Black Legion - The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “I know, get through. I’ll keep them busy.”

  He lifted his mace high and roared with every ounce of strength he could muster. The surviving stratiotes fought their way to him to form a close knot of defenders. Gunfire continued, but in this level of close proximity, most of the firearms were discarded once their magazines had run dry. Glaucon extended his arms and rushed the nearest Mulacs. He took a round in the shoulder as he charged, but it was enough to force them to the ground and create a small opening in their line.

  “Now!” he cried as he struck the hard stone floor. Xenophon didn’t hesitate and ran forward, throwing himself over and into the open space behind him. In a flash, he was past the pillars and in amongst the cables, machines and computers. It was the control centre of the mountain, and the source of the pulsing red weapon. He looked up at the flashing red lights of the great machine, and then down to the only weapons that remained, his two Laconian Asgeirr-Carbines.

  What the hell can I do now? He looked around for any sign of a way to shut the equipment down. He could see a main computer display and system at the end of the room. It was on a raised pedestal with optical cables running from behind it and into the system.

  That has it be it. Otherwise, we’ll just have to bring this entire place to the ground. He lifted his arms up to shoot, but nothing happened, only the click of the empty chambers.

  “That’s just great!” he muttered angrily.

  “You, now you die!” came a familiar voice from behind. He ducked to the right and spun around to find the leader of the Mulacs confronting him. In his left arm he held the still body of Glaucon. A pang of fear ran down his spine at the sight of the monster that had bested his friend. It was stronger, faster and more powerful than him in every way.

  He looked down at his inert weapons, and for a second felt a very real sense of despair. If it beat Glaucon, what will I be able to do?

  He lifted his head and stared at the face of his enemy. Behind him, the surviving warriors on both sides continued their death struggle. The stratiotes gave as good as they got, but it looked doubtful either side would win decisively. He looked back to the snarling Mulac and spotted the item strapped to the creature’s leg and smiled.

  A plasma pistol! Now that is exactly what I need!

  He pushed his left leg forward slightly and adopted a strong fighting stance. His left hand pulled close to his body in a punching gesture, but with the Laconian blade sticking out towards the Mulac. He lifted his right hand to the right of his face and extended the blade in the same direction as the first.

  “You first, you bastard!” he shouted, and then ran forward.

  The Mulac almost seemed to relish the challenged and looked down for a moment to see what it was Xenophon had been staring at. He must have worked it out, as he drew the pistol in his left had to fire. But it was too late, and Xenophon was already close enough to attack. His first slash caught the leader’s wrist and clanged off the armour. The pistol dropped away to the floor, leaving neither of them with a functioning firearm.

  “Tissaphernes has plans for you!” he snarled, stomping forward, and at the same time swinging the mace. Xenophon lifted his hand to parry the blow, but the creature’s strength was too great, and he was pushed back.

  Remember; use weakness against strength. He was reminded of Kratez’s teachings.

  He relaxed his arm and sidestepped to the left. The Mulac stumbled past him, exposing his back and flank. Xenophon took the opportunity to jab hard into his ribs. The armour was thick, and it took all his strength to form the blade into his flesh. A loud roar of pain signalled he’d been successful. But the injury didn’t slow him down. On the contrary, it angered him and seemed to rejuvenate him into greater violence. With the blade stuck, Xenophon was in trouble. The Mulac spun around and grabbed him around the throat. His grip was like a vice, and in seconds, his vision started to blur.

  Have to get my hand free.

  He flicked the interior lock switches in the gauntlet and felt it loosen. With all his effort, he pushed hard and felt his hand slip out. His vision faded further until he could barely see the shape of the Mulac. His hearing was the last thing he could discern, and it was the Mulac’s voice that raged in his ear.

  “Terrans are weak. We will burn your worlds next!”

  He expected the end, but instead felt pain in his arm. His vision started to clear, and he stared up to find himself on the ground and looking at the figure of the Mulac on one knee. Stood next to him was Glaucon, blood dripping from a number of wounds. In his hand, he held one of the Mulac’s maces that ran thick with Mulac blood. Xenophon’s own blade was still stuck in the creature’s flank.

