Unjust Sacrifice

by Slater, J. Clifton

  They were huge men armed with spears and protected by wicker shields. Size aside, the soldiers bobbed in rhythm and chanted a war chorus. They were forty enthusiastic warriors looking for a fight and he had ten motivated Marines. In short, it was suicide to board the Qart Hadasht ship.

  Then a piercing sound cut through the war chanting. Close to the noise of a file skating on the steel edge of a gladius, the racket evolved into words.

  “On this day of reckoning

  I will carry the fight”

  A bloodied Centurion Sisera sprinted at the head of equally and gruesomely splattered Marines. Singing loudly, the Legion officer crossed the deck of the Deimos’ Claw, put a foot on the rail, and jumped for the boarding beam. His leap appeared to be short. The Marine NCO assumed the Centurion would fall into the sea and drown.

  “Across the boards

  Over the rails

  across the gap”

  Alerio’s right foot smacked into the boarding beam. Too short for him to mount the ramp, it did give him a solid surface underfoot. He pushed off and flew diagonally over the open water.

  “Over the sea

  With my spirit strengthening

  Today, I enforce my will”

  Landing to the side of the mercenary formation, Alerio chopped one and stabbed another of the big warriors before they realized he hadn’t fallen into the sea.

  “Get over there,” the Marine Optio bellowed when he realized the officer had crossed over and was fighting alone. “Move, move, move.”

  Stacked tightly butt to shield, the Marines who followed Alerio from the other fight and the squad from the corvus, stacked and charged. Resembling a human battering ram, they skipped over the beam, aiming for the center of the mercenary’s formation.

  “On this day of reckoning

  Follow me to the fight unquestioning”

  The first Marine to reach the enemy ship caught a spear in the chest. As he fell to the side, a second Marine took his place on the ramp. A second spear caught him in the side and poked the Marine off the beam. As he crumbled, a third Marine roared into view. A third spear tip missed. And as if an irrigation damn was broken open, the Marines poured into the center of the mercenaries’ formation.

  “Today, you will be tested, emerge supreme, or be bested

  The enemy’s blades are at your throat

  Salvation lays in your comrades’ hard post”

  The one limitation to a spear saved Alerio. Inside the arc of the spear tip, the shaft was little more than a nuisance. Plus adding to his moments of life, the big wicker shields did no more than jostle him. If he faced Hoplites and the hard edge of their heavy bronze shields, he’d be on the deck and dead. Instead, he sliced across three thighs and three of the big warriors collapsed. By then the Marines had bodily broken the mercenaries’ formation.

  “Never break the Legionaries’ boast

  As blood soaks the deck of the boat”

  Both sides disengaged. The soldiers, many limping, backed down the deck to the steering platform where they regrouped. Meanwhile, the Marines raced along the port side clearing Qart Hadasht sailors from the rail. As they shuffled forward, grappling hooks fell, attached, and the two vessels were pulled together.

  “Today, you will be tested, emerge supreme, or be bested

  Neptune’s depths are beckoning

  On this day of reckoning”

  Their barbarian tactics had served the purpose of breaking the mercenaries’ ranks. But it was time the Marines snapped into Legion ranks and took control until the infantry arrived. Unfortunately, as the two ships came together, there were no heavy infantry Legionaries to mount the assault.

  ***

  “First Principale. Are our oarsmen trained on the shield?” Flictus Savium questioned.

  “Senior Centurion, they are,” the deck officer assured him. He pointed to the ranks of Marines fending off mercenary spear thrusts. “Centurion Sisera made sure of it.”

  “I see abandoned shields, swords and spears on the decks. And our Legionaries and Marines occupied,” Savium explained. “Draft fifty rowers and get them into a protective shields wall.”

  The first deck officer scanned the boards of the three ships before proclaiming, “There are only about thirty-five free shields, sir.”

  On Centurion Savium’s port side, a tall soldier reached around his wicker shield, overextended, and stabbed a Marine. The sacrifice did score him a kill on a seagoing Legionary, but it cost the mercenary his life when another Marine stabbed him. Both men fell to the deck.

