The Eternal Empire

by Geoff Fabron

  ‘We've already come further than we did last time’, thought Godisger, revisiting the painful memories of thirty years ago. ‘The cost has been light compared to that slaughter, but we have still not crushed the legions!’

  He heard members of his staff making their way up the hill to join him. There was an upbeat, almost jubilant note to their voices as they talked amongst themselves, an air of triumph brought on by the victories of the past week. Godisger turned towards them as they drew near and the look on his face silenced them.

  "You think that we have won already!" he yelled at them, the sarcasm in his voice conveying his contempt for their premature celebrations.

  "They got away. The Romans still have an army out there, and while they do the war goes on!"

  He walked over to the man nearest him and looked him straight in the eye.

  "Every day that this war continues," he said to the unfortunate officer, "the chances of our success diminish. The Romans will grow stronger as they gather forces from throughout their Empire."

  He paused to gauge the effect of what he had said upon them. They were looking quite sober now.

  "Luckily for us," continued Godisger, "the Romans have seen fit to fight amongst themselves. With their Danube armies otherwise occupied we still have time to crush the Rhine legions. But we cannot afford to be complacent!"

  Godisger raised his voice slightly and spat out each word for emphasis. "We must destroy them! We must not let up in our pursuit for one minute. Do you understand!"

  "Yes general!" chorused back the cowered staff officers.

  "Good," said Godisger softly, nodding his head. "Where's Maleric?" he said, becoming aware of his deputies absence.

  "He's at Moguntiacum general," one of the officers replied.

  "What's he doing there," demanded Godisger. "He should be here, organising the pursuit."

  "A Roman legion has been cut off south east of the city general," volunteered somebody else. "Tribune Maleric is co-ordinating the operations to finish them off."

  "That's a job for second line troops, not for front line troops or for my deputy!" shouted Godisger. "Order him to report to me immediately!"

  He dismissed them and they left him standing on the hill staring to the west, watching the long lines of Saxon troops march over the horizon and listening to the thunder of artillery in the distance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  15th August 1920

  Britannia, Maniueium.

  For a town that had changed hands four times since the rebellion had begun, Maniueium was in remarkably good condition. Neither side had systematically bombarded the town, and for this small mercy its citizens were grateful. So was Sextus Capito as it meant that he could use a motor carriage instead of having to pick his way through ruins.

  He parked his vehicle outside the main post office, now protected by mounds of sandbags, and serving as the rebel military headquarters. He presented his papers to the sentry and was allowed inside. He sought out the man that he had come to see.

  Tribune Munius Burrus had been nearing retirement age when the fighting had started but still looked like the tough indestructible senior centurion that Sextus remembered from his days in the auxiliaries. The old soldier now commanded a mixed force of rebel auxiliaries and citizen volunteers.

  "To what do I owe this honour?" asked Burrus with a hint of sarcasm. "It's not often that a member of the provincial government bothers to find out what us poor bastards at the front are doing. In fact, this is the first time."

  Sextus ignored the tribune's unfriendly tone. They had not been friends during his time in the army - centurions did not have friends except possibly other centurions - but Sextus knew him to be straight talking and honest with a keen eye for what was going on behind the scenes.

  "I'm not supposed to be here," Sextus began, "and I'll need to get back to Bremenacum before I'm missed. I came to see you Municus Burrus because I'm worried about what is happening. Specifically, I have grave misgivings about our allies."

  Burrus gave Sextus an appraising look and then nodded to a pair of chairs in the corner. They went over and sat down.

  "What - specifically - is worrying you?" he asked guardedly.

  "The Caledonians aren't just sending troops to fight the imperials," explained Sextus. "They have effectively taken control of the military command structure and the provincial administration. They've put their own officials into all the major posts and assigned assistants' to work with any of the old provincial bureaucracy still in a position of authority. All this is being done, according to Quintus Flaccus, in a spirit of 'co-operation and friendship'."

  Burrus snorted in disgust. "The Caledonians have never given anything away, they always levy a price. Have you noticed what they have been doing with our troops?"

  "No," said Sextus with interest, "I've been buried under a mountain of paper work. I'm no longer part of the war council."

  Burrus shifted his body in his chair and relaxed a little, but his face was serious. "All the attacks on the imperials have been spear headed by our own auxiliary and volunteer units, supported by the mercenaries and to a lesser extent the Caledonian regulars. We always take the heaviest casualties."

  "Are you saying that this is deliberate?" queried Sextus.

  "Of course it's deliberate! They're bleeding us white so that there'll be no organised resistance to a Caledonian take over!" Burrus learned forward.

  "Why do you think that every provincial unit is at the front," he said knowingly, "while all our cities and fortresses are garrisoned by Caledonian troops?"

  Sextus had a sick feeling in his stomach. Had they gone through all this just to become a client state of Caledonia?

  "No!" said Sextus suddenly, surprising the tribune with the vehemence of his outburst. "We'll not become a Caledonian puppet!"

  "What choice do we have," countered Burrus. "it's a choice of living under the thumb of our 'northern friends' or certain execution as traitors to the Empire."

