Eric Flint - Carthago Delenda Est

Ainsley rubbed his chin. “It’s still their first real battle.”

Gaius shrugged. “True. And it shows.” He nodded at the screen.

“They’re sluggish, right now. They’re not reacting as quickly as they should to the success of their javelin volley. That’s inexperience. A blooded legion would already be down the enemy’s throat. But-see? Tsiang’s already bringing the line forward. Good formations, too. The spacing’s excellent.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the figure of Clodius Afer, wailing against the wall.

“Clodius forgets. How good do you think we were in the beginning? A bunch of ignorant kids, half of us. Marched off to slaughter in the desert and then sold to aliens. I had no idea what I was doing, at first. This legion’s already doing well. Give them three more campaigns and they could have chopped us up for horse meat.”

He turned back to the screen. “Trust me, Robert. There’s never been a better Roman legion than the one down there on that field today.”

Again, he cocked his head and bellowed at Clodius Afer. “They’ve almost closed with the enemy! Oh-and look! The Tenth Cohort’s going to bear the brunt of it!”

“That bitch!” shrieked Clodius Afer, charging back to the screen. “She’s going to get ‘em all killed!”

Silence, for two full minutes. Then:

Gaius laughed. Clodius Afer spit on the floor and stalked back to the wall. Spit on the wall. Ainsley wiped his face.

“I thought the Tenth Cohort was supposed to be the legion’s shield, not its sword arm,” he muttered.

Gaius’s grin was cold, cold. “Yeah, that’s the tradition. But traditions are meant to be broken, you know. And Tribune Lemont is not the phlegmatic type.”

“Is it true?” whispered Ainsley. “Did Clodius Afer really call Shirley Lemont a-”

Gaius laughed. “Oh, yes! Then, after he woke up, he insisted on a formal rematch. He didn’t quit until she threw him six times running, and told him she was going to start breaking his puny little bones.”

Ainsley stared at Clodius Afer. The former centurion was studying the stone wall with a deep interest which seemed entirely inappropriate to its bare, rough-hewn nature.

“I guess it took him by surprise, seeing women in the legion’s ranks.”

Gaius started to reply but broke off suddenly, rising halfway out of his seat. “Gods, look at them rolling up the flank! This battle’s already won, Robert.” Turning his head, he bellowed:

“Hey, Clodius Afer! You might want to see this! The enemy’s pouring off the field! The legion’s hammering ‘em into mash! And-guess what?-great news! It’s our old Tenth Cohort that turned their flank! God, what a maneuver! I’m telling you, Clodius Afer-that Shirley Lemont’s the best tribune I’ve ever seen! Come here! You don’t want to miss it!”

In the next five minutes, Gaius Vibulenus went over the battle with the Fourth-of-Five, patiently answering the native warleader’s many questions. Robert Ainsley simply sat, recovering from the experience-simultaneously exhilarating and horrifying-of finally seeing the Roman war machine in action.

Clodius Afer leaned his head against the stone wall. Banged it once or twice. Wept bitter tears for the lost legacy of ancient Rome.

Ruined-ruined-by modern sissies. Girls.

As he watched the troop transport settle its enormous bulk into the valley, Ainsley found it impossible not to grin.

“Travelling in style, I see,” he chuckled.

Gaius gave him a stern look. “I beg your pardon? The Cato is an official SPQR Guild transport vessel, properly registered as such with the Federation authorities.”

Ainsley snorted. “She’s also the former Queen Elizabeth, luxury liner.”

Gaius grinned. “So? It could be worse, you know. They’re already talking about raising the Titanic and retrofitting her.”

A voice from behind them: “It’s already been decided. Damn fools are going to do it.”

The two men turned to face Tambo. The naval officer was just climbing off the stairs onto the stone ramp behind the castle’s crenellations. A few steps behind him came the Second-of-Five.

The South African and the native clan leader joined them at the battlements. Tambo scowled.

“I think it’s pure foolishness, myself. The whole point of refitting old naval vessels is to re-arm the Earth as fast as possible. Stupid. It’ll take twice as long-and twice the money-to fix up that shipwreck than it would to build a brand-new transport.”

Ainsley’s reply was mild. “Humans are a bit swept up in historical sentiment, you know. All things considered, I have to say I’m rather in favor of it.”

Tambo grimaced but didn’t argue the point. Instead he went straight to his business.

“I’ve just gotten word from the escort vessels. The Federation ship and the Guild transport have left the system, so there are no observers left. The colonists can debark before the legion boards the transport.”

“Any threats?” asked Gaius.

“From the Ty’uct?” sneered Tambo. “Not likely-not after we smeared their second invasion fleet in less time than the first. No, no threats. But they are definitely in a foul mood after yesterday’s whipping. They’re complaining about the elephants.”

Gaius shrugged. “Let ‘em! Elephants were a regular feature of Roman warfare.”

“Not genetically engineered semi-mastodons,” pointed out Ainsley.

Again, Gaius shrugged. “So what? The Guild can hardly complain-not when their Gha ride mounts that have to be turbocharged to even breathe the air.”

Tambo smiled. “They’re still going to complain about it. Demand a full Federation hearing, they say.” His smile broadened. “God, would I love to be there! Did you hear? Mai the Merciless has been appointed Earth’s official representative to the Federation.”

“Heaven help them,” murmured Ainsley. Then:

“I thought you were going to be there.”

Tambo’s smile was now an outright grin. “Change of orders.” He squared his shoulders. Struck a solemn pose.

“You have the honor of being in the presence of the newly appointed commodore in charge of Flotilla Seven.”

The false pomposity vanished, replaced by a cheerful rubbing of his hands. “The campaign against the Ssrange is on! And I’m in command!”

Ainsley’s eyes widened. “They decided to do it? I thought-”

Tambo shook his head. “No, it seems good sense won out over timidity, after all. Christ, I should hope so! We’ve got a tiger by the tail. Last thing we can afford to do is let go. If the Guilds and the Federation ever figure out how vulnerable we are-will be, for at least twenty years-they could slaughter us. Keep the bastards cowed-that’s the trick!”

Gaius nodded. “I agree. Bloodying the Ty’uct Guild’s nose in a couple of small ship battles will only win us a couple of years. Before one of the bolder guilds decides to mount a real armada.”

“Unless we show the galaxy how rough we are-by wiping out the nest of pirates that the whole Federation’s whined about for thirty millennia.” The South African’s voice took on a whimpering tone. “What can we do? Best to reach an accommodation with the Ssrange. They’re businessmen, too, after all, in their own way.”

Gaius’s eyes were icy. “They held Quartilla, for a time. Did you know that?”

Both Tambo and Ainsley nodded.

“What’s your plan, Stephen?” asked the historian. “You’re the commander.”

For a moment, Tambo’s eyes were as cold as the Roman’s. “It’s been named Operation Pompey. That should give you the idea.”

Ainsley sucked in his breath. Gaius grinned like a wolf.

As well he could. In 67 B.C.-just fourteen years before Crassus’s ill-fated expedition against the Parthians had resulted in Gaius’s enslavement to the Guild-the Roman republic finally lost patience with the pirates who had plagued the Mediterranean for centuries. Pompey the Great-one of the three members, along with Caesar and Crassus, of the First Triumvirate-was charged with the task of exterminating piracy.