Quinta Macedonica Legio - completed and retitled in honour.

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Thanks - everyone - all credit to Joar for the typeface and fonts design - please 'rep' him as he deserves all the credit he can get!

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Here's an idea of how it might look to actual scale on the Amazon Kindle site:

[MemphisRex]

Awesome man!

[McScottish]

That is so badass! Well done, sir, and may you have many purchases and fine reviews too!

[Diocle]

Wonderful cover! Great work, really nice! I like it!...And wonderful story!....so Akkad will see the destiny of the V fulfilled!.....It is sad and beautiful at the same time, what a great walk for them, the men of the V and for us the readers! ..............now I need to discover Akkad!......

[chaplain118]

Man, does every single Roman-related book have to be on a dark orange/dirt yellow color scheme?

[Joar]

Man, does every single Roman-related book have to be on a dark orange/dirt yellow color scheme?

No, you should have seen the one I made first.

[Knonfoda]

P.S. - just learned how to 'multi-quote'! Honestly, I am such a noob sometimes . . .

Diocle, Knonfoda, I haven't multi-quoted your responses due to length considerations.

Yes, the acanthus is crucial but I fear as a symbol on the outside cover it may not resonant enough except to a reader in the know. It is one of the symbols which grows in the AAR and which is not immediately established. I love the elegance of the acanthus flower on the capital you show. There is a simplicity which is quite beautiful. I think I will use something like that as part of the internal lay-out - perhaps chapter markers? What do you think?

Knonfoda, thanks again for your comments there! I have PM'd you in more detail.

I WILL keep the title intact. And thanks for everyone for all your imput again. It has helped me decide - and when I told my partner about it, she said 'I really must read it . . .'

Sheesh . . .

lol... "differences of opinion" - more common than you might think!

Sorry Carissimus by I need to say something to Knon-bra!....

..............Knon....dear friend, can I tell you that I do not like to be compared to the sand in the shorts?....I do not find appropriate to the image I have of myself, for many reasons, here only the most important:

1. The sand in the shorts is one of the most annoying thing in the life!!!! This is not questionable o.c.!!!
2. The image of the sand in the shorts is not adequate to my noble person and birth!!!
3. Why in the shorts? You could say: 'The sand in the shoes', or 'the sand in the sea bag', it would be more.....neutral, but the sand in the shorts!!! Com'on!!! Do you know where goes the sand when it enter in the shorts?........... No my dear!!!! it is not accettable, for me, being compared to such an horrible thing!!!
4. As I said, I'm not everywhere! In fact I follow only five or six Threads/Forums on TWC! My noble presence is rarely seen elsewhere!
5. I hate the beaches with sand, because I firmily hate the sand! In Liguria we have good solid roks! And I search only beaches with roks, because I hate the sand in the shorts!!!!

Dear Knon a currigendum would be highly appropriate, if not a nice duel using foil or sabre might solve our small issue!................(In the case, I would consider staying at the first blood, o.c.! )

No, you should have seen the one I made first.

Diocle my friend, you really should make that your avatar! It symbolises just about everything that is awesome about you!

I understand your hatred of sand, and of being compared to being sand, especially up someone's shorts, but that is why its funny, don't you see! I didn't mean to mock you, no no, not at all! What I meant was, lets think of you as knowledge, and curious enquire. Now, let us think of "shorts" as the rest of us, and the many topics we discuss, debate, argue over, start wars over, or otherwise make a fuss about. That is what you get into! You get into these most amazing topics, and I am very glad of it!

Seriously, currigendum does not do justice! I think I speak for all of us here when I say we like the way you have an opinion over most things, and that for the most part, they tend to be very well informed, and as usual, that is a bonus! So keep it up my latin friend!

Now, onto the last update.

Seriously? I mean, really? Was it not good enough that you tried your hand at literature, poetry, history, ancient languages, geography and so forth, did you really now have to stay your hand at philosophy too? Do you talents know no bounds?

‘Look on Sol imperious and alone, Felix. We are nothing but votaries of Sol. Nothing more. This is the common parent to us all, mortals and gods. The Phoenicians who from their sagacity and learning possess great insight into things divine, hold the doctrine that this radiance is a part of the "Soul of the Stars." This opinion is consistent with sound reason, I feel: if we consider the light that is without body, we shall perceive that of such light the source cannot be a body, but rather the simple action of a mind, which spreads itself by means of illumination as far as its proper seat; illuminating at the same time the whole universe with its divine and pure radiance. Sol above is life unending, thought both given and ungiven, motion allowed and not yet conceived. We stand naked and alone beneath that awful majesty . . .’

