Brass Legionnaire (The Steam Empire Chronicles)

by Ottalini, Daniel

  Alexandros nodded. “Let’s get a move on, shall we? It’s not like we’ve got all day!” He chuckled.

  The Scioparto ponderously turned its bulk to a southeastern heading. With the ship now on its appointed course, the hustle and bustle on the bridge calmed somewhat.

  Constantine let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. It was nothing unusual to him to ride in a dirigible, but the weight of the entire situation was finally settling fully over him, leaving him feeling drained. He looked through the observation window on a world that seemed to be going gray before him. “I think I’d like to sit down for awhile,” he managed to mumble.

  ~ * * * ~

  Alexandros turned from the window in time to see the tribune crumple slowly toward the floor. “Quick, someone catch the man, he’s got altitude sickness!” Alexandros barked, hoping to distract his crew from conjecture. Two men leapt to comply, grabbing the tribune’s elbows and keeping him from hitting the deck.

  “Let’s just sit him right here,” Alexandros said breezily. “Pass the word for the doctor to come have a look at him, but otherwise it will probably be best if we simply let him rest for the remainder of our flight.” I hope no one wonders why he never had altitude sickness before this point, Alexandros thought, careful to keep a frown from his face. Regardless of how he’s feeling, it’s my job to get him back to Fort Tiberius in one piece, his secret intact. “And pass word for Centurion Vibius, as well,” he continued. “He’ll want to take his commanding officer back to my cabin; young man looks like he could use a spot of sleep, eh?”

  When the tribune had withdrawn, arm slung over the centurion’s supporting shoulder, Captain Alexandros paced the forward observation windows, for a moment enjoying the marvelous view of the Germania Inferior countryside. This is what the gods see when they look down at us. He imagined them staring down at him from an even higher vantage point, and took a moment to say a brief prayer. Although he did not consider himself an exceptionally pious man, he had a special affinity for the goddess Minerva. Thank you, Minerva, goddess of wisdom, for granting me this chance to remove the stain upon my family’s honor. It is a pleasure to serve you, and the cause of justness, in your name. Please help us with our journey, and watch over the young prince, for he needs our guidance and wisdom more than ever.

  At that moment a tailwind sprang up, propelling the Scioparto even more rapidly toward Fort Tiberius. Almost as if, Alexandros noted, the goddess had answered his prayer.

  Chapter 10

  Clink.

  The tiny sound of drinking glasses touching in a toast broke the silence of the warehouse. Several members drank to Deus Ex Mortalitas. As one, they put down their small tumblers.

  “Operation Teutonburg is in motion. We are strong, and we are ready. Let us show those imperial fools just who is in charge,” Brimmas Amalia told her followers. “I want a status report on all our operations, right now. We must be ready to move by this evening.” She paused. “By now, some of you may have heard that our operation in Rome met partial success.”

  The words prompted a burst of chatter, with several members looking at each other, some with shock, others with glee.

  “S’cuse me, but what do you mean by partially successful?” asked the weedy-looking scribe, Klavius. “What went wrong?”

  “Our operatives had a problem getting to the emperor. They were unable to eliminate him. However, they did succeed in wrecking the main areoporta in Rome. They will be unable to move units out of the city by air for several months.”

  “And what about the primus caesar?” another rebel asked.

  Amalia smiled, cold and smug. “He has been taken care of, in the best possible way.” Her laugh echoed around the cavernous warehouse, making the rebels loading ammunition into some stolen walkers pause. “Although only partially successful, we have actually created a new opportunity to eliminate the other heir.” He voice dripped with scorn. “Because daddy dear is so worried about him, he has ordered the young Constantine back to Rome for his protection. We know this because our agent intercepted the message.” Again she paused, noting the querying looks on some faces. “This plays right into our hands. We have the last surviving son of the emperor walking right into the city that is about to be ours.” She smiled.

  “Corbus, the map, please,” she called. Corbus unrolled a map onto a nearby table. The council gathered around, staring intently at the intricate, hand-drawn floorplans.

