Battle at Weser River

The year is 16 AD. Around November or December. Weser River.

The proud Germanic tribe, renowned for their ferocity in battle, had long been a thorn in the side of the Roman Empire.

It is said that they are hard to conquer.

Their muscular physiques, honed from years of hunting, warfare, and hard labor, made them formidable opponents.

Moreover, the tribe's warfare strategy, focused on swift raids to capture resources and secure prestige, was both their greatest strength and most crippling weakness.

But that's not all the reasons why they are not easy to subdue.

It's also because of their territory terrain. 

Germania wasn't the easiest land to conquer: no cities, no roads, lots of small villages, big forests, large marshes, and harsh and long winters, making it a formidable task for any would-be conqueror.

This time, fate seemed to be against the Germanic tribe. Autumn's chill was in the air, a brief respite from the brutal winters that normally protected their lands.

Seizing this window of opportunity, the tribe had been migrating in large numbers, camping near the Weser river in search of more favorable climes and fertile soil.

As the sun rose over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape, the tribe remained unaware of the impending doom that was closing in around them...

*TA-RAN-TAAAAA*

A loud sound of a horn suddenly broke the silence of the fertile plains near the Weser river.

Where the Germanic tribe is currently camping.

It is early morning.

Some warriors from the Germanic tribe were still asleep, having stayed awake late into the night drinking and disparaging the Romans.

But as soon as the sound of the horn is heard nearby, every warrior scrambles to their feet. Their horses were whinnying at the sudden intrusion of the sound and the newly awakened warriors.

The crisp morning air was tinged with the scent of dew and smoke from the previous night's campfires.

*Clang* *Clang*

The sound of clanging metal, murmured curses, and the scent of sweat and leather filled the air as the Germanic warriors scrambled to prepare for combat.

They wore their hair long, often braided or tied back, revealing symbolic tattoos on their cheeks and necks.

Their rugged attire reflected their unforgiving environment: animal furs and thick woolen tunics, fastened with intricate bronze or iron brooches that glinted in the morning light.

They don their armor, leather belts, worn and supple, cinched at their waists, securing steel swords, daggers, and shields in place for close combat, ready for battle.

Some warriors wielded spears, javelins, and bows, showcasing their versatility as hunters and warriors.

As they moved, their iron and bronze armor glinted, a testament to their craftsmanship and strength.

*TAA-RAN-TAAAAA*

Another loud sound of a horn is heard.

The horn's sound is a symbolic sound of Roman legions.

And it came from... the Weser river?

'Curses!! The Romans have sailed up the river!',the overconfident Germanic tribes have been caught off guard.

They've set up a camp near the river. How could they ever know that the enemy would come from there?

They had let their guard down, confident in their ability to repel the Romans if they attacked from the slopes.

After all, their skilled archers would cut down the Romans long before they could get close.

"Half of them will fall before they could even reach us," they bragged.

And in their position, it is hard to truly locate their camp.

Their confidence was rooted in past victories.

Seven years ago, they had won overwhelmingly against the Romans in Teutoburg forest, where their three tribes united to ambush and destroy the Roman legions.

Since then, the Romans had made no further concerted attempts to conquer Germania. Not until that day.

Now, these Germanic warriors, descendants of the ancient tribes, stood ready to face the Roman legions once more.

But, unfortunately for them, clever Roman soldiers have sailed up the Weser river, and will use a "divide and rule" strategy against them.

*Thud* *Thud* *Thud*

Suddenly, a loud sound of what seems like a beating of a drum can be heard from behind the slopes. It is a thunderous marching steps.

The ground vibrates beneath their feet as the Roman legions approach.

'It's their tactic to intimidate the enemy!'

Creating an illusion of a million men stomping down the ground.

The Germanic warriors' attention was now divided between the sound of horns from the river and the marching thuds that were coming from behind the slopes.

A Roman legion's high-ranking general, the one leading the campaign, had already planned and studied their warfare.

He had identified the chinks in their armor, the vulnerabilities he could exploit.

He knows that splitting their attention would sow confusion, and he was determined to capitalize on that confusion.

This fragmentation would prove to be their undoing, a mistake that would be etched in the annals of history as they failed to join together into a collective fighting force under a unified command.

Suddenly, the marching steps halted. The whole camp fell silent, as if the sudden silence was a cruel deception.

But they knew they were surrounded. Their breathing seemed to stop, like prisoners awaiting a death sentence.

They could feel the warmth of the sun on their skin, yet they felt a chilling dread.

They knew they had to act swiftly to counter the Roman legions' clever tactics. But, paralyzed by uncertainty, they were unsure of what to do next.

