Daniel Ottalini - Brass Legionnaire

The warmth of the noonday sun banished any further thoughts ofthe mysterious, canvas-covered object from his mind as he stepped out into thebright sunlight. He grinned at the shining city around him, Germania Inferior’sgear-studded jewel.

There was no sunlight on the day that Julius joined theGermania XIII Legion, only the gray smog from innumerable smokestacks thatblended seamlessly with the gray clouds overhead. The warm air was motionless;even the breeze off the ocean seemed lackluster. He was one of over twothousand new recruits; another one thousand men from the surrounding towns,villages, and sub-provinces of Germania Inferior would join the legion at FortTiberius. Standing with his fellows in a large clump at the center of theplaza, Julius listened to the droning speeches of various bigwigs, dignitaries,and important people of the city, too bored with their self-aggrandizement andbig words meant to inspire loyalty, strength, and moral fiber to be bothered bytheir hypocrisy.

Tuning out the latest speech, Julius turned to stare at theeven larger crowd of spectators that had gathered to witness the first foundingof a legion in Brittenburg’s history. He spotted his little sister, sitting onhis father’s shoulders, and waved to her. After what seemed like an eternity,Marciena spotted him and smiled, pointing at him before waving her small armback and forth over her head.

Her other hand clutched his goodbye gift, the phonogadget.He had recorded his voice inside it so that she could hear him even when he wasaway at camp. Julius had also taught her how to repair it using the tiny toolkit he had bought for her with some of his savings. If that doesn’t get herinquisitive little mind chugging away, I’m not fit to be her brother, hethought as he returned his attention to the speakers on the platform elevatedabout fifty feet above the crowd.

Ceremonial horns trumpeted across the plaza. The high, clearnotes silenced the low murmurs of the crowd. A tall man in a traditional togastepped to the front of the platform to stand before the crowd, his purple sashand the brilliant white of his toga screaming wealth and power . Well, hewas a senator. Julius wondered if that was his standard dress or if it was forthe audience’s sake.

Blasted out by the loudspeakers and hastily erectedspeakerphones set up the night before, the senator’s voice echoed through theplaza as he too blabbered on endlessly about duty and moral fortitude. Afterthe seventh mention of his (indubitably distant) relation to Emperor JuliusCaesar, some nearby attendant must have given him the ‘wrap it up’ signal,because he got down to business with, “I now have the distinct honor-no, no,indeed-the privilege to introduce your new commanding officer, crusherof the Danube uprising and victor over the cowardly Persians at Tbilisi, LegateGeneral Kruscus Minnicus!”

There was a loud roar of approval from the audience,recruits and citizens alike. Are they cheering the end of the senator’sspeech, or for the general? Julius wondered, squinting past red bannersstamped with the gold Laurel Crown being waved between him and the tiny figureon the platform far above. Rows of medals on his crisp red and brown uniformglinted dully in the overcast light, overshadowed by the clean white strap thatcrossed his chest from right shoulder to left hip to hold his dress sword.

Minnicus adjusted his white gloves as he stepped up to thepodium. “Friends, Romans, countrymen, my future soldiers and comrades-in-arms.I will keep my remarks brief, as we have training to begin and a war toprepare. I’m sure many of you are here with the idea of gaining glory and honoras a member of the XIII Germania. That is true! Under my leadership, we willadd our names and banner to the halls of the Basilica Maximus in Rome.

“Look around! We are but small humans beside giants in theform of our mighty land, sea, and air creations. But it is we who give themstrength and power, for without us, they are merely heaps of metal. You allknow your country has need of you. A true Roman is selfless, and rises todefend his nation in a time of great need. I promise you today, that when youhave grown old and have retired from the legion, you will be able to look backand say, ‘We were true Romans.’”

As the crowd exploded in cheers and shouts, centurions andother officers moved through the crowd in the plaza, rounding up various groupsof men to move them out of the city. Julius waved goodbye as he caught one lastglimpse of his parents and little sister. In a small way, he already missedthem. But it was time to move beyond this city. Now that he’d committed himselfto the army, he almost felt driven by a desire to be doing something biggerwith his life. He wouldn’t be like the rest of the hapless, toiling, lowerclass, wasting his life working sunrise to sunset in a mechaniphant factory.

A centurion gestured at him, and Julius pushed his way overto the man. Several other men were already there.

“You, you, you, and all of you men there, put these on yourshoulder,” the centurion said, handing out double handfuls of tin Aquila pinswith green slashes painted over the emblems.

Julius accepted the stack from the man next to him, passedthe rest on to the man on his other side, then pinned his badge to his shoulderas the soldier continued his speech, his voice carrying through the crowd.

“I am Senior Centurion Vibius. Welcome to the green cohort.If you pass training, you will become members of the 13th Cohort, XIII Legion.We are the luckiest of the lucky, my boys. Keep up with me as we leave thecity. You’ll meet your commanding officer later. If you can’t keep up, I’lljust assume you dropped out and were too wimpy to become a real Roman.”

Almost an hour passed before the recruits actually movedout. By then the entire city lined the Via Germanica to see off the futuresoldiers. It was both heartwarming and heartbreaking in a way. Never before hadJulius experienced such an outpouring of enthusiasm from all levels of society.Certainly, as lovers and brothers and fathers left, there was an undertone ofsadness and regret, but through it all ran a note of hope, the hope of a youngman marching to war, plunder, and riches.

Streamers floated on the air and stirring, patriotic musicplayed from every street corner, pub, restaurant, and public loudspeaker.Although the sights and smells kept tugging at Julius, he knew he would neverhave been able to work his way back onto the parade route to catch up with therest of his training cohort if he left the column.

The Eastern Wall Gate loomed before them, festooned with allmanner of defensive armaments, ropes, pulleys, chains, cranes, and open-frameelevators. Large flags bearing the gold Laurel Crown on a field of red hungdown the wall on either side of the gate. Julius could see the tiny faces oflookouts high up on the wall, peeking between crenellations topping thebattlements.

They marched into the dark tunnel through the curtain wall,the way illuminated by several sputtering gas lanterns hung temporarily on thetunnel walls and supplemented by the warm glow of crackling torches. They didn’tprovide much light, but Julius figured that there was only one direction to go.His eyes gradually adjusted as they shuffled along, spurred on by the voices oftheir officers. He looked up and saw murder holes and portcullis lines, darkerareas in the dark ceiling, then stumbled and focused on placing his feet toavoid the metal train tracks that ran through the tunnel. Why aren’t wetaking a train or steam hauler? He wondered. Is this part of thetraining? Or is it simply a way to wean out all the lazybones who can’t evenwalk a few leagues?

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’d like comingback through this tunnel as an attacker,” the man walking next to him said. Inthe dimly lit tunnel, he was a black outline with few identifying features to distinguishhim from the multitude of other men moving through the tunnel.