The Eternal Empire (46 page)

‘We've already come further than we did
last time’, thought Godisger, revisiting the painful memories of thirty years
ago. ‘The cost has been light compared to that slaughter, but we have still not
crushed the legions!’

He heard members of his staff making
their way up the hill to join him. There was an upbeat, almost jubilant note to
their voices as they talked amongst themselves, an air of triumph brought on by
the victories of the past week. Godisger turned towards them as they drew near
and the look on his face silenced them.

"You think that we have won
already!" he yelled at them, the sarcasm in his voice conveying his
contempt for their premature celebrations.

"They got away. The Romans still
have an army out there, and while they do the war goes on!"

He walked over to the man nearest him
and looked him straight in the eye.

"Every day that this war
continues," he said to the unfortunate officer, "the chances of our
success diminish. The Romans will grow stronger as they gather forces from
throughout their Empire."

He paused to gauge the effect of what
he had said upon them. They were looking quite sober now.

"Luckily for us," continued
Godisger, "the Romans have seen fit to fight amongst themselves. With
their Danube armies otherwise occupied we still have time to crush the Rhine
legions. But we cannot afford to be complacent!"

Godisger raised his voice slightly and
spat out each word for emphasis. "We must destroy them! We must not let up
in our pursuit for one minute. Do you understand!"

"Yes general!" chorused back
the cowered staff officers.

"Good," said Godisger softly,
nodding his head. "Where's Maleric?" he said, becoming aware of his
deputies absence.

"He's at Moguntiacum
general," one of the officers replied.

"What's he doing there,"
demanded Godisger. "He should be here, organising the pursuit."

"A Roman legion has been cut off
south east of the city general," volunteered somebody else. "Tribune
Maleric is co-ordinating the operations to finish them off."

"That's a job for second line
troops, not for front line troops or for my deputy!" shouted Godisger.
"Order him to report to me immediately!"

He dismissed them and they left him
standing on the hill staring to the west, watching the long lines of Saxon
troops march over the horizon and listening to the thunder of artillery in the
distance.

15th
August 1920

Britannia,
Maniueium.

For a town that had changed hands four
times since the rebellion had begun, Maniueium was in remarkably good
condition. Neither side had systematically bombarded the town, and for this
small mercy its citizens were grateful. So was Sextus Capito as it meant that
he could use a motor carriage instead of having to pick his way through ruins.

He parked his vehicle outside the main
post office, now protected by mounds of sandbags, and serving as the rebel
military headquarters. He presented his papers to the sentry and was allowed
inside. He sought out the man that he had come to see.

Tribune Munius Burrus had been nearing
retirement age when the fighting had started but still looked like the tough
indestructible senior centurion that Sextus remembered from his days in the
auxiliaries. The old soldier now commanded a mixed force of rebel auxiliaries
and citizen volunteers.

"To what do I owe this
honour?" asked Burrus with a hint of sarcasm. "It's not often that a
member of the provincial government bothers to find out what us poor bastards
at the front are doing. In fact, this is the first time."

Sextus ignored the tribune's unfriendly
tone. They had not been friends during his time in the army - centurions did
not have friends except possibly other centurions - but Sextus knew him to be
straight talking and honest with a keen eye for what was going on behind the
scenes.

"I'm not supposed to be
here," Sextus began, "and I'll need to get back to Bremenacum before
I'm missed. I came to see you Municus Burrus because I'm worried about what is
happening. Specifically, I have grave misgivings about our allies."

Burrus gave Sextus an appraising look
and then nodded to a pair of chairs in the corner. They went over and sat down.

"What - specifically - is worrying
you?" he asked guardedly.

"The Caledonians aren't just
sending troops to fight the imperials," explained Sextus. "They have
effectively taken control of the military command structure and the provincial
administration. They've put their own officials into all the major posts and
assigned assistants' to work with any of the old provincial bureaucracy still
in a position of authority. All this is being done, according to Quintus
Flaccus, in a spirit of 'co-operation and friendship'."

Burrus snorted in disgust. "The
Caledonians have never given anything away, they always levy a price. Have you
noticed what they have been doing with our troops?"

"No," said Sextus with
interest, "I've been buried under a mountain of paper work. I'm no longer
part of the war council."

Burrus shifted his body in his chair
and relaxed a little, but his face was serious. "All the attacks on the
imperials have been spear headed by our own auxiliary and volunteer units,
supported by the mercenaries and to a lesser extent the Caledonian regulars. We
always take the heaviest casualties."

"Are you saying that this is
deliberate?" queried Sextus.

"Of course it's deliberate!
They're bleeding us white so that there'll be no organised resistance to a Caledonian
take over!" Burrus learned forward.

"Why do you think that every
provincial unit is at the front," he said knowingly, "while all our
cities and fortresses are garrisoned by Caledonian troops?"

Sextus had a sick feeling in his
stomach. Had they gone through all this just to become a client state of
Caledonia?

"No!" said Sextus suddenly,
surprising the tribune with the vehemence of his outburst. "We'll not
become a Caledonian puppet!"

"What choice do we have,"
countered Burrus. "it's a choice of living under the thumb of our
'northern friends' or certain execution as traitors to the Empire."

Sextus got up. "I'll find another
way," he said with determination. "But can I depend on your support
Municus?"

The old soldier looked at Sextus for a
few moments before nodding slowly. "Nobody wants to be vassals of those
northern barbarians," he said, "if you can find a way out of this
mess then you can count on my support."

