The Triumph of Venus - Chapter 35

North Africa

“Consul, my analysis indicates nearly one hundred thousand soldiers in the Carthaginian army,” Sophus said.

Ky had been watching the Carthaginians approach for almost an hour, as his men set up defensive works as best they could. His scouts had come in contact with theirs the night before, and it was clear to everyone that this battle would be today. Ky let the enemy come to them, having his men dig in, putting in pits and trenches to slow cavalry as best they could.

He wished he was still in Germania, where rivers and hills gave him more opportunity to funnel the enemy and counter the advantage of numbers they had. The desert gave them too much room to maneuver. True, they weren’t in the desert proper, but the rocky ground wasn’t much better. There were a few narrow spots between the crest behind them and the sea, but the way they were laid out, he could hold maybe a few hundred men in them, and they funneled the wrong direction. Even if he set up on the other side, he wouldn’t be able to get enough guns on them to stop them, and the slope and drop off was on the other side.

Sure, he could force their troops through the narrows before they got to melee range, but they could wheel cannon and archers up to the slope and shoot down the cliff edge on his men. There were a few other passes, but they were even smaller. Besides, past that cliff was open beach and the sea, not giving him very much room to work with.

So here he sat, lined up, his forces horseshoed backs lightly to lower the chance that the enemy would wrap around and surround him, even though it made his volley fire slightly more ineffectual.

“Most of them aren’t soldiers,” he replied to Sophus. “No armor, a lot of crude and makeshift weapons, just like we were told. It looks like they’re all up front, set to take the brunt of our fire, keeping his ‘real’ troops safe for when they get in contact. Smart. Brutal, but smart.”

Before he could sub vocalize anything else, Bomilcar rode up and said, “They should be in range in a few minutes.”

“Nothing fancy,” Ky ordered. “Have the artillery open up as soon as they are in range. We’re not going to trick our way out of this one. We need to pound them hard, and keep it up, until we break them.”

“Consul, with all due respect, with those numbers …”

“I know, but we don’t have many other choices. The men are ready and we have the firepower. Let’s use it.”

“As you order, consul,” Bomilcar said, saluting and riding off again to hand out orders.

They watched and waited as the Carthaginians drew neared and nearer. Finally, they crossed some invisible line, bringing all of the Britannian artillery to life. Cannon across the line roared, sending a hail of iron and smoke into the Carthaginian ranks. The ground shook with each volley.

It did not stop the coming onslaught, but it did provoke a response. While their infantry was still outside of acceptable rifle range, a cascade of horns sounded across the enemy line, unleashing their heavy cavalry.

“Rifle volleys, now!” Ky shouted. “Concentrate fire on the cavalry!”

The Britannian soldiers responded as a rippling crack of rifles sounded across the line. They were moving fast, too fast to get his artillery reloaded before they connected. Despite the withering fire, the Carthaginian cavalry crashed into the Britannian, their initial impact sending the horses deep into his lines. While the ones that did penetrate didn’t last long, learning the lesson of why cavalry charges against bayonet wielding soldiers didn’t last long, the impact did its damage.

They were also a distraction, as the huge main body marched on. Ky kept his artillery fixed on them, trying to thin the massive horde out as much as possible, and focusing on the catapults and cannon being pulled by teams of horses.

“Increase fire on their artillery. Focus on those,” Ky called out as their artillery stopped and began setting up. “All cohorts, volley fire.”

He wasn’t sure how powerful their cannon were going to be, but the exploding gunpowder was going to be devastating. They’d been experimenting with charge bearing fuses of their own, to enable shells that exploded on impact, but they were still in the initial stages. More was needed for a proper fuse. Ky had known it wouldn’t be ready before the war was finished when he’d given the plans to Hortensius, but he dearly wished he’d had them now.

Carthaginian cannon opened up, their shells, while underpowered, still wreaking havoc as they smashed into his lines. Their gunpowder pots clearing holes in his formation as the fire and shrapnel from their containers ripped into his men.

And finally, the Carthaginian line connected. They had taken unfathomable losses, but the sheer number of men was so great they could absorb them. His men fought valiantly, the front rank shield bearers and the men with bayonets behind fighting not that differently than the legions had when he’d first arrived. While they were trained for it, this kind of combat lost almost all of their advantage.

“Hold the line!” Ky bellowed. “Stand your ground!”

He was glad that, at least this time, Lucilla had listened to him and was with the ships just off shore a few miles in their rear.

