Free Conflict of Empires (2010) by Sam Barone

archers to target the tent’s occupants or the tethered horses.
    By now the Akkadians had swept through half the camp, and the Sumerians gave up any attempt at defending themselves. Screams of the wounded rose up, adding to the survivors’ confusion. Their leaders had abandoned them, and now every man thought only about how to save himself. Everywhere Eskkar looked, he saw men throwing weapons to the ground and bolting to the rear. He knew broken men when he saw them. They would run and run until they fell exhausted to the ground.
    The archers reached the far edge of the camp, leaving only dead and wounded behind them. They continued shooting their arrows, angling the shafts higher into the air, until everyone had emptied his quivers. On the plain stretching to the south, Eskkar watched the surviving Sumerians run for their lives, escape from the deadly Akkadian arrows their only thought.
    “HALT!” There was nothing else he could do. His men were too tired to chase after the fleeing men.
    Eskkar turned to face the camp. The sun had just cleared the top of the low hills, and he realized the entire battle had taken only moments. Each of his archers had loosed close to sixty arrows, and it didn’t take long for his Akkadian bowmen to launch that many shafts. Bodies littered the ground, most with arrows protruding from them. Wounded men shriekedout for mercy or water. The smell of blood now mixed with the more powerful odor of vomit and human waste. Stores of food and piles of water skins, weapons, blankets, cooking pots, clothing, helmets, sandals and tunics lay scattered about, kicked over and trampled in the confusion. Even if the enemy managed to regroup, the survivors would have nothing to fight with and no food to sustain them.
    Drakis joined his captain and Grond. “Well done, Captain. We caught them completely by surprise.”
    “We were lucky,” Eskkar said, sliding his sword into its scabbard. Another battle fought without his needing to use it. The few enemy who had offered any resistance had been cut down at once, and he doubted if he’d ever been in any danger.
    “Well, I for one hope that your luck doesn’t run out.”
    “I’m sure it will.” Eskkar laughed and clapped Drakis on the shoulder. “But not today. At least you survived this fight without a wound.”
    In the last battle, Drakis had fought like a lion, taken half a dozen wounds, and nearly died. He spent months recovering, while healers hovered over him.
    Alexar arrived at almost the same time, a big smile on his face. “Another great victory, Captain.”
    “We’ve only won half the battle,” he reminded them. “Now let’s get busy. There’s plenty of work to be done. Have the men collect their arrows first. We don’t want to be standing here with empty quivers if the Sumerian horsemen arrive.”
    “Yes, Captain.”
    “Myandro, put out pickets to guard the camp. Drakis, have some of the men collect the weapons, then count and drag off the dead. Gather the food and anything of value in one place. Grond, come with me.”
    Eskkar led the way toward the tent, picking his steps through the bodies and waving off the already gathering flies. He swept aside the opening flap. Grond ducked in first, and Eskkar followed.
    Big enough to hold seven or eight people, and almost high enough for Eskkar to stand erect, the tent contained cushions, a small chest, two wineskins, and scattered clothing. A sword hung from the central post, still in its scabbard.
    “Our enemy travels well,” Grond said, kicking a cushion aside. “All the comforts of home.”
    “Must be some soft merchant who …” Eskkar reached out his arm andpointed to the far corner of the tent. Something had moved under a pile of blankets.
    Grond drew his sword, the blade rasping as it came out of the sheath. “Come out! Now! Or I’ll gut you where you hide!”
    Eskkar saw the top of a head, then another. He laughed again, and let himself relax.
    Two women appeared, clinging to