David Robbins - Spartan Run

Teucer hadn’t budged.

“Get in here!” Blade bellowed.

Several of the soldiers were in the process of unlimbering their automatic weapons.

“Just getting some air,” Teucer quipped, and let fly, his right hand a blur as he fired one, two, three arrows in rapid succession. The shafts sped true, and the Spartans in the act of employing their guns toppled. Teucer rotated and quickly clambered into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut just as a soldier ran from the east and swung a sword, the steel edge glancing off the virtually indestructible plastic. “The natives are a bit restless. I suggest we haul butt.”

Blade started the SEAL and threw the gearshift into reverse. Outside, King Agesilaus raved insanely and more soldiers poured from the palace.

Some opened fire, their rounds ricocheting off the van with high-pitched whines. Blade tramped on the accelerator and the SEAL hurtled rearward.

Spinning the wheel, he executed a semicircle, then shifted again and made for the gravel road.

“We must reach the barracks,” Captain Chilon stated urgently.

“Why?” Blade asked. “What’s going on?” He gazed into the rearview mirror and saw Spartans piling into the four jeeps.

“You and your friends have been caught in the middle of a power grab.

Agesilaus is trying to take complete control of Sparta.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Blade said, scanning the pedestrians crowding the sidewalks that lined the square. So far none had displayed any hostility.

“This has happened twice before, many years ago. Each time the would-be dictator was defeated,” Chilon disclosed. “Frankly, I expected Agesilaus to make his move a long time ago. He probably decided to act now because he wants to prevent Sparta from joining the Federation at all costs.”

“What difference does joining make?” Blade asked while exiting the square and speeding westward, the huge tires spewing gravel and dust in the SEAL’s wake.

“I’m just guessing, but I’d say he’s afraid the Federation would intervene if he tried to take control afterward.”

“Then the joke is on him. A clause in the treaty prevents Federation factions from interfering in the internal affairs of other members.”

“Really? Well, whatever his reason, Agesilaus has gone over the brink and blood will flow until he’s stopped.”

“What will you do now?”

“I must get King Dercyllidas to the barracks where his bodyguard contingent is housed. They’ll protect him.”

“His bodyguard contingent? I thought there are three hundred Spartans assigned to safeguard both kings,” Blade said. He took a curve as tightly as possible and glanced in the mirror.

The four jeeps, intermittently visible through the swirling dust, were roaring in pursuit.

“True, but each king selects one hundred and fifty men for the royal bodyguard. In effect, each king controls half of the contingent. Those who were picked by Agesilaus will back him to the death, and the same goes for those who owe their position to King Dercyllidas.”

“What about the rest of the army and the Spartan people? Which king will they help?”

“Neither.”

“What?”

“The regular army and the populace at large won’t intervene. Custom dictates that the kings decide this between themselves.”

“And what about the judges everyone keeps talking about, the Ephors? Do they have any power? Can they influence the outcome?”

“In a word, no. The Lawgivers tried to improve on ancient Sparta’s constitution by incorporating certain changes into ours. Unlike the Ephors in the early Sparta, ours have only judicial powers. Even though all five might prefer Dercyllidas over Agesilaus, they won’t attempt, to intervene. Agesilaus is crazy enough to have them slain on the spot.”

Blade passed an intersection, narrowly missing two Helots who were scurrying to get out of the SEAL’s path. “Every Spartan must know that Agesilaus has gone off the deep end. Why haven’t they deposed him?”

“Such an act would be unthinkable. Spartans are raised from infancy to be loyal citizens. They pride themselves on their dedication to Sparta and the principles underlying the foundation of our city-state. For a Spartan, even the mere thought of disobedience is unconscionable.”

Frowning, Blade glanced at the pedestrians on both sides of the road.

“Are you telling me they’d rather be ruled by a madman than revolt?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Blade shook his head in astonishment. What manner of people were these Spartans? He looked in the mirror once more and spotted the jeeps, now less man 40 yards behind the transport and slowly gaining. “Where are the barracks you mentioned?”

“Almost on the outskirts of the city. The troops are billeted there in case of an attack, so they can be called up and into formation at a moment’s notice,” Captain Chilon said. “Look for a side street on the left. There will be a long, narrow building adjacent to the street.”

“Are Agesilaus’s men in the same barracks?”

“No. They’re in a building on the other side of this road.”

“So the contingents are right across from each other?”

“Yes.”

“Terrific,” Blade muttered, and checked on their pursuers again. Only 30 yards and closing.

Unexpectedly, King Dercyllidas coughed and spoke. “Blade, I want to thank you for your aid.”

Captain Chilon bent over the slumped monarch. “Don’t talk, my liege. You must stay still until I’ve summoned a doctor.”

“I’m a Spartan king,” Dercyllidas stated, straightening slowly. “I won’t be coddled.”

“These guys give new meaning to the word tough,” Teucer interjected.

“All of you must leave as soon as you can,” Dercyllidas said. “Drop me off here, if you like, and depart in safety.”

“No can do,” Blade responded.

“Why not?” the ruler asked weakly, his left hand pressed to his chest.

“Because I intend to drop you off at the barracks where your bodyguards are housed. You wouldn’t be safe anywhere else.”

“You must leave,” Dercyllidas insisted. “If anything happens to you, the Federation will blame us. For the sake of my people, this mustn’t happen. I don’t want to jeopardize Sparta’s chances of joining.”

“I can appreciate your concern,” Blade noted, his eyes on the road ahead, seeking the barracks. “But look at this situation from my perspective. I believe the Spartans would make great allies. But if Agesilaus prevails, he’ll never sign the treaty. Sparta won’t be able to join the Federation until after he dies. I’d prefer to hasten his demise.” He paused. “It’s in the Federation’s best interests if we help you out.”

“This isn’t your fight.”

“Wrong. It became our fight the second Agesilaus tried to have us killed. If he wants us for enemies, he’s got us.”

King Dercyllidas glanced from the giant to the man in black, then at the bowman. “I am deeply in your debt.”

“Save your gratitude,” Teucer said. “If you’re not alive when this is all over, you won’t owe us a thing.”

Blade looked in the mirror at the thick cloud of smoke behind them.

Where were the jeeps? he wondered, and moments later received an answer.

The dust briefly parted, revealing a jeep not ten yards off. A Spartan was leaning out the passenger side, his arm extended.

It took Blade a second to realize the soldier held a hand grenade.

Blade turned the wheel sharply to the left, causing the SEAL to slew wildly. He regained control and saw the jeep still ten yards away, riding on the right side of the road. Apparently the driver planned to draw closer and then the other soldier would throw the grenade. Sixty feet beyond the first vehicle was the rest of the pack.