Caesar's Task
The next five days were much like the first, and after getting a few tips in fighting by my fellow decanus trainees; I felt very competent in my ability to kill with a machete. All my fellow trainees were officially given the title of "Prime Decanus" as our veteran painted a red P on the side of each of their helmets. I on the other hand had a golden H painted on mine permanently. The armorer welded my armor back together, and when I left the admin building an hour later, I saw Caesar right in front of me surrounded by his Praetorian Guard. Without even thinking about it, I fell to my knee to salute him. I guessed the classroom propaganda subconsciously worked on me because I removed my helmet and goggles then shouted;
"Ave My Lord!"
He let out a short laugh as his praetorians remained emotionless, "Seems you have committed yourself to the school. Those men you trained with have spent years spilling blood and killing for me over and over again. They earned their leadership roles through blood on the battlefield and sweat in the training pits. The school was where you sweat, but now… now I hope you're ready to fulfill your blood debt."
I looked up, "Your wish is my command. My Lord."
He sternly said, "Then there is no time for you to waste. In the Palatii Square, there is a Century ready to depart for the tribal village of Dry Wells. One of their decanae was recently 'reassigned' and you are to fill his place. Once at the village, you will take your contubernium and a force of our tribal allies to Centurion Talamon at our outpost near Have-Su. From there, you will report directly to Centurion Talamon and do everything he says. You will be watched, Decanus; so, do not let me down. I'm sure you know this from the school, but your life depends on your success… Now stand up."
I said, "Yes, My Lord" and he walked down the street being escorted by the Praetorians.
I headed down the street past the less frequent patrols and slave crowds of eastern Flagstaff to arrive at the square where my new unit was formed up.
I stepped forward, and was approached by another decanus holding a footlocker who said, "The Legate said for you to have this."
Inside the locker was my shotgun, my ammo belt, and a brand new clean black machete in a brown leather sheath. I hooked the machete on my ammo belt, slung the shotgun over my shoulder, and joined the empty slot at the front of the formation. Almost instantly, the centurion shouted the order and we started marching. Being in the front of the moving block of humans gave me a great view. Directly beside the heavily armored centurion was a man in a coyote skull helmet with a large Legion flag mounted to his back who I found interesting. I never got my first centurion's name, but tried to remember everything I learned in the school as we headed west out of Flagstaff and into the wasteland. Our march was slow; which gave me ample time to focus on the knowledge I got from the school. My state of mind in that time had almost zero regard for the weeks, months, and events prior to my brief decanus training; I wanted to serve Caesar well.
The village we were going to was along the Colorado River miles north of "Have-Su." We only stopped to camp in the late evening. We camped in the wastes where the trees of northern Arizona turned slowly into desert. As a decanus, I was in charge of 8 legionaries and 2 slaves, both of whom were women. On march, the slaves followed between the formation and carried our water and tent supplies on long beams of wood while a team of legionary slave watchers roamed between. At the camp, the slaves started to set up the tent, and I decided to lend a helping hand. Some of the other legionaries and decanae stared at me, probably thinking how odd it was for a decanus to actually help his slaves. Once everything was set up, we rolled our mats down and I had to make a patrol roster on an old prewar notebook I got from the school. The slaves gave my legionaries water periodically, and I walked around to meet my troops.
As I approached each of the faceless legionaries, they all said the same thing, "Ave Decanus, true to Caesar." It was hard to tell behind the masks, but I knew they thought it was weird that I wanted to know their names and personal details. Their last decanus didn't care about them even in the slightest, which was understandable based on what I learned in the school. However, they were all the same; with the exception of one. They were all tribals conscripted into the Legion and had a bunch of Legion propaganda shoved down their throats for months or years.
The last guy was surprisingly a volunteer! The guy used to be a scavenger near Flagstaff before the Legion took over in 2256. But, after surviving five months of Legion soldier school, he came out as a completely brainwashed legionary only able to respond to questions with standard Legion style phrases. I thought it was exciting how they did everything I said without any kind of question. However, it was a little hard to manage them because it was like they lacked any kind of initiative. If I told them what to do, they would do it, if not; they would sit in the tent and sharpen weapons or spar with each other. It felt like I was their collective brain, and I briefly wondered what would happen if I told them all to hold their breath.
As for the slaves; they sat by very quietly, watching me, and waiting for orders. Every hour or so, the slaves would walk around and offer the soldiers water. I noticed some of the other legionaries and officers beating their slaves for even the slightest mistakes, but I had no reason to do that to mine. So, I left them be. At night, I was able to sleep, though uneasily, until dawn. Every hour on the hour, I would hear my legionaries rotating guard shifts where they would patrol along their designated routes between the tents. When morning came, everyone ate their rations quickly while the slaves rolled up the tents and we formed up to march out.
The desert sun was high above, and I could feel sweat slowly covering my body. Wearing all that head gear sucked. My vision became slightly blurry because of the heat my face was giving off to my goggles, and the damn bandana didn't help at all. Wearing a completely face covering head dress made breathing not necessarily difficult but irregular. I would get used to it eventually, but I was used to roaming the wastes with my head free to take in the fresh air. I did get a brief reason why every legionary wears face covering in the school. It is taught that in the field, involuntary facial expressions could show fear or nervousness to the enemy. Although, I seriously doubted that any of these brainwashed legionaries would show any ounce of fear in the face of battle. The face coverings of an entire legionary battlegroup created a terrifying and faceless image to instill fear in the enemy, and erase individuality from the unit. Also, the face covering helped in the event of dust storms across the desert.
During the march, I noticed a legionary from another contubernium patrolled in front of our centurion carrying a handled box that he waved back and forth and had different antennas and cords that led to a slim box on his back. I thought he might be a radioman at first but remembered that the Legion doesn't use that kind of technology regularly. I found out what he was when he waved at the centurion to halt the march. We then traveled off the crumbling road and into the desert. It was then that I realized that he was using a Geiger counter. Up in the distance, I saw a large mound of rocks and realized we were about to walk into a zone still irradiated from a tactical nuke. Atop the mound, I saw the tiny movement and shapes of sand scorpions attracted to the radiation. The scorpions left us alone after we changed our course.
Hours later, we reached a part of the desert where the flat sea of sands turned into little valleys and ridges of sandstone and jagged rock. Along the ridges, we saw large tribal totems made of scrap metal, cacti, and animal bones that got more and more frequent the further west we travelled. As it got dark, the century made camp again, and I overheard the centurion talking to some of his guards saying that we were in "Twisted Hairs Territory."
The Twisted Hairs were the tribe that lived in the village of Dry Wells where we were going. We must have been close to the Colorado River because the rocks around us showed signs of erosion from millions of years ago. The century set up camp when we reached the outskirts of their territory, and I figured we would reach their village sometime the next day. The night at the camp went by the same as the previous time, and in the morning we resumed our march through the mountainous region along the Colorado. When mid-day hit, we were marching along a dirt road with the large village in the distance. I had seen tribal villages before, but most were just tent encampments surrounding a long deserted prewar structure. Dry Wells was a sprawling village with tents and post war brick or adobe huts dotting the ravine or nestled in the cliffs. The village spread from the rocky passes all the way to an opening on the far west cliffs that led down to the Colorado. Our centurion ordered the march into town, and the smell of the river began to seep through my bandana. As the town itself got closer, I got a better look at the tribal totems and occasional Legion banners that dotted the cliffside. We reached the village center where we were ordered to set up camp around the big open area the Twisted Hairs conducted their tribal gatherings and ceremonies.