Chapter 13
Vicenzo
2200
The night was cold.
And oh so terribly dark.
A few civilians were moving past him and entering the better-protected areas of the gubernatorial palace, but not the majority.
Dennis sighed as some gave him dirty looks. First an older man with a colorful… toga? It didn’t look like one, but he couldn’t bring himself to care so much. Then a woman with a pair of sleepy kids. He kept his face neutral. Impassive. Not a little bored. Still, he overheard a pair of women who kept close to each other whisper something he just caught.
“...that they forced the governor to do this.”
“Disgusting barbarians.”
They eyed him as they continued whispering to each other. He did not reply.
“So, what are they saying?” one of the guys of the 7th, Callahan, asked.
“Typical civilian complaints.” Dennis replied in a neutral tone.
“About us?”
“Partly.”
“God damned ingrates…” the man muttered.
Dennis did not reply.
“So! Soldier Dennis?”
He glanced at the red-haired woman- princess.
“Highness.” He said as if addressing any other officer.
The woman eyed the civilians, arms on her hips as if it made her look more like an officer, somehow.
Not with that ridiculous gown…
“Are these the only civilians who listened to the orders to move further into the city?” she asked suddenly.
“So far, highness.”
The older man who’d scowled at Dennis said “No one is happy with this, highness.”
“I understand, but I hope to end this quickly, citizen.”
The man did not reply and kept walking slowly into the palace.
Callahan asked, “The hell did he tell her?”
“That no one’s happy.”
“Oh. Well, what did she expect?”
Parthea frowned at Callahan, as though by tone alone she could tell he wasn’t paying due respect. She eyed him for a moment, then turned to Dennis again.
“Does your comrade have something to say?”
“No, highness.”
She crossed her arms, then said “Understand, this land is not yours. Right now we are helping each other because of our goals aligning.”
“Of course, highness.”
***
During the early days of the Second World War, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics decided to flood into Finland. It had pushed six infantry divisions across the border, supported by artillery and tanks. Nobody really expected the outnumbered Finns to hold out, and eventually, they did have to relent to Soviet demands. But it was only after one hundred and five days of brutal combat that, put simply, showed the failure of Soviet doctrine to the world. But more importantly to the rapidly developing American Special Forces, it had shown which tactics worked against the Red Army.
Specifically, Asymmetrical Warfare.
As the Legend crawled through the grassy hills in the absolute darkness, he kept his wits about himself. His guys were nearby, and while this wasn’t quite like the ski training he’d originally been tasked with, it wasn’t entirely different from those awful days during the Winter War of 1939. He held his M2 Carbine tightly as he peered over the top of a hill.
There was no moon. The tree line was barely visible, noticeable only by the way it obscured the stars above which mirrored those back home at this time. A snaking fuzz of darkness on the very edge of the night.
But just beyond it, faintly, he could see the glow of firelights through the trees. Tiny ambers of dying light which kept those around them warm and, in their primitive minds, safe. With the advent of electricity, mankind truly had forgotten just how pitch black the night could be.
Not those who’d had to face the worst of humanity in the most remote places on the planet.
Some had to learn the hard way that even a lit cigarette could be seen from afar in such darkness, giving any sniper an excellent target, any keen-eyed bomber a bullseye, and any idiot with binoculars and a radio a position to call for a fire mission. From his point in the hills, he could already see plenty of targets that had done him and his men the kindness of painting themselves.
Oh, they were somewhat safe behind the cover of trees, but the forest wasn’t that thick. He watched silently for a moment, then reached into one of his pockets. He removed the small, metallic relic from the last World War, and pressed it once. Used by paratroopers during the Normandy invasion almost twenty years prior, it still served an admirable role. The Clicker made the sound of a cricket’s chirp. Loud. Noticeable.
But at night, With a dozen other animals making sound?
Not too far away he heard two “crickets” chirp back. Then after a moment, another. After another moment, another. The Legend did not move. Everyone was in position.
He saw a pair of soldiers turn away from some of the trees. Unarmored, only one was wearing his helmet. One had a short spear, “Hasta” he knew, but he seemed to have been sharpening its harpoon-like tip.
