Note from Kanuro5: Hello everyone, feels good to get another RTW story up on this site! I promised I would write a sequel to "Invictus" and I have several stories in my mind from different factions that I want to begin to write. And by the way, let me say this now:
This fanfic is completely FICTIONAL, meaning it will not be following the events of Ancient Rome in the real world exactly how it happened. If you want to think of this, think of it like an alternate universe, that's what the Total War games are in a nutshell. Alternate Universes of history in which you decide who rules. I'm trying to keep it as historically accurate as possible. Somethings will run parallel in the story similar to how it did in real life, but not much. Also, there will be some historical characters showing up, but it will not be many. And I must say, this is a story where the men of the First Triumvirate do NOT exist. Gaius Julius Caesar, Marcus Crassus, and Pompey Magnus do not exist within this story. Though they were alive during this time, in this story they do not exist. I only say this because I KNOW I'll be asked this a bunch of times, like I had in my previous story.
Also, you do not necessarily need to read the previous story to understand this one. I mean... of course it would help, but you will be able to follow along well enough to hopefully enjoy this. Here we go, please enjoy!
The year is 81 B.C. and the Roman Republic has fallen into a dictatorship. Rome had been engaged in a bloody civil war between the factions of the Senate, in which Lucius Cornelius Sulla has emerged victor. With no other senator to oppose him and the Three Great Families behind him, Sulla was named Dictator of the entire Republic.
Two days into Sulla's new dictatorship, the Germanic tribe of the Suebi—led by the fierce warlord, Odavacar—crossed the Rhine River of Germania and launched an invasion of the Roman province of Lugdinensis in Eastern Gallia with 30,000 Germanians, sacking the Roman city of Lugdunum. With their province attacked, the House of the Julii sent eight legions to deal with the Invasion. Four legions led by the experienced General Quintus Sertorius, three legions led by Aulus Oppius, and a single legion led by the young general Vitus Julius Germanicus. The three generals have been fighting the Germanians for ten months and have pushed the invasion force back to the banks of the Rhine. Only one decisive battle remains before the Romans push the Germanians back across the Rhine.
I
Victorious
Sunrise had come on the forests of Germania. The orange-purple sky shone on the blood-drench dirt, the air was heavy with the clanging of swords and grunts of anger as Roman cavalry had launched an ambush against a contingent of Germanian cavalry. The fatigued Germanians had galloped furiously down the trail with woods on both sides, it was then when the Romans came from the edge of the forest and assaulted their flank.
Once the surprise ebbed away, most of the combatants had dismounted and were caught in a furious engagement. It was one hundred barbarians against one hundred Romans, yet the skirmish was in favor of the more individually stronger barbarians whose brute strength and ferocity carried most of the fight, especially from their leader who had already sent dozens of Romans to the afterlife.
The warlord of the Suebi, Odavacar, stood tall and fierce, drenched in the blood of his enemies from head-to-toe. His ambition was as bountiful as his strength, he saw the chance that few Germanians ever recognized and chose to attack the Romans when their minds were occupied within their own war. He was brown of hair that flowed to his shoulders and wore a topknot on his head, he had a bushy beard, and a canvas of scars on his body; a staple of most barbarous Germanians. He was armed with an axe and shield and used them both to furious effect against all the Romans who came at him.
He lopped off the head of a Roman soldier in quick stroke and watched the as the dirt drank the blood from the man's open neck. He then buried his axe through the skull of a Roman assailant, gruesomely splitting his face at the nose, and kicked the dying man to the ground. He spun around when he heard another soldier willing to test his luck, and cleaved the axe through his throat. The Germanian grunted in satisfaction as he heard the Roman gurgling hard as his escaping blood dyed his flesh red.
Another Roman came running at him from the front, Odavacar blocked his attack with his shield and swung his axe through the soldier's knee, splintering bone and flesh. The Roman fell to the ground screaming, clutching his dangling leg as blood shot through his interlocked fingers. The soldier was convulsing and whimpering through his teeth in agony and only stopped once he saw the warlord standing over him.
"Mercy! Mercy! I beg of you!" the soldier pleaded frantically in Latin.
Odavacar did not know the Roman tongue, nor cared to learn. But the body language of a craven was universal.
Odavacar spat at the shaking man, and sneered in Germanian, "You pathetic dog." And buried his axe thrice into the Roman soldier's chest.
He exhaled as the fighting around him died down. The several of the Roman horsemen climbed upon their horses and fled from the skirmish as the barbarians finished off the rest, standing victorious in this skirmish. Yet at what cost? This was the third ambush that he and his tribesmen fell into by Roman cavalry and auxiliary forces.
One of his men was bleeding from his scalp but walked behind Odavacar undeterred, "We have slain the last Roman. We need to move before more descend on us."
The Suebi warlord turned to the man, "How many men?"
"Odavacar, we need—"
"How many?!"
"Half our men our dead. We have around twenty men that are wounded, fifteen of them… they shall not see the end of the day."
"So the wounds' from the other five are not serious… prop them on horses. Those who are gravely wounded, we cannot take them with us, leave them here or give them a swift mercy."
"A-At once, Odavacar."
Odavacar slouched over and exhaled, the back of his eyes were buzzing from fatigue, he was enduring a migraine, and his legs felt as heavy as lead. But he quickly righted himself and carried on. There was no time to rest, not with the Romans everywhere. He gasped suddenly as he just realized he had time to think. It was an honest shock to him. He could not believe that after six hours of straight fighting, he had time to think and recollect just what went wrong and how did three Roman legions surround his camp.
He had to think back to what had happened six hours ago. From what he could recall, it was the dead of night and he was sound asleep within their camp. The Romans were about forty miles away from Odavacar's army of 10,000 men, and his Suebi warriors had just scored a great victory against the Marcomanni, a Germanic tribe who allied themselves with Rome. The victorious Suebi drank and partied and slept comfortably. He then remembered he awoke to frantic screaming and an entire section of the camp was ablaze with mountainous fire. Their own horses broke free of their reins and were running amok and trampling the confused and dazed, several of them were on fire. Amid the screaming men were inhuman squeals that he could not determine the origin of. Then the only sound that was discernable had just broken into the night; the mighty sound of Roman trumpets. And then as he fetched his weapons and tried to reorganize a defense, the Romans had somehow set upon them from three sides of their camp. Banners of Sertorius, Oppius, and Germanicus were illuminated by the flames, he even got close to fighting Germanicus but was beaten back. With the fighting looking grim, many Germanians decided to retreat. He had to ensure an exit for his army, so he and his men found the remaining horses and galloped to the rear and fought off the Roman infantry long enough for at least a hundred men to escape. After the hundredth man retreated, the Roman cavalry descended on them and chased Odavacar's cavalry into the forest where they spent about six hours escaping ambushes.
