Backscatter

Captain Silva had been Megan's ace in the hole. The man was a former isolationist who had had a change of heart after observing the treatment of the Phoenician slaves at the coastal cities. Aboard Urushalim Express were several seasoned hands that thirty years ago and in another timeline had served in the Swiss military, and Captain Silva had given them permission to act as advisors and trainers to Hannibal's army. In the captain's opinion, nobody did pike warfare better than the Swiss.

Captain Silva finally arrived for the meeting. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Hannibal broke his news. "We have the king's plan from a defector and some confirming evidence. Ethbaal is planning an attack in four days, everything he can muster. His army will attack south of the lake just before dawn, after the night that Yarikh hides and turns his face full away."

Captain Silva blinked and then realized Hannibal's mention of his god was a reference to the coming new moon. The captain glanced at a display for a moment. "In his position, I would have attacked ten days ago, at his earliest opportunity."

Hannibal nodded. "Yes. He would have slaughtered us then with half the force he has now. My people are in your debt captain. With the wondrous iron spears you have traded to us, we now have a chance."

The captain nodded. "Ethbaal's finally making the correct military decision, but for the wrong reason. Nighttime and predawn are the worst possible times to test us. We can see and he can not. But I'm under orders not to enter your war Hannibal."

Hannibal nodded, remembering the fascinating night-vision displays he had seen a few days ago. "You have prepared us as best you could. I am hopeful of a victory. King Ethbaal will be attacking against an army using unfamiliar tactics. The pike is an extraordinary weapon when used in the manner we are being taught. The King will find a nasty surprise waiting for him, and will find it difficult to adjust his attack in the poor light."

Megan frowned. "A withdrawal would be disastrous for King Ethbaal. The man will press the attack until his army breaks or is victorious." She sighed as she thought of the coming battle. It would be pure death or glory fighting. And the king's victory would result in a huge campaign of extermination against the defeated rebels and escaped slaves. Regardless who won, the deaths of many thousands seemed unavoidable. Unless...

Megan blinked as she remembered an Old Testament story. "Sir," she asked addressing her captain, "what are our rules about transporting a Phoenician for a nighttime mission?"

The captain considered. "Remember that the trading of the pikes was explicitly authorized by Congress. Without further orders, I can not enter this war." He paused for a moment. "I would consider a request if the mission were pure recon. The objective would have to pass the red-face test. I will not engage Ethbaal if he doesn't provoke me. I will not provide logistical support for any mission to attack the king or any of his resources. I would consider that engaging the enemy."

Megan replied, "Sir, what if the mission involved a small resource of no military value, a single piece of clothing? It may save the lives of thousands if we can avoid the coming battle."

There was a pause. "Explain."

"Captain, I'm thinking of a story in the Bible, David having a dream that God would deliver his enemy into his hands."

Her commanding officer was quiet for a long moment and then smiled. "The idea does have a certain amount of divine justice to it. Our presence stopped the original story from ever happening." He turned to the leader of the rebels. "Hannibal, if you had the opportunity to kill King Ethbaal, would you take it?"

Hannibal looked confused by the question. "Of course."

"And could you also choose not to harm him? I know he tried to assassinate you two weeks ago."

"You mean forgive him?"

"No, nothing that permanent. Let me explain..."

Three days later.

Time: Tuesday, May 25, 2055 5:38 PM Universal Madeiran Time

It was two hours after local sunset and ten minutes after the king's guard had thoroughly searched the king's bedroom. Hannibal stood silently behind some thick curtains near the window, holding his razor sharp knife and working to control his breathing. Cool mountain breezes were rapidly making the bed chamber more comfortable for sleep. The king could arrive at any moment.

The King's summer palace was built on the edge of a cliff. Hannibal had entered though the high window just a few moments before, dropped off by a two-seat Madeiran stealth flyer that was as silent as the night. There! He heard voices in the hall, and footsteps too. Four guards positioned themselves just outside the bed chamber, and then the King entered and closed the door. Hannibal was alone with his mortal enemy. And such an opportunity! The man came and stood by the window, drinking in the cool air and totally unaware of Hannibal less than three meters away.

The dishonorable thought refused to die. Should Hannibal kill Ethbaal? One swift blow with the knife, break his oath to the Madeirans and kill him? What was Hannibal's honor compared to the life of his wife, his infant son, and all the thousands of people who were depending on him? He could avenge the death of Edom's wife, the disgrace of her body left rotting on a pole by the gates of Sidon. And yet...

