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Tales from the Amazon Wars, Episode 3

Raindrops pelted Princess Katarina’s tent in the dark night. Unable to sleep, she sat up in her lightweight but comfortable travel bed as the thunder boomed again. How was she going to defeat these Amazons?

Suddenly, she heard a commotion outside. “No one is to disturb the Princess while she is sleeping,” came the voice of one of the guards. “I don’t care if you outrank me. I wouldn’t care even if you were a four-star general. I have my orders from the Princess herself.”

Katarina opened the flap of her small tent. “It’s okay, soldier. I wasn’t sleeping anyway.” She turned her gaze to the visitor, recognizing the military historian. “Major. Do you have something for me?”

“Yes, milady,” said the major. He held up a journal, bound in leather. “I think you’ll find this very interesting.”

“Come into the tent. Let’s keep that thing out of the rain and see what we’ve got here.” Katarina’s dark brown eyes widened with fascination as she opened the journal. “Why, it’s a war diary from my ancestor, the great warrior queen, Roslyn the First! Where did you find this?”

“I was digging around in the basement archives of the library in the Colonial Capital. As soon as I found it, I rode out here as fast as I could. I knew you’d want to see it.”

“Indeed I do. This should prove to be very valuable. Thank you, Major.” As the officer bowed and exited the tent, Katarina opened the journal and turned to the first page…

Princess Roslyn was the oldest child and only daughter of King Frederick III. She had two younger brothers, twins, named Albert and Antonius. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, as many, including herself, called them behind their backs. Both were incompetent, dim-witted louts.

Because sons came before daughters, regardless of age, in the line of succession, Roslyn was only third in line for the throne. And because her brothers were twins, they were constantly competing with each other to impress their father enough to get officially picked to be his heir. This competition led to both brothers taking many foolish risks in battle and needlessly sacrificing the lives of many of their men.

When a small outpost near the southern border of the empire had been overrun and its garrison of a hundred men massacred by unknown attackers, Antonius had eagerly volunteered to lead an expedition to find and punish the mysterious assailants. Albert, who was currently away on an expedition to the north, would be so jealous when Antonius returned with a triumph to celebrate his victory, the arrogant prince thought. The king accepted his son’s offer and provided him with a massive army.

Roslyn sighed as she was forced to stay home once again. Although she was an expert archer and swordswoman, and had received the same education at the military academy that her brothers had, she had never been granted the honor of leading military expeditions to the fringes of the Empire. All of her combat knowledge had only been put to use a few times in small skirmishes with bandits and raiders. She longed for the chance to prove herself in a real battle. But her father always said that her military education was for emergencies only.

Prince Antonius rode out of the Imperial capital at the head of a huge army, cockily proclaiming that if there were any survivors from the enemy force after he was through with them, he would bring them back to the capital in cages like zoo animals. He had 15,000 heavy infantry armed with spears and large shields, plus 3000 archers armed with modern crossbows. But the pride of the army was the heavy cavalry, a force of 2000 knights. These riders were all noblemen who were constanly seeking more battles to gain more riches and glory.

The massive force moved southward, sweating in their armor under the hot sun. They moved slowly, hampered by the Prince’s insistence on taking many luxuries with him. Finally, after several weeks, they reached the outpost where the massacre had occurred. After the Prince’s servants had set up his large, luxurious tent and all his furniture, Antonius and his staff met with the commanding officer of the force that had discovered the massacre to make their battle plan.

The officer, a colonel, bowed to the Prince and his six staff officers, all generals. “My Lords. I fear we are dealing with a much more serious situation than we thought. We have examined the corpses of the men that were slaughtered. About half of them were shot with arrows. Every single shot was either straight to the heart or right between the eyes. I’ve never seen marksmanship like that. The other men were either impaled with spears, again always straight through the heart, or had their skulls split open with axes, or were chopped into many pieces with swords.”

The staff officers, all of whom were old, overweight aristocrats, gulped in fear. Prince Antonius, however, still had a cocky, arrogant look on his face as the colonel continued. “One man was still alive when we got there. He had been expertly stabbed in a way that would keep him alive for a while, but ensure that he would die eventually. He was insane with terror when we found him. The only thing he could say before he expired was, ‘They’re girls. An army of girls. Incredibly sexy girls who can outfight any man. Those girls are demonesses from hell…’ Then he died.”

The other men in the tent looked at one another doubtfully. Finally, the Prince banged his fist on the fancy, heavy oak table. “Preposterous! The idea that one hundred men of the finest Empire the world has ever seen could be massacred by a band of GIRLS is utterly ridiculous. You yourself said that this man was insane with terror. His information must be inaccurate. We’ll find out who really did this and punish them.”

“As you wish, milords,” said the colonel, aware of what fools these men were but knowing he had to obey orders. “My scouts have followed the assassins’ tracks into the desert. Far to the south, beyond where any of our explorers have ever gone, they report that the inhospitable desert turns into fertile land once again. There lies the kingdom of the enemy. If we follow the river, we can be there in three weeks.”

“Three weeks? We would waste so much time, following that meandering river. If we march straight south, we can be in the enemy’s territory in ten days. We’ll just fill our water kegs here,” said Antonius.

“My lord, I would advise having a continuous supply of water handy. You never know what might happen. Also, if we follow the river we can use it to protect one of our flanks.”

