Gears of Troy 3

by Daniel Pierce

  She pointed to a place in the sky far above the ships. There were dozens of black shapes that appeared to be a flock of massive ravens. My first though was that perhaps Nisos’s eagle was not the only large bird of prey the Thracians had at their disposal, but then I realized another likely explanation.

  “Are they harpies?” I asked, only hesitating a moment as I drew the words from my mouth.

  Whistler gasped. “They must be.”

  “Why would they be following your men?”

  “Harpies are an angry race. They must have discovered their sisters murdered, and my people are the only ones who live in the highlands. It is likely that they assume my Slingers responsible for the deaths and are now seeking vengeance,” Whistler said, her voice rich with disgust. I understood.

  “Ah, for a second I thought that they might be working for the enemy.”

  “Harpies are loyal to no one. This is simply unfortunate timing. We will have to deal with them before the fury of Thrace is unleashed upon us,” she said.

  “All right, well, try to draw them this way when your men land, and we’ll send them packing once they get within a stone’s throw of us,” I instructed, following the hideous beasts across the arc of the sky.

  “All right, Troy. I will be right back.” She resumed her race for the edge of the shore.

  “Troy, what are those things? You call them harpies?” Linos asked. Several others were standing nearby, speechless and looking as confused as their chief.

  “Yes. They’re half-bird, half-woman. All stench. They’re hideous creatures that hang over all who encounter them like rainclouds, screeching everything you have to feel guilty about. Whistler and I encountered two during our trip to her homeland for metal ore. They meant to kill us, so we had no choice but to take them down. It seems the other harpies got wind of our actions and are seeking to vent their rage on us. Whatever you do, don’t let them swipe at you with their claws. They are sharp as knives and covered in filth. Even if you survived a scratch, there is a chance the wound would make you sick and kill you.”

  The men returned my explanation with somber looks. Linos glanced from me to the flock and back again several times. The Thirians were brave, but they were also a superstitious people. I could see that the idea of having to fight mythical bird-women made them uneasy.

  “Just think of them as people with wings. They are almost as easy to kill as any other enemy you may face today.” This did not seem to comfort them, but I could think of nothing else to say.

  I looked back to the Thracian ships and saw that they were about to engage with my own. My men wasted no time. Crack! A modified projectile exploded from one of our cannons, leaving a deafening crash of thunder trailing in its wake. I saw several men of the allied crew reel back and shield their faces. The flash had proved to be more than they could tolerate. The cannonball missed the target by only several yards, but the bubble of force that surrounded it was enough to rock the enemy ship as it passed by. Both sides were shouting and cursing, and I could see the enemies preparing their own cannons to fire.

  Crack! Another of our warships launched one of Whistler’s large gifts, and this one hit home on the ship that the first shot had barely missed. There was a blinding white explosion as the ball sailed straight through the ship’s hull and continued its journey onward, seemingly unaffected by the resistance. The front half of the ship was completely obliterated, as were the men standing there. I had never seen anything like it before. It was as if everything the cannon came into contact with had simply been wiped from existence.

  “Holy fuck,” I said, and meant it. What an impact.

  The Thirians all around me were exclaiming with excitement, their voices blurring into a dull roar of wonder and joy. I turned to check on Whistler’s reinforcements and found that she had almost reached the shore. Her ships had covered considerable distance, but they still had several minutes before they reached land. The harpies flew in circles overhead like vultures getting ready to descend on prey, or diseased Komodo Dragons waiting for a juicy meal to succumb to the infection of a bite. The wind itself carried on it a symphony of their raging screeches, full of near-blasphemous obscenities, I was sure. The crew below was unleashing a constant barrage of metal gifts to hold the evil bitches at bay, but they would only be able to for so long—either they would run out of ammo or have to deal with the additional threat of the Thracians. The harpies would be on them—they would be on all of us—then. Crack!

  I whipped my head around in time to see the sinking half of the damaged enemy ship bear the brunt of another enchanted cannon. At that point, it would have been better for my men to focus on the seven remaining vessels, but this final shot guaranteed that there would be no crew left among the wreckage of that ship to swim to shore. Nothing was left of it but a small smattering of splintered planks, the masts, and the flaming tattered remains of the sails. Both sides were shouting still—those from my end were full of elation, while those on the opposing side stood in sharp contrast.

  Boom! The enemy finally managed to let loose a cannonball, but it was of no use. The projectile missed, flying directly over the crew sitting in one of the rammers and plopping in the water some distance off, out of the reach of any allied ships.

  There was a war horn sounding from the ship that had just fired. That could only mean one thing. Their other six ships joined in, and I was drawn to the hill on the horizon that marked the boundary of the Thracian camp.

  They slowly rode to the top of the hill, at least a hundred vehicles to a line. They inched down the slope until I could clearly see three, then four, and then five lines of chariots, each carrying between two and four soldiers. There was at least another line of men peaking over the hill when the army stopped and assessed the scene before them.

  Crash! The ship that had blown the initial call to battle had a massive hole blasted from its center. Like a spider meeting its untimely demise at the end of a fly swatter, the fractured remains of the ship began closing in on itself, forcing the surviving crew to slide to the middle and into the water as it sank. The men screamed as the crew of the nearest rammer paddled a little closer and began to unleash a volley of arrows on them to finish the job.

