Blackhawk: Far Stars Legends I

by Jay Allan

  The two had been exchanging mildly taunting comments for days now, a kind of clumsy flirting between two people to whom combat and death were far more real than romance and frivolity. Blackhawk, so confident in battle, so relentless when facing an enemy, felt like a child as he realized he had feelings for Cass. He was so different than he had been before. Breaking his conditioning had been a rebirth of sorts, and he found himself feeling almost childlike in many situations. He’d been a warrior before, a fighter, and he’d retained his cool capability in a fight. But he’d treated comrades, even those close to him, poorly before, in ways he regretted…and vowed never to repeat. He still didn’t have much use for most people, but he could feel something inside now that he hadn’t before…loyalty, honor. A respect for those who stood by him, fought at his side.

  Cass had been hostile to him, at least at first. She didn’t give her trust easily…another reason Blackhawk respected her. But in the month since the escape, she’d warmed to the mysterious stranger. He’d proven himself to her, in the only way she recognized. He’d come along on their last two raids. The first had been an almost effortless success. The second had come to the brink of disaster, and in the thick of the crisis, Blackhawk had effectively taken command, snapping out orders with such intense authority and power, every one of the Grays—Cassandra Cross included—had obeyed him without question. And that had saved their lives, most of them at least. They’d had two dead on that mission, but there had been no doubt…they’d all have been wiped out without Blackhawk.

  Since then Cass had warmed considerably, and the two sat long and talked, often into the depths of the night. Sleep didn’t come easily to Blackhawk, he knew the nightmares awaited him there. He’d always been able to get by on a few hours of rest, and even without any for an extended period. Now he’d met a kindred spirit of sorts in Cass, though he knew that she didn’t have his genetic improvements, and the lack of rest wore her down. It was likely to get her killed one day, he knew, but he also understood how the guilt, the burden of command weighed one down, especially in the still quiet of the night.

  He realized he wanted to do all he could to help her, to keep her and her people alive. He’d intended to leave almost immediately after the escape, to set out on his vendetta against Lucerne. But he’d put it off one day at a time…and after the near disaster of the second raid, he’d offered to train the Grays for a few weeks before he left.

  “So,” she said, her voice soft, friendly. “Do you think they can spare you for a while?” She smiled mischievously.

  Blackhawk looked back at her. Cass was a tall for a Celtiborian woman, her brown hair loose, hanging about her shoulders. She wore the same gray cloak all her people did, but underneath, Blackhawk could see the leather breeches, the same pants she’d had on the day her people had rescued the escapees. He’d noticed them then too, even as they were running for their lives…as she was staring at him as though he was an enemy, a spy trying to infiltrate and harm her people. But even her hostility hadn’t driven the image from his mind.

  “Jarvis,” he yelled, turning his head to look out toward the maneuvering Grays. “Take over. The same thing…over and over until it’s second nature.” He looked over at Cass and then back toward Jarvis. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said.

  He flashed another glance at Cass, standing there smiling at him. “Make that two.”

  * * *

  “Samis, you take your people to here.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “It’s an ideal position to ambush the caravan.”

  “Yes, Blackhawk…I see. It’s a perfect spot.”

  Blackhawk wasn’t sure be believed the raider actually ‘saw,’ but he knew the man would obey…and that was enough.

  “I want you to hit it hard. Lay down fire with everything you’ve got for thirty seconds. Don’t worry about damaging cargoes, just lay waste to everything you can.”

  Samis looked up from the map nodding, his eyes fixing on Blackhawk’s.

  “And then I want you to break off. Run like hell, and get your people out of there.”

  Samis had been nodding steadily, but now his head froze. “Get out? I don’t understand. When do we take the caravan?”

  “You don’t. You just shoot it up and then get out of there. Fast.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “We’re not going after that caravan. It’s the richest one that’s been through here in a long time. Ghana’s people will be waiting for an attack. There are probably three times as many guards as you expect…and as soon as you open up, they will send out the word. Every airship and roving patrol will head that way…” Blackhawk pointed to a spot on the map. “…and when they’re all concentrated, the rest of us will strike here.”

