Operation: Sharp Angel (Shepherd Security #17)

Alpha

D river David Bloom had the side door open on his truck.

He loved working for UPS on days this beautiful.

It had been a warm spring, for which he was grateful.

He had his normal customers on his route, including dogs for whom he carried Milk-Bone treats.

The DeSoto family received few packages from him, though as he drove through the neighborhood, he often saw Amazon deliveries on the front porch, which was recessed from the walkway, giving it a private feel, as many of the homes in this subdivision had.

He took hold of the flat envelope and exited his truck.

He rang the bell and waited a moment as the package required a signature.

After a good thirty seconds, he peered in through the narrow pane of glass that ran the length of the door to the right of it.

His gaze landed on the still figure that lay just past the entry.

Beyond that downed figure, the wall had a large splatter of what he was sure was blood.

He knew the man was dead.

He backed away and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

He dialed 9-1-1.

***

Shepherd Security Operator, Marine Raider Carter ‘Moe’ Tessman, focused through his EOTech holographic sights, which were mounted to his M4 carbine, at the target just under two-hundred yards away.

The target was a group of four men who were gathered in front of an open hangar door at a little, rarely used airfield in the middle of bumble-fuck nowhere Texas way off of TX-163.

Just behind them lay the Cessna 172 Skyhawk that had landed within the last fifteen minutes and the black Ford Pickup truck that was inside the hangar, its tailgate down.

Two men had arrived in each vehicle.

The terrain was flat with low scrub and dry field grass trying to live in the parched sandy soil.

It was just past zero-seven hundred.

Tessman and his team had been in position since just before zero five hundred.

He lay prone, concealed by the branches of shrubs he’d propped up around his rifle and the desert-colored camouflage clothing he wore.

“Is anyone else seeing this?” Danny ‘Mother’ Trio, one of the two other Marine Raiders on the Shepherd Security Team, asked through comms.

“Roger that,” Tommy ‘Louisa’ Flores replied.

“There are enough rifles in those crates to kill a lot of people.”

“I meant that those are pristine, brand-spanking-new M4s by the look of them,” Mother clarified.

“And those look like original military shipping crates.”

“The two that arrived in the pick-up look like military,” Tessman chimed in.

“But those two yahoos that flew in on the Cessna I’d peg as cartel.” Although his position would not allow him to see within the hangar, he saw the four men clearly.

“Roger that, Moe,” Landon ‘Lambchop’ Johnson, the team lead for this Op, replied.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

There were six team members on site.

An urgent call had come in to Colonel Sam Shepherd, United States Army, retired on paper only, less than twenty-four hours before from his contact with the CIA.

Chatter had been picked up by the CIA while surveilling a person of interest, and they’d passed the urgent need for a team to be at this aircraft hangar on this date and time to Shepherd.

The team had no idea what it was regarding, or who the CIA had been surveilling when the tidbit was heard that drove the CIA to contact Shepherd.

For all they knew, the Shepherd Security Team could have been walking into an ambush.

That was why the six members were spread out well enough to keep watch for any approaching threat, cover each other, and the hangar.

And a satellite had been dedicated to the area to help keep watch.

They were in body armor and were authorized to use lethal force.

Also on comms was Yvette ‘Control’ Donaldson.

A former CIA Analyst, she was now a lead analyst in the Operations Center at their headquarters, an unassuming ten-story building on the ring road around the large Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg, Illinois.

She notified them when the satellite picked up both the incoming pick-up truck and aircraft, which arrived within twenty minutes of each other.

Then she got Shepherd on comms, as he’d requested.

“The surrounding area and airspace remain clear,” Yvette transmitted.

“Take them down, team,” Shepherd ordered.

“Confiscate the weapons and vehicles. If they are military weapons or if those two Tangos are active duty, I can have an MP team there in under an hour from JBSA. I’ve also just notified Whiting to send a team.”

The men all knew that JBSA was the acronym for Joint Base San Antonio and Whiting was Deputy Director Leonard Whiting, Shepherd's contact at the FBI.

“Powder and Kegger, move in to the rear of the hangar,” Lambchop ordered. Both men were hidden in the scrub and tall prairie grass a hundred and nearly two hundred yards, respectively, behind the hangar. “Report once you have your backs against the structure.”

They both acknowledged the order.