“Consul!” an messenger cried as he rode up, his face streaked with sweat and grime. “Our flanks are bending back! The enemy is trying to pour around our edges!”

“Send in the reserve Cohort, half going to each flank. Reinforce the faltering lines. We must hold!”

He’d hoped to use the single cohort he held in reserve for reinforcing the center, which was getting hammered painfully, but if the enemy got around him, he would be surrounded and crushed, as he’d done to them several times.

The death toll along the line was brutal. The conscripts were not fighting well, and dying by the dozen, but they did their job, taking down men, pushing back his line, creating gaps. In this kind of fight, weight of men alone was a powerful advantage.

“Consul, we’re taking heavy losses,” The Tribune Euan from the twenty-sixth Cohort in the center said, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. “What are your orders?”

For a moment he just looked around the battlefield, seeing the chaos and death all around him. He knew this was going to be bad, but he’d held out some hope that they could continue to counter the manpower disparity with more firepower alone. He’d seen the massive number of enemy soldiers and hoped that, since so many were untrained conscripts, their numbers wouldn’t hold up under fire.

He’d been wrong.

The estimated counter Sophus kept in a section of his vision, based on the feed from the drone far above, suggested that both forces had lost maybe ten percent of their men. For him, that was devastating, amounting to almost a full cohort. For the enemy, that was as many men as he’d brought into combat all together. They still had nine times what he’d brought into the battle, and didn’t look to be stopping.

“Sound the retreat,” Ky ordered. “We need to get back to the beach and regroup.”

“Consul, if we disengage now, they’ll overrun us before we can form back up,” Bomilcar said net to him.

Tribune Antonius, who’d been nearby, since his Cohort was in the dead center of the line, stepped forward. “Consul, let me take three centuries. That narrow pass through the cliff behind us can be used to funnel them. If I place my men right, maybe with a few cannon, we can make a stand, buy you time to pull back.”

Ky looked at him. It would work, at least to slow them down, but there was no way any man assigned to that duty would survive.

“You understand what you’re asking?”

“I do, Consul.”

“Take what cannon you need. Find good cover. Make them pay for every inch.”

A grim faced Antonius, saluted, fist hitting his chest hard enough it seemed to hurt his hand. “I will Consul. For Britannia.”

“For Britannia,” Ky echoed.

It took time for his men to pull back, as actual disengagement was not possible, the enemy pushing forward with each step his people took back. The losses continued to mount.

The cavalry peeled back first, followed by the artillery crews, who needed to limber their guns, costing more time that his men had to keep the enemy horde back. Ten guns and precious munitions broke off in the pass, allowing them time to dig their weapons in. Their teams were sent with the rest. None of the men left to man them had any illusion that they would leave that place.

Finally, the infantry began their gradual withdrawal, the shield line holding the enemy back as riflemen kept up a steady fire aimed just behind the enemy front line, to keep them from pushing too hard. His force collapsed through the narrows, pulling back on itself into a tighter and tighter coil, units managing to disengage as they backed into the cliffs.

For now, the enemy had only infantry up front, so there wasn’t danger of them shooting down on his men, although that would change as more and more of his forces got through and moved off to the beach. He had chosen the terrain carefully for the battle. He might not have known this would exactly be the plan, but it had been a possibility, and he’d made sure to pick a section where the cliffs were just high enough that any men trying to jump off would almost certainly break limbs in doing so, taking them out of the fight as effectively as a bullet or bayonet.

“Keep it steady, boys!” Bomilcar shouted, riding up and down the line. “Don’t let them break through!”

The general was everywhere and already had two horses take arrows, forcing him to switch animals.

As the bulk of the Britannian force made their way through the narrows, Antonius and his three centuries took up position in a series of caves and crevices along the narrows. It looked as if the path was open, but any who tried to get through would find themselves riddled with case and shot. This was made worse by the way it funneled in as it narrowed, helping avoid crossfire while opening up the largest section of the enemy to them. The design would make it harder for his men to escape, but that wasn’t part of the plan anyway.

Ky made it through with one of the last cohorts, holding back long enough to see his men make the break. He ordered an additional century to hold at the neck itself, on this side, to help keep them bottled up. Once Antonius’s men fell, they wouldn’t be able to cap it for long, especially as cannon were brought up on the cliff above, which is why Ky ordered them to pull back as soon as things got too hot.

They were good men and they’d do their job.

Ky continued to watch the battle in the narrows as he pulled back to the beach. The enemy seemed to sense victory, watching the Britannians fall back, run for their ships. They surged forward and were met with a hail of bullets. The land in the narrows became a killing ground. As the Carthaginians hit, it was like they had kicked an angry nest of hornets. His men were well dug in, and difficult to dislodge.

