“Sun-commander Gisco, reporting,” he announced as he walked into the Admiral’s office.
“Sub-commander, are you well?” asked Hanno setting down a quill. “You seem feverish.”
“Admiral. The rebellion by the Sons of Mars was a diversion for an invasion,” Gisco stammered between deep breaths.
“An invasion?” inquired Hanno as he leaned back in his chair and stretched. His rib cage expanded and, under his robe, the muscles rippled across his chest. “And just who are these invaders?”
“The Republic, Admiral. They must have crossed the Strait during the night,” ventured Gisco. “As uncomfortable as it was, I remained with our troops after an initial engagement with the Sons. I thought if I gave them until morning, they would surrender. When we assaulted, five hundred Legionaries countered. I ordered a retreat and we set up defensive positions.”
“Five hundred Legionaries in Messina?” Hanno stated. He stood, walked out of his office, through the main hall and out the reinforced doors. At the top of the slope, he gazed down on the town. “I would think if there were five hundred of the dirt farmers, they would be marching up the main road by now.”
“Well, maybe I over estimated, sir,” Gisco offered. “They came out from between the warehouses and attacked. I could see more staged there and took the best course of action.”
“And the best course?” Hanno asked with a tilt of his head.
“I pulled our forces back four streets and set up barricades,” explained Gisco.
“A fighting retreat?” asked Hanno.
“Ah, no Admiral,” Gisco confessed. “They didn’t follow us.”
“Let me see if I have all the details, sub-commander,” sneered Hanno. “After one skirmish, you retreated and surrendered a quarter of Messina to a band of garlic eating savages. Is that right?”
“If you put it like that, Admiral,” replied Gisco. “Yes.”
“I do put it like that,” Hanno said with exasperation. “Call out the garrison and pull two companies from the southern wall. Do it now, sub-commander? Do not stop for breakfast, a glass of wine, or to use the latrine. Understand?”
“Yes, Admiral. Right away,” Gisco responded as he headed back into the Citadel to alert the duty officer and have him send out runners.
Admiral Hanno let his eyes roam over the town. From the hill he could see details on the upper section. Further down, the houses blocked more of the streets and the lower section was a cluster of maze-like runs. Beyond the warehouses, the harbor reflected flashes of the morning sun and he observed Empire warships on the Strait. At least he didn’t have to worry about more Legionaries crossing with the Triremes guarding the eastern approach to the town.
Then his eyes caught movement on the hill at the Temple of Adiona. He stood watching as men stretched something on the ground. Moments later, an ugly goatskin tent expanded blocking half the clay bricks of the temple building.
A group of men climbed the stairs and at the top, one turned. Even at a distance, Hanno felt as if the man was staring at him. The Admiral bared his teeth and growled at the man before realizing if he couldn’t see details other than shiny armor and a hint of color on the man’s helmet, the man couldn’t see his challenge.
‘Dirt farmers,’ Admiral Hanno thought as he spit on the ground. ‘Not in my town.’
***
“Who is the big guy at the Citadel?” questioned Tribune Claudius. He stopped at the top of the stairs to gaze across town at the higher elevation.
“I can make out two people, but I couldn’t tell sizes other than one appears larger,” confessed First Sergeant Gerontius. “You have good eyesight, sir.”
“I have always been blessed by the Goddess Theia,” admitted Claudius looking away from the hill. He took in the command tent set up beside the temple. “This location is excellent with a good view of the eastern sector of Messina. Although, I’d rather be on Citadel hill.”
“That’s why we’re here, sir,” Gerontius commented.
***
“Signalman, send two squads to reinforce the squad at the southern end of the street,” Tribune Claudius ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the man answered as he picked up two flags and started motioning with them
“What’s going on, Tribune,” Milon Frigian inquired. He squinted at the section of wall eighteen blocks away. To him it was mostly haze with a few murky details.
“There is activity over the city wall,” the Tribune explained. “Could be an assault from that direction.”
