Chapter 8
Octavius reached the edge of the forest and met Sulla. He tried to hide his shocked silence, but he was unsure how well he did that. For the first time in his life, he was struggling to contain himself.
Charging over the shattered wall before the enemy could regroup was one thing. It would have been normal given what they’d had to face thus far. Facing their weapons head-on was another thing, of course, but he’d been certain the concern had been minimal then. Torching the city was yet another thing, of course, but again, normal given the circumstances. An exercise in training for the men he’d brought with him even if Sulla had not arrived. Yet for the first time in his life, the general had witnessed a simple, undeniable, and bone-chilling reality of how war was fought now.
They weren’t fighting mere barbarians or invaders who had no sense of fighting prowess.
The skinny child kicking and using knife and gun to slaughter men twice his size, the desperate- near dead defenders who continued to shoot their weapons all on their own despite so much of the wall having collapsed on them and the fact they were facing a hundred men. The constant uncoordinated use of their artillery still harassing and preventing a full breakthrough there- he could not imagine it elsewhere having success.
So he only stared at Sulla. The man was a good soldier. And he… He had to face the facts, face what he had seen, and deny that reality with all his might if he wanted to win.
“They are nearly broken, but the men need to be reinforced!” he shouted as more of the small but still dreaded artillery fell nearby.
Sulla only nodded and blew a whistle.
Octavius shouted “Mage! Mage!”
The young man quickly called out, out of breath.
“One swift, final attack! Get the ballistae prepared now! Archers! Archers, up now! Ready yourselves!”
“Yes, general!” the mage answered without hesitation. Already the legion was mobilizing, as if even without hearing his orders, they could all detect that victory here was possible.
These were good men. They were the best of the empire. He pushed away the thought of abandoning the century to their fates. They had gotten in. They had! He’d seen it. But it seemed the survivors of the walled attack held them back long enough for their own reinforcements to reach.
But he’d also only seen a few men with their guns. Damnable toys.
“Daylight is almost upon us.” Sulla replied as Octavius managed to hide behind a thick tree and sit behind it.
“Better for us, the mixture of day and night in the twilight should hurt their senses somewhat. Have your men advance quickly. I counted no more than ten defenders left. Anyone else alive is too wounded to fight. Arrows and our ballistae should give them the cover they need to win.”
Have to…
“Of course, general. Paired with the other centuries still harassing the other walls, this will be the decisive blow.”
“Yes. Yes. Once that’s done, we torch this damned place and force those sons of whores to negotiate a good peace.” he managed as he stood back up to watch over the battlefield.
“Of course, sir.”
As the trumpet sounded and men pushed forward, Octavius ignored the staring, feline eyes in the darkness.
***
They’d somewhat “dug in” on the debris. Rhodes hadn’t ordered him to flee just yet, so he lay there on the broken stone and dust along with the others. About seventeen in total, really. There was a guy with an M14 sitting by a piece of wall still standing, but he looked partly delirious as they eyed the approaching legion.
A whole legion.
Somehow, at the ground level instead of viewing them from another mountain peak, he could appreciate their size a lot more. The shuffling of running feet could be heard over the outbound mortar rounds. The RTO of the 7th Air Cav who was directing it visibly cringed next to Rhodes as the rounds caused no visible effect to the charging mass. Rhodes simply stared ahead stone-faced, briefly adjusting his helmet as he waited for the men to get into range of their guns.
“Hey. Hey, Orville, what the hell happened you?” Tom asked him suddenly as he kept trying to lie against the debris without poking at his cuts more.
Dennis got a closer look at Tom in the twilight now. The guy’s face had blood dripping slightly from a cut under his eye, his helmet still missing and bits of his uniform were in tatters. Next to him, Hastings looked almost untouched, aside from the gash on his forehead.
Alex was gone.
So much of the wall had just crumbled that even those who’d jumped off had been injured as debris fell on them. He could see them, rifles on hand, lying against the still-standing homes. The only positive seemed to be that the fires had all died down, finally. As twilight broke and the city was still standing, he could almost feel a level of relief.
Except he knew it was for naught.
Rhodes said something new to the RTO, but Dennis only heard a strong ringing as he stared at his M16 and bloodied hands. Bloodied. He’d stabbed a guy earlier. To death. He’d made sure of it, and that was with a knife. With his M16… God, he hadn’t counted. The first ten guys who charged at him, right?
Then a new thought, louder over even the advancing steps, yet painfully distant in his mind.
Mom hadn’t killed anyone before, had she? She’d never. Dad hadn’t either. Not that she- that either of us knew… right?
“Orville!”
He blinked, Tom snapping his fingers as he said “Maybe pull back. You’re out of it.”
“No.” he breathed, shook his head, then repeated it, “No. I just…. I gotta catch my breath is all, man.”
“Incoming!” the guy with an M14 shouted as the first wave of arrows flew at them.
