Rank and Rating: E-8, Master Sergeant
SKUL Serial Number: JB-01685-SO
Platoon: Whiskey
Team: Saber
Born to Frank and Maureen Blackmoor, Jed grew up in the typical Texan home on his family's cattle ranch outside of Wichita Falls. He spent the days of his youth in school, on the ball field, and around the house finishing his chores. On weekends, he busied himself hunting and fishing. During one of those early hunting seasons, Jed's dad shared with him the words and mindset that would define him for the rest of his life.
In his early teens, Jed was hunting deer on a morning in late December when a large buck stepped into the field he'd been watching and offered a broad side shot. Jed pulled the trigger, but instead of seeing a dead deer in his scope, all he saw was an empty patch of ground the deer had been standing in. Immediately, he walked to the last spot he saw the deer and found only hair and a tiny drop of blood. By that time, the leading edge of a storm front had passed. Rain turned to sleet, and, eventually, snow. Wet and freezing, Jed left the field and went home, convinced it was only a grazing shot. That night, when he'd come in from working with the cattle, Jed's dad asked him what he shot at? He had been working in one of the adjacent fields and heard the shot.
"Nothin', Daddy." Jed said between mouthfuls, "I thought I bumped my scope and was just making sure it was still zeroed."
Frank Blackmoor noticed the way his son averted his eyes and only nodded, saying nothing more.
The next afternoon, after church, Jed heard his dad's truck pull away from the house only to return several hours later. He heard his father's booted steps and the anger in his voice even from his room upstairs.
"Jed! Get down here!"
"What's wrong, Frank?" asked Maureen. Her husband rarely raised his voice in anger and never directed it at herself or their son.
"I need to speak to Jed alone, honey."
"Frank, please calm down," Maureen began before Jed's voice cut her off.
"What's wrong, dad?" the young boy asked.
"Outside," said Frank, pointing to the door. Jed obeyed without another word.
"Frank?"
With hurt deep in his eyes, Frank shook his head and said, "It's okay, honey. I'll explain everything later."
He stepped outside, made his way to the truck, and pulled the tailgate down to reveal the half eaten buck that had been the meal for several lucky coyotes. Upon seeing the deer, his son's eyes fell to his feet and gave Frank all the confirmation he needed.
"Jed," the elder Blackmoor began, "why did you lie to me, son? What purpose did it serve?" The boy mumbled something unintelligible toward the ground and prompted his dad to respond, "Jed, I asked you a question."
Jed looked up to his father as tears began to form in the corners of his eyes, "I don't know, Daddy. I was cold and just thought I had grazed the deer, honest."
"And, you were embarrassed about possibly missing the deer?"
"A little."
"Son, you quit on the deer and lied to your mom and me about it," Jed's dad began. "There are two things you never want to do. You never want to quit on anything you start and you never, ever tell a lie, and you did both. I'm very disappointed in you right now, understand?"
"Yes, sir," answered Jed, tears now rolling down his face, more embarrassed than ever.
"Here's what we're going to do." Frank said now sitting on the tailgate and patting it, so Jed would join him, "You're not going to do anymore hunting this season, not until I'm sure you're mature enough to handle the responsibility again. You're also going to hang those antlers on the barn door so every morning when you come outside you'll be reminded of the two things you never want to be known for. Fair enough so far?"
Jed's voice quivered, but he knew things could be much worse, "Yes, sir."
"Lastly, you're going in there and telling your mom that you're sorry for not being honest, and then we're not going to mention it again, okay?"
"Okay," Jed said, hopping off the tailgate and starting back across the yard before stopping. "Daddy?"
"Yeah, son?"
Jed's bottom lip was quivering, but the iron in his voice made his dad proud, "I'm sorry, and this'll never happen again."
Frank nodded to his son, "I believe you, Jed. Now go on inside."
***
Jed never let his dad down again.
