by James Mace
As the Cherusci cavalry smashed into their lines, the auxiliaries, in a move learned from their legionary brothers, dropped to one knee, braced behind their shields, and set the butts of their spears into the ground, the points facing their foe. Each man braced himself hard against his shield, clutching his spear for all he was worth. They were formed up in looser array than legionaries, which lessened the effects of their defense. Still, many cavalrymen fell to the auxiliary spears. Some horses instinctively came to a halt, refusing to ride into the wall of spears. Their riders were thrown by the sudden stop and momentum of their bodies. Yet, still many more smashed over the Roman auxiliaries, trampling them underfoot. The fighting soon became even more brutal and fierce. The Germanic tribesmen fought with demonic strength, knowing full well that the auxiliaries they faced were mostly of Gallic and Germanic origins. The thought of being betrayed by their own kinsmen enraged them. The auxiliary lines started to give, their casualties mounting, and the force of the barbarian charge pushing them back. The Cherusci gave a triumphant cry. They almost forgot that eight legions of Rome’s best infantry were directly behind the auxiliaries and coming up fast.
Arminius swung his sword in fury, smashing an auxiliary’s helm. Suddenly an arrow furrowed across his face, opening a fearful wound. A stab from an auxiliary spear into his side knocked him from his mount. He looked up to see another warrior with a spear pointed directly at his heart. The man was a Chauci, one of those who fought his own kinsmen on this very battlefield in the name of Rome. The auxiliary paused, suddenly realizing who he had struck down. He then ceased his attack, lowering his spear. Arminius struggled to his feet. The auxiliary motioned with his head for Arminius to leave. The Cherusci war chief nodded, and with painful effort, remounted his horse as the blood streaked down his side. He looked over to where the legions were advancing. Suddenly he was fearful. While his warriors had almost broken the ranks of the Roman auxiliaries, they had yet to contend with the legions. He smeared blood all over his face, hoping to mask his identity and rode away. The wound to his side was bleeding badly, and he was starting to feel light-headed. There was no reason for him to stay on the field any longer. The battle would be decided without him.
“Cease fire!” Pilate shouted.
The command was echoed by the section leaders. As quickly as they had begun, all onager crews abruptly halted in their labors. They stood by their weapons, sweating, and breathing heavily. Though smaller than the siege engines used for bringing down a city or fortress, the onagers still demanded a lot of exertion from their crews. They watched as the infantry marched with purpose towards its destiny. The artillery had done all they could. Now they would become observers to the battle. All of them hoped that their labors had not been in vain.
“Check your weapons!” Pilate ordered.
Crews immediately stopped watching the battle to their front and systematically started checking all the components of their catapults. A number of concerned section leaders starting talking frantically with their centurion. He nodded and walked over to Pilate.
“Seems like these weapons have taken a real beating,” Dionysus told the tribune. “They aren’t exactly the most soundly designed siege engines either.”
“What’s the problem?” Pilate asked.
The centurion took him over to one machine. “It’s the tension ropes, mainly,” he said, pointing to where some sections of the ropes were starting to fray and come apart. “Plus the very nature of these machines makes them prone to fly apart after prolonged use. And let’s face it, we’ve used the hell out of these things, with little to no time to conduct proper maintenance and replacement of worn parts.”
Pilate tugged on one of the tension ropes. It was frayed, but it still held. The beams in front, where the throwing arm impacted, were also starting to split.
“Well, at least they did their job today,” he observed. “Do what maintenance you can. I know we have a shortage of parts; however, we must make certain these weapons are as serviceable as can be. We may or may not need to use them again before this campaign is over.”
As Dionysus started to oversee the repairs, Pilate turned and walked away. He was starting to grow concerned over his machines. They had taken a severe punishing. The scorpions had seen less use and were more reliable anyway. If all else failed, he could still utilize them. He took a deep breath and turned back to watch the battle to their front as it unfolded.
“Javelins…ready! At the double-time…march!” Proculus shouted.
