Notes - Thanks to my friend Tara for the collab. This is her intro chapter. It's a bit of a self insert with some twists.

Ghost Recon – Wildlands

Itacua Province, Bolivia, January 10, 2019

It felt like the same old story. Humanitarian aid in Central and South America. The sights and smells of Itacua Province brought back a lot of memories…not all of them good. Until three weeks ago, Sergeant Tara Carpenter had been stationed at Fort Huachuca, Arizona as a SIGINT specialist for the 111th Military Intelligence Branch, trained in electronic intelligence, imagery intelligence and unmanned aerial vehicle surveillance as well as a previous stint with the 2nd Squadron of the 17th Cavalry of the 101st Airborne as an aviation maintenance tech, fixing AH-64 Apaches for B Troop, the Banshees. She was also a military brat, dad, an Apache gunner in the Sandbox and two brothers as 11Bs in the infantry, who taught her to throw things. But most importantly, she had been a missionary in South America for a few years prior to her service and spoke fluent Spanish…at least until dad made her come home and sign up.

Just before Christmas of 2018, the First Sergeant had her brought to his office. "Shut the door," he told her. First Sergeant Alex Tate was a thin, African American in his late 40s, average height with a clean-shaven head. He was dressed in his ACUs, finely pressed with a badge of chevrons on his chest.

Her face flushed red for a moment. Was she in trouble for something? Her performance reviews were always superior, and she had always completed her assignments ahead of schedule. She stood at attention at first, ramrod straight in her ACUs. Her skin was light mocha brown, sort of café au lait with short dark hair and bright brown eyes. If anyone had to guess, they'd say she was a bit of Mexican, a bit Boricua from Puerto Rico and 100% Latina. "Top, you called for me?" she asked, calling the First Sergeant by his informal title. "What's going on?"

He put out some photographs on his desk, 8 by 10 glossies, in a stack. "Yeah, uhh, I got a winner for you, Carpenter. Come take a look."

She stepped forward and examined the first black and white satellite image. "The US Embassy in La Paz? What about it?"

He put another picture out where there was an explosion at the embassy and people lying in the street. Tara's mouth fell open. "Shit! What? When?"

"About three hours ago. A bomb was set off at the entrance. Thankfully, no one was killed but we have five marines wounded, one critically. Washington is keeping news of this down for now, but it's only a matter of time before it's on CNN." He put another picture on the desk. "What do you see?"

She stared at the black and white picture that showed people carrying crates from trucks. Some of the crates were open with devices within. Nearby, other crates were being packed into shipping containers. Each of these had a symbol stamped on them, SB. She pointed to the open crates. "The satellite imagery isn't perfect, but I'd say with Ninety Five Percent confidence that those are explosives and bomb making material. These crates over here being loaded…here's an open one with bags of white powder, each stamped with SB. That's gotta be cocaine. That's my best guess, Top…given what you've shown me. Is this the fucking cartel?"

The First Sergeant nodded. "I read your file too. Says you were…a missionary before you joined up…Colombia, Peru, Argentina. Anything in Bolivia?"

"I drove a boat for a couple of months there, Top. Some of the missions were along the river. Shit. Why? What's going on?"

He held out his hand to stop her and then pressed the intercom button on his desk phone. "Yeah, she'll do. I think we have the right person for this. Okay. Send him in." He then pointed his finger at her. "And mind your fucking tongue, Carpenter. Pardon my French. You swear too damn much to be a missionary if you ask me. If you weren't so good at your job, I'd can your ass," he said with a wink.

Tara had to chuckle at that. Tate was a good guy, relaxed but firm. You could count on him in a pinch, and he always had your back. The door to the office opened and a middle-aged man with sharply receding hair that was graying at the temples, walked in. He wore a red polo shirt and khaki 5.11 cargo pants. He strode up to Tara and extended his hand. "Paul Mitchell. I hear you are the right person for the job…Spanish speaker, prior in-country experience, SIGINT specialist. Yeah, you'll do perfectly. Welcome aboard," he said.

