***
As the marching order blared, we moved in step with the legion. Claudius’ troops held their lines, content to watch us move against them. I remember reading Julius Caesar’s Commentarii de Bello Civili, literally, Commentaries on the Civil War, as a high school sophomore, and his description of the Battle of Pharsalus. There, he had his men charge against Pompey the Great’s numerically superior troops because he understood a soldier’s impetuousness of spirit when it came to battle. His argument was that Pompey’s stationary troops wouldn’t have the same kind of anger, confidence and zeal his own troops had because of the adrenaline rush they received from the charge.
Caesar’s reasoning couldn’t be universally confirmed. It may have worked for him, but that didn’t mean it would for us. Either way, we had no intention of rushing upon Claudius’ vigiles anyway.
As we marched, Helena and I concealed any evidence of our weapons and tried our best to blend in with the legionnaires. We walked behind the 4th cohort’s signifer, who held his century’s personal standard, different from every other century’s, with markings to identify which cohort, of which legion, it belonged to. It was adorned with an open palmed hand surround by an olive wreath.
We hadn’t marched long when the officers called for a halt. Vincent had probably signaled from the left that we were ready. With no further prompting, Helena and I took a knee, steadied our aim, and opened fire.
We were only a hundred and fifty yards away, and at this range, even the lowliest of marksmen in basic training would have scored good numbers. Helena lay prone, firing her P90 precisely from the ground. I assumed she was still targeting officers first and I followed Helena’s example of selective targeting and took my time with every shot.
As I went through one magazine, five, ten, twenty magazines, I saw the body count start to build. Fifteen minutes later, I had fired nearly six hundred rounds and I was just starting to see the line of vigiles start to shift and maneuver, and I knew they were getting ready to counter attack. I looked to my right and saw the bodies of the militia heaped into mounds and being used as cover from the hailstorm of lead Bordeaux must have been throwing at them. To my left, Vincent and Santino’s kills seemed to mimic my position’s, and I figured the urban cohort must have taken especially heavy losses.
Ten minutes later, I dropped my thirtieth magazine, which I had to stuff in a cargo pocket because my dump pouches were full, and saw the line of vigiles finally thunder forward. Their lines were so thin in places I could see the occasional Praetorian lined up behind them, walking forward at a more reserved pace. To my right, I saw the civilians charge, along with our auxilia. That was my cue to prepare for a strategic withdrawal.
As planned, the counter charge floundered slightly when they hit the mine field.
Helena and I had been exceptionally busy last night.
After securing our gear for today’s battle, we’d retrieved the ghilli suits we had been working on for the past two months, and went to lay the field. Ghilli suits were the epitome of camouflage. Designed by its wearer to mimic the exact contours of the earth they were trying to replicate, a well-made ghilli suit could make its wearer look like nothing more than a bump on the ground.
So, under the cover of darkness, around 2300 hours, still rather early, we slowly crawled out of the perimeter of trenches our legion had created and spent an hour crawling inch by inch toward our target location. Claudius’ note had indicated the battle was to be fought on the terrain next to the via aurelia, decent of him to give us the exact coordinates to set up our demo. Only a hundred feet from the walls, Helena and I laid down a zigzag pattern of the few claymores we had, and the mines. It took us an hour to accomplish the layout, and another to sneak back to the trenches.
The first claymore’s explosion sent fifteen or so men flying backwards toward the Praetorians. Each was probably dead within seconds. The antipersonnel mines took a few seconds to go off when tripped while they were launched in the air. Those did the most damage, killing dozens of men in all directions. I was beginning to see large holes opening up in their formation, but not as big as I had hoped.
Standing, I tapped Helena on the shoulder who was still focused on her sights. I looked toward the advancing lines to see the survivors getting closer, but I also saw an enemy Praetorian go down as well, shot through the lines of vigiles. She pulled her head away from her scope and smiled.
I shook my head.
Grabbing the carry handle for her MOLLE vest, I yanked her to her feet. She squealed in surprise but quickly recovered and continued firing her rifle as I pulled her into formation. The enemy were only about fifty yards away when I heard the nearest centurion yell for the first pila volley.
