Order and Justice (3)
The rebels held the high ground, while we were stuck in a lousy position. Somehow, I had to lure the enemy away from there.
I paced along the palisade, racking my brain for a way to dislodge them.
But a frontal assault offered no chance of victory. We were hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched by the terrain.
Flutter, flutter.
'At least the wind's in our favor—arrows should fly true. But with the elevation difference, we won't get much out of it.'
I smacked my lips at the sight of the eagle banner flapping from its standard. Our lower altitude severely limited the range of our projectile weapons.
Catapults might help, but they took too long to set up, and sourcing stones was a nightmare.
The rebels, on the other hand, could just reuse the ones from the capital. They'd have us dead to rights in a stone-throwing contest.
Starting one would only get us crushed. Better to avoid it altogether.
I needed another way.
On my way back from inspecting the palisade, I saw soldiers gathered in small groups, preparing their meals. I'd ordered extra meat rations today to reward them after the grueling labor, so the fires under the cook pots burned hotter than usual.
I caught a whiff of the savory aroma, then noticed the men fanning away the smoke with their hands. That's when it hit me—a perfect idea.
'Right. That's it.'
There was one way to deal with the rebels.
I called for Riti at once.
"Riti!"
"Yes, sir."
"Halt palisade construction. Dismantle all the timber and pile it at the base of the pass."
"As you command."
Riti saluted crisply, arm across his chest.
The soldiers began tearing down the carefully built barricade, stacking the logs one by one below the ridge.
As we dismantled it, the watching rebels snorted in derision.
It must have looked like we were packing up to withdraw.
But there was a reason for turning the palisade into a massive pyre.
'This spot's high enough for a strong wind. Time it right, light it up, and the smoke billows straight up to their position. Like smoking rabbits out of their burrow—you can do the same to them.'
Once the piles were ready, I had the men douse them with water. Wet wood made for maximum smoke.
Preparations complete, we set the stacks ablaze.
At first, the water kept the flames from catching properly, but once we poured on beast oil, they roared to life.
As the fires grew, I ordered more wood brought in. Some soldiers waved coarse tent cloths and hides over the blaze, billowing the smoke even thicker.
The pitch-black clouds soon caught the wind, drifting slowly up toward the ridge.
"Fire!"
The rebels below spotted the rising plume and bellowed in alarm, assuming we'd launched a fire attack. With flames that size, it was a reasonable guess.
But fire here wouldn't reach their palisades.
'The rabble can't handle the unknown—they break ranks. What now?'
I glared at the smoke-shrouded heights.
The rebels had few options.
They'd have no choice but to fall back along the capital's walls as planned. Fear overrides discipline, and the organization crumbles.
Even an experienced gladiator like Oclock would know that.
Still, he'd crushed Gratianus—he might pull some unexpected move. I stayed vigilant, watching for their response.
Minutes later, scouts reported some rebels fleeing pell-mell to the rear of the ridge. The rest held position, but it was the unraveling of their army all the same.
'Unbelievable.'
Worked in our favor, though. Fewer enemies meant an easier fight.
I waited for more to break.
Soon, thousands bolted rearward. I gave the order.
"Douse the pyres."
Soldiers fetched prepared water buckets and buckets of sand, pouring them on. The flames died down gradually.
As the smoke thinned rapidly, I summoned Rikius.
"Rikius!"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm entrusting you with the Atillca legion's standard. Take point."
"Thank you, sir."
Rikius hoisted the eagle banner symbolizing the Atillca legion and positioned himself before the smoldering piles. Wisps of gray smoke lingered, but the wind cleared a path.
I gripped the drumsticks myself.
Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!
"Legion! Advance!"
With the rebels scattered by smoke, this was our golden moment.
"Attack!"
At the officers' commands, the soldiers marched in unison toward the heights. Rikius's standard gleamed proudly at the fore.
I beat the drum, watching them climb through the wind-swept smoke.
Step-step-step.
Halfway up, rebel defections accelerated. Through the fading haze, they quailed at the sight of our disciplined ranks.
Victory without a fight?
"Loose!"
No such luck. Arrows rained down like a storm. Soldiers raised shields, blocking as they pressed toward the palisades.
The rebels still had fight left.
'Gladiators and mine slaves?'
I scowled at the holdouts. Not many, but their morale burned bright. From behind their barricade, they showered us with arrows, defiant to the end.
"Smash the palisade!"
