by James Hunt
Every piece of lead fired from the deck of Dean’s ship grew closer and closer to the harbor’s entrance. Flank ships had already landed, meeting some of Ruiz’s soldiers on the banks, but Dean kept the bulk of his force to take the harbor. And he wanted to do it quickly. The longer the battle was drawn out, the greater likelihood of Jason’s life ending.
While Dean knew how much Ruiz valued his life, he was a prideful man. And if he felt the end near, and all that was left to him was that pride, he’d do whatever it took to keep it. Even if that meant Jason’s death.
“Governor! There’s a break on the right flank,” the captain shouted from the helm, pointing toward the penetration.
“They’ll be retreating into the harbor now,” Dean replied. “Be on the lookout for white flags. I don’t think these men have any desire to die today.” The Brazilians hadn’t fought any wars in years. Their contributions to the Island Wars were sparse, and before that, the rest of the world was too busy trying to scrape together what they could at home, than warring beyond their borders. The only real fighting they’d had were their civil wars, which hadn’t lasted very long.
Dean’s fleet pressed forward, and just as he suspected, white flags were raised, and his men pushed through, commandeering the fallen ships as they passed, one by one. His own ship was the first at the docks, and while the ships had surrendered, the soldiers lining the seawall had not.
Rifles and cannons boomed from the port’s edge, pummeling the front of Dean’s ship. Each hit rippled vibrations through the iron hull, a few of the shots penetrating the thick metal below. Dean grabbed a rifle from the armory and joined a few of the sailors near the unloading ramps. “To arms!” His orders were followed by the stampeding echo of feet into the garrison.
Dean knew Ruiz wouldn’t dare leave the fortification of his own palace, which rested high in the hills of the city. But once the full force of Dean’s men made landfall, it would leave Ruiz with only two options. Either surrender, or die of starvation as he sieged the palace walls.
The ship bumped against the docks, jolting everyone forward, and then the ramp was lowered, followed by a swarm of men. The first two off the boat were shot through the chest, and Dean felt the warm flicker of blood speckle his face as they collapsed from the ramp and splashed into the harbor.
Other ships from the fleet docked near Dean’s ship, adding to the growing numbers of North Americans on the Brazilian soil. Crates from the day’s trading ships still lined the docks, and Dean ducked behind one of them for cover just as a rally of bullets peppered the opposite side. While the enemy reloaded, Dean spun around the crates quickly. He took aim, fired, and another body collapsed, adding to the growing number of corpses floating in the bay.
The Brazilians turned their cannon fire to the docks, attempting to blow them apart before Dean and his men had a chance to mount their offensive, but their hesitation cost them, and by the time they’d done any real damage, Dean had the numbers to charge.
A few of the Brazilian officers had relics of the modern weapons, but not enough ammunition to keep them firing for long, and soon after the bullets had been spent, steel was drawn and clattered along the coastline. Unlike the sailors in the bay, the soldiers refused to yield.
Dean worked his way through the field, shouts and screams from commoners fleeing the port mingled between the storms of swords that echoed along the docks. Dean’s arm and shoulder burned with each heavy swing of the saber in his hands. He parried, thrust, and forced his way through the walls of flesh and steel.
More Brazilians scurried down the hills, reinforcing the lines, attempting to keep Dean and his men from expanding beyond the port docks, but for every soldier Ruiz sent down, Dean killed two. A trail of bodies dotted the path from the docks to the first buildings of the city. Dean looked north along the seawalls. What ships hadn’t stayed behind to commandeer the Brazilian warships had all found their way to dock, fighting similar skirmishes at each rallying point.
“Governor!”
Dean wasn’t sure who cried out, and he didn’t have time to look before a cannonball landed only five feet away, sending up a geyser of rock, dirt, and sand. Dean was flung backwards from the force of the blow, a few chunks of rock hurtling with him. He landed hard on his back, his sword flung from his hands. He rolled slowly to his side, his ears ringing and a sharp pain piercing his right leg. Smoke and dust circled him, and before he had a chance to examine the wound, the shimmer of steel broke through the veil and nearly went through him. He forced himself up, the Brazilian still swinging wildly. Dean looked around for his sword but couldn’t find it.