“That’s enough, Colonel. I am in command here, and what I say goes. We march straight south through the desert. Tell the men to get busy filling those water kegs. We leave tomorrow at first light.”

“Yes, my lord.” The colonel sighed, hoping that the prince’s arrogance wouldn’t lead the army to doom.

The attacks began on the third day. One moment, the massive column of soldiers was marching along in complete peace. The next, fifteen men dropped dead, arrows sticking out of their throats, chests, or heads.

The others looked around in shock. There was nothing but a faint cloud of dust on the horizon. Some of the crossbowmen fired bolts uselessly into the distance, wasting precious ammunition. A squadron of knights rode off to investigate, returning to report only that the enemy consisted of light horsemen…or horsewomen … who could easily outride them.

From that point on, the attacks continued, the only change being that they grew in size and frequency. The second strike came from the other side. This time, twenty-five men were shot dead with perfectly aimed arrows. After surveying the corpses with a curse, the Prince ordered the crossbowmen to prepare for an archery duel.

They didn’t have to wait long. An hour later came the third raid, from both sides this time. The crossbowmen began shooting back, but there was nothing to shoot at but clouds of dust. The mysterious attackers would ride into range, expertly fire their bows just as they were turning, and vanish before the crossbowmen could acquire their targets.

“I thought our bows had a longer range than any other in the world,” grumbled one soldier as he reloaded his weapon. “Maybe they do, but those riders are so fast they can dart in and out of range before we can h…ugh!” The man who responded was shot in the chest as he was speaking. The arrow penetrated his armor and drove straight into his heart. He was dead before he hit the ground. When the attack was over, forty more male soldiers were dead. The crossbowmen had fired many bolts and hadn’t been able to hit a thing.

Prince Antonius ordered a dozen of his servants to go out and retrieve the bolts. A few minutes later, a solitary servant returned, empty-handed. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he reported. “They hit us while we were trying to collect them. We had to flee. I’m the only survivor.”

“Not for long, coward!” snarled the Prince, drawing his sword and decapitating the servant. It was the only kill any of the male soldiers made that day.

The mood when the army made camp for the night was one of fear and dread. Things only got worse the next morning, when it was discovered that a hundred men had had their throats slit in the darkness by mysterious attackers who had snuck in and out right under the noses of the sentries. The killing wasn’t over yet, however, because Antonius ordered that the surviving sentries, a total of 200 men, all be executed for their failure. The executioners, though reluctant to kill their own men, were worried that they would become the next targets if they refused to obey their prince’s orders. After the sentries had been decapitated and their heads placed on pikes, per Antonius’ wishes, the army set off again.

It wasn’t long before the first attack of the day came, arrows whizzing through the air and embedding themselves in male flesh. This time, Prince Antonius ordered the knights to respond in force, two columns of a hundred riders each. Two hundred proud, heavily armored noblemen rode out into the desert. None of them ever returned. In addition, sixty more men were shot dead in the main column. The vast army still hadn’t managed to kill a single enemy. The Prince screamed and stamped his feet, having a tantrum like a little baby.

When the next ambush came, it was deja vu for the men…or so they thought. Enemy arrows came flying in, the crossbowmen shot back uselessly, and then, in a flash, it was over. “How many hit?” came the call.

There were murmurs and whispers, then the response. “Looks like none, sir.”

“None? But…”

Suddenly, a soldier pointed to a water keg, pierced with an arrow. The powerful shot had cracked the wooden barrel and all the water was long gone and rapidly sinking into the desert sand. The men looked around in panic. Every other keg was in the same condition.

“NOOOOOOO!” roared the Prince. “COWARDS! Come out and fight me like a man!”

“I don’t think they are men, sir,” said one of his staff officers, holding one of the Empire’s new inventions, a spyglass. “The figures on the horses looked like girls to me.”

“Girls?!” Antonius sputtered. “How could mere girls…ugghhh…”

The colonel who had found the men massacred at the outpost rode up. “Beg pardon, sirs, but we should focus on the big issue right now. Our water supply.”

The Prince was still in tantrum mode. “We’ll charge right at them, slaughter them, and drink their blood!”

“My lord, please. We’re six days from enemy territory and the only water we have left is the tiny amount in our canteens. We’d never make it. We’re four days’ march from our territory, and few if any can survive four days in the desert without water. Our only option is to head for the river. We can get there in two days, rest and recover, then follow the river to enemy territory and make our attack.”

The Prince, by now a broken man, wanted to scream at his subordinate and tell him off, but even he knew that the colonel was right. “Fine. Make it so,” he sighed.

But they never made it. As the army changed course and made for the river, horsewomen began following them, staying just outside of crossbow range. The men gulped the last of their water in their canteens and desperately but uselessly quickened their pace. The number of hoofbeats behind them increased.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” wondered a young junior officer.

“They know the river is our only option. They know exactly where we’re going. They can wait for the right moment,” his superior responded. Everyone within earshot gulped upon hearing that.

It was early afternoon when the final attack came. One second, there was uneasy silence. The next, there came a spine-chilling, high-pitched, distinctively female warrior cry in the distance. Then came the arrows, this time over a thousand of them fired at once, all aimed at the crossbowmen. Lightly armored and with no shields, they stood no chance. Over a quarter of the crossbowmen were killed by the first enemy volley. Many others were wounded, in agony from hits to the leg, arm, stomach, or groin, and unable to fight back. Those who could shoot back fired their bolts ineffectively at the distant female figures darting back and forth on their ponies. Then it was time to begin the agonizingly slow process of reloading.

