The Wings of Mercury - Chapter 18

Camp Banwīhraz, Central Germania

Ky walked past the two guards on duty outside of the large tent with the prison camp commander, Sellic, glued to his side as his other Lictore joined the legionnaires on guard outside. Sellic had on his guard face, but even without the serious expression, Ky would have known how annoyed the man was.

He, and the other lictore commanders, had lobbied hard against Ky’s plan to leave the army for almost a week as he traveled back from the front by horse and then train to the large prisoner camp. Their concern hadn’t been for Ky leaving the army, of course, which was in Bomilcar’s competent hands, but for Ky being inside a fenced-in area with hundreds of captured, and mostly injured, easterner prisoners.

He understood their concern but he also knew how important this was.

He actually should have made this trip after the first large battle where they’d been left with the field, and injured prisoners. That had still been a precarious time for the legions, however, and Ky hadn’t been able to leave them. Moral had been low after a month of straight retreating and they’d needed to aggressively follow up on their victory to show the men that they were not fighting an unbeatable enemy.

After several more battles, the tempo of operations had slowed down. The enemy had pulled back, most likely to reinforce itself. From Britannian sources in Greece, the enemy’s rapid progress in that region had slowed significantly as the size of the forces being seen shrunk. Instead of thousands of soldiers marching into Greek cities and putting them to the torch, now attacks involved hundreds. Ky’s only thought was that a lot of those men, who’d been having an easy time of it, had been sent to join the army facing Ky.

Whatever the reason, Ky and Bomilcar had agreed that their men also needed a rest. It also gave time for another legion to join the army along with some reinforcements from the training camps to replace the steep casualties the legions had suffered.

It also gave Ky a chance to finally make his way back to where they’d been holding all of the easterner prisoners and conduct his first interview. They still knew frighteningly little of who the easterners were, aside from the obvious physical characteristics that marked them as being from Asia.

Unlike when fighting western armies, where regions had been in contact for centuries and there was at least some exposure to the various languages, before this new war began, no one in the west had ever met an easterner before. Or at least had serious contact with one of them. All of the trade that had come from that side of the world, before it had suddenly stopped at the end of the Carthaginian war, had been through intermediaries, who themselves had gotten the goods from other intermediaries. Ramirus had searched the empire and their allies for years and had not been able to come up with anyone who’d had face-to-face contact with their new enemy.

Now that they had, in the form of prisoners, every report from the men charged with guarding them could only talk about the language barrier and unusual customs. There had yet to be one interview with any of the captured easterners, which was desperately needed since they still knew almost nothing of the enemy they faced.

Which is why this trip was so needed, in spite of the small risk being inside a prison camp with several thousand bored and angry enemy.

The inside of the tent had almost as many legionaries as there were prisoners, which seemed excessive considering the state of these men. All six of the selected prisoners were injured to some degree and each looked excessively thin. Ky knew from reports that most of the men captured had one degree or another of malnutrition, and most had in fact gained weight since being in Britannian custody.

Ky had his suspicions of why this was, but he really needed first-person interviews to find out why that was. And to do that, he needed to get their language. There were those among his people gifted with languages who’d started to try and decipher the easterner’s tongue, but it was going to take too long.

Ky needed answers, and he needed them soon.

“I am Consul Ky of the Britannian Empire. You are being held as prisoners of war. As soon as this conflict is over, you will be returned to your people. Do you understand me?” Ky said, stopping and standing in front of the men.

He received only blank, uncomprehending stares in return. Ky tried it again, using the language files Sophus had downloaded to speak the oldest form of Chinese, the language of the most populous country in Asia. At least at the point where Sophus’s records cut off, and the one Ky had suspected all along to be the origin of their eastern enemy.

This time there was an almost flicker of something. Not recognition, exactly. Closer to a recognition of possible recognition. Some of the sounds must have been right, but the ordering wrong enough to make it sound like gibberish.

At least it told him he was in the right area.

Ky tried again, using what he would have thought of as universal hand signals to get across the idea that his name was Ky and they were being held prisoner but would not be harmed.

The men still stared back, although this time Ky was certain they understood at least enough of what he’d said to get the point. This was the other thing reports had suggested. That basic, non-verbal communication was possible, but that the prisoners were reticent to respond even if they clearly understood.

Which was not uncommon for prisoners.

“Like I said, they just stare,” the camp commander said.

“So how do we get men, who we can’t speak to, to talk, when they don’t want to?” Ky mused subvocally, more out of habit than actually asking the AI.

