Blackhawk: Far Stars Legends I

by Jay Allan

  Fuck. They’re jamming me.

  “This is Arkarin Blackhawk calling for General Lucerne…do you read me?”

  Still nothing.

  Blackhawk turned and looked over the small ridge. He could see the transports moving, faster now, gaining on him.

  He sucked in a deep breath of the hot air and pushed harder, his legs scrambling over the rocky sand.

  * * *

  General, Captain Wells’ men have broken through. They’ve isolated the enemy’s right flank.”

  Augustin Lucerne stood outside the large truck that served as his field headquarters. He had a seat inside the transport, even a small office. But he’d never been able to sit down at a desk when his troops were in battle.

  He’d led his first combats from the front, advancing at the head of the thousand retainers he’d inherited from his father. But those days were behind him, and even he had acknowledged that a modern army of tens of thousands of soldiers couldn’t be effectively commanded that way. He needed information, a constant flow of it, and he needed it in a timely manner. His staff had to be around him, with access to maps, data banks. He was responsible for the whole army, for the overall outcome of the battle…and gun in hand, he could only lead a small force. While he was crawling in the dirt with single battalion the rest of his army would be on its own, effectively leaderless.

  Still, he always felt the guilt. Somehow it had been easier to accept the casualties when he had accompanied the men, shared the same dangers. That wasn’t possible for him anymore, and he knew he’d only hurt his people through pointless bravado…but he still felt it.

  “Casualties?” Lucerne, turned and stared back at his aide.

  “Heavy, sir,” the officer replied. Then a pause. “Very heavy. He estimates forty percent in his forward units.”

  Lucerne nodded, sighing softly, almost imperceptibly. He knew the cost of war, of victory. But he still didn’t like it. And he was pushing his people hard, ignoring casualties to try to defeat Ghana’s army before…

  Before whatever Carteria sent here attacks us…

  Lucerne hated trading lives for ground, losing more men to save a few hours. But there was no choice.

  “General, Major Quarn reports the enemy air forces are breaking off. He requests permission to pursue.”

  Lucerne paused, just for a moment. Then he said, “Negative, Captain. I need Quarn’s squadrons to run strafing mission for the ground forces.”

  It’s costing us too much to do this a footstep at a time. The boys on the ground need air support…

  “General…”

  “Yes, Captain, I’m well aware that Major Quarn’s birds have an opportunity to crush Ghana’s air forces. But the cost is the men on the ground. We’ve got three thousand dead already…at least. I want those airships running ground support missions now!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lucerne pulled back a little. He’d let his anger get away from him. Quarn had only been doing his job…and any of Ghana’s airships that escaped and managed to rearm and return would be a problem. But he couldn’t help but think of the losses Wells’ people had suffered. His army couldn’t take that for long, not across the whole field. No, they needed air support, and they needed it now. He’d worry about Ghana’s regrouped and resupplied planes later.

  He turned and started walking back toward the transport.

  “General…”

  He spun around. “What is it?”

  “I think it’s Blackhawk, sir. He’s very garbled…almost like he’s being jammed.”

  Lucerne moved toward the captain, reaching out for the headset and slapping it on.

  “Gen…enemy…mov…large…”

  Lucerne listened, trying to make out the words. His hands moved over the controls on the headset, trying to clear up the signal as much as he could.

  “Blackhawk, is that you? Do you read me?”

  “Gen…Blackha…being…pursued…”

  Lucerne knew something was wrong. What had Blackhawk found?

  Then the signal cleared for a moment…and Lucerne felt his stomach clench.

  “…pursuing me, General. Twenty-thousand at lea…imperial weapons…” Then the signal was gone.

  Twenty thousand. At least. Imperial weapons.

  Lucerne froze. He’d felt victory within his grasp, but now he knew, with a cold feeling in his stomach, it was slipping away.

  What the hell was coming his way?

