Wolf Hunt (3)
The barbarians hesitated for a full hour, stunned by my presence. If they'd thought we were just the roughly four thousand allied troops, those bastards would've charged already.
But turning back now would take too much time. Dragging things out risked getting caught by the main Imperial force—that was what scared them most. They had no other choice.
I watched as they sorted out their wagons and carts, lining up thousands of soldiers at the base of the pass.
Mindful of the iron caltrops, they didn't use their horses. Of course, it wasn't a bad thing for them to come at us like this.
I raised my arm.
"Archers to position!"
"Archers to position!!"
The centurions and battalion commanders echoed my order. The archers lined up in front of the stockade and jammed their arrows into the ground. As we prepared for the assault, the barbarians' vanguard raised their banners high.
"Yaaah!"
The barbarians let out a roar and charged up the pass all at once. Clad in fur pelts, they looked like a pack of wolves and bears surging forward.
I watched them rush in, then clenched my fist.
"Ready arrows!"
"Ready arrows!!"
The soldiers snatched up arrows from the ground and nocked them.
The faces of the barbarians, halfway up the pass, came into sharp focus.
I swung my arm down with all my might and bellowed.
"Loose!"
"Fire!"
Whish. Whish-whish.
Our troops unleashed a volley. A steel rain poured from the sky, and the barbarians raised shields to block it. The arrows had little effect.
As they weathered the barrage, some barbarians even picked up the scattered caltrops from the ground.
'If this doesn't work, they'll follow up with cavalry.'
I saw through their intent.
Soon the barbarians crested the pass, howling.
"Waaah!"
They charged toward the stockade with momentum. But hidden there were deep pits.
The vanguard, swinging weapons as they ran, plunged into the earth with a scream instead of a war cry.
"Gaaah!"
Those behind couldn't stop in time and tumbled after their comrades.
As the front ranks fell into the pits, the followers braked hard. Some got shoved in by the press from behind. The barbarians tangled in chaos before the stockade.
I drew my sword at the sight.
The enemy had probed us once to figure out how to cook us up, but I had no intention of playing along. We'd end it in this one clash.
I bellowed.
"Catapults, fire!"
"Loose!"
At the legion engineer officer's shout, flour sacks loaded on the catapults arced through the air.
"Wh-what?!"
Before the barbarians could react, the sacks burst among them.
Boom!
Flour exploded into a thick white fog. Now the enemy below couldn't see our situation.
Sword pointed at the foe, I commanded.
"Let's test if these barbarians have Hercules' courage. Release the cattle!"
"Charge the cattle!"
At my order, soldiers lit fires at the tails of the prepared oxen. Coated with fish oil, the flames wouldn't go out even if the beasts bucked.
Mooo!
Pain driving them mad, the oxen rampaged. We prodded them with spears toward the stockade.
The engineer officer flung open the stockade gate, and the half-maddened oxen thundered out.
Thud-thud-thud! As the bellowing beasts bore down, the disorganized barbarians screamed. They hurled weapons in desperation, but it wasn't enough to stop the furious charge.
From time immemorial, they'd said even lions couldn't halt enraged oxen. It was true. And we'd even armored them lightly with leather.
The barbarians' shouts and thrown weapons did nothing; the oxen only accelerated.
'Unless you're Hercules, you won't handle a stampede.'
I clenched my fist, watching the oxen hurtle toward the barbarian ranks.
Soon they hit.
Crunch!
The oxen trampled obstacles, gored with horns, and plowed through. Human shields meant nothing. One barbarian facing them head-on flew into the air on an ox horn.
The herd crushed the packed barbarians and barreled down the pass. I watched, then roared at the troops.
"Legion, advance!"
"Advance!"
"Waaah!"
The soldiers cheered and followed the herd. I mounted my warhorse.
"Rikius! Raise His Majesty's standard! Time to punish the barbarians!"
"Yes, sir!"
With the golden eagle at my back, black cloak billowing, I charged down the pass.
Catapults kept lobbing flour sacks to match our advance. The barbarians crumbled under the white fog and stampede.
I beheaded those the oxen missed.
Splash!