“Mother and Moe, you should both be able to advance at least fifty yards without being seen. Close in,” Lambchop then transmitted. “I’ll watch the targets and advise. Move slowly.”

Again, both men acknowledged his order.

Tessman carefully and slowly pushed the branches that covered his position away from his rifle. He kept his head down and kept hold of his M4 while he crawled forward, being careful he didn’t disturb too much of the prairie grass and scrub as he advanced. Thankfully, there was an intermittent breeze blowing from the southwest at five to ten mph, so the movement of the grass wouldn’t be noticed by the Tangos. All the while he listened, hoping he would not hear anything through comms indicating he’d been detected.

Tessman heard through comms when both Mike ‘Powder’ Rogers, the team medic, and Elijah ‘Kegger’ Robinson arrived at the back of the hangar. Then he heard Mother’s acknowledgement that he’d closed the fifty yards as requested.

“Move in another twenty yards, Mother,” Lambchop broadcast. Mother was off to the east of the hangar and there was sufficient cover for him to move in a bit closer.

Mother again acknowledged the order.

“In position,” Tessman transmitted. Through his scope, he had a clear view of the men in front of the open hangar door. Just then, he saw one of the men move to the aircraft, which was directly in front of him, parked kitty-corner to the hangar. The man grabbed something inside. The men were all armed, so it wasn’t a weapon. “Hello brick of what I’ll assume is cocaine or heroin,” he added when the man brought a loaf-pan sized white brick into view.

“That plane is loaded with the shit,” Tommy ‘Louisa’ Flores reported. From his position, he had a clear view of the plane through the open door.

“Drugs for arms,” Lambchop remarked. “Deadly on both sides of the border.”

“Try to take them alive, team,” Shepherd ordered. “But don’t let any of those weapons or drugs leave that area. I’m bringing the DEA in as well.”

“Roger that, Big Bear,” Lambchop acknowledged. “Moe, circle around to the north and see how close you can get to the aircraft. Preventing its departure is on you.”

“A grenade in the cockpit will do the trick,” Louisa broadcast with a laugh. Everyone knew he was joking. They needed to recover the drugs without them being damaged.

Then Lambchop assigned numbers to each of the four men in front of the hangar. “Ratty cowboy hat-boy with the AR-15 is Tango number one,” Lambchop said. “Green jacket, also carrying an AR is two, and Dirty Harry wearing the plaid shirt with the .44 Magnum is three, and that leaves the man in black with the nice Winchester as Tango number four.”

“Once I’m behind the bird and moved in, I won’t see jack-shit,” Tessman broadcast.

“I’ve got your six,” Mother replied. He’d been positioned furthest out in front of the hangar, so he technically was on overwatch.

“It’s more my three o’clock position I’m worried about,” Tessman said.

“I’ve got that too, honey,” Mother said in a sugary sweet voice.

Several quiet chuckles were picked up on comms.

“Mother, temporarily take over command. I’m going to circle to the back of the hangar and will be blind,” Lambchop broadcast. “Powder and Kegger, hold at the back door. Mother, if anyone’s detected, give the go order.”

“Roger that, Lambchop,” Mother acknowledged.

After several long minutes, Lambchop finally broadcast. “At the back door of the hangar. The three of us are going silent, going to penetrate the inside of the hangar. I’ll tap comms three times when we’re in position. At that point, Mother and Louisa lay down cover fire in front of the Tangos to distract them when Mother gives the go-order.”

Both Mother and Louisa acknowledged.

Tessman didn’t answer as he’d moved in so close, he would be heard even if he whispered. He was just a few feet from the plane. From his location, still lying prone on the ground with his weapon trained on the space between the plane and the ground, Tessman could no longer clearly see the four men, could mostly see their feet and legs. Nor could he see within the hangar.

Several minutes elapsed as the three men in the hangar moved to take up position. As they waited, Tango number one returned to the Cessna to retrieve another brick of white. Tessman trained his weapon on the man’s feet, but angled his head to view the window on the aircraft to verify the man wouldn’t be likely to see him. He was assured he was invisible.

Then they heard the three taps. Lambchop and the others were in position.

“Go-go-go,” Mother called. His words were immediately followed by automatic weapons fire as he and Louisa peppered the ground a few feet in front of the four men.

