He passed the first two transports with room to flounder unheard. Masked by the creaking of the wood at the bow and stern from tension on the hemp ropes, the distant splashing was indistinguishable from fish breaking the surface.
As the dark hull of the second ship fell behind and he neared the center of the channel, the current increased. Alerio, despite his powerful underwater strokes, began to drift between the transports. If he went to an overhand stroke, he could fight the flow. But he might as well hail the Qart Hadasht archers on the transport and invite them to use him for target practice.
Suddenly, an arm linked through his right arm and another his left. The oarsmen swimmers turned him, and he realized the power of three pairs of legs. When two more joined on either side, the seven pairs of legs kicking below the surface easily propelled them. Silently, they swam as one entity back towards the harbor then turned and headed for the center Corbita.
***
Riding the water empty, the transport’s rails loomed six feet above Alerio and the swimmers’ heads. From the dark waters of the harbor channel, the hull appeared to be an unscalable cliff. And there was noise from above and below. The tension of the ropes connecting the ship to those tied to her stern and bow, fifteen feet away, tugged and twisted the frame creating groaning and creaks. Above, they could hear the Qart Hadasht archers talking. It seemed there had been action on the docks and the soldiers were concerned.
Alerio, after studying the ship, assumed they would dive deep and come up fast. Then leap out of the water and grab the rail at midship. Being the lowest point from the water, it might be possible. It would also be loud and alert the archers. While he pondered the suicide action, a swimmer pulled his arm. He followed and they paddled to the bow.
Above them, the curved bow and the bow beam seemed to arch into the night sky. Although not as high as the stern with the steering and observation deck, the front of the transport towered above the water. Then an oarsman placed his hands on either side of the bow beam. Three feet above the water, the beam emerged from the hull and flared out as it rose roughly following the curve of the bow.
The oarsman pressed his hands together on either side of the beam and pulled himself up. By bending his knees, he lifted his feet and placed the soles on the beam. Then he jumped his hands higher and lifted his feet to a new position. After three more clamps on the beam, the oarsman reached out and got a hand on the rail. He swung free but managed to grip the rail with his other hand. When the oarsman vanished from sight another oarsman kicked, emerged from the water and pressed his hands together on either side of the beam.
Alerio marveled as all six oarsmen climbed the bow beam in that odd manner. Alone in the water, he gritted his teeth in determination and kicked with his feet. As his upper body emerged from the water, he reached up and clamped onto the beam. To his surprise, the beam was rough. Although it took pressure to hold on while he lifted his body and legs, his palms didn’t slip. With his knees thrusting to the sides, he placed the flat of his feet on either side of the beam. He climbed, not as rapidly as the oarsmen, but he reached a point where he could grab the ship’s rail.
His first attempt almost found him falling and splashing loudly into the water. Then, he pressed harder with his feet and flung his right arm out. When his palm slapped the rail, he curled his fingers and held on tightly. He had to. The movement towards the rail pulled his body off the bow beam and he hung suspended by one arm. With a powerful pull, he rose enough to get the other hand on the rail. Pulling up, he peered over the rail at the deck.
In the dark, he made out six archers standing on the steering deck at the stern. Three held lit candles over their heads. A cooking brazier glowed with hot embers behind the cluster of men. Below him on the deck and against the rails were his six swimmers. Alerio eased over the rail and took a position with the Sons’ oarsmen.
***
It wasn’t unusual in combat situations for men to rush towards the enemy over great distances then stop before engaging. Legion instructors drilled Legionaries to attack instantly. Training involved running ten miles, forming ranks and, before the Legionaries could catch their breaths, running shield and sword drills. Even after training some men still held back in the face of the enemy.
The Sons had braved dark waters with strong currents, scaled an imposing obstacle and worked their way in close - all with bravado and creativity. Then, with the enemy in sight, they froze. Maybe it was the fear of death or a hesitation to purposely take another man’s life. In either case, Alerio’s six swimmers hugged the boards as if their job was done.
How to break the apathy? Leadership, the kind where one man’s actions acted as a catalyst to inspire others or to get himself killed. Alerio pushed off the rough wooden boards of the transport and, alone, crept across the deck towards the archers.
The Legionary drew the long-curved dagger from its sheath. As the only weapon he carried, it seemed small and inadequate compared to the mission. Staying low and hugging the rail, Alerio traveled to midship in small light steps.
Equipment belonging to the Qart Hadasht archers was placed in individual spaces. As if being assigned to guarding a barricade ship wasn’t remote enough, each soldier claimed a separate area of the deck. Close to Alerio, an archer’s bedding appeared darker than the deck and his skirmisher’s shield glowed lighter than the weathered boards.
After snatching up the shield, Alerio increased his pace. Better to attack and surprise the archers than to continue sneaking up, hoping none turned around. If any of them spotted him, they’d have time to prepare. He didn’t want them prepared.
***
From cat like steps, Alerio accelerated to a full sprint for the last low section of the transport. Vaulting to the steering and rowing deck, he ran five steps and slammed the shield into the backs of two archers standing to the side of the unit. They stumbled forward and their thighs hit the rail. The momentum carried their torsos out over the side of the ship and, despite reaching for the rail, they flipped over and fell screaming until they splashed into the harbor. Their cries ended as they sank and the water closed over their heads.
