by Weston Ochse
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To Jon D. Carte, who was there at the very beginning
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It took a battalion of professionals to create the book you’re holding or viewing or listening to and I owe them all a sincere thanks. Thanks again to Brendan Deneen, Peter Joseph, Pete Wolverton, Nicole Sohl, and the whole Thomas Dunne team. Thanks to Cath Trechman and the wonderful folks at Titan Books. Thanks of course to my agent, Robert Fleck, for being on the front lines of publishing so that I can concentrate on writing. Shout-out to the bands QOTSA, the Beastie Boys, Heavy D, and the Metermaids, for keeping me on edge as I combat-rolled through this novel. And thanks most of all to Yvonne, without whose support, wisdom, and love none of this would be possible.
Special shout-out to Jon Carte, for being there at the real beginning of things and to whom this book is dedicated. Jon and I were in training together back in 1984 and have maintained our friendship. Thanks also to Dave Lake, Brian Wallenius, Barb and Dirk Foster, Hal and Gene, Paul and Shannon, and Eunice and Greg Magill. Thanks also to all of the men and women of ISAF, who welcomed me and watched my back last year while I was in Afghanistan. Thanks again to Brian K and Tommy H, for introducing me to Herb and Diane Harmon and the serenity of Cedar Lodge. And of course thanks to Herb and Diane, for being two of the most special people.
And thanks to you—the readers, reviewers, and bookstore workers—for making SEAL Team 666 such a huge success. I’ve had e-mails from fans from New Zealand, Croatia, Thailand, and Hawaii, where tourists were buying copies to take out to the beach.
Lots of fan letters. Lots of new friends. I thank each and every one of you for taking the time to write, e-mail, Facebook, tweet, or simply high-five me during a book signing. If you want to reach out to me about this book or anything else, I can be found on Facebook and Twitter under my name and you can always find me at www.westonochse.com.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Epilogue
Also by Weston Ochse
About the Author
Copyright
PROLOGUE
STONEHENGE. NIGHT.
This was about the coldest holiday Jen had been subjected to in a long time. While she appreciated her old college friend Missy Brautigan taking her to visit Stonehenge, they could have done it when the weather was warmer, or at least during the day. Alas, Missy, who’d always been interested in other religions, hence her Religious Studies degree at Bard College, wanted Jen to witness the Winter Solstice ceremony and the killing of the Oak King by the Holly King.
“It’s all pageantry and showmanship, I know,” Missy had said during the drive up. “But it’s really something special, something you should see in person. I’ll make it up to you afterward by filling you with hot toddies and some Yule cookies.”
And that was why Jen was standing in the middle of Stonehenge with twelve other strangers while the chants of men in scarlet robes filled the night. The night was frigid cold. She wore one of Missy’s wool coats and a pair of gloves, but Jen’s face and nose felt as if they might fall off at any moment. Her breath came out in heavy clouds. She brought her gloved hands to her face to warm her skin and wished she were back in San Diego with the love of her life, Jack Walker.
Missy elbowed her. The cold had done absolutely nothing to quench her excitement. “I’ve never seen them put so much effort into it. You really have come on a special night.”
The group of lucky invitees stood in a clutch inside Stonehenge’s circle. They’d been asked not to touch anything, not that Jen wanted to touch anything as cold as those monolithic stones had to be. Yet, despite the misery of the cold, she couldn’t help but be impressed. Generator-powered lights lit up the exterior and interior of the monument like high noon, casting shadows here and there that were as deep as any darkness. She could almost imagine ancient Britons skulking within them, afraid to taste the modern lights. Scarlet-robed men stood in the center and at places around the circle. They were druids or priests of the wood … Missy had been speaking so fast and dumping so much information, Jen couldn’t exactly remember. All she knew was that the Oak King, who ruled over the warm months, from the Summer Solstice to the Winter Solstice, was about to be slain by the Holly King.
“Previous years, they’ve had mock battles. Once they even had a duel and you could tell they knew how to hold swords. It was almost realistic. They keep trying new things. I think that’s what I appreciate so much—their inventiveness and creativity and willingness to try anything.”
“What are they trying to do?” Jen had asked.
“I think they’re just trying to get the ceremony right.”
“But why? What does it matter?”
Then Missy had given Jen a shocked look. “For historical accuracy. It’s important that they get it right, Jen.”
Which was the point at which Jen had stopped asking questions and was just determined to get through it all.
Suddenly a man wearing a green cloak could be seen walking across the frost-tipped grass toward them. The cloak flowed behind him. Where he walked, the snow melted.
“That’s the Oak King, or Green Man, as some call him.”
