World War IV: Empires (8 page)

The turnout was massive. Tens of thousands gathered to pay homage, many of whom couldn’t even see the casket. Elbows and shoulders bumped against one another, shuffling uncomfortably in the heat of midday. But even with the thousands around her, Canice saw only one face in her mind: Rodion. It was a face that haunted her dreams when she slept and her consciousness when she was awake. No matter how hard she tried to rid herself of the image, it remained.

Canice barely heard the words spoken by Dean and the priest that presided over the funeral. There was talk of bravery and courage, of gods and sacrifice, of eternal life and death. The words almost made her laugh.
The dead care little of the living.
The funeral had been the final tie keeping her ashore, but now with it done, she was released to act her vengeance.

Once the formalities had been spoken and dirt thrown onto the casket, the crowds dispersed, slowly heading back to their lives, their families, but not their homes. No one would go back to their homes, at least not today. Rodion had made sure of that. Canice stayed and watched the casket lowered and buried until the last granule of dirt had been patted down by the gravediggers. She had been so lost in thought that she didn’t notice how long Kemena had been touching her shoulder.

“How are you holding up?” Kemena asked, her face covered in a black lace veil.

The attire triggered Canice to examine her own garb. She owned no black, no lace, no veil. She’d never attended a funeral before today, at least not on land. She had dressed as she always had on the deck of the
Sani
. The way Lance had always seen her. “When is it happening?”

Kemena furrowed her brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

“The attack on Rodion. I saw Jason return.” Canice kept no tone of grief or pleasantries; all of her concentration was geared toward the vision of her blade across Rodion’s throat.

“Canice, if you go back to the capital, you will find no peace there.” Kemena took Canice’s hand, holding it gently between her own.

For how slender Kemena’s fingers were, Canice was surprised at how strong they felt against her own. She’d always expected her to be weak, simply a wife of the governor who practiced healing as a hobby. Canice pulled her hand back, taking herself out of the moment. “I’m not interested in peace.”

Canice stomped away, ignoring Kemena’s calls from behind her. She pushed her way through the crowd, marching toward the governors’ tents centered in camp. Two guards stopped her from entering. “I need to speak with the governors.”

“I’m sorry, miss. We’re under strict orders to keep everyone out. The brothers wish to be alone to mourn Lance’s death.” The guard was middle aged, built thick around the chest and shoulders, but when Canice sent her heel into the side of his knee, buckling him to the ground, all of his strength left him.

Before the second soldier could lift his rifle, she thrust her hand into his throat, sucking the air right out of him. He dropped the rifle and bent over, joining his comrade in a world of pain. Canice walked inside to the sight of both governors and General Monaghan looking over a map on the table. “I won’t stand by and do nothing. I will be a part of this whether you like it or not.”

One of the guards crawled inside after Canice, but Dean ordered him out. He motioned for her to join them, and when Canice got a good look at the map, she saw a number of odd-shaped figures spread around the capital. They were neither soldiers nor mounts nor artillery units. “What is this?”

“These,” Dean said, gesturing to the obscure objects, “are how we’re going to take back the capital.”

“The plan looks more impressive when you know what they are.” The voice came from the corner of the room and slowly took the shape of a short man, all skin and bones.

“Oh, good. For a second I thought you were going to base your strategy on throwing rocks at them.” Canice made no effort at hiding her mockery. She was in no mood for games. Not today.

“Canice,” Dean said, his words eerily calm. “This is Alvy Hughes. He was one of the lead Brazilian engineers for Ruiz.”

“Not by choice, I might add.” Alvy inched closer to the table and gave Dean a look that asked if he could explain, and, when the governor gave the nod, rested his palms on the edge of the table, his bony fingers tapping the parchment. “They’re bombs.” He tilted his head to the side. “Well, they’re modified missiles reconstructed as bombs.”

“Explosives?” Canice asked. “Are we launching them from the cannons?”

“No, the devices are too delicate for a device so crude as powdered cannons,” Alvy answered. “We’re going to walk them inside and place them in Rodion’s camp.”

“We’ve confiscated a number of Russian uniforms from their dead. My brother and I know these lands like the backs of our hands,” Dean replied. “All we need is a good ship to sail us up the coast.”

