Detachment Delta

by Don Bendell

  “Great disinformation program on their part,” the Lakota warrior said.

  She came back. “But wouldn’t it make Dabdeh think that he is pulling off a major operation? He might think he is recruiting tons of people and building this giant jihadist network, but the CIA are not even on to him?”

  “No way, baby,” Charlie said. “The guy is not that dumb. It will destroy his little ego anyway, and probably make him more determined to make the organization even bigger.”

  “We have to close up shop, folks,” a good-looking Military Intelligence captain said, approaching their desk. “We have to replace the TS folder you have been looking at.”

  “Sure thing, Captain,” Charlie responded.

  They took the folder over to the desk by the large vault filled with Top Secret Area Studies on all the countries in Africa and most of the ones in the Mideast. They had to log it back in with the young sergeant sitting by the vault door, who wore a loaded .45 automatic.

  They thanked the captain and several sergeants for their assistance and left.

  “Well, Fila, tomorrow we have the briefings and Oplan development starting,” the big sergeant said, referring to the operational plan. “We only have this evening left to continue getting acquainted like the Old Man ordered. How about dinner at my house? I’ll grill us some steaks.”

  “Instead . . .” she said. “It was hot today and we made those four HALO jumps. I sure could use a nice tall, cold beer. How about the GB Club?”

  “Sounds great to me,” he said.

  They stopped there and each had a cold beer, then went on to Charlie’s place, where he fired up his deluxe grill. After a great dinner, they talked awhile and then took a walk outside holding hands.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Unplanned Rehearsal

  THEY were two blocks from Charlie’s house, walking along enjoying the smells of fresh-mowed lawns and the fragrances of some well-manicured yards filled with blooming flowers. He kept asking about her past in both Iran and Iraq.

  They came to a small building that said “BBQ” on the outside, nothing else, but several cars were parked outside. They went inside, and Fila was surprised at the number of people in there ordering dinners to go with barbecue, hush puppies, cole slaw, and other Southern treats.

  They came up to the counter and a large, smiling ruddy-faced woman came up to Charlie and spoke with a thick Southern accent. “Why, Charlie, I swanee! I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age. Want some hot barbecue today?”

  “No,” he said and smiled. “My friend Fila here has not had the opportunity to taste a piece of one of your homemade pies or your carrot cake. Fila, this is Rose. Rose, Fila.”

  They both nodded and lipped, “Hi.”

  Then Rose gave a big laugh and said, “The way she has been looking at you, Buddy-Ro, Ah’d say ya oughta get a piece a carrot cake and split it.”

  She winked at Fila, who blushed deeply.

  He said, “Sound like a plan, girlie?”

  “Sounds like a plan, Stud Muffin,” she shot back without missing a beat.

  Rose went to her cake dish to pull out a thick, rich-looking carrot cake, and she said, “Bettah hang onta that one, Charlie. Ah like her. Woman’s got some gumption. Ya heah?”

  Charlie held the chair for Fila to sit at the tiny corner table, and he sat down opposite her. Rose brought a piece of cake over, set it between them, and handed them two forks.

  “How ya like your coffee, Fila?”

  “Black, please.”

  “Comin’ up.”

  She returned with two steaming cups of coffee and Fila took a bite of the cake. She swallowed it and said, “This is delicious! Really delicious, Rose!”

  Rose said, “Wal thank ya. I have a trick that makes mine bettah than all the othahs.”

  “What’s that?” Fila asked.

  Charlie said, “Oh, I didn’t want you to ask.”

  Rose laughed and said, “Real carrots. Everybody else uses orange Crayolas. How you like them apples?”

  Sporting a big smile, Fila said, “You are a marvelous cook. I mean fantastic, but you suck as a comedienne.”

  Charlie laughed and pointed at Rose, and she smacked his hand with a towel she carried. “Oh pshaw.”

  She went back behind the counter.

  With his back to the corner, Charlie glanced at every customer who walked in the door. He was used to always sitting back to the wall, facing possible dangers. This was very common for all specops types and police officers. Fila felt comfortable, though, knowing he was there to spot any danger behind her.

