Act 2 Chapter 2

Second part of Act 2. Action picks up, the plot should thicken, and the chapter ends with some nice set up for the next few chapters.

Chapter 2

Given the situation, the inside of Fort Scipio looked quite nice. Sure, the grounds were in shambles. Almost all of the buildings had been reduced to rubble and the ground was torn earth. Nonetheless, the soldiers had made due. Tents littered the grounds, hundreds of the white structures standing still in the windless fortress. Fire pits were numerous as well, although unlit in the midday. Legionaries and Officers alike milled about, waiting for their turn for duty at the western end of the fort. They were mostly stripped down to their tunics, some of them still wearing a helmet and other wearing nothing but their combats. They laughed, gambled, drank, and otherwise attempted to occupy themselves while waiting for death, as soldiers are wont to do.

There was no evidence of a command structure, since every building was destroyed inside the walls. Caligula searched around, trying to spot something to point out the commanding officer through the backdrop of white tents and dusty sand. His hand was cast above his eyes in an attempt to block out the sun. Such an attempt was futile since the sun was glaring off of every single tent. After a few seconds of this infuriating glare, Caligula swore to himself that if he found whoever designed these tents, he would kick him in the gut. After brooding for a bit, he realized that he had a very capable, obedient, and silent Optio under his command.

“Optio Cassius! I've an order for you. Find whoever leads this...outfit...and tell him that Decurion Caligula needs his presence. Immediately!”

As Cassius gave a sharp salute and scurried off, Caligula felt a sense of cheer from taking out his frustration. Sure, it might not have been the nicest thing, especially since Cassius was a good soldier and had saved his life once. But Caligula felt an odd need to look strong and forceful. He figured it might have something to do with the pretty young woman nervously glancing at the large amount of men, who had neither bathed or seen a woman in months. He gestured her over to a flat chunk of stone, sitting in the shade of the wall. They walked over, sat down side by side, and waited for Cassius.

Cassius, meanwhile, was fighting his way through the throng of Legionaries. Each man seemed to be a good five inches taller than he was. To him, they were all barrel-chested brutes, with red skin and dirty hair. Cassius had no issue with hard work or sunburned skin; his clan in the Briton Tribal Nations more or less lived the same way they had for hundreds of years. But these monstrous men, these Romans, put Cassius on edge. He knew that he was different from them, and he had the sense that they knew it as well. He was a lot shorter, leaner, and had long brown hair that rested past his neck. As he pushed through, a few mutterings of, “Barbarian”, “Girly man”, and other not so pleasant sayings reached his ears. He was beginning to think that he should head back to Caligula and report failure when a thick hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

He was spun around and set face-to-face with a brutish man. His muscle shirt was ripped in places and his thick arms seemed to shine with sweat. A curly mop of brown sat soaked atop his head. His chest plate was nowhere to be seen, and his tunic was tied around his waist, the end flapping in a light breeze. Grim and dirt covered the bottom of his combats, and an empty knife sheath was attached to his right boot. Cassius glanced up, and saw that the hand not gripping his shoulder was raised up with the missing knife; it was a fairly large one. A thick mustache complete the picture of the brute.

“Aye you. Ya think you can just waltz through here? Eh?!”

Cassius kept his cool. He cast a skeptical glance to the man's knife and then look his in the eye. He was a good foot and a half shorter, so he had to strain his neck to do so.

“I'm part of the relief force, and am under orders from Decurion Caligula, who is here as well. So, good man, release my shoulder.”

During that brief time, a small crowd of the brute's cronies had gathered about. They formed a dirty circle of filthy men around the brute and Cassius. They wore grins and nudged each other, making jokes about the small man gripped by their unofficial boss. Some started calling out some more insults, others chanted for the brute, whose name was apparently Aquas, to “smash the little pip's head in.” Cassius merely glanced about for a second before focusing again on the man.

“I don't care if your the son of the Emperor! Ya are a damned barbarian! We've heard all about ya. Coming here into our Legion, trying to take our glory! Let's teach a lesson to ya, eh?”

This earned more cheers and chants. One Legionnaire even threw his helmet on the ground and started collecting bets on Aquas winning. Another threw his down for Cassius. The helmet for Aquas filled up quite nicely. The one for Cassius didn't receive a single Denarius. This brought out some laughs, a few chuckles, and a big grin from the brute. That is, until a single coin clinked inside the helmet.

“Go on then. Bet's are on. Show us.” A voice called from behind the crowd, no doubt the one who had placed the coin on Cassius. The men seemed to recognize the voice and grew silent at it's call. It was a strong voice, full of confidence and a bit of smugness. It seemed to resonate through the fort, and rang without fault. The circle spread out farther, and Aquas released Cassius's shoulder. He walked back to the edge of the circle, turning to face the smaller man. A still passed over for a few moments, and then Aquas lunged forward, knife held in front.

The man was like a bull. He rushed forward with a speed not common with men of his girth. It seemed as if he would plow right through Cassius, cutting him down and ending the fight then and there. He covered the few yards between them in a matter of seconds. Right as his knife was almost upon him, Cassius stepped to the side with grace. Aqua's momentum carried him forward, crashing into the arms of his underlings.

