The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 7

Illyrian-Macedonian Border

Modius leaned against a dead, twisted juniper and surveyed the slope ahead of them. The ground was covered in a mixture of snow and rock, alternating brown and white, making for an almost serene view, if it wasn't for what lay ahead of them out of sight.

Ahead of him and slightly below him, his men fanned out, scattered along a dry riverbed, with good spacing to allow them to take some cover behind outcrops of stone and the small number of trees.

Part of his mind still protested seeing his men like this. At least the tightly packed rifle companies in line for volley fire were roughly reminiscent of the tightly packed shield wall he had known coming up through the ranks in the Roman army, facing off against equally tightly packed Carthaginian phalanxes.

It still made sense and felt like the proper way to fight, even if they fought at a distance, firing their rifles instead of using sword and spear. A piece of him couldn't shake the feeling that this kind of fight, each man hiding behind cover, operating almost on his own, was sheer madness.

Except he knew what happened to men in firing lines and shield walls when faced against rifles. He'd seen it enough in the war against Carthage. Bullets cared not for shields or close organization. It only respected stone and thick wood.

He agreed with the Consul's new orders for open field battle, even if it twinged his warrior soul a bit.

Besides, it was better than being stuck in one of those stinking trenches, unable to maneuver, having to just live under constant fire day and night. This was at least still war and not pure carnage.

The sound of crunching boot on snow announced the approach of Renius, the tribune whose cohort Modius had taken half of for this expedition. He was a good man, although young, having been one of the later batches of recruits in the Carthaginian war. Men like him made up a large percent of the modern officer core. They'd learned to soldier with rifle and bayonet and did not have notions of gladius and shield to fight against, and tended to do better in this new way of war.

“Captain,” Renius said, using the title Modius was still called by, even though his rank was equal to a Perfect. “Scouts reported movement on that upper ridge about half an hour ago. Are we certain we want to hold below them? We will be giving them the high ground.”

"True, the slope here isn't that bad. Beyond this ridge, the ground rises more and has less cover than the riverbed. If we tried to stand there, we’d be stuck with no trees and no cover except rocks that might not hold a single squad. Anyone climbing further would end up pinned by the next crest. No, this is the better ground."

A dozen or so pickets had crested that line as soon as they'd reached this point to begin probing for the enemy and confirmed that this was the most defensible piece of ground. While Modius would agree that he'd prefer the high ground, he'd take adequate cover over what elevation could be obtained here.

Besides, they were responding to the enemy's movements, which meant they were not able to determine the ground as much as if the enemy was coming to them.

To his right, the crew of the light howitzer unlimbered the gun behind a crumbling stone wall. Not a lot of protection, but still some, and gun observers and a small signal team moved off to his left, at some of the highest ground on this side of the riverbed, to allow them to spot for the gun, which would be operating almost completely outside of direct line of sight from the ridge the enemy would surely be coming across.

Modius was about to order the gun to keep its limber a bit back, to keep it from being accidentally touched off by a lucky hit, when sudden cracks of rifle fire could be heard just out of sight ahead of them. A few minutes later, his picket came racing over the ridge and down the slope, with two of the men supporting one of their comrades, clearly injured.

The lead picket hurried to where Modius was standing and reported, "Eastern forces, sir, about four hundred strong. They've got at least one cannon with them."

Modius nodded and dismissed the man as he looked over the ground he would shortly be fighting on.

"Have two of your centuries hold the center. They are to fire as soon as the enemy is in sight and keep up the pressure. I want the enemy focused on the center," he told Renius. "Send the other two centuries along the left and right flank. Break them into squads, I don't want a grouping larger than at any one point. Let's see if they've learned the new tactics we've been training on. Keep two squads from each flanking century in reserve in case they are needed and keep back the special teams until my signal."

