The Roman Legion

[Segmentation Of Represent]

I did this for school a while back.

Enjoy.

----

Tension was felt throughout the ranks. It clung to the men’s’ bodies and intertwined with the falling snow, and in itself was enough to send shudders through each soldier without the blistering cold.

The Romans waited.

Germania’s harsh land proved a struggle to work through, and with the Winter but a spear’s throw away, night fell earlier and earlier, putting a frustrating stop to the vitally important marches. Over the weeks, they had drawn closer to their destination: a barren land of scarred plains and bare trees, with the mountains occasionally sighted when the fog thinned to a mist. The legionaries stood erected as proud-like statues, their faces blank masks which only professionals could achieve.

The Romans waited.

Dawn broke through, sending splinters of light through the camp and over the future battlefield. Still, the soldiers held their positions, showing their only irritation of temporary blindness with screwed eyes.

“Granted, Diomedes-” a glare from his ranking officer set him verbally stumbling. “-General, your points carry truth, but what of the Barbarians?” General Diomedes walked through the sections of his army, occasionally nodding at soldiers from left to right or clamping a heavy hand upon a centurion’s shoulder. He took a large bite out of an apple.

“What of the Barbarians, Thesos?”

“We are but ten thousand men.”

“Please, Thesos, when you open your mouth let a valid point be heard.”

“They have twenty-two thousand men. We are less than half of what they are-“The General turned around in one smooth pivot and glared insanely, his eyes showing a wild malevolence which would make any man recoil with haste.

“In numbers, yes, in wit, logic and skill we are double what they are. They wave their swords blindly, and use tactics of such clumsiness, a stable boy could beat them. Thesos, we shall prevail.” He threw his half-eaten apple against the hardened mud and spat angrily, locking eyes with his fellow comrade. They returned to their positions.

The Romans waited.

The Barbarians answered.

Half of the Romans would run into the ‘Wild Men’ full on from the North, effectively the front, leaving them outnumbered four to one. Diomedes set one thousand of his men to the West, where a side attack of one thousand five hundred would take place, wedging the Northern Warriors against the Eastern attack of another one thousand five hundred Romans where Italian blades would connect with flesh, bone and muscle yet again. By this time, only the rear would be left from The Romans, allowing the Barbarians to retreat, but Diomedes, the greatest General of Rome, had a hidden dice ready for rolling. Somewhere to the South, the final two-thousand men of Rome, and Diomedes, marched towards the backs of the Northern Warriors,

“Halt!” The cry of their General rang out through the ranks, and they all stopped as one.

“Ready bows!” he expertly climbed up onto his horse, a white Stallion called Klatos. Every man who could wield a bow and fire an arrow lit the sharp head wrapped in cloth and sodden with oil. Two thousand feet away, The Northern Warriors were reduced to ten thousand soldiers, and were being cut down like rabid dogs. Metal slid through skin, and open bowels spilled out over others, setting a sickly stench all around the fighters. The cry of their King told his men to retreat, It was the only way: Nearly a full circle had been formed around them, and they were being slashed and hammered from nearly all sides.

“Retreat!” screamed the Northern King once again.

The Barbarians ran back, sprinting as fast as their heavily clad legs would take them.


“Fire!” Diomedes’ men shot two thousand burning arrows into the throng of frantic warriors.

“Light!” They lit their arrows once again, their faces impassive.

“Fire!” Another two thousand death traps soared through the sky, blazing with a kind of malevolence into the crazed enemy, sending at least half a thousand sprawling.

“Draw your swords!” He looked round his men, a touch of pride running through him. He raised his sword, a beautifully crafted blade blazing and shimmering in the Sun’s light. “Fight for Rome and you shall live. Fight for love and we shall prevail as one!” A cry rippled through his men. “Charge!”

Victory was already on the horizon.