“Fire!”
Several warriors gave a loud cry and surged forward. As they did, one last wave of Scorpion bolts flew in a volley, slamming home into many who had moved to attack the Roman intruders. The rest paused, stunned by the shock and surprise of the Romans’ final barrage, as their companions fell dead or stricken. The delay gave the legionaries the time they needed.
Ingiomerus watched as one Roman soldier at the corner of the wall climbed up and over. The legionary stumbled and slipped onto his stomach as he tried to pull himself over. Ingiomerus gave a loud shout and lunged forward. He swung his sword down in a hard smash. The Roman, anticipating this, rolled to his side, so the sword deflected off the shield that was still strapped to his back. Before Ingiomerus could strike again, another Roman came over the wall. This one kept his balance and, like a cat, sprang to his feet on top of the rampart, drawing his weapon in a flash. Ingiomerus turned to face this new threat as the young legionary leaped off the wall. With a battle cry, the soldier plunged his gladius deep into the old warrior’s chest. Ingiomerus felt a searing pain as he was ran through. He fell back into the rampart, his lungs quickly filling with blood. He gasped, unable to breathe, his eyes wide. He slowly slid down the wall as the young Roman wrenched his gladius from the old warrior’s chest, ribs snapping as he did so.
So this is what it is like to die a warrior’s death, Ingiomerus thought to himself as his breath gave out.
On another section of the wall, Arminius ran forward and jabbed his sword into the neck of a Roman who had lost his footing while trying to come over the wall. His warriors took heart, seeing their wounded chief’s bravery and surged to the attack. Several Romans were struck down in similar fashion. One took a spear to the face and was knocked off the wall, his neck snapping as his head hit the rocks below. Another was struck by an axe on the back of his neck, killing him instantly. But then, like a wave, a large number of legionaries vaulted over the top. Arminius turned to face one of these. He swung his sword rapidly, as the Roman tried to deflect with his gladius. Arminius then felt a stabbing pain in the back of his leg. He fell to the ground and lay in a heap against the wall as even more Roman soldiers poured over the side.
He reached down and felt the fresh wound on his leg. Blood was oozing from it, though it was not gushing. It was a painful gash; however, it would not prove to be fatal if he could escape from the stronghold. He turned onto his side and watched as large numbers of legionaries stormed into the center of the fort. He let out a sigh. This would be the last stand of the Cherusci. If any did survive the massacre, they would be scattered to the winds, never to rise again.
Artorius looked down at the warrior he had just slain. The man was old, a lot older than most of the other warriors. Perhaps he was a chief or elder of some sort? He reached over and helped Vitruvius to his feet.
“You alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Let’s go. We have to move off the rampart quickly!” Vitruvius shouted as they unbuckled their shields and looked for the rest of the century.
Macro had been right; they had to move fast. Once the first wave had crested the wall, it was only a matter of seconds before a host of others joined them. The warriors who remained on the rampart were quickly driven off. The lucky ones were slain quickly. The rest had to deal with the horror that awaited them inside the stronghold as they made their way through the devastation.
Many of the structures inside the fort were burning. There was mass hysteria as people tried to flee. Artorius watched as Centurion Macro very calmly descended into the madness below.
“Second Century on me!” the centurion shouted.
Quickly everyone descended the rampart and formed up with their centurion. Magnus dispatched one warrior with a rapid stab to the back as he did so. Most of the others had fled to try and save their families. Artorius watched as Cohort Commander Proculus walked over to Macro.
“No one gets out, no one gets taken alive.” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Macro acknowledged.
Within seconds the century was on line. At a slow walk, they moved through the chaos. It was not a battle, it was a slaughter. Artorius saw in the distance to his right Germanicus himself, still without a helmet, slashing and stabbing his way through a crowd of barbarians.
“I guess he went without the helmet to draw attention to himself,” Magnus observed.
“Brave, but reckless,” Artorius remarked.
“Just like his uncle,” Magnus replied as he drove his gladius into a barbarian who was trying to run past them.
Artorius tried to shut his conscience down as he worked his way through the killing fields. At first, he did not really desire to kill noncombatants, but orders were orders. Besides, he reasoned, the entire tribe needed to be punished and purged! As he plunged headlong into his grizzly task, he thought of the massacre of Teutoburger Wald and the families of the soldiers who had died there.
He came upon a woman who was kneeling over a fallen warrior. She clutched him tightly and was wailing loudly. Her husband’s head was held in her one arm, a sword dangled from the other. A scorpion bolt protruded from the man’s chest. A young child kneeled by her side, unable to comprehend what was happening. In what he construed to be an act of mercy, Artorius walked over to the woman, grabbed her by the hair, and ran his gladius through her neck. The woman’s eyes opened wide in terror and realization, but then gave a look of almost contented peace as she slumped over the body of her husband. Artorius then heard a scream of horror as a young boy rushed him with an oversized shield and club in his hands. Carbo intercepted the boy, knocking him back against the wall of a hut with his shield. The boy snarled and slashed violently. Carbo gritted his teeth, pulled back on his shield, and thrust his gladius into the boy’s heart. His eyes grew wide, though he made not a sound. As Carbo withdrew his gladius, the boy collapsed to the ground in a heap. Artorius looked over to see that Magnus had his sword raised, ready to slay the younger child. He stood frozen, his face wrought in confused torment, unable to ram his gladius home, as the tiny child looked up into Magnus’ face, trusting and innocent. Artorius briskly walked over, cradled the child’s head in his hand, and stabbed him beneath the ribs, all the while keeping his eyes on Magnus. A feeling of revulsion welled up inside him, and he swallowed hard to keep bile from coming up. In an unconscious act of kindness, Artorius lay the child next to its mother. Magnus had lowered his arm and was staring at the ground, shaking his head. Artorius grabbed him by the shoulder.
“No one gets out, no one gets taken alive, follow your orders!” The words were as much for his own reassurance as his friend’s. And yet he could not bring himself to look again upon the family they had just slain.
“Artorius, Magnus, what the fuck are you doing back there?” Statorius screamed at them. He and the rest of the section were a good thirty meters ahead.
Their minds immediately back to the task at hand, the two legionaries rushed to join their comrades so they could sooner be done with their nightmarish task.
The firestorm the artillery barrage had wrought only added to the horror of the spectacle. The buildings burned. Those still alive inside cried out in pain, begging for death to come. Artorius sweated profusely as the heat seared him. People ran to and fro, some having caught fire, all in total panic. He wondered if they were walking through Hell.