Renius nodded and rushed to give orders to his centurions. Modus frowned. Even the language was changing. Contubernium was now a squad. How soon until Centuries and Cohorts were called something else? He would never second guess the Consul, but his conservative nature did not see the need for change simply for the sake of change.

It did not take long for the enemy to follow up on the heels of his scouts. At first, it was just a handful, halted when they met the fire of his center units, who opened up from their cover, with aimed instead of volley fire.

Within minutes, that handful became a dark tide, flowing over its crest. They were close enough that, through his spyglass, he could make out the faces of what were probably Macedonian troops mixed with Eastern soldiers, their unusual skin tone and eyes very different from what was seen in the west. He'd met a few up close in one of the prison camps on the way to Greece last year. It was odd, seeing people so different from his, much like the first time he'd met a Nubian.

The world continued to give him surprises, show him that there was more to nature than he ever knew. Of course, he would prefer if that diversity wasn't actively shooting at him now, but at least it made it easier to tell friend from foe.

The enemy tide was halted at the ridge line as they tried to find cover, many just lying on the ground trying to fire prone. Not an easy task with a rifle that had to be loaded from the muzzle. It was a mistake, and not one he would have allowed his men to make, as it greatly slowed their rate of fire.

Not that he was one to not accept a gift from the enemy.

"Hold the cannon silent," he ordered, seeing the crew start to work the weapon. "Wait until they reveal their artillery position."

It took a few minutes, but from his vantage point, he could see his flanking units begin to flow around either side of the ridge line, using cover as they moved to encircle the enemy position. The enemy saw them too, and their position bulged as their line now faced not just his center, but in either along an arc until it was a semicircle.

When his men reached about a hundred and twenty passus, the enemy opened fire. Several of his men were in the open, moving to their next position when the heavy fire started, and were cut down. Most had cover though, and began returning the fire.

"Get those wounded men back," Modius commanded. "And spread the flanking squads wider. They're still too easy of targets. I want more of an envelopment. Make them have to defend more ground."

Another new development in the new legions. Small groups of men who did not carry rifles and were trained by the physicians for simple medical tasks, who pulled men out of the line and back to aide positions, or at least off the front line in times like this, when no aide position existed.

The enemy had the benefit of being on the interior of the battle, allowing for a tighter range of men and quickly reinforce from one side of their line to the other without having to go all the way around.

The enemy tried to make a concerted push down the center, to split his line in two, apparently hoping they could use a charge down the slope to their advantage. His men, however, were not spooked and maintained good fire discipline and checked the attempt. The enemy was too tightly packed, allowing for most of the Britannian fire to hit easily without much difficulty.

The enemy was still learning their trade slowly, not adjusting to the shifting Britannian tactics. They only made it halfway down the slope before the men turned and ran, many not stopping when they reached their lines, continuing into the rear, out of sight.

A dull thud between Modius's position and his men in the riverbed, followed by a geyser of dirt being thrown into the air by the impact, signaled the introduction of the enemy's cannon, which they must have finally gotten into position.

It took a minute for him to find the weapon. They had put it further back, on a higher slope, near the ridge behind the one they had put their infantry on.

Another mistake.

For a direct fire weapon like that, it needed an open field of fire. High ground was important because it allowed weapons like that a wider range of fire, and it used gravity to allow the range of the cannon to extend. Where that high ground failed was on uneven terrain such as this, where the interceding ridge with their own infantry partially blocked the depression where the riverbed was.

He couldn't be sure how much of his men the gunners could see, but he imagined the reason it landed behind his line was because there was limited visibility. Unfortunately, it also meant they would be able to see where he'd positioned his cannon.

Still, moving his cannon would only draw their attention and putting it in the ravine with his infantry would put it under rifle fire. Better to try and take out their artillery piece altogether.

"Signal the gun crew they may fire. Target their artillery piece," Modius told one of the runners, who dashed off toward the piece.

No reason to expose himself with signal flags on such a small battlefield if he didn't have to. He was, after all, also in direct fire of their cannon.

