by Gene Stiles
Eriktis stared intently at the enormous circle of iron attached to the end of the cable lying on the rough limestone floor. He flexed his monstrous bicep and looked at his arm, a germ of an idea flickering in his azure eyes. The twelve-foot Nephilim took hold of the iron ring and pulled with all his might. Astoundingly, the massive pulleys creaked and turned a couple of inches. Eriktis grunted with effort, his bronze-skinned body struggling to move them further. The tendons stood in high relief against his bulging sinews and sweat beaded in the deep furrows of his wide forehead. He growled low and deep, his booted feet cracking the flooring, but still, the stubborn cable refused to shift.
“Not even your prodigious strength could lift thirty miles of cable through deep ocean waters, my friend,” Lelantos said, a faint smile upon his tanned lips. He stared at the cracks in the limestone floor. “I must admit, I am stunned you could even move the wheels at all. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“A shame,” Eriktis muttered, dropping the cable and dusting his hands off on his tan leather pants, angry at his own failure. “If this worked, we could sink the fleet in the narrows and seal the strait. Then we would stand half a chance.”
“I know,” Lelantos said with a nod. He reached up and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. At over eight-foot tall, he had never felt small until he met the Nephilim. “Yet, there is no more we can do here. We shall have to trust in the other emplacements to stop or at least slow the Atlanteans. Let us hurry back to Olympia. We will be needed there very soon.”
About four hundred feet above sea level on both sides of the channel, man-made ledges ten miles long were carved into the rugged mountainsides. On either end and in the middle of each battlement sat plasma cannons that would rain fire down upon the invading armada. In between them, a new weapon system had been hastily devised.
After Anak told them how useless their energy armaments were against the warships, Haleah’s great-granddaughter, Enyonia came up with an alternative. The blond-haired beauty commanded a forty-member squad of warrior engineers. Together, they created a spring-loaded rail gun that could shoot rounded boulders high into the sky. It took two of the mighty Nephilim to crank the weapon back and another one to load the smooth rocks. The process was slow and cumbersome, but any ship within four miles of the cliffs would find themselves caught in a deadly storm of stone that would crush their wooden hulls to powder.
“Let us see if their shielding can withstand that,” Enyonia grinned savagely as she inspected the northern line. Her greenish-blue eyes danced with ferocious, feral glee. Her stocky, curvaceous body was as hard as an oak tree, yet she moved like a Murcat, all grace and power. Even as others craved peace and serenity, Enyonia sought the intoxicating excitement of battle. It filled her with a passion no man could match.
“Commander,” Hysmina said, snapping to stiff attention at the most eastern end of the ledge. Her onyx eyes were narrowed and glinted in the morning sun rising on far the horizon. It peered through a wispy bank of clouds and set them on blood-red fire. “The Atlantean ships are sailing in a pyramid formation with three warships leading them. I estimate they will be within range in less than an hour.”
“We wait until the tip of their fleet is a mile from the strait,” Enyonia said, licking her bright red lips in cruel anticipation. “Then we rain destruction down upon them.” She wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword, wishing desperately she could be on the ground in Olympia instead of here. “Lord Zeus is counting on us to stop them here. The city relies on us. We shall not fail.”
“I have all non-combat vessels anchored off the northwestern end of the bay,” Poseidon told Zeus as they stood over the huge war room table. “Those armed with CL and plasma cannons line the coast between here and the Pyramid Peninsula.” He pointed to the deep waters where their meager, fifteen ship fleet waited to flank any Atlantean craft that managed to get through. “Pray to the Creator Enyonia can sink the majority of them and bottleneck them in the narrows. If the warships get inside, we will not stand a chance.”
Zeus nodded to his brother, his eyes like molten gold. He looked like a caged, hungry lion, his reddish mane billowing around his grim features like a corona of fire. The tendons stood out on his copper-skinned arms, his legs quivering with the fury pent up inside of him. His hatred of Cronus blazed through him like a bonfire, never greater than at this moment. Why could he not leave them in peace?
