The Eternal Fortress (Star Legions Book 6)

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Khalash!” she cried, and in one movement whipped out her kopis blade and swung it at the Argive. The blade struck his shield, deflected upwards, and caught him under the helmet. He fell to the ground with blood spraying from the devastating wound to his throat, and for the first time in days, Tamara felt alive.

  * * *

  The Eternal Fortress, Imperial Border, Shattered Domains

  This was the best part of the entire experience so far for Ariaeus. He was dressed in his finery and had found the least disgusting part of the planet’s defences to call his own, for now. A kilometre away from the gunnery tower, and part of the northern shield wall, was the heavily fortified bastion. Designed primarily for ammunition storage, it was mostly empty, and the only structure that had been designed with any kind of flare. At some point in the past, a fortress had been built, based upon a single keep with a triple-moated tower system around it. The moat was filled with an odd kind of shingle that he’d not seen before, but according to Arteshban Qarz, it was known as knife rocks.

  “Here they come,” said the Arteshban.

  It was the five thousand automatons; each freshly delivered from an unnamed part of the Empire that amused him the most. Apparently, they had arrived just six hours earlier and were already out on the parade ground. Five thousand soldiers, with not a warrior amongst them, and Ariaeus was enjoying watching them try to show off immensely.

  “Fire!” yelled they commander.

  Rank by rank, they opened fire with their long-barrelled rifles, and a reasonable percentage even managed to strike the human-sized figures tied to posts a hundred metres away.

  “Are they not magnificent?” Arteshban Qarz asked.

  Ariaeus almost choked at the question, not in horror, but in complete astonishment and surprise. He looked to the Imperial commander and laughed directly to his face. For some reason, the fool didn’t understand.

  “Bring me a Taochian officer and any twenty of his warriors, right now.”

  Arteshban Qarz gulped, and then ran off to the flank of the huge body of troops. On the end was a single unit of a hundred of the monstrous creatures. Half humanoid and half beast, they were a savage reminder of the more barbarous parts of the Empire. Eventually, they made it back to Ariaeus, and each bowed politely to him.

  “Lord Ariaeus.”

  He then looked to Arteshban Qarz.

  “Now, assemble a hundred of these so-called warriors. Yes, a hundred, and position in line of battle, right there at the hundred metre mark.”

  He then looked to the Taochian commander; a gruff-looking one of his species, if that meant anything at all. He wore the usual rough armour as well as a mantlet-like shield. In his right arm was a mace, a war club. It was perhaps the least subtle weapon Ariaeus had ever seen. A handful had even discarded the shields and carried great clubs, each one as big as a Terran warrior and covered in razor sharp spikes.

  “You will form up in a line of battle, facing these automaton warriors.”

  The creature growled and moved back to his comrades. They quickly lined themselves up, each with its shield to the front. A hundred metres away were the automatons, the artificially bred servants of the Empire. Capable and reasonably intelligent, they were devoid of ambition, strength, or any desire or bloodlust.

  “On my command, you will fight. Whoever lives shall be granted a talent of coin.”

  The Taochi looked as angry and as violent as ever, but the automatons paraded out with surprising confidence. Ariaeus shook his head, knowing exactly what would happen.

  “Fight!”

  The first thing to happen was the first fifteen Taochi pushed their shields to their fronts. The thick lumps of layered metal were nothing if crude, and could quite easily have been nothing more than the hatches and doors ripped off of landing craft or dromons. In fact, the more Ariaeus looked at them, the more he was actually convinced that was exactly what they were.

  These Taochi are no different to the others I've met, strong, hard to kill, and completely lacking in originality. There's a reason this region is called the Shattered Systems.

  He imagined what would happen to them against a tactically astute enemy, one equipped with flexible weapons and artillery. The tough bodies of these warriors and their improvised armour would have little effect upon high-trajectory weapons, or the explosions from missiles or rockets. Even an antiquated mortar firing nothing more than a low velocity high explosive shell would shred their formation. But this was all irrelevant. These automatons had neither, as all they were capable of was what they had been taught. Like a battle of old ancient Terra, they formed up into a pretty line three deep and volley fired an impressive amount of ammunition.

  Here it comes, thought Ariaeus.

  There was a long series of clicks as the smartly dressed and lightly equipped light infantry activated their weapons. Another order followed, and the guns were raised to the shoulder. The front rank knelt down in perfect timing, with the second rank moving up close, their guns now where the front ranks heads had once been.

  The fools.

  The Taochian officer shouted something in his guttural voice, and his comrades repeated it time after time. Ariaeus had heard it before, the ancestral battle cry of their race. It lacked discernible words, but Ariaeus could already see the psychological effect it was having on the automatons. A few of the warriors threw down their shields and lifted their arms high, bellowing like wild animals. Then came the next order, and they picked up their weapons and broke into a run. Monsters they might be, monsters that lacked even rudimentary firearms, yet as they surged forward their line was unbroken.

  Wild, but professional, what could I do with an entire legion of them under my command?

  Just that one thought got Ariaeus thinking, and he almost missed the first phase of the battle. With their ranks being just two deep, their formation looked pathetic next to the great horde of automatons, all of them neatly arrayed for battle. One of the shields was ripped apart, and the Taochi warrior exploded from the volume of fire. Then another, and then four were dead, creating gaps in the line.

