The idea of the raid, which had seemed risky enough at dusk, now appeared to Sargon like madness itself. How could fifteen men challenge so many. He turned his head toward the moon, which had started to drift lower in the night sky. Dawn would be coming soon.
“This is what we will do,” Chinua said.
In a few words, he explained how they would attack, what position each man would take, and how far apart they would stand. Chinua told Sargon what role he would play in the coming raid, where he would wait, and when he would move forward. Chinua made Sargon repeat his instructions, to make sure he understood.
Sargon listened as Garal received his orders, which were much different. Chinua spoke to each of them, until he was satisfied that both knew what to do. To Sargon’s ears, the plan seemed hasty and ill-advised. He glanced at Garal, who showed no doubts about his leader’s plan of attack.
After one last look at the enemy camp, Chinua led the way back down the slope, until they joined the others.
As soon as Sargon reached his horse, Skala drew both horse boys aside. Sargon expected to be ignored, but the warrior spent as much time with Sargon as he did with his own son, going over once again what they were to do. “If anything unexpected happens, Sargon, do as Makko tells you. Otherwise, both of you know what to do.”
With a grunt, Skala moved off to attend to his own preparations.
Garal came over and wished both boys good hunting, the usual words spoken by warriors before going into battle.
“I wish I were going with you,” Sargon said. He half believed the words himself. Part of him did want to go with Garal, but another part insisted that they were all going to their deaths.
“Someone has to stay with the horses,” Garal said. “We’re going to need them. Remember your orders.”
Chinua gave his men a last few instructions, then he slipped away into the semi-darkness, crouching low. The warriors had spotted three sentries strolling carelessly around the horse herd, but there could easily be more. One was directly between the warriors and the horses, and another about a hundred paces to the east. The third one patrolled near the west end of the herd, and appeared too far away to hinder the warriors.
“I’ll kill the closest sentry,” Chinua said. “Garal will kill the easternmost one as soon as the attack starts. Good hunting to you all.” Bow in hand, Chinua started up the slope, Garal following a few moments later.
Chinua obviously considered Garal the best archer in the troop, Sargon decided, to have selected him for the task. Sargon and Makko collected the horses, and made sure they had a firm grip on every halter.
Skala and the rest of the men waited just below the crest of the ridge line, watching to see if Chinua succeeded in killing the sentry without raising an alarm.
To Sargon, the waiting seemed endless. Then suddenly Skala moved back down the ridge and took the halter of his horse in his hand. “It’s done,” he said in a loud whisper. “Bowmen, get moving.”
Six warriors, one by one, slipped over the top of the ridge and headed down the slope to follow the path Chinua and Garal had taken. Sargon watched them go, moving like spirits into the darkness, and making as little noise.
Skala and his four warriors stood patiently beside their mounts, just below the crest.
Sargon and Makko took their own positions. Between them, they held the halters of the ten remaining horses, including their own. The task of the horse boys was to bring those horses down the slope and hold them in readiness until Chinua and his men needed them.
“Remember to keep a tight grip on the ropes,” Makko warned. “Don’t let any get loose.”
Sargon heard the nervousness in Makko’s voice. This would be his first battle, too. Sargon tried to control his own fears. His hands felt sweaty, and he kept adjusting his grip on the halter ropes. He had trouble swallowing, and took some deep breaths to try and calm himself.
Some time passed before Skala gave the order to move out. The big warrior grunted and led the way up the slope and over the crest. Sargon saw that Skala’s right hand held the halter rope of his mount just below the horse’s head. That kept the animal’s head down, and made it less likely to try and bolt.
Following him went the four warriors considered the best horsemen. Their job was to stampede the enemy’s herd, and at the same time, cut out enough animals for the Ur Nammu to use to make good their escape. Without fresh horses, they would never be able to outrun any pursuers.
Suddenly, Sargon and Makko found themselves alone at the bottom of the gulley with the horses, all the warriors gone. The boys had no weapons, except for their knives, which weren’t likely to be of much use against a sword.
Obviously Chinua didn’t expect them to do any actual fighting. They stood there, each holding the halters of five horses. Makko and Sargon were to wait until the others reached their positions before bringing up the horses.
The time dragged on, and Sargon felt his heart racing in his chest. He heard Makko’s rapid breathing. Both tried to conceal their fears.
“Let’s go,” Makko said at last. “And try to keep the horses quiet.”
