by James Hunt
“Heavy on the port side!” Jason echoed the orders down the line, his back hunched over low in the crowded gunnery. “Heavy on the por—”
The cannonball burst through the hull just four feet from where Jason stood, tearing apart two men, splattering their limbs and innards across the belly of the ship and knocking the heavy iron cannon to its side. Jason fell backward, the sunlight piercing through the punctured hull blinding him. A solid ringing filled his ears, and the quick scurry of feet and legs flashed by his head while he lay on the wet floor.
A face appeared over him, shouting something but unable to penetrate the high-pitched din in his ear. “Governor! I need to get you on the deck!”
The sailor lifted Jason off the floor then helped keep him steady as another enemy cannonball invaded the ship’s hull. The noise on the deck was no better, the cannonade from the enemy ships tearing steel and flesh. Jason wrenched himself free from the sailor’s grip and stumbled backward. The sailor reached out a hand, but Jason knocked it away. “I’m heading back down.”
“Sir! I can’t let you do that!” The sailor grabbed the hilt of his sword.
“If you think you can bring me down, sailor, then I suggest you draw that blade quickly.” Jason stood resolute, his spine stiffened, and the young man finally backed down. “You tell the captain to keep course. He does not deviate from any action he would take should I not have been on board.”
The guts and blood in the gunnery sloshed back and forth with the rocking of the ship, some of the men sliding in the gore as they struggled to stay in the fight. Jason quickly grabbed a crate of powder and started replenishing the supplies near the cannons. On his way, he grabbed the necks of two young sailors huddling in the corner from shock. “You two with me, now!”
Jason wasn’t sure if it was the boom in his voice or the fact that they knew who he was, but the two boys followed quickly, and Jason shoved the crates into their stomachs. “The cannons always have powder. You see anything that’s low, and you fill it. I want constant patrols up and down the port and starboard lines, understood?”
Two shaky heads nodded back at him, then the boys set to work. Jason continued up the lines, the sea rocking back and forth violently in time with the growing intensity of the battle. “Hold steady, men!”
Cannonballs rolled across the floor as reload teams worked tirelessly to ensure they always had a fresh stock of ammunition at the ready. The two young sailors Jason had set to work on refilling the gunpowder were now covered from head to toe in soot.
The longer the battle raged, the more the crew transformed from their human selves to mechanical beings. The shock of the cannons, the screams of the dying, the blood, the lead, the gore, the fear, all of it slowly faded away, and in its place stood a kind of apathy. But it wasn’t an indifference to death; no, every sailor aboard that ship wanted to live. However, all of them knew the importance of motion. As long as they moved, as long as the task at hand was accomplished, they would live.
And so it went, slowly, Jason’s fleet pounding away at the Chinese, ship by ship, until the enemy was either sunk or boarded. Jason rose from the belly of the ship covered in soot, blood, and sweat, his eyes squinting into the sun now high in the sky, and, for the first time in six hours, the clear path of ocean, unobstructed by ships. Somewhere on the horizon, Dean was waiting for his aid. Jason just hoped his brother was still alive when he arrived.
***
Gone. That was all Dean could repeat to himself as the smoke and haze of battle started to clear. Nearly half of his fleet burned, broken, or sunk in a matter of minutes. The sight of fires and carnage and the sound of men’s screams dotted the ocean, and the Chinese horde was now sweeping into place to finish those that had survived the initial onslaught.
The vessels had used whatever weapons Delun outfitted his ships with, Dean was sure of it, and the approaching reserves, the best ships of Delun’s fleet, were on their way to wipe the rest of them off the face of the earth.
The deck of Dean’s ship was alive with sailors and crewmen sprinting back and forth, either preparing for the approaching attack or helping the wounded, which, due to their lack of medical supplies, was little more than comforting the dying.
