Chapter 21. Northern Advance (3)
The barbarians wanted to fight our legion on terms as favorable to them as possible. They pitched camp in an open plain five kilometers from Sian. It was a good spot—plenty of room for their cavalry to maneuver and leverage their numerical superiority.
The barbarians' commanders had chosen the battlefield well. If our heads had been empty, we might have marched right there, clashed gloriously with them, and ended up with our heads on pikes just as they'd hoped.
But we had no intention of playing along with their plan.
"If we load up carts with felled trees and start marching east from Sian, that'll make them sweat."
Riti said.
We planned to lure the enemy onto our chosen battlefield.
Keep heading east, and you'd hit a river. Beyond it lay their tribe's women, children, and elderly they'd left behind. The near bank was safer for fighting, but they'd probably sent them to their old village while we advanced.
What would these bastards think if they saw us building a bridge across that river?
This was also a test to confirm our own strategy. If these barbarians followed us and fought on our turf, it raised the odds that Heigirt would do the same.
Of course, the gap between him and these fools was like heaven and earth.
I turned to the garrison commander.
"Commander Bofiadus. Take the vanguard."
"The vanguard, eh?"
"That's right. Your men lack combat experience—they need the confidence. Up for it?"
"I'll do it. If you entrust it to me."
Garrison commander Bofiadus accepted without hesitation.
We loaded the carts with whole logs instead of supplies. The road linking the legion base and the border forts was packed tight with them.
After watching Bofiadus lead the column out, I handed the legion standard to Rubiot and asked him to hold the center. As the legion's units departed Sian one by one, I marched at the rear with the final group.
"Shoulders back, Maximus. I'm right here with you."
In case the green recruits at the back got cold feet, I encouraged them. Having fought on the border as a centurion, I knew the fear they felt entering unfamiliar territory.
So it was only natural to pay them extra attention.
They seemed relieved, flashing smiles. Having their commander in plain sight did wonders for the troops' morale. I wanted them battle-hardened as fast as possible.
About five kilometers in, Jarmal—the 11th Cavalry commander who'd scouted the enemy lines on horseback—rode up with two troopers. He handed his reins to a subordinate, dismounted, removed his helmet, and reported.
"Just as we figured—they're rattled. They'll chase us soon, overtake us the classic way, and hit our flank. Right on schedule."
"Then they'll try slicing us at the forest edge where the 40th provincial road bends. Right?"
"That's what I'd do."
"Perfect. Stick to the plan: 11th Cavalry waits in the woods. When the legion forms square and they close in to loose arrows, hit 'em hard. Charge at your discretion."
"Understood. As ordered."
The cavalry commander remounted.
"I expect great things from your troopers."
"We'll repay the empire's faith. For the honor of the 16th Legion."
I saluted, hand to chest.
As the 11th Cavalry galloped off, I called for Rikius.
"Rikius!"
"Yes, sir."
"Ride to the front and relay to Bofiadus: Keep marching, swing around the forest past it, and prepare to hit the barbarians from behind. Tell him to hurry—timing's everything."
Rikius saluted across his chest and spurred his horse. I called to the officer walking a few paces ahead.
"Ershiang!"
Ershiang lifted his helmet visor at my voice.
"Hold here. I'll join Rubiot to meet their charge head-on."
He nodded.
I swung onto my horse in one motion. Practice was paying off—my seat felt natural. Gripping the reins, I told a nearby legionnaire,
"Hand me the legion standard."
The soldier who'd been holding the eagle standard left by Rikius passed it over carefully.
Clutching the battle-worn banner, I prayed silently.
'Eagle who's witnessed countless victories. Today we fight for the empire. Watch over us—let us offer it triumph with honor.'
Raising the eagle standard high, I cut through the column. As the bird passed slowly by, soldiers raised shields and cheered.
"Ain! Ain!"
I shook the standard lightly in response to their chants.
At the center, Rubiot waited.
His face was all confidence—a veteran's ease before battle.
Rubiot asked,
"They're coming here?"
