Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 21
Ajax's Funeral
Book 3 in 21 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.
The Isle Of Salamis, Greece
Two Weeks Later
The Greeks spent their combined fortunes to decorate the cedar coffin, cut from the finest trees on Cyprus, to insure it had all the grave goods a King of Salamis would expect as well as the weapons which drew him to the other side so SzélAnya could kill him. My two tomahawks plus a bronze dagger with a sheeth of gold and seeded with precious gemstones; Greek symbolism on one side and Amazon symbolism on the other.
Ajax was buried with plenty of scented bags to disguise the smell of decay. The man himself was wearing his death mask; again gold with gems along the crown. Even in death he looked so massive. How had I ever thought I could defeat this man? In fact, I knew I couldn't, thus my deception. He remained a hero, finally felled by a Divine Dragon in my stead.
That was the tale; the Truth; I had revealed to the Teucer and the remaining ten Mycenaeans. They had nodded, some even looked from me and Aya over to the grave which housed their departed leader and shook their heads.
"The daughter of Typhon, eh?" Eruthros chuckled. "It would have been how he would have wished to go; a raging Goddess only he could wound, if not kill."
"Oh, he did that alright," I met his gaze, not sure if I dared meet his smile with one of my own.
"Atta says he shouted his war cry multiple times," Queen Aya added, "and made the Goddess SzélAnya cry out in pain. It says as much in the rolls of my People; now and forever."
That got more nods all around. It was hard for these men to stay dour in her presence, my fey monarch and holder of the heart of my Fatherhood. One of the others spoke up.
"We do not forgive you for what transpired before the Walls of Troy, Nasusara Assiyaišhamai, but forgiveness is not necessary. If what has transpired before has also lost all meaning with so many dead then let us both agree to let it be."
"Please, call me Aya," Aya smiled up at the gruff warrior. "Yes. In Amazon etiquette we call it 'committing this to the nothingness'. It will do neither of our people any good to simply pile on more bodies upon the graves of others. Let this be a new day and see what destiny offers us instead of ceaseless vengeance. I do not forgive you for Troy either, but I know we all have shed enough blood over what has passed."
That got nods all around. Aya took out the blade she had kept in her knapsack and offered it to me.
"You knew the man," she commanded in her piping voice. "Place this upon his chest as a final gift from the Amazon Hosts to the People of the Kingdom of Salamis; let both find the paradise we've been promised. May Wánax Ajax find his old friends who have gone before him be waiting. They have waited for so long." That earned nods all around.
I went forward to place the dagger on the sarcophagus, Chaz, as my Brother, walked beside me while Eruthros remained behind talking with Aya. Around them stood four of the Queen's bodyguards/tutors. Beyond stood the other dignitaries and their own entourages of attendants and bodyguards as well. Even the Great Khan had sent one of his most senior advisors to be present for the ceremony.
How important the Egyptian Rite folks were wasn't something I could figure out from just a glance, or two. Even the Illuminati, standing in for no one else but Alal were here to show their respects both to the fallen King and to the Grandson who had slain him. The Gida had one of his/her own offspring representing their faction despite all contributions as security went.
Personally, I would have felt better if Pamela had come, but she claimed to have another family matter she had to take care of at the last moment and couldn't attend. Besides, she assured me, I couldn't be safer with all the trained killers who would be guarding their ambassadors for such an important event.
She had given me Chaz as my other family member to stand by my side as well as Alkonyka, the Champion of SzélAnya who had been boning up on her martial talents since I had brought her and her sister home from Romania. Surely that would be enough. Needless to say, the Condottieri and the Seven Pillars had politely refused the Egyptian Rite's invitation to be at the gravesite which left me deeply concerned, but not enough to back out at this juncture.
Aya had decided it would be bad for her morale if she sent me while refusing to come along. Once more, I failed to overcome her passionate yet logical counters to my worries about her safety as the date to arrive approached. My 'Spidey Senses' were tingling and I didn't like what reports we weren't getting on any possible Condottieri retaliatory strikes aimed our way.
It was serendipity that on the same day of the funeral, the final phase of Operation Akša Loksti went into action. Hopefully that would disrupt their plans if they had any. Likewise, there were no reports that suggested the Condottieri were even aware of our moves against Angola which I put down to the Amazons and Coils working so well together. I guess I shouldn't have begun the day feeling so fucking positive.
Back To Operation Akša Loksti (White Swan)
The unit's overall commander considered massacring the lot yet finally decided to let her hand stay even though the main force needed them. She left two BVP-98's and their ten Amazons behind to round up the prisoners while she and her M-84 MBT raced southeast because those ladies (and guys) sounded like they were in a world of hurt.