The Empire’s warfare doctrine emphasized heavy infantry, heavy cavalry, and responses designed to counter enemies who emphasized the same. The archers were currently armed with the Mark VI model crossbows, which, although very powerful and capable of piercing the heavy plate armor worn by knights, were also very slow to fire, taking close to thirty seconds to reload. Though the Mark VII crossbow, which could fire twice as fast while being only slightly less powerful, was available, Prince Antonius had elected to stick with the Mark VIs under the mantra of “more power.”

The Amazon horse archers, on the other hand, used compact but powerful bows that were small enough for mounted troops to use, powerful enough to penetrate almost any armor, and capable of rapid fire. Trained in markswomanship from the day she was old enough to ride and hold a bow, a girl-archer could defeat even the most heavily armored opponent by aiming for the weak points in his armor, then finishing him off with her hand-to-hand combat weapons, generally axes or short swords, if necessary.

Each female horse archer could fire a dozen arrows per minute, and three more devastating volleys finished off the rest of the crossbowmen before they could finish reloading. In less than twenty seconds 3000 of the Empire’s best-trained, well-equipped male bowmen lay dead or dying on the hot desert sand, slaughtered by girls, most of whom had not yet seen twenty winters.

The beautiful Amazon princess, just eighteen years old, in command of this force, 1200 horse archers and 800 heavy cavalry, tiny compared to the vast Imperial army, laughed at the carnage her girls had just inflicted. She had been sent out with her little force with orders from her Queen to harass, delay, and weaken the enemy. But after seeing the vulnerability of these males and the incompetence and arrogance of their commander, she had decided to launch a full-scale attack to annihilate them.

With a coy giggle, she ordered her archers to fire into the main body of enemy infantry. A volley of arrows came flying, dropping several hundred men to the dirt. “Infantry into turtle formation!” ordered the Prince. “Knights, charge those bitches and run them through!” The Imperial infantry moved into their turtle formation, shields covering all sides and the tops of their heads. Hundreds more men died before the maneuver could be completed, but the remainder now seemed relatively safe, though occasional cries of pain came from men hit in an exposed arm here or an exposed leg there.

Prince Antonius, cowering in the center of the formation along with his six staff officers, finally thought he had things under control. His knights, heavily armored and armed with lances, would ride right into the lightly armored horsewomen and end this humiliating barrage of arrows striking the shields like rain.

But it was not to be. As the 1800 knights charged the female horse archers, they turned their attention to the new attackers. Though the arrows could not penetrate the thick chest plating the men wore, the Amazons, with their expert markswomanship, fired into the joints and other weak points of the suits of armor, piercing knights in their armpits, hips, and groins. Men fell off their horses with cries of agony, stopping the momentum of the charge. Some girls were such good shots that they could hit their opponents in the eye-slits of their face masks, killing them instantly.

“Rally to me!” cried a high-ranking nobleman, gathering the unwounded riders and preparing another charge. “AAAAHHHHHHHH!”

Suddenly, hoofbeats thundered from the left. The 800 Amazon heavy cavalry were charging them, lances lowered, from the males’ vulnerable side. The Imperials were unable to turn in time to counter this new threat and were brutally ridden into, female lances utterly impaling and penetrating them. The Amazons then rode into – or onto – the wounded knights on the ground, simply trampling them to death, laughing as their victims begged for mercy. Knights were used to being captured and ransomed in battle instead of being killed, but the Amazons were not interested in gold. They were interested in slaughter.

One of the infantrymen on the edge of the turtle formation thought he heard hoofbeats. He peeked out from behind his shield, thinking the allied knights were returning after a job well done. The rain of arrows had stopped, after all. But instead, the last thing he saw before he died was a beautiful brown-skinned woman leading several hundred others in a heavy cavalry charge. A second later, the girl’s lance popped his skull open like a smashed watermelon.

The turtle formation, effective against enemy archers, left the men using it vulnerable to heavy cavalry attacks. With brutal efficiency, the 800 female riders lanced, sliced, axed, decapitated, and trampled everything in their path, riding right through the formation and dividing it in two. Over two thousand men were killed.

“SHIT! Prepare to receive cavalry charge!” shouted the Prince as the Amazons turned around and re-formed their line. The men formed up as well, spears ready to impale any horse that dared charge into them. But instead, the horse archers began firing again, dropping hundreds more men dead as arrows rained down from above onto their now exposed skulls.

“FUCK! What can we do?!” moaned one of the staff officers. “Those cunts have an answer for everything!”

“Hold!” roared the Prince. “Arrows run out! They can’t keep shooting at us forever!”

But just then, a sqaudron of girls rode up to the horse archers. They began handing them packages from their heavily laden animals. Though it was too far to see, the men knew what was in them. Arrows. Thousands and thousands more arrows.

As the incessant rain of lethal projectiles continued, the survivors, without waiting for orders, re-formed the turtle. And sure enough, the Amazon heavy cavalry came crashing into them again, slaughtering thousands more men.

The sun sank lower in the western sky. The Imperial soldiers who were still alive knew that it was the last time they would ever see it. Command broke down completely, with the Prince and his generals simply crying and whimpering, unable to issue any orders. The slaughter was methodical and efficient, alternating between arrows and lances. Hour after hour passed and the killing went on. Finally, the sun reached the horizon and turned blood red, matching the new color of the desert sand.

