by Gene Stiles
Cronus could feel the waves of anger swelling among the throngs that had followed him from the streets. He could almost sense the tide of fury growing in those watching from afar and it brought a satisfying warmth to his mind.
“Yes,” he said with a nod of his head, “we fought back and destroyed the city in which our vicious enemies lived. I thought the threat to you and our way of life ended. I was wrong.”
“I found they were living among the Nillians and building armies to throw against us,” Cronus said gravely. “Despite my pleas, Ra would not intervene. Instead, he gave them our old trading post on Heliseous as a base to attack our trade ships. Again I ask you. How many of you have lost loved ones at sea?”
“Finally,” Cronus said through gritted teeth, “these ‘saviors’ have shown their true colors. They have invaded our sister city Azmerizan, set it on fire and butchered thousands of innocents. See the truth of it with your own eyes.”
The furious image of the Lord Father was replaced by the holos sent by the Atlantean spies. Careful editing made it appear that it was Zeus and his legions who murdered the fleeing citizens in the streets. Stark, grisly images of burnt and bleeding children filled the screens. As the moving pictures continued, the horrified Atlanteans witnessed the bodies crushed beneath the massive boulder from the Gargoyle and the Olympian soldiers walking among the injured slicing the throats of the dying. They saw the rain of aeros slaughter a street full of helpless troops and their outrage grew. They saw the flaming docks and the burning ships in the harbor as the Azmerizan’s valiantly fought the flames and their hatred toward Zeus burst through their shouting lips.
“This is what we must fight against,” Cronus shouted over the grisly images. “These are those who call themselves the benefactors of Atlantis! These are the atrocious actions of those who would turn you against me and your own brothers and sisters!”
Cronus stood in a glow of righteous anger, the sickening scenes playing behind him. “Will you fight with me? Will you battle against such barbarous assaults?” The crowd roaring behind him was almost deafening as he drew his sword and raised it high into the air. “Will you stand with me to protect your homes, your families, your way of life and all Atlantis represents? I ask you now. Will you fight with me?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” they bellowed in the background. “Death to Zeus and all of Olympus! Death to the butchers! Death! Death!” they chanted like a chilling mantra. “Death to Zeus! Death to Zeus!”
Cronus turned and walked up the steps of the pyramid as the holos faded and the broadcast ended. Unseen by the camera or the masses behind him, a savage, satisfied smile spread across his pinched tan lips. He had them.
“We cannot retake Azmerizan without massive loss of life,” Iapetus stated flatly. His coal-black eyes looked down on the images that were spread out on the table before him. As he spoke, he pointed to heat signatures and dead spots. “Poseidon has his fleet patrolling the sea near the port, effectively ensuring no incursion could go undetected. We cannot get close enough to use warships to assault the city.”
He touched his thick fingers to the towers spread out along the coastline. “The battlements have been repaired and are heavily gunned. Should we send skyships, most would be blown out of the air before they could get within range of the harbor. We armed Azmerizan too well.”
Iapetus raised his iron gaze to Cronus, his face as blank and inscrutable as a granite wall. He could sense the whirl of his brother’s incredible strategic mind as he scanned the landscape images and weighted options. The site for Azmerizan had been chosen precisely because it was nearly impregnable by land or sea. The two mountain ranges to the southwest created a natural barrier with the passages between them easily monitored and defendable. A coastal approach from the southeast would be difficult due to the thick, dark jungles and rugged terrain. Only a relatively narrow band of land along the eastern shore could be used to move troops and Cronus was sure Zeus to know that as well.
“We cannot allow the Olympians to hold the shipyards or the weaponry at Azmerizan. There is only one option if we are to defeat my son there,” Cronus said after a time. His face was hard and grim, but his jade eyes were clear, without the fires of madness that once glinted within them. He turned to the Aam stationed near the door and said, “Bring in Carius.”
