Centurion's Rise (33 page)

General Coranus turned at the waist and looked along the coastline as the other two dozen rafts made landfall and the soldiers disembarked.  He then looked back at Tomal with resignation in his eyes and flung his arms out wide.  “Orders complete.”

“Indeed,” Tomal sighed as he took in the reality of his losses.  His army now numbered a little over two hundred men, and that was all.  “We will still carry this day as the distraction we provided will surely allow the other forces to prevail.”

Tomal gestured for the men to move out then mounted the steed an aid brought for him to ride.  General Coranus mounted his horse and move
d next to Tomal for a private conversation.  “The victory will be theirs, not ours.  I fear without an army to back us, you and I will soon find irons around our wrists or an assassin’s knife drawn across our throats.”

“I’ll think of something,” Tomal finally said as they moved along with the men.

**********

Hastelloy prompted his mount toward his western battle lines and beckoned for Volumnius to join him.  The thrumming sound of archers loosing their arrows filled the air with a fluttering whisper as Hastelloy drew near.  He observed that the rampart walls still held back the enemy foot soldiers while the archers peppered them from above.  The rhythmic thumping of battering rams against the walls let him know the advantage would not last much longer.

Hastelloy finally spotted General Galan surrounded by dozens of scouts reporting their findings.  Hastelloy brought his horse to a stop alongside the frenzied discussion and casually cleared his throat which immediately induced silence among the men.

“General, what kind of force are we dealing with over here?” Hastelloy asked.

“Armies commanded by the Consul’s are close to punching through our southwestern walls while a much larger force under Octavian’s command is moving along the bottom of the northern cliff face to come at us from our rear,” General Galan reported.

“How long until Octavian’s men are in position to make a charge?” Hastelloy asked.

“I give it about thirty minutes.  He has their entire complement of cavalry with him, so I’ve dispatched our mounted units there to keep them in check.”

“Belay that,” Hastelloy ordered.  “We have an opportunity to destroy the Consular armies before Octavian arrives, and I intend to avail myself of it.  Move all our cavalry to this front and keep them behind the rampart walls.  While they’re doing that, bring me a few dozen men with the sharpest axes you can find.”

General Galan set his men into action while Volumnius rode up next to Hastelloy.  “Isn’t it dangerous moving all your cavalry away from the enemy horsemen?  Without your own cavalry to parry their movements, Octavian’s army will outflank your northern units in short order.”

“My enemy is divided right now,” Hastelloy instructed.  “I have the chance to hit one force with everything I have and then turn around and do the same to the other.  They command twice as many men as I, so I choose to fight two evenly matched battles as opposed to one where I’m assaulted on two fronts by twice my numbers.”

“It still seems excessively risky,” Volumnius cautioned.

“Genius or madness,” Hastelloy countered.

In the ten minutes it took for Hastelloy’s cavalry to reposition the combined forces of Consul’s Hirtius and Pansa managed to breach the rampart walls in three sections and were successfully pressing in.  The situation was growing dire as Octavian’s men were closing in from the north and threatened to surround Hastelloy’s army. 

Hastelloy watched the last of his cavalrymen take position a hundred yards behind a solid wooden wall.  The horses danced anxiously about
with the sounds of battle so near, yet the horsemen could not engage the enemy.  The same wall that held back the opposing force also prevented the cavalry from executing their most devastating maneuver – the charge.  A well timed cavalry charge could make even the most hardened veteran stain the soil beneath his feet yellow and brown.

General Galan rode up next to Hastelloy, “Begging your pardon, sir, but what good are our horses doing behind our barricaded walls?  They were of much more use to me in the open field keeping Octavian’s men occupied.”

“You’re right, General, let’s remedy that, shall we?” Hastelloy responded with a cool, measured tone that hinted at something sinister about to come. 

Hastelloy prompted his horse forward and rode out in front of the amassed cavalry units.  “Are you ready for a fight?”

“Yes,” boomed a chorus of 12,000 manly voices.

