The Blood of Olympus - Foiling Octavian

The legion was arrayed at the base of Half-Blood Hill, its five cohorts in perfect order, its standards bright and proud. Giant eagles circled overhead. The siege weapons—six golden onagers the size of houses—were arrayed behind in a loose semicircle, three on each flank. But for all its impressive discipline, the Twelfth Legion looked pitifully small, a splotch of demigod valor in a sea of ravenous monsters.

Nico wished he still had the scepter of Diocletian, but he doubted a legion of dead warriors would make a dent in this army. Even the Argo II couldn’t do much against this kind of strength.

“I have to disable the onagers,” Nico said. “We don’t have much time.”

“You’ll never get close to them,” Leila warned. “Even if we get the entire Fourth and Fifth Cohorts to follow us, the other cohorts will try to stop us. And those siege weapons are manned by Octavian’s most loyal followers.”

“We won’t get close by force,” Nico agreed. “But alone, I can do it. Dakota, Leila—Jules-Albert will drive you to the legion lines. Get out, talk to your troops, convince them to follow your lead. I’ll need a distraction.”

Dakota frowned. “All right, but I’m not hurting any of my fellow legionnaires.”

“No one’s asking you to,” Nico growled. “But if we don’t stop this war, the entire legion will be wiped out. You said the monster tribes take insult easily?”

“Yes,” Dakota said. “I mean, for instance, you make any comment to those two-headed guys about the way they smell and...oh.” He grinned. “If we started a brawl, by accident of course...”

“I’ll be counting on you,” Nico said.

[...]

THEY MADE IT TO THE FIRST ONAGER just as chaos broke loose in the legion.

On the far end of the line, cries went up from the Fifth Cohort. Legionnaires scattered and dropped their pila. A dozen centaurs barreled through the ranks, yelling and waving their clubs, followed by a horde of two-headed men banging on trash can lids.

“What’s going on down there?” Lou Ellen asked.

“That’s my distraction,” Nico said. “Come on.”

All the guards had clustered on the right side of the onager, trying to see what was going on down the ranks, which gave Nico and his comrades a clear shot to the left. They passed within a few feet of the nearest Roman, but the legionnaire didn’t notice them. Lou Ellen’s Mist magic seemed to be working.

They jumped the spiked trench and reached the machine.

“I brought some Greek fire,” Cecil whispered.

“No,” Nico said. “If we make the damage too obvious, we’ll never get to the other ones in time. Can you recalibrate the aim—like, toward the other onagers’ firing lines?”

Cecil grinned. “Oh, I like the way you think. They sent me because I excel at messing things up.”

He went to work while Nico and the others stood guard.

Meanwhile the Fifth Cohort was brawling with the two-headed men. The Fourth Cohort moved in to help. The other three cohorts held their positions, but the officers were having trouble keeping order.

“All right,” Cecil announced. “Let’s move.”

They shuffled across the hillside toward the next onager.

[...]

Octavian’s lip curled. “You lie. The god told me personally that I would be remembered as the savior of Rome. I will lead the legion to victory, and I will start by—”

Nico felt the sound before he heard it—thunk-thunk-thunk reverberating through the earth, like the massive gears of a drawbridge. All the onagers fired at once, and six golden comets billowed into the sky.

“By destroying the Greeks!” Octavian cried with glee. “The days of Camp Half-Blood are over!”

Nico couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than an off-course projectile. At least, not today. From the three sabotaged machines, the payloads veered sideways, arcing toward the barrage from the other three onagers.

The fireballs didn’t collide directly. They didn’t need to. As soon as the missiles got close to one another, all six warheads detonated in midair, spraying a dome of gold and fire that sucked the oxygen right out of the sky.

The heat stung Nico’s face. The grass hissed. The tops of the trees steamed. But when the fireworks faded, no serious damage had been done.

Octavian reacted first. He stomped his feet and yelled, “NO! NO, NO! RELOAD!”

No one in the First Cohort moved. Nico heard the tromping of boots to his right. The Fifth Cohort was marching toward them double-time, Dakota in the lead.


- The Blood of Olympus, Chapters 45, 46 and 47