After hours that seemed like days, enough pre-dawn light crept upon us to show the shore hard up close. The cliffs were still concealed and we could only imagine the doom that Machinus had terrorized us with, We couldn’t see more than a few hundred yards. A clarion was blown across the fleet, and the officers started yelling at us to bail out of the boats and start swimming and pulling the vessels up to the shore. Rufinis didn’t want to get out and tried to convince the Centurion he was too weak.

“I don’t give a shit you rat, sink or swim!” Machine snarled. He reached forward and grabbed Rufinus by the back of the neck and spun him overboard sideways. The little legionary splashed into the waves and disappeared under the gloomy surf, casting spray over Marinus, who cursed and thumped his arm at the water where Rufinis had sunk.

“Do you see the Brits?” yelled Quintus Serinus – he was a huge bastard they’d stuck in our decate because we didn’t have anyone else who could handle the double-backpack the main tent was carried in. He was thick as two short planks, but a decent sort, and a fearless fighter.