Most units while on route carried their shields on their backs. And they kept their javelins and spears in bundles for ease of transportation. The three Centuries from first maniple did neither.
When the first flight of Iberian spears came from the forest, the Legion files transitioned from traveling to a dead stop, the first factor. Then the Legionaries pivoted to face the enemy, factor number two.
Shields were adjusted to protect from more spears, and the men braced against an attack.
The mercenaries, expecting to crash through marching columns and killing as they went, collided with the Legion shield wall. As the Legionaries stiffened their assault line, they began the killing.
***
“Wedge formation,” the Iberian Major shouted. “Punch through their columns. Punch through...”
Grating, as if an iron bar were scratched back and forth over a steel plate, came from the woods behind the Iberian command position.
“Someone accused me of being shiftless
How can that be?
When my path is laid out for me”
Alerio sang as he ran into the clearing. Bunched up at the center of the open area was the mercenary commander and his bodyguards.
On the flanks of their Tribune, members of fourth squad raced to keep up. The Iberian mercenaries had not noticed the Legionnaires, yet.
“Sure it twists and turns
And at spots I’m blinded by trees”
Tribune Sisera stutter stepped as he approached the soldiers. Once his forward momentum allowed it, he kicked a mercenary with his right foot while slashing at the Iberian soldier on his left. Both men fell. One gravely wounded, the other simply upended.
Squad leader Rogatoris kneed the Iberian when the man attempted to rise. The Decanus’ gladius made sure the soldier remained down. Then the bodyguards for the Iberian Major sensed the threat from their rear.
“But no matter what day
You can locate me
On the river Aniene”
Alerio shuffled his feet and adjusted to a heading towards the Iberian Major. Before the Tribune could reach the Iberian commander, four soldiers decided to make it difficult. They spun around and locked shields, creating a barrier between the two commanders.
Legionaries of fourth squad paired off and fought with the rest of the bodyguards.
The rear attack created confusion in the mercenary’s command structure. Rather than the Major adapting to the situation, he was occupied with surviving. And the Iberian soldiers under his command continued to throw themselves against the hardened center of the Legion line.
“For it’s
Pole down
Barge forward”
Alerio backed off until his heel connected with the dead soldier’s shoulder. Reaching down, he picked up the Iberian sword. Ignoring the size disparity between it and his gladius, Tribune Sisera moved forward swinging the blades. At the extended reach of the four Iberians swords, he lowered into a guard position.
“Upstream
Or downstream
The motion is the same”
Driving the longer Iberian blade across the soldier’s weapons created a momentary opening. In the half a heartbeat of cleared space, Alerio jumped in and close the distance. He stabbed one soldier with his gladius. As the man crumpled around the wound and his knees buckled, the other three brought their steel to bear on the Tribune. Blocking left and right Alerio held off the blades. But these were Iberian infantrymen and his skills would only hold them off for a short while.
From his peripheral vision, Alerio noticed a head and back charging in under his blade. In another step, Rogatoris appeared. In another step, the squad leader stuck a shoulder into one of the soldier’s hips and drove him away from Alerio.
With only two defenders facing him, Alerio could focus. He swiped downward with his left sword while bringing the gladius across and upward.
“I’ve got sixteen foot of pole
Fourteen feet of river bends
Four feet of reach”
The soldier on Alerio’s left leaned back protecting his face. In an odd twist, the other bent forward to extend his blade. Alerio’s gladius sliced the artery in the man’s arm. Blood spewed in an arc and splashed Alerio from waist to head as the Iberian fell back.
“Three feet of water
And an unbalanced craft
Load the stone”
The gladius traveled from slicing the arm, traveling upward above Alerio’s head. From the height, it dropped towards the remaining soldier’s helmet. Reflectively, the Iberian raised his blade to block it. But the sword in Alerio’s other hand sliced back across the man’s legs. The mercenary collapsed to the ground.
With the bodyguards down, Tribune Sisera stalked towards the Major.
