by Sam Barone
It didn’t matter. The last of the water had gone to the women and children yesterday morning, with only a mouthful for each of the men, and none for the horses for the rest of the day. That meant they must attack today. By midday lack of water would have so weakened the Ur Nammu fighters and their horses that they would be practically helpless.
Gripping his lance, Sargon sat on his horse and waited.
A glance at the moon told Sargon that dawn approached. Already the blackness of the eastern sky had lessened. He wondered just how much of the dawn he would live to see. At least today would prove his father wrong. No matter how hard and long Sargon had trained and practiced the skills of war, he was going to end up just as dead as Subutai and the others.
At the other end of the hilltop, Fashod strung his bow. He would strike the first blow in the coming battle. By attacking down the hill, he hoped to convince the Carchemishi that the expected breakout would take place here.
If Fashod could cause enough of the invaders to rush to his position, it might help Subutai break through. Of course, the better Fashod attracted the enemy’s attention, the sooner he and his men would be overwhelmed and killed.
Fashod didn’t worry about that. He’d faced death before. Now all that remained was a warrior’s duty to his Sarum, and in that Fashod did not intend to fail.
He took one last look around. His men stood ready. Darkness still covered the land, but a glance toward the eastern sky told him it was time to go. He leaned over the crest. Since Fashod and his little group had scaled the hill at this point, the enemy had stationed more soldiers here.
“Fashod! What is that?” One of his men moved beside Fashod. In the faint moonlight, he could just make out the man’s arm, extended and pointing to the north.
It took a moment before Fashod spotted it. Up in the hills, a tiny glow had appeared, deep in one of the ridges. Fashod stared for a moment, to make sure it was real. It had to be a very small fire, little more than a handful of sticks, but at night even the smallest of flames could be seen over long distances.
And positioned high on a cleft deep between two ridges, the fire would be difficult to see from the base of the hill. In a few more moments, the early light of dawn would overpower the feeble flames. Even if the Carchemishi could or had seen it, it would mean little to them, perhaps just a small party camping in the hills.
Fashod, however, understood its meaning. He turned to his subcommander. “Keep ten men here, to guard the ascent. The rest of you, come with me!”
Without waiting for acknowledgement, he burst into a run, heading for the other side of the hill, where Subutai impatiently awaited the sounds of Fashod’s charge down the hill. But that attack must not happen, not now. He had to tell Subutai. The Alur Meriki were coming.
Fashod had never run so hard in his life, racing across the top of the hill, dodging the occasional woman or wandering horse, weaving his way across the summit until he reached Subutai’s side.
“The Alur Meriki are coming!” Fashod had to pause to take a gulp of air. “They must be close. I saw the signal fire. We must wait for their attack.”
Two miles away and across the plain from the Ur Nammu refuge, Bekka led his horse up the side of a sheltering gully. He found Unegen there, waiting.
“Is this the place?” Bekka growled the words. He didn’t want to reveal how tired he felt. His feet burned from the long walk, and his legs ached with every step.
“Yes, Sarum,” Unegen said. “We’ve reached the plain.”
Bekka took a deep breath, then swung himself onto his horse. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but he would not show weakness in front of his men, not even Unegen.
Instead Bekka glanced up at the moon, now sinking toward the horizon, before turning his gaze on the eastern sky. Dawn approached, and he thanked the gods for letting him reach his destination. He could not have walked much farther.
“Lead the way.” Bekka settled himself on his horse, and made sure his sword slid easily in its scabbard. Already he felt stronger. His mount was weary, too, but Bekka knew it had just enough stamina left for one final charge.
He followed Unegen, both men prodding their horses to a fast walk. It would take some time for all the warriors to climb out of the gully, mount their horses, ready their weapons, and take their positions.
Everyone had rested during the early part of the night, but just before midnight, the Alur Meriki chief had led his warriors, on foot and guiding his horse, the final nine or ten miles needed to reach this place. He’d wanted to favor his horses as much as he could, so that they would have something in reserve and could make the final approach at a full gallop.
