by James Mace
Artorius laughed and climbed out of the hot water as the others continued in their tasteless banter.
“Get your packs ready and line up outside!” Statorius bellowed to the recruits the next morning.
Immediately they all grabbed their packs and started to don their body armor.
“Leave the armor. Helmet and cloak only,” the Sergeant called out.
As Artorius and the others filed outside, they saw the rest of the cohort’s recruits were heading towards their position. Flanking them was a century’s worth of legionaries in full body armor and kit. Valgus was dressed the same, as was a centurion whom the recruits had never seen before.
“Recruits, this is Centurion Dominus, Commander of the Fourth Century. Today, the Fourth is going on a little road march to stretch their legs. In order to get your weak asses in shape, you will be joining them. Fall in on the center of the formation.”
With that, Optio Valgus stood in the front rank, at the head of the cohort’s recruits. The centurion stood at the front of the column, along with the Fourth Century’s signifier.
“Century!” he bellowed. “Forward…march!” With much awkwardness, the recruits stepped off with the regular legionaries. It wasn’t until they reached the gates of the fortress that they finally got in step with the other soldiers.
Artorius was surprised at the quickness of the pace that the Fourth Century set. Regardless of individual height, their strides were long and rapid. It stretched his legs; he wondered how long he could keep up at such a pace. It was no wonder the legions were able to cover long distances on an average day’s march. He noticed how the regular soldiers’ eyes and heads all swiveled slightly, scanning their surroundings and the horizon. Since there was little threat on their side of the Rhine, he figured it all came instinctively to them.
The air was cold, and he could see his breath. However, the pace kept the blood flowing and prevented the cold from penetrating. Snow crunched underneath their feet as they marched in step. Artorius listened as the belts and equipment from the legionaries bounced in rhythm off their armor, creating its own cadence to match their step. Though he started to feel winded after the first few miles, he found that by focusing on the sounds of the march, he was able to push the fatigue from his mind. The steady cadence became almost hypnotic, and he found himself lost in a dreamless trance.
“Century…halt!” The legionaries took one extra step and then stopped together. The recruits, lost as they were in their own world, stumbled and crashed into each other. One poor fellow had the misfortune of bumping hard into Optio Valgus, who in turn spun around and smashed him on top of the helm with his staff.
“You clumsy piece of shit!” he yelled into the hapless recruit’s face. “Pay attention to what is going on around you. I swear I will castrate the next one of you who falls out of step.” With that he smacked the recruit across the back of the helm, causing it to spin a quarter turn until the left cheek guard was over his face.
“And for gods’ sake tighten up your damn helmet straps.” he yelled as he hit the recruit yet again across the helmet.
Centurion Dominus seemed to be laughing, though when he caught the recruits looking his way, his face immediately turned to a scowl.
“What the fuck are you jackals looking at?” he hollered at them.
Immediately they turned their eyes to the front, and the centurion resumed his chuckling.
It was nearly dark by the time they returned to the fortress. The legionaries were mildly tired and worn, though nothing compared to the exhaustion felt by the inexperienced recruits. In spite of their exhaustion, not one fell out of step or missed a command from the centurion. Once Dominus had dismissed his century, Valgus turned and faced the recruits.
“Alright, nice leisurely stroll today, twenty miles, without body armor, shield, or javelins. The average march is twenty-five miles, in full body armor. And let’s not forget that at the end of a march comes setting up camp, digging ditches, building palisades, and of course, the rotating sentry watch. When you can conduct the full twenty-five miles in full kit without passing out like a bunch of fat eunuchs, you might be ready to become legionaries. Dismissed!”
Chapter V: Preparations for War
***
Germanicus looked across the table at the assembled host. The legates, chief tribunes, and senior centurions from eight legions were present. Along with them were the senior auxiliary infantry and cavalry commanders. An enormous map showing all the known routes past the Rhine bridges including the general location of all the major tribes lay on the table.
Next to Germanicus sat Caecina Severus, Legate of the Twentieth Legion, and appointed by Tiberius to be the Deputy Commanding General of the Army of the Rhine. Severus was fast approaching sixty; however, he barely looked a day over forty. He was a soldier of immense tactical experience and skill. He had served with both Tiberius and Drusus, and he had known Arminius personally. Arminius had commanded one of Severus’ auxiliary regiments, and his betrayal burned Severus deeply.
“Friends, brothers in arms,” Germanicus began, “today we plan the first major campaign in what will ultimately lead to our revenge for what has become the greatest act of betrayal in our time.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Our war is not just against Arminius and the Cherusci. He formed a coalition of what amounts to almost every major tribe within Germania for his attack in Teutoburger Wald. That coalition is fragile at best, many of the tribes have gone home and wish nothing more to do with Arminius. Nevertheless, all are guilty of this heinous crime, and all will pay for it. Every tribe will bleed until the rivers and marshes run red. Afterwards, those who do not submit and come back into the fold of Roman allies will face extermination.” He turned his attention to the map.
