The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 12

Factorium

Hortensius hurried onto the shooting range they had set up behind one of the factories on the west side of town. He’d scheduled this test two days ago, but a sudden emergency with the ship test platform had required him to run to Devnum quickly.

How foolish he’d been when he’d thought the telegraph lines going up meant less back and forth travel for him. Yes, it was partially his fault, as he liked to keep his hands in all of the projects and the new ship design may be the most complex thing they’d worked on yet, but it was exhausting to shuttle back and forth so many times each week.

Worse, this trip had been made all that much more stressful when the Empress had heard he was in the city and required him to stop by the palace so she could make sure he knew how important it was to her that the new rifles were ready. He’d known that, of course, but apparently new things were happening and she wanted to light a fire under his posterior to get him moving.

“Master Hortensius, we should be ready to begin,” the range officer Rufus reported as soon as he’d arrived, gesturing to where a soldier stood holding one of the new rifles.

Although he’d seen the weapon many times, it still struck him as odd after so many years with their current standard issue weapon. The lever on the bottom and much shorter length made it look almost toylike compared to the long, graceful lines of the old rifle.

“Once we complete these tests, I want the production lines to start setting up so we can begin scaling. We need these shipping out within a few weeks,” he said to one of his assistants, who nodded as he passed and headed to the soldier.

“They’ve shown you what to do?” he asked.

“Yes. Work the lever fully back and then forward until it locks in place to load a new round.”

“Yes. Watch out for this feed port here. It will shoot the previous casing out to make room for the next one. The casing will be hot, so don’t put your hand in the way of it or have it pointed at your face when you work the lever.”

“I understand.”

“Good man,” Hortensius said and stepped back, looking to the range officer. “You may begin with ready.”

The praetorian they had selected for the test shouldered the weapon, aligning the rear sight with the front blade. He took several slow breaths, easing himself as he steadied the weapon, pointing it to the paper target affixed to a haybale downrange.

“Fire when ready,” Rufus commanded.

The rifle cracked, a sharper, higher pitched sound than what Hortensius had become used to with the old rifle. Hortensius reached out and was handed a brass spyglass by an assistant, looking downrange. There was a clear hole in the paper. About two finger spans left of the center of the target.

Hortensius said, handing the spyglass back and clapping his hands together. “Excellent! Just excellent. We’ll need to make a series of shots to be sure, but it seems the accuracy is still very good even with the shorter barrel. Please fire again.”

There had been some contention among his men during the development of the rifle, with many thinking the smaller barrel would decrease accuracy over time, in spite of the Consul’s notes.

Hortensius, for one, had not doubted it.

The praetorian made a small adjustment to the rear sight and then worked the lever, the action sliding smoothly as it ejected the spent casing and chambered the next round. The man, who’d been serious so far, actually smiled as he did so.

Hortensius wasn’t surprised. If he’d seen combat, then he would know firsthand how needing a few seconds to reload versus thirty seconds at best would be a game changer.

The man raised the rifle and fired again. This one was even closer to center. A single finger’s width away. A few more and he would be satisfied with the accuracy of the weapon, which was the main point of the test.

They could try the lever, pressure testing the barrel, the feed mechanism, and nearly every other part of the rifle in the factory, but only actually having the weapon fired by an expert would tell them if it was accurate or not.

“One more,” he ordered.

The soldier nodded and began to pull the lever back. Instead of going all the way back, sending the spent casing flying out of the rifle, there was a metallic snap sound, with the lever short of being fully opened. The soldier worked the lever back and forth, but it remained stuck, unable to be pulled all the way back.

“The cartridge is jammed, sir. I can’t extract it.”

Hortensius’s earlier elation evaporated. He’d expected a lot of things, but their tests on the lever had been thorough, and they hadn’t encountered jamming problems. Hurrying forward, he took the rifle from the man and examined the partially-open action. The brass cartridge had somehow twisted sideways, wedging itself between the carrier block and chamber wall.

