Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand

by Michael G. Thomas

  Unlike other commanders, he liked to let his lesser command the fleet. This merely allowed him to observe, and one thing Tissaphernes liked to do more than anything else was to observe. Once satisfied everything was proceeding as planned, he lowered the screen and looked out to his crew.

  “Servants of the God King!” he began.

  As one the entire deck turned to face him, a hundred pairs of eyes, each united in fear and awe of their commander, resplendent in the wealth and trappings of the elite of their society.

  “The God King himself has ordered that I, Satrap Tissaphernes, will chase these rebels from our lands. You have the honour of serving aboard Vairya, and as our name promises, we will dominate our enemies and leave nothing but hulks to burn.”

  He stood up so that he might appear even taller and more magnificent than the rest, but not one of them made a noise. He expected nothing more. The automatons had been beaten and whipped to ensure complete obedience and discipline on his ship. He pointed to the front of the command deck and in the direction the ship would travel.

  “To Larissa, and to victory!”

  The unnamed Darbabad looked at him as he spoke, and although he said nothing, felt bile in his throat. He had nothing but contempt for his commander, but even in his high position would never dare to speak out.

  We will fight, my Great Commander, but the Terrans are no fools. You will kill us all.

  Tissaphernes spotted his face, and the two locked eyes for just a moment before the Darbabad looked back to the deck. There had been no discussion of any kind, but the Darbabad felt he’d just won a victory, no matter how small. Try as he might, he was unable to stop a small smile from forming on his face. He heard a noise and turned to see the Satrap standing directly in front of him. He said nothing, but as the automaton waited, he could feel his legs giving way. He looked down and spotted the ancient Terran kopis blade, a weapon taken as a prize of war centuries earlier in some unknown battle. Its bronze coloured blade connected to a jewel-encrusted hilt that dripped with blood. He followed the bright fluid until finding its source in the centre of his torso.

  “Why?” he muttered, dropping to his knees.

  Tissaphernes glanced down at him and smiled back. With a savaged motion, he ripped the blade from the wound and let the mortally wounded Darbabad fall to the ground to die a slow and painful death on the deck of the ship.

  “Sarvan!” he roared out to the deck.

  Another automaton moved out from a group of officers and approached him. He didn’t stop until his feet were just a few centimetres from the spluttering Darbabad. The Sarvan was the captain of the ship and the next in command below the Darbabad himself. Tissaphernes bent down and ripped the blood soaked sash from the dying officer and handed it to the younger automaton.

  “Darbabad, take us to the assembly point.”

  The new Darbabad placed the sash around his body and then bowed.

  “My Lord.”

  * * *

  Planet Larissa, Core Worlds

  They made it halfway back to the landing pad before the crowds began to move in to block them. At first it was just a dozen, but within a few more seconds, the number multiplied with many Medes moving to halt their progress. Most were unarmed civilians, but there were also a good number of Medes carrying firearms mixed in with the crowds. So far, none looked particularly threatening.

  “This is a problem,” said Roxana in a matter-of-fact voice.

  The route from the open plaza seemed to be getting busier by the second. There was no violence other than the shouting from the elated Terrans who had just killed the trader. The man spotted Glaucon from a narrow street a block away and beckoned for him to come to him to take a share in the spoils. Glaucon shook his head angrily.

  “You idiots, you’ll get us all killed.”

  Xenophon grabbed him and pulled him away.

  “Ignore them. They’ve chosen their own path.”

  The man continued shouting, but they had already moved away, and the line of sight between the two groups was blocked by a hexagonal six-storey structure with a communication antenna fitted on it. A bang drew Roxana’s eye, and she looked up to the top of the building. A bright shape launched up from the rooftop, leaving a trail of green smoke behind.

  “Signal flare!” muttered Komes Pasion.

  He stepped up to Xenophon and Artemas, the two official representatives sent to negotiate on behalf of the fleet.

  “This mission is over. Word is coming down from the fleet. They are detecting large numbers approaching from the northern side of the town.”

