The Golden Dragons manufactured heroin in a camp in Vietnam . That was the target of American Eagle and his Falcons today. At 1300 hours, the Falcon’s Blackhawk helicopter dropped the team in a clearing, about four klicks from the camp. They had bumped into two mercenaries patrolling, one escaped and formed a small squad for an ambush. The other was shot in the leg to prevent him running, and was treated quickly and left with a beacon. The idea of leaving a live enemy behind them was hard for the Falcons to swallow, but Eagle had insisted on only one rule: If avoidable, do not kill the enemy. So, instead of shooting him and moving on they had wasted time bandaging him.

After the ambush was successfully avoided, the field leader of the Fearless Falcons, a shaved-bald, ex-British Royal Marine named Jacob Kayne, walked past the mercenaries and right up to Eagle, shooting daggers from his eyes.

“You nearly died today, birdman. Because we stopped to Band-Aid a druggie mercenary, this ambush was waiting for us, and you nearly got a bullet in your brain. Not only that, but you ran straight into the fray, without a firearm. You got a death wish, friend?”

Eagle simply stared back and said the exact same thing he said when he formed the team “We’re here to save lives, not take them. Enough people have died from drugs already.”

Kayne shook his head “You ain’t gonna be able to save jack with a slug in your chest. We won’t kill junkies or dealers, or even these guys if they surrender. But if they come at me with a gun, there is only one course of action in my book.”

Eagle stared back and finally said “Fine. But these men here are disarmed, leave them live. Take all but one radio and sabotage the guns, and let’s move on.”

Kayne nodded, satisfied, and they walked out of the area.

*****

Three hours later, they were being held at their current position by a much better organised ambush. There were snipers in the trees, and automatic riflemen firing from the underbrush. Not only were they everywhere, they were invisible, using camouflage to their advantage. The Falcons had little to worry about, they were wearing dark gray or black, but the Eagle stood out from a mile away.

“Well, birdman, this looks to be the end of the line” Kayne stated “without backup, we’ll never get past this. They can hold us here forever, but mark my words, they won’t. Nope, as soon as they get tired, BAM! one of those punks will be right in your face, and you can’t do nothing. And if they get an RPG in there? Well, might as well pray right now to whatever God you think listens to those who embark on suicide missions.”

“When will you shut up, Jake?” moaned one of the other Falcons, a youngster known only by the name of Cheese “You know, there is gloomy, then just plain tiring. The Bird is going to find a way out of this, you’ll see.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cheese. Jacob, I suggest you listen to Mr. Cheese more often, I think you’ll find that he is quite wise for his age” the Eagle peered out from his cover, nearly getting a bullet in the face for his effort.

“Yes, I can see why you’re concerned Jacob, but really, I’ve been in worse and came out the better. And now I’ve got you lot and all those bullets in my favour. Not to mention Randall’s homemade grenades there.” Randall Dray was the demolitions expert, a former Italian special forces officer. He had made special mixtures of explosives and had taken glee at blowing up the manor of the Columbian baron a month ago. The explosive used had been roughly the size of a brick, yet had managed to blow a crater were the manor used to be. This worried the Eagle until Randall had assured him that not all of his toys were that spectacular.

As if following his thoughts, a sudden explosion rocked the ground, barely ten metres away, showering the men in dirt.

“RPG!” yelled Kayne, “any closer we’re dead! Birdman, do something now.”

“One of these days, you will address me by my proper name, Jacob, but for now...” he stood up, ducking as the second shell suddenly came at him. The shooter had twisted violently after seeing the flash of red and blue, and as such missed by a mile. But, now he knew the exact position of the superhero. He quickly set about reloading.

“Randall, give me two grenades, something flashy but soft and something with a really big bang” ordered the Eagle, crawling up to Randall with his hand out.

Randall passed over two silver canisters “Yellow stripe is soft, Blue is a mother...”

“Yeah, I get it” Eagle replied. HE turned to one of the other men “Junior, your target is two hands above your eye-line, one hand to the left. Stand up straight, find him, one shot only, then get down.” Junior, or J.R. Makarta, nodded, confused but he cocked the sniper rifle ready to go.

“When Junior kills the rocketman, the rest of you start spreading out and taking out those riflemen and I’ll get the snipers” he looked around the barrier on more time, then said, “Now!”

