“Magnus, get up here!” Artorius shouted over his shoulder as he fought off another assailant. It was exasperating trying to give orders while also fighting against a maddened berserker who wanted to spill his guts. “Unleash your javelins; throw them over the heads of my men!”
“Sir!” the Norseman acknowledged.
The centuries of the First Cohort had kept a much deeper interval between each other to allow for greater mobility, but now those of Magnus’ century quickly closed the distance, javelins passing over and sometimes between their companions in the front rank. A hundred and sixty pilum falling amongst the Durotriges temporarily broke their resolve as many were killed or badly maimed by the heavy javelins. Artorius’ century gave a renewed shout and as one they charged down the short embankment, smashing into their foe. Magnus’ century mounted the first rampart, quickly dropping behind their shield wall as the Durotriges skirmishers hurled another volley at them. A couple of his men were not quick enough. One taking a sling stone to the face, sending him tumbling back down the mound, his hands clutching his face. Another took an arrow to the foot, and while not fatal, it was extremely painful and the soldier was now out of commission.
Artorius jumped down into the fray, bringing the bottom edge of his shield into the chest of an enemy warrior, sending him sprawling back. The master centurion instinctively brought his shield back up as another man took his place, stabbing at him with a short spear. The man was strong and admiringly brave, but he was no soldier. Artorius quickly side-stepped the warrior’s attack before driving his gladius clean through the side of his neck. Gouts of blood erupted from both the entrance and exit wounds as Artorius wrenched his weapon free.
“The rolling terrain is working against them as much as it is against us,” Artorius noted as Magnus stumbled down into the short defilade. “They can’t seem to mass their numbers as effectively here.”
“True, but then how the fuck do we conduct passages-of-lines in this shit?” Magnus remarked.
“Bound by squads,” Artorius directed. “Let your decanii handle that. Once you’re through, advance on that second rampart. Praxus’ men, as well as the other centuries, still have their javelins. I’ll have his men cover you as you advance.”
“Understood,” the Nordic centurion replied. He then shouted down the line, “By squads…execute passage of lines!”
As most legionaries were used to conducting line passages as an entire century, this more unorthodox maneuver would normally prove unwieldy. Yet for the highly experienced veterans of the First Cohort, each squad conducting its own movement under the direction of their decanii proved seamless. Groups of legionaries bounded forward, driving into the wavering enemy warriors with shield and gladius. With a rapid flashing of swords, a number of their foes were quickly cut down, causing their surviving friends to panic and flee towards the next line of defenses.
As he scrambled back up the first mound to find Praxus, Artorius noted that their taking of the first line had not been without cost. A handful of his legionaries lay dead, with still many more with various injuries trying to extract themselves from the fray. As he bounded to the top, the master centurion was surprised to find Vespasian up there, down on one knee, apparently in deep thought. The legate carried no shield, though his gladius was drawn and bloodied. Next to him lay the still-twitching corpse of a Durotriges warrior; a deep cut just beneath the ribcage was soaked in blood from where Vespasian had executed a perfect thrust below the ribs and up into the heart.
“Silly bastard tried smashing me with his large sword,” he said casually while pointing to the crude long sword that lay in the grass. “He easily had a foot or two of reach on me and could just have easily stabbed me in the face…poor dumb amateurs.”
Artorius meant to ask what in hades Vespasian was doing there on the rampart, but then he quickly saw that his commanding general had knelt down, with one forearm resting on his knee, and was surveying the enemy fortifications to their front and adjusting his tactics accordingly.
“Look up there,” Vespasian said, pointing with his still-bloodied gladius. “There’s a third, albeit much smaller set of barricades beyond the one your men now advance upon.”
“I see it,” Artorius replied. He held up his hand as he saw Praxus and the rest of the cohort climbing the mound. “Praxus, fall in behind Magnus, use your javelins to cover him as he assaults the second line of fortifications.”
“Understood,” the primus ordo replied.
“Hold in place once you do take them,” Vespasian added. “The third line is too close to that large gatehouse, and you’ll be well within range of their missile weapons.”
“Yes, sir,” Praxus acknowledged before signaling for his men to continue.
“Damn it all, we could not see any of this from our vantage points before now!” Vespasian spat in frustration.
“Even the lowest mounds and the gradual slope kept us blind as to their true disposition,” Artorius added.
“No matter,” the legate said as he rose to his feet. “As I told your centurion, keep the First Cohort in position once you take the second line of defenses. I’m going to bring up the siege engines and scorpions. No sense losing any more soldiers than we have to when we can simply smash apart their fortifications. Also, look on the ridge that leads into the town proper. You’ll see there are no palisades up there. Given how steep the slopes are of the overlapping ramparts, it is clear that the Durotriges do not view that as the real threat. Their numbers and resources are limited, and so they are staking everything on holding this gate.”
“Give us another artillery barrage, sir, and we’ll end this,” Artorius replied with a voice full of determination.
“You’ll have it,” the legate replied. “It’ll take some time to get the heavy weapons up, but at least the scorpions can keep the heads of those on the gatehouse pinned down. They’re also light enough that they can be placed on top of these rolling mounds. I’m going to order the Second Legion to advance on the northern and southern heights as well. The Durotriges may view them as unassailable, but if they see legionaries advancing on them, they’ll have no choice but to commit warriors to their defense.”
Without further discussion, Vespasian bounded down the first rampart and gave a quick series of orders to his cornicen. A series of trumpet blasts alerted the artillery crews to advance. Scorpions were rapidly broken down and carried by their loaders and gunners with additional soldiers tasked with carrying the baskets full of bolts. As he watched the onager and heavy ballistae crewmen start wheeling their engines forward, along with the oxcarts full of shot, Artorius reckoned it would be at least twenty to thirty minutes before they were set and back in action.
“Magnus and Praxus are engaging the second barricade,” Optio Parthicus said as he walked over to his master centurion. “As it will be a while before we’re back in the fight, I’ve got some of the lads patching up the wounded as best they can. Others I’ve told to finish off the enemy wounded, since we’re not exactly feeling merciful today.”
“Very good,” Artorius nodded, thankful that his optio was a man of initiative and common sense. “We’ll leave the dead for now. Once the artillery smashes the main gatehouse, the Fourth and Fifth Centuries will conduct the assault. Once through, it looks like the terrain will work to our advantage of fighting on a battle line. And let’s hope the Fifth and Eighth Cohorts can achieve a breakthrough of the ramparts. It’ll allow us to hit them in the flanks, as well as the front.”