Sheepdogs

By Al Billings

SHEEPDOGS

What if your 17 year old Granddaughter had just graduated from high school and she was kidnapped. You begged for help form the authorities and they gave nothing but excuses. What would you do?
Noted for tourism and a booming economy, the once-prosperous and carefree border town welcomed visitors for cheap beer, loud music and good food. Yet Nuevo Laredo exists today as a security nightmare, home to heartbreaking drug violence and lost lives. Silver or Lead is the new code in Mexico: Pay up or die.




The killings began at a rate of about two a week, but the pace over the last decade has increased to something closer to two per day. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people have been kidnapped, many tortured or killed outright. Bodies disappear into vats of acid or improvised incinerators.
Frustrated at every turn by political posturing of bureaucrats, both in Washington, D.C. and in Mexico, Jerrod and his friend trace the hostages location. The hardened veteran drafts his wartime brothers to execute his plan; they must not only rescue the teens, but also minimize their own profiles. The mission is unauthorized by any government, and one mistake could result in prison, or death.
Beaten and almost killed as he tries to find the girls, Jerrod has to decide if the mission is worth the lives of his friends. They were once soldiers, young men with high ideals that were stripped raw by the horrors of war. Will they be willing to risk everything again?As the rescue unfolds, Jerrod discovers that government agents have been playing both sides, reaping substantial profit from the drug trade they supposedly battle. Jerrod is unwillingly pulled further into the nightmare. Will he be able to expose the corrupt agents before it is too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 25, 2009
• ISBN: 9781449034832

Al Billings

During his distinguished 22 year naval career, Commander Billings was a combat decorated pilot and has qualified in more than 20 different aircraft.  He rose from the enlisted ranks to command the Navy’s oldest combat search and rescue squadron, Helicopter Combat Support Squadron One (HC-1). He completed four tours in support of the Vietnam War, and served as Air Boss onboard the USS Belleau Wood (LHA-3) and was a member of the Navy’s only helicopter attack squadron, Helicopter Light Attack squadron Three (HA(L)-3).  The Seawolves were the Navy’s most decorated squadron of the Vietnam era. Commander Billings was awarded more the 40 medals and citations for his service to his country, including the Silver Star, for an unprecedented rescue of two seriously wounded sailors under hostile fire.  He was also awarded the distinguished Flying Cross for launching single ship into a moonless night against squadron policy to save a SEAL Team that was pinned down with three wounded.   Commander Billings holds a master’s degree from the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, California, and undergraduate degree from the University of West Florida.  As a computer systems engineer/program manager he has invented, designed, and built ground support hardware and software for combat aircraft that were used in Desert Storm.   Commander Billings served as the Director of Information Technology for the South Carolina Department of Public Safety. During his service to the state, he initiated and implemented the largest successful systems integration project ever completed, “Project Phoenix”. Making the South Carolina DMV one of the most modern in the Nation.   As an author he received a five star review for his memoirs “Seawolf 28”.  His second book “SHEEPDOGS” soon to be released is a thriller developed from over two years of research on gang and terrorist activities along our Southern borders.

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Sheepdogs

Al Billings

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2009 Al Billings. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/20/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4490-3483-2 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4490-3481-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4490-3482-5 (hc)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

Epilogue

A man, after he has brushed off the dust and chips of life, will have left only the hard, clean question: Was it good, or was it evil? Have I done well or ill?

John Steinbeck

STATE OF OUR SOUTHERN BORDERS

Statement of Chris Swecker

Assistant Director, Criminal Investigative Division

Federal Bureau of Investigation

Before the

U.S. House of Representatives

Committee on Crime, Terrorism, and Homeland Security

The region between the Texas cities of Del Rio and Brownsville has experienced high levels of drug-related turmoil since 2003. The focal point of much of this activity is Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, a border city situated directly across the Rio Grande River from Laredo, Texas.

Drug traffickers have exacted an especially bloody toll in Nuevo Laredo and neighboring Mexican towns. Significant levels of violence and drug-related criminal activity also plague Laredo. As you know, this bloody drama revolves around the Gulf Cartel drug-trafficking organization, which dominates the region and commands smuggling operations along this stretch of the American Southwest.

Kidnappings

One of the most significant ramifications of the unrest along the border has been a string of kidnappings involving U.S. citizens. In 2004, there have been 35 reported abductions of U.S. citizens in this region (much larger numbers of Mexican citizens have been abducted along the border, from January to mid-August, 202 kidnappings occurred in the Mexican state of Tamaulipas, the Gulf Cartel’s operational center, which includes the cities of Matamoros, Nuevo Laredo, and Reynosa. Thirty-four of these abductions occurred in Nuevo Laredo and involved U.S. citizens who had crossed the border.

