The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 9

Devnum

It had taken almost two weeks following his meeting with Lurio for him to get to see the Empress. After her return from Factorium, there had been some kind of crisis in Caledonia that she had to deal with in person, all the time they were getting closer and closer to the day he needed to be underway, still without getting the supplies he needed for the expedition.

Now that he was here, though, he almost wanted to turn around and go back to his ships. The last time he’d dealt directly with her, she was just Lucilla, the Emperor’s daughter, and they’d met on his turf, at the docks, surrounded by swearing workmen and salt air. Now she was the Empress, and he was walking through halls surrounded by ornate tapestries and marble statues. He was a simple sailor at heart, and all this finery and politics seemed designed to unnerve him.

The point was made even clearer when he was escorted into the Empress’s audience chamber, where she sat on a gilded throne atop a raised dais, guards armed with rifles and gladii flanking the room, their eyes following him as he walked. She wasn’t alone, either. Ramirus, the Imperial Spymaster, was there as well, standing next to the throne, his hawk-like gaze boring into Valdar.

“I understand you have something urgent that needs addressing,” the Empress said.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The fleet stands ready for our mission to the Middle Sea. However …” he said and then hesitated, gathering his courage. “Forgive my bluntness, but we have not been allocated sufficient supplies to carry out your wishes. I’ve spoken to Lurio, who made it clear that we’ve been given everything that is available and that there are no options for additional support. While I understand there are many factors that have to be considered where the supplies are concerned, I do not have enough gunpowder to carry out your orders, and I do not want to take my ships into the Middle Sea, far from support, and have them destroyed. The resources already put into these ships are vast, and we cannot throw them away simply because a clerk was too tight-fisted to properly outfit them.”

Valdar swallowed; worried that he might have been a little too blunt. He knew she wasn’t like other potentates he’d addressed before, apt to kill the messenger, but a monarch was a monarch, and they could be temperamental.

Lucilla frowned, but her tone remained level in spite of his directness, “Supplies are short for everyone, Admiral. Winter and the Carthaginians have disrupted our supply lines, and we’ve already had several notable losses on the continent even before this year’s campaign season has begun.”

Valdar nodded and said, “I understand, Your Highness. But controlling the Middle Sea is vital to cut off Carthaginian reinforcements. I’m telling you now, I cannot do that with the supplies I’ve been given.”

Ramirus spoke up and said, “Reallocating supplies weakens land forces, Admiral. Perhaps a delay …”

“Each day we delay is another day for Carthage to strengthen their position!” Valdar insisted. “Once we control the sea, coastal raids can keep their armies in check. Until then, more of their men will pour onto the continent.”

Lucilla held up a hand, stopping Ramirus from responding, and asked, “And is gunpowder the only thing you’re requesting?”

“No, Your Majesty. Once we start sailing, some private shipping will need to be appropriated to support my men and resupply us as we conduct operations. There will be no friendly ports nearby to rely on, at least not until the Consul achieves his goal and takes a port on the Middle Sea. I’ve started speaking to the captains, but they are understandably reticent. Without an imperial decree, I’m not sure we’ll have enough ships to keep the fleet supplied, especially since the supply ships we do have are currently being held here to ferry supplies to Germania and Port Invictus.”

Lucilla tilted her head thoughtfully, considering the admiral’s words. “The shipmasters have already lodged several complaints about how often we’ve pressed their vessels into imperial service, even with the payments they receive in compensation. And aside from their displeasure, the imperial treasury is not infinite, and supplying both land and naval forces is already straining our reserves.”

“I understand their complaints, and even sympathize with them. I was a merchant myself, not that long ago, Your Majesty. But as long as the Carthaginians remain a threat, we face more dire concerns. They will find their businesses disrupted significantly more if we lose. The treasury, too, will find itself in far worse straits if the enemy manages to land soldiers on our shores again.”

He stepped forward, hands spread imploringly, “Without naval dominance, the Carthaginians can continue ferrying endless reinforcements across the Middle Sea, and our forces on the continent will be swallowed by the sheer number of troops sent against them. Without my fleet to disrupt their supply lines and raid their coasts, our foothold on the continent may collapse.”

Before she could respond, Ramirus cleared his throat, his expression grim. “Your Majesty, I’ve just received concerning news. My agents have reported signs of massive Carthaginian troop movements, and it is possible that a new, larger army has landed at a port in Gaul. Nothing is confirmed yet, which is why I was waiting to report it, but the admiral’s warning may be moot. Our estimates indicate that it’s the largest force we’ve seen yet, over two hundred and fifty thousand men strong, compared to our twenty-five thousand currently in service.”

“How sure are you of those numbers?” Lucilla asked.

