Infinite Courage

by J. Clifton Slater

  “This is a line of sight weapon, not an onager. If you can’t see what’s below the hill, I can’t hit it.”

  “In that case you are no help to me,” Corporal Sisera informed the man while drawing back a gladius.

  The Greek’s eyes got big, he started to shake, then he raised both hands in the air and waved them around.

  “Wait, wait,” he pleaded. “I can’t shoot around corners or down into a bowl. But I can see General Periander.”

  “And if you can see the target, you can hit it?”

  “Yes. And these bolts will cut through his fancy armor like a knife through a well-cooked sea bass,” announced the engineer.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Syracuse, Centurion.”

  “Not an officer,” Alerio corrected. “But I’ll promise you this, engineer. If you take the General off his feet with a bolt, you will see Syracuse again.”

  “And if I miss?” questioned the Syracusan.

  “I won’t,” Alerio informed him. To punctuate the statement, Alerio flipped the gladii into the air where they crossed over his head. He caught both as they spun downwards. “You have one launch. And then, I’ve got to get back to the shield wall.”

  Roars and screams reached them from the second weapons platform. Glancing over, all Alerio and the engineer could make out were heavy and light Legion infantrymen hacking on the oxybele and lithoboloi. The engineers and defenders for the mounted weapons were sprawled on the planks.

  “There is one possible fate for you,” Alerio suggested.

  The Syracusan didn’t reply. Instead, he put his shoulder against the stock and began rotating the weapon. When the bolts faced towards the back of the entrance bowl, he stepped behind it and sighted down the grooves. Three times he walked to a side and nudged the stock.

  “You’ll allow me to go to Syracuse?”

  “Yes. You’ll be free to go home.”

  “In that case,” the engineer said while reaching for a lever.

  Yanking the wooden arm disengaged the small hooks holding the sinew and hair string under tension. Released, it snapped up the stock driving the bolts along the grooves so fast it was difficult to follow with the eye. They rose slightly and made a gentle arch. One of the shaped iron projectiles struck an Adrano staff officer in the head. Because of the fountain of splashing red, Alerio missed the impact of the second bolt.

  Centuripe General Periander crunched up around his midsection. Arms and shoulders tucked and his knees were drawn up towards his chest. Resembling a bug laying on its back, he struggled for a few heartbeats.

  “Goddess Nenia release his soul and allow him peace,” Alerio prayed.

  “I thought you would hate General Periander?” the engineer questioned. “Yet you pray for a quick death.”

  “He was a man and a leader of soldiers,” Alerio replied. “That thing, suffering on the road is merely a broken body waiting for death. There is nothing left to hate.”

  “You are a man who knows death,” offered the Syracusan.

  “All too well, engineer,” Alerio replied. Then, he instructed one of the skirmishers. “Veles. Take this man to the gate and shove him out. After that, the living or dying is his responsibility.”

  “You do have an interesting relationship with death, Legionary.”

  But the engineer talked to empty air. Corporal Sisera was already turning off the ramp and sprinting down the wall.

  ***

  The sounds of shields clashing carried from the bowl area at the gates. Alerio reached the down ramp in full stride, slid on the stones to change direction, and bounced off the walls of the curved ramp. He reached the bottom and faced chaos.

  Chaos in a Legion attack line was reserved for the shield wall. To have Legionaries standing in the rear with no direction or goal displayed a lack of leadership. Plus, wounded and exhausted men sat behind those backing up the first two ranks.

  “Give me a reserve column here, here, and here,” he directed by grabbing Legionaries and shoving them into lines. They would wait there, shuffle forward, and eventually reach the second and finally the front rank. “Find a line and get in it.”

  Over the shields, Alerio noted the field of soldiers flowing down the street and right up to the Legion shields. An infantryman stumbled back holding a bleeding arm.

  “Give me four men to clear the rear and treat the injured,” Alerio called out. He didn’t wait for volunteers; he corralled the four closest Legionaries. “You are medical. Clear this area and stage the wounded and dead off to the side.”

