by Peake, R. W.
As the men of the first wave of the 10th waited, Pullus walked among the men, sharing a joke here, chiding another man there for some past transgression, although it was all done with good humor. He had long since learned that there was a time for the harsh discipline that was a staple of Legion life, but that the moments just before a man faced his possible end were not among those times. As was his usual habit, Pullus lingered with the few remaining veterans of his own tenure, men like Publius Vellusius, each man drawing comfort from the presence of the other. Finally, the cornu sounded the call to begin the boarding process, and in the time it took for the last note to echo across the inner bay, Pullus was once again the Primus Pilus, the hardest man of the Legion.
"All right you lazy cunni," he roared, shoving men he considered to be moving too slowly, "get aboard your ships and by the gods, if any of you forget what side you're boarding and you capsize one of these buckets, I'll flay you and use your shriveled ball sac as a coin purse!"
And, as usual, his men obeyed, quickly and without mistake, each transport loading up, then moving out into the harbor to allow another transport to take on its own complement. Less than a third of a watch after the cornu had sounded, the entire first wave was loaded up and moving to the entrance of the harbor, headed for the Wa beach. It was almost time to exact retribution.
The slaughter resulting from the pre-landing artillery barrage was so total and so devastating that the biggest challenge for the men unloading in the first wave was keeping their footing amid the bodies and pieces of bodies bobbing and rolling in the red surf. Adding to the eeriness and unfamiliarity of the scene was that it was also the quietest landing in which any man of Caesar's army had participated. It wasn't truly quiet, but the only sound competing with the rumbling waves was a— low-pitched moan that seemed to ebb and flow with each crash of water onto the beach. There was occasional punctuation to the generally continuous sound in the form of shouted commands from the Centurions and Optios, yet what was conspicuously missing, besides the sounds of battle, were the calls and curses of the rankers.
No, Titus Pullus thought, he had never experienced anything like this, and neither had anyone else. It wasn't until Pullus was on the beach, standing amidst carnage the likes of which he had never seen in his 27 years, not at Alesia, not at Alexandria, not at Persepolis, not at Bargosa—that he realized what was so strange. The volume and style of the sound he was hearing was what one heard after a battle was over, not when the landing was just moments old. Right now should be a frenzy of action, a riot of noise, so many things going on before one's eyes that the brain can't comprehend it all: the colors and smells, all of it threatening to be overwhelmed by the fear and rage of battle. But nothing like that was happening, and it was clear to Pullus that he wasn't alone in his feelings as he watched his men trying to form up, although this was next to impossible, because of the bodies packing the beach.
Just as Caesar had predicted, at the first sight of the Roman warships appearing through a low-hanging mist that allowed them to creep to within 200 paces, the Wa had stormed right up to the edge of the beach in their tightly-packed but ordered ranks. And just like the first landing, there was a minimum of the kinds of demonstrations made by the warriors of other nations. The Wa seemed content to wait for the Romans to land, but Caesar and the entire army knew what kind of ferocity the Wa were capable of, so none of them were swayed by the lack of activity. In fact, their close formation fit into Caesar's plans quite well, and his one hope was that they didn't break ranks, making them harder to hit. Within a tenth part of a watch, the floating artillery batteries had moved into their positions, each one turning broadside to the beach, while the Wa contented themselves with shouting in their tongue as they watched the ships maneuver.
Perhaps they don't know what's about to happen, Caesar mused, standing at the flagship rail, his ship positioned roughly in the middle of the spread of warships. He restrained himself from looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction of the beach, knowing how futile it would be trying to spot the assault force rowing towards the beach, because of the mist. No, he thought, I'll have to count on my generals to make sure all is going as planned. His attention was brought back to the beach by the sharp cracking sound that was the signature of the ballistae, arms crashing against crossbars, when they shot to the vertical position and launched their respective cargos of death. Caesar was unable to track the flight of the first missiles from his ship, but there was no missing the result, as the first one-pound stones slammed into the front rows of Wa. No matter how many times he saw it, he was still somewhat surprised at the amount of damage a relatively small rock could inflict, not just to one man, but to several in a row, especially at closer range. Only one missile fell short in the first volley, so that almost immediately bloody gaps were torn into the front Wa ranks; but just as last time, those holes were closed almost immediately. Again, this was something Caesar was counting on, and in this he wasn't disappointed.
What he was unprepared for, however, was that the Wa would stand there and soak up this punishment, without withdrawing from the surf line. Instead, they stood there, first shouting their anger, then screaming out in fear and pain, as rocks and scorpion bolts savaged them without letup. Part of the original plan had called for a brief respite, planned by Caesar to give him the opportunity to assess the situation, and, if necessary, to allow his floating batteries to reposition closer to shore in anticipation that the Wa would have to remove themselves from the surf line. However, they never moved; yet, Caesar nonetheless ordered those of his ships that carried a higher complement of scorpions to move closer inshore, staying just out of range of the Wa archers, who fired a few volleys of fire arrows to no avail. With the range closer, the scorpion bolts were particularly lethal, punching through the lamellar leather armor and torso of the first and usually second Wa, before burying itself in the bowels of its last victim.
