The Last Roman p-1

by Edward Crichton

  ***

  As the marching order blared, we moved in step with the legion. Claudius’ troops held their lines, content to watch us move against them. I remember reading Julius Caesar’s Commentarii de Bello Civili, literally, Commentaries on the Civil War, as a high school sophomore, and his description of the Battle of Pharsalus. There, he had his men charge against Pompey the Great’s numerically superior troops because he understood a soldier’s impetuousness of spirit when it came to battle. His argument was that Pompey’s stationary troops wouldn’t have the same kind of anger, confidence and zeal his own troops had because of the adrenaline rush they received from the charge.

  Caesar’s reasoning couldn’t be universally confirmed. It may have worked for him, but that didn’t mean it would for us. Either way, we had no intention of rushing upon Claudius’ vigiles anyway.

  As we marched, Helena and I concealed any evidence of our weapons and tried our best to blend in with the legionnaires. We walked behind the 4th cohort’s signifer, who held his century’s personal standard, different from every other century’s, with markings to identify which cohort, of which legion, it belonged to. It was adorned with an open palmed hand surround by an olive wreath.

  We hadn’t marched long when the officers called for a halt. Vincent had probably signaled from the left that we were ready. With no further prompting, Helena and I took a knee, steadied our aim, and opened fire.

  We were only a hundred and fifty yards away, and at this range, even the lowliest of marksmen in basic training would have scored good numbers. Helena lay prone, firing her P90 precisely from the ground. I assumed she was still targeting officers first and I followed Helena’s example of selective targeting and took my time with every shot.

  As I went through one magazine, five, ten, twenty magazines, I saw the body count start to build. Fifteen minutes later, I had fired nearly six hundred rounds and I was just starting to see the line of vigiles start to shift and maneuver, and I knew they were getting ready to counter attack. I looked to my right and saw the bodies of the militia heaped into mounds and being used as cover from the hailstorm of lead Bordeaux must have been throwing at them. To my left, Vincent and Santino’s kills seemed to mimic my position’s, and I figured the urban cohort must have taken especially heavy losses.

  Ten minutes later, I dropped my thirtieth magazine, which I had to stuff in a cargo pocket because my dump pouches were full, and saw the line of vigiles finally thunder forward. Their lines were so thin in places I could see the occasional Praetorian lined up behind them, walking forward at a more reserved pace. To my right, I saw the civilians charge, along with our auxilia. That was my cue to prepare for a strategic withdrawal.

  As planned, the counter charge floundered slightly when they hit the mine field.

  Helena and I had been exceptionally busy last night.

  After securing our gear for today’s battle, we retrieved the ghilli suits we had been working on for the past two months, and went to lay the field. Ghilli suits were the epitome of camouflage. Designed by its wearer to mimic the exact contours of the earth they were trying to replicate, a well-made ghilli suit could make its wearer look like nothing more than a bump on the ground.

  So, under the cover of darkness, around 2300 hours, still rather early, we slowly crawled out of the perimeter of trenches our legion had created and spent an hour crawling inch by inch towards our target location. Claudius’ note had indicated the battle was to be fought on the terrain next to the via aurelia, decent of him to give us the exact coordinates to set up our demo. Only a hundred feet from the walls, Helena and I laid down a zigzag pattern of the few claymores we had, and the mines. It took us an hour to accomplish the layout, and another to sneak back to the trenches.

  The first claymore’s explosion sent fifteen or so men flying backwards towards the Praetorians. Each was probably dead within seconds. The antipersonnel mines took a few seconds to go off when tripped while they were launched in the air. Those did the most damage, killing dozens of men in all directions. I was beginning to see large holes opening up in their formation, but not as big as I had hoped.

  Standing, I tapped Helena on the shoulder who was still focused on her sights. I looked towards the advancing lines to see the survivors getting closer, but I also saw an enemy Praetorian go down as well, shot through the lines of vigiles. She pulled her head away from her scope and smiled.

  I shook my head.

  Grabbing the carry handle for her MOLLE vest, I yanked her to her feet. She squealed in surprise, but quickly recovered and continued firing her rifle as I pulled her back into formation. The enemy were only about fifty yards away when I heard the nearest centurion yell for the first pila volley.

  About ten feet in front of the legion, I looked up to see a cloud of spears dim the sky above me before they fell into the vigiles ’ ranks. The three thousand or so spears, only half of the first volley, did practically just as much damage in one effort as my squad had done in fifteen minutes. The only difference was they had three thousand guys, whereas we only had six, not exactly a fair comparison.

  As I watched man after man impaled through head, chest, torso, or leg I couldn’t imagine why these mere firefighters were so willing to needlessly throw their lives away. These men didn’t seem confused or unhappy. They just seemed angry. And so did I.

  That’s what confused me.

  As I pulled Helena back through our ranks, the last two lines from our legion released their volley of spears. By the time the inbound projectiles found their marks, I saw the reason for everyone’s craziness. Riding a black horse easily as tall as Caligula’s, I saw Claudius sporting a wonderfully purple cape and armor. In his right hand he held a long cavalryman’s sword, but in his left, high above his head as though it were a standard itself, was the blue orb that had started this fucking mess.

