Blackhawk: Far Stars Legends I

by Jay Allan

  “She is beautiful, Jinn, her skin like polished ebony, her eyes dark, as deep as the sea.” The sadness in his voice was overwhelming. “I married her for gain, Jinn…just as I have done everything else in my life. She was the path to control of her father’s lands and retainers…and she had many suitors. I won her hand, Jinn, through every means I could devise, though it was greed and not love that drove me.”

  Ghana turned and looked right at Barkus. “I do love her, though, Jinn. I do. Her father’s strength and nobility runs heavily through her blood, and she is a fit companion for any man…soldier, Warlord…even a king, I have fancied.” He paused. “But does she know that, Jinn? Did I ever show her my true feelings?” Another pause. “I would give away all, position, power, all of it…just to live my days with her, to feel her warmth next to me, to lie together listening to the waves of the sea crash against the great boulders.”

  “You will see her again, General. We will return home after the campaign…and she will be there, waiting with your children.”

  Ghana managed an odd smile. “Would that it were so, my old friend. You are a good man, Jinn Barkus, and I fear I have ill-used you at times, that I have failed to repay your loyalty as I should have.”

  “That is not true, sir. You have my service and my devotion…now and always.”

  “I would ask you to do something for me, Jinn. I trust no other to do this as I do you.”

  “Anything, my general. Command me.”

  Ghana reached into his jacket and pulled out a data crystal. “This is a message, a proposal offering peace. It is what I should have done two years ago. Go to General Lucerne’s headquarters. Order Pellier to stand down. And deliver this message to the general.”

  “Yes, sir.” Barkus straightened up, snapping to attention. “I will see it done, sir.”

  “Hurry, Jinn. You must get there before Pellier strikes. It was a particular bit of evil in my soul that drove me to send an assassin to achieve what I failed to win on the field.”

  “I will get to him, sir.”

  “Jinn, I am sorry I must send you to do this. General Lucerne is a merciful man…he will allow you to return. Or, if he does not, he will keep you in comfortable captivity. But…”

  Ghana looked at Barkus, and the expression on his face was one of guilt, of regret. Of fear.

  “If Pellier has already struck…there is no way of knowing how Lucerne’s officers will react.” He paused. “I fear I am sending you into great danger, my old friend.”

  Barkus stood firm, staring back at his commander. “I am honored, General, that you entrust this to me.” A pause. “With your permission, I will leave at once.”

  * * *

  “The latest reports confirm it. Ghana’s forces are on the march.” Lucerne was staring down at the map laying across the large table in front of him. “We’re looking at a battle in the next couple days, two or three at most.” Lucerne’s voice was soft, introspective. He sounded sorry, sad…though he’d manipulated things to create just this situation. As a tactician, he knew the sooner the climactic battle came, the likelier he would have the victory. Time would only give Carteria’s forces more time to prepare, to join with Ghana and tilt the scales. But as a soldier, a man, a comrade of the thousands of men who would die when the guns again shattered the dawn calm, he couldn’t help but view the return of battle with a grim sorrow.

  “Yes, General. The final battle cannot be long delayed. At last, the campaign nears its end.”

  Lucerne looked up from the map, over toward his aide. There was something about Pellier’s tone he found unsettling. He couldn’t place it, but he felt a wave of concern, as if there was some danger lurking.

  Calm yourself. It’s just the looming battle working your nerves…

  “I had intended to strike the day after tomorrow…” Lucerne’s eyes dropped back to the map. “…but I think we have an opportunity to gain an advantage, to defeat Ghana before Carteria’s troops can reach the front. A night’s march may give us surprise and victory.” He looked down at the map then snapped his eyes back up toward Pellier.

  “What is it, Aton? I can see something is troubling you.” Lucerne still felt uneasy. He wondered for an instant about Pellier, about whether he could really trust the aide. But he put it out of his mind, feeling a wave of guilt for even considering it. Pellier had been with him for years…and he’d been wounded in action twice. He deserved the trust Lucerne had always given him. But still, there was something…

  “It is nothing, sir.”

