From last time:
********
Talan bowed as she entered the reception room, with its soaring, vaulted ceilings. The First Minister rose to his feet as she approached. He seemed healthier and stronger than he did just a few days earlier. While he was still thinner than he was before his capture, he had regained much of the lost weight and his complexion was no longer pale, but there was still an incredible sadness in his eyes. She could not help but notice it, and it caused her to worry more than she had expected. Having seen just a glimpse of what he had lost and what he had endured, she wished for him to have a life free of these difficulties. He had sacrificed so much for a world that wasn’t even his and for people he did not know. If anyone deserved a life of happiness, it was him. “I am sorry to disturb you, sir. I know that you are busy,” she began.
“Not at all,” he replied graciously. “What can I do for you, Commander?” He gingerly lowered himself back into his chair.
Talan sat down in the empty chair across from his. “I first wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night,” she said. “There was no justification or excuse for my insubordination.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kal El replied warmly.
“Sir, I wish to apologize, but I also wanted to make amends. I know that the most difficult burdens to bear are the ones we bear alone. I realize that I may not be the most inviting or sympathetic of people, but if you wish to speak with someone, I am always willing to listen.”
“Thank you,” he replied quietly with a brief ghost of a smile. “I am grateful. I’m just not sure I’m ready to talk about it yet.”
She nodded. “I understand, sir.”
He looked down at his hands silently. Long moments passed and she wondered if he wished her to leave, even though he had not dismissed her. It seemed possible because he was so polite and the strictures of military protocol were so obviously alien to him. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice so low she scarcely heard him. And she imagined for a moment that she must have misheard him; what did he have to apologize for?
He looked up at long last and his dark eyes met hers and she could tell that she hadn’t heard him wrong. There was contrition and sorrow etched into his expression. “You’ve been a great friend to me, and I’m afraid I haven’t done the same. Before you mentioned it the other day, I never thought about whether you had someone you could speak to when things get to be too much.”
She drew in a deep breath. She shouldn’t have been surprised. It was so characteristic of him to think of the people around him even when, by all rights, he should have been consumed by his own pain. And yet, it amazed her that he could think he’d been lacking in compassion. Talan could say with no hesitation, that Kal El had never, at any point in his life, lacked compassion. “Commanding is a lonely profession, sir, but you already knew that,” she replied.
“But even I don’t do this completely alone. I’ve depended so much on you, as well as on Zara, and Ching, and Enza.”
She felt the corners of her mouth turn upward in a slight smile. “I know that I speak for all of them as well as for myself when I say that you have been as great a friend as we could ask for. You lead with tremendous courage and even more compassion. Your example makes us all want to be better than we are.”
For a long moment, he said nothing and merely smiled genuinely. “Thank you,” he whispered at long last.
“Please believe that I meant every word,” she replied.
********
New stuff:
Lois stepped through the metal detector, trying hard not to smirk. She understood that it was White House protocol, but she wasn’t quite certain what anyone thought it would accomplish. A pair of Secret Service agents flanked Ultrawoman as she was led to the West Wing. A presidential aide guided her through the maze of hallways and offices to the anteroom outside the Oval Office.
“Ultrawoman is here to see the president,” the aide announced to the president’s secretary.
“The president is running a few minutes behind schedule,” the efficient, grandmotherly secretary announced. She turned to Lois. “He’s in with the Secretary of State. You can wait here, Ultrawoman, until they’re done.”
“Thank you,” Lois replied.
A few minutes later, the door opened and the Secretary of State walked out. President Young appeared in the doorway, a big grin on his face. “Ultrawoman! Nice to see you,” he said, his hand outstretched.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. President,” she said as she shook his hand. She followed him into the Oval Office. She was entirely on his turf now.
One of the Secret Service agents pulled the door shut. President Young sat down in the wingback chair near the two sofas in the middle of the room. He rested his elbows on the armrests, his hands folded in front of him. “Nasty problem down there in…” he frowned, his eyes narrowed as though he were trying to remember something. “Kinwara,” he muttered.
