Caesar Triumphant

by Peake, R. W.

  All along the surf line, similar struggles were taking place, as the men of Wa met the Legions of Rome, men who up to this point had never laid eyes on each other, and of whom only one side knew anything about the other—and that was only muttered whisperings of superstition and myth, hint and legend. Now these men were trying to kill each other for reasons the two sides could no more fathom than they could articulate, but that didn't stop them from doing their best to slaughter each other. From his vantage point, Caesar watched the fighting, and nothing he saw soothed his earlier sense of unease. He had never seen a foe that committed itself so early to the attack in any previous amphibious assault, and he could only watch as his men struggled to make headway onto the beach, most of them still standing in water that was at least knee-deep. Like Pullus, he did appreciate that in their fervor to engage, the Wa had deprived their missile troops of continuing their onslaught, but even without the archers adding to the carnage, the men of Wa were giving his men all they could handle and then some.

  For the first time in many, many years, Caesar had the presentiment of defeat, that perhaps this landing wouldn't be successful. Ignoring the twisting in his gut, he coolly ordered the shipboard artillery to continue firing, but to elevate their aim, so that the missiles slashed into the rear ranks of the Wa, who were still packed together as each pushed the man to his front towards the beach, each of them clearly eager to get at the Romans. Bloody swaths were torn through the Wa ranks, and the detached part of Caesar's mind was pleased and interested to see that the chuan converted to serve as floating artillery platforms seemed to be most effective. He had thought this would be the case, because of their high prow and stern that served as a broad and relatively stable platform, and it made him happy to see his intuition was right. The men serving the weapons were working furiously, feeding their respective weapons as though they were ravenous beasts, feverishly working the torsion ropes of the ballistae or cranking furiously to cock the scorpions, taking aim just long enough to ensure that their missiles didn't land short and inflict casualties on their own comrades. However, the rocking motion of the boats from the surf meant that sometimes their aim was off, and Caesar grimaced when he saw an errant scorpion bolt skewer two of his men from behind. Even knowing this inevitability, it didn't help ease the anguish of seeing his own men cut down by a comrade, no matter how accidental it was. Turning his attention back to the fighting, he estimated that a sixth part of a watch had passed, but none of the first wave had made any significant headway off the beach. The transports had finished disgorging their occupants, and were backrowing off the beach to make way for the second of the four waves. But Caesar could see that unless something happened, and happened quickly, there would be nowhere for the men of the second wave to unload. The landing was in serious jeopardy of failure.

  Sextus Scribonius was unable to form the men of his Century into their standard 8-man front; instead it was closer to 6 men across, but even that changed so rapidly it was impossible for him to keep track. He could see his signifer, directly in the middle of what was the most disorganized melee Scribonius had ever been a part of, instead of his normal spot at the far right end, anchoring the front rank. Normally, this would have been cause for at least a tongue-lashing by Scribonius, but he could see that there was nothing his signifer, a Parthian named Artabanus, could have done to get into the right spot. The Wa were unrelenting in their pressure, a mass of small yet fierce men, wielding the long spears with a savage skill, slashing and thrusting into the ranks of Scribonius' men. It was not all one-sided, however; as Scribonius glanced to his left, he saw one of his men step inside the thrust of one of the Wa's and unleash one of his own, perfectly aimed thrusts that punched into the Wa's gut, cutting through the lamellar leather patches as if they weren't there.

  However, even as the Wa fell another took his place, and before Scribonius could do anything more than shout in rage and grief, he saw his man take a blow from the long weapon that sliced down in between the Legionary's neck and shoulder, the blade almost cleaving him in two. Without thinking, Scribonius let out a roar and completely forgetting his role in directing his men, rushed forward, shield up and sword held out to the side, ready to plunge it into the Wa, who, seeing the Centurion approaching, was working frantically to free his blade. Before he could do so, Scribonius was on him, bashing him with his shield, staggering the man long enough for the Roman to come from under the shield in a sweeping thrust that plunged into the Wa's groin. Letting out a shriek, the man let go of his blade and fell immediately to the ground, clutching his crotch as blood spurted between his fingers from the severed artery. But as before, the spot was vacant for just an instant before another Wa came hurtling at Scribonius, this one whirling his spear in an overhand fashion that Scribonius had never seen before, causing Pullus' friend to hold his shield higher than normal. All around him men were engaged, the pace of the fighting at a frenzied level normally seen only at the very beginning or at a moment when one side sensed that one great effort would cause their opponent to crack. These warriors didn't seem to tire, and without knowing it, Scribonius' thoughts were echoing those of both Caesar and his friend at that moment, as the idea of defeat seemed to be a real possibility.

