The War Nerd Iliad

by John Dolan

  The Greeks are helpless, dazed and sobbing. Before they can recover, the Trojan front rank strikes them, killing at will. Hektor kills Stikas, king of the Boetians, and Arkesilis, before they can even raise their shields. Aeneas is right behind him; he jabs his spear through the necks of Medon the murderer and Yazis the Athenian. Gloomy Polydamus looks cheerful for once as he takes out his sword and jams it into two stunned Greeks. It’s too much. No one can fight the terror Apollo wields. The Greeks turn and run. But running just makes a man a better target. Paris sprints up to a fleeing Greek and punches his spear through the man’s back. It comes out high on the Greek’s shoulder, and he hangs on the spear for a moment like a spitted goat.

  Hektor screams to the Trojans, “Charge the ships! No stopping to loot the dead! If I see a man robbing corpses, I’ll kill him myself!”

  To help the Trojans, Apollo leaps to the Greek wall. With one kick, he throws up a dirt causeway over the ditch. With another kick, he smashes the Greek wall. It melts like a sand castle hit by a wave.

  And then Apollo shakes that thing in his hand, and every Greek is alone in the dark, in terror.

  Nestor begs, “Zeus, if we ever pleased you with burning meat or marrow, help us now!”

  Zeus replies with a bolt of lightning that falls among the Greeks. Meaning, “No.”

  The Trojans pour over the causeway like the first wave of a rising tide.

  Greeks scramble up into their beached ships in a last-ditch try to keep them from burning. They drop their battle-spears and grab the long pikes they keep for ship-to-ship fights, stabbing them down at the swarming Trojans like butter churns.

  Patroklas has been caring for Yuripilas’ wound. But he sees the Trojans attacking the ships and runs, calling back to Yuripilas, “I’m sorry, but I have to tell Akilles what’s happening. Maybe I can get him to fight!”

  The Greeks are packed tight now against the shore. They have nowhere to run, no choice but to stand and fight. Most of them are still stunned with terror. Only a few heroes can resist Aegis’ horrible spell.

  Ajax steps out and spits an oncoming Trojan on his spear.

  Hektor runs at Ajax, throwing a spear that misses him but impales his friend Lykofron. Ajax calls to his brother Teucer, “Get that bow of yours!”

  Little Teucer runs up onto the prow of their ship, bow in hand, and lets fly, knocking a Trojan off his chariot. Then he takes aim at Hektor.

  If Teucer had hit Hektor, the war would have ended right there. But Zeus is not ready to let the Greeks win just yet. So he flicks a finger and Teucer’s bowstring breaks just as he’s tracking Hektor. The arrow flies off wildly, and Teucer screams, “I just strung that bow this morning! The gods hate us today!”

  Hektor sees Teucer throwing away his useless bow, and calls to the Trojans, “See? Zeus is with us! Now drive to the ships and burn them!”

  Big Ajax turns to see most of the Greeks hanging back, shields drooping, and shouts, “You cowards, you better fight! You think we can walk home if they burn the ships?”

  The Greeks realize they have no choice, and step forward, shield to shield. But Zeus doesn’t want them to win today, so he muddies their minds, drains their courage.

  The Trojans are close to the ships now. Soon they’ll be able to throw torches onto the decks. Then they can slaughter the Greeks in the chaos.

  Zeus is watching, waiting for the glow of fire from the ships. He promised to help the Trojans until the moment he sees one Greek ship on fire. After that, he’ll turn the tide. Hektor will die, and Athena will have her way. Troy will fall. But for now, Zeus pours his own strength into Hektor and his Trojans.

  Hektor feels Zeus’ power sizzle through his veins. It’s almost too much for him. After all, he’s only mortal, with no god-blood. He burns like a man with fever, his eyes gleam like Apollo’s, and white froth bubbles from his mouth.

  He sprints at the Greek shield wall, one man against dozens. They hunch behind their shields terrified, as Hektor jabs at them from the front, then the left, then the right. He’s everywhere, moving as quickly as a god. The Greeks can only hunker down, like a rock battered by waves.

  They’re saved by good shields. Only one of them dies: Perifites, who tripped over his neighbor’s shield and landed face up, unprotected. Hektor was on him instantly.

  The last thing Perifites saw was Hektor’s face. Hektor stabbed his spear right through the boy. All the other Greeks could do was hunker down behind their shields. No one dares to fight Hektor man to man.

