Dogs of Warr II: By Executive Request

By TR Gabriel

The President's son has died from an overdose of Rockettrip, a new designer drug consisting of a combination of cocaine, heroin and LSD. It's called Rockettrip because it gets the user so high, so fast, it's said to be like taking off on a rocket. The First Lady is naturally, terribly upset, wanting the President to do something about the death of their son. An evening walk in the South Lawn by the President and his personal Secret Service agent bears fruit as the agent plants the seed for a non-sanctioned operation against the cartel. This drug not only killed the President's son but the Secret Service Agent's nephew as well.

We meet Javier Escobar, the nephew of Pablo Escobar, cartel leader in his own right and drug czar in Central America. He was educated in the United States earning a master's degrees in chemical engineering and a minor in Psychology. Javier used these degrees to create the potent new narcotic, Rockettrip. The drug lord also learns through some of his back channels that the President of the United States is after him. While confident in the security of his drug factory because of his people and its remote location, he decides he needs to get himself a premier security consultant, just to be sure.

The Dogs of Warr have embarked upon their mission to destroy a drug factory in Central America. During this operation new team member Mushy sees former Spetsnaz Colonel Gregor Nikolanovic, the infamous Devil's Ghost, who is being courted as a security consultant for the Escobar cartel. She makes a move to eliminate the Ghost, but this exposes Sandman, resulting in him being injured badly. The mission is unsuccessful with a great personal cost to the team.

While Sandman is recuperating another new face, Wild Card, arrives at the Kennel. He knows he must prove himself to the team because he is the unknown commodity. With Mushy and Wild Card now amongst their ranks the team makes its way back down to the drug factory to mount an assault once again on the facility.

Will the second mission be successful? Will the covert status be uncovered, and if so, at what cost to the President? Will Rockettrip continue to poison the streets of America?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098371623

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Dedicated to Teresa

Thank you, Teresa, for inspiring me to put another one out there. Your support and encouragement continue to keep the wheels turning and the ideas flowing. I truly appreciate everything you do to let me keep this going. I couldn’t do it without you.

Copyright © 2021 by TR Gabriel

Dogs of Warr logo © 2018 by TR Gabriel

All rights reserved.

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Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

First Printing, 2021

Published by:

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Print ISBN 978-1-09836-216-4

e-book ISBN 978-1-09837-162-3

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All product names, logos, and brands are property of their respective owners. All company, product and service names used in this book are for identification purposes only. Use of these names, logos, and brands does not imply endorsement.

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Acknowledgements

Mom – For your encouragement, support, and editorial assist

Tom Flood – Flood Manuscripts, once again an editor I could rely on

Fred Blower – A Dogs fan who lent a hand, and a keen eye

BookBaby – for having a personal touch in making dreams come to life

Dramatis Personae

Colonel Nathan Alexander Warr, USA (ret)

Breeze – Sgt. Marcus DuPree, USA (ret)

Brick – Percival James Harrison

Maxxum – Sgt. Jeffrey Allen Brinkman, USA (ret)

Sandman – Sgt. Kurt Johnson, USMC (ret)

(Tunnel) Rat – EOD2 Enrique Caruso Gonzalez, USN (ret)

Wingnut – Captain Aaron Brett Daniels, USMC (ret)

Brain – Dr. Jarvinia Hilde Werner

Susan Williamson – Colonel Warr’s niece

Mushy – Svetlana Zinchecko – former KGB/FSB agent

Wild Card – SSgt. August Horatio Auggie Faven, USMC (ret)

Billy Ray Buchannan – President of the United States

Piotr Rasputin Gavrilenkov –[Ivan] – Black Market arms dealer

Colonel Gregor Alexi Nikolanovic – [Devil’s Ghost] – Former Spetznaz

Corporal Dmitri Okulov – Devil’s Ghost bodyguard

Yaroslav Zavrazin – [Mad Genius] – Devil’s Ghost cyber operative

Darya Cherkasova – [The Controller] – Devil’s Ghost enforcer

Javier Escobar – Leader – New Medellin Cartel

Eduardo Segundo – Intelligence Officer – New Medellin Cartel

Contents

Pest control – Southern style

Ready, set, sneak

New beginnings… (five months earlier)

