by James Hunt
War had been a constant in Dean’s life for as long as he could remember. His older brothers and father had fought the Chinese and then were thrust into the clan wars at home, with the different tribes squabbling for power and control. Most of them were easy enough to put down, but a few of them were more vicious than any stories that his father had told him about his time in Asia. The clans skinned men alive, tortured them for their own power and pleasure. And while he would ride under the banner of peace, that wouldn’t stop him from bringing a large unit of soldiers with him.
***
The hammer of spikes rumbled the earth for miles. Hundreds of men and women worked along lines of broken railway, scraping what they could still use and burning whatever they couldn’t.
The sledgehammer hit the dirt with a thud as Jason released it from his grip. He pulled the gloves from his hands and rubbed his palms. The soft flesh at the base of his palm had been replaced with hard calluses. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and made his way to the water bucket.
Jason Mars was the youngest brother in the Mars family. Even as a man, the expression of youth was still fresh on his face. His body was muscular, lean. Luckily for him, he’d always been strong enough to fend off the teasing of his older brothers, at least once he hit puberty. He kept his hair long but his face clean shaven. The heat in the southeast was too unbearable in the summer to keep his beard. Once the winter came through the mountains, however, it would be a different story.
The rhythmic clank of hammers on metal spikes was only interrupted by the calls from down the line by the supervisors, where Jason’s absence was noted. All the supervisors spoke of were plans and money. The conversation with the line workers was much more interesting.
“You gettin’ tired, Governor?” Billy asked, smacking another spike into place then moving on to the next. “I thought you’d be done by now considering your big trip.” Sweat rolled down the tip of Billy’s nose as he swung the hammer high over his head and shattered the earth upon impact.
“Well, you looked like you needed the help.” Jason took a swig of water and then dumped the rest over the top of his head. He closed his eyes and let the water roll down his face and back, cooling his skin.
“I guess that’s why I’ve gotten twice as many rails in that you’ve got today?” Billy asked, already moving on to another.
“Hey, it’s not my fault your father was an ox. I’m still trying to figure out how your mother handled that. I’m sure it was a struggle.” Jason ducked before the old piece of iron nearly took his head off.
Billy grinned. “You prick.”
“Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.” Jason wiped his face with the cleanest part of his shirt he could find and started his way down the line. He made sure to spend time with the workers as often as he could.
Dust flew up from the side of the railways in the west, and Jason squinted in the afternoon sun to get a better look. As the rider moved closer he saw the courier’s patch on his arm and wondered what type of setback had hindered their operations now. It was bad enough that they were already behind schedule due to the late winter this past year, but the fact that they lacked the proper resources to do their job was even more frustrating.
Most of the railway they’d found was either destroyed or deteriorated past the point of usefulness. They’d melted down what they could, but after cycling out all of the impurities, they were always left with less than half of what they started with. If he couldn’t deliver on the ore they needed during his trip down to Brazil, then the treaty with the clans would be for naught.
“Governor Mars.” The rider sounded winded as he dismounted his horse, even though the creature had done all of the work.
“You don’t have to call me that.” The rider gave an uncomfortable nod then extended the letter. It had Dean’s seal. He had to reread it three times before it finally sunk in. “My nephews?” The letter had no mention of Kit or Sam.
“They are alive, Governor. Staying at your brother’s house while he attends to the clans.”
Jason pinched the paper lazily between his fingertips, and twice the wind almost whipped it out of his hand. It’d been almost a year without any incident with the clans. It wouldn’t make sense for them to go back on the treaty, not with the agreement in place once the railway was finished connecting the southeast and northwest. They’d grow rich off the taxes alone. “Was there anything else?”
The rider nodded then handed him a sketch. A sickle was surrounded on one side by a half circle of stars. The drawing was crude, and Jason didn’t recognize the symbol.
“That was a patch the riders that attacked your brother wore, sir.”
“This isn’t the sigil for any clans in the wastelands.” Jason took a moment, examining it one last time before handing it back to the courier. “Have they found who it belongs to?”
“Your brother sent word for the historian, but it will be some time before he arrives.” The courier pulled some ink and paper from his satchel. “Do you have a return message?”
“Tell my brother I will keep my trip down to the South Americas as scheduled. Give him my regrets that I won’t be able to attend the funeral. He knows what’s at stake. He’ll understand.” And so would Fred. There wasn’t any other man besides their father that held duty and honor higher than his eldest brother did. Though, still, a pain of guilt shot through him as the words left him.
“Yes, Governor.” The rider mounted his horse and took off. Jason crumpled the paper in his hands as he walked back down the line of workers. He picked up one of the hammers along the way and slid back into work. He lifted the hammer high into the air then slammed it down onto the spike. One blow was all it took. He moved on to the next, extending even higher and bringing the face of the hammer crashing into the iron. His muscles burned with each hit, accompanied by a grunt mixed with pain and anger. The other crew members working on the line let him be, with nothing more than a few stares cast in his direction.
