World War IV: A Broken Union Page 6

  Delun motioned for the soldier to bring the Filipino man forward and rest his head on top of a crate. The man jerked and fidgeted but immediately stopped once Delun gently placed the edge of the rusty steel against his sweating neck. The man trembled at the touch, his defiance dripping from him with every tear.

  The crowd watching drew in a collective breath, every eye watching Delun. He had them in the palm of his hand. “But I am not without mercy.” He removed the blade from the man’s neck. “Swear to me your loyalty, and I will have you live out your days in servitude.”

  The man looked up; the lack of rod had resurrected the man’s courage. “You come here as a chameleon. You offer your food, your medicine, but it costs blood. Blood that my people will spill in the name of your war. If I do not die today, your men will die tomorrow.” He spit on the ground in his last act of defiance.

  “Very well.” Delun brought the blade high above his head and swung down with a powerful force that wedged the rusting steel into the spine of his neck. Jagged pieces of flesh hung loosely from the gash, and blood splashed onto the dock. The man convulsed and bled out, half his head still hanging onto his body, the blade wedged in the wound. Delun turned to address the crowd. “That was the fate he chose.” Blood stained his hands and splattered his shirt. He pointed back to the body, still spasming, being carried away. “But that does not have to be yours!”

  Then, slowly, one by one, what Filipinos remained standing bent their knees and lowered their heads. This was the first brick in the foundation of Delun’s empire. And if he needed to, he would layer it with the corpses of one rebellious villager at a time.

  Chapter 6

  A continual patrol of palace guards walked the high walls of the compound, and neither Ambassador Fung nor President Ruiz left their chambers without an armed escort. A shield of guns and bodies surrounded them, ready to die to protect the politicians if need be.

  Since Jason Mars’s escape, Ruiz had spent most of his time reading reports from his scouts sent to find him, all of which were short and disappointing. The interrogation of the governor’s crew had been equally fruitless, every man refusing to betray their leader and their honor. Ruiz’s guards were still cleaning the blood from the deck of the ship.

  The bounty Ruiz placed on Mars’s head had only brought imposters claiming they captured him, but none of the prisoners brought forth were the fugitive.

  Worry grew in the back of Ruiz’s mind, festering into all of his thoughts and actions. It wouldn’t be long until Delun requested a status on the Mars governor, and he knew that the second Mars Governor would be sailing soon to wage his conquest in freeing his brother. Ruiz just hoped that Dean Mars stayed in the dark about his youngest brother’s predicament. The deceit that Ruiz held Jason Mars captive was a very important piece of information he wanted Dean to believe.

  Ruiz leaned back on the plush cushions in his study and glanced up at a painting on the far wall. It showed a young couple lying underneath the shade of a tree on top of a hill overlooking a small town. The scenery was a far cry from the Brazilian landscape of mountains covered in thick patches of jungle, or the coast where the waves of the Atlantic beat against Rio’s shores.

  The artist that created that piece of work had been a refugee from Europe. The man had painted it nearly forty years ago. He had said the picture reminded him of the woman he loved before the Great War. The old man was one of the last surviving members of that generation that had fled to South America after the bombs fell.

  The course of history was altered all those years ago and was the main reason Ruiz had landed into power in the first place. The presidency of the wealthiest country in the world merely whetted his appetite for authority, and the alliance with the Chinese was nurtured for the sole purpose of expanding his reach beyond his own continent.

  “Señor Presidente.” Ambassador Fung stood at the doorway to Ruiz’s study, bowing his head in a show of respect. “I have word from Emperor Delun about the advances in the Pacific.”

  Ruiz scoffed. “Emperor.” He would let Delun operate under the illusion of his own importance for a while longer. “Delun can only call himself that because of the resources I provided him.” All of the materials he funneled to the Chinese were for the sole purpose of establishing a foothold in the east. As the central hub of global trade, he’d established relationships with many leaders.

