Black Legion: Gates of Cilicia Read online

  “Lieutenant,” he called out to Lieutenant Devereux who sat just two seats away from him. She seemed to be ignoring him. He leaned towards her and called again. Rather than a reply, the side of the shuttle tore open to reveal the great emptiness of space. He felt the tug on his thick harness as the vessel instantly depressurised. Two of the seats ripped from their slightly damaged mounts and blasted out into space. Xenophon watched the two people vanish into the blackness. They were both wearing sealed suits.

  That won’t help them. He knew it would be almost impossible to find a couple of spacesuits amongst the debris and wreckage drifting around the station. The rush of air as the pressure altered was over almost as soon as it had started. Through the breach, a series of coloured lights betrayed the position of at least two ships. The pilot of the shuttle must have made a drastic course change as the lights vanished to be replaced by an Alliance battleship.

  “Gods!” he spurted out before thinking.

  The mighty ship was burning from bow to stern as explosions and flashes ran the length of the vessel. A bright red beam move from the right until it made contact with the hull. As soon as the two touched, a bright light almost blinded him. If it weren’t for the automatic visor on his suit, he wouldn’t have seen anything at all.

  A cutter, they’ve had it.

  The common nickname for the heavy laser weapons, a cutter was designed to do exactly as its name suggested. It would make contact with the exterior of a ship and simply burn through, cutting an arc in the vessel. As he watched, the beam slashed through the ship as though it had been no more than soft plastic.

  “Xenophon!” came the familiar voice of Lieutenant Devereux. He spun around to see the survivors of the shuttle trying to help two of the crew that had refused to wear suits. He moved to unbuckle himself, but a blast of power from the shuttle forced him into his seat.

  “Hold on, we’ve making an emergency landing on the Valiant,” said a voice over the intercom system. Xenophon assumed it was the pilot, but in all the commotion he had no easy way to tell.

  The impact was rough, and this time his straps gave way. Xenophon was thrown forwards and towards the front of the shuttle. With a crash, he struck an unconscious passenger. The shaking and violence of their trip suddenly stopped to be replaced by the harsh, full gravity of the warship. Xenophon hit his visor just in time to vomit onto the metallic floor. He coughed and then turned around to check on the others. Lieutenant Devereux was lying atop a number of crates that had broken free. Crew from the Valiant climbed in through the damaged hull and proceeded to pull them from the ruined shuttle. He climbed over to the officer and leaned down to her face. She was pale, but it looked like she was breathing.

  “Get her out of here, she’s gonna blow,” called out one of the newly arrived crew.

  He needed no more persuasion and grabbed her limp body. He expected her to feel light, but with the suit and webbing gear she was difficult to move. Pushing himself hard, he managed to bring her arm around his neck and across his shoulder. It took less than a dozen steps to reach the side doorway and out into the space of the hangar. Two men in full hazard suits pushed past him and blasted the burning electrical and fuel system with fire retardant foam and chemicals. He pushed on until reaching the rest of the crew who were trying to help a woman who had refused to wear a suit. Xenophon glanced at her, but as far as he could tell she was dead, probably from the explosive decompression that had already occurred. He was paranoid about suits during transportation on the small craft, and today had only reinforced that idea.

  “Xenophon?” asked a feeble voice.

  He looked down to see a weak smile from the Lieutenant. He smiled back and leaned in closer.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She coughed and shook a little.

  “Not great, suit says it’s coming up with blood pressure warnings.”

  Blood pressure? No, it must be internal bleeding.

  He lifted himself up, so he was more visible to the crew.

  “Hey, I’ve got a wounded officer here!”

  A medical and an orderly were there in seconds. The medical officer attached a cable from his medical analysis tool on his belt. It connected directly into the biological monitoring package embedded into the suit.

  “Yeah, she’s got internal bleeding, pressure dropping. Get her to sickbay, stat!”

  The orderly called for another man to come and help and before Xenophon could say anymore, they were heading for the doors. Xenophon moved to follow but was stopped by the arrival of a gruff looking Commander. He was at least a head taller than Xenophon and scarred on the left side of his face.

  “I’m down to fifty percent of my crew. Any of you with combat or targeting experience?”

  Xenophon watched the Lieutenant disappear before looking back to the Commander. Five men had already stepped forward and were talking with him. He moved up to join them, and his heart pounded from the events he had already experienced.

  “I’m a gunner.”

  “What unit?” he replied suspiciously.

  “Gamma Squadron, Sir.”

  “Gamma huh? You guys pulled the bait mission, right? Yeah, you’ll do, come with me.”

  The Commander moved away, and Xenophon stayed close. In the corridor, crew carrying equipment or moving the wounded continually interrupted them. Every few seconds, the heavy thud of pulse weapons striking the ship’s shields sent shivers down Xenophon’s spine. He was aware that powerful ships like the Valiant could take a number of hits but once the shields were down the weapons fire would start to burn or cut through the metal. It was that part of the attack that worried him.

  “Sir, how are the shields?” he asked the man.

