The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (52 page)

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 culminated 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 towards both legionnaires and loyal Praetorians, and
most flew farther than our own men’s had, older and stronger that
their casters were. 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 charges, and
rushed forward.

The legion’s third and fourth line 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 towards a
group headed in the directions 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. Those 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 haves
were waves of Praetorians bubbling inwards towards 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
towards 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 towards the center, overlapping our
fire, and working again towards 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 busy
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.”