Black Legion - The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  They are through, he thought.

  “This is over, drop your weapons, all of you!” came the booming voice of Xenias.

  Two more firearms continued their deadly battle, but as more of the crew pulled themselves inside, it was clear the mere few traitors remaining were trapped and without a chance. The shadowy figure of Andronicus turned from his computer display and laughed towards Xenias.

  “This isn’t over, you fool. I’ve already alerted my men, and the power is coming back on...about...now.”

  Almost on cue, the emergency lights activated, their dull red glow spreading through the command deck. Xenophon lifted his hand to cover his eyes but luckily, the low level lighting wasn’t too bright. A gentle hum of computer systems indicated that the main power was also returning to the internal systems. Andronicus stood facing the newly arrived Xenias who was flanked by his crewmen, as well as Glaucon and Roxana, who were armed and all pointing their weapons at Andronicus. The traitors appeared to have only two more men left, and both were a distance away from their leader.

  “Drop it, or we drop you,” ordered Xenias.

  Andronicus laughed at him but kept his weapon trained on the Dukas.

  “No. One move from any of your people and Xenias gets a third eye, understood?” he barked.

  Xenophon lifted himself up slightly for a better view, but Andronicus spotted him and fired, forcing Xenophon back into cover.

  “I’m warning you, any funny stuff, and he gets it right between the eyes. You know how serous I am. Now, put down your weapons and end this.”

  Xenophon stayed low, eager to not to antagonise the deranged officer. Artemas lay huddled on the ground, nursing her wound. In the low light, he could see dark patches on her shoulder and chest but nothing more. He started to move closer, but she indicated for him to look to the ceiling, near to where Andronicus was stood. He leaned over and moved slowly to the side to get a look. At first he saw nothing, but then he could see the figure of Tamara in the shadows, directly above Andronicus. In her right hand she carried the military issue combat knife.

  Don’t be stupid, just get down and stick that knife where it needs to go, he thought. His heart now pounded at concern for both her and the rest of them if she failed.

  Without warning, he felt a harsh pull on his body and had to reach out to avoid smashing his head on the display unit. The artificial gravity was fully activated in less than a second, but that was enough for Tamara to lose her hold and fall from the ceiling. She landed in a heap on the floor behind Andronicus. He turned to see her lifting herself to her knees and started laughing. Xenophon aimed his pistol, but Tamara and Andronicus were right next to each other; it was too risky a shot.

  “I warned you!” muttered Andronicus, and with a slow movement of his hand, he started to pull the trigger. Tamara burst forward with surprising speed and jammed the dagger into his throat. The impact was savage and snapped him backwards. His pistol blasted ineffectually, and the pulse round embedded in the metal wall, narrowly missing both Roxana and Xenias. As he fell down to the ground, Tamara jumped onto him and held onto the blade as he desperately tried to withdraw it. Roxana ran over, closely followed by Glaucon, and between them they prised her off the wounded man. Xenophon moved over to help, but Tamara spotted him and lurched at him to grab him.

  “You crazy minx!” he laughed, just glad she appeared unhurt after all the excitement.

  Xenias commanded the centre of the room, his bulk and voice demanding attention.

  “Get all systems back online. I need full control and communications, fast!”

  His crew split up, each heading to their old stations. Fued and Bradford stayed near the entrance and watched for signs of the inevitable reinforcements. Glaucon and Roxana were busy trying to halt the blood loss from their new prisoner.

  “Damn, you were bloody lucky there,” said Roxana as she examined the deep wound.

  “Yeah, just another few millimetres and you’d be in a coffin, you bastard,” muttered Glaucon in a far less conciliatory tone. He looked over to Xenophon who was working on one of the few computer units that was undamaged and still functional.

  “The Chief is initialising propulsion and navigation. Comms are up already,” he said with obvious relish at the expense of Andronicus.

  As they spoke, Roxana ripped off the man’s tunic and used part of it under his neck to support his head. As she was tying it, the main lights flickered on, bathing the command deck with bright light. All of them experienced mild discomfort for a few seconds as their eyes adjusted to the drastic change. It was then that she noticed the tattoo.

  “Dukas, look at this!” she called out.

  Two of the crew helped the wounded Xenias over to her. He bent down and examined the markings on the man’s collar. Normally, they would have been hidden from view, but now it was plain to see.

  “Eleusinian Disciples, how the hell did they get on our ships?” he snarled.

  Artemas walked over, her hand still holding onto her bleeding wound.

  “We heard rumours they were trying to infiltrate ships in the Boeotian contingent. This group must have slipped aboard when the fleet was assembling.”

  Xenias turned and looked at the woman. At first he saw nothing but the elegant shape of a scantily clad and very attractive woman. Then he spotted her pale face and distinctively elfin bone structure.

  “Medes?” he muttered rhetorically.

  Xenophon spotted the confrontation and moved beside her.

  “Yes, she is an agent working for Cyrus.”

  Xenias’ face changed at the mention of the Medes noble who was funding their operation. For a moment, Xenophon thought he might lurch forward into an attack, but instead he waved to one of his men. The dekarchos approached and saluted.

