Cyrus smiled inwardly, impressed with the speed and efficiency of the crew. Although he was an exile, he still had friends back home, and they had done much to ensure he had the pick of the Laconian military that were on leave or retiring. Even the Titans in the fleet had been a major coup, offered for large cash stipends purely because most of the Terran colonies were having trouble raising funds to run such massive ships. He remembered the rumours that Arcadia was even considering scrapping her only remaining Titan, the Olympia, to raise money for social programmes. He shook his head; he had more important things to worry about right now.
“Give me the short version.”
“According to our databases this isn’t any collection of ships, this is the primary fleet of the Imperial Navy. I count twenty-eight Elamite battleships, nine battlecruisers, eight armoured cruisers, twenty-six light cruisers and nearly eighty destroyers. They outnumber our forces by fifty-percent.”
Cyrus lifted his hand.
“Wait, we have over a hundred of my allied ships under the command of Ariaeus. That will give us a substantial advantage in numbers. If we combine the fleets, we can descend upon them and destroy their fleet in one action.”
Clearchus listened to him but wasn’t convinced.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm to attack, Lord Cyrus. But I have my crew and warriors to worry about. This mission is not to destroy the Median Empire. It is to put you on the thrown, is it not? I could lose half my forces and then what state will you be in? You can’t run an Empire with two decimated fleets can you?”
Cyrus walked up to the display and pointed to the capital ships scattered throughout the enemy formation. He aimed specifically at the largest battleship.
“These are no ordinary ships. They are the Royal ships of the Imperium, and if we let them escape, well, we could lose a chance to end this war before it even begins.”
The Tactical Officer pointed at the main ships as she described the details held on the ship’s database. As they continued discussing the plan, the ships in the fleet drew up into the final part of the prearranged formation. The Terrans adopted a narrow front with much of the lighter ships in reserve. With space being the vast three-dimensional void that it was, the ships were spaced out considerably. Partially to give clear fields of fire, but also to avoid taking damage from shrapnel of damaged ships or the massive explosions that occur with core reactor overloads on the larger ships. Contrary to what most people thought, there was no air in space, and therefore no shockwave from explosions. But that didn’t stop the ships from staying at a safe distance. The officers were still talking, but Clearchus’ attention was drawn by several small groups of ships breaking away from the main enemy column.
What are they up to?
Most of the enemy fleet was still in the long column, and Clearchus watched with satisfaction as in less than a single minute the entire Terran fleet was formed up into battle order. Behind the three-deep Terran formation, the Medes ships of Ariaeus were much further back, and most had taken up stations around the transports. Unlike the Terrans and their Titans, the bulk of the Medes troops were inside lightly protected vessels with little in the way of armour, firepower or shielding to look after them. He was about to speak, but the face of his hated opposite number appeared instead.
“Strategos,” he stated politely.
“Ariaeus, I trust your ships are in the correct formation?” asked Clearchus.
Ariaeus nodded.
“I think they are trying to bait us into attacking. This looks like a trap to advance our forces forward so we can be engaged by superior numbers,” explained Clearchus.
“What numbers?” asked Cyrus as he waved his hands in the direction of the many groups of ships. Clearchus shook his head in annoyance.
There is a reason your Empire failed in two invasions in a row against us, barbarian! He murmured angrily to himself.
“It isn’t just what you see, Cyrus, it is what you do not. Your people have a well known reputation for subterfuge and feigned withdrawals. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is all a simple device to make us attack them.”
Cyrus was visibly annoyed, probably due to the perceived lack of aggression shown by Clearchus. He had hired the man both for his skill and his connections. Without him, there would never have been four Titans to start with, let alone ten thousand of the finest Terran ground troops.
“There is something else, Strategos. I have picked up the signature and silhouette of what looks like a Super-Battleship. I...I think it might be the Rashnu. She is turning and moving to the rear of the column.”
That last description seemed to stop Cyrus in his tracks. His eyes gleamed at the mention of the infamous ship, probably the most famous ship in the entire Median fleet, perhaps any fleet. Clearchus spotted his expression, and it was clear the ship’s name meant something important to him. He waved his hand and brought up a detailed camera view of the brightly coloured Median battleship.
“The Rashnu, you said?” he asked.
Clearchus examined the shape carefully, and from the corner of his eye he made sure his own forces were manoeuvring as per his instructions. So far neither side had committed any forces or started any kind of violent action.
“That is why I contacted you. The ship is indeed the Rashnu,” said Ariaeus as politely as he could manage.
There was some commotion near the commander of the Titan, Kentarchos Broge Monsimm. His was in a heated discussion with the ship’s senior communications officer, Auletes Juda Bellee. Clearchus noticed the Auletes was trying to authorise a video communication of some kind.
“What is it?” he called out.
Kentarchos Monsimm turned in his chair. Beads of sweat were clear on his forehead, and he looked worried. No, as Clearchus looked more carefully, he realised it wasn’t worry, it was tension. The Kentarchos was ready for battle and knew what was at stake.
“Strategos, we have been sent an urgent secure communication from the enemy flagship. They wish to know why we have entered Imperial territory. We are to lower our shields and allow boarding parties to search our ships.”
