Fallout:Blood and the Bull

Any opinion and comments are welcome

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It took the damned politicians of Freimarkt four days to approve my request. An eternity for me, but not wasted time. While we waited outside the city, I used every moment to consolidate the force I was building. The newly acquired slaves were quickly organized into contubernia—small units that would serve as the foundation of their military discipline. It wasn't just about distributing them but initiating the process that would transform them from mere men into true legionaries.

Training began immediately, and it was nothing short of draconian. Each contubernium was placed under the direct supervision of battle-hardened veterans—men who knew the hell of war and understood that to survive, these new recruits had to be broken first and rebuilt later. Cries of pain and pleas filled the air in no time. The recruits' bodies, unaccustomed to such intensity, buckled under the physical demands. Their minds, conditioned by servitude, struggled to adapt to the weight of discipline and teamwork.

The noise drew the attention of Freimarkt's guards, who approached more than once, concerned about what was happening. Their expressions were a mix of curiosity and bewilderment as they watched these men, who had been slaves only recently, subjected to a brutal regimen. Some guards attempted to inquire, but the centurions overseeing the training dismissed them with curt, firm words: "Military training. Don't worry, everything is under control."

Meanwhile, the veterans took amusement in the suffering of the new recruits. Their laughter and sarcastic comments punctuated the moments of respite.

"Look at that one," said one centurion, pointing to a young man struggling to keep pace during a forced march. "I bet he used to carry trays of food in a rich man's house. Now, he's learning what it means to carry his own weight."

"That one over there? Dead before his first battle," another remarked, though not without a hint of grim humor. They understood this was a necessary process. "But if he survives, he might make a good standard bearer."

On the first day, many collapsed, unable to endure the strain. By the second day, however, they began to adapt, even if only slightly. Their bodies toughened, their minds started to grasp the importance of orders, and the initial chaos of their movements began to show hints of discipline. By the fourth day, when the council's approval finally arrived, a visible transformation had begun. They weren't yet legionaries, but the potential was there, and I knew that with time and pressure, they would become what I needed.

During those days, the camp itself became a spectacle the citizens of Freimarkt couldn't ignore. From the city walls, some watched with a mix of fascination and fear as the shouts and rigors of training became a constant backdrop.

With formal approval from Freimarkt's council, I obtained what I desired most: freedom to raid. Technically, I reported to a general appointed by the council, but in reality, my authority in the field was nearly absolute. For now, the war was stagnant, limited to skirmishes and defensive maneuvers. The Hochfluss Bridge, the object of contention, remained neutral territory, as no side dared to completely halt trade. This forced neutrality kept the four cities in tense balance, but it also meant that raiding and incursions were the primary tools for weakening the enemy.

We wasted no time relocating our camp. Though the march was slower than I preferred, it was a deliberate choice: I refused to leave behind experienced soldiers traveling with their families. This was the cost of my decision, but I knew it was worth it. The veterans were the backbone of my contingent, and allowing their families to follow ensured loyalty and stability. However, this same decision complicated our mobility and made logistics a constant challenge.

Our first raid targeted the east, toward Flussdorf's territory, one of the three Free Cities opposing Freimarkt. I chose Flussdorf because, while its position as a riverside city gave it access to significant trade routes, its military infrastructure was weaker than that of Hochbruck or Brückenstadt. Moreover, its proximity to the bridge made its peripheral villages vulnerable, and its leadership, focused on commerce, seemed more inclined to accept minor losses than risk a direct confrontation.

We encamped in a village under Freimarkt's influence. The locals greeted us with wary, fearful looks. They knew our presence would inevitably draw Flussdorf's attention—and with it, reprisals.

My officers ensured a solid camp was established, protecting families and supplies while soldiers took positions around the village. Discipline remained strict.

That night, I gathered my centurions and decani to discuss strategy.

"Our objective is not to take territory," I said, my tone low but commanding. "Flussdorf cannot afford to continually lose peripheral villages. Each raid we conduct weakens them economically and forces their army to spread thin, defending places they would otherwise leave unattended. This isn't just about gold; it's about the constant pressure we can apply."

They nodded, and one centurion, a robust man with a stern gaze, spoke up. "What's the first target?"

I spread the map I'd received from the council across the table, pointing precisely to a village marked near the river, under Flussdorf's control. "Here," I said firmly. "It's a critical supply point for them. It doesn't have a large garrison, but its proximity to the river makes it strategically important. They use it to provision ships and caravans. We'll take what we can and burn the rest. They must feel every loss."

The officers' expressions showed approval, but I wasn't finished. I turned my attention to the decanus frumentarii, his calm yet alert demeanor reflecting his readiness.

"Additionally," I continued, addressing everyone, "the frumentarii will be sent into the city. Each of them will invent a story: that they're displaced peasants, someone looking to join the militias, or even a victim fleeing this raid. But I want constant and precise information. I need to know what's happening inside Flussdorf—their military strength, their economy, who makes the decisions, and where their weaknesses lie."

All eyes were on me as I gave the orders. Then, I focused directly on the decanus frumentarii, a man I had named Silvanus to avoid confusion among the many common names in our ranks. Silvanus had proven himself shrewd and ruthless, qualities necessary to lead spies in this territory.