  And how was he going to defeat Carteria’s forces armed with imperial tech?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Deep Southern Desert

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  “Chrono…” Cass stood along the rocks, looking out over the wide, sandy valley. She felt naked now, exposed, her Grays stripped of their makeshift home, and of the underground conduit they had used to such effect for the past two years. All gone, found by Ghana’s soldiers. Her people still knew their way around the desert, but it was more difficult to travel now, more dangerous.

  “Yeah,” Jarvis said, his voice stretching out the word as he said it. “There must be hundreds of guards down there. There’s no way we can take that convoy, Cass. Not a chance.” He paused. “Hell, they must have scouts out all around…we’re taking a hell of a chance just staying here.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, Jarvis…” There was a hitch in her voice, an unwillingness to give up on the target, even though it was clear they had no choice. “But…”

  “But what, Cass? There’s barely sixty of us left…and those guys down there are armed. Heavily armed. Even if we could get close enough in the open desert, slip by whatever scouts they have out…we wouldn’t last two minutes. It would take five hundred troops to hit that convoy, Cass. Maybe a thousand.”

  She nodded. Everything Jarvis said was true. But she was still determined to find a way. Even a small portion of that convoy would guarantee the people back home a life. If could do more than feed them for a while, buy medicine for the sick. It could rebuild the farms and mills…all that the soldiers had destroyed. There had to be a way.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Cass, but even if we could reach all the other raiding teams—and if they talked with us instead of just opening fire—we still wouldn’t have enough strength. We’re the biggest group already…even all the rest of them wouldn’t add more than a hundred in total. If that.”

  She started shaking her head. “No,” she said, her eyes dropping to the ground as an idea came to her. “Not the other raiders…and certainly not us alone.” Her eyes snapped up to Jarvis’. “Blackhawk.”

  Jarvis returned her gaze for a few seconds then he sighed. “Cass, I know you became attached to Blackhawk…but what do we really know about him? You’re talking about risking all of our lives on a desperate attack. Do you really trust him with everyone’s lives? I broke out of Ghana’s prison with him…I saw what he can do. But he’s only one man, Cass. He doesn’t have followers, an army.”

  Cass stood unmoving, thinking. Blackhawk had been her lover, at least for a short time, and she felt affection for him. But she didn’t know much about the man, that was true. Still, she had to trust her instincts, her gut. And that told her she could trust him.

  “Not Blackhawk alone, Jarvis…he’s with Lucerne’s army by now. And Lucerne has thousands of men.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Jarvis said, his voice incredulous. “You would trust a Warlord? One of the monsters who ravaged the Galadan? It was a Warlord’s men who killed your father, Cass. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?”

  “No,” she snapped, her voice heavy with anger for a moment. “You know better than that,” she added, calming down somewhat…but far from completely. “But you also know as well as I do that General Lucerne never came through the Galadan. And by all accounts, he is different from the others, more just.”

  “So much so that Blackhawk couldn’t wait to leave so he could go kill him. Until he changed his mind.”
<
br />   She flashed her eyes back at Jarvis. “That is unfair. You know Blackhawk had misinformation. The mistake he almost made should teach you…he thought worse of Lucerne than the general deserved. Should we make the same mistake?”

  “Cass…we came to the Badlands because you asked us to follow you, because you led us here. To save our families, to try to undo some of the damage that had been done to our homeland. And I have given you my loyalty…always. But to trust one of the Warlords? Or even Blackhawk? How much do we rely on his judgment?”

  Cass reached out, put her hand on Jarvis’ shoulder. “My old friend, we cannot allow ourselves to be ruled by prejudices. The fighting here will end soon, no matter who is the victor. And when it does, we will be driven off, we will no longer be able to survive in the disorder created by the Warlords’ struggles. Do we stay, await destruction, so that none of us returns home? Or do we leave, go back to the Galadan, to its ruined farms and poisoned wells, to see how long the supplies we sent last before we again watch our families starve?”

  “What if Lucerne just has us killed? There are death sentences on all of us, after all. Under all of the Warlords, I believe.” He paused. “It is time to ask yourself, Cass. How much to do you trust Blackhawk. Really?”

  She stared at Jarvis. “I trust him, Jarvis. You have to ask yourself, do you still trust my judgment?”

