Belisarius - Destiny's Shield Part 37

He smiled, remembering the look of relief on Basil's face when the supply barges which had arrived the day before proved to be carrying an ample supply of gunpowder to refurbish his rocket force. Refurbish it-and more. New stocks of rockets had also arrived, along with three more katyushas and the crews to man them.

Belisarius glanced toward the west. The sun was almost touching the horizon. He decided there wouldn't be enough daylight to position another pontoon, and he didn't want to risk his men's lives in a night operation unless it was critical. For all the relaxed ease with which his soldiers went about their task, it was dangerous work.

So he leaned over the rail and shouted the order to quit for the day. His squad commanders, familiar with their general's att.i.tudes, were obviously antic.i.p.ating the order. The oncoming barge was gently grounded on the riverbank, where it could be easily pushed off the next morning.

On the third day, Belisarius shifted his operations to the other side of the river, where a similar command tower had been erected. While Maurice oversaw the work on the left bank, Belisarius started the process of extending a line of pontoons from the west.

By the fifth day, the operation was in full swing. The Euphrates, at that point, was a shallow but very broad river-almost a mile wide. Sinking twenty to twenty-five pontoons a day, the Roman engineers were building their dam at the rate which would, theoretically, bridge the river within a fortnight.

Of course, the rate at which the pontoons were sunk began slowing. As the dam took shape, the current became faster. And, what was worse, turbulent.

Two men were killed on the eighth day. After knocking loose the scuttling pins, they failed to emerge from the hold quickly enough. What happened? No-one knew, or ever would. Probably one of them had slipped, and the other had gone to his aid. But there was no time, now, for anything but haste. The river which poured into the settling hull was not the sluggish stream it had been. The water hammered into the barge and drove it down like a pile driver. Days later, one of the bodies floated loose and was salvaged downstream.

By the end of the second week, the Euphrates was a snarling beast. As the Roman engineers extended the two lines of pontoons closer and closer to each other, the center of the river became a thundering torrent of water. The rest was not much better. As the water level rose behind the dam, the entire Euphrates became a cataract, pouring over the line of pontoons all across its width.

Casualties were now occurring daily-a matter of broken limbs and crushed fingers, for the most part, but there were fatalities also. On the twelfth day, the entire crew of a pontoon perished when they lost control of the barge just at the point when they were preparing to scuttle it. The heavily weighted craft was swept into the narrow channel in the center of the river. Before it was halfway through, the barge disintegrated, spilling its men into the torrent. Most of them were dead by the time their bodies were recovered. One man survived for half a day, his skull shattered and pulpy, before he finally expired.

The Roman troops had the worst of it, since they were doing the most dangerous part of the job, but those were not happy days for the Kushans either. Behind the Roman engineers extending the pontoons, the Kushans were set to work building the dam higher. Using their own barges, the captives hauled baskets full of stones and dropped them onto the submerged pontoons. The current piled the heavy baskets up against the wicker "sails." The strain on those sunken masts and spars would probably have broken some of them, except that the Romans had lashed the masts together as they extended the line of pontoons.

Most of the Kushans, however, were engaged elsewhere. The stones used to bolster the dam had to be hauled out of the surrounding landscape. Fortunately, there were many stones to be found within a mile of the river. Mesopotamia had been farmed for millennia, but the topsoil was constantly being blown away and annual plowing brought up another layer of stones. These stones, as the centuries pa.s.sed, were piled at the center or edges of fields. So there was no lack of stones, and none of them had to be dug up out of the soil. But it was still hard work for the Kushans, loading sledges and dragging them to the river.

At first, the Kushans were disgruntled.

Crazy Roman!

Why doesn't the stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d use the stones we already dug out of the Nehar Malka? Look! There's a giant pile of the things-not three hundred yards away!

Who ever made this idiot a general, anyway?

As the days pa.s.sed, however, the Kushans began to realize that the cretin Roman general apparently had other plans for those stones. What those plans were, the Kushans did not know. They were no longer permitted in the vicinity of the Nehar Malka. But, from a distance, they could catch glimpses of Roman engineers working around the enormous mound of rocks which the Kushans had piled on the north bank of the Nehar Malka. Digging tunnels, so it appeared. And they noted that the men involved in that work were the same Romans who manned the rocket chariots. Gunpowder experts.

The betting among the Kushan captives intensified.

