Brutal Diplomacy

by J. Clifton Slater

  The pits were there to break up the Hoplites’ phalanx formations. The Greeks could come up the road but only one phalanx at a time. While the single formation moved smoothly, the soldiers protecting its sides would be up and down pits and hills. If the phalanxes came across the field they would need to weave their tightly packed formations between the pits and hills. All in all, it was a good defensive line. However, like all good things, it came to an end – actual ends where the field flattened.

  “Cavalry, port and starboard,” announced a Sons of Mars runner.

  Alerio, atop the big horse, lifted his eyes from the ranks of his infantrymen slowly forming up across the road. Looking left then right, he cringed.

  Mounted Syracusan troops charged the ends of his line. Where he had heavy infantry at the center, on the ends were his irregulars. Half armored rowers, organized by boat crews, they fell back as the cavalry charged them. Bunched up and unable to defend themselves, several of the irregulars fell dead or wounded to the grass.

  As the horsemen rode off and circled for another pass, Alerio called to his Sergeants.

  “First and second squads, fall out and get to the port end,” he shouted using the nautical terms familiar to the Sons of Mars oarsmen. “Eleventh and twelfth, hustle to the starboard end.”

  Alerio would have preferred to be in the shield wall. But, Captains Frigian and Creon had appointed him overall commander. The leaders of the Sons were on his left and right trying to rally their men to defend against another cavalry charge. They were failing.

  More oarsmen flew back, arms, heads, and shoulders slashed by fast moving mounts and swift sword strokes. Soaring splatters of blood, like rooster combs, marked the falling bodies while sprinkling the other irregulars. On the front ranks, oarsmen checked to see if the red drops were theirs or that of a fallen crew member.

  Then, the first and second squads of the Militia’s heavy infantry reached them. As if an armored glove had been slipped on a bleeding hand, the squads curled into two ranks. The bleeding appendage at the end of the Sons line had become an armored fist.

  The Syracusan cavalry kicked their mounts and came about. They laughed and howled at the ease of the killing. With savage joy, they bore down on the irregulars for another round of whack-a-pirate. Except now their horses galloped towards tightly linked shields bristling with iron tipped javelins.

  Realizing the enemy had changed, the mounted troops veered off and guided their mounts to the rear of the heavy infantrymen. But they swung wide and the irregulars, who had been fixed targets, turned the table. Now, the oarsmen raced towards the cavalrymen throwing javelins, and spears. Two mounts stumbled and the cavalry troopers fell as their mounted unit turned and escaped back around the heavy infantrymen. Angry oarsmen swarmed the wounded Syracusan soldiers before racing back to their place in the defensive line.

  On the starboard side, the leader of the cavalry recognized the danger of heavy infantrymen. He turned his mounted unit and trotted them back to the Syracusan line.

  “They didn’t turn our line,” commented Captain Creon as he rode up.

  “But they did draw off some of our infantry,” replied Alerio indicating the six remaining squads at the road.

  “Sixty shields are still impressive,” added Creon.

  “They use thirty-two Hoplites in their phalanx formations,” explained Alerio. “Even if we break it up, the Hoplites are better trained. We’ll be lucky if our men can hold the line after the phalanx breaks up.”

  “You don’t have much faith,” observed Creon.

  “Captain. My faith is founded on Centuries of Legionaries coming through the gate,” Alerio said glancing at the empty opening in the south wall. “Until then, I believe a lot of us will die if Syracuse attacks.”

  ***

  The sun had passed its zenith and Tribune Claudius had worn a slight trench in the hard soil of Temple hill from his pacing. Below in the harbor, another hundred Qart Hadasht soldiers had boarded transports and rowed into the Strait.

  “They’re down to three hundred,” announced Valerian as he reached the top of the hill. “At least now we’re evenly matched.”

  “But we’re not,” Claudius replied lifting an arm and pointing southward. “There’s movement at the Sons’ position.”

  “I could sneak away a Century and send them south,” offered the Senior Centurion.

  “And if one of those transports returned and Admiral Hanno changes his mind,” reflected Claudius. “Those eighty Legionaries will make a difference here. Over the wall, I’m not too sure. Hold what we have.”

