Mediterranean Hegemon of Ancient Greece Chapter 908: The Battle of Gela (End)

The four subdivisions under Centurion Diocassis deployed front-to-back, forming a segment roughly twenty-six or twenty-seven meters wide in the right-wing battle line. Positioned in the center, he kept a close watch on his front-rank soldiers in the thick of the fighting.

Compared to the battle at Minoa, this clash seemed far less dangerous. The enemies opposite them didn't look particularly tall or strong. Their attacks weren't ferocious, their impact against the formation lacked power, and they didn't put much pressure on the men... Yet, after observing them at close range for a long while, Diocassis knew his soldiers had met a formidable opponent.

First, the enemy possessed robust defenses. They excelled at using their shields and coordinated flawlessly with one another. Second, they were highly experienced in countering short-sword attacks, largely neutralizing the close-quarters combat the Theonia Legion infantry prided themselves on. Third, their deep combat experience showed in their masterful control of the offensive rhythm. They rarely thrust their spears recklessly. Instead, they focused on absorbing the legionaries' fierce assaults with their long shields, retreating just enough to cushion the impact. The moment the momentum waned, they countered with their spears, forcing their opponents back or even inflicting wounds. As a result, Diocassis's company found itself locked in a grueling cycle of taking three steps forward and two steps back, making agonizingly slow progress.

He naturally had no way of knowing that the Magonid family had originally recruited drifters from Phoenicia and Numidia because they were cheap to hire, capable of enduring immense hardship, and—lacking allegiance to any city-state or tribe—easy to mold into loyal troops. After rigorous training, the Phoeno-Numidian Infantry had indeed become the Magonid family's core force for conquering the Iberian Peninsula. For over a decade, their primary foes had been fierce native tribes. Lacking advantages in sheer strength or speed, the Phoeno-Numidian soldiers relied on tenacious defense and seamless cooperation to wear down their enemies in wars of attrition. They would pin down the main enemy force, allowing the swift Numidian Cavalry or Mauretanian Cavalry to swing around the rear and deliver a crushing blow. This had become the standard tactic used by commanders like Mago and Hasdrubal against the indigenous Iberians. Since most indigenous Iberians wielded the falcata, the Phoeno-Numidian Infantry naturally possessed extensive experience in countering short swords.

As a senior officer of the legion, Diocassis felt his anxiety mounting. Before the battle, Leotychides had briefly outlined his tactical intentions: the Eighth Legion was the Daunian Allied Forces' key to victory in this engagement. Yet, watching his men fight so bitterly on the front line, Diocassis guessed the other companies were faring no better. Since the battle began, the Eighth Legion hadn't thrown open the doors to triumph; instead, they had sunk into a grueling stalemate. He couldn't see the dawn of victory breaking anytime soon...

Just as Diocassis's thoughts began to drift, a familiar, hoarse shout rang out from behind him. "Warriors of the Eighth Legion, I am your Legion Commander! I order you to press the attack! Defeat the enemies before you, and win honor and rewards for yourselves! Warriors of the Eighth Legion..."

It really was Legion Commander Prosous! Diocassis felt a jolt of surprise, quickly followed by unease. In his mind, Prosous was a cool, detached man lacking in overt passion. Whether in training or past battles, the commander had never shouted to rally the troops. For him to suddenly break character like this... had the tide of the entire battle turned against them?

A few sharp-eyed officers shared Diocassis's unease, but the vast majority of the Eighth Legion's rank and file felt a surge of adrenaline. Hearing the voice of the Legion Commander—a man who had commanded them for ten years, demanded absolute discipline, yet delivered them victory and glory—sent their morale skyrocketing. His repeated shouts were answered by a tidal wave of roaring voices: "Hades!! Hades!! Fight!! Fight!!!"

...

Though the Balearic Slingers were trading ranged attacks with the Daionian skirmishers, they had kept a wary eye on the Daionian cavalry. The moment they spotted the enemy horsemen moving toward them, they ignored the light infantry to their front and focused entirely on the riders. Over a thousand slingers remained. Splitting into two groups, they hurled dense volleys of lead bullets at the charging cavalry, hoping to knock the men from their saddles.

Horses neighed and men screamed as cavalrymen tumbled to the ground in rapid succession.

But the Fourth Cavalry Legion had already launched their charge; stopping now was impossible and would only invite greater casualties. Roaring furiously, they drove their warhorses onward, leaping over their groaning comrades to bear down on the enemies spinning their slings just ahead.

Infected by the Fourth Cavalry Legion's courage, the allied cavalry followed closely behind.

