Gringo Joe

by JD Davis

  Even Drummer seemed to be in good spirits and, of course, Lizzie fussed and doted over Joe and cooked all his favorite dishes. There were parties and reunions galore until Joe asked for a reprieve.

  “Actually, if no one objects I’d like to help with some pruning and ride the tractor for a few days.”

  He and his father took long walks and talked about wine, farming, and a little of Africa. Since Lizzie had threatened him, Drummer made every effort to mend the relationship, which wasn’t a difficult task, and it pained him to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER 4

  CIA 101

  Afghanistan

  Joe did volunteer for another deployment in Africa and the captain was fortunate to have him. During a routine scouting patrol across the border in Somalia, a poorly organized pocket of Al-Shabaab, a regional Islamic terror group, ambushed his team. After pulling the wounded captain from certain death, Joe returned fire and called in air support, including a medevac chopper for the captain. As the Black Hawk was landing, Corporal Chandler killed two Islamic fighters attempting a self-propelled-grenade attack on the helicopter. As fate would have it, the incident occurred thirteen days before the end of his second tour. Joe had deployed two years earlier as a tactical linguist and was on his way home as a decorated sergeant. For his actions of bravery under fire, Joe received a unit citation ribbon and was awarded the Bronze Star.

  After a week with friends and family, Joe put a set of plugs and a new fuel filter in his 1958 Chevy Impala convertible and drove down the coast of California. After a brief stop in Monterey and having a beer with Duffy in Coronado, he took the scenic route east and returned to his unit at Fort Benning, Georgia.

  When Sergeant Chandler reported to the 75th Regimental Special Troops Battalion, there was a notice for him to call and make an appointment with his regimental commander. Two days later, he walked into the office of Col. Moses Andres who had replaced Col. John Paul Kelly, now a one-star general at the Pentagon.

  He waited outside the office until he was summoned by a clerk to go inside. He popped to attention.

  “Sir, Sergeant Joseph Chandler reporting as ordered, sir.”

  Besides Col. Andres, there was a USAF Lt. Col. Pike and another man, apparently a civilian, who was wearing a suit. Suits made soldiers nervous.

  “Have a seat, young man,” said Col. Andres.

  “Would you like something to drink? I’d say you’ve earned it.”

  “No, thank you, sir. I’m fine.”

  “Well, you did a fine job, Chandler, and congratulations on your commendation and your promotion to sergeant. These two men came a long way to talk to you, Sergeant, so I’m going to turn the meeting over to them. This is strictly an informational briefing, so relax and let’s hear what they have to say.”

  Looking up from a file, the man in the suit started the meeting.

  “It appears you have the proper clearance, so we’ll get right to it. There are some 400,000 acres of poppies in Afghanistan and about half of it is in the Zhari District, down in the Kandahar province. Most of Afghanistan’s heroin makes its way into Russia or Europe, but more and more is finding its way across our southern borders.

  “Afghanistan has been a political hot potato, which has been passed around by administrations since Carter. Fifteen pounds of poppy paste, the output of a typical acre family plot, sells for around $600. This is in a country where twenty-five cents buys bread for a day, so, as you can imagine, a good poppy crop puts food on the table for much of Afghanistan. Honestly, what most Afghans want is to be left alone and go merrily about their business of farming. Unfortunately, their pretty-little poppy flowers are wreaking havoc on the rest of the world. Heroin is killing thousands of Russians, destroying an entire generations of Europeans, and use in the US is up by twenty-five percent in the last four years. And, Sergeant, the real pisser is right now, we need the Afghans’ help, so we have to look the other way. Their people get their daily bread while the rest of the world gets their daily dose, all so we can fight the war on terrorism. That’s politics, Mr. Chandler. However, the Taliban has changed the political winds. While they used to burn the crops in the name of Allah, now they are buying them to fund their terror campaigns, and Sergeant, it appears Mexico is a big buyer. This is where we believe you may be able to help us. The bottom line, Mr. Chandler, is we want to use you and your team to find the Taliban-Mexico connection.

