Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  “I didn’t kill him. You sent him on a nighttime suicide mission against my Legionaries,” explained Claudius. “But you didn’t tell me about sub-commander Gisco.”

  “Gisco will become one of the Judges and be a fine administrator for the Empire,” Hanno stated. “He’s only here for some military experience. Much to my detriment.”

  There was a rustling at the tent flap and Senior Centurion Valerian entered. He slammed a fist into his chest. Both Hanno and Claudius turned to look at him.

  “Tribune Claudius. All is in readiness,” Valerian announced.

  “Bring them up and have the Sergeant escort the Admiral,” Claudius instructed. Then ignoring the puzzled look on Hanno’s face, the Tribune walked out with his Senior Centurion.

  ***

  “They’re going to come against us soon,” guessed Valerian. “Once they figure out their Admiral isn’t in the western half of the town. Do you think sub-commander Gisco would be agreeable to surrendering?”

  Below them, they could see squads of Qart Hadasht soldiers racing up and down streets and in and out of Villas and craftsmen’s compounds.

  “From what I’ve learned, Gisco is an administrator,” replied Claudius. “He’d rather wait in the Citadel until all his troops are dead before discussing the terms of his surrender.”

  Far off on the other side of the city, Claudius noticed movement. Lines of unidentifiable men marched. After watching for a time, he decided the men were marching towards Messina.

  “Sub-commander Gisco must have pulled soldiers off the defensive line. Probably to aid in the search. He’s left big holes in his lines as an invitation,” suggested the Tribune. “And the Syracusan commander has taken him up on the offer.”

  “We could always wait and let Syracuse remove the Qart Hadasht soldiers,” advised Valerian.

  “They’d begin crucifying Sons and we’d have to advance to protect the citizens of Messina,” responded the Tribune. “If there’s going to be woodwork, I’d rather it be me deciding who gets stretched. Not the Syracusans.”

  They strolled around to the back of the temple. Behind them came a hobbled Admiral Hanno with just enough rope between his ankles to shuffle.

  ***

  “Admiral, I’m glad you could join us,” Claudius said pleasantly as if Hanno had a choice.

  In front of them, Legionaries were digging in waist deep holes. Behind the lip of the excavation, large stones were stacked. It wasn’t the men, the holes or the rocks that caused the Admiral to flinch. Laying in front of each hole were heavy beams, notched and lashed together to form crosses.

  “Five? Are you putting me up with some of your Legionary criminals?” Hanno asked. “I am not afraid.”

  But it was a weak attempt at bravado as his lips quivered.

  “Of course not, my dear Admiral,” Claudius assured him. Then the Tribune pointed at the steps. “Here come the attendees to your sunset viewing party.”

  On the steps leading to the top of Temple hill were four men in new tunics. Two displayed clean bandages on their wounds and their pace and posture told the tale of recent injuries. The other two climbed with stiff backs as if they were in charge rather than being prisoners. Four Legionaries walked behind with the points of their javelins inches from the captured Empire officers’ backs.

  “I’m sure you know these men,” advised Claudius as the four reached the top and were herded towards the back of the Temple. “Sub-commander Barca, I’m sure. Hopefully, you recognize the others as three of your Empire Lieutenants.”

  Hanno’s empty stomach sickened, and bile rose in his throat. The four represented four powerful houses of the Qart Hadasht Empire. Two were eldest sons and two were second sons. All had bright futures ahead or short painful deaths. It was up to him and he didn’t like the options.

  “I thought you didn’t want to start a war with the Empire, Tribune,” said Hanno.

  The Tribune motioned for the Legionaries in the post holes to stop digging.

  “I don’t. But with your soldiers deserting the south wall and Syracuse troops closing in, it seems I don’t have a choice,” replied Claudius. “Your soldiers will be trapped between two forces and they will die anyway. Why not march out with your officers and men? It’s not as if you’re leaving me a pacified town.”

  Hanno glared at the Tribune before shifting to Barca. His sub-commander, although slumped from an injury, stared back at his Admiral with trusting eyes.

  “I have two Triremes and rowers,” Hanno said softly as if embarrassed by his words. “But not enough ships for my soldiers and officers.”

