Brutal Diplomacy

by J. Clifton Slater

  Alerio looked down at the armor. As he bent to pick up the chest piece, he ordered, “Row alongside her. At least get close enough for me to board.”

  “Stroke, stroke,” instructed the man as he adjusted the steering oars.

  ***

  Alerio strapped on the shoulder pieces taking longer with the strange Qart Hadasht armor than he liked. Once dressed, he pondered the swords and shields laying on the deck. A few heartbeats later, he snatched up two swords and limped towards the bow of the transport.

  As he reached the fore section, he heard the man at the stern call out, “Port side, standby to ship oars. Ship oars!”

  The other transport’s rail appeared in the dark. As Alerio stepped up on his rail, he heard the men in the rear shout, “Go with Mars, Lieutenant Sisera.”

  Then the rails glided by as the ships passed each other. The Legionary pushed off and flew over the gap. Below, the water, dark and deadly for an armored man, passed and he touched the rail on the other ship.

  Six archers stood with bows raised firing arrows down the length of the transport. The shadowy outline of barrels and cargo hole covers marked their targets and the location of the Sons’ boarding party.

  Alerio jumped down and charged at the archers. Two fell off the steering and rowing platform, bleeding from neck wounds as they crashed to the cargo deck. One realized the danger and twisted to sight at the Legionary along his drawn arrow. But the Qart Hadasht armor confused him and he hesitated.

  With no hesitation, Alerio shot his right foot forward, bent that knee and straightened his left leg. Leaning far over the bent knee, he thrust his sword into the man’s belly. The arrow flew harmlessly over his head as the archer folded up, holding his stomach.

  To recover, Alerio pushed off with the right foot and twisted. His intention was to pivot on his left foot to face the next closest archer. Pain, as the skin over the puncture wound ripped open, caused his left leg to spasm and involuntarily buckle.

  Down on one knee, Alerio glanced up as the final three archers spun to face him. Looking at the barbed iron tips of the arrows and the solid horned encased war bows, he felt as if he was a red deer at the end of a hunt. In a desperate act of self-preservation, Alerio fell to the side and rotated on his shoulders towards the edge of the steering deck. Three arrows struck in the boards marking the passage of the rolling Legionary.

  The archers notched another arrow and stepped to the edge looking to finish off their attacker. As they sighted down their arrows…

  Alerio hit hard on his back and he exhaled violently from the impact. As if holding his breath, he ignored the pain and leaped to his feet with bent knees. While the left foot hurt, he was prepared for the throbbing and able to ignore it. Straightening his legs, he shot up slashing the front legs out from under two of the archers. With their legs spewing blood and folding, the archers fell over Alerio. The third archer’s arrow hit one of them below the armor in the lower back saving the Legionary from the iron tip.

  The archer shuffled back while pulling another arrow. He slipped the notch over the bowstring and drew the arrow back. As he raised the bow seeking his target, a sword spinning through the air passed the tip of his arrow and smashed into his face. The impact from the side of the blade did no more damage than forcing his head back. Jerking his head down, he tried to regain the sight along the arrow. Instead of finding a target, a fist found him first.

  Alerio stood over the archer for a moment before bending down and punching through the opening in his helmet, again. Confused as blood exploded from his nose and his vision blurred, the soldier didn’t understand the sensation of floating then flying. That was before he splashed into the harbor and he forgot about his nose and vision as he held his breath while sinking into the water.

  Chapter – 28 Surprise Attack

  Multiple candles from the blockade ships caused an alarm when the lookout reported them to the duty officer and the duty NCO. They both went to their superior officer. According to the sub-commander, who woke up angry at the disturbance, it wasn’t important.

  “It’s more likely to be pirates attempting to take the ships. We have, and correct me if I’m wrong, a squad in the town, guards on the docks, a full squad patrolling the hook, and archers on the ships,” he grumbled. “I don’t see any reason to mobilize the entire garrison.”