  The First Cohort was doing better, but only marginally. By virtue of his size and strength, Pullus had managed to push the Wa in his immediate area back from the surf line, while the men immediately on either side had taken advantage of this pocket and pushed inland themselves. It wasn't much, but even as Pullus was finishing off another Wa with a slashing blow to the throat, Caesar, from his spot on the flagship, deemed it to be enough to signal for the transport immediately behind the First to row to the beach to unload. Caesar was pleased at the damage his artillery was inflicting, but even so, there seemed to be no end to the Wa. As he watched, his eye picked up movement on the plain immediately behind the beach, and to his dismay he saw what looked like at least another 2,000 or 3,000 more Wa heading toward the battle. Meanwhile, on the beach, Pullus had managed to move next to his aquilifer, Valerius, and began bellowing at the top of his lungs.

  "First Century, form on me! Wedge formation! On me!"

  While unorthodox, to say the least, Pullus' plan was one that could work only with a Century and Cohort as experienced as the 10th. While the 10th, like the other Legions was composed of just a little more than a quarter Romans in their ranks, Pullus and the other Primi Pili had gone to great lengths to ensure that the First Cohort was more heavily loaded with Romans than the other Cohorts, since they traditionally were the first in battle. And of the First Cohort, the First Century, in particular, had more than its share of Romans. It was these men that Pullus was counting on to make their way to his side, understanding that there was neither the time nor the space for men to fall into their normal spots. A few, a very, very few, had been with Pullus as a lowly Gregarius when Caesar's army had been ambushed by the Nervii at the Sabis River and they had been in a similar situation, without the time to get into their proper spots. These men had regaled all the newcomers to the Legion over the years about that day and others like it, as they sat around the fires at night, much to the chagrin and dismay of those who were forced to listen for what they were sure was the hundredth time. However, all those tales paid off, as every man of the First Century responded quickly, disengaging while one of his comrades from the Second Century, who had been standing in the surf behind him, stepped in to take his place. Despite the unrelenting pressure from the Wa, the men of the First Century moved into the formation Pullus had ordered, with Pullus as the point of the wedge. As the men were getting ready, Pullus, between thrusts with his Gallic blade and swinging blows with his shield to keep the Wa at bay, looked over for his Pilus Posterior, who as usual was in the middle of the action.

  "Balbus!" Pullus had to shout several times, before the scarred face of his second-in-command turned to look in his direction. Once he had Balbus' attention, Pullus pointed to a spot farther down the beach.

&n
bsp; "Move your men further down that way, so the Third Century can move into your spot," he roared, then repeated it twice before Balbus signaled that he understood.

  The Second immediately began pushing their way to the left, meaning that it was essential for the Third to wade ashore. Telling Valerius—who was using the standard as a weapon, swinging it in a wide arc to keep the Wa at bay for a moment—to watch his back, Pullus turned quickly and pointed to the nearest man, one of the Roman veterans.

  "Go tell Camillus to bring the Third up now!"

