“Apparently, I have and decided to go ahead with the attack on Messina,” Claudius announced. “As soon as we have sunlight, I want to be on the way. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Tribune,” the four Legion Captains replied.
***
Alerio watched as the first line of transports pushed off and were caught in the north bound current of the Strait. The crews backed their oars down attempting to slow their progress. But the Corbita transports were under powered and soon, the first six were strung out while the last five were just untying from Rhégion pier.
Two Triremes launched from the beach and rowed frantically to get ahead of the lead transport. They had almost reached them when Qart Hadasht warships emerged from the Messina harbor.
***
First Sergeant Brictius shouted at the Greek Captain of the transport as the harbor of Messina slid by.
“Turn the ship, you gutless sack of merda,” he bellowed.
“Current has us,” the Greek replied while pointing at the harbor entrance. “Blocked, it’s blocked.”
Brictius hoisted himself up on the pilot deck, glared at the Captain before turning to study the harbor. Sure enough, merchant ships were tied bow to stern across the mouth of the harbor.
“We need to board those ships,” he declared. “When can we turn?”
The Captain indicated ahead where the land narrowed and the waters of the Strait seemed to boil against the shorelines.
“When can we come about?” asked the First Sergeant.
“Out past the Strait’s current in the open water,” the Greek reported. Then he called attention to the ships behind them. “Better here than back there.”
First Sergeant Brictius spun around and he ground his teeth in frustration.
***
Senior Centurion Georgius’ transport started to turn towards the harbor. The current gripped the deep draft of the Corbita, causing it to sail sideways as the four crewmen strained to row across the Strait. He judged they wouldn’t make it based on how swiftly the shoreline fell behind them.
“What’s our alternative course?” he asked the Greek Captain.
“Make it to open water and turn around,” the Captain related. “But we may not make it.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Georgius.
The Captain lifted a hand from the rear steering oars and pointed at the hook of land that protected Messina harbor. Waves rolled back from an Empire warship’s ram and quickly, the ship itself rowed fully into the Strait. The ram, riding just below water level, tossed back white foam and blue water. Before Senior Centurion Georgius could shout a warning to the fifty-five armored Legionaries huddled in the cargo hole, the ram slammed into the transport’s side.
The ram punctured the hull and the Qart Hadasht rowers on the port side shipped their oars. With the Starboard oars doing power rows, the Empire warship turned further off its attack angle. As the warship arched away, the ram splintered and shattered a gash half the length of the transport.
On the pilot deck, Georgius actually looked down on the deck and the rowers of the Empire warship. Below the waterline, the ram killed two Legionaries on the initial punch through the hull. No one else died as the brass head and shaft moved down the hull as unstoppable as a boulder tumbling down a mountain. Some managed to remove their helmets before the cold waters of the Strait slammed into the fifty-five Legionaries. And as if fingers, the water pulled the transport over, trapping them in the overturning ship. Their screams became muted gurgles as the Corbita was sucked down into the depts of the Messina Strait.
***
First Sergeant Brictius screamed his anger as the Empire warships quickly rammed three transports. The ships flipped over and his heart broke as one hundred and sixty-five of his Legionaries died without a chance to fight back. Then the first two Legion Triremes rowed at the Empire warships.
At first, they gave him hope of revenge. But the Empire ships easily avoided the rams of the Republic ships. Looking far to the south, he sought the other two Triremes. They weren’t in the water. Both rested on Rhégion beach, near where they were when the convoy launched.
At the pier, five transports had made it back to the dock. A quick count and he realized only two others were underway. They, as well, were caught in the current being propelled north. Thankfully, the Empire warships were busy with the Republic’s Triremes. The transports slipped by the battling warships.
Just before his transport rounded a finger of land and he lost sight of that part of the Strait, an Empire warship rolled and turned. It starboard side oars momentarily out of the water jutting towards the sky. Then the warship righted itself and the ram angled down the side of a Republic’s Trireme.
