Moments later, the Sergeant was downstairs in front of a Qart Hadasht Lieutenant.
“We have a single candle flame from the blockade,” the Sergeant reported.
“Doesn’t sound urgent,” the officer advised. “I’ll send a runner and have the Sergeant of the Guard check on the dock. Our patrol on the hook will handle any problems.”
“Very well, sir,” the Sergeant said as he saluted and walked back to the stairs.
***
The S.O.G. was a veteran of the army with years of experience fighting against enemies of the Empire. When the runner informed him about the one candle signal, he didn’t rush. However, he did send the runner to the other side of Messina with instructions to have the eight soldiers of the roving patrol meet him at the warehouses. Then he turned to his four soldiers
“Probably nothing but stay alert. Big trouble always starts small,” he informed his escort unit. “Especially in the depths of the night.”
They marched down the street towards the warehouses. On the south side of Messina, the eight men of the roving patrol jogged. They didn’t want to face the Sergeant’s ire if he arrived before them.
***
Other than a few lanterns casting spots of light on the pavers, the streets were dark. It was difficult to separate the patrol from the shadows until the Qart Hadasht soldiers were just three blocks away.
‘This isn’t good,’ Frigian thought as he tried to count the number of soldiers in the response unit. ‘They’re in a hurry.’ Then out loud, he announced, “Stoop down behind your shields.”
It was dark beside the warehouse and the eight soldiers slowed. There seemed to be a solid shadow across the road between them and the dock. As they approached, the shadow rose up and became a wall of shields.
“Attack! Attack,” Frigian shouted.
The Qart Hadasht spears stabbed and slashed the first rank of oarsmen. Those not bloodied, were knocked to the side by the experienced soldiers. But the second rank and third filled in and once the surviving Sons were between the spearheads and the shields, the fight became more evenly matched.
Spears clattered to the pavers and swords leaped into Qart Hadasht hands. Under the press of bodies from the oarsmen, unit integrity dissolved and the soldiers fought as individuals. Outnumbered and with three of their patrol down and bleeding on the street, the five remaining soldiers stepped back as they fought.
“To me! To me!” the Sergeant of the Guard bellowed as he ran down the avenue from the north. “Rally to me.”
The five soldiers adjusted and rotated so they were stepping back towards their Sergeant. The movement surprised the oarsmen. As with any undisciplined hoard, the Sons shoved straight ahead with no regard for tactics. By the time the soldiers pivoted and were backing northward in the direction of the Sergeant, many of the oarsmen had run straight ahead meeting no resistance. More oarsmen followed them across the avenue, figuring the ones charging forward knew where to find the enemy.
An experienced combat NCO knows how to regain control and rally men in a crisis. He positioned his escorts a shield’s width apart. The four men barely covered the width of the avenue but they did present a line of shields and spearheads.
“Hurry up, you mangy goat herders,” the Sergeant yelled the insult. Whether at his troops or as an enticement to the Sons to come against his spears, didn’t matter. To the five Empire troops in the fighting retreat, it was motivational to hear an NCO’s voice doling out verbal abuse. As if this street fight was nothing more than an exercise, the Sergeant added, “Fall back into ranks. Don’t you dare be the last man in my line.”
From behind their shields and with slashes of their swords, the five soldiers left a trail of dead oarsmen as they rapidly retreated towards the Sergeant’s shield wall. None wanted to be the last to join the ranks and suffer the Sergeant’s wrath.
The five Empire soldiers took a last step and snapped their shields into place forming a solid wall of steel and bronze. The attacking oarsmen stopped and glared. Behind them, the Sergeant began issuing orders to extract the unit from the motionless oarsmen.
“To the rear, left swing,” he bellowed…it was the last order he would ever give.
The Empire Sergeant’s head rolled from his shoulders and his lifeless body toppled over. Before the nine soldiers could turn, the oarsman with the long blade dripping the NCO’s blood attacked.
