Travis Starnes
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The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2024-12-14 14:00:06 +0000 UTCEastern Germania
The autumn wind bit through the fabric of Ky’s cloak as he entered the large command tent, which offered little additional protection against the cold of the oncoming Germanic winter, even with the stove burning in the corner.
Not that it actually bothered him. The nanites streaming through his body were able to adjust his internal and even skin temperature to some degree, insulating him from the outside weather. He couldn’t withstand long sojourns buck naked in freezing snow, but bundled up in thick furs, he would be fine.
He’d just grown soft over the five-year sojourn between active wars, living in either palaces or at least comfortable longhouses. This would be his first winter back in the field, and he would have to adjust to it.
The other men gathered in the tent looked equally as grim, although they more than likely had things on their minds other than the weather outside.
“I appreciate everyone making their way here. I know our attention has been scattered the last several months, with so many crises happening simultaneously, but as we enter this new phase of the war, I wanted to get as many of our commanders and members of the alliance together as we could to discuss what the next year has in store for us.”
“I’d prefer to hear about how we can turn the route we have been under for the last six months into an advance,” Bernia, the chieftain of the Anarti tribe and a member of the Germanic Alliance’s ruling council said.
“The retreat has already ended, hence the beginning of a new phase,” Ky said. “The last battles cost them dearly, and we have halted them cold along the current front. The same is true of the large fleet they were sailing for Britannia. We received notice that our fleet has managed to engage and sink them, which is what has given us this moment of pause, as the easterners pull back to lick their wounds.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a pause,” Bomilcar said. “They continue to push both north and south, presumably looking for a place where our trenches end and they can get in behind us.”
“Which is why we continue expanding,” Ky replied. “Between the new trench lines being dug to the north and our river boats holding the rivers, they will find there is no way into Germania except over our trench lines. Which we have already shown them is a fatal proposition, with things as they stand now.”
“But how long can things hold as they are now?” Ehtrius, the leader of the Ilergetes tribe and one of the Hispania Confederation’s leaders, asked.
“I think for a while,” Ky said. “Most of the line is not trench to trench, but trenches pushed behind the Wisla river, with them on the other side. There are only a few places where they are across. It’s also where, for now, they are concentrating and where we are concentrating. How that will change really depends on our friends in Greece. Losing the Macedonians, the Thracians, and Thessalians to the easterners has been a blow, and means that our lines will have to cut across Greece as well. The region itself does not lend well to large trench fortifications, which will make that area much more fluid and harder to control. Thankfully, it is also harder for large troop formations to move through that area.”
“That will hurt us as well, won’t it?” Lucilla asked.
“Partially. We’ve already started putting in rail lines. As of yet, we have not seen the easterners use rail transport, at least close enough that we’ve been able to see it. I’m not saying we should count on that, considering how much they seem to have copied our other advancements, but for the time being, it could be a problem.”
“There could be other problems that might keep us from holding our lines,” Bomilcar said. “We are starting to see shortages of ammunition and powder. The constant defensive actions have caused us to deplete our stores a lot faster than we expected, especially since it’s been across a front crossing the length of the whole continent. We’ve lost nearly two thousand men in the past month holding these positions. The continuous nature of trench warfare means we can’t rotate units out for rest as we should.”
“I know, and I have sent word to Devnum and the factories we are starting to set up in Gaul and Germania to see about increasing production. I’m hoping the large number of nitrate beds every member of the alliance has been requested to build should help that shortage soon.”
Ky was not sure of that, however. The numbers that Sophus had projected, even with those new beds, were grim, to say the least.
“As for manpower,” Ky continued. “That is one of the purposes of this meeting. I know not every tribal leader could be here for this, but I’m hoping you will each take our request back to your councils. We have already begun passing laws allowing some levels of conscription in Britannia, and I suggest you do the same in your regions. Our need for manpower is quickly outstripping our ability to do it on a voluntary basis.”
“Which is easy for people who have lived their lives in cities, living comfortably for so long,” Aliverko, the chieftain of the Anglii, interjected. “My warriors complain to me of endless days in mud-filled ditches, watching their brothers fall to unseen enemies. This is not how free men fight!”
