Travis Starnes
patreon
The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2024-12-29 17:00:07 +0000 UTCDevnum
Hortensius was bone tired as he hurried toward the main munitions factory. They were already stretched trying to work out the larger screw mechanism on the new ship, which was causing more issues than they had first thought it would, when he’d received an urgent message from one of his assistants. He’d left the young man to oversee getting the final stages of the new cartridges done while he was working on the naval program.
The metal cartridges themselves were finished, along with their primed bases, and all that was left was determining the right load of powder. The Consul had guidelines, but as with anything produced, the ranges of the powder they were making varied somewhat, not just from the Consul’s initial instructions, but also on a day-to-day or week-by-week basis.
So it was up to his engineers and Sorantius’s people to figure out the correct loadout. As tasks go, it shouldn’t have been difficult, which is why Hortensius had felt comfortable leaving it to them and going to Devnum to supervise the mechanical end of that project.
Unfortunately, as great as the telegraph was, it did not have the speed of back-and-forth communication to work out these kinds of details. So he found himself hustling back to Factorium to discuss it in person, after which he had to hop back on the train and make the reverse journey for an early project conference about an alteration to the screw design.
He found Sorantius and his men and Hortensius’s own engineers all gathered together waiting for him, in the middle of what looked like an intense debate that stopped abruptly when he walked in.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Sorantius said, not even bothering to feign a smile as he glared over at Hortensius’s man.
“I was just saying…”
“Wait,” Hortensius said, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to come at this from the middle. You were here to discuss the new cartridge which, the last I knew, was finished and just waiting for load specifications. Where are we on that?”
No one gathered seemed pleased with that as an option, since they were clearly already in the middle of a heated debate about something, but Hortensius didn’t like to set himself up in a biased position.
“We’re having issues with variations between production batches, and I believe it’s mostly in the quality of the nitrate.”
“That is a problem. I thought we worked out our consistency issues last year.”
“We had. The problem was manageable until the production demands for more gunpowder increased. As we entered the new phase of the war, where our armies are in contact almost constantly, the demand for powder spiked. Since then, we’ve fallen behind almost sixty percent from what the legions are requesting.”
“Sixty percent?”
That was far worse than he’d imagined. He’d been so stretched between so many projects that he’d had to delegate out more authority to his subordinates. He’d hoped that, in the event of a major shortfall, they would have notified him.
Clearly that hope had been misplaced.
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“Because it wasn’t immediately apparent,” Sorantius said. “We were still meeting the quotas, but doing so by supplementing more and more on the powder stores created over the last several years, before the fighting recommended. Even then, we were falling behind slowly enough that the deception would have taken some time to be noticeable. However, once the new artillery shells were introduced, the volume of needed powder became an avalanche. To keep up with demand, which could not stop, we began to pull nitrate early, before it had gotten to its fullest potency. Not all at once. It snowballed. A bit at a time until, when it became enough that failures began happening in quality assurance tests, we had built up a deficit we could not come back from.”
“That is where we were when you came in,” Hortensius’s man said. “I appreciate we have an issue with production schedules, but if we continue using the substandard material, we risk catastrophic failures.”
“Which leaves us with an impossible choice,” Sorantius continued. “We can either maintain quality and accept severe shortages, or meet quantity demands with powder that might get our soldiers killed.”
He could see the dilemma. Neither option was acceptable, but he knew that Sorantius was thorough enough that, if he said those were the options available to them, then those were the options available to them.
Still, he had to try to think of alternatives.
“What about expanding the number of beds? If we double or triple the current setup…”
“We’re already pushing the limits,” Sorantius cut in. “The manpower requirements for managing the beds are staggering. Factor in the constant combat demands, the powder-filled shells, and the fuses… No. And that’s before considering the new powder formulation the Consul wants us to start working on as soon as this project is done.”
“Have you looked at the numbers on total manpower needs?”
“Even if we conscripted every able-bodied person not already in the legions or essential industries, we might meet the production targets. Even I know that is not realistic. This is an unsolvable equation, Hortensius.”
Hortensius didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he paced the length of the workroom, which he did often when stuck with a difficult problem. Often enough that the others knew to wait and let him pace out his thoughts.
“You’re right, of course. Which leaves us with the only other option available. I’ll contact the Consul today and lay out the problem for him. He may have solutions we haven’t considered.”
“The Consul can’t conjure nitrates from thin air,” one of the younger chemists muttered.
