David Robbins - Spartan Run

“What harm can such a promise do, your majesty?” General Agis commented. “The odds of him surviving are extremely slim. And even if he does, good riddance to him and his intervention in Sparta’s internal affairs.”

“You have a point,” Agesilaus said, although his tone betrayed marked skepticism. “Do I have your word?” Blade pressed him.

Hissing through clenched teeth, Agesilaus nodded. “Yes, outsider. You have my promise that you and your companions will be permitted from Sparta should you survive the tests.”

“I can’t ask for more,” Blade said sweetly, and glanced at Agis. Why was the officer befriending him?

“Let’s get this underway,” Agesilaus declared. He clapped his hands once, then motioned for the giant to start running. “Off you go, and I hope I never have the displeasure of talking to you again.”

Blade jogged slowly forward, the soldier bearing his knives keeping pace on his left. He glanced at the archers, the swordsmen, and the riflemen, and wished he could use the Commando instead.

What to do?

What to do?

Teucer repeated the same question over and over again in his mind.

Blade had been gone over half an hour. He was under strict orders to leave and go find Rikki. But how could he just up and drive off, leaving Blade to an unknown fate? What if the giant was in trouble? He’d never forgive himself if Blade died.

What the hell should he do?

He’d slid into the driver’s seat as soon as Blade disappeared inside the palace, and now he anxiously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and stared apprehensively at the keys in the ignition. There was another reason he didn’t like the idea of driving off; he lacked confidence in his ability. As part of Blade’s new policy to give every Warrior going on a run lessons in how to handle the transport, he’d spent several hours familiarizing himself with the operation of the SEAL. He’d even taken the van on several hour-long chaperoned practice jaunts and learned the basics of steering, braking, and negotiating rugged terrain. But he still got a case of the willies at the mere thought of driving any great distance by himself.

Damn these Spartans!

Teucer leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He could use a few hours of sleep, but he dispelled the urge. First things first. The way he saw the situation, he had three choices. He could obey Blade and go rescue Rikki. He could defy the head Warrior and try to find Blade. Or he could sit there and do nothing.

What wonderful options.

He opened his eyes again, then stiffened.

Spartans were pouring from the palace. Ten, 15, 20 of them in rows of two. They quickly descended the steps and fanned out around the SEAL, training their M-16’s and UZIs on the tinted plastic.

Teucer knew he was safe. It would take an industrial diamond drill to penetrate the transport’s nearly impregnable body, and he doubted very much that the Spartans possessed such a device. Once before, about three years ago, the nefarious Technics had used just such a drill to bore a small hole in the side so they could slip a hanger in and unlatch the lock. That was the only time the SEAL had ever been breached.

Two more soldiers emerged, one of them holding an object in his right hand.

Teucer leaned forward, trying to get a good look at the item. The pair were halfway down the steps before he succeeded, and recognition caused him to clutch the steering wheel in dismay.

The Spartan held a bundle of dynamite.

“I positively refuse.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi did not allow his frustration to show. Instead, he persisted in his attempt to convince the general. “I accept full responsibility for whatever happens.”

“Which is all well and good for you,” Leonidas stated while watching his men organize into rows four deep down the entire length of the center aisle. “But your safety is in my hands. King Dercyllidas would be upset if harm were to befall you. Part of the reason for this struggle, as Captain Chilon explained it to me, is Sparta’s opportunity to join the Freedom Federation. Dercyllidas very much wants to join. Agesilaus, the isolationist, doesn’t. If you were to be injured or killed, the blame would fall on Sparta and King Dercyllidas’s dreams of joining would be ruined.”

He paused. “I can’t allow that to happen.”

The Warrior glanced at the north doors, not 15 feet away. “Isn’t there anything I could say that would change your mind?”

“No,” Leonidas stated emphatically. “You’ll remain in here when we launch our attack.”

“But the plan is my idea.”

“For which I sincerely thank you.”

“Allow me to talk to Dercyllidas.”

“You heard the physician. The king isn’t to be disturbed unless it’s an emergency. An extreme emergency,” Leonidas stressed.

Their conversation was punctuated by the arrival of Chilon and Pandarus, both of whom stood at attention to report.

“A guard of twenty men has been designated to stay with the king, General,” the former stated.

“And the troops are almost ready, sir,” chimed in the latter.

“Excellent,” Leonidas said.

Rikki pointed at a rack of automatic weapons on the east wall. “You could win the day easily if you used those.”

“You know better,” the general responded, gazing out a window. “We’ll do this the Sparta way or not all.”

“Will you be leading your men?”

“Of course.”

“In your condition?”

“I sustained a slight injury, nothing more.”

“You took a spear in the shoulder.”

Leonidas gingerly moved his left arm. “This scratch won’t keep me out of the battle. And the way I look at it, I’m living on borrowed time anyway.”

“How so?”

“Remember our discussion about injured Spartans? My men should have left me on the battlefield. I failed them, failed my king, and failed myself.” Leonidas frowned. “I have much to atone for.”

Rikki stared at the ranks of soldiers. The last of the men were taking their positions in the assault column. He rested his left hand on the hilt of the katana and bided his time.

General Leonidas stepped in front of the first row. “We lost once today,” he stated in a firm but not overly loud voice. “Now we have a chance to make amends and demonstrate to our king that we’re worthy of his trust.”

He slowly drew his sword. “Let’s acquit ourselves as only Spartans can.

Your new orders for the day are simple: Give no quarter. Once we are outside, we will not retreat. Either we triumph or we all die as Spartans should.”

The two captains took positions directly behind their superior officer.

Leonidas faced the doors, where two soldiers were awaiting the command to fling them open. “Spartans! Swords!”

As one, in a ringing display of precision, the troopers drew their weapons. “Now!” Leonidas cried.

An instant later the doors were flung wide. Thirty feet away was the 40-man formation Calchas had posted to guard the entrance.

“Charge!” Leonidas shouted, and started forward.

The moment Rikki had been waiting for arrived. None of the Spartans were paying attention to him. He could do as he pleased without intervention. The katana leaped from its scabbard as he darted over and joined the column, stepping into place next to Captain Chilon.

The officer glanced at him and smiled.

With Leonidas at the forefront, the column poured out the doorway and charged the formation.

Rikki heard one of the enemy soldiers shouting, but the words were indistinct in the rush of the moment. His total attention was focused on the formation, on the spears and shields toward which he raced at full speed. Lacking a shield of his own, he would have to counter the long lances of his foes in another manner. In three seconds he was close enough to see the pupils in the eyes of Agesilaus’s men, and he raised his katana.