He heard the one with a helmet grumble something. The other said something back. Then both turned back and sat down by the trees. One chuckled, oblivious to the goings on not only just a few meters away from him, but to those a mile away.
It was the last thing he did.
***
General Octavius watched as Cassius and his fliers mounted their wyverns. They tied themselves to their saddles, and the Wyverns stretched, ready for their attack. Excited, even. Octavius was a man of the ground, but he could tell that even the beast understood that something was going to happen now, and it was anticipating it.
“Remember, Cassius, fly high over it so they do not hear you. Circle around if necessary. If they have brought more of their dreaded weaponry, we will know, but regardless of that, you must do everything to get these weapons across!”
“Of course, General. We-”
The thundering explosions stopped them in their tracks. It had been followed by what sounded like a hum that he had not even perceived in its entirety, but it was impossible to ignore the thunderclap of the projectile landing nearby.
Are the Americans attacking?! Now?! At night?!
He was not surprised at the attack. Frustrated. But no longer was he surprised at the relentless night attacks from a range by these cowards who never seemed to care about closing the distance and fighting honorably. Well, no matter. It was about time they got a taste of their own medicine.
“Go!” Octavius commanded.
Cassius gave a quick salute, then pushed his Wyvern into the air. His other riders followed immediately after him.
Octavius was quick to draw a blade and turn towards the sound of thunder and fiery puffs of death that he could see. It was not quite the terrible artillery of the Americans in the mountains. Smaller. More a light thundering rather than the rain of screaming death he had seen in the Alpines. More importantly, it was accurate. So either the Americans could see in the dark, or whoever was directing the incoming fire was close to their lines. Close enough that perhaps they could close the distance and, for once, even the odds?
Perhaps these are not so cowardly...
He squinted into the trees towards the city. He saw brief instances of tree bark exploding as the enemy artillery spread its death around his men with a pounding that was devastating but leagues lighter than what he had seen before. And here his men had not been stupid enough to stand still as death fell on them.
His mind made up, Octavius shouted “Push up! They cannot be protected by the walls any longer! They must be attacking us from the hills! Attack! Attack!”
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
A younger man shouted, “General stay down!”
“Madness! The enemy is right here! Fight, soldier! Fight!”
He grabbed the legionnaire and pushed him ahead. The man responded bravely enough and reached for his whistle to call to others while taking a daring step forward.
The action saved his life as another piece of enemy weaponry fell nearby. The young legionnaire winced, then slumped over and fell to the ground. His entire face was gone, and Octavius felt some familiar stinging sensation around his legs.
With a growl, Octavius quickly ducked behind the young man’s cover, his eyes wide.
Angry, he grabbed at his pouch and found his whistle. With a quick blow, he shouted even louder “Archers!”
***
Andrew Reagan had to start firing his M2 Carbine in controlled bursts when several men began to push out of the forest with long spears. He couldn’t miss, but the enemy, as in any engagement, did not intend to cooperate. They ducked into the grass when they could no longer hide behind trees, and from there they launched spears and arrows into the darkness between the forest and the city. There was no accuracy for their weapons as they were launching their arrows and spears at the sound of the occasional gunfire and not anything they could see.
But it was an advance that was too uncomfortable for the Green Berets. To alleviate that discomfort, the Americans had their carbines and a machine gunner. The intent was simple. Keep them in the forest where the Mortars would do the most damage, perhaps even hurt or neutralize those wyverns, and then pull back to the walls where they would be yanked back into the city and back to safety. If necessary, the now six mortar crews had smoke rounds that would prove additional concealment, but in the darkness of such a lightless night, he figured it was unnecessary.
They couldn’t see him.
The attack would not be decisive, of course. They all knew this would, at best, kill some men and ruin their camp for a day or two. But they were facing an army that mirrored one of the most powerful empires in the history of their world and so far, they did not disappoint as imitators. He saw a man with a short spear sneak out of the forest, crouching just under the taller grass. Eyes searched the hills as the mortars fell behind him. With all the emotion one would have for crushing an ant, he squeezed off a burst from his carbine that knocked the man down. He did not get back up.