“Our ene
mies have come to us, let’s not keep them waiting any longer,” Hastelloy yelled.  He then drew his sword, pointed it toward the sky and thrust it directly at the teetering wooden wall.  “Charge!”

An instant later, 12,000 swords scraped against their scabbard sheaths as the cavalrymen drew their blades
.  Moments later, the earth shuddered as their mounts transitioned from standing still, to a slow gallop, and ultimately a full charge where 48,000 hooves tore into the ground with all the power the mighty animals could drive into their legs.

General Galan looked
upon Hastelloy as if he’d just lost his mind.  He was leading an all out cavalry charge directly into a reinforced wooden wall.  Hundreds, if not thousands of horse and men would break their necks slamming into the immovable object, or get crushed in the imminent pile-up.

Galan’s eyes darted past the cavalry to the defensive wall.  Through the dusty haze kicked up by the horses, he noticed some movement along the base of the wall.  Thirty axe men were hard at work chopping the support beams that extended from the ground to the top of the wall at a 45 degree angle.  One by one he watched them sever the support pylons.  Soon the once stout wall was so flimsy it wavered back and forth in the soft breeze.

When the first line of horses were a hundred feet away, the walls were pushed forward revealing a three hundred foot wide gap that the cavalry blasted through.  On the other side lay the enemy army with every sword and shield pointed the wrong direction.  One moment the enemy felt safe with an impassable wall covering their flank.  An instant later that wooden barrier was replaced by a wall of flesh racing toward them at forty miles per hour with swords drawn and the bloodlust of battle in their hearts.

Like a tsunami rising up and devouring a coastal village, the cavalry charge swallowed the enemy army whole.  The first dozen rows of foot soldiers didn’t even have time to wet themselves; they were simply crushed.  The next dozen rows threw down their arms as the bodies of their fellow soldiers were flung past them by the initial impact of the charge.  Panic
spread across the enemy ranks and soon 30,000 soldiers were in full flight for their lives as it was every man for himself.

Hastelloy slowed his horse so he was no longer leading the charge.  The men felt the enemy’s panic and were pulled along in pursuit.  The charge had taken on a life of its own now and did not need him showing the way.  Soon Hastelloy’s cavalry would be spread all over the field with no hope of pulling them back together to mount a defense against Octavian’s attack.

Hastelloy looked about to locate the standard bearers for each cavalry cohort.  He spotted one red banner relatively nearby and spurred his horse to intercept the rider.  He held up both arms to induce the cavalry unite to a full stop.

“Bring your men together,” Hastelloy yelled over the clatter of swords and the death cries of his adversaries.  “You see that cluster of purple banners at the bottom of the hill?  Consuls Hirtius and Pansa are there attempting to reorganize their men.  From this moment on, your sole purpose in life is to kill those two men.  Otherwise they will return to Rome and gather another army and we’ll have to repeat this day a year from now.”

“With pleasure, General,” the cavalry commander responded with the look of a dog being set loose in a chicken coop.

“And while you’re at it,” Hastelloy added.  “Send word to the other cavalry units to continue this attack until every last retreating coward lies dead at your feet.”

**********

Tomal’s heart inflated once more with the thrill of victory when he joined Consuls Hirtius and Ponsa at their chosen observation point.  They
were all looking up the steep hillside where a stout wall of timbers was failing to hold back 30,000 attackers. 

The army already knocked down
large sections of the fortification and was pouring through the breach to win the day.  Victory was at hand, Tomal could feel it deep in the pit of his stomach.  Hastelloy would finally be beaten and put in his place. 

Once more, the unthinkable happened.  A long section of the fortifi
ed wall fell down without any of their soldiers laying a hand or axe upon it.  Behind the fallen timbers was a charging wall of cavalry racing forward to obliterate everything in their path, and they did.

The rank and file of the Consul armies dropped everything they had and ran for their lives, oblivious to any allegiance or cause.  Tomal was certain he would be able to reorganize the men as Hastelloy’s cavalry would need to pull back
and face Valnor’s mounted units approaching from his rear.

