Anselm
05-09-2005, 23:03
This is a little short story I threw together for fun. A blend between reality and Rome. Not designed to be particularly realistic as such, just to give it a less sterile atmosphere than a computer game.
Anyways, I feel theres something missing from it. C&C please, from everyone!
The Last Hoplite
The rain fell. Birds landed in trees, huddling with their young for warmth. The cracks in the dry and dusty road began fill and the surface became muddy. The rain became a torrent, sheeting waves of moisture scything through the air. And in the rain, an army marched.
Dionysios
They were tired, travel stained and soaking wet. Mud stained their uniforms, scars disfigured their faces. They were Greece's finest. The troop's sandals churned up the mud on the road until it was no easier to walk on than the ground either side of it. Weapons clinked, feet splashed and men complained as the march continued. The column of soldiers, nearly 5,000 of them stretched for nearly half a mile. In the gathering dust, Dionysios of Sparta wiped the droplets of water from his eyes and squinted ahead. Yes, there was a small wood not a mile distant. An ideal place to seek some shelter until this storm blew itseslf out.
Signalling to his escorts, he turned his horse from the swamped excuse for a road and headed across the grass towards the trees.
Theophylaktos
Further down the length of the column, those without the luxury of a horse trudged wearily onwards. They were never sure whether it was the lack of visibilty, fatigue or a combination of both but when the arrows struck, no one was ready. Theophylaktos instantly dropped to one knee, raising his hoplon up infront of him to guard his face. Around him several men seemed to stumble but then fell and lay still, feathered arrows protruding from their chests.
Theophylaktos thanked his parents again for his name, which meant 'guarded by god'. All around him shapes rose from the mud; survivors staring in confusion at what had been an organised body of men. All semblance of organisation had fled, scattered bodies lay where ever they looked and some men had simply panicked by the unexpected ambush and had fled into the curtain of rain which now obscured them. Muffled cries suggested that running alone was not a good plan.
Theo called his men too him, and once they had banded about fifty of their suriving comrades together, they set off back the way they had come.
Dionysios
Dionysios tried to think clearly. He was in a waking nightmare of confusion, pain and cold. His shoulder hurt like it was on fire, he'd broken the shaft of the arrow, but the head had gone deep under his collar bone. He tried to stand but loss of blood almost caused him to faint, and he collapsed back down into the soaking misery of the field. Hearing calls, shouts and orders, he looked up to see a tiny band of soldiers who had organised themselves and where heading away from the continuous barrage of arrows. He staggered to his feet, and to his insurmountable relief a passing soldier took his weight and led him stumbling and tripping with the rest of the retreating party. Soon after that, black pit of unconciousness took Dionysios, and the pain was no more.
Theophylaktos
The camp was make shift, it wasn't fortified but it had at least provided some shelter from the wind. In a tent in the centre of the camp lay their Strategos, one of Theo's men was profficient in tending wounds and the general appeared to be as good as could be expected. He'd undoubtably live until they could get him back to Athens, and there he would recieve some better medical attention.
The sentries that had been posted were recalled and new ones posted. Fires were lit, and some small forage they had gathered began to be cooked. Swords were sharpened, armour checked; army life and its habits kept things running smoothly.
As the morning wore on, more survivors stumbled across the camp as they sought shelter. They came in twos, threes and more. They were cold, tired and disheartened but the sight of a large group of friends and the prospect of a hot meal cheered them up. Convinced they wouldn't be caught unaware again, moral was high.
The new men were a great asset, more than a hundred and fifty men had arrived during the night, and the greatest developement of them all was that seventy of them were Spartans.
The day was spent rigging fortifications about the camp. Logs and branches were used to make a pallisade wall, so as towards the late afternoon the camp was a serviceable military fort.
It was in the early evening that the sentries called out. The enemy had found them, they were in large numbers and the enemy was identified. Romans.
Dionysios
Dionysios awoke to the sounds of controlled choas; shouted questions and commands, running feet and the clatter of armour being donned and weapons unsheathed.
Stumbling to his feet, he stepped out into the waning sunlight. Around him the men hurried into formations, the man who was apparently organising the defences was striding to and fro, joking with some of the men and calling encourage ments to others. He was confident and apparently unconcered; he knew what he was doing, so Dionysios concentrated on other things.