As if to confirm their cannon was not without teeth, another shot fired, this one still behind his line, but much closer. Just before it hit the ground, it exploded, sending a scattering of shrapnel into his men's backs, causing a handful of casualties.

Not enough to turn the tide of battle, but Modius would not let them fire on his men unanswered.

A minute later, the Britannian gun fired, sending a shell on a high arc, coming down a dozen or so paces in front of the piece. Close enough to send men scrambling, but not so close as to actually put it out of ammunition. Flags off to his far left went up, signaling to his gun the position of the shot and the enemy.

Smartly, the enemy did not wait for ranging shots to reposition their piece. However, they stayed on the same far ridge, still without effective line of sight on his men.

With the enemy lines solidifying, the flanks continued to press against the sides of the enemy line, spreading out more and more to get further into the enemy rear. It did put them in danger of being swept up if the enemy's flanks hinged out and came down either side of the ridge. If Modius was in their position, it would be what he would do, attempt to envelop the enemy and refuse the position.

It was their best chance at breaking the temporary stalemate between their forces.

He didn't want to give them time to consider that option. "Message to Tribune Renius to send in the special teams on the left flank. They are to go as far down the enemy flank as they can get. His flankers are to increase pressure until their assault begins."

The messenger saluted and ran off to pass the message. He'd considered having them hit in the center of the enemy line, but they'd have to get close to the enemy line to give them the Britannian's newest little surprise, so the fewer guns they had to face doing it, the better. This wasn't going to break their lines, but he wanted to keep them off balance until his cannon finished the enemy armillary and was able to turn to their infantry, which would turn the battle.

Besides, from where he stood, it looked as if there was more cover on the very far left, enough to get within distance.

After a few minutes, he could see a small group of men working their way along a dry creek bed on the left flank. They moved carefully, just behind the flankers, waiting until they fired to move to the next set of cover.

When they reached the first enemy position, each pulled a small device from a satchel they carried slung at their sides, and in a three-step motion pulled a strip from the end of the device, arched their arm back as if they were heaving a javelin, and threw the dart-like object they carried.

The devices sailed through the air, their nose-weighted design and fins on the back ensuring they landed point-first. As soon as they hit the ground, they exploded in geysers of rock and dust. Not as large as a shell landing, not even one of the easterner shells, but still a notable explosion, throwing several men back from the blast. Others a little further away reeled from the shrapnel.

Another grenade landed among a group of enemy riflemen, and then another as his men continued to arm and throw grenade after grenade. It was enough to send a group of the men on that flank running, throwing their rifles to the ground as they bolted to the rear.

The grenades, the Consul's newest addition to the fight, were an ingenious weapon, not too different from the fused shells the howitzer was firing. They were only deadly in a five or ten pace range, but men could throw them twenty or thirty yards. In a battle where everyone is using cover, it would allow them to break part of the enemy line, although Modius understood the Consul had introduced them more to be thrown into enemy trenches if his men ever had to assault one.

"Sir!" One of his aides called, drawing Modius's attention to the right flank. "Movement in the gulch."

Through his spyglass, Modius spotted the right flank of the enemy indeed trying to swing down, already pushing his flankers out of position even as their own left flank began to collapse. If he wasn't careful, they would end up flanking each other simultaneously, which could end in disaster.

It also sent them directly toward the howitzer, which was still firing away, chasing the enemy cannon from one position to the next.

"Send in the reserve squads and redirect two squads from the center. They are to refuse the flank at all costs. Don't let them bend past our center."

The messenger ran off, and a moment later the fifty or so men who'd been held back, along with another twenty from the center, ran to the left flank, which had already begun to dissolve into close-quarters fighting. He didn't have enough men to put significant fire on them to stop the charge of that whole flank.

For a moment, it was a close thing as men swung with bayonet and rifle butt, rock and fist. It was impossible for him to tell right away if his men would hold out or not.

