Saint Nick
Bradley Wright
Contents
Title
Also by Bradley Wright
Saint Nick
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Sample
Sample: WHISKEY & ROSES
Sample
Acknowledgments
About the Author
by
BRADLEY WRIGHT
Also by Bradley Wright
Xander King Series:
Whiskey & Roses
Vanquish
King’s Ransom
King’s Reign
Scourge
Vendetta (prequel novella)
Lawson Raines Series:
When the Man Comes Around
Shooting Star
Copyright © 2019 by Bradley Wright
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Bradley Wright/King’s Ransom Books
www.bradleywrightauthor.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead,
or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
SAINT NICK/Bradley Wright. -- 1st ed.
ISBN - 9781707895984
For my Mom
Of the millions of things you’ve done right over the years, Christmas is always at the top of the list. Thanks for ALWAYS making it fun.
I love you.
Christmas magic is silent. You don’t hear it - You feel it. You know it. You believe it.
Kevin Alan Milne
Christmas is a time when everybody wants his past forgotten and his present remembered.
Phyllis Diller
Prologue
Undisclosed isolated location deep in the desert of Iraq
December 24th, 2018
Army Ranger Nick Campos slammed the nine and ten of spades down on the table so hard the poker chips scattered from their neat little stacks. He’d made his flush on fourth street, and check-raised his drunken bunk mates until they gave up nearly all of their money. No one loved a good bourbon more than Nick, but when he sat down with these boys to play cards, he only acted like he was going drink for drink with them.
Compared to Nick, these men were babies. He was only on this detail with these greenhorns as a punishment, so he didn’t feel bad taking advantage of them for their parent’s money. Someone had to pay for him being there.
“Damn, old man.” The kid to his left scooted quickly away from the overturned cup that was spilling his beer onto the ground. “Why you gotta shake the table?”
Old man. He’d heard that a lot over the last couple days. Though he was only forty, he supposed he was ancient to these new recruits. Spending his days with these pukes was embarrassing enough seeing as how he was maybe the most decorated Army Ranger in history. What made it worse was that they knew he was on thin ice and couldn’t clap back at them when they smarted off. One more incident and he was gone, so Nick was forced to play nice.
Nick had smoked his Cuban Cohiba down to the nub, so he raked his chips, ashed it, and stood.
Nick looked at everyone at the table, then pointed to his ever-mounting stack of chips. “I counted these.”
He walked away from the table and out through the opening in the tent. Without the fans that were blowing inside, the ninety-degree midnight air was like stepping into an oven. Merry f’n Christmas. He’d been in that godforsaken hell hole for half his life, or some other desert just like it. A lot of his fellow Rangers had asked him why he was still there. The words of his commander still rang in his ear.
“Why the hell are you still doing this, Nick? You’ve got nothing to prove. Don’t let you getting court-martialed be the way you leave the Army. Go out the way a hero like you should. Not with all these extracurricular activities. It’s time to hang it up.”
The latest extracurricular activity in question his commander was speaking of was distributing illegal cigars to himself and some of his fellow Rangers. In and of itself the cigars wouldn’t have been a big deal. The commander would normally have looked the other way, but seeing as how an Army-issued vehicle got blown up, and three Iraqis were injured, Nick could see that the commander didn’t really have a choice but to dole out some sort of punishment. But after all that Nick had given for his country, he felt like this assignment to train these teenagers on basic weapons tactics was a low blow.
Nick walked out of tent range, unzipped, and began to relieve himself. The commander said it wasn’t just about this incident, but the string of them over the last few weeks. So what? Nick beat up a Marine that was running his mouth. Everybody had agreed the douchebag deserved it. And so what, Nick had spread a little cheer with a night of specially procured booze and some ladies. He’d done it for his men. For morale. That alone should have been met with a little bit of grace.
The fact was, Nick knew he was on his last leg as one of the elites. Most men didn’t make it past thirty-five at his level of combat and training. But what else was Nick going to do? Go back to Kentucky and sell insurance? Open a gun range and toil away in boredom for the rest of his life? Find a woman and settle down? None of those things were remotely appealing after the adrenaline rush of covert combat operations. And no matter what the commander or any of the rest of the higher-ups thought, Nick knew he still had plenty to give.
Nick zipped his pants and turned back toward the tent. The last thing he wanted to do was go back in there and sit at the table with those boys. Well, sit at the table with them sober at least. He pulled the silver flask his best friend in the world had given him the night before he stepped on an IED and took a long swig of the sweet brown liquor it held.