  Every conversation was a seed planted in the minds of Ruiz’s adversaries. And over time, those seeds would blossom into new riches and power that he would harvest. But after his conversation with Governor Mars, he knew they would not bend willingly. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  Ambassador Fung inclined his head slightly. “Taking a lesson in studies of history from Delun, Señor Presidente?”

  Ruiz couldn’t help but notice that Fung had dropped the “emperor” title behind closed doors. The man was cunningly perceptive, something that Ruiz both admired and found concerning. “Delun would do well to take a few lessons from me.” The letter Fung brought was nothing more than the news of the Australian fleet reaching Sydney, ending the blockade and siege against the only port yet to fall on the Australian coast.

  “And what lessons would you impart to Delun, Presidente?” Fung laced his words with enough curiosity and intrigue that Ruiz almost believed the question was genuine. But such were the words of snakes in the viper pit.

  Ruiz made his way over to the painting, examining it at a different angle. “Delun believes that he is a better solution than the Australians, and the Australians believe they are a better solution than the Chinese. Yet neither the Chinese nor the Australians can support themselves. The only common link between the two is me.” Ruiz grazed the painting with his fingertip. Tiny bumps from the grooves of the brush and oil pressed against him, and he saw the smudge of his print where he’d touched it.

  “Your contributions to Delun will not go unnoticed,” Fung said.

  “No,” Ruiz replied, still staring at the painting, “but that’s because he won’t have a choice in the matter.” He turned back around to Fung. “Do you know the history of the atomic bomb, Ambassador?” Fung shook his head. “It’s quite an interesting one. The scientists and engineers that constructed the weapon wanted to save lives, not end them. They’d justified the death the weapon created in the name of protecting the living from those that wished to murder the masses. And it wasn’t long before every nation in the world tried replicating what the first creators had done, and they succeeded. For years, the great nations produced these weapons in an arms race unlike anything seen before. But despite the end of traditional warfare, and the disarmament of much of the original nuclear arsenal they’d created, the very weapons designed to protect them became their undoing. And do you know why?”

  Fung shrugged his shoulders. “The same reason nearly every war starts. A crave for power.”

  Ruiz shook his head. “A lack of control.” Fung finally offered his first hint of bewilderment, but only for a moment. Ruiz made his way over to the door. “Follow me, Ambassador.”

  The armed escort accompanied them through the halls, making nearly every walk through the palace a parade, forcing servants to quickly dodge out of the way, lest they be trampled by the sentries protecting their leader.

  Torches flickered an orange glow that gleamed against the hilt of the swords at the guards’ belts as they descended deep under the first floor of the palace. The guards stopped just before the stairs ended along with the torches. Ruiz came forward, the guards letting him pass with Fung close behind, who clutched the coat around his neck in the cold.

  “Presidente.” One of the guards spoke up as Ruiz passed into the darkness. “You should not go alone.” He then made an eye toward Fung that left little imagination as to who the guard was concerned about.

  “If the ambassador chooses to kill me, then you have my permission to take his head. Until then, you will leave us.” Ruiz left the disgruntled guards and led Fung through the darkness.
He fumbled his hands along the wall, searching for the hidden stone. The wall was damp and grainy to the touch.

  “Ruiz, what are you doing?” Fung’s voice echoed a faint sound of fear.

  Ruiz finally felt the loose stone and pulled it back, a small switch against the wall that he flicked upwards, a portion of the wall sliding open, casting a growing light into the darkness.

  Fung quickly shielded his eyes against the brightness, backtracking into the dark. “Ruiz, what is this?” The panic in the ambassador’s voice reached a crescendo. “Ruiz?”

  “This is power, Ambassador.” The lights behind Ruiz cast his profile over the rest of the hall, and he stepped inside, where dozens of men worked around tables, all with different devices. Some were small enough to fit in your hand, others nearly touching the ceiling.

  When Ruiz approached one of the tables, the men around it scattered like cockroaches. What Ruiz picked up looked like a rifle but slightly shorter, and thicker around the trigger. “I have the best engineers in the world, and I have them working on projects far superior to the radio technology I gave Delun.” Ruiz tucked the weapon under his arm, aiming at Fung. “This is how I will keep Emperor Delun on a short leash.”

