ARISEN, Book Eleven - Deathmatch by Michael Stephen Fuchs Read Free Book Online Page B

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, but the sun was still MIA. Finally, Henno squared up to him, ten feet away.
    Neither man slumped, fidgeted, put their hands in their pockets, or looked away. Both of these warriors were pure granite. Neither flinched from anything, certainly not conflict. Neither lacked for confidence, or self-belief. Both had ground their own weaknesses into dust – through decades of service, the most extreme and punishing training imaginable, and meeting the highest standards in any military. Both had faced death on the battlefield many times, walked through searing fire, and come out the other side.
    So neither was in the habit of surrendering.
    Handon sized the other man up. And, for a second, he hesitated. He remembered the thought he’d had, standing alone on the sandy road down from their parked MRAP. He’d thought that perhaps Henno, with his viciousness and pragmatism, was the indispensable devil perched on his shoulder. That he was the ugly and ruthless part of his soul he couldn’t live with – but also couldn’t complete their mission without.
    But now Handon also saw the faces of those children, burnt into his mind’s eye – though nowhere as burnt-in as they would be if he sent them all out to die. He could already see them being devoured and infected while fully conscious, and hear their screams. Some part of him wanted to tell Henno they couldn’t save humanity by destroying their own.
    But he knew how far that would get him.
    Handon understood very clearly that Henno was willing to sacrifice not only the lives of everyone on the team – but also their souls. And maybe that was the difference between the two of them. Some part of Handon wondered if Henno was right. If maybe sacrificing their souls, their innate goodness and morality, had always been necessary. That there’d never been any way around it.
    And maybe he just didn’t have the will to do it.
    * * *
    He decided to try to reason with Henno. But he instantly regretted it. “You didn’t see these kids. They’re innocent children. Most haven’t hit puberty.”
    If this affected Henno at all, it didn’t show on his face. He just repeated himself. “And, like I said, mate – cold, hard, fucking world.”
    Handon had spent enough time in the UK to know that “mate” was a familiar term of address between equals. It wasn’t a term of respect – and you never used it to address your commander. He also knew it was having exactly the effect on him Henno intended. He considered trying to explain that he was still in charge of this outfit.
    But he knew they were well past that. Henno didn’t care who was in charge. What he cared about – all he cared about – was doing what was necessary to save Britain and the world. And he was prepared to overthrow Handon’s authority completely to do it. He was in full rebellion.
    Now they were just going to see how this rebellion played out.
    Since it was impossible to keep trying to cover this up, Handon brought it out into the open. Circling around the clearing, he said, “Ainsley told me this would happen.”
    Henno cocked his head and squinted back at him – not looking too pleased to hear Handon use the name of the original team commander, who Henno revered – and who was a soldier who understood his duty. And who’d had the will to do what was necessary. “What the fuck did the captain tell you ?”
    Referring to Ainsley by rank also wasn’t lost on Handon.
    He said, “Right before the mission to Chicago stepped off. He said that if he fell, I’d have trouble controlling you.”
    Henno snorted once. “Oh, I doubt he said that.”
    “Oh, yes, he did. Because he knew your loyalty was to him – and him alone. And he was worried about what would happen. I think he had a premonition of his own death.”
    Henno ground his jaw, his face reddening. If he’d been trying to provoke Handon, now the tables were turned. The more Handon talked about Ainsley, the thicker