‘Just about, bad signal.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Hang on.’ A moment later come, ‘We’re on the street now.’

  I peered down. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, good signal.’

  ‘I see you. Cross over, go left, one block south, go west five blocks or so, look for an orange-ish apartment block, get up it, and start firing on the coast road, the Army are pushing along it. Double time.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Wilco, receiving,’ crackled in my ear, a bad signal.

  I stood tall. ‘Wilco, Sender, bad signal.’ I heard a drone and peered around, thinking it the Sea Hawks, but the two French Pumas were coming in.

  ‘Wilco, receiving,’ came again, clearer.

  ‘Wilco here, go ahead.’

  ‘This is “B” Squadron, where we landing?’

  ‘Don’t land, earn your keep instead. Keep on that course till you pass the city and hit the ocean, bank right, coast road northeast stuffed full of green army trucks, paste them from above, try and block that road.’

  ‘We have GPMG, so they’ll get a shock.’

  I observed the two Puma pass overhead and keep going, Slider peering up as I joined him back near the east wall.

  Mouri popped out the stairwell door with something on a tray. ‘Skipper, stairwell is clear, and a nice lady gave us some fried chicken.’

  He placed it at my feet, pinching some chicken away, Slider grabbing some. Dicky appeared with a large wing of chicken, munching away.

  ‘Don’t mind us,’ I told him. ‘You stop for lunch.’

  ‘No one left to shoot, Boss.’

  Greenie appeared, but with no chicken. ‘I paid some local boys on bikes, and they’re out looking for soldiers.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ I commended as I grabbed some chicken.

  Ten minutes later, an out of breath Swifty came on, ‘Swifty for Wilco.’

  I stood tall. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘We’re up that building, good view, but there’s two Pumas strafing the rebels.’

  ‘That’s “B” Squadron. Any trucks you can hit, hit them from distance, report the movements.’

  ‘Convoy has halted, men out, two trucks on fire.’

  ‘Harass those men.’

  ‘Have at them now, when we get our breath back – we used the stairs!’

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco, Major Morgensen here.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘We’re at the airport, secured the main buildings, how’s it where you are?’

  ‘We’re spread across four rooftops, all rebel soldiers here dead or wounded, city centre and TV station is now quiet. Main rebel group was north of you a few miles, but they’ve skirted around and are driving down the northwest coast road - we just strafed them by helo, men sniping at them now. Plan is to keep them from the airport, from the TV station, cut the city in half.’

  ‘Marines want some action…’

  ‘Have them fly in with door gunners, to hit the column just described, then to fly north and look for columns of green trucks. Make sure they don’t hit our positions.’

  ‘I’ll contact them now. And the main body of Marines?’

  ‘They should land at the docks next to the Presidential Palace and work north along the roads to the narrow point, and hold the area south of the narrow point.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Are the Deltas with you?’ I puzzled.

  ‘They were ordered to protect our embassy here.’

  ‘Ordered … by whom?’

  ‘Pentagon I guess.’

  Off the phone, I turned to Slider. ‘Fucking Pentagon re-assigned the Deltas, no call to me.’

  ‘Americans always do their own thing,’ Slider scoffed.

  Five minutes later the phone trilled. ‘Wilco, it’s Fishy, what’s happening down there?’

  ‘You in Mauritania?’

  ‘Yeah, but they said the war started early.’

  ‘It did, we’re in the city now. The airport has been secured by the Americans, so you can land there. Make sure the pilot checks with air traffic control about ground conditions first, eh.’

  ‘Fucking right.’ He hung up.

  Sat down, I enjoyed the chicken, soon a scream from Tomo. ‘Wilco, there’re fucking tanks coming!’

  I jumped up with Slider and we ran to the north wall, peering down the street and seeing small French armoured cars with 30mm fitted. ‘They’re just thirty mil, and I doubt they’d fire on these buildings.’

  ‘We got no RPG,’ Nicholson complained.

  ‘Nicholson, you’re pants,’ I told him.

  ‘What did I do?’

