Lucius’s first campaign season was drawing near its end. The Romans’ bloody advance into the mountains of Dacia had been countered with a series of hit-and-run actions as the Dacians tried to avoid a direct set piece battle with the Imperator’s twelve legions. The Dacians used the terrain to their advantage. To counter it, Traianus and his legates sent out vexillations into the hills and forests to hunt down the Dacian raiders. Lucius and his century had been detached from their cohort and assigned to X Cohort, the second ranked cohort after the I.
“Fuckin’ idiot kid tribune,” Centurion Antoninus said. “Let himself get drawn into an engagement on ground they chose. Just because he’s some senator’s nephew, we’re gonna get our asses killed.”
“What can we do?” Optio Brabo replied. “Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die.”
“Shut it, Brabo. You’ve got a smart mouth, and it’s getting on my nerves. We should have heard back from the messengers by now.”
Cassius, standing in his usual place to Lucius’s left, snorted. The centurion, not even bothering to turn all the way around, flicked his vine rod across the back of Cassius's legs, eliciting a yelp. Lucius did his best to keep the smirk off his face, not wanting to draw the centurion’s ire or add insult to the injury of the man who’d become his closest friend since joining the legions. Cassius had trouble controlling his mouth, and Lucius liked to remind him how it always got him in trouble.
The optio had stepped out of their marching fort to consult with the centurion. While the other five cohorts had marched out with most of their cavalry and archer auxilia, the inexperienced I Century of the VI Cohort, the cohort made up of the best of the new recruits and younger legionnaires, had been left to guard the marching camp. Half of the century had been posted inside the fort while the other half stood in their open formation battle line, eight wide and five deep.
“Hades cursed, damn tribu—”
The centurion’s vitriolic rant ended abruptly as a large arrow sprouted from the side of his head. Arrows plunged into the signifer and cornicen as well, sending them tumbling to the ground. Lucius ducked as a fourth arrow shattered against the side of the optio’s helmet, spraying shards. The optio slumped to the ground. In a matter of seconds, the entire command structure of the century was down. That’s when the arrows began raining thick. Staring at his fallen officers, Lucius snapped into action.
“Close ranks! Testudo formation to the front! Sego, get that signum off the ground,” Lucius commanded in a hoarse bellow.
Sego dropped his scutum and dove to the ground, yanking their Centurial Signum out of the dirt. The half century, reacting to the command, collapsed their formation into close ranks as shields locked side by side, and the back rows lifted theirs to form a lid and cover the formation. The sound of arrows thudding into the leather covered wood of the scutums was accompanied by the occasional scream as iron arrowhead found flesh. Lucius peeked over the steel-rimmed edge of his shield, surveying the tree line to see where the attackers were coming from.
“Tighten up! Incoming arrows.”
The legionnaires pulled in closer, ensuring there were as few gaps in their shield tortoise as possible. A roar of battle screams emerged from the tree line as a band of Dacians burst from the cover of the forest. Fearing hitting their own warriors in the back, the concealed archers halted their arrow flights.
“Front lines, open formation! Loose pila,” yelled Lucius.
The first two lines broke out of the testudo wall they’d created and trotted forward, hurling their light-weight, longer-distance javelins into the oncoming crowd of Dacian warriors. The pila arced into the air and descended, forming a deadly rainbow. The javelins ended their flight meeting shield, armor, and flesh. When they met shield, the hard iron tip punched through seeking the flesh underneath while the softer iron of the shaft bent, rendering the pilum useless to throw back and making the shield an unusable dead weight. Where they met flesh, they felled the warrior, who in turn took down anyone failing to avoid their fallen comrade. Before the Dacians could recover, the first two lines of legionnaires sent their heavier-weighted pila soaring into their enemies. The Roman back lines were falling in behind the advanced lines and started sending up their lighter pila.
After sending his second pilum flying, Lucius yanked his gladius from its scabbard on his right hip and bellowed, “Charge!”