Kurush and his Persian soldiers were not involved in any of this work. Theirs was the task of ensuring the work-site's security. Every day, Kurush and his ten thousand Persian cavalrymen patrolled the region, extending their skirmishers to a distance of thirty miles in every direction. Abbu and the Arab scouts accompanied them in this work, as did a small number of the Roman troops. On a rotating basis, two battalions of Belisarius' soldiers-one cavalry, one infantry-were a.s.signed each day to a.s.sist the Persians. In truth, the a.s.signment was more in the way of a relief than anything else. After the back-breaking and risky work of building the dam, every Roman soldier looked forward to a day spent in a leisurely march.

Finally, on the nineteenth day, the last pontoon was maneuvered into place and scuttled. The Romans took four days well-deserved rest, while the Kushans finished the job of bolstering the pontoons with baskets of stones.

It was done. Twenty-three days' work had turned that strip of the Euphrates into a waterfall. A low waterfall, to be sure. But it was impressive, nonetheless.

The Roman troops and the Kushan captives spent the twenty-fourth day in a cheerful celebration, lining the banks and getting drunk while they admired the raging cataract which they had built. At Belisarius' order, the wine ration was very generous-as much for the Kushans as the Romans. A Malwa officer, had there been one present to notice, would have been outraged at the free and easy fraternization between captives and captors.

Belisarius and his top officers, however, did not join in the revelry. They spent that entire day in the general's command tent. The first two hours of that day were taken up with Belisarius' immediate plans.

The rest was given to awe, and mystery, and wonder.

As he had promised Basil, Belisarius brought his entire command into the secret. He told them the secret, first, using his own words. Then, when he was done, brought forth the Talisman of G.o.d.

Aide was prepared. The coruscating colors which filled the command tent were so dazzling that they caused the leather walls to glow.

Roman soldiers who saw, from outside the tent, whispered among themselves. Witchcraft, muttered a few. But most simply shrugged the thing off. Belisarius was-unique. A blessed man. Hadn't Michael of Macedonia himself said so?

So why shouldn't his tent glow in daylight?

Kushans also noticed, and discussed the matter. Here, the opinion was unanimous.

Sorcery. The Roman general was a witch. It was obvious. Obvious.

The wagering became feverish.

When evening fell, Belisarius' officers filed quietly out of his tent. None of them said a word, except Agathias. As the commander of the Greek cataphracts pa.s.sed by Belisarius, he whispered: "We will not fail you, general. This I swear."

Belisarius inclined his head. A moment later, only Maurice was left in the tent.

"When?" asked the Thracian chiliarch.

"How soon can you reach Babylon? A week?"

"Be serious," growled Maurice. "Do I look like a pewling babe?"

Belisarius smiled.

"Four days," grunted Maurice. "Three to get there, and a day for Khusrau to make ready."

"Five days," countered Belisarius. "Khusrau should be ready, but an extra day may help. Besides, you never know-you might fall off your horse."

Maurice disdained any reply.

Early the next morning, Maurice left. He was accompanied by a hundred of his Thracian cataphracts as well as a squad of Arab scouts.

At the same time, one of Kurush's top officers-Merena himself, in fact-led a similar expedition to Ctesiphon. Their purpose was to bring warning to the residents of the capital.

The next four days, Belisarius spent overseeing the final preparations at the Nehar Malka. None of the Roman troops except Basil and his men were engaged in this work, however, so they spent those days resting.

By late afternoon of the fifth day, the entire allied force was thronging the banks of the Euphrates. Over twenty thousand men-Romans, Persians, Kushan captives-were jostling each other for a vantage point. Belisarius had to use his bucellarii to keep the onlookers from piling too close to the Nehar Malka.

The general himself was standing atop the command tower. He was joined there by Baresmanas and Kurush.

"You should not have made the announcement," fretted Kurush. "It was impossible to keep the security patrols out beyond noon."

Belisarius shrugged.

"And so? By the time a spy reaches the Malwa with the news, they will know already."

He leaned over the rail. Below him, standing at the base of the tower, Basil looked up. The katyusha commander held a burning slowmatch in his hand.

Belisarius began to give the order to light the fuse. Then, hesitated.

"New times," he murmured. "New times need new traditions. 'Light the fuse' just won't do."

He sent a thought inward.

Aide?

The reply came instantly.

Fire in the hole.

Belisarius grinned. Leaned over.

"Fire in the hole!"

Basil needed no translation. A moment later, the fuse was burning. As it hissed its furious way toward the last barrier across the Nehar Malka, Basil began capering like a child.

"I like that! I like that!" he cried. "Fire in the hole!"

The cry was taken up by others. Within three minutes, the entire army was chanting the words. Even the Kushans, in their newly-learned and broken Greek.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE! FIRE IN THE HOLE!".

