Four feet did make a difference. The three-bankers topped out at eight feet above the water with almost nothing on their decks. The seven were close before the Empire officers sighted them.
Charging through the tail of the wedge, the triremes broke four keels cutting the Qart Hadasht advantage down to six. Kimo and his three flanking warships ripped the sideboards from three more Qart Hadasht vessels. In a matter of heartbeats, the odds turned from ten against four, advantage the Empire, to eleven against five, advantage the Republic.
The remaining five Empire ships, two from those initial chasing the Bellona plus the three that followed the triremes, rowed for their fleet. But triremes were not good battle platforms. The three-bankers lacked the weight to support infantrymen or artillery or a Corvus boarding ramp. However, triremes were excellent at one thing. Maneuvering and delivering their bronze rams to the hulls of their enemies.
Two ships-of-war escaped the fast-attack warships. They almost made it back to the battle area. But Alerio’s other signal started a third coordinated maneuvers. The rest of his five-bankers pulled away from the island of boats and headed for the screen provided by the Bellona, the three other quinqueremes, and the seven triremes. Caught between the groups, the two final Empire vessels that chased Alerio’s flagship were sunk.
“The Qart Hadasht ships-of-war are faster and better managed,” Kimo observed.
“Does that even matter,” Alerio questioned, “when you are going bronze against bronze?”
“No sir,” Kimo acknowledged. “Navigation, pick a target and give me an angle of attack.”
“Yes, Centurion,” the two men on the rear oars exclaimed.
The distance between the opposing forces closed.
Chapter 17 – Competent Leadership
Hasdrubal Gisco had what he wanted. A clear run at the transports. Except, to accomplish the goal, he had to turn his fleet’s back to the enemy and expose the aft keels of his ships-of-war.
“General, more Republic warships are coming over the horizon,” a junior officer informed him.
In every battle, there comes a moment when a commander has a clear choice. Hasdrubal made his.
“Signal the fleet to withdraw,” he instructed the flagmen. “Have them pickup any survivors, but don’t linger.”
***
Consul Regulus led a detachment of forty-five quinqueremes south. In the distance, he focused on the broken hulls and wondered how many were from the Roman fleet. Knowing that defending the transports would be harder than attacking, he assumed the bulk of the wreckage was his to mourn.
“Find me a target,” he declared. Seeing the Empire fleet breaking off from the battle and rowing away, he added. “I want the satisfaction of sinking at least one.”
“Sir, the transports aren’t wrecked, they appeared to be tied together,” the ship’s Centurion pointed out. “And, Consul, the Qart Hadasht fleet is out of range.”
Shifting his focus, Marcus Regulus marveled at the surviving troop and livestock transports, the grain haulers, and the supply ships. And the number of captured Empire ships-of-war tied up to the island of boats.
“Disregard that order, Centurion,” he instructed. To his signalmen, he said. “Find me Senior Tribune Sisera.”
***
“Things would have been bad, sir,” Kimo whispered to Alerio. “If they had chosen to fight instead of running.”
“All I had was land battle tactics to draw from,” Alerio admitted. “With the infantry, the side who believes they are superior, usually are.”
“So, you handed their commander the grain haulers,” Kimo summarized. “Then challenged his manhood?”
“No Centurion, I challenged his commitment,” Alerio protested.
“No, sir. That was about manhood and courage,” Kimo told him. “And today Senior Tribune Sisera, like the infantry, you were superior.”
“Sirs, we have a message from the Consul ship,” a signalman informed them. “He wants your ship at his as soon as possible.”
“Which Consul?” Alerio asked.
“They didn’t relay that information, sir,” the sailor replied.
After a stretch of hard rowing, the Psyche of Bellona pulled alongside the flagship. Alerio climbed up to the deck of the much higher six-banker.
While Consul Marcus Regulus met with Alerio Sisera, far to the North, Consul Lucius Longus was fighting for his life.
***
The Consul ship cut left before dodging right trying to avoid the two Empire ships-of-war. One mistake by the septireme’s navigators and they would break the keel of the flagship.
