偉大な人物の影で
In the Shadow of a Greater Man
The period of violence localized around the Cornerian nation of Gaedel, –known simply as "The Troubles"– began shortly after the formation of the Lylat Union, when the national governments of Corneria merged to form a unified planetary government: the Cornerian Parliament. In the shuffle of such a major transition, divisive local issues resurfaced, which reignited a series of old and bitter political grudges.
Fueled by scores of zealous egos on all sides, these grudges quickly escalated into violent feuds. When the tension snapped and boiled over, innocent people began to die in the crossfire. The retaliatory attacks that followed only further compounded the issues, fueling further outrage and violence. The newly formed Cornerian Parliament complacently declared itself neutral, content to let the messy, senseless business run its course as opposed to dirtying their hands while establishing new interplanetary relations.
With no higher authority to act as a mediator, the violent actors divided themselves into two broad factions: those who believed they were oppressed, and felt forced to act; and those who believed they were wrongly targeted, and felt forced to retaliate. At times though, especially to those unfamiliar with Gaedelic history, it would become very difficult to differentiate one side from the other. Truthfully, neither side was completely without fault or reason, and the debates would continue long after the bloodshed ended.
/
"Oh! then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Tell me why you hurry so?"
"Hush ma bouchal, hush and listen," And his cheeks were all a-glow.
"I bear orders from the captain, Get you ready quick and soon,
For the pikes must be together At the risin' of the moon..."
/
Two figures were locked in combat, hand-to-hand sparring, in what amounted to little more than a cleared basement. One was a young black furred terrier, still in his teen years, and burning with determination. The other was an older black-and-white collie, probably in his mid to late thirties, focused and in control. Both canids fought wearing simple athletic shorts and close fitting sleeveless t-shirts, along with hand wraps and ankle braces– the bare minimum in safety.
The collie and terrier continued their sparring, a versatile form built on simplicity and instinct, but flexible enough to integrate more advanced and exotic techniques, some of which surfaced in the bout.
"Stop!" the collie said firmly, holding up his hand. He was winded, but coherent enough to remain in control and speak clearly, "Tell me why you're here, Scott."
Scott was absolutely exhausted, soaked at every point with sweat and gasping for breath while he stood hunched forward with his hands on his knees, barely supporting his shaking body.
"The Troubles killed me dad, and turned me mum in'tae a drug suckin' whore." he managed between great heaves for breath, "I've nowhere left tae go Sean, and I have tae do something."
"But do you understand why I selected you, out of the many thousands who call themselves GLA, to become a member of the Banshees?" Sean asked.
"I... I haven't the faintest idea..."
"Two reasons lad..."
Sean led the worn out terrier to a table in one corner of the basement/makeshift dojo, where there were a number of water bottles, and some other pieces of physical training equipment. Scot tore the cap off one on the water bottles and downed the cool refreshing liquid like it was the elixir of life.
"First:" the collie began, "You've got a good head on your shoulders, you're not a daft delusional dolt, which means I'll be able to teach you... do a few stretches, I promise you'll feel better."
Once he had his fill of water and caught some of his breath, Scott began a series of dynamic stretches.
"Second:" Sean continued, "You've got the motivation, the will to do whatever it takes no matter what, which means you'll be willing to learn."
"But I haven't had any combat training or nothing–"
"I don't choose candidates for the Banshees based their skill." the collie cut him off, "Many who join up with the Gaedelic Liberation Army already have some combat training, but it gets in the way more often than not. They have to unlearn many lessons –taught to them by much harsher teachers than I– before they're ready to accept new and unusual concepts; the kind of concepts the GLA will need to implement if we hope to stand a spirit of a chance..."
Sean stepped away, back to the center of the room where he and Scott had fought minutes ago, and did a few stretches of his own.
"I chose you because you don't have any prior practical training; because instead of breaking you down and trying to rebuild on an unstable foundation, you can be built fresh from the ground up, and so build yourself stronger, faster, better..."
The older collie assumed a fighting stance, and beckoned Scott toward him.
"Again!"
/
Oh! then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Where the gatherin' is to be?
In the ould spot by the river, Right well known to you and me.
One word more—for signal token Whistle up the marchin' tune,
With your pike upon your shoulder, By the risin' of the moon"...
/
It was the same basement, but no longer empty. Instead, there were a couple long tables with chairs around, and these chairs were all occupied. Most of them were canids, of which many were terrier types– the usual demographic spread for the Gaedelic region. They were all dressed in a hodgepodge of military surplus, the only unifying factor between them all was a series of sewn-on patches, each depicting a red hooded figure with no face: the banshee.
Nervous whispers drifted through the room. None of them knew exactly why they were there. Some feared the worst, others were filled with nervous anticipation, and a few were hardened by their unrelenting determination.
After a few tense minutes, Sean O'Ferrall stepped out of a back room into the basement, with two masked figures trailing behind him, all wearing similar military style fatigues as "the Banshees", but with a different set of sewn-on patches.
