Fourth Vector Ch. 39

Her eyebrows narrowed. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Making so much sense all the time. It's really annoying."

Jack started to laugh. He kissed her again. "Sorry, but you signed up for this. You're the one that married me."

"That was one decision that I'll never regret," she muttered. "But I'm not ready to just forgive Kat yet. Not without hearing something from her. A peace offering or an olive branch. I don't care but she needs to make the first move."

Jack let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Let me talk to her."

*****

"Stop! Let go, please! Don't touch--Let go!"

Alvin rolled his eyes as the dainty little tart below struggled for freedom. She was a complete mess. Not only had she perspired heavily during sex, she also reeked of alcohol from the previous night.

Her screams became more muffled as he held the pillow against her mouth. Like the others before her, she didn't last long. The struggle went out of her body after several minutes, and when Alvin removed the pillow, her face had contorted to a grotesque expression.

Alvin sighed and threw the pillow on the bed. He began to get dressed, not wanting to linger in the girl's apartment. After all, he knew better than to stay at the scene of the crime, especially if he wanted to make a getaway.

As he was leaving, Alvin turned back to look inside the room. No doubt the girl would be discovered in a day or two once she didn't show up at work. Someone might have even seen them leave the bar together. He cared not for the consequences.

In fact, it was part of the thrill of the whole thing. The chance of getting caught pumped the adrenaline in his veins and kept him coming back for more. Killing people was one of the only ways that Alvin could feel alive, and it was why he made a habit of it no matter where he went.

It was just an added bonus to get paid for it.

Alvin also considered that he got better at the task every time he did it. That was why he took no pity on these whores he'd picked up from the local watering hole. No one would miss them. They served their purposes in two respects.

They were a wet hole when he needed it and they gave him a chance to perfect his craft.

Not bad at all.

For now though, Alvin had a different victim in mind. He left the girl's apartment and made his way back to the center of the city. Already, the morning was starting to show signs of life. The citizens of Daban were on their way to work or to the marketplace, and once more Alvin pulled up his hood to conceal the fact that he wasn't one of them.

He found the spot he was looking for without too much effort. It was an alleyway not far from the palace, a place where the roof of the closest building had easy access by climbing a garbage bin and then using his feet to climb up the wall where there were indentations in the stonework. He liked this access point because he could jump from this height to the ground without getting seriously injured. In Alvin's line of work, having an escape route was crucial before any planned killing.

Alvin moved along the rooftop, stepping over a small gap between two buildings and coming to the other side, which opened up to another nearly empty street. It was a street that Alvin thought was critically important, mostly because his quarry always used this same path to walk between the harbor and the palace.

Jack Easterbrook seemed to be a creature of habit if nothing else. And nearly once or twice a day, he made the journey down this street with his full bodyguard.

The bodyguard was nothing that Alvin had dealt with in the past. He was used to powerful men having some muscle with them, and he'd dispatched them just as easily. The problem with Easterbrook was that he had eight men with him at all times, which made a close-quarters killing all but impossible.

That meant he had to think longer range. And that was exactly the thought in mind when he picked up the discarded Swabian rifle, left behind by one of the soldiers when they pulled out of Picardy, and placed it on the rooftop for use.

The rifle was in excellent condition. It was a little behind the times, especially compared with the more modern Javan NT-12, but it still fired well and would do the job that Alvin needed it to do.

For now though, Alvin had to wait. Easterbrook usually didn't make his first trek for several hours, and that meant keeping a careful watch on the streets below for his appearance. In the meantime, he would go over his plan with delicate preparation and make sure he could arrange a clean getaway when the time came.

Alvin grabbed the rifle and used the scope to scan the street. He centered the crosshairs on the back of a nearby Picard man, imagining that he was Easterbrook. It would be all too easy to shoot him from afar and beat a hasty exit while his bodyguard was still trying to figure out where the shot came from. Then all he'd have to do is find a way back to Javan territory and take his reward from the Emperor.

Judging by what was promised to him, this would be the big one. Alvin would be able to retire and fuck all the whores he wanted to fuck. He just needed one last killing to make it a reality.

