Wilco lone wolf 14, p.22
Wilco- Lone Wolf 14, page 22
part #14 of Wilco- Lone Wolf Series
The whistle came, a section of TV station blown out, rubble falling onto the east street and smashing car windows.
Moran appeared at my side, peering across. ‘They want to broadcast from it, or destroy it!’
‘I’m doubting they went to Greenwich, Captain.’ I transmitted, ‘Mitch, you lot OK over there?’
‘Mortar hit a floor with the TV crews, a few killed and wounded.’
‘Get them near the stairwell or the south side. And remind the silly fuckers about the merits of staying put, eh!’
With the smoke in the street clearing I eased over the side and aimed down at 45 degrees, soon finding men with less smoke than they would have desired, and I started to pick them off, other Echo lads firing, and by time the smoke had cleared the rebels were running – those left alive, thirty bodies on the corner pavements, ten added to it quickly as fleeing men were hit in the back, all easy targets from up here, and for Sasha’s team those men were just fifty yards away.
It fell quiet, a lull, the odd mortar hitting a random civvy building for twenty minutes.
‘What’s the point of those fucking mortars?’ Slider asked no one in particular. ‘They own a building company or something? Want some extra work after this shit is over? Who they trying to hit?’
My phone trilled, faces turning to me. ‘Major Vilco, it be Sergeant Tobo here on the telephone.’
I smiled. ‘Go ahead.’
‘My men say there be the helicopter coming.’
‘How many?’
‘Two?’
‘Are they old Russian Mi8 helicopters?’
‘I am not knowing the helicopters, sir. They be black ones, sir.’
‘OK, thanks for the update.’ I transmitted, ‘All teams, helicopters on approach from the north, get hidden and get ready, get men to lower floors if you need to. Snipers and men with Elephant Guns or fifty cal, get ready. French teams, get the 105mm ready, and RPGs, you may get lucky.’
I faced Liban and he shouted instructions, peeking his head up over the wall.
Five minutes later I saw them, a menacing pair of Mi8s a mile out northeast.
‘Nicholson, do they have rocket pods?’
‘Yeah, Boss. Doors open as well.’
‘Wilco to all teams, the helicopters have rockets so get to cover. Mitch, you could be the target.’
‘This is Mitch. They want to capture this fucking building or demolish it?’
‘I’m not sure who’s calling the shots here, there could be some breakdown in communications with the factions,’ I told him. ‘Certainly the idiots with the mortars want to demolish you, but the men on foot want to capture the buildings – so fuck knows.’
I shouted, ‘Robby and your team, get below. Stretch, ready a 66mm, they may fly overhead. Snipers to the west wall!’
I moved with most everyone else to the west wall and we knelt - smoke still wafting from the mortar hit, the snipers getting ready as the Mi8 flew low level south on the west side, but on a track that would make them pass over Swifty.
As they neared they slowed a little, and they turned towards us, their rockets now on a line for us - if we were the target. But the rockets would either hit the outer wall or go over our heads, so I relaxed a little.
Nicholson loudly fired first – tungsten rounds, soon followed by Swan and Tomo, the helos coming on, and now inside four hundred yards, my snipers all firing at the lead Mi8 three times each as the loud resonating drone hit us – frightened the local residents no doubt.
As I peeked my head over the side it banked right a little, two rockets fired, those rockets flying over our heads and loudly slamming into the apartment block south of the TV station, windows blown out.
I had turned my head to follow the missiles, and now two additional missiles were fired, passing over Sergeant Crab and hitting an apartment block further south.
‘Lookout!’ several men screamed as I turned back, the lead Mi8 losing height, and I saw that its cockpit glass was white in places.
‘Fuck…’ I let out as I dived down, shoving Ginger down, the Mi8 clipping the roof of the apartment block due west of us and demolishing the roof wall before slamming into our apartment block one floor below us, the building shaking like an earthquake, flames erupting upwards, angry black smoke billowing up the side of the building.