  Without waiting to see if his command was obeyed, Pullus turned just in time for a warning shout from Valerius, as a Wa warrior managed to get inside the swinging standard. Unlike the others, this man carried a sword, but still disdained a shield, although he was wearing lamellar armor, except Pullus could see that instead of leather patches, this man's lamellae were made of iron plates. The armor didn't seem to hamper his movement at all, as he made a lunge, low and hard, at the Primus Pilus. Although Pullus blocked the blow relatively easily, he wasn't prepared for the Wa's rapid recovery, as the smaller man violated one of the primary rules of combat by turning his back on his opponent. Spinning around and pivoting on his right foot, moving himself to Pullus' left, before Pullus thought it possible for a human being to move so quickly, he had recovered and made a slashing blow, this one again aimed low, only Pullus' greave saving his leg. Even so, the force of the blow was terrific, much harder than Pullus thought possible, and despite himself, an explosive hiss of pain escaped his lips. Because of the Wa's position, the shield was the only weapon he could bring to bear, and Pullus lashed out with it, but the Wa was too quick for it to be a solid blow. Nevertheless, even a glancing blow from Titus Pullus felled most men, and this one was no different, the Wa flying off his feet, but before Pullus could take advantage, he leaped upright and renewed his attack. This time aiming high, he began raining slicing blows, which Pullus managed to catch, but on the fourth one, Pullus' shield, already weakened from the rain of arrows, split in half. At the worst possible time, Pullus was left with a jagged half of a shield!

  Farther down the beach, where the men of the 28th Legion were part of the first wave, their situation was even more precarious. The first Centuries to land were still standing in the water and, despite their best efforts to keep their shields from getting soaked, too many of the men were now carrying waterlogged shields. Although wet shields were still useful for protection, facing men like the Wa, who were so damnably quick, they were much too heavy to wield effectively. As a result, the casualties were heavy, the surf rolling onto the beach foaming pink from all the blood spilled. Because of their armor, fallen men quickly dropped below the water’s surface, so that if they were wounded and if they were unable to pull themselves erect, they were dead men. Worse still, their bodies became obstacles and hazards underfoot for the men still fighting. In short, the landing was failing, and Gnaeus Cartufenus, the Primus Pilus of the 28th Legion, knew he and his men were in danger of being annihilated. Cartufenus didn't have the same idea as Pullus, but he knew he needed to do something quickly, or his men would be faced with the choice of death in battle or by drowning. Desperately looking about, Cartufenus saw that there were perhaps 20 men who were not engaged. Every Legion has its share of shirkers, and these men were the cream of the crop; those too stupid, too slow, or too unskilled in battle had long since been winnowed out. Normally, Cartufenus would never rely on such men as these, but there was nobody left, at least out of these two Centuries.

  Blowing a blast on his whistle to get their attention, he bellowed, "You! That's right, you," he pointed his sword at the nearest of the shirkers who, at the sound of the whistle, had tried to wade to a spot out of sight of the Primus Pilus. "You and that bunch get over here, NOW!"

  For a moment Cartufenus thought the men wouldn't obey, but after they took a look around, they saw the obvious: there was nowhere else for them to hide.

  Once they were by his side, without waiting for any doubt or hesitation to surface, he shouted, "Follow me! We've got to get off this beach, and the only chance of doing it alive is that way." Cartufenus pointed at the mass of men and began, as Pullus had, to churn through the water, desperately trying to pick up speed. Although he didn't look back, he could hear from the splashing that the other men were following. Aiming for a spot where his men had been so worn down that there was only a single thin line of Legionaries, Cartufenus began bellowing, "Caesar!" over and over, his small group of men picking up the cry as they followed him to slam into the Wa.

