Alex, standing in his chariot and dressed in an M-42 jumpsuit, raised his hand to shield his eyes from the midmorning sun. A hundred yards ahead of him stood a gargantuan fortress, the likes of which Alex had never dreamt about.
Two sets of walls, thirty and sixty feet high respectively, formed the bulk of the defenses, and those were protected by a ditch that looked at least ten feet deep. At regular intervals along the walls were at least a dozen watch towers, each with a catapult on its top. If Alex squinted, he could make out the movements of troops inside. How many there were, he didn’t know, nor did he care. The only thing Alex wondered at the time was what Ares was about to do, for the God of War was waiting for him at the iron gates.
“Mortal!” the god cried out as he trotted over to Alex. Sunlight sparkled off the Ares’ sweat-drenched skin, at least, what portions weren’t coated in mud and dirt. “Do you like my fortress?” he asked eagerly. “I built it last night for this very day!”
Alex’s ponies snorted and shook their heads with flattened ears. Alex pulled their reins in a preemptive move to keep them from bolting. “I’ve come for my wife,” he said once the ornery creatures settled down. “I hoped we might settle this without bloodshed.”
“You make demands of me without a fight?” Ares erupted in laughter so deep that the ground shook. The god turned scarlet, and he gripped his side, the humor he found apparently getting the best of him. Finally, Ares regained his composure. “What, little mortal, makes you think you have any such standing?”
“I’m serious,” Alex said. He held out Hades’ scepter for Ares to see and tried to sound as strong and confident as he could. “I wield power over the dead and this scepter obeys my commands.”
“That scepter can only strip the immortality of one who is not a god.”
Alex steeled himself, feeling his courage falter at the lack of Ares’ fear. “I also have an army the likes of which you’ve never seen.”
To Alex’s dismay, Ares stepped forward with a glint of bloodlust in his eye. “Yes, Alex. I know you have an army,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He pulled an ivory horn from behind his back and raised it up. “I have an army as well. When the day is done, we shall see who is able to make demands from whom.”
Ares put the horn to his lips, and from it came a low, mournful blast. The gates behind him swung open, and from inside, double file, came countless men on horseback. In their arms they carried shield and spear, and on their backs flowed bright red capes. On their heads sat helms of brass, and to the sun they showed their bared chests.
Despite Ares’ unexpected cavalry, and despite their still unending numbers, Alex vowed to win the day. “So be it,” Alex said, turning the chariot around. A snap of the reins set his ponies into a trot, back to the tree line some six hundred yards away, back to where his troops lay hidden.
“Go Alex,” Ares called. “Go to your men and lead the charge. I shall welcome you on the field of battle.”
Alex waited until he was half way across the field before taking out the hand-held radio he had tucked away. “Yeah, I’ll welcome you too,” he muttered, punching the radio’s buttons, “right into modern combat.”
The call he placed was quickly answered. “Alpha company here,” a radioman said in Alex’s handset. “Bravo and Delta are in position.”
Alex shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath to prepare himself. Sadly, it didn’t work. His hands picked up a tremor as he thought about what was soon to take place. Not because he was leading five hundred gun-toting soldiers against god-knows how many on horseback. That battle would be a slaughter, especially with the few tanks he had managed to bring up, courtesy of Hades’ scepter once more. No, Alex was worried because amongst that cavalry was a god, and truth be told, even with artillery and tanks, Alex had no idea whether his men could actually take Ares down. And that scared the crap out of him.
The radio sprung to life and snapped Alex out of his thoughts. “Orders, sir?”
Alex thought about his wife and pushed aside his fear. “Fire at will,” he said. “Arty first. Everyone else open up once those shells hit. Don’t stop until they’re all dead.”
* * *
Thunder sounded in the distance, and Ares, mid speech, paused in his troop address and turned his head. Not a cloud could be seen in the sky, nor could he see his father, Zeus, lurking about. Before Ares could discern its origins, a new sound filled the air. A whistling sound. One that drew nearer with each passing moment.
And then the world exploded.
Rock and debris flew in every direction. Large, dust-filled craters appeared where rows of men had been an instant ago. The tree line erupted in white flashes and loud cracks. Bullets tore into Ares and his warriors. The bullets were not nearly as large as the ones used in slings, but they proved deadly nonetheless. Some left colorful trails in the air, while others zipped by almost unseen. All, however, felled horse and soldier alike. Despite the carnage and Alex’s clever ambush, neither Ares nor his men faltered.
Ares raised his spear high overhead and charged. “Come men!” he cried. “Come and claim your glory!”
