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this is my first attempt at writing English fiction as a native German so please be kind with me. My plan is to introduce a Merc unit, the Death Knights and write about their history. Join me if you like it and please leave a comment since writers really need feedback ;-)
If some of you like it I will continue it gladly.
Yours,
Warchild
Ch. 1
Desert Dawn
Fagerholm at six in the morning was a deserted planet even more so close to Mallory's Bar on the outskirts of a goddam rat nest called "Bernington", near the Starport. The Free Worlds League conquered this hellhole of a dry mud ball from the Confederation centuries ago and since then nothing of importance had happened.
Mark "Starlord" Peterson, a rough man in his thirties, in dirty jeans and a black t-shirt, leaned on the rusted excuse for a door, blinking tiredly into the light of the first rising sun. The Ex-Soldier and now self-proclaimed Captain of little more then a lance of Mechs that called themselves "Starlord's Death Knights" knew they had finally managed to screw up completely.
Well it had been a helluva ride so far. Half a dozen highly risky and really underpaid merc jobs -the kind of contract Outreach provides you with if you have no rep and no history- where they barely managed to get out quickly enough had forced him to ultimatively accept a low paid garrison duty on Fagerholm, where their dropship engine broke. Today the contract had ended and what should have been enough to last him and his "Knights" a few more months, was now a dead end.
Mark took a deep sip from the stained whiskey jar in his grip, then threw it across the street, where it bursted to pieces on a huge red rock. Yeah, repairs... Now what?
"My point, exactly..." said a drunken voice close to him. He had not been aware of speaking out loud his last thought but it was plain to see anyway. "Gfy Lucy," Mark mumbled, more to himself then to his Lieutenant of what remainend of the second lance of the Knights. Lucy aka "Dragonfly", was not the kind of woman you'd expect to pilot Mechs. Mark could not help but glance quickly over her features. A gorgeous booty, seemingly unending legs in red leather hot pants, a very short stained frayed jeans vest, her red mane falling loosely over her shoulders. In and out of her Firestarter she undertook serious efforts to appear as "easy prey", then feast on the corpses of those who underestimated her. Mark had seen her doing things in combat he would never forget.
"I was just wondering where you went... Don't we have a reason to celebrate tonight? The Cap'n cannot jus' leave his men!"
She punched him lightly with her elbow into the side earning a smirk. "C'mon... I know you are worried but know what? Maybe life has another straw for the Knights."
As Mark raised a brow in suspicion, Lucy grinned and led him back into the gloomy bar. The interior was hardly crowded anymore, only a single table was still occupied and stuffed with empty glases. Four men and a woman were sitting and talking loudly. Mallory's Bar featured heavy metal music from the clubs at Atreus City and a full night within the bar could easily deafen one for a whole day or two. At this early hour the music had already been tuned down so talking once more became an option.
Mark recognized nearly all of his warriors at the table -Jan "Twisted Blue" Greene, Peter "Grifter" Grahams and Anna "Phoenix" Jason (Lucy's lover)- and an unfamiliar face that must have had joined his crew while he went outside.
Odd. That face looked somehow familiar but he just could not nail it.
"Mister...?"
"Johnson, Erik Johnson is the name," the man replied with a heavy German accent and a broad smile. He looked somewhat wealthy or rather noble, with his elegant grey trousers, blinking black shoes, white shirt and neatly trimmed chin beard, thus giving the impression of being totally in the wrong spot here, but Mark did not care. He dropped into a free chair, leaving Mr Johnson's hand untaken.
"Okay it is six in the morning, we are drunk and tired so what do you want from us?"
The man did not show any sign of discomposure by Mark's behaviour.
"I heard you need money. I heard you are desperate. I heard you have no contract as of today. Am I right?"
He did not wait for a reply but continued in a hard business voice.
"Here is the offer. I want revenge. I once possessed a large diamond mine in the desert, nearly 50 clicks north of here. Local raiders, worthless worms, came and took the mine, destroying my guards and killing my daughter. I tried to convince the local police but they have been bribed and since I am a foreign investor I do not have friends around here. Now I just want this scum dead and escape this hellhole of a planet. I have a warehouse in the Starport with enough diamonds in it to pay you for the fox hunt and... my passage off here aboard your dropship. Interested?"
Mark thought about it. Well it was simple indeed. Johnson's offer or the end of the Knights. But he could try to up the wager.
"Full repairs for all Mechs. Full salvage rights. You pay the repairs to the dropship and one million cbills in advance plus another million once we take off."
Suddenly everybody at the table fell silent. His crew held it's breath. But Johnson did not even flinch.
"Agreed." He said calmly.
"You will meet me outside Bernington, tomorrow morning at 0700 at these coordinates. Be prepared." He drew a piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it towards Mark. He rose and turned and left the table without any goodbye.
The Death Knights spent the rest of the day at Mallory's, with the biggest booze-up the mercs would ever do. For one of them, it would also be the last.
Edited by Warchild Corsair, 13 August 2013 - 01:46 PM.