  Three squads were bounced out of their beds and ordered to arm up. By the time Alerio and the oarsmen took control of the blockade ships, thirty Qart Hadasht heavy infantrymen stood in front of the Citadel. They weren’t happy at being woken up in the middle of the night and then left standing around waiting.

  Eventually, a young Lieutenant appeared. The NCOs called the squads to attention.

  “What are our orders, sir?” one asked.

  “We’ll march to the docks and display Empire might,” the Lieutenant replied. “March them out.”

  The Qart Hadasht infantry hoisted their shields and spears and marched down the hill towards the dock. No one thought the situation was important enough to notify Admiral Hanno.

  ***

  A young man peered around the corner of a wall and counted the troops. Then he sprinted away, turned at the next corner and ran all out for six blocks. At the warehouses, he slowed down through the alleyway. Once on the dock, he sprinted until he reached the man in the shiny Greek armor.

  “Captain Frigian. Thirty of their infantry are coming,” he reported between deep breaths.

  “Only three squads? Our luck is holding,” Frigian ventured. Then to the men lounging around the dock, he ordered, “Sons of Mars. Grab your sword, shield, and adjust your mentula. Company is coming. Let’s give them a warm welcome.”

  Moments later, high up on the street, movement appeared between the pools of light. As the Empire troops drew closer, they resembled a heard of deer running through the woods. Some details flashed as they entered a light then vanished until more were visible. Eventually, they solidified into two lines of marching troops.

  “Shields up,” ordered Frigian and a hundred shields lifted. They didn’t click together as a well-trained Legion unit but there were enough to form a formidable wall across the street.

  Seeing the crowd of shields, the Lieutenant held up a hand and the NCOs called the squads to a halt.

  “In the name of the Qart Hadasht Empire, what is the meaning of this display?” demanded the officer. “Disperse now, Sons of Mars, or taste Empire justice.”

  A more experienced officer would have retreated and sent a runner for help. The Lieutenant’s NCOs would have told him. But the officer was an aristocrat, young and not open to suggestions.

  A man in Greek armor sauntered up behind the loose rows of shields.

  “We can’t do that,” Frigian informed the officer.

  “And why not?” bristled the Lieutenant.

  “The Sons of Mars are defending the harbor with pirates,” replied Frigian.

  Misunderstanding what the man said, the officer explained, “The Empire will defend the harbor. You can leave.”

  While the officer got the meaning wrong, one NCO didn’t. He marched to his Lieutenant.

  “Sir, we should assume a defensive formation,” he suggested.

  “Sergeant, when I need your advice, I’ll send my man servant to elicit it,” scolded the Lieutenant.

  “Yes, sir,” the NCO replied as he marched back and resumed his place beside the files of troops.

  “As I was saying before the interruption, the Empire will defend your dock and harbor,” the Lieutenant assured the man.

  “We seem to be at a stalemate,” observed Frigian. “Maybe you should go back to the Citadel and ask Admiral Hanno.”

  “And what should I ask the Admiral?” sneered the Lieutenant.

  “Ask him why you are so stupid,” announced Frigian. Then he whistled two sharp notes and yelled, “Charge!”

  Suddenly, the hundred shields ran forward. Swords appeared between the shields and the Empire NCOs shouted for a defens
ive formation. But another group of shields and swords poured out of a house to the squads’ rear.

  In the first flurry, the Lieutenant fell to three blade slashes. Being shocked by the audacity of a bunch of pirates defying the Empire, he neither drew his sword or fell back to his troops. He simply died with his nose in the air and the assurance that fear of the Empire would protect him.

  One NCO managed to rally six men and they fought back to back. They made it a few steps up the main road before the circle of pirates hacked them to death.

  “What are our losses?” shouted Frigian.

  “A couple of minor cuts,” his lead oarsman replied. “They didn’t have time to level their spears.”

  “We learned that lesson last time,” admitted Frigian. “The next time, I’m afraid they’ll be ready for us.”

  “Do you want me and the crew back in the house?” the oarsman asked.