**************************************

James Loy, Deputy Homeland Security Secretary:

There is growing intelligence suggesting al-Qaida was considering entering the United States across the Mexican border. We are seeing the emergence of other threatening groups and gangs like MS-13 that are also destabilizing influences.

********************************************

CHAPTER

1

NUEVO LAREDO, MEXICO

Samantha Scott could not believe she was sitting in the Los Sombreros bar in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. She was a 17-year-old graduate from United High School, class of 2004 in Laredo, Texas. A petite brunette, at 5’3" and 102 lbs., her flawlessly milk white skin was strikingly accentuated by her dark thick eyelashes, giving the impression of a fragile porcelain doll. Samantha was passionately in love with the star wide receiver on the high school varsity football squad, Peter Mason, who graduated a year ahead of her.

The Los Sombreros was the kind of Mexican border town bar that teens and college students frequented. The tables and chairs showed years of wear, adding to the allure and mystique that appealed to the underage crowd from across the border. The floor was covered with sawdust and sand, the smell of stale beer rising from the upswept floor. Samantha was fascinated by the types of people in the bar, many of them college students down to party for the weekend.

Samantha looked across the table at Christy and Loretta; feeling slightly lightheaded from the two beers she had managed to consume. She never developed the taste for beer but was afraid to try anything stronger. Feeling a little bold, she said, Christy, isn’t that dress a little short? You can almost see everything.

Loretta tried to keep from smiling.

Christy smiled and leaned over the side of her chair to whisper in Samantha’s ear. As she did, she glanced over at Trey, her current boyfriend. Look, Sam, when you’re a little older, you’ll understand what I’m saying. This little skirt and the others just like it get me just about anything I want.

Christina Appleton was athletically built, a former cheerleader with long blonde hair who was almost two years older than Samantha. She had graduated the year before with Peter and Trey. Trey, sat quietly across the table, turning the bottle of beer around in his hands. Trey had that Ivy League look about him. Young, clean-cut, with a slender build he was on the varsity football team with Peter but never saw much playing time.

Trey was secretly glad to hear Samantha say it; at times, he wished he had had the guts to tell Christy the dresses made her look like a hooker. Trey had been in love with her since his freshman year and would never take the chance of making her mad. He had watched for three years while she dated most of the popular seniors of each class before she finally noticed he was alive.

Peter approached the table and quickly sat down. Leaning in so everyone could hear, he whispered, I met a guy in the bathroom and he knows where we can score on some of the best Skunk south of the border.

Peter and Christy had talked them all into going to the Los Sombreros to celebrate Samantha’s graduation, since they were all too young to drink in the bars in Laredo. The two dated briefly last year before Peter graduated and went on to the Laredo community college. Christy knew he was too wild to settle down, but still had feelings for him and hoped he would soon get bored with Samantha.

Peter’s stubble and muscular build always turned the girls on. He radiated self-confidence in everything he did. The women seemed to love that bad-boy image. Skunk was the name Peter used for marijuana.

I have to be home by midnight, Samantha said.

Peter gave Samantha a disapproving look. Several hours had passed since they arrived, and it was now 8 p.m. She never liked the idea of using drugs but was afraid Peter would get mad if she said anything.

Christy laughed. Sam, you’re supposed to be an adult now. How are you going to handle college life? Besides, this beer isn’t doing anything but make me pee.

Sam tried one more time. We can’t take it across the border. We’ll get caught.

Christy came back, Who says were going to take it back across the border?

Trey and Loretta said nothing and followed along, as they always did. Finally, Samantha reluctantly agreed. Loretta was Sam’s closest friend and always tagged along whenever Peter would let her. Quiet and timid, with light brown hair, Loretta was not unattractive but very rarely dated and had never had a real boyfriend. Peter would reluctantly let her come along, usually when they were in a group. Loretta seemed to be happy to just be part of the crowd.

Peter pulled Samantha up out of the chair, pointing at the young Mexican standing at the front door. They all followed Peter outside. When they reached the street, Samantha felt a cold chill go down her spine when she looked at the Mexican, tattoos all over his body: skull with knives dripping blood on his arm, even some on his neck. They followed him across the street, where the young man pointed to a beat-up 1978 Chevy Impala sorely in need of a wash.

He wants us to follow him. Peter said, then turned and headed toward his car across the street. As they pulled away, Peter fell in behind the Chevy. It wasn’t long before they turned off the main drag down a bumpy dirt road riddled with potholes. The surface was so bad they slowed to less than 20 miles per hour. Samantha felt sick to her stomach. It was dark, and there were no streetlights. The only illumination was from the headlights of the two cars and a few poorly lit windows from the few adobe houses along the sides of the road.