The Roman army was just a few hundred yards away from the fort, just visible through the trees. Among them were several units of mercenary Cretans, which explained the unexpected barrage of arrows from the previous day.
Moving into the small clearing of trees before the gate was another group of mercenaries, marching purposefully towards the gate.
Theophylaktos
Theo looked through a gap in the pallisades logs and saw the approaching mercenaries. He smiled at the irony of it all. They were Hoplites.
Clearing his throat, he called to his comrades, "The enemy sends Hoplites to kill Hoplites! Let us show them how real Greeks fight!" The men around him grinned, looking eager to begin the fight. Theo realised that, as hopless as the predicament was, he wouldn't rather be anywhere else than in the company of these men. The were out numbered, the odds were almost impossible, yet here they were; as eager as ever to fight for their nation. They were heroes.
The mercenaries brought a ram to the gates, and after several minutes under the massive impacts the wooden structure gave way. The gateway was open.
The Hoplites formed into a column and marched through the gate.
"Phalanx formation!", Theo shouted. The front ranks dropped the points of their spears. "Advance!". The men cheered and marched forwards.
The enemy replied in kind, and the two phalanxes engaged. The mercenaries formation was still coming through the gate. Their phalanx was only five men wide and the Greeks overlapped them, ramming their spears with brutal force into the mercenaries.
Roman Hastati joined the push of men, using sheer weight of numbers to push their way into the fort. The Greek line held but was slowly inching backwards under the tide of men that swept through the gate.
Dionysios had taken command of the Spartans who were separate from the main fight and he watched as the Roman army made more and more progress. The noise was near defening, the clash of spears on shields, armour and the screams of the wounded echoed around the tiny interior of the compound.
Just as he was about to order the Spartans to flank the invaders, the length of pallisade behind him collapsed. Shit, another bloody battering ram.
The Spartans turned, almost as one, and without even having to be ordered they formed phalanx in the face of this new incursion.
Through the second hole in the defences poured a Legionary Cohort, yelling and screaming, they charged the Spartans head on. Today would be the day they'd learn how foolish it was. Dionysios doubted many would live to use their new found knowledge.
The fight continued, the noise got louder, and the Greeks were slowly forced backwards to the centre of the camp.
Theophylaktos
Theo was blood stained, exhausted and enraged. His sword flickered in deadly, gleaming patterns of reflected sunlight, and for a while it seemed as though he'd keep the Romans at bay all on his own. But as the Greek line moved backwards, he had no choice but to follow.
After half an hour, the Greeks were a rapidly shrinking circle, completely surrounded by almost a thousand romans. Although he did not know it, fully two thirds of the Greek survivors had been killed or wounded, yet still the remaining men fought on. There was no cheering now, hardly any noise escaped the defenders. Each mans face was set in lines of grim determination.
The man to the left of him fell, and Theo swung his sword in a wild arc, almost completely decapitating the Roman. Another took his place immediatly.
Suddenly, Theo found himself in a small huddled group of Spartans, the other two surviving armoured Hoplites and the general Dionysios.
The Romans backed off and their Centurion stepped forwards to make his offer.
"Should you wish to concede your defeat honourably, your lives will be spared."
Theo looked to Dionysios, who said in a loud and mocking voice, "Spartans do not surrender, Roman. That is no honourable defeat. I have lived my life for Greece," and now his voice rose to a great cry, "And I shall gladly end my life for her!" And with this, he charged with the other Spartans into the Romans.
"For Greece!" Belowed Theo, and charged with them. He sliced his sword across a mans jugular, blocked a thrust from a man on his left, and counter attacked in return. Just as his sword impaled the Roman, a man to his right leapt into him. The sword entered Theo's abdomen just below his ribs. He'd never felt pain like it. Too shocked to even cry out, he fell to his knees, and collapsed forwards. The soil felt good against his cheek. He could pick out every detail on the sandals of the men infront of him, every dust stain; even the rust on the nails on the soles.
Closer to him, he realised that Dionysios lay too, looking at his eyes. "The pain fades" he said, and Theo could only nod in agreement; his body felt numb. He was tired like he'd never been tired in his life, he just wanted to shut his eyes. Just for a minute, he'd feel better after that he was sure.