  Glaucon swung it down hard, yet the wounded Mulac was still able to parry the attack with his left hand. Glaucon lifted the weapon again and pounded down, one after the other, each hit trying to beat through his defence. Xenophon however was starting to regain feeling in his body.

  Get up, you fool!

  He lifted up to one knee and almost fell back down. He looked to his right hand, but the blade had all but snapped off. He had no weapon, and Glaucon seemed unable to finish the beast off. Incredibly, the Mulac roared and started to lift up from the ground, its armour creaking as he moved.

  Xenophon lurched forward and grabbed the Asgeirr-Carbine gauntlet that still hung from the Mulac. With a quick pull, the blade slid out. He didn’t hesitate and stabbed down into the Mulac’s neck. He managed three heavy stabs before the Mulac even realised what was happening. He turned to try and stop him, but it was too late. Glaucon rushed in, and with a final powerful blow, brought his mace down on the creature’s head. With a sickening crunch, the leader of the Mulacs fell in a lifeless heap.

  The two stood like a pair of survivors of some terrible and bloody crime. Both were battered and bloody and barely able to stand. They turned back to help their comrades, but the surviving Mulacs were already running for one of the many archways to escape.

  “The generator, how do we stop it?” asked Glaucon.

  Xenophon looked about and spotted the plasma pistol lying on the floor. It looked similar to the much more powerful cannons used by the Terrans. He held it in front and flicked the power on. It hummed for a moment and flashed blue.

  One of the surviving dekarchos ran up to them. He clutched a mauled arm but was still keen to complete their mission.

  “What’s the plan?” he asked.

  Xenophon looked at him and smiled. He turned and pointed the weapon at the cooling pipes and electronics of the great machine. With a flick of the pistol, he set the weapon to its maximum setting.

  “I think something like this might work.”

  * * *

  Roxana and the small group of surviving stratiotes were in trouble. The lower level had fallen, and the Mulacs had broken through their last line of defence. Jack lay bleeding out on the ground while Tamara did her best to stop the blood loss. She picked up her carbine and aimed it down the corridor where their tormenters were regrouping for yet another attack.

  “How many?” asked one of the few stratiotes still able to fight.

  “At least thirty, I think there are fresh reinforcements coming in as well. We need to get up to Xenophon and his team. We’re sitting ducks down here.”

  “No, we can’t leave the wounded!” replied Tamara angrily.

  Roxana shook her head, knowing that the youngster simply wouldn’t understand the decision. She grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “Leave him. We stay, and we die.”

  She moved back and fired several shots to keep the Mulacs busy. The other stratiotes did the same, but Tamara refused to move. Instead, she drew her carbine and blasted away with her remaining few rounds.

  Stupid child, what will she do when she runs out of ammo? Roxana watched with a mixture of anger and pity.

  Unwilling to wait any longer, she grabbed Tamara and forcibly pulled her away from the fallen Jack. A quick glance showed he was near death, and there was
nothing any of them could do. Two of the men grabbed his arms and lifted him, running as quickly as they could up the corridor. Seeing them move, the rest did the same, leaving the defensive position in tatters. Roxana and Tamara ran, just seconds before the Mulacs burst from below and rushed after them. Inaccurate shots fired from the hip clawed at the Terrans as they tried to escape. Most made it, but three were wounded and dropped behind. Tamara tried to turn back to help them, but Roxana pulled her on.

  “Run!” she screamed.

  They kept moving, doing their best to blot out the screams of the wounded as the Mulacs overrun their previous position, butchering those still left. A mighty roar shook the mountain as something powerful exploded or ruptured above them. It was followed by a powerful shockwave that quickly dissipated. Intrigued, but also fearful for the lives of her team, she continued up the tunnel and through the corridors, the sound of the Mulacs close on their tails.

