They prayed fervently they would quickly knock the dragon out of the sky. But lessons learned in war are expensive, and shooting at a flying object in the night, even when lit by its own breath, was a difficult task, especially when it had never been done before. The men pulling the trigger aimed for what they could see, which was the flame shooting forth from the dragon’s mouth. The dragon moved at tremendous speed and every projectile missed. Several scorched it, and one even fringed its wing, but nothing hurt it.
And then the dragon was breathing down on them, their weapons exploding. The men thought their Evvoian suits would protect them. They did, for a moment or two, but the suits could not protect from the raking claws and razor-like teeth of the monster. The dragon was clever, ducking beneath their weapons and flying low to prevent another ballista from shooting it Then the killing began. This time it wasn’t as horrific. The suits did protect the Romans from the flames when not in the middle of the spew, which was much more than they had before. Several men owed their lives to those suits, and others suffered only minor burns that before would have seared their limbs off. Yet the dragon had the advantage. It could see in the dark as though midday, but the men, although now guided by burning weapons and brothers, could not.
****
The dragon timed its flight to coincide with the first wave of the Carthaginian shock troops. Together they swept like a dark tsunami over the broken outposts, overwhelming what Asdrubal left of the Roman sentries. By the time they reached the first ring of ballistae, they were an angry mass of humanity caught up in a dark swell, driven on by the terror of the dragon and the sharp points of the soldiers and priests around them.
The Romans had prepared, thanks to Xenophanes, other projectile weapons than the obsidian spears reserved for the dragon. These weapons, kin to the explosive devices that Decemus’ team used on special missions, were basically elements of Greek fire encased in portable and throwable bombs. Decemus’ use of small clay pots full of razor-sharp metal had been able to devastate a squad of ambushing soldiers. The weapons the ballistae flung heavenward were five times the size, and when the first ones went off, every living thing within seventy-five feet was ripped apart. If a Roman soldier was unfortunate to be in range of the explosions, he was shredded as well. Blood taught the ballista operators how quickly and how far they had to throw the bombs.
At first, the angry mass was not phased, but after twenty fire-pots punched through their middle, the Carthaginian glacier halted. Men and women were torn apart by the flechettes, blood and body parts littered the ground. To move forward, the mob had to march over and through the carnage. The survivors, bloodied and shocked by the slaughter in front of them, halted. Had another fire-pot landed among them, the whole charge would have folded back on itself like a gory blanket pulled back across a bed. But it did not. The dragon pulled back from engaging the ballistae and moved in to support the Carthaginian infantry.
Asdrubal, looking through the wild beast’s eyes, saw his attack stagger and waver. Screaming like a hellhound, he swept across the Roman artillerist and batted the fire-pots back, blasting them back into their ranks. Ballistae and the men exploded into the air, raining splinters and bone down on the stalled attack. The Carthaginian optios, seeing the opportunity, spurred the mass of terrified and bloody people forward and restarted the surge across the field, stepping in and over the bodies of those who fell in front of them.
****
Regulus moved from the bunker to the elevated position in the fortress tower. He viewed the field through the Carthaginian optical device that Xenophanes had adapted and saw the effect of the firebombs. For a second, he thought they might win the battle right there, then he groaned as the dragon attacked and flew under the reach of the projectiles. He watched as the dragon change tactics to support the Carthaginian army that had almost been halted by the fire-pots.
In response to the new moves on the chess board of battle, Regulus gestured toward Othniyel to signal the Roman reserves arrayed behind the ballistae to move forward. These troops did not have the protection of the fire-resistant robes. But if they could get among the Carthaginians quickly enough, the dragon would not be able to ravage them without destroying its own army as well. If he did not send them in, the troops protecting the first ring of ballistae would be wiped out completely. It was only a delaying action, and they would eventually be forced to retreat toward the Roman fortifications, but right now he needed the time, and so the order was given. Othniyel, standing beside Regulus on the parapet of the bunker, blew his trumpet signaling the reserve line of infantry to move forward and engage the bedraggled hordes scurrying to meet them while the surviving men of the ballistae continued to engage the dark host with the exploding projectiles.
****
As Regulus watched the battle rage from the tower directly over the bunker, the dragon’s keen eye caught the reflection of the telescope Regulus was using. The combination of Asdrubal’s quick mind and the dragon’s animal instincts caused immediate reaction. The dragon turned from strafing the ballistae and raced toward the command tower. Asdrubal realized the person with the telescope must be a commander, and therefore, a primary target.
****
Regulus spotted the dragon’s approach and rushed down the tower to the safety of the bunker, Othniyel right behind him. But they were too slow.
The dragon bore down on them, flame spewing from its mouth, and then from the wreck of a flaming ballista, a single projectile raced through the early morning air and slammed against the beast chest. Regulus saw the impact on the serpent knocking it back ruining its strafing run. He glanced back in the direction the projectile had come, startled to see the burning figure of one of his men draped over his weapon.
Regulus and Othniyel shook their heads, stunned. “How?” Othniyel asked. Regulus’ answer was to shake his head as they continued their quick descent back into the bunker.
