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up on his elbows from the layer of grass and leaves they’d set him on and shook his head. “And to think I thought she didn’t understand a word I was saying.”
    Chris was covered with sweat, and they hadn’t changed him out of the filthy, torn clothes that he’d worn when he received the wound. His skin was clammy, and despite the life in his voice, dark circles had formed under his eyes, and his arms shook when he propped himself up. “You look like shit.”
    Chris collapsed to his back, his arms no longer able to support him. He let out a sigh. “Look who’s talking. I’d been asking about you.”
    Jason squatted next to the puffy layer of brush where Chris lay and put his hand on Chris’s shoulder. His skin felt like fire. “You’re burning up.”
    “I am? I thought it was just the climate.” Chris shifted uneasily on the foliage. When Jason went to reach for the bandages, Chris snatched Jason’s wrist like a viper biting a rabbit, stopping it dead cold in its tracks. “Don’t. I already know what’s under there.”
    Jason retracted his hand. “If you’re infected, we need to get you to an actual doctor. The Brazilians have some of the best here. They can help.”
    “And how do you expect us to pay them? Or even get me there? We’re both wanted men, and who knows what happened to the rest of the crew on the ship once Ruiz tried to take you.” Chris’s lips were split and cracked, his clothes soaked with sweat.
    “I’m not going to let you die here.” Jason knew that Chris was right about the rest of the crew. Ruiz had no need for them once he had fled. Maybe a few were tortured to get some information, but by now they had all been killed and dumped in a pit somewhere. Three hundred men, dead, for him. “No one else is going to die for me. Not while I can help.”

Chapter 4
    Dust drifted down from the rafters with every explosion from the cannons firing beyond the outskirts of Sydney, settling on frightened faces looking up, just waiting for the building to collapse on top of them and bury them in a tomb in which they had voluntarily placed themselves.
    Lance sat in the corner, a nurse tending to his left shoulder, watching the fear and anxiety grow on the refugee faces with every rattle and shake of the structure. It was the only distraction to the needle and thread the nurse weaved over the wound.
    “Okay, Captain Mars.” The nurse knotted the end of the thread that sealed up the shrapnel wound. “You should be all set. The stitches could tear, so I’d limit your mobility as best as you can.”
    Lance threw on his shirt, covering up a chest, back, and stomach carved with scars, a history of war etched upon his skin like braille. “Hard to keep still in battle.” He buckled his belt, his sword and pistol swinging slightly from his left and right hip.
    A shriek spread through the room on Lance’s way to the door when a cannon exploded closer than any before it. He stopped in the doorframe, looked back, and for once there were more eyes on him than the roof. The elderly, women, children, those too sick or wounded to fight, all of them sharing the same fate if the Chinese broke through the lines.
    A small boy grabbed Lance’s pant leg, stopping him. “You’re a captain?” The boy sat in the lap of his mother, who clutched him protectively.
    Lance knelt down to meet him at eye level. “That’s right.”
    The boy’s eyes widened at his words. “You’re going to stop the people from trying to hurt us?”
    The young boy reminded him of his nephew, Sam. They both shared the same blond hair and curious eyes. He had the mind of his mother, thank God. The gruff, coarse voice accustomed to barking orders softened as he answered, “I will.”
    The boy looked up to his mother, smiling and jumping up and down. “Did you hear that? We’re going to be okay.” And while the mother returned her child’s smile, Lance noticed the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
    “You keep your