“And why not?” bristled the Lieutenant.
“The Sons of Mars are defending the harbor with pirates,” replied Frigian.
Misunderstanding what the man said, the officer explained, “The Empire will defend the harbor. You can leave.”
While the officer got the meaning wrong, one NCO didn’t. He marched to his Lieutenant.
“Sir, we should assume a defensive formation,” he suggested.
“Sergeant, when I need your advice, I’ll send my man servant to elicit it,” scolded the Lieutenant.
“Yes, sir,” the NCO replied as he marched back and resumed his place beside the files of troops.
“As I was saying before the interruption, the Empire will defend your dock and harbor,” the Lieutenant assured the man.
“We seem to be at a stalemate,” observed Frigian. “Maybe you should go back to the Citadel and ask Admiral Hanno.”
“And what should I ask the Admiral?” sneered the Lieutenant.
“Ask him why you are so stupid,” announced Frigian. Then he whistled two sharp notes and yelled. “Charge!”
Suddenly, the hundred shields ran forward. Swords appeared between the shields and the Empire NCOs shouted for a defensive formation. But another group of shields and swords rushed out of a house to the squads’ rear.
In the first flurry, the Lieutenant fell to three blade slashes. Being shocked by the audacity of a bunch of pirates defying the Empire, he neither drew his sword or fell back to his troops. He simply died with his nose in the air and the assurance that fear of the Empire would protect him.
One NCO managed to rally six men and they fought back to back. They made it a few steps up the main road before the circle of pirates hacked them to death.
“What are our losses?” shouted Frigian.
“A couple of minor cuts,” his lead oarsman replied. “They didn’t have time to level their spears.”
“We learned that lesson last time,” admitted Frigian. “The next time, I’m afraid they’ll be ready for us.”
“Do you want me and the crew back in the house?” the oarsman asked.
“No. That won’t work against a bigger force,” explained the Captain. “Spread your men out along the alleyways and streets. I have a feeling the Empire is done with coming at us down the main road. Next time, we’ll need to defend the entire warehouse district.”
“Any sign of the Republic forces?” the oarsman asked as he began sending his men to other positions.
“We’ve moved the transports. I saw them rowing for the beach,” Frigian said as he turned his head in the direction of the dark harbor. “But no signs of the Legion.”
“Remember the time we tried to board that Greek merchant?” the lead oarsman inquired. “That was bad. Do you think this will be that bad?”
“You mean the merchant ship with a cargo of Greek Hoplites heading home from war?” confirmed Frigian. “Yes. This will be that bad.”
***
The nineteen relief Guards stood outside the Citadel rubbing their eyes as they shook off the sleepy feeling. The fourth watch, besides being woken in the middle of the night, also meant patrolling until after dawn. It was the most boring watch in the dull port town of Messina.
In the Citadel, the relief Sergeant of the Guard paced. The S.O.G. he was to relieve hadn’t reported in and hadn’t advised the Officer of the Guard of any disturbances.
“Maybe he’s tied up in that business with the three squads,” the officer suggested.
“Sir, we have forty-nine men in town. Why has no one sent a runner with a report?” asked the Sergeant. “I’m going to patrol the town down to the dock. When I find the Sergeant of the Guard, I’ll relieve him. If there is trouble, I’ll send a runner.”
“Fine with me,” the officer said as he yawned. “I don’t think you’ll discover anything unusual. Even the candle signals from the blockade ships have stopped.”
***
Outside, the Sergeant called his troops to order.
“The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up,” announced the Sergeant. “When we find the Sergeant of the Guard, we’ll relieve his people. Until then, I want a combat patrol. Shields off your backs and on your arms. Spearhead formation. Forward march.”
With a man at the tip of the spear, then two behind him but close, the patrol descended the hill and entered the town. North to south and back, they crisscrossed Messina, dropping onto lower streets with every crossing. They found nothing in the upper sections of the town. Not the Sergeant of the Guard and his four escorts or the roving patrol. And most peculiar, no citizens lounging on the streets or people returning from visiting acquaintances.
