World War IV: Empires (3 page)

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The moment news of Fung’s arrival reached Delun’s ears, he ordered his schedule to be cleared. The admirals and generals knew the battle plans, and Delun knew they would be pleased to hear that their emperor trusted them in handling such matters. The prospect of seeing the prototypes that Fung brought back with him couldn’t wait.

The dock had been completely emptied per Delun’s instructions for Fung’s arrival. He didn’t want to run the risk of exposing potential military strategies to anyone who didn’t need to know them.

“Emperor.” Fung bowed deeply, and Delun waited longer than necessary before he allowed Fung to rise. The ambassador had been gone for quite some time, and Delun wanted to make sure he remembered who held the power. When Fung finally rose, his face was red from the blood rushing to his head.

“I hope the trip went smoothly?” Delun asked.

“We ran into some Australian scouts in the Pacific, but as soon as we took a more northern route to the islands, we didn’t have any incidents. All of the weaponry I managed to confiscate made the trip without harm.”

“And the engineers?”

“Regrettably, we lost one of them in the skirmish with the Australians. A cannon blast penetrated the cabin where we held them. The others escaped with a few minor injuries, but I can assure you their minds are still intact.”

“Then we have what we need. Show them to me.” Delun’s eye caught the massive crates being unloaded from the ships, containing the prototypes the engineers had designed. Some of them took a dozen men and the pull of horses to get them off the deck and down the docks.

“Here they are, Emperor.” Fung gestured to four bodies huddled on the floor. They were covered in filth and smelled worse than they looked. Their skin wrapped around their bones tightly, their cheeks hollow, with dirty bandages over their wounds. “You will rise when your emperor enters!” Fung kicked one of the engineers in the leg, and the man winced.

“Enough, Ambassador.” Delun eyed him harshly, and Fung bowed out lightly. Delun knelt down to greet one of the engineers at eye level. “What is your name?” He kept his words soft, encouraging. He knew how delicate the mind could become when the body had been stressed beyond its capacity.

“M-Manuel.” The engineer’s entire body shook as the words left his mouth.

“Manuel, my name is Delun Ren. I am emperor here in the east.” He waited for the man to say something, anything, but Delun’s only answer was more shakes and spasms, the engineer refusing to look him in the eye. “I am not President Ruiz, Manuel. There is no need to fear me.”

Manuel looked up, his eyes bloodshot, underlined by dark circles. The sleep deprivation looked more akin to abuse than lack of rest. “M-my f-family. What h-happened to them?”

Delun glanced over to Fung, who answered on cue. “We managed to bring some of their families with us. However, not everyone was as cooperative on the journey.”

The engineers perked up, the first signs of life welling up in their eyes. They crawled on their hands and knees toward Fung, who shooed them away, then to Delun’s feet, where they bowed their heads. “Please, Emperor, please, let us see our families. We will do whatever you ask of us. Whatever you want.”

Delun forced back a smile, retaining the stoic expression he’d mastered. “I know that you have suffered.” He reached down his hand and placed it gently at the top of Manuel’s head. “But know that your sacrifices have not been in vain. Unlike Ruiz, I do not treat those with such cruelty who serve me. But”—Delun removed his hand, and Manuel lifted his head—“I do demand willful acceptance.”

Delun stepped away, and the engineers crawled forward a bit then stopped when Delun’s guard intercepted them and brought them to their feet. One of the crates that contained a prototype of the weaponry the engineers worked on rested nearby. Delun ran his hands over the cargo, the rough wood catching in the grooves of his palms. “What you have created will change the landscape of this earth. We can make it safer, better than the world we inherited. But to do that, others must understand the consequences of opposing us. Every man that fights for me, works for me, serves me, does so of their own will. I do not tolerate slaves. So, here and now I will give you a choice. Help me finish what you have built here, teach my men how to use this equipment, and you shall live like kings, and your families will become royalty. Choose not to serve me, and I will put you on a boat and return you to your homes in Brazil.”

The engineers looked to each other, unsure of what type of tricks Delun was playing. They squirmed with uncertainty. “You will let us and our families go?”

“I will.” Delun watched their expressions and the quiet murmurs they whispered to each other in their native tongue, deliberating on whether or not they could trust him. “If you need time to—”

“No,” Manuel said, rising from his knees, his malnourished body struggling with the simple task. “I wish for me and my family to return home.”

Delun nodded. “Very well, and the rest?”

Slowly, one by one, the engineers stood then walked over to Delun and bowed. “We pledge you our service, Emperor.” Each of them took their turns bowing, offering their allegiance, and stepping aside.

“A wise choice,” Delun said then turned to Manuel. “For all of you. Fung will take care of the necessary details for each of your wants and needs. I thank each of you for your honesty.”

Fung led away those that had chosen to stay with Delun, leaving Manuel isolated. Delun dismissed the guards watching them, which left Delun and Manuel alone. The emperor walked over to the engineer and wrapped his fingers around Manuel’s thin arm, barely anything there but skin and bone. “You are married, Manuel?”