  “Of course, Cass. I’ve been with you from the start. But even if you trust Blackhawk, are you’re sure he is in Lucerne’s good graces? That he is able to intervene on our behalf…to convince Lucerne to listen, and even when he does, to share the convoy with us and not just take to for himself and give us nothing but a bullet between the ears?”

  “No, Jarvis, I am not sure. I cannot be. But I intend to go to Lucerne’s camp, to find Blackhawk. I want a share of that treasure convoy, Jarvis. I want to send enough home, to truly rebuild the Galadan. But even more, I want it stopped…before it gets through the Badlands. You know that is blood money, on its way to pay mercenaries, soldiers who could easily march across the Galadan, to bring to hell of war back down upon us. We must see those transports intercepted, whatever deal we must make…with whatever devil. Even Augustin Lucerne.”

  Jarvis didn’t look satisfied, but he didn’t argue with her any more either. He just stood silently, an unhappy look on his face.

  “I want you to stay, Jarvis. I want you to take command of the Grays while I am gone. And if something goes wrong…”

  “No, Cass…I’m not going to let you go do this yourself.”

  “Please,” she said, her voice soft. “I have to do this…but I also have to know my people are okay. If I don’t come back you have to promise me you will lead them home, back to the Galadan. There will be nothing left here but war and death.”

  “Cass…” His voice was soft, almost distraught.

  “Please, Jarvis. Do this for me.”

  He stared back at her. He looked as though he might speak, but then he just nodded.

  “Thank you, my old friend. Keep ahead of the convoy…don’t take any chances. And if I’m not back in four days, go. See that our people all get home. We have lost too many of our number already.” She paused. “I am counting on you, Jarvis.”

  He closed his eyes tightly, then he reopened them, unable to force himself to look into her eyes. Finally, he just nodded again.

  She stood for a moment and looked at her friend. She’d known Jarvis since they’d both been young children. She trusted him. He would mourn if she didn’t return, but he would see that the others got home. And knowing that made it easier to go, to do what she had to do.

  Then she reached down and scooped up her pack…and she took off across the desert.

  * * *

  “We buried the bodies out in the desert, Colonel. Far enough that no one will find them.” Massen Roan stood opposite Eleher, staring at the Carterian officer. He was trying to keep his voice firm, but he was troubled, the images of Jinn Barkus and Largon Kieves floating in his mind. Roan was one of the cabal of officers who had conspired with Carteria’s deputy, who had followed as Kieves and the others had taken foreign coin to buy their loyalty. But now Kieves was dead, at Barkus’ hand, and Roan had taken part with the others in killing Barkus in turn.

  He felt sick, unclean, and the thought of his dead comrades, both of them, made him want to vomit. But he had made his decision, and whether or not he now regretted it, there was no turning back. His own survival rode on the success of the coup. He’d considered for a fleeting moment taking a stand on honor and going to Ghana with the truth, but he had quickly realized he lacked the courage for self-sacrifice.

  He’d tried to convince himself he’d made his choice out of concern for the army, that the money had been a secondary concern. But watching Barkus stand firm, incorruptible, invulnerable to the bribes and pleas to turn him aside from his duty—even killing Kieves rather than betraying his oath to Ghana—had stripped Roan of that pleasant fiction. He’d sold his honor, his loyalty, and he’d done it for coin…and for the power Carteria would give him in reward for his betrayal. For better or worse, he was part of the cabal, and his old comrade’s blood was on his hands.

  “Very good, Captain,” Eleher said softly, looking around them as they spoke. “Our forces are almost engaged. In less than an hour we will turn this ignominious retreat into total victory. And then we will deal with General Ghana.” He paused, surveying the expression on Roan’s face. “There is no other way, Massen. I know it is a burden, that you still have sympathies for Ghana…but you made the right choice. Any other route leads only to destruction for your army, for all your comrades.”

  Roan nodded slowly. “Yes, Colonel,” he said unconvincingly. He was fighting off the guilt, his mind alive with the vivid memory of Barkus’ eyes wide open as he’d looked down on his slain comrade.