  There came the wailing of another horn, but this time is was from the hill. Then several thousand battle cries rang out, and all at once the Immortal Wheels charged forward, intending to kill or be killed.

  Linos twirled his club in his hands as Scander readied his bow. I took in a deep breath, finding that I had forgotten to breathe in all the chaos.

  “Watch this.” I told them and then pressed the fire button on my cannon.

  In my excitement I forgot to close my eyes. When the spots in my vision cleared enough for me to piece together the scene ahead, I was left speechless at the devastation I had wrought. An entire chunk had been blown into the hillside straight across from where I aimed the cannon. All the men who were charging in the direct path of the blast had been vaporized. Those on the edge of the blast radius had suffered severe wounds, many of which were fatal. Hordes of chariots—ones that had not been entirely vanquished—sat still and broken, the sheen of their enchantment nowhere in sight. I could only hope that the souls imprisoned within those infernal contraptions found some release at the destruction of their holding cells.

  All of the survivors who had been affected by the shot lay screaming on the ground. I could not hear them, but their cries were as visible as grass upon the fields. Many of their limbs were either twisted in ways that made my stomach churn or were blown clear off, with fountains of blood and gore trailing from the gaping wounds. I had witnessed a great deal of bloodshed during my time in this land, but nothing prepared me for this caliber of violence. I did not know whether to jump with joy at the prospect of an easy victory or curse this powerful artillery as an inhumane instrument of war. Nonetheless, I would press the fire button at least once more if I had any say in the matter. If it meant that my Helen would be in my arms when dawn r
ose the following day, then I would press that damned button.

  The ringing subsided enough for me to hear the shouts of my Thirian companions. I turned to Linos. He returned my stare with a forced smile. His ears were bleeding, I noticed with sudden shock. I instinctively reached for mine and found blood coating the tips of my own fingers. Scander’s situation was similar, but he was already focused again on the enemies ahead, arrow knocked and ready to fly with the slightest coercion.

  There were several more crashes, and two more enemy ships crumbled into the strait of Dardanelles. I saw that they had managed to sink one of our boats as well—one of the bigger ones, in fact. I prayed that it was only the one carrying a single cannon, which would be simple enough to fish out when the battle was over. The crew of the vessel was split, either swimming for the nearest ship or heading to the shore, presumably to secure it with cover fire. My men would not be subdued so easily.

  I thought for a moment that the ringing in my ears was picking up again but turned to see the harpies closing in, the shrieking growing louder as they drew nearer. I reached to fire the cannon once more but realized that I would need to reposition it to take out another swath of enemy soldiers, and I did not have the time. I drew my sword and made ready for close-quarters combat.

  Whistler and her Slingers were with us then. Most of the harpies had followed them, but several scores had broken off to chase the other Slingers to the hills.

  “Get ready, Troy,” she said. “We must shoot them down before the Thracians make it to the wall!” She loaded her sling and shot a gift to the nearest harpy. It screamed past, missing its mark by mere inches.

  The harpy swooped down in a rage and I met it with my blade, cutting a gash so deep in her neck that her head almost fell off. She dropped to Whistler’s feet like a sack of bricks, and the warrior girl turned to me with a look of thanks.

  We were left with no time to celebrate as two more came down to take their sister’s place. A massive claw swiped at my sword-bearing arm, and I jumped back, suffering only minor scratches in the process. A gift hurled through the air and pierced the crone below the chest. She spat up blood in the next breath and fell to the ground, still alive but struggling.

  The next harpy focused on my bullet-slinging companion. I stepped forward to refill the vacuum I had just left behind and brought my sword down on the wretch’s putrid feathered leg, almost slicing it clear off. Missing her mark, she dropped several feet, flapping madly with her limb hanging only by several muscles and tendons, the bone shattered upon contact with my metal. Their pained cawing was enough to make me want to blow the cannon at full-blast just to drown them out, and then I realized that might not be such a bad idea.

  I turned back to the scene of the Immortal Wheels charging for the wall. So much had happened so fast—the skirmish with the bird-women had only lasted a maximum of 30 seconds, but in that time the chariots had cleared a great distance, though they still had several minutes before they would be upon us. I looked back to the cannon, hoping that the air had had enough time to recharge with the heat and biofuel necessary to fire the next blast.

  “Linos!” I called. The chieftain jerked his head my way. “Push this. I need to reposition it.”

  He railed into the back end of the cannon, and I grabbed it from my side, which was opposite to his, and pulled with every ounce of muscle that I could muster. The thing scraped against the wooden platform, moving centimeters at first but was soon turning several inches at a time.

  “Okay, that’s good,” I barked over the shrill cawing, the sounds of cannons at sea, the thundering of the chariots drawn by pseudo-ethereal horses, and the painful ringing that was still in my ears. I hoped we had not moved the damned thing too much. “Cover your ears!” I tapped Scander on the shoulder as I said this to make sure that he heard the command. He nodded and turned his attention back to the field.

