'In war, one loses more than he gains and one can gain a lot. Because the fickle allure of future splendors can never equal the parts of one’s psyche now forever gone nor heal the deep wounds he’ll receive in the bargain. For alas in war, one can die twice in the same week.'
Caius-Metilus Plautus
In the prologue of
Par Ocreis
Life and deeds of the prodigious Marcus-Antonius Merenda.
-A memoire-
(Circa 233?)
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Marcus-Antonius Merenda
Die twice in a week
Part II
-Leave the rest to the Gods above-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
-
> Part I
>
>
>
> South Flank (Visserhaven)
>
> 1st Cohort
>
> (Primus Pilus, Centurion Glycia)
>
>
>
> 1st Century (Glycia)
>
> 1st Maniple (Decanus Aratus)
>
> 2nd Maniple (Decanus Loris Gala)
>
> Tesserarius Gordius Regulus
>
> Legionnaire Proclus Tranio
>
> Legionnaire Amus Fronto
>
> 3rd Maniple (Decanus Sidonius)
>
>
>
> 2nd Century (Centurion Alytus Memon, the Prefect’s third cousin)
>
> 3rd Century (Centurion Calytus)
>
> 4th Century (Centurion Martinus)
>
>
>
> Engineering detachment
>
> Aide de Legatus, Prefect Domus
>
> Engineer Sextus Triferus
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Legionnaire Proclus Tranio
>
> Night of 24th of Secundus 195 NC
>
> Visserhaven west fortifications
>
> 2nd Maniple area
>
>
>
> “RUNNER!” Decanus Gala bawled from the rooftop alike a cow getting nailed with a steel poker. Eat my tunic! Proclus Tranio cursed and let go of the broken straps keeping his helm (or Cassis) secured. The leather had rotted right through. He grabbed his gladius from the ground and turned the corner at a full sprint, almost crashing on the Khanate archer that had sneaked up on them in the dark. Probably an accident on the archer’s part.
>
> At any rate, the man turned one way, Tranio the other, light boots and legionary sandals (or Caligae) slipping in the mud. They both attacked instinctively as they went past each other with hoarse gasps of surprise. Tranio swung with the gladius and the archer with a long dagger. The legionnaire’s blade severing the archer’s arm at the wrist. The dagger, still in the man’s closed fist, hit the street and the archer pulled away with a yelp of pain.
>
> Tranio moved forward emboldened by the success of that first blind blow and got smacked at the right side of the face by the archer’s swinging bow. The grunting Proclus Tranio’s head was snapped to the left, his ears ringing and loose helm flying across the street to bang on a collapsed wall.
>
> Then into the blasted mud.
>
> “You shit!” Tranio blasted his bleeding opponent and made to attack him again but the maimed man turned to run away. Amus Fronto got him with a pilum right in the kidneys and the Archer faltered into a wall, rolled to the corner and reached the rampart still carrying the pilum.
>
> “Fuck off and die in a fire! I want that back you little thief!” Fronto cursed and reached for a military-issued dagger (or Pugio). He fumbled with it, as a volley of arrows landed all over them and the archer found the time to reach the half-wall. The maimed enemy tried to climb over it but you can’t climb shit with one arm leaking like a faucet and missing all parts below the wrist, Tranio decided ducking behind a cracked barrel. So it came as no surprise when the archer’s boot slipped on a loose rock, banged his face on the wall, cracked his forehead open and then toppled backwards.
>
> His bloody brains painting half the street and the spillage stopping a meter shy from the watching with ogling eyes Tranio.
>
> “What a doofus!” Decanus Gala bellowed appearing a moment later, while Fronto crawled near the dead archer to get his pilum back. Somehow the officer had climbed down from the rooftop in seconds. “Did you get him Fronto?”
>
> “Eh, sure Decanus. Twas mostly me I reckon,” Fronto said and glanced at Tranio warningly. The latter had gone to pick up his covered in watery grime helm from the street.
>
> “Who clobbered him in the head? Gods damn it!” Gala asked sourly, quickly examining the fresh corpse. “Fucking mess! Tranio what are you doing? Get that Cassis back on that stupid head of yours lad!”
>
> Tranio hated this part of the job. He hated a lot of parts and liked few others but in life one must be a pragmatist and see to get on by, one day at a time. No reason looking ahead much further as ye just don’t know what comes around the corner, the legionnaire griped and wore his muddy helm with a scowl.
>
> “Triferus!” Gala barked at the unseen engineer at the rooftop across the street from the defensive wall. “Are they moving in? Because I was about to take a plaguing nap!”
>
> “Just a score of them firing in the blind Decanus!” The hidden engineer retorted, just a voice ringing in the night. “Want me to fire at them?”
>
> “No firing in the blind,” Gala snapped gruffly and snatched an arrow stuck on the ground to sniff it. “That’s putrid,” he commented with a grimace. “They dip them in shite. Better be wary of scratches lads. They look to spread disease in our ranks.”
>
> He tossed the arrow away and walked to the corpse to search it. “Fronto find a torch.”
>
> “Want to burn it Decanus?”
>
> “You’re talking like a moron,” Gala grunted with a glare. “Are you a moron? I want to see whether he has anything on him!”
>
> “No lights Decanus,” the unseen Triferus warned. “They might still be lurking.”
>
> “Well, fuck them.” Gala cursed patting down the corpse. “There’s a purse. Hmm. Fronto cut that finger off and get me the ring.”
