Black Legion: Gates of Cilicia (12 page)

“Of course, by becoming deputy Prefect, you would assume the responsibility of the safety of the civic centre and most of the inner wards of the city.”

“Deputy, how exactly would that be a position of authority?”

Crixus smiled, clearly enjoying the little game.

“Fair enough. Look, I have placed a Laconian officer, one of my trusted lieutenants, in this position. As a deputy, you would be the public face for the office. If all goes well, when we leave, you will take his place. To all intents and purposes, you would be the prefect. If you don’t do this, then I will simply not appoint a deputy. Since we took over, the armed forces have been disbanded, and we need police and security forces. I could bring in Laconian troops, but in my experience that just creates more trouble. If you helped in this area, it would help us, and it would help the city. You would have full authority over police and paramilitary forces within the prefecture of the inner city wards.”

Xenophon looked over to his father and looked at his face, trying to gauge his reaction. The idea of working for a faction he had been so recently fighting irked him, but was that a reason to simply walk away? Seeing nothing on his father’s face, he looked back to the leader of the Thirty.

“If I did this, I would be a turncoat working for the regime. They’d execute me for treason.”

“Who would? Would you rather a Laconian administration? I offer you a free hand in controlling the prefecture of the city, without interference by my forces.”

Xenophon looked back to the glass windows and the view of the city. His heart told him to turn and run, but where could he go. In theory, he would be doing this to help his own friends and citizens, but would they see it that way? He looked back to Crixus who waited patiently.

“Well?” he asked.

“Put your Laconian officer and his voices under my command, and I’ll do it. The public will see right through this unless an Attican citizen is in control. It will make no difference to how things are run.”

Crixus waved to a group of Laconians and a similar number of Attican officials. One of them was a woman, a well-known city politician called Erika Montoya. Xenophon had already seen her pubic addresses on behalf of the occupying power. She had been the first Alliance member to join the body, and rumour had it that her family was actually of Laconian ancestry.

“This is the man you were telling me about,” explained Crixus.

“Ah, you must be Xenophon, our resident war hero,” she said with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“No hero, just one of the few that survived the insanity of going to war with Laconia.”

Crixus looked at them both, then placed his hands on each of their shoulders.

“Very well. It was not my intention, but I accept. From today, Xenophon, son of Gryllus, will become the Prefect of the Inner Wards. You will report directly to me.”

The woman glared at Xenophon, but he couldn’t tell if it was because he was in a more prestigious position, or because Crixus had made the decision without giving her a chance to give her approval.

* * *

Xenophon approached the barricades with caution. Behind him moved a force of security troops picked from the few ex-military that had joined the new government’s forces. Part of the debris mixed in with the barricade had been burning for hours, and it sent columns of smoke up into the sky.

“Who goes there!” called out a man from the shadows of the structure.

Xenophon stopped and examined the temporary wall. It was almost five metres tall and manned by nearly forty people. Behind it were hundreds more, as well as press and a mixture of citizens.

“Prefect Xenophon of the Inner Wards. I want to speak with your leader.”

“What?” shouted the man.

“You heard me. Now bring me your commander!”

There was a mixture of sounds as people moved about behind and inside the barricade. As he waited, he looked back at his guards. Each wore the uniform of the Attican Militia rather than Alliance and were all armed with Laconian weapons. He just hoped this wouldn’t turn to violence. A shape appeared along the wall and looked down at him.

“Xenophon?” called the man. His voice was familiar.

“Yes, who is that?”

“Glaucon, you idiot. What the hell are you doing? Tell me you’re not working for them?”

Xenophon strained his eyes against the bright sky to see the figure of his old friend. In the months since the surrender, he must have fallen on hard times. He wore ragged clothes and carried a bandolier across his shoulder.

“I’ve been helping with the transitional party, and we’re working on re-establishing democracy as soon as possible.”

“What? How exactly?”

Another man appeared on the barricade and moved towards Glaucon. He carried a rifle in a sling.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he called out to him.

“You know Xenophon. He says he is helping with the transitional party.”

“They’re all traitors,” snapped the man. “You’ve seen what they do to our own people. We have dozens in police cells because of people like him.”

“No, that isn’t true. Let me up to talk,” called out Xenophon.

A dozen more people appeared on the top of the wall, some pointing firearms, others simply waving sharpened metal poles. His own guards spread out and pointed their rifles at the silhouetted targets. Xenophon turned to them and lifted his hands.

“No, lower your weapons. I am in charge here.”

The men all wore visors on their helmets, each fearful of what the crowds would do if they found they were working for the transitional authority in the city. Three lowered their rifles, but the others stayed exactly as they had been, afraid to give up the safety their weapons offered.

“Xenophon!” called Glaucon. “I know you think you’re helping, but it isn’t going to work. The Thirty are tyrants, nothing more. Until they are forced out, we will never have peace here. Go back and tell them we will not go until they have. If your guards come back here again, we’ll shoot on sight. You got that?”

Xenophon shook his head.