“No,” Hortensius agreed, “but he’s delivered what seemed impossible before. Until we hear from him, continue maximum production with what we have. Maintain quality where absolutely necessary, particularly for the new shells. We can’t risk catastrophic failures in the field.”
“And the regular powder supplies?”
“Keep pushing as hard as you can without breaking the workforce. Add in as many beds as you can with the manpower you can get now. Until the Consul delivers us a miracle, we will just have to do the best we can.”
***
Carthage
Medb was tired, and her head hurt. It had been two weeks since the visit from Geral’s friend with his last message, and the progress had been achingly slow. Unlike the search she had Geral doing, looking for people she didn’t know who they were or where to find them, she knew exactly where to look. She’d thought that would at least make the search a little faster.
How wrong she’d been.
She still hadn’t recruited a good agent since the loss of Geral that could do the leg work on this for her. She just didn’t have the connections here to build new ones. She’d been lucky to find him in the first place, and she hadn’t found another agent of his caliber since.
Which meant that she’d had to rely on a much shadier network of paid informants which, had their place, but were not great for the more detailed work. Because most of those agents couldn’t know who they were working for, because of how unreliable and double-crossing they could be, she’d had to deal with them through cutouts and middlemen who were at least somewhat less shady.
It meant there was limited detail she could give them in instructions, since much of it would get lost in the passing of messages, and less detail she could get back from them.
Not that it had been completely unproductive. It had taken weeks, but a pattern was starting to show itself, from both direct observation and gossip with seasoned hands working the docks. For months now, there had been intermittent ships coming in with odd behavior.
They would sail in late in the evening, empty or nearly empty, load up a shipment, and be gone before the sun rose. Carthage was a busy port, and it wasn’t unusual for ships to leave at night and come back early in the morning, but it was unusual to see the same ship do both.
For one, it made no economic sense to have a ship come in empty. Ships required men, who had to be paid and fed on the voyage, and sailing put a cost on the ship itself, which was one more trip closer to needing an overhaul or heavy maintenance. Which means any time a ship left port, it needed to bring in revenue, and a ship coming in empty would not be doing that for half its voyage.
That didn’t even count the crew. Even if the ship only plied the middle sea, they would still be spending weeks or days on the water and would want more than a few hours in port before turning around again.
Still, if it had only been one ship making the same kind of journey, she would have written it off as a shipmaster who’d either worked out some kind of deal to make the trip make sense or who had a set of habits she couldn’t explain.
But it wasn’t one ship. It was hard to tell all of the times this had happened, but those whose names her informants had gotten, including one that had come into port in this time period, were all different ships.
That went beyond something explainable.
It was a pattern, and in her line of work, a pattern meant something she needed to investigate further. Which was where her current problem came to light. She’d reached the end of what her web of paid informants could do, and she needed to get more information on these ships, or someone aboard one of them, if she could.
And that meant more loyal agents. The one thing she didn’t have.
Which is why she’d sent for Claudius almost thirty minutes prior. She was trying to not be impatient, as he had a lot of work in charge of the Praetorians in the city, but she was not a woman who liked to be kept waiting.
Thankfully, a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door, followed by the Praetorian being ushered in by the guards outside, who knew not to keep her waiting.
“Tribune, thank you for coming,” she said as he entered, gesturing at one of the chairs across from her desk. “I trust everything in the city is quiet.”
“As quiet as the city ever gets, my lady,” Claudius said, standing next to the chair instead of sitting in it. “Though I suspect you didn’t summon me to discuss the daily patrols.”
“No. I called you because I need your help. Or rather, I need to borrow some of your men for a task. One that requires more... discretion than their usual duties.”
By Claudius’s expression, it was clear he both guessed what she needed and was skeptical. She wasn’t surprised by either. Claudius had shown he was no fool and there was only one thing the empire’s spy-mistress would need him for. He was also a soldier through and through, in spite of his assortment to police duties. He’d shown ability to handle intelligence gathering tasks, but he’d been vocal about his displeasure for it in every opportunity.
“As co-regent of the city, the Praetorians of course serve at your command, but we are soldiers, not spies.”
“You do yourself a disservice. You could be very good at this, I think. Besides, sometimes a soldier must act as something else to serve the Empire. Here is my issue. For the past several months, ships have been arriving in port under suspicious circumstances. They come in empty or nearly so, late in the evening. By dawn, they’re gone again, loaded with cargo.”
