World War IV: A Broken Union Page 12

  The warm liquid slid down his throat and spread to his stomach, arms, and legs like the reaching flames of a fire. He looked back over to the map dotted with his men and ships, and that of his enemy. The Australians would wait for the Americans, yet the Americans were fighting battles on two fronts. It was a matter of days before Rodion invaded their northern border, and he didn’t believe it would take very long for the Russian to wipe them out.

  But the might of the American Navy was a different story, and Delun knew that. But perhaps their newfound weapons would be the key. As long as he could get Fung here before the Americans found him.

  Chapter 12

  The rocky shores of the northwest had never been such a welcome and terrifying sight. Lance and Canice stood at the bow, the Sani rolling steadily forward in search of the hidden port along the shore.

  The cliffs and rocks provided a natural barrier to any sea-based attack on the territory and was one of the reasons why Lance knew Rodion chose to land farther north along the coast by the Alaskan fisheries. But for those familiar with the waters, it wasn’t nearly as dangerous.

  “Tell the crew we mount as soon as we dock,” Lance said. “I’ll leave the ship in harbor and order repairs and provisions to be stocked.” Lance turned to head back to the helm, but Canice’s voice stopped him.

  “The crew needs rest, Captain.” Canice maneuvered her way around Lance until she was face to face with him. “It’s not gone unnoticed what the stakes are, but ever since the attack on Sydney, we’ve been moving nonstop. Nearly a third of our crew have died, and what’s left will die if we march them into battle tomorrow.”

  “Everyone’s tired, Canice. This is war.” Lance pushed his way past her and glided down the steps, but despite the tone in his voice, she still followed.

  “And what war has ever been won with men asleep on their horses, with their rifles and swords slipping from their hands?” Her words were loud and echoed across the deck, catching the ears of the crew.

  Lance stopped, marched over to her, and kept his own voice low. She’d defied him before, but never in such a blatant display in front of the crew. “We are about to march into battle. For all I know, Rodion has already taken the capital and we’re sailing into a trap. This crew knew the dangers the moment they stepped on board my ship. Men die, war rages, and every day new dictators are crowned. There is no time for rest.”

  It could have been the haste in which Lance had pushed them across the Pacific or the dangerous route he had them veer toward the dead islands, but his patience had worn thin. He didn’t need a lecture for the amount of danger his men were about to be put in, especially when he knew the cost.

  “I know the crew understands that, but I also know that the only way to win a war is to fight smart.” Canice pointed to the jagged cliffs along the shore as they approached. “Your brothers are gone, Lance, and that means you will have to lead. Those men don’t know you, they only trust your name. They will not follow you so willingly as the crew if you beat them harder than their enemy will.” Her face twisted in frustration, and she shoved his chest. Lance stumbled backward then raised and clenched his fists, Canice doing the same.

  “Captain!”

  The throaty roar bellowed from one of the deckhands. Lance froze. His fists trembled with adrenaline. He felt the tiredness in his eyes, the fatigue of his mind, and the brokenness of his own body. He lowered his hands, and Canice reciprocated, the fight running out of both of them.

  The crew had circled, and every pair of eyes was set upon them. Each tired, haggard face drooped with a hint of fear. It could have been how the crew looked or the way they looked at him, but for the first time in his years as a captain, he doubted his decision to push forward. “I know the toll this has taken on everyone.”

  Lance stepped backwards, taking the time to look each of his men in the eye. Canice sunk into the ranks of the crew, joining as a spectator. Lance rubbed his forehead hard, frustrated at the lack of words he needed at the moment. Grime and dirt rolled off in balls and flakes onto his palm and fingers. “What I’ve asked you to do, and what I will continue to ask of you, has been the impossible. I will not relent. I will not stop. But I have no right to push you into a war you do not want to fight. We are not a part of the navy. You came to work on this ship as free men. And as free men you can leave or stay. When we dock you’ll have your pay, and those that wish to fight can follow me to the capital. Those who don’t...” Lance shook his head, exhausted. “Those who don’t should be with your families if you have them. If the army can’t stop what’s coming, then your time of rest may not last long.”

