World War IV: A Broken Union

by James Hunt

  The apprehension in Canice’s eyes vanished as quickly as it appeared. Her body regained its posture, and she took a step back. “Aye, Captain. Casting off?”

  Lance nodded, and she was out the door, barking at the crew to stow the gear and prepare to depart. Lance kept the maps pressed down underneath his palms, shifting his weight on the table, the wood creaking lightly against his hands from the increased pressure.

  An uneasiness eradiated from his stomach. It churned like the gathering of storm clouds in the distance, foreboding. All alliances were forged to create a balance, the evening of strengths and weaknesses. The Chinese undoubtedly had a powerful naval force, capable of taking the Pacific. And the radio tech that they had offered a strategic advantage in coordination. But if the Chinese had their ships and the radios, then what would the Russians bring to war?

  Chapter 7

  A fly darted back and forth around Jason’s head, jerking left, right, up, and down. He snatched it out of the air with his left hand in one strike. He brought his fist in front of his face and slowly uncurled his fingers. The fly sat in the middle of his palm, uninjured, walked over the grooves of his skin, then flew off, heading out of the tent.

  “You should have killed it.” Chris kept his eyes shut, beads of sweat dotting his forehead and shoulders. His mouth barely moved when he spoke, and his voice sounded cracked and dry. “It’s just going to come back and bother you.”

  “Sounds like someone else I know.” Jason leaned forward and felt the heat radiating from Chris’s body. He’d had a fever for nearly three days straight now, and the wound on his stomach only worsened. The nurses and doctors had done all they could with their limited knowledge and resources. If Chris didn’t get more advanced help soon, then he was going to die. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got shot and have been roasting in an oven.” Chris rolled his head to the side on the bed of grass and leaves. “I think I’m a little overcooked.”

  Jason dipped a cloth into a bucket and placed the wet fabric on Chris’s forehead. The water was nearly as warm as Chris was, but it was all they had. “You’re not done yet.”

  Chris closed his eyes and drifted back into whatever delirious fever dream awaited him. Jason tucked the water bucket close to Chris’s head in case he awoke with a thirst, then left his wounded bodyguard to rest. While others who were sick and wounded were lumped together in the same tent, Jason had managed to acquire Chris some privacy.

  Outside, the rebel camp was in its constant state of preparation. Weapons always in hand, guards always on patrol, provisions always moving in and out. For the week Jason had been their “guest” he hadn’t seen anything stop for a second. Weapons were forged, food was gathered, and clothes were sewn, all done by the nimble fingers of those that weren’t out fighting. He stopped to watch an old woman weaving a needle through a pair of pants, her fingers calloused, tanned, and pruned from age. But while her hands were aged, they maneuvered the thread and needle effortlessly.

  “If you’d like to help, we can arrange for some rags and thread to be sent to your tent.” Gabriela stood with her hip cocked to the side, a rifle strung over her back, and a machete in her left hand, the wide blade flat against the side of her pants.

  “I need to speak to you about Chris.” Jason moved close, and the guards that escorted their general took an aggressive step forward that Gabriela waved off. “He needs to see a doctor. An actual doctor. I know Rio has some of the best. If I could just—”

  “Just bring him into the city?” Gabriela laughed. “You two are just as wanted as I am by Ruiz. Or perhaps you haven’t seen the posters?” She pulled a parchment from her pocket, and the wrinkled paper showed a crude drawing of both Jason and Chris.

  “Chris will be glad to see we fetched the same price.” Jason took the wanted poster from Gabriela and noticed that the price was dead or alive, but he received little solace in the fact that the poster added “preferably” before the word alive.

  When Jason tried to return the paper, Gabriela put her hand up. “Keep it. It could be a good souvenir if you ever make it back home. Something to tell your constituents in the next election.” She brushed past him, banging her shoulder into his arm harder than necessary.

