Chapter 199 : Roman Boomstick

"What in the world are those savages thinking?"

Antony led his cavalry closer to the bank of the Rhodanus. The Helvetian warriors who had already crossed were frantically forming ranks.

Though their numbers were still relatively small, several flat-bottomed ferries were already hauling horses across the current.

"Desperate as they are to cross, picking a fight with us right now is pure suicide."

"Aren’t they past the point of reason, though?" another officer muttered. "They burned their own fields to ashes before leaving. If they don’t cross, hundreds of thousands will starve on this bank."

"That makes sense, but still..."

Antony pulled out his telescope and raised it to his eye. He wasn’t alone in his suspicions; Lucius had found the whole setup deeply unsettling from the start. That was precisely why he had suggested this reconnaissance in force before committing the main army.

"Whatever they’re plotting, we’ll find out soon enough."

With Lucius holding overall command, Antony and Metellus each led a detachment toward the Helvetian bridgehead.

Spotting the Roman horsemen, the barbarians loosed a volley of javelins and arrows, but the cavalry wheeled away, keeping just outside effective range.

Just as Antony re-formed his line for another probing advance, Metellus spurred his horse over.

"Antony!"

"What is it?"

"Pomptinus is advancing with the 10th Legion! It looks like he intends to force an engagement right now!"

"Before we’ve even sent a report?!" Antony scowled, looking toward the ridgeline Metellus had indicated.

The 10th Legion was already marching down the slope in tight, rapid formation.

"Didn’t he promise he’d hold the line until our reconnaissance was complete?"

"He must have changed his mind. He wants to crush them before they finish crossing."

"Fools. What difference would a few more moments make...?"

Just then, a cavalryman galloped toward them, frantically waving his arm.

"Look over there, sir!"

"Where?"

"Across the river! They’re setting something up on the far bank!"

Antony and Metellus raised their telescopes in near-perfect unison. At first glance, there was little out of the ordinary—just Helvetian warriors moving large wooden screens into position on the opposite bank.

Yet as the timber screens were pulled aside, the machines hidden behind them were revealed.

"It was an unfamiliar contraption of stout timber frames and long throwing arms. Antony had never seen such a machine in Gaul, but guessing its grim purpose took no genius at all.

"Ride to Pomptinus! Now!" Antony bellowed. "Tell him to halt the advance!"

At that exact moment, the wooden arms began to swing.

***

"Prepare for battle!"

"Pila ready!"

Horns blared across the valley on Pomptinus’s command. The legionaries quickened their pace without breaking formation.

The legionaries kept their mouths shut, staring cold-eyed at the foe ahead. Unlike the Gauls, who roared and banged their shields to whip themselves into a frenzy, Roman soldiers saved their voices for the moment of impact.

"Their numbers look roughly equal to ours," Pomptinus murmured, lowering his telescope.

Even now, Helvetian warriors were scrambling across the makeshift bridge in a desperate rush.

His reason for hurrying the attack was simple: the legates’ whispers continued to gnaw at him.

Their words had pierced straight into his deepest insecurities.

Lucius Caesar had rushed to Geneva the moment news of the migration broke. At the same time, word from Rome suggested that the Senate was considering granting Pompey extraordinary imperium over all Gaul.

If that happened, any glory rightfully belonging to Pomptinus would vanish like smoke.

Above all, the enemy was caught mid-crossing, hopelessly vulnerable.

Why hesitate when victory was right in front of him?

Seeing the Roman line bear down on them, the Helvetians on the near bank hurried to lock shields.

As the distance closed, centurions roared along the line.

"Throw!"

At the command, the legionaries launched a synchronized volley of heavy javelins. The heavy javelins arched through the sky before plummeting into the Helvetian shield wall.

Oak shields splintered; men were hurled backward or pinned beneath shattered shields. The barbarian line buckled and fell back, drawing a fierce roar of triumph from the Roman ranks.

"They’re breaking!"

"Press the attack!" Pomptinus shouted, brandishing his gladius. "Drive every last one of them into the river!"

The legionaries surged forward in disciplined unison, advancing with the lethal precision born of years of brutal Roman training.

Then, the world tore open.

Right in the heart of the Roman advance, a blinding burst of crimson fire erupted from the ground.

A deafening blast shook the entire riverbank.

"Vesta powder! They have Vesta powder!" Pomptinus screamed over the ringing in his ears. "B-but their infantry is in retreat! Where in the gods’ names is it coming from?!"

It did not take long to find the answer.

Large clay spheres were raining down from the sky.

***

The Helvetii had not moved slowly simply because they were dragging an entire populace behind them. From the moment they decided on the Great Migration, they had prepared siege weapons specifically designed to counter the Roman war machine.