Odavacar shook his head as his recollection finished. He was incredulous that all of this had befallen him within the span of a single night. So many good men dead, so many of them drinking in Woden's Great Mead Hall. It baffled Odavacar's mind, just yesterday the Romans were 40 miles away at last count; just how did they catch them within the space of a single night?
He then recalled the last rallying point that the Suebi agreed to meet up if the Romans had reclaimed all of their former territory.
"Mount your horses!" Odavacar yelled.
"What has happened?"
Odavacar hopped onto his horse, "We are moving back to the Rhine, with haste!"
Fifty Germanians mounted upon their horses and galloped away from the woods of death back to their original rallying point. It took them ten minutes of steady riding until they spotted the incline of a small hill and the sound of rushing water behind the small the hill. They made their way up the incline and rushed down the opposite decline. Before them was the vast Rhine River, bending vastly up from the north and stretching singularly down the south. And on the long riverbanks, his remaining cavalry galloped to the first Roman fort they had taken at the start of the invasion—the only portion of territory they had left. The Roman fort was abysmal. Hard battles in and around it have brought two of its four walls to utter ruin. It stood about a hundred yards from the Rhine River and was meant to stand vigil over any Germanians who dared crossed it.
The warlord still recalled how he and his men crossed the river ten months ago. Under the cover of darkness and a raging storm, Odavacar led 200 men across the Rhine on small boats with muffled oars. The wind and rain were howling so hard that most of the Romans who usually stood sentry on the top of the fort retreated back inside. They figured that nothing ever happened in this sector and nothing ever will. Romans and their indolence, it disgusted Odavacar that they were conquering the world. The storm drowned a good number of his men, but they braved the wild weather and made it ashore, and slaughtered the lazy Romans inside their fort. After that, the invasion began in earnest as hundreds of Suebi began sailing across the river in force for two days until the Romans took notice.
Around the fort were the remnants of his once mighty warhost. It seemed to him around 700 of his men had survived the night attack and retreated back to the riverbank. His heart filled with fury at the sight, 700 of 10,000. Several of them were wounded and winded from the exhaustive fighting, others tried to operate on the wounded warriors in desperate bids to save their lives—those screams of theirs were dreadful and those around them were seemingly losing heart because of such. He was quite fortunate to see the remainder of his light cavalry had fallen back after the attack, now bringing their horses against the river to take precious drink and recover their stamina.
He stopped his cavalry by the desolated fort and had several men take care of his horses as he walked by the fortification. Passing by the ruined walls, he overheard voices of anger and loud whimpering. His eyes took notice of his men viciously beating a Roman man near death as Roman women in filthy rags and torn fabric cowered in the corner and cried. No, this Roman wasn't a soldier taken prisoner, but a weak farmer whose lands the Suebi razed and whose people they captured for their own gain. After all, Rome had taken his own people prisoners, why could he not do it to them? The men were to be offered as sacrifice to All Mighty Woden, the women to warm their tents at night, the children—it was difficult to decide upon their fate, either they shall fall before the sword, or perhaps they can be raised as slaves, what delicious irony. His warriors were beating their frustration and anger out on the men, he looked past some of them and bore witness to some of his men dragging off a screaming woman by the hair to a "quieter" place. He hoped they all would find relief whatever way they could after the demoralizing night ambush.
"Odavacar!" it came from his friend and trusted commander who ran to him, his arm was bandaged yet blood was still pouring from the wound.
"Lokug!" he said in surprise. "Are you alright?"
"I am, Odavacar. I was fortunate, others were not. But Donar be praised that you survived! We thought you lost."
"It'll take more than Romans to fucking kill me." He looked around, "The men look pitiful, if only we had some fresh men."
"But we do."
"What? How many men have reinforced us?"
"Around two hundred men of the Warband, Odavacar. They came just a moment ago before you arrived."
He noticed that their boats were simple and small and shored up on the bank, large enough to only fit six people inside. They were of different stock than the men who fought bitterly last night. They were still clean and eager, shouting for the ones who fought to not look so dismayed. Nor did they have the bloodshot eyes of the ones who fought tirelessly for an entire night. Odavacar could use them.
"Thank the Gods. Lokug, what happened to you? I was surrounded by Romans and I cannot recall thoroughly how this came to pass. Can you recall what happened?"
Lokug swallowed hard and shook his head solemnly, "I can. I recall night descending, we were joyous for defeating the Marcomanni in battle. We drank and reveled, then slept. Several others fucked the captured Roman women bloody. Then chaos enveloped us all. As the moon was in its highest peak, I heard the cry of horses and the galloping of their hooves as they ran within the camp. We believe the Romans sent infiltrators into the night and severed the tethers of our horses. We then heard squealing, horrid squealing, as if newborns were being tortured. We then smelled the burning stench of fat, then a fire broke out within the camp and so did our tents of furs. I saw it. They used flaming pigs against us, Odavacar."
Odavacar's face scrunched, "The Romans sent in pigs, and lit them on fire?"
"They did, I've witness Aulus Oppius use them before. They burn pigs and send them running straight at the enemy. Such swine are already quick enough, but imagine how quick they are when they are alight and are screaming at you…"
The warlord gnashed his teeth. "Go on…"
"Then came the horns and the banners of all three generals, I thought they were far away from us, that we were safe. But to close such a distance in a night?"
Odavacar clenched his eyes in bitter realization. "Those fucking Romans… they knew we would be exhausted and they commenced with a forced march and marched all night long. Fuck!" He should have realized this. All that the Romans ever do was march.
Lokug continued, "Romans were fucking everywhere and many men were killed. The slaughtering of swine had more dignity than what they inflicted on us. In near every corner was those red shield walls of theirs. I saw the banner of a bull facing east and a horse facing west and knew it was Sertorius. I spotted an opening and took most of our best warriors to engage with Sertorius' soldiers while we tried to evacuate everyone else. Those were true warriors, and died valiantly for us to live. We fought our way out and ran for the forest, then I recalled the damaged Roman fort here and brought the remainder back here to rest."
"All those warriors of the Suebi, ten thousand men in that camp…"
"Gone, Odavacar. Those three Roman generals saw to that. Yet before we left the monstrous ambush, I gazed upon that boy fucker, Aulus Oppius' banners, and his soldiers ran and flanked our rout. These men of two hundred along I were the only ones to escape, out of a possible five hundred that made the rout with us."
Odavacar was stunned, "This is all that remains of our army? What of our cavalry?"
"Most of them lie dead."
"The doing of Sertorius? Oppius?"
Lokug shook his head, "No, Germanicus."
Odavacar could barely contain his wrath, "Him?"
"Yes. As I led the remainder back here, I then gathered what horsemen I could and we rallied to the retreaters in the valley to rescue any survivors and fend off the Romans. But we were set upon, by the Twenty-Eighth…"
"No, impossible. How did they— I fought them in that attack! I saw Germanicus' banners!"
