May the God Lord make us truly grateful for what we're about to receive!

Chapter 57

James Farris swallowed hard, fighting the nausea from the stench of fear that filled the packed elevator. He could almost hear the thoughts on everyone’s mind, “Almost there, almost there, almost …”, urging the ascending elevator to go faster.

Then abruptly the doors opened. Like starting gates at the horse races, they ran down the hallway leading to the surface. Confusingly, military and medical people were still bringing wounded in, as those like James fought to get out and away from the impending self-destruction.

The way out was hopelessly blocked with people, but after wrestling with his conscience, he decided that passing on the word about the Bomb underneath them wouldn’t hurt his chances of getting out.

Looking in one of the side rooms that was being used as an emergency ward, he grabbed one of the SPs. “You need to get everyone out! Everything went crazy downstairs! There’s some kind of self-destruct bomb about to blow. I don’t know how long we’ve got left but it can’t be long.” Feeling that he’d done the right thing, James turned and ran to the exit, hoping the way was now clear.

In his hurry to leave, he never saw the two women working to save the life of the young man on the gurney as they looked up from their labors at the news. Nor did he see the two teens in their blue supersuits, as they too looked at each other.

“Okay, it got worse,” Malik groaned, passing Josh the dollar.

Courtney Hathaway couldn’t spare more than a glancing acknowledgment of the news. She and Techie were fighting as hard as they could to save their patient’s life, but the odds were shifting against them. Whoever designed these diabolical flechettes-shrapnel needed to be shot with the damn things. Rather just tearing holes in their victims, these things actually further fragmented as they traveled. Worse, each one had microscopic spirals and barbs that made the damn things dig even deeper into their hapless targets.

She was using her telekinesis to pick out the tiny darts, but there were hundreds of them. If not for Techie, and her ability to instantly provide whatever she needed, it would’ve been impossible. The scanner the woman in black had whipped up out of spare parts helped her better see just what was happening inside the young man, while the other custom designed instruments kept anymore damage to a minimum.

Courtney hadn’t even tried looking at that head wound, afraid of what she might find. First stabilize the body and worry about that later. What worked in their favor was Capt. Blazzar being such a high order supra. His very physiology was extremely robust, and his physical conditioning was in a class by itself.

That was an oddity because his medical records of old didn’t indicate this level of physical enhancement. As a matter of course, she’d reviewed all the original Project Meridian subject studies. This was more like what she would’ve expected of Joyce Sturm with her absolute goddess-like perfection mutation.

On the downside, he’d been in a state of extreme mental and physical shock. She counted them lucky that none of those flechettes had come close to one of several unique organs, likely associated with his ability to generate extreme high energy manifestations. Who knew what could leak from them; battery acid or maybe even some kind of radiological material.

That list didn’t include outside events that threatened not only her patient, but her own life as well. Elizabeth Tyree had flown in with a note, warning that ULTIMATE was racing towards them, apparently intent on dealing with Area 61 and its research facilities, in the same way fanatics of an earlier time had the Library at Alexandria. Now, James Farris, his name as she recalled, was saying the Wildfire protocols were activated.

That device was designed to destroy anything dangerous trying to escape from Area 61 before it could threaten the world at large. Its yield was big enough to completely destroy the underground complex and vaults, but leave the surface relatively untouched. However that was over 50 years ago and hadn’t considered the type of contents stored down there.

Area 61 might focus on supra-human research, but there were dozens of experiments going on that were cutting edge, pushing the boundaries of human understanding in a multitude of disciplines. Plus there were a pair of fusion reactors providing the power for the complex as well as such as the Z-Ray. No, if Wildfire went off, she doubted that any of them could get far enough away to be safe.

Joshua and Malik, she noticed, had turned to the Air Force security police, and were urging them to help topside with the possible invasion. Techie, not breaking stride as they worked together, said, “Doctor, I have to go. I might be able to stop that bomb with my powers. If I don’t, it won’t matter if we save him or not.”

Courtney nodded. “Go. I’ll do the best I can.”

Techie nodded at a run, heading down while the boys and Elizabeth, with the security cops in tow, went up, both into harm’s way.

Val was already diving into Slow-Time before the first missiles even dropped from the stubby wings of the first wave of dropships. She used her flight to slam her feet to the ground as she sprinted forward. “Eat your heart out Doc!” she exulted, accelerating madly.

The Hellfire 2 AGM-114m has a range of about 8000m. However they were both racing towards each other at insane velocities. She hadn’t cleared more than a few steps before the very air went from being as viscous as water to an impossible gelatinous-like mass, fighting her for every inch as she ran forward.

Her supersuit, by Maggie, was earning its pay, helping to steady her as she slogged forward. Its flight control-like panels were out, making her run easier. Just as important, the force-screen she’d recently inherited seemed to really reduce the amount of drag upon her.

Overhead, the gathering thick clouds were the visible signs of Amanda working her weather magic. A glimpse in her helmet’s mirrors showed the rooster tail of dust and the ground level contrail that slowly formed behind her.

Putting her head down, she pushed harder, faster and faster. Even for her this was difficult, but this wasn’t her first rodeo. This time, with force-screen and suit, it should be easier. The further she got the more difficult it became. Her HUD, this deep into Slow-Time, was often a pain to read, given the flicker rates of the displays, but Maggie did the best she could to tweak them.

Point seven mach ... point eight, the display read, as it slowly changed. Doc and she used to have talks about how she could even breathe at the speeds she ran at. He’d all sorts of explanations, ranging from maybe she was manipulating time rather than simply running fast, to perhaps her rapid healing aiding her. Point nine. She could almost see the wall of compression forming in front of her now. The missiles racing towards her were trying to adjust their course to reach her.

Val smiled. They aren’t going to make it. Their guidance packages couldn’t make course adjustments fast enough. With a burst of effort, she threw herself forward even faster, fighting through the brief but violent buffeting. 1.0 mach. Yeager time baby!

The ground level sonic boom echoed across as suddenly humid air formed a visible shock wave. The missiles targeted on her went wild, passing over her head, caught in her slipstream. The explosions from their warheads detonating mixing with her supersonic shockwave disturbed the other missiles in flight targeted on the other defenders, causing them to crash, adding to the balls of fire headed for the heavens.

Breaking onto the surface, James blinked. That incredible light show from the lightning and aurora was only faded wisps now. What was amazing was the literal wall of heavy clouds moving in, clearly visible in the dawn. He’d grown used to the dry air, but now it was wet with moisture. The humid air that whipped around him made it more like he drank the air than breathed it.

A roar of a helicopter ripping over his head brought him back to earth. The buildings up here looked as if a war was going on. The windows were busted out and one whole side was blackened. His fellow escapees were running to the large bunker-like hangers cut into the side of the mountain, where not only aircraft were kept, but also the buses meant to evacuate them in case of emergency. Normally they were flown in from Las Vegas everyday, and because of that, no one had their own vehicles here.

Another helicopter screamed by, and despite his panic wondered what was going on. He saw that the people up here were surprised by all the techs like him coming up and running for their lives.

Someone yelled at him. “Get Down!”

He half-crouched, not sure why.

