Fortune Reigns by J Clifton Slater

Author:J Clifton Slater [Slater, J Clifton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-08-29T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15 – Dawn and Death

Legionaries train consistently. They run, jump, drill for immediate responses to commands and vault trenches, mounds, tree trunks, and any other obstacle they might encounter during a battle. The third maniple vaulted the chest-high stone wall and their shields slammed into the unprepared Qart Hadasht guard force. Driving them back, the Legionaries killed and stomped as they annihilated the stunned mercenary units. But all surprise attacks lose the element when the enemy realizes the situation and turns their spears towards the fight.

Five Legionaries were down. Seven more of the two hundred and forty men, who began the assault, staggered back to the stone wall with debilitating injuries. Pacing behind the shields of the third maniple and the thrusting javelins, the Centuries’ Sergeants, Corporals, and Centurions shouted to their squads.

“Enthusiasm kills. Lethargy gets you dead,” the Sergeant of the Twenty-fifth Century screamed to be heard over the heavy breathing, grunting, and rattling of javelin tips on enemy shields. “Close the gaps.”

His words were repeated on the line by the squad leaders and the Left and Right Pivot men. Although they seemed to add to the racket and chaos, the words reached and comforted all the members of his three squads. His words, even in the midst of a blade to blade fight to the death, let the Legionaries know their command was intact. With enemy warriors a blade’s length away and their vision restricted by their helmets and infantry shields, the Optio’s voice and forwarded words assured the infantrymen that their line was unbroken.

On the other end of the Twenty-fifth, the three squads under the Corporal also repeated his words of encouragement and orders to keep their shields tight. While the NCOs controlled three squads each, in the center, their Centurion directed only two squads. Between his words, the line officer glanced back regularly to watch the assault commander.

Centurion Sanctus Carnifex stood on the stone wall holding an infantry shield he’d taken from a wounded Legionary. High above the fray with legs spread wide, shield swinging to deflect spears and arrows, the Legion’s weapons instructor peered around calmly as if this was a training session. His confidence transferred to the line officers whose inflections reached their NCOs and by their tone spread to the eight squads of each Century. But inside, Carnifex’s mind raced as he weighed his thinning line against the mass of Qart Hadasht soldiers staging behind the engaged mercenaries. Before the wave of professional fighters could form and sweep away the third maniple, the assault commander twisted around and held up two fingers. Then he held up one finger and pointed at the backside of the stone wall.

“Third maniple. Throw, push, push, draw,” Carnifex bellowed while drawing his own gladius.

Until this point, the personal duels along the Legion line had been unconnected stabs with javelins and individual blocks with Legion shields.

“Throw. Push. Push. Draw,” the line officers shouted and the orders were repeated by the NCOs.

As quick as three hand claps, the orders echoed along the line.

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