I’m a Centurion.
I am a humble Centurion of Roman rank one hundred men under
my command. This has been my job for the
last twenty four years
.
We woke three hours before dawn readying for the days
battle. We are but a blink of the
thousands of commands readying around us for the bloodshed to begin. I worry not; we’ve defeated Army’s twice the
size of today’s challenge.
One hour to light we finish our morning meal and help each
other into armor. Chest plate squeezing
shortening my breath I walk among my men checking armor, weapons shields. This day will test the heart of my most
seasoned of men. Our foe numbers in the
thousands, hundreds of archers, countless mounted cavalry. This is the fight we’ve trained for over
countless months, some years. One can
taste the excitement in the air within the troops. Men; boys jumping, crashing into one another
unable to contain the exuberance of the coming battle, Seasoned warriors
laughing, punching the young and untried of battle remembering the first time
they ran to fight, sweat on brow, sword hand aching to kill the enemy. As the
time comes near I caution them to hold ranks regardless of twist and turn of
the battle. Our strength lies in unity,
precession attacks, retreats, thrusts. I warn that our quarter will be
challenged this day by cavalry and archers will fill the air with their death. To this I receive cheers and banging of
shields. My men are as ready as they
will ever be.
Morning light winks over the far hills, small wisps of
clouds dance on gentle breezes. It is a
good day to die.
Taking our place among the scores of units, I glance left
and right. I see fellow Centurions from
distant battles squaring their ranks, calling orders above the chatter of
warriors. To our front hundreds of yards
in the distance are the hoards of barbarians.
It isn’t easy to estimate their numbers but one could easily say they
were in their thousands. Cavalry units
mixed in between mobs of foot soldiers, archers at the lead counted in the
hundreds. Surprising was the discipline
of movement. The weight of their army
was to our left, but as a whole they moved to center, facing our troops
squarely. Having the morning sun in our face we lowered shields with precision
reflected the morning sun directly into their eyes. With the blinding light we could see numerous
hands rise to block the glare. A faint
but clear laugh rose in the ranks.
A horn sounded the command to begin marching toward the
countless ranks of barbarians. Our lines
were perfection of evenness. We marched as one; towards the hordes, no one a
head, and no one behind the moving line of death. Three hundred yards out their archers
released their arrows. Our ranks knelt
raising shields to the sky as thousands of deadly arrows sought flesh and
bone. Two units on our far right broke the
line rushing the left flank of the archers.
Cutting them down in scores those remaining fled back into the ranks of their
foot soldiers, bodies lay everywhere. Our two units covered in blood smoothly
returned to their position in the advancing ranks.
We halted our march just long enough to break the arrow
shafts from our shields. Some had few,
others looked like porcupines. Checking for casualties we suffered few, mostly
nicks and small cuts from ricocheting arrows.
I motioned an adjoining Centurion and we met behind the
ranks of our soldiers. “Ah a good
morning Maximus, you look well today.” “That I am” he said with a pat on the
back. “I’m curious they seem to have
some training but made no move to protect their archers?” “They are barbarians
and only fight for their own tribes; a few hundred dead archers from another
tribe makes no problem for them” Maximus said shaking his head. “I’m a little
worried by the number of cavalry we’ve seen.”
Maximas with a hearty laugh said “Cavalry are only as good as the horse
is trained. We have a few surprises for
them, we will see if they’ve trained their horses well.”
With the sounding of the horn I rejoined my men and we in
unison moved forward. Shields aiming the
morning sun again into their eyes.
Two long, one short blast of the horn warned of a cavalry
charge coming from the North. Stopping
our forward march, seven units swung to the rear forming an “L” shape of
defensive line. Over a small hill came two hundred mounted men; horses running
at top speed towards our new formed line.
Seven lines deep knelt, shields edge to edge, long lances dug into the
dirt. On they came with idea of running
horses over our men. Seeing a solid line
horses jumped landing four to five deep into the line. Rider and horse were pulled to the ground; a
pink fog drifted over the rear lines.
Center group seven to twelve broke rank in a large unit movement, in
minutes the barbarian horsemen were surrounded.
Our front line closed the gap left by the attacking units. One through unit six squared the formation into
a perfect square closing off any retreat.
The screams of men and horse filled the air.
One loud horn blast
started the forward motion of men, leaving behind the remains of men and horses
moving our troops over and way from the piles of the dead. Clear footing was needed for the advance. Formations changing back to the normal
triangle of attack we closed the distance to the hoards of warriors. We had lost just fifty men to their
hundreds. As the distance between our
troops and the hoards closed, faces became visible to the unaided eye. Wild eyes were seen among the ranks, nervous
men shuffled feet. Leaders screamed
orders at the top of lungs keeping the men together, working as a unit
.
A whistle so piercing it hurt the ears brought our
physiological war to the battle. Ten
thousand men stomped their feet in unison, swords struck shields; very low menacing
shouts shook the air. “Meeehaah, stomp,
bang of swords hitting shields.” So loud any attempt at shouting orders was
useless; it was deafening. The air
vibrated “Meeehaah, stomp, bang of shields.” I could see numerous fighters take
steps backwards. What started as just a hint
grew bigger and bigger spreading as one terrified soldier passed his fear to
the next. The Officers of the barbarians
were useless, only being able to control soldiers close to him. Unseen by the enemy we brought our archers up
to the rear of our lines. With a whistle
they launched a thousand arrows into the sky.
Hundreds of unprotected men fell to the ground, some with just one
arrow, and others with many. Their lines
were decimated by the surprise attack.
Horns blew three short one long the signal for full attack. All ten thousand strong rushed forward
knocking men to the ground with shields, swords hacking and slicing into their
numbers. Within minutes units broke
left, right engulfing the entire Army of barbarians. The circle of closing Roman soldiers stepped
upon the bodies of the dead, making them seem even larger to the dead and soon
to be dead
.
Several units broke off of the main attack and dispatched
those still living within the thousands of dead. Lame horses some with huge wounds limped
among the dead. They too would be put down after the scores of wounded. Our medics raced aid to our wounded, stopping
gushing blood from sword wounds. The
cries of dying men filled the air.
Two hours of search and kill silenced the battle field. Soldiers chased down wounded horses one by
one killing them all.
I had seen this before being in my mid forties with many
battles under my belt. It never seemed to stop unnerving me the cleansing of
the field. We asked no quarter and gave
none. Our enemy was defeated to the last
man. A few had been able to sneak
through both ranks of fighting men and make a run for the forests. This was anticipated and they too were cut
down by our own cavalry one after another.
No warrior was allowed to leave the killing fields, their defeat was
complete. Let those at home wonder their
fate, hundreds if not thousands massed, not one returned.
Glory is the Roman Army.
From the Ramblings
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