Wingnut’s got a brand-new toy

Sparks kindling

Beginning of the end

Presidential Ace in the hole

Midnight rendezvous

D.C ops continued

The new cartel on the block

A favor for a blast from the past

A new mission & a new face

Fitting in

Airlift

Ghostly happenings

Ghost in the South

FUBAR – Southern style

Home Sweet Homestead

Ghostly interlude

Debrief & fallout

Sandman: Beta version

Girl’s night out

Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like …the Hell Hole

Hello Wild Card, welcome to the big leagues

European vacation

Lather, rinse, repeat

Positions please, the show’s about to begin

Getting hot in here

Distraction anyone?

Innocents, exit, stage left, tangos, enter, stage right

The show must go on

The final act

Debrief

Aftermath

Epilogue – The path revealed

Glossary - Russian

Glossary - Spanish

Pest control – Southern style

(October 15, 2024) The final mission brief went quickly. It covered the positions for everyone and their scheme of maneuver once they hit the area of operations and the objective.

    Takeoff was at 2030 local time for both aircraft. The speed of the Dragonfly let them and the MC-130J fly together as a section. Their course was flying toward the objective as direct as possible, the Air Force plane leading the way low over the water, the S-97 Raider trailing behind either of the fuel hoses streaming from the refueling pods on the cargo plane. Weather over the center of the Caribbean Sea started getting less than marginal, becoming worse as they crept closer to the target.

    LoneStar, Dragonfly, we’d like to hang on the hose as long as possible in case we have to breakup, was the call from Wingnut to the tanker crew. In case they had to split up the flight, proceeding as a single aircraft, the Dogs’ pilot wanted as much fuel as possible to ensure they had either their max range or loiter time available.

    Roger, Dragonfly, you’re cleared either hose whenever you like. Fuel will be on, came the reply.

    Wingnut got behind the left hose of the tanker, remaining in the pre-contact position, then refueling all the way to full whenever they went down by one-quarter of a tank. Having a full bag of gas would allow them to at least get to their alternate rendezvous point or to one of the CIA airfield diverts in the area. Since the CIA didn’t even know they were in the area, they wanted to avoid that if possible.

    The cloud level was consistent at one thousand five hundred feet above the ground, giving both aircraft room to maneuver, but the torrential downpour and lightning made for a brilliant light show on the aircrew’s NVGs. Even though there was a two-thirds moon in the sky, it was blocked by the rain and storm clouds, making it as dark as a moonless night. Some light was reflected off the clouds from cities and villages along the coast, but the intent was to avoid these populated areas as much as possible.

    Approaching the Panama-Colombia border, the two aircraft broke away from each other once the rotorcraft was topped off with fuel. Wingnut turned due south to head down the Colombian countryside. Houston and his crew continued southwest, directly over the border of the two countries to the designated loiter area west of the objective over the Pacific Ocean. They would remain twelve miles off the coast, in international waters, trying to keep as much plausible deniability as they could, relying heavily on Brain to do her magic back at the Kennel.

    The Dragonfly rolled up a valley, staying west of Route 62, a main road from the northern coast to Medellin. It was slow going as Wingnut and Colonel Warr had to dodge rain squalls, as well as avoiding flying into the terrain, as they pressed inbound. What should have taken thirty-five minutes ended up just shy of an hour. They had used satellite imagery back at the Kennel to find a place to set the helo down on a sand bar in the Rio Penderisco about a mile from the objective area. They had both primary and alternate sites picked out, but as it turned out the first site they approached was suitable. The hard-packed dirt and grass provided just enough firmness to keep the small helicopter from sinking into the terrain. Rotor noise-dampening attachments, designed by Brain, and the natural terrain allowed the Dragonfly to get that close. The clamor of the thunderstorm didn’t hurt either. Once on the deck, Wingnut brought the rotors and engines back to ground idle, then off. He kept switches and levers in a ‘hot’ position though. They wanted to be prepared for a quick getaway in case there were more sentries patrolling than they had anticipated.

