'Why' is an intrinsically funny question. Think about it, a majority of the jokes deal with 'why'. 'Why did the chicken cross the road'. You never get asked 'When did the chicken cross the road', presumably sometime before it showed up on the other side. 'How' did the chicken cross the road? Leg musculature evolved over millions of years. 'Who' did the chicken cross the road? That's a bit of a surreal question.
- 65. If I live to be 65, I'll be happy. I'm 21 now, in 44 years it'll be 2052. 2052! That's the friggin' future! If by then we don't have magic immortality juice, intersystem flight, and a way to make good tasting healthy food, it ain't worth going on.
As regular readers of my blog know, I write. I want to write for a living, but for now I'm content to write for myself. I was going through a few things earlier today when I found a story I wrote when Rome: Total War was the new big thing, four years ago. I couldn't even remember writing this until I saw it. I think ever writer aspires to reach a point where they read over something they don't remember writing, and like it. I think I must be easy to please, since I enjoyed reading this.
It's a recreation of an actual battle fought in the game, with some appropriate dramatic license. Hopefully you enjoy it as much as I did. If you enjoy it, thank you. If you don't, remember I was 17 when I wrote this. I write much better things now. No I'm not going to show you what I've written recently to prove it.
P.S. Why yes, I am just posting this to get out of having to do a 'real' post. You want a real post, make a blog of your own, bucko.
"Catapults, fire!" Marcus Julius chopped his hand down in an exaggerated gesture, so that even if the catapult crews didn't hear his voice, they would know to shoot. After a few moments, the flaming balls streaked into the night's air, flying over the gates of the town to crash into a collected group of swordsman, spearmen and beserkers. Men who were not killed instantly by the impact ran screaming through the town, rolling on the ground, trying to find a way to extinguish the burning flames. Marcus turned to his second-in-command, a young cousin brought along to give him some experience of life on the frontier. Marcus smirked slightly, seeing Quintus wince at the sounds of the German's screams echoing through the night. A few years under his command would turn the boy into a man, thought Marcus.
"Like music to our ear's, isn't it boy?" Marcus glanced back at the town, the catapults letting off another volley, sailing over their heads. Out of the four shots, one sailed low, landing dangerously close to a unit of Legionaires. Marcus made a mental note to have that catapult opperator flogged at the end of the battle. He glanced back at his young cousin to see the boy frowning at him.
"Have you forgotten that is the sound of men dying, Cousin?" said the boy. Marcus' hand lashed out, backhanding the yound man across the face, and knocking him from his horse. One of Quintus' retainers leapt off his own horse to help the man to his feet. Luca, the grizzeled veteran centurian who had for some reason attached himself to the boy glared up at Marcus.
"Don't look at me like that, old man! I am general of this army, he will show me some respect!" Marcus snapped, his own bodyguard glaring back at the centurian's manner, as Quintus' looked ready to draw swords and defend their lord's honour.
"I'm alright!" shouted Quintus, quickly pulling himself to his feet with the aid of Luca. Within a matter of moments he nimbly leapt back onto his horse, and gripped the reins.
"We'll head to the western flank of the army, 'commander'", Quintus somehow managed to make the title seem an insult, "If you head to the Eastern flank." Marcus opened his mouth to protest, then realised the boy was right, it was the correct tactical decision. He nodded, then repeated the order louder, as if to suggest it was his idea.
Marcus glanced at Captain Manias. "Order the Balista's to start firing on the gate, and remember to light the bolts." He then wheeled his horse away and began heading off at a gallop towards the eastern side of the army.
The Roman army seemed a daunting sight in the night, thought Adalgard, as he stared out from the hill at their lines. At the centre, the Romans had a unit of Praetorian's standing firm, and two units of their Legionaire cohorts stood at either side. In front of all of these men stood eight balistas, arranged in groups of two and spread out in front of the lines. His eyes could barely make out the men twisting the cranks of the complex machinary, and even those scant outlines were only because of the crackling flame at the end of the bolt. Suddenly, two bolts were released, one crashing into a guard tower along the walls of the city, setting the structure alight, the bowman within it collapsing out of the tower within a few moments, rolling along the ground to try and extinguish the flames. The second bolt flew high and crashed into the roof of a hut near the walls, setting it on fire as well. His eyes wandered back to the Roman lines, spotting over one hundred men on either flank, jeering into the night, yelling insults at the city. The Romans couldn't even fight their own battles, they enlisted the aid of those they strove to wipe out. His eyes then wandered to the rest of the army. Behind the Praetorians and Legionaires stood near two hundred and fifty archers. A line of fire before them, but none with arrows noched. Usually, he would see that as a sign of insanity from any commander, but arrows were better in open battle, while the Onagers next to the archers bombarded his forces with ease, far out of the range of even his best javlin throwers. Behind the Romans archers stood a large unit of javlin armed cavalry. When his scouts reported a thousand strong Roman force moving to beseige the city, Adalgard never expected it would be a challange. He had over one thousand eight hundred men under his command! In open battle, the romans would be crushed, but this was not an open battle. The roman's used their own city against them. For the Germans to attack the roman force, they would need to open the gate and sally out, which would mean leading his soldiers through the choke-hold that was the gate, and into the view of all those archers and balistas. It was a pure killing ground, and he would have little army left by the time it reached the cursed Romans.
