Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles)

by Ottalini, Daniel

  Wiping the blood from his spatha, Constantine took the chance to check their position. The sounds of conflict were now filtering through the streets. Up ahead, a bell began clanging urgently. The sounds of shutters being thrown open and shouts and curses filled the street. Constantine quickly gathered his men, posting a few to watch the streets while he gave instructions.

  “We have to make it to the harbor. We can’t get bogged down. Onwards!” One of his legionnaires raised a hand. “Yes, Legionnaire Adueinus?”

  “Sir, what do you want us to do about civilians?”

  Constantine realized they had been given no orders about civilians. After a brief moment of hesitation, he replied, “We’ll try to avoid them. If they come at you, defend yourselves, but for heaven’s sake, don’t stab or kill anyone who isn’t doing anything! We don’t need an insurrection on our hands. Any other questions?” There was a brief lull, a few shaking heads.

  “Sir,” interrupted one of the sentries, “I’ve got movement at the end of the street.”

  That settles it. We’ve got to get to the harbor before we get swarmed. “Okay men,” Constantine said in his most authoritative voice, “let’s go steal the harbor from right under their noses.”

  Chapter 5

  Julius

  The first indication that something was wrong was when Julius hit the roof instead of a street. The bone-crunching impact jarred Julius’s carpteneo from his grasp. Without a way to slow his descent, Julius fell three stories onto the hard cobblestones. Only the fortuitous presence of a hapless pedestrian saved Julius from sure death. The man squawked as he broke Julius’s fall, and they both tumbled to the ground.

  Julius felt his left leg twist awkwardly. By the gods, that hurts! he thought, then muttered some choice words that would have gotten him a slap from his mother as pain shot up his leg. He did a quick check of the rest of his body, then pulled himself to his feet using a nearby cart as a crutch. Still gripping its side, he hopped along it to a small bench and eased onto it to unknot his bootlaces and probe his ankle. Stars swam before his eyes at the pain his fingers found.

  Legionnaires were still dropping from the airship. Sub-Centurion Gwendyrn had followed Julius, managing to shimmy off the roof without injuring himself or losing his slider. Thinking on his feet, Gwendyrn dragged the rope over and tied it to a solid beam at the front of a house across from the building he and Julius had encountered. The rest of the men slid in a gentle arc toward a safe landing in the street. Seemingly unaware that his commanding officer was injured, Gwendyrn muttered something about “officers taking a break while the locals do all the work.”

  “I heard that. You look nothing like the locals. You even smell better,” Julius said. “Besides, you’re Junior Centurion Gwendyrn—you’re an officer too!”

  With Gwendyrn handling the deployment of the men, Julius turned to his mind to their location. He was still fiddling with the map when Gwendyrn joined him and after a moment stuck a match. The thin flame provided just enough light for Julius to make out details on the map.

  “Maybe you should get glasses. Sir,” the junior centurion quipped as he shook the stub of the sixth match while Julius tried miserably to identify their location. He was having trouble fighting through the pain to focus on the mission.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, maybe you should learn to read, then you can do it for me,” Julius responded, then gasped as Gwendyrn accidentally brushed his leg.

  Surprised, Gwendyrn peered into Julius’s face, seeing the pain and the unlaced boot for the first time. He immediately turned and called over their medico to take a look at the ankle.

  After a few moments, the smaller man gave his prognosis. “Just sprained? You’re sure?” Julius asked. How can a sprain cause so much pain? He cursed again, loudly, as the medico ran his hands roughly over the ankle, probing this place and that.

  “That looks painful. But I’ve seen worse back home on the farm,” Gwendyrn stated. “What do you want us to do, sir?”

  “Find me something, anything, to help me walk. Crutches, something like that,” Julius grated, failing to hide a grimace. Gwendyrn marched away, shouting at the men to go into the homes to search for a pair of crutches or a cane.

