SEAL Team 666: A Novel (26 page)

Another problem was that neither Yaya nor Walker had ever done a LALO jump—a jump of less than nine hundred feet. Since it took three hundred feet for the chute to deploy, that left six hundred feet to steer the chute to safety.

They also had the wrong parachutes. The MC-4s were designed for free fall. They were highly maneuverable and agile, because the parachute canopies were relatively small. After all, it had more than thirty thousand feet to scoop air. But now they had less than nine hundred feet. They needed a much larger canopy. They also needed something they could leave behind that wouldn’t identify them as American.

The final decision had been to pair Chinese cargo chutes with drag chutes. The drag chutes would be deployed from an open air ramp. The wind would rip these back, thus drawing out the yards of material that composed the cargo chutes. Without the drag chutes, the cargo chutes wouldn’t have enough time to open. But with them, opening of the cargo chutes would be simultaneous to the SEALs’ exiting the aircraft. And when the cargo chutes deployed, they’d reduce their speed to almost nothing.

Then they’d flutter gently to the ground like a feather from the ass of an eagle.

Simple
, Laws had said.

Piece of cake
, Ruiz had said.

Deal with it,
Holmes had said.

Walker watched Hoover play for a while. It was going to be toughest on the dog. Walker hoped the pooch was going to be okay. He had a feeling they’d need her before it was all over.

The sound of an aircraft reached him. He craned his neck and looked for it in the sky. Finally he spied it and tracked its approach.

Laws came up to join him. “You look nervous.”

Walker shrugged. “Always nervous before an op.”

“All the changes don’t help, either.”

“It is what it is,” Walker said flatly. He knew he was nervous. Talking about it would only make him more so.

Laws seemed to realize this, because he shut up until the plane was coming in for a landing.

It was a big cargo jet, painted yellow with red stripes and letters. Walker recognized the logo.
DSL—WE DELIVER WORLDWIDE.
He chuckled and shook his head. Count on the agency to find the sort of plane that would be able to land at an airport in a country that despised Americans. Not only was DSL not an American-owned company, it was essentially the mail, and even the most backwater, right-wing dictatorships liked to get packages filled with sleek Western merchandise. It landed and taxied to a stop near the Starlifter.

“Okay, SEALs. Get your gear and load up. We got a delivery to make.”

Walker did a double take. It appeared as if their fearless leader had just made a joke.

And you know what? It was almost funny.

47

KADWAN. TWO WEEKS EARLIER.

The city was theirs. Their power was unimaginable. No one could stand against them. They rose as one, two souls within one body, and stood amid the ruins of what had once been a church, a ridiculous symbol to one of the angry gods the meek insisted upon worshipping. A dead priest lay at his feet, unable to comprehend the reality of Chi Long even when he’d met him face-to-face.

A thrall came to them. He wore the suit of a policeman, but he was a Karen, one of their people. The thrall leaned back his head and knelt. “My lord, they are ready.”

“Have they prepared themselves?”

“They have, my lord.”

“You have done well.” Chi Long reached out with jagged nails and sliced the man’s neck from ear to ear. The man sighed and seemed to smile beatifically, then collapsed as his body bled out.

Chi Long and the soul known now as He Who Had Once Been Alone strode out of the church and into the street. Bodies lay in piles. Funny how they clumped together when they were about to die. If his people were to retake the world, they’d have to rid themselves of the bodies. Their rot would bring unneeded disease and pestilence.

He Who Had Once Been Alone recognized one of the dead. The man had been his doctor and had seen him through a fever that had killed many. Such a shame that he’d died. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t Karen. Saw Thuza Tun’s body had been transformed into something beautiful with the coming of Chi Long. Gone was his balding head. Gone was his growing middle. He was now tall and muscled and regal. He was a warrior from a time long gone. He was a leader who could capture the hearts of other Karen. He was a king waiting to take his kingdom.

Yet despite this outward change, covered with the suit of tattooed skin, he remained himself, sometimes able to exert control, always able to hide from the ever-searching souls Chi Long had captured before. Together as one, they moved through the city until they reached a wide-open space. His thralls were moving his beasts in place. It took four of them for each beast. The arrangement was predetermined and would allow them access to the most power.