“Son of a bitch!” Tom shouted and pushed himself up slightly.
By now Rhodes was barking orders.
“Keep your heads down! Anyone who can shoot stay here! If you can’t, then stand by! The Thirteenth has a nasty surprise for these bastards, but we have to hold keep ‘em off the city until those rounds make their way here!”
Dennis watched as guys with M14s and M16s adjusted themselves as best they could on the pile of debris that had been the wall. Tom checked the M60 for rounds while Hastings pulled a surviving box up of ammo up next to them.
He glanced back up and stared at the forest that seemed to be spewing forth men by the hundreds. It was shrouded in darkness as the sun continued to climb upward. He could see the marching army. These times with shields and armor. No use in facing them with a knife.
He checked his still unused magazine. Still unused. Still 20 rounds in total. He ignored that he only had a few of those left. Rounds were chambered. A second trumpet sounded and more arrows rained out.
Rhodes moved over as arrows rained behind them, too high, but it ensured none of them got up. Still, Rhodes placed his hand on his shoulder and shook him before speaking.
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“They get too close you run, Orville. Am I clear?”
His acknowledgment of the captain was a tired, noncommittal, “I understand, captain.”
He didn’t agree to it and wouldn’t. He focused on the flood of men pushing out of the woods and out of cover. He heard someone whistle as the march turned into a charge. The mass of men disappeared behind a hill for a second while the guys around him held their breath.
In the distance, another set of outbound mortar shots rang, but by the time the infantry charge got through the first hill, they’d scattered too much. Several men fell, one flew backwards at the impact, followed by what he could tell were now severed limbs, but the charge was wholly undeterred.
Dennis heard Rhodes ask the 7th’s RTO, “What’s the time?!”
“Fifty seconds!” the guy replied, and Rhodes turned his attention back to the enemy charge.
They cleared the first set of hills, so by now they had gotten well into range, and Rhodes growled before shouting, “God damn it… Engage!!!”
Machine gun and rifle fire thundered to life as tracers flew toward the charging mass of men. Pinpoint and accurate, bodies began to drop as Dennis squeezed the trigger gently now. He did his best to ignore how more seemed to be pouring out of the woods in an endless horde.
And then he saw the glow.
“Incoming!”
A few guys ducked further down as the enemy artillery flew towards them and exploded almost spot onto their position. Flames flew upwards, someone screamed, but he and everyone there kept firing. More bodies fell. Tom stopped firing and Hastings reloaded the M60 for him in what had to be record time. A third and fourth of the magical high explosives slammed into their positions and the renewed M60 fire answered it. Dennis felt the searing heat but did his best to control his rate of fire as the men continued to charge. Dennis fired a quick burst and saw a chunk of a man's head fly away with that burst, the body stopping as if the momentum had carried the man forward, but the impact of the rounds had stopped him, all before Tom’s 7.62x51mm NATO rounds cut through the still standing but already dead body and the small contingency of smaller men following behind like trees, leaving behind what almost seemed like sawdust that he could see a lot more clearly now as the first rays of sunlight were peering over the field.
Red... gory... sawdust.
Even then, the charge was gaining ground towards their position. Simply put, they didn’t have the men. There was no order to fall back from Rhodes, but deep down, he doubted his captain would give it. The man was committed and focused, continuing to fire at the advancing crowd, same as everyone there. By now he could hear the screaming of the enemy. Orders were being shouted as they pushed their men forward. Dennis felt his M16 click dry just as he thought he’d identified one of these officers. He reached for a fresh magazine as Rhodes now ducked down slightly.
A spear landed near him, and subsequently, near Tom and Hastings.
He glanced at the machine gun crew, their eyes briefly met but quickly they went back to shooting. Dennis felt his M16 bump against his shoulder. The wall of men was getting closer. Yet, frustrating his work, a furious echo angrily kept screaming at him deep within the confines of his mind.
You abandoned your mother.
He fired.
You’ll lose it all.
He fired.
You’ll lose it all and gain nothing.
He fired yet again, the voice finally being drowned out by his own, furious, lashing thoughts as he and the few guys around him faced down a charging army that was ready to cut them down and burn the city behind him to the ground alongside the people in it, combatant or otherwise. Right now, he could only focus on that duty, regardless of his emotions.
Come and die you savages! Come and die!
He never heard the whistling. Not that he had to. The result of the impact had been impossible to miss.
Unlike the mortar rounds, the 105mm rounds from the howitzers impacted with far, far greater force and more dirt, rock, and bodies than the mortars. A geyser of smoke and debris, organic and not, flew upwards first in the center of the advancing wall of men. It threw men aside, ripped limbs from torsos. A second one followed it, landing only a little further into the charge. Suddenly, another hit, another geyser of smoke and debris.
At the sudden additional carnage, the advance paused as the men suddenly realized what the explosion meant. It had been more powerful. Their dispersion had not helped them now, neither had the hills, or tall grass. Dennis imagined what had once been a scared little voice in the back of the mind of every single legionnaire ahead of him was starting to scream at them…
Run, you idiots, run!