  Jason followed, dipping past the two escorts on either side of her. “I understand your frustration with Ruiz, and I can also understand your hesitation with me offering help after trying to strike a trade agreement with the very man you’re trying to overthrow, but I need something from you.” He stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop.

  Gabriela shoved Jason hard in the chest, sending him a few steps backwards. “And what gives you the authority to ask anything from me?”

  The games and neglect had worn Jason’s thick patience thin, and the hostile steps he took forward triggered the escorts next to Gabriela to draw their swords. She raised her hand to stop them, but Jason didn’t let up. “My friend is dying, and you’re preventing me from trying to get him help. Now, my brother is coming, and he is bringing the force of our southeastern navy with him, and when he gets here, regardless of whether I’m dead or alive, he’s going to bring Ruiz down. And if you want him to help stabilize your country before he leaves, then I suggest you get my friend to a fucking doctor!” The heat and anger had flushed Jason’s face crimson.

  Gabriela remained stoic. Jason would have guessed that there was just as much likelihood that she would kill him as there was that she would help him. Although he preferred the latter. “Your ship.”

  Jason scrunched his face in confusion. “One ship won’t be enough to help you take out Ruiz’s navy. I told you my brot—”

  “I don’t want the ship; I want what’s on the ship,” Gabriela cut in. “There are provisions you brought with you that could be very helpful to our cause. You’ve seen what we have to work with. Whatever materials you brought to barter would go a long way with us. And my scouts tell me Ruiz has yet to move your ship from port. You get me those supplies, and I can give you the name and location of a doctor that can help your friend.”

  “And how am I supposed to sneak all of those provisions out of the docks, past the guards watching them, and back to your camp?”

  “I always hoped you were smarter than you looked.” Gabriela smiled. “Now here’s a chance to prove that theory right.” She patted him on the shoulder and marched off.

  Jason still found it hard to believe the passionate woman he’d shared a bed with had turned into the hardened general charged with leading a rebellion. But the two personas shared one thing in common: they were both stubborn. With the terms and conditions set, he knew she wouldn’t budge. It was either bring her the supplies from the ship, or Chris would die.

  The guard Gabriela had stationed with Jason to keep an eye on him stood just a few feet away. Jason had grown used to the man’s presence in the time he’d been in camp and sometimes forgot the sentry was even there. He looked back to the stony, quiet soldier who seemed to have his hands on his rifle at all times. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas.” But the man simply shifted his weight from his right side to his left, offering nothing more than a hock of spit on the ground.

  Jason made his way back to his tent, the entire way looking around for anything that would be capable of hauling the provisions from the ship back to the camp. But there just wasn’t anything large enough to make the trip, and even if there was, he had no way of being able to hide it. He ducked inside his tent to allow himself some privacy and squatted on his bed of grass and leaves. Think. But the harder Jason concentrated, the more walls were put up. The only people that would be able to get close to the ship were Ruiz’s own men.

  Jason tilted his head to the side at the thought then jumped up and sprinted out of his tent. He passed his guard in a quick blur and scoured the camp to look for Gabriela. He found her helping unload a wagon full of grains and corn. “I need thirty men that can sail.”

  Gabriela let the heavy bag thud against the ground and wiped the sw
eat from her brow. “And, just out of curiosity, what would you be doing with thirty of my men?”

  “There is no way for me to sneak aboard that ship and bring you back the provisions without being seen, but instead of bringing the provisions to you, I’ll bring you to the provisions.”

  Gabriela removed herself from the line unloading the sacks and clapped the dust and flour from her hands. “I’m listening.”

  “There’s a cove, just south of Rio. I’ve been there myself. It’s secluded, with the exception of a few fishermen hovels. If I can get the ship there, you and your men will have all the time they need to bring the provisions back here. Free from Ruiz’s prying eyes. ”

  “And how do you plan on sailing the ship past the Brazilian Navy stationed in port?”

  “All I need to do is get my hands on an officer’s uniform.”