The catapults they had brought to the Rhodanus were proof of that.

Normally, such traction siege engines were used to batter fortifications and sweep defenders from stone ramparts.

Today, they were being used for something far deadlier.

"Keep pulling! Don’t stop!"

Teams of burly barbarians heaved on thick ropes, snapping the long wooden beam violently upward. The sling attached to the arm whipped through the air, hurling a heavy clay projectile across the water.

A pivot, a swinging arm, and a sling—a devastatingly simple mechanism.

Yet that crude traction mangonel was more than capable of clearing the narrow width of the river.

"Light the fuses!"

Operating crews worked frantically, touching smoldering embers to the fuses sticking out of the powder-packed jars.

Three mangonels maintained a relentless, alternating barrage, raining fire upon the packed Roman infantry.

"Open ranks! Spread out!"

Despite the sudden explosions ripping through their lines, the legionaries held their nerve far better than anyone expected.

Right after arriving in Geneva, Lucius had personally detonated samples of the powder before the officers and men, ensuring they understood what it was so fear wouldn’t turn into blind panic.

He had also instructed them on how to respond.

"Keep your spacing!"

The legionaries loosened their ranks, spreading out just as they would when preparing to throw their pila.

Crimson fire and thunder rolled wherever the spheres struck, but the Roman line refused to shatter entirely.

Even so, discipline could not halt the encroaching terror. Every time a bomb whistled down, men scrambled desperately to either side, throwing their formations into disarray.

"What is this madness?! How do barbarians possess weapons like this?!"

"Shut your mouth and hold the line!"

Right then, the retreating Helvetian warriors pivoted on their heels and charged back into the fray.

A savage war cry shook the riverbank. Caught beneath the barrage, the legionaries braced their shields as the howling barbarian horde slammed back into them.

"Hold the line! Shove the savages into the water!"

Yet behind them, hundreds more Helvetian reinforcements were streaming across the bridge, swelling the tide by the second.

***

"Where is the Governor?!"

"He’s leading the first cohort in person, sir! He was trying to rally morale—"

"Dammit all!"

I hauled hard on the reins, scanning the chaos unfolding below. The panic was spreading like wildfire.

Miraculously, the legionaries were still holding their ground against the enemy infantry, but everyone had their limits. Expecting men to hold formation while explosive shells rained down around them was asking the impossible.

The greatest strength of a Roman army was its rigid organization and interlocking formations.

And that very foundation was crumbling before my eyes.

To think they had hidden traction catapults on the opposite bank.

From what I could see of the trajectory and arm design, they were crude mangonels.

Just like the gunpowder, there was no mention in recorded history of the Helvetii fielding siege artillery during their migration.

If only Pomptinus had waited for our reconnaissance...

But the main body had rushed in blindly. Had he ever intended to heed my report in the first place?

There was no time to play the blame game.

Enemy reinforcements were pouring across the river without pause, while our men were exhausted, disorganized, and bleeding out.

Worse, the barbarian crews across the river were correcting their range with every salvo.

A prolonged stalemate here was a death sentence for the legionaries.

What should I do?

As I wrestled with our options, Antony came galloping back toward me.

"Lucius! The Helvetii are pushing hard! Our center is collapsing!"

"Where are the other legates?"

"Dead or caught up in the fighting at the front! The line has completely collapsed—we’ve lost contact with everyone up front!"

"If we stay here, the entire legion will be encircled and butchered," I said. "We have to pull everyone back to the rear fortifications immediately."

"Fall back? But if those catapults keep pounding us—"

"They lured us out here on purpose," I cut him off, shaking my head.

The reason they crossed at this blatantly obvious, shallow stretch was painfully clear now. They staged the crossing to bait the Roman main force into the open, trapping us in the open beneath a constant barrage.

And Pomptinus had marched straight into the jaws of the trap.

But why did they need us out in the open?

"Because their catapults can only reach the riverbank! Even if they disassemble those machines to bring them across, it will take time."

Judging by the size of the explosions, their artillery was relatively light. Lethal against dense infantry formations caught on an open shore, but ineffective against deep trenches and fortified ramparts.

"If we preserve our fighting strength and pull back to the ramparts, we can hold them."

"A retreat without orders from Pomptinus or the legates..."

Before Antony could finish his sentence, the frayed Roman line snapped.

Panic rippled down the cohorts. Even the hardiest veterans broke, scrambling backward in a frantic rout.

"The battle is already lost. I won’t let our men be slaughtered for someone else’s pride," I said, wheeling my horse around. "Our cavalry must buy them time. Ride to the centurions: tell them we’ll screen their retreat, but they must fall back in good order!"

In battle, most of the killing happened once one side broke and ran.

