Black Legion - The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “As you would expect, my Laconian infantry are fit, trained and ready for battle. They are itching to get stuck into the enemy, my Lord. What of this contingent? Do we not already have enough troops?”

  Cyrus smiled at the General.

  These Laconians, they seem simple with their constant training and desire for conflict. Yet there is something about them, something simple perhaps to admire. Their courage, or is it the simple pleasure they take from doing something well?

  “I’ve heard about your ship, one of the last twelve Titans still in existence amongst your people. My father tried to destroy them all, you’ll recall? They proved somewhat difficult. As for the contingent, they are a last minute addition from the Ionian Realm, and they have their own special talents.”

  Clearchus smiled, but due to a small scar above his lip, it looked more like a snarl. He had no great vendetta against the Empire, but he did wear that self-satisfied expression worn by most Laconians because they all knew, man for man, they had no equal.

  “I see. Yes, the Ionians are probably the best shipbuilders and engineers we’ve yet encountered. Still, I don’t see what use they will be in this expedition. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

  He waited, but Cyrus said nothing. It was clear he was not interested in discussing it any further. Clearchus might be officially in charge, but Cyrus held the purse strings, and in a mercenary adventure such as this it was all about the money. He thought back to his comments about his ship.

  “Lord Cyrus, your people in the Empire may have infinite resources, people and ships, but none are a match for a Terran Titan and her crew. A hundred Median vessels would be hard pressed to even board a Titan. And why would you ever want to board one? Especially one protected by Laconians!”

  “Quite. You would do well, young Clearchus, to not become too smug about your position with the Terrans. Your people and your ships are strong, but nobody, not even Laconia, is invincible. Perhaps if you had a few more people of your own, your own planet wouldn’t be in such a poor position. A few earthquakes and a slave revolt, and suddenly you are without money or manpower. Remember my offer, The Median Empire is prepared to make a sizable offering of our own automatons to help your people. They may not be as strong and durable as your own slaves, but they are numerous and loyal.”

  Clearchus snorted with derision at the prospect of having Median automatons toiling the lands that his ancestors had protected and built.

  “Never. We are not perfect. I will give you that. But we will rebuild, and with the money from this expedition, the Laconian League will become the strongest and dominant empire amongst all Terrans. Don’t misunderstand our use of indentured workers in our society. They are treated well and are able live long and stable lives on Laconia. The use of artificially created life is outlawed on every civilised Terran world.”

  Cyrus nodded as if agreeing.

  He cannot see it. The weakness that he feels is his people’s strength.

  “The slave revolt on your planet would suggest otherwise, though?”

  He watched the General’s reaction and quickly regretted his words. It was critical that the Laconian general would command his forces in battle. He might be an able politician and administrator, but there was no doubt who the true masters of war were. He looked at Clearchus and spotted the tension building in him.

  They are so quick to anger, so passionate and so willing to fight.

  “I’m sure your friends in the Alliance will be glad to hear that Laconia will once again be powerful and well resourced,” laughed Cyrus, doing his best to calm the situation and avoid a possible confrontation.

  Clearchus was no fool and noted the change in Cyrus’ voice. The Median nobleman had clearly realised he had overstepped his mark. He avoided the earlier comments and smiled, at least as close to a smile as he could muster. Cyrus relaxed a little, glad that they were back on neutral territory, for now.

  “It amazes me how with all of the worlds and empires run by you humans, you seem to spend more time fighting each other than a common enemy.”

  He crossed his hands in front of his body and smiled.

  “Not that I am complaining, of course. Because of your constant fighting, you have produced the finest fighting men and women in the known Galaxy.”

  He turned and looked out through the thick, reinforced window.

  “And that is no easy feat, when you see some of the warriors in my brother’s Empire.”

  Clearchus laughed out loudly.

  “Trust me, we’ve thought about that. Luckily for you, we have enough to worry about with the rest of the Terrans to have any designs on your own empire…” he said, and then paused for effect, “…for now!”

  Cyrus laughed, but the comments did hit home. He was beginning to think the same thing. The Terrans were an asset, but they also posed a grave risk, and one he would have to manage carefully. He watched the ships for a moment, the number and size of them was impressive, but it was the Titans that really caught his eye. In his many years he had seen them, sometimes in battle, but most of the time waiting at some starbase. Only once before, had he been able to witness three in one place. Now there were four of them in formation, each surrounded by hundreds of smaller cruisers and destroyers. It was a force capable of destroying entire fleets, possibly even empires. He smiled inwardly as he thought about his plan and turned back to the General.

  This will work. I will make it work, he decided.

  “Why did you think I hired so many of you? With four Titans and the best-trained warriors in the Galaxy, there will be none who can stand before me. When this is all over, it will lead to a lasting peace and I hope, a period of mutual trust and understanding between both our peoples.”

  Clearchus nodded in agreement. Although many might doubt the intentions of one of the most powerful men in the Empire, he considered himself to be a good judge of character. Cyrus had always been clear with him right from the first time they had met The armada of mercenaries had been assembled from the rusting remains of a dozen fleets, and each thrown together into a hasty but well equipped armada. Only the Laconian ships were in decent shape, but like most things Laconian, they lacked the numbers to be able to go it alone. He just wished the Laconian League had the resources to carry out this mission for Cyrus alone, rather than having to involve warriors and ships from every part of the Terran territory.