  And with that, Lance disappeared into his cabin, alone. No one, not even Canice, came to disturb him. He paced the floor anxiously. He’d sailed with this crew for a long time, and they had weathered storms before, but none so ferocious as this. With all the death and pain that had surrounded them over the past few weeks, he wasn’t even sure if Canice would stay with him, and he found himself hoping that she would.

  The port horn sounded, and Lance ascended to the deck, where the crew cast lines and started unloading the ship, offering no signs of who would stay and who would leave. Lance made his way to the port office and found himself searching for the long braid of Canice’s hair amidst the heads on the ship’s deck.

  A letter from General Monaghan waited for him, stating that the front lines had been drawn north of the capital, close to the wilderness border. The entire might of their standing army was called upon, with scouts deployed both in the north and south to ensure that Rodion didn’t attempt any trickery by flanking them in the rear.

  Lance collected the payout for his crew at the bank, which barely had enough funds to dispense him what was needed. The prospect of war had triggered a withdrawal frenzy. Everyone was preparing for the worst.

  The crew was already lined up when Lance made it back to the ship. His mouth went dry as he walked past the men, none of them looking him in the eye, which didn’t ease his worries of who would stay. Lance seated himself at the table and pulled the manifest files from his folders. The heavy leather-bound books thudded against the tabletop, and he went down the line. “John Hughs.”

  Money was exchanged, but no handshakes, no glances. Each man took their payout without a word then disappeared into the port. Every crewman that left, Lance felt an anger rising up inside of him, but by the time the last man was paid and gone, the anger had been replaced with grief.

  “Giving them the choice was the right thing to do.”

  Lance perked up at Canice’s voice and found her standing behind him. He scrolled down to her name on the ledger, which was the last one on the list, checked it off, then extended her payment. “I know.”

  Canice pocketed the money and followed Lance down the docks. “You’re heading straight to the capital?”

  “General Monaghan is waiting for me.” Lance mounted the horse brought to him, and when he looked over, Canice was on a mount as well. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going with you.”

  Canice had said it so matter-of-factly that Lance felt a blush of shame rush in his cheeks. Of course she would. But he offered no other words, and when the two turned the corner of the port’s exit, Lance pulled up on the reins, his jaw dropping in disbelief. Every single crewman was there. All of them.

  “We’re with you, Captain,” Canice said.

  Lance swung his horse around, turning the animal in circles. This is why Rodion wouldn’t win. Because his people didn’t quit. “Thank you. All of you.”

  ***

  Rodion’s mount pounded the ground with its hooves, even while standing in place. The animal was just as eager for battle as he. After weeks of marching, today they were within sight of the enemy lines. His scouts had just informed him the Northwest soldiers were less than an hour’s march away. “Bring the guns and the rest of the armory forward.”

  The officers in Rodion’s army started to assemble their battle formations, and the scent of a
nticipation grew thick in the air. Every soldier felt their pulse quicken, and a lump caught in their throats at their general’s orders.

  Mixtures of fear, anger, and hunger rippled through the ranks, and Rodion double-timed their march forward. He could smell battle in the crisp air. The beat of hooves, the clatter of steel and armor, all ringing together.

  “General, your weapon.”

  The servant extended the AK-47 to Rodion, who snatched it and loaded a magazine. All of the work, all of the trips, the negotiations and deals he had to make to get to this point had driven Rodion to the brink of madness. But now, with an army at his back and the first new wave of modern weapons at his disposal, he would unleash that madness on the world.

  ***

  The tent was quiet save for General Monaghan going over their battle plans. Lance made sure to listen carefully. He knew the old general was well seasoned, and from everything he’d seen so far, they’d put themselves in the best situation possible.

