The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (51 page)

Helena and I had been exceptionally busy last
night.

After securing our gear for today’s battle, we
retrieved the ghilli suits we had been working on for the past two
months, and went to lay the field. Ghilli suits were the epitome of
camouflage. Designed by its wearer to mimic the exact contours of
the earth they were trying to replicate, a well-made ghilli suit
could make its wearer look like nothing more than a bump on the
ground.

So, under the cover of darkness, around 2300 hours,
still rather early, we slowly crawled out of the perimeter of
trenches our legion had created and spent an hour crawling inch by
inch towards our target location. Claudius’ note had indicated the
battle was to be fought on the terrain next to the
via
aurelia
, decent of him to give us the exact coordinates to
set up our demo. Only a hundred feet from the walls, Helena and I
laid down a zigzag pattern of the few claymores we had, and the
mines. It took us an hour to accomplish the layout, and another to
sneak back to the trenches.

The first claymore’s explosion sent fifteen or so
men flying backwards towards the Praetorians. Each was probably
dead within seconds. The antipersonnel mines took a few seconds to
go off when tripped while they were launched in the air. Those did
the most damage, killing dozens of men in all directions. I was
beginning to see large holes opening up in their formation, but not
as big as I had hoped.

Standing, I tapped Helena on the shoulder who was
still focused on her sights. I looked towards the advancing lines
to see the survivors getting closer, but I also saw an enemy
Praetorian go down as well, shot through the lines of
vigiles
. She pulled her head away from her scope and
smiled.

I shook my head.

Grabbing the carry handle for her MOLLE vest, I
yanked her to her feet. She squealed in surprise but quickly
recovered and continued firing her rifle as I pulled her into
formation. The enemy were only about fifty yards away when I heard
the nearest centurion yell for the first
pila
volley.

About ten feet in front of the legion, I looked up
to see a cloud of spears dim the sky above me before they fell into
the
vigiles
’ ranks. The three thousand or so spears, only
half of the first volley, did practically just as much damage in
one effort as my squad had done in fifteen minutes. The only
difference was they had three thousand guys, whereas we only had
six, not exactly a fair comparison.

As I watched man after man impaled through head,
chest, torso, or leg I couldn’t imagine why these mere firefighters
were so willing to needlessly throw their lives away. These men
didn’t seem confused or unhappy. They just seemed angry. And so did
I.

That’s what confused me.

As I pulled Helena back through our ranks, the last
two lines from our legion released their volley of spears. By the
time the inbound projectiles found their marks, I saw the reason
for everyone’s craziness. Riding a black horse easily as tall as
Caligula’s, I saw Claudius sporting a wonderfully purple cape and
armor. In his right hand he held a long cavalryman’s sword, but in
his left, high above his head as though it were a standard itself,
was the blue orb that had started this fucking mess.

I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. Claudius’
prolonged exposure seemed to be increasing his insanity
exponentially, and its possible effect on the troops wasn’t that
farfetched. While they hadn’t turned into mindless zombies yet,
something had to be driving them and I suspected it wasn’t
Claudius’ charming disposition.

Helena and I moved towards the extreme right flank
of the legion, its auxilia now engaged in battle out in the middle
of the field. The auxilia were acting as predicted, cutting through
the militia like a hot knife through butter. They were outnumbered
four to one, but were still making headway through superior skill
and determination.

The orb was another snag in our plan that would
cause more trouble than we wanted, but I the undisciplined and
untrained militia had to break, even though that seemed less than
likely now. That meant Galba would have to commit his cavalry
reserves to that side of the battle prematurely.

Bordeaux and Wang linked up with us near the rear of
the legion’s farthest cohort on the right. We exchanged quick
greetings and made our way along the long line towards the extreme
left, and Caligula’s position. One of the legionnaires noticed our
movement and yelled, asking us where we were going.

“Orders,” Helena announced loudly. “But don’t worry.
I’ll be back.”

The men in earshot cheered at the idea of her coming
to aid them in the upcoming battle. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to make you a
god after this,” I told her as we jogged.

“Would you finally listen to me for a change if I
were?”

“Why, of course, oh goddess.”

She laughed and kept running. Wang peel off and join
the legion’s medical cadre where he’d stay and offer more help than
every other doctor combined. Wounded were already trickling in from
the battle with the
vigiles
. It seemed they were fighting
harder than expected, another bad sign.

We passed by Galba on the way. He ignored us and
continued yelling for updates on the right flank. We saw a
messenger on horseback ride towards the right to determine the
situation and appraise Galba upon his return. Reaching Caligula, I
noticed the left flank was completely silent, and all I could see
were rebel Praetorians of in the distance, patiently waiting just
out of
pila
range. Vincent and Santino were there too,
standing eagerly near the emperor’s side. Vincent nodded in
greeting while Santino clapped me on the shoulder.

“What happened over here?” I asked them.

“We focused our fire on the urban cohorts,” Vincent
reported. “There were fewer of them than the
vigils
, and we
probably killed two thirds of their men ourselves. By the time they
charged, we switched fire to the
vigiles
on our side of the
field. They were slaughtered with just one volley of
pila
from our Praetorians.”

What a waste. Fifteen hundred men dead in a matter
of minutes. What made matters worse was that we were the ones doing
most of the killing. Why didn’t it affect me the way I knew it
should?

“Anybody else not really care that we’re
slaughtering people on a Hitlerian scale today?” I asked the
squad.

Everyone’s look shifted towards the ground. They
seemed ashamed that they too were unphased by the killing, and that
they didn’t know why.

“Want to know why?” Santino asked.