In slow motion, like some nature channel program about the insect world, one of those helicopters swooped in and fire flew from it. In front of him, men and women he’d worked, joked, and laughed with were torn apart. What was left was unspeakable.

A boot in his back pushed him to the ground. The owner was a tall blonde woman, who he realized was the one who yelled at him to get down. Dressed like one of those commandos from the movies with all the guns holstered and strapped to her, she was a walking arsenal. In her hands she carried an impossibly long barreled gun she threw to her shoulder as if it was no more than a toy from his childhood.

She rocked back each time she fired at the aerial predators as they swooped down on the unarmed flock of hapless fleeing civilians. It seemed he could even see her shots sparking and ricocheting off their armor. Finally she must have hit a vulnerable spot because it suddenly whipped onto its side, smashing into the tarmac, bouncing, shedding parts and flames as it rolled away.

James was heaved to his feet and shoved back towards the entrance. “Tell them they have to stay below! There is only death up here!” his savior told him.

More fire arced down from the sky as one of the predator’s mates tried to avenge its death. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he was going to die. The moment passed and he opened them to find a shimmering blue globe about him and the blond Amazonian Rambo.

One of the Meridian subjects gave them a thumbs up as the glow popped away. 'Malak,' his dazed brain told him. Magnetism. She saved his life. The Amazon shoved him back down the stairway door where others cowered.

“Tell them!,” she shouted, as she brought her weapon up again.

“This is Recon One. Five and Six are down. Cover me. I’m going to give them a Hell-Fire,” Capt. Frank Adams ordered. His RAH-66 was fast and agile. With its three barrel 20mm Vulcan cannon plus the six tube missile bay, it was one Sierra-Hotel machine. As impressive as all that was, it was still small potatoes next to the heavy armament carried by a V-33 Dropship. That was why his flight was tasked with this secondary mission of making sure none of these mutant loving nerds got out of the killing fields.

He didn’t expect the gene-tainted to care if wrong-headed real humans got shredded, but Capt. Adams had already lost two of his six ship flight. Some mutant bitch using a damn big ass gun had knocked them down. When the flight tried to suppress her fire, another frakking mutant had covered her in some kind of protective globe.

So you can stop a 20 mike mike, but can you stop an anti-tank missile baby?” he muttered, selecting one of the six Hell-Fires he carried in his ship’s internal bay. In a whoosh, the fire and forget missile, capable of punching through the heavy armor on a main battle tank, leapt forward.

“Eat that sweetheart!” he whispered to himself, whipping his helo about.

Billie snagged another white-coated adult desperate enough to try and run across that bloody zone where those helicopters mowed people down. She could see Josh and Malik were coming up the stairs, along with some Air Force guys. Hopefully they could stop the lemming-like dashes of these nuts.

Katrina, the tall blond woman in black, was still blasting away with that cannon of hers. Malak was covering as many as she could with her blue glowing screens, but she could do just so much. That was why Billie was helping drag those she could reach to safety and yet still watch Malak’s shapely back.

Just then some kind of side door opened on one of those damn helicopters and a missile streaked out. “Malak! Missile 2 O’clock!” she shouted just as all those game-like sims had taught her.

Her friend hastily realized that she couldn’t protect everyone nearby if it exploded.

Billie’s mouth dropped open as a blue globe instead flashed around the missile. For a split second it hovered within, suddenly brought to a complete stop within Malak’s magnetic field, then it exploded.

Already once this night, Malak’s powers had been tested to their utmost. She and her almost-sisters, Maxi-Malaks, contained, if just for a nano-second, a nuclear reaction. The energies released from the Hell-Fire ATGM were great enough to burn through the thick armor of a tank, but when compared to how the teen had already been tested tonight, it wasn’t enough.

The globe held and the fires trapped within turned the normal blue into a fiery orange. Straining, Malak held it still.

Billie saw another helicopter swooping in and got an idea. “Malak throw it back at them!”

A flick of the teen’s wrist sent the ball of energy flying at their would-be attacker. The flying machine heeled over hard to avoid being hit, but then Malak released her grasp on her globe. The explosion shook them all, but the now running helicopter awkwardly staggered in the air from the blast, skidding into the ground with its rotors thrashing about like a fish out of water.

Both girls were smiling at their success as Katrina admonished them, all the while firing at another of their attackers. “Don’t get cocky kids. This ain’t like playing in simulators!”

Billie stopped smiling as she saw big looming man-like shapes rushing at them through the dirty dust cloud kicked up by the battle. “Malak,” she warned, pointing.

Pyotr ripped the rotor from one of the light helicopters as he watched his sister’s charge. Her sonic boom caused the entire barrage of missiles targeted at her to miss wildly. Even better, the resultant explosions and concussions also made many of the other missiles flying at the rest of them go in every different direction. Just as long as they weren’t heading at him, he was happy.

He almost missed it as she used her momentum to throw herself upwards so fast that many in the past had mistaken it for her being able to fly. She passed completely through a pair of her attackers, leaving falling burning wrecks behind her. Now it appeared she could even really fly now, as she angled back to the ground, with the mass of aircraft scattering like a flock of sheep with a wolf in their midst.

A wave of his hand took care of the remaining missiles seeking them. Rather than throw them back at ULTIMATE, he simply destroyed them. You never knew what the fusing would be on those things. He didn’t like being surprised by one exploding unexpectedly.

His eyes narrowed. Pyotr was briefed on just how quickly the 10 power armored troopers could be deployed from their parent dropships. Now he got a first hand look at just how fast. In 30 seconds, all 10 were on the ground and moving. When you add in it happening 50 or 60 times suddenly he had hundreds of heavily armed enemies on the ground.

Slapping down one of the hovering dropships onto its recently dropped troops with his TK, he saw another ball of fire and wreckage falling to the ground as his sister did her thing. 'Subtract 20 tin soldiers,' he thought. He threw up a wall of force as another wave of missiles flew at them. Conserving his strength, he used only enough force to set off their payloads. Doing that far enough away meant he didn’t have to worry about their explosives. Even if the warhead survived going through his wall, it stripped off their vanes and maneuvering surfaces. Like his sister said, “Good enough.”

Plus the explosions and dust kicked up helped hide them, forcing their enemies to get in closer. “However, that means,” he thought, as he watched chunks of debris the size of small cars smash into one dropship’s cockpit, while another sheared off an engine pod from a second, “the groups’ strongmen get to come into play”.

Pyotr interrupted his attack on an enemy dropship to throw up a hasty wall to stop a flight of thermobaric rockets meant to create a miniature firestorm. The searing blast wave struck them like a hot summer wind, but he was happy to see one of ULTIMATE’s own aircraft was taken out by the premature detonation. The flaming ball of metal that used to be a multi-million dollar aircraft rolled towards him, but he knocked it aside with a TK fist. Another banked hard, trying to avoid the tower of flames, but misjudged and bounced into the ground, making their own ground troops jump for cover to get out of the way of the knifing rotor blades.

That youngster had done well with her weather magic. Those pilots spent weeks out here acclimatizing to the flying conditions. In just a few minutes she’d changed the equation. By changing the air density, she’d drastically altered how hard it was to fly under these conditions. In the stress of combat, their own reactions were betraying them, causing far more accidents than normal. They could either back off and fly more conservatively and be easier targets, or continue to press the attack and take more losses. Either one was good with Pyotr.

