World War IV: Empires (9 page)

With the remaining three on the ground, Jason hacked off one head while the Russian knelt and drove the heel of his foot into the face of another. The very last Russian backpedaled on all fours, his face twisted and begging for mercy, but he received none. The Russian Jason had heeled in the face flopped on the ground, moaning as he crawled for one of the rifles just a few feet away. Jason drove the steel into his back and ended the Russian’s struggle.

Jason returned to Canice and pulled her from under the building, her body covered in a gritty mixture of dirt and blood. The gash on her forehead had clotted, but her face was pale, and she still lay unconscious. “Canice!” He checked her airway; she was breathing, but barely. He checked the rest of her for any injuries then cleaned the gash on her forehead with a canteen from one of the dead Russians and wrapped it with the cleanest part of his shirt that he could find.

Jason carried her back to the coast, the sound of war still raging behind him, and he didn’t stop until he saw the ship in the Pacific, its long-range cannons chasing the Russians north. Once he made it back to the cove where the
Sani
was harbored, the crew helped carry Canice the rest of the way, and Jason collapsed on the deck, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He looked down at his arms and chest, unsure of whose blood was whose.

Delun burst through the doors of the engineers’ hut, all of them turning at once upon his entrance, their heads bowed in submission, but not before Delun caught the look of surprise on their faces at the sudden intrusion. “Delays?” The word rolled off of the emperor’s tongue and into their ears like a blade piercing flesh. “Have I not given you the necessary resources?” Delun walked around the group, their heads still bowed. “Have I not given you the time? The patience?” Once he made a full circle, he stopped then pounded his fist on the table, rattling the tools and parts that rested on top. “Have I not given you
trust
?”

The first engineer that spoke kept his head down. “My emperor, you have, but these systems are complex, and with many of our tools still in Brazil, it has been difficult with the replacements you have given us.”

Delun gripped the engineer by the throat and yanked his head up, his fingertips digging into the man’s skin. “Your excuses will not win me this war.” He spoke through gritted teeth as the engineer’s face turned a light shade of red from lack of oxygen. “Your ignorance will not keep my enemies at bay! Nor yours!” Delun shoved the man back, and he crashed into the table of gear behind him, gasping for breath. The rest of the engineers kept their heads bowed, every last one of them quivering. “I want those weapons outfitted on my ships by the end of the week. Do you hear me?”

“It can’t be done, Emperor.” The engineer on the far-right side spoke quietly, his voice shaking with every syllable. “It will take more time.”

“More time?” Delun raised his eyebrow. He walked over to the engineer calmly then placed his finger under the man’s chin and lifted his face. “What is your name again?”

“Marco, my emperor.”

Delun let the man’s chin go. He patted the back of the engineer’s head then gestured to one of the soldiers behind him. “Ah, yes, Marco. You have a son, if I’m not mistaken.”

Marco offered another shudder at the mention of his family. “Yes, Emperor.”

Delun snapped his fingers, and a soldier dragged Marco’s boy inside by the scruff of his neck. Delun grabbed the boy and dropped him to his knees. He was barely sixteen, old enough to be a soldier, but Marco had asked that his boy not fight in exchange for the engineer’s services. “Death does not wait for time, nor time for death.” Delun turned his back to Marco and bent down to look his son in the eyes. “Your father’s lack of confidence will be painful.”

Delun smacked the boy across the chin, and he hit the floor. Marco lunged for Delun, but the soldiers held him back. The boy whimpered on the ground, trying to crawl away, blood dripping from his lip. Delun turned the boy around and punched him in the nose, knocking him backward onto the floor.

“No! Please! Stop!” Marco writhed fruitlessly in the guard’s control, tears streaming from his face as he helplessly watched Delun strike his son again and again.

The warm gush of blood covered Delun’s fist with each punch, the light crunch of bone and cartilage slowly morphing to pulp from each blow. His knuckles ached, and his shoulder grew tired, but Delun continued the beating until the boy’s body went limp on the floor, blood dripping from his knuckles.

Marco was finally released and crawled to his son, cradling the boy’s beaten face in his lap. The father looked up, tears and pain dripping from his eyes, and he shook his head. “Why?”

Delun knelt down and grabbed the father’s face, smearing his own son’s blood on his cheeks. “Because I am the emperor. My word is law, and anyone who does not abide by it will die. Outfit my ships by the end of the week, or I’ll drag in your daughter next.” He shoved Marco backward then looked to the rest of the engineers. “And that goes the same for all your families. I will not tolerate laziness, excuses, or failure. Work or die.”

All of the engineers kept their heads bowed except for Marco, who lay sobbing on the ground, clutching his son, praying to whatever gods he believed in to save his child.

The news coming from Rodion’s retreat from the capital had left a sour taste in Delun’s mouth, and the fact that the Australians had begun raiding some of the smaller islands, testing their limits in warfare against Delun’s navy, had left him irritable. He knew the game the Aussies were playing. They wanted to draw him out, make him come to Australia once again to fight on their land, their terms. The western Australian city of Perth was one breath away from being retaken by the Australians, ending Delun’s foothold in the country. He knew it could be retaken once the bulk of his fleet returned from the Bering Sea, but it would cost more resources than he was willing to part with.