The sound of a thousand charging horses filled the air. Ares glanced over his shoulder and savored the image of his men surging forward in a mass of horse and spear. As he turned his attention back to the tree line, he spied Alex on his chariot, still out in the open.
“Now, Alex, you’ll see a true warrior in battle,” Ares said, slowing his stride and shifting the grip on his spear. A second later, he gave it a heave.
* * *
A hundred yards to the tree line, Alex’s shoulder exploded in pain and he toppled over the side of his chariot. Down he went, tumbling to the ground and striking his head at least three times over. When he finally rolled to a stop, he lay flat on his back, out of breath and disoriented. In the back of his mind, the sounds of gunfire and hoof beats registered.
Before he could stand, let alone think of something to do, a large hand grabbed him by the jacket and hoisted him into the air. He then found himself staring face to face with Ares.
“Brave, Alex,” the god said. “A reckless, stupid ambush, but brave.”
“Let me go,” Alex said, trying to bat Ares away. The attempt was feeble, however, for the strength in his left arm had all but gone and his right hung limply at his side, nearly severed at the shoulder.
Ares ignored the request and instead turned Alex around so he could see the field of battle. Bodies littered the field, and the ground was stained in untold amounts of blood. All the dead that Alex could see were Ares’ men, and as far as Alex could tell, not a single one had reached the tree line. “Your soldiers are deadly, Alex,” Ares said sounding impressed. “I will enjoy killing each one of them.”
Alex smirked. “Yeah, that’s what you think.” With that, Alex reached down with his left hand and pulled his 1911 pistol from his belt. It was an awkward grab, and the weapon felt clumsy in his hands, but at point blank range, he couldn’t miss.
Ares looked down right as Alex pressed the .45 caliber pistol against the god’s muscular chest and pulled the trigger.
The gun kicked in Alex’s hand, and again and again as he continued to fire. Though Alex emptied the magazine in under three seconds, all eight rounds hitting home, Ares stood tall and proud as ever. Maybe slightly annoyed. But certainly not dead. Or even mortally wounded. It was definitely not what Alex had been hoping for.
“Not today, Alex,” Ares said, dropping him to the ground. “Not today.”
Alex shut his eyes and clenched his fists as another wave of pain washed over him. He tried not to whimper as he waited for it to subside. He wouldn’t give Ares that satisfaction. When the fiery throbs went from excruciating to merely god-awful, Alex opened his eyes and found himself alone.
* * *
Ares sprinted through the woodland terrain and darted behind a boulder. Dirt, rock, and bits of plant debris kicked up on all sides as bullets whizzed by and tore into the landscape. Individually, Ares regarded them as mere nuisance. But the heavy incoming fire that nipped his skin threatened to sap his strength should it go on for another hour or two. And the last thing Ares wanted to do was take a small break to catch his wind. Not when there were still a good three or four dozen men to kill.
“You fight like babies,” he called out, wiping his bloody spear on the ground. “What will you do now, cowards, since your rifles cannot save you?”
The distinct sound of a turbine engine drew Ares’ attention. He turned around as one of Alex’s steel beasts came crashing through the foliage. Ares thought he overheard someone call it a tank, or a Patton. Regardless of what its name was, Ares had now faced a half dozen such monsters, and he was not impressed with them in the least.
“Bring it on, little mortal,” Ares whispered, crouching as the tank leveled its 105mm cannon at his position.
As if responding to the god’s taunt, the tank fired, flame and smoke spewing from its barrel. Ares leapt high into the air, grinning to himself, as the shell slammed into the ground where he had been. His leap carried him the full distance to the tank, and before it could run or fire a second shot, Ares tore into its armored hide. He wrenched the tracks from the tank’s wheels and bent the cannon into a perfect L-pipe. Then, like all the others he had destroyed, he picked it up and sent it flying.
The tank hit the ground and rolled. Flame poured from the openings, and sparks and bullets flew in all directions. A moment later, the tank exploded.
Ares crouched and looked for his next victim, but none could be seen. The battlefield was silent, strangely so. He could no longer hear the fearful beats of hearts, nor whispers of panic between frightened soldiers. He could not even smell their sweat-soaked bodies. Had they admitted defeat? Fled the field in cowardice? Taken their own lives to avoid capture?
Ares stood tall and proud. “Who else shall test his might against me?”
No one answered the challenge. Thus Ares headed back to where he had left Alex, hoping the mortal would still provide him with some sport.
* * *
“Oh, god, Alex, please be alive.”
Alex, flat on his back and wracked with pain, craned his head up and to the right to see who was calling to him. It turned out to be a pale, wide-eyed, Jessica standing over him with a trembling body.