‘Move away!’ I shouted, and we ran, the roar of the second Mi8 in our ears, soon filling our field of vision as it flew slowly past us north and banking away, soon heading due north just fifty metres above the apartments and low enough to clip TV aerials.
A flash and a blast, and its tail broke off, two RPGs flying in, one hitting the mark, and the stricken Mi8 nose-dived down into a block north of us and exploded, a huge cloud of black smoke rising.
‘Moran, Ginger, Stretch and Rizzo, get down to the fire below and get that fire out, there are fire hoses in the hallways! Go!’
They sprinted off as my snipers lifted up and peered over the side, the smoke pushing us back to the east side.
‘Mitch for Wilco, do you have wounded?’
‘Don’t think so, but civvies might have been hit. Wilco for Robby, report!’
‘We’re alive, choking on fucking smoke, we ran down the stairwell.’
‘Get back up and fight the fire, check for wounded civvies!’
‘Moving!’
‘Rest of you,’ I called, but off the radio. ‘Check the roads.’ I peered down at the TV station entrance and it was all quiet, the north road quiet for now. ‘”A” Squadron, what can you see?’
‘Still a big group heading towards Crab, fuck all else, some men well north but out of range.’
‘Swifty, what can you see?’
‘Trucks coming south, say ten, green tarp on the back. They’re on the coast road.’
I ran to the stairwell, finding the two corpsmen tending one of Robby’s lads, a nasty gash on the lad’s head. ‘He OK?’ I asked as I knelt.
‘Just some stone ricochet,’ the corpsmen stated. ‘This … uh … this building going to collapse, or burn down with us here, sir?’
‘We’re fighting the fire, but the day ain’t over yet, it will get loud later on.’
I left them looking very worried and entered the stairwell as smoke wafted up, soon down to the next level, Dicky and Mouri here with Greenie, Greenie manning the hose. He shoved it through a broken wall, aiming at the fire, the top quarter of the corridor full of black smoke.
People started to leave their apartments, some obviously hurt. ‘Get the wounded to the roof!’ And I helped a lady with a head wound up the stairs, handing her to the corpsmen. ‘Parker!’ I called, and he ran in. ‘Practise your first aid.’
Two old men and one child appeared, the child crying, all sat down against the stairwell wall, all in good hands for now, their wounds minor. I headed back down.
The smoke was now white, which Greenie said was a good sign, but that an oil fire from the helo would be an issue. Ginger shot a locked door open, peered in as smoke billowed out, then screamed. He jumped back as the floor shook, the walls held by the lads, and as I peered through the hole that Greenie was hosing down the Mi8 wreck slid backwards and down.
An almighty blast, and we lolled around from one wall to the next, Greenie soon dragging his hose along to the open door and dampening down the furniture on fire. When I stood behind him and assisted he aimed out the broken wall, so that water fell onto the burning Mi8 wreck as smoke rose up the side of the building.
‘Gunna need a paint job,’ Rizzo noted.
‘Get the wounded civvies out, then get back up there, day ain’t over yet,’ I ordered.
At the stairwell, the old man with the CB radio was staring wild-eyed down the corridor.
‘You OK?’ I asked him.
‘My friend lived in that apartment.’
‘If he was in it, he’s dead, all burnt inside.’
‘Oh … no, no.’ He shook his head.
Up on the roof I found five civilians with minor wounds and I assisted for a while, the lads finally coming back up. I told the corpsmen, ‘If they’re OK to walk, they walk south, be safer than here.’
My phone trilled as many of the lads got a brew on, and we still had some chicken, tinned meat and chocolate bars.
‘Major Vilco, it be Sergeant Tobo here on the telephone.’
I could not help but smile. ‘Go ahead.’
‘From where I is I see the mortar men, and now more mortar tubes, sir.’
‘Where are they set-up?’
‘In the park, sir, say ten blocks or more north of you.’
‘I’ll have a look on the map. Oh, Sergeant, how big is this park?’
‘Big like a shooting range, sir, maybe 500m across.’
‘Where are the mortar tubes?’
‘They be in the middle, sir, in the trees, and west is the lake.’
‘Are there apartments around the park?’
