Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (197 page)

“Take what provisions we can back aboard the ship.” Lance looked around to get a grasp of their casualties. “And make sure our dead return with us.” Lance sheathed his sword, and Canice simply nodded. He made his way to the ship’s wheelhouse, which was supported by steel walls, nearly as thick as the hull itself.

Lance pulled the handle but was met with resistance. He frisked a few of the dead Chinese until he found a ring of keys that unlocked the wheelhouse door. The inside was dark, with the exception of the light coming through the front windshield, which was incredibly narrow. “How the hell are they even able to see out here?”

The wheel was centered in the middle of a control board, complete with gauges and maps strewn across the top. Lance snatched one of the maps and looked at the circled ports along the Australian coast, no doubt landing points for different members of their fleet. But why would they risk breaking up their fleet like that? It would take days to communicate back and forth to shift their strategies and battle plans.

The voices caused a spasm that made Lance draw his pistol and aim it in the corner of the wheelhouse, where Chinese dialect crackled through a speaker. He kept the pistol aimed, walking slowly toward the corner, where the voices grew louder. The words came in between loud, high-pitched whines and pops.

One of the maps concealed the noise, and when Lance pulled the piece of paper back, the pistol fell from his hand and crashed onto the floor. “That’s impossible.” Lance reached his hand out like he was touching a ghost, but he knew what he was seeing and hearing was real.

There were stories his grandfather used to tell him when he was just a boy, stories of what the world was like before the Great War that leveled his home and killed billions of lives in a matter of minutes. Stories of technology that let you watch an event happening thousands of miles away, in real time. Technology that allowed you to speak with someone halfway around the world, and hear them as though they were standing right next to you.

“Captain, we’re—” Canice stopped, frozen at the doorway, watching Lance listen to the words coming out of the small speaker in the console. Her jaw dropped, and she slowly made her way inside. “What the hell is that?” She hovered her palm over the speaker, as if she were trying to grasp the words in her hands.

“It’s the Chinese captains from the other ships in their fleet,” Lance answered. “Maybe even some of their command in China.” Even as the words left his mouth, Lance couldn’t believe it.

Canice shook her head. “How could they do that?”

Lance picked up the receiver next to the speaker, clutching it gently between his fingers.               “Because they have radio.”

Dean wiped his face clean of soap as the last bits of his beard fell to the wash bucket. He took a good hard look at the face in the faded mirror. It was one he hadn’t seen in a long time. He dried himself, dressed in his black suit, and met Kemena, who waited with Kit and Sam, dressed in similar attire, downstairs.

The two boys were quiet, as they’d mostly been since they’d arrived into town, but today neither of them had said more than one word at a time. Dean rested his hand on top of Sam’s head; the boy was still small enough to where Dean could almost palm the boy’s entire skull. He crouched down to one knee and forced both boys to look him in the eye. “I want you to listen to me. What happened to your parents was a terrible thing, but know this: the men who killed them are dead.”

“You killed them, Uncle Dean?” Kit asked.

When Dean looked at his nephew, he saw the spitting image of Fred staring back at him. It was the hard quiet that his older brother possessed, one that concealed all too well the raging storm that lay underneath. “Yes.”

Kit looked down at his shoes, and Dean watched the knuckles on the boy’s hand turn white from squeezing so hard. Finally, he looked up, his face flushed red and his lips pursed tight. “I’m glad.”

Dean kissed the boy’s forehead and clapped his shoulder. “Go wait outside with your brother.” Kit took Sam’s hand, and the two headed out the front door.

Kemena’s face was shrouded behind the black lace veil, and Dean could barely make out her expression, but the tone in her voice rang through clear as day. “Those boys don’t need any more anger in them, Dean.”

“No, but they do need closure.” When Dean placed his hands around her arms, he felt Kemena tense up lightly but then immediately relax. “I don’t need them growing up wondering what happened. That unknown can twist someone, especially a boy. His anger right now is a natural one, and it’ll subside. But right now we have other issues.” He let go of her arms, and he could feel the fatigue from the past week’s events set in.

Kemena followed Dean to the chair where he sat, and knelt by his side. She placed her hand in his, and he smiled when he picked it up and kissed it then pressed it against his cheek. Even through the veil, he could see worry in her eyes. “What is it, Dean?”

“We are so close to something great here.” Dean rubbed his thumb into Kemena’s palm. “All of the sacrifices we’ve made, everything we’ve fought for to pick ourselves up, all for nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” Kemena asked. “What happened up at the fishing colonies?”

