The Tiger (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 2)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Stiger shielded his eyes to protect his night vision as he looked in the direction of the road toward Vrell. Several hundred yards away and obscured by the dark, the open road was blocked by fallen trees. A path, wide enough only for one man to pass, had been left. This path ended at the next defensive line. The path had become a funnel and chokepoint as the bulk of his men escaped. It also made a successful withdrawal much more difficult. As long as his men did not panic and maintained discipline, things should work out. This was a perfect example of why the legions trained hard and often.

  “Corporal Durggen,” Stiger called into the night as loud as he could, making his way toward the burning catapults. The nearer he got, the more intense the heat became. “Corporal Durggen!”

  “Here, sir!” The corporal ran over, looking exhausted.

  “Set up a defensive line a little ways behind the catapults,” Stiger ordered. “Start with your file. I will send you additional men. You will become the rearguard once we pull back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Durggen replied, saluting fist to chest.

  “Good man. I am relying upon you. You and your men must hold.”

  “We will hold, sir,” Durggen said.

  Stiger hesitated for a moment, wanting to say more. Durggen was young, and if it had not been for the condition of the company prior to Stiger’s arrival, he would still be a ranker. He had no doubt about the corporal’s ability or intention to hold, but his lack of experience and the responsibility Stiger was heaping on him was perhaps too much.

  “Good man,” Stiger said again, clapping the young corporal on the shoulder. “I will send Sergeant Ranl to take charge just as soon as I can.”

  The relief in the corporal’s eyes confirmed Stiger’s suspicions. It did not mean that the corporal was incapable of doing the job, only that he needed a little more seasoning.

  “All right, you sorry lot,” Durggen shouted at his file. “You thought you earned yourselves a rest? Well, you thought wrong. Time for some real soldiering. Fall in, you lazy bastards.”

  Stiger left the corporal and moved over to the left, where Sergeants Boral and Blake stood fast. They had arranged their defensive formation four deep and twenty across. This force represented half of the files that had been manning the left. Stiger had already sent the rest down the road toward Vrell. Those remaining represented his blocking force, keeping the enemy on his left in check.

  The men rested their shields on the ground and waited tensely, watching the enemy to their front. It was only a matter of time until the enemy got organized and came at them.

  “Sergeant.” Stiger approached Blake.

  “A lovely evening for a fight, sir,” Blake greeted him enthusiastically. “Though the enemy here does not seem terribly obliging as those bastards assaulting the wall.”

  “They don’t, do they…” Stiger said, trying to get a sense of the enemy before him in the darkness. What he could make out was around a hundred or so men milling about. It looked as if a sergeant was attempting to create some order. Once they became ordered, it was extremely likely they would advance.

  “I believe they will be coming before long,” Boral said. “Things will get interesting soon enough.”

  Stiger agreed with that assessment. Allowing the enemy time to become organized was a dangerous proposition. He could not allow that to happen.

  “Prepare to advance,” Stiger snapped.

  Both Boral and Blake looked crosswise at the captain, as if to make sure they had heard right.

  “We are going to push them,” Stiger explained in an irritated tone. He hated having to explain himself but knew, in this instance, the more his sergeants understood his reasoning, the more helpful they would be, especially if they had to make decisions on their own. “We are going to push them before they can become organized and push us. I only want them shoved back a little to buy us some time. Once we accomplish that, then we fall back on the double to this spot.”

  “Shields,” Blake roared. The men instantly pulled their shields up. “Close up the ranks! Prepare to advance!”

  The men closed up, with the front rank bringing their shields to the front.

  “Advance,” Stiger ordered harshly, his voice beginning to crack from the strain of continual shouting. The men started forward. The distance closed rapidly as the shield line pushed forward. At first, in the darkness, the enemy did not seem to notice the legionaries advancing upon them. Someone pointed, saying something excitedly and another shouted. Less than ten yards away, several of the enemy took a nervous step backward. The enemy sergeant roared what Stiger took to be a string of invectives at his men. The enemy settled down and those who were in formation brought their shields up and swords out.