He moved up the slope at an easy pace, following the path taken by Skala. Sargon let Makko get a few paces ahead, then started after him. He walked between the animals, two on his left and three on his right, the halter ropes clutched firmly in each hand.
Sargon had never tried to lead five horses before, and he found it took all his strength to keep them close together and moving forward. He whispered to them as he walked, trying to keep them calm. Sargon made sure he followed in Makko’s path. Sargon’s horses would be less nervous trailing another group of animals.
They crossed over the crest and traveled about fifty paces toward the enemy camp before Makko halted. Sargon stopped when Makko did. He knew they didn’t need to get too close as yet.
The enemy camp was only about two hundred paces away, just across the stream. To Sargon’s ears, the ten horses they were leading made a noisy din that should have sounded an alarm inside the camp.
However, at night horses are always moving about, and the occasional soft sound of hoof on rock was no different from what the animals in the corral would make. At this distance, only the sentries might hear their approach, and they should all be dead by now.
Sargon felt as exposed as if the noon sun was shining down on him. But when he glanced behind him, he realized the black bulk of the mountain made the small number of Ur Nammu horses almost impossible to see.
His mouth felt dry, though he, like the others, had emptied their water skins before starting out. Every horse had received a few mouthfuls of water as well. The stream ran along the edge of the camp, too close to be of any use to Chinua’s men. If they survived, Sargon had no idea when he or any of the others would get a chance to drink again.
A few horses in the enemy corral whinnied, not the sound of frightened animals, but just the usual sound any horse might make when it sensed something strange coming toward it. But no one seemed to take any notice.
Looking toward the enemy camp, Sargon glimpsed Chinua’s men creeping along, their bows held low in their left hands. Skala’s men had angled toward the right, so as to be better positioned to stampede the horses.
Before they set out, Skala had distributed most of his men’s arrows among Chinua’s warriors, leaving himself and his four men only a few shafts apiece in their quivers. Skala’s attack force wouldn’t need the arrows, while Chinua’s men would need every one they could get.
The enemy camp slept on, unaware of the warriors’ approach. Then Sargon heard a man’s voice shouting something unintelligible from the other side of the corral. Someone must have seen or heard something.
Off to his right, Sargon glimpsed the shadowy bulk of Skala as he swung up onto his horse. He waited only a moment for his men to follow his action, then he launched the attack. By then the five Ur Nammu riders had closed to within a hundred paces from the herd.
Shouting their frightening war cries, Skala and his riders splashed across the stream and charged into the corral. The single strand of rope burst under the stress of Skala’s mount, and then the warriors were deep in the midst of the horse herd.
Sargon saw the warriors’ swords flashing in the night, rising and falling, their edges glinting in the dim light of the nearest campfire. Skala’s men never stopped sounding their war cries or attacking the horses. To the sleeping Carchemishi, Skala’s handful of men probably sounded like a hundred.
The horses screamed in pain, as the swords cut into their bodies. Not killing strokes, but slashing cuts meant to wound and frighten the suddenly aroused brutes.
Sargon’s string of animals reacted as well, tossing their heads and pawing the ground. The animals had caught the excitement. He found himself fighting with all his strength to hold onto the halters. With the need for silence gone, Sargon spoke aloud the calming words Garal had taught him, as he struggled to keep the animals under control.
Makko, too, had the same problem, though he mixed a few curses in with his attempts to keep his string from breaking loose. With a savage jerk from Makko’s left hand, he brought the most troublesome mount under control. “Follow me, Sargon.” Makko started walking down the slope and toward the camp.
Sargon did the same, and found the animals much easier to handle when he led them forward. The dumb brutes wanted to be doing something, and they always felt safe when a warrior guided them, especially following in the track of more horses. Besides, the ululating war cries of the warriors was a familiar sound to them. Still, Sargon’s hands burned from the ropes, and he kept his grip tight. He would not let one horse escape no matter what.
Moving forward gave him a better view of the chaos in the enemy camp. Sargon saw Chinua and his seven warriors spread out in a line, each about ten paces apart. They were calmly shooting arrows into the camp, shooting at every good target, and especially anyone who appeared to be trying to get the soldiers under control.
Sargon saw that this was far easier than any target practice he’d taken. Chinua’s men were practically at the edge of the stream, and they were striking at targets less than twenty or thirty paces from them.
