the SEALs peeled away and came aboard with a wooden stretcher. They carefully slid it beneath Fratty, lifted him, and carried him out the ramp. Hoover kept close, sniffing the high-held body. The surviving SEALs followed, tiredly carrying their gear with them.
Billings met them on the tarmac. She wore a smart black business suit with a Wounded Warrior Project pin prominently on her lapel beside the U.S. Senate pin. Her eyes and nose were red, the only concession to her sorrow. She put a hand on Holmes’s forearm, stopping him and the other SEALs. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Everyone nodded to her, acknowledging their shared loss; then she lifted her arm and the procession continued.
A hangar had been prepared. The only piece of furniture in it was a long table with a white sheet draped over it. At the head of the table was a helmet with an M4 rifle in a stand. Fratty’s dog tags hung from the front sights. Unlike most other service members, SEALs weren’t allowed to take them on operations. A tan U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer cap with a glistening black bill and gold anchor rested atop the barrel.
Once Fratty was laid on the table, his wound covered by a piece of linen, a door opened at the far end of the hangar.
Walker knew what to expect. He’d made the same walk during his training. All SEALs, those in training and those who’d already graduated, including those who’d retired and were close enough to the base to make it, would walk past their departed brother. Those who’d served with the departed were asked to leave something that could be shared with the family. A picture. A memory. Anything. Those who’d never met the SEAL filed by silently.
As it began, music started on the hangar’s speaker system. Every SEAL chose the song they wanted to have played. It took Walker a few moments to recognize the old Aldo Nova song. When the sounds of the helicopters kicked in, the song suddenly seemed perfect. “Fantasy” was the name of the song and the electronic music filled the hangar to the rafters, the whining guitar like an anthem for the living.
The team stood solemnly at the foot of the table during the entire viewing. They never put down their gear. They remained covered in mission grime that even the ocean hadn’t washed away. Part of Walker felt devastated that he’d let Fratty down. That was a part of this, to vow never to let it happen again. But another part was to acknowledge the mission, the sacrifice, and the men who’d brought back their team member.
Walker recognized the members of his class when they came, led by Instructor Reno. His classmates looked questioningly at him, but he couldn’t answer. All he could do was nod and watch as they passed. Reno paused beside the body and looked hard at every one of them. Unlike the others, he had something to say to Holmes.
“I get them ready. You take them out. You bring them back. Just tell me, SEAL, is it mission complete?”
Holmes swallowed hard as he nodded. “They all came home,” he said, voice cracking.
“Good. Then I’ll keep sending you more.” Then Reno left, only pausing to touch each and every member of the team on the arm. It was a small touch, but it weighed heavily enough.
As Reno departed, Walker couldn’t help wonder what would have happened if Holmes had answered differently. No SEAL had been trained in recent memory without Reno. One had to wonder if a SEAL could even
The song replayed seven times before the viewing was over. Finally they were left alone with their friend.
Each teammate, beginning with Holmes, took a private moment with the man, and Walker was left for last. He approached the smartassed SEAL, wishing his ruined face would crack a smile and he’d tell them one last joke. Eventually, Fratty’s body was taken away. He no longer belonged to just the SEALs. They’d return him to the world he’d died saving. He’d be cleaned up and sent to his family with the thanks of a grateful nation.
The surviving members of SEAL Team 666 were taken to the Pit. They put their gear away. They cleaned themselves up. Then for a time they just sat around the conference table and stared at each other. It was a long while before someone finally spoke, and when it happened, it was Holmes, beginning the after-action report.
Everyone knew that it had to be done. But not a single one liked it.
27
IMPERIAL BEACH. MORNING.
After the mission brief, they all turned in. The following evening there’d be a wake for Fratty, but for today, it was all about recovery. Walker was past tired. Toward the end of the briefing, he’d felt loopy, severe enough that he didn’t trust himself to speak. So when Holmes highlighted the fact that he’d disobeyed an order—which had almost compromised their mission—Walker had remained silent. It would be a conversation for another day. Sure, he’d disobeyed an order, but at the time it had been based on a sound decision. His view of the crew door had been partially blocked by the same air-vent cowling to which he’d repositioned. Rethinking the situation, he couldn’t be sure that from his initial position he would have seen the three men before they were close enough to fire at the SEALs in the hold.
He went to bed angry and exhausted. The battle aboard the ship replayed in his dreams that night. But as dreams are wont to do, they twisted reality, changing the Chinese soldiers into demons and the creature in the hold into a dragon. They fought a long hard battle, expending every last piece of ammunition. Just as they thought they’d won, a klaxon sounded from somewhere and a tide of orange-skinned homunculi erupted from the hold. They crashed into the SEAL team, their sheer numbers smothering the team’s members. Walker felt a hundred tiny hands pressing him to the deck, while a dozen more wrapped around his neck and tried to squeeze the life out of him. As his eyes bulged, he recognized the thing inside of them by the way it glowed from their eyes. He knew it as well as he knew himself … after all, it
He awoke gasping and covered in sweat. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. Then he remembered he’d been installed in his new bedroom suite at SEAL Team 666 HQ. He rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He lowered his head into the sink and let the cool water run over his head. Then he turned so he could drink straight from the faucet. After several deep gulps, he stood and stared at himself in the mirror.
He’d slept ten hours. That was more uninterrupted sleep than he’d had in the last six months. It was actually too much. He felt groggy.
He threw on a shirt and some shorts and went into the main room in search of coffee. Ruiz was already there and offered him a mug. They sat on a leather sofa, staring at the ceiling and letting the caffeine attack the exhaustion that lingered in their systems.
“I was thinking last night about the mission,” Ruiz said after a good ten minutes. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt that read
“Me, too,” Walker said.
“I know. We can’t help it, can we? Anyway, you’re the team sniper, which puts you at a great distance from the action.”
Walker thought it was stating the obvious. He didn’t know where the conversation was going. “So?” he said, letting the word draw long.
“So we all have a reason we were selected for the team. Most of the time we aren’t sure whether it was the way we answered a question, something in our past, or something else we aren’t even aware of. The psychs sure aren’t forthcoming.”
“What are you getting at?”
“It seems pretty clear to me why you were chosen. I mean, you’re good, bro, but there are a lot of good SEALs out there. But as far as I know, none of them do what you do when they get near something supernatural.”
Suddenly Walker knew where the conversation was turning.
“I can’t help but wonder that if you’d been
“Then Fratty might still be alive,” Walker said, finishing the statement.
“Exactly. We wouldn’t have to attend another fucking wake for a dead friend.”
Walker inhaled during the silence that followed. Was this the life he’d subscribed to? “How many wakes have
