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26.59% Fallout:Industrial Baron in Caesar's Legion / Chapter 25: Bloodbath

Chương 25: Bloodbath

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As both sides prepared for a brutal fight, I used the days leading up to it to make multiple trips between my refuge and the Legion's camp. For three days, I did nothing but fly back and forth, bringing as much mortar ammunition as possible. I knew this would be the perfect opportunity to use it, and every load I transported in the Vertibird was vital to ensure our advantage.

The Sundogs' camp was only a few kilometers from our position, perfectly vulnerable to a massive bombardment. All we needed was enough ammunition to saturate their defenses and prepare to unleash hell upon them. The 81 mm mortars, carefully distributed in our positions, were ready to rain fire on the Sundogs as soon as we had Lanius' green light.

With the Vertibird running at full capacity thanks to the cold fusion generator, fuel was no longer a concern. The technicians at my refuge worked tirelessly, loading munitions and preparing more rounds to keep the flow constant. Meanwhile, I coordinated with my men at the Legion's camp, ensuring all the mortars were operational and in position for when the moment arrived.

Lanius watched me, still with that air of distrust toward my approach. His warrior nature drove him to prefer direct brutality, hand-to-hand combat, while I proposed a more calculated strategy.

"So your plan is to defeat them from here, without even facing them directly," he repeated with a slight tone of disapproval as he watched my men prepare the mortars.

"Exactly, Legate," I replied calmly, pointing to the lined-up weapons. "From this position, we can bombard their camp before they even manage to advance. The profligates have made a mistake by positioning their camp so close to us. They're within range of our long-range mortars, and with a massive barrage of high-explosive rounds, we'll soften the ground for the legionaries' charge. Once weakened by the bombardment, the resistance your forces will face will be minimal."

Lanius was silent for a few seconds, contemplating the possibility. I knew he wasn't one to favor long-range tactics. For him, glory lay in the clash of swords, in the blood spilled in combat. But he wasn't a fool, and if there was something that could offer him a crushing victory without unnecessarily wearing down his men, he was willing to listen.

Lanius looked at me, evaluating my words with his typical coldness. Despite his reservations about my strategy, my promise of total devastation seemed to stir something in him.

"How much damage do you think you can inflict on the profligates from here?" Lanius asked, keeping his gaze fixed on me.

I smiled, confident in my plan. "I have over two thousand rounds, and I swear by Lord Caesar, I'm going to use every one of them. I'll cause a massacre so great that even the god Mars will be eager to witness the profligates being torn apart. I won't stop firing until the ground is a crater so deep it can be seen for kilometers."

The smile didn't leave my face. The impact would be monumental, we could destroy their camp from a safe distance. The mortars were already lined up, my men ready to fire as soon as the order was given.

Lanius slowly nodded, his mask of Mars giving him an even more imposing appearance. "Then, Gaius, do not invoke Lord Caesar's name in vain—make sure your promise is kept. Let the profligates know the true power of the Legion."

The Legion's forces outnumbered the Sundog tribals by a wide margin. We would strike first, while the bulk of the Legion positioned themselves in the triplex acies. The attack was to be launched in the early morning, ensuring that as many tribals as possible were caught off guard, maximizing terror.

My men, well-prepared and disciplined, were ready to unleash hell upon the Sundogs.

"Centurion Gaius," Drusus called out as he inspected the mortars, ensuring they were spaced adequately to prevent catastrophic explosions should one malfunction. "Everything is ready, just give the word, and we'll rain fire on the profligates."

The first rays of sunlight illuminated the battlefield, and that's when I saw it: a torch moving from right to left. It was Lanius' signal. The time had come.

"Very well, gentlemen… no mercy for the profligates!" I ordered, motioning to the ammunition. My men, trained for this moment, responded with speed and precision. With a single motion of my hand, they began loading the mortars.

The sound of the rounds being fired surrounded us. Within seconds, dozens of mortars thundered in unison, as if the very sky were exploding. My legionaries worked like a well-oiled machine—loading, firing, and cleaning the mortar tubes in perfectly synchronized cycles. There was no room for mistakes; they had practiced for hours to perfect this moment.

From a distance, I could see the red flashes far off, as explosions began to consume the enemy camp. Dust and debris clouds rose swiftly, obscuring the tribals' view as our projectiles rained down upon them.

Each shot was a death sentence for the Sundogs. The flashes continued, each one a fulfilled promise of total destruction. My men did not relent, firing at maximum speed, the deafening sound of the mortars filling the air as the ground trembled beneath our feet.

