Arminius vs. Shaka

       Arminius was well aware of the fragile state of his country. For the first time since the days of his country’s most ancient heroes the tribes were truly unified under one ruler-Arminius. Unification of tribes that had warred against each other for ages hadn’t been easy; Arminius knew this better than anyone. As the leader of a coalition scarcely a day went by before he had to hear complaint, almost all of which were about new instances of violence that revolved around ancient feuds. Arminius cursed the shortsightedness of his countrymen. Did it really matter that one tribe may have stolen some cattle a hundred years back? All of the parties involved were now dead. Why did an unresolved murder thirty years ago have to cause the deaths of over fifty people in a gruesome inter-tribe brawl?

       Arminius shook his head, pissed that petty domestic issues ate up most of his time, and gave him a lingering headache. “I shouldn’t have to worry about this” he thought bitterly “foreign issues are pressing enough”. While the Romans this side of the Rhine had been crushed Arminius knew that on the other side they were amassing more legions. Having studied under them, Arminius was well aware how long Rome could hold a grudge. He would have to strike them soon and hard. But how…

   From studying their history, Arminius knew that the only conceivable chance he had to defeat the empire was to rip out its heart; Rome. The capital city of the Romani had not been taken in 400 years, but it had been taken. If Arminius had any chance of seeing his dream of a unified Germany become a reality, and to have his wife and child, unjustly stolen from him, returned then the Imperial City must fall. But how to get there…. ? The Alps had been fortified so heavily that even if he could bring Hannibal’s old war beasts back to life he would still not be in a position to force passage. Nor could a foray from Gaul work out as the Romans, suspecting such an incursion, had fortified the Rhine and moved six legions into the country. Luckily for the Germans there was still one option left….


      In their mad dash to exit Germany as quickly as possible, the Romans had left behind much of their sea craft: their triremes, galleys and troop transports.  There was enough room to carry a small army; perfect for what Arminius planned. He knew that a big portion of his army had to stay in the homeland to both deter the Romans and to keep the piece among the quarrelsome tribes.  Arminius would personally lead a detachment of 4-5,000 men on a journey around the Pillars of Hercules to raid an unsuspecting Rome. There was the problem of patrols spotting the ship which could prove irksome but not one that Arminius didn’t have a solution to. His auxiliaries spoke Latin well enough; if he dressed them up as Roman soldiers and had them carry Roman weapons he could avoid suspicion from the patrols. Furthermore his pure Germanic troops could either pose as the rowers or hide within the bowels of the ship. Once they were in the cities harbor they could reveal themselves, and quickly run through the city and destroy  key buildings; The Senate, the Forum and the emperor’s palace (with the cursed old man Augustus inside of course! Even if the resilient empire survived it would be in position to challenge Germany in the near future, not with all of the rebellions, civil wars, economical collapse and unrest that would follow.

     Arminius flashed a brilliant smile; in his mind he was simply too brilliant for words.

 3 months later….
     Shaka was king of his domain yes, but like any absolute ruler he spent his time only thinking of how he could increase it, not how he could enrich what he already had, wrote Henry Flynn in his journal. Like Alexander in the days before the birth of our lord, he thinks of nothing but of more worlds to conquer, has no higher purpose other than the pure thrill of conquest, desires to…

        Francis Farewell burst into his tent, interrupting the young Irishman’s thoughts. Without preamble he said: “Shaka just finished interrogating the refugees. Apparently it was the white man that caused them to flee their lands.”
Startled, Flynn looked into his compatriots face, “What? I was not aware that we had any colonies in the area?”
Farewell shook his head “No we don’t, and I have no idea who these newcomers are. Not any nation of Europe that I know of. They do not carry firearms, instead opting to use spears and clubs in the same like our gracious hosts.”
 Flynn caught Farewell’s sarcasm and silently agreed. Neither of them had wanted to go on this expedition but Shaka had not-so-politely insisted. The British trading expedition had no choice but to accept; after all this was Shaka’s land, and if he desired it, not one of the trade expeditions would make it back to England.
  Still, he could not deny that he was curious to find out the origins of the strange men of his race, as he hadn’t heard of clubs being used in European warfare for….many hundreds of years. Pikes had survived in combat to relatively recently, but still they were an archaic weapon in Europe, and the only type of spear used in warfare now was the lance, and even use of that was faltering. Farewell seemed to have had the same thoughts and quipped up
“The villagers said that they were chased down by men riding horses, and that the men covered themselves in, as they so aptly put it, a rainbow of colors. “
Confused, Henry Flynn opened his mouth to reply, only for one of Shaka’s messengers to burst in and speaking in his harsh English dialect said
“The inkosi demands that you and your men make ready to pack up. We leave soon”
Farewell gruffly replied back “Aye”
 The messenger made no effort to leave, and Flynn immediately understood the dilemma facing the man: if Farewell’s men did not get packed up soon, then Shaka could interrupt that as a sign that his messenger passed along the wrong message, which would be fatal for the man standing in front of them. Flynn turned to him and spoke reassuringly
“Tell the Inkosi that we are packing up as you deliver this message. We will pack as soon as you leave.”
The Messenger left, still looking nervous and Farewell sighed. Shaking his head, he turned back to his old friend and said
“What queer folk these savages are. “

  Shaka was quite surprised by the reports coming from the refugees- and the fact that they were fleeing in his direction, when they should be fleeing away from him.  He had questioned Farewell extensively as to the origins of these newcomers, but the British officer had been as genuinely confused as he was. Farewell’s people disdained close quarters combat, preferring instead to rely on their firearms in battle, only occasionally using knives mounted on the end of their firearms or a long, cutting implement known as a sword (speaking of which, reports have indicated that the invaders had carried weapons similar to Farewell’s).