Of all the chieftains from either the Germanic Alliance or the Gallic Confederacy, Ky found Aliverko the most frustrating. The man was at times one of their biggest supporters, but he was also hopelessly stuck in the past. If given the choice between facing a single opponent a hundred yards away with a rifle or a knife, the man would choose a knife every time and give the other man the rifle.
“You’ve been to the hospital, Aliverko,” Ky said. “I know you have. You’ve seen the injuries men who meet modern weapons fall to. You were here when we stopped the final push by the easterners, stacking their dead in front of our trenches higher than a man could see over. I’m sure each of these men died bravely, but they still died. Is that the end you want to see for your warriors?”
Aliverko’s expression remained stoic, but Ky could see him picturing the carnage that resulted from the easterners facing trenches with barbed wire and fused artillery shells. It had been gruesome.
“The world is changing,” Ky continued. “Soon we’ll be deploying weapons that will make even our current rifles seem primitive. Imagine your best warriors, charging across that field with axes and swords, when artillery shells begin falling. Each shell carries the power of fifty powder charges, exploding in a storm of metal fragments. There would be no glory in such a death, only waste.”
“The Consul speaks the truth,” Bomilcar added. “I’ve led men into combat my entire life and have spent more time on a battlefield than under a roof. I understand your men’s frustrations, but they need to know the tactics we use are to limit our losses while causing the greatest losses to the enemy. We’ve lost men, yes, but our casualties are nothing compared to theirs. For every Britannian or Germanic warrior who falls in those trenches, we claim ten of the enemy.”
“We must adapt or perish. The TianYou Empire has already begun to learn this lesson, their latest attacks show signs of tactical evolution. They’re developing their own trench networks, attempting to mirror our defensive strategies. So we will continue to change the way we fight, to stay a step ahead of them.”
“At least it is nearing winter. We can use the down months to retrain the men and hopefully work some of their old ways of thinking out of them, in addition to getting more men ready for the line,” Bomilcar said.
“That’s outdated thinking. The nature of trench warfare has eliminated the concept of seasonal campaigns. The fighting will continue regardless of weather, and I expect the TianYou to use winter for targeted strikes against our weaker positions.”
That came as unwelcome news, especially to the seasoned commanders, nearly all of whom had come up through the ranks during the days of phalanx and shield walls, where armies provisioned off the land as they moved, and mostly held steady or even returned home during the winter months to keep from starving.
“There’s also the situation in Greece, which you mentioned earlier, which will complicate your decision a little more. As you said, the lines there will be hard to adapt and our allies here are still making the adjustment to the modern way of fighting,” Modius said, gesturing to the representatives from Illyria, Epirus, and Corinth who had accompanied him up from Corinth. “But that isn’t our only concern. While we have also gotten a positive response from the Pannonians, who should be joining our effort, so far, Athans, Argos, and Sparta remain undecided. Should they join with the other polities who have joined the easterners, the south and heart of Greece will be lost to us.”
“While I would, of course, prefer those three, and I’m assuming their associated junior states, I’m more concerned with what our line must look like with the defecting states. If they had stayed with us, and if the Greeks’ mission to Dacia is successful, we would have the single break between the Wisla and the Dnjester to give us a line north and south across the continent, allowing us to focus our men on the break where the two rivers do not touch, instead of stretching for a month’s travel southwest through the lands of Pannonia and Illyria to the borders of Italy. Now they can bypass our holds on the rivers and bring men straight across from Anatolia, creating a bulge in our lines the size of the Balkans. It would almost be easier just to hold the line from Dacia to Illyria and be done with it.”
“And abandon those who would join you?” the representative from Corinth asked angrily.
His anger was understandable, being near the bottom of Greece near the Aegean, such a disbursement of men would mean abandoning his entire state to the easterners.
“I said it would be easier, not that it was what we planned to do. You have joined the Western Alliance, and so we will defend you as we would any other part of the Alliance. I just meant to say it makes our situation much more difficult. It also highlights where a lot of this fight will be. Considering their troop concentration and the time it will take for them to move men through the rugged terrain of the area, I still think the easterners will, for now, concentrate their pressure on the area between the Wisla and the Dnjester, but once they have gotten enough resources into Greece, I can all but guarantee that is where the fighting will shift.”
“So we prepare for that,” Lucilla said.
