Alpha #2
Yvette’s eyes flickered to the two side-by-side images on the monitors. “What do you think? Weapons? Bodies?”
“I’m thinking a cache of weapons,” Dupont said. “Those trucks are normally people transporters, but they could have been loaded with weapons.”
Believing he had it well in hand, Yvette’s attention turned back to Bulldog’s mission.
All that separated them from the five-vehicle convoy was a rise.
“Target’s ETA, two minutes,” Yvette transmitted.
“Shopper, deliver the package.” Shopper was the callsign of the jockey piloting the unmanned MQ-9 Reaper drone.
“Roger that, Control,” the pilot replied with a heavy Texas twang. “You’ll see the package before the convoy arrives at your twenty, Bulldog. It’s coming in right over your heads.”
Yvette clicked her keyboard and added the visual transmission from the drone on a monitor beside the satellite feed.
The drone flew low to the ground, within twenty-five feet, speeding over the desolate landscape.
Within seconds, it buzzed over Bulldog’s two vehicles just as they neared the crest of the rise.
“Package arriving at target,” she transmitted.
“See it, Control,” Bulldog acknowledged as four of the eight AGM-114 Hellfire missiles the drone carried, launched at the two front and two rear vehicles in the convoy. A split second later, four concussions rocked the ground as fireballs erupted high above the blazing, dismantled vehicles.
The drone looped around and came back over the carnage just as Bulldog’s team engaged the survivors of the attack.
Bulldog’s Team’s vehicles came in fast, multiple men firing at the few stunned Tangos who were just pulling themselves to their feet, having been thrown clear of their vehicles when the missiles hit. Most of the enemy went back down fast.
The bursts of the automatic weapons fire and the loud purr of the armored vehicles filled the control room, and the one earphone Yvette had in place over her left ear, the other worn behind her right ear.
A separate speaker filled the room with the sounds from Shanahan’s team, which at that moment were the quiet conversations of the team.
There was the ability to turn off and isolate specific mission feed when two missions were going on at the same time to reduce the chaos in the Ops Center, but Yvette and Dupont rarely did that when they were on duty together.
Yvette’s attention went back to the six armored vehicles moving in from the northwest. They were close enough that they would have seen the fireballs and smoke. “Bulldog, you have maybe six minutes before your party’s crashed by uninvited guests.”
There were several more blasts of gunfire, which Yvette knew meant the team was still encountering resistance. Bursts of dialogue confirmed two of Bulldog’s men were hit. Their medic transmitted their conditions, neither fatally wounded.
“Moving in on the target vehicle now,” Bulldog transmitted. “This fucker better be worth it.”
More gunfire erupted, and then an explosion Yvette knew was a flashbang going off. There was shouting in Arabic, the sounds of metal doors slamming open, more gunfire, and screams of pain. They’d breached the armored vehicle.
“Target acquired,” a voice transmitted. It wasn’t Bulldog’s voice. “Bulldog’s been hit, get us an evac!”
Not that hitting the force coming in from the northwest, which was now way too close, was a part of the plan, it was now. Yvette toggled the communications link to go back to the drone pilot. “Shopper, we need another pass. Can you take out the six vehicles closing in on the first target?”
“Negative, Control, can’t take them all out. But we can engage and slow them down,” the drone jockey replied.
“That works,” Yvette transmitted. “Keep them busy for as long as you can. I need at least seven minutes.”
“You’ve got five,” the Texan said.
Yvette toggled back to Bulldog’s group and conferenced in the chopper pilot. “Primary LZ evac now! You’ve got five minutes to get in, load up, and get the hell out of Dodge before your party crashers from the northwest are on you.”
“Roger that, Control,” the chopper pilot answered.
Checking the radar, Yvette saw that the chopper was screaming in low over the terrain, coming in from the south.
She heard through the feed when it landed, heard the muffled voices of Bulldog’s team as they loaded their wounded, and she heard the deafening concussions when the grenades they tossed into their vehicles exploded.
“Clear from the scene with the target. He’s wounded, but he’ll live,” Bulldog’s second in command transmitted.
“What is the condition of the team?” she asked.
“Three injured, no casualties, en route to base. Have medical personnel standing by.”
“Roger that,” Yvette acknowledged. “ETA?”
“Forty minutes,” the chopper pilot answered.
Yvette switched off the mission feed. If the pilot called back for any reason, it would come into her headset. She turned her attention to the satellite images that were still displayed of the site that Shanahan’s Team was investigating.
“They’re just entering the structure,” Dupont told her.
The thud of a wooden door splintering as it was kicked open was followed by bursts of gunfire, screams, and grunts.
Yes, Yvette and anyone who worked Ops knew the distinct sounds associated with a wood door being breached compared to a metal door.
Having seen countless missions on camera feed, which this one was not, she could easily envision the scene playing out from the sounds alone — gunfire, flashbangs, grenades.
They all had distinct and defined sounds.
“Holy mother fucker,” Shanahan groaned. “Circles, we found the mother-load stash of weapons.”
