“First Principale Dormivi, set a fast tempo,” Naulum instructed. He waved his hand to get the attention of the navigators/rear oarsmen. Pointing to a Qart Hadasht ship-of-war just sliding into the water, he announced. “I want that ship dead.”
“Yes, Centurion,” the navigators replied.
They adjusted the two rear oars putting Sors' Talisman at the proper angle of attack. Pounding out a rapid tattoo, the musician set a tempo and the rowers dipped oars in time with the beat.
On the Qart Hadasht ship-of-war, men dove overboard as the Sors’ ram tossed a rooster tail into the air. When the bronze cap hit, side boards splintered, and the ram ripped a trench along the water line. The Empire vessel rolled away from the ram. When Sors’ Talisman veered off, the ship-of-war rolled back. But this time, it continued to roll until the deck was vertical with the water. Then the Empire ship rested momentarily on its side before sinking into Sulci Bay.
“None get off the beach,” Naulum called to his first deck officer.
“What about those already afloat?” Dormivi asked.
“Leave them for the warships with corvus boarding ramps and the Marines,” Naulum instructed. “Our job is to hold down the odds. Find us another target.”
***
The flaw as always with the mercenaries of the Empire were the different customs, languages, and traditions. Ships’ Captains and their deck officers ran searched and shouted for their crews and the soldiers assigned to their vessel. In most cases, the oarsmen and the soldiers spoke different tongues. And both had different languages than the ships-of-war officers.
For the few ships-of-war that made it safely off the beach, they ran a gauntlet of Republic warships. Those with soldiers and rowers who reached open water attempted to fight their ships. But the Marines flowing over the corvus boarding ramps turned the sea battles into shield to shield skirmishes. The Legion trained Marines relished the opportunity to turn the decks red with the blood of Qart Hadasht mercenaries.
Some vessels collected rowers and soldiers late. They launched only to be skewed by Republic rams. In the ships’ deaths, the hulls turned in the tide and the wind, blocking parts of the beach.
Whether lacking crews or courage or being blocked by wreckage, a lot of the Empire ships-of-war remained on the beach during the initial attack. A few rowers collected their belongings and ran inland. But the fleet far outnumbered the ten Republic warships, and as more launched, they rowed clear and began to engage in ram to ram combat.
***
About a thousand shipless soldiers gathered on the beach waiting for orders. When Hannibal Gisco and his staff rode among them, they cheered. The Admiral looked out at the Republic warships. His fleet could deal with them if he could clear the beach of enemy forces. Then, shifting his focus to the formation of Republic Centuries, Gisco drew his sword and pointed down the beach.
“Kill them,” he instructed.
“Yes, sir,” his combat officers responded.
The Captains and Lieutenants separated their Companies into loose formations. Then they stepped off heading for the Republic forces.
***
“Tribune Sisera,” Pashalis called over his shoulder. As the most senior Centurion, he would control the Centuries while in combat. Alerio’s task was to manage the formation and monitor the enemy forces. “I believe the Qart Hadasht mercenaries have taken notice of us.”
“It’s about time,” Alerio replied. “I was beginning to fear we would have to feed them lunch to get their attention.”
“Because you are such a good cook?” an anonymous infantryman teased.
The NCOs tensed waiting for the staff officer to demand the identity of the speaker. Most Tribunes dished out punishment for disrespect as readily as ladling out portions of Legion stew.
“The Goddess Vesta blessed me with the art of cooking,” Alerio bragged. Then, far off topic, he announced. “I once stood close enough to smell a Vestal Virgin.”
“Not that I’m complaining, sir,” another infantry asked. “But what does that have to do with cooking, sir?”
“Honey, lavender, and orange,” Alerio listed.
The mercenary formation drew closer. As the distance narrowed between them and the Legionaries, the pace seemed to quicken.
Alerio noticed archers behind the Empire soldiers.
“Stand by shields,” he warned.
“Standing by, Tribune,” the Legionaries replied.
