Black Legion: 02 - Assault on Khorram

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Do what exactly, Strategos?” said a familiar voice.

  Clearchus turned to see the shape of Lord Cyrus and his Median bodyguard entering. The nobleman examined the room and quickly spotted the body of Menon on the ground. He stepped forward and spoke quietly.

  “This is unfortunate, very unfortunate.”

  He knelt down and examined the fallen Medes before standing back up and marching to Clearchus.

  “This isn’t how we conduct business in my Empire, understood?”

  Clearchus smiled back at him.

  “Lord Cyrus, it isn’t your Empire yet, and this animal has not only turned on Menon here, but on the entire Legion.”

  Cyrus looked at the Laconian commander and tried to work out why his two most senior commanders refused to get along. Ariaeus had a long and distinguished record with the Median military, and he had no reason to doubt his loyalty. On more than one occasion in the past the nobleman had saved his neck, even when there was no obvious benefit to doing so. Clearchus, on the other hand, was the most experienced and courageous Terran commander in recent years. The Laconians had lost a great General in forcing his exile. He sighed, but did his best to keep it to himself.

  Perhaps their egos are just too big to work together, he thought.

  “Ariaeus commands my entire Median contingent, and as you know, Clearchus, this represents the bulk of the fleet. Without his eyes and ears, we would be trapped many weeks, possibly months, inside Imperial territory. Don’t forget, he is not a great friend of Artaxerxes, and they have sparred on many occasions in the past. Why do you think he was so keen to join my expedition?”

  Clearchus was about to speak, but something inside him told him to hold back. It was one of his greatest undoings, his passion and rage, and it had often got him into trouble, no more recently than his little problem at the border world of Bissus.

  Yes, I need to leave politics to those with an appetite for it. My job is the command of the military cooperation, and a job always best left to Laconians.

  “I will defer to your judgement and experience, Lord Cyrus,” he replied with as straight a face as he could manage. Cyrus looked confused at his words, and perhaps expecting more of an argument from the man that obviously saw nothing good in Ariaeus. He scratched his check and indicated with his hand for his bodyguard to help the fallen Medes to his feet. They quickly lifted him up and moved him closer to Cyrus.

  “Now, my friend, I assume you have a good explanation for what has happened on this station?”

  A clanking sound from out in the main hall alerted them, and in just a few seconds the machine was inside. It was one of the heavy combat drones, and it took up position directly in front of Clearchus. It lifted its right hand in a mock salute. Clearchus had his right arm and Asgeirr-Carbine pointed right at its head.

  “What is this?” he demanded.

  “Uh, Strategos, I’ve managed to reset the configuration. There are seven drones still left, and all are now under our control.”

  Clearchus kept his weapon trained on the machine and cast a sideward’s glance to the spatharios who had been working on the control unit. The machine certainly appeared docile, but could he take the risk?

  “Shut it down, shut them all down!” he growled.

  The soldier didn’t hesitate and started the power down procedure. It was fast and obvious, as the drone slumped and any moving parts frozen up. The clicking sounds from within stopped, and by all accounts, it looked just as though it were a robot-shaped sculpture.

  “Strategos, what’s happening? The drones have all deactivated,” Kleandridas called out on the communications node.

  Clearchus allowed himself a small smile and answered.

  “We have Ariaeus in custody, and the drones are now under our control. Take your team and sweep the secondary structure for anything we can use. Intel on the enemy movements is the highest priority.”

  “Understood,” was the only response Kleandridas gave.

  Clearchus turned back to the Medes and concentrated his attention on Cyrus.

  “My Lord, we should take him aboard the Valediction for questioning. My forces will secure this station and strip it of anything of use.”

  Ariaeus lifted his hand to object.

  “Wait, this station is Imperial territory. We shouldn’t...”

  Clearchus pointed his Asgeirr-Carbine at his forehead.

  “This isn’t a discussion, Ariaeus. You go back with my unit, and we will have a nice long chat in due time.”

