by Samuel Fort
Chapter 42 - The Attack
Rudger was concerned. The grounds were oddly quiet. The army of Ardoon servants who had earlier been running back and forth between the assorted vehicles and the hotel had evaporated. All of the Lilitu’s guests remained in the building, presumably gathered in the Great Hall. The grounds, like the hotel, were lit up like a Christmas tree by the exterior lights.
Altos and Torbitz, his spies within the building, had yet to signal that the guests and principles were present in the Great Hall. Lord Moros had made clear to the colonel that everyone should be captured at once so that none of the leaders of the treasonous gathering could escape. The building was huge and the grounds vast. If the attack commenced while one of the principles was outside the Great Hall there was a chance that he and his Peth would never find them.
The prone man cursed as a cold stream of rainwater found its way into his pants and slowly trickled down his leg. It was nearing dusk but the angry, thundering clouds above had long ago blotted out the sun. The rain seemed to have no end.
Still, he had been in far worse environments and it was only three minutes before the attack was to commence. Rudger could feel his adrenaline surging. True, this was not exactly like rushing into battle against a well-armed foe, but he and his troops were going to make history tonight. This attack against the whore was - at least in his mind - the beginning of the end.
Yesterday the leaders of the three rebellious Houses had been captured, executed and replaced with puppets who obeyed the Seven unquestioningly. The only holdout was the daughter of Sargon and her reckless, delusional allies. While she was hardly a kingdom unto herself, she remained a wildcard and a thorn in the Seven’s side. When he had completed his mission tonight he would be remembered as the hero who had finally crushed the House of Sargon.
Would the Seven reward him with a title? Lord Rudger? Or Duke? Surely he would merit some reward beyond a few slaves or consorts. Perhaps a nice patch of land to administer somewhere near the ocean?
With visions of sandy beaches swimming in his head, the Peth moved his pistol into the air and prepared to fire the shot that would signal the start of the attack. At that moment the front doors of the Great Hall opened. Through the downpour he could see a man peeking around the door closest to him.
“Who is that?” he grumbled to his second-in-command, Major Unther, Nizrok’s man.
The officer raised his binoculars. “That’s Altos!”
“Finally! What is he signaling?”
“Nothing yet, Colonel.”
Rudger cursed. “That idiot! Could he be any more conspicuous?”
Unther said, “Why does he keep bobbing his head so? Wait! There’s Torbitz!”
Frustrated, Rudger said, “What do they think they are doing?” He raised his binoculars and saw the heads of both men peeking around the door. He immediately knew something was wrong.
“Their eyes,” he said, but the other man already saw it.
Altos and Torbitz had no eyes.
As the two soldiers watched in astonishment, the heads of both spies shot ten feet into the air. Then the poles the heads were staked on emerged from behind the door carried by a woman in a scarlet dress. Seemingly without a care in the world, she carried them to a large planter that contained a dying plant. Looking up, she manipulated the poles so that the heads of the two men collided, face to face, their lips touching. A kiss of death.
Drenched but laughing, the woman did it again before throwing one of the poles unceremoniously to the ground and thrusting the bottom of the other into the soft soil of the planter. That done, she lifted the other pole and repeated the exercise, ensuring that the two poles crossed and were oriented so that the eyeless, slack faces atop them faced the hills where the attackers were concealed.
“Fiela,” said Rudger as the girl went back inside, closing the doors behind her.
“Edimmu,” said the other man.
Rudger recovered, saying, “Altos and Torbitz were sloppy and got caught. It doesn’t matter.”
“It will be bad for morale.”
“It doesn’t matter,” reiterated the Peth, knowing the man was right. “It is an easy mission. Let’s get on with it.”
He raised his pistol and fired into the air.
Lilian and Fiela heard the gunshot.
“Sister, why didn’t you tell me of this attack?” asked Fiela, using a tablecloth to wipe blood and rain from her arms and hands. She stood very close to Lilian in the Great Hall, out of earshot of those in the balconies overhead.
“It is not your battle. You and I are bystanders.”
“I do not understand. Surely Lords Moros and Nizrok have sufficient men to overwhelm us. The doors will not hold.”
“We have allies.”
“Where? No helicopters can fly in this weather.”
