Chapter 34. Rooster Helmet (4)
The midnight raid on the previous night had utterly shattered Pompeianus's plan. His scheme to whittle us down methodically with catapults and then finish us off with disease had been foiled by the valiant charge of the 11th Cavalry.
The price we'd paid wasn't cheap by any means, but strategically speaking, Pompeianus had borne the heavier losses.
In the end, he was forced to choose: either smash headlong into our legion on the front lines or stand by and watch as our reinforcements arrived.
Pompeianus chose to attack. And that judgment was perfectly sound. Even if the siege would cost him, the enemy outnumbered us by more than three to one and had the momentum. If he fought by the book, his chances of victory were solid.
Even so, we've lost Jarlmal. For his death not to be in vain, I'll break you here.
From atop the watchtower, I glared down at Pompeianus as he surveyed his army from horseback.
"Legion, advance!"
At the signal from the standard bearer, the legionaries marched forward in perfect formation. True to their training under the great general Pompeianus, the enemy troops exuded an overwhelming pressure just by their presence. This was no clumsy phalanx formation like before.
I watched their approach and then raised my hand.
"Catapults."
"Catapults, ready!"
Riti echoed the command. With all their catapults destroyed, our defensive preparations were far smoother. Still, this wouldn't be an easy fight.
I licked my parched lips and bellowed at the top of my lungs.
"First strike on the enemy center. Fire catapults!"
"Fire catapults!"
Our catapults unleashed a volley of stones all at once. Massive boulders rained down like hail on the enemy ranks, forcing their legionaries to hastily raise shields to block them.
We'd used smaller stones for range, so the enemy took minimal damage from the barrage.
Of course, that was part of the plan.
As the enemy closed in on the stockade, our soldiers gripped their long spears and shields, bracing to receive them. Boruman took command of the defenses.
"Pyramid formation!"
The enemy legionaries swiftly crossed the ditch in front of the stockade and flattened themselves against it. A few hesitated at the sight of the feces-filled trench, but it didn't disrupt their lines much.
Soon, soldiers around the pyramid-makers raised shields to form a wall. It was a common battlefield improvisation: human ladders to scale the walls quickly.
But the fact that they could pull it off on the fly was proof of how well-drilled Pompeianus's legionaries were.
As I calmly observed the assault from the watchtower, Ershiang spoke up.
"Archers on standby?"
"Not yet. Rubiot!"
"Yes, sir!"
He responded with full force.
"Prepare the flour. Use every last grain from the legion's stores if you have to."
Seeing their improvisation, I'd chosen flour as a way to immediately throw the enemy into disarray. My own battlefield hack.
"Understood."
As I watched the enemy heads poking steadily over the stockade, I finally played my prepared trump card.
The most effective weapons in a siege were boiling water and oil—they inflicted instant casualties and sowed terror. But preparing them took time.
While Rubiot got things ready, I drew my sword and charged the enemy soldiers who'd climbed over using their human pyramids.
"Not one step back. We are the empire's wall. Give no quarter to these shit-eating rebels! Tear into the enemy with honor!"
I roared the orders like thunder and plunged into the fray, swinging my blade.
In such a numerically hopeless fight, I had to step in personally during crises. Only then would the green troops behind me not dare think of fleeing.
I bared my teeth at a charging enemy legionary and kicked his knee with my iron greave. He buckled, his sword locked against my shield. I shoved with my shield, toppling him, then crushed his throat underfoot.
"Enemy on the left watchtower!"
In the midst of felling a few more, an officer shouted. Hearing it, I whirled, my red cloak billowing, and sprinted to the precarious tower.
"Hold your ground! Ain stands at your backs."
The legion commander's sudden arrival bolstered the faltering soldiers facing the enemy assault.
Shoulder to shoulder with them, I bashed and kicked back the surging enemy legionaries.
Just then, Rubiot arrived with soldiers carrying flour sacks. I barked at him immediately.
"Rip open the sacks, load them on the catapults, and hurl them in front of the stockade!"
Rubiot rushed the flour to the catapults.
Creak-thunk.
The flour sacks launched skyward and crashed before the stockade.
Poof!
The instant they hit the ground, an enormous cloud of flour particles billowed outward. A white fog engulfed the entire enemy front line in seconds. The troops panicked, blinded and choking on the powder.
I seized the moment and ordered Ershiang.
"Ershiang! Loose!"
Ershiang, who'd been waiting for the word, waved the white flag.
Twang. Thwip-thwip-twip.
Hundreds of arrows streaked through the flour fog into the flailing enemy.
Too busy shielding their eyes and noses or stumbling blindly, they were easy targets for the arrow storm.
"Press the attack! Rubiot, keep the flour volleys coming. The momentum is ours now. For the legion to see tomorrow, we must inflict heavy losses."
Under my command, the legion tore ruthlessly into the enemy's momentary weakness. The surprise flour barrage followed by arrows inflicted serious casualties.
I drew my sword again and shouted to Boruman.
"Boruman! I'll give you a battalion. Open the camp gate and hit their flank!"
"Yes, sir!"
I wasn't the kind of commander to miss a visible opportunity just because we were on the defensive. In numerical inferiority, we couldn't afford to waste any chance.