  On about their third bite of the delicious cake, which they were eating using only one fork that was held in his hand, with him feeding her and then taking a bite himself, trouble came.

  Charlie’s eyes opened as he looked to the door, and he whispered, “Trouble.”

  “Don’t nobody move. I’ll pop a cap in yo asses if ya do!” a young black punk in oversized shorts yelled.

  He was also wearing a red Cardinals baseball hat and an oversized red tank top. He held what looked like a .380 semiautomatic pistol in his hand, which he now pointed at Rose, who looked like she was going to have a heart attack.

  Just past him was another large white youth, who also wore the colors of the Bloods, with a red scarf under his cocked and tilted red baseball cap.

  Charlie looked at both of them but whispered through closed lips, “I got Big Mouth. You take White Bread.”

  “I’m locked and loaded. Say when.”

  “Gimme all the money you got in that drawer, bitch, and move!” the leader said.

  Two middle-aged women stood at the counter waiting for a take-out order and looked like they were ready for a heart attack, too. A yuppie-looking man walked in wearing a suit and immediately had a sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun shoved in his face, and his hands went skyward.

  Charlie quickly whispered, “One, two, three! Now!” and in one fluid motion, Fila spun and rose, and he moved out one step away from her.

  Both were leaning forward, knees slightly bent, their left hands coming up in front of their chests as if they were saying prayers, and this slapped the butt of their Glock 19 9-millimeters and extended the guns forward, their right hands cradling the grips.

  Charlie yelled, “Do not move, punks! Freeze or die!”

  Both gang members looked at him and Fila pointing guns at them, and their demeanor showed they knew what they were doing.

  The black kid stuck his jaw out, saying, “You want me to shoot this old bitch, Player?”

  Charlie said, “I don’t know her. Who cares? I just know if you do, I can castrate a flea with this nine at a hundred meters, so I will not kill you. I will put a bullet in your spine and paralyze you. You both have till the count of three to lay the weapons down or die. One.”

  Both punks got panicky looks on their faces and swung their guns at the same time toward Charlie and Fila, and the woman at the counter and Rose screamed. At the same time, Charlie and Fila each fired twice in rapid succession and both gang members fell to the floor just like that, crumpling like rag dolls. Each had two holes in his forehead.

  Charlie yelled at Rose, “Call 9-1-1 now!”

  He ran out the door, gun in hand, while Fila checked the pulse on both gang members. They were quite dead. She then ran out behind Charlie, to see the driver of the car and one more gang member in the backseat.

  Charlie said, “Driver! Both hands on the wheel, engine off, and throw the keys. Now or die. No arguing! Backseat, both hands out the window, crawl out the window, and lay facedown, spread-eagled. Fila, cover me!”

  He heard her say, “Got it! Go!”

  Charlie moved around the car to the driver’s door, while the still-shocked customers inside watched out the window and neighbors were now running up, but staying back a safe distance.

  “Both hands out the window!” Charlie commanded.

  He approached the man, saw that Fila was covering him and the passenger very well, and s
lipped his Glock in his pocket, grabbed the driver’s two thumbs together in a viselike grip, knocked his hat off, grabbed him by his dreadlocks, then hauled him out the driver’s window and face-first onto the ground. Charlie then lifted him, marched him quickly around to the other side of the car, and laid him down about ten feet from his friend.

  Now the crowd of neighbors started cheering and applauding as cruisers drove up, screeching to a halt.

  The first officer out pointed his weapon at Charlie and started to tell him to drop his weapon, but a man from the crowd ran out holding up a police badge and yelling, “Aesop, Narcotics! They are one of us! The man and woman are good guys!” The officer nodded at Charlie and Fila.

  Charlie said, “One at the back of the car was backseat, one in the front was the driver. They have not been searched.”

  Fila yelled out, “Two holdup men inside are both dead!”

  The crowd started cheering again.

  Charlie said to Fila, “Call Weasel. Then call Pops.”

  He held his weapon on the two gangbangers from the car until other cruisers arrived and took over. Charlie holstered his weapon, and Aesop came up from the crowd and shook hands very enthusiastically with both him and Fila. Soon, the first sergeant to roll up came up and shook hands with both of them also.

