Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (34 page)

“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 would 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 s
oldiers in the third rank, who would get him to the litter bearers.

“Set for passage-of-lines!”
Proculus shouted.

Artorius settled into his fighting s
tance, 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 do
wn 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 breathing 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.

Artorius watched as the rest of the
century formed up with them behind the First Century. Sergeants started getting accountability of their men, all the while being hounded by Macro and Vitruvius to report if anyone was hurt or lost. Though most were battered and drenched in sweat, dirt, and blood, everyone was accounted for. Artorius was shocked that no one from the Second Century had been killed or seriously wounded, in spite of the ferocity of their exchange with the Germans. Other units were not so lucky. He looked back to where litter bearers were carrying away the dead and wounded. For a battle this large, he thought for sure their losses would be much heavier. He then noted how badly scoured his armor was. The iron plates of the lorica segmentata could withstand just about any weapon the barbarians wielded, leaving the throat and groin as a legionary’s true weak points.

He looked back to the battle. He saw that the Germanic cavalry was in disarray and was starting to break and run, yet the
host of barbarian warriors on the ground continued to press their attack. Artorius saw in the distance that their own cavalry was assaulting the flanks and rear of the enemy, wreaking havoc and destruction.

“Set for passage-of-lines!”

Germanicus led the cavalry around the rear of the German army, s
lashing at any target that presented itself. His cavalry chopped away at the barbarians who, surprisingly, had not panicked. Many were oblivious to the threat until they were struck from behind or in the flank. There were still so many on the field, perhaps they felt their superior numbers would achieve victory for them. He saw one barbarian with a great sword. He was shaking it over his head, shouting at the other warriors. Figuring he was a leader, Germanicus spurred his horse and rode towards the man. As he closed up, the barbarian turned in surprise just in time for Germanicus to slash his sword across his throat. A vicious jerk of the blade nearly severed the barbarian’s head. As the corpse lay twitching on the ground, a gushing stream of blood saturated the already blood-soaked earth.

The Third Cohort was quickly executing its passages-of-lines so, within what seemed like only a few minutes, the Second Century was back to where it started. Artorius watched as soldiers from the cohort passed back through the ranks. Like he had been just minutes before, they were covered in sweat, grime, and blood. His own sweat had now dried, his body felt sticky and rank. He licked his lips, thirsty for a drink of water. He noticed how the heat of the sun was bearing down on him. He took slow, deep breaths, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on the heat or his thirst.  Sweat was trickling down his chest and seemed to pool under his testicles.  Just great… and no free hand to scratch!

The Sixth Century passed back through their ranks. Artorius saw wounded men being supported by their comrades, biting their lips, refusing to give in to their pain. He turned his head in dismay as he saw two others being carried back, their bodies bloody and lifeless. The men who carried them tried to appear stoic, yet they could not completely mask their sorrow at the loss of their friends.

Artorius stumbled as the line continued to advance. Mobility was being hindered by the volume of barbarian dead that littered the ground they were advancing through. He took a deep breath and wiped his arm across his forehead. He had started to sweat profusely again and was struggling to keep it out of his eyes.

“Alright, let’s get ready to do this again,” Macro said as they watched the First Century engage.

“You ready to do this?” Magnus asked.

“Absolutely,” Artorius
snarled. He started to rock slightly on the balls of his feet. He shrugged his shoulders, working any kinks out of his joints. His shield arm felt limber, his gladius was balanced, ready to strike once more.