  “Brace yourself, sir,” Legionnaire Hespinus said. “I’ll have to put the foot into a splint. I don’t want that limb to move any more than it needs to.” The medico pulled some bandages from his kit and began to wrap the ankle. When this was done, Hespinus helped Julius to his feet. “Try putting your weight on it, sir. I heard Under-Officer Gwendyrn say we’re about to move out.”

  Gingerly, Julius took a few steps, heavily favoring his weakened leg. Sweat trickled down his back and he clenched his teeth at the pain. He nodded respectfully to Hespinus. “Got any pain meds?”

  The man handed over a small bottle. “Just one sip, sir, will take away the worst out of the pain.”

  Julius took a quick sip. “What is this?” he sputtered as the fiery liquid burned its way into his stomach.

  Hespinus opened his mouth, but a screeching war cry interrupted him.

  “Incoming enemy!” shouted a sentry as the legionnaires raced to the western side of their street.

  “What is that?” a frightened voice cried.

  Julius looked past him at a hulking machine charging at them from the end of the street. An eerie cry erupted from it to bounce off the walls hedging the road on either side. A fresh flare blossomed above its racing form, allowing the Romans to make out a few details. It resembled a large predator running toward them.

  Julius heard Gwendyrn shouting orders as the men formed a shield wall. Shaking his head to ward off the mind-numbing effects of the pain meds, he watched in disbelief as the construct leapt the shield wall and turned abruptly, swatting at legionnaires with a huge paw. Men went flying into the side of nearby buildings.

  “Use your plumbata!” Gwendyrn shouted, directing his men to attack the beast with their explosive spears. He used one himself, throwing it right at the mouth of the machine. The predator dodged nimbly, and it was then that Julius saw the silhouette of a man riding atop the machine, protected by the crest of the animal’s head. Julius turned to tell Hespinus what he saw, but the medico had run off to tend to the fallen men.

  Anger rose in his chest. His men were dying while he sat here, useless. There’s got to be something I can do! It was only a matter of time until that metal beast crushed his small demi-cohort. About a quarter of his men were down already, and swords and repeater crossbows would be of no use against the metal hide of that construct. He looked around, searching for something to distract the driver.

  His eyes paused on an oil lantern lying on the far side of the wagon bed. Leaning across the wagon, arm outstretched, he grasped the lantern and dragged it toward him. Focusing on his task, he pulled a small packet of matches from his belt pouch and began striking, putting every ounce of concentration he could muster into it. He felt as though his arms were moving through water.

  Finally, with a hiss, the match burst into flame, and he carefully maneuvered it into the lantern. I hope there’s enough oil still inside. He could hear it sloshing around, but that could mean anything.

  It seemed like it took forever, but the wick finally caught the flame and came to life. He turned up the light as much as possible, then placed it on the wagon while he got to his feet, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the blast of pain. But the combination of adrenaline and medicine was effective, because all he felt was a low throbbing.

  He quickly surveyed the scene as he grasped the handle of the lantern. In its light, he made out the vaguely lupine design of the war machine, and for a moment Julius was in awe of the Nortland mechanics. Then he looked past the beast, searching for his men.

  They were scattered by the mecha-wolf’s snapping jaws and swiping paw, but the narrow confines of the street prevent
ed the men from spreading out much. The same buildings that hemmed in his men also hindered the beast, though; his legionnaires could duck into alleyways and stores, then pop out to harass the creature with arrow and spear.

  “Gwendyrn!” Julius called to his fellow officer. “There’s a rider! If you can flank him, you can kill the rider!”

  “Thanks for that observation, sir!” Gwendyrn called back from his position about three buildings down the street, where the hefty swings from the beast’s metal claws were taking out chunks of brick and mortar around him. “Let me just find a free moment to do that!”

  Julius sighed, smiling wryly as he swung the lantern underhand at the beast. The lantern smashed against the rear of the mecha-wolf and exploded in a flash of light. The fatty oil clung burning to the surface of the beast, seeping into crevices and gaps between armor plates, burning delicate control pistons and wires. The beast turned and fled from its attackers, leaving a trail of light ghosting across Julius’s eyes.