About ten feet in front of the legion, I looked up to see a cloud of spears dim the sky above me before they fell into the vigiles’ ranks. The three thousand or so spears, only half of the first volley, did practically just as much damage in one effort as my squad had done in fifteen minutes. The only difference was they had three thousand guys, whereas we only had six, not exactly a fair comparison.
As I watched man after man impaled through head, chest, torso, or leg I couldn’t imagine why these mere firefighters were so willing to needlessly throw their lives away. These men didn’t seem confused or unhappy. They just seemed angry. And so did I.
That’s what confused me.
As I pulled Helena back through our ranks, the last two lines from our legion released their volley of spears. By the time the inbound projectiles found their marks, I saw the reason for everyone’s craziness. Riding a black horse easily as tall as Caligula’s, I saw Claudius sporting a wonderfully purple cape and armor. In his right hand he held a long cavalryman’s sword, but in his left, high above his head as though it were a standard itself, was the blue orb that had started this fucking mess.
I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. Claudius’ prolonged exposure seemed to be increasing his insanity exponentially, and its possible effect on the troops wasn’t that farfetched. While they hadn’t turned into mindless zombies yet, something had to be driving them and I suspected it wasn’t Claudius’ charming disposition.
Helena and I moved toward the extreme right flank of the legion, its auxilia now engaged in battle out in the middle of the field. The auxilia were acting as predicted, cutting through the militia like a hot knife through butter. They were outnumbered four to one, but were still making headway through superior skill and determination.
The orb was another snag in our plan that would cause more trouble than we wanted. I was certain the undisciplined and untrained militia would not be so easy to break with it so near. That meant Galba would have to commit his cavalry reserves to that side of the battle prematurely.
Bordeaux and Wang linked up with us near the rear of the legion’s farthest cohort on the right. We exchanged quick greetings and made our way along the long line toward the extreme left, and Caligula’s position. One of the legionnaires noticed our movement and yelled, asking us where we were going.
“Orders,” Helena announced loudly. “But don’t worry. I’ll be back.”
The men in earshot cheered at the idea of her coming to aid them in the upcoming battle. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to make you a god after this,” I told her as we jogged.
“Would you finally listen to me for a change if I were?”
“Why, of course, oh goddess.”
She laughed and kept running. Wang peel off and join the legion’s medical cadre where he’d stay and offer more help than every other doctor combined. Wounded were already trickling in from the battle with the vigiles. It seemed they were fighting harder than expected, another bad sign.
We passed by Galba on the way. He ignored us and continued yelling for updates on the right flank. We saw a messenger on horseback ride toward the right to determine the situation and appraise Galba upon his
return. Reaching Caligula, I noticed the left flank was completely silent, and all I could see were rebel Praetorians off in the distance, patiently waiting just out of pila range. Vincent and Santino were there too, standing eagerly near the emperor’s side. Vincent nodded in greeting while Santino clapped me on the shoulder.
“What happened over here?” I asked them.
“We focused our fire on the urban cohorts,” Vincent reported. “There were fewer of them than the vigiles, and we probably killed two thirds of their men ourselves. By the time they charged, we’d switched fire to the vigiles on our side of the field. They were slaughtered with just one volley of pila from our Praetorians.”
What a waste. Fifteen hundred men dead in a matter of minutes. What made matters worse was that we were the ones doing most of the killing. Why didn’t it affect me the way I knew it should?
“Anybody else not really care that we’re slaughtering people on a Hitlerian scale today?” I asked the squad.
Everyone’s look shifted toward the ground. They seemed ashamed that they, too, were unphased by the killing, and that they didn’t know why.
“Want to know why?” Santino asked.
I looked at him, wondering if he really had any answers.
“By all means, enlighten us,” I told him.
“It’s because of that fucking thing,” he said pointing toward Claudius as he rode atop his great stead, glowing blue orb in hand.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out, Jacob. It’s what got us here and you said it’s what drove Caligula insane before, and now its affect has reached every single person on this battlefield. It’s clearly touched us, because we don’t care that we’re killing these people. We’re losing our minds!” He yelled for dramatic effect. “If you ask me, the quicker we end this the better.”