“Tribune, without a doubt you are blessed by Theia. But there’s no advantage to attacking on the end of your line in a city,” Frigian suggested. “It’s probably a diversion.”
“A diversion,” pondered Claudius as he studied the town below him. While he enjoyed great vision, he couldn’t see through buildings. So, he looked where he could see and that’s when a flash caught the midday sun. Then another flash as a body ran between two large homes on the north side of Messina. “Signalman. Flag First Sergeant Brictius. Tell him to expect an immediate attack.”
“What are you thinking?” inquired Frigian.
“I’ll tell you Captain. The Qart Hadasht are going to come over the south wall making a lot of noise and putting on a show,” Claudius explained. “But the real show will be below us on the north side. I imagine they’ll try and break through our lines. If they do, they’ll head up the stairs directly for my command post.”
“Cutting the head off the snake, so to speak, sir?” replied Frigian.
“Exactly. Can you put some Sons on our lines on the south streets to back up my Legionaries?” Claudius asked.
“Yes, Tribune, I can do that,” Frigian assured him. “But any soldiers we kill, we keep their armor and weapons. Deal?”
“You really are pirates, aren’t you?”
“Sons of Mars born and bred, Tribune,” bragged Frigian.
“It’s a deal, Captain Frigian,” Claudius assured the pirate.
Frigian rendered a sloppy salute, grinned and ran down the stairs. His hundred or so oarsmen were lounging around the dock. Their Captain soon vanished behind a warehouse heading in that direction.
“Not a bad choice, sir,” First Sergeant Gerontius commented. “We left a Century of skirmishers in Rhégion. Why not let the Sons of Mars take their place?”
“Tell me, First Sergeant. Which would you rather have?” inquire Tribune Claudius. “One hundred and twenty pirates or eighty Legion Velites?”
“The Legionaries of course,” Gerontius replied.
“So would I. But our Velites are across the Strait and the Sons are here,” Claudius said. “My choice isn’t good or bad, it’s just convenient.”
“I’m going down and help Brictius,” announced Gerontius. “Any orders, sir?”
“Watch your flanks. In a town, the enemy can come through a compound and you won’t see them until they’re a blade’s distance from you. Brictius taught me that,” responded the Tribune. “Take care of my First Sergeant.”
First Sergeant Gerontius saluted, turned on his heels and jogged down the stairs. Half way down, he smiled. Tribune Gaius Claudius, in a short time, had become a Legion combat leader. Always learning and always teaching. The type of officer all Legionaries hoped for and often didn’t get.
***
“First Sergeant Gerontius, get bored being with the command staff?” teased Brictius.
“The Tribune spotted Qart Hadasht soldiers sneaking down on your side,” Gerontius explained. “He’s using the Sons of Mars to free up squads for your position.”
“Good. Let’s see how the Empire does in a face to face fight,” replied Brictius.
The Lance Corporal of the first squad to arrive, halted his men and walked over to the First Sergeants.
“Senior Centurion Valerian said you’re in charge, First Sergeants,” the squad leader informed the two senior NCOs. “He wants to keep the officers on the main road and on the south side to manage the Sons of Mars.”
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“Park your squad between the streets,” Brictius explained. “If they hit us on more than one street, I want you available as a reserve.”
Soon, nine more squads reported to their location. The fifty heavy infantry men stood between the streets with half facing First Sergeant Brictius at the intersection of one road and the other twenty-five facing First Sergeant Gerontius at the other. In addition to the ten squads there were thirty-six infantrymen already guarding each street.
Brictius commented that one hundred and twenty-two of the Republics finest, could hold the blocks against an army of Qart Hadasht soldiers. Later, he would come to regret the statement.
***
The tops of ten ladders popped up over the southern city wall.
“Standby javelins,” ordered Senior Centurion Valerian. “Skirmishers, forward. Take them as they come over.”
The seven Velites, who had made the crossing, ran between the three ranks of the squads. At the base of the wall, they placed five-extra javelins on the ground. Posed with their right arms back holding javelins, they waited.