“They’re gone.” The words seemed to deflate what spirit was left in him as he sunk deeper into the chair.

Kemena pulled his face toward her and moved close. “You listen to me. I have seen you go through the darkest places a man could walk, and you have always come out the other side. Whatever is happening, whatever will happen, we will make it out together.”

And there it was, right in front of him. All of the good reasons he needed to keep going, to keep pushing forward. Kemena had been there through all of it: war, pain, death, famine, doubt. Whenever he was lost at sea, afraid of coming home in fear of crashing into the rocks, he’d see her light, guiding him to safety. He kissed her hand, then protectively held her stomach. “I know.”

Hurried footsteps padded up the front steps of their porch, and one of the local post boys burst through the door, sweating profusely and out of breath. “Governor, your brothers have sent word.” He extended both papers, and Dean snatched them up.

The first message had neither Jason’s nor Lance’s seal, but that of the Brazilian president. He ripped it open, his eyes scanning the letter carefully until he curled his fingers around the parchment and tossed the crumbled paper to the floor. “The Brazilians have Jason.”

“What?” Kemena gasped then rushed over to him and grabbed his shoulder. “How is that even possible?”

But Dean wasn’t listening; he’d already torn open the second letter with Lance’s seal, and the cold blast of war stiffened his body. “The Chinese have attacked Australia with a new fleet. He thinks the Brazilians are helping them.” A copy of the map Lance had stolen showed the might of the enemy gathering at their doors. He dropped the paper to the floor, and all of it started to connect.

If the Chinese were looking for allies, then Brazil would be able to provide resources, and if they were looking for someone to help build their army, then the Russians would have more than enough land to hide any material from the inspections set forth after the Island War. The Russians had been eyeing the Alaskan Colonies for years, which would make for a solid strategic entry point into North America. The lines had been drawn while Dean and his family were busy rebuilding their home.

“Dean?” Kemena’s voice shook him out of his stupor, and both Kit and Sam rushed back in the house.

Dean walked past the boys and out onto the front porch, where a group of his advisors and officers waited with his brother’s casket, with Mary in a separate box beside him. He ran his hands along the grainy wood that encased Fred while his family waited behind him on the front steps of his home. When he turned around, the group had gathered in a circle of grief, all of them looking to him for answers, for strength. He rested his hand on the casket as he spoke. “My brother fought his entire life, and in all that time, I never heard him complain about the hand that he was dealt. It was a hard life, but one that he made better. And one that we continue to make better today.”

Nods and grunts of agreement peppered the crowd. Dean stepped forward into the circle, slowly making his way back to Kemena and the boys. “He fought till the end, even when his back was against the wall. And that is what we will do. A new war is coming, with familiar enemies. But we will not let them take what we have worked so hard to build. We will fight! And we will win!”

The officers and advisors erupted in cheers and applause, chanting Dean’s name, his brothers’ names, the name of his family. Ever since the Great War, his family had been woven into the fabric of this country, and over time, the two had become a part of each other. And as long as a Mars was still alive, they would always have a fighting chance.

***

The wicked wind kicked up the hard snow packed in the tundra of northern Russia. While the cold had plummeted well below freezing, Rodion took in a deep breath, letting the air freeze his lungs. It felt better than the stifling heat of the desert.

The trip had been long and cost just as much supplies of food and water as it did in men lost. But what he’d lost in supplies and men, he’d soon gain threefold in guns and ammunition. Not a single granule of ore had been spilt or lost on their trip. Rodion forbid it.

Rodion dismounted his horse outside a white-covered building, slick with fresh sheets of snow and ice. Long dagger-like icicles hung like the fangs of a wild beast out front. Rodion stepped inside, the howling winds sneaking in behind him before he shut the door.

Candles and oil lanterns burned on tables and countertops. The back wall of the room held a well-stoked fire that warmed the walls inside. All of the men looked up and stood the moment they recognized their general. Rodion removed his jacket, letting the men linger in their position of salutation a while longer. “At ease, comrades.”

Each man relaxed, but none sat down. Rodion walked around, his lieutenants and other commanding officers filing in behind him. The sergeant in command of the post finally came out of the back room, and the closer Rodion walked to the fire, the more he felt the bits of ice in his beard turn to water from the heat.

“General,” the sergeant said, giving a light bow. “We weren’t expecting you for another week. It is fortunate you made such good time.”

“Fortune had nothing to do with it,” Rodion replied. “The whip and strong hand that wielded it, however, did.” Rodion snapped his fingers, and one of the lieutenants handed him one of the pieces of ore from their journey. Rodion held it out for the sergeant to examine. “This is the quality we need?”

