John nursed his battered feet by the fire. So much bloody walking, he thought. We’ll be walking clear off the side of Mundus at this rate.
Only two weeks had passed since they left the familiar hills and rivers of Berret’s field. And since the morning they set out. They had been marching. Twelve hours a day, with barely any breaks in-between. At first the small group of new recruits were in high spirits. Their anticipation of the fresh and promising adventure at a peak. But after the first day, slogging through the eastern marshes, a new reality began to dawn. This wasn’t like the stories. Soldiering was hard work. The Akkroans did little to alleviate their discomfort too. They rode their horses, barking orders and snapping at them. The bastards didn’t even show them how to properly build their tents.
“John.” Flint greeted, walking up and sitting beside him near his fire. The boy had a grin on his dirty face and held out a hot plate of food for him.
“Thank the gods…” John exclaimed, grabbing the plate and wincing as the heated metal burned him a bit. It didn’t bother him. After days of hard, dried rations. Anything that was warm and wet was a boon from Alborious himself.
“There’s plenty more where that came from.” Flint said, digging into a plate of his own.
“It can’t be much further now.” John slurped another spoonful of stew as he spoke. “Have you heard anything?”
“Only that, according to Optio Marious, we’re all the worst sort he’s ever laid his eyes upon.” Flint chuckled, sitting up and clearing his throat. “You lot must have grown out of the fuckin’ ground! We’ve recruited a village of potatoes with fuckin’ legs!”
John laughed, doing his best to keep from drawing any attention. Flint’s impressions had gotten much better. Though, Optio Marious had the accent of a man who hailed from Albus. So of course it was easier.
“That man has the vocabulary of a true scholar.” Flint said through tearing eyes.
“What’s goin’ on here?” A voice said from behind them.
John’s heart leaped into his throat as the harsh voice of Optio Marious processed in his mind. He whirled around, readying himself to stand, only to see Thomas and Roger barely holding back laughter.
“You bloody idiots!” Flint cursed, “You made me spill my stew. Gods split the sky above your heads.”
“Oh, it’s just a bit of fun, Flint.” Thomas laughed, “Rest of the camp is buzzing with some news. Thought you lunkheads would be interested in hearing it.”
“Spit it out.” John said, adjusting himself.
“Me and the guys over there, Russ, Johnathan, and Peter.”
“And me!” Roger said.
“Yeah, yeah. And Roger here.” Thomas continued. “We heard the Decanus speaking with the other Akkroans. They got one of those message birds they keep sending out every couple days. He said we’re going to a camp called ‘Blood Stripe’. Less than a day from where we are, right now.”
“That explains why we got an actual meal, I guess.” Flint held up his plate.
“That’s not it.” Thomas leaned in. “Camp Blood Stripe is where they send their finest recruits!”
“Please.” John rolled his eyes. “It’s called ‘Blood Stripe’; why would they send anyone who’s worth a damn there? It should be called, camp golden shield, or camp gleaming sword. Might as well be called, camp shit stain, if they’re sending us there.”
Flint burst out laughing.
“Not true.” Thomas insisted. “Peter said he heard it straight from the Decanus’ mouth!”
John just joined Flint in a fit of laughter. Unconvinced of his cousin’s rumors.
“You’ll see!” Thomas’ face started to crack as laughter took him too. “We’ll be the next heroes of Akkroa!”
“Shut your filthy holes!” The rasped and direct voice of the real Optio Marious sounded. His boots crushed the underbrush as he stomped toward them. His face appearing from the darkness beyond their fire light. “What in God’s holy name are you lot laughing so much about?”
Within moments, John, Flint, Thomas, and Roger all stood at attention. Their eyes wide and full of fear. “Nothing, Optio!” They all said together.
“Well, it sure sounds like something.” He grumbled. “The Decanus hates hearin’ signs of happiness. So stow any of that nonsense. Or you’ll have a world of hurt comin’ down ere’.”
“We were just wondering about our heading, Optio. When we’ll be reaching our destination.” Thomas spoke up, causing John to wince in anticipation of another scolding.
“Is that right.” Marious drew out the last word. “No harm in it, I suppose. We’re headin’ into camp by mornin’ tomorrow. So do your best to sleep tonight, It’ll be early. Your days of ease and lazin’ about are through. Tomorrow you all start the long and arduous journey of becomin’ men.” He grinned and turned to head back into the darkness. “Fuckin’ walkin’ potatoes…” John heard him say as he disappeared again.
