Black Legion: Gates of Cilicia

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Are you alright?” asked Xenophon, concerned that he might have hurt his friend.

  Glaucon lifted his blade and swung it around, flexing his wrist. He stepped in, saying nothing. Xenophon could sense the hostility and anger in the young man, so moved his sword and buckler forward. He’d been in this situation before, where one fighter had been struck and was keen to retaliate to try and wipe the shame. The attacks came in hard and fast. He was forced to use his buckler and sword to fend off a dozen strikes before taking cover behind one of the many floor-to-ceiling pillars.

  “You’re not making much progress are you?” he laughed, more out of nervous surprise at not being hit than from arrogance.

  “Funny!” muttered Glaucon, and he rushed forward. Sensing an opportunity, Xenophon ducked low and lifted his buckler up to protect his head. He stabbed forward and directly into the centre of his opponent’s body mass. Glaucon smashed his blade down hard but was deflected by his buckler. The blade struck him just below the sternum and knocked him back almost a metre before he was able to stand upright. If it had been a sharp sword, it would have penetrated through his body and pushed out of his back.

  The crowd cheered their approval, and Kratez stepped forward to intercede. The old man may be too frail to engage in the same kind of activity, but he knew full well when a fight was about to move from a friendly exchange to something more serious.

  “Screw this, let’s get the real blades out,” said Glaucon loudly. He dropped the weapons on the floor and marched to the case. He reached inside the blackness and pulled out two large metal longswords. The great two-handed swords were a weapon of brutality and skill. Weighing double the weight of the swords they had been using, it was carefully balanced to make it suitable for cutting and thrusting. Contrary to what most people thought, they were wickedly fast and capable of causing serious injuries from but cut and blunt trauma. The sharp cutting demonstrations they had made were useful evidence for the deadly weapons and their use on the battlefield.

  “Come on, that’s enough,” said Xenophon, as he did his best to discourage his friend.

  “No, you wanted to fight. Let’s show them what we can do.”

  He threw the blade to Xenophon and then chased after it, barely giving him a chance to prepare himself. They clashed metal blades together as both cut down from the right. The ding of metal caught the audience by surprise, as it was very unusual to see primitive metal weapons being used in this way. Glaucon lifted his hands and hilt upwards and drove underneath to knee Xenophon in the stomach. The blow was hard and sent him staggering back.

  Is he mad? These are just bated blades, and we’re not wearing armour! thought Xenophon.

  Glaucon jumped forward and brought his blade down in a powerful vertical cut. Xenophon, still stunned by the strike to his stomach, was barely able to lift his sword in time and took part of the impact into his shoulder blade. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor.

  “Enough!” shouted Kratez. Glaucon manoeuvred for another cut, and it took three of the spectators to grab him before he realised how wild he was becoming. He stopped and dropped the blade to the floor, stepping to the fallen Xenophon.

  “Sorry, buddy, I think I got a bit carried away there.”

  Xenophon coughed and lifted up to one knee.

  “You’re not kidding,” he said, doing his best to laugh, but the pain in his shoulder was spreading to his chest. Glaucon reached over and helped the young man to his feet. He lifted his hand up high in the air and lifted Xenophon’s as well. The audience roared in approval, and Xenophon wondered through the dripping sweat if it was the bloodlust of watching the fight, or genuine interest that drove them. He suspected the former.

  “The result, they’re announcing it now!” called out one of the women towards the rear of the group.

  “Everybody quiet, put it up on the displays!” cried Kratez.

  Part of the wall flashed with light and then displayed a wide, panoramic view of the Presidential Palace. The building was the most important political structure in the Alliance, and from where supreme authority in both Attica and the entire Empire was controlled. The President herself stepped into view, a powerful woman in her late fifties. She had been a Captain in the early years of the war and won the votes of many of the military community that had served over the years. In the Alliance democracy, however, her role was limited. The real power lay in the permanent members of the Boule; the veterans who presided over official business and decided what would be discussed and what vote would take place. The President was a mere figurehead who represented the Alliance and made long and boring speeches. At least, that was Xenophon’s assessment.

  “My fellow citizens. Today is a grave day indeed. As you know, we have been involved with border skirmishes and open battle with the Laconian League for nearly thirty years. Today a vote was cast by every single citizen member of the Alliance to make a decision, possibly the most important one of the century. Until now, our forces have assisted our allied worlds against the oppressive actions of the League. So far, we have avoided a direct confrontation with the Laconians themselves. With the mobilisation of their entire military they have struck our friends, and they have been powerless to hold them back. It is one thing to provide military assistance, and quite another to put the lives of the men and women of the Alliance in harm’s way.

  Glaucon pulled Xenophon close to him.

  “I told you, the people want it.”

  The people are idiots. If we did what they wanted, we’d all be poor and sitting around wondering what went wrong, he said to himself.

  “The complete results from all voting stations through Alliance territory are in. I therefore announce the vote is unanimous, and with seventy-two percent voting in favour of the proposal. It is with a heavy heart that I announce the intention for a general call-up by lottery of those of service age, to serve for as long as is necessary to end this war once and for all. As you will all understand, this mass mobilisation is for a single reason. The Armada will assemble and be used directly against the Laconian League. As of five minutes ago, we are at war with the League, and may the Gods save us all.”