Once again he aborted his attack on a dropship to defend their position. Soon that is all he would be doing, and then, well, then it would get interesting.

Col. Randolph Hodges cursed as he ordered his SPAD interceptors to the attack. He honestly hadn’t expected any casualties. He’d known that Alan Glenn was brought back here. He’d also been briefed that Kali and Tech-Witch were expected to show up. What he didn’t expect was that Glenn and Kali were one and the same. He should’ve made the connection when she identified herself as Capt. Vroom.

As a kid, Vroom was one of the fastest speedsters on the planet. Now, in the first moments of combat she’d taken out at least a dozen dropships. She was so damn fast their heavy weapons were useless. Since when was Vroom female and how the hell had that bitch gotten so powerful? Was the mu-tainted also a shape-changing perversion as well?

Immediately he got his troopers on the ground and moving, but some mutant scum dug-in atop Area 61 had one hell of a powerful TK talent and was shielding the mu-tainted filth from his weapons. That is when they weren’t just ripping his aircraft to pieces.

Even his recon RAH-66s that were assigned to take out runners were getting the shit kicked out of them as the muties worked as a team. He’d dismissed that brat with the weather control powers, but somehow she’d changed the altitude density from the 5k above sea level to more like 10k. All that training his pilots had put in were now working against them. They were making mistakes left and right. Mistakes that were costing him men and machines. Added to that, his communications were flaky as hell probably because of Vroom’s partner, Tech-witch, screwing things up. All of which meant he had a hell of a fight on his hands.

Oh, he still would succeed, but the butcher’s bill would be a lot higher then he ever dreamed. Glancing out of a view port, he couldn’t help yelling as he saw the SPADs arrow down through the twisting heavy clouds. “Get that damn Bitch!”

When Sapphira was given command of SRT-One she'd treated it as any other research project. She'd covered the experiences of leaders and soldiers over the ages and how technology had changed warfare over the ages. Part of that investigation included accounts of soldiers from the last century as they waited for death to come to them. At Gettysburg watching Pickett’s Charge come at them or Rorke’s Drift facing the pride of the Zulu nation, they stood, fought, and died, but they did not falter.

She knew what the attack plan would be. There would be little subtlety here. Bombard with missiles; deploy the armor; charge forward and destroy any who still lived.

Watching the woman who called herself Capt. Vroom, she was guessing about now Col Hodges was thinking he’d made a mistake. She knew that with Peter the Great and his people being here her former employers definitely had 'screwed the pooch', as Three would say.

Through the dust her sensors tagged the rapidly advancing Peace-Maker Power Armor suits. Carrying an assortment of Barrett 25mm Cobra assault cannons, and Lockheed 1cm energy guns as easily as an unsuited man would a rifle, they were as dangerous as any light armored vehicle and just as tough. Add in the enhanced strength, data-sharing network, plus the defensive systems and you had a real handful. A fast, agile, light tank that could kick in doors, climb stairs, and shrug off anything lighter than a RPG. They were tough.

“Steady people. Three stand by. Five? How is your ammo supply?” she asked.

The big German replied, “10 sure kills if I hit, and 20 or 30 smaller pieces.”

She’d had him start his own attacks, throwing the boulder size masses from the damaged elevator shaft the moment the dropships came into range. Best to have him throw everything he could now, because once the ground troops engage, he would be too busy to worry about ranged targets.

However, she needed him to hold on just a moment more. Sapphira had a plan. According to doctrine, the troops would advance with the dropships above and behind, covering them. However, Peter, Bob the brick and Five had knocked holes in that formation and the covering ships pushed forward further than they should. A maneuver that would prove costly to them.

“On my mark. Now!” Sapphira ordered.

All six of her suit’s scramblers launched, each at a different dropship. The ultra-tech missile’s sole purpose was to jam and confuse control systems. She usually used them on fleeing vehicles because of the electronic ignition controls most possessed. Her scramblers were quite effective, but these also had a special modification.

The first dropship struck was covered in a web of electrical like arcs before suddenly jettisoning all of their ordnance as its electrical systems went haywire. The stricken machine sunk toward the ground powerless. The others she’d hit followed the first, fighting to maintain control as they too fell powerless.

Three yelled, “Fire in the Hole!”

Using his powers, he swept a vibratory blast across the falling jettisoned rockets, missiles and bombs. Detonators and blasting caps were all sensitive explosives, needing only an impact or pressure to set them off. Three’s powers could set even the most inert materials to a boil by agitating their very molecules. Not all of them blew, but sympathetic detonations took care of those few that didn’t. Right on top of the advancing line of armor, a wall of death erupted.

“Hit the ends of their line and work your way to the middle!” she yelled, unleashing her own Disrupters. At full power, her usually non-lethal stun-only weapons were deadly, punching holes clean through both sides of the Peacemaker Armor. If there was one thing she'd plenty of, it was power. That girl did her a favor by increasing the humidity in the area. Her vapor accumulators soaked up the water, fueling her fusion plant. Sapphira had power to burn, and she meant to hit them as hard as she could.

Peter’s team saw what she was doing and added their fire to the kill zone. Rocks, bullets, and Gawd knows what else, flew at their common enemy. Some of the armor fell seemingly for no reason at all which just made them easier targets.

Shock and Awe, her ass. For centuries generals knew of the pure power of a well timed sledgehammer volley. Javelins, arrows, muskets, or cannon fire; it didn’t matter. US spin doctors wanted the world to believe that they’d invented the psychological impact that it could have. For a moment, she and her people slowed that iron wave washing towards them, but like the tide, it couldn’t be stopped.

No good thing lasted forever, and Peter couldn’t shield everyone. “May the good Lord make us truly grateful for what we are about to receive,” she quoted, sensing what was to come. “Cover!”

As the first bursts of 25mm and energy gunfire started ripping up the ground around them, she took cover. Like the first droplets from a storm, the scattered cannon fire turned into driving hail of fire and destruction. Shaken by the amount of pure fury that had been thrown against them, the line of steel faltered. However, while ULTIMATE HAB was full of intolerant bigots, they were still elite troops. Rallying, they hurtled forward into the breach, forgetting the cost Forlorn Hopes always charged in blood.

Area 61

Maggie waited for the high speed elevator’s doors to open. She could hear and feel the battle going on above ground before descending too far away. Trying to distract herself from her worries, she started preparing for her mission: stopping The Bomb.

Her talent assembled a handful of boring and crawling machines that would help her get through the layers of rock so she could touch the bomb with her powers. The terminally paranoid genius that’d emplaced it out did himself. It was not going to be easy, but if she failed, hundreds would die, including her.

They were truly between a rock and a hard place. Trapped with The Bomb about to go off underneath them, and a heavily armed mutant hating army wanting to slaughter them all, above. Once again the so-called ancient Chinese curse of ‘may you live in interesting times’ was snapping hungrily at their heels.

The doors slid open, and at a run only a high level supra could match, she raced down the empty hallway.

Twisting in mid-air, the stream of 30mm projectiles floated by Val. She swam for the passing armored aircraft, passing through the leisurely spinning blades of the dropship‘s turbo-prop. Running her hand along one of them she bent it like it was taffy.