Clearchus looked to the tactical display and checked the status of the ships. It would take considerable time for any of the ships to change course; powering up jump drives took time and energy, something that was often limited in a combat environment.
Do I attack or let them withdraw?
The Auletes turned back in her seat with a look of surprise, almost fear on her face. Clearchus, Cyrus and the Kentarchos all recognised the expression.
“What?” demanded Clearchus, dreading what she might have to say.
“It’s him!” she replied, spluttering out the words.
Clearchus still wasn’t sure, but he needed to know.
“Answer me, who is it?”
“The Emperor, he is here,” she cried out and then turned back to her display.
Cyrus stepped towards her, bypassing any of the other Terran officers on the deck. A number of Clearchus’ guard motioned to move, but he waved them off discretely.
“Put him on!” he demanded.
Auletes Bellee looked over to Clearchus who simply nodded in reply. It took only seconds and then the image of the Emperor Artaxerxes himself appeared. It was the first time Clearchus had seen the leader of the Median Empire or even the inside of one of their ships. Unlike Cyrus, who had adopted Terran speech and mannerisms, his brother looked completely different. Dressed in a bizarre gown, he was topped off with a flamboyant headdress and a completely exposed right shoulder.
“Barbarians,” muttered Clearchus.
He started to speak in the odd language of the Medians, and it took a few seconds for the computer translators to catch up and repeat a version the Terrans could understand. Harsh words had evidently been exchanged before Cyrus looked back to Clearchus, his faced taut with anger.
“We must strike!” he hissed through his teeth before continuing.
The computer tried to translate the first few l
ines, but nothing but gibberish came out of the system. The Auletes split the data to her assistants, but they seemed to be making no progress.
“What’s happening here?” growled the Kentarchos.
Auletes Bellee continued her work but called out from behind her desk.
“They aren’t speaking standard Median, Sir. I think it must be a code or perhaps a family dialect. I’m cross-referencing with the ancient and classical Median dialects now.”
Clearchus remembered reading about the Medes and their nobility. Unlike the Terrans, they weren’t into a single race but a mixture of conquered and assimilated societies that were rules by regional satraps that then answered directly to the Imperial Household. The true Medes were the Terran-looking humanoids in the Core Worlds like Cyrus and his brother. Their lands were filled with bizarre races and creatures, though he had seen very few of them so far. His attention was grabbed by the fact that the video screen had shut down.
“Strategos Clearchus,” called out Cyrus, “I beg you to begin your assault. My brother, the Emperor, says if we leave, he will forgive us. If we stay, then he will destroy us and not stop until every ship is left a hulk to be picked over by scavengers. He will take no prisoners here.”
Clearchus looked back to his display and then to Cyrus. The Emperor was indeed the prize, and his plan would need just a few subtle changes for it to work.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I am the people’s Emperor, that he is a dictator, an imposter and an enemy of the Empire.”
Tactical Officer Jeane Coxand moved her hand around the ships shown on the display so that they were highlighted in red. She waved her hand along the entire formation.
“The enemy forces are deploying into a wide front, Strategos, and the shipyard and planetary defences are activating. Rashnu is deploying to the centre of the enemy fleet between four Elamite battleships.”
“Yes, as I suspected, this was a feigned withdrawal. The column was laid out to trick us into attacking the rear where they would then turn and envelop our dispersed formation. The emplacements and shipyards would rake us on our approach.”
Cyrus lowered his head slightly and nodded.
“You were correct, Clearchus. I will stand by your judgement in this matter. All I would say though is that if we take the Emperor today, I will pay every member of the Legion triple their bounty for just this one day’s work.”
Clearchus looked at him and grinned.
“Auletes, put Cyrus on with the entire fleet.” He ordered before looking back to Cyrus.
“Tell them what you just told me, and I’ll bring you his head as a royal souvenir.”
Cyrus grinned and for possibly the first time, Clearchus was sincere.
* * *
Vendetta, Approaching Khorram shipyards
The ships partially damaged gymnasium was hardly the best place to be introduced to new people. With the shift change, the casualties still filling the infirmaries and many of the crew quarters, it was one of the few spaces left to be used. As the small group of five ships continued their jumps towards Khorram, so the mood had shifted in the ship. The makeshift bar had been closed and a temporary firing range erected so that the troops could train. Xenophon and Artemas were both there along with Glaucon and a dozen other spatharii, each of them working on weights, running or practicing their martial arts training.
“Where are the others?” asked Xenophon.
“Roxana is collecting some new kit for Artemas, and Tamara is gathering training weapons. They are due any minute,” explained Glaucon, surprised at the impatience of his old friend.
Both Glaucon and Xenophon wore their training fatigues, a lightweight material that was closefitting and didn’t interfere with their movement. It covered all the skin up to the throat and was made of a special fabric that helped spread heat and perspiration. Artemas, on the other hand, had elected to remain with her more provocative Median clothing; and to the Terrans it had more in common with tight fabrics and corsets than military gear.
“Can you fight in that?” asked Glaucon with more than a hint of scepticism.
