Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand

by Michael G. Thomas

  Ezekiel Manus considered their situation. The ship was in trouble; of that he had no doubt. The only question was what he did now? He had a plan, but it was so risky, it made his chest hurt. Any alternative would be better, but he couldn’t think of it. Kybernetes Maxentius checked the entrance before looking back.

  “Kentarchos, if we’re going to do it, we need to be fast. The port batteries only have a few more minutes remaining. Any longer, and we won’t reach the hatches.”

  The Kentarchos nodded quickly. The ship had now stopped shaking from weapon impact, and that could mean only one thing.

  They think we’re done, and they intend on taking my ship.

  That was the final straw for him. Not that they would take the ship; the fact that once they had beaten off any opposition, they would take prisoners. The reputation of the Medes for torture and interrogation was well known on every Terran world. Worse than that would be the disgrace of his ship’s crew if they were tortured and gave away critical information on the Legion. Their homeworlds would soon learn of what happened, and it wouldn’t be forgotten, not for a long time.

  “What about their own ships? Any chance in status?”

  The tactical officer shook his head.

  “No idea, Kentarchos. The last I saw was that one was crippled, and the other had lost some of their primary gun systems and their shields were down.”

  “Open the blast shield,” he said grimly.

  He didn’t hesitate and walked the short distance to where the front of the command deck stopped. The wall was normally occupied by digital projections but had become a sterile environment, marked by nothing but burns. He reached the panel on the left and hit the open button. For a second nothing happened, and then the entire wall seemed to move. It was only half of it, but in an instant the entire panel slid away to reveal the triple-paned window that looked out to the front of the ship. It was almost always closed for safety and security reasons, but with all the digital systems offline, it was the only way to look outside.

  “Gods, we are in trouble!” said one of the officers without thinking.

  The Kentarchos gave him a stern look and then walked to the window to look out into space. The shapes of the two Median light cruisers were easy to see at this distance, but it was the massive debris field that astounded him. The chunks of metal must have numbered in the thousand and created a trail of destruction that engulfed all three of them.

  Kybernetes Maxentius moved alongside him and pulled down the helm onto his head. It was the Illyrian type of helmet, a design that could be traced back to the days of the Ancients. It covered the top of the head and the cheeks but left the face completely open, making it perfect for use aboard ships. It connected to the airtight suit underneath his bronze coloured body armour with a gentle clunk sound. As an officer, he wore a short blue plume that ran from the top and down to the back of the neck. Ezekiel Manus looked at his executive officer and then pulled on his own similar looking helm.

  “Will this work, old friend?”

  Maxentius grinned.

  “Who knows? But if any of us survive, it will be one hell of a story!”

  The Kentarchos nodded, doing his best to look confident. He turned back to the view and almost choked.

  “Look!”

  With a hand extended out, he pointed to the shapes of at least twenty Elamite battleships, the standard heavy warship of the Median Empire. Even as they watched, twice as many more ships of different classes jumped in to form a substantial war fleet.

  “Who are they?” asked Maxentius.

  Kentarchos Manus sighed.

  “They all bear the markings of Tissaphernes and the colouring of his fleet.”

  “His personal guard?” muttered his executive officer.

  Kentarchos Manus nodded.

  “That’s right. They want our ship all right, but there’s something even more important that they want.”

  “The fleet,” answered Maxentius.

  “Exactly. They will board us and then interrogate every last one of us for information on the Legion. The ship’s computers will be torn apart for anything they can use.”

  “What information, though? We have nothing of note other than the obvious. Don’t forget, Kentarchos, they already know where the fleet is.”

  Kentarchos Manus shook his head.

  “No, my brother, they only know what they have learnt so far. There are unknowns everywhere. Is our entire fleet at Larissa, do we have a specific battle plan, and more importantly...what is our ultimate objective?”

  Maxentius scratched his cheek as he considered his leader’s words.

  “No matter what happens to us, this fleet will eventually get to the Legion. If they are unable to escape quickly enough, this force could decide our last battle.”

  The Kentarchos grinned happily at his last words and then slapped his hand down on Maxentius’ shoulder.

  “Then we had better let them know what’s happening out here.”

  He gave the nod to the tactical officer, and the silent countdown began. The very second he activated the sequence he could feel a fire burning in his veins. Kybernetes Maxentius sent the signal to the rest of the crew, and in that moment any further planning became irrelevant. The Kentarchos looked to his small group of officers and then down to the kopis blade and pulse pistol he carried in each hand.

  “Gentlemen, the odds of this plan working is so low, it is not even worth considering them.”

  He looked at each of them in turn and then grasped his kopis tightly.

  “It is time to leave Drakonis. The fleet needs us. May our dragon die as she lived.”

  * * *

  Median Battleship ‘Vairya’, Core Worlds

  Vairya moved through space at incredible speeds, but from the inside it felt as if the ship itself had never moved more than a few metres. Every irregular surface had been retracted and the gun ports were closed, though this was more from tradition than for any other reason. In space, aerodynamics were completely redundant but that had little effect on the shipbuilders of the Empire.