>
> “Can I keep the ring?” Fronto haggled and the Decanus eyed him austerely.
>
> “Want to do another shift legionnaire?”
>
> “Depends Sir. Is it a gold ring?”
>
> “Get on with it Fronto,” Tranio barked and stepped on the wall carefully to peek at their enemies. He couldn’t see anything but the shades and vegetation of the marshes extending almost two kilometers from the massive lake. Some hint of light in the distance but Tranio wasn’t certain whether that was just the stars reflecting on the soaked terrain or not.
>
> “Let’s get something to eat,” Fronto decided with a sigh, when Tranio returned near them.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> The field kitchen served brown lentils soup with hardtack biscuit that night. It was the same meal as the night afore it and they had boiled beans the other day. So there was some slight variation in the menu to keep it interesting. Unless you were a beef jerky person.
>
> Tranio was one.
>
> So he dipped a couple of slices kept in his haversack in the thick brown paste, as the soup was cold by the time they reached the rear areas near Visserhaven’s center. Worked the mixture around with his bronze spoon and got a mouthful. You had to attack the rock-like biscuit with the molars, grind it down afore swallowing to avoid hurting your esophagus with a sharp piece. The soup itself tasted pretty bad and needed more salt obviously, but nothing in the army had enough salt ever.
>
> Salt created unnecessary thirst in the troops and then they wanted more water or fluids in general so the book sort of discouraged it. Eh, Tranio thought, his cheeks full of the brown paste and the taste of over boiled lentils much as he remembered it.
>
> “That’s some fantastic stuff,” Fronto commented with his mouth full, working that spoon fast to shove more food in. Tranio grimaced and watched the tired legionnaires trying to eat and rest in between shifts in the soaked streets of the half-flooded port.
>
> Visserhaven had been mostly abandoned as with a siege looming the civilians had left and no work had been done to clean the canals. The rains had made it worse and while the weather had improved the last couple of days, there was a lot of water still around.
>
> “The Khan’s army must hate every moment of this,” Tranio commented and spotted the Primus Pilus Glycia talking with Prefect Domus and Sextus Triferus the engineer in charge of the machines. They had arrived the previous night with orders but most troops didn’t know what was going on to the rest of the front.
>
> “The marshes must be hell ayup,” Fronto agreed.
>
> “I’ll go and eavesdrop on Glycia,” Tranio said and stood up.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Glycia was born in Aldenport in 144 NC to a poor family of sailors but his father had left him just enough coin to make it to Anorum around 162 NC where he studied for a year. While Glycia had taken the simple (and without need for a fee) legionnaire course which was mostly about the army Book of Regulations, he was serious about it. The young man had finally earned a commission in the army finishing top of his class and joined as a sergeant (Tesserarius) excelling immediately as a recruit. Part of the class of 163 (which was the one Ligur and Memon had attended as well) he worked himself to a Decanus within a year hunting bandits around Anorum.
>
> He was already a Centurion during the Warbands Rebellion campaign where Glycia excelled and ended the war as the Primus Pilus of the 1st Cohort under then Prefect Ligur. While Memon’s friendship with the late Legatus had elevated the equally lowborn Memon to an aide du Camp and Prefect eventually, the old-fashioned Ligur didn’t want to propose to the higher-ups the same for Glycia despite favoring the officer a lot (the late Legatus had elevated a large number of officers already during the Civil War). Everyone believed and this included the Legatus it would have been well-deserved.
>
> Nonetheless, Glycia who had remained as the first centurion of the First Legion until the end of his term initially continued on in his post. In early 188 NC the decorated officer had finished his twenty five years with honors (and with a monetary gift received at the tenth year marking the war’s end by the Lesia Queen herself. It was received by most veteran officers of the First Legion). After that Glycia opted to reenlist for a second term but to remain in the field instead of accepting the offered trainer’s post.
>
> Thus Glycia was later present in the Battle of the Turncoats and for the whole of the Regia’s Civil War during the era of the two Kings, participating with the 1st Cohort until the final battle near Mercator’s Inn.
>
> The Primus Pilus had a black pearls beads necklace (a long prayer necklace) dressed with gold thread in his hands and worked at it while listening to the maimed Prefect Domus. Merenda’s man. Tranio didn’t have a problem with the other newcomers. Domus, Centurion Indus and the praetorians. The Holt boy, Pilatus, Tasius and that Plautus the scribe. He just wanted to finish his term and receive his pension. Tranio was thirty seven years old. As all of his class (174-75) they had been shipped to the front immediately as fresh recruits to replenish lost troops and barely made it out of Sovya alive. Twenty years later and having participated in every conflict, marched up and down Jelin eight times on foot and once sardined inside a Barque, Tranio just wanted to get through the next five years, receive a patch of land somewhere nice and settle down.
>
> No more traveling. No more being on the receiving end of arrows, bolts, rocks or spears.
>
> Which was where the new Legatus had chimed in putting a dent to Tranio’s plan of running out the clock. Merenda just didn’t appear to be the settling down type.
>
> “I checked the woods,” young Centurion Alytus Memon reported. The twenty eight year old officer leaving a trainer’s cozy posting in Anorum to join his kin as a Decanus in the 2nd Century. Now ‘Brute’ Memon was not one for doing favors and had put Alytus through hell not to be accused of favoritism. Still, when Merenda decided on the new officers, Memon’s cousin checked all the boxes easily. “They are clean, the Prefect is correct sir.”
