“The barges are coming along on schedule,” Chief Tribune Strabo reported.
“Very good,” Severus observed. “And how about the training regimes for the upcoming campaign?”
“With our casualties having been so light, we’ve had only a handful of recruits and replacements to train up,” answered Master Centurion Flavius.
The three men sat alone in Severus’ quarters. All lounged comfortably, sampling dates and nuts, and sipping on wine brought from Rome. Rank did have its privileges.
Severus sat up briefly and stretched out his lower back and neck. He was slowly starting to feel the effects that age and years of campaigning were having. Though he looked young in appearance, his body told him otherwise on a daily basis. Yet he could not allow himself to sit back and watch the battles unfold before him without his direct involvement. His habit of leading from the front was something he had picked up from campaigning with Tiberius. The Emperor often said that he learned to do this from Severus, but the old general wasn’t so sure. He took a deep breath at the thought of how many years ago that was. He hoped this would be his last campaign. Germanicus had become a fine commanding general, and there was little more Severus could teach him. He had, therefore, written to the Emperor, asking that he, at last, be allowed to retire once Arminius was destroyed. He looked over at his two subordinate commanders.
Strabo was developing into a fine officer. His tactical decisions were usually sound, his care for the men genuine, and he was not afraid to get his hands a little bit dirty or bloody as was often the case. Like most chief tribunes, he was a young man of the Senatorial class, destined to become a legion commander himself someday. Of course, there would be years of politicking and other less exciting, albeit necessary, positions to fill along the way. Once his required time as chief tribune was complete, it would be years before he would wear the uniform again. Strabo was not looking forward to it and, therefore, relished his time with the legion.
Flavius was everything one would expect a master centurion to be. A professional soldier with over thirty years in the army, he was hard as iron both in body and spirit. Like all centurions, he had come up from the ranks, slowly making the climb up the ladder of the centurionate, until he was finally awarded promotion to the First Cohort. Five years before, he had been selected to be its commander. Command of the First Cohort was not difficult. All soldiers within the First were handpicked veterans who required little to no direct supervision. Its centurions were the elite of any legion and were there for technical and tactical advice, along with directly leading their men in battle. The centurion primus pilus or “First Spear” was the elite of this class of fighting men. He truly was a master centurion. Beneath his hard exterior, Flavius was a compassionate man, both towards his men as well as his own family. Many soldiers within the legion found it hard to believe he even had a family. Yet he did have an adoring wife and two grown sons, one of whom was serving with legions in the east. His other son had taken the path of poet, historian, and philosopher. To many this seemed like an odd path for the son of a master centurion to take. And yet, if one were to look into his private quarters, they would find numerous copies of his son’s works sitting on Flavius’ desk and bookcases. He was equally proud of both of his sons and appreciated their diverse paths in life.
The First Cohort was, in many ways, its own entity apart from the rest of the legion. The soldiers lived in oversized barracks that were separate from the other cohorts, and their centurions lived in two-story houses instead of one room barracks. Their sole purpose was to train to fight, so aside from those tasked to supervise the armories and other shops, they had little interaction with the rest of the legion. Flavius had, therefore, paid little heed to the growing troubles that led to the mutiny two years before. The First Cohort had been performing well. From what he had gathered, there were no issues concerning duty performance from the other cohorts, so he had let things develop without any real interaction with the other cohorts. What a fool he had thought himself when all of the allegations became known! He had considered himself directly responsible for the disaster and asked that he be relieved of his position and forced into retirement. Both Severus and Germanicus vehemently denied his request. Though they acknowledged he needed to keep a tighter rein on the centurions in other cohorts, he was an officer with too much tactical experience and could not be spared. Besides, his record was exemplary. Flavius had since taken a closer look into the workings of all the centuries within the legion, especially since young and less experienced soldiers filled many of the vacancies left by the dismissed officers. He especially kept a close working relationship with the cohort commanders.
“Well, I’m sure you’re both wanting to know what Germanicus has in mind for the next campaign; the specifics I mean,” Severus said. He knew practically the entire army had figured out that the building of boats and costal barges meant a deep waterborne strike into the heart of Germania. Barbarian scouts had seen the work going on and probably figured this out as well.
“We are all pretty sure what we will be doing, sir, the only question is where,” Strabo replied.
“I’m sure that’s the question on Arminius’ mind,” Flavius said with a shrug.
Severus smiled. “Our boat building operations are no secret to anyone, nor do we want them to be. I daresay our little project will draw some of the more, shall we say, adventurous barbarians to try to disrupt them. That is why one of our tasks will be to set up ambush sites along known avenues of approach to the docks.” He grabbed a handful of nuts and downed some wine before continuing.
“The main reason for an amphibious assault is that there will be little the Germans will be able to do to stop us from going wherever we please once we depart. A lengthy ground movement will only elicit ambushes and skirmishes along the way. If we move by water, they will be able to do little more than throw some harassing skirmishers and slingers our way. And we’ll use scorpions to keep them at bay. An amphibious strike deep into the heart of Germania will upset most of the tribes who have felt little of the shock of this war. None will consider themselves safe anymore, and Arminius will have to fight us in a major battle. Otherwise, he will be finished. He cannot afford to lose face in front of his warriors, and avoiding battle with us in the very heart of their land will cause just that. I believe Arminius is rattled after his defeat at the Ahenobarbi bridges. However, our victory was marred by the constant disasters and complete communications breakdown with the Fifth and Twenty-First Legions. I accept full responsibility for this, and I assure you it will not happen again.”
“So where, exactly, are we going, sir?” Strabo asked.
“That I don’t know,” Severus answered. “I’m certain we will find out soon enough. Germanicus is scheduled to arrive here in the next couple of weeks to check on us and our progress. He has told me he will divulge his entire plan at that time.”