Dixie Fiend
Alby47
Crusader LordCaesar Lucius - Santa Fe, Palace
Lucius waited for Barnaky to finish his thoughts on the question posed by President Harris before giving his own opinion on the matter,
“I sympathize with the Ruler in the South who fights these cultists….I’ve not had the chance to speak with Bartholomew myself, but rumours of his reputation proceeds him. However, I am concerned with over-extension of our forces. More than 20,000 sons of mars are now deployed to the east with my finest commander at their head. And if the information coming back to us from the front is true, the Warmaster is on the move. The actions of the Cult in stirring up disorder in the Keys via this ‘Suttbray’ could very well be a ploy to draw more men away that could be sent against them. Blood that is needed east will be sent south, its an old tactic, but not without merit does a stratagem become such.”
“I agree that allowing the Cult and the rebels to tear apart the Keys, or any stable nation neutral to these affairs, is not desirable,” Lucius continued, “But our focus must be kept to the east. I am willing to send a small force to help intervene in these Southern troubles and aid his Serenity in securing his position, but we should not distract ourselves. If the Keys fall, it is unfortunate, but should we burn Pittsburgh to the ground...and if we can silence The Cult forever by sticking the head of their blind prophet on a stake and raising their ‘Monolith’ to rubble….then it is a trade worth making. That is our true objective, and I wish to ensure we do not lose sight of it. That would be all I have to say on the matter.”
"Brother Martin here is fully briefed on these issues, and if necessary a teleconference can be set up with the Paladin-General and, if it pleases Caesar, Legatus Aurelius in Indianapolis can be convened."
“Of course,” Lucius nodded, “The Legate or one of his staff should be present and available to speak on behalf of the Eastern Legions.”
Indianapolis
“Aurelius! Aurelius! Aurelius!”
The triumphant shouts of the victorious Legionaries resounded across the entrance to Indianapolis as the Legatus entered the fallen gates on horseback alongside Vulpes, his Praetorians, and a marching column of Veterans. The golden bull standard of Caesar and The Legion flew atop numerous rooftops and was held aloft by proud sons of Mars, signally that the siege was over and the enemy had capitulated. The remaining raiders, such as they were, had surrendered without further contest, only small pockets of resistance now remained, but they would swiftly be taken care of.
The Legion were not kind occupiers.
Those raiders that hadn’t killed themselves to escape judgement or been spirited away by the Midwestern Inquisitors, were now at the mercy of The Legate. And so the executions had begun. Every raider old enough to swing a machete was to be killed. Children that such depraved couplings between raiders had conceived, were to be enslaved and either sent to the camps or trained to become Legionaries to replace those that had fallen capturing their city. What few women that were healthy and clean enough to bear children were taken and were to be offered as wives to the Legate’s men.
And so the Legate entered the city to the victorious shouts of his men, and the screaming of the dead, dying, and those soon to be one or the other. The streets and former ramshackle walls of the city were quickly becoming lined with crosses. Screams of pain mixed with the sounds of hammers falling on wood and nails. Such was their number, that the Legion executioners began to run out of enough sturdy wood to make more. And so the beheadings began. Those that were to be swiftly beheaded could count themselves amongst the lucky ones, for their deaths were relatively painless: but no less grisly.
Barnaky’s soldiers looked on grimly, turning a blind eye to the proceedings. They’d expected such actions to be taken by their Legion comrades, their officers had tried to prepare them for it, but perhaps not all were entirely prepared enough to face the grim reality. Propaganda films and fancy words about brotherhood and mutual defense were one thing, but watching the Legion exterminate a city, raider or no, in front of your eyes was quite another.
Lanius rode down the streets of Indianapolis at a brisk pace, leaving the marching column behind, until finally arriving at what passed for the city’s “town hall”. A rough looking pre-war structure that had been turned by the raider leaders into a drug den and caterer to every vice their deviant minds could think of. Both he and Vulpes dismounted in the square outside the building, while the Praetorians stayed mounted.
