Michael Thomas - Gates of Cilicia

“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.

The taller of the two bowed at her and her comrades. The second merely tilted his head, as though forced to do so out of necessity, rather than by choice.

“Welcome back to the Armada, my friends. I am Cyrus,” said the man as he turned to his comrade. “This is Tissaphernes, Satrap of this region and the Lord of the Cilician Gates.”

The second noble nodded again before speaking.

“I thank you, all of you, for your part in clearing my domain of these Mulacs.”

Clearchus stepped forward and alongside them.

“These are the survivors of the Night Blades, an Arcadian unit who have almost proved themselves worthy of fighting alongside Laconians,” he said in jest. Those near enough to hear him, chuckled with amusement at the sarcasm, but it appeared to be totally lost on the Medes.

A loud hiss from the second dromon to land announced the opening of its doors. From the steam and dust moved the figure of Dukas Xenias. He walked down the ramp, assisted by his personal guards. A medical team rushed up to assist him, but he brushed them aside and continued down to reach the line of senior officers. He started to kneel before Clearchus, but the old General reached out and grabbed the man’s arm.

“Really, Xenias, that will not be necessary,” he said with a genuine smile, something that was rare between rival nations such as theirs. Lord Cyrus approached and placed his hand on the man’s arm.

“Thank you, Dukas Xenias. Your forces have cleared the Cilician Gates and removed a great evil from these lands. Neither Satrap Tissaphernes, the commander of this region, nor I will forget your service.”

Xenias nodded politely and turned to the medics, speaking quietly to them. It was clear he was in great pain, and with the help of his guards he was able to continue onwards and away from the dromons. Clearchus looked back to Xenophon and the other Night Blades.

“Lord Cyrus has offered to pay all those involved with the action at the Cilician Gates double the offered salary. This is intended as compensation for your struggles and for your great efforts to preserve his domain. Tissaphernes had also offered to make an offering to the fleet of fifty ships, as well as a large contingent of his own automatons to our project.”

Xenophon smiled as best he could, but the news that such a contingent was being given to them rankled.

Why could they have not been used to stop the Mulacs to start with?

The two topoteretes moved around them to speak with the other members of the group. Clearchus, however, stayed where he was. He seemed particularly interested in Xenophon and Glaucon.

“Your efforts were impressive, very impressive. You destroyed the wall, eliminated the shield generator and held, when all hope seemed lost. It is clear to me that with these kinds of skills, we will be able to breach any defence and crush any fleet that opposes us. For your efforts, you are all to commended.”

A dekarchos stepped forward with a box, and he lifted the lid to reveal a series of stripes. He held up the first two to Clearchus, who took them and then handed them to Xenophon and Roxana.

“For your efforts, you have been promoted to Dekarchos. This is a position you have both earned and already acted under. You will be responsible for a full ten-man unit in the Night Blades.”

He then took more insignia from the box and moved to Glaucon.

“You and your new Dekarchos are inseparable. I cannot see how a pair of warriors could be any more effective. You are immediately promoted to his side as Pentarchos. This is an important and honoured position in the unit.”

Glaucon took the stripes and smiled at Xenophon and Roxana. Clearchus stepped back but noticed the look on Tamara’s face. She looked both disappointed and anguished at being left out.

“Child, you are not yet ready for the rigors of command. What is it that you wish?”

Tamara looked at him, dumbfounded at the request.

“I want my own unit,” she spluttered.

Clearchus laughed, amused at her comment.

“Not yet, perhaps after a few more battles!” he added with a laugh.

The Strategos walked away along with his entourage, leaving the members of the Night Blades to the still cheering crowd. Dukas Sophaenetus, a man they had never even met before, approached.

“Come with me, please. We have somewhere for you to rest before your victory meal with the Strategos later this evening.”

Xenophon nodded and glanced to the others. They all looked equally exhausted to him. The bulk of the Night Blades followed the Dukas, but Glaucon, Roxana and Tamara stayed back for a few more seconds. Roxana spoke quietly in his ear.