In slow motion the entire machine began turning to the right, as the out of balance engine mount tore itself to pieces. She used that spin to throw her at another. Twenty, she counted, drifting to the next.

Never before had she been forced to exert her powers so. For years she’d done everything she could to avoid it. The martial arts and meditation were tools she'd used to prevent exactly just what was happening now. All because each time she used her powers they were all that much harder to stuff back into their genie bottle.

Smashing into the top of the dark blue craft, she ran across it, using her supra-speed to destabilize it as she ripped its tail fin away with a knife hand attack. Like her old friend Jeff used to do, she was riding the Luck. Letting it and her years of martial arts guide her in this aerial fight. The air really wasn’t her element but sometimes you had to make do with what was at hand.

She wasn’t even sure why she’d thrown herself in this direction. The reason appeared in front of her as it cleared the heavy turbulent cloud layer Amanda’s weather powers cooked up.

The aircraft was painted in ULTIMATE dark blue, and was circular shaped, with a two man teardrop canopy on top. A pair of stubby fins were on the rear while the bottom had the recessed bulges of weapon blisters. She could see the startled looks of the crew as she came right at them.

No matter how humans tried to disguise it, this was one of Ollie’s folks’ flying saucers. Most countries had some but didn’t have nearly enough to waste on military applications. That was something that ULTIMATE tried to make sure of. Besides for most nations, just having the ability to reach orbit or as far out as the moon was one hell of a moneymaker. ULTIMATE wanted to be the only one with these armed air to space fighters. The bureaucrats even tried to play down their obvious air superiority role by calling them Space-Pan-Atmosphere-Defenders.

Flipping in the air like a swimmer so she flew feet first, Val crossed her arms across her chest. She’d done this before, and hadn’t liked it much then either. If she hit it just right …

With a bone numbing jerk she struck their shielding. The defensive energy globe flashed blue as she passed through it and into the craft’s cockpit. An explosion of debris flew outward as it rolled wildly, its pilots ejecting, seeking some chance at survival.

Green bolts of energy flew all around her as she let the crash impact pinwheel her out of the way of the stricken crew’s wing mates' revenge. Balling herself up, she bounced off another, as a blue flash from its field sent both of them flying away in mad arcs. More green lightning lanced at her, and one glanced off her new force screen but another did not.

Pain clawed at her arm as the energy from the destructive beam burned through her uniform. Resisting the haze threatening to cover her vision, she used herself like a billiard ball, slamming into another of her darting attackers.

The same ability that made her friend Doug such an extraordinary shot as Sharpshooter, let her calculate the arc needed to use herself to slam one of the SPADs into one of its companions' fire. Dodging the beams bouncing off its shield, she dove for the ground as one found their way past the defending blue shimmer. The explosion behind her only temporarily distracted the wolf pack at her heels as they winged over in pursuit.

Josh concentrated again on the image of Capt. Vroom’s black uniformed figure suddenly landing next to one of those hulking robot-looking things.

Nine times out of ten his victim immediately turned and fired at the mirage that turned out only to be another robot soldier. Sometimes that one returned fire, taking out both of them, and sometimes not.

He sighed, picking another pair of walking dead men. His best trick of making a bunch of people blind and helpless didn’t work on these damn things. Okay, he knew that whatever they looked liked, there was really a person inside those metal things because otherwise his power wouldn’t work at all. Maybe they had some kind of protection from being in armor.

When he’d ‘looked’ through one of their eyes to find out what they were seeing, his vision wasn’t as clear as it was normally. However once Josh saw what their helmets displayed, he knew what illusion to force through to the pilot. Unfortunately he had to do it one at a time, and there were hundreds of them coming right at him and his friends.

Suddenly he was thrown to the ground!

Malik sat on his chest, but Josh could only stare at the smoldering hole above him in the concrete where his head had just been.

“Thanks,” Josh grunted as his friend pulled him to his feet.

Malik shrugged, keeping low, which was a luxury Josh couldn’t afford if he wanted to try and stop these ULTIMATE goons. He had to come up with something better.

Focusing on a pair this time, rather than just one, the two suddenly spun, shooting at two other robo-goons. One of those fired back before the cannon shells and laser beams killed the men inside.

Okay, three out of four was better than two. In the distance, Josh saw his teacher still in that insane aerobatic battle, with all those blue saucers spitting green beams all over the place trying to kill her.

A quick tap on his shoulder from Malik reminded him the two of them had more pressing problems of their own. Picking out yet another group advancing to kill them, Josh led more enemies to their death.

Ollie’s mind danced across his jury rigged control panel. Able to interface directly with The Rocket’s defensive, electronic counter measure systems, and communications, he fought ULTIMATE’s attempts to jam the defenders' tactical comms as well as disrupting their attackers’ communications, sensors, and targeting systems. It was an unseen battle fought at the speed of light, as each side tried to give their own side an advantage, while they did their best to deny their opponents the same.

Big Mac joined in the battle, and the AI was for the first time in over 25 years doing the job it’d been designed for. Between them they were as busy as that one legged man in that kicking contest, as Val would say.

No matter how they calculated the odds, they were fighting the no-win scenario from the wrong side. The Rocket was just one machine versus the dedicated might of purpose-built electronic warfare aircraft. The Gray pulled The Rocket into a climb, spitting decoys and flares behind them as another Home-on-jam missile sought them.

Ollie knew if he tried he had a good chance at escaping. Finally after untold years, his parent’s matrixes were in his possession. He was free. Both he and Big Mac weren’t even human so what was this fight to them? Everything.

From the tentative reaching out of a group of lonely youngsters to him, to the family-like bond they’d formed together, these humans accepted him as even his own people would not. He could, would not abandon them.

The agile human rebuilt Gray saucer twisted, avoiding yet another missile sent to kill them. As important as survival was to him, what passed as his own stomach roiled as he watched his dearest friend fight for her life against the SPADs. The Space-Pan-Atmosphere-Defender fighters, like The Rocket, were captured Gray spacecraft rebuilt and refitted for humans.

As powerful as Val was, she was no match for a dozen of them tearing through the air after her. Ollie remembered the shy boy speedster who was so clumsy and awkward, in conflict with a duality most humans lacked. The feminine neurological patterns were incompatible with her male physiology. Ollie did what he could and helped the others understand that Alan wasn’t being difficult but instead had a problem.

Then disaster struck. Sent out to stop the unstoppable, they’d fallen to Leviathan. Panicked, their masters exposed them again to that infernal device and unspeakable tragedy followed. He’d been tempted, more than ever before, to abandon his parents to help the child that’d been stripped of her family and thrown out of the only home she’d ever known. Worse, Ollie’s efforts to help Jeff Fortune also failed, as the young man, blaming himself for the death of his friends, took his own life.

Not realizing that he’d made his decision, Ollie pulled up into an Immelmann, zooming from the edges of this furious aerial furball, racing to its center.

“Ollie,” Big Mac’s calm modulated voice asked, using the machine interface they now both shared. “May I ask about our heading?”

Weaving in and out of the furious battle, Ollie replied, “I am going to aid my friend Big Mac.”