The slaughter recommenced, with the Wa giving no sign whatsoever that they were inclined to retreat out of range. In fact, from where Caesar was standing, although his eyesight wasn't what it had been, he could clearly see that there were no officers or cavalry behind the rear ranks forcing men forward. No, he realized with a shock, these Wa were moving forward without prompting, despite the fact that they had to know what awaited them. As disciplined as these men were, and Caesar was certain that they would be more than a match for the warriors of Sparta, not even the most hardened of men could keep from shrieking in agony from the kind of damage done by the artillery, and the air was filled with such noise. Even more than the noise, Caesar knew, the sights of their comrades being eviscerated, having a limb torn off or even being decapitated had to be extremely daunting, yet no Wa that he could see hesitated in stepping into the next spot, even when it was stepping over the mangled body of a comrade. Even when their numbers were reduced to perhaps a quarter of their original strength, the Wa never wavered, and, in fact, Caesar was sure that the ships would run out of ammunition. Some of the vessels did, particularly those carrying the scorpions, but in the end, there was enough.
This time the landing of Caesar's army was totally successful, and in sharp contrast to the first attempt, there were no serious injuries. In fact, there was only one death, a Legionary who had been leaning over the side watching the slaughter on the beach and who had lost his balance, falling into the sea and disappearing from sight, before anyone could grab him. The Wa, on the other hand, had lost what Caesar believed was the bulk of their army, at least 20,000 men, or so he hoped, anyway. He couldn't imagine wasting his soldiers in such a profligate manner, so there was something deeply troubling about the Wa, something he had first felt during the previous assault that he couldn't identify and had put down to stemming from his first defeat in many years. But now here he was, standing on the beach as its master, yet being just as troubled as he had been the time before. Try as he might, he couldn't come to grips with the feeling, and while to everyone around him he was his same, efficie
nt self, inwardly he was in turmoil. The first inkling of what it might be came when Aulus Hirtius, one of his top lieutenant generals came to give his report on the task Caesar had set for him. Even before Hirtius spoke, Caesar could see the answer on his general's face.
"I'm sorry Caesar," Hirtius said uncomfortably, only after rendering a proper salute, of course, "but we have no prisoners."
Even knowing the answer by Hirtius' expression, Caesar was flabbergasted, so shocked that for several moments he couldn't speak, a fact that Hirtius took as a rebuke. His face colored, and like every member of Caesar's army, Hirtius felt great shame at having failed his general.
"I'm sorry, Caesar," Hirtius repeated, his tone so miserable that it snapped Caesar out of his shocked state.
Caesar shook his head, putting a hand on Hirtius' shoulder, admonishing him, "It's not your doing, Hirtius. I don't blame you. It's just hard to understand how out of this many men on the beach, we couldn't find any wounded lightly enough to take prisoner to interrogate." Something in Hirtius' eyes prompted Caesar to ask, "What am I missing?"
"It's hard to describe, Caesar," Hirtius responded. "Even after I saw it happen, I can't really understand it. But," he continued after Caesar's prompting, "we did as you said, looking for those men whose wounds weren't mortal and finishing off those whose were. But every time we found such a man, we couldn't get close to him. It was like they were...possessed by some numen, screeching in that language of theirs, I can't understand a word of that gibberish, and I've already picked up a fair amount of the Han dialect...where was I? Ah, yes, when we got anywhere near these men, they would put up so much of a fight that we had no choice but to kill them."
"That's to be expected," Caesar interjected, his mind still working on the larger problems, "but surely not all of them."
In every battle he had ever fought, across the entire known world, Caesar had never seen it fail that there were a group of men who chose life as a possible slave, rather than death, at least when it was this large a group.
"That's what I thought as well," Hirtius said with what Caesar suspected was respect bordering on awe, something Caesar didn't like a bit. "Until I saw these Wa. Every one of them who was able took a blade, an arrow, whatever was at hand, and ended himself. To a man."
For several moments, neither said a word, their thoughts running along very similar channels. Finally, and appropriately, it was Caesar who broke the silence.
"If we're fighting a race where even men in the ranks would rather die than submit, how can we defeat these people?"
Once it was determined that all Wa on the beach were dead, Caesar had the men of the entire army, once landed, form up in his now-famous acies triplex, the three line formation that had seen the defeat of armies from Hispania to Pandya. It was somewhat difficult, given the problem of so many heaped bodies, but the moment they were formed up, with the orientation that he wanted, Caesar sounded the order to advance. Their objective was not an army, but the large town that lay to the east of the landing beach. The 10th was in their usual spot, anchoring the right of the line, meaning that Titus Pullus, the Primus Pilus, was the last remaining Roman on the right, or unprotected side. It had been this way for so long and so often—save for a couple of times, one being Africa during the civil war—that if Caesar had ordered the Legion somewhere else, Pullus wasn't quite sure how it would have reacted. Caesar's army moved quickly into position, and the march began towards the town, which was only protected by a low wall, barely more than a man's height. More importantly, there were only a handful of Wa warriors on the wall, although they were too far away to make out their features. When they were within 200 paces, Caesar ordered a halt, followed by the command for all Primi Pili to join him.
