Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The cart rolled along the broken cobblestone road. Every crack, hole, and bump made the wooden cart shake and groan. Its passenger moaned with each jolt. The man pulling the cart gave grunts and heaved it along. The Optio walked to the left of the cart, gun slung across his back. The Evocatus walked behind, his gun aimed from his waist. The city lay in ruin, its buildings torn and its people butchered. The four trudged on.

The Optio was a mouse. His mousy gray hair, his small frame and stature, and the thick, round spectacles on his nose all hinted at this. He timidly glanced around at the ruins to his left, checking every wall, and twitching at every shadow. His trimmed mustache twitched as well, at every squeak and yelp.

The Evocatus was quite different. The first thought at seeing was of plainness. There usually was not a second thought of someone so insignificant. He seemed to tower over the Optio, yet shrunk to nothing next to Caligula. He seemed a twig next to that bull of a man, but the Optio made him seem an athlete. His brown mop covered his brows and peaked out from his helmet, and his scraggly beard showed how long ago it was he shaved. The main difference between him and the mouse, however, was his smile. He always seemed to be enjoying the moment. Never mind that the moment was potentially fatal and threatened to kill all he knew.

“D-d-d-decurion? I mean sir. I mean Decurion Caligula sir? Where are we going, exactly?” The moused squeaked out after they had passed yet another burnt and shelled out intersection. The roads met with a massive crater in the center. Sighing, Caligula heaved the cart around the hole, earning yet another moan from the passenger.

“Well, Optio Mouse. Dante. Kid. The docks. Cassius had a plan, with me, that we would meet up and take ship. I guess you two can come with us. Always great to have a few more guns filling the air with sweet, sweet lead. Or sour.”

The Optio's eyes almost flew from his face as he heard mention of Cassius. Surely the Decurion could not mean the war hero Gaius Cassius the Redeemed? How could he be here, when the Emperor of Rome claimed he lie dead? Feeling a sudden rush of nausea, Dante placed a hand on the cart and leaned over.

“C-c-c-Cassius? The hero? They say he killed a bear with his hands! They say he killed a Carthaginian War Elephant, single-handed and with a sword! They say...they say...he's dead...”

Back behind the cart, the plain man chuckled. He moseyed up to Optio Dante. Checking back behind him, he shouldered his gun. He took out a cigarette and lighter. Drawing and puffing, he turned and smiled down at the officer.

“Well, who's they? Those Empire sods? I doubt anything we hear from them can be true these days. Now that bear and elephant sure did die. But Legate Gaius Cassius the Sixth? Nah, he won't die like that. I was actually on my way to give the War Council a message when I met you.”

He gave another one of his closed-eyes smiles and leaned over to inspect the cart. Laying one hand on the side, he put the other on Valencia's forehead.

“Well ma'am, you don't have a fever yet. Might be it's only a fracture. I've never met a sailor killed by rubble. Water and bullets, sure. Not dirt and brick. I'm a medic for the Guard, by the way.”

The mouse, still leaning, glanced over at Caligula who had stopped for the conversation. He look into the cart at Valencia. He look up to the bottom of Augustus's chin. He straightened himself up, tugged off his gun, and stood at attention.

“My sirs, I am honored to be in the presence of two of the Three of Dakar. I am Optio Dante of the Fifth Division, and now place myself under your command. I shall serve my duties to the death, for the Republic.”

Caligula cast a glance at his friend and then to the Evocatus. He received a smile from both. He pulled out a rag and wiped his sweaty brow. How much it helped was not apparent, as the rag was covered in dirt and grime already. He sniffed it and tossed it to the ground.

“Fantastic. Now help me pull.”

As Dante scurried over to on of the cart handles, as mice are wont to do, he heaved and helped Caligula start it rolling again. The two pulled the cart along the broken road, still trudging to the docks and safety. The Evocatus pulled down his gun and walked over to the rear again. He whistled as he resumed his scanning for enemies. In the cart, Valencia tried to relax. Through the bumps and jolts, she gritted her teeth.

“J-just how far away are we from the docks? We've been walking a while now...”

After walking in silence for what seemed hours, the group of four had come to a rest underneath an old but still standing bridge. Caligula had moved the cart out of the worst of the rain, so Valencia stayed the driest out of everyone. The water dripped down through holes, spattering on the ground, on their heads, and on their spirits. The mouse felt as bleak as the sky looked, and he could tell Valencia felt the same way. Caligula and Augustus were different stories.

The break allowed them to take into account what had occurred the past few hours. As they had moved towards the port, the group made slow time. The Empire had been shelling almost continuously. The only breaks were for Legionnaires to advance their positions against the heavily entrenched, but few, defenders. The road was almost none existent anymore as it was reduced to craters and torn brick.

