The overwhelming number of Persian soldiers seemed insurmountable. No matter how bravely or ferociously the Macedonians fought, they were no match for the fresh reserves continuously making their way to the enemy’s front line. Without a miracle, defeat was inevitable.
Alex looked down the battlefront as he continued riding along his army’s right flank. Though his mind began thinking a few steps ahead about future troop movements and battle plans, he could not help but focus again on Jules.
It all makes sense, Alex thought, realizing Jules’ true motives. The Open Society is a complete scam! At first the thought of such a unique form of governance did pique his intellectual interest but now the sinister nature of such a plan became painfully evident.
“Unlike having a world-wide police force,” Alex mentally concluded, “an Open Society would require no mass surveillance or extensive governmental intrusion. Such a society would create a broad economic disparity whereby the super-rich would partake in all the planet’s wealth while the rest of the world’s population would fight amongst themselves for the pittance left over.”
Alex was angry with himself for not understanding the ominous implications of such an inherently corrupt institution. He recognized now that by not only encouraging but also empowering people to divide into smaller, separate groups, each with their own individual identity and beliefs, society as a whole would be become too fragmented to mount any type of meaningful resistance to the class of super-rich bankers, politicians, and businessmen who were oppressing them. There would therefore be no need for an international WOG force or massive military oversight. People would be too busy fighting amongst themselves to actually generate any significant resistance to the government or make meaningful changes in the progress.
“King Alexander,” Philotas asked, nervously riding alongside him. “What is your next order?”
Alex’s attention retuned to the battlefield. Now was not the time to lament over mistakes. He needed to win the battle, deactivate the lock and get out of this virtual world before it was too late—and to do it without getting killed in the process.
“That’s it!” Alex yelled. “Just as I predicted!”
“What, King Alexander?” urgently asked Philotas. “What do you see?”
“Lyssimachus, hand me my lance,” Alex said to his bodyguard. “Let us not delay our actions any further!”
“Alexander?” said Philotas. “What is it?”
“Right there,” Alex said, pointing across the river. “King Darius has sent most of his reinforcements to the center of the line, leaving his left flank with little backup. It’s the exact opportunity I have been anticipating!”
Riding up to the Companion cavalry, Alex held out his lance. “To victory!”
The soldiers, in turn, held up their lances and repeated Alex’s words with even more vigor. “To Victory!”
Taking the lead, Alex rode Bucephalus straight up to the front of the line. With his bodyguards and the rest of the Companion cavalry now behind him, he made one final adjustment to his helmet and repositioned the sword along his waist.
“Lances forward!” commanded Philotas, awaiting the final attack orders from his king.
Noting the Macedonians were preparing their assault, the Persian archers and javelin throwers across the river also readied their weapons.
Without saying another word, Alex signaled the attack by galloping alone toward the Pinarus River. Philotas and the rest of the cavalry immediately followed him, charging full speed on an all-out offensive.
As Alex and his men hit the river full stride, water splashed in all directions, creating a heavy mist in the air. Knowing only to go forward, their horses were not intimidated by the lack of visibility and continued their charge without hesitation.
Greeting the Macedonians as they raced across the river was a heavy barrage of projectiles hurled by the Persians. The soldiers’ thickly compacted linen and bronze body armor gave them adequate protection against this attack, allowing them to charge forward almost unabated.
Alex galloped directly toward the center of the Persian left wing. With only unarmored archers occupying this part of the line, he hoped victory would be both swift and easy.
As the Macedonians drew closer, the Persians pelted them with a second barrage of projectiles. Again producing little effect, the Persians were forced to draw their swords for protection, leaving their javelins and bows unattended on the ground.
Showing no sign of fear, Alex set his sights on an archer along the river’s edge. Without breaking stride, he successfully struck the Persian soldier directly in the face with his lance. The blow was so powerful that it almost decapitated the man, killing him instantly.
The other Macedonians riding with Alex proved just as ruthless. Within seconds hundreds of Persians lay dead or dying.
Because of the swiftness of the attack, reinforcements had little chance of relieving their colleagues along the front line. Row by row the Persians were slaughtered by the oncoming cavalry. Their lack of armor and short swords was a feeble defense against the long and powerful Macedonian lance. Those not instantly killed died from trampling as the cavalry pressed forward unhindered by the meager resistance.
