World War IV: A Broken Union Page 10

  I shouldn’t have let him come here after what happened with Fred. It was foolish, especially without the stronger force of their eastern fleet. If Ruiz had seen all those warships behind Jason, then he may have thought twice about trying to kidnap him. But if I had, then Ruiz may have construed it as a sign of aggression, and war would have started regardless.

  “Governor?”

  Dean spun around, and the captain was there. Dean cleared his throat and walked over to the corpse, bending down to where the tarp concealed the face underneath. In one swift pull, he yanked the tarp back, letting out an exhale as he did it.

  It was the emissary Dean had sent. The man’s face was pale, drained of life that emptied through the slit across his throat. “I suppose I have Ruiz’s answer.” He flung the tarp back over the man’s face and addressed the sailors. “Captain, pull up anchor and ready the cannons. I want the port of Rio taken by sunset.”

  Dean marched back down into his cabin while the captain barked his orders. Their fleet was nearly fifty ships strong, and while the siege would be difficult, he knew Ruiz didn’t have the military or navy to fend them off. Taking the rest of Brazil, well, that was an entirely different effort. But Dean had no plans to occupy the rest of the country. He’d get Jason back and kill Ruiz. Once that was done, the larger force of Delun lingered in the Pacific.

  ***

  If Chris had been conscious when they’d taken him to the doctor, Jason knew he would have protested. Going out into the open exposed both of them to capture and death. But then again, if Chris had been conscious during Jason’s trip to take back the ship, he wouldn’t have agreed with that either. The doctor had done what he could, and now it was all they could do to sit and wait. Jason stayed with Chris in the small, dirtied room where the physician had done his work.

  “How is he?”

  It wasn’t the sound that startled Jason, but the voice it came from. Gabriela stood in the doorway, looking at Chris on the bed. Jason rubbed his hands together, small particles of dirt and grime falling and adding to the filth on the floor. “The doctor said only time will tell. But he’s hopeful.”

  “Hope,” Gabriela said, finding a seat adjacent to the wall where Jason sat. “The only emotion that makes us believe things that will never happen, can happen.”

  “That’s not what hope is.” Jason shook his head, keeping his eyes on Chris, watching the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest.

  Gabriela leaned forward, her gaze shifting to Jason. “No? And what is hope, Governor?” Her voice was harsh and sour with skepticism, and rightly so. Jason had seen what the rebel leader had to work with, what she faced under the oppression that was Ruiz. When someone became surrounded by so much death and destruction, it was easy to become that way.

  “It’s a reminder.” Jason looked over to Gabriela, who had smiled at him mockingly. “Of what we can do.”

  “I can see why Ruiz wanted to keep you.” Gabriela waved her finger at him. “You’re clever with your words. You have a politician’s tongue.”

  Jason examined the bits of dried blood that still lingered on his arms from the two Brazilian soldiers he killed in the streets. He hadn’t noticed how dirty he’d become. “Me and Ruiz are nothing alike. He took power. I never even asked for it.”

  “And yet there you sit. A leader of a country that could help us, but won’t.” Gabriela jumped from the chair angrily, stomping out of the room until she passed Jason, and he grabbed her arm so fast that she jolted and put one hand on the hilt of her sword.

  “My brother will come.” Jason’s words were slow, deep. He made sure to keep a careful look on her expressions as he spoke. “And when he does, he will dethrone Ruiz. But there are other matters that will require our attention. Once Ruiz is out of power, the Chinese will do whatever they can to control the South Americans, and me and my people”—Jason stood then looked down on her, his hand still gripped firmly about her arm—“will spill our blood so you can continue to squabble amongst yourselves for power.” He finally let her arm go, and she jerked away.

  Gabriela opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by one of her men rushing inside the hovel. “Ships, in the port. The brother is here.”

  Jason was out of the house and into the streets before Gabriela could process what her messenger had said. Trees and a hill blocked the view of the port, but once outside, Jason heard the faint pop of powder and the crash of lead. He sprinted up the hill in his bare feet, rushing past children, men, and women running in the opposite direction.