       In eight years, Shaka had far surpassed even his own dreams of conquest- but it wasn’t enough. It would not be until his kingdom stretched from ocean to ocean. Until his kingdom was truly powerful enough to withstand the white man.

      Looking over his assembled regiments, Shaka knew that his goal of seeing the great Eastern Ocean would soon come to pass. All that stood in front of him were these foolish invaders, who Farewell insisted weren’t his people. Shaka hoped, for his sake, that he was telling the truth. If he wasn’t, then even his precious King Georgie wouldn’t have a hope of saving him. Shaka would prove to his subjects that they bleed the same color as everyone else.
    Smiling at the thought, Shaka turned to his general, Soshangane. “General, have the scouts returned yet?”
Soshangane shook his head, replying “The first squad has, the other two, no. “
Shaka frowned. These scouts were some of the kingdoms best; they knew better than to keep their king waiting. Something must have gone wrong….
 Dismissing these thoughts for the moment, Shaka asked his general “Very well. What did the first squad have to report about the terrain?”
     “It is a forest my king, though not wholly a dense one. The trees are fairly spread out in most of its sections, save a couple of small sections which were uncommonly dense. Ayanda’s squad was sent out to explore the largest dense forest, along with Bheki, while Msizi was sent back to report on what they had found thus far. “
“Did they see any of the White men who deign to fight like Zulus?”
“No, my king.”
“ Very well we keep marching. We should be out of the forest by sunset”. At this he gave a look to his underling that suggested that if they were not out of the forest by sunset, he would be the first to pay.
Soshangane gulped, but nodded and left. Shaka silently wondered whether his generals had sufficient backbone to attempt to overthrow him; the last one who would have ever expressed contempt of Shaka to his face had left a little over a year ago, Mzilikazi, who was rumored to be trying to build a kingdom of his own, to rival his old overlord Shaka. By all accounts this man was just a mime of the great Zulu king, with few innovations of his own.
 Smiling, Shaka knew that their next meeting would be far less friendly then even the last, and looked forward to it.
      Arminius cursed the gods that he had not foreseen such a disaster.  He had misjudged the Roman navigators, thinking them sniveling cowards while they were really devious snakes.  The Romans, taking advantage of the German leader’s perceptions and lack of geographical knowledge, lead them far past the Pillars of Hercules, past the farthest reaches of the Roman merchants, ending up even farther south than the brilliant Phoenicians had ever dared to sail.  When they had gone far enough, the navigators had deliberately rammed the ships into reefs.
 Eventually, the Germans had caught on to the navigator’s treachery, and had the Romans boiled alive, a sacrifice to the German gods. Still the damage was done, and they had landed in a strange land filled with strange, horrifying creatures; more than a few of his men had been mauled by lions (which he recognized from the decadent Roman amphitheaters) , dragged under the water by great lizards, or else gored by elephants or the one-horned beast. Worse still, many of his men had come down with the weird sickness that roamed this land, causing them to bleed out from all openings.  These poor souls had to be left behind for the good of the many.

 After a great deal of time spent scouring the land (during which time they raided tribes of men who looked as if they had been under the sun for too long), they had come across a somewhat cool forest like the ones found in the homeland. Though the types of trees were different it was still similar enough to remind the Germans of home. Better still, some of the Germans who had once been fishermen, as well as a few defected Germans who served in the Roman navy, were cutting down trees with the intent of remaking their crashed
   Now their temporary refuge was threatened, by what was clearly an advancing enemy scout column. Arminius couldn’t let the column get back to its leaders, and had ordered his men to hide in the surrounding brush while he, alone, stood in the middle of the path, on his beautiful Nicean horse (which had cost him a small fortune to get).
    Not too much later, the first Zulu scouts came into view,  coming to an abrupt halt when they saw the strange rider. Silence dominated the scenes for a few moments, before a man holding a knobbed club; their leader, stepped forward and spoke in a harsh, incomprehensible, native dialect. Arminius glared at him; did this fool really think that he could be understood? Arminius himself knew better to waste his energy trying to communicate with the native, but this man really seemed to be under the impression that he could be understood.

 Arminius merely pointed his lance forward, to signify that they should return the way they came. The native chieftain shook his head; apparently some signs of nonverbal communication were universal, either that or this native had learned the phrase from his countryman.  Arminius repeated his thrusting motion forward, more urgently telling them that they should leave. The native bared his teeth, and apparently lost his patience, throwing his knobkerrie about ten feet from the German warlord.

