THE EMPERORS WOLVES - Gathering the Wolfpack

THE EMPERORS WOLVES - Gathering the Wolfpack - Chapter2 pt3

The remaining seven men formed the shield wall and moved forward, they passed Catulus’ body. The spluttering had stopped as had the bubbles.

‘Take care my lad, I’ll get the bastards for you.’ Vello sniffed and fixed his gaze forward.

Shot continued to bounce off their shields and the road. Titus looked down and saw a spear slew between his feet as its energy dissipated. A loud ring heralded a shot striking Vello’s shield boss.

‘Fucking slingers, I will personally cut the hands off any of them I catch,’ Vello growled.

‘Keep your heads down or we’ll all be feeding the birds today.’ Titus called.

Titus raised his head to create a small crack of vision between the shield edge and his helmet. The carriage was fifty paces away and the last of the guards had just fallen under a hail of blows. A large bandit, obviously in charge, waved his spear towards Titus and his men and roared a deep call. The surrounding men took up the cry and were soon running towards the legionary shield wall.

Titus stole another quick look over the top of his shield and judged the distance. ‘Keep your shields up as long as you can. Prepare to throw, keep it low. The distance is only thirty paces. Steady.…Ready….throw.’ The line of legionaries advanced and took a firm left foot step and released their missiles.

The seven deadly projectiles flew in a flat trajectory, they were fast and accurate, six struck home with a combined crunch. The screams of the downed men told their own story. One of the warriors was hit by two, one in the stomach and the other in the shoulder. He landed six paces behind the point of impact and screamed continuously. His cries seemed to drive on the other tribesmen as the distance reduced.

Flamminio heard the cries and decided to sneak a look at the carnage. He lowered his shield a few inches and dropped to the floor. A red mist hung in the air.

The shot had struck at full speed smashing through the bridge of his nose. The stone pushed through Flamminio’s face, forcing bone into the brain. The helmet was useless against a direct hit, Flamminio had been unlucky. He was dead before he hit the floor.

‘Shit, keep your sodding heads down.’ Titus licked his lips and tasted salty sweat. ‘We take the charge head on then separate, we can’t fight in a wall with six men. Don’t split till I call it.’ Titus looked left and right to see the nods of his men.

The warriors were fifteen paces away.

The bombardment stopped as the warriors from the carriage charged with a blood boiling roar. The Titus’ men took the impact with a grunt and pushed forward. Five of the attackers fell immediately as the soldiers stabbed around their shields with their short swords. The tribesmen took a step back now a little wary of the shield wall. A number edged around the sides.

‘Separate.’ Titus called and the men each broke off and attacked the warrior in front. The fight was now one of individual battles for life or death.

Titus was facing two men and could smell the foul breath of the man pushing back against his scutum. The sweat was running down Titus’ back, the adrenaline coursed through his body, he lived for this feeling of excitement and terror. Time slowed to a crawl and every breath seemed to take an age.

The shield took a hit and Titus growled, he felt the force of the blow as it ran through his arm. He immediately stabbed around the side of the shield and hit something soft. He tried to push the blade further, but couldn’t. Titus pulled back the gladius; it had a couple of inches of blood at the point. Another blow hit the shield at a different angle. Titus hit forward and smashed the shield boss into his attacker’s chest. A grunt and Titus knew his man was winded and struggling for breath. Now was the time to strike. Titus stabbed around the scutum again and struck flesh. He pushed the sword further and was rewarded with a scream and a spray of warm liquid up his arm. Titus saw, out the corner of his eye a sword angling towards his head. He ducked forward and was struck a glancing blow off the curved part of his helmets neck guard. His second attacker wasn’t wasting any time.

‘Damn!’ Titus announced as his head was lifted back with the impact. The leather thong tied under his chin had kept the helmet in place. He brought the shield across to cover the new threat while he pulled the gladius free of the falling body.

The second attacker lunged again and stabbed at Titus’ side. This time the young Decanus saw it in plenty of time and dodged to his left blocking the blow. Immediately the attacker swung back around in a three hundred and sixty degrees spin, his blade swinging with him, he was aiming for Titus’ stomach. Titus chopped across with the lower edge of his scutum. The reinforced metal rim hit the man across the knuckles and a loud crack told its own tale. The warrior howled in pain and immediately released his grip on the sword which dropped to the ground a few feet away.

The tribesman, now unarmed, launched himself forward grabbing at Titus’ shield. His momentum forced Titus to stumble back and he lost his footing in the liquid of his first victim. The tribesman kept coming and the pair landed heavily, locked together in a deadly embrace.

The air left Titus’ lungs. The two men were inches apart; Titus could smell the warrior’s odour, sweat, urine and foul breath. The man locked eyes with Titus and spat in his face before displaying a mouth full of brown teeth. Again the odour of his breath washed over Titus as the warrior screamed out a battle cry. Titus was regaining his breath and found that he was surveying the man’s face and wondering where his left ear had gone.

The shield covered the legionary from neck to shin, the man on top of the shield started to scramble for his knife. Titus pushed to his right trying to lift the shield and move the attacker. At the same moment the warrior freed his knife and rolled to his left, off the shield. Titus lifted his shield arm away from his body and took a deep lungful of air.

The warrior had the knife ready and was regaining his feet. Titus lay spread-eagled with his gladius in his right hand and his left still gripping the shield.

His attacker took a step forward. Titus waited until the last second before shooting his sword arm across in a low stab. The speed of the unexpected move caught the warrior unawares and the confident look was replaced by one of surprise. The gladius sliced across the rear of his knee and cut into flesh, tendons and ligaments. The tribesman cried out and knocked the gladius aside with his knife as Titus overreached and lost his grip on the weapon.

The warrior managed to stay upright, the pain on his face turned into a half smile as his eyes fixed on the dropped gladius. He took a step forward and stood on the edge of Titus’ scutum.

Titus knew that he was in trouble. He was lying on his side, shield pinned to the floor, his arm outstretched and no weapon. The attacker picked up the fallen gladius and raised it for the kill blow. Titus closed his eyes. An explosion of warm sticky blood covered his face.