The Last Roman p-1

by Edward Crichton

  Satisfied, I looked over at Helena, who was dressed nearly identically to how I was, as she pulled her own ammo bag over her shoulder. I almost expected her to wear her breast-molded legionnaire armor, knowing what it would do for morale, but she chose the more protective route, something everyone, especially myself, understood.

  “Ready?” I asked her.

  In response, she slapped a magazine down into her P90, leaned over, and gave me a kiss.

  I smiled and jerked my head towards the tent’s entrance. She left first, and I gave the tent one last look before I followed.

  Outside, Vincent and Santino were already sitting on logs, warming their hands over a dying fire. Even though we were deeper in Italy than we had been during our time in the winter, and summer was quickly approaching, mornings were still chilly morning. Each was dressed similarly as Helena and I, their swords strapped to their waists and their shields at their feet. Helena and I took a seat on a particularly long log lying on its side, and tried to warm up as well.

  A few minutes later, Bordeaux and Wang emerged from their tent. Bordeaux carried nothing on his chest rig, but had his three day assault bag in one hand, his SAW in the other. Sitting on another log, I noticed he was inserting the last few rounds of ammunition into one of his box magazines. The box magazines were large, about the size of a brick, and could carry two hundred rounds each. I estimated he had at least ten in his bag, with another already loaded into his weapon. He noticed my inspection and flicked his eyebrows in rapid succession. The man loved his firepower.

  Wang was geared up more traditionally, with most of his vest looking much the same as it always did. He had a half a dozen magazine pouches with a few other miscellaneous ones, but had his large medical bag as well. It consisted of enough supplies and modern feats of medicine to provide more care for a century of men than a traditional Roman doctor could provide for an entire army. Even though he wasn’t equipped to care for the entire legion, he’d still save more lives today than any other doctor. He’d hang back and do what he could from the rear.

  They joined the rest of us as we warmed our chilled bones.

  It was an unusually chilly morning.

  Quiet and contemplative, the squad sat and enjoyed our own personal calm before the storm, barely paying attention to the hustle and bustle of the active camp around us. Everyone had their eyes on the fire, their gazes glossed over, each of them running through the possible outcomes of the battle in their minds. They were nervous, but I had nothing but confidence in each of them.

  Helena laid her head on my shoulder, her own gaze staring blindly into the fire. I wrapped an arm around her waist and looked over at Santino, who had broken his stare to offer me a supportive smile. I returned it, and tracked my attention over to Vincent, who had pulled his hands away from the flames, stuffing them into his pockets, and stood up.

  “Everyone get something to eat?” He asked.

  We nodded. Helena and I had shared the breakfast egg burrito MRE earlier, which had always surprised me as being exceptionally delicious.

  Catching each of our nods, he nodded back. “Good. Today is going to be an interesting day.” He sighed, and kicked a small amount of dirt into the fire. “That said, I have something important I need to say.”

  I straightened, feeling Helena take her head off my shoulder, interested as well.

  “No matter how today’s battle goes, afterwards, I am officially disbanding our unit. We will no longer be Praetorians. Considering our situation, I feel it is only appropriate. I will not become a mercenary captain and order you around in our new home. It hardly seems fair. I’ve spoken to Caligula, and he’s agreed to retain each of you as centurions in his own Praetorian Guard, probably attached to his Sacred Band. Nobody is forcing this on you. I want each of you to choose for yourselves.”

  No one said anything, but it occurred to me that his decision was an acceptance of our fate in this world, and that he must little faith in our ability to get home. I wasn’t about to give up hope quite yet, but at least now we had a choice. He was giving us the ability to make our own lives in the world fate had delivered us to. We couldn’t change the fact that we were here, but at least now we weren’t forced to live by the decisions made in another lifetime.

  I stood. “Sir. I believe I speak for all of us when I say,” I looked around for support, “that I think you made the right choice, and that we’re very happy you did so.”

  Everyone else stood as well, offering their own agreements and positive sentiments. Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by the bellowing blast of a Roman trumpet blaring a call to arms. I looked over Wang’s shoulder and saw hundreds of scampering men, each trying to find their place in the marching column that would lead them to the battlefield.

  “Party time,” Santino said.

  ***

  Back when I was working on my Master’s degree, I’d spent most of my time researching and writing about politics, legislation, and social controversies. Needless to say, it was boring stuff, but my favorite professor always told me to write about the tedious stuff first, and wait to write about my passion when it came time for my doctoral dissertation. It was a good idea, except I’d never gotten around to writing my paper on Gaius Marius, the man who’d been influential during the Jugurthian War, reformed the Roman army a generation before Julius Caesar came to power, and had been drawn into two civil wars during his impressive seven consulships.

  Military stratagem had always been a passion of mine, both modern and ancient. My knowledge of it had helped me receive my commission upon joining the Navy. I’d scored very well in intelligence tests, especially when it came to anything concerning tactics and strategy. The Navy had been disappointed when I chose not to pursue a career in its intelligence divisions, instead, deciding on a combat unit like the SEALs. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. If I had to be in the military, I wasn’t going to waste my time as a glorified pencil pusher.

