Ejection

Bliss Trouble

Friday, The Tenth of May: 5:50 PM MDT,

Over Shelter One, Fort Bliss, El Paso, Texas

So, what do we do now, sir? Master Sergeant Franklin DuBois was irate. In fact, he was so angry his bald, dark brown head was sweating. His normally laughing brown eyes were almost closed as he gritted his teeth and squinted his eyes in the effort to maintain his cool. The large, barrel-chested black man from Thibodaux, Louisiana southeast of Baton Rouge was in familiar territory he didn’t like at all.

The Mexican soldiers brought back many memories of treatment he experienced growing up. He hadn’t liked the discrimination then, and he liked it even less now when it was being dished out by foreigners. He had joined the Army to get away from that and he had. He loved the Army and the United States. He had been one of the first men recruited for the Mescaleros. The issue now was the patience required.

Santiana had no idea how much self-control the master sergeant had exercised today. His Jaguar entourage was pure nasty. The new base commander was a piece of work in general. The Mexican soldiers all made the word American sound like Nigger had sounded to him in the 1970s. He would be tickled pink to see their body parts scattered across the pavement.

The new Mexican Base Commander, General Pablo Santiana had just left. The guards in the old bathhouse were shook by his announcement that they had found the bodies of General Sanchez and Colonel Vasquez in the deep arroyo out by Salt Flat. DuBois was upset about that also. But he was more concerned about the new group of Jaguars that had come on base to help General Santiana. There weren’t that many of them. But, they added an entirely new level of viciousness.

Colonel Jim Archibeck, the former head of Base Security, motioned the sergeant over to the side for a moment. He was the officer in charge of the guards in the old building built in 1893 now used to store office furniture. The hostages had been used to stack the furniture in the back of the building to open up floor space. The place was filled with hostages. Almost 500 men and women were crammed into the old building.

Jim was a medium-sized professional soldier. His gray hair was so short that it almost looked like he shaved his head. His eyes were hazel with yellow rims. The yellow became very visible when he was angry, and his eyes certainly looked yellow now. His fists were clenching and his shoulders were rippling under his fatigues. It took several seconds until he got himself under control.

Then he motioned Frank Dubois to follow him—quietly. He headed for his office, and then changed his mind. He went into the supply closet. Shortly thereafter the Master Sergeant quickly slipped in the door.

Jim said, Sarge, I have to be brief. We don’t want to get caught. I know my office is bugged. But here it is. General Sanchez isn’t dead.

Frank’s eyes widened in surprise but he said nothing.

The Colonel continued, It is part of our plan. Don’t let anyone know. The main thing I need for you to do is watch the hostages. I am certain that several of them and probably one or two of our officers are Mexican traitors.

Ibarro? Sarge asked softly.

Yes, the Lieutenant is probably one of them. I do not know for sure. I do know he is definitely not a Mescalero. When this all comes down we will have to kill Americans. Anyone not with us will have to be neutralized. Hopefully we can simply tie them up or lock them in here. But be alert.

When’s it going to happen, sir?

Have no idea, Sergeant. Just be ready.

With that they both left the supply room separately. Colonel Archibeck stopped the sergeant and gave Frank a brisk order. Now, I do not want to see that disrespect for our base commander ever again—y’got it Master Sergeant Dubois?

Dubois popped to attention and gave him a quick salute. Yes, sir! Rang out across the space filled with over five hundred men and women—three hundred of whom were Mescaleros ready for war.

Surprise Assignment

Saturday, The Eleventh of May: 8:50 AM MDT,

over the garage, Jackson hacienda, Meadowlake

The room was packed. The remains of TEAM One, the Jacksons, Denzell, Bebe, General Sanchez, and Colonel Vasquez were gathered around the conference table. The team was in black, the soldiers were in uniform, and everyone else was in jeans and a shirt—except for Rachael, of course.

