by Alan Smale
Marcellinus studied Sabinus’s face and half wished that Enopay had not accompanied him. “Quintus, we knew before now that we faced a formidable coalition. The Serpents change nothing.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course.” Decinius Sabinus’s face told a different story.
“Enopay, a moment?”
“What?”
“Leave us, please.”
The boy looked hurt, and for an absurd moment Marcellinus thought he might refuse. He gestured in hand-talk: Please. Sorry. Go.
“Yes, Praetor.” Enopay saluted Roman-style and walked down the steps into the mud of Forward Camp.
Marcellinus joined Sabinus in the doorway. “Come, man. Chin up. We can win this.”
“Can we?”
“Yes. We can.”
Sabinus sighed. “My men are tired and unsettled, Gaius. The Third has been in country for four years now. Four bloody years, and even if we pulled up stakes today, it would be next year before we made landfall in Europa. This is the single longest campaign of my life. And my legionaries, so far from home: no family, no women, poor food, and little roistering. Not even a damned baths worthy of the name. And for all that, no battle glory or plunder to make the game worth the candle.”
“We’re about to change all that,” Marcellinus said. “Starting today.”
“Are we? We have three legions, plus Cahokia, the Iroqua, the Hand. The Mongols have four tumens, plus the Tlingit, the Sunners, and probably your damned Shappans again, too. And they have Jin salt in bombs more effective than the Greek fire of Cahokia.”
“And we have Roman discipline and precision against an army of nomads.”
Sabinus broke away and paced, casting an eye across the castra to where his tribunes were marshaling the cohorts of the Third Parthica. “I know you’re trying to buck me up, Gaius, and I appreciate it. But the Mongols are far from simple nomads now. They’re strong. Versatile. Ruthlessly well organized. They’re a modern army, and you know that as well as I.” He shook his head. “This war may very well be the death of me, Gaius. It may well, indeed. I’m quite serious.”
Marcellinus had only a few moments before Sabinus would have to go speak with his tribunes, his primus pilus, his quartermaster. A legion’s first set-piece action in a new war always required close attention from its Praetor. And Marcellinus himself had to talk with Appius Gallus and Tahtay, because once the Third Parthica cleared the gates, the Sixth and the Hesperian cohorts would deploy next. “Quintus Decinius Sabinus, I know this land, and I also know the power of Roma and the strength of Cahokia and its Hesperian allies. I’ve seen the armies of Chinggis and Chagatai from the air, and they’re certainly impressive. It’s disheartening that they also have large wings as well as small. But Roma has stood for nearly two thousand years and has faced far sterner adversaries than this. So the Mongols are fierce and merciless. What of it?”
Sabinus did not look at him, but Marcellinus knew he was listening.
He wanted to say: Quintus, more than once I have been a broken man, but today I am not. And that is all Cahokia’s doing. Breathe in their strength and stand strong yourself.
Instead, he said: “I swear to you, sir, on my honor both as a Praetor of Roma and as a prominent figure in the Hesperian League, that together we can beat the living shit out of those bastards.”
At last Decinius Sabinus smiled. “Yes? You say so?” he said in Cahokian. “Then say it to my eyes.”
Amused at his use of the native tongue, Marcellinus held the man’s gaze without blinking. Also in Cahokian he said: “Yes, mighty chief. We will destroy the Mongols. We will scalp their warriors and make their women and children weep. And then we will dance and feast. I have spoken.”
Sabinus drew himself up and switched back to Latin. “Very well, Gaius Marcellinus. Though if it’s all the same, I’ll leave the dancing to you.”
“Send the Mongols to Hades, Decinius Sabinus.” Marcellinus saluted.
Sabinus saluted back and set off toward his tribunes.
—
The two Mongol camps were a mere eight miles from Forward Camp and were separated from each other by about the same distance. As Chinggis and Chagatai showed no signs of combining their forces, this day’s action would take place on two fronts.
Skirmishers from both sides had been out since well before dawn. Mongol horsemen had probed across the Plains toward Forward Camp. Squadrons of light cavalry from the Ala II Hispanorum Aravacorum had darted out in the opposite direction, sometimes colliding with the Mongols in brief and inconclusive clashes. Mahkah and his fleetest riders of the Second Cahokian had lunged forward to within a half mile of Chinggis’s camp before being chased back by Firebirds and arrow fire, as close to counting coup as they were likely to get before the true battle began.
