Again the Darbabad bowed.
“They have lost a third of their forces, and the Laconians are pressing ahead hard.”
Tissaphernes smiled.
“Good.”
The arrogance of the Laconians will be the Terrans’ downfall. While they waste time fighting Phalinus, I will move in between their forces and smash the remainder of their fleet.
He looked to his automaton commander and sighed. The Darbabad looked desperately uncomfortable, but at least he could sense no attempt at hostility or arrogance from him.
It will come, eventually.
Tissaphernes had already identified the next likely candidate to take his place. As he looked to the crew on his ship, he noticed there was nobody there he could ever trust. Only the Median nobility with direct blood ties to his family could be relied upon, and they were either back home or commanding other parts of his forces during this campaign. The Darbabad waited patiently, unwilling to ask to leave.
Still, there might be something they can tell us.
“Do they have information about the performance of our own ships in the battle? I need to know what is happening before I commit my reserve.”
The Darbabad pointed to the map.
“My Lord, Phalinus says the Terrans have sent a large part of their fleet directly against Darbabad Qahreman, and his flagship is being boarded.”
Tissaphernes leaned back as he listened.
“Boarded? He knows to avoid engaging the Terrans at close range.”
It wasn’t so much a question, more a statement. Even so, he didn’t like entertaining even the smallest possibility that the Terrans might be doing something unexpected. He looked back to the imagery to reassure himself that their fleet was indeed separated and surrounded.
I need confirmation before I risk my personal ships. I need to interrogate their scouts.
He looked to Darbabad and noticed the shudder in the automaton’s body.
“This scout cruiser of yours, how far away is it?”
“Two jumps away, my Lord. I can have another ship there in less than an hour.”
Tissaphernes expression turned to anger.
“I know how long it takes to make two fifteen parsec jumps, you fool. Set the coordinates and activate the engines. I want to see this ship.”
The Darbabad’s face contorted; fear wracking his body. Tissaphernes lifted himself from what looked more like a throne than a seat and moved towards the terrified automaton. His race had been bred to be less impressive in both height and overall bulk, and due to the raised plinth the Median Satrap towered over him. Even as he moved, the automaton signalled to his junior officers to carry out his orders. Once done, he looked up to his Satrap. Tissaphernes smiled that short, cruel smile that put fear into the face of those around him.
“The fleet will remain here, of course. The battle around Larissa will take many hours, perhaps even days to be conducted.”
And I will not put myself at risk, unless I know my plans are unknown to the enemy.
“I will deal with this scout personally.”
The Darbabad didn’t even consider arguing with his commander and dutifully nodded in agreement. Only a fool would question the Satrap, especially when in the middle of a battle. The stories he’d heard about the dozens before him ensured he thought as little about planning and tactics as possible. Victory or defeat in space meant nothing to the Darbabad, only that he obeyed his orders.
“Of course, my Lord. The battleships have their orders to standby and wait for your command. I will send word to our scouts that we will be with them shortly.”
Tissaphernes took a single step and then stopped.
“I want that ship disabled, not destroyed. Once she is dead in space, send in boarding parties.”
The Darbabad tightened his forehead in a questioning expression, instantly knowing he had gone too far. The Satrap raised his eyebrows as he looked at the automaton and considered removing him before a moment of clarity swept over him.
“Yes, Darbabad. What is it?”
“My Lord. There are only two light cruisers out there with small crews. A boarding action will be unlikely to succeed, but prolonged bombardment is guaranteed to destroy them.”
Tissaphernes relaxed a fraction, happy that the Darbabad hadn’t found an actual issue with his plan. He stepped down until at the same level as his Admiral and walked along the deck. The Darbabad moved alongside him.
He didn’t appear convinced.
How would he know that?
“The Raptor class of Terran ships is a sturdy design, my Lord. They are protected with layered hulls, back up shield generators, and internal security barriers. This makes them resilient to attacks by raiders and corsairs.”
Tissaphernes was surprised to hear this but hid his emotions easily.
“You know of Terran ship designs?”
The Darbabad bowed.
“I apprenticed with a Lydian merchant, my Lord. We saw many of the Terran ships. Since then, I have made sure I study every warship design I ever come across.”
The Satrap smiled at this.
“I see. So how would you compare our ships with those of the Terrans?”
They continued along the deck even as the jump engines powered up to propel them forward at incredible speeds. Tissaphernes ignored what was happening, focusing his attention on his Darbabad.
“That would depend on which ships, My Lord.”
“Capital ships interest me Darbabad. They are the vessels that decide the future of our Empires, are they not?”
They moved past banks of computer units where the automaton crews relayed orders and information between the multiple decks. Not one of them even moved their eyes in the direction of the two moving through the ship.
“Yes, my Lord. The Terran cruisers and battleships are tough warships, thickly armoured and well protected with weapons and crews. They lack the speed, agility, and long distance travel of our own ships.”
“Yes, and what is the best way to beat them?”
The Darbabad considered this for a moment.