>
> “Well, now that I’ve gotten the young Centurion’s endorsement,” Domus retorted wryly. “Can we get back to fucking business? The situation is critical and here I am babysitting the legion’s veterans!”
>
> “You made your point Prefect,” Glycia rustled crooking his mouth. “Now, how certain are you about an attack coming early on the morrow?”
>
> “They have to attack on all flanks in order for their push to succeed,” Domus explained and stared at the desolate, bombarded square.
>
> “If Birka commits infantry here they’ll never make it past the walls,” Glycia noted. “Those few that scale them Tranio’s boys will cut down.” He added staring at the eavesdropping legionnaire.
>
> “Yes sir,” Tranio replied confidently.
>
> “There was a breech,” Glycia said raspingly.
>
> “Dealt with sir.”
>
> Domus smacked his lips frustrated. “The Legatus wants you to deal with the situation as you deem fit Glycia.”
>
> “What does this mean?” Glycia asked counting the beads with his thumb slowly. “The Legatus orders are vague.”
>
> “It’s his style,” Domus retorted pursing his mouth. “The story of my fucking life.”
>
> “Kontar is the more energetic of the two,” Glycia noted. “Birka just shuffles his catapults back and forth in the mud. But we have their measure now. When they come forward again we will hit them hard.”
>
> “Will it force him to advance?” Domus asked.
>
> “Perhaps.” Glycia signaled for Triferus to open his map again in the light of a torch. “I want to use the 1st Century as a ram. Birka holds the main road but the bulk of his infantry is stuck in the marshes to attack this half-sunken part of the walls. If they attack the walls to reach our machines, then we could march at their left flank,” he dragged his finger north of Birka’s positions outside Visserhaven. “Follow the road and cut him off at Granlake’s shores. For that we need the 3rd and 4th Cohorts to hold in the center and keep Dhin-Awal’s main infantry force busy. His horses most of all.”
>
> “We suspect his cavalry is all the way over there,” Domus pointed out on the map. “They operate out of a Meertje, behind the smaller lake near Serpent’s Tongue.”
>
> “Damascus is at the Sugarcanes Grove?” Glycia asked.
>
> “Yep. With Prefect Memon.” Domus glanced at the young Centurion. “So that leaves the Legatus without much of reserve in the center. Captain Nak is committed near Moeras.”
>
> “Hmm.” Glycia slotted the bead necklace in a pocket of his tunic and then rubbed at his shaven face. “Anyone has the numbers?” He asked the other officers.
>
> “Birka must have around a thousand men with him, plus Kontar’s unmounted archers operating as scouts as well.” Domus replied. “Pourem has at least as many around Moeras, plus Mereb’s archers and scouts. We suspect most of Hamadi’s force of Slavers came in boats across the other lake so that leaves Dhin-Awal with around one thousand five hundred infranty in the center. Two thousand if those arrivals last month were all infantry. That last bunch are Lorian mercenaries by the way, from Altarin and Rida.”
>
> “Will they fight up the slopes?” Glycia probed and Domus puffed his cheeks out.
>
> “I don’t know, but the Khan’s troops are not cowards,” the Prefect replied.
>
> “Pourem’s force is too big a variant. Experienced officer, fought in Rida is the word,” Triferus said what everyone was thinking probably. Not Tranio, but the rest of the officers. Tranio didn’t really know most of the names mentioned here.
>
> “True perhaps and he cornered Indus badly. Still, he’s pretty much out of the fight as far as we are concerned and he’ll need to finish off with Moeras first afore turning to assist Dhin-Awal in the center or Bedas in the nearby flank. Why is Dhin-Awal committing to an attack?”
>
> “Celsus is responding with decreased volume of fire to lure them in. Get them in the cone, he says and everyone is pretty impressed at the meetings,” Domus replied wryly. “Don’t know if it’ll work or what the Khanate’s generals might believe but the Legatus suggested there’s talk from the prisoners of a large offensive brewing down at Castalor. Dhin-Awal might have to move before the summer.”
>
> “A lot of troops trapped there,” Glycia noted. “Surely the Issirs expect them?”
>
> “That’s two Issir armies not really coordinating or sharing info with each other. What Duke Anker knows, the Old Crow might not know and vice versa. The Khan might just use this to his advantage.”
>
> “Does the army command speak with Scaldingport?” Glycia asked.
>
> Domus shrugged his shoulders. “That’s way above my paygrade Glycia. Politics involved also, so I don’t know what to tell you. Cartagen is half a realm away.”
>
> “I guess we will find out,” Glycia said raspingly. “If they attack across all fronts on the morrow.”
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> 25th of Secundus noon
>
> Four hours into Birka’s attack on the west walls
>
>
>
> The Optio of Medics, Brucius Megellus gave the saw to his assistant and kicked the severed arm away near the bloody pile. He paused to watch the wound getting dressed up and then barked for the next injured soldier to be brought inside.
>
> “Fucking hell,” Fronto commented with a grimace.
>
> “Yeah. I got a bad feeling about this,” Tranio agreed and snapped to attention seeing Gordius Regulus, the Tesserarius approaching their waiting near the north gates unit.
>
> “Sergeant,” Fronto greeted the low-ranking officer and Regulus nodded. A famous surname, his father the younger brother of famed Centurion Regulus, who had disappeared with the 1st Century of the old 2nd Cohort after the battle at Mercator’s Inn. “Any news?”
>
> “They made it near the wall,” Regulus replied keeping his voice low. “But they got pushed back. Bloody scrap.”