"Second order to the Tribune. Prepare to move the remainder of one century from the center to the left if it should collapse. But only if it should collapse."

Thankfully, that did not come to pass. The extra men all came from the left, slamming into one part of the swinging enemy flank, breaking it and splitting it from contact with their own center. Just before his men enveloped the remainder of the flank, the attackers began to flee.

The danger had passed, although it had been a close thing. Renius knew his job and his men did not pursue, only stabilized the flank and returned to their firing positions, although further from the enemy than before, and allowing the medics to get in and pull the wounded from both sides back.

A huge explosion in the rear of the enemy line drew everyone's attention. His artillery piece had finally found the enemy's range, and a shell had landed almost on top of their limber. The combined explosion from the fused shell and the enemy's powder charges created a massive explosion, large enough to envelop the enemy field piece, taking it out of commission and killing most of the gunners.

The grenades on the left, the failed assaults in the center and right, and now the destroyed artillery were enough for the enemy, which began to break and run for the rear. Those that didn't outright run and started a more controlled retreat, the results of the battle obvious to everyone.

"Have the men hold position. We will not pursue. Gather the wounded for travel and prepare to return to our main line," Modius said to a messenger, who saluted and ran off toward the centuries below. Once he was gone, Modius turned to one of his remaining runners. "Go back to the legion telegraph station. I want word of the battle sent to the consul as soon as they can make it, with word that a full report will follow."

The man saluted and ran for one of the horses kept for such a situation. It was fifteen miles back to the closest station, but he wanted the Consul to know right away that the enemy had begun their probes, and it would probably be the better part of a day before he could gather his and the enemy's wounded and get his men back to their main unit.

Things on this front were heating up, and soon one legion would not be enough to stop them.

***

Factorium

Hortensius wiped his hands on his apron as he paced the workshop floor, warm in spite of the cold weather outside the window thanks to the numerous foundries and machines running constantly around him.

Of all the ideas the Consul had given him recently, this one might be the most exciting Hortensius had seen yet. Working with metal, even assembling ships and weapons, while fascinating, were only extensions of the kinds of things the inventor did before the Consul’s arrival.

This, however, was something completely new. He hadn’t had a challenge like this until the balloon project. He looked at the water clock again. And he couldn’t start until...

His thoughts were interrupted as the door creaked open, admitting a lean young man with sharp features. Septimus, one of his most promising young engineers. And the man he’d been waiting for.

“Excellent! Finally,” Hortensius said, gesturing animatedly. “Come, come. I’ve something rather extraordinary to discuss.”

He led Septimus to a large workbench where stacks of pages were set out.

“What’s this about, Master Hortensius?” Septimus asked, looking at the drawings spread out across the table.

“The Consul has given us quite the challenge.” Hortensius picked up one of the sketches, his enthusiasm evident in his quick movements. “We need to find something called ‘petroleum’ - rock oil, if you will. It’s apparently seeping from the ground in certain places, although not so much in this region.”

Septimus frowned. “Oil, like seed or whale oil? From rocks?”

“Yes, yes! Well, apparently not like the oils we are used to, but it has some similarities. Flammability, the way it coats, things like that. The Consul says it exists in abundance but nearly all of it is deep in the ground in pockets and has to be drilled to in order to reach it. He’s provided these designs for a drill kind of like the augers used in lumber work and brace drills, although as you’ll see it is still quite unique.”

“I’m familiar with both. They are not terribly complicated, essentially a pole with a screw-like end.”

“Precisely! When I first started reading about drills, that was what I thought of too. It seems that, in some locations or until we hit deep enough to reach bedrock, we can actually use something like an auger that, although the consul called a fishtail bit. He, however, makes it clear this is slow and ineffectual for dealing with hard stone, which is often between the surface and where this oil is located. For those instances, we need to use this.”

“Ohh,” he said, looking at the design Hortensias handed him. “This is... complicated.”