If we let the Helvetian vanguard ride down our fleeing infantry, the entire Gallic front would collapse before Pompey even arrived.

I pulled the heavy cavalry lance free from its saddle straps.

"It’s our turn to strike."

***

"Charge! Hunt down the Roman dogs!"

As the legionaries broke, the Helvetian warriors surged forward in pursuit. Discipline was thrown to the wind.

With total victory seemingly within their grasp, the barbarians abandoned all caution, howling like madmen as they chased the fleeing Romans.

That was when Lucius’s cavalry tore into view.

At their commander’s order, the cavalry advanced at a steady trot in disciplined ranks.

"Ready!"

The riders braced the butts of their lances firmly beneath their right arms. It was the couched-lance technique, one they had drilled relentlessly ever since Lucius introduced the stirrup to Rome.

Yet today, there was something unusual about their weapons: thick paper cylinders had been securely lashed to the shafts just behind the iron lanceheads.

"Maintain formation!"

"Light the fuses!"

The riders angled their lances downward, bringing the fuses close to their waists.

Hanging from each man’s hip was a small, shuttered brass lantern, custom-built by Caesar’s engineers so the rushing wind wouldn’t snuff out the flame. It was one of several prototypes hastily built before their departure from Rome.

And there was only one reason the cavalrymen carried such awkward lanterns into battle.

As the fuses hissed and sparked to life, the commander bellowed.

"Charge! At full gallop! Break their flank!"

Over a hundred armored warhorses thundered into the exposed flank of the Helvetii.

Caught completely off guard by the sudden cavalry charge, the barbarians faltered, their lines buckling in panic. The Roman horsemen drove straight into the widening gap, driving their lances deep into the packed Helvetian ranks.

"Ride through them! Keep moving! Do not stop!"

Among the Helvetii, iron mail was largely confined to chieftains and wealthy nobles. Most rank-and-file warriors went largely unarmored, relying on broad wooden shields for protection, which proved useless against the crushing impact of the cavalry’s lances.

Yet the attack did not end with the thrust of the iron lanceheads.

BOOM!

At point-blank range, blinding jets of flame and black smoke burst from the cylinders behind the lanceheads.

"Aaaargh! My eyes!"

Scorching flame and a spray of lead pellets tore into the Helvetian ranks. Screams and agonized wails shattered the air, leaving mangled bodies and writhing wounded strewn across the ground in the cavalry’s wake.

A blinding flash. A deafening concussion. Choking smoke. Flying lead.

Shattered by a weapon unlike anything they had ever seen, the Helvetian warriors broke ranks and scattered in sheer terror.

Having shattered the enemy’s momentum, the Roman horsemen slowed, wheeling their mounts around in a disciplined arc.

"Re-form ranks! Prepare for a second pass!"

Those whose lances had shattered drew their spathas, longer swords newly designed for mounted combat.

Those whose lances remained intact lowered them once more.

While Lucius’s cavalry bought precious time with blood and iron, the surviving legionaries scrambled back toward the safety of the rear fortifications.

Yet a considerable number of Helvetian warriors still slipped past the cavalry screen, baying for blood as they charged the Roman earthen ramparts.

"They’re coming!"

"What are you waiting for?! Fire the scorpiones!"

Mounted atop the wooden watchtowers, the scorpiones snapped forward, their torsion cords singing as they unleashed heavy iron bolts.

The barrage ripped into the charging Helvetii with terrifying force, punching through raised shields and pinning warriors to the earth.

"Fall back! Fall back to the river!"

Stunned by the murderous crossfire from the fortifications, the surviving Helvetii abandoned the pursuit and retreated toward the riverbank.

Thus ended the first clash on the Rhodanus.

The outcome was undeniable: the Roman Republic had suffered a stinging defeat.

Yet the aftermath of the battle was only just unfolding.

"Where is Governor Pomptinus? What of the other legates?" I demanded, dismounting amid the chaos of the camp.

"The Governor was surrounded when the first cohort collapsed, sir. He was either slain on the field... or taken captive by the savages."

"And the legates?"

"Most are dead or missing. The only one who made it back was Camillus, and he took a spear to the lung—he’s dying."

"Then who holds command of the remaining forces here...?"

"Two military tribunes are still alive. But they’ve only ever handled administrative duties, not battlefield command." came a grim voice.

It was the legion’s chief centurion—the primus pilus—standing before me with a notched, bloodstained gladius in hand.

"They’re panicking too."

"In that case, the one who holds imperium here is..."

"You do, Caesar. If your cavalry had not covered our retreat, the entire 10th Legion would have been butchered at the water’s edge. We need to act now, and there’s no one else left to give the orders."

The grizzled veteran brought a bloodied fist sharply to his chest in salute.

"What are your orders, Commander?"