Lois remained standing, her hands clasped stiffly in front of her. “Yes, sir,” she replied simply.
“And it seems you’ve been causing quite a stir.”
Lois bit her lip to keep from scowling. He was making it sound like she’d been starting food fights in the cafeteria. “I’ve been doing what I can,” she said coolly. “But I was hoping to get more support from your administration. The money earmarked for aid to Kinwara has been cut from the budget.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve made clear what my administration’s priorities are,” President Young replied, his tone making clear he wasn’t the least bit apologetic, irrespective of his words.
“Surely there has to be some money somewhere,” she countered.
“It’s not just the money. This situation is a mess. There are no national interests at stake, no political will to get involved. And the Chinese and Russians will pitch a fit if we get into this hornets’ nest. It’s not our problem.”
She reached under her cape, drawing the attention of the two Secret Service agents. For goodness sake, if she were going to be a threat, she certainly wouldn’t have needed a weapon. The agents backed off as she pulled out an envelope. She took out the stack of photos Jimmy had taken, the ones too graphic and disturbing for the paper, and dropped them on the coffee table, just in front of President Young. “It is our problem,” she replied sternly. “It isn’t difficult to explain to me, here, in your office, why this isn’t a priority of yours, but try explaining that to those children, or actually, since they’re all dead, to their mothers.”
He glared, unblinking, at her. “Are you claiming this is my fault?” the President asked with an incredulity bordering on anger.
“No, Mr. President. I know you didn’t cause it, but you’re the only one who can stop it.”
“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Ultrawoman, and you aren’t doing anything to win yourself allies. Careful you don’t make enemies you can’t afford to have.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t care whether I make any allies. This isn’t about me. But you’re right about one thing. You and I can’t afford to have each other as enemies. I need your help. I can deliver food and round up rebels, but I’m just trying to stanch the bleeding until someone comes along with a better plan. Mr. President, you don’t just have the power, you have the credibility and respect to change this situation. If you talk about Kinwara, people will listen. If you make it a priority, others will, too.”
“Ultrawoman, I know why this is important to you. It’s a worthy cause. But you don’t have 300 million bosses, expecting you to do the job you were hired for. I can’t get bogged down in every problem in every small third world country.”
“Sir, we’re talking about genocide. About the wholesale destruction of an entire country, an entire people.”
The president frowned but said nothing. He glanced down at his watch. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve got a lot of appointments today. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, trying to tamp down the disappointment.
********
“Ease off the thruster,” Zara instructed calmly.
Dek Ra slid the control lever forward slowly. He glanced over at his older sister from the co-pilot’s seat. “When will we be switching to the Interceptor?” he asked impatiently.
“When you are ready,” came the terse reply.
“But I am ready,” he insisted.
Zara reached forward and took the controls in front of her. She toggled a switch on the control panel. Once her controls were engaged, Dek Ra was no longer able to pilot the ship. She suddenly cut the power to the number four engine, increased the thrust to the number one engine, and set the messenger into a corkscrew spin. The ship stalled and started to drop like a stone.
“Zara!” De Ra cried. “What are you doing?” He reached for the co-pilot’s controls, but the ship did not respond. He looked over at his sister, his eyes wide with fear. “We’re going to crash! Do something!”
Zara reached out calmly and flipped the switch that turned control of the ship over to the co-pilot. Dek Ra reached immediately for the controls. “Wait!” she commanded loudly.
“Zara, we’re going to die!” His voice cracked.
“Take the controls,” she said evenly.
“What do I do? What do I DO?”
“Cut the power to the numbers one, two, and three engine,” she said quietly. He immediately complied. “Good, now increase thrust to the number four engine back to ten per cent.” The spin of the messenger slowed. Once they were right side up again, she instructed “now, turn gently against the direction of the roll.”
Dek Ra held the controls tightly in his bone white hands. The messenger finally righted itself, but continued to lose altitude. “Rotate the numbers two and three engine thrusters ninety degrees and increase power to one hundred percent, and cut power to the number four engine.” He reached forward and turned the proper knobs. The messenger’s descent slowed and stopped. It hovered gently, a few hundred feet above the ground.