***
Alerio gasped at the quickness of the Empire warships. He understood the sluggish nature of the transports, but he was embarrassed by the poor performance of the Republic’s Triremes.
With the three transports at the mouth of the Strait and his sister Trireme floundering, the last Republic warship rowed for the safety of Rhégion beach. As if vipers returning to their snake pit, the warships of the Qart Hadasht Empire slithered back into Messina harbor.
“Lance Corporal Sisera. My eyes aren’t as good as they once were,” admitted Tribune Velius. “Are those storm clouds to the north?”
Alerio, the Southern Legion’s Senior Centurion, and the First Sergeant cupped their hands over their eyes to study the distant sky.
“Storm clouds and moving fast, Tribune,” answered the signalman. He stood behind the group holding a tube of rolled leather up to his eye. As if a lopsided unicorn, he moved the tube searching the sky to the north. “It’s a bad one. There is one positive note.”
“What’s positive about any of this?” growled Gerontius.
“The Strait is turning, First Sergeant,” replied the signalman. “The transports can make a run back to Rhégion on the southbound current. If they hurry.”
Everyone in the tower gazed northward straining their eyes searching for the three transports. Then, rain in the distance fell slanting to the west. Before the transports appeared at the mouth of the Strait, visibility dropped to nothing as rain and gusting winds reached the tower.
Chapter – 17 Dangerous Strait
“Have the men remove their armor and drop their gladii,” shouted First Sergeant Brictius at one transport then he repeated the order to the ship on the other side. “Drop armor and gladii.”
The three transports circled around and rowed side by side headed back in the general direction of the Messina Strait. Brictius’ wasn’t the only voice yelling. The three Greek Captains alternated between pointing at the darkening sky to the north and the entrance to the Strait ahead.
“What’s the problem?” Brictius asked the Captain of his transport.
“One wants to head east and find a safe harbor,” the Greek replied. “The other is ‘ita ut’ about the direction. He’ll go along with whatever we decide.”
“Let me settle this for you,” the First Sergeant advised the transport’s Captain. “You will take my Legionaries back to Rhégion. Is that clear?”
The Captain had watched the loading of the troops and remembered the First Sergeant slapping men who were physically bigger. None of the slackers had even protested the slaps or challenged him. He didn’t know much about combat NCOs but he recognized a dangerous man when he saw one.
“We go to Rhégion,” the Captain called to the other transports. Then to his crew ordered, “Stroke, stroke. Hurry men, we’ve got to out run the storm front. Stroke, stroke…”
The three transports fell in line and rowed to the mouth of the strait. The storm began with a sprinkling of rain and a steady breeze from the east. By the time the third Corbita entered the narrow waterway, a heavy downpour soaked the crews and the Legionaries. Fighting to maintain their heading in the center of the channel, the Captains and rowers watched the rocky shorelines. Even a slight variance off course and their transports would be dashed against the rocks, t
heir keels broken, and they would be smashed against the breakers and drowned in the storm surge.
The storm hit full force. Visibility dropped until the Captains could barely see the ship’s rails through the driving rain. Having no options, the crews rowed on blindly down the Messina Strait. Then, as if a giant hand swatted the three ships, a gust of wind drove the transports towards the west bank.
***
The wind skimmed the top of the water sending waves into Messina harbor. Once the tides crashed on the beach, the water retreated rapidly past the hook of land. The surge collided with the southern current creating, momentarily, an underwater wall of east flowing water. The wall pushed its way into the current of the Strait.
The water wall lasted just long enough to nudge the deep draft Corbita transports away from the rocks. Then the wall of water merged with the southern flowing current and dissipated.
Wind regained control of the transports and the crews of the three ships and their Legionary cargo were tossed against the hardwood of the transports. As the ships keeled over, the bows swung westward. In the blinding rain and howling wind, the three transports crashed into the shoreline.