He rolled out from the barricade, disappearing into the bushes like a ghost. Junior leapt up and raised the barrel three hands up and one hand to the left. The RPG man appeared dead centre into his scope, so he fired.

BLAM!

The RPG man fell from the tree, falling down, down, down until a sickening crack was heard. A sniper then turned and shot Junior in the shoulder, and he fell back screaming.

Kayne quickly assessed the situation “Medic! Dufrain! Patch up Junior, the rest of you, take out those riflemen.”

American Eagle had dived into the bushes, and then scaled a tree using some unique piston–like gadgets he had strapped to his hands. At the top he leapt to another tree, feeling the wind of a bullet pass by. He leapt again, and was now really close to one of the snipers. He threw the yellow grenade straight at the sniper, and then leapt out toward him.

The grenade exploded and the sniper started to overbalance, caught by surprise at the flash of light. He fell out, but the Eagle was already there. As he caught the sniper, his wing-shaped cape spread wide, and he pressed a switch in his glove. A signal spread through the cape’s polymer, causing it to solidify into a bird shaped glider.

He glided over to the other sniper’s tree, and landed at the base of the tree. A rifleman popped out of nowhere, aiming straight at the hero’s head. Kayne leapt out from behind the man, tackling him to the ground.

“Move it, Birdman!” shouted Kayne, wrestling the gun away from the man.

“Actually, you have to move” responded the Eagle. He struck the man across the jaw, and helped Kayne up “Make sure no-one is on the north side of the tree in two minutes” he shoved Kayne forward, and called up in Vietnamese to the sniper

“I’m in your blind spot, soldier, so let’s talk. My men have by now taken out your backup here, and I have an incendiary device that can knock down this tree. Surrender”

The response was less than cordial, and the sniper was looking around for an angle where he could shoot the hero. Eagle looked over at Kayne, who signalled an all clear. Eagle pulled out the grenade and placed it at the base of the tree.

“Final warning” called American Eagle, ready to prime the device

“Go to hell, American. The Golden Dragons will destroy your pitiful assault before it can get any further. You will fail.”

“Fine” American Eagle pulled the pin and jumped away. The grenade exploded, completely pulverizing the base of the tree, causing it to fall, as predicted, north. The sniper screamed, and tried to get down, but couldn’t.

The tree was falling fast, but the sniper was wearing a lot of metal. This is what saved him, as a magnetic device suddenly stuck to his chest plate. His descent slowed, while the tree crashed to the ground. He looked at it and realised there was a fine cable going from the magnet up to...up in a nearby tree, was the Eagle, holding a hi-tech grappling hook launcher.

He pressed a switch, and the man fell into the tree, but was unharmed. As he got up, two American machine guns were pointed at his head.

The surviving snipers and riflemen were all bound, and the same as the last two time, a beacon was activated, for a follow up team to collect them.

This time, no-one objected to them being left alive. The rush of battle made American Eagles thoughts return again to the night he and Sparrow attempted to halt the drug business at home...

*****

Eight months previous...

“Guns need to be taken out of the equation” Sparrow said simply.

At that, Eagle pulled what looked like two grenades out of his belt, and passed one to Sparrow

“Ever since this turf war started building up, I’ve been getting my hands on progressively heavier firepower. These grenades are anti-gun chaff grenades, prototypes for counter-terrorism. They spray a large amount of adhesive confetti that jams the guns firing mechanisms, making them useless. You take this north end of the street; I’ll move down south and take out the Skorpions.”

“Okay, seriously, I started this gig when I was 22. The whole ‘kid sidekick’ attitude from the movies doesn’t apply. I can make it up to the Skorpions just as well as you can” argued Sparrow.

The scary thing was he was right. He had mastered every lesson American Eagle could conceive of, and was well on his way to starting his own solo career somewhere.

“Fine then, you go get the Skorpions, I’ll get the Tiger boys.” And with that they leapt of the rooftop into thin air. Both capes spread wide and they activated the memory polymer and glided over to a sandwich store, Eagle hiding behind the sign and tuning into the comlink channel that Sparrow would be on.

Sparrow raced from shop to shop, clearing cafes, newsagents and a crepe shop before settling on an ice cream parlour. He could throw the grenade from here, no trouble whatsoever.

“Remember, they will still be able to get off one shot before it completely jams” warned American Eagle’s voice in his ear.

“What the hell man did Circuit get lazy or something?”

