Soldiers of Misfortune

Senator Livonian Augustus sat in front of the air screen to research his next recruit. He needed a fighting warrior with intelligence and verve, a warrior from the past; when adults were not afraid to make hard decisions and die for their beliefs. After several months of research, he settled on a time and place to find the person he was looking for. From the floating projection screen, a firm female voice with a slight British accent spoke to him. It is 122 Anni Dominium in ancient Britannia. The air is damp with an autumn breeze, slippery grounds are covered with fallen leaves, and the trees stripped for winter. Soon the Britannia winter will rain, and snow bogging down the entire island, making travel almost impossible due to the primitive systems of roads and trails. Meanwhile, Rome has decided not to spend more money and treasure on the island. In the Senate, great men decide the Empire has spent too much money already for too little results. The Senate decides it is far too expensive to house legions on the island. Britannia is supposed to be a food basket, but dead Romans are their most treasured export. The aristocrats view the population to be far too wild and stubborn to knuckle under Roman rule and reap the advantages of being part of the Roman Empire. Their investments no longer bring in the coin that the Senators expected and are losing personal wealth. The Roman Senate votes to lodge only two legions in Londinium, the nexus of trade for the island. The rest will come home and be reorganized into more effective fighting units. The Senate makes a fatal mistake in that it took far too long to decide the number of troops for the winter garrisons. If Rome waits until spring, the tribes will be given time to repopulate and rearm. In the Spring, the barbarians will again revolt in vast numbers and push Roman rule into the sea. Unless a strategic blow is struck, and scatters the tribes, the three legions will not be able to gracefully withdrawal without many unnecessary deaths on both sides. The screen swings onto a lonely figure and the voice continues. Hadrian, the present Roman Emperor, commands the Sixth Legion and foreign mercenaries in Britannia. He is on the island to ensure an orderly retreat and safe passage for all Romans. He cares little about the pomp and circumstance. The man is excellent at his present military job, not so much as the Emperor of the Roman Empire. He is primarily a warrior and not a politician. The Emperor is sick of the spineless fools back home, eating and drinking while bragging about their prowess to accumulate wealth. Some even envision themselves as military experts as they sat in their countryside villas back in Italy on their fat arses, thousands of miles away from the real blood and guts. The people in Rome and major colonies are discontented by failures of crops, rebellions, and shortages from unshipped goods. Starvation is a constant threat and when enough people starve, Rome will fall. Hadrian is the one Roman Emperor, who is clear minded about the empire. He knows this part of the world is uncontrollable and unpredictable. These people do not think like civilized folk. It’s clear the battle is between cultures. The former Emperor, Trajan left him in a no-win situation. The man was a spineless politician, who listened to no one. His reputation was everything to him and he wanted no blemishes on his legacy at the expense of Rome. Hadrian is the exact opposite. He is a renown warrior, who listens, gets things done, is relentless, stubborn, but fair. He expects results and gets them from both him and others. He brooks no stupidity in the ranks. His horse is more important than his legacy. Livonian laughs. My kind of guy. Hadrian told the Senate numerous times what was needed, but all they supplied was false optimistic news to their unhappy mobs. The rich politicians’ protest: Nothing is our fault! We are not responsible for the previous decisions. Historically, the Senate was always unrealistic once the class systems evolved. Rulers lost touch with the common people. Caesar, Sulla, and Aurelius’ knew the true costs of conquest and power. The Senate expected results under their own terms and ignored the realities of everyday life. and Livonian can almost read the man’s thoughts. Hadrian’s face is one of absolute determination. No, I will do this with what I have. Rome forced this situation on me! I may go down, but others will go with me. I will not burn alone. The narrator disappeared, and Livonian watches the mud splattered Roman Commander walk through the sodden ground. Each step threatens to suck his boots off, an extremely expensive gift from his wife, lovingly greased with pig fat to prevent his feet from getting wet and prevent the foot rot that so many of his soldiers are afflicted with. Hadrian burps and again swallows his breakfast. The heavy, horrific smells of war plug his nostrils. The wind has shifted, and he smells the battlefield. Waiting for the second wave of his well-worn legions to sweep away the initial attack of the Picts, he rides with his Praetorian Guards behind him, a breach of military policy. Livonian reacts. He should be behind his protection. The Roman calvary gets bogged down and dismounts. The barbarians have no need for horses in the woods and their tight trails. The barbarians are veterans of this type of warfare. In front of Hadrian, the violence of war appears. Livonian leans back into his chair. The basturd is a true leader. Very admirable. Extremely brave. Too much so. Earlier, Hadrian ordered his artillery to hurl Greek Fire into the woods, cutting off any retreat for the Picts. The outer rim of the forest blazes with a fire that cannot be quenched by ordinary means. Livonian flinches when Hadrian does not see a Pict rise with his guts hanging below his knees. The wounded warrior pierces Hadrian’s beloved mare’s neck with a broken spear shaft. The startled Roman feels the horse shudder and instinctively leaps sideways. He executes a body roll and stands up to barely avoid another spear thrust! He ducks and dodges while a mud splattered, naked green painted woman thrusts her spear at him from different angles. She knows what to do with the spear and forces him to retreat. During his retreat, Hadrian grabs a broken ax handle standing upright in the mud and traps her spear under his left arm. The woman screams when Hadrian pulls her close and shoves the hardwood shaft into her face! Mud splashes up when she hits the ground with the shaft protruding from her left eye. Another Pict screams at him. The berserker bends down and picks up a brown colored long sword, favored by the Germanics. Livonian recognizes the weapon and remembers that German mercenaries often sailed onto Britannic shores for money, women, and revenge. But their biggest reason was to kill Romans! Hadrian is without weapons. He crouches. The man’s war cries abruptly stop when a Praetorian cavalry soldier hurtles past him and dispatches the Pict ‘s head from his shoulders. Several members of his Praetorian cavalry stop and bring a spare horse, which the Emperor mounts in one motion. This frontal assault assessed the discipline and courage of his legion and himself. His warriors are well-oiled machines in action, relentless and vicious. Once they smelled blood, there was no stopping them. Up ahead, he spots the broken frontline. The melee’s noise is overwhelming when weapons strike shields, the wounded scream in terror and pain along with obscene curses as both sides hack each other with any available weapons.