The sergeant cradled the piece of rock gingerly in his hand and moved himself closer to the light of the fire to get a better look. He rotated it in his hands, nodding slowly. “Yes, this is perfect, General. How much were you able to bring back?”

              “Two tons.”

The piece of ore nearly dropped from the sergeant’s hand as he turned back around to Rodion.“Two tons?” His mouth hung loosely.

Rodion walked over and snatched the piece of ore from the sergeant’s hands. “I trust you’ll be able to handle the load?”

“Y-yes, General, it’s just… the amount of weapons we’ll be able to make.” The sergeant licked his lips, the anticipation of the potential arsenal so close he could taste it.

“Make the necessary provisions, Sergeant. I want the rifles ready as soon as possible.” Rodion tossed the piece of ore back to his lieutenant and stepped back outside into the cold Russian air. He made his way around the building, his boots crunching in the hard snow, following the horse tracks to the back.

When Rodion turned the corner, a smile crept up his face as tens of thousands of tents and fires dotted the long strip of tundra. Soldiers marched with rifles and swords, some attending to the vehicles they managed to salvage and rebuild. The fighting force in front of him was well trained, hardened by the vicious cold of his nation, and nearly two hundred thousand strong, making it the largest army in the world.

It was a beautiful sight to behold, and Rodion felt the beat of war drums pound in his chest. He watched with a hard stare as his soldiers moved through the cold. The rest of the world had put them here to die, but soon they would spread their winter to every corner of the globe.

The blockade stretched for miles across the horizon. Smoke from the cannons that pummeled Sydney’s port with their relentless siege distorted the normally pristine sunrise. Most of the seaside docks had been crumbled to ruin, leaving what few ships the Aussie Navy had left to choke off the advancing enemy at the harbor’s entrance.

The harbor itself was two miles wide, with rocks lining the shore where shipwrecked vessels offered their warnings to captains who might want to test their limits. The entrance to the harbor was a narrow gap of only a few hundred yards, and with the Chinese vastly outnumbering the small Australian fleet, they used the confined space to bottleneck the Chinese, rendering the enemy’s size impotent.

A few of the Chinese vessels had anchored offshore and rowed farther down the coast, allowing their soldiers to engird the city. What artillery the Aussies possessed from a land-based standpoint was focused on blasting the smaller excursion boats out of the water, but the number of armed Chinese taking to land grew every day.

The two surviving docks inside the lines in which the Australian forces barely held their ground were riddled with men sprinting from land to ship, wheeling crates of ammunition, gunpowder, water, and food. The crates were loaded hastily as the cannons in the harbor thundered from both sides of the battle lines. The Australian ships floated back and forth, tagging one another in and out for rest and restocking their provisions.

Sailors stumbled off the ships, limping with the fatigue of battle. Soot and sweat covered their bodies, and blood from either their own wounds or that of a comrade. The dozen ships in the harbor were all that stood between the citizens of Sydney and the Chinese horde looking to pillage and conquer.

The 420-foot hull of the Sani, its iron sides dented and torn, pulled into dock, its battle-worn crew tossing lines to the deckhands below. The ship had sailed into Sydney from the northwest region of the North Americas, a merchant vessel bringing with it goods for trade. However, before the vessel’s occupation as a trade merchant, the ship had a legendary history of warfare. Forty cannons lined its port and starboard sides, guns ranging from forty, sixty-eight, and the heavy 110-pounders. And while the guns had collected dust, covered and unused, the captain of the Sani, who wielded them, had not.

Captain Lance Mars stepped from the helm, his crew fluidly restocking and resupplying without a single command uttered from his lips. The seasoned sailors had warred with Lance before, and just as the cannons that lined the Sani, its crew quickly shrugged off the dust that had settled on them.

For a captain, Lance dressed plainly. His dirtied grey shirt hung loose from his body, the fabric sticking to his chest and shoulders from the heat and sweat. His pants were made from the same material, allowing him to maneuver swiftly across the rocking ship. At his belt were a pistol and his sword. The saber hung in its sheath, sharpened to a fine edge, forged by the best blacksmith in Lance’s country, and he had learned to wield it as deftly as the hands that forged the blade itself.

“Canice!” Lance found his first mate hauling a crate of food up the ramp and stacking the wooden case onto the growing pile. “I need an updated number of the casualties and wounded.”

“Thirty-one dead, sixty-three wounded.” Canice spit the numbers out without hesitation. Just like her captain, she took care of every detail at sea, and no crew member was lost or forgotten.