Everyone knew what to do. It all came instinctively now. Artorius hefted his javelin to throwing position and started to move at a jog, all the while keeping in tight with the rest of his century. He was comforted by the fact that two of his friends, Magnus and Decimus, were on either side of him. The auxiliary infantry was heavily engaged. More were falling from the continuous onslaught of the Germans that was showing no signs of letting up. Timing would be crucial; give the auxiliaries enough time to withdraw and allow the legions time to unleash their javelins before engaging. Suddenly, a cornicen sounded the order for the auxiliaries to withdraw. Quickly they turned about and ran back through the ranks of the Roman infantry. Artorius watched as one dazed and battered auxiliary soldier ran directly at him. The young fighter veered at the last second and avoided colliding with the legionary. The Germans paused for a split second, as they seemed almost shocked to see the legions bearing down on them. The timing was perfect.
Ingiomerus took heart as he watched the ranks of auxiliaries turn and run. The fighting had been fierce with both sides leaving many dead and dying on the field, yet the Cherusci and their allies had triumphed! He was breathing hard as he watched his warriors surge forward to finish off their enemy. Suddenly, the entire army stopped dead in its tracks. The auxiliaries seemed to disappear and in their wake came a wall of armored men, bearing red and gold painted shields and those hated javelins! In step they marched, with their javelins ready to throw. Instinctively, Ingiomerus clutched his side, the wound from the previous year seeming to cry out in fresh agony.
“No!” he shouted, though his voice was completely drowned out by the noise surrounding him. His heart filled with fear. He gazed to his left and saw a centurion shouting an order. Hell was soon unleashed.
“Front rank…throw!” Proculus shouted.
“Second rank…throw!” Macro ordered before the first rank had even finished throwing its javelins.
Artorius threw his without even picking out a single target. He had just enough time to watch his javelin sail low and strike a barbarian in the thigh before the third rank passed him and disgorged their javelins. Almost a continuous volley of javelins rained down on the barbarians as all six ranks unleashed. An entire wave of Cherusci fell with each successive volley. Warriors directly behind them were sprayed with blood. Yet they kept their nerve and moved to face this fresh wave of Romans. It was one thing to fight auxiliaries, now they would spill their wrath onto the hated legions.
“Gladius…draw!”
“Rah!” the legionaries all shouted as one, with one faintly heard ‘Odin!’ from behind the front lines.
The sound of thousands of throats yelling in unison momentarily stunned the advancing warriors, but they quickly recovered and continued to close with their foe. The Germans, many still reeling from the javelin storm, gave a great battle cry of their own and charged. It was the brave and yet undisciplined savages, versus the host of iron men, fighting with cold discipline, moving together as one.
Ingiomerus once again took heart when he saw that his warriors had not faltered. The more men that fell to the Roman javelins, the stronger their resolve became. They would not break this time! Those who had been sprayed with blood from the wounded rubbed it into their faces with lust and zeal. Some even licked it from their lips, relishing its flavor, drawing strength from the fallen. This only increased their berserker ferocity. Quickly they stepped on and over the dead and dying. There was no time to pay reverence to the dead. That wou
ld come once the hated legions were destroyed. Like a host of demons they cried out and renewed their charge, but the Romans were ready for them.
Barbarians smashed into the Roman ranks only to be cut down in rapid succession. As they fought to make holes in the Roman lines, legionaries punched them with their shields and stabbed away with their swords. The Romans were one vast line of death and destruction. The Cherusci made a great show of jumping about, swinging their weapons wildly. Desperately they tried to use their superior size and brute force to overwhelm their opponents. In contrast, the Roman soldiers’ techniques were simple and anything but flamboyant. Each blow was executed with precision, speed, and power. In desperation, many warriors flung their bodies into the Roman lines, hoping to knock the legionaries down. The Romans’ superior balance and skill negated much of this. A German would throw his bodyweight into the shield of a Roman, throwing himself off balance before he was quickly stabbed by one of the soldier’s companions. As legionary and warrior smashed, hacked, and stabbed at each other, most individual battles ended in agony and horror. It was nearly impossible for a warrior to find a gap in the Roman defense, yet still they came; both warrior and soldier falling in the cacophony of murder. Sooner or later the Roman lines would wear down and break, they had to! Then the Cherusci would have them!