The old 80s AI asked, “You do realize that we are unarmed, and unless I miss my guess, we don’t have the advantage of a shield like her attackers?”

Bouncing from a near miss, the Gray confirmed, “That is correct. This is a reconnaissance craft. Originally it had stealth systems instead of a shield. That is why my parents and I were shot down so many years before because of bad luck, abnormal meteorological phenomenon and a human in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately those systems were too badly damaged to be repaired, even if the humans of the time recognized what they were, before completely destroying them in their ignorance.

“Additionally, when the engineers at Area 61 learned enough to begin to refitting this craft for their use as a transport for The Rocketeers, they decided it was in the best interests of public relations and political spin doctoring to equip it with only defensive systems.

“What is more, The Rocket was refitted using 1960’s and 70’s technology while ULTIMATE’s SPADs were rebuilt with 21st century materials.” Ollie grunted, pulling some G’s, side-slipping away from a burst of cannon fire. “On the other hand, this won’t be entirely one sided, because using the cyber-interface that is letting us converse, I am The Rocket, controlling it at the speed of thought. Plus I have as my REO, you, an intelligent supercomputer. Exciting is it not?” the Gray pilot said, with as much of a grin his alien face would let him.

The AI broke the radar lock of a pair of missiles coming at them. “I don’t know if exciting would be the word I would use Ollie. I was designed to control the entire nuclear arsenal of a superpower from deep inside a bunker in the middle of a mountain. Flying into the middle of a battle in a 40 year old jury-rigged unarmed flying saucer while duct taped to the deck, running in a server that is even more jury-rigged, from parts salvaged from office PCs, is not what I would call exciting. Terrifying, mind numbing or perhaps petrifying, but NOT exciting.”

A small pause passed between them. “Big Mac, I am truly sorry but I have no choice,” Ollie apologized.

The AI’s calm voice responded asking, “Ollie, it is not good to be the only one of your kind and alone is it?”

Darting into the heavy overcast clouds, he rolled The Rocket onto her back, slamming the throttles full forward. “No it is not.”

“Then let us go save our friend,” Big Mac said, as he wreaked havoc on ULTIMATE’s communications network.

Ollie barely nodded as they zoomed to the rescue.

Amanda called the tornado from the stormy clouds that now burst with energy. The problem was she could only guide it in just so close without endangering her own people.

Lizzie was up here trying to help but the older girl told her to go back down the stairs. Amanda was finding it hard enough just trying to function as the thunderous crash of bombs and explosions roared around them in a continuous crash. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for the little girl.

Her friend Malak took up the slack that guy Peter had left open. As more and more explosions struck his TK screen, he had to shrink the area he covered. Malak’s blue magnetic screen shimmered right next to his, stopping the overflow, but more and more of the bad guys were working their way around the sides.

Billie was fighting all who found that backdoor but was beginning to be overwhelmed. Stretched out as if in a bizarre game of Cat’s Cradle, she pushed, tripped, and tied up those who towered over her in their armor.

The good news was she could let the twister rampage on its own for a while. Helping Billie, Amanda called lightning from those same storms. In a flash of yet more explosions, ammunition and the guns themselves blew up!

Val twisted, trying to keep from spinning out of control. Fighting past the pain, she hit the overrides on her supersuit, shutting down her computer controlled flight surfaces. The system was badly damaged from that last shot. Rather than have it malfunctioning and throwing her off, they’d be of more use as inert armor.

She wasn’t sure how badly she was hurt. That last blast of green bolts hit her square in the back. The good news was her rapid healing would make everything good as new given time. The bad of course was time was the one thing she didn’t have. Using her arms and legs to guide her like a skydiver, she made herself as hard to hit as she could.

Maybe little Lizzie wasn’t quite as tough as Val thought, but then again she was still alive after being struck by not one, but several of the Gray energy weapons. Her helmet’s mirrors were blackened lumps, forcing her to flip onto her back to see what was happening.

Her out of control slew threw off the SPADs' aim but the well-trained pilots adjusted quickly. She’d managed to take out three of the damn things but a butcher’s dozen remained.

She wondered if this was finally going to be the end. At times in the past she’d wanted, courted that ending. Ironic that now that she’d so much to live for, that Death was never so close to her heels. After Jeff’s suicide, she’d vowed that was one out she’d never take, but she could be honest with herself that at times she’d recklessly thrown herself into harm’s way, daring fate.

Val didn’t know just when that’d changed. Was it Maggie or the kids that’d finally managed to touch her? Or maybe simply coming back to this pit of hell where it’d all begun finally let her lay her ghosts to rest? Perhaps it was holding her brother in her arms after all of these years, along with the hope he would live?

And what did fate do? It sent an entire frakking army of mutant hating fanatics to destroy all of her hopes and dreams. Her Luck’s music-like tones soared as a familiar silver crescent flashed out of the clouds, dropping down on top of one of the SPADs. It spat burning flares and decoys designed to confuse heat, radar, and visual seeking missiles backwards at the dark blue saucer. Defensive or not, it was enough to blind the pilots, causing them to tumble away to keep from colliding with another.

“Ollie.” Her heart hammered! The Rocket was unarmed and these killers in blue wouldn’t hesitate for a moment before pulling the trigger. As she watched, a pair of them peeled off, going after the red racing striped saucer.

Val flipped around, with her feet pointed ground-first like a cliff diver. A few bolts flew at her again, but now there was only ten of them, she thought sourly. Perhaps today would be her day to die, but with her last breath she would fight to keep those she loved alive.

So intent her concentration, she never noticed the changing music of her Luck as her decision altered the path of destiny.

Courtney Hathaway knew she’d failed this challenge. Gus Glenn was simply too torn apart inside for her to save. She couldn’t keep ahead of the continuing damage from that shrapnel. Every breath he took, every beat of his heart helped push the razor sharp fangs deeper into his flesh.

She wasn’t even sure why he still lived. Something in him just wouldn’t let him die. For the first time in a very long time she wanted to weep. She had fully opened herself to him, using every bit of resources she had to try and save him. Courtney found a strange resonance that deepened her rapport with him more intensely than any she‘d ever touched in the past.

Here was a man who really did exhibit the qualities of a good man. He wasn’t perfect, but he knew that and did his best to overcome his limitations. While her life was built around users and the used, his was of selflessly giving, and he never once questioned the cost.

Impossible, but there he was dying in front of her, this young man born 15 years before her, but who was also 15 years younger, a living contradiction in every sense of the word.

“It’s alright. I know I’m dying,” he whispered.

Startled, she was speechless. Courtney knew she shouldn’t be surprised but there was something about this older Glenn brother. He shouldn’t even be alive so why shouldn’t he also be conscious? “That puts you one up on me since I don’t know why you are still alive at all much less talking.”

A smile touched his pale lips. “It’s my energy reserves. I’m a living energy field, but when it’s gone so will I.”

Hope touched her. “Is there some way of recharging it? If we can keep you going until I can get all that shrapnel removed, we might be able to buy you time to heal.”

The slightest shake of his head told her no. “It’s not that easy. The only way for certain would be the Z-Ray, but I’m not going to let anyone put me back under that thing.”

Weakly he paused. “Have they initiated Wildfire?”

She nodded. “Yes they have. We’re trapped, with Mutant haters up top, but the Bomb below.”

