The Scenario.
Hannibal Barca, commander of the army of Carthage, was in trouble. Having campaigned in Italy for the past several years – he had himself lost count – he had decided to take his army home for some much-needed rest and recovery. To that end he had commandeered a fleet of vessels large enough to transport his army back to North Africa and their families.
At least, that was the plan until a great storm wrecked his host off of the coast of the island of Sicily.
Many of his veteran fighters, native Carthaginians, allies and mercenaries alike, had been killed in the disaster. He was fortunate that not nearly as many had been lost as in the mountain-crossing he’d taken many years ago.
Beyond that problem, though, a greater one presented itself – a group of refugees, barbaric Germans from beyond Greece, were likewise trapped on the island, and they were desperate for the materials and resources that Hannibal needed to maintain his army. There had been a few minor skirmishes with the strange foreigners, but nothing significant.
He knew that that would soon change. As Hannibal Barca, the Annihilator, stared down at the battle-plans set before him with his remaining working eye, he made a silent oath to himself to ensure that things would go in his favor.
---
Alareiks the Bold, Chief of the Visigoths, spent his few free moments angrily poking a fire with the blunt end of a crude javelin. Or at least that was the way things appeared to anyone looking in – in reality, he was sharpening and hardening the end of the weapon to make it more formidable in combat.
He frowned, grim. He did not want to fight – but the many families, women, children, old and young that traveled along with his fighting-men necessitated such an action. There appeared no viable solution, as he could not offer negotiations thanks to the language barrier.
That was something that the Romans had over these new enemies – even if they had lied to him, at least they could speak with him.
Alareiks cursed as the javelin momentarily caught flame, thrusting the rough point into the dirt and ashes near his feet to extinguish it. After he was certain that it had been saved, he went back to the fire-sharpening.
A few minutes later, war-horns began blowing calls to arms all across the camp. Sighing, Alareiks stood up and winced as his knees popped. Then he picked up his shield, placed his helmet on his head, and went to war.
---
For once, Hannibal deigned to serve among his Carthaginian brothers and not watch the battle from the rear as he had for many years. He ached to stretch his legs and arms, to feel the press and chaos of battle and again understand the terror that gripped men’s hearts as death ran amok in the air. He sneezed in the bright sunlight but resisted the temptation to scratch his nose, as to do so he would have to readjust the many straps and weapons on his person – the shield slung across his shoulders, the Spanish saber hanging from his neck and across his chest, and the eighteen-foot tall sarissa that he held with both hands before his person.
He watched idly as the Numidian and Spanish cavalry, mercenaries and allies, massed on the flanks of his battle-lines. The men among them were not here of their own goodwill, but because he had promised them all wealth and bounty in Italy. They still demanded such pay, and if he had his way today they would get more than they would know what to do with.
The skirmishers took the field, loping across the open ground that he had chosen as their battlefield. More Spaniards, swarthy men baring light arms and armor were dispersed around the invaluable slingers he had hired out of their native Balearic Islands while better-armored Carthaginian javelineers watched their flanks and rear. A handful of enemy light infantry had approached them as well, running ahead of the larger host behind them – many of them were horsemen, but swift-footed younger men darted here and there among the cavalry brandishing javelins and strange, short throwing darts of their own.
Within a few heartbeats combat was joined between the two vanguards, lead sling-bullets and short javelins also weighted with lead soaring through the air between the combatants. Many men fell on both sides, but not as many as Hannibal had initially thought would. Some of them chose to close and fight in melee, short swords and hide shields in hand, but after a few bloody minutes the two parties broke off with Hannibal’s the victor. The professionals from the Balearics continued to ward off the fleeing enemy as their less-virtuous comrades stripped the enemy dead and loaded their own upon captured horses until they were out of easy range of their deadly slings, then set to work retrieving their bullets from slain Goths with delicate tools made just for the task.
At his signal, the advance force returned to the line and filtered through it to their respective places to take up supporting roles behind the heavier elements of the army, just as they had done many times against the Romans.
Hannibal mused as the main Visigoth army began to advance. He had chosen not to attempt a double envelopment as he had done at Cannae, as the terrain would not accommodate such an action – they were fighting in a slender, flat stretch of beach nestled between a low-lying cliff face and the Mediterranean Sea. He had chosen the ground as it gave him ample room to work with without running the risk of spreading his forces too thin, as well as the virtue of making the opposing battle line smaller than it might otherwise be, negating their advantage of numbers.
The formation that he had adopted was different from the one he had used in the past – for once sticking to tradition; he used his block of Carthaginian pikemen (a Sacred Band in all but name) to anchor the line and placed the Celts on his left flank, the Spanish foot on the right, along with their mounted brethren, and the Numidian horsemen on the far left. The Balearic slingers had taken up position behind the light infantry blocks – the Celts and Spaniards – so as to rain death over their heads and into those of the Goths trapped among the hedges of sarissa pikes.