Just give up, damn it…
Overhead, he could hear it. It was sometimes described as a whistle, but in reality, it was closer to a low hum. Like someone thinking to themselves or trying to recall a tune.
Everyone knew what the result would be, however.
This 81-millimeter mortar round slammed into the trees and sent a man flying into the nearby hills. Andrew saw this body spasm briefly while the other rounds hit. Mortar crews prided themselves on speed, and he knew by now just how devastating that could be.
Something in the back of his mind made him glance up.
The night sky was as beautiful as it was indifferent to the carnage around him. It was still. The silhouette of the mountains were black pits in a starry sky, there were no clouds, and there was no moon.
And yet something...
Suddenly it was as if the sun came up over the city.
He was not concerned about being seen. His tiger-stripped uniform and face paint would have already made him near invisible in the day, let alone at night. No, what suddenly made him worry was the goings on in the city itself.
The mortars stopped falling, and despite the occasional cry of pain and anguish, he heard a rapidly growing cheer from the forest they had been shelling.
***
Cassius tried to look at the exact position the American weaponry was but gave up on it once he was high in the air and he could see the city below.
It was useless.
The American weapons were not like the ones they had seen in the Alpines. These were smaller. Their thunder was weaker, and so far he and his flight of wyverns had remained untouched. No flaming spears chased after them, no lightning-quick fireflies shot up to meet them, and even now there were no metal birds whirring around in the sky. But that meant he could not see their positions or target them.
No matter…
As much as one would have wished wars were the best weapons facing each other in battle, in reality weapons were employed for need. Sometimes that meant a short sword would be used not to kill another armed man on the battlefield, but to kill an unarmed man in his sleep. As much as he would have liked to unleash this weapon on this American artillery, his mission called for it to be used elsewhere.
He prayed the gods protected his general and pushed his wyvern over the city.
It was quiet up in the air. The battle below was faint. Distant. It was almost peaceful, really. He had to frown. This was not the exciting charge where his men could stab at enemy soldiers by leaping onto them. Like a wolf pouncing on its prey, the Empire’s wyvern riders were not much different from the regular cavalry. They could break the lines of those who had no fliers with ease by lunging at them with a blade, a spear or if he so desired, the gnashing teeth of his wyvern. But not this time.
He knew he was over the city by now.
There were few lights, candles, or whatever strange craft these men from another world brought, but he could have already imagined his position from memory. He swallowed, then reached for the string. He pulled it once, then made his wyvern climb just a touch as the weapon fell from its container. The sky above was beautiful, without the moon. Stars close by sparkled somewhat, a few so close they painted pictures of the past in the sky above, and a few more distant ones clumped together in the shapeless form of clouds. Then, for a second, he saw a star shoot across the sky and disappear.
A good omen if ever there was one.
Under him by a few good arms-length, the innocent-looking balls of dirt rolled off his wyvern. The snap of them disconnecting from the string was the sole spark needed as a rapid flame enveloped them. That was not the deadly part. It was but a party trick.
No, the real danger lay within.
The flaming dirt reached the specially and carefully concocted mixture inside and with a slight crackle, the dirt blasted away and the elixir spread over the air. It was golden. A shining, river of what might have been a treasure to the uninformed spread over the air below Cassius and fell rapidly towards the city, expanding for a moment as each jar shattered and the hidden contents spread over an area that grew and shone as it fell like a blanket.
Cassius watched the beauty behind him for a moment, then turned away as he pushed his dragon back toward their forest base.
Warlock Agustine had never named the concoction. Even the description felt lacking now. The idea made sense, of course, and he could have envisioned it, but now, to actually see it, Cassius had no words. As if a wrathful god had chosen to strike at their enemies directly with righteous anger and power.
He smiled as his fliers did the same, and the process repeated.
***
Dennis had only replied “Yes, highness” for the last few minutes.
The woman appeared rather uncertain now that the fight was on again. She kept her eyes in the direction of the fighting, arms crossed, but it looked more like she was cold than stoic. The way she at times would pace from one end of the palace entrance to the next did not help either. But her questions really gave away that this supposed daughter of the emperor, despite her armor, despite her impressive blade, and despite her ridiculous clothes, had no idea what she was doing.