“Intimidation is the most common tactic in these types of interrogations.”

“How, exactly, do you intimidate men you can’t talk to?”

“There are multiple options available. Physical acts, both demonstrative and against the person in question, and nonverbal intimidation, are the most likely paths.”

“So just torture them and hope they scream enough words in their language for you to begin to decipher it?”

“That would be ineffective. A better choice would be to play on the psychological fears of the subject.”

“Which would require us to be able to communicate with them. Quite the circular logic you have there,” Ky said, more frustrated at the situation than the AI.

“There are some predictive choices that can be made without communicating with the prisoners. We believe these people are from areas around modern-day China, Korea, or one of the Southeast Asian countries, although physical markers are most suggestive of mainland China itself. Using that assumption as a baseline, China had significant writings from this time, some of which survived and made their way into more modern retellings. Some of these include some of their superstitious beliefs in malevolent forces that they believed affected their lives. Some of these forces exhibited inhuman capabilities that your own physical enhancements are capable of replicating. Soldiers in militaries such as these, in this time period, were not voluntary but rather conscripted, and conscripts almost inevitably came from the lower, and less educated, sections of society. Should you replicate these superhuman feats, it is probable that they might make the connection on their own with these malevolent forces and believe you are one. We have seen much the same in both Rome and Germania, where popular belief still exists that you are somehow connected with positive supernatural forces.”

“So pretend I’m a demon and scare them into talking?”

“I believe that is what I just said,” Sophus said.

If Ky didn’t know better, he would think the AI was annoyed at the questioning.

“So how do I do this?”

“The best option is to try and emulate the god-like warrior Erlang Shen, who is known for his immense strength and bravery. He is also known for having a third eye, but it is impossible that it is metaphorical but not physical. However, even if not a specific deity, showing feats of strength and simple nanite repair of abrasions should be enough to frighten them, although some physical intimidation may also be required.”

“I see,” Ky subvocalized and thought, while Sophus helpfully flashed across images and information about the mythological figure across his eyes.

It seemed silly, and Ky was not an actor, but it was worth a try.

Ky reached down between them, keeping eye contact with the man in the center, taking the thick metal chain connecting the manacles together, Ky slowly and easily pulled it apart, the thick iron crack and then snapping as it broke. Ky never blinked. Taking the now broken end of the chain in his hand, Ky folded it over and then smashed it in a fist, partially flattening the metal before releasing it.

The men’s eyes went wide looking at it, and Ky even heard one of the legionnaires gasp.

Ky then reached up and traced out an eye on his forehead, making sure he had their attention, before pulling out his knife. The men flinched back, probably fearing that Ky would then stab one of them or otherwise torture them. Instead, Ky raised his palm and ran the edge of the knife across his hand, causing a red line to appear as the skin split and blood began to seep out.

Ky had made sure the cut wasn’t deep, so that it could heal quickly, but deep enough that they could tell what he’d done. Ky held the open wound in front of them, holding his hand steady as Sophus redirected more nanites than were necessary for such a wound to not only staunch the bleeding and close it, but to do it more quickly than was necessary, or would have done under their own programming.

Their fear turned into astonishment as the wound began to close until it was as if he had never been injured at all.

“Ky,” Ky said in an inhumanly low voice, pointing at himself before pointing at the prisoner.

The man said nothing.

Ky repeated the gesture, and again to the man next to him. Finally, one of the men got the idea and said, “Shan.”

Ky made the same gesture. For a moment, he didn’t think the man would understand, but Ky kept doing it, staring at the man hard. He got the idea because nervously the man started to babble. It was clear he wasn’t sure what Ky was asking, but that he was trying, just saying anything that came into his head.

It was enough, as Sophus began to build a database, cross-referencing with known words in the language. The more the man spoke, the more the database began to build. Ky gestured at the men around him, making the same ‘more’ gesture. Not all, but some of them began to speak as well.

Ky had been right, it was some form of ancient Chinese. As with Latin, what they had in the databases was not enough to understand on its own, but knowing that was enough to build out the database faster.

Ky kept them going for several minutes, occasionally tapping a man in the chest hard to get him to continue. They rambled, muttered what seemed to be prayers, and seemed to beg for their lives.

The longer they talked, the more Ky began to understand as Sophus’s translations began to take.

“Mercy, great spirit!” One of them said, although spirit might have been wrong, with Sophus only giving it a seventy percent chance of accuracy. “We are … men! Spare us … !”

More and more words began to connect and translate until Ky felt he had enough to make out what they were saying.

