Chapter 689: Follow Your Orders
The fortress of Smederevo, once a bastion of defence and noble privilege, was now reduced to a hellscape under the relentless siege by Roman forces. Buildings crumbled, castle rooftops were ripped away, and even the once-impenetrable walls trembled under the relentless bombardment. Inside, the defenders, accustomed to the safety afforded by thick stone barriers, found no refuge. Nobles and soldiers alike were subjected to the terror of warfare on equal terms—covered in dust, their noble visages marred by debris, they experienced firsthand the fears that once only haunted their foot soldiers.
Decades had passed since artillery was employed on such a grand scale by the Romans. The last major deployment of such weaponry was during the campaign in Bulgaria—a spectacle still vivid in the minds of many, regarded as effective in open field combat but assumed less so against fortified structures. This belief led the rebel commander, a veteran of those earlier battles, to adopt a defensive strategy cantered on fortification, avoiding open-field engagements at all costs.
However, this strategy was based on outdated assumptions about the capabilities of Roman artillery. The technological stasis he had experienced throughout his military career misled him; innovations were slow for generations, and what was effective fifty years ago was assumed to still be the norm.
But the Romans had evolved. Their artillery now included two types of munitions tailored for maximum destruction: the first, designed to maximise impact damage against hard surfaces—ideal for breaching walls and gates; the second, a highly explosive shell engineered to detonate upon impact, unleashing devastating shockwaves that obliterated everything within a significant radius.
As the siege continued, these explosive rounds demonstrated their horrific efficacy. With each hit, they delivered chaos and destruction, tearing through the fortress’s defences and demoralising its inhabitants. The once-sturdy walls of Smederevo, which had stood unyielding against sieges past, now bore the scars of modern warfare, marking a new era in siege tactics—an era where the old rules no longer applied, and the safe haven that nobility once enjoyed within their castle walls had vanished into the smoke and rubble of relentless artillery fire.
The relentless artillery barrage orchestrated by the Romans marked a grim evolution in siege warfare. With mechanical precision, they launched volley after volley, each two minutes apart. Within an hour, the once-sturdy fortress of Smederevo was reduced to a field of rubble, its sanctuaries obliterated. Countless defenders met their ends in the shadows of crumbling walls, unseen by the adversaries who sealed their fates—a stark manifestation of the evolving cruelty of siege tactics.
General Julian, overseeing the bombardment, received a report from a concerned lieutenant. "General, our cannons have been firing non-stop for an hour. They need to cool."
Julian surveyed the fiery onslaught with unwavering focus. "Do your homework, lieutenant. Our latest artillery, enhanced with a new metal compound, can sustain eighty shots before cooling. We can maintain this pace for hours yet."
The lieutenant hesitated; his voice laden with worry. "General, there are still civilians inside..."
"We warned everyone upon entering Bulgaria. Those who stayed are complicit with the rebels," Julian dismissed the concern with a steely gaze that cut through the lieutenant’s protest.
"But, General!" the officer attempted to interject, only to be silenced by Julian’s chilling stare, his eyes sharp and unyielding.
"Follow orders, soldier," Julian commanded, turning away to continue his supervision.
Reluctantly, the lieutenant withdrew, his spirit conflicted as he watched the relentless destruction. Each building that fell was a testament to the harsh realities of war, where mercy could be perceived as weakness. He stood by, executing his duties with robotic precision, his calculations of coordinates and impacts reduced to mere numbers—stripping the horror of its human toll. As the smoke and dust swirled around him, the lieutenant was a statue among the chaos, embodying the harsh discipline required of military obedience, even in the face of profound moral dilemma.
Meanwhile, Antonius and his son Leo continued to watch all of these going on before him. The little boy in his father’s arms could not feel the cruelty of war with this continuous bombardment at this distance with no seemingly body parts getting flung over in a visible manner, for he could only feel see a bunch of fires bursting out of the artilleries, and then, boom, the buildings in a far away distance comes getting torn down. It just felt exciting for him, as this is not something that you can see on your daily life at this point of time, with the sounds, and explosions, all triggering an unknown reaction inside the young boy’s brain.
