I could still hear the odd crack on the breeze, and walking to the north side I peered east, another scene of destruction, a few civvies seen pushing a car, dogs barking at nothing in particular.

  ‘RPG!’ came an American accent and I dived down, Nicholson and Swan copying that action, and our building shook.

  I stood, and transmitted, ‘This is Major Wilco, to whoever fired that RPG. I called tea break, and we have fifteen minutes left!’

  As my lot laughed loudly, Mitch came on with, ‘To the man firing the RPG, the British Army has a long tradition of taking tea breaks during a battle, a ritual started in India. They stopped for tea during the D-Day landings.’

  ‘Fuck off, Yank,’ Came from Rizzo.

  I sat with Moran and Ginger, back to the wall, and enjoyed the quiet, the relative quiet.

  ‘So what’ll they do next?’ Moran idly enquired, legs crossed, chocolate bar in hand.

  ‘If I was them I’d skirt around us and have at the President.’

  ‘They can’t use boats, US Navy there,’ Moran quietly noted. ‘And the choke point is covered.’

  Half an hour later I stood, stretching for a minute, a peek down at the streets in turn, but there was a real absence of rebel soldiers. I called GL4 and gave an update in detail, to be passed on to the Brigadier and others.

  Tinker called me back five minutes later. ‘We’re getting reports that the coup leader has fled north.’

  ‘Good, that’ll be an end to this madness.’ I transmitted, ‘All teams this is Wilco, we’re getting reports that the coup leader has fucked off north, so the fighting may stop, at least the orders to send men down here should stop.’

  I called Major Morgensen. ‘We’re getting reports that the coup leader has fled north.’

  ‘Ah, well that should be an end to it then. Gone quiet here, just the odd vehicle full of angry disaffected citizens wanting to vent some anger. When my sergeant stopped them at the airport gate he told them they couldn’t come in unless they had plane tickets.’ I smiled widely. ‘And they paused and considered that, then drove off.’

  ‘Did embassy staff leave?’

  ‘Not yet, just some families … is the answer. We’ve had standby to evacuate every ten minutes all day so far, damned annoying.’

  ‘We’ve stopped for lunch, quiet here. Wilco out.’ I faced my team and waved over Greenie from the stairwell. ‘Up at the airport, a jeep packed with heavily armed men approached the airport gate, so a Greenie sergeant stopped them and told them they couldn’t come in unless they had a plane ticket.’

  Laughter filled the air.

  I faced Greenie as he grinned. ‘It’s not just us Brits that are completely fucking mad.’

  The screech built, faces lifted, four F18s tearing by.

  ‘What they bombing now?’ Rizzo asked, worried.

  ‘No more bombing, they’re flying low to scare the rebels.’

  ‘They scare me,’ Rizzo grumbled.

  The two Chinooks thundered past, followed by no less than nine Sea Hawks, and any rebels left down there and undecided on what to do would be legging it away by now, thinking the entire American Army was landing.

  Half an hour later my phone trilled.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Haines,’ came a frantic voice, screams heard in the background.

  I jumped up, faces turning towards me. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Two American F18s clipped each other, one crashed.’

  ‘Did the pilot eject in time?’

  ‘Yeah, he was on the ground and with us in seconds, but Wilco, the F18 hit the Presidential Palace.’

  ‘It hit the fucking Palace!’

  ‘Hit on the ground level at speed, blew out the ground level, flames everywhere, then the top level collapsed down. Wilco, there are no survivors!’

  ‘Who … who was in the building?’

  ‘The President, his family, his military staff, his cabinet, a dozen politicians…’

  ‘Jesus. What about our people?’

  ‘I was in there with Morten ten minutes ago, we had just left. Our men are on guard in the street, just black guards inside save four Marines.’

  ‘The Marines were inside?’

  ‘Yes,’ he reluctantly stated.

  ‘Any other white faces?’

  ‘I didn’t see any when I left.’

  ‘Is Morten there?’

  ‘Hold on.’

  ‘Wilco?’ came Morten’s voice.