Caught off guard by our counterattack, the 29th and 30th Legions took heavy hits before hurriedly withdrawing across the plain. We'd tasted bitterness in the opening skirmish, but this time, victory was ours.
The soldiers' triumphant faces made the winner clear.
After personally encouraging the troops who'd fought so hard, I climbed back to the watchtower.
Pompeianus was watching us too. Did he realize he couldn't break us in this battle and now sought a truce on decent terms?
I almost hoped so. For a general of his caliber to fall in civil war would be a tragedy for the empire—and for him.
An hour later, a messenger came from Pompeianus's side.
As expected, he requested a parley.
We agreed to meet in the neutral ground between our camps. If this civil war could end here, I'd ask for nothing more.
Muttering that unlikely wish, I stepped out of camp.
"Legion Commander Ain. Having felt the prowess of the empire's rising hero in the flesh, I see you're no pushover."
"The honor's mine. I've learned Pompeianus's reputation is well-earned. Had you led the Praetorians in the pacification campaign, the barbarians and Anpianus would've been finished in the first clash."
I spoke my honest mind. Rage over Jarlmal's death was one thing, but I had to respect the enemy's ability.
"It's frustrating for me. I can't even overcome the legion commander before me, and with three more legions converging, this battle looks grim."
"Then seek His Majesty's mercy. Pledge your loyalty to the empire again, and I'll submit a petition on your behalf."
Pompeianus gave a bitter smile at my words.
"I appreciate the offer, but how can a lion lick bones from a dog's lair? The eagle I swore fealty to died by Baccus's hand. Why kneel to the crow that makes the empire cower before barbarians?"
"If your resolve is firm, why request this meeting?"
I asked calmly.
"To make one last plea to you, Legion Commander Ain."
"If you're asking me to lend strength to the era of soldier-emperors, even if my head ends up on a pike, I won't."
"Think it over, Commander. The empire is rotten, corrupt, and endlessly weak. Leave it in Baccus's hands, and the nation might vanish.
You, of all people, know how weakened the legions have become, how the empire's military has regressed.
Trust me. Give me this one chance, and I'll rebuild the legions. Restore the borders and return authority to the empire. I stake my life on it."
Pompeianus's steely gaze bored into me.
I met it and spoke.
"There's a saying: the empire wasn't built in a day. You've heard it, surely?"
"Who hasn't?"
"Then my answer is set. The current emperor's throne and legitimacy come from the empire's history and the Senate.
Overthrowing that by legion might is no different from shattering imperial legitimacy. What became of the soldier-emperors who rose with words like yours?
Your point is valid, but topple the principles at the empire's foundation, and even a millennium of glory can crumble overnight."
"That doesn't mean we leave the rotten system be."
"That's not for the legions to decide. We're the empire's wall, not players in political strife."
Our gazes clashed coldly. Pompeianus held mine for a moment, then wore a rueful expression.
"I half-expected this when I requested the talk, but it seems we can't coexist."
"A pity."
"When convictions and desires clash, blood must flow to prove who's right. Regrettable, Legion Commander Ain."
"Likewise."
"One last question."
As I turned to leave, Pompeianus spoke.
"Even if you win this, the northern legions won't last. If barbarians exploit the gap and resume their waves of invasion under Baccus's reign, what will you fight them with?"
I placed a hand over my heart in answer.
"Me and my legion. We'll guard the borders silently whenever the empire demands, endure hopeless battles. That's our duty. No need to calculate or fear it."
"A true soldier's answer, exemplary. Whichever of us survives, the empire won't lack a pillar to lean on. No regrets later."
Pompeianus slowly rode back to his lines.
I watched his retreating figure, then turned my horse.
After the parley, Pompeianus spread his legions wide but made no further moves.
He must have judged annihilating us before reinforcements arrived impossible. So, once the three legions assembled and descended to the plain, he'd force a pitched battle?
Pompeianus wouldn't yield easily. He held the edge in both cavalry and infantry.
But facing three legions at once meant accepting heavy losses.
After a pyrrhic victory, he'd still have to contend with the capital's defenses—and replacing Baccus wouldn't be easy then.
So he had to act before our assembly completed.
What are you aiming for?
I pondered his likely plays.
One: flanking maneuver.
If he planned to let our forces assemble unhindered, there was no need to hold this plain for battle. He could swing southwest, drive toward the imperial heartland, and force us into a hasty pursuit—for strategic gain.
But that invited pincer attacks from the capital defenses, a risky gamble matching the rewards. A by-the-book general would dismiss it.
Another: war of attrition.
Ironically, our frontier legions had mobilized hastily, expecting a quick suppression and return. Supplies were limited.
Entrench solidly, unleash cavalry to cut our supply lines, and he could win without a frontal clash.
Yet this didn't suit Pompeianus either. He'd scraped together forces as a desperate measure, but at heart, he was the empire's eagle.
A man so invested in imperial defense wouldn't wish for a prolonged fight leaving borders exposed.
Predicting his move was tough.
Even imagining myself in his shoes was hard without his experience and mindset.
So.
I simplified. If I couldn't read him, make it impossible for him to read me.
I ordered the camp struck and a retreat to the Drvina River. Hastening our legions' juncture while planting the impression we were scheming something.
(To be continued next time)