  ‘Those tyres are rubber, fuckwit.’

  ‘Ah…’

  Tomo, Nicholson and Swan made ready, all smirking, and loudly blasted away, two armoured cars easing to a curb and halting. Hatch open, a head exploded in a red mist, the man in charge of the vehicle behind just as stupid, a chest shot killing the poor chap.

  ‘APC!’ Nicholson shouted, and three blocks away came four APC around the corner, coming head on, north to south. The tyres were again rubber, but a tough rubber, and hard to hit from this angle.

  ‘All men this side,’ I called. ‘Aim at the driver’s hatch, it’s open. And ricochet is a bitch.’

  Slider aimed down and loosed off a round, to no effect. Swan fired, the front APC swerving and hitting cars before halting, blocking the road.

  A sergeant appeared from the rear, dead a second later. Another man appeared, and looked right at us, dead a moment later.

  ‘Did these boys go to school?’ Slider asked no one in particular. ‘Or was it home education on the farm?’

  The trailing APCs revved black smoke, mounted the pavement and drove around their stricken buddy, and came on, being fired at by the loyal soldiers still positioned outside the TV station.

  Peering right, I could see broken windows in the TV station almost level with us, black soldiers now seen firing down at the APC, but to no effect. Since these APC had no turret guns there was little they could do here save maybe ram the front doors of the TV station. That now seemed like a possibility.

  A minute later, and three APCs parked themselves below us, in the side street, not the main street of the TV station, and not in line of shot of the loyal soldiers.

  ‘Everyone, grenades, but time it! Drop them, don’t throw!’ Standing, I realised that I had knelt in soft melted tar on the roof, cursing a black sticky mess on my knee.

  Greenie ran in, his bag clanking, many hands soon full of grenades as we peered down. Slinging my rifle I pulled the pin, the rest of the guys copying, looks exchanged, soon a rear door opening below.

  ‘Stupid cunts,’ Slider let out.

  ‘Hold it…’ I cautioned, soon eight men out, knelt and lined up below.

  Second APC open, men out, they formed up in a half-decent covering pattern. Third door open.

  ‘Now!’

  We all dropped at the same time - many “pings” as the handles flew off and spring-strikers hit fuses, just as a shiny black face turned up to us. He saw the grenade coming right at him, and for reasons known only to himself he raised his rifle at the grenade just before the blast, soon a dozen overlapping blasts, men screaming below, weapons dropped, faces held, men stumbling around.

  Slider leant over the side and emptied his magazine into the pavement, the poor bastards below all getting a bit of rock to add to their misery.

  French words heard, and we glanced left just as two French lads strained to heave two concrete slabs over the side and down. We all peered down, one slab slicing off a wounded man’s leg, the second embedding itself corner-first into a wounded man’s back.

  ‘Nasty,’ Slider noted.

  The next two French soldiers pushed their slabs out further with a loud grunt, the APCs hit, a hell of a noise made, echoing off the buildings. A French soldier said, ‘You no share grenades, selfish English pigs.’

  ‘Guys,’ I called. ‘Share with the French next time, huh.’

  ‘Pah!’

  A blast, and part of the wall blew out and spewed cement across the roof, no one hit luckily, the French concrete throwers now on their stomachs. We peered down, and we were looking down the barrel of a 30mm aiming up.

  ‘Get back!’ I shouted, and ran, soon another section of wall smashed, debris raining down on us. Fortunately it was a big roof. ‘Snipers, go down two floors, find a window, kill that idiot, he must have an aiming hatch open.’

  The three of them ran off.

  Parker jogged over. ‘Sir, men on a rooftop with 105mm, black soldiers.’ He pointed northeast, beyond the TV station, and described the building, but I saw the men moving.

  ‘All of you, try and hit those men!’

  With the French knelt ready, we blasted away with some urgency, the first 105mm shell hitting the TV station and blowing out windows.

  ‘They ain’t there for us!’ Slider shouted over the noise of the outgoing. ‘They want to set the TV station alight!’

