With Gwendyrn handling the deployment of the men, Julius turned to his mind to their location. He was still fiddling with the map when Gwendyrn joined him and after a moment stuck a match. The thin flame provided just enough light for Julius to make out details on the map.
“Maybe you should get glasses. Sir,” the junior centurion quipped as he shook the stub of the sixth match while Julius tried miserably to identify their location. He was having trouble fighting through the pain to focus on the mission.
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe you should learn to read, then you can do it for me,” Julius responded, then gasped as Gwendyrn accidentally brushed his leg.
Surprised, Gwendyrn peered into Julius’s face, seeing the pain and the unlaced boot for the first time. He immediately turned and called over their medico to take a look at the ankle.
After a few moments, the smaller man gave his prognosis. “Just sprained? You’re sure?” Julius asked. How can a sprain cause so much pain? He cursed again, loudly, as the medico ran his hands roughly over the ankle, probing this place and that.
“That looks painful. But I’ve seen worse back home on the farm,” Gwendyrn stated. “What do you want us to do, sir?”
“Find me something, anything, to help me walk. Crutches, something like that,” Julius grated, failing to hide a grimace. Gwendyrn marched away, shouting at the men to go into the homes to search for a pair of crutches or a cane.
“Brace yourself, sir,” Legionnaire Hespinus said. “I’ll have to put the foot into a splint. I don’t want that limb to move any more than it needs to.” The medico pulled some bandages from his kit and began to wrap the ankle. When this was done, Hespinus helped Julius to his feet. “Try putting your weight on it, sir. I heard Under-Officer Gwendyrn say we’re about to move out.”
Gingerly, Julius took a few steps, heavily favoring his weakened leg. Sweat trickled down his back and he clenched his teeth at the pain. He nodded respectfully to Hespinus. “Got any pain meds?”
The man handed over a small bottle. “Just one sip, sir, will take away the worst out of the pain.”
Julius took a quick sip. “What is this?” he sputtered as the fiery liquid burned its way into his stomach.
Hespinus opened his mouth, but a screeching war cry interrupted him.
“Incoming enemy!” shouted a sentry as the legionnaires raced to the western side of their street.
“What is that?” a frightened voice cried.
Julius looked past him at a hulking machine charging at them from the end of the street. An eerie cry erupted from it to bounce off the walls hedging the road on either side. A fresh flare blossomed above its racing form, allowing the Romans to make out a few details. It resembled a large predator running toward them.
Julius heard Gwendyrn shouting orders as the men formed a shield wall. Shaking his head to ward off the mind-numbing effects of the pain meds, he watched in disbelief as the construct leapt the shield wall and turned abruptly, swatting at legionnaires with a huge paw. Men went flying into the side of nearby buildings.
“Use your plumbata!” Gwendyrn shouted, directing his men to attack the beast with their explosive spears. He used one himself, throwing it right at the mouth of the machine. The predator dodged nimbly, and it was then that Julius saw the silhouette of a man riding atop the machine, protected by the crest of the animal’s head. Julius turned to tell Hespinus what he saw, but the medico had run off to tend to the fallen men.
Anger rose in his chest. His men were dying while he sat here, useless. There’s got to be something I can do! It was only a matter of time until that metal beast crushed his small demi-cohort. About a quarter of his men were down already, and swords and repeater crossbows would be of no use against the metal hide of that construct. He looked around, searching for something to distract the driver.
His eyes paused on an oil lantern lying on the far side of the wagon bed. Leaning across the wagon, arm outstretched, he grasped the lantern and dragged it toward him. Focusing on his task, he pulled a small packet of matches from his belt pouch and began striking, putting every ounce of concentration he could muster into it. He felt as though his arms were moving through water.
Finally, with a hiss, the match burst into flame, and he carefully maneuvered it into the lantern. I hope there’s enough oil still inside. He could hear it sloshing around, but that could mean anything.
It seemed like it took forever, but the wick finally caught the flame and came to life. He turned up the light as much as possible, then placed it on the wagon while he got to his feet, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the blast of pain. But the combination of adrenaline and medicine was effective, because all he felt was a low throbbing.
He quickly surveyed the scene as he grasped the handle of the lantern. In its light, he made out the vaguely lupine design of the war machine, and for a moment Julius was in awe of the Nortland mechanics. Then he looked past the beast, searching for his men.
They were scattered by the mecha-wolf’s snapping jaws and swiping paw, but the narrow confines of the street prevented the men from spreading out much. The same buildings that hemmed in his men also hindered the beast, though; his legionnaires could duck into alleyways and stores, then pop out to harass the creature with arrow and spear.
“Gwendyrn!” Julius called to his fellow officer. “There’s a rider! If you can flank him, you can kill the rider!”
“Thanks for that observation, sir!” Gwendyrn called back from his position about three buildings down the street, where the hefty swings from the beast’s metal claws were taking out chunks of brick and mortar around him. “Let me just find a free moment to do that!”
Julius sighed, smiling wryly as he swung the lantern underhand at the beast. The lantern smashed against the rear of the mecha-wolf and exploded in a flash of light. The fatty oil clung burning to the surface of the beast, seeping into crevices and gaps between armor plates, burning delicate control pistons and wires. The beast turned and fled from its attackers, leaving a trail of light ghosting across Julius’s eyes.
Gwendyrn must have been waiting for just this type of moment. Racing out from the narrow alleyway, he planted himself low behind his angled shield. The creature’s feet hit the shield, knocking Gwendyrn off balance and sending him spinning off, but the powerful machine careened to the side, crashing through the wooden facades of several buildings and setting the structures ablaze. Several legionnaires ran over and picked their way through the debris to make sure the driver was dead.
Julius took a moment to assess the state of his unit. About a third of his men were down with injuries. The rest gathered to watch the flames consuming the metal carcass of their attacker. Using a broken board as a crutch, Julius hobbled over. The men heaped praise upon him, effusive in their happiness at defeating the machine.
“Quick thinking, sir.”
“You really saved us there, Centurion Caesar!”
“Nice and toasty, just the way we like it, eh, Centurion?”
Gwendyrn pushed his way through the men until he stood face to face with his commanding officer. “Sir, shouldn’t we try to alert some of these people? The fire will surely spread.” He jerked his chin at the burning buildings, concern tugging his brows down.
Julius glared at him. All the hatred and anger over the loss of his family surged up inside him once again. Did these people deserve a chance when his family had none, the black parts of his heart seemed to ask. “No,” Julius heard himself say.
Gwendyrn glared at him, the flames from the burning buildings flickering off his eyes. Gwendyrn stared at him for a long time, as if waiting for something.