“Where did all these Qart Hadasht ships come from?” Longus demanded.
“They were waiting for us, Consul,” the ship’s Centurion replied. He left out the part ‘when we left the main fleet’ because he liked his position. But he did advise. “We should withdraw.”
Longus scanned the sea. Around his flagship, the side boards of seven five-bankers floated just below the surface. On each a few crewmembers clung to the wreckage. Closer in, he recognized the crushed hull of the three-banker that had protected the aft of his flagship. Everywhere he looked, ships jostled for an opportunity to deliver a killing ram with their bronze blades.
Three triremes shot in from the side and smashed the attacking Empire ship-of-war. Then, they fell into the Consul ship’s wake, taking up guard positions.
“They’re leaving, sir,” the flagship’s Centurion observed. In every sector of the battlefield, Qart Hadasht ships were disengaging. “Do we give chase?”
“No. Let them go, praise Salus,” Consul Longus said invoking the Goddess of Safety and Deliverance. “Signal the retreat. Get us back to the fleet, fast.”
“Sir, what about the men in the water?” the Centurion questioned.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Longus stumbled on the words as if his brain were just waking up. “Leave a squadron of five-bankers to pick up survivors.”
The flags of the signalmen snapped from the back of the Consul ship as it raced southward. Trailing behind were the surviving quinqueremes, less the ones fishing men from the water.
Heading in the opposite direction, an angry General Hamilcar guided the remainder of his fleet northward. When the message from Hanno arrived that the middle of the Republic fleet still floated and fought, he called for the retreat. There was no reason to waste ships-of-war on a losing battle.
Looking back at the withdrawing Republic warships, Hamilcar gripped the rails and questioned, “How could my plan have failed?”
***
Consul Regulus and Consul Longus approached the center of their fleet from opposite directions. One with fire in his eyes and his fists clenched. The other trembling and looking for support and protection.
General Hanno noted the converging groups of Republic warships. With a flurry of signals, he guided his force to the west and out to sea. He would head north once out of the closing vice. No thoughts of remorse or regret about ignoring Hamilcar’s plan troubled the General. Because in his experience, going for the heart was always the best approach.
Holding the center were the five-banker heavies. Backed together, their prows and the Corvus boarding ramps threatened any ships-of-war dumb enough to get close. Throughout the battle at the center of the Roman Fleet, the formation of heavy quinquereme successfully held back overwhelming odds.
As the youngest and least experienced ship’s commander it wasn’t his place to order the breaking of the defensive formation. But the formation was Centurion Effati’s idea, and no one protested when he signaled the breakup.
“Which heavy is acting as the flagship?” Regulus inquired.
“It’s the Wink of Voluptas, sir,” a signalman reported. “The drama girls.”
“I think you might find close to forty thousand oarsmen, sailors, riggers, and Legionaries who will take offense at the description of the men from that warship,” Marcus Regulus suggested.
Only later would he learn about the Volupt
as capturing two enemy ships and Centurion Effati’s signals for the other heavies to join him in creating the defensive formation.
***
The fleet regrouped and fifteen miles up the coast, the warships and transports beached near the city of Agrigento. Although the fleet had only lost two haulers in the fighting, they needed to replenish their grain supply because the Consuls issued extra rations for the men.
“They picked a fine temple,” Centurion Kimo noted as he and Alerio hiked up the hill from the beach.
Rather than set up pavilions, the Consuls took advantage of the Valley of Temples. Both Regulus and Longus set up their headquarters in the Temple of Concordia.
“At least it’s not the healing temple,” Alerio remarked.
“What’s that Senior Tribune, you have a problem with the God Asclepius?” Kimo inquired.
“No, no, the last time I was there they bandaged me up and fed me well,” Alerio offered. “It’s the snakes roaming the temple that I take issue with.”
“I’m not a fan of reptiles either,” Kimo remarked.
A pair of guards from a First Century blocked the roadway.
