Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection...

  MAC WALKER

  -THE COLLECTION-

  D.W. Ulsterman

  2014

  “Dedicated to the readers”

  Ulstermanbooks.com

  See what readers are saying about the character and stories of former Navy SEAL and government gun for hire, Mac Walker:

  "I love the Mac Walker books. My family knows to leave me alone when I get a new one because I will read it to the end before I come up for air."

  ​-M. Thompson/Dyson Diva

  "Being a 77 year old widow and knowing I would never fall in love again, I'm afraid that Ulsterman's writing has caused me to fall in love with his fictional character, Mac Walker! What a MAN!"

  -Patricia Tadlock

  "The more I read the more hooked I become!"

  - Deborah Anderson

  “All of the Mac Walker books are great! Once you start reading, you cannot put them down! If I could meet any character of any book, it would be Mac Walker!”

  --Lyn R. Toney

  “Fantastic! A very humble reluctant hero!”

  -Bonnie Rhodes

  “Excellent edge of your seat story, well written, great character development. Then the big gasp in the last chapter. Would make a great movie.”

  -Joyce R. Romano

  “Excellent read. Readers can certainly relate to Mac Walker as a truly believable hero.”

  -Cavalry

  “I would suggest stories about Mac Walker to anyone who likes adventure and thrillers.”

  -Elizabeth Durden

  SAVE UP TO 70%

  NOTE: This book offers the full chronological order of the current Mac Walker series:

  **MAC WALKER’S 40,000 FEET

  **MAC WALKER’S BULLET (short story)

  **MAC WALKER’S AMERICAN JIHAD

  **MAC WALKER’S REGRET (short story)

  **MAC WALKER’S BENGHAZI

  **MAC WALKER’S BETRAYAL

  **MAC WALKER’S HUNTED (short story)

  **DOMINATUS

  **TUMULTUS

  This is by far the most complete and low cost option to immerse yourself in the thrilling, sometimes frightening, and always challenging, world of Mac Walker.

  Enjoy the read!

  -D.W. Ulsterman

  http://ulstermanbooks.com/

  MAC WALKER’S

  40,000 FEET

  (Mac Walker #1)

  By D.W. Ulsterman

  2014

  He which hath no stomach to this fight,

  Let him depart; his passport shall be made.

  -Henry V, Act IV

  March 17th, 2002 – twenty minutes after take-off from Paris

  1.

  Mac Walker never was much for flying which was ironic given he found himself spending so much time doing just that. It wasn’t fear of crashing that made him uncomfortable, so much as having to share such a confined space with so many other people. From the kid squalling behind him, to the young couple proving their lust for one another two rows in front, to the absurdly effeminate male flight attendant who kept walking past Mac’s seat to look down at him with barely concealed lust.

  Being a passenger on a plane, particularly a commercial flight where he had to sit closely with so many other people, had a way of creeping him out.

  Wouldn’t be so bad if I could just fly this thing myself. Close that cockpit door behind me and get on home in some peace and quiet.

  Mac’s seat moved forward several inches as the boy seated behind him, positioned his feet against the back of Mac’s headrest. The just recently retired Navy SEAL closed his eyes and inhaled slowly as both of his hands dug into the soft vinyl armrests at either side of him.

  Swear to God, I won’t hurt that kid, but his pansy ass dad could sure use a good smack for letting him behave this way.

  Mac opened his eyes to see the same male flight attendant coming his way, the man’s eyes already devouring him hungrily with each step. The flight attendant, likely just a few years past thirty, was not quite six foot, with a thin build and short cut brown hair combed neatly to the right side of his head. He smiled down at Mac as he slowly walked by him, his eyes lingering for just a moment too long on Mac’s crotch.

  Ok, I won’t hurt the kid, and I won’t rage on the creepy flight attendant, but I still might smack the kid’s dad – just because.

  True to his intense military training and experience, the thirty-eight year old Mac Walker had already initiated a mental inventory of every seat surrounding him prior to taking his own. Each face was filed away into his short term memory. He knew the exact distance to the emergency exits, and had already begun to note the timing of the airline staff’s in-flight routines.

  It was during that mental inventory Mac Walker noticed the occupant in the right side aisle seat five rows up from him. The man was mid-forties, at least six foot, slightly overweight, with a large, dark and gray mustache that hung to the sides of his mouth. Mac watched intently as the man did his own inventory of the flight’s current occupants. That piqued the former Navy SEAL’s interest, but it was how the man sat in his seat leaning slightly to the right that confirmed for Mac who the man was.

  Air marshal.

  The air marshal likely had his weapon holstered under his jacket on his left side, which made it somewhat uncomfortable for him to sit squarely in his seat. The presence of air marshals on U.S. flights had become increasingly common following 9-11. The American government had initiated a fast-track in-the-air training program for thousands of law enforcement personnel, and Mac Walker was certain Mr. Mustache was one of those.