The blade slashed at Dean’s left, then right. When it thrust forward, Dean sidestepped the maneuver and grabbed the Brazilian’s arm and then slammed his fist into the soldier’s cheek, which jarred the blade loose. Dean toppled him to the ground with the momentum he’d gained and wrapped his arms around the man’s throat.
The Brazilian squirmed under the weight of Dean, who felt the enemy’s pulse beat against the palms of his hands. Dean watched the flesh turn from white, to red, then a dark purple until the struggle ended. With the man dead, Dean nearly collapsed next to him from exhaustion. His arms and shoulders shook, the pain in his right leg still throbbing.
Dean raised his blade to block another assault from a Brazilian, the endless barrage continuing. He limped backwards, fending off each blow. His mind commanded his arm, but his reactions were almost too slow to keep up. Each attack from the Brazilian brought Dean’s own blade closer to him, the hammering relentless.
Hundreds of soldiers and sailors were engaged in combat around him. Dean’s elbow smacked against backs and arms. On his blind walk backwards, he felt the mush of dead flesh under his heel from the fallen, nearly causing him to trip and join them.
Dean’s right shoulder barely held the blade past his waist now, and he felt his grip loosen around the sword’s hilt, until it just hung limply from his hand as another step backwards on his right leg triggered a painful rush through his body that made him drop the weapon. And this was how Dean thought he would die, there on the streets of Rio. But the blade that rammed and protruded out the front of the Brazilian’s chest ended the brief flash of death.
The sight of the man that stood in front of Dean as the enemy’s body collapsed to the ground nearly buckled Dean’s legs as well. “Jason?”
Jason spun quickly, fending off another attacker, and Dean shook his head, picking up his blade. After Jason dispensed with another enemy, Dean saw another force coming down the hills, pinning the Brazilians against their own swords.
“C’mon!” Jason motioned for Dean to follow, and the two brothers limped through their own ranks, a few soldiers doing a double take as they walked by, bringing a surge of shouts and cheers at the sight of their governor, who was not only alive, but free.
With the aid of whatever forces were coming in from the hills, what remained of Ruiz’s soldiers scattered quickly, slithering back to the palace. The port was theirs.
Still leaning to one side, his right leg barely able to support him, Dean gripped Jason’s shoulder and pulled his younger brother close. “I thought Ruiz might have killed you when we started our assault.” He clapped Jason hard on the back, and his brother returned the gesture.
“It’s been a long few weeks.” Jason’s words muffled into Dean’s shoulder, and then he pulled back. “How many men did you bring with you?”
“Thirty thousand,” Dean answered, the shift in talk easily transitioning back to war. “With your entire eastern fleet. Once we finish Ruiz, we mean to join the Australians and fight the Chinese in the Pacific.”
“So, two of the most powerful North Americans in one spot.” A woman dressed in militia attire, flanked by two others in similar garb, holding a bloodied sword in her right hand, approached casually. “If I kill you now, I might save myself a lot of grief in the future.”
Dean raised his weapon, but Jason forced it down. “Her bark is worse than her b
ite. This is General Gabriela Ponce, leader of the rebellion against President Ruiz. She’s one of the reasons I’m still alive.”
“And so are you,” Gabriela said, shaking Dean’s hand. “I hope your brother has told you about the deals he’s made in your absence.”
“Whatever my brother has promised you, I can tell you we will deliver.” Although Dean hoped that it wasn’t something that would cost them more time. Every second they lingered here was more of their men lost, and more time for the Chinese to break the Australians.
“Negotiations can wait,” Jason said. “For now, we stop Ruiz.”
Despite Jason’s protest that Dean have his leg tended to, the three continued to push their soldiers through the streets, cornering Ruiz’s forces at the palace, just as Dean had expected.
With the news slowly spreading to the men fighting that Jason was alive, renewed energy rushed through the ranks, feeding life into their cause, feeding the legend of their family. For now he let the men believe what they wanted in regards to Jason’s arrival; as long as it pushed them closer to Ruiz, that was all that mattered.