The oarsmen in front jumped forward and from the street and alleyway between the warehouses, another wave of oarsmen assaulted the Empire troops from the rear. In nine heartbeats, the nine Qart Hadasht soldiers died.
Captain Frigian stood near a wall in his polished Greek armor.
“Drag them to the dock and dispose of the bodies. But keep the armor and weapons, they have value,” he ordered before walking back into the deep shadows.
Chapter - 27 Over the Rails to Glory
Alerio’s first instinct was to swim out and cut the transports free. They would drift away, opening the channel for the boats hauling the Legionaries. He expressed the idea in a group meeting earlier.
Captain Milon Frigian, after settling down the men in the meeting, explained the transports were prize ships seized by the Sons of Mars. Not only were the transports valuable, they were owned by every member of the crews that had captured the cargo ships. Simply cutting them free was not an option.
***
Alerio guided the six unarmored Sons and four more to the point. Stacking the Legion shields so they faced open water, he instructed, “Light a fire and keep it burning. Do not allow it to go out even after the first Legionaries have landed.”
“We understand, Lieutenant,” one of the armored men whispered. “You can depend on us.”
Now with the signal to launch lit, another fire marking the Strait side of the harbor, and Adiona’s flame to guide the boats down the center of the channel, he’d done almost everything to help with the Legion’s attack on Messina. There was one more task.
The Legionary yanked off his armor. While the remaining sixteen oarsmen stripped off their armor, Alerio and the six unarmored Sons, waded into the water and swam for the Corbita in the center of the blockade.
***
The Strait flowed northward causing the roped together transports to bow outward. This worried Alerio as the Legion boats could reach Messina quickly but they might over shoot it again. Had the flow been southward at a different time of night, this part of the mission would have been easier. The transports after being untied, would drift into the harbor on the current. A northbound current meant special handling once the transports were untied. And there was another issue. The current was attempting to suck Alerio out of the harbor and into the Strait.
Steady strokes the Legion instructors during Recruit training had advised. Crossing water silently required slow controlled motions with your arms and legs. Alerio took in a mouthful of saltwater and spit it out as a mental response to the instructions. His motions were rushed and almost frantic as he fought the current. And to add to the problem, he and the swimmers needed to approach the middle transport as silently as possible.
He passed the first two transports with room to flounder unheard. Masked by the creaking of the wood at the bow and stern from tension on the hemp ropes, the distant splashing was indistinguishable from fish breaking the surface.
As the dark hull of the second ship fell behind and he neared the center of the channel, the current increased. Alerio, despite his powerful underwater strokes, began to drift between the transports. If he went to an overhand stroke, he could fight the flow. But he might as well hail the Qart Hadasht archers on the transport and invite them to use him for target practice.
Suddenly, an arm linked through his right arm and another his left. The oarsmen swimmers turned him and he realized the power of three pairs of legs. When two more joined on either side, the seven pairs of legs kicking below the surface easily propelled them. Silently, they swam as one entity back towards the harbor then turned and headed
for the center Corbita.
***
Riding the water empty, the transport’s rails loomed six feet above Alerio and the swimmers’ heads. From the dark waters of the harbor channel, the hull appeared to be an unscalable cliff. And there was noise from above and below. The tension of the ropes connecting the ship to those tied to her stern and bow, fifteen feet away, tugged and twisted the frame creating groaning and creaks. Above, they could hear the Qart Hadasht archers talking. It seemed there had been action on the docks and the soldiers were concerned.
Alerio, after studying the ship, assumed they would dive deep and come up fast and leap out of the water and grab the rail at midship. Being the lowest point from the water, it might be possible. It would also be loud and alert the archers. While he pondered the suicide action, a swimmer pulled his arm. He followed and they paddled to the bow.
Above them the curved bow and the bow beam seemed to arch into the night sky. Although not as high as the stern with the steering and observation deck, the front of the transport towered above the water. Then an oarsman placed his hands on either side of the bow beam. Three feet above the water, the beam emerged from the hull and flared out as it rose roughly following the curve of the bow.
