Arisen, Book Nine - Cataclysm by Michael Stephen Fuchs

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 – sleeping 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