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Chapter One


Geosynchronous Orbit
Winfield
Dark Falcons Protectorate, 30th June 3157

Cadet Seamus McVay stared at the ship as it rolled into view. The shuttle in which he had made the short transit from Winfield was making its final manoeuvres. He had recently graduated from the Academy and had been posted to the Talon. She was a sleek craft, every fibre of her being screaming her warlike nature. “A Vincent Class Corvette,” he breathed to himself as he drank in her lines.

At 412,000 tons she was large for a corvette. She carried ten fighters and four shuttles, in one of which he was now making his approach. Greedily he watched her autocannons spring into focus and remembered that she also carried ten Barracuda missiles. This was a fighting ship.

Seamus had been overjoyed when he had been passed his orders; never had he expected to win such a prize. His family, true, claimed a lineage straight back to the Founding of the Dark Falcons, but that was over five generations ago. His relative had then been a Tech who had served with the first Khan, but since then family members had rarely distinguished themselves. He was the first to enter the Navy, his father even now no doubt, rueing his choice.

As they slid into the landing bay, he saw the other shuttles at rest, and realised that all was ready for departure. He was the last aboard. Frantic activity drew his attention, as the airlock cycled open and he was all but dragged clear. A burly soldier looked him up and down disdainfully, before pushing him towards a lighted hatchway.

The cadet dug his heels in and as the man moved to push him aside, Seamus grabbed his hand, twisting it and forcing the soldier to the floor.

“Name?” he asked conversationally as he applied pressure.

“Barnes...”

Seamus twisted again.

“...Sir!”

“Good,” said Seamus, letting him up, “I always find polite conversation beneficial.”

Free once more, Barnes swung his fist at the impudent cadet. Tradition shouted for him to put the young master in his place.

A happy grin plastered across his face, Seamus ducked underneath the flailing arm, the heel of his palm striking Barnes under his jaw. There was the clack of teeth, another grunt of pain as Seamus followed the blow up with a punch to the solar plexus and a cry of surprise as Barnes hit the floor.

Still smiling, Seamus offered his hand to the thoroughly chagrined man.

“Shall we start again?” he asked as Barnes took the proffered hand, “And this time, you can show me where I can report to the Captain.”

*

Daylon Barnes was Navy through and through. He was a big man; some of his mates claimed his mother had slept with an Elemental. They never said it to his face though. If questioned, he would have expressed an opinion over little, apart from his love of fighting, and of course the Navy itself.

From his position on the floor, he looked up at the slight figure of the cadet in astonishment. He had fought many, both within and out of the Circle of Equals, but had never been so easily put on the floor. Belligerent by nature, his first reaction was to leap up and smash his fist into the grinning face. Something stopped him. A kind of personal revelation swept over him. The cold light of pure confidence shone from the youth’s face. There was absolutely no doubt there.

Surprising even himself, Barnes took the hand and then picked up the cadet’s bag from the floor from where it had fallen.

“Please follow me, Sir,” he said meekly, his fierce look quailing the smirks of his companions.

Seamus waited for him to pass, and then with his hands in his pockets, began to whistle a merry tune.

*

“Mr McVay. Thank you so much for joining us.”

The grin had still not left Seamus’ face as he stood now to attention.

“Sir!” he replied, there was nothing else to say.

“How,” continued the Captain, “a mediocre cadet, such as you, could be posted to such a fine ship, is beyond me.”

No doubt, thought Seamus, a lot is beyond you Captain. Instead of speaking though, he handed his papers over. The Captain’s face changed, anger giving way to chagrin. Such orders were always sealed, so Seamus was totally ignorant of the contents. Whatever was in there, had certainly had an effect.

“Your name is McVay...” he began and Seamus nodded, “but your full name is Seamus Elias McVay.”

A gasp from behind him indicated that Barnes had followed unbidden.

“That is correct, Sir,” responded Seamus.

“A tainted name...”

The Captain stopped, shocked at the sudden fear which overwhelmed him. He had been staring into the Cadet’s eyes. They were a grey-green, which had suddenly turned ice. Captain Ewan Dawson felt the cold touch of death drape a companiable arm over his shoulder.

“Sorry ...Sir?”

Dawson gulped and folded the orders, for the first time noticing Barnes. He took out his anger on the big man, who shrugged it off diffidently.

“You there! What do you think you are doing? Get off my bridge!”

Barnes saluted lazily and moved to the adjoining corridor where he would wait for the Cadet. Mad Elias. No frakking wonder the Cadet had downed him. Just wait until he told his mates!

Good to see you re-posting this, Rayo!  I'm looking forward to reading it once again.