He gave a roar. “Damn boy! Think you're a pretty dancer, eh? Well I'll smash your legs!”

He made another lunge forward, this time much closer to Cassius. Another sidestep dodged this lunge, but Aquas was experienced, and saw that coming. His other hand, the left, rocketed out and seemed to crash into Cassius's gut. The crowd gasped, at this, knowing the strength of their friend.

Cassius, however, had bent to the side a bit, so that the fist connected with only air. He used this opportunity to give a lightning fast kick to Aqua's shin. The smaller man's boot was thick and his foot fast; an audible crack could be heard when the kick connected. Aquas dropped to his knee, screaming in pain. A quick punch from Cassius crushed the right ribs of the bigger man.

The knife dropped to the ground, Aquas clutching his side, gasping. Cassius delivered another punch to the other side and then kick Aquas in the bottom of the chin. Aquas flipped onto his back, bleeding from his mouth where a few teeth were missing now. Cassius, in one quick motion, kicked the knife into the air, caught it by the tip, and then aimed carefully at the man on the ground.

“I'll give you quarter. This wasn't a fair fight, since you were far outmatched.”

Aquas just lay there, panting. His eyes rolled around in pain, his mouth twitched in blood. The crowd had grown deathly silent, standing deathly still. More men had gathered during the brief scuffle, and all looked on with interest. The voice from earlier rang out.

“No.”

Silence spanned for a few more moments.

“No, he does not receive quarter. This is a war we're in. And our orders were no quarter. End it, boy.”

So he did. A quick snap of the wrist, a flick of the fingers, and it was over. Aquas lay slain, the knife buried to the hilt between his eyes. Cassius merely shook his head, and then turned towards where he believed the voice to have come from.

“Grab my money, boy. Then come with me.”

Cassius bent over and picked up the helmet, heavy with the former wages of the Legionaries. They had began to disperse, while a couple picked up Aquas's corpse by the legs and drug it away. Cassius ignored this, and walked off to follow the Centurion.

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Caligula leaned against the warm wall, sweat dripping down his face. The shadow had reclined, offering shade to not a single soul in this scorched land. He had taken off his jacket, loosened the cuffs on his shirt, and cast aside his sword belt. Still, he was hot. Cavalrymen did not wear chest plates, since they needed to be quite fast at times and the less wait a horse carried, the better. Besides, according to Caligula, they were unfashionable. You don't win the hearts of women with bulky hunks of metal strapped to your torso.

Valencia fared no better, with her fair hair plastered to her head. She sat on the ground next to Caligula, her legs stretched out in front and her back against the wall. She wished that she was alone, so she could remove her coat without attracting looks. The grim and dirt bothered her as it clung to her skin. She was panting, her breath heavy. Glancing at the clear blue sky, Valencia wished to be alone. That way, she could at least remove her jacket without attracting even more stares. Being the only female Roman within several miles caused the soldiers to eye her with a look she found not at all pleasing.

“Decurion, sir, what are we supposed to be doing?”

Caligula rolled his over to look at the girl next to him. Shaking his head, he replied, “We were supposed to meet up with the Centurion, as well as the other fellows from our group. That scientist and those two officers. Damn shame my cavalrymen died. I bet if they had had their horses, they could have trampled any foe before them! But, as to what we do now, you should probably wash all that blood off. You haven't scrubbed it all away yet, my dear.”

Valencia started at this. She had forgotten that, even though she had tried to rinse off in the ocean before the set off, her normally white shirt still had large, now pink splotches all over it. Her eyes darted back and forth across the inner-fort. Nowhere could she spy any sort of wash bin. Her keen sailor's eyes could penetrate the mass of men and tents, but nothing was spied. And why should there be, she thought. This is a big, smelly fort full of big, smelly men who just love being big and smelly. Sighing, she rolled over to her side, laying in the dust.

“Sir, I don't like it here. It's very unpleasant. Why pick me to come? I could've just taken the transport back to the dreadnaught.”

Caligula looked over to her overturned body. He gave a chuckled, and patted her side.

“My dear, you can cease calling me 'sir'. Caligula is just fine. Or maybe Cali! Either way is fine. You're not under my command.”

Valencia, comforted by his touch and kind words, sighed again.

“Of course then...Caligula. Cali. But you didn't answer me. Why take me along?”

She pushed herself up, leaning back against the wall again. Caligula's hand slipped off her, and he folded it with his other in his lap. Staring ahead, he answered.

“Leadership, my dear Valencia. Leadership. You're being test for it. Very prestigious. Also, that whole bit with helping Optio Cassius take down that bloody elephant was nice. He might have been crushed without your assistance. Nasty business, being crushed.”

“You seem a bit harsh on Cassius, if I might point out. Or, at least far from the casual behavior you've shown towards me. Why is that?”

Caligula closed his eyes and grinned. Shaking his head, he stood up.

“That's a story. Quite a fun one, full of excitement, adventure, and heroic deeds! I'll shall have to tell it sometime. Not now, too much to focus on. Ah! Like the three gents approaching us.”

