Black Legion - The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Of course. This task was to be carried out by Clearchus. I forget sometimes that you Terrans equip yourselves for these kinds of battles. Meno’s warriors have established a fortified landing zone and are still landing their supplies for the battle.”

  The Median commander nodded to Cyrus and spoke a mere handful of words. Cyrus nodded, turning back to Xenophon. The commander, in the meantime, appeared agitated and after making several quick calls on his equipment, gave the signal for yet another assault.

  “We have to keep attacking. The minute we slow down, they will be on us.”

  He then moved over to his officers where he could direct the battle. Xenophon and Glaucon moved off to the left where a ruined wall section gave them a reasonably safe view of the unfolding battle. Directly in front of Cyrus’ position were two full companies of Anusiyan guards. They were spread out amongst the rubble and taking pot shots at the enemy on the walls. Off to the flanks, a dozen platoons of soldiers charged out across the open ground towards the wall. Those with heavy weapons blasted away, and a number managed to tear large holes in the wall. Only a few made it past the maelstrom and surged into the tiny gaps.

  “They’ll never take the place at this rate. A child can defend a hole the size of one man. We need breaches, big ones. Either that, or we take out their air defences and fly over it.”

  Xenophon looked up at the scores of smoke and vapour trails from dromons, fighters and gunships. The sky was a dangerous place for any of them, least of all the vulnerable transports.

  “No chance. We need air cover and time to bring down the gun emplacements and missile batteries. After we have taken the outer walls, our armoured troops can smash inside and take the place, room by room.”

  A loud screaming sound announced the arrival of the armoured spearhead of Meno and his forces. Eight dromons and an equal number of fighters came in low and fast. Once in range, the fighters unleashed three volleys of guided missiles and then strafed the towers. Explosions rippled through the masonry and metal, and the entire frontline vanished in smoke and dust.

  “Look,” exclaimed Artemas. She was pointing at one of the command screens. It was sitting on a table nearby and showed an aerial view of the battlefield from one of the many reconnaissance drones circling overhead. The dromons had all moved directly over the wall and were landing soldiers the other side. Two were destroyed by gunfire, but in the confusion, four managed to land under fire. Two more were chased off and crashed safely on Cyrus’ side of the wall.

  “That isn’t Meno. Look at the dromons!” said Roxana. She was also watching the feed.

  “You’re right. Those are Dukas Xenias’ troops,” said a surprised sounding Xenophon.

  “Where the hell is Meno, then?”

  They all looked at the map, but there were no more dromons to be seen within this part of the battlefield. Ariaeus noticed their interested and approached the screen. He tapped it and switched it off.

  “Protect Lady Artemas and stay out of trouble. This battle will be fought and won by Medes warriors.”

  Another platoon of Anusiyans arrived, but this time carrying some kind of relic. It looked like an old flag but emblazoned with the iconography of Cyrus. Four guards stood around it. They had carbines held in slings across their bodies. Xenophon looked in fascination at the design, noting the mention of Aegospotami towards the bottom. He assumed it was a battle honour of sorts.

  “Looks like they’re getting ready for a big push, don’t you think?” Glaucon asked.

  Xenophon nodded.

  “Yeah, a suicide attack, more like. They need to wait until the entire Legion is here. We don’t have infinite resources for this fight.”

  Tamara groaned, partially out of pain but also out of boredom. They had been in the position for several minutes now, and she was rarely known for her patience.

  “So what are we going to do then? Wait here, join the attack, or move to the rear.”

  Xenophon wasn’t quite sure as to what he should suggest. He was saved by an ear-splitting scream when two missiles whistled overhead and slammed into the building to their left. On cue, an armoured transport appeared almost a hundred metres away and stopped just metres from the blast. Dirt and debris landed all around the thick metal armour. Unlike the Medes vehicles, this one was tracked and heavily armoured. The markings were those of Meno’s, and as soon as it stopped, a large number of Terran spatharii jumped out and fanned out in front of the vehicles. Next came small groups of men carrying heavy pieces of equipment. They moved in front of the soldiers and activated the devices that created a shimmering, almost invisible field in front that could absorb or deflect most small arms fire.

