Xenophon stepped out from behind the pillar to examine his handiwork. The coolant rods were destroyed, as were the control units for the generator. It had stopped working in seconds, and the blast wave seemed to pass in every direction. Incredibly, none of them had sustained anything more than light injuries. He was about to speak when the communicator in his helmet burst to life.
“It’s Clearchus, they are through the shield,” he said with a smile.
“Somebody is coming!” shouted one of the stratiotes. He was standing near the entrance they had all originally arrived from. It could mean only one of two things.
“Take cover, watch for friendlies!” shouted Xenophon.
The stratiotes moved around the entrance, using the fallen Mulacs and stonework to protect them. Xenophon grabbed a fallen carbine and checked the magazine. It was half full. Lights flashed in the dark hall, and voices and shouting marked the arrival of somebody.
“Wait for my order,” whispered Xenophon, eager to avoid friendly fire.
Roxana emerged from the tunnel along with just a handful of bloodied stratiotes. Tamara stumbled forward and fell to the floor. A metal spike from some kind of projectile weapon was stuck in her leg. A few more moved in, carrying the wounded body of Jack. A rocket whistled up the tunnel and struck the wall behind them. The blast of explosion, along with sharp and broken masonry, crashed around the stratiotes and Jack. Xenophon rushed forward and grabbed Roxana. He felt a mixture of pleasure and fear at her bruised and bloodied body. As he pulled her from the ground, he spotted Jack’s broken body. His torso and neck were cut open by the razor sharp masonry. Around him were the bodies of three more stratiotes.
“Poor Jack,” she muttered miserably. Tamara dropped to the floor, despair and fear in her eyes. Roxana held out her hand and Xenophon helped her up. She looked back at the tunnel and checked her carbine.
“There are more coming, behind us!” she called out.
They appeared, almost on cue and charged into the open space. The first Mulacs were cut down by gunfire, but a small number made it through and towards Xenophon and his comrades.
“Not again!” snarled Glaucon, who ran in, swing his captured Mulac mace.
Clearchus watched with anger the battle that was raging outside the Citadel. There were a large number of fires along the perimeter, and thousands of Mulacs were still fighting a close-range battle with a smaller than expected number of spatharii. From his position in his command dromon, it looked like Dukas Xenias had captured the outer wall and part of the lower levels of the Citadel. Kleandridas pointed to a wave of a dozen dromons he had diverted to make a combat landing.
“Strategos, I am picking up a signal from the mountain there.”
“The generator platform?” asked Clearchus.
“Yes, a stratiotes called Xenophon. He says they have destroyed the equipment, but they are under heavy attack.”
Clearchus pressed a button to retask the dromon’s camera assembly. The image changed to show the low peak from which multiple columns of smoke were belching. Halfway up its height were hundreds of the enemy, and even more were working their way up to join them. Clearchus nodded to himself.
“Get me Dukas Chirisophus,” he ordered.
In just a few seconds, the face of the senior Laconian commander appeared.
“Strategos.”
“I need you to redirect your forces. You have all of your seven hundred spatharios with you?”
“Affirmative.”
“Good. Take them to the peak that is swarming with Mulacs. We have troops on the higher levels. Land on the lower levels, and hit the Mulacs hard. I will send Dukas Sophaenetus with his thousand spatharii to assist you. Take no prisoners.”
“Yes, Strategos.”
He changed the camera to the original forward facing angle and watched with pleasure as the first wave of dromons disgorged their spatharii directly into battle. He could already see them surging through the damaged wall and into the lower levels of the Citadel.
“They are already breaking through,” said Kleandridas in a calm voice.
“Good, change course and bring up to the higher level of that peak. I think our friends need some help.”
“You don’t want to land at the Citadel?” asked a surprised Kleandridas.
“No, our forces will defeat them in a matter of minutes. Land us, quickly!”
The command dromon swept low over the battlefield and past the raging battle below. The odd stream of rounds arced towards it, but they were able to move into position alongside the mountain and near a small landing pad. It was far too small to make a landing, so they were forced to hover in place. A small group of Mulac fighters tried to stop them by firing at point blank range into the dromon. Clearchus released his magnetic harness and moved to the doors. Kleandridas and his heavily armoured bodyguard joined him.
“We don’t stop until the place is secured!” he growled.
The door blasted open and let in the howling wind from this far up. He glanced down to see that the pad sat nearly five metres below them. He didn’t hesitate and leapt out. He crashed to the pad and rolled to the side. Kleandridas landed beside him, and they set to work on the unfortunate Mulacs who tried to stop them. Both men blasted away with their Asgeirr-Carbines. More of the crimson armoured bodyguards joined them, and the pad was clear.
“Follow me!” cried Clearchus who rushed through the nearest doorway. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing damaged equipment and a large melee at the far end. He could make out a small group of stratiotes busy fighting a desperate battle against a growing horde of Mulacs. He powered forward and picked off three Mulacs that had strayed from the group.
Xenophon didn’t even see Clearchus until the crimson shape burst past him. The Terran leader and his bodyguard crashed into the large group of Mulacs. Gunfire and edged weapons tore a bloody swathe through them. It was over almost as soon as it had begun. The Mulacs were quickly halted, and in a blind panic turned and fled back into the tunnel. The bodyguards continued after them, but Clearchus stopped and turned to look at the small and exhausted group of stratiotes. Xenophon approached him and placed his fist across his chest, the traditional Laconian salute. Clearchus smiled.
“You must be Xenophon.”
He nodded but said nothing, physically and mentally exhausted.
“This is one damned good piece of soldiering, son. I commend you.” He looked to the rest of the survivors. “All of you.”
Kleandridas approached and leaned in towards his commander.
“Strategos, there is word from the Armada.”
Clearchus grimaced, expecting the worse. “What is it?”
“Lord Ariaeus, the second-in-command of Cyrus’ Median troops, has arrived. His fleet is, well…it is truly massive, my Lord. Double the size of our own forces.”
The journey back to the Armada was a blur to Xenophon. He must have either passed out or been asleep, because the first thing he remembered was the buzzing sound of the ramp lowering and the door opening. He and the survivors of the Night Blades walked down the ramp of Clearchus’ dromon with a look of confusion and exhaustion. He remembered Roxana talking to him and something about their victory, but most of it was a blur. The exhausted stratiotes were looking forward to the warmth and comfort of their own ship. Instead, they entered the landing bay of the Laconian Titan to the sound of cheers and shouting. News of their exploits must have reached the crew well before their arrival, as hundreds were already waiting in one great mass of people.
“What the hell?” muttered a bruised and battered-looking Glaucon.
Strategos Clearchus had already stepped out onto the ground and waited, along with his topoteretes and the survivors of his personal guard. They stood to attention, and the formality caught Xenophon and his friends by surprise. Roxana reached the bottom of the ramp first and was surprised to see two Median nobles stood waiting.