“Of course. They are my personal guard, and a picked unit from my ship that follow me wherever I might go. Of what use would they be if unarmoured or armed? What about your guards?” he asked coyly, tilting his head slightly to the right.
Cyrus looked to the darker part of the ship where two men waited silently. They were Imperial agents but carried no visible weapons or armour.
“What guards?”
Clearchus laughed out loudly at the poor attempt to conceal armed guards on his bridge. He indicated with his hand and in less than a second, the six Laconian guards had activated their body shields on their left arms. The devices flashed and created a semi-transparent glowing shield that extended around the hand and into an oval that covered half of the body. At the same time, they raised their right arms, pointing their carbines directly at the Imperial agents. Almost as quickly, the two agents drew small metallic objects and pointed them at the Laconian soldiers. They were tiny, but Clearchus was certain they would be powerful and deadly weapons, especially if being used by the personal protectors of such an important man.
Cyrus laughed, “Okay, you make your point well. They are bound to me, and each is the newest son of their families. They have long provided guards to protect the sons and brothers of the Emperor and are completely loyal. They serve the same purpose as your own warriors.”
Clearchus indicated for his guards to stand down. They moved back to their positions and deactivated their carbines and shields. They stood still, almost like statues apart from their heads. Unlike most ceremonial guards, these men were always busy and checking the area around them. Also unlike Alliance soldiers, who usually planted the shield generators on the ground to provide cover to fight behind, only the Laconians trained to carry theirs into battle. In the right hand of each warrior was an Asgeirr-Carbine, the weapon that marked out any Laconian soldier. Though it was no more powerful than a pulse rifle of the Alliance, or any other Terran colony, it had advantages. It was half the length of a rifle. This reduced the effective range, but it made the weapon more manoeuvrable and combined with the built-in blade, it turned the right hand into a combined projectile and close quarter combat weapon.
A door to the side of the command centre of the ship hissed open revealing a three-man delegation. They wore the distinctive garb of the Ionian territories. A disputed area that had once been under Terran control, it had now been carved up into a dozen separate territories, each controlled by a powerful Ionian warlord. The high gravity world had helped breed a swarthy but short people who specialised in shipbuilding and high-energy weapons. The woman in the centre approached Cyrus and bowed down low.
“Lord Cyrus, our siege vessels are here and ready for work.”
Cyrus nodded in pleasure.
“Excellent, may I introduce you to the leader of our expedition, Strategos Clearchus of the Laconian League.”
The woman bowed again, though this time not quite as low.
“I had no idea we had the pleasure of Ionian troops on this operation,” he said with suspicion.
“Well, not even the Laconians can match our technology when it comes to the kind of fighting we can expect on the borders of Empire space.”
Clearchus well understood the barbed insult. It wasn’t just that their technology was more advanced; the woman was referring to the failed attempts by the League in the last few years to reclaim the lost territories run by the cartel of Ionian warlords.
“Perhaps. Even so, you are now under my command.”
The leader of the Ionians looked to Cyrus in surprise, but he nodded in agreement also.
“In that case, we are now all ready. I suggest you return to your ships as quickly as possible, and we will leave in approximately thirty minutes.”
The party of Ionians bowed politely and left through the door from which they had arrived. Further away, a number of officers moved about the command centre, checking the status of the hundreds of ships. Cyrus stepped to a large display that showed each contingent, its commander and the ships under their command. The Ionians appeared at the bottom, a tiny but powerful addition to the vast Armada.
“So, my friend, what does this bring our total to?”
Clearchus examined the display for a moment and moved several icons about as he calculated their forces. It didn’t take long for him to finish.
“Just over ten thousand four hundred Terran mercenaries, sixty ships including our Titans plus your own forces. By my reckoning, we have nearly twenty thousand automatons under the command of Ariaeus, if he ever turns up.”
“Excellent. Well, my ships and troops will be useful, but it is your Terran warriors I am counting on to win the day. Ariaeus is a bold tactician and with twenty thousand of his own warriors, he will be able to keep the battle going, but your spatharios will decide it.”
He stepped closer and examined the ships in detail.
“So, we have roughly ten thousand Terran mercenaries, interesting. That is what you shall be called until the expedition ends. A fitting name for such a venture.”
“Name?” asked Clearchus, a little confused at his statement.
“Yes, you are the Ten Thousand, and a name that will be remembered for thousands of years. Now, for more pressing matters. We will leave and start our mission.”
Clearchus moved closer so that only Cyrus could possibly hear him. He whispered into his ear.
“Is it not time to inform the fleet as to our true intentions?”
“Soon, I have several important communications to make with my own forces that are due to arrive. Then we will meet for a fleet briefing in the command centre where both of us will stand together and explain the full purpose of our expedition.”
Clearchus nodded and watched as the Median nobleman moved out of sight. From the shadows emerged his two topoteretes who had been waiting and watching from a discrete distance. Clearchus stepped to the main computer system and moved through a series of gestures to bring up a starmap of the region of space on the border of the Median Empire. Pleistoanax and Kleandridas were his most senior commanders and normally commanded half of the military forces at any one time. Perhaps more importantly, they had sworn a blood oath of protection for Clearchus. When he entered battle, at least one of them would always be present with him, the second usually assisting in the command of the army. All three of them wore their traditional crimson Laconian uniforms, topped with their iconic helmets, even when on board a ship. As well as the long flowing robes, they also wore the common infantryman’s breastplate. An archaic looking device, it was actually made of an advanced polymer compound that was proof against many common weapons. In the past, there were occasions where the armour had even withstood direct fire from plasma weaponry, an impressive feat. Only the senior commanders and the elite bodyguard unit were entitled to wear the red tunics and armour. Other Laconian units were allowed to wear the crimson cloak but only for ceremonial purposes.
“Now that Lord Cyrus is away, we can discuss the details of our force. He might be nominally in charge, but we know where the true power lies in this fleet, and it is with the Laconian commanders and its rigid structure.”
Both men nodded but to a level that only a man paying extreme attention would have noticed due to the barely discernible movement.
“As you both know, only ten percent of our heavy infantry is Laconian or trained by our forces. We might have armed them like us, but trust me, they aren’t the same as us.”
The two topoteretes smiled, both well aware of the obvious insult.
“I want you to check with each Dukas that their Tagmata are drilling and training to the standard I laid out. It might not be strictly the system we normally use, but it is better than the training they get in their own militaries. Officers from Komes upwards are to use Laconian orders and organisation during this operation. I understand that some of the Megaran troops under Pasion are trying to drill in the Alliance fashion. Explain to them in words that they will understand that this Armada is an attacking force, and we do not hide away behind our shields. We need aggression and drive to win our battles.”