Above us, that sun bore down in an unrelenting wave of light and heat. It was pure brilliance unmatched and we stood beneath it in a blasted place; a place shorn of meaning and civilisation; a place naked and abandoned. For one moment, I touched something of what Aemilianus was showing me - something radiant beyond the simple light which bathed us both - as if in that light rested another brilliance which was both real and unreal - somehow intimate and universal. And this brilliance bathed me, refreshed me, whispered to me, as I knew it had done to Aemilianus in the past. And then I too raised a hand up to Sol as we stood alone on that crimson dune high above the toiling figures below . . .

I really liked these two paragraphs. Mainly because they served to show up Julian (arhem, Aemilianus) and his knowledge of philosophy and 'astrology' too!

Honestly, I can't wait to see how this goes, especially now that we are upon the very ruins of Akkadia itself. The strange thing is, its funny to think that there actually existed a civilization there, much in the same way that the very Sahara was once shown to have been a lush jungle, not unlike the Amazon! In fact, its believed the Amazon will one day become an arid desert. It's just strange to think such beauty could one day vanish under the seas of dunes and dust... such is life though, is it not? Temporal and temporary, limited and loathing?

Now, for the cover designs. I pay the price for being away, and not following the discussion here. I really like the last one you posted. I tried repping Joar, who deserves it, but DAMN! I can't apparently. Strangely, I don't seem to be able to rep anyone these days. Most annoying.

In any case, I really like the last one you posted. I do have a few concerns though, as when in thumbnail mode (which is what the majority of ppl will see as they browse Amazon/etc) is that the other two overlays aren't very discernible. In some ways, this is good, as it draws attention to the title, but I think that in addition to the title, you need some other 'symbol' that draws attention. I can see a desert there, but its not enough I don't think, as quite a lot of Roman titles have deserts/dust behind them. I understand that Acanthus is something that grows on you, but I was thinking maybe of another symbol of the book, besides say the Eagle (which I think is too common and far too interchangeable with "Legion") which you could use as a 'hook'.

Something like this, perhaps half buried in the sand, and obviously "real" as opposed to digital. In essence, I think you need a symbol in addition to your title SBH, something that catches the imagination of the reader.

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Man, does every single Roman-related book have to be on a dark orange/dirt yellow color scheme?

Here's Joar's original design using my background concept:

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Knonfoda, I wish I could take praise for the whole Sol speech but the bulk of that is a paraphrase from Julian himself, although adapted for the novel. The context is mine and why he is saying it but the underlying philosophy is his!

I know what you mean about the Nefud and its past. Seriously, I was writing up the whole march into the Nefud thing and wondering how I was going to pull off Akkad in the middle of it all when a news story broke that archaeologists had found traces of ancient oases and canals deep under the Nefud pointing to an ancient civilisation there thousands of years ago. I can't make this stuff up!

As for the title, I can't overburden it wth too many images. This is not a book cover in the traditional sense. It is a representation of a book cover for Amazon Kindle and the scale is quite small alas. If anything, the title has to be the main pull. After that, it's the synopsis.

[Ybbon]

In all honesty, I always read the synopsis of a book on amazon before purchasing so the synopsis should be the real grabber anyway.

What an update. But soon we will come to the end then then what do we do. We'll be bereft of our Nowhere fix - we need the Anti-Nowhere league! (still going strong I think).

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

The Somewhere league!

I can see an AAR already!

[Ybbon]

I meant these: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anti-Nowhere_League

[Diocle]

I didn't mean to mock you, no no, not at all!

Dear Knonbro I know well you was joking, but also my answer was a joke! and thanks for your kind words! .......Well I really hate the sand! This is true, and this is the reason because I love some Greek isles and my region, Liguria with all its roks, and mountain from which you can watch at the sea from the trees, like Corsica! I like the rocks!

