The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 3

Athans, Greece

Ramirus questioned the reasoning of holding this meeting in this particular Bouleuterion with the temperatures descending as they were. He had seen such buildings in other parts of Greece, particularly northern Epirus, where the sides of the building were at least enclosed, offering more protection from the elements. But here in Athens, it had open sides that offered no such comfort. Perhaps it was to allow people to see their politicians at work, or perhaps it was because of the somewhat warmer climate of the Aegean, but he had to say he preferred the northern Greeks’ choice of building styles.

This was looking to be a particularly harsh winter, and the wind coming off the ocean felt like it was cutting him to the bone as it whipped through the semicircular meeting house.

He understood it was tradition and, in moments of crisis like this, people tended to cling to such notions. But he was an old man and he could do with a little more insulation and a little less tradition.

It could be worse. At least here there was a roof. They could have chosen one of the open-air amphitheaters.

The weather did not keep the Greeks away, however, and the building was packed with delegates from across southern Greece. Ramirus had already met several of them in the ongoing negotiations and recognized the Athenian and Spartan representatives with central places at the bottom of the rows of stone seats, center to all of the other men gathered.

He also appreciated that, against tradition, they had placed a stool at the central spot facing the gathered men for Ramirus to sit on. As a younger man, Ramirus had prided himself on his ability to stand and speak for hours, defending Lucilla’s father in the various political fights that were his primary battleground.

Those days were far behind him and Ramirus’s knees now protested after short walks across rooms. He patted the legionnaire loaned to him by Moribus, who had accompanied him down the difficult steps to his assigned place, sending the man back up to the top to wait for his time to leave.

He was a good boy, but Ramirus didn’t need a uniformed man standing at his shoulder as he tried to negotiate with people afraid of giving away their power or sovereignty to a foreign power. Even if it meant their own safety.

Ramirus sat, looking at the men for a moment. He did not need dramatics to get their attention, but he wanted more than that. He wanted their focus, and a moment’s silence had a way of doing that.

“Honored representatives,” he said finally. “Things are dire, and I come before you today with no time left to argue and debate. The fears of the loss of Thessaly, Thrace, and Macedon have come true, and they have joined the Eastern invaders, cutting free Greece in half. You are caught in a precarious position, by yourselves with the Eastern forces between you and the bulk of the western alliance. Now is the time to decide what your future will be. Now is the time to decide if this is the end of your long history.”

“And you offer us what? The privilege of being crushed first? You point out that the Easterners are between us and your forces. Wouldn’t that be a strong argument for the rest of the free states to follow our northern brethren and join the Easterners for our own survival, instead of siding with your lot?” the Athenian representative asked.

“We aren’t in the way of either of you,” one of the men Ramirus didn’t recognize said. “Why should we choose either side of the conflict and put ourselves in danger? I still say our best option is to remain neutral. We have maintained our independence through worse times.”

“The world has changed. Modern warfare brings destruction on a scale your ancestors never imagined. The artillery alone…”

“We’ve seen the weapons,” interrupted the representative of Argos. “Whether we submit to Britannia or the Easterners or even if Carthage had remained in power, the result is the same. Foreign rule.”

The gathered Greeks all voiced their agreement. In some ways, Ramirus could see their point. They weren’t in the direct path of the fighting, and it would be appealing to think that they could somehow hide and remain untouched while the rest of the world burned.

Appealing, but naive.

“I know you have been contacted by the Easterners, who want you to join them the same way as us. You are not being left alone. The attention is on you from all sides. The Easterners do not want to fight on two fronts and we want them too. The difference is that one side offers alliance and autonomy, while the other demands submission. Ask the refugees from Thessaly about Eastern occupation. From what we understand, already their men are being taken from their homes and put under arms.”

“And how would you be different?”

“The Western Alliance exists solely as a mutual defense,” Ramirus said, using the phrase the Consul used so often. “Each member maintains complete autonomy over their internal affairs. Britannia has no interest in governing Greece. We seek only to preserve your independence against those who would strip it away entirely.”

“How magnanimous of you,” the Spartan representative said. “And one you will maintain right up until you bring legionnaires with rifles and cannons into our cities.”

“As the Germanic Alliance, or the Hispanians, or the Gauls if our words are so false? Those rifles and cannons we bring are not to rule your people but to preserve your ability to speak for them. The Eastern forces have already occupied three Greek states. Their people don’t enjoy the luxury of debate anymore. You have sent representatives to Germania, spoken to some of our allies. You have seen yourself that they maintain their own laws, their own customs, their own trade relationships.”