The beast caged inside Canice’s soul rattled the bars, aching to be set free. It took all of her concentration to focus on fully understanding the complexities of what needed to be done. “Even if we could sneak in and plant the bombs, we’d be caught before we could set the fuses.”

Alvy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small case covered in buttons and switches. “Radio waves. The same kind that Delun has used to communicate with his generals and officers from anywhere in the world, in real time. This device sends a similar signal to the bombs, which will detonate upon activation.” He rested the device gently on the table. “The signal has a range of ten miles. Once the bombs are placed, the team inside gets out, and we detonate from a safe distance.”

“We’ll have our navy off the coast, bombarding any of Rodion’s men that survive, and have the rest of our army, along with the clans, to the east, pinning them against the coastline,” Dean said. “Each bomb has a blast radius of twenty feet. You multiply that by a hundred, and we can put a serious dent in the number of soldiers left to fight.”

Canice picked up one of the small bomb-like figurines and pinched it between her fingertips. Striking the camp where all of the soldiers were in one place would solve a lot of their problems, but there was no guarantee they’d make it out alive. “You mentioned you needed a boat.”

“And a captain to sail her,” Dean replied.

Canice placed the figurine back on the map, the lock keeping the beast at bay whining as it swung open, and the animal took its first step into freedom. “When do we leave?”

***

It was nightfall when the capital’s port came into view, and the cloudy sky provided the perfect cover for the
Sani
on its approach. The vessel had been outfitted with sails to make their infiltration less noticeable, and cruised quietly up the coast.

Jason stood at the bow and closed his eyes, listening to nothing but the waves and the wind and trying to keep the queasiness in his stomach at bay. It had been decided that Dean would stay with the army and put them into position. Jason didn’t have the same clout with the clansmen as his brother did.

Aside from the sickness, he never minded sailing, but luckily this trip afforded other distractions to keep his thoughts from wandering. The Russian general was responsible for the death of two of his brothers and an alliance with the man who had tried to kill him. He looked to Canice, who sat just a few feet away, her eyes fixed on the same horizon as his, and wondered who would get to Rodion first. The woman had a vendetta, and Jason would have to be quick if he were to kill the general before she did.

“Your brother told me you never liked sailing,” Canice said, sensing his gaze.

“He always told me that the sea was life. That everything that was ever good came from it, and everything that he loved the most lived on it. I never heard him speak about love before until that moment, and I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by it. Now I am.”

Canice broke her steely gaze in front of her and shifted it to Jason. The stoic stone across her face cracked. “I loved your brother.” She quickly wiped a tear from her eye, trying to stop the dam from bursting. “And I know you did as well. We both want the same man dead.”

“Whoever gets to him first will have the honors.”

Canice gave a faint nod and regained the composure of vengeance she’d carried since the funeral. For some reason, standing there watching her, Jason’s mind drifted back to Gabriela. The ease with which his mind shifted startled him. But what astonished him most was not that he pictured her on the dance floor, in the flowing blue dress with flowers in her hair, but as Gabriela the general. She held a machete in her hand and had a rifle slung over her shoulder, her thick black hair pulled back in her hat and an entire army behind her.

Strength.
It was the foundation of Jason’s entire family. It wasn’t the wars or the blood or the legend; it was the quiet, calm, ever-present security of strength. The only reason his family had been known for war is because they were born into war, but whatever the environment, they would always succeed.

Canice grabbed Jason’s shoulder, shaking him out of his daze. “We’re ready to dock.” She disappeared in the darkness of the ship’s deck, and Jason was left alone.

This is it.
The main Northwest port was heavily guarded by Rodion’s men to keep watch on any of their approaching fleet. As much as the Russian general held a strategic advantage on land, by sea he was vulnerable. But what neither the general nor his scouts understood were the number of natural ports along the coast.

When Lance was still an officer in the navy, he’d commissioned a small group of sailors, which included himself, to search the coast for any hidden alcoves that they could use in times of war. The objective allowed them to know where they could exploit their natural barriers and potentially where their enemies could as well.

From the deck of a ship, it would look as though they were about to crash into a cluster of rocks, but the small alcove was deceptively deep, albeit narrow, and only a captain that knew the path would be able to enter. And it was Canice that had helped Lance map the area.