    Have I mentioned how much I hate getting wet? Breeze complained as the team disembarked, making their way riverside. Having grown up a city boy, he was not a fan of the water, but had conquered any fear he’d had in order to become a better operator.

    What’s a matter, Breeze, you leave your arm floaties back at the Kennel? was the response by the normally quiet Sandman.

    Whoa! Dude! Who are you and what have you done with our sniper? Breeze retorted, saying what everyone else was thinking.

    Just working on the routine in case this covert action gig doesn’t work out, the sniper fired back. Even though it was dark outside, they could all see Sandman’s millimeter smile creep across his face.

    Breeze continued his diatribe, lamenting his disdain about slipping into the murky water. Let’s not forget all the fucking creepy crawlies. You know what kind of critters are just waiting to bite you, stab you, or stick you in this water? Adding insult to injury, who knows what kind of shit, and that may be very literal, has been poured into this water? I’m trying not to hurl just thinking about it.

    Okay, comedians, time to get wet. Wetter, Colonel Warr chided. He’d gotten out of the comfortable confines of the cockpit to see his team off. The rain had already soaked everyone to the bone so going into the river wasn’t going to do much more to them as far as a good soaking. Remember, you signed up for this. The colonel stated, gazing directly at his disgruntled soldier.

    I’m seriously thinking I should have my head examined when I get back to the Kennel, Breeze muttered. Truth be told, he, like any good military member, knew exactly what he had signed up for, but couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to complain about it.

    One by one, they slipped into the murky waters of the Rio Penderisco. The devices they used for their transit down the river resembled paddleboards used by children learning to swim. They were, however, a bit more technologically advanced than your plain old paddleboard. Each apparatus was comprised of a fiberglass shell housing an electric impulse motor capable of propelling a two-hundred-pound man at two knots for over two hours. This was owing to the Brain-designed battery that, like their TacTabs, seemed to take forever before losing their charge. The electric motor made for an extremely quiet means of propulsion. A mount on the rear of the board allowed for the installation of each member’s TacTab. This afforded the sled the capability of GPS location and routing with all its communication functionality available while transiting through the water.

    Quietly slipping their way upriver, the team looked like a parade of alligators with just their heads peeking above the surface. They maintained thirty to fifty yards between each other to keep from being too conspicuous. There weren’t alligators in this river and logs didn’t float upstream. Their swim goggles and NVGs allowing them to keep each other in sight while being partially submerged.

The smallest and least likely to draw attention, Rat came ashore first. He floated over to the muddy bank of the river four hundred yards from the edge of the factory complex, secured his sled under an overhanging group of trees, then slithered his way up the mild slope. Under the concealment of the foliage, he scoured the soggy landscape for any undesired interlopers, or anything else that might compromise the rest of the Dogs as they made their way ashore.

Breeze came next, the look on his face one of pure disgust and revulsion. Given a choice, he preferred jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft, hanging in his parachute on the way to the ground, over anything resembling waterborne operations. Stowing his sled in the same position marked on the TacTab by Rat, he joined his infiltration teammate at his initial position. After rendezvousing with Rat, Breeze couldn’t resist griping some more about getting wet.

    A snake! I think I saw a fucking snake following me in the water, he whispered. I hate this place already and we just got here. he continued.

Rat rolled his eyes. Breeze knew they were all miserable, none of them liked the inclement weather, but it came with the territory. As glamorous and special as Special Forces were, this was the opposite end of that spectrum where the true mettle of an operator was tested. That waterlogged pair turned southeast, clearing their path one last time before stepping off.

    Razor Lead is feet dry. Calling Budweiser, Breeze radioed, signaling everyone on the mission common frequency that he and Rat were starting their trek inland.

