Roman-Aztec Relations & Stories

[snip]

August 13th, 1913. Outside of Fort Lombard^[1], New Francia

The harsh dry heat of the morning was slowly beginning to be replaced by the harsher, dryer heat of the day as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Dust kicked up at the slightest movement for it had been long since rain had visited this land. The vegetation that did provide puddles of respite from the sun where small, straggled, and far too few to be of use for non-native creatures. It was though this landscape that a patrol of the Roman Army's 44th Dragoons prodded their horses. The thirty-odd men advanced in double line along a dry riverbed, heading roughly west of the fort.

Sous-Lieutenant Jean-Christophe Scarpa called a halt from the head of the column. "We will stop here to rest and water your horses. Sergeant-Major Cipriani take five men and our guest and continue up the riverbed to the hill and set up for observation. We will join you after caring for the horses here and preforming our other duties."

Matthieu Cipriani sighed inwardly. Of course, he would have to play babysitter today. He turned his horse out of the column and called out. "Tailler, Leclerc, Aliprandi, Pierno, and Fiscella, with me." He then turned to a decidedly non-Roman looking man also on horseback. "Mister Bellamy, would you be so kind."

The native man silently nodded his head and spurred his pony, decidedly smaller than the Roman calvary horses, in the direction of the hill Scarpa had noted.

Matthieu gave the five men he had selected, two privates, a private first class, and two corporals, time to gather at the head of the column. Once they were ready, he turned to Scarpa. "Lieutenant, permission to advance?" He saluted.

"Granted Sergeant-Major." Scarpa returned the salute.

Matthieu gently pulled the reigns and lightly dug his heels into the flanks of his horse as he tilted his head in the direction of the hill. The horse responded and started after Bellamy and his pony. The five men followed, each saluting Scarpa as they passed.

Over half an hour later, the party reached the hill. Bellamy was already there, dismounted from his pony and propped against the scraggly tree on the hilltop. He nodded to the group of Romans, stood up, and wandered down the west side of the hill.

"Wonder what the bastard is up to." Fiscella commented.

"The Bastard has good hearing." Bellamy replied from almost halfway down the hill. "And understands more Modern Latin than you think he do."

Fiscella failed to think of a retort before the rest of the group began a good chuckle at his expense. The horses were demounted and Aliprandi began ensuring each had water.

"Ok gents, lets get eyes set up around here." Matthieu kindly ordered. "Not sure how long the boss will take getting here, but I want to know how many critters might try and jump him."

Mention of the event days prior with the jackrabbit and Scarpa brought another group chuckle. The men retrieved equipment from their saddles and fanned out over the hilltop, Matthieu taking the center looking west. He undid a storage pouch on his belt and pulled out a fine pair of Wilnian-made Zeiss binoculars. Despite what strides the Roman optical industry had made, there was still no matching the quality of Zeiss lenses. At least that is what his father had told him when Matthieu received the glasses as a gift before departing to Novus Francia. He scanned the horizon, and finding nothing of note, returned the binoculars to the pouch and pulled some cured meat from another. Aliprandi came by with some water, the horses having had their fill. After a drink, Matthieu walked to the east side of the hill. He saw no sign of Scarpa and the rest of the patrol approaching and pulling the binoculars to verify was not necessary. He rounded to each of the men and none reported anything before he returned to looking west.

Matthieu did not notice Bellamy's return until the native was almost two thirds of the way up the hill. Matthieu called out. "What's the matter?"

Bellamy cleared the hilltop and headed directly for his pony. "Saw ponies. Going to check out." He replied as he prepared to mount the steed.

Matthieu pulled the binoculars and was able to locate a dust cloud where he could pick out the pony's and the general shape of riders. Something seemed off, but they were far enough away that he couldn't tell what it was." He started to motion for the rest of the group to mount up, but Bellamy shook his head.

"Let me, if not friendly, they will not reply well to this." He gestured at the Roman's rifles and the Schneider 1907 Infantry Machine Gun carried by Leclerc. "I can at least get them to talk."
Matthieu had to admit that Bellamy was likely not wrong. "Ok, but if I think you are in over your head at any point, we are coming to get you."

Bellamy nodded his acknowledgment as he departed down the hill on the pony's little legs.
"Alright boys, lets get ready to move." Matthieu said to the party. The men responded quickly and began prepping the horses and checking weapons. Matthieu returned the binoculars to his eyes and examined the far-off dust cloud again. What was different about these riders?

[1] Effectively Lubbock, Texas.

[TacCovert4]

Captain Atylacoya was sweltering in her shemagh and uniform.  What back home would be a nigh required face covering here was an absolute necessity as the brutal heat and dust threatened to choke anyone who was not acclimatized.  Her sturdy pony was far more suited to the weather than she, but the chance for adventure and to answer her Queen's call had been too much.  That and the small phalanx of battle-tested veterans from Queen Fatima's Light Cavalry that had taken the place of the Eagle Warriors protecting her. 

Riding on patrol in the far north of Hidalgo province was not the glorious ceremonial guard duty, however.  Her station within a well born family had guaranteed her an officership, but only valor in battle could gain her the coveted full admission into the Snake Warriors, or a place as Captain of the Queen's Guard.  This patrol has been a week, of moving from water hole to water hole, searching for signs of Comanches as the Sultanate tightens its grip on the territory in anticipation of further expansion.  Already blockhouses were becoming way stations for stagecoaches, and would become station houses for railroads soon enough. 