  “Chief Jaix Extraci, you will lead the gangers against the palace. Remember to wait until you hear the explosions before storming the gate. If you succeed, kill everyone inside and loot the palace—anything you find is yours to keep. If you cannot do it immediately, wait until our walkers can come up to crush the gate.”

  She turned to the industrialists. “Domino Hunostus, I trust you have drivers for our walkers ready to go?”

  “Yes, Domina Amalia, we have the walkers modified and crewed, as per your directions. Your son,” he gestured toward Corbus, now leaning against a steel column, “has seen fit to provide me with some of his best recruits. We’ll be ready, and until then, they’ll be discreet.”

  Amalia nodded thoughtfully. “Get them moving now. We have received the confirmation from our Nortland allies—they will be here within the next few hours.”

  The gangers and Hunostus left to see to their operations.

  “Excuse me for asking, but how can we prevent the Imperialists from calling for backup?” another industrialist asked. “How can we stop the legions from arriving to save the day? We cannot take them in a one-on-one battle, regardless of our ingenuity and determination. As I said when I agreed to fund this venture, I want my guaranteed return on investment. In money, not in blood.” The rings on his fingers sparkled as he wrung his hands together for effect.

  “The same source that gave us the information about the arrival of Secondus Caesar Constantine also happens to be on duty today at Fort Tiberius. Not only can he read any messages, he can also choose what to send and when to receive any other messages. Should any loyalists get out an alert, he is well placed to prevent the nearest Imperial forces from responding. Not that a green legion with no veterans would truly be able to launch an effective rescue. Everything is well in hand, Lunis; you will get your money.” Her tone ended further complaints.

  She stared down at the paper. In the blink of an eye, she had drawn her knife and stabbed it into the middle of the Brittenburg governor’s mansion. Smiling coldly, she looked around at their faces and said in a voice as frigid and sharp as ice, “So tell me, my friends: who is ready to deliver the next of many death blows to the largest empire on earth?”

  ~ * * * ~

  Not too far away, Tribune Appius was suffering death by a thousand cuts. He was enduring a small soiree at the governor’s mansion. Although he would have preferred to wait at the airport, Constantine had been invited to join the legate governor and several of his closest political flunkies and friends. Industrialists in top hats and trim black suits mixed with toga-clad city and provincial officials. Several women in attendance had tried to catch Constantine’s eye, but he found none of them the least bit attractive, even when dolled up with the latest makeup and poufy ball gowns. He had always preferred the more traditional, simpler dresses devoid of folds of lace.

  If one more sniveling person tries to tell me why I should invest in his new thingamajig or whatchamacallit ... Constantine’s hand clenched and red wine slopped over his fingers as the thin, decorative silver goblet fractured. “Pah!” he mumbled to himself.

  A moment later his aide was next to him, holding a small towel. “Here you go, sir, let me get you a fresh cup of the red,” the legionnaire whispered.

  “No need, Manus; I’ve gone and wasted this one.” He handed over the damaged goblet, glancing furtively around at the modest gathering of people in the main audience chamber. Several ladies giggled as they sauntered past, eyeing the two soldiers up and down. One was even wearing those new tall-heeled shoe
contraptions, swaying unsteadily like a tree in a gale.

  “Is there anything going on out there,” he jerked his head toward the outer door, “that could get me out of this pointless frivolity? I’ve had it up to here with these people.”

  Manus gave a small smile. He looked thoughtful for a few moments, then moved in close, eyes also darting around. “Well, sir, I daresay that you could ... er ... inspect the perimeter and central defenses in place here against a possible attack? Safety first—and I hear there are bandits about,” he added with a cynical grin.

  For the first time in quite a while, Constantine smiled. He looked up from his hands, the towel ruined with red wine stains. “I suppose for the safety of all involved, most particularly my sanity, that I shall be required to observe all current safety procedures being undertaken here at the governor’s residence.” He turned to face the crowd, taking a steadying breath while Manus stepped back a few paces.