The Talon had entered normal space without incident yet her Captain had been unusually nervous. Beads of cold sweat had popped onto his brow as his fingers ran over his controls. His XO, at one point, tried to question what he was doing, but a snarl had sent him on his way. Alarms blaring had brought the XO back, but the pistol which miraculously appeared in the Captain’s hand, silenced whatever question he had in mind. Ratings, weapons cocked and ready, rushed to secure the bridge and it was only then the Captain smiled.

“All accounted for?” he asked his Aide, who seemed calm in the midst of the chaos.

“All except the new Cadet and Barnes’ crew…”

“What ?”

The Captain leapt from his chair, motioning armed men to follow him.

“Where are they?” he screamed as he began to run.

“In the small craft bay…” the Captain's hand slapped across the Aide’s face, stopping him short.

“Oh frak!” shouted the Captain, his voice disappearing as he raced away.

“What is his problem?” asked the Aide of no-one in particular, “What can one Cadet and a bunch of drunken reprobates do?”

The XO smiled, ignoring the muzzle of the autorifle which wavered in front of his face.

“You’ve never heard of Mad Elias?”

“Bah,” sneered the man, “Myths and fairy tales. What has that got do with anything?”

Laughing the XO continued, “The insignificant Cadet? He is Seamus ELIAS McVay.”

“Yeah,” said a rating by his side, “and Frakman and Lupus are with him.”

“Oh…frak!” said the Aide quietly, now he knew why his Captain was so upset.


*

Seamus watched through an external link as the soldiers dispersed throughout the bay. They carried no markings, but were obviously professional. A large body pressed next to him and Barnes heavy breath impinged on his consciousness.

“How did they get in without a fight?” he asked.

“Someone inside helped them,” said Seamus tersely as he saw the inner doors opening, and the lights flashing for re-pressurization, “and there I think is your answer.”

The Captain stumbled through the half-open door and made his way straight towards the unwanted visitors. He spoke animatedly with them and they immediately began to fan out.

“Frakker!” muttered Barnes, “Now what are they doing?”

“Looking for us, I think,” said Seamus grinning, “I think your reputation has them scared.”

Barnes grunted in laughter, but he knew that it was not them being looked for. Rather it was this ice-cold Cadet, who was certainly more than he seemed.

There was a knocking at the main port and the flashing light of an incoming signal.

“Looks like they’ve found us,” said Seamus calmly, “let’s go and see what they want, shall we?”

Chapter Three

Goliath System
Deep Periphery
Dark Falcons Protectorate, 04th July 3157


Captain Dawson watched as the line of ratings, arms held high above their heads, marched out of the shuttle, led by the ever-smiling Cadet. They were roughly grasped by his waiting allies, whilst others trained their rifles on them. He smirked, then walked to stand in front of Seamus.

“So, McVay, hiding were we?”

“No, actually,” replied Seamus, “Barnes bet me that we couldn’t get inside the shuttle before the air left the lock, and I said we could…”

There was a snort of laughter from Lupus, who was nudged in a conspiratorial fashion by his ever present companion. Blood rushed to the Captain´s face and he leaned close in to the Cadet.

“Well,” he sneered, “it will avail you not. You are all my prisoners!”

Seamus looked pointedly around at the gun-toting strangers and raised one eyebrow. Almost choking with anger, Dawson snarled at him.

“Insolent. Like all your family! Proud to be Dark Falcons, as well no doubt?”

A growl of discontent rumbled through the ratings, and Seamus seemed to be confused by something. Still smiling, he beckoned the Captain forward.

“I suppose,” he whispered, “that I should let the family slur go, this time. Insolence and madness are one of our better traits.”

Seamus raised his hand slowly and patted the Captain’s face, almost fondly, his tone changing and voice rising

“You scorn this,” he said, his right index finger tracing the Dark Falcon motif on the breast of his duty fatigues, “asking me if I’m proud to be a Dark Falcon? Well, as my grandfather would have said, “Does sh*t stink?”

His hand dipped into a pocket of his utility belt, flashing outwards. The knuckles of his right hand caught the Captain across the throat; a glancing blow which sent him choking backwards. With a flick of his wrist, something silver flashed, the air behind it blurring.

Arm now extended, Seamus tugged and a nearby soldier’s throat sprayed blood. He heaved again, and the man’s head toppled from his shoulders. The Cadet had not waited to see the final play in his short drama, he had already sprung to catch the man’s rifle and depressed the trigger.

*

Barnes was taken by surprise. One minute the Cadet had been in whispered conversation with the Captain, the next blood spilt. It was a momentary situation, his surprise, and he reacted quickly, as did his fellows.

Frakman flung his arm backward, a shiv concealed in his sleeve dropped into his hand and he buried it in the soldier behind. The man was unlucky. He had lifted up his visor to try and see what was written on the back of Lupus’ shirt, and paid the price for his curiosity.

