Desert Rat (1)
The king of Ersia was dead.
The news of the Ersian king's passing was far more than just word of a neighboring power's monarch dying.
By tradition, every new Ersian ruler would muster a massive army immediately upon ascending the throne and invade the empire's eastern frontier.
They came under the pretext of "securing" the eastern imperial territories that their forebears had failed to reclaim.
Even looking at history alone, their invasions had been repeatedly repelled by the Eastern Army, so their chances of success were slim.
Yet they kept at it because it gave them an excuse to levy troops from the lords and solidify the new king's authority.
In other words, they waged war just to shore up their own throne.
So that death notice from across the border might as well have been a declaration of war.
I scowled.
Heading back to the capital upon hearing this was impossible. It would take at least two weeks for the news to reach the emperor, and another two for orders to come down. By then, Ersia could already be on the move without it being any surprise.
"This is a headache. Back to headquarters."
"Yes, sir."
I wheeled my horse toward Eastern Army command. The emperor had tasked me with resolving the loyalty oaths, but I couldn't ignore an imminent Ersian invasion.
Nominal or not, I was Praetorian Prefect and the emperor's proxy. With full authority to act in his stead, I needed to move fast.
Carssus, the Eastern Army commander, greeted me with visible relief as I arrived—he'd been in a meeting reviewing dispatches and had been about to send for me anyway.
I took the seat he'd offered.
The command staff seemed to have accepted the invasion as inevitable; the table was spread with maps of the eastern border.
"I heard the Ersian king is dead. Does that mean war is unavoidable?"
"Yes. Given how secretly they're keeping his death, he probably died two or three weeks ago."
"And the new king?"
"He hasn't been officially crowned yet, but the succession is done. We expect Shapur, first in line for the Ersian throne, to take it."
"Shapur. Ominous name."
I stroked my chin.
Shapur—a king who'd ruled Ersia two hundred years ago. In his time, the Ersian army had pushed all the way to Atica here, capturing over fifty thousand civilians and annihilating half the Eastern Army.
That catastrophic defeat was one of the worst in imperial history.
Never thought I'd hear that devil's name again.
I hoped the new Ersian king would be a fool unworthy of it.
"He's been known for his brilliance since childhood. Expert hunter and commander—multiple victories along the Ersian eastern border."
"Sounds dangerous. How old?"
"Forty this year."
Forty.
Prime age for a man. Seasoned in experience and presence, with ambition burning hot enough to achieve something big.
The more I heard about this new king, the warier I grew.
"How many can Ersia muster this time?"
"Based on past invasions, low end five legions, high end nearing twenty."
"That's a wide margin."
Carssus gave a wry smile at my question.
"Depends on the king's grip. How much force he can wield over the lords sets the limit."
Made sense—Ersia's armies were scraped together from reluctant lords, so variance was natural.
Two hundred thousand in the worst case.
I etched that number in my mind.
That was over three times the Eastern Army's strength. Defending against such a host wouldn't be easy, even with sturdy forts, walls, and the desert as a natural bastion. Our numerical disadvantage was dire.
We were stretched thin along a long border; they'd come as a concentrated expeditionary force.
On key battlefields, the odds could be dozens to one.
I listened silently as the Eastern commanders outlined defense plans over the maps.
This war wouldn't be easy.
We dispatched emergency couriers to the emperor and ordered all legions to stockpile rations, water, arrows, and more for wartime.
We spent the day frantic, rushing supplies to every base.
As the emperor's proxy, I approved the legions' emergency expenditures. Pulling funds from provincial remittances to the capital required top officials—governors or higher. In this province, with its unfamiliarity to the new emperor, I was the only one who could do it at will.
At the same time, I sent to Egypt requesting funds from the emperor's private estates.
Utter overreach, but stabilizing the eastern border mattered more. The Egyptian officials agreed, pledging five thousand solitus in emergency aid.
As we assembled the defense budget, whispers from border traders brought mounting "war signs."
Tents multiplying in Ersian camps beyond the frontier, fresh troops and wagons arriving daily, banners proliferating. We knew war was near and redoubled preparations.
Legion bases piled high with long-war supplies; recruits rushed in to fill gaps.