Moments passed and Valerian began to think the ladders were just for show. Then the ladders shook and ten tall conical Empire helmets appeared. From over the wall, faces, shoulders and arms rose into view. Spears, obviously passed up to the ten, were raised. As if to draw attention to themselves and to intimidate, they waved the shafts in the air.
They did draw attention but not from the heavy infantrymen. The Velites launched seven javelins and seven soldiers fell out of sight with iron javelin tips in their chests. Quickly, three more were launched and the last of the Qart Hadasht soldiers fell away.
To the Legionaries surprise, the ladders shook as ten more soldiers climbed the ladders and hoisted spears. Again, the skirmishers swept the wall clear of the Qart Hadasht soldiers.
“They sacrificed two squads for nothing,” one of the Lance Corporals said.
“Steady there,” advised Valerian. “There has to be a reason to waste the lives of your men. I just don’t know why. Be ready.”
Then the ladders shook but, this time, soldiers started flowing over the wall. They came over hugging the top before dropping to the ground. Seven died as they were hit by javelins. Seven more were injured but the numbers scrambling over the wall outpaced the Velites’ ability to throw. When the last javelin launched, the skirmishers drew their gladii preparing to engage the thirty uninjured Empire soldiers.
“Velites. Withdraw through the ranks,” Senior Centurion Valerian ordered. Then he announced, “They may waste lives but the Legion doesn’t. Squads standby. Front rank, draw. Squads Forward.”
As the soldiers attempted to collect themselves into ranks, the Legionnaires marched at them. Left foot down then stomping with their right, the rhythm of the stomp caused the soldiers to look up. Shields locked together, moved towards them and, over the shields javelins waved in the air.
The Qart Hadasht Sergeants shouted for their men to form ranks and most did. But enough hesitated so when the Legion front rank approached, those soldiers left holes in their formation.
“Advance. Advance,” called out First Sergeant Valerian.
And the shields hammered forward rocking the Qart Hadasht front line. The gladii thrusts that followed dropped several and panic ran through the soldiers of the Empire. Some turned to the sides getting ready to run off.
“Third rank lateral right five steps,” instructed Valerian. “Second rank lateral left five steps.”
His orders were repeated by the Lance Corporals and repeated again by the squad’s pivots. Almost as if they had planned the maneuvers, the squads shifted extending the front line to twenty Legionaries. It was more than enough to prevent any Empire soldier from escaping the deadly thrusts of the shields and the gladii.
***
The runner pounded down the street, hooked a right and raced through a gate. In the compound, he slid to a stop.
“Sub-commander, sir. Sub-commander Barca has begun the assault over the southern wall,” the runner reported.
Gisco marched to where Admiral Hanno sat on a home’s patio.
“Admiral. Sub-commander Barca’s forces have begun their assault,” Gisco reported. “Should we gather the soldiers?”
“Not yet, Gisco. Give the farmers a chance to rush reinforcements to defend their flank,” the Admiral replied. “I’ve heard they overreact to everything like children playing. Well, the games end today because the Empire is about to do some mentoring. Once they’ve weakened the north side, we’ll sweep the remaining clod busters from Messina and end this fiasco.”
“Very good, Admiral,” Gisco said before strolling over to where their Lieutenants lounged along a wall. There, the sub-commander explained how he and the Admiral had devised a plan to drive the Republic forces into the harbor.
The Lieutenants were tired of the sub-commander’s bragging and the waiting around. But as officers in the Qart Hadasht military, they listened to their superior officer. Even if the knowledge he shared was thin on experience and long on theory.
“Sub-commander Gisco,” Admiral Hanno called softly from the patio.
“Admiral, is it time?” Gisco asked as he walked across the compound.
“Split our forces,” instructed Hanno. “Put a Company on one and another on the adjacent street.”
“That’s a hundred troops on just two streets,” Gisco responded. “Shouldn’t we split the Companies up. Then, we can open three or more fronts?”
