The legion, having watched the charge, gave a hearty cheer. All infantry feared cavalry. Hux had finished the destruction of the enemy cavalry, and the men were heartened by it.
A horn blew from the legionary cavalry. Stiger recognized the call to reform. He watched as the troopers slowed their horses and began angling them to the left, away from the enemy. The legion’s horse soldiers were following a rider, who was waving his sword in the air above his head. It was Hux. Just behind the prefect rode the cavalry’s standard-bearer.
Stiger noted that most of his mounted wing no longer had their lances. They’d lost them when the charge had slammed home. Lances were typically one-use weapons. They were now down to swords. That was fine, for now the enemy no longer had any cavalry of their own. With his charge, Hux had just effectively swept it away.
“Forward…” Salt shouted in a loud call. He waited for the centurions up and down the line to pick it up and repeat it. “March.”
The legion began moving forward, advancing across the field of browned grass. Stiger followed behind Second Cohort. With him were Salt, Therik, Eli, and the two Vass. Dog padded along at his side. Beck, with the Eagle guard and Ruga’s century, followed a few paces behind. An auxiliary with a horn trailed after Salt. Then came Severus with the messengers. It was a large party, but for this battle, they were his command entourage.
Stiger looked down his line and the orderly ranks of men to the left and was satisfied with all that he saw. He looked to the right. Everything was in order. With the auxiliary cohorts he had nearly nine thousand men on the field. Nine thousand against at least fifteen thousand of the enemy. He hoped Braddock and Tenya’Far hurried their march, for he had a feeling he would need their help before the day was done.
Turning his attention to the enemy army, he studied them intently. They still appeared disordered, muddled by the shock of losing their dragons and then the cavalry. Officers could clearly be seen working to restore order. Stiger well knew some semblance of control would soon be established. It was only a matter of time, and Stiger did not intend to give them much.
Salt snapped orders and the auxiliary blew his horn, relaying the order to the rest of the legion. There was about ten yards of space between each cohort. This was intentional, as they closed in on the enemy, to allow them room to make the required adjustments to the angle of march. Obediently, the legion began angling its way across the field toward the enemy’s right flank, each cohort making the adjustment in their line of march. Eventually, as they neared the confederacy’s line, the legion would close up and form an unbroken armored wall.
The pace was steady, controlled, and maddeningly slow. Stiger wished he could speed things up. He recognized that doing so would not have been the wisest of decisions. Though the distance to the enemy’s line was only a few hundred yards, moving at a quicker pace would only serve to fatigue his men. He could not have that. They would shortly need all their strength and energy, for outnumbered as they were, the coming fight would surely test them. Moving at a quicker pace would also affect the legion’s organization, potentially adding disorder to his own ranks. Stiger was not prepared to sacrifice that either, and so he contented himself with a slow, steady advance.
Off to the left, Hux had reformed his cavalry wing on the fly and was swinging around and away from the enemy army in a slow walk. He had reorganized his cavalry into a long single line. The wing had almost completed its wheeling movement. As Hux swung it back around, the cavalry began picking up speed again as they turned back and began bearing down upon the enemy. The growing thunder of their hooves could be heard over the steady tramping of thousands of feet marching over the wet, grassy field.
A horn call came from the enemy army. The call was immediately repeated. It sounded urgent to Stiger’s ears, almost desperate. The drums started again, first a few stuttering away and then more until it became a steady beat.
Hux drove his cavalry directly at the enemy’s right flank. The thunder of the hooves grew in volume with their speed, drowning out the sound of the massed drums. The ground seemed to tremble.
Stiger found himself holding his breath. Feeling foolish, he let it out. The enemy’s cavalry was gone. It had been completely destroyed, wiped away by Hux and his horse soldiers. There was no longer anything to stand in the prefect’s way.
The infantry on the enemy’s right flank was still disorganized, especially so after they had seen the legion’s cavalry wipe out their own. The officers had been unable to fully reform their men, but they had made some progress.