  He pointed to another location on the map. “It’s not a rich caravan, nor a big one, so it won’t be a huge prize. But it’s one we can take…and come back alive.”

  Samis looked up at Blackhawk. “But if we hit the first caravan hard…maybe from multiple directions…”

  “It won’t matter, Samis.” Blackhawk glanced around at the others. It looked like about half of them were following him. That’s better than none…

  He looked back at Samis. “It’s clear…or at least it should be. You’ve been a drain on Ghana for the last two years…and now you humiliated him, five prisoners breaking out of his man base. Like it or not, you’ve graduated. You’re not a thorn in his side anymore…you’re a priority. And that means the heat has been turned up. Way up.”

  He looked over at Cass, saw the comprehension in her face. Then he turned back toward the others. “The last mission should have taught you that. We walked right into a trap there. We went after the richest caravan coming through, walked right into the place Ghana would have guessed we’d go.” He paused, his eyes sticking on Elli Marne. He older brother Tyke had been one of the two killed in the last raid. “And we were lucky to get out of there…” He glanced back at Marne. “Those of us who did, at least.”

  “So what are we supposed to do, Blackhawk? Pick the worst targets, the ones barely worth the effort?” It was Samis again. He wasn’t challenging Blackhawk as much as he was working his way through the facts verbally.

  “Yes, Samis. That’s what you do. Or you die.” He paused. “Look, all of you need to hear this. You’ve done well, you’ve made a real difference for your people back home. But you’ve been lucky too. Never forget that. You let your successes go to your head, and it’s just a matter of time before you’re all dead. You think you’ve bested Ghana? He’s got forty thousand troops…more now that he’s been reinforced. You’ve survived because you were more of a nuisance than a major threat. But that’s over now, people. He’s mad…and he’s determined to take you all down. And if he puts enough resources into it, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.” He paused again. “You will die. All of you. Hunted down relentlessly. But if you listen to me, if you settle for moderate prizes and let the obvious ones go…we can put that day off.”

  “For how long?” It was Jarvis Danith. He’d seen Blackhawk in action closer than any of the other Grays.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Jarvis.” Blackhawk looked out over the others. “To any of you. It could be today, tomorrow. In a month. In a year. It will be sooner if the peace holds. If the armies start fighting again, that will probably buy you all time.” He turned and looked back at Cass again. “And we’ve got to get out of this headquarters. I know it’s a good spot, but you’ve been here for too long. Ghana’s people will find it eventually. And when they do, they’ll surround it, cover the area all day and night with airships. Then they will come down into these tunnels, wave after wave of heavily-armed troops, and they will root you out one by one.” He could see the uncertainty in Cassandra’s expression. The two of them had become close, spent a lot of time together, but she was still having trouble accepting his insistence that the Grays abandon their base. The hideout had been one of the key factors that kept them alive for a very long
time, and he knew it was hard to give up, even after it had gone from being an asset to a liability. Blackhawk suspected she understood…but he could also see she needed time. Time she might not have.

  He pushed his concern for her out of his mind. There was no time for it now. He was going to lead them on this last raid, show them how to pick targets, to avoid enemy traps. And he would spend a few more days with Cass. But then he had to go. He had to go see Augustin Lucerne. Vengeance had been too long delayed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  General Lucerne’s Headquarters

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  “At least ten thousand, General. Perhaps more. They appear to be drilled, and extremely well-equipped. It’s just a guess, but I’d say they’re all veterans.” DeMark stood in front of Lucerne’s desk, his face twisted into a worried frown. He’d just read the scouting reports, and he’d rushed to report them to the general.