"Good afternoon." the older collie said, addressing the room, "I imagine you're wondering why I gathered you here; I'll show you..."
Sean gestured his two masked followers into the back room, and they went. A few moments later, they returned wheeling a large man-sized object covered by a tarp into the basement, and set it on the floor next to Sean.
"This, is what you will soon be up against..."
The collie tore the tarp off and flung it away, revealing a bulky suit of armor fitted to a mannequin. It was in pristine condition, painted all white with green highlights. The spaces between the plates were covered by a dense woven fabric material, possibly a variety of carbon fiber.
"This is a state-of-the-art SyntoMech T-5 Templar powered combat exoskeleton." Sean announced, and he slowly began to pace around the armor, "It was originally developed for military use and commercial security, but there weren't any takers due to its steep price. However, the Loyalist Resistance Force will be receiving a shipment of these within a month, courtesy of a wealthy anonymous supplier. We only barely managed to smuggle this set here from the manufacturer."
A worried murmur stirred up among the banshees. Sean let them continue, and simply positioned himself roughly three meteres from the armour, observing it with an interested eye.
"The plating is multi-layered high density silicon carbide and titanium alloy composite, built to withstand most contemporary small-arms–"
The black and white collie pulled out the blaster handgun on his hip, and fired several blaring blazing shots into to armour's chestpiece, which only produced a few scorched marks on the paint. Once the ringing in the room cleared away, he holstered his weapon and continued on.
"It is also highly resistant against physical impact and projectile rounds, up to the shells used in large caliber anti-materiel rifles."
He came alongside the armour and knocked his knuckles against the plate a few times.
"The sealed full-body casing provides more than ample protection against explosives and incendiaries, and the self-contained life-support suite makes it virtually impervious to chemical or biological attack."
"Then how the bloody hell are we supposed tae beat the damned thing?" Scott shouted, followed quickly by several interjections from many others in the room, all asking similar nervous questions.
One of the masked men came up to Sean O'Ferrall bearing a long, cloth covered package.
"You will beat it..." the collie reached under the fabric, "with this." and pulled out what looked like an antique broadsword.
"He's joking, right?" Scott asked. The rest of the room's occupants were silent; either out of confusion or curiosity, but likely both.
"Heavy broadswords were used in times of antiquity as a means to combat plate armour." Sean explained, swinging the blade around in expert hands in a series a demonstrative flourishes, "With a good thrust, the blade's heavy mass concentrated at its sharp point could easily punch through the best armor of its time. This weapon utilizes the same concept, but updated for a modern age..."
The older collie twisted a small, near imperceptible dial at the sword's pommel, and quiet, low hum came out over the silence.
"Rragh!"
Sean thrust the humming sword at the bulky armor, and with a thunderous crack and an agonized screech, the sword skewered straight through the armor, peeling it open like it was nothing but a tin can.
/
Out from many a mudwall cabin Eyes were watching thro' that night,
Many a manly chest was throbbing For the blessed warning light.
Murmurs passed along the valleys Like the banshee's lonely croon,
And a thousand blades were flashing At the risin' of the moon...
/
The basement was almost completely empty, save for two people. One was encased in a brilliant white suit of T-5 Templar powered armor, scorched and nicked in a few places from recent combat. He wielded an assault rifle
"Sean O'Ferrall!" the armored figure called out through the speakers of his helmet. "Surrender yourself, and I assure you will be treated fairly and with dignity in our custody."
The older collie stood in the center of the empty basement, clothed in khaki colored military style fatigues, defiantly standing his guard against. The white
"Take your faux chivalry and stuff it up your arse!" O'Ferrall shot back
"So be it."
Armored warrior nodded solemnly, then brought up he assault rifle, aiming it squarely at the black-and-white collie.
"On behalf of the people of Gaedel, and all Corneria, you will answer for the blood shed by you and your band of treasonous terrorists."
"How dare you try to perch up there on the moral high ground, and call me a terrorist!" Sean shouted back, glowering with every word, "You, who just strapped on a few bits of metal and vaingloriously called yourself a 'Knight', and then butcher men and women in their homes– all of it in the name of a people and government that don't even support your fucked-up cause!"
He quickly checked out of the corner of his eye, in the dark shadows–
"Enough!" the other yelled.
"I speak for the people of Gaedel, and you're not about to shut me up!"
The fuming collie shot his arm out in front of him, gesturing the V sign at the armored figure as he gnashed his teeth.
"Shaoráil go deo!"
A blurred blue streak shot out from the shadow in the corner, and–
"Grraaagh!" the armored man's scream was barely heard over over the cracking rattling metallic squeal...
He fell backward, collapsing on the floor with a heavy thud, revealing a black-clad Scott Aberdeen standing over him, holding a blood-smeared sword...
/
There beside the singing river That dark mass of men was seen,
Far above the shining weapons Hung their own beloved green.