"Keep it up!" I shouted. "Don't stop firing until there's nothing left."

I could imagine the chaos on the other side—the screams of the profligates, their confusion as their vehicles exploded and their warriors fell, one after another, under our rain of destruction.

For endless minutes, the mortars roared without pause. Occasionally, we saw massive explosions in the distance, likely indicating that we had hit some fuel depot, lighting up the horizon with a fierce glow. Smoke billowed, and the echo of the blasts reverberated in our ears—a symphony of destruction that went on uninterrupted.

The legionaries around me maintained a steady rhythm, firing without rest, but slowly the massive stockpile of ammunition we had brought began to dwindle. The last round was loaded and fired, marking the end of our artillery barrage. Still, through my binoculars, I saw the explosions continue—residual echoes of the devastation we had unleashed.

The legionaries descended like a hurricane of destruction, organized into their three characteristic lines of the triplex acies. Every soldier knew their role in this grim dance, a lesson etched into them through blood and fire during their training. The vexillarius marched at the front, bearing the bull standard like a beacon for the men following behind, infusing them with almost superhuman strength. The rifles spat fire, perhaps shooting once or twice, and the real combat began when the legionaries threw down their firearms and unsheathed their machetes, gleaming in the first strike of the morning sun.

In the Sundogs' camp, chaos reigned. The defenders, caught off guard by the violent bombardment, desperately tried to organize, but the legionary tide was unstoppable. The swords and machetes of the legionaries struck with deadly precision, cutting tendons and shattering bones. A single slash to the side was enough to spill the guts of the tribals, who, despite their savage fury, could not match the brutal discipline of the Legion. The screams of the dying mingled with the dull sound of steel slicing through flesh and the clash of blades.

From my vantage point, I watched as a section of veterans flanked one of the Sundogs' defensive positions. The tribals, huddled behind destroyed vehicles, tried to fire their weapons in a desperate defense, but the legionaries quickly surrounded them. Machetes fell with force, slitting throats and severing limbs, while the Sundogs were reduced to a bloody mass.

Further away, a group of Sundogs attempted to flee toward the hills, but the prime legionaries, armed with their bolt-action rifles, took them down one by one, like hunters picking off helpless prey. The gaps in the enemy line widened with every passing minute, and the prime legionaries showed no mercy. In the narrow streets of the camp, the tribal resistance crumbled under the relentless advance of the Legion's ranks.

The terrain, already devastated by the mortar fire, became a swamp of blood and debris. The legionaries, fueled by their thirst for revenge, crushed any remaining resistance. There was no order to stop, only to advance, destroy, and claim.

The carnage in the Sundogs' camp continued without respite. The ground, blackened by previous explosions and stained with blood, bore witness to the Legion's relentless fury. Every step the legionaries took was marked by the crunch of bones underfoot, the metallic clang of swords striking against makeshift defenses, and the agonizing cries of the wounded and dying.

I could see survivors from the Sundogs trying to make a disorganized retreat. Many fled on foot, abandoning the wrecked vehicles that had once been their greatest advantage at the start of the battle.

The vexillarius continued to wave the bull standards, as if Caesar himself were watching over the battlefield. The wind, heavy with the smell of blood and gunpowder, made the banners flutter while more and more legionaries swept through the camp's last defenses. It didn't matter where I looked—the same fate awaited them tribals torn apart, legionaries advancing without pause, and a palpable sense of despair among the remaining Sundogs.

A small group of Sundogs had tried to entrench themselves in the ruins of a building, improvising a barricade with rubble and bodies. The veteran legionaries showed no mercy. They tossed improvised explosives to clear the way, and within seconds, flames and smoke engulfed what remained of the tribal resistance.

When the legionaries finally broke through the line and entered, the sound of swords cutting through bodies echoed like a funeral drum. The screams died out, and the once-bustling camp prepared for battle was now nothing more than a graveyard for the Sundogs.

I took a moment to lower my binoculars and assess the scene. The Sundogs, who had once faced the Legion with such ferocity, were completely defeated. There was no mercy in the legionaries' eyes, no truce. This wasn't just a victory; it was a message: the Legion does not forget, and it certainly does not forgive.

The battlefield was littered with bodies—some mutilated, others charred, and many torn apart by the explosions. The legionaries continued to advance among the debris and remains, finishing off any Sundog who still breathed. It wasn't just the brutality of the Legion that made this scene so striking, but the fact that the Sundogs, once feared for their ambushes and tactics, now lay in the dust like any other tribe crushed under Caesar's boot.