"His infantry most like, we were assaulted by cavalry of the Twenty-Eighth and the Marcomanni. I saw the armor of their dead, it was the Twenty-Eighth."
"Fuck! How long ago was that?"
"Not even an hour ago."
"Then they are coming at us as we speak?"
"Yes."
Odavacar spat in irritation, "Have you followed my orders?"
"Yes, I've sent Dovon and his men to assault them. Last I saw, they couldn't hold the Roman cavalry but they are buying time against the infantry but I fear they may be lost. We must cross the river. Odavacar… this is our predicament. Last I glanced, Sertorius and Oppius are busy finishing off the rest of our army. Yet Germanicus is pursuing us with his legion and his cavalry may arrive at any moment. Odavacar, we must regroup across the river. Most of our men are exhausted and demoralized, the two hundred fresh warriors are no match for his legionaries. Our back is to the river, the fort's walls are destroyed. We must take these boats across the river to safety! We must go!"
No, it cannot end like this… Odavacar had thought. Everything that he had done had now ended in defeat. All the momentum that he gained at the beginning of the year had utterly been decimated by the Might of Rome. And he should return with his tail tucked like a beaten dog? Him?!
"What should we do with the Roman prisoners?" Lokug asked.
"How many are they?"
"Around 80, Odavacar. Most of them are women."
"Kill them all and mount their heads upon the broken walls of that fort. We take our stand at the fort, let those fucking Romans know that I am not defeated!"
"But Oda—"
"No! We are no cravens!" he growled. "We are the Suebi and we shall meet any threat with our weapons head-on!"
"Rider!" someone yelled out. All heads turned to the screamer, "From the west! A rider! A Roman!"
Over the western incline, stood a rider on top of a massive and majestic black stallion. He wore a solid black helmet in-laid with a gold pattern and had a crimson-feathered crest on top the helmet, signifying his status as a Roman officer of the highest rank. As his black stallion veered from side-to-side, his cape of the most exquisite crimson draped down his back, almost regally, and blew against the breeze from the riverbank. Another horse rode from behind the rider, bearing the crimson banner that was etched upon it, "XXVIII" and under the number was a dead boar and bull whose stiff legs were pointed up in the air.
The Germanians mumbled amongst themselves, several tried to hide the subtle fear in their voice. Odavacar only sneered at the sight of that Roman, and angrily uttered his name, "Germanicus…"
This was his third time seeing this Roman general. The first time was four months ago, when Odavacar believed that his army could match up with the Romans on an open field; he was sorely mistaken. On the opposite side of the field stood the Roman army in disciplined formation, with Sertorius leading the battle in the center flank and commanding the opening move of the engagement. During the battle, Odavacar commanded his axmen to batter the Roman left flank and charged with his men into the assault. Yet they were stopped by the Twenty-Eighth Legion and it's Legatus who was on foot with the rest of his men and slaying Germanians left-and-right, coated in Germanic blood. He saw this man and was told later that he led the Twenty-Eighth and was son of the legendary Roman General, Lucius Julius Magnus, the Victor of the Battle of Praxus Hill.
The second time was just mere hours ago, when all three generals attacked his army in the dead of night at once. Everything was in flames and such illuminated most of the night. As the Twenty-Eighth marched in, the Suebi warlord bore witness to their standard and eagle, and by it the Legatus sitting tall on his black stallion. Odavacar formed up with twenty men and charged at the Legatus. He was close but was stopped by the Roman's bodyguards and had to retreat to save his rear from being cutoff. But within the fighting, Germanicus had lost his helmet and his face was revealed, only to infuriate the barbarian warlord more. Germanicus was slightly shorter than the average man and was rather thin with auburn hair, clean-shaven like all Romans were, and he had several scars on his face and yet it was rounded in youth—he couldn't have even passed the age of twenty yet. And he wasn't completely sure, but within the illumination of fire, it seemed to Odavacar as if Germanicus' had different color eyes—one blue and the other green. But he was one of the few Roman generals that Odavacar witnessed or heard of that could fight as a great warrior. But what he hated most about Germanicus was his name. He had heard from others that the Romans arrogantly bestowed new names on their generals if they have been victorious over a particular people in war. And this Roman, who had been at war with him for nearly a year, personally slew scores of Germanians and won critical engagements with his single legion, that his own men and clan distinguished him "Germanicus"—a sign of Odavacar's defeats at the hands of this Roman boy.
Behind the Roman Legate, cavalrymen began to emerge on the rise after him. They kept coming upon the incline and took to a neat square formation at the rear of Germanicus. About forty cavalrymen of Rome took position, their armor and horses coated in blood and dirt, their eyes hungry to finish off these Germanians. These men were of the Auxilia—the auxiliary forces of the legion that consisted of non-Romans. These horsemen were the General's bodyguards, sworn to protect Germanicus from any harm. They came from the lands of Thrace and were of the Getae tribe, they had simply served his father for many years when he once led the Twenty-Eighth; but now these Thracians served Germanicus loyally. The Captain of these bodyguards galloped behind his General, he was red of hair, quite built, and a veteran of many engagements, his name was Ligadis.
Another force of cavalry gathered on the peak of the incline, opposite to the Roman Auxilia. They were no Romans but were the Marcomanni cavalry numbering around 50 of them, Odavacar gnashed his teeth at their sight. Traitors, the whole damn lot of them. The tribe of the Marcomanni had never been friends to the tribe of the Suebi, but they all shared Germanic blood. And years ago, they swore vassalage to Rome in order to be protected against their rival tribes. To cross your own blood for the safety of foreign invaders, they could never be considered true Germanians again.
Ligadis said to his leader, "Legatus, our infantry is advancing on the rear, they should be here within minutes."
The Roman General looked down at the hundreds of Germanians down the decline and believed he spotted the warlord who started it all. "Good. In the meanwhile, we must stop the Suebi from retreating back across the river with this many men. If they do, they may yet launch another attack on Roman soil! Ligadis, we need to end this now."
The bodyguard nodded confidently. "I am of the same accord, Legatus."
Germanicus raised his bloody blade high in the air and shouted behind him, "Cavalry! There skulks Odavacar, nearly an entire year at war with his raiders, and there is the final remnant. And he seeks to escape to fight another day. We must deny him this and strike him from this world. Thracians, on me! We move to the right! Marcomanni, take the left! This blighted Suebi Invasion ends this day! Follow me! CHARGE!"
His black stallion reared and galloped as he screamed, his loyal warriors following as well.
"The Romans come! Take positions! Defend the riverbank!" Odavacar bellowed.
The fresh reserves quickly sprang into action, fetching their weapons and spears and forming up defensive positions around the desolated camp. The warlord turned to his remaining horsemen, the Roman Auxilia had 40 horses whilst the Marcomanni possessed 50. He had around 150 horses of the light cavalry, he could easily crush him for good and all. "There is Germanicus! Kill him! Kill their general! Cavalry, kill that bastard!"