“That’s unusual, but not necessarily…”
“Different ships, Claudius. Different crews, different flags, but the same pattern. No crew stays in port more than a few hours. No shore leave, no drinking, no whoring. Just in and out, like they’re afraid to be seen in daylight.”
“Smugglers?”
“Perhaps, but if so, smuggling for the rebels. Geral managed to get a message to a friend just before his death that the shipping we’d been looking into wasn’t the one connected to the rebels. Just other crime caught up in our investigations. He was looking into a lead that he thought was actually connected when he died. I’ve been using paid informants to look into it and they were able to uncover the pattern I found, but they’ve reached the limit of their usefulness. I need men I can trust to watch these ships when they come in.”
“But…”
“I know, and I need you to figure out a way to make it work. Paid informants are good for basic work, but they are not people I’d trust serious work to. They will serve whoever pays them the most, and try and find new masters to bid against us. I ask them to watch specific ships or follow specific people, one of them will go to the target and offer to sell him the information. That doesn’t work. I need people I can trust. Preferably people who are capable of independent thought and mostly unknown in the city.”
“What exactly do you want them to do?”
“I need them to follow the cargo, see where it goes, who handles it. Without being seen. That is key. I’d rather they let the cargo go than expose themselves. But I also want to know what’s going out on these ships and who’s bringing it to them. Can you make that happen?”
“I can,” he said, finally relenting. “Though they’ll need instruction on how to do this properly. Perhaps some kind of training. I know I keep saying it, but these men are not spies.”
“I understand, and we can handle that.”
“Very well. I’ll select the men myself. How soon do you need them?”
“As soon as possible. These ships don’t keep to any schedule I can determine, but based on past patterns, we should see another within the week. And as you said, I need time to train them for their new jobs.”
“You’ll have your men in two days,” Claudius promised, nodding and leaving without being dismissed.
Not that Medb minded. She didn’t need the pageantry, just competent work.
***
Eastern Germania
For the first time in a week, the constant boom of artillery had ceased. Occasional cracks of rifle fire could be heard toward the front, but that at least didn’t come with the earth shaking and concrete dust raining down on him.
It had taken them a lot longer than it should have to figure out that there was no path through the western lines, even when they tried to summit some of the southern peaks, only to find hastily dug positions firing down onto them, costing them even higher death tolls.
“So they finally stopped throwing men to the grinder,” Bomilcar said, echoing Ky’s thoughts. “It took them long enough.”
“They had to eventually. They clearly have as little care for life as the Carthaginians, but no one, not even the Carthaginians, could keep feeding men into this forever. It just took them some time. They haven’t given up, though.”
“No. I imagine the next place they plan on breaking us is in Greece, now that they seem to have learned their lesson.”
“I concur. I wish we had better sources with the easterners, but the people Medb and Ramirus have in Greece have reported heavy troop movements across the Dardanelles.”
“I saw that in the reports. At least we have good news on that front. Ramius did good work getting Athens and Sparta to join the alliance, which means most of the smaller states should start to fall in line, not wanting to be left on their own.”
“Which leaves us with our real challenge,” Ky said. “Our new front, curving along the border of Thessaly and Macedonia will greatly increase the overall size of our line. Some of it we can pull back and continue to use rivers, but the mountains will mean we need more trench lines there than what we have in place already. It will require a lot of men, plus the labor needed to get those trenches in place. I’m not sure we can do both before the easterners attack.”
“Which means Modius will have to hold them in the field until we can get the defensive works in place,” Bomilcar said, his hand going to his chin, scratching absently at his beard as he thought. “The first large batch of recruits from the western allies finishes training next week, almost two cohorts worth. I know we needed those men on the line here, but perhaps we should send them to support Modius in Greece. Help bolster whatever forces the Greeks can muster until we get proper defenses in place.”
Ky considered it. They did need the men here. Even with the tempo of eastern operations dropping to almost nothing, there was still the trickle-trickle of casualties from stray bullets, common injuries, and disease. Trenches needed a constant flow of reinforcements to continue their effectiveness, and his line had started thin enough. Those men were desperately needed.
Still, if the enemy got around their lines and came in behind them, it would be over all the same.
“I agree. He needs to be prepared for what this level of combat will mean, however. The on the ground battle with black powder rifles and explosive shells, even the primitive ones the enemy is using, firing in ranks, favors the larger forces the enemy has. He cannot meet them on their own terms.”
“I’m sure he understands, but what choice do we have, we…” Bomilcar said, and then paused as a messenger stopped in the doorway of the command bunker, saluting. “I will go send orders to send the new men to Greece and another telegram to Modius, letting him know what’s coming for him and reminding him of your admonition.”
