The Lion of Antica (3)
The Ersian infantry swarmed swiftly across the wasteland toward the walls. As the enemy closed in, I bellowed,
“Ballistae!”
“Fire!”
The centurions relayed the order, and the ballistae hurled boulders high over the enemy ranks. The rounded stones arced through the sky before raining down like hail on the foes below.
“Aaaagh!”
A few enemy soldiers screamed and toppled, but it was barely a splash in the ocean—negligible damage.
The infantry leaped over their wailing comrades, charging the walls undeterred.
“Range one hundred! Arrows!”
The officers shouted, and the archers nocked their bows. Once the men were ready, the centurion cried,
“Loose!”
Whish. Whiiiish.
Arrows poured down like rain onto the enemy infantry wave. The front ranks raised shields to weather the volley. Some died, but the losses were minimal.
The Ersian foot soldiers endured two volleys and closed to within fifty meters.
At that point, the first rank with shields fell back, replaced by the second—their archers. Hidden behind their comrades' shields, the enemy bowmen now took aim. I dropped low and yelled,
“Shields!”
Whish! Whiiiish!
Enemy arrows whistled in, and our troops hastily raised shields.
From twenty meters up on the wall, the arrows lost much of their force, but we couldn't ignore their lethality.
The enemy archers poured fire in waves, pinning our heads down.
Meanwhile, follow-up Ersian infantry hauled ladders forward, rapidly closing the gap.
I peered through shield gaps, gauging the situation, then shouted toward the ballistae,
“Ballistae! Range fifty!”
“Ballistae, range fifty!”
The officers scrambled to adjust the machines. The enemy infantry hit the dry moat and leaped right in.
In the arid Antica region, we hadn't filled the moat with water to conserve it.
But not this time.
The moment the front ranks entered the moat, I signaled.
“Open the sluice!”
“Opening the sluice!”
Soldiers manning the aqueduct valve cranked the winch. A torrent rushed into the moat. The Ersians, who'd jumped in expecting dry ground, were swept away by the sudden muddy flood, tumbling helplessly.
Our troops unleashed arrows on the flailing enemy.
As the vanguard thrashed in the moat's muck, the followers slammed ladders across. The battle-hardened Ersians weren't rattled by such a one-off trick.
I was mildly surprised by their quick recovery but didn't show it.
“Ballistae, fire!”
“Fire!”
This time, stones targeted the archers. Hailstones crashed onto their heads, shattering their formation.
Screaming bowmen rolled on the ground or scattered to dodge, turning their ranks to chaos. With enemy arrows slackening, our men popped up over shields, loosing precise shots and hurling javelins.
The lead Ersian infantry, just crossing the moat, ate the full barrage.
Their officers bellowed for shields, but amid the storm of missiles, command faltered.
Dozens of Ersians littered the moat as corpses.
Still, they managed to hook ladders onto the wall. As enemy troops began climbing, I pointed my sword at them and roared,
“Don't wait for them to crest! When a ladder's hooked, shove it off with spears! Waiting for them to climb is like offering our necks!”
The men obeyed, battering the ladders. Each time, climbing Ersians screamed and plummeted onto their comrades below.
From twenty meters up, even midway falls killed or crippled them.
But the enemy numbers were overwhelming—new ladders outpaced our knockdowns. My mouth went dry.
“Rikius!”
“Yes, sir!”
Rikius, fresh from directing the gate blockade, responded.
“We need things to drop. Oil, flour sacks—anything. Haul it to the walls.”
“But everyone able-bodied is already up here fighting.”
“Then kick them into line if you have to. Clerks, women, kids, civilians—anyone. We're staking our lives here. If they won't pitch in when we are, they don't deserve protection. Make an example. That's an order.”
Rikius saluted across his chest at my icy tone.
“Understood, sir. Consider it done.”
He descended the wall.
In that brief exchange, a hand popped over the parapet. I stomped it hard with my hobnailed boot.
“Aaaagh!”
A young Ersian soldier plummeted twenty meters with a shriek.