  Xenophon stepped out from behind the pillar to examine his handiwork. The coolant rods were destroyed, as were the control units for the generator. It had stopped working in seconds, and the blast wave seemed to pass in every direction. Incredibly, none of them had sustained anything more than light injuries. He was about to speak when the communicator in his helmet burst to life.

  “It’s Clearchus, they are through the shield,” he said with a smile.

  “Somebody is coming!” shouted one of the stratiotes. He was standing near the entrance they had all originally arrived from. It could mean only one of two things.

  “Take cover, watch for friendlies!” shouted Xenophon.

  The stratiotes moved around the entrance, using the fallen Mulacs and stonework to protect them. Xenophon grabbed a fallen carbine and checked the magazine. It was half full. Lights flashed in the dark hall, and voices and shouting marked the arrival of somebody.

  “Wait for my order,” whispered Xenophon, eager to avoid friendly fire.

  Roxana emerged from the tunnel along with just a handful of bloodied stratiotes. Tamara stumbled forward and fell to the floor. A metal spike from some kind of projectile weapon was stuck in her leg. A few more moved in, carrying the wounded body of Jack. A rocket whistled up the tunnel and struck the wall behind them. The blast of explosion, along with sharp and broken masonry, crashed around the stratiotes and Jack. Xenophon rushed forward and grabbed Roxana. He felt a mixture of pleasure and fear at her bruised and bloodied body. As he pulled her from the ground, he spotted Jack’s broken body. His torso and neck were cut open by the razor sharp masonry. Around him were the bodies of three more stratiotes.

  “Poor Jack,” she muttered miserably. Tamara dropped to the floor, despair and fear in her eyes. Roxana held out her hand and Xenophon helped her up. She looked back at the tunnel and checked her carbine.

  “There are more coming, behind us!” she called out.

  They appeared, almost on cue and charged into the open space. The first Mulacs were cut down by gunfire, but a small number made it through and towards Xenophon and his comrades.

  “Not again!” snarled Glaucon, who ran in, swing his captured Mulac mace.

  Clearchus watched with anger the battle that was raging outside the Citadel. There were a large number of fires along the perimeter, and thousands of Mulacs were still fighting a close-range battle with a smaller than expected number of spatharii. From his position in his command dromon, it looked like Dukas Xenias had captured the outer wall and part of the lower levels of the Citadel. Kleandridas pointed to a wave of a dozen dromons he had diverted to make a combat landing.

  “Strategos, I am picking up a signal from the mountain there.”

  “The generator platform?” asked Clearchus.

  “Yes, a stratiotes called Xenophon. He says they have destroyed the equipment, but they are under heavy attack.”

  Clearchus pressed a button to retask the dromon’s camera assembly. The image changed to show the low peak from which multiple columns of smoke were belching. Halfway up its height were hundreds of the enemy, and even more were working their way up to join them. Clearchus nodded to himself.

  “Get me Dukas Chirisophus,” he ordered.

  In just a few seconds, the face of the senior Laconian commander appeared.

  “Strategos.”

  “I need you to redirect your forces. You have all of your seven hundred spatharios with you?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Good. Take them to the peak that is swarming with Mulacs. We have troops on the higher levels. Land on the lower levels, and hit the Mulacs hard. I will send Dukas Sophaenetus with his thousand spatharii to assist you. Take no prisoners.”

  “Yes, Strategos.”

  He changed the camera to the original forward facing angle and watched with pleasure as the first wave of dromons disgorged their spatharii directly into battle. He could already see them surging through the damaged wall and into the lower levels of the Citadel.

  “They are already breaking through,” said Kleandridas in a calm voice.

  “Good, change course and bring up to the higher level of that peak. I think our friends need some help.”

  “You don’t want to land at the Citadel?” asked a surprised Kleandridas.

  “No, our forces will defeat them in a matter of minutes. Land us, quickly!”

  The command dromon swept low over the battlefield and past the raging battle below. The odd stream of rounds arced towards it, but they were able to move into position alongside the mountain and near a small landing pad. It was far too small to make a landing, so they were forced to hover in place. A small group of Mulac fighters tried to stop them by firing at point blank range into the dromon. Clearchus released his magnetic harness and moved to the doors. Kleandridas and his heavily armoured bodyguard joined him.

