David Robbins - Spartan Run

“Too bad we can’t get behind them,” Teucer remarked.

“Who says we can’t?” Blade said and slammed on the air brakes, holding on tightly as the van screeched to an abrupt stop. He saw the lead jeep shoot past and floored the accelerator, hoping the other three jeeps wouldn’t smash into the rear of the transport.

Loud, shrill noises came from the rear, the squealing of brakes applied roughly, too roughly as the subsequent crash signified.

Blade concentrated on the jeep dead ahead, slanting the SEAL in directly behind it. He promptly flicked the silver toggle to the machine guns, and the twin big-fifties blasted and bucked, the rounds punching into the jeep’s tail and stitching a pattern of holes all over it.

Not a heartbeat later the jeep swerved to one side, then the other. The driver appeared to have lost his grip. For a full five seconds the vehicle veered back and forth until finally leaving the road entirely, angling up and over a sidewalk and ramming into a building. The gas tank ruptured, flames shot from under the hood, and a fireball engulfed the jeep and its occupants.

Blade gazed at the mirror. The dust completely obscured the road so he had no way of knowing if the remaining vehicles were still chasing the van.

“The barracks shouldn’t be too much farther,” Captain Chilon said.

“What will you do once we get there?”

“How do you mean?”

“Will you lead King Dercyllidas’s backers against the Agesilaus contingent?”

“I can’t. I’m not a member of the Three Hundred. The officer in charge will make the decision if the king is unable,” Chilon answered. “And he’s out again.”

Blade glanced back and found the monarch sagging against the captain. “Who is the officer in charge of Dercyllidas’s men?”

“That would be General Leonidas, one of the most widely respected of all Spartans. He was instrumental in staving off a large force of raiders a couple of years ago.”

“Then you trust him?”

“With my life.” They rode in anxious silence for less than a minute.

“There’s the side street!” Chilon cried.

Blade had already spotted it and the long structure, which was surrounded on three sides by a wide field. Spartan soldiers were everywhere; some were engaged in gymnastics; some were sparring; some were sharpening their swords; and some were simply conversing. He started to slow and looked to the right.

Almost an identical scene was on the other side of the road. The barracks building had been constructed a bit farther from the junction, and the level ground around it wasn’t quite as spacious, but there were scores of soldiers involved in similar activities.

“Neither contingent must know about the fight at the palace,” Rikki observed.

“No, Agesilaus hasn’t had time to inform his men and General Leonidas will hear the news from us,” Chilon stated.

Blade took the turn much faster than was safe, the tires sliding, the SEAL threatening to tip over.

“I’m glad I didn’t eat much breakfast,” Teucer said.

Twisting the steering wheel, Blade eased up on the brakes and drove toward a pair of wide doors situated at the north end of the barracks. The Spartans were all gazing in consternation at the transport. He brought the van to a full stop within 15 feet of the double doors and rolled down his window. “Is General Leonidas here?”

A nearby Spartan, who held a freshly sharpened sword in his right hand, answered curtly. “He is, stranger. What’s your business with him?”

“Get him,” Blade directed.

“A Spartan doesn’t take orders from an outsider.”

“Would you rather that your king died?”

“What?” the Spartan respond, taking a step.

“ Get General Leonidas!” Blade commanded in a voice that carried to all corners of the field.

Despite the soldier’s aversion to taking orders from outsiders, he’d been conditioned since early childhood to respond automatically to authority.

That conditioning now compelled him to hasten into the barracks. He instinctively recognized a genuinely authoritarian person when he met one, and the giant impressed him as being a man accustomed to being obeyed.

Blade glanced at the scores of Spartans all around, who were now moving toward the transport, then at Captain Chilon. “Stay put until I see what kind of reception we get.”

“Don’t you trust me?” the officer responded.

“You I trust. But I don’t know this Leonidas. Until I meet him, we’ll sit right where we are.”

Chilon smiled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were a Spartan.”

“I’m a Warrior. So are my friends.”

“Is that a title of some kind?”

“Yes. Eighteen Family members are selected to serve as guardians of the Home.”

“Blade is the head Warrior,” Teucer commented.

The officer nodded. “I would have expected as much.” He regarded each of them. “I saw all three of you in action back there, and I never thought I’d see the day where three outsiders could hold their own against Spartans. Each of you is extremely skilled.”

“We’ve had lots of practice,” Blade said, gazing at the barracks. No one had yet appeared. He checked the road, but there was no sign of the jeeps.

“There are a few things I need cleared up. What part will the secret police, the Crypteia, play in the power struggle?”

“None. Like the regular army, the police won’t interfere. You see, the Crypteia are recruited from the ranks of the army and the bodyguard contingent. Some favor King Dercyllidas, while others prefer Agesilaus.

And the man who controls the Crypteia, General Agis, toes a fine line of neutrality. He believes in maintaining a balance of power between the monarchs. There isn’t a man alive more devoted to Sparta than him.”

“Tell me this. During the fight the soldiers relied almost exclusively on their swords. They didn’t resort to their automatic weapons until we were getting into the van. Why?”

“They didn’t use their assault rifles or submachine guns on each other because it’s against the law for one Spartan to shoot another.”

“But the men who were defending Dercyllidas might have won if they’d used their guns.”

“Possibly. But none of them wanted to be permanently banished from Sparta should they do so. When Spartans have disputes, they’re required to settle their differences with swords or in hand-to-hand combat. Guns are strictly forbidden.”

“They tried to shoot us,” Blade noted.

“The three of you are outsiders. It’s perfectly legal so shoot outsiders and Helots.”

Teucer chucked. “Figures.”

“Wait a minute,” Blade said. “Does this mean the two sides will only use swords if they engage in a pitched battle?”

“Swords and spears.”

Blade looked at the barracks again, annoyed at not seeing anyone emerge. Where was General Leonidas? “Something else has been nagging at me. When Agesilaus attacked Dercyllidas there were twenty-four bodyguards with us. Yet almost two thirds sided with the madman. Why weren’t the soldiers evenly divided?”

Captain Chilon frowned. “They should have been. The law specifically calls for an equal number of bodyguards from each contingent to be on duty at all times. I suspect treachery. Agesilaus is renowned for his devious nature.”

“Do tell,” Blade said dryly, and at last saw several Spartans step from the barracks. He immediately took a liking to the soldier in the lead, a muscular man four or five inches over six feet in height and endowed with an imposing physique. The man’s helmet shimmered in the bright sunlight.

“I’m General Leonidas. Who are you and why do you want to see me?”

“Are you loyal to King Dercyllidas?” Blade asked bluntly.