the first two lines, while the 10th cohort was placed on the far right of our formation, but kept intact as one large body. The third line was made up of two cohorts, with the double sized 1st cohort between them, with the last cohort stretched out, making up a fourth line in reserve. This formation would keep some men out of the battle to help when needed.
The XV Primigenia ’s first cohort, which carried the legion’s standard, the gold aquila, or eagle, was situated in the exact center of the formation, so that the entire army was more or less equidistant from their symbolic eagle. The men of the legion would rather die than see that eagle fall, and should it be captured the entire Roman army would be shamed. I couldn’t remember if the three lost in the Teutoburg Forest had been reclaimed yet, but I knew that most standards found their way home eventually.
Then of course there was me and the five other hapless souls stuck alongside me in a story even I couldn’t dream up on my best day. Our orders were simple, but open to considerable amounts of interpretation. Split up by swim pairs, we were placed at three places along our lines. Helena and I were put in the middle of the legion formation, right in front of the first legion’s standard.
It was Helena’s idea. I knew she wasn’t letting the whole “Mother of the Legion” deal go to her head, but most of the men would be inspired fighting alongside her. Vincent and Santino were stationed on our left flank to deal with Claudius’ crack troops. And on the right were Bordeaux and Wang. Bordeaux could probably lay waste to a third of the militia by himself if he had the chance.
Our standing orders were to march with the advancing army until a halt was called for. We would then unleash hell until the enemy was so fed up getting shot to pieces that they counter attacked. The auxilia would then charge with the enemy, hoping to meet that flank in the open area between the two armies, furthering their chances of effectively flanking the rebel Praetorians. The enemy’s charge would also trigger the claymores and antipersonnel mines, and leave them vulnerable to three volleys of pila.
Of course, we hadn’t counted on ten thousand militia being present, or seven thousand vigiles, and even if all Claudius had were his Praetorians and the urban cohorts to fight with we would still have a tough battle on our hands. This was going to be a battle of wills, and while there never were any guarantees, Caligula and Galba remained confident they’d win the day.
My mind in order, I cracked my neck and looked to my left as Caligula rode out to the front of our formation, ready to give the cliche but inspirational speech always recited before a battle. He kept it short and succinct, even though I only heard a small part of it. I’d always wondered how one man could deliver a rousing speech to an entire army and still have every man hear it. I quickly realized the answer was simple.
They didn’t.
That’s not to say that I missed out on any important part of the speech. Caligula simply rode back and forth along the line, making sure that he hit on important points, never repeated himself, and made sure everyone heard something inspirational. I heard him speak of honor and duty, and how Claudius had defied an institution that had existed long before their ancestors had overthrown the ancient kings of Rome. When he came back, he finished his speech by declaring that what occurred on the battlefield today would affect the outcome of history and that it would have ramifications hundreds of years later.
I wasn’t sure if I hoped he was right or not.
Finished with his speech, Caligula reared his horse on his hind legs, a difficult feat without stirrups, and he roused his troops with his upraised sword arm. Every man around me raised their spears in salute before pounding them against their shields, yelling at the top of their lungs. I found myself swept up in the moment and had to raise my rifle as well, yelling indecipherably. I was hard pressed to deny my urge to fire my rifle into the air. It was one of the most surreal moments of my life.
Caligula rode his horse down towards the right flank, receiving louder cheers from those he was passing, before turning back and heading towards his Praetorians. I watched him go, confidence swirling through me after his speech and gallop across the lines.
I looked over at Helena. “Not bad, huh?”
“He’s got my vote.”
“You know they don’t vote, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “I have been paying attention to your little history lessons.”
“Really? Then how do you explain the snoring?”
“I’m awake for most of it,” she argued. “You just need to pick a better time to start lecturing than when I’m trying to fall asleep.” She paused. “I don’t snore.”
“Yah. Sure you don’t,” I told her with a chuckle.
She attempted a response, but was cut off by a chorus of legionary horns, sounding off in tandem. Just before the march order was bellowed, I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss.
“Remember,” I told her. “No getting hurt. I’m too lazy to carry you around all the time.”
She looked up at me, a look that suggested she wanted to punch me again, but her expression betrayed her true feelings. She didn’t want to offer the loving gesture she reserved only for me because she knew it could be the last. If she did it, she would go into battle with that thought in the back of her mind. She tried to force a smile instead, turning to face the awaiting horde.
***
As the marching order blared, we moved in step with the legion. Claudius’ troops held their lines, content to watch us move against them. I remember reading Julius Caesar’s Commentarii de Bello Civili, literally, Commentaries on the Civil War, as a high school sophomore, and his description of the Battle of Pharsalus. There, he had his men charge against Pompey the Great’s numerically superior troops because he understood a soldier’s impetuousness of spirit when it came to battle. His argument was that Pompey’s stationary troops wouldn’t have the same kind of anger, confidence and zeal his own troops had because of the adrenaline rush they received from the charge.
Caesar’s reasoning couldn’t be universally confirmed. It may have worked for him, but that didn’t mean it would for us. Either way, we had no intention of rushing upon Claudius’ vigiles anyway.
As we marched, Helena and I concealed any evidence of our weapons and tried our best to blend in with the legionnaires. We walked behind the 4th cohort’s signifer, who held his century’s personal standard, different from every other century’s, with markings to identify which cohort, of which legion, it belonged to. It was adorned with an open palmed hand surround by an olive wreath.
We hadn’t marched long when the officers called for a halt. Vincent had probably signaled from the left that we were ready. With no further prompting, Helena and I took a knee, steadied our aim, and opened fire.
We were only a hundred and fifty yards away, and at this range, even the lowliest of marksmen in basic training would have scored good numbers. Helena lay prone, firing her P90 precisely from the ground. I assumed she was still targeting officers first and I followed Helena’s example of selective targeting and took my time with every shot.
As I went through one magazine, five, ten, twenty magazines, I saw the body count start to build. Fifteen minutes later, I had fired nearly six hundred rounds and I was just starting to see the line of vigiles start to shift and maneuver, and I knew they were getting ready to counter attack. I looked to my right and saw the bodies of the militia heaped into mounds and being used as cover from the hailstorm of lead Bordeaux must have been throwing at them. To my left, Vincent and Santino’s kills seemed to mimic my position’s, and I figured the urban cohort must have taken especially heavy losses.
Ten minutes later, I dropped my thirtieth magazine, which I had to stuff in a cargo pocket because my dump pouches were full, and saw the line of vigiles finally thunder forward. Their lines were so thin in places I could see the occasional Praetorian lined up behind them, walking forward at a more reserved pace. To my right, I saw the civilians charge, along with our auxilia. That was my cue to prepare for a strategic withdrawal.
As planned, the counter charge floundered slightly when they hit the mine field.
Helena and I had been exceptionally busy last night.
After securing our gear for today’s battle, we retrieved the ghilli suits we had been working on for the past two months, and went to lay the field. Ghilli suits were the epitome of camouflage. Designed by its wearer to mimic the exact contours of the earth they were trying to replicate, a well-made ghilli suit could make its wearer look like nothing more than a bump on the ground.