Hot blood sprayed beside me like waves.
"The Empire triumphs!"
Legionaries cheered, hacking barbarians apart. As the flour fog thinned toward the base, I eyed what should be the intact barbarian main camp.
It was a slaughterhouse, just like ours.
Our stampede had plowed straight through, smashing the center.
Even nomadic cavalry couldn't cope.
I butchered fleeing foes, staying close to maximize kills while they were dazed.
'First target: the Goti.'
Seeing them flee toward the Goti king's banner, I led the men there.
Legionaries slashed barbarians en route to the enemy camp. As we crashed their lines, Goti warriors abandoned wagons, loot, and captives to mount up in panic.
I glanced at the Sartia as the Goti fled helter-skelter.
As expected, they had no intention of aiding the Goti. The Sartia army, spooked by the initial disaster, formed a semicircle outside instead of clashing head-on.
Their intent was obvious.
Wait for our front to disorder using the Goti as meat shields. Even after that mauling, no real cooperation.
Not surprising.
I'd do the same as a barbarian king. Allies in the Empire became rivals back home—no reason to bleed for them.
Better if the foe wrecked each other.
'But that's your limit.'
If the Sartia had hit our flanks aggressively from the start, we wouldn't have had a chance. While they watched, we massacred the Goti.
Even elite nomads like the Goti took massive losses, tangled in wagons.
We slew thousands, neutralizing them.
'Now for the Sartia.'
I used captured Goti wagons to form a circular laager. It would hold against Sartia charges, even without the pass or prepared positions.
The Sartia cavalry circled, probing for gaps, relying on mobility and ranged strikes.
It was the low-cost way to break plains infantry.
That's why they'd watched the Goti burn.
I kept issuing orders nonstop to steady the men. Action dulled fear.
Barbarians showered arrows as they wheeled. Soldiers endured behind shields.
Under that cover, freed civilians brought water and food. Troops chewed jerky, waiting for the Sartia arrows to run dry.
But the assault dragged on.
As their cavalry spun like tops, I noticed the halted Sartia wagon train moving again.
'Luring us out.'
Or buying time to grab loot and withdraw.
Either suited the Sartia. Success meant Goti spoils for them; retreat meant rivals crushed, them safe with gains.
We couldn't allow it.
I ordered a few wagons disassembled.
"Build catapults."
Most took time, but small ones were simple and quick.
While engineers assembled, I checked the wagons' loads.
By then, many Sartia wagons entered the pass—delayed by corpses, or half might've topped it.
As I awaited reports impatiently, the engineer officer said,
"Catapults ready!"
"Good. Load the treasure."
I had the piled gold and silver from barbarian loot loaded. Soldiers looked puzzled, but I had a plan.
"Fire."
"Fire!"
Troops sighed but launched. The world's priciest shells—the treasures—arced skyward.
Then.
Shower!
Gold and silver coins glittered down like rain.
"Keep firing!"
Soldiers hated it, but I pressed on. As treasures scattered across the plain, barbarians noticed. They gawked, baffled.
But only briefly.
"Waaah!"
Many broke formation, swarming the loot. Even arrow-shooters piled in.
I kept the barrage going amid the chaos.
"My god. Did you plan this when you ordered the catapults?"
Rikius stared, incredulous.
I gave a wry smile and nodded.
"I was stumped when the Sartia stayed cool. Then I remembered: greedy barbarians who'd trek hundreds of kilometers for loot.
Can such folk maintain discipline with treasure raining down?"
"Impossible."
Rikius agreed.
It took insane amounts of wealth, luckily seized from the Goti.
I eyed the unraveling Sartia, drew my sword.
"Defense holds! Charge the barbarians! Dedicate this victory to the golden eagle!"
"Glory to His Imperial Majesty! Long live Imperator Ain!"
Troops roared, surging from the laager.
We struck the final blow.
The Sartia, reduced to mere raiders, crumpled before our tidal counterattack.
We slaughtered the rabble. Survivors fled over the pass, abandoning spoils.
We recaptured thousands of wagons and tens of thousands of captives.
I planted my sword in the corpse-strewn plain and knelt before the golden eagle.