A trooper points towards a low rise in the distance.  Continuing at the slow ambling pace which allows the small ponies to cover terrific distances without tiring or needing excessive water, Captain Atylacoya pulls out her binoculars.  Seeing a man riding on a painted pony much like her own, she smiles.  "A scout.  Probably Comanche.  Keep a look out for a war party.  Forward!"  With that, the patrol in column quickens their pace even as sergeants break from the column to form outriders to keep the scout from escaping.  Rifles are unslung from backs to rest across saddle trees as 3rd Patrol, 1st Squadron, 2nd Brigade of Queen Fatima's Light Cavalry get their first chance to prove that they're more than well born women playing at soldier.

[snip]

Matthieu watched as the dust cloud grew larger as the pony riders began to spread out. Bellamy's pony was roughly in the center. He was so intent on watching what was unfolding that the first notice he had of the arrival of the rest of the patrol was Scarpa's voice behind him.

"What do you see?" Scarpa's tone was inquisitive, but serious.

"Looks like we have native company." Matthieu replied. "I can make out about ten distinct riders, but there has to be more with that dust. Our fiend went to see if he could talk to them, but they don't seem to favor that idea. Come on Bellamy, turn around."

Scarpa had produced his own binoculars. "I agree with your strength assessment. We might be outnumbered." Scarpa turned and began barking orders. "Men, set up defensive positions here. Ensure the Schneider's are evenly spaced!"

The hilltop exploded into activity as the dragoons began to dismount and spread out. The horses were corralled to the eastern side of the hill as makesift earthworks were carved on the hilltop.

Scarpa spoke directly to Matthieu again. "Sergeant-Major Cipriani, would you be so kind as to retrieve Mr Bellamy."

Matthieu needed no encouragement. "With pleasure sir." He motioned to Tailler, Leclerc, Aliprandi, Pierno, and Fiscella. "Mount up boys!"

Minuets later, Matthieu and the other men tore off the hilltop, horses moving quickly, but not at max speed to make up the ground between the hill and where Bellamy was. Having lost the advantage of height, Matthieu could not see the approaching riders anymore, but the dust cloud was still visible. The Romans hoped they would arrive in time. Scarpa and the rest of the patrol continued to dig in as the hill grew further away.

After about twenty minutes of hard riding, Bellamy was finally within earshot. Matthieu began calling out to him, but Bellamy didn't seem to hear him. Matthieu as about to call again when Pierno called out "Riders to our left!"

Matthieu's head snapped left and sure enough three pony-mounted riders where visible and closing fast. At least four more materialized out of the dust cloud as Matthieu pointed his IA-91 rifle into the air. Yelling at the top of his lungs "Turn around Mister Bellamy!" Matthieu then discharged a single shot from the rifle. To his relieve, Bellamy's head snapped around at the shot. The motion carried his gaze across the now ten pony riders spread out at various distanced to his left and he quickly turned his own pony around and hurried it across the gap between him and the Roman dragoons.

"Engage at will!" Matthieu barked out as he aimed his own rifle at the closest rider and squeezed the trigger. The sharp bark of the IA-91 was quickly joined by four others, followed shortly after by Leclerc's Schneider as he loosed a short burst. The rounds had no effect and the ten riders, who were much smaller than Matthieu thought they should be continue the fanatical, disorderly advance. Three of the hostile riders were closing the gap much faster and tighter than the other seven, who were further back but no less enthusiastic. The Roman rifles barked again, and the riders returned fire. Matthieu felt a burning tear on his left shoulder, Fiscella swore loudly in pain.

Bellamy had finally linked up with the Romans and positioned them between him and the hostile riders. The first group of three were closing on one hundred and fifty yards when a Roman volley connected hard. The lead pony took a round and toppled to the ground screaming. Two rounds hit its rider during the fall. The anguished cry of rider and beast put a slight hesitation in the other's advance for a moment. They surged at the Roman group with renewed furry, aiming for their downed comrade, just as Leclerc finished reloading the Schneider. The weapon barked twice, then Leclerc angry cried "Jam!"

The quick, clearly automatic sound of the Schneider caused the other two riders to break off the dive for the fallen one. They made it almost out of effective range as the jam cleared and Leclerc loosed the rest of the twenty round clip down range to no noticeable effect along with another rifle volley from Matthieu and the others. The second group of seven spaced riders halted their advance as the Schneider's rapid fire had clearly spooked them. The remaining two from the advanced group joined up with the seven, and after what could have been some internal deliberation, turned around and galloped off in the direction from which they had come.

The wounded rider continued to cry out in pain, and as the remaining nine had clearly disengaged, Matthieu acted. "Tailler, Pierno, with me. Let us help our guest." The pony's anguished noises nearly drowned out every other sound. The Romans arrived at the location of the fallen rider split into two groups, Bellamy in the middle. The front group of Mattheiu, Tailler, and Pierno dismounted, Fiscella holding the horses while Leclerc and Aliprandi continued to keep an eye on the retreating riders. Tailler approached the pony, which was trying to move itself away from the Romans. The left side of its face and shoulder mangled by at least one rifle shot. Tailler gently comforted the poor creature as he cocked his Webley revolver before putting two shots into the skull. The pony thankfully fell quiet, only the rider was left. Mattheiu approached the rider with empty hands, Bellamy close behind. Pierno still had his rifle and stood about two steps back.

