III. Battle stations - mind the elephant!
"Equipment check!" The parade ground bellow of Third's centurions, speaking in synchrony, echoed through the defences. My heart rate leapt, and Bobby and I traded grins. That was the last chance call for us; it meant prep time was almost over and the games would soon begin, and that if we didn't have any gear, now was the time to run and fetch it. I stood and did a spot check - helmet, check, armour, check, sword, check, shield, check. Sorted. Bobby was good too, and we high fived and went to see if anything needed doing. Mel was talking to Anya and Alexei, who were rushing to put the final touches to the last few traps, and I wandered over to see what was going on.
"No, you absolutely will need proper boots not sandals. You need the ankle support if you fall or stumble, and the protection of something over your foot. They may not stop a sword, but it'll make someone standing on your foot in a shield line a lot less painful." She turned away, running a hand through her long hair and absently sweeping it back into a ponytail, and caught my eye. Anya was biting her lip, glancing between Alexei and Mel, unsure what she needed to do most. "Jase! You got a job?"
"Nah, just finished being fixed up by Bobby. Need me to go fetch stuff?"
"Yes. Anya, where'd you leave your boots?"
"Foot of my bed." Mel nodded at me.
"Third on the right. Fast as you can, buddy." I dumped my own gear with them, and legged it. Well, until I was out of sight, and then I did something that technically I wasn't supposed to. See, I'd found out when I was small that if I tried, I could do something really cool. My father, Jupiter, is the got of the sky, and turns out that comes with some benefits for his kids, because I can fly. It's seriously the best.
Problem was, I wasn't officially allowed to do it because of a few incidents involving unplanned landings and getting stuck in trees. It didn't always work perfectly, but whatever. It was quicker than running. I couldn't manage anything long distance, but I managed a few hops, jumping and gliding in leaps and starts. I went back to running as I approached Camp, because I didn't want to get lectured or, worse, be disqualified from the Games. Anya's boots were where she'd said, and I grabbed them and started to head back to the Field of Mars. I had to make a diversion to avoid the amassing First and Second cohorts, who were doing their own final equipment checks and getting into formation. Rather than going down the via Principalis directly towards the Field of Mars, I crossed the thankfully empty principia to leave through the Decumarian Gate. The fact that the other team were already onto final formation ready to march meant I really had to hurry if I was going to get there first and be in place with a little time to spare. I was glancing back to check they hadn't left, and therefore whether I'd be able to risk some low level gliding again without being spotted, when I noticed Louisa slipping out of the armoury and striding briskly towards the via Principalis to join her cohort. I hesitated. Probatio weren't allowed in the armoury unsupervised, under any circumstances. After a heartbeat, I shrugged, and ran back towards the Field of Mars. Honestly, I was chafing under that rule too, after years of being allowed into the armoury at will.
I reached the new fort exactly two minutes before First and Second made it to the Field of Mars, armour gleaming in the early evening sun. This was a summer battle; we'd fight either until the flag was captured from the fort - granting my team a loss, and the others a victory - or until either one team had no fighting members left or the sun set. That last was what my team were aiming for, because realistically we weren't going to get all of First and Second down and out without a miracle, and we were forbidden from praying for divine intervention - not that we'd get any. The gods had way more important things to do than watch us play at war, and even if they were watching, there would be no point. We were Romans. Victory meant nothing if the gods had to directly intervene and save us from lifting a finger for it. You'd be celebrating the gods deciding you were incompetent and in need of saving. Godly blessings, now they were something to be proud of. A direct godly blessing means a god doing something to help you along, because they think you're doing something important.
They don't happen very often.
Anyway. Anya just had time to swap footwear and stow her sandals somewhere in the hopes that she'd be able to retrieve them later before the praetors took to the skies on the backs of giant eagles, accompanied by the loud bugle that signified the start of the games. We ran to our battle stations with the rest of the Fifth. The fort had been built in a kind of spiral - the aim was to buy time, with layer upon layer of defences to slow the First and Second cohorts down in hopes that we could win by the clock, with a thick outer wall that would have to be breached first up, complete with watch towers and fighting platforms for deterrent. Hannibal's happy trumpeting echoed across the field of Mars as he spotted his newest playing thing. Hannibal sure loved trampling stuff.
