Battle of the Anthill

The following short story is from the far future Suzerain realm of Garden of Athena takes place on the garden-planet of Sweba in the early years of the 25th century of the Athenian calendar.

Battle of the Anthill

“How many are there?”
“Three thousand one hundred and seventy. Above ground,” the Logician answers without looking up.
“Enemy warriors, I mean.”
“Forty seven,” he says, still staring at the anthill, counting the little black critters, probably trying to divert his thoughts from the impending battle. Cold and distant he might seem, but he still got scared just like everyone else before a battle.

“Looks like more to me,” Dio squints looking down into the valley.
The Logician looks up with an expression of hurt and anger on his face, as if deadly insulted.
“Forty seven! There are forty seven enemies within visual range,” he says coldly, his hand moving to his sword.
“Hey, easy, I believe you…” Dio quickly turns and walks away, leaving the Logician counting ants.

The men in the camp are all quietly going about their preparations, the younger hoplites with nervous energy, and the more experienced veterans with routine concentration. Helios packs are being checked and replaced, all surfaces and joints on the bio-ceramic suits of armor are checked and double checked, recurve blasters are strung and arrows are carefully selected. Each hoplite focused on the task at hand.

Dio does not feel the least focused, only nervous. He has been over every piece of his equipment more than a dozen times since they arrived. His feet seem to want to walk, so he walks off to the other end of the temporary camp where the barbarian auxiliaries are hanging out.

It is a pretty mix of Gameeli Volunteers, Pengaran Ashigaru and a band of Axe Zealots from Kar.

The Gameeli Volunteers are a poorly looking lot, clad only in whatever rags their meager pay can afford them and armed with only steel spears and swords.
They pass around various containers with liquid courage, most of them half-drunk already. The alcohol is consumed silently, obeying the strict order of their commander to keep quiet. This makes them look almost like schoolboys secretly trying out an amphora of stolen wine for the first time in a hidden corner of the gymnasium, Dio thinks.

While a whisper and a chuckle occasionally escape the Gameeli, the Pengaran Ashigaru are completely silent, almost ridiculously so. But then, Dio has already seen more than one of the small-eyed barbarians loose their heads at the hands of their officers for even the tiniest irregularities, so he figures he would be very careful to obey orders as well. He passes by the spearmen, nodding politely to the Hekatontarches¹ who sits a little apart from his men with the Pengaran officers. The Hekatontarches pretends not to have noticed him, so Dio continues his stroll.

At the very edge of the camp the Axe Zealots of Kar are huddled up tightly in a circle. The huddle pulsates slightly up and down, and as Dio gets closer he can hear the exited, but subdued chanting. From what he heard, the Axe Zealots are actually priests on their home garden. “Maybe they are praying”, he thinks, so he decides to leave them alone.

As he walks back towards his file the Gameeli Hekatontarches, a man not much older than Dio, waves a hand at him.
“Come over here, young man, have a drink with us in honor of Athena and Zeus,” he holds out an amphora, the label reveals that it is from the colony garden of Gameel. Dio hesitates only for a moment; from the expectant look on the barbarian faces it seems to be a test or something, and discreet nod of encouragement from the Hekantonarches tells him it would be best to drink. He lifts the amphora and takes a swag. Instead of thick, syrupy wine that he expects, Dio’s mouth is filled with what feels like liquid flame. It takes all his will not to spit it out as his eyes tears up. “Not bad,” he manages, suppressing a cough. The Gameeli Volunteers erupt in laughter and one of them punches Dio on the shoulder; “Whattaya think, eh? That’s there Dragons’ Piss from my home town! That’s prop’bly me aunti’s footsweat made you cough.” Dio suffers a few more hearty slaps and cheers before the Hekatontarches shoos away the barbarians.

“It does taste like his aunt’s feet, doesn’t it? I’m Eutychos, by the way,” the Hekatonarches offers his hand and Dio takes it with a smile.
“Dio, of Gorka’s phalanx, Tryphon’s file.”
“Yeah? Old Tryphon’s still around? Must be at least fifty now. He used to serve with my father in the Sakalid War,” Eutychos continues to talk about old days, as if he himself were fifty. Dio happily lets himself be distracted by the small talk, for a while forgetting his nervousness.

Some time later quiet orders are passed along the camp and everybody forms up in their respective units and files. Dio is last to make it back to his file. A disapproving look from Hoplomachos² Tryphon meets the young hoplite as he finds his place, third from the front. He blushes, embarrassed.