Under covering fire, soldiers swung axes with all their might. The hastily built wood gave way under repeated blows, collapsing in a heap. With a roar, the men charged into the breach.
Steel clashed as the lines tangled.
As I watched, Riti approached.
"Sir."
"What is it?"
"The rebels who fled east to the ridge are regrouping."
"What?"
I stared in shock.
Rallying routed rabble in battle isn't easy. Regular troops, maybe—but these were untrained mobs.
Doing it meant they'd prepared rally points in advance.
'They anticipated the smoke would shake the rabble and planned accordingly.'
My gut sank.
Even if it took time, a reformed force on our flank was trouble. Fail to crack the ridge fast, and we'd crumble under side attack.
Oclock wasn't just charismatic and experienced.
'He's a master of improvisation.'
I clenched my fist.
I hadn't expected an easy win, but this was more dangerous than I'd thought.
"Sir. What are your orders?"
I scanned around. While our troops seized the ridge, we had to disrupt the enemy's regrouping.
Just my guard detail, engineers, and quartermasters—barely five hundred total.
I gripped my scabbard.
"No choice. Mount every man here on horseback."
"But we don't have warhorses."
"Pack mules. Use those."
"Will it work?"
No real combat power, of course. But appearances mattered.
Even ragtag "cavalry" charging in could sow chaos among the rebels.
"Nothing else for it. Prepare now."
"Yes, sir."
As Riti loaded men onto the mules, I drew my sword.
So much for an easy fight—I'd have to lead from the front myself.
'Oclock. Win or lose, I'll remember your name.'
I mounted up, blade in hand.
The rebels had set up cook fires along the capital-facing escape route, ready to rally stragglers.
I only spotted it up close.
'Impressive. Prepped feeding stations to regather the men.'
I felt a grudging respect for how Oclock handled the rabble.
Could I have done the same with green troops? Probably not.
But war isn't a fair match. I'd learned that to my bones as a soldier.
"Death to the traitors!"
I slashed my sword downward, shouting.
"Glory to His Imperial Majesty! Victory to the Empire! Punishment to the rebels!"
The men roared back, spurring their mounts.
Thud-thud-thud!
We surged forward at speed toward the traitors. The rebels' faces twisted in panic at our charge.
Infantry like us suddenly fielding cavalry? Beyond their wildest dreams.
"Charge! Shout for victory!"
"Waaah!"
The soldiers bellowed wildly, urging the mules faster.
Seeing hundreds bearing down, some rebels dropped weapons and fled.
That sparked it—their fragile formation crumbled anew.
Of course, we weren't real cavalry.
We thundered straight at them, screaming. Hitting top speed too soon was amateur hour, but we needed to terrify them, deny them time to think.
As some scattered, diehards gripped spears and yelled defiance.
"They're few! Spears up—meet them!"
Arrows whistled toward us. Unhorsed and unskilled, the men couldn't shield properly. Several soldiers and mules tumbled.
Still, we pressed on.
They held because a black cloak snapped ahead.
"Ain's here!"
My shout froze rebels readying spears.
Ain! The Northern Butcher!
Slayer of tens of thousands of barbarians!
As they hesitated, my blade took their heads.
Splatter! Crimson misted past my cloak.
"Don't stop! Punch through their lines!"
I didn't order a melee. Tangling up would expose our horsemanship.
Just blasting through would do.
"Yaaah!"
Our column trampled their first cook site. Rebels swarmed like ants to escape the onslaught.
But more sites to shatter.
"Wheel around!"
I swung my sword; the column turned. Straight to the next.
"Block the Empire dogs! Kill for our future!"
A rebel officer screamed desperately.
I hurled my blade, splitting his skull. He crumpled, face blank.
We smashed the second site, heading for the third.
Two more, and they couldn't flank us anytime soon. Victory ours.
I spat dryly, spurring hard.
Then—
Hiiing!
Mules whinnied from the rear; the column slowed sharply.
I realized: pack animals, exhausted.
'Should've held out longer.'
I gritted my teeth as speed dropped.
Victory in sight, and it slipped again.
"Dismount—all of you!"
Charge into thousands on foot? Suicide. We'd draw their eyes, buy time for reinforcements.
I leaped down, ordering a diamond formation.
As we formed up defensively, rebels—stunned by the sudden cavalry—swarmed back.
I tightened my grip on my sword.
(To be continued)