His tired warriors had done what many would have considered impossible. They covered a vast distance in only a few days, and now would descend on an unsuspecting enemy. Hopefully the element of surprise, if Bekka could keep it, would be enough to make up for the superior numbers of the Carchemishi.
Bekka glanced behind him. As his fighters emerged from the ravine, they formed up, three or four abreast. Bekka wanted every man well clear of the ridge before they got too close. Only flat plain remained ahead, thin grass and good hard ground that would do little to impede men or horses.
He heard a horse scrambling its way toward him. Bekka frowned at the noise, until Den’rack pulled up alongside his Sarum.
“The signal fire is burning, Chief Bekka.”
Bekka twisted around and looked up at the hills, but he couldn’t see anything. He stared for a moment. There might be a glow against the upper ridges, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Let’s hope the Ur Nammu see it. And that the invaders don’t.” Not that it mattered any longer. The Alur Meriki were committed. They needed fresh horses, and the only place to get them lay ahead.
The slow pace grated on Bekka’s nerves. He wanted to move faster, but he resisted the urge. They’d arrived just in time, and could afford a few more moments to prepare. Finally Suijan, who’d been at the column’s rear, trotted over to join them. “The last of the warriors have cleared the ridge, Sarum.”
In the darkness, Bekka smiled at the formal title. It was the first time Suijan had used it. “Good. Take your position on the right. I’ll lead the center. You know what to do.”
Each of the chiefs had his assigned role. Bekka had worked out the plan last night around the campfire, when they’d finally stopped to rest the horses. Unegen had sketched a rough map in the dirt, and identified the landmarks. Every chief and leader of twenty knew his assignment.
Bekka picked up the pace, setting his horse to a trot. He guided his warriors toward the south first, angling away from the enemy camp. Bekka wanted to drive the invaders’ herd around the base of the hill, to overrun the ditch the Carchemishi had dug to keep the Ur Nammu warriors trapped on the hill. To accomplish that, his fighters had to approach from the south.
Keeping the horses at a trot, the warriors moved southward. The shift in direction didn’t take long. Soon Bekka, taking his lead from Unegen, turned his horse’s head toward the west and led the way in the direction of the enemy herd. Bekka’s fighters now took their position on him, fanning out on either side.
Ahead, Bekka saw a handful of small fires still burning, and he saw shadows shifting at the base of the plateau. No sentries had yet discovered the Alur Meriki. No doubt every eye was focused on the hill, waiting for the Ur Nammu’s attempt to break out. Meanwhile, no alarms had sounded yet, so Bekka took his time approaching. Behind him, his men drew up alongside, gradually forming a line on either side of their Sarum.
“You’re sure we’re heading toward the horse herd?” Bekka still couldn’t see them.
“Yes, Chief Bekka.” Unegen leaned toward his Sarum as he spoke. “My men confirmed that they bedded down the animals for the night in the same place.”
The warriors had now spread out into a line almost a quarter mile wide, just over eight hundred men moving to the attack.
Unegen marked the distance. “We’ve c
overed the first mile.”
Bekka nodded. He’d expected the Carchemishi to have discovered his approach by now. Every additional stride forward only gave his warriors more of an advantage. He glanced again over his shoulder and toward the east.
The sky seemed brighter over the eastern plain, as the pitch dark night grew lighter with each moment. Another quarter mile passed, and still no alarm. He’d never expected to draw this close without being spotted.
On both sides, Bekka heard the horses snorting and making noise. They sensed their riders’ excitement. Ahead, he could make out the enemy’s horse herd. Less than half a mile to go. Unegen had spoken the truth – a very large herd.
A few of the Carchemishi horses caught the scent of Bekka’s riders. Their whinnies sounded, giving warning. A handful of Alur Meriki animals responded. The enemy sentries must know something was wrong, but as yet they had no idea of the blow about to be delivered.