  Ding, ding, ding. He tapped the hilt of his belt dagger against the ruined goblet to attract the crowd’s attention. A hush descended over the room. Constantine waited a moment before speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that I have been remiss in my duties as both an officer and a fellow Roman. My aide has informed me that I have not yet performed my required perimeter inspection of the villa and grounds. As the ranking military officer present, it is mandatory that I complete this duty, for the safety of all, and of course, for the comfort of all here.” His voice rang out, but inside he was quivering, knowing his excuse was weak and flimsy.

  But polite applause rewarded him. Shouts of “Absolutely!” and “Good thinking!” followed him as he moved toward a side exit. Women gushed about how brave and heroic he was. Seriously? I’m taking a walk and all of a sudden I’m heroic?

  The legate governor appeared before him as he passed between several fluted columns. “Good afternoon, Legate Vorcentus,” Constantine said in a neutral voice.

  The portly legate acknowledged with a nod. “Tribune. I see duty waits for no one. It is a shame to see you leaving so soon.” His voice was a low rumble. He pushed some graying hair out of his eyes. “Of course you’ll be returning to us shortly, I suppose?”

  Constantine nodded regally, though he grimaced inwardly.

  “I remember when I was in the legions, how we never had a moment’s repose,” the man began. “Have I told you about the time I led the IX Hispania against the remnants of the Azorean raiders? Talk about a battle! Why, we were outnumbered three to one, and I ordered ...”

  Once, the legate governor had been a model soldier, outstanding general, and strong ally to Constantine’s father. Now he was a slightly addled, unfocused, and only moderately competent governor. Constantine nodded at appropriate points in the legate governor’s rambling, feigning interest. At least it’s better than dancing. Though he’d excelled at fencing, Constantine had never been able to comprehend the exotic and terrifying grace required for dancing. His father, who had firmly believed his youngest should know how to act like a gentleman, often commented upon his missteps and intricately impressive failures at dance.

  Eventually, he spied Manus, caught his attention, and flashed him a pointed look. Manus immediately complied.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the aide interrupted in his most annoying, officious voice as he joined Constantine and the legate, “but you really must be getting a move on. You know how important it is that you fulfill all of your required duties.”

  Constantine inclined his head to the legate, who appeared startled at being sidetracked. “Duty calls.”

  They left the stuffy and crowded ballroom. “This way, sir. I’ll take you to Auxilia Centurion Quintus. We can see the whole city from the operations center. It’s a great way to pass the time.” Legionnaire Manus led the way to a small complex in the middle of the gardens composed of a tall observation tower surrounded by an eight-foot wall and a barracks facility.

  The complex was not extensively fortified, but secure enough for the fifty-member demi-cohort assigned to guard the legate governor. They entered through its only gate and stepped into a small courtyard, where Auxilia Centurion Quintus met them. Legionnaire Manus explained the situation.

  “Not a problem. I’d love to give you a tour of our facilities here. I know they can’t hold a candle to the Imperial Palace in Rome, but then again, I don’t have four thousand crack Praetorian Guardsmen at my command.” He offered a wry smile as he took them up the observation tower.

  “I can see the entire perimeter from here, and we’ve got several patrols out right now,” Centurion Quintus continued as they reached the top. “Obviously, we work closely with the constabulary to monitor any dissident groups or more organized gangs.” He gave them a brief overview of the security procedures and various points of interest as they moved around the tower, the wooden and steel frame creaking slightly beneath their weight.

  “Uh, sir,” called Manus, “you might want to take a look at this.”

  Quintus and Constantine moved over to west side of the tower.

  “Did we have any airships scheduled to move in today? And if so, why are they shelling the city?” Manus asked.

  Quintus looked confused, while Constantine fumbled for his binoculars. He slammed them up to his eyes so quickly, he winced in pain as he trained them on the two large cargo dirigibles. Bolts lanced out from the gondolas at mid-ship, striking random targets below. He could feel the slight vibration running up the tower from the ground as the sounds of the explosions reached their ears.

