A/N: Crimson Katana: Well, they worship technology, so...

Geraldford: Uh... I'll think about it? ^^' Fact is, I want to keep this realistic and, for the moment, I don't see them taking the enclave head on...

An old man wandering around the Olympic Games looking for a seat was jeered at by the crowd until he reached the seats of the Spartans, whereupon every Spartan younger than him, and some that were older, stood up and offered him their seat. The crowd applauded and the old man turned to them with a sigh, saying

"All Greeks know what is right, but only the Spartans do it."

Mothership Zeta

"Spartans' quarters"

2281

May 3

Marcus is massive and I genuinely feel sorry for this chair he is sitting on. Many peoples suggest he would be the Spartan with the closest resemblance to Hercules, from the strength to the size.

Personally, I prefer to remain standing while I expose the result of my discussions with Gail.

"Alright, Athos," Marcus sighs, "explain your idea to me and this time please try to make sense…"

I smile and point to the extremely accurate drawing of a hoplite warrior I found in a book. "What are our flaws?"

He points to the warrior's thigh, "We are vulnerable here, but this is necessary for mobility."

"What else?"

He observes the drawing, frowning in intense concentration, "I give up… What are we doing wrong?"

"Nothing." I hit my fist on the table, "We are doing everything perfectly like hoplites should, but in this world, everyone uses ranged weapons. Our armor can sustain these, but we will have a hard time closing the distance for the kill…"

He shrugs, "We just do the same as we did at Plataea, charge them and use our shields to protect ourselves…"

"No!" I snap, "Their weapon can kill from a kilometer away! These are no bows! We must adapt, Marc, for adaptation is the key to survival, surely you remember that!"

He observes the other diagrams littering the table. Hel… Eliot was kind enough to translate most of them in latin and I, in turn, translated them to Greek.

SC-202/AM rifle, MkIV power fist, T-51b Power Armor, Kodiak combat boots, Vulture tactical pants, Kevlar shirts, Biogel, epoxy, Spider rocket launcher and .357 Desert Falcon. All of these items can be found in the vessel's cargo holds, all ours for the taking, if we only learn how to use them.

"There is only thirty of us, Athos," He sighs, "What do you want to do? Resurrect Sparta?"

I grin, "There is nothing to resurrect, Marc, what I want is to create a new Sparta. We go in this wasteland, build our city and provide protection; we will not need slaves anymore, not in this world, people will work in exchange for protection. This is what we were made for, Marcus, as Spartans. This is our Elysian Fields!"

He looks at my drawing next. How did it get in there?

Gail. That woman will kill me someday.

I found what she called pencil and decided to practice my drawing skills a bit. She said it looked very good and I should show it to the other Spartan to convince them. I refused, because it is an inaccurate despiction…

The thing is a drawing of four Spartans, wearing a 'Kevlar shirt' –a skintight cloth that covers the chest and shoulders, leaving the forearms bare- and tactical pants under their cuirass, mitra –The 'metal skirts' as Eliot calls them- and greaves.

There are also pieces taken from the power armor, such as the communication device and sound amplification systems , integrated to the helmet in the form of two round protuberances over the ears and a small twig rising from one of them. Beyond that, the armor is unchanged; cape and everything keep their places

The first Spartan and most to the right is pressing his communicator and has a regular shield and spear, held loosely in the left hand.

The second, to the left, also has a shield and spear in hands, but there are plenty of technological healing devices hanging from an harness, worn over his cuirass. Next one has his shield in his back and is kneeling, large rifle in hands. He is looking down the 'Scope', a sight magnification device and is helmet has a darker plume, like all of his clothes.

The last one is carrying a large, tubular device on his back and has his eyes protected by a power armor's visor.

Marcus asks me just what it is and I describe everything in detail, the effect of everything and he stops me at each sentence.

"A device that allows you to communicate with someone you cannot see?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Not the shadow of an idea…" I scoff. And his face, previously gleaming, darkens somewhat.

"How would we maintain equipment we know nothing about?"

I hand him a small vial of blue liquid, "This is what Gail calls epoxy; somewhat of a magical, intelligent liquid, it finds what is broken and fixes it without spare parts. The quantity of liquid it requires is proportional to the amount of damage taken."

"What if we run out?" Marc insists and I smile.

"It reproduces."

His face falls. "How?"

"With metal. We drop any sort of metal into the pool where we… cultivate it, and it will turn it into epoxy."

The Enomotarch is reciting the whole pantheon, expecting some sort of answer from one of them.

"We need a real leader." He sighs, "Someone who can maintain our identity as Lacedaemonians and still deal with dilemmas like these… We need ephors, kings, something!"

"A queen?" I state, flatly.

He frowns and seems about to ask whom, when realization dawns upon him.

"Her? But… She is not even a Spartan!"

"She needs not to be; Well, not if you see her as a special advisor. We follow her directions, but not blindly, she helps us understand the world around and integrate ourselves and we, in return provide her with the services of the deadliest army in history."

He nods slowly, weighting his options, but finally decides we will wait before making such drastic choices.

"What about tactics," He then asks, "What about the phalanx?"

"Excellent question." I congratulate, "I studied the matter; the formation is still effective and should be our main battle technique, only we use projectile weapons on targets beyond throwing range and ameliorate our equipment with modern materials."

Marcus finally agrees and rise off his seat to go explain all of this to his men. Mine already know what I am planning and have very mixed opinions… Some nod, others shrug.