The cavalrymen began to cheer at their swift success and watched as many of the Persians fled for their lives.
“Save your ovation until we have won the battle!” admonished Alex. “The fight has just begun!”
After inflicting numerous casualties, Alex’s lance eventually snapped in two. While half of it was still in his grasp, the tip lay implanted in the chest of a Persian lying dead on the ground.
Taking his sword from his waist, Alex continued fighting. With fewer and fewer of the enemy remaining, he and his men began to chase them deep into Persian-occupied territory. With their backs turned to the Macedonians, they made easy prey. The death toll began to rise into the thousands as Alex and his men killed almost at will.
The surviving soldiers along the Persian left flank soon were in mass retreat. Their chaotic withdrawal was so quick that they began to overtake the reserve soldiers behind them in their bid to escape the carnage.
The unwanted influx of men created such disorder among the Persian ranks that it was impossible to deploy any of the reserves in an efficient manner to counter the Macedonian offensive. With all the soldiers running back into their own men, deployment of troops along the left flank was a tactical dilemma.
Despite the enormous success causing a rout, Alex realized that their initial victory would be short lived once Darius was eventually able to marshal his vast remaining troops up to the front line along his left flank.
“Philotas!” called Alex. “Turn to the left. If our phalanxes are to hold, we must hit the Persian infantry now along their newly exposed flank.”
Alex knew that he commanded the respect of every cavalryman who rode into battle with him. If anybody could have them change position in the surrounding chaos, it was Alex.
Pointing his sword at the Persian infantry, Alex and his bodyguards immediately galloped toward their exposed side.
Aided by Philotas’ cajoling, the other cavalrymen recognized Alex’s abrupt change in direction and followed him.
The Persian soldiers continued pounding the pikemen back into the river. Exhilarated by their success, they were determined to break the Macedonian line and end this battle quickly. In their haste for victory they were unaware of the rapidly approaching Macedonian cavalry charge and were ill prepared for what lay in store.
Alex’s sword soon became blunt as he slashed his way through row after row of men. Continuing his assault unabated by the dullness of his weapon, he bludgeoned to death every Persian soldier he encountered.
“Forward!” Alex pleaded to his pikemen. “Forward to victory!”
Like many of the world’s great leaders, Alex wanted to inspire his soldiers through action more than words.
Horns once again began to blare along the long line of Macedonian pikemen. At the sight of Alex’s quick victory and his successful attack against Darius’ front line infantry, there was an immediate resurgence of their courage and strength.
“Till death or victory, whichever comes first,” they chanted.
Having overcome near defeat, the Macedonian pikemen were able to successfully regroup and mount a new and stronger offensive. Invigorated by the sight of their king, they began to shout and roar as they again started to push their opponents backwards.
This time, the Persian reserves were unable to relieve their beleaguered colleagues. Still in disarray from the fleeing soldiers, they could not coordinate a legitimate counter-offensive.
With the thrust of the pikemen now moving forward, unabated by fresh reserves, the Persians found themselves at the mercy of the phalanx formation. The metal plates under their quilted tunics and shorter spears proved woefully ineffective against the longer and sturdier Macedonian pike. Men by the hundreds quickly met their demise as the phalanx tore into their line, impaling anyone in its path.
Unlike his fellow pikemen, Parmenio and his men continued to meet stiff and unrelenting resistance. The Persians they faced were among the finest of the East and had not faltered even though the Macedonian offensive made progress elsewhere along the battlefield. Whether these Persians did not note what had been happening to their left or simply did not care, they continued fighting with intense veracity.
Despite the opposition, Parmenio’s left flank was able to hold their position. Deeply entrenched along the shores of the Pinarus, they were proving extremely difficult to drive back any farther into the sea. It was a true testament of human endurance and tenacity. But with exhaustion setting in, help was surely needed. No man could fight forever, and as the battle wore on, Parmenio, along with his soldiers, was nearing collapse.
“Do not let them regroup!” Alex shouted to his fellow cavalrymen. “Stop them before they can mount a counterattack!”
Despite his cajoling, a mass of 8,000 Persian reserves were able to assemble and ready themselves for battle. Many with spears in hand, they attempted to form their own phalanx in an effort to counter Alex’s cavalry attack.
