Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand (20 page)

“All power to forward shields, brace for impact!” he said.

A dull throbbing sound shook the floor plates as the engines were pushed hard to pour additional energy directly into the shield generators and their capacitor reserves. It was only just in time as the first triple layering of shields was hit. As the debris struck, the thickened layers of shielding emitted a clattering sound like that of heavy rain on a tin roof. Chirisophus could barely contain his laughter, and soon after many of the other crew began to laugh at the sound. Dukas Xenias watched them and shook his head.

“What is it, Dukas?” asked Chirisophus upon seeing his rival’s face. The Laconian answered while continuing to laugh.

“It’s an old joke my friend, one that would be wasted on anybody else. We are all quite used to fighting under such bombardment conditions.”

He looked to his crew, and more laughed, especially enjoying the irritation of Xenias.

“Terrans are dying while you laugh. We have work to do.”

Xenias moved away from the screen. A junior officer replaced him.

“Indeed we do, old friend,” said Chirisophus in a quiet tone.

The word friend dripped in venom, and not one man or woman on his command deck would think for a moment they were any less than archrivals, perhaps even enemies. He turned from the screen and back to his own predicament. The Laconian ships were now in amongst the surviving Zacynthian ships. He wiped his jaw with his left hand as he watched a group trying to break formation. It was all too little, too late, however.

“Strategos, there are urgent requests for assistance from the rest of the Legion,” said his auletes.

Chirisophus turned about and looked back along the command deck. The VOB system gave him a clear view behind his own vessel and back towards the even larger battle that was taking place there. There were scores of Median ships moving about, as Terran ships tried to keep them pinned into position. The battle was more a massive space based melee, with the fights now consisting of just two or three ships at a time. Another volley of shots struck them, and he turned his eyes back to the Zacynthian vessels that had managed to make for a break in their line. It was a small group, but with all their power presumably going to their rear shields and engines were making remarkable progress.

“Forget Xenias. He can deal with his own problems.”

Kentarchos Broge Monsimm pulled his head back in surprise.

“Strategos, what about the rest of the Legion? Our tactical situation is critical. Ariaeus and his own forces have not yet entered battle. If we do not move back to assist Xenias, the Medes may choose to...”

This was too much for Chirisophus. He brought his fist down on the nearest computer display and managed to shatter part of the metal framing. A large crack ran from the right-hand side and along the screen before it flashed and then cut out completely.

“No, that is enough. We will finish off this last group of Terran scum, and then we will see if our great friend Xenias still needs help.”

Broge Monsimm looked to the other officers on the deck. The mood had shifted from that of cool, calm professionalism to one that bordered on insurrection. The battle with the Zacynthians had turned into something more resembling a turkey shoot, while Xenias and the Legion were busy fighting a massive action both in space and in hand-to-hand.

“Strategos, should we not be fighting our true enemy, the Medes?” asked Jeane Coxand.

Chirisophus spun about and smashed his armoured fist into the tactical officer. The blow was powerful and sent a spurt of blood and two teeth flying from his mouth. The violence of the attack stunned the other officers on the deck, and instead of managing the battle; they all turned their attention to the drama unfolding in the heart of their own ship. Chirisophus dropped to the ground with a knee across the young Terran’s throat.

“I am your commander, Dukas of Laconia and Strategos for this fleet.”

A click to his right made him instinctively look up. Facing off against him was Broge Monsimm with a pulse pistol placed just a few centimetres from his own temple.

“Monsimm, put that weapon down. This is treason.”

The Kentarchos shook his head and then pushed the weapon up to the metal plating on the helm of the Strategos. Even with the thick, slightly curved plates, the helmet would be next to useless at this range.

“No, Chirisophus. You are a Komes that has risked our own ships and that of the Legion. You are not thinking straight. The Legion comes first.”

He turned and looked to the rest of the crew.