  A change of Laconian guards approached. They wore the grey uniform adopted by the Ten Thousand, but like Clearchus, they also wore their own Laconian armour over the top. This advanced equipment was relatively thick and provided strong protection against projectile weapons and thermal charges. Their helmets were tall, crowned with an imitation of an ancient plume to increase their height and foreboding. On the left arm of each warrior was the body shield device. Weighing nearly fifteen kilograms, it was often carried in a pack by other Terran soldiers. The Laconians trained to use it on their arm, so they could make use of the projected shield as both a defensive and offensive weapon. When activated, the device created a metre-wide disc of energy that was proof against all man portable weapons. They stood in front of the six men that were currently stood watching over Clearchus. Cyrus nodded in the direction of the guard party, and they moved through their standard procedure for the changing of the guard. It was partly practical and partly tradition, but it also maintained their position as the pre-eminent practitioners of war in the fleet.

  “Your men carry their full panoply wherever they go? Even on board ships?” he asked in surprise.

  Clearchus returned the salute from his men, and they formed up neatly around him and Cyrus, all waiting and watching for signs of danger.

  “Of course. They are my personal guard, and a picked unit from my ship that follow me wherever I might go. Of what use would they be if unarmoured or armed? What about your guards?” he asked coyly, tilting his head slightly to the right.

  Cyrus looked to the darker part of the ship where two men waited silently. They
were Imperial agents but carried no visible weapons or armour.

  “What guards?”

  Clearchus laughed out loudly at the poor attempt to conceal armed guards on his bridge. He indicated with his hand and in less than a second, the six Laconian guards had activated their body shields on their left arms. The devices flashed and created a semi-transparent glowing shield that extended around the hand and into an oval that covered half of the body. At the same time, they raised their right arms, pointing their carbines directly at the Imperial agents. Almost as quickly, the two agents drew small metallic objects and pointed them at the Laconian soldiers. They were tiny, but Clearchus was certain they would be powerful and deadly weapons, especially if being used by the personal protectors of such an important man.

  Cyrus laughed, “Okay, you make your point well. They are bound to me, and each is the newest son of their families. They have long provided guards to protect the sons and brothers of the Emperor and are completely loyal. They serve the same purpose as your own warriors.”

  Clearchus indicated for his guards to stand down. They moved back to their positions and deactivated their carbines and shields. They stood still, almost like statues apart from their heads. Unlike most ceremonial guards, these men were always busy and checking the area around them. Also unlike Alliance soldiers, who usually planted the shield generators on the ground to provide cover to fight behind, only the Laconians trained to carry theirs into battle. In the right hand of each warrior was an Asgeirr-Carbine, the weapon that marked out any Laconian soldier. Though it was no more powerful than a pulse rifle of the Alliance, or any other Terran colony, it had advantages. It was half the length of a rifle. This reduced the effective range, but it made the weapon more manoeuvrable and combined with the built-in blade, it turned the right hand into a combined projectile and close quarter combat weapon.

  A door to the side of the command centre of the ship hissed open revealing a three-man delegation. They wore the distinctive garb of the Ionian territories. A disputed area that had once been under Terran control, it had now been carved up into a dozen separate territories, each controlled by a powerful Ionian warlord. The high gravity world had helped breed a swarthy but short people who specialised in shipbuilding and high-energy weapons. The woman in the centre approached Cyrus and bowed down low.

  “Lord Cyrus, our siege vessels are here and ready for work.”

  Cyrus nodded in pleasure.

  “Excellent, may I introduce you to the leader of our expedition, Strategos Clearchus of the Laconian League.”

  The woman bowed again, though this time not quite as low.

  “I had no idea we had the pleasure of Ionian troops on this operation,” he said with suspicion.

  “Well, not even the Laconians can match our technology when it comes to the kind of fighting we can expect on the borders of Empire space.”

  Clearchus well understood the barbed insult. It wasn’t just that their technology was more advanced; the woman was referring to the failed attempts by the League in the last few years to reclaim the lost territories run by the cartel of Ionian warlords.

  “Perhaps. Even so, you are now under my command.”

  The leader of the Ionians looked to Cyrus in surprise, but he nodded in agreement also.

  “In that case, we are now all ready. I suggest you return to your ships as quickly as possible, and we will leave in approximately thirty minutes.”

  The party of Ionians bowed politely and left through the door from which they had arrived. Further away, a number of officers moved about the command centre, checking the status of the hundreds of ships. Cyrus stepped to a large display that showed each contingent, its commander and the ships under their command. The Ionians appeared at the bottom, a tiny but powerful addition to the vast Armada.

  “So, my friend, what does this bring our total to?”

  Clearchus examined the display for a moment and moved several icons about as he calculated their forces. It didn’t take long for him to finish.

