Alexandros nodded at him. “We’re expecting someone from the galley in a bit. Please knock and send them in, Airman Yanis.”
As the door slid closed behind them, he walked behind his desk and took a seat in the leather chair. He leaned back. “Now, what message do you have?”
The young man shuffled through his messenger bag and pulled out a metal cylinder, sealed at both ends. One end had a keyhole. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m not allowed to know the contents of the message. I’ll step out for a moment. If you need me, I’ll be in the hallway.” Pilot Garius saluted again, turned on his heel, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Alexandros stared at the secure message capsule. He reached under his uniform and pulled out the Captain’s Key dangling on a thin golden chain. Northern Command’s keys were shaped like snowflakes. Rotating the snowflake until a key slid from one of the snowflake’s prongs, he inserted it into the lock and turned it. A satisfying click sounded and the container cracked open. He opened it fully, extracted its contents, and set the tube itself on his mahogany desk. He turned on the electric light next to him, leaned back in his chair, and began to read.
MESSAGE PRIORITY: URGENT
TOP SECRET CLEARANCE REQUIRED – FOR EYES ONLY
MESSAGE ORIGINATION: ROMA – FLEET COMMAND – MEDDITERANEAN HQ
MESSAGE RECEIVED: BRITTENBURG – NORTH CENTRAL OPERATIONS HQ
RETRANSMIT TO FORT TIBERIUS – XIII GERMANIA LEGION HQ
MESSAGE SENT VIA COURIER TO RECIPIENT
TO: CAPTAIN ALEXANDROS, H.M.A.S. SCIOPARTO
ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON EMPEROR, 23 OF SEPTEMBER
STOP
SUCCESSFUL ASSASSINATION OF PRIMUS CAESAR LUCIUS
STOP
SECURE SECONDUS CAESAR IMMEDIATELY UPON RECIEPT OF MESSAGE
STOP
RETRIEVE SECONDUS CAESAR CONSTANTINE IMMEDIATELY FOR RETURN TO ROME
STOP
USE ANY AND ALL METHODS TO SECURE SAFETY OF SECONDUS
STOP
POSSIBLE INFILTRATION OF SECURITY PROTOCOLS
STOP
DO NOT INFORM OTHERS OF SECURITY PENETRATION
STOP
MAY THE GODS’ SPEED BLESS YOU
STOP
SIGNED – AIR FLEET ADMIRAL IGNAEUS, AIR FLEET HIGH COMMAND
COMMUNICATIONS WATCH OFFICER – TRANSMITTER
BRUTUS SILENIUS, XIII GERMANIA LEGION
ORIGIN AND TRANSMISSION RECIEPT SHOULD BE DESTROYED IMMEDIATELY AFTER ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF ORDERS
TRANSMISSION LOGGED 13:45:12 ON 25 SEPTEMBER, 1856
END TRANSMISSION
After reading it for the tenth time, Alexandros finally lowered the paper with a trembling hand. Oh ... my ... gods.
An attempt on the emperor’s life, and the primus caesar was killed? That meant that the secondus caesar, who happened to be one of Alexandros’ new friends, was the next man in line for the Laurel Crown.
He pulled the plug out of the speaking tube protruding through his desktop. “Officer on duty,” he called.
“Janus here, sir,” came the instant response.
“Do we know where the 13th Cohort is training? We need to pick them up, immediately. Uh ... urgent orders from HQ. And see if you can raise the cohort on the wireless. Let them know to be expecting us.” He wasn’t an exceptionally good liar, and in general preferred to be open and honest with his men, believing that it was good for morale and built a tighter crew. This case was a tad different, however.
“Right away, Captain,” Second Airman Janus responded.
Alexandros replugged the speaking tube. Then he reached down and slid out the drawer next to his left leg. He pulled out a glass bottle and a tumbler. Setting the tumbler on his desk, he unstoppered the bottle and poured a small dose of fine, aged whiskey into the tumbler, then tipped it down his throat. He poured himself another and drank it more slowly as he regarded the missive from HQ. The background hum of the engines suddenly rose as they increased speed. Alexandros felt the ship adjusting course to a new heading.