  “The Sons of Mars have transports in the harbor,” pointed out Claudius. “We’ll work something out, however…”

  Tribune Claudius let his sentence end unfinished. As a commander, he didn’t want to put words in the mouth of another commander making a hard decision.

  “No!” shouted one of the healthy Lieutenants. “We are Qart Hadasht Empire. We do not surrender to dirt farmers.”

  Everyone froze. Standing silently, Claudius, Barca, and the two other Lieutenants seem as statues, no one wanting to move or even breathe hard.

  Then Valerian with his arms hanging at his side lifted a finger and pointed it at the Legionaries in the holes. Unseen by the officers, the Senior Centurion jerked his finger up and down as a signal to dig.

  The first shovel burrowed into the clay, sand, and pebbles. As the iron scraped into the gritty soil, it created a screech. As if a mythical night creature had escaped into the daylight, the hairs on the backs the officers’ necks bristled.

  Hanno glanced down at the shovels of dirt thrown from the hole and up at the Lieutenant who spoke out.

  “Lieutenant Bomilcar. You are young and arrogant. Perhaps someday, you’ll understand,” Hanno whispered. Then to Claudius, in a loud commanding voice, he announced. “Tribune Gaius Claudius. As commander of the Qart Hadasht forces in Messina, I propose an end to hostilities. My only condition is that you allow the unmolested passage of my officers and soldiers to the dock. From there we will row away and leave the Sons of Mars and the Syracusan situation in your hands. Do you agree?”

  “Admiral Hanno. By the authority invested in me by the Senate of the Republic and as a staff office of the Legion, and commander of Caudex Legion detachment in Messina. I accept your surrender,” replied Claudius. “Sergeant, kindly untie the Admiral.”

  Act 7

  Chapter 37 - The Inherent Dangers During Rotation

  “Captain Frigian. I’m of two minds,” confessed Claudius. “One is to disarm the Sons of Mars until just before you row out and need weapons and armor to protect your trade.”

  “That’s a better deal than we had with Qart Hadasht,” pointed out Frigian. “What’s the other thought?”

  The Tribune raised an arm and indicated the south side of Messina.

  “Admiral Hanno is pulling his troops from the south wall and marshalling them for a march to the dock,” Claudius explained. “I need all of my Legionaries to watch for treachery. Once they are stretched from the dock to our lines, they could easily turn on us.”

  “Like a wounded wolf,” ventured Frigian. “Even if you beat it off, it might turn on you at the last moment. Or it might trot off into the woods.”

  “Yes, like a wounded wolf. I don’t want Admiral Hanno turning on my Legionaries when he is behind my lines,” agreed Claudius. “I need the Sons to man the south wall defenses until I can free up Legionaries.”

  “And what’s in it for the Sons?” asked Frigian.

  “You know, it’s a bad idea,” commented Claudius. “Maybe I’ll let Syracuse have the western half. I only need the dock and beach for General Caudex and the rest of the Legion.”

  “Hold on, hold on Tribune,” Frigian begged. He knew if Syracuse troops made it into Messina, they would begin killing Sons. “We can hold them off until your Legionaries arrive. But I need one thing from you.”

  “And what is that?” inquired Claudius.

&nb
sp; “I need Lieutenant Sisera,” Frigian replied. “Rather, Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera to command my heavy infantry.”

  “The Sons of Mars have heavy infantry?” Claudius asked while squinting and crunching up his face. “Did you say Sisera commands your heavy infantry?”

  “In truth Tribune, according to Lieutenant Sisera, the Sons’ heavy infantry is like gold leafing on a Tribune’s armor,” Frigian explained. “It’s safe and looks good because it’s not made for real combat. It just looks pretty on the battlefield.”

  “Senior Centurion Valerian. Find Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera and tell him he is assigned to Captain Frigian until released,” ordered Claudius.

  ***

  Three hundred Legionaries lined the wide road. From behind their shields, they watched five hundred Qart Hadasht soldiers and their officers march by. In the western sectors starting with the Citadel, pairs of Legion skirmishers searched the town. They were looking for soldiers. Hidden units that could attack from the rear as the Legionaries collapsed to follow the last column of soldiers out of Messina.