A balled fist crashed against the helmet of Lupus’ antagonist. It was questionable whether the armour gave any sort of protection; the soldier dropping to the floor in a heap. Then all hell broke loose.

*

“Where’s Mr McVay?” roared Barnes, grabbing a soldier by the throat and crotch and raising him high, before tossing him into a group of the enemy.

“Eh?” never one for conversation, Lupus stared belligerently around.

“There!” said Frakman, pointing beneath the shuttle with his bloody implement.

Seamus slid on one knee from beneath the shuttle, rounds pinging off the metal of the craft. He rose, his right hand moving in a figure of eight. Barnes could see a silver weight which twisted and flashed around him.

“Madman!” he called and Seamus glanced his way, winked at him and threw his arm forward. Something whistled by his ear, and the soldier taking aim on the rating’s back crumpled to the floor.

“Frakking monofilament fibre,” breathed Barnes, now he knew what the Cadet was and conviction surged through him.

“Dark Falcons!” he screamed, launching himself into the fray.

Council Chamber
Winfield
Dark Falcons Protectorate, 04th July 3157

Lars Mattlov stared in astonishment at the brawl which had broken out in the Council Chamber. Khan Ayrton Sheehan sat smiling, watching his subjects reduced to pure animal frenzy. Any ceremony had been thrown aside, as the various factions strove to prove their case. He in himself, was overweight and overindulgent; food and wine bedecked a small table by his side.

Mattlov knew that his opinion was in the minority and that the Khan and his followers would win the day, again.

It had started innocently enough; rumours of attacks had been conveyed to the Council. Over the previous century, the Protectorate had grown in size and importance within the sphere of their influence. They had avoided the internecine strife of the Inner Sphere and survived the collapse of the HPG network. Their job had been to provide protection and support for their member worlds and this had been carried out efficiently and effectively, despite the early death of their first Khan. Subsequent rulers had been infected with the vice of politics, factions developing which promoted the baser instincts.

A few, very few in fact, of the original Dark Falcons had shown dissent and were ruthlessly made an example of. Some had escaped, or had gone underground; the most famous of the cases being “Mad Elias”. He had disappeared with a cadre of followers, leaving his remote family members and associates to ridicule and persecution. That had been over fifty years ago. An underground movement now thrived in secret and, watching the ridiculous goings-on today, Mattlov was more than ever sure of its rightness.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” rumbled the Khan, waving a chicken leg in admonishment at the Council members, “this is little befitting such an august body.”

His Loremaster, Waylon David, bent and whispered in his ear. The Khan smiled and nodded.

“I said enough!”

Still the Council Members fought, one, an Elemental, had torn a bench clear from its mountings and had raised it high over her head. David spoke into a hand-held transmitter and from an upper balcony filed a group of soldiers in dark body armour. Autorifles were lowered and began to spit out high-velocity rounds. Bodies spun and twisted in a macabre dance, blood spurted and splashed indiscriminately as the soldiers sprayed the body politic with gusto.

Mattlov threw himself to the ground, reaching for a non-existent pistol. An order had been passed the previous week that forbade even ceremonial daggers in the Council Chamber. Freezing cold realization hit Mattlov; this had been meticulously planned!

He poked his head above the seat in front of him and looked down on the carnage. Only the Elemental remained; she had used the bench as a shield and bulled her way through to the locked doors. Finding them barred to her, she reversed the bench and used it as a battering ram, shattering the locks and heaving her way into the corridor beyond. Mattlov saw the flash of laser pistols and knew that all exits were covered.

In his jacket pocket, disguised as a stylus and pad, he held the means of his escape. Activating the concealed transmitter would initiate a bloodbath; civil war had been coming and it appeared to have arrived with a bang. He did not hesitate, punching the pre-arranged signal into his pad and drawing the stylus clear. With a snick, the slim blade inside flicked out. Mattlov had to follow the Elemental through her self-made exit and into the inferno beyond.

Goliath System
Deep Periphery
Dark Falcons Protectorate, 04th July 3157


Cadet McVay peered around the open door. Behind crouched Barnes and the remaining ratings. They were now fully armed and armoured, but a little confused as to what the Cadet intended to do. Arrogantly he had assumed that they would follow; a true Dark Falcon to the core.

A quick movement of his hand sent the group to their next objective, Seamus and Barnes covering them. Lupus gave the all-clear and the two of them rushed forward. Once more McVay studied the terrain and curtly whispered for them to wait.

There were two guards in front of the Battle Control Room. This was a secondary Bridge, giving an alternative in case of damage to primary controls. McVay paced silently towards the sentries, his monofilament bola held ready in his right hand. When he thought he was close enough, he began to swing the deadly fibre.

The sudden tramp of booted feet stopped him and he threw himself to one side. A full squad of black-clad soldiers appeared and took up their positions next to the guards.