  The Terran soldiers marched away, taking the Medes commander with them. Cyrus waved them on, either too tired to object, or perhaps he had more pressing matters to attend to. Once Ariaeus was out of sight, Clearchus looked to him.

  “My Lord, I have concerns about Ariaeus. How sure are you that you can trust him?”

  Cyrus smiled in a way Clearchus had never seen before.

  “Clearchus, my friend, I trust nobody anymore than you do. He has helped me in the past, but when you come from a background like mine, you quickly realise that everybody is your friend, until it suits them otherwise. He boarded this station with at least thirty warriors, all loyal subjects and good fighters. Where are they?”

  He stepped closer to Clearchus so that only he could hear.

  “Oh...there is one other thing. This body, it isn’t that of Menon.”

  “What?” demanded Clearchus.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Vendetta, Su’bartu Maelstrom

  Artemas waited to the right-hand side of the bulkhead door while Xenophon covered the other side. They both stood with their now fully loaded pulse carbines. On their journey to the core engineering plant, they had come across a number of discarded weapons and finally, some ammunition for Xenophon’s firearm. She glanced briefly at the display on her arm and checked the status of the command part of the ship.

  “All okay?” asked Xenophon.

  She nodded, satisfied that they hadn’t been discovered.

  “No change...not yet.”

  Xenophon nodded and with a quick twist, unlocked the door and jumped through into the brightly lit room. For the briefest of moments, he was almost blinded by the quick change from darkness to full illumination. As his eyes cleared, he noticed half a dozen crew, and all were working away on the computer systems. A man in military fatigues spotted him and raised his weapon. Artemas rolled to the right and threw a device that struck him in the chest. With a dull crump and a bright blue flash, he collapsed to the ground, his body writhing in the shock of the electrical charge.

  “Are there any more?” she asked in a stern voice.

  An older looking man with a grease-smeared face and a bloody mark on his cheek stepped forward.

  “Just us, but you’d better hurry. They call down to check about every ten minutes, and he is due a call in about half of that.”

  “Dammit,” muttered Xenophon. He leaned down to the fallen man and reached out to check him.

  “Don’t do that, the residual current will take a few moments to wear off.”

  He stood back up and walked over to the nearest computer system. The older man blocked his path.

  “Hey there, Mister, what are you planning on doing?”

  Xenophon accessed the first screen that brought up the details for life support and main engine power generation. As usual, there was the triple level security system, but he was already through the first two before the old man could stop him.

  “If you screw something up there, you’ll kill us all,” he said worryingly.

  “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” Xenophon shot back. He was in no mood to discuss his plans in detail with a stranger.

  “Look, I can see you have some skills, but this is my post. I’m the Chief Engineer, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Xenophon stopped and looked at the man. This was not the usual location for such a high-ranking man; he should be on the command deck with the rest of the senor staff.

  “Why are you here?�
�� he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

  “The upstart soldier boy, the one that turned on my crew, sent me down here. He wants all localised control transferred to him. I tried to delay, but he had his men cut down two of my boys.”

  He shook his head, the bitterness and pain evident in his face and body language. Xenophon understood exactly how he felt; there was nothing worse than the betrayal of your comrades by those supposedly on your own side.

  “I’m sorry. We’re here to turn things around, though. We need to shut off the engines and artificial gravity.”

  The Chief Engineer nodded.

  “That’s not a problem. Here, take one of these.”

  He handed over a portable communications rig. It was more substantial than the equipment normally used on ships and was designed to break through even the thickest radiation layers in the vessel; perfect for engineering teams.

  “You leave us a firearm, and let me know when you’re ready. I can redirect power from the engines and anti-grav to the weapon capacitors.”

  “Why not just shut them down?” asked Artemas.

  He looked at her carefully and turned back to Xenophon.

  “Who the hell is this? She isn’t part of my crew, and she doesn’t look like any Terran I’ve ever seen before.”