  Just before Ruiz squeezed the trigger, he repositioned his aim just to the right of Fung, firing into a target. Dozens of rounds collided into the wooden statue, turning it into a pile of toothpicks in less than a second. Ruiz kept the gun tucked under his arm and walked over to Fung, who had collapsed on the floor.

  The barrel of the rifle was still smoking as Ruiz shifted his aim back to Fung. “Impressive, isn’t it? It’s a variation of the model the Russians sent me. I was impressed they were even able to build such a thing.”

  Fung held up a trembling hand from the floor, scooting backwards, his eyes still squinting from the bright lights around him that shone with no flame. “Presidente, please, I beg you. Spare me.”

  Ruiz lowered the weapon. “You’re more valuable to me alive than dead.” He tossed the gun back on the table and walked past the other projects his engineers were developing. Fung stood up, brushing the splinters and dust that had collected on his robe, and walked to a table where thin wires poked out behind a box lid.

  Fung’s expression lingered between confusion and hysteria. “I don’t understand. You said the old nations created the very weapons that destroyed them. That their enemies scrambled to create what they had done. Won’t this end the same? Won’t this destroy what you’ve built?”

  “They provided one very crucial element to their demise, one that could have been prevented the moment they created the bombs of death.” Ruiz inched himself to Fung until he was close enough to smell the oils on the ambassador’s skin. “Mercy. They could have stopped the others before they had a chance to cultivate such weaponry. But I promise you this, Fung, I will not make the same mistake as those that came before me.”

  ***

  For the first time in nearly a week, Sydney harbor was free of the burdensome view of Chinese warships. But even with the enemy gone, the scent of lead and blood still lingered in the air. It was a smell Lance never thought would leave his nose. Even with the breeze blowing a steady, salty wind before him, all he could taste was the grit of gunpowder.

  Lance held the parchment between his fingers, looking over Dean’s message one last time. The ship carrying the letter was finally able to deliver it once the blockade was lifted. Jason had been taken by Ruiz, the Russians were invading from the north, and Dean had ordered the western fleet to meet at the Pacific entrance of the Panama Canal to join forces with the Eastern fleet once Jason had been rescued, then sail west to aid the Australians against the Chinese. Dean ordered that Lance return at once to the northwest and command the army to oppose Rodion.

  “Ship’s ready, Captain.” Canice still wore the same clothes she had in battle, as did Lance and most of the crew. Even with the lull in fighting, they had little time to rest. With his brother departing to the south to rescue Jason, and the Russians already having a foothold in Alaska and making their way south, time was a resource they couldn’t afford to waste.

  “Tell the crew we depart in less than an hour. If they’re not on the boat by the time we leave, then I’m turning them over to the Australian Navy.” Lance headed back over to the Port Authority’s office, where Danny was slumped in his chair, the skin underneath his eyes nearly drooping to the desk. “How much longer till New Zealand’s provisions arrive?”

  Danny looked up at Lance, either too tired to answer or in disbelief he was still in Sydney. Lance snapped his fingers and slammed his palm on the table. Danny shook his head, the sudden noise shocking his senses. “Should only be another day. We’ve sent a number of our ships there for repairs as well.”

  With New Zealand to their south and no known Chinese behind the territory, it gave the Aussies a chance to regroup, but that island was their last line of defense. They couldn’t afford to give up any more ground to the Chinese. “Your scouts are coming back with reports that Delun and his forces have permeated most of the islands in the north, with the Philippine port as their main base of command.” Lance grabbed one of the maps from the pile of papers near Danny and spread it out. “Once Delun regroups, he’s going to try and hammer you by bringing his forces from Perth in the west and surround you by land. You need to take every New Zealand soldier that arrives and meet Delun’s men before they reach Sydney. Priority one is getting rid of the threat at home. Then, we’ll worry about clearing out the islands.”

  “We?” Danny’s voice gave off a glint of hope and longing as he lifted his head and raised his eyebrow. “What about your brother? And the Russians?”