“I know. He calls it a two-cone bit, I guess after these two pieces here. From his notes, it turns in a circle on this bearing here and crushes the rock as it cuts through, instead of scraping it.”

“Wouldn’t that wear down these edges?”

“It would, and he notes that multiple drill bits would be needed when digging a new hole, as they will wear down. We can sharpen and refurbish them for reuse a few times before the metal is too worn down to be used again.”

“It’s very complex though.”

“It is, and I have found that having these detailed plans and instructions is a good step, but there is a lot of difficult work bringing something here on paper into reality.”

“What would we use this rock oil for?” Septimus asked, still studying the drawings.

“The Consul claims it’s superior to any lubricant we currently use, although I feel that isn’t the most important use. He talks about it being used as a kind of fuel and as the basis for some new types of explosives. Considering the war, I assume these two are the primary motivation for beginning work on this project.”

“New explosives?” Septimus looked up sharply. “Better than our current powder?”

“He did not say. He did, however, say he believes this substance will be crucial for our continued advancement. The Easterners are matching our current technology; we need something to put us ahead again.”

Septimus picked up one of the technical drawings, examining the detailed cross-sections. 

“The biggest thing we have to work on is figuring out these drill heads, starting with the materials we need to use. The Consul has suggestions, but we will need to test them against rock to find the best one, whether it be an alloy or hardened steel or some combination.”

“I can see that. The stresses will be immense. Regular steel would shatter.”

“Yes. The bits must withstand both the rotational forces and the tremendous downward pressure required to crush through rock. See these grooves along the sides? They’re designed to carry the crushed rock up and out of the hole.”

“Wouldn’t the rock fragments be too heavy?”

“Which is why the grooves are so precisely angled. The rotation creates an upward spiral motion to evacuate the debris. Which is why something like this wasn’t really possible until we got steam engines working well, since we’ll need the power it can provide to both turn the drill and provide the downward force.”

“When you say drilling holes, how far are we discussing?”

“The Consul says it varies greatly by location. Could be a few hundred feet, could be thousands. That’s where these come in.” He indicated drawings of threaded pipe sections. “As we go deeper, we’ll need to add more lengths to the drill string. They attach one on another, continuing to transfer the power downward.”

“And once we actually reach this oil?”

“That’s when things get truly interesting. The Consul says it’s under immense pressure. When we pierce the pocket holding it, it will actually force its way up the drill shaft.”

“Under its own pressure?” Septimus looked skeptical. “How is that possible?”

“Apparently, the weight of all the rock above creates this pressure over vast periods of time. The Consul explained it’s similar to how water seeks its own level, but much more dramatic, and why this oil is created in the first place. In addition to the rig to hold the drill head and the drill itself, we have designs for containment systems ready before we break through. Storage tanks, piping, pressure relief valves.”

“This is … a lot.”

“Which is why I wanted you involved.” Hortensius clasped the younger man’s shoulder. “You’ve worked on several of our more complex systems, including on the river boats transferring power down the length of the ship. I believe you said the same thing about that project. We can do the preliminary work here, figuring out the drill head and testing it on rocks on the surface, but when it’s time to erect this structure to hold and drive the drill, we’ll need to move it to where the drilling needs to actually take place. The Consul provided this, which shows exactly where we need to drill to reach this oil.”

Spreading the map across the workbench, they studied the marked locations. Most were in remote areas, requiring significant logistics to transport and assemble the drilling equipment.

“We should start with the closest site, maybe something along the coast. Easier to transport materials and equipment by sea.”

“Agreed. But first, the drill bits and test the drive mechanism.” Hortensius began gathering the drawings into organized piles. “I want you to focus on the bit designs initially. I will want weekly progress reports and to know immediately if you have any problems.”

“I’ll get started right away,” Septimus said, taking the drawings from him.

“Good man,” Hortensius said, excited to see what the young engineer actually produced.