Black Legion: 05 - Sea of Fire

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Problem?” Artemas asked in her cool, hushed voice.

  Xenophon shook his head.

  “No, nothing unusual. Just our Boeotian friends.”

  Artemas sighed. She’d witnessed the strengths and weaknesses of the Terrans in almost every possible way. The Boeotians were fragmented and hostile to their Attican neighbors. The Laconians were independent and wary of the others, while the Atticans considered themselves the intellectual masters of all Terrans. The Arcadians lived close to the Laconians and fought against them almost as often as alongside them.

  “I am surprised you are able to send even one man off to war, you all spend so much time squabbling.”

  This time her voice was louder, and others on the command deck could hear her. The Boeotian stratiotes was pointing at Artemas and making some joke. Xenophon kept his head fixed on the man while his eyes searched for Tamara. He spotted her even further back, sitting up in the shadows on a deactivated console. He tilted his head toward the man and gave him a nod. Not realizing what was happening; the cocky young man smirked and continued to chew something on one side of his mouth and then laughed to his friend. There was a short delay, perhaps five or six seconds, and then Tamara was on him. She tapped him on the shoulder, and as he turned around, slammed her knee hard into his crotch.

  “You little...” started the man.

  Tamara laughed and struck him hard in the stomach with a wickedly fast uppercut. He dropped to his knees so that he was now lower than the young woman.

  “The name is Tamara, remember that.”

  With that, she brought down her left arm in a vicious backfist that struck him across the cheek with the back of her forearm. He slumped to the floor and groaned in pain. A second man, tanned and with a pair of rough looking blade scars running from his temple down under his tunic, stepped alongside his comrade. Tamara flipped out a blade from a hidden spot in her clothing and held it low, just below his ribs.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  The man lifted his lip in a wicked scowl.

  “Yeah, stay right there. I know men like you, and you always, and I mean always, take the fool’s choice.”

  She turned her back on him and began to walk.

  “They always do,” she said quietly.

  Xenophon watched her and gave the smallest of nods. Either the teenager had seen movement elsewhere or had spotted Xenophon, or more likely it was mere timing. In any case, she turned back around and sidestepped. The man was already closing and nearly stumbled over her as she changed direction. Tamara slammed her foot up hard into his lower stomach. He doubled over at the same time as the Kentarchos shouted out.

  “That is enough.”

  He then glanced to Xenophon.

  “I will have order on my command deck. Get out, all of...”

  Xenophon lifted his hand in the traditional halt gesture.

  “Nobody will leave.”

  The Kentarchos looked to Xenophon and opened his mouth to object.

  “As Topoteretes, I am the right-hand of this fleet. Strategos Chirisophus makes the final decision, and then the two Topoteretes carry out his work. So when I speak, I am speaking as if I was the Strategos himself.”

  The ship lurched once more as it moved back out into a short distance of open space. The large chunks of flotsam drifted away, and for a few minutes, the ship and its contingent of escorts were in the clear. The torpedo boats came out from behind the cover of the large warship and fanned out in a wide protective screen a hundred kilometers away.

  “Understood?”

  Kentarchos Cadmus’ mouth twitched a little, but he controlled himself.

  “Of course, Topoteretes. Your will shall be done.”

  Tamara moved from where she’d floored the two men to alongside Xenophon.

  “How much further?”

  Lady Artemas looked to her and smiled. The young woman had changed her hair color for the third time since Cunaxa, and now it was bright red; a color that made her stand out against any other member of the crew. Like Xenophon, she wore a mixture of armor, with a shaped breastplate given to her by the Laconian Chirisophus in thanks for their service during the exodus. Even Xenophon now wore his Laconian armor, but still bore the iconography of Attica. It was an odd assortment but not unusual in the mixed force of warriors.

  “The width at this point is a little over fifty parsecs.”

  “Fifty point two,” said the Kentarchos.

  Lady Artemas let that go. It meant little to her and obviously a great deal to him.

  “We have made it ten so far, but this next stage is the most difficult.”

  She pointed to the detailed star maps she had provided for the Legion. They were beautifully intricate and colored to show the borders of the ancient Medes Satrapies or territories. The Carduchian Wilderness ran like a wide river along the border of the Core Worlds.

  “This section is known to some as the Dead Lands. A region fifteen parsecs wide and filled with nothing but rock. There are only a few ways through, but even they can change, and they are deadly.”

  One of the tactical officers further back muttered something. Tamara looked for him, but he must have felt guilty because he instantly spoke up.

  “I...uh, I was just thinking.”

  “Yes?” Xenophon prompted.

  “Well, why are we taking this long route back? According to the maps, we’ll have to pass Carduchia, the Kentrites, and then the border worlds of the Taochians. I can’t image they will be pleased to see us.”

  A female Anticensor, one of the engineers nodded quickly in agreement.

  “And that will only take us to the border of Medes space and the territories of Trebizond.”

  Xenophon smiled.

  “Yes, all of that is true. But the alternatives are to travel back through the Core Worlds, past the entire Imperial Fleet, and then on to Khorram, and Tissaphernes.”