 Arminius knew that his opposite merely intended to intimidate him and not kill but it was the excuse that he had been looking forward. Yelling to his men a hail of javelins and arrows rose into the air, and blocked out the sun like this was Thermopylae. Then they descended en masse upon the Zulus.
     The Zulus did not have adequate time to prepare, and within mere moments many a man looked like a pincushion, as javelins and arrows impaled men left and right.  Clubs raised, the Germans rushed forwards into the mass of disoriented Africans. The Zulus had no chance. Within mere moments most of their number lay battered on the grounds of the Forest- either with their heads cracked open or full of missiles.
________________________________________________________________________________
Arminius had gone after his counterpart, riding into battle on top of his magnificent white horse. Unsheathing his Spatha, he charged into the enemy leader right as his opponent turned to him, after having already broken the neck of the man who he had been previously fighting with his knobkerrie. Arminius was too quick for him, and though the man tried to raise his shield Arminius’s most timely slash to the man’s neck stopped him from raising it all the way. As Arminius‘s horse rushed past him, the Zulu chieftain’s head dropped to the Forest floor, bouncing twice before coming to a stop. With another swipe, Arminius cut deep into the chest of another Zulu who had just finished poking his long Isijula through the gut of an unfortunate tribesman. The man howled in pain, but Arminius could do nothing about that; only the gods could decree whether that man lives or dies.  A horse’s cry joined the man’s, and not far from Arminius a horse was brought down by 3 of the Zulu long spears. Yet it was clear who would emerge the ultimate winner of this battle as the long spears were unsuitable to be fighting in dense jungle terrain, much less against clubs. As the battle winded down and the Zulus finished off, Arminius wondered whether the Calvary he had sent earlier to route the second scouting force had finished its job. He would hate for any survivors to make it back to the main camp….

       Nighttime, Zulu camp
Henry Flynn had come to hate surprise meetings, especially when they were called by Shaka. The Megalomaniacal African leader had a habit of using these surprise meetings to dole out random executions, or else announce that they are going on some campaign of some kind, and that the English were “invited” along as “guests”.
  Whatever the reason was, it was apparently important. The messengers look unusually hurried and anxious. There was only just enough time for the night apparel to be shed and formal to be put back on; though Flynn could have sworn that a couple of nervous looking men had managed to hastily sneak a flintlock or two amongst their attire while the Zulus weren’t looking. Not a bad idea, Flynn thought.
 The King of King was patient enough to wait until all the 40 of the white men had managed to squeeze themselves into his command tent, but only just. Two haggard men were standing beside him. It was clear they both had had a hell of a day.  As soon as the last Englishman dropped to the floor, Shaka Zulu raised his right hand- and through a sword to Farewell’s feet.
“Last time we met you assured me that these tails of white men devastating the North was untrue, and that if it was they weren’t of your tribe. Now that the rumors are true” Shaka paused here briefly to nod at the two men standing beside him “you will tell me, if not from your tribe then from which.”
 Cautiously, and with his attention still fixed on the king, Farewell picked up and examined the sword. Unlike his own it was straight, and slightly shorter. The blade was of iron rather than steel, and not ye dried blood showed that it had been used fairly recently. The handle was—and then Farewell’s eyes widened as he saw the insignia and the hilt. He passed it over to the teacher King, who also looked shocked.
Shaka’s eagle eyes picked up upon this tiny little interaction, and quickly demanded an answer.
Farewell replied “Inkosi, I recognize the tribe that made this sword, but it cannot be the tribe that those two gentlemen beside you fought.”
Shaka, curious asked “And why would that be the case?”
“Because Inkosi, one would have to go back a hundred generations to encounter the manufacturers of this sword. The Roman Empire died off long before either your or my tribe’s came into being.”
Henry Flynn was flabbergasted to say the least. The Roman Empire did indeed predate England-by about 600 years! That made not a nick of sense to him either. Surely a sword that OLD would have disintegrated into dust as soon as it was taken out of its sheath, much less used against another man! Even if it had been one of the last swords made by the empire’s medieval remnants, the Byzantines, it still wouldn’t likely have been in any condition for battle, even if it had been made the very day that Constantinople fell!
   Stunned silence fell over all of the men; Flynn guessed that Shaka too knew that it was impossible for a sword that old to be in healthy condition for battle. Suddenly a scream permeated the air, bringing them out of their thoughts and back to the real world.
Shaka was partially grateful for a distraction, even if it was a call to battle. What the white men had told him made no sense at all, what would a sword that old be doing in the arsenal of a current threat? They had to have lied somewhere in their story; either on the identity of the nation, the nation’s extinction or age.

 Exiting the tent, the smell of smoked meat and a bonfire greeted him. The camp was under attack, and all around him the king could see his men fighting “shadows” who were completely covered in black, to the point where even their shields and weapons were almost invisible except against the backdrop of burning storage tents and grass.  Roughly ten meters from Shaka a Zulu was engaged in vicious combat with a long knife wielding shadow, only for a second that not even Shaka had seen grapple him from behind, before bringing the blade to his throat and moving it across. Not far away another shadow was carrying torches, which he was periodically throwing into tents. Sometimes hoarse cries would come from the makeshift dwellings.

