Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (222 page)

***

Dean and Jason chose to ride in separate ships, hoping that dividing their efforts would make it harder for Delun to capture them both. Dean wasn’t under any illusions of what would happen if they both fell. General Monaghan had the mind to fight wars but not the skills to run a country. If they died, then Delun would have his empire.

The trip was uneventful, the seas cooperating in their hasty journey. Dean found his mind drifting to thoughts of Kemena, to his fallen brothers, and his father, long since passed. Was it worth it, Father? The wars, the planning, the sacrifice? Your family always in danger, one breath away from death?

“Governor Mars,” General Monaghan said, disrupting the quiet of Dean’s cabin. “One of the scout ships has returned.”

“Only one?”

Monaghan nodded. “The crew is in bad shape.”

Dean nearly trampled the general on his way out the door, and the sailors on deck steered clear of his path as he made his way to the crew climbing aboard. From the looks of it, both the vessel and the men had seen battle. The dents and blows to the hull were matched with the wounds and missing limbs of the sailors seeking medical attention.

The captain of the ship was no better than his men, half his face bandaged and a red blotch placed where his eye should have been. “Governor, we need to speak in private.”

“We can use my quarters.” Once below deck, Dean offered the captain a glass of whiskey, and the sailor tossed it back in one gulp then poured himself another, leaving the bottle next to his glass on the table. Dean called in Monaghan and some of the other advisors along with a messenger to send word to Jason once the meeting had ended. He white-knuckled the edge of his desk, leaning as the captain spoke.

“They outnumbered us two to one, and they attacked before we could even smell them.” The captain took another sip, the corner of his mouth twitching from the sharp kick of the booze. “They only sent five ships after us, but what I saw on the horizon was a wall of steel, Governor. And they had… something.” The next sip drained the glass, and the captain reached for the bottle once more but paused. “I think they let us get away so we could tell you.”

“What did you see?” Dean, along with the rest of the room, seemed to draw in a collective breath, everyone leaning, hoping to understand what unfolded.

“One strike.” The captain poured another glass, the liquid splashing over the rim. “It was only one explosion that brought down the whole ship. A direct hit on the center of the deck.” He brought the glass to his lips then stopped and looked up. “Came right out of the sky.”

Dean shook his head, trying to make sense. “What do you mean it came from the sky?” Delun couldn’t have aircraft. It wasn’t possible; not even with all of Brazil’s resources could they make something like that.

“It was fired from one of the ships. It left a trail of smoke from the collision, all the way back to the deck where it was fired. It was a bull’s-eye from at least a mile away.”

“My god.” Monaghan rubbed his forehead raw, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief. “Governor, we need to send word to Jason, tell him what we’re up against. If they can see us coming and Delun has all of his ships outfitted with these weapons, then we can’t separate our forces. We need one coordinated strike.”

“If Delun had all of his ships outfitted with those weapons, then he would have defeated the Aussies by now.” Dean removed the bottle of whisky, nearly half gone now. “The ship that chased you, did they have any odd outfitting that you could see?” Dean’s mind drifted back to what Alvy had told him of the device he created for Delun. It seemed the other engineers had finished his work.

The captain shook his head. “Not that I could tell. Standard cannons, from the look of it. Small ship, but quick. Like I said, they let us go.”

If Delun had the number of ships that the captain claimed, then he knew some of them had to be less formidable and with green captains. Lance had sent him word of his battles once the blockade ended and stated that while the force was overwhelming, most of it was new in the arts of war. “I want all ships at full steam. If we’re lucky, the wind will be with us. Send word to Jason to continue his route but to get there quickly.”

“Governor,” Monaghan said. “We need to consolidate our forces.”

“No, that’s what Delun wants us to do. He wants to cripple us all at once. But if we can draw the bulk of the fighting away from Jason’s point of entry, he’ll have a better chance at striking at the heart of the islands. And a better chance of saving my wife.” While Dean knew Monaghan to be a proven general and stubborn in the ways of strategy, he was also a husband, and while the general grumbled, he followed orders.

Dean rested his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Get to the infirmary. They’ll need to change that bandage on your eye soon. And keep it clean. I’m still in need of good captains to sail.”

The sailor grabbed the neck of the bottle on his way but left the glass. “Governor, we may be worked over a bit, but we won’t quit on you. We will never quit on you.” He saluted then disappeared back up to the deck, leaving Dean once again in quiet and solitude.

Dean clutched at the pendulums around his neck. His mind drifted to Lance and Fred. Stay with me, brothers. Stay with me till the end.

***

Jason gripped the railing for support and focused all of his concentration on the horizon, which slowly dipped and rose above his line of sight. His lunch rested uneasily in his stomach, but for the most part he’d weathered the journey fairly well. But when they’d received word from Dean to push the engines full steam, the ride became significantly rougher.