  ‘Is there any chance that survivors could be brought out the rubble?’

  ‘No, none, that’s for certain. Building had a lot of glass, looked like an old colonial building, wood and some brick.’

  ‘Jesus. Wounded nearby?’

  ‘A few splinters, some burns, nothing serious. Where does this leave us?’

  ‘Leaves us in the shit. I’ll get back to you.’

  Everyone had stood, now waiting, and they could see my look. I heaved a sigh. ‘We’re in the shit, big time. Two F18s clipped each other, one crashed – right into the Presidential Palace, and it wiped out the President and his family, all the senior staff. There’s no one left to run the fucking country.’

  Wide-eyed, they exchanged looks

  ‘So … what do we do now?’ Slider asked. ‘We came here to protect that twat, no he’s dead and buried!’

  I held up a flat palm. ‘I’ll call London and … then we see.’

  ‘Be anarchy,’ Moran told me. ‘Faction against faction, us lot in the middle!’

  I pointed at Liban. ‘Update Paris.’ He stepped away, phone out. I also stepped away, and called SIS as the debate raged behind me.

  ‘Duty Officer.’

  ‘This is Wilco down on Guinea. Emergency report, to be sent to all interested parties. Two American F18 jets collided, one crashed into the Presidential Palace -’

  ‘What!’

  ‘The President, and all his senior staff and aides are dead, and there’s no one left to run the country -’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Update the Cabinet Office, I need a decision quickly – do we stay or go.’

  I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, it’s Wilco.’

  ‘Anything happening on the ground?’

  ‘Just your career going quickly down the pan, sir.’

  ‘What? What the hell do you mean, did they bomb civilians?’

  ‘Not quite. Two of your F18s clipped each other, one pilot ejecting safely, but his plane hit the Presidential Palace -’

  ‘It crashed? Into the President’s residence?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and it killed the President and all his senior staff, and his family, no one left to run the country. Plus four of your Marines.’

  ‘Oh … mother of fucking …’

  ‘I’ve asked London for a decision on whether we stay or go, because civil war is what comes next, sir. Talk to the Pentagon and get back to me, sir. Wilco out.’

  Peering over the side, a sigh issued, I saw four people carrying an old lady on a stretcher. When they struggled, two bystanders rushed over and assisted. ‘The good Samaritans,’ I let out.

  The old back guy with the CB radio was still here, still jabbering away, giving me an idea. I stood staring at him for a minute then stepped over to him. ‘There has been some news.’ He was all ears. ‘The coup leader, the colonel, has fled to the north and his soldiers are leaving the city.’

  ‘That is good news, yes.’

  ‘But also, the current President has been killed.’

  ‘That is also good news,’ he said with a crooked smile, badly in need of a dentist.

  ‘Can you … spread that news and ask that your friends tell their neighbours as well.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I tell many people.’ And he did, he started jabbering away.

  As I walked away my smile was as crooked as the old man’s.

  ‘What have you done?’ Moran asked, now suspicious.

  ‘I’m making use of the grapevine.’ I transmitted, ‘All teams, standby for an announcement, get your ears on. All teams, standby.’ I waited, and heaved a breath, everyone staring my way. ‘Wilco to all teams, an American Navy F18 jet has crashed in the south, but it hit the Presidential Palace, so the current president, his Army chiefs and all his cabinet members have been killed, and we also lost four US Marines killed.

  ‘This leaves us in the odd situation of no one to run the country, no clear successor, the coup leader having fled north. The good thing is that the rebels are in disarray and we may see fewer civilians killed and wounded. We wait on orders from London, Paris and Washington as to what we do here. In the meantime, stay sharp all of you. Swifty, bring your men back here. “A” Squadron, you hear me?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Come back to this building.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Mitch, you hear me?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Go and inform the TV station manager and the broadcasters, they have a right to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Be fucking civil war by sundown!’

  ‘Maybe not, maybe the people here are better than we think they are, and maybe they’ll realise that they need each other, and that cooperating is better than fighting. And maybe they’ll find a leader who is less corrupt, one that actually cares about his people. We wait and see.’