  The very mention of that Medes’ name sent a ripple of bitterness throughout the command deck. Lady Artemas looked to them all and took a step away from Xenophon. She was the perfect fusion of Medes beauty and Terran resilience. Her clothing and armor, even after all their time on the ship still looked new, as though they had never even been worn before.

  “The Satrap Tissaphernes has returned to his own territories. It would appear a minor insurgency has broken out that requires his urgent attention.”

  Xenophon laughed at that.

  “I think we can all imagine what really happened, can’t we?”

  There was no response.

  “Our victory over him and his forces has sent a shockwave throughout this Empire. They now know we are a force to be reckoned with, and that a full frontal assault is too costly for them. Tissaphernes has been sent home in disgrace, and the Emperor has washed his hands of us. This is our chance to slip away through areas he has little control over.”

  He pointed to the star map.

  “We will deal with each problem, one at a time. Traveling back through the Core Worlds would demand a full response from Artaxerxes, and for what? The loss of half, or all of our warriors?”

  “Kentarchos, we have something ahead,” said the ship’s auletes.

  “Good,” said Artemas, “This is what I was expecting.”

  She pointed at the yellow dots on the star map and then nodded to the ship’s Kentarchos.

  “These are Carduchian outposts. They are small and just able to sustain themselves on passing trade.”

  “Good. We will need food and provisions, do you think they will help?” asked the Kentarchos.

  “No, they will not help, but they will trade.”

  Xenophon smiled at her answer.

  “We have a fleet and are offering goods. Only a fool would turn us down when we could easily take what we need.”

  Xenophon walked from the others and alongside the auletes.

  “I need to speak with the Strategos.”

  The female office nodded and established a direct audio channel t
o the main fleet.

  “Topoteretes, excellent, I was about to contact you. Xenias and his scouts have located the hulk of a single Elamite battleship. I am sending a small force to investigate.”

  Xenophon tightened his brow.

  “Why, Strategos?”

  “The Dukas says it bears the insignia of the Imperial Fleet and had sustained damage in battle. There are markings related to Ariaeus. How about you? Have you found a way through yet?”

  Xenophon rubbed his chin as he spoke.

  “Lady Artemas was right. There are four routes through, but this is the shortest. We are nearing a Carduchian outpost. I was about to send a single ship to investigate.”

  “No,” came back the curt reply.

  The three senior officers had been on good terms since their lucky escape, but with each growing day he was sensing a return to the Laconian’s old ways. The standard answer was always to confront or attack, while Xenophon continued to express his preference for stealth or cunning.

  “The Titans are all running low of supplies. Valediction is on nothing but fumes. I have the energy for a single jump before we have to start making decisions on which ships to leave behind.”

  He considered his words carefully.

  “Get close, assess the location, and report back. If they have what we need, then I will bring in the entire Legion.”

  Again Xenophon rubbed his chin.

  “For trade and barter?”

  “Of course. We have no interest in war, unless they bring it to us.”

  He looked back to Artemas and the Kentarchos.

  “Well, there we have it. I need a stealth course plotted.”

  The Kentarchos shook his head.

  “This cruiser is a tough old bird, but our energy signature reads too high. We’re not that much better than the Vulture class for that. I doubt we’ll make it halfway there before being detected.”

  Lady Artemas appeared to agree with him. She looked to Xenophon and then again to the external view. The outpost was much too far away at present, but the electronic signature from its navigation system announced its presence like an ancient lighthouse.

  “What about the fighter? I saw one in the lower hangar,” suggested Tamara.

  The teenager looked up to the Kentarchos with an odd expression on her face.

  “The Seafox? We haven’t used that thing in more than a month. The last pilot that could fly her was transferred to the Drakonis.”

  Xenophon knew the ship, and the fact that over a third of the crew had been killed or wounded in their scouting mission during the escape. He almost dreaded asking his next question.

  “I assume...”

  The Kentarchos nodded.

  “Yes, he was killed in the opening minute of the battle. The trouble is the fighter is old tech, nothing like what any of my pilots have used. Hell, the thing was out of date when it was used at Aegospotami.”

  Xenophon shook his head.

  “I was there, at the end of the war. I don’t remember seeing much in the way of fighters. We were more interested in getting away before the Laconians destroyed the entire fleet.”

  The Kentarchos seemed to change his opinion of the young Attican officer at this information. The battle was well known to every Terran, as it was the single event that marked the change in fortunes for the war. Weeks later it was all over, and Laconian soldiers were marching on the surface of Attica itself. Xenophon almost turned his attention away from the fighter as he looked at Artemas, and then his eyes seemed to light up.

  “Wait. Roxana.”

  “Who?” asked the Kentarchos.

  Xenophon beckoned for Tamara to approach.

  “Where is she?”

  Tamara shrugged, so Xenophon was forced to move back to the ship’s commander.

  “Dekarchos Roxana Devereux, she came aboard along with me, Lady Artemas, and Pentarchos Tamara. She is an Attican Naval officer, and I know for a fact that she used to instruct those fighters.”

  “I see. I will arrange for my engineers to prepare the craft. Who will travel with her?”

  Xenophon grinned at the question.

  “Me, of course.”

