Cato stood on the forest borders. His sword hung from his scabbard. 7 years he had served for his emporer. Centurion Vivard Scario Cato had been gived command of the 3rd century of the 2nd battalion. He hadnt slept for 2 days, his eyelids feeling like lead. His optio came running out of the trees with news about the distant army of savages.
"Sir! Our scouts told us that there is a army of about 12,000 men, 4000 horses and 40 or so chariots. If you ask me sir.."
Cato rounded on his optio. "If I wanted your fucking advice I would have asked for it. Go back to the Legate and tell them that we need a relief force. There fucking insane if they think a century can stand up to a Briton army. Get Lucius and tell him to position his men in the tree line. If the scouts are right, they shoudl be out in the open ground. We will need some auxillery cavelry and atleast 8 more centurys to hold them off."
"Aye aye sir, 8 centurys and a unit of auxillarys". Catos optio turned and ran back into the forest as fast as he could. This is going to be fucking messy, thought Cao, but he was ready to die and he would take a whole cohort down befor the bastards took him.
Cato walked back to were his men were sat, resting, waiting for there impending deaths. Some will die, some will break and run, and they, too, will die. The smell of woodsmoke drifted past his nostrils and he caught snippets of the soldiers idle chatter.
"Just what the fuck does the legate think were made of? Do they think all romans have balls of steel and shit fire?" This made Cato laugh. Other soldiers told eachother jokes and, even the worst ones, were helpful. Anything to make them forget about the fate thatawaits them at the end of a speartip.
"LADS! TO ARMS LADS!" The call came from the drill seargent, a feirce bastard called Bulra. The men quickly donned armor and picked up there sheilds. Some were already running to the tree line. When Cato arrived, all he could see was a seething mass of men hauling themselfs over the plain. It was a rabble. In a straight fight against a roman arm, they would have no chance, but the odds change as soon as there are only 82 men standing in your way.
"Dont be scared. Dont show fear. Even these bastards have mothers and fathers. There humans. There just as scared as you. More of them will die. And if you must die, fight like the devil was on your backs and take as man of them down as you can!"
These words boosted the mens morals. Men will die, but it is for the greater good. "JAVALINS! AT THE READY!" The men at the back picked up there javalins and pulled there arms back.
"RELEASE!" At these words 30 javalins were thrown into the air. They soared throw the air and each one found there target. They pinned men to the ground and the air was rent with the screams of the dying. Nobody stopped to help them and the charge continued.
"MAKE READY! SHEILDS UP!" The men simultaniosly brought up there sheilds. It was atleast 5 seconds until the first wave hit but it felt like a eternity. The wave hit the roman century like a sledge hammer and Cato could hear the sound of the first Roman to be injured.
"HOLD! HOLD THE GROUND!" The short swords all them men had were designed for this. Stabbing rather that slashing. The air was filled with the dying men. Cato found himself face to face with a large, insane looking britain. His face distorted with his anger. He raised up his claymore the slam down into the roman but Cato managed to rais his sheild as the sword bounces of it and Cato felt the impact ran up his arm.
As the briton drew back his sword to strike again but Cato lifted his sword and stabbed him in the crotch, making the man fall to his knees and drop his sword. As he was screaming in pain, Cato drew back his sword and stabbed it into the mans throught. As he fell to the ground, blood spiling out his throught and slowly trickling into his lungs, drowning him slowly.
The struggle went on. 1 by 1 the romans were killed off, the numbers slowly declinging. 13 dead, 25 wounded and trying to crawl back. Cato saw the situation was hopless but they would make there name. The 3rd century of the 2nd battalion would be the first century to be completly wiped out in britain.
The britains kept throwing themselfs at the wall of sheilds and swords, a slow victory but a victory none the less. it was inevitble...
The bugle sounded and they burst out the trees, flanking the britons. They burst into there flank and they strew people aside. The auxillary had arrived. The centurys had been sent, but only 5 were spared, but they were welcome. They were lined up behind the tree line and awaiting orders. The head Centurion being Cato was given charge over the 6 centurys.
"Nice of you little fuckers to make it here on time." He noticed a gash on his knee but it didnt hinder him so it was no use in complaining. "Now we need to show these cunts that we have balls of Iron and that we shit fire!"

S'just a little somthing. Nobody will read it but im proud of it :]

Centurion: Senior officer in a century
Century: A 82 man squad
cohort: 9 centurys
Optio: 2nd in command of a century
Legate: The senior officers of the roman army
Auxillarys: Cavelry used to assist soldiers

:D Im thinkin about making this a regular thing to run alongside the music. Comment to leave me your thoughts :D