World War IV: A Broken Union (3 page)

The hull of the first boat crunched against the pebbled beach of the Alaskan north, a far easier location for his men to land than the rocky coast of the northwest where his enemy waited. While the ships Delun offered to ferry Rodion’s men across the Pacific had some armament, they did not have the numbers to engage the strong western fleet of the North Americans. No, Rodion would crush them with his army.  

Boots splashed into the frigid waters, and stiff hands pulled the boat up the shoreline, oars sticking out of the top. The men puffed frost with each breath. Sweat and water froze in their thick beards.

General Rodion was the first on shore and made his way up the burned and pillaged fishing village the Americans had set up on the Alaskan coast. He loosened the collar of his jacket, letting the cold air chill his hot body. For Rodion, it was never cold enough.

Dozens of other boats pulled ashore, bringing with them more men and provisions. Rodion looked back out to the bay, where over one hundred ships carried his army, nearly two hundred thousand strong. With the might of his army behind him, and the Americans’ leaders split in two, he’d take these lands with ease. “Commander!” Rodion’s words bellowed loud over the heads of his men until a squat, rough-looking soldier barreled his way up the beach.

“Yes, General?” The man’s words were thick and slurred, as though he’d just polished off a bottle of vodka.

“Our scouts should have met us out here by now; send a party into the woods to see where their bodies have been slain.” It was of no use mincing words; the scout team here had been fairly small, enough to dispatch what settlers lived here, but if the Mars governor sent his army north, then they could have been overwhelmed. The commander grunted in affirmation and went to seeing the general’s request completed without any dissent. Not that Rodion would have allowed such an insubordination.

A gunshot shattered the quiet air like ice and ricocheted off the rocky beach next to Rodion, sending the men landing on the beach into a frenzy, some ducking, a few reaching for their rifles and firing blindly into the tree line.

“Cease fire!” Rodion’s orders silenced his men but not their attacker. Rodion pressed forward, keeping a steady pace as another bullet sent a spray of sand a foot from his left, yet Rodion neither ran nor ducked. He simply squinted his eyes, scanning the horizon for the shooter’s position.

A quick blur flashed to his right in the cluster of trees, and Rodion grabbed the pistol from his side and fired but hit only tree bark. “Horses!” Rodion mounted the first stallion that was brought his way and took chase, the steady beat of the animal’s hooves thundering against the frozen earth.

Rodion followed the trail where he saw the shooter flee, keeping both his eyes and his ears open for any sign of where the assassin could be hidden. With the number of shots that were fired and the length of time that passed between them, it had to be a powder gun.

The horse whinnied and reared when Rodion pulled back on the reins harshly, jerking the animal to a stop. The stallion stomped the ground defiantly, and Rodion turned the animal left then right. The trees had thickened, but the footprints ended behind one of the thicker clusters. Rodion leapt from the horse and pulled the revolver from the holster on his right hip.

Years of navigating the Russian tundra had left him sure of foot on even the slickest, iciest terrain. Hunting, he’d learned to keep quiet. When he pressed the sole of his boot down, you couldn’t even hear the faintest crunch of snow and earth. Soundless, he crept up behind the group of trees where the prints ended, and in the quiet of the forest, he heard panicked breath.

Rodion whipped around the tree, knocking the barrel of the rifle away from the shooter’s face just as she fired a shot into the sky. Rodion seized the rifle then flung the shooter up against the tree trunk, his thick hand around the assassin’s throat.

The assailant was a young girl, no older than fifteen, but with the shade of red and purple her cheeks turned from the lack of airflow, it was hard to say for sure. Rodion looked around, seeing if anyone came to the girl’s aid. When it became apparent she was alone, he released his grip, and she dropped to the snow, gagging for breath. Rodion aimed the revolver at the girl. “Who sent you?” His English was thick and sloppy, but the pistol was translation enough.

The girl was still on her hands and knees, sucking air. She coughed and hacked as spit dribbled down her chin and snot flung from her nose. When she finally looked up, it was to the sight of the revolver’s barrel, and she scurried backwards, only to run into the dead end of the tree trunks.

