return to his men.
“And you, Servius,” Caligula said to the retreating man’s back. He turned to face Vincent. “The empire needs you. Do not worry about me. Just do whatever you can to cause as much confusion as possible. The Praetorians won’t be used to your kind of presence on the battlefield.” He paused and looked out over the chaos. “When you see the sign, come to my aid.”
“What sign, Caesar?”
“You’ll know it when you see it,” and with that, he rode back to his own advisors, already issuing commands and words of encouragement.
“Well?” Vincent asked, getting our attention. “You heard the man. Spread out. Pick your fights, and stay out of the way of the professionals.”
I saluted, a growingly superfluous gesture these days, and reached out for Helena’s arm, pulling her in the general direction of the XV Primigenia ’s 1st cohort. A short run later, we found it right where we left it, in the exact center of the legion’s formation, its eagle prominently displayed high above. We took positions near to the legion’s aquilifer, who held the eagle, perhaps the most important position in the entire army. He was unarmed, but he was a veteran, probably taken from another legion’s pool of experienced soldiers to hold this new legion’s eagle. He had to be brave because he could not run. To run would be the single most detrimental thing that could happen to a legion.
He wouldn’t run. They never have.
In front of him stood another signifier, and behind both of them was an imaginifer, another standard bearer who carried the face of the emperor, a reminder of who the legion was fighting for. In front of all three was Centurion Maximus Nisus.
“Any predictions?” I asked him.
The man’s expression remained neutral. “I try not to think about the outcome of a battle before it truly gets underway. There are too many unknowns.”
I nodded. I could relate to that.
“But,” he continued, “I do believe Galba will call for a shift in our formation in a few seconds. Claudius is taking advantage of his numbers. Their lines extend well past ours, so Galba will call for our formation to spread out. It will open up gaps in our lines. If I were you,” he paused, looking around as though giving us any suggestions would be a betrayal to his skeptical general, “I would look for these gaps and do what you do there. If you have any more of those, what do you call them? Grenades? Use them there.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Centurion. May the gods smile on you today.” I wasn’t tuning into a pagan, but it was what he would want to hear.
“And with you,” he replied, professional to the core. He turned back to the lines to continue his study of the enemy’s formation. They were finishing their last maneuver, just out of spear range. I looked to the right, trying to determine how the auxilia were doing, but all I could see was a jumble of men and horses. Only twenty minutes had passed since the vigiles had started their suicide rush, and I knew the battle could continue for hours before it showed any signs of waning.
I looked over at Helena, a reassuring quip on my tongue, but was distracted by a messenger riding up to Nisus’ position. As the seer had predicted, Galba’s orders were to expand the grid formation. He also ordered the third cohort to split into three maniples, and spread out along the rear. They would be crucial in securing weak spots in our lines.
Interestingly, the tactic was eerily similar to the one that, again, Caesar had used at Pharsalus. Like Galba, he’d used a nontraditional formation of four lines, instead of three, and used part of his army to work specifically to counter cavalry, as Galba was using part of his to hold the right. Hopefully, Claudius wasn’t seeing the similarities.
As the messenger rode off, Nisus issued his command briefly and efficiently, and I quickly found myself moving in step with the cohort. Putting maybe thirty yards between the corners of each cohort, I was only slightly embarrassed when everyone else stopped moving, but I’d kept going. Some of the men laughed at me, and even Helena joined in the fun, having stopped on her mark.
I gave her a betrayed look, which she returned with a shrug.
Ignoring their jeers, I looked out over the legion and saw how these gaps in the checkerboard formation could easily become a problem. Had the formation been tight, the corners touching as it had been, the enemy would have a rough time breaching the gaps for fear of being surrounded. Since the half-cohorts were now spread out, the enemy could enter these holes in the line with less fear. Help would have to come from farther away, and would leave the area they’d just left undefended. That was why Galba had created four lines in the checkerboard, so that holes could be plugged easily with reserves from the third, and the fourth could be called on as a last resort.
Nisus was also right in assuming we could do some serious damage there. We only had a third of our ammo left, but the men who culminated between the gaps in our lines would be exposed and distracted. A well placed grenade would kill many, and leave the rest stunned. Our legionnaires would then be able to close the gaps. I only had three grenades and one flashbang stowed away in pouches along my belt, but they’d still make a wonderful mess.
And just like that, the battle commenced again.
The enemy was less than a football field away, thousands of bodies and spears littering the space between us. The carnage made me want to puke, but I didn’t have time. When the legion’s trumpeters blasted the marching order, I felt the automatic surge of troops around me, and I stepped into formation with them. We tip toed over the obstacles on the ground, the enemy doing the same as they marched forward to meet us. Seventy five yards out, I saw that our battle lines were at least as long as their own now. Another thirty yards later, I began seeing faces, armor, and their standards in more detail. When only twenty yards separated the sides, everyone stopped.
Normally, this would be the moment when onrushing barbarians would run face first into a swarm of pila, but not today. Instead, I heard the forward lines’ centurions yell, “ pila,” wait while their men readied their spears, before yelling, “loose!”
Fifteen hundred spears flew out in unison, falling against the Praetorians, now comfortably secured beneath their testudo formation, an overlapping wall and roof of shields. The testudo formation worked well against arrows, slings, and non-pila type spears, but today it only helped, not guaranteed a soldier’s safety. Just as the last spears were reaching their mark, the second line’s volley of spears flew out as well, inflicting even more casualties.
It had long been theorized that when a pilum hit shield, man, or ground, its soft iron shank would bend at an angle and become next to useless. It could not be cast back, nor could be pulled from a shield, because the angle made it impossible to extract it. However, modern testing had proven that to create iron soft enough to bend but not break after it impacted a nine centimeter thick scutum was nearly impossible.
What really happened, thanks to my keen observational skills, was that the heavy pila drove deep into most things it impacted. It proved the theory that pila did make shields worthless, not because its shaft bent, but because they punched right through them, and staked them into the ground. Roman shields were probably of the best quality in all of Europe, and while they turned away many of the spears, plenty found their way through the protective layer, and easily through the sturdy lorica segmentata armor.
The rebel Praetorians quickly recovered from the barrage and cast their own pila. Nearly seven thousand spears flew towards both legionnaires and loyal Praetorians, and most flew farther than our own men’s had, older and stronger that their casters were. Since Helena and I were not protected by the legion’s testudo formation, we ducked beneath our overlapping shields, hoping we were lucky enough to weather the storm unscathed.
It turned out I wasn’t that lucky. I was never that lucky.
I felt two or three pila ricochet off my shield, my heart skipping with each impact, but the fourth spear plowed its way through my shield like it was made of paper. The only thing that saved my life was my vest.
The spear hit me like a lightning bolt, penetrating two of my spent magazines before stopping at the protective Kevlar lined within. The force of the impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and disoriented me enough to lower my defenses. Helena tried to pull me closer to her, so that her shield protected us both, but we were both bigger than the average Roman. Her shield was nowhere near big enough to cover us, but I appreciated the gesture as I tried to work air back into my lungs. My heart continued to jump as each spear grazed off her