A knock on the door prompted him to carefully fold the message into a small square and tuck it into his breast pocket as he called, “Enter.”
Airman Yanis entered bearing a plate of food. He set the food down on the desk in front of the captain and exited the room. Alexandros stared at his food, suddenly lacking any appetite. He replaced the whiskey and the tumbler in the desk drawer, then closed the message container, locked it, and slipped the snowflake key back under his uniform. He lifted the plate of food.
He stepped out into the corridor, where Pilot Garius sat on a stool with a plate of food on his lap. “Yanis,” he said to the airman beside him, “let the boy eat until he is full. He can have mine as well. Don’t let him leave yet, though. When we reach our destination, I’ll have a return message for him.”
Yanis nodded as he accepted the captain’s plate. Ignoring the young pilot peering gleefully at this second helping, Alexandros set course for the bridge.
~ * * * ~
So this is what it feels like to be on guard duty for twelve hours straight, Julius thought, his brain muzzy from lack of sleep. The cohort had been taking part in the required “extended wilderness survival” training, during which a cohort was left alone in a remote location for a limited time to practice how to establish a base camp and become self-sufficient. Tribune Appius had been placing some squads on extended guard duty rosters to free up others for hunting and reconnaissance.
Julius paused in his patrol route and leaned on his plumbata, gazing at the rolling hills and copses of trees that surrounded “Fort Altus,” named after the reconnoitering soldier who had sat down in the middle of the vast farmlands of Germania Inferior and declared, “We’re building here because I’m not walking anymore.” Julius’s eyes drooped and his nodding head settled against the iron head of the plumbata. I’ll just put my head down for a moment ...
“Hey, Caesar! Don’t be falling asleep now! Less than an hour to go, my lad.” Legionnaire Horace called out to him from the tower.
Julius started, shook his head, and resumed his walk toward the corner tower.
“Why don’t ye come on up and take a look at the view from my marvelous wooden throne?” Horace joked.
Julius sighed. Horace was one of the new recruits who had been added to their unit halfway through training. Several days ago, word had come down from the general that he wanted the 13th to be an over-strength cohort, especially since it would be unsupported by the rest of the legion in its rapid assault role. So, sure enough, the other cohorts in the legion had taken advantage of the order by sending the most troublesome, argumentative, and lazy legionnaires they had. Horace was a castoff from 17th Cohort.
Julius looked up at him. “Sure, why not?” He climbed the lashed-together ladder that provided access to the tower and accepted Horace’s friendly hand at the top.
Horace patted a gauntleted hand on one of the iron walls that enclosed the wooden frame of the tower. “The walls are just high enough to making sitting and leaning on them uncomfortable. You think they designed them that way?”
Julius shrugged. He walked over to the telescope set up on a tripod in the middle of the platform. Each tower had a telescope, a modification suggested by Centurion Vibius. Tribune Appius had quickly agreed to the foresight, and now the tower guards were able to see for miles in any direction, regardless of eye strength.
The two men chatted, careful to remain several feet apart and face in different directions so that any roving squad leader or centurion wouldn’t find fault with Julius’s new post. Of course, Horace would be blamed as well, since misery loves company in this man’s army, Julius thought wryly as he stared out at the horizon. It really was beautiful.
Horace said something that brought his attention back from the landscape. “Sorry, say that again?”
“Geez, Caesar, got wool in your ears? No, wait, you’re a factory cog, so I suppose that would be grease in your ears.” Horace laughed.
“I asked, what made you join the army, and how did you end up in this here ‘experimental’ unit?”
He was an original member of the cohort, Julius told him; he had joined the army out of a sense of duty, patriotism, and, he added with some embarrassment, because he was bored.
“And you aren’t bored now?” Horace teased.
Julius sensed an insult and countered with, “What about you? You got transferred in. Must have pissed somebody in the 17th off big-time. What did you do, sleep with the centurion’s wife?” So there! Julius thought. That ought to shut him up.
Horace’s smile revealed several missing teeth among the yellow survivors. “Actually, it was the sister, but I won’t make your virgin ears bleed with such tales of debauchery.”
Julius snickered and shook his head in amazement. What some men did for fun was insanity to him.