The young man let out a shuddering sigh and wiped the sweat away from his brow. His skin looked clammy and green. “Wh…why did you do that?”
“There are two lessons you need to take away from this,” she instructed. “First, you must follow my directions exactly, without hesitation. Second, you must respect the ship you fly. Any craft, even a slow and dependable messenger, can easily take a pilot’s life. Once you learn that respect, we will discuss flying an interceptor.”
Dek Ra’s eyes grew wide as he lurched forward and vomited.
********
Where was that damned cell phone? Lois x-rayed the entire farmhouse looking for the blasted thing. She could hear it buzzing, having been left on vibrate. She found it at last, buried under a pile of the morning’s paper in the den. She zipped downstairs and snatched the buzzing cell phone before it could transfer the call to voicemail. “Lois Lane,” she said into the phone.
“Uh, Ms. Lane, I’m calling from the Kinwara Action Network,” came the sound of a young man’s voice on the other end.
“What can I do for you?” Lois asked as she pushed aside her notes and laptop and took a seat on the couch.
“There’s a Save Kinwara rally of college student groups at Metropolis University, and we’re trying to get a speaker for the event.”
“And you want me to ask Ultrawoman for you?” she asked.
“N...no. Actually, we wanted you to speak,” he replied.
“Oh,” she replied. “Really?” She didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but she had no idea why a bunch of college kids would want to hear her speak.
“Yeah, Ms. Lane. Your writing motivated a lot of us to get involved. We were hoping you’d be willing to speak, maybe give us some ideas of how we can do more.”
“Well, okay then,” she replied.
“Great!” the kid replied. He began to rattle off the details of the event and thanked her profusely. When she finally hung up, she closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Finally, it seemed like there was proof that someone was reading what she wrote. A few kids had taken notice. It might not have been much, but it was a start. It was something.
********
Lok Sim followed a few steps behind Captain Enza, carrying a satchel of documents and communications equipment. The captain was the junior-most advisor in the diplomatic mission to the Belaar Valley and he was just there to make sure that their lines of communication were functional and secure. The talks had seemed less tense today than they were the previous day. He believed that progress was being made. A few more days of negotiations remained and like everyone else, he hoped they would be fruitful.
It was late and over the past few days, no one seemed to have slept well. Nerves were worn thin and tempers had flared, resulting in tensions not just in the heavily guarded conference rooms but also in the unused barracks building where the diplomatic team had been staying. Commander Ching had been staying in the commanding officer’s quarters, with the rest of the staff housed in the surrounding officers’ barracks. Lok Sim had commandeered an old conference room to set up the mission’s communications network. Secured communications lines kept the mission in constant contact with the main colony. He transmitted regular updates to the First Ministers and senior members of the Council, apprising them of the state of the negotiations. If he stopped to think about it, it was rather surreal, being at the very heart of some of the most important events in his world’s history. But for the most part he didn’t dwell on the historical significance, or the strange confluence of events which brought him here, as much an outsider, a bystander to the action as possible.
A few members of the elite Expeditionary Forces stood guard in the corridors. They would maintain their watch throughout the night, while the negotiators and their advisors slept. As an enlisted man, Lok Sim had more in common with the guards than with the officers and career diplomats. Like them, Lok Sim never signed up for a life of war or politics. He was fulfilling his duty to his planet. He expected one day to have a quieter, simpler life. Or at least, he hoped to. But instead of staying in the bunks, six to a room, he was assigned to a junior officer’s quarters, adjacent to Captain Enza’s.
They reached her room first. Enza disarmed and opened the door. Lok Sim stepped forward to place the heavy satchel on the floor just inside the door. He stepped back into the hallway. “Goodnight, ma’am,” he said quietly.
“Goodnight, sergeant,” she replied.
“If you need anything,” he said, gesturing toward his own room, next door.
“Thank you,” she said graciously, a small smile forming at her lips.
“Goodnight,” he repeated, smiling sheepishly. He turned and walked the short distance to his own room.