The oarsman pressed his hands together on either side of the beam and pulled himself up. By bending his knees, he lifted his feet and placed the soles on the beam. Then he jumped his hands higher and lifted his feet to a new position. After three more clamps on the beam, the oarsman reached out quickly and got a hand on the rail. He swung free but managed to grip the rail with his other hand. When the oarsman vanished from sight another oarsman kicked, emerged from the water and pressed his hands together on either side of the beam.
Alerio marveled as all six oarsmen climbed the bow beam in that odd manner. Alone in the water, he gritted his teeth in determination and kicked with his feet. As his upper body emerged from the water, he reached up and clamped onto the beam. To his surprise, the beam was rough. Although it took pressure to hold on while he lifted his body and legs, his palms didn’t slip. With his knees thrusting to the sides, he placed the flat of his feet on either side of the beam. He climbed, not as quickly as the oarsmen, but he reached a point where he could grab the ship’s rail.
His first attempt almost found him falling and splashing loudly into the water. Then, he pressed harder with his feet and flung his right arm out. When his palm slapped the rail, he curled his fingers and held on tightly. He had to. The movement towards the rail pulled his body off the bow beam and he hung suspended by one arm. With a powerful pull, he rose enough to get the other hand on the rail. Pulling up, he peered over the rail at the deck.
In the dark, he made out six archers standing on the steering deck at the stern. Three held lit candles over their heads. A cooking brazier glowed with hot embers behind the cluster of men. Below him on the deck and against the rails were his six swimmers. Alerio eased over the rail and took a position with the Sons’ oarsmen.
***
It wasn’t unusual in combat situations for men to rush towards the enemy over great distances then stop before engaging. Legion instructors drilled Legionaries to attack instantly. Training involved running ten miles, forming ranks and, before the Legionaries could catch their breaths, running shield and sword drills. Even after training some men still held back in the face of the enemy.
The Sons had braved dark waters with strong currents, scaled an imposing obstacle and worked their way in close - all with bravado and creativity. Then, with the enemy in sight, they froze. Maybe it was the fear of death or a hesitation to purposely take another man’s life. In either case, Alerio’s six swimmers hugged the boards as if their job was done.
How to break the apathy? Leadership, the kind where one man’s actions acted as a catalyst to inspire others or to get himself killed. Alerio pushed off the rough wooden boards of the transport and, alone, crept across the deck towards the archers.
The Legionary drew the long-curved dagger from its sheath. As the only weapon he carried, it seemed small and inadequate compared to the mission. Staying low and hugging the rail, Alerio traveled to midship in small light steps.
Equipment belonging to the Qart Hadasht archers was placed in individual spaces. As if being assigned to guarding a barricade ship wasn’t remote enough, each soldier claimed a separate area of the deck. Close to Alerio, an archer’s bedding appeared darker than the deck and his skirmisher’s shield glowed lighter than the weathered boards.
After snatching up the shield, Alerio increased his pace. Better to attack and surprise the archers than to continue sneaking up, hoping none turned around. If any of them spotted him, they’d have time to prepare. He didn’t want them prepared.
***
From cat like steps, Alerio accelerated to a full sprint for the last low section of the transport. Vaulting to the steering and rowing deck, he ran five steps and slammed the shield into the backs of the archers standing to the side of the unit. Two stumbled forward their thighs hit the rail. Momentum carried their torsos out over the side of the ship and, despite reaching for the rail, they flipped over and fell screaming until they splashed into the harbor. Their cries ended as they sank and the water closed over their heads.
The other four drew short-curved swords and spread out in a semicircle. The glowing embers in the brazier reflected off their blades.
One stabbed out and Alerio deflected the blade with the shield. Another blade he parried with his dagger. But a dagger, no matter how well-crafted, lacked the length to be effective in a sword fight. And a swordsman, no matter his skill, was only as good as his weapons. And to compound the situation, Alerio was mostly naked while the archers wore armor.