“I relieve the Komes of his position as Strategos. For the rest of this fight we will operate under the command of Dukas Xenias. When this battle is over, there will be a reckoning, then and only then, will we choose our new commander.”

Chirisophus pushed himself up to face off against Broge Monsimm.

“I will not forget this, neither will my men.”

With a nod from the Kentarchos, a group of Laconian spatharii approached and moved into flanking positions around Chirisophus.

“Escort the Komes to his men. I suspect we will have need of ground troops in the next few hours of this battle.”

Chirisophus clenched his teeth, but the mood on the bridge had changed. The officers and men were all Monsimm’s, and he had no doubt they were completely loyal to him.

“If this had been a Laconian military ship, I would have your head removed from your shoulders.”

Broge Monsimm actually smiled at this.

“And that is where you are confused, old friend. This isn’t a Laconian military ship. This is a Titan of the Black Legion. If we fight as tribes, we will die alone. If you were a true-blooded Laconian you would understand this. We are only as good as the ship on our right that supports us, and you would see us cast out from the Legion, for nothing but pride.”

He looked to the guards.

“Get him off my deck!”

The Laconian commander shook them away, daring them to approach and instead stormed out of the command deck. His own men waited at the entrance and both bowed as he approached.

"Prepare our warriors. It's time we showed these fools how real warriors fight."

He marched off, thinking only of the Median ships that seemed to be causing so much trouble. An image formed in his mind, an image of the Median flagship and him at its heart with a Laconian blade embedded in Darbabad Qahreman's throat. It was a minor thing, but the thought of killing the Darbabad seemed to improve his mood.

Terran Light Cruiser ‘Drakonis’, Core Worlds

Kentarchos Ezekiel Manus bent down and checked the pulses of the three Median soldiers. They lay together on the floor inside the command deck of the battered Terran warship. It took just a moment before he was satisfied the defenders had done their job.

“Good, they’re gone.”

Edge weapons had hit all as they’d rushed inside. It had been short, brutal, and bloody, but the Kentarchos had been adamant he wanted to avoid drawing attention to where their strength was inside the ship. He, along with his remaining officers, waited with weapons drawn as shouts and screams continued to spread through the vessel.

“Report?” he stated.

The tactical officer was now the only officer still waiting near a functioning computer terminal. Most of the other units were offline, but he had somehow kept most of his system functioning. Even as he looked at the screen, it died on him, leaving nothing but a black image.

“We’re holding, Kentarchos. They have breached us in seven places. Boarding parties are contained in the aft, and two more are coming up from the hangars.”

He turned to look to his commander.

“They have been pushed back by our security patrols. We’re holding, for now.”

Ezekiel Manus considered their situation. The ship was in trouble; of that he had no doubt. The only question was what he did now? He had a plan, but it was so risky, it made his chest hurt. Any alternative would be better, but he couldn’t think of it. Kybernetes Maxentius checked the entrance before looking back.

“Kentarchos, if we’re going to do it, we need to be fast. The port batteries only have a few more minutes remaining. Any longer, and we won’t reach the hatches.”

The Kentarchos nodded quickly. The ship had now stopped shaking from weapon impact, and that could mean only one thing.

They think we’re done, and they intend on taking my ship.

That was the final straw for him. Not that they would take the ship; the fact that once they had beaten off any opposition, they would take prisoners. The reputation of the Medes for torture and interrogation was well known on every Terran world. Worse than that would be the disgrace of his ship’s crew if they were tortured and gave away critical information on the Legion. Their homeworlds would soon learn of what happened, and it wouldn’t be forgotten, not for a long time.

“What about their own ships? Any chance in status?”

The tactical officer shook his head.

“No idea, Kentarchos. The last I saw was that one was crippled, and the other had lost some of their primary gun systems and their shields were down.”

“Open the blast shield,” he said grimly.