“To deny their strengths and exploit their weaknesses. Avoid engaging in decisive battles and fight them using attrition over time. We have a great Empire spread over massive distances. We can trade ships and time for their lives.”
Tissaphernes had heard this argument before. He had no doubt it was true, but there was just one problem with it. He had absolutely no interest in defeating the Legion over time. All he wanted was a victory in the Core Worlds to cement his position back home. He would return the hero of the Empire and live out his days carving out a new domain, all in the name of a thankful Emperor.
“I will be in my quarters. Notify me ten minutes before we are due to arrive.”
He moved away and then looked back thoughtfully.
“Let me know the minute one of the fleets gives ground.”
He looked out to his officers and crew, trying to imagine what the inside of the Terran ship must look like right now and laughed quietly. He had spent a great deal of time in the company of Terrans, due in part to his world’s proximity to those of the Terrans themselves. He was also very familiar with Clearchus and his officers, as well as one of the Titans. His crew might be weak and unimaginative, but he knew he had one advantage the Terrans would never have. His ship, fleet, and people were united in their cause. The Medes would fight and die, when and how he decided. That level of discipline was something the bitter and distrustful Terrans could never hope to achieve.
* * *
Terran Light Cruiser ‘Drakonis’, Core Worlds
The duel between the three ships had been proceeding for nearly an hour, and still there was no sign of the Terrans surrendering. Drakonis was burning from bow to stern, and more than thirty breaches had been torn through her layered plating. Even so, she was still able to return fire with the modest number of remaining gun batteries. The Seafire fighters had launched just three minutes after the attack had started, and betw
een them they had managed to cripple the engines of the second cruiser while Drakonis had done the same for the first cruiser. Now the three vessels circled each other warily, taking it in turns to blast each other with whatever weapons remained. Her primary guns were long out of action now, but the point-defence turrets were still capable of causing significant damage at range. The shield generators had long been knocked out of action, and the secondary engines started to fluctuate. Even so, the battered and angry Kentarchos Manus refused to give up.
“Kentarchos, our transmissions are still jammed. Nobody knows we are out here.”
The commander of the ship shook his head bitterly.
“Bastards, so we’ll die out here with nobody the wiser! We have to get away from these two to warn the fleet. They have to know what is coming.”
An explosion ripped open the side of the command area, and two officers were knocked to the ground with minor injuries. Half of the remaining officers had already been patched up, but none had left their posts. Three spatharii rushed in through the main doorway and ducked inside.
“Kentarchos, they are boarding us.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Medes’ Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System, Core Worlds
The sixth floor of the battleship proved to be the most difficult to take so far. The layout mirrored the command deck, and this meant the one hundred or more automaton crew had a clear view of the ship along its entire length. Xenophon and Artemas took position on the right side of the wide passageway and sheltered behind a statue of some ancient Median god. Tamara, Roxana, and Glaucon took the other side. The eight other spatharii and one stratiotes fanned out behind them and waited patiently.
“We can’t just sit here,” said one of the Arcadians.
Glaucon signalled for the man to keep his head down and then looked to Xenophon.
“Well?”
His friend waited, counting quietly to himself.
“Xenophon?” asked Roxana.
He looked at them both with an annoyed expression.
“Be patient, another fifteen seconds.”
Two of the spatharii snorted and moved out from cover. Tamara spotted them moving and kicked at the nearest in the back of the leg. He stumbled down, and the other moved to intercept her. He reached a metre before finding her razor sharp blade at his throat. She tilted her head but not a word came from her mouth.
“Five...four,” Xenophon said in hushed tones.
A booming sound came from the opposite end of the wide passageway, somewhere roughly in the centre of the ship. It was followed by a series of ripples and blasts that wracked the deck from bow to stern. The small number of Terrans that had stayed with Xenophon and his band finally calmed down as more and more blasts shook the ground.
“Shock charges?” asked one.
“Some of them are. I reckon a couple were thermal breachers as well,” said the leader. He looked to Xenophon and gave him the barest modicum of a grin.
“Our turn?”
Xenophon lifted himself to his feet and pointed into the passageway.
“Watch for friendlies. We need this deck cleared. Now!”
That was all the encouragement they needed to move out from their cover. The passageway was as wide as some of the Terran ships, and the control consoles running inside were positioned so that commanding officers could see great distances. There was little in the way of cover as they moved from section to section before making it into a larger communal area.
“The ramps to the next level are inside,” said Artemas.
A dozen dots of light marked out the position of the automaton defenders. Some of their rounds hit the walls, but at least three struck the shield unit the Arcadian spatharii carried. The rounds bounced off and embedded in the walls.
“Wish I had some Laconian gear with us,” muttered Glaucon.
All of them felt the same at this point, but there was nothing they could do. With just one shield unit left, they would be forced to make use of whatever cover they could find. Glaucon had other ideas and instead of taking cover, stood out in the open, took aim with his pulse cannon, and then opened fire from the hip.
“Medes animals!” he roared with laughter.
