I gave her a betrayed look, which she returned with a shrug.
Ignoring their jeers, I looked out over the legion and saw how these gaps in the checkerboard formation could easily become a problem. Had the formation been tight, the corners touching as it had been, the enemy would have a rough time breaching the gaps for fear of being surrounded. Since the half-cohorts were now spread out, the enemy could enter these holes in the line with less fear. Help would have to come from farther away, and would leave the area they’d just left undefended. That was why Galba had created four lines in the checkerboard, so that holes could be plugged easily with reserves from the third, and the fourth could be called on as a last resort.
Nisus was also right in assuming we could do some serious damage there. We only had a third of our ammo left, but the men who culminated between the gaps in our lines would be exposed and distracted. A well placed grenade would kill many, and leave the rest stunned. Our legionnaires would then be able to close the gaps. I only had three grenades and one flashbang stowed away in pouches along my belt, but they’d still make a wonderful mess.
And just like that, the battle commenced again.
The enemy was less than a football field away, thousands of bodies and spears littering the space between us. The carnage made me want to puke, but I didn’t have time. When the legion’s trumpeters blasted the marching order, I felt the automatic surge of troops around me, and I stepped into formation with them. We tip toed over the obstacles on the ground, the enemy doing the same as they marched forward to meet us. Seventy five yards out, I saw that our battle lines were at least as long as their own now. Another thirty yards later, I began seeing faces, armor, and their standards in more detail. When only twenty yards separated the sides, everyone stopped.
Normally, this would be the moment when onrushing barbarians would run face first into a swarm of pila, but not today. Instead, I heard the forward lines’ centurions yell, “ pila,” wait while their men readied their spears, before yelling, “loose!”
Fifteen hundred spears flew out in unison, falling against the Praetorians, now comfortably secured beneath their testudo formation, an overlapping wall and roof of shields. The testudo formation worked well against arrows, slings, and non-pila type spears, but today it only helped, not guaranteed a soldier’s safety. Just as the last spears were reaching their mark, the second line’s volley of spears flew out as well, inflicting even more casualties.
It had long been theorized that when a pilum hit shield, man, or ground, its soft iron shank would bend at an angle and become next to useless. It could not be cast back, nor could be pulled from a shield, because the angle made it impossible to extract it. However, modern testing had proven that to create iron soft enough to bend but not break after it impacted a nine centimeter thick scutum was nearly impossible.
What really happened, thanks to my keen observational skills, was that the heavy pila drove deep into most things it impacted. It proved the theory that pila did make shields worthless, not because its shaft bent, but because they punched right through them, and staked them into the ground. Roman shields were probably of the best quality in all of Europe, and while they turned away many of the spears, plenty found their way through the protective layer, and easily through the sturdy lorica segmentata armor.
The rebel Praetorians quickly recovered from the barrage and cast their own pila. Nearly seven thousand spears flew towards both legionnaires and loyal Praetorians, and most flew farther than our own men’s had, older and stronger that their casters were. Since Helena and I were not protected by the legion’s testudo formation, we ducked beneath our overlapping shields, hoping we were lucky enough to weather the storm unscathed.
It turned out I wasn’t that lucky. I was never that lucky.
I felt two or three pila ricochet off my shield, my heart skipping with each impact, but the fourth spear plowed its way through my shield like it was made of paper. The only thing that saved my life was my vest.
The spear hit me like a lightning bolt, penetrating two of my spent magazines before stopping at the protective Kevlar lined within. The force of the impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and disoriented me enough to lower my defenses. Helena tried to pull me closer to her, so that her shield protected us both, but we were both bigger than the average Roman. Her shield was nowhere near big enough to cover us, but I appreciated the gesture as I tried to work air back into my lungs. My heart continued to jump as each spear grazed off her shield.
I massaged the spot where the spear impacted, but it didn’t help. I would have a bruise the size of a soccer ball on my chest tomorrow, but I couldn’t complain. Without my vest, I would have been skewered.
Our fourth line let loose a small barrage that caught some of the enemy off guard. Both sides continued to exchange spears, casting and cowering, causing casualties here or there. I’d always imagined this part of a battle to be more exciting, with waves of spears cutting down hundreds of onrushing barbarians. Instead, we had battle hardened and disciplined Praetorians to deal with. Once the enemy cast their final volley of pila, they followed hot on the heels of their charges, and rushed forward.
The legion’s third and fourth line still had one last pila volley left. While only the third line loosed their spears, it did the most amount of damage to the speeding Praetorians. Helena and I added our own fire power, concentrating it on only a small fraction of Claudius’ horde. We aimed towards a group headed in the directions of a cohort we knew to be under strength.
That small fragment of the enemy faltered, forty or so men falling to our combined fire, while many behind them tripped and fell over their dying comrades. The 6th cohort was rewarded with the arrival of disorderly Praetorians. They held their ground and cut the first men to reach them to pieces. It was a minor victory, hopefully one of many that would help turn the tide of the battle.
The rest of the legion’s first line of half-cohorts did not fare as well. Thousands of Praetorians smashed into them, and immediately began systematically pushing them back. Within minutes, the weight of the enemy force had pushed the first line back enough that the checkerboard was collapsing.
It was rare that a plan actually worked on the first try, but Claudius took the bait. Galba wanted the checkerboard formation to fall in on itself. When the rebels smashed into the first line their momentum stopped. Our second line, now only ten yards from the enemy Praetorians, rushed into the small gaps, counter charging the now preoccupied enemy. It clogged the holes with bodies, and allowed Galba an easier time of sending reserve forces from the third and fourth lines to help where needed.
On our left flank, Caligula’s men were still holding back the enemy along our original line. Those forces engaged over there were more equally skilled, and would have to endure a slugging match, while over here, Galba and Nisus would feint, counter attack, and maneuver small units wherever they thought them needed, in the typical legion fashion.
Helena and I waited for no such orders, and we found ourselves weaving our way through the battle at random. Running back and forth across our lines, my feet burned and my bruised chest heaved, but we had to play little Dutch boy to the legion’s leaks. So far we’d only taken pot shots at the occasional target, but many more targets of opportunity were beginning to present themselves.
Nisus’ plan for us to use our grenades was fruitless at this point. The lines had collapsed much too quickly. There were only a select few areas where we could do some damage. The Praetorians were just better soldiers. They easily drove wedges between our cohort halves and thrust men continuously through our lines.