About the cover of the Masterpiece, what to say? It is beautiful and very 'communicative'! I like it!....I must be honest now: my personal taste has been formed at the school of the 'Less is more', so I like the works with less possible use of graphical materials, like types of different fonts, effects, and images, but this is my personal taste, that I cannot change at my age, but I understand the necessity to attract the attention on the cover, so the choice of SBH is really condivisible!

I have the Epistulae of Julianus, Clarissimus, can I ask you if the talk about the Sol is in the Epistulae? If so what is its reference?.....

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Dear Knonbro I know well you was joking, but also my answer was a joke! and thanks for your kind words! .......Well I really hate the sand! This is true, and this is the reason because I love some Greek isles and my region, Liguria with all its roks, and mountain from which you can watch at the sea from the trees, like Corsica! I like the rocks!

About the cover of the Masterpiece, what to say? It is beautiful and very 'communicative'! I like it!....I must be honest now: my personal taste has been formed at the school of the 'Less is more', so I like the works with less possible use of graphical materials, like types of different fonts, effects, and images, but this is my personal taste, that I cannot change at my age, but I understand the necessity to attract the attention on the cover, so the choice of SBH is really condivisible!

I have the Epistulae of Julianus, Clarissimus, can I ask you if the talk about the Sol is in the Epistulae? If so what is its reference?.....

Of course, you will find his words deep in here - but remember that 'our' Julian is a changed man and one in crisis hence his actions and his thoughts may not marry up with the full philosophy expressed in that tract!

[Diocle]

Thanks for the link, so it was 'Oration upon the Sovereign Sun. Addressed to Sallust.' , I found it in my book (thanks again for the adress of the Italian editor, you are a myth, ops sorry! as said Gallienus you in English use the word Legend so: SBH is a living Legend!!)
I read on a nice book about the cultural formation and the psychology of julian that probably the Mithraism played a great role in His passage from the Magic form of Neoplatonism of the first period to the construction of His personal syncretistic cult of the Sol Invictus.

'JULIAN. An Intellectual Biography' by Polymnia Athanassiadi (1992), Ed. Routledge-London and New York.

[Merula]

Holy mother of bejeeezus!!! I have been away a long time!!! haha

This AAR seems to have rocketed off into the distance I really really really need to catch up, its just too good!

Better get to it then... page 14... huh :/

+rep

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Holy mother of bejeeezus!!! I have been away a long time!!! haha

This AAR seems to have rocketed off into the distance I really really really need to catch up, its just too good!

Better get to it then... page 14... huh :/

+rep

Page 14?! Crikey, I don't envy your reading effort . . .

Diocles, I would love to read that work but the cheapest on Amazon is about £70!

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

In White We Fall, In White We Aspire . . .

That ancient white face was to become the first of many such broken monuments and ruins as we marched slowly onwards that day. As though passing a boundary stone, other shapes and structures soon began to emerge from the endless curves and slopes of the Nefud - shattered columns with curious scrolls around them, marble mosaics dispersed now into a hundred tiny pieces so that whatever design had originally been on them was lost, walls and corners lurching out of the dust and sand at obscene angles, and here and there strange stepped objects like miniature Aegyptian pyramids but so worn down now that it seemed as if they were toy buildings or echoes of those larger originals so far away. All over these lost and abandoned ruins lay strange glyphs or runes so faint now that even to run a hand over them was still to doubt their existence. They looked to my ill-trained eye like those scrawls pigeons or starlings leave in wet sand - a sort of pattering of strokes and chiselled lines, all running together but spelling out who knew what doom or glory or idle boast?

As the sun rose high above us and we marched slowly on, these ruins, all white and desiccated, emerged one after the other as if to herald us into an older wiser place. We drifted, our heads twisting slowly this way and that, our mouths open, the camel-riders closing in about us for security, the legionaries halting here and there to stare and touch these ancient stones and marbles, to run a hand over that unknown writing, even as the file-closers and the centenarii barked at them to move on. Here, a wall protruded from a wide shallow drift like a bulwark, the faint outline of a face cold and distant on it, there, a tower leaned out at a drunken angle, cracks and fragments clothing it like a rotting skirt, while about us, emerged stepped arch-ways with the stylised designs of strange serpents and birds on them, all intertwining with the images of men in profile at war or blowing huge horns. A slow dolorous wind rose up and drifted through these ruins giving everything a mournful gloss - and it seemed to many of the soldiers that lost spirits were drifting in and out of these ruins, decrying a once proud city that had been swept away by its gods.