They were alone, yet she and her lone tank were expected to turn the tide. What they discovered was a huge Angolan left hook coming at their defensive position above the Loge; tanks and APCs were fording the Loge closer to the ocean than expected and building up their forces on the coast road /EN100. Something had to be done and quick.
The unit commander knew that minutes were something they may not have so she backed her tank up and deployed her warfighters forward without their own M-98 APC's. The Angolan build up was ignorant of the build up behind them, so when they started rolling forward, she dropped all hell on them from behind. Every two Amazons had a Khanate-built 9K1 35 Kornet Anti-Tank Guided Missile set up and opened fire.
The immediately turned 17 precious T 72 into so much burning wreckage while using RPG fire to send the Angolan APC to similar fates. At the same moment they opened fire, the two trucks bringing resupplies for the unit arrived. Most importantly, they brought eighty more shells for the M-84 to use. There was even more good news.
The crew of the T 95 Degman suspected they could bring their tank back to the fight inside an hour though her mobility would be questionable. She told them to hurry up. She wasn't sure they had an hour. Already the rebel air force had joined the struggle after plastering the supply elements in the rear. Unfortunately the Angolan air defenses were more robust than suspected.
Two SU22 were turned into fireballs with two more limping back to base, most likely removed from the fight entirely. That was as third of their ground attack force gone already and the day wasn't over yet. Still, the Angolans were sluggish to respond. Before their artillery could recognize the threat, the Amazons dropped some 120mm loving on them with their mortars.
The Amazon commander was using her smaller mortars to drop hate on the Angolan infantry which was deploying from their APC and trying to remove her from her vulnerable position. There had to be about a thousand of them coming her way too. Still, by coming her way they were no longer trying to unravel the main defensive line on the high ground above the river.
At the point they decided to start exchanging RPG fire with the dug in Amazons around the road, she brought her own APCs forward to rake the Angolans with dedicated autocannon fire. That broke the back of their charge and sent them scattering back to their own APC, which weren't all that safe. It turned out the Angolans were on the clock too.
The moment the central defensive line beat back the attack by the T-55 tanks of the 101st Tank Brigade, their supporting artillery began dropping hell on the artillery supporting this flanking maneuver. It was just in time too because the Amazon commander didn't have enough firepower to keep them suppressed.
Then it was the job of the remaining T 72; the best tanks in the Angolan inventory; to drive away her deployed infantry and sole M-84. First they concentrated on the M-84 who gamely dispatched T 72 after T 72 once the ATGM fire had removed their reactive armor plates. The whole area around the tank blossomed in clouds of 125 millimeter fire.
In a flash, all of the M 84 reactive armor on the front and the front of both sides had been stripped from her and the remainder of the tank looked streaked with the indentations of the follow-up hits. Seeing as how the tank was about to be destroyed, the Amazon leader order her to withdraw. She was about to be annihilated for no gain.
The M 84 instantly launched a disruptive cloud of smoke grenades around her to shield her actions as she beat feet to the rear. The T 72 kept firing into the general location as they kept coming their way. The ATGM the Amazons were using were failing to penetrate the glacis armor of the Main Battle Tanks they were facing.
With the tank withdrawing, the APC's had to withdraw around the bend in the road as well. Their 30mm guns would have no effect on the onrushing behemoths. Still, the Amazons gamely kept up their fire from their hastily made foxholes. They had to keep the enemy focused on them just a few more minutes until the forces above them on the high ground could shift around and come to their rescue.
And then a miracle occurred.
The T 72 pulled up short and shifted their fire from trying to dig the Amazon out of their holes and back to the main road where, the T 95 had appeared through the dust and smoke. Not only was she launching her own grenades to give her some shelter, her engine was expelling masses of black smoke; proving she was now dead to the world. The Degman spoke first, exiting a T 72 into the afterlife with a single shot.
Her barrel shifted and then was wreathed in smoke as she took three hits to her turret's armor. That shot ripped away the reactive armor plates there, but the tank itself was undamaged. Exit another T 72. Shells were exploding all around her and even hitting her glacis armor to little effect. Exit another T 72, and then another in rapid succession. Two of the M-84's from above had finally shifted around and were firing into the now exposed flank of the Angolan thrust.