“Good,” Ky said, waving the messenger inside to hand over the telegram he was holding. “Thank you, soldier. You’re dismissed.”
The messenger saluted again and left.
Ky unfolded the telegram, his expression darkening as he read through its contents.
“Damn,” he said to no one in particular.
He had received updates from Hortensius often, sometimes good and sometimes asking for suggestions or directions on a given product. Normally, however, he did not receive any that presented an outright catastrophe, as most of those the inventor was capable of handling himself.
He could see why this one was something different and why Hortensius had sent a request for help. Finding the solution, however, was something else entirely. He had known the powder situation would get worse, with the need for fused shells taking huge amounts of powder compared to rifle cartridges, as well as the volume they were firing on a daily basis, but he hadn’t expected the problem to advance this quickly.
He had read reports from Sortensius of the increasing number of nitrate beds, and thought they might close the gap in the needed production, even with the long lead time for their production.
“Any thoughts?” Ky subvocalized, knowing the AI would be watching and paying attention. “We need better options than nitrate beds. Preferably something where the nitrate has already been created naturally and we can just mine it.”
“The limitations on available sources of nitrates remain the same as when gunpowder was first introduced. There are no significant deposits in currently controlled regions.”
“Even now that we have all of Europe as allies? That has changed since we first started.”
“There are some available, but even collectively, none are large enough to offset our usage. By the time of the first world war, much of the nitrate use had shifted from mined nitrate to synthetic production mentions that are still well outside of what we will be able to achieve for a projected five to six years. There are a series of deposits in the region of Catalonia, a few in Italy, although these are scattered across numerous caves, meaning multiple mining processes that must be set up, each which will only produce a small amount individually. The area closer to the current front has some, although several of those are in contested regions close to the front or just on the other side, making mining difficult at best.”
“What about other areas outside of Europe?”
“There are several promising locations in Africa, although these are further inside the landmass, in areas where we have little to no footprint, even with Valdar’s planned new ports along the western coastline. The largest concentrations lie in the Americas, with the most substantial deposits in South America, although accessing those would require circumnavigating the continent.”
“Not exactly practical given our current situation,” Ky replied silently.
“No. More feasible are several alternatives along the eastern North America. During the original industrial revolution, it served as a major nitrate source. The region also offers additional resources, with heavy mining options and favorable shipping headwinds making transport times reasonable. If the admiral sets the new ports up in good positions, there is also the option of Brazil and the Caribbean, with access to natural rubber and salt marshes, both products lacking in our current environments.”
“So you’re saying, if we go to the Americas, we don’t just stay focused on one resource, we go all the way.”
“Correct.”
“That’s still a significant expansion. What would we be facing, if we did? How difficult would this be?”
“The areas of greatest interest, covering nitrates and other minerals, would primarily be the Chesapeake region extending east into the Appalachians, are currently transitioning from the Late Archaic to Early Woodland period. Social organization consists mainly of small farming villages with some pottery production, though hunting and gathering remain prevalent. No centralized governance structures exist.”
“What if we head further south, toward Brazil and the other things you discussed.”
“Central America has entered the Early Intermediate period, with embryonic city-states that will eventually develop into Maya civilization. Brazil remains largely in the Paleolithic age, with rudimentary agriculture supplementing hunter-gatherer practices.”
“So the only organized groupings we’d have to deal with would be when we pass through Central America?”
“There would need to be little to no contact with Central America. Direct access to North America and Brazil would suffice. While native populations will certainly notice our presence, they lack the sophisticated social and military organizations we encountered in Europe and they are far less developed than what European explorers will encounter in roughly a thousand years.”
“That might make it harder. We were able to use existing political structures here, forming alliances. The same will not be possible if there are no organized governments to negotiate with.”
“That is true, but Valdar has shown how we can work with individual tribes, offering support in return for their assistance, allowing those tribes to grow and create governments that we can work with, while giving us longer-term facilities like the ports Valdar has built to operate out of.”
“We can hope we will be as lucky this time.”
“Whoever is sent will have to operate carefully, in phases. Despite the Appalachians’ proximity to the coast when viewed continentally, the practical distance is considerable. No existing infrastructure and potential territorial conflicts with indigenous peoples would complicate operations. The most likely path to success would be to move slowly, establish relations, and use friendly populations to carve a path to the appropriate areas of the mountains.”
“I agree. And I know just the person to handle this.”
