Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand

by Michael G. Thomas

  The raised the level was only three metres wide and constructed from a highly polished granite type material. There were no rails or safety barriers fitted so that if he moved too close, he could easily fall.

  “You all right there?” asked Glaucon.

  There was a little sarcasm in his voice, but Xenophon could detect a strong degree of concern in there, too. His friend might be a little gruff, but over time he had mellowed considerably, and few would doubt his overly protective friendship of Xenophon. He reached to grab his friend to find an automaton carrying a rifle coming at him from the opposite direction. With no space to move, he lowered his centre of gravity and took aim with his pulse cannon. The power of the weapon at that range sent the unfortunate soul back a full metre before he stumbled and fell from the edge.

  “Nice shooting,” said Artemas.

  She stepped past him, nodded to Xenophon, and then continued forward to the wide bend leading to the next section. More Terrans had broken into the command deck now, but they were still heavily outnumbered. It took only a moment to reach the next level. It was constructed in almost the same fashion. From this position, they were granted a privileged view of the command deck. If they had the time it would have made a perfect sniping position, but the sporadic gunfire from above them reminded them of the presence of the Median commander.

  “Move it. We need to end this fast,” said Xenophon without stopping.

  They had all ditched their heavy weapons and moved to a mixture of edged weapons, carbines, and pistols, as dictated by the difficulty of the climb and the close proximity of the enemy. Only Glaucon retained his treasured weapon.

  “Human!” said an unfamiliar voice above them.

  All looked up to see the enemy commander, resplendent in his armour and looking down at them from the other side of the ship. Alongside him were four warriors, each heavily armoured in Terran plate and carrying long Medes rifles.

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

  Roxana sheltered behind one of the few girders that kept them partially hidden from the other side and raked them with fire from her looted carbine. As she changed clips, she called out to Tamara.

  “They are Zacynthians!”

  A fusillade of shots pattered about them. As they fired back, it was clear the enemy commander had no interest in ducking down. Xenophon aimed with his own weapon, but even at that relatively short range, he found it hard to get a good hit.

  “Glaucon, put him down, the arrogant bastard!”

  His friend needed no persuasion, and as the others took cover where they could on the narrow gantry, he opened fire. The muzzle flash was as large as his head, yet as some of the round struck near the Median commander, they flashed blue and bounced off to strike the walls or even automatons nearby.

  “There’s shielding up there!” said Tamara angrily.

  She didn’t wait to see what the others were doing and sprinted off along the gantry to where it crossed over via a bridge section. She was briefly exposed, and dozens of rounds struck around her as she moved; and then she was on the other side.

  “Tamara!” called out Roxana.

  She took one step forward, and three rounds hit nearby with one striking her torso. Again the Terran armour deflected the round, but the impact slowed her down. Xenophon shook his head angrily and ran after her, grabbing her about the waist and pushing her on to the other side. The rest of their group moved close behind him, Artemas staying in the shadows with a captured Median rifle in her hands. Their rush drew additional gunfire, but Artemas killed two shooters before they even noticed her.

  “Keep moving!” called out Glaucon, reaching the bridge and the congestion as the rest tried to cross. More gunfire rippled from the other side and the next level up, and he ducked to the right to try to avoid it. Four rounds managed to strike him, and he was knocked down onto one knee. All of them bounced off his armour, apart from one that blasted through the leg greave of his armour.

  “Bastard!” he cried, in both anger and frustration.

  He couldn’t stop, though. The only cover was once they were across the narrow bridging section. The others, apart from Xenophon, had now made it across. He could see the shape of Tamara as she crashed into a group of Medes and began hacking and stabbing at them. Roxana was there was well, and it quickly descended into a brutal melee. He tried to stand but felt his leg gave way. As he dropped down, an arm grabbed about him. He looked to his right and found the perfumed face of Artemas there.

  “You old fool,” she laughed, manhandling him over the bridge.

  Tamara had butchered two of the automatons before they broke and ran from the assault. Their small group of Terrans were stronger, better armoured and equipped for close range combat. Their relentless assault drove them along the section and up the ramp to the next level.

  “Keep moving!” called out Xenophon from his position in the middle of the group.

  Now that they had covered the open ground and moved over the bridge, it was safer to push on than to fall back or consolidate. The ramp was deserted but it was open, so they kept on to the final stage of their attack.

  “Xenophon, this is Xenias,” came a familiar voice over his communication node.

  “Dukas.”

  “Your plan worked, Xenophon. We are thirty minutes from capturing or destroying this entire fleet. Our boarding actions and corvus units have rendered their ships useless. Their arrogance has destroyed them.”

  Xenophon stopped for a second and sighed happily.

  “That is good news, Dukas.”

  The node crackled before continuing.

  “For the Legion...but not for you.”

  That information felt like a heavy stone in his chest. He almost missed a breath before he could speak, but the Dukas continued.

  “Phalinus’ fleet is smashed, and Chirisophus has captured his battleship. Seven Lelegian ships have broken contact and are moving in on you. I cannot send you any more help, my friend. They will be there in minutes, and you can expect Medes reinforcements all over you. I suggest...”