  Sixty seconds.

  Tissaphernes counted down in his head as his mighty battleship completed the final stage of its journey. The engines were already changing their tone as the vessel prepared to slow down and halt almost instantly. It was a feat of engineering that a thousand years earlier would have been considered a miracle. To most of the crew it would be as if they had never moved, but Tissaphernes and a select group of senior officers retained access to the external feeds. It was an honour and a privilege to have access to their level of data.

  Thirty seconds.

  Reports continued to arrive from the fighting at Larissa, and as he had expected, both sides were now fully committed. Still, much as he wanted to jump in to end the battle, he would never do so unless completely sure of victory. The curved black cylinder he commanded from helped him feel separated from his crew and even the ship, a way that he likened to the God King himself. That put a twisted smile on his face. His lip twitched slightly as his count finished. Only three seconds passed by before his impatience got the better of him.

  “My Lord, we have arrived,” said the Darbabad.

  For the briefest of moments, he had no idea where his Admiral waited. The smoked semi-transparent material blocked out much of the view of the ship, and it took a while for him to find the dark shape among the stars. After a quick look, he chose to ignore the automaton and instead watched the nearest stars around the ship appear to slow down. A dull tone travelled through the ship, and then the stars stopped moving completely, the ship dropping to conventional speed. There was almost no difference to the crew; the inertial stabilisers accounted for the massive deceleration with a huge and temporary surge in power. Tissaphernes lifted himself to his feet and examined the imagery around his spacecraft. The view granted to him by this technology was similar to that of the VOB system used on Terran ships, except only Tissaphernes had access to the system.

  Where is
it?

  He scanned to his right, stopping at the scene of the space battle. His pulse quickened as he imagined the damage his ships must have already caused. It was tempting to give the order to finish off the cruiser, but he knew that intelligence was of greater importance right now. He could enjoy finishing off the crew in his own time, when he was secure in his knowledge of the enemy’s intentions. At first glance, he could barely work out the shapes. The three light cruisers were surrounded by wreckage and several large sections of ship. There was no gunfire present and only a small number of fighters moving about. His great battleship slipped between his own cruisers and the disabled Terran vessel. They pushed through the wreckage like an icebreaker from the ancient past. Some might have perceived this as his way of protecting the other two ships.

  Protect them? Why?

  He had little interest in the scout ships. In fact, the more thought he gave them, the angrier he got that two of them had been unable to finish the fight quickly and efficiently. He considered what punishment might be suitable before turning his attention back on the enemy vessel. By dropping out of light-speed directly opposite the ship, he had been granted an extremely close view of the warship, one that intrigued him. The black scars along her hull showed where the heavy cutters had burnt through plating while the larger scorch pattern showed plasma blast damage. One particular hole ran completely through the ship and exposed a dozen compartments directly into space.

  Ah, I wonder how many were sucked out?

  He continued looking down its length until he reached the engine mounts. They were as damaged as the rest of the vessel, with one torn completely away and drifting a short distance away. Puffs of gas continued to vent from a hundred places, giving the ship a minuscule amount of lateral rotation as it drifted out of control.

  So, they have been disabled.

  “Darbabad, prepare my transport. I want to be there when they take her Kentarchos.”

  The automaton bowed and walked away while the black unit descended into the floor. Once more Tissaphernes was greeted with the open view of his command deck and his horde of automatons. He took a single step and then halted.

  What is that?

  Movement appeared at the end of the command deck and then armoured shapes.

  Is this treachery?

  He instinctively tapped his thigh, and a heavily modified carbine cut down to the size of a large pistol slid out from a concealed pouch in the armour. He grabbed it and lifted the weapon to shoulder height. Alarms sounded throughout the ship, and he knew right away that something terrible was about to happen.

  The impact against the battleship was massive, something far greater than a mere laser blast and rocket attack. Dozens of the automatons were thrown from their feet or their seats. He almost fell but grabbed onto a monitor console to his side and stayed upright long enough to see more shapes burst from doorways in the flanks of the command deck. He almost pulled the trigger on his pistol before spotting the armour of his Anusiyan guards. A dozen moved around him and formed a defensive screen. Only one faced him, the tallest of his number and carrying a double-barrelled pulse rifle at his shoulder.

  “My Lord, the enemy ship...it has...”

  Another massive vibration ripped through the ship, and this time he did fall to the ground, even as the Anusiyans tried to help him. Half of the lights flickered out, and flashes and blasts rippled through the vessel. They helped him up, and he moved to the control area and hit the button on the ground. The curved black walls rose up around him and immediately showed him an external view of the battleship.

  Where is that ship?

  He looked hard but other than the massive debris field, he could only make out two cruisers, both of which were Median vessels. He briefly wondered if the Terran ship had escaped, and it sent a chill through his body.

  “My Lord,” said Darbabad.

  The panicked officer staggered towards his command unit with blood streaming from a head wound.

