Black Legion: Gates of Cilicia

by Michael G. Thomas

  That looks like a drone carrier.

  It was one of the largest military ships he had ever seen and easily the size of an Alliance cruiser. From memory, these ships were used to command small strike forces. It was rare they travelled alone, and if he was right, it could be a serious problem.

  Lieutenant Devereux had already sent the data to the Captain.

  “Good work, Xenophon,” she said. “It’s definitely a drone carrier, and probably leading a small force to wipe out our scouts, one group at a time.”

  “That why they left a derelict to draw us in?” he asked.

  She nodded, but he couldn’t tell if she was impressed or irritated by his questions. Either way, they were interrupted buy the voice of the Captain.

  “All crew, prepare for FTL jump. Gunners keep the carrier busy until we’re underway.”

  Xenophon could sense the worry in the Captain’s voice. He could see why, as he watched three-dozen drones detach from the ship and set an intercept course with their own small formation of ships. The drones were small, perhaps ten metres, maybe slightly more. They were fast and lightly armed, no match for heavy fighters but easily able to swamp a few frigates, given enough time. As he watched them, he forgot to check his own tactical display. It was too late when he finally spotted the lock errors on the system.

  “No, no!” he cried to himself. The gun tracking system shutdown as powerful enemy countermeasures saturated their vessel. It was a textbook attack, and it had rendered the entire targeting matrix defunct.

  “It’s the drones,” explained Lieutenant Devereux. “Switch to manual gunnery and look for the Wild Weasel drones. Take them out.”

  A cloud of plasma rounds scattered the formation of drones, but they were already in range. The computer-controlled attack aircraft rolled with speed and precision that made his gunnery harder and harder. He looked at the first group of six, staring intently to find the illusive Wild Weasel craft. They were specially modified to suppress air defences and destroy the frigates capacity to destroy other drones. Blasts of energy fired from the guns of the drones struck their own frigate, but he was able to draw two into his sights.

  He managed to hit the first, a standard interceptor drone with two direct impacts. One plasma round was easily capable of destroying a drone, and the two simply vaporised the craft, causing enough damage to a second that it spun wildly out of control before finally self-destructing. He tried to track the rest of the formation, but it passed the ship and moved off to the port side. The automated turrets did their best to track them using optical systems, but with radar, microwave and thermal targeting all jammed, the system was severely limited. Only one more drone was hit as they moved out of sight.

  A dull rumble indicated a number of hits to the hull, but he had no idea how serious it might be. He scanned his area of space for more hostiles and was drawn to one of their destroyers. Three smouldering holes in the hull showed where one of the drones had rammed the armour and caused catastrophic damage to the vessel.

  Gods, how many men and women? One of the gundecks tore apart, and he tried to imagine how terrible it would be inside that ship. With no air, freezing temperatures and no gravity, it would be a terrible death in the void of space. His attention was brought back by another flash to his left. It indicated the arrival of more ships. The FTP drives must have been charging up as he could feel the rumble through the hull of the ship. One of the frigates to his right disappeared. As he watched the area of space it had vacated, he spotted the shapes of the newly arrived ships coalesced into mighty warships. Xenophon didn’t recognise all of them, but he did spot at least a dozen cruisers, of which at least four were definitely Laconian in design. As they arrived in position, each vessel opened fire. The powerful streaks of energy from their massed batteries sent colour pulse and beams out to their opponents.

  “Jump in 5...4...3...2...1...now!” called the helmsman. Xenophon could feel a dull throbbing in his skull as the FTL drive powered up, and with a thump they hurtled away from the battle. In just a few seconds the feeling resumed, and they were back in position around their base in the Nebula.

  “All stations report in,” called the Captain.

  Xenophon sat there quietly, an empty feeling washing over him. He had played his part in the battle, but once the warships had moved in, they had left. He wanted to know how the battle had turned out. The capital ships were the pride of the colonies, and he had spotted just a glimpse of them before the small vessel jumped back to safe space.