After another horn call at Salt’s prompting, the legion once again made a shift to the left.
The cavalry across the field galloped harder. The infantry, in their path on the confederacy’s right flank, turned and attempted to form a hasty line facing the charge. Officers rushed about in a desperate bid to firm up the scratch line. Stiger saw no spears. Without spears, the infantry would be vulnerable to a charge.
The enemy began to shrink back and away. A few ran. Then more fled and finally the entire right flank was in flight, causing great confusion with the rest of the line as men pushed their way into and through formations that had yet to break.
The distance closed from thirty yards to twenty…
Ten…
Swords were readied, and as they were, the cavalry smashed into the mass of the confused enemy. It was incredible. Horses slammed men to the ground, rode them down, trampled them under their hooves. So great was their momentum, the cavalry charge punched forty yards into the mass of confused and fleeing infantry before slowing.
In all Stiger’s years and experience, he had never seen the like. Hux and his boys had rolled up and disrupted almost an entire third of the enemy army, causing great confusion. Hundreds had been killed, injured, and maimed in their latest charge, perhaps even thousands.
A hearty cheer went up from the legion as the horse soldiers began laying about with their swords, hacking and slashing at the enemy, killing all they could. Men shouting, horses screaming…it was pure chaos.
The legion continued its advance, closing to within two hundred yards, then one hundred fifty. Stiger tore his gaze from the shattered remnants of the enemy’s right flank and studied the rest of the confederacy’s line. The left had been brought back into order and the center too. It was the right that had been thoroughly wrecked and the heart of the legion was driving directly at it. Stiger hoped to complete the destruction there.
“Salt,” Stiger called, looking over, “take the right flank. Make sure First Cohort and the Eighty-Fifth are well-used and get into position. I do not want the enemy turning us on the right. I’m also keeping your man with the horn.”
“Yes, sir,” Salt said, “I’ll take care of it.”
“Holler if you need help,” Stiger said.
“You know I will, sir,” Salt said and began working his way over to the right, walking behind the line as it continued to advance.
“What’s your name, son?” Stiger asked the auxiliary with the horn.
“Marus, sir.”
“Good,” Stiger said. “You stay close, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Marus said.
A legionary horn call to Stiger’s front snapped his head around. Hux was seeking to pull the cavalry back and disengage. The enemy had clearly stiffened and begun to fight back. Stiger saw a horse go down as a group of infantry attacked. The cavalry was beginning to pay a price for fighting amongst masses of foot soldiers. Hux had clearly realized it was time to pull back and regroup. Stiger noted that, in the chaos, the wing had also become spread out, with many becoming isolated as fresh enemy companies of infantry pushed back.
The horn call sounded again, this time more insistent. At first it was a few and then it was many, but the cavalry began pulling their mounts around and galloping away from the vengeful infantry.
The legion was now less than one hundred yards from contact. Officers to the front of the enemy’s line worked feverishly to get their men
organized and prepared. Stiger looked to the left of his own line. The Tenth, Eighth, and Sixth Cohorts would be uncovered. There was no enemy to their front. He’d already sent them orders that once the legion reached the confederacy’s line, they were to fold around on the enemy’s flank and push hard into their side. Stiger intended to put the enemy’s right flank under as much pressure as possible and thereby roll it up.
The distance narrowed to fifty yards.
The enemy to their front brought their shields up and drew swords. Stiger studied them critically. Unlike the enemy they’d already engaged, these were heavy infantry. They carried rectangular shields a littler smaller than the legion’s and short swords. Their armor consisted of a chain mail shirt that went down to the knees and a helmet, complete with cheek guards. Black crests topped their helmets, making them appear taller and more imposing.
Though the enemy had managed to get two ranks in place on what remained of their right flank, their line was far from firm. It was also painfully thin when compared to the legion’s five ranks. Behind their line, it was utter chaos, with men from companies that had broken and fled all mixed up. They were milling about in great confusion.