I took Praetorians to inspect bases and forts personally. The results were disappointing.
Prolonged peace had softened the Eastern legions.
Some had even pocketed training funds, skipping drills entirely.
The legions were pathetic.
I should've seen it coming from Eastern HQ itself. Mistake overlooking the 8th Legion, the one remnant of discipline.
I dashed off a letter to the emperor.
Your Majesty. The Eastern Army, dulled by long peace, lacks quality and experience. If Ersia's host exceeds expectations, our legions here risk swift overwhelm.
Best to crush them with local forces, but contingencies exist. I request detachments from central legions and part of the Northern Army as reinforcements.
As someone who'd served north and central, pulling troops from there chafed. But I couldn't ignore the eastern provinces' peril. Their devastation would cripple the imperial economy.
Practically the empire's end.
I sent the letter straight to the capital.
Less than two days later, an Ersian herald entered Atica. As imperial proxy, I received him from the governor's throne.
Thirty Praetorians lined the audience chamber for intimidation.
The herald didn't flinch, striding straight to ten meters from the throne.
"I bring words from Shapur, King of Kings, newly ascended ruler of Ersia."
"Speak."
I leaned back, hands on the armrests, playing arrogant young governor.
His eyebrow twitched.
"Our king demands return of Sangara and the five forts, unjustly held by the imperial government."
I clasped my hands lightly.
Hardly all Ersia wanted—that mouse-hole scrap. Sangara and the five forts anchored our easternmost defenses.
This barren land's value was security.
If Ersia took it, their armies could strike Atica more easily.
Like a fishbone in the throat. No fool removes a threat from the enemy's gullet before battle.
"Can't do that. Neither I nor the imperial government I represent has ever considered ceding an inch."
"Then war."
The herald spat it like venom.
"No cravens here who'll carve off land from fear. If you want it, come take it."
I dropped the act, leaping up.
"Our king's army nears two hundred thousand. You'll fight that might for that speck?"
"Else what? Let you reach Atica uncontested? Better at Sangara. Come anytime."
At my defiance, he drew a parchment from his robes and flung it at my feet.
Rikius reached for his sword.
"How dare you."
"Stand down."
I stopped Rikius, descended the throne, picked up the parchment, and unrolled it.
As expected.
Refuse, and we'll stake our fate on battle.
Shapur's missive was terse, no fluff.
I smirked, dropped it, stomped it underfoot, and kicked it back.
"Read it. That's our answer."
The herald's fists clenched audibly.
He turned and stormed out without a word.
I resumed the throne as he vanished.
"Gutsy bastard. Threatening me amid Praetorians without a blink."
"Should've taken his head."
"Can't. They behead our envoys in turn."
Rikius grinned wryly.
"Declaration received. Now we wait for them to cross. No fun in that."
I smacked my lips.
I'd hoped Ersia would dawdle, but they were moving. Central reinforcements would take two months at least after my letter arrived.
Surviving their initial push was key.
I informed Carssus of the declaration.
"With war declared, nothing more here. I'll head to the front."
"Do so."
I'd stay in Atica to fill the governor's vacancy and handle central directives. Carssus would command at forward Sangara.
Wise choice.
As proxy and Prefect, I outranked him. My presence would clutter command.
Better he lead cleanly; it looked proper. Easterners preferred their own commander's orders over an outsider's.
I trusted the veteran Carssus to hold at least a month and a half. Even pushed back to Atica, we'd link with central aid and turn the tide.
With that in mind, I threw myself into rear support.
But Ersia's frontline army wasn't all they had.
I learned that soon enough.
"Excellency, army supplies from Alepa were raided en route by bandits."
"What? How did escorts let that happen?"
I roared in fury.
"Bandits hit in force, coordinated. They knew we can't spare for the rear amid war prep."
"Ersian backing, maybe. Rikius!"
"Yes."
"Order the provincial law officer to HQ."
"Yes."
"Assemble the Praetorians at HQ. All remaining cavalry too."
"You mean to crush them?"
"Obviously. War means no rear attention. Strike while we can, or it'll itch forever."
"Understood, Excellency."
I sent Rikius off, donned my helmet—unused till now—and draped my cloak.
My first Eastern fight had sneaked up unbidden.
(To be continued)