The Germanian light cavalrymen nodded and with a guttural grunt, charged against the Romans, kicking off clouds of dust in their trail. Several of his own men rushed up behind Odavacar and Lokug to provide counsel.
"Odavacar, that was the last of our cavalry!" one of his men said.
"It matters not. They already have us at the riverbank, we need to use the horses here to breakout. In the meanwhile, put the wounded on ships and evacuate them across the river."
"Odavacar, this invasion is lost," shouted another man, "You must retreat back across the river!"
Fury encompassed the barbarian warlord, and he spun around and smacked the interloper who uttered that damnable plea. "I shall never retreat, I shall stay and see the end of that Roman!"
The two forces of cavalry were beginning to converge on one another. A hundred light cavalry horsemen on the right flank against the 40 heavy Roman Auxilia cavalry, and the 50 horsemen of the Marcomanni against the 50 horsemen of the Suebi on the left flank. But Germanicus was not perturbed; he simply gritted his teeth and made a quick prayer to Mars within his mind. These men had ravaged the lands of Rome and abducted many innocent Romans, they need to be quelled by whatever was necessary. Germanicus waved his sword in the air in a triangle, shouting back to his men, "Wedge formation! We shall punch through them!"
The heavy cavalry of Rome shifted from an unorganized line to a tight triangular formation, and Germanicus formed the very tip. He gripped the reins of his horse tightly and brought his gladius over his head and gave a fiery war cry. Mars, Mother Venus, watch over me in this endeavor…
Both Roman and Germanian cavalry crashed into one another with thunderous impact. Horses whinnied as they toppled over one another, men plummeted to the dirt as their mounts fell under them, blood soared in the air as throats were slashed, torsos pierced, limbs were lobbed off, and heads fell into the wind. Men cried out as spears ripped into their insides and when their own horses fell on top of them. But the heavier and more armored Roman cavalry were slowly breaking through the lighter barbarian horsemen.
A horseman came galloping at the Roman leader, intent on striking this famed Roman down; but Germanicus was quicker and shoved his sword through the Germanian's Adam's apple. His eyes nearly bulged out in pain as he tried in futility to gasp for air; despite the length of the blade already being through his neck. Germanicus retracted his sword and watched as thick blackened blood leaked copiously from the barbarian's throat. He turned sideways in his saddle and hacked off the arm of a horseman. He turned to his left and lunged his blade into the heart of an unarmored rider. He pulled out his blood-drenched sword and sliced open another rider's stomach, the man fell off his horse screaming, clasping his entrails until the mass of horses trampled him out of his misery. It was rather straightforward scoring fatal blows on men who wore no armor. Germanicus ordered his men, "Push forward! Push to the banks!" He kicked his stallion and it dashed through the light cavalry, leading the way for the remaining auxiliary.
"Our cavalry is faltering against the Romans!" Lokug announced.
"I know!" Odavacar sneered.
On the left flank with the Marcomanni, the Suebi were more evenly matched against them than they were with the Romans. But the Marcomanni tribe was still holding on with brutal ferocity, if they kept at it, mostly like both cavalry units would be wiped out with only a single man standing on either side.
The Germanic light infantry consisting of spearmen, axmen, and naked fanatics armed with sword and shield, were nicely positioned in the middle of the line. With blood and gore wafting in the air, the light infantry—without orders—impetuously charged up through the center of the field and began hitting the flanks of the Roman and Marcomanni cavalry.
"What are they doing? I did not give them command to attack?!" Odavacar raged.
"Such might be, yet look," said one of his men, "They are pressing hard against the cavalry. Look!"
Odavacar did take note of it. The spearmen rushed over to the Marcomanni cavalry and began shoving their spears into the flesh of their cavalry, toppling the horses and sending their riders to the dirt where they were speared repeatedly. The riders were suddenly surrounded by an arena of sharp spearheads which opened vast amount of wounds on their bodies if they were not killed outright. It may be true that they were scoring kills against the cavalry, but it still infuriated Odavacar that they could not stay into position and wait for orders.
The Germanian infantry turned on the Roman Auxilia with eagerness to slay their hated enemy. Yet the Thracian bodyguards were armed with large shields and had some protection against the plethora of spears that their Marcomanni counterparts lacked. Germanicus brought down his gladius on the neck of a Germanian spearman, slicing it apart. He moved to the opposite side of his horse and cleaved through the throat of a swordsman that rushed at him. A spearman brought his weapon and stabbed into Germanicus' mount. The stallion whinnied in agony, and for the briefest of moments, Germanicus' thoughts left the battle and lay unto his prized horse. The black stallion's name was "Romulus" after the founder of Rome—and a birthday prize from Germanicus' late father. Germanicus seethed with rage and brought his sword down with such fury that it cleaved the spearman's head in twain. Just then, an opportunistic Germanian picked up a discard pike and aimed it high and thrusted at the distracted Germanicus, only to be cut down by the Roman's Thracian bodyguard captain, Ligadis. Ligadis brought his spear down on top of a footman's and he watched as the spearhead entered his bare chest.
"Legatus, we need to pull back, there's too many spears and we cannot move!" Ligadis warned.
"No, we stay, we keep these barbarians contained and preoccupied!" Germanicus answered back. "Trust me in this! We can hold on, do not break!"
The infantry were now beginning to swarm the cavalry on nearly all sides. If this kept up for a few more minutes, then Odavacar could rest easy knowing that he sent a Roman general to the afterlife. Yet what he didn't understand was why Germanicus immediately split up his cavalry to attack both of his flanks? With Odavacar's light infantry in the center, they could swarm the Roman horses. He should have seen that coming, so what was that Roman possibly thinking…?
Ba-Ba-Bum, Ba-Ba-Buuuuum-Ba-Bummmm
Odavacar recognized the blaring horns.
No, he thought, They couldn't have broken through already!
Over the rise, through the din of battle; Odavacar spotted the soldiers of the Legion, nearly a thousand strong, all armored and carrying their sturdy rectangular shields, and marching with purpose. Each step they took was in a disciplined cadence, not one foot was offbeat.
"Legatus!" cried Ligadis, "Primus Pilus Aelianus has brought up the First and Second Cohort!"
Germanicus looked back and smirked, "Good man, that Aelianus. Ride back to him and tell him that we have the flanks secured, bring up the infantry right down the center. We have opened up some gaps in the line. Tell him not to stop. Keep advancing no matter what! He needs to push the bastards right back to the river!"
The bodyguard nodded and galloped on back to deliver the message to the approaching heavy infantry. Ligadis spotted the man he needed, the most senior centurion within the Twenty-Eighth Legion and the commander of the First Cohort, Primus Pilus Gaius Aelianus—often heralded to be the mightiest soldier in the entire legion, even better than his Legatus, Germanicus.