A quiet whisper reaches him from behind: “that just earned you the latrines tonight, for sure,” it is Orestes, the biggest man in the file, but also the gentlest. He’s been helping out Dio with all the unwritten rules that exist, not only in Gorka’s phalanx as a whole, but also within the individual files. “I used to be new too,” he had explained to Dio, “everybody has been new once, though some of them seem to have forgotten.” If you listened, Orestes possessed a certain type of natural wisdom, Dio found. He would be a great priest of Dionysus, he appreciated wisdom springing from unexpected sources, Dionysus did.

* * *

From his vantage point high in a eucalyptus tree Lokhagos³Gorka has a good view of the valley. The enemy has not moved for the last hour. They seem completely oblivious to the Athenian force less than a kilometer away. In the distance he can just make out the village that supposedly holds a couple of hundred rebels, his objective. He can not make out much detail from this distance, and he does not dare to take out his telescope, fearing that someone down there will catch sight of the sun reflected in its lens. If only he can be sure to take out the forty or so guards in the forward position quickly he might be able to surround the village and make sure the rebels do not escape. Marching quietly into the valley, covered by the Eucalyptus trees should get his men quite close, Athena willing. With the barbarian auxiliaries on the flanks he is quite sure the handful of guards will not be able to get away. He waves the order to march out while still in the tree and then climbs down to join his phalanx.

“Keep the Aegis shields turned off. Let’s see if we can’t take them by surprise.”

* * *

Dio tries to get a look at where the phalanx is going, but Tryphon’s file is almost in the center, so all he can see is the men immediately in front of him and the lances high above him. The march is eerily silent, almost as a procession of priests or something, only the sound of sandals and armor moving.
As the phalanx snakes its way through a narrow passage it is stretched out and Dio sees Eutychos riding at the head of the Gameeli Volunteers on the left flank. His horse has sacks on its hooves and a feed bag to keep it quiet, making it looking slightly silly. The Volunteers seem to have a hard time keeping pace with the hoplites in the phalanx, and before he is once again swallowed by the quiet formation, Dio sees Eutychos dismounting in order to get across a particularly difficult spot, falling even further behind.

“There goes our left flank,” Dio whispers.
“Yeah,” Orestes shrugs, “I think we’ll manage without them,” the giant man smiles.

* * *

“Our left flank can’t keep up,” one of his men notices to Gorka. The commander looks back across his shoulder. The Gameeli Volunteers are piling up on a ledge next to the natural path that his phalanx is following.
“I thought the scouts had checked out the routes,” Gorka growls to his Tetrarch⁴.
“They did, Lokhagos. They assured me that we could get down with men on both flanks.”
“Hmm… Spread out the files on the left flank, I don’t want any of the rebels to get away.”

* * *

Eutychos curses. The scouts told him this route was passable, dammit. He turns to his men: “Any ideas?”
Silence.
“It’d take too long to double back. Fighting would be over before we’d get down there,” he thinks out loud.
“We’d better think o somethin’ quickly, ‘cause him Gorka was very partic’lar ‘bout us being lef’ flank. Thinks he’d want us to ‘urry up,” a tall, gaunt looking Gameeli notices.
“We could jump… Just,” anotherone suggests. Eutychos considers this for a moment then shakes his head: “It would take too long, and we’d have a hard time jumping in full equipment.”
“We could build a bridge…” the gaunt Gameeli says. Everyone looks at him.
“Too much Dragon Piss!” someone suggests.
“With our spears. We could build a bridge with our spears, they’re long enough I reckon.”
Eutychos scratches his head for a moment, then smiles.
“By Dionysus, there may be wisdom in wine, but there’s common sense in Dragon Piss!”

* * *

“Spread out - left,” the quiet order comes from somewhere ahead, Dio hears, and as he has learned he repeats it over his shoulder. All of a sudden the men in front of him move out, revealing the semi open eucalyptus forest and savannah ahead. The ground they walk on is slightly spongy, even though it looks dry and the grass is all yellow and dead. “Strange,” he manages to think before a gentle nudge from Orestes reminds him that he also needs to follow the order, not just pass it on.

