R.W. Peake's Blog, page 5

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 5 (Cont.)

It had been a long time since Caesar had worked the men of his army so hard. But for day after day, he had them loading and unloading from the smaller ships that he had ordered built, working them relentlessly on leaping over the low sides of the craft, then sprinting to shore in order to form up as quickly as possible. The fact that they had to do so in waist-deep water made no difference; Caesar judged them as if they were running across open ground, and every night the men of his army staggered to their tents, barely able to consume their evening meal and engage in only the most desultory conversation. Despite this, there was no complaining, because every man knew, after what had happened barely two weeks before, this was their best chance for not only defeating, but surviving the next landing. 
As all this was taking place, Caesar was just as relentless in his working the crews of the shipborne artillery, not sparing any expense in using live ammunition, aiming at a series of targets on shore, knowing that the rocks for the ballistae could be reused, while the bolts for the scorpions would be repaired by the immunes responsible for such matters. Over and over the crews drilled, until they were sending their respective missiles faster and more accurately than anyone in the army, including Caesar had seen. "There is no way those Wa will be able to stand up to this," Gnaeus Balbus said, as he and Pullus stood watching the crews work as they waited for their men to slog back aboard the transports in order to be rowed back out into the harbor to repeat the process of landing.  "I certainly hope not," Pullus agreed, "I just wonder how much longer we're going to be practicing before we get on with it." "Why?" Balbus asked. "It can only help us the more we train." "I suppose so," Pullus said doubtfully, but while he had reservations, he was unable to articulate the reason for his worry, because he knew that what Balbus said was true. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that with every day that passed, the Wa weren't just sitting idly by themselves, and he worried what they would have in store. 
Another reason for Caesar's delay was to allow as many men to heal as possible, knowing as he did that they were the most experienced in his army, and even with this new approach, he would need every one of them to accomplish his goal. Like Pullus, Caesar worried, but as was fitting for the overall commander of the army, his concern went beyond this next landing, but to the rest of the campaign. Of all the officers, he knew better than anyone that neither he nor the army could afford to take the kind of casualties they had suffered in the first assault, not if they had any hope of conquering the entire island. Not, that is, unless they stayed on this gods-forsaken island for two or three years and managed to recruit men from here, a prospect that he didn't hold in particularly high regard as being likely. So despite his nature, he forced himself to be patient, checking with the medici every day for progress reports, doing his best to hide his disappointment when they couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, that all the men in the tent had recovered and would be ready to march the next day. 
Finally, a couple days more than three weeks after the repulse on the beach, the last man limped out of the hospital tent to return to his own tent section. Although none of the last dozen men were truly fit for duty, Caesar could wait no longer, and knowing their general and still willing to give every last ounce of their energy and life to him, they struggled to convince him that they were fit enough to march with their comrades. And Caesar was a receptive audience, so an assembly was called that night, the faces of the men lit by the flickering torches surrounding the forum.  "Comrades," Caesar called out, his voice ringing and strong. "Tomorrow, we begin our task of avenging those comrades we lost!"If there was more to this, it was drowned out by the roar of the assembled men, even those whose native tongue wasn't Latin not needing any translation. Caesar was content to let this demonstration continue for several moments before holding his hands up for silence. Finally the men quieted down enough for him to continue. "We will load the first wave in the watch before dawn. Because it's such a short distance, we will not need more time than that. As the first wave is loading, the artillery ships will be making their way across the bay to get into position. Comrades," he raised his voice even louder, his tone taking on the quality of icy anger that his long-time officers knew so well, "this is one time we don't want to surprise our foe. No, this time we want them to see us coming, and prepare for the assault. If all goes to plan, they will be as eager to stop us on the beach as the last time. And when they come running to the edge of the shore, they will be mown down like wheat before the scythe!"This time Caesar didn't bother trying to stop the men cheering.
The ships bearing the artillery had one other refinement of Caesar's design. As a further way to entice the Wa into crowding the beach, he ordered that the sides of the artillery craft raised, with pivoting sides that hid the artillery pieces and disguised the ships as transports. Each captain was under orders to wait until the last possible moment before swinging the sides down to expose the artillery pieces. It was dark when the artillery ships left their moorings and began making their way out of the protected harbor. As they did so, Titus Pullus and the men of the 10th designated for the first wave sat quietly on the shore, waiting for the orders to begin their own loading process. Of all the new parts of this operation, Pullus thought, probably the trickiest was going to be loading into the new transports. In order to enable the quickest unloading possible, the sides of these transports were mere inches above the water, making these craft completely unsuitable for any type of voyage longer than what was facing them, and in any seas other than this inland bay that they would be crossing. But what made it dangerous for the men was that, in order to increase the speed, the beam of the vessels had been narrowed substantially as well, so that as the men loaded, they had to do it in roughly equal proportions from each side, or there was a very real danger of swamping the transport. Of course, that meant that the transport had to be exited in the same manner, but that was what Caesar had trained them so hard to do, with each tent section assigned a side of the craft to exit. Still, as Pullus and the rest of the men well knew, what went smoothly in training rarely translated in combat, but it was in the gods' hands now. 
As the men of the first wave of the 10th waited, Pullus walked among the men, sharing a joke here, chiding another man there for some past transgression, although it was all done with a good humor. He had long since learned that there was a time for the harsh discipline that was a staple of Legion life, and in those moments just before a man faced his possible end was not one of those times. As was his usual habit, Pullus lingered with those few remaining veterans of his own tenure, men like Publius Vellusius, both men drawing comfort from the presence of the other. Finally, the cornu sounded the call to begin the boarding process, and in the time it took for the last note to echo across the inner bay, Pullus was once again the Primus Pilus, the hardest man of the Legion. "All right you lazy cunni," he roared, shoving men he considered to be moving too slowly, "get aboard your ships and by the gods, if any of you forget what side you're boarding and capsize one of these buckets, I'll flay you and use your shriveled ball sac as a coin purse!"And as usual, his men obeyed, quickly and without mistake, each transport loading up then moving out into the harbor to allow another transport to take on their own complement. Less than a third of a watch after the cornu sounded, the entire first wave was loaded up and moving to the entrance of the harbor, headed for the Wa beach. It was almost time to exact retribution. 