  Eleher reached out his hand, gesturing toward a shadowy figure at the base of the hill. The man turned and walked up toward the two conspirators.

  “This is Zoln Darvon, Captain.” Eleher paused. “We will wait until after our forces are fully engaged and the victory is assured. Then Zoln will handle General Ghana. It will relieve you and your comrades of the discomfort.” He paused. “Remember, you are doing this to save your army. Mr. Darvon here has an offer for the general, a comfortable and honorable retirement.”

  “Yes, Colonel.” Roan wanted to believe that, he wanted to convince himself that General Ghana and his family would live out their days in peace and comfort. But for all his faults, he’d never been a fool. He knew Carteria couldn’t allow Ghana to live, not when he planned to take control of the general’s army and lands. And he’d never allow Ghana’s sons to live either. No, there would be no easy way out. His betrayal would come at full cost, the price of his treachery paid in Bako Ghana’s blood. And Massen Roan’s honor…his self-esteem.

  “I will see to it, Colonel.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Ataphor Basin

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  The “Battle of Ataphor” – Second Phase

  “What the hell was that?” Sergeant Slannen stared off over the open desert toward the distant ridgeline. There were enemy troops there, the scouts had spotted them moving into position. Now they were opening fire.

  Lieutenant Bash stood next to his company commander, looking in the same direction. The flash had been almost blinding, visible even in the bright light of the desert afternoon. It had hit behind his line, slamming into a rock outcropping and shattering it. Whatever it was, it was powerful, far more so than anything in his arsenal.

  “An energy weapon of some kind,” Bash said, trying to hide the concern in his voice. Softer, mostly to himself: “I hope they don’t have too many of those…”

  As if in response, a dozen of the weapons fired in a coordinated volley, electric blue light arcing across the sky. There were impacts all along the line. Most of the shots hit in the rear, slamming into the boulders
and sandy ridgeline behind Bash’s troops, but three of them smacked right into his shallow trench line. He saw the closest impact, ripping into the front edge of the position, caving in a large section of trench.

  Soldiers were climbing out, disordered, pulling wounded comrades behind them. He could feel something he didn’t often sense among his troops. The beginnings of panic.

  The weapons fired again, their accuracy improving, more of them smashing into the troop positions. His com was crackling to life, frantic reports from all along the battalion’s frontage. Wherever these troops were from, they were better-equipped than Ghana’s men, that much was certain.

  Better than us too…

  He snapped his head back and forth, looking up and down the line. Bombardments were always difficult to endure, hard on the morale that kept an army together. And it was even worse when the barrage was coming from high tech weapons, ordnance you couldn’t hope to match. His first instinct was to pull back. There was a ridgeline not too far back, one that would provide decent cover, at least. But he’d leave a hole in the line, expose the flanks of the units on either side if he just pulled out…and General Lucerne’s soldiers did not leave their comrades behind, unsupported.

  The enemy weapons fired again, most of them trained now on the line, tearing apart sections of hastily-dug trenches and blasting groups of his soldiers to bits. He hadn’t gotten any casualty reports yet, but all he had to do was look to see that a lot of his troopers were down. He had to do something. He couldn’t stay here…and he couldn’t retreat either, not unless the whole wing fell back. That only left one option…

  “Sergeant, get your company ready. We’ve got to take that position. Now.”

  “You mean charge?” Slannen was a hard nut, but even he sounded unsettled at the new enemy weapon…and even more so at Bash’s idea of how to deal with it.

  It was unusual for a sergeant to be commanding a company, but Slannen was a rock solid veteran, one of the Thousand, the semi-reverent name the army had for the first retainers General Lucerne had inherited from his father. It hadn’t been exactly a thousand, of course—just under eleven hundred, in fact—and many of those originals had since fallen in battle. But Slannen had been there since the beginning, one of those dedicated non-coms who resisted advance to commissioned rank at all costs. General Lucerne had humored Slannen’s not uncommon eccentricity with regard to the rank insignia on his uniform, but he’d put him in command of a company nevertheless.