“Dismissed!” cried his new centurion. The men fell out,moving off in pairs and trios, many helped by combat medics toward the hospitalwing. The centurion strode across the beautiful marble floors inlaid withintricate metal spirals and mosaics made of different metals and gears until hestood next to his commanding officer.
“Good job, Centurion Caesar. Your mission was a success.Would you say your men are ready for another mission?” the tribune asked.Julius nodded hesitantly. “We’ve been busy while you were gone. The generalwants to see us. Seems he has an even grander plan for our newfound talents.”
Seeing Julius’s lips tighten and his eyes narrow,Constantine offered a wan smile. “No worries, that’s tomorrow. Today, go getsome hot grub and some sleep.” He sniffed. “And definitely find a new uniformsomewhere. I think you’ll have to burn that one.”
Chapter 13
General Minnicus slammed his pointer down near the miniaturerepresentation of the seaward curtain wall. “You will take the fight to them,Tribune, and we will take this city back from those imbeciles who dare rebelagainst our Imperial authority!”
Through his contacts in the capital, Constantine had heardthat his father had given Minnicus permission to torture and execute any rebelhe came across. In addition, Minnicus was also given the rights to any capturerebel’s property. Which, Constantine thought, might lead to a conflictof interest. He resolved to keep a closer eye on the newly ambitious general.
The large man leaned over the table, his automatic armcoming to rest with a hiss and slight whine next to him. He moved several smallfigures amongst the shining copper buildings and avenues. “You will lead yourcohort, with the 7th, 9th, and 11th in support, up the western Via Germania,through the slums here.” The telescoping pointer tapped the darker mass ofbuildings representing Sludge Bottom. He looked around at Constantine and thecohort commanders’ faces. The men all looked pointedly at the three-dimensionalmap, waiting for the general to continue.
Finally the thin baton tapped another point in the miniaturecity. “You will then ascend the curtain wall here, against the seawardside. Scouts report that there is considerable scaffolding there due to wallmaintenance. You will use this scaffolding to gain access to the battlements,bypassing the towers. From there, you will take these towers.” Minnicus shiftedslightly, and his arm whined as a piston gradually compacted. “The 7th and 9thwill take the southern tower, while the 11th and 13th take the northern tower.”Finished, he leaned back on his three-legged stool.
Centurion Dryx of 7th Cohort raised a hand. Minnicus nodded.“Sir, what is the goal of this mission?”
Several other officers visibly tensed, noting the unspokenreasons for this question. On the surface, it looked like a suicide mission.Send five hundred men deep into a hostile city to scale walls and take defendedpositions?
Minnicus glowered at the freckle-faced centurion. “The goalis to take those towers. They have air defense mounted ballista and heavyscorpions that were reportedly undamaged in the initial assault. The troopsmanning those towers deserted or turned to the enemy. By taking those defenses,we eliminate the rebels’ ability to get supplies from the Nortlanders. Inaddition, the last remaining air pad controlled by the rebels is right betweenthose two towers. Once you take those defenses, I want you to knock out thelast airship. Bad winds have slowed our air fleet coming from Britannia, sowe’re on our own.”
The general held out his hand and a silent servant placed aglass of wine into it. He heavily, then smacked his lips and looked around.“Any more questions?” Seeing no response, he stood. “Tribune Appius of the 13thwill take the lead on this one. His cohort is the most blooded of ours.”
The officers stood at attention while the general left thecommand room, flunkies dogging his heels. As the tent flap fell shut behindhim, blocking out the sun, someone muttered, “By the gods, I suppose we shouldget our wills up to date.”
Constantine moved closer to the table. He leaned over,tracing their route with his finger. “Not yet. I have a few ideas. We’llcomplete our objectives, but we’ll do it my way. No need to lose our arms overit.” The other men couldn’t help but smile at the underhanded jab at thedeparted general. “This is what I need us to get ahold of first …”
The men of the 11th and 13th Cohorts moved in two singlefiles on either side of the cobblestone street. Looming buildings crowded outthe morning sun, and the streets were dark and murky. Every small noise orslight movement ratcheted up the level of anxiety in the column.
They had been awakened before daybreak, and wrapped theirboots with rags to muffle the noise of their passing. They had gathered theirthings and departed in the inky pre-dawn, separating into two divisions. The11th and 13th Cohorts were making their way toward the northern tower #23 onthe western wall, while the 7th and 9th Cohorts targeted the southern tower,#22.
Almost immediately the southern cohorts ran into trouble. Asmall group of rebel saboteurs were lucky (or perhaps, unlucky) enough to bepreparing an ambush in several buildings when the first legionnaires emergedfrom the mists right before them. Both parties hesitated a few moments, shockedat the appearance of the other. Then the first few legionnaires recovered andpulled out their swords to charge their surprised foes. A few more competentmembers of the ragtag militia responded in kind. Steel met steel, the soundechoing down the empty streets, though the dense fog dampened most of thereverberations of combat. Blood joined dew on the cold streets, pooling to runslowly in channels toward the sewers.
Although the fight was brief, it had destroyed the secrecyof the operation. His cover blown, the commanding tribune of the 7th and 9thCohorts ordered his men forward, determined to reach the wall before losing thefog cover.
From far off, Corbus heard the short clash of metal, theyelling, then silence. He knelt and looked down the cobblestone street, his browncloak settling onto the damp paving stones around him as his troop waited,armed and armored, behind him. Bracing himself with one hand, he leaned farforward and turned his head to press a cheek against the wet cobbles. Closinghis eyes, he focused deep inside himself, then stretched his senses outto the narrow streets and dilapidated tenements around him.
Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump …
“What do you hear, My Lord?” asked his second in command,Xersia. He had moved up to stand next to his oddly situated leader. The fog hadsettled as condensation on his flat-brimmed steel helmet, and it dripped ontothe collar of his blue cloak.
Corbus leaned back and turned to look at Xersia. Hisreflection stared back at him from the man’s burnished breastplate. “We’reabout to have company. Warm up the engines, but keep them at low power. Let’sprepare a warm reception for our visitors. Quietly-I don’t want them to beprepared for our little surprise party.”
Xersia nodded and turned, directing squads to the prepareddefenses with little more than a grunt and a wave of his wicked serrateddagger.
Corbus rose and stretched his arms and legs with controlled,precise movements. He slid a set of double swords from their sheaths on hisback. His men assigned to their stations, Xersia pulled out an apple and bitinto it, then made a face and spit out the chunk. He examined the apple.“Rotten,” he muttered.
Without stopping his warm-up, Corbus said, “Thought someoneas rotten as you would like rotten apples.”
Grinning, Xersia chucked the rotten apple at his commander.
Swish, then swack-a flurry of motion-swish.The apple, now sliced into six pieces, fell to the street.