“Take a break over there. We’ll call you when we’re ready,” Hortensius told the gathered soldiers and range master before turning to his aides. “Disassemble this rifle immediately. I want every component laid out and inspected thoroughly.”

As the testing team carefully took apart the rifle, Hortensius paced back and forth, watching over their shoulder. They had spent the most time with the weapon, so they were, of course, the right choice to disassemble it. But familiarity sometimes bred a kind of blindness. An inability, or maybe even unwillingness, to see problems in a person’s own work.

So he remained vigilant as they worked. Still, even knowing that, he was concerned. The Consul’s instructions had been clear, and he’d been so certain they had ironed out all the kinks in the design.

When they finished, he looked over the table where each component of the rifle had been carefully arranged.

“Check the firing pin first. Look for any signs of burrs or misalignment. Then move on to the extractor and ejector. I want every measurement compared against the specifications.”

For the next hour, Hortensius watched as his team meticulously inspected each component. They used calipers to verify the length, width, and thickness of each part. They ran their fingers along edges to feel for imperfections and held parts up to the light to check for hairline cracks.

And with each part they examined, they found everything as it should be. Nothing out of specs or broken. Nothing bowed, bent, or twisted. Everything seemed to be in order, yet the rifle had still jammed.

“Maybe the problem was in assembly. Let’s reassemble it, but I want you to do it slowly. I want every step double-checked against these drawings and confirmed to be accurate and not out of alignment before we move on to the next one.”

The team worked methodically, cleaning each part thoroughly and applying oils as needed before putting the rifle back together. Hortensius supervised closely, watching to make sure every component was seated properly and aligned correctly.

When they finished, it looked the same as it had before they disassembled it. He was somewhat bothered by the fact that they hadn’t found any reason for the jamming. He hoped it was simply assembled wrong, and putting it back together fixed the issue, but he knew that was wishful thinking.

Something like this, it was going to be more than just an assembly error.

Once the rifle was ready, Hortensius waved the range officer and praetorian back, handing the soldier the rifle.

“Please try again,” he said.

The soldier stepped into the firing position and looked back to him for confirmation. When Hortensius gave him a nod, the man worked the lever, pulling in a round, lifted the rifle, and took aim.

Crack! The first shot rang out cleanly.

“Work the lever and fire again,” Hortensius said when the man lowered the weapon.

The chambered another round and fired again without issue.

“Perhaps it was just a temporary misalignment,” Hortensius said back to his aides. “Once more, if you please.”

The soldier nodded and worked the lever again. As if to purposefully prove Hortensius wrong, the familiar metallic scraping snap sounded again when he attempted to chamber a new man, with the lever refusing to close.

“Pluto take it all,” he muttered. “Clear the round out and try again.”

Over the next half hour, the man continued to try and test the weapon. Maddeningly, the results of the stubborn repetition were wildly inconsistent. Sometimes the weapon would fire three or four rounds flawlessly before jamming. Other times, it would jam on the second shot.

“This makes no sense,” he said when he finally called a halt to the attempts. “Why is it so inconsistent? If it were a simple mechanical flaw, we’d see the same problem every time.”

He turned to his lead engineer. “I want you to make some modifications. Increase the tension on the extractor spring slightly. And let’s take a closer look at the feeding mechanism. There might be a minor misalignment we’re missing.”

They had checked that the last time they disassembled it, and everything matched the consul’s notes, but none of his men were going to argue with him. They simply nodded and set to work, not only increasing tension on the extractor spring but also taking a fine file to the ejector, smoothing out any potential rough spots that might be causing the cartridges to snag.

“Alright, let’s try again,” Hortensius said once the modifications were complete.

The testing process began anew. Initially, there seemed to be some improvement with a longer span of time between jams, at one managing eight rounds in succession before jamming.

