Age of Blood

6

Walker sat with Yank in the middle of the C-140 Starlifter, remembering when he’d been the new guy, or FNG as they so fondly called it. He’d been the butt of all jokes until YaYa had arrived, a replacement for Fratolilio, who’d perished during the battle with the first Chinese chimera they’d discovered in the hold of a cargo ship in Macau. Now Yank was the FNG, although no one was really giving any good gibes to the SEAL.

Part of it was probably because he could kick any of their asses. An expert in the Hawaiian martial art of Kapu Luailua, he also held varying ranks in Krav Maga, Gracie jujitsu, savate, pencak silat, wing chun, Muay Thai, Kali, and Jeet Kune Do. The latter was taught by Ron Balicki in Los Angeles, who’d had a significant impact on Yank’s journey to becoming a warrior. Not only had Balicki created his own MARS system, but by working with him, Yank had had the benefit of also working with his wife, Diana Lee Inosanto, and her father, Dan Inosanto, Filipino fighting master, escrimadora, and best friend to the late great Bruce Lee.

Yeah, the team was a little in fear of Yank. But Walker couldn’t let that stick. Growing up in an orphanage, he knew what buttons to push. He knew the FNGs of the world had to prove themselves. Yank had to earn his way a little bit more. He had some FNG work to do.

They were breaking down four HK416s that were still in the packing grease from the factory. The first thing Yank had done when assuming the job as the Triple Six weapons sergeant was to get rid of the MP5s. “Too much like a bunch of Crips driving by a bus stop, or Colombians crashing into a hotel room. This isn’t some South American drug deal, this is a military mission.” Although it was Holmes who’d kept the tradition of using MP5s, he hadn’t said a word and had let Yank have latitude to modernize their equipment. “These barrels weren’t meant to sustain the rate of fire we do,” Yank had said, referring to the MP5s. “The manufacturing processes used on these are twenty years old. That they haven’t jammed is a miracle. We’re switching before they have a chance to, boss.”

And with that, every member of Triple Six had been forced to learn the HK416. Not that it was an issue. Everyone, with the exception of Walker, had worked with the weapon in the past. Similar to the M4, it was an easy transition. Walker hadn’t, because he hadn’t ever worked as a SEAL outside Triple Six. In fact, he hadn’t finished training until recently. Probably the only SEAL ever to be awarded a BUD/S device and go on mission before he’d actually graduated. Adjusting to the 416 wasn’t such an issue, however. Their models had OTB (over the beach) capability, meaning they could fire coming straight from the water. YaYa, who carried a Super 90, was going to be allowed to continue carrying the shotgun. Yank wanted the team to have the extra firepower if needed. But YaYa’s knowledge and ability with the 416 still had to be the same as the others. Just like Walker, whose primary weapon was the SR-25 sniper rifle.

Produced by a collaboration with United States Delta Force and the German arms maker Heckler & Koch, the 416 used a proprietary gas piston system allowing for reduced time between firing and less cleaning by the operator. With the 10.4-inch barrel, it was as agile as the MP5, but had a greater round throughput and a higher cyclic rate of fire. The rifle used standard NATO 5.56mm ammunition, which had greater stopping power than a 9mm. The rifles were augmented with Tango Down front grips, Gen II 30-round magazines contoured to reduce the wobble, holographic diffraction sight, and an AN/PEQ-2 laser indicator with visible-spectrum, infrared, and IR-spectrum illuminator.

Walker and Yank set about getting the weapons ready for action. Yank was deep in concentration, wiping each piece and setting it aside for re-oiling.

“I heard you don’t like jumping out of planes,” Walker said. He glanced at Laws, who rolled his eyes. Walker had heard of Yank’s predilection for landing inside a plane rather than jumping out of one. Word gets around and such things are ammunition for the verbal sport of FNG baiting.

“Where’d you hear that?” Yank asked, cool and easy. Too easy.

Walker made a show of trying to remember, staring at the ceiling and wrinkling his brow. “You know, I can’t recall. Heard it from a lot of people though.” When he noticed Yank looking at him, he added, “Saw it online, too. And I think the bathroom wall of a club in Patpong.” He turned to Laws. “Was it Patpong?”

Laws shook his head. “I saw it spray-painted on the ceiling of a brothel in Tijuana.”

“Funny thing,” Walker added. “But I also saw it in the bathroom at the Hobbit House,” meaning the all-midget-staffed restaurant and bar in Manila, Philippines.

“That where you met your girlfriend?” Laws asked.

“No,” Walker said, making a play at looking really sad. “But your mother was lap dancing as they held her like a beach ball.”

This had Yank laughing… until Walker redirected the conversation back to him again.

“Good thing there’s an airport in Cabo San Lucas. Listen, Yank,” Walker said, leaning in conspiratorially, well aware it was like leaning into a lion’s mouth. “We’ll jump into the Sea of Cortez and wait for you. After you land and hail a taxi, then find a small boat, then engine out to us, we’ll begin the op. I know it’s a lot of moving parts, and I know you’ll be tired and stuff, but you think you can manage to stop on the way and get us some Happy Meals? After treading water in the ocean for all that time we’re going to be hungry. I’d also like—”

Yank leaped atop him. Walker fought off the choke hold for a brief moment, then lost his grip on Yank’s wrist. Yank sank his forearm into Walker’s throat, but held off squeezing. Instead he said, “I do not get Happy Meals. I won’t stop and bring them to you. Understand?”

Walker breathed through his teeth a moment before he answered. “How about a burrito then? Maybe some of those delicious churr—ow!”

Yank shifted positions and isolated Walker’s right arm before Walker knew what was happening. Throwing over both of his legs, Yank pulled on the arm and arched his back.

Walker gave in. “Okay—okay!”

Yank let go and rolled to a sitting position.

Walker was slower getting to his feet. He alternated between rubbing his neck and his shoulder.

“Do we understand each other?” Yank asked.

Walker nodded. “Sure. No Happy Meals. No burritos. But look on the good side.”

“What good side?” Yank’s eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t say anything about a personal pan pizza.”

Yank was about to launch himself when Holmes commanded they stop.

Yank sat with fight still lingering in his eyes.

Laws walked over to Yank. “Will you hold the pepperoni?” He placed a hand on his stomach. “Gives me gas.”

Yank gave him a look, then finally broke into a grin.

Laws laughed, which at last made Yank laugh, too.

Holmes stood and helped Walker to his feet, making a show of dusting him off. “If you girls are done playing naked Twister, we got a mission brief in five mikes, then I want everyone to suit up and JMPI each other. I don’t want this to be a cock-up.” Holmes turned to Yank and gave him a stern look. “And do as Laws says, hold the pepperoni. It gives him gas.”

“But I’m going to jump with you,” Yank said, his brows coming together as he looked at the others.

“Is it okay?” Holmes asked. “Are you sure? I mean jumping out of airplanes is real scary.”

Yank nodded vigorously; then he shook his head, desperate to both please and communicate. “I want to jump. It’s no problem, sir.”

“Then you’ll be second in the stick. I think I have an old chute somewhere here that was packed for a jump into Vietnam.” He left Yank staring.

Laws stared as well, his mouth half open. He looked from Yank to Walker. “Was that a joke? Did the boss joke? Christ and a BB gun, but I just heard the boss crack a joke.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Holmes said, sitting back down, a private little smile alive beneath his blue eyes.

“Right, boss.” Laws smiled and leaned back. “Right.”