  * * *

  Xenophon waited on his own as the small group of crew worked around the Seafox. It was an interesting craft at this distance, and he found the old-fashioned design with the double wing oddly attractive. He’d watched them being launched before, but since entering the Medes Empire, he’d not seen them achieve much beyond routine patrols. The large Titans carried their own strike and fleet defense fighters that were a generation more advanced.

  “Sir, just a few more seconds while we arm her.”

  He acknowledged the man and then walked around the nose of the craft. It was small, very narrow, and covered in special slabs. Unlike the heavy fighters, it featured surface cooling nitrogen cooled vents, and substantial internal cooling.

  “What’s her name?”

  One of the mechanics looked back and shrugged. Another of the engineers heard him speak and pointed at symbols along the nose cone.

  “This one is Nike, a bit over the top if you ask me. She’s only a snub-nosed little bird, but she does have the mileage to prove it. Eighty-six long ones, if you believe the paperwork we have on her.”

  Eighty-six years, and she still looks new.

  He could see the way the man moved around the fighter. His body and mouth told two very different stories. He might be dismissive, but his hands slid over the panels as though he was touching an old horse or dog. He put both hands along the front of the wings and wiped away dust and grease from the edges.

  “The coolant system is charged and ready. Remember, it’s not about firepower or speed; this is all about sensors. The standard scans are for thermal spikes. If they pick up anything more than a residual signature, you can expect a world of pain. Stay slow, keep velocity changes to a minimum, and coast past them.”

  Another officer, this time a short crewman, moved to the side of the fighter and kicked the side of the craft. A panel flipped open, and four small steps dropped down to hit the ground.

  “Hey!” called out the mechanic.

  The shorter man looked back and extended his hands.

  “What? She’s ancient, so what?”

  The older man walked up to the craft and then smacked the shorter one hard across the face. It was a strike with the back of the hand and did no more than leave a bright red mark.

  “That bird has been around longer than you’ll probably live. She has holes in her from the Laconians, Atticans, and the Medes. You treat her with a little more respect.”

  The man walked off muttering.

  “He’s obviously no great fan of fighters,” said Xenophon.

  The mechanic nodded in bitter agreement.

  “For some of them it’s all about what’s new, and what’s the most advanced. This cruiser is not a heavy. We only carry one Seafox for emergencies, and putting the boot in her flank won’t get us home any quicker, will it?”

  Xenophon smiled at his simple but hard to fault logic.

  “I agree. What’s your name?”

  “Countermeasures Anticensor Pollux, Sir.”

  “Well, Anticensor, I thank you for keeping her ready. This one fighter might be all that will keep the entire fleet supplied and fed on our voyage through this wilderness. We will all have you to thank for that.”

  The man looked at Xenophon and then climbed the ladder. He looked inside and pulled on three levers. The navigator seat rose ten centimeters and then stopped with an abrupt click. At the same time, two more men pulled out a series of ribbed cables.

  “She’s ready for you.”

  Xenophon climbed past the man and lowered himself into the seat. It was a tiny affair, and at first he thought only a child would fit. Even as his body made contact, he could feel switches pushing into his body. Finally, he was in and began to relax just as the swarthy mechanic helped pull the straps tight around his chest. With a tug, it pulled so ha
rd across his body that he could barely move.

  “There, that should work.”

  The man pointed to the control board in front of him.

  “She’s configured as a recon bird, so all the tech is for the onboard suite. The guns are nothing special, but they are armed and work. I checked the load myself. Just take it from me; if you run into trouble, you’ll want to use your power unit to get back here. Don’t try and fight back.”

  Xenophon began to answer, but the man was already pulling down on the canopy. It clamped down with a firm clunk, followed by a hiss as the system pressurized. It was only then that he realized he hadn’t seen his pilot. He tried to move his head, but the straps made it all but impossible. Then he felt a slight vibration and movement behind him, another clunk and more hissing.

  “Xenophon, I see you couldn’t leave me alone for thirty minutes? You do know I’ve got more important things to do? Since we’ve arrived I’ve checked on the combat drills for the gun hands, and when you called, I was helping the engineers on that bucket of bolts fix their coolant leaks?”

  There was something close to a groan before she continued.

  “Flying Seafoxes is a job for cadets. Is it wise to have us out there, with all this junk floating around?”

  “Roxana,” he said with quiet amusement, “you’re here for only one reason.”

  “Let me guess?” she answered with a sigh, “You needed the best Navy officer and pilot in the fleet?”

  Xenophon laughed. They had been friends for a very long time now, yet even since they were young children they had pushed each other as far as they might dare.

  “Really, where is he?”

  He couldn’t see her, but he could well imagine the look on her face at the implied insult. The arguments were something that was just as long as their friendship.

  “Typical little rich boy, with a chauvinistic streak to match. You’ve obviously been learning from Glaucon.”

  She clicked several buttons and then powered up the secondary power unit. The fans spun up, and a quiet drone filled the interior.

  “No, really, why me?”

  Xenophon considered trying to butter her up, but there was little point. She knew him well enough that any attempt to flatter her would probably backfire, or at the very least fail.