  Once he crested the hill Jason skidded to a stop, his lungs, legs, and feet burning from exertion. Nearly eighty vessels battled just outside the harbor’s entrance. The smoke from all of the cannons had covered the horizon in a fog like a haze.

  Gabriela walked up behind him, her jaw dropping at the sight of his navy in the distance. A few of the wooden vessels had caught fire, and more than a dozen were slowly sinking into the Atlantic. Though, from the hill, they looked like nothing more than toy boats in a tub. “Your brother fights as though he means to take the city in one day.”

  “And he will.” Jason turned to Gabriela, who was still gawking at the naval battle in the distance. “If you mean to fight, then gather your soldiers.”

  ***

  “Fire!” Cannons thundered, the muzzles slinging backwards, held at bay by long, thick rope, and were immediately reloaded. The heat down in the gunnery chamber sweltered, the gunpowder from the cannons clinging to the sailors’ sweaty skin.

  The pounding from the side of the ships was relentless. Dean commanded from the lead deck, his ship in the heart of the fighting. The captain had suggested they stay back at a safer distance, but Dean had ordered to lead the charge.

  The Brazilians lacked ships, and what cannon fire was offered from the shore was taken out by Dean’s long-range guns. The forces in Rio were outmatched.

  Every piece of lead fired from the deck of Dean’s ship grew closer and closer to the harbor’s entrance. Flank ships had already landed, meeting some of Ruiz’s soldiers on the banks, but Dean kept the bulk of his force to take the harbor. And he wanted to do it quickly. The longer the battle was drawn out, the greater likelihood of Jason’s life ending.

  While Dean knew how much Ruiz valued his life, he was a prideful man. And if he felt the end near, and all that was left to him was that pride, he’d do whatever it took to keep it. Even if that meant Jason’s death.

  “Governor! There’s a break on the right flank,” the captain shouted from the helm, pointing toward the penetration.

  “They’ll be retreating into the harbor now,” Dean replied. “Be on the lookout for white flags. I don’t think these men have any desire to die today.” The Brazilians hadn’t fought any wars in years. Their contributions to the Island Wars were sparse, and before that, the rest of the world was too busy trying to scrape together what they could at home, than warring beyond their borders. The only real fighting they’d had were their civil wars, which hadn’t lasted very long.

  Dean’s fleet pressed forward, and just as he suspected, white flags were raised, and his men pushed through, commandeering the fallen ships as they passed, one by one. His own ship was the first at the docks, and while the ships had surrendered, the soldiers lining the seawall had not.

  Rifles and cannons boomed from the port’s edge, pummeling the front of Dean’s ship. Each hit rippled vibrations through the iron hull, a few of the shots penetrating the thick metal below. Dean grabbed a rifle from the armory and joined a few of the sailors near the unloading ramps. “To arms!” His orders were followed by the stampeding echo of feet into the garrison.

  Dean knew Ruiz wouldn’t dare leave the fortification of his own palace, which rested high in the hills of the city. But once the full force of Dean’s men made landfall, it would leave Ruiz with only two options. Either surrender, or die of starvation as he sieged the palace walls.

  The ship bumped against the docks, jolting everyone forward, and then the ramp
was lowered, followed by a swarm of men. The first two off the boat were shot through the chest, and Dean felt the warm flicker of blood speckle his face as they collapsed from the ramp and splashed into the harbor.

  Other ships from the fleet docked near Dean’s ship, adding to the growing numbers of North Americans on the Brazilian soil. Crates from the day’s trading ships still lined the docks, and Dean ducked behind one of them for cover just as a rally of bullets peppered the opposite side. While the enemy reloaded, Dean spun around the crates quickly. He took aim, fired, and another body collapsed, adding to the growing number of corpses floating in the bay.

  The Brazilians turned their cannon fire to the docks, attempting to blow them apart before Dean and his men had a chance to mount their offensive, but their hesitation cost them, and by the time they’d done any real damage, Dean had the numbers to charge.

