"Encircle them, get them from behind, get them!" Screamed the Lance-Corporal, as he rode on. He had to think fast in such a case, but luckily there wasn't much need for thinking. They had caught the enemy by partial surprise, and they'd show them what it meant to face an elite of the true Romans. 

He quickly placed his sword in his teeth (by the handle, for he knew only idiots and writers - arguably the same - thought soldiers stuck blades in their mouth) and quickly snapped off two pistol shots at any enemies who were closer to trees or other terrain that could not be navigable by horse. Just as quickly he put them away and drew his sword once more.

He swung the blade in the air a few more times with a meaningless scream of battle, before giving off two quick whistles. As he approached the enemy he screamed "Ei Fritz! Ein gefe til eseis!" hoping the old Varangian tongue passed down by his kin still shared enough German roots for them to understand. As the lines began to close, he greeted his teeth as he prepared to cut down the first kraut he got to, aiming for his neck to get the head right off.