  “Yes, sir,” Valerian replied while looking down on the dock and beach at the inactivity of the Qart Hadasht soldiers.

  Then, Admiral Hanno raised from his camp chair, arched his back and put his hands over his head. Claudius and Valerian stiffened focusing on the figure in front of the tent on the beach.

  “Signalman. Stand by,” Valerian called without taking his eyes off the Admiral.

  “Standing by, Senior Centurion,” the Legion signalman responded.

  But Hanno didn’t signal an attack. He opened his mouth and yawned. With a wave at a servant, the Admiral strolled to a ramp and boarded one of the Triremes. After his baggage was carried aboard, crewmen pushed the Empire warships off the beach. With uniformed strokes, the Triremes powered across the harbor and entered the Strait.

  “You’ve cut the head off the snake, sir,” Valerian said congratulating the Tribune. “Do you want to send units to the south wall now?”

  “Bomilcar and Gisco are still on the dock,” Claudius warned. “Those two have had their heads together for most of the morning.”

  “Bomilcar? The officer who challenged the Admiral?” inquired Valerian. “Do you think he’s irrational enough to order an attack?”

  “While Lieutenant Bomilcar is, I believe his rashness is being tampered by Sub-commander Gisco,” surmised Claudius. “I’m afraid Lance Corporal, or should I say, Lieutenant Sisera will have to make do with his Sons of Mars heavy infantry for a while longer.”

  Chapter – 38 An Unheroic Welcome

  Two and a half days later, the two Triremes rowed into the Empire port of Zis. They had crossed two thirds the width of northern Sicilia and passed all the troop transports. As the warships ground onto the sandy beach, an Admiral and a squad of soldiers rushed to greet them.

  “Admiral Hanno. We sighted the ships expecting news,” Admiral Yutpan, the commander of all the Qart Hadasht forces on Sicilia, explained. “I didn’t expect to find you. What’s the status of Messina?”

  “Admiral Yutpan. We need to have a conversation,” replied Hanno.

  “Come. We’ll go to my office,” Yutpan urged.

  The two Admirals and the squad marched off the sand, up granite steps and took a winding path to Yutpan’s office.

  ***

  “And with the Syracusan’s forces closing in from the south and four of our families’ sons in danger,” Hanno related softly ending his long explanation. “I withdrew our forces and left Messina to the Republic.”

  “That is disheartening. But from what you described, I can’t imagine you’ll have any problems with your decision,” Yutpan guessed. “Let me have my staff assign you quarters. Get some rest while the remainder of your command rows in. I’m sure we can find you a new posting soon.”

  Admiral Hanno didn’t relax for the two and a half days it took for the last transport to row into the docks at Zis. He roamed the beach during the day and the halls of his quarters at night. All the while questioning his actions and especially the final decision concerning Messina.

  ***

  A knock at the door dragged Hanno out of a restless sleep. When he opened it, a messenger handed him a rolled parchment. Stripping off the band and seal, he read.

  Admiral Hanno,

  Your presence is demanded in the naval hall at first light.

  Admiral Yutpan

  Hanno dressed quickly and rushed from his room. He strutted down th
e hallway, and out a back door. Across a courtyard, he entered another doorway, marched down another hallway and stopped in front of a set of large ornate doors. There, he paused and took in a deep breath before shoving the doors open and walking into the naval hall.

  ***

  It was a mid-size room with a long candlelit table on one end. Three men sat on one side of the table - Admiral Yutpan and two Empire staff officers. Although they faced the room, none of the three looked up when Hanno entered. They were occupied with pieces of parchment they passed back and forth. They’d silently read a section by candle light, point out specific words, hand the missive to another of the trio, and repeat the process. Brief whispered discussions followed each sharing of the parchments.

  Braziers cast weak, shadowy light around the room. A line of five chairs had been placed several feet from the table. Men occupied four of the chairs and Admiral Hanno knew all of them.

