Daniel Ottalini - Brass Legionnaire

Hortatus blanched. “You look as though you’ve aged fifteenyears,” he blurted, then colored at the indiscretion.

Julius brought a hand up to the mass of congealed bloodconcealing a gash on his cheek, a souvenir from a close encounter with an enemysword. He had no idea what he looked like, but if his face were any mirror ofhis fatigue, he imagined he looked like hell. Wordlessly, Julius turned andwalked out of the sunshine into the dark interior of the tower, his orderlyfollowing behind him.

“Gather the men; we’re leaving here,” he ordered. The aidescurried off. Julius took a deep breath and leaned on a borrowed plumbata.Weariness had soaked into every bone in his body. He brushed away an imaginaryspeck of dust on his shoulder. His nose wrinkled as he smelled himself. Ugh,I need a bath. That would feel absolutely amazing right now . Lookingaround, Julius sighed. Guess there’s no chance of a bath or even a hotshower anywhere around here.

The thud of boots on the cobblestones behind him piqued hisinterest. Earlier, he would have drawn his sword in a flash, challenging anywould-be intruder or rebel. Now he merely turned slightly, hand going to hisbelt but not even reaching the hilt of his sword.

The survivors of his demi-cohort were arriving. Juliusformed them up, getting them into a … partial … formation. The youngcenturion knew better than to try to force these men into neat, orderly rows.Besides, he just didn’t care.

“Good job, men, you have surpassed all expectations. You aretrue Romans,” he said in a quiet voice. The men nodded, some attempting tosalute with tired arms. Julius jerked his head, and his men moved out.

A short time later, the 13th Cohort was reunited in the mainhall of the governor’s mansion. Tribune Appius stood waiting for his men,having been informed of their impending arrival by an eager messenger boy whohad sprinted all the way to the great hall from the main gate. Outside, thebones of a new legion fort were going up in the estate gardens. The sound ofhammers slowly stilled and, like the men who drifted over to silently watch thebattle-weary legionaries, Constantine moved to a window to witness theirarrival. He was shocked at the ragged look of his men. They did not look likethe green demi-cohort that had been deployed less than seventy-two hours prior.They were a battle-hardened, veteran detachment.

When they were only a couple of meters away, Constantineheard Centurion Caesar order, “Company, sal ute .” Ignoring theirweariness, the survivors crisply saluted their commanding officer.

For the first time in his life, the tribune felt a stirringin his breast, an extra pounding of his heart. Without thought, his hand cameup in a smart salute. All around him, the men in the hall snapped to attention,regardless of uniform or connection. The young heir lowered his hand,overwhelmed by events.

“Dismissed!” cried his new centurion. The men fell out,moving off in pairs and trios, many helped by combat medics toward the hospitalwing. The centurion strode across the beautiful marble floors inlaid withintricate metal spirals and mosaics made of different metals and gears until hestood next to his commanding officer.

“Good job, Centurion Caesar. Your mission was a success.Would you say your men are ready for another mission?” the tribune asked.Julius nodded hesitantly. “We’ve been busy while you were gone. The generalwants to see us. Seems he has an even grander plan for our newfound talents.”

Seeing Julius’s lips tighten and his eyes narrow,Constantine offered a wan smile. “No worries, that’s tomorrow. Today, go getsome hot grub and some sleep.” He sniffed. “And definitely find a new uniformsomewhere. I think you’ll have to burn that one.”

General Minnicus slammed his pointer down near the miniaturerepresentation of the seaward curtain wall. “You will take the fight to them,Tribune, and we will take this city back from those imbeciles who dare rebelagainst our Imperial authority !”

Through his contacts in the capital, Constantine had heardthat his father had given Minnicus permission to torture and execute any rebelhe came across. In addition, Minnicus was also given the rights to any capturerebel’s property . Which, Constantine thought, might lead to a conflictof interest. He resolved to keep a closer eye on the newly ambitious general.

The large man leaned over the table, his automatic armcoming to rest with a hiss and slight whine next to him. He moved several smallfigures amongst the shining copper buildings and avenues. “You will lead yourcohort, with the 7th, 9th, and 11th in support, up the western Via Germania,through the slums here.” The telescoping pointer tapped the darker mass ofbuildings representing Sludge Bottom. He looked around at Constantine and thecohort commanders’ faces. The men all looked pointedly at the three-dimensionalmap, waiting for the general to continue.

Finally the thin baton tapped another point in the miniaturecity. “You will then ascend the curtain wall here, against the seawardside. Scouts report that there is considerable scaffolding there due to wallmaintenance. You will use this scaffolding to gain access to the battlements,bypassing the towers. From there, you will take these towers.” Minnicus shiftedslightly, and his arm whined as a piston gradually compacted. “The 7th and 9thwill take the southern tower, while the 11th and 13th take the northern tower.”Finished, he leaned back on his three-legged stool.

Centurion Dryx of 7th Cohort raised a hand. Minnicus nodded.“Sir, what is the goal of this mission?”

Several other officers visibly tensed, noting the unspokenreasons for this question. On the surface, it looked like a suicide mission.Send five hundred men deep into a hostile city to scale walls and take defendedpositions?

Minnicus glowered at the freckle-faced centurion. “The goalis to take those towers. They have air defense mounted ballista and heavyscorpions that were reportedly undamaged in the initial assault. The troopsmanning those towers deserted or turned to the enemy. By taking those defenses,we eliminate the rebels’ ability to get supplies from the Nortlanders. Inaddition, the last remaining air pad controlled by the rebels is right betweenthose two towers. Once you take those defenses, I want you to knock out thelast airship. Bad winds have slowed our air fleet coming from Britannia, sowe’re on our own.”

The general held out his hand and a silent servant placed aglass of wine into it. He heavily, then smacked his lips and looked around.“Any more questions?” Seeing no response, he stood. “Tribune Appius of the 13thwill take the lead on this one. His cohort is the most blooded of ours.”

The officers stood at attention while the general left thecommand room, flunkies dogging his heels. As the tent flap fell shut behindhim, blocking out the sun, someone muttered, “By the gods, I suppose we shouldget our wills up to date.”

Constantine moved closer to the table. He leaned over,tracing their route with his finger. “Not yet. I have a few ideas. We’llcomplete our objectives, but we’ll do it my way. No need to lose our arms overit.” The other men couldn’t help but smile at the underhanded jab at thedeparted general. “This is what I need us to get ahold of first …”

The men of the 11th and 13th Cohorts moved in two singlefiles on either side of the cobblestone street. Looming buildings crowded outthe morning sun, and the streets were dark and murky. Every small noise orslight movement ratcheted up the level of anxiety in the column.

They had been awakened before daybreak, and wrapped theirboots with rags to muffle the noise of their passing. They had gathered theirthings and departed in the inky pre-dawn, separating into two divisions. The11th and 13th Cohorts were making their way toward the northern tower #23 onthe western wall, while the 7th and 9th Cohorts targeted the southern tower,#22.