  Gwendyrn must have been waiting for just this type of moment. Racing out from the narrow alleyway, he planted himself low behind his angled shield. The creature’s feet hit the shield, knocking Gwendyrn off balance and sending him spinning off, but the powerful machine careened to the side, crashing through the wooden facades of several buildings and setting the structures ablaze. Several legionnaires ran over and picked their way through the debris to make sure the driver was dead.

  Julius took a moment to assess the state of his unit. About a third of his men were down with injuries. The rest gathered to watch the flames consuming the metal carcass of their attacker. Using a broken board as a crutch, Julius hobbled over. The men heaped praise upon him, effusive in their happiness at defeating the machine.

  “Quick thinking, sir.”

  “You really saved us there, Centurion Caesar!”

  “Nice and toasty, just the way we like it, eh, Centurion?”

  Gwendyrn pushed his way through the men until he stood face to face with his commanding officer. “Sir, shouldn’t we try to alert some of these people? The fire will surely spread.” He jerked his chin at the burning buildings, concern tugging his brows down.

  Julius glared at him. All the hatred and anger over the loss of his family surged up inside him once again. Did these people deserve a chance when his family had none, the black parts of his heart seemed to ask. “No,” Julius heard himself say.

  Gwendyrn glared at him, the flames from the burning buildings flickering off his eyes. Gwendyrn stared at him for a long time, as if waiting for something.

  Julius shrugged and turned away. Behind him, Gwendyrn called, “Is that an order, sir? That we should not alert these people to the danger?”

  Julius turned. “We’re at war, Junior Centurion Gwendyrn. Everyone is in danger. Even us. Now, I think it’s time we gathered up our wounded and moved on the objective.”

  As his part of the XIII Germania mobilized and prepared to move out, he noticed that Gwendyrn was missing. He looked around, expecting the man to reappear somewhere. He’s probably off scouting the perimeter, Julius decided as he hobbled along. Then he saw Gwendyrn slip out of a doorway. The former farmer quickly turned and walked away. When Julius gave him orders later, he found it odd that Gwendyrn made no mention of what he had learned on his scout mission.

  As Julius and his men moved on toward their objective, alarm bells began to pierce the night, calling the local bucket and hose brigades out to deal with the spreading fire.

  Bright daylight flooded the smoldering city. A small river ran west to east through Sundsvall, splitting it in two, and much of the southern part of the city lay in ruins. The fire had started quickly and burned quickly, leaving only the frames of a few stone buildings still standing. The stone temple of Gustav-Adolfus was one of those structures. Many of the townspeople had fled there for shelter, and were now fanning out across the city.

  Julius sat atop the low stone wall that surrounded the waterfront district. Behind him, the ships of the expedition fleet were moored against the wooden piers jutting into the bay. The sounds and sights of the disembarking army washed over him as he rested his eyes for a while. It had been a long night.

  First, the debacle at the landing site. Then the attack of the mecha-wolf and the slog through the streets afterward. Of course, there was also his choice of orders. The one that, in the light of day, surrounded by devastation and death, Julius was beginning to question.

  Hearing footsteps approaching, he opened his eyes. Gwendyrn was walking along the balustrade, coming his way. Julius contemplated leaving, but he was positioned just perfectly and as he reached for his crutch, he knocked it to the walkway. Cursing, he reached for it, but the other man got there first. He picked it up and handed it to Julius, then settled against the low lip of the wall next to him. They stared at nothing in particular, each waiting for the other man to break the silence.

  After a few long moments, Gwendyrn said, “Quite the vista, eh?”

  Julius turned to look at his under-officer and nearly choked out his response. “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Ah, you mean Brittenburg, right after the flood? Yes, well, I suppose there wasn’t a dam here you could bust now, could you?” Gwendyrn picked up a small stone and tossed it from hand to hand, still refusing to look his commander in the eyes. “I’ve heard reports that half the townsfolk are missing. They’re somewhere out there.” He gestured to the smoldering cityscape. “You know—mothers without sons, fathers without daughters, wives missing husbands. But I suppose, of course, that they deserved it, being barbarians and all. I’m sure they were the masterminds behind the raid on your hometown . . . sir.”