She straightened her ACUs and took his hand. "The hair stylist? And ummm, what job?"

Paul chuckled. "Oh no, my dear. I am the Chief of Station, La Paz. I was on my way back to Bolivia when the bomb went off and ODNI asked me to get a team together to investigate. As you have seen, there are links to-" he started when Tara finished for him.

"The Santa Blanca Cartel. We get a lot of SIGINT traffic from down there and much of it surrounds the cartel. When I was down there as a missionary…back in 2015 they were just a bunch of narcothugs who had escaped from Mexico. They're the real deal now. We picked up a truce between them and Unidad a couple of months ago. Something about saving Bolivian lives, but now the SBs just runs amok, doing whatever they want to whoever they want." She pointed to the image of the explosion. "So, we think that they did this?"

Paul smiled, a big, toothy smile. He reached out and grasped her by the cheek. "You're a smart one, for sure." He looked over at Tate. "She's a smart one. Good call, First Sergeant." He let her go. "Okay, here's the deal, sergeant. Effective immediately, you belong to me. You are now on assignment to the 5th Special Forces Group, JSOC as the SIGINT and IMINT specialist." He reached into a briefcase and pulled out a dossier. "Here's your cover. You are now Tara Cuevas, Evangelical missionary and IMB member, originally from Texas. Read up and learn your cover by heart. Your life may depend on it. You'll be going in with a mission to Itacua Province and then break off to join the team that will be boots on the ground by early to mid-January. Your POCs will be Karen Bowman, USAID and Tony Stark, international arms dealer."

"Ironman?"

Paul laughed. "Everyone keeps saying that." He gestured for her to sit and then patted her on the leg. "Very cute…now where was I? Yes, we have a…few other missions specialists going in as well. The Agency will have case officers and analysts on the ground too along with some DEA personnel. This operation…Operation KINGSLAYER, is a big deal to neutralize the cartel. Now, you and those specialists will be in a noncombatant role, but you will be armed. You'll be leaving for Langley for small arms, camouflage and explosives training. You already have much of the skill set that we need for this. When your training is complete, you'll infil with the missionary team. You'll have organic transport in the form of a Gulfstream G550 and rotary wing support. Two pilots will be on the team, Colin Chadwick and Alice Kennedy. They'll get you where you need to go. You'll rendezvous with them at Viru Viru International near Buena Vida. Your tradecraft is all in the dossier. Any questions?"

"Uhhh, yes sir. When do I leave?" She heard a chopper setting down on the helipad nearby and Paul pointed at it.

"How about now? First Sergeant Tate will take care of your stuff. The chopper will take you to the airport where you will have a commercial flight to Langley. Operational gear, clothing and personal items will be issued to you there. Good luck, Cuevas."

First Sergeant Tate stood and shook her hand. "I know you'll do us proud, Carpenter…ermmm, Cuevas. But mostly, keep your ass in one piece, because I need your ass here. What am I gonna do with all of those jokers out there while you're humping through the jungle, having fun?" he said, pointing out to the bay of intel analysts. "And watch your fucking mouth, you hear."

She gave him a proud salute. "Fucking A, Top."

Paul gestured to the door, and she walked past him to the exit. As she slid by, he patted her on the behind and gave her a grin. "Go get em, tiger."

She exited the room and looked at Tate's admin assistant. "What a piece of shit," she said just as the TV in the waiting room showed an explosion at the US Embassy.

A woman with a mic kept her head down as flames roared out of a smashed part of the building. She stepped over rubble from the retaining wall. "We bring you breaking news from La Paz, Bolivia, where an explosion has rocked the US Embassy. Casualties are being evacuated as are the embassy personnel. The President of Bolivia has offered his condolences and any assistance. No one has claimed responsibility. We'll have a word from the US Ambassador to Bolivia shortly."

Tara shook her head. "Damn, cat's outta the bag." She stepped outside onto the helipad and shielded her eyes from the rotor wash from the UH-60 Blackhawk.