“Not funny. Are you in position?”

“Roger that Big Bird.”

“Then go, GO!”

As one, they threw the grenades into the midst of the gang members, and after hearing less and less gunshots, they leapt out to attack.

“Gas mask” ordered Eagle

“Done. Make the call”

American Eagle switched the comlink to the police frequency “Captain Lin, their guns are down. Use SWAT gas grenades and riot gear, clean them up a bit.”

“Wha... Roger that, American Eagle” came a female voice on the other end, before she started ordering the police troopers around. Eagle switched back to Sparrow, but kept the scanner on for a red alert.

American Eagle and Sparrow both pulled out collapsible batons from their belts, along with collapsible shields.

“I take back that last, Circuit can make a fine piece of equipment. This shield is incredible”

“Carbon fibre and reinforced Perspex, so it’s completely bulletproof. Collapsible down to one eighth of its size, so it’s easy to carry. Perfect for those nights when eleven hundred drugged up fools are shooting everyone in sight.”

Both men moved as one, using the batons to trip up gang members and the shields to block the attacks of those smart enough to swap to melee weapons when the grenades removed guns from the playing field. Chains, baseball bats, machetes, all were wielded against the costumed crusaders in a mad attempt to kill them.

The loss of guns was a wakeup call to most of them though, and they panicked and started to run. However, under direction from Captain Gina Lin, the riot police managed to subdue any resistance, just as the gas grenades filled the battlefield.

Within milliseconds, golden lenses slid over Eagle’s eyes, and bronze-coloured lenses slid over Sparrow eyes, giving them clear vision. The gas masks left them with three hours of air, so no worries about sleeping on the job.

Suddenly the worst possible thing that could happen happened. A large Skorpion who was drugged to his eyeballs attacked Sparrow with a machete, and managed to slash him along the arm, tearing through the fibres, then on the back slash, caught him across the face, shattering the gas mask.

In seemingly slow motion, The Sparrow fell to the ground dazed. The Skorpion attacked again and again, a lot of his strikes sliding off the costume, but a few penetrating far enough to cause real damage.

His scream of agony reverberated through American Eagle’s eardrums, and he turned to look at Sparrow, seeing the red-and-brown clad hero being brutally attacked by a Skorpion known as Nails.

He ran through the crowd, hearing no sounds other than Sparrow’s cries, tunnel vision setting in. Each strike from Nails’ machete was another nail in his coffin, as far as Eagle was concerned.

American Eagle slammed into the large, tattooed man at full speed, knocking him clean off Sparrow, and the two landed two yards away.

Eagle discarded the baton and shield, instead drawing two of his throwing knives, though he had no intention of throwing them.

Nails attacked, Eagle parried and slashed back, drawing a red line across the shirtless Skorpion, completely obscuring the tattoo of the African Black Claw scorpion that covered his left pectoral.

Nails roared and attacked again, this time, Eagle went for the throat. He was dimly aware of a voice talking to him, but ignored it.

“Stopstopstopstop. Help...me...please, Eagle, hel...” The voice died off, and suddenly, he realised who it was.

Eagle parried again, the third time, and instead of going for a killing blow like he half intended, he disarmed the Skorpion, and shoved the throwing knives deep into his knees, dropping the large man to the floor.

Before Nails hit the ground, American Eagle was over at Sparrows side, removing his friend’s cowl and calling the paramedics over. The battle was practically over, the riot police having secured the gassed gang members. “You’re gonna be fine, BJ, just fine, the paramedics are on their way”

“...Yeah, right... wha..whatever you s-say,” responded the apprentice, his eyes fading as the paramedics approached.

Images flashed through Benjamin Joel’s mind, some of them memories, some of them fever dreams, some may even have been real, as he felt like he was flying, but he kept hearing panicked voices talking as he flew.

He thought back to the first time he wore the costume he was wearing now, back after Eagle had offered him the chance to take down the criminal boss who had made Hank work in the chops shop.

*****

Two years previous...

BJ and Eagle were sparring in the fully equipped dojo, both wearing standard training outfits, but Eagle still wore the cowl and voice modulator he always wore, as if he didn’t trust BJ enough.

“It’s been weeks, Eagle. You keep me here in this penthouse under house arrest saying you’re training me to be your sidekick or something, but you still wear that mask. Why the hell don’t you trust me, huh? With Hank in jail, there ain’t no-one I can turn to for help, and I can’t go out on my own, because the big bad boss will get me.” He launched an impressive imitation of the kata, a series of attacks that Eagle could see coming a mile away.

