Chapter Seven

"You're sure the plan will work?" Faramir stared at the map. According to the plan, Gerhard would lead the diversion to the west. He would be given five hundred soldiers, four hundred archers, and seventy Rangers. The Rangers and two hundred of those soldiers and archers would be the only veterans with him. Faramir would take another seventy Rangers, along with a hundred archers and two hundred soldiers from Minas Tirith along with fifty veterans. He would strike north of Osgiliath's west bank. Boromir, meanwhile, would take the rest, almost all of them veterans, and strike the southern border of Osgiliath, again on the western bank of the river. He would have the hardest job, as Gerhard's men would stay just outside of the city. They would form a square protected by shields. That would give them protection, and the archers would be able to stay behind them and shoot arrows. Faramir would be able to use the river to his advantage and could firmly establish his men behind buildings. Boromir would take the brunt of the fighting, but he did it willingly.

Osgiliath must be retaken at all costs.

That day, Boromir addressed the men. He saw fear in some men's eyes. He understood that fear. He had felt it in his first battle at Osgiliath. But he had mustered the courage to fight.

"Men of Gondor, you must now fight your greatest fear, and regain a fortress that is important to the safety of Minas Tirith and those inside.' Some of the men nodded in agreement. 'And you are going to die.' That got them shocked, 'the reason is that no matter what happens, you will die. Whether in battle, sickness, or the rot, it doesn't matter to me. That's in the future. What I'm concerned about is now. Mordor's armies, Osgiliath's fall, and you. Yes. You are going to fight as you have never fought before! You will scream as you cut down orcs, you will swing swords and spears for all your worth, and you will regain the one barrier between Mordor and Minas Tirith! You will win! We will win! We shall, in the name of Gondor, destroy these heathen orcs, and annihilate Mordor's power in Osgiliath!"

The cheers were deafening. Boromir blew his horn as loud as he could, but even that sound could scarce be heard over the army.

That night, the three groups set out, everyone completely aware of the plan. Boromir wished Gerhard good luck, embraced his brother, and led his men to the south.

Hours later, Gerhard organized his men into a loose phalanx, with the archers behind. The phalanx, thought it was loose for marching, was ready to tighten up, forming an unbreakable shield wall, bristling with spears. The strong, fit reinforcements, set alongside the tough, lean veterans of Osgiliath, would have no trouble forming such a protection when the hordes of orc-archers shot their arrows by the thousand.

Gerhard looked at Osgiliath, only fifty metres away now. He could see the watching orcs, could see them waiting for the soldiers to get in guaranteed killing range. He shouted the order, and the soldiers braced themselves to form into a moving, metal porcupine.

Forty metres. Thirty metres. Twenty metres.

Suddenly, the sky filled with short, blackened arrows. Instinctively, the soldiers locked their heavy shields, bent their heads, and halted as the arrows struck home.

Several dozen soldiers fell with arrows protruding from their skulls, but all that the orcs heard was the heavy thud of arrows hitting shield

Then the Gondorian archers and Rangers, returned fire.

The arrows of the Gondorians soared, tipped, and fell back down to earth. Gerhard supposed that, judging by the orc screams, that they now filled the streets of the old city. Now they paid the price. He even saw orcs falling from the bastions and ramparts.

Just as the orcs were hit, a second, third, and even a fourth, volley struck them in rapid procession. It was a massacre.

And it had only just begun.

A deep-throated roar sounded as a massive horde poured out. Orcs, evil, foul-minded, orcs. But they had not been the ones who had roared out. No orc could make that sound. Gerhard stared with fear at the great beasts among the orcs.

Trolls.

They waved large clubs, and bellowed like a thousand oxen. They even slew orcs as they fought to destroy the phalanx that was out in front of them. Then the arrows flew again. Trolls went down with up to ten arrows in their heads alone. But not all were stopped. Instantly, they clashed with the heavy shields, crushing several men before another volley felled more. Orcs followed behind them, hurling themselves on the soldiers. The archers, having killed the trolls, now attacked the orcs with their volley of doom.