15th
August 1920

Saxon
Army Headquarters, Gaul

The headquarters staff had set up in an
abandoned villa about twenty-five miles along the road from Augusta Treverorum.
It had been their third move in ten days and they all hoped that it would be
the last. Apart from an occasional rearguard action to slow the pursuing
Saxons, the Romans had not made any attempt to form a defence line. They kept
moving west as fast as they could, destroying bridges and ripping up rail
lines. This alone would have been enough to anger Count Godisger who knew that
he had to catch and destroy the imperial forces to win the war. However it was
the man before him that had driven the 'ice general' into a rage of meltdown
proportions.

"And where in hell's name have you
been!" he yelled at Franz Maleric as soon as he presented himself to the
general. "I sent for you over a week ago! Explain yourself before I have
you arrested and assigned to a penal regiment!"

"I had to travel to the
capital," replied Franz calmly, not in the least bit concerned by
Godisgers anger. "To see the King."

"And who gave you permission to go
to Minden?" demanded Godisger. "Your place is here. You need the
permission of your superior officer to leave a combat zone, and in case you had
forgotten that is me!" He stepped a little closer to Franz. "I don't
recall authorising any such orders," he added needlessly.

"I was simply obeying the dictates
of the 'Eagle Law' general," replied Franz smoothly, carefully watching
Godisger for his reaction.

The Count took another step forward and
looked Franz straight in the eye. "The 'Eagle Law'," he echoed with a
note of disgust in his voice.

"Yes, general," answered
Franz. "It's been on the statute books for centuries and requires the
commander of any Saxon force that captures a legion's Eagle to present it to
the King immediately and in person."

"I know what the law states!"
snapped Godisger. "The Eagle of the fifteenth legion was taken by the 87th
regiment. I saw the report. Why did YOU go to Minden?"

"I was with them at the
time," said Franz innocently. "And as the senior line officer present
on the spot that made me the commander of the force. By law I had no choice but
to go directly to the King."

Maleric did not add that he had spent
days with the various units hunting down the remnants of the legion and had
arranged it so that he would be present when the Eagle was captured. Nor did he
mention that he had carefully avoided receiving any communication from
Godisger.

"How convenient for you!"
said Godisger cynically. "And was his Majesty pleased?"

"Naturally," said Franz,
"it's the first Legionary Eagle taken by Saxon arms in over two hundred
years." His mind wandered back to the moment when he had entered the
council chambers holding the captured standard before him like a priest
carrying a cross in an Easter procession. All the nobles of the kingdom were
there, cheering as he made his way to the throne to lay the Eagle at the Kings
feet. Even his brother had applauded, although he had not cheered, or smiled.

"And while you were away obeying
the dictates of some five hundred year old law," continued Godisger
bitterly. "The army was without its deputy chief of staff. Do you think
that just because we have driven the Romans back into Gaul that they are
beaten!"

"It doesn't take much planning to
chase after a defeated army," answered Franz scornfully. "Any of the
other staff officers are perfectly capable of doing that!"  - You're just
jealous, that I presented the Eagle to the King instead of you.

"Weren't you listening you young
fool!" screamed Godisger. "They're not defeated! We've won some
battles and driven them from the Rhine. We haven't crushed them and that is
what we must do if we are to win!"

"They're weak!" countered
Maleric, bridling at the insult. "Their other armies are either fighting
the Arabs, the Caledonians or themselves. They've no major reserves left to
send to Gaul."

They stood eye to eye for a fraction of
a second, staring each other out like a pair of boxers before a fight.

"We've one more chance," said
Godisger not taking his eyes off Franz. "We must break through their
defences on the Mosa River and take Lutetia. Given enough time the Romans can
make any river line virtually impregnable. Do you think that you are up to
it?"

Franz Maleric gave his commander a
confident and slightly insolent smile. "I breached one river line, I can
do it again."

“Sir,” he added with an element of
scorn.

16th
August 1920

Iconium,
Asia Minor

There was an air of anticipation as the
senior officers of the Army of Asia Minor made their way into the lecture
theatre. Rumours of a decision to release the army from its reserve status had
been circulating for a couple of days and the suddenness of this meeting seemed
to presage important news.

The lecture theatre was in the form of
a Greek amphitheatre, with the central stage being the focus of attention. On
the stage were just two things, an easel holding a large board covered with a
blood red clothe and General Manual Strategicus. The School of Modern Warfare
at Iconium where the meeting was taking place had been set up five years earlier
and Manual Strategicus, the present commander of the Army of Asia Minor, had
been its first commandant.

The general stood at a parade ground
rest as the officers made their way in to find their seats, greeting old
friends and making speculative conversation. His eyes took in and noted each
man, but he gave no sign of recognition. The only movement that he made was the
occasional running of his hand over his short-cropped white hair. When the
appointed time for the meeting had arrived, Strategicus nodded to a centurion
at the back and a squad of armed military police closed all the doors and took
up guard positions.

Manual Strategicus was a bit of an
enigma to many. He was acknowledged by his peers in the military as having one
of the most brilliant academic minds in the imperial army, yet he was first and
foremost a soldier. His thirst for knowledge stemmed from a desire not just to
be a soldier, but also to be a great one. He was not a 'political' general as
many senior officers were, either by their nature or through force of
competition for the top jobs in the army. In fact he was regarded as being
rather 'naive' when it came to dealing with the Byzantine intrigues that
permeated the imperial high command. He had only two loyalties in his life, to
his God and to the Empire. A deeply religious man, he led an austere and almost
Spartan life. He neither drank nor smoked and woe betide the soldier, whatever
their rank, which blasphemed in his presence. He treated all with the same
degree of respect and courtesy, regardless of whether they were a simple
soldier or an imperial senator. Everyone knew where they stood with Strategicus
and although he did not know it, the officers and men of the Army of Asia Minor
were devoted to him.