The next salvo of ATGM was simply too much for the remaining tankers. They fired off their own smoke grenades and began backing up toward the river. Their infantry scrambled to keep up; and not to be overrun by their own vehicles. The helicopters arriving was simply icing on the cake. That rout was on and the firing continued. Even 'her' M 84 returned to add her own firepower to the debacle.
Her timely arrival and superior placement of her small command had broken the back of the Angolan offensive, and then the terrible slaughter took place, just as predicted. The Angolans simply abandoned their towed artillery and the oncoming air assault concentrated on the fleeing mobile batteries as well as their few remaining anti-air assets.
It was a complete disaster for the Angolans. Their conscript soldiers threw away anything which could slow them down in their flight to the rear. For the combined forces of Cabinda and Zaire, there was only the time it took to rearm and refuel then the pursuit took place. Well into the night, they followed the remaining elements of the Angolan army, some ambitious Amazon scouts going so far as to see the lights of Luanda before calling it quits.
In the capital there was complete panic. Their army hadn't been beaten; it had been Utterly destroyed. With the enemy coming on fast to their doorsteps, the leaders got into their fancy automobiles and fled south, some not stopping until they crossed the border into neighboring Namibia. Then they had to fall down on their knees and beg for immediate South African aid.
The South Africans were coming, but so was the United Nations and the other countries in the Lusosphere. They were reporting the Angolans being skunked on their national news networks along with the massive celebrations in Cabinda over their surprise liberation. Jailed and recently escaped leaders were on the balcony of the military governor's palace to announce the creation of their new nation.
They also called on their countrymen to rise up and take up arms to defend their newfound liberties then thanked God on High for their liberation. Best of all, the military which had done the deed was already seen moving off to the frontiers to protect against 'foreign' intervention while leaving the people free to chart their own destiny.
Elections were promised as was a new constitution. It had been a tremendous victory and the rebel forces responsible, wanted seemingly nothing. What they did want was anonymity. They had done what they had done to give the Cabindan and the Bakongo of Zaire breathing room to chart their own course and they would be around only as long as it took for them to decide on what they wanted to do now that peace, prosperity and all that oil money was finally theirs.
While some of their leadership living in exile griped about the 'backroom deals' which permitted their new nation to exist, it was subtly explained to them what their options were; Freedom, or Angola. If they really didn't want to surrender up some of that control to the 'third party' aka the Amazon Host and give them Soyo then the Amazons and their allies could simply go.
No one wanted that so the Amazons got their small archipelago, the Coils of the Serpents got their diplomatic status, and their people got to live without fear of being arbitrarily arrested, or robbed of their petroleum birthright. They wouldn't be completely happy, but they were free to gripe about it as much as they liked, because that was what real freedom was all about.
As for that Amazon Commander? By midnight that evening, her reduced command, though battered, low on fuel and ammunition was at the outskirts of Ambriz... and there were no more Angolan soldiers left to kill. They had won the Battle of the Loge and in doing so, seized a new homeland for her people; the Amazonian City-State of New Themiscyra. Queen Aya would be so proud.
If only she knew her Queen had almost died that very day, but she didn't so her warrior's heart was allowed to beat softly as she grabbed some much needed shut eye. With the dawn tomorrow she would begin their retreat back to the Loge and the relative safety their new neighbors offered in exchange for their freedoms.
Eulogy
Back To The Funeral, The Isle Of Salamis, Greece
'I love more than I hate'.
I had been babbling that for twelve weeks. I'd convinced others to say it; even feel it yet it wasn't until I found myself staring into Eruthros' dead eyes did the full colossal weight of those words come tumbling down.
'Love more than hate?' Hate had bourn Eruthros through the Endless Black Sands for Three Thousand Years. His hate, focused by Ajax and aimed at the Amazon Race. Three thousand years. Hate rarely cares about guilt. They had wronged the Amazons; there was no doubt of that in anyone's minds. For three thousand years, neither side had cared for the others' excuses.
In the last minute of Eruthros' life, he had thrown away that reality-rending weight for the epitome of his rage; its ultimate personification of the Amazon spirit; and all he had to do was 'nothing' to let hate take its course. No blade, or bullet was necessary; no push, fist, or kick. All he had to do was nothing and the Amazons would have been robbed of their Queenly House for a second and most-likely final time.
Had he thrown his body over Teucer? Highly understandable. Teucer was his fallen Lord's half-brother.
Had he taken himself to safety? No one was immediately trying to kill him and shelter was a few steps away, so he would have been temporarily secure.