“You know they won’t just leave like that. We started the fighting, and we lost. Either we work to get them to leave peacefully, or we start a violent uprising. You know how that will end. The Laconians will make us suffer like you cannot believe.”

“Get out of here!” shouted a woman from behind a piece of corrugated metal. With a throwing action, she hurled a chunk of pottery that landed nearby and smashed into tiny shards. One broke off and skimmed along his cheek, drawing a fine line and bringing beads of blood to his skin. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and indicated for the rest of the unit to withdraw back to their group of waiting troops transporters.

“Fall back!”

As he stepped away, one of the troopers was caught in the face with a piece of broken masonry. He fired a short burst of gunfire at the barricade before he could be restrained.

“Everybody back now, hold your fire!” he shouted.

Xenophon was the only person in the unit who was showing his face, the group of black-clad guards looked faceless and dispassionate as they moved back. The two transports moved towards them and pulled past them to form a defensive wall. They were thickly armoured, six-wheeled vehicle with ‘v’ shaped hulls and protected with additional mesh armour placed to protect the more vulnerable parts of their structures. The hatch opened at the rear of the first, and two men jumped out. Both wore full tactical body armour of the Laconian pattern and carried pulse rifles in their hands. Like Xenophon, both had open fronts to their helmets. He recognised them as Laconian heavy infantry, the regular combat troops of the enemy, and the personal guard unit of the Thirty.

“Prefect, word from the Thirty. There is trouble at the Ecclesia.”

Xenophon waved for the rest of his men to climb into the vehicles. They moved quickly. None of them seemed keen to spend a single minute more than necessary in this part of the city.

“What kind of trouble?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Sir. My orders are to extricate your unit and bring you back to the safe zone inside the civic centre.”

“What about the barricade? They have legitimate grievances.”

“So? My orders are to bring you back. Are you coming?”

Xenophon looked back at the barricade. It stretched the full width of the street, and like the dozens more around the city was designed to block parts of the city off. He looked back to the guard and then climbed inside the transporter. The rest of his men were sat inside, each waiting patiently for them to leave. No sooner had the doors shut, and they were already ripping off their helmets. Xenophon knew none of them very well as they spent their time with their comrades at the barracks.
 
He ignored them and brought up a colour display on the wall of the vehicle. It showed the civic centre as well as the disposition of militia units that guarded the outer perimeter. He looked to the Laconian officer.

“I don’t understand. I thought you said there was trouble?”

“We’ll be back shortly. I’m sure the Thirty will be able to answer any more questions you might have.”

It was clear the conversation was over, and he was left to gaze at the display as they bumped and jostled their way through the centre of the city until finally reaching the parking plaza near the Ecclesia. With a screech they came to a halt, and the rear door flipped open. Bright daylight almost blinded him, but his eyes quickly adjusted. The officer climbed out first, and Xenophon followed closely behind. As his feet hit the ground, he stopped in shock. The plaza was full of Laconian heavy infantry, all wearing thick body armour and carrying a mixture of weapons.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

A number of men approached, one of which was Crixus. Xenophon waved to catch his attention, and he quickly diverted his route to the vehicles.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s been a massive series of earthquakes on Laconia Prime. Casualties are in the millions. Look,” he said with genuine horror.

The man tapped a device on his arm, and a video stream appeared of a collapsed city burning in the darkness of night.

“When did this happen?” he asked.

“In the last six hours, we are told. I am returning to co-ordinate the relief effort, so it will fall to you and the other members of the Thirty to keep Attica under control.”

“Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem. But why are your troops here?”

“We are leaving.”

“We?”

“I’m sorry, Xenophon. I know I promised we would leave when it was suitable for both our people. This is a black day for us. Laconian citizens are few, and this is a catastrophic loss for my people. I am leading a full withdrawal from Attica and leaving the Thirty in charge. Your father will take my place, and Attican seconds will take over from the other Laconian representatives. You have your world back, so try and keep them under control.”

Before Xenophon could even begin to think a response, the man was already being ushered off into a transport. His bodyguard of heavy infantry closed in around him. More people arrived at the scene, and he spotted his father moving towards him. He stepped away from the transports and towards the small throng of Attican citizens.

One of the transports lifted up in a cloud of dust that obliterated any sign of the others as it moved away. Two more followed, until only a handful of Laconian soldiers remained.
 
The dust started to clear slightly and Gryllus and two militiamen approached.

“Son, they’ve made me Archon.”

“I know, father. They are leaving us.”

Crixus and his men boarded the final craft, and in seconds it was lifting up. Xenophon could just about make out the shape of the man near one of the windows. He was looking down at the city, but it was impossible to tell what he might be thinking. As it pulled away, Xenophon stood next to his father, Gryllus, and the remaining militiamen. He expected a joyous look, but something about Gryllus made him think the better of it.

“This is troublesome, Xenophon, and we need to manage this carefully.”

The Captain of the Guard approached and stopped in front of Gryllus.

“Sir, with the Laconian troops gone, we’ve had to withdraw to the inner security fence.”

“What about the barricades? Have they heard?”