“Load the goods
For it’s
Pole down”
The senior officer dropped back on his rear leg. With the distribution of weight, he tapped with his forward foot as a distraction. Alerio advanced and the Major shuffled backward. Without forecasting the strike, the Iberian leaped forward and slashed at Alerio’s face.
“Barge forward
Upstream”
Alerio caught and deflected the Major’s sword with the gladius. With the Iberian sword, he ran the blade into the mercenary commander’s throat. The Major dropped and the Tribune pulled his blade free.
“Or downstream
The motion is the same”
Decanus Rogatoris bent to check on several of his wounded. Somehow, the fourth squad had come through the attack without suffering any devastating injuries.
“Salus, protect us,” a squad member swore.
The call to the Goddess of Preservation from Harm caused Rogatoris to look up. He saw what caused the Legionary’s reaction.
Standing over a dead Iberian Major, his body coated in blood, Tribune Sisera held a sword in each hand. His mouth moved, forming silent words.
“That is Death Caller,” Rogatoris observed softly, “blessed of Nenia Dea.”
Alerio glanced around. It was as if Rogatoris could hear the Tribune’s talk with the Goddess of Death.
Chapter 39 – Learn Your Job
Once the pressure on the center of the assault line lessened, the two flanking Centuries pivoted inward. As if wide open arms, the Legion units marched forward. The further into the woods they moved, the more the flanking Centuries closed inward.
Without orders to the contrary, the Iberian infantry fought back. But they battled on three sides in a losing campaign. Then their resistance crumbled.
As if the three Centuries of inexperienced Legionaries were not enough, a new line of Legion infantry appeared in the woods. From a fighting front, the Qart Hadasht mercenaries were overrun from the side by a tight formation of veteran Legionaries.
When the line moved beyond the clearing to finish sweeping the forest clear of Empire soldiers, General Lucius Scipio stepped out of the trees.
“Tribune Sisera?” he asked.
“Here, sir,” Alerio replied. He threw down the sword and sheathed the gladius before saluting.
General Lucius Scipio pondered Alerio and the gory mess dripping from his face and chest armor.
“Colonel Claudius told me you were not afraid to engage with the enemy,” Scipio remarked.
Thinking it was praise, Alerio braced and responded, “Thank you, General.”
“That was not a compliment, Tribune Sisera,” Scipio scolded. “A staff officer’s job is to guide his Centuries. I have plenty of brave Centurions and battle hungry Optios. What I need are commanders with their eyes on the battlefield using their intelligence. Not their bodies and gladii.”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio replied.
“Once you have loaded your Legionaries in the morning,” Scipio advised. “Come to my flagship. You’ll be sailing with me for the day.”
***
The story of the rear assault traveled through the camp and expanded with each telling. By morning,
Tribune Sisera, in the clutches of the Goddess of Death had been so frenzied, he attacked the Iberian command center by himself. If fourth squad had not been there, the Tribune surely would have been butchered. As it turned out, Death Caller fought through a dozen Iberian soldiers to reach and kill the Major. Then he bathed in the mercenaries’ blood as he prayed to his Goddess.
Legionaries love an outrageous story. Thus, the exploits of Death Caller entertained the entire Legion throughout the night.
***
Alerio returned from a morning briefing with Senior Tribune Quadruvii and marched to the center of the squad areas.
“Centurions. Optios. Get them loaded,” Alerio called to his infantry officers and NCOs.
A momentary hush fell over the Centuries. All eyes turned to study Tribune Sisera, searching to see if there was any sign of blood on his armor.
“Now, Centurions and Optios,” Alerio insisted.
The men of his six Centuries snapped out of their trance and returned to the present. They marched to the six quinqueremes assigned to his Centuries. Once his four hundred eighty infantrymen, six combat officers, twelve NCOs, and sixty servants were on board, Alerio jogged to the General’s flagship.
“Good morning, sir,” a First Century Legionary greeted him at the bottom of the ramp. “The General is expecting you.”