***
The transport’s Captain laid shaken and mystified. His ship should be breaking up against the rocks. His body should be in the water being torn and broken on those rocks. Instead, he was face down on the boards leaning against the rails of his ship. Peering through the sheets of rain, he saw land.
“Off the ship,” he cried out as he attempted to stand on the slanted deck. “Get off the ship.”
First Sergeant Brictius heard the order and crawled up and across the slanted deck to the cargo hole. In the bottom, Legionaries moaned or screamed out in pain. They were tangled up in arms, legs, loose armor, javelins, and gladius belts and sheathes. Reaching a hand down, he grabbed a Legionary and pulled him from the labyrinth. That Legionary flipped onto his belly and hoisted another from the jumble of bodies. When there was a line of Legionaries flowing off the transport, Brictius jumped over the rocking rail and landed on a rock and clay beach.
As he raced to the next transport to see if they were unloading, he saw the state of the three ships. His transport lay on its side, half in and half out of the water. The stern of the next ship faced him, meaning the Corbita had spun around before washing ashore on the beach. The last ship rested almost upright. At first it pleased the First Sergeant and gave him hope. Then, he realized a boulder had caved in the side of the transport. It was the rock imbedded in the side boards that held the ship upright. More troubling for him, no Legionaries were coming over the rail.
“Give me two squads,” he shouted as he ran towards the third ship. “Get it together people. Two squads, on me!”
His orders were just what the shaken Legionaries needed. If Brictius had requested help in a general manner, no one would be sure who should go with their NCO. But, he’d called specifically for two squads. Legionaries were trained to respond as units in times of crisis. Two squad leaders hearing his order, counted heads and slapped backs as they sent their men running after the NCO. Then, they followed repeating the cry, “On the way First Sergeant. On the way First Sergeant.”
Suddenly, the tossed and battered Legionaries and their Centurion awoke from the confusion of being shipwrecked. They began organizing medical staging areas and a few brave men climbed back in the rolling and bobbing ships to toss armor, shields, and weapons onto the beach.
For the rest of the afternoon, the rain fell, the wind blew, and the Legionaries and surviving crewmen moved wounded and equipment off the rocks. Further up the bank and away from the edge of the water, they dropped their loads and sat miserably waiting for the storm to end.
***
The rain slowed, although the low hanging clouds threatened more showers. One of the transport Captains grew curious. He climbed to the top of the bank to check their location.
He stopped abruptly and his mouth fell open. With a sword point pressed against his chest, he gazed at the harbor of Messina. Somehow, the ships had crashed on the back side of the harbor’s hook. A shield was shoved in his face forcing him back down the embankment. As he retreated down the slope, more shields appeared until the entire crest was lined with soldiers.
“Where are we?” inquired another of the Greek Captains.
“Messina harbor,” he replied with chattering teeth. “Just over the hill on the other side of the infantry.”
“Infantry?” asked First Sergeant Brictius. “Where?”
The Greek Captain pointed up into the haze and explained, “Qart Hadasht infantry, up there.”
“Legionaries! Arm up and form squads,” he shouted.
Then a deep voice called from the fog, “I am Admiral Hanno of the Qart Hadasht Empire. If you raise a sword, you will die. If you challenge me, you will die. If the wind shifts and I change my mind, you will die.”
“What if I fart?” a Legionary standing off to the side of the First Sergeant asked.
“You heard the Admiral,” another Legionary answered. “You will die.”
The one uninjured Centurion was young and inexperienced. The other was broken and laid with the injured. First Sergeant Brictius hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with the young Centurion, or the two Sergeants and Corporals. Or even check to see which was healthy. Now, he passed the word to have the NCOs and the young officer converge at his location.
***
“We have a decision to make,” Brictius explained. “We have two broken Centuries. Maybe two-thirds of our men are fit. Do we surrender? Or do we go down fighting?”
“What do you think, First Sergeant?” asked the Centurion.
