The Eternal Empire

by Geoff Fabron

  Franz knew the scene was being repeated at crossing points all along the frontier, and there was no need for him to be here. He should have been back at army head quarters sorting out any problems with the plans, but he wanted to see the beginning with his own eyes. From the moment the first team crossed the border the war had to all intents and purposes begun.

  It was an historic moment, Franz told himself solemnly, one to remember forever. His mind searched for a precedent from history and, ironically, came up with Julius Caesar standing on the banks of the Rubicon watching his troops march on Rome. The comparison amused Franz.

  "Once again, the die is cast. Perhaps this time an Empire will fall instead of being founded."

  1st August 1920

  Constantinople

  Chief Minister Exanzenus read through the papers in his hands for a second time. It was a report on the ambush of tribune Bryennius's patrol and the massacre of the villagers in the church. Leo Ducas had sent the report directly to the Emperor instead of through normal channels and had demanded that he be allowed to launch a punitive raid to punish the atrocity.

  Alexander, seeing a way to increase his standing with the people by endorsing popular opinion had agreed and had ordered Exanzenus to approve it. The chief minister had questioned the wisdom of escalating what had been an isolated incident, but the Emperor had insisted and Exanzenus had demurred. After all, a minor conflict would divert the attention of the newspapers from the economic and political crisis besetting the Empire.

  There was a knock on his door and his secretary showed Gregory Nicerites in. He was carrying a copy of the same report that the chief minister had been reading together with the order approving the punitive operation.

  "I see that you've received the papers on the Egyptian incident," said Exanzenus casually, "is there a problem?"

  "I've just been to see the Chief of Military Operations," said Gregory standing in front of Exanzenus's desk. "He's of the opinion that the army in Egypt is not capable of undertaking the type of operation that General Ducas has in mind."

  "And why is that?" asked Exanzenus coolly. He did not like Gregory Nicerites but he was from a well connected family and it would take time to replace him. Besides, he was good at his job.

  "The army in Egypt is purely a defensive force", explained Gregory, trying not to sound patronising or irritated. In his opinion, the chief minister should at least understand the rudiments of imperial defence strategy. "In the event of a war, their role is to stand on the defensive behind the chain of forts from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea. Offensive actions against the Caliphate is to be undertaken by the army of Asia Minor. The Egyptian legions only have a few mobile units and they are at the bottom of the list for modernisation."

  "General Ducas is undertaking a punitive expedition," said Exanzenus as though explaining something to a child. "He's not launching a crusade to retake Jerusalem."

  As Gregory began to speak again, the chief minister silenced him by raising both his hands as though in submission. "The Emperor has agreed and already approved it, so there is nothing either of us can do about it."

  Gregory shook his head in resignation. He was about to leave when Exanzenus asked him to stay for a few moments.

  "While you're here Nicerites," he said, "you might as well bring me up to date on the situation in Britannia."

  Gregory took the change of subject in his stride and mentally summarised the last couple of reports that he had received from the province.

  "The island is free of any organised resistance in the south, but there's still fierce fighting in the north." Gregory spoke mechanically, without emotion. He still disapproved of the action being taken but it was too late to change things now. "The garrison at Deva has been relieved and the naval base at Petuaria should be reached by our troops within the next few days. The rebel forces and their 'mercenary' allies have formed a defence line about seventy miles south of the Caledonian border. Our commander in Britannia is concentrating his forces to deal with this and expects to clear the province of opposition within a month."

  Exanzenus bestowed a rare smile on Gregory. "Good news at last Nicerites," he said. "This rebellion will soon be crushed. It will serve as an object lesson to the other provinces. Is there anything else?"

  "We've received reports that the Caledonians have begun to mobilise some of their reserve units."

  "That is to be expected with an imperial army approaching their borders”, Countered Exanzenus. “I wouldn't be unduly concerned."

  "There has also been an increase in military activity all over Saxony in the past two days," added Gregory. "We have lost contact with the Minden embassy. No couriers have arrived and the telephone and telegraph lines are dead."

  Exanzenus showed a spark of interest. "What does the Saxon government have to say about this?"

  "Their ambassador denies all knowledge of anything untoward and their officials in Saxony claim that the communication break is a 'technical problem' that will be fixed in a day or two."

  The chief minister looked at Gregory thoughtfully for a few moments.

  "It does seem very odd," he agreed. "Find out more information. Contact the commander of the Rhine army and see what he has to say. Let me know if you discover anything of importance."

  With that Gregory was dismissed and he made his way back to his own office where he immediately drafted a telegram to Manual Dikouros. He instructed him, on behalf of the chief minister to investigate the isolation of the Minden embassy and the recent Saxon army movements. When he had finished and had instructed his assistant to send it, Gregory sat back in his chair. He had managed to get Exanzenus to take some notice of the Rhine situation, but there was very little information available. He wished that he could get hold of Cornelius. He was probably sitting on a pile of useful information at the embassy right now, thought Gregory.

