Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 8 (Cont.)

Pullus' problem was more immediate;
the ditch in front of him was already half-filled with Wa, and he hadn't made
the connection between the fact that his artillery was wreaking havoc in the
front ranks and that this was exactly what the Wa commander had intended. To
Pullus, it was simply a matter of mathematics; the more Wa he killed, even if
they did fill the ditch, the less Wa his men had to face. Whose tactic was the
correct one would only be played out over the next watch, although neither
Pullus nor Caesar had any idea what the other was doing to counter this threat.
So Pullus never ordered his artillery to shift aim, and in fact, had called on
the men safely down out of fire to pass their javelins forward so that their
comrades could hurl them down into the packed mass of men just on the other
side of the ditch. They did this with a bitter and savage relish, putting every
fiber of their being into their throws, so the javelins carried even more
velocity than normal, and aided by their higher position on the rampart, some
men's throws traveled completely through one of the enemy to lodge deep in the
next man's body. While this made the Romans feel better, it also helped the Wa
by dropping more men into the ditch, until in three or four spots, whoever was
in charge of the attackers in that area deemed the ditch to be filled enough to
give the command to cross. Not surprisingly, one of those spots was directly in
front of where Pullus and the First Cohort were positioned, and at the sight of
able-bodied warriors taking the short hop down into the ditch, heedless of the
shrieks of pain from their comrades who had yet to expire, Pullus roared the
order for all men to return to the rampart, with siege spears. The arrow fire
was still intense, and Pullus understood that he was going to lose men as they
moved into position, no matter how careful they tried to be, but he couldn't
afford to wait any longer. As the Legionaries scrambled up the slope, Pullus
continued to watch as Wa clambered over the packed meat that was still
quivering in spots, causing many of the enemy to stumble and fall on top of the
bodies. When this happened, those of Pullus' men who still had javelins didn't
hesitate, flinging their missile down, usually into the back of the unfortunate
Wa who would be trying to regain his footing. Every one struck down in this
manner brought a cheer from those who saw it happen, but as many Wa were being
slaughtered there, Pullus could see that he and the men were still outnumbered.
All around him he could sense his men moving into position, and he glanced to either
side to make sure that the men with the siege spears would be those on the
parapet, and that each one had a comrade with a relatively intact shield. Their
job would be to provide as much shelter to the man wielding the spear as
possible, and each man had a replacement immediately behind him, ready to stop
in should he fall. The faces of his men mirrored the expression of their Primus
Pilus; a look of grim determination as they readied themselves for the coming
onslaught. Down in the ditch, those Wa carrying the ladders had just begun to
cross, drawing a curse from Pullus as he realized that he had been too hasty
with the order to loose javelins, because there were none left for these men.
Not that it really mattered in the long run; if they had killed every Wa
holding a ladder there were more than enough ready to step in and pick it up,
but it was a matter of principle, and Pullus chided himself for his lack of
professionalism. It was as he was engaged in dressing himself down that he
became aware of a change in the sounds of the fight. To be precise, it was the
lack of a sound that alerted him that something was amiss, but before he could
make the mental shift necessary to determine what it was, he was alerted by a
shout, and again only turning his head while keeping his shield up, he saw one
of the Immunes that was the de facto
commander of the men manning the scorpions making his way in a crouching run
along the rampart toward Pullus. Before the man could even reach Pullus, he
knew what he was going to be told, because the sight of the Immunes had served to tell him that the
missing sound was.

            Therefore
he wasn't surprised when the man reached him, saluted then gasped out,
"We're out of scorpion bolts!"

 

Aulus Flaminius, Primus Pilus of the
30th Legion was in the camp immediately to the south of Caesar's, and to that
moment, he and his men were faring better than any of the other positions,
mainly because the Wa commander had sent the smallest contingent of archers to
this spot. Still, the Wa were at the ditch, and because of the fact that
Flaminius had only been given 2 scorpions and 3 ballistae, he had been unable
to stem the advance. Ironically, this posed a problem for the Wa in charge of
this assault, who had been given the same orders as all the others, to
sacrifice the leading ranks of men to serve to fill the ditch. But they hadn't
suffered enough casualties to do so, so instead the Wa began leaping down into
the ditch, whereupon they learned firsthand of Caesar's genius for diabolical
traps, cunningly disguised. Although the Wa could plainly see the sharpened
stakes imbedded in the opposite wall of the ditch, what they only discovered
the hard way were the rows of Caesar's lilies, the iron hooks in blocks of
wood, buried in pits and then covered with a loosely woven mat of rice leaves
then covered with dirt. Over and above the din came the shrieks of pain as men
were hooked through the calf, immobilizing them and making them easy targets
for Roman javelins. Those few who weren't dispatched in this manner were faced
with a horrible choice of either waiting until one of the barbarians with the
javelins noticed them and finished them off, or enduring the agony that came
from pulling themselves off the hook, inevitably tearing through the calf
muscle and crippling them for life, if they survived. Even so, the Wa continued
to tumble into the ditch, moving across the bottom to stumble into the next row
of lilies, then the next. Yet they still came, but in their haste and ardor to
get their ladders up, the men following behind pushed the leading Wa, screaming
in alarm and then agony onto the points of the stakes, where the crushing
weight of their own comrades served to pin them, the bloody points protruding
from their backs. It was only when some of the Wa wearing the iron lamellar
armor and carrying swords began striking at their own men, pushing them back,
that the slaughter was stopped. Very quickly, Flaminius' men had expended their
supply of javelins, and now stood with their siege spears, the points sticking
out from between the stakes of the rampart and shields, waiting for the next
phase of the assault to begin. Ladders, again carried by the men several ranks
back, were now passed down into the ditch, and the Wa, for the first time free
from any javelin or artillery fire, as desultory as it had been, paused as
their officers began trying to organize the next phase of the operation.

