Chapter 40: Border Cleanup (5)
The next day, I shifted the legion to the gentle floodplains along the Drvina River. The low-lying terrain would make any attacker feel they held the high ground.
Here, if the barbarians played their cards right, they could drive the legion straight to the riverbank and butcher us in one fell swoop.
But that was merely the illusion of the landscape.
There were two reasons I'd chosen this spot for our stand. First, the river at our backs. It cut off our retreat—a perilous barrier—but flip the perspective, and it shielded our rear from flanking attacks.
The second was the swamps and sodden earth of the floodplains. Unlike firm dry ground, the sucking mud would sap a cavalry charge, handing the advantage to foot soldiers.
These were gifts tailored for our heavy infantry legion.
And along the likely approach routes, we'd scattered caltrops in abundance to bleed their momentum. Now all that was left was for the barbarians to throw themselves into the trap I'd set.
The real question is whether they'll lose their heads and charge blindly like boars. They won't be that foolish.
Normal men might flip out at the sight of their families slaughtered and come raging at us. But we couldn't underestimate them.
They had brains and wits of their own. They knew what battles I'd fought, so they wouldn't stab recklessly at shadows.
If they had any sense, they'd come prepared, in force.
Lost in thought, I heard a legionnaire on watch blow his horn. The enemy was here. A faint whinny echoed from the distant woods. I called for Riti.
Riti, who hadn't trimmed his beard amid the nonstop fighting, looked a far cry from his usual tidy self—his face a ragged mess. He saluted across his chest and spoke.
"Sir. You called?"
"Are the ballistae ready?"
"Of course."
I nodded. The ballistae weren't loaded with stones this time—something special instead.
"Oh, and the spare timber we prepped for palisades."
"We have some extras. Why?"
"Shape them into sarissas and pass them to the front ranks. If Pompeianus can trot out his worn-out pikes, no reason we can't."
"Understood. I'll get them trimmed and ready right away."
As Riti withdrew, I waited astride my horse, eyes on the enemy.
Soon the whinnies swelled, joined by barbarian war cries.
"Imperial dog scum worse than curs!"
"We'll hack off your heads and string your cocks on a line to roast over flames!"
"I swear by the thunder god—you imperials won't live to see tomorrow's sun!"
The barbarians hurled curses and rage our way. But under their chieftains' and elite warriors' control, they snarled without breaking into chaos.
They weren't brainless idiots. They'd survived harsh lives themselves—it was only natural.
Still, if they fell for this, who knew.
I summoned Rikius and gave the order.
"Tell Riti it's time to gift them."
"Yes, sir!"
Moments later, our ballistae thundered, hurling dark clumps toward the woods.
Thwok! Thwok!
The projectiles burst on impact like water skins splitting. The barbarians faltered, then realized what they were and screamed.
"Argh!"
"You imperial bastard dogs!"
Their furious roars shook the air. What I'd lobbed back were the corpses of their dead children.
I understood their fury. I'd done it precisely to provoke that reaction.
So don't cross the empire's border. The moment you eyed us as softer than your forest kin and breached it, I could show no mercy. This is the choice you made.
Enraged, the barbarians surged toward us in disarray. Many held position under chieftain orders, but the red-eyed ones ignored all commands.
Their intent was clear: kill one legionary even if it cost their heads, just to vent.
But war isn't won on bravado.
Letting hot emotion override cold reason, falling for the bait—it was suicide.
"Yaaah!"
The barbarians charged with roars.
Starting acceleration too soon without gauging distance, they hit top speed before entering bow range. Fools.
Tsking, I watched their vanguard draw weapons.
The instant a few swung theirs experimentally, their warhorses hit the caltrops.
Hiiing!
Horses screamed, rearing on forelegs; riders tumbled off.
"Whoa! Whoa!"
Riders fought to calm them, but it was futile. Caltrops in hooves were lethal.
Even those trying to soothe their mounts fell. Survivors who'd dodged lost cohesion as comrades vanished mid-charge.
The legion watched their folly, then drew bows.
"Loose!"
Arrows fell like black rain, scything the barbarian cavalry vanguard.
Some raised shields, but in the chaos, losses mounted.
Their cavalry charge—fueled by fury—was gutted as a threat.
Survivors slammed into our lines, only to shatter against the thick wall and sharpened timber sarissas.