  I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. Claudius’ prolonged exposure seemed to be increasing his insanity exponentially, and its possible effect on the troops wasn’t that farfetched. While they hadn’t turned into mindless zombies yet, something had to be driving them and I suspected it wasn’t Claudius’ charming disposition.

  Helena and I moved towards the extreme right flank of the legion, its auxilia now engaged in battle out in the middle of the field. The auxilia were acting as predicted, cutting through the militia like a hot knife through butter. They were outnumbered four to one, but were still making headway through superior skill and determination.

  The orb was another snag in our plan that would cause more trouble than we wanted, but I the undisciplined and untrained militia had to break, even though that seemed less than likely now. That meant Galba would have to commit his cavalry reserves to that side of the battle prematurely.

  Bordeaux and Wang linked up with us near the rear of the legion’s farthest cohort on the right. We exchanged quick greetings, and made our way along the long line towards the extreme left, and Caligula’s position. One of the legionnaires noticed our movement and yelled, asking us where we were going.

  “Orders,” Helena announced loudly. “But don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

  The men in earshot cheered at the idea of her coming to aid them in the upcoming battle. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to make you a god after this,” I told her as we jogged.

  “Would you finally listen to me for a change if I were?”

  “Why, of course, oh goddess.”

  She laughed and kept running. Wang peel off and join the legion’s medical cadre where he’d stay and offer more help than every other doctor combined. Wounded were already trickling in from the battle with the vigiles. It seemed they were fighting harder than expected, another bad sign.

  We passed by Galba on the way. He ignored us and continued yelling for updates on the right flank. We saw a messenger on horseback ride towards the right to determine the situation and appraise Galba upon his return. Reaching Caligula, I noticed the left f
lank was completely silent, and all I could see were rebel Praetorians of in the distance, patiently waiting just out of pila range. Vincent and Santino were there too, standing eagerly near the emperor’s side. Vincent nodded in greeting while Santino clapped me on the shoulder.

  “What happened over here?” I asked them.

  “We focused our fire on the urban cohorts,” Vincent reported. “There were fewer of them than the vigiles, and we probably killed two thirds of their men ourselves. By the time they charged, we switched fire to the vigiles on our side of the field. They were slaughtered with just one volley of pila from our Praetorians.”

  What a waste. Fifteen hundred men dead in a matter of minutes. What made matters worse was that we were the ones doing most of the killing. Why didn’t it affect me the way I knew it should?

  “Anybody else not really care that we’re slaughtering people on a Hitlerian scale today?” I asked the squad.

  Everyone’s look shifted towards the ground. They seemed ashamed that they too were unphased by the killing, and that they didn’t know why.

  “Want to know why?” Santino asked.

  I looked at him, wondering if he really had any answers.

  “By all means, enlighten us,” I told him.

  “It’s because of that fucking thing,” he said pointing towards Claudius as he rode atop his great stead, glowing blue orb in hand.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out, Jacob. It’s what got us here and you said it’s what drove Caligula insane before, and now its affect has reached every single person on this battlefield. It’s clearly touched us, because we don’t care that we’re killing these people. We’re losing our minds!” He yelled for dramatic effect. “If you ask me, the quicker we end this battle the better.”

  I looked at him and opened my mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. I couldn’t believe how much sense that made, considering how usually dimwitted he was.

  “Clearly it’s affected you,” Bordeaux said. “That actually made sense.” He shook his head, trying to rationalize Santino’s analysis. “Doesn’t it?”

  “I guess it does,” Vincent said, “It doesn’t matter. We’re committed.”

  I was still trying to wrap my head around Santino’s epiphany when Galba came riding up to Caligula.

  The emperor noticed his general’s approach, and turned his horse to meet him near where we stood. “How goes the battle, Legate?”

  “Not well, I’m afraid,” he updated. “The auxilia are completely tied up and cannot disengage. I’ve already sent my cavalry to support them for fear that the sheer weight of that militia will come crashing down on my legion. As for them, we’ve taken some losses, not many, but more than we hoped. These bastards have somehow found the will to fight.” He looked to his right, at the enemy Praetorians, practically all that was left of Claudius’ army. “I don’t think we can hold them. They’re fresh and very experienced. If we can’t get the support of the auxilia, we may falter here.”

  “What will you have me do, general?”

  It was nice to see Caligula conceding control to a more experienced military man, instead of trying to micromanage. The man had definitely matured.

  “Hold here on the left at any cost. The only advantage we have is that Claudius has his best troops aligned against you, and if you can hold out long enough, maybe we can punch through and swing around to engulf them.”

  “We’ll hold, Legate. You have my word.”

  “Yours is one of the few I trust, Caesar. May Mars guide you this day,” Galba said, turning his horse to return to his men.

  “And you, Servius,” Caligula said to the retreating man’s back. He turned to face Vincent. “The empire needs you. Do not worry about me. Just do whatever you can to cause as much confusion as possible. The Praetorians won’t be used to your kind of presence on the battlefield.” He paused and looked out over the chaos. “When you see the sign, come to my aid.”