The general spoke, his voice a mere whisper now. "With honour brother."
"With honour" Theo replied.
Anyways, I feel theres something missing from it. C&C please, from everyone!
The Last Hoplite
The rain fell. Birds landed in trees, huddling with their young for warmth. The cracks in the dry and dusty road began fill and the surface became muddy. The rain became a torrent, sheeting waves of moisture scything through the air. And in the rain, an army marched.
Dionysios
They were tired, travel stained and soaking wet. Mud stained their uniforms, scars disfigured their faces. They were Greece's finest. The troop's sandals churned up the mud on the road until it was no easier to walk on than the ground either side of it. Weapons clinked, feet splashed and men complained as the march continued. The column of soldiers, nearly 5,000 of them stretched for nearly half a mile. In the gathering dust, Dionysios of Sparta wiped the droplets of water from his eyes and squinted ahead. Yes, there was a small wood not a mile distant. An ideal place to seek some shelter until this storm blew itseslf out.
Signalling to his escorts, he turned his horse from the swamped excuse for a road and headed across the grass towards the trees.
Theophylaktos
Further down the length of the column, those without the luxury of a horse trudged wearily onwards. They were never sure whether it was the lack of visibilty, fatigue or a combination of both but when the arrows struck, no one was ready. Theophylaktos instantly dropped to one knee, raising his hoplon up infront of him to guard his face. Around him several men seemed to stumble but then fell and lay still, feathered arrows protruding from their chests.
Theophylaktos thanked his parents again for his name, which meant 'guarded by god'. All around him shapes rose from the mud; survivors staring in confusion at what had been an organised body of men. All semblance of organisation had fled, scattered bodies lay where ever they looked and some men had simply panicked by the unexpected ambush and had fled into the curtain of rain which now obscured them. Muffled cries suggested that running alone was not a good plan.
Theo called his men too him, and once they had banded about fifty of their suriving comrades together, they set off back the way they had come.
Dionysios
Dionysios tried to think clearly. He was in a waking nightmare of confusion, pain and cold. His shoulder hurt like it was on fire, he'd broken the shaft of the arrow, but the head had gone deep under his collar bone. He tried to stand but loss of blood almost caused him to faint, and he collapsed back down into the soaking misery of the field. Hearing calls, shouts and orders, he looked up to see a tiny band of soldiers who had organised themselves and where heading away from the continuous barrage of arrows. He staggered to his feet, and to his insurmountable relief a passing soldier took his weight and led him stumbling and tripping with the rest of the retreating party. Soon after that, black pit of unconciousness took Dionysios, and the pain was no more.
Theophylaktos
The camp was make shift, it wasn't fortified but it had at least provided some shelter from the wind. In a tent in the centre of the camp lay their Strategos, one of Theo's men was profficient in tending wounds and the general appeared to be as good as could be expected. He'd undoubtably live until they could get him back to Athens, and there he would recieve some better medical attention.
The sentries that had been posted were recalled and new ones posted. Fires were lit, and some small forage they had gathered began to be cooked. Swords were sharpened, armour checked; army life and its habits kept things running smoothly.
As the morning wore on, more survivors stumbled across the camp as they sought shelter. They came in twos, threes and more. They were cold, tired and disheartened but the sight of a large group of friends and the prospect of a hot meal cheered them up. Convinced they wouldn't be caught unaware again, moral was high.
The new men were a great asset, more than a hundred and fifty men had arrived during the night, and the greatest developement of them all was that seventy of them were Spartans.
The day was spent rigging fortifications about the camp. Logs and branches were used to make a pallisade wall, so as towards the late afternoon the camp was a serviceable military fort.
It was in the early evening that the sentries called out. The enemy had found them, they were in large numbers and the enemy was identified. Romans.
Dionysios
Dionysios awoke to the sounds of controlled choas; shouted questions and commands, running feet and the clatter of armour being donned and weapons unsheathed.
Stumbling to his feet, he stepped out into the waning sunlight. Around him the men hurried into formations, the man who was apparently organising the defences was striding to and fro, joking with some of the men and calling encourage ments to others. He was confident and apparently unconcered; he knew what he was doing, so Dionysios concentrated on other things.
