Heart & Soul part VII
For months Caesar had been stewing. Kingman wasn't important; it wasn't significant. It was a blip on his radar, a tiny stepping stone, almost entirely insignificant to his grand designs.
"So then why the hell," he asked his centurions, "are we still here?"
It was dinner time. Caesar usually only ate with his centurions when he had orders to give. Occasionally he ate with his centurions so he could reward them for good work. Sometimes, he ate with his centurions so he could make it clear how deeply displeased he was.
"Because the city needs a full garrison before we can leave," centurion Mandelay said through spoonfuls of soup, "Sir." He was the senior-most centurion dining with his eminence, and had seen more than a few Caesar temper tantrums- too many to be fazed by them anymore.
They sat at a long metal table in a brahmin-skin tent that had been erected on the ashes of the Route 66 museum. It was a symbolic decision rather than a tactical one. Despite the garrison being on the opposite side of town, Caesar couldn't help but poetically demonstrate the new world he intended to build on the ruins of the old one. Caesar's cold calculation often gave sway to poetry. That was just the sort of man he was.
"Well, then where the hell are they? Huh? Why the hell aren't they here already?" Caesar petulantly nagged. "Get me my records-slave," he bellowed. One of the many slaves tending to him and his officers hurried out of the tent into the cool night air of the badlands. Around the tent was the full praetorian guard. It was always easy to tell where Caesar could be found by the squad of dangerous men that guarded his every minute.
The slave moved quietly and quickly between the praetorians. She steeled herself against the cold, her thin rags better suited to the blistering heat of the day. The sounds of the dining centurions grew faint and the whistling wind grew louder as she made her way down the road to a building that had been a diner before the war.
The guards didn't question her as she walked into the ancient building. It was clear she was a slave of the Legion by the way she carried herself, stooped and beaten. The inside of the diner was dimly lit by halogen lamps, and it was here where someone acknowledged her.
"What do you want?" the Priestess of Mars hissed.
"Caesar wants the girl," was all the slave said. A young blonde girl, fresh into puberty, was brought to the slave. Atia had her glasses on, and was prepared to stand before Caesar with any information he might require. She had been co-ordinating troop movements just before the slave arrived, making sure the newly-promoted Aurelius of Phoenix would have plenty of support for his New Mexico campaign, as thanks for the high-quality brahmin meat he'd gifted her.
Atia and the slave walked in silence back to the meal tent. Unlike the slave, Atia walked proudly, with an arched back and a high step. She thrust her chest out, making her newly-developing breasts all the more prominent. She thought nothing of it, but even as she passed both the guards of the diner noticed.
The slave quietly informed Atia of Caesar's question, so Atia could have the answer as soon as she was let into the tent, and Caesar wouldn't have to ask it again. They walked past the praetorian guard, Atia composed herself, and they entered.
"The Kingman cohort will be here in a week," Atia said when Caesar acknowledged her presence. She was all business, standing alert with her hands folded crisply behind her back. She spoke clearly but instead of looking at Caesar she stared at the empty space in front of her, as she'd done many times before.
"We've been here six months. Did they not start marching here six months ago?" Caesar sneered at Atia, waving his hand at her in an angry but pleading motion. She continued to stare straight ahead.
"No sir. The new cohort couldn't leave until they were up to full numbers, which took nearly a month. They left immediately after that and have been traveling here ever since," she said quickly and dispassionately. This did not make Caesar happy, so she followed up with, "Before you redeveloped the area in the glory of your Legion, it would've taken them more than a year to make the same trip, sir."
That calmed Caesar down. In her years as his secretary Atia had learned many tools for placating him, but the best was reminding him of his impact on the wasteland. That was all he really cared about, the ways in which he shaped the world. Atia respected him for it, because he'd done things to earn respect.
"Well, tell them to march double-time. I can't afford to waste any more time sitting here," he grumbled.
"You'll have to send a runner because the radio is out, sir," Atia said.
"Fine! I'll send a runner and a contubernia to check on the local radio tower!" Caesar exploded, slamming his fist on the table. Atia jumped, but regained her composure quickly. Caesar dismissed her with a wave of his hand, then gave the orders to Mandelay.
"If I do say so myself, mighty Caesar, your records-slave is... quite fetching," Mandelay said through his teeth. The other centurions nodded in agreement. They'd all been staring like hungry wolves at Atia the entire time she was in the tent.
"Hmm? Fine, fine, maybe if you please me, Mandelay, she can be yours," Caesar said distractedly, fiddling with the expensive pre-war watch on his wrist. He sighed. He didn't care about his record-slave any more than he cared about any slave. He was too consumed with his grand designs. The time spent in Kingman was growing far too long, when there was still so much of the world to conquer.
The next day, Mandelay ordered a runner to tell the new Kingman cohort to hurry, and he ordered Decanus Kratos to take his contubernia to the nearest radio tower and see why they weren't getting a signal anymore.
Kratos and his men were ecstatic at the job. When Kratos told them, they were lounging idly on some old bleachers that presided over a barren expanse, a desolate wasteland that had once been a verdant field used for high school football games. Some other legionaries were running around in the dust, playing a facsimile of the game, but Kratos' contubernia were merely watching.
"C'mon, Pythos, catch the fuckin' ball!" Reave jeered at the players. Everyone was in high spirits, although bored.
Mortuus had Sarah with him. They were reclining on the bleachers, Sarah resting comfortably on Mortuus. Since unofficially joining the contubernia and resuming training, no one hassled Mortuus about his relationship. They could express what affection they had in the open, and so during downtime he'd get her from the build site and they'd do whatever he felt like doing. They'd started sleeping together at night, outside the motel barracks in a small area Mortuus made comfortable. Sarah did not ever speak to Mortuus' peers, not that anyone noticed. The other legionaries treated her more like Mortuus' accessory, a pretty bauble he liked to have on his person.