“Joking about the boss of the criminal underworld isn’t something people often do twice. Besides, it’s another aspect of the training. I as a human being want to trust you. Unfortunately, as a human being I naturally distrust you, simple paranoia and cynicism. I have to become something more than human, a symbol, to decide whether or not I trust you. And with you as the only law abiding human I’ve spent time around, it makes being impartial hard.” Eagle grabbed BJ’s wrist, overbalanced him, and then stood back to let him up.

“And now you’re lying to me. I know you got someone else in this house, someone doing cleaning and stuff when we are in here.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that is so” he launched himself forward, this time feinting left and striking from the right, almost catching Eagle off guard. Almost.

“I thought someone had gone through my room when we were doing katas last week, but I wasn’t sure. So, when we did training three days ago, I memorised the layout of everything in the room. This maid of yours is good, but she failed to notice the string that I placed on the floor at the door, which moved away when she walked in. You can’t hide this sort of thing from me.”

Eagle smiled in spite of himself “If my housekeeper heard you calling him a maid, you’d be in a world of pain right now. And the reason I haven’t allowed you two to meet is that it might reveal my identity. However, if you pass this test, you will be able to meet him, and get a better place than my guest room.” Eagle held back, waiting for the inevitable.

“That’s a guest room? I thought that was where you kept criminals when the jail is full” quipped BJ, becoming overconfident and falling into the trap set by Eagle, who grabbed his arm, twisted it behind BJ’s back and pinned him to the ground.

However, BJ then threw his legs back to strike Eagle in the back of his head, distracting him. He then twisted, and struck out with his free arm, narrowly missing Eagle’s eyes. He scurried across the ground, then leapt to his feet.

In the five weeks they had been training, he had progressed incredibly. BJ had done some karate and tae kwon do classes at community halls, but Eagle had a unique teaching style for self-defence; rather focus on learning techniques or moves, he simply attacked BJ, causing him to defend himself reflexively. Then, Eagle constructed an entirely new fighting style based off of BJ’s natural reactions.

He looked at his trainer, attempting to read his expression even with the cowl. He thought he saw a flicker of amazement, maybe pride, in Eagle’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Eagle then drew two daggers from a sheath on the wall, both larger than his usual throwing knives.

“The most common weapon on the streets is a knife. Guns are more efficient, but knives are not only quieter, they also nurture the killing instinct in people, that hunter and prey process. Even criminals can appreciate the subtle thoughts that dictate behaviour, and the lowliest crook sometimes has a twisted sense of honour. Many a murderer uses a knife on their victim as a type of twisted respect, either to the thrill of the hunt or even the prey they kill.” He twirled the knife like a conductor’s baton, circling BJ as he spoke.

BJ also paced around the room, never taking his eyes of the eight inch blade in his mentor’s hand. “Skip the psychology lesson and let’s fight.” He lunged an attack that Eagle parried easily.

“Psychology is a very important part of what we do. Understanding our enemy is half the battle. Becoming something that the enemy can’t understand is the other half. The fighting is a means to an end.” They traded attacks again and again.

“What do you mean ‘a means to an end’?”

“Well, martial arts are not a guaranteed win, like some super powers would be. I’ve fought many foes that have incredible skill and training in the Arts. It’s the way I approach a fight that sets the American Eagle apart from Average Joe, and I say that as humbly as possible.”

BJ was straining to follow the conversation and fight, they had only done one basic lesson on melee weapons, and that had only touched on the principles of knife duelling.

“I approach a battle with the knowledge that in my opponent’s eyes I am an inhuman being, a living symbol of everything they fear about law enforcement. With that knowledge, I have already won most battles, and almost finished the rest. The problem with the martial arts in the modern world is that it has become too Hollywood, all about screaming and striking, moving like a tiger and sending your enemy flying through the air. The principles behind it used to be similar to the principles of back-alley brawling: make sure the other guy bleeds before you do. The irony of this is the number of back-alley criminals who gave up those rules for Hollywood ’s kung fu.”

“So, you’re telling me you never use showiness when beating up people?”

