‘Civil war here could kick off any time. Not our fault.’

  ‘Correct. Not our fault, but blame is set by the media, remember that.’

  Mouri fetched more chicken for us, paid for by my US dollars, and most of the lads got some tasty chicken. Not to be outdone, Greenie sent out his spy kids and they came back with kebabs and tins of Fanta, plus one large bag of apples.

  The gunfire eased, little happening now, so I told men to rest and to set up stag rotations.

  An hour later, jackets on as it cooled quickly, we heard automatic fire. Peering over the side we could see an enterprising group of civvy men raiding what looked like a jewellery shop.

  ‘Wound them,’ I ordered, and I peppered their planned getaway car, so they would be going nowhere fast as their ride started to steam.

  The would-be robbers were hit in the foot and leg, soon four men rolling around or crawling away.

  I transmitted, ‘This is Wilco to all teams. Law and order is breaking down, and that affects us and our mission here – so wound any criminals, or scare them off, don’t kill them.’

  Ten minutes later I heard the shouts and looked over the wall just in time to see a mounted fifty cal get pounded, the man operating the machinegun sent flying, driver and passenger killed as the windscreen turned white.

  ‘They looked like civvies!’ Moran warned.

  I shouted, ‘Any civvy with a fifty cal – kill the fucker!’

  Casper walked over. ‘There are APC below, we use them?’

  ‘We’re not going anywhere, we want to cut the city in half.’

  ‘Then we block the road with them, I pull the fuses and keep them.’

  ‘Yes, do so.’

  He led the Russian-speaking team off.

  I transmitted, ‘This is Wilco, we’re going to re-position the APC, no one shoot at our men.’ I walked to the north side and peered down. Casper ran out and opened the door of the first APC – a glance at the blood and bodies on the pavement, soon inside as Sasha headed for the second APC. Engines soon growled, black smoke belching, and Casper pulled away, a city block driven before he swung the APC across the centre of the road, in front of the mounted fifty cal.

  Out the APC, he had a nose at the fifty cal, pulled out bodies, jumped in and drove it down to us.

  A radio call from “B” Squadron, and they asked if the mounted fifty cal could go to the French, the building the French were in having ramps for construction materials.

  Casper and a second man mounted up, pulled around in a circle and sped west as we peered down, and three blocks over he drove into a building site. We caught a glimpse of headlights on the first floor, then the second.

  He jogged back with his buddy ten minutes later.

  Casper appeared in the stairwell, out of breath. ‘Three roads blocked.’

  ‘Good work, you’ve earned yourselves some chicken.’

  ‘You ate all the chicken!’

  ‘Some scraps left.’

  He swore in Russian as his team appeared, all sweaty now. A loud echoing rat-a-tat-tat, and the French 1st Battalion were hammering someone down near the coast road, but we could see little from where we were.

  Half an hour later, a quieter half hour, and Morgensen was on. ‘Wilco, we’re in contact with that column, dropping mortars on them now, they’re a mile up the road but in view, edge of the airfield. They’ve stopped, not least because we landed a nice tight group of mortars on them.’

  ‘Excellent. Let me know if they flank you, or if you see them using other roads and heading down here.’

  ‘Roads all seem to be blocked, something of a riot going on, we even had a few men with machetes approach the airport.’

  ‘What did you do to those men?’ I asked, concerned.

  ‘We fired warning shots.’

  ‘We’ve killed armed civilians here, but they were armed with a mounted fifty cal.’

  ‘If they know how to use a fifty cal then they’re no civilians, they’re soldiers in jeans.’

  ‘Yes, probably, and I’ve warned my men about civilian deaths, but there are people looting below so we’re scaring them off, we don’t need a destroyed city around us.’

  ‘From where I’m stood, a mile of tin shacks are ablaze, be nothing left come morning, so they’ll start over with some new housing perhaps.’

  ‘Ha! Like the President here would spend the money. He’ll be asking your government for a loan! Wilco out.’

  When my phone trilled it was Haines. ‘Where are you?’ I asked him.

