“They can be killed like any other,” Stiger shouted, moving up to the line and climbing atop the barricade so that all could see and hear him. “Those bastards thought they could come into your valley. Yes, your valley. They killed. They burned. They took captives.” There was some grumbling at that. It was what Stiger wanted to hear. “Ruga’s century showed them they can’t come into our valley and take our people!” The legionaries roared heartily at this.
“We are the Thirteenth! We are the legion. From Delvaris’s time to now, we are the shield that protects the empire.” Stiger remembered what Vargus had just told him about the sentiment of the valley cohorts. “We stand to protect the valley behind us and your families. We stand and we hold the line!” The legionaries roared their approval at this, working themselves up.
“We hold the line,” Stiger shouted again and paused, about to go on, but Vargus beat him to it.
“What do we do?” Vargus roared at his men, and at that moment, Stiger loved the cantankerous centurion like a brother.
“HOLD!” the legionaries roared as one. “HOLD . . . HOLD . . . HOLD!”
Stiger took one more look around. The men looked determined and angry. The unease and uncertainty was gone. He punched his fist up and into the air.
“HOLD . . . HOLD . . . HOLD!” the men continued to shout.
Satisfied, Stiger climbed down off of the barricade and turned toward the orcs. During his short speech, their numbers had continued to swell, filling up the other end of the pass. They seemed more of a mob than an organized fighting force, yet their numbers were considerable.
Stiger wondered why they just stood there watching. It was almost as if they were waiting for something. The orcs were easily within javelin range, and he was about to call for a toss when something began to happen. A gap formed in the center of the mob, and then two large orcs stepped through. One was a warrior, carrying a battle hammer loosely in one hand. The other was one of their priests, for he wore black robes with brightly painted designs and carried a wooden staff. The priest’s headdress was made from the skull of a tiger, and when combined with his dress, he looked otherworldly. The gap closed up behind them. Stiger’s legionaries quieted down. It seemed that all eyes on both sides were on the two orcs.
The large warrior regarded the legionaries for a brief moment, spat on the ground, and then turned his back contemptuously on them. He began addressing the orcs in what seemed like an upbeat tone. Stiger recognized it as a morale boosting speech, kind of like the one he had just delivered. The orcs began shouting back in reply to what the warrior was telling them.
“Eli,” Stiger snapped, looking back and around for his friend. Both were in arrow range. “Deal with those two.”
Eli and the other two elves did not even hesitate. They pushed through the line of legionaries, climbed the improvised barricade, and were over in a flash. Sprinting ahead a bit, they each drew an arrow, aimed, and released. It happened so quickly and unexpectedly, it was shocking. All three arrows bit home. The big warrior stopped in mid-speech and dropped like a felled tree. The priest staggered, turning an angry glare on the legionaries. He made to raise his staff, but three more arrows struck him in rapid succession. He let out an anguished cry and collapsed into the snow, dead.
A stunned silence settled over the field. Then an orc roared its animal-like rage at the legionaries. This was taken up by the entire group of them. The legionaries countered with a hearty cheer of approval. Eli, Taha’Leeth, and Aver’Mons sprinted back to the safety of the barricade, which they rapidly scrambled over.
“Nice job,” Stiger commented to Eli, once his friend had made it back over.
“Always pleased to serve,” Eli said, exposing his needle-like teeth.
“It was an honor,” Aver’Mons said in elven, disgust lacing his tone. “Those of the Horde have no place here.”
“It’s not every day you have the opportunity to remove such filth from this world,” Taha’Leeth commented as she slung her bow over her shoulder.
“I suppose you have done your good deed for the day,” Stiger said to her. She flashed him a dazzling smile in reply.
“I fear there will be more good deeds needing some doing before long,” she said, her look turning feral, almost wild.
Stiger frowned.
“I do not want you and Aver’Mons taking any risks in the coming fighting,” Stiger said quietly to her in elven. What was coming would be brutal and ugly, standup legionary fighting. He could not afford to lose such valuable rangers before his campaign against the Cyphan had even begun. “You are both to hang back and stay out of any direct fighting.”
“You would hobble us?” she asked Stiger back in elven, an angry look in her eyes.
“You will not fight on the line.”
“Yet you humans can?” Taha’Leeth narrowed her eyes. “We are not good enough to fight alongside you? Is that it?”
Her anger made her suddenly look even more beautiful to Stiger’s eyes. Her face had flushed and her eyes, especially intent upon him, had a depth to them that he found surprising. At this moment, her fiery red hair matched her personality. Stiger sighed deeply.
“This is what the boys train for,” Stiger told her. “You and Aver’Mons are rangers. Your place is not in the line.”
“I told you he liked you,” Eli said with a huge grin. Taha’Leeth’s eyes turned to Eli, shooting daggers at him. “He only means you are too skilled to risk losing you and,” Eli hesitated a second and his gaze flicked to Stiger, “Aver’Mons in the brutality of the line.”
She turned back to Stiger, her look softening. “Is that so?”
He nodded.
“Very well,” she said. “We will take no unneeded risks.”