Stiger read near panic in the ranks ahead as his line closed the last few dozen yards. The enemy’s right flank was still a relative mess. There was no sense of stability or firmness. A few of the men in the first rank began backing up as the distance closed to the last handful of yards. Officers shouted at them in a language foreign to Stiger, undoubtedly ordering them to stand firm.
Stiger turned to Marus. “Sound the call to halt.”
Marus dutifully blew the call, two long blasts, followed by a short one.
The legion ground to a halt.
“First rank, ready javelins,” Stiger ordered and nodded to Marus.
The call was blown. Centurions across the line repeated the order. The first rank took a step forward and prepared to throw. Across the way, orders were snapped and shields were brought up in preparation for what was to come.
“First rank,” Stiger ordered. “Release.”
Marus blew. A heartbeat later, the men in the front rank grunted as they threw. A wave of javelins arced up into the air and then crashed down amongst the enemy’s two ranks with a loud clatter. The heavy iron-tipped weapons punched through shield and armor. Men cried out in pain as they were struck. Shields that had been penetrated were discarded, their protection rendered useless as the soft shafts of the heavy javelins bent and became almost impossible to remove quickly. Others began working on the shields, attempting vainly to remove the weapons.
Stiger was very pleased with the toss. It had been well made and had wreaked havoc amongst the enemy.
“All ranks,” Stiger ordered, looking over at Marus and waiting for the call to be blown before ordering the second part. “Ready javelins.”
The horn was sounded again. This time, all of the ranks spread out, with first rank taking another step forward and the last rank taking three steps back. The middle ranks spread out as well, to give themselves room to make their toss.
Stiger looked left and then right, checking to make certain all was ready.
“Release.”
The horn blared his command again.
The javelins were released.
The deadly weapons arced up into the air before crashing down in a devastating wave upon the enemy. The result was what could only be described as near catastrophic. The first toss had deprived many of the enemy of their shields. Hundreds of men were hit by the second toss; even more shields were rendered useless.
“Close up ranks. Ready shields,” came a shout to his front as a centurion in one of the front ranks made the call. “Draw swords.”
Up and down the line ran the similar calls as the legion prepared for direct battle.
“Let’s give it to them, boys,” a centurion shouted.
“HAAH,” the centurion’s cohort shouted in reply.
“HAAH,” another cohort shouted, “HAAH, HAAH.”
The entire legion gave a massed, “HAAH.”
Stiger thought it quite intimidating and so too did the remnants of the line facing him. Many of the survivors began to back up and look about. Discipline was failing.
“Advance,” Stiger shouted, as loud as he could, deciding to forgo another horn call. It proved sufficient, for the legion, as an armored wall, started forward, resuming the steady step.
“We’re gonna kill them all. What are we going to do?” a centurion somewhere to the front called.
“Kill,” the men responded. “Kill, kill, kill.”
Shield met shield in a crash as the two lines came together. Men grunted, shouted, and cursed. They pushed and shoved against one another as each line struggled for dominance. It wasn’t a long contest, as the weight and numbers were on the legion’s side. The enemy line, disorganized and lacking depth and strength, especially after the javelin toss, was shoved violently backward. That was when the killing machine began its work. Push, step, stab, and push again. The legion began efficiently butchering the enemy.
The confederacy’s line gave up a foot, then five, then ten yards. The legion began to drive the enemy’s right inward as it thinned even more. Stiger looked over to his left. His cohorts that were uncovered had begun to swing around nicely. Shortly they would be in position to drive into the enemy’s flank, and unlike the cavalry, they would be staying.
The sound of fighting to his right intensified. Stiger looked and saw the enemy had pushed forward and was tightly engaged there. They were also attempting to advance forward. Salt was extending the line back and around to receive it, with the Eighty-Fifth on the extreme end of the line. Stiger’s camp prefect appeared to have everything well in hand, at least for the moment.
Stiger returned his attention to the action at the front. His uncovered cohorts were completing their movement, and before they could become engaged, the enemy’s line to his front broke.
