ARISEN, Book Fourteen - ENDGAME

by Michael Stephen Fuchs

  “…this is your papa.” She pronounced it in the French way.

  Wesley instantly teared up, his breath magicked away. The whole fabric of his life had changed in an instant – and he instantly embraced it. No more bachelor flat in Peckham, no more lonely pints at the Flying Pig. He had a little girl now. He had a family. He opened his arms and literally embraced his new life, wrapping Josie and Amarie in his arms.

  Around tears, he said, “You know, I did one hell of a swim to that door, to get back to you.”

  “What?” Amarie said, her voice also choked with emotion.

  “Never mind,” he said. “They’ll be loads of time to explain.”

  “Papa,” Josie said – and the floodgates of his tears opened, and he hugged her more closely to him. “Zulu,” she added, and Wesley pulled back to see she was pointing at a destroyed body on the ground – and both Wesley and Amarie sputtered with half-shocked laughter. Wes shook his head.

  Yeah, this is definitely my daughter, better or worse…

  Bouncing her, he said, “Do you like doggies, Josie?”

  “Doggy.”

  Wesley smiled big. That was better. The future would be better. Now – just gotta figure out how to get Judy here…

  * * *

  “Still the match made in hard-ass spec-ops NCO heaven.”

  Handon and Fick, both turning inward and back, saw Ali approaching from behind.

  “Or maybe Zulu Alpha hell,” Handon said.

  “Nah,” Fick said, puffing happily. “That’s all behind us n—”

  “Holy shit, Top,” Ali said, cutting him off. “You’re bit.”

  With the sun coming up, she saw it for the first time – a small but ugly bite wound on the side of Handon’s neck. When she grasped and checked his hands and wrists, then tears in several places in his assault suit, she found a half-dozen scratches and another bite. With everything he’d been through, he could have gotten them anywhere. Ali had a few herself – almost all of them did at this point. The difference was… Ali’s face drained of color as she remembered where Handon had been when they were all getting vaccinated.

  Laid up in a coma in the med wing.

  She checked his eyes and the skin around them. Then, without a word, she turned, dashed off, and came back dragging Park with her at a run, saying something about having to get back to Bio for doses of serum to keep Handon alive until—

  “It’s fine,” Park said. “He’s totally fine.”

  Ali looked at him uncomprehendingly. “How do you know?”

  “Because I went up to the med wing and vaccinated himself myself – five minutes after the vaccine was finalized. Look.” He took Handon’s arm and pulled at a tear in the sleeve. Sure enough, there was a little round Band-Aid right on his bicep. It had been there all this time.

  “Jesus,” Ali said, coming down from unaccustomed panic.

  “Thanks, Doc,” Handon said.

  “No problem. You guys saved me enough times.”

  * * *

  When Park returned to the stairwell structure, he found Aliyev slumped up against it on the deck, right where he’d left him.

  Only now he was spitting up blood.

  Eyes going wide, Park squatted down and gripped his arm. “Come on, Oleg. We’ve got to get you to the med wing. It might be clear by now. And we’ll get Pred—”

  But Aliyev shook his head firmly and cut him off. “No, thank you, Herr Doktor Park, savior of the world. I’ve spent enough time indoors, and in isolation. I’ll die out here in the open, and among the living, thank you very much.”

  Park started to argue with him – but the look in Aliyev’s eyes said two things: one, that he wasn’t going to make it. And, two, that it was time for him to atone.

  Park let go of his arm – and instead took his hand.

  With his other hand, Aliyev wiped blood from his mouth, and tried to smile. “And, listen, I lived all the way up until the end, which is better than most – and much better than I deserve. I lived to see all this.” He waved vaguely, at the dead dying on all sides of them. From where they were, they couldn’t see much, despite the early morning light.

  But Aliyev could see enough.

  “Told you,” he said, with a weak laugh. “Contagious as freshman dorm flu.”

  Park nodded. “You were right. And you did it. Fixed all of it.”