The smart colonel, the only man of high rank in this force who had any sense, lay in the middle of a pile of male corpses, an arrow sticking out from his chest. He opened his eyes and looked around. It was dark now. In the distance, he could see the torches of the Amazons and hear the pleas for mercy from wounded men as the girls finished them off, but around him, all was quiet. Everyone else was dead. Some of the soldiers had been finished execution style with arrows right between the eyes or good old-fashioned decapiations. He removed the arrow that he had broken and attached to himself with a wad of chewing gum, another of the Empire’s recent inventions, to make it look like he had already been shot. Then he began crawling away.

The Imperial scout peered through his spyglass again, wanting to confirm the strange sight. A man was floating down the river towards him on a piece of wood. Bruised, battered, and sunburned, he wore the tattered remnants of an Imperial uniform. “Colonel? Is that you?” asked the stunned scout as he recognized the officer.

“Yes. It is I. Alive, though not by much,” said the colonel as he beached himself on shore. “Gather the men. I have urgent news about the…let’s say the Amazons.”

Princess Roslyn and her father, King Frederick III, were having dinner in the palace dining room when the door suddenly burst open and a messenger entered. The King raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to assume this is important from the manner of your entrance.”

“Yes, my lord. I’m sorry. But it is important.” He handed Frederick a letter. The king paled as he read it, dropping the turkey leg he had been eating.

“Roslyn, come with me. I’m calling a council of war. Right now.”

“I cannot believe it. Twenty thousand of His Majesty’s finest soldiers, completely and utterly annihilated by a force but one-tenth of its size?” said a duke.

“Believe it, sir. I was there, and I’m the only survivor,” said the colonel who had made it through so much.

“The size of the enemy force is hard enough to believe, but an army of mere GIRLS?!” a fat earl grumbled. “Preposterous!”

Roslyn felt her blood becoming hot. “Perhaps you would like to see a demonstration of what a girl can do in combat.”

As the earl opened his mouth to make an angry retort, King Frederick spoke up. “Enough!” he shouted. “I called this council to plan a way to defeat the enemy, not engage in fighting amongst ourselves. Earl, you will show respect to my daughter. Roslyn, you will control your temper. Now, Colonel, do you think these…Amazons will attempt a full-scale invasion of our territory?”

“They already attacked one of our outposts without provocation and after exterminating a huge army of ours so easily, I fear it is very likely that they will feel arrogant and aggressive enough to do it, my lord.”

“Then we must raise what forces we can as fast as possible. Roslyn, you will be in command.”

Roslyn felt both excitment and apprehension. It was what she had always wanted – but against such an unknown and lethal opponent? She truly would be put to the test.

Princess Roslyn sat on her horse, reviewing her army as it prepared to march out of the Imperial capital. This time, there were no shouts of jubilation or dreams of glory, just a cold sense of duty.

The army was much smaller this time – there just weren’t enough men who could be pulled off of other duties to create a force as massive as the last one. The impact of Antonius’ defeat had been devastating – one-sixth of the Empire’s military had been wiped out in a single battle. Roslyn had 6000 heavy infantry along with 1500 crossbowmen, armed with the new, faster firing Mark VII bows at her insistence. Only a few knights had the courage to go up against an enemy that preferred extermination to ransoming, and because of the power of the nobility, the king couldn’t force them to go. Just as well, thought the princess. She had no use for cowards in her army. The bulk of the cavalry would be provided by 1500 light horsemen, armed with a variety of swords, spears, axes, and bows.

Many of the male nobles had grumbled at the idea of a woman leading an army into battle, but none of them had the balls to do it themselves after the Prince’s epic fail. And her other brother, Albert, was still off in the north, thank the gods. She knew that he was as dumb as his twin, and only would have led a second army to its doom.

They moved much faster than the first force had, Roslyn knowing well just how quickly she could march her men without tiring them too much to deal with a potential ambush. It also helped that she was a low-maintenance young woman who, although she enjoyed the luxuries at the palace, was perfectly capable of traveling light in the field.

The sun rose on the Imperial camp as the army, now at the southern border of the Empire, prepared to move out to meet its destiny. As the men formed up, the Princess looked into their frightened eyes and began a quick, impromptu speech.

“Soldiers of the Empire! For a thousand years we have been the most powerful force on this continent. Through the strength of our soldiers and the innovations of our scientists we have defeated all those who sought to destroy us. Will that streak be broken on your watch?”

“NO!” came the answering roar of thousands of voices.

Roslyn raised her tanned and toned right arm, decorated with many bracelets. She loved dressing feminine, and since she had to dress like a man for battle, the bracelets at least added some femininity to her outfit. “Then let us advance! Now, this kind of goes without saying, but we follow the river this time.”

As the men laughed, she turned to the colonel who had survived the massacre, who was riding next to her. “If anything should happen to me, you are to listen to this man and do what he advises, even if you outrank him. Is that clear?” She looked at her generals in turn, receiving an affirmative salute from each. She nodded and smiled.

A band of scouts rode up. Their leader approached her, bowing. “Any sign of them?” she asked.

“None, milady. It’s as if they’ve vanished into thin air.”

This time, the attacks began on the fourth day. A humming sound broke the monotony and stillness of the desert heat. A second later, a dozen men dropped dead with arrows in their chests or faces.

