Page 1 of Operation: Sharp Angel

Alpha

Driver 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 orheroin,” 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.

---