The
enemy warriors charged towards the motionless Thormdall, who calmly waited,
sword in hand. For a moment it seemed that the Ulfor people would not make it
to Thormdall in time. But a moment later they charged around him and stopped,
forming a tight shield wall.
“Righto,
Matt and Will spread yourselves out, ten metres apart. Remember make your shots
count. Scott, you know what to do, mate?” called Steve as he got down on his
belly.
“Yup,
she’s sweet boss, don’t worry about me.”
Steve
looked through his ACOG scope and applied gentle pressure to the trigger as a
soldier ran into the middle of his target reticule. The faces of his wife and
children leapt into his mind.
He
wondered how they were and what they were doing. This was a familiar occurrence
for Steve before he went into combat. He hated taking life but unfortunately,
like the other soldiers next to him, he was good at it. Taking another breath
and forcing his family from his mind, Steve released the shot. He watched the
man crumple before moving on to another target. From this distance and over the
noise, he was sure none of the fighting warriors would be able to hear the
rifle shots. They would be confused if they heard the gunfire.
He
heard a rifle bark from his right. Meanwhile, a large axe-bearing thug of a
warrior was charging into the fray and was about to take an Ulfor man. Steve
squeezed the trigger again. The rifle bucked into his shoulder and the familiar
sound of an empty brass shell bouncing onto the ground gave him comfort as he
watched the warrior’s lifeless body slam into the ground.
The
familiar, distinct bark of an M4 came from Steve’s right again. It was
immediately followed by a string of swear words.
“Ya
bastard! You shot my target!” yelled Matt.
“Yeah
well, first in first served,” replied Will, firing again. “Right, I’m off!”
shouted Scott, loping off to the left.
“Okay,”
replied Steve. He paused and raised his head to look over the scope. “Bloody
hell,” he said softly.
At
the back were about fifteen bowmen and women, Heleena amongst them. More than
half the archers were women and they were pouring arrows into the fray with
amazing accuracy. But this was not what had drawn Steve’s attention. He had
seen many war movies with the two opposing sides charging into each other
hacking and slashing. But this was different. This was unlike any movie he had
ever seen. Another rifle burst into life and a bowman at the back of the enemy
force fell to the ground, lifeless.
The
Ulfor warriors were skilled fighters. Their swords and axes carved the air in
graceful patterns and spatters of blood spewed from their weapons in thin arcs
of red. They fought behind the shield wall with discipline. Several warriors in
the second rank carried four foot axes which they chopped down over the heads
of those in front smashing shields to shards. The men in front would then
skewer their unprotected enemy. The aggressive shouting and piercing sound of
metal on metal filled the valley, but it mingled with another sound. The sound
of the wounded.
The
wounded did not hold in the pain with quiet gasps as Steve had seen on videos
pumped out by the film industry. These men were mortally wounded; they screamed
in agony and writhed on the ground in their own blood, urine, faeces and
intestines until death took them.
He
could see Thormdall at the centre and finally understood what people meant when
they discussed his battle exploits. The other Ulfor warriors were good
fighters, but Steve could see that their movements were fuelled by anger,
aggression, even fear. Thormdall however, seemed completely relaxed and moved
gracefully. His sword seemed to float through the air fluidly. It looked like a
very fast version of a Tai Chi meditation. Thormdall never stopped moving, nor
did the steel grey blur of his sword. Even from a distance Steve could see the
enemy bowing backwards as men tried to avoid Thormdall. The man was unbeatable.
Unstoppable.
“Cover
Scott!” yelled Will.
Dropping
his head, Steve stared through the ACOG scope, watching as an enemy warrior
sprinted towards Scott running on the outskirts of the battle towards the other
side of the valley. Giving the man a slight lead, Steve released the round,
which tore through the warrior’s chest and exited violently in a fine spray of
blood. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Scott
did not look around, but raised his hand in thanks as he ran. Whilst the three
men continued their murderous work from above, Scott disappeared into the tree
line on the other side.
The
three soldiers continued releasing well-placed, deliberate shots for another
fifteen minutes before the enemy began to stream for the trees on the other
side. Ulfor warriors began chasing them wielding weapons above their heads.
With relief, Steve watched Berag gesturing for them to fall back to the other
side of the valley. Reluctantly they did as they were told. Steve watched as
nearly two hundred enemy warriors ran towards Scott’s position. He had not
expected the enemy to flee so early in the battle. Now Scott could be overrun
by the sheer weight of numbers. Berag waited until all his warriors had past
him before heading back to where the three soldiers lay.
What
the Ulfor warriors did not see was a dark cloaked figure on horseback that had
burst from the forest. It was galloping towards the withdrawing Ulfor group. The
mounted dark garbed figure, who Steve assumed must have been the Kadark, drew a
sword and slashed his way through his own men. Before any of them had a chance
to think, the rider had smashed the flat of the weapon across the back of
Berag’s head. As the chieftain fell unconscious, the rider leaned down, grabbed
him and with inhuman strength hauled the limp Ulfor chieftain onto the horse in
front of him.
“Has
anyone got a clear shot?” roared Steve.
“Get
out of the way!” yelled Matt, climbing to his feet to see if he could shoot
over the heads of the returning Ulfor warriors milling around in front of them.
He pulled the rifle into his shoulder, but a clear shot was impossible.
“Shit!”
Matt shouted. “No!”
*
* * * *
After
checking the claymore, Scott returned to his position and lay down. Pulling the
Minimi into his shoulder and flicking the safety catch off, Scott stared down
the ACOG sight at the men charging towards him.
There
was a thundering crash to his left and what sounded like a horse galloping off into
the forest. He shook his head and decided he must have imagined it.