He closed his eyes, pausing again. “There’s a chance I can help. If I’m close enough to the explosion I might be able to recharge myself and stop the blast. In tests Doc gave me, I could control a nuclear reactor by acting like a living dampening rod.”

Courtney gave him an intense searching look. She knew he wasn’t telling her the entire truth. “So you are saying you could heal yourself and stop the Bomb?”

His green eyes looked into hers. “Nothing is certain, but if you want to help me, it’s better than no chance at all.”

She made her decision. Truth or not, he’d no chance for survival here. Reaching down, she held his hand and smiled. “Stay with us. This isn’t over yet.”

Looking around, she saw a shaken James Farris had returned. Not her first choice for a helper but there was no one else.

“Mr. Farris I need your help. We’re taking him down,” she ordered.

His eyes grew wide, his fear written all over his face. “But what about the self-destruct?”

Her face as hard as stone and her voice flat, she said, “After what has happened here tonight, do you know of anyone else besides Capt. Blazzar who can stop a nuclear device from exploding?”

A glimmer of hope filled his eyes. Courtney had no idea of the odds but she was sure that hope was ill founded. Nonetheless she kept that thought to herself.

Together they pushed the wounded man into the next elevator going back down into the pit.

Major Jason Roberts yelled, “Push’em!”

Tonight was one of those rare complete screw ups by the numbers. HQ completely underestimated the expected resistance, and like always, the grunts on the ground were taking it in the shorts.

Ducking another crashing twisting wreck that used to be a state of the art dropship, he knew the flyboys weren’t having any too easy of a time either. Leading by example, he used his Barrett Cobra assault cannon at full rock and roll, burning through his ammo drum at an alarming rate. Better that than dead, he cursed. They had to keep the damn muties’ heads down.

All about him laid the blasted remains of Peacemaker power suits and shattered burning aircraft. Hurtling a ruined suit with a still glowing hole big enough to stick his whole arm through, he watched his HUD count down the range. None of the dropships had gotten close enough to drop the munitions the Op-plan called for. The muties were too damn effective at stopping the missiles with those infernal screening powers of theirs.

Their briefings had told of only one young gene tainted kid with the ability, but HQ got that wrong too. Someone over there was throwing up screens that were virtually impenetrable, keeping the mutants safe from his people’s weapons.

They’d completely lost contact with HQ. The only communications that were up was the Peacemaker suit’s laser comms. Those were just about impossible to jam. A man next to him screamed as his visor was suddenly spattered with some nasty green stuff coming from the inside. The stricken man fell crashing to the ground, rolling in agony.

A blinking green light told the major that finally they were in range. “Major Roberts to all units! Enable your grenades! Fire!” he ordered.

All down the line, the surviving suits' built-in launchers chugged away, tossing a stream of munitions at the pocked marked remains of the upper level of Area 61.

The moment the fecal matter hit the rotary oscillator, Marine Staff Sergeant Green knew deep in his guts it was going to get bad, real bad. He and Hennessy made good time to where the wounded were being picked up and helped as they could. The two of them rode back in with the Air Dale Security Police and tried mostly to stay out of the way.

That’s where he ran across the other sniper team. The two SEALs were in bad shape, but what caught his eye was whoever carried them in also brought in all their gear, including the XM-111 BFG. He’d immediately picked it up. Like all good marines, he’d memorized his scope settings and immediately dialed them into the 35 lb weapon. Not as good as a true zero, but for field expedient conditions it would have to do.

When that kid flew in, warning about invaders, he’d moved to where he had a good spot to see what was happening. Then things got interesting when those ULTIMATE weenies were warned off, and they’d opened fire.

Battle-wise, he’d found a good position to make his stand and carefully began serving his targets one at a time. They’d only limited ammo and he was none too sure of just how reliable those fancy munitions were. Still, he had to make do with what he had.

Somehow this big blond that had legs clean up to here ended up near him, and after taking a glance at his weapon, casually tossed him a 10 lb box of shells. It took him only a second to determine they were compatible and together the two of them were laying down some pretty serious covering fire.

That was a good thing as that powered armor closed enough to shoot back. In all his time in the Corp, he'd never seen anything like it. A Gawd-awful mix of the worst footage he’d ever seen of WWI, WWII, Korea, Nam, and Desert Storm all rolled up into one were the only thing that came close.

When that Broad in the gold armor knocked down that line of dropships and all of their ordnance onboard dropped, detonating on top the poor sods advancing underneath, he’d almost felt sorry for them. Despite that hell of fire and steel, they’d kept on coming. He was under no illusions what would happen if they were overrun.

This attack was an act of war and there was no way they could afford to let a single voice live to speak the truth. Like a mad man, he was firing so quickly the heavy barrel of his rifle glowed. Hennessy picked up a launcher from a fallen Air Dale’s hands and sent a Stinger missile soaring up at a helo.

Barely audible over the thunderous din of battle, a chorus of bangs made him pause. The small black dots arcing towards him from the advancing enemy made his mouth go dry. “Incoming!” he yelled, diving into the mass of broken concrete, chipped away by enemy fire.

The dull whoomps, instead of explosions, made his stomach twist up even more. That could only mean a gas attack, the Bastards! Reaching for his gas mask from long practice, he slipped it on and had it sealed in seconds. It only made sense because their armor already gave them protection, but that didn’t change the fact that it was a despicable weapon.

Looking up, he saw large blooming bubbles and pockets of white looking foam. “What the hell?” he wondered.

Malik watched as an Air Force sergeant fired a missile from a tube at a helicopter. Off to his right a pair of soldiers were doing the same. He’d ducked, following their cues as someone had yelled, “Incoming!”

Now this foaming crap was expanding like crazy all around them. The guys in that armor shooting at them moved right through it with no problems, but he saw that woman in black with the gun move back to avoid getting any of it on her.

She yelled out, “Restraining foam. Don’t get any of it on you. It’s like superglue flypaper and is very slick. Doesn’t matter how strong you are. It’ll trap you.”

Then out of nowhere there was one of those suits right in front of him! A quick step put him too close for it to fire that gun at him but an armored fist came down, striking him!

Malak blinked his eyes from the impact. That was the best they could do? With a wrench, he tore the rifle-like cannon from its grasp, snapping an ammo feed belt, sending large thumb sized bullets flying all over the place with a chatter.

Now that he had it, what the hell did he do with it? He didn’t know crap about guns. All that ghetto stuff about blacks and guns had nothing to do with him. He was born a rich kid, with a silver spoon in his mouth, and didn’t know anything about using one.

Looking at the cannon in his hands, however, a baseball bat? Now that was different! With a mighty swing that would have made the immortal Casey or the Babe proud, he rang the metal man’s bell, but good. In nothing flat there was one down and his bat was broken and useless.

Josh’s voice sounded in his radio. “Stay close.”

Turning, Malak saw two of the metal men suddenly turned on each other, blasting away with their rifle things. In a cloud of gun smoke they both fell, shot to pieces. He felt sick, knowing that Josh had killed those two. Looking down at the armored man he had put down, he realized that this one too, might be dead. Dead by his hand.

A large hand grasped his shoulder, and he spun to defend himself. Malak found himself looking at one of those people in the black military uniforms helping them.

