Shadow of Empire

by Jay Allan

  Everyone was out of the pipe now, and Sarge and his boys had their rifles ready, standing at near attention in the center of the room. Katarina was right behind Ace, silently observing, and Shira was next to him, her face an image of pure determination. Doc was leaning against the wall, looking a bit under the weather for the ordeal.

  Ace shook his arm hard again, sending a spray of muck and water flying into the wall. “Well, that was a fun route in, but maybe we can do better on the way out.” He shot Shira a quick grin, but he didn’t say anything more. After all, she had gotten them inside, apparently undetected.

  He turned to face the rest of the group. “Let’s get out of here. Remember, stay quiet, and let’s see how far we can get before we end up in a fight and wake up the entire place.”

  He walked over to the door, giving it an experimental push. It was heavy and the hinges were covered with a thick coating of rust, but it moved a few centimeters. He took a deep breath and put his shoulder into it, and it pushed open, snapping off one of the hinges and falling sideways into the hall with a loud crash.

  Ace leaped out, rifle in hand, scanning both ways as he did. He held his arm up, signaling the others to wait while he listened. The only sound was the hum of distant machinery, probably the mechanical systems for the château, he thought.

  He took a few steps down the hall, motioning for the others to follow. He strapped his rifle across his back and pulled a heavy combat knife from its sheath. “Katarina, Shira, up here with me. Let’s try to keep things quiet if we can.”

  They both stepped forward. Shira pulled out her own blade. It was longer and thinner than Ace’s knife, and they’d all seen her use it with deadly effectiveness.

  Katarina didn’t have a weapon drawn, but Ace was familiar with her throwing knives and the incredible skill with which she used them. He had long suspected she could take out an insect buzzing by with one of them, though she’d never indulged him by putting it to the test. The assassin followed a strict code. Weapons were for training and killing only. They were to be revered, cared for, treated with the utmost respect, but never used for frivolous purposes.

  Nothing frivolous about what we’re doing now.

  “Sarge, you and your boys be ready. If quiet doesn’t work, noisy is a hell of a lot better than dead.”

  “We’re ready, sir. We’re always ready.” The noncom had his assault rifle gripped tightly in his hands, and his expression was deadly serious. His men were virtual copies of him, ready for whatever was about to happen.

  Ace nodded to them all and started down the corridor. He flipped a coin mentally and decided to go to the left. The floor and walls were concrete, ancient and crumbling in places. The hall continued for about fifty meters before opening into a large room. There had been a door at one time, but the only sign of it was a broken piece of hinge hanging from the frame. The room was mostly empty, but there were a few machines along the far wall, old and covered with dust. From the look of them, Ace guessed they were furnaces that had once been part of the château’s heating system.

  “This must be an old wing. It doesn’t look like this stuff’s been used for a century. Maybe more.”

  Shira nodded. “Wherever we are, no one comes down here very often,” she said, pointing at the thick dust that covered the floor. Her eyes moved to the far wall. Two corridors led away from the room. “So which way, Ace?”

  He was about to answer when a loud crack echoed through the still air.

  Ace didn’t hesitate toward the hallway on the right. “I’d say there’s someone down here after all.” He had his pistol in one hand now and the knife still in the other. “Let’s go.”

  “I am not going to kill you, Carano.” Blackhawk was pushing his captive forward, his pistol aimed at the mercenary’s head as they moved through the basement tunnels. “Not unless you make me. That was nasty business on Mycenia, I’ll admit, but it was just that. Business.

  “Just lead me out of here and when we’re away from the château, I’ll let you go. I’m not part of this fight here. I have no stake either way. I’m just stuck here.”

  Carano stumbled forward, leading Blackhawk into the older sections of the basement. Blackhawk didn’t know if he was getting anywhere with his prisoner, but he thought he might be. At least a little.

  “I don’t know these passageways very well, Blackhawk. This is Elisabetta’s château, not mine. I don’t spend a lot of time in the basement catacombs.”

  “Well, you know them better than I do, so just . . .” Blackhawk stopped abruptly. His ears caught the sound of boots on the hard stone floor, getting closer.