Even as the bodies were still falling, Roslyn was shouting orders. “Cavalry, split up and pursue! Try to cut them off! Crossbowmen, be ready to fire, but DO NOT shoot without a confirmed target!”

The army waited, tense, as the riders disappeared into the distance. Finally, the sound of hoofbeats returned. The crossbowmen readied their weapons, but thanks to the princess’ instructions refrained from being trigger-happy. It was a good thing, as the riders were their own men.

“Report, Captain,” said Roslyn as the soldiers rode up to her.

“We split up and managed to cut four enemies off and trap them between two of our forces, Princess.” She nodded. Light cavalry was needed to catch other light cavalry. Her dim-witted brother had brought no light horsemen, only heavily armored knights who had been far too slow to catch the Amazon horse archers. “Anyway,” continued the captain, “they fought to the death, killed five of my men and wounded four more, but we finished them off. And we acquired four of these.” He held up a bow.

Roslyn took the weapon and examined it with fascination. It was incredibly light, lighter than the small bows her own cavalry used. Yet it could fire from such a long range, much further than the Imperial cavalry bows and almost as far as the much heavier, slower firing crossbows, which were too big for mounted troops to use.

“Put two of them in the wagons, one in the front of the column and one in the rear. At least one must make it back to the Empire for our innovators to reverse engineer and eventually mass produce. Give the other two to your two best marksmen.”

“Yes, milady.”

“And for the record, just so everyone can hear and all these doubts can be put to rest once and for all. They WERE girls, correct?”

“Yes. Four young female warriors. I’ve never seen women fight that well. Except you, Princess.”

She giggled. “Thank you. Now let’s move on. Everybody keep a sharp eye out.”

The next time, the Amazons attempted an attack from across the river. Horsewomen fired a volley of arrows, but they fell short into the water. “Crossbowmen ready! Pick your targets!” ordered Roslyn as the female riders urged their horses into the river, trying to get closer.

A group of crossbowmen fired their bolts. Most of them missed, as the weapons were at the limit of their range, but two women fell off their horses and into the water. The others quickly retreated.

A loud cheer rose from the men. “Victory! We drove them off! For glory! For the King! For…”

“Uh…guys?” said Roslyn. Everyone stopped shouting and looked at her.

“Perspective, gentlemen. Keep it in perspective. Yes, we drove them off, but we only killed two of them. This can’t even be called a skirmish, much less a battle. Good job, but let’s keep going, you know?”

The men nodded. In truth, Roslyn wanted to jump up and down and join in the celebration, but she knew the dangers that overconfidence would bring. Still, it was an important victory. There were no more attacks from across the river.

The hit-and-run ambushes continued from the other side, but with cavalry patrols able to concentrate on guarding one flank, their effectiveness was limited. Ten more Imperial soldiers were shot dead, but seven Amazons died as well, and the cavalrymen managed to capture three more Amazon bows. When they made camp for the night, the mood was decidedly different than it had been when they had set out. There was still a lot of apprehension, but the fact that they had been able to hold their own gave the soldiers a much needed morale boost.

As she watched the sun sink beneath the western horizon, Princess Roslyn ordered the sentries on double duty. “They’re going to try something before the sun comes up, mark my words.” In her small but comfortable tent, the princess read a book by lamplight until she drifted off to sleep.

She awoke with a start some hours later. Popping open the tent flap, she judged it was around midnight from the position of the stars. The moon was full, giving a ghostly illumination to the vast desert. Everything was peaceful. Too peaceful. She had a gut feeling that something was about to happen.

She began checking on the sentries, who all reported the same thing. Nothing. “With the moon this bright, we’d see them coming a mile away,” said one soldier.

Roslyn nodded. There was truth to that. She turned her gaze to the river…

The river! She tapped the man who had spoken on the shoulder. “Every second man is to follow me!” she whispered. “If they come, they’ll be swimming the river. We need to reinforce that side.” She darted into a supply tent, grabbed a Mark VII crossbow and a quiver of bolts, and tucked a small axe into her belt. Her sword was sheathed on her hip. “Now let’s go,” she whispered, loading a bolt as she spoke.

But before she and the reinforcements were halfway across the camp, she saw female heads rise like spectres from the surface of the water. As if it were a nightmare, muscular female arms drew back the strings on bows. The sound of expertly aimed arrows driving into their male targets, silently slaying an entire row of sentries on the river side of camp, reminded her that this nightmare was all too real.

“ALARM! ALARM! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!” she screamed. Even as she shouted, she fired, her crossbow bolt nailing an Amazon right between the eyes.

Bells clanged and war horns blew as soldiers raced into action. The sentries she had alerted managed to shoot down several Amazons with their crossbows, but then the others were slashing into tents with their swords, intermingling with the men and making it too dangerous for the sentries to fire without hitting their own side.

Some men woke up at the alarm, only to be met with a blade straight through the heart at the hands of a brown-skinned woman. Others stumbled sleepily out of their tents, right in front of waiting Amazons who shot them down or simply decapitated them.

“Keep the other sides manned! They might have forces waiting while we’re distracted!” Roslyn shouted as she finished reloading her crossbow. She popped out from behind the boulder she had used as cover and came almost face-to-face with a bow-wielding Amazon. The Princess was faster and shot her opponent straight through the heart. Roslyn then drew her sword in her right hand and her axe in her left. As she stepped around the corner of a tent, two enemies charged her. She brained one with her axe and decapitated the other with her sword.