When they completed the middle section and still hadn’t located any Empire troops or civilians, the Sergeant called a halt.
“You four,” the NCO stated pointing out the men who were to serve as his escort. “Return to the Citadel. Inform the Officer of the Guard that most of Messina is unguarded. We’ll continue to patrol the lower section to the dock. But, I need an officer’s advice. Go”
The four jogged to the center road and pounded through the dark town. They slowed a little once out of the Sergeants view. At the base of the hill leading to the Citadel, they started walking. It was too late at night or too early in the morning to be breaking a sweat.
***
The lower section was as empty as the upper areas and just as barren of Empire troops and citizens. They patrolled to the northern end of the town several streets from the base of the steps to the Temple of Adiona. The Sergeant halted his troops. Peering down the street, from five blocks away, he thought he saw shapes moving around in the dark by the last warehouse.
He marched the patrol on to the fourth street from the avenue at the warehouses and called another halt.
Selecting one of his fastest men, the Sergeant had him take off his armor and distribute the armor pieces, his shield, and spear to troops around the formation.
“We’re marching south, just like we’ve been doing,” advised the Sergeant. “I want you to take an alleyway down one block and shadow us. If anyone runs, follow them and let me know where they go.”
Once the man had vanished into the deep shadows, the Sergeant ordered the unit to move out.
***
The young man from the Sons of Mars watched the Qart Hadasht patrol cross the main road. After being sure he knew there were fourteen, although he thought there were fifteen when he first started tracking them, he ran back to the next street and headed down for the docks.
He was stopped by four men in armor with shields at the alleyway between the warehouses. After a few quick words, the young man disappeared into the shadows.
***
Across the avenue, the Qart Hadasht soldier waited for the armed men to settle down. Then, he backed up the street staying in the shadows. At the fourth block, he turned and ran to catch up with the Sergeant.
Chapter 29 - Blood on the Dock
“One hundred eighty Qart Hadasht infantrymen should handle the rebellion,” announced the sub-commander. “Two squads down each street and forty men straight at them down the main road.”
“Yes, sir, that should be sufficient,” an officer replied.
“Of course, it is. We’ll test their resolve but wait for dawn to break their lines,” sub-commander Gisco explained. “By midday, I want the rebel leaders crucified.”
***
“What happened to the roving patrol?” Frigian wondered.
“None of our watchers have seen them since they crossed the road,” his lead oarsman replied. “I don’t like it.”
“Like what? That the Qart Hadasht infantry is about to run their spears down our throats. Or that the Republic hasn’t arrived?” Frigian inquired.
“Both Captain, both,” the oarsman responded.
Seven young men burst from the streets and alleyways between the warehouses. They turned and, on the run, converged on Frigian.
“Qart Hadasht infantry, Capta
in,” they all shouted. “From up the street I was watching.”
“Hold on,” pleaded Frigian. Then he pointed at each and asked, “All the streets?”
“Yes,” came a unified reply.
“There’s a tidal wave about to wash over us,” Frigian shouted to the crewmen. “Just like on the deck of a ship, hunker down behind your shields, and let them come to you.”
He sent the messengers off to alert those between and on the ends of the warehouses. Then, he addressed the oarsman near him, “Messina is our home. Many of us have known no other. We invited the Empire in and we have paid dearly for that mistake. Today, we evict the Empire. Today, we stand in a battle line as our forefathers stood. Strong, united as one, fearless and determined. We are the Sons of Mars!”
Most of the crewmen cheered. A few grumbled and some turned to Frigian.
“Isn’t that the talk you gave us when we were rowing away from those Syracusan Triremes a few months ago?” several inquired.
“I changed a few words,” admitted Frigian.
“Still, it’s a good speech,” one acknowledged as those questioning turned to look at the dark and empty streets.