And the more we marched through the midday heat and into the long painful drag of the afternoon, the more these stark ruins gathered to us - until it became apparent that we were indeed now entering the heart of a blasted city so old that it had fallen from our histories and lay now only in myth and fable.

So it was that we, the poor and exhausted exercitus of Rome, found at last this Akkad, that first city, and what we found was the rotting bones which lie under all cities, merely waiting for time and the vagaries of the gods to expose them, no matter what we do to prolong that glory . . .

It was only when we finally arrived in what seemed to have once been a wide forum - though to call it that did not do justice to its size - that we all, as if of one mind, slowed to a halt and opened up, drifting apart and then mulling about. We, the infantry, the skirmishers, the cavalry, and those camel auxiliaries, scattered apart then and wandered about this wide forum, framed by columns and walls and angled arches, our mouths open and our hearts trembling. It was Barko who alone echoed our thoughts when I heard him whisper in his crude Latin and Coptic a small sentiment while we wandered under a broken archway. We had tarried to look at the frieze of a horned god of some sort impaling a victim below - or perhaps it was an Akkadian lord triumphant in battle, his foe trampled beneath him - and Barko, marvelling at its detail despite over a thousand years of wind and sand, whispered up to that figure:

‘ . . . whence they have strayed, whence fallen deep and far
To generation’s shore, where madness runs
To its inheritance of dust.’

I saw Silvanus turn to Barko then, no doubt some mocking jibe on his lips, but when he saw the stillness of the Aegyptian, his sombre look which muted all the creases and rough leather of that old face, he turned away and I heard him mouth the last refrain quietly to himself ‘ . . . the inheritance of dust . . .’

. . . Within hours as the sun above marked time, this place gained a name in the grim humour of the Roman legionary and its was called the White Ruin, the Ruina Candida, and that name with its satirical edge rippled down the rank and file even as the Dux Ripae ordered us all to assemble a camp here within the empty forum. Among its shattered walls and columns, among its upended slabs and half-buried structures, we unpacked the papillio tents, settled down to cook, tended to the mounts, and spread out into the further ruins, half as guards and patrols and half as scavengers and idle wanderers. It was a curious military camp which emerged within this forum - for among the ordered rows of tents, all edged with braziers and bundles of javelins, here and there defined by a century or a maniple standard, bounded by rows of tethered horses and camels, the large pavilion tent of the Armenian centring all, were also broken monuments and half-formed arches. And while among all this men moved in that old drill of Rome, dispatching orders, arbitrating punishments, seeking supplies and equipment, and so on, other men moved as if under the thrall of this ruined and lost city of Akkad, inspecting, staring, touching - and in all their eyes could be seen a strange superstitious awe, as if this were not merely another ruined city but in some way the city on which all others were founded, even Rome itself - and so we settled in to the sound of the tuba and the shout of the order even as a lonely wind scattered those sounds and left us all alone in a blasted place outside Chronos itself.

In that confusion and disorder of men unpacking and laying out an order that somehow seemed unnatural in the ruins around us, I found myself surrounded by the maniple commanders as we walked about, laying out the main pitching areas and supervising the location of the legion supplies and impedimenta. Dust hung in the air and coated everything. About us, on all sides men swore and shouted, directing others or arguing back in the heat of the day. I reached a small dais of cracked blue marble shot through with white veins and mounted it with the others in tow. It was a small vantage point and allowed us to see over the whole ground about us. This forum was wide and open, raised slightly above the ruins scattered about it. It seemed as if in the past it was not just a forum or agora to Akkad but also a ritual centre of some kind. It dominated the ground about and as I turned to take in the whole area I imagined what magnificent structures must have once risen up about me, of how this central area pulled in towards it all the outlying buildings and monuments - now all dust and rubble and half-seen shapes in the red desert of the Nefud. I noticed something else, also - that this forum, as we were now calling it, was a natural defensive position, lacking only a solid vallum and fossa. I nodded to myself as I gazed about and then saw with satisfaction that those Ducenarii around me were smiling grimly also. We knew, all of us in the Quinta, that this ground was to see battle and slaughter soon - and that it would be our standards alone which would defend it.