  She bowed slightly for effect and introduced herself.

  “My name is Artemas, and I am here on special assignment to root out potential problems in the fleet.”

  Another crewman moved from behind one of the tall, stacked computer units and looked around her. Once close enough, Xenophon realised it was a woman, quite young and badly cut about the face.

  “A Medes agent working on board one of our ships, why should we trust her? She is probably the reason we’re in this mess already.”

  Another of the crew joined her, holding up a wrench, but this one seemed less sure of his position. Artemas tensed her body, and Xenophon could see she was on edge and ready to fight.

  Come on, this isn’t the way it needs to be, he thought, now worried their plan would fall at the first hurdle.

  Xenophon stepped in front of her and blocked Artemas from the woman.

  “Believe what you like, but we’re letting you all go. I suggest you stay with the Chief and keep out of our way. Once the gravity is off, we’ll only have a few minutes before they send people down here. Can the systems be rerouted anywhere else on the ship?”

  Artemas moved her left arm forward so that the crew could see the display. It flicked between the different feeds from the bugs. The Chief examined it carefully and almost cried out when he saw one of the crew being dragged into the command deck by two gruff looking soldiers. He lifted his left hand up and touched his brow.

  “I…I don’t understand. He is one of the Legion, like you, so why would he turn on our own like this? What can he possibly hope to gain? We’re in Median space for God’s sake.”

  Artemas sensed the confusion and selected the bug waiting by the locked doors near the command deck.

  “It isn’t clear. It seems that Komes Andronicus has his own plans to strip the Olympia of valuable cargo. My own intelligence confirms signals were sent out into Median space before we were attacked.”

  “You think this man is behind the ambush of the Olympia?”

  Xenophon raised an eyebrow at this last piece of information, especially as it was new information to him. He looked at her, wondering if this were true, or if she was making it up just to get the attention of the crew. Either way, he suspected it didn’t really matter. The fact of the matter was simple, and they had a basic plan to try and turn things around. All they needed right now was to get this group on their side, and to do their part in the coming operation.

  “We don’t know, but he does have no problem in killing Terrans. My guess is he is part of one of the crime syndicates from back home.”

  Artemas struggled to hold back her contempt.

  “Maybe, but he might just be another piece of scum in this sector.”

  The Chief, surprisingly, seemed to agree with her, at least by the expression on his face. He smiled at the woman for a second and looked to Xenophon.

  “Okay, son, you both look like you’re on a mission, and it can’t be any worse than the one this bastard is currently on. How long do you need? I can do what you want from here.”

  Xenophon looked across to Artemas who was already back at the entrance and looking down the corridor. She threw him a glance and turned back.

  “We just need enough time to get a small group in position near the brig rooms.”

  “Brig rooms?” asked the woman.

  “Andronicus and his heavies have locked the surviving command crew into the rooms along the secondary service corridor, the one you saw on the video feeds.”

  “Surviving, did you say?” asked the Chief.

  “Yes, we don’t know who we’ve lost altogether, but from what we’ve learned so far, at least half the command crew are dead or wounded. It wasn’t just a coup. It was a bloody massacre up there.”

  The woman sighed and placed her forehead in her hands. She looked back up to Xenophon with a stern expression on her face.

  “We’re all ex Arcadian or Alliance military here. Find us weapons, and we’ll come with you.”

  Xenophon looked at her and the other crew, but a nagging doubt told him he needed to find combat troops, not crewmen. Still, they had just minutes before the call back to the guard. If there was no response, then Andronicus would know the game was up and reinforce his position. He looked at the others, and they all appeared keen to do something.

  “Do you speak for them all?” he asked.

  “My name is Helena Bergland, assistant to the Chief, and this is my team. The Chief was sent down here along with him to redirect control,” she explained while pointing to the body on the ground.

  “Fair enough, for starters you can take his weapon,” said Xenophon, only now realising the man had equipment they could use.