What caught his attention wasn’t the man’s size but his eyes. Such an incredible shade of green. Not the emerald green of normal human eyes, they were the deep green of the trees of the forest and of growing things.

The hand’s owner rumbled in a deep voice. “It is not an easy thing to take a life. In the cycle of life you have the choice of taking a life or letting it take yours. They have given us no choice but to defend ourselves. All life is to be valued, but it is these fools who have disrespected it. Do what you need to do, to be true to yourself and your companions.”

That foam had flowed over those guys in SRT One, trapping them all but that woman in the gold armor. Stepping forward, the man waved his hand and the foam turned green and began collapsing in upon itself. In seconds they were free.

Another metal man charged at him, and Malik as he’d been trained, grabbed and flipped him over his hip. The ground shook as the heavy suit crashed. The teen was amazed, because although all of them had trained in the sims, none of that had been like this. He’d handled that armored giant as easily as with Mr. Glenn back in the dojo. As a matter of fact easier, because sensei was one cagey teacher. Or girl or whatever.

All the sex changing going on still had his head swimming. Well as long as it didn’t happen to him, Malik thought he could deal.

The helmet faceplate of the man he’d just thrown down splashed green from the inside, causing his imagination to almost make him retch.

The giant with the green eyes scolded, “Keep your attention on the fight. Even giants fall to the smallest of nature‘s creations, viruses and bacteria,” he said, pointing to the goo running down inside the helmet.

General Robert Laramie sat down heavily at his desk. With his key he opened the lockbox containing his personal weapon, a Para-Ordnance Nite-Tac .45 cal. Just how had everything come to ruin so quickly? All was going according to plan and then this. His command was soon to be engulfed in nuclear fire.

Twisting his chair around to look out of the large one-way glass window facing the labs and classrooms of Project Meridian, he held the Canadian update of the classic Colt .45 in his lap. He’d no illusions about what his fate would be over this debacle. At best being forced to resign in disgrace or worse a court martial and prison.

No, he would rather die with his boots on. Robert Laramie was a patriot and all he’d done was for his country. He’d done his best to walk the talk. Now the only question was, would he wait for the fire or take his own way out.

The click-clack of the slide ramming a round into the firing chamber was thunderously loud in the silent office. Then his mouth fell open. “What the hell?”

Passing through the labs were Dr. Hathaway and a technician, pushing a gurney.

Despite just the glance, he knew the face of the man upon it. Gus Glenn. So Project Thunderbolt had failed and the monster wasn’t dead. But why were they down here and not evacuating, unless they had some plan for Glenn to cheat death. He knew he’d been right not to trust that damn mind twister Hathaway.

He stood, straightening his uniform. Maybe his duty to his country wasn’t over yet. There was still a monster for him to slay. Purposefully he walked out of his office, weapon in hand.

Another thunderous boom followed by a wave of hot gas laden air made Malak’s protective screen flicker as she flinched. Although stopping all that stuff coming at her friends wasn’t hard, holding her screen up for so long was. Never before had she kept it on for this long, much less under these conditions.

That guy Peter just blew her away with how big an area he covered with his power as well as his control. He used only just enough juice to stop all the missiles and bullets from doing harm. That let him last a lot longer than she who had to use her full strength against everything. Although one difference was his couldn’t stop those laser things while hers could.

There were just so many of those damn armored suit things! SRT One might be taking the blunt of it, with Peter and his guys helping, but now ULTIMATE was coming around the ends!

Malak pushed her screen right next to Peter’s. Billie was doing some unreal Twister-Fu moves on all who came at them. Her girlfriend, Amanda even had a tornado running out there as well as lightning bolts that made those things blow up like popcorn. Josh was making them shoot each other while her brother was throwing down hand to hand with them and winning.

And still it wasn’t enough.

Dirty, nasty, grimy, and fighting despair, she remembered her mother’s words. “Look them in the eye, work twice as hard, and be four times better.”

Taking a deep breath, she ‘pushed’ her screen so it covered even more area, while simultaneously reaching out a hand to use her power to draw one of the fallen suits to her. Then she pulled another, stacking it on top, and so on. Maybe she couldn’t screen everyone but if she could build a 'sandbag' wall made of these things, it would help.

As she was grabbing another, it moved, trying to aim its gun at her! Her eyes hardened and Malak ‘swirled’ her magnetism as she pulled. Crackling electricity filled the already hot stinking air with more ozone as it convulsed and went limp. Carefully she told herself, it and not him girlfriend.

Billie hopped over her wall as her brother pulled Josh behind it as well. The wind whipped the fused glassy sand like a chainsaw, howling down upon the pursuing armor as Amanda did her weather control thing.

Knowing she was at her limits Malak ‘swirled’ her power at an onrushing attacker. Rapidly spinning magnets can generate electricity. Despite how much she hated that testing lab, she’d found that damn few machines could ’spin’ a magnetic field as quickly as her power let her.

These armor things might conduct electricity harmlessly around its wearer, but if you hit anything with enough current you could short it. Malak had no idea of how much her ’swirling’ generated but it was a lot.

Cringing she added it to her wall. “It, not him, it, not him,” she repeated to herself as she hit yet another coming to kill her.

A drop of sweat splashed onto the concrete where she worked. Maggie’s miniature borers and tunneling machines were making slow headway. The entire thing was a monstrous puzzle of materials, false trails and dead ends.

Her talent told her The Bomb was here but the device’s defenses were built to include shielding from Psi abilities like hers. She’d tried following one of the wiring trunks to the thing but that’d only been another false trail.

A sound behind her made her draw her baton, but instead of an enemy it was even worse. That Doctor with Val’s brother on a gurney.

“What are you doing here?” Maggie demanded.

As Hathaway opened her mouth to respond, another voice cut her off.

“Don’t blame her, it was me,” Gus Glenn said hoarsely.

“I know about the Wildfire bomb. It has every protection Doc could give it just to make sure no one could escape this prison.” He stopped, out of breath.

“The only thing keeping me alive is my energy field now. I might be able to stop the bomb from going nuclear and re-energize myself. Now all of you, go. Even if I succeed, it’s going to get a little ‘hot’ in here,” he finished weakly.

Maggie closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I can’t. If you die, Val, your sister, will never forgive herself.”

“Val? Her name is Val,” he said with a wondering smile.

“Please tell Val, that her brother loves her. Now go. I have no idea of how bad the radiation might be,” he said with clenched teeth, getting weaker.

Leaving her gear right where it was, she gave the doctor a look and both of them rushed out with their doubt mirrored in each other’s faces.

Sapphira’s armor shrugged off another burst of 25mm penetrators. Her return fire blew every fuse in her attacker's armor as the crippled armor fell forward. The stream of disrupter pulses whined as they swept across the endless charging tide of steel. She’d no choice but to try and disable as many of them as she could to thin them out. Two and Four were down and Three had phased them down into the makeshift hospital below them. Five had an armored foe by the leg, using it as a club against the others who swarmed him.

Peter the Great now stood at her side. His overweight appearing strongman, Bob, had been hit with that restraining foam and was badly injured by the Peacemakers' and missiles as he stood helpless until that bacteria ate it away. His blond weapons specialist lost her own weapon and was now using a captured Barrett. The big man with the plant powers who’d freed them from the foam was wounded as well.

