Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The group of four with their cart slowly approached the docks. The rain had slowed to a light sprinkle and the shells only rained half as hard in the southern part of the city. A light fog clung to everything, shrouding the shops dotting the road. A few even remained intact; only their windows had been blown out. If the Empire had slowed their rate of fire, then the defensive effort must be going poorly. They could only hope Cassius made it to the capitol in time, and then back to the docks. It was a shorter path from the capitol to the docks, but it would still take half an hour on foot since the road was in this destroyed condition.

Valencia had managed to sit up with her back against the front of the cart. She looked at Augustus covering their rear. A smile still shaped his lips and he was humming a tune. He would glance back occasionally but seemed perfectly sure that nothing would happen back there. Even if something did, he could probably cheer it into leaving them alone. Valencia leaned forward and asked, “Evocatus, why are so happy? The city's destroyed and all of your friends are dead. No offense, but you're creeping me out.”

Chuckling, Augustus took out a cigarette, lit it, and placed in in the right of his mouth. “Well ma'am, not all my friends are dead. I met you three. I'm smiling because it's a nice day. This rain was good for washing the grime from my boots.”

“But look at this situation! We might be the only survivors, excluding my crew and Cassius.”

“Now I don't doubt that ma'am. I've seen a lot of terrible things in my time. I've been fighting since you were a wee lass. I served duty in the east, the west, the south. I even did a tour fighting the Aztecs in Anahuac. You weren't born, probably, but we had a thing going with raids on our trade routes to the Iroquois Federation. My friends have died time and time again. But 'ol Augustus keeps on strolling.”

Valencia took his answer in silence. Looking at her hands, she thought about the West. She had heard about the brutalities of the Aztecs. Their sacrifices to gods, eating hearts, and other vulgarities. At least, to her Roman mind they were horrible. The Aztecs had conquered the southern continent in the West. They seemed to always be in a state of perpetual warfare with the Iroquois, who along with the various smaller tribes in the west and north, controlled the northern continent. Funny, she thought. It's just like us over in the East. The Mongols were always fighting the Romans and Persian. The Persians were fighting Carthaginians and Mongols. The Carthaginians were fighting Romans and Persians. The Romans fought the Carthaginians and the Mongols. The smaller states in east Asia usually avoided the Mongols. The island of Japan seemed to always have a typhoon ready to sink any fleets.

She called to Caligula, who was still pulling the cart with the Optio.

“Cali, don't you think it's strange how simplified our world is now? I mean, there used to be thousands of different little tribes of people. Now there's less than fifty independent states.”

“Who cares? Makes it simple. We got the Republics, Empires, and whatever it is the Mongols call themselves now. Golden Horde, Socialist Gathering, whatever. Every one is the same. They've got some sort of stupid dogma and will die to defend it. Even our Republic had one.”

The mouse looked over at Caligula and asked, “What is, er, was, ours then?”

“We are Death before we are Imperial.”

In silence the group made their way past the last of the shops and towards the docks. Dante stopped abruptly and dropped his cart handle. His glasses slid to the bottom of his nose but he made no move to adjust them. He stared, mouth open, at the sight before. For in the harbor lay the largest ship he had ever seen. Dante had heard tales, rumors, legends, but had never seen a dreadnaught up close. It blotted out the sea behind it and seemed as large as his small hometown.

Valencia, with the support of Augustus, clambered out of the cart and hobbled over next to the mouse. She smiled and allowed him to take in the sight. After a couple minutes of silence and awe, she shook him by the shoulder.

“This is my ship. The flagship of the, former now I guess, Republican Navy: The Blooded Bull. All aboard then. It normally takes a few days to get her ready, but my crew is the best and has been working since this invasion started. Should be ready to leave on my command. Which will come as soon as Cassius walks up the gangplank.”

Judging by the remnants of street signs, Cassius knew he was near the capitol building. It would be waiting for him, just a few blocks north. The lack of Imperial troops to this side did not surprise him. The fact that no artillery shells were screaming over his head did not faze him. He had memorized all the books, all the strategies and tactics, the plays and the maneuvers, every method used by his former nation. The Empire was so sure of their victory that they would settle with a frontal assault. They cared not for their losses, for it is a small price to pay in men for the death of a nation.

