by Sam Barone
“Bring a bandage for the King,” Chandra called out.
Eskkar glanced at his bodyguard, and saw Chandra swaying on his feet, a bloody gash on his left arm. “Where’s Pekka?”
Chandra shook his head. “He went down with an arrow in his mouth.”
Eskkar grimaced, too tired even to swear at Pekka’s demise. A good man who had served his Lord faithfully for many years.
Hamati, one of the lead bowmen, moved to Eskkar’s side. “Let me clean your sword, My Lord.”
Numbly, Eskkar let Hamati take the weapon from his grasp. Someone handed him a water skin, and Eskkar drank deeply, then splashed water on his face. By then he’d caught his breath.
Alexar and Drakis moved up and down the ranks, steadying their men, and shouting out words of praise for the bravest. Their subcommanders ordered their men, in groups of ten and twenty, back behind the lines to refresh themselves from the water skins.
That water, carried by brute strength up into the Pass from the spring thirty miles distant, now proved its value. The thirsty Akkadians gulped down as much as they could hold, then returned to their positions, permitting another detachment to follow their example.
By the time the sweating men had quenched their thirst, and resupplied themselves with new spears or more arrows, most had recovered their determination. In spite of their losses, the Akkadians had once again driven back the enemy.
Nevertheless, everywhere Eskkar gazed, he saw exhausted men. The archers and spearmen, their arms numb with fatigue, dropped to the ground and tried to catch their breath. The close-in fighting had continued far too long, and hundreds of Akkadians were down, dead or wounded. The Elamites had nearly broken through.
Eskkar watched as men fell to their knees. Others leaned on their swords or spears for support. Those most tired or injured lay prostrate, too weak even to lift their heads. Some of the Akkadian dead lay in mounds two or three high. Alexar’s infantry had been forced to tread on the dead and wounded from both sides in order to come to grips with their enemy. Looking down the slope, Eskkar saw even higher piles of enemy dead.
“Get the commanders.” Eskkar needed to take a deep breath before he could shout the order. “Clear the battlefield of our dead.”
The fight might have ended for now, but much remained before anyone could dare relax. The Elamites could renew the assault at any moment.
However Modran’s soldiers had received a brutal mauling, and were in no mood for a second attack. After a careful study of the discouraged Elamites, many still gasping for breath on their knees, Eskkar realized that the fighting had indeed ended for the day. The second battle of the Dellen Pass was over, and his Akkadians still held the Pass.
Chapter 31
From his perch high on the cliff wall, Shappa had enjoyed a clear view of the approaching Elamites and the defending Akkadians. In the battle of Isin, he’d fought on the level plain, and in the confusion of every battlefield, seen only the massed troops of the enemy horsemen opposing him. Today, however, the incredible sight of the invaders moving up the slope held his attention, until the first flight from Mitrac’s archers snapped into the sky.
Never before had Shappa commanded so many men, not even at the Battle of Isin. Once again, the King was relying on Shappa’s force of boys and young men to hold back a much larger enemy force. Nevertheless, the piles of boulders and jumble of ledges gave his lightly armed force an advantage.
The enemy, taller and stronger, armed with sword or spear, and burdened by shield or armor would have to clamber over and around those rocks if they wished to come to grips with their foes. And with only one hand free, the danger of slipping and falling would beset the attackers.
Shappa’s slingers and bowmen, partially protected by the cliffs, would unleash a storm of stones and arrows at any Elamites attempting to move through the rubble at the base of the cliff. Nor could the attackers simply hold their shields to the front as they crawled over and around the boulders.
Shappa had men stationed at every level, some clinging to their high perches near the top of the cliffs. Projectiles would strike the Elamites from above as well as from the front. And launched from the heights, they would hit home with even more force.
He and his fighters had heard the King’s speech. Most of Shappa’s men had families and kin in Akkad, and every one of Eskkar’s words had struck a chord in their hearts. More important, the slingers trusted King Eskkar. If he declared that the enemy must be fought here and now to protect the city, then here they would fight, to the last man if necessary, to hold back the Elamites.