“The Temple is closed to worshipers,” one informed them.
“That’s not very pious of you,” Alerio teased.
“What the Senior Tribune means is we have an appointment with Consul Regulus,” Kimo jumped in to explain their reason for visiting the temple.
“Pass on, sirs,” the Legionary instructed.
As they walked up the drive to the temple dedicated to the Goddess of Agreements, Kimo shook his head.
“You could have put on your armor and medals,” he scolded. “That way the sentries would know you’re a senior staff officer and treated us with respect.”
“Hektor is shining and oiling my armor and my military tunic is packed away. Besides, First Century doesn’t respect anyone not from a First Century and sworn to die for the Consul or a Battle Commander,” Alerio responded. “And after the day we’ve had, the Consul is lucky to get me in this gray tunic and not naked. I need a bath.”
“How did you even become a Senior Tribune, sir?” Kimo asked.
“Because of my winning personality,” Alerio suggested.
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Kimo stated. “Not so much your personality, but your personal deity. You scared the crew on the steering platform half to death with that prayer.”
“Centurion Kimo, there are only two possible outcomes in any martial conflict,” Alerio described. “You win or you lose. So far, Nenia Dea has helped me win. But one day, she’ll stop helping and call in the favors. I just want the Goddess to know, I’ll understand.”
They reached the steps of the temple and peered at the building. Columns stretching thirty feet to the roof surrounded the structure. Bracketing the ends were six columns, while the sides of the temple had thirteen pillars. The Temple of Concordia, home to the Goddess of Agreements, appeared as solid as a well-crafted contract.
The two officers mounted the steps and entered the temple.
***
The desk in the office Marcus Regulus had commandeered overflowed with open scrolls. Slumped in the seat behind the piles of reports, the Consul looked drained and exhausted.
“You both performed above expectations,” Regulus asserted. “I’m awarding a medal to all of the ship’s officers who managed a flagship. Centurion Kimo, your competence and counsel allowed the Senior Tribune to focus on the strategy. I salute you and present these tokens of a grateful Republic.”
He handed a medal and a pouch of coins over the heap of scrolls.
“Thank you, Consul,” Kimo beamed.
“Now if you’ll excuse us, I need to speak with Senior Tribune Sisera privately.”
“No problem, sir,” Kimo said bowing as he backed out of the office.
Once the ship’s Centurion vanished into the corridor, Regulus handed Alerio a piece of parchment.
“This is our accounting for the Senate,” Regulus commented.
Alerio glanced at the list, cringed, and attempted to phrase the results of the battle in a better light.
“In raw numbers, sir, we won,” he offered.
“I will attempt to remember that during the funerals for the dead and for the missing,” Regulus sighed. “Fifteen quinqueremes destroyed. Five triremes lost. Two grain haulers and, most heart breaking of all, two troop transports sunk. Those light infantrymen never had a chance to fight and die with honor.”
“Sir, I am sorry about that,” Alerio began to apologize. “I only wish I could have done more…”
“You, Senior Tribune, did an outstanding job of protecting the rear,” Regulus declared. “Without your actions, we’d have lost more than the ten thousand men we did lose.”
“Are you sure about these numbers, Consul?” Alerio inquired.
“Yes. But I see why you’re confused,” Regulus answered. “You only lost five warships while defending our rear. I lost six at the center while managing the heavies. But Consul Longus got ambushed when he charged off and lost eight warships.”
“I’m being shown this list to suggest something,” Alerio assumed. “If I’m wrong, I apologize. But Consul Regulus, you need to consolidate the casualties, remove blame, and get ahead of any second guessing of our actions.”
“For the good of the Republic, I agree,” Regulus replied. “On the plus side, we sank thirty Empire ships-of-war and, thanks to you and the Corvus heavies, we captured sixty-four others. We’ll add them to our fleet and use the captured rowers to continue the mission. Do you suppose they will appreciate being paid a wage for rowing?”