********
Clark’s limp was barely noticeable as he made the long walk through the corridor to the senior officers’ gymnasium. He hadn’t been in the training room since before the abduction and was still in no shape to consider a workout. He stepped through the entryway into the gym, which was almost empty.
Almost.
In China and India he’d seen warriors practicing their martial arts. The slow, meditative techniques of Tai Chi and yoga seemed delicate and reflective, but they were actually modified versions of the very same overpowering techniques used in combat. Elegant and effortless, these arts were a form of meditation; designed to keep the practitioner in perfect control over his or her body. Kryptonians practiced a similar art, of which Talan was clearly a master.
She moved silently and gracefully through each position and technique, long ago committed to memory. Her back to him, he’d been fairly certain that she hadn’t noticed him enter until she said, “What can I do for you, sir?” as she stopped and turned around.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Commander,” he replied hastily.
“Not at all,” she said as she approached him. “Did you wish to speak to me, sir?”
“Yes, I was hoping we could talk…” he trailed off, trying to find the words to ask for help.
“Of course, sir,” she replied graciously, saving him the trouble. Any other man would have noticed the commander’s striking presence. Her sparring uniform left her arms bare. Her long, slender limbs were perfectly toned, her body balanced between strength and grace. Her every movement was blend of elegance and power. Any other man would have noticed. But not Clark.
Talan nodded slightly. “If you could give me a moment, I will get cleaned up.”
“Sure,” he stammered. He waited until she’d retreated from the gymnasium before letting out a sigh. He’d never much been good at asking for help. Now it was even harder. He’d spent the last two years pretending he knew all the answers. Pretending that he could make every decision without hesitation, without doubts or second guesses. How was he supposed to admit that he wasn’t in control?
********
Clark sat silently in the darkened reception room in the First Ministers’ quarters long after Talan had left. His body and mind were exhausted; recounting the details he remembered of his imprisonment was almost like reliving them. But she had listened to him, never interrupting to second guess or judge his reactions. She had been able to provide him with perspectives and insights he didn’t posses. And she had understood, in a way that perhaps no one else in the world ever could. She had seen the depths of human darkness before. He had to admit that it was a relief not to have to worry that he was burdening her with something she wouldn’t be able to deal with.
It had been a struggle to maintain his composure while he talked. As certain as he was that Talan understood the baser instincts in human beings, that she knew the extent of the fear and hatred and desperation they could exhibit, she seemed uncertain how to act when faced with vulnerability. Both physical and emotional vulnerability were fairly new experiences for Clark. He was never quick to cry, but there had been occasions that had brought Superman to tears. Disasters that had overwhelmed him, especially early on.
But here, he’d wept in relief for the first time in his life, when Talan had returned Lois’s wedding ring to him. Losing it had crushed him. How could he be anything but a failure as a man and a husband? He’d promised her he would keep it safe – as safe as his love for her. And he’d failed. So when the ring was returned to him, he couldn’t even try to contain his relief.
He’d reached for his friend’s hand and she held on as tightly as he did, but he knew that she guarded and controlled her emotions tightly. Back then, he’d had no real choice – he’d been so overwhelmed that he could no more have controlled his reactions than he could have turned back time. But now, he worried that letting the floodgates open on his own fears and feelings would only make Talan uncomfortable. It was better to discuss things as honestly, but as dispassionately as possible. So he’d closed his eyes and pretended he was recounting the details of a story. Something he’d seen or heard about, instead of experienced. But the pretending hadn’t done much good. It was strange how clear the memories were. How vividly he could remember the sounds echoing in each of a dozen prisons, the way that the cold shackles had dug into the skin of his wrists, the burning dryness in his throat and the gnawing pain in his stomach.
Even though they weren’t real, describing the nightmares was the hardest. They hollowed him out, leaving him empty and broken. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain the helplessness he’d felt – like he was being pinned down while the one person he loved more than anything was destroyed. He’d tried, nonetheless. He’d managed to keep himself more or less together and as he’d finished talking. When it was over, he suddenly felt like he was able to take a deep breath for the first time in months. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d been expecting.
