by James Hunt
“You know about our agreement with the wasteland clans. We cannot undermine them by sending supplies to their enemy.” If that peace was jeopardized, then so was the railway that would connect the northwest and southeast and begin the process of uniting everyone under a common cause.
“The southern coast tribes are in no condition to war. And they’ve never been the aggressors against the wasteland clans. They sent an emissary while you were gone asking for help, so I offered them what I could.” Kemena arranged the tools to her liking then finally looked up at her husband. “I know the rules of your agreement, but we must think farther than just finishing the rail. If we want everyone to join us, then we have to give them a reason to trust us.”
Dean took a few more aggressive steps forward. “And giving away our supplies that our people need is a way for us to gain that trust? Kemena, we cannot risk so much in a time like this. We are in no position to start lending aid when we’re just now starting to take care of our own!”
Kemena slammed her fist on the operating table, and her anger surprised him. “You don’t think I know what it could cost us? You don’t think I know the cost of war? How many soldiers have I stitched up? How many deaths have I called in fields stained with blood? You know I have just as much right to make these decisions as you.” Strands of her auburn hair had come loose from the tight bun at the back of her head, her cheeks reddened with frustration, and she shook her head, her next words softer. “When Lance returns, we’ll have all we need to trade to replace the medical supplies I sent south. And it will buy us good will with the southern tribal leaders.”
Always one step ahead. It was in these moments when he remembered how much he loved her. The hard days of riding had left him irritable and frustrated, waiting for the answers to his questions. In all truth, Dean wanted nothing more than to take her right now. “Wise counsel.”
Kemena managed a smile. “I’ve learned from the best.”
Dean helped his men carry the prisoner into the operating room, where Kemena started her examination. He watched her for a moment through the glass, her deft hands running over the man’s body with ease. The concentration on her face, the way she commanded the room. This was her war, and she was the best general on the field. He left Kemena to her work and stepped outside.
The sun was still high, with plenty of time for work in the day, but the energy had been sapped from Dean’s body. Exhaustion washed over him, but he chose to go and check on the boys. He knew they would be curious to hear of what happened, and of all the people in the city, they deserved to hear the news from him firsthand.
“Governor Mars.” The voice that called after him seemed to shiver with cold even in the afternoon heat. When Dean turned around, he saw the historian he sent for, a teacher at the local school. “I received your message.”
“Professor Hawthorne.” Dean had always enjoyed the old man’s counsel. The professor had spent his life collecting books, reading, and taking into account their own history as it passed.
“I’ve looked into those symbols your nephews described, and I know where they’ve come from.”
Dean perked up. “Show me.”
Hawthorne pulled an old book from his bag and flipped to the page already marked. “It’s actually a combination of two symbols.” His wrinkled, liver-spotted hand circled the sickle on the first page. “This was the flag of the Soviet Union during their communist rule.”
Dean remembered some of the teachings during school, but the majority of his learning had been war. The shadows of battle had never really left his father, and he wanted to make sure his boys knew how to fight.
“And this,” the professor said, turning the pages, “was the flag of the Chinese Republic before the third world war.”
The same half circle of stars that he’d seen on the man’s arm, and the same one that Kit had described, was there in front of him. “An alliance.”
“Precisely.” The professor quickly dumped the book back into his sack and pulled out a notebook. “These are records of some of the generals of the third world war. In it, they reference an enemy with an alliance of regions in the east. China and Russia.”
Dean took a step backward, trying to gather his thoughts. If the same alliance was happening now, then could there be another war like the one his father had described? His mind drifted to the wastelands and the devastated southern Pacific Coast, and the crumbled cities of the northeast. All of it gone within minutes, along with billions of lives. He wasn’t sure if they would survive something like that again. And if the Russians were looking for a place to advance, then the Alaskan colonies could be in jeopardy.
Chapter 5
The moment Jason’s ship made port, he jumped from the deck, landing on his two feet, and nearly kissed the ground in gratitude. While his brother Lance had lived for the sea, Jason had nearly lost his body weight in vomit on the trip down. The weather didn’t help either, with the two storms they had to battle through during the journey. But the port of Rio de Janeiro was worth the trip. The docks were alive with people, food, and music. It was an endless chatter of different dialects and faces. The Brazilian port was the busiest in the world.
While the wars of Jason’s grandfather had decimated much of his country, Asia, and Europe, the South American countries remained fairly untouched, save the millions of surviving refugees that flocked south to avoid the fallout. The resulting migration had made Rio de Janeiro the unofficial capital of the South American continent, and consequently the Brazilian president one of the most powerful and wealthiest men in the world.
Jason’s escorts flanked him on either side. His brother refused to let him leave his region without armed escorts. Even after warring, and the fact that he was the southeastern regional governor, he still felt Dean treated him like a child.
Robert, the man to Jason’s left, was a giant. He stood a foot above the crowd and drew more attention to himself than someone guarding a governor should in the first place. His arms were the size of oak trees, and his legs were redwoods. If the size wouldn’t deter an enemy from attacking, then Robert’s double-ended axe would. Jason had once seen him slice three men in half with one swing.
