Julius allowed a small chuckle. The things had been in usefor less than a month, and already they had a new nickname. He turned back tolook at the second wave of legionaries, all geared up and awaiting his orders.“What are you waiting for, an invitation?” he quipped as he reached out andclapped his carpteneo onto the thick cable. Drawing a deep breath, he steppedout into space.
Without the support of the deck, he could feel the samecrosswinds buffeting him that were beginning to pummel the Scioparto, thesecond he cleared the ship. He looked up at the ship, rapidly dwindling abovehim, the coppery tint of the glasses casting it and the rest of the world insepia tones. He made out the damage the dirigible had suffered in its battle,then turned to survey his hometown. What he saw made him cry out in anguish.
Brittenburg was burning. Debris from the fallen Nortlandairship had created a trail of devastation that served as the spark. Flamesglowed in stone alleyways, moved along awnings, and licked through elaboratelydecorated mansions. A warehouse went up in a fiery ball of gas and vapor, theflames blue against the dark smoke covering the city.
Julius checked his height on his wrist altimeter. He wasapproaching the red zone, or stop zone, where you were supposed to slow yourdescent to a reasonable speed. A tight squeeze on his slider (he likedthat term better), and he felt his momentum slow. A few final spurts depositedhim roughly on the ground.
A legionnaire was there to meet him. “Sir, Junior CenturionGwendyrn’s compliments. He begs leave to tell you-and this is a direct quotesir, so please excuse the language-‘If you are done lollygagging, get yourslothful soldiers here, or we’ll have done all the work for you.’” The soldierstopped and looked sheepishly at Julius, anticipating an angry outburst.
Instead Julius gave a grim smile. “He never learns. We onlysent him ahead so he could get some much needed practice. We’ll be along assoon as possible. Tell him that I want his men ready to push out against themob. If we push them hard, we’ll break them, I think.”
He thought that would be the best idea. Theoretically, if hecould push them out of the narrow confines of the gate, he could bring thegreater skills and training of the Roman legionnaires to bear on the dangerous,but untrained, rioters.
As a new recruit, Julius had been given only rudimentarytactical training with his peers, as it was assumed officers with advancedtraining would be available to lead and give orders. Unless a new man provedexceptionally gifted, it was rare that further training would be provided.Julius had not been one of those exceptionally gifted men; he’d just beenconsidered above average when it came time to choose squad leaders.
Gathering his men, he ordered repeater crossbows unslung andloaded. The men quickly assembled their weapons.
Julius felt a twinge of pride. In less than ten minutes, anentire Roman cohort had performed an airdrop into a combat zone, and preparedfor battle. In a more peaceful time, there would have been an extravagant ceremonywith a day off for the men. Now, a single comment would suffice. “That wasgood, but next time I want it under eight minutes.”
They were close to the gate, so they quick-marched closer,their iron-toed boots pounding over the cobblestone pathways and thuddingacross grass lawns. They assembled behind the thin line of steel-armoredlegionaries holding the entrance. The crowd had backed off somewhat at theappearance of this new threat, allowing the ragtag group of palace defenders topull back to rest under a makeshift tent while the 13th Cohort took theirplaces and their medics saw to the injured.
A man in a dress uniform stood and walked over to Julius,pulling off his oversized helmet as he got close. Julius recognized that brownhair and the even more familiar nose. “Sir?” Julius choked out, forgetting tosalute.
“Good to see you too, Legionnaire Caesar,” Tribune Appiusreplied. “But where is Centurion Vibius? Forgive me for asking, but did thecleaners mix up your uniforms?”
Julius was then forced to relive his moment of shock andpain in the crew cabin- the explosion, the blood, the desperate attempts tosave lives-for the tribune’s sake.
Tribune Appius sadly shook his head. “They were good men. Wewill mourn them and pay our respects to them later. The least they would wantnow is for us to do our duty. Every son of Brittenburg must now be willing todefend it to the utmost.” His voice seemed to ring from the guard towers. Thenhe dropped it to a more intimate level to add, “Especially you, our newestcenturion.”
He must have learned that trick from his father, Juliusthought. The emperor is a great orator. Does he feel phony when he doesthat? He realized the tribune was waiting for him to say something, andfumbled for words before he managed to say, “Sir, I turn the cohort over toyou.” He executed an awkward salute that involved shifting his crossbow fromone hand to the other.
The tribune saluted stiffly, then quickly got down tobusiness. “I want every man available up on those towers. Does anyone have aspeaking trumpet?” His query raised eyebrows. Several men were dispatched tolocate a speaking trumpet and a few minutes later a legionary handed one toConstantine that he’d dug out of the tower storeroom.
“Sir, what are you doing?” Julius asked, alarmed, asConstantine checked to see if it worked. I’m now the one responsible for thelife of the heir to the Roman Empire. How on earth did I end up with that job!?
“Why Julius, my lad, I’m going to go demonstrate the triumphof reason over anger and violence,” Constantine stated in a haughty voice.
Julius didn’t try to keep the doubt from showing on hisface. “Really, sir?” His voice was dead monotone.
Constantine lifted his eyebrows at him. “No need to takethat tone with me, Centurion,” he said as a subtle reminder of who wasin charge, although Julius thought he saw a sparkle of humor in those ice-grayeyes.
Julius watched the tribune climb up the western tower. Apiercing squuuuueeeeeeaaaaaaaaallllllllllll indicated that he had turnedon the trumpet’s speaker. Men instinctively slapped their hands over theirears, even though most were wearing helmets. Several glared up at the tribune.
Oblivious to the distress he had just caused his own men,Constantine turned the speaker toward the crowd. “Now hear this. All people inthe plaza are to disperse and return home immediately. Brittenburg is undermartial law, and anyone caught out on the streets will be subject to deadlyforce.” The trumpet made his words sound hollow and distorted.
Murmurs rose from the crowd. Several on the periphery triedto slip away, but men in gang paraphernalia grabbed them and pushed them backinto line. Several of the ruffians waved weapons or anti-Imperial banners.
Constantine tried again. “If you return home now, no one willbe punished.”
Someone in the crowd shouted back at him. That voice wasjoined by several others, as the more vocal protestors hurled insults back atthe Imperial officer. Vegetables and fruits flew threw the air, thencobblestones and bricks.
Gwendyrn ducked behind his shield. He turned back to faceJulius, disgust puckering his face. “At least they haven’t tried to storm thegate again. What’s left of it, that is,” he remarked wryly to Julius.
A clattering sound drew Julius’s attention back to the towerin time to see the tribune hastening down the metal ladder. He waited forConstantine to join them before asking nonchalantly, “So, Tribune, sir, how didreason fare over violence and anger?”
The tribune grimaced. “We’ll just have to reinforce thelesson with a bit of old-fashioned corporal punishment.” A thousand-throatscream of fury and belligerence interrupted him.
He ran back to grab the discarded speaking trumpet. Thistime he addressed the defenders. “Ready, boys-remember your training! Keep yourthrusts short and cover your brothers. Repeaters, I want as much fire as youcan place on those rebels. Aim for the leaders if you can!”