The sky over Pannonia was a leaden gray, heavy and oppressive, threatening a blizzard that would turn the frozen mud into a white hell. Yet, in the improvised logistics yard on the southern bank of the Danube, human activity defied the gloomy weather.

  Lucius walked around his latest creation, the Capsa Modularis, with the critical eye of a dissatisfied father and the precision of an engineer. The cart parked before him wasn't just a vehicle; it was a revolution on wheels.

  Unlike traditional Roman carts, which creaked and swayed dangerously on two rigid axles, this was a beast of burden designed for efficiency. The chassis was made of sturdy oak, treated with oil and fire to resist the region's relentless humidity. But what caught the eye were the wheels. Six of them. A movable front pair for steering, connected to an articulated tongue, and two fixed rear pairs, close together, designed to distribute the massive load weight over the soft ground without sinking. The iron rims, though scarce, had been forged wider, increasing contact area.

  Lucius ran his hand over the smooth wood of the cargo box. It was a perfect cube of reinforced pine, seated on the chassis with bronze locks that prevented sliding.

  "Open the ramp," Lucius ordered two Immunes waiting nearby.

  The men released the side chains and lowered the box's rear face. The wood descended smoothly, becoming a solid ramp. Lucius walked up it, testing stability. Inside, the space was ample, dry, and clean. Crates of arrows, sacks of grain, and tools could be stacked there, protected from rain and snow, and unloaded in minutes, not hours.

  "Flawless," Lucius murmured, descending. "How many of these do we have operational now?"

  "Twenty-five units ready here at camp, sir," replied a decurion in charge of carpentry. "And I received reports that Carnuntum's workshops delivered thirty more yesterday. We are at the limit of iron and bronze for axles and locks, but wood is plentiful."

  Metal scarcity was the only brake on his ambition. Rome hungered for iron for its swords and armor; diverting metal to carts was a logistical battle of its own, one only Valerius's ring authority allowed him to win.

  Beside him, Aelius, the architect Lucius had "converted" to the new engineering on the bridge night, watched the vehicle with genuine admiration.

  "I confess, Chief Engineer," Aelius said, shaking his head, "when rumors ran that they were building carts instead of siege weapons, I thought it was a waste of material. But seeing this... the logic of the loose box, the six wheels... it's as incredible as the bridge. It will save the backs of thousands of men and oxen."

  Lucius smiled, grateful, but his mind was already elsewhere, calculating routes and delivery times.

  "Logistics wins wars, Aelius. A soldier hungry or without arrows is just a man with a metal stick waiting to die. If we can maintain constant flow, the legions on the other side of the river will never stop."

  Lucius looked east, where the silhouette of Carnuntum's walls rose against the dark horizon, about an hour's fast march following the riverbed. The city, the province capital, was the pulsating heart of that battlefront. Emperor Marcus Aurelius was there, established in the governor's palace, transforming the civilian city into an imperial headquarters.

  Most of Legio XIV Gemina, which had stayed in the rear, was garrisoning the city and its walls. Lucius, in turn, remained outside, in the fortified bridgehead camp, with the vital mission of supervising the construction of the other ten crossing bridges. He calculated that, at the current pace, with the truss method and prefabrication, all would be ready in three weeks, enough time for the arrival of the two extra legions coming from the south.

  "The position is good," Lucius thought, analyzing geography mentally. "Carnuntum is bathed by the river, facilitating heavy river transport to the city port, and my carts can do the final distribution to the front. We have a solid base."

  He felt the weight of the signet ring on his finger. With the departure of Titus Valerius and the Legate of the Fulminata into enemy territory, and with the Gemina's commander busy with the Emperor's security in the city, Lucius was, in practice and rank, the officer of highest technical authority and third in overall command in that specific riverbank sector. It was a responsibility heavier than his armor.

  The sound of hooves striking frozen mud interrupted his thoughts. An auxiliary cavalry legionary approached at a gallop, dismounting before the animal even stopped completely. The man was dirty, panting, and his eyes held the gleam of contained fear.

  "Chief Engineer!" called the soldier, giving a hasty salute. "I bring news from the patrol."

  Lucius turned immediately. Since the incident with the scout and the "binoculars," a cold unease had lodged in his stomach.

  "Speak, soldier. What did you find? Where is the prisoner?"

  The legionary swallowed hard, looking around as if shadows could hear.

  "There is no prisoner, sir. And there is no patrol."

  Silence fell over the small group around the cart.