“Ha! I think we’ve cracked it,” Hortensius exclaimed, allowing himself a moment of optimism. “If it keeps like this, we’ll know we’re on the right track.”

His elation was short-lived. The very next shot jammed. And the one after that. And the one after that. The longer they fired, the more clear it became that there was no consistent pattern to when the weapon would fail.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Hortensius muttered.

Hours passed as they assembled and reassembled the rifle. His team had gone through countless iterations of modifications and testing, but the core problem remained. Sometimes the rifle would fire flawlessly for several rounds, other times they would jam almost immediately.

As Hortensius stared at the disassembled rifle as his men worked, a new thought struck him.

“What if it’s not the rifle at all?”

“My lord?” One of the engineers asked.

“Bring me samples from different batches of ammunition. I want to compare them.”

When Rufus returned with several boxes of cartridges, Hortensius immediately set about examining them. He measured the dimensions of cartridges from different batches, weighed them, and even cut a few open to inspect the powder inside.

“Look here,” he said, holding up two cartridges side by side. “The crimping on these is ever so slightly different.”

“Our tests showed variations like that had little effect on its being fired,” an engineer said.

“I know. Still, I want you to go get a handful of rounds from different batches. I want to keep careful track of which rounds from which batch are being fired.”

His men followed his orders, and in fifteen minutes, they began a new series of tests, this time carefully tracking which batch of ammunition was being used in each rifle. As the results came in, a pattern began to emerge.

“It’s the cartridges,” Hortensius announced, both relieved and frustrated. “The percentage of jams is consistent within each batch of ammunition but varies between batches. While that probably means the rifle mechanism is sound, we will have to redo these tests once we get our cartridge manufacturing process sorted out. Right now, I want you to head to the munitions line immediately. Inspect every step of the cartridge production, looking for any variations in the crimping process, powder measuring, or case forming. Let’s figure out where the problem is originating.”

It was going to take them time to sort out the problem. The empress was not going to be happy about this delay.

***

Maleth

It was a shame he had to stay cramped in his offices on such a beautiful day. Over the last five years, he’d served all across the Empire, from Britannia, which seemed to rain constantly, and even Germania in the Winter as an aide to one of the commanders helping build the Germanic Alliance’s a legion of their own.

All of that made him appreciate his current position even more. The island of Maleth was small compared to many in the middle sea, but its location made it much more important than its size would indicate, sitting in the waters between Sicilia and North Africa. Much of the trade in the region passed through, or at least near, his port.

It was a coveted position, and Rolfus knew many of the officers in the legions envied him the assignment. For Rolfus, though, it was the view that did it.

He’d grown up in a small village south of Rome, on the western coast of Italia, so the views here reminded him of the views of his home. He would never regret signing up for the legions and helping push the Carthaginians out of his homeland near the end of the last war, but he had regretted having to leave that place.

Still, he was a professional now, and he had a job to do. He couldn’t stare out the window all day, and his aide was waiting on him to respond.

“I don’t understand why Talticus didn’t take care of it when he had the port,” he said, finishing the thought he’d started earlier, before being distracted by the stunning view.

“He felt the expense and effort would be more than the improvement dredging the harbor would bring.”

“What you mean is he knew he was retiring, and he didn’t want to deal with it, so he left it for the next poor bastard to get this assignment. Namely me.”

The man smiled, but didn’t reply. He’d been at this port through three commanders and was much too smart to badmouth any of them.

At least not where the current commander could hear it.

“Very well, I...” Rolfus started to say and then paused as something in the harbor drew his attention. “That’s odd. We don’t often see such a large Egyptian fleet here.”

The aide rose and joined him next to the window. A dozen ships bearing the sign of the Ptolemaic kingdom were coming into port. While they did get trade fleets in, usually there were a handful or maybe five ships in total. Twelve was very large. Large enough that Rolfus would have thought someone would have sent him word such a large contingent was coming.