Stiger figured it was the best he was likely going to get and so he nodded, turning his attention back on the orcs. They had worked themselves up into a proper frenzy, but had yet to move forward. Scanning them critically, Stiger could detect no officers, sergeants, or really any type of leadership or organization amongst them. By killing the warrior and priest, Stiger had hoped to decapitate their leadership. Perhaps it would pay off?
“Would you check on Marcus?” Stiger asked of her. “I do not want him in the line either. I told him to get some rest.”
Taha’Leeth nodded, and with a gesture to Aver’Mons, they both went in search of the scout-turned-ranger.
“That could have gone better,” Eli said with a chuckle. “You were lucky I was here to translate your thinking to her.”
“Second and third ranks,” Stiger shouted, electing to not respond to his friend, “javelins at the ready. First rank, hold!”
The centurions repeated his orders up and down the line. The second and third ranks took several steps back to make room for a toss.
“You take the left side,” Stiger said to Vargus. “I will take the center and our right. Don’t hesitate to call in a reserve file from the 85th.”
“Yes, sir,” Vargus replied after a moment’s hesitation and left for his position on the line. Stiger imagined it was hard for the centurion to take orders from someone else, especially after having had sole command over his cohort for so long.
“I do believe you may want to consider sending some men up those slopes,” Eli suggested as Vargus moved off.
Stiger looked up at the steep, rocky slopes on either side of the pass and could not help but agree. It was unlikely any serious fighting would occur there, but the orcs, once they figured out that they could not break his line, might try to get up and around behind him.
“Blake!” Stiger shouted to the sergeant. Blake jogged over. “Send a file up both slopes on either side of us. Make it clear to the corporals that, should they get seriously pushed, they are to send for aid. Also, pass your javelins forward to the Second.”
“Yes, sir,” Blake said, glancing at both sides of the line. “Mig
ht I suggest two files on each side? That way they can hold longer . . . at any rate, long enough for aid to arrive.”
Stiger considered the suggestion. It made sense, but it also meant that his reserves would be weakened. He nodded in acceptance. “See to it, centurion.”
Blake turned away, then stopped and looked back at Stiger with a quizzical look. “Sir?”
“You heard me,” Stiger said with a straight face. One of the perks to being made a legate was that he now had the authority to promote men from the ranks. In the old days, before Emperor Midiuses’s reforms, men could move from being a regular to an officer based upon merit alone. Now it was an exceedingly rare occurrence, as the officer corps was reserved for the nobility and those who could afford to purchase a commission. It was one of the things that Stiger felt the legions had lost and ensured that useless men made it into positions of authority that they were ill-suited for. “I am promoting you to centurion, effective immediately. Ranl too, when I next see him.”
“Me, sir? An officer?” Blake asked in astonishment, almost as if he had been struck by lightning. “Ranl?”
“Yes,” Stiger replied. “I have decided we are going to reorganize the 85th and the garrison companies under the banner of the Thirteenth and form another cohort. You will command that cohort.”
“Uh, yes, sir,” the sergeant-turned-centurion replied uncertainly.
“We will speak more on this later,” Stiger said, his eyes returning to the roaring and shouting of the orcs. “Now, if you would kindly get those files moving, I would appreciate some semblance of security along my flanks.”
“Yes, sir.” Blake snapped off a salute and hurried off.
Stiger called the standard bearers for Second Cohort and the 85th to him. “You two stay near me at all times.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison. In the north, he had seen General Treim keep the legionary standards with him. During the chaos of battle, you could always tell where the general was located by simply looking for the standards. Though this would not be a large battle, it was dark out. Should someone need to find him, it would be easier with the standards following him around.
A great roar went up from the other side of the pass, and the mass of the orcs surged forward toward the legionary line. The ground trembled with the thunder of their feet. Stiger thought it sounded like a cavalry charge. The confined slopes of the pass amplified the sound, making it seem more ominous.
“First rank, present shields and javelins!” Stiger roared. Shields came up, and javelins were leveled as men braced themselves to receive the charge. It was time to soften the orcs up. “Second rank! Javelins release!”
With grunts of exertion, the second rank threw their javelins. It was an exceptionally good toss. The missiles arced upward and fell with deadly accuracy amongst the charging orcs. The air was filled with the sound of screams, animal-like roars of pain, and the clatter and crash of the javelins striking armor. Orcs fell by the dozen, tripping those behind them. Totally unfazed, the mass continued forward, heedlessly trampling their fellows who had been struck down or fallen.
“Third rank! Javelins release!” Stiger watched as the volley of javelins flew upward and then slammed down amongst the charging orcs, who were just a few yards shy of the improvised barricade. Dozens more fell, and still the mass of them came on. The time for organized volleys was over. “Second and third ranks, release at will!”
Javelins in ones and twos began to be thrown, and then a steady stream of missiles arched up over the line and into the enemy. Several heartbeats later, the charge slammed into the defensive barricade. More than a few orcs were thrown flat as they attempted to scale the barricade, only to have pressure from behind knock them down. These first few were trampled and crushed as their fellows behind climbed over their bodies, eager to get at the humans. They were met by shield and javelin. The legionaries of the first rank jabbed, punching their javelins forward, seeking soft spots. Wounded orcs screamed their pain, fell backward, and were swallowed up by the press.