  He was half right.

  1st August 1920

  Rhine frontier, Saxony

  It took Cornelius another five days to reach the River Rhine. The difficult terrain had slowed him down as did the necessity to take detours to avoid the increasing number of Saxon troops that were moving into the area. He tried to move at night but soon gave it up as being too risky. He had to avoid any paths and on the uneven ground he could easily fall and break an ankle. As he neared the river the natural vegetation gave way to a series of well kept vineyards covering the hillsides. Even though they meant that he was close to his goal, the long tidy rows of vines made it more difficult to hide. Cornelius had to wait until all the workers left for their midday meal before quickly making his way through the vineyards to the banks of the Rhine.

  Having reached the river, Cornelius joined the scores of people travelling along the roads and paths that skirted the Rhine. Many of them, like him, carried rucksacks and had the rather scruffy look of hikers who had been on the road for a while. Unsure of his exact location he arbitrarily chose a direction and set off. After about an hour he came across a small village with a jetty full of boats. He found a comfortable spot that allowed him a good view and sat down to plan his next move.

  Getting across the Rhine turned out to be a bit of an anti-climax. Cornelius was expecting to steal a boat or force its owner to take him across. However, as he sat watching the activity around the jetty he noticed a steady stream of people who simply wandered up to the boat owners and engaged them in conversation, pointing meaningfully over to the other side of the river. Money changed hands, they got into the boat and off it went down stream and out of sight around a bend in the river. About an hour later it returned without its passengers.

  Cornelius observed this a number of times and decided to give it a try. He got up and casually strolled over to one of the boatman he had seen make the trip a couple of times already that afternoon.

  Cornelius smiled and greeted him in his best German, pointing over to the west bank.

  "How much?" he asked, keeping his conversation short and trying to disguise his accent
.

  "Three thalers," replied the boat owner, an old man with white hair, a well weathered face and no teeth. If he thought Cornelius's German was strange he did not comment on it.

  Three thalers was an extortionate amount thought Cornelius. The old man probably took him for a naive tourist or somebody trying to avoid paying customs duty on some high value souvenir. Either way it did not matter what he thought as long as he got across.

  "Fine," agreed Cornelius and fished three gold coins out of his pocket. He gave them to the old man, who then led him to a small worn out motor boat that looked as old as he did.

  Cornelius sat at the front of the boat, facing the boat owner so that he could keep an eye on him. The old Saxon managed to get the engine started at the third attempt, cast off and manoeuvred his boat into the fast flowing river.

  As the boat accelerated, propelled as much by the strong current as by the boats decrepit engine Cornelius relaxed a little and enjoyed the trip. He was nearly home now. Soon he would be on imperial soil.

  The bank opposite the village that they had left was steep and not practical for landing. They had to travel a couple of miles further before they came to a small settlement on the west bank with a jetty. The layout of this village was identical to the one that he had just left, only the imperial style of architecture distinguished it from its Teutonic cousin on the opposite bank.

  Cornelius realised that the boatman was not planning to stop at this village and asked him why. By way of reply he pointed to the customs shed on the jetty. Cornelius instructed the old man, in a firm and slightly aggressive tone to turn towards the jetty and drop him off there. The aged Saxon looked at him with bewilderment and then shrugged his shoulders, and steered his boat towards the village muttering something about having money and no sense.

  The senior customs officer at the village was a typical, low level bureaucrat who revelled in the power that his position gave him. At first he refused to believe that the dirty and smelly person before him, who was dressed like a Saxon but spoke perfect Latin, was an imperial diplomat. Luckily, Cornelius had kept his letter of accreditation to the Minden embassy with him and presented it to the official. From the look he got from the customs man, it was clear that he had never seen such a document before and had doubts about its authenticity. However, Cornelius played on those doubts and managed to get himself sent to the local police station.

  The police commander was not any help either although he was prepared to accept that Cornelius was who he said he was. Cornelius wanted to use the telephone but discovered that the village was not connected. He asked to borrow a motor carriage but was informed that it was against policy to lend police vehicles to the public. He asked to be driven to the nearest place with a telephone but was told that they could not spare the manpower.

  In exasperation Cornelius told him that a Saxon invasion was imminent and he had to contact the nearest legionary garrison but the only reaction that he got was a condescending smile. Finally Cornelius obtained directions to the nearest telephone and stormed out. As he left, Cornelius had the uncharitable thought that he would not be particularly upset if the first act by the invading Saxon army was to wipe this place off the face of the earth.

  1st August 1920

  Headquarters, Saxon First Army

  Franz Maleric was unaware that Cornelius had managed to cross the Rhine. He would not have cared anyway since it was too late to call off the attack. He looked up at the large clock mounted on the wall of the operations room that had been set up in the headquarters of the Saxon First Army. In less than twelve hours, he thought, it would begin.

  The situation map on the table in the centre of the room was being updated as units reported in. A series of blackboards covered the wall below the clock and held the status, location and strength of every regiment taking part in the attack. On the opposite wall another set of boards recorded the intelligence estimates of the imperial forces.