Mattheiu's impression that the riders were small held true up close. The rider had been hit twice, and large red stains on the thigh and chest indicated where the Roman rounds has connected. This examination lead to a startling discovery. "This is a woman." The statement of fact was still shocking, Pierno's disbelieving reply was quite crude, and the pained motions and murmuring of the wounded female warrior took on a different light.

Matthieu began applying some crude dressings to the wounds, the patrol's medic was back on the hilltop so Matthieu's handwork would have to do. The murmurings and pained noises continued. Matthieu struggled to recognize any of the local native dialect.

Bellamy leaned in and listen for a moment. "Not from around here. This woman is Aztec."

Now it was Matthieu's turn for a crude remark. "Your telling me she is a fucking Aztec?"

"That's what she is speaking at least." Bellamy said. "Not Comanche uniform ether."

The details of the blood-stained uniform were indeed far different from any of the Comanche paramilitary that Matthieu had ever seen. The uniform was clearly well suited to the environment but was also meant to be more formal than the ad-hoc articles employed by the Comanche. Matthieu replied. "Then we may have just shot at an Aztec Army patrol, and I bet there are more of them out there than there are of us here. We need to get back to the hill."

"What about the girl?" Pierno asked.

"Leaving her to die is not an option." Matthieu replied as Bellamy helped him stand the Aztec woman up and began moving to Bellamy's pony. "Im sure that Deniaud can at least save her life, if not her leg. That might buy us some favor when the rest of her unit comes."

Matthieu and the rest of the Roman group mounted up, Bellamy taking the wounded Aztec onto his pony. The group of seven, plus the wounded Aztec woman, moved quickly in the direction of the hilltop fortified by Scarpa and the rest of the patrol.

[TacCovert4]

Captain Atlacoya is both shocked and furious.  "What Happened, where is Sergeant Metzli?"  she demands of the knot of troopers who have recoiled in from the flank. Most of the Patrol is on line, especially after hearing the distinct chatter of a machine gun burst. 

"We almost had the scout, and then they started shooting, so we shot back.  And Sergeant Metzli fell.  I tried to get back to her, but they were shooting at us with that machine gun, and they took her."

Captain Atlacoya's eyes narrow.  "Took her?"  The trooper recoils from her gaze and replies  "Yes ma'am, big men in uniforms I've never seen."  The Captain grabs her binoculars from her saddle.  "Big uniformed men, Romans then, no Comanches would look like that, or have machine guns that we've ever seen.  Unless it's Romans equipping Comanches."  She peers through her binos at the low hill.  "Lieutenant Ohtli, take half the Patrol out on the flank and dismount.  I'll lead the other half.  We're going to get Sergeant Metzli back from those foreign devils, no telling what dishonor they might do to her, or if they're in league with the Comanche".

Now reduced to forty-nine, the Patrol splits, dust pounding the air as half ride to flank the hill while the other half stake their ponies and begin working their way up the low rise, butternut cloth difficult to see amongst the dust and sagebrush as they creep forward on line from rock to bush to rock, just as they've been trained.

"Captain, I can see them" a trooper says quietly.  "Three men on the hill.  Looks like they're digging".  "Well, can you hit them?" Captain Atlacoya replies.  "I think I can" is the halting response.  "Then do it."

From behind a low stand of sagebrush 500m away, a 1910 Navy Rifle barks, sending Romans ducking for cover as rounds crack past their heads.  From another spot, another rifle cracks, sending flat-shooting 6mm death speeding by another Roman head.  More sand and butternut clad figures creep forward as they were trained to do, working ever closer.  Meanwhile, the dust cloud which had started to orbit the hill has ominously dissipated.

[TacCovert4]

Captain Atlacoya and her troopers continue to creep forward, ducking from bush to rock to fold in the ground as they advance according to their training.  Here and there a rifle barks from atop the hill, and in reply a rifle or three from her troopers bark in return, both sides keeping each other's heads down, but the terrain and the slithering pace making it nigh impossible to hit anyone at this range, even in broad daylight. 

Finally nearing 200 meters from where the Roman soldier's heads had been spotted, Captain Atlacoya dashes for a larger rock in front of her.  A chattering burst rings out as she dives for the piece of cover.  "Dammit, ow" she says as she curls up behind the rock.  Checking herself, she finds a bleeding cut from a rock chip bouncing off her shemagh.  "Those gunners are getting close" she mutters, unsnapping her holster-stock from her belt and locking her 7.63mm pistol into it.  Carefully edging out, she spots the gunner, raising his head slightly above the telltale bulk of a larger weapon.  For a second, it's almost as if they peer into each other's eyes, before both rip off a rapid burst of fire as they duck back down.  Atlacoya's chosen rock takes the punishment, chips and clods raining down around her as she shelters behind its mass.  The schneider gunner heard three softer 'cracks' in rapid succession, too fast for any manual action, just as his own fire made the small figure duck back into the cover of the rock......

[snip]

"Can someone tell them that if they want their soldier to live, they need to stop trying to kill us!" Deniaud threw the comment into the general noise of gunfire while aggressively applying a bandage to the leg of the wounded Aztec rider, who was writhing and screaming in pain. "I said hold her down damnit!"