>
> “Yeah,” Fronto agreed channeling Tranio from earlier.
>
> “So, Gala knows whether we will move out?” Tranio probed working his jaw to better fit the repaired straps of his battered helm.
>
> “The Decanus will be here shortly,” Regulus hissed and glared at him.
>
> Tranio nodded. They listened at the distant sounds of battle for a while coming both from the north and further to their west.
>
> “Any idea what’s going on at Eagle’s Nest?” Tranio probed casually and Regulus stared at him seriously pissed off.
>
> “Gods damn it Tranio!” He cursed hoarsely. “You want to learn more, look to gain a rank you miserable troglodyte!”
>
> “I don’t want yer job sergeant,” Tranio replied wryly.
>
> “Ah,” Regulus grunted and stopped seeing Decanus Gala sprinting towards their formation after Decanus Aratus who commanded the 1st Maniple stationed about twenty meters to their right.
>
> “Alright lads,” Gala announced with a tense grin. “We are going to stretch our legs now. Glycia wants us to march towards the main road. He’ll be here shortly.”
>
> “The Primus Pilus will be here?” Tranio queried afore he could stop himself. Gala looked at him sourly. Regulus stepped close and slapped Tranio once upside the helm, the clang reverberating up and down their lines.
>
> “Domus assumed command of the defense inside the port,” Gala finally replied with a grimace. “While the Primus Pilus will get the 1st Century on a lovely probing trip of the nearby scenery.”
>
> You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
>
> Shite.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> There were smoke clouds to their right, the north where Eagle’s Nest was, more fighting to their left and even more smoke and great clamor at the distance. Tranio marched at the corner of their formation, in front of Fronto and with Regulus to his left. Right behind Decanus Gala and the also marching with them sturdy figure of the Primus Pilus. The cobblestone road relative dry but dirty. The slates hard under their sandals. You could hear the sound of catapults and Scorpions firing clearer outside the port’s walls. Out in the plains the sound carried. The loud clamor of battle increasing when it came but just as fast turning muffled depending on which way the wind blew.
>
> Glycia turned to march left and outside of formation. Gala followed after him. In the distance and right in front of them the road was blocked by the Khanate’s colorful infantry. Their officers riding up and down to dress the ranks. Messengers dispatched to notify Birka, who was half a kilometer away near Visserhaven, of the force attempting to flank him.
>
> “SHIELDS OUT!” Regulus barked and paused for Glycia to decide on a formation with the enemy lines now within a spear’s throw. Tranio had his pilum in hand already, having done this too many times to expect some surprise at the last minute.
>
> “READY PILUMS!” Regulus predictably ordered.
>
> “Second row?” Fronto asked from behind him and Tranio shook his head in a nod, too busy to give a proper answer.
>
> It didn’t really matter where the javelin landed as long as it hit a warm body or shield.
>
> Fuck it.
>
> “LOB PILUMS!” Regulus bellowed and Tranio made two quick steps forward, along with everyone around him. He snapped his arm next, the jolt numbing his shoulder and hurled the Pilum as hard as he could.
>
> “SECOND! TEN ROWS DEEP! FORM SQUARE!” Regulus roared, as the 1st and 3rd Maniple increased their breadth in the center to double that, with the 4th Maniple forming up like they had. Glycia was going in for the kill.
>
> “TWENTY METERS!”
>
> Tranio raised his shield, gladius held tight in hand and protruding from the marching wall. Their task was to punch through from the enemies left and right flanks, turn inwards and continue stabbing at them until they saw the red of a friendly Scutum.
>
> At which point it was strongly advised that all stabbing should stop.
>
> Pretty standard stuff in other words.
>
> “HALT STRIDE! INCOMING!” Regulus barked and Tranio ducked under his shield, arrows and javelins landing all about him. Soldiers screamed or groaned in pain but he didn’t pause to look right or left.
>
> Tranio was marching again a breath later.
>
> Hobnailed boots thudding on the cobblestone and the mass of armour moving relentlessly to engage from up close. Keeping up its own monotonous and familiar rhythm.
>
> One-two.
>
> Three.
>
> One-two.
>
> Three.
>
> “FIVE METERS!”
>
> One-two.
>
> Three.
>
> Tranio kept counting as he marched forward until his shield hit a solid object. Then he started working with his right arm. Thrust the sword forward. Retract. Again. The blade hitting on wood and metal. Weapons clanging on shields and helms. Flesh tearing and people dying.
>
> A fucking lot of them.
>
> This was the more challenging part of the plaguing job.
>
> Yeah.
>
>
-
----------------------------------------
image [https://i.postimg.cc/pL777t0d/eagles-nest-breakout.png]
Great Lakes of Kaltha afternoon of 25th
Part II
Marcus-Antonius Merenda
Eagle’s Nest
First Legion’s Center
3rd Cohort’s staging area
Celsus’ second ring of barricades before the flats
The inclines to the top of the Plateau
Battle of the Hemp Fields
Noon of the 25th of Secundus
“Centurion Reganus wants to rotate the 2nd Century Legatus,” Pilatus reported to Marcus-Antonius riding up near him.
“Not now,” Merenda replied tensely and waved for Nak to give him an update as with all the white smoke Dhin-Awal had produced to help his troops advance, he didn’t have a full picture of what was happening in the field. “He needs to hold them in place!”
