Sheriff Porter 111 (unedited)

“So you want to do this. He knows the location, the condition of our people, and the numbers and types armaments. We absolutely want to know and we don’t give a crap what shape he is in when he talks. He most likely will not be filing a complaint,” the mission commander said. “So you want to take the first crack at him. Remember he is a drug dealer not a terrorist. We don’t have time to fuck with him and he has no rights.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

“His name is Hector,” The commander added as I entered the room.

“Hector I’m going to leave the hood on you. If you don’t see our faces, we can release you. If you want the black bag off your head, I’m afraid you are going to have to die. So let’s start out assuming you are going to be release at the end of this questioning. How difficult this interrogation becomes is totally up to you. I am a bit squeamish, so I hope it doesn’t get anything less than cordial.”

“The problem is the we are in a terrible hurry to find our friends. So let’s begin,” I said then took a deep breast and let out a sign. “Where are you keeping our friends.”

“Fuck you puta,” he said.

His hands were zip tied to the chair. “That was just rude,” I said as I clipped the first joint off his hands with the pruning sheers. Then I used the butane plumbers torch to cauterize the wound.

“Having to do that was unfortunate, but it’s your fault. You gave me no choice. You would be well advised to keep your answers civil. Now where are they keeping out friends?” I asked.

“I got nothing to say butcher,” he said.

I walked to him with the sound of my steps he tensed. I pruned his little finger again. Again I hit it with the torch to stop the bleeding. “You really should fight to remain conscious. If you pass out you are of no use to me and the black bag comes off. As long as you have it, there is a good chance you will leave here alive. Where are the keeping our friends?” I asked.

“At a car shop. They have them in the office.” he said weakly.

I looked over to the Commander. He nodded his agreement.

“Very good Hector, you have almost earned your freedom. Just tell us how many men are there and what arms they have at their disposal?” I asked.

“There are probably ten men the have some AK47s and the like,” He said.

“Very good hector this is the jackpot question. How many men are you holding there?” I asked.

“We have one man and one woman.” he answered.

“So what kind of condition are they in?” I asked.

“The man has been shot the woman is doing well,” he replied.

“Where is the third one,” I asked.

“They threw his body over board.” There was a smile on his face under the bag I was sure. I looked up at the Commander he nodded again. I took my Air Force Pilots Survival knife and cut his throat just a hard and deep as I could. If he didn’t suffocate from a blocked airway, he was going to bleed out in a under a minute. I didn’t meet anyones eyes as I walked from the room and threw up out the back door.

“Sylvia, what to you think about driving his body to the garage and dump him there. When they come out to look, we go in fast and dirty,” he asked. Drive the van right through the front doors. We can go out the back doors.”

“I want you to dump the body, then drive around the block and cover the back door. Kill any son of a bitch who comes out.” The commander said to me.

“No, I will dump the body. I will move car to the rear door it, then assault the back door while you go in the front. Don’t shoot anyone in a ski mask,” I suggested.

“Did you all hear that. No one who is alive in there, and not restrained is to leave alive. This is a total massacre,” Andrew, the commander said.

When the time came, I drove up to the auto repair garage and fish tailed into the parking. I also opened the passenger door and pushed Hector out. Then I got the fuck out of the parking lot. I swung the light in the ass Chevy rental car around the block. Used the shotgun to take out the lock on the back door. That and a well placed push with my full body wait and the door swung open. I went inside with the M4 replacing the breach gun. I shot two mean who turned away from the van in the reception area to confront me. After I shot them in the chest I went into the office area where I found the Israeli Chic badly battered but able to stand and great me. Such was not the case of the second wounded operative. He was laying on the floor with a belly wound.

I used the blood stained knife to free the woman. The wounded opearative was going to need more help than I could give him. There were bodies everywhere and a small fire fight going on at that moment. The Israeli Chic and I left her partner to join the fight. With shots coming from their rear the men tried to surrender. Too bad we weren’t really the DEA. We were just pretending to be DEA agents. We even wore the DEA initials on the back of our vests.

“How are you,” I asked after I executed the gun thugs. The Israeli Chic shot one of them till his chest was meatloaf. I figured something he did to her, she took personal and let it go at that.

We loaded the wounded operative and the commander of the strike force, who took a bullet in the back, into our one usable van. The chic and I went out in the four door Chevy family sedan in which I had carried the body.

“This seat is soaked with blood,” she said.

“Somebody named Hector,” I said.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” the chic said.

We were clear of the area when I dared to shift my attention to her. “So you okay?” I asked.

“Good as a chic who screwed half a drug gang could be,” she said.

