Chapter 2

Outskirts of Vicenzo

Empires rise and fall for many reasons.

Legends had it that long before their Empire was even a small city south of the Alpine Mountains, greater kingdoms led by Heroes, and demigods with powers unknown even now, ensured safety and order for many across the known world. And yet, one day, all that power, all that wealth of knowledge and strength simply vanished. Ceased to be. Chaos took over, and the beastmen roamed unchecked to feast on humans and demihuman alike.

But their city adapted. Their city grew. Their influence throughout the peninsula and finally, the continent itself. Their empire now kept order.

Adaptation was how they survived and he was seeing the future in front of him there and then.

Octavius forced himself not to cheer.

He knew the cursed governor had his rabbit women in the city still. If not them, then perhaps one of the feline servants, whose ears could be just as sensitive if well honed.

Nearby, the fire of the enemy’s artillery caused a young tree to be split apart, shooting shrapnel in every direction, but he really could not care less. His ballista crews had already moved farther back, thankfully. Pushing and at times dragging the heavy wooden weapons, they now hid behind the forested hills further away by now, deeper in cover and maybe, just maybe, safe from the enemy.

They could win during the night, he knew. The enemy, despite their superior technology, was being cautious, and that meant they wouldn’t just bravely charge out of the city to try and shatter their hurt lines or meet them in honorable combat. From his position behind an oak tree, he could see the city’s burning glow, like a dying ember in the fireplace. Again, he held in a cheer, as the young mage that Augustine had sent finally caught up to them.

Now he whispered ecstatically, “Six shots! Excellent job, my good man!”

“I delivered, general?” the young man asked, shakily.

“More than that, I believe you’ve turned the tide. Take a rest now, we will bombard them again once they shift their fire onto Sulla’s position.”

“Of course, sir.” the man said, then almost collapsed to the dirt, rubbing at his wrists. Even in the darkness, he could see droplets of sweat on the young mage’s forehead.

“How are you handling the task so far?”

“I can manage, sir. I wish I could do more to their strange flares, but-”

“Nonsense! This will do wonders. We can break them, I know it.”

A man screamed in the distance and Octavius moved quickly, grabbed the mage and pushed him down as he could hear the buzzing of the enemy’s projectiles. Some hit tree trunks and caused splinters to shatter off and fly in multiple directions, others simply kept going overhead and vanishing into the dirt somewhere.

Moving swiftly then, several of the crossbowmen crawled quickly behind the hill after him.

“It got their attention, general!”

“Good! Good! Now let us hope Sulla does his duty well!”

***

Sulla kept his eyes on the fields that led up to the city wall. A land where death would easily take those who stepped out onto it. He waited as the glow further away increased. Nearby, a centurion approached, saluted, and knelt next to him on the hill.

“Soldier, have the men brought the ladders?”

“They have.”

“Good. Remember, they just have to give the impression of attacking, draw some of their weaponry, and no more! No seekers of glory, soldier! We must weather the enemy down!”

That really was the game they were playing.

He had once seen a gladiatorial match where a former centurion was pitted against an orc twice his size and four times his weight. The pig-human creature had been armed with a club and axe, and its hog-like teeth would have easily ripped the man’s arms off. So the former centurion had chosen to engage the orc with two short swords and little in the way of armor. The fight had been a tense exchange of the centurion maneuvering and getting a quick cut or stab on the monster. He’d shown all the necessary skill to slowly cause the creature to slow down due to the wounds. Weaving and cutting his way where needed.

A death by many small cuts was not that different than one by one major blow.

The Empire of Iberia had enjoyed many major victories through large, powerful engagements with the enemy.

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But now…

He watched the darkness shift slightly as men tried to charge ahead. No, not quite charge ahead. They moved quietly and swiftly so as to not be detected, and so far, it seemed to be working. He could tell as the shadows from where he stood shifted, that they were approaching the wall now. They were quiet, of course, though perhaps any noise they made would be hidden by the distant thunderclaps of the enemy’s weapons on another wall as another ranged attack was carried out.

He held his breath.

Suddenly there was a flash of light on the ground that illuminated his men. It was quickly followed by the thunderous echo of an enemy weapon. A second one flashed. In the brief instant, he saw his men had been cut down on the field.

He swallowed as a third flash showed him further bodies.

After a fourth flash, the main enemy weapons suddenly came to life as they began peppering the field of death with their fire. The accursed weapons seemed to buzz nearby and hit the trees and brush that hid and sheltered him, but he kept his eyes on the darkened field once more. The flashes had not readjusted his eyes, so this was not the strange flares they would shoot up to light the battlefield in the darkness, nor was it the flashing of their weapons’ fire. This was something new.

