Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  A large, raven-haired, tree-trunk of a man stood to the fore, his empty, ebony eyes icy as he gazed at the startled couple. There was no lasciviousness in his dead scrutiny, just a passionless detachment. He stepped forward until he was within three feet of Zeferian, ignoring the curvaceous woman huddling behind him. He looked the naked young man up and down as if assessing a threat and deciding there was none.

  “Put something on,” Iapetus said, his words as hard and flat as stone. He waited impassively until Zeferian covered himself then spoke over his shoulder. “Bind them, take them back to the camp and place a guard,” he said calmly. Noticing the lewdness on some of his men, Iapetus added, “They are not to be touched or harmed.”

  One look at the commander’s face and Zeferian felt oddly relieved. Something in his tone and the swift compliance of his men told the young man no one would dare ignore those orders. As long as he did not fight back Naridine would remain safe.

  Their hands bound behind their backs, the couple was marched down a wide trail through the forest until it opened to a vast meadow once blanketed with grass and wildflowers. Now it was trampled flat and covered with huge camouflaged tents as far as the eye could see. Wheeled wagons and transport sleds were lined on one side of the veldt and Zeferian could see at least forty airships resting like vicious black hawks awaiting an evening meal on the other side. All around them, thousands of troops in black leather hurried about their business with swift and practiced efficiency.

  Even though the size of the army and the massive firepower arrayed around them was mind-boggling, the thing that stood out most to Zeferian was how hushed the encampment was. Conversations were muted and short. The war machines sat still and unmanned. The booted feet seemed muffled by the thick grasses. With what seemed to be more people than in the entire city of Solarum, it amazed him just how soundlessly they moved.

  Only a few of the soldiers noticed the captives as they were tossed into a small tent in the center of the camp. Most paid them absolutely no heed as they rushed about their assigned tasks. It was plain to see the invasion of the city was about to be underway and they had no time to waste on just two prisoners.

  Inside the tent, there was a couple of folding cots and a small table with two wooden chairs. There was no floor, but the flattened grass was thick under their sore, bare feet. After checking the contents for weapons and taking out the wine glasses, the guard left their basket and belongings on the table and cut the bindings from their wrists. He turned without speaking and stepped outside to take his post, closing the flaps behind him.

  “Oh, Creator!” Naridine whispered, throwing herself in Zeferian’s strong arms. He could feel her tears soaking his thigh-length, linen tunic and held her close in his arms. “What is happening?”

  “These are Atlanteans,” he replied, his voice low and bitter. “I recognize the commander as Iapetus, the Second to Cronus, Lord Father of Atlantis. They are going to assault Solarum.”

  “But why?” Naridine wept. “We live in peace. We have done nothing to them. Why would they do this?”

  “I do not know,” he said, his mahogany eyes narrowed and hard. “What I do know is there is nothing we can do about it. There is no escape. All we can do is wait and pray the Trinity comes to our aid. If not, the city is lost.”

  No help came. Not this day nor in the weeks that followed.

  “Solarum is ours,” Iapetus told Cronus by encrypted comlink. “The communications jammers worked perfectly and word of the invasion never left the city. As you predicted, we met no actual resistance. This is a society of fishermen and merchants. Seeing a force of ten thousand heavily armed troops standing on their outskirts made their Aam lay down their weapons without a single shot being fired.”

  “Good,” Cronus nodded at the monitor. He sat behind his huge mahogany desk in the busy war room and looked over the images on his other display. They showed his men in Solarum occupying the city’s data center before switching to scenes of the squads patrolling the sullen, near empty streets. “All is going to plan. The armada is already on its way and should be there within a week. Send scouts to Enubia to assess their defenses.”

  “They left yesterday,” Iapetus replied flatly, slightly irritated Cronus even thought to mention it.

  “Have any of the citizens been harmed?” Cronus was taking a page from the Olympian playbook. Though he wanted to brutally crush the city as an example of Atlantean power, he did not want to give Ra a reason to retaliate. When the time came to inform the Trinity of the occupation, he wanted his invasion to seem just and temporary. Corpses on the sidewalks would not give him the moral high ground.