"Silvanus," I said, my voice lower but laden with authority, "this will be your first major deployment. I will not tolerate mistakes. Your men must infiltrate without raising suspicion, earn the locals' trust, and send reports regularly. If they uncover something exploitable, I want to know before the enemy does."

Silvanus nodded firmly, his tone as serious as mine when he responded. "I'll handle it, my lord. I've already selected the men for each role. We'll have eyes and ears in Flussdorf before the village you marked has finished burning."

His words assured me I had chosen well for the decanus frumentarii. He understood the stakes and needed no further explanation. Meanwhile, the centurions and decani refined the operational details of the raid, adjusting strategies based on their men's capabilities.

Leaving a century and the trainee slaves to guard the camp, we began our march toward the target village. Our pace was swift, disciplined, and the echo of our footsteps on the ground announced the arrival of an unstoppable force. The air was thick with tension, and although most of our men were poorly equipped, they were prepared to unleash chaos.

The first village we encountered barely had time to react. The improvised defenders, mostly peasants and poorly trained mercenaries, tried to organize, but our frontline was already upon them. With spears raised and shouts like a storm, our men advanced. The first volley of javelins rained down on the enemies struggling to close the gates. The projectiles pierced shields and flesh alike, and the ground was quickly stained red.

By the time we reached the village center, resistance had crumbled. The veterans led with lethal precision, stabbing anyone who dared to resist. The streets became a slaughterhouse: men crushed under shields, women dragged away screaming, children hiding beneath the bodies of their families. The less experienced soldiers, though disorganized, complemented the brutality with unchecked energy. They struck with spears and improvised knives, slitting throats and gutting bellies with an almost animalistic ferocity.

The looting was ruthless. Every house was reduced to rubble; every storehouse was emptied. The men who weren't killed were chained as slaves, and those who tried to flee were brought down by arrows or spears hurled with unrelenting force. By evening, the village was nothing but ashes and dismembered bodies—a testament to the destructive power of our advance.

This scene repeated itself in the next three villages. In each, the screams of the dying and the stench of burning flesh heralded our passage. Without cavalry, pursuing those who escaped was challenging, but we used the terrain to our advantage, setting ambushes and capturing many before they could raise the alarm.

Finally, we reached the primary target: a village fortified with a wooden palisade. From a distance, we could see defenders organizing themselves. The gates were reinforced, and archers were already stationed atop the walls, prepared to hold us off. This time, the battle would be different.

Under a hail of enemy arrows, the veterans advanced at the front in a compact formation, raising their shields to form a testudo. A battering ram—a thick log reinforced with iron—was carried by a dozen men protected under this shield structure. Each step was slow and methodical, with arrows harmlessly striking the wooden and iron shields above.

Behind the testudo, the less experienced soldiers hurled javelins at the defenders atop the palisade. Although not all throws found their mark, the constant pressure forced the enemy archers to retreat or expose themselves to fire. The most skilled among our men stood out, their throws precise and deadly. Every archer who fell from the palisade reduced the threat to our soldiers.

The battering ram began its work. The blows echoed across the valley as the log struck the main gate. The defenders tried to reinforce it from the inside, but the weight and force of the ram, wielded with precision by the men under the testudo, were relentless. With each impact, the gate creaked and splintered, drawing closer to collapse.

The defenders, desperate, hurled improvised projectiles from atop the palisade: stones, spears, and anything that might halt our advance. But our formation did not waver. The veterans absorbed the onslaught with their shields, while the battering ram continued its steady, thunderous rhythm. The constant barrage of our javelins and arrows prevented the defenders from coordinating an effective response.

Finally, the gates gave way. With a deafening crash, the beams holding them up splintered, and our forces surged into the village like an unstoppable tide. The veterans led the charge, crushing defenders with their shields and finishing them with quick, brutal strikes of their short swords. The initial resistance was fierce, but it didn't last. Our discipline and numbers quickly overwhelmed them.

The men who attempted to surrender were immediately disarmed and shackled. Those who resisted beyond reason were wounded or subdued by force. Women and children, found hiding in houses or barns, were brought to the village center, where soldiers formed groups to guard them.

The streets were filled with screams and chaos. The less experienced soldiers combed through each house, dragging out anyone who tried to hide. Every man, woman, and child was considered valuable loot. Meanwhile, the veterans secured the area and dispersed any remaining attempts at organized resistance.

The looting was thorough but efficient. Granaries were emptied, storehouses raided, and homes searched for anything of value. Prisoners were lined up and bound with ropes, forming long columns under guard. Even the elderly and wounded were taken; no one was left behind, as all could be sold as slaves.

With the village secured and its inhabitants subdued, the final orders were clear: reduce it to ashes. Soldiers set fire to the remaining houses, and flames began to consume the thatched roofs. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and ash, and the ground was strewn with blood and debris. The cries of the vanquished faded as the flames devoured what remained of their home.

As we retreated, we carried with us significant human and material spoils. The columns of prisoners marched silently, chained and broken, while the soldiers, triumphant, celebrated their victory.

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Any opinion and comments are welcome