Brass Legionnaire (The Steam Empire Chronicles)

by Ottalini, Daniel

  Julius had remained at the main gate with barely twenty men, feigning a strength that was not there until the remainder of the mob had slowly dispersed. There were scarcely a hundred die-hards on the other side of the plaza, looting stores but not bothering the entrenched cohort.

  An injured soldier moved up to the Julius’s position. They had continued to use everyone, except the most critically injured, to fill gaps in the line. Julius could see the bloodstained bandages peeping out from under helmets and wrapped around hands and arms. Thanks to their superior training and heavier armor, the legionnaires had suffered fewer injuries, although almost everyone was battered black and blue under their heavily dented armor.

  “Message for the tribune. I can’t locate him, so I found you instead, sir,” the man said, his voice unapologetic and hoarse. He adjusted the sling on his right arm with a tug.

  “Thanks, Tramais. Hold up one minute.” Julius opened the folded sheet of paper with grimy hands, careful not to smudge the words. He pushed his helmet back off his head so he could see the small lines of printed text, and read slowly, wishing he were a faster reader. I’m going to have to borrow books from someone. I can’t look slow in front of the other officers now, he thought, suddenly conscious that he had not received the best education. Even the legions needed men who could read and write, as well as swing a sword.

  By the time he had finished reading, legionnaire Tramais had settled on a broken piece of statuary. He pushed to his feet when Julius turned to him. “Take this to the tribune immediately. Please tell him I’ll be gathering what people I can spare at the fountain,” Julius said, referring to the large fountain located in the middle of the palace grounds, making it a convenient assembly point.

  “Sir.” Tramais saluted awkwardly with his left hand and left to find Tribune Appius.

  Although he was a slow reader, Julius had an excellent memory. Now, just where am I going to get the men to storm the main curtain wall gate?

  Despite his doubts, half an hour later, Constantine and Julius had managed to assemble seventy-five men for the operation.

  “Centurion, you know the city best, so I want you to lead the charge,” the tribune ordered. “I’ll remain here with the rest of our men and the garrison to hold the fort, so to speak.” Despite the quip, there was no humor left in the tribune’s stance. He was determined, but tired, and his left hand was tightly wrapped in a bandage. But the fingers poking from the bandages still moved, and his face showed not a hint of pain.

  I guess royalty still has some steel in their spines, Julius thought as he saluted. “You want me to retake the main city gate with seventy-five men, sir?” he asked again. He remembered passing through the imposing steel gates, with their stone towers stretching ten stories tall.

  “General Minnicus has ordered us to retake the gate in preparation for the arrival of the rest of the legions. If we don’t retake it, we can’t get reinforcements. We’ve got support from units of the city garrison, but we’ll have to get to them through streets that are still in control of rioters. So I leave the choice of routes up to you. Captain Alexandros will be supporting you with heavy weapons fire.”

  The tribune handed Julius a map of eastern Brittenburg. “He has also been kind enough to send down this street map indicating the streets he’s certain are blocked.” Julius looked at it. Almost half the roads were crossed out in red ink. Constantine’s finger tapped the symbol identifying the main gate. “It’s possible that enemy forces have gained control of the gate. We know for certain they have gained control of the two nearest towers.” His finger circled the towers on either side of the gate complex. “This could mean the gate is in enemy hands, or it could mean the gate is in our hands, but we can’t communicate with it. The Laurel flag still flies, but that could be a ruse. Keep your eyes open, but you must take that gate.”

  The tribune placed his hand on Julius’s shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself. You know this city inside and out. The key to leadership is to lead by giving smart orders and not losing your cool, and I’ve already seen that in you, last night.”

  Julius nodded. Setting his shoulders, he met Constantine’s eyes. “You can count on us, sir.”

  Constantine gave a grim smile. “I’m going to return to the gate here on the governor’s estate. I’ll leave operations in your capable hands.” He turned and left.

  Julius spent the next half-hour assembling his men and going over the route they were going to take. It was only a twenty-minute march away, assuming no roadblocks or other interruptions. He planned to seize the northern tower after picking up some garrison remnants supposedly holed up in a temple about halfway between the governor’s mansion and their objective.

