“Watch out, boys,” I heard someone cry out, and I snapped at them to shut their mouths, cursing myself for giving in to the pressure I was feeling.
The near miss with the bolt had badly unnerved me; while it was not the first time we in Caesar’s army had faced our own artillery, it was the first time the Second Cohort was exposed to it, and not surprisingly, I liked it not at all. The first volley of slingshot was released, a blur of movement coming streaking towards us, slow enough that our eyes tracked the movement, but too fast for us to do anything about it. The air around me was split with what sounded like thousands of angry bees, and I held the shield I had drawn from stores over as much of my body as I could, cursing my large size. There was a loud cracking sound and I felt a tremendous impact on the upper portion of my shield as one of the shot hit it. The force was akin to someone hitting my shield with a hammer and I felt my arm go a bit numb. Behind me were similar sounds, punctuated by the different thudding sound of some of the shot striking flesh, followed immediately by screams of pain and calls for help from comrades who could not stop for them. It was always this way during an assault like this, and we all knew that once hit, we were essentially on our own until the slaves and clerks who worked as stretcher bearers, or the medici themselves came up behind the Legion. Yet for some reason, that never stopped men from calling out for help, sometimes prompting a man to risk violating orders to stop and help a particularly close friend. Looking back to make a quick check, I saw we had been lucky that first volley, with only a couple of men down. When I scanned down the line to see how the other Centuries fared, it appeared to be about the same. We were at the extreme range of the slings, meaning the next volley would undoubtedly do more damage. Still, we had to endure at least one more volley because we needed to get closer before giving the command to change direction, and I clenched my teeth as I saw the slingers begin to wind up for their next barrage. Again, we were lashed by shot, this time with my shield hit twice, followed by more cries of pain and fear around me as more men were hit. Regardless, we kept marching forward, reaching the point where I issued the command to turn to the left a half-turn, followed immediately by the command to double time. The catapult fired twice more, but I could not tell what the damage was, just thankful that they had shifted their aim and were not shooting at me. Making the turn as quickly as I had hoped, we began to trot, and across the remaining distance, I heard the cries of alarm as the Pompeians saw what we were about to do. Now the race was on.
~ ~ ~ ~
We closed the distance quickly, but it also meant that the range for the slingers was shortening as well, although it was not all good news for them, since now that we were running, we were harder to hit. Our faster step also meant that we could not use our shields as effectively as when marching at our normal pace either, yet speed was now vital, so we would have to take whatever losses came our way. The Pompeian Centurions were now shouting orders and we were close enough to hear them calling for the men on the parapet facing us to shift to the threatened side. The Pompeians obeyed, stopping their onslaught with the slings. Running at the head of my Century, I had placed us on the left to put us closest to the gap, and now when we went from column to line, the other Centuries were required to run across the face of the fort to follow us. That meant the cessation of the sling fire was a good piece of luck, because the trailing Centuries’ flanks were now exposed. Turning to give the order to close ranks back up, as I did so I saw that there were a number of bodies marking our progress, and I bit back a curse. The men closed together on the run just as, in the lead, I reached the leading edge of the ditch, turning parallel to run the hundred feet or so to where the ditch ended. We had not been running long, but I was already feeling winded and I worried at the state of the men, since it is no easy thing to conduct an assault when you are huffing and puffing. Reaching the end of the ditch, I turned past it, and it was only then that I stopped for a moment, directing the men as they moved past me to form back into a more cohesive line. We would have to pause, but it could not be long enough to allow the enemy time to shift enough men to the weak side of the fort, at least so I hoped. Some of my men carried poles with iron hooks attached that they would use to pull down a section of the palisade in order to make our breach there. I was pleased to see that as I suspected, the Pompeians expended most of their time and energy on fortifying the side of the fort that faced directly across from our lines; on this side, it was nothing but a turf wall and palisade, with the ditch only deep enough to construct a spoil of perhaps four feet high. There were men on this part of the wall, and I could see that it would not be nearly enough to stop us, but only if we hurried. Thinking rapidly, I made a decision; I would not wait for the rest of the Cohort, and the men would have to go in without a chance to rest.