  “This is the Captain. Good work people. We left one frigate behind, but we did our job. We were there to draw in their drone ships. Fleet is mopping up, and I am pleased to let you know the battle is progressing well.”

  Progressing well? Xenophon thought. How could he have trained all this time, just to be sent back to the safe zone every time a battle occurred?

  “Gun crews, I need your crew to perform a full stage two service and check of all gun and capacitor system. Make sure they are ready for action in less than an hour,” ordered Lieutenant Devereux.

  Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae

  The skirmish out on the rim of the Nebula was nearly three days ago, and still Xenophon could not forget what had happened. He sat in a comfortable chair and watched the rest of the crew spending some time relaxing on board the station. This part of the recreation room was sparsely equipped with a pool table and a few vintage arcade machines set up. Two other officers sat nearby. One was busy watching news reports on a small video screen, and the second just kept looking into his glass of alcohol. He watched them both for a moment and then looked to the window. It was unusual to be able to stand near an actual window that looked out onto space. This particular area in the room gave him a perfect view of the stars, as well as the mysterious clouds of dust and gas that ran through this region.

  “Anything on this sector?” he asked the man watching the screen. The man turned, a look of irritation on his face.

  “It just says there have been three incursions by Laconian forces. All have been stopped. The media reckon we’re mobilising to fight one final battle to finish them off.”

  “Interesting,” he replied.

  “Really? How can we destroy them if we can’t even find their ships?”

  Xenophon shrugged, unsure as to what to say or even to what he was referring to. They must be doing something right if they’d hit three groups already. As he thought on the problem, he spotted a group of officers, all wearing their more casual off duty uniforms. They made their way towards him and the other midshipman from his ship.

  “Xenophon,” said Lieutenant Devereux, “very good work out on the Rim. I think you probably saved us from a nasty ambush.”

  She sat down next to him, followed by another Lieutenant that went by the name Calum. Xenophon had spoken with him on several other occasions and found the man to be infuriating.

  Why does the asshole have to come and sit next to me? Stupid socialist whiner from a worthless family and wants a handout without doing anything to deserve it, he thought angrily.

  “Thanks,” he replied when he realised he hadn’t responded to her comment.

  “What’s wrong, Xenophon? Still worried you might have to give up a few more of your family’s estate to help the rest of us?” asked Calum in his typical self-righteous tone.

  “What?” he muttered back, both unwilling and uninterested in being drawn into another argument that in reality was an excuse for the young officer to rant.

  “Well, from what you said last time, you think somehow your family deserves to see the rest of us struggle by.”

  “Struggle? Your family could afford to put you through college, and my family’s taxes paid for the time you dodged work afterwards. What did you do after college?” he snapped back, and instantly regretted opening his mouth.

  “Yeah, Calum?” asked one of the other officers, a lieutenant he didn’t recognise. The man struck Calum in the shoulder.

  “If I remember ri
ght, didn’t you want to join the experimental aircraft division as a pilot?”

  “Yeah, they didn’t have enough places though.”

  Xenophon laughed at the comment.

  “So you didn’t get the grade then? Let me guess, the system failed you?”

  “You bet your arse it failed me. Any citizen should be able to train and do what they want. Sticking limits just makes it elitist.”

  Lieutenant Devereux reached out and placed her hands on both of their shoulders.

  “Hey, you two. Give it a rest. This is the first break I’ve had in weeks, and I don’t want to spend it listening to another argument.”

  “No problem,” added Xenophon, but Calum was far from finished.

  “I’m just glad the new higher rate taxes have come in so people like you can give something back. Our system needs to be fairer to people like, well, us,” he said with both hands turned inwards.

  Alarms blasted at full volume throughout the recreation room. It was similar to the battlestations alert on board the frigate. Lieutenant Devereux looked around them and then outside through the window.

