We were given only a brief moment to rest.Our unit was ordered to move out alongside five enomotiai to destroy a tribe of centaurs blocking the path to lands we were meant to conquer. The invasion was to begin by sea the enemy's defenses on that side were weak. But the overland route was just as crucial, for it would later link the new territories to Sparta.
These lands were rich fertile soil, perfect for crops. They were to become the heart of Sparta's army supply lines.
I'd heard the Spartans had changed since the last war. The traditions remained, but something new had been added. In the past, if a child was born weak and couldn't become a Spartan, he was killed. Now, the weak were allowed to live though they would not be Spartans, not yet. In time, they could earn it. Most became part of the reserve forces.
This policy had been created right after the war, but I only heard about it recently. The elders had seen the flaws and tried to correct them. Sparta hadn't abandoned its laws it simply changed what was within reach. The main army remained elite, while the reserves were filled with those once cast aside.
To boost the birthrate, every Spartan family was required to have a child every two years until they had five.
It seemed Sparta was determined to grow to become an unstoppable force.
That made me think of my parents. I hadn't seen them in so many years, and I still didn't know whether my father was alive. Did I have brothers in the army? Where were they?
Sparta's rigid discipline and unyielding order left no time for memories or longing. Maybe one day I'd find them. But not now. In Sparta, your unit is your family. And all of mine had died. The only one still close to me was Damipp. I wonder where he is now?
I tried to find him in the last camp. All I learned was that most of the army had already moved to the coast and the borders. So despite all the bustling activity in the city, the bulk of the warriors were long gone.
The time for departure had come. We marched out, our unit just one part of a force over three hundred strong. Our commander was a Lochagos named Alcaeus.
I disliked him from the first glance. There was something off about him. His attitude toward other Spartans seemed arrogant, as if he thought himself above the rest of us. Even his body betrayed him he carried extra weight. Not much, but enough to be unacceptable for a Spartan. It violated every law of the warrior code. It seemed that with all these new policies and ambitions, Sparta had begun to weaken where it mattered most in self-discipline.
Still, we had a mission. And I was going to see it through.
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If the supply route goes straight through this land, the centaurs will gladly ambush it and take whatever they can. Yes, they live reclusively, almost like wild beasts. But despite that, they love to fight. Push even slightly into their territory, and they won't miss the chance to strike.
Tracking them in the forests, on their own ground, is no easy task. One might hope their powerful bodies would slow them in dense undergrowth. Yet, surprisingly, they move through the forest with grace and ease.
"They've spotted us," said Heron, listening to the rustling and thudding among the leaves.
"It doesn't matter. We move on," Alcaeus snapped.
"We should scout the area first," Heron insisted.
"Are you afraid, Enomotarch?" Alcaeus sneered.
"No. But it's unwise to ignore the principles of military strategy," Heron replied calmly.
"We are Spartans! We fear nothing! If they dare attack first, we'll slaughter them all! Forward!" Alcaeus roared.
Heron clenched his fist but couldn't act. Though he was an Enomotarch, one who could disobey even a Polemarch under the right circumstances, he still lacked full authority here. In this operation, the entire army followed the command of this Lochagos except our unit.
I couldn't understand how Alcaeus had ever earned his rank. Had the war depleted our forces so badly that men like him were now leading warriors? Scouting is the foundation of all tactics. Without it, a single careless step could cost us an entire army.
"Follow them," Heron said quietly.
I started hearing hoofbeats from both sides. We were clearly being led. Watched with precision, our every move tracked from a distance. Why was Alcaeus risking all our lives just to feed his pride?
My eyes stayed on him. I was close to snapping. My muscles tensed; I wanted to strike him for his stupidity.
"Calm yourself, Damocles. It's not worth it," Heron said, noticing my tension.
In Sparta, there is no crime greater than attacking your brother. But how can he be our brother?
The army had now advanced deep into unpatrolled territory fully within the centaurs' sphere of influence. The only reason the battle hadn't begun yet was that the enemy was gathering, preparing to crush us in one devastating strike.
The attack began without warning.
A hail of arrows rained down from all sides. There was no command for "Shields!", but we didn't need it. Our shields rose instinctively. The air rang with the sound of impacts.
"Don't stop! Forward! Kill those pathetic beasts!" Alcaeus bellowed.
"You're insane! We can't launch an assault without a plan!" Heron shouted over him.
"I am the commander here! I know what must be done!" Alcaeus snapped back, turning to the troops. "Split up! Attack from different flanks!"
It was suicide.
To attack without scouting was already reckless. But to divide our forces under fire, in an unfamiliar forest, against an enemy whose numbers we didn't even know that was madness. It was as if this wasn't a Spartan but some common fool who had never studied war.
The army obeyed. The units split and charged under relentless arrow fire.
"Follow me!" Heron called. "We must eliminate their archers immediately. Our speed should be enough in the forest."
Perhaps our only chance to shift the tide was to take out the archers. But they were cunning they moved in small units, circling us, disappearing the moment they fired. They lured us, trying to scatter us even further.
"Damocles, can you handle it?" Heron yelled.
"With everything I have," I gritted my teeth.
My speed could rival that of a horse. I surged forward, pushing myself to the limit. Trees blurred past like shifting shadows. Only my training and reflexes allowed me to weave through the thick undergrowth.
I spotted one of their groups. Centaurs horse bodies, human torsos wore little armor. Just quivers on their backs and bows in hand.
My spear cracked through one's skull with a dull crunch. I raised my shield just in time to deflect a volley. But they had no time to regroup I was already closing in, striking without pause.
The spear pierced another in the chest. With a sharp twist, I yanked it free. He collapsed, choking on blood.
Dodging another volley, I hurled my spear with such force that it pierced through one centaur and struck another behind him. Drawing my sword, I leapt into melee, cutting through their group. I was faster, more agile they couldn't react to my movements.
Then one appeared behind me a large one, spear ready. He reared back to strike. I lunged with all my strength, slamming him with my shield. He toppled onto his back, and his life ended where he fell.
I was covered in their blood. I wiped it from my face and helmet to clear my vision. Picking up my spear, I moved toward the next group of centaurs.