Blackhawk: Far Stars Legends I Read online

  “Advise all of General Ghana’s units that we welcome them as friends and allies.” Lucerne had been stunned when he’d first received Ghana’s message. His rival had made him his official heir, bade him take control of his soldiers, his lands. The general had asked almost nothing…just that Lucerne take care of his family and his soldiers, that he look after the people in the areas Ghana had ruled.

  Lucerne had expected a trick at first, but then Ghana’s broadcast to his troops had come in over the com. He had listened in stunned amazement, just like everyone else in his headquarters. Ghana had been his enemy, but there had been no hatred there. He’d always considered the rival Warlord to be an honorable foe, at least to an extent. But Ghana’s final act had impressed him…and he knew he would always remember the general with respect and honor. And he would grant his rival’s final requests.

  Indeed, his foe had given him a great opportunity. Ghana had ruled over lands almost twice as large as he had. Lucerne knew Ghana’s bequest would triple his holdings in an instant…and give him full control over the Badlands trade routes. It was a victory beyond anything he’d dared to imagine when he’d first come to the Badlands.

  Assuming he could extricate his people—old and new. There was still fighting to do, Carterian refugees to pursue, defeat. And the battle had been a cataclysm. It had drained supplies at a far faster rate than he’d expected. All the careful logistical preparations during the truce had proven grossly inadequate. His troops were low on supplies, on ammunition. The field hospitals were overflowing, running out of medicine. It would take everything he had to secure his position, to stabilize the situation…both in the Badlands, and in Ghana’s home territories.

  “We are receiving acknowledgements from General Ghana’s commanders, sir. They are accepting your offers of amnesty, of service.”

  Lucerne just nodded. For all the gains the victory promised, he was uncomfortable. Ghana had hired mercenaries, impressed troops from areas he’d controlled tenuously. Lucerne’s soldiers were almost all from his home region, loyal veterans who had volunteered to follow him. He knew Ghana had many good troops, men he would welcome under his banner. But he was also aware there were thousands who had no place in his army.

  He’d almost refused the entreaties of the officers offering their services, tried to put off the matter until he had time to set up some system of review to pick and choose the troops he wanted. But he quickly realized that wasn’t possible. He needed Ghana’s men now, allied with his own…or Carteria’s forces might rally and snatch back the victory.

  He would handle things differently, less directly than he would have preferred. He would weed out the soldiers he didn’t want over time. He would retire them, offer pensions when he could afford them, grant farms…or less important jobs in the civil governments in his lands. He would spread them around, dilute any potential for organized resistance to his rule from those who would offer false oaths.

  He would make it work, gradually, subtly, without making it a rallying cry for the former Ghanan forces to resist him.

  “General Lucerne…there is someone here requesting to see you, sir.” The officer’s voice pulled Lucerne from his thoughts. The aide’s tone sounded doubtful, as if Lucerne would order the petitioner sent away. Or, just as likely, shot.

  “Who is it, Lieutenant?” Lucerne had been hunched over a folding table holding a large map, but now he stood up and turned around.

  “A woman, sir. She claims her name is Cassandra Cross, that she is the commander of the Grays.”

  “And she is here?” Lucerne was surprised. He hadn’t struggled with the Grays the way Ghana had, but he found it hard to believe the pirate commander would have come to see him, alone, without at least some prior guarantee of her safety.

  “Yes, General. Shall I have her arrested?”

  “Certainly not, Lieutenant. If she is here, she is here on a parlay, whether such was formally declared or not…and we will respect that.” He knew the Grays weren’t a military unit, that the rules of war, to the extent that they were ever respected, did not apply. But Lucerne was a man of honor, and if the Grays commander was indeed in his headquarters, come of her own free will to see him, he would speak to her. He couldn’t imagine she had anything to say he would find compelling, but he would listen to her at least. And then he would let her leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  General Lucerne’s Field Headquarters

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  Blackhawk strode across the rutted and dusty road running through Lucerne’s field headquarters. The general had moved his command post forward, onto the plateau originally occupied by Ghana’s frontline forces. There had been heavy fighting all around the location, and while most of the bodies had been removed, the ground was still badly torn up and covered with shattered weapons and discarded bits of equipment.