“I’ve been on Empire ships a number of times,” Alerio informed the Consul. “In every case, the oarsmen were badly treated. I would suggest putting our officers in charge and removing theirs.”
“Excellent. We’ll add the officers to the captures we’re sending back to Rome,” Regulus decided. “As the acting fleet commander for the rear section, you will receive a share of the spoils. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, Consul,” Alerio exclaimed.
He walked out of the temple with mixed feelings. It was difficult not to be ecstatic about surviving the battle. And yet, the feeling of remorse tainted the joy.
“You’ve had a busy day, Nenia,” Alerio announced towards the sky. “Of all the souls you carried today, you passed over mine. I will leave a donation at your temple in the fall when I return to the Capital.”
Alerio would not make the donation in the fall nor during the next summer. The Punic coast had other plans for Senior Tribune Sisera.
Chapter 18 – Chaos at Kelibia
Pantelleria Island sat between Agrigento on Sicilia and the Punic Coastline. Five miles wide and eight miles long, the speck of volcanic rock had two things going for it. The island was forty-six miles from the Qart Hadasht homeland and made a good staging area for the invasion.
“I can see a blurry outline of land,” Alerio remarked. “Or it could be heat coming off the water.”
“The Greek fishermen tell me on a clear day they can see details of the coastline,” Kimo related.
“Can they count the number of soldiers defending the beach?” Alerio inquired.
“That, sir, may be more details than is possible.”
“And there is my problem,” Alerio noted. “Because no one except the Qart Hadasht commander knows what our Marines will face. And again, I’m sorry for volunteering your ship.”
“Senior Tribune, the Bellona is just the lady you want delivering Marines to the beach,” Kimo bragged. “We’ll rush in, squat, drop the Marines as gently as a hen laying eggs, then be gone before the soldiers know what hit them.”
“They have a Citadel at Kelibia,” Alerio reminded the ship’s Centurion. “From the top of the fort, they’ll spot us miles out before we land.”
“But, can they react quick enough to stop us?” Kimo asked.
“That, Centurion, is the question of the decade.”
&nb
sp; The sound of hoofs beating the trail caused Alerio to look around. A Legion messenger rose over the crest and reined in his horse.
“Senior Tribune Sisera. Consul Longus wants you on the beach for the loading,” the courier said stiffly. “He is quite upset and…”
“Relax, Legionary. I was just about to head down.”
From a rise overlooking the sea, Alerio took a last glimpse at the line of land in the distance. In a day or so, his Marines would have a close look at the shoreline and possibly taste the sand while dying. That was for another day. Right now, he had to supervise the loading of the livestock, the light infantry, and five Centuries of displaced heavy infantrymen. For the last forty-six miles, the Marines would ride the five-bankers from the island to the beach.
With a nudge, he urged Phobos onto the trail and let the horse pick his way down. Things went well until the courier’s horse attempted to shove his way to the front. The stallion nipped, tensed his muscles, and raced away from Centurion Kimo and the messenger. Alerio held on tightly and let the horse run. They were both sick of being cooped up on ships.
***
General Hamilcar marched into the small amphitheater. His head held erect, the ‘Elephant’s Trunk’ didn’t acknowledge the one hundred and four members of the Special Branch. He strutted to the visitor’s bench but didn’t sit.
“General, we have a few…” Suffete Paltibaal began to say.
“No!” Hamilcar roared. His sharp tone slammed into the assembly. Most of the representatives rocked back at the ferocity displayed by the Qart Hadasht commander. “I warned you about the Republic’s warships and our need for overwhelming force. I am not here to be scolded but to ask for soldiers to protect our homes and families.”
“But, General Hamilcar, we must analyze the battle,” the floor speaker suggested. “There are matters of leadership that must be discussed.”
“There are, I agree,” the General acknowledged. “And they start with the Special Branch and the Suffetes. Gentlemen, I lead armies, I scrutinize my enemies, I fight battles, and I win. Your tribunal has little meaning to me. Now. How many soldiers do you have to add to the six thousand I brought from Sicily?”
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