Scott
returned his attention to the warriors who were running towards him. There were
far more than he imagined. He had expected a maximum of perhaps fifty, but
there appeared to be well in excess of one hundred enemy warriors fleeing
towards his position.
They
looked frightened, many of them casting glances over their shoulders as they
ran. He had positioned the claymore some distance in front, near the tree line.
The wire connecting the detonator in the claymore to the initiating device,
affectionately known as ‘the clacker’, lay on the forest floor. ‘The clacker’,
near Scott’s right hand was a device that sent an electrical pulse along the
wire and into the detonator. The detonator, as its name suggested, detonated
700 grams of plastic explosive which in turn sent 700 small ball bearings
embedded within the plastic explosive screaming towards the enemy. It was a
primitive weapon but extremely effective.
“Here
we go,” said Scott to himself. He opened fire with the Minimi machinegun. The
first burst echoed out over the valley, tearing several men from their feet. As
the second burst exploded from the light machinegun, Scott noticed that the
Ulfor warriors had stopped and turned to watch the proceedings. The enemy
warriors themselves were panicked but didn’t know where this new enemy was so
they continued to run straight for Scott’s position. Some veered off to the
left.
The
machinegun continued to bark out long bursts, killing and wounding. Scott fired
another burst, and another. Over and over he dealt out death until the barrel
was smoking and the enemy was almost on top of him. He fired again, but after
two rounds the gun went dead. He swore savagely. He was out of ammunition.
Scott did not have time to reload and he was about to be overrun. Standing, he
stamped on ‘the clacker’ with a snarl and a mountainous BOOM exploded as
warriors were cut down. The metal ball bearings slammed into their bodies,
bouncing off bone and exiting in a bloody swathe. He stooped, picked up the
belt of ammunition from the ground and tucked it securely between his webbing
belt and body.
By
now, almost half the men who had retreated were down. Seeing Scott stand, some
of the remainder let out a victorious whoop, and charged towards him. The
others yelled in terror and ran into the forest out of sight. Scott pulled out
his 9mm pistol and shot the first man who reached him in the face.
Sprinting
out Scott ran in a wide arc so as to avoid the group of enemy seeking him. He
broke clear of the trees, turned mid-stride and releasing a shot into the chest
of a man on top of him. Shooting another two warriors, he turned and began
running again.
“Cover
me!” roared Scott, sprinting towards friendly ground.
Before
the words had left his mouth, the familiar zip of a bullet at close range tore
past his head taking out a warrior running to catch him. Scott was running too
fast now to turn and take an accurate shot. He hoped that with each hiss or
crack of bullets at close range, would encourage the men chasing him to give up
and turn away.
They
did when Scott had reached the half waypoint. The rifle shots however, did not
stop. They continued firing and each time that familiar rifle bark resounded
around the valley, an enemy warrior died.
Scott
saw Will push himself into a kneeling position and fire his 203 with a hollow
thunk that sent a small black round in a steep arc towards the enemy. Scott
watched the progress of the 40mm grenade as it hammered into the ground and
exploded with devastating effect amongst the small group of retreating
warriors. It ripped half of them from their feet, while the others made for the
safety of the forest without daring to look back. The Ulfor warriors flinched
as the grenade exploded, their faces registering shock and disbelief.
“Yeah
not bad, eh?” asked Scott as he arrived beside the conglomerate of Ulfor
warriors. He bent forward to recover his breath.
“It’s
called a gren—”
Scott
fell silent as he noticed that Steve wore a shocked expression.
Even
Thormdall’s face seemed tense.
“What?”
Scott asked, looking across the valley.
“They
captured Berag,” replied Steve, applying the safety catch on his rifle. “Must
have thought he’d have the crystal, being the chieftain.”
“Christ,
I completely missed that,” said Scott. "How the fuck did they manage
that?"
“Some
weird looking bloke in a dark robe, couldn’t see his face. After the retreat,
he came charging out of the forest on horseback, knocked Berag out with the
flat of his sword and pulled him up on the horse before taking off.”
“The
bastard used one hand to do it as well,” added Will. “Berag is a big bloke, but
this robed fella reached down and picked Berag up like he was a child. Bloody
unbelievable.”
All
was quiet save for the distant screams and groans of the wounded in the valley
below.
“Come
now,” called Thormdall regaining his composure. “Let us gather our dead and be
gone.”
“But
we must take Berag back!” shouted one of the warriors.
“Yes,”
replied Thormdall. “But not now! We must regroup, we will return to the village
and seek Romeeros out. He will be able to help. You really think we could help
Berag in this condition?”
It
was not hard to see that the warriors were exhausted. Many of them were
wounded, the blood soaking through their clothes or sliding over their skin to
drip softly to the snow below.
“We
would be more of a hindrance than a help, trust me,” assured Thormdall, but his
eyes shone with pride. Even exhausted, Berag’s people were willing to hunt for
him and fight their way into hell to bring him home safely. Steve knew that it
would probably not have been any different if any one of them had been taken.
It was born of honour and courage, an ethic that was endemic to many
special-forces elements in the modern world.
“We
will return as soon as we can.” Thormdall turned back to the valley and the
bloody mess that was left there.
“We
must take the bodies of our heroes home. Their families will wish to say
farewell before they are buried.”
Matt
was tending to the wounded. He dressed and cleaned wounds, stitched deep
lacerations, and administered morphine to a man with a wound down to his bone.
Some
of the enemy warriors still lived although they were badly wounded. Instead of
killing them, the Ulfor people dragged them off to the side and left them
there. Strangely, the weapons of the wounded warriors were brought to them and
pressed into their hand. The weapons of the dead enemy were bent or broken
before being cast into the snow.