“Who are you? What is the name of your homeland?”

The men looked confused a minute, and Ky thought perhaps they didn’t understand him.

“What is the land you’re from called?”

They looked to each other again. Maybe wondering why a great spirit wouldn’t know its own people’s land. Their fear, however, was greater than their confusion.

“TianYou.”

“There is no known Asian country with that name in recorded history, however the phrase itself is out of ancient China to the effect of ‘blessed by heaven’ and does invoke several ideas common in Chinese history.”

“But it didn’t exist in real history?” Ky asked.

“No, Commander.”

“So this is some alternate version of China? I get things are different here, but even with the Romans losing the Punic wars, the basic makeup of the countries, who the players are, remained largely the same. Why would an Asia be different, and have a completely new political faction?”

“There is not enough data to answer that.”

“What is TianYou?” Ky asked the prisoners.

“TianYou is … and … beyond the … in all directions.”

“Who is in charge? Who rules over you?”

“Our emperor rules over all. He is... he has been appointed by his fellow gods,” the man said, finally with enough information that the sentence as a whole was translated.

“Why are you attacking us? What reason has your emperor given for this war?”

The men exchanged nervous glances.

“We... we don’t know, great spirit,” one of the men said. “Our lords came to our farms, told us we had to fight a great enemy, taught us to use the fire weapons, and marched us across the earth to this place.”

“Your lords? Who are these lords?”

“They are the emperor’s chosen. They command us in his name,” another prisoner said.

“Tell me about your emperor. Who is he?”

“He is... the emperor,” one of them said, as if that explained everything.

“Have any of you seen him?” Ky asked.

The man named Shan shook his head vigorously. “No one may set eyes upon the emperor, great spirit. He is too exalted for mortal gaze.”

“These weapons of yours, how are they made?”

We do not know,” one of them admitted. “We’re only farmers and laborers. We were taught only to operate them.”

Ky sighed. He hadn’t expected much, but this was even worse than that. He was not going to get anything useful out of them. They were just conscripts and wouldn’t know anything they weren’t told.

“Fine. Tell me about your day-to-day lives in TianYou. What do you eat? How do you spend your time? What are your villages like?”

The men looked confused, but as instructions go, they’d at least been given one they could carry out. While it would give him some better understanding of the culture they were up against, which he would send to Lucilla, the main goal now was to crack their language, which would allow more interrogations in the future and give Ramirus and Medb a little better chance of finding out what was really going on.

Or so he hoped.

***

Fort Dún Mara, Port Vikhavn

Valdar leaned against the battlements of Dún Mara, the northern fort guarding the entrance to Port Vikhavn’s estuary. The final scout had returned early that morning, warning that the enemy fleet was coming soon, and it was massive.

They hadn’t been wrong. Their sails practically filled the horizon as they approached, bunching around the outer island across from the mouth of the estuary. Valdar tried to count as many of them as he could through the spyglass, but between the depth of the fleet and the island blocking many of them, it was hard to get a real gauge of what he faced. What was clear to him was that they’d significantly reinforced since their last fight, which also helped to explain their month-long delay.

Repairs had made sense, but even more so if they’d waited for reinforcements from the east. Valdar had never sailed that far, but knowing how long it had taken to sail around to the Sea of Reeds, the timeline didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. Of course, they could have established a port closer and been amassing reinforcements there as well, an idea that filled him with dread. If they did survive this battle, he would have to continue his exploration around the continent to see if it were true. It is what he would have done in their place.

In fact, it is what he did do.

They were like a great wave of locusts, swarming around just out of range of his guns. He could feel his men on edge. Even without a spyglass, it was impossible to miss the mass of sails forming up against them.

“They’re forming up,” Valdar called out, seeing the tell-tale signs of their fleet getting into position. “Signal Leonis to man their guns and fire as the enemy reaches medium range, and don’t let up until they flee.”

The twin forts guarding the estuary, Arx Leonis and Dún Mara, had spent the month reprieve given to them by the enemy well, training with the new cannon delivered to them, taking ranges using the outer isle as markers, and spending some of the large resupply of shell and powder on target practice on floating barrels. The men were as prepared as Valdar could make them.

He just hoped it was enough.

Valdar watched as the enemy fleet began to move, the first wave of ships breaking away from the main group and heading straight for the mouth of the estuary. They were in a long line and swept far out to the south before turning and heading in a line north.

They were going to sweep the mouth of the estuary, giving the entire wave of ships, possibly as many as he had in total, broadsides at the forts, in an attempt to break them.

