He refocused on the task at hand. They had almost reached the hill. It was covered with numerous rocks and had poorly visible places where the infantry should be able to set up the guns to cover good sections of the plane before them. The problem was the truck who couldn’t go up the hill, and ultimately had to be mobile in order to escape if needed, depending on from where the enemy would eventually appear. To repair a dented truck, pierced with arrows, was a task Becker didn’t really want to face.
“Your men should be grouped here,” suggested Becker, as he explored the terrain with Arbogast and the legate. “Start with the construction of a camp but don’t push the men. Post the usual guards, but no more, while my men go for cover and provide your soldiers with covering fire.”
The principle of “covering fire” was something the Romans were entirely familiar with, although they used a different word for it. Their tactics knew the concept of entrusting some archers to protect the flanks from unpleasant surprises. That such tactical ideas got an entirely different meaning with the presence of far more accurate and powerful firearms Becker had been able to teach the Roman officers only rather tediously. He hoped the dry runs on paper with the Roman officers would now prove to be sufficient. Most of the legionaries marching with them had heard of the German secret weapons, but only a few had been eyewitnesses of the demonstration in Sirmium. Becker was not sure whether the known iron discipline of the Roman soldiers could endure this quite new experience.
But there was always a first time. And every tactical plan was obsolete at the moment in which they met the enemy.
“The Goths have taken the bait,” Secratus reported. The officer seemed unconcerned, as if he didn’t care about the prospect that his men might play bait. “They are on their way.”
“My soldiers will be in position in a few minutes,” Becker said. He had dismounted and led his horse up the hill to obtain the best possible viewing position. “From where do we expect the enemy?”
“East,” the Legate said briskly.
“Then our vehicle needs to stay on the western side of the hill,” Becker murmured half to himself. “Your men should begin with the construction of the camp.”
Secratus pointed to the plane before them. Becker saw that the first tents were already erected. Men worked noisily in a nearby grove of trees to cut down the trunks of barricade. For encouragement, they sang loud and since the accuracy of the axes apparently had suffered under the long march, curses and vituperations by irate decurios were clearly discernible. It was a wonderful spectacle not to be missed and one which couldn’t be overlooked by any observer.
Becker looked down the hill after they had reached its gently curved top. Secratus had returned to his men, but Africanus and Arbogast had joined the Germans.
The infantrymen had chosen excellent positions. Lieutenant von Geeren had developed a keen eye for rock formations suitable for the machine gunners. There, the tripods of the heavy weapons would have secure footing. The whole hillside was covered by the unit, from a height of about six meters above the lowlands in front of them upwards. The thick bushes and boulders served as excellent coverage, and as long as the men lay flat on the ground, no one would notice anything of their presence. Becker’s only fear was that, despite the wisdom of Secratus, Gothic scouts might have witnessed their placements. Although he wouldn’t be able to report more than around hundred men in strange uniforms and armed with equally strange sticks walked up the hill, the fact of their very existence could cause a Gothic leader, if he wasn’t totally stupid, to think twice.
Becker cowered down, armed with his binoculars, leaning behind some tall grass tufts and scrutinizing the plane in front of him. The Romans still made a big fuss about the construction of their camp, and only Becker recognized that all workers had the weapons at hand or never stayed further than two or three feet away from them during their work. The guards had been carefully instructed not to notice the approaching enemies too early. Their professional ethos apparently contradicted these orders, as the legate had to insistently repeat this part of the plan several times.
Then Becker straightened the eyepiece further east. The fine line of cautiously approaching Goths jumped into his field of vision. Becker pursed his lips. The enemy was still a good five miles away and thus already quite in range of the guns. But victory was to be absolute. The Goths had to be closer and stay in the field of fire of the entire unit so that something would happen that Becker had paraphrased rather politely in planning: a slaughter.
The captain braced himself. There was little glory in mowing down a completely overpowered and surprised opponent. On the other hand, this was not about honor, it was about survival, and notably also in the long-term.
Becker put the glasses aside and sought the face of von Geeren. The lieutenant, about three meters below him in a similar pose, looked at him expectantly. Becker shook his head. His deputy nodded. The Germans would fire only at the expressed command of their officers.
Crouching next to von Geeren perched artificer Thanfeld. He had his rifle lying beside him, and had buried himself up to his ears. His special services were not needed here. Becker was sure that this might prove to be different once they met the main body of the Gothic army.
But now it was important to win this particular battle.
Again Becker raised the binoculars to his eyes. The dark line of the Goths was now discernible in more detail. Becker found the scouts’ estimate conservative. The approaching group consisted certainly of nearly 1,000 riders, although a census was hard to achieve. There was now no turning back anyway – the Goths rode increasingly faster up the hill, and the Roman guards had received permission to openly acknowledge the presence of the enemy – but the chance that someone would escape the carnage had increased significantly because of the higher number of attackers. Becker had no choice but to allow the barbarian riders to get really close.