  Without slowing down, the Commander threw him a quick reply.

  “Don’t worry about the shields, son. She’s a tough old bird. Just come with me to the gundeck, I need you on the weapons and fast.”

  Another ship and still they won’t tell me what the hell is going on. He grumbled to himself.

  The thuds of weapon impacts continued, and it was clear from the body language of the crew, they were flinching from the strikes just as much as him. As with his frigate, there were no windows in the vessel and the displays limited to the command sections of the ship. The small group entered a wider space, almost like a miniature plaza. Directly in front was a pair of large automated doors. The Commander stepped through and moved into the heart of the ship.

  Wow, this is more like it, thought Xenophon, for a moment forgetting about the apocalyptical battle that was taking place all around them. The first thing he noticed were the massive five-metre tall virtual windows that ran in a wide ring around the room. In the centre were almost two-dozen command officers. He looked at the windows and was presented with a terrible sight. The massive space station was being struck with powerful mass drivers. These electromagnetic weapons were able to hurl great chunks of material at super high speeds. Each strike blasted chunks of armour away and created a series of terrible breaches. What looked even worse was the incredible number of Laconian warships. He gave up counting after reaching thirty heavy ships, and there would be hundreds more cruisers and smaller. Beams and pulses of light hurtled towards the scores of docked ships, resulting in blasts and flashes as far as the eye could see.

  “You, you’re a gunner, right?” asked a half-dressed Lieutenant.

  “Uh, yes, frigate gunner.”

  He considered his words for a short moment before indicating to a lower deck. Xenophon stepped towards it and noticed the rest of the group taking up their positions. It was much like the gundecks on the frigate, but there were only eight seats. He sat at the first available space and strapped himself in.

  “Right, this is a Mark IV heavy laser setup. These are not cutters, and they fire in pulses, not too different to the frigate plasma weapons. Okay?”

  Xenophon and the others nodded.

  “Good. Your job is to help clear a path through the fighters and esco
rts as we break out.”

  “What?” demanded one of the volunteers.

  The Lieutenant didn’t need to explain any further as the amplified voice of the commander of the ship instantly drowned out his voice.

  “I have just received a distress signal from Fort Plymouth. Laconian ground troops have boarded the base. This sector is lost, so the only question is, how much of a fleet we can escape with? In the meantime, a general evacuation has been ordered. The Titan Prometheus is providing a rearguard for the rest of us. We are the last of the grand cruisers. Over sixty percent of the fleet is gone already. If we’re lucky, we’ll be leaving the Aegospotami Nebulae in one piece.”

  As if to emphasis his point, a volley of plasma cannon rounds smashed into the heavy warship. The vessel shook slightly, but there were no other obvious signs of trouble. The Commander continued.

  “Fighters are already in position to escort us out of here. Man your guns, and watch for pursuing ships. We get one shot at this. The jump beacon is seven minutes away, good luck!”

  He checked the screen. It was similar to the model used on the frigates but with a handful of changes. The first was that he had no crew around him. The status indicator showed seventeen men in the weapons deck, but he simply queued up requests, and they would deal with them in sequence. It was a more automated but distant approach. He reasoned it must be because the larger weapons needed more crew and that they served more than just his guns. The end result was that only the more senior crew were present in this part of the ship.

  Better than being with the rest of the midshipmen, he thought wryly.

  The second big change was that he controlled a battery of four separate turrets, each one equipped with quadruples heavy lasers. It was more firepower than all of the plasma cannons on his frigate put together. He tapped the connection button, and in a few seconds the communication node implanted in his skull connected to the fire system and communication network. He was immediately hit by a number of orders from the command crew.

  “Cruiser unit blocking the beacon, right let’s sort them out then,” he said confidently though only to himself.

  A quick scan of the gun system showed his systems were fully operational. The capacitors were charged and the guns set to short-ranged fire by default. As he watched the raging battle on the bank of screens, a number of diamond shapes appeared on the targets. He looked down but couldn’t find the fire control system.

  The trigger, where is it?

  “Why aren’t we firing?” shouted the XO.

  Xenophon turned around, embarrassed to ask but more concerned with the battle.

  “The trigger, Sir?”

  “Your head, son. This is a Grandcruiser. You’re controlling a quarter of the heavy weapons on the ship. Select targets with your eyes, fire and control the weapons with the communication node.”

  He turned back, feeling stupid for asking. The communication node was only used for oral communication on the frigates, a quicker way for the commander and the officers to stay in contact during the confusion of battle. This level of integration was a feature of all capital ships. The realisation he was now in command of enough firepower to cripple a heavy warship, sent his heart pumping almost uncontrollably.

  “Shields are down to thirty percent, minor damage to secondary power systems. Incoming torpedoes,” said one of the senior officers.