Tailler was trying his best to do so but was clearly hesitant about being to forceful. "I'm trying sir!"

Deniaud's reply was tart and sharp. "Modesty does not mean anything here Private. Hold this soldier down like you mean it!" To prove his point, he grabbed Tailler's hand and forcefully applied it to the woman's left chest, opposite the other gunshot wound, and practically pulled the huge dragoon's body on top of the Aztec. The woman screamed. "Keep her down so I can stop her from bleeding to death!" The medic's shrinking window to preform this action shown in the slowly expanding pool of blood beneath them.

Matthieu heard this whole exchange and crawled on his belly over to where Scarpa and Bellamy huddled behind one of the larger rocks on the hilltop.

"Sir, Deniaud's getting a little frazzled." Matthieu quickly said between a volley of rifle shots from the dragoons and the thunk-wiz reply of the Aztec bullets. "What are your orders?"

Scarpa had heard the exchange between Deniaud and Tailler and agreed with the current state of his medic. "The soldier needs help, and maybe her own people are able to provide that. I'm not sure Deniaud has ever had someone dying in front of him like this." Scarpa mulled his thoughts briefly. "Mister Bellamy, how much Aztec do you speak?"

"Enough to get by." Bellamy replied. "I can communicate that there is one of their wounded here."
"Sergeant-Major Cipriani," Scarpa's formality added gravity to his words. "Do you agree that in the best interest of human life that we should attempt to procure more medical attention for our wounded guest?"

"I agree Sous-Lieutenant," Matthieu replied, wishing he had not needed to shoot his rifle to attract Bellamy's attention. "There is outsized potential this is a misunderstanding and not a malicious act."
"Very well." Scarpa's tone was flat and his face had slightly, but noticeably, drained of color. "I hope you will keep that answer should I find myself in trouble after this is over." He then swallowed before shouting at the top of his voice. "Cease fire! Cease fire!"

The disciplined Roman soldiers quickly stopped shooting and began to reload their weapons in an orderly fashion. Aztec rounds continued to smack into rocks and dirt, but the frequency slowly began to taper off. The anguished screams of the Aztec warrior Deniaud was desperately trying to save overcame the silence of the guns. A minuet passed, and no more Aztec bullets had impacted the hilltop. All that was left was the screaming.

Scarpa looked at Matthieu and Bellamy. "Gentlemen, it is time we parlay with our opponents. If you would please leave your rifles here, hostler and secure your pistols and sabers, and come with me." He then stood up, put his hands in the air, and began shouting. "I am unarmed, I wish to speak with your commanding officer. If you have any medical staff, please send them to the top of the hill, we have a wounded soldier of yours who requires assistance. My men will allow them to pass." Scarpa then began to walk toward the west side of the hill, repeating what he had just said.

Bellamy followed, and repeated in Aztec when Scarpa was done. The two men altered the sentences and continued walking west. Matthieu followed, hands also raised at shoulder height. Please let these Aztecs be reasonable.

[TacCovert4]

Captain Atlacoya sees the Romans stand up, and vaguely understands the words ceae fire.  Hearing one of them speak her language,  and say they want to speak to her, she looks for her nearest trooper.   Seeing none as they are all covering, but blessed be Allah not shooting these brave,  stupid, or scared Romans,  she simply rises to her feet also yelling  "cease fire, hold your positions ".

She rises, her stocked pistol at the ready in her shoulder,  and looks around.   Her bloodstained shemagh the only oddity about her tan and butternut flowing clothing on a lithe and otherwise beautiful frame.  After a moment of standing and not being shot, she unclips the stock/holster from her pistol and stows both on her belt. 

Alone, Captain Atlacoya stalks forward, hearing the cries of her sergeant at the top of the hill.  Speaking in clipped Roman,  she snaps off a phrase more likely to be found on the wharf than in the halls of diplomacy.   "What the hell do you think you're doing shooting my sergeant?  And why are you trespassing into the sovereign Aztec province of Hidalgo?"  Ccx captain Atlacoya asks, trying for demanding but coming off as quizzical,  with her hands resting on her scimitar and a smaller handled pistol in her belt, her big stocked pistol hanging beside the scimitar.

[snip]

Matthieu did not understand a word of Aztec, but the tone of someone who was quite unhappy with the situation was universal. Matthieu realized that this Aztec was also a woman, her uniform doing a poor job of masking the female form. Translation of the Aztec officer's inquisition proved unnecessary as the halting Modern Latin accusation was thrown at the group of himself, Bellamy, and Scarpa.  Mathieu felt his hand straying to his saber as Scarpa replied.

"You speak Latin?" Scarpa's voice sounded inquisitive, but calm. "If it's more convenient we do have a translator." Bellamy did translate this as well.

As the Aztec commander and Scarpa began to parley, Mathieu observed the Aztec soldiers that were slowly beginning to break cover in a haphazard manner.  Wearing identical uniforms to the wounded woman, whose pained screams had considerably decreased, and the commander it was impossible not to notice that there was not a man among their number.  Most of the Aztec troopers were quite young, closer to the age of Mathieu's sisters than to him. They carried themselves with an aura of invincibility, in some ways daring the Roman dragoons on the hilltop to take another shot. Matthieu noted a mix of traditional rifles and the strange stalked pistol that the Aztec commander had. Overall, the quick impression was this group would not have been out of place as first timers at the Pinerolo Calvary School; dripping with unrefined potential and ripe to be broken into proper mounted soldiers. Scarpa made a comment that pulled Mathieu away from his observations.