Delun’s nerves were frayed by the time he returned to his quarters, and he ordered everyone out so he could think in quiet. Rodion’s failure in the west wasn’t nearly as concerning as the weaponry he’d described now in the Mars brothers’ possession. No doubt the engineers that Fung had failed to bring him were now working for the governors. It was astonishing how much frustration one family could bring.

Delun rubbed his temples then made his way over to his books and plucked the first spine his hand touched. Reading had always calmed his mind, and he needed to slow his thoughts, corral the chaos into a more ordered stream of consciousness.

Where do they derive their strength?
The answer to that question had eluded Delun. Was it their naval superiority? Their army? Their generals? Weapons? People? Land? Alliances? What was their purpose?

Delun knew that every man had a driving force, a renewable energy that fueled his actions, pushed him beyond the realm of his own capacity. For Delun, it was his mind; for many of his soldiers, it was their weapons; but for the Mars family, he could not place it.

Family.
The word tickled the back of Delun’s mind, and he shot up from his chair, pacing back and forth, doing his best to cultivate the small spring welling up in his thoughts. The Mars family had rooted itself by means of war, but that wasn’t what kept it growing, flourishing. It was a tree that never ended and would continue to grow until the roots had been ripped from it.

But what were the Mars roots?
Delun sent for the communications director at once, hoping the intelligence they’d gathered would prove useful. He had eyes everywhere, albeit he found that in that particular line of work, trust was a delicate balance. Perpetual deception was a life not everyone was capable of living.

When the communications director entered, he bowed, the long tip of hair stretching from his chin remaining as straight as an arrow from the thick balms he used for grooming. While the man’s facial hair may have been angular, everything else about him was incredibly round. “My emperor, I thank you for your invitation.”

“Rise, Tao. You’ve brought the correspondence?” Delun kept his tone calm, doing his best to hide the growing anxiousness inside.

“Of course.” Tao pulled a cluster of letters from his pockets and opened them for Delun on the desk. “Lance Mars had only sent one letter to his brothers, while Dean Mars had sent two.”

The writings offered nothing more than news Delun already knew, and he tossed the letters away from him in frustration. “There has to be more than this, Tao. You assured me we would have eyes on them. I need something I can use.”

Tao remained hesitant, and Delun could sense the conflict running through his director’s face. “There was one piece of information that one of our scouts learned from Rodion’s occupation of the Northwest capital.”

“Speak, Tao. Or you will regret biting your tongue.”

Tao fidgeted his fingers nervously then found a seat next to the emperor. “It was before the battle started. With the large number of North Americans fleeing into the city, we believed it to be the perfect cover for our people to get a closer look. But with the governor away, they trailed his nephews and wife.”

“And?”

“Although it was never confirmed, we received word that the governess had a miscarriage several years ago. It was a personal devastation to both parents, one that took years for the governess to overcome.”

Family.
The word grew stronger in Delun’s mind. Exploiting the weakness of the governor’s spouse could be useful in triggering the Mars brother to sail before he was ready. A hasty decision in a moment of passion often led to failure.

“The same source provided another piece of information. Something few know outside of the Mars family.” The smile that curved up Tao’s cheeks twisted with a mischievous evil. “The governess is pregnant once again.”

Delun rose, and Tao quickly did the same, bowing his head. Keeping the pregnancy secret meant the governess still harbored hesitation from the miscarriage. And where hesitation rested, fear resided. “The Mars family still wishes to grow even amidst the chaos of war and death.” That was the dagger to the governor’s heart. Lay barren what was left of his roots, and he would die with the rest. “Do we still have our scouts with Rodion?”

“Only one, Emperor. The rest were killed in battle.”

“Send him word, and see to it that he has whatever his heart desires. And make sure he understands what fate will await him if he fails.”

***

Smoke from the wreckage of the capital drifted into the morning sky. The tired, worn faces of the people of the Northwest slowly walked through the rubble that was once their home. Families sifted through ash and broken pieces, looking for anything they could use to rebuild, but Rodion’s men and the bombs Jason had placed had done their work well.

Burning the city had been Rodion’s final cry of defiance as he fled to the north, seeking the safety of the wilderness before Dean’s men relinquished their chase. The dead still littered the ground as soldiers hauled off body after body into the mass graves they’d dug on the outskirts of the city.

With his home burnt to the ground and the Russians still a threat, Dean planted his quarters at the front lines, where he reestablished the ranks of his army. He wanted to make sure that his people knew where he was and what he meant to do to make sure they kept what was left of their homes and their lives.

The war council hadn’t rested since the planning of the bombs, and Dean could see the ragged faces sagging over the map as General Monaghan pointed out what strategic options Rodion had available to him now that he was on the run. “Delun has called back his ships, and our scouts say that they don’t have any inclination to return to the general’s aid.” Monaghan guided his hand along the Alaskan wilderness, deep into the north. “Rodion’s men are used to the cold, and all that’s left to him is the tundra north. Governor, he’s cut off from supply lines, the Chinese are thousands of miles away, and he has no way to get back to his home country. I say we let him starve himself up there.”

