The Sixth Century passed back through their ranks. Artorius saw wounded men being supported by their comrades, biting their lips, refusing to give in to their pain. He turned his head in dismay as he saw two others being carried back, their bodies bloody and lifeless. The men who carried them tried to appear stoic, yet they could not completely mask their sorrow at the loss of their friends.
Artorius stumbled as the line continued to advance. Mobility was being hindered by the volume of barbarian dead that littered the ground they were advancing through. He took a deep breath and wiped his arm across his forehead. He had started to sweat profusely again and was struggling to keep it out of his eyes.
“Alright, let’s get ready to do this again,” Macro said as they watched the First Century engage.
“You ready to do this?” Magnus asked.
“Absolutely,” Artorius snarled. He started to rock slightly on the balls of his feet. He shrugged his shoulders, working any kinks out of his joints. His shield arm felt limber, his gladius was balanced, ready to strike once more.
“Decimus, no more getting knocked on your ass, either,” Artorius muttered, keeping his eyes front. He heard Decimus snort as he stabbed one of the wounded enemies at his feet.
The battle to their front gave no indications of slowing down. The Germans were suffering fearful losses, yet still they came. Roman losses were starting to increase in number as well.
“A few more goes and we should be committing our reserves,” Decimus observed.
Artorius blew out a sigh of relief. He had completely forgotten nearly half the army was behind them in reserve and hadn’t even engaged yet. While the battle ground to a standoff, he was certain that once the reserves were committed, the Germans would break.
“Execute passage-of-lines!” The order given, they gave another shout and passed into the fray once more.
Arminius galloped into the woods and soon fell from his horse. He lay on the ground in pain and grief. His mind was becoming cloudy, and he was dizzy. His armies, his tribesmen, were being utterly crushed by the Romans. Truly, they were getting their revenge for Teutoburger Wald. He now cursed that day. The day he thought had brought about Cherusci independence and freedom, had instead brought about their destruction. He saw other riders coming away from the battle. He was thankful they were Cherusci and not Roman. One dismounted and helped Arminius to his feet.
“The battle will be lost, my war chief,” the man said, hanging his head in shame.
“I know,” Arminius replied. “And yet our warriors still fight.”
“At least they will die bringing honor to the Cherusci.”
“No, all they bring is death and destruction. Damn the gods, have you not seen what is happening out there? Our warriors are not being slain in battle, they are being executed!” He clutched at his side in pain.
“What must we do?” the warrior asked.
“The stronghold,” he gasped, as he fought to suppress a groan of pain, “We have to get to the stronghold. There we can make another stand. Many of our women and children have fled there, and we must protect them.”
Artorius’ lungs burned and his arms ached, the muscles knotted in the agony of extreme exertion. It was the fourth time they had executed a passage-of-lines, and he was completely exhausted. Sweat stung his eyes, and he struggled to keep them open. He found himself battling by instinct more than anything else. In his peripheral vision, he could see the soldiers on either side of him fighting for their lives. He was certain that everyone in the cohort was as exhausted as he. He was thankful the Germans had not mounted a full-scale charge to try and break their lines, for at that moment he had doubts as to whether or not they could hold.
He plunged his gladius into another assailant’s belly. The German fell to the ground in a heap, twitching uncontrollably in the throes of death. By this time Artorius was covered once more in fresh blood and sweat, as were the rest of the soldiers in the century. Thankfully, the barbarian attack seemed to be losing momentum. He now had time to look around and assess the situation briefly between engagements. His breathing was coming in heaving gasps as he fought the pain in his lungs and in his muscles. As one barbarian lunged at him, he slammed his shield into the man automatically. The German fell to his side, dazed. A sword thrust to the side of the neck quickly ended his life in a fountain of blood. As Artorius readied himself to face yet another opponent, he heard the Cornicens in the distance sounding the advance. At last, the legions in reserve were being committed to battle.
Though he dared not look back behind him, Artorius swore he could hear the legions coming, thousands of men, jogging in step with one another, javelins ready. The century attacked with renewed vigor. He glanced over to see Vitruvius, in what looked like some sort of grotesque dance, cut down three barbarians in rapid succession. He had stabbed one in the throat, and then with the same motion, stabbed the other two with thrusts to the chest. It was as if they were intentionally running into his blade. Gavius slammed his gladius into one man’s groin as Magnus and Carbo smashed their shields into another German before both stabbed him in the chest. Artorius felt a hand grab at his ankle. He saw a stricken barbarian, completely covered in blood and sweat, crawling towards him. The man was trying half-heartedly to grab his sandaled feet. His eyes looked hollow, and he groaned in pain. In revulsion, Artorius slammed his shield edge repeatedly onto the German’s head. The metal strip on the bottom, combined with the weight of the shield and the force of his blows soon split the barbarian’s head, crushing his skull.
The tide of the battle had turned. One barbarian ran right into Artorius, as if trying to rush past him. He was panicked and seemed not to know which way to run. Artorius ran him through the heart with his gladius. Another was on his knees, weapons gone, pulling on his hair and howling in despair. Valens kicked the pathetic creature in the head, knocking him down, before slicing his throat open.
“Cohort…stand fast!” Proculus shouted.
Orders were shouted from behind them, and soon volleys of javelins were sailing over their heads and down upon the barbarians who still lived and tried to fight. They could not see where this new wave of death was coming from, and it instilled panic. Their attack completely ceased for the moment.
Warriors desperately lifted their shields over their heads as a torrent of javelins rained down on them. Ingiomerus watched as one warrior next to him took two javelins through the top of his chest. The warrior’s eyes were wide, his mouth open in disbelief. The shafts on the javelins bent, and he was pulled to the ground. Another barbarian screamed in pain as he was skewered through the hip. The force knocked him down, the javelin sticking in the ground beneath him. As another wave of javelins struck down even more, uncertainty and panic became paramount. The Romans seemed to have ceased in their advance for a moment. As soon as the javelin storm stopped, entire legions passed through the ranks of those they had been fighting. Warriors in the rear started to step back, uncertain as what to do. The ones in front, realizing that they had no choice but to fight, charged forward yet again.
Artorius set in place. He knew his fight was over. Immediately, an entire cohort passed through their ranks, driving hard into the Germans. The Third Cohort, in addition to the rest of the legion, quickly and deliberately withdrew to the rear. They would now become the reserve. Again, it seemed remarkable that only a few in the century had sustained serious injury during the engagement. Artorius witnessed several soldiers from within the cohort fall, but none from the Second Century. The barbarians dead and dying, on the other hand, stretched for hundreds of meters. The stench of blood, sweat, and shit filled his nostrils as the flies and insects swarmed over the bodies. Carrion birds were already circling to join the feast.