She was dazzling, as usual. Her hair was curled, her makeup impeccable, her blouse was a black on black cotton weave that showed off her stacked fetish necklace and the large turquoise stones at her ears. The necklace had well over a hundred beautifully carved little animals, stacked together without spacers that looked great on the dark fabric. She had on her favorite engagement ring—the large blue topaz. Those rings were a private joke between her and Jakob. He had always felt bad about his original engagement ring—a quickly purchased gold-plated monstrosity with a large CZ. So, over the course of years he had given Rachael several rings with truly spectacular stones. The topaz engagement ring had a large 15-carat brilliant blue topaz with spectacular color and fire.

The breakfast dishes had all been cleaned off the table. With all the people in the house, Rachael had finally broken down and gone to the heavy-duty paper plates and disposable cups she kept for emergencies. She refused to give up the cloth napkins or the good stainless tableware though. So, the end counter had the empty casseroles and platters filled with silverware and serving pieces waiting to be carried back to the house to be cleaned.

She’d even been forced to break out the old fifty-cup percolator to hold the coffee, though it was just being used as a warmer to keep the well-brewed coffee warm. The men had carried the coffee over in insulated plastic gallon-sized picnic jugs, but they wouldn’t keep it hot for long. So they regularly poured a new gallon in the old percolator to heat it up. The goal was to avoid the roofing tar many of these operations ended up trying to drink at the end of the day. It worked pretty well

They all had a cup of fresh coffee on the table in front of them. The good news was that they had all gotten a decent night’s sleep for the first time in a long time. Most of the men had crashed about sunset the night before.

Sting had stayed up with the Jackson group talking and relaxing until nearly eleven. They had watched the news on the satellite and then checked out the latest Bruce Willis flick that had finally made it to Starz. As usual, the plans were a joke to the pros—but Bruce was always funny.

So, it was a relaxed team that got back to work this morning. Surprisingly, Jakob was in charge. The General was not a man to grab authority where it had not been delegated. And he was impressed with a true leader any time he met one. Jakob had been a real joy to him.

In fact, Martí and Jakob were quickly becoming friends. As far as the general was concerned, he was just along for the ride. He’d head up the effort headed south, but there was a lot more going on than that.

He’d stumbled into headquarters and had been accepted as one of the boys. That had not happened for many years. He was really enjoying himself.

Jakob started it off. OK, let’s get busy. Word is—Melanie’s fine. Her arm’ll suffer no permanent damage. I’m told she’s really upset that she can’t come back and join us.

Ahm glad she’s upsay’t over thar, Macho muttered, affecting a slow drawl.

Everyone who knew her chuckled. Strangler was not pretty when she was upset.

Jakob resumed with a smile that immediately slid into seriousness, "Major is another story. He is recovering, but the leg is a big question. Those of you who pray should keep him in mind. We’re missing him in this effort, but we’ll do what needs to be done.

"Plans have shifted radically now that we have help at Fort Bliss. We can divide the rest of the team to get more done. Washington is hamstrung. The President will not allow any military responses to the invasion. So except for a couple small teams and Martí’s Mescaleros, we are it.

"At Fort Bliss, we are nearly ready. Plus, and this is exciting, Martí gave me a satellite phone number at Holloman and we found another ally. Colonel Beverly Olguin has a small flight of planes she can count on to help our effort. She says we can plan for three old Tornados and probably three F-117 Stealths. She’s working on timing and armament as we speak. The General is working all of that out.

"The plans for cleaning out Luke AFB are moving along. One of Ralph’s people is debriefing the two escaped pilots this morning to get what information we can get. Bebe and Geek will be getting intel for them. I’ll get with you later on that part of the operation. My understanding is that CATHS Teams Two & Five are handling that operation.

Right now, we need to focus on the West Coast. Bruiser, Sting, and Buford T—you’re headed for San Diego by way of LA. Denzell’s working on the transportation. A special team has been assembled back in Black Sail. They’re going to meet you in Kingman, Arizona after flying in to Nellis late tonight.