All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 5

The move to the new island went smoothly, with only one minor skirmish between a small group of Wa warships, very small craft, poorly armed and crewed, all of them quickly sent to the bottom of the bay. As Caesar's massive fleet cruised by the mainland, heading for the protected harbor of the island, the men lined the rails to watch the activity on the shore, which was a swirl of movement as thousands of Wa stood watching the foreign invaders sailing by.  "How many do  you suppose there are?" Sextus Scribonius asked Titus Pullus, the two standing side by side on one of the transports.  "I don't know, but there's a lot of 'em," Pullus grunted. "But I don't worry about the civilians. I worry about those bastards," he pointed to a large group of Wa warriors, standing separately from the others.  "I don't know," Scribonius said doubtfully. "If the civilians are even half as fierce as their warriors, we're going to have our hands full." Pullus laughed and slapped his friend on the back. "What, did you want to live forever? Besides, didn't Caesar tell us he's got a plan to defeat them?" "Actually, I did plan on living forever," Scribonius retorted, "or at least longer than you. But speaking of Caesar's plan? Still no idea what it is?" Pullus answered with a frustrated grimace and shake of his head. "No, not a clue. And I'm beginning to wonder..........." before he finished, he lowered his voice and took a furtive glance about to see if anyone was listening. ".....if he really has a plan, or he's just telling us that he does."Scribonius couldn't hide his shock; never before had he heard his best friend express this level of doubt in their commanding officer. With those words ringing in his ears, Scribonius turned his attention back to the sight on shore, both men lost in their own thoughts. 
As usual in Caesar's army, everything moved with absolute efficiency and speed, so that within two watches of the first ships pulling into the protected harbor the camp was completed. By the next morning, the northern edge of the island facing the bay was dotted with small forts, each one with a complement of artillery in the form of scorpions and ballistae. Just outside the camp Caesar ordered a large area cleared of all underbrush and trees, and on the second night called a meeting of all Primi Pili and Pili Priores, to be held outside the camp walls, out of earshot of the men.  Without preamble, he told them, in the high-pitched tone he used when addressing large groups, "I know that you have been waiting to hear about this new plan I have for defeating these barbarians, now that we know how they fight." He waited a moment for the inevitable buzz as men muttered to their friends, and only those standing close enough could see the quirk of his mouth as he continued, "And I know that some of you have doubted whether or not I actually had a plan, or if I was just saying it to appease the men."Although Pullus was standing closely enough to see the shadow of the smile on his general's face, he still experienced a shiver of dread, wondering if this was just a shrewd guess on Caesar's part, or if he had spies in even more places than Pullus thought. Whatever the case, Caesar's words served to focus the minds of the assembled Centurions in a most effective way, and all murmuring and shifting about stopped as they listened intently.  "As you all saw, these barbarians are extremely aggressive," Caesar continued, "and the reason we were repulsed had nothing to do with the bravery of our men. The reality is that the method that we use in making a beach assault, while it has been successful thus far, is not suited for the type of resistance that we saw a week ago. Therefore, after giving it much thought, I have come up with what I believe will give us the best chance of making a successful landing."Caesar paused for a moment, and despite themselves men found that they were leaning forward, waiting for him to continue. Their general knew this, and accordingly didn't say a word for several moments, drawing out the tension and anticipation of the Centurions, until he could tell they were on the verge of shouting at him to continue. "You all know that I set great store in the use of artillery, but I realize my mistake with this landing, and that was I didn't use the artillery nearly as much as I should have. Therefore, I am doubling our artillery, and I am converting even more ships into floating artillery platforms. Before we send in the first landing craft, we are going to pound those barbarians into jellied meat and teach them what the true might of Rome is all about!"The last part of his statement was drowned out by the roars of his Centurions as they thrust their fists in the air, shouting their approval and defiance. All of the anger and frustration came roiling out of these hard-bitten men, and Caesar was content to let them continue for several moments before finally raising his hand for silence. Finally, once it was quiet again, he continued. "But that's not all. We are going to have to get onto the beach more quickly than we have in the past. To that end, I am also ordering a number of transports to be broken down, and their timbers will be used to make smaller craft, holding no more than a Century, so that we can unload more quickly, and these ships can go back to the larger transports and load up with another Century. We are going to practice that maneuver here in this inner harbor, where the Wa cannot see us, until I'm satisfied that it cannot be done any more quickly."Caesar paused again, letting his Centurions absorb this, and this time they were silent, more thoughtful as they considered this. All of them knew that this meant their men would be worked until they dropped, then worked some more, for Caesar was nothing if not a hard taskmaster. But if it meant that less of them would perish on some foreign beach, far from home, then none of them begrudged the work that was to come. There were a few more details that Caesar wanted to go over, then he dismissed the Centurions to go prepare their men for their upcoming ordeal. 
And Caesar was good to his word; the very next morning work began as ships were dragged onto the beach and torn apart, their timbers used to build both the artillery platforms and smaller transports. While this was taking place, those Legionaries who were not immunes that were involved in the work on the ships were sent out to the stakes to work on their sword work, or to the range where they worked on throwing their javelins. Everywhere was a scene of nonstop activity, and every man retired to their tents at the end of the day sore and tired, the Centurions included. But despite the pace and harshness of the regimen, no man complained, all of them knowing that it was time to avenge their earlier defeat, and that the harder they worked now, the greater their chance of not only seeing another sunrise, but avenging the loss of friends and comrades. Caesar's army was determined that they would not be turned back a second time. 



All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 4 (Cont.)