  ‘Embassy Row, south of you, roving patrols, some idiots with machetes scared off, a few killed.’

  ‘Killed?’

  ‘They stopped an embassy car, flashed a pistol, we killed them.’

  ‘OK, but be careful with civvy deaths here, real fucking careful.’

  ‘If a big black man comes at me with a machete - I shoot, not stand smiling nicely.’

  ‘Yes, but keep in mind the enquiry afterwards -’

  ‘Spoke to my boss and the Air Commodore, and we have rules of engagement laid out, which includes self-defence. How is it up there?’

  ‘Mostly civvies with guns now, some looting, but we’re a large force, we got the high ground, we stopped some APC, saved the President earlier, waiting the main rebel force but they’re stuck up near the airport, road blocked.’

  ‘And if they get through?’

  ‘You’ll have six thousand men down on you.’

  ‘We’d run away and swim for it. Oh, someone asked if the road between here and the airport was safe.’

  ‘Fuck no, warn off everyone from using it. Around here it’s quiet enough if you have an armed escort, around the airport it’s hell on earth, a full-on uprising, buildings on fire. Any extraction of embassy staff must be by helo.’

  ‘I’ll let them know.’

  David Finch came on fifteen minutes later. ‘Wilco, that road to the airport is blocked?’

  ‘Well fucking blocked, you’d need a tank to get through.’

  ‘We’re all at our desks, embassy staff an issue, as well as our interests in Guinea. We were planning an airlift to the airport, but the Americans at the airport are in contact with the rebels.’

  ‘Last time I spoke to the American major there he reported no incoming fire from the rebels.’

  ‘OK, I’ll check with them. How is it where you are?’

  ‘Quiet enough, save the looters below, but we wound them or scare them off.’

  ‘No factional fighting there?’

  ‘None, it’s quiet. All the hassle is in the slums up west of the airport.’

  ‘We have a man north of you, getting reports out, black local lad of some use.’

  ‘I have my spies as well.’

  With David gone, I called back Sergeant Tobo. ‘It’s Major Wilco.’

  ‘Ah, sir, it has gone quiet here.’

  ‘Where are you exactly?’

  ‘From the TV station, say … six blocks north and three west. My brother’s apartment looks west, sir, and now his son watches the roads.’

  ‘What have you heard about the uprising?’

  ‘Ah, not good, many think the President has left the country, and many want to fight.’

  ‘Your family safe?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And the rest of your team?’

  ‘They call me from the homes and houses, sir, some close to the north and watching the fighting outside, but the fighting not be soldiers, sir.’

  ‘I understand, look after your family, Wilco out.’

  ‘What was that?’ Moran’s dark outline asked.

  ‘Lots of fighting north of us, all housewives and no rebels.’

  ‘So what are the rebels doing, sat playing cards?’

  ‘Roads are blocked, so they’re screwed till dawn - and some cleared roads.’

  ‘Wilco!’ Tomo called, and Moran and I jogged over. He pointed, we looked, and a man and woman in an apartment were hard at it, a two-man film crew getting the action.

  ‘Why make porn?’ Moran scoffed. ‘Just buy it from the States.’

  ‘They must think they have a market,’ I noted. I pointed at the street. ‘What’s that guy doing?’

  Nicholson aimed down with his sights. ‘He has an earpiece radio, pistol bulge.’

  ‘Take some toes off his foot,’ I ordered.

  Nicholson blasted out a round, the man falling over.

  ‘Why not kill him?’ Moran queried.

  ‘Could be a local cop, or someone’s intel man.’

  ‘Could be the coup leader’s intel man,’ Moran protested.

  ‘Go get him then, we’ll have a chat.’

  Moran called names and ran to the stairwell. They found our man on his stomach and crawling, a good kick delivered, pistol liberated, radio liberated, and they dragged him back.

  Near the stairwell they plonked him down, the man in agony, many toes missing, a big hole in his boot.

  I told them, ‘Take his shoes off, burn his feet.’

  ‘Wait,’ came in reasonable English.

  ‘Who are you!’ Moran demanded, grabbing the man by the throat.

