Invader: Death Beach by Simon Scarrow & T.J. Andrews

Author:Simon Scarrow & T.J. Andrews [Simon Scarrow and T.J. Andrews]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2014-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

‘Load of bollocks if you ask me,’ Rullus grumbled as Figulus joined him on the outer perimeter of the tent lines. A gap of sixty feet separated the neatly ordered tents from the rampart, the distance carefully measured in order to ensure that the men in the marching camp were well out of range of any missiles thrown by the enemy. Beyond the sentries manning the main gate Figulus could see precious little except a mute dense blackness.

‘We shouldn’t be making deals with the Britons,’ Rullus went on. ‘That grain’s for us, not some scum village chief.’

‘What would you suggest, Rullus?’

‘Attack ’em.’ He slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. ‘Hit ’em with everything we’ve got. Take no prisoners.’

Figulus rolled his tongue around his teeth before flashing a toothy grin. ‘It’s a nice thought, I’ll give you that. But they’ve got our lads. They could kill them at any moment. It’s less risky to give them what they want.’

‘Afraid you’re wrong, sir. The only reason we’re not destroying the village is because it benefits the legate.’

‘How so?’

‘Think about it, sir,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘The legate returns the prisoners to Rome, he gets all the plaudits and puts a smile on the faces of those Greek freedmen running the imperial palace. That’s all Celer gives a shit about. He doesn’t care that by negotiating with the enemy and giving them a reward we’re encouraging them to kidnap more soldiers. Next time, it could be us.’

Figulus craned his neck at the sky, eyeing the thin wisps of fog lurking over the coast. ‘Could be worse, I suppose.’

‘Oh?’ Rullus remarked tersely. ‘How’d you figure that one?’

‘At least it’s not raining. The weather gods favour us.’

‘There’s that famous Gallic sense of humour again,’ Rullus remarked wryly.

Figulus smiled back. ‘Take it from me. When you grow up in Lutetia, you can’t take life too seriously. We’re an amphora-half-full lot, my people.’

Rullus grunted and Figulus turned his attention to the soldiers standing in a line in front of the perimeter. As soon as he’d left the legate’s tent he’d briefed Rullus on the mission, instructing him to round up the fighting men in the century who were in the best physical shape – men still capable of holding a sword and marching a dozen or more miles without dropping out, even after the strain of the day’s battle. Now Figulus examined the faces of the men in front of him and realized with a jolt that only a handful of the men chosen for the task were scarred veterans. The years of waging war in Britannia had decimated the ranks. Most of the soldiers standing in line were young soldiers, new to the Sixth Century and the province. Quite a few were younger than Figulus himself; and even though he was only twenty-one years of age, he was painfully aware that his experience made him one of the century’s veterans. He recognized most of the faces, although a few were unfamiliar since he’d not yet had the time to get to know each ranker.

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