The fuse reached its destination.

There was fire in the hole.

Chapter 27.

The demolition had been well-planned. So much was immediately obvious. Guided by Aide, Belisarius and Basil had emplaced the charges in the optimum locations to do the job.

Across most of its width, the lower bank of the dam blew sidewise, clearing an instant path for the pent-up energy of the Euphrates. The great river, now released, literally burst into the new channel opened for it. Raging like a bull, the torrent charged down the long-dry Nehar Malka, scouring it deeper and wider as it went.

But Belisarius was unable to appreciate the sight. As so often happens in life, practice subverted theory. The charges had been perfectly placed, true. And then, doubled beyond Aide's instructions; and then, doubled again.

Aide had complained, of course. Had warned, cautioned, chastened, chastised; been driven, in fact, into its own crystalline version of a gibbering fit.

To no avail. With the simple logic of men whose familiarity with gunpowder was still primitive, Belisarius and Basil had both insisted that more was vastly preferable than enough. Better to make sure the job was done, after all, than to risk a feeble half-result through cringing n.i.g.g.ardliness.

Applied to the task of splitting a log with an axe, such logic simply results in unnecessary exertion. Applied to the task of demolishing a dam with gunpowder, however- I told you so, groused Aide, as Belisarius watched the top layers of the dam sailing into the sky. Hundreds upon hundreds of rocks and boulders-tons and tons of stony projectiles-soaring every which way.

Not all of those missiles, of course, were heading for the tower where Belisarius stood. It just seemed that way.

Baresmanas and Kurush scrambled down the ladder first. The Roman general was halfway down- Stupid humans.

-when the first rocks began pelting into the tower. By the time he was three-fourths down- Protoplasmic idiots.

-covered, now, with wood splinters- Glorified monkeys.

-the tower collapsed completely.

That probably saved his life, as well as those of Baresmanas and Kurush-and Basil, who had also instinctively sought shelter beneath the tower. The half-shattered platform hammered Belisarius and the other three men into the ground, battering them almost senseless. Thereafter, however, it acted as a sort of huge shield, sheltering them-in a manner of speaking-from the hail of rocks which would otherwise have turned two Roman officers and two Persian n.o.blemen into so much undifferentiated pulp.

At the time, Belisarius found little comfort in the fact. The platform lying on him did not deflect the blows, in the manner of a true shield, so much as it simply spread the shock across his entire body. He was not pulped, therefore. Amazingly, none of his bones were even broken. But he did undergo a version of being pounded into flatcake, except that flatcakes do not suffer the added indignity of being lectured throughout the experience.

Crazy f.u.c.king Thracian.

Whoever made you a general, anyway?

It's amazing you even made it out of the womb, as stupid as you are. I'm surprised you didn't insist on finding your own way out. G.o.d forbid you should listen to your mother.

Crazy f.u.c.king Thracian.

Whoever- And so on, and so forth.

It took his soldiers an hour to dig Belisarius and the others out, after the rocks stopped falling. The digging itself, actually, took only a few minutes. The delay was caused by the fact that his men had fled a full half mile away after the barrage started.

His first, semiconscious, croaking words: "Did it work? I couldn't see."

His ensuing croaks, after being a.s.sured of full success in the project: "Next time. Smaller charges."

"Much smaller," croaked Basil.

"Crazy f.u.c.king Romans," croaked Baresmanas.

"Whoever put him in charge?" croaked Kurush.

Others, also, failed to heed warnings. When Merena arrived at Ctesiphon to warn the governor of the oncoming tidal wave, the man responded with derision. Partly, that was due to his personality. Arrogant by nature, his recent naming to the post of shahrab of the Persian Empire's capital city had swelled his head even further. In the main, however, his att.i.tude was determined by politics. The shahrab of Ctesiphon-Shiroe was his name-was allied with Ormazd's faction. The appearance before him of an officer of Emperor Khusrau's most ferociously-loyal follower, Baresmanas, seemed to him a perfect opportunity to score a political point. So, Shiroe responded to Merena's warning with jocular remarks on lunacy, embellished with denunciations of Romans and those Persians besotted with them, and concluding with a not-so-veiled thrust on the subject of miscegenation.

Merena's men had to restrain him.

After the unfortunate session, once Merena had calmed down enough to think clearly, he ordered his men to take informal and unofficial warnings to the boatmen plying their trade on the Tigris. As best they could, given their relatively small numbers, his soldiers tried to warn the city's fishermen and boat captains.