AN- I was tempted to let the cliffie hang until the weekend, but then got bored and wrote it anyway. So here is chapter 36, I really hope you enjoy it. Standard disclaimer applies.

Read, enjoy, review...

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

It's so cold, I can't breathe! Donovan weakly lay his hands upon the Morgul blade that was now buried in his chest. Instead of the wound feeling like it was burning, it instead felt like someone was freezing his chest. He was only barely aware of Eowyn running forth to fight the Witchking.

Automatically he figured out just where he had been hurt, and how bad the wound was, even as his mind was slipping into shadow. Blade is…two inches down and to the left of the heart, just barely missing the major arteries and veins…it has pierced my left lung. I need to get it out of my body.

Eowyn cried out in pain as the Witchking's flail caught the shield she had been using, shattering the wood and breaking her arm. Even though he noticed Elenloth running past him, it didn't make any sense to him. He watched dimly as Elenloth brought the Witchking to his knees with a well aimed blow, and then Eowyn stabbing him in the face with her sword.

As the Lord of Nazgul imploded, Donovan slowly pulled the sword out of his chest, his blood painting the black steel red. With a gasp, he pulled it completely out of himself before he collapsed, sword falling from senseless hands.

He felt someone grab onto his arms, though it was as though he was feeling it through someone else's body. Someone was shouting something…but he couldn't hear…all he wanted…to do was…to go…to…sleep….

March 18th, 16:33; Minas Tirith 3rd level gate, Lieutenant Matthiol's POV:

"We will not give in! We will oust them from this city with the Gondorians!" he roared, and what was left of the Durvagorian infantry roared back their approval, noise overwhelming the sound of the snipers, Antimaterial Riflemen, and the M2HBs, which were firing at the orcs storming through the second level. "Fix bayonets!" There was a flurry of movement from the entire Durvagorian unit as the riflemen fixed the knives onto the ends of their rifles.

Looking further up the third level, Matt could see how the Gondorian soldiers were getting ready for this last sortie. At least a thousand swordsmen and spearmen readied their weapons. Suddenly cheering was heard, and Denethor could be seen with his sons, all garbed in armor of the highest quality and riding magnificent horses. Behind them rode some two hundred Gondorian cavalry. Okay, a whole hell of a lot of Rohan warriors have arrived. This just turned into a winnable battle. We can do this.

The gate shuddered on its hinges as it was struck again. "For our fallen brothers and sisters! WE WILL NOT FAIL!"

The door boomed again as it was forced open, and the two armies just stopped for a moment. Matt knew that at least the Durvagorians would have extremely angered expressions on their faces, and he liked the look of panic upon the faces of the orcs as they suddenly faced two armies that were angry and willing to fight to the bitter end. And then all hell broke loose.

The Durvagorians fired as the orcs did, and the bullets slammed into both sides, causing death and confusion. "CHARGE!" Matt bellowed as he ran forward, rifle in his hands, bayonet held before him. His men surged out behind him, and there was a roar as they met the orc line.

March 18th, 16:42; Pelennor Fields, King Eomer's POV:

It was with great joy that Eomer led another charge against the orc scum who had dared to kill Rohirrim. He struck again and again with his sword, the blade cleaving into the bodies of the orcs who were stupid enough to come near. Gúthwine clove through the armor of any orc that it was swung at, and many orcs had already fallen to the sword of the young king.

"King Eomer! Look, the Corsairs of Umbar have arrived!" one of his warriors shouted, and Eomer turned his eyes towards the Anduin River. Indeed the vessels of the infamous pirates were floating up the river, ready to give yet another wave of reinforcements to the Mordor army.

Eomer took a quick scan of the battlefield. The orc were forming a line of defenses that was backed by the river. The line of wooden stakes and rubble was not much of a concern to Eomer, but the hundred thousand orcs that were behind the barrier did. Plus the five Mumakil there, though the rifles that were being positioned along the barrier would have formed enough of a challenge as it was.