"Yeah. The dogs found their grave. Command the square. I'll relieve you when you tire."
"Won't need it."
He grinned, then drew his sword.
"Shields up, eagles! The enemy's closing! Time to show these barbarians what fear means!"
We stood ready, waiting for the foe.
The enemy struck without warning. Scrubby woods dotted the open plain, breaking line of sight. Silencing their approach, barbarian arrows rained down like a storm.
They'd used the underbrush on our left as cover, then spurred forward to close range.
If caught off guard, the column's center would've been shredded.
But we'd anticipated it. Before Rubiot could shout, shields went up. Legionnaires locked them tight as a seamstress's stitch, forming an airtight wall.
Thud-thud-thud.
Arrows hammered the shields with rhythmic fury. They kept pouring it on. Amid the metallic din came the thunder of hooves.
Classic ploy: archers on hamstrung mounts to disorder the square, then cavalry to shatter and split us. It might've worked on paper.
But we held firm.
The legion withstood the volley without a ripple.
Rattled, they hesitated—cavalry poised but uncommitted. In the enemy center, a familiar barbarian raged.
Halcon, father of young Halcon I'd slain. His ambush foiled, temper flaring? Battles never go perfectly.
While their horse hung back, I beat the signal drum.
Jarmal!
My drum called the barbarian auxiliary cavalry commander.
Even as it rolled, their arrows failed to dent us.
Hardened by years on the border, we were seasoned. Not so feeble they'd underestimate us.
Today, they'd feel the mettle of the frontier legion that's guarded the empire's edge for centuries.
I raised the standard high and bellowed,
"Rubiot!"
He answered, sword drawn.
"Infantry! Advance!"
"Waaah!"
The legion broke square and surged toward them. Caught off-guard by our counterattack, the barbarians panicked briefly—then swarmed forward eagerly.
Mounted and dismounted alike, a mindless mob crashing our way.
Proof of fractured command. Explained their sluggish response.
No Heigirt-level leader among them.
I figured that fatal flaw would doom them.
Convinced melee favored their numbers, they bellowed triumph.
Then, from the right woods—roars erupted.
"The empire triumphs today!"
Jarmal's 11th Cavalry burst forth, imperial banners snapping like thunder.
The tangled, slowed enemy horse panicked at the flank charge.
The sudden blow threw their whole line into chaos.
Halcon, frantic, clutched his tribal standard to counter.
Jarmal's riders pierced them like lightning. Banners leading, they trampled all in path—mounted foes, footmen underhoof. No exceptions. Even fellow cavalry, flanks exposed and speed nullified, were mere prey.
"Gack!"
Halcon choked, sword in throat, tumbling from his mount—vanishing under thundering hooves.
Jarmal smashed through, sowing blood. One pass, devastating impact.
As he broke their front, our legionnaires clashed home. Outnumbered, but momentum ours.
Shield clashed on blade, screams followed. Barbarians couldn't swing freely amid their own, distracted front and rear by the cavalry breakthrough.
We ground them down relentlessly.
Standard high, following the line, I spotted Killiet in the center—face twisted in terror.
"The legion prevails! This is our land! Empire soil!"
His furious glare dissolved; he fled into the milling barbarians.
Jarmal's horse wheeled, pursuing. The enemy? Now just game.
Less than thirty minutes—we had total victory. Fleeing survivors, looping the woods, met Bofiadus's hammer blow.
One clash.
Nearly four thousand dead. Fifty named warriors, chieftain kin, leaders—including prime-age Killiet.
He lay amid corpses, arrogant sneer replaced by rabbit fear.
A thrashing for every tribe boasting strength in the old legion zone and beyond.
I ordered heads severed.
No sewer toss as threatened—but warnings for empire foes were due.
We sharpened our logs into stakes, lining the road with severed heads. Hundreds, ownerless, staring down the path.
My message to the barbarians was crystal clear.
Defy the empire, and die.
To those mocking the empire, I sent warning via their own kin's tongueless heads.
(To be continued)