The proud Germanic tribe, once confident in their defensive position, now found themselves in a desperate situation.

They could only defend one side at a time; defending one flank would leave the other exposed, a suicidal move.

Dividing their troops would only weaken their overall defense, ensuring an ignominious defeat.

Suddenly, "Roma!!", a lone shout pierced the quiet air, coming from the Weser river. A signal.

"Victoria!" and a different battle cry answered on the other side of the slope.

The tranquil plains, surrounded by gentle slopes, with dense forest and the serene Weser river nearby, were suddenly shattered by ear-splitting chaos.

Thousands of soldiers emerged from the slope, their armor glinting in the sunlight. Hundreds of warhorses stomping on the ground, sending tremors through the earth. And one man stands as he oversees it.

It was Germanicus.

A Roman general. The former emperor's adoptive grandson, the current emperor's adoptive nephew.

A prince. And next in line on the throne.

The two sides attacked simultaneously.

Pandemonium erupted, a cacophony of clashing steel, screams of the wounded, and the thunderous hooves of war horses.

'It was pure hell.'

The battle had just barely begun, yet the plains near the Weser river were already scarred by the fury of battle, echoing with the deafening clash of steel on steel.

But despite their bravery, they were vastly outnumbered by Germanicus's legions, plus the fact that their position had become their own disadvantage.

The Roman legions, led by Germanicus, had the upper hand.

Many men had already fallen on the ground; battle cries could be heard everywhere. The fallen men on the ground got stomped on, crushed by horses and pile after pile of dying bodies.

The ground is a river of blood. The air has gone bad. It smelled of death.

'A dog's death.'

As Arminius watched his warriors fall down to their death, the chieftain tried to make a last stand.

He gathered his remaining forces, forming a large dome-shaped shield wall.

Archers stood within the circle, nocking their arrows, while infantry stood guard outside, shields locked, protecting their comrades.

Some are standing, and some are kneeling with their shields.

Protecting themselves and the archers from the enemy's ruthless sword.

If a sword penetrates the shield and the man holding it dies, it is quickly replaced.

Arminius is inside that dome circle. His warriors suddenly gained courage.

Just one person and the Germanic tribe, who had lost their hope, had regained their battle spirit. Their faces were set with determination.

Then a barritus started; it began as a low murmur and slowly turned into a loud one. Boosting the morale of the warriors. It was a solemn battle cry.

"Open!"

The infantries slightly dropped their shields, revealing the archers inside, ready to fire.

"Fire!"

They fired.

*Swoosh* Swoosh

The unlucky Roman legions that were attacking the dome widened their eyes, unable to react.

A bullseye.

Like a domino, many soldiers fell down to the blood-soaked ground.

"Defend!"

The shield closed again.

"Open!"

But as soon as the command is said, a bunch of cavalry are already halfway there, stomping their horses and slashing their swords through the dome.

The dome crumbled in an instant.

Arminius, surrounded by the enemy, suffered a grievous wound. His last attempt to rally his troops had failed.

Still, he stood his ground, refusing to yield.

But his uncle seized him, pulling him onto the horse. Taking Arminius away.

"We have to retreat! Or we're done for!", his uncle urged.

"No!", Arminius refused, his voice laced with defiance.

"We have to minimize our losses, preserve our strength! We have to retreat!", his uncle persisted, trying to keep Arminius alive.

"I'd rather die!!!", Arminius spat, his eyes blazing with determination.

His uncle slapped him, his expression stern. "We have to regroup! Fight for another day! Order the retreat!"

"NOW!"

Arminius bit his lip and bled; he steeled himself. He looked around and saw his warriors falling one by one.

"Why must we be slaughtered like this?" he cried out in anguish. "Retreat! Retreat! Let's retreat!"

With a heavy heart, the remaining warriors turned and fled, joining the chaotic retreat of their tribe. The Roman legions, relentless in their pursuit, cut down any who stood in their way.

As the battle drew to a close, the Germanic tribe suffered heavy losses.

Their warriors lay scattered across the battlefield, while others drowned in the Weser river or fled into the nearby forests.

The Roman legions, in pursuit of the Germanic tribe, took archers with them.

They did not leave any stone unturned in the forest or in the water. They are ruthless.

The Roman legions, victorious but weary, stood triumphant on the blood-soaked plains. Germanicus, surveying the carnage, knew that this victory came at a great cost.

The Germanic tribe would not soon forget this defeat...

INDEX:

Germanic tribe - Ancient German people

Germania - Germany

Roman Legions - Roman empire's army

Barritus - ancient germanic battle cry

Weser river - major river in northern Germany