 As Farewell ordered his men back to their own lodges, presumably to acquire their precious firearms, a barely visible shadow threw a black spear at Shaka. While this missed by less than a meter, it did have the effect of jolting Shaka into action, as well as piercing the White man known as King’s shoulder. The Zulu king grabbed a shield from one of his slain guards and pulled out his own personal iklwa, always on his person, and charged the offender. In a mechanical motion he hooked the shield around the Hari’s and shifted it to the side, before plunging his blade into the gut.
IIIIIKKKKKKKKKLLLLLLLLLLLL
He withdrew-
WWAAAAAAA
 Another shadow came to join his friend, only to meet with a similar fate. Shaka barely paid attention to him as he cast an angry glare at the torch thrower-that man was going to pay! Another man in the way was similarly cut down, while a Hari with his back turned, poised to kill a Zulu youth, was pushed into the nearby flames. The man’s clothe and shield ignited, and Shaka was pleased to see the youth pin the man into the fire with one of those useless Assegai. Reminded him of something he would have done in his childhood…
 Off to the side Shaka could see one of the Englishmen being brutally beaten by one of the marauders with a club, every blow ringing out a resounding crack. Shaka was more than knowledgeable enough to tell the man wasn’t going to live, but didn’t stop one of the other Englishmen from pulling a pistol and firing it point blank into the man’s back.
       Suddenly the scene changed, and the shadows looked up from the carnage with fear plastered to their faces; evidently they had never encountered gunpowder before. One of them called out an order into the air, and then the made to flee.
Obviously, they didn’t know who Shaka is and his motto of “never leaving an enemy behind.”

Roaring out an order of his own, Shaka’s troops pursued the Hari. A couple of clubs and assegai (which better have been thrown by the younglings, Shaka thought) caught a German or two in the backs, dropping them. If they weren’t killed by the projectiles then the encroaching Zulus would finish them off. For the runners there could be no escape as the sandal-less Zulus far outpaced the sandaled Hari. Shaka caught up to the torch thrower and slashed the joints behind his legs, causing him to fall to the ground. Shaka grinned at him; he had plans for this man later. As Shaka had him and the few living shadows dragged back to the camp he wondered how his own night raiders were faring….
Dawn, Arminius’s main camp
 Red-eyed and tired the self-proclaimed Lord of the Germans paused in the middle of putting his chainmail on, and examined his men. They are showed a distinct lack of sleep, like him. They all showed a great deal of nervousness and anxiety brought on from lack of sleep, like him. Arminius cursed the gods for allowing him to underestimate his foe, as he had not anticipated a night attack while simultaneously launching one of his own.

    They came in the night, crouched low to the ground so as to avoid scrutiny and as silent as a hunting wolf pack.  The German encampment consisted of no one unified camp; rather it was spread out into different tribes, and then further sub-divided into individual clans. In this way, Arminius thought grimly, the sleeping arrangements were very similar to the political organization of our country. It was because of this disunity that the Zulu guerillas were able to inflict such widespread havoc.
 From what he had gathered, late at night when the wolves came out to prowl (or leopards, which this country possessed in abundance) that the Zulus came to wreak havoc. Bypassing or slaying the mostly asleep sentries (Arminius felt anger rise in his gut at this; Germans were famously undisciplined, and one of the few bright ideas the skirt-wearing, kidnapping Romans had was to institute the Death penalty for these inept bastards )  they continued onward into the camps, staying close to the ground as to seem like they were sleeping. Once they rolled next to someone they would silently and efficiently slit their throats with their short spears, before moving on. Who knows how much havoc they could have caused, had one of the victims not been wearing an overlong mail shirt, which was covered his neck. When the native tried to slit his throat it merely caused the links to brush-painfully, mind you- against the man’s neck, causing him to shriek in alarm. This sent out an alarm call throughout the camps, and natives-who had only brought along their knives so they could silently sneak through the forest- found themselves under a hail of javelins and spears. The fight had lasted only mere minutes, as while some undoubtedly managed to sneak off the vast majority lay skewered on the forest floor.

Still the damage was done, and the death toll was in clearly in the triple digits. And none of them got any sleep!
 Gnashing his teeth together, Arminius vowed to finish off his foe today, and get the hell back to Germany.

10 percent.
10 percent of his army was now food for the worms, and that pissed Shaka off immeasurably. Oh he couldn’t wait to get revenge on their prisoners!

Hundreds of Zulus had died in last night’s raid, as well as two white men (King died from his javelin, which strangely had bended inside his body, making it impossible to pull out). His own raiders had given him some satisfaction that his enemy hadn’t emerged from the night unscathed, but even that didn’t replace the losses his army had suffered. Today was the day, he resolved, that he would head into the Leopard’s tree and either kill him or flush him out, metaphorically speaking.
 His men were ready to move on a moment’s notice, and obedient enough (or at least more fearful of their king then the enemy) to March into the unknown. There was a dirt path that ran through the forest, a path that Shaka knew none of the native inhabitants had any idea how to make. In all likelihood that road led to the main enemy camp, or at least through it, which would then allow Shaka to split the forest, thereby splitting whoever the foreigners who lived in the forest in half.