Jason kept to the railing as they passed by towering jagged pieces of rock, the waves of the Pacific crashing into the ancient cliffs, its salty waters slowly eroding the stony walls. White foam splashed upward with the waves, and Jason covered his nose with his shirt as the scent of bird shit intermixed with the salty air.

The path Canice followed led them to a small cave, just large enough for one ship. The high tide allowed for the
Sani’s
deck to be above the flat ledge of rock they used to tie off and unload. While the crew of the ship was well over one hundred, only six would be infiltrating the camp. It was agreed that the smaller the number, the easier the deception.

Jason grabbed his sack of bombs, each device no larger than his fist, with wires protruding both out and around the brick-like explosive. It was hard to believe that something so small could produce what Alvy had described, but now wasn’t the time to question the engineer’s abilities.

The Russian uniforms that they’d managed to get their hands on smelled as bad as they looked. They were all common infantry. While they thought of stealing officers’ uniforms, they decided it was best to remain low key. The more they blended into the masses, the less attention they’d draw to themselves.

Once all of the bombs had been loaded into their packs and the plan walked through one more time to ensure everyone understood the drop-off points, they made their way up the steep rock, slick from the ocean spray, and toward the capital.

Jason kept them close to the shoreline, hugging the coast to steer clear of the bulk of Rodion’s scouts positioned in the south, using the crashing of the waves to cover any of their noise.

Even from a few miles away, Jason could see the twinkling fires of Rodion’s camp, dotting the horizon like the rising of a morning sun. Tens of thousands of fires, all with men sitting around them, armed with the most advanced weaponry an infantry had possessed in more than fifty years.

Voices murmured to Jason’s left, and he froze, crouching low in the brush. Canice and the rest mimicked his motions. Jason squinted his eyes into the darkness, trying to locate the scouts’ location. The thick Slavic accent easily gave away their identity.

Canice pointed through the brush to a cluster of trees, where Jason watched the outlines of two soldiers pass by, their leisurely pace offering no fear of attack on their patrol. They stayed low until their voices faded in the distance, then Jason gave a nod and continued their trek north.

Half a mile from the main camp, the six members split off to their points of entry. Before Canice took off, Jason grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, keeping his voice low. “The mission comes first. Then we take Rodion.” It was hard to tell in the darkness whether or not Canice’s expression was one of understanding or defiance, but Jason let her go regardless, watching her disappear soundlessly into the night.

Jason kept his head down along the back side of the tents where he penetrated the camp. He pulled his cap low and gripped the cord to the sack over his shoulder tighter. All around him, soldiers laughed, drank, and fought, bragging about the number of men killed in battle. But Jason knew it took no skill to squeeze a trigger that pumped ten rounds a second into the chest of your enemy.

Jason pulled the first device from his pack and tucked it under the shelf of a few rocks stationed next to the garrison then moved on to the barracks, many of which had been the homes of his people. He maneuvered through the thick crowds and drunken nonsense, the bag over his shoulder becoming lighter and lighter.

Finally he made his way to the main quarters, where most of the officers were stationed. The closer he moved toward the officers’ units and away from the grunts, the less rowdy the crowd became, and the more eyes he felt on him as he walked through the camp.

It was slower going once around the officers’ camps, but Jason’s bag had finally emptied. He discarded the sack and started to make his way to find Rodion when gunfire erupted behind him. Shouts and hysteria followed as Jason kept to the edge of the crowds gathering at the officers’ tents.

With most of the paths into the camp blocked, Jason hurried around the sides, looking for a way to cut in without trapping himself in the hordes. When he found a path between two tents, he sprinted then skidded to a halt as he watched Canice being thrown into a circle of soldiers as they howled and chanted around her.

Then he watched Rodion push his way through the cluster of soldiers, towering over Canice, who struggled to get to her hands and feet. Jason cursed under his breath and looked around, the growing crowd dipping into the hundreds now.

“This bitch came into my tent, trying to kill me!” Rodion bellowed then fed off the jeers and curses spit at Canice, whose forehead bled profusely. He reached down and yanked her up by her braid, nearly snapping her neck in the process. “Should we fuck her before we kill her?” The men cheered wildly while Rodion tore at the collar of her shirt.

Jason tried pushing his way through the soldiers, but the crowd had grown too thick. He reached for the rifle over his shoulder but stopped.
We’d both be dead before I made it to her.
He backpedaled, frantically looking for something, anything he could use as a distraction. His heart pounded in his chest as the Russian chants grew louder.