The traitor's time was numbered.

*****

There was a beaming grin on the face of Admiral Nick Reynolds, Viceroy of Ruthenia.

Why wouldn't there be? It was a beautiful early spring morning and the chill of winter had finally melted away in lieu of warmer temperatures. Not that winter was that severe in Ruthenia anyway, but spring was probably the most attractive season in the country.

Another reason to celebrate was that at this very moment, Nick was strolling through the royal palace in the capital city of Merv--a conqueror of everything around him. The city had fallen the day before as the last shattered remnants of the Ruthenian Army went streaming west into the desert, a broken force. They took with them whatever semblance of government was left for the country, including their sovereign, Emperor Pavel Rostov.

Nick didn't know why the Ruthenian Emperor bothered to leave his city. As far as he was concerned, the war was over. Merv was the most powerful settlement in Ruthenia. Without the capital, they could scarcely expect to continue the war. That wasn't even mentioning the poor state of their army, which had gone defeat after defeat to become its current ragged condition.

As far as Nick was concerned, the war was over. It just needed an official ending.

He made his way through the palace until he came to Pavel's throne room, a gilded and opulent room that would rival any back in Java. It might even have been grander than Java's especially when considering the sheer amount of gold and jewels that decorated the room. It was empty now, and Nick's footsteps echoed throughout the room as he approached the throne, sitting down in his enemy's chair.

It certainly felt good to be a conqueror. No doubt all the people back in Java would celebrate this victory against their ancient nemesis, and they would hail Nick's name in making it possible. He looked forward to introducing himself as the "Conqueror of Ruthenia" from now on, a title as grand as his ambitions.

As soon as he had the surrender delegations, all would be complete. He could return to Java and position himself as Bancroft's right-hand man--a thought that was previously unattainable.

For almost as long as he'd known Bancroft, the Emperor's protege had been that traitor Jack Easterbrook. It could have been Easterbrook standing here in the Ruthenian palace, and it nearly came to that after the Battle of Aberdeen. Back then, the people were content to shame Nick for his role in the battle while Easterbrook received all the praise.

How the times had changed.

Now the people would chant Nick's name for bringing the war to a sudden conclusion. And they would hang Easterbrook just as soon as his band of traitors could be brought to justice.

Life would be very sweet indeed once the wrongs of the past were corrected.

Nick allowed himself a few minutes to relax in the chair, feeling the power that it gave to him. He couldn't linger for very long as he was due to meet with General Ortman back at his camp headquarters by noon.

He was expecting a report from the General on the status of the pursuit of the remains of the Ruthenian Army. Nick had ordered that his forces stay on the Ruthenians and not permit them the chance to regroup. He wanted his army to be like fleas on a dog--ever present with contact pressure on their target.

Once the Ruthenians saw the situation was hopeless, they would surrender and put an end to this conflict.

About an hour before noon, Nick left the Ruthenian palace and made his way back to camp, which was just outside the city. The camp was a lot smaller now that the bulk of the army had moved west, and Nick contemplated whether he should relocate to the city. After all, he'd spent nearly a month outside the city while they besieged it and he was looking forward to the comforts that came with urban living.

The meeting with Ortman came and went. The general gave Nick the latest casualty figures and judging by the Ruthenians captured in the last twenty-four hours, the war would be over within a matter of days. Ortman returned to his post, which left Nick a moment to check his dispatches.

There weren't many important messages today save for one, a message from his wife, Lisa. Now that the war had all but wrapped up and seeing that he would most likely be the Ruthenian Viceroy for a matter of months until the peace settlement could be organized, she requested to board the next ship to Merv to rejoin him after many months of absence.

At first glance, the offer was tempting. Nick had been married to Lisa for nearly a decade and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been intimate with his wife. It had been a number of months, well before he came to Ruthenia.

Something stayed his hand though. While he would never admit it out loud, Nick had a perfectly good reason for keeping his wife in Java.

That was why he denied her request and told her to stay put, promising to reconnect with her after the war was over.