At the top of the ramp, a sailor directed Alerio to a spot along the rails. He tied down his gear and walked to the steering platform.
“Good morning, Tribune Death Caller,” Consul/General Lucius Scipio mocked. “Have you given any thought to what I said yesterday?”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio replied. “I need to direct the fighting and not participate in it.”
The command to launch the warship was passed from the ship’s Centurion to his deck officers. As the keel slid across the sand, the General ordered Alerio.
“You will spend the day listening to my Senior Tribune,” Scipio instructed. “If you say anything other than to reply to his questions, I will strip you of your rank. On the way back to the Capital, you will be nothing but a passenger. Is that clear?”
“Yes, General,” Alerio confirmed.
At the bow of the warship, Senior Tribune Titus pointed down the long deck with his arm. Then he curled his fingers signaling for Alerio to come to him.
***
“Look out there. What do you see?” Titus questioned.
“Thirty Republic warships,” Alerio replied.
“Look closer,” the Legion’s Senior Tribune directed.
“A Legion being transported,” Alerio offered.
“What I see are three thousand fighting men who need equipment and food,” Titus described. “And over nine thousand oarsmen and sailors who require supplies for their ships and food. Plus, seventy officers who need to be kept advised of the General’s plans. In short, I see the work of staff officers. Do you see any time in my day where I pick up a gladius and gather glory?”
“No, Senior Tribune,” Alerio admitted.
The second deck officer called for sails. Once the sailors scrambled to unroll the material, the order to withdraw oars was issued and the splashing and shouting from the rowers walk died down.
“This is my favorite time of any campaign,” Titus reflected.
“Sailing, sir?” Alerio asked.
“Sailing or on the march,” the Senior Tribune responded. “Whenever the Legion is in motion and doesn’t require my attention. What requires your attention, Tribune Sisera?”
The sails on both masts popped, sounding like whips. Titus and Alerio turned to see loose ties on the corners of both sails. As sailors ran to fix the broken ties, a wave slammed into the side of the vessel. The warship rocked and the Senior Tribune and Alerio stumbled.
“Sirs. Get to your bundles and hold on,” the Third Principale directed. “We are entering a storm.”
Another wave rocked the warship, the winds blew hard across the deck, and the sky darkened.
“We will continue this later,” Titus promised.
The Senior Tribune, bent low to keep from being blown off the deck, weaved his way to the aft where his equipment was tied down. Alerio did not have far to go to reach his bundle. He hesitated, watching the crew rushing to secure the sails. Before the talk with General Scipio and Senior Tribune Titus, Alerio would have helped. But now…
Pop! A second tie on the forward sail ripped loose. The freed fabric cuffed the second deck officer and the Principale pirouetted across the deck.
Sprinting for several steps, Alerio dove and caught the deck officer around his knees. They both flopped to the deck. The deck officer’s head and shoulders dangled over the boiling sea. Only Tribune Sisera’s arms prevented him from sliding into the waves.
“Principale, are you alright,” Alerio asked. He could feel the slack in the man’s muscles. The tackle had not been that violent.
“He is out cold, Tribune,” a sailor stated.
Two sailors, braced on the rolling deck, lifted the deck officer from the boards. Under his stomach, the broken end of a rail post displayed blood as did the Principale’s side.
“Give him to an infantryman,” Alerio instructed. “He’ll know what to do.”
Rain lashed the deck. And wind blew the unanchored sail and pole from the deck to the sky. Sometimes tapping the deck and other times whipping and injuring men clinging to ropes to keep from falling overboard.
Pushing up to a sprinter’s stance, Alerio watched the thrashing sail and pole. They went high, caught the wind briefly, then the materials shot downward. On the second circuit of the mad pattern, Alerio bolted forward.
In mid stride, he straightened his legs and leaped off the deck. Under him, the boards rolled and, above his outstretched arms, the sail and pole snapped in the wind. Then his fingers closed on the pole and his weight almost pulled the fabric down. But a gust of storm powered wind blew him and the sail over the side of the warship.
