by Joel Weichs
Barbarian invaders swarmed off the plateau of Leng, overrunning several provinces before the Legion arrived to dispute their progress. Horned women with hairy armpits chanting prayers to their slaughter god led each small band. I don't mind the small horns growing out of their skulls, in fact it is kind of a turn on. But that armpit hair hanging down to their waists, full of lice, is purely disgusting.
Every tribe was commanded by a chieftain riding a terror bird. Some chieftains led packs of Bear Dogs -- the top of the food chain. There is only one animal a mastodon fears: That is a bear dog. They will eat anything that does not eat them first, including saber-toothed tigers and terror birds. A pack of bear dogs can hamstring a mastodon, then swarm over the fallen beast to devour the rider -- that would be me. Naturally, my first priority was to shoot bear dogs, even if the officers ordered me to attack some other target.
The Ninth Legion had started out as six thousand infantry. Somewhere along the way it had recruited four hundred half elf archers and fifty artillerymen mounted on Mastodons. This last was my position with the legion, firing one of my ultra-heavy repeating crossbows fixed to a platform atop my mastodon while two assistants loaded and cocked the second weapon. It was a pretty good life for someone who enjoys killing barbarian chiefs all tarted out in war paint and necklaces of ears and eyes.
Last night several thousand barbarians attacked the legion camp. I rolled over and went back to sleep. Defending the encampment is the infantry's job, not mine. During the attack I dreamed of a lovely girl who kept saying “Let's just be friends” and refused to make love with me. Next afternoon, I consulted a Augur who told me the girl represented death with whom I had carrying on a flirtation for years. “You are going to live through the present campaign,” the Augur told me. “When you dream that the woman made love to you, then you really will be screwed.” I gave the Augur a silver coin as a tip.
Unfortunately what our commanders did not know was that around fifty thousand blood-crazed barbarians were converging upon our legion as we marched in close fighting order. Do not get me wrong; our legion when prepared and on ground of our choosing can defeat any number of barbarians. Near the Danube we fought against a hundred thousand nomads and killed around ten thousand before the rest ran away. That is why our roads are built atop hills: We like to see what is coming.
This time what was coming was a host of enemies surging forward and driving captive women and children ahead of them as shields. From both sides and our rear, crazed barbarians raced toward us. Our baggage train and its non combatants were simply swarmed under and our infantry line was attacked before it could fully form. I wanted my silver coin back; no way was I living through this!
I shot my first round of extra large bolts at the horned women leading the attack. Hit six of them, and the bolts passed through their bodies to take out others before finally driving into the ground. Switching to the second bolt thrower, I took out individual chiefs mounted upon terror birds and bear dogs wherever I could get a clear shot. On both flanks, barbarians had penetrated our line and all was a confused mass of fighters and animals. At least my platform atop the mastodon gave me a great view.
Now the Legate and other senior officers of the legion charged and the barbarian chiefs rode their terror birds to meet him. Their followers expected them to engage in combat and the rapine and looting that sometimes followed. No sour faced killjoy officers among the barbarians!
The first of our fifty mastodons was crashing to the ground now. Barbarian warriors and bear dogs swarmed over the carcass ripping the artillerymen to shreds. “Tempus Fugit Semper,” as they say. Loosely translated that means, “How time flies when you are having fun.” I ordered the mahout to charge straight ahead towards the painted carts bearing the families of the barbarian chiefs. Often the easiest way out of a trap is the way no one expects you to run, straight ahead.
I was firing my crossbows as fast as they could be reloaded and cocked. First I sent a volley of bolts into the pack of bear dogs devouring the fallen mastodon. Then I began shooting barbarian chiefs from the backs of terror birds as they swirled in combat with our Legate, his officers and escort. Shooting into the melee, I happened to take out one of our own officers.By coincidence he was the one who ordered me confined to the camp overseeing the removal of Mastodon crap from the paddocks. During the month I was confined at this dirty task, he seduced my girlfriend. “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's Amore,” as the song goes.
About now, you the reader are probably thinking that I am about to win the battle single handed by capturing the family of the enemy leader and thus forcing his surrender. Wrong! Thanks mostly to covering fire from the half elf archers, the legion was able to reform and killed so many barbarians that the tribes fell back over the passes to Leng.
When my mastodon crashed its way up to the painted cart carrying the royal family, I discovered I had run out of crossbow bolts. Looking down I literally saw the girl of my dreams sitting in the cart and looking right back at me. I dropped a rope ladder down and she climbed up. Deanna turned out to be the youngest daughter of the high king of Leng. I married the little wench and settled down to raise a family.
Along with my new father-in-law, the King of Leng, I opened an export business selling monsters, which abound on the plateau of Leng, to arenas all over the world. That was the good news.
The bad news was that I was sentenced by the military tribunal to seventeen and a half years of shoveling mastodon dung for accidentally killing a senior officer during the battle. What an injustice: I never killed anyone by accident in my entire career.
Finis.
P. S. Anybody want to buy a used Mastodon owned by a little old lady who only rode it for around town shopping and to church on Sunday?
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