Centurions and optios shouted, grabbed, and cursed at their men to keep them in ranks. The men, for the most part, responded, though a few did race after and chase down the nearest enemy.
“There’s another line,” Arol said. “They have formed a second line. See it?”
Stiger had been so focused on the fighting to the front, he’d not noticed the Vass come up next to him. Arol pointed, and sure enough the enemy had formed a new line along the road’s boundary. It looked hastily formed. This line had wisely opened gaps, so those fleeing could pass through without carrying away the fresh soldiers in their panic.
“I would complete your turning movement,” Arol said, “and advance with your army against this new line. It lacks in depth. If you strike quickly and hit them all at once, you may be able to overcome them too.”
Stiger studied the new line and decided he was correct. He turned his gaze down the road. There were still enemy columns marching up, with the intent of joining the battle. Stiger found that very disagreeable. The enemy would be able to continue to feed fresh companies into the battle, while Stiger, at the moment, had no reinforcement.
Studying the columns marching south toward the battle, Stiger wanted to stop them, or at least interrupt any reinforcement long enough to rout the army before him. He turned around, looking for his cavalry, and spotted Hux busy reforming his troopers fifty yards away.
“Messenger,” Stiger called, and a man came forward leading a horse. “Ride over there and kindly ask Prefect Hux to report to me.”
“Yes, sir.” The messenger mounted up and rode off.
Stiger glanced over to his left again. “Severus?”
The tribune, who had been with the messengers, stepped over.
“Grab a horse. I want you to ride down the line to the left,” Stiger said. “Speak with each senior centurion. Order them to stop their cohorts when they are facing the King’s Highway. Once each cohort is in position and aligned with the rest, I will give the order to advance. Only then, understand?”
“Yes,
sir,” Severus said.
Stiger turned away and back to the fight as the tribune left. Six of his cohorts were now uncovered on his left and swinging around to face the new line along the road. On the right, where his auxiliaries and the other four legionary cohorts were, the fighting was intense and hard. Despite that, Stiger’s lines were still moving forward there, pushing the enemy roughly before them. The extreme flank to his right, which Salt had bent back around, seemed to be holding against the enemy’s best efforts.
“The fight is going well,” Therik said.
“It is far from over,” Arol growled, “far from decided.”
Stiger could only agree. The enemy had not completely collapsed, as he’d hoped. He’d essentially destroyed the enemy’s right, but the rest of their army had fight left in them.
Hearing hooves, he turned to see Hux approaching. The prefect’s horse and armor were splattered with dried blood and mud. Hux even had a deep gash along his chest armor and a cut on his cheek that bled freely.
“Sir,” Hux said, pulling his horse to a stop. “You called?”
“I did,” Stiger said. “Fine work with that charge.”
“It was quite exhilarating.”
“I can imagine,” Stiger said. “I have another job for you.”
“I thought you might, sir,” Hux said. “We have at least one charge left, maybe another, and then our mounts will be spent. Where would you like us to go?”
“See those reinforcements?” Stiger pointed northward, along the King’s Highway. “The enemy is bringing up fresh units.”
“I see them, sir,” Hux said. “I take it you’d like me to disrupt that effort?”
“I would,” Stiger said. “Kindly do so, and the sooner the better.”
“Very good, sir.” Hux saluted before pulling his horse around and riding away back toward his men.
Stiger turned his attention back to the enemy. The battle on his right had become more intense. It seemed as if the enemy’s resistance had stiffened considerably. His line was no longer advancing there. He looked to his left and saw the last of the cohorts moving into position and aligning themselves next to one another so there were no gaps in the new line. The movement took time, but there was no point in hurrying it. He would rather have it done right than rush things, which would serve to further fatigue his men. Finally, the movement was complete, and his line was ready. The muddy road was only twenty yards to their front. The legion’s entire line was now bent at the middle, almost like a V.
The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5) Page 41
