[color=ed1c24][center][h1]The Legate Arrives[/h1][/center] [center]Siege of Indianapolis[/center][/color] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/d9A0K82.gif[/img][/center] [i]“Mitterent!”[/i] The loud crack of a howitzer sounded out across the battlefield as the latin order to fire was given. Thin smoke trailed around the artillery as the legionaries quickly reloaded in timed and disciplined precision. [i]“Mitterent!”[/i] A second gun opened fire down the line. Followed by a third, and a fourth and on and on down the battery. A symphony of death had started to sound, and the peels of explosions in the distance registered that the teams were hitting their mark, ripping through men as well as brick and mortar just as easily. Midwestern field artillery commanders looked on with pride and stoic awe at how easy and natural it had been to drill The Legion’s artillery crews to fire their guns like a violinist might play a stradivarius. Now the fruits of their labors were coming to bear. Indianapolis was aflame.The Legion had finally come. Legatus Aurelius had arrived with all four of the Eastern Legions, more than 20,000 crimson clad legionaries now covered the hills overlooking the city. Legion standards and golden bull banners unfurled, brahmin-skin drums beating and animal horns trumpeting to announce their arrival. There was a cacophony of cries and chanting in latin as Centurions and Decani shouted encouragements and insults alike to their men, extolling them to great feats of valor and to die in the service of Caesar and Mars. Chainsaws and rippers revved, war dogs barked, and horses stamped the ground. The full military might of the Legion was on display to strike fear into the heart of the defenders, and the Legatus was far from done. Towards the rear of the line, Aurelius himself sat astride his horse alongside Vulpes Inculta and a troop of mounted Praetorians. The standards of each of the four legions at his command, as well as the sacred banner of Caesar were held proudly by Veteran Legionaries standing beside him. Aurelius surveyed his assembled troops with a discerning eye, ready to correct any gap in his legions’ organization and mentally planning how the initial stages of the battle might play out. “We’ll be inside the city before nightfall,” He said casually to Vulpes, “Denver was a much harder city to crack than this, and we had less than half the men we do now. The Brotherhood has been softening up the defenders for days now, and they’re ready to break. Their courage hangs by the thinnest thread.” “Desperate men are capable of extraordinary things,” Vulpes replied, “We should proceed with caution regardless of our confidence in victory.” “Of course. The wise counselor as always Vulpes,” Aurelius turned to his comrade with a grin, “Mars looks ill on the commander that offers celebration before his enemy is broken. We cannot afford to lose his favor now. Not when such demons as the Cult worships are arrayed against us.” “Perhaps if we lose it, the god of the New Canaanites might bless us with his favor,” Vulpes chuckled softly, “The missionaries already whisper that he’s blessed Caesar. They say their god brought him back from the brink of death.” “Whatever the case. Mars is the god of bloody war and strife. I would offer no other prayers but to him. It is to him that I dedicate the sacrifice of life that we will beget today.” A hard riding legionnaire interrupt the pair’s budding theological debate, his horse halting quickly before Aurelius and offering a sharp salute, “Salve Legatus. The Midwesterners say they are ready to advance. They await your word to attack. You have command of the field.” “Very well,” Aurelius nodded, and he raised a hand, “Signal the attack. Skirmishers forward, recruits behind. Primes and Veterans remain in reserve for now.” He lowered his hand swiftly and yelled out at the top of his lungs, “ADVANCE!” Horns sounded simultaneously across the hillside, whilst two great drums the size of a man began to beat slowly and rhythmically. Suddenly a commotion began as legionaries erected crosses all along the line. Crucified victims, spies and captured cult sympathizers that had been captured by Vulpes’ men, were gruesomely tied and nailed to them and screamed in agony as they were raised skyward. A final indignity meant to show that no mercy would be offered, and to terrorize those in the city who still might have hope of victory. Centurions ordered their men to attack, and the legionaries all shouted in unison. The crimson tide surged forward, and the battle commenced. [hr] A Midwestern footsoldier sunk down in his trench as bullets wizzed overhead, the soft thuds of impacts in the dirt behind him was reminder enough to Harlon that he and the rest of his squad were in a deadly crossfire. Positions were advancing all along the entrenchment, and the artillery had done more than its fair share to soften up the defenses, but some key emplacements were still holding strong. He braved a peek out over the trench and could see the fortified position in front of them, sandbags and makeshift walls giving the ghouls within a good firing position. Without power armor, it’d be hell to take. A few well placed shells could do the trick too, but in the heat of battle his squad had gotten separated from the main contingent. They needed to link back up and reorganize the attack. Cursing his luck, Harlon’s attention was suddenly diverted by the sounds of rushing footsteps. Someone quickly jumped down into the trench along with seven other men following swiftly behind. It was immediately clear who they were. Granted it was hard to mistake a contubernium of Caesar’s soldiers as anything but. “Ave amicus,” the leading legionnaire greeted him, he held a 10mm pistol in one hand and a machete in the other. The red and white plumed helmet he wore was proof enough he was the officer, “Decanus Quintilius, what’s the situation?” “It's about time you Legion boys showed up,” Harlon grinned as he began pointing in the direction of the emplacement, “Fortified position about 50 yards ahead or so. They’ve got a good bead on us. Untrained morons can’t hit worth a damn at least though, but we’ve got no cover up ahead. We could use power armor support, but I’m hearing that they’re tied up on other sections. Might be awhile before they can get here.” Quintillus peered out over the trench at the position, nodded grimly, and then turned back to Harlon, “We don’t have time to wait. The Recruits are advancing as we speak. Our orders are to clear the way.” “You mean the first wave is still coming?” Harlon asked, surprised. He'd assumed that [i]this[/i] was the main line. He then immediately remembered back to his CO’s briefing on Legion tactics. They advanced in waves. The least experienced soldiers advancing before the veterans, wearing the enemy down before the elites even got to them. “We’re assigned to the skirmish force. The main group of Recruits for the 5th, 6th, and 8th Cohorts are coming behind us. They’ll be here shortly. If they arrive and we’ve failed to disable this emplacement, I will have failed in my duties. The defenders will dig in deeper, more of our brothers will die and the advance may stall halt.” “So what’s your plan then?” Quintillus looked to Harlon, his expression hidden by the goggles and red bandanna he wore over his face, “Attack.” Quintillus turned to his Legionaries, they immediately understood what they needed to do, “Alright you wretched curs!” Quintillus shouted, “Up and over! We’re going to screen the Recruits advance. The eyes of Mars are upon you now! Do NOT shame him! For Caesar!” “Caesar!” The legionaries replied with a shout, and they began scrambling over the entrenchment. A stray bullet hit home and one of the legionaries fell immediately dead back into the trench. The sheer ferocity of the attack must have surprised the defenders, because the legionaries advanced some distance before their guns were fully brought to bear, but now they were coming under heavy fire from up and down the trench line. The legionaries were taking casualties, but it seemed as if they might actually make it. Soon more and more legionaries were swarming over the position like ants. “Crazy fools The Legion…” Harlon muttered as he fired his weapon and prepared to follow them in. He wasn’t about to let Caesar’s men have all the glory.