“Yet you speak of weapons and warfare,” the unknown representative interjected. “From where we stand, both sides seem evenly matched. Why choose either?”

Ramirus made a mental note of the man. That was twice he pushed neutrality, which if Ramrius were a suspicious man, which he was, he would conclude that it might be easier to get the Greeks to reject the west in the name of neutrality and open themselves up to invasion, rather than push the Greeks into the arms of the west.

Worse, it could work. They had compromised one of the Greeks’ own, who was telling them exactly what they wanted to hear.

“That apparent balance is an illusion, and a dangerous one. The Easterners throw waves of men against our defensive lines, losing hundreds daily to our artillery. Their largest fleet in history was decimated by a far smaller force of our ships. They can’t match our rate of innovation, while they struggle to copy our existing weapons, we develop new ones.”

“Britannians,” the compromised man said. “Always speaking of their strength while fighting from a position of weakness.”

“Let me be clear, this isn’t mere boasting. The death toll among the easterners is staggering. Our ironclad river boats control every major waterway. And this is only the beginning. The Britannian factories produce weapons that would have been unimaginable a decade ago. You have a lot to say about neutrality, but use the language of capitulation.”

The Greek stood to argue but was stopped by a gesture from the Athenian.

“And what specific guarantees would the Western Alliance offer us?”

“Full participation in the Alliance Council. Complete control over your domestic affairs. Mutual defense obligations, yes, but also access to our trading networks and manufacturing techniques. We don’t seek subjects - we seek partners.”

“And if we remain neutral?”

“No one will remain neutral in this war.”

The chamber erupted into angry shouts, delegates rising from their seats in outrage, with some even moving to leave entirely.

“We do not take kindly to threats from foreigners, Roman or otherwise,” the Spartan representative said angrily.

“You mistake my meaning entirely,” Ramirus said, raising his hands placatingly. “I do not threaten, merely predict. I predict the same fate that will befall your northern neighbors before this is all finished. The fate the entire continent suffered under Carthaginian rule. Complete absorption and subjugation.”

“More fear-mongering from…” the compromised man said.

“Hold your tongue,” Ramirus snapped, speaking harshly for the first time. “You might speak the words of neutrality, but I only hear the easterners when you speak.”

The way the man glanced aside at his neighbors at the comment, he might have well have announced his true allegiance then. The easterners might have picked the easiest among the Greeks to manipulate, but they also picked a fool. Ramirus could see several of the other representatives, especially the Spartan representative, look at him suspiciously, finally putting things together.

“If you choose neutrality, the Western Alliance will respect that choice. We will hold our line along Illyria and Epirus, leaving Athens and the southern states to their own devices. The easterners, however, would offer you something completely different. In action if not in words.”

He paused, letting the delegates settle back into their seats before continuing. “But consider what happened in Sarmatia after they passed through. Every small kingdom absorbed, their people conscripted, their customs erased. The Eastern forces did the same as they entered Germania, until the Western Alliance finally halted their advance. The process has already begun. The Eastern armies flood into Macedon. Their artillery positions grow closer by the day. I’m sure they would prefer that you give in to them willingly, but they will not have the luxury of that much longer, and will turn to harsher means. The time for debate grows short.”

A rumble rippled through the crowd as they discussed it in hushed whispers. They knew he spoke the truth.

The Athenian representative rose. “We thank you for your words, honored ambassador. The council must discuss this matter privately.”

“Of course,” Ramirus said, struggling to his feet. “But do not deliberate overlong. The day approaches when Eastern forces will stand at the very steps of this chamber. When that day comes, it will be too late for choosing sides.”

The legionnaire hurried down to assist him, but Ramirus waved him off. He’d made his case. Now it was up to the Greeks to decide their fate. As he climbed the worn steps, he could hear heated discussion already breaking out behind him. Whether they chose alliance or neutrality, war was coming to Greece. He only hoped they realized it before it was too late.

***

Port Vikhavn

Valdar watched the port, which was finally bustling again after months of his fleet trapped in the harbor, unable to leave because of the enemy fleet sitting just off shore.

It was all still military and supply ships, since there was little commercial value of this port, but that could be changing. And not a moment too soon. Already the forts were covered in scaffolding he could see from here, repairing the scars created by the numerous easterner attempts to get through to the port.

