Antioch Burns (5 page)

Unfortunately, several others had managed to explode near the gasbag, further damaging large portions of the canvas. The airship struggled onwards, attempting to pull out of range of the fearsome projectiles.
They sort of look like what Engineer Monventus used during our skirmish with the Mongols.
Regillus thought, watching the flight of yet another spread of missiles.

The second airship was fleeing as well, unwilling to get close to the ground-based Mongol defenses. The remaining flight shrieked off into the sky, some corkscrewing harmlessly to the ground on the far side of the river.

“There goes our air superiority. And some of our best weapons too.”
I knew that so-called officer would flee at the first time of trouble
. He sneered at the thought of the pompous Fleet Officer Kretarus cowering on his bridge.
Then again, calling that political hack an ‘officer’ is being generous
.

“Sir, I think we’ve got bigger problems than that.” The senior
decanus
shook his arm in haste, pointing to the field, diverting his attention away from the fleeing air fleet.

All along the front, the Mongols were advancing. Already, Regillus could see the Roman skirmisher lines falling back to the main legion ranks.

“Tell the men we’ll have work soon enough,” he said grimly, replacing his binoculars in their case. “If the Mongols have any more surprises up their sleeves, we’d best get ready for a bloody day.”

As the space between the Roman and Mongolian centers continued to close, Regillus felt his heart beating faster. Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. Slowly, the Mongol horseman picked up speed, beginning their charge, but had yet to shelve their horsebows.

The entire Roman line gave a thunderous battle cry as they lowered their shields and prepared to receive the charge.
Light cavalry against armored infantry backed up by spears and artillery? There is no way such veteran horsemen would actually attempt that!
Regillus remembered how the Mongols had attacked back at the inn.

“It’s a trap. Those Mongol forces aren’t going to carry out their charge.”

“Sir?”

“That’s not how they fight! Their entire strategy is based on their history as nomadic
steppe
warriors. I remember the veterans talking about how our armies kept getting slaughtered by the Mongols until we could trap them against the river.
In the middle of a driving rainstorm and using a rebel tribe as our allies.
I doubt that any rainstorm is going to happen here to save us. Those riders will make pincushions out of our forces. This battle is already lost.”

The men around him looked uncomfortable. Several mutters of anger at their commander’s defeatism reached his ears.

And yet, they trailed off as the Mongol forces twisted and shifted, peppering the lines with seemingly unending volleys of arrows. Caught by surprise, the Romans ducked behind their shields, although the expert marksmanship and sheer amount of fire knocked holes in the thin, red line. They were now galloping away from the imperial forces, firing Parthian style over their shoulders.

Further to the rear, Regillus could see flags and standards swirling as reinforcements were ordered forward. Arranged in a checkerboard pattern behind the main line, reserve
cohorts
rushed men forward to fill the gaps. Even the cavalry seemed to be stirring, gradually forming up into a huge diamond formation centered on the general’s standard.
He can’t be expecting that the Mongols will actually receive their charge…

Etruscas lowered his spyglass.

“Is the general about to lead a cavalry charge, sir?”

“Yes, and we better start making preparations to cover it from our flank.” Regillus quickly sketched out some orders, and had several of his cohorts already moving before the semaphore system operator sent a messenger over.

“It’s as you said, sir. The tribune is ordering us forward.”

“Indeed, he has no choice. Without our flankers, the charge will be surrounded and cut off inside a half hour. With them, he might last out the hour. That is, until we are overrun and our forces trapped against our own walls or the mountains,” Regillus stated harshly.

“All to satisfy the
honor
and
tradition
of our leadership.” He filled his voice with scorn. All the anger and frustration he had felt, the years of suffering under his parents’ and brothers’ torment came welling up. The young officer clenched his fist.
Why can’t we learn to change how we fight? To change how we deal with this? How many more young men must die to satisfy old men’s need for honor?

It was a thought that had been considered by generations of younger men; before age and experience turned them into the very thing they had so rebelled against in their youth.

“Sir?” Etruscas interrupted. “The Mongols are moving against the flank as well.”

Tearing his attention away from the drama unfolding in the center, he focused on the situation at hand.

“Order skirmishers forward, infantry in Omega formation.” Ranks of
pila
-armed legionnaires marched forward; opening their ranks to allow men armed with repeater crossbows through. Enemy outriders were already beginning their harassing fire, no doubt attempting to infuriate the Roman flank commander into making rash moves. Regillus turned to stare back at the tribune, safely ensconced behind his infantry forces to the rear.

Phyrsis finally mounted his horse, his aide waving a signal flag at Regillus’ forward command party. Adrenaline pounding in his veins, Regillus gripped the reins and spurred his horse. The rest of the Roman line advanced at a slow march, his light cavalry forces pushing around the flanks to support the infantry’s advance. Mongol skirmishers raced back and forth, spattering the legionnaires with arrows. The infantry marched on, studiously ignoring the light missile fire.

As they approached a rise in the road, Regillus ordered a stop.

“Eliminate those riders,” he ordered. “I don’t want anyone fighting us for the hilltop. I want to own it.” The message was quickly passed down, and a rank of repeater crossbows stepped forward from the line. As they trotted towards the skirmishers, the tribesmen pulled their horses around and took aim at the crossbowmen. The legionnaires went down on one knee and took aim. Other legionnaires stood by to cover the crossbowmen with their shields when they needed to reload. Their bolts, shorter ranged than the horsebows or long bows, packed a punch, and it was not long before several empty steppe ponies were galloping for the rear, soon joined by their still mounted comrades.