Jason pounded away on the railroad tracks long after the sun had gone down and long after the other workers had turned in. He called for lamps and carried the flames down the line as he drove the spikes into the dirt. The lonely clang of iron rung through the empty plains around him.
After hours of work, Jason felt the grip on the wooden handle loosen, and as he brought the head of the hammer down, it slipped from his hands and crashed to the dirt. The muscles in his legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees. His breath was labored, and he felt the tremors in his arms and shoulders.
Another light shone from behind him, and when Jason turned around, he saw an extended hand with a cup of water. He took the cup from Billy and downed it in one gulp.
“When I thought you’d try to outwork me, I didn’t think you’d be out here this late,” Billy said.
“Couldn’t let you make me look bad, now could I?” Jason offered a half grin and pushed himself up from the dirt. He wiped the clumps of earth off his pants. His legs still wobbled, but he was strong enough to stand on his own.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Billy said.
“Out of the four of us, all he wanted was something normal. He wanted to wake up, farm his land, and never pick up a gun or sword again.” Jason shook his head. “It shouldn’t have been him that died.”
“Governor Dean will find out who was behind it.”
Jason nodded. He didn’t doubt his brother’s ability, but the fact that he wouldn’t be here to help track down the man who killed his own blood wouldn’t make the trip down to Brazil an easy one. If he could send someone else in his place, he would, but the South American president was very particular about the relationships he formed, and Jason had spent the past year convincing him that his country was ready to expand their lines of trade. “I don’t suppose any dinner’s left from the food house?”
“I think Art still has some slop left.” Billy clapped Jason on the back, and the two walked down the rail line. Jason took a moment to apprecia
te what they’d been able to accomplish and what was still to come. He just wished that Fred would be here to see it.
Chapter 3
Northern Africa offered heat and flies in surplus, but that was not why Rodion had made the journey. Sweat clung his shirt to his body, his shoulders and arms bulging from the attire. He was a barrel of a man from head to toe, and the thick black beard that covered his cheeks and chin complemented the permanent scowl etched on his face.
The dry, sandy air filled his lungs uncomfortably with the stench of the people and the animals around him. His bones ached for home, but he wouldn’t be granted that wish until business was done here.
A fly circled around Rodion’s face. The wings fluttered faster than the blink of an eye. Just before the fly disappeared, Rodion snatched it from the air with his fist. He opened his hand, and it sat there, unharmed, scurrying about the grooves of his palm, then just before it took off he smashed it with his thumb.
In the distance, crude structures rose from the desert between hills, and men crawled along the roving sands like ants. When Rodion’s caravan of soldiers finally arrived at the mine, three ebony-skinned guards escorted them to their sultan’s quarters.
Inside, workers pushed hundreds of carts of rocks to long conveyer belts that crushed the chunks of stone into smaller bits of dust and rock. A group of gangly men struggled tirelessly, cranking a wheel to churn the massive belts and pulleys to keep production moving. All of the broken-down materials were collected and stored into bins that were sent to furnaces to be melted down to collect the precious ores and minerals that were unearthed.
“My friends.” Tobaygu opened his arms in greeting and flashed a pearly-white smile that looked friendlier than intended. It was a greeting Rodion didn’t return in kind. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable for you outside?”
“The flies are worse than the heat, Tobaygu, but I didn’t come to relieve you of those things,” Rodion answered.
“Everything is always up for sale, my friends.” Tobaygu gave a hearty laugh and slapped Rodion on the back, and his motions caused the gold and silver around his neck to jingle against one another. Tobaygu and his tribe were known well for displaying their wealth.
“I can see.” Rodion gently picked at the gold around Tobaygu’s neck, and Tobaygu grinned. “But I did not come here for gold and silver either.”
“No, my friend, you did not. Come, please.” Tobaygu surrounded himself with an armed escort at all times, and while Rodion’s men carried weapons as well, they were not for his protection. The only protection Rodion needed was the rifle on his back and the sword at his hip.
Tobaygu’s clan had grown from nothing more than a small village, to a growing town in the middle of nowhere, to the epicenter of trade in northern Africa. The mines Tobaygu had found as a boy didn’t mean anything until he learned to harvest them, but when he did, he transformed not just his world, but the world of everyone he knew, including Rodion.
The first time they met was a chance encounter, and Rodion almost killed him, but when Tobaygu pledged to offer aid to Rodion when he called up on it, he promised that he would make Rodion rich. At the time, he had no need for wealth, at least not in gold, but he chose to let the boy live. His father had always told him that a man who owed you his life was more apt to give you what you wanted in the future. And now the time had come for Rodion to collect his payment.
“Production doesn’t stop,” Tobaygu stated proudly. “We substitute workers in at night. We’ve opened three new shafts this past year, and I hope to have another one before the winter. Dry season makes it easier to dig, although the workers tend to get thirsty quicker.”
“What about transportation?” Rodion asked, watching the dirt-covered workers toil down in the pits of rocks and jagged earth. “The ore does me no good here in the pit.”
“We’ve agreed to a trade route with the remaining Saudi families in the north.”