He was taller than everyone else in their ensemble. He walked with stately strides, his gaze past them to the center of Stonehenge. Heat radiated from him and she felt herself begin to sweat beneath her heavy jacket as he passed. Then she noticed his skin, which was also green, like a British Isles Caliban. He strode past them and into the center of the circle. The lights speared him, accentuating his green color. Then he dropped his robe. He stood in the frigid air, wearing nothing at all. A twig of something covered his parts, but the rest of him was a muscular, god-like green.
Missy covered her mouth with a hand and whispered, “Now this is something very new.”
The snow
around him continued to melt. Jen couldn’t help but appreciate the special effects. Part of her wanted to know how they did it, but another part of her was transfixed by the figure. Though he was about six and a half feet tall and all green, it was his chiseled features that drew her attention. Dating a U.S. Navy SEAL, she was familiar with good bodies, but this man’s contoured muscles were beyond anything she’d ever seen. It was like looking at a statue sculpted by a master.
As her eyes drifted past the twig and down his legs, she saw the ground around him change. Once snow, it was now brown grass. But even as she watched it the dead blades began to change and lift and turn green as if they were really coming alive.
The nature and tone of the scarlet-robed druids’ chanting changed. The words came faster and the tones became deeper. One of the druids separated himself from the others and strode toward the Green Man. The druid’s face was in shadow, but his hand was visible and holding an ancient stone knife. It didn’t seem to have an edge and the tip was rounded, but it was still recognizably a knife. He approached the Green Man and held it up.
The chanting stopped.
Everything was silent except for the whip of wind through the standing stones.
Someone laughed nervously.
The moment drew on long enough that Jen was about to say something when the druid pulled back the knife and then thrust it into the Green Man’s chest. The stone knife penetrated and stuck. The Green Man fell to his knees as the druid returned to the circle.
The chanting resumed once again, this time with a higher tone and an even faster beat. Whatever they were saying, it seemed in earnest. Jen felt energy in the air, something like electricity. One of the lights blew, causing everyone to jump. Jen and Missy screamed, then covered their mouths, exchanging embarrassed glances.
The ground around the Green Man was no longer green. It was no longer brown. The snow and frost began to creep beneath him until all evidence of the momentary spring was removed. Then he fell forward. Even as they watched, his skin turned from green to gray to black, mottling through the spectrums.
Jen found that her hand was still covering her mouth. What she was watching was extraordinary. She’d been to plays both indoors and out-, but this was something beyond what she’d ever seen before. She glanced at Missy and saw fear in her eyes.
“What is it?” Jen whispered.
“This has never happened.”
“You said they change it every time.”
“Yes, but not like this.” She gestured with her right hand. “This is so far above what I saw in the past. It’s gone from quaint to—”
She fell silent as everyone in the gathered ensemble gasped. The once Green Man made his way slowly back to his feet. When he stood, he had the same features and the same chiseled body, but where he’d been green he was now black. Wind swirled around him and began to peel the blackened skin away. Where it was removed, healthy pink human skin was underneath. Soon pieces of skin were swirling like ash until all the black had been removed.
He shook himself like a great beast might after a kill. Then he leveled his gaze on the gathered ensemble. He spoke in a language Jen couldn’t understand. She glanced at Missy for a possible translation but saw her friend’s fear had now been replaced by abject terror. She shook and trembled.
“Artur.”
“Who?”
The chanting had stopped again.
A druid came and gave the man a crown made of simple iron. He placed it on his head, and as he did, fire began to burn in his eyes.
“Arthur? Do you mean like King—”
A hand grasped Jen’s throat from behind just as the hands of the other druids grasped the throats of the rest of the gathered ensemble and Missy beside her. Jen felt a cold breeze pass across her throat, then warmth. She’d been watching Missy the entire time and saw the druid’s knife slash deep into her throat and the blood begin to well. It was a moment before Jen realized the same thing had just been done to her.
From somewhere far away she heard a dog howl.
The hand held her erect, but she wanted to fall. She grasped at it, but the druid behind her was stronger than she ever was. She brought her hand to her neck and wiped at it. Her hand came away sticky with blood. She stared at the redness, so much like the color of the druid’s robes.
She heard a baying from nearby, then the low call of a hunting horn.
The hand finally released her and she dropped to her knees. She fell to her side.
She watched as furious shadow beasts much like giant hounds cavorted around the feet of the Holly King.
Oh, Jack, where are you?
He’d know what to do.
She felt a tug at something deep inside her, then felt a transformation.
She turned to see her body on the snow, dead and staring eyes above a jugular-red smile. Then the essence of what had been her became something else, something furious and savage and mean, and she bayed like the rest of them, glorying in the return of the hunt.
CHAPTER 1
22,000 FEET ABOVE MARANA AIRFIELD. NIGHT.
