by Ste Sharp
‘When we find a stream, we set up camp,’ Sir William bellowed from the rear of the file. ‘Night is drawing in.’
‘Maybe we should spread out to find water?’ John suggested.
‘We could walk in groups, within sight of each other,’ the turbaned swordsman added.
‘Do we have to vote on it?’ Crossley said, showing his neighbour a smile.
‘No, we do not have to vote,’ Sir William shouted from the back. ‘Anyone against the idea can speak up now. We won’t have long until nightfall.’
Split into smaller groups, they covered a width of a hundred paces, and the plan soon paid off when a call from the left flank redirected them to the sound of running water.
‘Thank God for that. My tongue’s as dry as a bone.’ Crossley knelt at the stream, ready to fill his canteen next to the soldiers scooping water with their hands.
‘Wait!’ Althorn shouted. ‘Remember the mushrooms?’ Althorn looked at the blank faces with dismay. ‘We have to test everything we eat and drink. Who knows what effect the water will have on us?’
‘So, how do we test it?’ asked Crossley.
‘Smell… touch. Test some on your skin.’ Althorn ran a few checks to show them how: his elbow, wrist and lips showed no reaction. ‘This is good water.’
The waiting soldiers leapt into the stream, ladling handfuls of icy water into their mouths.
‘We should camp over there,’ Althorn nodded towards a raised plateau. ‘And look for roots and berries before it gets too dark.’
‘How about meat?’ asked the muscular man with the tattooed face.
‘Have you seen anything here to hunt?’ the tall female archer asked.
A silence descended. It was true – no mammal, insect or bird had been seen or heard during their journey. That’s what was wrong, Althorn realised. This forest was too quiet.
***
John was finding it difficult to fall asleep. He was as comfortable as he’d been in any trench, using his bags as a pillow, and he felt safe because scouts had been positioned in a wide ring around the Day Watch. It was the soldiers by the fire, and their conversations about their last memories, that kept John awake.
‘…the thick of battle,’ one voice held the stage, ‘and the field was pure mud. I led my men into the enemy and broke their shield wall. It was wild!’ John could tell the man was smiling.
‘Sounds like a glorious battle!’ someone agreed.
Why did these men love war so much? John wondered as he drifted in and out of sleep. His grandfather had been the same, telling his big stories from his worn-out armchair by the fire: battles past and present – how they should have been won or won quicker – cannons; horses; comrades; and scars. As a young boy, John had been enthralled, listening to the stories of cavalry charges, sieges and riflemen.
‘Balaclava!’ His grandfather announced the start of a new story with a shout.
‘Hush, father.’ John’s mother tried to quieten him but told John she secretly loved his stories.
‘It was an incredible victory,’ his grandfather said in his thick accent, sticking out his defiant chin.
‘You live in England now,’ John’s father often berated his father-in-law, ‘and I don’t want you giving my customers any reason to shop elsewhere.’
‘Shop is shut,’ John’s grandfather would reply before continuing with his story.
John’s grandparents and his mother had emigrated to London in the 1880s along with thousands of Jews fleeing the anti-Semitic pogrom in Russia after King Alexander II’s assassination. John could remember his grandmother’s sweet smile and hot soups, but little else. His mother told him how she’d often taken him to the art galleries, to see the great works of Russian art, but his grandfather only had time for the military museums and libraries, where he would read the Russian newspapers and complain about the state of his homeland.
John wondered how many times he’d heard his grandfather’s stories. When he’d reached his teenage years, the stories had grown repetitive and tiresome, his grandfather louder and grumpier. He was bitter, and wouldn’t listen when John argued back.
‘The Russians won at Balaclava,’ John told his grandfather more than once, ‘but Britain and her allies won the next battle and won the war.’
‘This,’ his grandfather held up his medal from Balaclava, ‘is victory.’
John’s father told him there was no arguing with a man proud of the country that had driven him out, but still John tried to talk sense into him. So of course it was John who bore the brunt of the old man’s lecturing, until he started to resent it, and to even feel ashamed of his grandfather’s nationality. Then the Great War broke out and, when Russia became an ally, every conversation led to the same conclusion.
