The cornicen sounded the advance, this time the Fifth and Eighth Cohorts being selected to be the first into the breach, another example of how the dirty end of the stick is grasped by all of us at one time or another. Second Cohort was consigned to watch as the others began the advance, the scorpions opening fire once the Cohorts were within range of the Gallaeci bows and slings. Despite the barrage, we saw gaps open in the Centuries, quickly filled by other Legionaries moving up to take the spot of the fallen man, their bodies left behind in the wake of the advancing Cohorts. Missiles issued from the wall in a thick flurry, as it appeared that almost all of the men on the wall carried some sort of sling or bow. Our men started to fall more frequently, some of them with more than one shaft protruding from their bodies, obviously making some sort of mistake in exposing themselves, or even worse, one of their comrades made the error and they had to pay for it. Ignoring the punishment, the Cohorts moved forward, the scorpions continuing their suppressive fire, making me wonder how much worse it would be for us if they had not been there at all. By the time the assaulting Cohorts were within 50 paces of the breaches, it appeared that they had lost more than a third of their numbers, the ground behind them now littered with our dead and wounded. On some unseen signal, the Gallaeci launched one last massive volley, and at that range it was impossible for any missile to miss its mark, while in fact the arrows had enough velocity at that range to pass through one man’s body to penetrate the man behind him. It looked like an invisible hand swept through the ranks of the Fifth and Eighth, and despite ourselves, we let out a collective gasp of shock and grief.
“They’re getting slaughtered,” I muttered, without thinking the words came out.
“Shut your mouth, Pullus.”
This came from Optio Rufio, who looked at me as if he wanted to strike me down for uttering the words that I was sure all of us was thinking. Knowing better than to protest when an officer had that look on his face, I bit my tongue, bitterly cursing him in my mind instead. Both the Fifth and Eighth came to a shuddering stop, their men trying to regain some semblance of order, stepping over the bodies of their friends and comrades to fill the gaps made by their loss. For a sickening moment, they both looked like they could go no further, except in doing so that essentially spelled their doom because they would be picked apart. Even worse than standing there was the option of retreating; they would be even more vulnerable trying to back up while tripping over all the bodies lying between them and safety. As brutal as it was, their only chance for survival was to move forward.
“Second Cohort, prepare to advance!”
This caught us all by surprise, especially since we had not been selected to be in the second wave.
“Boys, I know we’re not slated to go next, but we can’t let our brothers take that kind of beating. We’re going to double time over there, stop when I give the signal to redress the lines and catch our breath, then we’re going to show those cunni what happens when you mess with the 10th!”
I honestly do not know if our hearts were in the cheer that we raised with those words, or we were sufficiently conditioned to know when it was expected of us, but we let out a cheer nonetheless.
“Procedite Ite Aciem, Move!”
Beginning the advance, the sudden movement drew the stares of the other Cohorts, along with a thankful wave from the men of the Cohort who were supposed to be next. The Primus Pilus, along with the Tribune assigned to “command” the Legion that day came sprinting over to the Pilus Prior, who stepped to the side but ordered us to continue advancing. By virtue of my place on the outside of the column, I could hear the heated exchange between the Centurions and I worried that we were witnessing the end of the Pilus Prior’s career. Although we still hated him in some ways, our regard and affection for him had grown strong enough to outweigh any residual negative feelings that lingered from our training. As hard as he was on us, the Second had already garnered a reputation as being the best Cohort in the Legion, a fact that looking back, now that I have been in his shoes, I am sure he was counting on saving him. That and his utmost confidence in us that we would be victorious and save what was turning into a disaster. As I passed by, I caught the last of their words.
“All I can say is that this better work, Crastinus, or you know what’s going to happen.”
The Primus Pilus’ words were menacing enough, but his tone emphasized the seriousness of the situation.
“It'll work,” the Pilus Prior responded simply.
“But what about the second wall? Your Cohort was supposed to assault the second wall, not the first. Who’s supposed to do it now?”
“We’ll do both,” Crastinus answered calmly, before saluting and trotting past me to rejoin the head of the formation.
My heart sank; we were going to have to clear both the breach and then scale the wall?
I was about to say something to Scribonius, but before I could, he muttered bitterly, “I heard the bastard. Well, Titus, it was nice knowing you.”
Immediately after the Pilus Prior resumed his position, the command to begin the advance double time was given and we broke into a trot, the sound of our gear clanking and bouncing about mixing with the tramp of our hobnailed boots slapping the ground. Up ahead we saw that the Fifth and the Eighth had entered the breach, with it looking like the Fifth was having a rougher go than the Eighth, so the Pilus Prior veered us in that direction. Behind us I heard a roar, so I chanced a look back to see that another Cohort was starting the advance as well. I wondered briefly if it were the Cohort originally slated to support the Fifth, and if so whether or not their Centurion possessed the presence of mind to move to the other breach. If not, then it was going to be a major mess as our two Cohorts tried to jam ourselves into one hole that already had the remnants of a Cohort in there.
Crossing the ground swiftly, just before we got to the point where the first bodies of our fallen were laying, the Pilus Prior halted us to dress the lines. We were going in as a column of Centuries, so that once again being the First Century had its disadvantages. Nevertheless, I cheered myself with the thought that at least I was in the rear rank, the comfort of which lasted just a few more heartbeats before I heard my name called.
“Pullus, get your fat ass up here!”
Moving out of my spot, I trotted up while the Pilus Prior called the names of the other large men of the Century, where he arranged us at the front, intent on using our bigger bodies to increase the impact when we went smashing through the breach. Up ahead we could see the Fifth fighting for its life, having made a small pocket just inside the first wall, where they were surrounded by what looked like several times their numbers, and even in the short time we watched we saw our men falling to the ground. Some of them got up again, but others just lay there or tried to crawl away. Once we were set, we were given the command to start out again, and for perhaps the first time in my life I cursed the fact that I had been born bigger and stronger than most everyone else. I was on the front rank, on the outside right, with the Pilus Prior running next to me as we advanced. One tiny blessing was that the Gallaeci had stopped with the bows and slings and were now down on the ground fighting it out with the Fifth and the Eighth. The closer we got, the more treacherous the footing as we had to pick our way over the bodies of our comrades, most of whom were still alive and trying to continue crawling away from the fighting. When a man is seriously wounded, it seems to be the overriding urge to move however one can away from the fighting that served to hurt them, and we had to call out to the men to lie still as we pounded around and over them, trying to leap their writhing bodies. We were not always successful; behind me I could hear a scream, followed by a curse as someone stepped on one of the wounded, yet we had no time to stop and help. With the distance rapidly closing to the breach, we could clearly see the faces of the Gallaeci facing us as they looked over the shoulders of the Fifth and saw us coming. Once again, the Pilus Prior knew how to maximize our advantage; I could see the eyes of the enemy widen in shock and terror, seeing what to them must have looked like giants from the underworld come to seek their deaths.