Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand (8 page)

“Of whom?” Lady Artemas asked.

They looked at her; surprised she even knew what they were talking about. Without even looking at the imagery, she turned her attention to Xenias.

“These ships are the mercenary vessels of Dukas Phalinus, the Zacynthian commander.”

Chirisophus spat on the ground at the mention of the turncoat’s name.

“That bastard should have burned at Cunaxa!”

Artemas shrugged.

“Perhaps, in any case, he fights for the God King Artaxerxes, and a substantial reward has been placed for the destruction of this very fleet. I suspect he is here to claim the bounty.”

Dukas Xenias scowled at the news and especially the name of the renegade Dukas.

“I thought we’d already dealt with him at Cunaxa. Why is he still here?”

Chirisophus shook his head.

“No, Dukas, he was still in space when the Strategos was forced to break off from battle to land his warriors on the surface to finish your battle and rescue your warriors.”

Xenias’ face reddened slightly at the implied slight upon his honour. The battle had been massive on the surface, and the Terrans had achieved a victory like no other; yet they were forced to leave the field to the enemy and with Cyrus, their paymaster and pretender to the Medes throne dead. Clearchus had helped with the final stages, but he knew full well his own warriors had achieved much in the battle and sustained heavy losses for their gain. He opened his mouth to speak, but Xenophon stepped in to interrupt him.

“Dukas, might we join you on the command deck?”

Xenias wasn’t stupid and knew this was a simple ploy to stop the potential argument. Even so, the news of the ships was far more important than who had been more valiant at Cunaxa. He looked to Xenophon and nodded politely.

“A good point, Dekarchos, to the command deck.”

None of them even waited for Chirisophus and left him standing with his bodyguards. Tamara and Xenophon brought up the rear of the small group. As they left, she glanced back to see the Laconian soldier watching them.

“He doesn’t look pleased.”

Xenophon didn’t turn his head but spoke quietly as they reached the large arched entrance. They moved through before he finally replied.

“He’s a Laconian. They’re famed for their humour and their ability to maintain grudges.”

They made it a few more steps before he finished speaking.

“And he won’t forget this in a hurry.”

* * *

The Black Legion formed up as had been practiced a hundred times before. It was critical that each of the ships’ Kentarchos understood that in an emergency they would move into such a position that they would be able to defend themselves. A Titan at each end protected the flanks while the centre of the line was help by Valediction, the Laconian Titan. Spread between then were the eleven surviving battleships that escaped the carnage at Cunaxa. A second line, different types of cruisers spread out, all sixteen of them presenting their flanks towards the enemy formation of ships and with their broadside gunports open and ready for battle. Out in front of the fleet ran groups of torpedo boats, the heavily armed escorts that were the eyes and ears of the fleet. Boat hardly did them justice, as they were armed and armoured to the level of a Medes light cruiser and carried their own contingents of heavily armoured warriors detached from the larger forces aboard the three Titans.

“A shadow of what we started with,” mused Chirisophus as he looked at the formation.

The view from the command deck was impressive. In the past, they had used holographic displays and video screens, but now the entire centre of the ship could give the impression of being transparent. The commander would be able to look above and below the ship as if he were actually floating in space itself. This Virtual Observation System, nicknamed the VOB at some point in the past, was just one of the many advances that had been installed throughout the Legion’s ships. Chirisophus looked to the other officers and raised an eyebrow. Xenophon and Lady Artemas were also there, but it was the look of amusement on Dukas Xenias’ face that annoyed him the most.

“Well, what now? What do they want?”

Auletes Juda Bellee called out to him. As chief communications officer, it was her job to maintain contact with other vessels in the fleet, as well as monitoring the traffic between other vessels.

“Dukas, the enemy commander wishes to speak with you.”

“Really?” laughed Chirisophus, “And why would I want to speak with him?”

Xenophon pointed out to the expanse of space in front of their fleet.

“Dukas, the enemy has assembled a substantial force. If we can leave without fighting, it would be to our benefit.”

Chirisophus looked back at the ships as if he had missed something. It looked as though he was counting in his head before finally speaking, and the tone in his voice was nothing but arrogant.

“I make thirty-six ships with only one Terran battleship. That’s not a fleet. It’s a group of rebels and bandits. The Legion will crush them all in minutes and inflict the fate upon them that they all deserve.”

He paused, as if considering some higher purpose. As he waited, he lifted his hand and looked at his palm. A number of the Terrans watched him as if expecting him to find some kind of great revelation. His eyes looked upwards and then he spoke.

“Perhaps they want to join us, not to fight us.”

He looked to the others, specifically Xenias and grinned.

“After all, who would be mad enough to attack a Terran fleet led by veterans of Laconia? It would be madness!”

“You’ve presumably already forgotten about Pylos,” Xenophon said under his breath.

Chirisophus snapped back to look at his tormentor. Pylos had been one of the low points for the Laconians in their long war against Attica and her allies. Although Laconia had prevailed, the Battle of Pylos had been a shameful day. Even though they outnumbered the Atticans, they managed to lose their fleet and left a force of over four hundred elite Laconian warriors on the moon of Pylos. Even worse was that a quarter of those were of the elite aristocratic class known as the Spartiates. Diplomats were sent and a truce immediately agreed for their release. The price of the return of the prisoners had been to relinquish the local Laconian fleet and to agree to an armistice. It would be another twenty years for the war to be finally decided in Laconia’s favour.

