PALLAS COMITATUS

Three legions marched out from the Roman defenses along the Rhine in 9AD. Nearly 20,000 veteran soldiers with the best military technology in the world. Their objective was the subjugation of the fractious and unruly German tribes beyond the frontier. 

Proudly they marched beneath their imperial standards, visible symbols of the reach of a vast and sophisticated state. Confidently they trusted in their reputation and the technology that had guaranteed past victories. 

A mere handful of broken men were all that staggered back. 

The tribes that bled Rome white at the Teutoberg fought more as Wolves than Men. They sought no abstract political ends, heeded no calls but those of their instincts, and fought on no one’s behalf but their own. 

They were Men who lurked and prowled in the forests and bogs. Men who performed grisly fire-lit rites and donned the skins of beasts. 

Beyond the watch fires of Roman towers, they sacrificed to the Goddess Victory. They stalked and observed, infiltrated and evaded. 

Their honor demanded that when a blow fell, it must land hard and strike true. They were not a people envious of martyrs, but of heroes.

The Empire stumbled, as all empires do, deceived by its own strength at the height of its power. Lashed forward by the hubris empires cultivate in the hearts of men, the legions obediently abandoned their walls and roads and trudged into the brooding wilderness. 

Like ravening wolves, the barbarians stalked, nipping at the heels of their prey, grinning expectantly as the empire’s advantages fell away.

There was no set piece battle to be fought on civilized terms, no principled but futile stands. 

“Cowards,” the legions muttered as they tramped further into Teutonic mist. 

Until at last, the Wolves sensed their moment. Their prey exhausted and strung out along a narrow forest track, their terrible power frittered away in the muck and mire. 

It was then and only then that the blow fell. The pack closed in, howling like furies, and reducing the might of the legions to meat and marrow.

It was a victory fit only for wolves. No cities were captured, no taxes levied. No state emerged, no ideologies imposed. But glutted, the Wolves returned to the forest to stalk and howl once more.