Meanwhile, I must go with Gail and my own troops to explore the area where the… Transport thing landed.

Apparently, it is in the middle of a deserted city, but there are signs of civilization nearby. Diplomacy, reconnaissance or both, I do not know, but I trust my warriors to carry out every of them flawlessly.

I take the teleporter to the bridge and am brought face to face with Kratos.

A simple nod tells me everything is in readiness. Gail is wearing this 'Tesla Power armor' she salvaged earlier, which my men dubbed 'Zeus Armor'. The thing gives her strength and protection almost rivaling my Spartan's… Almost.

She smiles upon seeing me and stretches, causing some hissing from her armor.

"Went well?" She asks in her passable Latin.

"Yes." I reply, in English.

"Men ready?" She add and I smile, turning to the warriors:

"She asks if you are ready."

They throw their shields up and roar "AHOO! AHOO! AHOO!" In perfect coordination.

"Born ready." I remind her with a smile.

0

0

0

Washington DC

2281

May 4

22:13

The thing had landed during the night, coming from the sky like a meteorite, and Reilly's Rangers had been hired by the Brotherhood to retrieve it.

Right about now, they had counted thirty raiders circling the thing, all armed with sledgehammers and other such melee weapons. Some had small caliber pistols, and two packed flamethrowers.

Donovan looked out the window they were stationed at and sighed. "They're not going anywhere, boss."

"I say we make 'em go." Brick offered. Butcher laughed at that.

"It would take a whole Brotherhood squad to root these guys out, they got the high ground and there's no cover leading… To… The fuck?

A bright red light filled the hollowed out hunk of a building the round object had crashed in blinding everyone and startling the raiders.

Every ranger took cover, expecting the thing to go off, and only emerged when they heard one of the Raiders talking.

"Who the fuck are you?"

There was a second of hesitation and a soft but loud voice answered.

"Spartans."

It had a thick accent unlike any they had ever heard. Reilly crawled over to the window, in time to see what seemed like a dozen baby Super mutants, half armored with gold and red, form two lines in front of another, black and red clad soldier. Their commander, obviously. Its eyes were glowing red and it held an SMG, as opposed to the others who all had spears and shields.

Red eyes spoke in a language nobody in the whole wasteland understood and a man, standing in front of some raider barked two orders and that shit got real.

The man moved like a snake, hitting so hard the raider's head did a 180 spin.

Then, with two steps back, he disappeared in the wall of shields. There were two rows of six shields intertwined together, the first row at ground level and the second just over it with three guys watching the back of the phalanx.

The raiders with firearms opened up while those with melee weapons charged the Spartan lines, expecting it to break under their combined weight.

When the first sledge came down, it became obvious the Raiders were fucked; its owner only earned a long, hollow sound followed by a spear to the guts.

Two more, carried forward by their momentum, were impaled on the spears and shoved away. The rest tried to retreat while the shooters covered them from the remains of the second story, but the phalanx advanced in perfect synchronism, like a veritable wall of metal and spikes; and they advanced fast.

The some raiders turned around to see where their enemies were and either got impaled on the large spears, or crushed by shields, their shooters' covering fire powerless against the shields that coverd the formation's front and top.

Behind the phalanx, the three Spartans stabbed their spears in the dirt, discarded their own shields and hung their helmets on the spears.

Then, they all sprinted in different directions, large knives in hand.

The first one leapt on a support column's remains and, from there, onto the second floor where he disappeared into the shadows. A second latter, one of the four raiders strewn around the remains disappeared in a dark corner, screaming in fear.

The second one just use a large piece of debris as a step to propel himself up and right on another raider, who actually had time to fire his .32 pistol at the hoplite's chest, with little effect.

The Spartan dug his blade into the mans' neck, in an angle that made it pierce the heart, and curled into a ball in mid-air, disappearing trough a hole in the wall.

The last warrior used the stairs, and came up behind the two raiders, armed with Chinese pistols.

He wrapped his thick arms around both their necks and broke both with little effort.

Pankration –the Spartan's martial art- discouraged attacking many opponents at the same time, but for an ambidextrous warrior such as Kratos, it was not much a challenge to kill these weaklings simultaneously.

He threw both bodies aside and jumped back down, where his brothers in arm were finishing off the survivors.

Athos walked up to him, and stabbed his 'lizard killer' in the heart of a bloodied raider. The man gurgled in pain and tried to remove the spear's butt spike from his chest.

The Phylearch did not so much as acknowledge the man's pleas.

"Set up camp here," He ordered, "I will be gone for some time, along with Demetrius, Perseus and Varos ."

He handed his spear to the Sub-Phylearch, along with his helmet.

Underneath his cuirass, Athos wore a pair of nylon shorts and a black Kevlar t-shirt, along with tactical boots and, only just noticing that fact, Kratos frowned at this. "Going native, sir?"

"No." Came his superior's definitive answer and the other warrior knew better than to push the issue.

"Where are you going?" He asked, instead.

"To meet the forces in presence and evaluate their strength."

Kratos smiled inwardly. Marcus had never given such orders, or they would still be debating on it. If anyone asked, Kratos would root for Athos as king any moment; that man knew how and when to take actions. Not that Marcus was an inapt leader; he simply was not as cunning and he knew it, which is why the man always took so long to think everything trough. What was certain, however, was that Marcus was a lot more experienced that Athos, so the hoplite would probably elect him king as well, to compensate Athos' ruthlessness.

"By your command." Kratos nodded and began distributing orders.