Uncertain Honor Page 17

  “Standing by, Senior Tribune,” the Marines responded.

  “On my command,” Alerio ordered. The smashing and bashing along the Marine line stopped. Surprised, the Empire soldiers also stopped and relaxed. It was a mistake. “Advance, advance, advance.”

  On the front line, one hundred and ten Marines hammered their shields into faces, withdrew them, stepped forward into the gap, and stabbed with their gladii. Behind them the second line followed with stomping and stabbing anybody on the ground. Again the front rank slammed their shields forward, paced into the space, and struck with a coordinated line of steel. After creating that space, the front rank repeated the sequence.

  As they killed and came out of the water, the Marines sang.

  “From unblocking the way

  Never lead astray

  Until we fight

  And we win the day”

  The Empire soldiers stumbled backwards under the three brutal advances. As their lines gave, Marines trapped outside the assault line surged inward, and the combat formation expanded to two hundred and eighty-five shields.

  Two Marines that came in behind the combat line stopped at Alerio’s position.

  “Sir, there’s a bunch off the Psyche of Bellona stuck out there,” one informed Alerio.

  “I’ll take care of it. You go find a hole and plug it,” Alerio replied.

  The singing grew in intensity as the ranks filled. And as if sea monsters from the depths the Marine’s crawled out of the sea and claimed land.

  “We will not give ground

  We have none to give

  Where sea and sand convene

  That’s where you will find

  The Legion Marines”

  “Centurion Palle set up the gate,” Alerio instructed when the Marines had pushed far enough out of the water. “And give me a collection detail.”

  In short order, the double row of Marines shifted so the second rank had only one backup man for every two on the front line. The extra Marines were position to lengthen the line. A gate was not designed to move. The Marines having staked a position, would keep their place until they died, or the heavy infantry arrived.

  Five Marines rushed up to Alerio.

  “Sir, you need us?” a squad leader reported.

  “We have men stranded out there,” he told them. “I want them back.”

  “Not to worry, Senior Tribune, we’ll get them,” the Decanus promised.

  Alerio took off the highly visibly helmet trimmed in red horsehair. He placed the Tribune’s headgear on the ground and snatched up a wounded man’s helmet and shield.

  “No, Lance Corporal, we’ll get them,” Alerio declared as he strapped the shield to his arm.

  The recovery team sang along with the assault line as they jogged to the end of the formation.

  “The shifting sands of fate

  Are the only place for Marines

  For Marines are the only ones fated

  To consecrate the ground with blood

  Between the sea and the mud”

  Alerio guided the five men to the end of the combat line. They expected a pause, but the senior staff officer charged into a pack of Empire soldiers. While he slammed and drove men back, the Marines bashed and stabbed to make the hole wider.

  In every battle, there were men who would not fight unless an NCO stood over them. The soldiers beyond the crowd at the combat line were that type. Seeing six bloody Marines emerge was too much. They ran, leaving an open area.

  Far to the left, Alerio spied a circle of Marines fighting off a hoard of soldiers.

  “There,” he shouted before sprinting towards the fight.

  As he got close, Alerio raised his voice and sang.

  “On the red sands of fate

  We hold the gate

  Until relieved by the Gods

  Or one of similar rate”

  Hearing a familiar tune gave the surrounded men heart and they echoed the song. Alerio pulled back a soldier and tossed him to one of the rescue Marines. Two more soldiers were slung back and killed before Alerio saw the face of a terrified young Marine. Despite his fear, he held a blade and a shield as he defended his section of the tiny formation.

  “Are we having fun yet?” Alerio asked.

  Not understanding for a moment, the young man got a puzzled look on his face. Then the realization of who had saved him dawned on the Marine.

  “Senior Tribune, it’s been a long, long, day,” the young Marine offered. “And not much fun.”

  “Let’s get you back to the assault formation,” Alerio told him. “It’s more fun there.”

  “Sir, we have wounded,” the Marine informed Alerio.