  Sextus got up. "I'll find another way," he said with determination. "But can I depend on your support Municus?"

  The old soldier looked at Sextus for a few moments before nodding slowly. "Nobody wants to be vassals of those northern barbarians," he said, "if you can find a way out of this mess then you can count on my support."

  15th August 1920

  Saxon Army Headquarters, Gaul

  The headquarters staff had set up in an abandoned villa about twenty-five miles along the road from Augusta Treverorum. It had been their third move in ten days and they all hoped that it would be the last. Apart from an occasional rearguard action to slow the pursuing Saxons, the Romans had not made any attempt to form a defence line. They kept moving west as fast as they could, destroying bridges and ripping up rail lines. This alone would have been enough to anger Count Godisger who knew that he had to catch and destroy the imperial forces to win the war. However it was the man before him that had driven the 'ice general' into a rage of meltdown proportions.

  "And where in hell's name have you been!" he yelled at Franz Maleric as soon as he presented himself to the general. "I sent for you over a week ago! Explain yourself before I have you arrested and assigned to a penal regiment!"

  "I had to travel to the capital," replied Franz calmly, not in the least bit concerned by Godisgers anger. "To see the King."

  "And who gave you permission to go to Minden?" demanded Godisger. "Your place is here. You need the permission of your superior officer to leave a combat zone, and in case you had forgotten that is me!" He stepped a little closer to Franz. "I don't recall authorising any such orders," he added needlessly.

  "I was simply obeying the dictates of the 'Eagle Law' general," replied Franz smoothly, carefully watching Godisger for his reaction.

  The Count took another step forward and looked Franz straight in the eye. "The 'Eagle Law'," he echoed with a note of disgust in his voice.

  "Yes, general," answered Franz. "It's been on the statute books for
centuries and requires the commander of any Saxon force that captures a legion's Eagle to present it to the King immediately and in person."

  "I know what the law states!" snapped Godisger. "The Eagle of the fifteenth legion was taken by the 87th regiment. I saw the report. Why did YOU go to Minden?"

  "I was with them at the time," said Franz innocently. "And as the senior line officer present on the spot that made me the commander of the force. By law I had no choice but to go directly to the King."

  Maleric did not add that he had spent days with the various units hunting down the remnants of the legion and had arranged it so that he would be present when the Eagle was captured. Nor did he mention that he had carefully avoided receiving any communication from Godisger.

  "How convenient for you!" said Godisger cynically. "And was his Majesty pleased?"

  "Naturally," said Franz, "it's the first Legionary Eagle taken by Saxon arms in over two hundred years." His mind wandered back to the moment when he had entered the council chambers holding the captured standard before him like a priest carrying a cross in an Easter procession. All the nobles of the kingdom were there, cheering as he made his way to the throne to lay the Eagle at the Kings feet. Even his brother had applauded, although he had not cheered, or smiled.

  "And while you were away obeying the dictates of some five hundred year old law," continued Godisger bitterly. "The army was without its deputy chief of staff. Do you think that just because we have driven the Romans back into Gaul that they are beaten!"

  "It doesn't take much planning to chase after a defeated army," answered Franz scornfully. "Any of the other staff officers are perfectly capable of doing that!" - You're just jealous, that I presented the Eagle to the King instead of you.

  "Weren't you listening you young fool!" screamed Godisger. "They're not defeated! We've won some battles and driven them from the Rhine. We haven't crushed them and that is what we must do if we are to win!"

  "They're weak!" countered Maleric, bridling at the insult. "Their other armies are either fighting the Arabs, the Caledonians or themselves. They've no major reserves left to send to Gaul."

  They stood eye to eye for a fraction of a second, staring each other out like a pair of boxers before a fight.

  "We've one more chance," said Godisger not taking his eyes off Franz. "We must break through their defences on the Mosa River and take Lutetia. Given enough time the Romans can make any river line virtually impregnable. Do you think that you are up to it?"

  Franz Maleric gave his commander a confident and slightly insolent smile. "I breached one river line, I can do it again."

  “Sir,” he added with an element of scorn.

  16th August 1920

  Iconium, Asia Minor

  There was an air of anticipation as the senior officers of the Army of Asia Minor made their way into the lecture theatre. Rumours of a decision to release the army from its reserve status had been circulating for a couple of days and the suddenness of this meeting seemed to presage important news.

  The lecture theatre was in the form of a Greek amphitheatre, with the central stage being the focus of attention. On the stage were just two things, an easel holding a large board covered with a blood red clothe and General Manual Strategicus. The School of Modern Warfare at Iconium where the meeting was taking place had been set up five years earlier and Manual Strategicus, the present commander of the Army of Asia Minor, had been its first commandant.

  The general stood at a parade ground rest as the officers made their way in to find their seats, greeting old friends and making speculative conversation. His eyes took in and noted each man, but he gave no sign of recognition. The only movement that he made was the occasional running of his hand over his short-cropped white hair. When the appointed time for the meeting had arrived, Strategicus nodded to a centurion at the back and a squad of armed military police closed all the doors and took up guard positions.

