This is not the time for gun-play. That time will come. His gifted hands are expert with any weapon and the dagger is no exception. He can easily throw half a dozen daggers in lightning quick succession before most men could get off a shot with their speed shooter.
He has a dog-whistle ready to give orders to Shadow but doubts he will need it. Though they are telepathically linked, he feels it necessary to cover all bases. Shadow will heed his call should the whistle become necessary. He strokes the wolf’s massive muzzle affectionately. “Are you ready, old boy?”
Merlin and Shadow separate and make their way to the river. They pick up on the presence of six soldiers in the area. The soldiers are within a 100-yard radius and groggy from the previous night’s watch. None were alerted to the recent demise of the watchtower guards.
One unsuspecting guard attempts to relieve himself in the thicket. Two other guards are only a few yards away and are beginning to get their bearings. Shadow is within viewing distance of Merlin. He looks to his master. Merlin nods and puts one finger up and encloses it in the opposite hand. Shadow understands.
Merlin creeps closer to the two guards. He rises up on his haunches and fires two successive throws with his daggers. Both find their mark. One dagger pierces the neck of the first guard, penetrating and severing his jugular vein. He clutches his neck reflexively to stifle the blood loss, but to no avail. He is dead the moment he hits the ground.
The second throw arrives less than a thousand of a second after the first one and penetrates the soldier’s eye socket and imbeds itself in the thick part of his skull. With irreversible damage done to his brain, the soldier drops to the ground, spasms uncontrollably for several seconds and then dies.
The other soldier who is relieving himself, turns in that direction, unsure if he heard something. He zips his pants up to investigate. As he does and turns around, he is blindsided by Shadow. The dog uses his massively, dense skull to spearhead the man over fifteen yards across the brush and to the ground. He falls hard. The air is temporarily knocked out of him. He is unable for a few seconds to draw breath or make a sound. Shadow pounces on the man and savagely rips his throat out. The man dies soundlessly.
With half the men on this side of the river dispatched, Merlin and Shadow move further towards the river.
Merlin senses two men. Both are talking with each other and lamenting their post at the night watch. They pull out a whey-grass cigarillo and light it up. One guard suspects movement in the brush. He begins to convey his suspicions to his comrade when a dagger inexplicably emerges from his throat. Copious blood flow erupts from his neck. He clutches it reflexively and topples over.
His comrade is flabbergasted at the inexplicable turn of events. Mortal fear dawns on his face and his eyes dart frantically from side-to-side in search of the attacker. He moves to retrieve his gun, but it is too late. Two daggers are thrown lightning quick. One hit his Adams apple, erupting a massive blood flow that began to drain his life as well. The other dagger penetrates his eye-socket and this deadly throw knocks him to the ground in excruciating pain. He wriths uncontrollably but quietly and dies in seconds.
The last remaining guard on this side of the tower is one of the guardsman on the Watchtower and he calls out to some of his men. “Simeon, Petronus, are you there? Speak now. Why are you not at your posts?”
He suspects nothing. He murmurs to himself incoherent ramblings. Apparently, not many of the men take their jobs seriously and consider watch on the towers and the vicinity to be demeaning. This fellow is obviously displeased with his comrades for this attitude. “By Christ Govern already, if you deadbeat fucks are off your post, I swear to God I’ll alert the General to your derelict of duty, so I will.” The foolish guard gives himself away. Merlin nods to Shadow, who inches closer. Shadow creeps soundlessly through the thicket and abruptly breaks out into a dead sprint when he is within twenty-five yards of the man, sneaking up on him from behind.
The guard hears something and moves to turn around to investigate, but it is too late. Shadow is only a few yards short of closing in on him. He jumps up and latches onto the soldier’s neck. With his massive jaws in a vise-grip of death, he shakes his head from side-to-side. The man’s neck breaks and his spinal cord snaps from the force. He is dead as he lands on the ground with Shadow on his back.
