When Cyrus and his mercenaries made it to Cunaxa, a battle broke out, ending in victory for the Spartans, but cost Cyrus his life. With the purpose of their venture being annihilated, the Spartans were stranded in deep Persian territory, days away from a cut of peaceful Greek land. Xenophon and a few other soldiers being elected to command, the men set themselves northward towards sanctuary, warring their way through several cities, just to make it home.
They eventually make it. With about 6000 men left.
What a thought though. To end up behind enemy lines, with hardly any supplies, having to fight your way through people and lands that you were never interested in fighting in the first place... almost just the wrong place at the wrong time. I mean, they chose to go in the first place, but the passion of a mercenary is much different than that of a defending soldier.
That would be so frightening. As close to a nightmare as I can imagine. A stranger in a strange land to say the least.
But I think that is why this story is so intriguing... almost envious-able. I nearly envy being in a situation like that. The thrill, the exhilaration. All odds against you, fighting just to walk another day. When playing soccer, or even running a race... you get glimpses of this, when in the right state of mind. You start to compare it to a battle, to survival... a goal for your team really means you conquered a major weak point in their fortress... and vice versa. Or in a race, the enemy warriors are rushing towards you like a monstrous wave of death, consuming everything. And you are running. There's not even a point in turning and standing your ground at that point. Just run. You have to get away... even when the men around you are falling behind, to be trampled and consumed like wheat in the hands of a combine.
Run on warrior, run on.