  “We know the cartels are fighting each other for a bigger stake in the international world of the heroin trade. They have become so emboldened in these efforts the crime syndicates are sending ambassadors directly to the Taliban to negotiate arms and money for heroin. If we find the Taliban’s opium suppliers, we believe it will lead us to the Taliban sellers and the Mexican buyers. In order to do that, we need to find out what the farmers know. If it were possible, we would also love to have a discussion with one of those Mexican buyers. Are you following me, Sergeant? And if so, do you think you could handle it?”

  “Yes, sir. I follow you fine, but, as you implied, this is a thousand-year-old problem, and if you stop a few Mexicans from buying Afghan heroin, a dozen more will take their place and, honestly, sir, if not the Mexican cartels, then buyers from anyone of a dozen countries in Europe or Asia. I’ll do what I’m ordered, sir, but I’m not sure I see the point … with all due respect … sir.”

  “Sergeant, my name is Lt. Col. Pike and I work at the NSA. It’s a great point and I completely agree with you. However, the problem right now lies with the extremely wealthy cartels of Mexico and South America. With billions to spend, someone has gotten their hands on some dangerously sophisticated weapons, probably Russian, and they are trading it to the Taliban for opium. Some folks way above my pay grade want it stopped and they are on our asses and expect an operational plan on their desks very soon. We ran this mission by State who punted it to DEA who said it was a military matter. We had a three-star give it a quick look and he said, and I quote, ‘Find some talent, maybe Special Forces, but I want someone smart-as-hell, maybe somebody from Intel but give them all the support they need and get it done.’

  “Sergeant Chandler, you’re a Ranger, you’re smart, you’re a good field tactician, and we believe you can get the job done. Am I wrong?”

  “No, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “Very good then, I’ll use every intelligence resource at my disposal to support your mission. I will be your eyes and ears and if you need anything, I will make damn sure you get it. We believe this mission is important, so you’ll have my full attention. Before you leave for Kandahar, we are going to bring you up to speed with current satellite imagery of the region and educate you on some of the local customs and such. I know you have an educational background in the Middle East, so some of this will be a recap, but you may find it helpful. Any more questions?”

  “No, sir; not at this time.”

  “All right Chandler, you’ll report to Fort Mead next week and we’ll need to make sure you hit the floor running. As a matter of fact, if you’re ready, you’re welcome to fly back with me.”

  “Thank you, Colonel, but I drove my own car back from Oregon and, if it’s not a problem, I’d prefer to not leave it here.”

  Joe never caught the name of the man in the suit, but having spent over two years working Intelligence, he figured he was most likely a spook from the CIA. At least he gave the impression of being mission-oriented and not some self-important lackey. He thought the same of Col. Pike, a man who was capable of getting things done and looking after his men. The last thing Joe wanted was to be a political pawn and get himself or others killed.

  As they exited the building, Col. Pike saw Joe walk towards the ‘58 Chevy.

  “Wow, Sergeant, what a beauty. Have you had her long?”

  “Yes, sir. My dad found it in a barn around my sixteenth birthday and we restored it together.”

  “How about a ride someday? It’d be a walk down memory lane for me. I used to own a ‘57 but got stupid and sold i
t.”

  Joe tossed the keys to the colonel. “Just tell me what I’m driving and where I’m headed and I’ll meet you there.”

  Pike threw Joe a set of keys and nodded towards an ugly US government-issued Ford Crown Victoria.

  “Wow, nice ride, Colonel. I’ll take good care of it.”

  “I’ll get you a room for tonight and buy you dinner before I fly back. I gotta go show this to some old friends. I’ll see you in an hour, sergeant.”

  It’s not exactly what Joe had in mind but the smile on the colonel’s face was worth the worry.

  CHAPTER 5

  THREE GUYS AND A GAL

  Joe was a quick study and continued to impress everyone prepping him for the mission. Two weeks after his recruitment, he flew to Kandahar International Airport and reported to US Army Col. Omri Gunderson, commander of the 3rd Division, 75th Ranger Battalion.