The chief weapons designer for Atlantis hurried into Cronus’ private chambers, his big hands cradling a box of data crystals tight against his abdomen. His large, dark hazel eyes glittered with excitement and an almost joyous smile played over his thin, tan lips. For so long, Carius had labored almost unnoticed at his laboratories out in the desert east of Atlantis, but now, as war spread across the globe, his stature had grown. The mahogany-haired man now sat in one of the council chairs vacated by those of the Twelve who would no longer support the Lord Father.
His tall, athletic body almost vibrated as Carius laid his crystals on the table. “I have exactly what you need, Lord Father.”
He slipped a long, narrow crystal into the reader and waited for the images to appear on the large wall monitor. Carius first pointed to a picture of the standard, rounded-tipped explosive shells used on the warships. Next to it and three times its size was a similar shell with four fins on the flat end.
“These new missiles are five times more powerful than those used in our cannons,” he said proudly. “They can be attached to the wings of the warbirds and dropped from a great height far above the range of the gun emplacements of Azmerizan. Each of them will level a city block.”
Carius wrung his hands and licked his lips as if a fresh, tantalizing meal had been set in front of him. He could not see in his mind’s eye, the massacred bodies such an attack would leave in its wake. Only the mechanics of such weapons and his ability to create them mattered to the man. Had Carius ever seen the bloody, broken and burnt results of his work laid out before his own eyes, he may have reconsidered the devastation his ‘children’ would cause.
“Lord Father,” Iapetus said slowly, appalled by the idea of such slaughter. “This is wrong. Innocent civilians would be caught in such a blast. Moreover, such a cowardly attack could turn many people against you.”
First and foremost, the monster of a man was an Aam. A trained warrior with a strict code of conduct. To fight an enemy face to face in a contest of skill was one thing. To wipe out hundreds without warning while hiding among the clouds was something vile and without honor to him. It sickened Iapetus to even contemplate ordering such a foul type of assault.
“Cowardly?” Cronus said harshly. “Do you mean like the cowardly attack on the Atlantean festival?”
Though he loved and trusted his brother, Cronus never told Iapetus he had set up that event himself to rally the People behind him. After their long centuries together, Cronus understood Iapetus too well to share such things. He needed the man’s loyalty, skills and approval far more than he dared admit.
“Or maybe when the Izon murdered our people in their beds many years ago?” Cronus asked, meeting Iapetus’ measuring gaze. “How about the attack on Pettit and the good people we lost there? The damage releasing the children did to our society? How many of deaths of innocent civilians did that cause?”
He could see his brother’s face pondering his words so Cronus pressed on. “How many vessels and crews did we lose at sea before we even knew they were being sunk? And now Azmerizan,” he continued. “You saw the holos. Hundreds of citizens murdered at the hand of Zeus. A city destroyed. Is that not ‘cowardly’?” Again, Cronus had kept the unedited images from Iapetus.
“Let me ask you this,” he said, his voice taking on a tone as if he was appealing for understanding. “How many Atlantean mothers and fathers would be left childless should we send their sons and daughters into that city? How many of our own people could be spared if we take Azmerizan from the air?”
Cronus walked up to Iapetus and placed a firm hand on his broad shoulder. “I understand your reluctance,” he said softly. “This is not
the method I would prefer either. However, how many more lives would it cost us if we left Azmerizan in the hands of the Olympians?”
Grudgingly, Iapetus accepted the words of Cronus. The logic made sense even as it tore at his soul. Still, a deep feeling of foreboding curled in the pit of his stomach. There could be a serious backlash if too many died.
“How accurate can you make these devices?” Iapetus asked Carius in a deep grumbling voice. The man remained silent as the two brothers spoke. He knew his place well. “Can we hit specific targets without blanketing the city?”
“That depends on the pilots,” Carius replied, inwardly pleased all his hard work would not be tossed aside. “If they drop these bombs at precisely the right time and location, they can hit only certain sections of the city. It will take practice, but I can train them.”
Iapetus nodded, his full, dark lips pursed tightly. “If we can only hit the shipyards and armories,” he said, tracing lines upon the maps before him, “we can limit casualties. If.”
