“Suicide ships? Is he insane?”
Artemas shook her head.
“Not at all, Xenophon. He just needs to hurt Cyrus enough so that he cannot attack the planet. He has more ships, and when they arrive this will be over. The only chance for victory is a ground assault.”
Xenophon reached out to her shoulder and turned her around.
“Are you serious? Why haven’t we heard this?”
She shook her head angrily.
“I am not part of the order of battle. It is my duty to stay on the Rashnu where I will be safe. Do you think my uncle would give me any information that might put me into the frontline?”
Another massive impact shook the ship, and one of the landing craft broke free of its couplings and slid across the floor. It crashed into an ammunition locker. Two small explosions ripped the front of the craft, and dozens of burning automatons pulled themselves from their seats to avoid the flames. Others ran from their maintenance work to help with the fire. Xenophon pointed to the screen.
“Look.”
The image showed an Elamite battleship with half of its bow embedded into the flank of Rashnu. But more serious than that, two more were moving in the same direction and firing continually into the super-battleship’s armour.
A large group of Cyrus’ Anusiyan Guard marched into the landing area and fanned out, quickly followed by a dozen senior officers. Each was dressed in full battle armour. The larger figure of Cyrus then appeared, followed by yet more guards. They all moved with speed and towards one of the armoured landing craft.
“Cyrus!” Artemas called out to her uncle.
He turned his head but kept moving, his guards almost carrying him to the craft in a hurry. He beckoned for one of his junior commanders, spoke briefly and moved on to the landing craft. The officer ran over to Artemas and bowed. His voice was fast and clipped. Artemas nodded, and he then indicated towards the vessel that Cyrus was already stepping inside.
“They are taking to the landing craft and attacking the surface. My uncle plans on assaulting the Citadel itself.”
The ship shook again, and the computer display went black as it lost the external feeds.
“What about us?” Roxana asked.
Artemas pointed to another landing craft about eighty metres away.
“That one has been made available to us. It can carry us as well as my escort unit. We must be quick!”
None of them needed further encouragement. As soon as they moved, the unit of guards followed right behind. Silent and efficient, the survivors of the previous battle covered the ground to the craft and moved inside. Safely strapped in, Xenophon leaned past Glaucon to speak to Artemas.
“What about Tamara, isn’t she still in the medical bay?”
A bright orange explosion ripped though the far end of the landing area. It was like a starting signal to the other craft, and they quickly took the hint. The first moved to the launch positions, out through the airlock shielding and into space.
“I don’t know. She’ll have to take care of herself for now.”
Xenophon looked out of the windows, watching as the docking clamps and seals deactivated on the craft in front. Three of the craft had already left before they met their position in the queue. He thought about Tamara, and guilt washed over him as he realised he hadn’t even thought about her in over a day. She was young, injured and vulnerable, and he felt responsible for her. He also knew it would take almost fifteen minutes to reach her, and by the amount of damage the ship was taking, they’d all be dead.
Get out of there, Tamara!
He turned and looked at Roxana and Glaucon. Neither looked happy at the situation. Artemas was busy speaking to the commander of the their craft as the pilot tested the engine manifolds prior to releasing the clamps. He couldn’t leave her behind.
“I can’t!” he announced and then unbuckled himself. Glaucon turned in his seat, looking at him.
“You’re serious? The ship is burning. We have to go!”
Roxana nodded in agreement with Xenophon.
“No, he’s right. We can’t just leave her here.”
Artemas reached for her buckles, but two of the Median guards moved in and blocked her path. She shouted at them, but they instantly drew their sidearms and pointed them directly at Xenophon. Artemas stopped struggling, but her rage failed to settle down.
“They have orders from my Uncle. If anything happens to me, they are to shoot you,” she paused and took a quick breath. “Go back and find her. There are escape pods throughout the ship. Find me on the surface. I will be with my uncle.”
Xenophon considered fighting, but more of the guards had unclipped their straps and were moving into position around Artemas. He shook his head angrily and hit the door release. As soon as his feet hit the floor outside, Roxana and Glaucon followed.
“You remember the way?” asked Glaucon, as they jogged back inside the shaking warship.
“Kind of!” Xenophon replied with a nervous laughter.
Behind them the craft started to move as it followed its automated trajectory. From this point, the onboard computer would ensure the craft left the ship safely. It moved several metres when the emergency airlock blew open; out jumped three people. Xenophon turned to watch the commotion.
“Artemas?” he shouted. Two of the soldiers tried to hold her back, but she kicked the first in the stomach and smashed the palm of her hand into the second. As they staggered about, she ran across the open ground to join her comrades. A burst of gunfire rattled from the doorway, but a stern voice stopped the shooter. A single shot followed, and a body dropped from the craft. Its door hissed shut, and it continued on its escape course.
“I know a quicker way!” explained Artemas. With no further explanation, she ran to the left, disappearing through a service door.
“Crazy bitch!” Glaucon smiled and chased after her.