  “Make that thirty-seven shields,” Savium corrected. Off his starboard side, an Iberian infantryman stumbled out of line and was chopped to the ground by a Legionary. “Thirty-eight shields.”

  “I understand, Senior Centurion,” the First Principale declared. “Fifty rowers to act as shield men.”

  The deck officer ran to speak to the Second Principale on the rowers’ walk. Standing with the idle navigators, ship’s Centurion Savium glanced around wondering what else he could do. Then he realized there were other men on the steering platform.

  He had four heavy infantrymen at his disposal. The guards on the stern deck were committed to defending the ship’s command staff. Both from arrows and attacks from a mutiny or a boarding party. It would take all of Coalemus’ blessings for oarsmen to do something stupid like revolt in the middle of a battle. And the only way for the ship to be boarded was for the Legionaries or the Marines to lose their fight.

  “Decanus?” Savium called to Lance Corporal on the platform. “If I free your detail from your duties, which fight would you join?”

  The young squad leader glanced from side to side. Then, twisting his face up in thought, he responded.

  “The wicker men, sir,” he stated. “My heart wants to join my Century mates against the Iberians. But the Marines don’t have the armor or full shields needed to break the ranks of the big spearmen. They need us more.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Savium confirmed before ordering. “Get over there and break that stalemate.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Decanus said. Then to his three-man detail, he exclaimed. “Legionaries, we have a fight. Let’s not make the fates wait. March.”

  But they didn’t march. The four infantrymen ran towards Centurion Sisera and the struggling Marines.

  Flictus Savium rotated in place letting his eyes take in the vista of the sea battle. To his surprise, the Republic warships had rammed several Empire ships-of-war. And, as near as he could tell, the Legion fleet had suffered only mild hull damage while Qart Hadasht vessels sank. The number of circling ships-of-war had thinned slightly. But the line of Empire reserve ships had cleared the land mass and were rowing towards the battle.

  The Centurion blinked to clear his eyes and steady his view. Breaking through the circling ships-of-war, a massive vessel escorted by three triremes headed in the direction of his island. Dipping oars, the septireme sped at Centurion Savium as if to use its ram to break up the group of three interlocked ships.

  ***

  The Marines had the spearmen penned up near the steering platform. That was the extent of their progress in neutralizing the enemy ship. It could not last. In a few instances, the big men found openings and wounded or killed Legion Marines.

  “Suggestions, sir,” the Optio inquired.

  “I am fresh out of ideas,” Alerio told the NCO. “We could attack, but they are big men and I’m not willing to accept the losses.”

  “Agreed, sir,” the Sergeant added. “But there is a sea battle going on around us. If it turns bad for our fleet, we might need this boat.”

  “How far is it to shore?” Alerio inquired.

  “Maybe three miles,” the NCO reported. “Do you think we’ll have to swim for land?”

  “If we can’t break this standoff,” Alerio started to say. “We…”

  “Centurion Sisera. Where do you want us?” a heavy infantryman inquired.

  Four of them arrived breathi
ng hard with grins on their faces.

  “What are you smiling at?” the NCO demanded.

  “Everybody else is honoring Quirinus,” the Decanus asserted. “We want a chance to honor the old God of War.”

  “Where do you want them, sir,” the NCO questioned. “Down the center?”

  “No. We don’t have enough shields to protect their flanks,” Alerio informed the NCO and squad leader. “We…”

  Again, he was interrupted.

  Six oarsmen holding scavenged shields and foraged weapons came up and gathered behind the Legionaries.

  “Down the center, Centurion?” Optio asked.

  “Let’s split them and splat them,” Alerio confirmed.

  “Yes sir,” the four Legionaries yelled while drawing their gladii.

  Peeling back the battered and bruised Marines from the center of the line was the most dangerous maneuver. Once the pressure lessened, the mercenaries moved into the gap. Without resistance, the soldiers would have split the Republic forces. But four big infantry shields met them and a surge by the Legion forces pushed the mercenaries back into line.

  “Oarsmen? Are you ready?” the Marine NCO questioned.

