Early the next morning, Maurice left. He was accompanied by a hundred of his Thracian cataphracts as well as a squad of Arab scouts.
At the same time, one of Kurush's top officers-Merena himself, in fact-led a similar expedition to Ctesiphon. Their purpose was to bring warning to the residents of the capital.
The next four days, Belisarius spent overseeing the final preparations at the Nehar Malka. None of the Roman troops except Basil and his men were engaged in this work, however, so they spent those days resting.
By late afternoon of the fifth day, the entire allied force was thronging the banks of the Euphrates. Over twenty thousand men-Romans, Persians, Kushan captives-were jostling each other for a vantage point. Belisarius had to use his bucellarii to keep the onlookers from piling too close to the Nehar Malka.
The general himself was standing atop the command tower. He was joined there by Baresmanas and Kurush.
'You should not have made the announcement,' fretted Kurush. 'It was impossible to keep the security patrols out beyond noon.'
Belisarius shrugged.
'And so? By the time a spy reaches the Malwa with the news, they will know already.'
He leaned over the rail. Below him, standing at the base of the tower, Basil looked up. The katyusha commander held a burning slowmatch in his hand.
Belisarius began to give the order to light the fuse. Then, hesitated.
'New times,' he murmured. 'New times need new traditions. 'Light the fuse' just won't do.'
He sent a thought inward.
The reply came instantly.
Fire in the hole.
Belisarius grinned. Leaned over.
'Fire in the hole!'
Basil needed no translation. A moment later, the fuse was burning. As it hissed its furious way toward the last barrier across the Nehar Malka, Basil began capering like a child.
'I like that! I like that!' he cried.
The cry was taken up by others. Within three minutes, the entire army was chanting the words. Even the Kushans, in their newly-learned and broken Greek.
The fuse reached its destination.
There was fire in the hole.
Chapter 27
The demolition had been well-planned. So much was immediately obvious. Guided by Aide, Belisarius and Basil had emplaced the charges in the optimum locations to do the job.
Across most of its width, the lower bank of the dam blew sidewise, clearing an instant path for the pent-up energy of the Euphrates. The great river, now released, literally burst into the new channel opened for it. Raging like a bull, the torrent charged down the long-dry Nehar Malka, scouring it deeper and wider as it went.
But Belisarius was unable to appreciate the sight. As so often happens in life, practice subverted theory. The charges had been perfectly placed, true. And then, doubled beyond Aide's instructions; and then, doubled again.
Aide had complained, of course. Had warned, cautioned, chastened, chastised; been driven, in fact, into its own crystalline version of a gibbering fit.
To no avail. With the simple logic of men whose familiarity with gunpowder was still primitive, Belisarius and Basil had both insisted that more was vastly preferable than enough. Better to make sure the job was done, after all, than to risk a feeble half-result through cringing niggardliness.
Applied to the task of splitting a log with an axe, such logic simply results in unnecessary exertion. Applied to the task of demolishing a dam with gunpowder, however-
I told you so, groused Aide, as Belisarius watched the
Not all of those missiles, of course, were heading for the tower where Belisarius stood. It just seemed that way.
Baresmanas and Kurush scrambled down the ladder first. The Roman general was halfway down-
Stupid humans.
— when the first rocks began pelting into the tower. By the time he was three-fourths down-
Protoplasmic idiots.
— covered, now, with wood splinters-
Glorified monkeys.
— the tower collapsed completely.
That probably saved his life, as well as those of Baresmanas and Kurush-and Basil, who had also instinctively sought shelter beneath the tower. The half-shattered platform hammered Belisarius and the other three men into the ground, battering them almost senseless. Thereafter, however, it acted as a sort of huge shield, sheltering them-in a manner of speaking-from the hail of rocks which would otherwise have turned two Roman officers and two Persian noblemen into so much undifferentiated pulp.
At the time, Belisarius found little comfort in the fact. The platform lying on him did not deflect the blows, in the manner of a true shield, so much as it simply spread the shock across his entire body. He was not pulped, therefore. Amazingly, none of his bones were even broken. But he did undergo a version of being pounded into flatcake, except that flatcakes do not suffer the added indignity of being lectured throughout the experience.
Crazy fucking Thracian.
Whoever made you a general, anyway?
It's amazing you even made it out of the womb, as stupid as you are. I'm surprised you didn't insist on finding your own way out. God forbid you should listen to your mother.
Whoever-
And so on, and so forth.
It took his soldiers an hour to dig Belisarius and the others out, after the rocks stopped falling. The digging itself, actually, took only a few minutes. The delay was caused by the fact that his men had fled a full half mile away after the barrage started.
His first, semiconscious, croaking words:
'Did it work? I couldn't see.'
His ensuing croaks, after being assured of full success in the project:
'Next time. Smaller charges.'
'Much smaller,' croaked Basil.
'Crazy fucking Romans,' croaked Baresmanas.
'Whoever put him in charge?' croaked Kurush.
Others, also, failed to heed warnings. When Merena arrived at Ctesiphon to warn the governor of the oncoming tidal wave, the man responded with derision. Partly, that was due to his personality. Arrogant by nature, his recent naming to the post of