Screams came from a large tent. Leaping inside, she saw a trail of bloody male corpses. Near the back, two Amazon girls, each with a long dagger in each hand, were slowly pushing back the survivors, who couldn’t match the female warriors’ speed and skill.

She hurled her axe and was rewarded with a satisfying THWACK as the weapon buried itself in the back of one of the girls’ skulls. The other Amazon whirled, throwing one of her daggers as she turned. Roslyn just managed to block it with her sword.

The Amazon let out a shrill scream and tumbled towards her with a roundoff followed by a series of ultra-fast one-handed back handsprings. Roslyn stepped to the side and attacked with her sword, but the Amazon dodged with a full twisting layout and landed perfectly on her feet. With a superhumanly fast kick to Roslyn’s arm that sent her sword flying, the Princess suddenly found herself unarmed.

The Amazon drove her dagger straight at Roslyn’s throat. She barely managed to block it, receiving a cut on her right forearm. Her opponent drew the dagger back again, but the Princess suddenly kicked her in the face, breaking her jaw and stunning her. Roslyn then cartwheel kicked her, knocking her down. She stomped down hard on the Amazon’s throat with her military boot, crushing her enemy’s windpipe.

Roslyn let out a sigh of relief. “You guys okay?” she called out to the men in the back of the tent.

“Yes, milady. Thank you for saving us. How about you? You’re hurt.”

She touched the wound. “It’s just a scratch. Now come on and join the fight.”

As she led the men outside, a shrill whistle echoed through the night. The surviving Amazons began backflipping away like pro gymnasts, with incredible grace, elegance, and speed. The men fired their crossbows at them, but thanks to their blazing fast tumbling most of the shots missed. In less than a minute all was quiet again.

“I have the count,” an officer reported, when all the bodies had been lined up. “77 of our men are dead, and there are 24 dead Amazons. We also have a few dozen men wounded too badly to fight who will have to be transported in the wagons.”

Roslyn cursed. “I should have known better. I should have had the river side guarded more heavily from the start.”

“Don’t blame yourself, milady,” said the officer. “Without your warning, hundreds of men would have died.”

The Princess nodded, but she knew she would have to take responsibility for this one. She hadn’t ordered the camp guarded as well as it should have been. But the lessons she learned that night would go on to serve her very well in her long military career.

She looked up at the stars, then out over the vast desert. The Amazons were still out there. Waiting. So far, she had just been sampling a few appetizers. The main course was yet to come.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Tales from the Amazon Wars, Episode 1

It was time. With trumpets blaring and banners waving, the royal army – seven thousand infantry, a thousand cavalry, and a dozen cannons – marched out of the gates of the colonial capital, ready to teach those arrogant Amazons a lesson.

Three weeks earlier, the ambassadors, five of them, had ridden into Amazon territory with a letter signed by His Majesty himself, King Frederick IX, demanding acceptance of the royal kingdom as the Amazons’ feudal overlords and a tribute of fifty of the Amazon tribes’ prettiest, most athletic young women per month for the sexual gratification of the royalist males. The response had come swiftly, in the form of a riderless horse, galloping back to royalist territory, carrying a bag filled with five decapitated heads. The colonial governor, with the blessing of His Majesty from across the sea, had quickly raised an army to punish this act of feminine treachery.

And now, as the soldiers headed off to battle, their spirits were high. How could mere girls defeat big, tough grown adult males, after all? Most of the men were thinking of a swift victory followed by the bounty of the spoils of war. The army’s commander, Major General Donner, had promised his men any girl-warrior they captured as a sex slave. Bulging hard-ons could be seen in many of the soldiers’ crotches as they marched, as they thought about their promised reward.

Two days’ march into Amazon territory, the royalist scouts returned with the news the men had been waiting for. An army of Amazon warrior maidens was advancing to meet them. Only three thousand in number, and armed with bows, swords, and spears against the royalist cannons and muskets, General Donner laughed arrogantly when he heard the report.

The general was a fat and stupid man, who had only risen to his rank because of his noble blood and political connections. His failures on the battlefield were many, and though they were never punished beyond mild reprimands because of his status, he longed for a great victory he could call his own. Now, here was the perfect opportunity, right in front of him. It was going to be so easy.

They drew themselves up in the standard battle formation of the day – infantry front and center, cavalry on the wings, artillery perched on a high bluff in the rear, ready to fire over the heads of the men below and straight into the Amazon ranks. The general and his staff officers sat on their horses by the cannons, watching the scene below on the grassy plain, a place that would become known as the Plain of Tears before the sun would set that day.

“Estimate front ranks of the enemy in cannon range, sir,” his artillery commander reported.

“Excellent. You may fire when ready,” he ordered. The artillery commander gave the order and one by one, the twelve cannons unleashed their projectiles, some falling short, some landing in the Amazon ranks, dropping a few girls here and there. The men waiting on the plain cheered at the sight of female warriors falling, but the effect was small compared to the size of the Amazon army.

As the artillerymen reloaded, a spine-chilling, high-pitched battle cry came from the Amazon girls. A second later, a barrage of arrows was flying towards the royalist army. General Donner snorted. “Arrows against the might of our cannons? They can’t hit us up here.”

“But they can hit them,” said one of his officers. Sure enough, the arrows slammed into the front ranks of the infantry with brutal efficiency, dropping a hundred men dead instantly, and leaving a hundred more howling in agony from gruesome wounds. The arrows were long and thick, fired from powerful bows, and had sadistically barbed arrowheads with multiple sharp points to cause particularly gory injuries.