As he tipped the bottom of the flask toward the sky, something strange up in the clouds at his three o’ clock caught his eye. It was like a mist of purple and green in the atmosphere lit up the darkness. He twisted the cap closed to pocket the flask, and that was when he swore he saw something fly right through it. He swallowed hard, and the burn of the bourbon caught in his throat.
“The hell was that?” he said aloud in between coughs.
Nick didn’t hear any air-raid sirens. In fact, he didn’t hear anything at all. If there was something flying above them that wasn’t supposed to be, there would have already been a flurry of commotion. But he knew he saw something come through that mist. The last thing he was going to do was take any chances. He had to go check it out. But he couldn’t alert anyone. Not yet. He had been drinking. If he spun everyone up about something flying through the air and then there happened to be nothing, that dishonorable discharge would come down like a hammer.
Nick stalked over to the foot of one of the sand dunes on his right. The Army had positioned this pop-up training spot inside a circle of dunes to keep it a bit more
private. Nick bear-crawled his way up to the top and peered out over the dark desert that stretched out in front of him. There was no fire from a crash. From the trajectory it had definitely seemed to be heading toward the ground. But there was no downed aircraft burning in the distance. It would have been impossible to miss in the complete blackness in front of him. He must have just been seeing things after all, and he was glad he hadn’t jumped to ring any alarms.
Nick looked back up at the spot in the sky where he thought he’d seen something, shook his head, then turned back toward the tents. Just before he took his first step, the faintest of sounds made it to his ear. He stopped, pricked his ears, and listened intently to the silence in the air.
First, he heard a muffled rumble of laughs from the poker tent. He turned back toward the open desert and leaned in. Then he heard it again.
“Is that . . . bells?”
As absurd as his own words sounded to him out in the middle of terrorist territory, he had no idea what else it could be. Because it sounded exactly like jingling bells.
That’s when he heard something clearing its nose with a snort, and what sounded like an animal grunting. Was it . . . a camel?
Nick didn’t like the feeling he was getting that something was out there. “What the hell’s going on?”
Nick pulled his Beretta from his hip holster and moved down the side of the dune that faced the open desert. He had a small flashlight in his cargo pocket, but just in case whatever was out there had ill-intent, he didn’t want to alert it of his presence. He tromped his way through the thick sand beneath his boots, keeping his eyes, and his gun, focused on the darkness in front of him.
Nick heard a grunt again, but this one was unmistakably human. It sounded like someone in pain. He picked up his pace a bit, and when the jingling sound came again, there was no mistaking it––it was indeed bells. More animal noises followed, and now that he was closer, they didn’t sound as much like the camels that populated the area. They sounded more like the deer he used to hunt back home.
It was so dark that Nick didn’t have a choice but to go for his flashlight. He hadn’t heard any sounds that would make him think he was in danger. Just the oddest combination of noises he had ever heard in his life. Especially out in the middle of the desert. He flicked the switch, and his beam of light pointed straight down at the sand. His pace slowed as he raised his flashlight. He was resting his Beretta atop his left wrist as he searched the sand.
The moans of pain began again. This time it was clear someone was really in trouble.
Nick didn’t call out, just on the off chance this was some sort of weird trap. He wasn’t going to give away his position unnecessarily. Though he was the only source of light for miles, other than the Army barracks behind the dunes, which probably made it irrelevant.
The grunts and snorts of multiple animals were just a few steps away now.
“Oh . . . Please!” A long moan of pain followed a man’s cry. “Someone!”
Nick’s flashlight finally found something other than sand. He searched what was in his beam for a moment, because he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was large and red, and it was sitting on . . . skis?
The man’s moan became dire––much louder and more frantic. Nick ran around to the other side of what looked like some sort of sled turned on its side. That was when he finally found the source of the moans. There, in his narrow beam of light, clutching at his chest and writhing in the sand, was a man dressed like Santa Claus.
Santa Claus?
“Is this some sort of sick joke?” Nick said to the man lying in the sand.
The only way the man could answer was with a moan of pain.
Nick took the handle of the flashlight in his teeth, holstered his gun, and took a knee beside the man. His face was as red as the dumb costume he was wearing, and it was clear something was really wrong with him. Nick stood, pushed on the sled until it was back upright on its runners, then grabbed the man and hoisted him back into the sled’s seat. Nick had to give it to the guy, he was dedicated to the craft, because not only did he look like Santa, he must have eaten like him too. He had to at least be around two-hundred and fifty pounds.
