The Wolfpack: A Scipii Campaign

[Mysterium]

Scipii Simulator

“Okay, so that’s that. We’ve got our two good generals on Sicily, decent manager in Syracuse, troops building everywhere. Ports in both towns. Anything else we can think of?” Trevor looked around the small circle of couches at his team – Henry, Monica, Carl, and Mike. No one answered. “Nothing? Alright, then we wait.”

“Exactly how long do we wait?” Mike asked tentatively.

“Until next turn. Didn’t read your manual, did you?” Carl responded.

“A little.” “Did not.” “Did too, shut up.” “Make me.” “You make me!”

“Alright, guys, shut up. We’ve got until midnight tonight for the first move, and then twenty four hours for every move after that. But if all the players finish, the move is over, and then its twenty four from that point. So we never really know.”

Hank glanced at his watch. “Given that it’s 2:45 in the afternoon, I’d say we’ve got a while. Anyone care to join me for a late lunch? I was thinking of hitting the Seven Seas club. As long as I’ve got an expense account, I want to make the most of it.”

“I have a few more final grades to give out, I am afraid. Perhaps later in the week,” Monica answered.

“I think we’re gonna get used to the simulators,” Carl spoke for both himself and Mike.

“I’ll come,” Trevor answered, grabbing his omnipresent backpack and starting for the door. “I’ll see everyone back here at nine at the latest. I want to have some plans for the next turns laid out before it happens.”



The chime for a new game turn sounded at eight thirty, while Carl and Mike were deep in the VR of the simulators and the rest of the Scipii faction was spread about the Park. Trevor, still a little woozy from his fifth ride on the Mongol Coaster (lines were sparse around closing time) was brought sharply back to attention when his pager buzzed on his hip. The History Assembly folks had given it to him without telling him what it was for, but now he glanced at the color screen and saw “Game Day 1 ended. Game day 2 announcements:” with a list of the happenings in his faction. His eyes bugged out, he threw on his backpack, and started sprinting towards the History Assembly Sublease area while tapping frantically at the tiny pager’s touch screen.

He was the last to arrive, and found the others waiting in the lounge for him. “Sorry I’m late, guys.”

“You know, Trevor, we only took two hours to make our move last time, and they gave us twenty four. I don’t think speed was all that much of the essence,” Monica reasoned.

“Maybe, but better to make sure, right? What’s the first?” Trevor reached down and picked up the wand used to control the screens, slipping the one-handed gamer’s keyboard over his left hand. There were four announcements along the flat panels, and he clicked the first of them.

The lights in the simulator dimmed for a moment, and then the overhead projectors came back on, giving an almost-holographic representation of the open courtyard of a Roman aristocrat’s dwelling. If he didn’t look too closely, Trevor was convinced. The lighting had even transformed his own recliner into a high-backed, carved wooden chair. Through an arch at the edge of the courtyard an elderly man with the air of a statesman walked in, holding a scroll. “My lord, the Greek Cities offer you a trade agreement.”

Cuts right to the chase, Trevor thought. He glanced over at his advisors, some of whom shrugged, others nodded. “We accept.”

Other announcements, other messengers, and the team went through the second turn’s announcements before turning to troop movements. A Greek army had moved north from Syracuse, but had turned west, headed toward the Carthaginians. A Scipii spy was sent out to see about the Carthaginian army. Julianus marched south to the Scipii border with four units of hastati, the best that could be scraped together from Capua and Messana’s garrisons. And in the northwestern corner of Apulia, close to the Scipii homelands . . .

“A-ha! Rebels. Perfect.” Trevor rubbed his hands together.

“This is good, why?” Carl asked.

“Just wait. Hank knows what I’m talking about.” The older man had a slight grin on his face. His lunch with Trevor had revealed them seeing more eye-to-eye than they had thought, and this was another example. “Carl, Mike, see what troops we can spare from Capua. And Gaius as well. Umm, lemme see. How do we send a message?” Trevor’s hand lightly flicked the wand from screen to screen of the upper flat panels before finding the diplomatic option he wanted. “Alright. Uh, do I just dictate this?” Trevor hollered towards the technician’s booth.

“Yeah, just start talking,” one tech said, leaning toward the microphone. He placed a hand over it, turned to his compatriot, and asked, “What’s this kid doing?” The other just shrugged, but punched a button to call Ian’s attention to the Scipii simulator, just in case.

“Okay. Well, if I just talk, you guys’ll make it sound all Roman and diplomatic, right?” The techs nodded again. “Alrighty. Send a diplomat to the Brutii, with our apologies.”

“Apologies for what?” Mike asked, slightly indignant and extremely confused.

Trevor waved at him impatiently, standing up and strolling down the
stairs to stand on the enormous map of Europe the was displayed by the wall and ceiling projectors. He stood with his feet on either side of Sicily and stared down at the southern end of the boot. “Send our apologies, and explain that a rabble-rousing slave from our own province, Campania, has escaped into Apulia and stirred up a rebellion. Tell them we apologize for the inconvenience, and not to bother to send troops, because we will deal with it. And then the usual froo-frah about the glory of Rome, etc, ad infinitum. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Hank called down from the lounge with a thumbs-up.