"Comrades," Caesar began his speech in his customary manner, accustomed to the longer delay required for the interpreters to translate his words into the almost dozen tongues that his soldiers now spoke. "We have suffered a loss," he raised his hands at what he had known would be the inevitable howls of protest, "not a defeat! It would only be a defeat if we were to load up on our ships and return home," even as he uttered the last word, Caesar felt a pang of....what? Regret? Remorse? Could it be homesickness? He knew that as acutely as he felt it, his men would suffer from that longing even more, so he hurried on. "But we are not going to do that!"Immediately a hush filled the forum of the camp, the men needing no translation of his tone, if not his words to understand what he was saying. Without realizing it, almost every man was leaning forward from their position of intente, focusing on what Caesar was about to say. "We will not let this defeat us! No, my comrades, we have come too far, suffered too much, seen too many of our friends die to lose heart now! We must AVENGE those comrades we lost on the beach! And for the men of the 28th Legion," Caesar turned in their direction, his hand upraised, "there is a special debt that must be repaid in blood! You have lost your leader, the great Gnaeus Cartufenus, your Primus Pilus and a man who has served me well, going back to the difficult days when I was in Alexandria, besieged by Ptolemy!"Caesar's reference to those days struck Titus Pullus like a blow; he had been the de facto Primus Pilus of the 2 Cohorts of the 6th Legion that Caesar had brought to Alexandria in pursuit of Pompey, only to be trapped there for better than 7 months. During those days, Titus had become good friends with Cartufenus, and he remembered the trials that they had both endured when the 28th, then a green Legion, had almost mutinied because of a lack of water. Cartufenus had been steadfast then; in fact, Titus remembered, it had been Cartufenus who, leading 2 Cohorts of the 28th, had scaled the heights above the Egyptian camp during the battle that saw the final defeat and drowning of Ptolemy, breaking what had been to that point a bloody stalemate, with the day still very much in doubt.  "Even now, I have sent ships scouting further along the coast of this wretched Island of Wa. Now that we are in their Inland Sea, I have it on good authority that there are large stretches of coast that are uninhabited. We are going to land again, but not until after we have regained our strength. Also, now that I have seen how these Wa fight, we are going to train differently. I will teach you the best way to defeat these savages, and show them that of all the soldiers in the world, those who march for Rome, no matter where they are from originally, are the greatest in the world!"Once his words were translated, the ground shook with the roars of the men, as Pullus thought, he's done it again. I don't know how, but he's managed to make the men forget how badly we were beaten just a week ago.
Later that day, Pullus and the other Primi Pili were summoned to a briefing in the praetorium, and as Pullus, Torquatus and Balbinus walked together to the headquarters tent, they discussed what they had heard earlier. "Any idea what this new tactic is?" Balbinus asked, not really aiming the question at anyone, but Torquatus understood that it had been aimed at Pullus, both men believing, with good reason, that of all the Primi Pili, Pullus was the one closest to Caesar. "Nope," Pullus answered, "and trust me, I had Diocles work his network of spies under the tentpole working overtime trying to find out. But Caesar's been playing this one very, very tightly." "Figures," Torquatus grunted, "gods know he's been withdrawn the last week."The other two Centurions agreed this was the case, but any more conversation was cut short by their arrival. Entering past the guards, they were waved immediately to the conference room, where about half of the other Centurions and staff had already gathered. Very quickly the rest arrived, and not more than a dozen heartbeats later, Caesar strode in, followed by Hirtius, Pollio and the rest of his staff. Waving his audience to a seat, Caesar began immediately by pulling the cloth off the tent wall that, as the others saw immediately, had been covering what was a surprisingly detailed map of the Island of Wa, with most of the detail concentrated on the vicinity of the Inland Sea. Despite themselves, most of the men made small sounds of amazement and surprise, showing how impressed they were that Caesar had been able to amass so much information in such a small amount of time. "As you can see, Volusenus and his staff have been very busy, with no small thanks going to Zhang," Caesar nodded in the direction of the Han emissary, seated in the first row, whose face as usual betrayed no emotion whatsoever, save for a small nod of the head in acknowledgement. Uppity bastard, Pullus thought to himself, acting like he's the one in charge. I'd love to gut that slanty-eyed bastard myself. Turning his attention back to his general, Pullus listened as Caesar continued. "As you can see, about a day's sailing west of here starts a number of islands as the coast swings to the south. Zhang has told us, and Volusenus has confirmed," Caesar's emphasis on this last part stopped the muttering of the assembled men, "that there is one very large island, then a very large bay, with perhaps two dozen more islands of varying size. However, there is one," as he talked Caesar pointed to a crudely drawn mass of land south of the main island that to Pullus looked a bit like the letter V, although the right arm of it had a protuberance that almost closed the top off, "that has a very protected harbor. It is uninhabited, but as you can also see, it is not far from the main island. And directly north of that island is a large settlement, with what looks like a fair sized garrison of troops. That, gentlemen," he finished, "will be our target."
The plan, as Caesar outlined it, and like most of his plans, was simple. While there were a number of small craft in the area of this city, none of them were warships, at least of a sufficient size or in number to stop Caesar's fleet from investing the island to the south. This island would be the base of all operations from this point forward, he told them, and the harbor would be heavily fortified. The entrance into this protected bay, because of the knot of land that Pullus had noticed, narrowed it down to less than a half-mile, and with artillery emplacements on either shore, there would be no way for any hostile force to enter without being raked by fire. The land in the pocket of the V was flat enough for a camp spacious enough for the entire army, and according to Volusenus, who had landed on the island, there was wild game and plentiful fresh water. After establishing a defensible position on the island, Caesar had made it clear that the first target was the city across the bay where, he had told his officers with a wolfish smile, the Legions would be turned loose to exact revenge in a way that the Wa would never forget.
All that remained was this new tactic that Caesar had promised, but he had refused to enlighten his Centurions about what he had in store, saying only that once things were settled in their new position, he would make his plans known. But, he assured them, neither they nor the men would be disappointed.   