  Two pairs of the Velites came out of compounds on the opposite sides of a street and stopped. From the north marched columns of heavy infantry. Big shields, shoulder rigs, breast plates, javelins, spears, helmets and the infantrymen marched mostly in step. The skirmishers started to run and raise the alarm when they noticed something odd. All the equipment was from different city states. Egyptian, Legion, Greek, Macedonia, Qart Hadasht, and some that were so obscure in style and markings, they couldn’t identify the origins.

  A man riding a big horse and outfitted in shiny Greek armor rode beside the columns.

  “Left, stomp, left stomp,” the Greek commander called out the cadence.

  As the infantrymen passed, the Greek turned on his horse and did a cross chest salute. Not knowing what else to do, the Legion Velites returned the salute.

  ***

  “What’s the hold up now?” demanded a frustrated Tribune Claudius.

  “The soldiers wanted to stop for a meal before boarding,” Senior Centurion Valerian replied. “Short of reigniting hostilities, our Legionaries are stuck with standing and watching.”

  Admiral Hanno had a tent on the beach where he could observe the loading of his soldiers. Other than a few runners, he sat in a chair doing nothing to hasten the departure. With only about a hundred soldiers loaded on transports, there was a real likelihood the Qart Hadasht could reengage.

  “The wolf is delaying for one of two reasons, or both,” reflected Claudius. “He wants to the Syracusans to come in and make us fight for the town again. Or he’s changed his mind. With four hundred soldiers, he could hold the dock and warehouses until we are worn down. Then retake Messina.”

  “Do you think he’d go back on his word, sir?” asked Valerian

  “I don’t know. What’s an aristocrats word to a dirt farmer worth?” pondered Claudius.

  ***

  South of the wall and across the field, Syracusan units mustered. In the center were Hoplites with big shields and long spears. Squads of soldiers flanked the elite fighters. Farther out, on each side of the ranks of foot soldiers, cavalry mounts pawed and stomped the sod.

  A rutted road stretched through the Syracusan troops, traveled across the grassy field and threaded between Messina’s defensive line. It ended at the main gate to the port town. South of the wall, on either side of the road, Qart Hadasht soldiers had dug wide, shallow pits and piled the dirt behind the dips to create hills. Two rows of misaligned pits composed the defensive line.

  The pits were there to break up the Hoplites’ phalanx formations. The Greeks could come up the road but only one phalanx at a time. While the single formation moved smoothly, the soldiers protecting its sides would be up and down pits and hills. If the phalanxes came across the field, they would need to weave their tightly packed formations between the pits and hills. All in all, it was a good defensive line. However, like all good things, it came to an end – actual ends where the field flattened.

  “Cavalry, port and starboard,” announced a Sons of Mars runner.

  Alerio, atop the big horse, lifted his eyes from the ranks of his infantrymen slowly forming up across the road. Looking left then right, he cringed.

  Mounted Syracusan troops charged the ends of his line. Where he had heavy infantry at the center, on the ends were his irregulars. Half armored rowers, organized by boat crews, they fell back as the cavalry charged them. Bunched up and unable to defend themselves, several of the irregulars fell dead or wounded to the grass.

  As the horsemen rode off and circled for another pass, Alerio called to his Sergeants.

  “First and second squads, fall out and get to the port end,” he shouted using the nautical terms familiar to the Sons of Mars oarsmen. “Eleventh and twelfth, hustle to the starboard end.”

  Alerio would have preferred to be in the shield wall. But, Captains Frigian and Creon had appointed him overall commander. The leaders of the Sons were on his left and right trying to rally their men to defend against another cavalry charge. They were failing.

  More oarsmen flew back, arms, heads, and shoulders slashed by fast moving mounts and swift sword strokes. Soaring splatters of blood, like rooster combs, marked the falling bodies while sprinkling the other irregulars. On the front ranks, oarsmen checked to see if the red drops were theirs or that of a fallen crew member.