  The node crackled and then went dead. Glaucon moved past and noticed his friend had stopped. He went back and placed his hand on his armoured shoulder.

  “Xenophon, what is it?”

  “We’re running out of time. They are going to counter board this ship.”

  Glaucon needed no more information. He simply looked up the ramp and then to his friend.

  “Then we’d better take her fast!”

  Tamara heard their voices but didn’t wait and charged to the top. The rest were close behind, emerging from the partial safety of the ramp and into the wider upper level of the command deck.

  “Stop!” shouted a Terran with a thick Zacynthian accent.

  They rushed out into the open space, adrenalin surging through their bodies. It was similar to the command deck, covering an area of nearly thirty metres in length and about half again in width. Computer systems covered one side, along with a black obelisk arrangement with the shape of a Medes officer in heavy armour behind its protection. A line of ten Terran spatharii in similar armour and equipment to the attacking Terrans dropped to their knees, and another ten moved up behind them in a standing position, their Medes rifles all trained on the little group.

  “Stop this madness!” roared the voice they had heard just moments earlier.

  The form from behind the black obelisk emerged and stepped behind his line of Terran mercenaries. Glaucon now made it to the top of the ramp to join his comrades and the four other Terrans that had made it this far. They were now outnumbered by at least two to one. Xenophon didn’t hesitate and lifted Clearchus’ weapon to face the enemy commander. He loosed three rounds at his head in quick succession, and the first two struck him directly in the centre of the face. Blue flashes marked the impacts, and the rounds bounced off to strike the ceiling. He shook his body like a dog shaking water from his body.

  “Terrans, lay down your arms. We can end t
his violence today!”

  Glaucon then opened fire with his pulse cannon, but after the second burst, he stopped, especially when half of the Terran guards seemed to point their pulse rifles directly at his head. He half expected them to open fire and quickly removed his finger from the trigger, but remained with the muzzle pointing at their commander.

  “I have been sent by my uncle, Tissaphernes, to offer you the chance to join our Terran ranks. Your commanders have hidden this offer from you.”

  He extended his hand out and upwards, as if trying to encompass the open space. From the darkness of the rear at least two-dozen more warriors appeared; this time they were Median Anusiyan bodyguards. There were now over forty guards around their commander while the remnants of Xenophon’s force consisted of just eight of them. He threw a quick glance to his left as the shape of Artemas slipped past him and moved between the two groups of warriors. She began to speak, but the Median leader raised his hand and made her stop.

  “In their tongue, so they might understand us.”

  His voice was easy to understand, and his command of the Terran language was at least as sophisticated as that of Artemas. Xenophon suspected this nephew of Tissaphernes probably spent as much time on the border fighting Terrans as his uncle did. Artemas bowed ever so slightly in deference.

  “Noble Lord Qahreman.”

  Glaucon shifted uncomfortably, and Tamara fingered her kopis blade, making sure it was positioned and balanced exactly as she intended, ready for the inevitable fight that was to come.

  “We are here to demand your surrender,” continued Artemas.

  Qahreman took a step forward; his long pale face twisted just a fraction. Two of his nearest guards stepped to block his progress, and he pushed one out of the way before stopping. He muttered something in his own tongue before Artemas shrugged and turned her back on him to face her comrades.

  “Qahreman is lying. He will not let us leave, not now.”

  She turned to face the fuming Median leader.

  “He is time wasting.”

  One of the Terran spatharii began to laugh. It started slowly but then reverberated though the hall like an operatic singer. The Terran was positioned directly in the middle of their second rank, flanked by his comrades on both sides, and just as well armoured. As he spoke, the Median leader appeared to calm.

  “I am Arkeisios, second-in-command to Dukas Phalinus. This is nothing more than a scouting party. Our primary fleet will be here soon. Halt your attack, or face the consequences upon the arrival of Tissaphernes.”

  Glaucon spat on the floor at the mention of the hated Satrap. The Median commander moved a little closer, but the shimmering field of the shield generator was still slightly visible as he moved. The communication node crackled again, and Xenophon found he was able to reach the Dukas, though he had no idea for how long.

  “Dukas. I need you to fire everything you have, right now at this ship.”

  “Xenophon...Are you mad? If we...”

  Again the node crackled and was quickly jammed by one or more of the surviving Median ships. He knew it was possible to bypass the jamming relatively quickly, but the line of guns opposite him proved more of an urgent concern right now.

  We have to be ready.

  Xenophon could only hope that his message had made it through. He lowered his weapons and moved alongside Artemas. She looked at him, and although she seemed calm and confident, he could make out the worry in her face. He whispered as he moved near to her.

  “Get ready.”

  A flicker in his eye sent a shiver through her body. The enemy in front may not have seen it, but Tamara instantly knew that look and again checked her grip on her second kopis blade.

  “What the hell is...” started one of the Terrans that had come with them. Roxana swung her left arm and struck the side of his helm. The impact was light but instantly quietened him. He considered moving towards her, but his two comrades held him back. One of them leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Xenophon moved another step closer and pointed to his small group of warriors.