He looked up at Cronus and saw a tiny hint of a smile. It bothered him, but maybe he might be able to limit the scope of the assault. “We cannot take the entire city back,” he said, hoping Cronus would be satisfied, “but we will effectively end the threat it poses. Do you agree, Lord Father?”
“Yes,” Cronus answered readily. Turning to Carius, he said, “You will have four pilots and warbirds. Arm them and train them.” Waving his hand in dismissal, he ordered, “Let me know when they are ready and make it happen quickly. The longer the wait, the longer Zeus has to fortify against us. Go.”
Before leaving Atlantis for his complex in the desert, Carius visited a pleasure house, needing an outlet for his pent up excitement. In the aftermath of hours spent with an incredibly young and beautiful woman, he boasted of his accomplishments and how his own creations would be used to smash the enemies of Atlantis. Within an hour of his leaving sated and happy, the information was passed through Hyperion at the Wind Song and on to Zeus.
“Get as many of the remaining people out of Azmerizan as soon as possible,” Zeus commanded as he hurried through the armory. All around him, his troops carried arms outside and loaded them on the transport sleds and wheeled trucks lining the streets. “Set up temporary shelters in the forests as far inland as you can reach within two hours and no more, then return. Once everyone is clear, we will get them to the compounds Eriktis and his crews have built and get them settled.”
No one knew how long it would be before Cronus attacked the city, but Zeus had already spread the word and ordered an evacuation. Most of the citizens were already gone, but many stubbornly remained behind, gathering as much of their possessions as they could. Shouting and panic filled the warm, early morning air and he had all he could do to keep chaos from overrunning their efforts to get people to safety. In the three days following the report from Atlantis, Zeus and his contingents cleared the city’s data center of all the information and equipment they could salvage and sent convoys of supplies far from the city. Poseidon and his fleet filled their cargo holds with as much as they could carry and set out for the open sea.
“What about the prisoners?” Lelantos asked as he tossed an armload of pulse rifles on a flatbed transport. His deer-hide clothing was dirty and rumpled since he had not slept in days, but his gold-flecked, hazel eyes were bright and clear as he searched the skies above him.
“Get them out as well,” Zeus said, his face grim and haggard. “It is one thing to punish them for their crimes, but something else entirely to leave them imprisoned and helpless to be buried alive or worse.”
Lelantos nodded, grabbing a passing Aam by the arm. He gave an order for a company of soldiers to collect the captives and get them out then turned back to Zeus. “You need to leave now as well,” he said as he followed his commander back inside. “You have done all you can. We need to get you to safety.”
“I will not leave while so many of you remain,” Zeus replied, shaking his lionesque head. His brilliant gold eyes blazed beneath the sunshine as he looked at Lelantos. “You and I have seen what Cronus can do to a city…twice. And that was before he acquired these new weapons. If they are as powerful as reported, we need to save all that we can. I will not hide while hundreds still remain in jeopardy. Not again.”
“Listen to me, my friend,” Lelantos said, taking hold of Zeus’ sweaty arm. He stared hard and unflinching into those golden orbs and saw the pain-filled fury inside. He knew the memories that tormented Zeus and the regrets that plagued his sleep. Lelantos had many of his own.
“You are our leader and responsible for far more than a single city,” he said sternly. He felt Zeus’ muscles bunch beneath his grip as if the man was about to pull away. “Your life is worth more than those who refused to leave before now. That is their choice. We need you not only as the Lord Zeus but as the man who brought the Olympians together and the man whose moral compass guides us all. We cannot lose that. You must go if all the lives already lost are to have meaning. Do not let their sacrifice to have been in vain.”
Lelantos felt his friend relax slightly and saw the downturned lips and furrowed brow. He understood his commander’s turmoil better than most, but it was vital that Zeus stays alive. “Leave the rest to me,” he said, his deep voice softening a little. “I promise to do my best to get us all out in time. Please, Zeus. Please board this transport and leave Azmerizan immediately. For the good of all who follow you. Please. I will catch up.”