  Arteshban Quartz pointed at the battle.

  “My Lord, I do not understand. They will perform well in battle. You are wasting good shock troops, to what end?”

  Ariaeus looked to him and considered explaining, but again came the roar, and he knew there were just seconds to go. He turned back to watch the horde of howling creatures as they were struck by a fusillade of shots. Even as a small number succumbed from their wounds, it wasn't the Taochi that experienced any measure of doubt. Two that had been hit multiple times lifted back up, roared, picked up their shields, and staggered forward with blood dripping from their wounds.

  "Now you will understand, Arteshban Qarz."

  There was little distance between each side, and those at the rear of the automaton line began to creep away. It was slow at first, just a trickle, and then dozens were running. The front rank kept firing, but the shots were less frequent and far less consistent. More broke ranks and then one, the figure in the middle of the unit with the standard, was struck by a two-handed club. The impact was so great that the poor soldier's torso was cut cleanly in half. The Taochi warrior, the squad’s commander as it happened, grabbed the standard, snapped it over his leg, and cast it aside.

  "Ariaeus!" he yelled in thick accent.

  The rest of the Taochi smashed into the line with a thunderous sound. If Ariaeus hadn't seen it, he would have expected to see an armoured vehicle smashing into a wall. Instead it was metal and muscle, and almost half of the automatons had broken and run. For the next few seconds, they were the lucky ones. The brave few that stood their ground died quick, relatively painless deaths as the warriors hacked and tore their way through them. One automaton had turned to the side and was running directly for Ariaeus.

  "Help us!" yelled the androgynous figure.

  Ariaeus laughed and reached down for his jewel encrusted pulse pistol, a gift given to him by Cyrus during the
fighting prior to Cunaxa. He lifted the gun and took careful aim.

  "Turn back and fight for the Empire!"

  The automaton was simply too terrified to change its mind and kept coming.

  "So be it."

  Three shots left the pistol, and all three struck the unfortunate soul in the face. Any detail or emotion shown by the fleeing combatant was transformed into a cloud of blood. A short distance behind at least a dozen automatons dropped to their knees to plead for mercy, and that seemed to goad the monsters on to even greater levels of barbarity. The Taochi hacked and stabbed with such ferocity that Arteshban Qarz turned to his right and vomited on the ground. Ariaeus did not baulk though, and watched until every one of the hundred automatons was a shattered heap of blood and flesh on the dusty ground. Thirteen Taochi had survived, and they approached Ariaeus, each panting from the short exertion.

  “Excellent work, as always,” said Ariaeus.

  The leader of the contingent dropped a severed head at Ariaeus’ feet and again Arteshban Qarz turned away to vomit. He could make the sounds, but his stomach was now all but dry. The Taochian warrior muttered something and then looked back to Ariaeus.

  "My warriors are ready for combat."

  Ariaeus acknowledged with a short head movement and then looked to Arteshban Qarz, who was busily wiping the vomit from his chin. He pointed to the Taochian warrior.

  "In the distant past the Empire fought a long and bloody war to defeat these people. Now they are one tribe in a thousand that serves the God King. These conscripts that you have assembled, they are nothing, just cannon fodder."

  He looked at the Taochian commander.

  "You will join my personal guard on triple pay."

  The creature looked back at his kin and spoke just a few words. Each lifted their bloodied weapon and howled and roared with pleasure.

  “You, Qarz, may command the conscripts. I will take the mercenaries and the Taochi. They will form my Imperial Guard; the last line of defence for when your warriors fail me.”

  He licked his lips, enjoying the moment.

  “Understood?”

  * * *

  Trade Galleon ‘Paradiso’, Phrygian Convoy, Shattered Systems

  Tamara’s vision faded in and out, but she could hear the yells and shouting of spatharii all around her, a mixture of elation, swearing, and crying out in agony as the battle progressed. She shook her head, desperately trying to clear her mind and found her head wedged against yet another aspis shield.

  “Get down!” said a man nearby.

  Tamara groaned uncomfortably and used every last ounce of strength to lower her frame. Something rubbed over her helm, and she felt an object catch on the horsehair and pull the cheek plates past her temple and away from her head. Warm air, blood, and sweat filled her nostrils and then she could see.

  “You idiot!” Theras laughed.

  A hand pulled her, and she looked around to see another spatharios with blood covering his face. He wiped it away with upper left arm and exposed his bruised face.

  “Dion!”

  He smiled and exposed a newly broken tooth. A blade swung by, but he pushed it aside with his shield and hacked away with his own kopis blade.

  “Othismos!”

  Push, this fight is nothing but men pushing!

  A sound like a hoarse battle cry ran up and down the line, and then as one cohesive unit, the phalanx began to push. It was a slow rhythm, barely a few centimetres forwards, but forward they moved.

  “Othismos!” shouted another

  Again came the push, then another, and the effort continued. Tamara didn’t even bother trying to fight, and so pushed her feet down into the dry soil and threw her own modest weight behind her shield. She felt one of the spatharii lose his footing in front, and then he was down. A blade came down and struck him in the shoulder.