“You ladies having a picnic up here?” a steely voice called up from the ladder. A moment later the centurion’s head appeared above the platform.
“Sir!” Both men stood at attention and saluted. Centurion Vibius frowned at them. Julius sucked in a breath, waiting for the dressing-down he knew Vibius was about to launch.
Beside him, a wide-eyed Horace threw up his arm. “Sir! Begging your pardon, but there’s an airship on approach.” He pointed to the southeast.
Vibius turned to follow his outstretched arm with his eyes. Julius squinted, releasing the pent breath in a slight gasp. In the distance, sun glanced off a tiny black speck that had appeared from behind a clump of foliage. Horace carried the tripod over to the tower’s east side and adjusted the articulating legs, then stepped back. Vibius leaned over the eyepiece and rotated the interior lenses using the small dial on the side of the brass tube. Julius could imagine what Vibius was seeing: the distant airship leaping into view, perhaps sending a critical message. Or was this part of the exercise?
Vibius pulled a pad of paper and a grease pencil out of his pocket. “Do either of you two know how to write?” he asked. Julius nodded hesitantly. Vibius handed him the pad and pencil. “Copy down exactly what I tell you to.”
Julius handed his plumbata and shield to Horace, who adjusted his own arms to accommodate them without comment. “Ready, sir.”
“N ... c ... y ... p ... i ... c ... k ... u ... p ... a ... l ... e ... r ... t.”
Julius wrote all the letters down, but only a few things were popping out for him. Centurion Vibius continued deciphering more letters.
“E ... m ... e ... r ... g ... e ... n ... c ... y—okay, they are starting to repeat now. Did you figure out the message?” Vibius asked.
Horace was peering over Julius’s shoulder. “Caesar here has written gobbledly-gook,” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what ncypick means.”
Julius shoved him with his shoulder, knocking the man off balance. “That’s not the word. It says ‘emergency pickup alert.’ What does that mean, sir?”
Vibius seemed to tense. Julius could see lines of concentration forming at the corners of his eyes. The centurion moved over to the pneumatic siren mounted on the tower parapet and began to rotate its lever. With each rotation, the siren gradually increased in volume, starting at a low whine and growing to an ear-splitting scream. It instantly dashed Julius’s sleepiness. Below, the camp burst into a bustle of activity. Men ran this way and that, snapping on armor and lacing up boots.
Vibius stopped the siren and ordered Horace, “Get down there and inform the tribune that we have company. Recommend we prepare to close up camp.” Horace nodded and slid down the ladder, feet not even touching the rungs.
“Stay up here, keep an eye on them, and sing out if they change course for any reason,” the centurion said to Julius, who nodded and moved to occupy Vibius’s position as the centurion followed Horace down the ladder, shouting commands as he went.
Julius ducked his head to look through the viewfinder at the airship as it inched closer. What are you doing here? What has happened? he wondered.
~ * * * ~
The airship took the extraordinary step of actually landing in the meadow next to the small hill where the 13th had constructed their base. They moved the entire cohort into the ship, filling the airship to the brim with men and equipment, both on the outside decks and inside, clogging the hallways, storage rooms, and crew quarters. Two hours later they were ready to depart, leaving behind a muddy, rutted hilltop littered with the occasional piece of discarded or forgotten equipment where a small, standard pattern legion fort had stood.
Word had circulated through the 13th very quickly that something had happened. The airship crew professed innocence and rebuffed any further attempts to learn more. The legionnaires were of two minds. One opinion was that the crew legitimately knew nothing. The second opinion was that the crewmen knew and were ordered directly not to tell anyone. Most men around Julius seemed to believe the first as the more likely, since most airmen were about as tight-lipped as an opera singer.
Julius was packed into one of the forward weapons bays, tight against the metal hull of the airship. Third, fourth, and fifth squads were packed into the bay like sardines. Julius wondered if the ship had come for the entire cohort, or just the tribune. Tribune Appius had been spirited away with the airship captain almost as soon as the lines had secured the ship to the makeshift landing zone.
A legionnaire sitting nearby pulled out a pack of cards. “So, comrades, who is ready to lose some money?”