Aelianus looked to the Captain of the Guard, "Ligadis, give report!"
"The Legatus orders to bring the men down the center and push the Germanians back to the river. He has the flanks secure. Keep advancing, do not hold ground. Keep advancing! We must crush them now!"
"Understood." And like that, the Thracian ran back to his master.
The Germanian infantry, infuriated with the losses they suffered today, recklessly charged at the Roman rank-and-file in front of them in the center of the field. Odavacar was shouting for them to charging up and engage the legionaries. Yet none of them paid attention to how exposed their line was.
Aelianus raised his sword high in the air and his whistle in his teeth. "Infantry, halt!" He blew his whistle loud.
All the men grunted in acknowledgement and stopped as one, their shields and swords at rest by their sides.
"Shields!"
As a singular machine, the legionaries brought their large shields in front of them.
"Pilum, at the ready!"
Each man sheathed their swords and grabbed their pila—javelins about two meters long that were the first step in a Roman infantry attack or defense to disrupt the enemy's formation. Every Roman on the line raised their pila over their heads and took careful aim at the incoming infantry. Aelianus stepped out of formation and walked five paces forward where all the legionaries could witness him. Because of his rank as Primus Pilus, he was to be the first Roman to throw his pilum and then the rest of the line would follow suit.
He shouted, "Take aim! And…" The Germanians were screaming their lungs out as they charged, some even drooling with murderous eyes as they began to close the distance. About five hundred of them were charging into the wall of the greatest killing machine in the world. Dis would receive so many fresh souls in his domain, Aelianus was sure of it.
"LOOSE!"
Aelianus chucked his pilum at the foremost Germanian that was about 25 meters away. The steel tip entered through the barbarian's bare chest with ease, and the entire shaft of the pilum came out through the back of the man, viciously jerking the warrior several feet back with a squeal.
The soldiers heaved their pila at the incoming Germanians, the spears penetrated their flesh and eviscerated their entrails, and many fell in tides. Those that did not die instantly fell to the dirt screaming; clutching the protruding javelin that was stuck in their stomachs, chests, arms, or legs. Several of the Germanians were able to block the pila with their shields, which now remained stuck within their protection. They chose to discard their ruined shields and continued charging, while others tried to pick up the used pila against the Romans, but realized the thrown javelins were already bent.
Aelianus glared at the charging, yet disorganized barbarians. He unsheathed his gladius and held it in the air, "Twenty-Eighth, advance!"
The legionaries moved at a trot and then down at a charge, yet in a tight disciplined formation, shoulder-to-shoulder and shield-to-shield. Their only thoughts were unison—kill many, yet fight as one. Their swords were over their heads and they let out a cry. The Germanians rushed forward, exaltation in death being their reward they sought; they shoved each other out of the way, their ranks were separated, savagely loose, their only thoughts for personal glory.
The two sides collided with one another, flesh and bone crashing against shields. Profanity ruled the air. The Germanians began to recklessly throw themselves against the Roman shields, hack away relentlessly at their defenses, bringing down their axes, swords, and daggers with all their strength. Yet the Romans stood their ground and hid behind their solid defense and absorbed the blows, and counterattacked upon each opening—with surgical precision.
They were trained to—no; they were disciplined to stab the enemies in their exposed torsos—virtually ensuring a fatal wound with every stab. Their gladii would enter the unprotected bellies of the barbarians and rip out their crimson innards unto the dirt. A quick move with their steel swords; a lunge into the flesh, and the retraction from the flesh. The enemy would stop at the lunge, scream upon the retraction, and fall to the earth in defeat. But if the enemy would dodge or use their shields, then the legionary would find other targets to stab such as the often forgotten lower body. Thighs, kneecaps, the groin, and occasionally the feet were all fair pickings for the Roman death machine, for in the thick of the battle you do not fight for honor—you fight to survive.
A large axman brought his axe down on Aelianus who fell to his knee and raised his shield over his head and lunged his sword into the unprotected belly of the barbarian, in a single fluid movement. Another axman swung his one-handed weapon horizontally, trying to decapitate the First Centurion; but the man raised his shield high and blocked it, then thrusted his gladius into the man's heart with a bestial grunt. A swordsman tried his luck and took wild swings, but the Primus Pilus blocked the sword against the rim of his shield, did a quick spin and decapitated the barbarian in a single stroke. After that move, he could see into the eyes of the barbarians in front of him. Fear was rising.
"Men, they begin to falter! Give them 'The Chanting Cerberus'! Advance!" Aelianus called, and then he blew his whistle twice.
As one, the front ranks dipped low and pushed off their shields, sending the barbarians jumping backwards from the force. Within every two steps, the legionaries would repeatedly chant "Ha-Oh!" with a deep bass from their guts. The back ranks of the formation would chant loudly and pound the pommels of their swords against their shields in rhythm, creating a disturbing metallic echo to anyone in front of them. The front rank of legionaries would push their shields forward with a single advancing step and lunge as one, scoring dozens of kills at once; then pick up the shield and advance and then repeat. To the barbarians—the clang from the shields was deafening, the soldier's chanting was haunting, and their slow armored advance that was unstoppable was utterly horrifying. The legionaries were chanting words of encouragements to their comrades.
"Push them back! Push them back!"
"Keep at it! Do not let up!"
"Kill them! Kill them all!"
"Twenty-Eighth!"
"Twenty-Eighth!" they all bellowed.
Each step they took, they push their shields forward and stabbed their enemies. One of the barbarians seized a legionary by the shield and pulled it away from the Roman. The exposed Roman recoiled back, but his comrades to his left and right plunged their swords into his attacker's chest. Teamwork such as this was common in battle, their training and camaraderie pushed them to the pinnacle of excellence in the field of battle. With brotherhood under the banners, they could triumph over all who came at them. A fact that the Germanians were quickly realizing.
Odavacar was hollering for his warriors to kill the soldiers, and could not understand how they were faltering and being pushed back. Slowly, one-by-one, the Germanians were breaking and running back. The number began to increase steadily and from the back ranks of the Germanian line, a full-on rout was in process as the oblivious front rank were still brutally engaged with the legionaries. He couldn't believe it; he wished it was a nightmare that he could wake up from. But alas, he was bearing witness to his own men retreating; even when they had nowhere to properly retreat to.
"They retreat!" announced a legionary.
Another laughed, "Look at them run!"
"Advance, we end this invasion today! Keep formation, double-time!" Aelianus blew his whistle twice with a sharp pitch and the centuries who were not engaged with a barbarian began to charge after the fleeing foes in a disciplined fashion.