"You have no medics?" Scarpa did his best to mask the shock in the reply and succeeded on account of the Aztec commander's limited understanding of Latin.

"We do not." Atlacoya replied. "Something I have tried to remedy without success. Is Sergeant Metzli in good hands?"

"The best I can provide." Scarpa replied. "Which is unfortunately not what I would like to provide. She will need a proper surgeon."

"I would like to see her, now." Atlacoya commanded rather than asked, the thin veneer of bravado applied over the top of a wavering concern.

"Of course." Scarpa replied. "Please accompany us to where our medic is tending to her."

Atlacoya barked something in Aztec and another woman, who could not have been an hour over sixteen, joined her. "This is Lance Corporal Tolzi. She will be joining us."

"Of course." Scarpa replied again. "Please come with us Capitan Atlacoya, Lance Corporal." Scarpa then began leading the two women back in the direction of the hill, Bellamy at his side.

Matthieu took up the rear of the group, taking one last long scan over the rest of the Aztec group while walking backwards for several paces before turning around. He was still struck by just how short the Aztec women were. Scarpa was no giant but cleared each of the woman by at least a head, let alone how Matthieu dwarfed the taller of the two. The walk back to the hill was silent. Once they reached the first of the dug-in dragoons, Matthieu noticed a shift in Capitan Atlacoya, the commanding presence overridden by a more indecisive wavering. The party finally arrived where Deniaud was caring for the wounded Aztec.

Deniaud was sitting back on his haunches, hands, skin, and uniform splattered with blood. Tailler also had a fair amount of blood on him. The Aztec woman lay in the middle of a circle of saturated dirt, bandages on her right chest and leg the familiar crimson stained white of the attempt to fix a piercing wound. Her uniform had been cut back to address her injuries, exposing some intimate areas of flesh, but it was clear that Deniaud had done as best he could for the woman's modesty. To the relief of all, her chest gently rose and fell with breath. Had the gunshot wounds and blooded dragoons been absent, it would have been a peaceful nap in the midday sun.

"Lieutenant." Deniaud noticed the approach and moved to stand.

"As you were." Scarpa quickly replied before Deniaud could move any further. "How is our guest?"

The start of Deniaud's reply was cut off by Capitan Atlacoya, who broke past Scarpa and knelt next to her wounded soldier. She said something in Aztec and the woman stirred gently and tried to sit up. Atlacoya gently pushed her back down and turned to Deniaud. "How bad?"

The exhausted Deniaud was a little taken aback by Atlacoya's addressing him in Latin. Getting over the shock quickly, he answered. "She lost a lot of blood. There is nothing more I can do for her here, but I think there is a good chance she lives. I send a rider back to Fort Lombard to have a proper surgeon ready when we return."

Atlacoya turned to Scarpa. "How far is Fort Lombard?"

Scarpa did not hesitate. "Approximately thirty-two kilometres east of here. There is a decent medical facility."

Atlacoya appeared to do some hard thinking, and a look of realization crossed her face. She didn't vocalize whatever it was, but instead replied. "That is far closer than our nearest facility."

"Then its settled." Scarpa continued. "We will arrange for..."

Atlacoya filled in the gap "Sergeant Metzli."

"Sergeant Metzli" Scarpa parroted "to be move the Fort Lombard for care."

"You're bleeding." Deniaud interjected, the comment directed at Atlacoya. He thrust a clean bandage in her direction.
Atlacoya accepted the bandage and removed her face covering to dab at the graze on her cheek with the bandage.

"Are there any other wounded in your command?" Scarpa asked.

"To my knowledge no." Atlacoya replied. "I should return and inform my officers of our arrangement. Lance Corporal Tolzi can stay with Sergeant Metzli?"

"I have no issue accommodating your request." Scarpa replied. "Please allow me to escort you to the edge of our lines."
Atlacoya and Scarpa turned and began walking away, Bellamy close in tow. Tolzi moved beside Metzli and accepted a cloth from Deniaud. She began to dab perspiration off Metzli, softly speaking to her.

Deniaud looked up at Mathieu, eyes not quite focusing correctly. "I did all I could, I did all I could..." The thought trailed off and Deniaud stood. Still muttering to himself, he retrieved a canteen and took a long drink before gently giving Metzli a drink with the help of Tolzi.



The sun was beginning to flirt with the horizon as the mixed party of Roman dragoons and Aztecs arrived outside Fort Lombard. Quickly a Roman surgeon and his attending nurses rushed to retrieved Metzli from the group. On receiving the stretcher-bound Aztec, the Roman's hurried back to the fort's hospital, Tolzi never more than half a step behind.

[TacCovert4]

After walking away for a few dozen meters, Captain Atlacoya motions Lieutenant Ohtli to her.  She says to the slightly younger woman "It seems we took a wrong turn in our patrol.  If the Romans are to be believed, we are nearly sixty kilometers inside Roman territory."  The younger woman scoffs "How did we get so far without running into a single patrol?".  "I think this is the patrol we would have run into, but they're moving slowly, much more slowly than our usual march."

