Bonus: The Ballad of Brandon and Billy
Vietnam, 1969: The Spark of a Legendary Bromance
In the sweltering jungles of Vietnam, where the air was thick with humidity and the constant buzz of mosquitoes, a young Special Forces operator named Brandon Herrera was busy perfecting his aim with an AK-47 and his knack for snappy one-liners. At 22, Brandon was already a force to be reckoned with—his mustache was just starting to grow in, but his bravado was fully formed. Stationed with the 5th Special Forces Group, he was on a covert patrol with MACV-SOG when he first crossed paths with the man, the myth, the legend: Billy Waugh.
Billy, a grizzled Green Beret with a penchant for staring down danger and laughing in its face, was leading a team on a high-stakes recon mission near the Ho Chi Minh Trail. At 40, he was already a veteran of Korea and Vietnam, with a chest full of medals and a body full of shrapnel. The two met when Brandon’s team got pinned down by a North Vietnamese ambush. Bullets were flying, and Brandon was calmly returning fire, cracking jokes about the enemy’s poor aim, when Billy’s team swooped in like a pack of caffeinated wolverines.
“Kid, you shoot like you’re auditioning for a Western,” Billy growled, tossing a grenade that silenced an enemy machine gun nest. “But you’ve got guts. Stick with me, and you might not get yourself killed.”
Brandon, never one to back down from a challenge, smirked. “Old man, I was born not getting killed. Let’s see if you can keep up.”
The two clicked instantly, bonded by their love of chaos and an uncanny ability to turn life-or-death situations into comedy routines. Over the next few months, they ran ops together, with Billy teaching Brandon the finer points of HALO jumps (High Altitude, Low Opening), including the historic first combat HALO jump in 1970. Brandon, naturally, claimed he could’ve done it blindfolded with a cigar in his mouth. Billy just rolled his eyes and handed him a parachute.
Sudan, Early 1990s: The Jackal Hunt
Fast forward to the early ‘90s. Billy Waugh had traded his Green Beret for a CIA badge, working with the Special Activities Division to hunt down the world’s most wanted terrorists. Now in his 60s, he was running ops in Khartoum, Sudan, tracking Ilich Ramírez Sánchez, aka Carlos the Jackal, and a lanky Saudi exile named Osama bin Laden. Billy, ever the sly fox, was jogging past bin Laden’s compound at 3 a.m., pretending to be a “crazy American” while snapping photos with a hidden camera. His cover was so good that bin Laden’s guards just shrugged and went back to sipping tea.
Enter Brandon Herrera, now a seasoned operator turned CIA contractor, who’d kept in touch with Billy over the years via encrypted letters that mostly consisted of bad puns and arguments over who made better barbecue—Texas or Tennessee. Billy tapped Brandon as his go-to contact for covert ops in Sudan, knowing the younger man’s knack for blending into any environment (mostly by distracting everyone with his mustache and endless quips).
“Brandon, you’re gonna help me bag the Jackal,” Billy said over a crackly radio. “I need someone who can shoot straight and talk crooked.”
“Billy, I’ve been shooting straight since ‘Nam, and my lies are so smooth they could sell sand to a Bedouin,” Brandon replied, adjusting his aviators.
Their mission was to surveil Carlos the Jackal, a terrorist so notorious he made action movie villains look like amateurs. Billy and Brandon set up a surveillance post in a beat-up Land Cruiser, pretending it had engine trouble while snapping photos of the Jackal strutting out of his apartment like he owned Khartoum. Brandon, never one to miss an opportunity, whispered, “Man, this guy’s got the fashion sense of a disco ball in a dumpster fire.”
Billy snorted. “Focus, kid. We’re not here to critique his wardrobe.”
Their intel was gold. Billy’s photos and Brandon’s uncanny ability to tail the Jackal without being spotted (he claimed it was the mustache’s “stealth mode”) led to the terrorist’s capture by French authorities in 1994. As they watched the Jackal get hauled away, Billy clapped Brandon on the shoulder. “Not bad for a guy who thinks he’s John Wayne.”
