MAIL CALL SHOOT: “ROMAN ARTILLERY”

By T. Flavius Crispus

January 27, 2005 (AUC 2758)

We were all sweating ballista bolts, for good reason.

After all, we were about to test-fire Legio VI’s brand new metal-framed ballista, one of the largest and most impressive recreations of this type of Roman bolt-thrower yet attempted, for the first time. If that wasn’t enough, we were doing it under the watchful eyes of the History Channel’s favorite gunnery sergeant, R. Lee Ermey, and a camera crew for the gunny’s popular TV show, “Mail Call.”

If the machine didn’t work as advertised, the honor of the Roman Army would be tarnished beyond repair.  It would be worse than losing an eagle to a ragtag barbarian war band. At least that’s the way it felt to we balistarii gathered on that memorable day.

Under the guidance of our capable Centurio, Gaius Manlius Magnus (Caius Man), several legionaries of Legio VI had labored mightily over the previous month to bring the nine-foot, torsion-powered giant crossbow into existence. We’d chipped in time whenever possible, weekends and weekdays alike, often working in rotating shifts with tools that we’d never handled before. Besides Magnus, who did the lion’s share of the work, participants in the construction included Marcus Arminius Silanus (Randy Heer), Postumus Decimus Scaevola (Ron Glass), Gaius Darius Severus (Gil Whitley), Dio Draconius Syracusius (Arik Greenberg), Decimus Marius Aturqus (Greg Douglass), Quintus Florentius Agrippa (Jared Fleury), Gaius Artorius Crixus (Mike Malin), and T. Flavius Crispus (Dave Michaels).

The ballista, as it took form, became an object of much wonder and even awe. Could the Romans have really been capable of building something that mechanically sophisticated, so long ago?

They were, and they did.  Centurio Magnus’ extensive research led to the mechanism and dimensions of the machine, based on the writings of a Greek engineer named Heron, sculptural depictions on Trajan’s Column and other monuments, and actual archaeological remains.  The big metal field frames, which contained the torsion springs, were based on a pair of frames dug up in central France. The main arched metal cross-piece, or kamerion, was based on one excavated in Orsova, Romania.

Heron, who wrote his original manuscript around AD 100, described a machine called a cheiroballistra, or “hand thrower.”  The dimensions he provided were for a small, hand-held machine about the size of a late Medieval crossbow.  The Orsova cross bar, identical in form but much bigger than the one described and diagrammed by Heron, was plainly part of a much larger field piece working on the same principal, the equivalent of a truck-mounted recoilless rifle to Heron’s bazooka. Cart-mounted bolt throwers, or carrobalistae, using the same type of arched frame are clearly shown on Trajan’s Column, and fixed weapons with the same frame are also shown fixed to the battlements of Roman fortresses.  These metal-framed ballistae were the most powerful and sophisticated torsion-powered bolt throwers ever developed by the Romans, or anyone else for that matter.

Putting it all together required utilizing the extensive experience of Alan Wilkins of Britain’s Legio XIIII Roman Military Research Society, who has built several such catapults and written up his findings in a book, “Roman Artillery.”  Julian Dendy of Leg XIIII had graciously given Flavius a copy of the volume when he visited London in November of ’03.

The machine that arose from all this research and hard work is a thing of beauty. The nine-foot long “slider box,” which terminates with a double-turnstile, is finely crafted from wood and given a honey-colored glaze of shellac. The four-foot metal cross pieces, both cut and welded from heavy steel, hold in place the two heavy, canister-shaped field frames, which in turn are wound with more than 100 feet of nylon rope to provide the “spring” for a pair of swing-arms (the Romans would have used rope made from horsehair or animal sinew like the “catgut” used in modern tennis rackets).  The whole thing rests on a pivot bracket attached to a heavy wooden stand, with socketed arms and cross-pieces for quick assembly. In fact, the whole ballista can be easily disassembled for ease of transport and reassembled on the field of battle.

Construction on the ballista and its components (such as the four-foot arrows, or bolts, it shoots) continued right up until the day of the Mail Call shoot, Thursday, April 27.  Eight legionaries arranged their schedules to be on hand for the shoot: Centurio Magnus, Marius, Florentius, Arminius, Scaevola, Artorius, Flavius and new probati Jon Salvo, along with his step dad Paul Russel, who eagerly chipped in with the loading, unloading and assembly.

