The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One)

by Edward Crichton

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Centurion. May the gods smile on you today.” I wasn’t tuning into a pagan, but it was what he would want to hear.

  “And with you,” he replied, professional to the core. He turned back to the lines to continue his study of the enemy’s formation. They were finishing their last maneuver, just out of spear range. I looked to the right, trying to determine how the auxilia were doing, but all I could see was a jumble of men and horses. Only twenty minutes had passed since the vigiles had started their suicide rush, and I knew the battle could continue for hours before it showed any signs of waning.

  I looked over at Helena, a reassuring quip on my tongue, but was distracted by a messenger riding up to Nisus’ position. As the seer had predicted, Galba’s orders were to expand the grid formation. He also ordered the third cohort to split into three maniples, and spread out along the rear. They would be crucial in securing weak spots in our lines.

  Interestingly, the tactic was eerily similar to the one that, again, Caesar had used at Pharsalus. Like Galba, he’d used a nontraditional formation of four lines, instead of three, and used part of his army to work specifically to counter cavalry, as Galba was using part of his to hold the right. Hopefully, Claudius wasn’t seeing the similarities.

  As the messenger rode off, Nisus issued his command briefly and efficiently, and I quickly found myself moving in step with the cohort. Putting maybe thirty yards between the corners of each cohort, I was only slightly embarrassed when everyone else stopped moving, but I’d kept going. Some of the men laughed at me, and even Helena joined in the fun, having stopped on her mark.

  I gave her a betrayed look, which she returned with a shrug.

  Ignoring their jeers, I looked out over the legion and saw how these gaps in the checkerboard formation could easily become a problem. Had the formation been tight, the corners touching as it had been, the enemy would have a rough time breaching the gaps for fear of being surrounded. Since the half-cohorts were now spread out, the enemy could enter these holes in the line with less fear. Help would have to come from farther away, and would leave the area they’d just left undefended. That was why Galba had created four lines in the checkerboard, so that holes could be plugged easily with reserves from the third, and the fourth could be called on as a last resort.

  Nisus was also right in assuming we could do some serious damage there. We only had a third of our ammo left, but the men who culminated between the gaps in our lines would be exposed and distracted. A well placed grenade would kill many, and leave the rest stunned. Our legionnaires would then be able to close the gaps. I only had three grenades and one flashbang stowed away in pouches along my belt, but they’d still make a wonderful mess.

  And just like that, the battle commenced again.

  The enemy was less than a football field away, thousands of bodies and spears littering the space between us. The carnage made me want to puke, but I didn’t have time. When the legion’s trumpeters blasted the marching order, I felt the automatic surge of troops around me, and I stepped into formation with them. We tip toed over the obstacles on the ground, the enemy doing the same as they marched forward to meet us. Seventy five yards out, I saw that our battle lines were at least as long as their own now. Another thirty yards later, it became easy to distinguish faces, armor and standards in more detail. When only twenty yards separated the sides, everyone stopped.

  Normally, this would be the moment when onrushing barbarians would run face first into a swarm of pila, but not today. Instead, I heard the forward lines’ centurions yell, “pila,” wait while their men readied their spears, before yelling, “loose!”

  Fifteen hundred spears flew out in unison, falling against the Praetorians, now comfortably secured beneath their testudo formation, an overlapping wall and roof of shields. The testudo formation worked well against arrows, slings, and non-pila type spears, but today it only helped, not guaranteed a soldier’s safety. Just as the last spears were reaching their mark, the second line’s volley of spears flew out as well, inflicting even more casualties.

  It had long been theorized that when a pilum hit shield, man, or ground, its soft iron shank would bend at an angle and become next to useless. It could not be cast back, nor could be pulled from a shield, because the angle made it impossible to extract it. However, modern testing had proven that to create iron soft enough to bend but not break after it impacted a nine centimeter thick scutum was nearly impossible.

  What really happened, thanks to my keen observational skills, was that the heavy pila drove deep into most things it impacted. It proved the theory that pila did make shields worthless, not because its shaft bent, but because they punched right through them, and staked them into the ground. Roman shields were probably of the best quality in all of Europe, and while they turned away many of the spears, plenty found their way through the protective layer, and easily through the sturdy lorica segmentata armor.

  The rebel Praetorians quickly recovered from the barrage and cast their own pila. Nearly seven thousand spears flew towards both legionnaires and loyal Praetorians, and most flew farther than our own men’s had, older and stronger that their casters were. Since Helena and I were not protected by the legion’s testudo formation, we ducked beneath our overlapping shields, hoping we were lucky enough to weather the storm unscathed.

  It turned out I wasn’t that lucky.

  I was never that lucky.

  I felt two or three pila ricochet off my shield, my heart skipping with each impact, but the fourth spear plowed its way through my shield like it was made of paper. The only thing that saved my life was my vest.

  The spear hit me like a lightning bolt, penetrating two of my spent magazines before stopping at the protective Kevlar lined within. The force of the impact knocked the breath from my lungs and disoriented me enough to lower my defenses. Helena tried to pull me closer to her so that her shield protected us both, but we were both bigger than the average Roman. Her shield was nowhere near big enough to cover us, but I appreciated the gesture as I tried to coax air back into my lungs. My heart continued to jump as each spear grazed off her shield.

