Mission Impossible: Episodes 1-3

Our mission: Playing Secret Santa to a widow in our ward. It’s been our Christmastime objective for a few years now and this years recipient has an unusual number of ‘dangers’ that our highly trained, Special Ops agents need to be aware of. While gathering data on our subject, it was learned that she had effectively “retained, removed and disposed” a raccoon with merely a broken broom handle and sheer, senior citizen might.

First Night Report: An agent who goes by the codename “Momma” made a successful drop, albeit just shy of the bull's-eye. The intended target was 10 yards to the west, but “Momma” failed both the lock picking and chain-link fence scaling obstacle course at Basic so the gate was as good as it got. Besides, a possible pooch problem had not yet been verified. “Momma” is the detail-oriented, master planner and package making extraordinaire highly trained in combining toxic amounts of fluff with substance. Drops are not her “thing”.

Second Night Report: Agents “Scarecrow” and “Flash” ran the gauntlet, managing to penetrate the unguarded, outer perimeter to deliver on target under the waning light of day. The subject was acquired watching t.v. in the living room as seen through the large picture window flanking the intended route to the doorstep. Needless to say, the zone was hot.

Third Night Report: Joining agents “Scarecrow” and “Flash” was “Pretty-Pink Princess” whose petite yet formidable size was required in placing the object beside the welcome mat. Subject was again acquired viewing Sunday night programming and therefore remained neutralized. However, our agents suspect a growing curiosity in the subject who immediately rose from her chair before the ding could finish the dong. Broom handle was not sighted.

In evacuating from the drop-zone, Agent “Pretty-Pink Princess” slipped and fell; a causality of the snow and ice now hampering the mission. She kept operating silence, though tough tears could be traced down her rosy cheeks. Our wheelman, Agent “Butta G”, flipped our assault vehicle around with added flair; a slight fishtail to the left, leaving nothing behind but the dim red glow of running lights through the falling snow.