Recruit camp, Cisalpine Gaul — End of Week 12
The days of beginner errors were over. They were no longer recruits. They were soldiers. Not in name, but in habit: they marched in blocks, obeyed signals, and slept as if the world itself couldn't wake them.
That day, they were roused before dawn. When they reached the open field south of the camp, they saw what awaited them:
Two full cohorts, armed, formed, and facing each other at opposite ends of the terrain.
The scarred instructor addressed them from a small rise:
"Campaign exercise. Cohort I: offensive. Cohort II: defense. Terrain divided by the dry streambed. Objective: control the central hill before the second signal of the horn."
Sextus was assigned to Cohort I, the attacking side. His century was the second on the right flank. Still without rank, but everyone knew his name. Even the cohort's centurion gave him orders in the tone reserved for those who mattered.
The plan was simple: two centuries would apply pressure at the front, one would advance from the far flank, and Sextus's century would be held in reserve to support wherever needed.
From the line, Sextus observed the uneven terrain. The hill wasn't tall, but it was steep. The defenders had the advantage. The real challenge was breaking through without exposing weaknesses.
When the horn sounded, they advanced in closed order. Dust rose under their nailed sandals. Each century had its optio at the front, but the legionaries moved like shared reflexes, responding as one.
The defending cohort held the first push. Then came the order:
"Century Two, support the left! Form wedge and take the flank!"
The optio gave the command, but it was Sextus who carried it out. Quickly, he led the front line and organized the formation while the optio secured the rear.
They moved through the flank, shielded by low brush. When the defenders turned to intercept, it was already too late. Sextus's century broke the enemy line with discipline and force, driving forward with tight shields and short, silent shouts.
Minutes later, the horn sounded.
Exercise completed.
The dust still lingered when they returned to camp.
Sextus was covered in earth but said nothing. He knew he'd been seen. He knew he was no longer just "the one with good instincts."
One of the observing veterans passed him and, without stopping, muttered:
"That kind of initiative can't be taught. Only found."
Sextus didn't reply. He only adjusted his gladius belt and kept walking.
More than a drill, that day had been a signal.
And someone had received it.