diesafter

Dies Ater Draconis

Tribune Marcus Flavius Arrianus studied the sweep of the steppe in front of him. It was open ground with next to nothing in the way of brush of trees, good for steam cavalry. That is if they didn't bog down in mud. Vexilatio XIV, “The Thracian Thunder”, moved forward across the grassland, steam whistling from their bronze steeds' noses and smoke farting from their tails. Marcus watched them stream forward and then ordered his charioteer to up steam and follow. John Gallicus gave a sooty grin and opened the throttle on the matched pair that drew Marcus' chariot.

There was pride in that grin, the Model XLIX Heroic Aeolipile steam turbines in the steeds were top of the line, the best output of the Alexandria Steam Works. None of the rubbish foisted on junior decurions for Marcus Flavius! On the front your steam engine was life. That and the Flamen CIV light Greek Fire sprayer mounted on the side of the chariot.

Steam turbines and Greek Fire, they were the sharp edge of Eternal Rome's sword. For eleven hundred years, three hundred and seventy since the era of Christ, Rome had stood. Despite plague, heresy, and strife Rome was Eternal.

Under the command of Gaius Ahenobarbus the Romans had taken the offensive in Skythia. Goth tribesmen had poured onto the eastern frontier in massive numbers. They were no match for the mechanized steam legions, but the legions were few and the barbarians many. With the arrival of the XII Legion “Vapor Ferox” and a complement of Greek Fire ballistae, the situation had stabilized.

There were disturbing rumors of other tribes further east. Blood-thirsty hordes that pushed Goth tribesmen west. Goth prisoners spoke darkly of “Huns” who flew on winged dragons that hurled lightning and thunder.

Marcus wasn't impressed, the Flamen CIV threw fire. Marcus had roasted many a warrior with it. Dragons were just more barbarian hyperbole. Still, there were strange rumors that came on the steam caravans from the east. They spoke of upheaval in far Serica, and war to control the “flame aqueducts”, evidently some Serican device that brought fuel for cooking and light to one's home.

The scouts came roaring in. Hostile tribesmen had been sighted. The advanced riders leveled their lances and fed steam to their dart tubes. A group of horsemen dashed across the steppe. Roman steam darts chuffed, men and horses fell. John Gallicus gave the steeds full throttle, Marcus would observe the action closely.

The horsemen came on grimly, a dart barrage was nothing compared to the deadly impact of a rider on a steam horse. The Thracian cavalry roared in, lances tore into barbarian flesh. Marcus snorted in derision. The tribesmen were throwing balls. Then the first ball burst, spraying flame and metal shards. The Romans wheeled back in disarray while the barbarians fled.

Then Marcus heard it. There was a screaming sound in the wind. It was a sound like no other. Men were pointing to the sky. There were birds, only they weren't birds. Sunlight gleamed on bronze beaks. Marcus saw dragons.

“Jesus Christ!” Gallicus shouted. He tried to turn the chariot, but the wheels cut into the soft ground and bogged down. The dragons swooped low, belching flame from their bronze ani. The Thracians could not elevate their dart tubes, they were now mere spectators.

The dragons dipped low and dropped flaming tubes and small boxes. The tubes flew like darts and burst like thunder, the boxes split open to drop more of the exploding balls. The Thracians abandoned their steam steeds and ran for cover amid a hail of shrapnel. From behind the Greek Fire ballistae opened up, ineffectually trying to reach the dragons. The ballistae succeeded in finishing off the Thracian cavalry.

Marcus stood shocked while Gallicus cursed the steeds. “Illustrious lord! We'd best be after leaving or we're dead men!” Marcus didn't reply.

He saw another wave of dragons in the sky. Grimly Marcus fed steam to the Flamen CIV. He tilted it up and gave a quick spurt. A dragon was bearing down. Marcus saw its bronze scales and leathery pelt. Marcus had a split second to register the man atop it, gripping levers and valves. He loosed a stream of Greek Fire, arcing high up just as the dragon dipped and dropped its lethal eggs.

A shattering roar ripped apart the day. Marcus was flung back into a sea of fire.

He awoke, the sun was dying in the West, amid a nauseating haze of smoke. Flames cast a blood red pall on the sky. The chariot and steeds were smashed and burned, but Marcus had been thrown clear. Gallicus's body smoldered, a huge metal splinter in his head. Marcus made the sign of the cross over him. The remains of the dragon were nearby. Marcus stumbled to them.

The beast had broken open on impact, scattering its guts. The carcass still burned. Marcus recognized the elements of a turbine, but it was not steam powered. There were light bronze tubes, Marcus could smell an oily reek from them. The beak was an open mouth. The turbine was behind. Somehow a flammable liquid, less viscous than Greek Fire, poured in and made the flame that came from the beast's fundament. Wings of bronze and leather kept the dragon aloft. Then Marcus saw its rider. He was a small, swart man, with flat features and slanted eyes. He was dead too.

Inside the dragon a ball exploded and Marcus skittered back, nerves jangling. Wearily he made his way back to where he hoped Ahenobarbus had regrouped the legions. Marcus felt more than battle-weary, this day had been a dies ater. “By Jesus and all his saints!” Marcus shouted to the smoke-filled sky. “Barbarians with flying dragon machines!” Marcus suddenly felt fear for Eternal Rome.