Eruthros deliberately ended his life with no greater certainty than had he pushed the barrel of the gun beneath his chin and pulled the trigger. Had he deliberated at all, it wouldn't have mattered. Bullets were buzzing around over 1000 meters per second. Lifetimes had collapsed into the Nano-second. In that pulse, Eruthros acted out of the purist of human instincts. A child was in danger and he was the closest adult who could make a difference.
He threw himself on Aya. That was the instinctive human reaction. They had been speaking pleasantly before the first bullet's impact. Aya's closest Amazonian protector had absorbed the entirety of the machinegun chatter devoted to ending the Queen's existence; and still was. Her other three closest guardians had been removed by dedicated sniper fire. Our foes Absolutely were going to kill Nasusara Assiyaišhamai, the diminutive monarch of their hated foe.
The rest of her bodyguard was too far away. We; Queen and diplomat; had gone to the grave side to pay our last respects when the ambush was launched. They had shredded everyone else around her and only her tiny size shielded by larger, female corpses had kept her alive up to that moment. There was no one else left capable of saving her. There never would be.
What followed was a deliberate decision which could never be denied. It was a choice made knowing it would cost him what short time he had left to provide Aya with whatever hope the living might still provide.
Laying prone and unmoving, the enemy might shoot him, or they might wait until they had dispatched the others. Eruthros knew he was critically wounded already.
Moving would ensure the assassins kept firing at him (and Aya). If he succeeded, he could propel her to a place where she would be safer, if only for a minute more.
"Har nahkuitki."
Eruthros' last words; 'have no fear'. Was that aimed at calming Aya, or inspiring himself? Since the word were in the Amazon tongue, who knew?
I was looking at him, still trying to figure out a way to get to those two. I looked into his eyes. He did not look into mine. I thought he was looking at the spot between myself and Teucer where we shared an impossibly cramped bit of temporary shelter. For all I knew, by that time he wasn't looking at anything at all. His brain had fired off its final orders and the body, though mangled, obeyed.
I saw a high-velocity round transect his torso as he pushed himself onto 'all fours'. There was no way that tumbling projectile missed both lungs and heart. His strong right arm kept Aya pressed to his chest as he went from knees and elbows to toes and left palm.
"Har nahkuitki."
His lips muttered the words as blood spewed forth from his mouth and nose. His left knee pulled toward his chest, allowing his body to tilt in that direction. That gave Aya a few more inches worth of bloody shelter. I was sure he was hit again. Rock fragments leapt off the ground; shattering the stones they had most recently vacated.
His left thigh flexed, surging him forward. The left palm directed the thrust upward before rising off the ground entirely and encircling Aya. As the right leg began to fulfill its role, a bullet pierced it. With the femur splintered, the brunt of the action was taken over by the uncoiling muscles.
By the time the left knee returned to his chest, Eruthros' body had molded around Aya's. Bullets were coming in from above and behind. Only the meat and bone of his arms shielded her from the ricochets. He took impacts from the back and right simultaneously, causing his body to twist in an unnatural angle. His light protective armor, worn specifically to be 'unobtrusive' for this ceremony, wasn't enough for this ammunition specifically designed to defeat it.
He refused to let go despite the hydrostatic shock ripping his insides to pieces. Teucer and I caught him, drawing his crashing form between us. I did him poor service. I flipped him over to retrieve Aya. Absently I noticed his wide eyes staring out into forever.
"Aya," I croaked urgently. Her tears flowed freely. I didn't blame her. I was misty-eyed myself. "Are you hurt?"
"Nothing more than a few scratches, Atta," she hiccupped. Chaz, at my far side, among the Mycenaeans playing the role of my 'brother', reached around me to push a Glock-39 into her tiny hands without comment. I didn't spare an iota of concentration on Eruthros. He was dead and there were living around, friend and enemy, who needed my attention.
I had come here to bury Ajax and old scores. Eruthros had gone far beyond that. He had given his life; a man's life; for my Queen's life. A life for a life. An apology no other could have made and been accepted. There was none of this 'I'm sorry' bull crap.
A warrior of Mycenae had, in a split-second, valued the life of an Amazon warrior equal to his own; worthy of his sacrifice; side by side on a battlefield. There was no way for a professional to misunderstand his actions. With that realization came a very un-Amazon response, unless you were Saku.
Rage! Not an insane spasm of unbridled emotion; oh no! This was unreasoning fury, but not unfocussed. In the back of my mind, I was still fighting to keep my sisters alive. In the forefront; a most un-Amazon of impulses; was the unquenchable hunger to kill my foes, no matter what the personal cost. No matter how great the promised pain, it took second place to seeing my adversaries torn to shreds, blown asunder and ripped to bloody pieces.
