Vengeance (Star Legions: The Ten Thousand Book 7)

By Michael G. Thomas

The Black Legion bursts out of the Median Empire laden with riches and leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake. As the exhausted men and women breathe a sigh of relief upon reaching the Free Colonies of Trebizond, they are stunned to find themselves in the middle of a war.

A mighty coalition of local warlords and mercenaries, with the illicit support of the Median Empire has betrayed their neighbours and struck at the powerful Trebizondan fleet. Large numbers of warships are poised to overwhelm the system and turn it into another fiefdom of the Empire.

Sensing the danger, Xenophon hurls his contingent of ships into the fray to help his fellow Terrans. Trailing in the rear, the broken and battered ships of the Black Legion struggle to catch up. For the brave men of the Legion, this is more than a battle to save Trebizond. This will be their final act before the Legion disbands and they return to their homes. For Xenophon this conflict is all that stands between him and vengeance against those that betrayed him, and murdered his family and friends.

Vengeance is the seventh book in the Star Legions series by Michael G. Thomas, the bestselling author of the Star Crusades series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordworks Books
• Release date: Jul 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781909149953

Michael G. Thomas

Michael G. Thomas, is a writer, martial artist and military historian. He has written books on European martial arts and military history as well as Zombie Survival books and fiction. He is the co-founder of the prestigious Academy of Historical Fencing that teaches traditional armed and unarmed European martial arts. His specialist subject areas are teaching the use of the medieval two handed longsword and the German long knife in both the UK and other parts of Europe.He academic background is as varied as his writing with degrees in Computing, Classical Studies and Machine Learning. In recent years he has undertaken substantial research in the fields of machine learning and artificial intelligence as well as Ancient Greek and Byzantine military history.Michael is currently completing his Champions of the Apocalypse Series and Star Crusades science fiction series.

Book preview

STAR LEGIONS: VENGEANCE

By Michael G. Thomas

Second Edition

PART of the STAR LEGIONS SERIES

Copyright © 2015 Michael G. Thomas

Published by Swordworks Books

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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CHAPTER ONE

25 Parsecs from Trebizond System, Colchian Confederacy

The flotilla of six heavily armed Colchian ships turned from their position in high-orbit above broken remnants of the barren planet, and towards the flashing light that signified the arrival of an unexpected vessel. All five were locally produced support frigates, powerful in terms of provincial conflicts, but far from the ships of the line used by the Medes and Terrans. The sixth was something altogether different. It was a rough copy of the powerful Elamite class battleship, the mainstay of the Median Navy. The locally produced ship was slightly smaller than a true Elamite, and bore an odd camouflage pattern of dull twisted shapes, as opposed to the bright purples, reds, and pink hues normally reserved for ships of the Royal Fleets.

The small force led by the battleship was one of dozens that patrolled the periphery of the territory known as the Colchian Confederacy. Though a sovereign power, the Colchians were not powerful enough that they could avoid paying the annual tribute to the God King to maintain their independence. It lay between the many territories of the Terrans and the vast, unending Median Empire, and included colonies from both peoples.

The flashes of light were the telltale mark of a ship arriving out of an FTL jump, and drew the attention of the local patrol likes flies to a wound. The ship must have been in trouble because the Colchians were already halfway to the newly arrived Terran ship before it was able to activate its shields.

The Colchian escort ships were an unusual hybrid design that incorporated the Median philosophy of speed and agility, while taking design ideas from the border colonies of the Terrans. Each ship carried a small number of overloaded heavy cutters, the continuous firing laser weapons capable of destroying ships of a similar size. Their only weakness lay in the complete lack of armour, a problem common to ships used by the Empire and its fiefdoms. They remained close along the flanks of the beetle shaped battleship while they readied their weapons.

Target the intruder, and ready our weapons. Who dares enter our...my domain. said Darbabad Antos.

The Colchian nobleman was one of the elite caste in the region that owed his position and authority to the Empire. Although not of pure Median blood, he was still at the top of the hierarchy in this region. Slightly stockier than the average Medes, he would have been laughed out of any royal institution in the Core Worlds. Out here, he still commanded respect from those below him. Any suggestion of disloyalty would be dealt with in a brutal and violent fashion. His rank marked him out as the commander of a fleet, yet provincials such as Antos would rarely be granted more than a few ships to control. Deep inside the Empire, he would barely make it onto the first rung of society.

Darbabad, we have them in range. I have the specification for their ship coming up now, said the Sarvan.

Every ship was filled with the pitiful and faceless indentured workers, known only as automatons. Given no names, and brought up from birth as resources to be exploited throughout the Empire and its allies; they were kept in line by the Sarvan, one chosen from them all as their representative and commander. It was a temporary post, and given over to another at the first sign of trouble.