I looked at him and opened my mouth to speak but quickly shut it. I couldn’t believe how much sense that made, considering how usually dimwitted he was.
“Clearly it’s affected you,” Bordeaux said. “That actually made sense.” He shook his head, trying to rationalize Santino’s analysis. “Doesn’t it?”
“I guess it does,” Vincent said, “It doesn’t matter. We’re committed.”
I was still trying to wrap my head around Santino’s epiphany when Galba came riding up to Caligula.
The emperor noticed his general’s approach, and turned his horse to meet him near where we stood. “How goes the battle, Legate?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” he updated. “The auxilia are completely tied up and cannot disengage. I’ve already sent my cavalry to support them for fear that the sheer weight of that militia will come crashing down on my legion. As for them, we’ve taken some losses, not many, but more than we hoped. These bastards have somehow found the will to fight.” He looked to his right, at the enemy Praetorians, practically all that was left of Claudius’ army. “I don’t think we can hold them. They’re fresh and very experienced. If we can’t get the support of the auxilia, we may falter here.”
“What will you have me do, general?”
It was nice to see Caligula conceding control to a more experienced military man, instead of trying to micromanage. The man had definitely matured.
“Hold here on the left at any cost. The only advantage we have is that Claudius has his best troops aligned against you, and if you can hold out long enough, maybe we can punch through and swing around to engulf them.”
“We’ll hold, Legate. You have my word.”
“Yours is one of the few I trust, Caesar. May Mars guide you this day,” Galba said, turning his horse to return to his men.
“And you, Servius,” Caligula said to the retreating man’s back. He turned to face Vincent. “The empire needs you. Do not worry about me. Just do whatever you can to cause as much confusion as possible. The Praetorians won’t be used to your kind of presence on the battlefield.” He paused and looked out over the chaos. “When you see the sign, come to my aid.”
“What sign, Caesar?”
“You’ll know it when you see it,” and with that, he rode back to his own advisors, already issuing commands and words of encouragement.
“Well?” Vincent asked, getting our attention. “You heard the man. Spread out. Pick your fights, and stay out of the way of the professionals.”
I saluted, a growingly superfluous gesture these days, and reached out for Helena’s arm, pulling her in the general direction of the XV Primigenia’s 1st cohort. A short run later, we found it right where we left it, in the exact center of the legion’s formation, its eagle prominently displayed high above. We took positions near to the legion’s aquilifer, who held the eagle, perhaps the most important position in the entire army. He was unarmed, but he was a veteran, probably taken from another legion’s pool of experienced soldiers to hold this new legion’s eagle. He had to be brave because he could not run. To run would be the single most detrimental thing that could happen to a legion.
He wouldn’t run. They never ran.
In front of him stood another signifier, and behind both of them was an imaginifer, another standard bearer who carried the face of the emperor, a reminder of who the legion was fighting for. In front of all three was Centurion Maximus Nisus.
“Any predictions?” I asked him.
The man’s expression remained neutral. “I try not to think about the outcome of a battle before it truly gets underway. There are too many unknowns.”
I nodded. I could relate to that.
“But,” he continued, “I do believe Galba will call for a shift in our formation in a few seconds. Claudius is taking advantage of his numbers. Their lines extend well past ours, so Galba will call for our formation to spread out. It will open up gaps in our lines. If I were you,” he paused, looking around as though giving us any suggestions would be a betrayal to his skeptical general, “I would look for these gaps and do what you do there. If you have any more of those, what do you call them? Grenades? Use them there.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Centurion. May the gods smile on you today.” I wasn’t turning into a pagan, but it was what he would want to hear.
“And with you,” he replied, professional to the core. He turned back to the lines to continue his study of the enemy’s formation. They were finishing their last maneuver, just out of spear range. I looked to the right, trying to determine how the auxilia were doing, but all I could see was a jumble of men and horses. Only twenty minutes had passed since the vigiles had started their suicide rush, and I knew the battle could continue for hours before it showed any signs of waning.
I looked over at Helena, a reassuring quip on my tongue, but was distracted by a messenger riding up to Nisus’ position. As the seer had predicted, Galba’s orders were to expand the grid formation. He also ordered the third cohort to split into three maniples, and spread out along the rear. They would be crucial in securing weak spots in our lines.