  Xenophon shook his head at the news. Deep down he knew the public would vote for it, but it still hurt. As a young boy, he had visited with a number of the key Laconian families and had found more similarities than differences in their outlook on life. Just because they refused the so-called enlightened views of the Alliance, they were considered backward primitives.

  War with the Laconians? They should be our allies, not our enemies. The fools! Look what they’ve done, he muttered inwardly.

  Glaucon and most of the other young people stood up. Some shouted, but most simply cheered. Kratez also stood, but he neither said nor did anything. He had that look he was so familiar with. The one he reserved for when a particularly taxing problem appeared. Xenophon moved over to him, still only half dressed from the fighting display.

  “You’re not cheering, either?” he asked.

  “Of course not. War has a sweet taste to the young, but as you gain in age and wisdom, it turns bitter. I fought in the border skirmishes with the Laconians. They are born to fight, and no sacrifice is too great for them.”

  Xenophon nodded in agreement.

  “You think this is a mistake?”

  “To go to war with the Laconians? Of course, and how far are we prepared to go? Will we keep fighting when half of the boys and girls sent to fight are dead or badly hurt? The one thing we know about the Laconians is they will not give ground. The harder we press them, the harder they will fight. In all my years, I know of only one occasion where the Laconians surrendered. The potential loss of just three hundred of their warriors was enough for them to come to the table. They may not have many citizens, not like the hordes that we have. The real difference is that one of theirs is worth a hundred Alliance citizens.”

  Glaucon stood up on one of the tables. He held one of the many glasses of wine up high and w
histled loudly. He found it difficult to balance, and it took three people grabbing at him to keep him stable.

  “Everyone! Today is a momentous day. It is the day we finally got off our collective arses and made the decision to wipe out the Laconians, once and for all. They have pushed us at every opportunity, and now they will see what the might of our Armada can do. A toast!”

  He lifted his glass up high, and the rest of the audience did the same.

  “The Alliance!” he shouted and threw back his glass. The rest of the assembled friends and strangers alike lifted their own glasses.

  “The Alliance!” called out the rest as they joined in with his sentiments. Xenophon watched them all with a feeling of despair and dismay.

  What are the odds I get called up to fight in this idiotic war? he thought.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gamma Squadron, Aegospotami Nebulae

  Xenophon gazed through his virtual windows and out into space. His plan hadn’t worked out as expected. Instead of staying at home, he’d been forced to join the Alliance Navy. That was six months ago, and he was now on his first military posting. Six months had seemed like years, but he still felt far from ready to take part in the campaign against the Laconians. For a brief moment, he forgot he was looking at an electrostatic polymer display rather than the reinforced glass it emulated. The centimetre-thick unit was part of nearly thirty similar units installed through the gundecks and command centre. It gave the impression the ship was thin skinned and surrounded by glass. A shape like that of a diamond glistened, and the object gave off flickers of light of many colours. He looked at it carefully, and the display quickly altered the camera’s level of magnification, detecting his gaze and interest.

  Just more stars. Where are they? They are out there somewhere, he wondered.

  They had been out in this part of space for almost an hour now, and the adrenalin pumping through his body was starting to make him feel sick. There were so many dots and smudges of light out there, and any one of them could be a ship with its own gunners watching down their own barrels. The thought sent a shudder through his body. The ship’s sensor package was working at full capacity, but there was only so much space it could monitor. That didn’t preclude the enemy from simply jamming the sensors themselves.

  He looked at the configuration panel to his right and considered running another optimisation subroutine. The plasma charging system was running at over ninety eight percent, and far more than was required to work well in combat.

  Screw it, ninety-eight will do, he thought, but looked about to see what the rest of the gunners were doing. They appeared to be checking their systems, but they could equally just be sat, waiting as he was. He sighed.

  Something happen, anything!

  The small flotilla of six Hydra class Alliance destroyers moved from their defensive positions outside of the Aegospotami Nebulae. They were only twenty parsecs from their operating base, but it felt as though they were ten times that distance away. It was an easy trip of two jumps to get back, assuming resupply drones were waiting at the supply point.

  We could do it in one jump though, he reminded himself.

  The safe maximum jump distance was supposed to be limited to fifteen parsecs, but the emergency reserves could be used to boost the trip to twenty. The thought of being left stranded in space was a terrifying thought. As one of the many patrols looking for the Laconian fleet, they needed to travel far from their base to hunt for any signs of the dreaded flotilla. The Alliance ships were small, fast and lightly armoured, but they could do little against a main warship. Their orders were simple; record the enemy disposition and course, then return to the designation jump co-ordinates and transmit the data back to fleet command at their base.

  Can we make it out of here if they turn up? The fear of a major warship started to grow in his thoughts. I need to check the guns. It was his job, and returning to it might take his mind off the waiting.

  There were rumours of a small battlegroup that was hunting scouts and escorts. The Captain had tried to quell the comments, but Xenophon couldn’t be the only one keeping an eye on the casualty reports.

  Come on. Show yourselves.