 As his men ran double pace into the unknown, Shaka laughed gleefully into the air.

While the victor of the battle was in doubt, the amount of blood spilled wasn’t, and such thoughts please Shaka.
  Little over a half mile along the path into the forest stood a German war band, crouched in the forest growth a little ways away from the road. Covered head to toe in war paint, most of them shirtless at least (with a few forgoing clothes all together!)  these men were waiting with anxious anticipation for Arminius’s orders. Adding to their frightening appearance was both the height of the warriors ( all above six feet) and the animal skins that many had dressed themselves in, in order to capture the spirit of the wolf, bear or (since they arrived in this strange land) lion or leopard.

 These men were known as the berserkers among their comrades, and among the Romans it was said that these men gave the city dwellers their perpetual fear of the north.  At the head of the warriors was an absolute giant of a man. At seven feet tall, possessing long blond hair with his body covered by war tattoos and a complete bear skin, this man was perhaps the greatest warrior in the German army. His seven foot long spear, draped in feathers with a cast iron tip, had seen many battles, and the wooden shaft was reinforced with specifically tailored iron rings.   This man’s name was Berengar …appropriately combining both his weapon and clothes into one name.

 Right now drugs coursed through his veins, and put excitement into the man’s heart; he could barely wait for the chance to charge into battle. In fact, if that fool Arminius didn’t call it soon, he may just charge in anyway… the pila that he had captured from those decadent Romans would go nicely with the shields of the men that marched so purposely before him. Though Berengar hated the southerners, he had chosen to outfit his men with some of their captured pila  (though the quantity was rare enough that only ever fourth man possessed one….and then it was only one) .

 The head of the Zulu column was about 100 meters up the road, the middle of the snake was now in front of Berengar and he hungered to take a bite out of it. If he was a more observant man, he would have noticed the cattle that followed at the rear, or the very small but noticeable contingent of white men that followed the head of the snake.
         It was at that moment that Arminius’s messenger blew his rusted, old, Roman trumpet and without a second thought Berengar flew into battle, ahead of his men.

  A hail of spears, stones and arrows came crashing down upon the Zulu line, eager to inflict the same horrendous causalities as had been inflicted the day before. This time the Zulu were prepared, and as they had in countless other engagement merely lifted their shields above their heads, or if they were along the sides, held it towards the forest. The British hurried to hide behind the Zulu fortification, for the most part succeeding in making it to their destination unharmed. One of the men took two stones to the chest and an arrow to the eye however, while another took in so many javelins and arrows that when he collapsed, dead, to the ground his body never touched.  The pure amount of projectiles forever separating the body from the Earth!  A third took a javelin to the stomach region; not dead yet but would be soon.
  Here and there a Zulu was too slow and suffered for it; however for the most part the Zulu line emerged unscathed. Save for that part of the line where a unique brand of javelin pounded into the shield, and unlike the others did not bounce off. To the Zulus horror it remained stuck and weighed down their shield; right as a race of blue giants appeared racing down the hill. Nervous despite their training the Zulus of the middle section tried desperately to remove the pila but it was too no avail. The giants, in drug induced frenzy, broke into the narrow Zulu middle.
     The other sections were prevented from assisting by simultaneous attacks everywhere along the line, though unlike the middle their sections were not broken into. Arminius himself rode into the Zulu head on top of his mighty steed, leading the Germanic cavalry against Shaka’s royal guard…and the king himself.
     Berengar laughed, his voice heard even over the typical bedlam of warfare. He so enjoyed battles whether it was the rush of a duel, the screams of terror of his opponents, or even the sprays of blood. He didn’t even pause from his laughter as the man in front of him got lobotomized by a Zulu axe, his open crown helmet failing to protect anything vital, and instead only stopping the blade of the axe when it hit the temple. Seeing that his comrade in front of him was done he pushed the body to the floor, unbalancing the Zulu whose axe had become stuck. Berengar’s spear found his rib cage, and before the light had even left the man’s eyes the native was tossed off. Berengar simply had too many people to kill to be able to savor one death.
  Whirling his spear around his head in speeds faster than that of the native cheetah, he sent his spear shaft crashing down upon the skull of an otherwise occupied Zulu, breaking it open. Berengar smiled to himself; though the morale of these men hadn’t broken yet, he and his berserkers had still managed to cut them in half. As Arminius liked to preach “a people divided is a people conquered”.
 A poke in his side cut him off, and he was surprised to see a relatively young Zulu stick his short spear deep into him. The man smiled, evidently under the impression that Berengar would collapse in pain. The Germanic berserker laughed again, before swinging his own spear across the Zulu’s neck and giving him a near decapitation. With his hands, Berengar decided to finish the job, and within moments he was holding the terrified head of his foe.  Seeing another man coming towards him he chucked it at his new foe, before impaling   yet another man. He was so busy fighting that he failed to notice the stampede of cattle heading off into the wilderness.
 To Arminius the battle was going well. His force had split the Zulus in half, and now he was fighting the king’s guards. It wouldn’t be long now until he had enveloped them, and just like Hannibal at Cannae, annihilated them. He thrust out his hand with his lance, and was rewarded with a cry of pain from his opposite. Letting go of the lance, he brought out his spatha and delivered a deep blow across the next opponent’s chest. Finally he caught sight of the man who he was looking for, the king. It was obvious that it was him, after all he was the most elegantly dressed of all of them, and the Zulus around him seemed to be even more fiercely determined that the rest. Raising his hand to gather troops to him, he was stopped mid-motion by a sight towards the rear of the column….