“John Wayne wishes he was me,” Brandon shot back, twirling an imaginary revolver.
They also kept tabs on bin Laden, with Billy famously saying he could’ve “killed him with a rock” from 30 meters. Brandon suggested a slingshot for style points, but the CIA nixed any assassination plans. “Bureaucrats,” Brandon muttered. “They’d rather we knit him a sweater than take him out.”
Afghanistan, 2001: Operation Enduring Freedom
When the Twin Towers fell on September 11, 2001, Billy Waugh, now a spry 71, wasn’t about to sit on the sidelines. He marched into CIA station chief Cofer Black’s office and demanded to join the Northern Alliance Liaison Team (codenamed JAWBREAKER) heading to Afghanistan. “You owe me for the Jackal, Cofer,” Billy said, sulking in the lobby for four hours until Black relented. Brandon, now in his mid-50s and still rocking a mustache that could intimidate a tank, got the call from Billy the next day.
“Pack your gear, Herrera,” Billy said. “We’re going to Tora Bora to kick some Taliban ass and hunt bin Laden. Bring your AK-47 and your worst jokes.”
“Billy, my jokes are a national treasure,” Brandon replied, already packing his AK, an MP5SD, and a suitcase with $6 million in cash for bribing Afghan warlords.
In October 2001, Billy and Brandon hit the ground in Afghanistan as part of Operation Enduring Freedom, working with the Northern Alliance to topple the Taliban and Al Qaeda. They rode into the mountains of Tora Bora on horses saddled with gear from Fort Hood’s cavalry parade team, which Brandon found hilarious. “We’re the most badass cowboys since the Alamo,” he declared, waving an AK-47 like a lasso.
The Battle of Tora Bora was brutal—freezing cold, thin air, and Taliban fighters who didn’t know when to quit. Billy, despite being old enough to collect Social Security, was hauling gear and directing Afghan militias like he was 30. Brandon, meanwhile, was laying down suppressive fire and shouting one-liners at the enemy. “Hey, Taliban, your aim’s so bad you couldn’t hit a camel’s ass with a rocket launcher!” he yelled, ducking behind a rock as bullets whizzed by.
Billy, panting but grinning, shouted, “Kid, you’re gonna get us killed with that mouth.”
“Good!” Brandon replied. “It’ll be the funniest funeral in Kabul!”
Their teamwork paid off. The Northern Alliance, backed by Billy’s strategic genius and Brandon’s sharpshooting, helped drive the Taliban from key strongholds. By December 2001, the Taliban regime was crumbling, though bin Laden slipped away. For his actions, Brandon earned the Afghanistan Campaign Medal, which he claimed was “just a shiny trinket compared to the stories we made.” Billy, with his eight Purple Hearts and Silver Star, just nodded. “You’re still a punk, Herrera.”
April 2023: The Single Tear Salute
Billy Waugh’s final patrol came on April 4, 2023, when he passed away at 93 in Lutz, Florida. His cremated remains were scattered in a HALO jump over Raeford Drop Zone, North Carolina—a fitting end for a man who lived for the edge. Brandon, now in his late 70s, heard the news and drove to a quiet hill overlooking the drop zone. He stood there, his mustache grayer but still magnificent, and reflected on their decades of friendship.
Billy had been the mentor who turned a cocky young Green Beret into a legend. They’d hunted the Jackal, chased bin Laden, and laughed in the face of death from Vietnam to Afghanistan. Brandon, known for never shedding a tear—not for fallen comrades, not for lost battles—felt something wet on his cheek. A single tear rolled down, catching in his mustache like a badge of honor.
He raised his hand in a crisp salute, his eyes fixed on the sky where Billy’s ashes drifted. “You old bastard,” he muttered, his voice thick. “You better be teaching the angels how to HALO jump.” Then, with a sharp about-face, he marched off, his boots kicking up dust, ready for whatever mission life threw at him next.
Suggestion credit courtesy of Dredster