I kicked the ladder away as he fell.
“No gaps on this wall! When a comrade falls and leaves a spot empty, double your effort. If they start cresting, ten times the work won't save us!”
I rallied the men.
But we can't hold like this for long.
I felt our disadvantage keenly. The troops gave their all, but numbers overwhelmed us.
The wall to defend was too long. Even with the enemy hitting only the east side, it strained us.
We needed a game-changer.
I slashed the head off an Ersian who'd crested the wall.
“Sir! Glatus Tower requests reinforcements!”
A decurion rushed up.
Glatus Tower loomed right above the east gate. If it fell, the gate would crumble, splitting our defenders in two.
“I'll go myself. Fourth Century, follow me.”
“Fourth Century, with the commander! Move!”
I pulled one century from the line on the fly. This sector teetered, but letting the center collapse was suicide for us all.
We sprinted along the wall, sweat pouring.
I saw ladders everywhere en route. Men fought them off, but enemy numbers wore us down.
Facing over a hundred thousand elite Ersians with barely eight thousand slaves, legionaries, and auxiliaries was near impossible from the start.
But we have to hold.
I shook off despair and reached Glatus Tower. Under heavy assault, dozens of Ersians already crowned its wall.
Our troops hesitated at the growing foe.
I roared like a lion and charged ahead. Dallying in this mess was madness.
“Praetorian Prefect Ain advances!”
“Imperator Ain forever!”
The men surged after me.
My cloak billowing, I plunged into the Ersians. Normally, a commander fighting like this was insane.
But I needed to inspire them. Make them think slacking while their commander bled was shameful.
My sword traced elegant arcs, spraying blood.
“It's the imperial commander!”
A few Ersians yelled and rushed me, swords drawn.
Yes. I am Praetorian Prefect Ain of the Empire.
Imperator Ain, pride of the legions.
I parried the lead attacker's blade while yanking my scabbard and cracking his knee.
“Huh?”
He staggered sideways in shock, tripping his onrushing comrade.
I darted in, thrusting deep.
Splat!
The blade pierced his jaw and skull in one go.
I shoved the corpse into the next foe.
“Damn it!”
The Ersian vanished under his dead ally before he could curse.
I snatched the dead man's sword and stabbed down.
On the battlefield, numbers don't guarantee survival.
I yanked my blade free and glared at the surrounding Ersians.
Having felled two in seconds, they quailed like I'd become a beast.
Our men, inspired, ignored the odds and swung swords and spears fiercely.
“The enemy are just numerous sheep! Show them eagles led by a lion outmatch any flock!”
“Yaaah!”
The troops roared back.
We slaughtered the dozens atop the tower and hurled their banner down.
A flag up there would've signaled collapse, crumbling our whole line.
I wiped cold sweat, fending off the endless press.
Nearly an hour later, Rikius arrived with civilians hauling boiling oil cauldrons and flour sacks.
“Dump it right over!”
I grabbed a cauldron with the men the instant it crested, ignoring dignity.
“Sir!”
An officer gaped and tried to take it, but I waved him off.
“Tend your post.”
Hauling the two-hundred-kilo pot and oil exhausted us, but resolve carried it to the edge.
“Heave!”
Sploosh!
Boiling oil cascaded down; Ersians screamed and writhed.
Its terror—the horror of live-frying—broke their morale more than killed.
Flour sacks followed, exploding into white clouds that blinded the enemy below.
We lobbed fire into the mess.
Boom!
Flour dust ignited in chain blasts—common in mills or mines.
Not devastating, but amid the blindness, blasts, and screams, panic gripped the Ersians.
Confirming their assault falter, I doffed my helmet.
The attack dragged on, but we'd crested the first wave.
The retreat horn blared; Ersians ebbed like tide.
“Victory is ours!”
“Hoorah!”
The men cheered wildly.
I drew my sword before them and shook it high.
But.
I swallowed a groan at the enemy host still filling the eastern wasteland. We'd faced mere vanguard.
I bit my lip but hid my dread. Our fight had just begun.
To be continued...