The march forward slowed considerably the closer they pushed Ruiz’s forces against the palace walls, and Ruiz wasted no time in ordering the firing of artillery. Some of which killed his own people.
Dean and Jason tucked behind a sagging building, already crumbling from time and one cannonball away from dissolving into dust. Dean examined Ruiz’s fortified position. The walls were thick and high. They wouldn’t be able to breach the palace without artillery fire. And that meant lugging the equipment from the ships, uphill. Not the easiest of tasks, especially with a storm of lead already raining down upon you. “If we bring the cannons up, it’ll take too much time to mount them for a range of sight. The hills here are too steep. They’ll be taken out before we get to fire our first shot.”
“We could bring them up the jungle side to the rear of the palace,” Jason suggested.
Dean kept his eyes peeled on the thick, white walls and shook his head. “That’ll take even longer. We need another way.” Dean turned to Gabriela, hoping she had some piece of information they could use. “Do you have anyone on the inside?”
Gabriela fidgeted nervously, hesitating before finally speaking up. “If I do, I wouldn’t have any way to reach them.”
“No signal? Nothing?” Dean asked.
“Even if his cover is blown, it won’t matter,” Jason said, chiming in. “We’ll have Ruiz, and it’ll be done.”
“Not if Ruiz escapes during the raid,” Gabriela replied. “We don’t get him here and now, then we won’t get another chance. He’ll flee to the Chinese, or regroup, or some safe—”
“He won’t get away.” Dean swatted her excuses down. He took a limping step forward, doing his best to hide the pain. “Me and my brother will not let that happen.”
“He’s right,” Jason said. “We always finish what we start.”
Dean wasn’t sure if it was his words or Jason’s, or if the woman had her own reasons, but she finally agreed. The man inside was one of Ruiz’s personal guards. He’d been with the president for nearly three years. He had gained Ruiz’s trust and learned everything about the palace, including the east security door used to sneak in individuals the president didn’t want the rest of his constituents to know he was speaking with.
A force of nearly a hundred men, composed of Dean and Jason’s soldiers and Gabriela’s militia, rounded out of the city and toward the eastern, rocky side of the mountain where the entrance lay. The tunnel was less than three feet wide, and five feet tall. All of them were forced to duck and enter single file along the dark, rocky trail that ended in a small cellar. Dean, Jason, and Gabriela were the first to climb out.
Gabriela’s spy held up a torch that was the only light in the room. The two embraced as the flames licked the low-lying ceiling, and Dean noticed his brother tense at the sight. “Ruiz is still held up in his room, very heavily guarded.”
“He doesn’t plan to flee?” Gabriela asked.
“No, he’s made no such provisions.”
“The man can’t think he can win, does he?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know. He’s been spending a lot of time in the lower west wing of the palace. He’s the only one allowed down there, and I’ve tried going there myself but found nothing.” The informant shook his head and seemed in disbelief of his own words. “It’s like he just disappears.”
“We’ll worry about what Ruiz has been doing later.” Dean stepped between Gabriela and her spy. “We stick with what we know: Ruiz is still here, not planning on running, and guarded safely. We split our men, half to Ruiz’s location to make sure he stays put, and the others to open the front gates.”
Soldiers continued to fill the room, and Gabriela, Dean, and Jason chose to intermix their fighters, but the three of them would stay together and take Ruiz. Each of them had their own vendetta, but Dean wanted to make sure Gabriela didn’t kill Ruiz before he had a chance to question him. He needed answers, and dead men told nothing.
They slowly climbed their way up the steps to the palace’s main floor. The closer they moved to the surface, the louder the cannon fire thundered, and the shouts of Ruiz’s men rang through the halls. Bodies crouched and swords and rifles were clenched in fists behind the small cellar door that, once opened, would expose them to the bulk of Ruiz’s reserves. The pain in Dean’s leg still hadn’t subsided, but the resurgence of his adrenaline numbed his senses to a more manageable level.