Death to ev'ry foe and traitor! Forward! strike the marchin' tune,
And hurrah, my boys, for freedom! T'is the risin' of the moon...
/
The Troubles came to an end with the Aranburgh Agreement, when the Cornerian Parliament could no longer stand by while its citizens slaughtered each other, and finally intervened. In what became typical Cornerian political inventiveness, or conniving opportunism according to some, the Parliament took to neither side of the conflict, and absolved both the GLA and LRF of their crimes. In exchange however, both factions would have to integrate themselves into the Cornerian military.
The decision was not without controversy, as there were a great many who wanted justice dealt– a majority, in fact. The counterargument provided by the Cornerian Parliament claimed that both sides were simply acting out of fierce patriotism, if misguided. To punish either side would only further fuel outrage from the other, intensifying the violent bloodshed. Bringing them under official military control would instead "put a leash and collar" on the two factions, directing their talents and ingenuity toward greater and more productive causes.
Members of the the Gaedelic Liberation Army formed the Gaedelic Dragoon Guard: a light infantry unit that specialized in urban guerrilla warfare, and with astonishing success. Those among the Loyalist Resistance Force formed the Order of the Shield, reviving the old chivalric virtues of Corneria's past, and proving the effectiveness of powered armor as a viable tactical option.
Over time, the anger simmered down, and the Cornerian public came to appreciate the the results of the Aranburgh Agreement. Both factions ultimately benefited from the outcome; Sean O'Ferrall was even elected to the Cornerian Parliament shortly thereafter. Some however were not satisfied, or would rather not continue "shackled" by the government...
/
Well they fought for poor old Ireland, And full bitter was their fate
(Oh! what glorious pride and sorrow fill the name of Ninety-Eight).
Yet, thank God, it still is beating; hearts in manhood's burning noon,
Who would follow in their footsteps, At the risin' of the moon!...
/
Sean O'Ferrall stepped once more into the cleared basement where he and the GLA Banshees used to meet. The black-and-white collie was a little older now with the first few gray flecks beginning to show. Instead of military fatigues, he wore a conservative suit and necktie that he hadn't quite gotten used to wearing yet.
The sounds of several concussive thumps and thuds were heard, as well as the grunts and quick breaths of someone repeatedly striking a heavy punching bag. There was Scott Aberdeen, entirely alone in the empty basement, performing a series of hand-to-hand techniques, dressed again in the sleeveless t shirt and athletic shorts used for training. The dark terrier was in far better form now than when he first trained; his toned body was in far better shape physically, and his technique far more precise an in-control, delivering focused strikes with power and force...
"What are doing here?" Sean asked, stepping alongside the active terrier, "It's all been over for a while now, Scott. Didn't you join up with the Dragoons?"
"No..."
Scott paused in his routine –winded, but far from exhausted, and with a burning uncertainty in mind.
"Tell me it wasn't all for nothing."
"What?"
"The fighting and everything; tell me it wasn't all in vain."
"But it was all for nothing." Sean explained, "The whole bloody thing was a petty, bigotry fueled rampage; but that's exactly why we fought."
The terrier cocked his head to the side in a quizzical look, "I don't understand"
"In a debate where your opponent uses arms and a brutish show of force, the only way we could respond at the time was in-kind..."
The older collier let out a tired sigh, remembering everything he and everyone else had done.
"It's all over and done now, we don't have to use violence anymore."
"But that's all I know." Scott appealed, "What am I supposed tae do now? I'm not any good at anything else."
"That's not something I can tell you, but..."
Sean reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small, finger-sized card.
"What's that?"
"It's the key to an Axiom Tech Havoc class attack fighter, and I want you to have it." He handed the slim key to Scott, still speaking, "A mercenary who can fly will almost always be more successful than one who can't."
The terrier took the key, and looked it over a few times.
"A mercenary?"
"If you'd like." Sean said with a shrug, "Do with it what you will– even sell it for all I care– I don't have any use for it anymore as an honest, upstanding politician."
"That sounds like a paradox already." Scott chided with a chuckle.
"Oh, don't even get me started on that subjuect..." The older collie said with a groan and rolling eyes, then shifted back into a more sober tone, "Listen, whatever you choose to do with my old Havoc, all I ask is that you use it to step out from the shadows of your past, and carve your a path of your own through this crazy life."
"Shaoráil go deo." Scott said with quiet, solemn reverence.
"Exactly." Sean responded.
/
/
Author Notes:
Okay, I promised myself I would never, ever, ever use song lyrics in my writing. Well, so much for that then. The lyrics I used in this chapter come from an old Irish folk song, The Rising of the Moon, about the Irish Rebellion of 1798. In this case, I found it highly appropriate to the situation here.
Also, the phrase "Shaoráil go deo" is old Irish, and translates roughly as "Freedom forever"
Well, that's that. As always, your feedback is most welcome.