Black Legion - The First Trilogy Page 9

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  Xenophon approached the barricades with caution. Behind him moved a force of security troops picked from the few ex-military that had joined the new government’s forces. Part of the debris mixed in with the barricade had been burning for hours, and it sent columns of smoke up into the sky.

  “Who goes there!” called out a man from the shadows of the structure.

  Xenophon stopped and examined the temporary wall. It was almost five meters tall and manned by nearly forty people. Behind it were hundreds more, as well as press and a mixture of citizens.

  “Prefect Urbi Xenophon of the Inner Wards. I want to speak with your leader.”

  “What?” shouted the man.

  “You heard me. Now bring me your commander!”

  There was a mixture of sounds as people moved about behind and inside the barricade. As he waited, he looked back at his guards. Each wore the uniform of the Attican Militia rather than the Alliance and were all armed with Laconian weapons. He just hoped this wouldn’t turn to violence. A shape appeared along the wall and looked down at him.

  “Xenophon?” called the man. His voice was familiar.

  “Yes, who is that?”

  “Glaucon, you idiot. What the hell are you doing? Tell me you’re not working for them?”

  Xenophon strained his eyes against the bright sky to see the figure of his old friend. In the months since the surrender, he must have fallen on hard times. He wore ragged clothes and carried a bandolier across his shoulder.

  “I’ve been helping with the transitional party, and we’re working on re-establishing democracy as soon as possible.”

  “What? How exactly?”

  Another man appeared on the barricade and moved towards Glaucon. He carried a rifle in a sling.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” he called out to him.

  “You know Xenophon. He says he is helping with the transitional party.”

  “They’re all traitors,” snapped the man. “You’ve seen what they do to our own people. We have dozens in police cells because of people like him.”

  “No, that isn’t true. Let me up to talk,” called out Xenophon.

  A dozen more people appeared on the top of the wall, some pointing firearms, others simply waving sharpened metal poles. His own guards spread out and pointed their rifles at the silhouetted targets. Xenophon turned to them and lifted his hands.

  “No, lower your weapons. I am in charge here.”

  The men all wore visors on their helmets, each fearful of what the crowds would do if they found they were working for the transitional authority in the city. Three lowered their rifles, but the others stayed exactly as they had been, afraid to give up the safety their weapons offered.

  “Xenophon!” called Glaucon. “I know you think you’re helping, but it isn’t going to work. The Thirty are tyrants, nothing more. Until they are forced out, we will never have peace here. Go back and tell them we will not go until they have. If your guards come back here again, we’ll shoot on sight. You got that?”

  Xenophon shook his head.

  “You know they won’t just leave like that. We started the fighting, and we lost. Either we work to get them to leave peacefully, or we start a violent uprising. You know how that will end. The Laconians will make us suffer like you cannot believe.”

  “Get out of here!” shouted a woman from behind a piece of corrugated metal. With a throwing action, she hurled a chunk of pottery that landed nearby and smashed into tiny shards. One broke off and skimmed along his cheek, drawing a fine line and bringing beads of blood to his skin. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and indicated for the rest of the unit to withdraw back to their group of waiting troops transporters.

  “Fall back!”

  As he stepped away, one of the troopers was caught in the face with a piece of broken masonry. He fired a short burst of gunfire at the barricade before he could be restrained.

  “Everybody back now, hold your fire!” he shouted.

  Xenophon was the only person in the unit who was showing his face, the group of black-clad guards looked faceless and dispassionate as they moved back. The two transports moved towards them and pulled past them to form a defensive wall. They were thickly armoured, six-wheeled vehicle with ‘v’ shaped hulls and protected with additional mesh armour placed to protect the more vulnerable parts of their structures. The hatch opened at the rear of the first, and two men jumped out. Both wore full tactical body armour of the Laconian pattern and carried pulse rifles in their hands. Like Xenophon, both had open fronts to their helmets. He recognised them as Laconian heavy infantry, the regular combat troops of the enemy, and the personal guard unit of the Thirty.

  “Prefect, word from the Thirty. There is trouble at the Ecclesia.”

  Xenophon waved for the rest of his men to climb into the vehicles. They moved quickly. None of them seemed keen to spend a single minute more than necessary in this part of the city.

  “What kind of trouble?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Sir. My orders are to extricate your unit and bring you back to the safe zone inside the civic centre.”

  “What about the barricade? They have legitimate grievances.”

  “So? My orders are to bring you back. Are you coming?”

  Xenophon looked back at the barricade. It stretched the full width of the street, and like the dozens more around the city was designed to block parts of the city off. He looked back to the guard and then climbed inside the transporter. The rest of his men were sat inside, each waiting patiently for them to leave. No sooner had the doors shut, and they were already ripping off their helmets. Xenophon knew none of them very well as they spent their time with their comrades at the barracks. He ignored them and brought up a colour display on the wall of the vehicle. It showed the civic centre as well as the disposition of militia units that guarded the outer perimeter. He looked to the Laconian officer.

