To Loose The Falcon’s Claw

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To Loose The Falcon’s Claw

May 7, 2012 Rodney C. Johnson Leave a comment Go to comments

Part IV: To Loose The Falcon’s Claw

Taking wing we ruled Earth’s skies und would have humanity bow at our tri-claw boots. Our lightening-blades before us, like vengeful deities we Falcanians meant to dominate our world, und shape it into a paradise of our own making.

We were the hunters, who became the hunted!

In my station as a Falcanian Rihav, a concubine, und then wife to the Shotar of the Khanate, as well as a military commander in the company of the great Imperial Strato-General Shuriken Kra. I witnessed many wondrous und terrible things — I was there when all would be torn asunder!

— Arshira T’Lani Hol-Drakonis, War Journal: Valküri’s Tale

[March 9, 2033. South Of The Bay Of Bengal, Andaman Sea]

A few hundred feet above the surface of the sea an FS-9 Raptor coasted, and created a wake as its powerful engines thrust it over the moonlit ocean in search of its prey. Waves threatened to overtake the starship as it danced across the water’s brim, like a hunting bird it winged, in search of the right moment to strike out with its talons.

“Target acquired.” the Drakorian sensor officer reported.

“Show me.” Major Ikram Vaks commanded. His prey came to life for him on the holoscreen, a silhouette of a modern-day pirate’s ship. There she was, the Altın Orda, Golden Horde, a modified superyacht. Painted black, and three decks high, she had been mounted with a railgun turret manned by two crewmen. On its bow a harpoon gun pointed ahead with a silver stinger intended to grapple onto ships shined under the moonlight. Aft of the yacht, a Russian made MI-24 Krokodil waited on a helipad. Over head a stylized red skull waved on a black and red flag. The master of the Golden Horde, so confident in himself and his ability to avoid capture openly declared himself a Seahawk. Arrogance had always been an inborn fact of the Golden Horde’s master. “Switch to VTOL engines,” Major Vaks commanded. “Prepare to board that ship!”

Meters above the Golden Horde the FS-9 hovered on its VTOL engines and then the IFV Krath-Shinra opened fire, to easily demolish the deck guns, which sent crew into the moon-lit water in a splash, many dead. Caught by surprise everyone scrambled, after all they were a pirates, a marauder intended to tackle unarmed cargo and pleasure boats, not ward off an advanced military space vessel designed for sudden strikes.

Ikram Vaks personally led the boarding party. A rather ragtag crew: Asian, European, and African crewed the Golden Horde. This pirate had been something of a prince among his brethren. His empire however was about to be felled by the Falcanian claw. Crewman slashed at Vaks with a machete. The Major chopped the nearest attacker in half with his own vajra, The lightening-blade caused blood and guts to spill across the deck as the bisected torso crumbled onto the polished wood.

Drakorian swooped down from the IFV Krath-Shinra, blasted down the marauder’s crew. A flurry of charged slugs and metallic vajra blades left behind bloody pools to stick up the superyacht’s fine deck in a slick red gore. The Krokodil chopper at the aft had soon been secured. Drakorian flew the MI-24 off the deck so it could not be utilized as an escape by their target, this pirate prince. Such as they were, the defenses of the Golden Horde easily fell to the Drakorian Guard. Of course the Falcanian battle ethic had always been one of overwhelming force.

Vaks marched below, where he found the main stateroom. Broken, stained wood crunched under tri-claw boots as Drakorian swarmed in, where they quickly leveled the Pirate Prince’s entourage and then stood aside for their commander. Ikram glanced over the richly decorated room, and then nodded approvingly. Treasures taken from many a pleasure ship hung on the walls. Bottles of fine wine even now sat on a sideboard, where dinner had been laid out for the ship’s master and his cohorts.

“How dare you!” Shouted the master of the Golden Horde. All around him his crew fell. Slaughtered, to be whittled down to a manageable number for the Drakorian’s comfort.

Clothed in a supple brown leather coat, with an ivory fur collar, the Golden Horde’s master stood eight feet tall, he wore no shirt, and his highly developed muscles rippled under his leather coverage. He wore his long black hair tied in a braid, held fast by jeweled bands. A fu-manchu draped over thick lips, and he wore a ruby stud in his left earlobe. Beside him two scantily clad women, one Asian and the other Caucasian clung to the leather-clad man, not sure what to make from this sudden assault on the floating mansion.

The master of the Golden Horde nodded, a single guard lunged at Ikram.

Promptly The Falcanian shot down the pirate’s lackey, to leave blood splattered on the superyacht’s polished white walls. “Temujin Sardur,” Vaks recognized the Mongolian-Turk superman for who he was. “My Shotar would like to speak with you.”

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The opening of book #2 Falco Invictus: Under A Raptor’s Wings.