  “What is . . .” Carano started to speak, but Blackhawk grabbed the mercenary and put his hand over his mouth. They were in a long hallway. Blackhawk’s head snapped back and forth, scanning the situation. There was a door a few meters forward, and he rushed toward it. He reached out and opened the door, shoving Carano inside just as he saw a shadow coming around the corner. He ducked back as the guard turned into the hallway and fired.

  Blackhawk threw Carano to the ground. “Sorry, Vladimir,” he muttered as he whipped around the door frame and fired back. One of the guards was halfway down the hall, and Blackhawk’s shot took him right in the head. He fell hard, and his companion jumped back around the corner.

  Blackhawk ducked back in the room, turning to check on the prisoner. “I don’t want to kill any more of your people, Vladimir, so call them off now.”

  Carano pulled himself to his feet. “None of my people would be down here.”

  Blackhawk stared at his captive, trying to decide whether to believe him or not. “Light gray uniform, black beret . . .”

  “Those are Elisa’s men.” Carano brushed himself off. “Her household guard.”

  Half her private army will be down here in a few minutes. He peered outside the door, ducking back as another shot rang out. “We’re trapped.”

  “I told you we’d never get out.” Carano’s voice had a strange tone. The hatred toward Blackhawk was gone, replaced by a vague curiosity.

  Blackhawk raced toward the door, checking the hall. He heard more footsteps, from the other way this time. An instant later he heard a shot. There was a pause, no more than a second or two, and then a full-scale firefight erupted. The footsteps became quicker, louder, and they were coming his way. He flashed a look back at Carano. The prisoner was standing quietly, but showed no signs of making a move. Blackhawk peered around the door frame, toward the guard who had retreated. There was no trace of him. Maybe he ran for help, Blackhawk thought. Or just ran.

  He spun around, bringing his pistol to bear facing the other direction. He could hear the footsteps getting closer. They were louder, faster. Whoever was coming his way, they were running now. There was still gunfire, but it was more sporadic now. There was something familiar about the pitch of some of the fire.

  There are R-111 assault rifles in that mix of fire.

  The guns he’d bought for his crew. State-of-the-art military weapons, at least by the standards of the Far Stars. Who the hell would have those here?

  No. It can’t be . . .

  Just then he saw Ace swing around the corner and race down the hallway, with Shira right behind. His rifle was out in front of him, and the right side of his face was covered with blood.

  “In here!” Blackhawk screamed, waving his arms from the doorway.

  Ace stared at him in shock and ran into the room. Blackhawk stepped aside, letting them run in one after the other. Shira, Katarina, Sarge and his men. He slammed the door shut and turned to stare at them all. His stomach had clenched when he saw the blood all over Ace’s head, but now he could see it was just a flesh wound, a close call that came a couple centimeters from finishing him off.

  His concern quickly turned to anger. “What the hell are you doing here? Where is Astra? Is she okay?” There was concern in his voice, fear.

  “She’s fine, Ark.” Ace pulled up a section of his shirt and wiped the blood from his
eyes. “She’s on her way to Celtiboria, just the way you wanted.” He inhaled hard, trying to catch his breath. “Lucas, Sam, and the Twins are with her.”

  Relief flooded Blackhawk. “Thank you, Ace. But you should all be there, too. I’m pretty sure I ordered you to leave. Now you’re all stuck down here with me.”

  “To be fair, what you ordered . . .”

  “I know what I said, Ace, and you knew what I meant.”

  Ace hung his head, as did the others. Blackhawk wasn’t one to berate his crew, and even now, his voice wasn’t angry. But he knew the disappointment was apparent. The crew of the Claw were all fuckups in their own ways, and all he asked was that they try their best in whatever he asked of them. They rarely let him down. Hell, even now they had done something he would have thought impossible on this war-ravaged planet: sneak across hundreds of kilometers and infiltrate a heavily fortified position. It was impressive. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful they were here—he truly was—but he had sent them away for their safety. They were all still in deep shit, and the thought that they might have just showed up so they could all die together was too much to bear.

