Daniel Ottalini - Antioch Burns

The 8 throde out to fame, glory, or whatever fate awaited them.

There will be much blood shed today, whether or not the general wants there to be. Covering his eyes from the sunlight, Praefectus Regillus looked over the advancing Mongol forces. His position to the east of the Roman lines gave him a vantage point of the whole area. The two miles between the river and road were full of Mongol horsemen, a ragged line of skirmishers firing on horseback. Behind them, more disciplined lines of lightly armored men rode in ranks, advancing at a slow walk. And behind them came Mongol infantry, a new, surprise occurrence that Regillus had not seen or heard about before.

“Sir, I did not know that Mongols used infantry,” Senior Decanus Etruscas commented.

“I am going to bet they only use them when required to take cities. Horses are not very good at climbing walls,” Regillus observed, falling back into the regular patterns and routines of his old unit, transplanted into this new one. Some small part of him hoped to make a new friend, or at least someone who could care less about his estrangement from the high and fancy Antiochian social circles. Perhaps the senior decanus was the man of the job.

“Do you think we’ll be able to defeat them, sir?” The man’s voice was doubtful.

“Can we defeat them? Yes, senior decanus, we can. Can we defeat them here, on an open field? Not without great difficulty, and with everything going right for us. We must see what the legate general chooses to do.” I pray retreat back behind those nice tall walls .

It was probably a vain hope. Around him, several other cavalry alae waited patiently for orders. Their forces blocked the road, which hugged the eastern mountains as it traveled down from the north. To their west, the Roman center and left were drawn up on the open farmland, the once man high crops trampled flat. Garrison repeaters formed a skirmish line, peppering the advancing Mongols with their steel quarrels. Behind them was a line of Syrian and garrison legionnaires. The legate general had brilliantly interspersed cohorts from each legion together so that each section would cling tightly to its neighbors. Yes, and hopefully prevent the garrison troops from fleeing at the first charge. Regillus thought sarcastically.

Lastly, the heavy cavalry of the Syrian IV was assembled behind the Roman infantry, ready to respond to any breakthrough or opportunity. Regillus could see the fluttering of General Flavian’s banner at the forefront of the cavalry forces. Around them, Roman artillery fired stones and repeater bolts into the masses of Mongol cavalry, but it was like throwing sand at the tide. Further west, both Roman airships moved ponderously towards the Mongolian flank, the occasional bolt or Greek fire container lancing out from the side of the warships.

For a moment, Regillus actually felt optimistic. Maybe they are not the all powerful force we assumed.

And that was when the Mongols made their move. From behind the ranks of infantry came large, hollow, booming sounds. Puffs of dirty white smoke drifted into the air.

“What was that?” Cries of alarm and confusion came from Regillus’ men.

Some type of projectile launched from the ground, sizzling in a wobbly line up towards the Roman airships. By the gods… The projectile exploded just before hitting the side of the airship, sending pieces into the thick canvas hull. Regillus pulled out his binoculars and slammed them to his eyes. Fiddling with the focus ring, he examined the results of the impact. Damn . The fabric was definitely shredded; great sheets billowing in the wind visible even from the far side of the battlefield as the air escaped the dirigible. Crewmen were already sliding down the hull in an attempt to staunch the flow of gas. The other missiles continued on their track, some rebounding off the hull of the deflating dirigible, some missing completely, erupting harmlessly beyond the stricken craft.

“Steady, steady!” Regillus ordered his men, motioning with his hands. He patted the horse to calm it, as it pranced nervously in the dirt.

More sounds and eruptions of smoke signaled the launch of other projectiles. At least ten launched upwards at the airship. The airship captain at least had the intelligence to turn his vessel away from the missiles. Engines churning, the airship managed to avoid many of the second wave launches. Explosions bracketed the hull, but the missiles seemed to do no damage to the thick wood and steel plating.

Unfortunately, several others had managed to explode near the gasbag, further damaging large portions of the canvas. The airship struggled onwards, attempting to pull out of range of the fearsome projectiles. They sort of look like what Engineer Monventus used during our skirmish with the Mongols. Regillus thought, watching the flight of yet another spread of missiles.

The second airship was fleeing as well, unwilling to get close to the ground-based Mongol defenses. The remaining flight shrieked off into the sky, some corkscrewing harmlessly to the ground on the far side of the river.

“There goes our air superiority. And some of our best weapons too.” I knew that so-called officer would flee at the first time of trouble . He sneered at the thought of the pompous Fleet Officer Kretarus cowering on his bridge. Then again, calling that political hack an ‘officer’ is being generous .

“Sir, I think we’ve got bigger problems than that.” The senior decanus shook his arm in haste, pointing to the field, diverting his attention away from the fleeing air fleet.

All along the front, the Mongols were advancing. Already, Regillus could see the Roman skirmisher lines falling back to the main legion ranks.

“Tell the men we’ll have work soon enough,” he said grimly, replacing his binoculars in their case. “If the Mongols have any more surprises up their sleeves, we’d best get ready for a bloody day.”

As the space between the Roman and Mongolian centers continued to close, Regillus felt his heart beating faster. Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. Slowly, the Mongol horseman picked up speed, beginning their charge, but had yet to shelve their horsebows.

The entire Roman line gave a thunderous battle cry as they lowered their shields and prepared to receive the charge. Light cavalry against armored infantry backed up by spears and artillery? There is no way such veteran horsemen would actually attempt that! Regillus remembered how the Mongols had attacked back at the inn.

“It’s a trap. Those Mongol forces aren’t going to carry out their charge.”

“Sir?”

“That’s not how they fight! Their entire strategy is based on their history as nomadic steppe warriors. I remember the veterans talking about how our armies kept getting slaughtered by the Mongols until we could trap them against the river. In the middle of a driving rainstorm and using a rebel tribe as our allies. I doubt that any rainstorm is going to happen here to save us. Those riders will make pincushions out of our forces. This battle is already lost.”

The men around him looked uncomfortable. Several mutters of anger at their commander’s defeatism reached his ears.

And yet, they trailed off as the Mongol forces twisted and shifted, peppering the lines with seemingly unending volleys of arrows. Caught by surprise, the Romans ducked behind their shields, although the expert marksmanship and sheer amount of fire knocked holes in the thin, red line. They were now galloping away from the imperial forces, firing Parthian style over their shoulders.

Further to the rear, Regillus could see flags and standards swirling as reinforcements were ordered forward. Arranged in a checkerboard pattern behind the main line, reserve cohorts rushed men forward to fill the gaps. Even the cavalry seemed to be stirring, gradually forming up into a huge diamond formation centered on the general’s standard. He can’t be expecting that the Mongols will actually receive their charge…