“Do you want to die, girl?”

The girl kicked her heel at Rodion, knocking him in the shin. He cracked the pistol against her cheek, knocking her to the ground.

Blood trickled down her face and brightened the light, white layer of snow. The girl’s arms shook, and she tried to push herself up. Rodion yanked her up with one powerful motion and tossed her dazed body against the tree as if she was a rag doll. He thrust the barrel of the pistol right under her nose and pulled her hair back, exposing the bruise and cut on her face. “Tell me where your camp is, and I’ll let you live.”

“Just like your men let my family live when they stormed our village in the middle of the night?” The girl’s voice cracked from the dry cold, and her eyes lolled back and forth lazily, her head no doubt still reeling from the vicious blow.

Rodion’s men finally caught up with him, rounding the trees with their rifles raised, then quickly lowered once they saw the bruised and beaten girl. One of the men, young, barely any scruff on his face, looked down at the girl and nearly dropped his rifle at the sight of her.

The squat commander shoved him in the arm and marched him back behind the rest of the squad for his sloppiness then approached Rodion. “General, our men found her camp just north of here. No one is with her.”

The girl’s actions were out of desperation and revenge. She’d hoped to kill one then run off through the wilderness until she made it all the way to the governor’s house and tell her precious leader of what she saw. “You will not make a difference, girl.”

Rodion squeezed the trigger, and the bullet sliced through the front of the girl’s forehead, out the back, and lodged itself into the tree. Smoke rose from the barrel’s tip in a serpentine pattern as the girl’s body collapsed, blood pouring out both the front and back of the skull, soaking the white snow red.

A few of the soldiers looked away, the sight of the young girl too much for them to handle, but Rodion barked at their cowardice, “This is war!” Spit and frost flew from his mouth as the sole of his boot stepped into the still-wet blood that had turned the snow into a red slush. “This is merely the first drop of blood to be spilt, and it will not be the last.”

The soldiers tried hiding the shivering of their arms and legs, but Rodion saw. He grabbed one of his men by his neck and kicked the back of his legs, sending the man to his knees right next to the head of the slain girl. “Look at her! You will be asked to do this and more once we march south. We do not come for these people, we come for their land! And they will not give it up willingly.” Rodion shoved the soldier’s head down hard, flinging his head forward.

Rodion spun around quickly, causing the rest of the men to take a step back at the general’s aggression. He marched down the line, eyeing each soldier one by one. He felt the swell of bloodlust rise within him, and he didn’t have the time or patience to wait for his men to fear their first kill. “You have followed me here in search of new homes for your families. Food for your children’s mouths and clothes for your wives’ backs.” Rodion pointed down to the girl. “This is that price! And those of you not willing to pay for it will die.”

The men remained quiet for a moment, and then one of the soldiers thrust the butt of his rifle into the hard, icy ground, where it thudded and crunched. Then another soldier joined in, and another, all falling in line into the same beat. The drum of war pounding in rhythm.

***

The jungle brush was thick, and insects swarmed in search of moist flesh. It was a constant battle to keep the bugs at bay. The heat was nonstop day and night, and a man could sweat by doing nothing but sitting down.

Jason Mars took another swig of water from the small canteen he was given by his guard. The rest of the camp was fairly quiet and had been since his arrival. He was still uncertain as to whether he was a prisoner or guest. He hoped it was the latter.

Ever since he was taken by the woman in blue three days prior, he had not seen her. The only companion that he was offered was the lanky, sweaty guard, who kept both hands on his rifle and both eyes on Jason at all times.

Jason had conducted numerous fruitless attempts at communicating with the sentry, but while the man offered nothing in return, with each try he felt as though he was breaking the guard down. He extended the canteen of water. “You should drink. Need to keep your energy up if you’re going to stand there all day.”

The guard took it hesitantly but did not drink. Instead he dumped the water out and tossed the canteen back to Jason. “I hope you were done.”