Interestingly, the tactic was eerily similar to the one that, again, Caesar had used at Pharsalus. Like Galba, he’d used a nontraditional formation of four lines, instead of three, and used part of his army to work specifically to counter cavalry, as Galba was using part of his to hold the right. Hopefully, Claudius wasn’t seeing the similarities.
As the messenger rode off, Nisus issued his command briefly and efficiently, and I quickly found myself moving in step with the cohort. Putting maybe thirty yards between the corners of each cohort, I was only slightly embarrassed when everyone else stopped moving, but I’d kept going. Some of the men laughed at me, and even Helena joined in the fun, having stopped on her mark.
I gave her a betrayed look, which she returned with a shrug.
Ignoring their jeers, I looked out over the legion and saw how these gaps in the checkerboard formation could easily become a problem. Had the formation been tight, the corners touching as it
had been, the enemy would have a rough time breaching the gaps for fear of being surrounded. Since the half-cohorts were now spread out, the enemy could enter these holes in the line with less fear. Help would have to come from farther away, and would leave the area they’d just left undefended. That was why Galba had created four lines in the checkerboard, so that holes could be plugged easily with reserves from the third, and the fourth could be called on as a last resort.
Nisus was also right in assuming we could do some serious damage there. We only had a third of our ammo left, but the men who accumulated between the gaps in our lines would be exposed and distracted. A well placed grenade would kill many, and leave the rest stunned. Our legionnaires would then be able to close the gaps. I only had three grenades and one flashbang stowed away in pouches along my belt, but they’d still make a wonderful mess.
And just like that, the battle commenced again.
The enemy was less than a football field away, thousands of bodies and spears littering the space between us. The carnage made me want to puke, but I didn’t have time. When the legion’s trumpeters blasted the marching order, I felt the automatic surge of troops around me, and I stepped into formation with them. We tip-toed over the obstacles on the ground, the enemy doing the same as they marched forward to meet us. Seventy five yards out, I saw that our battle lines were at least as long as their own now. Another thirty yards later, it became easy to distinguish faces, armor and standards in more detail. When only twenty yards separated the sides, everyone stopped.
Normally, this would be the moment when onrushing barbarians would run face first into a swarm of pila, but not today. Instead, I heard the forward lines’ centurions yell, “pila,” wait while their men readied their spears, before yelling, “loose!”
Fifteen hundred spears flew out in unison, falling against the Praetorians, now comfortably secured beneath their testudo formation, an overlapping wall and roof of shields. The testudo formation worked well against arrows, slings, and non-pila type spears, but today it only helped, not guaranteed, a soldier’s safety. Just as the last spears were reaching their mark, the second line’s volley of spears flew out as well, inflicting even more casualties.
It had long been theorized that when a pilum hit shield, man, or ground, its soft iron shank would bend at an angle and become next to useless. It could not be cast back, nor could be pulled from a shield, because the angle made it impossible to extract it. However, modern testing had proven that to create iron soft enough to bend but not break after it impacted a nine centimeter thick scutum was nearly impossible.
What really happened, thanks to my keen observational skills, was that the heavy pila drove deep into most things it impacted. It proved the theory that pila did make shields worthless, not because its shaft bent, but because they punched right through them, and staked them into the ground. Roman shields were probably of the best quality in all of Europe, and while they turned away many of the spears, plenty found their way through the protective layer, and easily through the sturdy lorica segmentata armor.
The rebel Praetorians quickly recovered from the barrage and cast their own pila. Nearly seven thousand spears flew toward both legionnaires and loyal Praetorians, and most flew farther than our own men’s had, their casters being older and stronger. Since Helena and I were not protected by the legion’s testudo formation, we ducked beneath our overlapping shields, hoping we were lucky enough to weather the storm unscathed.
It turned out I wasn’t that lucky.
I was never that lucky.
I felt two or three pila ricochet off my shield, my heart skipping with each impact, but the fourth spear plowed its way through my shield like it was made of paper. The only thing that saved my life was my vest.
