[center][b][u]De initio[/u][/b][/center]

“Form up those ranks, Ironclad!” Lealius yelled across the century of triarii.

The elite veterans of the VI Legion reacted automatically to the Pilus Prior’s command, cleaning up the lines of the maniple’s phalanx into orderly rows. The tips of their iron-tipped spears shone dully in the mid-morning light—a forest of deadly intent marching towards the Carthaginian lines. 

Lealius looked ahead to the offset ranks of hastate and princepes that preceded his triarii. This main body of the legion was formed with a broad wedge at its center, with the maniples of legionaries set with a strong center to force their way through the entrenched Carthaginians. The Pilus Prior could see little detail as his comrades advanced towards their objective; the inexorable cloud of dust and haze that accompanied the march of the legion obscured his vision. 

The Legio Sexta Ferrata was formed at the western flank of the Roman advance, with the rest of their brethren legions arrayed along the southern edge of the Arno River to their right. Even now, amidst the cloud of dust churned from the feet of thousands of soldiers, Lealius could still see the glimmer of the sea some distance off to his left. It was a heartening sight, and he found that it bolstered his grim spirit even as the first ranks of the velites made contact with the entrenched enemy. 

Lealius’ attention was drawn skyward as the first deadly arcs of Gallic arrows leapt forward to assail the advancing maniples of the VI Legion wedge. The triarii were in place well out of archery range, and Lealius intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. If the triarii were needed to the front, it would be for Legatus Titus Pomponius Philo to decide. Until then, Lealius would hold his station.

“All halt!” Lealius called. The signalmen took up the Pilus Prior’s command, and the triarii skillfully arrested their march. Without a further order, the legionaries bent down upon their right knees, resting themselves for the rigors that may yet come. 

For now, it was up to their brothers at the front. 

[center][b][u]Medius[/u][/b][/center]

“To me! To me!” Pomponius cried, his gladius raised above his head. Around him, the legionaries of the Legion Sexta Ferrata roiled in the barely controlled chaos of a tactical withdraw. It was the second time the wedge of the VI Legion had been repulsed by the heavily dug in Carthaginians on the western flank of the line, and the Legatus vowed it would be the last. 

Calls of “To the Legatus!” and “Form ranks! Form ranks!” could be heard echoing through the cluster of hastati and princepes. The air was thick with smoke, dust, and falling arrows. Pomponius growled in determined frustration, very near the embodiment of the wolf that adorned his back. 

“My Legatus! Sir, you are too close,” yelled the captain of Pomponius’ personal guard. The legionnaire did his best to position himself in front of his legate, attempting to shield the man from the rain of falling Gallic missiles. “Please, sir, withdraw behind the triarii!”

As if to emphasize the guard’s imploration, an arrow buried itself into the earth beside Pomponius’ foot. The shaft was painted a light brown, with an alternating pattern of black and light brushes of white. It was a pattern all too familiar to the soldiers of Rome, and its intent was known just as assuredly. The arrow was painted to mirror the skin of the Asp Viper, a common and deadly feature of Italy’s fauna. Though it could be just a tool to incite fear, it was just as likely that the arrow’s tip had been coated with the viper’s cursed venom.

“Form up, damn you!” Pomponius roared to the captain, his ire rising at the sight of the arrow. “The triarii are moving to their objective even now. We must press the attack to give them the chance they require.”

The captain spoke no further protest to his commander, and fell into step along with his brothers. Even amongst the chaos, the constant training and the hard-won lessons of combat were allowing the legionaries of the VI Legion to rally into yet another organized fighting force. It was time for a final push. The triarii, and the cavalry that supported them, needed their swords—and they would have them.
---

The Legio Sexta Ferrata had formed themselves upon the western flank of the combined Roman force. Mago’s army, while numerically inferior, had used their advance across the Arno to the utmost, and had heavily fortified their positions along the southern expanse of the river. In response, the VI Legion had deployed in a classic fashion, with the ranks of the hastati and princepes arrayed into a wedge. Behind the wedge, the triarii were formed into their traditional offset maniples. The cavalry, lightly armored as it was, was set in reserve. 

As the battle began, the VI Legion advanced, and the wedge was twice repulsed by the Carthaginians. For a time, the western flank of the Roman attack was vulnerable, as the VI Legion fought to reorganize itself following their initial lack of a breakthrough. In a valiant effort, Legatus Pomponius joined the ranks of his legion, and led his men in a last effort to create an opening into the Carthaginian rear. 

With the body of the VI Legion pressing along the western lines of the Carthaginians, Pomponius ordered his trarii to advance in force, supported by the cavalry, upon the eastern edge of VI Legion’s action area. This swift press allowed the triarri to break the lines of the Carthaginians, and wheel to the west in an effort to support their legion’s attack. The cavalry advanced through the hole punched by the triarii, and set themselves up to press eastward towards the bulk of the Carthaginian force. 

While this maneuver succeeded in breaking an opening in the Carthaginian line, without swift support on the VI Legion’s right flank from the other Romans deployed eastward, it would be possible for Mago to advance into the short axis of the VI Legion’s right flank, and possibly separate them from the support of their fellow legions.