“We are blending in,” Pliny explained after a flurry of orders to the deck officers and crew. “Enough Empire ships-of-war have left the circular formation so there are gaps. We’re filling in a slot.”
The officer for the General’s First Century twisted around to gaze sternward. Far back, a Qart Hadasht vessel rowed unaware the Republic’s flagship was just ahead. Then the First Centurion spun to look over the deck in the direction of the bow. Although closer, the ship-of-war out front was oblivious to what followed them.
“And if one of them identifies us for what we are?” Rogatoris inquired.
“We scuttle the plan and run for the bound ships,” Pliny offered.
“There’s a plan?” the First Centurion asked.
“There was,” the ship’s Centurion responded. “But sometimes the opportunity is too good to pass up.”
“Opportunity?” Rogatoris begged. “I’m much more comfortable on dry land with maniple formations. What opportunity?”
Centurion Pliny raised his arm and pointed a finger at the ship-of-war at their bow. It had swung off the line, heading into the fray, no doubt to do some damage.
“First Principale, put us on a pace to catch him,” Pliny instructed. “but leave our rowers enough energy to rip out his cūlus.”
“Yes, sir,” the first officer acknowledged. “Musician set an up-tempo pace.”
By the breeze across the deck, Rogatoris could tell the quinquereme increased speed. From a smooth raised tail section, the wood of the rear boards on the Qart Hadasht ship-of-war became visible. As they drew closer, the First Centurion made out the caulking lines between boards. Then the enemy vessels realized it was being targeted.
“I believe we need to get serious,” Pliny informed the first deck officer.
“Yes, sir,” he responded. “Musician, set a rapid tempo. Navigation give me an attack angle on their stern before they come about.”
The bronze ram on Kratos' Republic cut the water, moving slightly from side to side in response to adjustments by the rear oars. Rowers bent their backs and braced with their legs to maintain the rapid pace. And finally, the perfect attack angle evolved, and the bronze weapon struck wood.
Blades on the heavy ram nicked the rear section before digging into the boards. With the power of one hundred axes chopping at the same time, the boards split. Less than a heartbeat later, the bronze fins caught the raised part of the keel and dug in. The tail bone of the Qart Hadasht ship-of-war snapped. As Kratos' Republic swerved away, the enemy quinquereme reared back like a horse settling on its haunches. Except the sea water pouring in assured the ship-of-war would never right itself or fight again.
***
“Opportunity,” Pliny ventured. “Now that we’ve announced ourselves, we need to run or a Qart Hadasht ram will return the favor.”
On the bow, the Third Principale shifted from front to side to front to the other side. On the stern platform, the First Principale faced rearward and also shifted from side to side.
They were watching for the vessel seeking revenge. In the meanwhile, the General watched the lashed together ships.
“The blue armored infantry from the septireme are advancing,” General Duilius observed. “Our line appears to be a little ragged.”
The rhythm slowed from the frantic pace used for the attack. But it didn’t drop to a leisurely rate. They needed to cover a long distance rapidly and the only way was to pressure the oarsmen. Under the steady beat, the rowers maintained, and the Kratos' Republic cut swiftly through the water and the sea battle.
Chapter 38 – Shields and the Goddess
“Centurion Sisera,” the Marine NCO advised. “We have a rear element issue.”
Reluctantly, Alerio pulled his eyes from the ranks of blue armor infantry to the ship’s deck behind him.
“Oh, for the sake of the great Goddess Minerva,” Alerio blurted out. “How can we have sympathy for our enemies when they won’t let the fates hand them a victory?”
To the rear of the inexperienced Republic line, the remaining tribesmen and their wicker shields assembled. Rather than letting the blue armored infantry do
the job, the mercenaries wanted to reengage. By the volume of their war chant, they were preparing to charge and collect some of the glory.
“Didn’t they learn their lesson the first time?” the Marine NCO questioned.
“Hurt them,” Alerio ordered. He faced front and began to pace behind his nervous shield holders. Yelling, he demanded. “What’s my name?”