Suddenly, the car they were following made an abrupt left turn between several dilapidated buildings, possibly old warehouses. Peter followed.

Peter and Christy were laughing as they entered the alley, while Samantha held her breathe. Trey leaned forward and put his hand on the front seat Are you sure this is a good idea?

Christy snapped at Trey, her eyes cut right through him. Don’t tell me my boyfriend is a wussy.

Trey settled back into the seat and stared out the window. About 100 yards into the alley, the car in front came to a stop. Peter pulled up behind him. Just then, Samantha noticed another set of headlights coming up behind them.

CHAPTER

2

TUCSON, ARIZONA

It was a long hot drive from Dallas to Tucson, and as the miles passed Jerrod Hurst’s mind wandered as the music from the radio continued in the background. He was on his way to meet up with the remaining members of his unit from Vietnam. It would be the second time in the last 18 months.

He recalled what had started this act of veneration. Thirty-six years earlier, during the 1968 Tet Offensive, they had made each other a promise to celebrate the life of each of their comrades, as they passed.

That night, they had lost almost a third of their unit when the Viet Cong overran the small base on the outskirts of Saigon. Detachment 2 was part of a quick-reaction Navy gunship helicopter squadron located in the Mekong Delta of South Vietnam.

The detachment was strategically staged along the main shipping channel into Saigon. One of its many missions was to prevent attacks as the ships transited the channel into the city. The Long Tau River was very narrow in several spots and flowed right through the heart of the Rung Sat Special Zone.

Inside the Rung Sat was a regimental size Viet Cong force divided into two military regions, with one area located east of the Long Tau River and the other west. Both areas had Viet Cong battalion-size commands, with at least three main force sapper-trained infantry companies each. They were primarily North Vietnamese soldiers sent south after enlisting to fight. The Rung Sat-based Communists were well equipped with recoilless rifles, rockets, mortars, .50 and .30 caliber machine guns, and water mines.

The enemy’s mission was to interdict shipping, maintain two battalions in the Rung Sat at all times, and provide safe areas for all Viet Cong fighters. There were at least seven well-hidden Communist bases within the Rung Sat, with one supporting a field hospital.

Most of the rivers in the Rung Sat were surrounded by triple-canopy jungles and infested with Viet Cong guerrillas and North Vietnamese soldiers. It was the Navy’s job to make sure the shipping made it through the 45-mile gauntlet from the South China Sea into Saigon.

The detachment consisted of two aircraft and support personnel flying single-engine helicopters daily over the foreboding landscape of the Delta. Jerrod could still remember that night when they came through the fence. It was 0230, in the morning on January 31st, 1968, when the alarm sounded and the duty crew headed for the helicopters.

Jerrod was the Fire Team Leader that night and responsible for getting the crew airborne as quickly as possible. They were too late; Charlie had already breached the wire and was shooting at anything that moved. They were about fifty yards from the helicopters when an explosion went off in the revetment of the lead helicopter. Charlie had tossed a satchel charge into the front revetment where the lead ship was sitting, detonating the ordnance and destroying both helicopters. Shrapnel and debris landed all around them.

There were secondary explosions as the flames spread to the wing ship and the heat cooked off the ordinance stored in that revetment, eliminating any chance of getting to the M-60 machine guns. They found Matt and Stan, but it was too late. They had reached the helicopters before the rest of the crew and were both dead. Had the charges gone off a few seconds later, they all would most likely have been killed or seriously injured.

The night was total chaos; with Charlie running through the small base. Explosions and automatic weapons fire were coming from every direction. The gunships were gone, and the fire team would have to survive on the ground. The remainder of the team headed for the operations hooch, knowing there were automatic weapons stored there. When they reached the hooch, everything was in disarray. They grabbed anything they could get their hands on. The building was not much more than a metal shed, with thin walls you could poke a screwdriver through. It was not a place to try to defend, and it was no place to be during a firefight. Jerrod pointed toward the bunker near the detachment hooch, and they headed out the door.

They were sitting ducks out in the open, and with the limited weapons they carried with them, they needed to find cover. As Jerrod reached the bunker, something told him not to go inside. The bunkers were built to protect them from mortar attacks, not from VC who had penetrated the perimeter and were overrunning the base. If they were going to have a chance, they would need to find a place they could defend in the open. They came under heavy fire, pinning them down behind it. They all dropped to the ground, took aim and returned fire at anything that looked threatening.