  “We were paid by one of your own to come here. Now all we ask is for you to let us return home, peacefully.”

  Qahreman looked at him carefully, trying to assess the Terran’s character.

  “You entered our Empire under arms. What of Cilicia, Khorram, and Larissa? These are sovereign territories of the Median Empire, yet you sack, burn, and loot them.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Median Battleship ‘Vairya’, Core Worlds

  Tissaphernes swung his blade for the fifth time and embedded the weapon deep into the Navsarvan’s throat. The ship’s engineer slipped to the floor of the command deck, blood pouring from the terrible wounds. Even as he lay there gurgling, the blood continued to pump from the severed arteries. The Satrap roared in frustration at being delayed so long.

  “Eight minutes, are you insane? Late is still late! We should be there already!”

  He threw the weapon but managed to strike the fallen automaton with the hilt. It clattered off into the distance; his replacement waiting alongside the body with stoic determination. Tissaphernes moved close to him so that the officer could see the lines of his face. On the screen behind him he saw the massive formation of his ships that had decided to come to his aid, unasked for. They were following in a close formation, each waiting for the command to drop down to normal speed.

  Those fools, I told them to stay at the assembly point.

  It didn’t really matter now though. The ships were with him, and his communications with the small number of cruisers that had stayed behind were clear. The Terrans were gone; all for the loss of one, perhaps two of his own light cruisers. It was barely a loss.

  “My Lord, we are receiving an urgent message from cruiser Zezal,” said the communications officer.

  Zezal?

  It took a moment for him to realise it was one of the unimportant light cruisers damaged in the fight with the Terran vessel. The light cruisers were ships that barely registered with him. They were small, weak, and ineffectual. They had their uses, of course, but not the ones that had engaged the Terran cruiser. The mere fact they had only kept the Terran busy for sometime was one of the reasons he’d refused to offer them much in the way of help. Those two ships were now a long way behind them, yet still they would not stop bleating for help. One of them was still able to engage its light-speed engines, but Tissaphernes had refused it permission to leave until it had recovered all Median casualties from the other ship. He looked at the automaton and shook his head angrily.

  “Let me guess. They are still asking for help?”

  The automaton nodded, but not a sound left its mouth. Tissaphernes looked at him with barely concealed contempt.

  At least this one knows when to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut.

  He recalled the massive blast that could have potentially destroyed his warship. It angered him that his own cruisers had been unable to stop that from happening. It was only the mistakes of the Terrans themselves by attempting the futile attempt to escape the fight. It irked him that he had travelled so far to find out what they knew, only to be foiled by their own engineering inadequacies.

  Those Terrans have taken their secrets with them to the grave. I will have to be careful at Larissa.

  “Send them one more message and be done with them. If they attempt to contact me again, block the channel. I do not want to hear from them until they have completed their duties. I want the wreck of the Terran ship thoroughly analysed.”

  That made him smile. Performing a full forensic analysis of the ships would take days, perhaps even weeks. At least it would keep them away from him for now.

  It might even keep them alive.

  The capture of the scout would have allowed his interrogators to obtain critical battlefield information. More importantly though, it would have revealed the unknowns to him, and it was those that worried him the most. Tissaphernes was anything but a fool. With the Ter
rans gone, he had no way of knowing what their strategy for Larissa was. On so many occasions there had been catastrophic defeats for massive Median fleets that had simply marched into battle on the assumption that numbers would prevail.

  Tissaphernes hadn’t swept the bulk of the Terrans from the Ionian Territories without learning the importance of military intelligence. He was convinced the vast array of warships he’d arranged to send into the battle would fail in winning. That might shock some, but victory had never been his intention, not yet in any case.

  Where is that map?

  He looked to his right and stopped upon spotting the model that had been created from the scattered reports coming in from the various forces at Larissa. Phalinus’ ships had sent in the most detailed reports yet, and while they begged for help, they implied only a small fraction of the Black Legion had engaged them, and this made Tissaphernes suspicious. He respected the combat power of the Terrans. That was one of the reasons he had spent so much on recruiting numbers of them in his own Satrapy, without informing the Emperor, of course. He had no doubts their loyalties lay purely in money, but unlike many of the other races he had come across, they were completely reliable, providing the money supply never ran out.

  He recalled the occasions in the past where the Median Emperors had bought mercenary armies to fight on the frontiers, only to find their exorbitant pay requests had bankrupted the treasury. Losing their support was the least of the Empire’s troubles though.

  Yes, there’s little more dangerous than an unpaid mercenary.

  It was a simple maxim but one his ancestors had learnt the hard way. A force of hardened warriors at your doorstep waiting to get paid was a problem. After all, who would fight the mercenaries? More mercenaries? This was all irrelevant to him, as his own Satrapies were some of the wealthiest domains in the Empire. He had been forced to make use of Phalinus and his Zacynthians, but they were not without their uses. He’d sent as many as he could to his ships to beef up their internal security forces, but Phalinus himself was a special case. Prized by the Emperor, he had needed to give the Terran the impression of real combat command. That drew a smile from him.