  I massaged the spot where the spear impacted, but it didn’t help. I would have a bruise the size of a soccer ball on my chest tomorrow, but I couldn’t complain. Without my vest, I would have been skewered.

  Our fourth line let loose a small barrage that caught some of the enemy off guard. Both sides continued to exchange spears, casting and cowering, causing casualties here or there. I’d always imagined this part of a battle to be more exciting, with waves of spears cutting down hundreds of onrushing barbarians. Instead, we had battle hardened and disciplined Praetorians to deal with. Once the enemy cast their final volley of pila, they followed hot on the heels of their charges, and rushed forward.

  The legion’s third and fourth line still had one last pila volley left. While only the third line loosed their spears, it did the most amount of damage to the speeding Praetorians. Helena and I added our own fire power, concentrating it on only a small fraction of Claudius’ horde. We aimed towards a group headed in the directions of a cohort we knew to be under strength.

  That small fragment of the enemy faltered, forty or so men falling to our combined fire, while many behind them tripped and fell over their dying comrades. The 6th cohort was rewarded with the arrival of disorderly Praetorians. They held their ground and cut the first men to reach them to pieces. It was a minor victory, hopefully one of many that would help turn the tide of the battle.

  The rest of the legion’s first line of half-cohorts did not fare as well. Thousands of Praetorians smashed into them, immediately initiating a systematic advance that pushed the legion back. Within minutes, the weight of the enemy force had pushed the first line back enough that the checkerboard was collapsing.

  It was rare that a plan actually worked on the first try, but Claudius took the bait. Galba wanted the checkerboard formation to fall in on itself. When the rebels smashed into the fi
rst line their momentum stopped. Our second line, now only ten yards from the enemy Praetorians, rushed into the small gaps, counter charging the now preoccupied enemy. It clogged the holes with bodies, and allowed Galba an easier time of sending reserve forces from the third and fourth lines to help where needed.

  On our left flank, Caligula’s men were still holding back the enemy along our original line. Those forces engaged over there were more equally skilled, and would have to endure a slugging match, while over here, Galba and Nisus would feint, counter attack, and maneuver small units wherever they thought them needed, in the typical legion fashion.

  Helena and I waited for no such orders, and we found ourselves weaving our way through the battle at random. Running back and forth across our lines, my feet burned and my bruised chest heaved, but we had to play little Dutch boy to the legion’s leaks. So far we’d only taken pot shots at the occasional target, but many more targets of opportunity were beginning to present themselves.

  Nisus’ plan for us to use our grenades was fruitless at this point. The lines had collapsed much too quickly. There were only a select few areas where we could do some damage. The Praetorians were just better soldiers. They easily drove wedges between our cohort halves and thrust men continuously through our lines.

  Had Helena and I not been there they would have succeeded in some instances. Communication was essential, and when I heard a shout that there was a breach in the 2nd cohort’s formation on the legion’s left flank, I made my way in that direction, Helena beside me. We passed the 6th and 4th cohort along the way, each holding their own well enough, but when I saw the 2nd, I quickly assessed that the breach was more like a flood Noah himself would have trouble handling.

  Right down the center, between the two cohort haves were waves of Praetorians bubbling inwards towards the third line. Nisus was just about to send in a reserve force when he noticed us, and held back his orders, waiting to see what we would do first.

  I started the party off with a grenade that I tossed deep into enemy lines, far enough to keep our legionnaires unaffected. I set my weapon to fully automatic and started walking towards the Praetorians like a British red coat during the American Revolution. Helena was right beside me as we fired into their ranks, inching closer and closer with every slow step. We started with the edges, concentrating our fire on the Praetorians closest to our allies, before sweeping towards the center, overlapping our fire, and working again towards the outer edge again. When the grenade went off, we had effectively killed every man trying to push through the bulge, and the respite gained from the explosion was enough for the 2nd cohort to fuse their lines together again.

  I saw a century from the 3rd cohort in reserve take up position behind the 2nd’s last line, to help alleviate the tension there. I knew the key to a legion’s success was their mobility and versatility, but seeing it in action was extraordinarily impressive. That century could have done what Helena and I had, but it would have taken far longer, and cost both cohorts more men. Now, they were in the perfect position to strengthen the position.

  Our task fulfilled, I looked around for another breach, but couldn’t find a one, so I made my way back to Nisus’ position. We had to be careful because our lines were very slowly being pushed back. We didn’t want to risk a random sword thrust in our direction. Casualties were streaming in at this point, but we were holding strong on the left, as was the 10th on the right. Our formation was actually enveloping the enemy bit by bit, just as Hannibal’s had at the battle of Cannae. While he’d feigned his center’s weakness to draw the Roman attackers inside his lines to surround them, our center was in fact weaker, and we wouldn’t be able to turn the tables as easily as he had.

  Nisus had a smile on his face as we jogged back to the 1st cohort’s standard.