“As I said, Empress, we haven’t confirmed it yet, and some may be double counting, as the reports are from different agents and not all of the forces are in one place. It seems as if the commander has split his forces, sending some north to face the Consul and some to Hispania. What we know for sure is that there has been a constant procession of ships across the Middle Sea, delivering men and supplies to their port in Gaul this winter.”

“Which is why my mission is so important,” Valdar said. “If we don’t cut off the flow of reinforcements, we will never hold the continent. We pushed them off Britain because we blocked their fleet from reinforcing Londinium before it fell. If we hadn’t, we would still be fighting here, on this island, against wave after wave of men crashing into us. The Carthaginians don’t consider most of their soldiers to even be people. They’re just slaves to them. And their deaths are nothing to them but offerings to their god. There is no amount of losses they aren’t willing to take, which means we can’t just outfight them. We have to cut them off, which is what I’m trying to do. And what I can’t do if I don’t get the gunpowder I need.”

Lucilla drummed her fingers on the arm of her throne as she weighed Valdar’s request. She didn’t reply right away, but he could see the calculations churning behind her eyes as she examined every angle. Her gaze flicked to Ramirus, and he gave a slight nod. At least he seemed convinced, despite arguing against Valdar earlier.

In the end, there was only one choice.

“Very well, Admiral. You have convinced me. I will authorize Lurio to release the supplies you need, and I will urge Hortensius to increase production as much as possible, although until the nitrate pits in Ériu begin producing, I’m afraid we might already be at our max capacity on gunpowder production. As for the transport ships, I will issue the orders for their appropriation today.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Valdar said, bowing low.

“Now that you have what you need, don’t fail us. Stop their shipping whatever the cost.”

***

Germania, North of the Rhine

Ky looked through the tree line at the distant Carthaginian supply depot. The small wooden fort stood silently in the wide clearing, bathed in moonlight. They’d received word of these small forts springing up near the Rhine in a shallow arc roughly across from the main territory of his largest allies and the only area they had successfully freed entirely from the Carthaginians. When put together with the army that had recently marched up from southern Gaul, it wasn’t hard to figure out what the Carthaginians were doing.

So far, the enemy had been spread out, trying to counter the raids and uprisings happening across Germania, but they were gearing up for a larger, more concentrated push against any villages they could get to. Already, thousands of civilians had been marched south, many presumably conscripted into their forces and sent to Greece or Asia Minor to free up armies there to come west.

The hit-and-run raids by Ky’s forces had done well, and the tribes not being folded into the legions had taken to them with enthusiasm, but they didn’t have the manpower to face a concentrated push. Muskets could only go so far, especially when used the way most of the tribes preferred.

He’d begun receiving rifles for his legions, but he only had two full legions armed with rifles. That should still be enough to take on the Carthaginians, but so far the enemy hadn’t been obliging him. Instead of starting a headlong attack, like they’d done before, the enemy was pushing their armies around his edges, cutting off supply lines and burning out or displacing anyone who might ally with the Britannians.

The larger Carthaginian armies were an issue when dealt with head-on, but they were just as much of a problem when spread out. Maybe even more so. Ky had managed to counter their size difference with technological force multipliers, but that only worked in head-on conflicts. He did not have enough men to meet them in all of the places the Carthaginians were attacking, especially since he couldn’t afford to spread his own forces out, which would invite a counterstrike against those Ky left behind.

He also couldn’t ignore the hits on his allies. Already the tribes had started expressing their dissatisfaction at their people being slaughtered or shipped south. The raids on supply lines had been helping slow the Carthaginians, but they needed to do more, which is why Ky found himself and his small band of Germanic tribesmen so deep in Carthaginian-held territory. If he was going to slow down the Carthaginian units roaming Germania, he had to do more than take wagon trains, and this supply depot was the first step.

The Carthaginians could probably replace these supplies, but it would take time, and it was the beginning of the planting season, which meant there wasn’t a lot for their people to steal or forage. The more he choked off their supply, the more they had to pull back units or risk losing them.

Still, it wasn’t going to be an easy task. He had two dozen Germans against a garrison of fifty-plus inside the small, hastily built wooden fort. Going over the wall, even of a lightly defended fortification like this, would be costly, so Ky waited and watched. A scout had reported a wagon train in the area, and based on earlier activity, Ky was pretty sure it was heading this way.

The hardest part was keeping Wulfram and his men holding in place just watching Carthaginians on the parapets and doing nothing. They only calmed down when the four horse-drawn carts loaded with supplies came rumbling down the wagon trail out of the forest and into view. This deep in Carthaginian territory, there were only a handful of guards, so it didn’t raise any concerns as far as manpower went. It did, on the other hand, solve one big problem.

“We should move,” Wulfram said over Ky’s shoulder.

“Not yet,” Ky said, not looking back. “We need the gate open.”

“They will just close it before we close the distance.”

“No, they won’t.”