Adalgard regretted killing that old man, now. He and a small force of cavalry had struck out one morning in a raid of the nearby Dacians, about twenty years ago now, but on the way back they encountered an old man in Roman livary, with a small bodyguard, and slaughtered him without hesitation, looting the fine jewelry from his body. He later discovered that the old man was Cassius Julius, the named heir of the Julii house of Rome. The Julii had then begun systematically wiping his people out. They had struck west with lightning speed, taking Lemonum and Narbo Martius within six months, cutting the Germans off from their allies, the Spanish. All Adalgard could do is hear the pleas of the spanish envoys, asking for help as the Romans systematically conquered their cities and enslaved their people. He knew he had no hope of getting an army past to help them, and he just built up his forces in anticipation of the war to come. He was distracted by his reminising by the sound of one of the bolts from a balista striking the wooden gate. He looked down in time to see a unit of spearmen moving to guard the gate with their lives. If the bolts managed to take down the gate, the Romans would invariably charge, and if they got a foothold within the city, the battle would become far bloodier.
"But how could it be bloodier..." he wondered aloud. The soothsayer next to him glanced over.
"You spoke, Warlord?" said the old man, one finger casually twirling the end of his white beard, seeming undisturbed by the carnage of his countrymen.
"No, I did not sayer. Now get back to convincing the gods to strike down these cursed men..." Adalgard saw a flaming pot of whatever the Romans were throwing at them crash down amidst a unit of his best axemen, many of them fleeing in terror, the rest either crushed or burned alive. His attention was distracted by the sight of another Balista bolt flying towards the gate. The soothsayers eyes widened for a few moments before it happened, then the flaming bolt crashed through the wood, impaling two hapless spearmen, setting them both on fire, and knocking them back into the ranked men behind them. The second bolt knocked the damaged gate open, taking another spearman in the face, ending him in an instant.
"Ready yourself men!" cried Adalgard, another unit of spearmen rushing to aid the first in holding back the invaders.
Quintus looked down the line at the unmoving ranks of Legionaires, the battles of their lives having long ago hardened them to the screams of the dead and dying. The gate had been opened by his siege weapons, so why wasn't Marcus charging? Was he so content to slaughter hapless men?
Marcus glanced down the line, a grin crossing his face. "Catapults! Double your efforts! I want to know ten minutes in advance before you run out of ammunition!"The Roman line didn't move, save to reload the balista's and catapults. The engineers in charge of the Balista's redirected their weaponry to pre-chosen positions in the walls, the flaming bolts crashing through the wooden walls, setting them alight, and weakening the structure.
Adalgard's eyes widened as he realised what the Romans were doing. "Curse them! Cowardly dogs!" he cried. The Roman's were content to sit there, all night if needed. Their Catapults rained death on his already demoralised soldiers, and their balista's knocked a couple of holes in his walls. He quickly turned to one of his messenders, passing on orders to redirecte soldiers to guard the new holes, standing to the sides of them so as not to expose themselves to the flaming bolts. He turned back to survey the situation, just in time to see the flaming balista bolt.
"Get down!" he shouted, ducking as he did so. The Soothsayer turned in surprise, and was taken by the bolt full in the chest, knocking him back off his horse, and sliding him dozens of feet along the ground. Adalgard turned away from the disgusting sight, and shouted orders to all the messengers waiting for his commands.
"All troops are to pull back to the town centre! We should be out of their Onager range there!" With that he wheeled his horse and shouted the order to his own retainers, before charging off to help the messengers deliver his command. As his soldiers moved to obey, more balls of fire fell from the sky, burning men alive, and scaring the wits out of their companions. Adalgard took stock of his situation. Out of his initial one thousand eight hundred men, he was lucky if he could count twelve hundred, and not a warrior amongst them could fight at their peak, they'd been running around to avoid catapult shots all night, and their will had been broken by the horendous sights they had seen. He wondered if they could stand up to the Legions now?
The Legionaire ran towards Marcus, stopping a few feet from his commander and standing at attention.
"Sir! The Onagers have three more rounds left." Marcus grinned, then turned to the messengers, waiting on their horses.