“Governor, we still have time to turn back.” Monaghan’s words left him painfully, and while the general understood what a retreat would cost them, he couldn’t seem to abandon the hope of saving Dean. “We can still send word to Jason. It’s not too late.”
Dean turned to the line of Chinese warships closing in on them, the bows of the vessels protruding through the smoke and wreckage, seeking to end what remained of the only opposition left to them. “We do not retreat. At any cost. If we die, then we take as many of the ships as we can down until Jason arrives. We need to give him a fighting chance.” He looked back to Monaghan, his face grey and solemn. “No retreat, General.”
“Yes, sir.” Monaghan answered with the same military programming that he’d adopted over the past thirty years of his career.
Dean let the shock of the initial Chinese attack roll off him, focusing all of his attention on the task at hand. With the number of enemy ships in the water, he knew that their chances of success were minimal. The Chinese formations were typical battle patterns, clustered groups of six fanning out into smaller groups to swarm and surround Dean’s men. He sprinted to the wheelhouse, finding the captain at the helm, positioning the portside cannons to engage the enemy. “We board.”
“Sir?” Confusion spread across the captain’s face. “If we use the long-range guns, we’ll be in a better position to extend the fighting. If we can just wait—”
“We won’t survive the next hour if we play the cat-and-mouse game. And I don’t mean to destroy the ships; I mean to take them. If we can keep the fighting close and commandeer some of the Chinese vessels to use against their own people, we not only extend the fight, but we add more cannons to our cause.”
A smile curled up the side of the captain’s face, then he turned to the rest of his crew. “Full steam ahead! Load the forward cannons, and have the men on deck with their boarding hooks! This is war, you scallywags. To arms!”
A sudden burst of adrenaline overtook the ship, a focus in every crewman’s eye. Dean made his way to the armory, the quickened pace sending wind through his hair. He stepped in line with a few of the other sailors and grabbed one of the AK-47s they’d taken from Rodion’s men then waited by the railing with the rest of the crew, the thunder of cannons ripping through the air.
Cannonballs ricocheted off the front bow, skipping into the water. From the railing, Dean had a solid view of the broad side of the enemy, each puff of smoke followed ceremoniously by the massive balls of lead smacking into the neighboring ships.
Dean ducked when one of the shots skidded across the slick deck until it slammed into the stern wall. “Steady, men!” Dean gripped the railing of the ship, holding tight as the captain started to swing the heavy-steeled boat, showing the cannons on its starboard side. “Hooks at the ready!”
The crewmen along the side of the railing lifted the iron grappling hooks and harpoon, their arms and bodies coiled like a snake before striking. With the Chinese vessel now in full view, the enemy offered one last volley, taking with it nearly a quarter of the men along the rail.
“Now!” Dean thrust his own hook over the side. The heavy-sided steel ships rubbed against one another, the ropes and chains locking them in place.
Dean aimed and squeezed the trigger, answering in kind for the number of deaths that they had received. In less than ten seconds, Dean had cleared a path, his boots smearing Chinese blood as he took aim at the fleeing sailors. The quick gunshots recoiled against his shoulder, vibrating his entire body.
A wake of bloody boot prints spread across the deck as more of Dean’s crew joined the infiltration of the Chinese vessel. He maneuvered through the chaos, taking cover by a stack of wooden crates as a group of enemy sailors gathered to protect the wheelhouse.
&nb
sp; Bullets splintered the wood, and Dean waited for more of his own men to arrive. With a slight lull in gunfire, he spun around, pivoting on his right foot, tearing apart the cluster of Chinese at the helm like papier-mâché.
Dean crouched outside the door, and the moment his fingers touched the door handle, machine gunfire erupted from inside, six pieces of led bursting through the door as Dean ducked back behind the wall for cover. Shouts of the Chinese followed the gunshots, and while Dean didn’t speak the language, the message came across loud and clear.