  I was going to fuck some shit up.

  So, when I found myself arrayed on a battlefield, surrounded by a Roman legion with the walls of ancient Rome providing the backdrop, I was surprised to find that any fear I had felt was completely lost to feelings of curiosity, interest, and excitement.

  Romans had always been good at warfare, from the rise of their monarchy to the fall of their empire more than a thousand years later. Very good. Their entire way of life was based upon it, and their conquests, because of it. What made them so proficient was their discipline, training, and most importantly their flexibility. Greek phalanx formations had been the epitome of modern warfare during the height of their power, but Roman manipular formations had changed that. What made maniples so versatile was their ability to work independently of the main body of the army. While the phalanx was distracted in a head to head battle, individual maniples could easily peel off and envelop the flatfooted phalanxes, crushing the soldiers who could not defend their flanks. Roman battle doctrine had evolved over the years, and now fought in much larger cohorts thanks to Marius, but the same idea still applied.

  These tactics worked well when fighting barbarians and Greeks alike, but I imagined situations where both forces utilized these tactics would amount to nothing more than a prolonged bloodbath. While each side today would use these tactics, the makeup of each army couldn’t be any more different.

  Standing opposite Caligula’s loyalist force was the rebel army of Claudius. His army was a mismatch of unit types, complementing each other very little, but making up for it in sheer numbers. The only thing these units shared were the purple cloaks they wore. Purple cloaks, reserved for the emperor alone, would never have been offered to troops whether they were Praetorians or not. It was just another indictment against Claudius.

  Out in front were rows upon rows of what I assumed were Rome’s vigiles. Vigiles were nothing more than firefighters, their goal not to extinguish flames, but to controllably destroy burning buildings to help quell the spread of the fi
re. They weren’t soldiers, but they were still employed by the emperor, and were required to do what they were told. I couldn’t see their armor, but they carried shields and spears. Not scuti or pila, but inferior equipment, and I had to assume their training was next to nil. They’d break easily, but there were seven thousand of them out there. More than our legionnaire force alone.

  On Claudius’ right flank stood the city’s urban cohorts. Three in total, but totaling only fifteen hundred men, their training, arms, and armor were superior to that of the vigiles. These men were the police force of Rome, and were housed and trained with Praetorians, making them an opponent that could fight back.

  On their left flank stood maybe another ten to twelve thousand men. These men wore little armor, if any at all, and were armed with small swords, daggers, sickles, hoes, pitchforks, clubs, and a plethora of other mob worthy items. These must have been whatever allies Claudius could muster that still supported his cause. Claudius didn’t plan on beating us through generalship, but through force of numbers alone, and he still had the seven thousand rebel Praetorians, probably in formation behind the main body of the enemy who would be the real problem. Seasoned veterans, each, they alone would be hard to break with even an entire legion and its auxilia.

  Caligula was going to have a fight on his hands, and while generals like Hannibal had been outnumbered in nearly every battle he waged, and almost always come out on top, I wagered Caligula wasn’t quite the general he was. Very few men were, but Caligula still had plenty of assets to work with.

  The first of which was his general. Galba was a good man, and a good leader and tactician, despite his annoying disapproval of my friends and me. His fate during the year of four emperors couldn’t be entirely blamed on him. He had been old, and in desperate need of allies, which were scarce considering the many sides to choose from. He’d been unlucky, but history still remembers him as an able general. Caligula had left overall command of the legion to him while the emperor would only worry about his Praetorians.

  Galba had positioned his troops in a way he hoped would combat the enemy’s superior numbers. Unfortunately, between his legionnaires, Praetorians and auxilia, Claudius’ line still extended nearly twice as far as his own.

  On our right flank, opposite the massive numbers of civilian militia, Galba had placed his entire contingent of German auxilia. His three thousand infantry were well trained and armed, and had a tenacity about them I’d never seen before. They’d cut a swath through the civilians, hopefully breaking them quick enough to flank the more superior troops from the rear. Galba left his two thousand cavalry in reserve, but on the right flank as well, ready to sweep around once the civilians were broken, or to aid in that effort if possible. The last of the auxilia, his one thousand strong archers, were spread thin and positioned behind the infantry to screen their advance.

  Contrary to standard Roman practice of putting the best troops on the right flank, Galba had requested that Caligula and his Praetorians take up position on the left. Both thousand man cohorts were split in half, and lined up five men deep, and a hundred abreast, forming four blocks. Behind them was Caligula’s Sacred Band, arranged in an inverted square U, with Caligula in the center, riding Incitatus, the infamous horse wildly believed to have been named a consul during Caligula’s crazy years. He was dressed as any other Praetorian would be, with a common trooper’s lorica segmentata armor. It was adorned with a long, flowing, purple plume, and an equally purple cloak wrapped around his shoulders, similar to how Julius Caesar would wear his brilliant scarlet cape into battle

  With him were a few dozen other horsemen, forming his officer corps which could act as a small cavalry contingent if needed. High above his men, he had a good view of the field of battle, and could use his vantage point to send messengers on horseback to help coordinate his orders. Galba was similarly on horseback, with his own squad of cavalrymen, also ready to issue orders as well as fight if need be. Galba wore a set of his own personal battle armor, molded to look like a muscle suit, common wear for Roman generals. He stood out as well, but wore a more typical red cape.