Tomal watched in open-mouthed amazement as the horsemen continued to prowl after the fleeing foot soldiers.  Hirtius and Ponsa moved up their reserves to give their fleeing soldiers a rally point to reorganize back into an effective fighting force.

Among the random movements of the horsemen trying to kill any man they could reach, Tomal saw a sizeable cluster of cavalry coming together.  At first it looked to be only a few hundred horsemen, but their numbers soon swelled to several thousand.

The enemy movements were not lost on Hirtius either.  The consul pointed the amassing units out to Ponsa.  “We need to pull our forces back or we risk enduring another charge.”

“They won’t venture that far from the main infantry force,” Ponsa countered.  “They know our cavalry are bearing down on their rear.  They need to remain home to provide cover, and we need to remain close by to attack again when the time is right.”

Tomal simply shook his head.  He’d fought in enough battles to recognize the difference in behavior of soldiers simply holding their ground, and those intending to do battle.  There was a certain quality in the way men moved just before combat.  They were quiet, focused, and strutted around like a proud rooster.  Even from a quarter mile away, Tomal could tell those cavalrymen had the swagger.  Even though the order made no sense, as it would leave their infantry exposed, the enemy would charge and annihilate the remnants of the Consular army.

Tomal rode up next to General Coranus, “Time for you and I to leave.”

“Now? Why?” Coranus asked.  “We have thousands of soldiers protecting us here, why would we leave?”

“Because ten thousand cavalry are about to run roughshod over the ground we now stand upon,” Tomal instructed.  “We need to go, right gods damned now!”

Tomal spurred his horse into a full gallop toward the northern cliff face.  General Coranus joined him as they rode around the hill to join Valnor and his forces.  Tomal did not even bother look
ing back as ten thousand cavalry slammed into the remnants of the consular army and utterly flattened every man standing.  Consuls Hirtius and Ponsa perished with their men, but Tomal rode on with confidence as he knew the tactical victory would cost Hastelloy the battle and indeed the war.

**********

Hastelloy returned to command his infantry units that were now left defending against Octavian’s assault.  He saw the main battle lines were already set and marching toward one another.  Hastelloy joined General Galan and Volumnius behind the lines with a clear view of the action.

Galan was the first to notice Hastelloy’s approach.  He turned to him with a gigantic grin.  “There’s nothing like a good cavalry charge to get the tide of battle moving in your favor.”

“Indeed,” Hastelloy said with an ominous tone as he redirected Galan’s attention back to the battle taking place in front of him.  “It appears Octavian also subscribes to your line of thinking.”

General Galan’s face ran pale at the sight of 17,000 enemy
cavalry cresting the hilltop who began accelerating.

“I need our cavalry back here,” Galan insisted.

“They are occupied with demolishing the Consul armies I’m afraid,” Hastelloy replied softly.  He then looked over at Volumnius, “It looks like history is going to remember this day as a moment of madness rather than genius.”

“It’s a distinct possibility,” Volumnius confirmed with a not so subtle hint of disgust behind his words.

A minute later, Hastelloy’s veteran legions dug the butts of their spears into the ground and held their shields at the ready to make the best of a hopeless situation.  Octavian’s cavalry blasted the formations to pieces and then corralled the remainder of Hastelloy’s men into a tight circle and constricted in on them until there was no room for the defenders to even swing a sword.  There was nothing left for Hastelloy to do except watch his legions get hacked to pieces.

“Right, that’ll do,” Hastelloy sighed.  Without displaying emotion of any kind, Hastelloy reached into his saddle bag one last time, and pulled out a white flag.  He rode his horse forward until stopping over a fallen soldier with a spear sticking straight out of his chest into the air.  Hastelloy reached
over, pulled the long weapon from the body, and attached his white flag just below the spear’s blood soaked tip.  He then raised the white flag high into the air and rode out into the middle of the battlefield.