“Alexandros would be proud,” Hannibal, current scion of the Barcids chuckled, “or rather not, as I’m not among my cavalry.”
A nearby man laughed and looked over his shoulder. “You’ll get your head knocked in less that way, lord.” The others among them laughed drily at that as the Goths drew ever nearer, their own spears and shields looking like harbingers of doom all too close for their liking.
“It won’t be long, now,” Hannibal said. The men around him fell silent as they performed final checks of their equipment. Some of them prayed to their gods for protection.
There was a series of sharp pops in the air, and men began falling out of line in the approaching Gothic lines. So, the slingers were at their work. Shortly the pops took on a different tone, and Hannibal knew that meant that the men had shifted from their long-range slings to their medium-range ones, and would soon be repeating the process as they turned to their final, close-range slings.
The same man as before spoke up again, “Let’s all just hope that the Numidians remember who their enemies are. I’d rather not have one of those pansies get disoriented and try to stick me from behind.” Despite their best efforts, the men near him snickered.
Hannibal did not immediately respond. He sniffed and replied, utterly deadpan, “Quiet, Abdosir. You might offend the pansies.” The other Carthaginians struggled to contain their laughter, but under the eyes of their leader somehow managed. The jokes were all in good fun – they knew well the many advantages that their Numidians allies brought them, and did not even want to consider what may happen if they changed sides.
Then battle was joined.
---
To their credit, the Goths initially tried to avoid the dangerous pikes of the native men of Carthage. They charged the lighter elements – the Spanish and the Celts – like a great wave washing against a rock, throwing javelins and their short darts all the way up until hand-to-hand combat was met.
Spaniards fought with their curved swords and iron bucklers against their Gothic foes and their Roman swords and traditional short spears. The Spanish bucklers were inadequate for protection their bodies, so they had to almost dance around their opponents in order to avoid attacks in return. Over time the larger Gothic shields and longer swords proved disastrous against the Spanish weapons, the right flank began to buckle despite several mounted sorties made deep into Gothic lines by the Spanish horse.
On the Celtic side, things were going marginally better, but not by much – many of the Celts fought nude, or with little armor besides helmets and shields, and though their great swords proved their worth against the light lamellar armor, whenever a warrior fortunate to possess maille presented himself the Celts had trouble bringing him down. The battle on that side soon developed into a push of shield-walls as each combatant tried to knock his opponent to the ground for a fatal finishing strike. The Numidians harried the Gothic flanks, but could not penetrate deeply into the mass of metal and flesh without being pulled from their horses and hacked to pieces.
Hannibal observed all of this with the eyes of a seasoned veteran until he could stand no more. Shaking his head in disgust, he called out to his banner-man, “Sound the advance. They’re going to hack us up and spit out the pieces if we don’t break them apart.
“Alright,” he said, lifting his voice above the din of battle, “we’re going to run right up the middle, men, and split this horde into two pieces. That should make them easier to deal with.”
As orders were relayed through the ranks and trumpets blared, the Carthaginian phalanx began its slow march. Unlucky Goths stuck in place by their fellows were skewered on the long pikes without mercy. As the block advanced, the soldiers in the rear ranks quickly finished off wounded enemies with the butt-spike on their sarissa, the sarouter.
Soon, though, the men of Carthage were beset on all sides but their rear – they had left a field of dead and dying in their wake that no Goths wished to pass over, even to take advantage of the tactical vulnerability.
Hannibal, fighting with his now-free shield and falcata following the breaking of his sarissa by a tall enemy wielding an equally-tall ax (he had gutted the man with his sword after a brief melee) knew that if he could locate the Gothic commander he could kill him and destroy the cohesiveness of their army, routing it and pushing them into the sea. But where was he?
---
Masinissa should have been leading his Numidian cavalry alongside the Carthaginian line of battle, but instead was in conference with the Gothic King Alareiks.
They spoke through interpreter, a Greek scribe named Valerius who was knowledgeable in Latin, something which both parties had an understanding of.
Alareiks watched the battle from atop the cliffs. After a moment, he said, “We do not have much gold or silver. The Romans made sure of that before they drove us away. But what we do have we will give you for your service and for land in which to live.” Valerius relayed Alareiks’ statement, which Masinissa listened to intently.
Then he replied. “That is good enough for me. That old goat,” he pointed a lance in the vague direction of Hannibal’s phalanx of native Carthaginians, “has kept our wallets and bellies dry for far too long. A little payback would be nice.” Valerius gave his answer to Alareiks, who nodded with grim satisfaction. "But it would be suicide to try to attack him. We can't get word to all of warriors without making a great confusion; instead we'll just flee the field and meet up with your camp this evening."
"That is all that I can ask," Alareiks said.
The two men traded grips, then rode to their respective parties. If only he had asked, Alareiks thought to himself, I would have made the same bargain with Hannibal himself and saved us both this trouble.