“Centurion Sisera,” came back a spotty response.
“No. My other name?” Alerio bellowed. “The name my personal Goddess blessed me with?”
“Death Caller,” a more robust answer came from the oarsmen.
“Today, the Goddess Nenia wants souls,” Alerio announced. “More specifically, she wants the souls of those blue armored, swinging mentulae.”
Pushing through the line, Centurion Sisera strutted to the front where he was visible from both ends. He made a show of shrugging the shield off his left arm and throwing it to the deck. Then he drew a pair of gladii.
“Today when you think you can’t hold the line any longer, I will come behind you, reach over, and kill the man in front of you,” Alerio demonstrated by mimicking high stabs as if extending the blades over a shoulder. “But know this, my Goddess Nenia will be present. On your life, lock your shield with your neighbors and stay in place. Do not fall back or move forward. Your soul depends on it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Death Caller,” the oarsmen replied.
Alerio walked to one end of the line and began working his way towards the far end. Almost as if a precursor to the coming assault, the sounds of men dying and being injured rolled over the defensive line from behind.
***
While Alerio made his motivational speech, the Marine NCO called the infantrymen and the Marines together. They took three pila each from under the steering platform and moved into ranks facing the wicker shields.
While Centurion Sisera spoke of reaching over to kill an opponent, the Optio ordered.
“Stand by. Prepare to throw two,” he instructed. “Throw two javelins.”
The fat shaft of the pilum fit snugly in the hand and allowed for accurate throwing. And the short iron shaft and barbed head aided in the balance for the arched flight. Launched with skill, the javelins fell, piercing wicker shields and a few unlucky soldiers.
Unfortunately for the mercenaries, when they attempted to remove the pila, the iron shafts bent, and the barbed head caught on the tightly woven material. The shields drooped from the weight and while the tribesmen struggled to remove the javelins, the second flight dropped into their midst.
The mercenaries’ tight, chanting formation deteriorated, becoming a nightmare of bleeding, and crying. The distress of the enemy had no effect on the Marine NCO.
“Pick your targets,” the Optio instructed. “Throw your final javelin.”
The whimpering and screams of the survivors carried to the shield line, creating background ambience for the coming battle. Centurion Sisera stopped and spoke with every oarsman holding a shield, as if the anguish of men cutting iron bards from their flesh was an everyday occurrence.
At the end of the line, Alerio stepped between two men.
“Nice speech, sir,” the infantry Optio complimented Alerio. “I’ve been in many assaults. And truthfully, Centurion, I’ve never seen a shield stop the Goddess of Death.”
“Haven’t you?” Alerio asked.
***
The Qart Hadasht mercenaries were only thirty feet away. It might have been the reason the blue armored soldiers spread out rather than attack in a wedge as Alerio feared.
“We have a shield wall situation,” the Infantry NCO remarked while pointing out the long line. “It’s not much but I’ll take it.”
“Have the infantry and Marines keep the pressure off the line,” Alerio instructed before walking to the opposite section of t
he shield wall.
“Fortūna smiles on us, Centurion,” the Marine Optio declared.
“For a short while,” Alerio offered. “They look professional. Let’s hope our muscles overcome their skills.”
“You know better than that, Centurion Sisera,” the NCO reminded Alerio. “If all it took was strength, the dangerous wicker men would have turned us into stains on the deck.”
“I was looking for a happy thought,” Alerio complained.
“That was yesterday, sir,” the Marine NCO remarked. “Today is just another day in the Legion. Here they come.”
Alerio sprinted to the center of the line and drew both gladii. He looked back and forth at his forty shield holding oarsmen and he worried. Was he tough enough on them at Ostia beach?
“You always second guess yourself just before an attack,” ship’s Centurion Savium commented. “By then it’s too late.”
Savium had a javelin resting on his shoulder and a smile on his face.
“What are you so happy about?” Alerio questioned.
“Look what we did,” the ship’s Centurion offered. “We captured three Qart Hadasht ships-of-war.”