“Exactly so. But it’s going to take manpower and supplies. We can move a lot of supplies to Italia and ship across the Ionian into Illyria, Epirus, and Aetolia, which should shorten our supply routes considerably. We will still have to put in rail lines and to the front, but that is an easier task than bringing them down from Quadi and Antari in Southern Germania, although when time permits, we will of course extend those connections as well. We will need to begin training their people quickly, as they will have to make up a large part of the manpower there. But I’m not sure there are enough recruitable men in the region to protect the front that will grow there. The easterners will have the internal lines, being the inside of the bulge, which gives them the advantage.”
“I am working on that problem,” Lucilla says. “I am stopping at many of our allies who were not able to make this meeting on the way back to Britannia to encourage them to increase recruitment. Once back in Devnum, I will also continue to work on the Scandi and the Ptolemies, neither of whom have decided to join the fight yet.”
“Good. For those of you here, now is the time to begin bringing in more men. Yes, the conflict will not stop over the winter, but it will slow, and we have a window to operate while the easterners start to exploit their gain in Greece. That means now is the time to be training new recruits, not four months from now. Go back to your people and increase your recruitment efforts. If we don’t have enough men, all the technological advantage in the world will not be enough to keep the easterners from punching through our lines and coming into Germania and Italy from Greece, which is something none of you want to contemplate.”
Ky looked to the handful of representatives who had made the journey, including the Greek envoys, to ensure they were taking him seriously. Their expressions said they did.
“Good. Then let’s get started.”
Ky held out a hand and gently pulled Lucilla up, putting her arm inside his, leading her out of the tent while Bomilcar dealt with their guests from here. They knew what needed to be done and he hoped most of them would believe that it was critical they listened and convinced their people to follow through with it.
The Greeks certainly would. He could see the panic on them, especially the man from Corinth, who was in a terrible position if they didn't get Athens and the rest to join and at least consolidate southern Greece.
The rest... he'd have to wait and see.
He trusted Lucilla would be able to handle them. She'd shown numerous times she was better equipped to deal with things on the diplomatic front than he was. Until then, he had Lucilla for a few hours, before she had to board a train back west, and he wanted to spend as much time as he could with her.
"I want to see the front," she said as soon as they were out of the tent.
"You heard it here that the fighting never really ends. It's much too dangerous for you to go there."
"And it isn't for you? I've led men into battle Ky. I am not a precious doll that must be coddled."
"You did, but you weren't Empress then. You are now, and the empire relies on you. Conchobar and Talogren are good men, but I do not think they could hold the empire together."
"You could."
"Maybe, but without you I don't want to."
She smiled at Ky for a moment and said, "That's sweet, and it also won't work. I want to see the front."
Ky could only shake his head. She was a stubborn woman who, once she got something in mind, could not be torn from it.
"You are supposed to be leaving in five hours and the front is three hours by horseback.
"There is a supply train scheduled to leave in ten minutes and will take roughly forty minutes to reach the front."
"See," she said as the AI sent the information to both of them simultaneously. "Plenty of time."
"Thank you, Sophus, that was very helpful. Fine. Let's go."
The train arrived in fifteen minutes and took forty-five minutes to get there, but that was still good timing. While mechanical clocks had become standard across the empire and were used widely by the legions in the name of efficiency, they were not as accurate as circuit-based clocks, let alone the one available to Sophus, it was good enough for what they were doing now."
The train itself didn't go all the way to the front, of course. It stopped outside of artillery range, since its smoke plume made it an obvious target. The enemy had begun to adapt howitzer-like cannon of their own, and plunging fire had become something of a problem, but they still used predominantly solid shot. What explosive rounds they did have used cut fuses, which were unreliable at best, and did not have the same effect on the battlefield as the Britannian impact fuse.
Still, it was better not to chance a locomotive, which was still resource-intensive and time-consuming to make. To protect people coming in from the train line, they'd built out protective communication trenches leading into it, with large earthen barricades crisscrossing them, offering protection from possible shrapnel.
That had led into secondary and even tertiary trenches for staging reinforcements, fallback positions, and command positions, which were themselves heavily reinforced concrete bunkers.
Not all of this was built, of course. They'd only built the first trench a month and a half prior, but the pace of work was extraordinary.