By the glorious Mars, he was proud of his men. They had done it. Germanicus had fought these barbarians since he was sixteen and he knew that they held no discipline. If he positioned his cavalry at the wings of the line, then the infantry at the center would inevitably follow them, and thus lose cohesion in the center of the line. And his glorious First and Second Cohort had just broken the Germanic center, all according to plan. They all had to force march for an entire night, ambush an army of 10,000 barbarians in the dark, continually fight for six hours, and now they're crushing the last pocket of resistance of the Suebi. He was so proud of these men.
Now all that was needed to do was to break their flanks and annihilate the remnant that fought back. Those barbarians that surrendered must be captured. It would encourage the other surviving pockets of resistance that the invasion had failed; in addition, if the Germanians knew they would be slaughtered upon surrendering honorably, then they would simply fight twice as hard. And with several barbarians fleeing, a rout was ensured to occur.
A horseman swung wildly to decapitate Germanicus, yet the young general dipped out of the way of the swing and simply stabbed the horseman in the chest and off his horse. To his left he saw another Germanian charging at him with a lance set to gore his heart. With his stallion trapped between the chaos around him of compact infantry and fleeing men, Germanicus couldn't move. But a vigilant bodyguard spotted his general's plight and cast his spear at the barbarian horseman. The spear entered his chest at the nipple and the spearhead exited through his spine. The sudden jolt of the thrown spear sent the Germanian crashing off his horse. Yet the riderless horse was still galloping at Germanicus at full speed. The horse slammed into his', and the Roman Legate tumbled to the dirt along with his horse.
Germanicus fell onto a crowd of barbarians and brought four of them down as he rolled on the ground, his plumed-crest helmet fell from his head. He sprang to his feet and was immediately engaged by a dual-wielding axman who swung wildly at him. Germanicus gritted his teeth and swatted the incoming axes away. After the axman threw a wild swing, Germanicus ducked the attack and spun out of it. In the spin, he slashed the back of his assailant's leg and sent his foe down to bended knee, allowing Germanicus to drive his sword through the barbarian's collarbone. As he drew his crimson blade from the man's body, an unarmed Germanian came out from his peripheral vision and punched the Legatus to the ground and began to strangle him.
The beefy hands were tightening around his throat, he could feel the blood rushing to his head and tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. His sword fell out of his grasp as he hit the ground, so Germanicus reached behind his back and drew a hidden dagger strapped to the back of his waist. The dagger was specially crafted to Germanicus' need. It was a pugio, the standard issue double-edge dagger to the Roman army. The iron pommel and grip of the dagger was forged into an eagle's head and its feathered neck respectively, silver in coloring. With it, Germanicus shanked the choker right through his jugular. The choker gasped as blood squirted from his neck, and with a grunt, Germanicus pushed him off.
Germanicus rose to his feet, but no rest came for him as two Germanian axmen came charging at him. With only a dagger in his hand and no time to fetch his gladius, Germanicus muttered a curse and readied himself against the onslaught.
The first axman came at him and swung his weapon horizontally, causing the Roman to dip backwards, the axe cleaving the air mere inches from the Roman's nose. He then lunged forward and shoved his dagger through the bottom of the axman's mouth and straight through his brain. The second axman charged forth behind the first and brought his axe down on top of Germanicus. Yet with his dagger still in the first barbarian's head, Germanicus moved the dead barbarian in the way of the second axman's weapon, which splintered through the dead man's cranium and was stuck. The Roman Legate yanked the dagger from the bottom of the jaw and dipped to his left, and shoved his dagger deep through the second barbarian's eye.
With his two attackers dead, Germanicus frantically searched for his sword in the bloodshed surrounding him. Underneath a corpse, he spotted the handle of his blade and fetched it. Even now as he squeezed it, he felt the wisdom of his mentor who passed down the sword to him in death.
Odavacar was seething with rage. The battle was going against him, he witnessed several men retreating from the Romans, all the long months of planning to cross the Rhine, and nearly a year of bitter fighting and conquest—all was crumbling right before him.
"Odavacar, our lines are broken, the men take flight across the river. We must do the same!" Lokug offered.
"After all that I have done, I shall flee?! Never! I rather d—" The warlord saw him, the damned Germanicus fighting and killing his men, the youngest man that Rome had sent to stop him. "If he dies, so does the spirit of their army." And with that, Odavacar, against the counsel of his men; ran forth to kill the Roman General.
Germanicus grabbed a discarded cavalry shield from the ground and stood to his feet. His legionaries were pushing the last bastion of Germanic defenders back to the steps of the river. A good portion of the barbarians were already fleeing; jumping into the Rhine to swim across—whilst other stalwart savages were still fighting to obtain a glorious death. The battle was nearly won, Germanicus smiled in relief. He was tired himself, he had been awake for 24 hours and fought hard at the night attack of the Suebi camp. The back of his eyes were buzzing, his head felt fuzzy, his breathing was heavy and the inside of his legs were sore from riding Romulus around for an entire day. But he still fought on, he had to, the Julii were so close to victory that he dared not rest until the day was there's.
Odavacar pounded his axe on his shield and slurred venomously at the Legatus in his Germanic tongue, "Germanicus! I shall have your head!"
The Roman's eyes grew wide at the sight of him. Germanicus couldn't believe it, but did not question how the warlord was before him. He simply raised his sword and pointed at the warlord. Odavacar gnashed his teeth at the sight of Germanicus' eyes, so he wasn't seeing things, those strange mismatched eyes—blue and green. Rome had truly birthed a monster. With fire in his eyes, the young Roman spoke in the Germanian language, "Then come and seize it."
Odavacar charged with a roar. Germanicus took his stance behind his shield. Odavacar leaped and brought his axe down, and Germanicus raised his shield and caught it. Germanicus spun out to the left, delivering a spinning slash to Odavacar's exposed right shoulder. The Germanian grunted in pain before wildly swinging at the Roman. Germanicus had to leap back to avoid the onslaught, so heavy were Odavacar's attacks. Odavacar kicked the shield of the Roman and sent him falling backwards into the dirt. But the nimble young man sprung to his feet and charged at him.
The two men ran into one another, their shields locked together in a test of strength, Germanicus irritated at the difference in physical strength there was from a barbarian to a Roman. The Roman stabbed at his side, but Odavacar moved his shield out and blocked it and pushed Germanicus off of him. The Legatus lunged again with his gladius, but Odavacar caught the sword between the hook of the ax; then proceed to slam the rim of his shield into Germanicus' sword arm.
The Roman yelled. He instinctively dropped his sword and recoiled his throbbing arm back. He could already see the discoloration in his forearm, he hoped no bones were broken. Lightning ran through that limb. But Odavacar continued the attacking, raining blow after blow against Germanicus' defense, all the Roman could do was block.