“I’m not sure you can count the septireme,” Alerio pointed out.
“The only measurement that counts,” Savium countered. “is taking three of their vessels out of the sea battle.”
“In that case,” Alerio agreed. “congratulations.”
Then the weapons’ instructor leaped to the rear of the shield wall. Reaching over an oarsman, he sank one gladius blade into a mercenary’s chest via the man’s neck.
“The Goddess of Death is near. Hold your line,” Alerio urged.
Jumping sideways, Alerio landed and stabbed over another rower’s shoulder. The blade broke the soldier’s front teeth as it stabbed into the man’s mouth and through his spine.
“The Goddess Nenia is here. You can feel her presence,” Alerio warned. “Hold your line.”
Alerio had faith that Nenia would come and help the wounded pass into death. He did not believe anyone could feel her presence, but he didn’t have to believe. As long as the oarsmen trusted that the Goddess was near and feared to move, it was enough.
Then the line bulged when a wounded oarsman fell away from the shield wall. Running to the breach, Alerio blocked a long sword, kicked a shield, and hacked another’s neck before forcing the wave of blue armor back.
Four shields down, another oarsman collapsed, the line protruded into the rear, and Alerio ran to seal the gap. His world shriveled to a series of open spaces filled with blue armor and tall helmets.
As shield holders fell, the line shrunk, and the shield wall was pushed back, almost to the port side rail of the Deimos’ Claw. Alerio lost track of everything except the diminishing number of rowers in the center sector and the blue wave that threatened to overwhelm him and his men.
***
The Kratos' Republic raced in the direction of the roped together vessels. Below deck, the oarsmen pulled on the water in time with the drum’s upbeat tempo.
“I don’t believe you can help them, General,” First Centurion Rogatoris explained. “Even if we dock before the line fails, we can’t guard you and fight the Empire soldiers. We just don’t have enough Legionaries to split our forces.”
Ship’s Centurion Pliny added, “We can ram a few, but we can’t stay in this soup without getting cooked. General, you need to be where you can command the rest of our fleet when it arrives.”
Standing in a group off to the side, Duilius' staff of Tribunes nodded their agreement. The General’s shoulders sank in surrender and he started to order the warship out of the battle. He ventured a final glance at the fighting on the rafted vessels. One of the commanders of the Republic’s shield wall jumped forward, hacked, and slashed before stepping back. Dripping gore and rivers of red blood, Gaius Duilius recognized the youthful Centurion.
Then the focus used by a man with no family name to become a Senator and be elected to co-Consul of Rome showed on Gaius Duilius’ face. Senate infighting and guarding his position were second nature to the political beast. But something changed when he picked up the mantel of General and assumed the responsibility for the fleet, the Legions, and the wellbeing of the Republic.
At first, he played it safe by bending to the authority of senior Consul Gnaeus Scipio and relying on Scipio’s staff for decisions. Careful not to unset factions, Gaius had remained timid. And other than a few defiant decisions, the junior Consul followed directions. One of his rebellious acts had been to appoint a young Centurion as the weapons’ instructor to the fleet. Now that officer needed help only a General of Rome could deliver.
“Gnaeus Scipio is held by the Empire,” Gaius Duilius announced. An angry look crossed his face before being replaced by a blank expression. He raised his chin and puffed out his chest. “Is there any doubt that I am the most powerful man in the Republic?”
Ship's Centurion Pliny and First Centurion Rogatoris exchanged glances. Reaching a silent decision, they saluted General Duilius to demonstrate the truth of the statement. The cadre of Tribunes standing back from the General hesitated. Then they also braced and saluted. Gaius Duilius was the supreme commander of four Legions and a fleet of over one hundred warships. His new-man status aside, for now even noblemen would bow to his authority.
“On those rafted ships is one of my first appointees,” Duilius informed the men on the steering platform. “We will not abandon him or his detachment or the crew fighting valiantly on those ships. Ship’s Centurion dock this vessel.”