Even if they were not unloading and just stopping in, that many sailors pouring into the port would cause all kinds of havoc.

“Vercassixtos,” Rolfus called out.

After a beat, the door opened and the Praetorian who’d been standing outside his door entered.

“See about getting some more men down to the docks. Twelve ships just pulled in, and it’s going to get very busy down there.”

“Yes, Centurion,” the man said, saluting.

‘Gauls,’ he thought wryly as the Praetorian left. Every last one he’d met seemed to be born with a stick up their butt. They couldn’t even say yes without it sounding like they were giving a blood oath.

He spared them one last look, noting how high the ships rode in the water, and then pushed it out of his mind. He had the dredging project to get started, and Vercassixtos was a good enough man to make sure the guards on the docks had everything they needed.

For the next twenty minutes, he went over the general plan for the dredging. They couldn’t close the harbor entirely, so it would have to be done in sections. They’d start with the western half first, although he was sure he’d be getting messages of complaint from shipmasters and probably some logistics minister back in Kalb or Britannia, since it would undoubtedly slow how much cargo could move through the port.

Still, if they wanted to replace him, they could go ahead and do it. If they wanted to ignore it until ships started grounding on the debris on the seabed under the docks, they could go ahead and do it, and see what happened then.

“Get those to the port master, and make sure to have a copy made and sent to Kalb. I want them to have it on record so I at least can say ‘I told you what I was going to do’ when they start yelling.”

“A good precaution,” the aide said, again with that smile, as he stood to leave.

Before the man could take a step, however, both were frozen in place by the report of rifle fire from outside the window. It was followed, almost instantly, by shouts and screams erupting from the direction of the docks. Rolfus rushed to the window, wondering what the fool Egyptians had done to cause gunfire.

He expected a brawl or something of the like down the hill at the docks. What he saw, instead, were swarms of armed men pouring from the Egyptian ships, overwhelming the unprepared dock guards in a matter of moments and shooting anyone in sight.

As he watched, the guards on the docks were completely overwhelmed. These men had been in the port a long time and were more accustomed to maintaining order than repelling invasions. They had in no way been prepared for this.

Neither had Rolfus.

“By all the gods,” Rolfus mumbled, frozen in place.

The shock didn’t last long. Rolfus had seen time in combat and fought against Carthaginian hordes. And he knew his duty.

“Go. Run and order the alarm sounded! Ring every bell in the city! And get a message to the harbor fort, I want those Egyptian ships blasted out of the water! Also, run up the signal flags. Any ships in the harbor need to flee. Tell them to make for Kalb or any other safe port. Tell them what’s happening! Vercassixtos!”

The aide ran through the door, almost colliding with the praetorian who finally looked something other than prim and proper. Although, Rolfus wasn’t sure shock was what he wanted to see on his chief Praetorian’s face. Outside the window, the invaders had already pushed beyond the docks, swarming into the nearby buildings. In the harbor, the Egyptian vessels had opened fire on the other ships, catching them completely off guard.

“Assemble your men and any other soldiers you can find. Don’t let them engage piecemeal, we need a coordinated defense. Set up positions around the market square. Once we have sufficient numbers, we’ll push towards the docks.”

The Praetorian nodded, not bothering with a salute as he ran out the door to begin putting together a defense of the city.

As Rolfus moved to follow him, the deep boom of larger cannon fire caused him to stop. The fort commander was a good man and hadn’t waited for the orders to fire. Plumes of water erupted around the Egyptian ships as the gunners found their range.

Not that it was going to matter. The floating Trojan horses had already done their jobs and filled his city with hostile soldiers.

Part of him wanted to ask why? Why this was happening? Why the Egyptians were attacking them and killing his people? Not that it mattered. His duty was clear. Maleth was a key strategic point, vital to Britannian control of the central Mediterranean. Its loss would be catastrophic.

