Recruit camp, Cisalpine Gaul — Week 13
After the second formation drill, Sextus felt the familiar sweat down his back and the weight in his arms. Nothing new. Or so he thought.
Optio Varro approached silently. He always spoke quietly. Important orders didn't need to be shouted.
"You're taking charge of five. Not fresh recruits.They've passed the first trials, but they march like they've got stones in their sandals.Teach them to move as one. And to think like one."
Sextus didn't ask why. He just nodded.
"Any limits?"
"Yes. Don't lose your patience."
He found them in the secondary training yard. Five young legionaries. Muscles already shaped, but their eyes still wandered too much.Belts a little loose, shields resting lazily on the ground, one joking while another stretched.
Sextus stood in front of them.
"You're not here to learn how to be soldiers.You already are.You're here so you don't get killed acting like civilians in armor."
Silence. A good start.
"Form a line. No gaps. No noise."
They moved. Slowly. But without protest.
The first to slip was Gellius, who left his flank open turning the shield.
Sextus didn't shout. He walked up and pressed his fist into the gap.
"That fits a knife. Or a spear.Or the death of your comrade."
For two hours they drilled: formations, turns, relief rotations, lateral coverage. Nothing flashy. Nothing glorious. Just precision.
Sextus corrected without raising his voice, without exaggerated gestures. Each command was direct, each pause short, each mistake a chance.
"The enemy won't reward you for rushing.He'll punish you for falling out of line."
"The shield isn't just defense. It's half your discipline."
In the final march, they moved again. This time, they advanced as a block.
Not perfect. But they no longer stepped on each other.
As they disbanded, one of them —an Italic with a calm face named Faustus— approached.
"Have you always been this dry when teaching?"
Sextus shrugged.
"No one taught me with time.They just shouted after every mistake."
Faustus smiled. Said nothing more.
That night, Varro passed by as Sextus cleaned his gladius strap.
"Two optios told me those five looked like six today.One of them was you.Not because you commanded them…but because you made them march as one."
Sextus didn't reply. Just lowered his eyes and tightened the leather.
He had learned how to fight.Now, he was learning how to teach.