The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 23

Greece

Mud caked their boots in thick, sucking globs as Ky and Modius made their way down the secondary trench. Recent rainfall combined with thousands of men moving through the narrow passages had turned sections of the defensive network into a quagmire and the wooden boards put down to ease the situation just buried themselves in a few days.

Modius looked slightly ill as they pushed through the throng of men moving around. Ky was glad for the control sophus an nanites gave him to cut off the smells of unwashed bodies and latrine pits.

“Third cohort reports all quiet in their sector, Consul,” Modius said.

“That won’t last, but I’m glad they have a reprieve. Let’s see what we can do about getting some reinforcements into their ranks while we have the chance.”

Modius nodded, making a mental note, as they passed a group of soldiers huddled around a small fire, heating tins of beans and salt pork.

Not one of the flashier inventions like artillery and gunpowder, but the ability to can and preserve food in thin metal cans, heated to kill bacteria and then sealed, had been one of the key things that had allowed him to turn their society into a reflection of the post industrial revolution world.

Less food rotted in the autumn and more food was available in the winter meaning starvation, once one of the biggest killers in the world, was slowly becoming a thing of the past.

It also made it much easier to feed and supply men who used to rely on foraging for most of their rations. Looking at this place, its trenches where no one wanted to stick their head above ground level, foraging wouldn’t be an option. It made armies of the size they were fielding now possible.

“Sit. Sit,” Ky said when the men all jumped up. “How’s the food?”

“Better than nothing, Consul,” a young soldier replied, his accent marking him as one of the new recruits from Gaul.

“When’s the last time your squad rotated to the rear?”

“Three days ago, sir,” answered an older soldier with sergeant’s marks on his collar. “We’re due for relief tomorrow.”

“Good. You’re doing a fine job boys. Keep it up.”

He continued down the line, stopping occasionally to speak with groups of soldiers. Despite their fatigue, morale remained surprisingly strong. The men had confidence in their defenses, in their commanders.

A big change from how soldiers in trenches felt during the first use of the strategy, in that different future.

A distant rumble broke the relative quiet, followed by several more in quick succession. Modius tensed and all the men around them paused, listening, wondering if this was the sign of the next attack.

“Sounds like the northern sector,” Ky said. “They’ve been hitting it hard for the past three days.”

They weren’t in the line of fire, but it was a sign that a new attack was starting, which meant it was time for the pair to return to the command bunkers. In his heart, Ky wanted to stand and fight with his men, but being ripped apart by a shell wouldn’t help them, so he went where he was most needed.

The command bunker was a sturdy structure of timber beams, sandbags, and corrugated metal, built into the reverse slope of a small hill. A young signalman held the canvas door open as they approached, and they ducked inside just as another shell exploded nearby, rattling the lamp that hung from the center beam.

Inside, a dozen officers and signalmen worked at wooden tables covered with maps and telegraph stations.

“Situation report,” Ky demanded as he moved to the central table where a large map of the defensive lines was spread out.

A staff optio straightened from where he’d been marking positions. “Eastern batteries opened up across the line thirty minutes ago, Consul. Heaviest concentration in sectors three and four.”

“Casualties?”

“Minimal so far. Most men were already in the trenches or shelters when the barrage started.”

Ky studied the map, noting the positions of their own artillery batteries and the estimated locations of enemy guns. The Britannian line formed a rough semicircle protecting the approaches to Athens from the north and east. But the northern section bulged outward in a dangerous salient, a vulnerability the enemy had clearly identified.

Another shell landed close enough to shower dust from the ceiling.

“Another attack coming soon,” Ky said.

“It might work. We’ve abandoned these forward observation posts as unsustainable. And here and we were forced to withdraw to the secondary trench line after they hit us with what must have been an fifteen thousand men. We held as long as possible, but they were willing to take massive casualties to force us back.”

Ky studied the pattern of withdrawals. Most were minor, tactical retreats to more defensible positions. But the pattern was concerning, a slow, methodical compression of their defensive perimeter, particularly in the northern sector.

“They’re creating a breakthrough point. If they punch through here, they can roll up our flanks and compromise the entire defensive position.”

“Precisely my concern. The cost for them has been high. My best guess is they’re losing five to ten men for every one of ours. I can’t believe they’re willing to waste so many lives.”

“And yet it’s working. They’re forcing us to expend precious ammunition and wearing down our men. Yes, the enemy may be losing more bodies, but they’re inflicting high losses as well. Our veterans are being replaced with green recruits who’ve barely completed basic training. The worst part is, there’s no sign the East has run out of men, especially now that they’re throwing Greeks and Egyptians into the fight. This is a war of attrition, Modius, and I think we’re losing it.”