I need to escape this onslaught, thought Germanicus. His left arm was getting heavy and he was tiring from constantly blocking. He had to hurry. The Roman lowered his shield and charged like a battering ram, knocking both him and his Teutonic foe down to the dirt. Odavacar recovered first and slammed his axe hard into the Roman shield, completely penetrating it and pinning it to the ground. Germanicus could not pull the shield out with his sole strength, so he slipped his lithe arm out of his ruined shield and scooped up a handful of dirt in his free left hand. He quickly grasped his sword in the dirt with his bruised right arm and stood to his feet. It pained him to grasp it tightly, but with gritted teeth, Germanicus told himself, Fight through the pain! Fight through it! Odavacar attacked with violent abandon and Germanicus blocked with his blade when he couldn't dodge and dodged when he couldn't block.
Odavacar swung his axe, which slashed through flesh Germanicus' right arm. He winced in pain and recoiled backwards, his blood flowing down his arm. The cut wasn't too deep but his shoulder felt like it was burning, on top of his forearm growing numb from the last blow he received from the warlord; his entire right arm was a mass of utter pain. Odavacar brought his axe down in a vertical slash. The Roman sprung his plan into action. He blocked the axe attack and with the dirt still in his hand, he threw it into the eyes of the Germanic barbarian. Germanicus felt no shame in such an action. It was often quoted that soldiers of Rome should fight with "Strength and Honor." But such was a misnomer. It truly meant that strength and honor were in victory only, not defeat. You could do whatever was permitted as long as you are victorious. It was a pretty picture to imagine a soldier fighting nobly and honorably against the ruthless enemy. But war is never pretty. Every man fights to survive to see another day, and Germanicus was prepared to do anything to return home, alive. Odavacar gritted his teeth and tried to clear his aching eyes; allowing Germanicus to pivot to the left. The Roman raised his sword high, Fight through the pain! And brought down his gladius with all his strength, and he completely hacked off Odavacar's right hand at the wrist.
Odavacar recoiled with a furious screech, clasping his arm as he watched the blood dripping out of the stump. Germanicus pressed forward with his sword raised, and slashed at Odavacar's throat; yet Odavacar dipped instinctively and the steel sliced through both eyes of the barbarian warlord. Odavacar fell to the mud with a horrid scream as blood poured down from his eyes. Germanicus raised his sword over the squirming barbarian and angled his blade downwards, only to be tackled by Odavacar's bodyguard to the ground.
Lokug and several of his men rushed to the flailing warlord. "Be calm, Odavacar! Be calm!"
"I cannot see! I cannot see, Lokug!" Odavacar continued yelling.
"He needs a healer!" one of his men said.
"Quickly, take him to the boats!"
The barbarian on top of him continued to wrestle with him, but Germanicus could spot the other barbarians taking Odavacar out of the battle. Germanicus growled in anger. Nearly a whole year trying to kill that warlord and he was escaping? No. Not like this.
Germanicus raised his head up and chomped on his wrestler's nose so hard that blood was seeping from the flesh. The barbarian clutched his face and yelled, allowing Germanicus to plunge his sword through the screamer's ribcage.
As soon as the screamer fell dead off Germanicus, a spearman stood over the Legatus ready to gore him, but the Roman was the quicker of the two and chopped the spearman's foot off at the ankle. As the footless man fell to the earth, Germanicus pitched his sword straight through his heart with a warrior's wail.
His eyes rose to where the warlord previously was. And to Germanicus' utter frustration, Odavacar was already off the riverbank, his men had placed him in a small boat and were paddling furiously to the opposite side of the Rhine. He could still make out the boat that the wounded Odavacar was still on.
His luck continued to worsen as three barbarians came charging at him with weapons drawn. But a swift arrow had entered into the heart of the first barbarian and he slumped backwards. Two arrows were shot into his fellow comrades, entering their hearts as well.
He snapped his head back to see the archers of his Auxilia advancing behind them. The leader of them was himself a Gaul who served the dual role of Mercenary Captain and Captain of the Archer Auxilia. He had long dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders and was tall and broad and he was named Ardunas, after the Gallic goddess of the hunt, Arduinna.
"Apologies upon our late arrival," Ardunas said with a sinister smile, "So many Germanians to kill. Have you put that bastard Odavacar to grass?"
"His men saved him at the last moment. He takes to the boats!"
Ardunas traced Germanicus' eyes to the boats now paddling across the river. The Gallic archer shook his head, "He flees, so close…"
"No. He does not flee. He should be in range. Ardunas, target him on that boat."
"Truly?"
"That man had sacked cities and slaughtered many innocent Romans! Including a Julii. This ends today."
A twisted smile formed on the Gaul's face. "I'm so proud of you, Germanicus."
Ardunas fell back to the ranks behind the infantry where the Archer Auxilia of 300 strong had already lined up in formation. Ardunas ordered his men, "Archers, target the retreating boats, draw!" The archers fetched their arrows and placed it on the bow. "Nock!" They pulled the arrow back on their bowstrings and elevated their arms. "Adjust, elevate 20 degrees!" Each archer made an appropriate adjustment to their aim. With a guttural cry, he shouted, "Now rain death on them, loose!"
As one, the archers released their grips on the arrow and sent them soaring through the air, then reloaded instinctively for another volley.
On the boats, the Germanians were paddling with all their might to escape back to the eastern banks. Odavacar had ceased in his bloody screaming, now slightly squirming and groaning from the pain of his robbed eyesight. Lokug was looking over him to offering words of comfort, but was silenced as two arrows entered into his back and he died on top of Odavacar. Another Germanian cried out to raise shields and he was taken with four arrows in the torso, falling off the boat.
The Germanians raised their shields high and were able to block a few of the arrows as they slammed into their shields. A few, but not all. The volley was too great and the blowing wind changed the flight of some arrows into different angles. Their shields could not cover everywhere and soon the arrows tore through their bodies like a stick through a leaf. Many men on the retreating boats were killed and crashed into the water with great splashes. Several boats were beginning to capsize from the sudden onslaught of arrows. The Archer Auxilia then fired off their second volley.
Odavacar, hearing the screaming of his dying men and the rocking of the boat, strained himself as he rose upward, pushing the dead man off of him and asking his men what was happening. An arrow entered the blind man's stomach, then his ribs, then his throat, and then his mouth.
Six arrows entered Odavacar's rower who stood up to shield himself. As the rower fell off the boat, his heavy foot snagged on the line of rope in the inlet of the boat, his momentum causing the boat to capsize with a large splash. Odavacar's body went under, and the legionaries watched on as the arrow-riddled corpses of the Germanic raiders floated down the river. Out of the fifteen retreating ships, only about four managed to escape the archers' barrage.
Back on the riverbank, the remaining Germanians were falling in droves. With their leader wounded and evacuated—and dead, yet this was unknown to them—their ranks broken, their previous loss earlier last night—their morale shattered. Some of them tried to flee across the ravenous river, but the Archer Auxilia picked them off. Some men tried to run towards the water, but the legionaries caught up to them and drove their swords and pila into their backs. Those Germanians who were stretched in the dirt, wounded and begging for their pain to end received their wish; at the end of Roman steel. The few prisoners that were taken were the warriors who were knocked out or passed out from their wounds. Three Suebi laid down their weapons in clear surrender, yet five legionaries with a thirst for blood forced them down to their knees and placed their steel against their necks and laughed.