I had a host of languages to pull from, but for this there was only one Past-Master for what I really wanted to say.
"Niq Ma!" sang forth.
'Vengeance is my fire that consumes my enemies. Let those who tread in my dust eat their ashes,' had come to me at my Father's funeral.
Fuck these Greeks, Amazons, Italians, Chinese, Sicilians, cranky-ass Mongolians and 'old-as-Hell' Sumerians! There was one culture that embraced hate on a National level and elevated retribution to an art form. The Assyrians! The people who Saku had felt she belonged with, if not welcomed by.
"Teucer, I am entrusting you with my Daughter's care," I pushed Aya to his side.
"Oh fuck," Chaz muttered. Teucer was still walking-wounded. His pistol was held in his left hand; not his primary; his right still in a sling. I looked across Ajax's burial pit to the men hiding behind the mound of his grave soil.
The closest one, Glaukos, caught my gaze. I looked up the hill then back to him. I reached down and checked my FN P, damn it. Buffy had reorganized all of House Ishara's hardware so I now had the 'standard' MP-7A1. Me, Me and Chaz if he was dumb enough to follow me and the other nine Mycenaeans.
I am not one warrior alone, but one of a thousand warriors who have fought before me came to mind. A few hundred dead ancestors rejoining me wouldn't have sucked right then. I looked to my right, past the dead Amazons and Earth & Sky until my gaze led me to Alkonyka. She was crouched behind a modest-sized boulder which provided barely-adequate cover for one, and she was sharing it with two others.
She had a pistol and enough anger to use it foolishly. Like me, she knew the key to all our survival was on the top of this hill. If we could take it, the enemy couldn't keep us pinned down in their crossfire. How she planned to rush up twenty meters of open ground;
I twisted over; standing would have led to my premature mutilation; so I could look out over the Gulf of Megara; white caps; frothing, mean and by no one's measure; little ones. I had promised SzélAnya I would both reveal her deeds while keeping her offspring safe from retribution. I had tricked the Mycenaeans.
Their retribution for Ajax's passing would be mine alone to bear. I had tricked them and they had accepted my deception. I had used a tool to kill their King and you didn't punish a tool for fulfilling its purpose. You blamed the user; me. All of that meant an attentive SzélAnya for this funeral.
Her Champion and Amazons were endangered once more. What she lacked in a divisive Weave, she was rewarded with in raw elemental possibility. Nearby mountaintops overshadowed turbulent seas. All the winds needed was a nudge; and, being a deity who despised anything in moderation, SzélAnya unleashed a gale.
"Niq Ma!" I screamed as I went from a kneeling crouch into a stumbling gate. A bizarre trisection of events grabbed hold of my life.
My Own Private Gallipoli
Before the first bullet exited the barrel of a gun this day;
Both sides thought they brought enough people to accomplish their aims.
Both believed they'd found an unsurmountable plan taking into account the limitations created by the inaccessibility of the terrain and the proximity to a major population center; the Capital City of Modern Hellas; Athens.
Both thought they were bringing superior firepower.
While one launched their attack when they believed they had achieved surprise the other was certain their defense was flawless.
Both sides acted and reacted as if they were facing similarly trained and motivated foe.
Oh yeah, and both were wrong.
The Condottieri felt they had reliable intelligence on how many people would be attending Ajax's funeral. They were 'almost' right. Knowing what your enemy thinks they knew about what you know, la-la-la.
Knowing they had been penetrated before, the Black Hand decided to 'think outside the box'. They certainly didn't trust anyone else with their security, except there was something they did have absolute faith in; the Sanctity of the Contract.
The GÃda (Goat), Head of the Black Hand of Hellas, hired two Brotherhood of the Wolf packs (7 and 5 in number) to augment (his?) security forces without anyone knowing; including the rest of the Black Hand of Hellas; who were providing the majority of the security for this afternoon's somber festivities. Technically two others were aware of the arrangement; the Vizsla, whose advice the GÃda sought out, and the 'Patron'.
For a 'Patron'; the person directing the Brotherhood while on mission; they needed someone all the concerned parties could trust. Since no such person existed, they chose Pamela instead. In her favor, Pamela's assassin credentials were accepted by all; the Brotherhood would gladly work with her 'in the field'.
The Vizsla and the GÃda also decided if this operation was exposed, everyone would blame the Globe's Most Fortuitous Idiot; me. The Amazons would forgive me; according to some I did stupid stuff like this all time. The E&S? I was the Khan's most trusted kinsman, wasn't I? If the Egyptians grew pissy, the GÃda could always blame Pamela and I'd somehow save Pamela. Call it Kismet.
