The Medes bowed reverently, turned and left the deck. Clearchus walked into the centre where one of the larger screens showed the disposition of the ships in the Armada. It was an impressive sight by all accounts, especially with the remaining three Titans in the centre. Even so, he was we aware of how far from home they were, and the vulnerabilities their force faced. Kentarchos Broge Monsimm, the commander of the Titan, remained in his seat and continued giving orders to the immediate officers around him. Clearchus moved closer until he stood just a few metres from the man. Though Clearchus was of a vastly higher rank, the command of the day-to-day running of the ship remained in the capable hands of the commander.
“Kentarchos, what is our status?”
He glanced over to Clearchus, but his attention was drawn to a number of flashing status indicators on the main board. He made a few adjustments before looking back to his superior.
“Strategos, all ships are ready for jump. Fighters are stowed, and cargo is tied down throughout the fleet. Just give the word, and we are gone.”
A loud audible alert drew them all to the main screen. A number of the other officers exclaimed surprise at red status fields appearing in one corner.
“Sir, we’re picking up jump signatures ahead, and they are definitely Medes pattern,” said Dekarchos Jeane Coxand, the ship’s tactical officer.
Her words spread like wildfire, as dozens of officers scanned the sector or space and activated a variety of weapons units to track for hostile forces. With the fighters stowed, the crew preparing to jump were in a poor position for a stand up fight.
“Gun crews to your stations, automated defences are back on-line,” she said in a calm, assertive tone.
Clearchus wasn’t so sure. The direction of the ships indicated they had come from the same location that Ariaeus was demonstrating in. He was about to speak when a hum in his temple caught his attention. It was an incoming message from one of his commanders about Medes ships.
“Dekarchos, I might have something, continue as you were,” he said and listened to the rest of the message. It was from Kathry Andes, the Kentarchos of the light cruiser Surprise. He had a vague image of her as a white-haired officer with piercing blue eyes and a lithe, almost petite body. With just a thought, he acknowledged the request and listened to her message in private.
“Strategos, we have arrived at the Aronton station. As expected, it is undefended by ships, but the Medes have initiated a forced assault on the station. Several of their damaged ships are on their way back, and they are friendly forces.”
Satisfied the message was safe to share with the rest of the officers, he sent a signal back that moved her communication to the main screen for the rest of the commander staff.
Chief Engineer Kafa brought a summary of the tactical situation from her display to the main screen. Her stoic expression gave little away, but she was evidently concerned at the ships’ arrival.
“I’m detecting high level jamming, especially from the largest vessel...I think we have five, possibly six ships, and one is venting substantial amounts of plasma.”
Of all the crew on the command deck, she was one of the most experienced with several terms of service in battle. She was famous throughout the ship for her last actions in the war with the Alliance, but none other than those involved would actually discuss her actions. A high pitched whine came from the display and brought their attention back to the ship waiting near Ariaeus. The face of Kentarchos Kathry Andes appeared on the main screen.
“Apologies, we are running on silent and one of our power plants just suffered a minor overload. Luckily, we were not detected. We have been monitoring the situation at the Aronton. In the last ten minutes, at least three cruisers have been attacked by the station’s defences. It seems Ariaeus is trying to land more ground forces on the station but is being fought back. From the signals coming from the station, it looks like the site is protected by non-biologicals. One smaller warship has already been destroyed by the heavy cutters installed on the station.”
The Kentarchos looked to Clearchus with a sombre expression.
“Strategos, I don’t understand this at all. Aronton Sector is in Medes territory. Why would an automated station, designed for support and replenishment of Medes ships, be attacking the very ships it is supposed to assist?”
The main display was now able to pick out the Medes ships as the last vessel emerge from its jump. Their electronic jamming was impressive but unable to stop the long-ranged optics of the Titan from picking out their details. The largest ship was heavily scarred, but the damage was difficult to spot at such a range. Clearchus examined the craft for a moment.
“That is a very good point. There are a few reasons I can think of as to why this is happening. Either Ariaeus has somehow made himself an enemy of the Medes, or the station has been programmed to repel any forces that do not match a certain criteria.”
He looked back at the ships, desperately trying to decide if it was an acceptable risk to the Armada to jump ahead. The door hissed open and in walked Cyrus, flanked by Kleandridas. From the expression on his deputy’s face, it looked as though they had been engaged in a rowdy argument. Clearchus indicated for the Auletes to listen to him.
“Send out a signal on all channels. I need to speak with the commanders of those ships, fast!”
Cyrus stopped in front of him and exploded into a tirade of angry words and accusations. Clearchus ignored his rant for almost a full minute before he paid the leader of the Medes any attention.
“Yes, I am well aware of the situation, and I am also aware that I have a potentially hostile formation of ships approaching. When I am satisfied, with both our destination and rearguard, I will be happy to jump in,” he said while pointing to the screen. Cyrus glanced at it and turned back to Clearchus.
“You fool, Clearchus, they are assault cruisers bearing the marking of Ariaeus’ force.”
