Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Admiral Hanno. We sighted the ships expecting news,” Admiral Yutpan, the commander of all the Qart Hadasht forces on Sicilia, explained. “I didn’t expect to find you. What’s the status of Messina?”

  “Admiral Yutpan. We need to have a conversation,” replied Hanno.

  “Come. We’ll go to my office,” Yutpan urged.

  The two Admirals and the squad marched off the sand, up granite steps and took a winding path to Yutpan’s office.

  ***

  “And with the Syracusan’s forces closing in from the south and four of our families’ sons in danger,” Hanno related softly ending his long explanation. “I withdrew our forces and left Messina to the Republic.”

  “That is disheartening. But from what you described, I can’t imagine you’ll have any problems with your decision,” Yutpan guessed. “Let me have my staff assign you quarters. Get some rest while the remainder of your command rows in. I’m sure we can find you a new posting soon.”

  Admiral Hanno didn’t relax for the two and a half days it took for the last transport to row into the docks at Zis. He roamed the beach during the day and the halls of his quarters at night. All the while questioning his actions and especially the final decision concerning Messina.

  ***

  A knock at the door dragged Hanno out of a restless sleep. When he opened it, a messenger handed him a rolled parchment. Stripping off the band and seal, he read.

  Admiral Hanno,

  Your presence is demanded in the naval hall at first light.

  rapidly Admiral Yutpan

  Hanno dressed and rushed from his room. He strutted down the hallway, and out a back door. Across a courtyard, he entered another doorway, marched down another hallway and stopped in front of a set of large ornate doors. There, he paused and took in a deep breath before shoving the doors open and walking into the naval hall.

  ***

  It was a mid-size room with a long candlelit table on one end. Three men sat on one side of the table - Admiral Yutpan and two Empire staff officers. Although they faced the room, none of the three looked up when Hanno entered. They were occupied with pieces of parchment they passed back and forth. They’d silently read a section by candlelight, point out specific words, hand the missive to another of the trio, and repeat the process. Brief whispered discussions followed each sharing of the parchments.

  Braziers cast weak, shadowy light around the room. A line of five chairs had been placed several feet from the table. Men occupied four of the chairs and Admiral Hanno knew all of them.

  Sub-commander Gisco, Lieutenant Maharbaal, and Lieutenant Bomilcar sat in the first three. Over a short divide was an empty chair. Sub-commander Barca occupied the fifth chair which was also separated from the empty one. Admiral Yutpan glanced up, indicated the center chair, bent his head, and returned to the discussion.

  Hanno walked by Gisco and Maharbaal, who didn’t raise their eyes or acknowledge him in any way. Beside them, Bomilcar jutted his chin out and tracked Hanno’s passage with malice in his eyes.

  As Hanno reached the empty chair, he received a sad smile and a nod from Barca in the last chair. He returned Barca’s greeting and sat with his back rigid in the empty and isolated chair. Placing his hands on his knees, Hanno faced the three judges without expression.

  The windows behind the judges’ table lightened as dawn approached. But the three continued to use the illumination of the candles until sunlight passed over the table and crept the several feet to the line of five chairs. Only when Hanno’s face was clearly visible did Admiral Yutpan and the two staff officers cease their examination of the documents and their discussions.

  Admiral Yutpan blew out the candles on the table and announced, “Charges, horrible and dark, fit only for the black of night, have been levied against Admiral Hanno. We have reviewed them seeking enlightenment with the rising sun. Now with the morning light shining on the accused, we are prepared to also shine the light of Qart Hadasht justice on Hanno, an Admiral of the Empire.”

  As Yutpan finished and sat, another of the judges stood.

  “Admiral Hanno, you have been charged with desertion in the face of the enemy, disgracing the Empire,” listed the staff officer. “Actions unbecoming of an Admiral of the Qart Hadasht military, showing a lack of judgement and cowardice.”

  The officer sat down, and the third member of the panel stood.

  “Hanno has an exemplary record as a military leader,” the officer stated. “Coming from a good but moderately successful house of Qart Hadasht, his talents and strength of character allowed him to rise to the exalted level of Admiral. Maybe it was the struggle to climb and the self-preservation necessary to advance that caused him to act as he did in Messina. Or possibly, he had risen too far above his abilities to make sound decisions concerning the Messina incident.”

