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Her stomach turned as he repeated himself.
"Yes, Decanus. The Legate, as in Lanius, is coming to oversee this assault. Mars boy, how many times do I have to repeat myself." Agrippa chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
The old Centurion had only recently arrived with the rest of his centuria, and Sejanus hadn't had a chance to properly greet her old friend and Centurion since. He had grown a bit heavier during his easy assignment back east, defending their borders in what had once been Colorado; still he had the same dignified look she always thought befitted a Centurion. In her ten years as his subordinate they had developed a surprising friendship. He was like a father to her; upon seeing her potential as a young Legionary, as well as her stubborn loyalty, he began watching her. He'd been the one who promoted her to Decanus all those years ago.
"Come now, you look like a certain brave Decanus I used to know. I still remember the day I promoted him, it was one of the few losses I'd ever known. One of my Decanii had ordered his contubernium to attack what he'd judged to be a weak-point despite our intelligence to the contrary, only to lose 34 of my men in the ensuing bloodbath against the tribals. Furious, I ordered all my centuria to line up for decimatio. That boy's Decanus at the time, a coward of a man called Aelius, had ordered the boy to take his place for fear of being executed. Sure enough, he was chosen in his stead and beaten damn near to death. The boy crawled back the next day much to everyone's shock though, and even after all that refused to speak against Aelius," he sighed, remembering. "I figured it out of course, with a few solid guesses and Horatius's help. For his cowardice, I stripped Aelius of his rank and had the bastard crucified, naming that boy the new Decanus soon as he could stand again." Agrippa leaned back over the desk, steeping his fingers and smiling wickedly,
"But that boy wouldn't be standing in front of me now, blanching at the thought of his own Legate now, would he?"
Sejanus grimaced, all the same being glad of his praise. She began her nervous pacing once more, wincing as the still healing wound on her thigh screamed in pain. The night of their taking Golf a stray round had hit her as she frantically searched for Titus's little whore. She scowled, remembering she'd told the girl to stay put but realizing now she should never have expected a creature like that to be capable of following instructions, even as simple as that. Foiling her would-be escape had offered her a little vengeance, but even so...
The sounds of the war drums' tattoo and the shouts and drills of the men outside wafted in lazily, and in the cool tent it was almost easy to forget what was going on, what was about to happen. She felt herself shiver once more at the thought of that monster coming here.
In her one dealing with him, it had been as the role of healer; he had been shot and as the most capable surgeon on hand, she was called on the help. She was one of the few to have seen his face as a result. Even as she extracted the bullets, he didn't make a sound; his eyes and expression - what she could make out between the ghastly scars - were as still and terrifying as the visage of Mars he wore before most. As surgeon she was tasked with healing, her life only in danger if failed. As a soldier however... she'd heard of the Legate's arbitrarily cruel leadership, about his utter abandon in battle, sometimes even striking down his own to get to the enemy. Shaking herself from her dread before it got any worse, she went to help the old man with his things.
Her fellow Decanus Quintus had agreed to oversee their training and preparations in order to give her time to help and catch up with Agrippa, yet all she'd done since hearing about Lanius' arrival was worry. The Centurion traveled light despite the trophies and lauds awarded him over the years, learning the hard way how fickle the Legion's favor could be. Within moments his tent and gear was set, and they were walking to the mess for an early dinner, discussing the upcoming battle and old times.
-
The next day dawned bloody, "A sure sign from Mars," rasped the old Centurion. "Today will see more blood spilt than I've seen in some time now."
Sejanus and several other Decanii were helping him oversee the troops formation as they set out from camp. Though pointless in battle, rank and file were still rigidly kept on the move, especially in such large forces so as to keep from confusion or disorder. Offering a silent prayer to whoever might listen for hers and her men's safety, Sejanus stepped in with the grim march. A prize like this was bought with a lot of blood, and though she knew it was a Legionaries duty to die as well as kill for the Bull, she preferred the butcher's bill land on the enemy's tab today. Though the brunt of the fighting would be done by the recruit troops, the greenest and most expendable, she still worried.
The men about her were her family. They meant something to her, despite her Legion training. They'd saved her lives and she theirs more times than were worth counting anymore. As their leader, she felt a debt to them, felt she owed them her best and couldn't help but nervous that she would fail them someday, and failure in these conditions meant men would die.
Somewhere amid the ranks, someone started up a familiar jody call, the cadence being taken up quickly by most of the troops. It helped with the nerves a bit, she could see the fear slowly leave several faces as the call and response continued, their pace picking up ever so slightly to match the beat of the chant. As lyrics of the Bull rang out from near a thousand lungs, as the cohort sang on for glory, and death even Sejanus found herself a bit moved, feeling a lightness yet headiness brought on by war's fervor.
"And Mars, bloody, shall smile!" the caller bellowed.
"Our swords drawn and reddened will flash!" resounded the men.
"And the Bull triumphant!"
"Triumphant all shall return from the clash!" she joined in.
She felt herself smiling despite her misgivings. 'Triumphant we all' promised the tune. It was a nice thought - a pretty lie - but still she smiled at the thought. And so they marched, the red eagerness among the newer troops palpable, the resigned bravery of dutiful veterans keeping close measure. And so they marched.
The march was long, the heat of the Mojave sun not helping the men in red, but was absolute torture for the slaves dragging the supplies slowly advancing toward their rally points. The Legate and the Prime Centurion along with other high ranking officers took the southern detachment, while the remaining Centurions and officers took the eastern group. This attack on two fronts would offer the best chance of victory. The southern detachment's recruits would take the brunt of the NCR fire through the main entrance, while the eastern forces would breach the walls of the compound and attack from the rear. The plan was fool proof, and with the lack of rangers here, losses should be acceptable. After all, the average trooper was a reluctant conscript with a few weeks training, whereas even the legion recruits had been through years of arduous practice.
Despite all of this, Titus was anxious. This would be the largest battle he'd fought so far. Forlorn Hope and Golf seemed so trivial in comparison. This was the biggest foothold the NCR held by Vegas, and should they take it, the war in Nevada would be all but won. Vegas would be easy to take - it's just gamblers and prostitutes. The Prime Centurion kept quiet throughout the march, leaving ordering his men to the Decanii under him and Lanius.
A vast group of slaves trailed behind the main fighting force of each detachment, carrying with them more supplies, ammunition, medical equipment, and everything else the Legion would need to garrison this camp and recuperate after the battle.
Hours after the march began, the southern legion lay in wait in fiend territory, the war drums silent, waiting for the signal from the other side. Lanius was at their head, his great sword planted in the ground by his feet. He stood there silently, Titus at his side. The Centurion stood tall beside his commander, his thermic lance and shishkebab ready to taste Republican flesh. Minutes seemed like hours, but finally, the signal came from the eastern men, led by Centurion Agrippa.
The orange bolt of fire lurched into the air and arched over the repurposed airport. The eyes of every man in the southern legion went up to see the flare from the east. Lanius nodded at Titus, who drew a flare gun from his hip and reciprocated the signal.
The Monster raised his right hand, and the silent sea of red roared to life, charging forward, parting, flowing past the Legate and Titus.