The dragon’s angry scream at missing his prey stripped the heavens. The projectile fired from the wrecked ballista had knocked it back but not done much damage.
The dragon’s skin had repelled the sharp projectiles fired at it in the first battle. The Romans adapted with the obsidian tipped spears they now hurled. The Carthaginians, also skilled in the art of war and aware through Sapphos’ spy network of those obsidian tips, had countered by fitting the dragon with a lightweight armor, made of layered steel and hundreds of links of chain mail. The effect was impressive. The obsidian projectiles were brittle and broke apart when they hit the dragon. They did pierce it, but with the impact of small splinters, not with enough force to stop it. They just made the dragon angrier. It bled from scores of small cuts, but nothing strong enough to kill it.
Han Xing was standing beside a panting Regulus when a courier, escorted by a centurion, entered the command center. Regulus could tell by the look on the otherwise somber tribune’s face that something was terribly wrong. “Scouts report Numidian mercenary cavalry approaching from the rear, sir,” the courier spat out.
“What kind of cavalry?” Han Xing asked in a clipped tone.
“Elephants,” the tribune answered.
Regulus didn’t bat an eye. He looked at Han Xing, and said, “I moved the cavalry breakers toward the rear yesterday. I didn’t think they would be much help against the dragon. Since they have a fear of fire, but they will be hell on Numidian cavalry, and especially on elephants.”
Han Xing gave him an I hope your right look, and then said to the tribune, “See to it.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Porcius wasn’t fazed by much. He was short and square with a protruding brow and deep-set brown eyes. He could be a brute when he had to be but was also extremely resourceful and an excellent optio. He had been in the Roman army for decades and couldn’t remember when he wasn’t in the army. Whether that was caused by age or too many blows to the head, he didn’t care and rarely thought about it.
What he did think about were creative ways to destroy enemy cava
lry. He was good at it, and that is why he, instead of a regular centurion, was leading a special tactics cohort of one-hundred troops. Regulus acknowledged the hereditary and political necessity of having the “politically right” officers where they needed to be. He also let it be known among those officers that he expected results. If they wanted to keep their rank, they better put capable men in the right places at the right times, or they would find themselves replaced, someone who would promote by merit would replace them. So Porcius who got things done was “consulting” the young centurion, the named officer of the special tactics cohort who had the extreme good sense to get out of the way and let the gifted Porcius manage this part of the battle. The centurion would get the credit, the Romans would win the battle, and Porcius would go back to getting things done. Every one would be happy, except the enemy, of course.
The problem was the cavalry they faced at the moment. Numidia’s cavalry was not horse cavalry, it was elephant cavalry. One of the smartest creatures on the earth, the elephant was a mobile tank used on battlefields for almost two thousand years. Alexander the Great encountered them, much to his regret, at the battlefield of Hydaspes River. He won the battle but lost the morale of his men, who refused to go any farther, thanks to those elephants. He later found out, over wine and dancing girls while entertaining his defeated guest Porus, an Indian prince, that the secret to fighting elephants was burning pigs. Douse the pigs in a flammable substance like tar and oil, pen them up, then right when the elephants were within striking distance, torch the hogs, and drive them squealing toward their ponderous cousins. It terrified the huge beasts. They revolt, turn on their riders and herders, and bang the battle is over. Or so the Roman optio had been told.
They had the hogs. The Romans had to eat something while encamped, and hogs were relatively easy to herd, so capturing a sounder of them wasn’t a problem. However, tarring them and pouring flammable oil on them was a little more difficult. The project had actually been incredibly entertaining for everyone except the hogs and the troops responsible for tarring the hogs. Soldiers crowded around, laughed, wagered, and howled as the poor souls greasing the pigs did their ignoble best. Eventually, the job was done and a new phrase born in the process, “faster than a greased pig.”
Regulus had already sent orders to prepare the pigs. He knew who he was fighting. His grandfather had fought against Hannibal, the greatest general Carthage, and most of Rome, had known. Hannibal and the Carthaginians were famous for getting elephants to do what other cavalries couldn’t begin to get them to do. Regulus had even seen elephants whose tusks had metal swords attached. With those tusks swaying viciously, men were cut in half and then crushed by the huge beast. Regulus had taken the precaution of having one of the few weapons elephants feared ready, so Porcius had more than enough time to secure and coat the animals. But no one bothered to instruct him in the fine art of caging them and pointing them in the right direction. He had to figure that out on this own.
Porcius had been a young legionnaire the last time he fought in a battle with elephants. He had not been responsible for securing and hurling the flaming bits of bacon toward the enemy at that engagement. So, he had to reinvent the process and figure out how to fire them up. The good thing about experimenting with a few hogs was they made especially good grilled ribs and bacon. When Porcius grilled his mistakes, troops followed the enticing aroma clear across the camp begging for chops, bacon, and ribs. So many soldiers got in line, and Porcius’ unsavory optios pocketed so much bribe money, that the enterprising Porcius struggled with the temptation to make a few more mistakes. But Han Xing personally intervened and threatened to light and release any soldiers who deliberately lit hogs with later meals in mind. He said the hogs were for the coming battle, and if elephant cavalry attacked, the flaming ribs and crackling chops would be our first line of defense. A few of the less knowledgeable troops scoffed, but the older troops, who had actually seen elephants run from blazing porkers, knew it to be true. How to orchestrate it was the problem.