  “I’m hoping I can get back before the fighting begins, but I know Dean will have left someone in charge capable of handling preparations until I do. Once we turn the Russians back, we’ll focus on the Chinese. It’ll take some time, but by then you’ll have made some headway and we can concentrate our efforts.”

  “Christ.” Danny thumped his heavy arms on the table, a surge of energy returning to him. “How the hell did this happen?”

  “Brazil pulled the wool over our eyes. We gave them too much trust.” With the tantalizing trade agreements that Ruiz offered Jason and Danny, it was easy to not think twice. He knew Ruiz was shady but didn’t realize how much until now. Lance was betting that his youngest brother had relied more on his idealism than his wits. Jason’s empathetic nature had cost him this time.

  “You’re leaving today?” Danny asked.

  “Less than an hour. The engineers crack the Chinese code yet?” Despite the rousing speech Lance had mustered earlier, the fruits of that effort didn’t appear to be ripening. “It’d make our lives a lot easier if we knew their battle plans.”

  Danny let out a sigh and nearly broke the back of his chair as he leaned with all of his weight. “No. But the good news is the boys think they can recreate it.”

  “They can make us radios?” The prospect of having that type of tech would help give them an edge, but with radios came towers, wires—all materials they would normally have traded with Brazil. And Lance didn’t think Ruiz was in a bargaining mood at the moment.

  “They’ve already started reverse engineering a few models. Some of them don’t have a range worth shit, but it’s a start.”

  With the Chinese regrouping and half of the country still in disarray, Danny was going to have an uphill battle. Lance held out his hand, and Danny wrapped his big paw around it, the two firmly shaking hands. “We’re still in this fight.”

  Danny offered a smile and nodded, but the gesture felt hollow. They’d barely escaped the siege with their lives and half their men. If the Australian Navy had shown up a day later, they would have been invading a foreign country instead of saving what was left of their home. “I’ll keep you posted on the situation with the radio.”

  “Remember,” Lance said, stopping at the door, “ride out and meet Delun’s men before they have a chance to unite. They won�
�t expect you to be so bold after nearly losing the entire country.”

  By the time Lance made it back to the ship, Canice had rounded up the last of the crew. While all of them understood the dangers ahead, none of them had the slightest inkling to linger behind. Canice followed Lance up to the wheelhouse, the boilers already rumbling under the deck. “Everyone accounted for, Captain.”

  “No stragglers?” Lance pulled down the maps from the top of the cabin and started sifting through the large rolls of parchment.

  “Hardly anyone left the ship in the first place,” Canice answered. “Apparently their stay in Sydney wasn’t up to their standards.”

  “Well, the weather was a little off.”

  “Who knew it could rain lead?” Canice glanced down at the maps Lance studied, watching him trace his finger over the massive blue waters that would lead them home. “Are we taking the scenic route?”

  “The Chinese will most likely have gunner ships a few miles out past the Aussies’ ships.” Lance knew Delun was smart. “I’d like to avoid any more confrontations with the Chinese until I have a few more ships at my back. We’re stocked with enough provisions for any detours?”

  “Three weeks, per the norm.” Canice leaned back against the wall, folding her arms across her chest, watching him. “Hopefully it won’t take that long, though. Everyone could use a dosage of home.”

  “We’ll keep close to the old volcanic islands.” Lance pressed his fingers in the center of the Pacific Ocean, where a few dots of land sprinkled the map. “The Chinese have always been superstitious about any ‘dead’ islands.”

  “Lance.” Canice stepped forward, touching his arm so lightly that he almost didn’t feel it. Rarely did she use his name, and even rarer for her eyes to reveal such vulnerability. “If the Russians are already in Alaska—”

  “We’ll get back home in time, Canice. If the Russians are bringing an army with them, it will be slow going down the coast. We should arrive back in the northwest port a few days prior to their arrival.” Unless the Russians landed on the very southern coast of the fishing colonies, which he didn’t believe was the case, it was still nearly a two-and-a-half-week march before the Russians would see anything other than trees and rocks.