Nick took the flashlight from his mouth and propped it on the rail beside him so he could see the man’s face. “All right, take a couple deep breaths,” Nick said. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
The man put both hands on Nick’s shoulders and pulled him close. There was desperation in his eyes. “There’s no time, Nick. I’m not going to make it.”
Nick pulled back, his mouth gaped, and a weird feeling pulsed through his senses. “Nick? How the hell did you know my name?”
“There’s no time!” the man shouted through an obviously tremendous amount of pain. His face was scrunched in agony behind his long white beard, and fluffy white eyebrows. “Just listen to me!”
“Look, let me go get my medic. I’ll be back with him in ten minutes.”
Every word was a struggle for the pained man. “I don’t have ten minutes. But what I have is something that I must pass on. All you have to do is sit right here, slap the reins down on the rail, and say ‘take me home’.”
Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Had this man gone insane? Was this man hallucinating because he was in the throes of death? Was it Nick who was hallucinating? He had seen this thing come falling from the sky. Now, on Christmas, he’d found this crazy dude dressed as Santa, dying of a heart attack, talking about getting in his sled and saying take me home?
Nick couldn’t help himself, and he began to laugh. Hard. Uncontrollable, gut-busting, hands on the knees laughter. The man clutched one last time at his chest, and finally, his head slumped over and he stopped moving. Nick began to clap. “Bravo,” he said between laughs. “Bra-VO! If I had any pull, you’d get an Oscar. I mean, what an elaborate prank!”
Nick swung his flashlight to the right, and the source of all the animal noises was revealed. Attached to the head of the sled by leather harnesses was an entire line of reindeer. “All right, Commander Thompson, come on out. How the hell did you get reindeer out here in the middle of Iraq?”
Nick was truly amazed.
“And the Santa? Wow! Top notch. It must have cost you a fortune to do all this!”
As Nick shined his light over the double line of reindeer, they just stared back at him like he was the crazy one.
“Okay. Come on out. You got me!”
Nick walked back toward the sled. The Santa Claus was still slumped over, really selling it. Nick let his light move to the back row of the sled. “There’s even a sack? Wow! No expense spared, no detail left undone! I’m impressed.”
He walked over to the sack, which still looked full of presents, and opened it. He reached inside and felt nothing. He reached farther down, but the sack just kept going, even down past where the floor of the sled should be. “Oh, now this is a good trick!”
Too good, actually. It left him feeling a sharp eerie feeling, and he quickly pulled his arm back out of the sack like he’d just reached into a bag full of spiders. It still maintained its shape and looked full. None of it made sense.
“Okay, you got me. I’m tired.” He walked over to the Santa and gave him a nudge. “It’s over. You’re gonna get paid. Now wake up and get the hell out of here before some jihadis come running down the sand and take you back to their cave.”
The man didn’t move after the nudge. “Hey, I’m done playing. Wake up and get the hell outta here.”
This time Nick pushed him on the shoulder, much harder, and the man slumped over onto his side on the seat. Nick stepped up into the sled, bent over him, and felt the man’s neck.
Dead.
Nick recoiled and scooted to the middle of the sled.
“What the hell is this shit?” He moved his light over the reindeer again, then swung it back behind him at the bottomless sack. Then back over to the dead Santa. The dead Santa that had known his name.
Nick’
s first thought was selfish. Whatever this was, he was going to get blamed for this weird dead guy, and this was the way his decorated career in the military was going to end. His second thought was absolutely nuts.
Could this actually be Santa?
“What the hell is wrong with me. I’ve got to get this cleaned up.”
As Nick started to step off the sleigh his hand brushed across the thick leather reins attached to the reindeer. To the reindeer!
Nick stopped, squared up with the center of the sled, and took the reins in his hands. The man’s words echoed in his mind.
All you have to do is sit right here, slap the reins down on the rail, and say ‘take me home’.
Nick lifted the reins and slapped them down on the rail. Some bells jingled and the reindeer grunted and moaned and shifted their stances, but that was it.
“Seriously, what the hell am I doing? I’ve lost my damn mind.”
First, he looked into the darkness around him. Mostly to make sure he was alone. Then he lifted the reins again and slapped them down harder, but this time he said the words the man told him to say.
“Take me home!”
The reins pulled tight in his hands, and bells jingled as the reindeer began to move. Then the sleigh started to inch forward. Nick’s mouth dropped open. These things were actually about to move the sleigh.
Saint Nick Page 1