Ky’s eyes never left the gate. The wagon cart rolled up to the gate, and one of the men exchanged words with one of the guards up on the parapet. Finally, the gate started to move.

“Wait,” Ky said, as the gate started to creep upward. “Wait. Now!”

Ky exploded from the tree line, moving at an inhuman pace, leaving the tribesmen behind him as if they were walking. He was halfway across the open ground before any of the Carthaginians noticed him, his gladius already in his hand. He passed the last wagon before anyone could even begin to shout.

He passed the nearest guards and smashed into the guard closest to the gate mechanism, his sword slamming through the man’s armor and out his back with such force that the man hurled backward, off his feet. Only Ky’s enhanced muscles allowed him to grip the weapon hard enough to keep from losing it as the man sailed away.

Next to the gate mechanism, Ky’s foot kicked out into the block counterweight, hitting it hard enough to lodge it into the wooden post next to it, embedding the stone partially inside the wood, locking the gate open.

To their credit, the Carthaginian guards didn’t let Ky’s sudden, brutal assault stun them into inaction. The guards were already closing in on him as their comrade fell, circling around him. Ky didn’t give them a chance, his blade sliced across the throat of the closest man, who crumpled with a wet gurgle.

Before the man even fell, Ky was already spinning, his blade darting out in the other direction, the steel cutting down two more men, who fell like freshly scythed wheat. Finally, the remaining two guards were on him, both screaming as they attacked. Ky blocked a clumsy overhead swing with enough power to break the weapon at the hilt, his blade cleaving into the man’s skull.

This time, his weapon did get lodged, pulling out of his grip as the man fell backward. There wasn’t time to retrieve it. Instead, as the guard’s partner stepped forward, hoping to impale him, Ky stepped aside with blurring speed, his hand gripping the Carthaginian’s wrist, brutally snapping it sideways as he ripped the man’s weapon from him. The guard screamed in pain, only to be impaled through the heart with his own sword.

That took care of the last of the guards inside the gate, leaving only the men who’d come with the wagon train that Ky had ignored in his rush to keep the gate open. Ky turned to face them, just in time to hear the crack of muskets and see those men begin to drop.

Ky moved quickly to put a wagon between himself and the open field. He appreciated the assistance, but his allies’ accuracy with the muskets wasn’t something Ky wanted to bet his life on. The fight was short-lived, with Wulfram appearing a moment later, stepping over the bodies of the fallen guards. Several of his men were reloading, but the majority were pulling out swords and axes. All of them looked hungry for more action.

“You work quickly,” Wulfram said, kicking one of the corpses out of his way.

A shout from across the fort’s open ground drew their attention as a group of Carthaginians ran past stacked supplies, intent on taking the gate back and kicking out the attackers.

Wulfram wasted no time, hefting his axe and charging forward with a roar, with his men close behind. Ky followed, although at a more reasonable pace this time. Now that the gate was locked open, there was no reason to rush headlong into the enemy. Together, they crashed into the disorganized defenders.

Ky parried a wild sword swipe from a soldier, then lashed out to slice the man’s leg out from under him. As the Carthaginian fell, Ky silenced him with a quick thrust through the throat. Beside him, Wulfram was an unstoppable force, his axe cleaving shields and helmets with equal ease. A musket barked here or there, but the majority of the work was done with sword and axe.

Within minutes, the remaining defenders were dead or had thrown down their weapons in surrender, which didn’t save them from their comrades’ fates. The tribesmen were brutal in their treatment of the Carthaginians, offering no quarter in every fight Ky had seen thus far.

All around, his allies were smashing open crates and barrels, dumping out the contents. Sacks of grain, salted meats, tools, and other necessities were seized from storage and destroyed with something almost like glee.

Most of the supplies were foodstuffs designed to survive the winter and to be easily transported to men on the march. Hard-baked and dried bread, the Romans would have called bucellatum, dried meat, and pickled vegetables were all being destroyed. Piles were already burning, sending harsh smoke snaking into the sky.

“It’s a shame we have to destroy all of this,” Wulfram said. “The supplies we’ve taken from their wagons have fed many, most of whom are starving after these bastards took everything they had.”

“I know,” Ky said sympathetically. “We’re deep in their territory and there’s no way to carry out more than a handful of supplies. This year, the Carthaginians will have more to worry about than stealing from your families, though. Every bit of supplies we destroy now will make it harder for them to fight tomorrow.”

Wulfram sighed deeply but did not argue. He turned and buried his axe into a barrel, releasing a flood of pickled vegetables across the ground.

Soon, the raiding party had broken open every container, scattering the contents to be ruined by exposure. The horses from the supply wagons were cut loose, denying their use to the enemy. The air was thick with smoke, causing most of the men to back away from the impressive bonfire they’d constructed.

