Jim's expression darkened as he watched the king reach the front lines. Polydectes hurried toward a commanding figure leading the army, his voice urgent as he gestured frantically in Jim's direction. The military leader listened before giving a curt nod. Without hesitation, Polydectes and his cadre continued on and disappeared into the temple's entrance, vanishing into the sacred halls.

  Meanwhile, the warrior army shifted into battle formation with chilling precision. The first two rows locked their shields together, forming a wall, their spears thrust through the gaps. Behind them, a second rank raised their shields overhead, covering the front like a tortoise shell. Further back, archers nocked arrows, angling their shots high—lethal 45-degree arcs aimed at Jim's small band.

  Then, with coordinated, thunderous stomping, the army began its slow, deliberate advance. The ground trembled beneath them, a cloud of dust swirling around them as they closed the gap.

  Jim let out a gasp. "Oh, shit. Looks like the entire Seriphos army."

  "Think we can take 'em all?" Veronica asked, already checking her magazine capacities.

  Jim shook his head. "Nope, not even close, though I do have an idea." He grabbed his radio. "Ajax Two-Three, this is Juliet Bravo. Do you copy?"

  A voice responded, "Roger, this is Ajax. Go ahead."

  "We've got a few thousand enemy contacts in formation closing on our position. Can you assist? Over."

  "Roger, affirmative. Request a visual on your location. Over."

  "Roger, stand by. Sending a visual now." Jim turned to Veronica. "Torres! Quick, flare!"

  "Got it, boss!" Veronica responded. She yanked out her flare gun, raised it skyward—and fired. The bright red flare streaked into the sky before slowly descending.

  The enemy warriors halted mid-march, eyes lifted toward the glowing signal as it floated down, murmuring in confusion at the unnatural sight.

  Jim's radio crackled again. "Juliet Bravo, this is Ajax Two-Three. Visual confirmed. Moving to your position."

  Then came the low, unmistakable rumble of engine noise, accompanied by the grinding whir of giant spinning blades.

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  Jim felt the vibrations on his back before he even turned around. The olive drab painted Apache loomed behind him, creeping forward like a shadow of death, its silhouette cutting through the dust-filled sky. The massive war machine advanced, then locked into a fixed hover just fifty yards ahead, facing the stunned enemy army.

  Jim exhaled slowly. "Showtime."

  He could see it in their eyes—the warriors were completely bewildered, unsure of what they were witnessing. The Apache hovered with unsettling ease, its dark form suspended in the air, swaying slightly as if studying them, waiting. Every eye remained locked on the helicopter, their focus absolute and unwavering.

  The eerie silence was abruptly shattered as the rear line of archers released a synchronized volley—hundreds of arrows shooting toward the hovering machine in a blur. Most sailed wide, missing entirely, but a handful struck the Apache's armor with a sharp clatter. The arrows bounced off, leaving barely a scratch.

  The radio crackled. "Juliet Bravo, this is Ajax. Hostiles confirmed, taking fire, no damage. Shall I engage?"

  Jim didn't hesitate. "Affirmative, Ajax. You are clear to engage all hostiles."

  "Roger, returning fire."

  The Apache's 30mm chain gun roared to life, spitting explosive rounds into the packed ranks. Detonations ripped through the formation, sending bodies, shields, spears, and limbs flying in all directions. The initial shockwave alone flattened warriors closest to the blasts, while those farther back barely had time to register what was happening before they, too, were torn apart.

  Some desperate archers fired again, their arrows falling well short.

  The chain gun swept left, then right, like scything through wheat. Then came the rockets.

  Puffs of white smoke burst from the Apache's rocket pods, sending multiple rockets streaking toward the densely packed warriors like oversized spears of death. The first explosions ripped through their lines, bodies flung skyward—some still alive for a brief, agonizing moment before crashing lifeless to the ground.

  The remaining combatants, seeing most of their comrades obliterated in an instant, dropped their weapons and scattered like terrified ants. Some fled into nearby buildings; others sprinted for the city's outskirts, vanishing among the trees in sheer terror.

  The Apache continued it's onslaught. More chain gun fire. More rockets.The massacre reduced the battlefield to a graveyard of shattered weapons, dismembered limbs, and craters where proud warriors once stood.

  A small group of archers managed to regroup at a distance, desperately loosing arrows at the flying death machine. The hovering harbinger of death turned to face them.

  They saw the launches.

  They dropped their bows and ran.

  Too late.

  The rockets struck home. The ensuing explosions hurled archers into the sky, their bodies flailing midair, legs still pumping as if they could outrun death. They crashed down, lifeless, bouncing like ragdolls before coming to a final, motionless rest.

  The battlefield fell silent, the only sound coming from the floating machine suspended above the battlefield.

  Jim exhaled, gripping his rifle. "That's one way to clear a path."

  "Juliet Bravo, this is Ajax Two-Three. Targets eliminated. You're clear to proceed. Good luck, Lieutenant."

  "Thanks for the assist. Juliet Bravo out." Jim turned to his group. "All clear, let's go!" Jim's group sped toward the temple, up the steps, and into the main chamber.