I looked at my men, still on the hill, watching everything unfold. It felt strange to think that while the Legion carried out the bloodiest part of its work, we had remained above, serving as the precise artillery that had paved the way for this massacre. My century stood firm, ready for whatever was needed, but our task was complete.

With the battle practically decided and the Sundogs defeated, I ordered my men to pack up the mortars, making sure not to leave anything behind. Every piece was essential for the next battle, and though the victory had been decisive, we always had to be prepared for whatever came next. The work was not over, and we knew well that the Legion never wasted anything.

We descended the hill swiftly, advancing toward the devastated camp. The atmosphere was heavy, thick with the stench of death, gunpowder, and smoke. The legionaries had already started gathering the surviving Sundogs. Those who hadn't been killed in the fight were now captives, soon to be turned into slaves—just another cog in Caesar's war machine.

My men joined the efforts, searching every corner of the camp for useful equipment. Weapons, ammunition, vehicle parts—anything that could be of value. The Sundogs' wagons, though mostly damaged, could be salvaged with the right repairs. "Every piece counts," I reminded my legionaries as they scoured the area.

On the other hand, we began placing slave collars on the captives. Some tribals were still breathing heavily, wounded but not enough to have died in battle. Those would be useful. The legionaries placed the collars without mercy, knowing that one way or another, the Sundogs would now serve the Legion—whether in construction, forced labor, or as future soldiers.

As the sun began to set, we ensured that no corner of the camp was left unchecked. Every man knew his task, and though the battle was over, the work of the Legion never truly ended. We knew this was just a small victory, as there were still many more tribes to conquer


SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO
Chill_ean_GUY Chill_ean_GUY

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Chương 26: The butcher's fury

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The fervor among the legionaries after the victory was palpable. As I moved through what remained of the Sundogs' camp, I saw many of my men celebrating, offering prayers to Mars and his son, Caesar, thanking them for granting such a decisive victory. The prayers were fervent, almost euphoric, as this battle had not only reaffirmed the Legion's power but had also settled old scores with the Sundogs.

Legionaries raised their bloodied weapons to the sky, shouting praises to the glory of Caesar. Some traced the symbols of Mars over the fallen bodies, honoring war as the path to transcendence. It was a common sight in the Legion: victory wasn't just a military fact, it was a divine manifestation, a reaffirmation of the destiny the Legion had embraced.

One of the few who wasn't caught up in the frenzy of celebration, however, was Lanius. I found him standing apart, staring at the horizon. His breathing was heavy, and though his mask, bearing the visage of Mars, hid his face, it was evident that the battle had left its mark on him. He was covered in blood, and at his feet lay several tribal bodies, their wounds bearing the brutal slashes of his sword.

I approached him cautiously. Lanius was a man who didn't know fatigue, but this battle, which had been personal for him, seemed to have affected him in a different way.

"The honor of Lord Caesar has been avenged," Lanius said without turning, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. He didn't need to turn to know it was me approaching—the heavy and distinctive sound of my power armor was unmistakable.

I stopped beside him, looking out over the battlefield from his perspective. The remains of the Sundogs' camp lay silent now, only disturbed by the distant sounds of legionaries securing prisoners and collecting equipment.

"It's been a bloody battle, but the legionaries have far outmatched the profligates," I said, glancing at the scattered bodies of the tribals who had fought to their last breath.

Lanius, still drenched in the blood of the fallen enemies, turned slightly toward me, his mask hiding his face but not the intensity of his gaze. This battle was not just a victory for the Legion—it was a chance to erase the failure of Paullus, a debt Lanius had been eager to settle. Lanius would not be another Paullus, and that weight seemed to be a constant burden on his shoulders.

"How are your men?" he finally asked, his deep voice carrying the authority of a seasoned warrior.

"Alive, Legate. Ready for whatever comes next," I responded, considering what lay ahead after this victory.

"Your mortars... they're a powerful weapon. They could serve Lord Caesar well in his conquests in the west," Lanius said, his tone contemplative, already thinking ahead to future campaigns.

I nodded, knowing the mortars had been crucial in this battle. We had decimated the Sundogs before they could even muster a proper counterattack, and that advantage hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Legate, they're at your disposal," I replied calmly. "We can produce more and even manufacture mortars capable of firing heavier rounds—120 mm or even 240 mm. However, those would require vehicles for transport, which wouldn't be as easy to manage on the battlefield. But if you order it, we can make it happen. Though I must warn you, they won't come cheap. It would mean shifting production away from the smaller mortars and adjusting the lines to accommodate heavy ammunition."