  With their best men penned up by Hektor, the Greeks can’t stop the Trojans from reaching the ships. The Trojans shout and cheer as they chase the Greeks along the beach.

  Ajax is jumping from ship to ship, calling, “Turn and fight! A running man has no protection! Turn and fight, or you’ll never see home!”

  Hektor sees that his path to the ships is clear and runs to the stern of the nearest one. He touches the cold, wet hull, overjoyed. This is his goal, and he’s touched it with his own hands! Then he has to turn and hold off the Greeks, who are outraged to see a Trojan hand touching one of their ships.

  Athena sneaks some of her power to them now, lifting the darkness from their eyes, hoping her father won’t notice.

  It’s a nasty fight at the ships, close combat with whatever weapons come to hand: swords, hatchets, big double-bladed axes. Even the men with spears hold them high up, jabbing them like daggers. There’s no room for spear duels.

  Hektor swings his sword with one hand, holding the ship’s hull with the other as if he’s afraid it’ll sneak away from him. He screams, “Fire! Bring me fire! Zeus is with us today!”

  Zeus is waiting, watching for that fire. The moment he sees a Greek ship burning, he’ll abandon the Trojans. But Hektor doesn’t know that. He’s dreamed for nine long years of burning these ships.

  The Trojans are flinging javelins at Ajax as he jumps from ship to ship. Finally, he has to jump down, but he still fights from the lower decks, shouting to the Greeks, “Fight, men, if you want to live! There’s no Greek city near us! Do you think you can walk home?”

  He leans over the gunwale, stabbing down at the swarming Trojans.

  16

  PATROKLAS

  PATROKLAS AND AKILLES watch as smoke rises from the burning ship. Patroklas turns to his lord with tears in his eyes, silently begging him to help stop the Greeks.

  Akilles says, “Crying? Have you had bad news from home? Last I heard, your father is still alive and well, and so is mine.”

  Patroklas sobs.

  Akilles says, “You’re crying for Agamemnon’s army? They brought this on themselves!”

  Patroklas doesn’t answer. They listen to the noise of battle.

  Akilles growls, “Tell me what you’re crying about!”

  Patroklas says, “They’re all wounded. Yuripilas took an arrow in the thigh. Diomedes has a spear wound. Odysseus was stabbed with a sword and so was Agamemnon …”

  At the mention of Agamemnon, Akilles scowls. Patroklas goes on, “The healers are working on them now.”

  Akilles shrugs and walks off.

  Patroklas calls after him, “May I never nurse a grudge like you do, Akilles! I think your father was the cold sea-cliff, and your mother the gray waves! You have no pity for your comrades lying wounded while the Trojans burn their ships! If you won’t help them, let me! Let me wear your armor; they’ll think you’ve returned to battle, and that will be enough to drive them back, give our friends a little breathing room!”

  Akilles shakes his head.

  “Why not? Is it true what they’re saying—you’ve had a prophecy from your mother, that’s why you won’t fight?”

  “There was no prophecy.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I’m as great a king as Agamemnon, and a better man! But he took her from me, that girl I won with my own spear! You saw her crying as she left! She thought I could stop them!”

  After a while, Akilles says, “You said Diomedes is wou
nded?”

  “Badly wounded. By a spear.”

  Akilles groans, “That’s bad. Agamemnon doesn’t matter; he’s no fighter. But Diomedes … we’re in trouble without him. Ah, you hear that? That’s Hektor, whipping them on. I don’t hear a single Greek voice.”

  The smoke from the burning ship is rising higher.

  Akilles puts an arm around Patroklas’ shoulder, says, “I wish every one of these Trojans was dead, and all the Greeks but you and me! Then the two of us could share Troy between us.”

  He walks over to the corner where his armor stands, picks up the helmet and hands it to Patroklas, saying, “I can’t stand hearing our men get slaughtered out there. But I can’t fight yet, Patroklas; you heard me swear I wouldn’t fight till the fire reached my own ships. So I’ll give you my armor. You can wear it when you lead our men against the Trojans.”

  Patroklas jumps up and lays out Akilles’ marvelous armor.