It had taken time to destroy everything, but Ky wanted to make sure they left nothing for the troops in this area to use. They were almost finished hurling the last of the supplies from the newly arrived wagons into the fire when a cry rang out from the fort’s parapet. The lookout he had posted was waving his arms and pointing frantically westward.

Ky vaulted up to join the man, making a leap that would have astounded them had they had time to be impressed. Instead, the lookout turned to the tree line, pointing. Sure enough, men had begun to appear from the trees. A lot of men.

How had so many arrived so quickly? He’d set his drone to provide overwatch, but Sophus hadn’t alerted him to anything. Maybe it was the dense tree cover and the wet ground. Whatever the reason, explanations would have to wait. The enemy was almost upon them and he had to act fast.

Ky swore under his breath as he took in the size of the approaching force. At least two hundred men were advancing through the trees, far more than he and his small raiding party could hope to fend off.

“Form up!” he shouted to the tribesmen below.

There wasn’t even anything to hide behind, since they’d burned everything that wasn’t nailed down. Only the wagons still in the entrance offered any kind of cover, and that position was too easy to flank. At least inside the fort, the enemy had to funnel through one opening, protecting their flanks.

The men scrambled to obey, taking up positions as best they could and leveling their muskets at the open gate. Ky leaped down from the parapet, landing cat-like on the fort’s earthen rampart.

“I make fifty, maybe sixty coming through that gate initially,” Wulfram said as Ky reached his side. “We cannot hold them.”

“Focus your shots and make them count,” was the only advice he could give.

The first rank of Carthaginian soldiers came charging through the open gate, spears leading the way. A ragged volley of musket fire erupted from the tribesmen. It was impressive … and futile. For every Carthaginian that fell, another stepped over their body and continued pressing forward.

“Back!” Ky ordered as the men reloaded.

The press of the incoming soldiers was inexorable. They moved slowly, but his men were running out of room and would shortly be impaled on the wall of spears.

Ky calculated the odds, and it wasn’t good. He could see some of his allies looking at the rear wall of the fort, calculating if they could get over it and into the forest. The window to escape was short, however.

Another crash of muskets fired, pushing the Carthaginians back slightly. There wasn’t going to be time for a third. There also wasn’t going to be time to climb over the back wall. There was one other option.

Ky pulled his sidearm. It had been a full year since the last time he used it, carefully saving his ammunition to use in an emergency. If anything counted as an emergency, it was now. Thankfully, the weapon was designed to last for decades without maintenance and the ammunition would take a hundred years to lose efficacy.

Ky fired, a ball of green plasma expanding out of the weapon and rolling toward the wooden palisade walls. The intense heat, that had melted stone the last time he’d used it, completely vaporized a five-meter section of the wood planking, blowing the undestroyed parts outwards and setting the wall on either side on fire.

The Carthaginian line actually paused at the sight. Only a few people in this time had seen the modern weapon in action and survived to talk about it, and none of them were present here. The soldiers might have become acquainted enough with firearms to keep from running from them, but this was several magnitudes beyond that, and their brains needed a moment to catch up.

None fled, however, which is why Ky hadn’t just used it against the soldiers. He could have probably destroyed this entire unit with just his sidearm, but that would expend the last of his ammunition, and he still felt there might be a time he would need it. This way only required one round.

“Retreat!” Ky yelled, pulling the men nearest him and pointing them toward the newly appeared exit.

Seeing their prey fleeing, the Carthaginians’ fear faded, their line breaking slightly as they rushed forward. It was a short sprint to the trees and none of the Carthaginians had made it around the side yet, with the bulk of the soldiers trying to make their way through the gate. The Carthaginians were nearly on top of them, though, and their panicked retreat into the trees might not be enough if the pursuit continued.

Most of the men were moving fast, but Wulfram and four of his lieutenants stopped, turning to face the oncoming Carthaginians. Ky started to object, to tell him to get moving, but Wulfram cut him off.

“Get my men out of here. Tell our people what we did today,” he yelled over his shoulder.

With that, the giant of a man, his beard matching the color of the flames around him, charged straight into the Carthaginian line, his lieutenants in tow. The disorganized line of Carthaginians fell back at the sudden, brutal assault, clearly not expecting the counterattack. Ky gave the man one last glance, seeing the mass of soldiers swallow him up, and fled after the running men toward the forest.

Reaching the forest edge, Ky risked a glance back, but all he could see was burning wood. The wall around the hole he’d made had started to collapse, mostly blocking their escape route. It would take time for the Carthaginians to get organized and come after them, and maybe more if their men got caught in the quickly growing bonfire that used to be a small supply fort.

With a pang of regret, Ky plunged into the trees. They’d achieved their goal, disrupting Carthaginian supplies for the forces they were bringing in, but the cost had been high. Overextended and ambitious, he’d misjudged how quickly the enemy could react, and brave men paid the price.