Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
STAR LEGIONS: THE ETERNAL FORTRESS
By Michael G. Thomas
First Edition
PART of the STAR LEGIONS SERIES
Copyright © 2014 Michael G. Thomas
Published by Swordworks Books
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
CHAPTER ONE
The Black Legion, Hayastan
Two Seafox light fighters drifted past the cruiser squadron, spun about thirty degrees, and then carried on to the nearest Titan. Far off into the distance, another pair headed for the transports. Torpedo boats moved about in small groups, always on the lookout for signs of enemy ships, as was normal for any operations outside of friendly territory. Their gun ports were open, missiles armed, and their shields active. Unlike the large capital ships, these smaller vessels could be destroyed in a single quick attack. There was no margin for error this far out into enemy territory.
The area of space might have been anywhere in the Empire. In fact, without a starmap, one could just have just as easily been near a Terran world or in orbit around Babylon Prime. The vastness of space was empty, save for the uncountable stars that could be seen in every conceivable direction. The only object of note was the single star that burned off into the distance, and its modest collection of two gas giants from which the ships of the Legion were busily harvesting for fuel. Twenty more fighters circled the formation of transports and dromons in a massive elliptical pattern to ensure no stray vessels could work their way anywhere near the fleet. Unlike the military ships, the heavy transports were a vulnerability to the fleet both in their lack of defensive armament as well as their importance in keeping to a strict formation.
The captured Hayastani transports were being put to good use as utility vessels. Their massive size and internal storage made them perfect additions to the fleet. At the same time, dromons used their collectors to bring the critical fuel to the ships. Refinery equipment on the Titans had already been transferred to the transports to begin the process of turning the raw materials into something the other ships could use. The process was slow but would allow the fleet to escape the last part of the satrapy in one go.
The fleet had been in position for almost two days, and already the entire fleet had been fully fuelled. Every additional hour gave them time to stockpile resources for the final push out of Hayastan and beyond. As an indication of the time they had been static, one of the Elamites had been connected to a pair of Terran cruisers, and hundreds of engineers were busy installing spare component parts from a third captured Zacynthian ship to perform an in the field upgrade to the gunnery components. It was a hasty piece of work, and to do it properly would take weeks or months; but they had just thirty-six hours.
Several blurred shapes quickly coalesced in front of the fleet. One ship came in after another and was quickly surrounded by fighters and torpedo boats. Each of the new arrivals was constructed with insect-like hulls and great solar wings that extended out like those of an ancient glider, and all showed the signs of recent battle.
One by one, the ships of the Legion opened their gun ports and prepared themselves for the inevitable.
* * *
Light Cruiser ‘Antaeus’, Hayastani border
A gentle hum was the subtle reminder that the ship’s shielding was still active, even if it was running on its lowest configuration. Not a crew in the fleet was entirely comfortable at this stage of the journey. Instead of the violence of Carduchia, the Legion had managed days without battle, and each hour of peace and tranquillity left the men and women of the Black Legion more and more suspicious. The only perceivable change in the shielding was as the generators flickered on and off to shift the burden of the energy creation to different sections of the ship. This subtle change was easily detected by the computers but barely perceivable to the human ear. That was enough for Artemas, and she sat up, watching the almost silent form of Xenophon beside her.
The computer panel next to the bed lit up, and she leaned over to read the details. Her face was barely lit from the low light, but even as she looked at the information, she could feel her body starting to wake. She closed her eyes, took a long, slow breath and opened them again. The imagery from outside was as expected, but then more shapes filled the screen, along with the names of the ships.
“That’s not good,” she said quietly.
Xenophon slept that long, deep sleep that could only come after a number of exhausting and difficult days. He lay there thinking of Attica, his homeworld, and those last hours before his exile. The blurred shape of his father, and a world overrun with Medes foot soldiers might not have perfectly reflected what happened, but in his current state it seemed as real as anything else he had seen. He was there with Glaucon and a small band of the Black Legion, each heavily armed, yet the populace were rallying against them. War machines and warriors from a hundred nations waited in silence, their weapons ready for an almighty battle. He woke with a start, the howling of the ship’s klaxon filling his ear.
“What’s going on?”
He rubbed his face and looked over towards the doorway. Lady Artemas was already there and pulling on her armour. He had no idea how long she’d been there, but already she was halfway done and as radiant as ever. She looked at him, her face dark in the low light of their quarters. The single ceiling light was embedded into the side and threw long shadows onto the floor. That was when he spotted the computer panel with the imagery of the fleet.
“I don’t know the specifics, the warning was just sent. It looks like we’ve run into a force of ships. The Kentarchos is calling the crew to battle stations.”