Nick knew that Lisa would be upset but the thought of having her in Ruthenia wasn't a pleasant one, especially when he considered that it would bring an end to certain extracurricular activities that he was so enjoying.

Speaking of which, Nick was in the mood for such an activity at that very moment. Victory made a man confident and hungry, and he had a desire to fill those needs.

Nick exited the portion of his camp that made up his headquarters and walked a few tents down to find an area he was very familiar with. In that area were two Ruthenian women, both chained to prevent their escape. They were both lovely--beauty the likes of which any Ruthenian man would love to call his own.

And right now, Nick had that honor.

"Let's go, girls," said Nick as he loosened his trousers. "Time to play."

Nick spent most of the afternoon with his Ruthenian playmates. Over the course of the last couple months, it had become a daily tradition. Nick never tired of the young Ruthenian pussy and he considered it one of the perks of his role as Viceroy.

It was also another reason why he would never let Lisa in the country. He didn't need her to put an end to the party.

It was nearly dinnertime when General Ortman came rushing back into Nick's headquarters. He brought with him a ragged-looking Ruthenian soldier with a worn-out expression.

"You're here much sooner than expected, General," said Nick as he eyed the Ruthenian. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Ortman saluted as a small grin filled his face. "Colonel Abramov here has brought news from the remnants of the Ruthenian Army. Emperor Pavel wishes to surrender."

Nick couldn't contain the smile that filled his lips.

Victory was his.

*****

Trevor Downing had swollen feet.

Every time he tried to take his boots off, it was a struggle, a painful reminder of their current mission. Even worse was trying to put the same boots back--an agonizing exercise. For all that was going on, Trevor would take aching feet.

Many of his men were a lot worse off.

It wasn't hard to tell why. For the last week, the race had been on. There was an ever present need to get across the northern fringes of Tyrol to the Thessalian city of Worchester on the southeastern coast.

The Javan force under General Dennis Ryan was doing everything in its power to ensure that Trevor didn't get there.

The reason was obvious. Worchester was a supply depot that handled everything that was shipped south to Ruthenia to support the Javan force there under Viceroy Nick Reynolds. The city was bursting at the seams with uniforms, food, rifles, and ammunition.

For a battered army like Trevor's, it was like trying to reach a goldmine.

The soldiers that made up the Tyrolean Army were hungry, ragged, and tired. Many of them were on their last legs. The race to Worchester would have been hard just marching at a normal day's pace, but Trevor had the men moving at double time in an effort to beat the Javans.

In doing so, he was grinding down his army to a perilous state. Trevor was well-aware of their woes. They'd become very vocal in the last week. They wanted food, and they wanted a day (or two) of rest.

Most of all, they wanted this war to be over. Trevor considered that to be the only reason why they stayed together. If they fell apart now, it would mean certain defeat.

The distant illusion of victory kept them moving forward with tattered uniforms and empty stomachs.

At least the terrain they were moving through seemed to be getting better. The mountains that dominated most of Tyrol had turned into rolling hills the closer they got to Worchester. There were still deep and dark forests but it wasn't hard marching through the rugged interior anymore, for which Trevor was grateful.

If only he could get to Worchester any quicker. By their estimates, they were still a good four days outside the southern city. If the Javans kept up their breakneck pace, there was a good chance they would overcome Trevor's army.

If they occupied Worchester before he did, the game just might be up. The army might just have to disband.

Trevor tried not to dwell on that thought that evening, especially as his army settled down for some much needed rest. They ate what meager stores they had left, and that meant that everyone enjoyed a watery gruel for dinner.

Trevor had just finished his when he saw that Gavin was making for him. Anytime Gavin came to find him, it usually wasn't something good. The official quartermaster of the army, Gavin took the lack of supplies and food more seriously than others.

"Trevor, we have a situation. I need you," said Gavin as he thumbed his hand some distance away.

"What's going on? Javans?" asked Trevor.

Gavin shook his head. "Worse."