Gabriela’s informant gave a nod, and they burst through onto the palace grounds like water rushing into the hull through a boat leak. Ruiz’s soldiers were caught off guard, their backs turned, and many of them were cut down before they even understood what happened. Dean and the rest swallowed them up and left what remains they didn’t finish to rot and stain the floor.
Dean kept pace, following Gabriela and her man toward Ruiz’s hiding place, while the rest of their forces headed toward the gates. The noise inside the palace walls grew with every march forward until the entire compound knew of their presence, sending the enemy into frenzy. Rifles fired, cannons blasted, men screamed, men bled, and men died.
Word of their presence spread, and when they arrived at Ruiz’s holdfast, the number of guards had doubled. Bullets ricocheted off the marbled walls and floors as Dean and Jason ducked behind a pillar for cover, their swords clutched in their hands.
During the lull in fire, Dean had a good look at the structure. It was a large, dome-like building. There were high windows and only one door, which he could see was protected by an inner wall with its own gate, stacked with more guards. Dean pulled back around, reaching for the pistol at his belt. “They should be at the gates by now.”
“You think there’s a back entrance?” Jason asked, pulling his head back as the pillar’s corner puffed a spray of dust from one of the guard’s bullets.
“Ruiz wouldn’t risk the possibility of a breach. It’s a safe house for him.” Dean packed the powder into the muzzle then cocked the hammer back. “If he comes out, he’s coming through the front door.” They couldn’t waste any more time. The number of guards being called back to protect Ruiz was reaching a tipping point. If they didn’t charge now, then they could miss their chance. Dean nudged Jason with his elbow. “You ready?”
Jason pulled out his own pistol and cocked the hammer in response then waved his arm to catch the attention of Gabriela, who nodded in understanding. Their men readied behind them, tension heating to the boiling point then erupting as Dean and Jason rushed from behind the pillar, firing into the thick cluster of bodies at the gate.
Dean’s shot connected to one of the guards in the center, right through the chest. He felt the ripple of lead pass by, some close enough to nick the surface of his shirt and pants. After the first volley from the rifles, Dean and Jason were too close for them to reload, and swords were drawn, but they cut three men down before their hands reached their hilts.
Bodie
s crashed, and bones and steel clanged together. The tidal wave of Dean’s forces pinned Ruiz’s forces against the gates. The sudden surge overwhelmed the enemy, and the weight of bodies against the wrought-iron bars buckled the hinges off the stone walls, caving the gate backwards.
Dean smashed his heel into the face of one of the fallen soldiers on his way to the door and burst inside, where another cluster of guards waited, circling Ruiz and a Chinese man Dean recognized as one of Delun’s ambassadors. He looked for Gabriela and found her slicing her way through guards on the left flank, her rage-filled eyes focused on Ruiz, who was cowering in the back against the wall. Only three more bodies stood between Gabriela and her blade slicing Ruiz’s throat.
Dean rounded the right flank, bringing his blade across the thigh of one soldier then the stomach of another, dropping the two nearly simultaneously.
Ruiz saw Dean approach and fired his pistol, the bullet grazing his shoulder. Dean dropped the sword but tackled Ruiz to the ground just before Gabriela’s blade missed flesh and scraped against the back wall. With their president captured, the rest of the soldiers dropped their weapons, a few of them wearing expressions of relief rather than fear.
Jason helped Dean subdue Ruiz and made sure it was a group of their own men that took him into custody rather than Gabriela’s, who watched from a distance, the greedy lust of revenge in her eyes.
The pain in Dean’s leg returned just as quickly as the battle had ended, and once their forces from the gates stormed inside, the battle was won. Cheers erupted from the palace walls in both English and Portuguese tongues alike. Dean sat in the corner with Jason, a field doctor tending to Dean’s leg and the cut from Ruiz’s bullet. The shouts grew so loud they vibrated the walls of the compound.
Dean suddenly rose from his seat, knocking the doctor’s hand away, startling his brother. He looked around the captured soldiers frantically. Jason grabbed Dean’s shoulder. “What is it?”
“The Chinese,” Dean answered, still looking around. “Where’s Delun’s ambassador?”