Everything following the implementation of GÃda's mad scheme was a cascading series of cause and effect. It was 'if they knew what I knew about what they knew' played out over the southeastern end of the island of Salamis. Oma Wolf und ihre tödliche Welpen traipsed over their perspective playground, playing an assassins' game of '120 Questions'.
Simply put, baring expense, how would they murder everyone attending a funeral on an island thirty minutes from the capital of a European nation (with massive and rather effective policing agencies with waterborne capability) assuming a one hour timeline? Once you removed all the testosterone-laden, male fantasies, the remaining avenues of attack were rather limited.
The Condottieri only made two mistakes.
First off, they launched the damn attack in the first place. The Egyptian Rite had made a person-to-person direct appeal to the Condottieri's leadership to hold travel to and from the burial, and the burial itself, sacrosanct. They said it was 'spiritually pivotal'.
Mind you, the Egyptians and Condottieri weren't buddies, but the Egyptians very, very rarely asked for something like this, and they were still neutral in the ongoing Secret War. Perhaps the Condos figured by killing Aya and the other dignitaries, the other factions would be too suspicious to so easily assign blame. I didn't know and didn't care.
Their second mistake was going with the 'best' plan. If they could figure it out then why couldn't Pamela? The Condottieri had gone over all the 'if I do this then they do this' rigmarole repeatedly. Their plan wasn't 'foolproof' and their unit commanders were fully expected to show initiative as the situation unfolded.
In fact, their only true strategic error was assuming what an 'unknown' force would try to do to disrupt their plan; i.e. stop them. Pamela threw that shit right out the window on Day One. She and her 'Pups' weren't in the lifesaving business so they weren't even going to try. No. They were professional folk-killers, they were there to kill specific folk and killing multiple specific folks was what they were going to do. After all, they weren't mad butchers either.
The rest of us? Sucks to be the prey, doesn't it? Pamela was an Amazon and those are some cold-ass bitches. Unlike Hana's Ghost Tigers, Pamela's Pups were planning to seize the momentum and never let go. An unspecified number of heavily armed targets were going to arrive at a quaint Greek resort within a given time frame and her '12' were going to kill them all. They even had SCUBA gear squirrelled away for their getaway to the Greek mainland.
Military battlefield tactics don't normally take into account a few bands of highly motivated combatants hunting down and killing your forces, solely for the sake of hunting down and killing your forces. That is military stupidity; throwing your highly-trained military cadres straight at your enemy's readied elite. Militaries normally practice attrition on a strategic level, not on the tactical.
The Condottieri tactical units had to be somewhere at a certain time accomplishing a certain goal. Pamela's Pups knew that. Knowing precisely how the 'where' married to the 'when' didn't matter to them. They didn't care if they killed you before, or after you did what you came to do. They weren't worried about what you might be trying to do; even getting away (exiting the fight aka no longer a 'threat').
A good example of that happened before the real firefight began. One of Pamela's groups was hunkered down watching two Black Hand scouts who were, in turn, set up secretively to watch a narrow approach to the funerary service. The Pups were concealed so all they were looking at was the Black Hand. Otherwise, their position was useless.
The Condottieri advance team snuck up and dispatched the two Black Hand silently and quickly. The Pups, nothing. Sure enough, the rest of the Condottieri team showed up. The Pups, nothing. Soon, the general attack began And then the Pups killed them all.
Why had they waited? Now that the Condottieri were engaged in combat, there was no sure way their Command Authority could tell if one of their teams had been successfully ambushed and exterminated, a k a assassinated. For a minute, or so, it would be assumed they were simply heavily engaged.
The Pups? Having determined which combat stratagem the Condottieri were using (given the terrain plus the Condottieri's decision to not use attack aircraft, or artillery, and the attack not coming from both land & sea; Pamela assured me there was only one attack plan left they could have been using), the Brotherhood assassins went off to stalk the next closest group.
By design, the Condo units had to work together as a team; maximizing their advantages. The Pups were a League of their Own, having no intention of saving anyone at the funeral and thus didn't have to play by the rules of a rationally behaving Reaction Force.
They were not in communication with their 'confederates'. Hell, their 'confederates' were acting as if they didn't know Pups were even on the playing field either; cause they didn't. FYI: Every faction present did in fact have its own 'Reaction Force' on the island as well (just to make things 'really fun'); all those units simply started stationed away from the actual funeral site.
