The Tiger (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 2)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Marcus began to move even before the captain had finished speaking. He and his men stepped through the ranks and climbed the short distance to the top of the hill. In moments they were over the top and gone from view.

  It won’t be long now, Stiger thought grimly. He forced himself to project a calm countenance for the benefit of the men. As was his custom before going into battle, he bowed his head and offered a brief prayer to the High Father, asking for a blessing of success and a personal request to spare as many of his men as possible. He then made sure to commend his spirit into the hands of the High Father.

  Prayer complete, he glanced once again along his double line of men to make sure everything was in order. The trees in the step-off area had been intentionally cut back to allow the men to form an uninterrupted line in preparation for the attack. Once Stiger gave the order to push off and his men reached the crest of the hill, they would be back in the forest again, where the trees had been left as they were. The tree line was bound to break up his formation. However, Stiger was counting on surprise to counter the disorganization the forest would inflict upon his assault line.

  He tightened the straps on his helmet so that they bit into his skin. Nothing could be heard from the other side of the hill, where his scouts had undoubtedly gone in, striking at the unsuspecting enemy as soon as they were in range. The minutes crawled by and then, suddenly, Scout Corporal Marcus appeared on the crest of the hill, bow in hand. He turned and fired two arrows in rapid succession back down the other side. The rest of the scouts began to appear on the crest. They paused briefly to loose a smattering of arrows. The rebels could now be heard, crashing through the forest as they neared the crest, along with a lone agonized scream as an arrow bit home. It sounded to Stiger as if a large number were charging up the hill.

  “Draw swords!” Stiger ordered, pulling his own out with a hiss. He felt the familiar tingle coming and going so quickly it was a wonder he had not simply imagined it. Up and down the line, his men drew steel. Stiger glanced down at his sword and wondered if it would speak today. Well? he asked it silently. The sword remained silent.

  “Front rank!” Stiger called loudly. “Shields front!” Instantly, the shields of those men in the front rank snapped up from the ground and were presented forward.

  “Here they come, boys,” Stiger called in a strong, steady voice that was filled with confidence and steel. The sound of the enemy crashing through the forest grew louder. “Stand strong! Stand tall! Fight like Tigers!”

  The scouts bolted from the crest, appearing to run in a mad panic. The legionaries in the ranks stepped aside, parting their shields to let them through. Once safely through the lines, breathless from their exertions, the scouts turned back toward the crest of the hill, bows nocked and ready.

  First one, then two and abruptly a large number of rebels, perhaps as many as a hundred, appeared on the crest with a roar, charging over the top in headlong pursuit. The great mass came to an abrupt and uncertain halt, having emerged into the clearing to find a heavy line of imperial legionaries waiting, shields at the fore.

  Stiger knew that his men presented an impressive and shocking sight. A handful of rebels, caught up in the moment, continued to charge right into the shield wall, where they crashed upon the shields with solid thuds and explosive grunts. Those foolish few were rapidly cut down.

  “Tigers, advance!” Stiger roared at his men, for even though they were mixed with men from the 33rd, in the captain’s eyes all were Tigers today. The nervousness and tension left him in a rush, as it always did when the moment arrived. Grim-faced, he was intent on doing his duty. He would teach these rebels a lesson they would not soon forget.

  “HAAAAH,” the legionaries roared as they began a slow and steady march to the crest, just feet away. One veteran began to rap his sword upon the inside of his shield in a strong steady rhythm. In seconds the entire formation was rapping their swords in a steady, ominous beat. More rebels appeared on the crest of the hill. These also stopped, standing around in shock, uncertain what to do.

  “HAAAAH!” The legionaries shouted again, this time louder. The distance between the two groups closed rapidly, with the steady tromp of many feet in unison and the ominous beat of sword on shield. Arrows began to whiz over the legionaries’ heads. Two rebels fell, each clutching at arrow shafts that protruded from their chests. The advance continued along with the steady, ominous beat.