He didn’t hesitate and walked the short distance to where the front of the command deck stopped. The wall was normally occupied by digital projections but had become a sterile environment, marked by nothing but burns. He reached the panel on the left and hit the open button. For a second nothing happened, and then the entire wall seemed to move. It was only half of it, but in an instant the entire panel slid away to reveal the triple-paned window that looked out to the front of the ship. It was almost always closed for safety and security reasons, but with all the digital systems offline, it was the only way to look outside.

“Gods, we are in trouble!” said one of the officers without thinking.

The Kentarchos gave him a stern look and then walked to the window to look out into space. The shapes of the two Median light cruisers were easy to see at this distance, but it was the massive debris field that astounded him. The chunks of metal must have numbered in the thousand and created a trail of destruction that engulfed all three of them.

Kybernetes Maxentius moved alongside him and pulled down the helm onto his head. It was the Illyrian type of helmet, a design that could be traced back to the days of the Ancients. It covered the top of the head and the cheeks but left the face completely open, making it perfect for use aboard ships. It connected to the airtight suit underneath his bronze coloured body armour with a gentle clunk sound. As an officer, he wore a short blue plume that ran from the top and down to the back of the neck. Ezekiel Manus looked at his executive officer and then pulled on his own similar looking helm.

“Will this work, old friend?”

Maxentius grinned.

“Who knows? But if any of us survive, it will be one hell of a story!”

The Kentarchos nodded, doing his best to look confident. He turned back to the view and almost choked.

“Look!”

With a hand extended out, he pointed to the shapes of at least twenty Elamite battleships, the standard heavy warship of the Median Empire. Even as they watched, twice as many more ships of different classes jumped in to form a substantial war fleet.

“Who are they?” asked Maxentius.

Kentarchos Manus sighed.

“They all bear the markings of Tissaphernes and the colouring of his fleet.”

“His personal guard?” muttered his executive officer.

Kentarchos Manus nodded.

“That’s right. They want our ship all right, but there’s something even more important that they want.”

“The fleet,” answered Maxentius.

“Exactly. They will board us and then interrogate every last one of us for information on the Legion. The ship’s computers will be torn apart for anything they can use.”

“What information, though? We have nothing of note other than the obvious. Don’t forget, Kentarchos, they already know where the fleet is.”

Kentarchos Manus shook his head.

“No, my brother, they only know what they have learnt so far. There are unknowns everywhere. Is our entire fleet at Larissa, do we have a specific battle plan, and more importantly...what is our ultimate objective?”

Maxentius scratched his cheek as he considered his leader’s words.

“No matter what happens to us, this fleet will eventually get to the Legion. If they are unable to escape quickly enough, this force could decide our last battle.”

The Kentarchos grinned happily at his last words and then slapped his hand down on Maxentius’ shoulder.

“Then we had better let them know what’s happening out here.”

He gave the nod to the tactical officer, and the silent countdown began. The very second he activated the sequence he could feel a fire burning in his veins. Kybernetes Maxentius sent the signal to the rest of the crew, and in that moment any further planning became irrelevant. The Kentarchos looked to his small group of officers and then down to the kopis blade and pulse pistol he carried in each hand.

“Gentlemen, the odds of this plan working is so low, it is not even worth considering them.”

He looked at each of them in turn and then grasped his kopis tightly.

“It is time to leave Drakonis. The fleet needs us. May our dragon die as she lived.”

* * *

Median Battleship ‘Vairya’, Core Worlds

Vairya moved through space at incredible speeds, but from the inside it felt as if the ship itself had never moved more than a few metres. Every irregular surface had been retracted and the gun ports were closed, though this was more from tradition than for any other reason. In space, aerodynamics were completely redundant but that had little effect on the shipbuilders of the Empire.

Sixty seconds.

Tissaphernes counted down in his head as his mighty battleship completed the final stage of its journey. The engines were already changing their tone as the vessel prepared to slow down and halt almost instantly. It was a feat of engineering that a thousand years earlier would have been considered a miracle. To most of the crew it would be as if they had never moved, but Tissaphernes and a select group of senior officers retained access to the external feeds. It was an honour and a privilege to have access to their level of data.