Wanting to crush these reinforcements, Alex again took the lead and rode Bucephalus straight through the Persian soldiers along the front line to their rear. Due to the rashness of his actions, only a few bodyguards were able to follow. As of yet, the rest of his fellow cavalrymen did not note his change of plans.
Alex immediately turned, and to his surprise there were only 10 other Macedonians accompanying him. The rest of his men were far behind, separated from him by a mass of enemy soldiers.
Now positioned between 8,000 Persian reinforcements to his front and the entire enemy front line infantry to his rear, Alex had inadvertently placed himself in extreme danger.
Lyssimachus and the rest of the bodyguards looked around frantically, searching for some route of escape for their king. But they, too, came to the realization that they were alone and in the center of hostile territory.
“King Alexander,” pleaded Lyssimachus, “let us return from where we came. Surely if we stay, it will prove to be the death of us all!”
It was as if time, for a brief second, stood still. The intensity of the situation forced Alex’s senses and thoughts into overdrive. Surrounded by the enemy and facing probable death, he began to see things much more clearly on the battlefield.
Looking directly to his rear, he witnessed his valiant pikemen pushing the Persians back while his cavalry continued attacking their exposed left flank. In front of him he noted some soldiers holding their spears above their heads while others stood wielding either axes or swords.
There is only one thing to do in a situation like this, Alex thought as his heart raced under his armor.
Holding his sword up high, Alex nudged Bucephalus in the side and charged alone into the Persians in front of him. Foolish though it was, Alex did not want to seem cowardly in front of his men. To retreat, even just to regroup, would show weakness and set a poor example for the rest of the troops.
“Ahhh!” Alex yelled as he took his first swipe at the Persian soldier in front of him. With only a felt tiara protecting his head, the man fell dead to the ground upon impact.
Hastily surrounding him on all sides, the bodyguards immediately joined in the brawl. Wanting only to defend their king, they would all fight willingly to their own death.
“Alexander!” yelled Philotas from a distance. “Get out of there! What are you doing?”
Seeing no response, Philotas took 30 of the finest Companion cavalrymen and rode straight through the line of Persian soldiers in front of them. Not wasting time to defend themselves, many took blows to their chest and legs as they road to the aid of their king. They knew he would do the same for them, and to act in any other way would be dishonorable.
“Get in close!” Alex yelled to his bodyguards. “Their spears are useless in confined spaces. Don’t give them room to…”
Alex suddenly stopped mid-sentence. While turning to his right he did not see the Persian soldier charging toward him with an axe in hand. The attack was quick. The Persian struck Alex directly in the chest, knocking him onto his back.
As their king lay on his back, Lyssimachus leapt from his horse onto Bucephalus. Bringing with him the large shield of Achilles, he placed it over Alex’s body, protecting him from any further assault.
It would prove to be Lyssimachus’ last action. Leaving himself exposed to the enemy, he was instantly impaled by multiple Persian spears. With blood pouring from him, he committed one final act of bravery. Dying, Lyssimachus placed his body over the shield as a final gesture aimed at protecting the life of his king.
“Alexander!” yelled Philotas, hoping somehow to rejuvenate his boyhood friend.
“They killed King Alexander!” bellowed a grief-stricken Macedonian cavalryman as Alex’s body remained motionless atop Bucephalus.
Philotas and the rest of the 30 cavalrymen finally joined up with Alex’s bodyguards and made a circle around their leader after hacking away at the Persian soldiers next to him. With lances at their sides, they made a highly defendable barrier, guarding Alex from any further assault.
The oncoming Persian infantry failed to advance any farther. Whether the order was not given or it was deemed too risky an attack, they held their position, waiting for the Macedonians to make the next move.
As the pikemen in their phalanx formation continued to surge forward, many of the Persian soldiers began to break rank and run. What at first had been just a trickle soon became a flood.
“May the gods have mercy,” begged Philotas, looking upon the shield covering Alex’s body. Still dripping in blood from Lyssimachus’ mortal wounds, he was afraid to remove it to see what lay underneath.