‘Some, sir, but mostly dee shop and dee business, and the big post office and dee government office for pensions, sir.’
‘Are there people in the park?’
‘No, sir, only dee soldier and dee truck and dee mortars.’
‘OK, thank you, keep an eye on those mortars.’
Phone down, Moran said, ‘You got a fix on them?’
‘Yeah, a park, and it’s big enough to drop a bomb, not too many civvies around, so I’m thinking we get an F18 in.’
‘And if the bomb drops short?’ Moran nudged.
‘And if the mortars keep hitting civvies here?’ I countered with. ‘They just got more tubes set-up.’
‘If they got more tubes,’ Rizzo began, ‘they mean to use them.’
Ginger put in, ‘Random mortars are a terror weapon, to frighten people, no military value.’
I nodded, thinking, and called Tinker. ‘Any updates on the coup colonel.’
‘He’s not a happy bunny at all, many of his men dead apparently, no progress on moving on the Presidential Palace.’
‘He’s setting up mortar tubes north of us, so he’ll pound the middle class suburb we’re in.’
‘He’s threatening to shoot his officers unless they make some progress soon.’
‘Great,’ I cursed with a sigh. ‘Wilco out.’ I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, I need an airstrike, not much chance of civilian casualties unless your boys are way off.’
‘We’re keen to hit these bastards, estimated twenty thousand dead in the north.’
‘Got a map?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘See my position at the TV station, go north up the main road ten blocks or so and you’ll see a big park on the left, the only park like it.’
‘Yeah, go it.’
‘There’s a lake, then trees in the centre, mortar tubes in the centre, we need them hit. Your boys come in from the west, aim at the lake and then just past the lake are the trees. Simple.’
‘I’ll task them now, but I want your assurance there are no civilians nearby.’
‘There are apartments nearby, 300yards out, mostly shops and businesses, most everyone hiding due to the shooting. No reports of civilians in the park walking their dogs, just rebel soldiers.’
‘OK, I’ll make the call now.’
Phone down, Moran said, ‘Hope it goes well.’
‘Fucking Yank pilots always miss,’ Rizzo spat out. ‘They use them 20mm cannons OK, but bombs never seem to go where you want them to go!’
‘They hit that runway inside Ivory Coast,’ I assured him. ‘And we’re about to get ten tonnes of mortars on our heads, so we’re kinda limited on choices. Rebel leader has threatened to shoot his officers if they can’t get past us.’
‘Swifty for Wilco.’
I stood tall. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Those trucks have stopped, out of range, twenty trucks sat waiting for something, a few men out.’
‘We know they’re setting up more mortar tubes, so maybe they hope to soften us up a bit. Get to a lower level maybe.’
‘OK, moving now.’
‘Crab for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Should we be getting lower?’
‘Leave some men up top, but occupy apartments on corners as well, we may get mortars coming in.’
Slider rubbed the stubble on his chain and shook his head. ‘Mortars against a city. Fucking hell…’
‘Twenty thousand civvies dead so far,’ I told them, tired looks exchanged. ‘Our orders should have been to go kill the coup colonel in his bed, not to protect the President. That way … less factional fighting.’
‘Maybe,’ Moran noted. ‘But this lot have been at each other’s throats for a long time. We didn’t start this.’
Ten minutes later the mortars came, and they started with smoke mortars, a dozen of them, visibility of the streets below robbed from us. A dozen regular mortars followed, but they fell short, killing their own men up the north road, damaging buildings and setting them alight, cars destroyed and set alight. At least the carnage would deter the rebels moving south.
‘Who’s running the show?’ Rizzo complained. ‘First smoke – to move men in, then they frag their own fucking positions!’
‘Get below,’ I loudly ordered. I stood tall and transmitted, ‘All teams, get off the roofs now!’
I was at the water-sodden corridor when the mortars came, men looking up, our roof taking a hit, the building shaking. After the salvo I ran up and had a look, many nearby buildings on fire or smoking, the TV station looking like it had a facelift gone wrong, sections of outer wall sagging yet not falling to the street.
‘Wilco for Mitch, you OK?’
