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.
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.
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