  “Trenches have been etched out on the front lines, providing cover for our men and an obstacle for Rodion’s calvary should he push us back.” Monaghan thumped his swollen knuckles on the map. “All of our supply lines are prepared, and the men are ready.”

  Lance nodded. “And what about the clans? You mentioned my brother spoke to them and they agreed to fight with us?”

  Monaghan frowned. “None of the clans have shown. We are on our own.”

  “You’ve done well, General.” Lance took a walk around the edges of the map while the rest of the officers looked on. All of the due diligence had been completed. All that was left now was the fight itself. “I thank all of you for your work while my brothers have been away. We know little of our enemy, but what we face will be the greatest standing army our men have ever seen. However, there has been no enemy we haven’t beaten. And we will not break that tradition today.”

  Lance stepped outside and found Kemena waiting for him. With the scouts informing him about the closeness of Rodion’s army, he had little time to look for her. He kissed her cheek and held her gently. “How have you been holding up?”

  “As well as anyone could be considering the circumstances.” Kemena was dressed in her doctor’s garb, the red cross plainly visible across her chest. She fidgeted with her hands nervously, looking to the horizon, toward the battlefield.

  “We’ll be fine, Kemena.” Lance took her hand and rubbed it gently. “Where are Kit and Sam?”

  The mention of their nephews brought Kemena back to the present. “They’re at the capitol. It took a unit of guards to keep Kit from trying to rush to the front lines.”

  The thought brought a mixture of pride and sorrow. The boy had the fighting heart of his father, but Lance knew the burden the boy would feel from that for the rest of his life. “I’ll talk to him when this is done.” He hugged her one last time then made ready for battle.

  “On the line!” Orders were shouted down the deep trenches carved at the edge of the field where Lance and the army would face Rodion.

  Despite Monaghan’s request that Lance stay behind with the rest of the commanders, Lance rode with his crew, wedging themselves in the center. And while cheers of the Mars name echoed down the lines at the sight of Lance with the heart of the fighting force, most did double takes at Canice, who rode right beside him. It wasn’t often men saw a woman in battle. At least not one who fought with them.

  Mud splattered Lance’s boots and legs as he took position, his eyes peeking over the trench and to the tree line where he heard the rumbling of Rodion’s army. The scouts that returned had said Rodion’s numbers weren’t like anything they’d seen before. It was an army with no end. But Lance knew it would end. Everything ended.

  The trees rustled, and a noise carried on the wind that Lance didn’t recognize. It had the churn of metal yet the stampede of men and horses.

  “Captain?” Canice asked, sporting the same expression as he did. “What is that?”

  Lance had nearly crawled all the way out of the trench, his stomach scraping against the side of the wall as he pulled himself up. His fingers gripped into the earth as the noise grew along with the echoing shouts of the Russians. Lance dropped his rifle to the ground when the first armored vehicle pushed through the forest line, layered thick with steel plates and rolling forward slowly, guarding units of men.

  “Captain!” Canice reached for Lance’s ankle and yanked hard. With his foot pulled from underneath him, he smacked the ground as gunfire exploded over him. But the shots were quick. Faster than any powdered rifle. Rodion had moderns.

  Lance rolled back into the trenches as soldiers kept low to avoid the gunfire rifling over their heads. “Fire the cannons!” Lance barked his orders over hunched men, and it wasn’t until he shoved the first few into place that the boom of their cannons sounded.

  Cannonade dotted the field with craters, but none were able to disable Rodion’s vehicles. Soldiers popped their heads out of the trenches like prairie dogs, taking aim and firing then ducking back below to reload.

  Lance made his way to the rear, keeping low to avoid the gunfire. He found the general’s tent and burst through, the officers already in a frenzy as to how to respond to Rodion’s weaponry. An advisor to General Monaghan spoke up first, the vein in his pencil-thin neck throbbing with anxiety. “We need to retreat, fortify a position back into the capital, and begin evacuations to the south.”