“Yes,” Manuel answered, following Delun down the docks. “My wife was pregnant when Ruiz took me. It’s been nearly a year, and I have never seen my child.” A tear cut its way through the grime on his cheek. “A child should know their father.”

“Yes, they should.” Delun nodded, agreeing. “It’s a hard life, never knowing the man that helped create you. It was a burden in my own young life. But then again, it gave me the drive to become the man I am now.”

They reached the end of the docks. Waves rolled in, lapping lightly against the wooden pillars. Delun glanced out at the vastness of the horizon, a few of the islands rising up in the distance. “We are but a small speck of dirt in the time of the world.”

“When do I get to see my family?” Manuel asked, his eyes squinting from the sunlight.

“You are a brilliant man, Manuel. What you’ve been able to accomplish will propel us forward decades, and we will continue to build upon what you’ve given us.” Delun turned to the engineer and grabbed the back of his neck firmly. “But I cannot risk your mind falling into the hands of anyone other than me.”

“But you said—”

Delun brought his other hand around and in one quick jerk snapped Manuel’s neck like a toothpick. Manuel’s body collapsed on the dock, his head rocking awkwardly in the position where his body fell. “I will take care of your family though. Your child will know me as their father, and your wife will know me in her bed. I promise you that.” Delun kicked the corpse into the water, and it splashed into the waves, where it was carried out to sea.

The man on the operating table convulsed, blood dripping from his mouth as he screamed in pain. Even with his arms and legs tied down, Kemena feared that he could still break free. “Hold him!” Two of his comrades did their best to keep him steady, but even with their help, she had trouble pulling the bullets from his leg and torso.

Kemena had pulled the tourniquets around the wounds tight, doing her best to keep the patient’s blood inside him where it belonged, but the number of bullet wounds was making it difficult to keep it that way.

Sweat beaded on Kemena’s forehead as her steady hand maneuvered through the ragged and torn flesh. Each dig into muscle and bone triggered another spasm and scream from the soldier, his face turning pale and his lips a light shade of blue.
He’s not going to make it.

“Please, god, stop! Stop it, please! AHHH!”

Blood stained the entire front of Kemena’s apron and her arms and shoulders; it was as if she wore a crimson dress that slowly dripped to the floor. The muscle under her eye twitched as she felt the edge of the tweezers scrape the metal of the bullet, but just as she grabbed hold, the soldier spasmed in pain once more, and it disappeared behind a layer of muscle. She pushed deeper, finding it again, then yanked it out.

“Dr. Mars.”

“Just keep him still.” She moved to the next wound, digging into the flesh, a fresh layer of blood welling up from his skin and spilling over the side of his leg. She removed the bullet quickly before he could spasm once more.

“Dr. Mars,” the nurse repeated.

“What?” But when Kemena looked up, she realized the soldier was motionless. She pressed her fingers to the vein on his neck and felt nothing. “Wheel him out and put him with the rest. Who’s next?”

The other nurses brought in the next patient before she had a chance to wipe her hands. The soldier’s left arm dangled from fibers of muscle and tendon around the shoulder. He was still conscious, looking away from the wound, as if ignoring it would make it any less real. The moment Kemena saw it, she knew it would have to come off. “I’ll need tourniquets and the blade.”

“Please, no! Let me keep it. I need to keep it.” The soldier begged in the pained voice of a child, lips protruded, eyes red, face wet with sweat and tears. “Save it. Please, save it.”

“It’s too far detached from the muscle. Even if I—”

“I know you can!” The soldier’s scream echoed through the small space, fierce enough to freeze everyone in place. Only Kemena walked over to him, examining the wound more closely.

More than half of the skin and muscle had been torn, and the arm was dislocated from the socket. A portion of the collarbone had been chipped along with the connecting humerus. Some of the tendons had been sliced through, but a few remained attached. “I’ll have to put the arm back into place before we start.”

“Dr. Mars, do you thi—”

“I think you should help keep him down.” Kemena snapped then turned to the soldier. “I can’t promise you that this will work, and even if you heal properly, there’s no telling how useful the arm will be. There’s been a lot of nerve damage.”

“Do it.” The soldier answered without hesitation or fear.

Kemena grabbed a wooden bite stick and placed it in his mouth. “Bite down hard.” She lifted the man’s arm, and his entire body shook along with his scream. With all of her strength, she twisted the arm back and up until she heard the loud pop of the joint sliding back into the socket.

The bite stick fell from the man’s mouth as he blacked out, the rush of pain too much for his mind to handle. Kemena prodded the exposed meat and flesh with her fingers, getting a grasp for the amount of thread needed. “I’ll need a longer needle, and bring me some sterilizing alcohol.” Her better judgment told her just to hack the arm off now that the soldier was asleep. The likelihood of infection with a wound of this size was almost certain. It would be the silent killer that used the shoulder to creep into his heart and lungs, shutting him down. But she stubbornly took the needle and thread from the nurse’s hands and went to work.

Sporadic crisscross lines formed a semicircle over the bloodstained flesh, and bits of skin protruded through the threading. Kemena rinsed the wound with water and had one of the nurses wrap it. “Any other emergencies?”