Ohtli says "What of Sergeant Metzli?".  "She's wounded, badly, but not mortally.  The Romans have offered to take her to Fort Lombard to the surgeon.  I don't think she would survive a hundred kilometer ride over rough terrain to our nearest doctor, and the Romans have a surgeon available, allegedly."  Ohtli's look of concern is replaced with puzzlement "What of escort, surely we cannot let her honor be in the hands of Romans?".  Atlacoya replies "Tolzi will be with her.  And I am going with them as well.  This is one of the first times Aztecs and Romans who are not diplomats have been in contact.  I don't want any further misunderstandings to cause a crisis, and such delicate situations should not be in the hands of a Lance Corporal".  Ohtli reluctantly agrees and nods.  "Take the Patrol back to camp and make your report.  The fault apparently is ours, though do note that the Romans shot first and without warning, and that honor was upheld by the Patrol.  I will bring Metzli and Tolzi back when she is able to ride, and I will send word when practicable.  After all, this is a good opportunity to see how the Romans operate on the soldier's level, and understand them better for either peace or war."

Mounting her horse, Captain Atlacoya quickly catches up with the Roman column.....

After riding mostly in silence and concern for hours, they reach Fort Lombard.  Captain Atlacoya's eyes scan though her head barely moves as she takes in the ramparts and positions of the fort and the nascent town springing up.  As Tolzi follows the surgeon and nurses into the hospital, the captain turns to her Roman counterparts, hooking Tolzi's slung rifle over her saddle tree to secure it.  "Where might I make arrangements for my troopers and I for boarding and stabling?  And I presume a foreign officer should report her requests to the Commanding Officer, if that is not you Sous Lieutenant?" she says in somewhat rough Latin, "After all, it will likely be several days before Sergeant Metzli is strong enough to ride back to Hidalgo province."

[TacCovert4]

Fort Lombard

After four hours, Surgeon Captain Pasteur was finally done.  Drenched in sweat from both exertions and the never ending heat of this country, he had managed to extract one bullet and suture his way through the ravaged flesh of another bullet wound.  "Long range patrols, and with no medics, these people are crazy." he says to his nurse once they're out of the operating suite and away from the hawklike eyes of the wounded woman's comrade.  "Aye, sir, and whole companies of women, girls really, hunting vicious primitives", she replies.  "Yes, girls.  Our patient is no older than twenty five if she's a day, and her escort, why she could be a schoolmate with my own daughter, and yet here she is, a thousand kilometers from home on horseback with a rifle and saber", Surgeon Captain Pasteur says, shaking his head.  "Do you want to check on the other men?" the nurse asks.  "No, you can do it, Deniaud said that they're just grazes, make sure they're clean and bandaged and tell them not to ride for a few days so they don't open up".


------------------------------


"Actually, Captain, for the moment I am the senior officer in the garrison." Scarpa says, a somewhat bemused look on his face. "But the regional commander will be back before long, you can report to him then.  Until then, Sergeant Major Cipriani will see you to your quarters, I must get to writing a report of this action for my superiors".  The Sous-Lieutenant turns and walks to the garrison commander's office, leaving Atlacoya and Matthieu to settle the Aztecs in until the Sergeant is fit to leave. 

-----------------------------

The next morning

Sergeant-Major Cipriani rises early.  Still nursing the graze to his shoulder, and with doctor's orders to not drill for a few days, he takes his cup of coffee and begins making his rounds of the fort before Fort Lombard is fully awake.  Just outside the gate, on the field where the cavalry parade and drill, he hears fast hoofbeats.  Walking out, he leans up against a post and sips his coffee as he watches the spectacle before him. 

On the drill field, Captain Atlacoya whips her pony around posts, the lithe woman clinging to her pony with her knees as she maneuvers him sideways through the pells that are typically used for saber training.  But rather than taking on a single pell, she dodges between a whole troop's worth of them, her scimitar flashing left and right as she scores quick cuts on them.  Circling wide, she then comes at the saber targets at the full gallop, taking one with a textbook moulinet before rearing her horse, pivoting him on his hindquarters,and slashing a second as she accelerates away. 

As she rides back towards the fort after another twenty minutes of exercise with the blade and horse, Matthieu sees that she's drenched with sweat, and that her shemagh, which had dutifully covered her almost the whole of yesterday, except when her cheek was covered by a bandage, is hanging about her neck as a scarf.  He knew she had to be quite young, but with a good look he could tell that she was definitely a grown woman, if a young one, and quite striking, her midnight hair plaited into a braid down to her shoulders, and just the one scab to blemish her olive skin. 

Atlacoya sees the Sergeant Major and immediately begins fumbling with her shemagh.  "No one else is outside the fort, except the watch and they can't make out a face well from here" Matthieu says, walking up.  The captain stops trying her hasty efforts "In that case, you've already seen me without an escort.  Don't tell my family or it would be a scandal, she laughs".  Matthieu laughs as well.  "Where did you learn to ride like that, I've not seen the skill at arms course since I was in Aquitaine and the Academy's demonstration team was on parade.  No one really does it for exercise, and it's not very practical on the modern field."

Atlacoya smiles.  "In the Sultanate, the scimitar is considered a woman's weapon, curved and made for use from horseback.  Women compete in horseback riding.  The younger girls race around barrels placed in an arena, and women do the same, only with targets that must be struck with the scimitar included.  I've been riding since I was five."