Reluctantly, Zeus acquiesced, his shoulders sagging as he dropped his head. “Alright,” he said, a touch of bitterness in his words. “I will leave with this convoy on one condition. You and all remaining troops are to be gone by this afternoon. As you say, we have done all we can for Azmerizan. Any civilians still in the city are on their own.”
“You have my word,” Lelantos said, a grateful sigh following the decision. He walked Zeus back out to the waiting vehicles and clasped his friend by the forearm. “Be well. I shall see you very soon.”
He reached for his comlink as Zeus slid into the cab next to the driver. “Move out,” Lelantos ordered, standing in the street until the last transport rounded a curve and was lost from sight.
He was still standing there when the first massive explosions rocked the ground beneath his feet.
Zeus had yet to reach the city outskirts when the shipyards went up in a hellish conflagration. High-pitched whistles ripped through the air moments before the detonations, causing him to look up and back over his shoulder. Even though he rode in a transport sled, the concussions still rocked the vehicle. Those trucks and wagons with wheels touching the pavement bounced, some of them overturning and spilling their cargo onto the roadway.
“Stop!” Zeus shouted, jumping from the sled. He raced toward the damaged vehicles as more whistles tore through the clear blue skies. “Help the wounded!” he commanded those able to walk.
Men and women tossed by the blasts lay scattered on the roadway, bleeding and shaken. They struggled to their feet as the eastern horizon filled with angry red and black clouds. Most were only stunned, but nearly a dozen were pinned by scattered crates and transports that lay on their sides. The screams of the injured were lost amid the thunder of exploding missiles and the roar of flames ripping through the wooden structures of the port.
The barrage marched toward the city center in an oddly straight line. Anything made of wood erupted into hellish blazes that ignited everything nearby. Buildings of granite and stone blasted outward and crumbled into heaps of rubble. The glass and crystal of their windows shattered in a deadly rain of razor-sharp splinters. The terrified people too stubborn to leave ran into the streets and were shredded into bloody pulp, their dying cries unheard in the torment of the falling city walls.
Even though Zeus and his people were four miles away from the harbor, the noise was deafening and each explosion shook the pavement under them. A steady wind blowing inland from the sea met the heated storm of the fires. Ash and soot-choked Zeus a
nd his people and stuck wetly to their skin as they struggled to lift the wounded and load them into surviving vehicles.
Another round of fiery eruptions knocked Zeus from his feet. He struck his head against the edge of a stone step with force enough to blur his vision. Blood streamed into his watering eyes as he pulled himself from the ground. He looked back and saw the Main House in the city center shiver and collapse. The armory was only two blocks away.
‘Lelantos!’ he thought grimly as he rose on shaky legs. One look at the devastation marching his way and he knew there was no going into that nightmare to search for his friend. Zeus had to get these people away before those fires reached them or more of those bombs buried them in a pit of rubble.
Using hand signals, Zeus ordered the convoy out of the burning city and into the thick canopy of the forests beyond. Once safely hidden by the trees, Zeus walked alone to a mammoth oak at the edge of the grassland. Though death no long fell from the sky, he could still hear buildings falling as their foundations gave way. He watched the blanket of black smoke and gray ash enshroud the city, the blaze from the fires reflecting in his misty golden eyes. Memories of Home and Olympia ripped through his mind and tore at his heart.
Through his guilt, rage and hatred he made a solemn vow. “Cronus will pay for this,” he whispered grimly, his fists curled at his side as he thought of Morpheus and now Lelantos. “He will pay dearly.”
“Now you see for yourselves what we fight against,” Zeus said to the sullen Azmerizan people gathered on the trampled grasses of the vast meadow in the center of the forest. “Your homes are gone. Your shops burned to the ground. Your friends and neighbors slaughtered. Your city destroyed.”
He stood on a huge fallen oak, one hand gripping a twisted branch. Even this far away from the devastation, a thin coating of ash grayed the ground and the leaves of the trees around them. The throat-stinging tang of burned wood and smoke hung like a cloud in the warm air and sent waves of coughing through the crowd.