  Fortunately, Elisabetta’s men weren’t going to let him dwell on it. He could hear the sounds of boots in the hall, running back and forth. “Sarge, grab that bench. Let’s barricade the door.” Blackhawk helped the noncom shove the heavy wooden bench in place. He leaned against the door and shouted. “We’ve got General Carano in here with us. I want to talk to Lady Lementov. Now!”

  He turned toward Carano, an odd look on his face. “I hope you don’t mind me using you as bait, Vladimir, but I’m fresh out of other ideas.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “IT APPEARS WE HAVE A STANDOFF, CAPTAIN BLACKHAWK.” Carano was exhausted, and it came through in his tone. “The way out is blocked. You can kill me, but if you do, you and your people will never leave this château.”

  Blackhawk frowned. He knew Carano was right. It had been ten minutes since Blackhawk had made his demand, and still nothing had happened. True, they were safe for the moment, but they were also trapped. And while Carano was a valuable hostage, it was only a matter of time before someone—possibly Lady Lementov—decided he wasn’t worth it. Then the guards would force the door, and Blackhawk’s crew was outnumbered—probably a hundred to one once their besiegers called for aid. It would cost the guards heavily—the door would act as a funnel, a perfect kill zone for the Claw’s crew. Until their bullets ran out.

  The whole thing was frustrating. He didn’t have a stake in Saragossa’s war, and he didn’t want one. He was disgusted with both sides, the nobles who had kept the peasants under their iron boots for so many generations and the revolutionaries who managed to become as corrupt and brutal as their former masters in a few short years. The thought of his people getting killed in a cesspool like this sickened him. But it still wasn’t his fight.

  “I’m telling you for the last time, General. I had nothing to do with supplying the rebels with those weapons.” His eyes bored into Carano’s. “Why would I? Think about it.

  “There were three men in the brig, prisoners my people captured when we took the ship. They are imperial intelligence operatives.” Blackhawk paused. “I don’t know why the empire is involved here, but my people had nothing to do with it.” He stared into Carano’s eyes. “Order your men to stand down. Let my people go. We are not your enemies.”

  Ace was standing by the door, listening for any activity in the hallway. “Someone’s coming, Ark.”

  Every member of the crew snapped their weapons around, pointing toward the door, waiting. There was a small knock, then a muffled voice. “I am unarmed. I have a message for General Carano. It is from Colonel Vulcan.”

  Blackhawk nodded to Ace, and his number two shoved the bench aside, opening the door slowly. “Inside,” he said. “Now.”

  A tall man slipped through the door, clad in the uniform of the Black Helms. Sarge grabbed him and pushed him against the wall, searching for weapons. He turned toward Blackhawk after a few seconds. “He’s clean.”

  Blackhawk just nodded, and Sarge released the rattled mercenary. “You may report to your commander,” Blackhawk said softly.

  The soldier looked at Carano. The general shrugged and said, “Go ahead. You may speak freely in front of these people.”

  Blackhawk looked at Carano sharply, but he couldn’t find any deceit in the man’s eyes. Maybe I actually got through to him.

  “Sir, Colonel Vulcan reports that the enemy has launched a massive counteroffensive all along the front. His lines are broken in multiple locations, and he is attempting to disengage and withdraw to reform. It is urgent that the château and the surrounding areas be evacuated at once, as he can no longer ensure security.”

  Carano nodded to the soldier then he turned to face Blackhawk. “Well, Captain Blackhawk, this complicates matters, wouldn’t you say?”

  Blackhawk looked around the room and took a deep breath. “Well, Carano, I . . .”

  There was a loud crash, and the building shook. Chunks of concrete fell from the walls, and dust came down from the ceiling. Another explosion followed a few seconds later, louder, closer.

  “I would say the revolutionaries are here, General Carano,” Blackhawk said. “So shall we stay here until they dig us out and shoot us all, or should we put aside old grudges and new suspicions and cooperate?” Blackhawk extended his hand.