The other four drew short-curved swords and spread out in a semicircle. The glowing embers in the brazier reflected off their blades.
One stabbed out and Alerio deflected the blade with the shield. Another blade he parried with his dagger. But a dagger, no matter how well-crafted, lacked the length to be effective in a sword fight. And a swordsman, no matter his skill, was only as good as his weapons. And to compound the situation, Alerio was mostly naked while the archers wore armor.
Alerio moved to his left, sliding his feet for balance and keeping the shield between the four blades and his bare skin. A sharp pain stabbed into the ball of his left foot. He ignored the pain although he lifted the foot as he circled.
An idea to kick over the brazier and spread the embers on the deck crossed his mind. But two things stopped the idea before it was fully formed. He was barefooted and hot coals would hinder him more than the soldiers. And he’d suffer the wrath of the Sons should he burn their prize ship to the waterline.
Now with his forward foot balanced on the heel to keep pressure off the ball, and his right supporting most of his weight, the smooth circling of a master swordsman, became lurching movements. The soldiers noticed and all four stepped forward to end the fight. Alerio limped back and his calf muscle touched the lower board of the rail.
Die or swim, the thought flashed in his mind. Either move would end his mission as the barricade remained in place and the Legion ships couldn’t enter the harbor. And the Qart Hadasht troops would massacre the Sons of Mars on the dock. Alerio inhaled, set his shoulders, and gathered his legs for a final assault. Just before he committed to the reckless attack, the four soldiers were clubbed to the deck.
“Sorry it took so long,” one of the swimmers apologized as he swung a club back and forth. “It took us awhile to locate the weapon’s locker.”
“Good timing,�
�� Alerio complimented the man as he sank to the deck and pulled his left foot around. A finger long splinter ran under the skin of the ball of his foot. Taking the end with two fingers, the Legionary eased the little spear free. Blood gushed from the hole and his entire foot throbbed.
“Experienced oarsmen lift their feet,” one of the swimmers advised him. “Never slide your bare feet on a deck.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” Alerio said as he squeezed and rubbed the foot.
“Over the side with them,” another oarsman ordered.
As the four soldiers were lifted, Alerio studied the feet and shoulders of the unconscious men.
“Wait. Not that one,” Alerio said as he stood with most of his weight on the right leg. “I want to save his shoulder and chest armor. And, I need his sandals.”
“You heard the Lieutenant. Strip him. Someone, go below and get a couple of ballast stones,” an oarsman advised. “We don’t want the Qart Hadasht scum to wake up and start swimming.”
While the oarsmen pulled off the sandals and armor, Alerio picked up two swords and limped to the aft rail. He began slashing the thick hemp line.
A shout from the next ship in the barricade was followed by several arrows. But it was dark, and Alerio dropped his profile by bending down. Fifty cuts later, the last few fibers unraveled and the rope fell into the water. Free from the tension, the ship with the active archers drifted to the north still attached to the ship anchored on the western shoreline.
“Cut the bow line. Everyone else, secure an oar,” a swimmer directed. “Then we row across the harbor and straight to the dock.”
“No dock,” advised Alerio. “We need to keep it clear for the Legionaries. You’ll have to run her aground in the shallows.”
“We can do that, Lieutenant Sisera,” the oarsman replied.
***
Without the necklace of ships holding each other in place, Alerio’s transport drifted on the northbound current pulling the other two ships with it.
It got quiet as the five men lowered oars through leather lined holes in the rail boards. The only sound was the chopping of the bow line. Alerio slipped on the right sandal and laced it up. Then slowly, he eased on the left sandal and winced as he tied it on. With most of his weight on the right foot, he stood and glanced down at the armor. It was unnecessary for the trip to the other side of the harbor but having it nearby made him feel better.
When the line fell, the man cutting it turned and shouted, “Standby oars. Stroke, Stroke.
Running sure footed down the deck, the man hit the ladder and rushed to the rear steering oars.
“Stroke, stroke,” he instructed. Then, as the transport began moving, he looked in Alerio’s direction, “They’re having trouble on the other ship.”
“Which ship?” inquired Alerio.
“While I was cutting us free, I heard the sounds of fighting,” the oarsman explained.
Alerio looked down at the armor. As he bent to pick up the chest piece, he ordered, “Row alongside her. At least get close enough for me to board.”
“Stroke, stroke,” instructed the man as he adjusted the steering oars.
***
Alerio strapped on the shoulder pieces taking longer with the strange Qart Hadasht armor than he liked. Once dressed, he pondered the swords and shields laying on the deck. A few heartbeats later, he snatched up two swords and limped towards the bow of the transport.
As he reached the fore section, he heard the man at the stern call out, “Port side, standby to ship oars. Ship oars!”
The other transport’s rail appeared in the dark. As Alerio stepped up on his rail, he heard the men in the rear shout, “Go with Mars, Lieutenant Sisera.”