Xenophon was already throwing water over his face and pulling on his own armour. No sooner was he ready than Artemas pulled him close to her.
“Don’t do anything stupid now, okay? We’ve had eight days without having to fire a weapon. Let’s get through Hayastan without incident.”
Xenophon pulled her close to him, kissed her, and then made for the door.
“It’s not me you have to worry about,” he said as he entered the passageway. He looked back and raised one eyebrow.
“It’s the rest of the Legion.”
He vanished off into the bowels of the ship while Artemas pulled on her beautifully crafted Terran chest armour. It was so tightly formed to her body that it could have easily been no more than a corset. However, it was layered with advanced polymers to provide fluid movement and good protection. Her legs were covered in her pa
tched up Median trousers and finished off with bronzed greaves. On her flank hung one of the Makhaira blades taken from the battleship Rashnu, a gift from Xenophon. Only her face was left unprotected so that her pale skin and long dark hair were clearly visible.
“I’m more concerned with Tirbazus,” she said in her native tongue, “He wants this fleet as much as he wants me.”
* * *
The interior of the Antaeus had been recently cleaned, and Xenophon could smell an awful mixture of paint and disinfectant. Each step took him past the scenes of so many of the calamitous events that had befallen the ship since their escape from Cunaxa. Black marks had been painted over to hide the burns of many fires, while metal paste filler repaired gaps in the walls and bulkheads from the hundreds of projectiles that had pierced her hull. For all the work that had been done, the ship was still in a rough condition, and the closer he came to the command deck, the more obvious the signs of damage.
Xenophon matched onto the command deck and almost ran into two crewmen carrying out a burnt out computer system. The heavy unit had been pulled from the wall, and another team was wiring in the replacement. Bright flexible hoses connected into the rear of the system, and most of the fibre optic cables were already busily flashing away. Xenophon squeezed past them and into the centre of the deck. Antaeus was hardly the most powerful ship in the fleet, but what she lacked in bulk, she made up for in manoeuvrability, speed, and seventeen confirmed kills, the highest in the Legion. It was a ship that he considered his temporary home. Each of the Dukas had been assigned a warship, but he had declined a transfer to one of the larger Terran capital ships. After seeing such bloody actions aboard Antaeus and Drakonis, he was beginning to find the smaller cruisers to be quite to his liking. Whereas the original Dukas enjoyed being in command of their vast warships, Xenophon was more the strategist and preferred to command a group of the less powerful ships than as one in charge of a single warship.
“Dukas,” announced the Kentarchos.
The rest of the crew immediately stiffened to attention at the sight of the senior officer. To a man, they sat up ramrod straight until Kentarchos Cadmus indicated they should continue, which they quickly did. Xenophon’s change in position was something that had elevated the light cruisers, especially because he had refused being transferred to one of the captured Elamites. As far as they were concerned, it reflected well upon them all. Their new Dukas considered them his family, and that kind of respect was not easy to earn.
The command deck was silent, as it often was on board any Terran ship. A Medes warship was similar in this respect, though the reasons why couldn’t be further apart. A Medes ship usually operated with a handful of senior Medes and a great horde of automatons. These poor, unfortunate souls were mass-produced to serve the Empire. Weak-willed and fragile, they were easily cowed by the Medes. A Terran ship was a vessel filled with equals, a place where merit always trumped lineage, at least that was how it should work. Each of the men and women of the Legion worked as a professional unit, a people united in culture, experience, and skill. Even a Laconian would place great value on an Arcadian when compared to the barbarians of the Medes.
With each officer working quickly and quietly, the panic and confusion of battle had been replaced by routine operations, something they had fallen back into quite easily. The Kentarchos was not so calm, however, and he was busily looking at a pair of schematics on a side display.
“What happened?” Xenophon asked.
Kentarchos Cadmus pointed out into the distance. Ten corsairs were out in front of the fleet, with their gun ports closed and their shields down. The ships were immediately familiar to Xenophon.
“Ah, Kallinos and her scouts have returned. I wasn’t expecting them for another twelve hours. I wonder what happened.”
As the ships rotated about to alter their course, it became easier to see their hulls. They established a widely dispersed cloud formation, one whereby they could move about individually without fear of collision. The Kentarchos leaned in a little as he examined them with interest.
“That is odd. I don’t recall seeing that before.”
He pointed at the ships and then looked down at the computer controls. Xenophon, in the meantime, looked at the vessels. He could see lines and marks, but nothing out of the ordinary. Kentarchos Cadmus pressed three buttons, and one of the external cameras locked and then zoomed in. One of the ships expanded so much that they could make out the individual windows and antennae. He looked to Xenophon.