  “Messina incident?” cried out Bomilcar with scorn in his voice. “When faced with death and honor, Hanno chose to save his own life with dishonor.”

  “And he saved your life, and my life,” Barca reminded Bomilcar.

  “I’d rather die than give up land to the Republic or any other rogue government,” Bomilcar bragged. “Maybe my honor and my love for the Empire are stronger than yours.”

  “Lieutenant Bomilcar. Do you challenge my honor? My commitment?” Barca asked in a low and threatening tone. “Because while you were running errands for Admiral Hanno and sub-commander Gisco, I was beyond the wall facing Syracusan soldiers. If you want to test my courage, open your mouth one more time!”

  “Now see here, sub-commander Barca. There is no need to chastise a young Lieutenant for speaking his mind in a court,” Gisco exclaimed. “And certainly, no reason to make it personal and threaten violence.”

  “What did Bomilcar promise you, sub-commander Gisco?” inquired Barca. “A trade deal with his family? Or, maybe his sister and a fat dowry as payment for bringing down a fine Admiral? Or maybe you think you will be promoted to Admiral in his place?”

  Gisco opened his mouth but nothing came out. In the glare from the combat officer, he decided not to respond.

  “The panel of judges has read the reports and heard the opinions of witnesses both for and against the Admiral,” Yutpan stated. “Admiral Hanno do you have anything to add before the panel renders a decision?”

  Hanno raised slowly and straightened his shoulders. With his eyes level and clear, he spoke.

  “I have served the Empire for fifteen years. During that time, I have endeavored to protect the interest of Qart Hadasht at all times. Against all foes in battles at sea and on land, I have been successful. In Messina, I faced an adversary I was not prepared for, not emotionally or militarily,” explained Hanno. “By retreating, I saved the lives of my junior officers so they could share the experience. Hopefully, they will help mold the Empire’s forces so the next time we face the Republic, our soldiers and officers will be prepared. For that reason, the future of the Empire, I ordered the surrender.”

  Hanno sank into his seat as if all the air had left his body. As a military commander, he was accustomed to being in control and deciding the fate of others. Now, his was in the hands of three judges.

  Mercifully, the panel didn’t take long to decide.

  “Admiral Hanno. It is the unanimous decision of the court,” Yutpan stated. “That you have been found guilty of lack of judgement while in command of a strategic shipping port, and cowardice in the face of an enemy of the Empire. For these charges, and to impress upon all Qart Hadasht officers the need for perseverance in the face of opposition, you shall be taken to a high hill so all may witness the justice of the Qart Hadasht Empire. On the hill, at the sun’s zenith, you will be crucified and remain on the cross until death takes you.”

  ***

  With the sun high overhead, a squad of soldiers marched with Admiral Hanno to the crest of a hill. Before Hanno laid down and spread his arms out on the wooden beam, he looked upon the rolling waves and the ships of the mighty Empire rowing ac
ross Zis bay.

  After lashing his arms to the cross piece and his ankles so his heels touched the wedge piece, the soldiers hoisted the beam. Its end slipped over the edge, dropped into the hole, and slammed into the bottom. The jolt dislocated Hanno’s shoulders and he fought to fill his lungs. As the soldiers filled the hole with stones and packed rocks around the beam to keep it upright, Hanno pressed with his heals, rose up on quivering legs, and sucked in air. But his heals slipped off the wedge and he dangled strangling until he could locate the sloped wedge with his heels. Again, he rose up, breathed and slipped. It was a struggle he would repeat until sundown when his strength failed, and he hung fully stretched on the wood. As the sunset over Zis bay, Admiral Hanno jerked violently as he suffocated to death.

  Chapter 39 - Motivation in Question

  The soldiers rushed down the hills on either side of the rutted road. Ahead of them, the phalanx moved too fast and the spacing of the soldiers became uneven. In a ragged line, they hit the solid shields of the Sons of Mars heavy infantry while the phalanx surged ahead.

  “Why are they suddenly in a rush to kill us?” asked Frigian.