The heavy rounds from his weapon did little damage, but as he ducked back, the glow-worm lights of the enemy’s weapons gave away their positions. Accurate rifle rounds from the Doru Mk II rifles carried by the Terrans cut down a dozen in as many seconds. Xenophon leaned out and examined the communal area. From doors on each side came squads of the enemy, with nearly half wearing light armour and carrying firearms.
“Now!”
He jumped out along with his comrades and hurled himself as fast as he could towards them. The others followed, each firing wilding as they ran. Two more of the enemy were brought to the ground before they were able to turn to fight. Most were too busy engaging the groups of Terrans that appeared from half a dozen places at once.
It’s working, Xenophon thought.
Glaucon was the strongest of his group and ran into the automatons first. Some might have advised standing back to fight, but it was standard practice for Terrans to get close. They were physically stronger, better armoured, and also well trained at this kind of fighting. The fact that so many Terrans were now streaming onto the deck made gunfire random and dangerous.
“Watch your back!” called out one Terran.
The spatharios nearest Tamara took a pulse-round directly in the forehead from an enemy soldier just five metres away. Incredibly, the armour saved him, but he was knocked out cold by the impact. Tamara dragged him behind a computer console while Xenophon pinned the warrior down with fire from his Asgeirr-Carbine. Even at this range, he was able to catch two. They tried to return fire but pulse cannon fire from Glaucon scattered them like cattle. Tamara saw her chance and flipped over the unit to embed her blade in the nearest terrified automaton’s throat. No sooner had she sunk it into the soft flesh, it was out and plunging back in again. Blood spurted over her face and helm as she howled with delight.
What the hell has got into her? Xenophon thought.
More Terrans broke into the deck, and it very quickly degenerated into a free-for-all, with hundreds engaged in a bloodthirsty close quarter battle. It would have been over in seconds; had not a group of two-dozen Median regular soldiers arrived with edged weapons. Glaucon chased ahead, but Xenophon called him back.
“We have this place covered. Give it fifteen more minutes, and it will be ours.”
“They need our help.”
Roxana shot another automaton in the back and grabbed Tamara away from yet another bloodbath. They made it a metre to find three automatons that had just arrived. All were armed with rifles and crashed directly into Roxana. Two fell down while the third took aim. As before, Tamara embedded her blade in her enemy’s throat, ripped the rifle from his hands, and pointed it at the two fallen warriors. A single blast to each finished them in seconds.
“No more,” said Xenophon, “We need to keep on. This mission is about disabling and capturing her, not exterminating her crew.”
Glaucon looked at the ramp on the right of the passageway.
“So that is the way we get to the command deck? What are we waiting for?”
“We aren’t,” laughed Xenophon.
He slid in a magazine to Clearchus’ old weapon and looked about to make sure his group was together.
“Artemas?” he asked.
“Here,” came an instant reply.
“The lithe and agile Medes noble stepped away from a fallen automaton and pulled her jewelled kopis blade from its chest. Xenophon nodded to her and then moved off.
“Follow me.”
The journey to the top of the Median battleship took less than five minutes. Sporadic fighting had slowed them at three chokepoints, but Xenophon finally reached the top of the final ramp that brought them to the rear of the main command deck. The passageway was wide and with tall ceilings. They’d killed at least another doze
n of the crew on the way up, but most appeared to be heading to the centre of the ship where the bulk of the Terrans were. The last order Xenophon had given them was to keep them busy. It seemed to be working.
“How many crew and guards would you expect?” he asked.
Artemas shrugged.
“Who knows? Elamites have large crews. This one will be larger still.”
He paused for a moment near the top of the ramp to get his bearings. Glaucon stopped right next to him and adjusted one of the power settings on his pulse cannon.
“So, this is where the boss will be? Not in some Royal Chamber like on the last one?”
Artemas looked at him.
“Maybe. Either way, on older Elamites the Royal Chambers and command centres would be placed along the command deck. This is the nerve centre of these ships and where the armour is thickest. Your heavy cutters will have a hard time reaching here.”
“We won’t!” laughed one of the six spatharii that had come with them. They rushed past the group and away from the ramp into the unknown. Tamara tried to grab one and only managed to make him stumble. He staggered and fell flat on his face while the other five vanished. A blue flash whistled just a metre in front, and the shattered remnants of the five flew back. The flesh, bones, and armour of the warriors were fused together in a sickening mass of material that littered the top of the ramped area.
“Stay back!” shouted Xenophon.
It was too late. The entire squad had taken the full brunt of the gunfire. He connected to the other squads via his communication node and did his best to sound calm and collected while keeping his eyes away from the ruined men and women.
“Dekarchoi, report in!”
As the reports came in throughout the Median ship, he could quickly see that only half of the spatharii that boarded Sraosha were anywhere near the command deck. Glaucon leaned around the corner from the ramp to check in the direction of the deck and quickly ducked back.
“You are not going to believe this,” he said with a forced laugh.
Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand Page 13