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 4 (Cont.)

Whether or not Zhang was planning any treachery, Caesar didn't know, but he was thankful that he apparently didn't have anything in store for the passage through the straits. As Zhang had predicted, traversing the strait had been a nightmare, made all the more urgent and vivid by the knowledge that every watch spent at sea meant more of his wounded were likely to die. Nevertheless, they had made it, although as they made their way through the strait they were forced to hug one shore because of the narrowness of the passageway, and because the opposite shore was lined with Wa archers who were waiting for any ship to come within range. Thank the gods these Wa didn't have any artillery, or Greek fire for that matter, Caesar mused. If so, it was highly likely that most of his fleet would have been damaged or destroyed. As it was, his own flagship had suffered damage when it had come close to foundering on the built-up silt and had to be hauled into deeper water. There hadn't been just mud in that strait, as the buckled timbers of the quinquereme attested, but fortunately they were now safely ashore, a camp was made and repairs could be made. Once through the strait, Volusenus, with Zhang's help had guided them due north to where a river flowed into the Inland Sea, with a smaller stream entering the inlet from the western side. The ground wasn't perfect; there were some heights to the west less than a mile from the edge of the camp, but judging from what Caesar had seen of this island so far, he suspected that level ground was going to be hard to come by. Regardless, the men had worked hard and well, erecting a strongly fortified camp with their usual speed and efficiency, and if they ended up staying longer than a week, Caesar would have them improve the defenses even more. Nothing gave men better sleep than knowing they were safe, and Caesar was no different in that regard. Sighing, he stood from behind his desk in the praetorium, straightening his tunic before he had his slave lower his cuirass over his head, then hand him the eagle-headed handle of his sheathed sword. He was about to go to the hospital tent, to make one of his twice daily visits to the wounded, knowing that the sight of their general seemed to help them heal more quickly than any potion. 
Titus Pullus and Sextus Scribonius sat in Titus' tent, the remains of their evening meal still sitting in front of them before it would be cleared away by one of the slaves. It had been almost a week since the aborted landing, but Pullus was still sore, just another sign to him that he was getting too old for this kind of nonsense. This didn't help his mood any; like the rest of the army, there had been a pall hanging over his head resulting from the recent defeat. For a couple of days, the Primus Pilus of the 10th had been more in a state of shock than anything, not quite believing what he knew to be true, that for the first time in this campaign, now 10 years old, Caesar's army had been beaten. Once that new reality sank in, it had plunged him into a depression the likes of which he had never experienced before. It hadn't been as acute as his grief over the loss of some of his comrades who were close friends, but while not quite as painful as those personal losses were, this one was more profound in ways that he couldn't describe, even if he were so inclined. Which he wasn't, thanking the gods for how well his friend Scribonius knew him and recognized that trying to cheer him up wouldn't help. Besides, Scribonius had his own grief to deal with; after all, he had been on the beach as well, and while not as overt about it, he was just as proud as Titus. Still, there were matters to discuss that couldn't be avoided forever. Finally breaking the silence, Scribonius asked, "Have you given any more thought to what we talked about?"A flash of irritation showed on Titus' face, but it disappeared as he heaved a weary sigh, knowing that Scribonius was right to bring it up and that it couldn't be avoided any longer.  "Yes," he finally answered, if a bit grudgingly. "But I still haven't made up my mind." Now it was Scribonius' turn to be irritated, and they had been friends much too long for him to be cowed by either Pullus' rank or reputation. "Pluto's thorny cock, Titus," he snapped. "You can't put this off forever. I don't remember ever going this long without an Optio, and I didn't argue with you when you took mine to put in your Cohort. And Mardonius is the logical choice to be my Optio."Instead of getting angry, Pullus rubbed his face, a habit of his whenever he was thinking or distracted.  "I know that," he finally replied, his tone as tired as his face looked. "But we both know that this isn't as straightforward as it looks. We are talking about the Second Cohort."Now it was Scribonius' turn to sigh, because he knew Pullus was just as right as Scribonius himself was, and that was the reason no decision had been made. The nub of the problem was that Mardonius was a Parthian, and while he was Tesseraurius in one of Scribonius' upper Centuries, there had been a string of Parthians promoted in the last few months, and some of the men, and not just Romans, were muttering about it. Compounding matters was that Mardonius would be the Optio of the First Century of the Second Cohort, leapfrogging other men who were at the least more senior, if not more qualified. Normally this was little more than a headache, but the situation was made more difficult because of the overall mood of the army. Too many men that were rescued from the beach had gone on to die of their wounds on the pitching deck or crammed into the holds of ships because there had been no place to land. Suffering the defeat was bad enough, but the combination of all these things meant that Pullus' hold on the 10th was more tenuous than it had been since the dark days immediately after Pharsalus, when he had stood with Caesar and against not just his comrades but his longest and dearest friend, Vibius Domitius. In fact, Titus had come dangerously close to striking Vibius down, a memory that had stayed with the giant Primus Pilus even to this day. However, he wasn't alone; aside from the promotion issue, the other Primi Pili were in similar straits, none of them sleeping well at night, even with the security of the camp walls around them. This threat was from within, and for any leader is the most difficult challenge that they will face, no matter what their circumstances.  "Well, as bad as it may be," Scribonius broke the silence between them, "at least we're not the 28th." "Who are you telling?" Pullus asked, with grim humor. "If we were, I wouldn't be sitting here right now."And with that thought, they toasted each other with the rancid rice wine that Diocles had managed to scrounge up.
Scribonius was correct; the men of the 28th were devastated both at the loss of their Primus Pilus Gnaeus Cartufenus and at the manner of his death. It was a situation of which Caesar was acutely aware, but as yet, he had not replaced the Primus Pilus, nor had he addressed the men of the 28th, or the rest of the army for that matter. This was another thing troubling the men of the ranks, but it troubled the officers even more, and to men like Pullus who had followed Caesar for 27 years it was very uncharacteristic. Normally when there had been a setback, Caesar never hesitated to not only face trouble head-on, but in cases where the army appeared in danger or faced a huge threat, he often exaggerated the danger, as he did in the case of Ariovistus, or when the army faced elephants for the first time at Thapsus. But for reasons only Pullus and the other Centurions could guess at, Caesar had chosen to remain silent, at least to this point. Pullus, who knew Caesar better than almost any other man from the ranks, suspected that his general was in what passed for him as a state of shock. Oh, he had conducted his daily briefings, but they had been extremely short, and before anyone could raise a question, he would end the meeting and stride out of the large partitioned area that served as the General and staff's mess when it wasn't used for meetings. Pullus had been tempted to seek an audience with Caesar to speak to him in private, both to try and plumb the depths of Caesar's despair, and to urge him that he needed to be more of his old self and address the army. Yet something held him back; as much as he loved and respected Caesar, there was still a healthy dose of fear there. Over the years he had seen men suddenly disappear, and had even been peripherally involved in an incident where a Centurion who struck down one of his own men during the time when Caesar was besieged in Alexandria was killed in action under suspicious circumstances. Although Pullus knew that in almost every case the disappeared men had been troublemakers, it still instilled in him a healthy caution around Caesar. Like Caesar, Pullus made regular visits to the hospital, and he was relieved to see that all but a few men were on the road to recovery; those who the gods had fated to die for the most part had done so. 
Finally on the fifth day after they landed, two things happened. The first was that Charon's Boat, the separate section of the hospital tent where those destined to die were taken, was finally empty, the first concrete sign that there would be no more deaths. The second came when Diocles burst into Pullus' private quarters, where his master and friend was resting after conducting a morning's worth of weapons training. This had been Titus Pullus' first post in the Legions, as a weapons instructor, and even now he still prided himself on his prowess with a weapon. Sensing Diocles' presence, he looked over from his cot, instantly understanding that something momentous was taking place, and he swung his feet to the ground then stood as he reached for his vitus, the twisted vine cane that was symbol of his rank.  His instinct was correct as Diocles said excitedly, "I just heard from Apollodorus," naming one of Caesar's secretaries. "Caesar is calling an assembly of the army." "When?" Pullus asked, his mind automatically running through the things that needed to be done whenever Caesar ordered the parade of the entire army.  "At the beginning of the next watch," Diocles answered, causing Pullus to swear.  "That's less than a third of a watch to go," Pullus protested, but even as he was doing so, he began donning his mail shirt and strapping on his harness. "But maybe we'll find out what his plan is."Diocles was already on his way out to begin his own set of tasks required to summon the Legion, but he clearly heard Pullus mutter, "Gods help us if he doesn't have one."

