The Wings of Mercury
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 16
Eastern Germania
“It’s good ground for a fight,” Ky subvocalized, watching his men set up their positions in the undergrowth just where it began to thicken after thinning out at the creek that marked the front of his lines.
It wasn’t a steep hill, at least not enough of one to give his men a high-ground advantage, but the creek had just enough water in it to keep the enemy from using it as cover and would slow them down as they climbed onto its muddy banks.
“It should suffice, and the widening upstream should keep the enemy from trying to march around your position.”
“That isn’t likely to happen anyway. They’ve been chasing us for a week. Long enough to give them target blindness. They want to get at us, and they want it badly.”
“It does not do to attempt to psychoanalyze the enemy who, if they are proficient enough in maneuvers and strategy, will see the reason you chose this as a place to fight, and might maneuver around it.”
“Maybe, but the way they have increased the aggression in following us says they want to bring us to grips. They’re looking for payback for that last fight, and now that they’ve been reinforced again, they think they can get it.”
“Perhaps,” Sophus said.
Another human mannerism the AI had picked up over the last few years. Eight years ago, it would have either just stopped arguing or deferred to its human, but now it always had to get in the last little word, usually to hedge.
“Positions secure,” Bomilcar said, walking over from the lines. “The men are dug in and ready. Are you sure these holes are a good idea? They will limit our movement.”
“I know, but standing out in the open, against rifles and shell fire, is costly. Even with our last victory, we saw that. We lost enough men and even in defeat the enemy is still larger than us.”
Knowing about how line infantry tactics worked had been one thing, and it had been effective against the Carthaginians, but it only took one full clash with the easterners to see it for the folly it was. They could not withstand that level of losses, and even if they could, Ky was not willing to continue accepting them. Line of battle in the field against similar arms might have been a viable strategy, but it wasn’t the best one.
Of course, Sophus had shown Ky other options. They might be better in the short run, but as the enemy adapted, they would end up in an even more brutal form of warfare.
The problem was that the enemy was clever and was adapting its strategy fast, some that they didn’t even need to copy from the Britannians. It was the obvious evolution of this style of warfare, and the worst option would be to let the enemy get there first and dictate the flow of battle. There were honestly no good options, but this was the best one. When the enemy adapted, they would adapt with them.
“It just feels like we are turning every open battle into a siege.”
“It can become that, and will if the enemy adopts our plan, which will push us into an even more static posture. My hope is that we win the war before that can happen. There are counters for how to deal with a static war like that, but they require a significant leap in technology that will take us some time to achieve.”
“Just how much do you know that you haven’t told us?” Bomilcar asked, an odd expression on his face.
“The real question is how much do I know that we can actually act on, which is the important part. Everything requires a previous step, which requires a previous step, and so on, seemingly forever. I’ve already started working with Hortensius on the steps for what comes next, to allow us to change the battlefield again in our favor, but until then, we have to go with the best tactics we can with what we have. Which means, for now, rifle pits and pulling the enemy in to fight where we want them. Are the skirmishers out?”
“Yes. Across the creek and up on the far rise. The cavalry is out too, although spread out like they are, I’m not sure what good they can do. Too thin for any charge to work, especially in these woods.”
“The day of cavalry charges is at an end, my friend. They might still work a bit when cleaning up during a rout, but for now they’re better used as fast scouts and that’s it. We may start working on a change in strategy where they become essentially infantry on horseback, riding to a fight and then dismounting when they get there to fight as normal infantry, but fighting from the saddle is a thing of the past. Massed rifle fire just makes it impossible for anything else to work.”
“I know. That much, at least, has been obvious. I’d hope that when we catch their scouts in the open, however, they might still have value.”
“That would still be more one on one anyway. Massed cavalry against a single scout, which is what you’d get, would be a waste of manpower.”
Bomilcar only nodded. Ky knew it was hard for him. He’d already given up one way of war, adapted to another, only to be told that way was also obsolete. He must feel like he could never catch up.
“We should get ready. Our scouts are pulling back and the enemy should be in sight in the next fifteen minutes, give or take,” Ky added. “Pass the word that our scouts are returning.”
He’d been watching the enemy movement for the better part of an hour as his scouts crept as close as they could to observe them. Some had gotten away successfully, others had been seen and paid the price. It pained Ky to see that, especially since their loss wasn’t strictly necessary. While it was good for the legions to practice proper scouting in preparation for when he wasn’t around, when he was, he could see the battlefield much clearer than any detail a scout would provide.
But finding the enemy wasn’t the main goal of the scouts or the skirmishers. He needed the enemy to find him and come where he wanted to fight. To pull them in.
The cavalry had already done its job, and now the skirmishers were doing theirs, taking shots at the enemy line and falling back. The enemy had been pursuing them for long enough, and with enough small clashes whenever it seemed like they might decide to turn and make for strategic targets like villages or mines, ensured that the enemy was invested. They wanted to catch and destroy his army.
Which is what Ky wanted them to focus on.
The scouts came crashing out of the tree line, jogging toward his men, which is why he’d passed the word that they were coming. Every one of the legionnaires knew the running was over and they were about to face the enemy again, and Ky could feel their nerves.
A few minutes later, the skirmishers began to come in, splashing through the creek, running as if for their lives.
Which essentially they were.
“Here they come,” Ky said. “Hold the men steady. Fire at will. Target large bodies.”
The orders had already been passed out, and the men knew what they were supposed to do, but Ky wanted to say it again. At least they didn’t have to worry about the men firing too early at targets far enough away that they had a poor chance of hitting them. The trees got thick enough away from the creek that by the time his men could see the enemy, the enemy was close enough to shoot.
True, trees would also help protect them, but if the enemy held together in compact rows, it would be alright. His legionnaires only had to aim for the massed body of men.
Better yet, clearly, they had no idea where his men were, because they came running out of the forest in clumps, not in fire lines, taking potshots at his skirmishers as they tried to make it across the creek. And then his men jumped the gun. Only a few at first, shooting here and there at individual pickets chasing his men, but those few quickly became an avalanche as all of his men’s pent-up frustration was let out.
Thankfully, they’d waited until practically all of his own skirmishers were across the creek, but it was a wasted first volley. The enemy seemed confused at first, maybe thinking there were other skirmishers, with some of them rushing forward, some trying to hold and fire back, others falling back to hide behind trees.
The next men out of the trees were organized front-line troops spread out into firing lines. Almost as soon as the first bullets from his men hit them, they stopped and began to let off volleys. They went too high, missing his people almost entirely, and confirming that the enemy really wasn’t sure yet where his men were.
The dark wool tunics and pants that were the standard uniform of the legion weren’t exactly camouflage, but in a forest with dappled light, it did help hide them a bit. The enemy had marched to the bank of the creek, putting themselves in what was almost a clearing, which made it harder to see into the tree line opposite.
They kept firing, stacking up on the bank, the eastern officers shouting and trying to keep their men organized as they worked out what was happening. Finally, someone figured out that they weren’t just facing pickets, but had found the full Britannian line. And that their volley fire wasn’t having a noticeable effect. They could see the smoke rising from the tree line and knew that was their target.