“Order the men to make camp outside the city walls,” Aurelius said as he looked around him in disgust at the signs of squalor and degeneracy he was witnessing before him, “We’ll leave a garrison force within the city for the time being until we depart just to ensure its security. Once the men are rested and in good order, we’ll continue marching eastward. I don’t wish to delay our advance for long.”
“Culling the city will prevent us having to worry about a revolt flaring up behind us,” Vulpes remarked, “The Midwesterners may not all approve of our methods, but they’ll appreciate the results. With Indianapolis firmly in our hands, we’ll have a secure supply line as we move into the Cult’s territory proper.”
“Agreed. If we…” A sudden noise from afar caused Aurelius and Vulpes to turn in surprise. Some sort of great commotion was accompanied by the shouts and cries of men in battle. Something was wrong.
Suddenly a great hulking green mass burst forth from beyond a barricaded street. A larger than average mutant accompanied by two smaller abominable wolf-like creatures strode forward. The mutant carried a heavy club of some sort: bloodied from having apparently just smashed through whatever Brotherhood or Legion troops had barred its way.
“Where in Mar’s name did that come from?” Aurelius shouted as he drew his gladius.
“It must have been hiding in one of the buildings,” Vulpes remarked quickly. He thoughts immediately turned to this being some sort of trap left by the Cultists.
The creature barreled for the group of Legionaries, and the Praetorians wasted no time in reacting, “Legatus! Get yourself to safety!” The Head Praetorian cried out as he and his men charged forward on horseback. Spears were thrown at the creature but it simply shrugged them off, and with a tremendous effort, the creature swung its club at one of the horsemen: pummeling the Praetorian and poor beast he was riding to a bloodied pulp on the ground. One of the mutant wolf creatures charged for another Praetorian, and knocked him from his horse, but a well placed spear from his comrade felled the creature. The other charged for Aurelius, seemingly intent on sinking his teeth into the Legate. Vulpes immediately came to his old friends aide, and tossed a large throwing knife at the charging beast, hitting it square in the side and causing it to emit a pained yelp before it crashed to the ground and scrambled away.
The mutant brute however, was not so easily stopped, the Praetorians had been unable to delay it, and after taking another swipe at one of the horsemen, it turned and looked directly at the Legate: seemingly ready to run him down. Aurelius made his peace with Mars in that moment.
The sounds of spinning rotary wings caused the abomination to look skywards however, and like a guardian angel descending from heaven, down came a Brotherhood vertibird. Its forward guns pointed squarely at the beast. There was a brief moment of pause, and the mutant cocked its head ever so slightly as if vaguely aware of what was about to happen, before the vertibird’s guns opened up, and tore through its thick hide. The pilot laid down a stream of gunfire while the Praetorians rode clear of the flailing mutant. Seconds later and it had fallen to the ground in a bloodied heap of torn flesh, bone, and blood.
Once the vertibird had touched down, the pilot stepped out, his was face obscured by his helmet. Vulpes greeted him warmly.
“That was fortunate timing, do you realize what you’ve done?”
“Guess it’s just luck I was in the area...I happened to see the whole thing. All I know is I just helped out some of Caesar’s men by tearing a mutie a new one. Why, who’s he?” The pilot pointed to Aurelius, “Are you a Centurion? Apologies for the informal attitude.”
Vulpes was intrigued, he recognized that voice from somewhere...but his usually sharp mind was drawing a blank.
“Aurelius of Phoenix, Legate of The Eastern Legions,” Aurelius grinned, “I owe you my life it would seem. What’s your name pilot?”
The pilot pulled off his flight helmet, suddenly understanding the gravity of the presence he was in. He snapped to attention, “Excuse me, Legate I didn’t realize it was you. Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, Midwestern Brotherhood Air Corp. If you’re the Legate, I’m glad I came when I did.”
“Mars watches out for his sons,” Aurelius nodded, “Your arrival is no coincidence.”
“I’m inclined to agree, sir.”
A crow perched on the roof of the vertibird cocked its head curiously, watching the proceedings below and focusing oddly intending on the Legion soldiers. The glint of red in its eye all but invisible.