There was an exceptional Condottieri commander orchestrating this action from the safety of a command facility dozens of kilometers away. For the most part, he was working with Team Leaders he had served with before. By the time he figured out what was going on; he was caught up in a three-sided firefight; everything had gone to shit. The southwestern tip of the island had become a free-for-all.
Back To Gallipoli
I was hit. Two inches along my third right rib; a thru and thru. My light ballistic material had no hope against a continuous parade of machinegun rounds. I didn't stop screaming nor did my tone vary. Anger sustained me where pain and bullet velocity should have put me down. I had Aya's Steely Confidence 'We (combined) Could Never Fail' as well as a pack of heroic near-immortals in tow, and a 50 mph wind at my back. All were good reasons for me not being knocked down.
My most telling virtue was my iron-clad belief in my immortality. My enemy could not take my life. With that assurance, I made myself their primary target as I stormed towards them. Not only was I carrying a serious weapon (a PDW) which suggested they should kill me quickly, I was leading the charge.
Long experience suggested if you kill the fool leading such a suicidal endeavor, the troops following would waiver. In this lethal climate, wasted seconds were moments of time the people before me did not possess. That equation worked in reverse; they didn't need to waste too much time on me, or bullets. These were professional soldiers, no matter how morally-questionable.
Enemy Problem number 1; I Would; Not; Die, or even stop coming. I imagine the guy manning the machinegun wished he'd packed something heavier than 5.56 by 45mm now.
Enemy Problem number 2; just like the Romanians at the Battle of the Seven Skulls, these mercenaries had been briefed the Mycenaeans were some of the baddest sonsofbitches to ever take up the killing arts. Sure, all but two were walking wounded (and pretty fucked-up at that), and only armed with pistols and archaic weaponry; .
But with élan, inhuman bravery and incredible discipline the nine kept a steady fire upslope while under 'suppression fire' themselves. It was, unnerving. One of these ancient Greeks had part of his cheek sheered away by a slug; and he did NOT care. Like his brethren, he kept firing. Welcome to the Hell the Romanian Vânători de munte had been subjected to.
Enemy Problem number 3; Even Chaz was only a whole quarter-second reacting behind those stalwarts. Right on his heels, every surviving Amazon, Kazak, Greek and 'Egyptian' began firing. Not only was I out in the open, screaming and charging the enemy alone, utterly exposed, the Mycenaeans and I were drawing away too many shooters so the rest were no longer being adequately 'suppressed'. Plus, if you were a combatant among us, you were one of your faction's bad-ass killers.
Enemy Problem number 4; As yet another indignity to the Condottieri's brilliant plan, Oma Wolf und ihre tödliche Welpen were beginning to, rather inadvertently, unravel their over-lapping fields of fire by taking out key Condo sniper teams. Worse, the Egyptian Rite and Earth & Sky's Reaction teams were racing to the rescue. The Amazon and Black Hand teams had been ambushed, thus delayed if not completely wiped out. The Egyptian and E&S? The Condo 'ambush' teams had been murdered before they got a chance to launch their 'ambushes'. Sucks to be prey.
Enemy Problem number 5; on the battlefield the visibility suddenly, unexpectedly and painfully dropped down to less than three meters as every bit of sand, detritus and gravel were picked up by a gale force wind and thrown up in their faces. The Condottieri on the hilltop were in a double bind. They could fire blindly; they all had shooting glasses, or goggles; except we could see their flashes while they couldn't see ours (or anything else for that matter), or they could hunker down under cover at the top of the hill and wait a few seconds for this 'micro-burst' to pass.
Enemy Problem number 6; they did the perfectly sane thing and hunkered down. Five seconds later, their veteran instincts began kicking in, warning them this was in no way a natural aerial phenomena. Up they popped and started firing.
Enemy Problem number 7; a very healthy man with nothing to lose, running up a moderate slope can still cover close to seven meters, or 22 feet a second. Right as the killer with the H&K MG4 realized he needed to be both looking into this draconic sandblaster and firing, I lunged. I didn't shoot.
Nah, I rammed my Amazon blade into his left eye socket. He wasn't Uncle Lumpy. His death spasms weren't my concern. My knife meant his comrades were unaware of my passage through their position. I was over the hilltop, yet to do the most damage, I had to cover about four more steps.
Then I turned, rolled into a kneeling posture and 'walked' my MP7A fire down the line of Condottieri's mercenaries as they lay there, peaking back over into the whirlwind. By some miracle, either Chaz, the Mycenaeans, or some of the others had killed two before I got to this point. After the machine gunner, I sent five more of the 10-man fire team to the Afterlife before the last two spun and unloaded into me.
