Hunting the profligate

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"I'm performing miracles with just three thousand men," I said, gazing over the maps, waiting for the process of sending slaves north to be completed.

Cato, ever eager to seek new combat opportunities, responded, "Lord Caesar promised us reinforcements, and we have access to the frumentarii. We can keep hunting for battles."

I nodded, but cautiously. "Yes, but only against smaller states of the Mexicanorum. The Republic of the Rio Grande, for example, is an enemy we can't underestimate. The frumentarii's estimates indicate they have nearly twenty thousand men between their state army and militias. And, despite what we might think, they aren't poorly armed. There's a state in Texas that sells them weapons... though rumors say they're in conflict over political issues."

The frumentarii report was clear: while the Republic of the Rio Grande's military power didn't match the Legion's, facing them with just three thousand men would be a strategic error. Their force was considerable, and their connections to Texas provided a steady supply of weapons. Though their internal situation was tense, with political conflicts that could weaken them, launching an attack now could provoke an unexpected response or even unite divided factions against us.

"For now, the wisest course is to consolidate the territory we've taken and wait for Caesar's reinforcements," I continued. "We're not in a position to challenge them without more men and equipment. Besides, if the tensions in Texas continue, there might be an opportunity to exploit that instability to our advantage."

I returned my focus to the maps, realizing I had two options since attacking the Republic of the Rio Grande wasn't feasible with such few legionaries... unless I could provoke them to attack us first, though Caesar would be furious if I distracted his forces from his desired objectives.

The situation pushed me to make strategic decisions with caution. Attacking Colonia Pecos seemed the most logical move, given the proximity of their territory. Traveling further south and opening a new front would have been risky, stretching our forces at a time when we were still consolidating control over the conquered lands. Plus, with the ongoing operation of enslaving the local population, I couldn't afford to spread my resources even thinner.

Colonia Pecos, though not as powerful as some of the other Mexicanorum states, represented a key target due to its proximity and the territorial control it would grant us. Meanwhile, the task of gathering the population of around one hundred thousand people in this newly conquered territory continued. With only three thousand men, the mission of collaring them as slaves and ensuring they were sent to Flagstaff was an enormous logistical challenge. It wouldn't be something resolved overnight, but each day in the process brought the Legion closer to consolidating its power here.

Securing logistics was crucial. While sending slaves north, I had to retain enough forces to prevent any uprisings, meaning every legionary needed to be perfectly equipped. I decided to store a portion of the weapons we'd obtained from the narcos and locals, like their repeater rifles. They might not be the best, but in an emergency, they could still be useful.

The gold we had obtained from the looting would also play a critical role. Using it to buy additional supplies, food, and other necessary items was a strategy that wouldn't raise suspicion. After all, I'm the largest seller of weapons, vehicles, and food throughout the Legion. Acquiring these resources from my own commercial networks would be seen as a pragmatic measure.

For a long time, my focus was entirely on the logistics of sending slaves north regularly. The few resistance cells that emerged in hopes of defying their fate were swiftly crushed, barely posing an obstacle. While these resistance attempts were desperate, they were poorly organized and lacked the armament or coordination to pose any real threat. Despite their efforts to change their people's destiny, each of their attempts met with the Legion's relentless efficiency.

Over time, my direct presence became less necessary. By distributing my veterans as commanding officers, I managed to instill combat tactics in the younger, less experienced recruits. Lessons on how to move in battle, find proper cover, spot suspicious movements, and, most importantly, recognize the glint of a sniper's sight or navigate urban combat were paying off. The recruits were no longer novices but increasingly capable soldiers learning to quickly adapt to the battlefield's demands.

This period, while repetitive in terms of the constant shipments of slaves to Flagstaff and skirmishes with scattered insurgents, was useful in solidifying control over the conquered territory and strengthening my men. Every skirmish, no matter how small, was a learning opportunity and a chance to refine Legion tactics. Through the instruction of my veterans, the recruits became more skilled and disciplined, absorbing the knowledge that only combat experience could provide.

The slaves continued to march north in a steady flow, while my Legion grew stronger and more experienced. Though resistance groups continued to appear, their disorganization and desperation doomed them. They were no match for the unstoppable machine I had built.

Finally, after three weeks of waiting, the reinforcements I had been promised arrived. Though Caesar had assured me reinforcements would come weekly, they didn't arrive until the following month. I couldn't help but think that perhaps Caesar had his doubts about my campaign, and maybe he was hoping I would fail—perhaps because I had used modern medicine, something that went against his principles. But with the victories I had achieved, he could no longer use me as a negative example, forcing him to support the campaign, even if only out of convenience. It was just a hunch, but I didn't dismiss it.

The thousand legionaries who arrived were all young, with muscular bodies and notable skill in hand-to-hand combat. They were experts in the use of bows and javelins, traditional skills that, while respectable, didn't quite fit with the modern tactics I had instilled in my men. Modern combat required more than brute strength and close-quarters prowess, something these young warriors would have to learn.