One of the sailors that followed Dean up the stairs had a bomb belt strapped around his waist. Dean motioned for the device and pulled the ignition pin, keeping the lever held down to prevent the spark. He inched closer to the door and slammed his heel into the corner, and after it flung open, he sent the bomb belt inside, where the Chinese captain’s screams ended with the loud percussive bang of the explosives.
Smoke wafted from the door as Dean stepped inside, where his nose met with the repugnant smell of burnt flesh and the heavy odor of hot metal. Most of the fighting on the deck had ended, and Dean took stock of the controls, which were mostly intact but painted with the innards of their former captain. Dean pointed to a young sailor slick with sweat. “Tell the captain to send over his first mate along with a bare-bones crew that could pilot this ship. I want it up and running as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, sir!”
The young sailor sprinted out of the wheelhouse, and Dean motioned to the floor. “See if we can wash some of this out.” Dean stepped back out onto the deck to the sight of three more of his ships sinking but just as many already boarding the Chinese vessels. With his fleet so close to the enemy, it had caused the rest of Delun’s ships to cease fire, not willing to risk shooting their own ships. If they could keep this up, then they might just make it out alive.
Chapter 13
Kemena paced the floor of her quarters and periodically checked the front entrance to her tent, where two guards remained stationed at all times. Still, even with the security, she was surprised by the fact that she had so much space and remained unchained. She squeezed her hands nervously, a tic she hadn’t been able to stop since she arrived. The sounds of the camp filled her with dread, as she heard no tone of desperation, no hint of fear in any of Delun’s men. Surely they knew Dean was coming, with the might of the governors’ entire fleet.
A bed lay in the corner of the room, and she made her way over to sit down, forcing herself to clear her mind. She placed her hands over her stomach, breathing deeply, slowly. Her heart rate slowed, and the worry in her mind eased. Whatever Delun was going to throw at Dean, she knew her husband would win. He doesn’t know how to lose. Kemena rested her head on the pillow, the weight of all her thoughts and fears falling with her.
Kemena repeated the mantra to help drown out the foreign tongues and conversations happening just beyond the thin layer of canvas in a world she didn’t know, with no friends or family to comfort her, no one to help ease the burden of her own fears. She found herself wanting to reach out and grab a hand to help pull her up like so many of the hands that reached out to her on the battlefield, begging her to save them. She wanted someone to do that for her, but no one came.
Kemena pushed herself up from the cushions, forcing her legs and arms into coordination, and made her way to the front of the tent. When she stepped outside, both of the guards at the entrance stopped her, blocking her path. “I want to speak with Delun. Now.”
The two guards looked at one another, and Kemena wasn’t sure if they understood English, so she added “emperor,” which seemed to do the trick. She stepped back inside and waited until Delun finally appeared.
“Governess, what can I do for you?” Delun gave a slight bow, though the tone in his voice suggested that he seemed annoyed at the summons, and Kemena found it odd that she wasn’t brought to him.
“I want to spend some time in the infirmary. If I’m here, I might as well help those that are sick. But I will not treat your soldiers. I want you to understand that I have no sympathy for the men who die at the hands of my husband.”
Delun remained silent for quite some time, looking Kemena up and down. “You understand my hesitation. While I appreciate the hands of a skilled doctor, it will be hard for me to contain you in such an environment. I can have the patients brought here, if you like.”
It wasn’t the answer Kemena hoped for, but at that point she’d take whatever distraction she could get. “Fine. But I’ll still need all of the proper examining equipment, the best of whatever you have.”
Delun bowed. “I’ll have it brought to your quarters immediately. But I will remind you, Doctor, that while some of the instruments that will be in your possession are sharp, there is an entire army surrounding you, all of whom know who you are and what your escape would mean. And if one of my men were to fall ill to any of your… practices, I’ll make sure your actions are returned in kind.” He looked to her stomach, and Kemena stepped back. “Good day, Governess.”