Clearchus knew he had the Medes where he wanted him. It was a simple trap, but one that he could finally use to his advantage in the Legion. It was time thing changed. He looked at the ships on the screen.
“Then why are they ignoring my attempts to contact them?”
Lord Cyrus said nothing. It was clear the ships had put him in an awkward position. Cyrus glanced at them and whispered something into a communication unit he carried on his arm. The result was almost instantaneous. A video feed appeared on the main screen with the face of a Medes commander.
“My Lord,” said the man, but without revealing any information with regards to his rank or even his ship.
“Why have you returned here?” asked Cyrus.
The man listened to the strange sounds of Cyrus as the two men spoke in their native tongue. Clearchus recognised a small number of words, but most of it was meaningless. At one point, the alien commander appeared to become agitated until the two finally completed their conversation. Cyrus turned back to Clearchus.
“He sends his apologies. Lord Ariaeus ordered them back as he was unable to contact you during the battle. As they lowered their shielding to power up their FTL engines, they were attacked by combat drones.”
Clearchus wasn’t convinced, but a nod from the tactical officer at least reassured him they were not about to be attacked by hostile forces.
“Very well, we will continue. I suggest we discuss the chain of command with Ariaeus upon the completion of this small operation.”
He stepped away and back to the display.
“I want a full tactical map of the destination, and all commanders are to prepare to jump. Upon arrival, I want the area secured. Nobody, I repeat, nobody is to board the station without my express permission.”
He looked to Cyrus.
“Get your people ready, we jump in thirty seconds.”
* * *
Vendetta, Su’bartu Maelstrom
Their new home was nothing to get too excited about. With crew and warriors from a dozen ships, there was little time for sensible segregation aboard
Vendetta. The ship had a nominal strength of a little over six hundred crew and the capacity for a combat contingency of another five hundred. This was being pushed to the limit, with over seventeen hundred personnel now on board and a large number of those wounded from the bloody escape. Xenophon and his friends sat in one of the repair shops located to the rear of the ship. There were no spare quarters, and even this space was occupied by another dozen survivors of the battle. The FTL alert sounded through the room, indicating that the ship would jump within the next ten seconds.
“Here we go again,” said Glaucon glumly.
The others ignored him and waited for the inevitable moment when the ship changed from its current velocity to almost impossible speeds. More importantly, every single jump reminded them how far inside the Median Empire they were travelling, and also how much less fuel they would now have. It was over almost as soon as it started, and the all clear signal reverberated through the workshop.
“What are the odds we’ll find the Armada?” asked Xenophon.
Roxana sat on the floor and dragged a number of tools and rivets to her. She laid them out in an odd pattern before explaining. For a second, Xenophon was distracted by the fact that her overalls were torn at the shoulder, revealing skin and a few minor grazes. She spotted him watching and raised her eyebrow in annoyance. She picked up a spanner and placed it to the right.
“This is where we split from the fleet, right? We were on the periphery of the Maelstrom when Cyrus gave us the news. After a small number of jumps, we made it here, the location where Tissaphernes betrayed us.”
She placed another spanner a short distance away from the first one. She then stood up, walked to the other side of the room and placed another tool on the ground.
“What is that?” asked one of the men from the Olympia. Roxana didn’t recognise him, but he wore the patches and uniform of one of Pasion’s soldiers. Roxana looked at him and nodded with satisfaction.
“This, my friends, is the border side of the Su’bartu Maelstrom.”
A few of the other survivors stood up and walked over. One, an older man of about fifty years of age, laughed at her.
“Rubbish, what would you know about interstellar cartography?”
Xenophon stood up and moved to intercept the man.
“She was an Alliance naval officer, so I think she knows what she is talking about.”
The soldier that had first spoken looked back to the two spanners and then to the point described by Roxana. Unlike the older man, he seemed genuinely interested in what was happening, rather than looking for an argument, no matter the subject.
“So how many jumps will it take to reach the Core Worlds at the other side of the Maelstrom?”
Tamara moved over to Xenophon and looked at the objects. She moved in an odd manner, her body twisting as she walked as though her joints were constantly seizing. Xenophon watched her and did his best not to laugh; it was an obvious ploy of hers to get the attention of the others in the room.
Such a petulant teenager, he thought.
“Even if we can make this long trip, how will we find the Legion when they are so far away? Do we even know their final destination?”
Xenophon was surprised at her intelligent observation. Even he hadn’t considered the problem of what awaited them at the other side. It was not as though the Core Worlds were even a handful of planets. The name itself was a misnomer, as there were hundreds, if not thousands of worlds in that part of space. They could spend millennia travelling the stars and never find the Armada.
“Good point,” he said.
Roxana nodded in agreement.
“That is a very good point. We have the last course of the Legion and a target, and that is it.”
Of course, the target!
Glaucon now decided to join in with the conversation. He remained sat on the floor, but the tone of his voice implied scepticism of the entire venture.