Chapter XXI: For Wrath, For Vengeance
***
Artorius watched as the front rank engaged the enemy in as fierce a struggle as he had ever witnessed. He had never seen men fight with such fury. He knew that in a battle of this magnitude, passages-of-lines would come rapidly. It was crucial to keep fresh troops out front, as the tempo of this battle would cause soldiers to expend energy at an alarming rate. Artorius breathed deeply and let out a long sigh. He knew this would be an exhausting day. The sun was out, and it was starting to get warm. The Germans were taking a severe punishing; there were just so many of them! Occasionally a Roman soldier would fall as well. Artorius watched as one poor fellow was stabbed in the stomach, his armor buckling as the barbarian attempted to penetrate his guts with his spear.
“Get him off the line!” Sergeant Ostorius shouted as two men grabbed the injured legionary and dragged him away from the fighting after finishing off the attacker.
They handed him back to soldiers in the third rank, who would get him to the litter bearers.
“Set for passage-of-lines!” Proculus shouted.
Artorius settled into his fighting stance, determination in his eyes. Everything would be settled here!
“Stay together, men! Watch out for each other!” he heard Centurion Macro say at the end of the line.
“Precision strikes, nothing fancy, make every blow count!” Optio Vitruvius called out at the other end. “They’re big, but they can’t stand being hurt!”
“Now, my brothers,” the centurion said, his voice rising, “for wrath, for vengeance, and for the souls lost in Teutoburger Wald…send them all to hell!”
“Execute passage-of-lines!”
As the Second Century gave a thunderous roar, Artorius felt his adrenaline levels surge. Instinctively, they all stepped off together and passed through the First Century. Artorius did not have to search for a target, there were so many in front of him! Immediately he smashed his shield into a barbarian who was hammering away on the shield of a soldier from the First Century. The force of his blow knocked the barbarian down. Artorius had to raise his shield immediately to defend himself as another barbarian stabbed at him with his spear. He quickly smashed his assailant twice in the face with the boss of his shield. The barbarian dropped his spear and turned to run, his face covered in blood from where his nose had exploded. He was soon cut down. The Germans may have been many, but they could only fight the Romans one at a time. The tightly packed legionary ranks did not allow the barbarians to use their numbers against individual soldiers.
Artorius continued to punch away with his shield. As openings presented themselves, he stabbed with his gladius. A barbarian was attacking him high while protecting his face and chest with a wicker shield. Artorius dropped to one knee, and in a rare move, slashed with his gladius. The razor sharp blade cleaved into the barbarian’s shin, nearly severing his lower leg. The man fell to the ground screaming in pain, blood spurting from the mangled limb. Another quickly took his place, attempting to bring his spear onto the top of his head, but Artorius saw him coming. He lunged upward, catching the barbarian under the chin with the top of his shield. He then stabbed the dazed German beneath the ribs. He looked to his left and right and saw nothing but the enemy. He then realized he was starting to step away from the line. Automatically, he stepped back into line as another German attacked him. This one carried a two-handed club, which he swung in an overhand smash. Artorius did not even bother punching with his shield. Instead, he rapidly stepped in and stabbed the man in the armpit, penetrating to the heart. It felt as though his gladius was a conscious entity, able to seek out the most vital of organs on the human body. He stepped back and took several deep breaths. He had been fighting for no more than a minute, and yet he was already breathing hard. The barbarians kept coming at him in force. Every fight took huge amounts of energy and strength.
All up and down the line, soldiers of the Second Century fought with determination against the tidal wave of barbarian warriors. The legionaries relished the thought of everything ending with this action, and they fought as if this were to be their last battle. The barbarians in turn would surge forward, smash and stab with their weapons, and then try and break away before the Romans could cut them down. The steady Roman advance, paired with the pressure from the warriors to their rear, left many of them with nowhere to go. They could only swing their weapons in desperation, trying, in vain, to penetrate the wall of Roman shields before they were cut down.