The Romans let loose their war cry as all down the line swords left sheaths and caligae-covered feet sprinted toward the advancing line of opposing warriors. The Dacians’ line had become ragged as warriors were cut down by pila and those still alive broke rank. Their line was mixed between sword and shield wielding men and warriors wielding the deadly falx, which was most effective when wielded with all the power two arms could provide. As the lines drew near each other, the last of the unflung pila were cast aside and replaced with Roman gladii thirsting for Dacian blood.
The thunder of shield meeting shield rocked ears and sent birds flying from distant trees. Lucius deflected a falx before plunging his short sword into the exposed armpit of the Dacian facing him. With a rough twist, he yanked it free before sinking it into the gap between neck armor and helmet, slicing the arteries concealed within. He kicked the dying man off his sword and parried an incoming sword with a backhand slash. He swung around and caught a Dacian hard in the side with the edge of his scutum, sending him careening into the waiting sword of whoever had stepped up on Lucius’s right side.
That enemy handled, Lucius raised his shield in time to catch a downward arcing falx. It tore into Lucius’s scutum. Lucius gave his shield a hard twist, hoping to lodge the weapon in the compromised wood. It had the added benefit of pulling the warrior slightly off balance, preventing him from removing the falx and finishing the work he’d started. The two men were locked in a deadly dance as Lucius tried to keep the man from freeing his falx while bringing him close enough to get in a solid attack. A second Dacian rushed at Lucius, falx raised and poised to strike. Lucius yanked on the scutum, pulling the first Dacian off balance before shoving out with his shield with all his strength. The first Dacian, falx still wedged in Lucius’s rapidly crumbling scutum, tipped back toward his oncoming comrade, tripping him up enough that he lost a lot of the power in his swing. The second Dacian missed his comrade but struck Lucius’s shield, tearing another deep gouge into it.
Lucius’s shield, held wide side up, was losing its structural integrity with two falxes stuck in it. Lucius slashed under the bottom edge of the scutum, hoping to make contact with flesh. He felt the slight tug as the tip bit into something as it passed by. A grunt from one of his opponents rewarded him as he dug his hob-nailed boots into the soil and tried to keep from being overwhelmed by the two enemy warriors.
“Lucius, knees, now!” came the cry from behind him.
He responded instantly, dropping to his knees and yanking the two warriors off balance. One fell within reach of his gladius as Lucius stabbed it hard into the face of the first warrior. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the edge of a scutum fly over his head and punch into the face of the second Dacian0 who staggered back with a broken nose and probably more. A second scutum flew toward the first warrior, sending him falling away from Lucius. He used the opportunity to shove away his ruined shield, both falx still stuck in it. As he stood, he saw Cassius standing in front of him, a scutum in each hand, protecting his friend as he stood.
Cassius handed Lucius the shield in his right hand. “You looked like you might need a spare.” Cassius pulled his gladius free of its scabbard. “What next?”
The line had advanced beyond them as they caught their breath in a small pocket of quiet. Lucius looked around. The meager forty legionnaires had opened their line trying to keep the more numerous Dacians from flanking them but were starting to lose the integrity of their battle line. The fighting was breaking up into pockets. Occasionally, an arrow would fly out from the woods, picking a safe target. The few Roman archers left with the camp were likewise seeking targets of opportunity from their vantage points on top of the fort’s walls. Lucius gestured for Cassius to follow him as he broke into a trot. Seeing where Lucius was headed, Cassius caught up and flanked him to the right. Together, they began taking out Dacians engaged with their fellow legionnaires. With each one they freed, Lucius pulled into formation as they worked their way down the line. As they liberated more legionnaires, they gained more momentum and were starting to roll up the left flank of the Dacians.
Lucius and his legionnaires were running on pure adrenalin, pushed long past the point they’d have been relieved by a fresh line. As they puffed for air and slashed with gladii, the sound of the camp’s gates banging open was followed by the harsh cry of twenty legionnaires charging out to join their comrades. They quickly flared into a charging battle line and hit the Dacians hard in their right flank. The engagement, which had been slowly tipping toward the Romans, turned into a full rout. Those Dacians who could disengaged and made a break for the tree line where their archers were providing cover fire to dissuade pursuit.