Like all Darbabads, he remained hidden from his automatons inside the obsidian command chamber. He had no interest in looking down at such pathetic creatures and instead spent his time gazing upon the stars of his territory. The command chamber provided him with a detailed view of the space around the ship, as well as tactical command and control of the five slaved ships. Though crewed, they were bound to him both in life and death as a slave crew.

My Lord. It is a Terran heavy cruiser. The markings are...

I know the markings, snapped back Darbabad Antos, That is an Arcadian ship, and it carries the markings of the mercenaries that the God King defeated at Cunaxa.

The Colchian nobleman's eyes lit up as he watched the vessel move into his sector. A single warship was too tempting a target, even to a man like him. Rather than issue further orders, he accessed the ship's database and checked the most recent messages sent from the Core Worlds.

They cannot be allowed to interfere with our plans.

His nose twitched as he found the latest list. There were the usual pirates and heretics who were to be captured on sight. But this ship was something entirely different. Finally, he found the message from the God King himself and almost fell to his knees in excitement.

Yes! he exclaimed, This is one of the Legion's ships. They must have escaped the final battle.

He licked his lips in anticipation of the kill. He had never had to face anything more dangerous than local pirates, and the thought of testing his mettle against the power of the vaunted Terrans felt physically exciting to him.

Overload the guns. I want this Terran reduced to ash. Not one Terran will leave Colchian space. Lord Koban has decreed this territory is ours, and ours alone!

Again he smiled, but this time he kept his thoughts to himself. Like many nobles in the Confederacy, he had little true loyalty to his leaders, and instead looked to the riches and opportunities inside the Empire.

The destruction of a Black Legion ship could get me an audience with the Median high command, and that might be enough to get me out of this provincial hellhole.

Just the chance of elevating himself out of the Colchian Confederacy and towards the bright lights of the Empire was more than he could take. He had never been inside the domain of the God King, but it was still the ultimate ambition for a regional noble like him. He gasped as though finding it difficult to breathe before finally calming himself.

There it is.

The computer brought up more information and quickly confirmed his suspicions. It was in fact an Arcadian heavy cruiser, just as he knew it was. Though unfamiliar to him, the computer database did state it was one of the staple ships of the Terran war fleets. At nearly three times the size of the Colchian escort ships, it dwarfed them in every possible way, and was almost half the size and capability of his battleship.

The Terrans have no idea of design, technology, or aesthetics. Pathetic.

His ship might not be a true Elamite, but it was almost as large, and carried similar armour and weaponry. Even so, as he watched the alien ship, he began to feel a cold sliver of doubt at the back of his mind. The outer hull seemed pockmarked, but there was no sign of major damage. He leaned back and considered his position for a second.

Beware of Terrans.

It was an old saying, and one more appropriately recalled by those unfortunate warriors defending the walls of the hallowed Ilium centuries earlier. As he watched the ship, he began to wonder if it had intentionally made itself look weak.

So...send in the chaff.

With little more than a cruel smile, he selected the five smaller ships and gave them orders to advance on the aged Terran heavy cruiser. They surrounded the ship, and less than ten seconds later, the first of them opened fire on the cruiser. The first shots passed the bow and managed to completely miss the target.

Incompetence! Darbabad Antos raged.

With a subtle movement of his eyes, he sent orders to the ships to move closer, and then looked out through the gaps in the obsidian to his second-in-command, the nameless Sarvan.

Bring me closer.

As the battleship powered up her engines, Darbabad Antos’ expression changed from pleasure to irritation. The Terran ship had activated its engines, and the computer detected the presence of multiple layers of shielding around its armoured hull. More important, the weapon systems must have sprung to life because warnings reminded him that the ship's sixteen plasma cannons had just deployed from their hidden gun ports. A second flurry of shots struck the cruiser, and this time one of them must have breached a shield because it exploded against the thick side armour of the ship.

Victory! cried out Darbabad Antos.

As the flames died, all he could see was another black mark to add to the hundreds that already covered the hull of the ship. His expression turned from a smile, to one of contorted anger and rage.

Destroy them!

The five smaller ships circled the heavy cruiser and proceeded to unleash their full arsenal. It was an impressive volume of fire, yet the shielding of the Terran ship proved just strong enough to beat off their attacks, even though every hit reduced their capacity. As one shield collapsed, another changed position to cover the gaps. In less than a minute, the shielding would be negated, and the ship completely vulnerable to attack.

Fire!

The forward guns of the battleship opened up one at a time. There were six primary heavy cutters fitted to the ship, but only one could fire at a time. It might have looked like an Imperial ship of the line, but it was a poor substitute for those powerful ships. By the time the third opened fire, the battleship had created a gap in the bow shielding of the heavy cruiser.

