Long lost Caesar
12-12-2007, 18:49
219 BC. The Republic of Rome has crushed Carthage and conquered Italia. In a winning war against the Aedui three legions have pushed into northern Gaul, and one of them, under Lucius Gaius Scipio, has recently taken the city of Bibracte. As soon as the city fell to the Romans the Aedui besieged it, intent on revenge for their fallen brethren. Now, in the summer of 217 BC, the Aedui make their assault, with two armies led by Generals.
Scipio paced up and down his quarters, his officers looking at him with imploring eyes. He finally walked over to the map of the city.
"We can't hold the walls: the Gauls outnumber us three to one and we haven't had time to repair the battered gates." Scipio explained to them, pointing to each of the gates on the map. "We could engage them in the narrow streets leading to the town square," Scipio's fingers followed the thin lines littering the city. "But then we'd be too spread out. This is where we make our stand." Scipio jabbed his finger at the plaza. "THIS is our only hope."
Neitos in front. Principes behind. Triarii at the back. So it was for all three roads leading to the plaza, where Scipio, two units of Brihentin cavalry and celtic archers awaited the Celts, who had by now over taken the city walls.
"Do you see them? That horde of unwashed thugs? Make them realise that they should never have come here, and then show them why!" A cheer went up from his troops. Scipio stood up in his saddle and shook his fist. "Kill them all, sons of Rome!"
The archers were the first to make a move. As the Gauls tried to find some semblence of order the bowmen unleashed shot after shot, bringing down the unarmoured spearmen. But they couldn't kill all of them, and before long Belgian spearmen were charging straight for the Roman front lines. The effect was devastating: it took at least a dozen Belgian to knock a Celt to the floor, and even then he wasn't dead. By the time the Neitos had begun to take casualties the Belgians were in full flight, and they were followed by whichever Gauls were fast enough to get to them: naked spearmen, gaesaetae, even phalanx troops from the alps!
There were three flanks: two were at opposite ends on the same long road, with the plaza in the middle of both of them. The other flank stuck out away from the others, down a road which encircled around the entire Celtic attack.
"Romans! Drive them back!" Scipio ordered when he realised the full force of the Gauls was coming at on the flanks on the long road. Positioning himself behind the troops there he was a constant factor in their strength, a talisman of power that held their nerve, as well as the line. Meanwhile the troops at the other end of the road managed to rout what was left of the Gallic force attacking them. The Brihentin cut them to pieces, whilst the infantry of that flank circled around to the other flank, the one jutting away from the others. The Celts there were caught in such confusion that one by one they routed, each within less than ten seconds of the other.
At the same time though the main line was beginning to break. The Neitos had been been pushed back, and now the Principes and Triarii were being brought into the fight: one of the generals had been killed, and the Triarii were working on spearing the remaining Celtic commander. It would take a lot longer than intended, and cost many lives. Scipio himself came into combat with the Gauls, cutting down a great many from his superb horse, all the while encouraging his troops on to great feats. Soon the Romans, who numbered less than 400 on this flank were pushing back the Gallic horde, who must have been twice as many.
But there was still hope: the other infantry divisions had surrounded and eliminated any other resistance, and were following the Brihentin to flank the main attackers. The Brihentin reformed on the main road and then looked at their target: archers, gaesatae, spearmen and countless others were all arranged in a mess, trying to cut their way into the plaza. If they were used wrongly they would be simply cut to pieces in that wall of spears. All they had to do was bide their time....
Hack, parry slash. The routine was tiring him, but so far Scipio had managed to stay alive, and had killed all who came to him. Finally he saw the enemy commander: alone, unguarded by his cavalry and surrounded by triarii. As Scipio turned to block away an incoming spear he was pleased to hear the screams of the enemy general: he was being pulled down from his bloodied mount, and the long spears of the Triarii were making short work of him. Slashing down at his opponent and cracking open his skull, Scipio roared for the trumpeteers to order the cavalry attack.
"Do it now! DO IT NOW!" He ordered, waving his blood covered sword in unrestrained fury.
Further down the road the Brihentin heard the trumpet blasts, and charged into the back of the Gallic army. What followed was chaos: the Gauls folded in an instant and tried to make their escape, but it wasn't to be: to one side, the mad-man Scipio and his hardened veterans. To the other: the Brihentin cavalry and their arriving reinforcements. Once the noose was tightened the Gauls could do little more than try and put up a fight, but all in vain: it was Scipio himself killed the final Gaul, swinging his sword about afterwards in blissful abandon: against all odds, the Romans had defeated the Gauls. Few had stood against many, and won.
