Invader: Death Beach

by Simon Scarrow, T.J. Andrews

Genres: Historical Fiction; Ancient; War & Military; Historical Thrillers

Synopsis

The first 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

The invasion of Britannia has been bloody and relentless, and still the barbaric islanders have not been fully conquered. The men of the Second Legion have suffered grievous losses in driving back their bitterest enemy, but worse is yet to come for the beleaguered soldiers. With winter fast approaching, they face a new threat: ferocious native warriors launching coordinated attacks from their secret base on the Isle of Vectis.

In response, the new legate announces a plan to invade Vectis and rout the enemy in what he expects to be a speedy and successful mission. But Horatius Figulus, a junior officer with local knowledge of the enemy, doubts the invasion will be so straightforward. And when the Second Legion encounters fierce resistance on the beach, Figulus and his fellow soldiers suddenly find themselves fighting a desperate battle for their lives....

(P)2014 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: June 5, 2014

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 84

Sample

Calleva, AD 44

A chill blast of air swept through the headquarters tent as the new legate of the Second Legion strode briskly through the tent flap.

‘On your feet!’ the camp prefect boomed to the officers seated inside. ‘Legate’s arrived.’

The officers fell silent and instantly shot up from their stools, standing to attention as the legate marched past. Lucius Aelianus Celer nodded at the prefect, his hands and face tingling from the cold night air. He had only recently arrived from Rome to assume command of the legion and the miserable conditions of the island had come as something of a shock to him. With each passing day he found himself yearning for the blissful warmth of his native Campania. Shaking off the cold, Celer approached a hide map suspended on a wooden frame at the front of the assembled rows of officers. A junior tribune stepped forward from beside the map and handed him a short wooden cane. Celer glanced at the prefect and straightened his back.

‘Thank you, Quintus Silanus.’ The prefect nodded. Turning to the officers, Celer addressed them in his silky aristocratic voice. ‘At ease, gentlemen.’

An uneasy silence hung over the gathered men as they sat down. Even in the wan glow of the oil lamps Celer could see the anxiety etched across their faces. Less than a month had passed since the Second Legion, under the leadership of his predecessor Vespasian, had defeated Caratacus, king of the Catuvellauni and the leader of those native tribes who had chosen to resist the Roman invaders. After a long and bloody campaign, Vespasian had finally routed Caratacus’s army in a brutal pitched battle. Victory had come at a heavy price, with the Second Legion suffering grievous losses and Caratacus escaping from his captors. It was the end of the campaigning season, winter was on the way and the soldiers would be spending the next few months bottled up in the legionary fort until the new campaign in the spring. Celer cleared his throat.

‘It’s a cold night, gentlemen, so I’ll keep this brief,’ he declared. ‘In the past several weeks, we have received numerous reports of attacks on our positions to the south. Patrols have been ambushed, forts razed to the ground and naval supply depots sacked. We are not talking about the odd opportunistic raid, but a campaign of coordinated attacks. The situation is so grave that I’m told Greek merchants are now refusing to do business outside of our legionary camps.’ That last remark drew a polite chuckle from his audience. Celer paused and half smiled before continuing. ‘I know some of us had hoped that defeating Caratacus would bring peace to this benighted land. However, following his escape it appears that our enemies have rediscovered their courage. The Durotriges have taken it upon themselves to redouble their resistance to our inevitable rule. My illustrious predecessor Vespasian may have conquered this territory, but he did not succeed in taming it – a failure I plan to correct.’

Celer turned towards the map depicting that large swathe of southern Britannia which nominally lay under Roman control, extending east from the naval base at Rutupiae all the way along the path of the River Tamesis past Calleva to the edge of the mountainous region to the west. Celer nodded at the map.

‘Our intelligence sources indicate that these attacks are the work of Durotrigan warriors operating from the Isle of Vectis.’ He pointed with his cane to a wedge-shaped island situated a few miles south of the mainland. ‘During Vespasian’s lightning campaign across their territory last summer, a significant number of the enemy managed to flee the hill forts. In Vespasian’s haste to advance west, however, he neglected to turn back and deal with this rabble, allowing them to successfully withdraw to Vectis.’

Celer turned back to the officers and tightly gripped his cane, his knuckles shading white. He continued.

‘From their base on Vectis, the enemy has been able to launch wave after wave of attacks on the mainland, retreating to the isle before our forces can effectively engage them. Gentlemen, it’s vital that we subdue Vectis once and for all and stop the Durotriges using it as a base to attack our supply chain along the coast. Accordingly, tomorrow at dawn the Fifth, Sixth, Seventh and Ninth Cohorts will march down to the naval port west of Noviomagus Regnorum. As we speak, a dozen galleys and supply ships from the Britannic fleet are sailing to the port from Rutupiae. Once we arrive, we’ll embark the ships, load our supplies and make for Vectis.’

There were low murmurs amongst the men at the prospect of having to fight again so close to the bitterly cold winter months. Several officers exchanged wary glances with one another. A few men on the rear rows muttered to themselves. Celer was unmoved. He raised a hand, swiftly silencing the room.

‘Thankfully, Fortuna shines on us. Over the past few weeks, our twenty native scouts have been operating in secrecy on Vectis, gathering intelligence on the enemy. They have reported back that the Durotriges have no defensive fortification to speak of.’ Celer chuckled to himself. ‘As a matter of fact, they’re still constructing a hill fort in time for the coming winter. If we act now, we can take the hill fort before the Durotriges have a chance to complete their defences, rout the enemy and be back in the camp before the first storms arrive.’ He regarded his men with a smug grin. ‘The advantage will be ours. We’ll have strength in numbers. The enemy will have nowhere to run. In addition, an advance fleet of ships has moved into position along the coast, cutting off their supplies from sympathizers on the mainland. All things being equal, Vectis should fall easily. Of course there’ll be the usual nests of resistance to stamp out. Once that’s done we can start dividing up the booty.’

The mood inside the tent quickly lifted at the mention of earning a share from the spoils of war. Each officer, Celer knew, stood to make a tidy sum from the captured natives, who would be shipped to Gaul and sold into slavery, not to mention the treasure troves of ornately decorated weapons and jewellery hoarded by the native aristocracy.

‘We’ll land here.’ He pointed with his cane to a notch of land on the east coast of the isle. ‘The enemy won’t be expecting an attack from the east. Acting on my orders, our scouts have disseminated false information to the Durotriges. They believe we will approach from the more obvious route to the north.’ He drew the cane up the centre of the isle, to an inlet running up towards the northern coast. ‘The east of Vectis will be mostly undefended, except for perhaps a token presence.’

Celer sought out a face among the throng and rested his gaze on a man seated on the front row. The man had bright blue eyes and an aquiline nose and he wore a fine cloak. ‘Tribune Palinus.’

‘Sir?’ The man looked up and blinked.

‘You’ll be in charge of the Fifth Cohort. Your men will land first and secure the beach ahead of the main force. Think you can handle it?’

Palinus puffed out his chest with obvious pride. ‘You can count on me, s. . .