The spear hit me like a lightning bolt, penetrating two of my spent magazines before stopping at the protective Kevlar lined within. The force of the impact knocked the breath from my lungs and disoriented me enough to lower my defenses. Helena tried to pull me closer to her so that her shield protected us both, but we were both bigger than the average Roman. Her shield was nowhere near big enough to cover us, but I appreciated the gesture as I tried to coax air back into my lungs. My heart continued to jump as each spear grazed off her shield.
I massaged the spot where the spear impacted, but it didn’t help. I would have a bruise the size of a soccer ball on my chest tomorrow, but I couldn’t complain. Without my vest, I would have been skewered.
Our fourth line let loose a small barrage that caught some of the enemy off guard. Both sides continued to exchange spears, casting and cowering, causing casualties here or there. I’d always imagined this part of a battle to be more exciting, with waves of spears cutting down hundreds of onrushing barbarians. Instead, we had battle hardened and disciplined Praetorians to deal with. Once the enemy cast their final volley of pila, they followed hot on the heels of their final volley of charges, and rushed forward.
The legion’s third and fourth lines still had one last pila volley left. While only the third line loosed their spears, it did the most amount of damage to the speeding Praetorians. Helena and I added our own fire power, concentrating it on only a small fraction of Claudius’ horde. We aimed toward a group headed in the direction of a cohort we knew to be under strength.
That small fragment of the enemy faltered, forty or so men falling to our combined fire, while many behind them tripped and fell over their dying comrades. The 6th cohort was rewarded with the arrival of disorderly Praetorians. They held their ground and cut the first men to reach them to pieces. It was a minor victory, hopefully one of many that would help turn the tide of the battle.
The rest of the legion’s first line of half-cohorts did not fare as well. Thousands of Praetorians smashed into them, immediately initiating a systematic advance that pushed the legion back. Within minutes, the weight of the enemy force had pushed the first line back enough that the checkerboard was collapsing.
It was rare that a plan actually worked on the first try, but Claudius took the bait. Galba wanted the checkerboard formation to fall in on itself. When the rebels smashed into the first line their momentum stopped. Our second line, now only ten yards from the enemy Praetorians, rushed into the small gaps, counter charging the now preoccupied enemy. It clogged the holes with bodies, and allowed Galba an easier time of sending reserve forces from the third and fourth lines to help where needed.
On our left flank, Caligula’s men were still holding back the enemy along our original line. The forces engaged over there were more equally skilled, and would have to endure a slugging match, while over here, Galba and Nisus would feint, counter attack, and maneuver small units wherever they thought them needed, in the typical legion fashion.
Helena and I waited for no such orders, and we found ourselves weaving our way through the battle at random. Running back and forth across our lines, my feet burned and my bruised chest heaved, but we had to play little Dutch boy to the legion’s leaks. So far we’d only taken pot shots at the occasional target, but many more targets of opportunity were beginning to present themselves.
Nisus’ plan for us to use our grenades was fruitless at this point. The lines had collapsed much too quickly. There were only a select few areas where we could do some damage. The Praetorians were just better soldiers. They easily drove wedges between our cohort halves and thrust men continuously through our lines.
Had Helena and I not been there they would have succeeded in some instances. Communication was essential, and when I heard a shout that there was a breach in the 2nd cohort’s formation on the legion’s left flank, I made my way in that direction, Helena beside me. We passed the 6th and 4th cohort along the way, each holding their own well enough, but when I saw the 2nd, I quickly assessed that the breach was more like a flood Noah himself would have trouble handling.
Right down the center, between the two cohort halves were waves of Praetorians bubbling inward toward
the third line. Nisus was just about to send in a reserve force when he noticed us, and held back his orders, waiting to see what we would do first.
I started the party off with a grenade that I tossed deep into enemy lines, far enough to keep our legionnaires unaffected. I set my weapon to fully automatic and started walking toward the Praetorians like a British red coat during the American Revolution. Helena was right beside me as we fired into their ranks, inching closer and closer with every slow step. We started with the edges, concentrating our fire on the Praetorians closest to our allies, before sweeping toward the center, overlapping our fire, and working again toward the outer edge again. When the grenade went off, we had effectively killed every man trying to push through the bulge, and the respite gained from the explosion was enough for the 2nd cohort to fuse their lines together again.