It was a new experience. In the air, everything seemed controlled. They knew their objectives and mission. The crew functioned like a well-oiled machine. In the air, the enemy was just a target; here on the ground, there was nothing but confusion, it was total bedlam. Nothing seemed to make sense; they were out of their element.

All they could do was hold their position; there was no place to go. Sitting there waiting for the unknown was unnerving. Would they have enough ammo to hold out? How many VC were there? In the first few minutes of confusion, they had grabbed several M-16’s and a shotgun. Most of them carried a .45 cal automatic or, .38 special for personal protection.

It seemed like only seconds had passed when three VC in black pajamas dashed from the darkness. Smitty saw them first and turned to shoot, hollering, VC. Raising his weapon to shoot, his M-16 jammed. As he tried to clear his weapon, one of the Viet Cong opened up on him. The rest of the men responded in kind.

Jerrod kept a shotgun in the operations hooch with flechette rounds. The flechette round had small projectiles in the form of a metal dart, usually steel, with a sharp-pointed tip and a tail with several vanes to stabilize it during flight. The flechette, though not very effective, put out a wide pattern during close-in fighting, which was exactly what Jerrod liked. The barrel was slightly shorter than the standard shotgun, to make the dispersion pattern even more effective in close combat. They used to kid him about his choice of weapons, telling him, Charlie would have to be 10 feet away before you could use that thing on them. True, but Jerrod would always respond with, If they ever get that close, I want to have the last word.

Smitty was hit with the first round from the AK-47 in the right arm. Two more rounds hit his rifle as he held it across his body trying to clear the jammed M-16. The final round hit him in the left arm. Jerrod fired two salvos from his shotgun into the VC who shot Smitty. The impact knocked the man off his feet and his AK-47 up in the air as the force from the blast knocked him backward. Jerrod pumped several more rounds in the direction of the oncoming horde while the rest of the crew swung around and opened fire.

The night was black; there was no moon or stars. The only illumination was from the perimeter lights about 75 yards away, and it quickly dispersed into the black night air. Jerrod was reloading his shotgun when something moved to his right. He quickly shoved the last round into the chamber and turned to face his adversary. It was too late; when he turned, he could see the muzzle flashes from the AK-47. Before he could react, Airman Graves stepped in front of him, firing his M-16. Graves took the initial volley of bullets. The force knocked him backward, and his lifeless body dropped to the ground. Graves’s quick reaction gave Jerrod enough time to respond. He fired two rounds from his shotgun. Both hit their target.

Jerrod watched the VC go down and then looked down at Graves, stunned by what he saw. That should have been him lying there on the ground. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Airman Graves was only 18 years old and had been in country for less than three weeks. It was Jerrod’s responsibility to keep him alive. He had failed.

Automatic weapons fire brought Jerrod back to reality. With what they had, there was no way they could defend their position, but there was nowhere to go. Jerrod tried to keep his men focused on staying alive while he struggled to maintain control over his own emotions.

Seconds later, the bunker erupted in a huge explosion. While they were in the firefight, another VC had made it to the entrance of the bunker and tossed a satchel charge through the door. There were no survivors, but the heavily sandbagged bunker had contained most of the explosion protecting them from the impact.

In the explosion, one of the walls had collapsed, sending sandbags in all directions as it crumbled to the ground. They quickly slid down behind the scattered sandbags and tried to hold their position while Brett checked Graves for any vital signs then turned to try to stop Smitty’s bleeding. The firing continued all around them, but for the moment there was nothing coming in their direction. Lying there, Jerrod felt the stark reality set in. It was sheer luck they hadn’t gone into the bunker. War was unpredictable: one wrong turn, one wrong step and it’s a matter of life or death.

It was not a matter of God, country, or political ideologies or even right over wrong that night. It was sheer survival. The men huddling there had volunteered for Vietnam, and now they were just trying to stay alive. While waiting for the next wave to come Jerrod thought, "If I have to go, these are the men I want to be with. We’re going to take as many of these bastards with us as we can." The men did not know how to quit. As on every mission, the only thing they counted on was each other. That night brought them even closer than they already were and would create a bond that would last for decades.

The waiting was unnerving. In the air, everything happened so quickly, you only had time to react. In the air, you took the fight to the enemy. They were not used to sitting and waiting, and now they were running low on ammo. The crew was his responsibility, and somehow he had to keep them alive. Could they hold off another attack? He decided to hold their position and wait. Moving around in the dark might get them shot from friendly fire. Sporadic firing continued throughout the night as Charlie probed for weak spots. They had no idea where Charlie was, or how many, or what was coming next. For three hours, they stayed in their positions waiting for word, not knowing who had control of the base.