“I prefer this not to become a battle of attrition,” Admiral Hanno explained. “Concentration of force, sub-commander, dictates we employ a superior force to breach their lines. Once we’ve broken through, we’ll split our forces to engage their splintered units.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll brief the Lieutenants,” Gisco replied.
***
First Sergeant Brictius couldn’t see what action was taking place on the south end of Messina. But he had a good view of Temple hill. The signalman at the top kept flashing the hold positions sign so he knew something was happening.
The street uphill from his Legionaries was empty. A quick glance at First Sergeant Gerontius let him know that street was also empty. So far, after the big rush to get him the reserve squads, nothing changed. The squads sat and talked, the birds sang, and the streets were peaceful.
Then from blocks away, faint and garbled shouts echoing off the walls and sides of homes reached him. He didn’t understand the words but First Sergeant Brictius recognized commands when he heard them.
“Legionaries, stand up and gear up,” he ordered. “We have visitors. Let’s give them a Legion welcome.”
“Standing up, First Sergeant,” the infantrymen replied as they stopped sharpening and sheathed gladii, packed away half eaten pieces of food, capped water skins, and picked up their shields and javelins. On the other street, First Sergeant Gerontius’ squads mirrored the preparations.
Brictius studied his Legionaries. Twelve shields wide, they stretched across the road in three ranks. Holding up a hand, he motioned over a Century’s Corporal standing with the reserve squads.
“What do you need, First Sergeant,” the Corporal asked as he marched up.
“Give me your opinion of our position and strength?” he responded.
“We’re too close to the end of the houses,” the Corporal replied. “If we have to step back, we’ll be in the intersection and the Qart Hadasht can flow around our lines.”
“You’re right. And our strength?”
“Closed in on both sides, there’s nowhere for the injured to go,” the Corporal related. “If we have to push, we’ll need more than three ranks to plow through their bodies.”
“Good analysis,” complimented the First Sergeant. “Call up a reserve squad and make them the fourth rank. They’ll be short two but I don’t want to break up a squad.”
“Right away, First Sergeant,” the Corporal said as he turned and went to speak with a squad leader.
“Squads st
and by, forward ten paces,” Brictius ordered.
***
The Legionaries had just reset when, far up the street, Qart Hadasht soldiers entered from a side road. Their front ranks marched into the intersection and turned towards the Legion lines. Five abreast, the columns stretched back and the tail’s end vanished around the corner. More soldiers emerged until a full Company marched at the Legion lines.
“There must be a thousand of them,” a Legionary remarked.
“You can’t count, Private,” his squad leader responded. “Five times twenty is one hundred. It’s a standard infantry Company for the Qart Hadasht military.”
“Maybe I don’t count so good,” the private observed. “But it sure looks like a thousand to me.”
“How many men in a Century?” quizzed the Lance Corporal.
“Eighty infantrymen,” answered the Private.
“See, only twenty more men than in a Legion’s Century,” explained the Lance Corporal.
“Still looks like a thousand to me,” the Private insisted.
“First rank, stand by to draw,” Brictius ordered from behind the ranks.
“Standing by, First Sergeant,” twelve voices responded.
He waited as the Qart Hadasht columns closed to within fifteen paces. Then, orders rippled down from the Company’s rear. Quickly and professionally, the columns expanded to ranks ten across.
The Qart Hadasht soldiers and the Legionaries stared over their shields at each other waiting for the next order.
***
Tribune Claudius wanted to pace, yell or hit something. When First Sergeant Brictius repositioned the Legionaries further up the street, he lost sight of the unit. Although he could still see the First Sergeants’ four remaining reserve squads, he had no view of the enemy forces after brief glimpses of them passing through intersections. But he didn’t pace. Instead, he scanned the town seeking clues about the Empire’s positions or movements.
Most of Messina, at least on the eastern sectors where he could see, were stable. Then his eyes stopped scanning. At cross streets about three blocks from First Sergeant Brictius, a man in a gold cloak and dressed in gold trimmed armor stood staring up at him. He wasn’t positive but it looked like the big man he’d spotted on Citadel hill.
Brutal Diplomacy Page 14