The men fired back with their muskets, but their primitive firearms, with an effective range of only a hundred yards, were no match for the Amazon archers, who could hit targets at three hundred yards easily. The musket balls fell harmlessly into the dirt far in front of the Amazons, as another lethal volley of arrows came, causing more carnage among the helpless males.

General Donner dismounted his horse and began stamping his feet, shouting at his cannoneers. “Hurry it up, will you?”

“These things take time, sir,” responded the artillery commander. Two more devastating volleys of Amazon arrows slammed into the royalist infantry before the cannons finally fired again. Some more Amazon girls fell, but again some of the artillery fire fell short, and the damage was far less than what the girl-archers could do.

“They’re getting four or five volleys for every one we do,” moaned an officer. “We can’t go on like this!”

“Cavalry charge,” growled General Donner. “Sweep those archer bitches off the field.”

“Sir, if we do that, they’ll suffer terrible casualties from the arrows. Our cavalry is valuable. I recommed either a full infantry attack to accompany the cavalry, or a retreat while we let our artillery take care of business. If we stay stuck in the middle like this we’ll be slaughtered,” his chief of staff said.

“I am in command here, and I say cavalry charge!” Donner shouted. “Our riders will mow those girl-archers down like grass. After that, then the infantry can advance and crush the Amazon swordswomen.”

“Yes, sir. Cavalry charge it is.” A trumpet blared and the royalist cavalry, one thousand men and horses, began their fateful (and fatal) charge.

The Amazon archers turned their attention to the galloping cavalry. Their arrows rained death upon the riders. Despite the speed of the well-bred royalist horses, the girl-archers were so efficient and accurate that by the time the cavalry had almost reached the Amazons’ front line, more than half the riders were dead. Up on the bluff, the chief of staff shook his head sadly at the carnage he had warned his commander was coming.

The surviving cavalrymen lowered their lances as they reached the final phase of their charge. Now, they would get revenge for their fallen comrades. Now, they would make those bitches pay. The girls, wearing only leather armor, on foot, and carrying no hand-to-hand combat weapons other than short swords, would be no match for heavily armored riders with lances.

But not three seconds before the cavalry would have ridden into their enemies, the front rank of Amazons suddenly snatched up long, sharp spears that had been lying hidden in the grass. With lightning speed and perfect coordination, they formed a solid wall of lethal spear points. Too late to stop the charge, the first line of cavalry rode straight into their gruesome deaths, male voices screaming as they were impaled. The cavalry commander tried to rally his men, but a tall, slender, muscular Amazon maiden stood up, long hair blowing in the wind, and hurled her spear, sending it straight through his heavy armor, right through his heart, and through the armor on his back as well.

The surviving horsemen did the only thing they could do. They fled. The female archers were not going to let them get off so easy. They opened fire again, really showing off their markswomanship. Men fell dead by the dozens, arrows in their backs. Of the thousand cavalrymen who had begun the charge, less than twenty made it back to their own lines.

The royalist infantry was already advancing. The general’s chief of staff had ordered it and even Donner, fool that he was, had enough sense to realize they had to win this fight now if they were going to win at all. Arrows rained down on the infantrymen, killing many, as they advanced as rapidly as possible, trying to get into musket range.

The General and his officers watched anxiously from the top of the bluff as their numbers steadily shrank. The cannons were still firing, but couldn’t do more than drop a few women warriors here and there. A mass of Amazon swordswomen formed up rapidly in the front of their ranks. Behind them, the archer-girls were still firing, over their comrades’ heads and into the royalist infantry.

“Take aim-unh!” As an infantry colonel shouted his command, an arrow drove through his armor and into his right lung. He fell to the dirt, on his way to an excruciating death ten minutes later. His lieutenant colonel barked, “Take aim! Fire!”

As the ranks of muskets spit flame, the entire corps of Amazon swordswomen, with the grace, skill, and coordination of champion gymnasts, suddenly executed perfect, simultaneous standing back handsprings. The musket balls whizzed harmlessly between their legs as they were upside down. The swordswomen landed neatly on their feet as the musket balls landed in the dirt behind them. The female archers, still firing, had intelligently retreated out of musket range.

As the men stared in shock at the display of female athleticism that had completely and utterly shown them up, the swordswomen launched themselves into cartwheels followed by rapid back handsprings directly at the males, elegantly backflipping with amazing speed. Many of the soldiers developed hard-ons at the sight of such awe-inspiring female gymnastic skill. The royalist infantry reloaded and fired another volley. The swordswomen responded by increasing their speed just enough to time their perfectly coordinated flips so that they would be safely upside down when the musket balls reached them. Sure enough, once again the strategy worked to perfection, the rounds flying harmlessly between their legs.

“Fire at will, you fools! Fire at will!” an officer shouted. It was too late, however. The Amazon girls could backflip a hundred yards in less than thirty seconds, not enough time for a musketeer to get off a third shot. The officer drew his pistol, taking aim at a young woman in bright colors who seemed to be a warrior of high rank, but before he could fire, a perfectly thrown Amazon knife came flying and drove straight into his heart.