  They had left their outpost, Fort Plymouth, a place of warmth and security. As one of the small number of Olympus class outposts, it was one of the most important parts of the Alliance military and both a major asset and target. As powerful as a capital ship, and the home to thousands of personnel, it was the heart of the war effort. Through careful planning and engineering, the base had been well hidden in the Nebulae and was ideally placed to provide food and supplies for ships that were so far from home. It needed to be, as they were so many jumps from home. It would take months to make the return voyage, and without a base they would be forced to abandon this sector to the enemy. The outpost itself carried over a thousand people as well as the all-important FTL beacon. Using this device, a ship could make a jump of almost ten light-years in a single trip. As the ships had moved away, Xenophon had spent almost twenty minutes looking at the fleet stationed in the sector, hundreds of ships, and all waiting for news on the enemy fleet. But it wasn’t these vessels that interested him. No, it was the six Titans. These were the largest and most powerful ships he had ever seen, and the largest warships built by humanity. At almost twelve hundred metres long, these behemoths carried enough people and weapons to bring entire planets to their knees. Although only one had actually been constructed at the homeworld, the rest were from the scores of Alliance worlds. Each was held by a close bond to the mother city, as well as the fear of the Armada, a military force they were forced to contribute towards. The ships might not all originate from one place, but they were all crewed by loyal members of the Alliance.

  Here we go again.

  A low rumble came from the bowels of the ship. It was the main thrusters powering down. They were less violent than the FTL engines but still sent a shudder through the small ship. They shut down, leaving the ship to coast through space until they reached the designated location. With no other ships in the area, the small group of frigates pushed out on a wide search vector. Each of the ships left a small multi-coloured wake in the cloud of gas and dust. They were spaced out at one hundred kilometres apart; a gap that was a mere hair width in space. At a length of one hundred and fifty metres, and with a crew of one hundred and ninety five, the vessels were the smallest self-sufficient ships in the Alliance Armada. The destroyers had the look of large predatory fish from Ancient Earth, with large frontal sections and long tails that carried a multitude of antenna and sensors. The lead ship in the formation carried three white stripes that ran down the sides in a regular pattern. The rest carried their simple dull red blue finish as used on the rest of the fleet.

  “This is the Captain. We have just received word from our sentry drones. A force of Laconian ships has been detected in quadrant alpha twelve. Check your systems, we jump in thirty seconds.”

  Thirty seconds and enemy ships detected. Is this it?

  Xenophon gulped at the realisation he was finally going into action. His mouth dried at the mere thought of the dreaded Laconian fleet. His training kicked in, and he ran his eyes along the lines of data, checking the power levels, plasma generators and targeting grid.

  As the craft moved from the protection of the vast Armada, each one flashed and then vanished. The faster than light (FTL) engines of each frigate propelled them away at unimaginable speed to their patrol area. Inside the ship, Xenophon did his best to not retch. No other members of the vessel seemed to be adversely affected by the journey. He was certainly the most recent addition to the crew, but even so he would have expected other members to experience at least mild discomfort during the trip.

  “Three minutes until arrival, charging up primary weapon generators. All stations report in,” said the Captain.

  Xenophon scanned from left to right, looking at scores of numbers and diagrams that showed him everything from the temperature of the barrels to the heart
rates of his two assistants.

  “Everything looks good,” he said, partially to confirm, but also to reassure himself that he had made no mistakes. The trigger locks were still active and could only be withdrawn by the tactical officer or commander of the gundeck.

  “News coming in from Headquarters, a Strike force has been tracked by our primary fleet, and they are in pursuit. Arrival in sixty seconds,” said the Captain.

  Xenophon’s pulse was now pounding. He could see his own life signs on the monitor suite next to him. The increase in heart rate simply made him more anxious. One alert message popped up. There was a slight anomaly in the targeting system. It wasn’t serious, but it did throw him into a minor panic. The change in pressure inside the ship hit inside his skull, and the feeling of sickness feel quickly returned.

  We must be there, he thought.

  “Battlestations!” called out the Captain through the embedded communication nodes fitted to every crewman. The small device was fitted behind the ear and several millimetres under the skin. Xenophon reached out and touched the spot where it had been inserted. The doctors said he would feel its presence, but he felt it anyway. The ship FTL engine cut out, and his view of the stars shifted from streaks to a still, almost beautiful starscape.

  “Enemy ships detected at mark three point five. Ready the guns. It’s a scouting party.”

  Xenophon looked around to the rest of the gundeck and then up to the command centre. Dozens of crew moved about, and each carried out their duties as quickly as they could. He had two crew under his control, and they worked furiously to carry out their work of preparing the individual guns, monitoring their power levels and anything else needed to get the ship ready for battle. There were two other gundeck sections, and just like this one, arrayed in a crescent shape around the command centre of the ship. It meant the Captain, command crew and the gunners, were all in sight of each other. Each gundeck, and its weapons, had an arc of fire that covered a full third of the ship. His particular gundeck on the starboard side was tiny compared to the similar parts of the much larger capital ships. He imagined himself commanding a gun crew on one of the Titans stationed around the supply base. That was just a dream though.