  Another explosion shook the room, and a section of the ceiling collapsed in the corner. Carano had a surprised look on his face. Blackhawk didn’t blame him—trained mercs with superior weapons were losing this battle to a bunch of raw soldiers armed with crude tech. Blackhawk looked at him and shrugged. Of course there are a lot more of the green revolutionaries. A lot more.

  Then another shell hit, and the lights went out.

  “Are your forces ready, Captain?” Tellurin was standing behind the moving columns, shouting orders to his aide. Vernisky’s battalion was a mixed bag, a cadre of veterans fleshed out with a bunch of old men and kids. But they were in the right place, and the commander of the Revolutionary Army was here himself to lead them.

  The enemy was pulling back all across the field, and the exhausted revolutionary armies were close on their heels. He couldn’t even guess at the casualties his units had suffered, but he put that out of his mind for now. The losses had been staggering, he knew, but now they were on the verge of making all the sacrifice meaningful.

  Vernisky’s troops were moving on a large manor house, supported by the last of the heavy artillery ordnance. The château was the home and headquarters of Elisabetta Lementov, the effective leader of the noble cause. If she was killed or captured, the nobles would be dealt a fatal blow. She, as much as anyone, was responsible for preventing the revolution from achieving victory the past seven years, and her loss following right after the defeat of the mercenary forces would be a body blow to her compatriots.

  Tellurin watched his soldiers moving forward, heading toward the great house in the distance. It was almost dark, but the shelling had set parts of the massive building on fire, and the flames glowed eerily in the fading dusk. Hope rose in General Tellurin. Lementov was his enemy, a member of the noble caste that had kept the rest of the population in virtual slavery for centuries. He’d hated her kind his entire life, and now he was on the verge of destroying her and achieving total victory.

  Still, he’d seen enough revenge and brutality to last a lifetime, and he found himself hoping she would die in the fighting, rather than surrender. He had no desire to see her dragged before Talin, gang-raped by soldiers, and finally tortured to death before a bloodthirsty mob. Once, perhaps, he might have, when the abuse of his noble taskmasters had been fresher on his mind, his scars and empty belly feeding his hatred. But he’d seen too many die on both sides since he’d worked in the factories and, unlike Talin, his bloodlust was long sated. He wished for nothing more than a time when the guns stopped firing.

  The genera
l looked out at the shells impacting around the château. At least three had hit the massive building, and a section of one wing had collapsed. Troops were streaming out, taking up defensive positions all around the property. Tellurin stood and watched, waiting for the artillery fire to cease. He had released the last of the ammunition to bombard the château, and he knew the batteries had to be down to their last shots. When they were done, he would send in Vernisky’s people. He had reinforcements on the way, and other battalions moving around both flanks, maneuvering to cut off any retreat. The trap was set, the final battle about to begin.

  He looked around, realizing the shellfire had stopped. It was time. He walked toward Vernisky. “Captain, you may begin your attack.”

  “What the hell is going on down there?” Lucas was staring at his scope, watching the scanner results go crazy. The Claw had just entered the upper atmosphere, and Lucas had done a routine scanner sweep.

  “What is it?” Astra was sitting in Blackhawk’s chair, staring intently at the Claw’s pilot. She’d put the pistol away, but she still held the stun gun in her hand. She stared at him suspiciously. “Don’t try anything, Lucas.”

  “I’m not, Astra. A real damned war has erupted down there.” He paused. “I hope the skipper and the others aren’t in the middle of that.”

  She stood up, moving cautiously toward Lucas’s station. The Claw was streamlined for atmospheric flight, but it was still a rough ride. She was still suspicious of the pilot, but he sounded sincere enough, and she decided to see for herself.

  She looked down at his station. There were intersecting red circles everywhere, explosions across a forty-kilometer front south of the capital city. She glanced at the energy readings scrolling down the side of the map and gasped. It was nothing less than total war going on down there, a massive battle along a broad front. It looked like the two sides had begun the climactic struggle—and if she knew Blackhawk, he was in the thick of it.

  “We have to get to them, Lucas. We can’t leave them down there with all that fighting going on.” Her voice had been firm, in command, but now he could hear the fear creeping into her tone. She was scared for Blackhawk, and she was desperate to go to his aid.