"So you've been riding about as long as I have" Matthieu smiles back.  "I must confess, you do stick to your horse better than"S I do.  Even if it's a much smaller horse".   "Smaller horse for lighter riders, and he eats less than your big cavalry mounts", Atlacoya says, rising to the challenge.  "You could always try to best me if you think you can". 

Matthieu chuckles.  "Maybe with the rifle.  That is where my talents lie.  Though your own rifle is very interesting.  A stocked pistol if I recall, and automatic loading?  But I forget myself, you must be famished."  "That I am" the Captain says, wrapping herself in her shemagh as her horse follows her and Cipriani through the gate and towards the stables.  "What does a girl have to do to get a bite to eat around here", she says.  "Well, put your horse away and you can join me.  We don't have an officer's mess normally with only a couple of officers in the fort.  But even my mere rank has the privilege of a table in my office where we can eat away from the clamor of soldiers grousing over bacon and eggs."  Atlacoya looks at him funnily when he says bacon, and firmly replies, "Just Eggs for me, and some of that coffee, it smells delicious". 

[TacCovert4]

September 9th, Outside Fort Lombard, New Francia

Sergeant Metzli stalks to the horse purchased for her by the Captain.  Well, as much as one can stalk with a crutch and her other arm in a sling.  "Doc, I'm a Sergeant in Queen Fatima's Light Cavalry, I will not take the stage like a peasant." she growls.  Following beside her, Surgeon Major Pasteur replies "You're barely on your feet, and lucky that you're not crippled, Sergeant.  You need more time before you're fit to ride."  Sergeant Metzli turns and gives him a defiant glare, "Maybe Roman women need to take their time.  Sergeants in the Aztec Sultanate will ride when they say they will ride."

"You best let it go, Doc" Captain Atlacoya says, "Sergeant Metzli is one to make someone eat their words with her fists if she gets of a mind"  Dr. Pasteur throws up his hands and walks away, exasperated. 

"Sergeant, are you sure you're fit to ride?"  Captain Atlacoya asks.  "Ma'am, I've been cooped up here long enough, you don't want to know the answer to that question"

Atlacoya chuckles.  "Good to have you back Sergeant, we've got a few days ride ahead of us back to Hidalgo" 

With a bit of grunting, the two women and Mathieu get the Sergeant on her horse.  Atlacoya gives the sergeant her other pistol, keeping the rifle and saying "With your arm you'd best not try to shoot a rifle, or you'll be back in the good doctor's graces"....Metzli grudgingly accepts the other pistol and tucks it in her belt. 

Atlacoya swings into the saddle, to lead her 3 person troop out of the Fort and back to Aztec territory.  She looks over to see Sergeant Major Cipriani and a half dozen Roman troopers also in the saddle.  "Ma'am, we'll escort you as far as we can through Comanche territory" Mathieu says.  "And make sure we get out of Roman Territory", Atlacoya replies.  "Well, that, and other reasons" Mathieu remarks quietly, and Atlacoya's eyes twinkle from behind her shemagh.

A day and a half and a hundred kilometers later, Mathieu rides up beside Atlacoya's horse.  "This is as far as we go, you should be able to find your way from here." he says.  Atlacoya scoffs and replies "If I had done that the first time, we wouldn't be in this position, and I wouldn't be riding back to a certain Inquiry on how I got one of my troopers shot up because I went into Roman territory."  "You acquitted yourself with honor and made a potential disaster end peacefully, and I'm sure the letters from Fort Lombard will tell them everything they need to know." Mathieu says.  "And the intelligence about the layout of an outpost fort" Atlacoya chuckles, earning a grimace from Mathieu.  "I doubt Fort Lombard will be the rude structure you saw if the Sultanate ever tries to force its way there."  "And I doubt that's something a terminal Captain will have any affect on, one way or the other" Atlacoya replies. 

The two sit side by side on their horses even as Sergeant Metzli and Private Tolzi start down the trail into Hidalgo.  Captain Atlacoya grabs Mathieu's hand in a handshake, one that the Sergeant Major lingers on just a bit too long to be professional.  "It was an adventure, and one for the stories" she says.  "It was, and I hope not all of it bad" he replies.  "No, not bad, just the beginning, but the best parts won't be told to anyone" she says with a twinkle and a squeeze of his hand reminding him of dinners among other things. 

Straightening in the saddle, Atlacoya says stiffly "Sergeant Major Cipriani, it has been an honor and a privilege to ride with you.  The Sultan and Queen thank you for your hospitality"  Mathieu replies "Thank you Captain Atlacoya" and salutes.  Atlacoya returns his salute and spurs her horse to catch up to her comrades as the Roman cavalry wheel and kick up dust towards Fort Lombard.

[TacCovert4]

Roman/Aztec Border, approx. 2 hours before sunset

Captain Atlacoya is riding in the rearguard as her two cohorts ride side by side, Private Tolzi keeping Sergeant Metzli in the saddle as she's tiring rather badly but stubbornly refusing to stop before dusk.  The Captain lets her Sergeant choose how far she can ride, and thus they continue, finally having crossed into Hidalgo Territory not long ago, and another day out of the nearest outpost.