  “Of course not,” his brother responded, sounding a bit miffed. Iapetus did not like being questioned on his own strategy. He was the one who convinced his volatile brother to keep collateral damage to a minimum, but he would not remind Cronus of that. “A few suffered minor cuts and bruises when they opposed us, but nothing more.”

  Before the Lord Father could ask, Iapetus added, “All harbor facilities and warehouses are intact and ready for our ships. They have no airfield, but there is a large enough meadow to the north of town to accommodate our warbirds and transports. All is in readiness.”

  “Well done,” Cronus said bluntly, expecting no less from his Second. “Once you have taken Enubia, I will be joining you for the assault on Heliseous. Wait for me there.”

  “At your command, Lord Father.” Iapetus watched the screen go dim as Cronus cut the connection. He assured himself that his technicians had the somewhat foreign systems under control then stepped outside to walk the hostile, somber city streets.

  Iapetus suffered no complacency at how easily Solarum had fallen. In some ways, it made his task more difficult. His men and women were all Black Guard, tough, mean and highly trained warriors primed for battle. They had not found one here. That left them frustrated and looking for a fight, bloodlust swirling through their veins without an outlet. Iapetus offset this with constant hard drills and maneuvers in their encampment outside of the city borders. Those he kept in town were under strict orders to pay for everything they took and to refrain from conflicts whenever possible. Being polite was not their strong suit. When confronted, they were to use as little force as possible.

  Iapetus walked alone in the bright sunshine, a soft ocean breeze ruffling his long, ebony hair. The black leather vest and breeches he wore stretched tightly over his heavily corded body absorbed the heat and brought beads of sweat to his broad, furrowed brow. He ignored the openly hostile way the people stared at him when he passed. One look at the bronzed muscles of his monstrous bare arms, the long sword strapped to his bulging thigh and the deadly pulse pistol buckled to his waist and they knew better than to accost him. The mere fact that Iapetus walked unescorted gave serious pause to those even contemplating an attack on the stone pillar of a man.

  For this, Iapetus was grateful. Solarum was beautiful in a quaint and simple way. The buildings and homes were made of polished rock and colorfully painted wood. The cobbled streets were clean and free of debris. The shops were well-maintained and filled with an abundance of goods. Though the people were justifiably angry, they met him with terse civility. He had no desire to leave the city a smoldering husk though he would if provoked.

  Iapetus was glad when the fortnight passed without major incident. With the fleet in port and the warbirds arrival, the tension was becoming palatable. It would only take a spark to set Solarum ablaze. Only his iron will and fear of the Lord Father kept his soldiers in check. Leaving a large contingent behind, the Atlanteans moved their forces toward Enubia.

  Commander-General Yezilor stood on the top of the eighty-foot tall palisade that enclosed the northern border of Enubia staring grimly at the unbelievably huge army camped five miles outside the city. He could see the rows of war machines stacked four deep, their ugly muzzles seemingly pointed directly at his long, sharply-planed face. Behind them, an endless sea of forest green tents covered the grassy landsca
pe as far as he could see. Six warbirds swooped over his head in a crisscross pattern, their blackened cockpits like hungry eyes searching for prey.

  His sapphire-blue eyes crackled like lightning with the hatred that seethed in his bulky chest. Yezilor knew the five-foot thick wooden walls of the barrier stood no chance against the plasma cannons arrayed against them. It was intended to keep the bestial, vicious man-things that lived in the jungles from attacking Enubia as they were want to do during the scorching summer months when food was scarce. Nothing more. The wall would burn like a candlestick under the fury of those deadly energy weapons.

  A strong easterly wind blew across the muddy waters of the Bemire River causing his long, golden-blond hair to fan out behind his broad, powerful shoulders like a flapping cape. His thin, tan lips were drawn in a tight, hard line beneath the curly beard that covered his V-shaped jawline.

  Yezilor knew the five thousand Aam under his command were battle-hardened warriors. They would fight to the death to repel the invaders if he told them to, but they would stand no chance against such a massive onslaught. He would not order those brave souls to their deaths simply to stave off the inevitable. The reports he received from the harbor told him there was an armada of a hundred warships sitting a mile off the coast. Between this army, those vessels and the buzzing of the airships above him, Yezilor bitterly knew the only chance for his beloved city lay in complete surrender. Without communications to call the Trinity for help, the legions surrounding Enubia could level the entire city in a heartbeat.

