Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I by Athanasios Page A

repeatedly
spills around me and, more importantly, in front of my brothers as we lock
shields and hold firm our line.
    There are only 300 of us, standing against thousands.
We told the rest of the Greeks to go and raise the alarm with the rest of our patriotes, while
we buy them as much time as our lives are worth. Every one of us was given the
choice to go with them and save ourselves, but none of us accepted the offer.
If one of us stood and fought, we all did. Even the soldiers behind us, those
with the crested helmets, all knew they would die on this field. My helmet
bears no crest, neither does anyone else’s on the front line. Our spears are no
less heavy, or sharper, than those of our crested nobles. Our armor is also as
heavy and our shields as strong.
    On this field, we are equal. Thermopylae has
successfully united 300 men, creating one man with a single will. We are all
Spartan and we will all die before the end of this day. The other Greeks who
fled will sing paens of our sacrifice here, just as we sing paens of other
fallen heroes. We sing to keep our spirits up as we face such daunting foes.
    The Persians shoot at us from afar with their bows;
some even find a manner of mark in our ranks, though the only openings are the
eye slits in our helmets. At various intervals, someone falls and yet another
takes his place. At others times, when someone falls, he gets back up and
fights on. He knows that soon enough, he’ll die and then he can rest.
    I saw others fall, but resumed fighting, because when
our foes saw that their arrows had little effect, they sent their footmen
against us and they crashed against our shields. Those who made it through were
killed by our rear ranks.
    We braced ourselves for their cavalry assault. They
sent their horsemen against us, but we threw them back; the terrain was with
us. The horses could not maintain their footing on the rocks and loose gravel
around the field.
    Two days of fighting passed. We began the battle
outnumbered, the entire Greek army thousands strong. We held the hot gates
against Xerxe’s host, until one of our own, Ephialtes, an Athenian, most likely
gave us up.
    Now, we fight alone — 300 men, with a few
Thespians. This final day dawned with the inevitable sunrise and deathly
struggle. Today, nearly every man I had ever known would die with me.
    Leonidas fell early on. He had chosen to be in the
front lines. He was three down from my right and we fought fiercely to recover
his body. He would not die among the xenous, rather with us. Once he was safely at our
rear, encircled by all his men, we were able to turn our attention back to the
business of dying.
    Again, they came at us in waves of footmen and
arrows. Initially, none had any real effect, but after repeated entries they
wore us down. Once we had broken our spears against them, we beat them with the
shafts. When we could no longer use our shafts, we drew our swords and used
them, until useless. It was at this point that an arrow caught me in my right
eye. I grunted and fell to my knee, but kept my shield raised.
    The Immortal that faced me thought I was an easy
kill, but became mortal, indeed, when I slashed up and cut him from groin to
neck. He screamed like a woman and fell, his blood making my footing slippery.
    I could not see to my right, so from that direction
came my end. I think it was more arrows, but I didn’t notice. I knew that even
when our swords were useless, we would fight on with whatever we could find
— rocks, our shields, our bare hands, even our teeth.
    This struggle awakened a dormant part of me. Our 300
men will go down, along with 20,000 of our opponents. Yet, still will there be
an endless supply of enemies, attempting to kill the spirit we showed to our
last breath.
    We never surrendered. We were beaten. We would be
remembered.
    “Go stranger, and to the Spartans tell,
    That here, obedient to their laws, we fell.”
    I did not fall because of obedience, rather, because
I supported