They had held up remarkably well, although Valdar wondered if they would continue to the same level of performance once the easterners figured out the secrets to the artillery shell like they had figured out the rifles and cannon.

His ships were also under heavy repair. They had done what they could for them, but until the easterner fleet had been destroyed, he had been effectively under a blockade, unable to get more than the most rudimentary supplies for them.

That was one of the things that had his officers waiting for him in the port commander’s office, in fact.

The port’s command building stood on high ground overlooking the harbor. It held not only offices for the commander himself, a centurion who would soon be promoted to tribune, if his sources were correct, but also his staff and officers, planning offices, and an office for the engineer sent to oversee ship repairs.

The building was pure chaos when he entered. Aside from all the work happening on the water and across it, this building was also undergoing renovation, as it expanded to make room for the new role this port was to have.

The commander had graciously given use of his office for this meeting, seeing as it was the only part of the building not filled with workmen.

“Gentlemen.” Valdar’s entrance brought the room to attention. “Be seated. We have much to discuss.”

As the assembled officers settled into their chairs, Valdar continued. “We’ve had our first real chance to assess the damage since the defeat of the Eastern fleet. I know many of you have had a chance to tour the forts and see the wreckage still being dredged from the harbor entrance. Now that we have a moment to breathe, I’d like your thoughts on what went right, and wrong, with our defense.”

“The forts did the job better than any of us could have predicted,” Einar, the captain of the Quila, said. “I will admit I was one who thought we would be fighting a losing battle inside this harbor the day after the enemy arrived. Instead, they took every cannonball the enemy had to offer and sank everything that tried to run their gauntlet. Even their biggest push only allowed a handful of ships through.”

“I do wonder what the difference will be once the new artillery shells are in place,” the port commander said. “How the forts will fare.”

“Considering we received our initial shipment of shells with the first supply convoy that was able to come through and the enemy has yet to copy them, I imagine well. Yes, the enemy using well-packed explosive shells could do more damage to our fort, but what we could do in return to a wooden ship is … significant. Hell, we don’t even have to be as accurate with them. An airburst above the ship would shred its sails and scour its deck.”

The commander nodded, considering that. It was easy to only focus on the fire coming in when you were a landsman, instead of thinking of how that fire would look on a much more vulnerable wooden vessel.

“I think something this experience taught us was that forts alone will not hold a port. We need manpower to defend it from landings, more than just a century placed for initial security,” one of the other captains said.

“It does indeed. It tells us that, wherever we build a port, it is critical that we have good relations with the locals. That’s true now, more than ever. On the first boat we were able to send home, I sent a plan for the future of our naval operations, and I received a reply in today’s supply shipment. This port is destined to be more than a waystation. We upgraded it shortly before the blockade started so that it could handle some large-scale repairs, but we’ve still been reliant on storehouses filled with supplies shipped from home. Clearly, if they can cut off a port, those supplies quickly dwindle, as we’ve seen. Which is why we are going to further extend the facilities here to make not just simple parts, but a full, if scaled-down, industrial base.”

“We’ll still need pretty significant supplies to make that work,” the port commander said. “The base materials. Lumber, ore, and so on. Unprocessed lumber takes much more room than planking, meaning we’d need even more supply shipments.”

“That would be true if that is where we were getting them from, but it’s not. I will be meeting with Chief Ekoko soon to propose this, but considering that he has already asked for something similar, I expect he will be glad to participate. In addition to end-stage production facilities here, we will send engineers to his villages to build sawmills for processing local hardwoods, mining facilities, and the supplies for growing plants like cotton and other fibrous plants for making cloth. We will not just build them, but train his people to operate them. His people will then be able to sell those goods to us and use them internally to better themselves, and in turn buy more finished product from the small factories that we build here. The Britannian navy becomes their customer, not their master.”

“That is a large project.”

“It is, but it will also make this port self-sustaining. What’s more, there are goods here that would be in demand back home. This area has rich natural resources that the Consul has helpfully provided a general guide to finding and it is very good land for growing crops. Working with the locals, who have the manpower to exploit them, we can begin sending supply shipments back home, not just taking the shipments from home.”

“Admiral, providing these manufacturing capabilities to the locals... isn’t that giving away our technological advantages?” Fabius, captain of the Aeolus, asked. “We know the Easterners are operating around Africa. If they were smart, they would see we had production facilities here and try to get men in to see how those worked. Or at least buy the information from the locals.”

