Chapter 72: Youngsters

Chapter 72: Youngsters

Maximus continued, “...Then, without stopping, you’ll advance quickly along the road to the west. Along the way, Pompeii soldiers may have started to pursue you from behind or may already be shooting arrows at you from the city walls close to the road. If you act too slowly or react sluggishly, you could fall under their arrows or be caught and surrounded by the enemy.

“When you reach the Herculaneum Gate, you’ll have to fight the enemy guards there. You must kill them as quickly as possible so that before the enemy’s main force arrives, you can secure the gate and allow our main force, which will be lying in ambush outside the city, to enter smoothly. Only then can we achieve final victory... Now, I ask you: Can you do it?!”

The troops were silent for a moment before a few soldiers finally responded in hushed tones, “...We can... do it...”

Maximus sternly surveyed the group, saying, “It seems you know your limits. If you can’t even complete such a simple drill, how could you possibly succeed in a raid on Pompeii and return safely? As your leader, my main concern is whether you can come back alive. That’s why I want you to repeat this drill over and over, not only in the daytime but also at night, until you’ve mastered it so well that you can complete the entire simulated operation with your eyes closed in the shortest time possible. Only by sweating more in training can we bleed less in battle!

“I sincerely hope that on the day we capture Pompeii, every one of you will be alive to receive the envious gazes of the other battalions and hear them sincerely praise, ‘The soldiers of the logistics camp’s guard unit are the best! They are heroes capable of creating miracles!'”

Moved by their leader’s heartfelt words, the soldiers no longer panted or slouched; instead, they stood tall with renewed vigor.

Taking advantage of the moment, Carminus loudly asked, “Brothers, should we continue the training?!”

“YES!!!” the soldiers shouted in unison.

Watching the soldiers resume their training, Quintus remarked softly, “There are indeed outstanding individuals among the slaves.”

“Are you talking about Maximus?” Scaepula asked, sensing something in his tone.

Quintus nodded but said no more. Instead, he turned to Aulus and said, “I think you should lead our comrades to join the training as well. We’ve been out of combat for more than ten years, and our skills are probably rusty. We don’t want to make mistakes during the raid and become a laughingstock.”

Aulus sneered, “It’s already generous of us not to laugh at them, how dare they have the audacity to laugh at us! However, you’re right. We should train with them a bit so that we can coordinate smoothly during the surprise attack...”

With that, Aulus turned to gather his Nucerian companions. Though he still looked down on these new recruits in the guard team, his extensive experience in warfare had taught him that war is no child’s play and should never be taken lightly!

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In the early morning, in the backyard of the rebel’s headquarters at the olive oil farm, a wooden shed was set up in the open space in front of the kitchen. Inside, there were over a dozen simple wooden tables and benches, serving as the “exclusive dining hall” for the logistics camp’s support department.

At this moment, a group of teenagers was having breakfast there. Most of them had already finished eating, with only a few still chewing slowly. One of the boys was relatively small and delicate, with clear features that made him resemble a girl. He was Quintus’ only grandson, Varus Quintus.

Since the Nucerians had brought their families to the camp, Maximus had assigned the elderly and women to the support department, while their children were placed in the youth squad. Because Maximus treated them no differently from his own men, even though they had to live separately from their families, the Nucerians were able to accept this arrangement.

“Hurry up, Varus! We’re all waiting for you!” urged Acco.

Varus quickly stuffed the remaining bread into his mouth and gulped down the leftover oatmeal in the pot.

“I’ve already got your shield and sword. Let’s head straight to the training ground,” said Marcus, handing him a wooden shield and sword. These were made by the people in the armory, smaller and lighter than the ones used by soldiers in training, but much more refined.

“Thanks!” Varus said, taking the equipment.

“Let’s go,” Acco said, patting Varus on the back as he led the way out of the dining hall.

Since his parents’ deaths, and although his grandfather was somewhat neglectful, Varus had never experienced such hard labor. But influenced by the enthusiastic atmosphere, he neither slacked off nor resented Marcus’ strictness. Instead, he diligently followed Marcus’ instructions and worked earnestly.

Two hours later, Gracchus began inspecting the trenches completed by the two groups.

“The first group finished first,” Gracchus observed, “but the trench walls aren’t steep enough, the sharp stakes at the bottom aren’t buried deep or numerous enough, and there isn’t enough water poured in... Imagine this: if, on a real battlefield, the enemy tries to cross a wide trench to attack your camp, but the steep walls and slippery ground make it difficult for them to climb out once they’re in... If they set up a wooden ladder to quickly cross and accidentally fall into the trench, they would land on the densely packed sharp stakes below. The only thing waiting for them would be death...” Gracchus explained the shortcomings as he demonstrated the scenarios himself.

Covered in dust, the youngsters stood in line at the side. At an age when they should have been playing without worries, they were instead listening to an old soldier recount the bloody realities of life and death on the battlefield. But no one seemed to find it strange; instead, they listened intently.

“...By comparison, although the second group took longer, they did a better job in these aspects.” Gracchus calmly gave his final judgment: “Based on your performances, the second group wins this round!”

Cassius, Marcus, and their teammates cheered loudly. Varus couldn’t help but join in the shouting, feeling the collective pride that came from their shared effort and success.

The youths in the first group were a bit dejected, but Acco took responsibility right away: “It’s my fault that we lost this time. I was too focused on speed and didn’t enforce strict enough standards. I hope you can forgive me!”

One of the youths quickly responded, “It’s not just your fault, Squad Leader; we all share the blame! Teacher Maximus once told us, ‘It’s impossible not to make mistakes. What matters is recognizing them and correcting them!'”

“Gallus is right. We should learn from today’s lesson and aim to beat the second group next time!” another boy shouted.

“Yeah, next time we’ll definitely win!” The youths in the first group yelled, regaining their fighting spirit.

Ah, being young is amazing! Gracchus watched the scene of the youths’ excitement with a smile. After a moment, he raised his voice again and said, “Next, we’ll do one-on-one combat training!”

The youngsters cheered even louder. Compared to the highly disciplined formation drills and the grueling engineering tasks, this was their favorite activity—who wouldn’t enjoy a bit of rough-and-tumble play?

Only Varus and the other newly joined youths felt a bit nervous. Although they had been training for two days, this was their first time engaging in one-on-one sword combat.

Gracchus paired up the youths as evenly as possible to ensure that the opponents were well-matched in skill, which was essential for effective training.

“Varus, your opponent is Dorin.”

Varus was stunned: My opponent is a girl?!

Maximus didn’t hold any gender biases. He had included five girls in the youth squad, who trained just like the boys. While he didn’t plan for them to fight in battles when they grew up, he hoped the training would help them develop strong, healthy bodies, making them less prone to illness and able to keep up during the troop’s movements.

But when Dorin stood in front of Varus, any complaints he had vanished.

Dorin, 14 years old, was the daughter of slaves on the farm and had joined the logistics camp of the rebel army early on. When she first arrived, she was quite frail, but after six months of better nutrition and being in the midst of her growth spurt, she now stood a head taller than Varus and had a sturdy physique. If not for her more delicate facial features and slightly developed chest, she could easily be mistaken for a boy.

“Hey, watch yourself. I’m not going to hold back,” Dorin said, looking Varus straight in the eye before charging at him with her wooden shield.

Varus raised his shield to block, but the impact of the two shields colliding made him realize that he was weaker than his opponent. He was pushed back a step.

Dorin charged again with her shield, and once more, Varus tried to block, only to be pushed back again, this time his arm was also starting to feel numb. So when Dorin charged for the third time, he didn’t dare block her directly and chose to dodge instead.