  “We can hold them off,” said Glaucon.

  Komes Pasion laughed at this.

  “True, but why?”

  Gunshots blasted out in the distance, followed by shouting. A streak from a pulse rifle leapt up into the sky, and then the situation turned from an angry crowd to one of a hostile mob.

  “It’s the Thessalians,” Roxana said bitterly.

  Komes Pasion was already checking his weapons. The entire unit was lightly armoured due to the diplomatic nature of the operation. They were easily the match of anything the Medes could throw into battle, but a lack of armour or personal shielding would hurt them if they were forced in engage in combat for too long.

  “We have to help them,” said Xenophon.

  From their position, the small group of Terrans could see a crowd moving in on the tiny force of armed Thessalians. More gunshots rang out, and then a wild panic seemed to spread about the Medes people. Three of them fell down clutching gaping wounds, and through the gap came the surviving Thessalians. A Medes woman was knocked to her knees and trampled down by the four Terrans. A pulse round struck a man in the back, and the Terran slumped down alongside the fallen woman. In seconds, the Medes were at him, striking with cudgels and blades.

  “Push them back!” said one of Pasion’s soldiers.

  A volley of a dozen shots scattered the nearest Medes, but plenty more continued to hack at the fallen man. Tamara rushed ahead and narrowly avoided being struck by a burst from Glaucon before leaping into the crowd. Two fell down with blood gushing from wounds to their arms and torsos, and then she emerged, dragging the wounded Thessalian with her.

  “You crazy fool!” called out Roxana.

  She ran forward to help, and Xenophon joined her to assist. The rest formed a gun line, each of them next to the other in a wall of Terran flesh, protected by accurate and powerful Doru rifles. They fired three volleys over the heads of the crowd and scattered them quickly enough to get the wounded man to safety. Two of Pasion’s stratiotes helped him to his feet and half carried him between them.

  “What the hell do we do now?” asked another.

  Xenophon pointed to the skies.

  “We need to get to the dromons before they realise how few of us there are.”

  It was as if the crowd had heard him. The Medes had moved closer to the line of Terrans, and some were waving weapons provocatively. In the background of the crowd moved larger shapes. It was hard to see quite what they were. Xenophon pointed at them, ducking to avoid a rock that had been thrown at them.

  “Uh, I don’t like this, look.”

  “Where are the other Thessalians?” asked an unseen Terran.

  “I don’t know,” Komes Pasion answered.

  His face was hard, and he concentrated all his energy on looking for likely threats. The Medes were a nuisance, but he was determined not to break ranks and rush in at them. Apart from the potential massacre, it would leave them at the mercy of the locals. There were so many stories both of space battles and land battles with the Medes and their feigned retreats. The screams of powerful engines caught his attention, and he looked up to see the familiar shape of a dromon moving away from the town.

  “Bastards!” shouted one of Pasion’s stratiotes.

  More engines powered up from the landing platform where the last two dromons sat waiting. One was the craft Xenophon and his friends had come in on, the other the la
st remaining Thessalian dromon. Already the latter’s engines were kicking up clouds of dust. A group of a dozen Medes ran out to block their path. One wore a breastplate of the Royal Army, the full-time soldiers of the Medes. He barked orders, and more of the locals move around him with a mixture of weapons. Most were antiquated, but nearly half carried firearms of some type or other.

  “Stay with me!” barked Komes Pasion as he quickly assessed the danger.

  The experienced warrior ran at the group while shouting for the others to follow. Most of the Medes were too far away to help, and only one got off a shot before the Komes was among them. He didn’t try to kill them. Instead, he brutally manhandled a Medes out of the way and then crashed out through the back of the group. A Medes militiaman struck Glaucon, fracturing his nose and sending blood across his face.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he shouted, as much to himself as the others.

