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.
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.
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