Wave after wave of enemy soldiers crashed against the Britannian position, only to be cut down by rifle fire and cannon blasts. The ground between his forces became a charnel house of mangled bodies and shattered weapons. The Carthaginians responded, bringing up their own artillery. They rolled their cannon forward, blasting the cliff face at nearly point-blank range. It wasn’t shot, and his men killed many of the Carthaginians working the heavy, oversized tubes, but their huge shot smashed into their defenses, pulverizing man and stone alike.

Still, the men fought on. They would not hold forever. Finally, the bottleneck he’d left behind was forced to retreat, running flat out for the beach a mile behind them. Surprisingly, the Carthaginians did not immediately follow. Maybe because they didn’t realize the path ahead was clear or maybe just out of rage at the hurt these three hundred men caused them.

They charged, again and again, throwing conscripts and trained soldiers alike. And then time ran out. Trying to rally his men to keep fighting, wielding two gladiuses with an expertise that impressed even Ky, the enemy finally found their place, a long spear punching through his chest.

Antonius’s last words were to command his men to keep fighting. The fire trickled off as, one by one, his men fell, until the entire rearguard was gone.

They did their job, however. They bought him time to get his men back, broken units reformed, and a new line just off the soft beach sand, ready to fight again.

“Is it over?” Bomilcar asked.

The general had long ago figured out Ky could see things from far off perspectives. He could have even sent a message up to one of the balloons, moored to the largest galley, that would have had a view of the fighting, but he didn’t. His question was as much prayer as anything else.

“Yes. They did their duty. The enemy’s casualties were very high. If he took less than ten or fifteen of them for every one of his killed, I would be shocked.”

“So they’ve resumed their march.”

“Not yet. They have to reform and are waiting until the majority of their force is on the other side. I give them thirty minutes to an hour before they march. Have the men rest in line. Eat something if they can. Drink water. Signal all of the ships to pull forward as close as they can to prepare to provide support and have the supply ships send some more gunpowder and ammunition along.”

“I’ll see to it.”

As Bomilcar walked off, a longboat skidded into the sand not far away, Lucilla jumping out of it.

“No,” Ky said, the word coming out angry and clipped. “You said you’d stay on the ship.”

Ignoring him, she asked, “How is the battle faring?”

“Terribly. Our losses have been very high. We’ve inflicted far greater casualties on the enemy, a staggering number, but they still outnumber us significantly. If the losses continue at the same rate, we will run out of men before they do.”

“Do you think we can hold out?”

“I don’t know. There’s nowhere for us to run. The enemy will smash us into the sea, and there’s little we can do about it. The added weight of firepower from the ships will help, but I’m not sure it will be enough to turn the tide. I think it’s time to consider you and a few others could get to the ships, prepared to flee if it goes bad.”

“I’m not leaving. If you fall, I fall with you. If you want me safe, figure out how to win this fight.”

Ky glared at her a moment, furious, but didn’t argue. There wasn’t any point and he didn’t have time for it.

“We hold here and pound them hard with the ships. I’ve ordered everything afloat with cannon to move forward as close as they can and prepare to fire on the enemy. That should triple my artillery, and it can’t be overrun. I’m hoping it accelerates their losses enough to change the balance.”

“There’s something else we can do. The cavalry are practically useless here, and there’s that smaller pass to the west. While the enemy regroups, I can take the remaining cavalry and a cohort or even a few centuries. We can circle around and hit the enemy from the rear. Phalanxes struggle when attacked from two sides. And to answer us, they’ll have to push through those narrows again, while I can put my men up on the cliff. If they try to ignore us, I hit them with the cavalry. They’ll be forced to fight in two directions.”

“That’s not a terrible idea, but there is no way I’d let you lead it. Anyone in that rear force would be exposed and if the enemy decides to turn around and focus on you …”

“Then he’d open himself up to your smashing into him, letting his army be pushed between the cliff and you, which also works for us,” she said, and then gestured to the battle-weary soldiers around them. “Look at the men. They’re shaken. They haven’t seen losses this bad since we fought outside Devnum four years ago. I need to be with them. Don’t make me make it an order.”

For a long time, Ky didn’t answer. He could see the enemy was getting assembled through his drone feed. They’d start marching soon. She wasn’t going to back down, and if he tried to set it up and go around her, she’d just order her way into leading it anyway. Any tribune Ky tried to put in charge wouldn’t dare ignore his empress. Short of tying her up himself and carrying her to the ship, there was no way to stop her.

