Artorius then focused on his front, awaiting the next challenger. He only had to wait a few seconds, as a burly barbarian with an axe came running at him. Artorius smiled. The barbarian’s course of action was all too predictable. Artorius instinctively dropped to one knee as the barbarian swung his axe overhead. He deflected the axe to his left with his shield. Once the German hauled back on his axe to try another crushing blow, he pulled his shield in with his left hand to cover his flank and stepped out. A quick stab to the groin and it was over. He rapidly recovered to his feet and took a step back.
Ingiomerus slowly pulled himself from underneath the corpse that pinned him down. As soon as he was free, he gasped as he felt the pain erupt from his wound. It was a fearful mess. However, it looked as if the blood had sufficiently clotted and he was no longer in danger of bleeding to death. He lay back and tried to catch his breath.
He was then aware of the battle going on outside the fort. The Roman counterattack had caught his warriors completely off guard. They were now being cut down in rapid succession as they fought to maintain some semblance of an offensive. The old warrior looked up at the rampart he had just fallen from. Roman archers had reoccupied it and were firing volleys of arrows over the heads of their infantry into the ranks of the Cherusci. So focused were they on the battle taking place, they were totally oblivious to his presence. Slowly he looked around to see if there was anyone else still alive amongst the heaps of corpses. Only a handful stirred in their last moments of death. The Roman javelins had been extremely accurate, and those who were not immediately killed would soon die from the horrendous wounds they suffered.
Ingiomerus crawled gingerly down the slope. He rolled into the ditch and lay there, briefly, to catch his breath. He looked up as another volley of arrows passed in a high arc over his head. He closed his eyes, cringing at the pain and suffering they would cause. There were only small pauses between waves of arrows, just enough time for the archers to re-notch, draw, and fire. He crawled to the top of the ditch to see how the battle was faring. It did not look good. The Romans, though grievously outnumbered, were slowly pushing the Germanic warriors back. It would not be long before the battle was decided.
“Set for passage-of-lines!” Centurion Proculus shouted.
Macro and the options quickly echoed the command. All soldiers in the front rank stopped in place, keeping their shields at the defensive. Soldiers in the second rank set into their fighting stances, ready to spring. The barbarians paused in their attack, morbidly fascinated by the Romans and the maneuver they were about to execute. They stood frozen, waiting for the next wave of doom to approach.
“Execute passage-of-lines!”
On command, the second rank lunged forward together with a yell, passing in between the soldiers in the front rank. Artorius watched as two legionaries passed on either side of him, slamming their shields home, followed by rapid stabs with their swords. Immediately they checked for any friendly dead or wounded and proceeded to pass back through the men in the third rank.
Everybody caught their collective breath as they formed up at the rear of the cohort. Remarkably, nobody in the Second Century had been killed in the exchange, though there were a handful of wounded. They advanced slowly, watching the melee continue to unfold in front of them. Within minutes, as the cohort executed its next passage-of-lines, the barbarian ranks completely broke. There was no order to be had. They panicked and started to run, the Romans in ordered pursuit. Cornicens sounded the charge. On cue, the cavalry rode past them, intent on cutting off and slaughtering as many barbarians as they could.
The Romans pursued the barbarians for some time. As defeated warriors stumbled or fell behind, they met their fate quickly as legionaries slew them. A number became trapped between the legions and the river. Chief Tribune Strabo, who had led the cavalry attack, watched as many jumped into the rushing current to try to swim away. A wall of shields quickly smashed those that hesitated, as the legions stormed forward. It did not take long for them to finish the job.
“Archers, javelins…forward!” he shouted.
In a very short time, the javelin throwers and archers were on line, facing the river. It became something of a sport to them as they loosed a stream of missiles on the helpless barbarians trying to swim to safety. The arrows cut down most of the warriors who did not drown in the current. Strabo smiled grimly at the sight. He turned to his left and watched in the distance as the remaining warriors disappeared into the woods on the horizon. Though many had perished, the majority survived to fight another day. The barbarians had been dealt a vicious defeat, but he knew the war was far from over. It was getting late, and the army needed to reform back at the fort soon.
“Sound recall,” he told the Cornicen mounted next to him.
The young man raised his horn and sounded the notes that signaled the army was to return to the fort.
Horns echoed the commands, and soon the legion was marching back towards the fort. All were exhausted from not having slept the night before, then having to fight a battle all day. In spite of this, all marched with a sense of energy and purpose. Artorius relished the extreme adrenaline rush he felt. It was almost euphoric. He observed the landscape strewn with bodies. There were many Germans stricken with severe wounds, who were trying to crawl away. Occasionally, a legionary would step off and finish one with a rapid thrust of his sword. This, in turn, would bring a string of oaths from their officers, who would then tell them to, ’Let the bastards suffer and rot!’
After they reached the fort, all cohorts held immediate formations to determine losses and account for any wounded. The counterattack had been executed with complete surprise, to the point that casualties were remarkably light. Sixteen soldiers in the entire cohort had been wounded, none of them seriously, and only a couple from the Second Century. This only added to Artorius’ feelings of euphoria. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
The continuous disasters combined with the enemy’s refusal to engage them in open battle had done much to douse their spirits. The enemy had fallen completely into their trap, and thousands were dead as a result.
Artorius prided himself that he had killed three: two during the battle and one more during the pursuit.
“I saw that little fancy move you pulled on the barbarian with the axe today,” Statorius said to him after Proculus had dismissed the formation.
Artorius thought his decanus was going to chastise him for his unorthodox way of fighting, but he saw that Statorius was smiling.
“It takes most legionaries years of drill, practice, and actual fighting to learn to fight with the speed and competence you possess,” he continued. “Your little sparing sessions with Vitruvius are paying off.”
Artorius grimaced at the remark and shook his head. “Sergeant, he beats the shit out of me every time I face him.”
“Well, obviously he’s taught you something,” Statorius countered. “You have a lot of potential, Artorius. I see you going places within the legion. I may have a few things to add to your development once we get back to winter quarters.” With that, he slapped Artorius on the shoulder and walked back to their section’s campsite.
“Even without a tent, it feels good to be home,” Artorius thought aloud.
That night, wrapped only in his cloak and using his pack as a pillow, Artorius slept a deeper sleep than he had since the campaign began. He dreamed of home, of his father, Juliana, and Camilla. He dreamed of his mother and his brother. Something inside his soul told him that he was finally bringing them justice, one battle at a time.