Invader: Blood Enemy
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Synopsis
The second ebook-exclusive novella in the brand new INVADER series, set in Roman Britain, AD 44, from Sunday Times bestselling authors Simon Scarrow and T. J. Andrews
Britannia is a nightmare campaign setting for the brave soldiers of the Second Legion. Horatius Figulus, a junior officer, has been rewarded for bravery and skill against the island's rebel forces with a mission that could bring him prestige and position. He and his most trusted comrades are to help install a new king in a hostile area. Succeed, and they'll establish an imperative Roman stronghold. Fail, and the whole invasion will be jeopardised.
Under constant attack from raiders, plagued by ruthless Druids and up against hostile natives, Figulus and his men will need all their courage and ingenuity to succeed.
(P)2018 Headline Publishing Group Ltd
Release date: August 14, 2014
Publisher: Headline
Print pages: 84
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Invader: Blood Enemy
Simon Scarrow
‘We’ll be landing shortly,’ the trierarch announced, shouting to make himself heard above the fierce wind battering the ship.
‘Thank the gods,’ the veteran legionary standing alongside Figulus muttered under his breath. ‘Bloody sea! I’d sooner learn Greek than spend another moment on this fucking boat.’
Figulus glanced at the man. Titus Terentius Rullus had a queasy look on his face as he gripped hold of the side of the deck to steady himself against the constant pitching of the Proteus. ‘With the seaborne operations you’ve experienced in the Second Legion, I’m surprised you haven’t become used to it by now.’
Rullus made a face. ‘I joined the Second to get away from the sea, optio. My old man was a fisherman down in Genua, years back. Used to take me out on trips now and then. I couldn’t stand the smell of all them fish guts. When I turned sixteen, I enlisted in the legions and swore I’d never set foot on a boat again. Now look at me.’ He shook his head bitterly. ‘Seem to spend more time afloat than I do on dry land these days.’
The trierarch overheard their conversation.
‘You landlubbers are always complaining. You think this is bad? Wait until we get to the depths of winter; the sea’s rougher than an Aventine tart then.’
‘Hang about. Isn’t the fleet going to be docked for the winter?’ Figulus asked, turning back to the trierarch. The biting chill in the air served as a sharp reminder that the present campaigning season in Britannia would shortly be drawing to a close. Once it became too cold to march and fight, the soldiers would spend the winter months bottled up in the legionary fortress at Calleva, with nothing but wine and dice to stave off the boredom of endless training drills and kit inspections.
The trierarch clicked his tongue. ‘We should be so fortunate. The fleet’s to maintain operations over the winter. Legate’s orders.’
Figulus frowned. ‘What for? The campaign on Vectis will be over by then, surely.’
Two thousand men from the Second Legion were based on the Isle of Vectis off the south coast of Britannia, fighting against a fanatic band of Durotrigan warriors, renowned fighters from a tribe notoriously hostile to Rome. The Durotrigans had put up a stubborn resistance against the Roman invaders. However, the legions had shattered the enemy’s resistance with their mastery of siege warfare and tactical discipline on the field of battle. The remnants of the Durotrigan force had shifted their base of operations to Vectis. There they continued to launch attacks on the mainland, compelling the new legate of the Second Legion to dispatch a force to crush the opposition once and for all.
‘Aye, this campaign might be over soon enough for you lot,’ the trierarch conceded. ‘But these storms we’ve been having have wreaked havoc with the supplies coming over from Gaul. Half the supply ships were battered or lost at sea and as a result the whole bloody province is in danger of starving unless we can make up the shortfall.’ He squinted at the horizon. ‘We’ll be sailing right through to the spring, I reckon. It’s going to be a long winter for us poor bastards. Just remember that when you’re tucked up in your cosy barracks with a mug of heated wine and a warm meal to fill your bellies.’
With a final sigh, the trierarch paced to the stern to speak to one of his deck hands, leaving Figulus and Rullus alone. The veteran stared at the trierarch for a moment before shaking his head. ‘I fear things aren’t going to be much better for us this winter, sir.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Where we’re headed, I mean. You know what the lads have been saying about Lindinis. The arsehole of the empire, they call it. That place is supposed to be one of the most primitive settlements in all of Britannia, and that’s saying something.’
‘Bollocks!’ another soldier scoffed. ‘The lads say that about everywhere on this bloody island. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if anywhere isn’t completely shit round here.’
Figulus turned towards the other man. He was a thickset soldier with a straggling beard by the name of Sextus Porcius Blaesus, and he was the only legionary Figulus had ever met who had a bigger physique than him. Blaesus also had the temperament to match his impressive build. Away from the field of battle Blaesus was a lazy gambler who cared only about where he could get his next skinful of cheap wine. But in the blood and sweat of battle he turned into a fearless soldier who struck terror into the hearts of his enemies. Figulus was just grateful they were fighting on the same side.
Rullus shook his head. ‘I think it’s different with Lindinis. You know what the Durotrigans are like. Hate our guts more than any other tribe in Britannia. Can’t see that lot being ruled over by us and not kicking up a fuss.’
‘All the more reason to get the drinks in when we’re on dry land,’ Blaesus declared, rubbing his hands together and smacking his lips. ‘I hear there’s plenty of good cunny and cheap wine to be found in Noviomagus. And I plan on sampling a bit of both tonight.’
Rullus laughed. ‘You Germans are all the same. All you care about is where your next drink is coming from.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time for tarts later,’ Figulus put in. ‘We’ve got to get through this mission first.’
An icy dread squirmed through Figulus’s guts as he turned his thoughts to the mission he’d been assigned by the legate of the Second Legion. Lucius Aelianus Celer had ordered Figulus to lead a detachment of soldiers from the Sixth Century to head back to the mainland at once. They had been tasked with escorting an imperial envoy and an exiled Durotrigan noble to the remote settlement of Lindinis. Once they arrived safely, they were to help install the noble, Trenagasus, as the new king. The optio had been chosen after rescuing some Roman prisoners from the clutches of the natives on Vectis. But escorting his charges through the territory of the Durotrigans would be far from easy, Figulus knew. He’d fought in their lands the previous summer and even after the Durotrigans had been utterly crushed in battle, their warriors routed and the Druids driven from their hill forts, they had refused to surrender. Barely a day passed now without a supply convoy coming under attack or some remote fort being razed to the ground. There was a good chance of Figulus’s detachment being ambushed. Worse still, Celer had warned Figulus that if any harm came to the envoy or his Durotrigan companion, then his career in the military would be finished. Pushing aside his unease, Figulus looked back to Rullus as the veteran narrowed his gaze beyond the prow and spat over the side of the deck.
‘We should’ve stayed on Vectis,’ Rullus muttered under his breath. ‘Bodyguarding some exiled noble and his imperial lackey is no task for real soldiers, sir. At least if we were still on Vectis we’d be doing some proper soldiering, getting stuck into the enemy.’ He flashed a yellow-toothed grin at Figulus. ‘Not to mention getting our share of the loot. That extra coin would’ve come in handy for my retirement fund,’ he added ruefully.
Figulus shrugged. ‘The legate said he wanted his best men for the job. That happens to be us. So here we are.’
Blaesus shook his head and laughed cynically. ‘Sometimes I wish I was a shit soldier, sir. Make my life a lot bloody easier.’
‘Best men, you say?’ Rullus cocked his chin at a youthful-looking legionary. ‘Even that idiot?’
All eyes turned to the legionary bent over the side of the deck, retching violently as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the churning waters below. Figulus watched as Gaius Arrius Helva spat out. . .
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