  Akilles watches, grumbling, “None of this would have happened if Agamemnon had shown me a little respect! Look out there—” he points to the smoke rising from the ship—“The Trojans and their freakish Asian allies hemming up the best men of Greece like goats! It’s shameful! And it never should’ve happened. If Agamemnon had treated me properly, the gullies would be filled with Trojan corpses!”

  He’s excited now, and strides out, calling, “I’ll assemble the men, put them in a good mood for you!”

  No sooner has he left than he sticks his head back into the tent and says, “One thing, Patroklas. This is important. You’re no match for Hektor. Don’t let him draw you into single combat. You’ll be wearing my armor, but that doesn’t turn you into me.”

  Patroklas nods, distracted. He’s admiring Akilles’ armor. He’s never dreamed of actually wearing it. He begins putting it on, first the greaves to protect his shins—once you’ve seen a man’s shins raked with a spear-point, you learn the value of a good pair of greaves. Then the slaves fit the breastplate over him, a second, stronger torso. He slings Akilles’ sword over one shoulder and his huge shield over the other. Finally he puts on the helmet with its plume of stiff horsehair to make a tall man look even taller.

  He tries to lift Akilles’ spear, but it’s far too heavy for him. No one but Akilles himself can wield that tree trunk. He settles for two ordinary spears and goes out.

  Akilles’ three chariot horses are hitched up, waiting. Two out of three are immortal creatures born of a harpy and sired by the West Wind. The grooms call them “Blondie” and “Dapple,” but those are not their real names. Some say their father was no mere West Wind but Zeus himself. The god-father has mated with mares before, as kings often do. The third horse is mortal, but a fine beast nonetheless. The Greeks call him “Capture” because he was taken from one of the Trojan towns.

  Akilles has the men formed up already. They’re eager to get into the fight. He brought fifty ships to Troy. Figure about fifty men in each ship, and he can put more than two thousand men into battle, allowing for those who’ve died in nine years of war. The force is divided into five battalions, each commanded by a hero.

  The first battalion is led by Meniste, who was born of a river that flows through the overworld. He has that clean and easy look you see in the god-born.

  The second is commanded by Yudor, bastard son of Hermes, most playful and cunning of the great gods. Yudor has his father’s sly, easy ways.

  The third is under Pisander—a mortal, but a great fighter. Next to Patroklas, he’s better with a spear than anyone in the crew. Except Akilles, of course. That goes without saying.

  The fourth battalion belongs to Fenix, the grizzled old fighter who pretty much raised Akilles. Alkimedun handles the fifth group.

  Akilles stands in front of the ranks and shouts, “You’ve been complaining, ‘O cruel Akilles, why keep us here if you won’t let us fight?’—haven’t you? Haven’t I had to listen to that, day after day?”

  They all nod and laugh.

  He laughs with them, mimicking their whine, “‘O Lord Akilles, we want to fight so much!’” Then he yells, “Well, now you’ll get your chance!”

  They roar with joy, packed so tight shield-to-shield that their horse-hair plumes brush against each other.

  He waves them toward the battle, shouting, “Patroklas will be your commander; obey him like you would me. Show us some of that fighting you promised!”

  He goes into his tent and brings out the sacred goblet. Everyone goes quiet as he rubs it clean with sulfur, then rinses it with water. He washes his hands, then pours wine into it.

  He raises the wine toward the sky, calling, “Zeus, great king! You who love the lightning! You who rule the cold mountains! You whose priests go barefoot and sleep on straw to honor you! You have heard my prayer and brought ruin to Agamemnon! Now I ask you to grant another prayer! I’m sending my comrade Patroklas to battle; let him fight bravely and return safely!”

  Zeus heard that prayer, and granted a part of it.

  When Akilles finishes the drink-sacrifice, Patroklas gives the sign. The five captains order their battalions to charge. There’s no room for strategy or complicated deployments; the Trojans are already in the camp. Akilles’ men simply run at them like a nest of angry wasps kicked by a child—suddenly the wasps are everywhere, stabbing anyone who wanders into their path.

  As they charge, Patroklas shouts, “Show that fool Agamemnon what we can do, men! Let him see what he lost when he offended our lord, the best man in the army!”

  They slam into the flank of the Trojans attacking the ships. When the Trojans see Akilles’ helmet waving at the head of his famous battalions they panic, try to flee. Soon there are gaps in the Trojan shield-wall. Patroklas throws a spear at Pira-Akmes, a Trojan ally from the southern desert where the Orontes flows between sandy banks. The barbarian falls with Patroklas’ spear right through his heart.