********
Lois made the quick flight up the eastern seaboard from Washington to Metropolis. Flying over the densely packed skyscrapers, avoiding the flight paths of planes circling the city’s airports, she descended near the small, well manicured campus of the United Nations. She walked toward the diplomats’ entrance, where she was quietly escorted toward the Security Council chambers by several of the UN’s police officers.
The process was fairly similar to the one she’d undergone that same morning at the Capitol, where she’d testified before a lukewarm Senate Foreign Relations Committee. At least those in power were giving her the time of day, even if they weren’t really listening. The afternoon’s meeting was a more informal discussion on the fact finding mission that had been sent to Kinwara. They were making some progress, but it still felt like baby steps, and the road in front of them could hardly have been longer or more dangerous.
She was led to the already assembled group of diplomats in a soaring, cavernous meeting room, decorated by a mural depicting the beating of a sword into a ploughshare, donated by some Scandinavian country, Lois couldn’t recall which. In quiet, polite tones, the ambassadors discussed the mission’s latest report. Uncharacteristically, Lois held her tongue, speaking only to answer questions or correct misunderstandings. It was excruciatingly painful and she felt the anxiety welling up inside her, but she drew up every bit of self-restraint she possessed and remained quiet. The blunt, upfront approach had failed with this bunch. Perhaps it was time to take a page out of Clark’s playbook. Instead of trying to draw information directly out of her targets, the way she did in interviews, she’d sit back, observe, pick up on their tells, and figure out their bluffs. It was a maddening endeavor and she was certain that the only reason her husband could do it was because he spent his childhood waiting around for corn to grow.
She nodded approvingly when the French Ambassador, Dominque de Saint Antoine, explained that the fact finding mission’s report suggested that the UN needed to take more decisive action. And bit her tongue when Ambassador Lin disagreed. At least the Russian envoy wasn’t nearly as vocal in his opposition to further action. After hours of polite diplomat-speak, the meeting was adjourned. In the hallways outside the meeting room, Ultrawoman was intercepted by a tall, thin man in a grey suit. He smiled as he asked for a moment of her time.
“Certainly,” she replied.
“I’m Rob Grey, security attaché to the Canadian permanent mission,” he introduced himself. Juggling a stack of folders, he managed to free his right hand and extend it to her.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Grey?” she asked.
“It’s more about what I can do for you. The Canadian government wants to put forward a proposal to increase troop strength and broaden the UN mandate, in conjunction with the opening of negotiations for a cease fire. We want you involved.”
Lois felt a sudden surge of exhilaration. “Just tell me how I can help.”
The Canadian attaché gave her a tight lipped smile that reached his pale blue eyes. “I’ll call the Canadian ambassador.”
********
In the darkened hallway, Talan unholstered her sidearm and crept forward silently, keeping her back against the corridor wall. Her heart began to pound and she couldn’t will it to slow down. Her throat was suddenly so dry she could barely swallow. In long, soundless strides she moved toward the threat. She had been tracking Nor for what seemed like ages. Ceaselessly, relentlessly, hunting him like an animal. And now she was finally drawing near her prey. She would have him trapped, cornered.
The stillness was shattered by an almost inhuman scream. It tore through the hallways, echoing like thunder. She ran at a full sprint, headlong toward the source of the screams. She knew that voice. Rounding one corner and then the next, she ran even faster and harder through the maze of hallways and cramped passages. She couldn’t tell if the screams continued or if it was just that they echoed in her ears.
The hallway suddenly spilled into a large, dark room. In it stood the target of her hunt and just in front of him, the source of the screams, broken and bruised, just like they’d found him months ago. Nor placed his weapon against his victim’s temple. She yelled at him to drop it. She repeated the order, but he just smiled at her, his eyes dull and lifeless.
Talan felt her hands tighten around her weapon, her grip causing her hands to tremble. Her pulse thundered so loudly she was certain everyone in the room could hear it. Again, she demanded that Nor drop his weapon, as she kept hers trained on him. She watched, suddenly stunned with horror, as his finger twitched against the trigger. Before she could react, he pulled it. And Kal El fell, blood pooling immediately.