Lance rubbed the coarse beard that covered his cheek, slick with grime. It’d been three days since they were able to dock and twice as many since he’d been able to bathe, spending every waking hour on the water, his guns battering the clustered Chinese ships at the harbor’s entrance. “See to scouting replacements while we’re docked. The Aussie captains that lost their ships may still have some good men we can use.” He started to turn then stopped himself. “And make sure whoever you bring on board sees the wounded. That should scare off any greenhorns.”

“Aye, Captain.” Canice trotted off, her dirty-blond braid bouncing behind her. When Lance named her first mate there wasn’t a single captain, crewman, or shoreman that didn’t snigger behind his back, but after Canice replaced their smirks with a black eye, the whispers ended.

“Captain!” The ship’s engine supervisor jogged over, a trail of soot following him. “We’re having issues with three of the boilers. It’ll take some time to make sure they don’t blow on us.”

“Time we don’t have. Make it quick.”

“Yes, sir.” The words left the sailor with exhaustion, and he turned, his head down and shoulders sagged. It was a look most of the crew mirrored. Few words were exchanged, and the sailors moved about their duties with as much vigor and urgency as a crew who hadn’t slept for days could.

Lance kept a swift pace down the splintered docks, a few of the boys he passed shuddering with each blow of the cannons, ducking their heads in fear they’d be taken right off. But each explosion that echoed across the waters only beat in time with Lance’s pulse.

The port office had turned from a customs checkpoint to a forward operating base. There were clusters of shipless captains and commanders from the army and militia guarding the city’s rear for any Chinese that may have made landfall either north or south of the city. Sydney’s port officer, Danny Gimley, had become the unofficial hub for any and all military news. He was surrounded by men, all trying to get a glimpse at the most alarming evidence of their enemy’s superior tech in warfare.

Fifty years ago, the piece of tech next to Danny would have been an afterthought, commonplace in the world with more modern equipment. But after the Great War, what technological feats that had allowed civilization to advance in leaps and bounds that existed were blown away. Within minutes, billions were dead, entire cities leveled, once great countries suddenly cast back into the Stone Age.

The fact that the Chinese had radio capabilities gave them a strategic advantage, communicating their war strategies and defenses in real time. They no longer had to wait for the slow pace of horse and ship. And in a war like this, time was just as important as sword and rifle.

“We’ve received word from our scouts that Brisbane has been taken.” The words left Danny’s mouth with a loss of breath, and the commanders and captains around him lowered their dirt-caked faces, the news sinking their shoulders. “We’ve also learned that Perth has been taken in the west.”

Lance kept to the back of the room and cursed under his breath. With Brisbane to the north, Perth in the west, and the blockade to the east, it wouldn’t be long before the Chinese closed in on Sydney. They were surrounded.

One of the commanders spoke up. “It won’t be long before the bulk of the Chinese army marches here.” A large map of the country was posted on the wall next to Danny’s desk, and the commander pressed a dirty, chubby finger against the city of Perth. “We have units stationed here that have been ordered to pull back. Until the bulk of our fleet returns from its journey in Brazil, we need to consolidate our resources.”

“Retreating is an odd form of consolidation.” Every head in the room shifted to the back, where Lance leaned up against the doorframe. His blue eyes examined the mixed faces looking back at him. The variety of emotions ranged from fear to disgust. Not everyone was appreciative of his contributions.

“You’re an experienced naval captain, Lance,” Danny said. “But the commander has just as many years of experience fighting on land. He led our charges on the islands against the Chinese during the Island Wars.” The rest of the room grunted in agreement.

“It’s been three days.” Lance stepped forward, the men in the room keeping their distance. “It’s at least a week’s journey from Lima on the west coast of the South Americas, and your fleet left the day the Chinese had attacked. We’re barely holding the line in the harbor, and even if we don’t lose any more ships or men, we’re running out of ammunition.” Lance pointed out to the battle still waging on. “The Chinese have provision shipments coming from the north, but with the blockade we have nothing. We won’t last another three days if this keeps up, and we need to accept the fact that the Brazilians are working with the Chinese, so the fleet you’re hoping to come and save you may already be destroyed.”

“Preposterous!” The commander slammed his fist into the table, rattling Danny’s desk. “The Brazilians may have money, but they don’t have the power to destroy our fleet. We’re not as weak as you propose, Captain Mars.” Spit dribbled down the commander’s bearded chin. The bits of grey that time had etched in his hair were dirtied with grime. “We know your family helped us in the Island Wars, but we are not some nation of weaklings that require your country’s aid whenever there is conflict.”

