Daniel Ottalini - Brass Legionnaire

Fortunately (or, as it seemed later, unfortunately), histhoughts were interrupted by a large, oblong shadow moving across the ground.He, along with his entire unit, looked up to see a small airship blocking theweak sun as it clawed its way through the clouds. A woman stood out front on acatwalk, with a curious object held up to her face.

Centurion Vibius immediately moved in front of the tribune,perhaps sensing that the ship was up to no good. Constantine motioned at histwo equipped squads, trying to get them to stand down. Finally they understoodhis gestures, and the 9th and 10th squads tried hastily to look as unassumingas possible.

The airship circled the cohort and descended. WhenConstantine could see the red letters painted on over three-fourths of theairship’s side, he nearly cried out in frustration. Ravenna Chronicle. Damn.

“Who is that?” one of the men assembled on the banks of thestream asked.

“The most ignorant, yellow-tongued, filthy, lowly men in theworld,” Centurion Vibius responded. Vespasinus paused in his writing and lookedup, wearing a confused expression.

“Nortlanders?” someone asked.

“No” Constantine responded, almost in a whisper, “ reporters. ”

Later that afternoon, the 13th Cohort, XIII Germania Legion,staggered into Fort Tiberius, carrying their eight injured men back from theirexercise on improvised stretchers they had lashed together. They had beenunable to complete the training mission due to their injuries, lost time, andthe arrival of the Ravenna Chronicle airship, Headline . The shiphad buzzed around them for about an hour, the people on board obviously takingpictures and enjoying the discomfort of the men on the ground.

Instructor Vespasinus informed the tribune that he was tomake a full report on the situation. Which was how the company now found itselfstanding in the cold rain facing the wrath of a dozen or so instructors.Although the iron discipline that had built the Roman army into a formidableforce still existed, the punishment methods had been modified. The men had tostand at attention for the remainder of the day, officers included.

Several hours later, the exhausted members of the 13thCohort stumbled into their barracks hall to collapse upon their beds, only afew managing to shed their wet armor and clothes before falling down.

Constantine entered the barracks after them. “Men, I havesomething to tell you,” he said in a voice that carried to the end of the hall.“I know it’s late, but this is critical information that is important for youknow tonight.

“I understand how you are feeling right now. You are angryand upset, but most of all, you are tired. The biggest deal today was not thefight, nor was it that our instructor watched us act like bulls fighting it outover a cow. Rather, it was that the newspaper got photographs of us in a poorsituation. Not only does it reflect badly upon the army, but it also reflectspoorly upon my family.”

He took a breath. This was his most tightly held secret, andhe wasn’t completely sure he had made the right decision in trusting these men.

The hall was silent, his men staring at him, undisguiseddiscontent on their faces. “Why should we care how that reflects upon yourfamily, sir?” one of them asked, his tone angry and resentful. “If they arerich enough to purchase your position, they’re rich enough to get through a badbroadsheet story. Sorry, sir, but your family will just have to deal with it,like the rest of us commoners.”

Murmurs swept through the unit. “Let the man speak. Then youjudge,” Centurion Vibius spoke up from the corner; Constantine hadn’t noticedhim enter.

Constantine nodded his thanks. He took a deep breath. “Youmay have noticed that my name is similar to some very famous Romans”

“That’s not uncommon, sir; all of my names were taken fromfamous Romans, as well. It’s a bit annoying, honestly,” the same maninterjected.

Constantine inclined his head toward the recruit. “RecruitJulius Caesar, correct? I remember you from earlier today. And yes, that may betrue, but in my case, I’m actually a living descendent of those famous Romans.My full name and title is Constantine Tiberius Appius, Secundus Imperio, or second in line for the Laurel Crown and the throne of the Roman Empire, andall dependent vassals, tributaries, and colonies. As you can see, I’m notwalking around with bodyguards, nor do I have a train of servants a mile long.If you’re looking for that, I think my older brother is back in Rome.” Heflashed a quick smile as he looked around the room, getting lukewarm chucklesin return.

“I’m here to ask your help-your help in continuing a battlelong waged between the forces of order and the forces opposed. It began with myancestor, the first emperor, Julius Caesar himself, as he ravaged the Gauls andcrushed their resistance in battle after battle. Order prevailed over chaos.This is our heritage. Cornelia, Caesar’s wife, bore him two sons, long afterour priests said she was infertile. Once again, order prevailed, and created adynasty. Those sons established the seeds that began our efforts to harnessnature to our engine of empire. We discovered anthracite coal and its powers,learned the secrets of the Persians, the Egpytians, the Indians, and theChinese. We crafted mechanical monstrosities and graceful airships. Ourmechaniphants decimated the United German tribes in the Teutonburg underEmperor Titus Octavian, and once again, the order of Rome was triumphant.” Hepaused for a moment, looking at his men.

They were tired, but they seemed to understand theimportance of this situation. Their officer was asking them to help continuethe strength that was Rome through their efforts, while following a scion ofthe dynasty that had founded the empire they had sworn to serve.

“That victory over the Germans is only one instance of theindustrial might of Rome, and its legions, succeeding where others had failed.We forced those Nortland barbarians across the Vistula, planted multiple colonia in the new world, and have established the most technologically superior airand sea fleet ever seen.” His voice echoed through the barracks, the men beingdrawn into his speech, his words, his utmost belief in the ideas he wastalking about. Constantine was crafting a living, breathing empire that was asmuch theirs as it was his creation.

“But should we stand complacent? Rest on our laurels? Wecannot!” Constantine roared. “Nortland pecks at us like that raven god theyworship-a raid here, a raid there. They would love to get their hands on someof our fair cities. Will you allow that?”

“No!” the men cheered and catcalled in response.

“Will you allow those chaotic forces to wrest from us thesefertile fields and forests we’ve worked to make our own? And what of oureastern borders? The Mongolian Crimearate has long burned and pillaged theirway toward us. The Chinese could not stop them. The Indians, the Persians-theyall failed! But not us, not we Romans! My great-uncle, General AugustusBelisarius, held the Mongols off for weeks, using the holy river Jordan as hisbattle line. Their horse archers were no match for our airships. Greek firecares little for sand or water, and even less for the antics of those nomadicbarbarians.”

He dropped his voice, drawing in every man in the room. “Butthey have learned from us, learned some of our technology, some of our skills.Will we give them an opening? A chance to rob and pillage and burn and destroy?We’ve stopped them once, but I doubt that will be the last we see of them.”

He turned back toward the door. “Will you give them thechance? The chance to tear down all that we’ve built? Take millennia of blood,sweat, and tears and simply let it go? Or will you help me fight for it, helpus to keep alive the belief, the idea, the power that is Rome?” His rhetoricalquestion had only one answer, and his men all knew it. To give up would betantamount to surrender.