Shappa turned his gaze back toward the enemy, and studied them as they advanced through the arrow storm. Soon he could pick out his own foes, a block of men carrying shields and bows and heading his way, their faces turned not toward the battle line, but toward the cliff face.
While the enemy would hurl the brunt of his forces at Eskkar’s spearmen, Shappa saw that at least two thousand men would attempt to flank the Akkadian line by scrambling through the jumble of rocks and spires where Shappa had placed his men.
When the Elamites reached the start of the boulders, they turned to their right and into the rocks. They intended to force their way through the obstacles and attack Eskkar’s rear. While the main thrust of the enemy would fall upon the lines of spearmen, enough enemy fighters to turn the tide of the battle were crawling through the rocks and spires, determined to brush aside Shappa’s force of six hundred lightly armed men.
All the same, Shappa and his men were ready. Two hundred were armed with the small bows, smaller even than those carried by the Akkadian cavalry. At long range, the shafts would strike with little force, but close up and in these rocks, at distances of twenty or thirty paces, the arrows would be effective enough.
And for Eskkar’s purposes, a wound would be just as good as kill. An injured enemy wouldn’t be likely to continue advancing over and around boulders, carrying a shield and his weapons. Fortunately, the supply porters had delivered plenty of the small arrows Shappa’s bowmen required.
The rest of Shappa’s men carried their slings, two lengths of plaited leather attached to a pouch. And while his slingers might lack the brute strength of Mitrac’s archers, Shappa knew his men could whirl the sling and hurl a stone or bronze bullet hard enough to take down a man.
In addition, all his men carried their long, slightly curved knives. These blades, made from the finest bronze and sharpened to a keen edge, were intended to slash an opponent. They could hamstring a charging horse or man with equal ease. Against an enemy armed with shield and sword, if it came to that, Shappa’s men would have to rely on their speed and agility, striking quickly and darting away.
Like the rest of Eskkar’s army, Shappa’s slingers had plenty of water and projectiles for their weapons. They had chosen their places with care, and those on the heights could fight without exposing much of their body. His second in command, Markesh, led the two hundred and fifty men who would meet the Elamites on the ground. Shappa commanded the remaining three hundred and fifty, who would strike from the cliff wall.
The clash of arms filled the Pass with the sounds of battle, as the Elamites finally reached Eskkar’s lines. But Shappa only had time for a brief glance in that direction. His own enemy was upon him. He could see them, twisting and climbing their way through the ruins of broken cliff wall and boulders.
“Markesh!” Shappa cupped to hand to his mouth, to make sure his words carried to the men below. “They’re coming!”
Markesh lifted his head, and waved acknowledgement.
Shappa saw the men below preparing themselves for the onslaught. His own men needed no warning. Heads peering from behind their protective rocks and boulders, they could see the Elamites for themselves. The slingers now waited for Shappa’s command.
He dropped a bronze ball into his sling’s pouch, then took one more look at his men. They were ready enough. Shappa moved to the side of the boulder that sheltered him, and flung the bullet to
ward the enemy.
“Now! Target the bowmen. Kill them all!” Shappa’s voice broke at the last word, but his men understood well enough.
A hail of stones from above and arrows struck the Elamites scrambling toward Eskkar’s flank. Many missed their mark, the missiles clattering or shattering against the boulders. When the bullets impacted a hard surface dead on, a puff of dust marked the spot.
A competent slinger could launch ten or twelve stones in the time a man could count to sixty, and much faster than most men could work a bow. Those men using slings exposed little of themselves as they worked their weapons, while the bowmen had to stand more in the open to aim and loose their shafts.
The savagery of the attack caught the Elamites by surprise. Their swords were useless until they could close with their enemy. Most raised their shields to protect themselves from the deluge of missiles. Shappa heard the Elamite soldiers shouting for their archers to kill the slingers and stop the barrage.