  “So there’s no doubt, not really. Carteria is supporting Ghana, not just with coin, but now with troops.” He sighed. “I thought Bako Ghana was smarter than this. He has to know Carteria is just using him to get a foothold on the Northern Continent.” He shook his head. “The fool would have done better to reach out to me, at least try to make a deal to share control of the Badlands…before he sold his soul to the devil.”

  DeMark stood at attention, staring at Lucerne.

  “By Chrono, Rafe, sit down, will you? It’s making me uncomfortable just looking at you.”

  DeMark nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then he sat down in one of the chairs facing Lucerne’s desk, managing to look as uncomfortable sitting as he had standing.

  Rafaelus DeMark was a young officer, one who had risen to his rank of major ahead of all his peers. He’d become one of Lucerne’s most trusted officers, and a friend as well. His skills and intellect warranted his rapid advance, but he’d lagged in one area. He still had difficulty managing his intensity. He approached every problem with an urgency that was certain to wear him down long before his time. He’d watched Lucerne, how the general handled bad news, urgent problems…and he’d tried to emulate the cool but attentive demeanor of his commander. But his progress had been slow. He was cool and calm on the battlefield, but in the offices and meeting rooms, discussing the overall strategies and problems the army faced, he tended to overload on stress.

  “What do you think, Rafe? Can we take an extra ten thousand…or more?”

  DeMark paused. He knew very well Lucerne already had his own answer to that question. The general was a military genius, and his officers were continually amazed at his grasp of both the tactical and strategic situations. But he valued the input of his aides too, and DeMark took his question very seriously indeed.

  “I don’t know, sir.” He felt like the answer was a cop out, a dodge to avoid taking a clear position. But it was also honest. DeMark knew the army’s capabilities, he realized the troops were more than a match for Ghana’s mix of retainers and hirelings. But Carteria’s troops were a question mark, and he just wasn’t sure what to expect. He wanted to think they could take ten thousand…but he knew the Marshal’s forces would be superbly equipped. They just didn’t know enough.

  “Don’t worry, Rafe. My answer is the same. We need a better estimate on their strength. And we just don’t know enough about Carteria’s troops…about these units specifically. If they are easily shaken, our odds are good. But if they are solid, if they’re armed with leading edge weapons…”

  “Yes, General. As I said, from what I’ve seen, I’m inclined to think these are at least seasoned units…and perhaps long service veterans.” He paused. DeMark was under Lucerne’s spell, just like the other officers on the staff, and he tended to hesitate when offering advice.

  “Go on, Rafe…say what’s on your mind.”

  “Well, sir…” Another pause. “Beyond the question of can we win…do we dare to engage Carteria’s soldiers?”

  Lucerne exhaled loudly. “I get your meaning, Rafe. But what choice do we have? If Carteria’s forces stand off, if they don’t aid Ghana’s men, we will not engage them. But they didn’t fly across an ocean to sit and watch, so I’m inclined to doubt we’ll have much choice.”

  “Yes, sir.” DeMark still looked uncomfortable.

  “You’re worried about provoking Carteria? About a wider war with the Marshal?”

  DeMark looked back at Lucerne. He admitted it to himself…he was afraid of Carteria. And he was ashamed for feeling that way. “Yes, sir,” he finally said.

  “Don’t worry, Rafe…I’m scared of Carteria too. He’s got twenty times the resources we do…probably more.” He looked at DeMark, and his expression softened. “But since when do we let our fears govern what we do? Or overrule our rationality?” He paused. “Carteria is powerful, Rafe, there is no question about that. But if he’s got his sights set on the Northern Continent, we’re going to have to deal with him one way or another. The only way not to fight his people now is to pull back, leave the Badlands to Ghana. But aside from the other ramifications of that strategy, Ghana isn’t Ghana anymore. He’s a tentacle of Carteria. If we give the Marshal this beachhead we won’t avoid conflict with him…but we will ensure it will be far worse when it comes. If we let Ghana and Carteria prevail here it won’t be twenty or thirty thousand troops we face. It will be a hundred thousand. Or two hundred.” He paused. “Or five hundred.”