  “First,” Stiger shouted to his men, providing what encouragement he could, “we’re going to show them our shields! Then we’re gonna give them no less than two inches of sharpened steel!”

  “HAAAAH!” the men roared, momentarily overriding the din of battle behind them. “HAAAAH!”

  The sergeant on the other side intensified his efforts, shouting and shoving men into position. Stiger was impressed with the discipline of the enemy as they rapidly fell into a thin line.

  “Draw swords!” the captain roared, pulling out his own. With a hiss, the legionaries drew their short swords. Seconds later the two lines met in a resounding crash of shield on shield. There was a momentary struggle as Stiger’s men pushed hard at the enemy as each side attempted to achieve dominance over the other. Shields locked, the enemy could only batter against the legionaries’ larger shields, which became more difficult as Stiger’s men pushed bodily into them. Shields parted ever so slightly and the deadly short swords darted out, striking armor, shield and flesh. It only took two inches of penetration for a legionary short sword to mortally wound and every legionary knew it.

  For a moment the enemy held firm and then grudgingly began to give ground as more and more of their number fell. The legionaries continued to push forward, the front rank stepping over the dead and wounded. The second rank stabbed down and into the bodies of the fallen, intent on ensuring they did not rise again. Killing the wounded was harsh, but no one wanted to take the chance of receiving a sword in the back as the line continued forward.

  “Close up that gap!” Stiger shouted after a legionary tripped and fell over a body. The man in the second rank stepped over him and right into place. Sergeant Boral helped the fallen legionary to his feet and shoved him back into line at the rear of the formation.

  “Stabbing!” Blake roared, enraged. “Legionary Pallo, in the legions, real men stab and jab! Fucking slash like that again and I will put you on report! The next man that slashes will be up to his neck in the latrines, shoveling shit for the next ten days! Proper sword work, boys! Come on! Make me proud!”

  The enemy sergeant, who was screaming encouragements at his men, took the position of a fallen man in the front rank as the fighting became more desperate. He was a large man, and appeared to be a scarred, hard-bitten veteran. Stiger would have recognized the man as a sergeant anywhere. He was the glue holding the enemy formation together.

  “I want that man taken down!” Stiger shouted, pointing. “That man needs to go!”

  Swords jabbed out, again and again, in an effort to take the big sergeant down. A legionary opened himself up to strike at the sergeant, which turned out to be a mistake. A sword snapped out and caught him under the armpit. Mortally wounded, the legionary fell like a stone. Without hesitation, the man in the rank behind stepped forward to take his fallen comrade’s place.

  The enemy sergeant continued to shout encouragements to his men as he fought. A legionary slammed his shield boss with all of his might into the sergeant’s round shield, surprising the man and knocking him off balance. Another legionary to the left saw an opening and jabbed his sword into the sergeant’s leg, punching through, exploding out the back side. The sergeant screamed as the blade was yanked back out and fell to a knee, dropping his shield. The
next sword took him in the throat, abruptly cutting off the scream. With their sergeant’s death, the enemy, still maintaining their line, began to backpedal much faster.

  “Halt!” Stiger called, having seen the sergeant brutally cut down. His legionaries staggered to a stop and dressed their line under Blake’s shouting. The enemy continued to backpedal, opening the distance between the legionary formation and their own. “Second rank to the front!”

  The second rank stepped forward to become the first. The men of the first rank, chests heaving from the exertion, stepped back to the rear of the line and took their places. A few grabbed their canteens and took a gulp of water.

  “Sir,” Sergeant Boral said, drawing Stiger’s attention to the right. Stiger’s push had taken them about thirty yards from their original position and the enemy had gotten men up onto the undefended wall to their right. Stiger knew he could go no further. If he continued, the enemy would get behind them and eventually another officer or sergeant would arrive to organize them.