Merlin and Shadow approach the banks of the Eukrades River and find a boat the soldiers used to cross the river. Merlin takes the first painting from Vangelis’ arsenal of obscured paintings and lays it across the small boat in the opposite direction. He begins to row in a zig-zag fashion, ensuring the painting side of the boat is always facing the shore. Movement from the other side alerts him.
The guards see and suspect nothing. The painting matches perfectly with the environment. Merlin pops his head over, sensing the minute movement of heads that turn in different directions. A guard looks in his direction. He takes out one of the arrows and places it in the channel, holds his breath, lines up his sites and bends the bow back.
He releases it. The arrow whistles through the air and hits its mark, forcefully and accurately. The arrow penetrates the man’s chest, hitting him squarely in the heart, killing him and impaling him to the tree behind him. The angle of the penetration launches him slightly off the ground. His feet dangle six inches from the ground, almost like some macabre puppet as blood drips down in rivulets.
Chapter 23: No Mercy. No Prisoners
Atticus, Domithicus, Savelle, and Syrus run the assault above the ridgeline, as Merlin ordered. Accompanying them are their respective wolves- Culter, Troubadour, Boraco and Hoth. They are agile and extremely powerful, capable of subduing nearly anything smaller than an oxenule. Dispatching unsuspecting humans will be puppy play to them.
The night’s watch is now coming to a close and the shift change brings a new slew of riders to relieve the men from the night before, roughly thirty. None of them suspect they are in mortal danger and do not believe they are vulnerable to attack. After all, Gilleon’s forces of the North are more than three hundred kilometers away and a week’s journey to the closest train station. Jason knows this and the response time of the Northern Army. They would take weeks to arrive. Most soldiers considered his measures as overly-cautious and their duties as a waste of time.
Syrus and Savelle are situated to the thicket on the northern slope, while Domithicus and Atticus await on the southern slope.
Everyone is in place. The group of riders who are to relieve the guards from night’s watch descend the slope. They permit them to enter down and purposely make noise in the thicket, alerting a guard.
He places his hand up in a stop gesture and puts his hand to his mouth. Quiet. He sticks his index finger out and circles it, indicating a ‘look around’ gesture. Something catches his eyes. He goes into the brush to get a closer look, but not before he points to another guard to join him. The others wait on the main trail.
A couple of horses without their riders come barreling through, nearly sending their own horses off in a frenzy. The guard gets a closer look and is shocked at the sight. More than ten soldiers are impaled into the tree with long, deadly arrows. He grabs his gun to shoot but is stopped as an arrow inexplicably lodges through his neck and knocks him onto the ground.
Syrus quickly loads another arrow and lets it fly. It pierces the man through his sternum, knocking him cleanly off the horse and onto the ground. He cries out. The other guards hear his cries and venture further in.
As they turn the corner, Syrus lines up his sites on three riders. This shot will be easy compared to the shots on the watchtowers. He keeps his hand dead steady, holds his breath and let the arrows fly. The volley of arrows instantly finds their mark, so quick it appears the soldiers inexplicably grow an arrow in themselves.
The first arrow penetrates through the soldier’s neck, sending out a gush of crimson, staining everything. The startled horse whines, rears up on its haunches, and inadvertently drops the dead rider. The second arrow
pierces the torso of the man next to him.
He tries to cry out in mortal terror and excruciating pain but is stopped as his lung has been devastated. He is incapable of drawing breath. Soundlessly, he tries to remove the deadly arrow, fails, swoons and falls off his horse. He is dead the second he hits the ground.
The third arrow finds the mark of the other rider that is next to him, penetrating his back and severing his spinal cord. Unable to feel anything below his legs, he cries out in mortal, helpless terror. The horse is also startled and whines in protest, knocking the man from him. Unable to stop himself, he hits the ground face-first on a rock, causing massive brain hemorrhaging and killing him.
The remaining riders are now on full alert and begin to look around for the culprits. Some men began to fire their guns aimlessly, hoping to get lucky with one of their shots. “Stop your firing!” cries the Lieutenant. Domithicus shrewdly set up a hyper-ocular device on a perch that was set up on an incline.