One of the students, a young man, lifted the huge mutant like a child, carrying him to safety. When the youngster returned he’d shored up their failing defensive line. The weather controller had whisked the deadly vapors and gas concealed in the foam away on her winds as well as calling down the lightning. Another with magnetic powers was throwing lightning of her own even as she built ramparts by magnetizing the dead suits, sticking them together like Legos. The child with the stretching power repeatedly dragged the wounded and hurt out of harm’s way with one arm while battling the armored suits with the other.

There were other more heart rending acts of bravery that she couldn’t see, but she knew was being faithfully recorded by her armor. Despite all their efforts she knew it wasn’t going to be enough. The UHAB did have elite troops but even more importantly they believed right down to their immortal souls that their cause was just and every mutant was an emissary from Satan himself.

Sapphira crushed a helmet with one fist as she had to let the coils in her gauntlets cool. History told her of the fate of the defenders at Thermopylae, the Alamo and other hopeless last stands. She expected no different here. However, her and Bob’s efforts to make certain that the word and the record of what happened here tonight wouldn’t be buried, forgotten or in vain.

Peter’s telekinetic screen glowed from the nearly continuous wave of blasts hitting it. Napalm, bunker buster warheads, cannon fire, he stopped them all. If not for him they would’ve long ago fallen. But he couldn’t stop the armored fanatics closing in on him. Her disrupters' HUD blinked green. Stepping forward she hosed down the advancing killers with emerald pulses of energy as projectiles sleeted against her armor, forcing her to brace against the impacts to keep her beams on target.

She whispered to herself, “Stranger, Go tell the Spartans.”

Hennessy fell, nearly cut in two by an energy beam. Marine SSG. Henry Green knew the end was nigh. The defenders had been pushed back to the shafts leading downward. His blond foxhole companion had been hit but was still fighting with just one arm.

Unlike her, he couldn’t fire his rifle one handed. Not that it mattered at this range. He grunted, firing from the hip into the advancing mass as he backed away. He was bleeding from a handful of minor cuts and near misses but he knew his luck wouldn’t last forever. Scrambling backwards, he almost tripped over something behind him.

“Awww jeez,” he swore at the frightened huddled kid behind him.

Her blue uniform helped him remember that she was the same kid that'd flown downstairs warning of this impending attack. She must have sneaked back upstairs to see what was happening and in the chaotic hell up here had gotten lost and forgotten.

Kneeling in the scant cover of what used to be a concrete wall, he looked up wondering, why him Lord, why him. Henry Green was a Marine right down to his boot laces, by Gawd, and he considered himself a good man. But, and that was a big but, he’d shot an innocent man today. Not just any man but one that he in his childhood had looked up to, a hero. He’d done the best he could not to rake himself over the coals about it, but it was still there. Orders or not, it was still he, SSG Henry Green US Marine Corps, who’d pulled the trigger.

Maybe that was why he’d stayed out here so long before falling back. He was a sniper for Gawd's sake. Above them the clouds boiled as lightning flashed down and the winds blew angrily. There weren’t nearly as many enemies in there as there had been. Off to the east he could still see the beginning of sunrise, even through the clouds.

He reached out for the kid and she scrambled into his arms with a sob. And for just for a moment he escaped this lost fight, holding her against his filthy, smelly uniform. The Marine couldn’t blame her for her fear. Hell, he was frightened too, but like that poem that he’d heard ages ago, “He had promises to keep and miles to go before he could sleep.”

The way to the stairs where the rest of the rear guard had gathered for their last stand was a no man’s land of deadly beams and shells. They were cut off, but staying here was certain death. It never occurred to him that maybe she was better able to survive what was to come then he. He simply saw a frightened child that needed him.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “I know you’re scared, but I’ve seen how brave you can be. Now you need to be braver than any kid has ever been before. We can’t stay here, but getting somewhere safe is going to be tricky. I’m going to carry you and run as fast as I can. If I trip and fall, you have to get up and run to your friends on your own. Don’t look back, but run as fast as you can. Can you do that?”

Her green eyes looked up at him, still brimming over with tears, but she nodded.

Taking a deep breath, he discarded his rifle. Gathering her up, he stood, sheltered by the wall that rocked and swayed with all the fire hitting it, blowing away chunks.

Looking for their best chance, he swept the area intently for the safest way. Finally, he whispered, “Are you ready, Sweetheart?”

At her nod, he sprinted forward.

The Marine used every bit of knowledge and skill he had to weave and throw off the aim of the men seeking to kill them. Heart pounding in his chest; almost there! Then in almost slow motion he began to fall. He felt the wetness running down his leg but no pain.

With all of his strength he threw her forward as he fell. “Fly baby fly!”

He couldn’t keep the silly smile from his lips as she soared upwards, but then he hit the ground. Curious, he looked at the blood, but he still didn’t feel any pain. Perhaps that was the best he could hope, but then it came to him that wasn’t it. “The best was that little girl just might have a chance to live,” he thought, as his eyes closed for the last time.

Lizzie knew she should’ve stayed downstairs where she’d been told, but she wanted to help. Just like she had fighting the monsters in the video games, and that big scary glowing thing.

But it was so different with all the fire and explosions. It was simply too much for her, too much for anyone. Everyone was so busy they didn’t have time for her. She’d gotten scared and tried to hide. Then that man had almost fell over her. He was really dirty and he smelled, but held her and tried to help.

Now she was flying away from all that bad stuff. She knew she wasn’t supposed to look back but she did. He just laid there, unmoving. Lizzie knew somehow he wasn’t going to get back up again. More tears racked her, she was just a little girl! This wasn’t supposed to happen to her.

But she wasn’t just a little girl. Lizzie had changed and gotten stronger. She could fly now, and she could play rough. Even with a really big kid like Malik and not get hurt.

Down there she could see those scary big metal robot thingies fighting her friends, Amanda, Malak, Billie and the boys. She knew in her heart that like the smelly man who’d helped, they wouldn’t be getting back up if they fell.

A loud roar made her look up. One of those helicopter things was shooting at her! Startled, she froze as it shot at her. She could see the men inside looking at her, but all the bullet things just bounced off, whizzing away.

In their eyes she saw that same mean look like Jeffrey had, he who’d terrorized her so long ago in school, but in theirs it was even worse. They wanted to hurt her and even liked it. In her mind, things connected. Looking down at that gun still shooting at her, she smiled. They couldn’t hurt her, but she could hurt them. But that caused her to frown, remembering that talk she had with Mr. Glenn who was now Miss Val.

She didn’t want to be a bully but she had to stop them from hurting anyone ever again. Earlier she’d seen Miss Val fly right through a flying saucer thing. She could do that!

Meanwhile the helicopter had opened a door and let one of those big fireworks things fly at her. It’d made a bigger boom and the noise was scary, but other than knock her back in the air a little, it didn’t hurt.

Her six year old face got hard. No more bullies!

Like a 40 lb missile, she smashed through the RAH-66, tearing it in two.

As it fell, Lizzie could see more bullies. She flashed towards them, the sun rising behind her.

To be Continued.