Weston Ochse - SEAL Team 666

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.

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.

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.