  Sub-commander Gisco, Lieutenant Maharbaal and Lieutenant Bomilcar sat in the first three. Over a short divide was an empty chair. Sub-commander Barca occupied the fifth chair which was also separated from the empty one. Admiral Yutpan glanced up, indicated the center chair, bent his head, and returned to the discussion.

  Hanno walked by Gisco and Maharbaal, who didn’t raise their eyes or acknowledge him in any way. Beside them, Bomilcar jutted his chin out and tracked Hanno’s passage with malice in his eyes.

  As Hanno reached the empty chair, he received a sad smile and a nod from Barca in the last chair. He returned Barca’s greeting and sat with his back rigid in the empty and isolated chair. Placing his hands on his knees, Hanno faced the three judges without expression.

  The windows behind the judges’ table lightened as dawn approached. But the three continued to use the illumination of the candles until sunlight passed over the table and crept the several feet to the line of five chairs. Only when Hanno’s face was clearly visible did Admiral Yutpan and the two staff officers cease their examination of the documents and their discussions.

  Admiral Yutpan blew out the candles on the table and announced, “Charges, horrible and dark, fit only for the black of night, have been levied against Admiral Hanno. We have reviewed them seeking enlightenment with the rising sun. Now with the morning light shining on the accused, we are prepared to also shine the light of Qart Hadasht justice on Hanno, an Admiral of the Empire.”

  As Yutpan finished and sat, another of the judges stood.

  “Admiral Hanno, you have been charged with desertion in the face of the enemy, disgracing the Empire,” listed the staff officer. “Actions unbecoming of an Admiral of the Qart Hadasht military, showing a lack of judgement and cowardice.”

  The officer sat down and the third member of the panel stood.

  “Hanno has an exemplary record as a military leader,” the officer stated. “Coming from a good but moderately successful house of Qart Hadasht, his talents and strength of character allowed him to rise to the exalted level of Admiral. Maybe it was the struggle to climb and the self-preservation necessary to advance that caused him to act as he did in Messina. Or possibly, he had risen too far above his abilities to make sound decisions concerning the Messina incident.”

  “Messina incident?” cried out Bomilcar with scorn in his voice. “When faced with death and honor, Hanno chose to save his own life with dishonor.”

  “And he saved your life, and my life,” Barca reminded Bomilcar.

  “I’d rather die than give up land to the Republic or any other rogue government,” Bomilcar bragged. “Maybe my honor and love for the Empire is stronger than yours.”

  “Lieutenant Bomilcar. Do you challenge my honor? My commitment?” Barca asked in a low and threatening tone. “Because while you were running errands for Admiral Hanno and sub-commander Gisco, I was beyond the wall facing Syracusan soldiers. If you want to test my courage, open your mouth one more time!”

  “Now see here, sub-commander Barca. There is no need to chastise a young Lieutenant for speaking his mind in a court,” Gisco exclaimed. “And certainly, no reason to make it personal and threaten violence.”

  “What did Bomilcar promise you, sub-commander Gisco?” inquired Barca. “A trade deal with his family? Or, maybe his sister and a fat dowry as payment for bringing down a fine Admiral? Or maybe you think you will be promoted to Admiral in his place?”

  Gisco opened his mouth but nothing came out. In the glare from the combat officer, he decided not to respond.

  “The panel of judges has read the reports and heard the opinions of witnesses both for and against the Admiral,” Yutpan stated. “Admiral Hanno do you have anything to add before the panel renders a decision?”

  Hanno raised slowly and straightened his shoulders. With his eyes level and clear, he spoke.

  “I have served the Empire for fifteen years. During that time, I have endeavored to protect the interest of Qart Hadasht at all times. Against all foes in battles at sea and on land, I have been successful. In Messina, I faced an adversary I was not prepared for, not emotionally or militarily,” explained Hanno. “By retreating, I saved the lives of my junior officers so they could share the experience. Hopefully, they will help mold the Empire’s forces so the next time we face the Republic, our soldiers and officers will be prepared. For that reason, the future of the Empire, I ordered the surrender.”

  Hanno sank into his seat as if all the air had left his body. As a military commander he was accustomed to being in control and deciding the fate of others. Now, his was in the hands of three judges.