Unsurprisingly, the Fifth were in the places most likely to get hit first, but not in the most strategic locations - with a couple of key exceptions. Alexei was sat twiddling his thumbs with the flag guards - the absolute final line of defense - in case one of his traps needed urgent adapting. He was probably filling the time by booby trapping the flag itself, so that whoever actually grabbed hold of it would get one final piece of resistance once we were all down and out. Anya kept pace with me as we charged up the stairs to meet Mel, who was directing our portion of the defences. She tried to summon a smile for us, but I knew her well enough to know it was false. And why wouldn't it be? We knew we were being thrown under the elephant as expendables, and she'd been dealing with it for a long time. She was also the one who would have to look after us all once we were injured, and make us train when we were declared fit to do so, no objections. Being a centurion can suck, sometimes. Peering over the rim of the wall, I could see the Second and First cohorts beginning with a pretty standard opener - pincering round the entire fortress, slow and steady, keeping their distance. Investigating and searching for weaknesses. I gritted my teeth. They'd be looking for a long time. Mel whistled under her breath, and I elbowed her gently. She grimaced and stopped, looking embarrassed. She slipped into vague whistling and humming whenever she was concentrating, and had to work not to when on missions or quests. Monsters are good enough at finding half bloods even without making noise to alert them to your presence.
First and Second came to an agreement, and begin to advance in earnest, shields braced into a close formation against the expected retaliation: water cannons. We were predictable, and used them, because as you might guess, the further from the walls you can keep the other team, the less likely you are to get stabbed. Third were in charge of the cannons - they didn't trust any of us with them, of course - and they picked their targets. I had to hand it to them, they knew what they were doing. They timed blasts to strike as lines were advancing, aiming for any small gaps in the advancing shield walls. At first they seemed to be ineffective, causing the line to brace and pause, but then Anya had an absolute brain wave. She convinced the cannon nearest us to aim for the ground just in front of an advancing line under fire from another cannon. As soon as both cannons let up - they're only capable of short blasts, not like hoses - the line advanced and promptly several Legionnaires slipped in the mud, having been busy concentrating on resisting the first blast and not noticing the second. Instantly the cannons on our wall were focused on the gaps, and the archers - that'd be all of us up on the wall - picked up the strategically dotted around bows with quivers of blunted arrows. They bruised like nobody's business, but you couldn't take an eye out with them, and that was what mattered most. We used real swords not training ones, but the rules were clear about actually causing fatalities. We were expected to be better than that. The block of Legionnaires on our side of the hexagon were crumbling. Once the water cannons get into the tortuga they're difficult to deal with. It's one crowded mess of water spraying at high pressure into your face and up your nose, combined with suddenly slippery ground and the added bonus of your teammates slipping and sliding into you. The middle of the tortuga caved in as the middle folk fell, causing an absolute pile up. I spotted Jacob trying to extract himself and start the regroup, and fired an arrow into the back of his helmet. From experience, that still startles you, and he didn't disappoint - he fell straight back over, landing heavily on one of his pals. I grinned to myself, and made a mental note to remind him of it the next day. A cheer went up from our side of the wall as the block either got to their feet and retreated or stayed put, groaning as they waited for the eagles to swoop down and airlift them off of the battlefield. The giant eagles of the Twelfth Legion make even the biggest fully mortal birds of prey look like little bluebirds: they can comfortably carry a six foot Legionnaire built like a pro football player in full armour, which comes in very handy during war games.
Of course, being the Fifth, nothing could keep going right for us. Anya cooly shot a retreating Legionnaire neatly in the throat as they backed up, and had another arrow on her string before he was done stumbling backwards, couching and retching. I shuffled a little out of her way when she jerked her head, to give her the clear shot while I scanned for my next target. She loosed again, but this time I didn't have time to watch someone fall and wonder whether Anya might be a relative of Apollo, because she yelped and dropped to her knees heavily. I crouched next to her, my own bow and arrow forgotten.