  Gabriela eyed him skeptically. “You’re just going to march my men right past the guards and take the ship in front of them?”

  “Yes.”

  Gabriela chuckled then looked to her men, who slowly joined in. “Do you take me for a fool, Governor?” She wiped the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “If you put my men out in the open, they’ll be slaughtered on sight.”

  “Not if they’re my prisoners.” The laughing stopped, and Gabriella remained quiet. Her interest piqued. Jason continued. “All I have to do is get them aboard the ship and take one of the officers on guard as hostage. There won’t be more than a handful, and with the numbers, we’ll easily overpower them. We do it on the ship, out of sight, use the hostage officer to get us through the port checkpoint, then sail south.”

  “Done.” Gabriela extended her hand, and they shook on it. “But my men stay out of sight until you need them. I won’t have them firing off any shots that could get them killed.”

  Once Jason had gathered the necessary supplies, he followed the line of sailors through the jungle back to Rio. With no idea of where he was, he was forced to rely on the guides, who used no common paths on their hike, most likely to stay out of the way of any of Ruiz’s patrolmen. The jungle grew so thick at points, the large group was forced to stop and wait for the machetes to clear a path.

  It was nearly nightfall by the time they arrived on the outskirts of Rio. From atop the hill where they camped, Jason watched the candlelights flicker in the windows of the small huts that sprawled throughout the city. There were enough lights on the ground to rival the stars above.

  The leader of the unit Gabriela had sent with him instructed Jason that they would wait here for him to return. Jason was surprised that he wouldn’t have an escort into the city, but with Chris near death, and the bounty on his head, Gabriela most likely thought there was enough incentive for him to hold his part of the bargain.

  The walk down to the city was fairly easy compared to the previous terrain. Once in the streets, Jason pulled his hat low over his brow and flipped the collar of his jacket up. He kept his eyes peeled, but with the day finished, most people had turned in, enjoying their dinners and time with family.

  Jason kept to the city’s outskirts, knowing that Ruiz would have men patrolling. More than once he found clusters of guards leisurely parading through the streets. Jason examined the officer markings on each of their uniforms as they passed by. He couldn’t afford to steal anything less than a captain’s rank. Commander would be the most preferable.

  Finally, with the midnight hour approaching and the lights in the surrounding homes diminishing one by one, Jason saw two soldiers leaving a tavern. They stumbled out, still in their uniforms, holding each other up, slurring their words, and swaying back and forth in the street.

  Jason followed, keeping enough distance behind them to not look suspicious, waiting for a few stragglers on the road to finally leave. Once they were gone, he quickened his pace, coming up behind the two of them as they passed an alleyway.

  Jason wrapped his arms around the neck of the guard on the left then flung him into his partner, and the two rolled across the dirt alley. Jason looked around to be sure he hadn’t been seen then brought the tip of his boot across one of the men’s chin, knocking him unconscious.

  The second soldier drew his sword and slashed at the air while still getting up from his knees, but Jason tackled the drunkard to the ground before he had a chance to swing again. He wrenched the blade free and sliced the man’s neck with his own sword, silencing him before he could call for help.

  The first soldier stirred awake as his colleague choked on his last few breaths of life, and Jason snapped the officer’s neck. Jason stumbled backward and hunched over, catching his breath. He poked his head out of the alleyway to ensure he was not heard then dragged the bodies next to a pile of crates.

  Jason checked the ranks on each of them and cursed under his breath that the commander uniform had been the one now covered in blood. The second soldier was a lieutenant. With the taverns nearly empty, he didn’t have time to try and look for another uniform. He stripped the lieutenant down then stacked a few of the crates to block their corpses from the street. If he was lucky, they wouldn’t be found until someone started to smell them roasting in the afternoon sun, and by then he’d be long gone.

  Jason hurried back up the hill, clutching the stolen uniform close to his chest as he made his way into camp, where he was greeted by a sentry who soundlessly snuck up on him. They had a few hours before daylight, and he needed to get everyone up to speed.