  Placed before him was his legion. The legion he had trained since they were raw recruits, but wouldn’t stay with once they were commissioned. They were deployed in a checkerboard formation, similar to how old manipular formations would be set up. Each cohort was split in half and arranged so that the troops represented the black spaces, while the white spaces were the area in between each cohort. Galba had placed four cohorts in the first two lines, while the 10th cohort was placed on the far right of our formation, but kept intact as one large body. The third line was made up of two cohorts, with the double sized 1st cohort between them, with the last cohort stretched out, making up a fourth line in reserve. This formation would keep some men out of the battle to help when needed.

  The XV Primigenia ’s first cohort, which carried the legion’s standard, the gold aquila, or eagle, was situated in the exact center of the formation, so that the entire army was more or less equidistant from their symbolic eagle. The men of the legion would rather die than see that eagle fall, and should it be captured the entire Roman army would be shamed. I couldn’t remember if the three lost in the Teutoburg Forest had been reclaimed yet, but I knew that most standards found their way home eventually.

  Then of course there was me and the five other hapless souls stuck alongside me in a story even I couldn’t dream up on my best day. Our orders were simple, but open to considerable amounts of interpretation. Split up by swim pairs, we were placed at three places along our lines. Helena and I were put in the middle of the legion formation, right in front of the first legion’s standard.

  It was Helena’s idea. I knew she wasn’t letting the whole “Mother of the Legion” deal go to her head, but most of the men would be inspired fighting alongside her. Vincent and Santino were stationed on our left flank to deal with Claudius’ crack troops. And on the right were Bordeaux and Wang. Bordeaux could probably lay waste to a third of the militia by himself if he had the chance.

  Our standing orders were to march with the advancing army until a halt was called for. We would then unleash hell until the enemy was so fed up getting shot to pieces that they counter attacked. The auxilia would then charge with the enemy, hoping to meet that flank in the open area between the two armies, furthering their chances of effectively flanking the rebel Praetorians. The enemy’s charge would also trigger the claymores and antipersonnel mines, and leave them vulnerable to three volleys of pila.

  Of course, we hadn’t counted on ten thousand militia being present, or seven thousand vigiles, and even if all Claudius had were his Praetorians and the urban cohorts to fight with we would still have a tough battle on our hands. This was going to be a battle of wills, and while there never were any guarantees, Caligula and Galba remained confident they’d win the day.

  My mind in order, I cracked my neck and looked to my left as Caligula rode out to the front of our formation, ready to give the cliche but inspirational speech always recited before a battle. He kept it short and succinct, even though I only heard a small part of it. I’d always wondered how one man could deliver a rousing speech to an entire army and still have every man hear it. I quickly realized the answer was simple.

  They didn’t.

  That’s not to say that I missed out on any important part of the speech. Caligula simply rode back and forth along the line, making sure that he hit on important points, never repeated himself, and made sure everyone heard something inspirational. I heard him speak of honor and duty, and how Claudius had defied an institution that had existed long before their ancestors had overthrown the ancient kings of Rome. When he came back, he finished his speech by declaring that what occurred on the battlefield today would affect the outcome of history and that it would have ramifications hundreds of years later.

  I wasn’t sure if I hoped he was right or not.

  Finished with his speech, Caligula reared his horse on his hind legs, a difficu
lt feat without stirrups, and he roused his troops with his upraised sword arm. Every man around me raised their spears in salute before pounding them against their shields, yelling at the top of their lungs. I found myself swept up in the moment and had to raise my rifle as well, yelling indecipherably. I was hard pressed to deny my urge to fire my rifle into the air. It was one of the most surreal moments of my life.

  Caligula rode his horse down towards the right flank, receiving louder cheers from those he was passing, before turning back and heading towards his Praetorians. I watched him go, confidence swirling through me after his speech and gallop across the lines.

  I looked over at Helena. “Not bad, huh?”

  “He’s got my vote.”

  “You know they don’t vote, right?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I have been paying attention to your little history lessons.”

  “Really? Then how do you explain the snoring?”

  “I’m awake for most of it,” she argued. “You just need to pick a better time to start lecturing than when I’m trying to fall asleep.” She paused. “I don’t snore.”

  “Yah. Sure you don’t,” I told her with a chuckle.

  She attempted a response, but was cut off by a chorus of legionary horns, sounding off in tandem. Just before the march order was bellowed, I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss.

  “Remember,” I told her. “No getting hurt. I’m too lazy to carry you around all the time.”

  She looked up at me, a look that suggested she wanted to punch me again, but her expression betrayed her true feelings. She didn’t want to offer the loving gesture she reserved only for me because she knew it could be the last. If she did it, she would go into battle with that thought in the back of her mind. She tried to force a smile instead, turning to face the awaiting horde.