  “Secure the main hallway. Nobody else gets anywhere near here.”

  He then turned back to Xenophon.

  “What do you know about the Eleusinians, then?” he asked. Before Xenophon could reply, the Dukas answered himself.

  “They are a band of black marketers, cutthroats and mercenaries. They have been banned from every single civilised system colonised by man. They steal or kill for the highest price, no scruples, no honour and no loyalty to anyone but their bank accounts.”

  He thought to himself for the briefest of moments, as if he was remembering some past event with this band of cutthroats. He shook his head, looking back to Xenophon.

  “So, you’ve been in touch with the Chief?”

  “Yes, he was below, on orders to redirect control of various sub systems to here so they could be controlled by one man.”

  Xenias nodded closely.

  “Makes sense, I’ve been thinking of doing the same. These old cruisers were built with some odd design ideas. Anyway, get him up here fast. I need this old bird clamped down tight.”

  He then turned to Artemas.

  “As for you, I see you have played your part in regaining control of this ship. That buys you time, for now. I suggest you join the others out there and help with the defences.”

  She looked to Xenophon, as though he were her superior.

  “What are you looking at him for? I am in charge here.”

  “Sir, control is restored. We have full command and control, as well as use of the communications gear.”

  “Excellent, put me on speakers. It’s time everybody in this ship understood who is in charge and what is happening. We are rejoining the Armada, and any one that stands in our way can take a step outside,” he said with malice in his voice.

  “Dukas, before you speak, I have something else for you,” said Artemas.

  The Dukas held the communication microphone in his hand and considered whether to hear her speak. It looked as though he would dismiss her, but something intrigued him.

  “Be quick, we have a course to plot here!”

  Xenophon supported her as she moved closer, and one of the crew helped to peel back her shredded clothing around the armour. There
was quite a bit of blood, but the wound looked a lot less serious than he suspected it might be.

  “After we were attacked, I was able to get a short message from one of our listening posts. There are rumours of ship movements on a course for Khorram, Terran ships, not ours. If our agents at the listening posts are right, then they are expecting a large Terran fleet to arrive within the week.”

  He looked surprised at the news.

  “Terran fleet, as in our Armada, the Legion?”

  He placed his chin in his hands and thought. The Dekarchos called over.

  “Dukas, we have the crew’s attention. They are waiting for you.”

  He looked back to Artemas.

  “Get your wound seen to, and meet me back here in fifteen minutes. We have things to discuss.”

  With that she was dismissed, and he looked back to his crew. Xenophon moved nearer and checked the wound himself, being as careful as possible not to touch it.

  “I’ve never seen a Medes bleed before,” he grinned.

  She was already feeling quite weak, but he couldn’t tell if it was from exertion, exhaustion or blood loss. Her took her weight and moved to the door.

  “That’s just what I’ve always wanted to hear a man tell me,” she said weakly.

  He lifted her carefully and kept moving. Glaucon and Roxana approached while Tamara checked the bodies of some of those that had fallen. Xenophon hoped she was checking for survivors and not looting the bodies. Glaucon helped take the weight of Artemas, and they followed the floor markings to the nearest infirmary. According to the symbols, it was less than thirty metres away. More of Xenias’ men were now armed, and the main corridors were full of loyal men and women, all looking signs of those that had so recently turned on them.

  Roxana looked over Artemas and shook her head.

  “It’s always the same with you two, always chasing a piece of tail.”

  Glaucon and Xenophon looked at each other and laughed.

  “What so funny, I’m being serious,” she replied, feigning being hurt. Glaucon almost leered at her before speaking.

  “Well, we have to find it where we can!”

  She shook her head in annoyance at the two of them. They were already at the infirmary, and inside were at least a dozen wounded people, some with terrible injuries. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Tamara pull something from one of the dead traitors. She looked carefully and was convinced she saw a smile on the young woman’s face.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Approaching Khorram shipyards

  The briefing room was filled with the shapes of two dozen of the Dukas and senior ship commanders in the Armada. Unlike the main command deck of the Titan, this part of the ship was designed both as a place to plan strategy as well as to entertain and also impress foreign dignitaries. Clearchus watched them arrive one by one and remembered vividly the dozens of occasions where other races had entered in the same fashion. The room itself was located within the great hall where it formed a separate ante-chamber. Anybody visiting must first walk through the impressive hall. Numerous cabinets and trophies filled the space with relics and trophies from scores of campaigns; many conducted under the guidance of Clearchus himself prior to his exile. He recalled the consternation when the ship itself had been handed over for use in the campaign. Though he was an exile, it was well known the decision was purely political. He couldn’t directly command the ship, but he could command the Legion from within it.

  “Is this all of them?” asked Cyrus impatiently.

  Clearchus looked at him and did his best to hold his tongue.

  “All those that need to be here,” he replied with barely concealed hostility. He wanted to lash out at the incident with Menon and Ariaeus on the Aronton Station. They had now long left the sector, but the casualties for the skirmish still remained, as did his suspicions about those Cyrus dealt with. Cyrus noticed his glance.

  “Where is Ariaeus?” he asked suspiciously.