"Orders from the boss," Kratos informed his contubernia, "You're all to get your gear on and ready and assemble outside the fort."
"Awesome," legionary Otho couldn't help saying.
"A job? What kind? Are we gonna get to break some slaves?" Water-Axe asked excitedly.
"I'll tell you about it when we're all lined up. Now go!" Kratos smiled and the contubernia scrambled to assemble. Mortuus kissed Sarah on the forehead and left her at the bleachers to be scowled at by Kratos. When he left she slunk back to the build site, unnoticed.
The contubernia marched to the radio tower without stopping for seven and a half miles. It was out in the middle of nowhere, formerly used by the United States military and untouched for centuries after the war. It didn't provide the best signal anymore, but it was better than runners when it worked. At a half mile from the tower, they stopped so Otho could scout.
The tower had been ransacked, the pitiful defenses the Legion had provided doing little to stop tribals from assaulting, killing the small guard placed there, and smashing the equipment. Before the Legion the tower had been a site of some small holy significance to the local tribes, but in an effort to quash local culture Caesar had killed what little prestige the tower had once held, leaving it open to raiding parties.
None of that was visible to Otho, though. From the outside the tower looked as it ever had- not in good condition but still standing. The squat building built next to the iron spire that received and relayed radio waves still had the sandbags piled around it at waist-height, and the door was still attached to its hinges. No one was around, but that wasn't as discouraging as it was encouraging. At least the radio tower wasn't occupied.
"I dunno sir, they could be lying in wait," Otho reported, "Although that seems pretty unlikely."
Raiders were not known for subtlety and if they were still around the radio tower, an experienced speculatore like Otho would definitely spot them. Kratos trusted Otho's judgement, and so the contubernia marched to the tower without much caution. They were undisturbed all the way up to the front door.
"Everyone in position," Kratos commanded, and the contubernia took battle stances. They were prepared for an ambush from inside and from the surrounding area. What they weren't prepared for was a completely empty building, which was what they discovered when Kratos cavalierly swung the door open with his spear at the ready. The contubernia relaxed and let out sighs of relief.
"Well fuck, they just smashed it and moved-" Kratos was cut short by a shotgun blast to the face, from a shotgun rigged to go off whenever someone broke the tripwire placed just inside the door. It was the only thing the raiders had left behind.
The contubernia heard the shot and took positions behind the sandbag walls. Decanus Kratos didn't fall over immediately, instead he stood there as though everything were okay, his back to his men. Slowly he began to pitch forward, and then his body dropped hard with his full dead weight. The contubernia surveyed the area, the shotgun blast still ringing in their ears. Blood quickly evacuated from the decanus' body and pooled around it.
Reave sidled over to the decanus, crouching low. The other legionaries looked from him, to the inside of the radio tower, to the wasteland surrounding. Even though there were no hostiles within the immediate area, the blast from the shotgun had echoed across the wasteland, and it was bound to attract attention.
"Dead?" Mortuus asked as Reave cautiously felt Kratos' wrist. Reave nodded his head silently. "Anything else?" Mortuus asked in the cryptic half-speak he and Reave used.
Reave looked into the station control room. He spotted the broken tripwire, and followed it up to the rigged shotgun. It wasn't connected to anything else. He peered into the dark room and let his eyes adjust. He scanned the floor for mines or C4 or beartraps and found nothing, although a large piece of equipment had been knocked over and could possibly be housing something. There were no pressure plates, and when he looked at the ceiling, Reave couldn't see any grenade bouquets. He let Mortuus know it looked safe inside.
Mortuus quietly motioned for the contubernia to enter the station. They moved fast, crouching and wary of threats. Reave and Mortuus dragged Kratos' body out of the door and into the room, and flipped him over. Reave had seen a lot of horrifying things in his career as a legionary, but Mortuus was less experienced and nearly vomited when he saw what was left of Kratos' face. The shotgun had spared very little of it, but his left eye was still visible, and a piece of his left jaw remained, tethered by a few thin strips of tendon. On the right side, pieces of Kratos' frontal lobe could be seen, at least the parts not torn away by the shell.
Mortuus took watch by the door while the others set about testing the equipment and assessing the damage. None of them knew much about electronics, but it didn't take much to realize that critical pieces were missing, namely the copper wire which attached the equipment to the tower proper. As soon as they realized there was nothing they could do, the contubernia beat a hasty retreat, Otho scouting ahead, and Water-Axe and Reave carrying the body of the decanus wrapped in a tarp.
When they returned to Kingman, Mortuus gave Mandelay the report in Kratos' stead, while the other men took Kratos' body to be buried with Legion honors. Mandelay was angry to hear about Kratos, not so much at the loss of a man but that a decanus under his command could be so stupid.
"You, what's your name?" he asked Mortuus after the report was finished. Mortuus told him. "Well, Mortuus Anima, did you send a lesser legionary to check the building before you went in?" Mortuus told him he had. "Then you're the new decanus."
Mortuus didn't know what to say, and so remained silent. He thought that the centurion must be joking, as he was the least experienced member of the contubernia. He thought that maybe he should protest the centurion's decision, but knew that questioning a centurion would get him whipped at the very least.
"Congratulations. Don't fuck it up. Now get out of my sight," Mandelay snapped. He wasn't eager to give the bad news about the radio tower to Caesar. Mortuus left hurriedly, unable to contain his smile.
He returned to the contubernia- now his contubernia. They asked him what Mandelay said, and he told them with a straight face that he had been promoted to decanus. The legionaries stared back at him blankly.
"Ohh, Caesar," Water-Axe groaned, "We're all gonna die!"