“No, Doctor. Only those with a few minor afflictions now. The rest died from their injuries.” The nurse said it so matter-of-factly that Kemena could only nod in answer.

The fight with Rodion had been less like a battle and more akin to a massacre. The entire capital was evacuated, and what remained of their army helped keep watch for any of Rodion’s men that may have followed, although she was told by their scouts that more than likely his forces would stay in the capital to strategize their next move.

General Monaghan waited for her outside the tent, and she was surprised to see him. “Governess, I need to have a word with you in private.”

“Of course.” Whatever the general planned on telling her couldn’t be positive news. His face looked just as pale and defeated as those of the men she’d treated on the operating table. It was an expression that had run rampant like a plague through the entire camp. Fear and doubt had firmly gripped everyone’s minds and caused everyone to walk with a hunch or a limp. It was at least a three-minute walk to her quarters, and in that time she didn’t see one citizen cast their eyes up from the dirt.

Once beyond the range of the ears of the people, General Monaghan gestured for her to sit. “Kemena, we don’t have enough men or supplies to fend off another assault from Rodion’s army. We need to migrate everyone east and wait for Dean and Jason to return.”

“General, over half of our population is wounded,” Kemena replied. “Anyone who isn’t healthy will die before we reach the wastelands, and that’s if they survive the journey through the mountains.”

“I understand the difficult nature of this decision, but you have to hear me when I say that if we stay, it is the end. The wasteland clans are nowhere to be seen, and without a fresh supply of men and more weapons, there isn’t anything we can do.”

Kemena knew why the general was so hard pressed for her to stamp this decision with her blessing. With Lance now gone, she and her nephews were the only surviving Mars family left. And while she was neither a military genius nor the elected governor of the region, her word carried weight. The people would move if she told them to, and they would stay if she did. “Where is his body now?”

“Kemena, we need—”

“We need a miracle, General. Now, where is my brother-in-law’s body?”

Monaghan offered a sigh of defeat and scratched the thin white hairs on the back of his head. “What’s left of Lance’s crewmen set up his tent and placed him inside.”

“No one sees him before my husband and his brother. And do not let the boys see him. Especially Sam. He’s too young. And Kit will be too angry.” Kemena stood then removed the bloody apron. “Take me to him.”

Lance’s tent was engirded by dirtied and bloodied men, kneeling with their heads down. The scene before her looked as if a king had just died, their once-invincible shroud torn, exposing them to their own mortality.

Inside, Lance’s body lay flat and raised on top of a wooden table. Canice didn’t look up when Kemena stepped inside; she only kept hold of Lance’s hand, cupped between both of hers.

“Canice?” Kemena kept her words soft and quiet. She paced around to face Canice, and saw that the woman’s eyes were bloodshot, the flesh underneath puffy and swollen. Her arms and hands were covered in small cuts, but the knuckles on her right hand were the worst. Kemena reached out her hand. “You should let me look at that.”

Canice finally made eye contact and pulled her hand away, keeping Lance’s clutched tight. Her lip trembled, and she slowly slipped from her chair and fell to her knees, crying once she hit the floor.

Kemena rushed to catch her, gently removing Lance’s cold hand from Canice’s. The sobs were silent at first then wanted between random shrieks. The two women sat on the floor until Canice’s grief ran dry.

“He didn’t see this coming,” Canice said, staring back up at the body on the table. “None of us saw this. It’s like… this was a punishment, for every terrible deed behind closed doors and the whispers down alleys. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.”

“It’s not over yet,” Kemena replied, looking at Lance. His body lay naked, save for the stitches from the wounds that killed him.

Canice’s upper lip curled, her grief morphing into rage as she hardened her face. “Rodion will die for this. I will make him pay. One way or another.” She clenched her fists tight till they cracked and the cuts on her knuckles pumped fresh blood. She pulled something from her pocket, a pendulum dangling from a silver chain, just like the one she’d seen Dean wear for most of his life. She took Kemena’s hand and placed it in her palm.

“Lance gave this to you?” The silver of the pendulum was stained with dry blood. Kemena turned it over in her hands, the metal sphere warm from Canice’s touch. She’d never noticed Lance wear it before, although he spent most of his time on the ship. “Why?”

“He didn’t say.” Canice brushed the hair off of Lance’s forehead then leaned down and kissed his lips. Kemena blushed at the sight of such a private moment, and just before Canice was out of the tent, she reached out and grabbed her arm, but Canice twisted away.

Kemena understood how much she was hurting, but there were larger stakes than just her revenge. “If you want to honor Lance, then stay with us. It’s what he would have done.”

“Don’t!” Canice thrust her finger into Kemena’s face, the rage from earlier returning. “You don’t get to twist his death into something you can use. And I have no loyalty to you or the generals here, as do none of the crewmen from the
Sani
. The time for honor is done. I mean to seek revenge.” And with that she disappeared, leaving Kemena alone in the tent, clutching the bloody pendulum.

Kemena knew that Canice was sending herself on a suicide mission. And while she didn’t doubt Canice’s ability to fight, nor her stamina for fending off failure, she knew blindness when she saw it.