It fell to Barko again to break the silence and echo all our thoughts. ‘What shades here would ever think to see men defend this place again, eh? Aaii, Felix, this is a place which has yet to have its fill of blood!’

Arbuto nodded at that, his lank blond hair plastered about his forehead. ‘The Aegyptian is right. As all the gods bear witness, this is a blasted place that has yet to be satiated. And after how many thousands of years?’

It was Sebastianus, still blind and still hanging onto the shoulder of a young tiro, that bandage bound about him like a massive linen helmet, who replied with a short shrug. ‘Fools, I am glad I cannot see this place. This is just another killing ground for the Quinta. Nothing more. To think otherwise is to excuse our failings on the gods. Tell me, Felix, if Angelus were here, how would he arrange this battle to come?’

‘Differently from how I would do it, Ducenarius.’ I replied in a curt voice.

Why was it that I had I not removed him from command, I had asked myself again and again in those few days after that battle in the night? And I had no easy answer. He was commander of the best maniple, the First, that which always stood on the prime right flank of a battle-line. After Angelus and those staff officers, it was Sebastianus who was the highest among us. Now he was blind - nothing but a cripple among us all and yet I left him in command. He commanded the First Maniple of the Macedonica and yet moved along in the march with a hand on the shoulder of another. That first night after our toil away from the Kalb’s camp, I had visited him in his tent, that tiro squatting at his feet by the cot, and told him that I was leaving the First in his hands. I told him that I needed him despite his blindness - that not having his sight was akin to a soldier losing his shield in battle and that I would still expect that soldier to fight on, naked in the line. He had risen to protest - to argue that another should lead the First now, that he was not fit - and I had slammed him back down onto that cot and told him that it was I who made those decisions now. I had grabbed that young tiro at his feet and told him that he was to be his eyes now - and that if he let him down Sebastianus was to pluck him out. I had walked out then, angry, morose, not so much at Sebastianus for stating the obvious, but at myself for not hearing it. I left a blind man in command of the best maniple and knew that all among the rank and file men looked askance at me and wondered why I did so.

So I snapped at him now in his attempt to remind us of that man who was dead. The others went silent then and busied themselves at examining the ground about the ruins but I knew why he had asked that. I knew that Sebastianus was silently asking what Angelus would have done with him had he still lived. And I knew that our dead Tribune would not have left in him command.

I stepped in closer to Sebastianus. ‘Angelus would fight this as a legion battle but I would play it another way, Sebastianus, another way.’

He looked up in that way all blind people do, straining his head as if he could somehow see in a different way. ‘And what way would that be, Vicarius?’

It was then that a shout reached our ears and I saw a trio of Illyrian guards muscle their way through the milling legionaries. One caught my eye and waved over to the large swollen campaign tent that was the Dux Ripae’s headquarters.

I smiled at that. ‘It is time, it seems, commiliatones.’

‘Orders?’ asked Silvanus, smiling in a languid fashion.

‘Fate,’ I threw back and left them on that cracked marble base.

Later, under that principia tent, with a few guards ringing it outside, myself, Aemilianus, Parthenius and Tusca stood about the Dux Ripae as he paced up and down, his hands clasped behind his back. Sunlight dappled the interior and we drank greedily from the water-skins on a low trestle table. Outside, as if in a dream, we could hear sounds of men being marshalled for patrols, curt orders being barked out, the whinnying of distant horses, and that low wind which seemed to frame this ancient broken place, this White Ruin. One whole wall of the tent was open to the desert air and through it we could see the dim hazy outlines of the wide forum and the tents which now owned it. The harsh sunlight made them all look hazy and dream-like as if we were all looking out onto a phantasm . . .

Cassianus paused suddenly and turned to face us. I marvelled again at this Armenian who seemed reborn and struggled to remember his first appearance all those days ago at Nasranum; how he arrived wearing a cloak of betrayal and contempt; how he seemed somehow indolent despite his frame and dark looks. Now, after that long night in this same tent in which Aemilianus had both humbled him and absolved him, Cassianus stood as if a new man. His powerful frame was clad in darkly burnished mail caught at the waist with a wide heavy military belt. From it hung a blunt dagger. Across his chest rested a worn baldric supporting a long spatha. His tunica and breeches were white but stained now with dust and sweat. The long sagum cloak lay unpinned on a nearby stool framing, in an incongruous manner, his heavy iron segmented cassis. Now, he turned to face us and I saw that dark mountaineer’s face set in grim lines, his eyes sombre and distant - and I saw again that man who had stood above us all on the campus and who pledged himself to the old shades and gods of the underworld. Blood followed him now; it stained his shadow and flickered deep in the crannies of his soul. His blood and the blood of the enemy.