“The Aam and Nephilim are stationed throughout the buildings and streets along the harbor,” Hestia said, pushing her glistening auburn hair away from her chipped emerald eyes. Like the rest of the men and women, she was dressed in blue leather battle gear. A pulse rifle was slung across her back, a CL pistol belted around her slender waist and a short sword strapped against her thigh. “The rest are stationed along the palisades surrounding the city. They are backed up by the people who refused to leave.”
From the hard lessons learned by the destruction of Home, Zeus ordered a twenty-foot tall limestone wall constructed a mile out from the city limits. Each block was a ten-foot square cut from the interior of the Sanctuary as it was being built. A raised walkway followed the line of stone, giving patrols and defenders a clear view of the vast, grassy landscape beyond. Guard towers armed with plasma cannons dotted the enclosure about a mile apart. Lelantos added a circle of thick, braided copper wire buried beneath the ground a hundred yards beyond the barrier. The thick grasses of the veldt quickly reclaimed the meadow making the trench dug for the cable undetectable. He had no idea at the time how effective his idea would be, but might have reconsidered if he knew of the appalling, unintended damage it would cause.
It irked Zeus that half the populous remained in Olympia. He wanted them to be safe in the Sanctuary with Hades, but he understood how they felt. They escaped to the Retreat when Home was leveled by Atlantis. In doing so, they lost Morpheus among with many of their friends and families. The guilt gnawed at them and darkened their dreams. The people of Olympia would not allow someone else to fight their battles again while they fled to safety.
“We are fortunate Cronus does not have air support,” Demeter said as she scanned the reports flowing across her monitor. Her long, sun-yellow hair was braided tightly and bound at the nape of her graceful neck, keeping it out of her sky-blue eyes. “Ra made it abundantly clear he would not tolerate any warbird incursions over these lands. The Lord Father is on shaky ground with Nil at the moment and knows better than to incur the wrath of the Trinity.”
Lelantos strode into the room, his raptor eyes hooded and hard. “Zeus,” he said without preamble, “the Atlantean armada enters the gulf.”
“So,” Zeus said, his lips drawn into a sharp line, “the battle begins.”
Captain Denarius stood on the bridge of the Dreadnaught as the flagship of the Atlantean fleet pierced the fog bank filling the throat of the gulf. He was less than an hour away from the strait and licked his lips with pleasure. The warships Atlantus and Gaidian flanked him a few hundred yards to his stern. The other thirty fighting ships of the armada fanned out behind them in a wedge, the support vessels and cargo ships remaining at sea. He used farseers to carefully study the mountainous cliffs a hundred miles off his port and starboard bow. There would be no danger until they reached the narrows. Not even the massive firepower of the warships could touch those craggy peaks at this distance.
‘Not that these pitiful Olympians pose any real threat,’ Denarius thought, a cruel sneer flickering across his lips. ‘These new guns Carius created are unstoppable! The man is a genius.’
“Admiral,” his First Mate, Stephenous, said, stopping just behind his captain. The tall, curly-headed, blond stood stiff and patient, knowing Denarius would acknowledge him in own sweet time.
“What?” the Captain asked with a huff after making the Mate wait the prerequisite few moments. Stephenous was far too handsome for him - almost pretty - but the black wickedness in those dead blue eyes was something he could appreciate. Often the two men wo
uld share the female spoils of their victories, competing to see who could heap the most barbaric atrocities upon their victims while still keeping them alive.
“The captains of the fleet ask if you can slow down a bit,” Stephenous said, his cold voice smooth and a little too high for his barrel chest. “Even with the strong, westerly winds to our back, they struggle to keep up.”
“Reduce speed to five knots until they close ranks then take us up to ten,” the Admiral said with a sigh. It galled him to slow down, but he knew no sailing vessel could keep up with his Proto-Sun engines. “We are close anyway. We must move cautiously through the narrows. They are only thirty miles wide as we round that tip of land.” he said calmly, pointing off in the distance. “If there is to be opposition, it will happen here.”
“Aye, Sir,” Stephenous replied, nodding to the helmsman and communications officer. The order was passed long the fleet quickly and efficiently. As one, the warships slowed, waiting until the other ships could tighten the gaps between them.
