Instead of five against three, he would fight them three against three.
Then he would pick off the others when they rushed into the fray.
The gap in the stone face was about three feet wide. During rain-storms, water gushed through the chasm like a waterfall. Over the years, it had smoothed the rock and made it slick. Traction was difficult to find. The angle of the hillside wasn’t particularly steep, so ropes and anchors weren’t needed. Still, in order to climb the fifteen feet to the next ridge, they needed to concentrate.
For a large man, Payne was unbelievably nimble. Most Special Forces officers were small and wiry, soldiers who could run forever and hide in the blink of an eye, yet somehow Payne was able to keep up with them. In fact, he did more than that; he surpassed his peers by matching their agility and endurance and adding a brute strength that none of them possessed.
It was one of the reasons he had been asked to lead the MANIACs.
They were a special group, and Payne was the best of the best.
Using his hands and feet to climb, he scurried up the rock with ease. He dropped his pack on the ridge, and then scanned the nearby trees. With gun raised, he stared into the darkness, listening for the crack of a branch or anything else that seemed out of place.
But the area seemed deserted.
“Let’s go,” he said to his friends, who were waiting down below.
Dial was up second. He grimaced in pain as he used his arms to assist with the climb. Though his ribs were tender to the touch, they weren’t broken and weren’t going to stop him. Ten seconds later, he was crouching next to his friend on top of the ridge.
“Next,” he said to Allison.
She nodded and tucked the gun into her belt, nervous about the task at hand. Unlike the men, who had all been trained in one service academy or another, she had no experience with climbing-unless she counted gym class in junior high. She was in good shape from her frequent jogs around the Stanford campus, but this was something new to her.
Rock climbing in the dark simply wasn’t offered at her local health club.
While Dial stood guard, Payne kept his focus on Allison. In his hands, he held a thick tree limb that he had found nearby on the ground. If she struggled during her ascent, she could grab hold of it, and he could pull her up. “Don’t stop. Just keep moving forward.”
She followed his instructions, churning one leg after the other, using her hands to steady herself against the side of the chasm, never pausing to think. Her foot slipped once on the slick surface, but she maintained her balance with her arms and made it to the top without help.
“That was fun,” she said with a smile.
“I’m glad,” Payne said. “Now stand over there so Marcus can take his turn.”
Allison nodded and shuffled off to the side.
A moment later, the Spartans started their attack.
72
Allison saw the Spartan before anyone else. He burst from the trees, twenty feet away from her. His shield was in one hand, his sword in the other. Since her gun was still tucked in her belt, she did the only thing she could think of. She screamed as loudly as she could.
Payne whirled in her direction and spotted the Spartan who was sprinting at them. Unable to pull his gun in time, Payne stepped in front of Allison and lowered his shoulder, hoping to duck under the Spartan’s shield. A moment before impact, Payne arched his back as if he was going to tackle him. But instead of wrapping his arms, he thrust his shoulders upward, slamming the tree branch that he still held into his opponent’s legs. The force, coupled with the Spartan’s momentum, launched the soldier high into the air and over the edge of the ridge.
Jones, who had heard Allison’s scream, was on full alert when the Spartan took flight. Like a superhero out of control, the Spartan crashed into a nearby tree and landed roughly on the ground as his helmet bounced down the hill.
But Jones showed no sympathy for him.
He stood over him and ended his life with a bullet between the eyes.
Meanwhile, on the ridge above, the other two Spartans charged into battle. Both of them had learned from the hoplite’s mistake, so they approached quickly yet under control. Shields in front of them, swords ready to strike, prepared to fight to the death.
Ready for a challenge, Apollo went after Payne. During the past few minutes, he had watched Payne and knew he was their leader. They were roughly the same size and build, and both of them moved with dexterity. The main difference was in their training.
Apollo had learned his skills from the greatest warrior culture of all time.
His opponent had not.
In Apollo’s mind, the outcome was all but decided.
Before Payne could recover from the previous assault, Apollo was upon him. Using his shield as a battering ram, he launched himself into Payne, knocking him onto his back. Payne skidded to a halt a few feet short of the chasm. A second later, Apollo was above him, swinging his sword as hard as he could. Somehow, through it all, Payne had held on to the tree limb. It was sturdy and knotted with age. He lifted it above his chest just in time to stop the path of the blade.
A mighty thump echoed through the night as the wood splintered from the force.
The unexpected block left the Spartan off balance. His weight was leaning forward, and his stride was too wide. Payne spotted the flaw and quickly took advantage. With a sweep of his feet, he knocked Apollo to the ground and rolled on top of him. The limb that had once been whole was now in two pieces. Payne dropped one and used the other like a crazed drummer. Time after time, he pounded on his opponent’s head and face, trying to beat him to death.
But the Spartan’s helmet held firm.
Though he was dazed, years of training told Apollo what to do. With all his strength, he used his hips to thrust upward, bucking Payne into the air. The maneuver worked better than he could have imagined. The slope of the hill coupled with the edge of the ridge cost Payne his advantage. One moment he was pummeling the Spartan, the next he was tumbling down the chasm, losing chunks of skin as he bounced between the narrow rocks.
With a loud thud, Payne hit the ground below.
Andropoulos reached down to help him, but his hand was pushed away.
Payne simply said, “That son of a bitch!”
Then, riding a burst of rage, he scurried back up the chasm.
Ready for round two.
Dial had his own battle to worry about. He had turned toward Allison when she screamed, which had allowed the other Spartan to slip in behind him.
Sword raised high, the Spartan was set to strike when Dial heard the clanging of armor. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees as the Spartan’s blade whizzed overhead. Momentum carried the warrior forward, but he remained balanced and under control. Planting his front foot and turning, he put himself into position to swing again.
Dial lifted his gun and got off a single shot that was deflected by the Spartan’s shield. A moment later he used his shield as a weapon, slamming it against the side of Dial’s head.
Stunned by the blow, Dial slumped to the ground.
Blood oozed from a gash on his cheek as he tried to regain his senses.
But the Spartan wouldn’t allow it. Even in the darkness, he recognized the dazed look in his opponent’s eyes. He knew it was time to finish him off.
With that in mind, the Spartan lifted his sword and prepared to strike.