Daniel Ottalini - Antioch Burns

Ioannes waved frantically, hoping to avoid a tragic mistake at their moment of triumph. Several of the men began to run towards them. At that moment, Monventus tripped. Whether through exhaustion or simply a misstep, the trio collapsed painfully to the ground. All three muttered curses as they tried to disentangle themselves.

“Up, up, UP!” Regillus ordered. The first Mongols were just now making their way through the tower gate. He grabbed at his personal hand repeater, brought it up from his seated position, and began shooting. One, two, three bolts lanced out. The short ranged weapon was not very accurate, but still two Mongols went down, one with a bolt through his eye and the other one through his shoulder. By now, Monventus and Ioannes had managed to get to their feet, dragging the general behind them as they ran for the safety of the airship.

Regillus reloaded his repeater. His aides each had a hold of his cloak and armored lorica , their tenuous grip jostled by the rough stone pavement of the battlement surface. Regillus brought up his repeater again, took aim carefully at the closest charging Mongol. Now half a dozen men had made their way through the doorway, tripping over the writhing body of their wounded comrade.

Shung . His first shot passed so close to his target it actually knocked the man’s buckler aside. Undaunted, the man gave a piercing war cry and launched himself at the fleeing Romans. Click, shung . This time his shot hammered home, the barbarian tripping and collapsing to the ground.

Bolts began to fly around them as well. Regillus estimated they were almost halfway across the platform now, and several of the airmen were opening up with their own repeaters. Another two Mongolians went down. Behind them, another fur-clad attacker threw a dagger at Regillus, the deadly blade sparking off the ground less than a foot from him. Regillus flinched, then fired one of his last bolts at the attacker. The man ducked, but the quarrel winged another easterner behind him, knocking him off his feet.

Regillus could hear rapid fire Latin being exchanged behind him. Never before had he felt so happy to hear his own language. He could now see additional airmen flanking them, driving off the Mongol vanguard. Only a few determined or lucky men remained, and all pressed home their charge. They sliced into the lightly armored airmen, screams and warcries mingling.

“Hurry! We cannot hold them for long!” a voice cried behind him. The airmen were already falling back, dragging several of their wounded as well. Regillus fired his last bolt at a particularly determined barbarian, squinting to see through his blurry vision. The bolt hit him in the groin, the man doubled over, his sword clattering to the ground.

For a few moments, his vision went black. He came to, feeling the hard wooden deck of the airship below his body.

“Sir? Sir?” Ioannes and Monventus leaned over him, supporting his head. A medico had ripped open his pants leg, and was tending to his wound.

“Yes?” His mouth felt fuzzy and odd.

“We thought you gone for a moment, sir.” Regillus shook his head slightly.

“Water,” he croaked. Ioannes uncapped his canteen and held it to his lips. The warm, flat water tasted like the nectar of the gods, and he instantly felt better.

“Did we escape?”

“See for yourself,” Monventus said, a broad grin splitting his face. Regillus turned his head to the side, in time to see the tower shrinking away behind him. A feeling of relief swept over him, and his breath came in a ragged burst.

“Legate General Marius Regillus,” a voice said. It was a powerful voice, one that dripped with command and authority, but lacked the spite and condensation that was common amongst many of the Empire’s leading officers. Regillus wrenched his head over and was able to see a tall figure striding towards him, the wind making his cape billow.

“My lord…,” Regillus whispered, trying hard to salute.

“Relax, legate general.” Constantine Tiberius Appius, General of the Germania XIII, Heir to the throne of the Imperial Roman Empire and overall commander of the relief fleet stood before him, the sunlight creating a halo around his body. Regillus almost expected to hear the royal trumpeters announcing his arrival. Appius stepped forward, blocking the sun to kneel besides Regillus.

“I am truly honored to have you aboard my airship. Your defense was masterful, particularly in the face of such unexpected weapons. Of which I will expect a full report. We must discuss at length your strategies for defeating the Mongols. For this war is not over. Not until we decide it is.” Regllius nodded, his heart swelling with pride from the praise of such a noble figure. The man held out his hand and hauled the exhausted officer to his feet.

“But there is time for that later. In the meantime, lets get you patched up.” The medico nodded to General Appius. “The doctor here thinks you will be alright, so in that case, I am glad to inform you that you are a nominee for the Order of the Crimson Laurel. As you know, it is only given to those who demonstrate exceptional service to the Empire and its people.” He smiled.

“But first, there is someone who would like to see you.”

Now Regillus knew he was really hallucinating. Stepping onto the deck was his wife, the wind blowing her tousled hair about, joy and concern warring with each other upon her face. In a moment she was at his side, her lips planted firmly atop his, the nearby officers and men grinning infectiously. And with that, all the pain receded from his body, and for the first time in days, he allowed himself to relax.

The H.M.A.S. Scioparto rose higher into the afternoon sky. It carried with it the hope and future of the Empire.

Behind them, Antioch burned.