  He stepped aside. Behind him, in the center of the circle, Alerio saw Hektor Nicanor treating four wounded Marines.

  “Can they be moved?” Alerio asked.

  “Staying here isn’t good for anyone’s health, Senior Tribune,” Hektor assured him.

  Some helped the injured while the healthy Marines formed a moving envelope. With Senior Tribune Sisera in the lead, they fought their way back towards the singing at the combat formation.

  “We will not give ground

  We have none to give

  Where sea and sand convene

  That’s where you will find

  The Legion Marines”

  ***

  They battled and, along the front line, Marines died. When one fell, another took his place. Twice Alerio and Centurion Palle were required to constrict the ranks before the formation failed. Yet, for all the Marine souls Nenia Dia carried from the beach, more Empire soldiers fell to Republic blades.

  The fighting grew so intense, none of the officers or NCOs bothered to look behind them. It offered nothing. False optimism floated out at sea, but death lived at the assault line. Why look? A sharp blade rendered useless whatever hope appeared on the horizon.

  Adding to the fury, the Qart Hadasht commanders released their reserves. Short of breath, the song faded until it was but a slight movement of the lips. Yet in their hearts, the Marines sang.

  “We will not give ground

  We have none to give

  Where sea and sand convene

  That’s where you will find

  The Legion Marines”

  From behind the cries of dying men and the silent song, a clear command voice bellowed, “Draw. Forward.”

  Following the order, hundreds of men replied, “Rah.”

  Legionaries, the heavy infantry of the Legion, had arrived. Charging down the ramps, they splashed to the beach and set their formation.

  “Senior Tribune Sisera, please exfiltrate your Marines,” Senior Tribune Triticeus called out. “The left flank infantry of Regulus Legion East will take it from here.”

  “Stand by to advance. Advance,” Alerio ordered. The exhausted Marines slammed, stepped, and stabbed before the Senior Tribune added the words they wanted to hear. “Step back, step back, step back. Rotate out.”

  Chapter 20 – Taking Fort Kelibia

  The building was neither all hard structure nor all tented pavilion. Using the tent material to expand the sunbaked bricks of the villa, servants had extended the house to create living, meeting, and clerical spaces for the Consuls and their staffs.

  “We wasted lives on this place,” Consul Longus remarked. “We shouldn’t waste anymore.”

  The two craned their necks and scanned the stone walls of Citadel Kelibia.

  “They weren’t wasted,” Regulus corrected. “The Marines and Sisera saved our heavy infantrymen. And we’ll need them for later in the invasion.”

  “I meant we should sail for home,” the younger Consul stated.

  Lucius Longus took a last look at the stones of the hill fort, spun away, and vanished through the tented entrance. In his haste, he let the goat hide flop back into Marcus Regulus’ face. Shaking off the retort that balanced on the edge of his tongue, Marcus followed his Co-Consul into the headquarters.

  “What are you doing
here, Sisera?” Lucius Longus demanded.

  Marcus heard the tone and rushed his steps to catch up with Longus.

  “Sir, I’m waiting for Consul Regulus,” Alerio responded.

  “You could have washed up and put on a clean toga,” Longus scolded. “Parading around in soiled armor as if you were Discordia herself is disrespectful.”

  Alerio’s right hand curled tightly around a stone shaped like a dagger. And his left hand attempted to crush the edge of the helmet under his arm. Being told he resembled the Goddess of Strife and Discord required a response. If they were in Rome, Alerio would have delt with the Senator. But on a campaign with Lucius Longus being a General and protected by First Century Legionaries, it was better to let the insult go.

  “I was on assignment, Consul,” Alerio offered.

  “What assignment? Stealing scraps from the butcher,” Longus accused. His arm flopped at Alerio’s chest to indicate the blood stains. “or maybe you were trying to impress the Legion recruits. It’s not often they get to gaze on a real hero.”

  Suppressed anger sent waves of trembling down Alerio’s limbs. Just before he slapped the Consul and got into a swordfight with the veterans of First Century, Marcus Regulus rushed into the room.