The artillery fire outside intensified, the impacts coming closer together. The bunker shook continuously now, small streams of dirt trickling from between the ceiling timbers.

“We could reinforce the northern section with reserves from the southern trenches,” Modius suggested. “The attacks there have been less frequent and severe.”

“Bring up small groups, but we have to be careful. I’ve seen this tactic in Germania. They hammer one section of the line, wait for us to shift our forces, then strike where we’ve weakened ourselves.”

“Message from the rail depot, Consul,” a messenger said, coming into the bunker and handing over a folded paper.

“Finally,” Ky said, reading its contents. When Modius raised an eyebrow, Ky added. “New shipment from Devnum.”

“Ammunition?” Modius asked hopefully.

“Better. Come on.”

Ky led Modius through a series of communication trenches toward the rear area where the rail depot had been established. The narrowness of the trenches forced them to move single-file, Ky in the lead with Modius following closely.

They passed stretcher-bearers carrying wounded men toward the field hospital, soldiers moving ammunition forward to the fighting positions, and messengers running between command posts. Despite the chaos, there was order to the movement, the product of months of training and the hard lessons of recent battles.

When they emerged from the trench system, they found themselves in a cleared area a mile behind the front line. A short wagon ride later, they arrived at a rail depot consisting of three parallel tracks with wooden platforms between them. A locomotive stood hissing on the central track, six freight cars behind it. Dozens of men worked to unload crates from the cars, transferring them to wagons for distribution to the front.

“Those crates marked with red bands, are those the special shipments from Factorium?” he asked one of the quartermasters.

“Yes, Consul,” the man said, consulting a manifest. “Forty crates of the new rifles and two hundred of ammunition for them.”

“Have three crates of each brought to that clearing,” Ky ordered, pointing to a flat area thirty yards away. “I want to inspect them before they’re distributed.”

While they waited, another artillery shell landed near enough to be concerning, though well out of immediate danger. The men at the depot barely reacted, continuing their work with the resigned efficiency of soldiers who’d grown accustomed to danger.

The requested crates arrived on a handcart pushed by two legionaries. At Ky’s direction, they set them down and pried open the wooden lids.

Inside the first crate, packed carefully in straw, lay ten lever-action rifles. Ky lifted one out, feeling its weight and balance. It was noticeably shorter than their current model, with a distinctive brass loading mechanism on the right side.

Modius picked up another, examining it with the critical eye of a professional soldier. “These are strange. So much shorter than our current rifles. It’s hard to believe this is what we’re going to replace our current rifles with?”

“The reduced length is by design. It makes them easier and faster to use.”

He reached into one of the ammunition crates and removed a small cardboard box. Inside were twenty metal cartridges, each containing powder, primer, and bullet in a single unit. Ky loaded seven cartridges into the rifle’s tubular magazine.

“Stand back,” he warned, moving to the edge of the clearing where several empty crates were stacked against an earthen berm.

Ky raised the rifle to his shoulder, aimed at the crates, and worked the lever to chamber the first round. He fired, the rifle bucking against his shoulder. Without pausing, he worked the lever again, chambering a new round from the magazine. He fired seven shots in rapid succession, his hands a blur of motion.

The sound of the unexpected gunfire caused men throughout the depot to dive for cover. A few reached for their own weapons before realizing who was firing.

Modius stared at the splintered remains of the target crates, then at the rifle in Ky’s hands. His normal stoic expression gave way to undisguised amazement.

“That’s... incredible,” he said finally. “Seven shots just like that, without reloading.”

Modius accepted the rifle Ky handed him and tried the loading procedure himself. Though not as quick as Ky, he managed to load the seven rounds without difficulty.

“This changes everything,” Modius said, working the lever to feel the action’s smoothness. “One man becomes the equivalent of a dozen.”

“That’s the plan,” Ky confirmed, watching as Modius took aim at the remains of the target and fired three quick shots. “They’ve matched us in artillery. They’ve copied our basic rifle designs. But they don’t have this, not yet. It took them years to replicate our rifles. I hope it takes just as much time to figure out these.”

Ky put the two rifles back into the crate and called over the quartermaster who’d been standing just a few steps away, watching his commanders talk.

“I want these rifles distributed immediately, with priority to the front-line units in the northern sector.”

The officer saluted and began barking orders to his men. Within minutes, the crates were being reloaded onto wagons for transport to the front.

Ky felt the first wave of relief he had in months. Finally they had an edge again.

***

***

Devnum

Lucilla wiped Titus’s chin, getting the bits of mashed-up vegetable that hadn’t made it into his mouth. He gurgled at her, smiling and giving a little laugh.