  “We don’t stop until the place is secured!” he growled.

  The door blasted open and let in the howling wind from this far up. He glanced down to see that the pad sat nearly five metres below them. He didn’t hesitate and leapt out. He crashed to the pad and rolled to the side. Kleandridas landed beside him, and they set to work on the unfortunate Mulacs who tried to stop them. Both men blasted away with their Asgeirr-Carbines. More of the crimson armoured bodyguards joined them, and the pad was clear.

  “Follow me!” cried Clearchus who rushed through the nearest doorway. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing damaged equipment and a large melee at the far end. He could make out a small group of stratiotes busy fighting a desperate battle against a growing horde of Mulacs. He powered forward and picked off three Mulacs that had strayed from the group.

  Xenophon didn’t even see Clearchus until the crimson shape burst past him. The Terran leader and his bodyguard crashed into the large group of Mulacs. Gunfire and edged weapons tore a bloody swathe through them. It was over almost as soon as it had begun. The Mulacs were quickly halted, and in a blind panic turned and fled back into the tunnel. The bodyguards continued after them, but Clearchus stopped and turned to look at the small and exhausted group of stratiotes. Xenophon approached him and placed his fist across his chest, the traditional Laconian salute. Clearchus smiled.

  “You must be Xenophon.”

  He nodded but said nothing, physically and mentally exhausted.

  “This is one damned good piece of soldiering, son. I commend you.” He looked to the rest of the survivors. “All of you.”

  Kleandridas approached and leaned in towards his commander.

  “Strategos, there is word from the Armada.”

  Clearchus grimaced, expecting the worse. “What is it?”

  “Lord Ariaeus, the second-in-command of Cyrus’ Median troops, has arrived. His fleet is, well...it is truly massive, my Lord. Double the size of our own forces.”

  * * *

  The journey back to the Armada was a blur to Xenophon. He must have either passed out or been asleep, because the first thing he remembered was the buzzing sound of the ramp lowering and the door opening. He and the survivors of
the Night Blades walked down the ramp of Clearchus’ dromon with a look of confusion and exhaustion. He remembered Roxana talking to him and something about their victory, but most of it was a blur. The exhausted stratiotes were looking forward to the warmth and comfort of their own ship. Instead, they entered the landing bay of the Laconian Titan to the sound of cheers and shouting. News of their exploits must have reached the crew well before their arrival, as hundreds were already waiting in one great mass of people.

  “What the hell?” muttered a bruised and battered-looking Glaucon.

  Strategos Clearchus had already stepped out onto the ground and waited, along with his topoteretes and the survivors of his personal guard. They stood to attention, and the formality caught Xenophon and his friends by surprise. Roxana reached the bottom of the ramp first and was surprised to see two Median nobles stood waiting.

  The taller of the two bowed at her and her comrades. The second merely tilted his head, as though forced to do so out of necessity, rather than by choice.

  “Welcome back to the Armada, my friends. I am Cyrus,” said the man as he turned to his comrade. “This is Tissaphernes, Satrap of this region and the Lord of the Cilician Gates.”

  The second noble nodded again before speaking.

  “I thank you, all of you, for your part in clearing my domain of these Mulacs.”

  Clearchus stepped forward and alongside them.

  “These are the survivors of the Night Blades, an Arcadian unit who have almost proved themselves worthy of fighting alongside Laconians,” he said in jest. Those near enough to hear him, chuckled with amusement at the sarcasm, but it appeared to be totally lost on the Medes.

  A loud hiss from the second dromon to land announced the opening of its doors. From the steam and dust moved the figure of Dukas Xenias. He walked down the ramp, assisted by his personal guards. A medical team rushed up to assist him, but he brushed them aside and continued down to reach the line of senior officers. He started to kneel before Clearchus, but the old General reached out and grabbed the man’s arm.