The escort to Jason’s right was around his size and build but faster. Jason had spent the better part of the trip trying to outdraw Chris during duels but never came close to beating him. “I don’t suppose you’ll forgive your governor the debts I amassed on our trip down?”
“I would have to sadly decline the governor’s request and promptly tell him that he can kiss my ass.” Chris smiled a toothy grin that seemed to spread from ear to ear.
“You know I could have you thrown into jail for that comment.” Jason lifted his chin a little higher in the air as they passed a group of tanned, lazily dressed women. “I am the southeast regional governor, after all.”
The girls giggled as they walked by, but Chris was quick with a retort. “You know what they say—the bigger the office, the smaller the trouser size.” The words threw the women into raucous laughter, and Jason gave Chris a shove. “Don’t worry, Governor. If you’re nice, I’ll buy you one of those toothless girls with the winnings I took from you.”
The crowds thickened the closer they moved to the president’s palace. Jason had always used the term “president” loosely when it came to Sebastian Ruiz. While the Brazilians held elections, they only happened once every ten years, and President Ruiz just so happened to be starting his third term. While President Ruiz never gave any clout to the allegations of corruption and winning the presidency through deceitful tactics, the faces of the common folks he passed seemed to carry a different story.
The streets were flooded with poverty and more beggars than Jason had ever seen. But such was the price for life in the bustling city. He imagined it was harder to hunt and forage in the concrete than the wild.
Jason and his escorts were greeted kindly at the palace gates, and the immaculate landscaping of grass and plants, along with the lavish pools and fountains, off
ered a very different picture than the one painted in the commonwealth.
The three of them were taken inside, where Jason tracked mud on the marbled floors, as did Chris and Robert. Chris leaned into Jason’s ear and whispered, “I don’t suppose His Majesty would miss any of these fine gold statues?”
Truth be told, Ruiz probably wouldn’t, but with the stakes of the negotiations as high as they were, even Jason knew it was best not to jest with the president under such circumstances. “I’d keep your hands to yourself. Wouldn’t want to give His Excellency any reason to take them.”
The guard that escorted him stopped at the door and requested that both Jason’s shoes and his companions stay behind. The doors were almost closed when Chris called out, “If anything happens, just scream. That should give us enough time to get to the ship.”
The doors slammed shut, and President Ruiz rose from the table, seemingly ignoring the comments made. “Governor, it’s good of you to join us.”
“Mr. President, I appreciate the time.” Jason extended his hand, and his own skin felt rough and raw compared to the tender flesh of Ruiz’s palm. He looked over to the table, taking notice of a few faces he didn’t recognize. “I was under the impression that we were meeting alone.”
Ruiz slapped Jason on the back and pushed him forward to the table. “I have quite a few trade negotiations on the table this week, so I thought it would be more efficient to knock them out at the same time.”
More like intimidating the odds of the agreement to your favor. “More time to focus on the welfare of your people, Mr. President?” Jason delivered the words with a bite that the rest of the table seemed to notice as they shifted uncomfortably, and Ruiz took his seat slowly.
“I suppose we should get started.” Ruiz’s expression morphed from an endearing politician to that of a stern mob boss. Ruiz knew the control he had over the trade negotiations with many of the territories. He held all the cards, and he wasn’t afraid to wield that power to enhance his country’s growing prowess. “Ambassador Fung, I understand that you’re looking to export more pig bellies.”
Fung was thin, to the point where it looked like his health was fading, but his tanned skin and thick head of black hair painted the picture of youth. “Our production has quadrupled over the past five years, and with Australia’s stranglehold on the beef trade, we’re looking to carve our own niche in the market.”
“Pig bellies can fetch a fine price,” Jason said. “Quadrupling your output is quite the accomplishment. Why the sudden increase in production? Building capital for something?”
“The trade restrictions and war taxes leveled against my people have strained our nation’s recovery,” Fung answered, keeping his cool. “Or does the governor need another lesson in history?”
Jason and his brothers, along with the Australian leaders, saw the treaty after the Island Wars as a means of peace; the Chinese saw it as a means of oppression. “I don’t. But you might.” Jason rose from his chair, and Ruiz rose with him. “I think it’s best if you and I continue our talks in private, during your convenience, Mr. President.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Ruiz said then instructed his guards to take both Jason and his men to their quarters. They would be guests tonight in Ruiz’s palace and given whatever their hearts desired.
“He said that?” Chris asked once they were out of earshot of Ruiz’s guards. “Anything our hearts desired? Because I happened to see quite a few beautiful women walking around that I wouldn’t mind spending the night with.”
“Touch nothing Ruiz gives you,” Jason said. “The Chinese were in the room during the negotiations. Something doesn’t feel right. The ambassador is looking to increase their market share on livestock, and everyone in that room knows what meat is selling for these days, any kind of it. Fung is looking to make money, but for what, I don’t know. If the Chinese are making a move, then our best bet is to stay on the ship. We’ll keep guards on watch, and the crew always stays in twos.”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “That’ll make it awkward during the trips in the brothel.”