Megan! She had offered her life to save his. To betray her now was impossible. Hannibal waited silently, determined to follow the mission as planned.

Through the curtain, Hannibal sensed the king turning, undressing, and climbing into bed. Hannibal worked on his own breathing, slow even breaths, his body as still and silent as possible in the blackness behind the curtain, one hand gripping the handle of the combat knife and the other gently holding the sides of the blade.

Such a knife! Megan had told Hannibal it was mostly iron with some other metals mixed in. It was the exact same composition as the two thousand pike heads Hannibal had traded for food and wood from the Baka valley, most of which Hannibal had yet to deliver. Hannibal looked down, but the darkness was total and the knife invisible.

Such a knife! Hannibal thought about the pike heads, a dull silver color but so sharp and flexible. When Megan first gave him the knife as a present a week ago, Hannibal had asked her if the wondrous metal had a name. She answered with the name ball-bearing steel. Hannibal asked her what that meant, and she just laughed and said it was spring steel with an attitude. That response confused Hannibal even more, so she told him the composition, a base of iron with 1.5% chromium, a metal unknown to Phoenicia, plus 1% carbon, and 0.35% each of silicon and manganese. Megan gave examples of these last three ingredients.

Hannibal had been stunned. Mixing parts of different rocks and crystals with iron? What an unusual concept. He couldn't argue with the results though. The metal was terrific for both toughness and holding an edge. On the long hollow poles that Megan referred to as titanium tubes, the pike heads were a tremendously formidable weapon. So light! As Hannibal waited in the darkness for the king to sleep, his mind wandered back to the moment the Madeirans offered King Ethbaal the same offer for the metal that they had made to Hannibal.

A pair of the latest model of what Megan called bluebirds had flown to the king twelve days ago. Hannibal had been with her in a deep cool interior control room of Urushalim Express, his eyes wide open as he stared at the displays giving him the multiple views out the bluebirds' eyes. To the utter dismay of Ethbaal, the birds offered the king a new metal if he would abolish slavery and agree to abdicate within two years. Hannibal broke into a big grin behind the curtain as he remembered the moment. The look on the king's face...

Ethbaal had flown into a rage over the perceived insult to his royalty. He ran and grabbed a nearby bow and started shooting arrows wildly at the talking omens. The king was renowned for his skill with the sword but not the bow, and the bluebirds avoided his shots easily.

Megan was controlling the bluebirds with something she called joysticks, and they also seemed to be able to dodge the arrows on their own. Megan kept repeating the message and the king kept firing arrows until he realized what a fool he was appearing to be before his troops. Megan then heaped a final insult upon his head, suggesting that if he changed his mind, the king should signal by hanging his royal cloak on a high pole to show his acceptance.

Hannibal grinned again in the darkness. The king's only use of the high poles was to hang and display the slain corpses of his enemies. Megan had in effect suggested the king hang himself in effigy. Leaving the king in an apocalyptic fit, the bluebirds had then flown away.

The king's cloak, such a magnificent piece of clothing. It was made from the finest Egyptian linen, dyed a royal purple by the king's personal craftsmen and richly trimmed with rare lion's fur and beaten gold from the Madeirans. It was the Ethbaal's great symbol of power and he was almost never seen in public without it.

The cloak was in the room with them right now, draped over a chair near the window. Hannibal waited in silence and then smiled in relief when Ethbaal started to snore. Perfect. The noise would mask any slight noise Hannibal might make. He slipped from the curtain with the knife, quickly dismissed the thought of regicide one last time and went directly for the cloak. The knife worked silently, slicing through the rich fabric and gold threads easily. Hannibal cut a large triangle from the back of the cloak, its apex right up at the fur trim of the collar with a wide flair to the bottom hem. When he was finished, the cloak was completely ruined.

Hannibal then walked with the cut segment of the cloak and stood by the window, confident his body heat would be visible to the strange arts of the Madeirans. The flyer was hovering a few centimeters from the window a moment later. Hannibal easily stepped into the waiting seat, and then the portal sealed and the craft lifted. The entire operation was done in complete silence, the loudest sound a deep shudder and sigh from Hannibal when the flyer was a kilometer from the palace. He was back at his own camp a few minutes later.