“The Bructeri and the Marsi will be our first major targets. The Marsi are a smaller tribe and under the protection of the Cherusci. Most of their territory is open farmland. Therefore, it will be easier to cordon off. The Bructeri are much larger. Their land to the east is mainly thick forests and swampland. Trapping them will be much more difficult.”
“One question, sir,” a voice asked. It was Flavius Quietus, Master Centurion of the Twentieth Legion. “If we move east against the Bructeri, then our rear will be exposed to attack from the Cherusci in the west. Even if they don’t engage us directly, they can still cut off our access to the Rhine bridges.”
“We’ve already planned for that,” Severus answered. “We will split our forces in half upon crossing the frontier. Four legions plus auxiliaries under Germanicus will cordon off and smash the Bructeri. The rest of the army, under my command, will march against the Cherusci and prevent them from flanking us or cutting off our access to the bridges. We will also take care of the smaller Marsi tribes.”
“Very good, sir,” Flavius answered.
“I do not expect you to run from a battle if it is offered by the enemy,” Germanicus said. “At the same time, I do not wish for you to go out of your way to try to force a major engagement. There are several Marsi settlements that will be in your sector. Your destruction of those will alert the Cherusci. Destruction of the Marsi will have two major effects. One, they will pay the price for their part in the Teutoburger massacre. Two, it will show that Cherusci protection is worthless and any tribes under their protection need to rethink their allegiance. Now, gentlemen, we need to hammer out the specifics of how we are going to do this.”
Soon every piece was set on the map board. All the major players knew their roles in the upcoming campaign. The Twentieth Legion would head west with Severus to attack the Cherusci and smash the Marsi. Severus relished the thought of a major battle against his old comrade and now enemy. However, he agreed with Germanicus, it was highly doubtful that Arminius would force such an encounter. Though they would not take part in the larger campaign against the Bructeri, there would still be plenty of work for his legionaries to do.
Weapons training had upgraded past the wooden stakes. The recruit
s would now face human, instead of wooden, opponents. Other legionaries from the century came out to provide sparring partners. Artorius did fairly well on his first endeavor. Usually most individual fights only lasted a matter of seconds, however Artorius lasted several minutes against his first two opponents before being cut down, and he actually beat his third opponent. He found that his lack of patience was his biggest challenge. He would sometimes get frustrated if he could not get the quick ‘kill.’ This would lead to his making a mistake, which usually ended with a rather painful jab to the face, neck, or stomach. He was glad these were not real weapons.
At the end of their training session, he walked over to where Sergeant Vitruvius was pulling a canvas tarp over the cart full of training weapons.
“Excuse me, Sergeant,” he said.
“What is it, recruit?” Vitruvius asked.
“I know that you’ve shown us the basics of individual weapons drill, yet I feel there is a lot more that we can learn from you.”
“Here, give me a hand with this,” Vitruvius said as he tied down one corner of the tarp to the cart.
Artorius helped him tie down the other three corners before continuing. “Everyone I know of says you’re the best there is at hand-to-hand fighting. I’ve noticed you do not have the visible scars that most of the veterans have.”
“That’s because I don’t like pain,” Vitruvius replied.
“What I’m getting at is I want to know what you know. I want to become the best there is in this legion,” Artorius said.
“Pretty high aspirations for someone who is still a recruit in training,” Vitruvius said. He took a second to think about it and then said, “Alright. I know your training will be over soon. Once you have become a legionary, then you come see me. The first Thursday after you swear the oath, we will meet here. Then I will start you on your lessons.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Artorius said as he turned to leave.
Vitruvius smiled. “You may not be thanking me later.”
A few days later, the recruits came to the practice field where instead of practice swords, there were long javelins placed in the cart. They were a little over two meters long, about half of which was a long metal shaft with a point on the end.
“The javelin, otherwise known as the pillum, is among the best shock inducing weapons in our arsenal,” Sergeant Vitruvius said, presenting the weapon to the recruits. “A service weapon’s metal shaft and point is made of a pliable metal that will bend upon impact. The purpose of this is to make it so that the weapon cannot be thrown back. If the enemy blocks your throw with his shield, the bending of the metal makes it almost impossible to extract, thereby renders the shield useless. These practice javelins are of the same weight as service weapons, however the metal ends do not bend. This allows us to retrieve and reuse them quickly.”
“Sergeant, why are these weapons not double the weight like our practice swords?” Antoninus asked.
“Because if you were to practice with a javelin that was double the weight, you would not learn to balance and throw a service weapon accurately. You would end up over compensating for the weight and most likely end up overthrowing your target.
“Now, when you prepare to throw, you will notice that the handgrip just past the metal shaft has a weighted ball at the end. Place your throwing hand there; heft it up to your shoulder.” He demonstrated as he talked through it. “It should feel balanced. When you throw, you take a few steps forward, cocking your arm back. Your last step should be with your throwing side leg. As you step, throw your javelin, keeping eyes on your target as you do so. This will help with your aim, ensuring greater accuracy.” He then took a few steps forward and with a low grunt cast his javelin at one of the wooden stakes. The practice spear stuck directly beneath the line marked at head level.
“Alright, javelins… ready!” the decanus called out.
