Michael Thomas - Gates of Cilicia

“Yeah, they didn’t have enough places though.”

Xenophon laughed at the comment.

“So you didn’t get the grade then? Let me guess, the system failed you?”

“You bet your arse it failed me. Any citizen should be able to train and do what they want. Sticking limits just makes it elitist.”

Lieutenant Devereux reached out and placed her hands on both of their shoulders.

“Hey, you two. Give it a rest. This is the first break I’ve had in weeks, and I don’t want to spend it listening to another argument.”

“No problem,” added Xenophon, but Calum was far from finished.

“I’m just glad the new higher rate taxes have come in so people like you can give something back. Our system needs to be fairer to people like, well, us,” he said with both hands turned inwards.

Alarms blasted at full volume throughout the recreation room. It was similar to the battlestations alert on board the frigate. Lieutenant Devereux looked around them and then outside through the window.

“Look!” she said, the tone of dread obvious to them all, apart from Calum.

Xenophon leaned in closer to the reinforced glass. There were shapes forming out there in space, and not far from the assembled Armada.

Here? We have the entire Alliance Armada assembled and ready for war. This is madness. Xenophon argued with himself.

“This is not a drill. We are under attack. I repeat. Fort Plymouth is under attack. All crew report to your stations!” called out the voice of whoever was in charge of the station right now.

Lieutenant Devereux grabbed Xenophon and pulled him towards her.

“Captain Agrippa has just sent me a call, as well as the rest of the senior officers. We’re to get to the ship fast.”

“What the hell is happening?” he replied, but she was already moving from the room. Scores of crew rushed about, some heading to the transports, and others to the stations weapon systems. The loudspeakers continued their drone.

“The primary Laconian Fleet has jumped in directly over the station. I repeat. The enemy fleet is…”

The audio cut out ominously, and at the same time the station’s artificial gravity and lighting cut. The emergency lights flickered on but gravity and communications remained off. Xenophon tumbled along the corridor, his momentum keeping him moving until he struck the wall with a crunch.

This is insanity. We can’t lose like this.

Lieutenant Devereux was having none of it. She was at the wall and ripped open a panel to reveal a small lever. With a quick tug, she yanked it back. Lights flashed in the corridor and partial gravity was restored. It was no more than a third of normal, but it did make movement more manageable.

“Look, the emergency override will only run for about an hour. We need to reach the lower level docking arm. It’s over there,” she explained.

“Yeah, I know the way, come on!”

As they bounced and jumped along the corridor, a number of dull rumbles shook the station. At first they were gentle, but the reverberations quickly spread through the innards of the structure. Xenophon couldn’t see anything, but he knew full well what was happening.

We’re being bombarded. Yet he felt calm, even serene. Something that surprised him more than the actual attack itself. It was a sensation he had never felt before, even during his brief time aboard his frigate. Perhaps it was the inevitability of an attack as massive as this one, more likely he was so pumped up on adrenalin that he didn’t know any better.

Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae

The shuttle was packed with crew from Plymouth Station. Every man and woman was desperate to leave the station and had left equipment, weapons and even clothing behind in the panic. Some were keen to return to their ship to fight, but most were more than likely terrified at the prospect of being stuck on a station they could do nothing to defend. This far out in space, the outpost was on its own. There was no planet or hilltop to retreat to. If the base were captured, you would either be killed or become a prisoner of the Laconian League. A fate that was truly worse than death. At least, that is what their instructors and commanders reiterated every day.

More like they don’t want us abandoning our posts, deserting or simply refusing to fight, thought Xenophon wryly.

Even as they had climbed aboard the shuttle, the breach alarms in the station had been sounded. Either heavy weapons fire had cut through the armour and shielding or even worse; Laconian warriors had landed and were in the process of taking control of the base. There was little the crew could do to oppose their professional warriors. Unlike the Laconians, the Alliance crew and military did little actual close quarter combat training. Even the use of firearms was limited to the tiny number of tactical teams used for hostage rescue or guard work. In this era of space warfare, the argument had always been that the Navy made ground combat obsolete, even vulgar. It was considered a rough throwback to the old days of Earth.

Vulgar! Ground combat? Maybe if we trained in it, we wouldn’t be running. What if they take the station? The Armada would have to withdraw back to the homeworld. He was trying to work out what would happen to the Alliance if the battle continued on its present course. It was hard to believe that a force as substantial as the Armada could suffer anything more than a minor loss to the enemy. The complete Alliance fleet had never been defeated in open battle before. The best the Laconians had ever managed was when a handful of frigates had duelled, and it had been indecisive and proved little.

Sat inside the craft, Xenophon thought about the state of the station he had just left. He still had pangs of guilt for leaving so fast. He knew deep down that he had done the right thing. His skills in battle were only to do with operating ship-based weapons. In a stand-up fight with professional Laconian warriors, he wouldn’t stand a chance. The Alliance had no professional infantry. Even the crew of the ships were almost all enlisted for short-term operations. The Laconians, on the other hand, came from a much poorer background but had the advantage of a small, fully professional navy and a substantial ground force of heavy infantry. These forces were known simply as Laconians, as it was the duty of all their citizens to train and prepare for war. Xenophon had always been fascinated by the Laconians and had wanted to visit their homeworld since he had been a boy.

A great thud, like a crate being thrown at the shuttle, brought him back to his senses. A series of alarms echoed through the small space and steam blasted out from a joint on the piping above his head. A dozen cables dropped down where the damage had shredded the cables. Sparks ran along their length before the shuttle emergency system isolated and immobilised the circuit.

What the hell is that? he thought. The crew looked about in concern at the sound, but there appeared to be no real damage. The shuttle transport was unarmoured and designed more for utility than comfort and would not stand up to much punishment if attacked. Any weapon used by the League would easily be able to damage or destroy the shuttle with little effort. There were no windows to speak of, and the passengers were all required to wear full EVA safe suits for the trip. Only half had pulled on their gear so far, the rest were struggling, and a small number just ignored the order and sat in silence.

Listen to it, Xenophon thought to himself. The sound of the small chunks of dust and debris from the battle outside pattered the shuttle like a gentle rain shower. It was quiet and frustratingly quiet inside, but Xenophon was all too aware of the battle going on. Being blind to the world outside did have its benefits for most of those in the shuttle. Not for Xenophon, he had a vivid imagination and had seen from the station displays the great enemy fleet that had arrived. They wouldn’t have begun an evacuation unless there was the potential for defeat.