"Second and Third cohort are to move through the west break in the walls, taking up defensive positions on either side to allow second archers Auxillia through. Forth and Fifth are to do the same on the eastern break, with third archers Auxillia in. First cohort is to take up positions on either side of the gate so as to remain unseen, got it?" The messengers nodded, then sped off to inform the relevant troops.
Quintus had to admire the discipline of his cousin's soldiers as the marched through the gap and took up their positions on either side, allowing just enough space for the archers to stand. From his position atop his horse he could see the German warlord shouting out orders, and his soldiers rushing to obey. A group of axe armed warriors moved into position to charge the Second cohort, but their will faltered as dozens of pilums arched through the air, cutting men down where they stood. Still, they charged, and were broken across the broad shields of the Legionaires, fleeing back into the night. Another pilum salvo crossed the distance, and men screamed in pain as the heavy javlin-like weapons burried into their backs. Of the sixty or so men who charged, a little less then twenty survived the retreat. As if realising the folly of so few men trying to break a Legionaire position, over two hundred spearmen took up position and moved to charge the fifth cohort, slowly crossing the distance with their spears outstretched. The fifth and fourth turned to face the spearmen, and released a salvo of their pilums, before falling back. The sharp javlins fell many germans warriors, but the march continued. Suddenly, on order from General Marcus, the First Praetorian cohort burst through the gates and fell upon the rear of the Spearmen, slaughtering many as they stood. Quickly the Praetorian's disengaged, not a single red-adorned body amidst the many barbarian corpses. The Spearmen, operating on instinct more then orders, turned to face the new threat, opening themselves to a volley from the archers with forth and fifth cohorts. Third archer Auxillia's arrows tore through the spearmen, cutting many down as they stood, the cries of pain echoing through the city. Unsure of how to deal with this many threats, the spearmen broke ranks and ran, falling back to the town centre, the arrows of the third archer Auxillia falling many of them as they ran, of the over-two hundred spearmen initially, the germans would be lucky to count fifty. Suddenly Quintus' attention was drawn to a young man waiting by his horse, and he looked down at the messenger.
"General Marcus commands that you take up position behind the second archer Auxillia in two counts of one hundred, M'lord". Quintus nodded his thanks at the man, and began a silent count in his head, watching the ease at which the five Cohorts of the army formed up a solid line at the base of the hill in the middle of the city, where the town centre was stationed. Behind them the two Archer Auxillia formed up on the left and right flanks, leaving room for the first archer Auxillia in the centre. At the second count of one hundred, his unit of horsemen moved to their alloted position. He could see the Cavalry Auxillia and Marcus' unit of horsemen moving into position as well, and the Barbarian mercenaries threading their way through the horses get line up before the Legionaires.
Adalgard could do nothing but watch as his men were driven back to the town centre. He had less then a thousand now, and he could do nothing but watch as the Romans moved into position. They had an easy three hundred and fifty legionaires standing in line, with the full complement of two hundred and fifty archers. As well as that, the Barbarians standing before them easily numbered over two hundred, and near a hundred cavalrymen had taken up positions behind the lines. Occasionally one of Adalgards own units would break ranks and try to charge, only for their moral to break after coming into sight of the Roman units, and being peppered by archers. At least they seemed safe here, thought Adalgard.
"Archers ignite" said Marcus calmly, the centurian to his right repeating the command, but far louder. The archers tipped their arrows downwards into the recently prepared line of fire, the tips igniting."Draw back" Marcus said, the centurian once more repeating the command. He waited a few moments, to see if any more Barbarians were making a stupid charge over the hill. When none came, he spoke again.
"Fire"
"FIRE!" repeated the centurian, and a wave of flame and smoke washed out into the air, arcing over the hill into the unseen mass of the unwashed.
Adalgard screamed his frustration as dozens of men fell to the flaming arrows, collapsing to the ground screaming. The warlord glanced around his warriors. None of them had the heart to charge the Romans, but if they did not they would be crushed. Another volley of fire arrows lanced over the hilltop to crash into his horde, dozens more falling in agony, several being silenced and put out of their misery by the hands of their own friends.
Marcus watched the archers put five fire volleys into the air, before he ordered the halt. He turned to the centurian.
"All forces advance so that the archers have room to stand on the flat ground of the hill. And send the Barbarian mercenaries around their rear flank to hit them if they try to run." The centurian turned to the forces, as the messenger moved to inform the Barbarians of their orders.
"ALL MEN, FORWARD SEVENTY PACES! BY YOUR LEFT... MARCH!" The army began a slow measured march. The Centurian's measurements were spot on, thought Marcus, which is why he works for me. The archers once more quickly readied several lines of fire before their lines. Marcus gazed out over the Barbarian horde, noting with satisfaction how many had been killed by the flames. He turned to the leader of the Cavalry Auxillia.