Canice screamed as Jason pulled the rifle from his shoulder and took aim into the crowd until his peripheral vision caught something on the right side, where he suddenly remembered the last explosive he’d laid and what Alvy had said about the device.
It needs a signal or a sudden combustion to detonate.
He pivoted his aim to the bomb, brought it between his crosshairs, and fired.

The explosion knocked Jason back three feet, the percussion of the blast deafening. He rolled in the dirt, bits of debris raining down on him, and the cluster of soldiers surrounding Canice sprinting away from the blast site.

Feet and legs scurried past Jason’s face, a few of them stepping on his arms and hands as they ran by. Jason pushed himself up, the ground wobbling under him. He stumbled forward, his shoulder smacking into a number of fleeing Russians. The rifle was gripped in his hand as he saw Canice on the ground, her shirt torn from her, unconscious. Towering above her, barking and shouting orders to the men, stood Rodion. Jason blinked, bits of dirt falling from his eyes. He brought the rifle to his shoulder, his finger on the trigger, ready to end the general then and there.

But before Jason enacted his vengeance, the entire camp erupted in explosions, the detonation of bombs thundering like the voice of God. Once again Jason was dropped to the ground, his entire body rattling from the percussive blasts.

A lull in the explosions provided Jason enough time to return to his footing. Canice was still unconscious, now covered in dirt, the earth around her head stained a darker black in the night. But Rodion was nowhere to be seen. Jason scrambled to Canice, knowing they wouldn’t have much time until the navy started raining down lead with its long-range guns.

Jason tore off his jacket, wrapped Canice up, and scooped her from the ground. He sprinted as fast as he could through the campsite, where he passed the dead and dying, mangled and dismembered bodies.

A soldier barreled through two of the buildings in the town and crashed into Jason’s shoulder, sending him, Canice, and the fleeing Russian to the mud. The Russian jumped to his feet and sprinted away shouting curses, and it wasn’t until Jason heard the thunder of cannons from the coast that he understood why.

A cannonball exploded into one of the nearby houses then detonated upon impact, collapsing the building into toothpicks. The long-range cannons had been modified with explosive artillery, an upgrade compliments of Alvy and the engineers.

The cannonade was relentless, the earth erupting around Jason like volcanoes. Geysers of limbs, dirt, wood, rock, blood, and bodies spewed from the earth with every explosive contact. Jason scooped Canice in his arms, which burned with fatigue. His legs turned to jelly, his knees nearly buckling twice on his sprint through the chaos. He felt Canice’s blood drain from the wound on her forehead, the warm liquid staining his shoulder, chest, and arms.

Roars and shouts coming from the east suddenly intermixed with the booming thunder of the cannon fire, and Jason knew that Dean had ordered the attack. All Jason focused on was putting one foot in front of the other, blocking out the pain, the tiredness, the fog that slowly engulfed his mind, trying to find safety.

A unit of Russians rounded the corner from a surviving section of the camp, heading toward the front lines to engage his brother in war. Jason veered right, trying to stay out of the Russians’ path, but a group of them broke off at the sight of him carrying Canice.

“Hey!” A short, stout Russian with a broad face wrapped his chubby hands around Jason’s arm, yanking him backward. When the second and third soldiers crept up on him, he dumped Canice to the side and pulled his rifle. The bullets tore through their soft flesh and dropped them to the ground just as another unit sprinted by, witnessing the carnage. Before the soldiers had a chance to fire, Jason dragged Canice behind the cover of the building, which quickly turned to Swiss cheese.

Jason reached for another magazine of ammunition, the boots of the Russians stomping in the mud down the alleyway to finish the job. He clicked the magazine into place just as the first soldier turned the corner. He fired, sending the Russian slithering back behind the cover of the building. He kept his finger on the trigger until the firing pin signaled he was out then chucked the rifle away and shoved Canice’s body in the tight space under the building and drew his sword. He charged the corner, thrust his blade into the first body he encountered, and shoved the bloodied Russian into his comrades. Gunfire flashed from one of the muzzles, and Jason ducked left to evade it, knocking the rifle away with his saber in the process, then silenced the gunshots and the soldier with quick slice of his throat.