The archers raised their bows aiming for a high release. There were two modes of targeting for an archer. Straight at the prey as in hunting, or high so the arrow arched over friendly forces before impacting on the enemy.
“Sir, honey, lavender, and orange?” an infantryman inquired.
“Arrows in the air, shields up,” Alerio ordered. Then in the quiet while the arrows arched over and began dropping for the Legionaries, he explained. “It’s how the Vestal Virgin smelled. And the ingredients to a fine sauce for lamb.”
Seventy-five steel tips sounded like rain on the shields. As the arrows drove into the scutums, Legionaries cursed and laughed. Not because anyone was injured by the flight. The anger came because they would need to dig out the arrowheads and sand the faces of their shields before putting on the waterproof covers. And they laughed at a Tribune who managed to combine a story about a good smelling woman and food while facing a superior force.
“Pashalis, return the favor,” Alerio instruction.
“Two javelins,” the senior Centurion instructed.
“Second line stand by two javelins,” the other combat officers shouted.
“Standing by, Centurion,” the Legionaries answered their officers.
“Throw.”
Two hundred javelins on flat trajectories left the Legion line. There was no delay of weapons sailing gracefully into the sky and arching over. Almost immediately, iron heads poked through shields and into the flesh of unfortunate mercenaries.
Warriors dropped out of the moving line to attempt to pull the javelins from their shields. Soldiers moving to take their place at the front stepped around them and over the wounded and dead. Then, the second flight of two hundred javelins hit and decimated the refreshed front rank of the mercenaries.
“Draw,” Centurions Pashalis ordered.
“Rah,” screamed the front rank of Legionaries.
Hidden under the response was the rasp of two hundred and forty gladii sliding from sheaths.
“Formation halt,” the senior Centurion ordered. “Brace.”
The Legionaries stopped, stood rigid, and held their shields firmly against the neighboring scutums. Behind them, the second rank placed their shields against the first rank’s backs, adding their weight to stabilize the combat line. In the third rank, the infantrymen waited to see if the first two ranks held.
Alerio stepped back several paces. The Centurions would direct the fighting and rotations along their sections of the combat line. As the staff officer, Tribune Sisera’s job included watching for breaches in the Legion formation and warning the combat officers about any sudden shifts by the enemy. For a former infantryman who would rather be locked in on the shield wall, Alerio Sisera found the assignment less than gratifying.
***
Hannibal Gisco rode from vessel to vessel directing crews and soldiers. Soon, he had five fully staffed ships-of-war ready to launch. But he held them on the beach. Watching, he waited for the nearest Republic warship to be out of position.
“Go, go, go,” he shouted.
The rowers on the beach could not hear the Admiral and neither could the officers in charge of the launch crews. But they saw the arm movements and ordered the men to push the ships into the surf. Five rams dipped then flattened as oars dug into the sea. Then five dangerous ships-of-war joined the battle of Sulci Bay.
“We should have the Republic warships smashed and drowned soon,” the Admiral announced. Looking at Barekbaal, he asked. “What about the beach. Is it clear of enemy forces?”
“Sir, I didn’t know I w
as in command of our land forces,” the Captain blabbered.
“Senior Captain, an Empire commander has to direct the mercenaries,” Gisco scolded. “They aren’t able to do it themselves.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Barekbaal confirmed while putting his heels to his mount’s flanks.
As the Senior Captain rode towards the fighting on the beach, the Noricum bodyguards pondered the words of the Admiral. The two squads of warriors decided that Hannibal Gisco held the low opinion of mercenaries typical of Qart Hadasht commanders. When Gisco urged his horse up the beach, the bodyguards jogged alongside him. But not out of pride, they were simply following orders.
At the assault line, Major Vinzenz, who felt affection for the Admiral, backed away from the fighting. He needed a better view of the shield wall to see why the Qart Hadasht forces were failing to kill the raiders from the Republic.
