by James Hunt
“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 sweat 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 re
bels. 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.
Jason quickly slapped the sergeant’s left cheek. The noise echoed across the water and left a red print in the wiggling flesh of the soldier’s skin. The other guards stood there aghast, and while the sergeant turned red faced, Jason stepped forward. “You listen to me, Sergeant, if this ship isn’t scrubbed from head to toe by the end of breakfast, I’ll be taking these rebels back to the prisons heavy one extra pair of shackles.”
The soldiers behind the sergeant backed down, and without a word, the officer slowly stepped away, opening up the ramp to the ship. Jason made sure to stare the man down as the rebels loaded the deck. He looked over to the others. “Well? Don’t just stand there, make sure they’re doing their jobs!” The soldiers quickly followed the rebels up the ramp, and Jason motioned for the sergeant to follow. “Up you go.”
On the walk up the ramp, five successive thuds hit the deck, and by the time Jason and the sergeant made it aboard, Jason had a pistol to the fat sergeant’s back and the other soldiers lay lifeless on the floor. The sergeant whirled around, nearly shouting, but the pistol’s barrel made him think better of it. “You want to live, stay quiet.”
The sergeant bit his tongue and held his hands up in the air. “You won’t get away with this. The navy is just beyond the port, waiting for the Mars brother to arrive and have his armada blasted to pieces. You won’t even make it out of the harbor.”
Jason jammed the end of the pistol into the fat man’s cheek. “We will, and you’re going to be the one who helps us.” He shoved the sergeant up to the wheelhouse while the rebels quickly started stowing lines and warming up the boilers.
Jason removed the sergeant’s pistol and sword then holstered his own weapon. “When the harbormaster hails us down, you will give the clear. He’ll recognize you. And if you even think of signaling anything to him that’s out of the ordinary, just remember that I have thirty very angry pieces of scum that would love nothing more than to tear you apart.”
The ship lurched forward and separated itself from the docks as Jason navigated it through the waters. The harbor narrowed at the exit, and Jason kept the speed slow to avoid any suspicion, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the sergeant’s arm.
The harbormaster stepped out of his office, paper in hand, scratching his head, no doubt wondering about the unscheduled departure. “What’s this about?” His high-pitched voice rang across the water as Jason brought the ship to a crawl.
“The general wanted to see what the Mars ship could accomplish, so we’re running some drills to look for weak points,” the sergeant answered. “We’re hoping it will give us an advantage when the brother gets here.”
The harbormaster looked back down at his paper then yawned. “All right.” He waved them forward, and Jason found his body relaxing. The ship passed through the narrow harbor entrance, and Jason made his way south, toward the coast.
Once the port was firmly in the distance behind them, Jason bound the sergeant’s wrists and ankles and stowed him below deck in the brig. The man squirmed and screamed the entire way down, making sure his outrage was known. “You’ll never get away with this. You hear me? You traitors will never have the palace. Ever!”
The iron doors clanged shut as the sergeant rolled on the saltwater floor, his coat, shirt, and pants darkening in color. A few of the rebels returned the spit they’d received on the march to the dock on their new prisoner as they left one by one.
“I’d start being a little more forthcoming with any questions we ask,” Jason said, leaning against the wall, the low-lying film of salt water sloshing back and forth with the motion of the ship. “I can’t make any promises to you once we arrive at our destination.”
“You Mars scum are all dead men. We’ll come for you. Just like your brother!”
Jason rushed over to the bars of the cell. “Who will come?” But the sergeant only continued to roll in the puddles on the floor in fruitless attempts to push himself up. Jason fumbled with the keys in the lock then stepped inside, seizing the sergeant by the collar. “Did you know about the attempt on my brother’s life?”
“Ruiz knows your family is too dangerous to stay alive. They’ll all kill you. Every last one.”
“Who will?” But before Jason had a chance to get the answer
to any more of his questions, the leader of the rebel unit descended the steps and flung Jason aside then mercilessly pummeled the fat officer until his body went limp.
Jason leapt to the sergeant’s aid, knocking the rebel leader to the floor. “I need him alive!” Jason lifted the sergeant’s face, bloodied and swollen. When he checked the sergeant’s airway, the rebel knocked Jason across the chin and to the floor.
The two men grappled on the ground, their shouts bringing more of the rebels below. The leader’s comrades egged him on, some even shouting for Jason’s death. The rebel wrapped his hands around Jason’s throat and squeezed until Jason’s face turned a light shade of purple.
The pressure mounting in Jason’s head hammered against his skull. Jason repeatedly kneed the rebel in the stomach until the grip around his neck loosened, and he gasped for air, twisting his assailant off him. Jason subdued the man in a headlock until the rebel tapped out, and Jason shoved him away.
The two men panted on the wet floor, catching their breath while the sergeant still lay face down and lifeless. Jason reached over and checked the officer’s pulse. Nothing. “We needed to question him.” Jason steadied himself with a shaky arm and got a leg under him to push up. “He knew things we didn’t.”
“And now he knows nothing.” The rebel spit on the ground. “And if you ever interfere with my work again, I’ll kill you.” The rebel left, his men in tow, leaving Jason alone in the cell with the dead man.
Jason’s family was being targeted for extermination. That was why Fred was killed, and that was why he was almost taken here in Rio. It wasn’t a war against his people; it was a war against his family.