  “You are not telling me the truth, Aton. Now what is troubling you?”

  Pellier paused. “Well, General…the idea of a night march concerns me. The men will be tired when they engage.” Another pause. “I feel it is too great of a risk.”

  Lucerne’s instincts went wild.

  He was acting strangely before I mentioned the night march…and the men have had long marches before. Why would he be so concerned after they’ve just come off an extended rest period?

  What the hell is going on here?

  His eyes moved quickly over his aide, noting the pistol at his side. That wasn’t all that strange. He had no official regulations against his officers being armed in his presence, but still, something didn’t seem right.

  You’re letting your imagination run wild…

  He couldn’t shake the feeling. His hand moved slowly down to his side. Nothing. He’d left his own sidearm in his sleeping quarters. His eyes moved back to Pellier. He considered calling for the guard, but then he stopped himself.

  How would I explain that when it proved to be nothing? My officers trust me…do I want them thinking I’m worried about every strange face they make, constantly suspecting them of something?

  He looked back at Pellier. The officer was tense, fidgeting back and forth on his feet.

  He’s probably edgy about the way you’re acting…

  “We’ve had forced marches before, Aton…and the men are well-rested. I think they can handle one night move. Do you have any other concerns?”

  Lucerne could see the tension in his aide as he waited for a response.

  Something is definitely wrong…

  “General, I just think caution is advisable. We have the edge in the campaign…I can’t see how taking any unnecessary risks would be in our interests now.”

  There was noise out in the hallway now, voices, someone talking to the guard outside the door. Then shouting, arguing. Lucerne’s head snapped around. He’d told the sentry he didn’t want to be disturbed…but someone wasn’t taking that well.

  Lucerne saw the motion, Pellier’s hand dropping to his side, pulling the pistol from the holster. In an instant, his suspicions were confirmed. His body flooded with adrenalin, his combat instincts reacting on their own.

  He moved quickly, his body pivoting toward the table, diving for cover. But he was late. He was fast…but not fast enough.

  The pistol cracked loudly, and Lucerne felt the impact, pain. The round had hit him in the shoulder, and he fell back, his hands reaching out, trying to stabilize himself as he went down hard to his knees.

  His mind raced.

  What did I miss? How could I have not known?

  Lucerne was a man who inspired loyalty, a commander who was fair to all his people. He was slow to give his trust, save only for his inexplicable feeling about Blackhawk, but when he did it was usually returned with loyalty. He’d never had a traitor before in his inner circle, and even as his combat reflexes struggled to save his life, his mind raced, wondering where he had gone wrong, what had caused Pellier, an officer to whom he’d given rank, privilege, wealth, to turn on him. To try to kill him.

  And he is going to kill you, you damned fool. You’ve got no escape route, no weapon…no way out of this…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  South of the Main Battle Zone

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  “Get these trucks moving, Captain. We must r
each our destination in eight days…and that means fourteen hours of constant travel each day.” Bulg Trax was covered in sweat. He’d stripped off his uniform jacket, and he stood there in his undershirt, the thin fabric soaked, plastered to his massive body. The trip across the ocean in the sea planes had been uncomfortable enough, but this blasted desert…

  He looked out over the column of transports as the soldiers slowly climbed back aboard. It was only the second day from the coast and already they were looking tired, worn. Trax didn’t like it. They had to be alert, ready for anything. Their presence was a closely kept secret, but that was far from foolproof. And while his escort should be strong enough to repel any attack they were likely to see, he wasn’t about to let his guard down. Forty million ducats was a lot of coin.

  He had allowed a half hour meal break, but that was all he was giving his out-of-shape troops. Carteria’s guards hadn’t seen any hard field duty in a long time, but Trax wasn’t about to indulge them the way they had been back at headquarters. No way. It was time to get the convoy on the move, for his men to become reacquainted with the field, to learn how to sweat the fat off their pampered carcasses.