The group stifled a laugh, but the Optio’s words hit their mark. John felt a deep sense of dread start to grow within him. If these last few days were easy. What would actual training be like? The thought gave him pause, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
“We’ll be fine.” Thomas said, patting Roger on the back. “We just need to stick together. We’ll survive anything.”
“You’re right.” John said, steeling himself. “Potatoes can do anything if they stick together.”
They all laughed again, then finished their meal. Set up the watch for the night and went to bed.
~
True to the Optio’s word, they rose before the sun and made their way past the final stretch until they reached a vast valley. Within it was the camp. Thomas’ source was correct that there was a camp. Even managed to get the name right. Camp Blood Stripe was the furthest Eastern training facility for Akkroan auxiliary. The main camps were further in Akkroa itself. Closer to their capital. That is, according to Optio Marious, who made sure to crush any dreams of grandeur. They would be trained as a supporting element to the real Legionaries. Used for scouting or filling in gaps if there were too many casualties. John didn’t care much either way. The gold was real enough, and the further they were from the front lines, the better chances they had at seeing Berret’s Field again.
They made their way into the camp. Walking through the palisades and past what looked like dozens of small groups like their own.
“These must be other recruits from all across Albus.” Flint whispered. John knew he was right. There weren’t any signs of veteran legionaries to be seen; so far at least. Which meant these were all new recruits from across the Akkroan’s new territory.
Before long their Akkroan escorts led them to a staging area, lined with premade tents. These were massive. Larger than any tents John had ever seen and filled with rows of cots inside. They were given a section within one by a clerk, and the men who had brought them all this way left with out so much as a goodbye. Well, other than another potato comment by Marious.
John felt overwhelmed at his new reality. He now had an assigned bunk, with everyone from Berret’s Field all grouped together. And they were told that they were the last group for this series of recruits. Most of the men already here had been waiting for near a month for them to arrive to begin training.
By the next morning, they were all lined up and processed into their training Cohorts. There were only enough recruits present to fill the ranks of one. So theirs was the only Cohort currently occupying camp blood stripe. The Cohort was nearly two hundred strong. Including officers and supporting billets. Consisting of recruits almost entirely from Albus; with a few stragglers from some of Akkroa’s surrounding territories.
John stifled a yawn while they waited for the camp Centurian to arrive. There was no true organization at the small unit level at this point, so they just got in line in no particular order and tried not to look like the rabble they were. After another hour, a group of Akkroans approached, marching through the mud wearing gleaming silver armor. One of the legionaries placed a wooden stool in the mud, and one of them, who wore a plumed helmet stood on it. That must be the Centurian, John thought.
“Welcome, to camp bloodstripe!” The man started. “I am Centurian Celsus Rufinus, commander of this camp, and the one you lot will call sir during your training here. I am the only officer assigned to this location.” He held his hands out to his sides, gesturing to the other Akkroans who were with him. “These fine men of war are my will, my judgment, and my wrath. To be utilized as I see fit. They are the men who will forge you into the swords, spears, and shields of our great empire. To exact our will upon those who our illustrious emperor, Gaius Cordis, deems a threat to our sovereignty!” Celsus took several moments to scan the men; letting the tension build. “I will now introduce you to Shield Decanus, Lucan Sergianus. My second in command, and the enactor of my orders.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
John watched as a familiar man replaced Centurian Celsus on the stool. Once he removed his helmet, John’s recognition clicked, and the Decanus who recruited him and transported them from Berret’s field began to speak.
“Lads!” He started. “As the good Centurian mentioned, I am Shield Decanus Lucan Sergianus. It is usually a fine day when Akkroa welcomes new members to its legions. Men from across our empire. From regions and colonies long vetted by the sword and the spear. However, you are men of Albus; our newest territory. Though, long have we known one another, and traded. Your former king’s greed forced our hand. And now you are here. If not for our Emperor’s infinite mercy, and the will of God, you would be in chains! But, you’re here. And it is up to you to prove yourselves worthy of this mercy. Worthy of the name Akkroan. We will not be gentle! We will not be loving or understanding. We will be the iron will of our great empire, and you will earn your place, or die.”
The silence was deafening. John could hear nothing, save the breeze that blew past them with the morning’s chill. Lucan’s blue eyes were cold as he scanned over them. Causing even the most confident among them to wither.
“Today you will be organized into your shield squads.” He continued. “And this Cohort will begin it’s first full day of training at first light, tomorrow. Until then, familiarize yourself with one another. Learn your brother’s face, his aspirations and needs. For you are now one. You must become an anvil, lads. For the hammer will fall. If you are anything less. You will all break.”