“Add fifty! Fire for effect!” their RTO screamed into the radio over the gunfire.
Somehow, Rhodes shouted over even that, “Pour it on boys! Pour it on!”
Tom’s M60 thundered to life once more in a long burst right as the guys around them decided they no longer had to worry about being conservative with their remaining magazines. Their firing positions were full of smoke from the gunfire now. The furious roar of guns echoed cruelly through the fields as a force smaller than a platoon held and waited for the rounds that were now screaming through the air, hurdling with as much accuracy as modern engineering could provide towards their very soft and now very exposed human targets. The ground around the men in the field rose up as the rounds hit one after the other. Mercilessly.
Even then, some of the imperial troops tried to continue the charge against them, perhaps figuring it was safer with the guys calling fire from the heavens than on the receiving end. Perhaps as a final act of defiance. Neither option would have ever saved them.
The 7th’s RTO shouted into the radio, “Repeat!”
Dennis imagined that miles away, the command to fire was repeated at least once more as the fields ahead of them erupted with the pounding of the incoming 105-millimeter rounds. Dennis felt his eyes briefly dart upwards as limbs flew sky high, but his focus was primarily on the suddenly panicked mass of professional soldiers that had been charging right at them less than a minute ago. Their H-E rounds, true high explosive artillery rounds pounded them to mush and ash, and even if these men had been unarmored and could sprint faster than any of them, they couldn’t outrun bullets. A few officers visibly tried to regain order, but there was no salvaging the chaos the American artillery had wrought as even the forest began to suffer hits from the high explosive rounds. Entire trees became death traps instead of cover as natural shrapnel ripped into nearby men seeking refuge, and out in the open, the high explosive rounds were unrestrained in their carnage.
Every army had a breaking point. It was simple human psychology. Suddenly facing the king of the battlefield, the larger artillery guns firing with impunity, safely, miles away, like a cruel god throwing death at them, mere mortals, running was the sole choice for those who cared for survival.
Any of them who thought otherwise were torn to bloody pieces, unknowingly making targets of themselves by standing out more. The pounding followed after them, shattering earth and man alike, but their gunfire did not let up. It would haunt their survivors, he knew and quietly hoped now, the chattering of machine guns mixing with the cracks of rifles and the howls of incoming artillery followed by the thunderous explosion of the impacting rounds…
Dennis reloaded and fired again, watching as bodies fell away, obscured by the smoke of impacting artillery and gunshots, listening to the screams of the dying now barely audible over the sound of modern warfare making its presence known.
Only cold elimination existed in his mind for now, tempered only by the ghostly memories of warm hands that were no longer there.
He only grimaced.
***
Octavius watched in silent horror.
Horror was the only appropriate descriptor.
On the mountains he’d seen the effects of such weapons, but, somehow, out in the fields their impact was far, far greater than up in the mountains. How to even describe such blasphemy against life? Against his fellow man? The enemy iron elephants had once crushed men alive, but he’d seen true elephants do the same when trained. He’d seen wolfmen rip throats clean from their victims, swords chop limps from victims still alive, and yet somehow, none of it felt as uncaring and impersonal as what he was seeing right there and then.
Not the cursed flying machines. Not the long-range weaponry. None of their weapons that seemed to breathe death wherever they were pointed had stopped him as badly as this.
Sulla’s eyes were wide, and he took the chance.
Had to take the chance.
“Get the men back! Back to the mountains! I-”
He was nearly thrown off his feet as whistling followed another round impacting all too close.
“Get Warlock Augustine a briefing! I shall brief the emperor myself!”
“W-what?”
“I shall brief him myself! This… this battle…” he could not finish the sentence, and instead shouted, “Go! Sound the retreat!”
“Retreat?!” Sulla demanded.
“You heard me! You want to stand against that?! Go!”
Sulla was a good soldier, the concept of retreat a shock to him. Still, he did not argue. He followed orders and quickly sounded a retreat. For once, the fact the enemy had ruined their camps felt like a blessing. The men could just grab their few belongings and rations, then flee.
“Seljuk agent! Seljuk agent!!!” Octavius shouted.
He did not see her.
As the barrage again seemed to get closer, he lifted his hand at the city and loudly shouted back.
“You will be made to pay! So long as I live! You bastards will be made to pay!!!”
He dared not promise further.
He fled back behind the hills, ignoring the screams of men left behind in that hellscape of inhuman weaponry and manmade horrors. He ignored his worries about the fact the Emperor’s daughter was still in there, somewhere, and likely had very choice words for her father if she made it out. He ignored how his command looked as it was.
He found his horse, and mounted it instantly, then, ignoring his men, he charged ahead.
If the Empire was to survive, if they were to keep fighting… change was needed, and only he could inform the Emperor of it.
Only he.