  Xenophon had no idea who was doing the talking, but he immediately recognised the flashing indicators on the display. A group of five heavy torpedoes were shown in he centre as well as at least two-dozen heavy fighters. He tasked the gun mount with the torpedoes and sent the mental signal to loose off a volley. It was the first time he had seen, let alone fired, this kind of weapon. The name laser was something of a misnomer, as the weapon was only vaguely related to the ancient Terran technology. The turrets fired a sequence of a dozen shots, each following right behind the other in a bright burst of red energy. Each turret fired at a separate target and struck in a matter of just two seconds. The five torpedoes exploded in a brilliant blue crackle of energy and power. Xenophon almost jumped up with excitement from the success, apart from the arrival of a Laconian battleship that filled his entire display.

  “What!” he whispered.

  Two bright beams came from both sides of his displays. It was the heavy cutters being unleashed. These massive weapons were the most powerful weapons fitted to the Grandcruiser. Each beam connected with the battleship and cut an arc of almost fifty metres through the hull before stopping.

  “Gunners, concentrate your fire on the battleships turrets,” said the voice through the communication node.

  Xenophon concentrated on the port side of the battleship and zoomed in. Its entire flank appeared to bristle with weapons, and most were already blazing away at the myriad of Alliance ships trying to break out to the beacon and safety.

  Here we go.

  His first salvo struck multiple turrets, but there was no visible damage. The shield easily deflected the energy. Instead, he targeted one section of the ship where a small battery of missile tubes were located and watched for the timing. It was something he had read about weeks before. The shielding of capital ships was multi-layered with separate generators producing fields at different points on the ship. Gun turrets and antenna could not be completely shielded as the signals or projectiles would be blocked. The shielding systems were designed to flicker to allow signals to move in and out or at the split second a shell or beam weapon fired. He had postulated the idea of programming the weapon systems to automatically fire on turrets as they fired. It wasn’t easy. The timing was an issue, but it might work.

  He took careful aim at a single missile tube and counted the gap between shots. It didn’t take long, and he timed it as two seconds between the fifth and sixth missile. As he ran the numbers in his head, another missile launched. It was the first in the sequence. In the blink of his eye the turrets opened fire, each sending a salvo of powerful bolts towards the target. The first arrived too early and once more glanced off the shields. The last two managed to strike in the window of opportunity. A flash of energy erupted around the target, and two turrets and the missile system blasted from the superstructure of the ship.

  “Good work, son, you must have hit a launching missile,” said the XO.

  Xenophon grinned to himself, and pleased he had achieved something of note. He moved to the next weapon system and counted the weapon launches.

  “Gunners, copy the shield skipping routine of our new gunner. We jump in sixty seconds, keep those turrets busy. Each one that is destroyed or fires at us is another ship of ours that can get home,” said the XO.

  He looked back to the displays and watched the small number of the Alliance making for the beacon. It was only a short journey, but a necessary one to allow them a safe, direct journey back home. Two cruisers managed to jump, but two more were caught in a devastating crossfire between three Laconian battleships. He winced as he watched the vessels tear apart in a violent series of explosions that wracked the capital ships from bow to stern.

  “They’ve adapted already,” called out the XO. “The battleship’s shield phasing has changed to what seems to be a random sequence. Concentrate your fire on incoming missiles, leave the shields to our cutters.”

  Xenophon was disappointed by the news. He was convinced he had found a working solution to the superlative protection offered by the layered shielding. As he considered the issue, he concentrated on the scores of torpedoes and missiles racing through the battle. The computer system could quickly identify likely targets for the missiles, and any that were heading for Alliance ships were flagged red.

  Let’s take them out, he thought confidently.

  By reducing the power levels of his guns, he was able to fire long bursts of over twenty seconds in one go. Streams of small bolts pours from the barrels and the curtain of energy shredded dozens of the weapons.

  “Keep going, almost there!” called the Commander, this time compl
etely bypassing the XO who was evidently busy coordination the fire of the cutters and fighter crews. Xenophon caught him out of the corner of his eye talking to the CAG, the commander of the fighter group on board the Valiant.

  “Hold tight, we jump in twenty!” he shouted.

  Twenty seconds, come on, we can do it! thought Xenophon.

  It was incredible, but after so little combat, he was now excited at the prospect of an ignominious defeat, providing it meant they lived to fight another day.

  I don’t want to die, he admitted to himself.

  Three more warships jumped in and started to blast away at the depleted shields of the Valiant. The difference in sound was vast, as the lasers, plasma and other energy weapons cut and burned their way through the armour and hull of the ship. Shield impacts sent a concussive ring through the ship, whereas the impacts against the ship seemed almost insubstantial. The alarm warnings and alerts through the deck told another story however. Xenophon blasted more missiles and then turned his attention on a small group of four Laconian bombers. These small vessels were difficult to hit but were heavily armed and a serious risk to the small ships out there. He managed to destroy the first and hit the engine of the second before a bellowing tone hammered at his head.

  “Cease fire! Five seconds to jump!” called the XO.

  Xenophon spotted one final bomber making its way to one of the scores of transports trying to escape. For a second he hesitated, and then sent a single, final burst of laser fire to the target. The stars blurred and then with a flash they were hurtling through space using their FTL engines.

  “All stations report in, I need engineering and casualty reports ASAP!” ordered the XO.