“That concern was raised when I sent the proposal to Devnum. My understanding is that the Empress and Consul discussed it at length. We’ll have additional Praetorians stationed here, but truthfully, I’m not particularly worried.”

“Why’s that, sir?” asked Captain Einar.

“Because we’ve already shared similar capabilities with our continental allies. The basic industrial processes aren’t considered critical military secrets. And this is just the beginning of our plans. They will have more to worry about.”

That got his men’s attention. Considering what he’d already discussed was a fairly large expansion of the facilities here, suggesting it was a minor part of their plans had them curious.

“We’re establishing a network of fortified ports along the African coast. Regular harbors, properly defended, within supporting distance of each other.”

“With respect, Admiral,” Captain Hákon interjected, “we tried that at the end of the last war. The Easterners obliterated that port completely.”

“They did,” Valdar acknowledged. “But that port relied solely on ships for defense. These will be different. Protected harbors with proper fortifications and emplaced cannon. But not just isolated ports, but closer to what we have here. Contact with the locals. Partnerships. Full operating concerns. I don’t want just a series of waystations but a permanent presence at each harbor we set our flag down in.”

The men began talking excitedly among themselves.

“To do this, we need to begin sending out patrols again, both to look for signs of any additional enemy fleets and to identify suitable locations to place a fortified harbor.”

“With only patrols and scouts, and not the full fleet, there are dangers,” one of the Schooner captains said. “It seems doubtful that the enemy fleet we destroyed will be their last one.”

“I agree. Which is why you are to turn tail and run the moment you see a sign of enemy vessels. Your first priority is to ensure we receive news of a new fleet coming our way,” Valdar said, and then paused, looking at the assembled captains. “Questions?”

Everyone fell silent, which was as expected. As much work ahead of them as they had, for now it was complicated. Just extensive.

“Very well then,” Valdar said, standing. “Let’s get to work. Dismissed.”

***

Agisthūs, Antari, Germania

Lucilla stepped off the train onto the platform and paused, taking a breath of the cold winter air. She’d always liked this time of year, even as a little girl, but her trip through Germania had made her appreciate it anew.

There were a great many things to love about Devnum, but the growth of industry had made the air a little heavy most days, when a deep breath such as that would lead to the taste of soot lingering at the back of your throat. Even with moving the bulk of the factories to Factorium, the city still produced enough billowing smoke into the air that it was never crisp like this.

She could see a few smokestacks here, but it wasn’t the same. Factories had sprung up across the continent in the last several years as its governments caught up on some of Britannia’s capacity or became hubs for more raw materials, allowing Hortensius to shift more of his people to working on finalized products.

Thankfully, Germania was a big place and those factories were well spread out, saving them from the thick clouds of dark smoke that settled over Devnum. She would be home soon and wanted to enjoy the fresh winter air a little bit more before she missed it again.

Chief Bernia stepped down beside her, the Antari leader’s weathered face as sour as it ever was.

“I must thank you again for arranging this meeting, Chief Bernia,” Lucilla said, her breath visible in the frigid air. “And for accompanying me from the front lines. It was nice not having to travel all the way from the east by myself.”

“I’m happy enough to be home. And it’s about time the Scandi joined the war effort. The profiting off of our blood while they stand by claiming to be neutral is getting very old.”

Lucilla tended to agree but held her tongue. The Scandi did prefer certain outcomes, which were far from available in a war such as this. Even as neutrals, they had a valuable part to play in the war, whether they knew it or not, but Lucilla needed them to be more than that. Ky had made the manpower problem clear, and Lucilla was determined to tug at every thread to find ways to solve it.

Instead, she said, “Yes, it would be good to have them join us again.”

Bernia let out an uncharacteristic laugh. “Always not saying what you are thinking. That is why I’m glad you are the one handling these negotiations. You have a much better mind for diplomacy than I ever will. I gained my position simply by being the lucky bastard who survived the war with Carthage when many of my compatriots did not. I’ve never had that ability.”

“You sound remarkably like my husband when you speak that way.”

“I can only hope to be so fortunate.”

Ky had worked closely with the Germanics for the last several years and more so during the war. To Lucilla, it seemed as if they approved of him even more than her own people did.

The factories weren’t the only change popping up across Germania. The building they were heading toward from the train station was another. Gone were the longhouses and thatched roofs still very common at the end of the last war, replaced by stone-walled buildings with clay-fired tile roofing.