And now it ends.

Both flanks of the Arcadian ship were engulfed in flashes, and for a second Darbabad Antos thought it was the ship exploding. In actuality, it was a double broadside from both flanks of the ship. The eight plasma cannons on each flank sent blasts of plasma towards the much smaller escort. One managed to avoid the first volley, with only a single pulse of energy striking its dorsal plates. The starboard volley struck a different escort four times with such power the ship tore apart in seconds.

Keep hitting them!

The Terran ship twisted about and presented its flank to the Elamite. At that moment, Darbabad Antos felt very real fear in his body. So keen had he been to begin his attack, he'd totally forgotten to prepare to defend his own ship. White lights marked the firing of the cannons, and then came the impacts. To his amazement, the ship shuddered but remained operable. A quick check showed his shields were up and had lost just fifteen percent in the volley.

What? How?

Darbabad Antos’ eyes scanned the log of recent orders and ran through them. Most were uninteresting and covered everything from specific commands to the navigators that managed the manoeuvring thrusters. It took another nine seconds until he found the command issued by the Sarvan, and upon finding it, he roared in anger.

How...dare...you!

Another broadside struck his ship as he raged about the nerve shown by his Sarvan. He stepped out from the command chamber, leaving the ship to the command of the automatons capable of pressing buttons, but never of making decisions. More shots hit his ship, and had he been watching, he would have spotted another of the escorts vanish in a bright fireball.

Sarvan! What did you do?

Darbabad Antos screamed the words so loudly that most of the crew in the chamber looked over to him. The Sarvan rushed up to him and fell to one knee before speaking.

My Lord. I thought it wise to activate the...

They were the last words he ever spoke, as Darbabad Antos embedded a long stiletto blade into his forehead. The Sarvan dropped forward, his body still writhing about on the floor. He scanned to the left, spotted a random automaton, and signalled for him to approach. The weak looking figure lowered prostrate.

My Lord, I serve.

Rise, Sarvan. Do not fail me.

He then turned back and entered the obsidian command chamber in time to issue another fire order. This time the forward cutters managed to breach the shields of the cruiser, and he chuckled as they cut deep inside the warship.

See how she burns.

Sarvan, bring me around to their stern. I want to see that ship ruined.

The battleship began a long, ponderous arc around the damaged cruiser; the three remaining escorts split up to make targeting them more difficult. Before the Colchians could strike again, the entire area around the cruiser erupted in a kaleidoscope of colour.

What is this trickery? Darbabad Antos snarled.

More flashes continued, marking the arrival of the vanguard of the Black Legion. They were the infamous force of mercenaries that had carved a path of destruction through the Median Empire, and in numbers that left Darbabad Antos stunned to his very core.

Orders, my Lord? asked the Sarvan.

First to arrive was a force of gunboats, light cruisers, and a handful of escort ships. This was more than enough to scatter the three remaining Colchian escort ships like a shoal of fish before a shark in the deep ocean. One of the Colchian Sarvans made the mistake of firing a final volley as they withdrew, and as more cruisers and even a small number of battleships filled the sector, they opened fire. A mixture of heavy plasma shells, and the bewildering array of heavy cutters, destroyed another two escorts in less than five seconds. The remaining escort ran their colours as the gargantuan shapes of the Titans arrived just three kilometres from their position.

Cowards, all of them, cowards! Darbabad Antos yelled.

All his crew did their best to ignore him, all except the newly promoted Sarvan. The unfortunate soul waited in front of the obsidian command chamber and said nothing. Had Darbabad Antos or his local scouts had the time to check, they would have realised that this fleet was no invasion force. Instead of sending a greeting, Darbabad Antos sent the order the crew dreaded.

Fire on their ship.

The gunners pointed every weapon aboard at the vast bulk of the nearest Titan class ship. One by one the guns selected specific targets while scores of warships jumped in around them.

Darbabad. The Terrans have fifty-three ships in this sector, and with more arriving. There are...many targets for us to fire upon.

He paused, perhaps sensing the danger he was in, and then lowered his head in deference to his leader.

Which ship should we destroy first?

Darbabad Antos pointed at the large shape of the Laconian Titan.

That one!

The guns fired, but before he could enjoy the moment, the Elamite shuddered violently. Part of the ceiling collapsed down onto the deck, and every single interior light vanished. Systems returned to function, but not before dozens more impacts struck hard against his vessel.

Darbabad, said the Sarvan, his voice weak and nervous, Our shields are gone. The Terran ships have us surrounded. We cannot fight for much longer.