  Lucerne had called Blackhawk directly, asked him to return to headquarters immediately. Blackhawk noted the general had requested his presence, he didn’t order it. He ran his fingers over the major’s insignia, remembering that he’d accepted the temporary commission Lucerne had offered him, and that it gave the general every right to order him to return at once. The restraint, the cautious respect, was another sign of Lucerne’s natural leadership, his perception into how to handle his subordinates and allies.

  Blackhawk was unsettled, his normally controlled mind disordered, as if part of him was at war with another part. The battle had taken him fully, the old parts of him, those he had struggled so hard to suppress over the past few years, returning in full force. His four hundred men had accomplished miracles, held back enemy attacks that outnumbered them ten to one. Blackhawk had been everywhere along the line, urging the troops when they seemed to waver, joining in the fighting on the front line…even shooting two men who had tried to run, branding them deserters and swearing to the others they would meet the same fate if their courage failed.

  Sixty-three.

  Sixty-three of his four hundred men were still on their feet, all the others killed or seriously wounded. But those sixty-three had held the ridge until the end…until Rafaelus DeMark and his soldiers had arrived, and launched the counterattack that broke the Carterian line.

  Blackhawk, the new part of him, longed to feel something, anything. But he didn’t. Not regret at the losses, not elation at the victory. He had merely done what he’d had to do. What he’d been born—created—to do.

  He wrestled with the thoughts, wondering if his flight to the Far Stars had been for naught, if his quest for a normal life, to live as a man with emotions, with a conscience, was a hopeless dream.

  Am I nothing but an automaton, a machine built to kill?

  He took a deep breath as he walked toward the shelter housing Lucerne’s office. He wanted to believe there was more to him, that his quest was not in vain. But he was drowning now in doubts.

  He opened the door and walked inside.

  “Major Blackhawk,” the aide said, “go right in. The General is waiting for you.”

  Blackhawk nodded and walked toward the door, stepping inside as it slid open.

  “Ark, thank you for coming so quickly.”

  Blackhawk nodded, and it struck him again how well Lucerne seemed to understand him. The general’s willingness to treat him as an ally and not a subordinate, despite the fact that he bore Lucerne’s insignia, affected him deeply. He was not a man who followed others easily…indeed, at all.

  “Congratulations, General. My understanding is that the Carterians are fleeing across the line.” He paused for a second. “I suggest you not let up on them. If they are able to regroup…”

  His words stopped suddenly as his eyes caught the figure sitting at a table on the other side of the room. The recognition was immediate…and he felt a wave of thoughts, emotions flooding into his troubled mind, throwing him into greater confusion, turmoil.

  “Cass,” he said, unable to keep the surprise from his
voice. “What are you doing here?”

  The Grays’ commander stood up and walked across the room, hurrying her step as she got closer to Blackhawk. “Ark, I’m so happy you are okay. I was worried about you. The reports on the fighting in your sector…”

  She walked right up and threw her arms around him. He hesitated for an instant, and then he returned the gesture, pulling her into a tight embrace.

  “I’m glad you are okay too, Cass.” He loosened his grip and pulled back a step, his eyes finding hers. “But, what are you doing here?” he repeated. There was an edge of concern in his voice, and his eyes darted over toward Lucerne. A Warlord’s headquarters wasn’t the safest place for the most wanted raider in the Badlands.

  “Don’t worry, Ark.” Lucerne said. “Cassandra and I have had a long talk…and we’ve settled what differences we might have had.”

  Blackhawk looked over at Lucerne and then back to Cass. “You allied yourself with one of the Warlords?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his tone.

  She nodded and smiled. “Leadership requires an open mind. I figured if you believed General Lucerne was an honorable man then I could give him a chance as well.”