Antonius has no in trust on the explosions nearby, as he remained seated under a tree, looking at his son before him.
"Leo, do you know why am I treating the inhabitants of Smederevo like this, despite me telling you again and again that a king must be merciful?"
Leo shook his head.
"Let me teach you one more thing, son. Yes, I am right in saying that you must be merciful towards your own subjects, because they are your friends, your family, the ones who fund you for a living, feed your army, you might have quarrels with them occasionally just like how you always have arguments with Agatha when she tutors you classic literature, but you will get along well with them eventually, which is why you need to show your mercy, in order to continue the life of this big family."
"But..." Antonius pointed out his thinner hands towards a far. "Those men over there are different, for they are your enemies, and they are constantly trying to get the others to raise up against you as well, they are there to tear upon your family, kill your family members, damage your foundation of rule, and eventually, killing off your entire family, that is why, you must not be merciful towards them, instead you will have to remove their humble existence, fast and in a straightforward manner, to prevent even more hooligans from following their example, let me ask you, Leo."
Antonius gazed deeply into Leo’s eyes, seeking to instil in him a visceral understanding of the stakes of leadership and war. "Leo, if someone threatened your sister Agatha, your mother Anna, or came for my life, what would you do?"
With a determination uncharacteristic of his age, Leo furrowed his brows and responded with youthful ferocity, "I would kill them first!"
A smile broke on Antonius’ stern face, and he ruffled Leo’s hair affectionately. "That’s my boy," he said, his voice filled with a mix of pride and solemnity.
Turning to his aide, Cerberus, the emperor issued his next command with authority, "Inform Julian that the initial phase of punishment is complete. Shift the focus to the inner castle and the walls. Prepare the infantry for an assault on the moat."
Cerberus bowed deeply and departed to deliver the orders, his armour clinking softly as he moved.
Antonius pointed towards the moat and the towering walls of the fortress. "See those defences, Leo? They are about to be challenged. Many of our brave soldiers, the finest young men of our nation, will risk their lives next. They do this for us, for our empire. Remember, they are your brothers in arms."
Leo clenched his jaw, the gravity of the situation slowly dawning on him. "Yes, father," he whispered, a mix of resolve and apprehension in his voice.
The scene at the fortress of Smederevo was dire. The continuous barrage of artillery had turned the once formidable walls into precarious shields that barely held back the Roman onslaught. The air was thick with dust, gunpowder, and the acrid stench of fear and pain. Defenders coughed violently; their bodies wracked by the concussive forces of the explosions. Blood was vomited by those suffering internal injuries from the relentless shelling. Men were either hurled from the ramparts by the blast waves, directly hit by flying debris, or driven to the brink of insanity by the unending chaos.
Amidst the acrid smoke and chaos, a haunting cry pierced the din of battle, echoing from the battered ramparts of the fortress. It was the agonised wail of a rebel soldier, his eyes vacant and glassy, lost to the horrors he’d witnessed.
"Ah... Ah...!" His voice was a broken record of despair, reverberating through the smoke-filled air as he staggered along the top of a tower that had borne the brunt of the Roman artillery’s fury. The once formidable structure was now a charred skeleton, its stones scorched and its defences shattered.
Below him, his fellow rebels cowered behind the remnants of the once-sturdy walls, clinging to the relative safety of the foundation where the impacts were less lethal. Orders from their commanders to maintain positions on the battlements were abandoned, as survival instincts overtook military discipline.
Increasing numbers of rebels deserted their posts atop the walls, driven by the realisation that their leaders could no longer protect them—or perhaps, even account for their survival. The man on the tower, however, remained oblivious to the danger, or perhaps too shattered to care. His mind had unravelled under the relentless assault, leaving him wandering aimlessly, a shell of a soldier trapped in a looping nightmare of trauma and disorientation.