Once they were all gathered, he told them, "It doesn't look like there will be much resistance, so I don't foresee this taking very long. However," his gaze turned to the assembled Centurions, "we have to decide what to do about this town. It looks large, so there should be a substantial amount of loot. I doubt we'll find many civilians to sell as slaves, but whatever we find will be rounded up and Zhang's man can see to it."
Caesar was referring to a member of Zhang's personal retinue who had acted as broker to sell the slaves that had been rounded up when crossing the Gayan Peninsula. However, his announcement was met with silence, and some furtive glances between some of the Primi Pili. Instantly picking up on them, Caesar pressed his Centurions, and all eyes turned to the giant Primus Pilus of the 10th.
Seeing that there was no avoiding it, Pullus, face reddened as he said, "It's just that the men want vengeance for the first assault."
Caesar's first instinct was to argue, but he caught himself. While it had been weeks since that first assault was bloodily repulsed, and they had just slaughtered close to 20,000 Wa, he knew that watching men die from a distance, from artillery, wasn't the same as plunging your own sword into the guts of the man across from you, acting in vengeance for the loss of a comrade. In addition, Caesar recognized that his control over the army had been badly shaken by the setback, and this victory, while it helped, hadn't done enough to restore matters back to what he considered normal.
Instead, he simply asked, "What do the men want?"
"That the town be given to them, to do with as they will," Pullus answered instantly, causing Caesar's eyes to narrow in suspicion, understanding that this had been planned.
While he didn't fault them for being prepared, he still wasn't happy that he was unaware this was coming. I'm going to have to talk to my network of spies in the army, he reminded himself.
Nevertheless, he gave his assent to this, his only admonishment being, "Don't let the men start fires. You know I hate that."
Assuring him that they would control the men who exhibited this proclivity, the Primi Pili quickly returned to spread the news. As each Legion was informed, they gave a rousing cheer, causing a rolling wall of noise that lasted for several moments. What effect it had on the Wa on the wall, waiting for what came next, was impossible to tell, because not one of them moved a muscle.
The assault on the town, as Caesar and the rest of the officers suspected, didn't take long. Those Wa who stayed on the wall, and most of them did, died fighting, though not with the same spirit and resolution of their comrades on the first beach.
"These were probably the sick, lame, and lazy," Balbus remarked to Pullus, using the term Romans used for malingerers, as they watched their men pull down the low wooden wall.
Very quickly several gaps were torn in the barrier, allowing the men to stream through, those who participated in the first assault being given the honor of leading the rest. More importantly, it gave them the first pickings of whatever loot was in the town. But almost immediately, the flow of men stopped, those still outside the wall forced to stand, shouting and cursing their frustration at their predecessors who seemed to have stopped everything.
"What in Pluto's thorny cock is the holdup?" Pullus growled, then pushed his way through the waiting men, bashing those too slow to jump out of the way with his vitus, and he was followed closely by Balbus.
Finally getting through the gap and elbowing his way into the front ranks, his snarled command died in his throat, as mystified as the rest of the men. It was Publius Vellusius, the old Gregarius and long-time comrade of both Pullus and Scribonius who sidled over to his Primus Pilus and broke the silence.
"What are they doing? Sir?" Vellusius amended hastily, but if Pullus took offense he gave no sign.
"They're kneeling," Pullus replied in a whisper, although he had no idea why he was doing so.
"But why?"
"How should I know?" Pullus snapped, instantly regretting it; it was a valid question, and one that Pullus was wondering himself. Then, with an idea, he said, "I suppose they're throwing themselves on our mercy."
"They're not going to get any from me," Vellusius replied fiercely, remembering his friend Ganusius, gutted on the beach those weeks ago.
For that
is the sight that greeted the first Romans through the wall; not a deserted town like they expected, which they could now see was very close to being a city, but the lines and rows of people, obviously the townspeople, kneeling, with heads touching the ground, filling the square and streets of the town. Every open inch of ground was covered by a person or group of people. Just in front of the first row was a smaller group, perhaps ten villagers, all male, but they were in the same kneeling position, and none of them raised his head or looked up. Whatever the Legionaries were expecting, this wasn't it! The normal scene of the sacking of a town was one of chaos, with people running in any direction they thought gave them the best chance for escape, the screams of women filling the air, either trying to evade being captured and raped, or having been caught and ravished.. Just not this...silence. It unnerved Pullus, and he could see he wasn't the only one so affected, that none of the men seemed as eager to go about the business of rape and slaughter as they had been just moments before. It was silly, Pullus observed, since this would make rounding them up easier, but that wasn't how he felt.
Turning to Balbus, just behind him and as silent as everyone else, he said, "Go get Caesar."