But the enemy bowmen, while more potent with their weapons, found it difficult to use them on the uneven ground, or even from behind the shelter of the boulders. Any Elamite who dared to show himself drew the attention of every slinger and archer above them.
While the slingers clinging to their perches kept the enemy bowmen from loosing their shafts at those on the rocks walls, the Akkadians at the base of the cliff prevented any of their foes from advancing. Leaning out from behind a boulder to loose a shaft, or stepping into the open for the briefest moment to hurl a stone, the devastating projectiles of Shappa’s men halted the Elamite advance.
Shappa heard little of the brutal fighting the Akkadian spearmen engaged in. He concentrated his attention on the cramped battlefield below him. When he could, he shouted orders to his men, telling them again and again to target anyone who appeared to give orders, or those brave enough to lead the way through the rocks.
Most of the time, however, Shappa couldn’t make himself heard above the battle din. Arrows soon broke against the rocks all around him. The Elamites, too, had picked out the man giving orders and tried to bring Shappa down.
But his men, well trained and quick as cats on their feet, needed little direction. Anyone who moved was targeted, the stones raining down from the slingers even faster than those of Shappa’s archers.
Though a flung stone usually needed to strike an opponent’s head to be immediately fatal, a hit to any part of the body brought plenty of pain, and slowed the soldier’s movement. And a bullet shattering a shin or elbow, cracking a rib, or reaching a man’s groin, put an enemy out of the fight almost as well as a head shot.
The enemy wounded added to the confusion. Instead of remaining in place, many of them tried to retreat, which only slowed the Elamites still struggling forward. Even so, no matter how fast Shappa’s men rained death down on their enemies, the sheer number of Elamite bowmen finally came into play.
Shappa saw his own companions toppling from the cliffs, to fall twenty or thirty paces to the jumbled rocks below. Nevertheless, those enemy soldiers who worked their bows or lifted their shields left themselves exposed to Markesh’s men. Arrows struck the bellies and thighs of the Elamite soldiers. For a time, they continued to fight, exchanging shafts with Shappa’s men, but that, too, stopped.
At last, the advance halted. The enemy foot soldiers huddled behind any shelter they could find, any boulder large enough to protect themselves, until they could scramble away from the deadly cliffs. Hunched over, they fled back over the obstacles that had slowed them down and left them vulnerable to the rain of death from above. Their dead and wounded lay scattered behind them, many hanging face down from the boulders.
At first Shappa’s men cheered at the enemy retreat, but then Shappa heard the sound of the battle raging below, as Eskkar’s spearmen were locked in deadly embrace with the flood of advancing Elamites. For a moment, Shappa stared open mouthed at the sight. Men struggled face to face, killing and thrusting, screaming and shouting. He saw Alexar’s infantry line, the Akkadian left flank, start to sag, and realized with horror that the Elamites would soon break the thin line of Akkadian spearmen.
“Markesh! Markesh! Target the enemy! We have to slow their attack!”
His subcommander glanced up, a grin on his face. Shappa gestured to the main battle line. It took Markesh only a moment to grasp the situation. Shappa turned to his slingers and started shouting orders, but they had already seen what needed to be done.
They raced nimbly over the rocks until they reached positions where they could attack the Elamite main force. Soon stones and projectiles hurled through the air, aimed high, and targeting the enemy soldiers just behind the front line. The rain of bronze bullets and small arrows, coming from the rocks, caught the Elamites by surprise.
Even at a distance, the missiles carried death and injury. With so many men jammed shoulder to shoulder, nearly every stone or shaft struck some part of an enemy’s body.
The Elamites tried to lift their shields, but found them pressed tight against the back of the soldiers in front of them. Some managed to wrench their shields loose and raise them up, but they provided little protection.
In moments, thousands of bronze bullets from Shappa’s nearly six hundred fighters had been hurled into the mass of Elamites. The unexpected attack from above unnerved the enemy. They slowed their advance and tried to step back, away from the hail of death.