He turned toward Sting Sepeda. Sharon, Ralph tells me that you still have tight connections with several of your old gangbangers in East LA—true?

"Sure is, boss. I imagine they’re really upset. Most of the gangs have been taken over by illegals and cartel thugs. My boys have been in LA for generations. A couple can trace things back to the group that came up with the Franciscans and built the missions. We usta talk about how our city was being ruined by illegals and boat people. We all agreed that something had to be done though most of them never made it out of the drugs and easy women.

Most of them ended up in prison. It’s hard to find a legal outlet for the anger. That’s the main reason I decided to get into the Army in the first place. Several of my friends ended up as cops. We saw this coming in the early 1990s.

Excellent! So, you can find us some help out there?

No problem.

Bruiser, I’ll get you on the horn with Ralph and the head of their little group so they can explain what they need. I think you already know Mario Sepción. At Bruiser’s brisk nod, he continued, He’s heading up the team from back east. Ralph says to tell you that you will be in charge.

Yea, right—that’ll be fun with that hot dog. Bruiser’s face took on a disgusted look.

Problems?

No, boss, I can handle the mission and him. We go way back. He’s almost blown several missions we’ve been on. He gets so wound up he looses control. But I can handle him.

You’ll have to. This affects the lives of thousands. It’s not going to be a simple little takedown like you had Wednesday night—kill everything that moves. We do not want a single hostage hurt.

You get us the intel and we’ll get it done.

Good! Any comments?

Jimmie Simpson kind of raised his hand. The braid of his long blonde hair was poking around his neck. As usual, his brilliant blue eyes were in constant motion taking everything in. He was called Haretrigger because he could handle the pressure and gently stroke a trigger exactly at the instant it was needed—well that, and the fact that he was the best shot any of them had ever seen. He was a very quiet man—extremely competent but shy as a bunny rabbit.

Jakob nodded him on.

He gave Jakob a small, shy grin and asked, Can Macho and I join the General when he heads down south? I think we cu’d be useful to him.

Denzell jumped in, They could ride with me. The Ol’ Wreck enjoyed herself the other night. I’m looking for some more action. I’ve got some ideas that would help get us on base quick. I’d like to go with the General, too.

That concerned his boss. Ya’sure, Denz? This’s going to be a rough ride. You’ve never trained for stuff like this.

That riled up his engineer. Jakob, who do you think designed all the stuff they’re going to be using? I’ve gotta see how it works. I’ll be careful. Haretrigger’ll stay with me. We got it all worked out. You should be more concerned about those two desk jockeys over there. He gave a nod and a sly wink to Martí and Sam. They’re the ones in over their head. I’ll bet they haven’t had any real action for a dozen years or more. We’re so worried that we’re forced to send Macho over to protect them.

The General laughed, They gotcha, Jake. I really do need the help. We’re going to have to break through the Pershing Gate for busses and pick up the Mescaleros as we go. There’s a lot to do and the timing will be crucial.

Jakob smiled. All right, but you keep m’man safe. I don’t know what I’d do around here if I lost him.

Denzell was excited now. You should see what the Wreck is going to be able to do. I’ve got plenty of armor left from building the Senator’s van and enough armored glass to protect the entire cockpit. Jimmie and I will have a cozy place to work from. Like I said we’ve got lots of plans. We’ll be ready to go by early next week. General Sanchez tells us it’ll take that long to get things in place. The words were almost tripping over each other in his hurry to get them out.

Jakob held out both hands with fingers extended to protect himself from the verbal assault, Enough! I give up. He had a broad grin on his face. He knew Denzell had been getting quite bored over the past couple of years. He hadn’t seen him this excited since he won Rockingham in the NASCAR Busch Series back at the end of the nineties. Actually, you have my blessing.

Thanks, Jake, that means a lot. Denzell collapsed back into his chair.