As to be expected, the soldiers glimpse it and believe they found their aggressor’s position. “Look, there. There he is! Fire!” The soldiers begin to fire successive rounds at their would-be culprit but to no avail. With the volley of arrows stopped though, they believed they might have killed the aggressor. “I think we might have got ‘em, lads!”
The Lieutenant speaks too soon. The brief pause is all the time that Syrus needs to put another set of arrows in his bow channel. He lets them fly. All but one of the arrows find their mark and three soldiers are knocked from their horses with gaping, mortal wounds. Syrus crawls out of the thicket, careful not to give away his position. A couple of soldiers sense his movement and retaliate with gunfire in his general direction.
Other soldiers join in the melee. Atticus, flanking them from ahead, draws his guns, almost preternaturally fast. His mark is true and deadly. In a span of less than seven seconds, he fires close to fifteen rounds. Several soldiers drop from their horses. Some have no time to fire their own guns in retaliation. The survivors try in vain to retaliate, but the inability to see their foes costs them their lives. They are thrown from their horses with gaping, cavernous chest and neck wounds while blood gushes and drains their lives. Atticus reloads in seconds, while Domithicus, from the southern slope, begins to open fire with extreme rapidity. The soldiers don’t have a chance.
One soldier’s confusion leads to his demise. In response to the death of several of his comrades, he begins to fire in one direction. When gunfire erupts in the other direction, he responds by firing in that directions. With gun in hand, he turns to fire on the northern slope but is blindsided by a bullet that penetrates his neck, causing unabated blood flow. Another shot pierces his gut and he is violently expelled from his horse. He chokes on his own blood and dies in seconds, the most agonizing of his short life.
Only one soldier survives the initial assault. He makes a hasty retreat. It is short-lived. Atticus reloads his speed-shooter, takes aim and finds his mark in the soldier’s head. The man drops off the horse and is dead as he hits the ground.
The Brethren re-converge. Domithicus looks at Syrus, Atticus and Savelle. “I don’t believe that was as quiet as Merlin hoped for, Brothers.” Atticus and Syrus look at each other and suddenly burst out in laughter. Atticus is quick to remind them of their task at hand. “Well done, Brothers, but we have much more work ahead of us.”
“Ai,” says Atticus. “Let us be about our way.”
(2)
Germanicus takes his crew to the ridgeline of the western encampment and begins the task of setting the charges, twenty-five in all. Merlin had not articulated his exact plan. None was needed. Germanicus knows the mind of his leader almost as well as he knows his own, at least as it concerns tactical warfare. First, they will disrupt their communication network, cutting off the ability to gather intelligence.
They will use diversionary tactics to confuse the men, forcing them to act instinctively rather than strategically. They would be led to the traps the men set for them like lambs to the slaughter. Germanicus purposely makes his presence known and does not bother to cover his tracks. This was all part of the plan.
With the task of setting the charges completed, Germanicus waits for the security patrol. Jamison and Ithicus set up counter-point on the opposing hillhock to intercept retreaters. They are not taking back any prisoners and none will be spared. Justinian and Cotteroy wait in the thicket to draw the fire of the security patrol in their direction, giving Germanicus ample time to open fire and flank them from the southwest corridor. The wolves hide in the thicket.
Germanicus hears the hoof steps of a large party. The security patrol is arriving. Within a couple of minutes, the group comes into view. Germanicus pulls out his long rifle to dispatch the highest-ranking officer of the group. He will be more than likely a First Lieutenant. Merlin modified the long rifle with a hyper-ocular device to allow for maximum viewing capabilities. He soon finds his mark and is about to fire when a distant sound of gunfire echoes through the ridge. Dammit. Merlin ordered them to be quiet.