Atlacoya perches atop her mount, occasionally scanning for Comanches, but her mind keeps wandering in the endless scrublands of Hidalgo Territory.  Wandering back to a breakfast of Eggs and a sweet Roman Tortilla called Pancakes, served with a honey-like syrup, in Sergeant Major Cipriani's, no Mathieu's, quarters after a brisk morning drill.  And the small talk, and how Mathieu's moustache prickled her nose.  And the dinner in his quarters two nights later while Tolzi watched over the Sergeant, the soft candlelight.....

Her reverie is interrupted by a low droning.  Over the plain she sees a speck like a large bird, growing ever larger.  Metzli and Tolzi both turn as they watch an aeroplane fly by them, two men in the cockpit as the biplane buzzes in the late afternoon heat.  One of them waves before the plane turns and flies back towards Fort Lombard.  "Romans" Sergeant Metzli says, spitting on the ground, "So arrogant, they think they're the lords of all the earth".  Captain Atlacoya simply replies 'Let's find a place to camp before dark', keeping her opinions of one Roman in particular to herself.

[TacCovert4]

January 31st, 1917:

Atlacoya slings a pack over her saddlebags and ties it down.  "Ma'am, are you sure you don't need anyone to come with you on leave?" is heard from behind her.  "No, color sergeant, I'll be fine" she says.  "Two months leave ma'am, and you're not taking the train?" Color Sergeant Metzli says with a smirk, leaning a little on her cane, a necessity some days due to a Roman slug four years earlier.  The Lt. Colonel returns her smirk with just a bit of color in her cheeks.  "You know" her sergeant continues "your mother would like to see her daughter find a suitor some day.  Maybe one that wouldn't cause an international incident perhaps?"  Atlacoya recoils in mock embarassment.  "I know nothing of what you speak Metzli" she says.  Metzli whistles slightly as she turns to walk away, "And if anyone asks, you've gone camping, I know, I know". 

Lt. Colonel Atlacoya, Commanding Officer of 2nd Squadron, 6th Brigade, Queen Fatima's Light Cavalry swings into the saddle in flowing white pantaloons and a dark green overcoat over a light blue frock and blouse, civilian dress, a matching flat-brimmed gaucho hat hanging on her saddle tree and only her personal 1909 Tampico pistol tucked in her belt under the coat.  Her boots would be cavalry boots, had they not been embroidered with silver threads. 

Hours later, she rides across the bridge, passport at the ready.  The Rio is down to a trickle after the dry summer and before the spring melts.  The lone rider receives a few quizzical looks from the Roman customs official before he dutifully stamps her visa and sends her on her way, a lone rider not his concern with truckloads of goods to inspect and certify duties on.  The dappled paint picks up her own step, sensing her rider's anticipation as she unwinds the light blue shemagh and ties it around her throat, clapping the hat on her head as she turns down the road towards Lombard, Nova Francia.

[TacCovert4]

February 1st, 1917:

Matthieu Cipriani swung out of his saddle on the North side of town.  New Lombardy was becoming a real town, with a hotel, parks, even an ampitheater, though the latter was closed for the winter.  He flipped up his collar against the chill coming in off the plains as he staked his horse beside another one before walking towards the bench.

Coming up behind the bench's sole occupant, he speaks to the person sitting there, reading a book.  "It was a little warmer last time you were here", he says.  The green hat angles abruptly, the face looking out from under it young and olive-skinned, with a braid spilling over her shoulder.  "Matthieu!" Atlacoya exclaims, dropping her book as she leaps from the bench like a schoolgirl, wrapping her arms around the large man's neck.  Matthieu picks her up and swings her around out of the wind before sitting her down with a chuckle.  "You should comport yourself as an officer ma'am" he smiles.  "I don't have to here, now" she says before kissing him firmly. 

The two walk, hand in hand, back to their horses, mounting up to ride North toward the Nova Francia/Geronimo border.

[TacCovert4]

January 16th, 1923

The following letter arrives by diplomatic packet in Rome.  Beyond all of the official documentation as to its provenance, the body of the letter is typed and hand signed:

Empress Amelia Sforza,

Our peoples have at times striven for opposite goals.  Your father and I have engaged in warfare with our respective realms against one another.  And I would be remiss to say that much of my military planning for the past decade has been with defending against Rome in mind.  However, our old, indeed our ancient enemy, the People's Republic, has stirred in ways that cannot be ignored by civilized peoples.  Their actions against Aztec and Roman interests, their actions against the Vilnius Union that has never had aught with them, and their actions resulting in the deaths of Aztec sailors and our two nations fighting side by side to protect the freedom of navigation of the seas, cannot be ignored.  It is my belief that the People's Republic intends to continue their behavior, either with a continuation of their course of conduct, or an escalation.  I have every confidence that even with their buildup of forces along the Oaxaca line these past couple of years, we can withstand any assault they may attempt by land.  However, I also believe that the Mayans may have other intentions, including those that would cripple commerce in the Caribbean and Azteca Gulf.

Therefore, I, Ali, Sultan of Aztecs, do hereby formally rescind the declaration of 1914 and welcome such diplomatic personnel as the Empress sees fit to appoint to come to the embassy at Tenochtitlan.  I would specifically request that Ambassador Carine Amerighi return to Tenochtitlan with my compliments to his character and understanding of the Aztec people.  I also appoint that the Sultanate would collaborate to deconflict with Rome to ensure the continued security of the greater Caribbean/Gulf region, and request such representatives present at the embassy to allow for such deconflictions to occur.

Signed,

Ali 8th, Sultan of Aztecs