Daniel Ottalini - Brass Legionnaire

Almost immediately the southern cohorts ran into trouble. Asmall group of rebel saboteurs were lucky (or perhaps, unlucky) enough to bepreparing an ambush in several buildings when the first legionnaires emergedfrom the mists right before them. Both parties hesitated a few moments, shockedat the appearance of the other. Then the first few legionnaires recovered andpulled out their swords to charge their surprised foes. A few more competentmembers of the ragtag militia responded in kind. Steel met steel, the soundechoing down the empty streets, though the dense fog dampened most of thereverberations of combat. Blood joined dew on the cold streets, pooling to runslowly in channels toward the sewers.

Although the fight was brief, it had destroyed the secrecyof the operation. His cover blown, the commanding tribune of the 7th and 9thCohorts ordered his men forward, determined to reach the wall before losing thefog cover.

From far off, Corbus heard the short clash of metal, theyelling, then silence. He knelt and looked down the cobblestone street, his browncloak settling onto the damp paving stones around him as his troop waited,armed and armored, behind him. Bracing himself with one hand, he leaned farforward and turned his head to press a cheek against the wet cobbles. Closinghis eyes, he focused deep inside himself, then stretched his senses outto the narrow streets and dilapidated tenements around him.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump …

“What do you hear, My Lord?” asked his second in command,Xersia. He had moved up to stand next to his oddly situated leader. The fog hadsettled as condensation on his flat-brimmed steel helmet, and it dripped ontothe collar of his blue cloak.

Corbus leaned back and turned to look at Xersia. Hisreflection stared back at him from the man’s burnished breastplate. “We’reabout to have company. Warm up the engines, but keep them at low power. Let’sprepare a warm reception for our visitors. Quietly-I don’t want them to beprepared for our little surprise party.”

Xersia nodded and turned, directing squads to the prepareddefenses with little more than a grunt and a wave of his wicked serrateddagger.

Corbus rose and stretched his arms and legs with controlled,precise movements. He slid a set of double swords from their sheaths on hisback. His men assigned to their stations, Xersia pulled out an apple and bitinto it, then made a face and spit out the chunk. He examined the apple.“Rotten,” he muttered.

Without stopping his warm-up, Corbus said, “Thought someoneas rotten as you would like rotten apples.”

Grinning, Xersia chucked the rotten apple at his commander.

Swish , then swack- a flurry of motion- swish .The apple, now sliced into six pieces, fell to the street.

Xersia grunted and nodded approvingly. “Good.”

Corbus eyed him.

“Swords make things too fancy.” Xersia pulled a massivechain-axe over his shoulder. Holding it one-handed, an impressive feat ofstrength, he placed it against the largest piece of apple remaining on theground. A calloused thumb clicked the activator. The minute engine inside theaxe whined to life, and the small, serrated teeth started moving, makingapplesauce of the apple core. He grinned at Corbus.

The assassin smiled back. “Have I mentioned how happy I amthat we’re working together on this mission?”

A few minutes later, the hapless 7th and 9th Cohorts fromthe XIII Germania appeared through the fog, individual legionnaires solidifyingfrom ghostlike shapes into detailed men as they approached the rebels’ ambushposition.

A massive construct lumbered out of a mist-shrouded sidestreet, dew glinting on long steel tusks and an articulated trunk. Theretrofitted mechaniphant seemed to shake off the condensation as it approached.Fustus, the gangleader in command, put his wrists together and twined histhumbs, then turned the hand signal elbows-up in an inverted sign of theAquila, indicating “death of the empire.” A surprisingly realistic imitation ofan elephant’s trumpet erupted from the mechaniphant’s mechanical speakers as itbowled appalled legionnaires over like pins. Corbus joined in the cheer fromhis men as they fell upon the hapless cohorts.

The slaughter commenced.

Squinting down at his map, Constantine remembered, for aboutthe tenth time, that he needed to go to the speculafabricor for a new pair ofspecs. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he stared around at theall-encompassing fog, then checked his chromation. Almost eight o’clock! Thefog should be burning off soon. No sooner had that thought popped into his headthan he felt the first gust of a sea breeze pushing its way through the fog. Itwhistled down the alleys and side streets, bringing the sounds of battle to hisears. Constantine cocked his head, listening. Should he try to divert his menfrom their path to assist their comrades? Or should they push on? He stoodbetween the two columns of men, pondering, when a legionnaire ran up to him,and his choice was suddenly made for him.

“Sir, we’ve reached the wall. It appears … well, itappears empty, sir. May Zeus strike me down, but I’d swear there were nodefenders!” The soldier appeared as surprised with this good turn of events asConstantine was.

There was no stopping the advance now. If his men could takethe wall unopposed, they could take their objective and go to the aid of theircompatriots.

Constantine jogged forward to the front of the line. Menwere gathering around the scaffolding, while several scouts moved up thehaphazard construction. Looking up at the incredibly high wall, Constantinewondered what they would find once they reached the top.

Centurion Hoagar, from the 11th Cohort, waved a greeting ashe worked his way through his idle men, bellowing, “Make way there, I say, makeway! You, you, and you-detail some men to watch our flanks and rear. Don’t wantto be ambushed while climbing a ruddy great staircase!” Squad leaders gaveorders and several files of men marched to the rear.

Julius approached. “Sir, what are your orders? Do you wantus to push ahead? Scouts indicate that the way is clear.”

The tribune tilted his head and gave this several minutes’thought. The centurion wet his lips, preparing to probe for a response, butConstantine spoke first. “The 13th will take the lead. The 11th will remainhere in support. Once the 13th has secured the battlement, we’ll signal thego-ahead,” He pointed to a large cargo elevator hidden behind an ironframework. “We’ll use that to bring up the 11th faster. But we’re goingto have to take the stairs. Prepare the men for a hike.”

As Julius saluted and marched away, a messenger ran up.“We’re ready to move, sir. Eleventh Cohort has taken defensive positions andthe scouts have pushed ahead. We’re just awaiting your Go order.”

Constantine nodded, and followed the messenger back to themain body of men. He ordered them forward, into the dense maze of wood and steelscaffolding. It was like moving through tunnels-heavy cloth was draped on thecity side to prevent men or material from falling through; opposite lay theslick steel wall, pitted here and there with rust that was constantly beingcleaned out and painted over with rust-resistant paint. The scaffolding ziggedand zagged; at the end of each level, they would ascend to the next via a steepramp. As the men scrabbled up each level, their pace slowed. Even Constantinefound the climbing tedious and repetitive: wall on the left, canvas on theright; wall on the right, canvas on the left.

He paused for a moment to push aside the heavy canvascovering for a view of the city. The fog was almost gone, and he could clearlysee the once beautiful city now marred by fire, smoke, and destruction. Hecalled the column to a halt. “Take five minutes, rehydrate and check yourequipment,” he ordered. “Centurion and squad leaders, on me.”