***
The air had a chill to it, even in the summer, but the view of the shoreline and land from the boat made the cold worth the trip. Mountains stretched into the sky, preceded by open fields and the magnificent blue-and-white glaciers that shimmered in the sunlight.
Dean rubbed his gloved hands together, the stitches in the palm starting to separate, letting some of the cool air inside. He watched the ship pull into dock, maneuvering around the chunks of ice that floated in the bay year round. In just a few short months, the entire port would be inaccessible. While Dean’s men started the unloading of the provisions, he took a moment to savor the sight.
The harbormaster worked the port alone, seeing as the only ones who used it frequently were the dozen fishermen brave enough to chance the waters and the rough environment that was the Alaskan wilderness. What the terrain held in beauty, it delivered in brutality twice as hard. It wasn’t an easy life for the men and women who chose to live up here, but the fisheries were vital not just to their trade with the clans in the wastelands, but also to their future partnership with Australia and Brazil.
“Governor, it’s good to see you again, sir.” Thomas’s belly almost poked out from under the front of his shirt. The man’s girth was as wide as his mouth, from which he never had a shortage of words to bend your ear. “I wish you had sent word. We would have brought out the fine china.” He slapped Dean on the back so hard it nearly knocked him over, and his gut jiggled when he laughed.
“I’m sure the regular silverware will be just fine.” Dean rotated his shoulder where Tom had smacked him, and the two started the walk to his log cabin just off the shore. “When was the last check-in you had with the fisheries up the coast?”
Tom rubbed the flabby flesh under his neck and tried to catch his breath as they continued their walk. “I believe we had a correspondence from them last week. Usually comes every Thursday. We should be getting this week’s letter any day now. Nate Stone’s boy usually comes down with any news and an empty basket to restock on any supplies they might need.”
If the Russians had horses, then a week would have given them plenty of time to march down through the wilderness and into his region. “I’ll need to go up and see them immediately. Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
“Of course.” Tom stopped at the door, blocking Dean from entering. “Is there something going on, Governor?”
“I just want to make sure everything’s in order for the new trade agreements my brothers are setting up. Our seafood here will play an important role in that.” Dean smiled but then watched Tom’s eyes hover to the unit of soldiers Dean had brought with him.
“Right,” Tom said, stepping inside.
It took Dean’s men less than an hour to prepare for the trip north. They would have sailed, but the waters were too dangerous for a captain that didn’t know the area, and he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.
It was a full day’s ride, and Dean and his forty men saw the outskirts of the village just before sunset. But the closer they moved to the village, the more Dean realized something was wrong. The nets around the fishing nurseries had been destroyed, and what cabins the villagers had managed to construct had their doors kicked in and their belongings flung outside.
Dean reached for the rifle in his satchel and quickly dismounted the horse, his men following his lead without a single word. They spread out in six-man teams, scouring the small structures, but each unit of men that searched the houses found nothing.
They couldn’t have just vanished into thin air. For a moment, Dean let himself believe that they were all out on their ships or went out into the forests to search for food or timber. A storm could have done this, but when one of Dean’s lieutenants shouted from the back, he could hear it in the man’s voice that his hopes were off track.
“I found them, sir.” The lieutenant scrunched his face in an eff
ort to keep his lunch from coming up but ultimately lost the battle as it spilled onto the frosty earth.
The bodies in the pile were mangled and charred, stacked on top of one another carelessly. The wind had blown the stench of the bodies north, which prevented Dean and his men from smelling the carnage on their travels from the south. Tracks of hooves and boots headed southwest into the woods. Dean pressed his fingers into the imprinted snow; they weren’t older than a day. “Lieutenant!”
“Yes, Governor.” The man had wiped his mouth and stumbled back over, doing his best to avoid having to look at the bodies once more.
“I want the dead buried. Identify them if you can and take a unit of six men back to the harbormaster to tell him what’s happened, then I want you to scout farther north to check on the remaining fisheries.” Dean rose, his eyes scanning the tree line in the distance. “It was a small party, no more than twenty men, most likely to scout for a good position to set up a forward operating base.”
The more Dean thought about it, the more he believed that it truly was the Russians, and the longer that thought lingered, the more he worried about his wife back home and his brothers abroad. If this was war, he’d need all of them safe back home.
Chapter 6
The combined strength of Lance’s men and the Australians arrived at Sydney’s port lighter than they’d left. Only one of Danny’s ships had survived the retreat with half of the crew members on board alive. Even the Sani limped into port after the wrath of the Chinese fleet. It’d been a while since she’d seen any warring, and the seas refused to cooperate on the return trip, as they usually did in such moments of danger.
Lance had studied the maps he’d stolen from the Chinese camp the entire trip back, but something didn’t make sense. After the Island Wars, the sanctions landed against the Chinese required the destruction of their fleet, along with most of their armory. But with the number of ships that the map suggested, and the number of places where they’d kept them hidden, it didn’t match up.