A warrant officer in a sage flight suit and flight helmet stood outside and waved her over. "This way, sergeant!" he yelled over the loud whir of the turbines. He helped her into the cabin and then stepped into the right seat of the cockpit. He handed her a headset. "Here! Put this on! We'll have you at the terminal in twenty minutes! Here are your documents." She put on the headset and then took the folder with her flight itinerary. "Everything's booked to Langley. An Uber just for you will be waiting at Washington Reagan. Good luck, sergeant!"

She gave him a smile as the chopper lifted off and she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She popped a name up and began typing, Hey Augie, gotta go out of town for a bit. Company orders. Take care and water my plants you schmuck.

Dots appeared on the screen. Where you going girl? What's so important that you gotta jet so fast? We were gonna hang with Lisa tonight, member?

The warrant officer turned around and made a smirk while holding out his hand and pulling his fingers in. "You have to give me your cell phone, sergeant. You're Tara Cuevas now. Your new phone is in the folder."

"Shit, one sec." She fired off one last text. Ok Augie, gtg. Brass is up my ass. Dunno how long this one goes for but don't let my fucking plants die. HUGZ. She handed it over to the CW3 with a fake frown. "Don't you lose that! My whole life is on there."

A day and four hours of sleep later the Uber pulled up to the entrance at Langley where she was met at the sentry post. A ginger-haired man in a suit motioned her to a Black Ford Expedition with heavily tinted windows. "Welcome to Langley, Miss Cuevas. Please step inside. A chopper is waiting to take you to Camp Perry. It's a short trip."

She was pretty tired, and her mouth tasted like ass. "Another chopper trip? Fuck. And you are?" she said impatiently as the SUV pulled away.

"Who I am is need to know. But apologies, Miss Cuevas. Chief of Station Miles wants you there for the training. He's already down in La Paz, briefing Miss Bowman."

"Miles? I met a Paul Mitchell…not the hairstylist. Who's Miles?"

"Uh, they're the same person. Miles is his cover name. When you get to Camp Perry, you'll meet the missionary team. In the next three weeks, you guys need to get tight. It'll be full days of small arms training, explosives training and camouflage and concealment. You're going to need all of it, trust me."

Camp Perry was the training center for the CIA near Williamsburg, VA. It was officially known as the Armed Forces Experimental Training Activity(AFETA) under the DoD, but was commonly referred to as The Farm, by anyone in the know. As the ginger had told her, it was long days, running, shooting, climbing and classroom. Tara had more than a few, "Why the fuck did I agree to this?" moments. But by the time they left The Farm, the missionary team was tight.

Dressed in a simple flannel shirt and jeans, Tara boarded the flight from Dulles to La Paz and then on to Viru Viru International. Another long couple of days. The missionary team read their Bibles, practiced the verses and sang their praise songs. It was all coming back to her. The small commuter prop bird set down at Viru Viru and began to taxi to the terminal. She looked out of the window and could see a well-built man in a blue suit walking away from a Gulfstream G550 with a young blonde woman in a ditzy outfit. The man had thick auburn hair and a bushy beard while the ditz could barely keep her skirt down below her rear end. The commuter plane shut down and the cabin door fell open with a turn of the handle. This thing was a beater. It was a wonder it stayed in the air.

Tara pointed to the two who were heading to the terminal. "Ima guess that's Ironman and ditzy blonde. Shit, it's like right outta the movie. Ima call her Pepper Potts." The missionaries laughed. "Oh shit, I gotta stop cursing so much. Sorry."

The man turned around and began walking back to the jet while Pepper Potts went into the terminal and met with three men and a middle-aged woman. They started walking after them when a horrific shriek sounded from above. One of the missionaries pushed them down. "Incoming!" In another instant, the Gulfstream exploded and erupted in flames.

Tara looked up from the ground. "Motherf… Was that mortar fire?"

Pepper Potts and the others ran out and picked up the man in the suit, who was lying flat out with his clothes smoldering. They put him in a Range Rover and sped off.

Tara looked at the other missionaries. "What the fuck do we do now?"