  “No,” Aliyev said, squeezing his hand back – and nodding at the line of parachutes still visibly falling to earth in the north. “You did.” He paused and laughed again. “You brought back the Elixir of Life, to save the Home and Tribe. You completed the Hero’s Journey.”

  Park smiled back at him, but nodded over his shoulder, toward Alpha team and the others. “Those guys are the heroes. They made the journey, and they brought me back.”

  “Whatever. Either way – Odysseus gets his wife back. Luke makes his shot on the Death Star. Even after everything.”

  Park seemed to understand. “Life wins. We beat death.”

  Aliyev squinted in thought. “That’s funny. You’ve just made me realize – Lucas didn’t call it the Death Star for no reason… But, no, Simon – life winning out was you. You saved everyone left alive. But beating death, on the other hand – yes, that was all me. Behold my dominion: Oleg Aliyev, bringer of death eternal – and finally killer even of Death. ‘With strange aeons even death may die’…”

  His voice was fading, and his gaze starting to go long.

  But then Simon realized Aliyev wasn’t dying – he was just looking over his shoulder – and turned to see Ali standing behind both of them. When he looked back to Aliyev, the Kazakh seemed fearful yet resigned. Like he thought Ali was here to finish him off – but was also okay with that.

  Instead, Ali just spoke, gently. She said, “Nice job, Oleg.”

  “What? You’re not going to kill me?”

  “No, the hell with it,” she said, squatting down, her voice free of menace, or even judgment. “We all just saved the world, together. And it wouldn’t have happened without you.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened in the first place without me.”

  Ali shrugged. “That’s true. Then again, if it wasn’t this, it probably would have been something else. Anyway, I’m too happy right now to hold a grudge. Also – if you hadn’t flown out to get me and Homer, we wouldn’t be here to see it. But you did, and we are. You got it done, Oleg – all the way to the end.”

  “‘No more half-measures, Walter’,” Aliyev said in a low and gravelly voice.

  Ali leaned down and offered her hand. Aliyev took it.

  As she left, Simon looked back down at Aliyev and said, “You really love that show, don’t you?”

  “Are you kidding? How can you not love a classical tragedy about a man whose ego, self-absorption, greed, and lust for power resulted in catastrophe for him and everyone around him?”

  Park’s smile melted away. “And who died at the end.”

  “Yes. And who died at the end.”

  Aliyev’s voice was growing weak. Park held onto his hand, and tightened his grip.

  “There’s one last thing I have to tell you,” Park said.

  * * *

  When Ali turned away, she found Homer waiting for her.

  As they walked back together, he said, “You know something very strange – I’m pretty sure it was Zack’s body that injured Aliyev in the helo crash.”

  Ali snorted. “He would have loved that. I forgave Aliyev, but I doubt Zack ever did. And I know he never forgave himself. For failing to stop it.” She pictured his face in her memory.

  “Zack’s at peace,” Homer said. “And he deserves forgiveness. He fixed it. He finished the job. And so did you.”

  Ali took a deep breath, and Homer could see just from her body language that she was more at peace now, as well.

  Maybe she finally forgave herself, too.

  * * *

  “You hear that?” Baxter asked.

  He and Kate happened to be at the no
rth edge of the rooftop, watching the falling parachutes descend in the distance. She had only known Zack six months, not the two years Baxter had. But she’d gotten to know and love him.

  Smiling at Baxter, she said, “AMF. Adios—”

  Baxter interrupted her. In addition to watching the chutes, they had been tracing where the line of dying dead was out to, and now he looked back down on it. “—Motherfuckers.”

  He took a breath and said a prayer of thanks to everyone who had fallen getting them here. And he thought about how if Dugan and Maximum Bob hadn’t given their lives saving his and Zack’s, they never would have found Patient Zero.

  Those men, too, had saved the world.

  He only wished they could have lived to see it. Baxter shook his head and smiled to remember them. He said, “But everybody wants to be a SEAL on Friday…”

  Kate laughed. “And it doesn’t end well for the goat.”

  The two of them sighed and leaned in on each other. No explanation was asked for or offered, for either quip. Each understood what the other meant – or else knew they didn’t have to. All of them had words burnt in their memories, sayings of teammates who would never speak them again.