And I knew before he spoke what his decision would be. We all expected it - even Tusca, who stood restlessly apart from us. And not one of us was not smiling.

‘We will make a stand here. We have today and the night to prepare. I expect them all to fall on us tomorrow in the morning. We will draw them into this ruin and break them once and for all here.’

Parthenius nodded back. ‘We hold superior ground here. The ruins will stumble their charges and force their fleet cavalry onto unfavourable terrain here in the centre’ He gestured casually to the view outside the tent.

‘Agreed,’ chimed in Aemilianus then. ‘We can use the Fifth to maintain a solid wall - what, two lines deep, Felix? Three?’

I shook my head at that. This was the moment I was dreading. The moment Sebastianus had unwittingly tread in upon earlier. This was the moment I finally placed Angelus away from my heart and took command of the legion as was my right. I spoke and my words were firm. Resolved. ‘The Quinta is no more than three quarters’ strength. Perhaps seven hundred men at best. Two lines would be the most I could manage. First, Second and Third Maniples in the front with the rest in support. A duplex acies is wide but, Cassianus, I have to say that it will not be wide enough to hold this shattered forum.’

I saw him frown at that; at my temerity. ‘We have the numeri in support, the Clibanarii will cover one flank, the right, I think. We can use the camel auxiliaries on the left along with my Illyrian guards -'

‘No,’ I said. ‘The Saraceni will ride around those flanks and bury the legion like a river of quicklime. That double line of heavy infantry will be swamped on all sides. I say again, this forum is too wide for our battle-line. Look -‘ I took out my spatha and etched out the lines of the forum in the sand at my feet. ‘See, here, the general shape of it - even if we formed the legion in a single acies, say, four men deep, we would barely manage to cover the width of the spaces here. And a line four men deep is too thin to hold those armoured cataphracts that the Saraceni and the Sassanids will throw at us. A double line like so is too narrow. The gaps at either side are too wide.’

Cassianus stood over the rough sand diagram, frowning. ‘We anchor the Fifth then against one edge - opening up the rest of the forum for the Saraceni to flounder in -'

Parthenius spoke before I could reply. ‘Numbers will tell against us. My cavalry will be swept aside as if they did not even exist.’

‘Agreed,’ I nodded.

‘Then what? I do not want to march further. We do not have the time left anyhow. Today and tonight is all that we have left. Let it be here or nowhere.’

‘It will be here,’ I urged. ‘The aim is to break them, yes?’ Everyone nodded about me. ‘Then let us think not of battle lines but instead of playing counters -'

Cassianus laughed at that. ‘This is not a game, Felix!’ I could see however that he was eyeing me closely, waiting to see what I was going to say next.

‘Isn’t it?’ I replied. ‘This is all one huge game, is it not? And are we not that last counter on the board? Listen, and look here -' I drew fresh lines again in the sand at my feet. ‘This forum, if that is what it is, is all shattered along the edges here and here and here, like walls falling back along its length. See? Yes, the sand in the middle here is open but it is too wide for a single battle-line to hold - but what if we think like the latrunculi players? What if we play counters rather than lines? We can then use this forum as a board rather than a battlefield. See . . .’

And I unveiled a plan then in the sand below that was less a battle than a game of latrunculi, aware that as I wrote in words and in deeds I did so now also in that awful red desert. I wrote a plan in the dust at our feet with that tip of my sword and the dark shallow marks which flowed from that tip had no less finality in them than these scratches of ink I write now across this worn vellum . . . And one by one those about me nodded and smiled and narrowed their eyes, like wolves, like predators . . .

And in my heart, I prayed to all the gods to forgive me . . .

[Knonfoda]

Amazing, I love how Akkadia is turning out to be. I'm interested in seeing this latrunculi plan in action. I used to use that formation a lot in EB, and it was a lot of fun.

I don't need to say the writing is superb off course, and I feel for Felix for having to make the decisions and take command, as so far he has been more of an observer.