‘You must fight for your country, John!’ His grandfather would stare at him. ‘Defend your land!’
John stared into the tree canopy above and tried to push the memories away. The palm of his burnt hand pulsed with dull pain, so he cooled it on his gun again. He listened to the talking around the fireside again, as someone asked Althorn about his last memory.
‘I have fought in many battles.’ John could hear sadness in Althorn’s voice. ‘But my last kill was… nothing heroic.’
‘Remember what the obelisk said, Althorn.’ John recognised the tall archer’s voice and was sure Crossley had called her an Amazon. ‘We are the chosen – you are a great warrior or you wouldn’t be here.’
‘But why was he here?’ John thought. He wasn’t a great warrior. He’d been practically forced to sign up for Kitchener’s Army and had hated his war. He never wanted to fight and didn’t want to do it again… he was a coward compared to these brave fighters. You are a great warrior or you wouldn’t be here. With her words circling his mind, John had finally slipped off to sleep.
***
Samas led the left flank of the Night Watch through the dark forest, while Mihran led the right alongside Li, whose green visor had become their focal point. Samas cast a look back at the scores of silhouettes of soldiers he now commanded: each carried a different weapon – some of which he’d never seen before – and they fought with differing styles. He wondered how he would command such a unit and thought of the variety of men he had led into battle. They were from across the vast Persian Empire and many didn’t speak the same language, yet all had fought well once they had been drilled and knew the commands Samas shouted.
Samas found it hard to believe that it was only that morning he had walked through the army encampment on the dry Cilician plain between mountain and sea, with children in the camp stopping their games to watch him.
‘He’s one of them,’ he’d heard one wide-eyed boy whisper, eyeing the crest on his breastplate which told of his elite status.
Samas gave them a mock salute and smiled to himself when he had passed. At their age, he had been practising sword fights just like them, while the real battles took place within earshot.
He pushed his helmet on and walked with head held high through the rear ranks. When he reached his men at the front, who stood on the banks of the river Pinarus, he could see the Greek army, led by their new Macedonian king, Alexander, swarming across the grassland beyond.
Samas gave individual men words of encouragement then turned to address them all, seeing the colossal bulk of the Persian army behind: a monstrous crowd of tense muscle and glinting metal.
‘Who are these newcomers who come to test our blades?’ Samas shouted and gave a mock laugh. His men were well trained and ready to die for their Persian king but he saw nervous eyes. ‘Today we show the gods what men we are!’ He yelled and raised his sword. ‘Today we show them,’ he pointed his sword at the advancing Greeks, ‘what defeat tastes like.’
Samas gave a drill call and, in a well-rehearsed move, the entire unit moved one step forward and released a deafening yell.
The Persian war machine was soon brought into action as the Greeks arrived. Cries filled the air and a cloud of Persian a
rrows flew over Samas, darkening the sky before diving viciously, thirsting for Greek blood. Engagements flared on the flanks while Samas’ men held the river bank as the opposing infantry thrust their long spears over the shallow water.
‘Hold!’ Samas shouted and his men waited out the tense, hour-long minutes.
Through the din, Samas heard distant calls for changes in formation. Something was wrong, he thought. A charge of Greek horsemen appeared at the ford to his left, triggering a volley of Persian javelins. Samas knew the infantry to his left would move to protect the ford, pulling his men in too. To the right, the Greek cavalry were cutting off the Persian horsemen, so Samas had to defend the ford or the cavalry would have a clear line through to Darius himself.
With a rousing call, Samas turned his men away from the riverbank. ‘Time to do some real fighting!’ He raised his spear. ‘Turn and march.’
The unit walked, sped to a jog, then sprinted with each call from Samas. He was right – the Greek cavalry were already cutting through the infantry line.
‘Attack!’ Samas yelled from the front as they ran full speed into a wave of horsemen. ‘Strong arms and strong legs!’