  “I don’t know Captain,” Alerio replied. “Are you ready?”

  “Give the order, Captain,” Frigian responded.

  The two leaders split apart. One running to the left, the other to the right. Each joined two ranks of differently armed men. In the front rank, the heavy shields and swords of infantrymen dominated. Behind the infantry, oarsmen stood gripping long poles with thick shafts. Another difference, the second rank was noticeably larger.

  ***

  This was the third charge by the Syracusans. All afternoon the soldiers and Hoplites came at the Sons’ line. Each time, the Sons broke the assault but gave ground and left bodies of dead crewmen on the trampled grass.

  During the second beating, as Alerio thought of the punishment the Sons suffered, he noticed one section of his line held. The heavy infantry wasn’t any better than the other squads. Their advantage was behind them. The second rank had poles and spears wielded by large oarsmen. Each time they slammed the poles or spears into the Syracusan soldiers’ shields, the powerful strikes delivered by the massive shoulders of the oarsmen drove the soldiers back a couple of steps and, in some instances, knocked them to the ground.

  Alerio called Creon and Frigian to him during a lull in the killing.

  “Captains. Of your oarsmen, who are the strongest?” Alerio inquired.

  “All the machina locus and et mallei crewmen,” Frigian replied with pride. “Our center rowers who provide the power for our ships and the few who have the most strength but lack technical ability. Because, well, they have no rhythm. They are by far the strongest men on this battlefield.”

  “Captains, I’d like you to pull all your machina locus and et mallei,” advised Alerio. “Put them on the second rank and arm them with poles or long spears.”

  “Poles against armored soldiers?” questioned Creon.

  “Captains…” Alerio began to explain when Creon interrupted.

  “I’ve decided it’s impossible for a Lieutenant to order Captains around, even on a field of battle,” Creon interjected. “As the leader of the Sons of Mars, I bestow upon Alerio Sisera the rank of honorary Captain of the Sons of Mars. If we live though this and you want to leave the Legion, you can always get a ship and row with the Sons, Captain Sisera.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Alerio replied.

  “Captain Sisera. Now that we’ve made you a Captain and held a very informal ceremony, what were you saying about our machines and our hammers?” asked Frigian.

  “Spread them out in the second rank, even if they are currently in the front,” ordered Alerio. “Let’s take advantage of their power and have them pound the shields and keep the soldiers back. Maybe it’ll make up for the undertraining of our infantry and irregulars. It may be our only advantage.”

  ***

  The first two phalanxes were broken by logs placed across the road. But the logs were gone, toted away by Syracusans soldiers as they retreated to regroup. Now the road lay open and the third phalanx began to outpace the soldiers protecting the formation’s flanks.

  “Close it off,” shouted Alerio while making a chopping motion with his hand.

  The surviving Sergeant on his side, as well as Frigian and the NCO on the other, peeled back the infantrymen from where the phalanx would breach their line. Then the pole men shifted towards the opening and pounded the Syracusan solders backwards.

  With the concentration of pounding poles, the soldiers rushing forward to protect the flanks of the phalanx found themselves flying back into their second rank. Soldiers attempting to untangle were clubbed with the blunt end of a shaft from over the infantrymen’s shoulders.

  The end of the phalanx moved through the Sons line. Instead of their soldiers following the formation through the line, the pole men and the Sons’ infantry closed the hole. Realizing they were cut off, the Hoplites, like ants from an ant hill, streamed from their formation. Irregulars and infantrymen swarmed in and it became vicious individual combat.

  Now, there were two distinct battles. The surrounded Hoplites in the center of the Sons’ formation and the fight along the shield wall.

  Two Hoplites battered aside irregulars and ran at Alerio. Their aim was to kill the Sons’ commander. With the big Greek shields and swords bearing down on him, Alerio drew his sword and cursed his lack of a shield. He’d been too busy directing the flow of the battle to think about his own defense. Suddenly, it became paramount to his survival.

  He shuffled to the side trying to isolate one of the Greeks and keep the other away for a few heartbeats. But the Hoplites knew their business. Together they pivoted staying one shield forward and the other beside the lead but a half step behind.