With this, Caligula gestured out towards the three people mentioned. They were arranged with a shorter man in front, and two walking behind his flanks. The man in lead wore a tattered coat, the holes punched through the sides quite evident as it flapped with his motion. A small bowler cap sat crooked on his head as if it was placed there in afterthought. A thick mustache sat upon his lip, covering most of his mouth. He called out.

“Decurion Caligula! Is that you, chap?”

He sped forward to meet Caligula's outstretched arm, grasped his hand, and shook it with vigor. They matched in their level of disheveled appearance. Dirt covered them both, and a bit of blood was splashed upon the sleeves of the man. A revolver hung in his belt. Valencia found this quite strange, since she did not recall the scientist having one when he left the ship.

“Great to see you in one piece, Professor...Marcus? Metellus? Forgive me, we didn't spend much time on introductions. The whole 'going off to our certain deaths' bit sped it along a bit fast.”

Caligula led the scientist over to his section of the wall, where the both sank down to the ground. The two officers were majors, or rather, some sort of minor Centurion. Valencia didn't pretend to understand the ranking system. She simply believed it either needed to stop using old ranks altogether, or stop using the newer ones they adapted from provinces they had conquered over the centuries. A Decurion was a colonel, regular centurions could range from captain to major, the Primary Centurion could be a colonel but was just referred to as the Centurion, a Decanus was a sort of older soldier who had reenlisted, and an Optio was a sort of Lieutenant. Of course these were all interchangeable and were frequently confusing to Valencia. She guessed that there was an entire course in training that taught the soldiers this hectic ranking system.

These majors stood away from the group, eying the legionaries within the fort. They each carried a rifle and a large pack. One of them had the rifle in both hands, crossed horizontally across his front. He stood with his back to Valencia, as if making a point to not notice her. The second man had his rifle in one hand with the gun resting across his right shoulder. In his left, he held a cigarette to his lips, puffing and blowing out the relaxing smoke. They each looked harrowed, dirty, ragged, and quite stressed. Valencia decided to try and help. She lifted herself up to her feet, brushed off her pants, and walked over to the men.

“Um, excuse me sirs, are you OK? You seem a bit...distracted.”

The one smoking raised a light blue eye at her arrival. His hair was a deep black, curled atop his helmless hair. The man continued to inhale and exhale the smoke, dragging on his cigarette until even Valencia seemed to relax. The other man turned around to face her. His hair was light brown, evident only from his scraggly beard, since he was wearing his helmet. A long scar reached from the bottom of his left eye to kiss the tip of his lips. Valencia could tell it was rather recent. The smoker coughed, and then spoke.

“Girl, you've no idea. Distracted? Gods I wish I was. Because focusing on what's happened, what's going to happen, and knowing full well that there isn't a damn thing you can do-”

As the man's voice slowly began to rise into a shout, his counterpart reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder.

“Calm yourself, Ethias. The lass just wanted to help. She's just a kid and she doesn't know about the Hammer.”

He took the smoker to the side, and whispered in his ear. Valencia only tried slightly to hear. She was a bit preoccupied with wondering what the man with the scar meant by “the Hammer.” As they whispered and she pondered, Caligula and the scientist walked back over to them. They were both smiling, and the scientist fiddled with and twirled his mustache.

“Miss Valencia, Majors Ethias and Cartas. As you two know, but the girl does not, this is Professor Archimedes. He'd like to speak with you, Miss Valencia.”

With this, Caligula gestured the two officers away from the wall. They went off towards the camps and tents, no doubt in search of young Cassius and the Centurion. Valencia bowed a little to the scientist, who laughed and waved towards the ground at the base of the wall. He leaned against it and sat his plump body down with a thud. He nodded at Valencia, and she sat next to him.

“No need for such formalities my dear. I'm not some stiff collared desk jockey who's never seen the world. No, I've been through many conflicts, each terrible and yet awe inspiring. It's been the major inspiration for my research; the day of its fruition is today. I overheard the majors mention the Hammer. No doubt you're curious, correct?”

Valencia nodded. “Yes Professor. The man smoking, Major Ethias, seemed to be very frightened of it. What is it, if I might ask?”

The professor looked down. His hands folded together in his lap, his chest heaving with each breath in the arid heat. When he looked back to Valencia, she saw a look of pain, mixed with pride.

“The Hammer of Mars. It's a weapon. One that will end this war. In short, we simp-”

His words were cut off by a loud, sharp cry. Valencia recognized the voice of Cicerus shouting out, “Assault! Damnable barbarians heading from the east! To the wall, gents! To the trenches!”

The camp sprang into action. Each rowdy, loud, and sweaty legionnaire suddenly gained a look of professionalism. They quickly marched into their tents and donned their gear. Chest plates were buckled on, trench coats tossed around shoulders, sword belts cinched tight, bullets slammed into rifles, and helmets gleamed as they were placed upon the heads of the most powerful men in the world. The Great Punic War never rested, never ceased, not for the centuries of fighting between the Roman Empire and the Carthaginians. The fifty-two hundred remaining legionaries would man their trenches, field their artillery, and stand their ground to the end.