Chapter 20. Battle Royal

One day later.

Time: Wednesday, May 26, 2055 11:30 PM UMT

It was two hours before dawn, but both armies had already been positioning themselves for hours. Hannibal stood with his second-in-command in the situation room deep within Urushalim Express. Around them were a number of the ship's officers, watching the displays with them. Captain Silva cleared his throat. "Hannibal, to preserve some semblance of neutrality, I'll have to ask you and Edom to leave the ship soon and return to your camp."

Hannibal nodded. "Of course. You have my gratitude captain, and the gratitude of my people."

Megan sighed as she watched the armies slowly preparing to engage. "Not the outcome I was hoping for," she mumbled.

Edom turned and looked at her. "Did you really think Ethbaal would have a change of heart after his favorite cloak was destroyed? Especially with us displaying his gross incompetence to his own troops?" Ethbaal's triangle of cloak had been conspicuously displayed for the entire day, nailed to a cross of wood and shown for all the troops of both armies to see.

"You missed the point cousin," mumbled Hannibal.

"And what was the point?"

Megan answered. "There's a story of an old king named Saul and a young warrior named David who would become the next king. Saul was jealous of David's youth and popularity with the people. He hunted David and wished to kill him. By chance or divine guidance, the king entered a cave alone to defecate, the very cave where David was hiding. Rather than kill his pursuer, David secretly cut off a piece of the king's cloak inside the cave and later showed it to Saul, proving that David did not wish to kill his king."

"Ah," said Edom. "Did it work?"

"For a very short time, yes. There was a brief reconciliation and peace. Then Saul began hunting again."

"Humph," grunted Edom. "Well, Ethbaal is not an old king. He has no wisdom... Saul and David? Sounds like the Israelites. When I was a boy and my father a helmsman, we traded with them sometimes, traded stories too. That was one story I missed."

Megan gulped. "Uh, yeah..."

Edom added quietly. "It was on a trip south that I first met my wife..." He shrugged. "Ethbaal took your gesture as a supreme insult. The cloak was his symbol of power. You speak of defecation? Ethbaal would have chosen to defecate before laughing women rather than lose it."

Megan did not reply. She could see the bitterness in Edom's eyes. His beloved wife had been put to the sword and hung on a pole and his young daughters enslaved.

"But," said Hannibal. "The mission was not without merit. Four of his most trusted guards have been executed for suspected treason and the man is furious in his desire for revenge. Look how foolishly he has positioned his personal guard at the very front of the line. Ethbaal's emotions should make his battle decisions today more quick tempered and easier to predict." After one last study of the infrared monitors Hannibal turned to Captain Silva. "I have seen enough. I think our victory is now assured. Again captain, you have the gratitude of my people."

"Assured? Hannibal, I think the victory will fall to the army which is the most nimble and disciplined. I hope your troops have learned how strong the pike is in formation, and how weak in a melee. Your lines must not break!"

"We have been drilled. In formation I think we are invincible. If we break, we are lost. This has been the constant message to the troops for the past ten days."

The captain nodded and then gestured with his hand. "How's your arm?"

Hannibal shrugged, thinking of the physical therapy the ship's doctors had started with him. "Still quite weak. I used to be a good swordsman too."

"Your job is to command. I think your army is very fortunate you won't be tempted to join the battle."

"Oh, I'll be tempted."

Silva frowned. "But you'll resist that temptation, correct?"

Hannibal paused and then nodded. "Correct, unless our situation becomes hopeless. I would prefer to die cleanly in battle rather than slowly under Ethbaal's tender mercies."

Captain Silva paused for a second and then surprised Hannibal by saluting him. Hannibal and Edom returned the salute and headed to the ship's two flyers a moment later.

Two hours later.

Time: Thursday, May 27, 2055 1:20 AM UMT

Ethbaal and his top commanders squinted through the drizzle in the predawn light, trying to make out the enemy positions. Hannibal's army seemed fully deployed, stretched out in a single thick line of perhaps 600 cubits. There would be no element of surprise this morning. Hannibal's forces were standing facing west part way up a large hill with a long and modest upward slope to their backs, with steep rocky ravines dropping away to the north and south. Ethbaal's commanders estimated the slope at perhaps one to twelve at Hannibal's position, and gradually becoming steeper behind him.

