“Perhaps they only want or need the fortress?”
Dekarchos Maxentius looked through one of the tiny observation windows and back to his small team. The unit was divided up into ten man teams. An experienced dekarchos commanded each team.
“Get ready, we’re nearly there!” he called out over the din of the dromon’s engines.
“Remember, our job is to smash a hole in their line, and then establish a secure landing zone for follow-up waves. The Laconian spatharii can’t hit the higher levels until we have pulled enough of their defenders down to engage us. We are the bait, and the Laconians will be the hammer.”
Xenophon and the rest of his squad sat in silence, thinking about the plan and the risk in the part they were about to play in it. The Night Blades were the lightest of the infantry being put on the ground and would be extremely vulnerable if not provided with the numbers and protection offered by the spatharii. He glanced at the rest of the men and women inside the vessel. There were fifteen squads armed with the best weapons, armour and equipment any Terran army had probably ever had access to. Following their success in the initial trials, he had experimented with a variety of different weapons, but he kept coming back to the dual Laconian Asgeirr-Carbines. Out of those in his ten-man squad, Dekarchos Maxentius stuck out more than any other. Whereas the rest of the squad were busy checking their gear, he was spending all his time either watching the rest of the unit or looking at their landing site. Xenophon glanced at him, trying to imagine what he was thinking as they hurtled towards battle. Maxentius was a hard teacher, a man with years of combat experience and an almost unfathomable sense of humour, but he was also an excellent shot and a skilled warrior. Xenophon was nervous, but serving under a man such as their Dekarchos gave him great confidence.
Tamara and Jack were busy arguing about something to do with weapons. It was a trifling point to have caused such a furore, but at least it was keeping them from worrying about the landing. A great vibration ripped through the craft, and at first it felt as though the vessel itself had been hit. The Dekarchos looked to his team and smiled at them.
“The heavy pulse cannons,” he explained with a pointing gesture above his head. He tapped the side of his helmet where the communication and telemetry unit was attached. It provided video feeds and tactical data between all the troops in the Armada. It would also let him check the on the tactical surveillance provided by the gun cameras fitted to the dromons. It took only a few seconds for him to establish what was happening.
“Looks like targets of opportunity. The enemy compound is close and already taking heavy fire from our fighters.”
He removed his hand and did a final check on his weapon, a heavily modified Arcadian Doru Mk II pulse rifle. As well as an improved optical sight, it was also fitted with a co-axial low-velocity plasma projector. Xenophon’s attention was taken by an image that appeared on the video helmet mount. It showed the leader of the Night Blades, Komes Pasion.
“Night Blades, we will hit the ground in sixty seconds. It looks like the enemy have already breached the fortress walls and are fighting along the perimeter. We will take their primary forward operating base and eliminate their siege artillery. This will allow the rest of the dromons to land near the ground levels of the fortress. Unit commands are being uploaded to your Dekarchos, good hunting!”
The video vanished and was replaced by a similar feed from Maxentius. It would allow him to stay in permanent contact with his immediate commander. The helmet also showed detailed tactical information on the helmet’s heads-up display.
“Ten-seconds,” he said with a firm tone.
The engines roared as the dromon altered its height to bring it down to the enemy forward base. It was almost deafening in volume and then stopped almost as soon as it had started. The four main doors blew open and ramps dropped from each to give them quick and easy access to the ground. Dekarchos Maxentius was the first out of the ship, closely followed by Glaucon and the remainder of the squad. Xenophon ripped off his straps and jumped out after them and into the open. As his feet hit the ground, he realised it was the first non-Terran world he had ever set foot on. He didn’t have time to take in the moment, as hundreds of projectiles were already smashing around the landing site. He looked up to see the low walls running in a ring around the Citadel. According to the plans, the Mulacs were trying to break in, yet the gunfire appeared to be coming directly from the walls.
“Get into cover, now!” barked Maxentius.
Xenophon ran after the rest of their group, only to see the two in front of him disintegrate from a high explosive blast. He had no idea who they were and ran past their crumpled remains, praying it wasn’t one of his close friends. Glaucon was already dug in behind a rocky ridge and returning fire with his plasma cannon. Unlike the training weapon, this one was hurling deadly glow orbs of white-hot plasma at their tormentors. Dozens more of the mercenaries were already dug in, doing their best to avoid the deadly barrage of fire.
“What’s going on?” he shouted, forgetting that their helmet communications ear was easily capable of sending clear audio signals. A series of unguided rockets rushed overhead and slammed into their recently vacated dromon. The first two rockets did little but tear holes into the fuselage, but the third must have hit a fuel line or ammunition store. It exploded in a bright red flash, sending large parts of its structure over an area of nearly fifty metres.
“Return fire, keep them busy till the heavies get here!” ordered Maxentius.
Xenophon looked over the ridge, being careful to not leave himself too exposed. He could see over a dozen dromons lined up almost as if on parade. The armed variants were blazing away at a series of improvised defensive positions along the outer wall of the Citadel. Along the parapets were hundreds of enemy soldiers. They were all wearing dull metal armour and using an odd mixture of pulse and conventional firearms. He took aim and fired a short burst from his right carbine. The bright muzzle flash partially obliterated his view, but he had the satisfaction of watching a number of the enemy duck down. But he couldn’t tell if he’d hit them, or they were taking cover. The image of Komes Pasion appeared, and he was partially obscured by a cloud of dust.
“It’s a trap! We have lost contact with the fleet since landing. Get into cover, we need to find…”
A bight flash cut the feed, but gave no indication as to what had happened to the commander of the Night Blades. All along the ridge, the remnants of the unit unleashed an accurate and deadly rain of fire into the enemy positions. Plasma shells tore holes in the thin walls, and pulse rounds picked off one Mulac after another. Another dromon landed, and from front its door spilled multiple squads of spatharii. These heavily armoured warriors switched on their shields as they hit the ground and formed up into a loose line, twenty men wide. Pulse fire glanced off the shielding, and for a moment it looked like they might have a chance. The Mulacs redirected their efforts against the new arrivals, and the gunfire striking the ridge cut back drastically.
“Now!” shouted a Night Blades Dekarchos, as he clambered over the ridge and made it ten metres before being struck by three unguided rockets. Half of his squad fell around him, leaving just four to drag themselves back. Xenophon reached out to his commander.
“ Dekarchos, where are the rest of the spatharii?”