“Yeah that comes with being us,” I said. “So where is Liam?”

“He was shot in the head, so they threw him overboard,” she explained. “When he was shot, I’m not sure. They might have shot him after they came aboard.”

“Well I doubt Liam would have cooperated, so yes that is more than possible. I’m not sure there is anyone alive to ask,” I said.

“Those guys guarding us, they weren’t on the boat. We were turned over to them. They were trying to keep Ahmed alive, but not too hard. Something about the boss wanted him for some reason.” she said.

When we got back to the terminal the mild mannered middle aged man was waiting. He had been all night and some of the morning it seemed. I decided it was time to find out what was happening.

“So what’s your part in this drama?” I asked him. “You certainly are no mercenary.”

“There are all kinds of Mercenaries,” he said. “I’m the kind who flies airplanes.”

“Are you headed to Bolivia? Before you lie you might want to ask around what happens to people who lie to me.” I suggested.

“I don’t have to ask. The boss said you had a pilot’s ticket. Also he said if you came back to the airport you would want to go with me to the sunny south. I fly a cargo plane that will make it to Bolivia. That is why they call me now and again. The colonel wants to deliver a message and not many men willing to try it.”

“Wheret are we going deliver the message?” I asked.

“They say it is a bit of a castle in the jungle,” he said.

“I have to admit, I like it,” I said. “The message is you fuck with us no one is safe. Not you mother, not your father, sister or brother. We can and will kill them all.”

“Like the colonel said, ‘ It’s what stump broke Qaddafi,” the pilot said. “So we are going in with a low level explosive and wipe out a chunk of his castle. I personally hope no one dies but if they do I hope it is on their side.”

“Well I personally hope someone does die. And I hope it is the leader of the drug ring. Even if it is only his wife and kids it rests right on his head.”

“You are a bloodthirsty little bitch,” he said without the smile, which should have accompanied that kind of remark.

“Actually I am, they shot a hell of a man in the head and dropped him overboard. His men gang raped another of our operatives and refused to get another medical assistance, so yeah I’m out for blood. Now you tell me something. Do I have to watch you or watch over you. Are you going to do the job you are being paid to do?” I asked.

“I’m being paid to deliver ten 155mm mortar rounds. The rocket motors has been disabled so we are going to have to drop them on the compound.” he explained.

“So what are we flying?” I asked.

“An old PBY 5. I’m flying it and you are going to co-pilot. When we get over the compound, if we do get over it, you will hold the mortar rounds out the window one at a time and drop them when I say,” He instructed me.

“Alright, I am in,” I agreed.

We spent the whole of that day in the air. I missed the news about the massacre and the bleeding heart liberals comments. “You know what we are doing breaks all kinds of international laws, and a hell of lot of moral codes?” the pilot asked.

“As a matter of fact I do. I also know it needs doing in the worst way. The DEA won’t even fire missiles at them from a drone. Kind of makes us the last line of defense,” I said. Well we have flown a lot of miles over the ocean and at less then five hundred feel elevation. There is no complete Radar overlap like in the states. As a matter of fact there are seams in the radar coverage in South America you could fly a 737 through undetected. I don’t imagine anyone has had us on radar at all, let alone long enough to track us.

It was black outside and the pilot who wouldn’t give me his name was flying by gps and dead reckoning. It was good enough so that so the compound that appeared beneath us was the same as the one in the Google satellite photo. I put two motor rounds outside the window at a time. I dropped them both from an altitude guaranteed to arm the mortar rounds.

The unnamed pilot swung the clumsy bird around on the bombing run. It wasn’t till I dropped the first to mortars that we began taking incoming. The villa was heavily damaged and on fire. That’s we are out of here the pilot said as the plane took small arms fire.

Not yet we have eight more mortar rounds. Bring it back around.” I demanded.

“The hell I will,” he said angrily.

“Like hell you won’t if you want to live. They may kill us both but if you don’t take this plane around again I will kill you and fly it into the house as a missile.” I admitted.
He nodded and brought it around for another run.

When we came around for the second and third runs I three four out at a time. I could see men running around and firing up at us. I wanted to fire back, but I did not have a weapon that would be of any use in air combat. So I fired all eight .22 mag rounds out the window in their general direction.

“Now,” no name pilot said. “With you permission we need to get the fuck out of here.”

He was taking evasive action and I was helping him. We flew for fifteen minutes before we were over water again. We stayed up another hour and got the hell away from Bolivia.

One Response to Sheriff Porter 111 (unedited)

  1. count Florida says:

    Good stories, but you badly need an editor, judging from Deputy Porter and Sheriff Porter.

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