I saw a century from the 3rd cohort in reserve take up position behind the 2nd’s last line, to help alleviate the tension there. I knew the key to a legion’s success was their mobility and versatility, but seeing it in action was extraordinarily impressive. That century could have done what Helena and I had, but it would have taken far longer, and cost both cohorts more men. Now, they were in the perfect position to strengthen the position.
Our task fulfilled, I looked around for another breach, but couldn’t find a one, so I made my way back to Nisus’ position. We had to be careful because our lines were very slowly being pushed back. We didn’t want to risk a random sword thrust in our direction. Casualties were streaming in at this point, but we were holding strong on the left, as was the 10th on the right. Our formation was actually enveloping the enemy bit by bit, just as Hannibal’s had at the battle of Cannae. While he’d feigned his center’s weakness to draw the Roman attackers inside his lines to surround them, our center was in fact weaker, and we wouldn’t be able to turn the tables as easily as he had.
Nisus had a smile on his face as we jogged back to the 1st cohort’s standard.
“It’s good to see you can actually deliver in a fight,” he said. “Honestly, I had my doubts, but no more.”
“Join the club,” I muttered in English, glancing back at Galba, who still sat on his horse doing his best to maintain tactical command of the entire legion, leaving the small stuff to his centurions.
Helena and I waited patiently. A few minutes passed. I was getting restless.
Finally, I heard my radio crackle to life in my ear.
“Hunter, this is Bordeaux.”
I pressed the PTT button. “Go ahead, Jeanne. How goes the fight on your end?”
“It’s going,” he replied, strain evident in his voice even over the radio, “but I think you should know that I can see some serious enemy troop movement occurring on your right flank. I’d inform that asshole centurion that he might want to reinforce the right.”
I smiled. “Thanks for the update. I’ll let him know. Hunter, out.”
Since the day we first arrived in camp, Nisus had treated us the same as his general had, with distant mistrust and apprehension. Bordeaux probably had more reason to be annoyed with him than the rest of us. During a training exercise, Nisus, more than a foot shorter than the hulking Frenchman, had knocked Bordeaux unconscious when he whacked him on the temple with the blunt side of his gladius. The big guy had been out for an hour. Bordeaux had not been happy and hadn’t had a nice thing to say about the centurion since.
“Centurion,” I said, directing my attention to Nisus. “I would send some troops to the right. Immediately. The enemy is maneuvering in that direction.”
Nisus’ look betrayed nothing as he stared at me. “And how could you possibly know that? If you will, please leave command of this army to me.”
I was about to tell the smaller man off and inform him just how lucky he was to have our help, when I saw a runner approaching quickly from the right.
“Sir,” the man panted. “The 5th has been breached and the 10th is floundering. The enemy is pushing hard on the right.”
Nisus looked at me and I gave him a condescending smile, while Helena, who had overheard our interchange, shook her head and tsked him. To the man’s credit, he looked me in the eye and grunted a brief acknowledgment before turning inwards, thinking over the strategic situation.
“Gods,” Nisus mumbled. “Issue the command for the entire 9th cohort to support both positions. Also, detach a century from the 3rd to find out what in the name of Mercury is happening with the auxilia. Clear it with the Legate first.”
“I obey, Centurion,” the man replied, saluting.
So much for Hannibal, then. No wonder things had seemed so calm. The Praetorians had been feigning along the entirety of our line while they were simultaneously maneuvering the rest of their troops to the right.
I’d barely started inching my way in that direction when I felt Nisus’ strong grip on my arm. “No, my friend. That is not your fight. My men can handle it. We’ll need you soon enough elsewhere.”
I nodded, bowing to his authority.
So far, the third and fourth line had remained unengaged, but the front was steadily approaching our position. They’d be on top of us very soon. Things were about to get very messy. Another messenger arrived as more and more bodies fell to the ground in front of me and the 9th moved into position on the right.
“Centurion,” he panted, “the left has been hit hard and the men are rapidly falling back.”
