Arisen, Book Nine - Cataclysm

by Michael Stephen Fuchs

  But now the tone had changed, and she had put him in her confidence. And he knew it wasn’t right to mix one thing up with the other.

  The door knocked – but then opened before Henno could rise.

  In walked Handon – and when he saw Sarah sitting there beside Henno on his bunk, he visibly swallowed whatever it was he’d had cued up to say.

  Sarah looked up, alarmed.

  And Henno stood, up to his full height. He hadn’t locked the hatch. But still he didn’t like Handon just busting in like that. There were boundaries.

  Handon visibly reset, moving his steely gaze from Sarah to Henno. “I just got called out on the carpet by Abrams,” he said. “He tells me you put three of his sailors in the hospital. That true?”

  “Aye,” Henno said. “Some people need thrashing.”

  Handon blinked and shook his head.

  Sarah’s face changed from alarm to dismay. Evidently Henno wasn’t going to explain to Handon any more about what happened. She didn’t know that, to a Yorkshireman, explaining yourself was about as appealing as crapping in public.

  She jumped in. “Wait a second. What happened was—”

  Handon cut her off. “I don’t care what happened. I’ve got far too much to do as it is. Mediating fights between soldiers and sailors is about the last goddamned thing I need to be doing, less than twenty-four hours before we step off.”

  Now Sarah’s expression changed again – to anger. “That’s pretty insensitive. A girl was almost raped. And it was only because of Richie that she wasn’t.”

  Handon looked baffled. “Who the hell is Richie?”

  But then he remembered. That was Henno’s first name. Handon had never heard it used before – only seen it, once, in his personnel file, which he’d been shown on his first week in Hereford two years ago. And then Handon realized – his was not the only first name that Sarah had gotten. It was no longer a unique intimacy between them.

  “Henno,” he said. “You’re on me. Right now.”

  * * *

  Henno followed Handon out into the companionway. Squaring up opposite him, but trying to keep the aggression he felt under wraps, Handon carefully said, “I don’t want this to get acrimonious.”

  Henno paused, lowered his head, and squinted in a way that would have been terrifying to someone less of a bad-ass than Handon himself. “No,” he growled. “You really don’t.”

  Handon took a breath. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t care. Maybe they had it coming. All I need to know is that you’re not going to create problems on this boat for us.” He paused, considering whether to go on. “And I need to know that I can depend on you to do your job on this mission.”

  Henno straightened up, his expression taken aback. “Do my job? Are you having a laugh? When have I not done my job? You, on the other hand…”

  Handon’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Henno paused and gathered steam. “It means that, for starters, on this one we are not skiving off to go rescue any more random civilians. You got that?” Handon knew full well Henno was talking about their misadventure with the pirate ship, where Handon’s sympathy had been tweaked by a girl’s call for help – one that turned out to be a trap. And he knew he was vulnerable here. It hadn’t been a great call on his part, and had almost spelled disaster for the mission.

  But it also wasn’t Henno’s place to be second-guessing Handon’s command. And he didn’t much like his tone. But, then again, he knew as well as anyone that authority was earned. And they had to be able to work together. And Henno might even be right on this one. So he made an attempt to dial it down.

  “Okay,” he said. “You won that argument. I’ve gotten religion on that one.”

  He meant they would be mission focused. But even as he said the words, he knew he wasn’t even convincing himself – not totally.

  Henno definitely wasn’t satisfied. He said, “And we are not going to hang about, held at gunpoint by random civilian nutters we’ve stupidly tried to rescue.” This time he meant Emily’s sister – who had put a gun to Dr. Park’s head, and tried to blackmail them. Henno had wanted to kill her instantly, but Handon had made him hold off. That incident too could have easily gone a lot worse than it did.

  Henno went on. “I can’t be doing with any of that again. Anybody points a gun at us, anybody fucks with the mission, I’m going to slot ’em. You got that?”