Not when he turned down the baseball scholarship to Baylor to join the Army. Not when he marched across the parade grounds in front of his parents at the conclusion of Army Basic Training. Certainly not when he called home after numerous weeks of hell to tell his parents he completed the Ranger Indoctrination Program or RIP.
As proud as his dad was of all Jed had accomplished, the voice on the other end of the line was tainted with worry. Rangers, by definition, waded waist deep into danger and sometimes, they didn't make it out.
Then 9/11 happened, and only a few short weeks later, Jed found his boots on the hard pan and shale of the mountains around Kandahar, Afghanistan as part of Operation Rhino. For the next fifteen months, Jed saw the worst humanity had to offer and regurgitated it in spades. His only concern was for his men. His only want was to see them all safely home, and he did, mostly. By the time his deployment had ended, he was nearing ten years of hard service for his country in one of its most elite units and was beginning to consider life after the Army.
That is, until the day an old mentor of his, Sergeant Major Gannet, hailed him over to his side.
"Sergeant Blackmoor, you are to report to the battalion conference room at once. There, you will speak to an old friend of mine. Understood?"
"Affirmative, Sergeant Major," Jed responded with a quizzical look on his face. "About what, may I ask?"
"No clue. Just get to the conference room PDQ and listen to what he has to say."
"Wilco, Sergeant Major," Jed replied before trotting off in the direction of the conference room. Gannet, an old, grizzled soldier of too many conflicts, was a man Jed had come to trust, come to lean on during hard times. If Sergeant Major Gannet had told him to make ice cream on Mars, Jed would have done it or died in the attempt.
Still though, it was a strange set of circumstances that only got stranger when he entered the room. At a table in the center of the room, a broad shouldered man awaited him. He wore his long, brown hair tied in a knot and sported a handlebar mustache of matching color. Wearing a pearl snap shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, the behemoth looked like he'd been puked out of the movie Urban Cowboy.
The stereotypical ten gallon hat was conspicuously absent.
Though the interview started before he was through the door, it would be several months before Jed would learn the name of the man he quickly developed the desire to throat punch.
Sergeant Major Mike Walker.
"Apparently, PDQ doesn't mean what it used to around here," grumbled the bear of a man in a mid-western accent tinged with trailer-trash venom
"Sorry, sir," Jed said, while scrambling to find a seat at the table. "Just found out..."
Walker waved a hand dismissively, "Don't care. The Army is habitually promoting lazy pissants these days." He fumbled through a stack of papers that made Jed bristle. They made up his personal file. "Don't like following orders do you, Sergeant?"
"I follow orders just fine, sir," said Jed sitting, slowly, confused by the stranger's tact.
"Well, you certainly don't like the people giving them," the man offered without looking up. "You hate officers or something?"
"No, sir," replied Jed, desperately trying to not lash out at the stranger, "I just think they don't understand the bat-"
"It's not your job to think, is it, soldier?" snapped the man, cutting off Jed's words. "You're supposed to follow orders to the letter, nothing more." The man flipped to another page in Jed's personal file, "You a quitter, Sergeant?"
"No, sir," replied Jed with a low voice, a dangerous voice that caught the attention of the stranger conducting the interview - if you could call it that.
Walker finally took his eyes off Jed's profile and looked up with an amused grin on his face that caused the ends of his mustache to twitch up and down. For a second they stared into each other's eyes until the stranger finally spoke, "Well, we'll just see about that now want we?"
Not when he turned down the baseball scholarship to Baylor to join the Army. Not when he marched across the parade grounds in front of his parents at the conclusion of Army Basic Training. Certainly not when he called home after numerous weeks of hell to tell his parents he completed the Ranger Indoctrination Program or RIP.
As proud as his dad was of all Jed had accomplished, the voice on the other end of the line was tainted with worry. Rangers, by definition, waded waist deep into danger and sometimes, they didn't make it out.