"Follow my cousin, Father and Uncle would be quite annoyed if he died on campaign." He then turned to a nearby messenger. "Tell Quintus to march around behind that longhouse, when the Legionaire's hit the Barbarians, both my unit and his will hit their flanks." The messenger nodded and ran to the other side of the line. Marcus nodded at the Centurian.
"Archers! Ignite!" cried out the centurian once more.
Adalgard turned to his men, seeing the fear etched across their faces. What they fought weren't men, they were demons in disguise. They fought like monsters, but completely in synchronisation. No man could fight so orderly. Suddenly, the rain of fire arrows stopped. The solid line of over three hundred and fifty Legionaires began a slow march forward. Adalgard turned once more to see the five hundred men under his command, then let loose a bellowing warcry, and led the charge. Seeing their warchief march to fight, the army rallied and followed him, hitting the middle of the Legionaire line, right in the midst of the Praetorian cohort. Several of Adalgard's bodyguards pushed their way through the shield wall, but were soon cut down by the Praetorians in the latter ranks. Before the four cohorts of Legionaires could turn to flank him, the German forces began their charge. A single volley of pilums arched out, but the dozens of men who fell did not deter the warriors ferocity as the axemen hit the legionaires. The two units of remaining Spearmen entered the formation they had trained years to be able to do, and were about to hit the Legionaires when suddenly cavalrymen crashed into their flanks, halving their numbers in a matter of moments, then continuing on past the fleeing spearmen, hitting the axemen from behind. The German's bloodlust turned once more to panic as they realised they were surrounded. The Cavalry Auxilia that came around with one of the cavalry units rode past the battle, unleashing a volley of javlins into the ranks of the german army, one javlin even taking out the horse of Adalgard. He was thrown off it's back as the horse reared, and rolled away just in time as the horses bulk crashed down where he had landed. He quickly got to his feet and resumed the fight, his axe crashing over the shield of one Legionaire, taking the man in the face. Before he could turn to another target, he felt a burning pain in his back, and he collapsed onto his front...
Quintus' sword slid out of the warriors's back. He hated to kill from behind, but the man would only kill more of his countrymen if he wasn't stopped. He wheeled his horse to see a German horseman's sword slicing towards him, and he only just deflected the blow in time. Before he could counter attack, Luca's own sword stabbed forward, taking the man in the stomach. The Centurian and the Prince nodded at each other once, before turning back to the fray. He could see Marcus' company cutting through the Germans from the other side. No quarter was given as the once massive German army was cut down. The Legionaire's slowly moved foward, pushing the German horde backwards as it was cut down. Finally, some of the Germans moved to flee, running to the town centre, only to see it beind held by over two hundred barbarians fighting for the Romans, who cut them down. Quintus had to turn away at the bloodthirsty and desperate battle for the town centre between the two barbarian forces.
"Charge men!" cried Marcus to his bodyguard, spurning his horse onwards. He wished to be the one who took the centre, not that ragtag bunch of unwashed warriors. His unit charged forward, crashing into the back end of the two hundred or so German warriors left. His sword cut down one man, as another was crushed beneath his horses hooves. He never saw the axe that arched upwards, crashing into his chest and knocking him off his horse. He landed almost painfully on his back. Almost painfully, because by now his entire body felt cold and numb, blood covering his front as his eyes glazed over.
"Marcus!" cried out Quintus, seeing his cousin fall. He spurned his horse onwards, his bodyguard quickly following him into the fray as he crashed into the enemy, the combined weight of two cavalry charges into their number, against the anvil of two hundred mercenaries, finally spelt the death toll of the remaining Germans.
"Here are the final reports Sir" said Luca as he held out several pieces of parchment. On them detailed the casualties to both sides, a report of the battle, and a short testemony to how glorious Marcus' death was, serving his country. The German forces had been cut down to a man, not a single one surviving. The town was badly damaged by Marcus's catapult bombardment, but one of Marcus' retainers had told Quintus that he had planned to enslave the entire population anyway, so it was obvious his cousin had not cared about the damage. Quintus had put men in charge of helping to rebuild the damage done, as well as getting an architect in to aid in the improvement of the town, with sewers and an aqueduct planned. He had plenty of men to aid in the reconstruction. Each Legionaire cohort had lost no more then thirty men, and the Praetorians only a dozen.
"Thank you, Luca." Said acting general Quintus, taking the parchment and putting it into a small bag, along with a personal letter he had written to his mother and father. He handed it to the mounted messenger beside him.
"Ride fast and well, friend. Let all of Rome know about our glorious victory."
He spoke the words, but they seemed hollow for some reason.
