Chapter 2

It’s been 4 years since all of the members of Super 5-1 have been back from Afghanistan and retired from their perspective services. They had gotten on with their lives and were happy. But...

Tularosa New Mexico

Steven Garcia was laying on the mesa that overlooked the valley where his house was. He often came up here to relax and unplug from the world. Up here, nature was the only thing he answered to. He was laying on his back looking at the light as it slowly diminished from early evening into night. Closing his eyes, he thought back to almost 5 years ago. His recon team, Super 5-1, was transporting 3 prisoners to Germany so that they could be questioned and then sent on to Gitmo.

5 years ago

The five of them were waiting in a secure hanger at Kandahar Airbase waiting for transportation. They had their prisoners kneeling on the pavement, handcuffed, shackled, and hooded as they watched the C-130 aircraft pull up in front of the hanger. Denise came striding out with the fat customs guy right behind her. She was ignoring him as he screamed at her about regulations and procedures.

As he got closer to the team, Hannah, and Dominic snapped their weapons up at the customs guy and started yelling for him to get back. He suddenly stopped and almost fell backwards trying to stay away from them. Denise moved closer to him and started yelling at him so he could hear what she was saying to him.

“If you get any closer, they will neutralize you to keep these three from getting loose! These are HVTs on their way out of country! We don’t need to follow your regulations where this is concerned. If you don’t like it, take it up with my boss, Mr. Johnson over at building 5.” She told him before she turned around and rejoined the team.

The loadmaster in the C130 was waving to them to bring the prisoners and get on the plane. The 6 of them picked up and moved to the plane. One of the detainees started to get anxious and wanting to run. Hannah ran over to James and grabbed the other arm of the prisoner before he could bolt. Dragging them onto the plane, they strapped them in separately for the long ride to Ramstein air base.

10 hours and refueling inflight twice, they landed in Germany. The plane taxied up to a hanger away from the rest of the airbase. There was a windowless van waiting for them when they got off the aircraft. The 6 of them loaded the prisoners up and off they went to drop them off to the military intelligence people. After they were finished with all the paperwork and Denise had rejoined them, the team locked up their weapons and went to get some chow.

Denise started talking after they were all settled and eating. “Mr. Johnson...” She heard snorts and a giggle when she said her boss’s name. “Never gets old does it?” She said with a chuckle. “At any rate, he’s pleased which actually means absolutely nothing to any of us. I’d personally like to thank you for this and getting them out alive for transport. I’m sure it was difficult at the very least. After we’ve had some rest, I’d like you all to meet a friend of mine, she’s got something that I think you’d be interested in hearing about.”

James spoke up at that point. “Only person I want to meet, his name is Jose and he tastes great cold.” He leaned over and gave Robert a knuckle bump when he finished.

“He’s a great guy and yes, he does taste great cold. But I promise that you’re not going to be disappointed at listening to her. She’s flying in to tomorrow morning early so we can meet her before we head back to the sandbox.” Denise told them. “Trust me when I say this, you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

James looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, I know what she’s going to tell you, but it’s not my information to give so I’ll let her tell you what she found.” Denise told him.

At 6am the team was sitting in a briefing room waiting on Denise. Hannah was talking to Steven about the new thermal sights they were being issued when they got back. Robert, Dom, and James were talking about how bad Danica Patrick sucked at racing and why she was still trying after 10 years and no wins. They all looked up as Denise walked into the room with another woman behind her.

“Lady and Gentlemen...” She started to say but stopped as they all looked around the room and then each other.

Robert spoke up at that point. “Lady and Gentlemen where? There’s a gentleMAN sitting over there...” He said pointing to Dominic. “Please don’t rope us enlisted personnel into his category, we don’t like the labels.” Robert said as they started to laugh.

Denise rubbed the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. She looked over at the woman next to her and started talking. “You didn’t believe me, but now you see it. They’re five of the biggest friggin assholes I’ve ever met, but they’re five of the most professional and competent assholes you’ll ever meet.”

“In case you’ve forgotten Denise, words can hurt. In fact, I think I need a safe space.” James said with a smile on his face.

Denise picked up a marker and drew a circle on the dry erase board and wrote the words “safe” and “space” above it. “There ... Put your nose in your safe space...” She fired back at James.

“Let me introduce you before they start up again.” The CIA woman said. “This is Dominic Schultz, the team leader.” She pointed to James as she spoke again, “James Tatsuada, the ATL and intel man of the team.” Looking over to Robert and Hannah, “Robert Harris is the team medic and back up sniper. Hannah Sullivan is the hardest working member of the team. She’s the Tactical Air Control, the Forward Observer, Steven’s spotter, and the radio woman for the team; she’s also the back up medic.” Finally looking at Steven, “Last but certainly not least, this is Steven Garcia, the most experienced member of the team. He’s also one of the best shots with an M4, pistol, or sniper rifle that I’ve ever seen. The members of his Marine Raider team called him the bullet whisperer because once he’s fired his rifle, the bullet always listened to him when he told it where to go.” She looked at the woman and introduced her to the team. “This is Officer Talitha Aronoff. She’s Israeli and works on a Kidon team for Mossad. She was a medic in the IDF before she joined Mossad. Her unit was on the front lines in the 2006 conflict with Lebanon and again in Gaza 2 years later. She does almost the same thing I do and is my Israeli counterpart. I’ve known her for 12 years, worked with her quite a bit, and I trust her with my life.”

“It is my pleasure to meet all of you.