Scipio paced up and down his quarters, his officers looking at him with imploring eyes. He finally walked over to the map of the city.
"We can't hold the walls: the Gauls outnumber us three to one and we haven't had time to repair the battered gates." Scipio explained to them, pointing to each of the gates on the map. "We could engage them in the narrow streets leading to the town square," Scipio's fingers followed the thin lines littering the city. "But then we'd be too spread out. This is where we make our stand." Scipio jabbed his finger at the plaza. "THIS is our only hope."
Neitos in front. Principes behind. Triarii at the back. So it was for all three roads leading to the plaza, where Scipio, two units of Brihentin cavalry and celtic archers awaited the Celts, who had by now over taken the city walls.
"Do you see them? That horde of unwashed thugs? Make them realise that they should never have come here, and then show them why!" A cheer went up from his troops. Scipio stood up in his saddle and shook his fist. "Kill them all, sons of Rome!"
The archers were the first to make a move. As the Gauls tried to find some semblence of order the bowmen unleashed shot after shot, bringing down the unarmoured spearmen. But they couldn't kill all of them, and before long Belgian spearmen were charging straight for the Roman front lines. The effect was devastating: it took at least a dozen Belgian to knock a Celt to the floor, and even then he wasn't dead. By the time the Neitos had begun to take casualties the Belgians were in full flight, and they were followed by whichever Gauls were fast enough to get to them: naked spearmen, gaesaetae, even phalanx troops from the alps!
There were three flanks: two were at opposite ends on the same long road, with the plaza in the middle of both of them. The other flank stuck out away from the others, down a road which encircled around the entire Celtic attack.
"Romans! Drive them back!" Scipio ordered when he realised the full force of the Gauls was coming at on the flanks on the long road. Positioning himself behind the troops there he was a constant factor in their strength, a talisman of power that held their nerve, as well as the line. Meanwhile the troops at the other end of the road managed to rout what was left of the Gallic force attacking them. The Brihentin cut them to pieces, whilst the infantry of that flank circled around to the other flank, the one jutting away from the others. The Celts there were caught in such confusion that one by one they routed, each within less than ten seconds of the other.
At the same time though the main line was beginning to break. The Neitos had been been pushed back, and now the Principes and Triarii were being brought into the fight: one of the generals had been killed, and the Triarii were working on spearing the remaining Celtic commander. It would take a lot longer than intended, and cost many lives. Scipio himself came into combat with the Gauls, cutting down a great many from his superb horse, all the while encouraging his troops on to great feats. Soon the Romans, who numbered less than 400 on this flank were pushing back the Gallic horde, who must have been twice as many.
But there was still hope: the other infantry divisions had surrounded and eliminated any other resistance, and were following the Brihentin to flank the main attackers. The Brihentin reformed on the main road and then looked at their target: archers, gaesatae, spearmen and countless others were all arranged in a mess, trying to cut their way into the plaza. If they were used wrongly they would be simply cut to pieces in that wall of spears. All they had to do was bide their time....
Hack, parry slash. The routine was tiring him, but so far Scipio had managed to stay alive, and had killed all who came to him. Finally he saw the enemy commander: alone, unguarded by his cavalry and surrounded by triarii. As Scipio turned to block away an incoming spear he was pleased to hear the screams of the enemy general: he was being pulled down from his bloodied mount, and the long spears of the Triarii were making short work of him. Slashing down at his opponent and cracking open his skull, Scipio roared for the trumpeteers to order the cavalry attack.
"Do it now! DO IT NOW!" He ordered, waving his blood covered sword in unrestrained fury.
Further down the road the Brihentin heard the trumpet blasts, and charged into the back of the Gallic army. What followed was chaos: the Gauls folded in an instant and tried to make their escape, but it wasn't to be: to one side, the mad-man Scipio and his hardened veterans. To the other: the Brihentin cavalry and their arriving reinforcements. Once the noose was tightened the Gauls could do little more than try and put up a fight, but all in vain: it was Scipio himself killed the final Gaul, swinging his sword about afterwards in blissful abandon: against all odds, the Romans had defeated the Gauls. Few had stood against many, and won.