Thirty seconds.

Reports continued to arrive from the fighting at Larissa, and as he had expected, both sides were now fully committed. Still, much as he wanted to jump in to end the battle, he would never do so unless completely sure of victory. The curved black cylinder he commanded from helped him feel separated from his crew and even the ship, a way that he likened to the God King himself. That put a twisted smile on his face. His lip twitched slightly as his count finished. Only three seconds passed by before his impatience got the better of him.

“My Lord, we have arrived,” said the Darbabad.

For the briefest of moments, he had no idea where his Admiral waited. The smoked semi-transparent material blocked out much of the view of the ship, and it took a while for him to find the dark shape among the stars. After a quick look, he chose to ignore the automaton and instead watched the nearest stars around the ship appear to slow down. A dull tone travelled through the ship, and then the stars stopped moving completely, the ship dropping to conventional speed. There was almost no difference to the crew; the inertial stabilisers accounted for the massive deceleration with a huge and temporary surge in power. Tissaphernes lifted himself to his feet and examined the imagery around his spacecraft. The view granted to him by this technology was similar to that of the VOB system used on Terran ships, except only Tissaphernes had access to the system.

Where is it?

He scanned to his right, stopping at the scene of the space battle. His pulse quickened as he imagined the damage his ships must have already caused. It was tempting to give the order to finish off the cruiser, but he knew that intelligence was of greater importance right now. He could enjoy finishing off the crew in his own time, when he was secure in his knowledge of the enemy’s intentions. At first glance, he could barely work out the shapes. The three light cruisers were surrounded by wreckage and several large sections of ship. There was no gunfire present and only a small number of fighters moving about. His great battleship slipped between his own cruisers and the disabled Terran vessel. They pushed through the wreckage like an icebreaker from the ancient past. Some might have perceived this as his way of protecting the other two ships.

Protect them? Why?

He had little interest in the scout ships. In fact, the more thought he gave them, the angrier he got that two of them had been unable to finish the fight quickly and efficiently. He considered what punishment might be suitable before turning his attention back on the enemy vessel. By dropping out of light-speed directly opposite the ship, he had been granted an extremely close view of the warship, one that intrigued him. The black scars along her hull showed where the heavy cutters had burnt through plating while the larger scorch pattern showed plasma blast damage. One particular hole ran completely through the ship and exposed a dozen compartments directly into space.

Ah, I wonder how many were sucked out?

He continued looking down its length until he reached the engine mounts. They were as damaged as the rest of the vessel, with one torn completely away and drifting a short distance away. Puffs of gas continued to vent from a hundred places, giving the ship a minuscule amount of lateral rotation as it drifted out of control.

So, they have been disabled.

“Darbabad, prepare my transport. I want to be there when they take her Kentarchos.”

The automaton bowed and walked away while the black unit descended into the floor. Once more Tissaphernes was greeted with the open view of his command deck and his horde of automatons. He took a single step and then halted.

What is that?

Movement appeared at the end of the command deck and then armoured shapes.

Is this treachery?

He instinctively tapped his thigh, and a heavily modified carbine cut down to the size of a large pistol slid out from a concealed pouch in the armour. He grabbed it and lifted the weapon to shoulder height. Alarms sounded throughout the ship, and he knew right away that something terrible was about to happen.

The impact against the battleship was massive, something far greater than a mere laser blast and rocket attack. Dozens of the automatons were thrown from their feet or their seats. He almost fell but grabbed onto a monitor console to his side and stayed upright long enough to see more shapes burst from doorways in the flanks of the command deck. He almost pulled the trigger on his pistol before spotting the armour of his Anusiyan guards. A dozen moved around him and formed a defensive screen. Only one faced him, the tallest of his number and carrying a double-barrelled pulse rifle at his shoulder.