  “The Galadan will be under my protection, Ark,” Lucerne interjected. “Any who would march there, victimize its inhabitants, will find themselves at war with me as a consequence. The Warlords in that area are all local powers. I do not believe any of them would wish to pick a fight with me, especially not after I absorb Ghana’s lands.”

  “But the region is still in ruins, dependent upon the proceeds of the raids. And you will now control the Badlands trade. How can the Gray’s continue to support their people without being at odds with you?” Blackhawk couldn’t see a solution to that paradox, and it made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being confused.

  “The Grays will stop their raiding immediately, Ark. They will be given a choice, return and help rebuild the Galadan…or join my army.”

  “But how will the Galadan be rebuilt? From what Cass told me it will take a fortune, several million ducats at least. I know your resources are strained…and the people there have already lost everything.”

  “Cass has solved that problem as well, Ark. Or at least offered a possible solution.” Lucerne smiled. “I should have known your taste in women would run to the capable as well as the beautiful.”

  Blackhawk was still uncertain, and he looked over at Cass.

  “We will make one more raid, Ark,” she said softly. “There is a convoy, and it is carrying something very special.” She looked back over at Lucerne. “It is a grave threat to the general and his army, and for that reason alone, it is essential that it be stopped.” She paused and glanced back at Blackhawk. “But it will also solve our problems with funding the reconstruction of the Galadan.”

  “What convoy is this?”

  “Carteria, Ark. It is Carteria’s convoy.” Lucerne’s voice was deeper, more serious than it had been. “Cassandra brought valuable intelligence with her…crucial information. Indeed, she may have saved the army.”

  Blackhawk glanced at Cass and then back to Lucerne, but he remained silent, listening.

  “One of Cassandra’s informants in the river cities sent word that all of the mercenary companies have been hired…all of them. With no other information, we could be sure that was Carteria. No Warlord on the Northern Continent could afford such a mobilization. But there is more. The convoy the Grays found contains silver, hard currency to pay the mercenaries…forty million ducats.”

  Blackhawk understood immediately, and he started to nod. “We will have to move quickly or the convoy…”

  “Or the convoy will get through…and Carteria’s beaten forces will be reinforced by more than one hundred thousand veteran mercenaries.” Lucerne stared at Blackhawk, a deadpan expression on his face. “And then we will be defeated, driven from the Badlands and destroyed far from home.” Lucerne’s tone was deadly serious now.

  “How strong is the convoy? It must be heavily protected.”

  “Hundreds of soldiers, Ark,” Cass said. “I saw it myself. They are heavily armed, with a whole column of armored vehicles. It will take a thousand men to attack it…which is why I came here in the first place.”

  “Will you go, Ark?” Lucerne asked. “Will you go with Cass and Rafe DeMark and take this convoy for me while I pursue the remnants of Carteria’s army?”

  Blackhawk nodded. “Yes, Augustin, of course. But we will never catch it. If Cass came all the way here, they must be halfway to the river cities by now.”

  “That is why I need you. I would give Cass her thousand soldiers to take the convoy, or two thousand or three…but I cannot get them there. Not on the ground, not in time. And my airship squadrons are shot to pieces. Even with the surviving planes from Ghana’s army, we can only move two hundred men by air. It will be several hours before the ships can return and reload…which means our attacking force will be outnumbered. We can’t delay…every hour that passes, we risk the mercenary forces moving east, linking up with the convoy.” He paused. “We must take that coin before the mercs get it, before Carteria is able to buy his hundred thousand men.”

  Blackhawk stood silently for a moment. He’d never shied away from a fight, and he wouldn’t now. But there was something else. He remembered the feeling that had come over him in the battle on the ridge, the old drives pushing out from the dark places into which he’d confined them. Seeing Cass, feeling her embrace…it had brought him the rest of the way back from what the fight had awakened in him, pushing away the dark impulses once again. But now he had to go back into battle. He wasn’t afraid, not of death. Part of him would even welcome his demise, welcome it as a release from the exhaustion, the pain.