  “Shield generators, about damned time!” said Glaucon happily.

  The door fitted to the front of the vehicle dropped down like a boarding ramp, and from the blackness inside emerged the shape of Dukas Meno. His armour was black and adorned with trophies from a dozen raids in his suspicious career. He carried a heavily modified pulse rifle in both hands but held it down low, as if he expected to not have to face a single enemy. He marched forward, his soldiers moving ahead with their mobile shield generators. They pushed passed Cyrus’ forward position and mixed in with the Anusiyans along their front position. Right behind them followed another three armoured vehicles; this time a series of tracked APCs fitted with close range rocket systems. They were designed to break siege works and built specifically for this kind of work. They stopped and just a few moments later, a number of built-in shield generators activated to create a barrier along their frontal armour. Meno marched past Xenophon and threw him a cursory glance.

  “We’re going in, care to join us?” he said bitterly, stopping near Cyrus.

  “My Lord, my vanguard is here and ready to break their lines. Dukas Xenias is landing spatharii behind their walls. This is the moment, are you ready to end this fight?”

  Cyrus looked surprised, but Xenophon felt nothing but dread. He turned to look to his friends.

  “Is he serious? He’s brought what, two hundred men and a few siege guns? They’ll be through the walls and massacred on the other side if they try to end this fight quickly.”

  Roxana looked up to the walls.

  “I agree. You saw the aerial imagery of the compound. The outer walls are just the first stage. The Citadel itself is going to be a problem. If they just send everything through the breaches, they’ll end up trapped between the walls and the Citadel. Getting a few men inside isn’t the problem; it’s getting enough men and equipment inside alive and able to finish the job.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Citadel of Cunaxa, Cunaxa Secundus

  As the previous seven great sieges of the Citadel of Cunaxa had shown, its great walls were both tall and thick. Bodies littered their foundations and holes covered the outer skin, yet still they stood. Cheering Medes soldiers taunted the attackers outside and took the occasional shot as they watched the shattered remnants of Cyrus’ attack fall back. Falling back was something of a misnomer; it was in reality something more akin to a total rout. The nickname being called down was the unbreakable walls of Cunaxa and for those few survivors running for their lives, the name was all too true. The defeat of Cyrus’ ground attack on the outer walls cost him over two thousand warriors, most of whom were the lightly armoured automatons. A surprising number made it to the breaches, but it was the prepared ground on the other side that took the greatest toll. As small groups emerged through the narrow breaches in the ancient walls, the sight of thousands of waiting warriors greeted them. Dug in behind recently built inner defensive walls and bunkers, they shot dead hundreds as they staggered inside. To make matters worse, the scores of turrets on the towers and the Royal buildings picked off the odd straggler that survived the initial gunfire. Xenophon and his group had moved back and joined one of the mixed groups of Arcadian warriors that had just arrived by APC. They were men and women from Dukas Xenias’ forces and included a number of the Night Blades stratiotes unit they h
ad first joined, back when the Legion had been formed. There was little time for niceties though, as multiple defensive barrages from the Citadel itself had forced them all into the ruins for protection.

  “What the hell are they doing?” asked Tamara.

  From the massive towers that studded the walls came massive enfilade fire. Volley after volley of fully automatic pulse gunfire shredded the attackers, sending the survivors running for cover or into retreat.

  “This is a disaster!” snapped Cyrus to Meno.

  He looked accusingly at the Terran, but he seemed more interested in watching the survivors retreating through their frontlines. He tapped the communications node in his helmet as though he was suffering some kind of malfunction.

  “This is Dukas Meno. I am not asking for your advice. I am giving you an order!”

  There was a short pause, and he turned and spoke to one of his waiting retainers. The soldier was dressed like all the Thessalian spatharii in his Black Legion uniform but had regional armour and equipment. The soldier nodded and went to speak with his comrades. Meno spotted Cyrus looking at him.