     A horde of black and white spotted cattle came thundering out of the melee in the rear. A few panicked Germans who had lagged behind in the charge tried to get out of their way, but to no avail. They disappeared within the dust, and Arminius would have bet his ambitions to be king that little would remain of them once the horde had all moved through. The stampede isn’t what scared him however. No, that was the sizable contingent of Germans who took off to follow them….led by his uncle Inguiomer….Arminius cursed the his grandfather for conceiving such a foolish man! If only he had controlled himself that one time around his grandmother! What possible gain could there be from capturing those cattle?  It’s not like they would be able to ship them back to Germany and he could become rich?
 To compound things thunder rang through the air, and the man standing beside him dropped from his horse, a hole the size of a fist in his chest. More of that terrible noise rang throughout the air, and Arminius began to see panic in his men’s faces.
      With a sizable amount of Germans gone, the Zulus in the rest of the line (except for those in the middle or the front) felt a huge reprieve. With the loss of many Germans, they were able to reform their formations, thus allowing them to most skillfully perform Shaka’s 4 step victory plan. 1. Hook shield around enemy’s shield 2.  Roughly shift enemy shield to the side 3. Stab to the guy 4. Repeat. It was no contest, now that the formations were back up there was nothing the Germans could do against the Iklwa/Ishlangu combo.
          Seeing gruesome losses were now being inflicted upon their men, some of the German commanders sounded the order to retreat. Others soon found themselves surrounded by the Zulus, who were making use of their improvised horns of the bull tactic, and were slaughtered in between.  More thunder rang through the air, further damaging German morale.

   Though he couldn’t see all of this from where he was at, Arminius knew that the tide of battle had turned. Finally looking down at the king, he blinked with surprise as the man was now staring at him, apparently realizing what position Arminius held. The son of the Cherusci didn’t have time to dwell on this as a rough hand dragged down from his horse, tackling him. The Zulu, and a large specimen at that, straddled over him and drove his blade into Arminius’s gut. Had the German chieftain been like the vast majority of his men, and only worn a simple tunic, then his tale would have ended here.

 However he was not like most Germans, and underneath the tunic his coat of mail absorbed the blow, and gave Arminius enough time to draw his captured Roman pugio. He drove the blade home, all the way into the man’s stomach, and with a quick cutting motion disemboweled him.
   Another Zulu tried to shank him but his loyal bodyguard Gisbert sent a javelin straight through the man’s neck. Arminius cursed as he picked himself up; out of the corner he could see Zulus trying to envelop his cavalry. Vowing to kill his uncle, he reluctantly ordered a general retreat to the camp. There his auxiliaries waited in reserve. Hopefully with them he’d be able to change the course of the battle.
Berengar could see the warriors around him fleeing but this mattered little to the giant of the man. He and his dwindling berserkers would stay until death came to claim them, along with the dozens of devils who they had slain!  His prized spear was gone, stuck, in the bodies of no less than three men (That was an achievement that they would tell in the sagas for sure). Now he wielded a seax and club, using them in combo to both crack heads and gut those stupid enough to come at him. He knew this was his final stand, since that Zulu had stabbed him in the gut he had sustained numerous wounds across his body, but at this point he did not care. He cared for nothing anymore save the screams of his enemies, and making sure that most of the blood on him wasn’t his own.

Grasping hold of a Zulu shield he yanked it from a native’s grasp before slamming both his weapons against the man’s head. Someone threw a spear at him, momentarily surprising the giant; these people seemed to hate ranged combat after all!  Someone rammed a spear into his back. Berengar responded by slamming his club into the man’s face. Another Zulu took the opportunity to jam another short spear into his right lung. Somehow this didn’t kill the man, and Berengar simply spat blood into his face. Berengar raised his seax carrying hand, only for another Zulu to grapple him and stab him in the armpit. A third man drove his iklwa into the back of his neck, severing the spinal cord. He gave one last smile; happy that he could die a warrior’s death as darkness consumed him….
       The retreat was doomed from the start. The Zulu’s lack of shoes, high endurance and tough feet allowed them to run down their foes, all save the mounted cavalry of Arminius. Eventually the German infantry realized this and simply stood their ground. Last stands littered the forest, and both armies were hopelessly scattered, fixed in dozens of small engagements.