“Want to find out?” she asked with one raised eyebrow.
Glaucon placed his towel on one of the crates and moved out into the open space towards the soft training mats.
“Well, actually I would,” he said suggestively while glancing towards Xenophon. He was both please and surprised to see his friend nod, effectively allowing the bout to proceed.
Artemas moved into the middle of the floor and took up a fighting stance. Her left foot was forward and her knees slightly bent. She lifted her elbows up to present the bones of her forearms to Glaucon. Xenophon’s friend simply walked out into the area and stood several metres away. He was relaxed and calm, but Xenophon knew that deep down his friend had speed and strength that had surprised many an enemy in the past.
“So, what would you like me to do?” he asked with a grin.
“You can try to do anything you want with me,” she said and blew a kiss at him.
Xenophon instantly spotted the change in his posture, and in a flash he bounded towards her and lowered himself. It was one of his standard moves; the shoulder barge to the stomach that usually threw his opponent onto their backs and to the floor. Xenophon allowed himself a small smile, knowing full it was Glaucon’s plan to force her to the floor on her back. This was, of course, what he planned but nothing like the way it ended up. As he rushed in and lowered his head, she simply stood her ground. They almost made contact before she moved her weight and slid to the left and away from his attack. She lifted her right leg that was now in front of him and brought it up as high as her chest before bringing it back down onto his back. It was a light strike, but it easily knocked him to the floor.
“Nice,” laughed Xenophon, much to the annoyance of Glaucon.
He lifted himself up and wiped the dust from the floor. Artemas seemed to almost dance about in front of him. Her long legs moved with a grace and speed that Glaucon could never match.
“You charge like a bull,” she said in a matter of fact tone.
He rolled his shoulders, and the right one creaked a little with the movement. He adopted a fighting stance, similar to the one used by Artemas and then moved in, but this time slower and more considered.
“Better,” she said, almost baiting him with her words, “you anticipate too much!” she added and moved in with a series of fast jabs towards his face. He easily batted them aside and moved for a powerful punch to the stomach. As his fist moved in, she twisted her hips and trapped his arm in her armpit. With a simple grab and twist, she had his arm locked behind his body. With a short push he fell down, twisting as he went until he landed on his back once more. She dropped down so that her knees where each side of his head and sat on his chest.
“Is this what you had in mind?” she asked with a wicked grin, so wicked that even Glaucon had to laugh at his predicament. At that very moment in walked Tamara and Roxana, and both of them carrying the training gear and weapons they had set out to find. Roxana stopped when she saw Artemas straddling Glaucon on the floor. She was about to speak when she saw a grinning Xenophon stood to the side and watching.
“I see you’ve been busy, then?” she said sarcastically.
Artemas leapt up and reached down to help Glaucon up. His pride may have been slightly wounded, but he seemed happy with their little skirmish. She stepped up close to him so that she could see his face and eyes clearly. It was uncomfortably close for Terrans, but Xenophon had seen other Medes do it. It appeared to be a measure of respect.
“You are a powerful man, Glaucon. That power, tempered with control, will make you formidable.”
He smiled back and swung his arm towards her buttocks. She easily caught his hand, and instead placed her own hand in his and shook it.
“You need to keep this guy under control.”
Xenophon approached them and turned, pointing to the two new arrivals.
“Th
ese are my friends and also your protectors. This is Roxana, ex-Alliance naval officer and expert in tech, weapons and flight management. You will not find a more experienced or intelligent officer like her in the Legion.”
He then turned to Glaucon who was motionless and staring at her.
“This larger than life character is my old friend Glaucon from back home on Attica. What he lacks in manners, he makes up with determination, skill and strength.”
Artemas smiled at him, “I have no doubt.”
She looked over to the young Tamara who was busy examining the Medes female from head to toe. Her attention seemed especially concentrated on her Median clothing.
“And you must be Tamara?” she asked.
Tamara looked at her but said nothing. Artemas glanced over to Xenophon as she tried to work out how she must have offended the young woman. He simply shook his head in annoyance.
“Tamara is a special case. She is fast, agile and quite the specialist, aren’t you?” he said while doing his best to encourage her.
Tamara shrugged but again said little. Artemas looked at her face and noticed the anger that was hidden behind her eyes. She’d seen the same look before, many years earlier on some of the worlds cleansed by the Taochi; a race of monstrous warriors that had swept through large parts of the Median Empire before being crushed by a vast Imperial Armada. The race was bipedal, and of similar shape and build of an upright bull, but with a strongly muscled upper torsos and arms. Some of the children she had seen in the aftermath of the war or liberation had the same look of fear that Tamara exhibited. She turned her head slightly and walked over to the stack of training weapons she had just brought in.
“Do you like to fight?” she asked her.
At this question Tamara’s face lit up. She cocked her head and followed Artemas as she examined the weapons. She withdrew two short swords, each no longer than a metre and looked back over her shoulder to Tamara. She smiled inwardly at seeing the young woman watching.
So, you are interested in something, she thought.
Black Legion: 02 - Assault on Khorram Page 19