Dukas Xenias had been silent until now, but his irritation at the arrogance of Chirisophus was becoming overwhelming. They were weeks, even months behind enemy territory.

“Komes,” he started, but Chirisophus twisted about, his crimson cloak flowing behind his body.

“No...not Komes. With Clearchus gone, I am now the commander of this Titan, and of this Legion. All true Laconians understand it is my rightful place to step into the void left by Clearchus. We will lead. You will all follow.”

Xenias’ eyes widened at the continuing attempts to undermine him. He was one of the few senior commanders remaining in the Legion, yet without his Titan was being treated as though a mere dekarchos. Chirisophus nodded to the ship’s captain, Kentarchos Broge Monsimm. The senior officer was even larger built than Chirisophus, and his dull red hair beautifully matched the crimson trim on his uniform.

“Kentarchos, prepare the ship for assault.”

“Yes, Dukas,” answered Kentarchos Monsimm in a clipped Laconian accent that oozed nobility. There were three distinct accents with the Laconians; the majority speaking in an almost rural drawl that drew the ire of many of their rivals. The Laconian elite spoke with clipped pronunciation that bordered on pretention yet maintained a hint of the old agrarian ancestry of the Laconian citizenry. The final accent was that of the foreigners living in the Laconian territories, known as the perioikoi. Almost a third of the Laconian force in the Legion spoke with this bastardised version of the agrarian accent.

“Battle? Why would we want to fight them? We have nothing to gain here,” said Dukas Xenias.

Chirisophus threw him a look of distain as he activated the audio lobe above his ear. In an instant, he had connected directly to every senior officer in the fleet.

“I wouldn’t expect an Arcadian that lost his Titan to understand.”

The tactical screen showed the formation of warships that had adopted their default battle formation, but he hadn’t given the order and that worried him. It was normal practice to assemble in line of battle based upon their position in space. He noted that Herakles had moved further forwards than the rest of the fleet and was still moving. He grimaced as he watched them start to accelerate away.

Why? The fools!

He connected to the ship before realising they had no commander as Proxenus of Boeotia was dead. It flummoxed him for a second before he spoke.

“Herakles, I need you back on the line of battle,” he said firmly.

A voice came back immediately, but it was the curt tone of an Attican officer.

“Dukas Chirisophus. We will deal with this problem ourselves. Thank you for your concern,” the man stated, with a slurring sound at the word Dukas.

He insults me! He will steal the Legion from my hands!

The pale shape of the massive Titan and its escorting wing of cruisers shifted closer to the approaching fleet of ships, leaving Chirisophus with a difficult decision. He could stay where he was and leave the battle to Herakles, and possibly lose the battle. The alternative was to chase after him, and therefore give Herakles and its warriors the position of honour in the fleet, perhaps even leadership. A minor twist of his neck gave him a view of Xenias, and it immediately filled him with anger.

“Laconians do not take lessons in leadership from Arcadians or Boeotians!” he roared to the amusement of Xenias but not the others.

“I don’t like this,” Lady Artemas said to Xenophon.

She moved so close her breath made his right ear tingle as she spoke. He had no time to respond. The ship began to vibrate slightly as the powerful engines fired up. Chirisophus selected the entire fleet and gave his orders in a firm and decisive tone.

“All ships, advance on the enemy! Let them burn.”

Xenophon looked at the Dukas with a desperate expression. Xenias nodded slowly, understanding the young man’s concerns. Xenias shook his head as he spoke, knowing full well he would be ignored.

“Chirisophus, you gain us nothing with these tactics.”

That was enough for Chirisophus, but he waited until he was sure the fleet was moving into battle, even if the formation was now scattered and deployed in such a manner they would end up attacking the enemy piecemeal. It didn’t worry him too much though. Deep down he doubted the thirty-six ships could even hold back Herakles, let alone the rest of the Legion. He closed his eyes, took in a long breath, and then stepped towards the Dukas before halting a metre from his face. Both men faced off like giants in their ceremonial armour, flowing cloaks, and tall Corinthian style helmets. If it were not for the shield generator equipment and advanced weaponry, they might have been ancient humans from thousands of years in the past.

“Xenias, you have no place here. Go back to your people, and leave my command deck.”

He turned away before twisting back to face him with a malevolent smile on his face.

“If you have any left.”

Xenias was a calm man most of the time, but the continuous insults from the Laconian were more than he could stand. A blade hissed out from his left arm like a cruel spike, and a second from his right soon followed. He raised his right hand with the spike pointing up to the ceiling of the command deck.

“That is enough!” he shouted.

Chirisophus had now turned about completely to face Xenias and smiled. His shield unit powered up and presented a defensive screen that covered half of his body in a shimmering light. The Laconians carried powerful generators in the arms of their armour that would weight down a normal warrior. Though Xenias wore impressive ballistic armour, it would be nothing compared to the energy shield carried by the Laconian.

“So, you would betray us in the mist of battle, brother?”

Xenias scowled, moved his left foot forward, and dropped into a fighting stance. A group of Epilektoi moved in to protect him, but he waved them off.

“I will deal with his betrayal.”

Xenias pointed to them as they withdrew.