Lanius studied me in silence, weighing my words. I knew he was always interested in any tactical advantage, but he also understood the logistical challenges the Legion faced. Slaves and animals could only carry so much, and vehicles remained a limited resource.

"Understood, Legate," I affirmed with conviction. "The next shipment of light mortars will be dedicated to Lord Caesar's legion. I'll make the necessary preparations."

"Take your flying machine and inform Nicodemus to advance. There shouldn't be much resistance left in the profligates' cities. We need to seize control of the entire territory before Caesar's captives escape," Lanius commanded, his voice as severe and calculating as always. He paused, then added, "Speak with the decanus in charge of inventory and choose what you desire from the captured equipment. I'll assign more legionaries to your cohort. They'll be useful in the vanguard."

"At your command, Legate," I replied, hesitating for a moment before adding, "But I would like to make a request."

Lanius turned his masked face toward me, his silence heavy with evaluation. Finally, he spoke.

"Speak."

"I've noticed that much of the healing work is done by slave women, but their work is subpar. I request permission to train some legionaries in the art of healing. I don't mean using forbidden medicines, but improving their skills in basic operations and sutures. During the skirmishes, we had too many legionaries suffer infections or be crippled due to poor treatment. Much of what determines survival is how quickly someone is treated, and we can't always transport them back to camp in time to save them," I explained.

Lanius remained still, his gaze heavy, before finally nodding. "It's an unusual request, Gaius, but not without merit. The Legion can't afford to lose men to incompetent medical care. However, make no mistake—legionaries are warriors, not healers. If you think you can train them without weakening their combat spirit, go ahead. But remember, their skill with the sword and loyalty to Caesar come first. Healing is secondary."

I nodded, grateful he had granted my request. "Thank you, Legate. I won't fail you."

Lanius turned back to the horizon, ending the conversation. "Go now, Gaius. Inform Nicodemus and choose well from the inventory. Time is of the essence."

Without delay, I headed to the vertibird, knowing that time was crucial. The flight to Nicodemus' camp wouldn't take long, but it was vital he received Lanius' orders as soon as possible.

Upon arrival, Nicodemus' camp was bustling with activity, the legionaries keeping watch over the river crossings and securing strategic routes. The landing was smooth, and as soon as I stepped out of the vertibird, Nicodemus was already there, waiting for me.

"Centurion Gaius," he said, a rare light smile on his face, unusual for a man who normally maintained a stern expression.

"Nicodemus, I bring direct orders from Lanius. The Sundogs have been defeated, and now we must move quickly to take control of the towns before Caesar's captives escape. It's time to advance."

"Legionaries, break camp! We cross the river at once!" Nicodemus shouted to his men, with the same unwavering determination that had marked all our campaigns. The legionaries wasted no time, dismantling their tents, readying their weapons, and packing the essentials for the advance.

I stepped closer to him as we watched his men mobilize. "You didn't waste any time."

Nicodemus chuckled lightly. "You know how it is, Gaius. There's no time to waste when it comes to Lanius; he doesn't take inefficiency lightly. Tell me, how was the battle? Did your mortars deliver?"

I nodded, a smile of satisfaction crossing my face. "More than I expected. We positioned ourselves on the hill and rained fire down on their camp. The explosions tore through their vehicles. By the time the legionaries charged, there was little resistance. When we engaged in close combat, the profligates were already in ruins."

Nicodemus looked at me, impressed. "That must have been quite a sight. I've heard of your mortars, but seeing them in action must have been something worthy of the son of Mars."

"The same Lanius was impressed," I replied proudly. "Enough to ask me to increase production and send more weapons to the Legion, so Lord Caesar can use them in his campaign."

"Weapons worthy of Caesar himself, what envy. Your mortars will aid in Lord Caesar's conquests both east and west," Nicodemus said, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder of my power armor before heading off to guide his men across the river.

I, on the other hand, returned to the camp. I had in mind to take advantage of Lanius' offer and see what I could obtain from the cohort's storage: quality weapons like light or heavy machine guns, and maybe even an anti-material rifle if I was lucky.

Upon reaching the camp, I began searching through the captured equipment depots. Hours passed as I rummaged through crates and cabinets, looking for the most useful items for my centuria. Among the mix of deteriorated weapons and standard gear, I found a few gems: a heavy machine gun in good condition and two anti-material rifles that, with some repairs, could be lethal in the right hands.