He could hear the gunfire and shouts of the battle, even from his current place. The staccato of machine guns rattling of their rounds was a symphony, backed by the sharp cracks of rifles. A small accompaniment of pistols could be faintly heard. The Imperials were close enough for revolvers, then. There was no chance, not even for Cassius, to save this battle. He could run in, and save his comrades as best as he could. He could empty his rifle into the chests of his enemy. He could leap the walls, and run across the battlefield, crossing the mounds of dirt and brick that covered the landscape. Sword and revolver in hand, he could die defending this country.

He started walking back south. His conversation with the woman echoed in his mind. He would not fight for those who had no chance. He had learned to never prolong the inevitable. The Republican Guard would die this day, and Cassius would not, could not, change that. He suffered from no pang in his conscience, for Cassius had always done what he saw as right. No guilt plagued him. Besides, he knew it was best if the Guard did not see him. False hope was more damning than no hope. For it is one thing to be suffering, yet entirely another be be suffering, brought out, and then cast back farther down.

Cassius would not, however, ever forget those men. He had fought with them, felt afraid with them, and killed by the dozens with them. They might be doomed now, but they had been full of life before, instead of empty and cold like most were now. If he ever got the chance, he might make his way back to the rubble and find their tags. It was most unlikely, but a promise to help their memory live.

He pulled out his pocket watch, and checked the time. It was nearing the evening, and he had to make it to the docks soon. Sailing a dreadnaught was tough in broad daylight on calm seas. Sailing one out of a nearly destroyed harbor in a war zone at night was exponentially more difficult. He did not doubt the skill of his comrades on the ship. He knew that they had a chance, and so he would support them to his death. Something he had almost done before seven years ago at Dakar.

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Any misconception you might have about Carthaginian war elephants should be forgotten. Simply picturing a normal African elephant with a little metal plating and small caliber cannon is completely wrong. Indeed, Carthaginian war elephants are fearsome and terrifying even to their handlers. The Carthage people had been raising their beasts of war for centuries and have achieved an astonishing result. The elephant surpasses any other animal, in the air, ocean, or land.

While a normal African elephant might be the same size as a small house, they are dwarfed by Carthaginian ones. Lumbering along the battlefield at speeds of up to 25 miles per hour, the war elephant reaches heights of up to 30 feet and weights up to twenty tons. Their legs are around ten feet tall and can be as thick as oak trees. Their tusks alone weigh a few tons each. Years of breeding and genetic research�"even though the field is relatively new�"have created a monster of war.

The weaponry they carry is just as fearsome as the beasts themselves. Hanging from special straps, one field piece, the caliber varies on the elephants specific role, rests on each side of the elephants. This allows for highly mobile artillery although the rounds are nowhere near as accurate at long ranges as stationary pieces. The open-roofed carriage on their backs carry up to five soldiers, as well as a pilot and a gunner who mans a machine gun mounted on the neck of the beast. The trunk is usually fitted with a flail of some sort to aid with demolishing defensive structures, and often the defenders themselves.

The vital areas of the elephants such as the stomach, legs, neck, and sides are protected by lightweight metal plates. These can deflect most small arms fire, although a powerful enough infantry rifle can punch through in places. Anti-elephant rounds have been in the making to counter these measures but are in limited production. The usual means of stopping an elephant is to launch high explosive artillery shells as close to its head as possible. Thick skulls protect it from bullets, but not a direct hit. Taking out the pilot does not defeat the elephant, but merely makes it a wild card in the battle. Some brave, but dead, soldiers have managed to lodge grenades between the skin of the elephant and the plates. The result usually ends with a soldier crushed to oblivion under a dead elephant. Men who kill an elephant are usually rewarded with high honors. Only one man has ever received that honor alive.

Cassius pushed against Valencia with his back, forcing her further into the landing craft. While doing he, he fired off five quick shots towards the pilot of the approaching elephant. The elephant was around one thousand yards off though, so the rounds fell far short. It would close that distance soon enough. The Severus rifle was the most powerful infantry rifle to date, but sacrificed distance for accuracy and stopping power. He chambered a fresh clip and forced the gun into Valencia's arms.