Now, Legio III Parthica advanced across the grass toward the army of Chinggis Khan in a broad line of cohorts, flanked by alae of light cavalry. The cavalry of the Ala I Gallorum et Pannoniorum Cataphractaria followed, wearing their scale armor and bearing their heavy contus lances. Sabinus was leading with his First Cohort and the other odd-numbered cohorts, keeping the evens in reserve. Legionaries tired quickly in battles against a mostly mounted army, and choosing the right moment to relieve the front lines with fresh troops was key.
Somewhere across the Wemissori River to the north were several cohorts of the Legio XXVII Augusta Martia Victrix, along with the Alae III and IV Polovtsia. For now they would guard the army’s wider flanks; unless the Mongols executed an enveloping action, the 27th and the western steppe auxiliaries would not fight today. The Chernye had seen action the previous day, of course, holding off the outriders of the Khan so that Marcellinus and the others could escape, and the Polovtsians had also been in the field, pushing back Mongol skirmishers and scouts. In exchange, so as not to leave the fighting legions short of cavalry, the Second Aravacorum would control the area between the Third and Sixth Legions, safeguarding the flanks of each and preventing an enterprising Mongol strike force from moving between them.
By midmorning Praetor Gaius Marcellinus was leading the Sixth Ferrata from the camp, heading for the other Mongol army, that of Chagatai. Flanking the Sixth were his Cahokian cavalry: the Second Cahokian of Mahkah on his left wing and the Third Cahokian of Hanska on his right. To his left rear Tahtay led a combined force consisting of the First Cahokian and the so-called Hesperian Auxiliary of Wahchintonka, which was to say the Wolf Warriors and a heterogeneous group of Iroqua and Blackfoot. As Marcellinus rode across the Plains, he had to stifle the nervous tic of looking back over his shoulder. Ideally he would have wanted the First Cahokian with him, but in his first action leading the Sixth Ferrata he needed to stand firm with his legion.
Marcellinus knew he should have been proud to lead the Ironclads into battle. Sabinus’s Legio III Parthica had been formed by Septimius Severus more than a thousand years earlier. The Legio VI Ferrata had an even more ancient pedigree. It had its roots in the Sixth Legion that Julius Caesar had taken to Egypt. Disbanded for a year and then rededicated in 44 B.C., it had been commanded by Marcus Antonius in Judea and in his Parthian War. (Ironically for Marcellinus, a century later it had been put under the charge of one Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, a distant ancestor of the Corbulo who had mutinied against him outside Cahokia.) The Sixth Ironclads had continued to earn a sterling reputation over the ensuing centuries. It was only over the last hundred years that some of their luster had tarnished, and their seaborne thrashing at the hands of the Mongols in the Mare Solis was one of their worst defeats ever. Marcellinus was determined to return the legion to some of its former glory, and to acquit himself well in the coming battle, both for his sake and for theirs. Yet despite the prestige of leading the Sixth Ferrata, a large part of his soul wished that he was riding with Tahtay at the head of the First Cahokian instead.
Marcellinus had the winding ribbon of the Wemissori River to his right, several hundred yards beyond Hanska’s cavalry. On the Wemissori’s far bank the Fifth
Cohort of Agrippa’s 27th Legion marched in a triple line. Far beyond, the right flank of the Fifth would be covered by the Cohors IV Gallorum Equitata, the Fourth Gallorum, roaming far and wide to check for Mongol strike forces.
A quarter mile behind the Sixth Ferrata came Marcellinus’s corps of engineers and members of the Raven clan, protected by his horsemen of his Cohors Equitata IX Thracum Syriaca, the Ninth Syrian. On fifteen heavy Cahokian wagons the engineers carried three Sky Lanterns and the ramps, portable furnace, fuel, and bellows to launch them, plus the stripped down components for five throwing engines. The throwing engines were to relaunch any Cahokian Hawk or Eagle that landed behind the battle line. The aerial craft would initially launch from the towers; several of them were being moved out from Forward Camp, but much more slowly, and would remain far to the rear of the armies. They had brought none of the more conventional ballistae and onagers, which would not be effective against horse troops.