“They’ve only just arrived, but already I can see changes. Look at the imagery prior to them leaving.”
There were banks of displays below the VOB surrounding the command deck, and each used by the various command officers to manage the weapons, shields, navigation, and crew. One in particular showed a single frame of the Corsair fleet. The ships were sleek, almost too pretty for what they actually were, agile ships of war.
“Fascinating,” said Xenophon.
Roxana walked in with Glaucon from the other side of the command deck and stopped. Like Xenophon, she wore her hybrid armour, though she’d adopted something of Lady Artemas’ fashion, Median trousers with additional Terran greave plates. She’d also discarded her normal body armour for one of the several chest plates that Lady Artemas wore. Xenophon was convinced it was one of the pieces he’d seen Artemas wear before, but this one had been modified to fit Roxana’s fuller shape compared to the tall and lithe Artemas.
“Komes Devereux.”
He said her name politely and with a little amusement. Part of the voting for new officers had been the selection of supporting officers for the Dukas. Xenias and Chirisophus had made few choices, but Xenophon and the other four Dukas had quickly promoted those that had proven themselves during Cunaxa and beyond. Xenophon knew he had a good team around him and used the opportunity to create a strong new division in the fleet, built up around the form of the four light cruisers, eight torpedo boats, and a pair of heavy transports. The latter he had used to take on additional mercenaries from the surplus Arcadian, Attican, and Boeotian units in the fleet, especially those that Xenias was unable to look after.
The Komes was a senior officer of similar rank to the company commanders of the troops, or those in charge of the smaller ship squadrons. In this case, it meant Roxana Devereux would operate as the second-in-command to him, as the Dukas of the Proto Tagma, a name that simply meant the first Tagma; a name often associated with the vanguard of a Terran military force that dated back to ancient times. Back then it would include a mixture of the best and most experienced light infantry and cavalry. They would screen the movement of an army, guard its flanks, and be used for precision strikes.
“Dukas. How is the Tagma?”
Xenophon nodded towards the shapes of the newly arrived ships.
“The Tagma is fine. Xenias has now integrated most of the Arcadian spatharii with his men. So it looks like we’ll be getting two more units of his stratiotes to join the unit. Each one just under three hundred men and women a piece.”
Roxana raised an eyebrow at that news.
“Two units? We’re getting two kometeia of Night Blades?”
Xenophon nodded and then looked to Glaucon, his close friend from Attica who still refused to wear any kind of armour given to them by the Laconians. Instead, he still wore the attire of the Night Blades, their Arcadian unit from when first joining the Black Legion. Unlike Xenophon, he was still a firm believer in the new ideology coming out of Attica, one that followed a more liberal, democratic agenda. These ideas were something of an anathema to the Laconians that Xenophon seemed to share so much with.
Xenophon caught the attention of the Kentarchos.
“Can you get me a closer look at that ship?”
The man nodded and proceeded to speak with another of his officers. Xenophon took the short moment of respite to turn back to his comrades. He noticed that Glaucon still looked a little uncomfortable.
“Glaucon. How are you find
ing life as our Akolouthos?”
He shook his head in mild irritation.
“I never asked to lead your personal retinue. This is a job for Laconian soldiers, not me. Couldn’t you have found somebody else?”
Xenophon grinned at his discomfort, but more because he knew there was nobody else he could trust with such an important role.
“Dukas, I have the new feed from the lateral cameras.”
All of them looked to the new imagery. The shot was so still it could easily have been a single high-resolution photograph. Rather than showing the whole of the newly arrived force, it focussed attention on the lead vessel, one that had been marked out with additional coloured lines.
“I don’t recognise her.”
Roxana pointed at the dorsal section.
“I do. That’s the ship of Kallinos’ second. I don’t recall his name, but he runs the corsairs when she’s elsewhere. If he took that amount of damage, then they must have been hit hard. Kallinos will not let her command ships into action, not unless she has no choice.”
Roxana’s reference would only make sense to somebody familiar with the operation of the corsairs. They were a different kind of military unit to those used by most of the Medes, and had much in common with how the Night Blades operated.
“True,” answered Xenophon, “They could have hit an ambush.”
There were long black marks along the hull, and hundreds of holes where razor sharp missiles had penetrated the layered hull. Two of the wide, insect like wings had been shattered and broken off near the base, leaving the vessel like an old wooden ship lacking its masts, sails, and rigging. Kentarchos Cadmus checked the newly data from his officer and looked more and more agitated.
“Kallinos hasn’t returned, Dukas. We’re waiting for a sign of her ship, the Sanguine and one more corsair.”
The Eternal Fortress (Star Legions Book 6) Page 1