The horses, driven mad with fear or pain, had burst through the far side of their rope corral and into the camp, trampling or knocking aside anything in their path. Nothing could halt the terrified animals now, and they swept through the camp, heedless of anyone in their path. If the enemy noticed the handful of warriors urging them on, it didn’t really matter. Before they could react, the horses had vanished into the darkness on the far side of the camp.
Inside what remained of the camp, pandemonium ruled. Jerked awake from a sound sleep, many enemy soldiers were caught in the path of the stampeding horses, their hooves pounding into the earth. Everyone seemed to be shouting at someone. Others fumbled for their weapons, but no alarm had been given, and at first some weren’t sure they were under attack.
When they realized that arrows were cutting them down, they found themselves unable to see their attackers, who shot at them from the darkness. The looming shadow of the mountain still served its purpose even this close to the camp.
One of the Carchemish soldiers near the campfire tossed an armful of dry grass on the nearest watch fire. The flames shot up, and Sargon realized that a pile of combustible grass and twigs had been prepared for an emergency. But this time it worked only in favor of the Ur Nammu, revealing the men in the camp stumbling about as they tried to comprehend what had happened. Chinua’s bowmen had even better light to shoot by.
Sargon realized most of the enemy soldiers not yet fully grasped the situation. Their first thoughts were of a stampede. Only when they heard the war cries and saw their companions dropping with arrows in their chests did they realize they were under attack.
Chinua and his men shot every arrow in their quiver with their usual speed, aiming each shot with care. With the extra shafts from Skala’s men, that meant about twenty to twenty-five arrows from each warrior. Knowing how fast a warrior could loose a missile, Sargon did the sum. Probably two hundred and twenty arrows were launched, in less time than a man could count to eighty.
The horses were long gone by then, the entire herd driven right through the camp. Sargon never heard Chinua’s signal, but suddenly Makko trotted forward, dragging his string of mounts, and Sargon followed. Now arrows were flying from the camp into the darkness, as a few of the enemy soldiers finally realized they were under attack and brought their weapons into action.
But they were shooting at shadows and noises. Chinua’s men had already fallen back, racing toward Sargon and Makko. Sargon heard the frightening hiss of arrows overhead, but none landed near him.
Then hands were grasping the halter ropes from Sargon’s grip. A few warriors found time to laugh among themselves as they swung onto their mounts. As soon as he handed off the last halter, Sargon jumped astride his own horse, clinging tight to the animal’s mane.
Chinua led the way, as the warriors galloped off to the east. Sargon saw the first rays of dawn reaching up into the sky, giving the horses a chance to pick their way.
In moments they had left the carnage behind them, though the din of shouting men and the cries of the wounded could still be heard. Less than quarter of a mile from the camp, they slowed to cross the stream. A rumble of hoof beats sounded to their right and Sargon caught sight of a shadowy herd of horses galloping in the same direction, at least thirty or forty animals.
Skala moved up in Sargon’s estimation. He would never have believed that five riders could control so many half-crazed animals in the dark.
“Skala did well.”
Sargon turned to find Garal riding beside him, the warrior’s white teeth gleaming in the growing dawn. With a shock, Sargon realized that Garal continued to keep an eye on him.
Up ahead, Chinua slowed their pace, and spoke to each of the men in his band. Only one warrior had taken a wound, an arrow that had grazed his neck. By now they were over a mile from the camp. Chinua shouted out the order to halt, and the healer moved up to wrap a strip of cloth around the wounded man’s throat.
No one bothered to dismount. Excitement rippled through their ranks. They had raided a much larger force and not lost a single man.
Sargon watched as Skala and the stolen herd moved ahead. The warrior would let the animals run until they grew tired. Then they would be easier to control.
“How soon before they start after us?”
Garal laughed, as jubilant as the others. “Not long. But first they’ll have to recapture some horses.”
“With so many men, that won’t take too long.”
“Oh, yes, we’re in for a hard chase and a long ride. But with the mounts Skala stole, we should each be able to ride two or three horses. We’ll keep ahead of them.”
Chinua shouted out the order to get moving. The sun had risen, and now the horses could see their footing clearly. Chinua followed the course taken by Skala’s horses.
Just before they rode out of sight of the enemy camp, Sargon took one last look back. No one pursued them. Not yet. But he knew the Carchemishi were going to be very angry, and they had a large force of fighters, far more men than the Ur Nammu. Sargon wondered what Subutai would do when he heard the news.