  Quintus ran to the speaking tube and unstoppered it. “We’re under attack!” he shouted into it. “Scramble all divisions! Contact the constabulary and reserves immediately! Do it, now!” he screamed when a voice at the other end apparently questioned his orders.

  He rejoined Constantine, who proffered the binoculars. Accepting them gratefully, Quintus trained them on the western part of the city. “They almost look like Nortland raiders, with those weapons,” he mused after a moment. “We’re too far away to tell, though.”

  The sound of hooves clattering along the cobblestone path drew their attention downward. A soldier leapt from the horse and disappeared from view below the tower. Seconds later, a squawk from the speaking tube grabbed their attention. Quintus picked up the receiver. “What? When? Get two squads over there right now!”

  From the courtyard below, Constantine heard the jingle and clang and thud of men strapping on armor and assembling into their squads. An alarm began to wail.

  “There is a mob at the main gate. They tried to get in earlier, but the guards managed to shut the gates. What in Pluto’s name is going on?” muttered Quintus.

  Manus held out his hand for the binoculars and aimed them at the gate. “Sir! They’re throwing rocks and debris; it’s flying over the wall!” The mob was beginning to stretch its muscles.

  “Where did they all come from?” Quintus asked, shaking his head in bewilderment.

  Constantine frowned, his mind racing. Airships, convenient mobs, the death of my brother ... He voiced his thoughts. “I don’t think those two events are unrelated. I think someone’s plot just came to fruition. We’re going to have to think fast. Quintus, do you have a wireless connection? We’ll radio the XIII Germania for assistance. They are the nearest force that we can trust. I’d bet the constabulary has been infiltrated. We can’t rely on them fully.” He fired the words from his mouth as rapidly as he thought them, his brain in full crisis mode.

  Quintus gulped, then spouted a new set of orders into the speaking tube.

  “Manus, I want you to—” A larger explosion grabbed Constantine’s attention. He grabbed his binoculars and pushed them back up to his eyes.

  Something large and mechanical was moving toward the mansion. “Quintus, any chance you happen to have some ... heavy weaponry in your arsenal?” he asked.

  Quintus turned, looking confused until Constantine handed over the binoculars. “What is that thing?” Quintus sputtered, lowering the binoculars. The middl
e-aged officer was beginning to look overwhelmed. “I suppose we’ve got some heavy-duty ballistae kits in the armory,” he told Constantine. “We’ll have to check. They are probably disassembled, so we’ll need time to set them up.”

  Constantine nodded. “Let’s get moving, then.”

  The three men raced down the spiral staircase, taking the steps two, sometimes three at a time.

  “This way to the wireless room!” Quintus called as they ran into the main operations building. He paused to detail two men to go back up to the observation tower to maintain a lookout. Two squads, now fully kitted out, passed them as they marched double-quick toward the main gate. They rounded a corner and sidled into the tiny wireless room, where two men sat twisting dials and tapping away at various buttons.

  The senior member turned to them. “Sir, we’ve been unable to raise the XIII Germania. Something appears to be wrong with their gear. We know they are receiving the alert messages, but they aren’t confirming or responding or anything. What else would you like us to do?”

  Quintus looked at Constantine, his shoulders slumped.

  “Could we try to get to the airfield and get you out in a skimmer, sir? Your safety is paramount,” Manus suggested.

  Constantine shook his head. “Remember those columns of smoke we saw? I’m fairly certain one of them came from the airfield. It is a logical first target for any attack or revolt. The rail link is down too, due to that sabotage the other week.”

  The mood in the room was gloomy. Then Constantine brightened. “Legionnaire, do you have access to the Air Fleet frequencies?” he asked.

  Both wireless operators nodded hesitantly. “We aren’t supposed to, but I have a few friends in the service with whom I traded codes, one time,” the younger man admitted.