  “It’s good to see you can actually deliver in a fight,” he said. “Honestly, I had my doubts, but no more.”

  “Join the club,” I muttered in English, glancing back at Galba, who still sat on his horse doing his best to maintain tactical command of the entire legion, leaving the small stuff to his centurions.

  Helena and I waited patiently. A few minutes passed. I was getting restless.

  Finally, I heard my radio crackle to life in my ear.

  “Hunter, this is Bordeaux.”

  I pressed the PTT button. “Go ahead, Jeanne. How goes the fight on your end?”

  “It’s going,” he replied, strain evident in his voice even over the radio, “but I think you should know that I can see some serious enemy troop movement occurring on your right flank. I’d inform that asshole centurion that he might want to reinforce the right.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for the update. I’ll let him know. Hunter, out.”

  Since the day we first arrived in camp, Nisus had treated us the same as his general had, with distant mistrust and apprehension. Bordeaux probably had more reason to be annoyed with him than the rest of us. During a training exercise, Nisus, more than a foot shorter than the hulking Frenchman, had knocked Bordeaux unconscious when he whacked him on the temple with the blunt side of his gladius. The big guy had been out for an hour. Bordeaux had not been happy and hadn’t had a nice thing to say about the centurion since.

  “Centurion,” I said, directing my attention to Nisus. “I would send some troops to the right. Immediately. The enemy is maneuvering in that direction.”

  Nisus’ look betrayed nothing as he stared at me. “And how could you possibly know that? If you will, please leave command of this army to me.”

  I was about to tell the smaller man off and inform him just how lucky he was to have our help, when I saw a runner approaching quickly from the right.

  “Sir,” the man panted. “The 5th has been breached and the 10th is floundering. The enemy is pushing hard on the right.”

  Nisus looked at me and I gave him a condescending smile, while Helena, who had overheard our interchange, shook her head and tsked him. To the man’s credit, he looked me in the eye and grunted a brief acknowledgment before turning inwards, thinking over the strategic situation.

  “Gods,” Nisus mumbled. “Issue the command for the entire 9th cohort to support both positions. Also, detach a century from the 3rd to find out what in the name of Mercury is happening with the auxilia. Clear it with the Legate first.”

  “I obey, Centurion,” the man replied, saluting.

  So much for Hannibal, then. No wonder things had seemed so calm. The Praetorians had been feigning along the entirety of our line while they were simultaneously busy maneuvering the rest of their troops to the right.

  I’d barely started inching my way in that direction when I felt Nisus’ strong grip on my arm. “No, my friend. That is not your fight. My men can handle it. We’ll need you soon enough elsewhere.”

  I nodded, bowing to his authority.

  So far, the third and fourth line had remained unengaged, but the front was steadily approaching our position. They’d be on top of us very soon. Things were about to get very messy. Another messenger arrived as more and more bodies fell to the ground in front of me and the 9th moved into position on the right.

  “Centurion,” he panted, “the left has been hit hard and the men are rapidly falling back.”

  I looked to the left past the 1st cohort, and saw staggering lines and wavering troops. Things were definitely not going as well as we’d hoped, and I couldn’t see past them to find out what was happening with Caligula’s men. I couldn’t help but think this whole thing might have been a big mistake, and that our plans had failed the day Santino and I failed to set the explosives along the walls of Rome.

  I looked to Nisus, waiting impatiently for my orders.

  He was keeping his calm, but he knew he had to pull this thing together before it fell apart completely. “Go,” he said to me. “Find the breach on the left. I will take the 1st and 7th to assist.

  I nodded, before glancing over at Helena. “Ready for this?”

  She tilted her head to the side a
nd met my eyes. “I am, but remember…”

  “No dying… I know.”

  “Right. Let’s go.”

  We peeled away from the 1st cohort, and ran behind their lines as fast we could. We passed between the 7th cohort, receiving cheers as we did so before we came face to face with the grim reality that was the 8th cohort’s fate. Its line wasn’t only breached but being annihilated, chopped down by a swarm of Praetorians, and I quickly knew why.

  Behind them, high on his black horse rode Claudius, sword and orb in hand, shouting orders, his anger and charisma driving his men forward.

  Even so, he wasn’t the problem right now, and I focused my attention on the troops.

  Just as with the 2nd cohort only ten minutes earlier, the Praetorians had crashed into the gap between the cohort segments. Unlike before, they exploited it far more effectively and had pushed aside the halved cohorts beyond the point where they could help each other. There might have been forty Praetorians standing within the gap, effectively surrounding the 2nd.

  Placing myself thirty yards from them, I dropped to a knee and started pouring fire into the gap. I counted two dozen men go down, before I had to reload. A new magazine in place, I pulled out my second grenade and readied to throw it. Helena was still firing her P90’s larger mag, while simultaneously readying a grenade of her own.

  The Praetorians noticed our intervention in their small victory, as did Claudius. He immediately recognized me and pointed his sword in my direction and yelled. Many men turned away from the legionnaires they were fighting and started running towards Helena and me, completely exposed and alone. I primed the grenade and chucked it in their path, and Helena quickly followed suit with her own.