  He swung the stock of the pulse cannon into the chest of the militiaman and headbutt another, sending his foe to the ground crying. As with the Komes, he was now through the small group and into the narrow street behind. He covered twenty metres before he double-checked over his shoulder that the others had made it through. He thanked the gods upon seeing them struggling behind and spun about to find small, scattered groups of militiamen appearing between the buildings in front and to his sides.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  He lowered his pulse cannon and pointed it at any Medes that looked like they were coming too close. A few had ventured to within five meters before deciding discretion was the better form of valour. There was more shouting off into the distance where the Thessalians were dragging more and more containers inside their last remaining dromon. The first already in the air circled overhead while its gunners looked for signs of trouble. The remaining craft just powered up its engines, and the four Thessalians clambered inside. The doors slid shut, and then it was off.

  It made it ten meters up before it was struck. The weapon was not powerful enough to bring the dromon down, but it did encourage the door gunners on each side to turn their dual pulse cannons onto the crowd. A dozen rounds crashed about them, and as the crowd scattered in panic, they left two dead and a wounded child crying out.

  “Idiots!” shouted Xenophon.

  He stepped sideways to move towards the fallen Medes on their left, but Glaucon grabbed him and pushed him in the direction the others Terrans were moving.

  “No, it’s too late for that. We need to leave.”

  More shouting came from the other landing pad as the Thessalians’ dromon cleared the town and circled around to join the first. Sparks flickered along its right side as it was struck by light small arms fire, but nothing below a heavy-mounted anti-aircraft weapon had much of a chance at causing damage to it. More gunfire arced down from the door gunners, but this time the civilians were safely in cover.

  “Follow me!” said Komes Pasion.

  The stratiotes commander led the way with his small contingent of warriors close around him. Each kept their Doru Mark II rifles at the ready. A couple had slung their weapons, instead moving with a pistol in one hand and a kopis blade in the other. Two continued to help the injured Thessalian who had stayed with them, though probably not out of choice.

  Xenophon and Artemas were next and Glaucon and Tamara; Roxana brought up the rear. They ran down the street and into the open area leading to their own landing pad and dromon. Unlike the Thessalian craft, it had stayed behind, and its crew waited behind empty containers on the floor with Doru rifles resting on the top. A handful of militiamen had tried to rush the dromon but were forced back by shots fired over their heads. A rocket rushed down from the second storey of a nearby structure, shattering the cover and killing one of the crew outright. A second was hurt and dragged back inside.

  “Keep moving!” said the Komes.

  They moved on as fast as they could, but sporadic gunfire forced them to the side of the street. They were halfway to the dromon when a huge cloud of dust blasted out and obscured it. By the time it cleared, the craft was already airborne. A missile rushed up to meet it but was blasted apart by the built-in defence system. A triple burst of sharp projectiles fired like a scattergun in the direction of the weapon and exploded its warhead just a few meters from the hull.

  “Xenophon!” called out a woman’s voice from the back of the group.

  Instinctively, Xenophon ducked down and spun about, just as a glaive whisked over his head. The Taochi warrior carrying the weapon found himself overbalanced and stumbled on one foot. Before he could right himself, Tamara ripped the kopis blade from Xenophon’s belt and brought it across the creature’s neck. The blade cut through its hide with surprising effectiveness, and it dropped to the ground, silent in death. Another of the warriors jumped at them, and this time it was Glaucon’s turn. The pulse cannon roared, and four holes the size of a man’s fist appeared in its chest. Even with this terrible damage, it staggered on, and Xenophon was forced to whip out his pulse pistol. A volley of rounds brought it down. Tamara made to hand him back the weapon, but he grimaced and turned away.

  “You keep it.”

  “Here they come!” said another of the spatharii.

  The enemy had clearly hidden a small number of warriors amongst the crowd and in around the small town. One Terran warrior was dragged away from the group and clubbed to death while a handful of Medes foot soldiers in the armour of the Royal Army opened fire from high windows of buildings nearby. Rounds clattered about the spatharii, but due to good luck or poor shooting they managed to miss.

  There!

  Xenophon spotted the shape of an enemy soldier as he lifted his head. Xenophon flicked off the small safety toggle, firing a single shot. It was carefully aimed and struck the warrior in the cheek. He stumbled from view, but more soldiers moved out from their left flank. Glaucon and Komes Pasion ran towards the dromon, but its engines were already on, and it had lifted from the ground. Glaucon raised his pulse cannon at the craft.