  Then he ran to the other side of the thin Legion formation and organized those men.

  “Rotate, rotate,” Alerio bellowed. His objective was to get fresh men in the front two ranks. But the sloppy exchange of personnel opened gaps that allowed Adrano spears to injure two more men. The entire front stepped back to reset giving ground to the troops of Adrano. Looking around, he shouted. “Lance Corporal Frentani, Lance Corporal Stulte. On me.”

  The squad leaders came from the sloppy lines of men waiting to move up. Both were sweat soaked and displayed fresh blood spatter.

  “Ten more steps and we’ll be pushed out of the gates,” Alerio informed them.

  “We know, Corporal,” Frentani replied. “But this is the first maniple. They don’t have the experience to hold the line properly.”

  “Two months ago, they were on their family’s farms digging up stumps,” Stulte added. “It might be advisable to retreat through the gates instead of defending them.”

  A vision of the 10th Squad being swept off the hill crossed Alerio’s mind and he ground his teeth.

  “We’ve paid too high a price for this piece of real estate,” he explained. “Besides, the second maniple will need access to the city.”

  “When they get here,” Frentani sneered. “If they ever get here.”

  “You didn’t call us together to sacrifice words to the gods, Tesserarius,” Stulte suggested. “Is there a plan besides dying gloriously for the Republic?”

  “Pull your contuberniums out of the lines,” Alerio instructed. “Position each man as a commander of a column. You two pick a side and act like NCOs.”

  “You expect this herd to perform as a Century?” Frentani questioned.

  “We’re going to take advantage of their youth,” Alerio described. “Quick rotations so the front ranks can do damage, then they can rest. Make sure our line commanders know about the fast exchanges.”

  “Have you looked at the number of infantrymen the Adrano militia has brought to the party?” inquired Stulte.

  “Rapid changes, Lance Corporals. We’ll wear them down for the second maniple.”

  Chapter 33 - The Price of Resistance

  “Rotate,” Alerio called out.

  His order was picked up by the Lance Corporals and passed on to the line commanders. Those experienced Legionaries physically grabbed the men on the shield wall and yanked them back, while pushing the second rank forward. This rude change had happened so often, the men on the front ranks weren’t surprised. Only relieved to get off the battle line where they fought with all of their might.

  While Corporal Sisera rotated men off the front to keep rested infantrymen defending against the mass of soldiers, he was dealing with a small number of Legionaries. All of them had been to the front and back many times. He wasn’t sure if they could survive even a few more rotations.

  “Sisera, right?” a voice behind Alerio asked.

  “Yes, Senior Centurion,” he replied once he turned to see who stood behind him.

  “This is going to be difficult, Corporal.”

  “What’s going to be difficult, sir?”

  “Extracting your lads and getting the second maniple into the fight,” the Senior Centurion answered. He glanced back, eyed the gate wall, looked to the front, and added. “Without losing ground and having to fight to retake the gates.”

  “Lance Corporal Frentani. Lance Corporal Stulte. Clear the lanes, stand by to dise
ngage,” Alerio called out. Along the lines of the first maniple, the Legionaries from the 25th pushed and shoved men causing them to shift and tighten the columns. Spaces opened between the lines for double rows of second maniple infantrymen. Once the formation finished adjusting, Alerio advised. “Standing by, sir.”

  The Senior Centurion leaned forward as if to check his eyesight. Then he spun on his heels and addressed three waiting Centurions.

  “Form staggered columns and get them inserted,” Edidi ordered. “I want the first maniple off that shield wall in fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…”

  By the count of eleven, NCOs were directing Legionaries forward. At the count of eight, men from the first maniple were elbowed back leaving only the first two ranks fighting the Adrano forces.

  “You started this, Corporal Sisera,” Edidi suggested. “Finish it.”

  “Thank you, Senior Centurion,” Alerio acknowledged before bellowing. “Frentani. Stulte. We are relieved, pull our ranks.”