“So our entire plan is based upon finding the Emperor of the largest and most powerful Empire ever known?”
Roxana glanced over to him and threw him a grin.
“That’s about it.”
He looked directly at her, toying with her on the subject.
“So what happens if we arrive first, one little cruiser and a pocketful of destroyers, against a million ships and soldiers? It will be over in a matter of seconds.”
“Very true,” said a man who waited in the shadows of the doorway. Everybody in the room turned to look at him. He stepped forward, but the dim lights from the ceiling barely showed his features.
“That is why I have formulated an alternative, interested?” he asked mysteriously.
Tamara slinked over to him and placed her hands on the man’s shoulder in a provocative fashion. Xenophon watched her toying with the man but was more concerned at the stranger. He straightened his back and approached him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The stranger stepped a little closer, and the light of the swinging lamp finally lit up his face and chest so that he could be seen. He wore the fatigues of the Legion, the dark grey, almost black material worn by all combat forces in the unit. His insignia had been removed, and in some places it seemed quite hastily added, based on the marks on his clothing.
“My name is Ezra, and I have friends on this ship who feel the same way.”
The room was silent as none of those present wanted to say anything. Xenophon distrusted the man immediately. His body language and vocal tone indicated dishonesty. Ezra continued before any of them could refute his suggestion.
“If you want to hear more of what we have to offer, meet us in one hour in the aft storage depot. It is being used to store used power couplings. Don’t bother coming unless you’re serious. Lives depend on keeping this quiet.”
He looked about the room, turned and left, moving into the darkness as quickly and quietly as he had arrived. Tamara moved back and slumped down next to Glaucon. Roxana and Xenophon moved close so that the others couldn’t hear them.
“What’s that all about?” asked Tamara.
Xenophon rubbed his chin as he considered the situation. It wasn’t an easy one.
“Well, it is clear our journey will be a difficult one. We need to know more, though. Is this Ezra looking for a different route home, or does he have a different plan?”
“Why not just bring this up with the Dukas?” suggested Glaucon.
“You saw his uniform. All of his insignia have been torn off. Either he did that himself, or somebody did it for him. Either way, he doesn’t represent the authority on this ship. The question is what do we do?”
The older soldier in the room stood up and walked to the doorway. He looked over his shoulder and back at those staying behind.
“That man makes sense. If he’s right, then we need options, so who’s coming with me?”
A handful of men wandered after him but said nothing. The soldier snorted in derision and then moved away.
“Look, we need to know what is going on, whether they have a useful idea, or they don’t. I don’t know about you, but I’d like a few options of my own.”
Tamara nodded eagerly.
“Yeah, definitely, are we going then?”
Xenophon placed his right hand on her shoulder, doing his best to calm her down.
“No, Tamara, just you.”
Tamara looked almost hurt at the suggestion, but a friendly glance from Roxana seemed to reassure her. The two were the closest in the group with Tamara treating the older ex naval officer almost like a surrogate mother, or possibly more an older sister.
“Your little show earlier certainly won’t have escaped his attention.”
“Yeah, and you do like the attention,” snapped back Glaucon.
Roxana grimaced at his words and chose to ignore them.
“You should go and find out what he is planning and also how much support he has.”
“What about the rest of you?” asked Tamara.
Xenopho
n looked about the room, checking nobody else was listening in or could hear them speak. Most were involved in their own discussion, and a small group were already fast asleep. He leaned in closer to Tamara.
“We will find somewhere nearby in case you need help. This is really important, you understand that, right?”
Tamara simply smiled back. Roxana reached out and turned the teenager’s head so that they faced each other.
“They might be planning something violent. If this goes wrong, we could end up trapped on a crippled ship. This is important, really important, okay?”
Tamara looked hurt at the suggestion she wasn’t taking any of the conversation seriously. Her face appeared to lose definition as she pouted in annoyance.
“Yeah, I know. I’m not stupid. I’ll find out what’s going on, you can count on it.”
Glaucon and Xenophon looked back at the others in the room and then to each other. It looked like most of them there had little interest in doing anything other than resting their bodies from whatever hardships they had suffered in the last day. Xenophon took a deep breath and then stood, moving slowly so as to not draw undue attention. A small group of perhaps five or six seemed to be watching him. He spotted them from the corner of his eye but did his utmost to avoid eye contact. Roxana moved back to her original position, and Tamara moved to Xenophon. He leaned towards her face and pulled her close. Tamara was surprised at his movement but went with it, worried that it might be part of the ruse. He placed his mouth close her face and whispered quietly.
“Let’s do this. You go first, and we’ll follow in ten minutes, somewhere we can watch the routes leading to the room. If you hit trouble, get out fast. We’ll be close to help you.”
She waited, still confused and unsure as to what to do next. Xenophon could see a number of people watching them, probably wondering what the hell they were doing.
This isn’t good, he thought.
He squeezed her arm, the pressure making her gasp a little. He then whispered.
Black Legion: 02 - Assault on Khorram Page 8