“Even so.”
Fiela was suddenly hopeful. “Sister, you have predicted this. Have you hidden away uncle and our husband to keep them safe?”
“Do you really think that either would hide and leave you and me to fend for ourselves?”
“No,” admitted Fiela. “They cannot have been captured, either. Surely if Seven had them they would have been used against us by now.”
“True,” said the Lilian, hoping the girl was right and that neither of the men would be led to Steepleguard’s entrance in chains to compel her to open the doors.
Would she, she wondered?
The troops moved speedily down from the seven hills surrounding Steepleguard, rifles to their shoulders. All was silent except for the sounds of the rain and boots sloshing through puddles of mud. Not a single shot was fired. Lord Moros had been wise, acknowledged Rudger, not to share his plans with anyone other than Lord Nizrok, and to plan the attack “off-script” without the use of the Ardoon. The surprise would have been complete if not for Altos and Torbitz.
He reached the main entrance of Steepleguard with his lead squad and said into his microphone, “All platoons - status.”
Each of the platoons called in. Everyone was in position around the building. No shots fired, nothing unusual to report.
The sky flashed white and a clap of thunder roared at him not a half-second later. Rudger looked up instinctively and was jolted to see the two severed heads above him. They swayed on their poles in all directions like ghastly full-scale bobble head toys. The colonel angrily pulled both poles from the planter and tossed them to the side, watching as one of the heads rolled lazily into a pool of oily water.
Neither he nor any of the troops were using night vision devices. While the hills were dark, dozens of lampposts brightly illuminated the entrance to Steepleguard and the courtyard beyond. Rudger nodded and a squad leader moved slowly up to the giant doors and pulled gently on both handles. Looking at Rudger, he shook his head and retreated.
Locked. So much for doing this the easy way. He made a hand signal, directing that the breach team should prepare to open the door. As they did, he heard a loud electrical crackle overhead.
“Colonel Rudger,” came a voice from the sky that made the troops below cringe. The voice was female but there was a hollow sound to it as it echoed off the hills around them. Only then did the commander remember that the building had a public announcement system and that two of the speakers were directly overhead.
The Peth was stunned. It was Lilitu’s voice. It had to be. How had she known his name? The men and women around Rudger turned to look at him questioningly. They hadn’t prepared for this scenario. Seeking to assure them, he nodded confidently as if he, at least, had expected this possibility.
“Megaphone,” he ordered with a snap of his fingers. It took only a few seconds for the instrument to be produced.
“Lilitu of Sargon,” he said into the instrument, “this is Colonel Rudger, Peth-Allati of the Seven Houses. By authority granted me by the Delphic Order of the Nisirtu, I command you to open these doors and surrender. If you do so, you have my word that neither you nor you
r guests or family will be harmed.”
This demand was greeted by silence, except for the sound of the rain slapping the earth.
Then the woman’s voice returned, saying, “The nobles present will require more than that to turn themselves over to you.”
Rudger said, “Nobles will be allowed to petition for immediate parole and will not be taken prisoner.” He was required to say this but knew she wouldn’t believe him. It was an obvious lie.
The electronic voice replied, “The nobles will not negotiate with a member of the warrior class.”
“There are no mediators, Lilitu of Sargon,” Rudger said, “but I assure you that nobles will not be harmed if you surrender peacefully.”
Several minutes passed. He allowed the aristocrats inside the building to confer, as their type was prone to do. The colonel despised this aspect of the operation because it presented him with an uncontrollable variable. He was ordered to capture Lilitu and her associates alive but if they were to fire at him or his troops he would have to fire back and Lilitu might be killed. Alternatively, Sargon’s daughter might elect to kill herself. In either event, his mission would be a failure.
“I demand a response,” he yelled, forgetting the megaphone.
The speakers crackled back to live. “There is one here who we will allow to represent us.”
At last. “Name the person!”
“Lord Disparthian.”
The man wondered if his expression was as comical as that of the Peth around him. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Rudger said, “Lord Disparthian is not present.”
“Is he not?” challenged Lilitu.
Rudger lowered the megaphone. “Enough of this,” he said to the breach team. Get these doors open.”
That was when the first shot was fired and the Peth to Rudger’s left fell to the ground.