  Maybe their job now was never to forget.

  * * *

  Handon and Fick finished the last of the cigar, then turned to face back in toward the others. And they just stood there for a few minutes – watching all the little groups, sub-tribes of their greater tribe, milling in various corners of the rooftop.

  All of them talking and crying and hugging and commiserating and trying to come to grips with it all. What it meant. The miraculous fact that they were still here. That their brothers were still there, still alive, alongside them – or some of them were. So many of course were missing, gone forever. Gurkhas, USOC operators, Royal Marines, RMPs, tankers, CentCom garrison, Tunnelers… it looked like everyone had a group.

  Everyone had someone – except Fick.

  Handon still had Alpha, but Fick had been left alone.

  But then, to their equal amazement, they both heard ringing, right between their two bull-like bodies. Handon realized it was his sat phone, totally forgotten but still in its pouch on his belt.

  “You wanna take that?” Fick said.

  “Guess I’d better. It’s probably not telemarketers.” He pulled out the small but chunky phone, folded out the thick antenna, then stabbed a button. “Go for Handon.”

  He went back and forth with someone on the other end for a while, Fick getting some of the drift. Finally, he said, “Stand by,” and put his hand over the speaker. Looking at Fick, he said, “The JFK’s secure. She’s steaming for Portsmouth.”

  Fick nodded. But he didn’t speak.

  Handon then passed over the phone. “There’s someone who wants to speak with you.”

  Eyes going wide, but still wordless, Fick took it and stepped away. And then Handon was left on his own. But, looking across the rooftop to the center, he realized Fick wasn’t the only one left alone. Not by a long shot. Because he could see the two Ainsley boys standing together there.

  And they didn’t yet know their father was dead.

  And now it fell to Handon to tell them.

  * * *

  “Hey, Gunny.”

  Fick recognized her voice instantly, even from 3,500 miles away, even bouncing across falling satellites.

  “Hey there, Em. You okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine. Thanks to the guys.” Fick knew that what Emily meant by that was his Marines. She’d always called them that.

  Fick took a deep breath of the cool air, chest filling with relief – as well as something not totally unlike joy, which was a very unfamiliar sensation. After all this, at the very end, he still had his friend – strange as their friendship had always been, and probably would always be.

  But he still had someone.

  “So – did you help my Marines give Spetsnaz the shove?”

  “I helped a little. Anyway, they’re all gone – dead or jumped over the side. None captured, though – not a single one.”

  “Nah, I’m not surprised,” Fick said. “But, listen, there’ll still be one or two hiding out somewhere. It’s a big ship – and Russians are better at hiding than zombies. So watch yourself. Don’t walk around belowdecks on your own for a while.”

  “Roger that, Master Guns. I’m never walking alone belowdecks ever again…”

  Fick’s brow furrowed. “Why? Something happen?”

  “Nothing too bad. I’ll tell you in person. We’re coming there! But they say it’s going to take ten days.”

  “Yeah, it’s a hell of a trip around Africa with the Suez Canal shut for the duration, something like twelve thousand miles. And that floating airport only goes about forty-five miles an hour. Listen, I’ll try to come meet you in Portsmouth.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice when she answered. “That would be great.”

  Fick smiled himself, thinking of seeing her. “Wish I’d been there to take care of you. Wish I was now.”

  “I’ll be fine. Corporal Meyer’s been looking after me. He won’t let anything happen.”

  Fick’s breath caught in his throat. Finally he managed to speak. “Meyer’s alive? I… I heard everyone was dead.”

  “No. At the end of the battle, we thought that, for a little while. But Meyer just got knocked out, and half-buried in Russians, retaking the bridge. Vorster barricaded himself in the reactor room, with the British guy – Captain Martin I think? And Raible was the last survivor in the hospital siege. Along with their commander, that tall woman – Walker?”