King Shaka led his royal guard after Arminius, together with a few accompanying British. They too were scattered; some lay dead from the melee that they were ill suited for, while others had joined other Zulu bands or even fled altogether.
Just as Shaka had reached the gates of the camp he came across a stash of those long, thin javelins used to oh so devastating effect against Zulu shields. Considering it for a minute he ordered his men to pick as many of them up as possible.
            Arminius blew his horn, rallying the remaining cavalry and his fresh auxiliary to him. Lines were assembled, and the long pikes brought out. Here is where the end game would be.
 The natives did not disappoint and mere moments later the Zulus arrived, amazingly not looking the least bit tired from their long jog, followed by some elaborately dressed folk of what Arminius thought was Germanic origins. They were openly panting, unlike the Zulus.  They filled the courtyard opposite of Arminius, before halting.
           The seconds passed like hours as the two sides stared each other down. Finally the spell was broken by Arminius’s opposite, who shouted an order to his men. The 10 or so men that Arminius thought were of German stock pointed their awkward looking spears at the Germans, which possessed holes in the middle. These foreign weapons gave the crack of thunder, and several Germans feel to the ground, either dead or in shock. Arminius growled; no way was he going to let them get a second shot. He gave the order and his men charged, right as the Zulu gave another order. Some of his men pulled out long, thin, metal – pilums he realized with a surprise! These collided with the German shields, which the Germans, having experience against the Romans, promptly dropped.

       The long pikes pounded into the Zulu front, keeping them from attacking on the front. Outside of the area affected by Pikes, Zulus attempted to flank only to be met by Arminius’s guard. The German grinned at the fighting as one of the Zulus attempted to stab an auxiliary in the gut, only to realize too late that the Hamata wasn’t letting the short spear in. The Zulu paid for this mistake with a spatha thrust to the heart.
    Chainmail clearly had changed the game, Arminius commented mentally to himself, as the Zulus could no longer use their favorite tactic of shanking the gut. That didn’t mean that they still weren’t formidable though….. As the Zulus began cutting down the pikes. It wasn’t long until they had closed the middle. His men in the front drew their swords, and a desperate and vicious melee insured.  Neither side was really able to do much to the other, as the chainmail severely limited the Zulu options and the size of the Zulu shield limited striking options for the Germans. Even Zulu axes had trouble, as these men wore a mixture of native German helmets (Arminius was particularly proud of his distinctive whale helmet) and captured Imperial Roman ones.
      Yet unbeknownst to Arminius the Zulus had something the Germans did not; years of stick fighting experience, which enhanced their ability to duel. This had begun to make its presence known even to him, as the man next to the Germanic warlord took an expertly thrust iklwa to the next. When it was pulled out light shone through the unfortunate victim’s neck to the other side. Arminius took advantage of the opportunity before him and hacked off the man’s outstretched arm, before kicking him back into his friends.
 This, however, drew the ire of another V.I.P. in the battle. Before Arminius could so much as take one step towards the pile of collapsed men, a tall African stepped in front of him. This man wore a leopard hide and was all muscle. This man was Shaka Zulu.
The two giants in history squared off against one another.

 Shaka had never been a man of hesitation and of course it was him that took the first move. Like he had on hundreds others he wrapped his shield around the Germans- only this time instead of pushing it to the side he pulled it towards him. An attempted finisher on the part of Shaka then failed, as the bronze figurine at the crown of the helmet absorbed the blow. Arminius, put in an awkward position, slammed the hilt of his sword into Shaka’s gut before moving backwards and, to the Zulu’s amazement, dropping his sword! He then reached into a third scabbard and pulled a smaller one; not a dagger but a short sword. Shaka smiled, flattered in a weird way. After all it was the king of the Zulus that once said that long weapons had no place in close quarters, and apparently his opponent had come to realize that.

 With their shields still connected and neither man willing to risk letting go, they began to parry each other desperate finishing blows. Again Shaka’s stick fighting skill had mastery here, but the armor of Arminius helped compensate for that somewhat. Neither Iklwa nor gladius possessed enough advantages for the fight to be determined by weapon alone..
Finally Shaka dropped to the ground, pulling his foe with him. Knocked off balance Arminius tripped over his legs, getting Shaka the opening he needed; Arminius’s legs. He slashed at the Achilles tendon of Arminius, causing him to drop to the ground. Savoring the moment he pulled back Arminius’s head by his long, golden hair and slit his throat. Arminius held the hateful stare into Shaka’s eyes for a couple seconds, before finally succumbing to blood loss.

     Looking up from his slain nemesis, he was pleased to see that Arminius’s remaining warriors had been enveloped, and in such dense conditions not even their strange armor could save them. Speaking of which….this battle had given Shaka to ponder on. Obviously his own crafted strategies were not perfect anymore, and that he was still missing some key components. Looking at an odd metal javelin at his feet he thought of its advantages, specifically the ability to defeat shields. And while body armor such as Arminius’s were impractical in the hot, parched lands of the Zulus, perhaps some form could be introduced…..

Shaka’s Epilogue:

     Shaka’s empire expanded to the north, but not nearly as far as he wanted it to.  By the time he was finally able to collect all of his troops together he found to his dismay the nearly 60% percent of his army was dead or unaccounted for, an exceedingly depressing assertion. So with great reluctance, and much kicking and screaming on Shaka’s part, they had turned back.

     But still, Shaka thought, he was glad that he went on this expedition. This hard won victory had given him a couple of new strategies and tactics to try on his neighbors...and when King George's men finally decided to make an appearance, him too....

