I do not know for sure how long the fighting went on at this pace, but all along our line, which was a line in name only, every Legion was being pressed to their limit as men fought without any real direction or orders from our Centurions. This was a fight of man against man, or at the most, small groups of two and three men against each other, and this type of fighting brings out the most savage aspect of every one of us. At one point I remember suddenly becoming aware that I was snarling as I hacked away at a Nervii, spewing out sounds that were completely unintelligible, and I could feel my lips curling from my teeth as I waded in the gore of the bodies that we were chopping up. There were no tactics, no maneuvers, just men intent on killing each other, mindless of any higher goal other than the complete destruction of the man across from him. I was vaguely aware that I saw Caesar, holding a shield, calling out to us to continue fighting, exhorting us to greater effort, his own blade bloody.
“Keep calm men! Remember the honor of the 10th! Stand up against these bastards!”
Despite recognizing his voice, none of us even acknowledged that we heard him, so busy were we on maintaining our cohesion. Several times a man would fall in our line, and for a moment the Nervii would force their way into the gap that created, only to be beaten back by the men who had finally joined the back ranks. There were no whistles to signal relief; for the most part, those of us who got stuck on the front line had to stay there until we either fell or the Nervii broke. Luckily, seeing that there was not going to be anything like the normal system of relief, the men who were in the back ranks dashed back to retrieve as many javelins as they could, and finally we heard the whistling sound of them flying over our heads, seeing the missiles cut swaths through the warriors still coming up the bank from the river. One volley, followed by a second, then a third; only after the third did we sense that there was the beginning of a shift. Men were still attacking, just without the same reckless abandon as before. Seeing the chance for a shift in momentum, without any command being given, the men of the first line began pushing forward, slashing and hacking at anyone who stood in our path. The blood was still streaming down my left arm, and I could feel my hand growing sticky from the blood caking on it, but I continued moving forward, Vibius beside me as we cut down several more of the enemy, then somewhere further to our right, we sensed that the flood was beginning to reverse. Looking over in that direction, I saw that the Nervii were not just moving backward one grudging step at a time, but some of them had begun to turn and run.
Once a panic sets in, especially with an undisciplined bunch like most Gauls, it spreads like a flame over dry tinder. Such was the case in front of us; one moment we were locked in a struggle just to stay alive, and the next, men were streaming away from us, running for their lives, completely oblivious to anything but the voice in their head telling them to flee. Whenever there is a great slaughter on the battlefield, most of the casualties come when that moment occurs and the rout begins. The battering force that threatened to overwhelm us just moments before suddenly evaporated, as the Nervii began to turn and run back to the river. Naturally, we pursued them, the entire Legion sweeping after them, catching up to the slower ones as they hit the river to begin wading back across, cutting these men down and striking without mercy at their unprotected backs. We were in a fury, or at least I was, angry that we were caught unprepared, and I was taking my revenge for having to fight for my life. Without any orders, we continued to follow the fleeing enemy, crossing the river and up the opposite hill as the Nervii ran before us, trying desperately to make it to the sanctuary of the woods from which they had appeared. Continuing our pursuit of them up to the edge of the woods, again without any command given, we came to a halt. I was gasping for breath, trying to suck in as much air as I could as I peered into the woods, knowing that charging into that mass of trees and undergrowth was an invitation to disaster. Not only did we not know what lay in those woods; there could easily be another force headed this way, it also made it easier for men to elude us, and once the immediate danger was past, some of them might have the presence of mind to regroup and turn the tables on us. Catching my breath, I looked back over the river and my heart filled with dismay. The area where we were fighting was covered with bodies, and while most of them were the enemy’s, there were a disturbingly large number of Roman bodies lying among them. We had taken significant casualties, so I instantly began looking around, trying to locate my friends. Vibius was still beside me, the blade of his sword caked with blood all the way to the pommel, while his armor was liberally splashed with blood as well.