“Ah, so you
can
talk.” But before any more words were exchanged, another Brazilian rushed inside and whispered something in the guard’s ear. Before Jason knew what was happening, they lifted him by his arms and rushed him through the rebel camp.

Men sharpened swords, and women and children gathered food and melted whatever iron and metal they could find into bullets for their muskets and rifles. The faces he passed where worn and tired, their hands performing their duties mindlessly.

The two guards thrust Jason inside a tent, where he caught himself on his hands and knees in the soft mud, which had somehow found a way to every inch of his body over the past few days during his stay.

“So, this is one of the famous Mars brothers.” The clothes had changed for the woman in blue, but her voice had remained the same. She sat upon a pile of crates, rifles on either side of her, peeling an orange with her fingernails. “You are a far cry from home, Governor.”

“I am.” Jason pushed himself up from the mud, doing his best to scrape the clumps that had gathered on the front of his shirt. While the woman had exchanged the blue dress for heavy cargo pants and a dirty blouse, she still had the same striking features he remembered from their night together in his cabin. “I need to know how my friend is doing. I’ve heard nothing about him since you brought me here.”

The woman popped a chunk of the fruit in her mouth. “So my guards have told me.” She chewed loudly, continuing to pull the orange apart. “Your friend lives.” And that was all she would give him.

Jason looked around the room, noticing the guards had not followed him inside. “I never got your name from the other night. You took off so quickly.”
And now I know why.
The moment President Ruiz’s men had arrived at his ship at the docks, she had disappeared, only to return hours later after Ruiz tried to capture him.

“Gabriela.” The word left her mouth still stuffed with orange as she devoured the last slice. She wiped the juices from her fingers onto her pant leg and stood, her wavy black hair swinging from its pony tail. “Walk with me.” She brushed past him quickly and was outside the tent before he had a chance to turn around.

While Jason had a good six inches in height on Gabriela, he had to walk briskly to keep up with her pace. Every person she passed looked up to her as she walked by. “All of these people follow you?”

“Did you take a good look at the streets of Rio when you arrived, Governor Mars?” Gabriela marched past a group of women loading ammo into crates. “Brazil is the wealthiest nation in the world. Our ports and our resources that remained untouched during the Great War have made us the envy of the rest of the globe, and yet poverty has run rampant in our streets. Why do you think that is?”

“Most likely because someone wants to keep it that way.” Jason trotted in front of her, forcing her to stop. “I can understand your quarrel with Ruiz. It’s something we have in common. But I need to see the man that was brought here with me.”

Gabriela took an aggressive step forward, and while she had to look up to Jason because of his height, she offered a look of defiance. “You and your family have been quite cozy with Ruiz over the past year. Why should I listen to anything you say?”

Jason tilted his head to the side. “Well, he did try and kill me a few days ago. But I have you to thank for saving me. I would say that gives us a common enemy.”

Gabriela pushed Jason aside with a quick jab of her elbow to his ribs. “There is no ‘we.’”

Jason spun around and grabbed her arm, and it wasn’t half a second from the moment he touched her skin that there were at least a dozen rifles aimed at his head. He gently uncurled his fingers from her arm and put his hands in the air. “There could be a ‘we.’”

Gabriela waved the guns down. “Depends on what you can offer.”

“You get word to my brother that I’m no longer a prisoner of Ruiz, and we will aid you in your campaign to bring him down.” The offer was too tantalizing. While she may have a few guns and willing rebellious souls, she lacked the necessary resources to remove Ruiz from power. “I have no doubt that my brother will already have word of Ruiz’s deceit, but if he knows I’m alive and already have an army here willing to help, we can accomplish more together.”

“And what do you get out of this deal? Are you and your brothers looking to take over the entire western hemisphere? I will not trade one dictator for another.”

“We have no interest in the South Americas other than as a trading partner, which I hope after we help overthrow the current regime, the new leaders will take note of our willing participation for change.”