  It wasn’t the outcome of the fight that troubled him either. He didn’t doubt victory…outnumbered, outgunned…it didn’t matter to Blackhawk. He was confident he would find a way to win. Whatever the cost. But it was just that cost that worried him. What would he do to secure victory? Drive Lucerne’s soldiers to their deaths? See DeMark gunned down leading a desperate charge? And Cass? What would he do with Cass and her people? Would they become cannon fodder, a diversion to win his victory? Would he find himself standing on the field of battle, staring down at a bunch of dead farmers whose lives he had coldly expended to gain the victory?

  “I will do it,” he said, his voice grim. He knew there was no other option. He was exhausted, his body crusted with dried sweat and dirt from the field. His leg was mostly healed, but it still throbbed, and he was covered with cuts and scrapes, the wear and tear of a vicious fight. He’d been in the thick of the fighting for three straight days, without rest, with hardly a gulp of water and a bite for two of food. But there was no time to waste, none at all. “But we cannot waste time. We must go. Now.”

  Lucerne nodded, clearly feeling guilty about sending Blackhawk back out again so soon. “Thank you, Ark. The planes are ready to go…and Rafe DeMark is gathering the first two hundred men. They are the best of the best, Ark, my oldest veterans.” He paused. “Take good care of them.”

  “We’ll get the convoy, Augustin. Whatever it takes.” Lucerne had done his duty, expressed concern for his men. But Blackhawk knew the general understood as well as he did…nothing was more important than taking that convoy before it reached the mercenaries. Whatever the cost.

  He turned. “Cass, you don’t have to go. You did enough binging us this news. Stay here. This is liable to get…” Blackhawk paused. “…ugly.” Please stay…

  “Don’t you tell me to stay behind, Arkarin Blackhawk. General Lucerne has promised two million ducats from the convoy to rebuild the Galadan…and I have promised all the Grays can do to help…and nothing is keeping from this mission.” Her voice was tinged with anger, but mostly it was determination Blackhawk heard in her words.

  He sighed softly. He turned toward Lucerne, and for an instant he considered asking the General to keep her behind, making her safety a condition of his o
wn involvement. But something stopped him. He was fond of Cass, and he wanted to protect her, to keep her out of the bloody fight he knew was coming. But she was right. He had no place keeping her from this struggle. The battle would save her people, both the Grays and the farmers back home. It was all she’d left the Galadan to achieve, and if it was successful, she would have saved her homeland. He had no right to try and keep her from this fight. However much he wanted to.

  “Okay, Cass…but promise me you will be careful. These are probably good troops we’ll be facing…this is going to be a tough fight.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Ark.”

  He looked over at her and forced a smile. He’d left her once, when he’d come to find Lucerne, but now he wondered how he would do it again. He was still trying to understand his emotions, struggling to grasp how he felt…and how to combine those feelings with reason.

  Arkarin Blackhawk was a thirty-four year old man, a veteran warrior, a genetically-enhanced killing machine. But he was newly born in many ways as well. He fought to manage the new feelings, the stimuli he hadn’t had most of his life, not until he’d broken his conditioning. And as he pushed through it all, he was trying to understand one thing especially. He had strong feelings for Cassandra Cross…but did he love her? Did he even know what love was?

  He looked at her and nodded, saying nothing. He hated the idea of letting her come, but he knew he couldn’t stop her. She had a right to be there.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Deep Southern Desert

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  Blackhawk jumped out of the airship’s hatch, rifle in hand and twenty of General Lucerne’s best veterans behind him. He felt his feet slam down on the sand, and he lurched forward immediately, running toward the line of rock outcroppings ahead. It wasn’t much cover, but it was something…and it was the only thing but open desert for two days in either direction. He’d ordered the airships to circle for almost an hour until the convoy reached that location. That meant a delay before reinforcements would arrive, but Blackhawk wanted that cover. If his people could take out enough of the defenders from that vantage point, maybe he could even the odds a little.