Trevor followed the man throughout their camp. He didn't hesitate to look at all the men they passed. Many of them were sucking down their gruel as fast as they could. Quite a few became angry when it went too quickly. Trevor didn't blame them.

They were all in the same boat now.

Gavin brought him to a small clearing where a group of soldiers were laying on the ground. It wasn't hard to see that they could have been mistaken for corpses. They were quite emaciated with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Had they not been wearing shirts, Trevor could imagine he'd be able to count all of their ribs.

There was no more pathetic sight in the entire army.

"What's the problem here tonight?" asked Trevor as he assumed his commander persona. "What's wrong?"

Of the four men in front of him, one was clearly the leader. Trevor could tell he was the leader because the other three looked at him before anyone started to speak. Trevor recognized him as one of the veterans that had been with his army since the early days, when their numbers were in the hundreds instead of tens of thousands.

Trevor just vaguely remembered his name--Ross.

"We can't keep going on like this," said Ross with a tone of finality. "We need food. Real food, not this shitty gruel."

"I understand what you're saying, Ross, but we all need food," replied Trevor. "That's why we're marching right now to go get it."

Ross shook his head with what little energy he had left. "We need food first! No more marching. These men are wasting away to nothing. We can't keep this pace up. We need to eat anything we can get our hands on!"

"There is nothing right now, Ross. We're eating all that we have left," said Trevor while crossing his arms. "You have my sympathy but we must keep moving forward."

Ross' eyes narrowed. "You're killing us, Trevor. You're going to kill off your entire army. Who will stop the Javans if we're all dead?"

Ross had a point but it was a deadly line of thinking. If Trevor gave them the reprieve they were looking for, it could mean losing the race to Worchester.

Then they would really find out what starvation felt like.

For now, they had to keep moving.

Trevor reached his hand down to Ross. "I need you to stay the course. We're all hungry. We're all suffering. We're not suffering needlessly though. I'm taking us to a place where we can get the food and the supplies we need but it's critical we get there before the Javans. Their dogged pursuit behind us tells me that they know our destination, and they are looking to block us from Worchester. I will get you all the food you can handle, Ross. But I need your help in getting this army to Worchester. Can I count on you?"

Ross eyed his hand warily. Around them, the rest of his cohorts watched the situation unfold silently. Trevor knew that if he could sway Ross, he could sway the others.

He just needed to cut the head of resistance and the rest of the body would die.

"How long until we get to Worchester?" asked Ross.

"Four days," replied Trevor. "Can you make it that long?"

Ross took his hand. "You have four days. That's it. If we're not there in four days, I'm done. And so are these men. We came out to fight, not to starve."

Trevor gave him a subtle nod but left him with a warning. "The Javans aren't the only enemy we face in the field of battle, Ross. Hunger is just as deadly. That's why we need to stick together."

Ross showed no signs of accepting his words, but Trevor was already moving on. He knew that Ross would get up to march in the morning, as would the rest of his cohorts.

Trevor had bought himself another day of life. How long could he keep this up though?

"I'm afraid Ross and his men aren't the only ones sharing such talk," said Gavin quietly as they walked away. "I've heard many such statements as bold as his in recent days. He's the only one that demanded to talk with you."

"Keep a lid on the dissent as best you can," advised Trevor. "And let me know when they reach the boiling point. We need to get this army to Worchester. Any delay now will cede our advantage back to our enemy."

"Even still, Trevor, we might need to not go as far tomorrow," counseled Gavin. "Maybe cover a bit less ground. These men have a point. They're shadows of men. We can't keep pushing them so hard."

"If we falter now, the Javans will be nipping at our heels in no time," replied Trevor with a firm shake of the head. "The Javans have more than enough food. If they catch up with us, we'll have no way of pushing them off."

Gavin swallowed heavily. "I'm just concerned what will happen if this Worchester bargain doesn't pay off. What if there aren't any supplies there? What if the city has already been fortified?"

Truthfully, it was now Trevor's biggest fear. He worried what he would do with the army if he couldn't feed it. Surely, it would disintegrate away, leaving the road back into Tyrol open for the well-fed Javans.