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 4

It was a somber group of men crammed into Caesar's stateroom aboard the flagship. None of them was accustomed to defeat, and there was no way for any of them to pretend that this was anything but that, and a resounding one at that. Standing and bracing himself against the rolling ship, Caesar surveyed the faces of the men around him, his expression matching theirs. Now is not the time to grieve, he admonished himself, recognizing that as they had done so many times before, this group of men, leaders of his army, were looking to him to set the tone, and to provide a solution to their dilemma.  "Before I say anything else, I would like to offer a prayer to the gods for Cartufenus and his men, and request not only their blessing on him and his men, but a curse onto the Wa for what they did."Although the men all bowed their heads and held their arms out in supplication as Caesar intoned the words, the sense of anger and frustration was palpable in the small room. Titus Pullus in particular, Cartufenus being more than a colleague but a friend as well, felt a surge of rage and guilt as Caesar's voice droned the ritual blessing. Had this been his fault, he wondered? Had his stubborn refusal to withdraw from the beach helped to spur the Wa into the act of barbarity that they were all forced to witness in helpless anger as they stood at the rail of their respective ships? Shaking his head, trying to dispel such thoughts, he was singularly unsuccessful in banishing the memory of Cartufenus and his men, their hands bound and kneeling, being systematically decapitated. The roars of rage and helplessness clearly carried across the entire fleet as a Wa warrior, probably the leader judging by the adornment of his helmet and quality of his armor, walked from one Legionary to the next. There would be the flash of a blade as it slashed down in a graceful arc, and the detached part of Pullus' mind found itself in grudging envy of the fluidity and obvious force behind each blow. The sight of a head rolling in the sand, spattering gore as it tumbled a couple of paces jerked him from that admiration, and as hardened a soldier as he was, he felt a clenching in his stomach that signaled a possibility of it expelling whatever contents were left in it. 
Now, standing shoulder to shoulder with the other Primi Pili, Tribunes and Legates, Pullus looked to Caesar, his prayer finished, to issue the orders that would begin the process of avenging the death of not just Cartufenus, but all of those left behind on the beach. All of the assembled men understood that if the Wa had executed those able-bodied men left behind, their stranded wounded suffered the same fate, making their anger a palpable force. Conscious of it, Caesar was careful in his speech. "There is no question that we must avenge the death of those men who were left behind," he began, but seeing the faces of those Centurions, most notably Pullus, darken, he hastily added, "through no man's fault but my own." Seeing a slight relaxing in posture, Caesar continued, "But we cannot afford another setback like today."That's one way to put it, Pullus thought, but he knew how hard it was for a man like Caesar to utter the word "defeat". "To that end, I've sent Volusenus further up the coast to find a landing site that's unlikely to be contested. Barring that, he has orders to look for another island that is either uninhabited or lightly defended so that we can land there and recover."The men digested this, saying nothing, unsettling Caesar a bit. Normally there would be questions, or at the least some comments, but nobody said a word. Silence stretched out for several heartbeats, prompting Caesar to ask, somewhat irritably, "Are there any questions?"None were forthcoming, and nonplussed, Caesar dismissed the men to return to their respective ships, each man buried deep in his own thoughts. 
Volusenus' ship returned to the fleet three days later, meeting up as the main group continued to beat north into the teeth of a steadily growing wind. After rowing to the flagship, Volusenus reported the presence of what appeared to be an uninhabited island another two days further north, but Volusenus was adamant that there wasn't a single beach or anchorage sufficient for the fleet. The only other option was the much larger island they had seen to the south during their passage to the main island, but even from a distance it had looked as forbidding a place to land as the island Volusenus found. Additionally, Caesar reasoned that the larger island was in all likelihood inhabited, and despite taking the first island east of the Gayan peninsula with ease, even the man renowned for his luck and daring was shaken.  Turning cold eyes to Zhang, he addressed his question to Achaemenes, "Does he know whether island to the south is inhabited? And if so, in what numbers and more importantly, are there any of those abominable savages there?"As he waited for the translation, Caesar pondered all that Volusenus had told him. He knew very well that every day at sea that passed, more of his men who still might be saved would die, but he couldn't suffer another setback like the one that had occurred a few days before. NOT a setback, Gaius, he chided himself. Even if you don't utter the word aloud, you must not lie to yourself. We, no I, was trounced, defeated, beaten. Suddenly and savagely, the word NO screamed unbidden in his mind, almost making him utter the word aloud, but only with the discipline of Caesar did he avoid making such a blunder. I may have been defeated, but I am NOT BEATEN, he raged at himself, all while maintaining the same, calm demeanor that his men knew so well. For that was the power of being Caesar; never, ever, did he betray what he was really thinking at any time, and this time more than others that was important, because any sign of self-doubt would fuel what he knew were already mutterings among the men that Caesar's luck had finally run out. One such defeat he could master, but two? No, not even Caesar could overcome that, hence the importance of this next decision.  Achaemenes turned to Caesar finally, and said, "Zhang says that the island to the south, while it's uninhabited, doesn't have an anchorage of a sufficient size for the fleet."Despite his best attempt, Caesar hissed in frustration, turning back to Volusenus, who looked extremely uncomfortable being the sole focus of his commander's attention.  Nevertheless, his gaze never wavered as he spoke. "By my calculations Caesar, there are only two anchorages on the island I found. It's clearly uninhabited, save for one lone shack. But the island itself is very small; I would estimate it being no more than a mile across and 2 miles long. There is one anchorage on the southern end, and one slightly larger one on the eastern side." "How many ships could fit in each?" Caesar asked, arms crossed.  Volusenus sucked through his teeth as he thought about it before answering, "Perhaps 50 in the smallest anchorage, and more than 100 in the other. But," he admonished, "they would be very cramped. Meaning that......." "....If a storm came, they would damage each other, just like in Britannia," Caesar finished for him, his tone peevish although he knew that it wasn't Volusenus' fault. Seemingly frustrated, Caesar began pacing, head down as he stared at the deck, pondering what to do. If he went south to the larger island, there would be more room perhaps, but Zhang had been frustratingly vague about the conditions needed for a safe harbor for his ships. And more than anything, Caesar knew from long and bitter experience that the men viewed the fleet as their lifeline back to any semblance of security. He was disturbed from his thinking by the sound of a clearing throat, and he looked up irritably to see that, judging from the reactions of the men around him, it had been Zhang who had made the noise. "Yes?" Caesar asked, masking his annoyance, both at the situation and at Zhang, who he was beginning to consider as an agent for the Han court who had no intention of aiding Caesar and his men. When Zhang spoke, Caesar almost gasped in shock, while the men around him were not so circumspect, making the rest of what Zhang said very hard to understand. The reason for the surprise was that Zhang was speaking in Latin! Slow, halting but clearly understandable Latin.  "Caesar," he had begun, and despite the surprise Caesar was forced to stifle a smile at the awkward pronunciation of his name. "Forgive my poor Latin, but I know that this," for perhaps the first time Zhang's face showed emotion, screwing up as he searched for the right word, "...process of translation has been......" For a moment he couldn't continue, prompting Caesar to prompt gently with the word, "frustrating, I believe is the word you are looking for."Zhang's face cleared as he inclined his head in what could have been gratitude for the help.  "Yes, that is the word. However, I have not wanted to speak in your tongue until I had a better hold of it."You mean "grasp" Caesar thought, but said nothing. No, you didn't let us know because you wanted to gather as much information before you let us know that you held a throw of Venus in your hand. Regardless, Caesar was at least thankful that there would be a bit less time wasted, and listened intently as Zhang continued.  "Since we are, how do you say, searching? Yes, searching for a spot where your army can rest, I know of perhaps a place."The attention of every man in the room was riveted, but the eyes staring at Zhang were anything but friendly. If he were aware, or shaken by the scrutiny he didn't show it as he described what he knew, and may have known all along. "There is a passage that will lead you to what the Wa call their Inland Sea," he explained. "Once there, you will find not only many spots to anchor, but there is a region that is almost completely empty of people."Caesar's jaw tightened, while the others' shoulders slumped as the tension released from them.  "Yes, I know that there are better anchorages, but we would have to reverse our course and go around the southern end of the island," Caesar said patiently. "Or, we can continue north, but you have said yourself you're not sure how far the northern end is. We don't have that long, Zhang."Zhang immediately shook his head, in the style that Latins were accustomed to, and not the circular motion used by the Han. "No, this is not one large island," he told Caesar. Then for the first time, his face showed a bit of alarm at the sight of Caesar's face darkening as blood rushed to it, which he had learned didn't bode well. "It appears to be, but I know there is a very, very narrow strait that is very hard to find. In fact, judging from the landmarks we are not that far from it. We could be in those straits by the end of the day." "And why didn't you see fit to tell us of this strait before?" Caesar asked in a deceptively mild voice, which his officers knew was even more dangerous than his rage. Men disappeared from around the fire when Caesar spoke in this manner, but nobody looked at Zhang with any sympathy. In fact, if it were up to almost all of them, particularly the Primi Pili like Pullus, Torquatus and Balbinus, Zhang would have been pitched overboard long before. For the first time, Zhang seemed to become aware that there was a danger present, and Caesar was gratified to see tiny beads of sweat appear on the Han's brow.  "I did not speak of it before because I have only heard of it. I have not been through the strait myself. And it is supposed to be very dangerous to navigate. There are many rocks and the water is, how do you call it," at this Zhang for the first time turned to Achaemenes for help with the word, uttering what he was looking for in Han. Achaemenes thought for a moment and said, "Shallow." "Yes," Zhang  nodded. "The water is very shallow, and I do not know whether all of your ships can pass through. I have been told that this strait fills up with dirt washed from the rains and makes it very likely that some of your ships will become stranded. Also, I do not know about the," again he turned to Achaemenes, who supplied the word, "tides in this strait."All of what Zhang said made sense, and Caesar relaxed just a little bit. He still didn't trust Zhang, but he supposed that it would be understandable that Zhang wouldn't be forthcoming with this information if it meant there was a chance the ship he was on was the most likely to be stranded, or worse.
Whatever the case, Caesar immediately recognized that this was his only real choice, to trust Zhang to provide the information needed to guide them through these straits. Turning to Volusenus, he gave him his orders. "Take Zhang in your liburnian," referring to the lone remaining scout ship, still the fastest of any that Caesar had encountered, "and follow his directions looking for this strait. We'll follow on your heading. When you find it, come back and guide us."Volusenus saluted and turned immediately to go, but before he did, Caesar grabbed his elbow and whispered a few words to his exploring officer. Volusenus listened, then gave a nod grim before leading Zhang out of the stateroom. Once they had left and Caesar was sure they were no longer in earshot, he told the rest of the officers calmly, "I told Volusenus that if Zhang lied, he's to tie him to the prow of the ship, cut his hamstrings and let the sharks eat him."
With grim smiles, the officers of Caesar's army left the flagship to return to their men and inform them of what was coming.  

