Black Legion - The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  Kleandridas placed his hand on Clearchus’ shoulder and nodded.

  “I agree. We are the power behind this Armada, and without us Cyrus has no chance of ever seizing the throne from his brother. It is time we took a more active role in this operation. You are the experienced commander, and you control the heart of our forces.”

  Clearchus listened to them both and then looked back to the command deck. Scores of officers moved about to control the scanners, communications gear, engineering and weapons systems. It was an impressive scene, and the more he looked at them, the more he agreed that it was the Terrans who were in charge. He looked back to the two deputies.

  “When Cyrus gets back in touch with the news from Ariaeus, I will lay down the law. It is time Laconia asserted full control of our ground forces...”

  He paused and considered Cyrus for a moment before adding, “...including all those of the Medes.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Su’bartu Maelstrom

  Clearchus paced about the command deck, his face flushed and his body agitated. Neither of his deputies was to be seen, and most of the officers did their best to avoid his gaze. A Medes representative entered and approached him but was stopped by his personal guards. Much to the man’s chagrin, they performed a full scan to check for weapons or unauthorised equipment. Once cleared, the now irritable man approached the commander of the Terrans.

  “Lord Cyrus demands to know why you...”

  Clearchus reached out and placed his hand around the man’s throat, gripping tightly and cutting off the flow of air. He could feel the pulse and noticed the much faster rate when compared to that of humans. The Medes was surprisingly strong for such a scrawny figure, but still Clearchus maintained his grip.

  “Listen, Medes,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “I am Strategos Clearchus, commander of this Legion and commander of this ship. You will treat me with honour and respect as befitting a commander of your own race. Understood?”

  His victim glanced back to his face with a look of hatred in his eyes. Clearchus almost smiled back at the man but restrained himself at the last moment. At least, he hoped he had masked his thoughts.

  Good, he finally understands.

  He released his hold, and the Medes dropped to his knees, gasping for air. It took a moment before he was able to raise himself and look back to the commander. He cleared his throat and grimaced at the pain. Clearchus struggled, but ultimately failed, to suppress a smile at the alien’s discomfort.

  “Now, let’s start again.”

  “My Lord,” started the Medes with great reluctance, “I have an urgent message from my commander, Lord Cyrus. He wishes to understand why you have not followed Ariaeus into battle. Did you not receive his demand for your forces to assist?”

  Clearchus’ expression changed from one of irritation to one of outright anger.

  “Demands, does he? Well, Ariaeus is Cyrus’ man, and he can do what he likes. The Legion is under my personal command and does not run errands for Lord Cyrus like some whipping boy. When my scouts have reported, I will allow the Legion to jump.”

  “But Ariaeus...” exclaimed the Medes in apparent fear.

  Clearchus raised one eyebrow in amusement.

  “What about Ariaeus?”

  “His forces have encountered resistance from the station and are under attack.”

  Clearchus looked about the command deck and again tried to hide his amusement at the problems facing Ariaeus. The commander of the Median fleet was hardly his favourite person.

  Kleandridas would be overjoyed at this news, he thought ruefully.

  But that wasn’t the problem. It was being treated as a subordinate that irked him and his senior commanders. The other Dukas would probably leave the expedition if they knew they were being issued thinly veiled orders by the hated deputy of Cyrus. The operation had been from the very start a Terran led Armada, paid for by Cyrus. They worked for him, not a Medes. Working beneath such a hated man would cause a split that even he would probably be unable to resolve.

  “I see. So Ariaeus didn’t carry out the allotted task of scouting the area so that we could jump in. He moved to the station and started his own occupation, I assume?”

  “No, My Lord, Ariaeus landed a number of combat units on the Aronton automated station to ascertain its assets and benefits to the fleet. It would appear that it is garrisoned by combat drones.”

  Drones? The memory of those intelligent machines flooded back to him.

  “Yes, the station’s automated defences were deactivated, and that is how he was able to land. Once inside, the defences activated, and the stationed garrison slaughtered those on board. Ariaeus and his picked unit of Anusiya shock troops are still aboard but are trapped inside the structure.”

  “Ariaeus, the fool, he put himself at risk for his own personal gratification.”

  The Medes looked confused at what he said. Clearchus tried to assess the man, but as usual, his expression was too vague to fathom.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t understand, Strategos. You Laconians are famed above all other Terrans for your combat prowess and dedication to the arts of war. Yet when a man like Ariaeus puts himself in danger, and even takes dangerous, perhaps heroic risks, you still scorn him. Why is that? Is it because he isn’t human?”

  Clearchus smiled, now understanding the confusion. He looked off to his left and spotted a group of low ranked officers trying not to draw attention. He lifted his hand and indicated for them to approach. The three men and one woman rushed over and stood smartly to attention. He looked at each of them, noting their smart uniforms, physically fit bodies and their faces. Yes, he always liked to try and ascertain what kind of intelligence sat behind a warrior’s eyes. He stopped on reaching the woman, the shortest and by far the youngest of the four. She was short, with auburn hair and blue eyes. Unlike many of the other officers on the deck, she wore a utility jumpsuit and carried a diagnostic computer on her belt.

  “Pentarchos, identify yourself.”

  The woman replied quickly and decisively.

  “Pentarchos Shane Lopet, 1st Maintenance Squadron, co-pilot, Strategos.”

  “Good, I want you to answer a question for me, if you will?”

  She looked to Clearchus and then to the Medes messenger.

  “Of course, Strategos.”

  “Explain our thoughts concerning personal courage and sacrifice.”

  “Strategos,” she replied and turned to the Medes.

  “It is the duty of every single Laconian warrior, whether a foot soldier, pilot or administrative clerk, to always consider the whole. The warrior that moves from the line may win individual glory, perhaps even turn the course of a battle, but this isn’t the Laconian way. It is critical that when we stand in battle, we can reply on the warrior on the left of us and to the right. The strength of Laconians is not individually, but together.”

  Clearchus indicated for the group to leave before speaking.

  “Even a lowly pentarchos understands where Ariaeus has gone wrong. You may pass on to Cyrus that I have sent a scout squadron ahead, and that I am expecting news within thirty minutes. I will move in the fleet when I am satisfied the fuel and resources are usable. I will not jump into a dead system and be trapped with nothing but Ariaeus, his arrogance and an automated defence system. Understood?”

  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 da
y-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.