  “Oh, I hate it when the clouds make it so you can’t see outside.”

  Mac glanced to his left where an older woman was staring out the small window next to her, silently giving thanks that an empty seat separated them. Not that he had anything against old women mind you, it just meant more elbow room, and that helped to make the eight hour flight almost bearable.

  The woman turned to look at Mac, wanting to make sure he heard her. She had a friendly, grandmotherly face that reminded Mac of a somewhat older version of his own mother back home in Carville, Louisiana.

  “Do you think those clouds will go away?”

  Mac offered a quick half smile back at the older woman as he too peeked through the window at the white mass of swirling moisture that enveloped the still climbing 767.

  “We should be above the cloud cover soon, ma’am. I’d guess another ten minutes or so.”

  The woman’s face broke out into a wide smile, revealing a brilliant white row of dentures.

  “You’re American, a Southerner?”

  “Yes ma’am, Louisiana born and raised.”

  The woman’s right hand reached across the empty seat and placed itself gently on Mac’s left forearm as she leaned over closer to him.

  “That must be where you get your good manners. Don’t get so much of that anymore these days – young men don’t seem to know how to behave properly.”

  As she spoke those last words the woman’s eyes glared behind her where the young boy was now making a series of loud and quite obnoxious farting noises while his father pretended not to notice.

  Mac nodded his head briefly.

  “Well, I had parents who cared enough and weren’t shy about letting me know when wrong was wrong.”

  The older woman smiled again, her warm blue eyes looking at Mac approvingly.

  “My name is Eldra Peabody. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  Mac carefully shook Eldra’s
heavily knuckled right hand lightly, sensing she suffered from arthritis.

  “Thank you, Eldra. My name is Mac – Mac Walker. Hey, look outside there.”

  Eldra turned to the window where she was greeted by flashes of brilliant blue sky.

  “God’s creation is something to behold isn’t it, Mac?”

  Outwardly, Mac Walker gave a brief smile, while inwardly he was shaking his head. The subject of God was one he wished to avoid. He’d seen enough blood in his still relatively young life to come to the conclusion there was no higher power, or if some kind of god did exist, he, she, or it, could give a shit about humankind.

  Suddenly, the 767 felt as if it plunged downward then shook violently for several seconds, before resuming its more gentle upward motion. Mac noted the seatbelt sign remained on. Normally once a plane neared twenty thousand feet or so, the sign was turned off.

  Mac Walker watched as the air marshal called over one of the two female flight attendants, a tall, broad shouldered blonde in her early 30’s. She leaned down as he whispered something into her ear and then quickly made her way toward the cockpit.

  The aircraft once again shook itself like a soaked dog, causing several of the passengers to cry out softly, their tone a mixture of fear and humor. Mac looked over at Eldra and saw her sitting with her eyes closed and her mouth moving silently as she recited a prayer to herself.

  “It’s going to be fine, Eldra – just a little turbulence. It’s very common, especially during the ascent.”

  Eldra opened her eyes and smiled warmly back at Mac, her right hand moving to rest once again on top of his left forearm.

  “You fly often, Mr. Walker?”

  Mac nodded.

  “Yeah, more than I care to actually.”

  Eldra cocked her head slightly to the right, unsure if she should press with more questions, or let Mac be. She opted for more questions.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of business do you do, Mac?”

  The none of your business, business, lady.

  “I was in the military. Now…I’m weighing my options. This trip was meant as a little vacation before making a decision on what I should do next.”

  Eldra’s eyes widened as she nodded a few times while looking up at Mac.

  “Yes, you have that way about you and I say that as a compliment. My Howard served in Korea, God rest his soul, heart attack four years ago. He was a Marine over there, gave him the Bronze Star. Not sure why…Howard didn’t like to talk about it.”

  I know the feeling.

  The plane shook again, and then again, this time causing several more passengers to cry out. Mac looked ahead and locked eyes with the air marshal, who was staring back at him with an oddly intense glare. He then rose from his seat and walked quickly past Mac on his way to the back of the plane.

  Maybe he’s gonna be sick.

  Mac Walker’s instincts informed him it wasn’t sickness the air marshal was dealing with, but something else.

  “Oh, I thought we were supposed to stay in our seats. Why is that man walking around the plane?”

  Mac ignored Eldra’s question as he conducted another quick survey of his immediate surroundings. Silent, growing fear was the prevailing emotion on the faces of those around him. That was to be expected given the amount of turbulence. What wasn’t normal was the strain on the face of another female flight attendant who at that moment, emerged from the front of the plane, her eyes scanning the occupants before coming to rest on Mac Walker. She was of average height and build, likely a few years shy of forty, her light brown hair pulled back neatly from her head in a tightly wound bun. She had the somewhat flat, wide face of an Eastern European, possibly Russian. It was her eyes that really caught Mac’s attention though – a flinty dark that continued to stare at him with barely concealed aggression.