Chapter 23 – A Narrow View
In a shield wall, a Legionary’s sight was confined to a narrow view over the top of his shield. It encompassed the barbarian to his front, the weapons of the two barbarians behind that one, plus the shoulder and weapon of the man to his left front. Because the three and one-half men were trying to kill him, the Legionary dared not look away.
Behind the Legionaries, the Optio and Tesserarius watched segments of the Century’s combat lines. For the NCOs, the battle consisted of judging the state of their men and the positions of the opposing mercenaries to maybe three deep and twenty shields wide. As if a latticework, the Legion formation held together because each element dominated a small sector. If a Legionary fell, he was quickly replaced to maintain the pillars of the framework.
Behind, and scanning his entire compliment of Legionaries, the combat officer studied his NCOs, the action along the full combat line, as well as his Century’s place in the maniple formation. Most Centurions stalked behind their shield walls as if caged wolves.
The aggressive posture accomplished four things. To Legionaries rotating off the front line, the sight of an angry officer gave them heart. To the enemy across the shield wall, the prowling officer put them on notice that a furious force of will backed up the Legion line. The movement also allowed the Centurion to position himself near a breach. From there, he could kill any barbarians who broke through the shield wall. And finally, the back and forth stalking allowed the Centurion to watch his staff officer for directions without turning away from the battle line.
Tribune Sisera perused the formation and beyond. Whenever he caught the eye of a combat officer, he acknowledged the Centurion with a reassuring nod.
“Optio of the fourteenth,” Alerio shouted to the flanking squads on the seaward side. “You have mercenaries trolling in the deep. Gig them for me.”
In response, twenty Legionaries threw javelins. Wading through waist deep water, several Qart Hadasht soldiers attempted to get behind the Legion formation. They vanished below the surface. Their floating graves marked by the sinking shafts of the javelins.
“Thank you,” Alerio shouted.
“Our pleasure, sir,” the NCO replied. As he turned back to his squads, he whispered. “Death Caller. It fits the staff officer.”
On the right side of the combat line, the Empire soldiers were big men. Obviously Celts, but Alerio could not place the tribe. But several shattered and torn shields stacked behind his line attested to the size of the warriors and the sharpness of their swords. More worrisome than the broken equipment, five Legionaries from that section were being treated for broken collarbones.
“Centurion of the eighteenth,” Alerio yelled. “Come see me.”
The combat officer from the right side sprinted to Alerio.
“Is something wrong, Tribune?” he asked.
“Good question. You tell me why my right side is suffering so much damage,” Alerio responded.
The officers did not look at each other. They faced forward keeping their eyes on the distressed Century.
“Celtic muscle and, I swear, enchanted swords,” the Centurion admitted. “I’ve had the second line stabbing to keep them back. But one of those swords will break a shaft and another of the big bastardis will step up and cripple one of my Legionaries.”
“Then we need to put fear into them,” Alerio advised, “and back them off.”
“I am open to suggestions, sir,” the combat officer admitted.
“Follow along with me. See the bay and squads of our fourteenth flanking that side?” Alerio directed the Centurion’s attention to seaward. “Notice the bunched warriors to the right and front of our line? And the Celts at your Century’s position? Now observe the rest of the fourteenth on our right flank. Do you see all of that?”
“Yes, sir,” the combat officer admitted. He was noticeably a confused. “I can see it all.”
“Good,” Alerio told him. “You are acting Tribune. What’s the name of your Optio?”
“Modus, sir. But I’m not a staff officer.”
“You are now,” Alerio told him. “Do not lose my maniple.”
“Sir, you can’t just…”
“I am,” Alerio stated. “I need to know what we are facing.”
“You want a closer look?” the Centurion questioned.
“Look? No, not a look,” Alerio informed him. “I want to taste the Celts blood and feel the enchantment of their steel. I am taking a spot on the shield wall.”
“That’s almost certain death for an officer, Tribune,” the combat officer pointed out. “Especially for a staff officer. Ah, you’ll draw them to your position.”