The semi-trailers painted with an “Esotopia Bridal Traditions” logo, flowers and candles had been parked at Steepleguard for almost two days. Though the trailers had chemical toilets and were well equipped and reasonably comfortable for ad-hoc troop carriers, the 6th Peth-Allati soldiers inside them were eager to charge into the fray the moment their platoon leaders opened the doors.
Disparthian stood at the rear of one of the trailers, his ear to the large metal doors and a hand up to caution his troops to remain silent. While he, like his personal guards, wore high tech body armor, he also wore a ceremonial silver breastplate engraved with swirls of calligraphic cuneiform. Only Lords of the Peth were allowed such vanities and the devices were only to be worn on momentous occasions. In his opinion, this was one.
The trailers had been positioned as close to Steepleguard’s entrance as the ruse would allow - a mere thirty yards from the main doors of the hotel. This meant Disparthian’s fifty-nine guards would be almost immediately in harm’s way - as would their opponents - when the trailers’ doors were finally opened.
The moment Disparthian heard his name dropped by Lilian, he signaled two men to open the doors and the 6th Peth Guards spilled out. The first squad immediately fell to the muddy ground and began firing at targets of opportunity. Pop! Pop! Pop!
As the surprised shock troops realized they were being ambushed and started firing back, the sound of intermittent shots became a roar. Popopopopop! Popopopop! Popopopopopopopopop! The courtyard was suddenly alive with the muzzle flashes and sight lasers whipping across the ground in search of prey.
Disparthian turned to the Peth now pouring out of the second trailer. “First platoon, clear the hills. Everyone else, follow me to the entrance!” A bullet whizzed by his ear and punctured a wall inside the trailer. He resisted the impulse to flinch, instead yelling, “Careful, gentlemen! Unlike me, you are not bulletproof!”
His guards laughed and raised their carbines to their shoulders. Disparthian lifted his automatic pistol to his own, turned, and sprinted forward.
Rudger and the squad with him went prone and sought concealment behind nearby columns and bushes. While they had not fought together as a unit, they were superbly disciplined and trained as individual soldiers. There was no panic and no unnecessary bursts of fire. The Peth chose their targets and pulled their triggers back calmly.
The assault was vicious but Rudger was surprised at the small size of Lilitu’s force. Surely it was not more than sixty Peth, far too few to overwhelm a defending force of twice that number. He had spotted Lord Disparthian, the darling of the Seven and now a traitor, standing upright and pointing out targets to his troops as if he were an immortal, and damned if not every bullet fired at the man seemed to change trajectory in mid-flight. His appearance was cause for some concern, as he was reputed to be a courageous and inspiring leader, and thus a force multiplier. Yet one man alone could not turn this battle.
“Ready to advance,” Rudger yelled. “Bring the other squads around and flank Disparthian’s men!”
He did not see the doors to three other trailers fly open.
Sibelius was the Maqtu in charge of supporting Disparthian’s troops. A ten year veteran of the Nisirtu’s civil war, he was a man of average height but exceptional girth and sported a bushy red beard. He was affectionately called Big Dwarf.
The deal he had brokered with Disparthian required that the lord’s troops spearhead the attack against the forces of Moros and Nizrok. Sibelius had told Disparthian that, after ten years of war, the Maqtu were not about to go up against the soldiers of two Houses while the soldiers of another were at their back. Disparthian had reluctantly agreed to the plan.
“Come on, you sissies!” the rebel screamed in a baritone voice as the trailer doors opened and the Maqtu poured out. “First platoon to the east, second platoon to the west. Third and Fourth platoons, you greasy bastards follow me!”
Sibelius wielded an automatic shotgun. He could see the valiant but foolish Lord Disparthian in his ceremonial armor ahead, his men circled around him, and Rudger’s men circled around them.
The Peth lord had advanced to within twenty feet of Steepleguard’s entrance, a praiseworthy feat, but there the enemy had swallowed him up. Rudger had summoned his troops from the east and west sides of the building and his skirmishers to pinch Disparthian’s forces. Lilitu’s covert allies were now taking fire from three sides. Though they fought valiantly, Sibelius knew they would not survive much longer without help.
Which was as it should be, he thought with a grin.