The Roman troops kept their nerves. While they ran around like excited chickens, Becker realized with a smile that at all important locations a decurion or a centurion was present in order to manage the chaos. It wouldn’t be long, and the soldiers would withdraw, seemingly frightened. The timing was important. They had to lure the Goths close enough without remaining in the field of fire of the German weapons. Becker didn’t want to imagine what would happen if the first Roman legionaries were struck down by German bullets. He realized with bitter certainty that this kind of incident couldn’t be avoided completely in the future, but here and now, as the alliance had not developed sufficient mutual trust, this would have fatal consequences.
“The right time,” Becker said, lips curled in silent soliloquy. “The right, the right, the right …”
It almost seemed to him as if the ground already trembled under the hooves of the onstorming Goths. The muffled rumble that swept over the plain undoubtedly came from the onrushing horsemen. Becker gritted his teeth, never let the eyes from the eyepiece, calculating and observant. He knew von Geeren waited for his command so that the horns of the legionaries would give the agreed signal for disengagement. The thoughts raced in Becker’s head, as experience, intelligence and intuition merged into an almost unconscious calculation and decision-making process. Becker had not managed to be promoted to captain in a relatively young age because he was too slow or too stupid.
The Goths had approached. Now the ground was shaking. And their war cry was deafening.
“Now,” roared Becker and raised his hand. The horn sounded. The senseless chaos of the Romans ended abruptly, and with their famous precision the legionaries followed their officers to prepared positions. The soldiers melted away like butter in the sun, without paying much attention to the mocking cries of the Goths. No one turned around and attacked the Barbarians, no one wanted to prove his bravery, and no one run away prematurely in wild panic. Becker could not help but nod approvingly. Secratus had his men under control, there was no doubt.
Becker put the binoculars to the side. He didn’t need any
magnification anymore. Even with the naked eye, everything was now clearly visible. And von Geeren looked at him expectantly.
Becker’s reviewed his plans and the reality of their unfolding. The onrushing Goths, howling with triumph, the quietly retreating Romans, the position of his men, those of them squatting behind the machine guns, the thick tubes of their killing machines pointed toward the onrushing bunch – it was like a painting full of deadly presence, and to consider all this seemed to take an endless amount of time for Becker. All components of his tactical design now fell to their places.
A plan that would work.
Becker was surprised at himself.
Then he nodded toward von Geeren.
Commands were shouted.
The storm rose.
12
Strange , Jan Rheinberg thought, as he furtively wiped the damp palms on his toga, why am I so nervous?
He was, as so often, almost too often in the last few days, present in the big tent of the Emperor and waited for two men to join him, those because of whom he had been summoned: the Emperor himself, who still supervised the imminent march of his troops to the West, as well as Ambrosius, the bishop of Milan, who had recently arrived. The name in itself filled Rheinberg with respect. The work of the father of the Catholic Church was well known, even for him as a Protestant, and his efforts were an integral part of Roman domestic politics. Nevertheless, the German tried not to let it affect him emotionally, since beyond all historical transfiguration this very Ambrosius had been a politician who had not hesitated to use state violence to enforce his principles and had been ready to sacrifice human lives to do so.
The Catholic Church had canonized him later, but regardless of what they believed or not, the Ambrosius Rheinberg was about to meet was no saint. He was a powerful personality full of energy and without a doubt someone who could convince and wanted to. Rheinberg knew the historical Gratian had listened to him, and even more so his successor Theodosius, with all the disastrous consequences that had followed his advice. The unity of the Church, Ambrosius’ biggest goal, hadn’t been achieved by the religious laws of Theodosius. But on that way they had driven the empire to the brink of civil war and beyond.
A development that Rheinberg wanted to prevent.
When three men entered, he looked up. The first face he recognized was the tired young likeness of Gratian, who gave Rheinberg a nod like an old acquaintance and sat down with a quiet moan. The indefatigable and almost invisible Elevius immediately came to the fore and brought some refreshments for the visibly exhausted ruler.
The second man as well, Rheinberg had met before: It was Theodosius, who had arrived only yesterday. The future General of the East – and, if Rheinberg could prevent it, hopefully never Emperor of Eastern Rome – had shown restraint and dignity in the face of sudden responsibility. He measured Rheinberg with a keen eye. The captain didn’t know how far the Spaniard had already been informed by others about the potential future of the empire, but one thing was clear – Theodosius, a very pious and staunch Trinitarian, was a strong ally of the bishop in this group. There had been no great effort for Ambrosius to convince the future emperor that exaggerated religious tolerance was the wrong remedy. And Theodosius had pursued this belief with great assertiveness in his time.
However, that was Rheinberg’s perspective, the foundation stone for doom had been laid by young Gratian and he would begin to make serious mistakes in a few years.