            "Get
ready boys," Flaminius, who was able to peer down into the ditch with only
moderate risk from the archers, who were also too dispersed to concentrate fire
on one point, saw what was happening and understood that his camp was about to
come under assault. "Let's give these cunni
a taste of Roman iron! What do you say?"

His answer was a roar from the
throats of his Legion, accompanied by the clattering sound of swords beating
against the metal rim of shields, a sound that had struck fear into more
enemies than any other army in history. No matter who these yellow men were,
Flaminius and the 30th Legion was ready to face them.

 

By this point in time, back at
Pullus' camp the ditch had become sufficiently filled for the men with the
ladders to begin moving down into the ditch. Clambering over the grisly human
flooring filling the ditch, the Romans, having expended all of their javelins,
could only watch as the ladders were carried forward.

"Get ready boys!" someone
shouted, which was answered with a low growl.

The men holding the siege spears made
last-moment adjustments, most of them wiping their sweaty palms on their tunics,
despite it not doing much good because most of them had already soaked the
fabric through. No man on that rampart was under any illusion that today, after
all the battles and all the bleeding that had hardened the 10th Legion into
what it was this day, this would be the sternest test any of them had ever
faced, even the hoariest veteran like Vellusius. No, they knew individually and
collectively that today would either see the destruction of the 10th, or the
most glorious victory in its storied history. Titus Pullus stood among them,
and despite sharing that knowledge along with his men, he felt a sudden surge
of affection that threatened to overwhelm him, filling his heart until he was
sure it would burst. And with no little surprise he realized that, as much as
he wanted to see another day, just like any of his men, there was still no
place he would rather be than at this spot, in this moment. What finer thing
could there be, he wondered, than to make history, no matter how the day turned
out? Because what happened today would live forever in the annals of warfare,
even if the 10th was exterminated, along with the rest of Caesar's army. Pullus
was then struck with a thought. If the unthinkable happened and the Romans were
defeated, how would anyone back in Rome know of all that had been accomplished?
As suddenly as it came, the feelings of pride and affection were replaced by a
leaden ball of doubt, not about the outcome as much as about the aftermath. Who
would be left to return to Rome and tell the Roman people, he wondered?
Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted by a number of shouting curses,
and jerking his mind back to the moment, he turned to see the very tips of the
ladders peeking up above the palisade stakes, even as the men holding the shields
reached out with their free hand to push the ladders away from the stakes.
Pullus knew that only a few men were strong enough to do that with one hand,
and because he happened to be one of them, he leapt forward from his spot,
heading to the nearest ladder. Despite the fact that there were Wa warriors now
scrambling up the ladders, some of their archers continued to fire, their
feathered missiles streaking just feet above the heads of their comrades. While
not of the same intensity as their earlier barrage, the fusillade was still
sufficiently dangerous enough that even as Pullus moved forward he saw one of
his men holding a shield lean too far outside edge of the one he was holding and
take an arrow in the eye. Killed instantly, the suddenly nerveless fingers of
the man released their hold on the shield and before the man behind him could
lunge to recover it, the shield fell forward and down into the Wa, leaving a
gaping hole that made the otherwise unbroken line look like a mouth suddenly
missing a front tooth. Into that momentary gap came the first Wa who, in one
fluid and incredibly quick movement pushed off from the ladder to leap over the
palisade, seemingly hovering there in midair for the briefest instant before
landing squarely on the back of the fallen Roman. Even as Pullus' mind tried to
register what his eyes were seeing, the Wa's sword was swinging in what Pullus
knew from brutal experience was a deceptively smooth arc that nonetheless
packed an incredible amount of force. Before anyone could react, the Wa's blade
sliced cleanly through the neck of the Roman standing next to the fallen man
with the shield, and in one of those strange moments of clarity, what was
burned into Pullus' memory for the rest of his time on earth was the expression
of open-mouthed surprise and astonishment as his Legionary's head went spinning
into the air, the helmet still attached, leaving a briefly upright corpse still
spurting bright, arterial blood provided by a pumping heart that had not
received the message that it was no longer needed. In the instant after this
scene, the body of the second Roman collapsed, slumping forward over the
palisade, still spraying blood over the helmeted head of the second Wa on the
ladder, drenching him so thoroughly that when his head appeared over the
palisade, he appeared to be solid red. Scrambling to join his comrade, the
second Wa took the more conventional approach, but that only served to
emphasize his appearance as some sort of demon sent from the underworld, waving
a sword and eager to take as many Romans back down with him. Now the gap was
even larger, and although Pullus had been heading for the man closest to him,
he suddenly veered to meet this larger threat, without thought and without
hesitation, his sword out and his shield up and ready. In the bare fractions of
time that it took to close the distance, Pullus noticed that, with the second
Wa now standing atop the body of the second Roman like his comrade, both of
them disdained the use of shields and were armed only with their swords, the
same slightly curving blades Pullus had seen before. Before the attack on his
camp when the 10th had almost been overwhelmed, Pullus would have sneered at
the idea of any warrior with the hubris to fight without a shield. But not anymore;
he had seen firsthand the skill with which the Wa employed their weapon and
knew that they didn't use shields because they didn't need them. Nevertheless,
he went charging forward with his shield out before him, still confident enough
in his own abilities, experience and strength that the idea of facing two Wa,
no matter how skilled, gave him no pause whatsoever. 

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