  He formed his demi-cohort up, and they left the relative safety of the estate and headed east. The streets were deserted, littered with paper and clothing and sometimes a dead body. Julius gave orders that any corpse should be moved gently to the side of the street and treated with as much dignity as possible. This was his city; he was not going to debauch it further. The pace of his march slowed somewhat, but Julius refused to contradict his original orders.

  A wave from a scout brought the column to a halt. “Two minutes rest,” he told his men before advancing slowly over the broken cobblestones to the scout waiting at the corner of a building.

  “Marcus, what do we have?”

  “Look in those buildings over that way, right in front of that barricade across the street,” the scout said, pointing toward the corner.

  Julius doffed his helmet and peeked around the corner. “Second building from the left, sir,” Marcus advised.

  Julius watched for a moment. He saw the slightest of movements, and focused on that. “They’ve got a heavy repeater in that shop!” he exclaimed. Although the shadows did a good job of hiding the war machine, they had not concealed the telltale shine from the metal components.

  “How would you like to deal with it? We can go around, but it would add a chunk of time.” Or we can go through it, the scout had left unsaid. He was an experienced member of the legions, and was not as naïve as most of the rest of his men, Julius assumed.

  “Have you spotted any more enemies? Do we even know if they are enemies?” Julius asked. The scout shook his head slowly, probably wondering if the new centurion wanted him to sign his own death warrant. Sensing his confusion, Julius explained himself. “Just wondering. I figured you’re the best scout we have, Marcus, so you’d be the one to get the closest and figure out exactly who those people are. Wait here a moment, and I’ll be back.”

  Turning, Julius entered one of the hole-in-the-wall shops that graced this street. A clothing shop, as it happened. The bell on the door jingled as he entered. The store appeared deserted. Julius helped himself to a men’s white shirt hanging on a display rack, then dismantled the rack. A moment’s work left him with a jury-rigged white flag.

  Boots crunching on broken glass, Julius ducked low and returned to Marcus, now crouched behind a nearby cart. The scout was using a bit of mirror to try to see inside the window down the street. “No luck,” Marcus said as Julius stopped behind him. He turned and watched the centurion drop his helmet and shrug off his scarlet centurion’s cape.

  Julius held the makeshift white flag beyond the cart, then slowly rose and moved toward the barricade, staying behind cover as much as possible.

  “Halt!” a voice called out in Latin. “Do not move another step.” Julius could detect no trace of accent. It definitely belonged to a Brittenburg man. Whether he was loyalist or rebel, Julius couldn’t tell. “Who are you?” the voice demanded when Julius stopped.

  “I’m a member of the XIII Germania Legion,” Julius stated. He waited for a response, but none came.

  Finally, the unknown voice came back with, “And what proof do we have that you are a loyal Roman? We’ve had far too many imposters.”

  Julius thought for a moment. How could he convince them that he was a loyalist? An idea popped into his head. “You see tha
t airship overhead? I can communicate with that. Whatever the rebels have done, they haven’t got into our air fleet yet.”

  This answer set off a prolonged round of verbal fireworks behind the barricade. Too many chiefs ... Julius thought of their vague leadership as he inched closer. Finally he was close enough to climb over the barrels and burnt out motor trolley components forming the barricade. Julius stopped and glanced back. Marcus had retreated to the rest of the cohort and they had formed up in the street behind him, shields touching, prepared to back their seemingly fearless leader. Julius started climbing the barrier. He reached the top and found half a dozen repeater crossbows leveled at him.

  “What are you doing here?” a dark-skinned man asked, his brown eyes bulging in alarm at the sudden appearance of the fully armored legionary officer. He wore the blue uniform of the auxilia and a dented brass helmet.

  Julius held up his mailed hand. “Stop. I am Centurion Julius Brutus Caesar of the XIII Germania. Either you men are traitors, or you are loyal to the Empire. Decide now, before the thousand men of my legion crush your pitiful force beneath their heels.” He glared at the dozen or so men before him. They were a mismatched lot. Without the identical albeit faded blue uniforms, it would have been hard to distinguish these men from a group of street toughs. The dark-skinned man gulped, and hastily ordered his men to lower their weapons.