A hole appeared in the side of the ship as big as a frigate. Dozens of automatons were sucked out through the gap, vanishing into the inky blackness of space. Even the poor Sarvan was sucked out, screaming as he went. Luckily for Darbabad Antos, the black command chamber activated its defence protocol and sealed him inside its protective cocoon. It would spare him from the void, but not from the overwhelming firepower of the Terran ships.

* * *

Deep inside the mighty Titan Valediction waited Strategos Chirisophus. As the commander of the fleet, and the most powerful man in the Legion, he watched with wry amusement as the local ships were destroyed or surrendered. As he watched the tiny skirmish, the rest of the fleet completed the latest phase of their journey. All manner of ships from a dozen regions arrived, each bearing the marks of the battles they had fought. One after another they came, with nothing more than flashes of light to mark their presence. As the ships deactivated their jump units, the damage to some of them became clearer. Two of the newly arrived cruisers burned from fires caused by overheating engine systems, and a third blacked out as its systems completely failed. The single Median battleship turned around and opened fire on the Strategos' own ship.

Petty children. This is how they treat guests.

He was not angry, though, not in the slightest. In many ways he was actually rather amused at the tenacity shown by this poor knockoff of a ship. With little more than a gesture, he gave the signal to fire a complete volley at the vessel. At the same time, nine other ships also targeted the battleship and unleashed a devastating barrage of gunfire. The plasma cannons blasted chunks out of the ship’s armour, but the heavy cutters did the real damage.

Chirisophus laughed as the powerful beams fired in long bursts, each burning their way through the armour, deck plating, and bulkheads. Nothing could stop the destruction other than some kind of shielding, and with the battleship torn apart; it had nothing left with which to defend itself.

And now...you die.

Chirisophus sighed as he watched the final moment of the Elamite. The veteran warrior took delight in its destruction as it was torn apart into a cloud of fragments before his eyes.

Finally.

He then looked out at this new system and focussed his attention on the nearby barren planet and its distant, cold star. As he observed the system, the other ships of the Legion formed up into a series of groups, based around the regional leaders they had chosen. Chirisophus was the elected leader of the Legion, but he was ever suspicious that the others were looking to take command. This was not a regular military force, and it was traditional for the men and women of mercenary forces to choose their own officers and generals. As always, he kept a careful eye on both the surrendering ships, as well as those of his rivals.

We defeat them time after time, and then one Median noble thinks he can stop me?

The Strategos paraded up and down on the command deck, assessing their position. The Legion had undoubtedly proven themselves both in space, and on the ground, but at great cost in terms of lives and in the state of their equipment. The campaign had taken much longer than expected, and they had found few friends amongst the many tribes of the Median Empire. Many of their ships were long lost, and several thousand mercenary warriors now lay dead and buried on alien worlds. The marks on their ships stood testaments to the violence of the last few months.

Maybe Xenophon is right. We could easily take control of a territory out here and make it our own.

It was a tempting thought, but the very idea of his rival being right turned his mind against it. He'd rather spend another six months fighting his way out of the Empire than accept the advice of that fool.

So! It's time to end this, once and for all.

Chirisophus looked out at the nearest group of cruisers. One bore a great gash that covered almost a third of its hull. It was one of many warships, transports, and escort vessels that struggled to make it the last few jumps to their final destination, the Terran outpost of Trebizond. All of the commanders in the Legion had been in agreement to head towards this single bastion of civilisation. It lay directly on the border of the Median Empire, and was an ever-present thorn in the side of the local fiefdom.

My Lord, said Kentarchos Broge Monsimm, the ship's commander, We have the destination locked in, and the fleet is loading in the last few supplies.

Chirisophus nodded.

Good. This will be our last jump in this region. It will be good to see Terran civilisation once again. These barbarians are beginning to tire me.

The fleet separated, as each ship opened hatches and seals to take on fuel from the last remaining tankers. Most had been taken directly from the Medes, three more traded in exchange for slaves as they'd left the Eternal Fortress. It took time, but soon two of the transports were cast adrift as their tanks were emptied to feed the ravenous thirst of the military ships. The long journey had taken its toll on these ships, and dozens now littered the empty void marking the route taken over the last three jumps.

How long until we can jump? Chirisophus asked.

Kybernetes Ditha Artell, the ship's executive officer examined two of the large displays and then looked back to the Strategos.

We will be ready in less than an hour if we push it. Our fuel reserves are just over forty percent.

Chirisophus toyed with the idea of giving the order to jump away from the fleet, and to reach the friendly territory as quickly as possible. He was not a coward, or a traitor. Far from it, the man was a recognised war hero, but he was tired of this region. Right now all he wanted was to see Terran faces and to lie back with good food, drink, and as many woman as he could handle. At least a quarter of the fleet would be ready