  “No,” Lance said, startling the generals to his presence. “We give Rodion any ground, and he will use that momentum against us. Bring up every modern weapon we have. I don’t care who it belongs to; confiscate it from locals if you have to.” Lance made his way around the generals to their own gun case, pulling out a bomb belt and strapping it around his waist. “And bring up every cannon we have, quickly.”

  Most of the modern equipment in any military’s possession was a varied type of modification to its predecessor. The bomb belt was the poor man’s grenade but did its job efficiently. However, Lance knew they’d need more than bomb belts to bring down what Rodion had.

  Soldiers wheeled the cannons closer to the front lines as Lance marched with them, positioning the artillery to cluster to allow for better accuracy. Gunfire grew louder, and the slow roll of Rodion’s vehicles had made it halfway across the field, with only a handful of the vehicles destroyed.

  “Fire!” Lance dropped his arm, and the artillery units blasted cannon fire at the Russians. Lance doubled up the teams for each cannon to speed up the reloading process. He dropped his arm again, just seconds later, and another volley thundered into the enemy.

  The sky above was blocked out with a heavy layer of lead raining down on the Russians’ relentless press forward, and it wasn’t long until the Russians had progressed close enough to the front lines that the artillery fire became impotent.

  The Russian soldiers sprinted from behind their armored protectors and charged the trenches, the stampede of their numbers rattling the ground. Lance pulled his rifle and fired then dropped the weapon, pulling his sword, his jaw clenched. He re-joined the ranks, most of the men still cowering in the trenches. “To arms! To arms! We fight until we die or drive them back.” He viciously grabbed each of the soldiers he passed, rattling the fear out of their very bones. “This is our home! Only we stand between us and the lives of our families! Do not fear the death that all men will know. Fight!”

  The Russians grew closer, the rapid firing of their weapons zipping over their heads. Lance kept close to the edge of the wall, waiting, listening for their chance to get a jump on them, pulling them into close range to where their rifles would be less effective. “CHARGE!”

  Lance leapt over the side, nearly running into the front of one of the engine-powered vehicles. He cut right, his sword knocking into the rifle of the enemy before he fired, but the rest of his men weren’t so lucky. The first barrage of machine gun fire tore through their bones, ripping their bodies to pieces. Three dead with one pull of the trigger. Six dead. Nine dead.
All in seconds.

  Lance ripped the rifle from the dead Russian and fired their own weapons against them, doing his best to level the odds, but there were just too many. He tore the belt bomb off his waist and chucked it against the side of one of the armored cars. The blast melted a hole through the thick armor, and it was knocked to its side, crushing anther handful of Russians on its way down.

  Lance picked up another of the Russians’ rifles and continued to fire through the smoke, squeezing round after round into the enemy’s flesh until five sharp cuts sliced through his stomach and right arm. He gasped for breath, a rush of cold overtaking him as he hit the ground. At first he felt nothing, but as time went on, he felt his left heel dragging against the rocks, and it wasn’t until the gunfire had faded that he heard Canice’s voice.

  “Hang on, Captain!” She dragged him from the front lines to the first medic she could find. All the while, Lance kept looking up at the sky. It was a painfully beautiful day, hot, but the skies so clear he felt like he could reach up and touch it.

  “Hey, look at me.” Canice grabbed Lance’s face, forcing her way into his line of sight. He saw the worry on her face, the concern that was always just below the surface. He reached up and touched her cheek, adding to the blood and dirt already smeared on her skin, which prompted a quick burst of tears from her eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  The cold had spread to most of Lance’s body now; he felt it even with the sun blazing above him. One of the doctors ripped open his shirt, and he felt a light tug on his stomach. He looked down to the sight of his own guts spilling out of him, with tweezers tugging the bullets out of his flesh. His fingers found the pendulum around his neck clumsily, and he yanked it from his neck. “Canice.”

  The tears had cut a well-worn path through the blood and dirt that caked her face, and for a moment she looked as though she were bleeding tears. “Don’t speak. Save your strength.”