Augustus was their main source of information on what had happened up to when he ran into Optio Dante. Augustus was a medic in the Republican Guard, and was moving from various positions to carry messages, medicine, and to provide medical services. His own unit was wiped out to the last man, so he took it upon himself to help everyone else. He was in the northernmost defenses when the Empire landed, so Augustus was in the thick of things from the start.

He told them of how the Empire had landed in the north about three days ago. The Republican Navy had been stationed in the main docks in the capital, so only a paltry force of five cruisers and three destroyers had met with the main fleet of the Imperial Navy. The ships had managed to alert the shore defenses, however, before being sunk. Since there was no way to turn back such a large number of ships, over three hundred, the officer in command had ordered the guns to target landing ships and troops making their way onto the shores. This way, he hoped to give enough time to the troops in the trenches to prepare. His was a lucky day, for even though him and his men were killed they managed to stall an Imperial landing for three hours. This gave the Guard time to assemble in their defenses.

“So you see, our military apparently excels in alerting other members right before it meets a grisly end. Quite fascinating.” Augustus explained. “Of course, you also know of how 'Every one Republican is worth one thousand Legionnaire scum'. Even if that were true, we're terribly outnumbered. Shame the saying does not apply to artillery shells. Theirs seem to be worth one for every five Republicans. Ah well, what can you do, eh?”

“Th-th-that's terrible! We're going to die, aren't we? The docks are probably already overwhelm, and the ships has already left. I should have hid...” The mouse worried back and forth with the rain dripping from his glasses. He paced back and forth, complaining and whining of his impending doom. Valencia hoisted herself to a leaning position against the cart side, and watched Dante pace. She sighed and told him, “Optio, at least one ship has not left. We will make it to the docks. We will meet with Cassius. We will survive.”

“B-but...how do you know? How do you know one ship will stay behind and risk being destroyed or captured?”

“Why, because it's my ship.”

Cassius had slowed to a brisk walk from his earlier running. The capitol was located on the other side of the city as his earlier location, and the shattered streets with their crumbling buildings did not aid his trek. After his encounter with the Legionnaire Optio, Cassius had not encountered any other opposition. As the rain beat down on his head, he patted his damp coat pocket, to make sure the document was still there. He would need to keep it safe. If it fell into the hands of his friends, or any other Republican, then the situation would go very awry.

The streets seemed to drone on forever in their destructive state. No longer did cheerful signs hang in windows, or shopkeepers shout out their unique wares. The shelling continued, as thick as the rain. Cassius knew that hardly a brick would be left standing after the Empire's forces picked the city clean of life. There would be no need to keep such an ugly reminder of the dissident child-nation. The houses would be buried along with their occupants. Traitors, parents and children all, must be punished; a lesson Cassius knew all too well.

As he skirted holes and blown up bits, he came across a mother holding her broken baby in her arms. She was a housewife, judging by her looks. A long cotton skirt reached down to her shins, too dirtied to tell the color. Her blouse was ragged, torn, but still held a hint of its original blue. A kerchief held her hair together, in danger of falling apart and letting her auburn curls drop. The child was barely clinging to her shirt. A large gash went across its chest, red and seeping. Mixed in with the blood were tears streaming down from the mother's eyes.

“Oh gods! My baby! They're killing my baby! Please! My Baby!” She cried over and over again. Cassius walked past her, but was stopped by a tugging on his leg. Looking back and down, he saw the beaten woman grasping his boot. The mother was clinging to Cassius with one arm still holding the child. She lay in the dirt, sobbing and crying, “Please help him! Take him with you! I know you're a hero, that you save people. Please!”

He stood there, staring at the woman. With his leg firmly in her grasp, he could not simply walk away. The rain had made his hair soggy, and it clung to his forehead like a rag. It reached down to the bottom of his neck, and clung there as well. The lightning gave a sharp crack, and when the woman saw his eyes along with the black of his clothes and the dark of his hair, she gave a short squeal. Only contempt and hatred came from the man towards the broken-down mother and dying child. He kicked her hand off and stepped on it.

“Get off. Look at it. It's either already dead or soon to be. Why bother? There is no need to help those who are beyond it. You're not even deserving of pity, clinging to foolish hopes so. All I would want is to end you and the child. It would save the world another mouth and my boot another tug.”

She timidly let go. Crawling from her knees, she sat on the ground; her legs crossed and the baby in her lap. The tears had stopped, though the rain made it impossible to tell. She did not look him in the eye when she spoke. Her voice was a solid one, far cry from moments earlier.

“They said you killed a bear. They said you butchered a war elephant. I see it now. Monsters plague our world in many forms. Who to kill them, but one of their own? You've slain the monsters attacking us now. You are no different; you just wear another color. I would thank you for the bullets, but I still want for heaven.”