  “The Mulacs, they are refusing to provide close support to the forward units.”

  Cyrus brought his fist down on the upturned metal box being used to rest the mapping equipment on. He started to speak, but a serious of loud explosions behind their positions forced them to drop down to cover. It didn’t last long, and as they returned to their positions, Meno stepped to the computer and examined the aerial view. Trails from a dozen missile turrets rushed out and struck groups huddling behind whatever cover they could find. Each impact added more dead Medes to the list of casualties. Meno watched with a self-satisfied smug as his own men waited near the walls with their powerful mobile shield generators. At the same time, hundreds of automatons streamed past them, many of whom had thrown away their weapons and were running for their lives. The dull staccato crackle of pulse file from behind their own positions served as an apt reminder as to the dangers of retreat. Meno had seen firsthand how the Median officers had set up a series of command posts at fixed intervals. Each had a number of pulse-cannon positioned to repel a possible enemy counterattack or to discourage cowardice.

  “I see your own men didn’t join the attack?” accused Ariaeus.

  Meno looked at the debacle and tilted his head slightly. The sound of the Medes killing their own men for retreating reminded him of how little respect he had for them. Even more deplorable, these soldiers were poorly prepared for the ardours of siege warfare. Their armour was hopelessly weak, and they lacked anything more powerful than pulse cannons to bring down the walls. The look on his face was nothing but contemptuous for either of the Median commanders. To Ariaeus it could have been confusion, but Cyrus knew immediately he was being disrespectful towards his second-in-command.

  “Meno, answer him!”

  The Terran Dukas looked at Cyrus and considered his options.

  This idle, pompous coward waits behind his own men.

  The battle was not going well, and of those troops in position, he could count less than a thousand truly capable of bringing the first assault of the battle to a successful conclusion. Even more deplorable though, there was no clear leader on the ground. In theory, Cyrus was in charge, yet none of the Legion or the allied factions from the length and breadth of the Empire would take the noble seriously on his own. Clearchus was the only man in the Legion truly capable of keeping the disparate factions in order. Of them all, he was the strongest and the most experienced in the command of large land battles.

  Clearchus, you are my enemy, but today we all need you to come down from your damned ship and do the job you were paid for!

  Cyrus spotted his expression and for the briefest of moments, he felt nervous at the sight of a fully armoured Terran Dukas stood so close.

  “Noble Ariaeus. My numbers are limited. Most of my heavy infantry are still making their way here. I will not waste them when you have warriors purely capable of this task,” he explained, lifting his hands towards the walls.

  “This task? You mean the task of dying in great numbers in front and behind these walls?” sneered Ariaeus.

  Meno smiled.

  “Partially, though they do seem inherently capable of this role. No, there is more than this. They are fulfilling a vital role that only foot soldiers can achieve. I have learned their capabilities, numbers and strong points, all without losing any of my experienced infantry. When the time comes, you will be thankful for their armour and skills. Now I can place my armoured units into the safest and most tactically sound position along this wall. We will start the primary attack shortly.”

  Ariaeus looked less than impressed at these words. He pointed to the walls. As the commander of Cyrus’ ground forces, he was responsible for the largest contingent of warriors, larger than the entire Black Legion.

  “What about Xenias and his men? Now they are trapped inside the Citadel and without help. Will you let a fellow Dukas die for the sake of a few minutes?”

  Meno snorted. “Xenias is no fool.”

  He then stepped out from the cover and looked up to the walls. The Medes officers stayed safely in cover and watched as a dozen pulse rounds struck around him. Two struck his torso and simply bounced off, striking the debris around him. He pointed to a series of five towers off to the left, their tops just showing from behind the high walls.

  “Have you not heard? The survivors of his unit have taken control of the third tower, up there!”

  “But that’s inside the wall!” complained Ariaeus.