And he didn’t have time for this.

“This is a terrible idea. Fine. Take a cohort and get moving. You have maybe thirty minutes before they attack us, forty-five at the offset. Be careful.”

“I will.” Lucilla turned to start gathering the men, then paused. “Ky, if I don’t...”

“Don’t say it.” Ky pulled her into a fierce embrace.

“I love you,” she said into his chest.

“I love you too.”

Letting her go, he watched as she walked off, already calling out orders and assembling her men. He spared one last look before turning his attention back to his own men. They were now one cohort down, making this all the harder.

It took almost an hour, but finally the enemy finished shuffling around, getting their forces reorganized, and started moving forward again. If he’d been in their place, Ky would have pressed his men forward as soon as they got throught he narrows. Instead, they had their soldiers and conscripts in the heat, after hours of desperate battle, constantly being moved around and yelled at, with only the food and water they had on them for sustenance.

In comparison, his men had an hour to sit on the ground, drink the water and food they brought up, and have a moments peace. They all knew the fighting was coming again, but it would help shore up moral and give his men the energy to fight again.

Their rest was now over.

It didn’t take long for the Carthaginians to come into view, although they could hear the army almost as soon as it started moving. Only the slight rise and falling of the about half way between their forces kept them out of view.

That rise also made the perfect marker for when to start firing. Even with volley fire, they would need to cross at least another four hundred yards before they could hope to cause any number of casualties. His artillery didn’t have those limitations, however.

As soon as the Carthaginians credited the rise, his artillery and all of the cannons on the ships began firing. 

So far, the only ranks that had made their appearance were conscripts, which were getting hammered hard by the now greatly augmented Britannian artillery, which pounded into their ranks again and again, tearing men and half nad leaving craters in the rocky ground.

Every few rows of conscripts were officers and armored soldiers, pushing the men ahead of them forward. A group of conscripts, no more than a dozen men, broke ranks and tried to run. They made it no more than a few paces before the soldiers behind them cut them down. The only way out of the hell they were facing was forward, so on the Carthaginians pushed in spite of the damage being done, as row after row of Carthaginians followed behind, a seemingly endless stream creasting over the small rise and into view.

For every man that fell, two more seemed to take his place, stepping over the bodies of their comrades. In spite of the heavy price they were paying, the Carthaginians continued their advance. As they reached the 400-yard mark, the Britannian rifles joined the battle, volley after volley adding to the cacophony of fire, tearing into the oncoming men. Where men had been falling by the handful, they now fell by the dozen. The ground was littered with so many bodies as to slow the advance, allowing more death to be dealt to them, and yet still, the Carthaginians moved forward.

As their men cross the three hundred yard mark, the Carthaginian Artillery made it’s appearance, cresting over the hill and stopping, their crews setting the weapons up. Their cannons were much lower quality, but they were good enough at this range to hit. The ships were too far for them, mostly likely, but they seemed to be happy ignoring that source of danger anyway.

They began to do their damage. Many shots missed, falling short or out into the water, but just as many hit, landing amongst his men, tearing them apart or peppering them with shards from the containers thrown by the catapults.

The were inaccurate enough that they weren’t likely to do cause the same causalities as their infantry would, when they finally connected, but they were tearing holes out of his line. A badly placed, or probably well placed, from the enemies point of view, shot could open up a gap in his line, allowing the Carthaginians to spill through, splitting his forces in two.

Which would be the end of his army.

“Have the ships redirect their fire toward that artillery,” Ky ordered. “Keep on them till every piece of siege equipment is gone.

By Sophus’s estimate, the Carthaginians had taken another fifteen thousand casualties as his men tore into them, again and again. But they never stopped. They pressed forward, over the dead, until they finally crossed the last few feet, the lines meeting met with a clash of steel. Again, the tide started to turn, with the weight of numbers and armed for hand-to-hand combat, they had the edge once the battle closed. His men were making the Carthaginians pay the price for their success, but they just didn’t have enough firepower to end it.

Several times, Ky began to rush forward, to put himself with the men, and each time his licotre and officers pulled im back. One time even Sophus turned against him, using his muscle assist to freeze up his legs as he tried to run forward. They were right to do it. Ky, with his augmented abilities and the assistance of Sophus, was still only human. If he’d had his old flight suit with it’s kinetic shielding, maybe he could have made the difference, but that was lost two years ago.