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 3 (Cont.)

Responding to the commands, the transports carrying the rest of the First Cohort came riding the heavy surf up onto the beach. Their task was made more difficult because the transport originally carrying the first two Centuries had responded to Caesar's command and was pulling back on the beach. The other two transports had to aim on either side of the beached vessel, but both captains managed to do just that, and before the transports came to a halt the men aboard were jumping into the seething water. The Princeps Prior, commander of the Fourth Century of the First Cohort Servius Arrianus, was the first over the side, followed close behind by the rest of his men, each of them eager to save their friends in the other Centuries. Thanks to the incursion made by Pullus and the men of the First Century, there was sufficient room to form up before plunging into the Wa ranks. The Wa, seeing the arrival of fresh men, realized that at the least this meant their time to annihilate the wedge formation of the men of the First Century was growing shorter, and as a result picked up the fury of their assault on the compact group. Balbus and Camillus had also managed to push the Wa back a bit, if only to maintain contact with the First on their right, now several dozen paces up the beach. Arrianus had one simple task; get to Pullus and make sure he understood that Caesar had ordered a withdrawal. As seemingly straightforward as it might have appeared, Arrianus was not looking forward to delivering the message. As much as he admired and respected Titus Pullus, there was a healthy dose of fear there as well, and between facing these Wa barbarians or Pullus, to Arrianus it wasn't that different. Nevertheless, he was at the head of his men as they left the water behind and stepped over the piles of bodies on the beach, some of them reaching out and calling for help from friends they recognized who were charging past. Nobody had time for these unfortunates, save for a sympathetic glance as they went by. Pushing his way through the packed rear ranks, each row holding the harness of the man ahead of him, Arrianus forced his way forward in between the files, snarling at men when they wouldn't immediately give way. Finally reaching just a couple rows behind his giant Primus Pilus, who was still thrusting and slashing at the Wa in front of him, Arrianus was at a loss what to do. Shouting might distract Pullus, although for the first time the Wa immediately surrounding the front of the wedge formation were no longer pressing as closely as they had been. In fact, there seemed to be a pocket of space that was just outside the radius of the reach of Pullus and the front ranks of the formation, and even Arrianus was troubled with the thought, should we really be retreating? Nevertheless, those were the orders he was to relay, and finally he reached out and tapped Valerianus, the aquilifer of the Legion standing immediately behind Pullus. Whipping his head about so quickly it almost dislodged the wolfskin headdress that all in his position wore, Valerianus' eyes widened at surprise at the unexpected sight of the Fourth Century Centurion. "I bring orders from Caesar," Arrianus shouted, surprising the aquilifer even further. Arrianus proceeded to relay them to Valerianus, who visibly blanched before turning about. Tapping his Primus Pilus on the hip, a move they had obviously used before because instead of turning around, Pullus merely leaned back so he could hear what Valerianus had to say. Arrianus saw Pullus stiffen, and even over the din of battle he heard the string of oaths from his commanding officer. For several moments, Pullus continued his slow and steady shuffle forward, lashing out first with shield, following up with his blade, as if he hadn't heard a word. It looked very much to Arrianus that Pullus wasn't going to obey. 
Meanwhile, Cartufenus and his small group of men had become totally isolated, as the remnants of the First and Second Century obeyed the command to withdraw. Moving backwards in good order, the First under the command of the Optio, they maintained their cohesion as they edged back into the surf, abandoning the toehold of beach they had fought so hard to attain. Those who were able dragged wounded comrades back with them, but too many were being left behind, some of them begging their friends to take them along, others beyond caring, knowing they would be dead soon one way or another. Cartufenus, glancing about, seeing and understanding what was happening, knew that he and the rest of the men with him were doomed, and a part of him was grimly amused that it would be these men, the shirkers, who would buy with their lives enough time for the rest of his men to clamber back aboard the transport.  "All right you cunni," he snarled to the dozen men still standing, "we're all fucked. But we're going to show these slant-eyed bastards how a Roman dies!"It was hard to say who was more surprised at the hearty roar that issued from the throats of every single man as they signaled their assent, Cartufenus or the men themselves, but none of them hesitated as they renewed the fury of their attack, moving deeper into the ranks of the Wa pressing about them, their blades flashing in the air. 
Scribonius was the last man off the beach, backing up slowly, his shield, riddled with arrows and scarred from several spear and sword strikes but still intact, still in the first position. The slingers, after loading the wounded, had clambered back aboard and immediately moved to the foredeck of the transport, and were now sending a hail of missiles into the massed ranks of the Wa. This was all the protection that Scribonius had as he continued backing through the surf, trying to steady himself against the waves and praying he didn't step in the same hole that he landed in when he had jumped into the water just, what, he thought with some surprise, about two thirds of a watch before, if that? Helping keep Scribonius safe were some of his Legionaries who, scrounging up unused javelins, were launching them at any Wa who gave them a target by getting too close. However, for the most part they seemed content to stop just out of missile range and stand there jeering at the retreating Romans, and despite having no idea what was being said, Scribonius and his men burned with shame and indignation, needing no translation. Somehow Scribonius managed to make it to the side of the transport, where several helping hands reached down and unceremoniously hauled him aboard, where he lay gasping on the deck from the exertion, still shaking from all that had transpired. Finally clambering to his feet, he took a quick glance around, dismayed at the sight of the carnage on the deck, as the medici attached to his Century, all two of them, hurried about, trying to assess those casualties that had a chance of being saved. Very quickly Scribonius realized that there was little, if anything, that could be done for these men, since any treatment they would have received should have been given by the more skilled Han physicians, or even the Pandyan and Greeks. But Caesar had only planned on success, counting on having space on dry land, after being successful, so he hadn't thought to disperse the physicians among all the transports. Any chance his seriously wounded had now rested in the hands of these two  medici, and it didn't take an expert to see that they were completely overwhelmed, since it appeared that at least half of the remaining members of his Century were wounded to one degree or another. 