“Yes, General,” Pliny said acknowledging the command. “First Principale. Lay us beside the Qart Hadasht quinquereme and break out the grappling hooks.”
While the navigators steered Kratos' Republic around the island of ships, Gaius Duilius shifted his eyes between First Centurion Rogatoris and his staff officers.
“The First Centurion is correct,” he stated. “We don’t have enough Legionaries to guard me and my flagship and go against the Empire soldiers.”
Tension ran through the Tribunes in anticipation of what the General was about to say. The opposite was true of Rogatoris. As a veteran infantry officer, he looked forward to the next statement.
“We are going to assault across the decks, through the blue armored mercenaries, and up the ramp to the septireme,” Duilius proclaimed. The First Optio reached out, grabbed a loose belt on one of his squad leaders’ armor, and cinched down the strap. Gaius noted the small action and smiled. “The man in the blue robe appears to be a high ranking Qart Hadasht official. When this is over, I want him on his knees in front of me. Gentlemen, like the First Optio has just demonstrated, prepare yourself for battle.”
Act 10
Chapter 39 – Victoria’s Choice
At some point, Alerio had discarded one gladius and acquired a shield. It was blue but, he couldn’t remember where he picked it up or when he strapped it on.
The painful exhaling of air from a snapping rib cage exploded above Alerio’s head.
“Better get up, Centurion Sisera,” a big oarsman urged while withdrawing a broken shield. The soldier, injured by the rower, dropped to the ground in front of Alerio. Holding his caved-in side, the mercenary groaned and joined the six blue armored bodies arranged in a semicircle. “Thanks to you holding the position, Centurion Savium was able to rally us.”
Alerio looked up to see a line of muscular bodies. The wall of shields separated a quarter of the Deimos’ Claw’s deck from ranks of Empire soldiers. A wineskin flopped onto the deck next to him.
“Have a drink, Centurion Sisera,” ship’s Centurion Savium instructed. “This isn’t over, yet.”
“It looks pretty final from down here,” Alerio offered. He pushed off the boards dragging the wineskin with him.
“That’s what you said the last three times they attacked, and you led the counter assault,” Savium commented. “Can you do it again? Or do we surrender?”
Alerio peered between the g
athering ranks of blue armor and noted the number of mercenaries sprawled on the deck. After sheathing the gladius, he lifted the wineskin.
“That ship has already rowed off the beach,” Alerio remarked. “If we drop our guard, we will die.”
“Here they come,” the infantry Optio warned.
Alerio lifted the wineskin, tilted his head back, and took a stream of watered vino. He lowered the skin, reached for his gladius, and froze. To his astonishment, the rows of blue armor were backing off and reforming their ranks.
“Whatever you did, Savium,” Alerio encouraged. “Do it again.”
“It wasn’t me,” the ship’s Centurion replied. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the Qart Hadasht quinquereme.
The Kratos' Republic scraped up the starboard side of the ship-of-war, sailors flung hooks, and reeled in the lines. Before the ships were completely bound together, Rogatoris and his squads leaped off, and formed into a battle line as they marched. Behind them, the Legionaries assigned to the warship fell in as a second rank.
Alerio’s Marines and infantrymen had First or Second Maniple levels of experience. The squads from the General’s First Century were composed of battle-hardened veterans. The Admiral’s blue soldiers were about to learn the difference.
***
“Pliny. Signal in what you need,” Gaius Duilius instructed. “Whatever you do, do not allow the septireme to row away. I want the man in the blue robe.”
The General stepped off Kratos' Republic and onto the boards of the ship-of-war.
“Find me whoever is in charge,” Duilius ordered his four bodyguards.
The General might insist on venturing close to the battle. But, per orders from Centurion Rogatoris, he wouldn’t do it without shields protecting his person.
Behind the General, Pliny directed, “Cast off the lines. First Principale, signal Republic ships to follow us.”
***
Quick and agile, three triremes prowled the sea seeking to ram any vessel that came near Admiral Gisco’s flagship.
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