The recruits hefted their javelins up to their shoulders. Artorius picked out a target stake about ten meters to his front.
“Ready…throw!”
With a bit of awkwardness, they threw their javelins at their wooden opponents. Gavius struck his right at the base. Artorius’ javelin skipped off the top of the stake and stuck in the one behind it. Antoninus and Magnus missed entirely.
“Antoninus, Magnus, you owe me two laps around the drill field…move!” Vitruvius shouted.
Immediately, the two young recruits took off at a dead sprint around the field.
“Gavius, you hit your target, however you did not score a fatal hit. Therefore, you owe me one lap around the field.”
Gavius did not even wait for the order to move before he took off running.
“Artorius, I would say that was a good throw were I to believe you meant to strike the target directly behind the one to your front. You also owe me one lap.”
The drill field was quite large, and it took the recruits some time to complete each lap. Once all had finished, Sergeant Vitruvius immediately made them pick up and throw another volley of javelins. This time they fared a little better. Gavius managed to hit his target at knee level before his javelin fell out and landed on the ground. Antoninus and Magnus each hit theirs in the groin, with Antoninus’ javelin falling out with a thud. Artorius struck his target directly in the head. Vitruvius continued to make corrections and assess penalties for each inaccurate throw. Artorius even had to run another lap because the decanus could not believe that he meant to hit his target in the head. On the next volley, he struck his target in the head again, as did Gavius, who seemed to be picking up the skill quickest. This time Vitruvius was convinced it was intentional.
Ingiomerus sat upon his horse, gazing at the river. Scouts were fording the river below, in spite of the extreme cold. It was a risk they had to take since the bridges were now guarded by the Romans. He had a fire going and ushered the scouts over to it as soon as they crossed the Rhine. There were barrels of ale waiting for them as well.
“So what did you find?” the old war chief asked as soon as the scouts had gotten some ale and started to warm themselves by the fire.
“There are eight legions encamped on the other side of the Rhine,” the lead scout answered, shivering as he tried to warm up. “They also have a shit load of auxiliaries. This will not be a series of raids or skirmishes. This will be a full scale invasion.”
Ingiomerus smiled. “At last we will get a chance to finish the fucking Romans once and for all.”
“That is, if Arminius can be convinced to face them in open battle,” one scout remarked as he downed a full bladder of ale.
“Let me handle my nephew,” the old warrior stated.
Training continued for a couple more weeks. Road marches became more frequent. Like all phases of their conditioning, the degree of difficulty was gradually increased. Before he knew it, Artorius found that he could complete the full twenty-five miles in full kit without feeling exhausted. He also realized that he was becoming more and more proficient at weapons drill. He would use his muscular strength to knock his opponents off balance, and he was becoming faster with the gladius with each passing day. His accuracy with the javelin also improved. Eventually, he was able to call a spot where he was aiming and score a precise hit every time. Only Gavius bested him in accuracy with the javelin.
One afternoon, Valgus took them to a different part of the training field. There was a small ballistae set up on a stand. Out in front of it were bales of hay staggered at different ranges. Each bale had a human silhouette painted on it. Standing next to the ballistae was a centurion from the First Cohort and a tribune that Artorius recognized right away. It was Pontius Pilate, his old friend from school. Pilate smiled and nodded at Artorius in acknowledgement. The recruits formed up directly behind the ballistae.
“Recruits,” the centurion began, placing his hand on the weapon, “this is the Scorpion. With me is Tribune Pontius Pilate, Chief of Artillery. I am Centurion Dionysus, Centurion of Artillery. Today we are going to show you men how to opera
te, maintain, and fire the Scorpion. There are sixty of these in the legion. During a campaign, each century assigns two soldiers to operate a Scorpion. These soldiers then come over and work with our catapult crews when needed. The Scorpion crew consists of a loader and a gunner.”
With that, he stood next to the Scorpion where there was a basket full of bolts. The bolts were about five centimeters in diameter, and about thirty centimeters in length. They had a sharp metal point on one end with four thin wooden guides on the back. There was a hand crank on each side of the Scorpion. Dionysus and Pilate each grabbed one and started to turn them rapidly. This caused the drawstring to pull back. When the cord was at maximum tension, the centurion placed a bolt into the feed tray. Pilate assumed the gunner’s position behind the weapon. At the end of the weapon was a pair of raised stakes. In between the stakes were two sticks laid horizontally. This acted as the sight Pilate was looking through.
“When firing,” he said, “you need to make a quick assessment of the range to your target. The Scorpion is accurate out to about two hundred meters. For close range targets, place the target in the center of your sight.” He then hit the release that fired the weapon.
The bolt flew straight at the nearest bale, hitting precisely in the center of the man silhouette. The recruits were impressed. Dionysus and Pilate quickly cranked the drawstring back again and Dionysus placed another bolt into the feed tray.
“For targets further out, you’ll have to adjust the elevation,” Pilate said. “At maximum range, you should just barely be able to see the top of your target’s head in the sight.” He then looked down the sight and fired again.
The recruits watched as the bolt flew in an arc and impacted right in the center of the farthest target.
“Are there any questions?” Pilate asked.
