Hello once again, fellow FF readers and writers. It has been a while since I was active on FF, but now I have returned.

Here is another 'Total War' short for you, from 'Medieval II Total War', this time from the Americas expansion pack. As before, each one-shot is independent and in no way linked unless stated.

Enjoy!

The crisp dry air blew against captain Kono's cheek as he surveyed the land around him, the terrain – grassy, but sparsely dotted with various foliage and several streams – covered with the fallen warriors, both his own and those of his enemy. The greenery was splattered with scarlet, limbs scattered here and there, the bodies of the dead punctured with arrows, heads removed, chests and skulls crushed and/or stomachs ripped open, the sanguinary insides spilling out onto the ground. A few of the four-legged beasts (horses as he had heard them be called by the 'white-skins' he had fought months earlier) lay dead or dying with their riders alongside, or, rather gruesomely, crushed underneath them.

A hard battle he thought as he struggled to his feet, his body racked with cuts, bruises, a broken arrow stuck in his foot with its head at the ankle. He nearly fell over but managed to steady himself. Blood covered his hands, one of which held an axe covered with blood and what had been part of the neck and head of a Chichimec warrior he had scuffled with earlier.
And yet it continues he added gruffly as he

It was true. Some distance away, he could make out the figures of several men, about 12 of them, fighting nearby, their tanned skin stained red as they punched, kicked, bit, struck and slashed at their opponents. He saw one, whether Apache or Chichimec he knew not, be pulled to the ground by another man, who then caved in his skull with the swing of a powerful club. Another, this one he recognised as a fellow tribe member nicknamed 'Bear' (namely because he was the size of a full grown one and had the strength to match) literally remove the head of a much smaller Chichimec warrior with one swing of his axe. Another, he knocked over with the flick of his arm and set upon him. Kono grimaced, feeling a shred of pity for the man who had Bear on top of him.

And probably any woman too for that matter he thought comically, relieving his mind from paying attention to his foot as he staggered over to a rock with the body of another warrior, this one sporting a hole the size of a fist in his chest.

As he leant against it, grunting in pain and wiping blood from his forehead, he looked up and saw the sun, now almost as red as blood itself, was beginning to set. Traditions passed on from his elders had told him whenever this happened, it meant the blood of man had been spilled. One elder, Old Man Iye, had told him that it also meant the Great Sun Spirit was angry such a sacred act had been committed, and that it was ill an omen for things to come for their people, as it had done for many generations that came before his own.

While Kono had never taken much stock in such thoughts himself, a part of him did begin to believe the old man was onto something. The sun meant life for them, and for all others, even those who he heard lived far to the south beyond the great plains and into the dense jungles, those who built mighty structures 'cities' with huge buildings – Temples from what one had called – and sacrificed people upon them, their blood known to run down the steps of these mighty 'temples' to the ground below as a sort of offering to the sun itself. A practice he found crude and barbaric, and he would and still wondered how such a powerful people could ever do something like this.

Yet, he could not deny there was something magnificent about these so-called people, these brown-skins from the Great Jungles. Their 'layered constructions' coupled with 'streets' and 'paths' that organised their settlements into sort of blocks, each settlement surrounded by a huge stone edifice, called a wall, to protect it from outsiders, and likely to control those who dwelled within. One such place was apparently even built upon the very water itself, or so the stories were. Mind-boggling these stories were, something amazing, yet wild and truly beyond comprehension that he and many others had scoffed when such stories came to them. These people, while he believed they almost certainly existed, possessing such skills that were practically arcanum to the Apache? It was hard to believe! Surely it was an exaggeration!

But we had thought that way about the white-skins once. And now they seek to claim all we know for their own.

It was true. The white skins had appeared almost seemingly from nowhere many seasons past, arriving in great wooden vessels that commanded the crowds, men in strange, alien and turgid attire, and some even riding upon these 'horses' almost as if they were one creature, something he thought only the Great Spirits themselves could create, a testament to their power over life. The weapons, too, were long and shiny with a wooden end. Interesting to lay one's eyes upon, but powerful and deadly for they seemed to spew something one could not see, an arrow that was practically invisible, but could kill from much further and left no trace save for a hole in the body, the mere sound of it enough to drive many a tribal warrior to terror. Even the mere mention of their arriving on the horizon had forced many great warrior leaders to turn tail and flee with their men in the hopes of avoiding them head on.

Over time, however, Kono and his people had learned how to fight them. To strike them in the dead of night, to deny them water and food, to pick them off one-by-one, chipping away at them as one would when striking a tree. The first blow would be the hardest to attain, but after that, if all went to plan, it would become easier. The white-skins had a habit of sending their horses out first, but the beasts had never faced such rocky and unstable ground as the plains and deserts and so would become slow and lumbering, often unwilling to move. Perfect targets for the Apache arrows. The infantry, too, found the weather difficult, and being weighed down by heavy armour did little to help, and though valiant and often resistant to the blows of even the strongest of Apache axes and clubs and stones, they too fell victim to waves of warrior attacks. Before long, they had been largely kept out of the Apache territories and were contained to the known camps of Caddo and beyond, and the Apache had learned about how to tame and ride their horses too. A difficult feat, but in the end had paid off.

And in no time too. Shortly after the last engagement with them, word had reached the Apache that another tribe not too unlike their own, the Chichimec, had begun encroaching onto their lands, forcing away their farmers and attacking the tinier settlements along the main river in the territory he resided in (Coahuila). Great Warlord, Akecheta, immediately rallied the men and marched on, clashing with the Chichimec in several skirmishes on or near said river, driving them back and leaving many of their foe dead, though not without considerable loss to his own. Kono had been there from day one, and now after many months the back-and-forth continued, the numbers of bodies piling up, but neither side wanted to give in. There were probably more battles along various other boundaries his people had with, or near the Chichimec peoples, and he could only hope they would end in the bloody defeat of this rival tribal group.