  “Senior Tribune Sisera, did you find anything?” Marcus inquired.

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio replied. “There is a blind spot where the archers can’t see down the slope.”

  “And how do you know that?” Longus demanded. His lips curled back as he prepared another insult. “You can’t…”

  “Consul Longus, get control of yourself,” Regulus instructed. “I need to hear the report.”

  Alerio held out his right arm and opened his fist. Across his palm lay the dagger shaped rock.

  “What’s that,” Longus sneered, “your lucky talisman?”

  “No, sir. It’s a rock from under the walls of Fort Kelibia,” Alerio responded. “I climbed up and retrieved it.”

  “Preposterous. When did you have time to climb to the walls?” Longus asked.

  “When the soldiers were retreating,” Alerio explained.

  “Impossible, their archers were blanketing the base of the hill to keep our Legionaries back,” Longus commented.

  “And I sent Senior Tribune Sisera around to see if he could find a weak spot. It seems he did,” Regulus added. To Alerio, he invited. “Come and show me where the sisters to that rock sit.”

  Longus bristled and stormed away. Marcus Regulus waved Alerio into his wake. Together they strolled off in the opposite direction from the Co-Consul.

  ***

  Resting on a large table was a sheet of goatskin leather displaying a hastily drawn sketch of Fort Kelibia. Beside the drawing were mugs and a pitcher of watered vino. Consul Regulus handed Alerio a mug and the pitcher and tapped the map.

  “You look thirsty, have a glass. And Consul Longus was right, you are a mess,” Marcus observed. But he didn’t scold the Senior Tribune further. Rather he tapped the map again and instructed. “Tell me what you found.”

  Alerio filled the mug, rested the pitcher on the tabletop and, using a finger, traced the path up to the entrance of the fort.

  “After the switchback trail, it’s a straightforward assault for the Legionnaires. There’s no doubt, they can take the main gate, given enough daylight,” Alerio described between sips. “But the portal to the fort is between a pair of towers. While the two front lines fight their way in, deeper in our ranks, we’ll take casualties.”

  “I can’t do anything about the towers, and I hate to waste infantrymen on a hill fort,” Regulus remarked. “But we don’t have time to starve them out and I can’t leave an Empire stronghold this close to our ships.”

  “It’s not the structure or the towers,” Alerio clarified. “Most of the survivors from the beach fled to the fort. The challenge for our infantry is the density of resistance. If we can draw soldiers away from their main gate, there won’t be a logjam inside the wall.”

  “And how do we magically reduce their numbers?” Regulus inquired.

  Alerio slid his finger around the walls to the southwest of the fort. Instead of a corner, the stone fortifications pointed inward to accommodate a dip in the ground. The in and out of the walls created a notch before the rocks met the west wall. Another tower loomed not far from the indentation.

  “This is where I collected the stone,” he explained. Alerio put the sliver of rock on the leather sheet with the tip pointing at the notch. “I made it to the wall without catching an arrow and all the way down before a few archers chased me from the bottom of the hill.”

  “But you’re one person,” the Consul pointed out. “Parading a Century of Legionaries up the hill to a blind spot isn’t the same thing as a lone man.”

  “It’s about speed and getting to the top of the wall quickly,” Alerio informed Marcus. “For that, I’ll lead my Marines in the assault.”

  “I like the idea, except for you in the attack,” Regulus stated. “We have landed one hundred and forty thousand men in the town of Kelibia on the Punic coast. Most of them are hovering near the beach.”

  “It’s where their warships are, sir,” Alerio acknowledged. “But what does that have to do with me leading the assault?”

  “One hundred and forty thousand men worshiping Sterculius once, twice, or more times a day, if they have stomach issues,” Regulus declared. Alerio couldn’t understand his connection to the Consul’s referencing the God of Manure. “All without direction or a hint of sanitation. You can’t lead the attack because, Sisera, I am appointing you as the high priest for the God of Poo.”

  Alerio shook his head and tried to decipher the Consul’s meaning. Then, it hit him.