  Six shaky voices replied in the affirmative. While their voices revealed their apprehension, they held the mismatched shields steady.

  “Combat line, step back and rotate out,” the NCO ordered.

  The infantrymen in the center stepped back. On their flanks, Marines filtered between the oarsmen and came off the assault line. Seeing who had relieved them, the Marines remained close behind the rowers.

  “Shall we go to work?” the Optio inquired.

  “Rah!” the line responded.

  Alerio waited with the tired Marines. While they recovered, he watched the four infantrymen. Before they were completely spent, he gathered the Marines.

  “We need a push to end this,” he described. “The oarsmen are fine for containment, but they are not trained for an assault.”

  “You want to drive through the tribesmen?” a Marine asked.

  “Yes, and before the Legionaries are exhausted,” Alerio remarked. He straightened the shield on his arm and pulled the gladius. “Ready?”

  “Back up the line,” the Optio instructed. Once there was a rested Marine behind the oarsmen, the NCO called out. “Combat line, step back and rotate out.”

  Alerio shoved in between a Legionary and a Marine. To the infantryman’s horror, the Centurion began to sing.

  “On this day of reckoning

  I will carry the fight

  Across the boards”

  While the Legion swapped out the front line, the mercenaries worked on a class system. Their front line was either noblemen seeking glory or lower caste members forced to fight. In either case, the soldiers were exhausted while the Legion forces were at least partially rested. In a shield wall, it made a huge difference.

  “Over the rails

  Across the gap

  Over the sea”

  Wood and wicker, big single edged blades and shorter double-edged gladii, tall men from provinces of the Qart Hadasht Empire and short stocky Latians, the combat lines heaved back and forth.

  “Advance, advance,” the NCO ordered.

  Then Centurion Sisera and his unit got serious.

  “With my spirit strengthening

  Today, I enforce my will

  On this day of reckoning”

  Inside the space between shields, Alerio blocked and stabbed. He and the Legionaries shoved forward, stepped into their stabs, and repeated the advance. Under their feet, spearmen were stomped. Sweat, blood, and urine coated everything and the attitude of men, a hand’s width from death, sank inward to a black void. When the mercenaries divided, the pace increased, and the spearmen ran in separate directions.

  With the battle line broken, Alerio stepped back. Removing his helmet, he wiped the blood and sweat from his eyes. Glancing around, he searched for the Marine Optio. During the scan, Alerio noted the Legionaries on the Iberian vessel, running for the Deimos’ Claw.

  The reason was a big ship-of-war docking on the far side of the Iberian vessel. Around the rails, men dressed in blue armor and tall helmets waited to disembark. Standing midship, a man in a blue robe holding a black wooden stick with an ivory figurine on the end, pointed at the bloody decks.

  “What’s up, sir,” the Optio inquired.

  “Gather the men and let’s get back to the Deimos’ Claw,” Alerio replied while pointing at the septireme. “It appears, we are going on the defensive.”

  Chapter 37 – Dueling Commands

  Admiral Hannibal Gisco walked half the length of his septireme as the vessel docked at the trapped quinquereme. From mid-ship, he peered down at the deck of his Lieutenant’s ship-of-war. Red stains, some still pooling before the blood soaked into the boards, showed the ferocity of the fighting.

  “Lieutenant Ahinadab. Bring your command staff on board,” Gisco instructed. “My Captain says docking in the middle of a sea battle is a bad idea.”

  “Admiral, for the glory of the Empire,” Ahinadab declared. His chin elevated higher than the four-foot height difference between the two ships-of-war. “Give me infantry and we can claim the Republic’s warship.”

  Seeing the fire in his underling’s eyes, and knowing his fleet was superior, Hannibal Gisco signaled the Captain of his guard.

  “What do you need to clear the Legionaries and take their ship?” Gisco asked.

  A quick analysis revealed lightly armored Marines, half-dressed oarsmen holding mismatched shields, and twenty-five heavy infantrymen. Besides the exhausted but still standing, others sat and nursed wounds while more lay dead.