  “I don’t understand. I thought you said there was trouble?”

  “We’ll be back shortly. I’m sure the Thirty will be able to answer any more questions you might have.”

  It was clear the conversation was over, and he was left to gaze at the display as they bumped and jostled their way through the centre of the city until finally reaching the parking plaza near the Ecclesia. With a screech they came to a halt, and the rear door flipped open. Bright daylight almost blinded him, but his eyes quickly adjusted. The officer climbed out first, and Xenophon followed closely behind. As his feet hit the ground, he stopped in shock. The plaza was full of Laconian heavy infantry, all wearing thick body armour and carrying a mixture of weapons.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  A number of men approached, one of which was Crixus. Xenophon waved to catch his attention, and he quickly diverted his route to the vehicles.

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s been a massive series of earthquakes on Laconia Prime. Casualties are in the millions. Look,” he said with genuine horror.

  The man tapped a device on his arm, and a video stream appeared of a collapsed city burning in the darkness of night.

  “When did this happen?” he asked.

  “In the last six hours, we are told. I am returning to co-ordinate the relief effort, so it will fall to you and the other members of the Thirty to keep Attica under control.”

  “Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem. But why are your troops here?”

  “We are leaving.”

  “We?”

  “I’m sorry, Xenophon. I know I promised we would leave when it was suitable for both our people. This is a black day for us. Laconian citizens are few, and this is a catastrophic loss for my people. I am leading a full withdrawal from Attica and leaving the Thirty in charge. Your father will take my place, and Attican seconds will take over from the other Laconian representatives. You have your world back, so try and keep them under control.”

  Before Xenophon could even begin to think a response, th
e man was already being ushered off into a transport. His bodyguard of heavy infantry closed in around him. More people arrived at the scene, and he spotted his father moving towards him. He stepped away from the transports and towards the small throng of Attican citizens.

  One of the transports lifted up in a cloud of dust that obliterated any sign of the others as it moved away. Two more followed, until only a handful of Laconian soldiers remained. The dust started to clear slightly and Gryllus and two militiamen approached.

  “Son, they’ve made me Archon.”

  “I know, father. They are leaving us.”

  Crixus and his men boarded the final craft, and in seconds it was lifting up. Xenophon could just about make out the shape of the man near one of the windows. He was looking down at the city, but it was impossible to tell what he might be thinking. As it pulled away, Xenophon stood next to his father, Gryllus, and the remaining militiamen. He expected a joyous look, but something about Gryllus made him think the better of it.

  “This is troublesome, Xenophon, and we need to manage this carefully.”

  The Captain of the Guard approached and stopped in front of Gryllus.

  “Sir, with the Laconian troops gone, we’ve had to withdraw to the inner security fence.”

  “What about the barricades? Have they heard?”

  “No, Sir, it won’t take long though.”

  Gryllus turned and indicated for Xenophon to follow. He made his way through the throng of people until reaching the grand staircase that led inside the Ecclesia building. The other members of the Thirty were already inside, and a heated argument had already erupted. They moved up the steps and into the beautiful marble structure. A tall woman shouted down from her raised platform. It was Erika Montoya, the Minister of the Interior for Attica, and the strongest supporter of the Laconian presence in the city.

  “Listen, we must take this an opportunity. It is unexpected, but with the Laconians gone, we have a chance to rebuild Attica.”

  “Rebuild into what?” shouted Marcus Barber, the youngest member of the Thirty and a decorated officer from the Civil War. “We took these posts as a chance to try and reduce the brutality of the occupation force. Without us, the people of Attica would have been treated no better than the synthetic slaves the Laconians keep in their colonies. We should have nothing to fear from our own people.”

  “You are both correct!” called out Gryllus, as he stepped into the centre of the almost completely vacant Ecclesia. It was designed for the thousands of citizens, not the tiny group of Thirty.

  “Sadly, we are all too aware of how our own citizens will react to the situation. Take it from an old man. This will turn violent. We will all be seen as collaborators, and there will be a reckoning. We can try and maintain our position and run Attica as a benevolent oligarchy, or we can announce the return of democracy.”

  “Democracy?” shouted down Erika Montoya. “Do you not remember why we are in this position already? Our democracy is weak and easily angered. We lost thousands in the last war, and it brought us to our knees. Would you take this back so easily, without even a moment’s consideration for what might prove better?”

  Xenophon watched them all. It was clear something was going to happen, and in his experience it usually wasn’t for the better. He stepped forward, and Gryllus gave him the nod to speak.

  “I voted against the war, yet I was also forced to fight in it. I, like many before me, did my duty, and I was one of the lucky ones that survived the Battle of Attica. I urge you all to find a way to move Attica forward in a safe, reasonable manner. I promise you that if democracy is restored today, tomorrow we will be once more at war.”

  Three more members of the Thirty entered the great space of the Ecclesia and moved to their allocated positions. Behind them walked Glaucon and one of his men from the barricade. He moved towards Xenophon and stopped just a few metres away. He nodded to the three members that had brought him inside. They were evidently either working with him or had made a deal.

