Benghazi, Libya (The Past)
"You believe this is the last munitions stronghold left, Colonel Tag?"
A younger, less weary Angel asked, sand-dusted fingers gripping a top-secret red dossier. His eyes scanned the information while he absentmindedly scratched his full beard and mustache, knocking dirt and desert sand out of it.
Dressed in tan military fatigues with an M-16 rifle slung over his shoulder, he stood in a small, makeshift command tent. The canvas walls of the tent pressed inward under the relentless heat of the Libyan desert.
Facing him and sitting behind a standard portable military field desk, a gruff, mature Colonel Robert Tag nodded, a cigar wedged between his lips. "That's what our intel suggests."
The Colonel, at 6'2", was built solid, with well-defined muscles rippling under his military uniform. He sported a traditional military haircut with neatly trimmed gray ends. His mustache was small, groomed, with a mix of blonde and gray hairs. He observed Angel with one good eye, the other—a glass orb replacing an eye lost in a knife attack that carved through his cheekbone up to his brow—stared blankly ahead.
He then pulled out the cigar and spat on the sandy ground, where the sand quickly absorbed it. "While this current campaign against Al-Qaeda is coming to a close, we believe that the terrorists were able to steal and stash a large amount of ordnance, much of it U.S.-issued. We want all that back. Along with anything else they have, to prevent them from carrying out any more attacks on our consulates."
Angel nodded while thumbing through the material, reciting the contents on each page. "Architectural plans, city plans, sewer plans, and the likely size of the cell. Everything I need is right here."
"I went the extra mile, since it's you," Tag smiled, cigar smoke curling between them. "You've come such a long way since you joined the service, and it has been a real pleasure to train you personally, watching you rise in ranks faster than almost anyone. Your mind is a steel trap, and your strategies have played a large part in turning the tide in this campaign."
"I'm honored." Going over the final few details in the folder, Angel grinned. "I can't express how much it meant that you took me under your wing and trained me in your ways. You have one of the most esteemed reputations in the corps. It's a loss for us that you're retiring next year."
"I expect you to keep rising. You may even become a Colonel at a record rate," he complimented.
"I'll never fill your shoes, sir; I can only succeed them."
"And I'm sure you will," Tag nodded. He then added in a serious tone while chewing on his cigar, "This mission will complete your tour here and send a clear message against planning another attack like Nine-Eleven again."
Angel closed the folder and placed it under his arm. "I'll be sure to leave no stone unturned in our assault, sir."
"Good. However," his voice pulled Angel's attention while he leaned forward, "to ensure that the cell doesn't destroy anything in the firefight, I want you to douse the structure in smoke grenades and go in with masks and thermal goggles." He snapped his fingers with military precision. "Clear the rooms with extreme prejudice."
"That was my thought, exactly." Nodding in agreement, Angel continued, "We'll go in at dusk, with the sun low and on our backs. Brute and I will likely do the legwork inside. Snapshot will take out any runners. Panther will scout this afternoon to confirm that the architecture matches, in case they boarded up or added any windows or escape routes since these plans were drafted. Shrapnel will handle demolition and distraction, then join Panther as our backup."
"Perfect!" Tag smiled while ash fell from his cigar onto the metal table. "Oh, and I will have a little surprise for you when you meet back up with your team later. I called in a favor to get you a communications officer who's at the top of her field. Her team's been clearing out stragglers in the other sectors across the country for the last couple of weeks. I asked her CO if we could get her for this mission."
Angel's face showed concern. "Sir? You know I work best with my team, as they are. Adding someone new and unknown complicates an already challenging scenario."
Tag smirked but maintained his commanding voice despite the casual gesture. "You have your orders, Sergeant."
Angel snapped to attention while the desert wind rattled the tent poles. "Yes, Sir!"
"I'm sure you'll find her valuable and an effortless inclusion into your group. Trust me."
Angel saluted him. "I do, sir!"
"Then you're dismissed. Prepare your team. Have your new communications officer radio me once you have the plan ready and a time set."
"Yes, Sir!"
"Then you're dismissed. Carry on, soldier."
With a crisp nod, Angel turned on his heels and walked out of the makeshift tent into the blazing afternoon sun.
Tag drew on his cigar and blew out a puff of smoke. Behind him, the tent flap pulled back as another soldier entered—dark-skinned, lanky, and tall. "Do you think he suspects?"
"Of course not." Tag's smile turned cold while he tapped ash into a metal tin. "He wouldn't dare take on this mission if he did. Have you confirmed the merchandise?"
"Yes," the soldier said while moving closer to the table. "U.S. munitions. Missiles and experimental drones, wheat and other seeds, which we'll dispose of, and approximately 25 billion in gold bars."
"Good. More than enough to start our own enterprise. And was our intel correct? They have prisoners—leverage—to prevent us from doing what we're about to do, correct?"
"Yes. Approximately twenty civilians."
Tag shrugged dismissively. "No loss."
"And if Angel catches wind and pulls out? We won't have any other way to steal all the contraband."
"He'll carry out his orders. His mind is too focused on devising his tactics, and my little addition to his team will have him focus extra hard on ensuring the mission goes off without a hitch," he declared while chewing on his cigar.
"How so, sir?"
"Don't you worry about that. I trust your little trick to mask the civilian's true nature has been executed?"
"Yes. If it triggers. I'm still developing my craft, and I have not used both a muting and illusion spell at the same time before."
"Which is why I ordered him to use smoke grenades. They'll help with your illusion, and he won't be able to differentiate soldiers from civilians."
The soldier nodded. "Yes, sir."
Studying the younger man's face, Tag asked, "And the rest of the plan?"
"I will have the trucks ready to pull the merchandise out once Angel has completed his part. We can have it loaded and on the way to the private airfield in less than an hour."
"Excellent." He leaned back in his chair, blowing out a puff of smoke while looking smug.
"Anything else, sir?"
"That's all, Lieutenant Samedi." Waving him off dismissively, Tag declared, "You're dismissed."
The Lieutenant saluted and left the same way he'd come in, the tent flap settling behind him.
Tag chewed on his cigar and mumbled quietly while staring at the tent entrance, "Follow my word, Angel, and bring me my spoils."
Reaching to his right side, he picked up a book resting on top of a few files, his one good eye following his fingers as they brushed over the leather cover and traced the cross worn smooth by countless strokes. He smiled coldly while flipping the cover open, the worn pages rustling in the desert breeze that seeped through the tent seams. Leaning back in his chair, Colonel Robert Tag relaxed and read from the Bible.