The Legatus turned his horse around and rode near the firing Scorpios. The long line of machines extending almost across the whole front, with the heavier Catapults about thirty meters behind them on the plateau’s edge. The sound of the panicked horses and the heavy thudding of the torsions working, made it difficult to communicate.
“Legatus,” Plautus said riding close to Merenda’s horse. “Celsus reports heavy fighting inside Moeras. It is Captain Nak’s report really.”
“Can he assist?” Merenda asked looking at Nak’s messenger sprinting towards them. In the distance and with the smoke clearing some, most of the Khanate’s machines could be seen standing idle and out of range. Several were burning but behind him parts of Eagle’s Nest were alight also. Parts of Visserhaven were smoking as well and there was probably a crater where Moeras once stood given the amount of shells it had received for two straight days.
“He tried but was repelled. Too many archers guarding the corn field,” Plautus reported and Merenda grimaced in frustration thinking of Indus. Hang on in there mate, he thought and turned to listen as the heavy-breathing messenger started talking immediately.
“The third wave collapsed,” the young Issir reported. “Optio Nak says the enemy has received atrocious casualties’ sir! We killed at least three with each bolt! They were forced to spread their ranks out!”
“I want a report from Centurion Andronicus and the 4th!” Merenda barked to be heard. “You get there and run right back! What’s your name lad?”
“Dan Mayer sir!” The messenger replied and saluted before running down the incline towards the 4th’s positions.
“Pilatus, is Tasius with Celsus?” Merenda asked turning to the Centurion of LID.
“Yes sir he is.”
“I need an account on the casualty numbers,” Merenda explained. “We must know whether they have another wave in them or not!”
“I’ll know in twenty minutes sir,” Pilatus said and turned his horse around to ride towards the watchtower. Celsus was more worried about Damascus’ situation than what was happening in the center.
Merenda was worried about that also but he had to split his attention to a lot of fronts and not lose sight of the flow of battle.
“We’ll need to attack when they have expended themselves,” the Legatus explained to the nervous Plautus. “It’ll be more obvious when we know what Glycia and Domus are doing on the Visserhaven flank.”
“That’s a lot of critical points put to the test,” Plautus commented with a grimace of discomfort, looking twice as worn out as the Legatus. “If one fails… we might find ourselves as tragic heroes in a sad story used as a cautionary tale sir.”
“What type of cautionary tale?” Merenda asked and raised the spyglass to observe the Khanate’s offensive getting mowed down trying to cross the flats and reach their barricades. Half of the soldiers marching against them never making it and those that did met with brutality by the legionnaires the moment they jumped over the first wall. Hours in Dhin-Awal had pushed the Cohorts back to their second ring of fortifications but it was a controlled and planned retreat, with Merenda keeping his force rested as much as it was possible. While he had no reserve left, Marcus-Antonius knew he had enough to stop Dhin-Awal in the center with almost a thousand men to the Khanate’s two thousand but with advantage in short-range artillery that was still being used. Satemi had to stop his bigger machines with the two forces now in contact but Celsus had kept firing over them to Dhin-Awal’s staging areas.
The hemp fields were littered with dead bodies and more were piling up around the barricades.
“I don’t want to jinx it sir.”
“You don’t believe in jinxes Plautus!” Merenda retorted hoarsely with a tensed grin.
“At this junction it’ll be nigh foolish to test whether I’m right Merenda,” the academic replied wryly.
Merenda turned on the saddle to glance at the two praetorians.
“You don’t want to jinx sir. Best to leave Luthos out of it,” Vegetius agreed soberly and Cucan nodded taking his que from his friend.
“Aye,” Cucan said and pursed his mouth.
At least everyone is in plaguing agreement!
“Lots of superstition today,” Merenda commented and puffed out to relieve some of amassed tension. “Cucan ride to Celsus and get me that god darn report,” he finally ordered. “I need to know what’s happening with Memon and Damascus before I commit.”
-
Part III
Prefect Damascus
1st and 2nd Auxilia
Noon
Scrap at Sugarcanes Grove
The rider came charging wildly towards the barricade, the horse’s mouth covered in bloody froth and the protruding -at least half a body ahead of man and horse- lance lowered. Damascus raised his shield instinctively, when he should have dived out of the way, but auspiciously the rider was struck by a bolt right at the neck and veered madly to the left.
The headless rider blasted past two meters away from him and the Prefect faltered on his legs afore he was bumped from the sides by another horse. Damascus swung his spatha blindly and hit his opponent on the shoulder breaking the long bone called humerus just below the upper joint. The Prefect made to pull away from the kicking horse’s chest but realized he’d a lance’s shaft protruding out of his right leg.
“Argh!” Damascus growled with his heart thundering inside his chest and turned the sword inwards to chop at the shaft in order to free himself. The rider, bleeding down the right shoulder and with his arm dangling almost detached, tried to reach for a short axe but was skewered in turn by a hurled javelin that went in through his left ear and exploded out of his right temple. Brain matter, gore and both of the Horselord’s eyes bursting out.
Praised be Tyeus!
Damascus hacked at the shaft and got himself away from the maddened horse, five meters away another bolt killing two slavers fighting back to back and another jumping from the lip of the barricade onto a young Issir dagger in hand. They both went down, the chaos unfolding around the Prefect making it impossible to tell who had the upper hand. The last attack had turned into a free-for-all with soldiers and slavers engaging even in hand to hand combat.