  Then, the first and second squads of the Militia’s heavy infantry reached them. As if an armored glove had been slipped on a bleeding hand, the squads curled into two ranks. The bleeding appendage at the end of the Sons line had become an armored fist.

  The Syracusan cavalry kicked their mounts and came about. They laughed and howled at the ease of the killing. With savage joy, they bore down on the irregulars for another round of whack-a-pirate. Except now their horses galloped towards tightly linked shields bristling with iron tipped javelins.

  Realizing the enemy had changed, the mounted troops veered off and guided their mounts to the rear of the heavy infantrymen. But they swung wide and the irregulars, who had been fixed targets, turned the table. Now, the oarsmen raced towards the cavalrymen throwing javelins, and spears. Two mounts stumbled and the cavalry troopers fell as their mounted unit turned and escaped back around the heavy infantrymen. Angry oarsmen swarmed the wounded Syracusan soldiers before racing back to their place in the defensive line.

  On the starboard side, the leader of the cavalry recognized the danger of heavy infantrymen. He turned his mounted unit and trotted them back to the Syracusan line.

  “They didn’t turn our line,” commented Captain Creon as he rode up.

  “But they did draw off some of our infantry,” replied Alerio indicating the six remaining squads at the road.

  “Sixty shields are still impressive,” added Creon.

  “They use thirty-two Hoplites in their phalanx formations,” explained Alerio. “Even if we break it up, the Hoplites are better trained. We’ll be lucky if our men can hold the line after the phalanx breaks up.”

  “You don’t have much faith,” observed Creon.

  “Captain. My faith is founded on Centuries of Legionaries coming through the gate,” Alerio said glancing at the empty opening in the south wall. “Until then, I believe a lot of us will die if Syracuse attacks.”

  ***

  The sun had passed its zenith and Tribune Claudius had worn a slight trench in the hard soil of Temple hill from his pacing. Below in the harbor, another hundred Qart Hadasht soldiers had boarded transports and rowed into the Strait.

  “They’re down to three hundred,” announced Valerian as he reached the top of the hill. “At least now we’re evenly matched.”

  “But we’re not,” Claudius replied lifting an arm and pointing southward. “There’s movement at the Sons’ position.”

  “I could sneak away a Century and send them south,” offered the Senior Centurion.

  “And if one of those transports returned and Admiral Hanno chan
ges his mind,” reflected Claudius. “Those eighty Legionaries will make a difference here. Over the wall, I’m not too sure. Hold what we have.”

  “Yes, sir,” Valerian replied while looking down on the dock and beach at the inactivity of the Qart Hadasht soldiers.

  Then, Admiral Hanno raised from his camp chair, arched his back and put his hands over his head. Claudius and Valerian stiffened focusing on the figure in front of the tent on the beach.

  “Signalman. Stand by,” Valerian called without taking his eyes off the Admiral.

  “Standing by, Senior Centurion,” the Legion signalman responded.

  But Hanno didn’t signal an attack. He opened his mouth and yawned. With a wave at a servant, the Admiral strolled to a ramp and boarded one of the Triremes. After his baggage was carried aboard, crewmen pushed the Empire warships off the beach. With uniformed strokes, the Triremes powered across the harbor and entered the Strait.

  “You’ve cut the head off the snake, sir,” Valerian said congratulating the Tribune. “Do you want to send units to the south wall now?”

  “Bomilcar and Gisco are still on the dock,” Claudius warned. “Those two have had their heads together for most of the morning.”

  “Bomilcar? The officer who challenged the Admiral?” inquired Valerian. “Do you think he’s irrational enough to order an attack?”

  “While Lieutenant Bomilcar is, I believe his rashness is being tampered by Sub-commander Gisco,” surmised Claudius. “I’m afraid Lance Corporal, or should I say, Lieutenant Sisera will have to make do with his Sons of Mars heavy infantry for a while longer.”

  Chapter 38 - An Unheroic Welcome

  Two and a half days later, the two Triremes rowed into the Empire port of Zis. They had crossed two thirds the width of northern Sicilia and passed all the troop transports. As the warships ground onto the sandy beach, an Admiral and a squad of soldiers rushed to greet them.