A thunderous explosion rocked the building, causing Rolfus to stumble. One of the Egyptian ships had taken a direct hit from the fort. It listed heavily, flames engulfing its deck.

Rolfus gave the harbor one last look before racing out of the building and down the winding streets toward the market square. The sounds of battle grew louder the closer he got to the harbor. As he rounded the final corner, he saw Vercassixtos had done his job, as dozens of men were already in the square with more coming by the minute. The ones already there were dragging furniture and carts to form makeshift barricades on the only thoroughfare that led to the harbor.

“Get that cannon into position!” Vercassixtos bellowed, pointing to a small fieldpiece being wheeled up by a group of soldiers. “I want a clear line of fire down the main road!”

Good man. He’d even thought to get the one small field piece they had. It was tiny by comparison to the ones in the fort, meant to be mobile enough to be pulled along with fast riding cavalry.

However, it was also all they had. Rolfus knew he’d only be able to pull a hundred or so men at best, and not many more rifles than that to arm civilians, so they’d need every advantage they could get.

Rolfus climbed atop an overturned wagon to be able to see more clearly down the hill toward the docks. What he saw was not good. More Egyptian ships were coming into the port, disgorging fresh waves of soldiers onto the pier. The harbor fort was still fighting valiantly, its guns blasting away at the Egyptian ships, several of which were on fire with pillars of smoke rising from them. It also wasn’t going to be enough. This port was meant to be protected by fleets, keeping invaders from ever getting this far, and was geared toward commerce and not combat. It was never meant to repel such an overwhelming force.

And overwhelming was the right word. He counted nearly thirty enemy ships now crowding the harbor. The fort’s guns couldn’t sink them fast enough. Even worse, he could see Egyptian troops swarming toward the fort itself, cannon fire from their ships providing covering fire as soldiers attempted to breach the gates.

“We’ve assembled all the men we could find,” Vercassixtos said.

Rolfus jumped down from his perch. “We hold this position at all costs. Get those barricades finished and make sure every man has plenty of ammunition. I want sharpshooters in the upper windows of those buildings.”

They did the best they could with the time they had. Already, he could see the Egyptians pushing toward the city center where they were holding out. He started conscripting every able-bodied civilian he could find, and had a decent barricade going when the enemy finally realized there was still a resistance in the city and got to them.

“Here they come!” someone shouted.

A wave of Egyptian troops appeared at the bottom of the street, advancing quickly toward them. Rolfus raised his sword.

“Hold your fire!” he commanded. “Wait for my signal!”

He knew the fashion lately was independent fire, what with the trenches and all, but Rolfus had been in enough fights to know the effect of a well-timed volley fire. He needed to break this wave, and that was the way to do it.

He waited until the Egyptians were barely a hundred yards away before yelling, “Fire!”

The crash of massed rifle fire was deafening. Billows of smoke blocked his view for a moment, filling the market square, but not so much he couldn’t see the entire front rank of the Egyptians go down as they hit a wall of lead.

He wasn’t done yet.

“Cannon! Fire canister!”

The field piece belched flame, sending a load of metal balls scything through the Egyptians. Return fire began to pepper the Britannian positions, bullets whining past Rolfus’s head and thudding into the barricades. A few of his people went down, but the difference in the death toll was massive, and they only held their resistance for a few minutes before the attack crumbled.

“They’re pulling back!” someone shouted triumphantly.

Rolfus allowed himself a grim smile as he watched the Egyptians retreat.

“Don’t just cheer! Resupply and tend to the wounded. They’ll be back, and in greater numbers.”

The problem was, this time they’d come up the main street toward the market and governmental center. Next time they would be smart and come at him through alleys and side streets. They’d fill the houses overlooking the market and rain death down on him.

He couldn’t remain here.

“We can’t stay on the defensive,” Rolfus decided. “We need to push them back, buy time for reinforcements to arrive.”

His second-in-command, a grizzled veteran named Gaius, nodded in agreement. “What’s the plan, sir?”