Then the rails glided by as the ships passed each other. The Legionary pushed off and flew over the gap. Below, the water, dark and deadly for an armored man, passed and he touched the rail on the other ship.
Six archers stood with bows raised firing arrows down the length of the transport. The shadowy outline of barrels and cargo hole covers marked their targets and the location of the Sons’ boarding party.
Alerio jumped down and charged at the archers. Two fell off the steering and rowing platform, bleeding from neck wounds as they crashed to the cargo deck. One realized the danger and twisted to sight at the Legionary along his drawn arrow. But the Qart Hadasht armor confused him and he hesitated.
With no hesitation, Alerio shot his right foot forward, bent that knee and straightened his left leg. Leaning far over the bent knee, he thrust his sword into the man’s belly. The arrow flew harmlessly over his head as the archer folded up, holding his stomach.
To recover, Alerio pushed off with the right foot and twisted. His intention was to pivot on his left foot to face the next closest archer. Pain, as the skin over the puncture wound ripped open, caused his left leg to spasm and involuntarily buckle.
Down on one knee, Alerio glanced up as the final three archers spun to face him. Looking at the barbed iron tips of the arrows and the solid horned encased war bows, he felt as if he was a red deer at the end of a hunt. In a desperate act of self-preservation, Alerio fell to the side and rotated on his shoulders towards the edge of the steering deck. Three arrows struck in the boards marking the passage of the rolling Legionary.
The archers notched another arrow and stepped to the edge looking to finish off their attacker. As they sighted down their arrows…
Alerio hit hard on his back and he exhaled violently from the impact. As if holding his breath, he ignored the pain and leaped to his feet with bent knees. While the left foot hurt, he was prepared for the throbbing and able to ignore it. Straightening his legs, he shot up slashing the front legs out from under two of the archers. With their legs spewing blood and folding, the archers fell over Alerio. The third archer’s arrow hit one of them below the armor in the lower back saving the Legionary from the iron tip.
The archer shuffled back while pulling another arrow. He slipped the notch over the bowstring and drew the arrow back. As he raised the bow seeking his target, a sword spinning through the air passed the tip of his arrow and smashed into his face. The impact from the side of the blade did no more damage than forcing his head back. Jerking his head down, he tried to regain the sight along the arrow. Instead of finding a target, a fist found him first.
Alerio stood over the archer for a moment before bending down and punching through the opening in his helmet, again. Confused as blood exploded from his nose and his vision blurred, the soldier didn’t understand the sensation of floating then flying. That was before he splashed into the harbor and he forgot about his nose and vision as he held his breath while sinking into the water.
Chapter 28 - Surprise Attack
Multiple candles from the blockade ships caused an alarm when the lookout reported them to the duty officer and the duty NCO. They both went to their superior officer. According to the sub-commander, who woke up angry at the disturbance, it wasn’t important.
“It’s more likely to be pirates attempting to take the ships. We have, and correct me if I’m wrong, a squad in the town, guards on the docks, a full squad patrolling the hook, and archers on the ships,” he grumbled. “I don’t see any reason to mobilize the entire garrison.”
Three squads were bounced out of their beds and ordered to arm up. By the time Alerio and the oarsmen took control of the blockade ships, thirty Qart Hadasht heavy infantrymen stood in front of the Citadel. They weren’t happy at being woken up in the middle of the night and then left standing around waiting.
Eventually, a young Lieutenant appeared. The NCOs called the squads to attention.
“What are our orders, sir?” one asked.
“We’ll march to the docks and display Empire might,” the Lieutenant replied. “March them out.”
The Qart Hadasht infantry hoisted their shields and spears and marched down the hill towards the dock. No one thought the situation was important enough to notify Admiral Hanno.
***
A young man peered around the corner of a wall and counted the troops. Then he sprinted away, turned at the next corner and ran all out for six blocks. At the warehouses, he slowed down through the alleyway. Once on the dock, he sprinted until he reached the man in the shiny Greek armor.
“Captain Frigian. Thirty of their infantry are coming,” he reported between deep breaths.
“Only three squads? Our luck is holding,” Frigian ventured. Then to the men lounging around the dock, he ordered, “Sons of Mars. Grab your sword, shield, and adjust your mentula. Company is coming. Let’s give them a warm welcome.”
Moments later, high up on the street, movement appeared between the pools of light. As the Empire troops drew closer, they resembled a heard of deer running through the woods. Some details flashed as they entered a light then vanished until more were visible. Eventually, they solidified into two lines of marching troops.
“Shields up,” ordered Frigian and a hundred shields lifted. They didn’t click together as a well-trained Legion unit but there were enough to form a formidable wall across the street.
Seeing the crowd of shields, the Lieutenant held up a hand and the NCOs called the squads to a halt.
“In the name of the Qart Hadasht Empire, what is the meaning of this display?” demanded the officer. “Disperse now, Sons of Mars, or taste Empire justice.”
A more experienced officer would have retreated and sent a runner for help. The Lieutenant’s NCOs would have told him. But the officer was an aristocrat, young and not open to suggestions.
A man in Greek armor sauntered up behind the loose rows of shields.
“We can’t do that,” Frigian informed the officer.
Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2 Page 34