  “Yes, sir.” The captain stood in front of Trax, clearly intimidated by his superior. Bulg Trax was not only a legendary warrior—and a virtual giant of a man—he was one of Carteria’s oldest and most trusted comrades. There were a dozen ways getting on his wrong side could destroy a man. And it wasn’t hard to get on Trax’s bad side. The big man had a legendary temper.

  “Now, Captain. We do not have time for this leisurely pace.” Trax knew the soldiers protecting the transports were the best in the Carterian service, members of the Marshal’s own guard…at least that they were considered the best. But Trax tended to prefer teams handpicked directly from the field forces. The guards were selected in just that way, from veterans in the field armies, but Trax felt that their plush lives at court and the lack of combat action quickly dulled their efficiency. They were good troops at their cores, no doubt, and their loyalty was beyond question. But Trax wondered how they would fare against experienced desert fighters, warriors who’d never experienced the luxurious barracks and other benefits Carteria’s personal soldiers enjoyed.

  Hopefully he wouldn’t find out. They were two day’s hard march south of the armies…and all intelligence suggested a final battle was imminent. And while the Badlands was and area plagued by bands of raiders, none of the outlaw groups was likely strong enough to take on his column. Still, he was nervous.

  “Captain, I want the flank guards doubled.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Trax looked out over the desert, his eyes squinting under the intensity of the midday sun. He could barely see his flankers, a dozen men to each side, on high speed bikes, keeping watch on the approaches to the column. The desert was wide open in most places—and no one should know they were there—but Trax wasn’t taking any chances. He had forty million ducats to protect, and he knew his mission was pivotal to launching the campaign to conquer the Northern Continent. He wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “And send the daily communique to Colonel Jellack. Advise him we are on schedule.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  “I have just received an update, Colonel Dolokov. The payroll will be here in six days.” Jellack stood outside the small shelter that had served as a combination of quarters and office for the past week. He’d advised Dolokov that the funds were on the way, hard currency as promised. He’d withheld details, a bit of caution he felt was warranted, but he had kept the mercenary commander at least somewhat in the loop.

  Dolokov had been straightforward with him so far, at least as far as he knew, but he wasn’t ready to test a new relationship on something as tempting as a massive convoy of coin. Forty million ducats was a lot of money, especially on the Northern Continent.

  The mercenary officer nodded. “That is excellent news, Colonel Jellack.” He paused and looked out over the sprawling camp. The gathering of mercenary troopers was growing every day, as men who had wandered off on leave during the hiatus were recalled to the colors. “We should be fully mobilized by then. As soon as the payment is received, we will be ready to march.” He looked over at Jellack. “Will you be in command?”

  Jellack nodded. “Perhaps,” he said, a tiny smile appearing on his lips. “But I am certain the Marshal will send another officer to replace me once the organizational aspects are under control.” He paused. “I am a man of numbers, Colonel, as I’m sure you can tell…not a combat officer.”

  “Your organizational skills are not to be underestimated, Colonel. Nor your negotiations. You have assembled the largest single force the Northern Continent has seen deployed in one location in a century or more…and for all that forty million ducats is a large sum, it is actually a bargain for a fully-equipped force of over one hundred thousand veterans.”

  Jellack nodded. “A deal is a deal, Colonel.” He flashed a glance at the mercenary. “One I expect will be honored,” he added, the slightest bit of concern in his tone. He’d had too many people try to renegotiate deals after the fact…and he never forgot that he was surrounded by Dolokov’s soldiers and the other companies.

  “You needn’t worry, Colonel. I am a man of my word. It is part of our trade. A mercenary company that didn’t honor its contracts wouldn’t last long.”

  “I wouldn’t worry, Colonel Dolokov. You were at a disadvantage in negotiations this time, but Marshal Carteria is very generous to those who serve him well. If our initial campaigns are successful, I am sure you will do well when it comes to renegotiations.”

  “We shall see.” Dolokov’s voice was calm, businesslike, but there was something else there. A hesitation…a hint of discomfort.”

  “What is it, Yuri? What troubles you?”