  "What do you mean?" asked Lucius, voice hardening. "The decurion left yesterday with ten mounted men. They should have scoured the hill and returned in two hours."

  "They never returned, sir," reported the messenger. "We waited through the night. We sent scouts on foot in the morning to follow tracks. The horse tracks go up the hill... and disappear. There are no signs of struggle, no bodies, no blood. Just... emptiness. As if the earth swallowed them."

  Lucius felt a shiver run down his spine, an electric and unpleasant sensation.

  "That is very strange..." he murmured. "Ten armed and mounted men don't disappear without a trace. If they had been ambushed, there would be signs. If they had deserted, there would be escape tracks."

  "Was anyone else sent to investigate?" asked Lucius, already fearing the answer.

  "No, sir. The local guard centurion thought it imprudent to send more men without superior orders, given the mystery."

  "Barbarians..." whispered Lucius to himself. The word seemed inadequate now. Barbarians were loud, brutal, direct. This... this was surgical. This was stealthy.

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  "They must be close," Lucius thought, mind racing. "But how? If the Emperor and scouts said they retreated to the interior... if there are over fifteen thousand men from Rome's two best legions hunting them in the forest across the river right now..."

  He looked at the newly built bridge, empty now, awaiting supply traffic. Looked at the dense forest on the opposite bank. And then looked east, to Carnuntum.

  The puzzle piece clicked audibly into place in his strategy-gamer mind.

  "It's not a retreat," Lucius said, voice fading. "It's a feint."

  He had played games like this in his other life. Total War, Civilization, chess. You lure the enemy's main force to empty ground, stretch their lines, make them confident... and then attack where they are vulnerable.

  "The rear," he realized, horror growing. "We are unprotected."

  He did mental math quickly. The two combat legions, the elite force, were a day's march into Germania, hunting ghosts. Legio XIV was locked inside Carnuntum's walls, protecting the Emperor, but blind to what happened outside. And there, at the bridgehead, protecting the only escape and supply route for the invading army, were only Lucius and about a thousand men, mostly engineers, carpenters (Immunes), and a light guard cohort.

  If the bridge fell, Valerius's army would be isolated in enemy land, without food, without retreat. And if Carnuntum was the target...

  "Night will fall soon," observed Lucius, looking at the sky. "They will attack in the dark."

  Lucius spun on his heels, red cloak whipping the air. He grabbed the messenger legionary by the armor shoulder.

  "Soldier! Run to the bridge guard centurion. Tell him to gather all men immediately. Everyone. Builders, cooks, guards. Prepare to retreat toward the city of Carnuntum now. Abandon tools, take only weapons and the ready carts. Say these are direct orders from Chief Engineer Lucius, under the authority of Prefect Valerius."

  The legionary widened his eyes, surprised by the retreat order with no enemy in sight, but the intensity in Lucius's gaze allowed no questioning.

  "Yes, sir!" The man ran.

  Lucius turned to Aelius.

  "Aelius! Order all other chief architects of neighboring sectors to stop construction. Gather your groups and march east, toward the city. We have to regroup. We are exposed here."

  "But sir... abandon the bridge? Noble Valerius..."

  "Noble Valerius would prefer losing a wooden bridge to losing the Emperor's head!" shouted Lucius, losing patience. "Move!"

  Aelius, pale, ran to carry out the order.

  Lucius didn't wait. He ran toward the improvised stables where some officers' horses were tied. As he ran, his mind drew the tactical scenario.

  "I am stupid," he scolded himself. "Stupid! It was obvious. A classic false retreat. They left the border empty to invite us in. The target is logistics and leadership. They must have left an elite group behind, hidden in those forests we said were empty. They will burn the bridge as soon as they can, isolating Valerius. And then... sack Carnuntum."

  If barbarians took the city, they would have the Emperor as hostage or corpse. And then they would give the signal. The "ghost army" that retreated inland would turn around and crush Valerius's legions against the bridgeless river. It was a planned massacre.

  Lucius reached the horses and some carts parked there. A guard legionary, seeing the officer's haste, untied an animal's reins and brought it.

  "Sir, the horse is ready," said the soldier, extending the reins.

  Lucius placed his foot on the saddle side, still stirrup-less—damn backward technology—and prepared to mount.

  Then he heard it.

  It wasn't a war cry. It wasn't the sound of barbarian trumpets. It was a hissing sound, sharp and fast, cutting the cold air like an invisible whip.

  Vvvvvt-THWACK.

  The impact sound was wet and final.