  At first, a single rebel turned and fled, disappearing back over the crest of the hill. Shortly, he was followed by another and another and yet another. In a great mass, the rebels turned and ran. The crest of the hill, which moments before had been chock full, was now bare.

  A handful of heartbeats later, Stiger and his men reached the crest. The forest spread out before them and ran right down to the road, around two hundred yards away. Crashing through the trees and undergrowth, the rebels were fleeing full-tilt for the road. Men ran, pushed past others, shoving their fellows aside in a bid to reach safety. A number, having caught a foot, fell, only to scramble back up and in mad panic continue their flight down the hill. Those rebels who had still been climbing stopped, shocked at the sight of their fellows crashing back through the forest toward the perceived safety of the road. The advancing legionary line came into view. These rebels hesitated a moment in disbelief and then they, too, turned and fled.

  Stiger’s men started over the crest and began to advance slowly and carefully down the hill, stepping around trees and brush, each man trying to remain in position, in line. Sergeants and corporals called out to specific men, ordering them to close up or keep up. No matter how hard the men tried, the trees rapidly began to break up Stiger’s formation. The captain well knew it would only become worse the farther they advanced down the hill, eventually making any shield wall impractical, at least until they reached the road and could reform.

  Taking in the rebels crashing down the hill in a mad dash, the captain understood what must be done, but that did not mean he had to like it. The rebels were running for the safety of the road and the momentum of the pursuit had to be kept up. Otherwise the enemy might reform. When Stiger’s disorganized line of legionaries emerged from the forest, he might be met with a strong rebel line and some very difficult fighting.

  “Charge!” Stiger roared, hating himself for giving the order. Instantly the men roared a battle cry and, breaking ranks, began moving down the hill at a much quicker pace. Careful to make sure that neither sword nor shield became entangled in the brush, they made their way down toward the road.

  “Hit ‘em hard, boys!” Stiger called, moving rapidly down the hill, his men screaming their war cries at the enemy as they ate up what remained of the slope down to the road. Following shortly behind his men, Stiger turned slightly to Brent, who looked anxious but at the same time caught up in the moment.

  “When we get down there, it’s going to be chaos,” Stiger shouted at the lieutenant, dodging around a tree. “By the gods, keep your head and look for trouble spots, then take initiative and get yourself involved. Battles are won by the officers keeping our heads and providing direction. Understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brent replied nervously, voice tinged by the excitement of the moment and the pent-up release of the stress he had been feeling. His eyes were a little wild, but he swallowed and nodded his understanding. “I will keep my head, sir. I swear it!”

  “Good man,” Stiger shouted over the din of the men’s battle cries and continued down the hill, careful of where he placed his feet and shield. It would not do for the men to see their captain trip and fall like some clumsy fool.

  It was then that Stiger’s men reached the road and slammed into the rest of the enemy column. Surprised at the sudden appearance of their fleeing comrades and even more shocked at the roaring hoard of legionaries who came charging out of the forest, they backed up, unsure what to do. They devolved instantly into a terrified mob, as the legionaries tore into the column. A good number simply threw down their a
rms and ran up the opposite hill in an attempt to escape. Others, in small groups led by officers and sergeants, kept their heads, drew swords and fought grimly, for only two fates waited them at the hands of the legionaries, death or life as a slave, if they were lucky enough to be captured.

  Men screamed, shouted and cursed. There were cries of fear, rage, excitement, ecstasy, triumph and agony. Above it all was the unmistakable clash of sword on sword or sword on shield. There seemed to be fighting everywhere as the captain emerged from the tree line. A rebel, seeing an officer, charged straight at the captain, screaming madly, battle-crazed. Stiger pulled his shield up and slammed it forward into the rebel’s body, shield boss catching the man square in the chest with an explosive grunt. Stiger felt the blow communicated painfully to his arm. The shock of the blow forced the air from the rebel’s lungs and the man’s sword clattered uselessly along the edge of the captain’s shield. Stiger pulled the shield aside slightly and stabbed the dazed rebel in the stomach, giving it a good, vicious twist before yanking the blade back. The man choked in agony as his stomach was torn open and his guts spilled to the ground in a heap at his feet. The rebel dropped his sword, staring in shock at his innards, which hung down to the dirt of the road. Stiger slammed his shield into the man once more. He dropped like a stone and did not stir.