---
Hannibal knew that something was amiss when he turned to shout an order to his subordinates among the Celts and saw the Numidians fleeing the field. To their credits, the Celts did not fold but instead began to extend their flank out into the shallow water, preventing the Goths from fully capitalizing on the weakness in the line – though with fewer men behind them, their shield-wall began to buckle and be pushed back, though not yet break.
Gnashing his teeth, Hannibal began spewing orders faster than he could breathe. He only paused to strike down an opportunistic Goth who had run inside of the range of the pikes before resuming his tirade. The Spanish cavalry was to split into three parts – one to remain where they were, one to cover the rear of the formation in case the Numidians made a charge, and the final group to dismount and reinforce the Celts before they were overwhelmed.
As his orders were carried out, Hannibal’s heartbeats quickened along with his sword-strokes. Reports came in – the Spanish cavalry that had remained in their place had broken through the Gothic lines and scattered the enemy horse. The infantry were advancing at a double-pace, replacing their small bucklers with larger Gothic shields. The Numidians had not returned. The Celts had just begun to break when their reinforcements arrived, and heartened by their arrival had turned back the Gothic assault.
They were winning. The Gothic army had been broken into three pieces, soon to be two – one against the Celts, and the others against the Spanish. The one surrounded by the Spanish horse and foot was fighting tenaciously, but with no ground to give it was being killed to a man. His gambit had succeeded – and their foes were on the run.
It was over sooner than Hannibal would have guessed – the final pockets of resistance were laid low not soon after sundown, with the majority of the Gothic soldiers fleeing back the way they had came.
As Hannibal stood on a low rise over the battlefield, one of his lieutenants walked up to him.
“Your orders, sir?” He inquired.
He mulled for a moment, then said, “Don’t pursue them. They gave in too easily – they’ve likely got many civilians to tend to. Those men were not natives to this island; I’m thinking that they were displaced, refugees, maybe, trying to find a place of their own.” He turned and scowled in the direction that the Numidians had fled. “That would explain Masinassa’s trickery. They probably made a deal.
“We rest tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll set to commandeering ships on our side of this island; let the Goths have the other. Take any shipwrights and carpenters that you can and have them set to work on constructing a fleet for us. I’ll need to bring word of Numidia’s treachery back to Carthage as soon as possible.
“As well as word of whatever caused the Goths to leave their homes,” he ended ominously.
---
-Offensive Assessment; thirty-two (32) of forty (40) possible points.
-Defensive Assessment; thirty (30) of forty (40) possible points.
-Variables Assessment; thirteen (13) of twenty (20) possible points.
~Composite Assessment; seventy-five (75) of one hundred (100) possible points.
Hannibal Barca, the Annihilator
-Offensive Assessment; thirty-five (35) of forty (40) possible points.
-Defensive Assessment; thirty-two (32) of forty (40) possible points.
-Variables Assessment; seventeen (17) of twenty (20) possible points.
~Composite Assessment; eighty-four (84) of one hundred (100) possible points.Winner: Hannibal Barca!
This was a really great bio man and I was impressed by some of the historical references you put in it- such as the desertion of the Numidians. I feel that you captured the various cultures of Hannibal's army very well. I do have two improvements though; I would further expand on Aleirik's fate and make a more detailed conclusion. Other then that Great!
ReplyDeleteYeah, I plan on writing some more from Alareiks' perspective, I just wanted to get this out there while it's still relevant :P
ReplyDeleteI liked this battle, even if it didn’t have the Deadliest Warrior staple of the loser dying. It actually felt like an account of an actual battle that I read in books of military history, with the descriptions of the flow and mayhem. Spot on, it has a very authentic feel.
ReplyDeleteAnyways, I had a bit of insight regarding the poll. Of all the commanders listed, most people would have issues with managing their chosen commander's loyalty. Each one of them was a ruler and king in their own right except for Flavius Stilicho, and would likely try to overthrow you. I would actually go with a commander who historically did act as a subordinate, such as Subutai or Khalid ibn al-Walid. They were both willing to work as lieutenants to a capable leader, and could easily beat the pants off any of the leaders on the poll.
Thanks for commenting! I'm glad that you enjoyed the scenario.
ReplyDeleteHehe, nice catch on the poll! I actually think that it would be interesting to see who would come out better in a battle between Subutai and the Sword of Allah. Their tech would be very similar - especially at the long range - but their tactics would be dissimilar, I think.
These are the thinking man's simulations- like others have said, the political trickery behind the lines often determines the fate of history. If Clive hadn't paid off Siraj-ud-Dullah's men at Plassey, things could have turned out differently for India.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, about this match in specific I would like to see more of a duel between the two leaders like your last sim. This would show how the best weapons and armor from one side would compare to the other. Perhaps an epilogue would suit this as well, as this simulation began a good story that I'd like to see a conclusion to in the future. (Maybe even a match of Hanniblal vs. Atilla.)
Still, excellent work as always.