The sight never failed to warm her heart, and she was thankful again for being able to be here in Devnum with him. No matter what setbacks they’d dealt with, she always had this little refuge to return to, escaping the pressures of her office.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her as she lifted him out of the small, enclosed stool she used for feeding him. Part of her wanted to shout and tell the person to go away, but she knew that wasn’t an option.

With a frown, she turned and handed him to the nurse who was hovering a few steps away and said, “Enter.”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the guard said, knowing as well as anyone how much she valued this time. “But a group of Scandi officials just arrived in port and are being escorted here to the palace. They’re demanding an immediate audience.”

Lucilla sighed. She’d been expecting this, she’d just wished they’d had better timing.

“Have them shown to the Small Audience Chamber. I’ll receive them in twenty minutes.” After the man bowed and exited, she went back to little Titus. “I’m sorry to leave you so soon. Be good for your nurses.”

She leaned down and kissed his little head before giving a tired but warm smile to the woman holding him and going to her dressing room. This meeting required the proper attire, not the full imperial regalia, which would suggest defensiveness, but something that projected authority without ostentation. She selected a deep purple stola over a white tunic, with gold clasps at the shoulders bearing the Britannian eagle, and a simple gold diadem completed the ensemble.

She preferred the pants and tunics that had become common wear in the last several years, even for official functions, but something like this, it was better to lean on tradition. It added weight to the statement she was making.

The Small Audience Chamber was aptly named, a room designed for more intimate diplomatic meetings rather than full state functions. Marble columns supported a ceiling painted with scenes from Britannian history, including the near burning of the palace during her brother’s revolt.

Lucilla entered through a side door, the guards snapping to attention as she passed. She took her seat, arranging herself on the high-backed but otherwise simple chair, and waited, gaming out the conversation that was about to happen in her head, preparing herself.

After several more minutes, the double doors opened to reveal four men in heavy woolen tunics with intricate embroidery. Warm but as much their leading into tradition as she was. Hrolfson, who she’d negotiated with several times before, was at their front. The other three were unknown to her. Two older men who had both clearly spent a long life at the sea, and a younger man who seemed much too green to be at a meeting like this.

“Empress,” he said, skipping the normal formalities. “By what right does Britannia seize Scandi vessels? By what right do you close every Western port to our ships? We are a neutral nation, free to trade with whom we choose. This embargo is nothing short of piracy. A lifetime of peace between our peoples, including our joining you in your war against Carthage, and now you treat us as enemies. We will not be bullied by Britannian imperialism. We demand the immediate release of all vessels and crews you are holding and compensation for lost trade.”

Lucille had waited, keeping any emotion or thoughts off her face, just watching him passively as he vented his anger. When he finally wound down, breathing slightly from the lather he worked himself up to, she didn’t reply right away. She continued to stare at him, calmly, causing him to squirm slightly.

“Are you finished, Commander?” she finally said.

“For now.”

“Then let me explain why those ships were seized.” Lucilla rose from her seat, stepping down from the dais to stand on equal footing with the delegation. “The Evrinna was found with four tons of gunpowder in barrels marked as salt. The Hammerskjold in one of our harbors holding three hundred rifle barrels and firing mechanisms. I could go on, listing the prohibited items smuggled out of Britannian ports. Or I could mention that most of these ships had Egyptian crew members, which is something I have found very interesting. It has always been my understanding that the Scandi thought poorly of the Egyptians as sailors, which makes finding so many of them aboard Scandi ships involved in smuggling military supplies interesting. To say the least.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Neutrality, Commander, does not extend to smuggling weapons that will be used to kill Britannian soldiers,” she said, rolling over him. “It does not cover espionage or the transport of enemy agents. These are acts of war.”

“The actions of individual captains do not represent the policy of the Scandi Confederation,” he said. “These men are independent merchants seeking profit, not representatives of our government. We maintain our neutrality in this conflict.”

“Your captains carry weapons that will be used against our citizens. The distinction between private action and state policy becomes meaningless when the result is the same.”

That seemed to pause him for a moment, before he seemed to shake himself and get back to his points.

“Release our ships and lift this embargo immediately, or Scandi will have no choice but to seek stronger ties with the Eastern forces. Perhaps they would value our friendship more than Britannia seems to.”

“We should do that anyway,” the younger man said. “They would welcome us, unlike how we are treated here.”