  Alerio circled and the Hoplites shifted, maintaining the two-man attack formation. All around them, Syracusan soldiers and Sons’ oarsmen and infantrymen sliced and hacked at each other. From what Alerio could tell, the Hoplites in the center were dropping Sons three to one. Along the shield wall, the odds were more even.

  With a yell, Alerio sprang forward then spun, his sword whipping around towards the Hoplite. It connected with the shield as the Greek shifted and blocked the backhanded slash. Ducking, Alerio let the other Hoplite’s blade pass over his head. But the Greeks stepped forward, rapidly pressing their advantage. Needing to put space between him and the Hoplites, Alerio dove backwards preparing to do a neck roll and come up on his feet.

  Alerio’s helmet smashed into a shield and he flopped to the ground. Looking up, he saw a big shield lift and a foot raised to stomp down on his head.

  “Not him!” shouted a familiar voice that Alerio couldn’t place. “Kill the cūlus Hoplites.”

  The shield and hobnailed boots passed over Alerio. Then the face of a bent over Legionary peered down at him.

  “Well Lance Corporal Sisera, are you going to lay there all afternoon looking up my skirt?” First Sergeant Gerontius inquired.

  “No First Sergeant,” Alerio replied as he rolled over and gathered his arms under him.

  Pushing off the ground, Alerio stood and glanced over the First Sergeant’s shoulder. Through the city gate, jogged Legionaries. By threes, they burst between the posts and formed a moving line. The Legion ranks grew wider as more heavy infantrymen joined.

  “Where did you come from?” asked Alerio.

  “I brought a squad and came looking for you,” explained the First Sergeant. “I was going to ask where you needed us. But I’ll just assume you need us everywhere.”

  The rank of Legionaries reached to where the Hoplites and Sons of Mars fought. From three to one, the odds shifted and the Legion heavy infantry nudged the Sons aside and cut into the remaining Greeks. Once the center fight dissolved into a few isolated duels, they marched towards the shield wall.

  The pole men found themselves yanked back and then the irregulars and the Sons’ infantry at the wall were shoved
aside and flung back. None of the deposed fighters complained about the rough treatment.

  After taking their place on the line, the Legionaries locked shields. Then from the rear, a Centurion shouted, “Stand by to advance.” All down the line echoed a repeat of the order from Sergeants, Corporals, squad leaders and pivots. “Advance, advance, advance.” In three heartbeats, the Legion line thrust their shields forward and followed up with a stab of their gladii.

  Syracusan soldiers and Hoplites went from fighting an outclassed band of half trained pirates to facing a professional fighting force. As the troops from Syracuse fell back in the face of the advances, Captain Frigian and Captain Creon staggered up.

  “We held them again, Captain Sisera,” an exhausted Frigian stated.

  “What took the Legion so long to get here?” asked Creon. Everyone could tell he wanted to be angry. But from the slump of his shoulders, they could tell he was too spent to press the issue.

  “The Qart Hadasht soldiers stopped for a meal,” First Sergeant Gerontius answered. “We’re here now and Tribune Claudius wants to meet with you on Temple Hill. After you see to your wounded and dead.”

  The First Sergeant scanned the section of the battlefield exposed as the Legion line moved forward. He couldn’t tell the wounded from the exhausted except for the cries of pain from the injured. Both categories had the same bent and fatigued postures.

  ***

  “The Syracusans had the opportunity to attack when Qart Hadasht command pulled squads from the defensive positions,” Creon pondered. “But they didn’t.”

  “Then this afternoon, they launched three assaults,” Alerio added. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  Alerio, Milon Frigian, and Ferox Creon sprawled in camp chairs with drooping eyes and mugs of wine resting on their thighs. None had the energy to hold the mugs up except for quick sips. Then the mugs returned to rest on their thighs.

  “There must be a reason for the aggressive tactic,” commented Tribune Claudius. “From a strategic standpoint, it made sense to test the Sons. After the rotation from Qart Hadasht soldiers to the Sons of Mars, I would have ordered one or two to test your defenses. However, as Lance Corporal Sisera put it, I don’t understand why they pressed for the third.”