  Trojans scatter like mice in a kitchen when the cook comes in with a torch. Akilles’ men pursue, stabbing their spears into the Trojans’ vulnerable backs. The weary Greeks who were fighting from the ships jump down and join the pursuit.

  The Trojans are in chaos. The brave ones soon stop and turn, ready to fight, but the weaklings run farther. So there are groups of Trojans scattered across the camp, easy pickings.

  Patroklas calls to his men, “The Trojans are carrying their shields high, like scared men always do! Hit them low!” And to show what he means, he slams his spear into the thigh of the Trojan Arekile. The spear hits the thigh so hard, you can hear Arekile’s femur snap.

  Meges, taking Patroklas’ advice, jabs Amfikle in the meat of the thigh, and that Trojan dies with the blood fountaining out of his leg.

  Now the Trojans try lowering their shields, so the Greeks hit them high. Menelaos sticks Thoas high on the chest. Antilokas hits Atimna in the throat. Atimna’s brother Maris screams and lunges at Antilokas, but a man shouldn’t lose his head like that in battle. When you lose your head, you forget to watch for danger. Maris forgot to look to his side, where Thrasymid was waiting. Thrasymid slams his spear right onto Maris’ shoulder-joint where it attaches to the arm. The spear-point grinds right down into the bone, and Maris falls dead.

  They take the Trojan Kleobule alive. But then Ajax jokes, “What use is a live Trojan?” and smashes his sword into Kleobule’s cheekbone. The Trojan goes down to Hades’ country, and Ajax wipes the blood off his sword.

  Trojans are dying in all sorts of strange ways. The Greek Peneleos faces off against a Trojan named Lykon. They throw their spears at the same moment, and both miss. Then they draw swords and charge. Lykon hits Peneleos’ helmet, breaking his sword. Peneleos hits Lykon on the side of the neck. It’s such a strong blow that Lykon’s head is left hanging on by a strip of skin. He goes down to the dark like that, with his head flapping down his back like a mule’s saddle-bag.

  The Trojans have had enough. They can’t resist Akilles’ fresh battalions, and try to run to their chariots, to get back to Troy. But the Greeks wo
n’t let them get away so easily.

  Ideomenus catches a Trojan named Erymas and stabs him in the back of the neck, so hard that the spear-point comes out through Erymas’ mouth. His teeth go flying. Blood gushes out of his mouth, nostrils—even his eyes! Erymas has no face left, just a red mush dotted with white teeth.

  It’s too much for the Trojans. They run like lambs scattered by wolves.

  Ajax has Hektor pinned down, jabbing at him from every angle. But Hektor’s always been good with his shield, and somehow keeps his wide shoulders under cover. But that’s all he can do. Seeing his comrades running away, Hektor jumps into his chariot to flee.

  But it’s not easy getting a chariot across the ditch. Hektor’s fine horses jump it easily, but other Trojan chariots fall in. You can hear the horses screaming as they fall on the sharpened stakes; you can hear wood snapping as chariot poles break. Some of the Trojan teams gallop off, leave their riders behind in the ditch.

  Patroklas gets into Akilles’ chariot to ride down the fleeing Trojans. He won’t let one of them get back to Troy alive.

  Some of the Trojan chariots were damaged crossing the ditch. As they bounce over the tussocks, they fall apart. Patroklas runs over their riders. He doesn’t want to stop; he wants to catch up to Hektor. What glory it would be for Patroklas if he could put a spear through the Trojans’ hero! But Hektor’s horses are too fast; he can’t catch up.

  He settles for cutting off and killing retreating Trojans. It’s easy. They have no fight left in them. He sees a Lycian chariot just standing on the plain, not moving. He jumps out and finds a spoiled Lycian named Thestor in the car, whimpering. Patroklas is disgusted. He harpoons Thestor under the jaw, lifts him out of the chariot like a gaffed fish, and throws the miserable corpse onto the dust. Thestor was a catch not worth keeping, a junk fish! Other Lycians come running to avenge Thestor, but Patroklas kills them as easily as a fox kills chickens. A dozen Lycians go down to the dark before Sarpedon the half-god king of the Lycians, gallops up shouting, “Men, why are you running from this Greek? I’ll kill him myself!”