He could only hide his relief as one of the men he’d sent made it back.

He was bleeding from one arm as he spoke.

“We got fairly close. Tossed the ladders over best we could, sire.”

“Good. Did you see what killed your comrades?”

“No, sir. Whatever it was, it might have been on the ground, but I cannot know for sure. There was no whistling like the other weapons and…” he showed his mangled arm, “I do not think this is the work of their guns.”

Sulla said, “Yet another challenge to overcome.”

Now we must hope they saw the ladders.

***

The Legend stared through his binoculars apparently out of habit as they were staring at a black curtain on their side of the city. They could see the stars and mountain peaks among the stars, but nothing else.

Parts of the city were still on fire behind them, and the glow made it impossible to effectively look into the fields and forests that surrounded the city. Where maybe previously they could have depended on the enemy’s campfires to get an idea of their location, this was no longer the case as the copycat Romans had very quickly learned that if they had fires, their aircraft would find them very quickly.

Andrew Reagan glanced at the Rabbit woman with them.

She stared intently into the darkness as well and he could tell she was nervous. Her breathing was heavy and a little louder than he would’ve liked, but it was still fairly quiet and she was, indeed, helping them.

Even though breaking regulation wasn’t exactly something the higher-ups would approve, why not use this girl’s ability for a little test, anyway? No one would be put in harm, after all. Well, not on their end at least. Plus, it kept their section free of having to call in illumination rounds as the rabbit woman pointed out and whispered in the local tongue…

“Twelve men. They have ladders.”

Reagan had translated to the Legend. His captain grunted quietly in the dark, then said “Alright, tell her to give us a sign if they’re close to the Claymores.”

“Yes, sir.” he whispered, then to the Rabbit woman called Amalia, “If they get close to the weapons we have place on the hills, tell us.”

She nodded quietly.

Then waited. Behind them, somewhere in another segment of wall, rifles and machine guns crackled to life in quick bursts. Illumination rounds could be seen glowing in the distance on the other end of the city as the mortar crews worked tirelessly to counter any sudden pushes by the Iberians. Of course, the enemy not quite counterattacking just yet, instead preferring to try and split their forces around, perhaps find weaknesses to exploit.

Too bad for them…

He could see the fires behind them being put out or slowly being brought back under control as the intensity of the early attacks had stopped. The glow felt like it was slowly weakening now, little by little. Overhead, the whistling of outbound mortar rounds could faintly be heard alongside the echoes of their firing still.

They waited, eyes on the darkness.

“They are right in front of the first one.” She whispered, worry in her eyes as she stared unblinking, her rabbit ears angled backward.

He translated, “Captain, they’re in the kill zone.”

The Legend’s only form of acknowledgment was to whisper to the young Army kid sitting nearby.

“Claymores! Now! Now! Now!”

Though it had been whispered, the intensity behind the words was clear, and the Army kid didn’t say anything as Reagan saw his shape twist forward slightly and he faintly heard the clicking of the detonator.

Reagan had seen the injuries that resulted from an accidental detonation of an M18 mine. When The People’s Republic of China had joined the war and aided their North Korean comrades, their massed assaults had prompted Western nations to search for ways to counter them. The Canadians made their “Phoenix” landmine, but the Americans went for the M18 once the war was over and the next one was being planned. While he’d seen the damage done by the original M18, this was the newer M18A1.

It could be placed on the ground, hidden among brush or rocks, attached to a cable and detonator which could be taken a safe distance away.

It created an excellent kill zone, and as the enemy in the field was about to find out, surviving it might be worse.

He heard the screaming. Just one guy. The flashes of the C4 detonating let them see just how many guys there were. Past tense.

In the darkness, he only saw four in the brief flashes of individual detonations, but he could tell there were more as the claymores shot hundreds of steel balls that were the equivalent of a .22 caliber round. It tore men apart. The rounds ripped men’s chests open and disfigured their faces. Those not fully in the kill zone were peppered with the rounds on parts of their body that left them maimed. Assuming their armor could block such small rounds, their faces and legs would still be ripped to pieces.

A few guys hooted as men died. They all still kept their heads low. Most waiting.

“One man is running!” Amalia said.

He translated.

His captain said “Let ‘em. Hey, Reagan.”

“Sir?”

“You said they carried ladders?”

“Yes, sir.”

Even in the darkness, he could tell his captain was considering things.

Turning to the Cav’s RTO, he said “Call it in.”