Uriah the Hittite did not like what he was seeing. The king however was full of joy. "Look at their numbers! They must have everybody with them, the slaves too." He took a deep breath. "We have them all! This will be a great day of slaughter!"

Uriah nodded respectfully and then tried to point out some of his concerns. "We will be racing uphill to attack, and it will be very difficult to flank the enemy. The slope falls away sharply on both sides."

"Uriah, why should I flank?" the king asked in a puzzled tone. "We don't have the archers for that anyway. But the beast is right before us. A direct thrust is what's needed here, swift and lethal, a blow to the head, and then a thrust into its heart. We will attack the heart of the enemy as soon as we have more light. And our swords won't rest until the heart stops beating!"

Uriah studied the tight enemy formation. "Nice of them to gather themselves so neatly for their own butchering, don't you think?" He was trying to be sarcastic and get the king to think about why Hannibal would chose such a location and dense configuration for his stand. His army had a very poor escape route. Once Ethbaal engaged with his superior forces, Hannibal's army appeared positioned to be sliced and then shredded with no place to run. But why would the man pick such a spot? It just didn't make sense.

The commander's sarcasm went completely unrecognized. "Yes! Indeed I do!" the king shouted to Uriah's earlier comment. "And look Uriah, no cavalry at all! Do you detect a single warhorse?"

The king had been a cavalryman himself in his youth, and Uriah conceded the point. "No, I do not, and they have no place to hide cavalry either. The enemy is all on foot." The Hittite commander then turned and looked at Ittobaal nearby for some help with his concerns, but the king's Right Hand averted his eyes, silently keeping his own counsel.

The king enthusiasm would remain unchallenged. "A great day for slaughter then Uriah, you must agree."

"A great day, my king." Uriah sighed. Yesterday had been a very difficult day. He was forced to execute four men he had known and trusted for years, the four royal guards entrusted with guarding the king's bed chamber. Uriah still didn't understand what could have happened. To think that all four fell asleep was preposterous. To think they were all traitors seemed equally ridiculous. Yet what other explanation was there?

And now this huge battle. Uriah's instincts were screaming at him that he didn't understand the mind of his enemy. From that fact alone, on his own he would have called off the attack against his enemy's apparently hopeless position. But it was not his decision to make.

The grayness of the predawn brightened a bit and the king started laughing hysterically. "Do my eyes deceive me Uriah?! Are those javelins the Hannibal scum are carrying?"

Uriah's own eyes went wide with astonishment. "Yes! The gods! Look at their length!" he blurted out. "A full eight cubits at least!"

"Yes! What a joke! What would you do Uriah, if you had such a spear and I attacked you with a sword?"

"Run away of course. But my king, surely the rebels must have some logic for choosing this absurd weapon."

The king was having none of it. "Ridiculous! We will soften them with a melee, and then my horses and swordsmen will be a great scythe in their retreat. What sport it will be, to watch their ridiculous spears fight against my fine swordsmen! A day of glory is before us Uriah! We will be harvesters of men!"

"My king," Uriah started, but it was too late. A large pole was being raised just behind the enemy lines. On it was stretched a large triangle of purple cloth. The king was speechless for a moment, and then went livid. "Full attack Uriah, and sixty shekel weight of gold to the man who brings me Hannibal's head and cock!"

A moment later across the valley...

"Looks like they're giving the final attack orders," commented Edom.

Hannibal nodded and gave an arm signal to a beater. Here on the narrow slope, he would be directing his army with a drum. The moment of judgment had arrived. A stray prayer to Yamm crossed his mind, god of the sea and judge of the dead. If Hannibal did fall in battle today, he prayed the Madeirans would at least find his effort worthy and noble. Hannibal was sure they were watching this battle from all perspectives, and perhaps in ways beyond his imagination. And he was perfectly correct.

From numerous high-resolution bluebirds colored gray and flying in the mist above, the Madeirans had a view of everything in fine detail. What they saw was a great dichotomy, forces separated not just by the valley below but also by two thousand years in equipment and tactics. Captain Silva did not want Hannibal to feel cocky, but he also shared the leader's confidence that with correct decisions and discipline, Hannibal should be the victor. Silva also knew that after the chaos of war, the words "should" and "should have" were the words of the vanquished, not the victors.