~
Their names were called, one by one. And they were given their gear and assigned shield squad. John thanked the gods when Flint was put in the same one. Having a familiar face with him would make it all easier to stomach. The two had become quick friends during their trip to the camp, while Thomas mingled with several of the other boys from Berret’s field. He always was more social than John. At first light, their lives descended into the deepest pits of hell. The Optio’s charged into their tents, waking them up with batons and screaming. John scrambled to find his tunic and trousers, then was rewarded with several strikes to his back when he failed to tie his leggings properly. They worked them for hours, through mud and sand. No drills, or fighting techniques, or anything useful. Just screaming, striking, and exercise. By the end of the day, nearly half of the men were on the verge of death. John included.
“Damn it all…” John groaned, peeling the sweat and mud caked clothing from his body. “And here I thought we were here to learn how to be soldiers.”
“What do you think soldiers do?” Flint grunted. Wincing as he tended to blistered feet.
“They fight, obviously.” John huffed, massaging the various aches and bruises on his body. “This is just torture.”
“We’ve got to learn to survive torture, if we want to have any hope of surviving a real battle.” One of the recruits beside them said. The boy’s name was Damon, from one of the eastern villages of Albus. He’d been one of the first recruits to arrive, and had apparently been doing his own training during the three weeks they waited for his group’s arrival.
“The Akkroan’s in the central territories don’t go through this.” Flint said. “They’re doing this because we’re from Albus.”
“So what?” Damon chuckled. “We’ve got a lot to prove. I say, let them do their worst.”
John rolled his eyes, pulling his blanket over his body and doing his best to get comfortable in the cot. “I say, don’t let the Optio hear you say anything like that. Because if it’s this bad or worse tomorrow, I don’t know how many of us will make it.”
Much to John’s horror, it was nearly identical the next day. Only this time, it was raining for half the morning. In fact, it was just as difficult for the next five days. Until Decanus Lucan finally issued them practice weapons and leather armor. This made the exercises and tasks all the more difficult to complete. They did see fit incorporate actual fighting drills and training, however.
After three weeks of grueling feats. They were brought out one morning and put in formation in the open field, East of the camp. At this point in their training, John and his fellow recruits were beginning to notice the obvious changes in their physical capabilities and physiques. He had always been put to work in the field of his uncle’s farm. Though not nearly as harsh, he and Thomas had developed the mental fortitude to overcome high levels of stress. But their progress was far beyond anything he thought possible. The true factor in their faster than normal development was no doubt the amount of food they were allowed to consume. A lot could be said of the Akkroans, but their military rations were abundant, and for someone who had gone hungry far too many nights, delicious.
“Listen up, lads!” Decanus Lucan shouted, standing before the formation, flanked by his Optios. “Until now, you’ve only experienced the harshness of the physical toll combat has on the body! As individuals, you have bled and sweat through hours of tasks and have finally come to the true purpose of what it means to be a legionary of Akkroa! The shield wall!”
Almost on que, two large wagons, filled to the brim with wooden shields rolled to a halt before them.
“I want every single one of you!” Lucan continued, as he deftly leaped onto the wagon and opened the latch to the back. “To grab one of these shields and get back into formation! Optios, take charge and get it done!”
With lightning speed, the Optios obeyed, charging into the ranks and screaming at everyone to line up behind the two wagons. John did as he was told, his body now moving before his mind had a chance to process the command. Shields were distributed quickly and efficiently under the scrutiny of the Optios; and before long, John and the rest of the recruits were lined up, awkwardly holding the shields in their hands.
“The shield wall is an essential tool in the arsenal of the Akkroan legion.” Lucan said, hefting one of the shields up. “It can protect you and your brother beside you as long as you have strength in your arms and in your legs! From blades, spears, arrows, and magic! You can be an immovable wall of steel and death to any and all methods of war your enemies can throw at you. I have seen an effective shield wall withstand the onslaught of enemy forces many times larger and come out as the victor. Today, you will start to learn the strength of this formation, and put your endurance and fortitude to the test!”
John and his fellow recruits were lined up and instructed on the different executions of this formation. Along with many others. Each rank had a sector in which they had to cover. Protect your right side with your shield, while covering the man to your right’s left. How to properly hold the training gladius in your hand without undermining the integrity of the wall. How to allow your fellows to strike out with a deadly thrust without blocking their attacks. And of course, how to withstand immense blows without breaking formation.