Stiger understood the javelins of the first rank would only last a short time. While they did, it would help to keep the orcs at a distance. However, the shanks of the weapons were intentionally designed to be soft so that they bent after being thrown, which rendered them useless after the initial toss. The enemy would not be able to throw the weapon back. In direct combat, the same would eventually occur, and the shank would bend, usually after a javelin struck armor instead of flesh. When rendered useless, the legionary would be forced to discard the weapon to draw his sword. Then the fighting would get close and difficult.
Under the bright moonlight, Stiger watched as the fighting raged up and down his line. The cacophony of the battle was near deafening, but his men were holding. The improvised barricade was not an ideal defensive wall, but it had effectively broken up the charge.
Having scaled the barricade, the orcs found themselves at a disadvantage. Orc armor consisted of protection for the head, chest, abdomen, and arms. Their legs were not protected, meaning that they were exposed to the legionary swords and javelins. Using their shields for protection, the legionaries struck upward at the orcs with quick thrusts, bringing down many.
The struggle continued unabated in its ferocity as the orcs threw themselves at the legionaries. An orc dived off of the barricade and into the ranks of his men, easily leaping over the first rank. Another orc did the same, and in a matter of seconds, more were diving forward. Most were rapidly cut down by the second rank, but a few managed to regain their feet and fight. Those few did not last long and were cut down under a flurry of swords. Stiger shook his head in dismay. He had never seen anything like it. The orcs were throwing themselves at his men with reckless abandon.
He kept swiveling his head left and right, looking for signs of trouble, but so far the men were holding. He was taking casualties, but nowhere near as many as the orcs were suffering. The fighting was almost one-sided as his men slaughtered orcs by the bushel. Legionary discipline, training, and fighting as a cohesive unit were winning the day.
Whenever a man was wounded, another immediately took his place in the line. The injured man struggled or was helped back to the aid station. The cohort surgeon was there with a couple orderlies. Stiger glanced back and saw Father Thomas was also there, attending to the wounded. It was reassuring that the paladin was here to help tend to his men. Without a doubt many more would survive as a result of Father Thomas’s presence.
Turning back to the action, Stiger frowned as he saw another man on the front line fall, his shield ripped away from him by one orc, even as another brought a hammer down on the man’s helmet. The man dropped like a rock. Without missing a beat, a legionary stepped forward and into the fallen man’s place.
Stiger watched the fighting, the minutes ticking by as his men fought the tide of orcs pressing forward. He grew concerned. There had been no letup in the fighting since it had started. The orcs were continuing their assault on his line without regard to their losses. Stiger could not understand it. Where human soldiers would have eventually pulled back to regroup before testing his line again, the orcs just kept coming. Were they trying to tire his men out? It was a troubling thought, as Stiger had no idea how many orcs there were beyond what he could see to his direct front.
A centurion near Stiger blew hard on a whistle, signaling the changing out of the first rank for the second. It was efficiently done, and the fresh rank took their place on the line. Those who had just come off formed up and took their position as the third rank, breathing hard from their exertion and taking stock.
Stiger glanced first to his left and then to his right, checking on his flanks along the slopes. There was no action there or even a hint of a potential fight developing. In fact, the orcs were only striking at the direct center of his line. The centuries manning the last twenty feet on either side, right up to the mountain slopes of the pass, were not ev
en engaged. He could not believe what he was seeing. The files he had dispatched to the slopes had only climbed up around ten to twenty feet. They stood with their shields resting on the ground, watching the show below.
Stiger turned to Eli, who had remained by his side. The elf looked troubled and Stiger suspected they were having similar thoughts.
“We cannot continue like this,” Stiger said to him as another whistle was blown and the ranks rotated again.
“Agreed,” Eli said. “The continued pressure on our line will tell.”
Stiger thought for a minute, rubbing his jaw. He had felt compelled to hold this position, as it was so formidable. That aside, he had never liked simply holding a line, as it surrendered the initiative to the enemy. He had always preferred a battle of maneuver over a static defense, where he could dictate the terms.
“I am thinking of reforming the 85th,” Stiger told him, sounding out the plan he was putting together in his head, “and sending half to either flank. Once in position, they push forward over the barricade and then collapse toward the middle.”
“Striking the orcs along their flanks.” Eli raised an eyebrow, considering the plan. “It might work, depending upon how many of them there are beyond what we can see.”
Stiger thought through his plan again and then sent a runner for Blake and Vargus.
“This cannot go on,” Vargus said when he arrived just after Blake. “My boys will eventually tire.”
“This is what we are going to do,” Stiger informed them. “The 85th will reform. Half will go to the right flank and the other half will move to the left. Blake, you will command the left and Eli the right. Once both sides are in position, you will push over the barricade, sweeping whatever enemy is before you. When you are over, I want you to swing around and push into the sides of the enemy, boxing them in. Once those bastards react and the pressure along our center eases, Second Cohort will go over the top and push hard into the enemy. We will have them on three sides.”
The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3) Page 20