Tessman saw the Tangos feet turn towards the hangar. And then there were bullet impacts in front of them as well as behind them.

“Drop them!” Lambchop yelled.

Tessman sprang to his feet and aimed the barrel of his weapon over the tail section of the plane, which gave him a view of the four men while the plane provided him some cover.

Tango number one raised his AR, pointing it into the interior of the hangar. A shot hit his upper right shoulder, knocking him back. Tessman watched him fumble with his weapon so that his left hand grasped the trigger. Tessman squeezed off one shot, striking the Tango in the left thigh, which dropped him to the ground.

“Tango number one down. He’s still armed,” Tessman reported.

Tango number three instantly surrendered, raising his hands above his head, his .44 Magnum dropped to the ground, but his hands held a brick of the white drug.

Tango number four, the man in black with the Winchester, dove to his right and rolled across the ground in an attempt to get out of the active firing zone. He was stopped by Kegger, who stepped from the right side of the hangar and kicked his weapon away from him while pointing his M4 at the man in black’s head. “Stay down,” Kegger warned. “Tango number four, subdued.”

The gunfire stopped as Louisa moved in, but Mother remained in his overwatch position.

Tango number two must not have seen Tessman. He sprinted to the Cessna and jumped inside the open door. He closed the door and settled into the pilot’s seat in the cockpit, firing the engines up immediately. At the same time, Lambchop ran from inside of the hangar and disarmed Tango number one.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Tessman muttered under his breath. He ducked under the wing and came up along the side of the aircraft. He fired a round through the side window glass. It exited through the front cockpit window, narrowly missing the Tango’s head on purpose. Then he opened the cockpit door. “Shut it down or the next one goes in your head!” he shouted to the man in the plane. His weapon was trained on the guy’s head.

The Tango pushed the throttle forward, moving the aircraft forward, while pressing the rudder peddle to initiate a turn.

“No! No! No!” Tessman shouted. “Stop or I shoot!”

The plane was already moving and turning. The Tango’s AK lay across his lap. He fumbled to pick it up as he pushed Tessman’s weapon away. Tessman squeezed the trigger, hitting the Tango in the shoulder. Shepherd wanted them taken alive. Then Tessman climbed inside the bird, disarmed the man, and threw his AR out of the plane before he shut the engine down.

“Tango secure,” Tessman transmitted. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that two of the three remaining Tangos were all secure, face down, and his teammates were securing their hands behind their backs in zip ties. The third, who’d been shot in the shoulder and thigh, was lying on his back, his hands in zip ties in front of him. The team medic, Powder, was tending his wounds with Louisa’s help.

Tessman pulled the hands of the Tango in the plane in front of his body and secured them in zip ties. Then he pulled him from the plane and drew him over and sat him on the ground beside the others. He pushed his green jacket down his arm and then cut his shirt to expose the shoulder wound. There was significant bleeding. He visually examined the shoulder from the front and the back. No exit wound. He then felt around the area, to which the man moaned and cursed in Spanish. It looked like the bullet had hit bone.

“Powder, can I get a pack of QuikClot and some dressing? Doesn’t look like an artery was hit, but I’ve got significant bleeding. The bone’s been hit. This is going to need surgery.” He wasn’t a medic, but he’d seen enough bullet wounds to know. And he knew basic battlefield treatment for bullet wounds to keep this guy from bleeding out.

Powder broke away from the Tango he was treating just long enough to provide Tessman with the requested supplies as well as a syrette of morphine for pain relief. “You nicked the femoral artery on this guy,” Powder said to him as he handed off the supplies. “I’ve got him stabilized.”

“He flinched,” Tessman said. “Otherwise, that artery wouldn’t have been hit.”

Powder barked out a laugh. He then went back to the downed Tango with the two bullet wounds.

Lambchop already had the wallets out of the pockets of the two men who’d driven the pick-up truck with the rifles to the party. “Big Bear, I’ve got confirmation. We’ve got two enlisted active-duty soldiers here,” he reported.

“I’ll notify the base,” Shepherd replied. “Sit tight. I have the DEA and the military, MPs and medical services heading your way. Complete a turnover to both before you leave the area.”

“Roger that, Big Bear,” Lambchop acknowledged.