  “About face!” Stiger shouted and the formation immediately turned about. “On the double! Move out!”

  Armor jingling, the men swiftly withdrew, double-timing it in formation as if they were simply executing another practice maneuver on parade.

  “Halt,” he called as soon as the panting legionaries reached their original position. “About face!”

  The formation turned about and faced the direction they had just come from. The enemy they had just pushed back seemed confused by the sudden maneuver. Without their sergeant, they did not appear overly eager to press forward. This is what Stiger had wanted to achieve.

  “Sergeant Blake,” Stiger ordered. “Hold here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Blake acknowledged. “We will hold this here position.”

  Stiger nodded and climbed back up the wall to the center of his line, where his men were struggling to hold back the enemy. With the lack of officers, Sergeant Ranl was busy directing the defense.

  Stiger was headed for his sergeant when he saw a legionary stagger back from the wall, wounded. An enemy pulled himself up over the top, followed quickly by another, cutting down the wounded legionary. A third dragged himself over the barricade. Stiger’s men at that spot abruptly found themselves struggling against not only those attempting to scale the wall, but those who had made it over. Stiger looked for a reserve file, prepared to give them the order to go in, when he realized with no little amount of alarm that there were no more reserves. This breach could prove the undoing of his center. He had to do something and fast.

  Stiger felt his blood boil with rage as a second legionary went down.

  Some things you just have to do yourself, he thought grimly.

  Stiger dragged out his sword and advanced. He felt the familiar electric tingle he always felt, but this time it somehow seemed stronger, almost as if the sword was feeding upon his rage. It was not until he was on the enemy, shield presented forward and sword held ready, that he realized the blade was emitting a pale blue light. Before he could react, Stiger was on the enemy.

  He slammed his shield into the first man, knocking him violently back before punching out with his sword. The sword struck armor, scraping across a chest plate. A sword hit his shield in reply, blow communicated painfully to his arm behind the shield. Stiger hammered his shield into the man again, this time knocking him bodily down. A quick thrust at his exposed neck ended the struggle.

  Stiger was almost immediately pressed roughly backward as an enemy struck at him with shield and sword from the side. Caught off balance from the unexpected attack, he was forced to backpedal almost to the inner edge of the rampart’s slope until he was able to firmly plant his feet and shove back. At the same time, he struck out with his sword at where he thought the enemy’s unprotected sword arm would be and was rewarded with a yelp of pain.

  The pressure against his shield lessened. Stiger advanced, attacking with both sword and shield as he moved forward. The man tripped and fell over the body of the first man Stiger had cut down and tumbled to the ground. Without hesitation, the captain stabbed downward, efficiently silencing him.

  The final enemy that had made it up over the wall fell to the dirt, a legionary standing over the body, breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight.

  Stiger turned to the wall where a fourth man was about to climb over. The captain struck out with his shield, slamming it into the enemy’s face. There was a sickening crunch and scream as the soldier fell from the ladder he had been climbing.

  Recovering, Stiger leaned over the edge of the barricade and stabbed downward at the next man clambering up, who, seeing the strike coming, jumped from ladder and into the trench below. Knocked off balance by the jump, the ladder slid along the outer side of barricade before crashing down, taking another man with it into the trench.

  Stiger stepped back, breathing deeply and grinned at the legionary who had downed the last man over the barricade. The legionary nodded his thanks to his captain. Stiger glanced down at his sword. It was no longer glowing.

  Did I imagine that?

  Wiping the blade clean on the body of a fallen enemy, Stiger sheathed his weapon and, despite the darkness, tried to get a sense for the battle as a whole. He looked over on his right. Brent’s men had pulled back almost to the center of the line.

