“What the fuck do we do now, Calvinus?” one of them asked. His voice was near panic. He was clutching his arm as blood oozed through his fingers, having been punctured by a German spear and in obvious pain.
“We find whoever else is still alive, and we cut our way out of here,” Calvinus answered, panting slightly, but still surprisingly calm.
“Where’s the rest of the century?” Metellus asked.
“They’re dead. Everyone’s dead.” the other legionary answered. His hands were on his knees, his head sagging.
“Sir?” Metellus asked, looking to his centurion.
Calvinus lowered his head, nodding. “I’m afraid so. And as far as I can tell, the four of us are all that remains of the cohort, maybe even the whole damned legion. Cassius Chaerea of the Nineteenth seems to be the only senior officer in the entire army that hasn’t lost his head. He’s established a rally point not too far from here and hopefully hasn’t been overrun. We’ll find him and then fight our way out from there.”
“If we can even find him in this gods’ forsaken nightmare,” the wounded legionary complained.
Calvinus ignored the man’s remark. The sounds of Germanic war cries and men crashing through the woods alerted their senses.
“Alright, let’s move out.”
Calvinus was more than a Centurion and commanding officer to his men. To them, he was like a second father, hard as iron, yet compassionate to the needs of his men. A tough, battle-hardened veteran with nearly fifteen years in the Army, he was the one who always had the right answers and knew the solution to any situation, no matter how desperate. He would get them out of this.
As they ran through the dense woods, they saw the bodies of most of their century and cohort. They were a ways from the narrow lane through the bog, and Metellus realized that they must have been conducting a fighting retreat, for there were many barbarian corpses amongst the slain legionaries. Had it all been in vain? Had the barbarians’ numbers been too great? Were there no other survivors? Metellus tripped over a corpse and fell headlong into the dirt. He rolled over to see that it was the body of Clodius. His face was caved in down the middle with an axe embedded in it, his mouth frozen in shocked horror. Flies were already crowded around the gaping wounds.
“Clodius,” Metellus whispered, a tear coming to his eye. “No!”
The overwhelming despair of the disaster was becoming unbearable. A jerk from one of the legionaries pulled him to his feet and back to his senses.
“Come on. There’s nothing you can do for him.”
The sound of their Germanic pursuers was getting closer. As they moved through the thickets and undergrowth, they came upon even more carnage. Here, many of the camp followers had been slain. The bodies of soldiers were strewn amongst the dead, cut down as they tried to protect their families and loved ones. Metellus saw one dead soldier with his throat cut, lying on top of the bodies of a woman and young girl, the wife and daughter he had tried, in vain, to save. He thought briefly of the child he had failed to save. It was obvious that both women had been viciously raped and then mutilated. The young girl had even been decapitated as a final insult. Metellus shuddered at the sight, realizing that the soldier had probably still been alive and forced to watch the horrifying spectacle before his own life was brutally ended. Metellus thanked the gods again and again that he had declined the opportunity to bring his beloved Rowana on the expedition with him. At least she would be safe.
Metellus suddenly felt that he would never see her again. This, in turn, caused a wave of anger and despair to wash over him. It wasn’t going to end this way. He thought back to the day he said goodbye to her.
“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she had said as she clung to him. “I need a live husband, not a dead hero.”
“Do not worry yourself, love. It’s simply an expedition to rout a few rebellious barbarians. Besides, I am with the best armed and best trained army in the world. Nothing can stop the Seventeenth. I will see you again.” With that, he had given her a lingering kiss before he turned and walked away. Not once did he allow himself to look back. Metellus started to feel a sense of desperate determination at the memory. He could not allow that to be the last time he would ever see her. He had to keep his promise.
Suddenly, he saw his deliverance: Cassius’ rally point was in sight, a mere three hundred meters away. So close, yet seemingly impossible to reach. There were maybe one hundred twenty legionaries lined up in a box formation, the last bastion of Roman might, and all that remained of the Army of the Rhine. Their shields were linked together, swords at the ready. Most of the barbarians ignored them, looking for easier prey. Occasionally, a zealous group would crash into the formation, only to be beaten back.
“There it is.” Calvinus pointed the position out to his men. With renewed energy, they rushed towards their comrades. A call came out from the rally point. Some of the legionaries started to move towards Calvinus, but were quickly pulled in by their officers. Maintaining formation was their only hope. Calvinus and his men would have to make the final dash to safety on their own. The legionaries in the formation shouted encouragement, frustrated that they could not rush out to help. They started frantically pointing to the left of Calvinus’ small band where another swarm of barbarians was running out of the woods towards them.
“Stand ready!” Calvinus shouted as he set into his fighting stance. The legionaries quickly followed suit. The soldiers in Cassius’ formation couldn’t bring themselves to look away as Calvinus and his men disappeared from view. They readied themselves to charge forward and help, only to have an even larger band of warriors crash into their lines once more.
In spite of lacking a shield, Calvinus still used his left hand to punch one of his assailants before ramming his gladius hard into the man’s groin. The centurion then grabbed him by the hair and threw the barbarian, who was howling in pain, into his companions. Metellus and the other legionaries fought with equal tenacity, each man holding his own against the onslaught.
One barbarian carried a massive cudgel, which he swung as hard as he could at Metellus. The club caught him a glancing blow on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground and tearing off his helmet. Blood streamed from behind his nearly severed ear where the helmet had torn a nasty gash. The blow gave Metellus blinding vertigo, and he retched violently. Dazed and confused, he struggled to his feet, his head throbbing. Through his blurred vision, he saw two legionaries attack his assailant and stab him repeatedly. He also saw Calvinus cut down two more Germans in rapid succession. Their fellows suddenly halted their attack, their uncertainty apparent. Calvinus gave an unholy howl and lunged at his nearest adversary. He slashed hard with his gladius, something Romans practically never did. Yet so ferocious was his blow, it cleaved the man’s head from his shoulders.
Dizziness overcame Metellus again, and he fell to the ground. He pushed himself up, staggering to his feet, and saw his companions sprinting away. He ran as hard as he could, yet he found himself unable to clear the stabbing pain from his head as he stumbled and fell further behind. The men in Cassius’ formation had beaten off the latest attack by the barbarians; however, they were in a desperate state and could not hold out much longer.
“Calvinus!” he heard Cassius shout, “We have to get out of here now!”