  Hiding his relief, Julius said, “Now, first things first.” He gave the All Clear signal to the force behind him. The cohort switched from battle lines to loose column. As they began to stream up the street and over the barricade, Julius turned back to the dark-skinned man. “Are you the remnants of the city garrison that we were sent here to link up with?”

  The leader nodded, then pulled off his helmet and ran his hand over his sweaty skull. He was older than Julius, maybe in his early thirties, but the lines of dirt and grime on his face made him look much older. “I’m Auxilia Centurion Druvic. We’re all that’s left. We held off a wave of those rioters a while ago, and I lost three-quarters of my men.” He looked over Julius’s shoulder at the last of the legionnaires coming over the wall. “Is that all of you? Thought you had a thousand men with you.” He turned bewildered eyes back to Julius.

  Julius gave a weak smile. “Like I said, the legion does. We’re only the 13th Cohort. Now, can you get us onto the wall? We must take the eastern gate to let the rest of the men inside.”

  “Of course, sir. Right this way.” Druvic pointed down the street.

  Off the demi-cohort walked, now joined by the remnants of the city garrison. For the first time, Julius felt as though they actually had a chance to save his city.

  A shower of bolts thudded into the door of the mechanist’s workshop. Julius ducked back behind the scant protection it offered. Several other men crouched in the darkened workshop, out of view. Julius peeked around the door again, this time finally getting a good angle on the tower.

  One of many wall towers that had been taken by the rebels, either through assault or through subterfuge, had kept his cohort pinned down for the last hour. Julius could see that the lowest gate had been blown open, and he knew that was the only way in. The blockhouse defending the eastern gate was tightly closed, unwilling to open up for anyone. If those idiots would stop pretending to be neutral and do their duty, we wouldn’t have to storm this fricking tower, he grumbled as another bolt leapt from the tower and hit an adjacent shop building. A high-pitched screaming started up, followed by a cry of “Medic!”

  A medic with a red caduceus on his breastplate slid up beside Julius. “S’cuse me, Centurion,” he mumbled as he brusquely pushed past and sprinted to the next building over. The tower fired several shots at him, but the medic slid into the safety of the building just in time.

  Julius turned to the men behind him. “Gwendyrn, I’ve got an idea. We need doors, buckets, metal plates, and as many ropes as you can wrangle up. If we can’t get them to leave the tower, we’ll have to make them leave it.”

  A few hours later, the engineering-minded men of the demi-cohort had created a masterpiece. Without access to a steam engine, they had constructed a manual siege caterpillar using wrenches, hammers, and a few other tools at their disposal. Essentially a movable shed to cover an assault team and gate-breaking equipment, this one was made from layered doors and sheet metal. Combined, it was long enough to cover the entire demi-cohort. While about half the men held up the defensive shell, the rest would hold their shields on the sides, forming the rest of the caterpillar.

  “Well, this is the best-looking siege equipment I’ve ever seen,” Julius said. He was being honest, as he had never seen a real, active siege piece in his life. Not unless the ones on the propaganda posters counted. The engineers had constructed the caterpillar in three pieces, so that the few light artillery pieces they had could be hidden inside the caterpillar. Whenever a gap formed between the sections, the scorpions and heavy repeaters could provide covering fire for the advancing cohort.

  “Load up!” Julius ordered.

  Men rushed to their positions. Artillery crews manhandled their gear into their marching slots.

  “Gwendyrn, I want you to take charge of the third section. You’ve got the ten-pound ballistae; try to knock out their weaponry. Auxilia Centurion Druvic will take the second segment. Let’s move fast, gentlemen; we have to take this tower and retake that gate, and we should have had that done yesterday!” He yelled as he took his place under the first caterpillar section. The men cheered.

  The siege pieces began to move forward toward the shattered opening at the base of the wall where the door used to be. They had to move around debris in the street, so it looked as though the segments were slithering toward the tower.