There were just too many men coming at them. So instead, he watched. Watched his men fight and die, knowing that soon, he’d have to fight anyway, as the enemy pushed them back into the surf.

Ky had avoided using the few rounds he had of his sidearm, since he had a very poor shot from where he stood, needing to go either to the front line or onto one of the ships to have enough of an angle to fire it. That wait was about to end, and ky reached down, gripping the weapon. Soon the front line would come to him and he would show them they still had teeth.

“New contact on the drone feed, Commander,” Sophus said, breaking Ky’s single-minded concentration on the battle.

He’d been so focused, he’d stopped looking at the drone almost entirely. 

At first, he wasn’t sure what was happening, other than the rear of the enemy formation was in chaos. Instead of pushing forward, some had begun to reverse their direction. Ky would have thought it a retreat, except that armies didn’t retreat starting with the rear, especially when those elements never engaged.

Then he saw men flung about as something smashed into them, tearing through the rear of their ranks. Pulling the drone feedback, Ky shifted, following the trajectory of the shot. There, on the ridge where the Carthaginians had pushed his army back through, were Lucilla’s detachment, lined on the cliff. She’d apparently dug out the artillery he’d given to Antonius and wheeled them up to the ridge line and was using it to hammer the rear of the enemy force.

A ripple started to spread through the Carthaginians as they realized they were being attacked from behind, with men dying who were still on the other side of the ridge, where Ky’s own fire shouldn’t have been able to reach. As the rear of the enemy began to react, retracing its steps to deal with the threat behind them, the pressure on Ky’s men eased off. Men, even those close to the front lines, seemed confused, unsure of what was happening.

“Signal press the attack,” Ky commanded.

“Consul, our men are almost to the surf. There’s no …” Bomilcar started to say, his surprise at the order evident.

“Lucilla has begun to attack their rear. She’s set up on the cliff edge we passed through and has several centuries blocking the narrows itself. Look to the ridge line.”

Bomilcar, whose attention was focused on the men at the front, making sure no hole in the line lasted long enough to break his men, looked amazed. A man who had been on this side of the rise now turned and ran the other direction. Every minute, more and more of the Carthaginian army, realizing they were suddenly the end of the line, joined them. It turning around to address the threat behind them, the Carthaginians had convinced the soldiers in the center of their line it was some kind of retreat.

Worse, a lot of those turning and running were the soldiers keeping the conscripts in the battle. The few that remained, mostly black-clad figures wearing some kind of mask, were being swarmed by their own men as conscripts turned the weapons on the men making them fight.

The rest of the conscripts, at least those not directly in contact with the Britannians, began dropping weapons and running, both to the rear, pressing into the forces trying to attack Lucilla’s position, but also east and west down the beach.

The Carthaginian army was in complete chaos.

Which is why Ky saw it. A group of men with a litter on their back was pushed back onto the ridge by soldiers spilling around them, making a run for the rear. Kneeling on that litter, shouting at everyone around him, was a rotund man in deep purple robes.

“Hand me a rifle,” Ky said.

“Consul?” Strabo, the lictor closest to him, asked, seeming confused.

“Quickly, hand me your rifle.”

Although not understanding what was happening, his guard didn’t have to be told twice, extending the loaded weapon to his commander.

Ky swung it around and hefted the weapon to his shoulder, squinting down the barrel. The Carthaginian emperor was at very long range for this weapon, or it would have been for anyone other than Ky. The former pilot, following a targeting display presented across his vision, lifted the weapon slightly, aiming over the head of where the Emperor was.

He stopped breathing entirely, the weapon pressed into his shoulder with unnatural stability, as he pulled the trigger. There was a long delay for those around him, still trying to figure out who he was shooting at as Sophus projected the bullet’s path as it flew.

One moment, the Emperor was shouting commands, pointing this way and that, and then his head all but exploded as the large, fifty-two caliber bullet smashed into the side of his head.

At his position, nearly the entire Carthaginian army could see him. What had been almost like a rout as the Carthaginians turned to take on Lucilla’s forces now turned into an actual one. Men pressed for the rear, trying to get away, only to find the narrow entrance into the pass through the cliff was blocked by hundreds of Roman soldiers, who had spent the time waiting for the Carthaginians to attack them rolling rocks and even bodies in the way, forming a barricade. As the enemy tried to break through, the barricade grew as men died by the dozen from concentrated blasts of fire while above them, on the cliff, hundreds more fired down on them. It was a slaughter.

“Push the men forward,” Ky ordered. “Let’s end this.”