  “Come in, Sergeant, and have a seat. I have orders to get you over to the Zhari district. You know anything about it?”

  “Only what I picked up at Ft. Mead and some personal research; I welcome anything you could add, sir.”

  “Well, in a nutshell most people in Zhari are ethnic Pashtuns. There are no less than a dozen tribes, the most prevalent of which are the Noorzai and Ghilzai. There are always nomads moving around and, of course, there’s the Taliban. They have a long cultural history in the Zhari region, so we occasionally send some Rangers over there to support the NATO troops. Between the Taliban and the warlords, it’s a nasty place. However, as I understand it, your being here has something to do with heroin. Chandler, I’ve got more people pulling at me than a Snickers bar at a Jenny Craig convention. Any chance you could give me the condensed version?”

  “Yes, sir. Apparently, some of the Mexican drug cartels are fighting for control of the heroin trade. They need heroin and the Taliban needs money and weapons, and I plan to get in the middle of it, sir. I need to meet some poppy farmers and see who’s doing business with the Taliban. We’d love to stumble onto one of their meet-and-greets and snag one of those cartel boys. Maybe we could figure out how they’re getting arms to the Taliban. It’s my understanding that some of those weapons are increasingly complicated. That’s pretty much it, sir.”

  “That’s a tall order, son, and I’ll help you if I can, but like I said I’m busier than a dung beetle at a congressional fund raiser, so you and your team are going to have to improvise some.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “All right then, there’s a Forward Operating Base on the river near the town of Gereshk. It is primarily secured by NATO, but we have a small presence of Infantry and a few Rangers over there doing some training with the Afghan Army. You go see Lieutenant Lee when you land and he’ll fix you up with a place to stay. Including yourself you’ll have a five-man team, so I suggest you make sure somebody knows where you are at all times. You should be welcomed by most of the tribes, and with the doc I’m assigning to your team, you’ll get through a few more doors. Lee said he cannot spare an interpreter right now, but the doc speaks pretty good Pashto. If there are no more questions, I have a Black Hawk headed there with supplies at 1500 hours. You got all your gear?”

  “I’m good to go, sir.”

  The colonel yelled for his sergeant and had him drive Joe to the flight line, where he hopped aboard a Black Hawk helicopter and flew west.

  After a short meeting with the lieutenant, Joe was introduced to Petty Officer Third Class Percival Davis, a Navy corpsman.

  “I’m headed over to get some chow, so if you want to stow your gear, you can eat with me.”

  They walked to a barracks and into a small space Joe wouldn’t have to share.

  “I wasn’t expecting my own room.”

  “You’re the team leader, Sergeant, and the lieutenant says you get your own room. The way I see it, as long as you know what you’re doing and don’t get anyone killed, you can have the whole barracks.”

  The reality of leading men into harm’s way hadn’t hit him until that moment. It caused him to pause, but the corpsman broke his inflective mood.

  “Everybody calls me Doc; I take pride in my job and you look like a guy who will be good at yours, now let’s go eat.”

  As it turned out, the corpsman did know his trade well and had used it extensively in combat with the Marines. Davis had a passion for battlefield medicine and a knack for languages. It’s not uncommon for the military to use its medical personnel to build relationships with the various tribes. The Pashtuns had little in the way of medical services and Doc Davis had enjoyed going into villages and engaging the locals. In doing so, he had learned some Dari and almost mastered Pashto. Once his unit headed home, he requested to stick around and had eventually found his way to Lieutenant Lee, mostly as an interpreter.

  The rest of the team walked in together and Doc waved them over. Sparky Nussbaum was a communications specialist who was on his second deployment. Liam Greer was almost as new in the country as Joe was and had excelled at Ranger sniper school. Joe had to do a double take when Remi Sørensen introduced herself. She had a voice almost as small as she was, and at 5’2” she didn’t cast much of a shadow. Corporal Sørensen was a Special Operations engineer with the Norwegian Army currently serving with NATO. She was short, quiet, and had left her boot marks over the backs of several men who had washed out. She had short blonde hair, freakishly blue eyes, and a modest smile.