With a quiver to his arms, Philotas slowly lifted the Great Shield of Achilles. If Alexander were dead, he knew the rest of the Macedonians would lose their will to fight and the tide of battle would turn against them. For Philotas realized all too well there were over 100,000 Persian reserves, including the most elite Persian infantry force known as the Immortals, still eager to enter the fight.
“Alexander!” exclaimed Philotas, amazed to see his friend alive. “I feared you had been killed!”
Still lying on his back, Alex merely uttered, “Ouch,” after getting the wind knocked out of him. Upon sitting, he handed the shield to one of his bodyguards. In the process, a tight, leather strap that once surrounded it fell to the ground atop a few dead bodies. The leather must have been severed by one of the Persian soldiers during their assault on him.
Just like the miniature shield that represented the key to gain control of The New Reality’s computer system, this one also boasted four circular, metal contact points around its perimeter.
This isn’t a shield, Alex immediately concluded. It’s a key! This ancient artifact is a key and Albert Rosenberg knew it the whole time!
The revelation shocked Alex.
The riddle goes far beyond the extent of this virtual world or even that of The New Reality. But what does it all mean?
“He’s alive!” shouted Philotas at the top of his lungs. “King Alexander is alive! How are you, my king?” Philotas asked while patting Alex on the back.
“Ask me after we have won this battle,” Alex said as he grabbed the reigns of his horse and surveyed the battlefield as if nothing had happened. Despite acting uninjured, he in fact had broken three ribs from the force of the blow to his chest. The heavily quilted corselet he was wearing had saved his life. While cushioning the strike, it prevented the axe from entering his chest cavity and fatally severing his heart or other internal organs.
Alex was pleased to see his left flank holding and his entire line of pikemen gaining ground rapidly against their enemy. Unfortunately for his army, he knew they grew exhausted, and with thousands of Persians still waiting behind Darius to attack, fatigue might yet bring about their ultimate defeat.
That’s it! Alex thought to himself while continuing to survey the battlefield. “If I cut off the snake’s head, the body will surely die!”
Turning toward Philotas, Alex pointed to his left. “Look ahead.”
“Darius!” Philotas shouted. “And he’s only surrounded by his bodyguards!”
King Darius stood atop his magnificently decorated chariot. Covered entirely in gold and decorated with an array of precious and semi-precious jewels, it resembled more a work of art than something that would be used in battle. The only thing militaristic about this horseless vehicle was the large circular shield decorated by a bronze sculpture of the late Persian King Xerxes’ head.
Just as splendid, King Darius, too, was dressed more for a parade than a war. Wearing a long purple robe trimmed with gold and a blue tiara over his head, he appeared as if he were about to conduct a ceremonial prayer at Persepolis rather than lead his men into armed combat.
“I know,” Alex said, “I’m just as surprised as you to see him so exposed.”
“I’ll gather the rest of the cavalry so that we may all ride upon his position at once!”
“There is no time,” countered Alex. “Opportunities like this do not wait.”
“But what of your injuries?” asked Philotas. “You were just moments from traveling the Styx. Are you alright to continue?”
“There is no other option,” replied Alex, wincing with pain.
Taking Bucephalus forward, Alex addressed the few cavalry and bodyguards surrounding him. “Onward to King Darius himself. On my lead!”
“Yes, King Alexander!” the men shouted.
While keeping an eye on Darius and ignoring the other 8,000 Persians directly to his front, Alex grabbed a spare lance and sharpened sword from a nearby bodyguard. Now fully armed for battle, he watched as the Persians passed him by in the hundreds in their withdrawal from the advancing Macedonian phalanx. This retreat would give him the perfect opportunity to execute his plan amidst the chaos.
Alex placed the lance at his waist and gripped it as tightly as he could.
“Charge!” yelled Alex, nudging Bucephalus firmly in the thigh. On cue the horse strode into full gallop.
“Yaah!” screamed the rest of the cavalry and bodyguards around Alex as they followed his lead.
Negotiating their way through the fleeing Persians, Alex and his men soon would be faced with the best Darius had to offer. Heavily armed and willing to die for their king, Darius’ bodyguards were a formidable foe.
As if the battle raging around them had ceased, Alex concentrated only on those bodyguards hindering the path to King Darius himself.