  Manual Strategicus was a bit of an enigma to many. He was acknowledged by his peers in the military as having one of the most brilliant academic minds in the imperial army, yet he was first and foremost a soldier. His thirst for knowledge stemmed from a desire not just to be a soldier, but also to be a great one. He was not a 'political' general as many senior officers were, either by their nature or through force of competition for the top jobs in the army. In fact he was regarded as being rather 'naive' when it came to dealing with the Byzantine intrigues that permeated the imperial high command. He had only two loyalties in his life, to his God and to the Empire. A deeply religious man, he led an austere and almost Spartan life. He neither drank nor smoked and woe betide the soldier, whatever their rank, which blasphemed in his presence. He treated all with the same degree of respect and courtesy, regardless of whether they were a simple soldier or an imperial senator. Everyone knew where they stood with Strategicus and although he did not know it, the officers and men of the Army of Asia Minor were devoted to him.

  Despite his academic leanings, Manual Strategicus was not known for long speeches or for flowery oratory. As soon as the centurion had confirmed that the room was secure he came straight to the point.

  "At 0500 hours, three days from now, the Army of Asia Minor will launch an invasion of the Arab province of Syria. Our target is Damascus."

  Most of those present had expected an offensive of some kind, but there was a sharp intake of breath at the announcement that their immediate target was the capital of the Arab Caliphate, some two hundred miles from the frontier.

  Two military policemen appeared on the stage and removed the cloth that had been covering the board to reveal a map of the area where Asia Minor and Syria met.

  "The attack will start with an artillery bombardment along the length of the frontier, coupled with air attacks on Arab troop concentrations within fifty miles of the border. The main attack will take place here at Qatura." Strategicus picked up a stick from the easel and pointed to the town, about thirty miles west of Aleppo.

  "As dawn breaks," he continued, "the artillery fire in this sector will cease and three cataphract landship regiments supported by the four auxilia palatina regiments will smash their way through the Arab defences making a gap in their lines and will head directly south along the main highway. They will be followed by the legio X Fretensis and the legio XVI Flavia. The legio VI Ferrata will screen the Arab forces around Aleppo while the auxiliary cavalry and armoured motor carriage regiments will fan out and take the rest of the border forces in the rear."

  Strategicus paused for a moment. The room was quiet, the officers waiting for him to continue.

  "The spearhead of the cataphract and auxilia palatina regiments are fully motorised and will bypass all the major towns between the border and Damascus, including Hama and Hims. The Arab Caliphate only has one field army in Syria, which is based at Misyaf, twenty-five miles west of Hama. They will try and block our advance on Damascus, but we will engage and destroy this army on the third or fourth day of the offensive. After that we will have a clear run to Damascus. We will reach the Arab capital three days later."

  General Strategicus replaced the pointer and stood back.

  A score of minor conversations broke out amongst the officers. They were taken aback at the audacity and the proposed speed of the operation. Previous plans for an invasion of Syria had envisaged a series of carefully planned attacks over a period of two months. Strategicus intended to do it in a week! A few hands went up to ask questions.

  "There will be no questions now," said Strategicus curtly. "As you leave each legionary legate, regimental and cohort commander will receive the orders that pertain to their unit. Tomorrow I will visit each unit to ensure that you fully understand what is expected of you, and will answer any questions that you have at that time."

  "You all have a lot of work to do and there is a difficult time ahead, but we have trained for this moment and now is the time to put our theories to the test. We will hit them hard and we will hit them fast."

&nbs
p; At a signal everybody in the room rose to be dismissed.

  "Gentlemen, you will have the privilege of being present at the dawn of a new era of warfare. God save the Empire!"

  20th August 1920

  Mosa River, Gaul

  In addition to planning the defence of the Mosa River line, Cornelius had been given the task of briefing the commanders of the reinforcements as they arrived. He had just left the command tent of legio I Italica that had just arrived from Milan by train, when he came upon a volunteer field hospital attached to the legion.

  His attention was drawn to a beautiful raven-haired young woman, confidently organising the unloading of a truckload of medical supplies by a mixed group of auxiliaries and legionaries. Cornelius walked over and stood behind her.

  "What is going on here!" he demanded in his most authoritarian voice.

  The soldiers immediately snapped to attention while the civilian volunteers stopped what they were doing and stared at him in surprise. The young women was startled by the appearance of a senior officer behind her but was not intimidated she turned to face the intruder with a flash of anger in her eyes.

  "What the hell do you think I'm doing," she snapped back, "I'm trying to get a.... Cornelius, what are you doing here?"

  "Hello Fulvia," he said trying to keep a straight face, "I was about to ask you the same question".

  Her expression changed to one of joy and Fulvia flung her arms around Cornelius and gave him a friendly kiss much to the amusement of the watching soldiers and civilians. She told everybody to carry on unloading, took Cornelius by the arm and led him towards a row of tents, one of which served as her office and sleeping quarters.