From his current position, riding a hundred feet in front of the Sixth, Marcellinus saw the two Norsemen, Isleifur Bjarnason and—what was his name, Einar Steensen? Steffensen?—standing dismounted next to a standard they had thrust into the ground. To the best of their reckoning this was the midway point: the flag marked a spot four miles distant from Forward Camp and an equal distance from the camp of Chagatai. Here the Roman and Cahokian forces would stop and await battle.
They stood on a wide prairie with low, gently rolling hills. A stream lay to their rear, and the Wemissori to the north. If they advanced beyond this point, the Mongols would gain the advantage; the Romans would be too far away from their launchers and too extended to fall back to their camp quickly at need. They would go no farther. If the Mongols did not meet them here in battle, the Sixth would withdraw that afternoon.
One thing was sure: the Mongols were not near yet or Bjarnason and Steensen or Steffensen would be mounted and racing back across the grass toward him.
“Good enough,” he said to Dizala. “We halt here.”
“Aye.” Dizala gestured to his trumpeter to spread the order down the line of the legion and beyond it to the cavalry. Piece by piece, the Sixth came to a halt. The adjutants came forward to be in position for any further orders.
Harking to the trumpet, Bjarnason got on his horse and rode back to Marcellinus’s position. “Well, fancy meeting you lot here. Out for a stroll, are we?”
“Report,” Marcellinus said tersely, in no mood for banter.
“Oh, the bastards are on the move. They’re just taking their sweet time about it. Are you all right?”
“Of course.”
Marcellinus would have appreciated a little more formality and military discipline. Perhaps he would get it from the other one. He peered out at the forward scout. “What the hell is his name, again?”
“Who, Einar Stenberg?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“He’s a straight arrow. Trustworthy.”
“I’m sure he is. How far are the Mongols?”
“Two miles, maybe.”
“Maybe? Go forward and make a better estimate.”
Bjarnason flinched at Marcellinus’s tone. He saluted and trotted away.
Marcellinus fell silent. There was little else to do at the moment. The centurions had ordered their men to stand easy. Some were obsessively checking and rechecking weapons and kit; others were sipping water, gnawing on deer jerky or hazelnut cakes, or looking at the skies and discussing the weather. Some were even sitting down to play knucklebones.
“Shit,” said Marcellinus.
“They’ll be fine,” Appius Gallus said, sensing criticism. “A little break in the tension is good for ’em. A breather after the march. Little rituals will settle ’em down. They’ll be up on their toes again as soon as you say the word.”
Marcellinus nodded curtly. He didn’t doubt it. Hurry up and wait had been central to the military experience since Roma was nothing more than a scrappy village squabbling with the villages on the next hills.
It was his own nerves he was worried about. It was almost a decade since Marcellinus had led legionaries in battle. But he chose not to mention that.
The first Sky Lantern drifted skyward and was soon at its operating height of a thousand feet. The wind was from south of east, meaning the Lantern eased forward and seemed to lean in over the waiting legion. Marcellinus saw Chogan tossing fuel into the fire jar, while Romans with wide colored paddles signaled to their colleagues on the ground. Past the Sky Lantern and much higher, a Catanwakuwa sailed on the breeze.
The wind favored Roma. Was that enough to make the Mongols decline battle for the day?
He heard a familiar whomph sound, but from quite a distance. Far away a black powder bomb had gone off, its smoke drifting lazily into the air.
He glanced up at the Sky Lantern just in time to see Chogan’s signal. Five miles away, battle had been joined between the forces of Decinius Sabinus and those of Chinggis Khan.
The war for Nova Hesperia had begun while Marcellinus, the Sixth, and his Cahokian cohorts sat…and waited.
“Shit,” he said again.
—
“Eyes up,” Aurelius Dizala said. “Here we go.”
The Norse scout Stenberg was cantering back toward them, his gladius raised above his head. A few hundred yards behind him a long, dark line was emerging.