"Keep away from the river!" he shouted out. "Rout the orcs still unprotected!" He wheeled his horse around towards the city, where he could see his Rohirrim running down the orcs even as the orcs tried to fight back.

Suddenly the rapid chatter of gunfire was heard from the city, more so then what had been going on continuously. Bursts were heard, as well a battle cries. Eomer spurred his horse forward into a charge, running down the orcs who stood before him, and the men behind him slaughtered those orcs that hadn't been cut down by Eomer.

A small group of orcs somewhere of to Eomer's right had formed a small pocket of riflemen, and though they fired and killed several Rohirrim, they were unable to reload before they were pounded into the clay by other vengeful riders.

Eomer came upon the massive trench that encircled the city, and he rode over it, enough dead orcs on the other side for his horse to safely trot over. He rode the rest of the way to the city gates without meeting any orcs, and met up with two hundred Rohirrim who had already cleared out the area. Eomer pointed to their captain. "You! Take your éored and aid those within the city."

The man nodded, and Eomer concentrated once more onto the task at hand: the routing of the orc army. Even if I die, I will still make sure that the orcs will regret ever having heard the sounds of my peoples' horns.

March 18th, 17:02; Anduin River, Aragorn's POV:

I will make these orcs pay for burning the White City! With this thought Aragorn turned towards the men on the boat with him. His two adoptive brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, gripped their swords tightly as they looked out onto the battlefield. Halbarad Dúnadan stood close by Aragorn's side. After all, he was his standard bearer, and was the man who had led the Dúnedain Rangers in Aragorn's absence. Speaking of the Rangers, many of them were upon the boat with him, as well as Legolas and Gimli, who were standing on the bow, talking about something or other.

Aragorn looked out over the water at the four other ships that sailed near his own. They were piloted by the thousand Gondorian men who had been able to come from the southern fiefs to fight.

"We're landing!" came the call, and Aragorn gently laid his hand upon the hilt of Andúril. It was time to fight. The ship came to a halt, and Aragorn and his men disembarked. "For the free peoples!" Aragorn shouted, and they charged as the Gondorians leapt off their ships, and soon they joined in the melee. Aragorn felt a breeze, and he looked back at his ship to see the standard that had been made by Arwen unfurl. He turned back towards the fight, and joined his comrades, where they easily cut into the orc ranks.

And then he saw the Mumakil charging. "Dúnedain!" he shouted, and his men brought their powerful bows to bear as the Gondorians moved onwards. Being the best human archers of Arda, the rangers carefully aimed their shots, the arrows all flitting into the faces of the Mumakil, some even catching them in the eyes, killing the beast. As Aragorn started forward again, he noticed a glint of blond hair running wildly towards one of the last remaining Mumakil. "LEGOLAS!" he roared, though if it were in anger, or in fear, Aragorn knew not.

But Legolas turned back to give him a cocky smile. The woodland elf continue forwards to leap up onto the tusks of the beast. Aragorn watched with nothing less than amazement as Legolas made his way onto the creature's back after cutting away its war platform. He then felled the beast with a well placed bow shot, and as the Mumakil collapsed he slid off of it smoothly.

Aragorn then heard Gimli shouting something angrily, and he was then brought back into the battle. He yelled fiercely as he swung Andúril around in a mighty sweep, slaying an orc who had been trying to charge him.

March 18th, 17:03; Minas Tirith First Level, Corporal David Âmul's POV:

He listened as the gunfire slowly grew louder and louder. He turned towards the woman, who he had found out was named Adra, and whispered softly, "I'm going to go see if things are clear outside." When she nodded, he stood and stepped around the still sleeping children towards the door.

Gripping the handle, he softly turned it, and opened the door a crack. What he saw was not good.

Now, David was smart, and he knew that Durvagorians were not very subtle, nor did they take bad news well. So when he saw the two trolls in the side street, as well as about fifty orcs, he was not happy. Nor was he happy when he noticed that they had been clearing out houses for loot and/or survivors, and the one that he was in was next on the list. Well, he didn't react well.