CHAPTER NINE
Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’, Cunaxa Nebula
The Titan shook as the volleys of missiles exploded against the layered shielding. By all account, they had taken over two hundred missiles so far, and still the shields were holding. The screen of light Median warships had used a mixture of proximity and plasma based warheads in an attempt to break the Legion up. The defensive firepower from the battleships and Titans had been devastating. For every ten missiles that approached the Legion, over half were destroyed by focused bursts of fire from the defensive turrets. Even Clearchus appeared impressed by the display of engineering and shield management being conducted by his crew. Even so, the stupendous amounts of weapons fire were taking their toll on the other ships at the front of the formation. Already two cruisers and a battleship had been crippled and reduced to nothing but hulks. A cloud of escape pods and smaller craft surrounded each vessel. They were trying to take off survivors. Some of the officers had urged him to assist them, but Clearchus had rightly refused. Their only chance of survival was to smash through to Cyrus.
“What’s our status?”
The Titan’s tactical officer checked the screens full of data. There was a lot to take in even after the computer disseminated the data. Shields, hull integrity, airlock seals, security posts and energy levels were all critical to the management of the ship in battle. All of this ship-wide data was duplicated to her system as well as to Kentarchos Broge Monsimm and the ship’s executive officer.
“Strategos, shields are down to eleven percent and holding. All stations are functional, and there are no reported breaches. The rest of the fleet is in formation and following us through.”
Clearchus nodded to himself, satisfied that the Titan was doing its job. He looked to his tactical display and watched as the full weight of the Black Legion moved through the centre of the Zacynthian lines. For many it might seem madness, but by forcing their way through its centre, they had selected the most direct route. Confusion and distraction were also weapons to be used if they were to reach Cunaxa rather than stay and fight a protracted
battle with the Zacynthians. The number of cruisers facing him was incredible, and the continuous broadsides they’d unleashed fell upon the bow of the two Titans and the remaining battleships like rain. He’d never seen anything like it in his lifetime.
“Maximum combat speed, we need to rejoin Cyrus!” he shouted to the Kentarchos who instantly relayed the orders to the crew. A dull rumble shook the vessel, as even more thrust pushed it forward at greater speeds. In an ideal world, he would follow the classic pattern of smashing the line with his armoured colours and then tear the forward and rear sections apart with his own close ranged attacks. But these Zacynthians were much better tacticians than the Medes. As the ships approached, their formation changed to bring their vessels alongside the Legion. Even so, the ships smashed through and were enveloped by the cloud of warships blocking the Legion’s path through to Cyrus. The Virtual Observation System gave him the perfect view of thousands of streaks of energy as every ship used its weapons. Every few seconds a number of flashes announced a missile impact or the demise of one of the many smaller vessels.
“Strategos, Herakles is already through.”
Clearchus allowed himself a grim smile. The Titan was the fastest of their remaining three and had been designed from the onset to be faster and more agile than the others. Clearchus didn’t think much of the idea, but today was different. Right now, he needed speed over firepower. Kybernetes Ditha Artell spotted the changes in the enemy deployment and pointed to a group of six cruisers that were in pursuit of the Titan.
“Strategos, they are targeting her engines. There is a chance.”
He’s right, thought Clearchus.
Leaving their sterns vulnerable was an issue, and one that could cost the fleet the battle. He looked back to their dispositions and the distance remaining to Cunaxa Secundus. If they stopped, the battle would take hours.
No, we have to keep moving.
“Contact Proxenus on the Herakles. I want him to position a dozen vessels around him to protect the vulnerable area. He can select the fastest remaining ships in the Legion.”
He turned to the Kentarchos. The commander of the ship was acting as if in a trance, every second sending an order to an officer or checking the streams of data coming directly to him. Clearchus doubted there was any of Kentarchos in the Legion, perhaps in the Terran territories itself, that could match his skill and speed under fire.
“Everybody keep to the plan.”
Auletes Juda Bellee transferred a request directly to Clearchus’ main display. It sat in the queue of requests in the corner with nothing but a flashing green icon to get his attention.
“Strategos, Chief Engineer Kafa needs to speak with you.”
Clearchus felt a subtle surge of adrenalin at the mention of the Chief. He nodded, and she activated the link. He rarely heard from the chief engineer and when he did, it was never with good news. He just prayed that the news wasn’t something terminal to the ship. The Titan and her massive armour, shields and vast weapons arrays had to keep going, without them it would be disastrous.
“What is it, Kafa? Don’t tell me the ship is exploding because I really don’t have the time.”
The man bowed slightly before explaining.
“Strategos. I’ve used our reserves for the shields and even drained surplus power from the manoeuvring thrusters, but the plasma powerplants are starting to overheat. The shields need almost double the projected power output, and it’s more than they were ever designed to work with. I cannot keep them at this capacity for much longer. The coolant systems are working flat-out, and we’re already down three generators from the strain.”