“Alright. Carl, Mike, get the troops moving. I want to hit these rebels and hit ‘em hard. Scipii are gonna have a no-nonsense reputation. And I want to hit them before our diplomat even gets to the Brutii in Tarentum. And after we beat them, which we will, I want to get a rider with news of our victory there right after the diplomat. Let ‘em know what they’re dealing with.”

Mike went straight for the keyboard and started looking at the garrison in Capua, while Carl walked to the railing and looked down at Trevor. “Uh, Trev, sorry to be a wet rag, but where are you getting this? Did you get a scroll that I didn’t?”

“Carl, I’m making all of this up, doofus.”

“Yeah, I got that, but why? Making them blame us for a rebellion?”

Trevor shook his head. “Hank, you wanna take this one?”

Henry stood up and walked over to Carl. “See, here’s the thing. A few reasons why this is good. If we make up a story about how it’s our fault, then we go around taking care of it, we get a rep for cleaning up our own messes. And, if we go into someone else’s backyard, it makes it look like the Brutii can’t take care of themselves.”

“Especially if we get a messenger to Rome about it before they can. And also, we’ve got troubles in Capua, right? If we go out of our way to stomp on rebels in the next province over, how do you think the first families in Capua are gonna feel? That’s right, properly terrified.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Carl said, sitting down with Mike and wandering through the muster of cohorts.

“Wow, this kid’s slippery,” the tech muttered again.

“Sure is,” said Ian from a video screen in the technician’s booth. “We’re getting feed of this for our media people, right?”

“Sure are boss. They’re gonna luuuuuvvv this.”

Ian chuckled, and both techs glanced down at the screen. “I just thought of how that professor from Oxford is going to look when he gets this message. Ha! I’ll see you guys later, I’ve gotta get down there in person . . .”


Brutii Simulator

“Message, sir.” The professor snatched the proffered scroll and, after placing his monocle firmly in his right eye, read it slowly. His face went from a rather tepid and sallow pink to a very angry red, and was shading to even more complex patterns when he opened his mouth to speak.

“The audacity! The sheer, bald-faced, open . . . grahhh!” The Oxford professor was a stunning shade of mottled pink, holding and shaking the scroll as if he could wring the message right out of it. Ian, who had just ‘happened’ to check in a few minutes after he heard Trevor dictate the message, was quite shocked by the entirely unhealthy look of the Brutii player. “I KNOW I have rebels. I was going to DEAL with them, but in a MOMENT!” he bellowed. “Charles! Dammit Charles, where have you gotten to, it’s not that large an edifice in which we are, you know!” A sycophantic graduate student simpered over to his professor. “I want cavalry riding there right now. Now, you hear me!”

“But sir, it’s nearly twice the distance from Tarentum as-”

“I know my Italian geography, you upstart whipper-snapper! Get them moving. Get me diplomats. Lots of Diplomats! One for Rome, one for the slaves, one for these damned upstart Scipii, and . . . WHAT IS IT?” he bellowed, another grad student had obtrusively placed herself in front of him. She held out a telephone.

“Your wife, sir.”

“NOT NOW! Oh, sod it,” he muttered, his deeply affected accent slipping in the heat of the moment. “Someone get me a crumpet and a cup of tea.”


Northwestern Apulia, Gauis Scipio with the Capua Garrison


“They call themselves warriors?” Gaius thundered down his small line of battle, passing in front of the single cohort of hastate and his own bodyguard. “They are no warriors! They are not even slaves anymore!” A faint cheer. The men weren’t sure where his line of reasoning was headed, but they understood that pauses were for yelling, so they yelled. “They are dead men, they just don’t know it!”

Gaius paused at the edge of his bodyguards. “Let’s show them!”

“Nice speech,” Carl muttered. He stood at vague attention next to the centurion of his cohort who, at the moment, was Mike.

“Quiet in the ranks,” the centurion bellowed.

“Oh, piss off,” Carl answered. The hastate next to him looked vaguely shocked, then acquired a look of stone-faced ignorance, all the while trying to edge away from Carl while keeping rigid formation.. “Next time, I’m the centurion.”

“Next time there might be more than one cohort. Or you could learn to ride. Besides, I won the coin toss fair and square. Now march!” The hastate moved forward at a light jog, staring across a few hundred paces of upward-sloping terrain at the rebels. Apparently, they were a mercenary group gone awry; a handful of Samnite spearmen were mixed in with a few more handfuls of peasants. Gaius’ bodyguards were trotting along on the hastati’s right flank, horses stepping proudly.

The entire force slowed to a halt a pilum’s throw away from the enemy, and Mike called out, “Hastati, prepare pila!” Then the entire battle plan went quickly awry.

The Samnites trotted, then worked themselves into a full charge, rolling and flowing down the hill straight towards Gaius and his cavalry. With one look at their spears, Gaius wheeled his horse and began galloping to the rear, breaking straight away from the force. Mike urgently whispered, “What do I do?”

“Cohort, pivot right!” Carl called out, and the hastate ground into motion, pila still held, ready to throw. “Now we stay here, because we’re the pivot. And when they’re in the right spot, we hit ‘em.”