Xenophanes, induced by a plate of steaming pork, bent his amazing intellect to the problem. His grand idea was to launch the pigs from catapults. That didn’t seem like too bad an idea, but when Han Xing heard it, he pointed out that the whole purpose of using hogs to start with was they would get underfoot of the elephants and terrify them, so the notion of flying pigs was shelved. It was probably inspired by the wine served with the pork plate anyway.
Finally, Porcius, after much trial and error and grilling, devised a method. He had his troops place the pigs in quickly-made chutes, as close to single file as they could get them. When it came time to release them, they poked the pigs with a sharp spear and opened the gate. An accomplished archer with a flaming but not barbed arrow, shot the hog in the rump, and most of the time that action engulfed the animal in flames, setting them squealing in the direction they were pointed. Now, if they could do that while under attack with from an enemy.
Porcius assembled his troops. The scouts responsible for informing him on the strength and direction of the attack furiously rode their mounts back toward the lines. The ballistae that Regulus could spare on short notice were in position. Porcius was about to make a minor change in some placements when he heard the angry cry of Numidian bugles, and from further away the trumpeting of elephants echoing that call. The Roman trumpets replied in kind, assuring their enemy that they were waiting, not surprised by the attack from the rear, hopefully discouraging the foe. In battle, surprise was king, but in this case, its lack did not discourage the enemy. The Numidian trumpets only grew louder, and the screams of the elephant cavalry, now in easy view, shriller. Porcius watched his young commander and laughed at the young man obviously whispering prayers under his breath. “A little late for that, don’t you think, sir?” And then, before his commander could answer, he screamed, “Let ‘em loose!”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Miriam felt helpless. Thousands were dying around her. She could hear, through the walls of the bunker, muffled cries of hundreds of men angry, dying, and screaming in pain. She couldn’t be there to help the wounded. It was frustrating. But as she was learning, orders were for a reason. She had been given hers, and she had learned enough about Regulus and Han Xing, that they did nothing, especially in an intense life and death struggle, without reason. So, she knelt down, slipped a prayer shawl over her head, and began to recite the prayers of her people for deliverance.
Hear my prayer, O Lord,
Give ear to my supplications!
Answer me in Your faithfulness, in Your righteousness!
And do not enter into judgment with Your servant,
For in Your sight no man living is righteous.
For the enemy persecuted my soul;
and crushed my life to the ground;
He has made me dwell in dark places, like those who have long been dead.
Therefore my spirit is overwhelmed me;
My heart is appalled within me...
As the last words slipped from her lips, she shuttered. A lifting sensation gripped her, and a noise like a thousand angry bees entered the room. She opened her eyes, startled to see that she was hovering over her body lying on the floor. She wanted to scream but heard a rough grumbling voice say, “No time for that, girl! You have to come with me.”
Miriam looked behind her. An old man, bent but not bowed by the burden of time, stared back at her. His bald head was crowned with a shallow rim of white hair. He had a hoary beard, and was dressed in plain woolen robes that glowed like they had been places they were never intended to go and brought glory back with them. He carried a gnarled staff with writing on it, and a weathered, leather belt circled his waist.
“Elijah!” she gasped. “Regulus told me of your visits.” If Miriam hadn’t been floating out of her body, she would have fallen on her face in respect.
“Not now, Miriam. I need you to intervene in this battle for me.”
“Wh wh..aat?” she stammered back. “Wha
t do you mean, intervene in this battle?”
“You know very well what I mean Miriam, prophetess and singer, like your namesake. The Romans and the Carthaginians think this is all about them and their strategies and movement of forces, and now elephants. But you know deep down it is not; it is about spiritual wickedness in high places, and dark elements, that need to be quickly vanquished. You, my dear, are the one to do it.”
“I don’t know how to do that! What do I do?” Miriam asked, rattled.
“Well, I can’t do it for you, but I can show you where to work. First, let’s move to the events. And then you can intervene at the scene. Follow me, if you will.”
Miriam took Elijah’s outstretched hand and thought, I guess I am not as helpless as I supposed. Then she shuddered as she realized some things are better wished for than realized.
As Miriam moved with Elijah in midair, they swept through the walls of the earthen bunker past the Romans holding their heavily fortified stronghold. Her mouth hung open as she saw thousands of massed troops and civilians battling for miles in every direction. Their pitiful screams beat against her heart. She could feel the weight of their agony, and then her attention was torn from the misery beneath her to the dragon in the heavens before her. She flinched as the dragon started to turn toward her but watched as it was hammered by one of Oenus’ surviving ballistae, striking it right between its eyes with a flaming spear point. The dragon wasn’t killed but thrown back to the earth, screeching in rage as it fell among its own troops, crushing and burning hundreds. For the moment, its attention was wrenched back to the Romans fighting it and away from Miriam and Elijah’s passing.
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