They were in tight formation, the ships sailing close to one another. It would allow them to pound his forts without a break, putting in a significant amount of fire in a short time frame, but it would also make them easier targets, with less chance for his men to miss a ship by shooting too far left or right. It was a calculated risk by the enemy, one he might have taken as well.

Ships did not do well against forts. A fort could take dozens, maybe hundreds, of hits before being compromised. A ship could be felled in one shot and was unlikely to survive dozens.

It also gave him the first shot, since his cannon had a wide angle of fire, being able to turn in their battlements, while ships were locked in broadsides. To give him a proper broadside, he would be able to shoot into their line first, and Arx Leonis took advantage of that, the Centurion placed in charge of it knowing his job and firing as soon as they reached the appropriate range.

The fort’s cannons belched to life in staggered succession, each waiting for the range to close to the correct spot. Plumes of water sprouted around the lead ships, with a few balls slamming into them. They fired again, with more shells hitting on target, and the lead ship began to veer off, listing a little bit. If Valdar had to guess, they were going to try and beach on one of the outer islands, or at least get close, before the ship slipped under the waves.

The rest of the line continued on, saved from most of the fire by their lead ship, which had taken the brunt of the damage. Then it was their turn to fire, as their first broadside thundered and cannonballs screamed into the jungle around the fort, cutting trees in half, or smashed into the solid rock face of the fort, held in place by massive mounds of dirt and timber. They might as well have been pebbles thrown against a house, for all the good they did, but they continued to try.

The fort and the ships exchanged fire, each smashing cannonballs into the other. Some of the rounds the fort was firing had been heated red hot before being loaded, with the effect of setting canvas and pitch ablaze as they landed. By the time the ships passed the mouth of the estuary, another ship had twisted out of line, burning, with nearly every other vessel in the first wave somehow damaged and weakened.

Leonis had taken some damage. One of the cannons had been hit by a lucky shot and sent flying, and there were dents and gouges all along the wall, but it was far from finished, and still going strong. The men had even almost replaced a new gun where the destroyed cannon had been.

And now it was his fort’s turn.

“Ready!” The gun captain called out, sighting down a mounted looking glass that had been marked with specific ranges on it. “FIRE!”

The first cannon roared as it sent a shot downrange. Whether by luck or training, it hit true, the ball smashing across the deck of the now lead ship, wiping out men and material. The rest of the cannons followed moments later. There was a good breeze that was carrying the billowing clouds of smoke away, making it possible to still see well enough to aim, although even with that, it was sometimes difficult to make out the targets they were aiming at.

More ships began to go beneath the waves, some right in front of the ships following close behind them, causing a collision tow fairly serious collisions which damaged the ships behind them.

By the time the line of ships finally crossed out of his range, four ships had sunk, another one beached itself on one of the outlying islands, and ten were damaged to the point where Valdar was surprised they remained afloat, with holes below the waterline and damaged main masts.

After almost two hours of continuous cannon fire, it was almost eerie to have silence again. Well, silence from the gunpowder. Corpses still came out from the water, of men swimming for their lives and the handful of injured men in the fort being tended to.

“They’ll be back soon. Start on repairs and bring up replacement ammunition. Have the cooks feed the men while there’s a lull.”

His men knew their job but after an intense fight like that, sometimes they tended to mill around a bit, unsure of what to do next, still rattled by the gunfire and death.

The enemy fleet, or all of the ships that could, retreated beyond the outer islands. For a moment Valdar hoped they might give up and decide to continue north toward the home islands. While that would have forced Valdar’s fleet to chase after them, it would also put his fleet between the easterners and resupply and put a second, not quite as large but still formidable, Britannian fleet on the other side of them, sandwiching the two between them.

Lucan, in addition to working on the river boat prototype, had again increased production on ships and had added two drydock slips to Kalb, which would have their first ship out within the next few weeks. That should give them enough fighting ability to smash the enemy between them, in a weaker position.

He wasn’t so lucky, however.

Instead of fleeing south or charging north, they just hung outside the outer island. Were they hoping to blockade him? Starve him out?

They might not know the connections he had with the locals, so maybe they thought they could starve him out. That seemed like an interesting strategy, since even if he was on his own, it would be weeks to accomplish that, during which he could sally out and harass them before retreating back.

It wasn’t a strategy he would have taken.

After an hour break, their ships began moving again, another batch forming into a long line, which meant they were coming in again. It seemed like a pointless endeavor. With the amount of damage they’d done on the first pass, it would be weeks, and a lot more ships than they had, to put either one out of commission, let alone both.