"What is it?" She gestured helplessly at her leg, face ashy pale. I glanced down and swore loudly enough to get Mel's attention. Mel had been a Legionnaire long enough to know what that kind of response meant in war games, and gave an ear splitting whistle to get the attention of a medic and eagle.
An arrow was sticking out of Anya's leg, blood seeping around it and over her thigh, beginning to drip onto the wooden floor already. She was biting her lip and starting to cry, shuddering in shock and with the effort of not making too much noise. I knelt next to her and braced her with a shoulder.
"Don't worry, Mel's getting the medics. They'll have you fixed in no time, okay? Bet you'll be thrashing me an' Pablo in tomorrow morning's run, same as usual, no problem." She whimpered as she tried to move, but was trying her best not to scream or anything. She didn't want to distract anyone, or maybe she just thought that people would think she was a wuss if she let on she was in pain. The eagle plummeted down to us with a suddenness that made me jump, and I helped Mel load Anya onto the stretcher in its talons. I gripped her hand briefly as she whimpered again. "I'll give you guys a lift, okay?" The eagle understood as well, another perk of being the child of Jupiter, and I braced my feet on the walkway, taking a deep breath and giving a mental shove as I exhaled. The eagle spiralled up on the false thermal, bearing my friend away to safety. Blood dripped through the stretcher as they went, splattering over my hand on the side of the wall. I picked up my fallen arrows, trying to wipe the sticky liquid off my hand in disgust, and paused. We all, no exceptions, used blunted arrows. Blunt ended arrows that would give you a bruise the size across of a grapefruit, but would only just pierce wet cardboard, let alone human flesh. Either someone had forgotten they had a sharp arrow in their quiver, or they'd decided that some rules were made for breaking. I saw red, and the next thing I knew, Mel was gripping me by the shoulders to keep me from jumping off of the wall and charging the nearest bunch of First cohort.
"I know. But leave it for now. The medics will get the arrow out. We'll deal with it when the games are over. Focus!" She was right, and I took a deep breath. Then I picked out a target, and aimed for the throat. I missed, but I had plenty of targets to practice on and all the motivation I needed.
"BREACH! BREACH! BR-ggh." We ran for the stairs, dropping through hatches into the main fort, shouting out the message to anyone who'd missed it. I wondered which of the Third's sentries had been silenced while reporting the breach, and tried to put it from my mind. I'd find out later, in the final tallies. The hatches were closed with a regular line of thumps. Someone swore from outside - I recognised Pablo's voice and winced. The hatches were on automatic, one of Anya and Alexei's ideas to avoid one being left open accidentally. There was the sound of a brief skirmish, and then the whoosh of collapsing walls. There was a thud on the wall outside, and someone knocked on the hatch two along.
"C'mon! I'm not spider man you know!" Someone forced the hatch open again, and in slipped the wiry form of Pablo, a nasty orangy bruise spreading across his elfin face. He grinned crookedly at us as the hatch closed again and was sealed shut. "I had the slight advantage of knowing when the walls were going to turn into flat pack mode. A third of Second are under a pile of kindling. Nice one, Anya!" He looked around, and the grin faded. "Hey, where is she?" My blood began to boil again, but Mel caught my eye and shook her head slightly.
"Injured, airlifted off. She'll be fine." Pablo grimaced. "She took out a couple of them with some good shooting first, though." He nodded.
"Well, that's something for her." We started towards our next posting.