  Handon nodded, though it pained him to do so. Because the lesson he felt he had learned in Michigan was still with him – that if they didn’t safeguard their essential humanity, then they were as good as dead already, and were fighting for nothing. But, as insubordinate as Henno was being, he also had an excellent point. If everyone was dead, if the world fell, then their humanity didn’t matter in the least.

  If the team didn’t get the job done, it was all over.

  Handon had never really known how to reconcile those two imperatives – saving the world, versus safeguarding their own humanity. But right now, with the endgame looming, he figured Henno probably had it right. And they both of them came from a culture where being right was a lot more important than holding rank, or being in command.

  But then, even as he thought that, Handon succumbed to another impulse. Maybe he just couldn’t stand the sneer on Henno’s face. Also, he found himself flashing back to Sarah in his cabin – right on his bunk. So as Henno was turning to leave, Handon grabbed his shoulder and said: “Just as long as you’re clear on one thing: that I’m in charge of this outfit.”

  Henno powerfully shrugged free of Handon’s grip, and turned back to face him. “This is Captain Ainsley’s outfit. A man who knew that the mission came before everything. And who gave everything he had, or ever would have, for it.”

  “Ainsley’s gone,” Handon said. “And I’m going to continue to make the calls for the team – right, wrong, or indifferent. You got that?”

  Henno shrugged. “We’re going to do what needs doing. End of.”

  Handon took his meaning: it was the mission or nothing. And he decided he might have to leave it at that. It was basically an impasse – one that could easily turn into a stand-off. Or worse.

  Just hopefully not at a fatal moment.

  As they were both turning to leave, Handon twisted at the waist and said, “There’s one other thing. Those three sailors you knocked out. Two of them woke up with their ship’s ID cards missing. You know anything about that?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  Handon nodded, and mentally shrugged it off. That didn’t make any sense to him either. Henno would have no reason to take them. And he would be unlikely to lie about it if he did. One thing about Henno, Handon thought: you rarely had to wonder about his motives.

  And you pretty much always knew where you stood with him.

  Something to Fight For

  JFK - Hospital

  Fick nodded to Sergeant Lovell as he pulled up another chair by the bedside. In front of them was the half-mummified form of Corporal Raible, who had been terribly wounded by an IED blast on the shore mission to SAS Saldanha. They had gone there to secure desperately needed supplies – but they’d run into a team of Spetsnaz commandos who wanted them just as badly.

  Fick swallowed hard as he looked from Lovell over to his injured Marine. Raible was all messed up – ventilator, yards of white bandages, salve on his large variety of burn wounds. Much worse, he had a lot of soft tissue damage, which was going to be a long time healing, if ever.

  Worst of all, they’d had to take off his left leg below the knee.

  Fick shook his head. He’d already had a quick conference with Doc Walker and the surgical staff. And it wasn’t like the ship’s hospital had a bunch of top-shelf prosthetics just lying around. Getting Raible’s leg replaced was probably going to be a project for after they saved the world.

  Meanwhile, he was just going to have to hang tough.

  Right now he was still all drugged up and blissed out – sleepi
ng through it.

  Lovell, who had been in charge of Raible on that mission, looked over to Fick and said, “It was a pretty close-run thing.”

  Fick nodded. “Yeah, well, you made it. And you got the job done.”

  “I kept thinking that was exactly how the LT bought it.” He meant the MARSOC team’s original officer and commander – who had stayed back to hold a choke point while the rest of the Marines, including Fick, ran like hell and escaped. “Running for the boat across an overrun port, shooting in every direction, rockets raining down from the drone overhead.”

  Fick just nodded, expressionless. This wasn’t one of his favorite memories. Because he still knew it was he who should have bought it on that mission, not the LT. But he had let the young officer hang back, knowing it would be his last command decision, then saluted and ran away. That was how he had ended up in charge. He’d told himself then, and in the days that followed, that he’d done it for the greater good – because he was a better leader for the Marines than their original commander. It was a terrible thought, a guilty thought.

