The dawn was, like everything else Quintilius had seen in Germany, miserable. A pervading chill hung in the air even as the sun pierced through the trees at the edge of the murky forest, an ominous prelude to the catastrophe that was to follow.

Bleary-eyed sentries staggered in from the watch, mumbling pleasantries, jokes and insults to each other in leaden voices.

"Ahenobarbus garner any information you can from the guards," Quintilius ordered briskly, "and prepare a reconnaissance mission: the savages disappeared somewhere within that forest and I want to know where."

Ahenobarbus, never one to say much of anything, merely bowed his head slightly and swept out of the command tent with a swirl of his mud- splattered cloak. Quintilius sighed and rubbed an absent hand over his face, wincing as stubble grazed his fingertips like sand-paper. He needed a shave. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips: he needed far more than a shave. He needed out to get out of here.

Quintilius slid a dusty map over the battered oak table that dominated the cavernous tent. He had positioned his forward legion in a semi-circle around the eastern side of the forest, a defensive screen to ensure nothing slipped by them and escaped.

"Of course, they won't be trying to escape," he mused," They'll wait for us, and they'll be ready."

Quintilius smirked. That suited him just fine.

Outside there was a clamour of activity: the sound of heated voices and the squelchy impacts of hurried feet churning up the muddy floor.

There was a harsh rustle as Ahenobarbus burst into the tent, hauling a gibbering legionnaire behind him.

The man was a mess. Flecks of dried blood smattered his uniform, grim badges from a close encounter with Hades himself. His eyes darted to and fro, the thin sheen of sweat upon his brow mingling with the filth that caked his forehead. He was scarcely over twenty-five, though years of warfare and toil had since wrinkled and pinched the skin tight around his bulging eyes.

"I present to you, General," began Ahenobarbus," Selucius Agrippa, one of our sentries in the northern perimeter."

Quintilius narrowed his eyes with disdain, "Your appearance, I take it, is not simply the result of mere sloppiness, is it Selucius?"

Selucius opened his quivering mouth to speak but Ahenobarbus cut across him, "We found him among his comrades of the north-western second patrol. Well..." he lowered his eyes,"...what was left of them,"

Quintilius cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, "Our German friends? Or do we expect foul play?"

"I didn't do it!" croaked Selucius," I-it was-"

"-Silence!" barked Ahenobarbus,"You will address a General of the Glorious Roman army with the appropriate title of 'sir', Trooper Agrippa."

Selucius whimpered and Quintilius glared at the boy in disdain. Quintilius had no tolerance for cowards, but he had to isolate the weaknesses in the Roman perimeter. To do this, he needed the boy's story.

"Report, Trooper Agrippa."

Selucius eyes continued to meander around the room, focusing on a distant horror a thousand miles away. Oblivious to the ever-deepening collective frown of his superior officers, he began to mutter incoherently.

"I-it, it's coming, coming for us all. We don't stand a ch-chance, we need to re-"

With a violent slap Ahenobarbus backhanded the trooper across the face. Spittle and teeth erupted from Selucius' mottled lips as he cowered on the floor.

"The Glorious Roman Army has no time for cowards," Ahenobarbus sneered as he raised his boot to stamp on Selucius' head.

"That's enough, Ahenobarbus," Quintilius raised a hand to restrain his occasionally over-zealous second-in-command," He won't tell us anything if he's splattered all over the floor."

Quintilius inclined his head toward the map, "You said he was found in the north-western sector of our perimeter?"

Ahenobarbus nodded in confirmation as he absently wiped Selucius's blood from his armoured gauntlet.

"Yes, General, at the opening of that central valley."

Quintilius jabbed his finger on the point where Ahenobarbus indicated. A thin smile split his lips.

"Then that's where we start."

The sun continued to rise in the early hours of the day, enshrouding the forest in a bloodied tint of grim expectation. The earth had begun to bake and dry under the oppressive heat, causing roiling plumes of dust to trail in the wake of Quintilius' cavalry. One hundred and thirty four horses skirted the edge of the looming forest, speeding by the clusters of footmen that lined the defenses of the sprawling Roman encampment.

Quintilius frowned, he wasn't sure whether or not he considered the palisades, the rows of catapults and the rugged ditches to be penning his enemies in, or keeping them out.

No matter, he decided, whether or not he was the hunter or hunted in this latest battle was immaterial so long as a glorious victory was achieved. He imagined his glorious return to Rome, marched through the Via Sacra, awarded with a full triumphal honour by the Senate. He smiled as he basked in the warmth of the rapidly ascending sun. Yes, victory would be his.

As the cavalry approached the north-western defense lines, the acrid stench of burning human flesh began to twinge the air. Miserable belts of thick, heavy smoke wafted up from the incinerated remnants of the dormant siege equipment and the blackened bodies of fallen Romans decorating the few patches of land that weren't utterly consumed by the fire.

"Ahenobarbus," Quintilius glowered as he trotted his horse to a halt at the top of a low hill," I was informed that we lost a mere patrol, and yet this destruction is far more than a dozen men."

Ahenobarbus swallowed and squared his jaw, "Believe me, General, this revelation is news to me too, sir."

"Why didn't they report in? An attack of this magnitude warrants a full alert, and yet we were oblivious to such a large strike..."

Quintilius' voice trailed off as he surveyed the carnage. Ahenobarbus vaulted to the ground from his saddle and trudged over to a nearby corpse. He scooped up a crumpled Roman helm from the scorched earth, shaking fragments of torn brain matter and crushed skull free of it before presenting it to his general.

"It seems, sir that they never had the chance to report in."

Quintilius eyed the empty helm, fury boiling through his veins. No one, absolutely no one, could hope to defeat Quintilius Varus and expect to escape unscathed. Especially Germans.

"Issue a full combat alert to all three legions; I shall take the forward legion into the forest on a probing mission. The other two thousand men I leave in your charge, old friend. Guard the perimeter and double the number of men on watch."

"As you wish, General Varus," Ahenobarbus bowed, paused, and then began to roar orders, assigning messengers to rouse the Roman war machine alive once more. Romans would not suffer such a blow lightly.

Quintilius swelled with pride as the remnants of the First Legion began to form up in a broad battle formation, ignoring the nearby smoke and destruction that marked their comrades' graves. He, as General, would once more lead the Roman army into the fray.

Into the inferno.

And so, with a single wave of his arm, the Roman legion began to march into the lurking forest, the clattering of steel pining away until it was but a distant, forgotten echo.