We were into the spiral defences now. Alexei and the other planners had designed the fort so that the entire outer wall was on hinges. Once the first breach was made, we'd had a fixed time period to get off the walkway and drop down into the fort before they collapsed, concertina style, shattering apart in strategic places to make a jagged mess of broken up timber that would be awkward to maneuverer through, and would have buried as many enemy soldiers as possible. It had, as Pablo said, been a stroke of genius on the part of Anya. The rest of the building was mostly Alexei's brainchild, probably envisaged in a sleepless night at some point in the last year. It spiraled in towards the flags at the center - it was unbreakable rule that the flags had to be in the fort itself, with an actual access route, and couldn't be concealed - with the walls between each coil being trapped so that the First and Second would hopefully have to fight their way through each coil rather than breaking through directly. We were near the entrance, of course, which just happened to be where the First and Seconds tried to break through the walls. Luckily, we knew what was coming. Unluckily, we had to not let on until the last minute, because we wanted them to spring the traps. At the last minute we fell back into a tight shield formation, and even so some of the goo splattered over us. I gagged and spat, having remembered to close my eyes but not to stop breathing through my mouth. Next to me, Pablo wiped gunk away from one eye, which was starting to swell and water.
"Gods above, that burns." He hissed, and I nodded back, wishing I had something to get rid of the taste. We weren't allowed real poison or anything like that, but we were allowed a certain degree of external resources - and it's really amazing what you can do with large amounts of chilli powder and a few other choice ingredients. We backed up, still in formation, keeping wary eyes on the coughing and gagging enemy. The first line fell back, warning the next wave what had happened. There was a brief reprieve while they consulted, which was soon over. We fell back a little as the second wave formed up and began to advance, spears dropping and starting to probe between chinks in our shield wall. Three of the Fifth went down, replaced immediately as we continued our strategic retreat, interspersed with periods of false resistance to keep up appearances. We passed a subtle mark on one wall, and I kicked it as I went by. On the other side, Pablo did the same. It was timed perfectly, and just as the middle of the advancing pack drew level with the checkpoint, oil sluiced down onto the floor in front of and around them, making them slip into a pile up. It was beautiful.
Unfortunately, that was the last high point of the day for the Fifth, because at that point the First's ballistae came into play. The mass of stones crashed into the wall next to us, splintering the wood. It took a minute to understand what was going on, and then it clicked. They must have been building the ballistae during the games, because I hadn't seen any on the via Principalis. From the shocked expressions on the faces in front of me, I guessed that it might even have been a spur of the moment plan, because even the other members of the First and Second seemed confused. I didn't blame them - ballistae were the serious guns of war games, capable of not only smashing walls but also people. It meant that whoever was firing them was betting the walls would take the brunt of things and result in lots of buried Legionairres from both teams, with no major casualties. And that meant they were gambling with the wellbeing of their own cohorts, not just us. Hannibal bellowed somewhere outside, and I swear I could hear the displacement of air from the next shot - or maybe I could feel it. I didn't know if my father's gifts to his offspring included air missile detection. In the moment before it hit, I recognised Octavian in the lines ahead of me, and for an instant our eyes met as I shouted a warning to everyone. He was looking green, and braced with the girl next to him as the ballista hit.
The wall crumpled, and we had nowhere to go but down with it. Laying dazed under the broken fragments, I distantly felt another shot coming, and it hit the wall above me, triggering the traps. Luckily for us, they went inwards not out - but I could hear members of the Third waiting on the other side of the wall shout in shock as they were caught. I don't know how long it was before the collapsed walls were lifted off of us. The fighting had continued, but it was clear even as we were being lifted out that the Firsts and Seconds had won, though some of their own Legionnaires weren't too happy about some of their strategies. It was rather heart warming to hear them complain about being used as a wave of sacrifices as part of a strategy, though I doubted many would remember the feeling next time it was them coming up with the strategy. Sitting glumly in the first aid tent, I glared at the still blue sky. The sun was just starting to set, but we were nowhere near darkness, and that meant nowhere near the Fifth and Third having won. It had been going so well. It had even felt like we might of had a chance, for a few glorious minutes.