“Got it. When’s the right spot?” The peasants and spearmen were thundering down the hill after the retreating cavalry, passing right in front of the hastati, caring little for their presence. If they could reach the cavalry and keep them pinned in, then any of the Scipii advantage of mobility, along with possibly their general, would be lost.

“Now seems good.”

“Throw and charge!” Mike bellowed. The two friends each grabbed the pila from their shield arms, reared back, and threw. A shower of two-meter long spikes flew at the enemy, some striking men, some hitting the ground. As Mike started forward he saw an unfortunate spearman catch a javelin in the shoulder then trip over another protruding from the ground.

“Now we fight?” Mike asked, breaking into a sprint with the rest of the hastati coming along even with him.

Carl glanced to the side, saw Gaius wheeling his cavalry and coming back to hit the spearmen. “Now we fight.” A rough battle cry broke from his throat and soon the rest of the cohort was bellowing, causing the rebels to falter, to turn, to face the new threat.

A few more seconds, and they were among them. A spear jabbed at his face and Carl slipped his head to the side, hearing a slight metallic ring as it glanced off his helmet. An upward swing of his shield and the spear was pointed up, exposing the chest underneath. A thrust from his gladius and the man was down. A moment’s movement from his left and Carl spun, catching the peasant’s dagger on his shield and countering with his sword. The peasant leapt backwards, avoiding the blow, but a charging Roman caught him unawares and ran his gladius home into the peasant’s belly. The scream was barely human and quickly silenced.

“Not real not real not real not real not real,” Carl chanted the mantra to himself. A pilum flew over his shoulder and caught a spearman in the chest, and Carl and Mike both poured into the gap in the already-ragged line. They ran through, Carl hacking to the left and Mike to the right. What had seemed to be the front line of the enemy was, in truth, almost the entire line. Mike grabbed his second pilum and was about to throw it at the rebel’s standard bearer when a hand caught his ankle and he fell, twisting to fall on his back. Two men stood over him, both brandishing daggers. He swung the back end of the javelin around and caught one in the face, momentarily stunning him, while the other dove onto him, dagger poised.

The peasant slumped, and Mike heard a scream as he pushed the body off of him. Gaius’ cavalry had hit the rebels from the rear, and the whole force was in flight, running to the north. The cavalry thundered past, racing after them, and left the hastati to look after the wounded and the survivors. “Heya buddy. You have fun?” Carl asked, holding out a hand.

Mike dropped the javelin, grabbed the hand, and heaved himself up. “That was terrifying.”

“I know, wasn’t it?” Carl mentioned with a grin.

“You’re an idiot.” “You are.” “Shut up.” “Make me.”


Gaius Scipio’s tent, campground in Eastern Campania

“Bring him in.” The guards on either side of Gaius’ campaign tent pulled the flaps aside, and the rebel prisoner was brought in, hands bound behind him with thick leather cords. Two guards stood on either side of him. “You have been told why I’ve asked you here?”

“Yes, lord, I have. I’m willing to help.” Gaius looked at the man’s face. Young, relatively proud. Handsome, in a common way. He would do.

“Why? You can gain nothing from this.”

“I will do as you require. I ask only that my wife, my child, slaves in Apulia, be bought and preserved. I know what happens when slaves rebel. And the Brutii will not be kind. You have shamed them by attacking us before they could.”

Gaius nodded. A sharp mind, this one. He would still die, but he was sharp. “Very well. Centurion, have this man taken to Capua. Instruct one of my diplomats to present him to the Senate as the rebel leader and have him executed.” Turning to the slave, he said, “I know that you are from Apulia, but you will say you are from Campania, will you not? That is our bargain. You say you escaped from Scipii lands and started a rebellion in Brutii lands.”

“Yes, lord. I understand.” He left under the care of the guards. No weeping, no regrets, no thanks, no nothing. One could almost mistake him for Roman, Gaius thought.

“Centurion! Break camp, we head home.”


Scipii Simluator

“Thanks from the Senate, more protests from the Brutii. Trait increase; Gaius is a Good Commander now. Ah, here we are. The Lauridii in Capua want to throw a festival in Gaius’ honor. The optimates of Capua are falling all over themselves to kiss our butts now that we’ve shown them the iron fist. That was a nice touch with executing the mercenary captain in Capua, by the way, Hank.”

“Well, an execution in our capital and in Rome, works out nicely that way.”

“You two scare me,” Mike said.

“Hey, it’s just a game. Besides, we’re not the ones lusting after another battle.”

“Ah, Mike just wants to make up for tripping in the middle of the last one, and me saving his life.”

“You did not.” “Did too.” “I’ll show you saved.” “What does that even mean?”

“Shut up, you two. Monica, how do the finances look?”

She looked up from her keypad and said, “Good. The taxation looks well, and I think I have enough things in place to get the Scipii family a good fortune from the trade that we’ll have coming through Capua and Messana next summer. I think that’s about as well as can be.”

“Excellent. Nice turn, everyone. We’ll look towards taking Syracuse in the next few, but I want to see what the Greeks and the Carthaginians do to each other first. I think we can take a break until next turn.”