Magnus, with a cry to his Norse gods, rammed his gladius into the side of one barbarian’s neck. With a vicious jerk, he pulled his weapon free, ripping the man’s throat in the process. Blood sprayed all over his face and chest. Valens caught one with a blow to the face from his shield, and maliciously stabbed him in the groin, twisting and turning his gladius about before wrenching it free. His weapon had penetrated the German’s bladder; it now reeked of fresh blood, urine, and shit. Praxus stabbed another German in the thigh. As the barbarian’s companions shoved him mercilessly aside, he and Gavius stepped in together and quickly cut down two more with vicious stabs.
Carbo seemed to taunt his opponents, quickly moving his shield about, making the barbarians think he was leaving himself open. As one moved in to spear the legionary, Carbo brought his shield down on the man’s foot. He then followed up with a stab underneath the ribs. Sergeant Statorius continued to neither yell nor make any sound at all, as he fought his way through the mob in front of him. His silence baffled his assailants, many becoming unnerved by his seemingly tranquil air of contentment. Their confusion only made it easier for him to find openings and slay them.
Artorius watched Decimus reel under the onslaught of one attacker. In order to help his friend, he ducked down, turned sideways while raising his shield over his back to protect himself, and ran his gladius across the back of a barbarian’s ankle. The German howled in pain as his Achilles tendon was severed and Decimus subsequently ran him through. While still on his knees, Artorius turned and blocked the blow from another assailant. He brought his gladius up in a rapid stab as he got to his feet, catching the barbarian in the face. The man gave a great cry, turned, and ran. It was true; these Germans could not stand to be hurt! As he faced the next attacker, he heard the order shouted by Centurion Macro.
“Set for passage-of-lines!”
He was relieved at the opportunity to catch his breath as the order to execute the maneuver was given. The next rank crashed into the Germans, who wailed and faltered, having to face yet another fresh wave of legionaries. The Second Century passed back to the rear of the cohort, killing enemy wounded and assisting injured soldiers out of the way. Artorius was breathin
g heavily as he looked around to assess how the rest of the battle was progressing. All four legions were pretty much online with each other, slowly pushing the barbarian lines back. In their wake, the advancing legionaries had to step over piles of barbarian dead and wounded.
Ingiomerus smashed his sword repeatedly against a legionary’s shield. He stopped once he realized that the soldier was no longer advancing towards him. He gasped and immediately stepped back. He knew that whenever one line stopped, it meant that a fresh wave would be passing through them. He stepped away just in time as another line surged forward. Others were not so fortunate. Many were knocked down as the legionaries smashed into them with their shields. Most of these would never rise again. The only way fresh Germanic warriors could be brought forward was when those in front of them were slain. Still they did not lose heart, even as their losses mounted. It was, however, disheartening for Ingiomerus to watch as his warriors were cut down one after another. Roman soldiers were also falling, however, most of the time their superior armor prevented their wounds from being fatal, and they were quickly pulled from the line before the barbarians could finish them. Ingiomerus figured that maybe one in every five Roman casualties died. Unfortunately, there would be little glory for those who did manage to slay a legionary, as most of these subsequently paid for their actions with their own lives. Ingiomerus was uncertain as to whether or not he would survive the day. He resolved that if he was to die, he was honored to die among such brave men, and he renewed his attack on this fresh wave of legionaries.
As he made his way to the rear of the formation, Artorius looked for his companions. He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Decimus, Magnus, Gavius, Valens, Carbo, Praxus, and Sergeant Statorius all make their way to the rear of the formation with him. All were breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, and covered in blood and dirt, yet they were alive and unscathed. Artorius was suddenly thankful and relieved. For the most part, he had been focused on fighting the Germans, staying alive, and exacting his revenge. Now he was coming to realize there was something more to be concerned with. These men were his friends, his brothers, for there was no form of brotherhood in existence like those who were willing to fight and die for each other. These were the finest men he had ever known. They were not simply Roman soldiers, they were Rome! The spirit of Rome was not in some far away city of marble statues and amphitheaters. Neither was it was on the floor of the Senate. No, here was Rome, here on this battlefield.