Arminius vs. Shaka results:

 In most battles, both on DW and on other blogs, the fighters with the superior range often win, as they have multiple opportunities to inflict death before a superior close range opponent gets in range to use his weapon. In this instance that was not the case,  as Shaka and his Zulus have a history of dealing with both long and mid-range successfully. Indeed the Zulus actually developed their tactics, shields and weapons to combat those two categories, and allow them to get close enough to inflict gruesome wounds with their Iklwa. Another similar situation would have been known to Arminius,  the Romans. Though the Romans did have auxiliaries with their legions who carried bows/slings, for the most part it was all the pila. Yet despite this the Romans conquered civilizations far and wide with clearly superior long and mid-range, showing that these categories are NOT necessary for victory.

 Shaka’s victory was helped along by his superior shields, as well as domination of the X-factors, particularly morale and martial arts. Arminius was a great warrior without a doubt, and an incredible leader, yet this battle I feel was simply too much for even him. However in terms of historical importance this man takes the prize. Without his brilliant ambush at Teuroburg Wald the entire history of Western Civilization, and the world along with it, would have been different.

Category	Shaka Zulu	Arminius of the Cherusci
Long Range:	7 (for rarity)	25
Mid-Range:	6 (rarity)	14
Close range:	23	15
Special:	18	16
Rare Weapons:	7	7
Support Animal:	6	9
Head:	4	6
Body:	5	11
Arms:	2	2
Legs:	2	4
Blocking/Shield:	20	12
Tactics:	25	25
Morale	15	12
Motivation:	7	10
Loyalty:	9	7
Psychological Aspects:	14	13
Rules of Combat:	19	12
Mobility:	13	9
Known Weaknesses:	-6	-7
Training/Discipline/QOE:	18	18
Martial Arts/Fighting Style:	13	8
Innovation:	18	14
Personality:	8	8
Total:	253	250

 As you can see it was surprisingly close….

Category (only measuring direct Shaka/Arminius kills) :	Shaka	Arminius
Long Range:	Assegai: 21 Thrown Knobkerrie : 24	Longbow: 65 Sling: 58 Javelins: 188
Mid-Range:	Isijula : 43	Ger: 643
Close range:	Iklwa/Ishlangu combo: 1690 Knobkerry: 203	Seax: 446Germanic Clubs: 349
Special:	Axes: 423	Spatha: 345
Rare Weapons:	Guns: 167 Swords/Bayonets: 34	Pugio : 16 Gladius: 79 Pila: 143
Support Animal:	Stampede!: 9	Trampling: 54
Total	2614	2386

Shaka Zulu:

Assegai:  Shaka hated this weapon, and the only time it saw use was under either A. his auxiliaries or B. the young warriors in training. Given the weapon’s rarity and obvious weaknesses, it was rare for the German warlord to die from this, only 21 times total.

Thrown Knobkerry: Very rare, difficult to aim, and difficult to kill with (particularly when your opponent has a shield and helmet) . Only killed Arminius 24 times.

The Isijula was used in scouting situations, or sometimes even in raiding, and it was good enough to score 43 kills despite its rarity.

The Iklwa/Ishlangu combo dominated the field, scoring a whopping 1690 kills. There was simply too much training, skill, and effectiveness behind this combo for the German to overcome.

The Knobkerry was a bit lackluster due to the the presence of a helmet, but it was still formidable enough to inflict fatal blunt force trauma 203 times.

Zulu axes were the second most effective weapon on the Zulu side of things for its ability to get around the shield and inflict both blunt force trauma and hacking maneuvers . Scored 423 kills.

Despite its rarity I factored in the ability of the British to aim for Arminius (*snipe* ), and it was this ability that made it the only effective “Zulu “range weapon. 167 fatal shots.

It was very rare for the British to get in close quarters, but when they did they were sometimes able to get the kill.

In some super rare occasions, Arminius was crushed to death in a cattle stampede 9 times.

Arminius:

 The accuracy of the longbow when combined with ambushes was good enough to reward the weapon 65 kills.

Sling stones may not be lethal as lethal as the rest of the projectiles, but they were still good enough to get 58 kills.

 The pure amount of javelins insured that Shaka would die from this more than any other ranged weapon, and so he was killed 188 times.

Germans were some of the best spearmen ever, and they were able to score 643 head Zulu kills in this battle.

The Seaz may have been nothing compared to the Iklwa, but it was still lethal enough to earn an impressive 446 kills.

Germanic clubmen were legendary in their time, and they sure proved it in this battle! 349 kills FTW

The Celtic longsword/Spatha was superb for the horse, the nobles and auxiliaries and managed to score 345 Zulu fatal shanks.

Captured roman weaponry inflicted 238 deaths total. Not bad considering their rarity. The Pila helped a lot in fatally disabling Shaka and setting him up for a kill.

Shaka was trampled underneath the horse 54 times.

Ughh I hate Army battles and I know this may not be my best work but I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless! Next time watch as the ambushing, poison spitting masters of death from the Amazon, the Huaorani, fight Hawaii’s martial arts masters!