“Good, continue the advance as the tribune ordered.” Etruscas grunted an affirmative. As the infantry took the hill, Regillus pulled his cavalry forces to the west, aiming to support the movements of the center. To the west, Legate General Flavian’s legionnaires advanced as well,
cohorts
opening large gaps in the line as the cavalry poured through. Opposite them, the Mongols continued to mill around, their light cavalry creating a scene of apprehension and confusion at the advance of the heavy
cataphractii
cavalry.

Regillus gritted his teeth. It was going to be a long day.

“Hold the line!”
Regillus screamed, using the flat of his sword to beat at the men trying to flee back into the city. The clamor of battle surrounded the small salient of Romans holding the northern gate. Ballistae and scorpion fire tore down from the forty-foot high walls, shredding rank upon rank of Mongol cavalrymen.

It mattered little, for the enemy’s forces were seemingly endless. They had replaced the losses from the previous day’s battle in record time, throwing fresh troops against the exhausted Roman defenders. The half circle of legionnaires and dismounted
cataphractarii
fought shoulder to shoulder, stalling the attackers long enough to allow as many fleeing troops into the city as possible. Just inside the gate, the city militia had finally assembled, their formation shaky as they watched the carnage unfolding outside the gates.

“Preafectus! Fall back and take charge of the men inside the city. We’ll keep them busy out here! The gates cannot fall. Do you understand? The gates cannot fall!” Tribune Phyrsis croaked at him. Stabbing his sword into the ground, the officer took the last swig from his canteen.

“I will use the last of our
cataphractarii
to buy you some time. Shut the gates.”

“But, sir! We have to save everyone we can!”

“I have faith in your leadership. No one will listen to a former cavalryman. But they might listen to you because of your family.” He looked at Regillus. “Shut the gods cursed gates, Praefectus, that’s an order. You cannot save us all. You have a family. I do not. You have your orders, legionnaire.
Defend the city
.”

Sheathing his sword, Regillus came to a salute, as crisp as he could make it. Fist to chest, he felt his heart swell with pride. This was a man worth his respect. The tribune mounted his horse, which headed a wedge of fifty
cataphractarii
forming up in the long tunnel of the gatehouse. He grasped his konton, the heavy lance handed to him by a wounded legionnaire.

“Save Antiochia, Praefectus. You are the only remaining officer from the IV Syrian alive. The survivors will need someone to keep them fighting until the other legions can arrive.”

Nodding numbly, Regillus returned to the line of men holding back the Mongolian infantry. Pulling his sword, he positioned himself next to the eagle standard of the IV Syrian, the rallying point that was the focus of the salient.

“Stand ready to fall back to the gate!” he shouted, fighting to be heard over the roar of combat. Regillus turned to look at Phyrsis. The armored warhorses stamped and pawed at the ground. Finally, Phyrsis lifted his clasped fist. Cornices blew, and the cavalry rode down the tunnel, gaining speed as they raced along the cobblestones.

“Wait for it… form gap now!” Regillus shouted to the men. The ragged Roman line split in two, and the Mongolian infantry blasted into the gap, just in time to be met by the powerful wedge of heavily armed lancers. Men were spitted upon the long spears, the heavily barbed warhorses trampling the attackers beneath them. Reeling in shock, the lightly armed enemy panicked, throwing down weapons and turning their backs on the rampaging
cataphractarii
.

“Fall back! To the gate!” Regillus turned and ran, urging the other Roman defenders back as well. The pressure on the line had eased, and the Romans moved quickly, ignoring their exhaustion. Small knots of Romans continued to battle, oblivious to his orders or unable to break free of their attackers.

He was in the tunnel now. The remaining legionnaires and dismounted
cataphractarii
formed a rough line across the opening, wide enough to accommodate three wagons. Regillus turned to watch the last charge of Tribune Phrysis. The initial impact of the charge had thrown back the first wave of Mongolian infantry, scattering them and causing them to flee. But the enemy simply sent forward more men, sacrificing ten soldiers to bring down one
cataphractarii
. They swarmed, stabbing with their short spears, wearing down the lancers.

Regillus opened a speaking tube that led up to the main gate control.

“Prepare to drop portcullis and close gates.”

“There are still men fighting outsid-”

“Soldier, listen to me! I am Praefectus
Alae
Regillus, last commanding officer of the IV Syrian. Do as I say, or I will personally kill you before the Mongols. Do you understand?” Regillus shouted into the speakertube. There was silence from the other end, then a different voice came back.

“This is Watch Officer Hadrianus, please confirm your identity.”

Regillus paused in his reply, distracted by the death of the last few
cataphractarii
. Phyrsis was no longer visible. The sally had saved most of the defenders; everyone else was either dead or trapped beyond reach of the gates. Snapping his attention back to the speakertube, Regillus mustered every last amount of authority he could muster.

“Drop the portcullis, or we are all dead! You hear me? Do it now!” Regillus ordered the Watch Officer. The last Romans scrambled past the hastily assembled defensive line, Mongolian troops hot on their heels. With a clattering, two steel portcullises slid out of the ceiling, slamming into the ground on both sides of the charging nomads. The trapped Mongolians crashed against the barricade, screaming and shouting hatred at their opponents. From hidden murder holes came a cascade of boiling oil, which burned its way through armor, fabric, and skin. With the Mongol vanguard slaughtered, Regillus ordered his men back, shutting and barricading each set of doors behind them. As each heavy steel bar slammed down, Regillus felt slightly more secure.

Finally, the
praefectus
and his men emerged into the harsh morning sunlight of the entry courtyard. All around them lay wounded and dead soldiers. Many civilians and medical personnel ran here and there, trying to assist the causalities.

An officer ran out of the sally port of the guardhouse towards the bloodied rearguard survivors.