  Fick almost couldn’t believe it. He had three whole Marines left. That must mean he was immortal now, that he’d never have to die – or even be able to. But that fact paled compared to the knowledge that he’d kept some of his Marines alive. Even after all this. And suddenly, United States Marine Corps Master Gunnery Sergeant Fick realized that, underneath the relief he felt, underneath even the unfamiliar joy, there was something else in there, a sensation far stranger, way down in his breast along with the cool air in his lungs…

  And it was hope.

  He almost didn’t recognize it.

  But he was sure as hell glad to have it.

  * * *

  The stairwell door unexpectedly banged open – and emerging out into the clean air and growing light were Noise, Staff Sergeant Eli, Halldon and Sanders, and a trailing gaggle of London Regiment Reservists. They’d made it across the Common to SHQ, to rejoin the others up here.

  Which had been a lot easier to do with all the dead dying.

  Noise found Handon, standing on his own at the roof edge near the stairwell – looking as if he were steeling himself for something difficult he had to do.

  “Command Sergeant Major Handon! You are back among the living!”

  “And you’re still here, Noise – and still with that beautiful attitude.” Handon put his hand out, but Noise ignored it, and pulled him into a hearty bear hug, his long beard tickling Handon’s stubble.

  “You can have it, too,” Noise said, pulling away.

  Handon nodded down at Noise’s AA12. “Looks like you singlehandedly cleared the Common down there.”

  Noise nodded. “The dead must die, Handon. However, I got only a few. God took the rest.”

  “Sab Gobind hai,” Handon said.

  “Truly,” Noise said, bowing. “Everything belongs to God.” When he straightened up, he reached into the pack on his back and drew a cricket bat. Handon instantly recognized it as Henno’s. “Now. There is something I must do. And I think you have a duty, as well. But I will not leave you alone with it.”

  Handon nodded. Here was a man he could depend on.

  “Come on,” Handon said. “Let’s get it done.”

  But they weren’t the only ones with bad news to deliver.

  * * *

  Eli, Sanders, and Halldon made a beeline for the tall signpost of Colour Sergeant Croucher, and the rest of the surviving Royal
Marines. They all seemed to be gearing up, along with a group of soldiers wearing the insignia of the King’s Royal Hussars – but stopped what they were doing the instant they saw their mates who had been left behind in Moscow.

  “Staff Sergeant!” Simmonds was the first to react, looking like he both wanted to cry, and to hug Eli.

  “All right, all right,” Eli said. “You soppy git.” He went ahead and hugged him, unusual as that was, giving him a few sharp man-pats, while among the other men there were hugs and handshakes and back-slapping all around.

  And then… the roster of the fallen was recited – the newly fallen. Those who had gone down since Eli and the others got left behind, particularly Sergeant Travis, which was a hard blow. And now there were more tears, and more hugs.

  But the worst part remained.

  “Where the hell’s Jameson?” Eli asked, looking around.

  “We don’t know,” Croucher said. “But we’re fucking well going to find out. Going out with this lot” – and he nodded at the tankers – “who have to get their bloody commander back, trapped out there in his sixty-ton coffin. Jameson’s somewhere, though, and we’re going to find him.”

  Eli dropped and checked the mag in his rifle – the only one he had. “We’re burning daylight,” he said.

  And then he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  He turned to look upon three faces he had never seen before. But they all somehow seemed to recognize him, looking upon him respectfully – or, no, it was just that they recognized his unit. It was a young Para, and two American soldiers in irregular uniform, one of them a woman.

  It was Elliot, Baxter, and Kate.

  And then a fourth face pushed through from behind these three – and it was one Eli knew very well indeed: Charlotte. Eli’s mouth got one quarter-inch into the shape of a smile, from the pleasure of seeing her again – and then fell entirely.

  He could see everything, written right there on her face.

  “I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said. “I couldn’t save him.”

  “Oh, God,” Eli muttered, eyes staring out into nothing, only memory and history, but a great deal of both. He genuinely couldn’t believe it. His best mate, the best friend he’d ever had or would have, was gone. Eli had never believed the world would make it. But he never thought Jameson could go down. He’d definitely never imagined their troop commander would fall before he did.