    A double-click on the radio by Colonel Warr let the team and the monitors back at headquarters know the message was received. Back at the Kennel, Brain was doing her best keeping an eye out for undesirable characters with the satellite view she had, but the trees and weather weren’t helping her at all. Her crippled surveillance attempts were frustrating her to no end.

    Brick was the third fighter to go feet dry. Making his way inland a few yards, he waited for his partner, Maxxum. It was rare for the large heavy-weapons expert to carry a smaller caliber weapon. He had opted for the 5.56mm M249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW). It was tempting to carry a G28 like the rest, but he felt it was his responsibility for a heavy volume of fire if necessary. The Dragonfly was a smaller aircraft than the Cerberus AV-22s, so weight and space savings were at a premium. Maxxum was working his way up to Brick when lightning revealed a silhouette in front of the big man. It wasn’t Brick. He was still several yards ahead, while the other two Dogs already ashore were making their way over to the outbuildings. Oh shit, thought Maxxum, freezing in his tracks.

Ready, set, sneak

(October 15, 2024) This is not good, the large man thought, willing himself invisible as the lightning continued to flash, illuminating the shape in front of him. He was ready to handle the person he’d encountered, though he still had no idea if this potential victim was facing him or if his back was to him. Maxxum wanted to avoid doing anything that could trigger any undesired attention because that would only cause complications for them later. A dead or missing body might arouse suspicion, making it more difficult to remain undetected until the entire assault was complete. Sonofabitch, he thought, why can’t things ever go smoothly?

The machine-gunner did his best to blend in with the trees and foliage. He noticed the man, who shook his hips a little bit and then started zipping up his pants, was armed with an AK-47.

Oh my God, this dude almost got himself killed because he had to take a leak; well, that would’ve definitely sucked for him, thought Maxxum.

The errant guard walked slowly back towards the outlying buildings near the factory. When he was a safe distance away, the wary behemoth continued toward his teammate, making a precautionary call over the mission common frequency.

    99 Dogs, heads up; there are roaches in the house. I just about had to squash one. Razor Lead, he was headed your way: keep your eyes open. Razor Lead was the team of Breeze and Rat, Razors Two and Four respectively.

    Copy, Razor Five, was the hushed reply from Breeze.

    Razors, Home Plate. The weather and foliage are playing absolute havoc with my feeds and sensors back here. I’m afraid I’m unable to keep eyes on. Sorry, boys, Brain transmitted. She was incredibly frustrated that she couldn’t give the team the proper support she prided herself on providing during a mission. She kept a constant vigil on her monitors in the event the weather broke or somehow the feeds gave her some tidbit of pertinent information, but for the most part she was blind to the operation.

    No problem, Mum, we’ll just have to keep a better eye out, Brick replied as his partner joined on his position. Razor Trail proceeding on mission, he concluded. It was their job to scout the northern side of the factory and the trail leading from the group of buildings between the river up to the factory. Trying to find a northern entrance to the objective was their hope, and to uncover any pitfalls for the team to avoid when they brought the demolition charges in for the assault.

    With Razor Trail moving toward the south, it was time for the residents of Olympus to come ashore. Sandman led, stowing his watersled and clearing the riverbank, keeping a close eye on their newest addition as she crested the water, stealthily moving to him through the undergrowth. Sandman admitted she definitely knew how to handle herself in the movement area, although being quiet wasn’t all that difficult with the deluge coming from the sky. Hell of a night for her first mission, he thought. Pouring rain, waterborne infiltration and exfiltration, no desire for any contact. Be miserable just to be tagging along. Welcome to the Dogs, Mushy.

    Jupiter and Minerva moving to Olympus, the sniper said, signifying all Dogs were out of the water, feet dry, moving to their assigned positions.

    Copy, Razors. Green light, came the directive from Colonel Warr, sitting on a sandbar in the Dragonfly. It was eating at him, not being in the field with the rest of his ground team, but his job was to stay in the cockpit with Wingnut, in case they needed to execute an emergency extract, or for whatever reason, get out of the area quickly.