The Optios took command of the different shield squads for this exercise. Barking commands and giving everyone a rhythm to follow. John didn’t have much experience taking orders in a formation yet, as most of their training so far was exercise. But the constant shouting of orders and instant obedience to them over the last several weeks, had conditioned the recruits to immediately react to their leaders. Different shield squads were pit against one another. Slamming their formations into the other, stabbing and slashing clumsily with their wooden gladii. Trying to force the other back to a line that was drawn in the dirt behind the last rank.
John cursed as a wooden blade slammed into his helmet, ringing his ears.
“Push!” The Optio in command of his squad yelled. “Knock those bastards back!”
John strained with effort against the other squad. Sweat poured down his face and into his eyes as another blade slammed into his helmet. “Damn you!” He screamed, pushing as hard as he could. We’re not getting anywhere here, he thought. Glancing down, he saw the legs of his direct opponent under the rim of his shield. A cruel thought crossed his mind, but he pushed it aside. That is until another sword strike slammed into his helmet. This time hard enough for the metal rim to gash into his left eyebrow, spilling blood into his face. He roared in defiance and slammed his gladius into the shin of his opponent. There was a cry of pain on the other side, and he pushed forward as hard as he could. This time he felt the once stalwart resistance give way, and the center of the opposing line separated.
“Push!” The Optio yelled, excitement in his voice. “Push the fuckers back! You got it!”
With a determined effort, John’s shield squad pushed their foes past the line and cheered as the Optio declared their victory. John whooped and several of his comrades clapped him on the back. Then he was roughly pushed from behind and stumbled forward.
“You fucking cheat!” A recruit from the opposing squad yelled. “You went for my leg!”
John composed himself, glancing at the Optio, who crossed his arms, grinning. He wouldn’t be much help. They never were when there were tussles between the recruits. Mostly they just enjoyed the show, unless someone was about to die, they didn’t get involved.
John held up his hands, “It was a fair hit! You’re leg was practically a part of our formation. I just gave it a reminder to stay on it’s side.”
The recruit snarled and grabbed John by his armor. “I’ll give you a reminder, you bloody pig fuckin’ piece of—”
“Recruit!” A booming voice rang from above the noise. Bringing everything to a halt. Even the other battles that were still underway. John and the other recruit shot straight up to stand at attention. Decanus Lucas strode up and roughly pushed the other boy to the ground. “You’ve lost yourself, recruit! Get up!”
The boy stood as fast as he could, and scrambled back to attention, this time with eyes wide.
“If you hadn’t had your leg out of position to gain leverage” Lucan pointed at a swollen point on the boy’s shin. “Then you wouldn’t have needed that reminder.” He turned away from him and projected his voice so everyone could hear him. “All it takes, is one crack in your defense! One moment of complacency. And you’re all dead!” He let his words rest on the ears of the recruits, while he scanned their faces. “You must learn to prevent this, lads. To work as a perfect unit, even in the midst of combat. This is why you train! To prevent mistakes, and exploit them when your enemy shows it.” The field was silent for a time, and Lucan turned back to John and the other recruit. “Extra rations for the victors here.” He pointed to John and his squad. “Extra drills for the vanquished. Optio, make it so.”
John let out a breath, as Decanus Lucas left their area. Then the Optios began shouting, and soon after, training resumed.
“You’ve made a big mistake.” The recruit said as he walked to return to his squad.
“Get over yourself.” John said, flicking his fingers off his chin. The worst gesture he knew. “Don’t blame me because you screwed up.”
The recruit sneered at him one last time, then was gone. Once again amidst his fellow squadmates.
“Don’t worry about that halfwit.” Damon said, slapping John’s armor. “He’s under the impression he’s going to be a general by year’s end.”
Flint jogged up, wiping sweat from his brow. “Who is he?”
“Yeah,” John agreed. “I’d like to know who I need to watch out for.”
“That magnificent specimen, gents, is Simon.” Damon chuckled. “He’s from my village. And volunteered so fast when the Akkroan’s arrived, it surprised even them. To be honest, I don’t know much about him. Other than he’s got a temper. Figured that out on the way here.”
“Great.” John spat. “Just another thing to worry about.”
“Ah, don’t pay it any mind.” Damon laughed, “We’re too busy to have enemies here. He’ll forget about it by tomorrow.”
“Recruits!” The harsh voice of the Optio rang out. “Shut your damn holes, and get back in formation! Extra rations doesn’t mean you’re done for the day!”
“Yes, Optio!” The three of them yelled in unison, rejoining their squad.