All up and down the line, soldiers of the Second Century fought with determination against the tidal wave of barbarian warriors. The legionaries relished the thought of everything ending with this action, and they fought as if this were to be their last battle. The barbarians in turn would surge forward, smash and stab with their weapons, and then try and break away before the Romans could cut them down. The steady Roman advance, paired with the pressure from the warriors to their rear, left many of them with nowhere to go. They could only swing their weapons in desperation, trying, in vain, to penetrate the wall of Roman shields before they were cut down.
Magnus, with a cry to his Norse gods, rammed his gladius into the side of one barbarian’s neck. With a vicious jerk, he pulled his weapon free, ripping the man’s throat in the process. Blood sprayed all over his face and chest. Valens caught one with a blow to the face from his shield, and maliciously stabbed him in the groin, twisting and turning his gladius about before wrenching it free. His weapon had penetrated the German’s bladder; it now reeked of fresh blood, urine, and shit. Praxus stabbed another German in the thigh. As the barbarian’s companions shoved him mercilessly aside, he and Gavius stepped in together and quickly cut down two more with vicious stabs.
Carbo seemed to taunt his opponents, quickly moving his shield about, making the barbarians think he was leaving himself open. As one moved in to spear the legionary, Carbo brought his shield down on the man’s foot. He then followed up with a stab underneath the ribs. Sergeant Statorius continued to neither yell nor make any sound at all, as he fought his way through the mob in front of him. His silence baffled his assailants, many becoming unnerved by his seemingly tranquil air of contentment. Their confusion only made it easier for him to find openings and slay them.
Artorius watched Decimus reel under the onslaught of one attacker. In order to help his friend, he ducked down, turned sideways while raising his shield over his back to protect himself, and ran his gladius across the back of a barbarian’s ankle. The German howled in pain as his Achilles tendon was severed and Decimus subsequently ran him through. While still on his knees, Artorius turned and blocked the blow from another assailant. He brought his gladius up in a rapid stab as he got to his feet, catching the barbarian in the face. The man gave a great cry, turned, and ran. It was true; these Germans could not stand to be hurt! As he faced the next attacker, he heard the order shouted by Centurion Macro.
“Set for passage-of-lines!”
He was relieved at the opportunity to catch his breath as the order to execute the maneuver was given. The next rank crashed into the Germans, who wailed and faltered, having to face yet another fresh wave of legionaries. The Second Century passed back to the rear of the cohort, killing enemy wounded and assisting injured soldiers out of the way. Artorius was breathing heavily as he looked around to assess how the rest of the battle was progressing. All four legions were pretty much online with each other, slowly pushing the barbarian lines back. In their wake, the advancing legionaries had to step over piles of barbarian dead and wounded.
Ingiomerus smashed his sword repeatedly against a legionary’s shield. He stopped once he realized that the soldier was no longer advancing towards him. He gasped and immediately stepped back. He knew that whenever one line stopped, it meant that a fresh wave would be passing through them. He stepped away just in time as another line surged forward. Others were not so fortunate. Many were knocked down as the legionaries smashed into them with their shields. Most of these would never rise again. The only way fresh Germanic warriors could be brought forward was when those in front of them were slain. Still they did not lose heart, even as their losses mounted. It was, however, disheartening for Ingiomerus to watch as his warriors were cut down one after another. Roman soldiers were also falling, however, most of the time their superior armor prevented their wounds from being fatal, and they were quickly pulled from the line before the barbarians could finish them. Ingiomerus figured that maybe one in every five Roman casualties died. Unfortunately, there would be little glory for those who did manage to slay a legionary, as most of these subsequently paid for their actions with their own lives. Ingiomerus was uncertain as to whether or not he would survive the day. He resolved that if he was to die, he was honored to die among such brave men, and he renewed his attack on this fresh wave of legionaries.
As he made his way to the rear of the formation, Artorius looked for his companions. He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Decimus, Magnus, Gavius, Valens, Carbo, Praxus, and Sergeant Statorius all make their way to the rear of the formation with him. All were breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, and covered in blood and dirt, yet they were alive and unscathed. Artorius was suddenly thankful and relieved. For the most part, he had been focused on fighting the Germans, staying alive, and exacting his revenge. Now he was coming to realize there was something more to be concerned with. These men were his friends, his brothers, for there was no form of brotherhood in existence like those who were willing to fight and die for each other. These were the finest men he had ever known. They were not simply Roman soldiers, they were Rome! The spirit of Rome was not in some far away city of marble statues and amphitheaters. Neither was it was on the floor of the Senate. No, here was Rome, here on this battlefield.
Artorius watched as the rest of the century formed up with them behind the First Century. Sergeants started getting accountability of their men, all the while being hounded by Macro and Vitruvius to report if anyone was hurt or lost. Though most were battered and drenched in sweat, dirt, and blood, everyone was accounted for. Artorius was shocked that no one from the Second Century had been killed or seriously wounded, in spite of the ferocity of their exchange with the Germans. Other units were not so lucky. He looked back to where litter bearers were carrying away the dead and wounded. For a battle this large, he thought for sure their losses would be much heavier. He then noted how badly scoured his armor was. The iron plates of the lorica segmentata could withstand just about any weapon the barbarians wielded, leaving the throat and groin as a legionary’s true weak points.
He looked back to the battle. He saw that the Germanic cavalry was in disarray and was starting to break and run, yet the host of barbarian warriors on the ground continued to press their attack. Artorius saw in the distance that their own cavalry was assaulting the flanks and rear of the enemy, wreaking havoc and destruction.
“Set for passage-of-lines!”
Germanicus led the cavalry around the rear of the German army, slashing at any target that presented itself. His cavalry chopped away at the barbarians who, surprisingly, had not panicked. Many were oblivious to the threat until they were struck from behind or in the flank. There were still so many on the field, perhaps they felt their superior numbers would achieve victory for them. He saw one barbarian with a great sword. He was shaking it over his head, shouting at the other warriors. Figuring he was a leader, Germanicus spurred his horse and rode towards the man. As he closed up, the barbarian turned in surprise just in time for Germanicus to slash his sword across his throat. A vicious jerk of the blade nearly severed the barbarian’s head. As the corpse lay twitching on the ground, a gushing stream of blood saturated the already blood-soaked earth.
The Third Cohort was quickly executing its passages-of-lines so, within what seemed like only a few minutes, the Second Century was back to where it started. Artorius watched as soldiers from the cohort passed back through the ranks. Like he had been just minutes before, they were covered in sweat, grime, and blood. His own sweat had now dried, his body felt sticky and rank. He licked his lips, thirsty for a drink of water. He noticed how the heat of the sun was bearing down on him. He took slow, deep breaths, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on the heat or his thirst. Sweat was trickling down his chest and seemed to pool under his testicles. Just great… and no free hand to scratch!