    Breeze and Rat made good time to the large structures north of the factory. They were snooping around the barracks buildings, even able to watch the almost deceased sentry come walking up from the tree line. The pair of Dogs thought it must be time for his shift change, so they made a mental note to keep an eye out for his replacement. The noise, coupled with the low visibility caused by the storm, let the two easily get right up to the building. They used the snake cameras on their TacTabs to peek in various windows and under assorted doors around the few structures. They discovered the first building was mostly for enforcers, but the other two seemed to be for local guest laborers, judging by their attire and the conditions of the place. It resembled pictures they had seen of an old concentration camp from World War II. This only fueled the anger each of them already felt towards the head cockroach as they continued to gather the intel from the facilities. They completed their tasking and started down the east side of the area. They were to head south and examine any of the entrances of the primary target on that side of the building.

    Brick and Maxxum had completed their movement to their objective on the same tree line due south of the factory. They were watching the place like the far team, making mental notes of which buildings had targets and which buildings had non-combatants. They positioned themselves to get the best fields of fire for any possible escape vector. It might get busy if the fireworks started before they left.

    Sandman and Mushy were going up the small hill south of the factory to get an over-watch position set up. Time being short, they wound up on the tree line about twenty yards inside the trees from the clearing on the southwestern edge of the factory.

    Breeze and Rat continued to survey for windows or doors to peek into, searching for the best possible places to set charges. They wanted the resulting explosions to have the maximum effect once it came time to detonate. On their way to rendezvous with the mid-team of Maxxum and Brick, an urgent call came from Olympus.

    All teams, we’ve got movement on the east side, warned Sandman. He’d seen the light from the opening door.

    Roger. Breeze and Rat stopped in their tracks, slowly kneeling, aiming at the two new targets, exactly like the other Dogs were doing.

    I don’t fucking believe what I’m seeing, was the next transmission from Sandman. It was whisper-quiet, but what he said next rang louder than any thunderclap from the storm they were enduring. Our old pal, Casper, has once again risen from the ashes. He’s with Sangre One on the eastern side of the factory.

It was true. Javier and Gregor had stepped outside so the drug lord could light up a cigarette. They stood underneath the awning that covered the entryway into the main door of the factory.

Sandman’s last radio call made it seem like Warr’s seat in the cockpit of the Dragonfly had suddenly been plugged into an electrical outlet. Disbelief, anger, and wonderment all hit at the same time. Are you positive, Jupiter? Warr asked, hoping his sniper was mistaken, but not really believing he would be. Sandman was too good to make a misidentification, especially about Casper One.

    Unfortunately, I am, One, Sandman replied. How many fucking lives does this cat have, he was thinking? His code name should be Phoenix, not Casper.

    Permission to engage, Mushy breathed over the radio, catching everyone by surprise. She was supposed to be in strictly observation mode during this operation.

    Negative, called Warr. As much as we want that sonofabitch dead, we are not in position to take out the whole operation yet. Do not, repeat, do not engage.

    I have him in my sights, she whispered again. This was her chance to finally get rid of this hated man.

    I say again, all Dogs, negative to engage. The commander sat on the left side of the Dragonfly’s cockpit, dropping his head to his chest, shaking it back and forth. One, he could hardly believe Gregor was alive, and two, a perfect shot at him and she couldn’t take it.

    "Sukin syn!" Mushy whispered angrily, the fire of rage oozing from her lips. She started to get up to draw a better bead on the man identified as the hated Colonel Gregor Nikolanovic, the Devil’s Ghost himself, but Sandman grabbed her, pulling her back down to the ground.

    Fortunately, the team of Sandman and his highly agitated partner were far enough away from the primary target to keep the woman’s movements undetected by the nefarious pair. Unfortunately, however, they weren’t far enough away from a lone guard who’d been walking the open area boundary just inside the tree line. As a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, the movement caught his eye. He saw the former Russian agent get up, then saw Sandman’s hand reach from the undergrowth and drag her back down. Raising his rifle, the sentinel got off a shot, timed perfectly with a loud thunderclap.