“If we don’t do something, they will break through and we’ll have a melee on our hands,” Alerio reasoned. “It’s my call. Be sure the formation is here when I get back.”
Alerio jogged away.
“Your call, my hairy cūlus. It’s more of a death call,” the Centurion mumbled. A disturbance in front of the left of center alerted him to trouble. The crowd of soldiers parted as a group carried something through the ranks. “Centurion of the sixteenth. You have a battering ram headed your way.”
The combat officer saluted his acknowledgement and turned back to his line.
***
“Optio, if we allow a ram through,” the officer of the sixteenth asked. “Can we reseal the break?”
“No sir,” the NCO replied. The Optio peered over the shield wall until he located the movement. “They have too many bodies and will flood any breach.”
“Give me javelins. I want a circle of death around the battering ram,” the Centurion ordered.
The NCO pulled men off the third row of his section. Gathering twenty Legionaries, he described the situation and made sure each man had three javelins.
“Ready, sir,” the Optio alerted the officer.
“Rain down death,” the Centurion ordered.
Throwing one right after the other, the Legionaries chucked the javelins high. Before the first flight landed, the second grouping was in the air. As if clawed from the heavens, the soldiers carrying the battering ram were nailed to the ground by iron tips. Once the men toting the log fell, javelin tips impelled those standing near the battering ram.
A hole opened in the ranks of the Qart Hadasht mercenaries as men moved away while searching the sky for more deadly javelins. The combat officer from the sixteenth Century waved a salutation at the acting staff officer as a thank you for the warning.
After returning the salute, the temporary Tribune shifted momentarily and focused on Tribune Sisera and his suffering eighteenth Century. Then duty overcame his curiosity. Shaking off the narrow view, he expanded his field of vision and continued his overwatch of the entire formation.
***
“Optio Modus, I need a shield,” Alerio told the NCO of the eighteenth Century. “And four of your hardest strikers.”
“I’ve got four men who can stand at Vulcan’s forge and match the God stroke for stroke,” the Optio boasted before admitting. “But not enough healthy Legionaries for all of the shields. What are you thinking, sir?”
Alerio sorted through a stack of shields and selected one.
“We are going to teach the Celts respect,” Alerio promised as he strapped the shield to his left arm. Once it fit properly, he added. “And back us up with five strong shoulders.”
Modus shuffled his Century until ten selected Legionaries stood in front of the staff officer. Five were impressively muscular while the other five displayed forearms thick from gladius work.
“You five are on javelin duty,” Alerio instructed the broad-shouldered Legionaries. Then to the other five, he explained. “We are going to demonstrate the fundamentals of Legion training for the Qart Hadasht soldiers.”
“You mean us, don’t you, sir?” a squad leader challenged, “because that helmet will draw a crowd.”
Men who make their living an arm’s distance from hostile blades tended to be blunt. Alerio wanted aggressive. The question told him that was exactly who the Optio picked for the mission.
“No, Decanus, I do mean us,” Alerio assured him. “In my horsehair combed helmet and my Tribune insignia, just like I am dressed. Let’s go teach the Celts a lesson in combat.”
***
Major Vinzenz grasped the reality of a battle along a shield wall. Warriors gained experience not by dying on enemy shields but by living to fight another day. That wisdom translated to caution when facing the barrier of oversized Legion shields. While his Noricum warriors were chipping away at the wall’s defenders, none of the other mercenary Companies seemed to be making progress. And that was the reality, few soldiers wanted to sacrifice themselves on Republic blades to break the shield wall. They were waiting for the Noricums to break through.
“Why haven’t we breached those shields?” the senior Noricum officer asked.
“We have reduced their numbers,” a Captain replied. “We expect a breakthrough and a rout, soon, sir.”
And there was the ugly truth. No one wanted to die for an isolated beach on the island of Sardinia. Before Vinzenz could light a fire under the butts of his soldiers, a commotion at the Noricum section of the shield wall drew his attention.
***
Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13) Page 14