***
The main road and the streets weren’t empty for long. Marching boots, shields and spears held high soon covered the pavers at the entrances to all the road and streets intersecting with the avenue. Only the long warehouses and the guarded passageways between the buildings prevented the Qart Hadasht troops from marching straight to the dock.
“I am sub-commander Gisco,” announced an Empire officer. “You will bring me the rebel leaders. Then you shall be permitted exodus through our lines to return to your abodes.”
“Our Captains are elected,” one oarsman shouted from behind his shield. “We’ll need to gather and draw stones.”
The sub-commander brightened at the prospect of the pirates surrendering their leaders. Then, he’d have his infantry cull the herd before allowing a few to live. He was elated until another oarsman responded.
“Does anyone have stones?” asked a voice from the massed rebels.
“We all do,” another voice called out. “We’re standing in this shield wall, aren’t we?”
Laughter rolled over the sub-commander and his face flushed. Almost losing composure, he came close to displaying emotions in front of his troops. Instead of replying with useless harsh words, he turned his back on the rebels.
“Front ranks!” he shouted.
The words were repeated by Lieutenants stationed at all seven streets facing the warehouses.
“Front rank, forward!” the sub-commander bellowed.
Again, his words were repeated. Spears dipped and armored men marched onto the avenue.
The Sons of Mars advantages were the Qart Hadasht infantrymen had to come at them at an angle. None of the city streets lined up with the alleyways between the warehouses. This protected the Sons to their left and right as they braced their shields along the mouth of the alleys. They were vulnerable in only one direction and the infantry had to adjust before bringing their spears into play.
Captain Frigian stood behind his last rank feeling helpless. As if it was a heavy rain, the spearheads pounded the shields. One slipped into a gap, an oarsman cried out and fell back. The spear withdrew dripping the oarsman’s blood. Others fell but were replaced by crewmen and their shields. It was purely defensive, and the oarsmen were holding but, at a high cost.
Then the Empire sub-commander added to the Captain’s worries.
“Second rank, forward!”
***
Alerio limped to the end of the dirt path and adjusted his pace. With his right foot, he stepped down onto the dock. From the shadows in the alleyway between warehouses, he made out the shapes of shields at the end of the passageway. Beyond them, Qart Hadasht soldiers stood in a semicircle jabbing with their spears. He hobbled swiftly into the alley.
“Pull back four steps,” the Legionary shouted, “Pass the word. Four steps, on my count.”
Some of the oarsmen in the rear turned to see who was shouting orders. They saw a mostly naked man still dripping seawater with a bleeding left foot. Then, one of them recognized him.
“Lieutenant Sisera has taken command,” he bellowed. “Standby, four steps back on the Lieutenant’s command.”
“Step back!” shouted Alerio. The order, repeated through the ranks, was followed and the line moved inside the corners of the warehouses.
“Step back!” he called out again. When the rows moved this time, the spearheads from the soldiers on the sides could no longer reach the shields.
After two more steps, the Qart Hadasht soldiers hesitated.
“Douse the lanterns and fires behind you. Make them come in after you,” Alerio told the oarsmen. “They’ll have to bunch up in the dark. Hold here and if you can, grab a spear and drag the cūlus to your ranks. You know what to do with him.”
“Are you staying with us, Lieutenant Sisera?” one asked.
“You’ve got this under control,” Alerio assured them. “I’ve got to go check on less hardy oarsmen.”
As Alerio limped away, an oarsman observed, “The Lieutenant isn’t wearing armor. Why he’s barely got anything on.”
“That’s because he wants to leave something for us to do,” another crewman replied. “If he had armor and two swords, he’d kill the soldiers and leave us bored.”
***
After pulling back another group of Sons and having the fires extinguished, so the walls forced the soldiers to enter a tight and dark space, Alerio limped up beside Frigian.
“Back four steps, Captain, and kill the lights behind your men,” the Legionary suggested. “Use the walls to narrow their attack line.”