  DeMark found himself nodding as Lucerne spoke. The general was right, he realized. There was no place for fear in this analysis. Carteria was a reality, one they would have to deal with sooner or later…and their best chance was now.

  “We can’t wait, sir. If we sit idle until the truce expires, we may have to fight twice as many Carterian troops…or three times.” He took a deep breath. He knew Lucerne was an honest man, that he’d repeatedly rejected pleas to break the ceasefire, to launch a surprise attack on Ghana’s army. But things had changed now…and waiting simply wasn’t an option anymore.

  Lucerne was silent for a moment, shifting slightly in his chair as he looked back at his aide. Finally, he locked his eyes on DeMark’s and said, “Major, I believe the movement of foreign troops into the theater of war is a violation of the underlying principles of the truce agreement, don’t you?”

  DeMark looked back for an instant, a confused look on his face. Then he understood. “Yes, sir…I certainly think so. That would put General Ghana in default…and invalidate the ceasefire.” DeMark had read the entire truce agreement, and he knew Lucerne was twisting its words with a virtuosity that would have impressed the most aggressive and grizzled counselor or politician. But there was a thread of truth to what he was saying, enough, at least, to manufacture a violation.

  “Yes, Major. It would.” Lucerne smiled. “Send an envoy to General Ghana’s headquarters immediately. I will draft a communique demanding the immediate withdrawal of foreign troops from the Badlands…within 48 hours.”

  “Yes, sir.” DeMark nodded as he rose from the chair. “I will see to it at once.”

  Lucerne looked up at his aide. “And while you’re at it, Rafe, put the army on alert. All leaves are cancelled, effective immediately. All troops are to report to their units and be ready to march within 24 hours.”

  “Yes, sir!” DeMark smiled. Lucerne was an honorable man, but not a fool. He knew when to bend his word, even if he was unwilling to break it. And there was no doubt, Augustin Lucerne’s loyalty was to his soldiers, above and beyond any other considerations.

  He turned and walked toward the door, feeling better than he had when he’d entered. He was still worried about Carteria’s involvement, but Lucerne’s decisiveness was contagious. And the army would be on the move by the next day. Action always calmed him. It was odd, there was no time he was in greater danger than he was in the battle line, but he always knew what to do there. It was the planning, the scheming, the backstabbing so prevalent in Celtiboria’s wars that twisted him into knots. But he could put all that aside now
.

  They were going back into battle.

  * * *

  Ghana was silent, sitting motionless at his desk. The room was dark, only a single dim light holding off total blackness…and yet it was brighter than his mood. Carteria’s soldiers had been intolerable, demanding preference for supplies, treating his own troops like inferiors. He’d issued stern orders, a warning to all his men to hold their tempers. The last thing he needed was his own soldiers brawling with Carteria’s…though part of him wished for it, delighted in the thought of one of his people pounding the hell out of one of the Marshal’s snotty troopers.

  The door opened slowly, and an aide peered in. “General Ghana, sir?”

  “What is it?” His voice was gruff, but not overtly hostile. He could see the relief in the lieutenant’s face.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but Captain Sand is here. He says it is urgent.”

  “Let him in.” Ghana had so many problems he’d forgotten all about the raiders…about his ultimatum to Sand. But he looked up and stared at the door. Perhaps something had gone well recently. Probability suggested it had to eventually.

  “General Ghana, sir…”

  He could tell immediately Sand had good news. Refreshing…

  “Yes, Captain, what is it?”

  “We have found the raiders’ means of transit, sir. There was an underground pipe in the desert, a large one, big enough for men to move through. I searched the databases…apparently it is part of an old project, from before the war, a system to bring water to the inland cities. It was never finished, but it appears the raiders found a large section of conduit that had been laid. That is how they have appeared and disappeared in the open desert, escaping time and time again from our patrols.”

  Ghana felt a small rush of energy. This was good news.

  “Excellent, Captain. You are to be commended. You have made up for any past…errors.”