  Dolokov hesitated. “It is nothing, Colonel…just…”

  “Just what?” Jellack had an idea what was on Dolokov’s mind, but he wanted the officer to say it first.

  “There is some concern, Colonel.” Jellack had told the mercenary he could call him Ganz, but Dolokov had continued to use his rank when they spoke.

  “Concern?”

  Dolokov paused again. “Yes, concern about the future of the Northern Continent, about whether we should be aiding an outside power making a move to conquer it.”

  “Conquer the continent? Who said we were going to conquer the entire continent?”

  Dolokov stared back at Jellack. “I know you are not a tactician, Colonel, but I don’t believe you are unaware of your master’s intentions. He hardly needs this much force to win the fight in the Badlands. So, what else can we infer as to his ultimate goal?”

  “And that troubles you?”

  Dolokov paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yes, Colonel. No doubt, such a war would be long…and it would be lucrative while it lasted. But if your master does unite—conquer—the continent, we would be out of business, would we not? Many give lip service to the desire for a united Celtiboria, but how many, like us, owe everything to the very turmoil people so often curse? If we help your master conquer the continent, we destroy our own utility.”

  “While I feel you are inferring far too much from the Marshal’s actions, even if such a sequence of events did occur, would that much really change? Would you be damaged, stripped of an uncertain and variable livelihood? Or would you gain something longer lasting, more stable? I was not born to the Marshal’s service, Colonel, yet here I am, prosperous, wealthy, carrying a high rank. Should Marshal Carteria become master of the continent, I can assure you that he will remember those who made it possible, and the rewards will dwarf whatever you feel you have lost.”

  Dolokov stared back at Jellack, nodding slightly after a moment. “Perhaps, Colonel.” A few seconds passed then the mercenary repeated himself. “Perhaps.”

  Jellack just nodded.

  “Well, Colonel, I’m afraid I have duties that will not wait. If you will excuse me…”
<
br />   Jellack nodded again, wordlessly.

  Dolokov turned and walked down the small hill, back toward the center of the camp. Jellack watched him go, but in his mind his thoughts were bitter.

  Yes, Colonel, Marshal Carteria always recognizes skill he can put to his own uses…and he knows how to create loyalty, at least of a sort…

  His mind drifted to his family, to his wife and children and the gilded palace that served as their prison. Jellack was well treated, and he knew he would serve Carteria to the best of his ability. But was it loyalty when it was driven by fear? When his allegiance was accompanied by images in his mind, of his children murdered, crucified in front of their opulent home, of his wife raped by Carteria’s guards before she too was nailed to a cross to die slowly, the price of his disloyalty?

  Or even my failure…

  No, I cannot fail. I hate Carteria, but that is of little consequence. I will succeed, I will use all my skills to aid his conquest…for my family…

  * * *

  Cass sat quietly, staring at the wall. She was deep in thought, sad. Her people had been headquartered in the tunnels below the eastern mountains for over a year, and it had become somewhat of a home, at least a temporary one. She realized now that she had become complacent, allowed the Grays to stay for too long in one place. She knew it was luck alone that had prevented the enemy from finding them, from destroying them. But logic didn’t prevent her from feeling out of place in the new hideout. The subterranean ruin of the ancient fortress was a poor substitute for the extensive network of tunnels under the ridgeline, and it lacked the improvements her people had made to their old headquarters. It was uncomfortable—and much smaller—and that was made worse by the fact that she’d insisted her people lay low, at least until the armies engaged each other again. They were going stir crazy, climbing all over each other in the restricted confines of the new base.

  She was also thinking of Minth Samis. From what she’d been able to piece together, guesswork mostly, he’d ignored Blackhawk’s instructions to create a diversion, and he’d tried to seize the caravan by himself. It had been foolish beyond imagination, but it was the only explanation. His people had been killed or captured by the security forces…and the ones taken prisoner had undoubtedly been questioned. She’d never know if that had been the source of the enemy’s intelligence or if they had finally simply tracked the Grays down, but the old refuge had been destroyed…including the supplies and weapons she’d stored there.