  “Commander,” Jelarius said, his voice bristling with the fury that infused him, “they are awaiting your answer.”

  The onyx-skinned captain stood stiffly at Yezilor’s right, red flames flickering in his pitch-black eyes. The tendons of his bulging arms stood out in high relief beneath his sweaty flesh and the veins pulsed with the pumping of his angry heart. Jelarius craved the chance to soak his blade in the blood of the invaders standing at their gates. His rock-like hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if he would crush the leather-wrapped, wooden hilt in his fist.

  Yezilor understood the naked desire plainly written on his Second’s face and, if it was only himself at risk, he would happily attack the trio standing calmly on the small grassy knoll outside the main gate. But he had over ten thousand citizens to think about as well as his soldiers and could not put himself above them.

  “We will go out and meet them,” the Commander-General said bitterly. “Send word to the Governor we will surrender and tell the Aam to stand down. We will give these barbarians no excuse to sack the city.”

  Jelarius said nothing, only nodded stiffly in reply. As the two men headed down to the gate, he passed the orders to the Aam captains using the runners standing nearby since the comlinks were malfunctioning. His hostility grew with every stomped footfall. In all the battles he had fought with the Lord Ra and Yezilor, he had never given up without a fight. It tore at his soul to do so now.

  A blinding rage turned his vision red as Jelarius topped the knoll and stared at the three men standing so self-assured on the grass. At the fore was a mountainous, raven-haired man a foot taller than the captain. There was a lethal grace in his easy stance and a blank indifference in those dead, black eyes that further infuriated Jelarius.

  “I am Iapetus,” the boulder of a man said, his deep, rumbling voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Second to Cronus and commander of the Atlantean forces.” He did not offer his arm in greeting, just gazed at the Enubians as if they were barely significant. “As I said in my message, lay down your arms and open your gates and no harm will come to your Aam or your citizens. You have my word and the word of the Lord Father of Atlantis. I also promise you any resistance will be met with overwhelming force and dealt with harshly.”

  “What do you want here?” the Commander-General asked, his tone bold and as hard as tempered steel. “We have no quarrel with Atlantis. You have no cause to invade our city.”

  “We are only passing through,” Iapetus replied coldly. “We intend to retake our facilities on Heliseous and your city and harbor are the closest to the island’s shores. We will use Enubia as a base to launch our attack. Once we have our port back in our possession, we will leave you unmolested and in peace.”

  “Heliseous was given to Olympia by Lord Ra,” Yezilor said stonily. “You risk the wrath of the Trinity should you do this.”

  “I shall worry about that,” Iapetus said off-handedly, brushing the warning aside as meaningless. “Your concern is for your city. Your choice is simple. Surrender or die. What choose you?”

  The Atlantean’s arrogance seared the air in Jalerius’ lungs. The black-clad man just behind and to the right of Iapetus saw his muscles tense and sneered at his helpless anger. That was all it took.

  Exploding in rage, Jalerius ripped his sword from its sheath. If he killed this pretentious commander, it would give pause to those foul Atlanteans. He did not even hear Yezilor shout, “No!”, so lost was he in his blind fury. He swept his razor-edged blade through the air toward the despicable creature’s face intending to sever head from shoulders.

  Iapetus moved with uncanny feline grace, seemingly impossible for one so large and over-muscled. Shifting sideways, his blade cleared leather and swatted the whistling sword aside as it passed through the empty space his body once occupied. Spinning with the speed of a striking viper, the shining steel sliced Jalerius from shoulder to hip nearly cutting the man in two. The captain did not even have time to register surprise before his bloody corpse hit the ground, his steaming entrails spilled upon the crimson grass.

  Yezilor stood stock still, the red-dripping tip of Iapetus’ blade touching the pit of his throat. “Is this your answer?” the Atlantean said, his voice as icy as a frozen mountain glacier.