Rodion scoffed. “They can barely feed their own people. How do you expect them to have the strength to build the infrastructure we need? Taking ships around to the dead coast would be quicker.”
“But more dangerous for the cargo and the cargo’s travelers. The wastelands there are still fresh, my friend. A problem you still face in your own country, I would expect. Or else why would you be here?”
It was true. The wars of his ancestors had crippled his people, and what was left of the old nation was nothing more than a shadow. Staying out of the foolish Island Wars the Chinese started helped somewhat, but the west still had little sympathy for the Reds. “And what makes you think we can trust the Saudis? They’re just as likely to steal our cargo as they are to survive the journey across the sands.”
“The agreement grants them ownership of five percent of lands once you start to expand your empire. A small price to pay for rebuilding your former glory.”
“And where will this five percent of land be?”
“The agreement states that will be your decision.” Tobaygu gave a light bow. The man had always been more talented with his tongue than a sword. It was what saved his life all those years ago from a piece of steel sliced across his throat, and it was what had grown the small village around him into the mecca Rodion laid his eyes upon now.
“Done.” Rodion gripped Tobaygu’s hand firmly and squeezed hard enough for the bones to pop under the pressure. “My men and I will take the first shipment back with us now while the Saudis prepare for weekly shipments.”
“Weekly?” Tobaygu asked, raising his eyebrows. “General, that is a tall order, even with the shafts I will have opened by the end of the year. We produce more than just ore here, my friend.”
Rodion stiffened. He walked slowly to Tobaygu, the gravel and loose dirt from the mine waste crunching under his boots. The heat and talk had finally worn his patience thin. “Your gold and silver may be able to buy you trinkets and baubles, Tobaygu, but it cannot stop the lead of bullets. Once I have my materials, you will be able to produce all the gold and silver your heart desires, but until those that threaten my people have been disposed of, your mines will produce the ore I need. Is that understood?”
Tobaygu broke the tension with his white smile. “My friend, I have always understood our relationship. I would hope that does not become forgotten when you have what you desire.”
“It won’t.” Once the papers were signed and seals stamped, Rodion and his men loaded up the ore Tobaygu had already produced and started the long journey back home. The thought brought a brief moment of relief and joy into his life but was quickly dismissed.
The road ahead was long, and it had taken so much time just to make it this far. While Rodion didn’t enjoy the fact of bringing on the Saudis, he understood the need. It was the same need that prompted his agreement with the Chinese. Allies were important for the war to come.
***
The fertile farms with their acres of corn and potatoes on the outskirts of the northwest region slowly turned to grey fields of ash the farther Dean and his men rode. The scent of death grew stronger with each step east.
The wastelands stretched from the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains all the way to the northeast coast, where his grandfather used to tell him and his brothers stories about the massive cities their ancestors had built. But like the wastelands, now they were nothing more than dust and rubble.
Not all of the land they passed was scorched with the deadly fires that had consumed people long ago in the Great War, and those were the patches of land where the clans survived.
Their sizes ranged from a few thousand to tens of thousands, and their rituals and personalities were just as varied as the people themselves. As Dean and his men rode through, he felt the anger that was projected by them. Even though the clan wars had been over for nearly a year, there wasn’t much love lost between their peoples. Peace rarely afforded the loser with forgiveness.
The closest clan to Dean’s territory were the Black Rocks.
They were formidable, with their chief commanding six thousand men. Their leader had only been in power as long as the peace, and Dean was glad to have a clan leader so close who valued the lives of both peoples.
Chief Irons waited for them outside the dirt-and-mud mound that composed his home with fifteen of his own warriors and council, all of which were armed with swords, axes, spears, anything that could be made a weapon. Dean pulled up the reins on his horse and dismounted. The clans were known for always wanting to flaunt their strength. The only thing that surprised Dean was the fact that Irons didn’t call for more soldiers.
“Governor Mars,” Irons said, extending his tattooed arm and hand. “It does my council honor to have you pay us these respects.”
Dean shook Iron’s hand firmly. The chief was younger than he was and greener in the arts of war and politics, but the boy was learning. The last time the two had spoken was two months after the treaty to finalize the railroad agreement. During those conversations, the boy stuttered and spoke in half measures. Even the tone of his voice was different now. “I thank you for the audience, Chief.”
Both parties entered the chief’s chambers, with Irons and Dean leading the pack. Most of the clans had certain customs, most of which Dean and his men always observed. The Black Rock leaders, and the leaders of their rivals, always lead their men, and it was disrespectful for a lower-ranking official to ever walk in front of the chief. However, the Scarver clan called for the sacrifice of blood to see their chief. Dean didn’t visit them very often.
“How is your rail coming along?” Irons asked.
“The winter gave us some setbacks, but we’re hoping to be back on schedule before the end of the summer.” The chief’s home acted as the entryway into the main source of the village, where they walked past women and children tending to livestock and what crops they could grow. In the distance, the crumbled walls of old towns and cities struggled to rise from their own ashes on the horizon. “How have your people been acclimating to peace?”