The canvas walls of the tent had been pulled up, offering a clear view of the capital’s ruins behind them. Dean gestured to the ashes. “Do you see that, General? Rodion left his mark on our people, on our land. He came to conquer us, and I can promise that he will not starve. If we let him go, then he will return, and it will be with a vengeance we may not be able to stop. We will pursue him, and we will kill him.”

Monaghan gave a slight bow, and Dean dismissed them, leaving him alone with Jason. “Monaghan has a point, Dean.” Jason offered his opinion carefully. “Chasing after Rodion may be what he wants. He’ll have the advantage in the cold.”

“Not with the weapons the engineers are designing for us.” Dean snapped his words more harshly than he intended them to be. The surge of adrenaline that accompanied retaking the capital had not been able to shake the lust of war from his bones. “Rodion was responsible for our brothers’ deaths. I will not allow him to live while I still have breath in my lungs.”

Jason gripped Dean’s shoulders and spun him around. “Dean, our people still need you to lead them. Kemena still needs you, and Kit and Sam. If you keep trying to avenge every death, you’ll have nothing left of your soul. And I can’t carry the weight of rebuilding once this war is done. I need you, brother.”

The last bit loosened the war vise in Dean’s mind, the tunnel vision of Rodion’s head on a spike slowly fogging, as he turned his attention to what was in front of him: family. He let out a sigh and gave Jason a light pat on the back of his neck. Just before Jason left, Dean called out to him. “How’s Canice?”

“Kemena worked on her last night. I’m going to check on her now.”

“If she’s awake, send her my regards.”

“I will.”

Dean leaned back on the table with the war map still resting on top, and he felt the creak of the wood under his weight. It seemed he’d grown heavier over the past few weeks, though he had shed weight from the stress of battle.

“Escalation.” The voice came from behind Dean, and he whipped around to see Alvy standing at the edge of the canvas, half his face and body cast in light, the other in the shadow of the tent. He took a step inside. The clothes he wore were far too big for his small frame. “It’s hard to say when it ends.” Alvy crossed his arms and joined Dean by the table, watching the people of the capital slowly try and pull their lives out of the rubble and ash. “It’s a shame war is only measured in battles won and lost. If we started tallying up the cost, I would think we’d war less often.”

“We wouldn’t.” Dean watched another body be tossed into the mass grave a few hundred yards to their left. “Men are violent because we are taught to be violent.”

“There are other ways to combat violence, Governor.” Alvy picked up one of the figurines meant to represent a unit of soldiers on the map. “Life is too precious to let it starve in war.”

“Is your impartation of wisdom the only reason for your visit? Or do you have something else in mind you would like to ask me?”

“I heard about your professor and what Rodion did to him. I was told he was a valued advisor.”

“He was.” A well of anger rose from him at Hawthorne’s memory. If he’d just taken the time to heed the old man’s counsel from the start, then perhaps all of this could have been avoided.

“I’d like to replace him,” Alvy said, keeping his voice even and calm.

Dean turned to him sharply, trying to feel out the engineer’s motive. “Well, let’s start now, then.” Dean turned to the map behind them and pointed to where Rodion had fled. “My war council tells me that I should let Rodion starve in the north since he has no supply lines and no way to get home. I want to go in and finish the job. What is your advice?”

Alvy turned to study the map and picked up a few more figurines before placing them back where he’d found them. “When I was held by Ruiz in Brazil underneath his palace, he would let us out once a month to see our families. It was always a very stressful day, and it either offered my mind pain or relief, but never any joy. Ruiz eliminated that joy with the strict deadlines to produce his weapons, and he waited until the day we saw our families to tell us whether or not we met them. If we did, our families would leave unharmed. If we didn’t… then we’d be forced to watch our family be tortured.” Alvy’s eyes grew wet, but no tears fell, even as he tilted his head to the side. “You gave me a choice, Governor. That was never an option with Ruiz, because he was evil, and the men he associated himself with were evil; you spoke of that evil the day we met. I never knew this Russian general, but I know that if he was working in concert with the Chinese and Ruiz, then he shares that same viciousness. And the only way to stop that evil from growing is to kill him.” Alvy picked up the figurine meant to represent Rodion’s men and placed it in Dean’s palm. “Make sure there’s nothing left of him, Governor. You’ll lose more men, but if you let him live, you’ll lose your mind waiting for the day he’ll come and find you.” He patted Dean on the shoulder and then made his way to the door.

“Thank you,” Dean called out just before the engineer was out of earshot.

“For what?”

“Telling me what you thought instead of what I wanted to hear.”

“That’s an advisor’s job.” Alvy gave a smile then disappeared into the crowd of soldiers and townspeople.

Dean examined the figurine in his hand. With Alvy’s words still fresh in his mind, he crumpled the figurine in his fist then tossed it aside.