“Signal the fleet and Leonis that they are preparing to come again and to stand ready. Leonis is to follow the same strategy as before.”

The message flags began to fly and his men scrambled back to their guns from where they’d been lounging, taking advantage of the break. Valdar, however, continued to watch them.

Their ships didn’t form one long line this time, but a line of three abreast, which would be insane for another sweeping pass. The outer two lines wouldn’t be able to get shots off, but his men would be able to hit along all three at first, and then as they passed the inner lines would be there to absorb shots. It was a terrible formation, and while a tad bit too direct in their tactics, the enemy had yet to show themselves to be stupid.

Instead of sailing south, or even far north, to get in position for a run up, they cut hard around the outer islands and then turned hard, making a straight line for the mouth of the estuary.

They were going to just push their way through, hoping they could get either tangled with his ships or deep enough to be out of the range of the guns. They couldn’t, but they could go at the port, giving Valdar the option of shelling his own people or letting them have it.

“Signal the fleet. They’re going to punch through. Prepare reception committee,” Valdar ordered.

This was always an option. One, in fact, that Valdar had thought even probable, and he and his officers had discussed in depth what to do when they did try it.

As soon as they got in range, his cannon opened up. Unlike last time, they were head on the entire way, essentially crossing the T with two forts.

“Fire!” Valdar’s command rang out, and Dún Mara’s cannons thundered in response, the heavy iron balls screaming through the air before crashing into the advancing ships. The lead vessel in the first column took a direct hit, the shot tearing through its bow and sending splintered wood and bodies alike into the sea. The ship shuddered under the impact, its momentum faltering as the crew scrambled to right her course.

Arx Leonis joined the fray, its own cannons unleashing a barrage that caught the second ship in the line. The enemy vessel lurched to one side, its sails catching fire as a heated shot ignited the tarred canvas. Men scrambled to douse the flames, but it was already too late. The ship, ablaze and out of control, veered sharply toward the rocky outcrop at the mouth of the inlet, breaking apart at the rocks and beginning to burn to the water line.

“Keep firing!” Valdar urged, his focus shifting to the third column of ships.

Another ship in the lead column shuddered under the impact. This one, too, began to list, its hull breached below the waterline. The frantic efforts of its crew to plug the leaks were futile, and within moments, the vessel began to sink, its stern rising into the air before disappearing beneath the waves.

The gun crews worked feverishly, reloading and firing as quickly as they could. Not that they were going to be able to stop the inevitable. Finally, the enemy ships entered range and again opened broadsides, blasting away at the forts. Valdar could see their strategy now. The three lines meant the center line couldn’t fire at all, but they were also mostly protected with how closely the other two lines were sailing. They were allowing two-thirds of this wave to be chewed apart by the forts just to get the last third into the bay unscathed.

The fact that this was almost a third of their fleet spoke volumes about what the easterners were willing to throw into victory. The waters of the estuary inlet became a graveyard of shattered timbers and floating debris, as more ships sank. Despite the carnage, their plan was working so far. The middle line was going to mostly get through unscathed.

“Signal the ships. They’re going to make it through.”

He knew the captains were watching and would be ready, but he still wanted to give them a moment’s warning. The enemy had a good plan, but it was never going to work.

His fleet was set up in a crescent formation, so that every ship could get a shot on. As the enemy broke through, they got pounded again, the lead ships breaking up almost as soon as they crossed into the harbor. The captains had timed it well and dozens of rounds smashed into the ship as it cleared the smoke and debris of the inlet channel.

The rear guns of the fort added to the death. Broadside after broadside tore apart enemy ships until sinking so many that the inlet itself became blocked with their burning hulks. Some of the ships remaining raised a white flag, surrendering. Others tried to turn and escape. All but the back few ships in the sortie failed. There were just too many ships, too many wrecks, and not enough open water. Of the initial twenty or so ships that had made the run to try and smash into the harbor, only four made it back out, running back to their fleet, limping as they did from the pounding the forts gave them on the way out.

“Send out the boats to pick up survivors,” Valdar commanded. “Take them prisoner and turn them over to the port commander. We’ll figure out what to do with them and how to question them soon.”

He had other things to worry about at the moment. The enemy’s attack might have failed, but it succeeded in locking his men into their port. The mouth of the estuary was choked with the wreckage of sunken ships, their masts jutting out of the water like tombstones. None of his ships would be making their way out to the ocean until this got cleaned up.