JUMPING OUT OF AIRPLANES INDICATES A SEVERE LACK OF BOREDOM was scrawled on the inside cabin of the plane in permanent ink. Jack Walker loved night jumps. In fact, it was his favorite part of being a SEAL. Sure, the free travel, the government rations, the shooting, the fun of getting your ass kicked by supernatural creatures you didn’t even know existed held their own special places in his heart, but those were nothing like the feeling of leaping out into the blackness of the night sky and becoming one with the universe.
He stared down the hull to the open door. Red and green lights rested above it. Both were off. Outside was total black.
Sam Holmes, his commanding officer, was with him because it was time to recertify Jack for High-Altitude High-Opening jumps. Not that there was any doubt that he could do them—SEAL Team 666 had sure done their share of them lately—but with all free government food and travel came the necessity of paperwork.
Triple Six had experienced a much-needed rest over the last five weeks and Holmes wanted to make certain everyone was current in their certifications, so this week had been filled with glorious physical fitness tests, rifle and pistol range qualifications, medical exams, SCUBA re-quals, and HALO, HAHO, free-fall, and static-line jumps. Where regular military units made sure their equipment was battle ready, whether it be a tank or a ship or a plane, in the SEALs the men were the equipment.
Laws, YaYa, and Yank had been certified the previous evening. Jack would have joined them, but he’d had to appear in traffic court in Los Angeles to try to contest a speeding ticket on the 405. Not that he wasn’t speeding; he was just hoping that appearing in his shiny dress uniform might earn some leniency from the hopefully patriotic judge. It had been a waste of time. Jack had been ordered to pay the full fee and received points on his license and wasted a day.
So much for patriotism.
Most important for Jack, once he recertified in HAHO he could go on some much-anticipated leave. Jen had gone to England a week early to spend time with an old college roommate from Bard. She planned on spending time with her friend now so that she and Jack could see the country together once he arrived. They still hadn’t set a date for the wedding, but they were thinking about spending their honeymoon in England. This trip would serve as a reconnaissance to see if there was any place with which they might fall particularly in love. As Jen said, only a SEAL would recon his own honeymoon.
But that had to wait. Jack was already a senior parachutist and had almost enough jumps for master parachutist wings. Still, the U.S. Navy in all her wisdom wanted a checkmark on a list in a file. There was no other thing to do but comply.
Normally he’d conduct the jump with the other SEALs of Triple Six. HAHO in and of itself wasn’t difficult once you learned and practiced, except for the sheer bulk of equipment, oxygen tank and mask. What was difficult was for all the SEALs to stay together so that they could hit the target simultaneously. With nearly fort
y thousand feet of room to drift apart, the chances of screwing it up were astronomical. But this was just a certification jump. He and the others would practice another time.
Jack and Holmes were the only two passengers in the rear of the DCH-6 de Havilland Twin Otter. The seats had been removed and replaced by a single bench along the port side. Jack sat with his equipment hanging to the floor. He carried a one-hundred-pound pack in front. His HK416 was attached to the front. The oxygen tank rested on top. A hose ran from the tank to the mask he wore. He’d been pre-breathing 100 percent oxygen to purge the nitrogen from his blood for ten minutes so he wouldn’t experience hypoxia or the bends. A helmet and goggles rested on his head. He stared at the altimeter gauge on his left wrist and watched it creep past 24,000 feet. His MC-6 parachute served as a seat cushion, which he leaned back against.
Holmes sat beside him. He wore a chute, helmet, and mask but wasn’t carrying a simulated combat load.
“I know you’re aching to get this over with, SEAL,” Holmes said through their intra-mask com system, “but slow is smooth and smooth is fast. We’re not going to rush anything.”
“I’m okay. Last thing I wanted was to spend a week with two chatty Cathies. Talk about feeling like a third wheel.”
“Just so. Slow is smooth and—”
“And smooth is fast, I know.”
Holmes held up a hand. “Hold. Getting a call from Laws.”
Walker watched Holmes. Through his mask, he could only make out the SEAL team leader’s eyes. But several times they flicked in his direction. Walker felt worry creep into his system. He’d had a finely honed sense of trouble ever since he was orphaned and left on the streets of the Philippines as a child.
Holmes spoke for perhaps two minutes, then turned to face Walker.
“What’s the news?” Walker asked.
Holmes shook his head. “It’s bad. We’re going to cancel training.”
Butterflies with switchblades kamikazied in his stomach. “How bad?”
“Worst.”
Walker went through the list of all the worst things that could happen. He was stunned at how few there really were. He glanced at Holmes and then he knew. The emptiness was so complete it was as if his insides had been torn out, leaving the vacuum of space.