There were more bursts of gunfire. Their scene was not secure yet.
At Shanahan’s request, Dupont called in reinforcements, including additional medics and a chopper to medivac the wounded out of what had become a hot zone.
As it turned out, the plateau was indeed a rough underground bunker where twenty-one troops were dug in.
The interrogation of one of the survivors would later yield valuable intel.
Though four of Shanahan’s men were killed, and three were injured, the mission was deemed a success as eighteen enemy combatants were killed, two were injured, weapons were recovered, and intel was obtained.
After it was over, and what was left of the team had been rescued, Yvette tapped Dupont on the shoulder. “I’m going to step out and have a smoke.”
Dupont nodded but didn’t reply. He’d step out after she was back.
He’d never smoked cigarettes before arriving at this base, but had quickly picked it up, along with a shot of something strong after a shift.
He’d taken this assignment as a steppingstone to station chief one day.
But seeing the carnage firsthand had cured him of that career path.
It was much warmer outside than it had been before her shift when Yvette stepped outside.
The sun was blazing in the mid-morning sky.
It would be a hot one today. She lit up and then sagged to the bench, closing her eyes for a brief moment.
The normal sounds of the base filled her ears.
She took another drag without opening her eyes.
“Those will kill you, you know,” a familiar voice that shouldn’t be there said, snapping her out of her zen-like state.
Yvette figured she must have drifted off. That voice didn’t belong here.
“And when did you pick that habit up?” the voice continued.
Yvette’s eyes snapped open, and she stared at the figure looming over her.
“Lieutenant Colonel Sam Shepherd,” she exclaimed, rising from the bench.
Then she noticed the rank insignia in the center of the body armor over his chest. “Or rather, Colonel Shepherd,” she corrected herself.
She hadn’t heard he’d been promoted, though it was definitely earned.
“I’m still just Shep to you,” he said. He presented his hand. “Nice to see you, Control.”
Yvette shook his hand. “It’s nice to see you too, sir. So, you’re the Colonel from D.C. we were expecting?”
Shepherd nodded.
“And here I thought we were expecting some desk-jockey out on a field-trip.”
Sam Shepherd was no desk-jockey. He’d spent his entire career in the special forces, leading missions on the ground as a member of the 75th Ranger Regiment, also known as the Army Rangers, after he’d graduated from West Point.
He’d worked his way up through the ranks and was respected by all who knew him, Yvette included.
“What brings you to our little corner of hell?”
Shepherd’s lips tipped into a grin. “You.”
“Me?” she asked, more than a little surprised.
“Can we talk?” Shepherd asked.
“I need to let my Ops partner know I need to step away.”
After she returned, he led her to the base commander’s office, where he made himself comfortable at the small conference table to the side of the desk.
He motioned for Yvette to join him. “I’m recruiting a special team to work outside of normal channels.
We’ll have our own Operations Center, and I have a place for you in it. ”
“Who is in your direct line of reporting?” she asked.
“I’m an independent, but I’ve worked out a dotted-line reporting structure to SecDef and all the deputy directors of all the alphabet agencies, who will feed us cases. Everyone on my team will earn and carry federal credentials to give us standing when operating domestically.”
“Domestically?”
“We’ll carry out a variety of missions at home and abroad.”
Yvette knew what type of team he would lead, but she had to ask so she’d know exactly what she was getting herself into. Of course, she was going to accept his invitation to join his team. “Black Ops or in the gray zone?”
“Both.”
“Will I be allowed to keep my credentials?”
“Yes, I’ve already run it up your chain of command. You’ll retain your creds and standing at the Agency and officially be on my team if you accept. But you’ll officially be mine. The agency will have no claim over you or your assignments. I have it in writing.”
She liked that, and of course he had it in writing. Shepherd never left anything undefined. “So, the agencies have agreed to your team carrying creds?”
“Earned through an accelerated remote program,” he said. “I’ve already qualified for mine. I carry Homeland Security creds. Cooper has earned his as well. CIA. But for anyone earning them in this fashion, they’re only valid while on my team.”
“Cooper? John Cooper, Military Intelligence?”
“Formerly of Military Intelligence, prior to that he was with Delta. Now he’s my number two.”
She nodded, taking it all in. Cooper was another straight shooter, another person she respected.
“And you’re going to want to quit smoking. I’ve already recruited Doc Williams as our chief medic.” Shepherd paused and chuckled. “You know he’ll be all over your ass about it.”
Yvette chuckled with him. “Doc, huh? Sounds like you’re putting quite a team together.” She knew Doc Williams well. He was a bit cantankerous, but he was an experienced combat medic who knew his shit. Shepherd’s team would be in good hands.
Shepherd nodded.
“Who else have you got for Ops?”
“For now, it's me, Cooper, and a few of the Operators when they’re not in the field. I’m still recruiting the team.”
“The kid I’m partnered with here, Dupont, is good. And I think he’s ready for something different than the regular CIA bullshit.”
“He’s a fast learner,” Shepherd joked.