  “If you want to come with us, I could do with two more, but the others need to keep this door secured until we retake the ship. Bring hand tools and lamps, if you have them.”

  Two grubby looking crewmen, both in grease smeared overalls, stepped forward. They easily put their hands on heavy metal wrenches, and one lifted a rubber coated inspection lamp from the wall. The first man nodded to Xenophon.

  “Name’s Fued. Fued Hill. Get me near them, and they’ll regret ever turning on the commander.”

  The second man reached out and shook Xenophon’s hand. His grip was like a vice, and for a second Xenophon almost gasped. He was a large man, barrel-chested, middle aged and had a slightly downturned mouth. His face was creased with permanent frown lines on his forehead.

  “Bradford J Freely. I’ve heard of you, I served in the Alliance military as well, one of those that made it off Plymouth Station before the fall.”

  Xenophon looked back to the Chief Engineer. He was already working through various substructures of the ship to redirect power.

  “Give us four minutes, and then cut the lights and gravity. Don’t open the door for anybody, understood? We will contact you through the system if we’re successful.”

  The Chief nodded, and the four moved out through the door. Xenophon was last and turned back to find the two men starting to move metal stowage boxes towards the door. The Chief was back on the computer. Helena ripped open one of the storage lockers on the wall. It contained a variety of engineering equipment, but it was the four sets of mag boot clamps that really caught their eyes.

  “I think you’ll be needing these.”

  She threw them over, and in just a few seconds they fitted them around their boots. It was simple gear, but it would allow them to move on the metallic parts of the ship once the gravity was switched off.

  “Thank you,” replied Artemas, and she spoke to Xenophon, “I’d almost forgotten them.”

  Xenophon smiled and checked his boots one last time. He spotted the C
hief still working feverishly on the computer system.

  “Hey, Chief, what’s your name?”

  He looked up, though only for a split-second.

  “Don’t worry about names, plenty of time for that later. Just get your hands back on this ship, and sort out that madman at the helm. If we head any closer to the Olympia, we’ll probably end up suffering the same fate, might even be his plan all along.”

  Xenophon nodded and gave a mock salute.

  “See you on the other side.”

  The men inside pushed the door shut, and from the corridor, he could hear the sound of heavy gear being moved.

  “Xenophon, we don’t have long, let’s go,” said Artemas.

  She led the way but on a slightly different route to the one they had initially left on. As they moved, she double-checked her video feed from the bugs. Every few seconds a burst of interference from the engines would cut the image, but it always returned, until they reached the penultimate ladder to climb.

  “What’s wrong? Where the hell is everyone?” asked Bradford.

  The tunnel they were in was only one level below the command deck, yet completely deserted. It was very poorly lit; that was probably the main reason Artemas had chosen it.

  “Big problem, this shaft leads directly into one of the generator rooms. It’s on the other side from the first brig room, and I’ve just lost the feed from two of the bugs.”

  “What? They found them?” exclaimed Xenophon bitterly.

  Artemas fiddled with the unit but nothing changed. She started cursing in her unintelligible tongue. Xenophon hadn’t heard the language spoken for a long time and could only pick out the odd word. He did notice one being used and was taken aback by her use of it.

  “Hey, easy on the language.”

  She looked up, a surprised expression on her face.

  “You know our language?”

  Fued stepped closer and whispered to the three of them.

  “Maybe now isn’t the best time for flirting over language use. What are we going to do?”

  Xenophon almost blushed with embarrassment but was saved by the sound of footsteps further inside the shaft. Artemas indicated for the rest of them to move back into the shadows and to wait. Less than ten seconds later, a single armoured man approached. He carried a carbine out in front but appeared unconcerned, probably one of many on a routine patrol in the ship. Without discussion or even a signal, Artemas leapt out and grabbed him around the head. She slammed him hard against the wall and twisted his head to the right. It snapped like a twig, and he was dead before he even hit the ground.