Watching the enemy riders burst from the thick dust with overwhelming momentum, the distance closing rapidly, the Balearic Slingers finally panicked. They turned and fled.

The Daionian cavalry closed the gap. Thrusting with spears and trampling with hooves, they shattered the slingers entirely, intentionally herding the routing men toward the Carthaginian formations ahead.

Hundreds of routed troops were forced to crash into the rear of the engaged Carthaginian left wing. The Phoeno-Numidian Infantry at the back had to turn around and slaughter the fleeing men to stop them from disrupting the formation, all while dodging javelins hurled by the Daionian cavalry. Inevitably, this diverted the strength they needed to hold the line against the Eighth Legion's advance.

Meanwhile, the soldiers of the Eighth Legion, inspired by Leotychides, poured all their remaining strength into a fresh offensive.

Ordinarily, the Phoeno-Numidian Infantry wouldn't have feared this. They would have secretly rejoiced, knowing that once the enemy burned through their energy prematurely, it would be their turn to counterattack. But now, struggling to hold the line, they were forced to retreat step by step.

...

Over on the right wing of the Carthaginian army, it was the Daunian Allied Forces who were constantly retreating.

The Carthaginian army already outnumbered the Daunian Allied Forces. By deploying a battle line of equal length, the Carthaginians achieved a deeper formation on their right wing. The soldiers of the Daunian Allied Forces were weaker in individual combat prowess than the Lusitanian Warriors, and they couldn't match the enemy's collective pushing power. After more than an hour of bitter fighting, the slight edge the Lusitanian Warriors had held at the start of the clash had widened into a glaring advantage.

Though the Lusitanian Warriors' offensive had weakened significantly, the resistance and counterattacks of the Camarina and Gela soldiers had faded even faster. The shrieks of comrades falling around them fueled their mounting panic. Buckling under the Lusitanian pressure, the Daionian left wing steadily gave ground. As they retreated, their once-tight formation grew increasingly loose and scattered.

The Lusitanian Warriors seized the chance, pouring into the gaps to strike their foes from the flank. They relentlessly widened the breaches, spreading the carnage all the way to the rear of the Camarina and Gela lines.

Finally, terror broke their will. Some Camarina soldiers at the back of the formation turned and fled. Their flight instantly infected their already wavering comrades nearby, who joined the stampede. An inevitable rout began...

...

The left wing is routing?! Even though Leotychides had mentally prepared himself for this, the news still left him briefly stunned.

A moment later, he collected himself and looked forward. To better gauge the battlefield, he had ridden right up to the rear of the Eighth Legion's formation. From horseback, he could even make out the faces of the enemies crossing swords with his men. Though his personal supervision and the rear-flank attack by the Fourth Cavalry Legion had forced the enemy into a rapid retreat, their faces betrayed no excessive panic. The Eighth Legion's thin line simply couldn't seize the opening to intensify their forward push and achieve a more effective breakthrough... Judging by the current state of the fighting, the stalemate on the right wing would drag on. And time was exactly what the Eighth Legion lacked.

Having spent over twenty years in Sparta, he knew all too well that once a few men broke ranks among the traditional Greek Heavy Infantry, it wouldn't be long before the entire left wing shattered. Then, the collapse would spread to the center...

Leotychides made an immediate decision. "Order the entire army... to retreat!"

Though Leotychides's face remained as wooden as ever, the sheer volume of his voice betrayed his shifting emotions.

Beside him, Muklu felt a similar turmoil. When he repeated the order, his voice trembled. "Quickly... sound... the retreat!"

Because the Daionian retreat signal differed from that of the Greek city-states, the buglers had to sound it twice.

When the horn blared—a sound similar to a Greek army's charge—the soldiers of the Eighth Legion could hardly believe their ears. The enemy opposite them hadn't broken yet. For the horn to sound now meant... we lost?!

As hard as it was to swallow, years of ingrained, ironclad discipline dictated their obedience. After launching a sudden, violent burst of attacks to force the enemy back, the soldiers swiftly wheeled around and retreated...

"Order the men to hasten their retreat! Enter the city through Gela's North Gate and East Gate!" Leotychides commanded. He hadn't lost his head in defeat. He knew clearly that in a total rout, panicked soldiers would instinctively swarm toward the nearest entrance—the West Gate. That would inevitably cause a massive bottleneck, turning them into easy prey for the pursuing enemy. Though the North Gate was further away, the clear roads leading to it would actually allow the men to enter the city faster. Moreover, because most of the Eighth Legion had been deployed on the right wing, they were closer to the North Gate than the forces in the center and on the left.