  “This is Remi Sørensen,” said Doc. “She’s so little she keeps getting overlooked, but word has it she can blow up an entire Taliban village with a stick of gum.”

  “Yeah,” said Greer. “I could also use a spotter and she’s small enough she might be a good asset, no objections from me.”

  Joe looked at Sparky Nussbaum who shrugged his shoulders and looked back at Remi. Joe stared at her for a second without saying anything then asked her to have a seat.

  “Ms. Sørensen, we’re not going to blow up any villages, but we are going to be dangerously exposed to some nasty people. No one here knows anything about our mission, so at the moment I’ll take your place on this team under advisement. As soon as I figure out where, plan on a briefing at 0700 tomorrow. After the general outline and before I get into specifics, if anyone wants out I’ll need you to do so immediately.”

  Joe grabbed his tray, nodded at everyone, and walked away. He wanted the team to have time to think and talk among themselves. It was a classic move, and it left little doubt in anyone’s mind as to who was in charge. Joe walked directly to Lieutenant Lee’s trailer and stepped inside.

  “I figured you’d be back, Sergeant. You want the low-down on your team, especially the sixteen-year-old-looking blonde, right?”

  Joe smiled and nodded.

  “All right, here’s the deal: I got a call from Colonel Gunderson who told me he had some stout brass up his ass about this mission of yours. He said to give you the best I could spare.

  “Sparky is a top-notch soldier, but he’s got a little attitude. He’s not excited about the assignment, and he would like to ride out his second deployment without too much drama. You can probably count on him, but he’ll be high maintenance.

  “Liam Greer is the best shooter I’ve ever seen. He’s a bit green, but if you build some confidence in him, I think he’ll be reliable.

  “The Doc is as good as they come. He is an excellent field medic, good linguist, and the tribal folks like him. He’s delivered babies, pulled teeth, and, amazingly, did an emergency appendectomy in the middle of nowhere. By far, he’ll be your best asset in the field.”

  “And the girl?” asked Joe.

  “The girl is Gunderson’s idea. We don’t know what else to do with her and she’s eager to get out of the camp. Her sergeant said he’s scared of her, and her file is chalked full of commendations. I guess she’s smart, tough as nails, and follows orders. It’ll be your call but, as I said, the colonel thought it was a good idea. Welcome to Afghanistan.”

  Joe nodded and thanked him, the
n asked where he could do a briefing the next morning.

  “I’ll have my first sergeant show you to a trailer we use for briefings. I’ll make sure you’re not interrupted unless we start taking mortar fire again.”

  Joe squinted his eyes and gave him an Are you kidding? look.

  “It happens, so keep your helmet on.”

  Joe took a walk around the compound … with his helmet on, thought about everything the lieutenant had said, then he invited the Doc for a chat.

  There was some small talk about where they were from and what they planned to do once all the excitement was over. When the conversation died down, Joe stared at Doc Davis.

  “Yeah,” said Doc. “I think Remi will be fine. I think she’s bright, pays attention, and will do whatever is asked of her. She’s already followed me into the field a couple of times and I was glad to have her. She picks things up quickly, you know what I mean?”

  “And what about Nussbaum?”

  “Yeah, like I said, she picks things up quickly. She could probably learn to use a radio.”

  Joe ate breakfast alone while he read an illegally obtained personnel file on Remi Sørensen. His NSA connections were already paying dividends. The colonel’s recommendation or not, it was his team, his call, and he didn’t want to get anybody killed. At 0659, he walked into the modular trailer where everyone else was seated around a table.

  “The Taliban is buying opium from a few poppy farms and either selling it or trading it to Mexican drug cartels for weapons. Some of those weapons are a problem. The cartels are desperate for heroin; so desperate, in fact, they are sending people to meet and negotiate with the Taliban. Our mission is to find the farmers, identify the buyers, and, with any luck, grab a Taliban seller and a Mexican buyer and turn them over for interrogation.”

  “It’s a hell of a lot easier to kill the bastards than try and capture them, don’t you think, Sergeant?”