I looked to the left past the 1st cohort, and saw staggering lines and wavering troops. Things were definitely not going as well as we’d hoped, and I couldn’t see past them to find out what was happening with Caligula’s men. I couldn’t help but think this whole thing might have been a big mistake, and that our plans had failed the day Santino and I failed to set the explosives along the walls of Rome.
I looked to Nisus, waiting impatiently for my orders.
He was keeping his calm, but he knew he had to pull this thing together before it fell apart completely. “Go,” he said to me. “Find the breach on the left. I will take the 1st and 7th to assist.
I nodded, before glancing over at Helena. “Ready for this?”
She tilted her head to the side and met my eyes. “I am, but remember…”
“No dying… I know.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
We peeled away from the 1st cohort, and ran behind their lines as fast we could. We passed through the 7th cohort, receiving cheers as we did so before we came face to face with the grim reality that was the 8th cohort’s fate. Its line wasn’t only breached but being annihilated, chopped down by a swarm of Praetorians, and I quickly knew why.
Behind them, high on his black horse rode Claudius, sword and orb in hand, shouting orders, his anger and charisma driving his men forward.
Even so, he wasn’t the problem right now, and I focused my attention on the troops.
Just as with the 2nd cohort only ten minutes earlier, the Praetorians had crashed into the gap between the cohort segments. Unlike before, they exploited it far more effectively and had pushed aside the halved cohorts beyond the point where they could help each other. There might have been forty Praetorians standing within the gap, effectively surrounding the 2nd.
Placing myself thirty yards from them, I dropped to a knee and started pouring fire into the gap. I counted two dozen men go down, before I had to reload. A new magazine in place, I pulled out my second grenade and readied to throw it. Helena was still firing her P90’s larger mag, while simultaneously readying a grenade of her own.
The Praetorians noticed our intervention in their small victory, as did Claudius. He immediately recognized me and pointed his sword in my direction and yelled. Many men turned away from the legionnaires they were fighting and started running toward Helena and me, completely exposed and alone. I primed the grenade and chucked it in their path, and Helena quickly followed suit with her own.
The grenades detonated just as the first men pas
sed by them, obliterating another dozen or so from their ranks. There seemed to be an endless stream of them funneling through the breach and I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I kept up my fire from my kneeling position, reloaded, and spent one of my last magazines as they came within ten yards of my position. Then I froze when I saw them nearly upon us, having no idea what to do.
The training drilled into my skull during the past winter completely abandoned me. Hesitation in the face of impending death was an interesting feeling. It wasn’t something I was familiar with, and because of it, I couldn’t even attempt to help myself. All I could do was wait for the inevitable as I squeezed my eyes shut.
When it didn’t come, I felt my fear turn first into confusion, before it turned into fear again. When I peeked through my right eye, I saw hundreds of spears flying over my head. It took me a second to realize these spears hadn’t come from the enemy, but from a maniple of the legion’s 3rd cohort, who had been ordered to secure this position as well. I got my senses about me in time to see three Praetorians running at me, survivors of the pila barrage. No time to pull my shield from my back, no time to think, no time to run, when the first Praetorian lunged at me, my Special Forces training finally kicked in, and I immediately reacted to the threat.
Still kneeling, I pivoted away from the man’s sword thrust, grabbing his sword arm in one motion. Using his forward momentum against him, I stuck out a leg, tripping him to the ground, while using his fall to pull me to my feet. Mid maneuver, his sword brushed across my forearm and opened up a nasty gash there, right where the last one had healed after escaping Rome.
Helena was not going to be happy.
The motion that threw him to the ground, and brought me to my feet, had so much momentum behind it, I nearly stumbled alongside him. With a little luck, I kept my balance, and turned to face my opponent, who was still lying with his face in the grass. Just as he started to twitch, I put a bullet in the back of his head.
I looked frantically for Helena, and quickly found her standing over the remaining two opponents, her shield at the ready. The bodies had a cluster of neat bullet holes in their chests.
Apparently, she hadn’t panicked.
How embarrassing.
I turned back toward the gap in our lines, only to find it still there, and another wave of Praetorians running at us. I sighed and pulled out my sword and shield, slinging Penelope behind my back, waiting for the onslaught. I was so distracted by my own doom and gloom that I barely noticed my saviors from the 3rd cohort rush past me. As they ran past, I knew I wouldn’t have to fight this battle after all. The one hundred and sixty legionnaires met those few remaining Praetorians, and started pushing them back toward the hole.