  “Bastards, they’re leaving without us!”

  A stream of rounds from the left-hand door gunner killed a Taochi warrior just a metre behind him. He gave a mock salute to the gunner before looking back to his comrades. Xenophon spoke first.

  “They had to leave. The area is too hot. New extraction coordinates are on the other side of the maglev platform.”

  He looked about until spotting a terrain feature he recognised.

  “There, about four hundred metres away. Move out!”

  As the Terrans ran from the centre of the town, the Medes agents and warriors slipped back into the crowds. Stray shots still whistled down from the tops of the other buildings. The street narrowed until it was only wide enough for three people. Komes Pasion took the front position and struck or threatened anybody posing a risk. Soon they were through and following a curved road that dropped down into an underpass directly beneath the maglev tracks. Once underneath, Xenophon stopped and checked his communication node. It was still working; much to his surprise after the static and crackling he’d heard as they moved.

  “This is Dekarchos Xenophon. We’re almost at the alternate landing zone.”

  “Yes, we’re nearly there. Don’t hang about. There are more forces coming this way,” the pilot of the dromon answered.

  Artemas tapped his shoulder.

  “I can hear more of them coming. We have to move.”

  Her words were punctuated by the arrival of four unarmoured Medes foot soldiers. They were dressed in dull automaton clothing, but they carried pulse rifles. The Terrans cut them down in a short burst, with only one managing to run away before being hit in the leg. As he stumbled off, a combat drone staggered into view. All of them had experienced the machines on the surface of Cunaxa, and they were rightly feared. As the manufactured foot soldiers of the Robotic Domains, they were incredibly tough but lacking in any form of intelligence or tactical training. Their firearms were devastating against lightly armoured soldi
ers, and their combat blades were deadly if engaged at close range.

  What is going on here? Did they withdraw their forces to encourage us to waste time here?

  “Go, now!” screamed Roxana.

  She was already moving while pulling at Tamara and Xenophon to do the same. They ran through the poorly lit underpass as the metal machine moved down the ramp and to the lowest part. Pools of water filled gaps on the floor, and several of them splashed through them hard enough to send out small puffs of dirty water, splattering both the Terrans and the walls. They were almost at the opposite end when Artemas heard the sound of the combat drone’s weapon charging and threw herself to the wall.

  “Get down!” she screamed.

  Most of them listened, but one of Komes Pasion’s warriors either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the order of a mere Medes. The attitude of almost every Terran was to treat the Medes with nothing but contempt. In many ways they were right; the Terrans were stronger built, more resilient to damage, and seemed braver in all situations.

  The Medes, on the other hand, were faster, lighter, and numerous beyond count. The Median Empire consisted of hundreds of worlds and many species and races living under the control of the Emperor and his Satraps.

  Lady Artemas was more than just a Median beauty in a long flowing dress, though. She was also intelligent, skilled in the use of edged weapons, and an expert on the Medes themselves. If the man had listened, he might have avoided his fate.

  The double-cannon on the machine’s arm opened up with a terrifying roar. The acoustics underground were very different, and the sound reverberated, giving it the quality of a heavy vehicle mounted main gun. The warrior’s arm was torn clean off before another round slammed into his back and blew out his internal organs through the front of his chest. It was a shocking, gory sight and would have broken a man with the strongest of stomachs. Even so, The Terrans had all seen this before and broke from cover to reach the other side and up the ramp.

  “There it is!” said one of the warriors.

  The small group ran as fast as their legs would carry them. Gunfire continued in the background, but not all of it was against them. The space from the maglev tracks and the landing platform was open ground and exposed to enemy fire. A smattering of light gunfire clattered about them, but the distance to the Medes on the other side of the tracks was sufficient enough to throw off their aim. Komes Pasion ran along the track and reached the lowest step of the staircase that wound around the base of the landing platform.