  With only half a shield, Titus Pullus was in a desperate position, and both he and the Wa facing him knew it. The Wa made another lunge, aiming this time for a spot toward the ragged edge of Pullus' shield, knowing that the Roman would have to move the ruined shield farther than normal to block the blow. Since it was the left half of the shield now lying on the ground, this meant that Pullus had to move the remnant of the shield away from his torso, opening him up to the next blow, and the Wa wasted no time in making a second thrust. Fortunately for Pullus, he had been in innumerable such moments, courtesy of hundreds of battles and skirmishes, so he was prepared to meet the Wa's blade with his own, deflecting it upward with a sweeping parry. He was only partially successful, as the point of his enemy's blade still managed a glancing blow just below the left collarbone. Because Pullus blocked the Wa's blade, most of the force behind the blow was absorbed, but there was enough to break several links and for the point to penetrate, not deeply, just enough to draw blood. Pullus let out a half-curse, half-snarl of pain and, using the jagged edge of the shield, whipped it horizontally across the face of the Wa warrior, the splintered wood tearing the enemy’s forehead. Blood spurted and, most importantly, streamed into the Wa's eyes, temporarily blinding him, and he desperately tried to clear his vision with one hand while swinging his sword wildly in front of him to ward off any attack. It wasn't enough! Pullus easily knocked the Wa's blade aside as he stepped inside the arc of his swing, then made a high, hard thrust right at the base of the Wa's throat. Between the sharpness of the point and the strength of the blow, Pullus' blade exited the back of the Wa's neck, but even before he could fall, Pullus had withdrawn his Gallic sword and jumped back. Even so, he narrowly avoided being decapitated by a sweeping blow from a Wa tear-drop spear, yet before the man wielding it could follow up with another blow, one of Pullus' Legionaries leaped in front of his Primus Pilus, protecting his leader with his own, undamaged shield. Given a brief respite, Pullus took the time to grab a new shield off the beach, then quickly took his place at the head of the wedge, which was still holding together, but just barely. Camillus' Third Century had come into the gap between Balbus' Second and the First, but now they had their hands full. Compounding matters were the bodies piled on the beach, creating both an obstacle and a makeshift barrier for the Romans to use. The problem was that it gave the men an easier option than actually advancing. With the men facing the toughest fight any of them had been in, this was doubly tempting and Pullus knew, as Cartufenus did, hundreds of yards away, that to stay on this beach was to die. Without waiting any longer, Pullus took a step forward, using his new shield to punch at the Wa directly across from him, his blow knocking the Wa backward and enabling Pullus to deal with the man to his right with a slashing blow that landed on the side of the Wa's helmet, knocking him senseless. Before the second man could recover, the Legionary directly behind Pullus to his right, thrust downward into the man's face. The first Wa, now back on the attack, came back at Pullus, weaving his spear in an elliptical pattern to draw Pullus' attention to it, instead of the eyes and face of his enemy, in an effort to deceive the Roman about his intentions. Pullus was much too experienced for such a maneuver, his eyes never leaving the face of the Wa who, as Pullus was expecting, grit his teeth when he launched his real attack. It was a backhanded slash, that Pullus blocked with his blade, knocking the spear aside while punching at the Wa with his shield, using the raised boss as a cudgel. Though it was on
ly a glancing blow, it was just enough to allow Pullus to step inside the arc of the spear. Undeterred, the Wa whipped the butt end of the weapon at Pullus' head, but again Pullus' experience stood him in good stead, having seen that move before, and he was able to block the blow. In the instant after blocking the blow, Pullus suddenly went into a squat, sweeping his blade in a wide arc that brought the blade into a position just behind the Wa's left leg. Pulling back towards him with all his considerable strength, he sliced the sharp blade into the Wa's leg at the kneecap, sending a shower of blood in a fan-shaped spray that spattered the already blood-soaked sand. It was only because of Pullus' massive strength that he was able to completely sever the Wa's lower leg from the rest of him. Letting out a shriek that rose above the already incredible din, the Wa collapsed in a heap, and Pullus didn't even bother to finish him, intent on taking advantage of the momentary gap. Stepping forward, he came into immediate contact with more Wa waiting to kill him, but he was a step farther onto the beach.

  Gnaeus Cartufenus, with 20-odd men, most of them found lingering towards the back of the mass of men, now went charging into the continuing melée. While he hadn't ordered a wedge formation as such, the men following him had aligned themselves more or less in the same manner as Pullus' First Cohort, although this was due more to Cartufenus' men's unwillingness to be at the head of their body of Romans. Nevertheless, they followed their Primus Pilus as he threw himself into the fight, picking a spot where his men were distributed at their thinnest. Knocking one of his own men aside, Cartufenus smashed into the Wa, but he didn't have Pullus' advantage of size and strength. Still, he somehow managed to knock one Wa backward, while slightly staggering the man next to him, and before either could recover, Cartufenus made a downward thrust that hit the first Wa squarely in the groin. The second man was finished by one of the bolder of Cartufenus' men, who followed his leader close behind. This was all the forward momentum they could manage, however, as the Wa immediately closed around the Primus Pilus and his men, all of them slashing and hacking at the invaders.