The Roman army was just a few hundred yards away from the fort, just visible through the trees. Among them were several units of mercenary Cretans, which explained the unexpected barrage of arrows from the previous day.
Moving into the small clearing of trees before the gate was another group of mercenaries, marching purposefully towards the gate.
Theophylaktos
Theo looked through a gap in the pallisades logs and saw the approaching mercenaries. He smiled at the irony of it all. They were Hoplites.
Clearing his throat, he called to his comrades, "The enemy sends Hoplites to kill Hoplites! Let us show them how real Greeks fight!" The men around him grinned, looking eager to begin the fight. Theo realised that, as hopless as the predicament was, he wouldn't rather be anywhere else than in the company of these men. The were out numbered, the odds were almost impossible, yet here they were; as eager as ever to fight for their nation. They were heroes.
The mercenaries brought a ram to the gates, and after several minutes under the massive impacts the wooden structure gave way. The gateway was open.
The Hoplites formed into a column and marched through the gate.
"Phalanx formation!", Theo shouted. The front ranks dropped the points of their spears. "Advance!". The men cheered and marched forwards.
The enemy replied in kind, and the two phalanxes engaged. The mercenaries formation was still coming through the gate. Their phalanx was only five men wide and the Greeks overlapped them, ramming their spears with brutal force into the mercenaries.
Roman Hastati joined the push of men, using sheer weight of numbers to push their way into the fort. The Greek line held but was slowly inching backwards under the tide of men that swept through the gate.
Dionysios had taken command of the Spartans who were separate from the main fight and he watched as the Roman army made more and more progress. The noise was near defening, the clash of spears on shields, armour and the screams of the wounded echoed around the tiny interior of the compound.
Just as he was about to order the Spartans to flank the invaders, the length of pallisade behind him collapsed. Shit, another bloody battering ram.
The Spartans turned, almost as one, and without even having to be ordered they formed phalanx in the face of this new incursion.
Through the second hole in the defences poured a Legionary Cohort, yelling and screaming, they charged the Spartans head on. Today would be the day they'd learn how foolish it was. Dionysios doubted many would live to use their new found knowledge.
The fight continued, the noise got louder, and the Greeks were slowly forced backwards to the centre of the camp.
Theophylaktos
Theo was blood stained, exhausted and enraged. His sword flickered in deadly, gleaming patterns of reflected sunlight, and for a while it seemed as though he'd keep the Romans at bay all on his own. But as the Greek line moved backwards, he had no choice but to follow.
After half an hour, the Greeks were a rapidly shrinking circle, completely surrounded by almost a thousand romans. Although he did not know it, fully two thirds of the Greek survivors had been killed or wounded, yet still the remaining men fought on. There was no cheering now, hardly any noise escaped the defenders. Each mans face was set in lines of grim determination.
The man to the left of him fell, and Theo swung his sword in a wild arc, almost completely decapitating the Roman. Another took his place immediatly.
Suddenly, Theo found himself in a small huddled group of Spartans, the other two surviving armoured Hoplites and the general Dionysios.
The Romans backed off and their Centurion stepped forwards to make his offer.
"Should you wish to concede your defeat honourably, your lives will be spared."
Theo looked to Dionysios, who said in a loud and mocking voice, "Spartans do not surrender, Roman. That is no honourable defeat. I have lived my life for Greece," and now his voice rose to a great cry, "And I shall gladly end my life for her!" And with this, he charged with the other Spartans into the Romans.
"For Greece!" Belowed Theo, and charged with them. He sliced his sword across a mans jugular, blocked a thrust from a man on his left, and counter attacked in return. Just as his sword impaled the Roman, a man to his right leapt into him. The sword entered Theo's abdomen just below his ribs. He'd never felt pain like it. Too shocked to even cry out, he fell to his knees, and collapsed forwards. The soil felt good against his cheek. He could pick out every detail on the sandals of the men infront of him, every dust stain; even the rust on the nails on the soles.
Closer to him, he realised that Dionysios lay too, looking at his eyes. "The pain fades" he said, and Theo could only nod in agreement; his body felt numb. He was tired like he'd never been tired in his life, he just wanted to shut his eyes. Just for a minute, he'd feel better after that he was sure.
The general spoke, his voice a mere whisper now. "With honour brother."
"With honour" Theo replied.