“Frak!” muttered Barnes, “Now what?”

Seamus slowly made his way back, hugging the shadows. “Games up,” he said, staring longingly at their traitorous fellows, “there is little chance of us breaking through them.”

“What do you mean, Sir?” rumbled Lupus, “We took them in the hanger and we can do it here.”

The Cadet’s infectious grin returned, “I have no doubt of it Lupus,” he said clasping the big man’s shoulder, “but they’ve got men to waste...and we haven’t.”

Nods of agreement greeted his words; these men would definitely do.

“They’ll soon find the bodies, Sir,” said Barnes matter-of-factly.

“True,” mused Seamus, “but will they know the difference?”

They looked confused and he continued, “We’re dressed just like them. The corpses, apart from the Captain of course, are pretty unidentifiable. Frakman saw to that. We need to disappear, and the best place to do that is in plain sight.”

“Barnes?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Is there anywhere you can think of that will have to be guarded, but no-one will really want the job?”

Barnes paused for a moment, his brow wrinkling, “Yes...,” he said with a toothy grin, “...I have just the place.”
 

Chamber Grounds
Winfield
Dark Falcons Protectorate, 04th July 3157

“The barracks, Star Colonel, we need to get to the barracks.”

The certainty in Elana’s voice wrested Mattlov’s concentration away from the purpling face in front of him. He let go, kicking the soldier in the temple as the limp body fell.

“And why would that be?” he asked as they exited a side corridor. He scanned the area and moved on.

“My armour and my men are there,” she stated flatly.

“Can you trust them?” he asked, spraying bullets into a group of soldiers who had appeared unexpectedly.

“Of course!”

It was as if he had insulted her, yet it was pertinent question in light of recent events. As a Dark Falcon, he too would normally have taken offence at such a query, but not lately though.

“Very well,” he said, checking his ammunition, “lead on.”

Elana moved with a litheness which belied her bulk, not that any who tried to stop them would have doubted who and what she was. Laser and machine gun fire drew them on, the noise increasing as they left the Council building. Their pursuers had learnt caution, sudden death had made them reconsider their options.

“There,” Elana pointed to an area of the barracks hung with a pall of smoke, “that will be my men.”

“Will there be a spare suit for an old man?” asked Mattlov, “I woud prefer an Ominech, but...”

“We will find you something,” laughed Elana as she slapped him on the back, almost driving him to his knees with the blow, “even if it has to have wheels.”

Chapter Five

Chamber Grounds
Winfield
Dark Falcons Protectorate, 04th July 3157


“Incoming!”

A shot spanged off the helmet of the Elemental who crouched in front of a hastily made barricade. There had been no time to reach the power armour and so they had made do with whatever they could find. A mish-mash of parts covered each of the huge bodies; stolen equipment which had to serve as the only protection they had.

Movement in the brush ahead drew the attention of at least four of the gigantic figures, but they relaxed as they saw the torn and broken body spin clear, before crashing to the ground.

“Hold!” called a familiar voice and they watched their Star Captain stride forth, followed by a smaller figure carrying an autorifle.

Elana gave no explanation and simply ordered them to follow her, as she made her way towards the barracks.

Mattlov felt dwarfed by the mounds of flesh who paced by his side; he generally thought himself a large man, but was intimidated by the sheer size of his companions. An overwhelming urge to be inside his Mech almost overpowered him. It might be an old piece of equipment, but it functioned and it was a damn sight bigger than even these monsters.

Machine gun rounds hammered into them, tumbling one of the Elementals to the ground. Instincively Mattlov raised his weapon, sighted and fired in one fluid motion, a cry of pain indicating his accuracy. He was already running towards the emplacement, when he was passed by a trio of the Elementals.

“Hurry up, old man,” one called, “or you will miss the party...”

His voice trailed off as his face exploded in a welter of blood, the others diving for cover. Not so Mattlov, he was far too angry. Analysis of his rage would probably have shown that the majority of it was due to the snide remarks, but there was enough hatred of Sheehan’s false followers to wash any such petty feelings aside.

Still firing, he reached the depression holding the machine gun. Runnnig up and over the slight wall, he emptied what remained of his ammunition into the soldiers there, following through with the muzzle and butt of his weapon. By the time the now sheepish Elementals reached his position, all that remained was a tangled heap of bodies, slowly bleeding their lives into the earth underfoot.

Elana nodded at him and Mattlov wiped the stickiness of his actions off his brow.

“I believe we were heading for the barracks?” he asked quite calmly.

“Oh yes indeed,” said Elana, half-stifling a guffaw and turning to her men, “I think that the ‘old man’ has more than earned the right to lead the way.”

“Seyla,” they replied in a chorused approbation.

Mattlov was at last feeling better.