Free Arisen, Book Nine - Cataclysm by Michael Stephen Fuchs

they had even reached it.
    And it felt as if the rules of the game were changing yet again.

It’s Not Going to Suck Itself
    Djibouti - the Beach Outside the Airport
    “Cadaver, Thunderchild, commo check, over.”
    Handon was standing farther up the strand, scanning the dusky dunes ahead. This message came in over the CAS net, and he paused to appreciate that the F-35 pilot had stayed out of his ear until they were out of danger. It couldn’t have been easy. She must have seen what was going on. But there wasn’t anything she could have done to support them from the air anyway. The sharks were basically in their laps.
    “Thunderchild, this is Cadaver One Actual, you’re five by five.”
    “Everyone okay down there? Anything I can do?”
    “Cadaver is green, up, and up. No action required. Maintain CAP. Out.”
    Fick stepped up to join him. “No point taking it out on the pilot chick.”
    Handon cracked a smile, despite himself. Looking over his shoulder at the half-eaten boat, he said, “Good thinking with the flares.”
    Fick nodded. “Yeah, well, it worked for you with that Russian drone.”
    Juice padded up to report to the two leaders. “The bad news is it looks like we lost about half the combat load-out to that bullshit.” Handon had assigned him to catalogue their losses. Unfortunately, the supplies had all been stowed in the stern, and some or much of it had spilled out and gone to the bottom when the first whale shark half-flopped onto the back of the boat. “The worse news is that almost all the losses are ammo.”
    Handon shook his head. “You’re kidding me.”
    Juice shrugged. “The pallets of water floated in place. The MREs are vacuum-sealed, so even more buoyant. But the ammo slid out and sank. And the boat’s a write-off. It’ll float, for a while, but the propeller and shaft are gone. Literally gone.”
    As Juice turned and went back to the others, Handon just kept shaking his head. He was thinking, Well, isn’t this typical for our missions – things going to hell from the very outset…
    Fick said it out loud: “Aren’t we just Bad Luck Chuck. Or the Keystone Operators, maybe.”
    Handon looked over at him, his expression stony. “What the hell was that?”
    Fick exhaled, scanning the horizon. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The whole world’s gone to shit. They probably just went nuts from having no plankton to eat or something.”
    Handon squinted slightly, regarding the slightly shorter, slightly stockier senior NCO. “What, so all the algae died, from the dead bodies wading out into the surf? Something like that?”
    “Yeah, maybe,” Fick said, rolling his shoulder. He didn’t know, and pretty obviously didn’t care that much. It was behind them.
    They both turned again as Henno came stalking up from the rear. He was squared away, rifle cradled, expression all business. He’d obviously had enough faffing about on the beach. He wore an expression that said, This isn’t the Costa del Sol, and we are NOT on holiday…
    As he reached the two commanders, he nodded approvingly and said, “Looks like we’ve burned the boats, then.”
    Fick raised a thick eyebrow. “And that’s a good thing?”
    Henno nodded again. “Worked for Cortés.”
    “Yeah, well, there were a lot fewer Aztecs in Mexico than dead guys in Africa.”
    “Quit your whinging,” Henno said. “We’re a hell of a lot better armed than the Spaniards.”
    And with that, he stalked off, heading up over the dunes that ringed the beach. He didn’t look back, and was obviously expecting the others – including the leaders – to follow.
    Handon looked back, preparing to make a move out signal – but they were already doing so themselves, taking the initiative and self-organizing. He and Fick waited for the men to fall in and file by, before bringing up the rear.
    Ali hitched up her ruck, adjusted her slung weapon, and set off, muttering, “Well, it’s not going to suck itself…”
    Reyes laughed out