Then 9/11 happened, and only a few short weeks later, Jed found his boots on the hard pan and shale of the mountains around Kandahar, Afghanistan as part of Operation Rhino. For the next fifteen months, Jed saw the worst humanity had to offer and regurgitated it in spades. His only concern was for his men. His only want was to see them all safely home, and he did, mostly. By the time his deployment had ended, he was nearing ten years of hard service for his country in one of its most elite units and was beginning to consider life after the Army.
That is, until the day an old mentor of his, Sergeant Major Gannet, hailed him over to his side.
"Sergeant Blackmoor, you are to report to the battalion conference room at once. There, you will speak to an old friend of mine. Understood?"
"Affirmative, Sergeant Major," Jed responded with a quizzical look on his face. "About what, may I ask?"
"No clue. Just get to the conference room PDQ and listen to what he has to say."
"Wilco, Sergeant Major," Jed replied before trotting off in the direction of the conference room. Gannet, an old, grizzled soldier of too many conflicts, was a man Jed had come to trust, come to lean on during hard times. If Sergeant Major Gannet had told him to make ice cream on Mars, Jed would have done it or died in the attempt.
Still though, it was a strange set of circumstances that only got stranger when he entered the room. At a table in the center of the room, a broad shouldered man awaited him. He wore his long, brown hair tied in a knot and sported a handlebar mustache of matching color. Wearing a pearl snap shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, the behemoth looked like he'd been puked out of the movie Urban Cowboy.
The stereotypical ten gallon hat was conspicuously absent.
Though the interview started before he was through the door, it would be several months before Jed would learn the name of the man he quickly developed the desire to throat punch.
Sergeant Major Mike Walker.
"Apparently, PDQ doesn't mean what it used to around here," grumbled the bear of a man in a mid-western accent tinged with trailer-trash venom
"Sorry, sir," Jed said, while scrambling to find a seat at the table. "Just found out..."
Walker waved a hand dismissively, "Don't care. The Army is habitually promoting lazy pissants these days." He fumbled through a stack of papers that made Jed bristle. They made up his personal file. "Don't like following orders do you, Sergeant?"
"I follow orders just fine, sir," said Jed sitting, slowly, confused by the stranger's tact.
"Well, you certainly don't like the people giving them," the man offered without looking up. "You hate officers or something?"
"No, sir," replied Jed, desperately trying to not lash out at the stranger, "I just think they don't understand the bat-"
"It's not your job to think, is it, soldier?" snapped the man, cutting off Jed's words. "You're supposed to follow orders to the letter, nothing more." The man flipped to another page in Jed's personal file, "You a quitter, Sergeant?"
"No, sir," replied Jed with a low voice, a dangerous voice that caught the attention of the stranger conducting the interview - if you could call it that.
Walker finally took his eyes off Jed's profile and looked up with an amused grin on his face that caused the ends of his mustache to twitch up and down. For a second they stared into each other's eyes until the stranger finally spoke, "Well, we'll just see about that now want we?"
***
2006
Fort Brag, North Carolina
"You do understand, Sergeant Blackmoor," said the pasty Army psychiatrist in the apathetic tone one might use when discussing day old roadkill, "just how difficult all of this is to believe, correct?"
"Yes, sir," replied Jed stiffly.
"And, you understand that you could have denied the allegations, and we wouldn't be in this room today, correct?"
"If you're implying I could have lied and made it go away then no sir," stated Jed matter-of-factly. "I've never lied to any one at any time in this man's Army and have no intentions of starting today. You'd think that fact alone would have kept me out of this room answering the same damned questions over and over again, but here I am."
Regardless of Jed's disdain, vocalized or otherwise, the questions continued to come. Each question, whether it was about it childhood, his hobbies away from base, or his thoughts on the military at large was calculated and meant to aid in determining what he actually saw in those Montana mountains to what he claimed to have seen.
