D1C12 - Ambush
Its here.
All the signs had pointed to this happening. I knew it was going to happen. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. Still, to the rational and detached Surgeon me, it was not unexpected. A night-time raid is one of the most basic strategies one employs. Take the enemy as they sleep, slit their throats and hope you kill enough to make achieving your objective easier.
Outside of my tent, I hear the sounds of metal clashing metal. Dull thuds of blades on wooden shields rang out to the beat of some inaudible music. The twangs and phuts of arrows hitting and being drawn could be heard every once in a while. In all directions, battle cries along with cries of pain resounded in the quiet forest. Every so often, the soft thud of a body hitting the dirt was audible. Listening carefully, I realised there were no screams of men taken by surprise. Nor were there shouts of desperation and despair which was so often heard when one was alone amongst dead comrades.
This was good, the sentries had done their job properly, probably. I look to the side, moving my arms in an attempt to feel the fabric of the tent. Instead, I feel a wall. The slight panic begins to grow in me yet again. I roll to the opposite side and once again I feel a wall. I was in some sort of enclosed space. I hope it isn’t airtight, I don’t want to die of suffocation. The terror-beast pushes me towards the abyss of fright and fear.
Shit.
What now?
Calm yourself. Panicking isn’t going to get you anywhere.
I take a deep breath and force a legion of thought police upon my mind. With cries of “Big Brother is watching!”, their batons and riot shields bash the thoughts of fear back into submission and I feel my heartbeat slowing down.
Options, options, options.
My mind clears. I think.
‘What are my options.’
My last memory was of me sleeping next to mother. Now I am in a… box? Perhaps.
Let’s see.
A. Attempt to escape the enclosed space.
B. Try to poke a hole in whatever you are confined in.
C. Cry out and hope that mom is nearby.
A and C wasn’t a very smart choice, a battle is raging outside, not being noticed is what's keeping my sorry ass alive.
B I try, feeling my way around the wall I realise that they aren’t exactly hard and solid. I’m not in a chest, perhaps some sort of closed basket? I move me under under me and feel the soft silk-like material my mom like to wear. I realise where I am. In the woven closed basket mom likes to keeps her clothes in.
To hide me temporarily was a smart decision, however if whoever is attacking us is aiming for me, anybody with half a brain will begin searching the tent at once, including opening baskets. There were only so many tents that are set up during camp. Most of our escort prefered sleeping in bedrolls out in the open. It allowed them to respond easily to any kind of attack and mount a counter-offensive. However that was no concern of mine. My priority at the moment was to get out of the basket and get I me and myself next to my mom. I know she can protect me.
Before that, I needed to make sure the immediate vicinity is safe. Feeling the clothes around me I find a hairpin buried in the edges of the basket. Perfect. I grab it and sit up my ass up. Poking the hairpin into the basket walls, I create a small hole that I can peek out of. Looking out, I see the inside of the tent I fell asleep in. Silhouettes are illuminated on the tent fabric by the campfires outside the tent. The Chinese shadow plays I once saw is nothing compared to the view in front of me.
I see shadow warriors fighting against other shadow warriors, they clash against each other, bashing shields with their swords and parrying attacks with the back of their blades. I see one warrior get disarmed by his opponent, his sword flying away. Immediately, the disarmed warrior draws the dagger on his waist and wrestles his opponent to the ground. Once on the ground, he stabs his knife into his opponent's neck. Little shadowy grains of black fly out of the neck as he removes the dagger from the body.
Before he can do anything else, a black stick whizzes and embeds itself in the head. One arrow, one kill. Whoever shot the arrow had considerable skill. Assuming they shot the arrow from a distance. I turn my attention to the other dancing shadow figures. They are all violent, their movements vicious and ruthless. I cannot tell who is on our side from just the silhouettes.
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However, after watching them for a while, I am able to realize that there two distinct sides in the battle. One side consists of the warriors who fight in a consistent and calm manner showing their training with each movement they make. The other side is a lot more wild, the shadows that belonged to this side made wild attacks missing more often than not.
Logically, I know that the trained warriors are most likely our men, while the wild attackers were most likely the enemy. However some part of me can’t stop thinking that if the enemy was also so well trained, we’d be screwed.
In the smaller shadows, I see the trained warrior figures forming into a some sort of shield wall. Their human silhouettes are replaced by moving rectangles. Those must be the footmen we brought with us I think to myself. They advance in sync, a lone wild attacker occasionally throw themselves at the wall, but they can do nothing to it. All that happens is a loud thump as the shields pushes him back. The warrior falls and the rectangles advance over him before he can rise; a scream can be heard as they move along. However, the battlefield rages on, everywhere else fierce fighting continues.
Looking on in my hidey hole, I see beheading and spears impaling. Lances stab and sword slashes. Shield bashes and arrow pierces. The primitive weapons humanity uses against itself are truly fearsome. Gunshot wounds are almost clinical in nature when compared to the wounds that must have been inflicted by this sort of melee combat. ‘Tis just a flesh wound?’ I like to see the man who can say that after having a sword run him through. But all that is nothing compared to ONE kind of shadow figure.
This one I definitely recognise as belonging to our side. But that doesn’t stop me shivering in fear when I see it in action. The shadow was that of a bird. Some were mounted, some were not. It didn’t matter. They weren’t bird but demons.
Some birds were chomping down on enemy heads with their beaks, crushing the helmet and the skull, causing lumps of matter to drip towards the ground. You don’t have to be a genius to realise it was brain matter.
Other birds were kicking with their stumpy legs. Even though they seemed to be in the distance, every time it the kicks struck the enemy, I could hear the crack sound like thunder and the bones were annihilated into smithereens.
But that was childs play.
The truly fearsome birds were those that used their claws to swipe at the enemy. Snap the bones went. Crack the ribcages went. Pop the sockets went. Rip the flesh went. And if they were unlucky. Chop went the body as it separated into thirds. I imagine that if I had a camera to film this moment, it would probably win some kind of short-film award. Probably most violent scenes depicted through shadows. Rated +18 for blood, gore and intense violence.
It is my luck that the shadows do not grow bigger and bigger, it means that there is no one approaching. I turn around and poke another hole to get another view. Just my luck, on the tent flap I see three shadows growing bigger and bigger. Their swords and axes are drawn, dripping with black drops that I know to be blood. Now that they are close I can see that the silhouettes do not have the shadow of the smooth semi-circular helms our footmen wore, nor did they have the horsetail shadows of our mounted knights. Oh, why did I have to open my mental mouth!
As they get closer and closer, I grow quieter and quieter, I retreat into my inner self, hoping that it will somehow make me invisible to them. I am tempted to make a roll, but no amount of luck can save me now.
My heartbeat slows down to a third of what it was before. My lungs move in slow motion as I forcibly make myself breathe slower. I feel almost feel the sweat dropping from my chin despite the fact that baby's don't sweat.
The imaginary sweatdrop lands on the clothes below me.
The tent flap opens.
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(AN: thanks to mufurasu for the sweat catch, didn't know babies can't sweat >. >)