Step by step, the makeshift corral drew closer, until it was only a quarter mile ahead. Shouts from the sentries floated through the air, giving the first warning, but the Carchemishi would need time to react and form a battle line, time they did not have. Bekka knew his men wanted to rush forward, but he held the horses to a trot for another hundred paces.
A drum began to beat, a frantic pounding that sounded the alarm. The first rays of the sunlight shot up into the sky, the last of the darkness faded, and a swath of sunlight swept over the land. Up ahead, Bekka glimpsed men scurrying around, but it was far too late to organize any resistance.
He drew his sword and raised it high over his head, letting the rising sun glint off the bronze. Even without any commands, the well-trained warhorses began moving faster, the trot turning into a canter, and then to an easy gallop with little urging from their riders.
Bekka took a deep breath. “Attack!”
The whole line charged forward, as the warriors urged their mounts to their fastest speed. The ground beneath them shook and thundered from the horses’ hooves. The wailing war cry of eight hundred Alur Meriki sounded over the plain, a frightening sound that never failed to strike fear in their enemies. It took only a few heartbeats at the charge to bring his warriors within range of the already nervous herd.
“Let fly! Let fly!”
Bekka heard his order repeated, as the chiefs and leaders of ten drew within long bowshot. Launched from the back of a galloping horse, the shafts would fly almost twice as far.
The first flight of arrows arched high up into the air, aimed directly at the Carchemishi horse herd.
Eight hundred arrows slammed into the herd, far more than necessary to stampede the horses. The entire mass panicked, some driven wild by wounds, others by the scream of dying animals nearby, every one spooked by the pounding charge closing in upon them.
The rope corral collapsed. Guards on the far edge of the herd disappeared under a mass of frightened animals determined to escape an unknown but terrifying enemy. In moments, the panicked Carchemishi horses were at a full gallop with only one thought in their heads, to escape the unknown terror bearing down on them.
As they bolted, the right wing of Bekka’s line loosed another volley of arrows, to turn the herd and keep it as close as possible to the base of the hill. Not only would they overrun the ditch and stakes, but that was where most of the Carchemishi had taken their positions for the night.
More arrows, shot at a dead run, now sought out the mass of men struggling to find their weapons and prepare for battle. With so many invaders bunched together, nearly every shaft struck flesh. Cries of pain rose up into the air, mixing with the shouts of fear and panic that raced through the Carchemishi ranks. The alarm drum, if it still sounded, could no longer be heard over the din.
At this tactic, riding down masses of undisciplined or surprised men, the Alur Meriki had no equal. Arrows shot at close range brought down even more of the enemy, as Bekka’s men followed the bloody path churned by the stampeding horses’ hooves.
Bekka saw the frightened herd swerve to the left around the base of the plateau, the lead animals hurling themselves into the ditch. Some managed to jump the obstacles, but others crashed into the earth on the far side, adding their own wretched cries of panic to the noise of war.
More screams from wounded men and animals rose up into the early morning air. By now many of Bekka’s men had slowed their horses, to fall upon the injured or disoriented men staggering about. Some of his fighters had already exhausted their arrows, so fast had they shot their missiles at the enemy.
The stampeded horses, guided by the warriors on Bekka’s right flank, swept around the base of the hill, trampling everything and everyone in their path. Gaps appeared in the mass of animals, and Bekka could see men running about, all sense of organization lost. Pointing with his sword, he swept his force right at the largest group. Unegen rode at his side, both of them screaming their war cry.
Lances, either flung through the air or thrust downward at those hugging the ground took an even further toll. Swords, ripped from their scabbards, swung down, crunching through shields or upraised blades, and splattering bone and blood into the air. With the speed of the horse added to the rider’s muscles, no one could withstand such a blow.