“I believe sir, that we rely on the mercy of Admiral Hanno,” Brictius replied. “If he wanted us dead, his troops would have come off the hill and slaughtered us without the pretty speech.”
“Then, First Sergeant, let’s ask what terms he’ll accept,” the young officer suggested.
“A fine idea, sir,” Brictius said. “Shall we go and talk with the Admiral?”
They straightened their shoulders and both marched up the hill and into the fog.
Chapter – 18 Blame Rests with the Commander
“Sir, Lance Corporal Sisera reporting as ordered,” Alerio announced as he stood in the doorway of the office.
He was hesitant and worried as Tribune Gaius Claudius sat across the desk from his Senior Centurion Patroclus. Tribune Velius’ smile, however, let him know it wasn’t going to be a trial. Or so he hoped.
“Come in Lance Corporal,” Patroclus urged with a wave of his hand. “As you know, the advance units for the taking of Messina have been cut in half. What we want to know is how would we get the remaining force, plus Centuries from the Southern Legion into Messina?”
“It has to be done from inside Messina,” explained Alerio. “The barricade has to be cut open just before our ships bring in the troops. If it’s done too soon, the Qart Hadasht will flood the docks with troops and send out their warships to sink our transports. Just like yesterday.”
Tribune Gaius Claudius shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the loss of six of his eleven transports and a Legion Trireme. Pointing a finger at Alerio, the Tribune opened his mouth and started to say something. Patroclus cut him off.
“Tribune Claudius. You tried your preconceived plan. It failed miserably, I might remind you,” Southern Legion’s Senior Centurion said harshly. “Let’s hear what my Lance Corporal has to say. Or, you can head back to the Capital and make your excuses to General Codex.”
Anger flashed across Claudius’ face and Alerio expected him to challenge Patroclus’ wording. But he didn’t. Instead, he grumbled, “All right, I’ll listen.”
“It’ll be the first time in your life,” mouthed Velius with his lips.
“Do you have something to add, Tribune Velius?” asked Patroclus.
“No Senior Centurion,” begged off the old Tribune with a tight smile.
“Continue, Lance Corpo
ral Sisera,” the Senior Centurion instructed.
“We’ll need help from the Sons of Mars,” Alerio said.
“You’re going to trust a pack of pirates with our plans?” demanded Tribune Claudius.
Patroclus jumped to his feet with his fingers curled into fists.
“Sisera. Tribune Velius. Please wait in the Planning and Stratagies office,” he growled.
Alerio walked into the hallway and Velius closed the door behind them. From inside the office, they could hear Patroclus yelling.
“Over three hundred Legionaries under your command died,” he bellowed. “You killed half your command and now you question me and my staff. If Sisera says we need the Sons, then by Mars, we need the Sons. That young Lance Corporal has survived combat against Hoplite Phalanxes, and Syracuse cavalry. And he brought back intelligence that you and Consul Codex used to plan this operation…”
The voice faded, although the walls rattled, as they passed into Velius’ office and work area.
***
Chief of Boats Martius had just finished inspecting the repairs on the patrol boats. Fifteen were seaworthy but two needed additional caulking. He watched as his work detail for the day meandered through the Post gate in the early morning light.
On the beach, the fog from yesterday’s storm lingered. It would soon burn off and several of the patrol boats and the Triremes would launch and patrol the Strait looking for survivors. He didn’t hold out much hope.
“Empire warship,” the signalman in the tower called out. “Southbound.”
Every Legionary in the Southern Legion knew what was expected of him. Where the dark beach had been empty, it was soon lined with ranks of men holding up their gladii. Most of them were doing mundane tasks and lacked helmets, armor and shields. It didn’t matter, the display of defiance was obvious to everyone on the approaching Empire warship.
The oarsmen ceased rowing and an archer appeared on the warship’s deck. He drew back and an oversized arrow arched through the sky. It impacted near one of the upside-down patrol boats. Martius limped to it and plucked the arrow from the clay and sandy soil.
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