“Take this. When the elephant gets here, take the boat out a ways into the water and fire at the pilot. I don't see a gunner but it's still to hard to tell. If he's there, take him out first. I'd like to avoid being gunned down today. Trampled too.”

“But...what...you've only got that pistol now. What are you doing?”

Cassius was heading the ramp already, but he paused and said without looking back, “I've got this.” Patting his back, Valencia saw for the first time the scabbard tied there. It held a b*****d sword, the blade nearly three feet long. Drawing the blade, Cassius continued to walk. Valencia was quivering with amusement and confusion.

“What, you can't be serious? That little thing against a damned elephant? You're going to die, sir. I can't fire this, and you can't kill a war machine with a toothpick.”

Valencia continued sputtering insanities and profanities at Cassius's back. He continued to walk inward along the shore, the bloodied dirt sticking to heels of his boots. The sword was held in his right hand, and he had also drawn his revolver in his left. Being ambidextrous, Cassius could use the weapons in both his hands without sacrificing efficiency.

“My lady, you simply point the barrel at your target and pull the trigger. Work the bolt, then fire again. There are rounds still in the boat. Try not to hit me. I'll be close by.”

By this time, the elephant had began to charge. The earth shook with every pounding step and the bodies bounced about in their places. Rats and buzzards alike left their feasts. Scurrying back into their holes or up into the skies to circles, the animals watched. No matter who won, man or elephant, there would be fresh food. Scavengers care not for the outcome of wars. No matter who won or died, fresh pickings were always left behind. The elephant neared and let a trumpet from its trunk, shaking Valencia down to her very bones.

Cassius seemed unfazed, charging even faster towards the monster. It took but a matter of thirty seconds for him to be within range of the beast's gunner. Rattling off rounds, the gunner turned the handle of the antique weapon. Carthaginian's loved their beasts of war and charging in with swords and spears, but they lacked the proper mindset for acquiring modern firearms. If they did not raise soldier as fast as rabbits, then they might have had to reconsider their methods. As it were, they remained stuck in the past. Young men died glorious death, of course, but not all. Most fell long before they reached the Romans or Persians they sought, gunned down by superior weapons and discipline.

As Valencia watched, she noticed that Cassius was now dashing and zigzagging towards the water now. Her thoughts strayed to betrayal as she pictured the elephant crushing the boat like a cheap tin can. Remember her tasks, she leaped to the controls and started the motor. Cursing as the seconds it took to warm up seemed eternal, she checked back on the elephant. It was no longer rushing in a straight line, but rather the pilot was guiding it in a circle. Cassius was ducking and weaving underneath the beast, preventing any sort of clear shot at him. Yet, whenever the elephant turned away from the water, Valencia saw that she would have a clear shot at the gunner.

She picked up the gun left to her, and tried to remember how to work it. She was not a marine, never hunted, and actually rather disliked firearms. Too dirty and dangerous for her, she thought. Ship cannons were kept much cleaner and hit targets miles away, not people mere yards away. She awkwardly worked the bolt, jerking it back with the grace of a child, and ramming it forward. Had it been made of anything less sturdy than steel, it might have snapped off. She lifted the gun to her shoulders just like she had seen Cassius a few minutes ago. Closing her left eye, she peered through the sights along the top. Wrapping her right index finger slowly around the triggered, she suddenly jerked it back. It was more out of impulse than choice, but it was down. The rifle kicked back, smashing into her nose. She had no idea where the bullet flew, but the thought did not come to her to check anyway. Holding her bloody face, she cursed.

“Damn girl, don't jerk it. Slowly squeeze the trigger. Straighten your back, and get a better grip. It's a waste if you keep breaking your face.” In between his rolls and leaps, Cassius yelled out to her. He was still under fire, and was able to get a few rounds off himself. They either missed the gunner completely or bounced off the armored elephant. After six shots, he swore in disgust. He had no chance to reload since stopping meant death. Focusing on anything but dodging was death. Wishing the girl would hurry up and kill the damned gunner, he could only keep on until his strength tired.

