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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Lock shields!” Stiger shouted as they approached to within just a handful of feet of the enemy. The shield wall went up with a resounding thunk.

  The rebel officers and sergeants were screaming orders at their men in an attempt to steady them and keep them ordered. A few took nervous steps backward. The rebels were armed with a wide variety of swords, no armor and, worse, no shields. Outnumbered or not, Stiger hoped this rabble would be no match for the heavily-armored legionnaires.

  A second or two before the two formations could close, the rebel ranks collapsed as their morale broke. The rebels turned and fled in panic, throwing down their swords and casting aside their packs and anything else that might hold them back. Another rebel company, which Stiger had not seen, had been formed up directly behind this one. They, too, dropped their weapons and ran.

  Stiger’s eyes widened. Beyond, the road was clear. Eli had been successful!

  “On them!” Stiger roared and his men surged forward, cutting down all they caught, which was not as easy as it seemed. They were heavily encumbered by their armor, shields and swords, and the rebels were not.

  Stiger watched the rout for a moment and grinned. It would be some time before those two enemy companies could be reformed. He could now focus his attention on destroying the rebels trapped between him and Ikely’s line. Unlike this bunch, they had nowhere to run.

  He turned around to see what was transpiring on the other end of the road that had become a battlefield. Where a few minutes before it seemed as if the enemy had not been organized on that part of the field, he saw Brent and Blake leading a holding action against a large, organized rebel force. The fighting looked desperate and hard as the enemy struggled to break through the thin formation of legionaries.

  The enemy commander must have realized what had happened and turned at least two entire companies around. In desperation he had flung them at the legionaries. One of the rebel companies was attempting to flank, and Brent had formed his men into a hasty box. He would need help and soon, Stiger grasped, or this entire venture might come to naught. As he was about to turn back to try to reform his men a second time, there came a thunderous shout, which exploded from the hill to his left. The second prong of his ambush, late to the party, was finally moving!

  Lieutenant Banister, waving his sword in the air, was leading the men down the hill and through the forest toward Brent’s position. Stiger breathed a huge sigh of relief as he watched the charging legionaries slam into the surprised rebels. With the second force of the assault prong having arrived, it was clear there was no longer any hope for the trapped enemy to break out.

  After a moment, Stiger turned back to look for a corporal. His men were chasing the routed rebels up the road, cutting down and slaughtering any they caught. There was no way they could be easily reformed.

  “We need to get the men reformed,” Stiger yelled, having caught Corporal Durggen’s attention. “We need to reform the men. I want a line to hold this spot long enough to destroy the enemy we have trapped.”

  “Yes, sir,” Durggen acknowledged. “I will see to it.”

  Stiger nodded, turned and jogged toward the fight.

  Eight

  LIEUTENANT IKELY STABBED forward with his sword, striking a rebel solidly in the chest. The man was unarmored and the sword penetrated, digging deeply with the thrust, slipping between two ribs. Warm blood washed down Ikely’s sword and onto his hand and arm, with spray splattering across his face. He jerked the sword back and with a scream, the man fell over the edge of the barricade into the defensive trench below.

  Almost immediately, another took the man’s place, climbing up and over the edge of the barricade. This rebel, screaming madly, hurled himself bodily forward and over the barricade, toppling to the dirt of the rampart. Ikely pushed forward and struck out, sword taking him in the side as he stood. Groaning, the rebel dropped his sword, fell to his hands and knees and tried to crawl away, mortally wounded. Ikely kicked him roughly in one of the arms, knocking him down and then stabbed again, this time in the lower back. The sword slid deep and the rebel screamed. Ikely yanked his sword out, and brought his arm back to strike again.

  The body of a legionary crashed heavily into the lieutenant’s side, knocking him roughly backward and ripping his shield away. A sword lashed out before Ikely could recover and jabbed him painfully in the chest. His armor deflected the blow, but the powerful nature of the strike stole his wind. Shaken, Ikely staggered a couple of steps. In a growing haze, he attempted to parry the next blow, which he barely managed. He took another step backward, struggling to breathe, hoping to gain some room and recover before it was too late. But his opponent, a huge man, was on him in a flash. From behind him, Ikely could see additional rebels making it over the barricade.