“No, a degree of performance is required, after all, I am wearing a cape. But there isn’t a single dojo in this or any other city I know where the curriculum contains the three deadliest pressure points on the human body, or the technique for ramming an elbow into a man’s throat.” With that, he flipped his knife around in his hand, holding it Navy seal style, with the blade pointed away from him, and then struck BJ’s hand with the hilt, before slashing across his shirt.

BJ dropped the knife, but automatically attacked with his bare hands, grabbing the knife wrist of his mentor, and striking him in the gut. Out of costume, he had only the toughened fabric of his training outfit to soften the blow, causing him to double over in surprise. Before he could recover, BJ brought both hands down on the heroes back, but Eagle crash tackled him into the wall, knocking aside all the weapons stored there.

American Eagle climbed out of the mess of weapons, then signalled a stop to BJ.

“Well done. You have completed my basic tutorials with incredible results. I think now it is time to present you with two tokens, one of achievement, one of trust.”

He walked over to the intercom and spoke into it. Shortly afterward, the door opened, and in came a suit bag. Eagle received it from the person handing it over, presumably the housekeeper he had mentioned, thought BJ, although he is hiding himself well. I can’t even see a hand, so as to see if there is indeed someone there, or if it isn’t a robot or something.

Eagle than told the housekeeper to wait behind the door, and then presented the bag to BJ.

“You’re life as BJ is now only part of who you are. You will now adopt the persona of the apprentice of the American Eagle, meaning you are a symbol of something greater, the idea that no man should fear for his life, that there are people in this world who care about other men.”

“Do you often talk like that, or do you just save it for special occasions?”

“Just open the bag, Sparrow”

BJ’s face twisted in dislike “Sparrow?” but he opened the bag anyway.

The costume looked incredible, made from the same materials as Eagle’s, but with a red-and-brown colour scheme. The eagle across the chest had been replaced with a smaller bird, but somehow remained majestic. The cowl was slightly different shaped, and the cape was shorter, but overall it matched the Eagle’s costume enough that no-one would doubt that the mighty bird of prey had a new partner.

BJ looked up at the American Eagle in amazement. This would have cost hundreds, maybe even thousands of dollars if it had all the surprises that Eagle’s had.

“No, no thanks are necessary” said Eagle smiling “I now have someone I can trust watching my back in tough times. Speaking of trust...” He reached up to his cowl, and unclasped it, removing it from his head.

“No way” was all BJ said.

“Oh, so you recognise me?”

“Yeah. You’re Nathan Wagner, the Foundation guy. This makes sense now.” Panic covered Nathan’s face “What do you mean?” What could I have missed, that a street kid could notice something amiss in my cover?

“Oh, relax, I had no idea you were Eagle, I’m talking about why I never met your butler. Not many people have butlers with robotic arms, so that would have been a dead giveaway.”

Eagle relaxed and nodded in agreement “You’re absolutely right, BJ.” He turned to the door “Come in now, Roger.”

Roger came in, and BJ felt absolutely tiny. Roger was at least seven feet tall, heavily muscled and had short dreadlocks. That alone made him terrifying, but the eye patch and gleaming prosthetic limbs made him seem doubly so. But when BJ looked into his one good eye, he saw nothing but kindness and a long held sorrow.

“This is Roger Worthington, formerly known by the moniker Backstreet, now my most trusted friend. Roger, this is Benjamin Joel, or BJ, now known as Sparrow.”

The large man laughed “I’m guessing you didn’t choose that name, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I was hoping for something a little cooler. If it has to be a bird, how about... Falcon. Oh, the Fighting Falcon! Or maybe the Fearless Falcon. Hey, I like that.”

Eagle shook his head. “Sparrow for now. You may be good, but you’re still my apprentice, and I think I should choose the name.”

Roger calmly reassured BJ “Names don’t last forever kid. When you finally graduate, you could be the Fearless Falcon, or whatever you want to be. Who knows, if you want, you could take my old burg, be the new Backstreet.”

Sparrow looked amazed “But I’m not an eight foot powerhouse, I couldn’t possibly take your place sir.”

“Call me sir again, and you’ll see just how much powerhouse is left in me. My name is Roger. And I was just giving you something to think about.”

“Okay, Roger. Thanks.”

“No problem kid. From what I’ve seen, you’ll do great things one day.”

Legacy and all characters contained within ™ and © 2009 David Kachel.
Metahuman Press and all related content ™ and © 2003-2009 Nicholas Ahlhelm unless otherwise noted.
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