After what seemed to be another full watch, Titus Pullus snapped an order over his shoulder, never turning his head away from the enemy, and his cornicen, standing next to Valerianus, lifted the horn and blew the same notes that had sounded from Caesar's own man earlier. Automatically, and without any hesitation, the men in the rear ranks of the wedge formation, helped by the members of the Fourth Century on one side and the Fifth Century on the other, pushed outwards against those Wa still trying to apply pressure on the flanks of the formation. Bashing with their shields, the fresher men of the relieving Centuries very quickly made a space for the men of the First to extract themselves, and now all the hours of training for a maneuver that the Centurions and men alike scoffed at as something they would never do paid off. Closing the distance back to the surf line much more quickly than they had moved forward, the Romans quickly began the process of loading back on the transports. The Sixth Century had landed next to the Second, who had been anchoring the far left of the First Cohort's sector, and Balbus followed his men off the beach under the fresh javelins of the Sixth, who followed immediately after. But there was no real pursuit; like in the case with Scribonius, heavy missile fire kept the Wa at bay, although this came from the heavier artillery of the offshore warships instead of slingers. However, it was more than that, because the Wa showed no inclination towards pressing their victory, instead standing there amid the piles of bodies, many moving but most lying still in the sand, panting heavily and unable to speak. Titus Pullus, surveying the beach, saw the Wa and with a brief flash of excitement understood that this was the moment to press the attack again, sure as he had ever been that victory was still in their grasp. He was about to turn his head and give the command to unload the ships and renew the assault when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a tall, spare figure standing on the deck of the flagship. Even from this distance, he could see Caesar glaring at him, causing the flare of savage jubilation to immediately fizzle out, and he hissed in frustration at what he was sure was an opportunity lost. Still, he obediently continued backing up until he reached the side of the ship. Unlike Scribonius, he spurned the offers of help, but before he clambered aboard he turned back to face this new enemy, the only ones who had ever made him retreat. "I am Titus Pullus," he roared at the top of his lungs, lungs conditioned by decades of bellowing orders across vast expanses, so he knew the Wa would hear, even over the pounding waves and moaning men. "I am the Primus Pilus of Caesar's 10th Legion, and I swear by my gods Mars, Bellona, Shiva and Mithras that we will be back! And I will have vengeance!"Climbing aboard, he heard the jeering catcalls of the Wa, and like Scribonius and his men, needed no translator to understand them. 
Gnaeus Cartufenus only had a half-dozen of the original twenty men around him, and he had never been more exhausted than he was at that moment. He was barely able to hold his shield in the first position; this was the third shield, the others having been splintered, and his sword arm ached so badly that he couldn't hold his arm out upright, even though his life depended on it. Panting for breath, it felt as if he were inhaling pure fire, and every part of his body shook as if he had the ague. His men were in the same situation, and they were now hemmed in on all sides by spear and sword-wielding Wa, their weapons all pointing at the beleaguered group of Romans. Still, they didn't finish them off, and Cartufenus dimly wondered why, although it didn't seem to matter all that much. At that moment the idea of death was a relief, and after several moments where nobody moved, Cartufenus finally had enough. "Come on you savages," he gasped, waving his sword feebly in the direction of he and his men, "come get us! Let's get this over with and we'll show you how Romans die!" There was still no movement, until suddenly the ranks immediately opposite the Romans suddenly opened up and a Wa warrior stepped forward. This man wore the lamellar iron armor, along with a helmet adorned with what Cartufenus assumed was some sort of bird. A crane, perhaps he thought dully? Whatever, it didn't matter. The man was, like the rest of the Wa, short but compactly built, and without knowing a thing about him, Cartufenus and his men immediately understood that this was what passed for a nobleman of these people, his air of command and authority the same as if he were standing in the Forum of Rome. When the Wa spoke, it was in a guttural language that sounded nothing like the singsong pattern of the Han, but more like the Gayan, those people of the peninsula that the army had crossed just before coming here. Cartufenus had a few Gayan in his ranks, but none of them were here now, and even so, it wasn't likely that they could understand that much either. But that didn't deter the Wa commander who, as he talked, kept gesturing with the point of his sword. Once he was finished, he stood looking expectantly at Cartufenus and his survivors, telling the Primus Pilus that something was expected of him, although he had no idea what. Finally, Cartufenus spat onto the sand of the beach, then threw down his sword. "Drop the weapons, boys," he told the rest of the men. "We might as well see what the gods have in store for us. Who knows," he said with grim and heavy humor, "maybe they'll be so impressed with us that they'll let us go."Individually, none of Cartufenus' men, all veterans, and all born survivors, would have believed their Centurion, but something happens when men group together, and a collective consciousness seems to take over, and along with it the will to survive increases dramatically. Perhaps it's because the idea that one won't be alone when facing the unknown gives some men courage, but whatever the cause, Cartufenus' men followed suit, throwing down their swords. They were now captives of the Wa, and only the gods knew exactly what their fate would be. 
Still standing at the rail, Caesar could only watch as the remnants of the first wave of his army boarded the transports, then slowly pull away from the beach. Left behind was carnage on a level that Caesar couldn't recall seeing since Alesia, and while he took grim satisfaction in the sight of the majority of those laying strewn in the sand being Wa, he knew that his army had been badly hurt. Good men, really good men, were being left behind on that beach, and even as his thought crossed his mind, he heard a shout that alerted him to a sight further down the beach. He could barely make out a small knot of what looked like Wa warriors, but they were clearly surrounding a smaller group, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he understood that some of his men were prisoners. Hopefully it won't be a Centurion, he thought, not knowing that his worst fears were being realized. Unfortunately, there were even bigger problems, and Caesar began mentally preparing himself for the reality to sink in; the Wa had repulsed the landing. Caesar had been defeated. 