  With slow, careful deliberation, the Commander-General drew his sword and presented the hilt to Iapetus, acutely aware of the pulse pistols aimed in his direction by the other two men. “No,” he said, his voice thick with anger and grief. “I surrender. Enubia is yours.”

  Heliseous would not be such an easy target. The majority of the western coastline was swampy and shallow with thick forests of monstrous trees, their trunks and roots buried deep beneath the water line. No ship could navigate through them, thus preventing the Atlantean navy from finding a suitable place to land. The east coast was an incredibly dense jungle and huge escarpments accessible only by air.

  To the north of the gigantic island lay the two port cities first settled as outposts and waystations of Atlantis. After warships based there attacked the Golden Eagle carrying Raet, envoy of Ra, and Anak of the Nephilim, the Trinity ordered Cronus’ men and ships from the island and gave the facilities over to Zeus. The Olympians wasted no time fortifying the harbors, erecting massive walls of interlocked stone lined with battlements just half a mile inland from the sandy shores. Across the entrances to both ports, spike-balled Rippers lay beneath the deep waters ready to be pulled to the surface when necessary. The Atlantean armada would have their hulls torn asunder as they did in the narrows of the Sea of Sorrows should they attempt to pass. Fourteen of Cronus’ ships had already learned that deadly lesson.

  “We cannot attack the port directly from the sea,” Admiral Hesmerine said bluntly. “Our ships are being destroyed before they can get into gun range. Our weapons can strike the outer walls, but the city, itself, sits at the far end of the bay, simply too far inland to reach.”

  It did not matter to Hesmerine that Cronus tried to pierce her flesh with his flashing jade eyes. She would not send another wave of ships through those murderous waters. The tall, stocky woman could still hear the piteous wailings of the crews flaying about in the bloody, shark-infested ocean. They would haunt her nightmares forever.

  The Lord Father wanted to smash her beautiful, but tough face into gory pulp, but he knew she was right. He leaned on the hard teak table in the conference room aboard the Night Hawk, his knuckles curled into frustrated fists. For six days they
had been fighting this battle and gaining little ground. His warbirds pounded the city of Maladone from the air, but Zeus had installed cannons and missile system stolen from Cronus’ own destroyed convoys and the factories of Azmerizan. His own weapons were being used against him to devastating effect. Those powerful guns cost him a quarter of his skyships already. He could not afford to lose many more.

  Iapetus managed to land thousands of troops to the east and west of the city, but the rocky and mountainous landscape slowed their progress and stalled their advance completely in some places. When he finally reached the inland shores of the deep-water bay, Iapetus found his legions mired in skirmishes with troops that knew the terrain well. They fought like rabid Murcats from behind huge boulders and outcropping of limestone and from hidden nests high in the branches of gigantic jungle trees. They used the same hit-and-run tactics Poseidon used on the high seas, making them hard to track and harder to kill.

  The Second walked across the wide, open plain where the latest horrific combat took place. His ebony eyes glittered with embittered savagery as he stepped around the bent and twisted corpses that littered the crimson-soaked, hard-packed ground. Black scorch marks were all that was left of the dry grasslands the Maladonian defenders had set ablaze, catching hundreds in the fire’s searing embrace.

  Iapetus caught the enemy before they could escape into the growing darkness and his brutal vengeance still dripped from the edges of his slickened blade. Only lifeless husks and scattered, severed limbs remained of the hundred and fifty men and women who assaulted him, but it had cost Iapetus three times as many of his own troops with two hundred more gravely wounded by pulse rifles and railguns. He viciously kicked the bodiless head of the man he had killed and watched it skip over the stones and charred bodies surrounding him. ‘The price was far too high’, he thought bitterly. ‘Far too high.’

  His skimmer sat on the far edge of the battlefield near the wide trail his army had cut through the dense jungle foliage. Iapetus slammed the steel, energy-shielded door behind him and sped toward his encampment near the ocean shore. He did not fear an attack from the jungle or outcroppings he sped past. In some ways, he wished there would be one. Iapetus needed an outlet for the fury inside him. In the privacy of his personal vehicle, his dark eyes were not the mask of impassivity he showed to others. Red and blue sparks lit the cab of the skimmer like flashes of a turbulent thunderstorm.