The First and Twentieth Legions started to advance. Nobody in the assault elements carried javelins, as they would be impossible to employ. Swords remained sheathed and each soldier kept a tight grip on his shield. They stayed in close formation, in case the barbarians managed to engage them with missile weapons. None came. Artorius watched the fireballs from the onagers and the scorpion bolts falling like rain onto the stronghold. He could see smoke and traces of fire coming from within.
“We have turned that place into Hell itself,” he breathed, the glow from the fireballs reflecting in his eyes as they passed overhead.
It was, indeed, hell within the stronghold. While turf and stone fortifications were ideally suited for defense during intertribal warfare, they were useless against the advanced Roman war machine. The Germans had no concept whatsoever of artillery, let alone how to defend against it. By having all of their peoples confined in one place, it made it that much easier for the Romans to employ their siege weapons against them. Warriors howled in pain as they were cut down by scorpion bolts. Women and children screamed in agony and terror as they were smashed and burned. It was as if demons from the underworld were breathing fire and wrath upon them.
“What are they, Mother?” a boy screamed, hiding underneath a shield.
Their hut had been burned, and now there was nowhere for them to hide. A fireball exploded nearby, shards and fire spraying them.
“Take courage!” his mother cried, holding him and her toddler close.
They watched, horrified, as one woman took the brunt of a fireball in the back as she tried to run past them. It erupted, covering her in liquid fire. She laid screaming on the ground as she was slowly consumed, the smell of burning flesh and hair overpowering the senses. Many were running towards the rear of the stronghold, hoping to escape through the woods beyond. The woman clung to her children, paralyzed with fear for them. She tried to protect them from the firestorm with her shield as she searched desperately for any sign of her husband. She would not leave without him.
“Our gods have abandoned us,” she whispered under her breath.
She knew the Romans would storm the stronghold with their infantry, but the preceding firestorm had taken all of them by surprise. She did not know that men were capable of such destruction.
Through the haze of smoke, they could see a man walking slowly towards them. His eyes were glazed and distant, his face expressionless. It was only as he got closer that the woman saw that it was her husband, a scorpion bolt protruding from his chest. His breathing was shallow and sounded like a hiss, trickles of blood running from the corners of his mouth.
“No,” she moaned as she rose to her feet. Her eyes clouded with tears as her husband fell into her waiting arms. His breathing had almost completely subsided as she gently lowered him to the ground. She tenderly ran her fingers through his hair as he reached up and touched her face with the last of his strength.
“I go now to be with my forefathers,” he whispered.
His wife broke into a wailing sob as she buried her face in his lifeless chest, her one arm wrapped around him, the other beating a fist into the ground in sorrow and despair. Their children clung to each other, eyes wide in silent terror as their world ended around them.
The firestorm continued unabated. Onagers continued to rain death over the heads of the advancing legions. Artorius watched as one fireball wobbled through the air, out of control. It fell short of its mark, smashing apart on the wall of the stronghold. Liquid fire sprayed everywhere, dousing and burning a section of turf.
“Oh, that’s not good,” he remarked.
“Damn it, who fired that one?” Pilate shouted, enraged.
Had that fireball landed while the infantry were scaling the turf wall, the result would have been disastrous.
“Over here, sir,” one section leader called out. “Blasted rope on this thing snapped as we fired.”
“I knew it, I fucking knew it!” Pilate shouted to himself. He took a deep breath and looked back to the assault. The infantry was close to the wall. He could not allow another accident like that to happen. Besides, he could see smoke and the occasional flame coming from inside the stronghold. The onagers had done their job.
He nodded and exhaled audibly. “Alright, onagers cease fire! Scorpion crews, increase your rate of fire. Keep the heads of those bastards down!”
“Sir!” the section leaders sounded off.
“Alright, men, here we go,” Centurion Macro said as they reached the base of the wall.
The wall was part natural, part manmade. It was mainly sod and turf that had been built up around a naturally high piece of ground. It was steep, but still had be plenty of hand holds available. Artorius was not too concerned about slipping and falling.
“Make sure that once you are over, you move inside quickly,” Macro ordered. “We have to be able to make room for the others. It is critical that we form up as soon as we are inside.”
“Let’s do this,” Vitruvius said as he slung his shield over his back.
Artorius looked over at Magnus. “See you at the top.”
“Right,” Magnus replied as he took a deep, nervous breath, blew out hard, and mumbled, “Thor…don’t fail me now.”
“Now to earn my third Rampart Crown.” he heard Decimus announce as he started to climb at an alarmingly fast rate.
Artorius grabbed a section of wall and started to climb. He was encumbered by his weapons and armor; however, his immense strength made the task fairly easy. He reached carefully but quickly for each new handhold, keeping his body close to the wall and using his legs to propel himself upward. At one point, a section of turf came off in his hand. He slipped and kept a death grip on the wall with his other hand, hoping it would not give way.
“Easy there soldier,” Vitruvius said as he grabbed onto him.
“I’m alright,” Artorius answered as he continued his climb. He looked over to see that Decimus was already almost to the top.
He had purposely ceased climbing and was waiting for the others to catch up before he lunged over the rampart. As Artorius got closer to the top, he could hear the sounds of scorpion bolts whistling overhead. He was almost there.
The fireballs had stopped coming, yet those cursed scorpions continued to inflict death upon Arminius’ warriors. Most of them kept their heads down behind the wall, yet occasionally some would get curious and risk a look. Often these men were felled by the waiting Roman gunners. Then suddenly the bolts stopped coming altogether.
“Here they come!” one warrior shouted, as they all started to rise and surge towards the rampart.
“Wait…not yet!” Arminius shouted, but again he was too late.
“Scorpions reload and stand by for one final volley.” Pilate ordered his crews, emphasizing, “Wait for my command.”
The idea was something he had conceived after his last siege. He knew once they stopped firing, the Germans would know that the infantrymen were almost to the top. At the first sign of Roman soldiers coming over the rampart they would surge forward. That would be the time to unleash their final volley. Pilate had reviewed his plan with the cohort commanders. He hoped the legionaries themselves would remember it and wait for the final volley to fire before surging over the wall. It was a calculated risk they were taking; the last thing he wanted was to shoot a friendly in the back. However, he felt there was a much greater risk of the barbarian surge repelling the first wave and inflicting heavy casualties. His plan would give the assaulting legionaries the precious moments they would need in order to get over the wall. He watched as the first group of soldiers made ready to make their final push. He then saw the heads of numerous Cherusci warriors as they made their way forward.