It was one of the last vehicles to pass through an auxiliacordon before it closed, a few blocks away. Behind them, the auxiliary weresearching vehicles and checking permits. It was too little, too late.
Amalia and Corbus both stayed belowdecks to avoid attentionas a cool Fustus guided the hauler through the streets, monitoring theirmovement carefully to prevent any of the material in the hold from shifting andcrushing his friends and leaders. A gut-wrenching hour later, he steered thevehicle carefully into the loading dock of an abandoned warehouse in SludgeBottom, locked the legs in place, removed the key, and powered down the boilersto prevent damage to the pipes that fed the steam to the power turbine. Heclimbed down the access ladder into the hold and helped supervise the unloadingprocess.
Amalia and Corbus met him at outside. “Excellent job,storming the quartermaster’s office, Fustus,” Amalia said, impressed by theman’s quick thinking in the warehouse and his professional actions andresponses to her questions. “I’ve been discussing with Corbus a brainstorm Ihad-a way to wreak more havoc upon those poor, incompetent overlords of ours.We both thought you would be the best man for the job.”
Nearby, Corbus idly picked at his fingernails with hisknife. “I still think he’ll be in over his head,” he said. “He’s barely begunto shave.”
Fustus’s face turned red, but he held his tongue. Amaliasmiled. It wasn’t smart to insult arguably the best assassin and death-dealerin the rebel ranks, and Fustus had kept his wits about him, maintaining hiscasual stance. Fustus’s eyes did bore into Corbus’s, though. Eventually her sonblinked, shrugged nonchalantly, and turned away.
Amalia watched as Fustus, now pale, let out a slow breath.“See, dear, I told you he could handle the pressure,” she cooed. “Now Fustus, Iwas thinking about something big involving those new uniforms we … procured …today.” Turning, she gestured for Fustus to walk with her and they moved off,he nodding agreement to her plans.
Chapter 7
Constantine turned aside the incoming blow with ateeth-clenching screech and a shower of sparks as the two swords’ electricalcharges connected. He stood face to face with his opponent, one of the biggestmen in 7th Cohort. Weary now, they did little more than jostle, and Constantinetook the moment to look around. His men had fallen back into a rough circle,the “uninjured” men creating a wall with their shields facing outward.“Injured” men lay on the ground, many stunned from the low electrical shocks ofthe practice swords.
A high tweet sounded and Constantine’s opponent backedtoward his men, the two sides resting as the 7th Cohort reformed. Constantinechecked his equipment and looked at his men. Recruits Caesar, Hespinus,Gwendyrn, and four others stood in a tight knot. Vibius stood next to him,panting.
“We’ve fought well, sir, but they’re just bigger and havelonger reach. They broke our formation with that flying wedge, and we couldn’treform. As they say, sir, it’s all but over.”
Constantine looked around again. His men were haggard andtired, but they still held onto their weapons. He raised his voice. “I don’tthink I’ve said this much, men, but it’s truly been an honor to lead you. Wehave come a long way together. Remember, this fight determines our assignmentin this legion. So I have one last question for you.” He paused, and his menlooked at him quizzically. “Do. You. Want. To. Be. Cooks?” He shouted the lastword from a hoarse throat.
Grinning wolfishly, they shouted in unison, “No, SIR!”
Constantine smiled.
“I don’t know about you, sir, but my ma always said my garumwas fit to kill a man. Or a beast,” Gwendyrn added. “I don’t think I’d like beingbrought up for treason on account I poisoned the entire legion.” The fermentedfish sauce was considered a Roman staple. It was perhaps the only industry notallowed back inside the city limits even after several hundred years.
“Then we’d better not subject them to your cooking,Gwendyrn. Men, if we are going to go down, then at least let’s give them abeating they won’t soon forget!” The men gave a ragged cheer. A few checkedtheir shield straps. “We’ll give them everything we’ve got,” Constantine said,watching the remnants of 7th Cohort advancing toward them. “Ready, men, on mymark.”
Seventh’s dented blue shields formed a moving wall. “Ready,”Constantine whispered, only slight movements and tensing legs betraying hissoldiers’ preparations. “Charge!”
As one, the 13th Cohort ran forward, swords raised,screaming at the top of their lungs. Constantine formed the point of theirflying wedge. The clash was tremendous. Gwendyrn used his shield like abattering ram to crush an opposing soldier, then whirled with his sword,zapping one, two, then three soldiers, pushing aside their weapons with brutestrength.
Julius raced to cover his furious assault, blocking swordswings from other 7th Cohort members. A thwack on the back of his legs made hisbody convulse. His eyes rolled back and he dropped. Seconds later, Gwendyrn’slimp body fell atop his as he succumbed to the blows of five other men.
Vibius and Constantine were fighting back to back, fendingoff blows and striking back as best they could. The last of the 13th Cohortlegionnaires fell to their left, outnumbered three to one. Vibius barelymanaged to raise his shield in time as a sword whipped over the top and hit himon the side of his helmet. Rattled, his defense wavered and he went down asplit second later. Constantine, desperate now, went on a furious charge,knocking down three opposing legionnaires with well-timed sword strokes, buteven his training by the elite Emperor’s Praetorian Guard couldn’t help himwhen outnumbered ten to one. His muscles burned and his vision swam as, atlast, he was brought to his knees under a flurry of shocks and blunt swordstrikes.
In the background, another whistle blew. The 7th Cohort menstood panting, as medics and orderlies rushed onto the field to take the injuredmen off and return them to their quarters. Constantine looked at the state ofeach cohort and saw how close it had been. Seventh Cohort had barely ten menleft standing, all with minor injuries and a few shaking off close hits fromthe specially-made shock training swords.
An orderly helped Constantine stand. His legs felt likejelly and he fought down the sharp taste of bile in his mouth. He would notthrow up in front of his men. He would not embarrass them in that manner.
General Minnicus was approaching. Constantine tried to standat attention, but his legs would not support him. He counted himself lucky thathe was still able to salute.
Minnicus returned his salute. “May I congratulate you,Tribune? That was a fine showing indeed. Your men fought to the last, and thatwas admirable. Well led and well controlled. Shame you couldn’t pull it out inthe end, but quantity has a quality all its own.” Minnicus smiled a knowingsmile.
“Thank you, sir, but I believe you should be congratulating7th Cohort; they won fair and square. They broke our formation and split us intwo.” Constantine’s brain was still fuzzy, but he could sense there wassomething else Minnicus was getting at.
“Yes, and even though they were separated, your men foughtwell and managed to get back to you. Your sub-units were capable and motivatedeven in your absence. Even down to the last, bitter moments.” Minnicus lookedat a drill instructor over on the reviewing stand. The man nodded andMinnicus’s eyebrow rose. “It seems we are in a bit of a quandary here. You see,Tribune, we already have enough front line cohorts, as well as reserve cohorts.We also have an excellent engineering cohort, quartermaster cohort, severalskirmish and artillery cohorts, and frankly, we don’t need another Mess cohort.So we weren’t sure what to do with you.” Minnicus looked at his notebook, andgestured to an aide. They held a low conversation, the aide nodding and writingfuriously.
Constantine’s heart sank. His father’s last words before heleft were, Don’t mess this up. He felt as though he had failed his men.They would now be relegated to fort building duty or maybe even baggage andlogistics. It was unfathomable. He had failed.