  Cyrus took a step forward and pulled the pistol Clearchus had given him from his belt. His face was resolute, and it was clear that he intended to do something. Ariaeus spotted him moving closer to the Terran commander. He was still standing out and in plain sight of the enemy. But before he spoke, his commander stopped and listened to something, presumably on his intercom unit. He looked at Ariaeus, shook his head and spoke angrily. After he’d finished, he moved closer to Meno and Ariaeus.

  “Then we had better hope Clearchus and the rest of the Legion gets here soon. I’ve just been sent the code signal from Valediction. They are in orbit and dropping gunships and dromons at this very moment. Herakles is doing the same, and a dozen heavy transports are bringing in the rest of the ground troops. It still may not be soon enough. We have to secure these walls and relieve Xenias’ troops. Quickly, because if we’re stuck out here, in less than an hour, we’ll be dead.”

  Meno looked first to Ariaeus and then back to Cyrus.

  “What?”

  He turned away and moved to the tactical mapping units balanced precariously on the metal crates and containers. The aerial view showed the Citadel, as well as the ruined city around it. To the right were a dozen landing zones; each marked in green. He then moved his hand to the top of the map.

  “Here. It isn’t just Clearchus and the Legion that have arrived. I’ve just received word from our scouts to the North that a secondary force has been detected three kilometres out from the city limits. They are advancing at speed and making for this point.”

  Ariaeus spoke quickly, but Cyrus lifted his hand and simply said. “Terran.”

  The Median noble looked unimpressed at being forced to resume speaking in the Dukas’ native tongue, but he had no choice.

  “Whose secondary force? Are they with us or against us?”

  Cyrus shrugged and stabbed his hand directly between the Citadel and the landing zones.

  “The scouts’ last message was that the vehicles were carrying the battle standards of Tissaphernes. Their estimates were eight thousand or more infantry and upwards of a hundred armoured vehicles. There is more though. Before they were attacked, the scouts said they’d also identified massive machines from the robotic domains. I suggest that he means to cut us off from our reserves. If he succeeds, then we’ll be the ones trapped here, and I promise you, my brother will want his revenge!”

  Cyrus rubbed his chin as he considered his o
ptions.

  “Machines from the robotic domains, is he insane?” muttered Ariaeus.

  Meno watched the display but only for a moment. He contacted his own forces. He did not so much look concerned, more suspicious of having his forces facing unexpected enemies. As he spoke, a group of automatons rushed past them, running as fast as their bruised and bloodied legs would carry them. A second group also ran past but slowed and finally stopped upon seeing their leader out on the frontline. They seemed surprised and also a little relived to see Cyrus out reviewing the enemy battle line rather than running back as quickly as possible.

  Cyrus noticed them stop but paid them no attention. A small group of automatons was useful but nothing compared to the battle he needed to manage. He looked to Meno, but he was still busy coordinating his newly arrived ground forces. He spotted Cyrus and stopped speaking for a moment. Cyrus turned his head and look up to the wall.

  “Where is the nearest breach?”

  Meno looked to the wall and quickly identified the position of his own forces and heavy equipment. The tactical display showed where impacts had occurred, as well as estimates to the damage so far inflicted on the old and surprisingly tough set of fortifications. One area in particular caught his eye. He raised his hand and pointed to a section two hundred metres further along the wall.

  “That is the weakest. A few more shots, and we’ll have a gap big enough to get an APC through. Why?”

  “Good. Bring it down and bring your forces forward. On my command, we are taking that wall and pushing through to Xenias. If we delay any longer, the reinforcements of Tissaphernes could be our undoing. Understood?”

  Meno considered his options for a moment. He would much rather wait for Clearchus. The Laconian commander and his vast numbers of heavy infantry and specialised equipment were their greatest chance of victory, but there were benefits to winning this battle without his help. If he was smart and managed to play the significant part in the battle, he might be rewarded to a degree even greater than that of his rivals, the Laconians. The possibility of coming out on top of his hated rival was the perfect motivation.