  Breathing heavily, and perspiring despite the cold, the captain took a step back and tried to make sense of the fight. Most of the fighting had moved past him, his legionaries carried forward a few feet by the impetus of their charge even as the rebels recoiled back. There were several small groups of determined-looking rebels who had banded together and were desperately struggling against the better-armed and armored legionnaires. Stiger’s men were methodically cutting them to pieces.

  An arrow whizzed by the captain’s head, striking a rebel in the back as the man was attempting to flee the battlefield. Stiger turned and saw Marcus, along with another scout, peppering targets of opportunity.

  “Corporal,” Stiger shouted, waving his sword to get the scout’s attention. “Shoot at the organized groups!”

  Marcus nodded, scanned the chaos and picked out a group of men who had decided to stand and fight. This group was trading blows with several legionaries. Within seconds, Marcus and the other scouts moved closer, shooting arrows into them, careful not to hit friendlies.

  Stiger looked up and down the road toward Vrell, studying the battle as it expanded and grew as the combat spread out across a wider area. He had attacked along small stretch of the rebel column and had effectively sliced it neatly in two. The enemy in front and behind were clear of the fighting and as of yet remained untouched. They looked surprised and shocked at the sudden development before them. Stiger knew it was only a matter of time before they overcame their shock. Their officers would soon begin organizing their men and, if he was not careful, things could get sticky.

  A rebel made a break from the press. He saw the captain blocking his path to escape, and charged forward, sword raised to strike at the enemy officer before him. Stiger made to brace himself for the attack and raised his shield. At the last second, the captain calmly stepped aside, catching the rebel off balance. Stiger stabbed the man deep in the side. With no armor, his sword had no difficulty penetrating, punching easily through the man’s leathers. Warm blood exploded over Stiger’s sword arm and shoulder. Stiger’s sword grated off bone as the rebel’s momentum carried him a few steps by the captain. He collapsed in a heap. Stiger stepped up and stabbed the rebel in the throat to make sure the man would not rise again.

  The captain turned back to the chaos of the fight. He had to bring order to this mess and he had to do it sooner rather than later. He looked around for Brent to help him begin ordering the men. The lieutenant, who had been with him just moments before, was nowhere to be seen.

  Stiger noted that with every passing second there seemed fewer rebels on their feet. The slaughter was terrible to witness and appeared very one-sided, at least until Stiger noticed a handful of legionaries down, their scarlet cloaks standing out. Some were wounded and writhed in agony, others were still and unmoving.

  “Sergeant,” Stiger called to Blake, who was just a few feet away. The captain put the wounded and dead out of mind. He would worry about the cost later. The sergeant finished off a rebel and seemed absorbed in the moment, slamming his shield into another, who fell backwards and was stabbed by a legionary to the sergeant’s right. The man screamed as two more legionaries stepped forward and dispatched him under a flurry of jabbing blades.

  “That man was mine!” Blake roared, enraged at the legionaries. “Go find your own!”

  “Sergeant,” Stiger shouted again, finally catching the man’s attention. Blake stepped back and over to the captain, breathing heavily. The sergeant’s face and chest was covered in blood. “Are you okay?”

  Blake looked down at himself. He cracked a grin at the captain. “Someone else’s!”

  “Start organizing the men,” Stiger ordered, relieved the sergeant was uninjured. “We need a rear guard along the road and another up ahead. It won’t take the bastards long to get their act together and pinch us.”

  Blake nodded, turned and physically grabbed corporal Beni, who had just killed a rebel not two feet away, and began shouting orders at him. Together the two began swearing and shoving men about, getting those near at hand organized as the fighting on this portion of the road started to peter out. Two lines began to form, one up the road and one down it, as the corporals, sergeants and Stiger began the work of restoring order.