I fell to my knees and dropped my equipment, gripping my forearm.
Helena calmly walked over, knelt beside me, and gently inspected my arm. Shaking her head, she pulled out yet another bandage, pressed it against my arm and wrapped the wound.
“You really need to stop getting hurt,” she told me matter of factly.
“I know, I just…”
“You have a shield for a reason.”
“Yeah, but…”
“They help stop swords.”
“But…”
“No excuses,” she said, tightening the bandage to punctuate her order.
I groaned slightly under the pressure. It always seemed to hurt more when she was fixing me up.
“You are relentless,” I said, smiling up at her as the pain rescinded. “It must be why I…”
I was interrupted by even more commotion. I turned to see the legionnaires nearest me looking to the far left, pointing with expressions of shock on their faces. I followed their outstretched arms to see both loyal and rebel Praetorians still pounding against one another. I also saw Santino and Vincent, running randomly throughout the battle, sticking together and using their rifles only against immediate threats. I saw Wang near the rear, working on a man who already had his left leg amputated. I had no idea where Bordeaux was.
The only thing exceptional enough to draw the attention of the entire legion had to be Caligula. He and his cavalry bodyguard unit had crashed into the enemy’s line, and were steadily and smoothly chopping away at the enemy Praetorians, who were in complete shock at his reckless bravado. Claudius noticed as well, and moved to meet the challenge.
This must have been the sign Caligula had told us to look for, and Helena’s expression confirmed my theory. She pulled me to my feet, and we ran to join Vincent and Santino, who were trying to make their way to Caligula’s side as well.
“How much ammo do you have left?” I asked her, as we pushed allies to the side and sidestepped corpses.
“Half a mag, but a full load for my pistol. You?”
“Pistol’s fresh, but only one mag for my rifle, and I’m saving it.” I had already shouldered Penelope and pulled out my Sig.
After Caligula had gallantly charged forward, his Sacred Band had kept its U-formation, trying to follow in his wake. Normally, it would have been fruitless, but with Santino and Vincent helping out, they were moving through. Once Helena and I joined only a minute later, our Praetorians had effectively pushed the enemy’s left flank aside, and were wheeling around, trying to get behind the enemy Praetorians who were still systematically destroying the XV Primigenia. The legion was probably a bit below half strength at this point and could use our help as soon as possible.
Santino and Vincent had been reduced to their pistols as well, but protected within the Sacred Band’s cocoon; the four of us could pick our targets with ease. We ignored our training of aiming for a person’s center mass, and went for head shots. Moving along the interior of our lines, I would pop a shot off at the first target of opportunity, spin out the way, and find another target. It was tedious and gruesome work, but with two opposing forces deadlocked in a clash of shields, it was the only offensive gesture I could perform.
We pushed our way through the throng of bad guys as a unit, and found ourselves witnessing a spectacle one only read about in rare histories or mythology. Seated on their horses, Caligula and Claudius had engaged themselves in a duel of emperors, the death of one enough to perhaps end the war. It reminded me of Homer again, who when recording the duel between Patroclus and Hector, amongst many other duels, indicated men on both sides simply stopped fighting, to form a protective circle around the duelists, and watched.
If only that were the case here.
Instead, a circle had indeed formed around the emperors, with a diameter of about thirty yards to fight in, but instead of the perimeter watching, it was being contested as well. As though on secret orders, the Sacred Band spread out to fortify the circle, letting no one in, or out. It would be tough to accomplish, with many enemy Praetorians from the battle with the legion turning to aid their traitorous emperor now fighting behind their lines.
Caligula had made a far bigger mess than any of us could have ever hoped to.
I settled into position along the circle, waiting to see a target pop into view, while trying to keep at least one eye on the battle. When this was all said and done, I was writing it down, and it was going to be accurate to the letter. I’d lost track of Helena once again, but she seemed to be handling the whole legionnaire thing better than I was anyway.
She’d be fine.
The Last Roman (The Praetorian Series - Book I) Page 65