  Rizzo approached with Stretch. ‘So what we doing?’ Rizzo asked.

  ‘Waiting on London, maybe a helicopter to the airport or back to Sierra Leone.’

  ‘Safer there than here!’ Stretch noted.

  Men sat around with brews in hand, some closed their eyes, others chatted in small groups after Swifty’s Lone Wolves and the Regulars had joined us, but half an hour later I was at the south wall when music was heard, and I could see people in the street below, way more than there had been.

  At the east wall Smitty was sat taking a break, but rubbing his wrist.

  ‘You OK?’ I casually asked as I stood over him.

  ‘Wrist is playing up, Boss, but I don’t recall straining it.’

  ‘Heavy rifle, regular use, repetitive strain injury, RSI – they creep up on you. Bind it, take it easy, ice on it for ten minutes at a time then a break of an hour, and back at base no push-ups or weight training for a month.’

  ‘A month?’

  ‘Tendons take time to heal. If you don’t give it that time it will be a pain for years to come, trust me. They take ages to heal, so let it heal up.’

  ‘I like my weight training, Boss.’

  ‘And that’s probably where you strained it. What do you weigh now?’

  ‘Fifteen stone.’

  ‘Fat fucker.’ He laughed. ‘What did you weigh when you joined us?’

  ‘Eleven and a half.’

  ‘You’ve come a long way, from an awkward skinny young soldier.’

  ‘I have, and my family still look at me twice when I go home. Couple of weeks ago I was back, clobbered my brother -’

  ‘What did you hit your brother for?’

  ‘Me and him been at it for years. He was a year older, always picking on me, and he did Karate and King-Fu when he was young, but now I can take him easily. And when I went back I went into the local pub, just a t-shirt, and some louts I knew in school wanted a go, so I invited them outside, six of them, and pasted them.’

  ‘Don’t get arrested, I’d have to bail you out,’ I teased.

  ‘Well, it’s like Rocko says, if you’re afraid of a couple of idiots in a pub, what’ll you be like when they’re enemy soldiers coming at you.’

  ‘True, very true, and I was never known for walking away from a fight.’

  ‘So there you go, Boss, I emulate you,’ he said with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Just don’t get the scars,’ I quipped.

  I walked to the southwest corner, Robby and Parker stood staring.

  Parker said, pointing, ‘Party started up a few minutes ago.’

  Robby noted, ‘I guess that President twat was not that popular.’

  ‘Doesn’t look that way. The old boy with the CB radio was happy to learn of the President’s demise.’

  ‘Wilco!’

  I turned, three women appearing at the stairwell, trays in hand. They handed fried chicken to the lads, no lack of interest from the team. Then a crate of beer appeared, but I warned the men off drinking any yet.

  Moran noted with a smirk, ‘They’re happy their President is dead. We should have shot him, not protected him.’

  ‘We had our orders,’ I noted, trying some of the chicken.

  ‘Crab for Wilco.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘There’s people coming up to the roof, playing music and dancing.’

  ‘Group your men together in one place, standby to move out. French team at the building site, join the other French.’

  Liban moved past me, a nod issued, and went to join his men northeast.

  I called Haines, and got through to Morten. ‘I want you to get a chopper and to get here with your medics, and your tents, for a little hearts and minds. Shooting has stopped, peace is breaking out. Fast as you can, and bring all the cash you can get.’

  I grabbed Parker, and we clattered down the stairwell and into the street, people waving at us. We waved back and smiled. At the hardware store I entered, the lock having been shot off by Slider. Three local men stood wary of us behind the counter.

  I told them, ‘We took some of your tools, they are up on the roof, you can collect them.’ I handed over $500. ‘And this is for the broken door.’

  They stared wide-eyed at the money, more than they made in a month I was sure.

  ‘Thank you, thank you. Who be you?’

  ‘We’re the British Empire, Queen Victoria sent us, we came to stop the fighting. It’s safe now.’