Before I could get too entrenched in bitter thoughts, Jacob came over and clapped me and Octavian on the shoulders, nodding at Pablo, who waved weakly back while obediently chewing ambrosia. The taste of my square was still lingering in my mouth. The literal food of the gods, ambrosia has amazing healing powers for demigods, so long as you don't eat too much and combust, in which case you become a very healthy pile of ash. It's like a square of jello, and it tastes neither like jello (usually) or medicine. It tastes like home, like everything good in the world, everything you want to hold onto and live for. For me, it's brownies. Those amazing, New Rome bakery super secret recipe brownies I'd thought my father maybe wanted an offering of, gooey and chocolatey, still warm from the oven, with a hint of coffee smell just floating around them from the rest of the bakery. Those brownies never failed to make me feel good. They were the food of afternoon walks back from senate meetings with Mel when I was a kid, when I used to sit on the fountain outside and swing my legs, bored, waiting for her to be done with all the boring meeting stuff involved in being centurion just for the sake of getting to eat those brownies fresh, rather than waiting for her to bring them back as a treat. They were the food we went for on weekend walks in New Rome outside of the holiday season, and for my birthday Mel never failed to take me to the bakery and stick a candle in one. Brownie flavored medicine - it had its downsides, but somethings about being a half blood were pretty good, and that was definitely a highlight.
"Guess you're glad I got you out of the action early, huh?" Jacob mock glared at me.
"Dis, that was you? Your aims gotten better, kiddo. I've got a dent in my helmet to fix up now. Eh, not sorry to have missed the collapsing walls. Either of the collapsing walls."
"Yeah, at least we knew our wall felling was going to happen." Jacob pulled a face and Octavian made a noise that was a cross between and snort and a snarl. I wondered if it had been a bit too soon, but I knew that we wouldn't be given any time to lick our wounds before being mocked for chalking up yet another loss. It was rare for any of the Fifth to get the chance to rub salt in other people's wounds, and I took the chances I got. I dunno, maybe I thought they'd stop doing it to us if they experienced it often enough.
Gradually, everyone gathered back into cohorts - well, everyone who was still on the field, rather than having been airlifted off to the infirmary - to hear the official announcement of the results. Rich's eagle swooped down to land on the specially built eagle perches alongside Violet, who was already surveying the troops from the back of her own eagle. He was grinning widely. Rich had been in the First cohort, and he was always extra pleased when they did well.
"So, after some admittedly very strong defensive action by the Third cohort, with some support from the Fifth, it's a pretty clear victory to the First and Second cohort." The First and Second's standard bearers waved the flag aloft, while the Fifth muttered unhappily. Alexei was just glaring, fists clenched, at the smirking Third centurions. Mel didn't even look surprised, and I guess she wasn't. Of course if anything good had been done, it had been the work of the Third not the Fifth. Pablo hissed in anger next to me.
"No mention that it was a Fifth probatio who had one of the most successful ideas, of course." He muttered it quietly enough that only I heard. I thought of Anya, in hospital before her plan was even put into action, and anger and sorrow collided into a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach. I remembered the leg incident, and nudged Mel. She just raised an eyebrow at me, and I realised that of course I was just being impatient. She knew what she was doing, biding her time until the right moment came up. We didn't have long to wait.
"Keeping the honour of Rome aloft -"
"Some honour."
Mel didn't often raise her voice, and she was regarded as a generally soft touch centurion. It was why she often took care of beginners, who needed a little patience when first learning to hold a sword without stabbing themselves in the foot. But when she did lift it into battleground mode, dripping disdain, boy did people listen. There was a stunned silence, in which Alexei shifted to stand more clearly alongside Mel, giving a clear message: that this wasn't Mel losing her temper, this was the officers of the Fifth declaring a public grievance. Violet turned to us, while Rich gaped, looking rather like a fish out of water.
"You have an objection to the actions of the First or Second cohort? Do you feel that they have not acted within the spirit of the children of Rome?"
"At least one member of the First or Second was armed with sharpened arrows, causing severe injury, of which I alerted the relevant officers at the time." The challenge in Mel's voice was clear. She was really angry, to be publicly challenging the praetors. Violet hesitated, glancing at Rich, who seemed to be about to find his voice. He was more hard line than her, and more likely to overlook such an incident and allow the games to continue. I'd been so distracted at the time that I hadn't even noticed Mel sending a message with the eagle to the praetors. Mel was walking a dangerous line here, publicly calling attention to the fact one of the praetors had effectively allowed potentially life threatening behaviour to continue. Well. More life threatening than was officially permitted, anyway.