And not just here.
This kind of work was happening across hundreds of miles. Not continually, of course, and not all as elaborate. Trenches were needed as a counter to river crossings for most of their line, but there were some spots, like this central line starting where the Wisla river turned from its southbound path, where incredibly extensive.
"You kept calling the work here massive, but I had no idea," Lucilla said as they made their way down the supply trench to the main command bunker that had only recently been completed.
"It is hard to truly understand unless you've seen it. Watch your step though, even with the boarding, the ground's treacherous after the last rain."
Inside the bunker, the air was still damp, but warmer. Maps and charts covered a central table, illuminated by a cluster of oil lamps. The rear wall featured narrow observation slits that offered a view of the trench network, along with a mountain spyglass, the most advanced they'd made so far, for observing the enemy trenches.
A small telegraph station was half set up against one side, although the lines for it, and to the balloons that would be launched a little to the rear, had not all been laid yet.
"You wanted to see the lines," Ky said, pointing out the observation slit. "There it is."
Lucilla approached the viewing area slowly, her mouth slightly open as she stared out of the bunker at the torn earth ahead of them. Thin gray lines of trenches stretched across the landscape, dotted with clusters of soldiers huddled against the earthworks. Between the opposing forces, the ground was littered with unburied bodies, their shapes barely discernible in the churned mud.
The fact that they kept trying to send men across, to break through his lines, when they had inferior artillery and didn't have the rate of fire needed to suppress his men, was a waste. Ky certainly wouldn't have made that call, but then Ky didn't know the true strength element they faced.
He knew the bulk of the soldiers were from the area of the world that might have been known as China in the original timeline, but they had seen and even captured people from the Middle East, Southern and Southeastern Asia, the steppes, and even parts of what was currently called Sardinia.
Beyond that, the Tianyou were still a mystery. They did not understand who their leaders were, how they managed to copy so much technology, or how their military was structured, aside from the points they could see, in combat, which seemed to be copied from Britannian's own structure.
An explosion in the distance sent a column of dirt skyward, followed by faint cries.
Lucilla's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the observation slit. "How many men die here each day?"
"Hundreds, sometimes thousands. The front lines are a constant grind. This is a war of attrition, Lucilla. Victory comes at a cost—one we're paying with blood. Most are on the enemy's side of the line, since we are operating purely on the defensive at the moment, but their early attempts to copy our shells has resulted in more casualties among the men still in the trenches."
"Is there no way to end this slaughter?"
"I'm working on it. There are technologies that would end this type of war but we are a long way from those. They require innovation upon innovation, and there is no rushing it into existence. But for now, this…" he gestured to the trenches, the carnage beyond, "…is the reality. By next year, we should at least have a new type of rifle that will increase the rate of fire of one man, so we can spread out more. But there are limits to what that can achieve. It's why we need to convince our allies for more reinforcements."
"You mean I need to," she said. "So we can make more bodies."
"I am not heartless, Lucilla. And we lost plenty of men when it was just swords, spears, and shields. War always takes its due. It's just easier to understand when it's personal, instead of this kind of war."
"I don't think you're heartless," she said. "but … I just am having trouble getting my mind wrapped around this."
She was quiet for a long time, watching their men occasionally step onto a firing step, fire off a round, and step back to make way for another while they reloaded. The two lines continually sniped and picked at each other.
For the most part, the rounds were ineffectual, smacking into timber or packed earth. But not every time. Men still died, stepping up at the wrong moment, catching a stray bullet, or even a ricocheted into the trench.
And none of that counted the artillery.
Ky did not press her, but waited patiently. If she wanted to see this, then he would let her soak in it. Really observe it, so she understood just what they faced, and why there were no other options than this.
Finally, she turned from the viewing slit and said, "Fine. If this is what it takes, I'll find you the men to kill."
She turned and walked out of the bunker without another word, her guards falling in around her. Ky knew her anger wouldn't hold. She knew him enough to know this wasn't what he wanted.
But still, it stung.
He'd brought this technology, these changes to their world. The rifled muskets and cannon had seemed like such advantages when fighting the Carthaginians. But now...
"Consul?" his aide's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Right. Since we're here, let's finish the tour ourselves. I want to see how far we've gotten on the secondary trench lines."