  Ikely’s vision began to gray while he struggled desperately to fend off the attack. He missed a parry and took a hard slashing strike to his shoulder, his left arm instantly going numb. Once again, his segmented armor saved him from a killing blow, but it was still agonizing. Unable to catch his breath, he collapsed to his knees. In desperation, he struck out with his sword at the rebel’s unprotected legs. The man jumped with a curse, easily avoiding the clumsily swung blow.

  Abruptly, the lieutenant’s lungs began working and he could breathe sweet, fresh cool air. The rebel roared a battle cry and struck again. Still on his knees, Ikely brought his sword up to block the blow, which rang loudly with the meeting of the blades. The blow was so powerful that Ikely almost lost his grip on his sword. His hand was left tingling from the impact. As the man pulled back to strike again, the lieutenant pulled his dagger out with his free hand and as the rebel drew back to strike, Ikely let it fly. The blade struck the unarmored man in the chest with a meaty thwack. A shocked expression came over his opponent’s face as he looked down on the dagger protruding from his chest. The big rebel staggered backward as Ikely came to his feet. The lieutenant lunged forward with his sword and stabbed the rebel in the neck, blade punching right through and exploding out the back. Blood poured from the wound and the man’s mouth, which was open in a silent scream. Ikely could feel the blade grate against the spine as he jerked the sword back and out. The rebel collapsed, twitching on the dirt, then he lay still.

  Ikely looked up and wished he still had his shield. It lay several feet away amidst a number of rebels who had made it up and over the barricade. He counted at least seven. They were forcing his men back, with more pulling themselves up and over with every minute that passed. He was about to enter the fight again, when, roaring a battle cry, Sergeant Ranl charged forward, leading one of the reserve files. The file slammed hard into the breach. The rebels reeled under the impact of shields and swords. One rebel was hit so hard by a shield he was bodily picked up and launched backward over the wooden barricade, disappearing from view with a scream. It was hot work, but quickly done and within seconds, the breach was contained. Those rebels who had made it over were down and dispatched.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Ranl asked once the danger was over. The sergeant assessed the lieutenant anxiously. “That was mighty close there for a moment, sir. Do you mind letting us grunts get in on some of the action, sir?”

  “A little too close,” Ikely breathed, still winded, clapping the sergeant on the shoulder to keep the man from seeing how badly his hands were shaking. He did, however, note the tone of rebuke in the sergeant’s voice. “Yes, I declare that was a little too close for comfort.”

  He took a deep breath, steadying himself before studying his defensive line. All across it, his men seemed to be holding the rebels back. Ikely had seen this trouble-spot and had rushed over to try to bolster the defense while calling for one of the reserve files to push forward. In hindsight, he should have waited. Rushing in had almost cost him his life, but it had also perhaps helped to contain the breach long enough for help to arrive.

  A legionary, five feet away, abruptly cried out as a steel-tipped arrow penetrated his shoulder armor. Both Ik
ely and Sergeant Ranl turned to look. Clearly in agony, the man dropped to his knees, clutching the shaft of the arrow in his hands. Sergeant Ranl quickly directed a man to help him back to the aid station in the rear.

  There was no time to worry about the wounded and Ikely turned away, more concerned with the fight. Although greatly outnumbered, his men were holding their own. The enemy had made two attempts to storm and overwhelm his defensive line. This had been done at great cost to the enemy. Eventually, given time, the rebel commander would attempt a flanking movement to get around and behind him. The lieutenant smiled grimly at this. He rather suspected the rebels would not have the time to do so. Captain Stiger should have launched his ambush, cutting the rebel column in two and leaving this group isolated and trapped in a position to be destroyed.