  Back on the street, kids ran to us, grabbing our hands and jabbering away. Up on the roof a party was in progress, all my lot with rifles slung and greasy chicken in mouths – and greasy chicken on cheeks.

  Glancing down at the TV station I saw people in nice shirts and suits coming and going, but also a few women dancing.

  ‘Wilco for Mitch, have the Marines get to the front entrance, rifles slung, and reassure the public that they’re safe, start the clean-up process.’

  David Finch called. ‘Just came from the COBRA meeting, and we have a candidate in mind for President, a general who’s in hospital in Ghana, a moderate, pro-western, not so blood thirsty or corrupt by all accounts. French and Americans have agreed to support him.’

  ‘Is he well enough to travel?’

  ‘Yes, he only had a haemorrhoid operation.’

  ‘Well let’s hope he doesn’t turn out to be a pain in the arse then, eh.’

  I could hear the sigh. ‘That’s already gone around the office, so please – stick to shooting people.’

  I laughed. ‘What are my orders?’

  ‘Stay put for now, keep the peace.’

  ‘I asked for medics, a little hearts and minds.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea, yes.’

  Tinker called next. ‘Some odd news. First, that TV station has broadcast the news, so everyone in Guinea knows what’s been happening, and second – a man in that TV station recorded all your radio messages, and transcribed them, they’re being discussed live on TV.’

  I frowned heavily. ‘Well … I … don’t think I said anything compromising, I’m careful on the radio, maybe some bad language. Are we in trouble?’

  ‘Not so far, they listed the orders not to fire on civilians - and played your messages. They’re not attacking you, rather using you as an example, you know, soldiers don’t shoot civilians.’

  ‘Ha! Around here the soldiers hack up civilians with machetes.’

  ‘Hence the comparison.’

  ‘And the coup leader?’

  ‘I almost forget – he was shot by one of his captains.’

  ‘So I don’t need to go after him. Fine.’

  A Sea Hawk loudly made its presence felt, civilians and soldiers alike on the rooftop making space, and once down I assisted Morten’s medics down, many large green kit bags offloaded, plus two tents.

  When the Sea Hawk had departed, the noise level back to normal – the medics puzzling our very odd tangled-metal bridge, I sent Morten to the street in front of the TV station, assigning six veteran Wolves to protect them – our two corpsmen sent along.

  The local inhabitants soon saw a large green tent with red crosses on a white background, and they did not need a nudge; we had twenty wounded in five minutes, the word spreading like wildfire – like a CB radio broadcast.

  ‘Parker, Greenie, go do some first aid!’ I shouted. I transmitted, ‘Wilco for Mitch, I want any Seals that are good with first aid down on the street.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘Major Liban, I want your medics down on the street.’

  ‘OK, we send them.’

  ‘Wilco for Crab.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I want your men covering the street in front of the TV station, looking for armed men causing trouble, but be damned careful about hitting civilians.’

  ‘Roger that. But we got music in our ears up here!’

  I faced Moran. ‘Get to Morten, get the money he has, and tell him to hand some dollars to every wounded civvy, then go find people whose apartments were damaged and hand them some money for food, take a few men and be careful.’

  ‘We doing the full-on hearts and mind bit?’

  ‘Why not, we need them on our side and not shooting at us, and London has a new man for the President’s job, currently in Ghana and having his piles removed.’

  ‘Ouch,’ Moran noted with a grin. ‘He’ll be stood up a lot then, walking around and greeting the masses – till they shoot him.’

  I tapped him on the shoulder as he called names and headed down.

  With the sun low I grabbed Swifty and his remaining Wolves and we headed down, soon to the tents – and finding a busy pavement triage area. Seeing the local TV cameras we donned facemasks, but that worried the local women a little. Still, I made sure that rifles were slung as I approached Morten.

  He recognised me, even with my facemask on. ‘We’ve patched up twenty people already, more queued up, some serious burns and shrapnel, some gunshot wounds from yesterday – and we’re about to deliver a baby.’