Gabriela’s intrigued silence told Jason all he needed to know. While she mulled over the best way to tell her people about the North Americans’ aid, she led him to another tent, where a half dozen men clustered around a table. All of them eyed Jason suspiciously but made way as he followed Gabriela. The parchment they circled was a map. “We have the bodies, but we lack the reinforcements. Without a steady stream of supplies, Ruiz could easily flee and come back with a stronger force. He still has his wealth, and if we’re going to stop him, we need to take that away.” She pointed to two separate spots on the map. “The main port of trade is here in Rio, where I have five thousand men, but Lima and Panama are just as important. We control the ports, we control the money, and we control Ruiz.”

There was no denying the strategic value of each location. The landscape here was vast, but ninety percent of all commerce activity came from those three ports. Jason gave an approving knock on the table. “You’ve done your homework. But you know you’ll need a navy to hold the port cities.”

“You help us keep hold of the ports with the use of your navy, and when we’ve routed all of Ruiz’s corrupt officials out of their seats, you’ll have a new trading partner willing to give you priority over the rest of the countries we do business with.”

Leaving ships behind would be difficult to convince Dean to agree to, especially if the Chinese threatened the west coast. He knew they’d need all the ships at their disposal to dispense the threat. But the future fruits of this labor were too good to pass up. “I’ll have to work out the details with my brother once he arrives, and there is still the matter of actually getting Ruiz out of that palace of his, but you have a deal, Gabriela.”

“General Ponce,” one of the guards interjected.

Jason threw up his hands. “General Ponce,” he said apologetically. “Now that we’ve agreed to a mutually beneficial alliance, I would like to see my friend. Please.” The added courtesies helped, as the next stop was a medical tent where dozens of wounded lay on cots and crude beds of leaves and grass.

All of the occupants inside moaned and cried in pain, mumbling disillusioned nonsense as nurses did their best with the crude equipment at their disposal. The tent reeked of death, but Jason did his best not to let his distaste become noticeable with every gruesome infection, missing limb, or burned body that he passed. Finally, toward the back, he heard the distinct effort of a man trying to convince one of the nurses that he needed help with his belt buckle.

When Jason walked up to Chris, the charms seemed to be working, as the nurse couldn’t force back a smile as she changed the dressing on his stomach. “I would be careful with this one. He’s better with his mouth than he is with his sword. And he is very good with his sword.”

Chris smiled. “Now, if that doesn’t entice you, my lady, I don’t know what will.”

The nurse pulled the bandage tight, and Chris winced from the pressure. She patted him gently on the stomach then left. Chris propped himself up on his elbows from the layer of grass and leaves they’d set him on and shook his head. “And to think I thought she didn’t understand a word I was saying.”

Chris was covered with sweat, and they hadn’t changed him out of the filthy, torn clothes that he’d worn when he received the wound. His skin was clammy, and despite the life in his voice, dark circles had formed under his eyes, and his arms shook when he propped himself up. “You look like shit.”

Chris collapsed to his back, his arms no longer able to support him. He let out a sigh. “Look who’s talking. I’d been asking about you.”

Jason squatted next to the puffy layer of brush where Chris lay and put his hand on Chris’s shoulder. His skin felt like fire. “You’re burning up.”

“I am? I thought it was just the climate.” Chris shifted uneasily on the foliage. When Jason went to reach for the bandages, Chris snatched Jason’s wrist like a viper biting a rabbit, stopping it dead cold in its tracks. “Don’t. I already know what’s under there.”

Jason retracted his hand. “If you’re infected, we need to get you to an actual doctor. The Brazilians have some of the best here. They can help.”

“And how do you expect us to pay them? Or even get me there? We’re both wanted men, and who knows what happened to the rest of the crew on the ship once Ruiz tried to take you.” Chris’s lips were split and cracked, his clothes soaked with sweat.

“I’m not going to let you die here.” Jason knew that Chris was right about the rest of the crew. Ruiz had no need for them once he had fled. Maybe a few were tortured to get some information, but by now they had all been killed and dumped in a pit somewhere. Three hundred men, dead, for him. “No one else is going to die for me. Not while I can help.”