  I sat with my back to the wall and called the Cabinet Office as rounds cracked out. ‘It’s Wilco down in Guinea. The Prime Minister spoke to the Guinea President a while back, he needs to call him now and tell him to drive off south, south is safe, the building he’s in will be destroyed soon. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, got that.’

  I cut the call, knelt and peered out, the 105mm team behind a stairwell housing and not visible to us.

  ‘Wolf Murphy for Major Wilco, receiving over.’

  ‘This is Wilco, go ahead.’

  ‘We see the 105mm, sir, moving position now.’

  ‘Good work, Wilco out.’

  The TV station took four hits, one floor well alight, which begged the question as to how the interloper would broadcast his party political bullshit to the masses.

  Peering down, we could now see cars and vans being loaded, the President and his entourage loaded, and they drove south at speed, the streets quite empty for them – no traffic.

  ‘Now what?’ Slider asked as he knelt.

  ‘We wait nightfall, when they come en mass, or we get the man in charge before that. He must know we’ve cut the city and we hold the airport, so what’s he holding out for?’

  My phone trilled.

  ‘Wilco, it’s “B” Squadron’s good looking heroes. We’re down at the airport, getting re-fuelled. What’s our tasking?’

  ‘Same again, the coast road, then targets of opportunity. Fly north and around, see what columns are moving. President is heading down to his cosy palace, US Marines set to land, so I think the coup has been called off.’

  ‘OK, will do. I mean will-co.’

  I called Mister Morten back at the FOB, asking for the Brigadier. He handed over the phone and I detailed everything we’d done and what we knew.

  ‘So why is the coup leader not running away?’ the Brigadier finally asked.

  ‘He must think he can win, sir, some ace in the hole. Or he’s just plain stubborn. Can you call GL4 and update them, sir.’

  ‘Will do.’

  I called Colonel Mathews and gave a lengthy sitrep, and he had a map board ready, CIA men in this city getting out some intel, as well as staff from the US Embassy here using low-tech binoculars from private residences. One US Embassy official, a black, had driven around in a taxi and noted the action and the movements.

  Tinker came on as the sun hung low. ‘Wilco, we got signals intel at last, someone being indiscrete on an old sat phone with no encryption. The colonel in charge of the coup is about ten miles northeast of the airport, massing his men.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Six thousand.’

  ‘Ah, in which case we’d need some help, or we run away. Americans at the airport are vulnerable as well. Keep the reports coming.’

  I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, we have some choices to make. We saved the sitting president, he’s back in his palace by now, we shot up many of the rebels in the city centre, we got control of the airport and half the city, but the rebel colonel is alive and well, ten miles northeast of the airport and surrounded by six thousand men. Your men at the airport are vulnerable, so standby to extract them, sir.’

  ‘I have a carrier getting close, not close enough yet, fixed wing available.’

  ‘Not much good dropping bombs on busy city streets, sir, we’d need a target of opportunity in an open area.’

  ‘Of course, but if they’re bunched up we can hit them. Fixed wing should be in range before dawn.’

  ‘Let me have a look at the map and have a think, sir.’

  I did have a look at the map, but no great ideas were coming to mind. The main road, the N1, ran past the airport and northeast, and the airport was vulnerable to attack from that road.

  ‘Why ain’t the President here doing anything?’ Slider complained.

  I looked up at the tall TV aerials, the fire out in the building, smoke wafting. ‘Slider, you’re a genius.’

  ‘What did I do?’ he puzzled as I took out my phone and called SIS.

  ‘Duty Officer.’

  ‘It’s Wilco down in sunny Guinea. I need you to get hold of the President here and ask him to make a broadcast to citizens to come out onto the streets near the airport and to block the roads with cars and trucks, to stop the coup colonel taking power. Do that fast please.’

  Ten minutes later David Finch was on. ‘Wilco, the Prime Minister just spoke to the President down there, the man now back safe in his palace, and the President will make a broadcast via telephone. But what’s the hope here?’