  “Look!” she said, the tone of dread obvious to them all, apart from Calum.

  Xenophon leaned in closer to the reinforced glass. There were shapes forming out there in space, and not far from the assembled Armada.

  Here? We have the entire Alliance Armada assembled and ready for war. This is madness. Xenophon argued with himself.

  “This is not a drill. We are under attack. I repeat. Fort Plymouth is under attack. All crew report to your stations!” called out the voice of whoever was in charge of the station right now.

  Lieutenant Devereux grabbed Xenophon and pulled him towards her.

  “Captain Agrippa has just sent me a call, as well as the rest of the senior officers. We’re to get to the ship fast.”

  “What the hell is happening?” he replied, but she was already moving from the room. Scores of crew rushed about, some heading to the transports, and others to the stations weapon systems. The loudspeakers continued their drone.

  “The primary Laconian Fleet has jumped in directly over the station. I repeat. The enemy fleet is....”

  The audio cut out ominously, and at the same time the station’s artificial gravity and lighting cut. The emergency lights flickered on but gravity and communications remained off. Xenophon tumbled along the corridor, his momentum keeping him moving until he struck the wall with a crunch.

  This is insanity. We can’t lose like this.

  Lieutenant Devereux was having none of it. She was at the wall and ripped open a panel to reveal a small lever. With a quick tug, she yanked it back. Lights flashed in the corridor and partial gravity was restored. It was no more than a third of normal, but it did make movement more manageable.

  “Look, the emergency override will only run for about an hour. We need to reach the lower level docking arm. It’s over there,” she explained.

  “Yeah, I know the way, come on!”

  As they bounced and jumped along the corridor, a number of dull rumbles shook the station. At first they were gentle, but the reverberations quickly spread through the innards of the structure. Xenophon couldn’t see anything, but he knew full well what was happening.

  We’re being bombarded. Yet he felt calm, even serene. Something that surprised him more than the actual attack itself. It was a sensation he had never felt before, even during his brief time aboard his frigate. Perhaps it was the inevitability of an attack as massive as this one, more likely he was so pumped up on adrenalin that he didn’t know any better.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae

  The shuttle was packed with crew from Plymouth Station. Every man and woman was desperate to leave the station and had left equipment, weapons and even clothing behind in the panic. Some were keen to return to their ship to fight, but most were more than likely terrified at the prospect of being stuck on a station they could do nothing to defend. This far out in space, the outpost was on its own. There was no planet or hilltop to retreat to. If the base were captured, you would either be killed or become a prisoner of the Laconian League. A fate that was truly worse than death. At least, that is what their instructors and commanders reiterated every day.

  More like they don’t want us abandoning our posts, deserting or simply refusing to fight, thought Xenophon wryly.

  Even as they had climbed aboard the shuttle, the breach alarms in the station had been sounded. Either heavy weapons fire had cut through the armour and shielding or even worse; Laconian warriors had landed and were in the process of taking control of the base. There was little the crew could do to oppose their professional warriors. Unlike the Laconians, the Alliance crew and military did little actual close quarter combat training. Even the use of firearms was limited to the tiny number of tactical teams used for hostage rescue or guard work. In this era of space warfare, the argument had always been that the Navy made ground combat obsolete, even vulgar. It was considered a rough throwback to the old days of Earth.

  Vulgar! Ground combat? Maybe if we trained in it, we wouldn’t be running. What if they take the station? The Armada would have to withdraw back to the homeworld. He was trying to work out what would happen to the Alliance if the battle continued on its present course. It was hard to believe that a force as substantial as the Armada could suffer anything more than a minor loss to the enemy. The complete Alliance fleet had never been defeated in open battle before. The best the Laconians had ever managed was when a handful of frigates had duelled, and it had been indecisive and proved little.

