“Then let us do what must be done to see that the legion does not fall,” replied Aurelius. “We cannot let the legion go into the night without fighting for what it stands for.”
“We will not let it fall,” said Cicero. “Give me a few hours. I will arrange the meeting with the other Praefects.”
“Garibaldi must not find out,” cautioned Aurelius, “otherwise, I cannot guarantee their safety. If he will sacrifice all of us, then he will not place much value on their lives either.”
“I will warn them of the danger,” assured Cicero. “We need to find a more secure location to meet.”
“Perhaps inside the capitol building,” suggested Aurelius. “The structure is in good condition and there are numerous exits.”
“I will gather the others,” replied Cicero. “We shall meet again at sundown.”
“Be careful, brother,” said Aurelius, nodding.
“I shall be,” said Cicero, smiling. “If I am not, then we may all face the consequences.”
“This place has taken enough of our blood,” replied Aurelius. “It is time to honor the fallen and plan for our future. One that might not include Fabretti.”
“You realize that they will undoubtedly have something to say about that?” asked Cicero.
“I fear less what Fabretti has to say than I do what the rest of the Legion says,” said Aurelius. “We must all stand together, no matter the path.”
Chapter XIII
Counsel of Shadows
“We must, indeed, all hang together or,
most assuredly, we shall all hang separately.”
- Benjamin Franklin
The sun was sinking below the western skyline and the air was turning cold when Aurelius found his way inside the damaged capitol building. He could hear his boots echoing softly in the empty building and the soft rasping of stones as he stepped on them. He could see the steam from his breath as he exhaled and feel the crispness of the air in his lungs.
He had been careful to take a circuitous route to the meeting, watching his back for any sign of being followed. He could not afford for Corporate Security to discover what he was planning. Between the blatant disregard for their lives and the draconian security measures they were forced to live under, it was clear that Fabretti saw the Legion as little more than property. That was something that Aurelius could no longer abide.
Looking around, he found a place near the top of the stairs where he could stay in the shadows and out of the chill wind. It would also give him a vantage point to watch several possible entrances with only a turn of his head. Ideally, it was one of the most defensible positions in the room.
He deliberately kept his footfalls soft as he climbed the stairs to the landing near the top. Once there, he glanced around to see if anyone was in the area. Once he was certain that it was clear, he pulled his cloak tightly around him and eased back into the alcove. With the hood of his cloak up, he was nearly invisible in the deep shadows. Only movement would betray his position and he was careful to keep that to a minimum.
It was nearly full dark before he saw the first signs of movement coming in through the open courtyard. There was a pale moon showing through the scattered clouds and it was in a moment of cold light that he saw the flicker of movement. Someone was coming, and they were being careful to stay behind cover as much as they could. There were very few places of open ground that had to be crossed to reach the building.
As whoever it was slipped inside the main lobby of the capitol building, Aurelius realized that he didn’t know them. It wasn’t Cicero but from the cloak and armor, it could only be a man of the legion. They were clearly armed with both blaster and sword with the cloak covering the armor of a high-ranking officer. Even without the helmet, Aurelius recognized the armor of a Praefect.
Briefly, he considered calling out to him, but thought better of it. It would be better to wait and see if others joined him. It would also bear a cautious approach, just in case this was a trap. Aurelius trusted Cicero, but he didn’t know any of the others. They might respond the way he expected a legionnaire to respond, or they might react badly. He would have to gauge them very carefully when they spoke.
Aurelius waited in the shadows and watched as three more figures entered the building from different directions. They huddled up together and the four of them began whispering in the shadows of the far corner of the room. Aurelius could just barely make out what they were saying to one another.
“Why do you suppose this Aurelius wanted to speak with us?” asked one.
“I do not know,” replied a second.
“Why should we trust this man?” asked a third.
“Because Cicero says he is a good man,” explained the fourth. “That should be good enough for you. Then there is the fact that he is of the Legion. That alone should earn him respect.”
“According to the data sheets,” said the first, “his unit vanished two hundred years ago, and reappeared in this time through some fluke of the propulsion systems. He’s not one of us.”
“He is a drop trooper,” said the second voice. “He has seen more combat than the four of us combined. His day was the height of the legion. He’s more of a legionnaire than any of us.”
“Perhaps,” said the first. “But this is a different universe than back in his day. The Legion is different now.”
“One thing has not changed,” said Cicero, stepping in through the arched front door, “we share the bond of brotherhood. We are all soldiers of the Legion. I have been in battle with him. Do not doubt this man. He embodies everything we claim to be. We are of the Legion. He is the Legion.”
“High praise,” said the first. “Let us hope he is all you claim he is.”
Two more men emerged from the shadows and joined the group. That accounted for every legion that was present. They were all here. It was time to begin this meeting. Tossing back the hood he let the cloak slip from his shoulders and his hand rested on the hilt of the Spatha on his hip. He was ready to make his entrance.
Aurelius stepped out of the shadows. Either fate or the Gods chose that exact moment to intervene. As he emerged from the darkness, the clouds parted, and the cold light of the moon emerged through the broken ceiling, bathing him in pale phosphorescence. Every head turned at the same time and they looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and awe.