“I’m alive,” he said as she dropped to her knees at his side. “Can’t move very well, though.”
“Save your strength,” she said. Tears stained her cheeks, and she eased his head down and stroked his hair. She snorted and looked at the sky before laughing out of grief. “I never thought I’d have this conversation, not with you, at least.”
“About what?”
“All the things I should say,” she whispered. “Want to say.”
“As much as I’d love to milk a deathbed confessional out of you, don’t worry. I’ll live.”
“Did you miss the fact that half your blood is on the rocks?”
“Hades said all this will heal by morning, somehow,” he replied. “Can you get me to my feet?”
Jessica pulled an olive satchel with a red cross off her back. She emptied its contents on the ground and sifted through the bandages, needles, thread, rubber tubing, and tape before finding a small pack of morphine syrettes. “Found this off a dead corpsman,” she said as she stuck him with the needle. “Thought it might come in handy.”
“I thought you were going to stay back where it was safe.”
“I thought you were going to win,” she said. “I wanted pictures.”
“Stupidly dangerous,” Alex said as his arm warmed and started to numb.
“Hush. I wasn’t in any more danger than any other wartime photographer,” she said. When Alex raised an eyebrow, she capitulated his point. “Okay, it was dangerous. But god, look at you. You can’t tell me you’d rather be alone right now.”
“Not particularly,” he said.
“Exactly. Anyway, I have no idea how your arm is supposed to heal,” she said. “And I can see your shin bone in your left leg, too. Can’t imagine what all that feels like, and honestly, I don’t want to know.”
“Give me some more morphine and I’d call it a hair less painful than what I imagine childbirth is like.”
Jessica stuck him with another syrette before taking a tourniquet and cinching it down around what was left of his shoulder. “I said I didn’t want to know.”
Alex sucked in a breath and grit his teeth as another wave of agony washed over him. When it was over, he managed a weak smile as he looked at her. “You’ve got quite the stomach for this. Surprised you’re not puking everywhere.”
“I’m not the one that puked in anatomy class. You were,” she said, patting his head.
“I think that was understandable given we were watching a video where they peeled off some guy’s face.”
“That was so cool.”
“That was so not. Look, I’m glad you came and glad you helped, but you should go now. It’s not safe here.”
“The hell I will,” she said. “No one is going to pry me away from you and make you spend the night alone—not in the shape you’re in.”
Alex, without the strength to argue, closed his eyes and distracted himself from the pain by focusing on Jessica’s angelic touch as she stroked his head. The bliss he found, however, did not last long.
“Up, little Alex,” came the command, but not from Jessica. No, Alex knew that rough voice all too well know. It belonged to Ares.
Alex opened his eyes, and with Jessica’s help, he managed to sit upright. “I want my wife back.”
“You and your army are in tatters,” Ares said. He ran a finger across his grime-covered forehead and showed it to Alex. “I bathe in the blood of your men. The day is hardly yours.”
“The day isn’t over yet,” said Alex. Had he been of right mind, he might have thought better of such a challenge. There was no telling what Ares might do if he thought the battle was still on. But since the morphine was clouding his brain, the reply rolled right off his tongue without a second thought.
Ares smiled and shook his head. “It is for you, Alex.” The god planted his spear in the ground, stuck his fingers in his mouth, and whistled sharply. Alex’s ponies, still drawing their chariot, appeared in the distance. “Tomorrow we shall battle again,” Ares said, watching the ponies approach. “For your sake, I hope you offer more of a challenge.”
“He’ll be lucky if he can walk with crutches in a month, let alone pick up a gun,” Jessica said, putting a protective hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“A body of Hades needing a month to heal?” the god said, chuckling. “You’ll be good as new by nightfall, mark my words.”
The ponies arrived, and Alex put his arm across the back of Jessica’s shoulders. “Help me up,” he said, his eyes locked on the chariot. “We’ve work to do.”
“Yes, Alex,” said Ares with a dark tone. “You’ve much work to do. But there’s something you should know before tomorrow comes.”
Alex, now on his feet, sighed and shook his head. “Always something,” he muttered. “What is it?”
“To the victor go the spoils,” Ares said, holding up Hades’ scepter. “Since I won this day, this shall be my prize.”
“No!” Alex cried out, lunging, tumbling forward as he did. Thankfully, Jessica caught him before fell completely. “That’s not yours.”
“Take it from me,” said Ares, folding his arms across his chest. When Alex couldn’t meet challenge, the god nodded curtly and began to walk away. “Rest well, Alex,” he said over his shoulder. “Tomorrow we’ll see if you can gain back your wife and your precious scepter.”