All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.

Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 3 (Cont.)

Titus Pullus heard the blast of the cornu once, twice then a third time before his mind finally registered the meaning.  Retreat? he thought. Could that possibly be what he had heard? His wedge formation had finally made its way several paces inland, the men in it fighting savagely to secure this tiny foothold of beach. Now, after losing the gods knew how many men, he was supposed to give it up? Never before had Pullus' loyalty to Caesar and instant obedience to orders been so severely tested, not even at Pharsalus, as it was at this moment. His men, and he himself, had fought like Achilles this day to gain territory, however little it may have been, and Titus Pullus wasn't the type of man to surrender ground won at such cost willingly. In fact, he continued fighting, counting on his example to keep the men around him inspired to do the same. 
Caesar watched as those transports of the first wave that had deposited their loads then left the beach try to maneuver their way back to the beach. The increasingly heavy surf compounded matters, causing two of the transports to collide heavily against each other, snapping off at least a half-dozen oars from both craft. Caesar couldn't help a curse escaping his lips; it was very rare that he lost his composure, at least in public, but this was one of those occasions. Giving his cornicen a sidelong glance, he saw that the man was much too occupied with the sight before him to give any indication that he noticed his general muttering about men whose mothers may have been prostitutes. Turning his gaze back to the beach, he could only watch as the two damaged transports tried to disengage from each other, with limited success. Meanwhile, he saw that Pullus and his Century had managed to use their wedge formation to gain more of a foothold on the beach, causing him a pang of anxiety. For an instant he experienced a sense of doubt, a very foreign feeling to Caesar, as he wondered if he had been premature in sounding the retreat. Then he looked down the length of the beach, and seeing the majority of his men still standing on the fringe of the beach or in the surf, his resolve returned. If Pullus and his men were able to fight their way onto the beach, they were able to fight their way off it. 
For Sextus Scribonius, the call to retreat was something of a relief, and in fact he had been half-hoping for that signal. Turning his mind to the immediate problem, he called over his shoulder to his own cornicen. "Give the signal for fighting withdrawal," he shouted. Almost immediately, the deep, bass notes issued from the large curved horn, and Scribonius immediately took note that the faces of the men around him showed nothing but relief. Indeed, the command seemed to infuse the men with more energy as they began the process of shuffling backward. Now, Scribonius thought, all we need is a boat to get aboard. As his Legionaries engaged, Scribonius disentangled himself from the crush of men, shoving his way to the rear. It was only because of the respect and regard his men held him in that none of them thought for an instant that he was positioning himself to be the first aboard; they knew him too well. Instead, he was making his way to Andros, the commander of the slingers who to that point had provided very little support.  "I need you to form up there," Scribonius shouted while pointing to a spot where the surf was perhaps knee-deep. "You're going to fire over our heads and keep these cunni at bay while we get back on the boat."Andros stared at Scribonius in disbelief. "Are you mad?" he gasped. "Being this close means some of your men will be hit. My men are good, but they're not that good." "I know that," Scribonius replied grimly, "but that's the only way to get any breathing room." Grabbing Andros by the arm, he finished urgently, "If you don't do this we're all going to die on this beach."Gulping, Andros only nodded in answer. 
Farther down the beach, Gnaeus Cartufenus and his group of 20 men had just gone smashing into the Wa ranks when the signal to withdraw sounded, but neither he or his men heard it over the din of clashing metal and shouting men. Oblivious to anything but the Wa across from him, Cartufenus was a snarling, spitting mass of malevolent energy and focused violence, thrusting and bashing with his shield, fighting desperately to gain a purchase of more sandy beach. Infected by the example of their leader, those men who normally would have never found themselves in the thick of fighting were standing next to him, matching Cartufenus in his fury. For the first time there was a wavering in the Wa line as they absorbed the impact of this small group of Romans, hacking their way into the midst of the Wa ranks. Knocking spears aside, the Romans demonstrated a level of teamwork and controlled ferocity that countless enemies before them had been forced to endure, and like those enemies, the Wa found themselves taking a step backward, tentative and halting, but definitely backward. The bulk of Cartufenus' men, however, heard the signal, and his Optio, a man named Spurius Lentulus, seeing his Primus Pilus isolated and either ignoring or not hearing the command, did his duty and took control. Like Scribonius, Lentulus ordered the cornicen to sound the call to make a fighting withdrawal. Only then did Cartufenus take notice, his head whipping around at the sound, but by this point the Wa on his flanks had enfolded his group so they were completely isolated. The only way for Cartufenus and his men to join the rest of his men would be to fight their way out. 
The empty transports finally made their way back up to the beach. Caesar, who had ordered the bombardment of his artillery to cease in an order to conserve ammunition, commanded the galleys to re-commence firing to provide covering fire. For those Centuries that had not made headway onto the beach, withdrawing was more straightforward, although there was substantial difficulty in extracting wounded men. Those who could, staggered and waded through the now-heavy surf, some of them seemingly covered in blood from a wound to their upper body and were dragged aboard by crewmen. Ironically, these were the lucky men, because those still able-bodied enough to fight had the extra pressure of keeping the Wa across from them at bay as they backed up through the surf. Fortunately, the Wa were now showing their first signs of fatigue and were not as eager as they had been just moments before. Much of it had to do with the bodies piled on the fringe of the beach, the sand and surf on either side of the line almost completely red. Not only was it demoralizing to see so many casualties, they served as a barrier to keep the Wa somewhat at bay. Even so, there were quite a few Wa who clambered over and around the bodies to keep up the pressure. Unlike those Wa that were in the first few ranks, these men were almost exclusively armed with swords, which they wielded in a manner unlike any that the Romans had encountered before. Much like the Gauls, they slashed with their weapons, but unlike the warriors of that now-faraway land, the Wa blades were more slender and they seemed adept at attacking from any angle. Whereas the Gauls, with their long swords, attempted to decapitate their opponents, the Wa seemed content to land a damaging blow wherever they found an opening, clearly counting on their conditioning and endurance to outlast their opponents. Even from his ship, Caesar could see the flashing of blades as those Wa armed with swords came pushing against his men as they shuffled backward, shields up. He was pleased to see that the Romans were scoring hits, as Wa warriors were bested by the short, thrusting sword that they all still carried. Even now, Caesar mused, as skilled as some of the warriors of the lands I have conquered have been, when it comes to a weapon, nothing has been superior to the Spanish sword. Until now, he thought grimly, although this was only half-formed, something worthy of further contemplation, but not until he had extracted the rest of his army.
Pullus' sword arm was soaked up to the elbow with blood, and it ached like never before from all the work he had done. Still, he was proud of his men, because they had now managed to actually crack the Wa lines. But now he was supposed to give all this up? Despite the fatigue, despite the loss of so many men, Pullus still couldn't really fathom the idea of retreat. So out of all the Centurions on the beach, Pullus alone refused to give the order to withdraw, choosing to ignore the command. And despite a couple of glances over their shoulders, his men didn't hesitate to continue following their Primus Pilus. Not only were they conditioned to obey their Centurion, they had ultimate faith in him; he was a legend, not just in the 10th Legion, but in all of Caesar's army. And if he still believed that victory was possible, then they did as well. So they continued trying to move forward, confident that their Primus Pilus knew best. For his part, Pullus continued surging forward, always applying pressure on whoever stood opposite him, slaying each of them in turn. Besides his wound in his upper shoulder, he had a gash on his shield arm, and a cut just above his greave, so while most of the blood on him was not his, not all of it was that of his enemies. None of those wounds deterred him; his body was covered in scars by this time. In fact, Scribonius often joked that it was harder to find a spot on Pullus that didn't have a scar than the opposite. All of these Pullus bore proudly; they were the proof of his accomplishments even more than the phalare, torqs and crowns that he had won. It was because of these scars that men followed him so readily and so steadfastly, and that bond was in evidence now as Pullus continued fighting. 
Scribonius was backing up, slowly, across the small expanse of beach that his men had claimed, trying to avoid the bodies. The Balearic slingers had begun whirling their arms above their heads, loosing their lead missiles, much deadlier than the smooth rocks they used previously, sending them whizzing just inches above the heads of the Romans. Despite their best efforts, there would  be a stray shot, smashing into the unprotected back of one of the Romans, followed by either a grunt or shrill scream. One of the stricken men's comrades would grab the fallen man by the harness, dragging them backward to deposit them unceremoniously on the sand, or as the withdrawal continued, in the shallow surf. Those men unlucky enough to be unconscious ended up face down in the surf, either by the action of the waves or because the men dropping there had other things on their mind. Only because of the slingers who, in between loosing shots, were grabbing those men and turning them over were they saved, since no medici had landed. There was still the problem of loading not just these unfortunates felled by the slingers, but those wounded earlier in the action who were unable to help themselves. Realizing this, Scribonius reluctantly gave the command for half the slingers to cease fire and begin loading these men onto the boats, an order they obeyed with alacrity. No man was willing to leave a wounded comrade behind, if only because if it ever happened to them, they didn't want to suffer the same fate. Whatever the reason, there was no hesitation on the part of the slingers as they either carried or dragged the unconscious men back toward the waiting transport. Very slowly and methodically, the Second Cohort disengaged and made their way toward the waiting transport. 
By this time Caesar wasn't bothering to hide his agitation, but this time it was aimed at the Primus Pilus of his 10th Legion, his favorite and best Legion. Seeing that Pullus had made no attempt to withdraw either he or his men, he pounded the rail in frustration. Of all the men he could afford to lose, Pullus, and by extension the First and Second Century of the First Cohort of the 10th, were last on the list. His judgement was not entirely based on just the practical; he vividly remembered the first time he had decorated the tall, broad man on the beach when he was a raw youth of 17, and over the years they had become as close as it was possible for men in their respective positions to be. In fact, Caesar was now faced with a choice he had no desire to make, but this time he didn't hesitate.  "Send the rest of the First Cohort onto the beach," he snapped at one of his aides. "Their orders are to help Pullus get his insubordinate ass back aboard their ship," he roared this last. "So I can crucify him myself." 

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.