  The line commanders from the 25th Century reached out with both arms, grabbed the infantrymen from the first and second ranks, and snatched them back and away from the enemy spears. As rapidly as they were extracted, the shields of the second maniple snapped forward.

  Rather than battling against exhausted, inexperienced infantrymen, the soldiers found themselves face to face with men who understood bloody combat and knew the dangers of losing the fight. And the Legionaries of the second maniple had no intention of failing to win this battle.

  “Stand by,” a Centurion shouted. His words were picked up by NCOs, squad leaders, and pivot men. “Step back. Advance, advance, advance,” he bellowed.

  While the shock of the Legion shields and deadly thrusts by gladii devastated the front rank of Adrano soldiers, Alerio collected the survivors of the 25th Century. Leading them, he wove between the fresh Legionaries flowing through the three gates.

  “Sir. The 25th Century has been relieved,” Alerio informed Centurion Megellus.

  “Stand easy, Corporal Sisera,” the infantry officer replied. He shifted his position on the hill, gasped from the pain of the arrow shaft in his thigh, and indicated a bare spot. “Have a seat Tesserarius. You and the men have earned a rest.”

  “Sir. With your permission, I’ll go check on our wounded and…,” Alerio didn’t finish.

  Neither man said the other part of the Corporal’s request. There would be time later to count, record, bury, and mourn their dead. But Alerio had a relationship with the Goddess of Death and felt it was his responsibility to assure his men passed easily on their journey to the river Styx. The officer didn’t know about Alerio’s peculiar personal deity, he simply assumed the Tesserarius wanted to get a start on his accounting duties.

  “Granted.”

  ***

  Elements of the second maniple controlled the hills on both sides while in the center the Legion shields, javelins, and gladii drove the Adrano troops to the base of the slope. Behind the advancing Legionaries, the veterans of the third maniple stepped through the portals, split apart, and marched up the ramps.

  While the veteran infantrymen took control of the city’s defensive walls, the second forced the soldiers back and towards the commercial district of the city. Having exchanged the Legion shield for a waterskin and a piece of cloth, Corporal Sisera scrambled up the hillside. At the top, he approached the bodies of the 10th Squad.

  Arrows pierced Lance Corporal Tescum’s legs and arms. But the shaft that took his life bisected his throat and split his windpipe. The sticky red pool around him showed he fell immediately while drowning in his own blood. Beside him, but facing away, was Private Palinurus. Except, the iron bolt from an oxybele must have impacted the Legionary’s chest with enough force to carry the big man off the hill. Yet, in his final position, Palinurus appeared to be defending Tescum’s right side. It seemed, even in death, the big infantryman kept his word.

  Alerio rolled both men onto their backs and began chanting while washing their faces. Although the Goddess Nenia had already visited them, the Corporal wanted to be sure the other Gods recognized the nobility and bravery of his men. Assuring they entered the Elysian Fields was the least he could do for these heroes of Adrano.

  ***

  The leading edge of the 1st Century’s cordon collapsed while coming through the main portal. Once on the backside of the gates, they billowed out and reformed. In the center of the Century, 1st Centurion Irrisus stepped beyond the gate wall, ran his eyes expectedly over the wounded, dead, and the backs of the fighting ranks. Seeing it was clear of anyone, not a Legionary, he raised an arm and signaled for the command staff to enter Adrano.

  “We’re pursuing the Adrano militia and infantry into the center of the city,” one of four infantry officers reported. Another asked. “Orders, Senior Centurion.”

  “There’s a good question for you,” commented Edidi. Turning to the battle commander, he inquired. “You’ll soon have the city, sir. What do you want to do with it?”

  Ruscus looked at the dead and wounded Legionaries on the hills. The sight hurt his heart. Then he spied an officer among the infantrymen and walked over.

  “You look familiar. What’s your name?”

  “Centurion Fenoris Megellus, 25th Century of the Crassus Legion North,” the officer replied. Then the infantry officer clamped his teeth together against the pain, pushed to his feet, saluted, and announced. “I stand for the lost men of the 25th. Colonel, the 25th Century proudly presents the city of Adrano to you.”