  I thought to turn the power down a few notches just to save my men and I from a little of the blowback, but I decided that it would be worth the sacrifice after all. I made to press the button but was suddenly ripped away from the platform and thrown to the ground.

  I gasped and saw another harpy claw descending upon me. My sword intercepted it in the next breath, more luck on my part than skill—I could have just as easily brought my blade too low or too high to pull off the block. The talons wrapped around the metal and tried to pull it away from me, but my grip was iron, almost literally so. Instead, the thing’s claw slid along the blade, sawing several cuts into my enemy’s appendages. The woman-thing screeched and was shot from the air the next instant by one of Whistler’s gifts. As I got to my feet, I looked my foe over for any signs of movement and realized that this was the one who Whistler had shot down a moment ago. Neither of us had the presence of mind to make sure the job was finished then, and we were paying for it now.

  “Thanks,” I said. Whistler responded with a wink and a reassuring smile. “Cover your ears. It’s about to get loud.”

  Linos was jumped from the platform as I climbed it. He landed next to the fallen harpy and brought his spiked club down onto her hideous face for good measure. We would be suffering no more wounds from her.

  “Cover your ears,” I shouted once more before slamming my fist into the fire button.

  Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. In all my haste, I had not managed to steady myself against the force and fell back to the ground again. Whistler had rushed over to help me, but I was already on my feet by the time her fingers were wrapped around my arm. I climbed back to the post to witness the result of my shot.

  There must have been over a hundred of them missing from the field. An eye-widening chunk had been blown from the field as it had with the hill before it, but this one was considerably closer than the last. The upper edge of the impact had been cut into a sharp drop-off of at least ten feet at its highest point. Dozens of riders were waterfalling over this miniature cliff, each of the men surely rendered momentarily blind by the brightness of the attack and unable to prevent themselves from falling because of their inability to see the sudden change in the landscape.

  The metal of their vehicles boomed and crashed, adding to the orchestra of battle. At first, they met only the ground, but more of their brothers followed suit, landing on top of the ones who had already fallen. What would have been a small, easily-recoverable incident soon turned into a bloodbath in itself as the first wave of falling riders were crushed multiple times over like bugs where they lay under a growing pile of metal and other confused, helpless bodies, most of which were sure to suffer the same fate.

  As before, there were scores more enemy soldiers left twitching and screaming on the edge of the blast area. Many of their limbs were either vaporized or in the process of being consumed by flame. Most looked around for assistance in their panic, not yet truly aware and in shock.Scander had paid little attention to my warnings and was now suffering for his lack of regard. More blood was streaming from his ears, and on his face he wore a look of anguish. I wanted to do something for him, but there was no help that I could provide. Hopefully he would pay more attention next time, I thought. His pain seemed like too much of a burden now for him to focus on the battle, which was a major loss for us as he was rendered useless just as the enemy was coming into firing range. He looked to me, and I saw what seemed to be pleading in his eyes, though I could not guess what he wanted aside from the pain to end.

  “Can you hear me?” I shouted. He said nothing in return, only looking confused. I screamed louder. “I said, can you hear me?”

  His eyes widened and he nodded his head.

  “Good—pluck several of those feathers and take them to Zinni’s house! Did you hear that?” He nodded again. “She won’t be there, but just drop them inside!”

  “Why?” he asked, shouting. “I must fight here!”

  “You’ll see why soon enough! It will help, I’m sure. You’ll be back in time to fight. You better be!”

  He jumped down and set to
work doing as commanded. I looked to where I had last seen Whistler and found that she had moved down the field to assist he people in containing the harpy threat. The Slingers on the hills were just finishing off the last few that had pursued them. I was thankful that the bulk of the disgusting creatures had joined us at the wall because it was doubtful that the men on the hill would be able to defend against many more. From where I stood, I saw at least four torn and slashed allied corpses were bleeding into the grass of the hills. I suspected that there were at least twice that many that I could not see.

  Crack! Another enemy ship had been wiped from existence. Its crew did their best to disperse in all directions, fanning out as far as possible from the wreckage, but my men were not having it. Those aboard the rammers, as well as those on the nearest large ship, were unleashing wave upon wave of hellfire upon the struggling survivors

  There was only one enemy ship left floating, and the crew had clearly been demoralized after witnessing the deaths of hundreds of allied soldiers in the span of several minutes. They had shifted their sails and made to get away, but there was no chance of escape. Instead of blowing them away with a final boom from one of our cannons, two rammers charged forth, intent on skewering the hull through.

  I heard the crash of the first contact from where I stood. Half of the enemy crew were knocked to the deck against the sudden force of the ram—even a few fell over the sides. The second rammer bore its way into the wooden hide. The paddlers of the first ship began firing arrows aboard to clear a path for the second crew as they climbed the side of the already sinking mass. Those who were not pierced by the cover fire—and even a few who had been—met quick demises at the ends of the other crewmen’s blades and spears. I felt as if I were watching an army of fire ants lay siege to an animal a hundred times their size. It was horrible, chaotic, and beautiful all at once.

  My attention was once again drawn to the field ahead. The Immortal Wheels would be on us with a minute or two.