The cool breeze caused his cloak to flutter around him as he descended the stairs. No one spoke as he made his way towards them. Only the sound of his boots on the stone steps could be heard echoing off into the darkness. Cicero smiled up at him and folded his arms across his chest.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance, my friend,” said Cicero, chuckling softly. “You looked like Mars, himself, when the moon broke through the clouds.”
Turning to the others, he gestured towards Aurelius.
“Gentlemen, I present to you,” said Cicero, “my friend and brother, Legatus Legionis Marcus Gaius Aurelius of the Legio MMXIV Ferrata.”
Aurelius nodded to the assembled warriors.
“Legatus,” said Cicero, “may I present Praefect Caelinus Junius Lucianus of the Legio MMCCCIX Victrix.”
The first warrior nodded.
“Praefect Antonius Fulvius Silvanus of the Legio MMCXXV Fretensis.”
The second warrior nodded.
“Praefect Fabricius Crispus Tarquinius of the Legio MMXXVI Fulminata.”
The third gave the closed fist salute across his chest which Aurelius returned.
“Praefect Atticus Gordianus Herminius of the Legio MMDXXIII Augusta.”
The fourth warrior smiled and saluted.
“Praefect Publius Augustus Thracius of the Legio MMCDLXXVIII Gallica.”
The fifth folded his arms across his chest and nodded.
“And Praefect Silvanus Terentius Vespasianus of the Legio MMCDXCVIII Scythica.”
The sixth warrior took two steps forward and extended his hand.
“It is an honor to meet you, Leg
atus,” said Vespasianus. “I have seen the footage of your battle on Haakon Prime. I would love to talk battles over a pitcher of wine.”
“It would be my great pleasure,” said Aurelius, taking the offered hand and grasping it at the forearm in the warrior’s embrace.
The two warriors locked eyes for a moment, each taking the measure of the other. There was a long pause before either of them broke eye contact. When they did, Vespasianus lowered his head in respect.
“The Legio Scythica stands with their brothers in the Legio Ferrata,” said Vespasianus.
“Thank you,” replied Aurelius. “It is good to know that we are all brothers here. We share the bond that only those borne of the Legion could know.”
“Why have you called us here, Legatus?” asked Thracius.
“Have you all had the chance to review the information that I sent with Praefect Cicero?” asked Aurelius, glancing in turn at each man.
“We have,” stated Lucianus. “What of it?”
“Then you know what Garibaldi attempted to do to my legion and the Legio Felix,” said Aurelius, meeting the gaze of each man as he turned his head.
“It is no secret that the corporate officials hold little regard for the Legion,” said Silvanus. “That has likely been the same since your time.”
“We always knew that we were expendable,” replied Aurelius, “but there was never such open disdain and utter contempt for the Legion. To throw away the lives of two entire legions just to cover up his mistake is something not even Garibaldi could hide. Clearly his superiors were aware of his intentions. That makes all of Fabretti accountable for his actions.”
“With most battles taking place in open space,” explained Cicero, “corporate feels that the Legion is no longer a necessary expense. We have all seen the cutbacks and the shift in attitude towards us. It seems that they are willing to send us into battles that they know we will lose, just to cut their losses. This battle against the T’kri’t’ek taught us that, in blood. Corporate Intelligence knew far more about them than they told us, and Garibaldi had issued orders for our fleet to fire on Septimus Decius once the Iron Legion fell. They didn’t count on Legatus Aurelius winning.”
“We are the Legion,” said Sylvanus, “and the legion belongs to Fabretti.”
“That does not have to be the case,” said Aurelius.
“What are you proposing?” asked Vespasianus.
“That we unite the Legions under one banner and leave Fabretti behind us,” said Aurelius. “We form our own government. Our own society.”
“Where do you propose that we do that?” asked Herminius.
“We bled for this world,” explained Aurelius. “I say we start here and call upon the other legions to join us.”
“Do you really believe that Fabretti will just allow us to leave?” asked Thracius.
“I do not,” replied Aurelius. “I expect them to fight. We have the numbers in this sector. We can take the fleets from the inside and before they realize what has happened, we will control this sector.”
“What about the Praetorian Guards?” asked Cicero. “They are chosen for their loyalty to Fabretti and the Corporate Officers. They will not side with us.”
“Then we will fight,” said Aurelius. “They will be allowed to leave, if they choose. But if they choose to fight us, they will know the full fury of the Legion.”
There was a long pause as the assembled warriors glanced around the circle. Aurelius’ mind was already set, as was Cicero. They would continue with the plan, even if they had to do so without the aid of the others. It would make it easier if they were united in this, but not impossible. The tension grew as they glanced back and forth.
“I said it before and I shall say it again,” said Vespasianus. “The Legio Scythica stands with their brothers in the Legio Ferrata.”
The tension broke and Aurelius felt relief run through him. He was not looking forward to fighting his brothers.
“Legio Victrix is with you, Legatus,” said Lucianus.
“Know this,” said Tarquinius. “This will only end in blood. I agree with the necessity of the act, but this will not end without bloodshed. The Legio Fulminata is at your command, Legatus.”