  Men groaned, cursed, and grunted with each stirring, one of them leaving a gash in Jason’s shirt from the quick swipe of a dirk that he narrowly avoided. With everyone begrudgingly awake, he walked them through his plan. “You say nothing. No matter what happens. We’ll have to move fast, and it’s imperative you do not kill anyone. The moment a body drops, we’re all dead.”

  The unit’s leader chimed in, his voice gruff and irritated, “And what happens if you’re caught? Your face is all over the city.”

  “A poorly drawn version of my face, yes.” Jason tossed the uniform he’d stolen in the middle of the circle of rebels. While the docks would be teeming with soldiers, he was hoping the officer’s clothes would offer him some anonymity, and the passing time had given him enough beard to cover most of his face, adding to the guise.

  Once everyone understood their roles once aboard the ship, most of the group settled back down onto their makeshift beds and caught a few more hours of sleep before dawn.

  While eyes closed around him, Jason sat awake, watching Rio from atop the hill under the night sky. From here he could see the ship at the docks, floating silently in the water. He rubbed the dirty fabric of the uniform between his fingers, the coarse wool scratching his skin. His body felt tired, but his mind was alive with thought. He’d spent most nights awake like this, wondering what tortures befell his crew after he was taken.

  It was always such a ludicrous idea to Jason that men would willingly lay down their lives for him. He actually found it a relief that the thirty rebels sleeping behind him cared little of his fate tomorrow. While the Mars name carried with it legend, he was merely a shell of the persona that had spread across the world.

  When he was a boy, he fed off of the stories other people would tell him about his father, uncles, and brothers. And while he never underestimated their prowess in the field of battle, he learned quickly that his family was not immortal. It was a sobering truth as he grew older, understanding what it took for the Mars name to be etched in blood and lead.

  Jason had spilled his share of legend onto the Mars coat of arms, and with it a piece of his soul. Everything he did, he justified in the name of protecting his family, his people. The leaders of the enemies he faced were vile men, driven by violence. But he’d seen enough of the soldiers they commanded to know that they were just men following orders. And in the last moment of their lives, he saw who they were. Farmers, blacksmiths, merchants, husbands, brothers, fathers, each of them with their own family and friends and life beyond the battlefield. But in war there
were no half measures. You killed, or you died.

  The rebels behind him stirred with the rising sun, and Jason dressed himself in the officer’s uniform, which stank of beer and death. The group broke camp quickly, Jason wanting to get to the docks early to miss as much of the crowds as possible. Just before they entered the city limits, Jason helped put the shackles on their arms, making sure they were closed but not locked.

  With Jason keeping to the side, they shuffled through the streets toward the docks. A few early risers saw the spectacle, gawking at the rebels parading through Rio. And each time rocks, dirt, or spit came hurtling toward them, Jason thought their cover would be blown. But to the rebels’ credit, none of them said a word. They only offered an expression that hinted at murder, which played well into their persona as prisoners against their will.

  Jason lined them up single file once they made it to the docks, and marched them down to the ship, where Jason was greeted by a half dozen guards. Jason barked for the rebels to slow, even smacking his palm against the back of a few of their heads, doing his best to sell it.

  “What is this scum?” The officer on duty stepped forward, a sergeant with flabby cheeks and a harelip, paired horrifically with a row of crooked teeth. His smell was just as offensive as his speech. “No prisoners are supposed to be moved down here today.”

  “The general wanted the ship cleaned, and these are the rats that will be scurrying about to get the job done.” Jason grabbed the back of the unit’s leader and screamed into his ear, “Isn’t that right?” Then he shoved his head down.

  The sergeant motioned the soldiers around him up, eyeing Jason carefully. “And if you don’t mind me saying, Lieutenant, who the fuck are you?” His chubby fingers slowly grazed the hilt of his sword, just as the others walked up to him.