  ‘There are only three roads the rebels could use, tight city streets, so they could be blocked, to buy us some time to get men and kit in place. Airport is vulnerable, forty Americans against six thousand rebels.’

  ‘I understand the Americans have helicopters available for extraction, now some small boats at the shoreline.’

  ‘That helps, but they need heavy weapons.’

  The two Pumas thundered past and north, men seen in the doorways.

  ‘Got to go.’ I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, your helo carrier offshore, does it have any heavy weapons for the Marines?’

  ‘Sure. They got fifty cal machineguns, mortars, 66mm I reckon.’

  ‘Need to fly it to the airport fast, your men there are vulnerable. Up the road from the airport is the main rebel army, set to drive south, just a fence to keep them out the airport.’

  ‘I’ll get that sorted now, but we’re ready to extract the men if need be.’

  I called back Major Morgensen. ‘It’s Wilco. Can you describe the airport layout and the road west of you?’

  ‘I’m up on the roof, most of the guys are. The road is say four hundred yards from here, good fence then a ditch full of shit green water, wide enough to slow up a man approaching. Behind us is mud and water, so no approach there. From the north comes the fence and a ditch, more like a small estuary up there, the first soft spot being the road here in front of me, the access road, four lanes wide. South of that the ditch and the fence goes on then stops.’

  ‘They have APC, light tanks, so they could take that road easily enough. I’ve asked for heavy weapons for you, fifty cal and mortars, and the Marines should bring them out to you soon.’

  ‘Hold on.’ He came back on with, ‘Airport workers are reporting that the sitting president is calling for a popular uprising of the city people.’

  ‘Yeah, we gave him a nudge, to block the streets. If cars are set alight then the rebel army is going nowhere fast. Let me know if you see a large column of trucks moving south past you. Wilco out.’

  The sun started to dip, the light fading, and now our advantage would be lost unless the street lights remained on. I turned to Slider. ‘I don’t want to be up here at night if the massed army is creeping through the streets.’

  ‘We’re spread thin,’ he agreed.

  I sighed. ‘After dark we move south to the choke point, we just can’t hold this line with this many men.’

  ‘Swifty for Wilco.’

  I stood tall. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Men out the trucks and sneaking closer, looks like they’re heading for where you are and that TV building.’

  ‘All teams this is Wilco, standby to withdraw south after dark, have men at street level now, don’t get trapped.’

  ‘How far is that choke point?’ Slider asked, peering south.

  ‘Two mile jog.’

  Tomo, Nicholson and Swan popped out the stairwell, ran over and knelt. ‘We got the armoured car thing, fuck all else to see now.’

  ‘Go to the west side, aim northwest, look for irregulars sneaking this way.’

  They ran around the stairwell building, Tomo grabbing the huge bra and examining it.

  Helicopters could be heard, then seen out over the water east, Sea Hawks heading to and from the airport, some setting down at the docks to the south of us.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Sergeant Katowsky, Seals, we were at the FOB, sir, now at the President’s place south of you, Marines here, so this here unelected President must be feeling all warm and loved right about now.’

  ‘Keep him safe, but if there are enough men then get to the choke point north a mile, you’ll see a narrowing of the peninsula. Hold that position, but get some heavy weapons.’

  ‘Marines have M60 and some 66mm, so we’ll drag those boys along.’

  ‘We’ll join you there in an hour, check your fire. Wilco out.’

  ‘Chinook, Wilco, receiving?’

  I eased up and peered around. ‘Wilco here.’

  ‘Chinook, Wilco, we got the rest of your men, where we landing them?’

  ‘Same rooftop please.’ Now I could see the Chinooks on approach, soon a loud announcement of their arrival to the worried city folk below, a roar overhead and a blast of av-gas scented wind, and Moran led the men out, soon knelt against the wall, a platoon of French with them, plus Robby’s men – but only six of them.

  The second Chinook nudged in on the far side of the roof, thirty French 1st Battalion out, many with long sniper rifles, plus Sasha’s team. I had no idea where the Pathfinders were.