  ‘I work for General Kibili.’

  ‘Is he loyal to the President?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s sided with the rebel colonel?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Moran shouted. ‘So why did he send you?’

  ‘He wants to kill the President, yes, but he also want to kill the colonel,’ the man strained out.

  ‘What a fucked-up place,’ Moran let out.

  ‘What were you doing here?’ I asked.

  ‘We try to get into the TV station, so when someone make an address tomorrow we kill them.’

  ‘There are other men nearby?’ Moran asked.

  ‘Yes,’ came back in a strained whisper.

  ‘How are they armed?’ I asked.

  ‘Pistols and grenades.’

  ‘And dressed like you, not in uniform?’ I pressed.

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  I faced Casper’s team. ‘Drop him over the side.’

  As the man pleaded, Casper and his team dragged him, lifted the man up high and launched him into the south street.

  ‘Shit,’ came from Sasha as he peered down.

  We stepped closer and looked down. The man had landed on a car roof and was still alive and moving.

  Casper aimed down, and spread brains all over the windscreen. A man ran out, his hands in the air when he saw the state of his car. We all moved back from the edge.

  ‘Admit nothing,’ I suggested. ‘Body, what body.’

  Sasha had the radio. ‘I listen in, we get the others maybe.’

  I called SIS London. ‘It’s Wilco in Guinea, update all interested parties, a General Kibili is plotting to kill the President and the rebel leader, he wants power himself.’

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ came down the phone.

  ‘Wilco out.’

  Half an hour later, as many sat against the walls, David Finch was back on.

  ‘Working late, Boss?’

  ‘Be at it all night. We’ve checked out General Kibili, and he’s missing. Most of the senior government staff are in the Presidential Palace or nearby, they live nearby, but the good general is … elsewhere. President is now aware of the plot.’

  ‘And how many more of his staff want his job, and will he live till morning?’

  ‘We have US Marines around him, not trusting his own bodyguards.’

  ‘Sounds like a sensible approach, keep the old guy alive longer.’

  ‘Quiet where you are?’

  ‘Yes, gone dead quiet, the populace sat in watching the soaps.’

  ‘Swifty for Wilco,’ came ten minutes later.

  I stood tall. ‘Go head.’

  ‘We can see a grouping of soldiers, south a few blocks, in some office building, lights on, but there’s senior officers and police there, and they look like non-rebels.’

  ‘I’ll make some calls. Can you see what’s written on the building?’

  ‘Costa Fishing. And plumbing.’

  ‘Fishing and plumbing? Is that finishing and plumbing?’

  ‘Hang on, yeah.’

  ‘Dope.’

  Ginger insisted, ‘It’s plumbing, wiring … then finishing!’

  I called David Finch as the team debated house finishing techniques. ‘Boss, there are senior army officers meeting for a chin-wag just southwest of my position, a few blocks over, at a business called Costa Finishing and Plumbing. Check it out fast, it could be yet another pretender to the throne.’

  ‘There should be no senior staff out there, and the loyal army is all around the Presidential Palace. I’d say they were hostile.’

  ‘Check first, please.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you.’

  I transmitted, ‘French units, Lieutenant Colonel Liban.’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘I want some RPGs over here fast.’

  ‘We ‘av some yes, sending men now.’

  ‘And the mounted fifty cal driven here. I’ll send men to meet it. Sasha, your team, go get that fifty cal, meet us below. Parker, Greenie, stay here and watch all four directions.’ The lads laughed. ‘Rest of you, on me. Parker, we’ll be back in half an hour or so.’

  ‘Right, Boss.’

  In the stairwell we passed disinterested residents, kids seeing us and running off smiling, and at ground level we checked the quiet street, soon hearing boots as two French lads brought RPG launchers and two heavy bags of heads.

  I told them, ‘You come with us,’ and I led the team off west, waiting a mounted fifty cal. That jeep appeared a few minutes later – windscreen now missing, speeding towards us and on, waiting at the junction.