Okay girl, she thought to herself. You're eighteen and fighting an elephant. A crazy man is running about like a mouse, and he told you to kill a man. Squeeze slowly, back straight, tight grip. Valencia worked the mechanism much smoother the second time, but still clunked about. She stood dead straight, as if she was up in a crow's nest searching for the shore. She peered down the sight like she was peering through a telescope. Gripping the gun just as she gripped ropes when tightening the rigging, she aimed at the gunner. He was weaving and moving quite erratically, but she felt as if she knew where to place that bullet.

She placed her finger once again on the trigger. She slowly squeezed it.

The rifle bucked.

A burst of red erupted from the side of the gunner's head. He spun halfway around, and then fell off his former beast, just to be crushed underfoot. Staring wide-eyed, Valencia dropped the gun to her feet. She was only eighteen, but she had just killed a man. She could not even convince herself that maybe he was only wounded. No relief for her conscience. Valencia had entered adulthood, cruel as it were.

As she stared on, Cassius took his chance. He slid out from underneath the beast and ran towards its front. He stopped ten yards away, waiting for the pilot to make his move. The beast gave out a magnificent roar and rushed at the man. Shouting with laughter, Cassius followed suit. Man and beast were about to collide. Valencia briefly wondered were Caligula was, and why he could not have killed the man instead. Her mind shut off for a moment as she let out the loudest shriek in her life.

“Don't! It'll crush you!”

Paying no heed, Cassius was within inches of the beast's outstretched trunk. Throwing down his revolver, he sidestepped towards the tusks. He slid forward and grabbed the tip as it passed over his body. Quickly, he kicked his feet up and wrapped them around the tusk, sword still in hand, gripping hard. He held on for his life as the beast shook its massive head back and forth, side to side. How dare this insect grab its mighty weapons?

Still hanging, Cassius started pulling himself backwards and up towards the mouth of the beast. The pilot, unaware to the current situation, worked his commands and calmed the beast. This was to be his second-to-last mistake. The immobile head allowed Cassius to flip himself upright and stand on the tusk. Just like a tightrope walker, he walked towards the forehead of the beast. The pilot then noticed the man on his pet. He made his last mistake then. Instead of pulling out the gun in the back of the saddle, he drew his scimitar and waited for the man to jump up and grip the top of the beast's head. He pulled his body up with one arm and clambered on top.

Smiling, Cassius easily deflected the blow aimed at his head. He stepped behind the man as he was carried off balance by the force of his blow. A quick thrust into his spine ended his life and sent him tumbling down. Cassius wiped the blood from his sword off on the saddle. Walking carefully back to the neck, he hacked at the straps holding up the plates. When they snapped, strands flew through the air and dirt was launched in all directions by the impact of the metal. With his right hand still clutching the b*****d sword, he gripped the beast's neck and made his way down.

The elephant had noticed its master fall down. After a few moments of silence it felt the insect crawling its neck. It shook and ran. It bucked and shrieked. The elephant continued to run it the circles it had been in earlier. Valencia watched, stilled awed and silent, as Cassius grabbed one of the leftover strands and swung underneath the neck. On his back swing he thrust his sword up and into the thick hide. Although the elephant could stand against bullets and shrapnel, its flesh parted like water before the blade of Cassius. It screamed its death throes as Cassius was washed down towards the ground in a shower of blood.

He hit the ground hard. Staring up at the beast, he watched as it fell. Lucky for him it fell to the side instead of dropping to its knees. Valencia snapped out of her daze and sprinted towards the corpse of the monster. When she arrived, out of breath, she found Cassius sitting against the chest of the dead elephant.

Panting, he said “Nice...shot that was. Gave me...perfect chance...to do...that.”

Valencia helped the man stand up. In the process she became covered in almost as much blood as Cassius. She didn't mind though. She barely noticed as it were. All she was focused on was helping Cassius limp towards the boat. Before they could make it five steps, though, a voice called out to them.

“Dear gods! I leave for ten minutes, and you two have killed a damned elephant! How...who...what the hell am I supposed to write in the report?”

Author's Note

This is a long one, but it's mostly due to the flashback portion.

Reviews

[Von Alis]

Brilliant! Just brilliant! I love this, the images you draw are vivid, the characters are real, everything is great! And thank you for the little history lesson, I would have been lost without it! Can't wait for the rest! My heart is pounding!