"Enough!" shouted Germanicus. The five legionaries blinked in a mix of fear and surprise. "They have surrendered and their leader is dead, this invasion is over. There has been enough bloodshed this day. Take them prisoner. That's an order."
They sheathed their blades and nodded. "Understood, Legatus." And they took the three barbarians away.
Around Germanicus, the battle was over. The ground was wet with blood, mud, and feces and the only audible background noise was the river coursing around the bank and the moaning of the wounded Romans and dying Germanians. The Legatus sheathed his sword and took out a pouch of water and drank from it.
One of his Thracian bodyguards, a rash young man named Diza, came from behind him in jubilance. "We did it, Legatus! We finally took back the Rhine!"
Germanicus exhaled as he took the pouch away from his parched lips. He shook his head, his smile was simple yet bittersweet, " 'Took back the Rhine'? You are mistaken, Diza. We just secured the western bank. As long as the Germanians hold on to the eastern side of the Rhine, then it has not truly been taken.
"Oh uh," Diza said, mildly embarrassed, "Of course, Legatus."
The young general looked back out to the length of the vast river and to the uncharted land in the distance, east of the Rhine. "Rome shall one day hold on to both sides of the Rhine." He sighed, "But not today."
Diza looked down and gasped softly, "Legatus, you're wounded."
"Hmm?" he raised his arm and examined the cut that bled moderately. "A scratch, other legionaries are wounded more than I. They shall be treated first." In truth, his right arm was aching fiercely, but he forced the pain out of his mind.
"Legatus!" a helmetless legionary came running to him.
"What is it?"
He saluted, "Legatus, Primus Pilus Aelianus reports that the First Century, First Cohort have examined the derelict fort, and we have found many Roman men, women, and children; prisoners of those barbarians."
Germanicus reached the fort, the men of the First Cohort had escorted most of the citizens out of their bounds and chains and into the open. Many of the women were bruised and bleeding, some of them wept for joy as they spotted the legionaries approach them. Most of them stared out blankly, their lips trembling; their minds seemingly fighting to comprehend if their nightmare was over. The few children hid behind the women, still trembling in terror of what they had seen. The Legatus traced their eyes to the dead Germanians, their bloody wounds and dismembered limbs already had clouds of flies around them.
One man spoke as he laid eyes on Germanicus. "Are you in command of these men?" his voice was fragile.
Germanicus nodded surely, "Yes. I am Vitus Julius Germanicus of the Twenty-Eighth Legion."
Whispers slithered among them, all in surprise of an actual Julius showing up before them and at the front of the famed legion. The man broke out in sobs, "Bless you, Julius Germanicus! May Jupiter bless your efforts in saving us!" The rest of the men and women spoke as one, their voices mixing together in gratitude and cries. The speaker continued, "Some days… they would kill one of us in front of everyone… And sometimes they would take some of us across the river…" his sobs grew louder, "And those that were taken never came back. Many never… they never…"
"Be at peace. All of you," he said with a genial smile. His voice was soft and endearing, his eyes lit up in compassion and pity. He was no longer "General Germanicus, Slayer of the Suebi" but simply an aristocratic citizen who was concerned for the plebeians; he was now "Vitus Julius". Vitus continued, "We have taken back Lugdunum and we just slayed the last of the Suebi, you are all safe now. You do not need to be afraid."
Their eyes shined of hope and relief, especially the women's. Some were trembling in happiness at the words he gave them. Vitus continued to the frightened people, "You shall return back to civilization. And you shall be safe."
He looked to the first horsemen he saw that can carry a message. He spotted Diza and said to him, "Deliver word to Sertorius and Oppius, that the day is now ours. The western bank of the Rhine is secure, as is the fort. We have rescued many Roman citizens who were kept captive at the fort. Hundreds of Germanians lie dead, only a score managed to escape across the river." Germanicus looked over to several lifeless barbarians that still drifted down the river. "And that Odavacar is dead. Diza, their camps should still be established a mile back, gallop with haste."
He gave him a salute, "I shall, Legatus." And galloped off.
Vitus then took notice of his men were mustering around them, haggard yet proud smiles radiated from their faces. He could feel the aura of victory swelling around him. All eyes were on him, soldiers and citizens alike. The young Legatus inhaled through his nose and momentarily buried Vitus the Julius and channeled Germanicus the General. "Look around you men! Look at the victory we have won today. For a full day, morning and night, we have been awake to ensure our triumph over those odious Suebi! They took our land, burned our crops, and enslaved our own people! Look to these men, women, and children we have delivered from the hands of those Suebi! Take pride in what you have done! We pushed those bastards back from the city of Lugdunum all the way back to the Rhine! Let them come and invade again and we shall show them the might of the Julii! Give thanks to each other, to our dead brothers-in-arms who gave their lives for this victory, give thanks to the Gods! Let them hear your gratitude, this shall be another moment of victory upon the annals of the Twenty-Eighth! So lift your voices to the heavens and rejoice!" With his good left arm, Germanicus lifted his bloody sword high, "ROMA VICTOR!"
The soldiers cheered and thrust their weapons in the air, bellowing, "Roma Victor!" The citizens gave endearing cries of relief and blessings to the soldiers and applauded with sheer joy and gratitude. They all began to hug each other and pounded their chest and stamping their feet in exhilaration. Germanicus gave a bright smile, by the gods he was proud of these men and proud of his fellow generals, Quintus Sertorius and Aulus Oppius, if only they were here at this moment to bask in the celebrations. He closed his eyes and felt the eyes of his father peer on him from the afterlife.
Germanicus shouted louder, "Twenty-Eighth!"
Primus Pilus Aelianus took up the call, "Twenty-Eighth!"
Ligadis chuckled before speaking up, "Twenty-Eighth!"
The soldiers all began chanting as one, "Twenty-Eighth! Twenty-Eighth! Twenty-Eighth!"
Feels good to be writing a story of antiquity again. Hopefully I did well in articulating the battle.
Also, the ending part of the fighting was based off my gameplay in Medieval 2. I was England and just beat the HRE and as their General was retreating with only him and two men remaining, I had my three longbowmen units fire on him as he retreated and LUCKILY, I killed him before he escaped the battlefield. I wonder how many others had a similar experience.
Honestly surprised how long the first chapter was. Wasn't actually planning it to pass 10k words, but I wanted to open up upon a battle so I guess that naturally took its course in spreading out the length. Also, the civil war in the backstory was NOT the civil war in-game between the Julii, Brutii, and Scipii.
Thanks for reading!
-Kanuro5
