Securing the Border (3)
Barbarians loved overcast skies and the cover of night. It created the perfect conditions for them to challenge our smaller-statured imperial soldiers one-on-one.
Once the empire's strengths—our disciplined formations and ranged weapons—were neutralized, the barbarians held a clear edge. Their frames, a full head taller than ours, were tough to counter even with our slight equipment advantage.
That was why I always kept a sharp eye on cloudy weather and nighttime hours. Overcast days placed extra strain on our heavily armored infantry, demanding even greater vigilance.
Since we weren't hiding our march, the nearby tribes would already know of the legion's approach. This was the ideal moment for them to test our strength.
But maybe they're being more cautious than I expected.
I was lost in thought inside the command tent when Rikius entered, dropping to one knee.
"Sir."
"What is it?"
"Reports say barbarians have appeared near the camp. They're fully armed—looks like they're prepping for a raid."
"How many tribes?"
"From the banners, about six."
"Six tribes."
That meant the locals, spooked by our legion on the march, had banded together in a panic.
Our route didn't pass through prime lands for major tribes, though. At most, two big ones. Enemy numbers probably topped out between five and ten thousand.
It dwarfed our slightly over three thousand, but they were a coalition with multiple heads.
And they were in a position where they couldn't act aggressively. True alliances were rare among barbarians who saw each other as rivals.
We, on the other hand, could absorb losses based on my resolve.
That was the decisive difference between us.
Krarung.
Lightning flashed, and a cold glint sparked in my eyes.
Good timing. If they attack, we'll hit back hard. The moment they charge in lightly, we'll smash them with full force.
I had no intention of scheming complex maneuvers this time. Tailoring plans to an unknown number of leaders would just muddle everything. Better a simple, efficient counter—guaranteed to work.
And I'd show it to Usiper nearby, allied or not. After witnessing this, he'd clarify where he stood.
After that, operations would flow smoothly.
"How shall I respond?"
"I'll handle it myself."
I flung my cloak back and strode from the tent. Soldiers caught in the rain dipped their heads as I passed. I climbed to the camp's watchtower.
Shwaaaa.
The drizzle had swelled into a downpour. Through the hazy veil, I made out the barbarian host. The report was spot-on.
As I gripped the wooden railing, Rubiot climbed up.
"What's the plan?"
"Let them approach first."
"You're allowing a preemptive strike?"
"For now. Moving first in this rain just wastes our troops' stamina. Let them get close, then hit them all at once—one tribe at a time."
Rubiot grinned at my words.
"Exploiting their rivalries, eh?"
"Old trick. Pass it to the officers."
"Understood."
He spoke with respect, then descended.
I scanned for the first target: the rightmost tribe. No sense fighting while surrounded.
Gazing at the distant barbarians, I smiled coldly.
"The empire is a paper lion! This land is ours now!"
Shouts erupted from the forest. They were taunting us, probing, jabbing tentatively.
But no real intent to engage. If there was, they'd have committed fully, bringing siege gear to the fore.
They didn't. No such plans.
Stalemate suited them—proving they could stand against an imperial legion. Dragging it out favored them; we had to guard the border, couldn't ignore other threats.
Admit we couldn't crush them quickly, and we'd concede settlements. They wanted imperial recognition without spilling blood.
Smart, not stupid. Winning without fighting was the king's way.
But the empire's eagles didn't carve up territory to hand over. The incompetent emperor Baccus might, but not us.
I watched silently as they bellowed and edged closer.
With us holding fire, cowering, their boldness grew. They advanced within a hundred meters, howling.
Provocation, yes—but with numbers and rain on their side, they were sure we wouldn't sortie.
I endured their games.
My men couldn't. Hotheads even griped to their battalion commanders about not fighting. Green recruits, clueless about rain battles.
You had to blitz like lightning in the downpour.
As I watched the enemy, Rikius approached.
"Rubiot, acting legion commander, says preparations are complete."
"I know. Tell him to hold a bit longer."
"But morale if we wait too—"
"Once the fight starts, it won't matter."
I knew my soldiers. Taunts might sap morale with frustration, but give them a release, and it'd explode upward.
Now was for leashing the angry war dogs, building breath.
Finally, rewarding my patience—or drawn by the spectacle—the barbarians spilled from the woods in sloppy formation to watch their comrades yell.