  At a fast walk I led the teams three blocks over, two south, then further west as I looked for Costa Finishing and Plumbing, soon seeing a bright blue facia two blocks away as local residents scampered away. I double-backed around, and we ducked into a half-built building, the lads hidden, the jeep parked – and looking very conspicuous.

  Up on a wall, I peered through my sights, seeing a sweaty-faced four-star general sat chatting to twenty army officers and NCOs, senior police staff with them.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s David, and that business is linked to a police chief who’s gone missing, suspected of being friends with General Kibili.’

  ‘There’s a four star general sat right in front of me.’

  ‘Well, he shouldn’t be there, they’re all under orders to be back at the Presidential Palace.’

  ‘This could go badly wrong…’

  ‘Well, you’re there to keep the President alive, and those men are plotting to kill him.’

  ‘We can’t be 100% sure of that. They may just want to form a new political party, free and fair elections.’

  ‘The sitting President would never allow that.’

  ‘And here we are, supporting a tin-pot dictator, us democracy loving British...’

  ‘You know how it works, so … do what you think is best in the situation.’

  ‘I think Casper and Petrov will get the blame, I saw a camera.’

  ‘That would be acceptable.’

  Phone down, I transmitted, ‘Facemasks and gloves on, don’t be seen or identified, no talking unless necessary. Sasha, your team to shout in Russian. Casper, at the front – after you pound that building with the fifty cal. And Casper, find a wounded man that will live - and talk in Russian. Standby to attack.’

  Off the radio I said, ‘Moran, around to the right and block the street. Slider, get up high here and snipe down, snipers here. Nicholson, get the general in there, Tomo break the glass.’

  Men rushed off, the jeep started and moved around ready. I had just clipped on my silencer when four soldiers came around the corner chatting quietly. I hit two mid-section, someone else hitting the final two soldiers.

  ‘We’re committed,’ I transmitted. ‘Go, now!’

  The jeep revved and sped down the street, stopping at the corner, soon a hell of a racket created by the deafening rat-at-tat-tat, glass shattering. I ran after it, rounds cracking out from above, and on the corner I emptied my magazine into the building’s glass front, soon swinging left and hitting cars when I noticed black soldiers sat in those cars.

  Windscreens turned white as I reloaded, now a hell of a racket disturbing local residents, and I waved Casper down and forwards, pointing at the camera. He walked brazenly forwards firing from the hip, a pause under the camera for three seconds, stepping inside and through the shattered window glass as his team followed on.

  ‘It’s Nicholson, and the general is dead, rest are down, some hiding.’

  In Russian I shouted, ‘Finish them off!’ On the radio I transmitted, ‘Withdraw, covering fire, wait for our men who’re inside.’

  I tucked myself into a dark corner with Moran, people staring down at us from apartments above, Casper and his team finally running out. He handed me a sat phone.

  ‘Ah, good,’ I commended as I led them off at the jog.

  ‘What we do with these?’ the French complained about their heavy RPGs.

  ‘Fire them, quick, two rounds, rest go back to Liban.’

  They knelt, got ready as we walked away, and blasted into the shop front, leaving the place shrouded in smoke. They ran to catch up with us, and we checked the angles as we moved back towards the TV tower, my navigational aid.

  Casper came jogging up.

  ‘You left the fifty cal?’ I asked.

  ‘No ammo,’ he noted.

  ‘You spoke to someone?’

  ‘Yes. I told him: Petrov says hello.’

  ‘Some day you’ll get me into trouble,’ I quipped, his team laughing.

  Back up on the roof we greeted Parker and Greenie.

  ‘We heard the action,’ Greenie noted. ‘Couldn’t see it.’

  I transmitted, ‘Wilco to all teams, set a stag and get some kip.’ I called David Finch. ‘Still awake?’

  ‘Not that late here.’

  ‘The four star general and his followers had their meeting rudely interrupted, and will not be bothering anyone, ever again.’

  ‘Good to know.’

  ‘Wilco out.’

  I called SIS on the borrowed sat phone. ‘This is Wilco in Guinea, trace this phone number, fast as you can please, all contacts, report to David Finch.’