The general bowed his head, but hate glittered in his eyes as he looked at the newly appointed commander. “Very well Commander. . Appius. Please appoint a new tribune and secure your legion’s position in the center of our line.”
With some effort, the general turned back to the map on the command table. He fiddled with some knobs and the mechanical aspect of the board sprang to life, as Midgard rose from the flat planning board. The commanders moved closer as 3D terrain augmented their view of the plan.
“The IV Britannia will hold the right flank here, near this bridge crossing the river. It appears to have many cracks, and my scouts report that it is not sturdy enough to support substantial weight. Either way, The IV Britannia will remain anchored here to prevent any Nortland force from slipping around to our right. As long as we control that bridge, we control the right flank.” Minnicus produced a handkerchief to dab at the sheen of sweat on his forehead as he looked around at his officers. “Any questions?”
There were the usual minor questions that were readily answered by Minnicus or one of his flunkies. The biggest question Constantine wanted to ask, but could not bring himself to raise, was about retreating. The entire right wing was isolated and could not be supported directly if the Nortlanders did cross the river. Support would have to cross two separate bridges in a U-shaped marching path to assist the right flank.
We’ll just have to hope the Britannians can hold their own.
Shields locked, the legionnaires fought to hold the line. The thin snow layer and partially frozen ground beneath their feet had turned to mud, and their boots slid before finding purchase. Only the pressure of the men behind them kept the first rank on their feet.
Riding a horse for the first time in a while, Constantine was temporarily enjoying his elevation to commander. A whole legion, over three thousand men at his command. An imposing force that could build forts and roads and control an entire countryside. This particular legion could even use airships to catch their opponents by surprise. But right now, Constantine could see that they were in a fight for the life of the legion, here on the battlefield.
From his vantage point on his horse, safely (he hoped) behind ten ranks of legionnaires, Constantine pulled out his binoculars and scanned the battle lines. To his left, the III Cimbrian were continuing to make good progress as their line, formed perpendicular to his, fought its way forward. The light woods and small hills prevented Constantine from having a completely clear line of sight to the III Britannia on the right. He’d placed scouts on the hills to notify him of any attacks there. To his rear the VII Germania waited in reserve, currently doing little besides guarding the Roman camp and baggage train.
Examining his own line, Constantine noticed small pockets beginning to bulge in places. In addition to the four cohorts he had kept in reserve, he also had his own personal bodyguard, fifty experienced cavalrymen deadly with blade both on horseback and on foot. Just how deadly they were, Constantine was determined to find out. A particularly strong push about two-thirds of the way down his left flank had buckled his line; there, normally ten ranks deep, it was only four deep. If the Nortlanders broke through anywhere, they could divide Constantine’s forces and mop them up quickly.
“Janus! Grab a reserve cohort and follow me!” he called to his bodyguard commander. He spurred his horse and went galloping down the lines, heading toward the near-breakthrough. He arrived just in time to watch a particularly blood-crazed Nortland savage hack his way through the last line of legionnaires and face him head on. Constantine’s horse was going full speed, and the soldier swept his chain-axe at the horses’ legs.
Constantine barely had time to utter a curse as he flew through the air, just barely managing to kick his feet out of the stirrups in time. I never seem to have much luck with horses, he observed as he sprawled painfully in the mud
He struggled to his feet, cloak trapped beneath the spasming horse. His hand hit the clasp on his cloak, and instantly a load of pressure vanished from his body. A scream yanked his attention toward another barbarian charging at him. Ducking under the wild swing, Constantine delivered a solid punch to the barbarian’s kidney. The man crumpled, and Constantine clutched his hand in momentary pain before scrambling to draw his sword and activate his air legion shield, winding it into place in just a few clicks. The steel segments telescoped out from the central stack to form the solid, yet lightweight, shield.
Constantine looked around. Most of those still in the fight wore red uniforms. His bodyguards had made a decisive impact in this particular conflict. Unfortunately, they were also beginning to take some serious casualties. Although his men were better armed and armored, their horses were still vulnerable to attacks, and crazed or not, the Nortlanders were not stupid opponents. Constantine was forced to signal his men to fall back as his reserve cohort came to the rescue.
“Into the breach!” Constantine shouted at them. He recognized some of the faces.
“Commander Appius, sir! It’s us!” called one of the legionnaires, smiling at him from the far end of the rank. Constantine, unsure of protocol, acknowledged with a half wave, half salute. Centurion Gwendyrn passed as well, instructing his rear ranks to hit the enemy with a flurry of plumbatae fire.
“Do you happen to have any more of those igniculum, sir?” a nearby legionnaire asked.
Sheathing his sword, Constantine smiled at the banter and played along for a while. “No, there didn’t seem to be much use! Evidently they already go blind here just looking at the snow all the time.” The men laughed. “Get to it, men! Send them all to Hades!”
Their well-disciplined formation slammed into the gap in the line. Constantine saw men actually fly into the air as the wedge of shields plowed into the milling enemy. The shock of their arrival did more to break their opponents than the last few hours of combat had. Gwendyrn drove his men like a scythe, reaping men left and right with well-timed counter charges from his ranks, the legionnaires working together to isolate and kill Nortland berserkers.
Constantine saw one man pin a chain-axe, teeth whirring, to the ground with his scutum. The serrated teeth of the chain-axe gnawed at the legionnaire’s shield, leaving deep grooves in the tough metal and wood until its wielder collapsed under two quick jabs to the gut from another legionnaire. Turning quickly, the legionnaire raised his shield to block another attack, and the battle continued.
Constantine shouted encouragement at his men, until one of his bodyguards grabbed him, just a few ranks back from the front line. “Sir! You can’t be up this far; we can’t keep you safe!” Unsaid was the more obvious You can’t play soldier when your job is to be a commander.
Constantine nodded wordlessly and let himself be pulled back out of the fight. He mounted a borrowed horse. From the bloodstains on the saddle, its owner was not going to be looking for it anytime soon.
“Wow! Would you look at that!” shouted one of his men. Constantine looked across the battlefield.
The mechaniphants were charging. It was an amazing sight. Fifteen of the constructs were moving in a single wave through the enemy army. The sunlight glittered off their steel armor and the projectiles being launched into the Nortlanders. Two of them must have been armed with Greek fire launchers, as clay spheres exploded in fiery fury, coating everything around them in sticky, burning residue. Constantine nearly yanked his binoculars off his neck, trying to get a better look at the situation.
The Roman mechanical beasts were on a rampage. They spat fire and threw explosive bolts. Their heavy repeaters cut down waves of enemy infantry. The Roman line rallied, cheering the attack. The enemy panicked and ran, falling back while the Romans redressed their lines. Constantine told his men to hold back. Orders are to remain here, but I wonder how long before Minnicus orders a general chase.