  A few of the Brazilian officers had relics of the modern weapons, but not enough ammunition to keep them firing for long, and soon after the bullets had been spent, steel was drawn and clattered along the coastline. Unlike the sailors in the bay, the soldiers refused to yield.

  Dean worked his way through the field, shouts and screams from commoners fleeing the port mingled between the storms of swords that echoed along the docks. Dean’s arm and shoulder burned with each heavy swing of the saber in his hands. He parried, thrust, and forced his way through the walls of flesh and steel.

  More Brazilians scurried down the hills, reinforcing the lines, attempting to keep Dean and his men from expanding beyond the port docks, but for every soldier Ruiz sent down, Dean killed two. A trail of bodies dotted the path from the docks to the first buildings of the city. Dean looked north along the seawalls. What ships hadn’t stayed behind to commandeer the Brazilian warships had all found their way to dock, fighting similar skirmishes at each rallying point.

  “Governor!”

  Dean wasn’t sure who cried out, and he didn’t have time to look before a cannonball landed only five feet away, sending up a geyser of rock, dirt, and sand. Dean was flung backwards from the force of the blow, a few chunks of rock hurtling with him. He landed hard on his back, his sword flung from his hands. He rolled slowly to his side, his ears ringing and a sharp pain piercing his right leg. Smoke and dust circled him, and before he had a chance to examine the wound, the shimmer of steel broke through the veil and nearly went through him. He forced himself up, the Brazilian still swinging wildly. Dean looked around for his sword but couldn’t find it.

  The blade slashed at Dean’s left, then right. When it thrust forward, Dean sidestepped the maneuver and grabbed the Brazilian’s arm and then slammed his fist into the soldier’s cheek, which jarred the blade loose. Dean toppled him to the ground with the momentum he’d gained and wrapped his arms around the man’s throat.

  The Brazilian squirmed under the weight of Dean, who felt the enemy’s pulse beat against the palms of his hands. Dean watched the flesh turn from white, to red, then a dark purple until the struggle ended. With the man dead, Dean nearly collapsed next to him from exhaustion. His arms and shoulders shook, the pain in his right leg still throbbing.

  Dean raised his blade to block another assault from a Brazilian, the endless barrage continuing. He limped backwards, fending off each blow. His mind commanded his arm, but his reactions were almost too slow to keep up. Each attack from the Brazilian brought Dean’s own blade closer to him, the hammering relentless.

  Hundreds of soldiers and sailors were engaged in combat around him. Dean’s elbow smacked against backs and arms. On his blind walk backwards, he felt the mush of dead flesh under his heel from the fallen, nearly causing him to trip and join them.

  Dean’s right shoulder barely held the blade past his waist now, and he felt his grip loosen around the sword’s hilt, until it just hung limply from his hand as another step backwards on his right leg triggered a painful rush through his body that made him drop the weapon. And this was how Dean thought he would die, there on the streets of Rio. But the blade that rammed and protruded out the front of the Brazilian’s chest ended the brief flash of death.

  The sight of the man that stood in front of Dean as the enemy’s body collapsed to the ground nearly buckled Dean’s legs as well. “Jason?”

  Jason spun quickly, fending off another attacker, and Dean shook his head, picking up his blade. After Jason dispensed with another enemy, Dean saw another force coming down the hills, pinning the Brazilians against their own swords.

  “C’mon!” Jason motioned for Dean to follow, and the two brothers limped through their own ranks, a few soldiers doing a double take as they walked by, bringing a surge of shouts and cheers at the sight of their governor, who was not only alive, but free.

  With the aid of whatever forces were coming in from the hills, what remained of Ruiz’s soldiers scattered quickly, slithering back to the palace. The port was theirs.

  Still leaning to one side, his right leg barely able to support him, Dean gripped Jason’s shoulder and pulled his younger brother close. “I thought Ruiz might have killed you when we started our assault.” He clapped Jason hard on the back, and his brother returned the gesture.

  “It’s been a long few weeks.” Jason’s words muffled into Dean’s shoulder, and then he pulled back. “How many men did you bring with you?”