I had time to train them, just as I had done with my original cohort, those first five hundred legionaries who probably had more kills than any other unit in the Legion. But this time, I didn't need all of them to wear power armor; there were many roles in battle that needed to be filled, and one of the most scarce in our force was that of snipers. The Legion, in general, did not appreciate the art of sniping. True glory, according to their beliefs, was found in close combat, in seeing the eyes of your enemy as you killed them. However, I could not deny the utility of a good sniper, and I knew this from experience. In my time, I had been given a sniper scope, and that skill had allowed me to win many battles.

Now, with reinforcements at my disposal, I saw an opportunity. Training an entire cohort of snipers would be a nightmare for any army that faced us. Against a well-organized army with a clear chain of command like the Republic of the Rio Grande, this tactic would be devastating. Imagining a trained sniper taking down a commander from over a kilometer away would wreak havoc on the morale and organization of an enemy army.

These new recruits would need to be trained to be lethal at long distances, and if I succeeded, my army would be ready to face larger and better-organized enemies. The Republic of the Rio Grande was an inevitable target in the future, and with the right force, we could destroy their chain of command before they even had a chance to engage in battle.

"Legate... a messenger brings a message for you," said one of my legionaries, his voice marked by doubt.

"From the Legion?" I asked, noticing his hesitation.

"No, it seems to be local," replied the legionary, with some discomfort.

"Let him in," I said, adjusting my power armor helmet.

The messenger, clearly a local inhabitant of the lands of Mexico, wore local clothing, making him appear insignificant at first glance. But as he spoke, he revealed his true purpose.

"In hoc signo taurus vinces," he said in a low voice.

"True to Caesar," I responded, immediately recognizing him as a disguised frumentarii.

"Legate Gaius," the messenger continued, now in a more serious tone, "not long ago, between the border of Pecos Colony and the Republic of the Rio Grande, the profligate Paullus has been raiding the area. Once again, he was forced to retreat when the state militias of the Republic chased him. But now, he has retreated to another Mexican state, trying to find temporary refuge while continuing his raids."

The frumentarii paused, observing my reaction.

"If you wish to seize the opportunity to capture and crucify him, now is the perfect time," he added coldly. "He is vulnerable, and if you crush him now, it will remove a major threat to the stability of this region."

"So he's still alive," I said with disdain, recalling the failure of the centurion who was supposed to conquer New Mexico in Caesar's name. "That centurion failed." I looked at the frumentarii, whose expression remained unflinching, awaiting my orders.

"Return to your post, frumentarii. I will make sure this is Paullus' last raid," I replied firmly as I grabbed my rifle and prepared for the hunt.

The frumentarii nodded briefly before retreating, knowing that his part in this mission was complete. Now it was my turn. Paullus had been a thorn in the Legion's side for far too long, and this would be his end.

Although I didn't know exactly how many men he had under his command, it didn't matter. I was confident that no group of poorly organized raiders could stand up to what I was bringing.

I gathered four hundred legionaries, well-armed and ready for combat. Of those, two hundred were equipped with power armor, imposing and impenetrable to the weapons Paullus and his people might have. The rest of my men wore superior armor, better than the average, designed to resist bullets and low-caliber projectiles.

"Today, we end Paullus," I told my officers, my voice firm as it echoed through the camp. "This will be his last raid. There will be no escape for him this time."

The looks on my men's faces reflected an unyielding determination. They knew what was at stake. The hunt had begun, and Paullus' fate was sealed.

Dozens of vehicles moved swiftly across the dusty roads toward Paullus' last known location. For four hours, we moved at full speed, the roar of engines and the dust kicked up by our advance marking our relentless pursuit. The landscape gradually changed as we approached the river we needed to cross to reach Pecos colony, where the frumentarii had reported Paullus had last been seen.

As we got closer, we began to see clear signs of his trail: small villages reduced to ashes, marked by destruction and looting. Each charred structure was a testament to Paullus and his men's path. The now-extinguished flames and smoldering remains showed the same pattern of brutality we had seen before. Paullus had been raiding without mercy, leaving death and devastation in his wake.

"This is his trail," I thought as I surveyed the remains of the villages. "He's not far."

My legionaries noticed it too. Every sign of destruction brought us closer to our target. We knew Paullus was on the move, but his pattern of violence was his downfall. By leaving such a visible trail, he had sealed his fate.

"Prepare everything to cross the river," I ordered my men. The crossing would be the last obstacle before we directly confronted Paullus and his group. The vehicles began to line up, and the legionaries in power armor prepared for any possible ambush.

We crossed the river swiftly, water splashing as the vehicles advanced. The trail of destruction continued to guide us. We followed it for several hours, observing the burned ashes of villages that told us we were getting closer and closer to Paullus.

Finally, we arrived at a smaller town, and what we found was a scene of chaos: a pitched battle was raging in the streets. Paullus and his group were engaged in a fierce fight with what appeared to be local defenders.