The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (50 page)

Out in front were rows upon rows of what I assumed
were Rome’s
vigiles
.
Vigiles
were nothing more than
firefighters, their goal not to extinguish flames, but to
controllably destroy burning buildings to help quell the spread of
the fire. They weren’t soldiers, but they were still employed by
the emperor, and were required to do what they were told. I
couldn’t see their armor, but they carried shields and spears. Not
scuti
or
pila
, but inferior equipment, and I had to
assume their training was next to nil. They’d break easily, but
there were seven thousand of them out there. More than our
legionnaire force alone.

On Claudius’ right flank stood the city’s urban
cohorts. Three in total, but totaling only fifteen hundred men,
their training, arms, and armor were superior to that of the
vigiles
. These men were the police force of Rome, and were
housed and trained with Praetorians, making them an opponent that
could fight back.

On their left flank stood maybe another ten to
twelve thousand men. These men wore little armor, if any at all,
and were armed with small swords, daggers, sickles, hoes,
pitchforks, clubs, and a plethora of other mob worthy items. These
must have been whatever allies Claudius could muster that still
supported his cause. Claudius didn’t plan on beating us through
generalship, but through force of numbers alone, and he still had
the seven thousand rebel Praetorians, probably in formation behind
the main body of the enemy who would be the real problem. Seasoned
veterans, each, they alone would be hard to break with even an
entire legion and its auxilia.

Caligula was going to have a fight on his hands, and
while generals like Hannibal had been outnumbered in nearly every
battle he waged, and almost always come out on top, I wagered
Caligula wasn’t quite the general he was. Very few men were, but
Caligula still had plenty of assets to work with.

The first of which was his general. Galba was a good
man, and a good leader and tactician, despite his annoying
disapproval of my friends and me. His fate during the year of four
emperors couldn’t be entirely blamed on him. He had been old, and
in desperate need of allies, which were scarce considering the many
sides to choose from. He’d been unlucky, but history still
remembers him as an able general. Caligula had left overall command
of the legion to him while the emperor would only worry about his
Praetorians.

Galba had positioned his troops in a way he hoped
would combat the enemy’s superior numbers. Unfortunately, between
his legionnaires, Praetorians and auxilia, Claudius’ line still
extended nearly twice as far as his own.

On our right flank, opposite the massive numbers of
civilian militia, Galba had placed his entire contingent of German
auxilia. His three thousand infantry were well trained and armed,
and had a tenacity about them I’d never seen before. They’d cut a
swath through the civilians, hopefully breaking them quick enough
to flank the more superior troops from the rear. Galba left his two
thousand cavalry in reserve, but on the right flank as well, ready
to sweep around once the civilians were broken, or to aid in that
effort if possible. The last of the auxilia, his one thousand
strong archers, were spread thin and positioned behind the infantry
to screen their advance.

Contrary to standard Roman practice of putting the
best troops on the right flank, Galba had requested that Caligula
and his Praetorians take up position on the left. Both thousand man
cohorts were split in half, and lined up five men deep, and a
hundred abreast, forming four blocks. Behind them was Caligula’s
Sacred Band, arranged in an inverted square U, with Caligula in the
center, riding Incitatus, the infamous horse wildly believed to
have been named a consul during Caligula’s crazy years. He was
dressed as any other Praetorian would be, with a common trooper’s
lorica segmentata
armor. It was adorned with a long,
flowing, purple plume, and an equally purple cloak wrapped around
his shoulders, similar to how Julius Caesar would wear his
brilliant scarlet cape into battle

With him were a few dozen other horsemen, forming
his officer corps which could act as a small cavalry contingent if
needed. High above his men, he had a good view of the battlefield
and could use his vantage point to send messengers on horseback to
help coordinate his orders. Galba was similarly on horseback, with
his own squad of cavalrymen, also ready to issue orders as well as
fight if need be. Galba wore a set of his own personal battle
armor, molded to look like a muscle suit, common wear for Roman
generals. He stood out as well, but wore a more typical red
cape.

Placed before him was his legion. The legion he had
trained since they were raw recruits, but wouldn’t stay with once
they were commissioned. They were deployed in a checkerboard
formation, similar to how old manipular formations would be set up.
Each cohort was split in half and arranged so that the troops
represented the black spaces, while the white spaces were the area
in between each cohort. Galba had placed four cohorts in 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 cliché 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 from now.

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.