When the time came, their deaths would be beautiful.

48

SKY ABOVE THATON. LATE AFTERNOON.

Walker crabbed to the edge of the ramp. Wind whipped around him. His head was ensconced in a Protec skate helmet. He wore a fishing vest, cargo pants, and black body armor over a black T-shirt. On his back was a chute so big it looked like the top half of a Volkswagen Bug. The Stoner was in its M1950 weapons case. This LALO jump, unlike his previous HAHO jump, he didn’t require lowering. Instead, he held on to the case for dear life.

He was the first one out. Without looking back, he knew the other SEALs were stacked behind him. Once he jumped, the next drag chute would be deployed, then the next, etc. Unlike other jumps, they wouldn’t be able to come down together. The operation of the drag chute necessitated the passage of time, and that meant distance as the jet moved over the jungle.

“Ready.”

The agency crew chief wore black cargo pants with a black Marilyn Manson shirt. Black glasses completed his ensemble. He held the drag chute in his arms.

Walker gave him a thumbs-up and turned around. The other SEALs turned as well. Walker leaned forward as far as he could. When the drag chute deployed, he felt a hard tug as it began to peel away the loosely packed Chinese cargo chute. As the cargo chute gathered air, he felt an increase in the pull against him. Then he was jerked so hard, he was sure his lungs, eyes, and tongue had been left on the ramp.

He went from ninety miles an hour to zero in less than five seconds. When he finally opened his eyes, his feet were brushing the tops of trees. He had no hope of steering, but he still tried. Pulling the risers of the cargo chute gave it all the maneuverability of a Cadillac on an ice rink.

He struck the first limb with his thighs. It didn’t hurt as much as he’d anticipated. Then he struck another, and another. Stomach, head, neck, head, arms, back … he was ricocheting to the ground like a human pachinko ball.

Then he was snapped up short so hard that he dropped his rifle. He hoped he was far enough above ground that the drop line would save it. If it hit the ground, his optics would be toast. He heard a crack from above. He craned his neck to see what it was. He saw the tree limb as it began to fall. Then he closed his eyes and scrunched his neck together in anticipation. A moment later, everything turned to night.

49

TREES ABOVE THATON. LATE AFTERNOON.

The dog whined.

“I got you, girl.” Yaya was snagged in a tree. He could pull out his knife and release them, but he needed to see how high he was first. No sense in jumping out of an airplane with a parachute only to die in a fall from a tree.

He toggled his MBITR. “Ghost One, this is Ghost Three, over.”

No response. Not even static.

He’d struck the tree several times on the way down. He’d have to check the system in his helmet, but if he was a betting man, he was sure he’d find a short somewhere. Hopefully it was something he could fix.

But first things first.

Above him the canopy was thick with twisted limbs and green leaves. Hoover was rigged to his chest, so he couldn’t see beneath him. He kipped his legs to begin swinging so he could see the ground below. He gauged it to be about twenty to thirty feet. Just enough to break a leg.

He thought for a moment. If he’d been in an American chute, he’d have a reserve that he could deploy to use as a rope. Chinese cargo chutes didn’t need reserves. After all, cargo couldn’t activate them.

Looking around again, he spied a tree with sturdy limbs about six feet to his right. It only took him a moment to decide what to do.

“Okay, girl. This is what we’re going to do,” he said, looking into the soulful eyes of the Malinois. “I’m going to lower you down. You won’t be able to reach the ground, but there’s good reason for it. One, if I fall, you’ll be that much closer to the ground. Two, I need to be able to use my arms to see if I can save us.” He petted the dog. “Inshallah, we’ll be down in a few moments.”

The dog whined again, then seemed to catch herself. She licked Yaya on the cheek and resumed panting.

Yaya ensured Hoover was secured to the drop line, then unclipped her from the rigging. There was a moment of release when her weight left his chest, but he caught it with his arms.

“See you in a bit, girl. Keep your head down.”

He gently lowered her to the end of the tether. The other end of the line was clipped to the harness on her back, so there was no worry of strangulation, although he was aware that when he began swinging toward the tree, she’d swing as well.