Only days before, Jed, along with nearly half of B squadron, had flown into Glacier International Airport before heading to one of the most remote areas in the lower forty-eight - the North Fork area of Glacier National Park. Each man would insert alone and spend the next five days out in the wild, covering nearly twenty kilometers before reaching their exfil point. This was part of B squadron's pre-deployment workup and was a vital component, considering the squadron was heading to Afghanistan soon.
As the questions continued, Jed realized he wouldn't be making that trip or any other with the Unit anytime soon.
Three days into the five, Jed spotted something moving quickly and almost completely uninhibited by the near vertical face it was climbing. Curious, he grabbed his binoculars, took a look, looked to the ground to refocus then took a second look. The thing was covered in coarse, brown fur and had a long snout with two canines extending well below the mandible. Its body was supported by long, oddly-angled legs - also covered in fur. A dead body was draped over thick shoulders and held in place by unnaturally long and muscular arms. Just as the thing crossed over the ridgeline it turned back and looked in the exact direction Jed was perched. Jed didn't know how, but the thing's yellow eyes focused right on his face through the glass.
It knew it was being watched and exactly where from.
It knew it was being watched and exactly where from.
Seconds after it disappeared, Jed called for an emergency evac which was the beginning of the end of his career as a Delta Force operator.
Werewolf.
Even as he entered it into his after action report, he knew he was done.
Even as he entered it into his after action report, he knew he was done.
The accusation, coming from one of the Unit's most revered operators, sent shock waves through the command. Saying he had seen what he could only describe as a werewolf through his binoculars was bad enough, but saying he had seen it in an area where several hikers had come up missing made it much worse. Saying he saw this supposed werewolf walking easily up what amounted to a five thousand foot mountain face while carrying a hiker over its shoulders brought the hammer down on Jed's career.
But, he never backed down from his story, and it never changed from one interviewer to the next.
As the questions continued for Jed, another line of questioning was being fielded behind the room's one way mirror.
"What do you think, Tom?" asked the mysterious new-comer.
Colonel Tom Mallete turned and held the gaze of his colleague for several moments, "I don't know, Bart. I just don't know." The commanding officer of 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment - Delta (1st SFOD-D), popularly known as Delta Force, sighed heavily, "I'm having a helluva time getting my brain around all this."
"You were read in the moment you took command, right?"
The Colonel ground his teeth, evident by his pulsing jaw muscles, "I was, but that doesn't make it any easier."
"But, you were, Tom. So you know the Sergeant is telling the truth." Rear Admiral Bartavious Briggs moved to Colonel Mallette's side, "Again, I'll ask what you think about the Sergeant there."
The Colonel sighed again. He knew Jed could no longer operate within the Unit's ranks. There were just too many questions about his character, not to mention his sanity at this point, but that didn't make what he had to say any easier. Finally, he spoke in a voice that didn't sound like his own, "I think that's the finest soldier I've ever had the pleasure of commanding, Bart."
***
The door to the room flew open and in walked a white haired man with a matching white goatee. He had a patch over his right eye and a long, jagged scar running the length of what used to be a handsome face. Surrounding the stranger was the unmistakable aura of confident leadership.
To the psychiatrist, the stranger said in a gravelly voice, "You're in my seat, doc."
The pale doctor looked stunned and was unsure what he should do. This was definitely not part of the script. From the doorway the Colonel said, "Doc, why don't you step outside. We have a few things to discuss."
The Colonel gave Jed one last look, nodded, and closed the door.
The white haired man sat opposite Jed and looked the Delta operator in the eyes, "I'm sure you've got a lot of questions."
Jed, returning the gaze, said simply, "First off, who are you, and why are you here?"
The Admiral smiled wickedly, "My name's Rear Admiral Bartavious Briggs. As to why I'm here, well, that's a bit of a long story which we'll get to in time, I'm sure." The Admiral leaned over the table, "In the meantime, why don't you tell me exactly what you saw on that mountain."
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