The weight of the men crashed into the cavalry, with spearheads stabbing the Greek riders and shields knocking the horses to the ground. Samas dodged lances and lunged with his spear to dismount a rider. With a deft sidestep, Samas thrust his short sword up through the rider’s chin, killing him instantly.
And it continued: blood; slicing; gore; and death. After five bloody minutes, the Greek cavalry retreated and Samas caught his breath as he called his men to order, creating a defensive wall of shields and spears.
‘Here they come again. Hold!’ Samas ordered without thinking – he was a machine now: reacting; fighting; defending; leading.
The enemy cavalry wheeled around to smash into the left flank and, as they slowed, Samas leapt at the nearest horseman, parrying and lunging like a man possessed. Now in his element, fighting hand to hand, he swept his way through his opponents and into the Greek infantry. Samas was as one with his weapons: turning gracefully to meet each new foe and attacking with animal speed and ferocity. Spear and sword felt like extensions of his arms as, with a burst of power, he lunged forward to cut down two Greek hoplites. He felt the sound of battle fade away but kept fighting and, as he pulled his spear and sword out of each hoplite, saw a light grow around him. A cool breeze washed over him as the nearest soldiers stepped back.
Then, in a flash of white light, everything had gone.
Now, in the forest, Samas listened to the footsteps behind him and the snapping branches as the army progressed. He hadn’t spent much time in woodland but had expected to see more wildlife. In fact, he was yet to see a single creature in this new land.
‘It’s very quiet,’ Samas whispered to the man with the longbow.
‘No birds or mammals,’ the archer agreed. ‘Just that deep noise.’
‘What deep noise?’ Samas slowed down.
‘Can’t you hear it? A low rumbling sound, like a waterfall? It started a few minutes ago.’
Samas shook his head and sped up to join Mihran. ‘The English archer can hear rumbling.’
Mihran seemed more annoyed with Samas for breaking the silence than for his warning. ‘And?’ he asked without turning to look at him.
Li had taken him seriously, stopped walking and was pressing buttons on a wrist strap now.
‘I need to run through the wavelengths,’ Li whispered, ‘infrared is picking up something… spread out quickly!’ Li’s voice amplified. ‘As fast as possible! Seriously, spread out! Run that way or that way.’ Li backed away. ‘Just run!’
‘What is it?’ Samas asked.
He got no response, but heard a whisper. ‘They’re extinct…’
Samas ran through the forest, keeping up with Li and Mihran.
‘What is it you see?’ Mihran asked.
Samas turned his head and heard distant rumbling. ‘I hear it now.’
The ground trembled beneath their feet.
‘Shit! They’re heading straight for us,’ Li shouted, ‘RUN!’
As the forest exploded behind them, Samas threw himself behind a log with Mihran and Li. Crouched, Samas dusted himself off and peered into the darkness. Several large shapes came crashing through the trees, scattering the warriors into the darkness.
‘What was that?’ Samas asked after the shapes had passed.
‘An elephant,’ Li replied.
‘Then we must be in India,’ Samas said.
‘Nothing to indicate we’re on the Indian sub-continent,’ Li said. ‘The other animals give us no clue… rhino, mastodon. My night vision gave me a good look at the elephant when he passed – a war elephant, circa AD100.’
‘What is AD?’ Samas asked.
‘I’ll explain later,’ Li replied. ‘First we need to regroup.’
Samas shook his head. ‘And what is night vision?’
‘This visor,’ the cover slipped back with a touch of a button, disappearing into the slim helmet, ‘allows me to see in the dark.’ The visor slipped down again without a sound.
The idea of seeing in the dark was easy to accept, many desert creatures did it, but what Samas had seen beneath the visor shocked him.
‘So you can see in the dark!’ Mihran had overheard.
‘Sure,’ Li replied, ‘and they’re coming back!’
‘Over to you.’ Mihran patted Samas on the shoulder with a grin. ‘Now I will see how good you really are.’