He felt her weight the way a boat would feel an anchor. To gain momentum with his hips, he kipped his legs and began to swing away from the tree, then toward it. Back and forth he went until his fingers brushed the bark of his target. Two more kips and he managed to grab a protrusion with the tips of his fingers. He felt himself slipping backwards and reached out for a vine he’d spied earlier. But as his hand grasped the slender green vegetation, he realized it wasn’t a vine.

But it was already too late. He swung backwards and brought the object with him. The snake wrapped itself around his wrist, its head rising to appraise him. He wasn’t a herpetologist, but he knew a tree snake when he saw one. Many of them were venomous. This one opened its pointed head and revealed a cotton-white mouth and two slender fangs.

Yaya did what any SEAL would do. He shook his arm furiously and screamed. The snake fell away and it was only too late that he realized that Hoover was below him. He squirmed to see the snake land squarely on the dog’s back. Hoover snapped at it and shook her body, much as the SEAL had done. The snake fell to the jungle floor. Hoover looked up at Yaya, none too pleased.

“Sorry, girl!”

Yaya’s pendulum movement had almost stilled. So he kipped again to get it started. This time as he gained momentum, he searched the tree for any more unexpected fauna. Thankfully, there was nothing. He was able to grasp a limb, cut away from his risers, and climb down the tree. Once Hoover’s feet hit the ground it became easier, because Yaya no longer needed to hold the weight of the both of them.

Hoover began to growl and snap. But Yaya’s grip on the tree was too precarious for him to look. He shimmied down as fast as he could. When his boots hit the ground, he jerked his 9mm free and swept the jungle. Then he saw Hoover.

The dog stood with the snake in its jaws. It strode to the SEAL, deposited the reptile at his feet, and looked up as if to say,
That’s how it’s done.

“All right, girl. You done good. Now let’s make the rendezvous.” Yaya pulled out his compass and his tablet and oriented himself to the scrolling map. After a moment, he gestured in a direction.

“Point,” he commanded.

Hoover took off like a shot.

50

CIRCUS WAREHOUSE PERIMETER. NIGHT.

When Walker had finally regained consciousness he had been upside down and about a foot from the ground. Beneath him raced a division of ants, making it seem as if the ground was moving. He’d puked, a sure sign of a concussion.

But he’d made the rendezvous with the others just fine. With the exception of the bad luck of their coms breaking down, the insertion went without a hitch. Of course, all hell could be breaking loose Stateside and a comet could be plunging into the Atlantic but they’d never know about it. He’d hoped that the twenty-four-kilometer trek through the jungle would clear his head, but it only served to make him feel worse. The faster his heart beat, the more his head throbbed. The fact was they were too deep in enemy territory for anything to be done about it.

Once outside the warehouse compound, the SEALs conducted reconnaissance using both infrared and night-vision devices. Their only thermal imagery came from the Leupold scope attached to Walker’s sniper rifle. They hadn’t counted on being out of coms with support. NRO had deployed a geosynchronous satellite above to provide the SEALs with real-time imagery intelligence across all visual spectrums. The SEALs didn’t detect any evidence of habitation. The guards that had previously been stationed around the site were no longer there. It appeared to be deserted.

Holmes ordered Yaya to find a way to fix their coms. Both Laws’s and Walker’s ComTac headsets had been ripped and crushed in their descents. Holmes had his data mode and voice cables ripped free and his uplink wasn’t functioning, although there was no visible evidence of damage. Ruiz’s set had lost its cipher fill, which meant although it would work, it couldn’t talk to anyone. And Yaya’s receiver unit had been punctured by a branch. He had an ugly green and purple bruise beneath it to show how lucky he’d been.

They hadn’t been prepared for the LALO. Had they had more time, they would have protected the equipment better. As it turned out, they were lucky the only damage was to the communications gear. Yaya was able to scrape together two complete systems that could talk to each other, but had no uplink capability. Holmes took one; the other he gave to Laws. There was talk about Walker taking it in his role of sniper, but Holmes was against that. He wanted to split the four remaining SEALs into two teams and he wanted to be able to synchronize activities.