Present time

Steven was brought back to reality by a crow flying over heard. He smiled and turned back over to watch his house. He was always happy to help his tribe as its shaman. Lately he had begun to feel something was wrong. He had spirit walked regularly after he started to notice little things wrong. He’d walk out of the Racetrack from getting gas for one of his cars and feel like someone was watching him. He’d never been obvious about counter surveillance. His time in the Marine Corps had taught him that patience is a good tool to have. He’d read Sun Tzu and had taken his saying “Pretend inferiority and encourage your enemies arrogance” to heart and feigned ignorance in favor of knowing more about who was watching him.

3 DAYS AGO

Steven had stopped off to get a birthday gift for a little girl that had been his first official blessing as tribal shaman. When he was paying for the toy, he noticed a car sitting half a block down the road and the occupants were watching the store. “I’m sorry, I forgot something that she wanted. I’ll be right back.” He said to the clerk.

“Sure, no problem. Take your time.” She told him.

He walked back to one of the isles and stopped. Steven took out a small monocular and looked at the car. He saw what could be three Latin American people sitting in the car. He was sure that they were watching the store; one of them had binoculars and was talking to the person in the backseat who was taking notes. The driver was watching for other cars and law enforcement.

He walked back up to the counter with another purchase. “Sorry about that. I’m forgetful sometimes.” He said to the clerk.

“It’s not a problem, I get that way sometimes myself.” She told him. “Is this going to be all?”

“No, I need you to do one other thing for me.” He told her.

“Sure, what is it?” the clerk asked.

“I need you to be calm when I tell you this, can you do that?” Steven told her.

Her eyes got really big as her mind immediately thought that she was about to get robbed.

“No, I’m not robbing you. I’m the tribal shaman; I wouldn’t do that to my people. What I need you to do is to walk casually to the office in the back, pick up the phone, and call the police. Please tell them that there’s a brown sedan parked up the street from the store and that the three occupants are watching it and taking notes.” Steven told her.

Calmly, she walked out from behind the register and disappeared to the back. Less than two minutes later, 3 cars from the tribal police had boxed the car in. The police were searching the vehicle and had the occupants out and sitting on the curb in handcuffs. About 5 minutes later, 2 more cars showed up with a shift supervisor and another officer.

Steven was watching from around the corner at what was going on. He’d watched as the officers took the notepad from the back of the car and put it on the hood not knowing what the writing was. He’d gotten his monocular out and tried to read some of it. He managed to make out a couple words when he stopped.

Steven knew exactly what language it was. He read and spoke Persian very well. He’d taken a course in college that taught him the basics. He’d learned the rest from his time in the desert with the Marines.

Getting his phone out, Steven called the supervisor. He picked up after the third ring. Before he could say hello, Steven started talking. “Johnny, don’t hang up and pretend your talking to your boss. I’ll explain everything to you.” He told him.

Johnny “Walking Thunder” Reyes was a full-blooded apache. When he was younger, he had a habit of being sure that everyone in the room he walked into knew he was there. Hence how he got the name “walking thunder” from Steven’s grandfather. Johnny and Steven had been best friends since the third grade. They knew the mountains on the reservation and surrounding areas better than anyone. When winter came, they’d both hire themselves out as guides for hunters that would come out to hunt big game.

“Yes sir, I’m at the scene.” Johnny said.

“I’m up the street about 50 yards from you and I’m watching what’s going on. I know what the language is on the paper. It’s Farsi and I’m willing to bet that the three men you have cuffed are here for me because of something I was a part of when I was still in the Marines. Is there any chance you can get a picture of the notes and text it to me?” Steven asked him.

“Yes sir, I’m not 100% sure of what’s happening yet, we’re still investigating. We have a notepad with some drawings on it and we don’t know...” Johnny paused for a moment. “Yes sir ... Yes sir, I can get a picture to you. I’ll call you right back ... Yes sir.” Johnny hung up and walked back over to the scene. He pulled the notepad over to him and snapped a pic of all the pages.

Steven was looking at the text pictures Johnny had sent him. They were notes about him and his actions for the last 2 weeks. They’d been following him and making notes on everything he did. The last page had a description of his house, how to get to it, and the terrain surrounding it. It also had a note at the bottom that back up was going to be in town in 3 days to assist.

Steven called Johnny back and told him what the notes said. “The last thing in the notes says that backup is coming in three days. I’m going to guess that they’ll hit my house 2 days after that. Do you have any reason to detain them?” He asked him.

“No sir, no warrants and the car is registered, insured and we’ve already contacted the owner.” Johnny said looking up the street. “What’s your guidance?”

“Interested in giving these guys a crash course in ‘don’t screw with the Apache’?” Steven asked him.

“Yes sir, absolutely. We can do that...” Johnny replied as he hung up. “The LT says to give them their things back and let them go.” He said to his officers. Steven watched as they got their stuff together and the officers left the area.

Steven ran back to where he’d parked his truck and raced home. He didn’t really care about the house so much as his classic cars. He’d paid out almost eleven million dollars out of his cut of the money. He wasn’t going to let a group of assholes destroy them. When he got home, he placed a call to an owner operator CDL driver that sometimes did work for Montway Car Transport service. He set it up for him alone to come get his cars and take them to a storage facility he owned in Nebraska (also something he bought in case something like this happened). When he was done taking care of his investments, he picked up his phone and dialed Dominic.

“Well, well, well ... Haven’t heard from you in a little bit. We all figured that you’d gone native and were living in a wikiup, or a wigwam, or whatever the Apache nation calls them.” Dominic said.

“White men, you’re all alike ... At least you didn’t call it a teepee, I’d have to show you the fine art of scalping someone if you had.” Steven replied with humor.

“The Apache don’t use teepee’s?” Dominic asked?

“No, those are more the plains and northern tribes. But I digress.” Steven told Dom.