Cassius looked at the top of her head, watching as the rain tugged the kerchief off and onto the child now drowning in its own blood. Her sudden calm had garnered his attention if only for a moment. He stood for a few minutes, listening to rain on their bodies. Soft thudding backed by muffled explosions filled the background. When he had continued to walk towards the capitol, he exchanged the two empty casing in his gun for two fresh rounds. Glancing at the corpses he said “I support those who have the chance to survive. I help those who I deem worthy. You've cost me two rounds. You weren't even worthy of those. But the silence from your cries was. I hope you've gone to heaven, so I will see you not in my hell.”

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The sounds of battle could be heard off behind the walls of Dakar. Built centuries ago to withstand the Carthaginians, the sandstone still stood. These days, however, it had been reinforced with concrete. Sandstone is pretty, but concrete stands against war elephants and cannons much better. Even though the vessel was a good fifty yards from the shore, the shore a good half a mile from the city, Valencia could tell that there was no city. Legion after legion had fought to the death, Roman and Carthaginian both. The saying that every trained Roman was worth one thousand Carthage savage seemed to hold true. After the months of battle only a handful of staunch defenders held the fortress, properly renamed Bastion of the Damned. Damned were all who chose to make an assault on its walls. Romans had killing down to an art, and they were creating a masterpiece from the Carthaginians.

As she lowered the throttle to the motor, the boat began to drift slowly towards the beach. Shell marked and covered in corpses, the stench almost made her gag. Vultures pecked out eyes, rats gnawed on guts, and the hyenas feasted on flesh. Numerous assaults had been made from here; those attempts at flanking had failed. She was but eighteen, seeing her first view of the horrors men cast upon their brethren. She knew, however, that it was justified. Without war, there is strife. Without death, there is suffering. Valencia knew that the parents, wives, children, and siblings of the dead felt differently. How could they not hate those who say that they died for the reason of someone else? What good would explaining things do in bringing back a life? On a personal scale, wars butcher and maim families. On a global scale, it ensures that most families will continue. She was but eighteen, on a mission to end this siege and had no time for such thoughts.

The gravel and soil crunched under the tin hull of the landing vessel as it slid partway onto the shore. Valencia turned the engine off, scuttled to the bow of the ship, and started turning the wench to lower the ramp. As it thudded into the ground, the officers sped off the ship and hit the dirt ten feet from the ramp. The scientist picked up a briefcase and walked off, trying his best not to step on an arm or leg. Caligula stretched, yawned, and sauntered off onto the shore. Cassius picked up his rifle and followed.

“Now then gents, why are you wallowing down there in that filth? Obviously there aren't any savages around, or we'd be knee-deep in elephant dung. Stand up now, and do our duty. Cavalrymen, you screen our infiltration. Army lads, guard our friend here from the Department as he makes his way to wherever it is he needs to go. Smartly now.”

As the men snapped to attention, Caligula dismissed them to go about their orders. They began moving packs and extra rifles off of the boat and into their hands. Valencia helped to offload the equipment, but stayed as close to her vessel as possible. The corpses still stank, the buzzards still ate, and she was still eighteen. Once all the materiel was moved, Caligula waved off the soldiers and the scientist. The scattered across the shore like the rats around them.

“Ah, now then, Cassius. Why are you still here? Oh yes, you're not an officer. Right then. Uh, you shall stick by Miss Valencia here then. I'm sure she could use some help guarding our escape. I'll be off yonder, setting up the wireless. Fascinating new piece of equipment, that is.”

He continued to drone on about the magic of science as he walked off, and how the wireless device would “allow communication far beyond those deadly walls and into the very fortress itself”. Valencia paid no mind to the man's words. She was too focused on the man himself. Caligula, the broad-chested, fair haired, white smiling perfect soldier. She was eighteen, and her heart still had room for flights of fancy. Valencia was interrupted by Cassius clearing his throat.

“Sergeant Cassius Gaius reporting ma'am. I was part of the initial garrison here, but was ordered to rendezvous with the reinforcements in Italy. Me and a few other men escaped through a portion of the sewage system, which was promptly destroyed to prevent the Carthaginians from going in where we came out. The other men were killed as we made our way to a ship.”

He was shorter than her; the first thought to register. While she was slender at a solid six feet, Cassius stood solid, but lean, at five feet seven inches. His hair wasn't cut to regulation Legionnaire length, but rather fashioned in the style of the Briton Isles: a long mane tied together near the neck. His mane reached only to his neck, and so was tied close to the back of his head. Length was not as important as it being tied. Loose manes were for the women.

He stood rapt and alert, black trench coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. Helmet hung on the back of his pack, the straps tucked into the flaps. His rifle hung down from his shoulder, and bounced slightly. That's odd, Valencia thought. Why is it bouncing? The wind isn't nearly strong enough. Maybe I'm just used to the rhythm of the ship. However, the truth brought a horrific chill to her spine.

Cassius pushed her up the ramp and whipped his rifle off his back and into his hands and working the bolt to chamber a round all in one practiced motion. “Get back! War elephant!”