  The last of the rebels broke and made a run for it, rushing up the opposite hill in a bid to escape, with a number of legionaries hot on their heels. The corporals and sergeants shouted and cursed at the men to get them to come back. Most sheepishly listened, others caught up in the excitement of the moment continued.

  Looking around, Stiger was elated. He had scored a quick success at minimal cost. Still, he knew he had only cut the enemy column in half and there was more yet to do. He was in a dangerous position and needed to act fast to control it before the rebels could take his initiative away. The facts were simple. One portion of the rebel column was now isolated and trapped against Ikely’s and Stiger’s position. The other portion in the direction away from Vrell could either attack or fall back. Stiger looked up the road away from Vrell. An enemy company was forming lines not more than two hundred yards away. This was not good. They did not look like they intended to fall back.

  “Right then, Corporal Marcus,” Stiger shouted over to the corporal, pointing with his bloodied sword at the rebel company. “Get your scouts together and start putting fire on that rebel company. Don’t give the bastards a chance to breathe!

  “Form up!” Stiger shouted at those not already in the battle line. “Damn you! I want a line here yesterday or you are all on report! You will be digging shit out of the latrines for a month…so help me! Form up!”

  The enemy company would shortly be ready to move forward and Stiger only had around thirty men formed to face at least two hundred. The sergeants and corporals were working frantically to turn the disordered mob of legionaries into two ordered lines, one facing toward Vrell and the other away in the direction of the enemy company. Legionnaires were spread out all across the battlefield, exhausted from their charge and fight, but elated over their sudden victory. There was even some looting going on, which enraged Stiger further and yet slowly the rear guard was becoming stronger as more and more men joined it.

  Stiger wondered what was happening with the enemy in the direction of Vrell. From what he could see, the rebels there still looked to be disordered. Should they manage to get organized, Stiger could find himself getting hit from both sides at the same time. It could get ugly very fast. Sergeant Blake was actively forming the line in that direction, which left Stiger to handle the immediate threat from the rear.

  It was at that moment he realized, with no small amount of surprise, that Lieutenant Peal and Banister’s fo
rce was missing! They had not yet arrived. They were supposed to have gone in when he did. He looked up the hill in their direction and saw nothing.

  What in the Seven Levels happened to them? Stiger asked himself as he wiped blood from his sword on the tunic of a dead rebel.

  A scream of pain drew Stiger’s attention back to the rebel company. There was no time to worry about Peal and Banister. With deadly accuracy, Marcus and the other scouts had begun shooting arrows into the rebel company. Faced with a growing line of legionaries and being taken under missile fire, the rebels looked to Stiger, uncertain. He had the feeling that if he pushed at them a bit they might collapse.

  Stiger shot a glance at his line. He figured he had around seventy men in a single line facing an entire rebel company. Stiger’s strength was deceptive due to the line’s length, and lack of a second rank. It made the legionaries look more numerous than they actually were. The force he wanted to destroy was the one behind him, trapped by Ikely’s command. To get to them, he needed to deal with this threat first.

  “Prepare to advance!” Stiger roared, at his legionaries, who seemed startled by the order. “Forward!”

  Surprised or not, the men obediently started forward toward the rebels.

  “Shields front!” Stiger roared, falling in slightly behind the men. “Tighten up that line there! We’re gonna push them, boys! We gonna push these bastards off the field and back where they came from!”

  “HAAAAH!” The legionaries roared as loud as they could. “HAAAAH!”

  With each slow, methodical step, the two lines came closer together. As the distance closed, rebels continued to fall to the scouts’ missile fire. A few seconds later, the missile fire ceased as the scouts loosed the last of their arrows.

  Stiger glanced back to check on Blake and was relieved to see that the sergeant had a solid double line facing the other way, prepared to deal with any threat from that direction should it materialize. Stiger spied Lieutenant Brent with the sergeant. Satisfied that things were well in hand, the captain turned back to the fight he was about to enter.