I seized the opportunity and ordered the weapons to be taken to my tent. These resources couldn't be wasted; in future battles, this equipment would make all the difference.

While I was busy gathering equipment, I noticed something unusual: all of Lanius' centurions were pale. This could only mean one thing: Lanius was furious. I decided to find out what had happened, so I began talking to other legionaries, seeking information in every corner of the camp.

The truth quickly came to light. Many of the Sundogs' survivors had managed to reach their cities before us. In a final act of defiance, the profligates had forced the men of their tribes to kill the women and children to deny the Legion its most precious prize: slaves. This desperate act and destruction of what Lanius saw as "property of Caesar" had unleashed his wrath like never before.

What was most disturbing was how that fury manifested. Lanius moved through the camp with palpable tension, like a beast chained and ready to break free. Every step he took echoed with the intensity of his contained rage, and everyone in his path did their best to avoid meeting his eyes or getting too close.

Legionaries who had accompanied Lanius confirmed everything: when they reached the main towns, they were met with a scene few in the Legion had ever witnessed. The tribal men, weeping, with their hands stained by the blood of their own families, had committed the unthinkable to prevent their loved ones from falling into Legion slavery. It was an act of desperation, one that showed how far the profligates were willing to go to avoid the fate awaiting them under Caesar's yoke.

I barely had time to process it all before all the centurions were summoned to Lanius' tent. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, and each of us knew that the legate's fury was about to erupt. The silence in the tent was absolute. The only sound was the soft but constant hum of my power armor, while everyone present kept their eyes fixed on Lanius, waiting for his words.

Lanius stood before us, motionless, his mask of Mars hiding his face, making it impossible to see the fury surely burning within him. However, the weight of his silence was enough to make everyone feel the gravity of the situation. We knew that this failure, this challenge from the Sundogs, would not go unpunished.

Finally, Lanius broke the suffocating silence with a voice as cold as it was lethal: "This act of defiance by the profligates against Lord Caesar's property cannot go unpunished. They dared to kill the Legion's captives… they must pay with blood. All survivors of the battle, and anyone found in the territories that once belonged to the Sundogs, shall be crucified."

Seeing that Lanius had nothing more to say, I responded with a firm "At your command, Legate," bowing my head slightly in obedience. The silence of the tent weighed heavily on me as I left.

I headed to the area where we had left the prisoners, still chained and huddled together, their gazes distant,not knowing what awaited them. Lanius' decision was final, and there was no escape for them. Every one of those profligates was now a walking corpse.

I contacted my men by radio, and within minutes, everyone began moving. Lanius' order was clear, and there was no room for hesitation. We gathered all the wood we could find, improvising crosses. The survivors, still shackled, watched with curiosity as we worked.

The sound of hammers driving nails into wood echoed in the air, mingling with the screams of the prisoners. One by one, they were bound to the crosses. Some cried, others struggled, but all ended the same, their hands and feet nailed to the wooden posts.

The sun began to set on the horizon, and soon the shadows of the crosses would stretch across the ground like grim monuments to the Legion's relentless power.

This was repeated for days, an endless march of blood and nails. Our forces spread across the territories that once belonged to the Sundogs, and wherever we found a breathing soul, we were merciless. The prisoners, the few men who hadn't taken their own lives after what they'd done, were crucified without exception.

The news of what had happened in the villages spread quickly. In all corners of the tribal territories, men, in a desperate act, killed their own families to avoid them falling into Legion slavery. It was a direct challenge to Caesar's power, one we could not allow to spread. Every time we crucified one of them, it wasn't just punishment for what they had done, it was a warning to any other tribe that might think to follow their example.

We couldn't allow this act of defiance to be replicated in other regions under the Legion's control. Slavery wasn't just a punishment for the defeated; it was the engine that kept our forces moving, and if we let rebellion spread, we risked losing the pillar that supported our advance.

In two weeks, we had crucified fifteen thousand profligates. The landscape was left empty, desolate, every village turned into a forest of crosses. The lands that were once full of life now only echoed with suffering. The Legion had sent a clear message: there was no place for defiance, no mercy for those who dared destroy Caesar's property.

The stench of death filled the air, as the crosses rose like macabre monuments in all directions. These lands, now barren, would serve as a warning to any others who thought of standing against the Legion.


SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO
Chill_ean_GUY Chill_ean_GUY

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