A wall of steel. And Dean’s sailing right into the brunt of it. Dean’s message flapped in the breeze, Jason pinching the corner between his fingers. He loosened his grip, and the paper took flight, staying airborne for a few moments before losing altitude and crashing into the ocean. “Captain!” Jason’s words were echoed across the deck, and it wasn’t but thirty seconds later that the ship’s captain arrived.

“Yes, Governor?”

“Tell the scribe to meet me in my quarters. Immediately.”

“I’ll send word right away, sir.”

Jason stood at the railing a bit longer, thinking of what he should say, but nothing came. When he made it back to his room, where the scribe was waiting outside the door, he let the young man inside. “Have a seat.”

The scribe was no older than Kit but lacked the large fighting build that his nephew possessed. The messenger was thin, and his freckles dotted a pale complexion. Glasses, which he adjusted frequently, rested unevenly on the bridge of his nose. Jason wasn’t sure if it was because the eyewear was broken or if the boy was nervous. “Did you bring what you need to write?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” The boy fidgeted with his bag, pulling the quill and ink from the page. He pinched the quill tightly. “Whenever you’re ready, Governor.”

The wood on Jason’s chair offered a light groan as he leaned back. He looked down at the blank paper then to the young man. “What’s your name?”

“Um, Tom, sir.”

“And how long have you been in the service, Tom?”

“Well, technically, I’m not in the service. The officers came into town and started recruiting everyone based on skill set. I was one of the only boys of age that could read and write, and they said they were in desperate need of scribes. So here I am.” Tom flashed a nervous grin and tapped the quill against the edge of the table.

“I suppose you can thank me and my brother for your current predicament.” Jason rubbed his face, fatigue suddenly taking hold. All of the wars he’d ever fought seemed to connect in one seamless battle, a trail of youth buried behind it.

“I wouldn’t beat yourself up too much over it, Governor. I’ve always wanted to sail to another place, although I have to admit I never really wanted to sail into a war.” Tom laughed awkwardly, and the hint of fear slowly replaced the grin.

“You have family back home?” Jason asked, hoping the change in subject would disperse Tom’s hesitation. “A girlfriend maybe?” He nudged Tom’s arm, and the boy flushed red.

“I wouldn’t call her a girlfriend. A hopeful prospect, maybe. She might be more willing to pay attention to me if I come back a war hero.”

“When we get back, I’ll make sure you have a commendation for aiding the governor in battle.”

“For what?”

“We’ll think of something. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll get this girl’s attention.”

Tom lit up and nearly knocked the quill and ink from his desk, stuttering so fast that Jason wasn’t sure if the boy would ever talk right again. “Governor, sir, that would be... I just... wow, thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do for… well, whatever it is we’ll say you’ll do.” The look on Tom’s face was pure joy, and for a moment Jason forgot that he was in the belly of a warship, steaming toward an enemy that meant to crush every last one of his men.

Tom reached for the quill once more, the formalities returning once the excitement had subsided. “Sorry about that, sir.” He drew a deep breath and set the tip of the quill to the paper. “So what did you want me to write?”

Gabriela. Jason knew he hadn’t heard from her in more than two weeks. “I should’ve tried to find her that night.”

“Find who, sir?” Tom pinched his eyebrows together, lost in the sudden change of subject.

“You can leave the paper and ink, Tom. I’ll write the message myself.” Jason stood, and Tom shot up from his chair. “I’ll send for you again once I’m done.”

“Of course, Governor.”

Jason shook Tom’s hand. The boy had thin fingers but a strong grip, and Jason found himself hoping he wouldn’t have to grab the stock of a rifle or the hilt of a sword. He hoped Tom would be able to return to the Northwest and see that girl, marry her, and raise children. Maybe he could work at the school, teaching others to read and write, helping educate a generation that wouldn’t be soaked in the blood of war.

With Tom gone, Jason sat at the table, slowly reaching for the quill, hovering it just above the ink, the words still eluding him. Finally, he plunged the tip into the ink then scratched her name on the parchment. Then he dropped the pen, crumpled up the paper, and tossed it across the room. Whatever words Jason had for Gabriela would be spoken in person.

***

“Governor! Enemy spotted! We have engagement on the left flank!” The captain burst into Dean’s quarters red faced and gasping for breath. “The front line…” The captain’s eyes bulged from his skull. “Sir, there are at least three hundred ships.”

Dean leapt from his chair, sidestepping the captain in the door frame, and rushed to the deck, the captain struggling to keep up. “Any sightings of the weapons the scout described?”

“No, Captain. Nothing yet.”