  But, ever since then, the only way he could think to redeem it was to do everything in his power to make it true. To be the best possible leader of these men, and to keep them alive. Of course, Fick couldn’t say any of that then, and he couldn’t say it now. He just kept nodding, and kept any expression off his face.

  Lovell shook his head. “Man. Those Spetsnaz dudes were good – and hard.”

  Fick believed it. He also still wasn’t totally clear on how a handful of dinged-up Marines had beaten them.

  Lovell caught his expression, and tried to explain. Basically, their temporary leader, Juice, had improvised like a mad genius – intercepting the radio signals the Spetsnaz team used to remote-detonate their IEDs, then ordering a fake retreat to lure them into their own traps, and setting them off by hacking the signal.

  Fick nodded, impressed.

  Lovell blinked once. “I had my doubts about Juice. But the dude’s extremely solid. He’s a great combat leader.”

  Fick nodded. Everyone in Alpha was.

  He was glad it was them he would be going into the shit with.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Fick stopped in the middle of an otherwise deserted companionway and looked up. It was Emily – again. Also stopped and looking up at him.

  “Hey,” she said. “I was looking for you.”

  In truth, he’d kind of been looking for her too – hoping to find her in the MARSOC team room, where she’d spent a lot of time lately doing valuable support work for them. He’d wanted to say goodbye before they stepped off. But he didn’t quite feel up to admitting that. Maybe she’d think it was weird.

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “What for?”

  “No real reason. I guess I just wanted to see if you needed anything from me before you leave.” She paused and cocked her head, her thin and light blonde hair spilling over her face. “Okay, that’s not true. I wanted to see you before you left.” She put one ankle behind the other and twisted slightly, coquettish.

  Jesus, Fick thought. She can’t be flirting with me?

  He was happy that he seemed to be turning into some kind of father figure for her. And after the fucked-up redneck Whiskey Tango childhood she’d had, all of it overshadowed by her mother’s series of shitbird boyfriends, the last thing she needed was another incestuous father figure.

  Nah, he thought finally. It’s probably fine. It’s just her being a girl.

  He relaxed and smiled. It was the genuine and heartfelt smile he’d slowly been learning, and which, unlike his old strained one, didn’t make him look scarier. It made him look human. “C’mon,” he said. “I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”

  As they fell in side by side, he looked across and saw red marks on her arm. “What happened there?”

  She shook a bit more hair down in front of her face. “Nothing,” she said. There were also things she wasn’t ready to share with him. “Just rough-housing with Ben and Izzie,” she said. Fick knew she had two jobs on this vessel – support staff to him and the Marines, and part-time live-in au pair for Homer’s kids.

  Mainly to change the subject, she said, “There’s not really hot chocolate, is there?”

  “Tsk, tsk. You shouldn’t be so cynical.” After traversing another stretch of hallway, they ducked into the 03 Deck mess, which was smaller and less used than the one on the deck above. At the moment, there was no one eating and only one guy on duty inside.

  “Evening, Master Gunnery Sergeant,” he said, looking up from wiping down a counter. “What can I do you for?”

  Fick pressed his hoary fists into the countertop. “Two powdered milks – steamed and frothed, please.”

  “No problem.” The mess still had an espresso machine, even if there’d been no milk to put in it, nor even real coffee – until Juice came back with both.

  Taking the two steaming mugs a minute later, Fick handed one to Emily, and grabbed a spoon, and they moved together to one of the empty tables. He then held up an index finger, like, Now – watch this. And he produced from his shirt pocket a legit 100-gram bar of Lindt Swiss milk chocolate. He broke off two squares for each of them, dropped them in the mugs, and began stirring vigorously.

