“Oxygen came into the Earth’s atmosphere approximately two billion years ago as a by-product of photosynthesis of early forms of plant life. Enough by-product was produced over time to make oxygen a large component of air, which extends upward almost three hundred kilometers from the surface. At the top, in the rarified upper atmosphere, high energy ultraviolet radiation from the sun hits circulating O2 molecules, splitting them into their constituent atoms. The single atoms swirl together to form O3, or ozone, which in time breaks down to oxygen, which in a perpetual dance circulates up and is split down to individual atoms and then back into ozone.”
“There isn’t much ozone in the stratosphere. If it were at surface level, the layer would be no more than a tenth of an inch thick. But it is a very important tenth of an inch because it screens out long wave ultraviolet-C light and most ultraviolet-B radiation. Both of these are extremely harmful to living organisms.”
“It was only in 1974 that we began to realize both how important this layer of ozone was and how damaged something that had taken a billion years to develop became in less than a century. It started in the 1930s when man invented chlorine, fluorine and carbon compounds, known as CFCs for industrial applications. CFCs react with practically nothing and thus once used, float into the atmosphere, rise up to the ozone layer and above where the UV radiation finally breaks them down, releasing chlorine or bromine, which does react with ozone, destroying it. It isn’t just man that affects the ozone. Erupting volcanoes spew ash that also interacts with ozone, depleting it.”
“It appears to me that the Shadow is using this thing to take in both oxygen and ozone. Notice the discharges. Hell, that thing could be breaking the O-2 and O-3 down to single molecules for transport back, then reconstitute them when it goes through the Gate.”
Ahana sat down wearily, rubbing her fingers against her temples. “The Shadow is stripping us of our most precious resources. Even if we stop the core destruction, there might not be anything to save.”
CHAPTER 24
Cyra lay still on the hard ground, slowly taking inventory of her body. She felt as if she had been severely beaten. Every muscle ached and her fingers were torn, the wounds still oozing blood. She slowly sat up, grimacing in pain. As she expected, the Spartans were already awake and moving, even though dawn was an hour away. She could see Leonidas ten feet away, his squire slowly rubbing oil onto his skin, then kneading the muscles underneath, loosening them.
“It will be a clear day,” Leonidas said in a low voice, as if respecting the darkness. Cyra glanced up. The sky was clear, thousands of stars sparkling overhead. She heard muted laughter from a group of warriors as she gathered her cloak tight around her shoulders. “How do you feel this morning?” Leonidas asked, his teeth flashing as he gave a quick
smile. “Fine.” The smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “It will be a long day,” the King said. “You must hold until tomorrow,” Cyra said. “And then we can die?” Cyra wasn’t certain whether it was a question or a statement. She noted a red tinge on the
horizon, but in the wrong direction, to the north. Leonidas must have noticed her looking that way. “The Persian camp is like a false dawn.
They burn much wood. An army on the march is like locusts, devouring everything in its path.” “It is a waste,” Cyra said. “Yes, it is.” Leonidas wasn’t looking to the north though, but rather at a cluster of young
Spartans who were sharpening their xiphos. “I want you to stay behind the wall this morning. I
don’t want the men to see you once they form.” “Why is that?” “You remind them of home. Of their families. Their wives.” “Isn’t that a good thing?” Cyra asked. “They know why they fight,” Leonidas said. “I want their focus on battle” Cyra nodded. “I will tend to the wounded. Those who cannot fight.”
“Stay close to the wall, on the south side, near the wounded,” Leonidas said.
“Why?”
“You will see.”
Metal on metal, leather creaking, men cursing. The Persian army began to stir and move. The orders had been issued, taking hours to trickle from general down to squad leader. Those chosen to fight this day, their fates decided by a few old men sitting in the King’s tent the previous evening, began to gird themselves for battle. Those not called up said their silent prayers at being spared for this day at least.
Stories circulated the camp from those who had met the Spartans in battle, mostly from the Egyptians, but even some of the Immortals had told tales late at night. And as with most armies, the stories became exaggerated. The Spartans were seven feet tall. They fought with limbs cut off. It took a dozen normally mortal blows to kill one. There was even a story there were only three hundred of them in the pass. Men shook the heads disbelieving this last story— three hundred could not hold for two days, not fight off the Immortals.
The real dawn came with a blazing red sun rising over the Gulf. Leonidas had his armor on and was pacing along the top of the Middle Gate, deploying his men. The Spartans formed a double line as they had the previous day, directly in front of the diminished stone wall. The sound of bugles and drums echoed up the pass, indicating the Persians on the march.
A squad of skiritai came jogging back and their leader went directly to Leonidas. “Five hundred foot of Scythians — heavy infantry — lead. Behind — archers. At least four thousand. Different nationalities. Some I’ve never seen before.”
Leonidas nodded. As expected. “Join the squires,” he ordered the rangers. He raised his voice so all could hear. “Knights! Listen. The Persians come just as we expected. A wall of heavy infantry and behind them archers. We are ready for that. As your aching backs can tell you.”
That brought a low chuckle from the men.
“But we must stand fast for most of the morning before we implement our plan. I do not want any of you to fall asleep from boredom.”
Leonidas waited out the laughter. “As you already know from the soldier’s vine, the rest of our army is four day’s march away. And the only reinforcements closer are two hundred archers under Lichas.
There was no laughter. From her place with the seriously wounded Cyra was surprised that Leonidas would tell them such negative information yet he didn’t want her in front of the wall for fear of affecting the morale.
“That is the state of things,” Leonidas said simply. “Are there any questions before the Persians arrive and we begin our day’s work?”
There were none and Leonidas hopped off the wall and walked the line, checking his men, paying particular attention to those who had been wounded the previous day, making sure they were up to the task.
“Hey, old man,” he stopped in front of Polynices who sported a blood-soaked bandage poking out from underneath his helmet. “Did some Persian try to knock a little sense into you?”
Polynices laughed. “If he had achieved that, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
“True, true,” Leonidas agreed. “I assume you sent whoever dealt you the blow to his gods?”
“I parted his head from his body,” Polynices said. “His gods might not recognize him.”
The Spartan King edged closer and lowered his voice. “What do you think? Can we hold the day?”
“If their generals are stupid — yes.”
“If their generals are smart, what would they do?” Leonidas asked, even though he knew what he would be ordering if he were the Persian leader.
“Heavy infantry in assault after assault all morning regardless of casualties to keep us engaged in the pass while using the fleet to land to our rear.”