Now the screams of men, dying or wounded, surpassed the thunder of the horses’ hooves. On foot, most of their weapons gone, and in complete disarray, the Carchemishi were easy prey for the savage warriors. The invaders still outnumbered Bekka’s horsemen, but they had no idea of how many had attacked them. The unending war cries of the Alur Meriki made them sound like twice their number.
Fear and confusion added to the rout. Many of the invaders threw down their weapons and ran. Others dropped to their knees, the sign of surrender, but the Alur Meriki had no time or inclination to take any captives. Some Carchemishi fought to the end. Others ran, only to be run down or hacked to pieces.
33
From the top of the plateau, Subutai had clear view of the Alur Meriki charge. He saw the white faces of the Carchemishi, caught in the rising sun, as they stared at the oncoming wave of horses. Many stood there, rooted to the earth, even as the panic-stricken horses charged toward them. Others ran about, bumping into each other in the confusion. Shouting and pushing, the frightened men searched for any escape.
At the foot of the slope where Subutai and his people had taken refuge, some of the Carchemishi whirled about and fought to make a stand. Four or five hundred of them abandoned their positions and ran for the safety at the base of the hill, dodging the horses and Alur Meriki warriors wielding bloody swords who galloped past.
As Subutai watched, the stakes that would have impaled his horses disappeared, knocked loose by the stampede. The ditch vanished, too, filled with dead or dying animals and soldiers driven into what had become a death pit. Shrieks of pain sounded everywhere, a never-ending uproar that grated on the nerves of even the most battle hardened fighters.
As the stampede unraveled the Carchemishi defenses, Subutai saw them making their stand with their backs to the hill. Well before the last of the horses had raced past the base of the hill, Subutai’s gave the order.
“Attack! Ride them down!”
The first wave of Ur Nammu horsemen tore down the hill at a reckless speed, careless of the steep slope. The warriors, screaming war cries as frightening as those of the Alur Meriki, descended on the invaders. The last of the stampeding horses ran by, but their departure brought the Carchemishi no relief.
Shooting arrows as they rode, the Ur Nammu warriors charged down. Each rider launched four or five shafts in the brief time it took to make the descent. Then swords slid out of scabbards as Subutai’s men slammed into the disorganized mass at the base of the slope. Even though the enemy still outnumbered the attacking warriors, the surviving Carchemishi, caught between the Alur Meriki and the Ur Nammu, had no chance against such an onslaught.
Many of Subutai’s warriors went down, losing their horses either to the ditch or to the invaders’ swords. For a b
rief moment, the enemy withstood the brutal attack on their rear. But already the second wave of Ur Nammu bore down on them.
Gripping the halter rope, Sargon kept his gaze fixed on Chinua, who restrained his warriors as long as he could. Subutai’s men had scarcely gotten halfway down the slope before Sargon heard the order.
“Attack!” Chinua kicked his horse into motion. “Aim for the gaps!”
The second wave burst into motion, following their leader down the incline. Sargon’s horse, as excited as any of the warriors, needed no command from its rider. It raced down the hill a length behind Garal’s.
Rumbling hooves thudded against the earth, blotting out any further words, as the second wave charged. At the same time, the Ur Nammu war cries, now rising up from three hundred warriors, created a sound unlike anything Sargon had ever heard.
He leaned forward, urging the horse onward, but he couldn’t close the gap and reach Garal’s side. All around him, Sargon glimpsed the warriors loosing their arrows as they rode recklessly to the attack, trusting to their horses to keep their footing on the steep slope.
Sargon added his voice to those of his companions, shouting meaningless words as loud as he could. During Sargon’s training, Garal had always insisted that Sargon give voice to a war cry as he attacked, though the idea had seemed foolish at the time. Now each war cry added to the frightening din hurling itself down the hill.
Suddenly the ground leveled, and Sargon felt the jolt up his spine as his horse scrambled to keep its footing at the base of the slope. Garal, still fitting and shooting his shafts, had found a narrow gap in Subutai’s line, a place where the enemy struggled to make a stand.