  When Emily looked up at him over the cup, Fick looked into her blue eyes and suddenly knew that something was wrong – or at least had been. Now she seemed to be coming back from it. The truth was, in that incident below decks, she had been as frightened of Henno’s violence defending her as she had been of the original attack. After all of that terrible time with the trade-union pirates on that boat, she’d thought she was finally in a safe place here. In an instant, that belief had been badly ruptured, if not exploded outright.

  Maybe there wasn’t any safe place, anymore – not anywhere.

  Out of the blue, she looked up at Fick and said, “I don’t want you to get hurt. I want you to come back.”

  Fick exhaled. “Hey, you bet I’ll come back… if I can.” He immediately regretted those last three words. “Aw, come on now,” he said, pulling a napkin from a dispenser and putting it to her cheek. “Don’t cry. Please, for God’s sake, don’t cry.”

  She wiped her nose and straightened up. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I can be stronger than that. I am stronger than that.”

  Fick brushed her hair away from her eyes, then squeezed her shoulder. “I know you are. You’ve proven it. Hell, you’re still here. Which makes you tough as nails.”

  And Fick thought to himself that he really would like to survive this mission and get back to her. He hadn’t had a friend in a while. And he was very grateful for this one. First he just had to go off and save the damned world.

  Maybe she gave him the best reason for doing so he’d had in a while.

  Serum

  JFK - Hospital

  “What is it?” Handon said, meeting Sarah at the front entrance to the hospital. “I’ve got mission prep and we’re out of time.”

  He didn’t look at all pleased to be there – and it didn’t take a lot of pondering on Sarah’s part to wonder why. Their three-way run-in earlier – with her, him, and Henno – was still raw, and unresolved. They hadn’t even begun to work through it.

  But Sarah’s message to Handon had said that Park needed to see him. So here he was. She motioned toward the back of the hospital, and led Handon there.

  “What’s up?” Handon said, seeing Park standing outside an examination room.

  “I need you to come look at something,” Park said. He opened the hatch behind them, let the other two in, then followed them in and closed the door. There was a man strapped down to the table, wrists and ankles, with a surgical mask over his mouth and nose. It was Anderson, the deserter Wesley’s NSF team had found hiding in the shadows at the bottom of the boat. Handon could see from a glance at the man’s eyes that he was infected.

  “Some reason you’re keeping this guy alive?”

  Park nodded. “It was Sarah’s idea, origi
nally. Using the vaccine as a serum – to keep the infected from turning.”

  Suddenly Handon looked interested, his brow creasing. “How long?”

  “At least a week. This man was infected over a week ago.”

  * * *

  When Handon returned to the cabin he shared with Sarah, at the end of a crushingly long day, and with only a few hours to go before mission launch, she was still up and waiting for him.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  “I’m not sure that’s my priority right now.” He shucked his clothes, folded them, and put them on a chair. As he did so, he was thinking that this relationship was becoming problematical, to say the least. They were still together, and he still had strong feelings for Sarah. But she was now pissing him off, letting herself get distracted from her job – and worst of all, unforgivably really, distracting him from his. In fact, she was fomenting rebellion within his team.

  “Henno’s just using you,” he said, turning to face her.

  “What?”

  “To get to me. To agitate me. He doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  Sarah drew a breath, and tried to think how to respond to this. She needed not to let it get out of hand. Particularly since these might be their last few hours together – maybe forever.

  Before she could formulate a reply, Handon said: “Did you sleep with him?”

  “What?” She was kind of shocked. But she’d heard him right.

  And even as he waited for her to answer, he knew it was crazy talk. Aside from the fact that she’d be too smart to risk that… there was also the question of when, actually, they would have found the time.

  Now Sarah laughed out loud. “He’s strong, he’s funny, and he’s good-looking. So you want to know why I’m here with you instead of off with him?”

  Handon exhaled. “I think I want to know why you let him handle that business with Emily and those sailors. Instead of me. His commander.”

  Sarah shrugged. “One, he was there and you weren’t. Two, he was perfect for it – the ideal bad cop, just what was needed. When I need good cop, I’ll call you.”