Denarius vibrated in sadistic glee as he stood on the steel-covered bridge. This would be the first battle test of his mighty ship. Like the other warships, the Dreadnaught boasted four cannons on each side mounted on swivels, but could only be raised or lowered less than a foot. Shielded, rotating turrets rested on the fore and aft decks with muzzles that could be elevated up to ten feet, allowing them to act as anti-warbird weapons. Those had already proved deadly to Olympian air power. The fact that the warships had no masts or sails gave them an unobstructed view of the skies in a three-hundred-sixty-degree circle. Tests proved each rounded-tip explosive shell could reduce a wooden-hulled ship to burning splinters in a matter of minutes. Awe-inspiring!
All of the ships in the armada had plasma cannons. How many were dependent on the size of the vessel. The larger crafts had four to a side while the smaller, faster ones only had one at port and starboard. Battle harnesses lined the bulwarks of the sailing ships for the Aam onboard. Cradles in the wooden rails locked their CL and plasma rifles in place. The warships had no need of such small armament since they could devastate any craft before it could get that close.
“The Lord Commander just sent word to begin the attack,” Stephenous barked, holding a comlink to his ear. His shark-like, blue eyes glinted in the sunlight. His demented mind filled with the torturous delights to come and his hand slipped down to his leather-clad crotch.
Atheneis commanded the battlement on the southern side of the bay across from Enyonia’s encampment. From here, he had a clear view of the enemy fleet three hundred feet below him. His wide, blockish body shuddered as he saw the forces amassed against them and he sent a prayer to the Creator for His grace. The big, brown-skinned man did not believe fear was a bad thing. He saw it as a tool to be controlled and used. It told him when to go forward and when to retreat. Fear heightened your awareness and sharpened your senses. A healthy dose of it kept you alive.
He felt it now as he stared down at the verdant seas. Atheneis thought it strange how such a beautiful day would end in horrific bloodshed and death. The sky above was a brilliant blue, lazy, puffy white clouds drifting across the glowing yellow sun that rose in on the horizon. A stiff, steady wind blew in from the endless ocean waters, leaving a salty taste upon his thick, dark lips. White seabirds darted close to the gently rolling waves, barking in delight as they plucked their breakfast from the deep green surface. A lovelier day could not be hoped for.
The three black warships passed his position, moving cautiously toward the strait. The wedge of vessels behind them slipped past his concealed location. Still, Atheneis waited until the widest sides of the pyramid formation moved just beyond his readied weapons. His heart pounded his massive chest and Atheneis could feel the sweat beading on his furrowed brow.
“Now,” Enyonia whispered over the coms even though there was no need to keep her voice lowered.
Thunder roared through the azure sky, startling the flocks of birds below. They screamed out their displeasure as they veered away from the cliffs and headed out for deeper waters. Sixty rail guns sent a hail of three-foot-wide balls of stone arching high into the air. The screams of the dead and dying echoed off the limestone cliffs as the deadly rain crushed masts, sails and men. The fourteen ships closest to the coastline erupted in fire and smoke as their own plasma cannons exploded under the horrific onslaught before they could even fire. Thick, milky ropes of white-hot plasma showered the hapless vessels from the mountain battlements above them. Huge spears of flaming timbers rocketed into the sky, igniting the sails of the ships closest to the destroyed and sinking wreckages. Broken and bleeding bodies peppered the water, drawing in fast-moving and hungry denizens of the deep. Half of the massive armada was lost in the initial volley.
A roar of cheers reverberated through the battlements, but Atheneis did not join in. His stomach heaved as the high-pitched wails of men being ripped apart and eaten reached his burning ears. He was too far away from the carnage to smell anything but smoke, but in his imagination, his flaring nostrils filled with the stench of searing flesh and bone.
Atheneis shoved his vomit and revulsion down his throat for the moment, but he could not stem the flow of tears from his rounded cheeks. Doing what had to be done for the people of Olympia, he shouted out orders for the guns to be reloaded. Knowing his soldiers knew exactly what to do, he jumped on a sled and raced toward the far end of the ledges closest to the strait. It was there the most critical part of the battle would be fought.
