Well, that made it easy. We’re historians. We need things kept simple.
I checked and loaded my weapon, clashed my boots together to dislodge any scorpions, laced them up, and wished for body armour. Murdoch updated me. Someone heard a noise in the rocks and challenged an indistinct figure. The resulting fusillade of gunfire woke everyone up. After that initial burst, however, everything was silent. And continued so. We waited, but nothing happened.
We were just beginning to wonder if it was all a false alarm when they came at us out of the darkness. Guthrie gave the order. ‘Here they come. Fire at will. Good luck, everyone.’
I crouched behind a rock and fired at the muzzle flashes. The noise was overwhelming and the stink of cordite everywhere. Casings, mine and others, flew around me. A small part of my mind was thinking what a bitch of a FOD plod we were going to have. There wasn’t much kickback from my small weapon but still my hands, wrists and forearms ached with the strain of keeping it steady. It all seemed to go on for a very long time. I kept firing until empty, reloaded and fired again. Gunshots reverberated around the canyon. The noise was deafening. My gun grew hot in my sweaty hands and the acrid smell made me thirsty again. A voice shouted in the night and they retreated. Silence fell.
‘Sound off,’ said Guthrie and we did. In our group was Murdoch, Peterson, Markham and me. Guthrie and another, larger group were a little above us and to the left. The Boss commanded a team on the other side of the path. Really, we had pretty well everything locked down. Nothing was getting past us.
Wrong.
I blame myself. I’d actually made the comparisons between us and Leonidas and Henry. I just hadn’t taken it far enough. They both employed similar tactics. They both encountered the same problems. Everything’s fine so long as no one comes up behind you. Because then, in a narrow space – you’re trapped.
In Henry’s case, it was because the French POWs, sent to the rear of the army for safekeeping and future ransom, forgot themselves and cheated. They tried to attack Henry from the rear, which just wasn’t done, but that’s the French for you. They killed the baggage boys left in charge and for Henry, the position was so perilous that he forgot the rules as well and had them all killed. Problem solved.
Leonidas was betrayed by that bastard Ephialtes, who led a Persian contingent through the mountains to fall upon the Spartans from the rear. That didn’t end well but Leonidas and his boys went down fighting.
They came again, a full frontal assault. Lots of sound and fury. I was peppered with painful pieces of flying rock. We were pinned down. We couldn’t get out, but they couldn’t get past us either, whoever they were. We were well placed; the pods were secure and we were in no great danger.
Wrong again.
All firing ceased and in the ringing silence, I heard the distinctive whine of a couple of heavy-duty blasters, cocked and locked. Behind us. The bastards were behind us. That’s what they’d been doing under cover of heavy fire – creeping around behind us. I heard Guthrie curse fearsomely under his breath. We could have slugged it out, but really, there was no chance.
A voice called out of the darkness for us to lay down our weapons. I was all for battling on to the end, but the Boss gave the only order he could. In the silence of disbelief, Guthrie’s voice came out of the darkness, saying quietly, ‘No one opens a pod except on Dr Bairstow’s instructions. That is an order.’ Indistinct figures emerged out of the darkness and we were marched, at gunpoint, back into our little basin.
The sky began to lighten. Dawn was happening behind the mountains. And with the sun would come the heat again.
There were fewer of them than us, but they were better armed and equipped. And they had the advantage of surprise.
They lined us up on the sand, in front of the pods, in two rows facing each other. We were on our knees, hands behind our heads. They weren’t gentle. The next half hour or so was not going to be much fun. Commands were shouted and a few of them peeled off to check the surrounding rocks and the rest took up positions behind us.
I looked around. Opposite me I could see Farrell, Peterson, the Boss, Markham, and Dieter. I couldn’t see any Pathfinders at all. I hoped they were safe in Number One with the scrolls. I’m a historian. I thought they’d come for the scrolls. I was wrong about that, as well.
Jamie Cameron from R & D was here, but Doctor Dowson and the Professor were not. They would be in TB2. I was a little worried that they would open the door. Three, Five, and Six, I suspected, were empty and locked. Yes, the bulk of us were here in the sand. Helpless.