She heard herself scream, but it seemed to be coming from miles away. She moved forward in her long, measured strides and began firing. She kept shooting, long after Nor had dropped to the floor in a boneless heap.
The commander sat bolt upright in bed. Her heart thundering like a trip hammer in her chest. Her skin soaked with sweat. Her breaths came in labored gasps as she stared, wide eyed, at the blank wall across from her. She’d murdered a man in her dream. A vicious, homicidal brute that deserved to die, but it was still murder. And it was done in revenge. She’d killed because she wanted to.
She stood up swiftly and began peeling off her clothes as she made her way to her washroom. It was only a dream, but even the worst nightmares she’d suffered had never been this disturbing. Most often, she’d just relived past experiences she would have rather forgotten. But this time, she’d been driven by rage and anger and a passionate burst of violence she didn’t understand. Something foreign and ugly was screaming and burning to work its way out of her. And instead of forcing it back down, cramming it away in some small, dark corner of her soul, she let it out.
The dream had, no doubt, been brought on by her conversation with Kal El. With great reluctance, he had told her not only what had happened to him, but also about the nightmares that now plagued him. He’d known that his fears, fears that Nor would harm his wife and that he’d be powerless to help her, were irrational, but they were real nonetheless. His mind was turning his sense of powerlessness into his greatest fear. After they had rescued him, he had been treated to help keep the memories from consuming him, but the treatment worked best when it was begun immediately after the trauma. He’d spent six weeks being tortured. Alone. Forsaken.
The recounting of his experiences haunted her. It had been a mistake to go to sleep that night, to allow herself to succumb to dreams she couldn’t control.
Talan stepped under the cold stream of water and closed her eyes. She’d dreamt of killing because someone she cared about had been killed. What frightened her most was that she did not know whether the feelings and reactions were limited to dreams. The emotions that plagued her were beyond her understanding, but she knew they were wholly inappropriate. She let out a deep breath and suppressed a shiver.
********
Lois flew her patrol over the river basin, scanning the dense jungle for any sign of rebel movements. Thick tendrils of dark smoke curled up from the distant horizon. She stared hard at the source – fires in a small village not far from a refugee camp she often visited with supplies. She changed course, flying straight toward the fires. She swooped low as she approached, snapping branches as she cut through the thicket of trees and heavy brush.
Civilians fled in every direction from the burning buildings. She scanned each of the buildings for trapped people and came to a halt in front of one of the houses. She pulled the door from the hinges and ran into the building. Flames licked the walls and ceiling of the house. In a distant corner, two small children sat huddled together, cowering under the thick blanket of smoke. Lois inhaled the smoke and fumes, clearing the room. She gently knelt and picked up the children. She pulled her cape around them as she rushed out of the house.
A frantic cluster of people waited outside for her. A man came rushing toward them, his arms outstretched. The two children reached back toward him, and Lois released them to his care. She scanned the rest of the area for other potential victims and took off like a bolt. On the other side of the village, away from the fires, another group of people was gathered. The crowd parted as she approached. In the middle, sat Dr. Heller, holding a wet cloth to a large cut on her forehead.
“Dr. Heller, are you all right?” Lois asked as she gently moved past the concerned people gathered around the doctor.
“They took him,” she replied frantically. “They took Luc.”
Lois tried to look at the cut over the doctor’s eyebrow. “I’m fine,” Dr. Heller insisted. She pointed toward a path leading out of the village. “Please, find him.”
With a curt nod, Lois took off. She followed the hard packed road to where it disappeared in the brush, and then followed the tire tracks through the mud. She listened for the sound of truck engines driving away and tried to pick up the scent of exhaust. Lois picked up the trail and took off at full speed in pursuit. Within just a few moments, she’d caught up to the rebels’ jeeps. Luc was laid sprawled out across the backseat of one of the off road vehicles, unconscious. She forced the jeep to pull over and quickly disarmed and bound all three of the rebels. Lois gingerly lifted Dr. Luc Arnault out of the backseat and flew him back toward the village.