  “He is coming. My intelligence staff has fully debriefed him as to his side of what happened in Aronton.”

  Cyrus turned to look at the rest of those arriving.

  “Yes, I read the report. Shame about Menon, he could have been a potential ally in this coming struggle.”

  “Ally, you do remember he turned those machines on us upon arriving, don’t you?”

  Cyrus smiled back at him.

  “Of course, I didn’t say he would be my friend. Menon was nothing but a pragmatist. He will want to join whichever side appears to have the advantage. If we could have persuaded him my forces could win this fight, I’m sure we could have added his forces to ours.”

  Clearchus considered telling him what he had seen on the station, but he remembered the old adage of information being power. Right now, it was information he couldn’t use, so perhaps it would become useful later on. He sighed but did his best to hide it. He didn’t need to continue as the last contingent arrived, including his two deputies, the battle hardened topoteretes Kleandridas and Pleistoanax. The room went quiet. He looked once more at Cyrus and lifted his hands, calling out to the commanders.

  “Dukas and leaders of the Legion, we are fast approaching our objective and possibly the greatest battle of your careers. The route we have taken has been long and dangerous but will take us into the heart of the Empire. We have bypassed the most commonly travelled routes and will jump directly into the Khorram shipyards.

  A murmur of surprise rippled through the assembled group. Clearchus looked at the faces in front of him and tried to gauge what they were thinking. The most consistent look was of astonishment.

  “Now, I’m sure you are all familiar with the reputation of the Khorram shipyards. They are the main Imperial shipyards for the fleet. There we will find orbital platforms, half constructed ships plus ammunition and supplies to equip a force five times our number.”

  He turned to where the long table was fitted and pressed a button, and up popped a highly detailed three-dimensional model of the Khorram region. Most would probably expect it to be one planet surrounded by stations, but it was something much more complex. The region included a super massive planet, much like old Earth but at least triple its size. Three dozen artificial moons orbited the planet and each of those was surrounded by platforms, smaller stations and columns of ships. It was unlike anything any of them had ever seen before.

  “There are a number of routes that will take us to the Core Worlds. We can move directly through the Babylon Star Fortresses, but that would be suicidal. Instead, we will strike their main naval facility and cripple their fleet in one swift strike. From there, we can repair and resupply at our leisure. Artaxerxes will either have to face us there or leave most of his Empire open to destruction by our marauders. Now, any questions before I begin?”

  The two topoteretes were the only warriors that seemed unconcerned at his statement so far. Sosis the Syracusan from the Titan Poseidon nodded first. Clearchus waved with his hand to take the question.

  “Your strategy for assaulting their fleet is commendable, but is this part of the Empire even better protected than the Core Worlds themselves? If so, then why not smash directly into the Empire and drive on to the capital of Babylon Prime with a surgical strike of overwhelming firepower and violence?”

  A few mutters from the others in the room voiced their agreement, and Clearchus considered ending the discussion immediately. He had already decided on the plan of action, but it was often useful to hear what his other commanders had to say. After all, the Dukas were all technically the same rank and experience as him. It was only his virtue as a Laconian Strategos with substantial experience that had made his selection as military leader a foregone conclusion. A vote of no confidence by the remaining Dukas could easily move the command to one of them instead, as was the old Terran custom.

  “That is an excellent point,” he said in as conciliatory tone as he could muster. He looked to the model on the table and moved his hand
to select and highlight the dozens of ships. The number of ships paled only when compared to the sheer size of at least half a dozen of them. He looked back and grinned.

  “Anybody here that thinks Artaxerxes doesn’t know we’re coming is a fool. If he didn’t know before, he will certainly know since out action at Aronton.”

  That last comment caught the entire group by surprise. Even Cyrus appeared a little taken aback at the suggestion his enemy and rival might know they were on the way.

  “The only questions he will be asking are not if, but when and where we will strike?”

  He pointed to the Core Worlds, the thick section of stars and planets at the far right of his model.

  “He knows he has numbers and time on his side. He will expect us to hunt him down and engage him. It is in his interest to stay away and let time, money and sniping attacks do the work for him. Remember that in the past, we have heard of only a few operations that forced their way inside the Empire. Every time they have made a little progress and then been consumed by the many headed hydra that it is. We cannot, under any circumstances play his game.”

  He moved the map to bring the Core Worlds as well as the shipyards all into view.

  “If he knows about the Legion, the he will be rallying his forces to himself so he can prepare for the inevitable battle. By striking at a site as important as the Naval Yards, he must either meet us, or allow us to wreak havoc wherever we feel.”

  He then looked to Cyrus who was busy nodding with agreement. In fact, Clearchus almost had to hold him back from leaping in and speaking. He moved aside just enough to give the Medes noble room to reach the map model.

  “The Empire is a misnomer, as the territory is actually a massive collection of fiefdoms, kingdoms and territories. They are all governed by Imperial Satraps that answer directly to the Emperor, my brother. Now, Artaxerxes has enemies throughout the Empire, including many of these regional governors. If there is any sign of weakness shown by him, he can expect satraps like Tissaphernes to turn on him throughout the Empire. The more damage we cause, the more he will be forced to act.”