“About fucking time,” Marcellinus said, and his adjutants laughed dutifully, Enopay’s laugh pitched a little higher than the others. About to give the order to rouse the legion for action, Marcellinus saw it was unnecessary. All up and down the line of the Sixth Ironclads, centurions were bringing the men to their feet, mustering them for inspection. Marcellinus trusted that Mahkah and Hanska would be similarly bringing their horsemen to order and preparing for the onslaught.
The Mongols were coming. They would fight today after all.
Marcellinus felt a brief moment of dislocation. In battle with the Iroqua on Cahokian soil, he had fought with Mahkah and Hanska by his side, and Takoda, too. Now Mahkah and Hanska would command light Cahokian cavalry in the service of the Imperator, miles away from Marcellinus, and Takoda stood by with his other five adjutants, waiting to help with logistics.
Even farther away, Tahtay was standing at the head of the First Cahokian, ready to lead them into gods knew what.
Meanwhile, Marcellinus was surrounded by the cohorts of Roma. He would spend the coming hours commanding and fighting alongside men he’d known for less than a year.
For his first foray back into Roman military command, Marcellinus had chosen a standard triplex acies line. From left to right on the front line were the Fourth, Third, Second, and First Cohorts, with broad gaps left between them, putting the double-strength First Cohort under Appius Gallus in the front right position. Behind them the second line consisted of the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Cohorts, offset to form a checkered pattern. The third line consisted of the Tenth, Ninth, and Eighth. This wrapped line was essential to keep the cohorts together with the tribunes who led them. Without that, Statius Paulinus’s cohorts would have been at opposite sides of the legionary formation.
The intervals between the front cohorts were key to the success of the formation. The gaps allowed more flexibility in advancing, permitted the cohorts in the second line to move forward and support or relieve the first, and provided channels down which his light infantry or cavalry could sally out into the fray. Any enemy foot soldiers or cavalry who ventured into the intervals would come under attack from three sides.
It was into one of those gaps in the formation that Einar Stenberg now rode, with Bjarnason not far behind. For the rest of the battle they would serve as couriers.
The chessboard arrangement of Marcellinus’s cohorts was repeated within his individual units. The Mongols invariably opened offensives with an arrow cloud from their light cavalry, which was armed with their infamous composite bows. The Sixth would present a united front, returning fire with bows while defending themselves behind a wall o
f scuta. Once the missiles gave way to the shock attack of a full Mongol cavalry charge, the cohorts would have the flexibility and maneuverability necessary to deal with that, too.
After that, anything could happen.
The dark line before them was now recognizable as a broad swath of horsemen. “Well, then,” said Praetor Gaius Marcellinus. “Better get to it.”
Dizala nodded. “Good luck, sir.”
“And to you, and may the gods smile on us.” Marcellinus knew no gods, but other men did, and it was what a general was supposed to say at such moments.
Marcellinus studied his front line and nodded in satisfaction, making the gesture broad enough to be seen at a distance. He considered prebattle speeches an exercise in self-indulgence; anything he said would be inaudible beyond fifty feet away, and Romans did not have hand-talkers to spread the words onward as Hesperians did. Let each centurion fire up his men in his own way, undisturbed. Nonetheless the nearby centurions ordered pila raised in salute, and some of the men even gave Marcellinus a mild cheer. Marcellinus raised his fist in a return salute.
Marcellinus threaded his way through to the rear of his army. During the action he was supposed to remain behind the First Cohort with his band of adjutants, signalmen, and scouts. From there he would direct the legion to the best of his abilities and could be found by dispatch riders from the Imperator if they needed him.
Beyond the rear of the Sixth Ironclads he saw a line of several dozen carts bearing water, ready to replenish men and horses as necessary during the long afternoon. Behind them were the Sky Lantern ramps and throwing engines. Wearing his white-plumed Praetor’s helmet and sitting astride his great gray Thessalian steed with its scale armor barding, Marcellinus was a very recognizable figure, and as he rode out, the leader of each crew raised his gladius high, the signal that his ramps or engines were ready for action. Behind would be the first in the long line of signalmen who would relay information back to Forward Camp and the crews that were launching Hawks and Thunderbirds.
