SEAL Team 666: A Novel

Screening and Selection for SEALs was filled with both mental and physical rigor. The psychological interviews and screening process lasted several days, so it hadn’t been hard to sprinkle in a few questions here and there to ascertain those who could best fit the needs of the Sissy. Of the candidates currently in phases, Jack Walker was the only one whose answers and background made him a fit. But Kenny and Howard didn’t need to know that. All they needed to know was that a military officer senior to them had made the order to release this particular candidate.

Major Benitez’s frown said it all. She had to give Lieutenant Commander Scott credit, however. He definitely had a sense of humor and treated the entire event as some Douglas Adams training program. He kept looking at her as if to check and see when she was going to give them the punch line.

But there was no punch line to give.

SEAL Team 666 needed a replacement sniper and Jack Walker was that person.

“Aw hell,” Instructor Kenny said. “Walker! Get your ass over here!”

4

CORONADO ISLAND. STILL MORNING.

Petty Officer First Class Jack Walker felt like the crap had just been kicked out of him … again. As his instructors explained that he had to leave training, all he could think about was the wasted time. He glanced pleadingly back and forth between his instructors and the woman.

“But I have four weeks left. Can’t you all tell her to leave me alone?”

“It’s not just about her, son. The admiral has made his decision.”

The blue sky seemed to sway above him as the sand danced across his vision. Strong hands caught his shoulders.

“Steady there.” Howard held him tightly.

Walker turned toward where the woman stood five yards away. “What does this all mean? I’ve made all the events. Are you kicking me out? Because I’m not going to ring the bell.”

“I’m not going to kick you out,” Howard said.

“He doesn’t have to,” the woman said, approaching. “You’ve graduated early. Come with me, Petty Officer Walker. We have a lot to talk about.”

Howard whispered in his ear. “Don’t know what’s going on, Jack, but do as she says. You want to come back here and finish, we’ll roll you in the last four weeks, no problem.”

“Really, Senior Chief?”

“Maybe give you some time to take care of those shins.”

Walker stared at the aging instructor and let out a laugh. Well, of course he’d known about the injury. Trying to keep anything from the cadre seemed impossible.

Howard let go of him. “He’s all yours, Miss Billings.”

The woman, who turned out to be as tall as Walker, spun and headed back down the beach.

Walker took one last look back at his mates in Class 290, gave them a wave, then hurried after her.

After about a hundred meters, they stopped. She pulled a cell phone from her pocket and spoke into it for a few seconds before jamming it back into her jacket. The onshore wind had teased a few hairs free from the bun at the back of her head. She stared into the surf as if waiting for something.

“What is this all about?” he asked finally.

“We need you to be a part of a special team, Walker.”

“I was going to be part of a special team. As far as I know, the most special team in the free world. The U.S. Navy SEALs.”

“There’s a team more special than that.”

He’d believe that when he saw it. Ever since he’d grown up in Subic Bay as a Navy brat, he’d watched the SEALs come and go from mission to mission, untouched by the rigmarole of the rest of the Navy.

Suddenly the sound of a helicopter rang over the surf. He spied it about a kilometer out. It was a Blackhawk from the 160th. It came close and flared.

She put a hand on her hair and turned away from the landing.

When it hit the sand, she ran toward it, low, her eyes down, as if she’d done it a hundred times.

He followed and climbed into the seat beside her.

The helicopter rose and pitched to the right, as if heading for downtown San Diego.

After smoothing her hair and brushing the sand from her clothes, Billings reached into her bag and handed him an envelope.

“Here. Sorry there’s no ceremony. We were going to wait until you finished but there’s a mission that has to be conducted now.”

He accepted the package. It was just a plain manila envelope. He slipped his finger under the flap and tore it open. Inside were four things. The first was a letter of commendation from the president of the United States, congratulating him for becoming a SEAL. The second was a graduation certificate from the Naval Special Warfare Command announcing that he was a graduate of BUD/S Class 290 and a U.S. Navy SEAL. The third was a SEAL trident pin, freshly minted and as shiny as he was dirty. The fourth and final object was three brass 9s clumped together.

He stared at these for a long minute. He even let his fingers rub the gold trident of the SEAL BUD/S logo. He’d wanted this more than anything. He’d bled for it. He’d cried for it. But somehow, now that he actually held one in his hands, it felt less than what it should have.