  “No. That won’t work against a bigger force,” explained the Captain. “Spread your men out along the alleyways and streets. I’ve a feeling the Empire is done with coming at us down the main road. Next time we’ll need to defend the entire warehouse district.”

  “Any sign of the Republic forces?” the oarsman asked as he began sending his men to other positions.

  “We’ve moved the transports. I saw them rowing for the beach,” Frigian said as he turned his head in the direction of the dark harbor. “But no signs of the Legion.”

  “Remember the time we tried to board that Greek merchant?” the lead oarsman inquired. “That was bad. Do you think this will be that bad?”

  “You mean the merchant ship with a cargo of Greek Hoplites heading home from war?” confirmed Frigian. “Yes. This will be that bad.”

  ***

  The nineteen relief Guards stood outside the Citadel rubbing their eyes as they shook off the sleepy feeling. Fourth watch, besides being woken in the middle of the night, also meant patrolling until after dawn. It was the most boring watch in the dull port town of Messina.

  In the Citadel, the relief Sergeant of the Guard paced. The S.O.G. he was to relieve hadn’t reported in and hadn’t advised the Officer of the Guard of any disturbances.

  “Maybe he’s tied up in that business with the three squads,” the officer suggested.

  “Sir, we have forty-nine men in town. Why has no one sent a runner with a report?” asked the Sergeant. “I’m going to patrol the town down to the dock. When I find the Sergeant of the Guard, I’ll relieve him. If there is trouble, I’ll send a runner.”

  “Fine with me,” the officer said as he yawned. “I don’t think you’ll discover anything unusual. Even the candle signals from the blockade ships have stopped.”

  ***

  Outside, the Sergeant called his troops to order.

  “The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up,” announced the Sergeant. “When we find the Sergeant of the Guard, we’ll relieve his people. Until then, I want a combat patrol. Shields off your backs and on your arms. Spearhead formation. Forward march.”

  With a man at the tip of the spear, then two behind him but close, the patrol descended the hill and entered the town. North to south and back they crisscrossed Messina, dropping onto lower streets with every crossing. They found nothing in the upper sections of the town. Not the Sergeant of the Guard and his four escorts or the roving patrol. And most peculiar, no citizens lounging on the streets or people returning from visiting acquaintances.

  When they completed the middle section and still hadn’t located any Empire troops or civilians, the Sergeant called a halt.

  “You four,” the NCO stated pointing out the men who were to serve as his escort. “Return to the Citadel. Inform the Officer of the Guard that most of Messina is unguarded. We’ll continue to patrol the lower section to the dock. But, I need an officer’s advice. Go”

  The four jogged to the center road and pounded through the dark town. They slowed a little once out of the Sergeants view. At the base of the hill leading to the Citadel, they started walking. It was too late at night or too early in the morning to be breaking a sweat.

  ***

  The lower section was as empty as the upper areas and just as barren of Empire troops and citizens. They patrolled to the northern end of the town several streets from the base of the steps to the Temple of Adiona. The Sergeant halted his troops. Peering down the street, from five blocks away, he thought he saw shapes moving around in the dark by the last warehouse.

  He marched the patrol on to the fourth street from the avenue at the warehouses and called another halt.

  Selecting one of his fastest men, the Sergeant had him take off his armor and distribute the armor pieces, his shield, and spear to troops around the formation.

  “We’re marching south, just like we’ve been doing,” advised the Sergeant. “I want you to take an alleyway down one block and shadow us. If anyone runs, follow them and let me know where they go.”

  Once the man had vanished into the deep shadows, the Sergeant ordered the unit to move out.

  ***

  The young man from the Sons of Mars watched the Qart Hadasht patrol cross the main road. After being sure he knew there were fourteen, although he thought there were fifteen when he first started tracking them, he ran back to the next street and headed down for the docks.

  He was stopped by four men in armor with shields at the alleyway between the warehouses. After a few quick words, the young man disappeared into the shadows.

  ***

  Across the avenue, the Qart Hadasht soldier waited for the armed men to settle down. Then, he backed up the street staying in the shadows. At the fourth block, he turned and ran to catch up with the Sergeant.