As he moves out he suddenly sees the Logician strolling right next to him.
“Did you count them all?” Dio asks before he can help himself. Another nudge from Orestes, this time less friendly, is followed by a stern “Quiet!”
Dio turns his head to send Orestes a look of apology, but the gentle giant shakes his head and point forward with his lance.
“I did. And now there are only forty five,” the Logician’s voice is nothing more than conversational, but in the silence of the forest it sounds like a shout.
For some reason in his head the Logician’s words make him think of the ants scuttling in and out of the ground. The spongy ground. Like an ant hill…

A massive crackle of energy as almost two hundred Aegis shields are ignited simultaneously, followed by the battle cry: “FOR ATHENA!”

Then he realizes it: “It’s a trap!”
He turns to warn Orestes, but is met by the shield of the giant pushing him forward in a charge.

* * *

Gorka charges forward with only a single rank of men in front of him, reckless most commanders would say, but Gorka prefers the overview of the action it gives him.
And what he sees makes his blood freeze. The enemy soldiers are not surprised at all. A few of them are even smiling. It is the smile of those whose selfless sacrifice will surely destroy the enemy.

* * *

“IT’S A TRAP!” Dio cries at the top of his lungs, but he is drowned out by the roar of the charge.
Orestes is first to be hit. His massive body shields Dio from the enemy fire as the ground behind them seem to open up like a passage to Hades spewing out Sweban rebels armed to the teeth.

Dio turns around as Orestes stumbles, his armor burning in several places from enemy hits. Crouching behind the cover of his Aegis shield, Dio spots the Logician; miraculously he is not hit, and has taken cover behind a large tree. A dozen hoplites lie on the ground, some of them screaming, some of them all too quiet. Suddenly a powerful hand grabs Dio from behind and hauls him to his feet.

“Get moving, kid. Standing still will get you killed,” old Tryphon says with a certainty based on a lifetime of battles. Dio picks up his energy lance and follows the old veteran in a run.

* * *

“Over there!” Gorka shouts and point at the burning forest where the ground seems to have come alive with enemies. They must have hidden in holes in the ground.

“We marched right on top of them,” he realizes, slightly impressed by the discipline and nerve of the Swebans.
The burning projectiles of the rock-throwers are easily igniting the dry grasses and even a few of the eucalyptus trees, the flames sowing even more chaos. But apparently the trap was not a complete success, Gorka notices. A handful of his men are still fighting in the very midst of the enemy force, giving him time to swing the main force around.

“Hey, look, up there, Lokhagos!” one of Gorka’s men shouts as they run. He points with his energy lance. “It’s the Gameeli Volunteers!”

Gorka smiles cruelly, “All right men, the anvil’s here, let’s be the hammer!”

* * *

“Five hundred eighty nine,” the Logician says with his usual cold voice. Gorka nods solemnly. “And our casualties?”
“Hoplites: Twenty dead, fifty one wounded. Gameeli Volunteers: two hundred thirty three dead or wounded, the Ashigaru: one hundred and sixty dead, ninety seven wounded,” the Logician’s voice trailed off.
“And the Axe Zealots?” Gorka asks, eyebrows lifted.
“All they would say was; “We won!” It was most annoying! I was denied data in the cruelest way. They shoved me away. They even touched me!” the Logician almost cries out the last words. Gorka raises a hand: “Alright, you’re excused,” he says and the Logician hurries away.

“Well, gentlemen,” Gorka says, addressing the officers gathered in his tent, “any good news in all of this?”
Old Tryphon steps forward: “I have a recommendation for a promotion. He’s young, but there’s a good head on his shoulders. It was his warning that saved me and my men.”

* * *

Orestes squirms a little trying to get comfortable on the tree stump. Aside from the bandages covering half his body he is naked. Next to the giant, Eutychos has just fallen asleep, snoring loudly, an empty amphora of Dragon Piss in his hand. Orestes pulls out a leather pouch from under one of his bandages.
“Didn’t I tell you, Dio?” he asks, lighting a pipe, sending the smell of Richak-weed out in the night.
Dio tries to come up with a witty reply, but he is too tired to think about anything but the next shovelful of dirt he needs to dig out of the latrines.

footnote1

Title given to an Athenian officer in command of at least one hundred barbarian auxiliaries.

footnote2

Commander of a single file (eight hoplites)

footnote3

Commander of an entire phalanx

footnote4

Commander of up to four files, senior tetrarch is also second in command of the entire phalanx

Content Type > Approved Content
Realms > Mortal Realms > Catalyst > Garden Of Athena
Games > Savage Worlds
Art > Short Story

Created by: Magnus. Last Modification: Tuesday 24 of November, 2009 11:07:29 UTC by Magnus.

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