In his frustration, Arminius drew his sword. “Our warriors charge bravely. We go to join them. Cherusci forward!”
With a shout the cavalry surged from the hilltops towards the center of the fray. He led them straight into the Roman archers as they fired again. Their officers saw this new threat approaching them.
“Aim for their cavalry!” one ordered.
The archers drew their bows, and fired into the ranks of the Cherusci cavalry. Men and horses fell in heaps to the earth, yet still they came. Arminius spurred his horse with renewed vigor as a warrior next to him was shot off his mount.
“Archers…fall back!”
As they withdrew, the barbarians crashed head on into the ranks of the auxiliary infantry. A violent melee ensued. Most auxiliaries carried metal spears and oblong shields. They wore legionary style helmets and mail shirts. Though better equipped and trained than their enemies, they were no legionaries. The Germans started to fall, yet they continued to surge forward. They had a decisive edge in numbers, and they quickly started to overwhelm the Roman auxiliaries. Men stabbed, slashed, and hacked away at each other, opening up fearful wounds whenever a blow found its mark. Screaming in fury and pain they sought to disembowel each other. The air filled with the sounds of battle and death.
As the Cherusci cavalry smashed into their lines, the auxiliaries, in a move learned from their legionary brothers, dropped to one knee, braced behind their shields, and set the butts of their spears into the ground, the points facing their foe. Each man braced himself hard against his shield, clutching his spear for all he was worth. They were formed up in looser array than legionaries, which lessened the effects of their defense. Still, many cavalrymen fell to the auxiliary spears. Some horses instinctively came to a halt, refusing to ride into the wall of spears. Their riders were thrown by the sudden stop and momentum of their bodies. Yet, still many more smashed over the Roman auxiliaries, trampling them underfoot. The fighting soon became even more brutal and fierce. The Germanic tribesmen fought with demonic strength, knowing full well that the auxiliaries they faced were mostly of Gallic and Germanic origins. The thought of being betrayed by their own kinsmen enraged them. The auxiliary lines started to give, their casualties mounting, and the force of the barbarian charge pushing them back. The Cherusci gave a triumphant cry. They almost forgot that eight legions of Rome’s best infantry were directly behind the auxiliaries and coming up fast.
Arminius swung his sword in fury, smashing an auxiliary’s helm. Suddenly an arrow furrowed across his face, opening a fearful wound. A stab from an auxiliary spear into his side knocked him from his mount. He looked up to see another warrior with a spear pointed directly at his heart. The man was a Chauci, one of those who fought his own kinsmen on this very battlefield in the name of Rome. The auxiliary paused, suddenly realizing who he had struck down. He then ceased his attack, lowering his spear. Arminius struggled to his feet. The auxiliary motioned with his head for Arminius to leave. The Cherusci war chief nodded, and with painful effort, remounted his horse as the blood streaked down his side. He looked over to where the legions were advancing. Suddenly he was fearful. While his warriors had almost broken the ranks of the Roman auxiliaries, they had yet to contend with the legions. He smeared blood all over his face, hoping to mask his identity and rode away. The wound to his side was bleeding badly, and he was starting to feel light-headed. There was no reason for him to stay on the field any longer. The battle would be decided without him.
“Cease fire!” Pilate shouted.
The command was echoed by the section leaders. As quickly as they had begun, all onager crews abruptly halted in their labors. They stood by their weapons, sweating, and breathing heavily. Though smaller than the siege engines used for bringing down a city or fortress, the onagers still demanded a lot of exertion from their crews. They watched as the infantry marched with purpose towards its destiny. The artillery had done all they could. Now they would become observers to the battle. All of them hoped that their labors had not been in vain.
“Check your weapons!” Pilate ordered.
Crews immediately stopped watching the battle to their front and systematically started checking all the components of their catapults. A number of concerned section leaders starting talking frantically with their centurion. He nodded and walked over to Pilate.
“Seems like these weapons have taken a real beating,” Dionysus told the tribune. “They aren’t exactly the most soundly designed siege engines either.”
“What’s the problem?” Pilate asked.
The centurion took him over to one machine. “It’s the tension ropes, mainly,” he said, pointing to where some sections of the ropes were starting to fray and come apart. “Plus the very nature of these machines makes them prone to fly apart after prolonged use. And let’s face it, we’ve used the hell out of these things, with little to no time to conduct proper maintenance and replacement of worn parts.”
Pilate tugged on one of the tension ropes. It was frayed, but it still held. The beams in front, where the throwing arm impacted, were also starting to split.
“Well, at least they did their job today,” he observed. “Do what maintenance you can. I know we have a shortage of parts; however, we must make certain these weapons are as serviceable as can be. We may or may not need to use them again before this campaign is over.”
As Dionysus started to oversee the repairs, Pilate turned and walked away. He was starting to grow concerned over his machines. They had taken a severe punishing. The scorpions had seen less use and were more reliable anyway. If all else failed, he could still utilize them. He took a deep breath and turned back to watch the battle to their front as it unfolded.
“Javelins…ready! At the double-time…march!” Proculus shouted.
Everyone knew what to do. It all came instinctively now. Artorius hefted his javelin to throwing position and started to move at a jog, all the while keeping in tight with the rest of his century. He was comforted by the fact that two of his friends, Magnus and Decimus, were on either side of him. The auxiliary infantry was heavily engaged. More were falling from the continuous onslaught of the Germans that was showing no signs of letting up. Timing would be crucial; give the auxiliaries enough time to withdraw and allow the legions time to unleash their javelins before engaging. Suddenly, a cornicen sounded the order for the auxiliaries to withdraw. Quickly they turned about and ran back through the ranks of the Roman infantry. Artorius watched as one dazed and battered auxiliary soldier ran directly at him. The young fighter veered at the last second and avoided colliding with the legionary. The Germans paused for a split second, as they seemed almost shocked to see the legions bearing down on them. The timing was perfect.
Ingiomerus took heart as he watched the ranks of auxiliaries turn and run. The fighting had been fierce with both sides leaving many dead and dying on the field, yet the Cherusci and their allies had triumphed! He was breathing hard as he watched his warriors surge forward to finish off their enemy. Suddenly, the entire army stopped dead in its tracks. The auxiliaries seemed to disappear and in their wake came a wall of armored men, bearing red and gold painted shields and those hated javelins! In step they marched, with their javelins ready to throw. Instinctively, Ingiomerus clutched his side, the wound from the previous year seeming to cry out in fresh agony.