“I’m certain they would, yet you’re here in Devnum, not in the East. Why is that, I wonder? Consider what ports you are close to, which ones you trade with often, and what your options are if you could only trade with Egypt. Also consider this, if Scandi allies with the East, you become our enemy in truth. Every Scandi vessel, not just those carrying contraband, becomes a legitimate target for our navy. Every Scandi citizen in Britannian or Western Alliance territory becomes an enemy national, subject to detention. You would be isolated, cut off from your new ‘allies’ by geography and by our fleets. Your ships would never reach Eastern ports.”

 “You dare threaten us,” Hrolfson said, going red in the face.

“I am simply explaining the realities of the situation, another of which includes the fact that the easterners are not looking for trade partners. They’re looking for subjects. The Macedonians thought the same as you, and sided with them. My understanding is that many of their cities have begun being integrated as a protectorate of the eastern empire. Does that sound familiar?”

She did not have to directly remind them of how the Carthaginians acted to get her point across. She could see Hrolfson’s understanding on his face.

“And here you are, dictating who we may or may not trade with. How are you any different?”

“There is a significant difference between limiting trade with one group among dozens you regularly deal with, and having soldiers in your towns dictating every aspect of your lives. The Eastern Empire has demonstrated its intent to conquer all of Europe. They’ve secured Greece and Egypt. They will not stop there.”

“However…”

“Say all you want, but from our point of view, you are no different, forcing us into submission…”

“However,” Lucilla continued, cutting his tirade short again. “There is an alternative to the full embargo.”

“What alternative?” He said, suspicious.

“Scandi joins the Western Alliance in a limited capacity. You would not be required to commit ground troops to the conflict. Instead, you would provide material resources for the war effort, timber, iron, and other raw materials at preferential rates. Your vessels would participate in blockading Egyptian ports but would not be required to engage Eastern fleets directly. Your merchant ships would transport Western Alliance supplies, maintaining our supply lines across the Middle Sea. In return, all Western Alliance ports would reopen to Scandi trade. Your commerce would resume, your captains freed, your seized vessels returned, minus the contraband, of course.”

For a moment, the four men looked at each other. Many of the things she was offering were limitations they’d asked for in previous conversations. Then, she’d held the line, demanding participation in the fighting itself.

The older men seemed to be seriously considering it. The younger man, however, remained defensive.

“Why should we accept any deal when we could simply continue trading with both sides?

“Because that is not an option. You will either trade with every Western nation save Egypt and certain Greek ports, or you will face the same fate as Egyptian vessels in the Middle Sea. One or the other, gentlemen. It’s up to you to choose.”

“You still ask us to put our people in danger. Any formal alliance would make us a target for Eastern retaliation.”

“I am not saying it’s without risk, but consider your actual exposure. You are so far north, you represent a low-priority target for Eastern forces, who have almost no naval presence this far north. Also consider that, if the West loses this war, Scandi will become a target regardless of its current stance.”

The men looked to each other.

“Excuse us a moment,” he said, pulling the other men with him several steps back.

The quartet leaned in, speaking in hushed voices. Even though she couldn’t hear what they were saying, it wasn’t hard to see they were not all agreeing, especially the younger man.

After several minutes of intense debate, which the younger man clearly lost and was unhappy with, the delegation separated and came forward again.

“We have several conditions. First, Scandi vessels must have greater autonomy in choosing which ports to help blockade. We will not commit our entire merchant fleet to military operations.”

“Half your seaworthy vessels. With your captains selecting which ships participate on a rotating basis.”

Hrolfson nodded reluctantly. “Second, we require a formal guarantee that no Scandi citizens will be conscripted into Western Alliance forces. Our people will not die for Britannia.”

“Fine.”

“Lastly, we require immediate compensation for the twenty-three vessels already seized, regardless of their cargo.”

“The ships will be returned. The contraband will not. Nor will there be any compensation for the seized contraband. Those vessels violated existing trade agreements by carrying war materials to our enemies.”

“Half-value compensation for the contraband.”

“No compensation. The return of the vessels themselves is concession enough.”

Hrolfson looked to the three other men. The two older gave short nods, while the young man gave nothing.

“We accept your terms. Scandi will join the Western Alliance under these conditions.”

“Good. A formal treaty will be drawn up by tomorrow. Your ships will be released upon its signing, and Western Alliance ports will reopen to Scandi vessels immediately thereafter.”

“And the captains found to be carrying contraband?”

“Those without Egyptian connections will be released alongside their vessels, with a formal warning. Those who transported enemy agents will be held as any hostile spy would.”

Hrolfson didn’t seem pleased with this, but he nodded all the same. Turning, he led his men out, having to have drag the youngest of his party with him.

She would have to find out who that boy was, and how he’d come to be included in this group. If he had high enough connections, or if he had some kind of connections to the easterners she didn’t know of, they would have to keep an eye on him.