  “Just over ten thousand four hundred Terran mercenaries, sixty ships including our Titans plus your own forces. By my reckoning, we have nearly twenty thousand automatons under the command of Ariaeus, if he ever turns up.”

  “Excellent. Well, my ships and troops will be useful, but it is your Terran warriors I am counting on to win the day. Ariaeus is a bold tactician and with twenty thousand of his own warriors, he will be able to keep the battle going, but your spatharios will decide it.”

  He stepped closer and examined the ships in detail.

  “So, we have roughly ten thousand Terran mercenaries, interesting. That is what you shall be called until the expedition ends. A fitting name for such a venture.”

  “Name?” asked Clearchus, a little confused at his statement.

  “Yes, you are the Ten Thousand, and a name that will be remembered for thousands of years. Now, for more pressing matters. We will leave and start our mission.”

  Clearchus moved closer so that only Cyrus could possibly hear him. He whispered into his ear.

  “Is it not time to inform the fleet as to our true intentions?”

  “Soon, I have several important communications to make with my own forces that are due to arrive. Then we will meet for a fleet briefing in the command centre where both of us will stand together and explain the full purpose of our expedition.”

  Clearchus nodded and watched as the Median nobleman moved out of sight. From the shadows emerged his two topoteretes who had been waiting and watching from a discrete distance. Clearchus stepped to the main computer system and moved through a series of gestures to bring up a starmap of the region of space on the border of the Median Empire. Pleistoanax and Kleandridas were his most senior commanders and normally commanded half of the military forces at any one time. Perhaps more importantly, they had sworn a blood oath of protection for Clearchus. When he entered battle, at least one of them would always be present with him, the second usually assisting in the command of the army. All three of them wore their traditional crimson Laconian uniforms, topped with their iconic helmets, even when on board a ship. As well as the long flowing robes, they also wore the common infantryman’s breastplate. An archaic looking device, it was actually made of an advanced polymer compound that was proof against many common weapons. In the past, there were occasions where the armour had even withstood direct fire from plasma weaponry, an impressive feat. Only the senior commanders and the elite bodyguard unit were entitled to wear the red tunics and armour. Other Laconian units were allowed to wear the crimson cloak but only for ceremonial purposes.

  “Now that Lord Cyrus is away, we can discuss the details of our force. He might be nominally in charge, but we know where the true power lies in this fleet, and it is with the Laconian commanders and its rigid structure.”

  Both men nodded but to a level that only a man paying extreme attention would have noticed due to the barely discernible movement.

  “As you both know, only ten percent of our heavy infantry is Laconian or trained by our forces. We might have armed them like us, but trust me, they aren’t the same as us.”

  The two topoteretes smiled, both well aware of the obvious insult.

  “I want you to check with each Dukas that their Tagmata are drilling and training to the standard I laid out. It might not be strictly the system we normally use, but it is better than the training they get in their own militaries. Officers from Komes upwards are to use Laconian orders and organisation during this operation. I understand that some of the Megaran troops under Pasion are trying to drill in the Alliance fashion. Explain to them in words that they will understand that this Armada is an attacking force, and we do not hide away behind our shields. We need aggression and drive to win our battles.”

  A young auletes approached. He wore the uniform adopted by the fleet, of field grey, almost black with the colours of his leader on his shoulder. He stopped and saluted, waiting patiently for the commander to acknowledge his presence. He fi
nally turned to face the young man.

  “Strategos, we have picked up an urgent distress signal from one of our scouts in the Cilician Gates sector. The Kentarchos says it is a matter of life or death. His words, Sir.”

  Clearchus nodded and pointed to the large display unit that was showing the starmap he and his comrades had been studying.

  “Put him through here. As you were.”

  The man saluted and then tapped a device on his wrist. With a simple gesture, he moved the connection from his own device and to the map display unit. As soon as the video stream arrived, he left. The three senior officers stepped closer to see the video. It showed the interior of a ship that was evidently sustaining heavy fire.

  “Strategos, I am sending you detailed information on a large fleet of ships in this sector. It would…we cannot…Mulacs...invasion underway…” said the commander of the ship. Over half of the video stream was damaged, and the audio was barely intelligible. As Clearchus continued listening, he beckoned to one of the senior auletes who rushed over. He turned and spoke quickly before returning to the feed.

  “I need detailed analysis on this feed, immediately!”

  The image flickered and jumped as though it was going out of phase. When the image finally cleared, the scene was one of carnage and destruction. Bodies lay throughout the ship, and only a handful remained at their station.

  “This is Strategos Clearchus, Commander of the fleet, what is your status?” he stated in a clear and surprisingly calm voice.

  There was no response, and the audio stream on the transmission cut, followed soon after by the audio stream. He waited for a few more seconds, but it was clear nothing more was coming through. Clearchus looked to his two deputies and considered the situation.

  “There are only two possibilities,” he explained. The two men nodded in agreement. Pleistoanax spoke first.

  “Either they are unable to transmit, or they are unwilling. I would say that based on the videostream, the former is the most likely.”

  “But who were they attacked by, raiders or a patrol from Tissaphernes? This is, after all, his own territory,” added Kleandridas.