  Ruscus recognized the Centurion as the one Ambassador Sergius called incompetent, disorganized, and cowardly. His sitting wounded in the midst of the gate defenders disproved all of those descriptions. But there was another term the battle commander would use to replace them, shrewd.

  By proclaiming victory of the city and awarding it to the Colonel, Megellus had claimed monetary bonuses from the loot and spoils including the sale of slaves.

  “Centurion Megellus. I have two questions for you,” Ruscus explained. “What should I do with Adrano.”

  “Make an example of the city, sir. We’ve paid too high a price for this property.”

  “Very good,” Ruscus declared. “Senior Centurion?”

  “Sir, Mesalla Legion East is standing by,” Edidi replied.

  “We will never return and shed Republic blood on these stones again,” the Colonel instructed. “Level this hovel.”

  “Senior Tribune, we’ve received demolition orders from the battle commander,” Edidi informed Istac. “Have reserve units prepare pens to guard the slaves.”

  While the senior advisors talked, Colonel Ruscus turned back to the infantry officer from the 25th Century.

  “The other question,” remarked the battle commander. “Who receives the Phalerae?”

  Megellus twisted his head around, looked at the top of the hill, and called to a man kneeling beside a body.

  “Corporal Sisera. Do you get the Phalerae for breaching the gate first?”

  The Legion NCO glanced up from washing the face of a dead Legionary.

  “No, sir,” Alerio replied. “That medal goes to Lance Corporal Messoris of the first maniple. He was first into the city.”

  For the remainder of his time in the Legion, Lance Corporal Messoris would have a gold sculpted disk displayed on his breastplate during parades and inspections. It was there so everyone knew of the man’s bravery for being the first to breach the city’s defenses. Even if he protested every time that a Corporal, he didn’t know, pushed him through a hole in the gate.

  “1st Centurion Irrisus. Find me Decanus Messoris. And see if you can find him a slot in the second maniple. A man that brave shouldn’t be considered inexperienced or unbloodied,” Colonel Ruscus ordered as he walked away from Megellus. Then the battle commander stopped and faced back towards the infantry officer. “You will receive the gold crown for taking and holding the gate Centurion. And a second purse to go with the coins from the Ambassador.”

  “Sir,
what coins from the Ambassador.”

  “Your Century’s share of the tribute for saving the diplomatic mission.”

  “Colonel, we didn’t receive anything from Ambassador Sergius,” Megellus informed him. “Except abuse.”

  ***

  Two days later, the surviving soldiers were naked and in pens. The surviving citizens of Adrano were prodded out of other cages and headed out of the city to be sold. Teams of Legionaries pried apart brick walls while others pushed down granite columns. Once the building materials hit the ground, infantrymen raised dust by hammering them into small pieces.

  Wagons had transported the wounded Legionaries to the Legion camp beside the Simeto river. And the 25th Crassus Century, in honor of their performance at the gate, was excused from all duties. But there wasn’t joy in the air. A dark feeling hung low to the ground around the Century’s area because five of the tents had only one or two Legionaries to represent the contuberniums.

  High above the valley and the Legion camp, Colonel Ruscus rode slowly in order to ease the stress on his guard detail.

  ***

  In Centuripe, the 1st Century reached the top road and soon jogged into the main barracks. From the center of the formation, the battle commander dismounted, marched across the courtyard, and entered the building.

  “Ambassador Sergius. We will have words. Everyone else, clear the room,” Ruscus ordered from the door of the meeting chamber.

  He marched into the room pointing at civilians who didn’t move fast enough.

  “Clear this room. Or I will have you removed,” he directed. Staring at the diplomat’s staff, he informed them. “I have a punishment post. If you want to visit it, remain in this room.”

  “Excuse me, Ruscus. But you are interrupting an important meeting,” Sergius complained. “I don’t see the necessity in…”

  “1st Centurion Irrisus. I am going to look into Octavius Sergius’ soul,” declared the Colonel. “When I look back, if anyone is still in this room, break their legs. They can crawl over the threshold.”