  “What sign, Caesar?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it,” and with that, he rode back to his own advisors, already issuing commands and words of encouragement.

  “Well?” Vincent asked, getting our attention. “You heard the man. Spread out. Pick your fights, and stay out of the way of the professionals.”

  I saluted, a growingly superfluous gesture these days, and reached out for Helena’s arm, pulling her in the general direction of the XV Primigenia ’s 1st cohort. A short run later, we found it right where we left it, in the exact center of the legion’s formation, its eagle prominently displayed high above. We took positions near to the legion’s aquilifer, who held the eagle, perhaps the most important position in the entire army. He was unarmed, but he was a veteran, probably taken from another legion’s pool of experienced soldiers to hold this new legion’s eagle. He had to be brave because he could not run. To run would be the single most detrimental thing that could happen to a legion.

  He wouldn’t run. They never have.

  In front of him stood another signifier, and behind both of them was an imaginifer, another standard bearer who carried the face of the emperor, a reminder of who the legion was fighting for. In front of all three was Centurion Maximus Nisus.

  “Any predictions?” I asked him.

  The man’s expression remained neutral. “I try not to think about the outcome of a battle before it truly gets underway. There are too many unknowns.”

  I nodded. I could relate to that.

  “But,” he continued, “I do believe Galba will call for a shift in our formation in a few seconds. Claudius is taking advantage of his numbers. Their lines extend well past ours, so Galba will call for our formation to spread out. It will open up gaps in our lines. If I were you,” he paused, looking around as though giving us any suggestions would be a betrayal to his skeptical general, “I would look for these gaps and do what you do there. If you have any more of those, what do you call them? Grenades? Use them there.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Centurion. May the gods smile on you today.” I wasn’t tuning into a pagan, but it was what he would want to hear.

  “And with you,” he replied, professional to the core. He turned back to the lines to continue his study of the enemy’s formation. They were finishing their last maneuver, just out of spear range. I looked to the right, trying to determine how the auxilia were doing, but all I could see was a jumble of men and horses. Only twenty minutes had passed since the vigiles had started their suicide rush, and I knew the battle could continue for hours before it showed any signs of waning.

  I looked over at Helena, a reassuring quip on my tongue, but was distracted by a messenger riding up to Nisus’ position. As the seer had predicted, Galba’s orders were to expand the grid formation. He also ordered the third cohort to split into three maniples, and spread out along the rear. They would be crucial in securing weak spots in our lines.

  Interestingly, the tactic was eerily similar to the one that, again, Caesar had used at Pharsalus. Like Galba, he’d used a nontraditional formation of four lines, instead of three, and used part of his army to work specifically to counter cavalry, as Galba was using part of his to hold the right. Hopefully, Claudius wasn’t seeing the similarities.

  As the messenger rode off, Nisus issued his command briefly and efficiently, and I quickly found myself moving in step with the cohort. Putting maybe thirty yards between the corners of each cohort, I was only slightly embarrassed when everyone else stopped moving, but I’d kept going. Some of the men laughed at me, and even Helena joined in the fun, having stopped on her mark.

  I gave her a betrayed look, which she returned with a shrug.

  Ignoring their jeers, I looked out over the legion and saw how these gaps in the checkerboard formation could easily become a problem. Had the formation been tight, the corners touching as it had been, the enemy would have a rough time breaching the gaps for fear of being surrounded. Since the half-cohorts were now spread
out, the enemy could enter these holes in the line with less fear. Help would have to come from farther away, and would leave the area they’d just left undefended. That was why Galba had created four lines in the checkerboard, so that holes could be plugged easily with reserves from the third, and the fourth could be called on as a last resort.

  Nisus was also right in assuming we could do some serious damage there. We only had a third of our ammo left, but the men who culminated between the gaps in our lines would be exposed and distracted. A well placed grenade would kill many, and leave the rest stunned. Our legionnaires would then be able to close the gaps. I only had three grenades and one flashbang stowed away in pouches along my belt, but they’d still make a wonderful mess.

  And just like that, the battle commenced again.

  The enemy was less than a football field away, thousands of bodies and spears littering the space between us. The carnage made me want to puke, but I didn’t have time. When the legion’s trumpeters blasted the marching order, I felt the automatic surge of troops around me, and I stepped into formation with them. We tip toed over the obstacles on the ground, the enemy doing the same as they marched forward to meet us. Seventy five yards out, I saw that our battle lines were at least as long as their own now. Another thirty yards later, I began seeing faces, armor, and their standards in more detail. When only twenty yards separated the sides, everyone stopped.

  Normally, this would be the moment when onrushing barbarians would run face first into a swarm of pila, but not today. Instead, I heard the forward lines’ centurions yell, “ pila,” wait while their men readied their spears, before yelling, “loose!”

  Fifteen hundred spears flew out in unison, falling against the Praetorians, now comfortably secured beneath their testudo formation, an overlapping wall and roof of shields. The testudo formation worked well against arrows, slings, and non-pila type spears, but today it only helped, not guaranteed a soldier’s safety. Just as the last spears were reaching their mark, the second line’s volley of spears flew out as well, inflicting even more casualties.