Gripping and flapping as if he weighed nothing, the Goddess Tempestas displayed her raw power by creating and waving a banner of sail and man.
Then as quickly as the flurry of wind had blown in, it subsided. Alerio swung back over the deck. Two Legionaries jumped up and one cut the sail with his gladius while the other pulled Alerio to the deck. Freed, the fabric billowed, and another gust blew the sail overboard.
“For a staff officer,” one of the infantrymen yelled over the wind and rain, “you saved a lot of Legionaries.”
“For a staff officer,” Alerio replied, “I am a miserable failure.”
***
As if caught in a whirlpool, the warship spun on its keel. Realizing the vessel was uncontrolled, Alerio stumbled to a ladder. Bouncing against the rungs and bumping against the sides of the access hatch, he dropped to the rowers walk.
Oarsmen were attempting to give the warship a heading. But inside the rolling hull, with the wind screaking, the Third Principale, who replaced the Second, could not stand upright and signal the Stroke to set the pace.
Using his hands for balance, Alerio worked his way mid-ship to the Engine. Braced, he watched the young deck officer try to right himself.
“Engine. It is you who will pull us through the storm,” Tribune Sisera screamed. “Let-it-run and stand by for orders.”
Bruised and beat on from fighting individually, the rowers responded. Those rowing stopped and held their oars above the pounding waves. Other struggled to run out their oars. Finally, the biggest and strongest rowers responded.
“Standing by,” they bellowed.
Alerio pointed at the deck officer struggling in the stern.
It might have been that the Third Principale finally got his legs set on the rowers’ walk. Or, maybe having the support of a staff officer gave him confidence. In either case, the third deck officer planted his legs, balanced, and raised his arms.
“Stroke, stand by,” he shouted.
“Standing by,” the best rowers on the ship replied.
“Stroke, st
roke, stroke,” the Principale called while punching a fist into the air. Even if his voice was partially drowned out by the wind, his arm identified the command. “Stroke. Stroke.”
His best oarsmen, the Stroke section, answered the call. They set a pace by plummeting and pulling their oars in time with the deck officer’s count. By themselves, the Stroke could not power the storm-tossed warship.
Seeing the cadence, Alerio, at mid-ship, called out matching commands.
“Stroke. Stroke. Stroke,” he repeated.
And one hundred oarsmen bent their powerful backs, adjusted massive hands, and pulled with their thick arms. Matching the Stroke, the big men of the Engine joined the fight against the roaring sea.
The quinquereme stopped revolving and one hundred forty-eight feet of warship surged ahead. When the smoothest strokers of the Bow added their one hundred oars, control of the vessel returned to the steering platform.
On the deck above the rhythmic pulling and lifting, the rear oarsmen turned the ship’s bow into the waves.
“Thank you, Tribune,” an oarsman offered as he stroked. “We never expected help from a staff officer.”
“I’m afraid, I have not learned my job very well,” Alerio remarked.
Act 12
Chapter 40 – A Promise Made
Alerio remained with the Engine throughout the pounding of the waves and the hard rowing. Then, as quickly as the storm came upon the fleet, it passed. The seas calmed and the winds tapered off.
With a salute to the oarsmen, Alerio climbed from the lower deck.
“Tribune Sisera,” Titus shouted when Alerio’s head appeared above the top deck. “Report to General Scipio.”
As Alerio climbed off the ladder and stepped onto the deck boards, he wondered what a civilian passenger did on a warship. Thankfully, his adoption by Spurius Maximus granted him patrician status and protection. Elsewise, he would suffer a session on the punishment post. Although it was going to hurt Maximus when he learned his adopted son was returning home in disgrace, rather than covered in glory.
“I am sorry, Senator Maximus,” Alerio mouthed as he walked the length of the warship.
Muted Implications (Clay Warrior Stories Book 12) Page 25