I looked at him, wondering if he really had any
answers.

“By all means, enlighten us,” I told him.

“It’s because of that fucking thing,” he said
pointing towards Claudius as he rode atop his great stead, glowing
blue orb in hand.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out,
Jacob. It’s what got us here and you said it’s what drove Caligula
insane before, and now its affect has reached every single person
on this battlefield. It’s clearly touched us, because we don’t care
that we’re killing these people. We’re losing our minds!” He yelled
for dramatic effect. “If you ask me, the quicker we end this the
better.”

I looked at him and opened my mouth to speak but
quickly shut it. I couldn’t believe how much sense that made,
considering how usually dimwitted he was.

“Clearly it’s affected you,” Bordeaux said. “That
actually made sense.” He shook his head, trying to rationalize
Santino’s analysis. “Doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does,” Vincent said, “It doesn’t matter.
We’re committed.”

I was still trying to wrap my head around Santino’s
epiphany when Galba came riding up to Caligula.

The emperor noticed his general’s approach, and
turned his horse to meet him near where we stood. “How goes the
battle, Legate?”

“Not well, I’m afraid,” he updated. “The auxilia are
completely tied up and cannot disengage. I’ve already sent my
cavalry to support them for fear that the sheer weight of that
militia will come crashing down on my legion. As for them, we’ve
taken some losses, not many, but more than we hoped. These bastards
have somehow found the will to fight.” He looked to his right, at
the enemy Praetorians, practically all that was left of Claudius’
army. “I don’t think we can hold them. They’re fresh and very
experienced. If we can’t get the support of the auxilia, we may
falter here.”

“What will you have me do, general?”

It was nice to see Caligula conceding control to a
more experienced military man, instead of trying to micromanage.
The man had
definitely
matured.

“Hold here on the left at any cost. The only
advantage we have is that Claudius has his best troops aligned
against you, and if you can hold out long enough, maybe we can
punch through and swing around to engulf them.”

“We’ll hold, Legate. You have my word.”

“Yours is one of the few I trust, Caesar. May Mars
guide you this day,” Galba said, turning his horse to return to his
men.

“And you, Servius,” Caligula said to the retreating
man’s back. He turned to face Vincent. “The empire needs you. Do
not worry about me. Just do whatever you can to cause as much
confusion as possible. The Praetorians won’t be used to your kind
of presence on the battlefield.” He paused and looked out over the
chaos. “When you see the sign, come to my aid.”

“What sign, Caesar?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” and with that, he
rode back to his own advisors, already issuing commands and words
of encouragement.

“Well?” Vincent asked, getting our attention. “You
heard the man. Spread out. Pick your fights, and stay out of the
way of the professionals.”

I saluted, a growingly superfluous gesture these
days, and reached out for Helena’s arm, pulling her in the general
direction of the
XV Primigenia
’s 1st cohort. A short run
later, we found it right where we left it, in the exact center of
the legion’s formation, its eagle prominently displayed high above.
We took positions near to the legion’s
aquilifer
, who held
the eagle, perhaps the most important position in the entire army.
He was unarmed, but he was a veteran, probably taken from another
legion’s pool of experienced soldiers to hold this new legion’s
eagle. He had to be brave because he could not run. To run would be
the single most detrimental thing that could happen to a
legion.

He wouldn’t run. They never ran.

In front of him stood another signifier, and behind
both of them was an imaginifer, another standard bearer who carried
the face of the emperor, a reminder of who the legion was fighting
for. In front of all three was Centurion Maximus Nisus.

“Any predictions?” I asked him.

The man’s expression remained neutral. “I try not to
think about the outcome of a battle before it truly gets underway.
There are too many unknowns.”

I nodded. I could relate to that.

“But,” he continued, “I do believe Galba will call
for a shift in our formation in a few seconds. Claudius is taking
advantage of his numbers. Their lines extend well past ours, so
Galba will call for our formation to spread out. It will open up
gaps in our lines. If I were you,” he paused, looking around as
though giving us any suggestions would be a betrayal to his
skeptical general, “I would look for these gaps and do what you do
there. If you have any more of those, what do you call them?
Grenades? Use them there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Centurion. May the gods
smile on you today.” I wasn’t tuning into a pagan, but it was what
he would want to hear.

“And with you,” he replied, professional to the
core. He turned back to the lines to continue his study of the
enemy’s formation. They were finishing their last maneuver, just
out of spear range. I looked to the right, trying to determine how
the auxilia were doing, but all I could see was a jumble of men and
horses. Only twenty minutes had passed since the
vigiles
had
started their suicide rush, and I knew the battle could continue
for hours before it showed any signs of waning.

I looked over at Helena, a reassuring quip on my
tongue, but was distracted by a messenger riding up to Nisus’
position. As the seer had predicted, Galba’s orders were to expand
the grid formation. He also ordered the third cohort to split into
three maniples, and spread out along the rear. They would be
crucial in securing weak spots in our lines.

Interestingly, the tactic was eerily similar to the
one that, again, Caesar had used at Pharsalus. Like Galba, he’d
used a nontraditional formation of four lines, instead of three,
and used part of his army to work specifically to counter cavalry,
as Galba was using part of his to hold the right. Hopefully,
Claudius wasn’t seeing the similarities.

As the messenger rode off, Nisus issued his command
briefly and efficiently, and I quickly found myself moving in step
with the cohort. Putting maybe thirty yards between the corners of
each cohort, I was only slightly embarrassed when everyone else
stopped moving, but I’d kept going. Some of the men laughed at me,
and even Helena joined in the fun, having stopped on her mark.

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.