~ * * * ~
One deck above, in Captain Alexandros’ quarters, Tribune Appius absently swirled fine Hiberian whiskey in a tumbler. “You’re certain this message is genuine?” he asked for the fifth time.
“Completely, Your Lordship. It came on the proper letterhead and the security procedures were followed. They even used a skimmer to get it here. That’s a top-level message, as genuine as you can make it. So I have to believe it’s the truth.” Alexandros paused and took a sip of his whiskey.
At a buzz from the plugged speaking tube, he leaned over and uncorked the tube, listened for a second, then acknowledged the message with a curt, “Go for launch.” He looked at Constantine. “We’re ready for liftoff. Everyone is on board.”
The tribune nodded, then took another sip of the fine liquor. It burned down his throat, but helped ease the pain of discovering he was now the last surviving male heir to the Appian Imperial Dynasty. Utter sadness crept up on him.
He had never really gotten along with his brother. They had been born several years apart, and enjoyed different interests. The older Lucius had been groomed as the heir to the throne since he could walk. Knowing the fate of a nation rested in his hands tended to change a person’s outlook. Of course, in his case, that fate rested in his large and meaty hands, Constantine thought. I suppose this means I’ll have to leave the legion. For the first time in my life, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. Another part of Constantine countered, You have a duty to your father and to your nation. Do not whine and complain because of the circumstances.
Captain Alexandros had been watching him. Now, in an obvious effort to bring the tribune out of his somber musings, he said briskly, “Come to the bridge with me to watch the takeoff. You’ll get a great view.”
Constantine nodded and silently followed the captain as he slid open the oak-paneled door and walked down the hallway, squeezing past crewmembers and legionnaires alike, airmen saluting the captain and the legionnaires placing fist to chest for the tribune. This ship was a beehive of activity, and it took the better part of ten minutes to get from the captain’s quarters aft to the bridge in the forward compartment.
“Captain on the bridge!” cried a petty officer near the hatch as they entered.
“At ease, resume your duties,” Alexandros said quickly. “Are we ready for liftoff?”
“Ready and awaitin’ your orders, Cap’n,” the watch officer informed him. “Ballast tanks are full and all compartments are secured. Helium Division reports all is ready and chambers are at full capacity. We’re as
ready as we can be.”
Alexandros nodded. “Excellent, Mr. Flanos. Take us up, please; one-half thrust.”
The officer opened the speaking tube to the engine room and relayed the captain’s command. Constantine felt the vibration in the flooring as the steam boiler’s crankshaft was connected and the massive propellers began to slowly rotate at the rear of the ship.
“Ailerons to full raised position. Anchor lines off. Close helium bleed-offs.”
At the control panel, engineers rapidly moved levers to different positions, each one connecting with a clank. Toward the rear of the ship, behind the massive propellers that were generating more and more thrust, several rudder components moved, forcing the air from the propeller toward the ground. The ship rose. With the helium no longer being vented, the ship hovered just off the ground, gaining a few inches each second.
“Buoyancy is positive; we are gaining altitude,” called a watch officer. “Dumping 10% ballast.”
“Steady as she goes; this is an easy climb.” The captain calmly paced along the deck to stand near one of the large observation windows.
Constantine felt the vibration in the deck beneath him grow to a low rumble. His body shifted balance as the ship tilted fractionally upward, and he reached out to grasp a convenient handhold hanging from the ceiling. The tilt of the deck increased, though none of the airmen appeared bothered by the incline. They must be so used to it.
“Altitude at fifty feet. Sixty feet. Still rising.”
“Level off at seven hundred feet. We’ll swing south and proceed to Fort Tiberius. Any report of bad weather?” Alexandros asked from the window, his hands clasped behind his dark leather flying jacket.
The watch officer opened another speaking tube bearing a small copper plate labeled Topside Lookouts. He shouted into the tube, then pressed his ear against the opening, trying to hear the answer over the constant hum of the engine and, Constantine presumed, the wind outside. The officer replaced the tube cap and looked up. “Topside lookout reports partial cloudy skies but no gray or black ones in sight, sir.”
Brass Legionnaire (The Steam Empire Chronicles) Page 11