She knew the new designs went deeper than that. Wooden interior walls allowing for insulating layers of dried straw and hay between the stone and wood. Windows that had two panes of glass in them to help trap heat. Many even had pipes that pushed water through the buildings using steam engines that created pressure at central points around the city, pushing the water through the pipes the same way it did in the new ships he’d been designing, allowing water to be accessed in sinks inside.

It was one of the many things Ky and Hortensius had worked on during the interwar years, as their focus had shifted to making everyday life more comfortable and reducing incremental workload on people. So far, it was only available in the larger cities and worked with the newer buildings, which explained why so many of the older style buildings had disappeared so quickly.

Who wanted to stay in an old, damp log house having to walk to a central well once a day to gather water, when you could live in such luxury?

She felt the difference as soon as she was ushered inside the arched doorway and led to one of the main rooms for tribal gatherings and meetings. The room was large and felt oversized considering only five men waited inside.

A tall man with broad shoulders and close-cropped blonde hair stepped away from his comrades, ending the conversation that they had been having abruptly.

“Empress Lucilla, I am Commander Hrolfson,” he said curtly.

“Commander.” Lucilla inclined her head. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

Another new face. The political upheaval in Scandinavia had made maintaining consistent diplomatic relations challenging. The economic growth of Gaul and Germania had lessened Scandi’s more traditional power in the region, with the train lines now crisscrossing the continent making overland transportation of goods cheaper than shipping by boat.

Their shipping was still vital, but the merchant oligarchy that had taken to ruling the Scandi were feeling the pinch from the reduced commerce and had been scrambling for more than a year to fix it. She had met with seven different representatives in as many months, making it difficult to form any sort of working relationship.

She found a seat at the long table in the center of the room and gestured for the rest to follow suit.

“Let us speak plainly,” Lucilla began. “The situation with the easterners grows dire. We have managed to stop their advance into Germania and hold them, but their new alliances in Greece put that all into jeopardy, giving them a new access point into the continent. We ask again for you to reforge the bonds made in the last war when we stood together to remove an oppressor and create a unified west. Join us in this war.”

“Yes, we have noted you have been pushing all of your allies to send more men urgently to the front. While you have stopped the eastern army, the immediacy of that need has my people concerned and given us pause in agreeing. What guarantee do we have that joining your fight would not simply drain our resources into a losing battle?”

“A losing battle? You yourself just said we stopped them cold. They are held along a line as long as the entire continent. If it wasn’t…” Bernia said, slamming a fist on the table, only to stop as Lucilla raised a hand, holding him.

“Your concerns are understandable, Commander, but as the chieftain says, we have shown that we can hold them and are in command of the situation. I would not call the present situation losing. Did we not follow a similar path in facing Carthage?”

“Against Carthage, you held clear advantages. Superior weapons, better tactics. Now you face an enemy with rifles that match your own, artillery that rivals yours. You will not be able to use your better technology to push past their advantage in manpower.”

“These are not fixed positions. At the start of this war, yes, their technology was more or less equal, but that balance has shifted. The iron-clad riverboats we’ve developed give us complete control of every major waterway along the front, which is why we’ve been able to cut them off from going any deeper. And our new artillery shells dwarf any kind of destructive power they can manage.”

“Yet still they come.”

“For now. We also cannot say unequivocally that they have the advantage in manpower. Yes, they seem willing to sacrifice men by the thousands, but that does not mean their reserves are endless. Thinking they are is driven by fear, and nothing else.”

“So you admit you do not know their capabilities,” he said, as if none of the points she had made registered. “This could well be another Carthage.”

“Or it might not be. The Carthaginians had centuries to build their empire. The Easterners are an unknown quantity.”

“Precisely our point,” Hrolfson said, standing. “We will not commit our people to a cause with so many uncertainties. The Easterners pose no immediate threat to our territories. For now, we maintain our neutrality.”

“Then you will profit from our—” Bernia began, his face flushing red.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Lucilla cut in smoothly, rising from her chair. “We appreciate your time.”

She inclined her head to Hrolfson and his advisors before turning to leave, Bernia following in her wake.

Bernia barely waited until they were well clear before speaking.

“Why do you humor these vultures?” he demanded. “They grow fat trading with both sides while our men die in the trenches.”

“Because I’ve dealt with the Scandi long enough to know their ways. Pressure works, threats make them obstinate. Trust me, this conversation isn’t finished.”