The girl-warriors finished their tumbling passes with various full and double full twists, landing right on the front ranks of royalist infantrymen and cutting them to pieces with their wickedly sharp swords. The Amazon swordswomen wielded a blade in each hand, and had a graceful but lethal attack style that was known as the dance of death. While the strongest and most muscular girls were chosen to become archers, as they could best handle the huge, heavy bows that the Amazons used, the swordswomen were chosen from the fastest, most agile girls. The men, trying to fight back with their bayonets, were utterly helpless against the blinding speed of the sexy swordswomen. Arms, legs, and heads flew off, guts were disemboweled, and some bodies were simply chopped in half as the warrior maidens sliced and diced their way through the male ranks.

General Donner and his staff were looking at the scene below them in pure shock. How could it have come to this? How could eight thousand of His Majesty’s finest men be defeated – not just defeated, but utterly annihilated – by three thousand teenage girls?

If the General and his staff officers were alarmed, the men below were in pure terror. Literally caught between a rock and a hard place, trapped with cliffs behind them and the relentless Amazon death machine in front of them, they knew they were doomed. The girls were so quick that they could cut the men in front to pieces before they could fire, and the soldiers in the rear couldn’t shoot without hitting their own men. Most of them simply threw down their muskets and prayed for a quick death – an arrow through the heart or a simple decapitation.

As the scene below continued to unfold – the color on the plain steadily turning from the blue and white uniforms of the Royalists to a simple brown, the brown leather and darkly tanned brown skin of the Amazon girls, his chief of staff tapped the General on the shoulder. “Beg pardon, milord, but I think it’s time to get these cannons out of here.”

General Donner sighed, his shoulders slumping. All the fight had gone out of him. “Yes. Make it so.” The artillerymen removed the cannons from their emplacements and began harnessing the draft horses to them. The one hundred men of the King’s Royal Guard, a hand-picked elite corps, stood at attention, ready to escort the artillery and their General to safety.

Suddenly, there was a terrifying, high-pitched female warrior cry from the nearby forest, followed by the thundering sound of hoofbeats. The men looked at one another in fear. “We were wondering where the Amazon cavalry was,” said one officer. “Well, I think we’ve found our answer.”

A volley of arrows came flying from the trees. “Of course,” said another officer, rolling his eyes. There was no cover. The lethal arrows slammed into the men with devastating efficiency. Sixty Guardsmen, half the artillerymen, and three staff officers collapsed to the dirt, dead or dying. The surviving cannoneers frantically tried to get the big guns turned around, but maneuvering the slow, clumsy weapons in time was hopeless.

The well-trained Guardsmen stood cold and still in the face of death, holding their fire, waiting for a target they could see. Then came the thrown weapons. Spears, axes, and knives, hurled with incredible strength and accuracy by the horsewomen still hidden in the cover of the trees. Dozens more men dropped dead with axes to their skulls, knives to their hearts, or simple good old impalements through the middle with spears.

They finally emerged from the trees, perhaps three hundred of them, slender, muscular, pretty teenage girls on horses, charging at full speed. The surviving Guardsmen had time to fire a single volley, bringing a few girls down, but the fight was already over. Spear-wielding horsewomen rode right into the Guardsmen, whose bayonets were no match for the long, sharp female spears. The men fell, disemboweled or impaled. Meanwhile, another group of horsewomen was riding down the artillerymen, decapitating them with their swords. Men who tried to run or ride away were shot down with expert precision by a group of horsewomen in the rear with bows, smaller than the massive ones fired by the infantry-women but well-designed and modified to be capable of piercing armor.

General Donner, his chief of staff, and two more of his officers were the only men left alive. The Amazons surrounded them, dozens of arrows and spears pointed at them as the men raised their hands in surrender.

The crowd of horsewomen parted and a young Amazon princess rode up. She smiled at her captives seductively and dominantly. “You fools. You cowards. Did you really think that your fires and explosions would be enough to defeat the Amazon Nation? Now you will pay for your arrogance.” She made a quick motion with her muscular, bracelet-adorned wrist and strong female arms seized the men. “You will now be taken to be sacrificed to the Mother Goddess. You will suffer. You will burn. And you will learn what all enemies of the Amazon Nation learn. Never let an Amazon girl take you alive, because you’d be better off dead.” The men trembled in fear. General Donner wet his pants.

“Riders approaching! Three of them. Our men,” said the scout from his lookout tower on the wall surrounding the Colonial Capital.

“Open the gate!” shouted another man. Three brusied, battered, weary looking riders, a young man in a lieutenant’s uniform and two enlisted soldiers, rode into town, gasping with extreme relief as the gates shut behind them. The Governor, having heard the commotion, hurried up to the scene. “What news from the battle, Lieutenant?”

“Milord…we’re it. We’re the only survivors. The Amazons… they slaughtered us all.”

“What?! Impossible! Eight thousand of His Majesty’s finest men? You must be mistaken. More men will be coming, I’m sure,” said the Governor, in denial.

“Even if more survivors come in, sir, they’ll just be a few more stragglers. I was there. I saw the whole battle. We were annihilated. Utterly annihilated. Those girls…they fought like demonesses. I’ve never seen anything like it…”

The Governor put his face in his hands. “All right. Get these men some food and water. When they’ve recovered, bring them to my mansion. I’ll want a full report on what happened,” he ordered. “Double the guards on the walls, right now. And send a messenger-ship to His Majesty.”

Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as the men hurried to carry out the governor’s orders. A sense of doom and dread came over the town underneath the gray, rapidly darkening sky.

TO BE CONTINUED…