“Front rank…throw!” He shouted.
The men in the front rank raised their javelins and stepped forward as they threw.
“Down!” Macro yelled as the Germans loosed their own volley.
There was no time to see if their javelins struck home or not. The Romans had barely dropped down and raised their shields as the German missiles rained down upon them. Artorius heard a cry of pain from somewhere to his left. Somebody had been hit. There was no time to think about it. A second rank of barbarians, all carrying spears and shields, charged past their companions with the missiles.
“Up!” The centurion ordered. “Second rank…throw!”
Artorius slogged through the marsh past the soldier in front of him, quickly picked out a target, and threw his javelin. The Germans were right on top of them. His javelin flew in a short arc, scoring a precise hit on a warrior not five meters in front of him. The javelin had pierced the man’s heart, and he was dead before he hit the water. Artorius barely had time to draw his gladius before the barbarians collided with their lines.
A burly German crashed into his shield, trying to knock him down. His balance was completely off as he struggled in the marsh. The bottom of his shield dragged through the water, making it nearly impossible for him to punch his opponent. He rapidly jabbed with his gladius, but the barbarian was keeping his distance, and his weapon skipped off the man’s shield. All up and down the line, legionaries were having similar difficulties. A barbarian slammed his body into Carbo’s shield, knocking him down. Fortunately, it also offset the German, and a soldier in the second rank quickly stepped forward and stabbed the barbarian in the throat. Then, as suddenly as it began, the Germans retreated. The Romans watched as the barbarians formed up in the tree lines and started waving their weapons and shouting insults that the Romans could not understand.
Artorius stood panting and frustrated. Three soldiers had been wounded in the exchange. Macro quickly gave orders for them to be evacuated across the bridge to the fort. The ground over there was relatively dry and even; a much better place to fight a battle, if only they could get their damn wagons across. He looked around, wondering who was hurt. Then he heard a voice call out.
“Valgus is down!”
Statorius and Vitruvius struggled to lift the wounded optio out of the murky water. He had been relaying orders and too slow in dropping down behind his shield. A spear had plunged into his hip, and he was bleeding badly. He groaned in pain as he fought to remain conscious. As they lifted him up, one overzealous barbarian ran forward in an attempt to finish him off. As he did, Vitruvius snarled and wrapped an arm in a choke hold around the German, gave a horrific jerk, and snapped his neck.
“Get him to the fort.” Macro ordered.
“Sir.” Statorius acknowledged.
Vitruvius and Statorius took their sections to act as escorts as they carried the wounded away. Valgus was by far the worst off. As they got to the fort, doctors were already setting up tables and had their instruments ready. Valgus had passed out, and his skin was pale and clammy. The doctors worked frantically to stop his bleeding. Artorius stood watching as Statorius grabbed him by the collar.
“Come on!” the decanus yelled. “We have to get back to the line.”
The rest of the morning passed in relative quiet as the Romans quickly tried to finish the work on the bridges while the Germans watched and taunted. Soon, orders were given to form the entire army up into a hollow square. First Legion was to take the front, Fifth and Twenty- First the flanks; the Twentieth took the rear. All wagons were placed in the center. Slowly the cumbersome formation started its move towards the bridges. On the other side, the fort awaited their occupation. Artorius watched as the Germans slowly started creeping towards them. Shit, there were a lot of them. More than twenty thousand legionaries were formed up in the hollow square, yet Artorius could not help but feel they were hopelessly outnumbered.
Without warning, Cornicens on the flanks sounded the call to double-time. The Fifth and Twenty-First Legions started to take off at a run towards the bridges; their move very deliberate and organized. Artorius wondered if there had been a mix up in the orders.
“What the hell are they doing?” Magnus swore.
“They’re leaving the baggage trains exposed,” Praxus replied.
“Not to mention our backsides.” Artorius observed.
War horns sounded, and the Germans charged. Legate Severus was riding amongst the baggage trains, trying to restore order. Artorius looked in horror as their commanding general was suddenly swarmed by the enemy. Quickly, Master Centurion Flavius rode up on his horse.
“First, Second, and Third Cohorts to the commander.” He shouted as he drew his gladius.
With a loud cry, the three cohorts formed up in battle lines and rapidly advanced towards the Germans attacking their legate. The barbarians, upon seeing the Romans bearing down on them, gave up their assault on the legate and his bodyguard cavalry, and instead quickly grabbed what they could from the supply wagons, killed the pack animals, and fled.
As they approached their commander, Artorius saw that Chief Tribune Strabo was with Severus. His face and his sword were covered in blood, and he was breathing heavily. Severus nodded in thanks when Flavius rode up to him.
“We cannot save the baggage trains,” he told Flavius. “Get your men across and over to the fort. Thankfully, most of the rations and all of the artillery made it across. We just may end up sleeping on the ground tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Flavius answered.
As they marched into the fort, everyone knew right away where to head. The layout of a legionary fort was always the same, and every soldier from the legate down to the lowest legionary knew exactly where his place was within her. This time there was a conspicuous lack of tents and other baggage. The barbarians had taken full advantage of the time they had been given to make off with much of the Romans’ supplies and equipment.
It’s going to be a long night, Artorius thought. He looked around and saw that most of the legionaries were obviously distraught, though he doubted it was because they would be sleeping on the ground without a tent. No, there was something more to it.
“Dear gods, did you see how many of them there were?” Carbo said, staring at the ground.
“I didn’t know there were that many souls in this entire festering hellhole of a land.” Valens added.
Just then, Flaccus came walking up to talk with Statorius and the other decani. With Valgus down, it fell upon Flaccus to temporarily take over his duties. Even though Camillus was technically senior to the tesserarius, his position as signifier was too crucial for him to vacate. It was still understood should Macro fall, he would take command of the century. Artorius heard them talking about how no fires would be permitted that night, and noise discipline was to be enforced to the utmost.
“Well, I guess we get to eat our supper cold tonight,” he muttered.
“No fireside banter either,” Carbo mused.
“Like we need to hear more stories about tavern wenches and their mythical sisters,” Gavius scoffed.
“Alright, everyone gather around,” Statorius said. “As you have already heard, no fires tonight, and absolute noise discipline will be enforced. You can bet the Germans will be making all sorts of racket tonight to try and unnerve us. That’s fine, let them. In the morning, we will lay a little trap for them. Macro is getting all of the details right now. Suffice it to say, I think we may soon get the chance to inflict a little payback on these bastards.”