Dean had sent word to every ship in the area informing them of the advanced Chinese weaponry. He didn’t need captains scrambling over one another, wasting time and resources, bickering over what type of assault they were taking on when their concentration should be on the battle at hand.

Cannons thundered in the distance, and Dean found his eyes glaring at the horizon. My god. The scout captain had made no exaggerations about the size of Delun’s armada. The sunlight shimmered and reflected off the iron sides of the fleet. A wall of steel.

“Governor.” Monaghan had joined Dean on the bow, his glance switching between the sight of the fleet and Dean. “I know you want to be at the forefront of the battle, but with the weapons Delun has—”

“What is he waiting for?” Dean asked, squinting at the endless number of ships. “We’re well within a mile’s range.”

“Sir!” Monaghan gripped Dean viciously and spun him around. “We need to get you behind the front lines. There will be time for you to fight once we’ve penetrated the bulk of the fleet.”

Dean removed the general’s hands from his shoulders calmly. “You and I both know it is not in me to stand behind my men. This is where I belong. And you with me.”

The old general twitched his mustache. “I warred with your father for many years, Dean. He was killed in battle, leaving behind a wife and four sons. I gave him the same counsel I give you now. Please, heed it.”

“Will you fight with me, Jake? As you did with my father?”

Monaghan paused, and Dean looked past the fear and hesitation in the general’s eyes to the resolve of war. Monaghan nodded. “To the end, Governor.”

“Full steam ahead! Man the cannons! We sail to war!” Dean barked the orders, and the sailors aboard the ship burst into action. The wind brought the scent of salt, smoke, and lead. To his left, a cluster of his warships kept pace, and to his right, a group was gaining speed.

The first enemy ship within range was spotted just to their starboard, and Dean gripped the railing as the vessel shifted course to intercept. The rest of his fleet began to spread out, the closest ship to him now at least one hundred yards away, all of them ready to penetrate Delun’s forces.

Dean found the captain at the helm. “Enemy ship within range. Keep engines holding steady then slow on my mark.” The captain went through the motions easily, the crew following his commands effortlessly. “Fire!”

The hull of the ship vibrated as lead ejected from the starboard sides, hurling toward their target of the nearest Chinese vessel, the cannonade ripping apart the wooden craft, which volleyed an attack before disappearing into the waves, its crew clambering to stay afloat in the wreckage, and those that didn’t drown were fired upon from their deck, sending any survivors to the depths of the sea.

Most of Delun’s first wave was a combination of older ironclads and wooden ships that tore apart easily. Dean watched the carnage unfold, his fleet penetrating the first wave. Every inch of their advancement was clouded by the glaring question in Dean’s mind: Why pull us in? Delun had clearly let it be known that he possessed weaponry superior to their own, yet none of that force had been shown.

Dean left the ship’s helm, returning to the bow, Monaghan following him with every step. The air had thickened with noise in the heart of the battle. The air grew dense with smoke from cannon fire, burning his lungs.

Ship masts and hulls came in and out of view, the smoke growing heavy, thicker, casting everyone into a haze until Dean could no longer see more than a few feet beyond the deck of his own ship. Only the sounds of war reverberated across the ocean and the agitated sea crashing waves into their hulls. “They fired from nearly a mile away.”

“What was that, Governor?” Monaghan asked.

That’s why Delun’s forces drew him in; that’s why they didn’t expose their weaponry in the beginning. He wanted to lure us closer, to try and cluster us. “Brace for impact!” Dean screamed the words involuntarily, running across the deck of the ship. “Brace for—”

The explosion sent a blast of heat and force that knocked Dean to the ship’s deck. A high-pitched whine filled his ears, and for a moment he believed it was his own ship that was hit, but when he managed to place two wobbling feet under him, he saw the fire to his left through a cloud of hazy smoke, the ringing in his ears replaced by the screams of men.

“Evasive maneuvers!” the captain shouted from the helm. “Man the cannons!”

But amidst the captain’s orders and the sailors scrambling on the deck, more explosions rocked the starboard and port sides, the thunderous booms echoing ominously through the smoky haze.

Dean stumbled to the side of the ship, a gash bleeding from the side of his head. He patted the sweat- and blood-infused hair and pulled back his fingers, now wet with a claret tinge. The wind shifted in different directions as the captain maneuvered the ship through the chaos. Dean tried to keep count of the number of explosions but lost track.

He looked to the sky, white streaks cutting through the smoke above him, then looked down into the ocean as wreckage from ships floated by along with the bodies of the dead. Some were face down, others face up, some missing limbs or disfigured, but all of them were motionless.

Dean knew the smoke would clear soon enough, but whether or not he would still have a navy once the assault had finished was uncertain. In that moment, he could do nothing on the deck of the ship but listen to the sounds of men dying.