  ~ * * * ~

  Up in the tower, the rebel commander was concerned. He had taken the tower through first treachery, then assault. A member of the garrison had been convinced to disable the tower weapons before opening the door, but a conscientious guard had killed the man before he’d completed his assignment. They’d succeeded in storming the tower, but those blasted loyalists were still trying to retake it. And now he was running low on ammunition.

  Knowing the importance of the tower, the rebel commander sent half his force down to the main level to deal with the approaching caterpillar while keeping the rest in reserve. The men tramped down the stairs or took the central elevator down to the first floor. They armed themselves with captured repeater crossbows and took cover behind positions facing the entrance. There they waited, while the improvised Roman caterpillar moved closer. When the siege crawler was about fifty feet from their objective, the men hidden inside the tower’s dark interior unleashed their bolts.

  Cranggggg!

  Screams and shouts came from the siege walker. Even with their thick shields between the legionnaires and the bolts, some of the projectiles still managed to find their marks. The rebels reloaded and aimed again.

  ~ * * * ~

  The initial wave of bolts had been like the first lightning strike of a thunderstorm. One man in the lead caterpillar took a shaft through the eye as he adjusted his shield; he dropped, creating a gap in the formation. As the second rank struggled to get a man into the space, another wave of bolts prompted more screams and cries of alarm. A third wave, and the green legionnaires were faltering in the face of such deadly fire. Julius and the under-officers shouted orders to steady them while tightening up their formation.

  Back in the third crawler, Gwendyrn saw the first taking punishing hits from the tower. “Hold up, men,” he called out. “It’s time we paid those rebels back with this baby.” He patted the ten-pound ballista being pushed along beside him by several men. Behind them, other men pulled the small ammunition sled for the sleek machine. “Let’s give our lads some supporting fire, shall we?”

  The artillery crew quickly hauled their weapon into position; the rest of the men under the third siege caterpillar formed around it, protecting it while the crew assembled the destructive device. Only
a few bolts were launched at them from the tower; the defenders were concentrating on decimating the closest siege engines.

  Finally, the gunner cranked back the holder and the loader placed the explosive projectile into the groove. The gunner raised his hand.

  “Step out!” called Gwendyrn. The men in front quickly sidestepped, leaving an opening for the weapon to shoot through.

  The artillery commander adjusted his charge, aiming down the crosshair sights to adjust for distance, then fired. The wires vibrated with a distinct tunggg, throwing a black sphere through the air. In a beautiful shot that would go down in the XIII Germania’s annals, the explosive sailed over the defenders, through the shattered base of the tower, and detonated. Red and yellow flames shot from the dark opening, accompanied by a wave of shrapnel and a brief drizzle of red liquid and body parts. Screams and shouts echoed faintly over the sizzle of the flames against the steel and stone walls.

  Seeing the destruction, the men in the first caterpillar raised their explosive plumbatae and launched a second, devastating blast of explosives at the defenders, wreaking more havoc. Gwendyrn watched as the centurion’s men charged, eager to dish out some retribution on the remaining rebels. Finally dropping the protection of the siege crawler, they ran forward at full speed, hacking down any enemy survivors. A short time later, a single figure waved his hand at the other caterpillars.

  Mustering his men, Gwendyrn ordered them forward to join their comrades at the foot of the tower.

  ~ * * * ~

  Julius led his men three abreast through the large opening at the base of the tower. Low fires smoldered inside, barely illuminating the large, dimly lit space and casting looming shadows over the blackened walls. Men cursed as they tripped over unseen objects on the ground. Julius called for a light, any light, to show the way. Finally a legionnaire brought forward a scavenged lantern, and Julius turned it up to full strength—revealing a charnel house. Dead men and dismembered body parts lay everywhere. The smell of death hung heavily over the place. Several men began to dry heave. Wiping his own mouth and taking a drink of water to settle his stomach, Julius pushed his men onward, thinking, I’m fortunate I don’t have much left to give. The longer they stayed in this place, the worse it would get.