Whether Rich would have backed down and disqualified the other team - unlikely - or at least covered up with some kind of declaration that the individual responsible would be found and suitably punished, remains a mystery, because it was at this point that Hannibal charged.
He bowled through the remains of the Third, bellowing and trumpeting madly, eyes rolling. Legionnaires broke ranks and ducked out of the way, and the path would have been cleared - there really aren't many ways of stopping a rampaging elephant with a long life expectancy - when something odd happened to Rich's eagle. Violet's lifted off just like usual, spiraling lazily upwards. Rich's tried to, but there was a moment of - of - I don't know, wrongness, like a cloud passed over the sun when there were no clouds, and instead of lifting gracefully into the sky, it flapped and screeched and fell, landing heavily half on top of the praetor. A purple streak ran forwards from the retreating First, grabbing Rich round the waist and dragging him away from the floundering bird, a tightly clutched pilum coming up to point unwaveringly at Hannibal. There was another odd push, and Hannibal twitched away from the spear at the last moment, even though he's been trained to trample past such things, with the aid of kevlar armour. His foot landed firmly on the struggling eagle's wing with an audible snap, before he stampeded off, leaving bloody footprints behind. Rich was gasping and groaning. At first I thought it was just shock, but then he tried to scramble to his feet and fell back with a cry. Louisa crouched next to him, supporting him and calling for the healers. Bobby shook off her shock and own dazed feelings from the collapsing walls and ran to help, along with the other medics present. Mel started calling orders to the Fifth, telling us to keep ranks and stay back, then paused to gently push me forwards.
"Best go get that eagle, Jase, before it savages someone." I nodded and ran to help.
Like I said, as part of being Jupiter's son comes the ability to talk to, and broadly understand, eagles. Well. Definitely the giant ones; I've never been allowed to test it on the regular fully mortal kind. The other Legionnaires were doing their best to keep out of the way of the frantic bird of prey, well aware of the kind of damage even a swipe from one of those powerful wings could do, let alone the vicious talons or beak. One of the medics started to snap at me to back off when they heard me approach, but Bobby hushed them and told them who it was. I slowed into a cautious walk as I drew close to the eagle.
"Hey there, buddy. It's okay." It screeched abuse at me - nothing that I can repeat without having my mouth washed out with soap, but I guess if you try to imagine what you'd say to some kid coming up to you and saying 'it's okay' when you've just had one limb crushed by an elephant, you probably won't be far off. "Yeah, it hurts, I know. But we can help, okay?" I kept talking, saying nothing much, until it started listening and calmed down a bit. Honestly, I don't know if that was due to me or just shock overtaking it. I drew closer as it stopped thrashing, to peer at the wing. I had to work to control my gag reflex - throwing up in open wounds isn't really recommended - and gently petted the eagle's head. "We'll get you fixed up, no worries." There wasn't much I could actually do, but I kept the poor thing calm until the medics had Rich fixed up enough to be transported, when Bobby joined me and started humming a prayer to Epione and patching up the eagle. As he was lifted into a seated stretcher under another eagle, Rich held up a hand for silence, clearing his throat. Violet handed him her water bottle, and he took a mouthful, before handing it back with a brief thanks.
"For an act of distinct bravery, I - we - the praetors of the Twelfth Legion, declare Louisa Wells to have earned her place in the Legion as a Legionnaire of Rome. Augur!" He coughed again, starting to shake from the shock of everything. Octavian hurried forwards, and motioned Louisa to hold out her arm. He held a hand over it, murmuring an invocation to the gods. A flicker of pain passed over her face as the marks appeared on her skin, and my own tattoo seemed to twinge in sympathy, even though I'd received it so long ago that there was no way it could still be sore.
As Rich was airlifted away, Louisa turned to return to her cohort, aglow with pride. Her eyes fell on me, and for a moment, I swear she turned pale and scowled. Then her features smoothed out, and her lips twitched back into something that wasn't quite a smile anymore, but more of a smirk.