Author: Katsumoto
Original Thread: [H.F.] The Gates of Hell

(H.F.) The Gates of Hell




For two days the Greeks had held their ground against our advance. For two days they had butchered my brothers. For two days we had charged into the meat grinder, with no result. Now here we stood, on the third day, awaiting the call to attack again.

Men from all of Hellas had come to defend their land. Spartans, Tegeans, Arcadians, Corinthians and Thespians, amongst many others. I say men, but these were not men who we fought. Men of flesh and blood were not capable of the things our foe had accomplished. For seven days they had stopped us from passing through the Hot Gates. We were innumerable. They, a few thousand. They had massacred many of us.

On the first day of battle, the Medes and Cissians had led the charge. After many hours, they were cut to ribbons. The slaughter was so brutal, that I saw my King rise from his seat above the battle three times, his face an expression of utter disbelief and shock. Xerxes had then decided to send in our elite, the Immortals, to assail the Greek line. The best troops Persia had to offer, and they were repelled just like the conscripts of Mede; Immortals they were not, for their blood flowed like rivers on the barren field. The Greek shield wall was impregnable.

The second day was much the same as the first. The arrogant Xerxes, thinking that the Greeks were now disabled from their wounds, sent in the infantry again to advance on the enemy's line. After he saw the onslaught was useless, he recalled the troops.

That evening, word spread that there was a goat path around the Gates, and that Hydarnes and his Immortals (or what was left of them) were going to flank the Greeks. We would encircle them and they would stand no chance.

Now here I stood, in the second wave that would attack the Greek line, hopefully for the final time. Xerxes had delayed the offensive so that the Immortals would have enough time to get behind the Greeks. The horn blew, and the advance begun.

I saw the Greek line now. They were so few, that they left the protection of the Phocian wall and advanced towards us. I wondered what had happened to the rest of the Greeks, and whether they had finally retreated.

I had heard stories about the Spartans, the red cloaked warriors from the south of the Peloponesse. All their lives they trained for battle, doing nothing but perfecting the martial ways. My comrade once told me that Lycrugus, the lawmaker of Sparta, upon being asked what excersises and martial arts he approved of, said "All types, except those in which you stretch out your hand." They were the elite of the Greek warriors, and were led by King Leonidas, who, after being asked to lay down his arms, gave the response 'Come and get them.'

Many of the men had remarked that the Spartans looked like demons: The full-faced helmets, covering everything but their eyes; the black and white crests sticking out of the top, the flowing red cloaks -such unworldy creatures were bred to do nothing but kill and maim. Our courage was even more dented now that they were covered in Persian blood.

They had fought like Gods. Every time the Spartans had descended upon our lines, men turned to run. The fear they instilled in the men was incredible. Nobody wanted to fight them, for they carved through our lines like a sword through sand. Their discipline was unbelievable: they stood shoulder to shoulder, brother to brother, never faltering in their strikes. How could we defeat such men?

Now here they were, spears and bronze shields ready. Even they must know now that they have no chance, that the Immortals will encircle them and that they will either die or surrender. What was their intention?

Among the Spartans, I saw the dark colours of the Thespians, as well as the Theban loyalists, who had decided not to succumb to Xerxes' will. They advanced towards our lines.

The two lines clashed, and the battle began. Men pushed and shoved in the blood and piss soaked soil. I pushed with my wicker shield, urging the men onwards. We were gaining momentum. I stepped over a dead comrade, and looked up. I saw the Spartans, fighting with desperation, first with their spears, then their short swords, followed by anything they could find, including their bare hands. I continued forwards. Shortly ahead, the Spartans surged, repelling the Persians with a lion's passion. They fought around something, but I could not tell what it was, only that they defended it with incredible determination.

We continued to push slowly against the handful of Greeks that were left. Even in such small numbers, they were still striking us down at a ratio of three to one. The Greek line was beginning to crumble, but the Spartans still held their ground, determined not to retreat. I climbed on a small mound of dirt to get a better view of the battlefield. I looked at the Spartan line, and I saw one Spartan, with his shield arm missing, still swinging with his short sword at my brothers, killing two of them before being skewed himself by a Persian spear. We were nearing the improvised wall the Spartans had built to block our way, and the men could see now that victory was moments away. I looked back and saw our Great King Xerxes on a chariot, surrounded by his bodyguards, driving us onwards. He looked furious, and appeared to be saying something. Kill them! Kill them all!

The horn of the Immortals could be heard now, and the handful of Greeks that were left began to retreat, past the Phocian wall. A few were cut down as they turned to fall back. Some of the Thebans dropped their weapons and began to approach us with hands held high. A few were cut down, but then their surrender was accepted and they were pushed aside, the rest of the soldiers now charging towards the remaining Greeks. Everybody wanted to avenge the countless comrades they had lost.

The remaining Spartans and Thespians now took a defensive postion on a small hill, preparing to fight to the death. Here they defended themselves to the last, those who still had swords using them, and the others resisting with their hands and teeth. I could see our archers, raining arrow after arrow into the exhausted Greeks; but they still stood, fighting our soldiers until the last breath.

There were now maybe five Greeks left, and they charged at us in a final desperate attack, attempting to take as many of us with them. Finally, the last Spartan was cut down, and we were victorious.

However, the men did not cheer. They stood panting, completely shattered, looking at the dead enemy that had fought with such incredible valour, against such uneven odds, who even in the face of death had continued to fight.

I heard a quiet voice, and looked down, seeing that one of the Spartans was still alive. I immediatly knelt down. He was saying something, but I could not hear it through his broken helmet. I carefully removed his helm, and listened carefully. The man tried to clear his throat, and began to speak slowly.

"Look.. what so few Greeks have done... to so many... of your comrades." The Spartan coughed for a moment. He grabbed my arm and looked me in the eyes, before continuing in a strong voice "Go tell your king... that here... by Spartan law...we lie." With that, the warrior let out a last sigh, and left this world.

I shut the man's eyes with my fingers, before rising from the dirt. I looked up over the Aegean sea. It was beautiful. I thought about what the Spartan had said. He and his brothers were lions, and lions will never allow themselves to be chained.