Military discipline wouldn't tolerate it, but among tribes where chieftains led only in war or hunts, binding every warrior perfectly was tough. Needed immense charisma or unique traditions.
I eyed the disorganized mass before the camp and spoke.
"Rikius!"
"Yes, sir."
"You have the eagle standard. Lead the assault from the front. I'll oversee from here."
"Yes, sir!"
He replied briskly and descended. Soon Rubiot drew his sword and bellowed.
"Open the gates! Today, we'll show the barbarians the border legion hasn't rusted. We'll etch the empire's dignity on their skulls, its might in their hearts, the penalty for defiance in their lives. Legion—advance!"
"Waaaaah!"
Cheers rang out as the gates swung wide. Soldiers poured forth like ants. Catapults within loosed stones—not for precision, but chaos.
Caught disorganized, the barbarians reeled. Our men, shields locked tight at close range, shoved forward. A few enemy dead, and they faltered back.
Seizing momentum, I roared from the tower.
"Strike the right flank!"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The legion drummer beat, standard-bearers wheeling units in sync. The legion pivoted, swarming the rightmost tribe. They panicked at the focused assault.
Other barbarians dithered—aid allies, yes, but step up first and take the brunt?
No one wanted to move till others did. Their psychology.
We butchered nearly four hundred from the right tribe. As they screamed and scattered, we wheeled counterclockwise, hitting tribes sequentially. Their responses grew fiercer, but momentum terrified.
The legion, blood-mad and battle-high, wouldn't flag in minutes.
Barbarians watched helplessly as neighbors were slaughtered beside them.
Then the blade turned on them—fear inevitable.
And that's human nature.
In countless border clashes, I'd seen selfish actors die.
War demanded selflessness for the whole to save many. Barbarians knew, but staking your life altruistically? Hard without unified values or brotherhood like ours.
Soon Boruman severed a chieftain's head and roared.
"The golden eagle knows no defeat! Pay the price, you rats!"
Three tribes crumbled; the tide turned. Survivors fled in chaos.
I signaled Rubiot to recall—no pursuit. He was a fine officer but blind to the big picture. Prolonged rain fights exhausted troops dangerously.
Slight disappointment in comrades' command, but satisfied with the result.
The border tribes would fear my name anew.
At least here, under Ain, they couldn't trample the empire's honor.
I raised a hand to the returning, weary but triumphant soldiers.
Soon, our legion would fully reclaim border control. No doubt.
Usiper, who watched, visited that night. He revealed overtures from other tribes—true or not, things got interesting.
I named him auxiliary commander, binding him to the legion. Two days later, at the Drvina River's bend, I met Roimani chieftain Peshuter.
He knelt, kissed my boots, swore loyalty to the empire.
I gave him auxiliary command too. Now we had four hundred cavalry—uncertain allies on a short leash.
I didn't like vague forces as a rule.
But shorthanded, they were useful. If Heigirt, the black star, managed it, so must I.
I invited the barbarian captains to official strategy briefings. Officers eyed them warily, but no real worry.
Info they gleaned matched what scouts provided. And I could alter plans anytime.
Suspecting one might betray, I built in flexibility.
As officers filed out post-briefing, Boruman lingered, gauging me. I beckoned.
"Something on your mind?"
"Sir, sharing full plans with those barbarians sits wrong. If they leak we're marching along the Drvina then veering southwest for cleanup, the enemy won't sit idle."
"I'm counting on it."
"But—pardon?"
Boruman looked flustered.
"Think I'd be that naive? In two days, I'll change course. If they leak, enemies wait in vain and we strike their flank. If not, we use their forces. That's how I play it."
"As expected of you, Governor."
"But I do have concerns."
"What?"
I pointed upward.
"The weather."
"Ah."
He got it. Weather swayed wars hugely, especially here with frequent clouds and fog.
"Fog could mean tougher fights than expected. That's my sole worry."
"You seem awfully calm for that."
I grinned.
"I'm the governor. Soldiers may quake in fear, but I can't. They all watch my face—can't have me trembling.
Anyway, focus on combat. Betrayals? Leave to me."
"Yes, sir."
He saluted smartly and left.
Words aside, I trusted the spooked barbarians. Seizing initiative was key.
With luck, we might push many tribes out bloodlessly.
I hoped so.
(To be continued)