It was nearly nine-thirty before a Black Hawk helicopter with military markings approached from the east. The team on the ground had just heard the approaching chopper when Yvette’s voice came through comms, “Medical personnel and MPs from JBSA are nearly to your location. DEA is about thirty minutes out.”

“Roger that, Control. We’ve got a visual on them,” Lambchop advised.

As the temperature had already risen to a seasonable eighty degrees and there was not a cloud in the sky, the team had moved the Tangos into the shade just within the hangar. Tessman and Lambchop stood by the Cessna. They’d conducted a thorough search of it. Likewise, inside the hangar, Mother and Louisa had thoroughly searched the pick-up truck.

The backseat area of the Cessna was stacked with twenty-four, one-pound bricks of the white drug. The DEA’s testing when they arrived on site would confirm it was cocaine. The back of the pick-up truck held, as they thought, brand new M4 rifles in original military shipping containers, eight rifles to a crate.

The team performed turnover to both the military and the four-man DEA team that arrived. The two injured Tangos were flown out in the Black Hawk. They’d receive treatment at the base while in DEA custody. The two soldiers were in the custody of the MPs and in shackles on the flight to the base. Both the vehicles were seized by the DEA.

The team only had to wait an hour for the Shepherd Security Lear to land on the dirt landing strip to fly them out. It had flown them in that morning and waited at a nearby regional airport. Once in the air, the men settled back in their seats and most closed their eyes. Tessman sat by a window. He gazed out and his thoughts drifted to the two soldiers who were trading new military hardware for drugs. Why the hell would anyone get messed up with the cartels? What a waste! And it never ended well. They’d worked enough cases that involved drugs to know that.

After landing at Chicago Executive Airport, the local regional airfield where the Shepherd Security hangar was, the team returned to their headquarters for a short mission debrief with Shepherd.

“Gentlemen, I just wanted to meet to pass along the DEA’s thanks,” Shepherd began. “The estimated street value of the drugs we intercepted is four hundred thousand dollars. The twenty-four pounds once cut equals approximately seventy thousand doses that would have been sold on American streets. And if laced with fentanyl, it could have killed a lot of people. No matter what other cases this agency takes on, the mission of helping to keep dangerous drugs off the streets will remain something we’re involved in.”

“It would have been nice to know, going in, that this was drug related,” Flores complained.

“I’m not sure the CIA had a complete understanding of what was going to go down at that tiny airstrip in Texas. And if they did, I’m sure we got the case because we could move fast enough to get assets on the ground. I don’t think the DEA, ATF, or the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division could have moved that fast, especially if there was to be any coordination between the agencies,” Shepherd said. “And to your original point of knowing what we were walking into, Mason has a long history of not sharing what will make our job easier. That’s the one constant.”

“That’s an understatement,” Lambchop said.

Several of the men chuckled. The corner of Shepherd’s lips pulled into a small grin.

“The other constant is the drugs,” Mother added.

“True. As long as there is a demand for drugs, there will be a supply,” Lambchop said. “We kept this shipment off the street. There’ll be more that do make it through.”

“It’s a losing proposition,” Flores said gruffly.

Tessman viewed Flores with a sideways glance. He knew Flores and the rest of Bravo Team had voiced their opposition to working the DEA Partner Missions, which one could argue this case technically turned out to be with the added twist of the military rifles and two soldiers included in the bust. He respected his colleague, but had to wonder how his private conversations with Shepherd went regarding Bravo Team’s stance on mission selection. And while Shepherd was old-school Army, accomplish the mission even if it’s impossible by any means necessary, he had also made adjustments in staffing due to nearly half the team members having families, and their desire to cut their travel for jobs by half. He’d made adjustments to keep his assets. Period. But with Bravo Team making it known that they all saw retirement on the horizon, Tessman couldn’t help but wonder how long Shepherd’s patience would hold out before he advised them to retire.

“Unfortunately, it’s part of the mission. We can take that discussion off line if you’d like to discuss it further, Flores,” Shepherd said. “Thank you for your flexibility, gentlemen. You are all off the rest of the day. Watch your emails for your next assignments that may begin tomorrow.”

All six men came to their feet. They knew they’d just been dismissed. Tessman held back and watched, interested to see if Tommy Flores would remain in Shepherd’s office for further discussion. He was surprised to see Flores and Kegger, both assigned to Bravo Team, exit the conference room in front of him.