As cavalry crumbled in seconds, trailing infantry hesitated. I wouldn't let those idiots off easy.
Send back the fools offering their necks? That'd be dereliction.
I turned to the barbarian chieftains watching beside me.
"They're yours. Crush them."
"Yes."
Usifer replied without hesitation. After yesterday and today's fights, he was convinced: the empire, and I, were unassailable.
Jeshuter followed a beat later. Both had chosen sides.
"We serve the empire! Charge!"
Usifer and Jeshuter led their cavalry into the enemy foot. Already broken foes were no match.
The chieftains bloodied them enough, then returned at my signal.
The swift opening victory sent legion morale soaring. Even with barbarian numbers, they thought the battle won. For a moment, so did I.
But the goddess of victory forgives no hubris. Intoxicated by the enemy dancing to my tune, I'd forgotten that.
Sobered by defeat, the barbarians grew cautious, holding attacks. Even lobbing more child corpses didn't draw them.
Who could blame them after watching comrades pulped?
But retreat now? Chieftains' heads would roll. Propose falling back after such atrocities on kin, and warriors would brand them cowards.
Reputation was a leader's power and charisma among barbarians—hard to withdraw even if wise.
I figured they'd hit us at night.
But they surprised me.
"Fire?"
Flickers in the woods made me think arson. Barbarians loved fire attacks, and it fit. But their ploy was different.
"Fireballs rolling down!"
Legionaries shouted at flaming boulders tumbling down the gentle slope from the woods.
Fish-oil-soaked rocks, a barbarian staple.
They rolled more in volleys.
Our men halted most nearby; damage was light. The flames smoldered, belching thick black smoke. Then it hit me—their aim.
A smoke screen?
Rolling fireballs just to blind us. Suddenly their plan snapped into focus: obscure vision, close for melee.
Before I could react, barbarians roared from the haze, charging.
Earlier I'd pegged them as boars, but these chieftains had brains. Smoke for fog-of-war effect—without experience, I'd have been caught flat-footed.
I watched them slam into our lines, all on foot this time, lessons learned.
As distance closed, arrows rained. More orderly than before, but narrowed sightlines dulled the impact.
Bam! Crack!
Melee erupted—weapons crashing on shields.
"Hold the line—no retreat!"
Battalion commanders bellowed. Size difference pushed our men back inch by inch.
"Kek!"
A gap yawned as we yielded ground; barbarians exploited it, slashing wildly.
Several legionaries bled out in seconds. Momentum swung their way.
I admitted the fight had turned tougher than expected. But I had cards left.
A veteran of brutal scraps, chastened by overconfidence—this was nothing.
Calmly, I ordered.
"Fire the second load at their rear. Loose."
To Riti: new ballistae payload.
Soon, looted barbarian treasures piled high.
"Loose!"
Riti's command sent valuables showering on their trailing wave.
Mindless chargers raised shields, then froze at the glittering haul on the ground—familiar trinkets.
Some fixated; their second wave lost steam, no follow-up punch.
It's over.
I read the field cold.
"Chieftains Usifer, Jeshuter—flank their rear. The legion advances."
"Understood."
They wheeled to their horse; I mounted and rode to the legion's center.
Soldiers cheered my cloak, chanting "Ain!" I dipped my head, halting by Rubiot.
"Time for full assault, I think. Mind if I take the eagle up front?"
Rubiot grinned.
"As you wish, Governor."
"Good. Front rank's mine."
I spurred forward, snatching the aquila from the standard-bearer. To the legion:
"My beloved soldiers! The cowards who fled yesterday, abandoning wives and children, now bare their fangs in rage.
Show these petty braggarts the empire's wrath for border breach. It's our sole duty. Emperor Baccus forever! The 16th triumphs! Legion—charge!"
"Waaah!"
They exploded forward, shields and blades crashing into foes. The enemy resisted desperately, but without reinforcements, our heavy infantry overwhelmed.
We herded them to the river, thinning their ranks. As victory peaked, our auxiliaries burst from the woods, howling.
Caught front and rear, barbarians dropped arms, fleeing in terror—even rage forgotten.
We pursued relentlessly, claiming over six thousand heads.
This is a border legion's might.
Sneering at the routed survivors limping away, barely alive.
Even united, remaining tribes couldn't match us. Soon, surrender or recross the river.
I believed the border secure.
(To be continued)