Hannibal: The Patrol Read Free Page A

they could see who had challenged them. ‘WHORESONS!’ he added, using the only Gaulish word he’d learned in his contact with the tribesmen who had allied themselves to Hannibal. ‘WHORESONS!’
    They heard his insult. Baring their teeth, the two warriors came on like a pair of mad boars. Less than half a dozen paces separated them from the shield wall. Behind them, the hideous noise of the carnyxes had been replaced by the warriors’ battle cries.
    ‘Steady, lads,’ urged Mutt the man to either side. ‘Brace yourselves. Take the first cut on your shield rim, then gut the fuckers.’
    The first Gaul’s blade was already swinging down at him in a mighty arc that would smash his helmet and skull together, so Mutt raised his shield and ducked down behind it, praying that the timbers didn’t split.
    CRASH.
    It took his entire strength not to let the impact drive his left arm down to the ground. But he’d been in this situation before and did not let his fear master him. A fleeting glance told him that the sword had cut through the metal rim of his shield, and caught in the wood below. Bending his knees, he drove up with all the power of his thighs, raising the shield and with it, the Gaul’s weapon. As the Gaul tugged and cursed, trying to free his blade, Mutt leaned forward with a savage cry and shoved his spear into the hollow at the base of the Gaul’s neck. It ran into the flesh with ease, severing all in its path. There was a jarring
thunk
as it hit the Gaul’s ribcage and then it emerged, scarlet-tipped, from the back of his left shoulder. There was a choking, startled cry, and a spew of red froth from the Gaul’s lips, as he died.
    ‘Gaulish dog,’ snarled Mutt, ripping his spear free and spinning to his left, where the second Gaulish warrior had been. Dismay filled him. The soldier beside him was already down, blood and gobbets of brain tissue oozed from the massive cut in his head. The second Gaul was crouched over the body, already hacking at the soldier in the next rank, who, terrified by the ferocity of the attack, was doing little to defend himself. Mutt cursed. The main body of Gauls would reach them in the next few heartbeats. It was now or never. With a quick prayer that no onewould stab him as he exposed his right side, Mutt wheeled and drove his spear into the second Gaul’s back. A keening cry of agony rent the air, and blood sprayed everywhere as he pulled his weapon free. He caught the eye of the spearman whom he’d just saved. ‘Into the front rank. Quickly!’
    The soldier hurriedly obeyed.
    Even as Mutt twisted and resumed his place in the front rank, the enemy were upon them. Fresh acid hit the back of his throat. Many of the Gauls were making for the man to his left, because there was now no one to take his place if he fell. ‘HANN-I-BAL!’ he yelled. ‘HANN-I-BAL!’
    And then the Gauls hit them.
    Mutt instantly lost all sense of time. His world closed in, to the soldier either side of him and the enemies immediately to his front. He stabbed with his spear, wounded a warrior in the face. Took a heavy but glancing blow from a sword to his head, felt his knees buckle. With superhuman effort, he locked them, and thrust at the Gaul who’d tried to brain him. Gritting his teeth against the blinding pain in his skull, he met the next attack with his shield, managing to stab the Gaul in the chest, wounding him badly. The Gaul staggered and fell, and was replaced at once by a bearded brute holding nothing but a long spear. His first throw hummed past Mutt’s head, slicing open the face of the spearman to Mutt’s rear.
    Mutt thrust back at him, driving his spear through the Gaul’s layered fabric cuirass and into his belly. He thought it was a death wound, but the Gaul merely rocked on his heels. As Mutt struggled to pull back his weapon, his opponentgrabbed the shaft and ripped it free of his own flesh. Without letting go, he aimed
his
spear at Mutt’s face. A tug of war ensued, with