Frigian snapped his head around at the voice. He’d been so focused on the fight, Alerio’s arrival surprised him. Then he ran his eyes from the exposed chest down to the bloody foot.
“Didn’t you leave undamaged with a nice set of Legion armor?” inquired Frigian. Before Alerio could explain, the Sons’ Captain shouted, “Standby oars. Back one step.”
The order was repeated, and his line backed up. Three more times he called out and the oarsmen retreated deeper between the buildings. The Empire soldiers paused rather than march into the dark and guarded space.
“Went for a swim and picked up a splinter,” stated Alerio. “A big splinter.”
“Oarsmen know to lift their feet when walking on a deck,” scolded Frigian.
“I’d love to stand here all night and learn the finer points of being a pirate,” Alerio explained. “But you have two more lines that I need to pull back.”
The Legionary reached down and picked up a dead oarsman’s Greek shield and sword. With a nod, he hobbled towards the next alleyway.
***
“Recover your lines!” the sub-commander shouted. “We’ll dig the rats out of their holes at daybreak.”
Shortly after the soldiers retreated, Alerio limped back to Frigian’s position and sat down on a crate. He lifted his left foot.
“We held them,” gushed the Sons’ Captain.
“At dawn, I’ll wager you’ll find my bloody footprints all along the dock,” proclaimed Alerio.
“We usually cut the loose skin and bandage the raw meat,” Frigian explained as he examined the foot in the light of a lantern. “It’s like a blister. Open it up to saltwater and it’ll heal in a day.”
“I’ve had blisters on my feet, and this hurt way more,” replied Alerio.
“You’ll never be a good pirate, Lieutenant Sisera,” the Captain teased him. “You’re too delicate.”
Then the splashing of oars rowing in rhythm reached them. Holding the lantern out over the water, they saw nothing. But their eyes were looking for the bow of a transport ship. The noise came from lower, near the water level.
A Legion patrol boat eased into the light with a taunt tow rope attached behind the coxswain. At the end of the rope came a transport.
“Back it down
,” shouted Sergeant Martius from the coxswain position.
The patrol boat jerked to a stop but the transport drifted forward.
“I said, back it down!” the rowing instructor yelled. “Have you forgotten all of your training.”
Curses came from the six rowers on the transport as well as splashing from their frantic efforts to stop the bigger ship. Finally, it eased until the ship floated and lines were thrown to the dock.
“Sergeant Martius, any trouble with the crossing or the marker fires?” Alerio called down.
“Lance Corporal Sisera? Is that you?” the Sergeant asked gazing up from the boat. “You are out of uniform.”
“It’s been a busy night,” replied Alerio. “Are the signal fires positioned properly?”
“Yes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to Rhégion and collect you another half Century of Legionaries.”
Fifty fully armored Legion heavy infantrymen and a Centurion climbed over the rails and down to the docks. Soon javelins and shields were passed over the side and distributed.
“Lance Corporal Sisera. You’re out of uniform,” an NCO observed as he marched up.
“First Sergeant Brictius. It’s been a busy night. This is Captain Milon Frigian, commander of the Sons of Mars on the dock,” Alerio said introducing the men.
“Captain Frigian. Nice to meet you,” the First Sergeant said briskly. “Where is the heaviest concentration of enemy forces. We’ll get Legionaries there right away.”
“The Qart Hadasht soldiers have retreated for the night but it’ll get ugly at dawn,” Frigian said.
“Ugly for them,” promised Brictius. “Show me your defenses so I can have my lads relieve yours.”
The two walked away with Frigian pointing out the locations of his oarsmen. Alerio sat down on the crate and tenderly touched the rip on the bottom of his foot.
“Do you need help?” asked a Legion Medic.
“Doc. I do,” Alerio exclaimed. The Medic glanced at the foot before pulling out a honey, mint and salt salve. As he smeared it on the puncture wound, Alerio let out a sigh and said, “Doc that feels great. Better than a mug of fresh goat’s milk.”
Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2 Page 35
