Read Online Into Eden: Pangaea - Book 1 by Frank Augustus - Free Book Online
Authors: Frank Augustus
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horsemen rode their steeds over the wall, and then forced the animals to lay down behind its protection. When Hezron finally reached the wall, he threw his shield over ahead of him and flipped himself over, snapping off the arrow in his leg in the process. The pain was so intense that he did pass out for a minute, but one of his men brought him back by splashing a little water from a water-skin on his face.
Hezron lay there for a minute as another of the men removed what was left of the arrow and stopped the bleeding by wrapping it with strips from a cloak from one of his fallen comrade’s saddle bags. When they were done tending to his wound he ordered the men to stay put until he gave the order to move. They all thought that was the best order he had issued all night.
War, in its most basic form, comes down to the mathematical sciences. Hezron thought of that as he lay behind the rock wall calculating his odds of defeating his opponent. Ahead of him were ten to twelve heavily armed an-nef. With him were twelve trained Atlantan legionnaires capable of fighting. The rest had either been killed by the ambush or were too badly wounded to participate in an assault. With them were ten farmers that had not fled. The rest had obeyed his orders to fall back and never stopped falling. As for the farmers, they were no more than arrow-fodder. Some of them could use a bow, true, but they didn’t have any bows. So by doing a little addition and subtraction Hezron calculated that the sides were roughly even. But there was more mathematics to apply. Between the natural granite fortress that the an-nef now occupied and the stonewall the he and his men now cowered behind lay roughly two-hundred paces of open field. Two-hundred paces of killing field. And what of geometry? The an-nef occupied a position perhaps twenty paces atop a steep grade of roughly forty-five degrees—a formidable climb for men not laden down with armor and who had not just rushed across a field dodging arrows. Yes, geometry definitely had to be factored in here.
But the most pressing mathematical science at work here was that of probability. What were the odds, Hezron pondered, that he and his exhausted and wounded men could defeat the rested jackal-heads on the hill if they were fortunate enough to survive the charge? Yes, war was definitely a matter of mathematics, and Hezron was very good at math. Hezron rolled over on his side and was about to shout a retreat when one of his men came running over in a crouched position, “General!”
“Yes?”
“The enemy is retreating.”
Hezron couldn’t believe his ears. He sat up and peered over the stone wall. The sun was now well above Horse-head Rock and he could see beyond it down the Southern Highway the an-nef riders racing at full gallop and pulling their wounded commander in the buckboard behind them. And why shouldn’t they? They had done what they intended to do. They had made Hezron pay heavily in blood for his pursuit. Hezron now had wounded to attend to and they knew that he would think twice before engaging them again. Hezron began to laugh aloud. When word reached Atlantis of his ill-fated campaign they might well recall him to stand trial, but this morning he was still alive—and gods willing—no more would die needlessly today.
“General,” the legionnaire spoke to him again.
“What is it?”
“Should I order a pursuit?”
“Attend to the wounded,” Hezron replied. “We’re going home.”
Chapter 5
The Southern Highway
The afternoon sun was coming in through Jesse’s bedroom window when he awakened. He looked around and saw a servant girl who immediately jumped up from her chair and ran down the hall shouting, “Tamar! Tamar! Your son is awake! Your son is awake!”
Perez sat beside him in a chair with Enoch curled up by his side.
“How long have I been out?” he asked of no one in particular.
It was Perez who replied, “A day and a half. Doc Paron said that you might
Hezron lay there for a minute as another of the men removed what was left of the arrow and stopped the bleeding by wrapping it with strips from a cloak from one of his fallen comrade’s saddle bags. When they were done tending to his wound he ordered the men to stay put until he gave the order to move. They all thought that was the best order he had issued all night.
War, in its most basic form, comes down to the mathematical sciences. Hezron thought of that as he lay behind the rock wall calculating his odds of defeating his opponent. Ahead of him were ten to twelve heavily armed an-nef. With him were twelve trained Atlantan legionnaires capable of fighting. The rest had either been killed by the ambush or were too badly wounded to participate in an assault. With them were ten farmers that had not fled. The rest had obeyed his orders to fall back and never stopped falling. As for the farmers, they were no more than arrow-fodder. Some of them could use a bow, true, but they didn’t have any bows. So by doing a little addition and subtraction Hezron calculated that the sides were roughly even. But there was more mathematics to apply. Between the natural granite fortress that the an-nef now occupied and the stonewall the he and his men now cowered behind lay roughly two-hundred paces of open field. Two-hundred paces of killing field. And what of geometry? The an-nef occupied a position perhaps twenty paces atop a steep grade of roughly forty-five degrees—a formidable climb for men not laden down with armor and who had not just rushed across a field dodging arrows. Yes, geometry definitely had to be factored in here.
But the most pressing mathematical science at work here was that of probability. What were the odds, Hezron pondered, that he and his exhausted and wounded men could defeat the rested jackal-heads on the hill if they were fortunate enough to survive the charge? Yes, war was definitely a matter of mathematics, and Hezron was very good at math. Hezron rolled over on his side and was about to shout a retreat when one of his men came running over in a crouched position, “General!”
“Yes?”
“The enemy is retreating.”
Hezron couldn’t believe his ears. He sat up and peered over the stone wall. The sun was now well above Horse-head Rock and he could see beyond it down the Southern Highway the an-nef riders racing at full gallop and pulling their wounded commander in the buckboard behind them. And why shouldn’t they? They had done what they intended to do. They had made Hezron pay heavily in blood for his pursuit. Hezron now had wounded to attend to and they knew that he would think twice before engaging them again. Hezron began to laugh aloud. When word reached Atlantis of his ill-fated campaign they might well recall him to stand trial, but this morning he was still alive—and gods willing—no more would die needlessly today.
“General,” the legionnaire spoke to him again.
“What is it?”
“Should I order a pursuit?”
“Attend to the wounded,” Hezron replied. “We’re going home.”
Chapter 5
The Southern Highway
The afternoon sun was coming in through Jesse’s bedroom window when he awakened. He looked around and saw a servant girl who immediately jumped up from her chair and ran down the hall shouting, “Tamar! Tamar! Your son is awake! Your son is awake!”
Perez sat beside him in a chair with Enoch curled up by his side.
“How long have I been out?” he asked of no one in particular.
It was Perez who replied, “A day and a half. Doc Paron said that you might
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