Gerhard roared his challenge as he swung his sword. Two orcs fell headless. Another struck out at him, and fell to two spears. The phalanx had lost many a stout man to the trolls, but they now held fast, almost surrounded by orcs. The archers, who had backed away, were unopposed and still shooting shafts of death onto the orcs.

Now it was up to Boromir and Faramir.

Faramir could sense the diversion was working. He could even see orcs charging to the west of Osgiliath. He signalled to his men, and they slowly made their advance. An orc on duty came into view, but two arrows in his head silenced him forever.

With roars and battle cries, the men of Gondor charged, slaying as they went. Archers fired over their heads at orc-archers. Faramir himself was among them; aiming at the vile creatures he hated so much.

He hoped Boromir would survive.

Boromir lay waiting, noting that orcs ran to both the north and the west. Faramir had made his attack.

Now it was his turn.

"Charge!" Man and orc alike heard his yell. The Gondorians charged forward. There would be no phalanx, no formation. This was a street brawl, a war of close quarters and raw brutality.

Boromir blew wild notes on his horn as he cut down orcs like he never had before. Soldiers all around him were fighting like they never had in all the months that Boromir had been with them. When he looked to the ramp, he could see that the Rangers and archers had fought their way to the bastions and broken walls. They now poured arrows into the horde coming at them. The soldiers were in a tight circle, slowly advancing through waves of orcs. Arrows zipped down, each one killing another orc. Boromir quickly fought his way to the ramparts, beating back orcs. Eventually he went to the nearest archers, "How goes it?"

The archer nearest to him patted his quiver, "Perfect position for shooting arrows. We have enough arrows to keep going for now."

Boromir gave out a large call, "All archers with spent arrows, come here!' thirty archers ran to him, 'draw your swords. We're going to break that horde."

And Boromir blew his horn as the archers-turned-swordsmen followed him. They would all follow him no matter what. They would follow him into Mordor itself.

Boromir roared as he swung his sword at orcs, chopping off limbs, and crushing bodies with his shield. The men behind him knew their way round a fight; it wasn't long before they reached the beleaguered forces of Gondor.

Orcs gave way, shrieking wildly that their doom was upon them. Boromir fought ever harder, and the men followed his example. There may be orcs retreating, but most seemed now to have a mind that convinced them the fight could still be won.

But the tide turned remarkably. A hail of arrows came from the north struck the rear ranks of the orcs. Faramir's men came into sight, chasing another band of orcs.

Boromir laughed out loud and led his depleted men to victory. The forces of Mordor were on the brink of retreating, and Boromir could see that all that kept them here now, was the fear of defeating, and an orc larger than the rest, obviously the leader of some sort. Boromir called out in joy as Faramir came into view. Just as suddenly, another large flood of retreating orcs came into view. And close on their heels was Gerhard and his group.

Boromir blew his horn again. Now it was the orcs that were surrounded, even if they still outnumbered Boromir's men two to one. They just didn't have the heart to fight.

Boromir moved to Gerhard's side as arrows blackened the air once more, and the soldiers drew up their strength again.

"For Gondor!" Gerhard's voice cried out as the two of them, former teacher and student, led the final blow. The orc-captain, seeing the two men, lashed out with his blade. Gerhard screamed as he was cut down.

"No!" Boromir screamed as he struck out. The orc-captain dodged it and clanged his sword on Boromir's shield. Boromir parried like Gerhard had always taught him. But the orc was fast, and ready to block his moves. Boromir snarled when he got a slash on his arm. The orc laughed in triumph as he beat Boromir down to the ground.

But Boromir wouldn't die like a lion when it's down. He saw Gerhard's knife on the ground beside him. He screamed as he grabbed it and plunged it into the orc's heart.

Getting up, he saw that the orcs were finally routed. They were dying by the second, and it wouldn't be long before they were all dead.

Boromir wept as he closed Gerhard's eyes. It had cost them many lives, but it was over.