Rolfus outlined his strategy. They would advance in leapfrog fashion, one group providing covering fire while the other moved forward. It was a risky maneuver, especially given their limited numbers, but staying put would only result in them being overwhelmed.

“We move in five minutes,” Rolfus told Vercassixtos. “They’ll pin us in the next time. Prepare the men to press the attack. We’ll go house to house, using the buildings for cover.”

Vercassixtos looked grim, but he seemed to understand the reasoning behind it.

It took a few minutes to get everyone organized, and then they began to advance cautiously. As soon as they got one street in, he found exactly what he’d predicted, small groups of Egyptian in the alleyways, already coming for him. His men darted from cover to cover, while their comrades laid down suppressing fire as they pushed to the docks. Again he’d caught the Egyptians off guard, and the men in this second, more spread out group, began to fall back.

That was where his luck had ended. His fear had been that this would turn into house-to-house fighting, and that was exactly what happened. Every building became a fortress, every street a killing ground. The cannon proved less useful in such close quarters, meaning it was limited to the central street while the praetorians and legionnaires held to the buildings on either side.

They made slow but steady progress, pushing the Egyptians back toward the docks. But the cost was high. His men began to whittle down, losing a handful with every street they took. And always, there seemed to be more Egyptian soldiers coming up the hill toward him.

Things turned worse when the guns of the harbor fort, which had provided a kind of background music to the fight, suddenly fell silent. He knew what that meant. The fort had fallen, and soon there would be a lot more Egyptians available to attack them.

He hadn’t even needed to wait long. They only made it another block when a large wave of Egyptian troops, likely those who had just taken the fort, surged into the street toward them, pouring into the side alleys and houses.

His men started to fall much more quickly and he was now in real danger of being overrun.

“Fall back!” Rolfus shouted. “Back to the market square!”

But it was too late. The sheer weight of numbers was overwhelming. Rolfus watched in horror as his cannon was overrun, its crew abandoning the gun and fleeing for their lives.

The retreat quickly turned into a rout. Rolfus and what remained of his command fell back through the city, taking whatever cover they could find. But it was a losing battle. Every time they tried to make a stand, fresh waves of Egyptian troops would flank them, forcing them to withdraw or be surrounded.

Finally, they found themselves pushed back to the government buildings. The ornate columns and stone walls provided some cover, and the wide steps leading up to the main entrance gave them a height advantage.

Not that it was going to be enough.

The Egyptians advanced cautiously, wary after the losses they had suffered. But they had numbers on their side, and worse, they had captured Britannian weapons. Specifically, the cannon that had been abandoned earlier.

“Take cover!” he yelled, just as the gun belched fire.

Canister shot ripped into the building. His men screamed and fell, shredded by the hail of metal. Rolfus himself was even hit, with a piece of shrapnel slicing across his cheek. He ignored it.

“Return fire!” he ordered, raising his own rifle.

But it was hopeless. Their ammunition was nearly spent, and for every Egyptian they felled, five more seemed to take his place while his men fell one by one, not to be replaced.

He leaned out to take another shot when a bullet struck his shoulder, spinning him around. He lay on the floor, dazed for a moment, staring into Vercassixtos’s dead eyes, a neat hole in his forehead.

It was over. They had fought bravely, but only a handful of them remained, and most of those were wounded like he was. To continue would only result in more needless deaths.

“We surrender!” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “We surrender!”

His few men echoed the cry, one finding a cloth to wave. Still, another two men died before the gunfire gradually died away. As Egyptian soldiers swarmed up the steps, Rolfus looked out over the city he had failed to defend. Smoke rose from dozens of buildings, and the streets were littered with bodies. In the harbor, he could see more ships arriving, bearing the standard of the Ptolemaic kingdom.

The island had fallen. He just hoped one of the ships managed to get away and sound the alarm before another port could be ambushed like his.