SEAL Team 666: A Novel

“My brother is buried in Manila, in Manila American Cemetery. He got special dispensation because my grandfather is buried there, too.”

“This grandfather?” she pointed to the name on the plaque.

“The same.”

“Why not by your father?”

“Because no one except the men who killed him knows where he is.”

She remained silent for a moment, then asked in an almost imperceptible voice, “Then how do you know he’s dead?”

“I don’t, I guess. But they sent his hands to Fleet Headquarters along with a box of black butterflies.” Jen’s eyes shot wide and her jaw dropped. Jack continued. “The package was traced through military mail channels to Corregidor. My father was a supply chief. He made a lot of money dealing with the Filipino black market. Navy HQ believes that he finally crossed the wrong person.”

It took a moment for her to speak. “That’s when you and your brother were sent to the orphanage.”

“Only me. My brother joined the Navy. Got an old friend of my grandfather’s to get him in when he was sixteen.”

“Which left you all alone.”

A sparkling slice of empathy for the child he’d been on that dark day he’d first been sent to the orphanage jabbed through his thoughts. He’d never been more alone in his entire life. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her away as if he could flee the memory. “I want to show you something.”

They walked amid the darkness between the stones. Their way was lit only by the intermittent lights shining on the monuments and the lights of San Diego. After a brisk ten-minute walk, they arrived at a stone that also had the symbol of the Congressional Medal of Honor.

“This was the first SEAL I ever heard about by name.”

Michael Anthony Monsoor. Died September 29, 2006.

“A grenade was tossed onto a rooftop where he and others were operating. He threw himself on the grenade and saved the others. He was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. He was from Class 250.” He turned to Jen. “This is who I fight for.”

Jen nodded. She held on to his arm with both hands and hugged herself to him.

“My brother died a hero, too,” he said after a long pause. “Or so I always thought. Turns out he died because he wasn’t following orders … using his heart, not his head.” He turned to her. “I had it out with Holmes the other night. He told me what happened. It was an IED. One minute my brother was walking along the side of the road, the next he was trying to get some kids to stop playing in the street. Then the bomb went off.”

“Were any of the kids hurt?”

“No. He saved them.”

“Then he was a hero.”

“Holmes said that he ordered Brian to stay in place. He told Brian not to go to the kids.”

“So he disobeyed an order to save the kids. So what? You say you fight for the dead. Looks like your brother was fighting for the living.” She touched his chest. “You said he was using his heart and not his head like that’s a bad thing. You have a good heart, just like your brother. I hope that when the time comes, you go with your heart.”

“Even if it kills me?”

“Could you live with the alternative?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Sounds like you knew it all along.”

“It’s funny. I think I took my brother’s death harder than my father’s. In some ways, he was more of a father to me than our father was. He used to send me letters every month. Then when he was able, he made sure I was adopted.”

“How did he make sure?”

“He found a family who was looking for an older son. They’d lost their child in a car accident.”

“So you were their…”

“Replacement kid. Yeah. I know. But we needed each other.”

“Do you still talk to them?”

“At Christmas and birthdays I call them. They’re good people.”

She rubbed his arm. “You know, we’ve been dating for almost a year and this is the first time you’ve talked to me about your family.”

“Might have been sooner if we’d had a moment to breathe.”

She nodded, but the look on her face showed her doubt. They headed back to the car. The wind had picked up and she shivered against him. “Do you know what my favorite memorial is?”

“No. What is it?”

“The Homecoming statue. Not a memorial really, but it’s one that has been copied all over the U.S.”

“I’ve seen it.” It was a statue of a sailor returning home from a long time away. He’s holding his wife in his arms and his son is hugging him from behind.

“So you know what it represents, right?”

“No … what?”

“The living. Those people the sailor went out and fought for.”

Walker couldn’t help but grin. “You really want me to change my opinion, don’t you?”

“I do. I think it’s dangerous to fight for an ideal you can’t see. I think it’s dangerous to fight to impress the dead.”

“That’s a little bit of an oversimplification, I think.”

“Is it? I just want you to know that when you leave for wherever you’re going on this mission you’ll have someone to come back to besides a few old graves and a statue.”

“Is that so?”