After gathering at Magnus’ house to load up, the Leg VI ballista team arrived at the Digital Ranch shooting site in Sand Canyon almost precisely on time. Set-up of the legion’s command tent and the ballista itself were remarkably quick and hassle-free. We kitted up and took some time to survey the scene.  The site was a nice wooded area with a green, grassy flatland perfect for the kind of mega-archery we were about to attempt. The weather was cool and overcast—a perfect day for northern Britain.

“Looks great,” said the producer, admiring our creation. “How far will it shoot?” When we confessed we didn’t quite know, since we hadn’t tried it yet, his eyebrows arched a bit. “You mean—you’re not sure if it will work?”

And so came the Moment of Truth. While the Mail Call crew was working on another segment, we decided to try a couple of shots to make sure it would perform on camera. Marius and and Scaevola manned the turnstile, Florentius served as sighting officer, Flavius took up station as loader, while Magnus shouted instructions and Arminius snapped away with a camera. As the slider cranked back and the tension on the torsion arms grew, so too did the tension in our guts. With the slider about 2/3 of the way to “fully cocked” position, the steel swing arms stood at about a 45% angle and were flexing noticeably under the strain. Good enough for a first try.  Flavius slipped the 4-foot arrow into place, and a lanyard was slipped carefully over the firing “trigger.”

“Volatile!”  Florentius yanked the lanyard.

“THWOCK!” The swing arms swung, the bow string snapped, the arrow flew, straight and true, tracing a graceful arc, and smacked into the ground about 50 yards downrange.

Wide-eyed stares and grins all around.  It worked!  The damned think worked!

We fired a few more times, gradually upping the tension and range until we were hitting 100 yards and more.  At one point, Flavius turned around to find R. Lee Ermey standing next to him, staring out at where the last arrow hit.  “Not bad,” he said in his gritty gunny sergeant voice.  “Now, wait ‘till you see the target we have for you!”

It turned out to be a Teddy bear, a six-foot inflatable one clutching a big “I Love You” heart.  As soon as we caught sight of it, we knew it had to die.

The Mail Call crew set the bear up about 70 yards out.  R. Lee suited up in a tunica and one of our loricae hamata, topped, as always, by his gunny sergeant cap.  “I always say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do!” he told the camera. “Now, let’s see if we can let the air out of that bear!”

With Gunny serving as sighting and firing officer, we cranked, loaded, and shot.  The first arrow landed just short of the bear, skidding underneath it.  We loaded up and shot again.  “That’s dead perfect,” Ermie commented as it arced toward the target—only to undershoot by less than a foot.

“That bear’s starting to piss me off!” Ermey growled into the lens. The next shot just grazed the beast, actually slipping between its ear and head. 

"All right, one more time!" Gunny commanded. The next shot pierced it cleanly through the big red heart. We watched and cheered as the air slowly drained out and it collapsed in a heap. 

“Teddy bear, deaddy bear,” sneered the good Gunny.

So closed a triumphant day.  The ballista performed wonderfully throughout, and was little worse for the wear. A couple of brass restraining pins holding the nylon skeins in place were bent almost in half from the strain, and will require replacement with hard steel ones. Other than that, the ballista came through unscathed.

Not so the arrows.  Both of our bolts broke during the course of the shoot, and had to be stuck back together with gaffer’s tape.  Once broken and repaired, they tended to “whiffle” a bit in the air and may have affected accuracy, at least at 70 yards out.  High on the priority list is creation of a dozen of more bolts from harder, denser wood, and perhaps a few “nerf bolts” of foam plastic for use at events where real ones might prove a hazard.

Remarkably, we were easily achieving shots of 100 yards or more with the tension set at the lowest level, and the ratchet set at least five “clicks” from full cock.  Experiments to come will test the ballista at greater tensions and distances, and against a variety of targets.

The “Mail Call” episode, the second one for Legio VI Victrix, aired March 19, and will see repeated viewings throughout the year.