Arisen, Book Nine - Cataclysm Read Online Free
Author: Michael Stephen Fuchs
didn’t need distractions of any kind.
Checking his watch, he said, “It’s time.” As he stood up tall and erect, he radiated waves of authority. Chairs scraped floor and trays clanged.
Henno rose last, his chest open as he pushed himself up with strong, tattooed forearms. And his fraction of a gaze that slid off Handon communicated why he wasn’t rushing to obey this order. It said:
You’re only in charge of this team because the better man got killed.
No Quit In Them
JFK - 02 Deck Briefing Room
When Alpha filed into the briefing room for the mission brief, Fick and his Marines were already on station. This was the same room in which they had all met three weeks and many lifetimes ago, briefing for the insertion into Chicago.
“Well, we’re back in the car again,” Predator rumbled as he wedged himself into a seat. Both the seats and the rows of desk were made for human-sized people, not stone giants.
“At least you’re out of the tree,” Reyes said, getting the movie reference, and reaching out to fist-bump the big Alpha man.
Ever since the Marines had fought through hell to pull Alpha out of North America, the two teams had been brothers. There was always inter-service rivalry, and loyalty to unit was still written in blood. But, ultimately, it was, as they said: One team, one fight.
Handon looked up as both Commander Abrams, acting skipper of the boat, and LT Campbell, who’d be quarterbacking the op from CIC, walked in on a wave of We’ve got a lot of shit to do, so you’d better make this good – and fast.
Without preamble, Handon spoke, his voice filling the room. “This is the first briefing for what we’re now calling Op Primum Cadavere.” Amid light snickers, he frowned and added, “Not my idea for the mission name. And, no, I’m not telling you whose it was.”
“Somebody who thinks Latin makes him sound smart,” Brady said.
“ Damnant quodnon intelligunt ,” Ali said, sitting slumped back in her chair, chin on fist. She looked over at Brady, who seemed determined not to ask what that meant. She told him anyway: “They condemn what they do not understand.”
“And now,” Fick said, leaning against the bulkhead beside Handon, “we all know who to blame for the mission name. Moving the fuck on.”
Handon said, “Alpha is call sign Cadaver One, the MARSOC element Cadaver Two. Here’s the full order of battle…”
* * *
Reyes raised his hand and said, “I thought we still had two helos left.”
Handon nodded. “Have, yes. But the one that slugged it out with the Russians is more Swiss cheese than aircraft.” He nodded at Ali, who was the only reason it had made it back at all. “The air wing maintenance guys have ruled it unflyable. They say they’ve got no idea how it stayed in the air as long as it did.”
“And if we need it anyway?”
Handon shook his head. “Getting killed in a helo crash is no help to anyone. Anyway, keeping rotary-wing aircraft and other giant noisemakers out of the AO is a feature, not a bug. If we need medevac, or fast extraction – or, best of all, if we actually achieve our mission objective – then we secure an HLZ and the one remaining Seahawk comes in and pulls us out.”
Fick said, “I don’t know what you ladies are bitching about anyway. It’s only two hundred and fifty miles overland from Djibouti to Hargeisa. It’ll be a goddamned Sunday drive in the countryside.”
Handon nodded. “And with a little luck, we can scavenge military transport from the base there.”
Ali snorted. “What, no jingle bus?”
“Sure,” Fick said. “You goddamned hippies can put NPR bumper stickers and a bobble-head Jesus on it if you want, just as long as we’re rolling. Now. Here’s what ISR says we’re looking at when we hit American soil…”
* * *
As Fick briefed on the outlook for Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti, Handon tuned out and scanned the faces in the room. And what he found himself looking for was something deeper than
Checking his watch, he said, “It’s time.” As he stood up tall and erect, he radiated waves of authority. Chairs scraped floor and trays clanged.
Henno rose last, his chest open as he pushed himself up with strong, tattooed forearms. And his fraction of a gaze that slid off Handon communicated why he wasn’t rushing to obey this order. It said:
You’re only in charge of this team because the better man got killed.
No Quit In Them
JFK - 02 Deck Briefing Room
When Alpha filed into the briefing room for the mission brief, Fick and his Marines were already on station. This was the same room in which they had all met three weeks and many lifetimes ago, briefing for the insertion into Chicago.
“Well, we’re back in the car again,” Predator rumbled as he wedged himself into a seat. Both the seats and the rows of desk were made for human-sized people, not stone giants.
“At least you’re out of the tree,” Reyes said, getting the movie reference, and reaching out to fist-bump the big Alpha man.
Ever since the Marines had fought through hell to pull Alpha out of North America, the two teams had been brothers. There was always inter-service rivalry, and loyalty to unit was still written in blood. But, ultimately, it was, as they said: One team, one fight.
Handon looked up as both Commander Abrams, acting skipper of the boat, and LT Campbell, who’d be quarterbacking the op from CIC, walked in on a wave of We’ve got a lot of shit to do, so you’d better make this good – and fast.
Without preamble, Handon spoke, his voice filling the room. “This is the first briefing for what we’re now calling Op Primum Cadavere.” Amid light snickers, he frowned and added, “Not my idea for the mission name. And, no, I’m not telling you whose it was.”
“Somebody who thinks Latin makes him sound smart,” Brady said.
“ Damnant quodnon intelligunt ,” Ali said, sitting slumped back in her chair, chin on fist. She looked over at Brady, who seemed determined not to ask what that meant. She told him anyway: “They condemn what they do not understand.”
“And now,” Fick said, leaning against the bulkhead beside Handon, “we all know who to blame for the mission name. Moving the fuck on.”
Handon said, “Alpha is call sign Cadaver One, the MARSOC element Cadaver Two. Here’s the full order of battle…”
* * *
Reyes raised his hand and said, “I thought we still had two helos left.”
Handon nodded. “Have, yes. But the one that slugged it out with the Russians is more Swiss cheese than aircraft.” He nodded at Ali, who was the only reason it had made it back at all. “The air wing maintenance guys have ruled it unflyable. They say they’ve got no idea how it stayed in the air as long as it did.”
“And if we need it anyway?”
Handon shook his head. “Getting killed in a helo crash is no help to anyone. Anyway, keeping rotary-wing aircraft and other giant noisemakers out of the AO is a feature, not a bug. If we need medevac, or fast extraction – or, best of all, if we actually achieve our mission objective – then we secure an HLZ and the one remaining Seahawk comes in and pulls us out.”
Fick said, “I don’t know what you ladies are bitching about anyway. It’s only two hundred and fifty miles overland from Djibouti to Hargeisa. It’ll be a goddamned Sunday drive in the countryside.”
Handon nodded. “And with a little luck, we can scavenge military transport from the base there.”
Ali snorted. “What, no jingle bus?”
“Sure,” Fick said. “You goddamned hippies can put NPR bumper stickers and a bobble-head Jesus on it if you want, just as long as we’re rolling. Now. Here’s what ISR says we’re looking at when we hit American soil…”
* * *
As Fick briefed on the outlook for Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti, Handon tuned out and scanned the faces in the room. And what he found himself looking for was something deeper than
Readers choose
Gina Henning
Judith Pella
Niobia Bryant
Marcia Muller
Peter Straub
Mali Klein Sheila Snow
John Sandford
Lindsey Davis
Jane Kirkpatrick
Mack Maloney