  Mercifully, the panel didn’t take long to decide.

  “Admiral Hanno. It is the unanimous decision of the court,” Yutpan stated. “That you have been found guilty of lack of Judgement while in command of a strategic shipping port, and cowardice in the face of an enemy of the Empire. For these charges, and to impress upon all Qart Hadasht officers the need for perseverance in the face of opposition, you shall be taken to a high hill so all may witness the justice of the Qart Hadasht Empire. On the hill, at the sun’s zenith, you will be crucified and remain on the cross until death takes you.”

  ***

  With the sun high overhead, a squad of soldiers marched with Admiral Hanno to the crest of a hill. Before Hanno laid down and spread his arms out on the wooden beam, he looked upon the rolling waves and the ships of the mighty Empire rowing across Zis bay.

  After lashing his arms to the cross piece and his ankles so his heels touched the wedge piece, the soldiers hoisted the beam. Its end slipped over the edge, dropped into the hole, and slammed into the bottom. The jolt dislocated Hanno’s shoulders and he fought to fill his lungs. As the soldiers filled the hole with stones and packed rocks around the beam to keep it upright, Hanno pressed with his heals, rose up on quivering legs, and sucked in air. But his heals slipped off the wedge and he dangled strangling until he could locate the sloped wedge with his heels. Again, he rose up, breathed and slipped. It was a struggle he would repeat until sundown when his strength failed and he hung fully stretched on the wood. As the sunset over Zis bay, Admiral Hanno jerked violently as he suffocated to death.

  Chapter – 39 Motivation in Question

  The soldiers rushed down the hills on either side of the rutted road. Ahead of them, the phalanx moved too fast and the spacing of the soldiers became uneven. In a ragged line, they hit the solid shields of the Sons of Mars heavy infantry while the phalanx surged ahead.

  “Why are they suddenly in a rush to kill us?” asked Frigian.

  “I don’t know Captain,” Alerio replied. “Are you ready?”

  “Give the order, Captain,” Frigian responded.

  The two leaders split apart. One running to the left, the other to the right. Each joined two ranks of differently armed men. In the front rank, the heavy shields and swords of infantrymen dominated. Behind the infantry, oarsmen stood gripping long poles with thick shafts. Another difference, the second rank was noticeably larger.

  ***

  This was the third cha
rge by the Syracusans. All afternoon the soldiers and Hoplites came at the Sons’ line. Each time, the Sons broke the assault but gave ground and left bodies of dead crewmen on the trampled grass.

  During the second beating, as Alerio thought of the punishment the Sons suffered, he noticed one section of his line held. The heavy infantry wasn’t any better than the other squads. Their advantage was behind them. The second rank had poles and spears wielded by large oarsmen. Each time they slammed the poles or spears into the Syracusan soldiers’ shields, the powerful strikes delivered by the massive shoulders of the oarsmen drove the soldiers back a couple of steps and, in some instances, knocked them to the ground.

  Alerio called Creon and Frigian to him during a lull in killing.

  “Captains. Of your oarsmen, who are the strongest?” Alerio inquired.

  “All the machina locus and et mallei crewmen,” Frigian replied with pride. “Our center rowers who provide the power for our ships and the few who have the most strength but lack technical ability. Because, well, they have no rhythm. They are by far the strongest men on this battlefield.”

  “Captains, I’d like you to pull all your machina locus and et mallei,” advised Alerio. “Put them on the second rank and arm them with poles or long spears.”

  “Poles against armored soldiers?” questioned Creon.

  “Captains…” Alerio began to explain when Creon interrupted.

  “I’ve decided it’s impossible for a Lieutenant to order Captains around, even on a field of battle,” Creon interjected. “As the leader of the Sons of Mars, I bestow upon Alerio Sisera the rank of honorary Captain of the Sons of Mars. If we live though this and you want to leave the Legion, you can always get a ship and row with the Sons, Captain Sisera.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Alerio replied.

  “Captain Sisera. Now that we’ve made you a Captain and held a very informal ceremony, what were you saying about our machines and our hammers?” asked Frigian.