  Julius wobbled to his feet, his face twisted in outrage. He could feel his anger burning red hot inside him. He wanted to hit Gwendyrn, to wipe that smirk off the larger man’s face. How dare the man make fun of his loss and pain and suffering?

  Gwendyrn tossed the rock off the battlement and stood calmly before Julius, ignoring the waves of anger and hate radiating from Julius. How can he be so calm? I ought to have him flogged or thrown out!

  “How dare you!” Julius sputtered. “I’ll have you demoted and thrown out of the legions. Those barbarians destroyed my home, my family, everyone I loved. These barbarians might not have been there, but what’s the difference? I’ll have you strung up and flogged and—and—” Julius’s rant devolved into a string of heavy curses and invocations of the gods. He was waving his arms and gesturing at Gwendyrn when his crutch struck a crenellation and he pitched backward, nearly falling off the wall. His arms pinwheeled and the crutch dropped beyond the wall, bouncing off several stacked boxes.

  Unable to use both feet to right himself, Julius flailed atop the rampart, looking like a turtle turned shell side down. Gwendyrn stood and watched him, unmoving. “Well don’t just sit there, help me!” Julius ordered, his voice cracking as he frantically tried to avoid falling the fifteen or so feet to the street below.

  Just when he felt his body beginning to slip over the edge, Gwendyrn’s gauntleted hand grasped his arm and hauled him back over the edge. “Seriously, sir?” the big man said. “I’m glad you’ll take help from a barbarian when you need it, because otherwise it seems to be fair game on any of them.”

  Julius glanced up at him once he had regained his composure, and for the first time he looked past the outward signs of Romanness—the armor, weapon, uniform. I always assumed he was mostly Roman, except for his name. “I didn’t mean it that way—”

  Gwendyrn cursed at him. “Spare me your whining, sir. My family has more children than I have fingers on my hand. I lived in a shack my entire life on a farm no bigger than your apartment. We did not have an ‘autodryer’ to do the dishes. We didn’t even have running water!” Whirling, Gwendyrn marched away in disgust, then turned and glared at Julius. “Yes, you lost your family, and I’m sorry. You ar
en’t the only one who is having issues, sir, but you have to get it together. Your decisions impact everyone in this cohort. Other men, they can go about their business, they know it wasn’t these people who did the damage to the city. In case you forgot, it was a rebellion. Yes, the Nortlanders were involved, and that’s why we’re here, but we’re also here chasing those rebels.”

  Julius stared at Gwendyrn, shocked. Gone was the humorous banter, the slightly childish bearing. In its place was an angry man, disgusted and ashamed of his commanding officer’s behavior. And Julius realized something then—he was ashamed of himself too. All his words and actions and choices weighed on him more heavily than the loss of his family.

  Julius placed his hands on his head and slumped down, ignoring the throbbing pain from his ankle.

  Gwendyrn sat heavily next to him. “I know how you’re feeling, sir. But take my advice. Keep the personal, personal. This is business. And those people out there, they’re business. We didn’t come here to slaughter innocents. I helped cover for your . . . lack of sensitivity . . . yesterday.”

  Julius looked questioningly at him. Gwendyrn shrugged. “I woke up a neighbor and told them to run for the fire department when we left. No one deserves to die in a fire.”

  Feeling more ashamed than ever, Julius sat in silence for a while. Gwendyrn remained next to him, waiting patiently. Finally Julius spoke. He had to clear his throat a few times to get the words out. “Junior Centurion, did I ever tell you about my family?” Gwendyrn shook his head. Julius smiled. “Let me rectify that right now.

  “You would have liked Marciena. I joined for her, you know. To send her to school. I know it’s not the thing to do, but I wanted my sister to be smarter than me, maybe even marry up in this world. And my father, well, I think he’d like you too.”