The tromp of boots on the stairs signaled someone was coming. A moment later, another airman entered the room.
“Sir, we’ve heard noises from below. It sounds like there’s an exit under the tower.”
Raising his eyebrows at this news, it all seemed to click for Alexandros. “They’ve been using the hidden cove to smuggle ships and hold hostages without anyone being able to find them. It’s so well disguised, we wouldn’t have seen it without the skimmer pilot.”
Alexandros led his men down the narrow stone stairs, taking them two at a time. Their thunderous boot steps echoed against the thick stone walls. Arriving on the landing, Alexandros kept going, shield out. He slowed his pace, taking the steps one at a time and pausing at each alcove and doorway.
Most of the rooms held storage areas, some in disuse, others showing signs of recent activity. Another held several grisly skeletons in chains. As they descended the staircase, a seemingly never-ending corkscrew, the faintly discernable smells of saltwater began to overwhelm the musty odor permeating the tower.
Finally, they exited out onto a rough-hewn stone landing. Shouts of alarm and instruction came from one doorway, while another one was heavily barricaded with two thick iron bolts.
“Damar, open that. You two, stay with him. The rest of you, with me!” Alexandros ordered as he ran out onto the docks.
The rock overhang sheltered a semi-circular natural stone pier. Humans had obviously built onto this with wooden walkways and expansions. The dock had room for two ships, although only one was present at the moment. Large black letters declared her the Fila Maria, their missing cargo ship. There were several men hard at work, and Alexandros could hear the sound of the ship’s steam engine slowly winding up.
“Quickly! We must take the ship before it can make full steam!” Alexandros told his men.
They sprinted along the dock, moving between the barrels and crates and small cranes. A few of the smugglers ran to fight them, but these were easily dispatched by the teamwork of the Roman airmen. They may have been novices at combat before, but their quick baptism by fire had given them a hungry, predatory edge.
With the few defenders no longer an issue, the airmen pounded up the gangplank onto the steamship. A jet of flame washed over them. His men scattered. Alexandros was forced to abandon his shield as the fire clung to the toughened wood and steel. Damn, someone has Greek fire and they could burn this entire ship down!
“Not one more step, or I’ll roast this ship and all the crew aboard,” a man called out, his voice husky.
“Surrender to me, and I’ll ensure you have a fair trial,” Alexandros replied, giving his men the chance to slowly encircle their adversary.
Backed by two of his own men, the pirate leader stood holding an odd contraption that looked like a cross between a repeater and a canteen. A small light flickered on the front of it. The pirate leader saw Alexandros’s eyes focused on his weapon.
“Ah, I see you like my invention. I call it the ‘fire thrower.’ I’m glad you like it. Now, how’s about you get off my vessel and back onto dry land? We’re about to leave you see, and we don’t want any extra… passengers.”
“This is a ship under the protection of the Imperial Air Fleet. You are to surrender at once,” Alexandros repeated mechanically. He hoped to stall for time, to allow some member of his unit to get a shot off at the leader. The pirate laughed.
“What are you? Fresh out of the academia?” He looked more closely. “By the gods, you are! You’re a bunch of silly little boys in uniforms trying to take down me? Lykonius the Scourge?”
“Never heard of you,” Alexandros said nonchalantly, but deep down, he quivered. He had heard of Lykonius. The pirate was responsible for wiping out small seaside settlements, holding royal vessels for ransom, and even taking an imperial treasury courier and over a ton of gold in past raids. In Jupiter’s name, why couldn’t we have gotten a different pirate?
“You will surrender yourself at once to face imperial justice.” The young captain demanded. The pirate laughed again before adjusting his weapon.
“I fear this discussion has gone on long enough. I want you off my ship. Now, attack!” the Scourge shouted.
From behind him, doors flew open and a new group of pirates charged into combat. Alexandros’s men were in formation this time, and managed to work their way up the deck. Pirates were hewn down left and right, their lack of armor telling against the more heavily armored airmen.
Even in our light gear, we’re still better equipped than these seamen, Alexandros thought as he hacked an arm off a charging pirate. The man screamed and fell onto Alexandros, his severed arm making the deck slippery with blood. Alexandros paused to wipe it from his eyes and face. Gah!
“Hold men! Hold the line! We can beat them!” Alexandros encouraged his men, sensing their tiredness. Their motions grew slower and their movements less crisp and careful-the Romans were still in danger of being overwhelmed.
The pirate captain was a terror in combat. Wielding twin swords and his odd weapon, he struck down two airmen with ease, cutting through their flimsy shields. Grasping his gladius with two hands, Alexandros rushed to intercept him. The slippery deck saved his life. His foot twisted away, and Alexandros sprawled in a heap, nearly impaling himself on his own sword. The fall carried him into Lykonius, whose swords sliced through air that Alexandros had occupied mere moments earlier. His dangerous invention was knocked from his hand, clattering overboard. The two fell to the deck, and Alexandros punched the pirate leader in the groin, receiving a kick to the face in response. The man crawled toward him, face scrunched up in pain. Alexandros scrambled backwards, his gladius lost in the fall.
With a bump, Alexandros backed into a barrier.
“Nowhere to run now, you annoying little imperial,” Lykonious sneered, hauling himself erect and raising his sword.
Alexandros closed his eyes. There was a loud clang, then a thud. Daring to open his eyes again after realizing he was not, indeed, dead, Alexandros looked around. A girl in flying leathers and a wool cap stood over the unconscious pirate leader, holding a frying pan. Alexandros gapped in amazement.
“Thanks for the rescue,” she said sarcastically, holding out her hand. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen. Alexandros grabbed the hand and was hauled to his feet. Around them, the last of the pirates were rounded up. Most had died, a pitiful few had surrendered.
“Who are you?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
“Air Pilot Delia Lucenzo Tarmini, at your service. I take it you are from the Arcus?” she asked, scavenging in the dead pirate leader’s pockets.
“Yes, I’m Cadet Captain Rufius Tiberius Alexandros,” he offered. His curiosity got the better of him, and he blurted out the question, “How old are you?”
“I’m thirteen and seven months,” she replied. “And how old are you? Someone without the brains to know this was a horrendously risky operation. Only a cadet would lead his men down into this type of death trap.”
She’s got one tough tongue, Alexandros thought. “Well, this cadet just helped you escape,” he retorted.
One of his airmen came up, wiping his sword with a piece of cloth. “Um, sir? What should we do with the ship?”
“The cargo hauler’s crew is locked up belowdecks and near the docks inside. I daresay they’d be happy to steer this ship out of here if you free them,” Tarmini informed the cadets.
Alexandros nodded. “See to it, Airman.”