She asked him, “How long until we hear from them, you think? Soon, yes? With your, what do you call them? Rad-Yo?”
“Yes, highness.”
Arms crossed. She paced to the other end of the entrance where her own guards stood by. Then she paced back to him. She eyed the horizon again. Then she turned to him and asked another question.
“Your commanding officer can be trusted, yes? He is a man of integrity and honor, yes?”
“Yes, highness.”
“What is the matter with you?”
Pardon?
“That twitch in your gaze… what is it? You are listening to me, no?”
“I am indeed, highness.”
“Then why do you seem so distracted? You are in the presence of a member of the Imperial Line!”
Dennis swallowed as he realized something.
He couldn’t help the knot in his throat as the princess kept asking questions. The way she paced around. Her worry. He swallowed it away and forced himself to speak quietly and with respect.
“I apologize if my gaze bothers you, highness.”
Princess Parthea Traianus looked nothing like his mother. But it had been something in her questioning that, despite his best effort, made him think about her. It was the lull in the situation. No briefings. No need to walk around or discuss an upcoming mission. He had to speak to anyone who asked, but at the moment, his job was to wait and help where asked if something was needed.
There were no distractions from his reality.
He was sure the woman had noticed something and was about to say something when the sky caught fire.
“What in the name of the gods?!” Parthea balked.
Dennis watched as a wyvern, then two, then three, and finally four dropped something he had heard of before. He hadn’t quite seen it in action during his training, and the footage of it he had seen had been in black and white. Now his mouth fell slack as he could suddenly see it right in front of him, in full, bright, painful color as it fell.
Right onto the civilians in the city.
“N-napalm?” Callahan spoke dryly. “When the hell did the Romans get napalm?”
Parthea loudly demanded, “Boy, what did your man say?!”
Dennis did not bother translating as the flames hit the homes below. He could faintly hear a roar that was not that of artillery or machine guns, but of a hungry fire that had found sustenance in large, wooden buildings.
More terribly than that, he heard the panicked screaming of civilians.
He knew these were civilians. Oh, there really was no way to ignore how different soldiers' screams were. The men that had faced American artillery screamed orders, desperate, trying to organize an escape or to warn others. Even their wails of pain held a rage that was missing here.
Civilian screams were entirely anguished.
Try to do some good wherever they send you, alright?
His heart raced as he involuntarily took a step towards the screaming.
Try to do some good wherever they send you.
He forced his mother’s words away as the young princess pushed on and stood in place. He pretended that he'd not been tempted to go in at all. Not without orders, certainly.
“Paloma! Organize the men! Boy! Boy, snap out of it!” Parthea screamed at him.
Dennis ignored her command but said "Yes, Highness" anyway.
“Soldier! We have to go help those civilians!”
“Highness, I cannot go without orders.”
The girl got up in his face, anger in her eyes as she growled out her words.
“You men said you were here to help these people, no?! Call your commander and tell him to get off his ass and make good on his promise!”
The other girl, Paloma, quickly said “Highness, you must not go there, it is too much of a risk!”
“Those are our fellow citizens, Paloma!”
Irritated, Dennis said, “I suggest you listen to her, highness.”
“Do not tell me what to do, you brat!” she angrily stabbed a finger in his direction.
Dennis forced his anger away as he heard familiar footsteps approach.
Rhodes was adjusting his helmet and moving with several guys from the 7th.
“Orville, come on. Tell the lady the governor wants to speak to her.”
“Yes, sir. Highness, Governor Lucretius wishes to speak with you, so please stay here.”
“W-what?! You-”
He ignored her and walked after Rhodes and the others further into the city. Some civilians stood outside, their gazes uncertain as they watched the glow in the outskirts of the city itself. None interrupted them, but he was unsure if he should leave them out there. Rhodes answered the question for him.
“Tell them to stay inside. Won’t do anybody any good if civvies get hurt for standing outside right now.”
Unlike us…
Instead, Dennis repeated the command as they walked ahead. Some heeded his call, others simply stayed outside. A few again gave him a dirty look, but nothing more. Still, the presence of civilians grew as they moved closer to the disaster area.
He could hear the flames grow in ferocity as they did.