  “Five squads, Admiral,” the Captain reported. “That should be enough to clear the deck and maintain security around you.”

  Gisco glanced around and seeing the arrival of the second half of his fleet, he advised.

  “Take seven squads,” the Admiral ordered while waving the black wood staff in the direction of the Republic forces. “And make it quick.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Captain acknowledged.

  The four-foot difference between the septireme and the deck of the quinquereme offered no problem for the Empire infantrymen. But, squatting and climbing down in the heavy armor would be unsightly. To maintain their dignity, ramps were dropped and secured by sailors before the Admiral’s guards marched off the flagship.

  Ahinadab stood on the deck, examining the infantrymen as they shuffled into formation. He strolled down the front rank as if inspecting the troops. But at the end of the row and while the last squad marched down the ramp, the fleet Lieutenant jogged up to the septireme. In a few long paces, he reached the Admiral, saluted, then turned to watch the battle.

  ***

  “They sure are pretty,” the Marine NCO bellowed.

  His voice carried down the line of shield toting oarsman to the other NCO.

  “Yes Sergeant, they are,” the infantry NCO agreed. “But can they fight?”

  “Not against us,” the Marine suggested. “Our oarsmen have shoulders of stone and legs as sturdy as oxen. I almost feel sorry for the Qart Hadasht pretty boys.”

  “Before you waste affection on them,” Alerio offered. “Let’s kill a few and see how they react.”

  “You might make them mad,” the infantry NCO cautioned.

  “Then we’ll kill a few more,” Alerio announced. “Because sooner or later, they will tuck their tails between their legs and run like frightened dogs.”

  “And I wouldn’t blame them,” the Marine Optio summed up the loud conversation. “If I faced this combat line blessed by Mars the God of War, I’d be really nervous.”

  The oarsmen stood straighter and gripped their shields and weapons’ tighter. But most of all, their heads elevated, and they stood with pride.

  Alerio rose on the balls of his feet and peered over the broad shoulders at the ranks of blue armor. He shivered. His collection of barely experienced and inexperienced fig
hters could not survive a wedge attack by seventy fresh heavy infantrymen. After the surge, the pretty boys in the tall helmets would roll up the Legion defenders and take command of the Republic’s warship.

  ***

  A safe distance outside the ring of circling Qart Hadasht ships-of-war, the Kratos' Republic cut lazy figure eights in the water.

  “I can’t see much from out here,” Gaius Duilius complained.

  “General, no flagship enters a sea battle without the rest of his fleet,” Ship's Centurion Pliny advised. “In the midst of the fighting, it’s hard to maintain command and control. It’s only. Never mind, sir.

  “Out with it, Centurion. What did you start to say?” Duilius insisted.

  “This is a warship,” Pliny replied. “We have three hundred oarsmen and a virgin bronze ram. And I can’t get into this fight from out here.”

  “And I cannot command or control from out here,” General Duilius commiserated. “What’s happening at the ship’s raft in the center?”

  “First Principale, you have the gift of Theia,” Pliny offered, acknowledging the extraordinary eyesight of his first officer. “Describe the activity on the middle island of ships.”

  “It appears one of ours has captured two Empire ships-of-war,” he reported. “Hold on. A septireme has just docked. There is a man in a blue robe holding a short black staff. The ship is starting to offload infantry. Sorry sir, the raft rotated, and I can’t see past the hull of the septireme.”

  Gaius Duilius stomped across the steering platform and back to the ship’s officers. As he moved, he smashed a fist into the palm of the other hand as if delivering an impassioned soliloquy to the Senate. But there were no Senators or political operators to hear and debate a flowery speech. On Kratos' Republic, there were only fighting men of the Roman Republic.

  “Ship’s Centurion Pliny. Make your hearing directly towards the center island,” General Gaius Duilius ordered. “Let’s get into this fight.”

  ***

  To the General and First Centurion Rogatoris’ surprise, Pliny angled the Kratos and matched the speed of the circling Empire vessels. They expected him to charge directly at the island. Neither commented nor challenged the ship’s Centurion’s choice even though the roundabout direction generated questions.