The equipment was brought in nearly instantaneously, and once Kemena had inspected all of the gear, ensuring that it was in proper working order, she called for her first patient. It was an elderly woman, delirious with fever from an infection she received from a cut on her leg. Kemena cleaned and dressed the wound, giving the woman some of the medicines at her disposal but using them sparingly, not knowing how many people she would need to treat or the amount of resources that could be refilled once they were depleted.
The hours ticked by steadily, Kemena’s mind focused solely on the patients in front of her. She crowded out the thoughts of her fear with diagnoses and treatments for all of the wounded brought to her attention. Before she realized it, the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, and it was well into the night. She instructed the guards to bring no more patients, and she peeled the gloves off her hands and collapsed on the edge of the cot.
Kemena wiped her brow, her skin slick with sweat and grime. She thought of calling for a bath but decided against it, not knowing how honorable Delun’s men would be should she disrobe. She simply curled up on the bed and let her exhaustion take hold of her mind.
***
Delun crushed one of the military figurines on the strategic map with one quick strike of his hand, and while the small statue was now broken, it left a red gash at least half an inch long. He cursed, using the end of his sleeve to staunch the bleeding. Hong, the sword master and one of Delun’s most trusted advisors, offered his aid, but Delun shoved him away. “Whoever ordered the retreat, I want their head by morning, do you understand?”
“Yes, Emperor.” Hong gave a slight bow. “But with our forces in the south now backtracking and reports of the Mars brothers joining together in the north, we’re in a very delicate situation.”
“Even with the ships they commandeered, the Mars brothers still lack the numbers to take us in the islands.” At least that’s what Delun had hoped for. He had jettisoned all of the tech the engineers had worked on to stop the Mars fleet in the north, but with the governors still somehow sailing south and winning battles, an unfamiliar sense of doubt crept up his spine. “I want patrols doubled in the waterways, and the moment we hear from the admirals in the north, I want to hear about—”
“Emperor!” The colonel rushed inside, doubling over on his knees to catch his breath. “My emperor, the Mars brothers have entered the island waterways.”
Delun backpedaled until he bumped into the table where his map lay, knocking over the rest of the military figures. The doubt spread to his legs and arms, clutching his chest. It paralyzed his breath and cut off motion to his body.
“Emperor?” Hong asked, taking a step forward.
Delun shut his eyes, shaking his head, shaking loose the anxiety that took hold of him. “Inform our men. Prepare them for battle. If the Mars brothers want to end this, then we will do it now.”
The colonel bowed then disappeared, while Hong eyed Delun carefully. “The Mars
brothers seem to have found a momentum. Perhaps it would be wiser to let their bloodlust fade before we engage.”
“The Marses are a family of war. And you’re forgetting one very important detail, Hong. I have Dean Mars’s wife.” Delun picked the military pieces up and placed them in their locations on the map. “He simply needs a reminder.”
***
The waterways between the islands grew narrower the farther south they sailed, and the artillery fire from the shores was growing increasingly thick, but Dean gave no order to slow their pace. Jason walked up behind his brother, patting him on the back. Dawn broke behind them, and the captain bellowed to Dean and Jason on the bow between the cannonade from the shorelines. “Less than three miles, Governors!”
“Thank you, Captain,” Jason answered then turned to Dean, the two of them alone on the deck. The range of the cannons on shore was too short to reach their hulls, and the cannonballs splashed lazily in the water a few dozen yards from their position. “You’re sure you want to go through with this? We could still send an emissary. We have Delun on his heels now.”
“No.” Dean spoke with finality. “The only negotiation will be done in steel and lead. Diplomacy is done.”
“And what about Kemena?” Jason asked, leaning into his brother. “You don’t think Delun will be keeping her close? You don’t think that he won’t use her against you?”
Another cannonball splashed closer to the ship’s hull, this one sending up a spray of seawater onto the ship’s deck. Dean looked ahead to the shorelines. “Have the cannons start hammering the artillery units on the shore. I want to make sure Delun hears me coming.”