‘Got blown off my feet. Not having the best of days.’
‘Next salvo should be south. Wilco for Lone Wolves, get down to lower levels now!’
I ran back into the stairwell and down, clattering as I went. And I was right, the next dozen mortars landing south, so there was some logic to the pattern aiming.
When my phone trilled is was Admiral Jacobs. ‘Wilco, five minutes to time on target.’
‘Roger that, sir, and will they damage-assess afterwards?’
‘They always do.’
‘Wilco out.’
‘What’s that?’ Stretch asked as he stood in water, the water trickling down the stairs.
‘Americans will hit the mortar tubes in a few minutes.’ I stood near the stairwell window, a danger, and called Sergeant Tobo. ‘Sergeant, it’s Major Wilco. What can you see in the park?’ I asked as I spotted kids peering through windows.
‘The mortars was firing, sir, four times they fire.’
‘They hit buildings near us, yes. Stay on the line, tell me what you see, look west for aircraft.’
‘West for aircraft … OK, sir, I be looking now.’ A minute later came, ‘I see something, the white trail of the plane below the cloud. Now I hear something … my god.’
‘Sergeant? Sergeant?’
‘I’m OK, sir, just shocked. The park, the trees, all in smoke, a big bang. My god, another big bang, sir.’
‘Were the mortar tubes destroyed, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, sir, there be a big hole and brown mud and trees all be down, sir, no more trees.’
‘Any civilians killed, Sergeant?’
‘I don’t think so, sir, I cannot see the civilian in dee park, sir. My god … another big bang, and dee trucks, sir, dee trucks fly in dee air and … come down. I see dee white man killed.’
‘White man?’
‘They be dee Russian men, sir.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant, report any large movements to me. Wilco out.’ I had eight expectant faces waiting. ‘Mortar tubes, men and trucks all destroyed, no civvy casualties.’ I called Admiral Jacobs and gave him the report, pleasing him. But I had left out the dead Russian advisors. ‘Back up top, Gentlemen, day ain’t over yet. Come on, earn your keep, eh!’
On our sorry looking roof, a large crater now in it, I transmitted, ‘All teams this is Wilco, mortars were destroyed by US Navy F18s. Get back to it and look for foot soldiers below.’
I stood next to Tomo as we peered down through a large hole and into someone’s wrecked apartment. It looked empty, so there was that at least.
‘Swifty for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Jesus Christ!’
We heard the cackle, the screech of jets and we all peered west, an F18 tearing past us close enough to see the pilot, an assault on our ears, a second F18 on his wing and higher. They banked away and headed northeast.
‘Swifty, report!’
‘The Yanks just tore up those trucks I reported, they’re matchwood now, body parts everywhere, trucks on fire. The advance has been put on hold, they’ll need a bandage or two.’
‘Roger that.’ Annoyed, I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, call off your fucking aircraft, or coordinate with me! Your planes just hit rebel trucks, but I have men nearby, and no one checked with me first!’
‘I’ll shout a little now, I never gave that order. You OK?’
‘No wounded, but it could have been a bad newspaper headline!’
‘What do you need them tasked with?’
‘Low level loud fly-bys, scare the rebels, and same for the helicopters, make them think the Marines are landing.’
‘Yes, good idea, hang tight and I’ll check the targeting.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Rizzo asked.
‘Yanks strafed the rebel trucks, which is good, but they never asked me where our men where.’
‘Fucking trigger happy they are,’ Rizzo complained.
‘Did they hit the trucks?’ Moran queried.
‘Yeah, no civvies hit – luckily.’ I peered down at the street next to the TV station, a scene of destruction laid out, but there was no movement, none at all, the road north quiet. I transmitted, ‘Wilco to all teams, get a brew on. All teams, tea break!’
‘Tea break!’ came back in an American accent, laughter heard.
The water heater was undamaged, the lads firing it up, mugs of coffee soon handed out with chocolate, Slider munching on an apple. I sipped the coffee and stared up the north road, smoke wafting from a dozen fires, civilians running for cover across the road.