As the fresh troops put down the last few Dacians, Lucius propped his shield on the ground and leaned into it, catching his breath. Petrocles—a short, stout, and swarthy man of Athenian heritage—strode toward Lucius.
“Lucius!” Petrocles raised his right hand in greeting. “That was a bit touch and go there for a moment.”
“For more than a moment…” Lucius replied, his breath slowing as his young body, drilled into excellent shape, recovered quickly.
“What’s our next move?”
“Um, take twenty men and form a line parallel to the tree line the Dacians came from. Open formation. See if you can find a few pila. Stand plenty far from the tree line, but I want a deterrent to keep the Dacians from getting brave and falling on us again. I’ll take the remaining men and sweep the field for survivors.”
Cassius walked up to them, setting his shield down. “What about the Dacians?”
“Kill them. We don’t have the numbers to deal with them, unless you find a cap-wearer in decent shape. A noble might be worth interrogating.”
Cassius stood up and saluted Lucius like he was a superior officer—his right fist banging into the armor over his heart, followed by extending his arm with an open hand—before turning around and working his way through the bodies writhing on the ground. He wasn’t sure if Cassius's salute was genuine or ironic; it was hard to tell with the sardonic expression Cassius always wore. He seemed more interested in dispatching the Dacians than checking on his comrades. Lucius left him to it. Someone had to do it.
Sego, squatting over a body, looked up and yelled toward Lucius. “Silvanius, the optio is still alive.”
Lucius ran over and confirmed that Brabo was indeed still breathing. The arrow that shattered on his helm had knocked him unconscious. If he woke, he’d have a hell of a headache and some nasty bruising, which was already spreading across the right side of his face.
“Lucius, incoming!” Petrocles yelled.
The rider must have given Petrocles the proper pass code as he was waved through, one of Petrocles’s legionnaires pointing to the group of people where Lucius stood. The rider, one of the auxilia cavalry that had marched out with the rest of the cohort, yanked the reins, forcing his mount to a sliding halt. He leapt to the ground and walked to the legionnaires clustered around the fallen command officers. Cassius sauntered over to join the group.
“Where’s your centurio?” the rider asked.
Lucius pointed to the corpse with an arrow sticking out of its face below the rim of the helmet with the transverse crest that marked its owner as a centurion.
“Who’s in charge then?” the rider asked.
Everyone looked around before Cassius, Sego, and a couple other men pointed at Lucius.
“I guess I am. Decanus Lucius Silvanius.”
The rider looked around, his eyes drifting over the bodies of legionnaires on the ground. “Looks like you were hit pretty hard. How many can you field?”
Lucius looked at his people, doing some quick math in his head. “I think forty, maybe fifty. I’ve got twenty fresh men still in the fort. I’ll pull them and leave some of the more ambulatory injured to take in the wounded and hold the fort.”
“Gather them. The tribune led the cohort into a trap. Last I saw, they’re boxed up and doing their best to hold off the Dacians,” the horseman said.
“What about the reserve centuria they took with them?” Lucius asked.
“The Dacians split them off and likewise have them surrounded.”
“Shit. Cassius, grab Petrocles. Sego, gather the men in the fort. Also, I’ll want the cavalry and archer auxilia. Tell them to leave four horsemen and five archers to help with the wounded and hold the fort,” Lucius ordered. “That’ll give us seventeen riders, including you, twenty-five archers, and half a centuria, maybe more.”
Lucius organized his force while servants brought water and dry rations for the legionnaires about to march out. The less wounded soldiers and servants began bringing in everyone who couldn’t walk on their own. When all was said and done, there were few grievously injured and even fewer Romans dead. With his men watered and fed and armed with a fresh supply of pila, Lucius marched out his small relief force.