggesting that I was outside the wall, I lifted up.
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br />   ‘Fuck me,’ Taffy let out, and went to inspect my turf hide.

  ‘You’re both dead, by the way,’ I pointed out.

  We had lunch in the pub, and back at base Crab suggested that Rizzo try and find me with his gang. We drove up in three Land Rovers, the Major with us, and I was given just fifteen minutes to hide, the Land Rovers beyond the point where they could see me.

  I set fresh false trails, and walked backwards to my hide and slipped in. A few minutes later I heard the jeeps, and peeking out I could see the Major stood in the middle of the field as Rizzo led his team as if on patrol. They went right around, and then through the wood, and half an hour later they were still looking.

  ‘Rizzo?’ the Major shouted. ‘I’m getting cold here, hurry up.’

  I clicked the radio on. ‘Wankers.’

  They re-doubled their efforts, they even climbed up a tree, and they stamped on the ground a great deal, and then circled the area again.

  ‘He’s outside the designated area, Boss,’ they told the Major.

  ‘Ask him how many fingers I’m holding up,’ the Major told Rizzo.

  I counted off the fingers, and they glanced around. I had to be inside. With the Major taunting them, they started again, splitting up, and wasted another twenty minutes.

  They came back down empty handed. ‘It’s a trick,’ they complained.

  ‘Wilco, reveal yourself,’ the Major called into the radio.

  ‘Sir, I’ll reveal myself to you, once the others are down the road.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ The Major sent a complaining bunch away, the Land Rovers moved.

  ‘Over here, sir,’ I called, and the Major noticed my head.

  He walked over. ‘Bugger me, under the grass. Hiding in plain sight.’

  I pulled out my poncho as I stood, shaking off the dirt and soon rolling it up, placing the grass back so that it would grow normally, no traces left. We joined the others, the Major confirming that I was within the designated area, Rizzo well pissed off.

  ‘I was in the stream,’ I told them, the Major confirming that, I could see them actually considering that idea.

  That evening, Swifty turned up at the hotel gym.

  ‘Didn’t know you trained here,’ I told him.

  ‘I thought about it a few times, but when Captain Harris said you used it, and that they do early mornings, I thought I’d give it a go. They open at 6am?’

  ‘Or a tad before, cleaners in here.’

  He tried the various bits of kit, had a swim, and we chatted in the sauna before a cold beer in the bar. At 6am the following morning he was next to me on a treadmill.

  ‘Thing about a treadmill,’ I began. ‘It does the work for you.’

  ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘I spent a long time trying to perfect the skill of running at a certain speed. I wonder if using the treadmill will fuck my chances on the road, because I may not get the pace right.’

  He copied my speed, and matched my time, a little knackered at the end, but I cut it down to twelve miles. We then enjoyed a refreshing swim in the cold water, a quick breakfast upstairs, and headed off to work.

  But I had noticed someone observing me, a big lad, well toned. The following evening the same guy was using the locker next to me.

  Facing me, he said, ‘You must a trooper, with gunshot wounds like that. But you’re a bit tall for a trooper, they’re all short-arses.’

  I smiled cautiously at this 6’5” gym member. ‘And what do you do?’

  ‘Copper.’

  ‘Ah. I shall behave in front of you.’

  ‘Do you behave badly at other times?’ he joked.

  ‘Often, but not by my choosing. People ... often want to have a go at me.’

  ‘Looking like that it’s not surprising, is it?’

  ‘No, I suppose not, but I chose this place because it’s full of fat old businessmen.’

  ‘It is, no trouble makers here.’ He held his gaze on me. ‘So far.’

  I few days later I was on the range in Sennybridge. The targets didn’t move, but I could move. Since I had taunted Rizzo he was along, and he went first with an M16, thirty round magazine as people laid wagers.

  Smurf went second, and did OK, but not as well as Rizzo. I was up, the pressure on. I stepped forwards, checked my weapon and nodded to the hut, Sergeant Crab on the controls. A target would register a hit, and it would only be up for three seconds.

  I walked forwards, soon hitting targets left, right and centre, and after each I was required to lower my weapon. Striding purposefully forwards, I hit thirty targets that had popped up at either 100yards, 200yards or 300yards. I jogged back, not picking up spent cartridges, despite the sign demanding we do so.

  Sergeant Crab came out. ‘Same as Rizzo, if not faster.’

  Rizzo challenged that.

  I said, ‘Next go, targets out to four hundred, none less than two hundred.’ And I bet Rizzo twenty quid. It was Gunfight at the OK Corral.

  Four lads had a go, and Captain Marks, and we waited, Swifty equalling my score with Rizzo, so the next session would be the three of us.