Enyonia did not share his repugnance at the horrible fate of the invaders. They were the aggressors. They had chosen to attack her city. They deserved whatever agonies that were visited upon them. And she would see they suffered.
“Hoolah!” Enyonia howled in wicked delight as she sped along the mountainside, her tawny hair flying out behind her, her greenish eyes on fire. A mask of merciless elation covered her face as she shouted again, “Hoolah!”
“Hoolah!” her troops roared out the war cry. Even the Nephilim joined in the chorus, awash in the powerful passion of battle. Their heady exhilaration did not last for long though.
The ledge behind Enyonia exploded in a ball of red and yellow flame. Three other spots along the ridgeline crumbled under massive blasts that sent the shelf tumbling down in an avalanche of rock, weapons and tattered pieces of flesh. The force of the detonations threw Enyonia from her sled and sent her skidding along the rough stone pathway.
She landed hard against an outcropping, the blow to her head dimming Enyonia’s vision. A dark crimson river poured down her right cheek, the rest of her exposed skin shredded and bleeding. Her ears rang and she could feel sticky fluid dripping down her lobes. Managing to drag her body into an upright seated position, the warrior woman looked back and saw little left of her invulnerable emplacements. Almost the entire ledge was gone.
Unable to move further, her body sagging and darkness overcoming her senses, Enyonia wept. She had failed.
Atheneis fared little better even though he had a few more precious seconds to respond. As he sped along the escarpment, he glanced down on the flaming waters. He saw the two warships whip hard about and race back toward the embattled ships. The one on Enyonia’s side of the narrows opened fire first. The horribly awesome guns spit out their fury, smashing into the ledge with monstrously deadly effectiveness. Acidic bile choked his throat and filled his gaping mouth as the mountainside collapsed in a detonation of stone and blood.
“Retreat!” he screamed into his comlink. “Retreat! Retreat!”
How many of his people had time to react, Atheneis did not know. The soft limestone cliff beneath him heaved and buckled. A huge chunk of tortured rock exploded under his sled, flinging it high into the air like a child’s toy. His hands locked on the control bar and his mammoth thighs clenched the sides of the seat. The sled rolled through the sky like a ball.
Only luck and the Creator’s grace kept him alive. The twisted sled slammed into the ground, bottom first. Atheneis
felt himself flying along the shattered cliff, arms flailing. A dark maw opened before him and swallowed him up. Atheneis hit a pile of supplies stacked inside a rough-hewn tunnel, feeling bones break and flesh tear. The last thing he saw before passing out was the crumbling landslide that sealed him inside the blackness of his silent, embracing tomb.
“Collinear!” Admiral Denarius screamed into the comlink, his face purple with rage. “Collinear! Atlantus, Gaidian, hard about! Protect the fleet!”
Denarius stared at his monitors, watching as his mighty armada was crushed under the tons of boulders that pounded them from the cliffs above. His hooded eyes went from brown to a raven-black darker than his sweaty skin. The battle harness that kept him secured in his command chair next to the helm bit into his bulging muscles as he vehemently cursed the Creator.
At his command, the remaining unscathed or partially damaged vessels weaved their way through their sinking sisters, forming a tight, straight column in the center of the churning inlet. The second volley of plasma and rock fell far short of their targets, the ships now out of range of the rail guns and cannons. The warships belched out their demonic dragon’s breath of destruction and the mountains shuttered, their enemies sinking into the cold, dark ocean depths. The hills now silent, the warships spun around to retake their positions at the tip of the spear.
Despite their brutal, devastating reprisal, Denarius was not at all satisfied. Only eleven ships, including the warships, remained fully functional. His barbaric wrath consumed his soul and dripped like acid from his thick, dark lips as he spit out orders. It did not matter that the remaining fleet would be more than enough to reduce Olympia to rubble. Denarius had miscalculated his adversary’s firepower, thinking himself far superior. His blind arrogance had cost the Lord Father dearly. Iapetus would see to it the Admiral paid an even higher price. All the captain could hope for now was that the destruction of the city would be enough to assuage his debt. He preferred to keep breathing.