  The air marshal moved past Mac on his way back to his seat, nodding briefly to the flight attendant before sitting down. She continued to stare at Mac a moment longer before disappearing once again to the front of the aircraft.

  What the hell is going on here?

  Mac’s unspoken question to himself would be answered soon enough.

  2.

  “I’m sorry, do you mind moving over? I just have to get away from the guy sitting next to me. He won’t stop trying to flirt me up.”

  Mac Walker looked to his right and was greeted by an incredibly attractive woman of thirty or so years, with long, thick black hair that hung over her shoulders. Her large, deep blue eyes contrasted with the dark hair, and lent her face an air of uncommon elegance. A pair of full red lips was found under a just slightly longer than normal, Romanesque nose. Her fashionable and immaculate white blouse clung to a lean, yet quite feminine upper body that Mac found himself trying hard not to stare at. The first three buttons of the blouse were open, revealing the upper half of what were beautifully ample breasts.

  Without thinking, Mac found himself moving into the empty seat next to him, his shoulders now just inches from touching Eldra who appeared fine with the newly arrived member of their shared aisle.

  “Hello, young lady, my name is Eldra Peabody.”

  The younger woman flashed a brilliant white smile, exposing a row of perfectly proportioned teeth – the kind that were the result of considerable time and expense.

  “Nice to meet you, Eldra, my name is Stasia Wellington.”

  The woman then looked directly into Mac’s eyes as her mouth hinted at another smile.

  “And who are you?”

  Mac cleared his throat, glanced at Eldra for a second before looking back at Stasia.

  “Name’s Mac – Mac Walker.”

  Stasia extended a delicate, long fingered right hand which Mac then shook gently with his own far more calloused, battle roughened version.

  “Very nice to meet you, Mac, you’re my knight in shining armor.”

  Stasia’s voice had a low, soft and soothing tone to it with a hint of an accent that was difficult to place. It was a breathy whisper Mac found instantly attractive. The kind of voice you wouldn’t mind falling asleep to.

  Once again the 767 trembled as it moved through another pocket of turbulence. The seatbelt light remained on, and Mac noted the mood of the plane’s occupants understandably grew increasingly nervous.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain asks that you please remain in your seats and that there is to be no use of any electronic devices until further notice. Thank you.”

  Mac’s attention to Stasia was momentarily diverted by the announcement. In all his time spent flying, he had never heard a turbulence related announcement quite like it. The tone bothered him as well. The female flight attendant’s voice betrayed a nervous tension quite uncommon to in-flight announcements.

  We’re no longer ascending. In fact, it feels like we’ve been descending the last few minutes, but why?

  Some forty minutes into the flight should have put the 767 over the area where the English Channel merged with the Atlantic Ocean and yet, Mac’s interior compass told him they were nowhere near that normal Paris to Washington D.C. flight path. A quick look outside the window confirmed the plane was once again flying in the cloud cover though Mac knew they should have been well above it by now.

  “Is everything ok, Mac?”

  Stasia’s question was left unanswered as Mac’s eyes peered out through the window, trying to see any clue below as to their actual location. No such clue could be found though, rather only a thick swirling mass of seemingly impenetrable white.

  “Oh my god!”

  The words originated from a woman behind Mac, her scream ringing throughout the cabin as the 767 suddenly veered sharply to the left, the whine of its massive twin turbine engines causing the passengers’ seats to gently vibrate with considerably more intensity than before.

  “My goodness, this isn’t normal is it?”

  Mac looked down to see Eldra’s right hand clawing at the rolled up sleeve of his open collared, light blue dress shirt
.

  “No, Eldra, it isn’t, but don’t worry these planes are built tough. Maybe they’re just maneuvering past another bad patch of turbulence.”

  Even as Mac spoke the words of comfort to Eldra he didn’t believe them, as an all too common phrase whispered inside of his head, words spoken to himself during countless conflicts as a Navy SEAL.

  Shit ain’t right.

  Mac Walker’s training and experience were quickly taking over. No longer was he merely a powerless passenger on a flight back from an all too brief Paris vacation. He was a trained killer, a man of action, and one who knew when taking control was not a matter of if, but when.

  He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

  3.

  “What are you doing? The captain said no electronic devices.”

  Mac ignored Stasia, focusing instead on powering up his cell phone. The battery was charged fully, but it was unable to establish a satellite connection.

  “Mr. Walker, please don’t do that. The captain said…”

  Mac looked over at Stasia, noting how her words didn’t indicate fear, but rather a superiority over him, as if she were in charge of his actions.

  “I know what the captain said, but something about all of this isn’t right. I need you to be quiet, Ms. Wellington. You’re welcome to go back to your own seat if you want.”