The first light of the day was slowly coming up over the horizon when a jeep with a .50 cal mounted on the back pulled up with two Marines in it. The driver was a crusty old gunny sergeant with a cigar in the corner of his mouth. He was right out of a John Wayne movie. Looking down at them behind the sandbags, he said. It looks like we killed most of the little bastards. They’re assembling over at the command center; you need to send someone over with a sitrep. When he finished, the tires spun, kicking dirt and gravel out the back as he sped off between the buildings. The young corporal frantically hung on to the .50 cal so he would not fall out the back.

Jerrod told them to get Smitty and Graves to the dispensary and headed for the command center to give them a verbal situation report.

Later that morning when he reached the dispensary, the rest of the crew was waiting outside. They waited for several hours before a young corpsman came out and told them that Smitty was going to make it.

Can we see him? Brett asked.

The corpsman responded with, We have our hands full right now. Come back in the morning. Maybe things will have settled down by then.

What about Graves? Brett already knew the answer.

The corpsman shook his head. He didn’t make it.

The next morning they were allowed in to see Smitty. They had felt young and invincible, but standing there in the dispensary, watching the nurse tend to Smitty, the true reality of what could have been their fate, set in.

It was the surprise and the uncertainty that had them all off balance. They knew that every time they climbed into the helicopter they were putting their lives on the line, but none of them was prepared for hand-to-hand combat on the ground. Up to that point, they had felt they were winning the war. The crew had become a close-knit family and now, suddenly, things seemed to change. From the air, everything had a different perspective. War could be vicious and cruel, and what happened to Graves and the rest, could happen to anyone of them, at any moment

Smitty asked if Matt and Stan were dead. Jerrod confirmed it with the nod of his head. Smitty paused and reflected for a minute then tried to cheer everyone up. Hey, look, I’m probably the luckiest guy here. I have a bullet hole in each arm, no major damage and in a few days I’ll be in a hospital in Japan with nothing but good-looking nurses hovering over me.

Smitty paused one more time, then looked down at the bandage on his right arm. Graves didn’t make it, did he?

There was silence in the room; nobody knew what to say. Jerrod stood there, he could vividly see the incident that took Graves’ life. The guilt filled him with unremitting frustration. It should have been him, not a young kid from Massachusetts. Graves had made the ultimate sacrifice and for that, Jerrod would be eternally grateful.

Graves had always been smiling and full of jokes. He believed in what they were doing. At 5’6 1/2" and 135 lbs., he was the smallest person in the detachment. His unselfish act had placed a burden on Jerrod that he would never be able to pay back. That night and for many nights to come, Jerrod would relive that moment.

T.J. spoke up, I think we should make a promise. If any of us goes out from this day forward, we throw them a party to celebrate the way they lived. That’s the way I want to be remembered, and I think they would want the same.

Everyone was silent, and then Brett chimed in. T.J.’s right. We need to celebrate life and the things that are important to us. Matt, Rich, and Stan would have wanted it that way. They died doing what they believed in.

Jerrod looked at this group of young men and thought: Why is it that some men risk everything for what they believe in, yet others are true to nothing but their own self-indulgence?

Back in the hooch that night, they celebrated the lives of their fallen comrades and toasted them into the wee hours of the morning.

A tradition had been set in motion.

Now they were about to do it one more time.

When they returned home to all the name-calling and demonstrations, they leaned on each other even more. They had won every battle and tried to make sense out of the sacrifices they made and the friends they lost. They knew what they had gone through and that only those who had experienced the same events would understand. Vietnam was a political war they were not allowed to win.

CHAPTER

3

NUEVO LAREDO, MEXICO

Samantha felt panic starting to set in. She was breathing heavily but could not seem to catch her breath. Everything in her being was telling her something was wrong. The night air was so hot and humid, she could barely speak. She started to feel faint. Not a word was spoken as the Mexican approached the car. The man had a slender build and looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s. It was hard to tell from the shadows cast by the tall buildings. Looking over at Sam, Peter started to get out of the car. Don’t worry. Everything’s under control.

The young Mexican held up his hand as a crossing guard would do to stop the children from crossing the street. Speaking in a low raspy voice he grumbled, Señor, don’t get out of the car. We can take care of everything right here.

Peter sat back in the seat, closed the door and looked over at Samantha. See, I told you everything would be all right.

Samantha noticed in the rearview mirror two men getting out of the car that had pulled in behind them. They started walking towards the rear of their car.

In an uneasy voice, she said, Let’s get out of here, Peter. Something’s wrong.

Peter put his hand on Samantha’s leg. It’s all right Sam. Nothing is going to happen.

The young Mexican leaned into the opened window as if to talk with Peter, his dark piercing eyes darting around the inside of the car. From