  “Thirty thousand,” Dean answered, the shift in talk easily transitioning back to war. “With your entire eastern fleet. Once we finish Ruiz, we mean to join the Australians and fight the Chinese in the Pacific.”

  “So, two of the most powerful North Americans in one spot.” A woman dressed in militia attire, flanked by two others in similar garb, holding a bloodied sword in her right hand, approached casually. “If I kill you now, I might save myself a lot of grief in the future.”

  Dean raised his weapon, but Jason forced it down. “Her bark is worse than her bite. This is General Gabriela Ponce, leader of the rebellion against President Ruiz. She’s one of the reasons I’m still alive.”

  “And so are you,” Gabriela said, shaking Dean’s hand. “I hope your brother has told you about the deals he’s made in your absence.”

  “Whatever my brother has promised you, I can tell you we will deliver.” Although Dean hoped that it wasn’t something that would cost them more time. Every second they lingered here was more of their men lost, and more time for the Chinese to break the Australians.

  “Negotiations can wait,” Jason said. “For now, we stop Ruiz.”

  Despite Jason’s protest that Dean have his leg tended to, the three continued to push their soldiers through the streets, cornering Ruiz’s forces at the palace, just as Dean had expected.

  With the news slowly spreading to the men fighting that Jason was alive, renewed energy rushed through the ranks, feeding life into their cause, feeding the legend of their family. For now he let the men believe what they wanted in regards to Jason’s arrival; as long as it pushed them closer to Ruiz, that was all that mattered.

  The march forward slowed considerably the closer they pushed Ruiz’s forces against the palace walls, and Ruiz wasted no time in ordering the firing of artillery. Some of which killed his own people.

  Dean and Jason tucked behind a sagging building, already crumbling from time and one cannonball away from dissolving into dust. Dean examined Ruiz’s fortified position. The walls were thick and high. They wouldn’t be able to breach the palace without artillery fire. And that meant lugging the equipment from the ships, uphill. Not the easiest of tasks, especially with a storm of lead already raining down upon you. “If we bring the cannons up, it’ll take too much time to mount them for a range of sight. The hills here are too steep. They’ll be taken out before we get to fire our first shot.”

  “We could bring them up the jungle side to the rear of the palace,” Jason suggested.

  Dean kept his eyes peeled on the thick, white walls and shook his head. “That’ll take even longer. We need another way.” Dean turned to Gabriela, hoping she had so
me piece of information they could use. “Do you have anyone on the inside?”

  Gabriela fidgeted nervously, hesitating before finally speaking up. “If I do, I wouldn’t have any way to reach them.”

  “No signal? Nothing?” Dean asked.

  “Even if his cover is blown, it won’t matter,” Jason said, chiming in. “We’ll have Ruiz, and it’ll be done.”

  “Not if Ruiz escapes during the raid,” Gabriela replied. “We don’t get him here and now, then we won’t get another chance. He’ll flee to the Chinese, or regroup, or some safe—”

  “He won’t get away.” Dean swatted her excuses down. He took a limping step forward, doing his best to hide the pain. “Me and my brother will not let that happen.”

  “He’s right,” Jason said. “We always finish what we start.”

  Dean wasn’t sure if it was his words or Jason’s, or if the woman had her own reasons, but she finally agreed. The man inside was one of Ruiz’s personal guards. He’d been with the president for nearly three years. He had gained Ruiz’s trust and learned everything about the palace, including the east security door used to sneak in individuals the president didn’t want the rest of his constituents to know he was speaking with.

  A force of nearly a hundred men, composed of Dean and Jason’s soldiers and Gabriela’s militia, rounded out of the city and toward the eastern, rocky side of the mountain where the entrance lay. The tunnel was less than three feet wide, and five feet tall. All of them were forced to duck and enter single file along the dark, rocky trail that ended in a small cellar. Dean, Jason, and Gabriela were the first to climb out.

  Gabriela’s spy held up a torch that was the only light in the room. The two embraced as the flames licked the low-lying ceiling, and Dean noticed his brother tense at the sight. “Ruiz is still held up in his room, very heavily guarded.”