“As is the Legio Fretensis,” said Silvanus.
“The shields of the Legio Gallica will join the Legio Ferrata,” said Thracius.
“Let us hope that history remembers us as warriors, not traitors,” said Herminius. “Legio MMDXXIII Augusta stands with you.”
“I shall not let you down, my brothers,” said Aurelius.
With that, the eight men parted and moved off into the night, each returning to their posts. Cicero was picking his way through some rubble when Thracius fell into step beside him.
“Can he really pull this off?” asked Thracius.
“If anyone can, it will be Marcus Gaius Aurelius,” said Cicero. “His men would follow him into the gates of the abyss with smiles on their faces. They do so because they know he will lead them there, not merely order them. They also know that he will bring them home again.”
“After seeing the footage of the battles,” said Thracius, “I can understand why.”
“I fought here on Hadrian, beside his men,” explained Cicero. “I bled here, along with him. We would have all died here without him. If there is one amongst us worthy of being called Caesar, it is him.”
“Much like another warrior centuries ago,” said Thracius, “he will march into Rome at the head of his Legions.”
Chapter XIV
Pomp and Circumstance
“It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that
great things are achieved, but by reflection,
force of character, and judgment.”
- Marcus Tullius Cicero
Morning came, and Aurelius stepped from the sonic shower, awake and ready. He was nervous but determined to see this through to no matter what end. Standing in front of the sink basin, he added water to his antique shaving cup and used the whisk brush to lather up the soap inside. The shaving cup and straight razor had been a gift from his father when he had been promoted to Centurion of Cohort IX of the Iron Legion. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now.
“No man should go without a good shave, my son,” his father had said.
The words echoed back to him now, as they did each time, he lathered up the foam and reached for the razor. A few quick passes across the strop and the keen edge was restored. Aurelius knew that the well-honed blade would give him a perfect shave, but caution had to be exercised. He had given himself more than one scar in mastering the art of shaving with a straight razor.
Gazing into the mirror, he saw the foam was well distributed over his neck, chin and face. He also noted the tattoo on his left pectoral. Like many of the legionnaires of old, he had inscribed the bold letters “SPQR” in heavy Roman Script. Running his fingers over the tattoo, he remembered the meaning.
It stood for, Senātus Populus que Rōmānus or The Roman Senate and People. The Legion was the heart of ancient Rome, a fact that Fabretti Interplanetary had forgotten. Rome fell when the Legion fell. More than once, history had taught civilizations a tough lesson. The fate of the military was the fate of the people. Without them, freedom could not stand. Freedom was a luxury paid for with the blood of soldiers.
Smiling, he accepted the lesson of the blade. Caution had to be exercised in every aspect of life or the fine edge would cut you to the bone. His grey-blue eyes focused on the task as he began to scrape away the foam and with it the fine growth of hair beneath. This shave had to be perfect. He did not want any blood on his face or neck when he accepted his formal promotion and awards at the ceremony today.
He also did not want anything to distract his men from the speech he was going to give. This was going to be a day for the historical archives. If his plans succeeded, then he would not have the title of Legatus Legionis for very long. Soon he would be trading it in for the title of Caesar of the newly formed Nova Roma
Empire. If they failed, then he would be dead. Either way, he would not carry the title of Legatus for long.
Finishing the shave, he rinsed his face with hot water and toweled himself dry. Gazing up into the mirror, he saw that his jaw line was intact. There was no hint of blood, other than a new jagged scar that ran from his chin to his hairline, courtesy of the T’kri’t’ek. With the fresh shave, the scar stood out like a beacon on his face. The scar did not detract from his appearance. Instead, it gave him the rugged look of a warrior older than his years. There was also a massive purple scar on his right pectoral where the scythe-blade of the T’kri’t’ek had pierced armor, muscle and bone, nearly killing him.
His hair was of perfect length for his helmet. He had stopped by the ship’s barber before turning in the night before. The thick black hair was kept a precise two centimeters on the sides and four centimeters on top. There wasn’t even a hint of grey in it. Although, he secretly thought that a touch of grey at the temples would add a certain amount of dignity to his appearance.
After wiping his face dry, he toweled off his torso and stepped back into his Spartan bedchamber. There was a military sized bed and regulation closet. Only a few mementos and pictures adorned the wall above the small desk. It was his wall of accomplishments. He was already wondering what he would do with his two legion medals of honor. After today, it was likely that he’d never set foot in this room again.
Opening the closet, he removed his dress uniform and began laying it out while carefully checking the placement of the medals and ribbons on the sash. His dress armor chest-piece was polished to a mirrored sheen. Next, he placed the glossy leather scabbard that would hold the Spatha on his hip. The pistol belt would buckle on beneath the scabbard and the brass buckles gleamed like gold.
The leather and brass kilt was laid out beside the chest plate. The final item he removed from the closet was his knee-high black boots that had the symbols of the Iron Legion pressed into them in silver and brass. The left boot had the representation of the wolf with the eagle of the legion. The right boot had the representation of the bull and the eagle. In silver lettering down the outside of both boots were the twin standards of the Legio MMXIV Ferrata.
Lost Legion- Blood and Honor Page 14