Shappa, dropping stones into his pouch and hurling them with all his strength, saw the attack weaken on Eskkar’s left flank. The slight reprieve enabled the Akkadians on the battle line to recover. With a shout, Alexar’s spearmen, reinforced by the archers and Muta’s men, drove the Elamites backward.
Once the movement to the rear began, the entire line was affected. Elamites in the center glanced to their right, and saw their comrades retreating. The enemy soldiers in the front ranks couldn’t see just how precarious the Akkadian position had become. Even those who had fought their way nearly through Alexar’s men started to retreat, fearful that the stones would soon rain down upon them.
Now the middle ranks of Elamites, despite being out of range and untouched by the slingers, also started to move to the rear. With the pressure of Eskkar’s left flank eased, the Akkadian bowmen plied their weapons, aiming into the center of the invaders.
The attack faltered, and in the space of a few moments, thoughts of retreat swept over the Elamite front line. And once they started moving back down the slope, nothing could stop the frightened men, not the commands of their leaders or even the large number of Elamites still uninvolved in the fight.
Shappa and his men kept hurling stones for as long as they could, until the enemy moved out of range. Exhausted, Shappa slumped to the ground, breathing hard. His right arm, despite its powerful muscles, trembled. The sound of his men cheering lifted his head. The enemy was in retreat, and once again, Shappa and his force of slingers had done their part.
Midafternoon came before Eskkar could sit down with his commanders. The battle gods had spared all of his senior men from death, though several had taken wounds. By the time they assembled to take stock, the Akkadian battle line had been cleared of its dead, the wounded moved to the rear, and fresh stocks of arrows and spears distributed to the men.
The slingers had scrambled all over the battlefield, recovering their precious bronze bullets and smooth stones. Their efforts to support the left flank had nearly consumed their supply of projectiles.
“How many spearmen did we lose?” Eskkar directed the question at Alexar.
“Close to a thousand dead, or wounded and unable to fight.” Alexar had a thick bandage wrapped around his right thigh, and blood spatter covered his tunic.
Eskkar turned to Mitrac. “How many?”
“Seven hundred and sixty,” Mitrac said. He too, had blood on his head. An arrow had brushed his ear, ripping through the fleshy part, and a red tendril still dripped down onto his tunic. “Muta lost another hundred and sixty.”
“Shappa?”
“One hundred and twenty dead or wounded, Captain,” Shappa said. “Most of those died when we moved out onto the ledges to turn our weapons on the main force of Elamites. We were exposed to the Elamite bowmen.”
The number of dead slingers would have been much higher, if Mitrac’s archers had not decimated their Elamite counterparts. “Your men turned the tide, Shappa,” Eskkar said. “I think the Elamites were about to overrun us.”
Eskkar turned to the scribe seated on the ground just behind him. “How many dead is that?”
“Two thousand, one hundred, My Lord.”
Eskkar forced his mind to consider the toll. Almost a third of his army was dead or unable to fight. A devastating number, and there would be more fighting. “And the enemy losses?”
“Our men are still counting and collecting weapons, My Lord,” Zerla said, “but it seems that we killed at least six thousand.” The senior clerk had to clear his voice. “We wounded who knows how many more.”
The number of wounded in a battle usually equaled the number killed, Eskkar knew. “How many men do the Elamites have left?”
The scribe glanced down at his slate. “At least three thousand dead or wounded in the first assault, and another eight or nine thousand today . . . the enemy likely has at least eighteen thousand men able to fight.”
The Elamites had endured a second bloody defeat, but they had nearly broken through. Only the quick thinking of Shappa and his men’s bravery had turned the tide today. When the Elamites returned, they would have archers ready to sweep the ledges, and probably an even larger force of men determined to push their way through the rocks.
No one spoke. The numbers told their own story. They all knew Modran still had more than enough men to break through the Akkadians’ defenses. With so many dead or wounded, the remaining Akkadians would not be able to withstand another frontal attack.