    Ow! Fuck! Sandman rolled onto his left side, grabbing his right side lower mid-section just below his Rhynnohÿde vest. I’ve been fucking shot! he stated. He felt the sting and the warmth oozing from the wound, rolled back over onto his stomach and buried his face in the grassy surface, screaming into the muddy ground to keep it muffled.

The vest material, dubbed Rhynnohÿde by the team, was extremely lightweight, but much tougher than Kevlar. This was due to a binding process done at a microscopic level in a molecule-overlapping technique used by the alien visitors. The same fibers and composites that Kevlar is composed of, enhanced with another secret compound developed by Doctor Werner, then underwent the manufacturing process binding them together for the microscopic level layering. This gave the new material the toughness and flexibility necessary, making it by far the best body armor in the world. Being too expensive and difficult to replicate in a civilian market, manufacturing it as a commercial product was not an option, giving the Dogs a slight advantage in personal protection. The items made from this secret material had the look and feel of leather that is truly bulletproof, with even greater shrapnel and fragmentation protection than normal Kevlar. However, in Sandman’s case, if the projectile misses the Rhynnohÿde, hitting an exposed area, it can’t very well succeed in its mission.

    Mushy saw the silhouette of the sentry. He was closing in towards his intended victims to see if he had eliminated the threat. She raised her silenced HK MP7, double-tapping the unsuspecting man in the head and chest, dropping him in his tracks.

    Sandman lay there, not moving. He knew he was hurt bad; it was taking all his strength to not cry out in pain. The bleeding needed to be stopped as soon as possible.

    Mushy grabbed the Quikclot bandage from the sniper’s medical pouch, pulled the bandage from its case, and pressed it firmly against the wound, hoping the added pressure would help with the accelerated clotting the bandage would provide. Hold on Sandman, I’ve got you. This will work. I call Nightingale. Others will be coming soon. We leave now!

    99 Dogs, Jupiter has been tagged, repeat, Jupiter has been tagged, Mushy called over the radio. Jupiter is hit below the vest. Abort mission, repeat, abort mission. Nightingale! Is time for Nightingale! the concerned agent finished. Even in the dim light of the trees, she could tell it was a serious wound.

Sandman had felt the blood oozing freely from the wound when it started, and now the stinging burn of the Quikclot bandage as Mushy pressed it against his side. He hoped the bandage was as good as it was supposed to be. Keeping his face buried in the wet ground he silently groaned his pain and discomfort into the undergrowth. Trying to relax, knowing the rest of the team were coming to get him out, he was praying it would be quick enough.

    Turning her attention back to her fallen comrade, her mind whirled, recalling all the events that had led up to this moment.

New beginnings… (five months earlier)

(May 28, 2024) Susan was walking around on the hangar deck floor when her uncle caught up to her.

    Hi, Susan. Colonel Warr smiled. It did his heart good seeing her up and moving around. The scare from the Kentucky Derby was still fresh in his memory and would remain a vivid nightmare for an awfully long time.

    Hi, yourself, Uncle Arley, she replied, a playful grin on her face.

    He couldn’t help but notice how her eyes were still wide open in wonder as she walked through the front half of the Kennel. He reminded himself that she was still dreadfully new to all of this. Her upbringing had no relation to his world. In fact, it hadn’t been until recently that she’d even known she had an uncle. He still chuckled whenever she referred to him as Uncle Arley, her play on A Christmas Carol.

    What are you up to today? He tried to keep his niece busy while also making himself available to her, but the business of being a covert operator, especially the leader of this unit, was never done. Between keeping in phenomenal shape, reading intelligence brief after intelligence brief, and practicing marksmanship on the shooting range, days filled up quickly. He leaned heavily on Brain, his Chief Scientist Dr. Jarvinia Werner, to keep Susan company since they were the only two women that were full time residents at the Kennel, and two of the exceptionally few women in the Dogs of Warr program overall.

    "I was just on my way to meet with Dr. Werner. She was going to show me where she had me set up to go online and surf the net a bit. I feel a little out of touch here and just wanted to catch up