  Within twenty minutes, a helicopter could be heard and a Little Bird landed right in the middle of the street, and Pops emerged, wearing Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and sandals. He went up to the Fayetteville police lieutenant now in charge, showed him his identification, and spoke to him.

  He then ran over to Charlie and Fila and said, “You two okay?”

  Aesop was still there and said, “Hey, I know you, Colonel. You two aren’t cops.” He looked at Charlie, saying, “You must be C.A.G. I did twenty-two years in Group, many of them at Bragg with 7th and SWC.” He was referring to the Special Warfare Center.

  Charlie explained, “He is a Fayetteville detective.”

  Pops stuck out his hand, saying, “They both are C.A.G.”

  “Damn,” Aesop said. “The Funny Platoon, huh? I didn’t know it was real. Heard it was rumor.” Sticking out his hand to Fila, which she shook, he said, “Didn’t mean to diss you, ma’am. I didn’t know you were Delta, too. Don’t know what to call you. Don’t know your rank.”

  Fila grinned and said, “Don’t need to call me ma’am, Officer. I work for a living.”

  Charlie and Aesop started laughing, and Pops groaned.

  Aesop said, “Nice to meet you, Sergeant. I’m a retired E9 myself. Nice meeting you, too, sir.”

  Charlie grinned, saying, “No need to call me sir, Sergeant Major, I work for a living.”

  Pops groaned again, while the other three laughed.

  Saying “Do not call me sir, I work for a living” was a cliché among Special Forces NCOs and had been that way for decades.

  Rose was now outside, with several officers around her and visibly shook up. She ran up to Charlie, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said, “You and, and oh, I am so shaky and ready to faint, I can’t think of your name, sweetie. Oh! Fila, thank you both so much. You saved my life. You saved everybody’s. That officer over there told me these were the gang members they think killed that convenience store clerk down on Hays Street last week, after they took all her money. I was so scared!”

  She grabbed Charlie and kissed him on the cheek and then did the same to Fila, and gave her a big hug, too.

  Charlie held her protectively and said, “Rose, this is Pops, a friend of ours.”

  She shook hands with Pops and said, “Are you a detective, too? All this time, I didn’t know Charlie was a cop, let alone this sweet thang he brought in today.”

  “No,” Pops said, “I’m just a friend. They are really great detectives, but they work undercover so please do not talk about them to the press.”

  “Lord have mercy,” she replied. “Ahm gonna thank the Good Lord every day we have such brave officers protecting us. Of cause Ah’ll keep mah mouth shut.”

  The lieutenant came out of the café and Rose was escorted away. He shook hands with Aesop and said, “Sergeant Aesop, hello.”

  “How ya doing, Lieutenant Hogan?”

  He stuck out his hand to Charlie and Fila, saying, “This community owes you two a lot. These punks had killed before. We are sure. Two rounds each dead center in the forehead.”

  Pops said, “Thanks, Lieutenant. Now we won’t be able to fit their heads through the door.” To them, he said, “The lieutenant said you two can give a quick statement and get out of here, before the news media shows up. Which is what I am going to do.” Pops shook hands all the way around and said to his charges, “Good job! We’ll talk in the morning.”

  He headed at a fast walk toward the Little Bird, swung his two fingers in a fast circle overhead, and the chopper started revving up. As soon as he hopped in, the rotors revved rapidly, and it lifted off, banked, and disappeared over the tall trees.

  The lieutenant said, “Everybody told us the same thing. You two are heroes. I heard you live close. Do you want an officer to take you home and take your statements there?”

  Charlie looked at Fila, who nodded, and he said, “Lieutenant, we would love it, but one request?”

  “What’s that?”

  Charlie said, “Can we each get a piece of carrot cake to take with us?”

  Aesop yelled, “No problem,” as he headed toward the café door pulling his badge out. The lieutenant signaled an officer by the door to cooperate with him. Aesop whispered to Rose, and she escorted him. They emerged with a small cake box a minute later, and Aesop thanked her and carried it to Charlie.