  The sneaky, self-serving animals! All they want to do is save their necks and use us as the scapegoats. Xenophon thought.

  “Citizen Glaucon. Why are you here, and under whose authority to you approach the Thirty?”

  Glaucon looked up irreverently at the rest of the Thirty who sat in their seats.

  “I am here under the authority of the Transitional Council. We…”

  Ms Montoya stood from her seat and glared at the man who had interrupted their official proceedings.

  “You have no business here, citizen,” called down Montoya. “Guards, throw him out!”

  Two of the helmeted guards stepped closer, but Glaucon lifted his hands.

  “I suggest you reconsider. The Laconians have gone, and there is no need for you anymore. The Thirty Tyrants have no place in our society. Within twenty-four hours democracy will be restored, and there will be a reckoning. I am here to demand the complete…”

  “Get him out, now!” shouted Montoya.

  The guards moved in quickly, and with a rough tug managed to force him back. Glaucon struggled, and one of the men struck him hard in the back of the leg. He dropped to the floor in pain and flailed about, trying to keep his balance. Xenophon pushed ahead and to the assistance of his old friend. The closest guard took his movement as a hostile attack and flipped out his stun baton and slashed at him. Xenophon was far from a tough, hardened soldier, but he was fast and his agility was what saved him. He dodged the strike and grabbed the guard at the elbow.

  “Leave him. He is a citizen of Attica, and he deserves to be treated as one.”

  The guard turned back to Glaucon and held him down.

  “You see, Xenophon. You claim this is some kind of benevolent oligarchy, but it isn’t. This is just martial law run by a group of demagogues for their own ends. You should leave before it is too late.”

  He tried to say more, but the guards dragged him to the door.

  Montoya called down from her raised platform.

  “I am receiving reports of disturbances in outlying cities. The news is already getting out about the withdrawal of the Laconians. We have to send a signal, and one that will let the citizens know who is in charge.”

  “What?” demanded Xenophon.

  “We cannot face another war with the enemy. There must be peace, even if some of our citizens will have to sacrifice a little of their liberty. My recommendation is full-scale martial law, and the call up of all civil defence and emergency militia forces. We can have the capital clamped down and secure within six hours.”

  Xenophon stepped in front of the platform and looked at the other members of the Thirty. Each had been chosen for their conservative views as well as experience in previous wars. Their collective experience was vast, but their views appeared wildly divergent to the will of the majority.

  “This is madness. If you do this, the city will collapse into civil war and anarchy. I will not condone this action,” he shouted angrily.

  Gryllus placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “Listen to yourself, son. The citizens are stupid, and you know that. We need people like us in charge to make sure the state remains secure and safe.”

  Tyrol, a short, balding man stood up to speak. He was the Minister of Trade and had vast commercial interests through Attica.

  “Business revenue is up, violence is down and taxation is under control. I see no reason to allow bringing back the risks of violent mob rule to Attica. I agree with my honourable comrade Montoya that a short period of martial law may be required during this transition.”

  Xenophon glared at him, angry at his selfish, arrogant attitude.

  “If this is the will of the Thirty, then I remove myself from you. This organisation was a necessary evil during the occupation. It was the only way to stop the Laconians from ruining the nation. I dislike the vagaries of mob rule as much as the rest of you. Even so, it is through just rule of law and order that we will prevail. Dictatorship under martial law
will end only one way. Good luck!”

  He turned and marched for the door. Two heavily armed guards blocked his path, but he kept on towards them.

  “Let him leave!” barked Montoya as he stormed out and into the sunlight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Occupied Attica

  Xenophon moved away from the Ecclesia building as quickly as he could. More police units and security forces were arriving by the second, and scores were setting up defensive lines at the main routes to the civic centre. Overhead, a large military transport moved towards the landing platform at the side of the Assembly building. He glanced at it, fascinated by the size and power of the craft. It was shaped like a large box with four small stubby wings, each attached to a powerful thrusters unit. On the flanks of the craft were two small cupolas with fitted pulse rifles.

  Xenophon almost smiled to himself as he thought about the Thirty Tyrants locked away inside; I thought they understood Attica. I thought they understood our people. They still think they are safe, locked away in their ivory towers and making decisions that affect everybody here.

  His respect for them had decreased significantly since learning of their refusal to take into account what the people themselves wanted. Although he agreed with a lot of what they had to say, he couldn’t believe they would trample on the rights of the citizens so easily.

  They aren’t interested in oligarchy or anything else, just maintaining their own position, no matter the cost to Attica or the Alliance, he thought angrily.

  He lowered his head and continued forwards and to the perimeter wall. It was beautifully carved in the same style as the Ecclesia. Relics of the old struggles against the dictatorship prior to the introduction of democracy were a common theme. He gazed at two, but his eyes were drawn to a larger, more recent construction. It was yet another monument dedicated to the victory against the Empire.

  So much time and money spent commemorating something we could never do again. The irony was not wasted on him at all.