The third man was Ambrosius himself, dressed in a humble monk’s robe, his face frozen in a make-belief expression of contemplation, as if the upcoming conversation would be like a game of cards, and therefore it was necessary to leave the other players in the dark about his feelings. He also gave Rheinberg a nod, had previously been introduced to him briefly, and had since then cultivated excellent courtesy. Rheinberg steeled himself.
After all the men sat down and the servants had brought light meals and drinks, Gratian took the floor.
“Gentlemen, as you have all noticed, the camp is disassembling, and we will return to the western heartland. Unpleasant information forces me to turn my attention back my actual domain. Even my planned visit to Ravenna has to be postponed. The German tribes have become restless again, and it is time to step up border security. I leave some troops under the command of Theodosius but must take the main part of the western army with me. The general will, as soon as possible, travel to the East to lead the reconstruction of the eastern forces. He enjoys my full confidence in this regard.”
Rheinberg didn’t comment on the last sentence. He hadn’t stayed long enough at the court to understand the intricacies of political power flows that took place under a polite surface. But he thought he had realized that influential officers and generals as Richomer and Victor had strongly advocated for the appointment of Theodosius, even more so than Gratian had been ready to admit in the meetings which have been attended by Rheinberg. The motivations behind this he couldn’t even guess, they showed, however, that the young Emperor was not regarded as someone who had sufficiently proven himself as a military leader and so as a legitimate emperor. This apparent willingness of the Emperor to be influenced was what Rheinberg secretly counted on. But now, at this moment, some forces of a different kind were against him.
“On the other hand, I hear that the men under Legate Becker and General Arbogast are not far from Thessaloniki and there is a plan to attack the Goths with the miraculous weapons and the rest of the Eastern Army in a very early stage and to lure them into a kind of ambush.”
“A very daring plan that risks the core of the army, which I am to rebuild,” Theodosius commented. He had not been present during the demonstration of Becker’s company, and although he was willing to give a certain amount of faith to the numerous accounts of what happened, he lacked to be personally impressed. Rheinberg wouldn’t blame him.
“To send our foreign visitors on their way had been my decision,” Gratian recalled with mild severity in his voice. “I don’t think it will help us a lot if we discuss this in detail. We will see how the outcome of this decision will be, and then we can talk about whether the risk has been unnecessary or worth it.”
Theodosius bowed his head as a sign of respect. Everyone in the tent knew that the appointment of the general was a probation and would probably lead to appointment as Augustus of the East. Even the Spaniard wouldn’t risk this opportunity with excessive criticism. Rheinberg had even looked up the date. In the former past, Theodosius would post some minor successes and then be made Augustus in January 379, just over two months from then, which would relegate Gratian officially back to be just the ruler of the West.
There wasn’t much time. Rheinberg hoped that Becker would have success. It was of absolute importance. Nothing was more convincing than success. A victory over the Goths would greatly strengthen Rheinberg’s position at court.
“We should discuss the matter another time – when we have up to date information,” the bishop said in a low voice.
Again, Theodosius was almost intimidated, surely humble, and just nodded. Gratian appeared to be grateful for the intervention of Ambrosius, because he relaxed, took a cup of wine and looked both friendly as well as curious at Rheinberg. The German suddenly realized that the Emperor didn’t wish any further part in the discussion and wanted to be perceived merely as a spectator. He expected a kind of spectacle. Rheinberg felt like an animal in a zoo.
“Dear guest,” the bishop turned abruptly to the captain, “we have not called you here to discuss military matters, although I would like to admit that they are of the utmost urgency. I want to talk to you because of the many issues that have been reported to me, without denying that the superior weapons you have brought into the Empire could turn the tide in the fight against the barbarians. In fact, I will include your Legate Becker and his men in my prayers, because, like all Roman patriots, the safety of the Empire is very close to my heart, and everything that makes the East stable and protected is to find my bless
ing.”
Rheinberg registered that Theodosius imperceptibly curled his lips. He also knew that Ambrosius didn’t mention the death of Valens with good reason. Valens had been, in contrast to the far more orthodox thinking of Gratian and Theodosius, quite positively inclined toward the Arian Christian, something the bishop had been enraged about. Regrettable as was the death of the eastern emperor for the safety of the Empire, the more pleasing was this event for Ambrosius’ plans to build a state church, and of course one that had the sole authority of definition about what is the right faith and what isn’t.
Rheinberg said nothing and let the man continue.
“However, there are other critical developments that may have become even more problematic by your arrival,” Ambrosius said. “Should you be successful with your soldiers and your fearsome weapons, you will no doubt be men of great influence in the Empire. For me, this raises the question of how do you position yourself in regard to religious disputes, Rheinberg. You are familiar with the situation in the Empire?”
“I’m aware that there is lack of respect among Christians in regard to different interpretations of some important principles of faith,” Rheinberg replied diplomatically. “In addition, I realized that important church officials find the protection of pagan religions by official tolerance outdated and call for a change of government policy on religion.”
The Emperor's Men_2_Betrayal Page 9