The Prefect stumbled forward, part of the lance still lodged in his right thigh and was immediately attacked by a burly slaver carrying a large scimitar. The slaver, wearing heavy makeup and large gold earrings hacked at Damascus’ Scutum vehemently with wild cries of intimidation. Damascus parried with his spatha, blades clanging and mouth distorted in a maniacal snarl.
His shield came apart, the vambrace stopping the blade but it still sliced at his forearm as the slaver dragged it back and forth, despite Damascus scoring a deep gash on his sternum through the torn mail. The slaver slashed again stepping back and it almost took the Prefect’s head clean off, but just as the injured Damascus lost his footing, the sober face of Memon appeared through the raised dust and sun-induced haze, right behind the burly snarling slaver. The older officer grabbed the slaver by the chin with his free hand and opened a wide laceration just under it with the other that was wielding a military dagger.
The blood gushing out of the slaver’s slit throat like wine out of a barrel.
“Gratitude,” Damascus rumbled trying to stand and Memon stooped to help him. He then wiped the bloody dagger on his tunic while Damascus slowly stood on his feet. Memon proceeded to unsheathe a legion spatha with a fancy handle the struggling Damascus recognized. “The Legatus sword?”
Ligur’s was his meaning.
The covered in gore Memon grunted with a grimace and examined the winding down scrap all about them. The road and barricades –those not outright destroyed or burning- littered with killed, maimed or both, men and animals. Cries and neighs all mixed up into a strange otherworldly cacophony.
“They are running,” Memon rustled and looked about him for the bandaged Lentulus that was resting with his back on a half-collapsed barricade. “Hamadi lost the scuffle in the woods. Um. Cita came through lad.”
Damascus groaned and limped towards the corpse of Centurion Pier Estes. The man had been killed right next to the young officer taking an arrow to the face. He stopped unable to continue and bleeding down his leg. Damascus had to use his sword as a cane to remain standing.
“Volker,” Memon barked hoarsely at the sergeant that had appeared with a group of five soldiers out of the dust clouds that were slowly settling down. “Come help the Prefect!”
“Medic!” Volker yelled immediately and one of Ninius Campanus’ pupils hurried near them. Ninius was one of the three Dottore that were part of the First’s medical staff. Bulla, Campanus and Megellus. The first two from Cartagen, the latter from Aegium.
“Ah,” Damascus let out a groan of pain, still rattled from the fierce struggle that had come too close for comfort. For a moment, the Prefect believed they were all dead. “Fucking leg hurts,” he grunted, through gritted teeth with a shudder.
“That’s good,” Memon said, then walked near a moaning Slaver that had a ripped open stomach and stabbed him through the chest with the heavy sword to finish him off. “Had it severed the artery you wouldn’t feel a thing and be dead inside a minute.”
“Fuck,” Damascus groaned and shook his head. “I don’t feel any better.”
“You won lad,” Memon noted raspingly and approached him. He started loosening the straps on his plumed legion helm to remove it. The parts of his face exposed covered in dark grime but the rest of it clean underneath. “But you lost a god darn ton of men.”
“The road is secure,” Damascus hissed and flinched when the medic attempted to touch the bloody broken lance still buried in his leg.
“Aye.” Memon agreed and spat down to clean his mouth. “There are two kinds of generals,” he finally said hoarsely. “Ligur was one type. He told me to cut him down.”
The grimacing in pain, heavily sweating Damascus stared his way with narrowed eyes. “What?” He croaked in surprise.
“The Legion wouldn’t have surrendered with him still breathing. They wouldn’t do it to the old man. They couldn’t let him down like that and Ligur knew it. We would have fought a lost battle to the bitter end. But not with him gone. It relieved them of the shame taking it upon himself. Um. The caring general speaks through actions and not words.”
Damascus shook his head trying not to scream as the medic pushed to get the shaft out of his bleeding flesh. “You killed the Legatus?” He croaked still in shock.
Why would Memon tell me this?
Memon nodded, his wrinkled and dirty face full of sadness at the memories. “I killed my friend.”
“I don’t understand.” Damascus murmured through clenched teeth.
“Someday you will.”
“What now?” Damascus asked a moment later to get his mind away from the gruesome job the grimacing medic was doing on him and the older Prefect’s confession.
“Kost is coming here,” Memon replied and sheathed the late Legatus sword. “I reckon we’ll know.”
----------------------------------------
“Hamadi retreated from the woods. I’m pretty sure I nailed him once,” the Issir ranger Noud Kost told them half an hour later. “We lost some young lads but my unit has plenty of hunters that know these woods and can use it to their advantage.”
The pale and hurting Damascus grimaced. “Would Bedas attack again?”
“We hit their rear during their final assault,” Kost explained. “Young men and a few older heads got carried away, killed many of the injured, a bunch of slaves and anyone looking foreign enough or collaborating,” he smacked his lips and traced a bleeding scar under his ear with a dirty finger. “Put the fear of Uher in the rest of them.”
“Lentulus?” Memon grunted. “What’s the tally?”
“Eh, Prefect… I don’t have a complete casualties number at this point,” Lentulus replied with a grimace of distress either from the query or his wound. He’d been injured above the elbow and had his right arm bandaged. “Estes was killed. Lambert is gathering those that can still fight just in case we have to.”
“How many?” Memon yelled at the galvanizing the troops Centurion who was about ten meters away from their custom field headquarters. Just a stool really for Damascus set in the middle of the looking bombarded road. Lambert was an Issir, also a veteran and pretty long in the tooth but he’d been given a high rank to lead and train the Auxilia.