Alerio moved to his left, sliding his feet for balance and keeping the shield between the four blades and his bare skin. Sharp pain stabbed into the ball of his left foot. He ignored the pain although he lifted the foot as he circled.
An idea to kick over the brazier and spread the embers on the deck crossed his mind. But two things stopped the idea before it was fully formed. He was barefooted and hot coals would hinder him more than the soldiers. And he’d suffer the wrath of the Sons should he burn their prize ship to the waterline.
Now with his forward foot balanced on the heel to keep pressure off the ball, and his right supporting most of his weight, the smooth circling of a master swordsman, became lurching movements. The soldiers noticed and all four stepped forward to end the fight. Alerio limped back and his calf muscle touched the lower board of the rail.
Die or swim, the thought flashed in his mind. Either move would end his mission as the barricade remained in place and the Legion ships couldn’t enter the harbor. And the Qart Hadasht troops would massacre the Sons of Mars on the dock. Alerio inhaled, set his shoulders, and gathered his legs for a final assault. Just before he committed to the reckless attack, the four soldiers were clubbed to the deck.
“Sorry it took so long,” one of the swimmers apologized as he swung a club back and forth. “It took us awhile to locate the weapon’s locker.”
“Good timing,” Alerio complimented the man as he sank to the deck and pulled his left foot around. A finger long splinter ran under the skin of the ball of his foot. Taking the end with two fingers, the Legionary eased the little spear free. Blood gushed from the hole and his entire foot throbbed.
“Experienced oarsmen lift their feet,” one of the swimmers advised him. “Never slide your bare feet on a deck.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” Alerio said as he squeezed and rubbed the foot.
“Over the side with them,” another oarsman ordered.
As the four soldiers were lifted, Alerio studied the feet and shoulders of the unconscious men.
“Wait. Not that one,” Alerio said as he stood with most of his weight on the right leg. “I want to save his shoulder and chest armor. And, I need his sandals.”
“You heard the Lieutenant. Strip him. Someone, go below and get a couple of ballast
stones,” an oarsman advised. “We don’t want the Qart Hadasht scum to wake up and start swimming.”
While the oarsmen pulled off the sandals and armor, Alerio picked up two swords and limped to the aft rail. He began slashing the thick hemp line.
A shout from the next ship in the barricade was followed by several arrows. But it was dark, and Alerio dropped his profile by bending down. Fifty cuts later, the last few fibers unraveled and the rope fell into the water. Free from the tension, the ship with the active archers drifted to the north still attached to the ship anchored on the western shoreline.
“Cut the bow line. Everyone else, secure an oar,” a swimmer directed. “Then we row across the harbor and straight to the dock.”
“No dock,” advised Alerio. “We need to keep it clear for the Legionaries. You’ll have to run her aground in the shallows.”
“We can do that, Lieutenant Sisera,” the oarsman replied.
***
Without the necklace of ships holding each other in place, Alerio’s transport drifted on the northbound current pulling the other two ships with it.
It got quiet as the five men lowered oars through leather lined holes in the rail boards. The only sound was the chopping of the bow line. Alerio slipped on the right sandal and laced it up. Then slowly, he eased on the left sandal and winced as he tied it on. With most of his weight on the right foot, he stood and glanced down at the armor. It was unnecessary for the trip to the other side of the harbor but having it nearby made him feel better.
When the line fell, the man cutting it turned and shouted, “Standby oars. Stroke, Stroke.
Running sure footed down the deck, the man hit the ladder and rushed to the rear steering oars.
“Stroke, stroke,” he instructed. Then, as the transport began moving, he looked in Alerio’s direction, “They’re having trouble on the other ship.”
“Which ship?” inquired Alerio.
“While I was cutting us free, I heard the sounds of fighting,” the oarsman explained.
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