One minute he was pressed against a wall, rifle at the ready, eyes in all directions. Poised, alert, attentive, on his game.

Kennet saw him. Looked away a moment. Looked back.

Jock was down. Empty eyes looking at nothing, a stream of blood running from one ear and one nostril.

“Chris?” O’Hara crawled over and pulled the lifeless body into his arms, cradled it to his chest a moment, before tearing off his helmet, turning his mouth to the skies and howling. He screamed his buddy’s name into the smoke, sounding like a demon giving birth, or a horse dying.

The squad stared, their bowels turning to acid, their hearts sinking through the soles of their shoes, their minds on the edge of the abyss. O’Hara was, at last, panicking, which meant they were all fucked.

“Don’t you do this, Chris. Don’t you fucking do this to me…”

As the iron constitution of the squad dissolved, nobody knew what to do. Nothing they’d experienced in combat had so instantly and thoroughly demoralized them. It was Anderson who finally managed to get close to the raving O’Hara and take the inconsolable madman’s face in his hands.

“I am the resurrection and the life,” he said. “Whoever believes in me, though he die— No, look at me. O’Hara, look me in the eye. Though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Never, O’Hara. Never die. He will never die. Look at me. Do you believe this?”

O’Hara pulled his face away, buried it in Fragiacomo’s hair and cried like a child.

“Truly, truly, I say to you,” Anderson said. “Look at me. Whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life. Life, O’Hara. He lives. Now get up.”

O’Hara didn’t move.

“Get up, goddammit,” Anderson shouted.

Every stomach in the unit spasmed. O’Hara was panicking and Anderson was blaspheming. Surely it was the end.

Through the choking smoke came Hildur, drooling with hunger, desperate to go home and reclaim her place as queen in the elvish lands, even if she had to kill every man here to do it. O’Hara was broken. He’d be easy pickings.

Not today, you bitch.

Kennet found himself moving. He shoved Anderson aside, pulled Jock out of O’Hara’s arms and yanked the stricken soldier to his feet. “That’s it,” he said, jamming O’Hara’s helmet back on. “That’s all you get. You’re done. Put it away. You think about it later. You feel it later. Understand?”

A ripple of purpose went through the rattled squad, shoulders squaring, expressions hardening, shit getting together. Rifles came up, eyes narrowed. Ingle barked strategy and the men swung back into action.