A roar of anger made him look up to see a man charging towards him, axe raised, face contorted into a look of fury. Kono pushed himself up and was just able to move out of the way despite his foot feeling like it was going to break, as the axe embedded itself into the head of the fallen warrior. Kono retaliated by throwing himself at the man, pinning him to the ground and burying his own axe into his opponent's head. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, the pain momentarily forgotten as he sprung up, looking round frantically to see the fight nearby had all but dissipated. He saw only Bear, the other Apache scouts having been dealt with, and more Chichimec lay scattered, either dead or soon to be among them.

As Bear stood up, a large rock in hand, three Chichimec warriors rushed him, but he was ready. With a swing of his hand with the rock, he caught the first – a tall, elderly looking man with greying hair and a rail-thin build – right in the side of the head with a crack that made Kono wince, and the warrior crumpled. The second, a much bigger man just a tad smaller than Bear, swung at him with his axe and caught Bear right in the arm and sent him down with a roar. The second and third attackers (the third was the smallest, but incredibly stocky) were on top of him and began pummelling him with their fists. The stocky man grabbed at Bear's face, but Bear grabbed him by the throat with his uninjured arm and tossed him aside and then punched the second in the side, though this did little as the attacker retaliated with a few blows to the head.

"B-bear!" Kono cried out, moving in his direction, almost stumbling over a small crevice.

He had to get to him! He had to save him. They were the only ones left. Everyone else on their side had either fallen or fled, or worse been captured. But the Chichimec had to be few as well!

The red sun faded for a moment, and Kono looked up to see a cloud of arrows heading directly towards him, and before he could react one slammed into his throat. He gave a strangled cry, blood gurgling as he sank to his knees and tried to yank out the arrow. Several more landed beside him and one embedded itself in his shoulder and another in the knee. With a sharp exhale, he collapsed to the ground, rolling onto his back, eyes staring ahead as his vision became darkened.

A few figures loomed overhead, one sporting a wound on the shoulder and a cut on the leg, all of them glaring down at their hated foe. They spoke, but he could not make it out, nor could he reply as his breathing became rattled. Were they mocking him? Probably. Cursing him. Without a shadow of doubt on behalf of the Great Spirit.

The wounded Chichimec scooped up Kono's battle axe and held it high, muttered something to him and brought it down.

A lone scout ran up to the tribal commander, Demothi, a short but stocky man with feathered headwear and dressed in animal skins that covered the lower half of his body, but left his torso bare chested. His face was hard, a dour expression, his cheeks adorned with war paint. A necklace of charms, ones he had gotten from a rebel leader he had killed many seasons ago, hung around his neck. In his well-built arms he carried a small round shield and a small double-edged axe, both of which were bloodied from the day's fighting.

"Chieftain!" the man puffed, pausing and kneeling before him, head low in submission. "The Apache have been driven off. The last two enemy warriors have been dealt with."

Demothi grunted, his brown eyes scouring the landscape, taking in the many dead that lay scattered around the battlefield, most of them his own, but victory had been achieved nonetheless, and from what he had seen the bigger of the two Apacheans had been more than a match for his own soldiers. Thankfully, for him, he saw two of his raider fighters beat and stamp him into the next world, conclusively ending the battle for the day.

It had been a hard battle. Having marched up from the recently taken Aguapalam Camp areas, he had set his sights on Coahuila, disregarding that this was Apachean territory. The various raids, however, had proven that his enemy was far more tenacious than any rebel settlement his people had come across so far and were constantly beaten back. Both sides had inflicted heavy losses on the other, but neither was willing to give up the land, and this was likely to be another skirmish in this ongoing conflict.

I wonder how many more will be lost to the Sun God in his name before this is over? He pondered silently to himself.

Indeed, it was a good question. Demothi had marched up here with two Chichimec Shaman units, several units of scouts, three Zacatecos raider units and two units of hunters with his War Guard leading unit. A total of over 1100 soldiers. The Apache had possessed just under half of his own numbers, but they had a unit of these new 'horsemen' that had been put to good use on the battlefield and had torn apart a large number of Chichimec soldiers. Most of the Apache were dead or had fled, their leader having done the latter, with about a hundred being captured, but at the cost of many Chichimec.

As the red sun continued to set, Demothi wondered again how long this war would go on for before it was over. Another year? More perhaps? Or, more optimistically, only a season or two?

He had no idea, but as he called for his warriors to regroup and turn back to their makeshift camp on the mountain behind them, he knew this.

A long road and bloody road ahead awaits us, and that's if the peoples of the jungle do not get us first.

Epilogue

To those of my dear readers who might be curious, Demothi, the Chichimec leaders, would continue his raids into the Coahuila territory for some time before eventually taking the settlement in an almighty siege, outnumbering the defending Apache at least 3-1 and making short and quick work of the defenders. Following this, war with the Apache would end on this front, but would continue in skirmishes to the far west in the deserts and within the mountains.

He would die peacefully in his sleep a decade later.

For the Apache, their leader, Helaku, son of Akecheta, was disgraced and sent by his father to remain in the territory, the reins of leadership passing directly to Helaku's sibling, Lootah, who would prove to be much better as he expanded Apache control to the east, taking various camps and territories in the swamps there.

As for this battle, the final stands of Kono and Bear would be recorded by Cenyaotl of the Chichimec tribes, a wiseman and scribe who found their tenacity in the face of certain death admirable. He would even comment:

"Were all of them like this, we would have been better off joining together, if the Sun God willed it."