  Lucius froze, one foot in the air. Before him, the legionary holding the horse released the reins. The man brought his hands to his neck, where a short, thick wooden shaft with black feathers on the tail had suddenly sprouted. The soldier tried to speak, but only blood bubbled from his mouth. He fell to his knees and then face-first into the mud, dead before understanding what hit him.

  Lucius looked at the object embedded in the man's neck.

  "A bolt..." he whispered, horror paralyzing him for a millisecond. "Not an arrow. A crossbow bolt."

  "SHIT!" shouted Lucius, adrenaline exploding in his veins.

  He dropped the saddle and threw himself to the ground, rolling behind the protection of the six-wheeled cart he had inspected moments before.

  The next instant, the air filled with deadly buzzing.

  Thwack! Thwack! Ping! Thwack!

  Dozens of bolts hit the cart's wood, the ground, and the bodies of men standing in the open field. It wasn't a rain of arcing arrows one could see and cover with shields. They were flat-trajectory projectiles, too fast to track with the eyes, hitting with enough force to pierce chainmail and light shields.

  Screams of pain and confusion erupted through the camp. Immunes, many without full armor, fell where they stood, clutching horrific wounds.

  Lucius peeked under the cart's axle.

  "WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!" he shouted with all the strength of his lungs, voice hoarse with panic. "RETREAT! TESTUDO FORMATION! COVER YOURSELVES! TO THE CITY!"

  He saw men running, trying to form defense lines, but panic was setting in. The enemy wasn't shouting. The attack was silent, methodical, and devastating.

  Lucius crawled to the horse, which was neighing and kicking, frightened by the smell of blood. He needed to see. He needed to understand what he was facing. With a desperate effort, he mounted the animal and forced it to run in a zigzag, away from the immediate line of fire, up a small rise in the terrain.

  "Centurion!" shouted Lucius, seeing a veteran officer trying to organize a desperate defense with a group of twenty men. "Report! Where are they?"

  The centurion, face bleeding from a superficial cut on his forehead, looked at Lucius with eyes wide in disbelief.

  "Sir! Not all men are here! Half the engineers were cut down in the tents!" shouted the officer. He pointed to the forest edge, about two hundred meters away. "They are coming out of the woods! But... by the gods, sir, look at them!"

  Lucius looked. And what he saw made the blood freeze in his veins more than the Pannonian winter ever could.

  A large group of warriors emerged from the tree shadows. They didn't run disorderly, howling and banging swords on rotten wood shields. They advanced in a disciplined skirmish line.

  But it wasn't the discipline that terrified Lucius. It was the equipment.

  They didn't wear animal skins or go half-naked with blue paint, as he had seen in movies and games.

  The men on the front line wore iron helmets with nose guards and metal frames, Spangenhelms, Viking or Norman style helmets, centuries ahead of that time. Their bodies were protected not by raw hide, but by iron breastplates or long chainmail coats of riveted rings.

  And the weapons...

  The men in the second line didn't hold hunting bows. They wielded crossbows. Wood and iron crossbows, with stirrups for fast reloading. They stopped, fired, reloaded, and advanced. The technology that killed the horse legionary wasn't Roman. It was medieval.

  And the melee warriors... they didn't have rustic spears or stolen short swords. They drew longswords. Straight, double-edged blades with cross-guards. Swords resembling Middle Ages arming swords, designed to cut and thrust with reach superior to the Roman gladius.

  Lucius felt dizziness hit him. The world spun.

  "This is impossible..." he stammered. "Barbarians shouldn't have crossbows. Shouldn't have Norman helmets. Shouldn't have steel of this quality."

  Lucius's mind, trained for logic and engineering, rejected the idea of natural evolution. Tribes don't jump from primitive Iron Age to High Middle Ages in secret. This required advanced forges, knowledge of metal alloys, mathematics for crossbow trigger mechanisms.

  The only explanation was the same one explaining Lucius's presence there, with his knowledge of concrete and modern logistics.

  The word surfaced in his mind, heavy and terrible.

  Other.

  "There is another," Lucius thought, absolute horror taking over him. "Like me. Someone from the future. Someone who arrived here before. Years before, probably."

  He looked at the line of "barbarian" warriors advancing with lethal efficiency.

  "He fooled everyone. He left the border tribes primitive to give us false security, while inland... in the heart of Germania... he was building an army. He gave them the technology. He made them enter the Middle Ages a thousand years ahead of time."

  Lucius looked at his Capsa Modularis, at his truss bridge, and realized with bitter despair that his logistical "advance" was just a toy against an enemy possessing direct warfare superiority.