Frank Mclynn

[Frank McLynn]

Frank McLynn lay on his bed in a drunken stupor, his bottle of the finest molly whiskey sat on the bedside table next to his battered trilby hat. He was running out of money, and that means booze and synth as well.

He sat up, his head spinning, he reached for his bottle and missed. He collapsed back onto the bed, lost in thoughts of the war. It was good times for a merc back then. Business was everywhere, and his company were lauded as heros.

Known as McLynn Security Inc, they worked mainly for the bretonian government and a few bretonian companies. Frank had been a wealthy man, his company was renowned for its competance. They were often hired by the police to curb Corsair interdiction into Bretonia, and had helped put down a Molly attack or two.

During the Nomad War, they were brought in to bolster the Bretonian ranks against the infected Rhienland fleet. The fight was vicious and nasty, and McLynn's men were severly reduced in number. The surviving few were financially rewarded by the Bretonian government. Although it cost his company many men. The Nomad War made Frank a rich man, but at the cost of many of his closest friends.

Frank grunted to himself and pushed the thought to the back of his mind, thought were generally safer there. "No need to dwell on it Frank" he muttered to himself.
He stood up unsteadily and looked at himself in the mirror. He wasn't the sharp and vigourous man he once was, wrinkles softened his face now, and the booze was filling out his cheeks more than he would like.

"You need a shave old man" His own voice rang lonely in his head.

His lifestyle hadn't been great over the last few years. He retired early in 812 AS, moving to Planet Curacao, the relaxed life seemed perfect for him, but it didn't quite turn out that way. Frank was a man of many vices, gambling, drinking and women. Curacao had opportunites for all of these and he indulged in them. His money was dwindling and he was lonely after all these years.


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The company he started, with it's illustrious history and reputation, had folded after he retired. The remianing members, although skilled fighter pilots, weren't businessmen, they failed to get the contracts needed, and eventualy decided to call it a day. The remaining members went their own ways, a few paying visits to Frank on Curacao from time to time. Nearly all ended up broke or desitute.

Frank awake with a start one day, his comm alarm going off. He dragged himself out of bed, stumbled blearily over to the screen and answered. The video comm flickered into life

" Frank McLynn?" Came an officious sounding voice.
"Yeh? What you want?" He muttered through his hangover back at the blurred image on the screen.
"Frank. This is Alan Grenville, I'm representing the security division of Planetform Inc. We have need of your services."
Frank let out a small chuckle that swiftly turned into a cough
"I'm outta that business, how did you get this number anyway?"
"I have my contacts Frank, besides we need the best for this, and I assure you, it will be worth your while. I have some rather good funding for this job."

Frank, who was about to switch the comm-screen off, paused.

"How much we talking here?"
"Enough."
"How many men would I need and whats the job"

Frank's vision, now clearing a little saw the small thin featured man on the comm-screen 'God, what a weasel' he though to himself. The man looked nervous.

"Well Frank. How many of your old boys can you get in contact with, we have a shipment of very important... ermm... materials, we need transporting through some dangerous territory, and we don't have the manpower to do this ourselves"
"What abut the BAF or the police? They got the men, ask them, not me. I'm out of that business now."
"We'd rather not do that, the ermmm... Materials are not something we want them to know about, and your company worked for us in the past."
"I get you. So you want me to call in my old boys, most of whom have retired as well, ressurect an old company, which has folded and I left behind, in order to keep secrets from the Bretonian government?"
"Ermmm, in a word... Yes."

Thoughts raced through Frank's mind, the man on the comm screen looked intently at his face.

'Just like the old days Frank, get back into it... go on... just the one job....
ARE YOU INSANE!?!? You're old, unfit, out of practice. Hell, you haven't flown that old Hussar in months....
But damnit Old Man, It'd be just like the old days, you haven't seen Angus in years, get back in the cockpit, it'll do you some good, besides it's only some escort job, what could go wrong?'

Franks face cleared.

"I'll do it" He said suddenly "I'm gunna make a few calls."
"Hmm, I thought you might say that Frank. I took the liberty of arranging some time for us to talk face to face, the specifics of this are a little... complex... We will be meeting on waterloo station in three days time. 3.40 NL time. I expect you to be presentable."
"Yeh, don't worry about it, I'll be there."

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<span style="font-family:Impact"><span style="color:#FF6600">ADRIAN<span style="color:#FF0000">_morton</span></span></span>