“A hundred and eighty Prefect,” Lambert replied loud enough to be heard.
Good grief, Damascus thought distraught.
“There it is then,” Memon said soberly to Decanus Lentulus. “Your number. By the way, the 1st will need a new Centurion. I recommend you Lentulus. I have to, given the lack of officers left standing, so don’t let this get into yer head.”
“Yes sir. Gratitude,” the discomforted Lentulus croaked with a grimace of pain in the attempt to raise the bandaged arm in salute.
“Do we head towards Moeras?” Damascus asked still numb with the news and feeling weakened from blood loss. The medic Julianus had recommended laudanum but the Prefect had refused.
“Moeras is leveled,” Memon rustled. “There’s nothing left alive in there. Tell him,” he ordered the ranger.
“Cita will move near the lake again, see if he can help.” Kost responded vaguely.
Damascus pursed his mouth.
“If you want to win,” Memon noted looking at the pale-faced young Prefect intently. “You need to threaten Meertje. Today. Tell him the rest Decanus Kost.”
“Cita says the Legatus moved the army forward,” Kost replied. “He spotted the banners marching down the slopes. He’s counter attacking.”
Merenda was actually attempting to win in spite of the odds.
“If Indus failed and the Legatus wasn’t sure about us then that means…” Damascus murmured trying to process all the new information. Good and bad. He almost lost his will to continue for a moment, a wave of weakness washing over him.
“Glycia kicked Birka in the gonads,” Memon finished the thought for the silent Damascus. “I sort of expected it, which is why I didn’t want us to move from here. Now though,” the veteran Prefect added thoughtfully, a hint of finality in his gravelly voice. “We’ve got to march after Bedas and Hamadi. You don’t expect everything to fall yer way, but you can be appreciative and not drag your heels when something does.”
“I can barely stand,” Damascus croaked unsure and Memon nodded in agreement afore adding in his usual very serious manner.
“That’s why you’ll ride. It was your idea lad and now you’ll get to own it.”
-
> Glycia led the 1st Century in a flanking maneuver some hours into Dhin-Awal’s general attack. The Primus Pilus managed to surprise the busy attacking him for hours by then Birka and Kontar. The Khanate infantry general had committed to an assault at Visserhaven’s half-ruined west walls as he’d lost the artillery duel early that morning. With his machines moving inside the marshes, it was difficult to approach and impossible to disengage when the defenders volume of fire increased with the addition of Prefect Domus’ Scorpios. So Birka attacked and reached the walls but faced stiff resistance against a more rested opponent. With Glycia moving in a wide maneuver to his left –the north- on the main road, the men guarding Birka’s flank and connecting him with Dhin-Awal’s also engaged center were overrun by the strong 1st Century. Perhaps Merenda’s most veteran unit of long-serving professional soldiers.
>
> With his guards smashed and control of the road now disputed, Birka tried to disengage from the walls. Some units managed to turn and counter-attacked towards the road but Glycia expected them on sturdier ground. The Khanate soldiers came piecemeal and with low morale after the unexpected reverse. They were shattered and pushed back into the marshes. Kontar who had been at the rear to address some supply concerns saw the danger and ordered his archers to screen Birka’s retreat.
>
> Glycia ordered the Century into testudo formation and slowly started to advance down the road towards Kontar’s position under a barrage of arrows. At the same time, Birka’s men tried to escape retracing their steps through the marshes but it was a grueling slow affair and the 2nd, 3rd and 4th Centuries of the 1st Cohort came after them out of the now freed Visserhaven under Prefect Domus. Birka was injured or killed at this point and all cohesion broke down. While a fighting retreat was viable, the Khanate’s soldiers panicked, with men diving in Granlake’s waters or running deeper into the marshes trying to reach safety. Weapons, machines and supplies were abandoned. While Domus entered Birka’s camp breaking through Kontar’s desperate defenses with a surprise flanking attack, Glycia to his north had turned and was now marching on the road moving parallel to the Hemp Fields, which was threatening Dhin-Awal’s center.
>
> On the other flank kilometers away, Pourem had managed to clear out the burning Moeras despite the heroic resistance of the 2nd Cohort who were tragically wiped out to the last man. The Khanate general regrouped near noon and knowing Dhin-Awal was attacking Merenda’s center under heavy shelling, stalled to contemplate his next move. The reason for the small delay was that Mereb who had been tasked with holding against Captain Nak’s guards to the southeast of the village near a corn field, was now under shelling also as Celsus had sent a number of machines there.
>
> Pourem ordered Umi to move his machines forward, the engineer was on the other side of the village at the end of King’s Forest, and assist the panicking Mereb, as Pourem intended to strike there when his men had regrouped. Then he was informed by Dhin-Awal that they were getting flanked from the Visserhaven front –that apparently had collapsed- and changed his mind. The alarmed Pourem gave orders to his infantry to prepare for a redeployment behind their army’s center in order to counter Glycia’s flanking advance and then reclaim control of the road, but not ten minutes later everything changed for the worse.
>
> Dhin-Awal’s center, a two thousand strong attacking force, had gone in three large waves but after the last one had been launched and failed to scale the heights, red legion banners appeared right behind the retreating under heavy shelling men. At the top of the plateau the clad in his Legatus armour Marcus-Antonius had ridden forward flanked by about thirty riders that was the bulk of his cavalry and waving his sword emphatically had urged the 3rd and 4th Cohorts forward. Over the edge and towards the flats after the retreating Horselords. The Reserve Army’s leader realizing the Legion was about to attack them ordered his men to regroup and prepare to fight them on the same terms.