  “What?” snapped the Satrap.

  The Darbabad hesitated as he looked at his master. More flashes and explosions continued to travel through the ship, and three automatons were cut in half just metres from where he stood. Two senior officers ran to him while a fourth dragged a bloodied leg behind him before stopping alongside their commander. Their words were heated, but finally the Darbabad shouted at them and then looked to Tissaphernes.

  “My Lord, the enemy ship is gone.”

  “What?” he roared with anger.

  This fool has allowed them to escape; now he will pay.

  He raised his pistol towards the Darbabad, but the terrified automaton continued to speak.

  “Their ship has been destroyed by an internal meltdown. The debris has destroyed our port engine array and knocked out the shields.”

  Tissaphernes had already begun to pull the trigger, but at the mention of the explosion, he released the pressure. The automaton almost passed out with relief at his stay of execution.

  “What happened?”

  The Darbabad tried to speak but fear and anxiety at this point were almost choking him. That, combined with the elation of not being executed, made it almost impossible to speak. One of the more junior officer knelt beside him.

  “My Lord, I am the combat officer.”

  Tissaphernes moved his eyes from the Darbabad and to this new officer.

  “Answer my question then.”

  “The enemy vessel diverted its energy reserves from life support, artificial gravity, and inertial dampeners to its jump engines and thrusters. They accelerated for one tenth of a second in our direction before the reactor went critical and destroyed the ship.”

  The Satrap didn’t seem convinced.

  “Why are we damaged then? There are no shockwaves in space.”

  He looked about the command deck and watched as scores of his automatons scrambled about like ants. Most moved to their stations, but at least a dozen were being taken away on stretchers to the medical bays. The Darbabad finally found his voice and after a final cough began his explanation.

  “My Lord, the enemy tried to ram us, but their power plant failed and sent the wreckage directly at us. Any other ship would have been destroyed, but Vairya is no common warship.”

  Tissaphernes lip twitched at the mention of his ship’s name. It was indeed correct. His own warship was everything an Elamite could expect and more. She was long, broader, and fifty percent larger in mass. Her complement was nearly double in size, and like her sister ship, the Sraosha; she also contained contingents of heavy infantry and five of the latest combat drone robots.

  The thought of the machines moved his attention from the Darbabad to heavily armoured stations positioned at both ends of the command deck. The reflective cylindrical units looked like part of the ship, but he knew what fearsome war machines lurked inside. Knowing the machines were there kept him calm, even when his ship was facing such a deadly attack.

  This gift from the Robotic Domains is my last line of defence. If just one of those Terrans steps foot on my ship, I will release my machines.

  The very idea of sending the horrifying machines with their thick armour and heavy weapons into the fray sent a tingle of excitement through his body. They were programmed to take orders from him and him alone and had been tested extensively prior to leaving Cunaxa. That reminded him of the two he had given as gifts to his maladjusted nephew now commanding the Leleges vessels in battle against the Terrans.

  I wonder if Qahreman has used them yet?

  He almost forgot about his predicament, as he imagined one of them finding a Terran Dukas or other leader, and pulling them limb from limb or vaporising them with heavy weapons fire.

  “My Lord, what are your orders?”

  It was the Darbabad that spoke, and Tissaphernes realised that as he had been fantasising about the destruction of the Terrans, he had completely failed to hear the last few words of the automaton. He was angry now, just as much with the Darbabad as he was with himse
lf.

  “How long till we are fully operational?”

  “Three hours, My Lord.”

  Tissaphernes face contorted at this news.

  “Uh...three for everything. I can have the jump engines ready in two.”

  Tissaphernes tilted his head and concentrated one eye on the terrified automaton.

  “I want to be travelling to the rendezvous point in less than an hour.”

  His face reddened.

  “Or you will find yourself examining space from the outside. Do you understand me, Darbabad? Do you?”

  * * *

  Median Battleship ‘Sraosha’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

  A pulse cannon round struck a girder half a metre to the side of Xenophon, and the impact sent shards of metal against his helmet. The impact was sudden, and although it caused no damage, it knocked him back a short distance. Artemas grabbed him and held him upright.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her voice was strained, made worse by the black burn mark that ran from the temple to cheek of his armoured helm. He shook his head as though he’d just been struck by a hammer and glanced at her.

  “Just debris, nothing serious.”

  Artemas’ attention was drawn to movement further away on the floor below them. An armoured figure took aim with a rifle. She pointed her own weapon at the soldier and struck him in the midriff with two shots. The figure staggered back, disappearing into the shadows.

  “Nice,” Xenophon said.

  He moved forward a short distance and then looked down from his current position. In all this time they had still only just made it to the third level up from the command deck. They had been forced to fight their way past a dozen automatons on the way up but had so far managed to avoid any serious injuries. Another more powerful blast came from the command deck and slammed into a pair of Terrans on the level below them. He leaned to the side to see what was happening when another volley smashed around him. He stumbled back, a sense of vertigo and caution overwhelming him at both the height and the danger.