  Sat inside the craft, Xenophon thought about the state of the station he had just left. He still had pangs of guilt for leaving so fast. He knew deep down that he had done the right thing. His skills in battle were only to do with operating ship-based weapons. In a stand-up fight with professional Laconian warriors, he wouldn’t stand a chance. The Alliance had no professional infantry. Even the crew of the ships were almost all enlisted for short-term operations. The Laconians, on the other hand, came from a much poorer background but had the advantage of a small, fully professional navy and a substantial ground force of heavy infantry. These forces were known simply as Laconians, as it was the duty of all their citizens to train and prepare for war. Xenophon had always been fascinated by the Laconians and had wanted to visit their homeworld since he had been a boy.

  A great thud, like a crate being thrown at the shuttle, brought him back to his senses. A series of alarms echoed through the small space and steam blasted out from a joint on the piping above his head. A dozen cables dropped down where the damage had shredded the cables. Sparks ran along their length before the shuttle emergency system isolated and immobilised the circuit.

  What the hell is that? he thought. The crew looked about in concern at the sound, but there appeared to be no real damage. The shuttle transport was unarmoured and designed more for utility than comfort and would not stand up to much punishment if attacked. Any weapon used by the League would easily be able to damage or destroy the shuttle with little effort. There were no windows to speak of, and the passengers were all required to wear full EVA safe suits for the trip. Only half had pulled on their gear so far, the rest were struggling, and a small number just ignored the order and sat in silence.

  Listen to it, Xenophon thought to himself. The sound of the small chunks of dust and debris from the battle outside pattered the shuttle like a gentle rain shower. It was quiet and frustratingly quiet inside, but Xenophon was all too aware of the battle going on. Being blind to the world outside did have its benefits for most of those in the shuttle. Not for Xenophon, he had a vivid imagination and had seen from the station displays the great enemy fleet that had arrived. They wouldn’t have begun an evacuation unless there was the potential for defeat.

  Have we started the fightback yet? We have Titans, and nothing can stand against them, he thought. The Titans were surely so powerful they could hold off an enemy fleet on
their own.

  Curious to see what was going on, he remembered the high-speed digital media system built into every suit. He looked about until he found the link buttons. A quick tap and he was connected to the shuttle’s public interface. Various menus popped up inside his visor and by looking and thinking about the options, he was able to bring up a multitude of video feeds and reports. The shuttle was showing three external views and also repeating the public announcement channel from Plymouth Station. He selected the station feed first and almost choked at the sight.

  No, it can’t be. The station can’t take that kind of beating.

  Over thirty heavy ships were lined up and firing thick energy beams into the station. Each impact sent a shimmer around the station as its heavy shielding tried to absorb the energy.

  They’re trying to bring down the rest of the shields, he thought.

  Changing to the feeds on the shuttle, he spotted many ships engaged in a battle that was so large he could barely understand it. The Armada was being hit hard, and the terrible thing was that the enemy fleet was no larger than theirs.

  We’ve been caught with our pants down this time. He nodded to himself.

  The only thing he could think of was that it must have been the arrogance of the commanders and their position. He had been told many times in the last week about how safe they were safe in the Nebulae. It was either that, or the enemy had found a way to cripple the fleet prior to their arrival. All he could tell so far was that less than ten percent of the Armada was engaged in the fight. The rest of the ships were moored around the station and under attack. He remembered his studies and especially the ancient Terran officer Frederick Lanchester, quickly applying the rules the officer had devised to the facts as he could see them.

  Lanchester had devised a simple set of rules for calculating the relative strengths of a predator/prey pair. This formula essentially required the squaring of the statistical number of forces on both sides. A simple deduction between the two values would show the winner and loser. Most officers found the concept hard to grasp, but Xenophon, with his years of philosophical and mathematical training, had found it easy. If five ships fought three ships, then Lanchester’s Law would state the comparative strengths were twenty-five versus nine. Therefore, the larger force would overwhelm the smaller forcer by almost a factor of three, and essentially a guaranteed victory with minimal losses.