  The strength of the Saxon army as shown by the neat chalk marks looked woefully inadequate for the task ahead, but as the evening drew on, the regiments would be filled out by men quietly called from their homes. Trains were on their way from the interior, and would arrive at stations all along the frontier where men would be matched up with the secret caches of equipment. At airfields all over the western half of Saxony, aircraft that had flown in over the past few days and had been carefully hidden since then, were being checked, fuelled and armed.

  At five o'clock the next morning the Saxon ambassador in Constantinople would deliver the declaration of war. Franz personally considered it a total waste of time, but the King had insisted. Anyway the advance teams would have already started their attack.

  Franz felt good as he watched the well oiled machine of the army staff go about their business. Perversely, the theft of the plans had worked in his favour. Godisger had given him a temporary promotion to Deputy Army Chief of Staff which effectively put him in charge of the invasion. Franz decided that if he ever met Katherine's Roman 'boyfriend' again he must not forget to thank him - before putting a bullet between his eyes.

  1st August 1920

  Along the Rhine

  Cornelius got to the small post office which housed the only telephone in the area just before it closed. He tried to call his uncles villa, but was told that he was not there. He tried the headquarters of the legio I Germanica next. His uncle was not there either but he was able to get hold of one of the tribunes whom he had met on the way back from his trip to Constantinople. Cornelius briefly explained what had happened and said that the Saxons could attack anytime. The tribune, although sceptical, said that he would send a motor carriage to pick him up and would contact his uncle.

  It was getting dark when Cornelius finally reached the headquarters. Tiberius Petronius had just arrived and was shocked to see the state that his nephew was in. Cornelius refused the offer to take a bath straight away, taking the plans out of his rucksack and spreading them out over his uncles’ desk instead.

  "What are these?" asked Tiberius.

  "Copies of the Saxon invasion plan," replied Cornelius. "The attack could start any day now. I saw them concentrating troops in the woods and preparing their heavy equipment for use."

  Tiberius began to search though the documents before him, glancing up every now and then to look at Cornelius. These papers were a gold mine of information for the intelligence section, thought Tiberius, but if his nephew was correct there was a more pressing matter.

  "Are you certain the Saxons are going to attack?"

  "Yes," confirmed Cornelius, "I'm very certain."

  Tiberius turned to the other officers in the room.

  "Put the legion on a war footing immediately. Deploy all units from their barracks to defensive positions and alert all airfields and auxiliary cohorts in our area."

  The officers saluted and left the room to implement the orders. Tiberius turned to his orderly standing nearby.

  "Get me General Dikouros on the telephone now! I don't care where he is or who's he with. Just get him!"

  The soldier rushed off to the switch board, situated in a room next to Tiberius's office.

  "Well Cornelius my boy," he said to his nephew, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the desk, "I hope that you're wrong and the Saxons don't attack, but if they do we'll be ready for them."

  One of the tribunes that Tiberius had sent out with orders earlier reappeared in the doorway.

  "Sir," he asked his commander, "since we are not formally at war with Saxony we will need to issue some rules of engagement to the troops."

  Tiberius looked at the tribune thoughtfully before giving him an answer.

  "If a Saxon puts so much as a toe on the west bank of the Rhine blow him to hell!"

  1st August 1920

  Caledonia

  It was still dark when the aircraft took off and the runways had to be illuminated by flaming oil drums. They had practised night flying many times since their arrival in Caledonia f
rom Saxony and had lost five of their number in doing so. Tonight it was for real and despite the increased tension that the pilots felt, or possibly because of it, there were no accidents as they took off and headed for the open sea.

  The lead aircraft spotted the first reference point a few minutes after takeoff. A ship from the Caledonian navy, lit up from bow to stern had been holding its position all night in order to provide navigational assistance to the aircraft. One by one each plane turned as it flew over the ship and headed for the next reference point. By the time that dawn broke the fifty-five aircraft involved in operation 'sea lance' would have been guided by half a dozen different ships and would be about seventy miles from their target.

  2nd August 1920

  Headquarters, legio I Germanica

  It was well after midnight before Tiberius managed to reach Manual Dikouros. The commander of the Rhine armies had been dining out with a delegation of senators from Constantinople and had not told his servants where he was going. He was not at all happy to receive a call from one of his legionary commanders at this hour. He was even less happy to hear what he had to say.

  Although he had been drinking heavily, Dikouros sobered up fast when Tiberius informed him that Cornelius had arrived from Saxony bearing evidence that the Saxons were going to attack. The telegram from Gregory Nicerites instructing him to investigate reports of Saxon troop movements and the loss of contact with the Minden embassy had arrived earlier. Dikouros broke out in a cold sweat.

  The important thing, he told himself, was not to panic or make any rash decisions. Given time he knew that he could gain control of the situation and limit any damage to his reputation. Tiberius was pushing him to alert the entire army immediately.