  Chapter – 29 Blood on the Dock

  “One hundred eighty Qart Hadasht infantrymen should handle the rebellion,” announced the sub-commander. “Two squads down each street and forty men straight at them down the main road.”

  “Yes, sir, that should be sufficient,” an officer replied.

  “Of course, it is. We’ll test their resolve but wait for dawn to break their lines,” sub-commander Gisco explained. “By midday, I want the rebel leaders crucified.”

  ***

  “What happened to the roving patrol?” Frigian wondered.

  “None of our watchers have seen them since they crossed the road,” his lead oarsman replied. “I don’t like it.”

  “Like what? That the Qart Hadasht infantry is about to run their spears down our throats. Or that the Republic hasn’t arrived?” Frigian inquired.

  “Both Captain, both,” the oarsman responded.

  Seven young men burst from the streets and alleyways between the warehouses. They turned and, on the run, converged on Frigian.

  “Qart Hadasht infantry, Captain,” they all shouted. “From up the street I was watching.”

  “Hold on,” pleaded Frigian. Then he pointed at each and asked, “All the streets?”

  “Yes,” came a unified reply.

  “There’s a tidal wave about to wash over us,” Frigian shouted to the crewmen. “Just like on the deck of a ship, hunker down behind your shields, and let them come to you.”

  He sent the messengers off to alert those between and on the ends of the warehouses. Then, he addressed the oarsman near him, “Messina is our home. Many of us have known no other. We invited the Empire in and we have paid dearly for that mistake. Today, we evict the Empire. Today, we stand in a battle line as our forefathers stood. Strong, united as one, fearless and determined. We are the Sons of Mars!”

  Most of the crewmen cheered. A few grumbled and some turned to Frigian.

  “Isn’t that the talk you gave us when we were rowing away from those Syracusan Triremes a few months ago?” several inquired.

  “I changed a few words,” admitted Frigian.

  “Still, it’s a good speech,” one acknowledged as those questioning turned to look at the dark and empty streets.

  ***

  The main road and the streets we
ren’t empty for long. Marching boots, shields and spears held high soon covered the pavers at the entrances to all the road and streets intersecting with the avenue. Only the long warehouses and the guarded passageways between the buildings prevented the Qart Hadasht troops from marching straight to the dock.

  “I am sub-commander Gisco,” announced an Empire officer. “You will bring me the rebel leaders. Then you shall be permitted exodus through our lines to return to your abodes.”

  “Our Captains are elected,” one oarsman shouted from behind his shield. “We’ll need to gather and draw stones.”

  The sub-commander brightened at the prospect of the pirates surrendering their leaders. Then, he’d have his infantry cull the herd before allowing a few to live. He was elated until another oarsman responded.

  “Does anyone have stones?” asked a voice from the massed rebels.

  “We all do,” another voice called out. “We’re standing in this shield wall, aren’t we?”

  Laughter rolled over the sub-commander and his face flushed. Almost losing composure, he came close to displaying emotions in front of his troops. Instead of replying with useless harsh words, he turned his back on the rebels.

  “Front ranks!” he shouted.

  The words were repeated by Lieutenants stationed at all seven streets facing the warehouses.

  “Front rank, forward!” the sub-commander bellowed.

  Again, his words were repeated. Spears dipped and armored men marched onto the avenue.

  The Sons of Mars advantages were the Qart Hadasht infantrymen had to come at them at an angle. None of the city streets lined up with the alleyways between the warehouses. This protected the Sons to their left and right as they braced their shields along the mouth of the alleys. They were vulnerable in only one direction and the infantry had to adjust before bringing their spears into play.

  Captain Frigian stood behind his last rank feeling helpless. As if it was a heavy rain, the spearheads pounded the shields. One slipped into a gap, an oarsman cried out, and fell back. The spear withdrew dripping the oarsman’s blood. Others fell but were replaced by crewmen and their shields. It was purely defensive and the oarsman were holding but, at a high cost.