Fearless (Nameless #3)(34)
Laden nodded, his face a mask of solemnity.
“You want me to teach your men to fight as a phalanx?” Gryphon’s jaw fell open. It was a type of warfare that demanded absolute trust, flawless execution, and an insane amount of discipline. It took a good phalanx years to learn to work well together—time the Allies certainly didn’t have. “What you’re asking is impossible. And even if they did learn the technique, there is no way they could match shields with the Ram.”
“We’ve actually been training for some time now,” Laden said, conversationally. “Instead of your typical twenty-men mess unit, we will have forty. A wall ten wide but four deep, instead of two.” Laden went on to describe in detail some of the training they’d already undergone as they resumed their walk to the training field.
Gryphon still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Four deep to counter the notorious drive and push of the Ram … ” he mused out loud. Gryphon had to admit that if there was one advantage the Allies had over the Ram, it was their numbers. But still …
As they approached the training field where hundreds of men sparred, a growing sense of dread filled Gryphon’s chest. “And my men? I doubt they’ll be pleased to have a young Ram for a captain.”
When the men on the training field spotted Laden, all sparring ceased. Laden’s officers formed a clean line before a group of ragtag men of various ages and sizes.
They looked more like farmers than soldiers. Which, Gryphon had to admit, they probably were. Inside the Gate, Gryphon’s only job had been to train and become a warrior. These men fought only when necessity demanded and they appeared weak for it.
Laden turned to face Gryphon, probably sensing his unease. “Relax, Striker. You’ll do just fine. Ignore my officers. Ignore the rest of the training field. Just focus on your men.”
Flexing his jaw, Gryphon spoke in a low voice so only Laden could hear, “These men hate me, sir. This isn’t going to work.”
Laden narrowed his eyes. “They must raise Ram softer than I believed. I thought a Striker wasn’t afraid of anything.”
Gryphon narrowed his eyes at Laden. He knew the Commander was goading him, but his pride got the better of him regardless.
“Four lines!” Gryphon ordered, staring the Commander down.
Smiling, Laden crossed his arms.
Gryphon left his side to walk among the forty, noting the shortcomings and strengths of each man with a single sweep of his gaze. Mostly he saw fear.
Fear of battle.
Fear of losing families.
Fear of him.
Good, thought Gryphon. Fear might keep them alive.
“We have little time to master this, so pay attention. The Ram have the power to demolish the Valley of Wolves and destroy your homes and everyone you love … ” He paused. “Unless you are strong enough to stop them.”
One of the men stepped forward. He had a little bit of a belly, but strong arms and fire in his eyes. His nose sat crooked on his face. His chin laced with determination and his fists balled at his sides. “Why should we trust you? Ram don’t betray their own.”
There was a collective sharp intake of breath.
Gryphon stopped in front of the man and frowned. He actually respected the man for saying aloud what everyone else must be thinking. “Trust me or don’t. It makes no difference to me, Wolf. But know this,” he raised his voice so his entire company and the onlookers nearby could hear him, “I am your best hope for defeating the Ram.”
Gryphon didn’t wait for a response. This wasn’t the time for meaningless talk. There was work to be done.
When Gryphon had spoken with Laden earlier, the Commander had compared their fighting strategy to that of the Ram on every point. How many times had the Commander survived contact with the Ram over the years without meeting his own death? His knowledge of Ram fighting techniques and stratagem was eerily accurate. Laden had even rambled about secret training tactics—things Gryphon had been taught to guard with his very life—like they were common knowledge.
“Link,” Gryphon called. The men weren’t expecting the command. They scrambled together, assembling a shield hedge so every man carried his shield on his left, guarding the man to his left. They carried six-foot spears on their right. This too was another page ripped from Ram battle tactics.
Gryphon walked the perimeter of the phalanx, instructing men to tighten gaps that might welcome hungry spears. Overall, they were better than he’d expected. Not a huge compliment, given his limited confidence, but at least it was a start.
“Forward ten,” he called.
The phalanx moved ten paces forward in a synchronized mass. Gryphon ran before the wall of shields, threading his sword through the more obvious gaps, and calling out orders to “Guard your man!” and “Stay together!”
When they halted, the line of shields slammed to the ground in a heavy thump.
“Birds,” Gryphon ordered.
The back rows of shields wove together to form a roof over their heads to deflect an aerial assault.
Gryphon had seen enough. “Stand down,” he shouted. Forty men relaxed their shields and looked smugly to Gryphon.
“Where are you weakest?” Gryphon asked as he paced the front line of the phalanx.
“On the right side,” one of the men called out.
Gryphon nodded. “Because you guard the man at your left and trust the man on your right to guard you. It leaves the last man on the right the most vulnerable.”