  “No!” Tamara screamed.

  She stepped forward and past the wounded man. Another from behind her grabbed at the fallen man’s arms and dragged him back through the formation. Dion stepped up to her flank and pushed his own shield up behind hers. The pressure from the front was now so strong that they might easily have been pushing against a solid wall of stone.

  “What now?” she groaned.

  Dion heaved and pushed against his shield, his arms buckling under the pressure. Tamara could feel her own shield beginning to twist as the pressure became too much for her.

  “Synaspismos!” said a voice from behind.

  Locked shields.

  The word spread, and then came the shuffling of feet and the shouting of more warriors. For a second Tamara thought it was more of the enemy coming at her from the front. She pushed hard, but her shield began to twist. A face in front grinned, and a blade hacked at her.

  Starting to break, must hold!

  Tamara leaned forward and threw herself at the shield. At the same time two spatharii moved in, one on each of her flanks from behind and pushed into her shield and Dion’s. The one to her right had lost his helmet just like Tamara, yet his grin could not have been wider.

  “Othismos, child. Always othismos!”

  He pulled back and then crashed his bodyweight into the shield. The others did the same, and then something broke. Tamara tripped over and landed on her knee. Other spatharii pushed around her and then a breach in the Argive line. Light broke in from behind them as more than a dozen collapsed about the opening. Dion grabbed her right arm, yanked her to her feet, and pointed ahead.

  “Their front ranks are down.”

  “Pararrhexis! Pararrhexis!”

  The breach, we broken them!

  The Laconians pushed one last time, and the enemy formation buckled under the pressure. Several heroic individuals in the enemy phalanx ran back to fill the breach, but on their own it amounted to a pointless endeavour. The phalanx was not a place for the individual. It was a community effort where a unit would win or fall together.

  “Advance in time and in good order,” said the Laconian commander.

  The twin-flute started up once more, and the Laconians stepped ahead in a slow but relentless march. The Argive front rank was shattered, and one by one the subsequent ranks were broken apart by the machine-like advance. By the time they crashed through the fourth, the Argives were already running. The flute changed in tone completely, and for the first time in the battle the order to break ranks was given.

  “With me!” Dion yelled.

  Dion, Tamara, and Theras spread out with a few metres between them and charged out into the open. Other Laconians did the same and cut down any Argive foolish enough to stand his ground. One man in particular was bigger than any of the other spatharii. He’d dropped his shield and was swinging a kopis blade in each hand. Dion moved in close and to the first impact on his aspis shield. Theras followed to support him but was intercepted by another two warriors.

  “Tamara!”

  Dion took a second cut to his shield, but the speed and power of the Argive was truly incredible. Other Laconians were far ahead now, running down the rest of the phalanx and bringing the battle into its final and bloodiest phase. Tamara didn’t even waste time thinking and simply ran in and held up her shield with two hands. One impact was all it took to smash it from her body. She spun about and crashed down, face first into the dust.

  “Child stratiotes!” laughed the Argive as he lifted her up from her hair.

  Tamara struggled, but her kopis blade was on the ground somewhere else, and her shield discarded even further away. Dion was under attack, and Theras was holding back two Argives on his own. Tamara felt his left arm grabbed her throat, and then she was up in the air, taller than she’d ever been. Her vision faded as before, and blood dripped down, stinging and painful in her eyes.

  His blade.

  Sitting on the mighty warrior’s flank was a heavy-looking sword, one known in ancient times as a Xiphos. The head was broad and spread out much like a spearhead. Tamara reached out and felt a sharp pain in her back.

 
; “What are you doing, Laconian infant?”

  She pushed her arm as hard as she could, grabbed the crude hilt, and yanked the blade free. Tamara pulled back her hand and stabbed it hard into the man’s flank, just underneath his shoulder and into the armpit. The blade sank into flesh and then on into the side of his chest. The effect was instantaneous, and he dropped her to the ground. Tamara was on her knees, coughing and choking. She lifted her hand to strike again, but the blade was still embedded in the man’s torso. He howled in pain and stepped closer.

  “Not today, Argive!”

  Dion moved into view and yanked the blade from out of the man’s armpit. The Argive groaned in pain, but his agony was short lived. The second blow came from behind as Dion swung the Xiphos and removed the Argive’s head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed out and over Tamara, covering her face and clothes with the red fluid.

  “Victory!” shouted a Laconian far off into the distance.

  Tamara turned to her new friend and gave him the happiest grin he had ever seen. Before he knew what was happening, she was throwing herself at him, and they both crashed to the ground, with her hands all over him and her blood-covered face against his.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Raider ‘Night Scythe’, Approaching Battleship ‘Respite’, Shattered Systems

  The image of Chirisophus was exactly as Xenophon had expected him to be. He had returned to his Titan, fully armoured and back to his usual cool and collected self. There was little sign of emotion, yet even on the screen Xenophon could tell he was angry.

  “The fleet will be ready to move in less than three hours. I want to be out of here the minute our last spatharii are on board.”

  “Understood, Strategos, and the plan? The other Dukas agree it is the best option.”