David Robbins - Spartan Run

Now he was about to demonstrate once again the expertise that had earned him the respect of every other Warrior, the archery skill few men could ever hope to match. He saw one of the Spartans bearing down on the rear of the SEAL, evidently planning to race in close and toss a grenade, and he forced himself to stay still until the soldier came within 15 feet of the bumper. At the moment the Spartan pulled the pin and lifted the grenade overhead to toss it, Teucer leaned out, pulled the string on the 75-pound pull compound bow back to his ear, and loosed the shaft.

The green arrow was a blur as it flew straight and true, the hunting point boring into the Spartan’s chest, the impact jerking him backwards.

He lost his grip on the handlebars and toppled off the bike. At the very moment he struck the gravel the grenade detonated with a brilliant flash.

By then the transport had traveled another 40 feet.

The whomp of the concussion blasted a gust of hot air and stinging dirt particles into Teucer’s face, and he squinted and held on tight to the edge of the window. One down, but where was the other rider? Teucer knew the second Spartan could toss a grenade at any second. He also knew he couldn’t finish the man off if the soldier stayed on the far side of the van.

With the Commando and the AR-15, the Warriors had no way of nailing their foe. So there was only one thing to do. He slung the bow over his left arm, twisted, and reached overhead, straining his arms to the limit until his probing fingers touched the narrow, thin railing that ran around the entire roof. He gripped the rail, took a deep breath, and hauled himself out.

“What are you doing?” Blade called out.

As much as he would have liked to respond, Teucer had more pressing concerns. His legs dangled and banged against the SEAL’s body, and his shoulders were focal points of sheer torment. He must reach the roof, and rapidly.

“Teucer?” Blade shouted.

The bowman grunted and pulled his body gradually higher. While he possessed a muscular build, he wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as Blade.

Nor, for that matter, could he match Rikki in strength. The martial artist might be small, but he was all muscle.

“Teucer!” Blade roared.

Unable to respond, gritting his teeth against the pain, fighting the wind and the bucking of the transport, the bowman inched high enough to put his feet on the bottom of the window. The added support elicited a sigh of relief, and for a few seconds he clung there, gathering his energy.

From the rear rose the roaring of the motorcycle.

Teucer resumed his climb, bracing his elbows on the top and using his arms for added leverage. In moments he succeeded in drawing his legs onto the roof, and he simply slid onto his stomach and rose to his knees.

To his immediate left was one of the solar panels.

The noise of the dirt bike grew louder and louder.

Turning carefully, Teucer rose to a crouch and made his way to the back of the van. He kept low and risked a peek, unslinging the bow as he did.

Thirty feet away rode the second Spartan. From the grim set of his features, it was obvious he intended to ram the grenade right down the SEAL’s exhaust pipe.

Teucer slid an arrow from his quiver and notched it. He counted to three, calming his nerves, then straightened and in a fluid motion whipped the bow up, pulled the string, and released.

The Spartan spotted the man in green at the last instant. He looked up and automatically tried to swerve to the right. The cycle had just started to turn when the arrow caught him in the mouth, the metal point drilling through his front teeth, through his tongue, and deep into his throat. He grabbed at the protruding shaft, lost all semblance of control, and went down in a crash with the bike.

Almost immediately the SEAL began to slow.

Teucer grasped the rail and waited until the van came to a halt before he hastily climbed down the metal rungs at the rear. He hastened around the corner and almost bumped into a peeved giant.

“Were you trying to get yourself killed?” Blade demanded.

“I needed the exercise.”

“Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again without ample cause.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Blade proposed “We’ll return to the barracks and consult with General Leonidas.”

“Not yet we won’t,” stated a soft voice behind him.

Blade pivoted to find Rikki standing near the open door, the katana already out. “Why not?”

“See for yourself,” Rikki replied, and nodded to the north.

Dreading the worst, Blade looked and discovered eight Spartans bearing down on them.

“They’re coming out of the woodwork!” Blade snapped, and drew both Bowies.

“At least these are on foot,” Rikki noted.

All eight soldiers had their short swords drawn. None carried a firearm.

They charged in ranks of twos, and one of the men voiced a challenge when they drew within 30 feet. “Who are you? What’s the meaning of this?”

Blade stepped forward, hopeful further bloodshed could be avoided once he explained the situation. These eight must have been en route either to or from the barracks, and must have witnessed the battle with the troopers on the dirt bikes. Blade mustered a smile and motioned for them to halt.

The speaker held up his sword arm and the Spartans stopped. “I’m Sergeant Thoas. You will lay down your arms and place yourselves in our custody.”

“We will not,” Blade responded.

“Then we will take you by force,” Thoas warned.

“At least hear me out. We were justified in killing those men.”

“Since when is an outsider justified in slaying a Spartan?”

“Since the civil war started.”

Sergeant Thoas cocked his head. “What are you talking about, stranger?”

“Then you haven’t heard,” Blade said. “King Agesilaus tried to kill King Dercyllidas a short while ago.”

“What?” Thoas exclaimed, and glanced at the man next to him.

“I’m telling the truth,” Blade asserted. “We were at the palace when the attack took place. Dercyllidas is now at the barracks where his bodyguard is housed. I have no idea where Agesilaus might be.”

“And how do you fit into the scheme of things?”

“We’re representatives of the Freedom Federation here to offer Sparta membership in our alliance. We’ve been caught in the middle of the dispute between your kings. We’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You certainly are,” Thoas concurred. “And will you remain neutral during the conflict?”

Blade pointed back at the last rider Teucer had slain. “Those were Agesilaus’s men. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes it does.”

“Then you can see there’s no reason for us to fight.”

“Wrong,” Sergeant Thoas stated.

“What?”

The noncom gestured at his companions. “We’re Agesilaus’s men also.”

Teucer snorted. “When it rains, it pours.”

“Please,” Blade said. “We have no quarrel with you.”

“Nor we with you.”

“Then why go through with this? It makes no sense.”

“It’s clear you don’t understand the Spartan way. We were personally picked by King Agesilaus to be part of his bodyguard. He bestowed a great honor on us. In return, we pledged our loyalty. We promised to defend him to our dying breath, to follow his orders implicitly no matter what they might be.”

“But what if those orders are all wrong? What if you serve a madman?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ve given our word, and a Spartan always keeps his word.”

Blade frowned. “It’s not giving your word that’s so important. It’s who you give it to.”