“This isn’t just Australia.” Lance thrust his jaw forward, and his cheeks reddened. The stress of war creaked his joints as he inched closer to the commander, parting the sea of men that stood in his way. “The map I stole from the Chinese camp in the islands north of here showed a force that stretched to the Okhotsk Sea. That means the Chinese had men and ships in Russian territory, which tells me they’re working together.”

The room tittered but with a sense of caution. None of them wanted it to be true. If it was more than just the Chinese then there hadn’t been a war of this scale in nearly fifty years. A moment in history soldiers would sooner skip than have repeated.

“Captain Mars.” Danny rested his hand on Lance’s shoulder, his words soft but firm. “Could I have a word?” Danny eased Lance out of the room, the tempers on the verge of bursting the structure in flames. Even out of earshot of the others, Danny kept his voice low. “Lance, look, you know there isn’t a man in that room that doesn’t appreciate what you’ve done to help us, but we’re getting desperate here. The city is in shambles, and we don’t have a lot of options.”

“And you seem content on giving the best options to the Chinese!” Lance attempted to keep his voice down but did a poor job of it. “We need to contain the Chinese on the coasts. You cannot afford to give up ground. Not when the uncertainty of whether the fleet is going to make it here or not is so high.”

Lines of worry imprinted on Danny’s face. “Christ, Lance, if the Brazilians are helping the Chinese, then even if our fleet does show up, I don’t know if we’ll be able to outlast them.”

Lance nodded, his eyes squinting in the rising sun. “The Brazilians have the resources and engineers to build whatever the Chinese need, and it’s no secret President Ruiz has been eyeing your ports with envy. He’s not the type of man to let go of a lust once he’s put his mind to it.” Greed was a powerful motive.

The heat burned Lance’s face and the back of his neck. His skin was more leather than flesh after the years at sea. While his eyes still expressed the exuberance of youth, the aged wrinkles of time were catching up with his hard life of sailing.

“Captain!” Canice sprinted to them, skidding to a halt on the splintered docks and sending up a spray of wood chips. She doubled over, her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. She pointed behind her. “The left flank’s broken. We need to plug the hole.”

Danny was screaming something at him as he and Canice made their way back to the Sani, but over the increased thunder in the harbor and the pounding in his chest, Lance couldn’t hear him. The Chinese had drawn blood, and the sharks were on their way to feast.

“Tie off the lines! Man the cannons!” Lance barked the orders, his crew storing what supplies they managed to restock. Canice followed Lance to the helm, where he thrust the engines forward. “Did we get all of the wounded and dead off the ship?”

“Yes, but we weren’t able to finish loading the provisions. I had the men load the ammunition first though. Although if you put enough seasoning on the lead I’m sure we could choke it down.”

The vessel the Chinese sunk was now aflame, sailors jumping from the sinking ship. The enemy advanced on the now gaping hole in their defense, and once they broke through, there wouldn’t be any way to stem the damage. “Load the forward guns, and tell the engine room to stow the coal; we might need the rest of it to get out of here in a hurry.”

With the Sani back in the action, only one ship remained in reserve at the docks to offer relief. The ships were on their last leg. The line wouldn’t hold much longer.

The enemy warships closed in on the open gap as Lance approached and lined up the front cannons. “Fire!” Two sixty-five-pound lead balls exploded from the Sani’s bow, trailed by lines of smoke that wafted over the deck and crew.

The relentless strikes kept the Chinese at bay as Lance maneuvered the Sani into the now sunken vessel’s post. The roar over the water and the constant drum of cannons was deafening. Lance idled the engines, and they slowly slid into place next to the other battled vessels, plugging the leaking hole.

Vibrations rippled through the Sani with every blast of its cannons and every direct hit by the Chinese. Between the cannonade, the shrieks and screams of men could be heard across the dozens of ship decks in the bay.

Even with their bones shattered and snapped against the heavy lead hurled toward them, the men willed themselves forward. Cannons were loaded. Guns were fired. Orders were followed. And the machine of war continued to churn forward.   

“Captain!” Canice gestured to three gunner ships skimming the edge of the harbor, using their shipwrecked brethren as their guide out of the shallows.

“Port side strong!” Lance turned the wheel, thrusting the accelerator forward and churning the steam boilers in the engine room below. Puffs of black smoke rose from the columns on board as Lance took chase, leaving a temporary hole in their link of armored ships. The three Chinese vessels were at full steam, cutting through the shallows at dangerous speeds, and continued their assault from their own portside cannons.