Julius drew his sword. Their training had engraved in everylegionnaire’s mind that it was not smart or proper to go about waving yoursword over your head in a combat situation. That was not the Roman style. Screwthe Roman style. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He leapt atopa crenellation; whirling his sword in the air and calling for his men to rally,rally to me! For a few brief moments, the line steadied, men movingshoulder to shoulder, ranks forming as they should behind them. The roughlythirty remaining men of his command clumped together across the walkway.
Julius spotted Legionnaire Faustus crouched to one side,cursing as he attempted to tie a strip of cloth around his bleeding shield arm.“Faustus! Get back and find the tribune. Tell him we need assistanceimmediately! The rebels are making a break for it!” The man gave a sketchysalute and sprinted along the walkway, hand gripping the cloth over hisbleeding forearm.
A thin, piercing howl reached his ears and worked its waydown his spine into his belly. Knees trembling, he covered his ears with hishands and felt a wetness against his palms. His men were doing the same,several falling to their knees, dropping their shields and plumbatae inthe effort to escape the ear-rending noise. “Keep together, men!” Julius triedto cry out, but it came out as a mere croak.
A woman was moving rapidly toward their line, and the soundseemed to move in response to her movements. His mind garbled frantically athim, as his spirit fought to remain strong against the overwhelming horror ofthe shrieking, It’s like one of the furies come to life. He noticed herweapon: a long, dark metallic shaft capped on either end with a wicked-lookingsickle-shaped blade. That’s something out of a bad theater production, onlyI bet that blade isn’t made of scrap metal.
He screamed, trying to overwhelm her punishing, unceasingpsychological attack. Putting every ounce of command authority he had into hisvoice, Julius dug deep down into his soul and cried out one last time, tryingdesperately to gather his soldiers. “Hold, fellow Romans, HOLD THELINE!”
He straightened, and began grabbing cloaks and collars,pulling at his men with a strength born from the fires of desperation and fear.He shoved a few into the weak battle line, and the men gained strength fromtheir companions. Gwendyrn, blood dripping down his mustache and ontohis beard from his nose and ears, grabbed two men with his meaty hands andheaved them to their feet. He roughly shoved discarded weapons at them. The menturned toward the front line, Gwendyrn close behind, forming anunstoppable bulwark against terror.
The fury-like creature rushing their thin, red line choosethat moment to strike. Julius’s mouth dropped open as she leapt threeranks of men, landing behind the shield wall, in the midst of the shakendefenses. Her spear sliced out, wounding and incapacitating men. Julius turnedtoward another yell from beyond the wall to see the remaining rebel fighterscharging. The demi-cohort was trapped between a mob of attackers on one side,and a crazed death-dealer on the other.
Mind racing, Julius considered his options. He could try topush past the crazed Amazon behind them, or charge the rebels in front of them.On one side we lose to ferocity and skill, on the other we lose to numbers.Julius did the only thing he could think of. “Form square!” he ordered.
His men moved into position, forming a tight square with thecrenellated wall as the fourth side of the formation. The sides formed by themen were spiked with plumbatae and swords. Stragglers crawled toward them,while others limped into position just before the shields closed over them.Julius listened to the heavy panting of his men as they struggled to catchtheir breath before the inevitable onslaught, and heard Gwendyrn whisperingprayers to Jupiter above to save them. “Didn’t know you were a praying man,” hequipped.
Gwendyrn paused and looked down at him. “I just figure now’sas good a time as any to start.”
Julius considered this, then partially closed his eyes andmuttered an abbreviated prayer to Minerva, his patron goddess. Please, letus get rescued; I don’t want to die. It might have been selfish, it mighthave been self-serving, but he didn’t want to die on this black steel wall atthe age of twenty. Somebody help us!
Seeing the remaining legionnaires forming a square flushwith the wall at their backs, Corbus ordered his men to halt their charge andform ranks. His mother paced back and forth, occasionally letting loose anotherheart-tearing scream. Corbus coolly analyzed the situation. Although shaken,the Roman remnants would not go down easily. Those big shields and their tighttraining would translate to many casualties among his more lightly armored men.
He was still seeking a competent decision when the faintwhir of an airship’s engines reached him. He cocked his head, trying to drownout the sounds of the wounded and dying men nearby, and the sea far below. Agust of wind pushed the clouds farther out, unveiling the prow of a grayairship, slicing through the last clouds toward the platform.
“Remain here; keep those sheep penned in,” he called toFustus, his newly-appointed subordinate.
The man’s lips curled in a tight smile and he sent the mento spread out facing the beleaguered remnants of the Roman cohort and pepperthe formation with heavy repeater darts, trying to find a weak spot in theformation.
Corbus’s boots crunched over the film of dried sea salt andsand that had built up along the wall top. Years of salt and rain had donesurprisingly little damage to the wall, but with the recent conflict, themaintenance men hadn’t reached this stretch to clean it and reseal it. Hepeered up at the floating ship as it grew larger and larger. Finally able tomake out the engine design, he smiled. It was the Midgard Flyer. Hewaved at the cockpit and someone on the bridge waved in return. The airshipcontinued its ponderous progress, rising slightly as it came over the low lipof the landing pad. Already he could see a hatch opening along its gray-paintedside, revealing a dark but nonetheless inviting interior.
Turning, Corbus called out to his men, “Fall back to thelanding pad. It’s high time we left this den of corruption! Let our retributionbe felt for an age.” He sneered at the Romans cowering within their shieldedformation. It won’t matter how protected they think they are. Soon thiswhole city shall deal with the wrath of our movement, our peoples. Deus ExMortalitas!
“But why do I have to come with you?” came a whine from thesmall huddle of civilians the rebels had brought with them. Chalbys had beenamong that lucky group. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to remain here,providing you with information and passing instructions to our followers?”
Corbus frowned. He disliked the monocle-eyed, sniveling,luxury-loving spymaster, and everything he represented. “My mother seems tobelieve that the cause would be better served by having you join us.” Hewaved a hand toward the remaining rebels, now cautiously backing away towardthe ship. “Besides, every truly loyal rebel is here with us, now. We juststaged an insurrection, and if those loyalists have any brains, which this commanderdoes, they will be looking for anyone with a connection to the rebellion. So itwould really be foolish to leave a valuable person like you behind.” He smiledcondescendingly. You cowardly wimp. Seemingly resigned to his fate,Chalbys sighed, and trudged toward the airship with the rest of the civilians.
With a soft crunch and bump, the Midgard Flyertouched down behind them. Several air marines stepped out, slim crossbows andshort swords held at the ready. They fanned out to cover the remaining rebelsas they retreated toward the ship. Corbus smiled. They were getting out of thisforsaken place. There was nothing here for them anymore. And soon, there wouldbe nothing left here for anyone, anymore.