  “You’re appointing me the Latrine Officer for the entire expedition, sir?” Alerio questioned.

  “One hundred and forty thousand men produce a lot of merda. Stercus fit, Senior Tribune Sisera,” Regulus stated adding the common complaint that ‘stuff happens’. “I need a leader who can control the growing piles.”

  Alerio tipped the mug, finished the vino, and saluted.

  “You can count on me, sir,” he announced. “Who is hitting the front gate?”

  “Elements of Senior Tribune Triticeus’ left flank will take the gate,” Regulus answered.

  “I’ll send Centurion Palle to him so they can coordinate,” Alerio offered. “If that’s all, sir, I’ll take my leave?”

  “One more thing,” Regulus replied.

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “Install my latrine first,” Regulus requested. “And I would prefer something more than a hole in the ground.”

  “Absolutely, Consul,” Alerio agreed.

  Before Marcus Regulus could think of another task, Alerio rushed from the building. Under his breath, he cursed the assignment as he made his way out of the headquarters structure.

  ***

  Finding the main supply depot proved easy. Alerio simply followed the line of carts and porters. Those heading in a northwest direction from the fort hauled equipment, sacks, and amphorae. Those returning to the supply ships traveled with bare floorboards and empty arms. He located the depot’s command tent and spotted a barrel of water at the entrance.

  “Supply people have all the luxuries,” Alerio mumbled while bending to scoop up a double handful of water.

  As he rinsed his face, neck, and arms, Alerio could hear one of his supply officers inside the tent.

  “We need to add wagons to the long-range patrols,” Centurion Gratian instructed. “Get to the quartermasters at each Legion and remind them that we will run out of supplies in a matter of days. To replenish the grain and livestock, we need to scour the countryside.”

  “And what if they don’t want to cooperate, Centurion?” a supply man inquired.

  “If a Legion patrol leaves their stockade without our wagons and our men, they will become last in line for resupply,” Gratian threatened. Adding a growl, the supply officer suggested. “Inform th
e Legion quartermasters that Senior Tribune Sisera will come down on them like merda from the sky. All smelly, nasty, and sticky if they don’t indulge us.”

  The tent flap parted, and Senior Tribune Sisera walked into the meeting.

  “Speaking of stercus duty,” he announced. “We need to organize latrines. Where do we start?”

  “The Legions will handle their own collection of urine,” Gratian answered. “And they will dig latrines for their Centuries.”

  “That only covers a little over sixteen thousand men,” Alerio warned. “What about collecting urine from the fleet?”

  “We’ll need to place pots and let the tanners and laundries know where they’re located. The tradesmen will pick up the liquid,” the supply officer stated.

  “The oarsmen and sailors don’t have Legion field training,” a supply NCO exclaimed. “As a result, sir, the beach and water along the coast is becoming foul.”

  “Have you tried instructing them in sanitation protocol?” Gratian asked.

  “They laughed and point out that usually their warships push off the next morning for a new port,” the NCO revealed. “They don’t understand camp sanitation.”

  “I see the issue,” Alerio summarized. “The oarsmen need to be taught to use latrines. How do we do that?”

  “If we put up a stockade wall around the warships,” Gratian suggested. “And put the facilities outside, the rowers will have to leave the beach to do their business.”

  “We can charge the ship’s officers with enforcing the no-merda-on-the-beach rule,” Alerio added. “I can draw a map of locations. Gratian, pull ship’s carpenters from the fleet to build the seats at each pit and the stockade.”

  “I didn’t know you were a cartographer, sir,” Gratian commented.

  “I’m a Legion certified map maker,” Alerio admitted. But he held his hands out in frustration. “However, I’m not an engineer. And Consul Regulus wants more than a cesspool for his daily constitutional.”

  “We were going to install a holding tank for bath water at headquarters,” Gratian stated. “If we build the bath on a platform, we can drain the wash water into another tank. That will supply water so the Consul can flush when he finishes. Will that work, sir?”