Dr. Heller ran to meet them on unsteady legs. A dark bruise had begun to form around her eye. “Luc!” she cried out.
Lois carried him into one of the still standing buildings and laid him down on a table. Dr. Heller never left his side. The doctor looked him over hurriedly. “My bag,” she demanded, the pitch of her voice strained to the breaking point. Lois darted out and found the doctor’s black medical bag. She returned a bare instant later to find Ingrid gently brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. There was a pained look of tenderness on the doctor’s face. Lois handed her the bag and stepped back. There were still rebels tied up in the jungle that she needed to pick up and take to the detention compound.
********
Lois carried the disabled jeep, with its three unwilling passengers, back toward the detention compound. She suddenly slowed as the faint sounds of a radio transmission cut through the typical din of background noises. It was a rebel broadcast and they were coordinating an attack. They used codenames, preventing her from figuring out their targets, but she had a few pretty good guesses. With a burst of speed, she took her charges to the detention center and left them with a guard, unable to take the time to provide an explanation, though one was hardly needed. Several times a week, Ultrawoman visited this compound with new criminals to add to its burgeoning population. She scanned the group of buildings and headed directly for the duty captain to warn him that the rebels might be preparing an assault. He called all of the post’s guards and soldiers to alert. Without the element of surprise, the rebels wouldn’t be able to overrun the base.
She took off for the UN’s base of operations. The loud, staccato bursts of gunfire made her heart stop. The rebels had beaten her there. At full speed, she raced toward the base, frantically trying to think up ways to end an all out battle. Ultrawoman arrived to find the UN compound under full siege. Peacekeepers returned volleys of fire against attackers who had surrounded the base. As she tried to make sense out of the chaos, to determine the best way to help, she located a group of several dozen peacekeepers, outnumbered and outgunned, a short distance away from the base. They were probably returning from a routine patrol. They were surrounded by rebels, completely cut off from the road back toward the base. If they were lucky and the rebels were clever, they’d end up as human shields or hostages, just like the peacekeepers in Bosnia.
Unless, of course, she intervened.
She took off at full speed and quickly disarmed the rebels, moving too fast for any of them to see her. Within moments, she had them bound up. The peacekeepers wasted no time savoring the reversal of their fortunes, and took custody of the rebels. The forces attacking the base, however, had also taken note of the change in the tides and used the opportunity to beat a hasty and chaotic retreat. Jeeps careened down every road leading away from the installation. Men on foot, left behind by their comrades in the confusion, followed. She paused for a moment to consider giving chase, but decided it was more important to check in with General Rapin. There would doubtlessly be injured in need of assistance.
The general rushed through the camp at a brisk jog, shouting orders to his subordinates, and demanding status checks. All around him, his officers had taken responsibility for surveying the damage and triaging the wounded. Ultrawoman headed directly toward the spot where the wounded were being gathered and tended to by the peacekeepers’ medical staff. The most seriously wounded were prepared to be airlifted to hospitals in neighboring countries that had been put on alert. Lois made several trips, ferrying the injured to more advanced medical facilities. Eventually, once the last of the critically wounded was taken care of, she returned to the base and sought out the general.
He paced restlessly in the compound, taking in the extent of the damage, but he stopped and looked up as she approached. “I can’t thank you enough for rescuing my men,” he said, squinting and shielding his eyes from the sunlight. “A daytime raid on our base of operations, the rebels are getting even more daring.”
“I’m just glad I was in the area,” Lois replied.
“It’s that damn radio broadcast,” Rapin spat. “Twenty four hours a day of hate speech and incitement to terror and warfare. They’re probably using it now to regroup. And yet, the Directorate of Peacekeeping Operations won’t let me shut it down.”
Ultrawoman folded her arms across her chest. “Do you know where the signals are being transmitted from?”
The general gave her a terse nod and gestured for her to follow him to his office. On his desk, he spread out a map of the river basin and jungles. Little colored markers dotted the map. “These are the radio towers the rebels are using to broadcast their message. Destroy them and the rebels’ means of communication and organization are destroyed.”
********