Charging full speed, Alex took no mercy on anyone creating an obstacle. Crunch went the ribs of one of Darius’ bodyguards as Alex impaled his lance through the man’s chest cavity. Within seconds another two bodyguards lay lifeless on the ground, both killed by the sharp end of Alex’s lance.
The rest of the cavalry quickly followed into battle. Like Alex, they sent many of the Persians to their graves. One by one the bodyguards fell, massacred by the oncoming Macedonians.
Now relying on his sword in such close quarter combat, Alex continued slashing away at the Persian enemy. Bodies began to accumulate all around, making his passage to Darius ever the more difficult. Bucephalus trampled the dead or dying underneath just to get a foothold as Alex continued his assault.
After Bucephalus hurdled a dead soldier, Alex swung down with all his might at the one remaining bodyguard who stood between him and the king. In a mighty clatter his and the man’s swords met with a resounding clang. Neither moved as the two stared intently into each other’s eyes. They both bore the same look of determination.
Withdrawing his sword, Alex again swung down upon his sure-footed foe. The bodyguard again blocked the blow. Unable to make any evasive actions, the Persian held his ground. He would do all in his power to deny Alex the opportunity to pass and gain access to Darius.
Alex lunged forward and jabbed intently at the man only to be thwarted again as the bodyguard blocked the attack to the side. Noting Alex’s right flank exposed, the Persian decided now was the time to seize the offensive. Taking his sword above his head, he wound up for the kill.
Just as the man was about to strike, Alex reached with his free hand for the dagger strapped to his left thigh and plunged it through the unsuspecting Persian’s throat.
The man gasped for air as blood filled his lungs, sending him helplessly to his knees.
In that instant Alex felt a burning pressure on the left side of his chest as he was suddenly jolted backwards upon Bucephalus. An arrow had struck him, piercing his armor and lodging in his chest. While the quilted pads once again saved his life, the pain proved excruciating.
Alex looked up and saw, to his surprise, that Darius himself had delivered the arrow. He had been so consumed fighting the bodyguard that he neglected to recognize the threat posed by the Persian king.
With blood running down from his armor onto Bucephalus, Alex lurched forward. His horse responded by charging toward the golden chariot. “This battle isn’t over yet,” muttered Alex as he began to catch his breath.
To his utter amazement, King Darius watched as Alex advanced toward him. Thinking he had dealt the Macedonian king a deathblow, he was dumbfounded to see the man still alive. Not expecting to be attacked, Darius instantly grabbed another arrow and began to cock his bow.
This time Alex was prepared for whatever the king had to offer. With the dexterity and speed of a master equestrian, he launched Bucephalus ahead while hurdling over the dead.
Now beside Darius, Alex mustered all his strength and swung his sword, striking the Persian king in the neck.
As sweat poured down over his eyes, Alex rode passed the chariot, unaware of whether his attack was truly successful. Hoping another arrow was not on its way, he quickly turned Bucephalus around to once again face Darius’ position. Blood continued to ooze from his chest wound.
The magnificent golden chariot was empty. The great Persian king was nowhere in sight.
“Alexander!” yelled Philotas, stunned to see an arrow protruding from his chest.
As Alex went to respond a bloody object rolling along the ground suddenly caught his eye. It seemed as if Bucephalus had purposely kicked it into sight for him to notice.
“What?” Alex gasped as he gazed upon the sight.
The decapitated Persian king’s head lay on the ground with its eyes open and mouth agape. A look of horror still filled its face; a look that not even death itself could extinguish.
Upon the sight of their deceased king, the Persians began to flee en mass. As word spread throughout the ranks, the entire army took flight.
“We are victorious!” Alex shouted with pride, turning to Philotas. “Now let us…”
Alex stopped midsentence. Sensing something was wrong, he suddenly lost track of what he had been thinking.
What’s going on?
The feeling grew more intense. Alex was overcome by a great sense of doom.
“King Alexander!” shouted Philotas, “It is your injuries. I will call for your physician Philip at once!”
Alex knew this feeling had nothing to do with either of his current injuries. But he was definitely not imagining the odd sensation. He attempted to speak once again, and still no words came to his mouth. Instead, he was thrown from his horse and landed on the ground.
Feeling paralyzed and unable to breathe, the world suddenly went black around him. As Alex lay helpless on the ground, he could only come to one obvious conclusion.
He had been double-crossed.