He threw the door open wide, the wood slamming against the wall. "WHAT KINDA SHIT IS THIS!" he bellowed, causing all the enemies on the street to snap their attention to him. Suddenly remembering where he was, he primed and threw the last grenade he had on him at the middle of the enemy group, and ducked back inside the house, hearing a loud boom as the grenade detonated, and then the screams of the orcs.

Suddenly he got hit in the dead with something hard, his helmet absorbing the blow. He turned towards a pissed of Adra who was wielding a heavy pan. "Take the kids, and get as far into the house as possible, I'll try and hold them off!" As the woman nodded and turned away, he grabbed her shoulder. "And…sorry for everything," he mumbled, looking straight in her startled eyes.

She nodded again, and collected the now awake children before fleeing up the stairs. The little girl that he met first turned and looked at him with sad blue eyes, eyes that had one message: please stay alive. "I'll try, Hanariel. I'll try!" The little girl turned and disappeared upstairs.

I will not fail them. I must defend them with even more than I have. The pounding of approaching feet announced the orc approach, and he grimly brought his rifle to bear. The first orc burst through the door, and received two rounds to the chest. Unfortunately two orcs replaced him, and even as they were shot, more orcs poured in after them. When he ran out of ammo, David didn't even have time to reload; he only just barely managed to get his pistol up in time.

He only shot each orc once, and there were still too many of them. Before he could reload his pistol after it ran out of ammo, he was slammed back into the dining table behind him. Both he and the table flipped over with a loud crash, and several things fell around him. He blinked, trying to refocus when he noticed his e-tool lying on the floor next to him. I took that off so I could sit more comfortably!

Without another thought he picked the shovel up. He remembered offhand how Donovan had suggested sharpening one of the edges, so the shovel could also serve as an impromptu hand-axe. Time to test that out!

He rolled backwards and up so he was standing again, and lunged forward, swinging the shovel in a short, brutal arc. The edge caught one of the orcs in the side of the head, and it easily broke both skin and bone, dropping the orc in one blow. This gave David enough time to draw his knife and tomahawk. "All right, let's play!" he growled.

Screams of terror and pain outside paused the melee going on inside of the house. "Gah! The riders of Rohan are here!" The sound of hoof beats and the clash of steel was heard, and David took the opportunity to hit his enemies while they were preoccupied. He got two of the remaining five before they could fully strike back against him, but one of the three left standing managed to get a good cut at him, catching him in his unprotected arm.

Yelling with pain, David quickly killed the last of the orcs just as one of the Rohirrim walked into the room. "About bloody damn time!" David growled.

March 18th, 18:01; Pelennor Fields, Lieutenant Matthiol's POV:

He watched the dust cloud of the retreating enemy army head towards Osgiliath. The Rohirrim had chased them, and killed just about half of them before the horsemen came back. But still, fifty thousand orcs now had hold of Osgiliath again.

Matt sighed as he turned back towards the field hospital he had set up just outside the trench, away from the mines. Already two hundred Durvagorians had been officially KIA, and they had been laid out in neat respectable rows. Another area had Gondorian dead; and another, Rohirrim. The orcs were being piled up in piles of ten. Once ten such piles had been collected, they were set into an even larger pile, and burnt, another hundred dead orcs tallied.

Matt didn't want to look at the Durvagorian dead. Too many faces were of people he knew. Not one of the defenders had been showed mercy, be it male or female. Matt had been particularly sickened when he saw Sergeant Mary Bhoghad's body. No one deserved to die like that.

The lieutenant sighed as he looked towards the city where he knew his own commander was being held in the Houses of Healing. Not much could be done for him besides giving him a bed. Donovan's healing ability had closed the wound, but that's about all it did. Now all they could do was wait, and see if he would come back to the living, or pass into shadow.