Even then, I had been leaning forward because of the gale so I soaked up at least three three-round bursts apiece before finally being knocked over on my back. I had the impression of bullets punching clean through me. That didn't compare to the sensation of my heart exploding. It was a totally new sense of horror to add to the list of things I would never forget. I was spiraling off, about to test my immortality theory, when I heard two simultaneous, very close pistol reports. I guess those two dirty assholes should have kept one eye out for Chaz & Company; fucktards.
[Okay now; everyone take a deep breath. Shed a tear for our departed protagonist whose bullet-ridden corpse lies still upon the rocky soil of Hellas.
Savor the moment.
Consider all the Hell poor Cáel has been through and how going to the Halls of his ancestors would be its just desserts for a life so recently filled with such grief and pain.
Shed a tear for the poor, former-intern at Havenstone Commercial Investments.
Then, remember all the bitches in his life, and how Aya really needs him.]
But wait! Someone wasn't with the program!
There was light; light and Pain; truly 'bite thru your tongue in agony' pain. I had been hit by a lightning bolt out of a clear-blue sky. I'd let Bill Nye the Science Guy figure that one out. I was positive me lounging on top of a hill holding a big chunk of metal (my gun) would help him wrangle the physics a bit. Me? I had other issues; three to be precise.
The Three Goddess Once More
"
You may not have him!"
I was not sure who that was. My ears were still ringing from the hellish Thunderstrike.
"See, his heart beats once more. He isn't dead."
Uh-oh, things weren't sounding good. As in having your heart explode Hurts and I was now most likely going to get to 'relive' the sensation at a sooner, not later, date. I trust my luck on such matters.
"How can he not be dead? He has fifty fucking holes in him!"
"Don't exaggerate," a crypt-like voice chuckled. "He was only shot nineteen times. The rest were ricochets and rock fragments."
Oh, Someone Was Very angry with 'yours truly'.
"He will not die because I have cauterized all his wounds," SzélAnya bragged.
"For such selfless bravery before his Queen he deserves to go to his Eternal Reward," Dot Ishara insisted. "Lift your damn curse. You still have Baraqu to torment, damn you."
"You hit me with a fucking lightning bolt!" I grunted because I didn't really want to discuss my horny, lonely ancestors at the moment.
"Yes."
"Say you are sorry," Dot grumbled. No one said anything.
"She is talking to you," said the ghost-like voice of Sarrat Irkalli. The other two ladies weren't being at all helpful so she added. "SzélAnya is under the impression her intervention has created a viable alibi for the humans. To believe you didn't bleed to death, with the added bit of concern you might be forfeiting your soul to me for such a blatantly foolish action, but, truth be told, I am having so much more fun watching them fret over you; I'm not too terribly angry with your multi-layered duplicity, up until now."
"Oh; " three voices with two different inflections.
"And now that Ishara knows beyond a shade of a doubt you are truly immortal, she has lost her final complaint about you mating with SzélAnya. That sex with a Storm Dragon would burn you alive; consume you, body and soul; she must let the two of you procreate, blah, blah, killing people is so much easier than trying to keep them alive. I'm not sure why they bother. I've only been inclined to spare one life in all eternity and it has been an endless source of amusement for me. I may seek you out later for some 'understanding' on this, Cáel Wakko Ishara."
"No! No; you; will; not!" Dot hovered protectively.
"Your Chosen One is far too careless with his life, Ishara. Besides, you two won't always be around to keep him company," she mocked the other two.
"You want to reap my soul and take it to Hell, right?" I inquired.
"No. I am intrigued with the madness your phallus creates. Its sway is stultifying in its effectiveness in far too many female deities."
I didn't like the sound of that.
"He's Mine!" the two closer goddesses chorused in protest.
"I rest my case, young man. Be seeing you soon, hmm, he reminds me of the second son of Sargon the Great;"
"Never heard of him," I sat up (spiritually speaking) to see the Goddess of the Sumerian Underworld departing. She looked over her shoulder and winked a ghastly, glowing orb in my direction.
"He was mighty and cunning, much like yourself and beloved of the divine."
"What happened to him?"
"Goddesses have rivals, rivals have priestesses and he was strangled post-coitus," she cooed eerily, "by eight priestesses of the Goddess Å herida." Eight? Hey, at least he went out swinging like a champ. Yes. I'm an idiot.