  Aesop said, “Rose said to give you two the whole cake, you lucky turkeys. Man, I love her pastries.”

  They thanked him, shook hands with him and the lieutenant, and headed toward a cruiser with a Fayetteville PD sergeant.

  The lieutenant’s voice stopped them at the cruiser. “Hey, both of you! My wife and I will keep you in our prayers! God bless you both for what you do for this country.”

  Charlie smiled and waved, and Fila said, “God bless you, too, and thank you for your service to the community!”

  As they got into the cruiser, all the assembled crowd spotted them and started clapping again.

  They got home and went into the house. Charlie poured each of them a snifter of brandy. They drank quickly. The sergeant took an offered cup of hot coffee.

  Charlie and Fila drank bottles of water while they gave their statements. In a half hour, the sergeant shook hands with them at the door and thank-yous were again exchanged.

  As soon as the cruiser pulled out of the driveway, Fila turned to Charlie, tears welling up in her eyes, and he held his arms out. She started crying and ran into his arms.

  “Charlie, that is the first person I have ever killed,” she sobbed.

  He said, “I know, honey. I know. You did not hesitate at all. You showed me I would want you on my team anywhere, anytime.”

  “You were wonderful,” she said. “You were so calm and took charge and made it work out for everybody.”

  He replied, “We need some carrot cake.”

  She stopped crying and smiled, nodding her head, wiping her tears. She said, “Why don’t we both take quick showers? After what happened, I was drenched in sweat. You cut us each a piece of carrot cake, pour us each some coffee, and we eat them after?”

  Charlie smiled, “Sounds like a plan to me. See ya in a few.”

  They each went to one of the two bathrooms. Charlie climbed into the shower, and now he was alone, he sobbed hard, letting the water pour on his face. He thought about the young punks and how wasted their lives were. He thought about all those who hammered his red brothers into thinking about what victims they were until many thought their lives were hopeless. He thought about how many people in the lives of the dead gangsters, from parents to teachers to news media, had told them they were victims of preju
dice, corporate greed, and so many other victimization excuses, and how alive they might have been if just someone would have told them they were strong or smart and had opportunity if they were willing to work for it. He thought about how they probably had been in and out of jail, not learning about consequences for their actions. He cried and let the water drain the negative away. He knew the action he had taken had saved lives, and he was so thankful for all the training he had received in the U.S. Army Special Forces. By the time he finished rinsing off, he had his shoulders back and his chest out a little with pride.

  He started drying off and heard Fila speak loud from the bedroom. “Hey, Poke! I got your dessert, and it is ready for you.”

  Charlie splashed on a little Obsession and dabbed on deodorant, brushed his teeth, looked in the mirror, and smiled at himself, then opened the door.

  There was some light but not much, and his incense burner on the dresser was lit and so was the large candle, and the ones on his nightstand and headboard. He looked at her and smiled. Fila lay on the bed with her long shiny black hair spilling across one shoulder.

  She was smiling at him and said, “Ready for dessert, darling?”

  The sight of her tanned naked body took his breath away. Her body was near perfect, to match the rest of her, and it was obvious that she worked out very hard. He saw low on her right side below the rib cage a very obvious bullet-wound scar with a larger exit wound on the back right side. This made her even more attractive to him.

  Removing his clothing, he slowly walked forward, smiling, and now it was her turn to marvel at his magnificent physique. He was indeed all man.

  He sat down on the bed, and pulled a rose out of the vase on his dresser and softly ran it all over her neck, face, and shoulders, and teased her sensitive areas without really touching them. He then started peeling off rose petals, one at a time, and dropping them on her tummy, breasts, and all over. As each would land, he would softly kiss wherever it landed. He took his time, and she was elated. This went on for twenty minutes. Never had she experienced ecstasy like this, and what was amazing to her was that he had not even touched her breasts yet, or her more private areas, but now his lips were all over the breasts where the fragrant petals landed. Ten minutes later, his lips were almost down to the bottom petals. He just started to kiss there, and she grabbed his shoulders and sat bolt upright.