  Rizzo went first, but missed two at 300yard, a bit quick on the draw. Swifty went next, and equalled Rizzo, and that gave me time to think, a chant going around in my head. ‘Raise ... two thousand ... fire.’

  I was up, and I used the chant, sure that I hit a few targets just as Crab lowered them. Jogging back, I had won by a point, curses and complaints abounding. Rizzo wanted another go, just me and him, so we grabbed more ammo and got ready.

  This time Rizzo missed just one target, and my chanting got me level with him; it was a tie. Rizzo told Crab to use the targets at 300 yards and 400 yards, four seconds at the later, wagers made, insults inferred.

  Rizzo went first, and missed two targets at 400 yards, missing three overall. My chanting did the trick, and I edged one target better, Crab giving the other lads a go as Rizzo sulked.

  I called Rizzo to one side. ‘When I fire, I use a chant. Raise ... two thousand ... fire. That means I get the full three seconds to get the aim in. Try it.’

  And he did, an hour later, and moved ahead of me by one point. ‘Why did you help me like that?’ he asked afterwards, as people stood around smoking.

  ‘If you have to ask that question, then you still have a lot to learn, Mister Rizzo. And someday ... your aim may keep me alive.’

  That Friday I mentioned a trip down to Newport, and that I would be driving there and back, and would Rizzo like to come. He shrugged and said OK, and I told him to put a suit on.

  I drove him down with Bob and Smurf, parked up, and we hit Lloyds Bar dressed smart, soon chatting to the local ladies. At 10.45pm we headed along the road to the Cotton Club, most of those queuing also dressed smart, a few tasty ladies noticing us. Inside, we found the club split into three levels, a dance floor in the basement as well as the top floor. We headed to the top floor, and stood ogling the girls as they danced.

  I made eye contact with a tall girl, and she seemed to be with a large group. Just as I was walking over Constable Moore appeared, the copper from the DeVere in Hereford.

  ‘What you doing down here?’ I asked with a smile.

  ‘Probably the same as you,’ he retorted. ‘I can’t drink in Hereford.’

  ‘No, the bars are full of people you’ve nicked.’

  He gestured to a tall and well built girl. ‘My sister, and these are her mates.’

  ‘She’s a well built girl,’ I noted.

  ‘Wouldn’t tell her that,’ he cautioned. ‘Copper as well.’

  I signalled for the guys to come over, and I introduced PC Moore, and his sister introduced some of the girls.

  ‘You’re Wilco, aren’t you,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t always admit to that,’ I told her.

  ‘We hear things, it’s a small town.’

  ‘I’m as well hung as they say,’ I told her, making her choke back up her drink. ‘Tell me, I need a girl for my mate, the one with
the silly moustache. He likes them well endowed, and ... easy.’

  ‘Caroline, definitely Caroline.’

  She grabbed Caroline, and I dragged Rizzo over, getting them together.

  Later, I bumped into Swifty, a very nice lady on his arm. ‘What you doing down here?’

  ‘Same as you, and avoiding Hereford,’ he said.

  ‘Lads are with me, so they’ll gossip,’ I cautioned.

  He introduced his lady. ‘This is Liz, an accountant in Chepstow.’

  I shook her hand. ‘How’d you meet?’

  ‘In here,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be back in five,’ she said and eased through the crowds.

  ‘How long have you known her?’ I asked.

  ‘Couple of weeks.’

  I adopted my serious expression. ‘She’s Mi6.’

  His face fell, and he looked beyond me. He sighed. ‘She said something odd the other day, but I just dismissed it.’

  ‘A pretty face will do that to you.’

  ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘She was in Riyadh, and there were very few ladies there – at least ones showing their faces.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Are they testing you, or do they think you’re a security risk?’

  ‘I’ve told her that I’m a signals technician attached to the SAS, 18 Signals. She hasn’t pressed it.’

  ‘Any ... slip ups?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I’m very careful.’

  ‘Don’t dump her suddenly.’

  ‘No way I could take her home now!’

  ‘Then let me dump here for you, you can remain blameless.’

  He reluctantly nodded, so went and I waited outside the ladies. When she appeared, I said, ‘This way, to get your coat.’

  ‘Why ... am I getting my coat?’

  ‘Because I know who you are. He doesn’t, and if you don’t get your coat and go I twist your head around till it’s facing the other way.’ I held my stare on her, and she seemed genuinely scared. Off she went, a glance back.

  Upstairs, I told him that what I had done. ‘She’ll report her cover blown by me, not you.’

  On the Monday morning I cornered the Major and led him to Colonel Richards’ office.