SEAL Team 666

5

The FNG walked up the ramp of the C-141 Starlifter as if he were late for the first day of elementary school. To Senior Chief Petty Officer Tim Laws, who’d lived and breathed the movie industry while growing up in Hollywood, the kid was one part young Steve McQueen and another part Ryan Phillippe. The FNG, perennial military term for the Fucking New Guy, wore a buzz cut of blond hair topping a face made of angles and deeply set blue eyes above a mouth whose usual form, Laws guessed, was a smile. Now it was doing everything but smiling. This was the sort of man who wore his heart on his lips.

“Stow your gear and get out of those UDTs. This isn’t a swim meet. This is an op.” Lieutenant Commander Sam Holmes gestured to an empty space of bench along one wall of the interior of the aircraft. A rucksack with weapons stacked on top of it. “That’s your gear. No time to personalize it. You’ll just have to make do.”

Alexis Billing, the Sissy administrator, came next, a phone plastered to the side of her face. She plopped down near Holmes, but made no notice of him.

Laws watched as the new guy dropped his seabag and shoved it under the bench, strapping it to the wall for flight. Good. At least he’d been aboard an operational aircraft before. Laws had been with SEAL Team 666 longer than anyone. He’d seen seven members come and go. Four had left under their own power; the others had left in body bags. He figured he’d do the same when the time came. There was no other place he’d rather be.

The boy sat down and stared at a manila envelope in his hands. He rubbed something through the paper, then folded the envelope roughly, bent over, and stuffed it into his seabag. When he straightened, he grabbed one of the weapons on top of his rucksack—a Stoner SR-25 sniper rifle. To the kid’s credit, he broke it down, inspected the barrel and bolt assembly. After he snapped it back together, he checked the ammunition.

He was probably acutely aware that everyone’s eyes were on him, even if like Fratolilio they pretended not to notice. But he didn’t act as if he knew it. Instead, he acted the opposite, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He seemed to have recovered from his previous nervousness. Laws had to give the boy praise for having the chops to insert himself into such a close-knit group.

Like he had a choice.

When the administrator chose you, that was that. How and why a person was chosen was up for grabs. No one really knew. Sure, there was speculation. Every member knew that the rubric was based on some of the questions in screening and selection, but which ones? The two days were loaded with what would you do if scenarios that individually seemed fairly mundane. But perhaps together with other questions they served to form a more three-dimensional vision of a person.

Laws had long ago given up trying to figure out why the people who’d been chosen had been chosen. In the end, they seemed like naturals.

Tony Fratolilio was your classic Brooklyn Italian. He had joined the Navy instead of jail and made himself into quite the computer specialist. His street savvy never really left and he found himself breaking into all sorts of sensitive networks if there was a payday involved. Of course he’d been caught, but the boy’s charisma and natural affinity for animals had the administrator sending him through BUD/S training class 243 as her own personalized U.S. Navy SEAL.

Johnny Ruiz was another who didn’t fit the mold. He was a Mexican from West Virginia and spoke English with such a cracker accent that it was suspected he was just trying to pull one over on everyone. Ruiz had come from SEAL Team 3 with deployments to Yemen and Somalia. A graduate of Underwater Demolition Training as well as BUD/S training class 237, he was the team’s explosives expert. That he talked funny was just a bonus.

The team leader was Lieutenant Commander Sam Holmes. A graduate of the infamous BUD/S training class 201, he’d commanded SEALs in Teams 3 and 5 with deployments in Liberia, Somalia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Although he’d had some dicey missions he didn’t talk about, he was one of the best leaders Laws had ever had. That he was a big man always made it fun to go out to bars with him. He was a constant target for the drunk and insane, as if he were some sacred mountain that they had to try and climb.

Then, of course, there was Laws himself. He benefited from an audiographic memory. If he heard it, he remembered it. Period. This facility enabled him to learn several languages including Chinese, Japanese, Arabic, and the Romance languages. While others called it skill, he felt more like it was a quirk of genetics because it was so easy. But he had to admit that it came in plenty handy when he was working straight human-intelligence operations and conducting interrogations in support of SEAL Team 1 and First Special Forces Group in the Golden Triangle.

Laws’s attention was drawn back to the new guy, and what he saw made him chuckle. The boy was told to change and changing he was. Even as the ramp closed in the back of the C-141 Starlifter and the engines spun up, the boy had undressed and stood naked in the middle of the plane.

Laws glanced at the administrator, who was pointedly ignoring the naked SEAL.

Rifling through the rucksack, the new guy found what he needed to suit up for the mission. He quickly put the uniform and vest on, and as the plane rose into the air, he laced up his boots.

Laws waited about half an hour to see if Holmes was going to introduce the new guy to the team. When it obviously wasn’t going to happen, Laws crossed to the other side of the plane and sat down on the bench beside the FNG.

“Tim Laws,” he said by way of introduction, holding out his hand. “Intelligence, deputy commander, and the team welcome wagon.”

The new guy shook his hand. “Walker, Jack. Sniper.”

“What class are you?”

Walker looked at him in such a way that Laws immediately knew the answer. “You didn’t finish, did you? What phase were you in?”

“Three. We were about to go on Live Fire.”

Laws leaned back and laughed. “Four weeks to go and you were yanked. That’s got to suck big time. You must be something special.”

Walker shrugged. “I don’t know anything about … whatever this is.”

“This, my new friend and teammate, is the finest and baddest supernatural unconventional-warfare special-mission unit in the United States government inventory.”

“We’re the only one, Laws,” Fratolilio commented.

“Supernatural?” Walker grinned, then let his grin fall when it wasn’t shared by the others.

“Absolutely. Why, I could tell you—”

“Wait until mission brief,” Holmes ordered. He was leaning back against the fuselage and hadn’t even opened his eyes.

“Then I’ll wait until mission brief. Let me introduce you to the other members of the team.”

As Laws went about introducing Walker, he noted that the boy had begun to feel more comfortable in his new skin, which was good. If they were about to go on a mission and would require his backup, they needed to make sure that his mind was in the right place.

Finally, half an hour later, Holmes opened his eyes, brought out a folder, and gave the mission brief.