  The lieutenant was under heavy pressure. A second company had emerged from the tree line, adding strength to the first. To make matters worse, the enemy had managed to get more men over the parts of the wall on the right that had been abandoned. Those men had been added to the two companies pressuring Brent, who had been forced to extend his line and thin its depth to keep from being flanked. This meant that the rotation of ranks came quicker, allowing the men less time to rest and recover before they were back at it.

  Stiger glanced along his center. It was clear his men in this position could not hold much longer. As it stood, there were just too few left holding the line. The breach he had just stopped was evidence of that.

  “Sergeant Ranl,” Stiger said, stepping up to the man. “It is time to pull these men off. Send half up the road. The other half are to fall in with Corporal Durggen. He has formed a defensive line beyond the catapults. Take command there. When the blocking forces on the left and right pull back, you will be the rearguard. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ranl said. “Send half my boys up the road, the other half to fall in with Durggen’s boys and then we are to act as rearguard when the left and right pull back. Correct?”

  “Yes,” Stiger said. “Send a man to inform Lieutenant Brent and Sergeant Blake before you begin your withdrawal.”

  “Corporals on me!” Sergeant Ranl called to his corporals after having sent a runner to Brent and Blake. The corporals hustled over and gathered round. “Rax, Cauis, Nomas, Marcellas, pull your files off the line and withdraw. The rest will hold while they pull back in order! Once they are out, we will step back and join the rearguard behind the catapults. Understand?”

  There were nods all around.

  “Let’s get to it, then,” Ranl said.

  The four files pulled back and down off the wall. Once behind, they formed up and marched briskly toward the path and Vrell. Stiger watched them for a moment as they passed the burning siege engines.

  “Time to go,” Ranl said, coming up to Stiger. The remainder of the sergeant’s men were starting to back down the rampart, presenting shields toward the enemy, who had already gotten over the top of the barricade, where moments before the legionaries had held them in check. “I would not want to leave you behind, sir.”

  Stiger nodded and fell back with the legionaries. His anxiety had begun to grow. This would be the most dangerous part of the withdrawal.

  Brent had increased the pace of his backward movement. One of the corporals was calling a steady cadence so that the men were in step as they pulled backward under the heavy pressure that appeared to be mounting by the moment.

  “One, two, three, four… One two,
three, four…” Brent had a whistle in his mouth and every few minutes blew on it hard, signifying the changing out the front rank to give those men a brief breather before they were thrown back into the thick of it.

  “Lieutenant, how is it going?” Stiger asked, having come up behind the lieutenant.

  “My boys are holding in there, sir,” Brent said. “Though we are withdrawing, we’ve really stuck them good.”

  “Sergeant Ranl has a rearguard formed just beyond the catapults,” Stiger explained. “Once you reach his position, pass through and get your men on down the path as soon as you can.”

  “I understand, sir,” Brent said.

  “Good.”

  Stiger hurried over to Blake’s position. The enemy to their front did not look at all interested in pressing the issue and appeared content to simply watch the legionaries who had just handled them so roughly.

  “Sergeant,” Stiger said to Blake. “Get your men moving… Sergeant Ranl has the rearguard and is positioned right behind the catapults.”

  Sergeant Blake immediately began reforming the men to march. In seconds they were formed up into a marching column.

  “On the double! Move out!” Sergeant Blake called and the column jogged off toward the catapults, armor and equipment jingling as they went.

  Stiger jogged with them. They passed the burning catapults. Fully engulfed, the heat was almost enough to singe. Stiger found Sergeant Ranl with the rearguard. Sergeant Blake’s men quickly moved through. A dense group of closely-packed men could be seen farther along, waiting their turn to make it onto the path that led to safety.

  Stiger saw that Boral had elected to remain with the rearguard. The captain was briefly reminded of the incident concerning Lieutenant Peal that was yet to be resolved. Stiger put that from his mind and turned to watch Brent. The lieutenant was skillfully fighting his men, moving closer, pulling back one slow step at a time. There was no point in hurrying him along. Stiger needed to buy all the time he could get to evacuate his men down the path and off the battlefield.