>
> Despite losing about half his force, sources claim almost two thirds by that point but this appears excessive, Dhin-Awal had enough to stand against the two Cohorts. What he didn’t have was the legs and morale.
>
> Pourem who was still in Moeras, was now anxiously receiving updates every ten minutes about the changing situation. The next missive was from one of Hamadi’s aides informing him that the Slavers general had been gravely injured inside the grove. Before Pourem could absorb this piece of terrible news, Bedas informed him that they had been crashed by superior numbers at the Battle of the Canes (the third fought there) and was retreating towards Meertje under pursue by enemy forces.
>
> The Khanate’s general faced a huge dilemma at that point. With around eight hundred men still available plus Mereb’s around three hundred archers/scouts, he had one the larger forces still capable of turning the battle. The problem was that from one hand Glycia was moving completely unbothered to attack the engaged Dhin-Awal’s center from the flank, with Birka KIA and Kontar’s force scattered. On the other hand, Lord Bedas’ missive had left him with a sense of doom about the Master of Slaves will to continue fighting and Pourem feared that Meertje was in grave danger of falling into enemy hands. The port was now vital as Glycia had cut off the army’s road of retreat –or was about to- through the King’s Road and the Forest. Pourem knew that if the men realized they had been cut off in enemy territory, morale would plummet and he could lose control of the situation completely.
>
> So with a heavy heart Pourem ordered his men to move towards Meertje and secure the lake port, while messaging the pressed Dhin-Awal that they needed to retreat immediately.
>
> ‘My Lord,’ Pourem had written. ‘The battle is lost, but we don’t have to lose the whole army here. You have to do the right thing.’
-
Part IV
Marcus-Antonius Merenda
First Legion’s Center
The Hemp Fields
Late noon
“Coming through!” The engineer driving the horse-drawn Scorpio yelled and blasted past the Legatus’ horse with its small wheels bouncing up and down the ground. Merenda pulled at the reins to keep the scared animal at bay, as more and more fast-moving machines came down the slopes to create a new line nearer to the moving front. The battle raging across the whole battlefield with all units fully engaged.
Centurion Andronicus messenger arrived at the same time a rider came from the Fort they had left behind.
“Legatus, the enemy is disengaging!” The legionnaire reported saluting sharply.
“Towards Glycia?” Merenda asked trying to keep the horse from turning this way and that. “God damn it!” He cursed and then forced a strained smile on his face. “Do go on lad.”
“They are moving towards Moeras sir,” the soldier replied.
“Vegetius,” Merenda asked turning to find the mounted legionnaire. “What did Memon’s missive say?”
“Ahm, they are marching to Meertje?” Vegetius replied with a frown.
“Order them not to engage,” Merenda decided and then glared at Vegetius who turned to stare at Cucan. “Now. Move for pity’s sake. Get the word to the headquarters!”
“Right sir,” Vegetius replied and casually turned his horse around to head towards Eagle’s Nest.
“You better move livelier than that legionnaire,” Merenda snapped to get him going and grimaced seeing another rider approach their group. “You too. Better speak fast son,” he told the first rider.
“Celsus reports that Captain Nak is advancing through the corn field sir,” the Issir reported. One of Baron Eman’s aides.
“They are retreating for real,” Merenda murmured trying to gather his thoughts amidst the ruckus of the ongoing fight happening about fifty meters away. He had ridden near the road to be near Glycia’s Cohort but the Primus Pilus had advanced too deep and was now about half a kilometer up the road heading to the King’s Forest.
“Pilatus,” the Legatus finally said. “Any news from Moeras?”
“Nothing sir,” the LID officer replied soberly and Merenda nodded trying to keep the worry from his face.
“Order the Cohorts to pursue the enemy,” he told the messengers, just as the second rider arrived near them raising a dust cloud that covered their horses. “I want Moeras retaken,” Merenda added gravely. He stared at the sullen messenger a little perturbed. The Issir had an engineer’s uniform on with an apron worn over his tunic.
“Yes?” Merenda grunted tensely.
“Sir, Optio Nak informs command Prefect Celsus has perished in the line of duty,” the devastated engineer recruit reported.
“What manner of bullshit is this? I just had a message from him!” Merenda blasted the young Issir.
“Legatus, the Prefect was killed attempting to inspect a trebuchet. It was an accident sir,” the Issir reported holding back tears. “The counterweight came loose.”
“Ah,” Merenda gasped shaken at the news, and stood back on the saddle. “Just… fuck it. Get back to your unit,” he ordered the sullen messenger. “Inform Optio Nak he has overall command of the machines.”
Merenda watched the rider heading back up the gentle slopes and let out a breath he had been holding. After a moment of silence, he turned on the saddle to face his sober entourage, both veterans of the First Legion and men he had brought with him. With a glance at the rubbing at his forehead visibly saddened at the news Caius-Mellitus Plautus, the skilled engineer’s closest friend, the Legatus’ spoke in a steady voice. “To lose a dear friend is to die yourself a little on the inside. Each loss equally felt,” Marcus-Antonius paused, suddenly bothered by a lump in his throat and worked at the straps under his chin using three fingers to combat the discomfort, pretending he was trying to better secure his plumed helm afore continuing. “Let us win the day as Lorians comrades, mourn for those lost on the morrow in the same way and leave the rest to the Gods above.”