Free Dead Men's Harvest by Matt Hilton

codenamed Arrowsake. It was round about then that I realised I wasn’t as tough as I thought. The training was hellish, but I thrived on it and came through the other end alive and more or less intact. I’d found direction, and a sense of unity that I’d never known with my own family. Walter Hayes Conrad became a surrogate father figure, but my greatest gain was someone who I truly felt was a brother. Jared Rington.
    We were an unlikely pairing, I suppose. I was a northern English grunt, he was a half-Japanese, half-Scottish Canadian raised in the Midwest of the USA, but our differences were outweighed by what we had in common. We formed a bond that was unshakeable, and that bond had only strengthened over the years. I could always rely on Rink to be there to watch my back, as I would always be there to watch his.
    That was what was bothering me most. When Rink needed me there, I’d been up in Maine with Imogen. OK, so I deserved a life of my own, but I felt that my selfishness had helped place Rink in mortal danger. Christ, Rink would laugh at that. He was no shrinking violet, in fact he was one of the toughest warriors I’d ever known and not the type to need a chaperone. But still, I couldn’t help feeling that this was my problem and it shouldn’t be Rink who was going through hell . . . again.
    From the front my taciturn pilot made a noise I took to mean that we were going down. Then the plane was buffeted and jostled as he banked it through the clouds. It was dawn over the Midwest, and the storms that were hammering the Eastern Seaboard had been left hundreds of miles behind, so as we broke from the cloud cover the rooftops of Little Rock twinkled back at us under the breaking sun. The Arkansas River snaked through the city, a ribbon of fire, and the pilot followed its course before banking again out towards Adams Field, Little Rock’s airport.
    I checked to see if anything looked familiar, tried to pinpoint the area where last I’d assaulted Sigmund Petoskey’s lair, but couldn’t. I didn’t care; he wasn’t going to be in a dilapidated building this time. It wouldn’t matter where, I would find him and make him tell me where Rink was.
    Walter had guaranteed John’s safety. It was time for me to look after my other brother.

Chapter 13
    Much further to the north-west day hadn’t yet broken. Jewel Ridge was in darkness but there were lights on behind the cabin’s shutters. They were too bright to be a single night light, so it was likely that the occupants were up and about. Maybe the people inside were going through their early-morning ablutions, or perhaps cooking up a calorie-laden breakfast in anticipation of the long day ahead. They’d be moving in slow motion, their bodies not yet revved up to full throttle. It was a good time to surprise them, Cain decided.
    Minds that should be sharp and alert would still be foggy from the lingering effect of sleep. These were the least industrious hours on the clock and it didn’t look like anyone had been out the cabin yet. The vehicles parked outside hadn’t been loaded. Morning dew had begun collecting on the windscreens, pine needles blown from the nearby trees had gathered on the hoods.
    Cain had parked his own vehicle a mile away. He’d jogged in, arriving at the cabin fully awake, his body energised for what would follow. He paused, studying the cabin, allowing his beating heart to calm. When he went in it would be cool-headed and loose-limbed.
    He checked his weapons. Both the H&K and the Beretta would be brought into service, but it was the Recon Tanto knife with its epoxy-coated blade he’d prefer to use. Sticking someone with a knife was far more personal – and satisfying – than blowing them away at a distance. Cain enjoyed the proximity of death when delivered with a blade; it allowed him to see his victims’ initial shock, the cold realisation that their life was his to take, the final dimming of their eyes.
    But he wasn’t going to be