Clearchus looked around him; the energy beams were still striking ships and biting into the Titan’s shields. They were all that stood between death, or reaching the planet and helping Cyrus before he got himself surrounded and killed. So much power was currently being diverted to the shields that they would normally recover to one hundred percent in just over five minutes. Instead, because of the weight of fire it was struggling to stay much above ten percent. A volley of missiles exploded in one point, and he noticed the shield indicator drop a full two percent before recovering and moving back up. He shook his head and looked back to the man.
“If the shields fail, then so do we. What can you do?”
“Not much, Strategos. I need slack in the system to ease the coolant generators. Either the engines or weapons will need to be shutdown. Any less, and you may not bother.”
“How soon?”
“Three minutes, and the first plasma powerplant will start a meltdown. After that, we cannot stop it. We’ll burn from the inside out.”
“Very well. Cut all weapon systems, and give us all you’ve got and get us to Cunaxa!”
The man nodded and the feed cut. Tactical Officer Coxand looked less than impressed as all of her weapons stations went grey. Each deactivated as the power to the capacitors faded away, leaving just a dozen minor turrets with power.
“Strategos, I have no way to intercept missiles. We won’t make it through!”
Clearchus was starting to get annoyed. He wanted to turn the ship around and engage the Zacynthians in a real fight. Running from battle with no weapons was the opposite of what his gut was telling him to do. The only positive side to this problem was that once they reached the planet, the ships would be able to turn and fight. Even better, Clearchus would get to land his troops and fight the kind of battle he was born to command.
* * *
Tamara heard a shriek; the kind you would only ever hear when watching horror movies. It sent a shiver down her body that followed right down to the base of her spine. As she lay there, her eyes closed and her body still, she heard the noise again, but this time is was much closer. A pain in her eye made her squint, and the involuntary reaction was to open her eyes and lean over. The sight she was greeted with shocked her. The medical bay was torn to pieces with equipment heaped against the wall and smashed glass on the floor. Two Medes soldiers were trying to drag a third from underneath a smashed metal frame while he screamed out in agony. She pulled on the bed, and the pain from her left leg jolted as though she’d been struck with an iron bar.
Damn it! That is supposed to be fixed!
She sat up and did her best to ignore the pain. In her limited experience of wounds, the ones that you couldn’t feel were the most problematic. It had been days since the work had been done, and the metal replacements for her damaged limb should in theory give her an even stronger joint. She swung her legs to one side and lowered her feet gingerly to the ground. It gave her a good view of her legs, and what she saw didn’t impress her. The knee had been shattered, and the replacement parts had required the removal of the damaged tissue. The grafted skin was almost finished but retained a red discolouration, giving her leg a mottled, almost burnt appearance. One of the soldiers spotted her movement and took a step closer. A loud smashing sound shook the room, and two girders tore from the ceiling, crashing to the ground. The soldier managed to dodge the first one and jumped aside towards the doorway. He lifted himself up, looked back and then ran.
“What a bastard!” she snarled at the sight of the noble warrior abandoning the wounded.
Both her feet were now firmly on the ground, and as she lowered her weight down, a pang of pain show up her left leg. It reminded her of the visits by the physio over the last week.
Got to power through this!
Tamara pushed from the bed and found herself upright but poorly balanced. Now she could see the medical gown that all the patients in this room had to wear. It was light grey and based on a three-armhole design that needed no ties or snaps. It felt quite light and as far as she could tell, it seemed to be made from some type of demure cloth. It was actually quite comfortable but nothing like the kind of clothing she was used to. As a young, aggressive woman, she favoured tight clothes, leather jackets and generally anything that got her the attention she wanted. A dull grey gown left her feeling vulnerable and weak. She
took a step from the bed and was amazed to find herself still standing. More explosions through the Rashnu required her to grab the bed, rails and finally the wall as she staggered from the room. The wailing soldier had stopped, and she couldn’t find any sign of him or the man that had been helping. They were either dead or had left. Either way it didn’t matter to her. They had all abandoned her, and she had no loyalty to them.
Medes bastards, I won’t forget this!
She made it out of the door and into the corridor. There were a number of bodies on the floor as well as a soldier wearing Terran armour. She stopped and bent down to examine him. He was face down and it required great effort to roll the man over. Upon seeing his Terran face, she took a step back in surprise.
Terrans? On the Rashnu? What’s going on here?
Tamara looked down at the man, and her attention was drawn to the clothing. It definitely wasn’t the style used by the Legion. The more she looked, the more she recognised insignia and styling taken directly from the Medes. His weapon was a standard issue Medes rifle. Nothing particularly special, but the fact that a Terran carried it suggested only one thing to her; he must have been fighting for Artaxerxes. The insignia was definitely not from the Black Legion, and no Terran made use of Medes weapons. She grabbed the rifle, checked it was loaded and continued further down the corridor. There were signs of battle throughout the ship, and it appeared multiple boarding parties must have made it inside before being cut down. The ship shook again, and she was thrown heavily against the wall. She saw movement at the end, so she leaned against the wall to make herself as small a target as possible.
“Tamara?” shouted the nearest. She quickly recognised the voice.
Black Legion: 03 - Warlords of Cunaxa Page 14