Samas tried to ignore the taunt as he ordered. ‘Regroup. Injured men can wait.’
He thought back to his training. Although the Persian army had elephants, they had yet to use them against Alexander. Samas had simply been told to get out of an elephant’s way if he ever saw one and let the archers pick off the riders.
‘Regroup! Regroup!’ Mihran shouted out across the forest.
He’s doing that just to get the elephant’s attention, Samas thought, and tried to control his emotions.
‘Okay,’ Li said. ‘It’s coming straight for us – we have fifty seconds max!’
Samas thought quickly, weighing up his troops, and then called out orders. ‘Archers, behind this fallen tree. Spearman, take the left flank. After my call, count to five then attack. Everyone else with me on the right flank. And Li?’
‘Yes.’
‘I need it to run straight through here.’ Samas gestured to the long clearing, and noticed Mihran was watching him closely.
‘Sure,’ Li replied as a beat of immense angry feet pounded towards them. Li stood at the centre of the trail of destruction, visor glowing green, weapon poised.
The rumble grew, a wild shriek ripped through the air and the enormous silhouette burst into the light of a flare set off by Li.
The elephant was covered in metal armour and drapes, with gore and blood dripping off its spiked tusks.
‘Ready.’ Samas felt the ground shake beneath him. ‘NOW!’
The soldiers with him on the right flank leapt into action, yelling, throwing whatever was to hand: spear, rock or helmet. The elephant stumbled, whipping its tusks. Seconds later, the left flank burst into life, stabbing the charging elephant with long spears and pikes. The elephant’s red eyes streamed as it swung its tusks wildly and stumbled. Li fired a series of pulses into the forest ahead, setting the leaf litter alight, and the archers stepped forward, dropping a fallen branch in the elephant’s path, tripping it up with an almighty crash.
Samas grabbed a pike and ran to finish the elephant off, but a flash of yellow light dazzled him and he stumbled to a halt and clasped his hands over his eyes. Through his fingers he saw a jet of pure sunlight burning deep behind the elephant’s eye, leaving a steaming hole in the corpse’s head.
Everyone stared at Li.
‘Why didn’t you let us kill it?’ Mihran barked.
‘I don’t agree with cruelty to animals,’ Li replied.
Samas looked at the dead elephant a
nd shook his head, wondering how that didn’t count as cruel. ‘Why didn’t you just use your…’ he gestured at the rifle, ‘…weapon in the first place?’
‘Too risky,’ Li replied. ‘I wasn’t sure how my rifle would work here.’
‘You will give us a warning next time,’ Mihran bellowed.
Samas caught his breath and turned a 360-degree circle listening for other sounds. He spotted the archer who had been first to hear the stampede. ‘What do you hear?’ he asked.
‘They’re far away now,’ the archer replied. ‘Listen: you don’t mind us eating it, do you? I’m bloody starving!’
***
An hour after making camp around the dead elephant, the Night Watch were eating thick slices of charred elephant steak. Samas sat with Li, who had explained where many of the soldiers had come from. Mihran shared a fire in silence with Olan the Viking and the chatty, tattooed Carthaginian was laughing with an Egyptian warrior.
Samas looked at Li. ‘Tell me about the great Achaemenid Persian Empire,’ he said. ‘Did it grow to encompass the world?’
‘Do you really want to know?’ Li asked.
‘Of course,’ Samas replied without thinking. Why wouldn’t he want to know?
‘Well.’ Li’s visor remained down. ‘After Alexander the Great conquered–’
‘Alexander the who?’ Samas asked. ‘You don’t mean… the Macedonian? The Great? You must be joking.’
‘No. Which battle did you say you were taken from?’
‘We were fighting near Issus,’ Samas replied.
‘Ah…’
Samas felt his heart speed up. He knew the battle was shifting in the Greeks’ favour, but surely they didn’t win?
‘I’d better start from the beginning,’ Li said and talked of Samas’ battle at Issus. Of how Alexander’s cavalry had broken through the line and Darius had fled the battlefield.