The First Lieutenant and his men turn their heads in response. Germanicus knows not everything goes according to plan, but he hoped the plan would not have deviated yet. It was no matter. He had his orders. Lining up his sites for the Lieutenant, he holds his breath and squeezes the trigger. The effects are instantaneous. The forty-caliber shot from the long-rifle penetrates and shatters the man’s skull. Brain matter, blood and gore splatter everything and everyone within a ten-yard radius. His brain literally explodes.
The soldiers return fire in the general direction of the attack, unable to pinpoint their foe exactly. They break formation.
This is the signal Justinian and Cotteroy are waiting for. With the commanding officer dispatched and the confusion that follows, they emerge from behind a set of trees. Pulling their speed shooters with mind-boggling speed, they begin to open fire on the group. In only seconds, several bullets find their marks.
Riders are gunned down viciously where they sit, unable to respond by reaching for their own shooters. Bullets tear through chest, shoulders, abdomens, neck and heads with dizzying speed and methodical ruthlessness.
One soldier had enough time to grasp onto his shooter, but is shot in the hand, causing him to cry out in excruciating pain. As he reaches for his other shooter, he is blindsided by a deadly shot to the head, which pierces his skull and severs an artery in his brain. He swoons, falls from his horse and dies the second he hits the ground.
Soldiers fan out in order to surround the aggressors, commanded by the next highest officer. Germanicus is prepared for this. He has the officer in his crosshairs and fires a deadly bullet to the head, cutting off his orders for good. Justinian and Cotteroy return to the obscurity of a large bumble bush and are immediately pursued.
With guns blazing in retaliation, the men follow. The bush cannot accommodate the horses, so the men are forced to get off their horses and venture into it on foot. The soldiers in the troupe began to fire in the direction of Germanicus, who continually moves himself to thwart his enemies’ knowledge of his whereabouts. They fire in his general direction but none are close to their mark. The large number of shots causes some wild ones to approach perilously close to where he sits. He cringes in response.
“Hold your fire!” barks one of the officers. As the soldiers who are pursuing Justinian and Cotteroy venture into the bush, they keep their guns ready at the helm, preparing to fire at anything that catches their attention. Unbeknownst to them, Justinian and Cotteroy begin to emerge on the other side.
As they emerge, Justinian produces his dog whistle and blows the ‘A’ chord three quick bursts.
Their wolves, Celek and Linamus have their respective targets in site and now await the first sound of gunfire. When it is heard, the men in the thicket will be forced to react to the gunfire. They must take notice.
Justinian and Ithicus load up their three guns while slowly circumventing the bush. Each speed shooter holds twelve bullets, whic
h means that they will have a total of thirty -six shots. It will be more than sufficient. As fortune would have it, the morning fog had not entirely dissipated and they are still obscured from a large distance of several yards or more.
With dizzying speed, they pull their guns and begin to fire on the soldiers. There is little they can do as bullets penetrate through their skulls and chest, severing arteries and shattering vital organs. Blood, brains and gore explode in a savage display of epic proportions.
Some men break rank and make a hasty retreat to escape the inevitable death that awaits them. Germanicus pops up on a tree stump perch and begins to pick off the stragglers with a deadly efficiency. Those who attempt to escape are obliterated in a volley of high caliber bullets shattering their bodies in an eruption of bloody gore.
Body parts are obliterated. Limbs are savagely strewn from ligaments and tendons are incapable of holding them together. Mercy is mere luck as those who are shot in the head die immediately. Those whose limbs are shattered or who are expelled from their horses with excruciating gut shots are left to die on the ground, choking on their own blood, in a pool of their own vomit, shit and piss.
Germanicus notes several soldiers avoid the bloodshed with their hasty retreat. It doesn’t matter. Jamison and Ithicus will make quick work of them. His suspicions are confirmed a couple of minutes later when gunshots reverberate throughout the ridge.
The soldiers who pursued Justinian and Cotteroy are not spared either. The wolves surreptitiously crept up on their prey. When the gunfire ensued, the men naturally react by turning in the direction of the gunfire. This was all the time the wolves need.
The Brotherhood of Merlin Page 15