Sam Barone - Conflict of Empires

Shulgi’s voice rasped with every order he shouted. The Akkadian bowmen had raked his men with their shafts, the puny boats on the river had taken their toll on his right flank, and now Eskkar’s horsemen had charged deep into the gap created by Razrek’s carelessness.

“Hold them off!” Shulgi shouted, turning to the Tanukh beside him.

Kapturu, the leader of the Tanukhs, heard the war cries of the approaching men and hesitated.

“Order your men forward or I’ll kill you now!” Shulgi said, his sword suddenly in his hand. The king’s guards moved in closer, both to protect their leader and prevent Kapturu’s leaving.

The Tanukh weighed his chances, then gave the order. Raising his arm, he pointed toward Eskkar’s charging horsemen. “Tanukhs! Forward! Attack! Attack!”

The mass of Tanukh horsemen surged forward, whatever their misgivings. In a few strides, the Sumerian reserve moved toward the gap, gaining speed as they moved. Then the wave of Akkadians tore through the tiny opening and crashed into the Tanukhs. In moments the fighting had surged past his once orderly ranks and into his rear. The battle Shulgi had sought for two years now threatened to overwhelm him.

Shulgi stared at the carnage surrounding him. His cavalry had vanished, and only the Tanukhs were keeping the Akkadians from breaking through the line. But his infantry’s flank was in ruins, and some of Eskkar’s cavalry had slipped past and smashed into the rear of the line. Still, if the Tanukhs could hold a little longer, until Razrek’s men counterattacked, the Akkadians would be caught between two forces and broken.

The mass of Sumerian and Tanukh fighters to his left thinned out, and Shulgi saw Eskkar’s tall figure, now dismounted, but still leading the attack and trying to break through to the rear.

“Bowmen!” Shulgi’s bellow turned every one of his men’s heads toward him. He pointed toward Eskkar. “Get bowmen on the king! Kill Eskkar!”

Two archers ran up, pushing their way through Shulgi’s protective ring of horsemen, trying to scramble onto the tiny hillock and get high enough above the mass of men to take a shot at Akkad’s king. Shulgi reached down and grabbed the nearest by the shoulder and pointed towards Eskkar. “Hurry! Don’t let him get away!”

The first archer drew back his shaft and let fly. A good shot, and Shulgi saw the arrow strike Eskkar in the chest, but the king was turning when the missile struck, and it merely glanced off the Akkadian’s breastplate. The other archer, still struggling to find his footing amidst Shulgi’s personal guards, drew back his shaft for a carefully aimed shot…

O n the river, Yavtar saw the Sumerians start their advance, and a quick glance showed the Akkadian spearmen also moving forward. They looked helpless against such a large force. Their flanks would be turned, or they’d be overrun and pinned against the river and slaughtered.

“Boats!” Yavtar had to shout the word with all his lungs. Fortunately, the emptiness of the river carried his voice to the other two boats. “Move in closer to shore! We have to hold the spearmen’s flank!”

He turned to his steersman, still crouched as low as he could and just as frightened as when the battle began. “Move us closer to the shore! Get us within fifty paces, and keep us there!”

Daro dropped down beside him, an arrow still strung on the bow. “Good move. We’ll cut them apart at that distance.”

Unless a few hundred suddenly jumped in the river and swam toward them, Yavtar thought. Then we’re all going to be dead.

But the boat crept toward the riverbank, the men still straining at their oars. It took more effort to hold the boat in position as the land drew near, and these men had been pulling at the oars for some time. A look ahead and behind showed that the other two vessels had heard and understood the order. Either that, or they were just keeping their station on Yavtar’s boat, as they’d been ordered.

“Daro! We need to lighten the boat. Throw the dead overboard.”

At least five bowmen were dead, and two or three were cursing in pain from their wounds. Still, getting rid of the dead would help the oarsmen.

Daro nodded, and soon bodies were shoved over the side, to splash loudly in the water before drifting away on the current.

By the time his men dumped the dead overboard, Yavtar’s boat had pulled within twenty paces of the fighting. The three craft, which had drifted a few dozen paces apart since the start of the fighting, now drew closer together. Yavtar could have jumped from his boat into either of the other two. He could see the drawn faces of the Sumerians and hear the shouts and curses as they advanced.

On shore, all the Sumerians were on the move forward, their attention for a moment fixed on the advancing Akkadian infantry as the two forces converged. The archers on board the riverboats noticed the slackening of arrows directed toward them. Emboldened, they aimed their shafts and launched at the Sumerian flank, now unprotected by either shield wall or the Sumerian archers.

As the enemy advanced, the boats compensated to keep themselves level with the Sumerians. Yavtar’s boat, and the one following behind him, slowed their rowing to keep themselves in the same position. But a gap opened up between those two craft and the remaining boat, the one that had been farthest north. It was now well behind the advancing enemy lines, and drifted even nearer to the shore.

For a moment, Yavtar thought the wayward craft might be sinking. Then he saw the arrows that flew from that craft were aimed not at the moving infantry, but deep toward the center of the Sumerian line. What targets drew their shafts Yavtar couldn’t see, but the boat captain knew his business, and the leader of his boat’s archers had been picked by Daro for that command. Still, their orders were to stay close to Yavtar’s boat, and to follow his lead.

“Daro!” He pointed with his hand at the other boast, now a hundred paces ahead of the other two boats.

After launching the shaft on his bowstring, Daro ducked back behind the shield. Yavtar again jabbed his hand toward the lead boat.

Breathing hard, Daro had no time for more than a glance at the wayward craft.

“Forget them, Yavtar. Keep us abreast of the enemy line.”

O n the first ship, a young archer named Viran commanded the force of bowmen. He saw Yavtar’s and the other boat slipping southward to maintain close contact with the Sumerian line. But as the enemy spearmen, infantry, and their supporting archers moved forward, Viran glimpsed a cluster of horsemen near the center of the Sumerian line. Three red banners floated in the air just around them. Viran couldn’t see much, but he knew what the banners floating softly in the morning breeze likely meant. Some Sumerian commanders had marked their position, and the banners dipped and rose to signal movements to their men.

Alexar, Drakis, even Eskkar, had all ordered their bowmen, time after time, to aim for the leaders of the enemy. Viran saw that the banners neither advanced nor retreated. That might not mean much. He took but a moment to decide.

“Boatmaster! Forget Yavtar’s order. Keep us where we are!” Viran turned his attention to his own men. “Archers! See those three red banners? Let’s give them a few volleys!”

By this stage of the battle, Viran only had nine archers still fit to draw a bow. But if even one or two arrows struck the enemy commanders, it would be worth the effort. The arrows’ flight would be a long one, and his bowmen would have to put plenty of arc on the shot, but they should be just within range.

“Halt! At my command! Draw your bows! Shoot! Again! Hit those red banners, damn you! Draw! Shoot! Keep shooting!”