  Breathing much more easily now, Ikely stepped carefully back up to the barricade and glanced over the edge. The noise of battle had slackened considerably. The rebels, in a great mass, were pulling back. He watched them mill about uncertainly, until their officers and sergeants started shouting orders. Ikely realized they were beginning to reform for what appeared to be preparation for a third attempt to storm his line. Glancing down into the trench below, he was appalled the enemy commander was considering another attack. The rebels had left a great number of bodies down there and not all were deceased. The wounded cried out and pleaded for help, or at least Ikely imagined that was what they were doing. He could not understand their language. Still, it was awful to hear their pitiful wailing.

  His attention was drawn from the trench back to the road. A fresh company of rebels had been brought up to bolster the ranks of those who had already made two tries of it. He estimated that there were at least five to six hundred rebels directly in front of his position. That meant he had around ten to possibly twenty minutes before they were ready to attempt another assault.

  A flight of arrows thwished overhead in the direction of the rebels. He watched the arrows fall amongst the fresh rebel company. Three men were struck and fell to the ground, crying out in agony. He turned to look at his archers, spread out along the top of the wall. There were fifteen of them, all volunteers from the cavalry, who had been put through a hasty archery course by one of the scouts. They had been loosing arrows nonstop ever since the fighting had begun. Though not as skilled as Eli’s scouts, they were making their presence felt. Ikely had made sure that the archers had an ample supply of arrows so that there would be no danger of running out. He wished he had a supply of short spears with which to hurl at the enemy as they began their next assault.

  He would have even settled for a few of the javelins the captain had ordered, which had been manufactured by the castle’s smith. Why the captain would prefer such obsolete weapons was beyond him. As he looked across the battlefield at the enemy gathered to his front, he considered that even an obsolete weapon could find use. Captain Stiger had stated that he was saving the javelins for when they were really needed. Shrugging, the lieutenant had neither short spear nor javelin, so such thoughts were pointless. He had to make do with what he had on hand and those were his archers.

  Fighting was exhausting work and he was parched. Though the air was frigid, he was drenched in sweat from his exertions just a few minutes before. He had hardly noticed until now.

  “Make sure water gets distributed to the men,” Ikely ordered Sergeant Ranl, who had followed him up to look over at the rebels.

  “Yes, sir,” Ranl said, wiping someone else’s blood from his face with a soiled rag. “I will see to it.”

  There were a number of dead rebels along the top of the parapet where the breach had occurred. There were also a few legionaries down, some wounded and others beyond help or already dead.

  “Have the bodies moved back,” Ikely ordered when he saw a legionary stumble over one. “Make sure the bodies are not thrown over the wall and into the trench. There is no point in making it easier for our enemies to get up and over the wall by giving them step stools.”

  Sergeant Ranl nodded in understanding. He moved off as Ikely continued to observe the enemy, keeping a careful watch on the few enemy archers who had moved forward. He crouched down to make himself less of a conspicuous target as an arrow thudded into the barricade just a few feet away.

  Then he placed a hand along the top of the barricade. The movement caused his shoulder to ache terribly. He reached inside his armor and rubbed at the sore spot. Nothing seemed broken. There was no blood, but his shoulder and arm hurt. Quickly looking over the armor itself, he saw was a good sized dent where he had been struck. Come morning, he rather suspected, he would have an ugly bruise.

  “Corporal Smith,” Ikely called to the man who led the reserve file, which had minutes before rushed into the breach with Sergeant Ranl.

  “Sir?” Corporal Smith turned. He had also been watching the enemy while his men had crouched down behind the barricade or moved down the slope of the rampart.

  “Pick four men and send two to each flank,” Ikely ordered. “They are to explore beyond our lines to make sure the enemy are not attempting a flanking movement.”

  “Yes, sir,” Smith acknowledged. He immediately set about detailing four men to the task. Within seconds, the four were on their way.

  “Drink, sir?” a legionary asked, drawing Ikely’s attention away from the enemy. The man had come up with a bucket of water and a ladle. A couple of hundred feet back, a small stream ran directly behind the defensive line. Ikely took a drink as another flight of arrows thwished overhead toward the enemy. He savored the cool water a moment before gulping it down. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.

  “Sir!” a legionary next to him exclaimed, pointing in the direction of the enemy.

  With a splash, Ikely dropped the ladle in the bucket and turned back to look at the enemy. Where a moment before they had been organizing for another attempt on his lines, they now looked disordered and confused. It took the lieutenant only a moment to realize the cause, which he was confident was Captain Stiger’s ambush.

  “Corporal Fisher,” Ikely snapped at the nearest corporal, “find Sergeant Ranl and inform him we will be going over the top and into the enemy. Corporal Smith, begin passing the word that every man is to make himself ready and move up to the wall.”

  “Yes, sir,” Corporal Smith responded and began spreading the word, which was rapidly communicated across the line. Ikely gave it a couple minutes and watched as his men began moving forward toward the barricade, even the reserve files, careful to keep low and out of the view of the enemy archers.

  He looked around for his shield and spotted it. He retrieved it and then returned to the wall and continued to study the enemy. Where a few minutes ago they had been preparing to send in a third assault wave, now there was no indication that was even a consideration. The enemy commander could be seen at the far end of the battlefield, where the road disappeared around a bend. He was mounted on a magnificent white horse, surrounded by officers who were gesticulating excitedly back up the road and away from Vrell.

  “Ready shields!” Ikely roared, shouting up and down the line as he stood, shield to the front to protect against arrow shot. “Shields!”

  Careful not to expose too much of themselves, the tired and weary men grabbed their shields and presented them toward the enemy as they stood up behind the barricade, ready to make their way over.

  Ikely returned to studying the enemy. They were clearly becoming more confused and disordered by the moment. It had to be the captain’s ambush! The lieutenant’s orders were to attack when the enemy gave up assaulting his position and turned to the rear to deal with the ambush. Beyond the rebels to his front, he could see nothing, as the road turned a bend a few hundred yards away. He rapidly considered his options.

  This was only his second fight since he had joined the legions. It was by far the largest and had been the most difficult. If he ordered his men over the wall at this moment, he would be technically exceeding his orders, as the rebels had not qui
te turned to the rear. However, they looked like they might panic, as any sense of order seemed to have completely devolved. He was concerned that he might fail in his duty, but at the same time he was also equally worried that he might screw up by not following the captain’s orders to the letter.

  Should he wait or should he go? Captain Stiger was not here and the ultimate decision lay with him, as did the responsibility for his actions. He turned, looking up and down the line once again. The men looked ready and he wanted to give the order. It seemed like the right thing to do. Corporal Fisher returned and looked expectantly at Ikely.

  “Spread the word to all corporals that we will be going over the top,” Ikely decided. During one of their many late night talks on the march to Vrell, the captain had cautioned him about doubting himself too much.

  “When you see an opportunity,” the captain had said, “take it! Many are afraid to try and that can cost you the battle.”

  “Once over,” Ikely continued, resolved, “we will form a shield line beyond the trench and then advance. We advance only after we have formed a shield line. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Fisher, a veteran, responded grimly, understanding the risk.

  The captain’s orders had anticipated that the rebels would pull back several hundred feet before Ikely sent his men over the wall. With the enemy so close, going over the wall would be extremely risky. The legionaries would be vulnerable the moment they went over the top and struggled to climb out of the trench beyond the earthen rampart. Still, Ikely considered, his orders had assumed the enemy would be ordered and organized.

  “Good man,” Ikely responded and nodded for Fisher to go. Within five minutes, the corporal had returned, along with Sergeant Ranl. In that brief span of time, the rebels had become even more confused. Officers and sergeants were shouting orders, but their men did not seem to be listening. A few rebels had even bolted for the safety of the tree line. The enemy commander had disappeared, having ridden back up the road away from Vrell, presumably in the direction of the captain’s ambush.