by Libby, Seth
“Causing trouble again, Pierre? Perhaps we should all go outside and settle who is right and who is in the wrong?” said the blonde man as he cracked his knuckles.
Though the Frenchman was arrogant and felt he was above the others, he wasn’t stupid. He could see he was outnumbered three to one and his group would lose this fight. Making a disgusted noise in his throat, he glared first at the blonde man, then at Evan, before stalking off toward the bleachers. Once gone, the blonde man turned to Evan and introduced himself.
“Hi, name’s Callen Groto,” he said as he shook Evan’s hand. “I see you have met Pierre Petiot. I may not remember who I was before the enhancements, but I do remember I didn’t like the French, and he is a perfect example of why. Aside from that, it’s good we came along when we did, my friend, because I don’t know about you, but from what I have heard, that guy retained some knowledge of his past life . . . the knowledge of an eighth-degree black belt.”
Looking rather affronted, Evan glanced over his shoulder at the back of Pierre. “Yeah, that could have been a problem, seeing as I don’t know any martial arts and that I am sure of, because I do have all my memories,” said Evan.
“Oh, so you are the blokes who had their memories return. Tell me, was it worth it, or would you have rather they stayed buried?” asked Callen.
“Well, I can’t really say. There are things I would have preferred to stayed buried, but then again, there are some things that I am happy I remember.”
Callen looked at Evan questioningly for a minute as if waiting for him to elaborate on what was better or worse before he realized he wasn’t going to get an answer.
“Well, I think we had better get to the bleachers, as it looks like we are about to begin,” said Callen, and then he strode off.
Once everyone was seated, a short Asian man stepped forward from the group at the base of the bleachers.
“Welcome. I am Major Yasakai, and I will be one of your instructors in this section of the training. Here you will learn the art of several forms of martial arts in combination with several forms of the use of the sword.” At this, he held up a metal cylindrical object roughly seven inches in length. A small metal loop hung off the end of one side, which Liam assumed was there to hook on to a belt, and the other end had a hole at its center and was surrounded by what looked to be several tiny crystals.
“This will be your primary weapon in hand-to-hand combat. It is a plasma sword, a weapon that generates a plasma blade of intense heat.”
Thumbing a switch on cylinder, a white shining beam of light extended to roughly three feet in length. A low hum emitted from the white blade as he moved it about.
“Now, your weapons will not have activation switches as you see here; rather, your weapons will activate through your nanites. As you know, the nanites throughout your bodies transmit information through electrical impulses. These impulses will transmit the activation codes to any plasma sword, which in turn will activate the blade. It is designed this way so that only you and you pilots alone can wield such deadly weapons. To trigger the nanites, all you need to do is think about the sword igniting and the blade will activate. Now we have prepared a small demonstration of the intensity of the heat of one of these blades.”
Major Yasakai then turned and walked to a platform that stood against the far wall. On the platform, a rectangular sheet of metal--roughly four feet tall, two feet wide, and a foot in length--stood upright. Major Yasakai turned and showed the blade to the pilots, then in a quick fluid motion spun and drove the blade straight into the metal sheet. The blade passed through without (it seemed) any resistance. With the blade impaling the sheet, the surrounding metal directly in contact with it started to glow orange with heat. After another few seconds, Major Yasakai then pulled the blade from the sheet of metal and spun in a complete circle to bring the blade in contact with the right side of the sheet. Instead of becoming lodged in the metal, the blade passed cleanly through, shearing the sheet of metal in half, the upper section falling to the floor with a tremendous boom echoing throughout the room. Turning back, Major Yasakai walked back over to the pilots in the bleachers, shutting down the blade.
“As you can see by the demonstration, these weapons demand the highest respect and training. The weapons you will be using have been modified to only sting you slightly when they come in contact, so have no fear that any of you might accidentally kill each other. Now, if there are no further questions, please report to your designated mats.”
All the pilots made their way to a set of bins that contained practice swords, retrieved one, and then went over to the instructors they had been assigned to. Liam’s squadron, it seemed, had Major Yasakai as an instructor. They were with the two squadrons from the UK they had met earlier.
The entire day was spent in instruction in martial arts and the use of the sword. While Liam was a quick learner, he still was no match for Major Yasakai and was soon covered in small stinging welts from the Major’s sword. By the end of the day, Liam was exhausted; muscles he never knew existed burned from the long day of extended usage.
July 31, 2012, 6:30 p.m. ESTHanscom Air Force Base
“God, muscles I never knew I had feel like they are on fire,” moaned Crystal as they all walked back to their quarters.
“How are they going to expect us to do this again tomorrow? I won’t be able to move,” groaned April Groth.
“Oh, I don’t think we will have any problems,” said Tim as he thumbed his ear.
Looking at Tim questioningly, April waited for him to elaborate; when he didn’t, she queried, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I think our little friends throughout our bodies will remove any fatigue our bodies might experience,” mused Tim.
No one said anything to this and they all resumed their silent trudge back to their dormitory. It wasn’t until they were almost there that someone spoke.
“Hey, Evan, did you see your buddy training?” asked Michael Stert.
“You mean that French asshole?” replied Evan. “No, I didn’t--why?”
“Well, I did, and he really is as good as that English pilot said. He completely dismantled everyone they sent up against him, then went on to beat two pilots at once,” explained Michael.
Evan swallowed hard and looked rather sick at hearing that.
“Well, he hasn’t taken on any of Necro Squadron yet!” said Steven Barrows excitedly, but no one seemed to share his enthusiasm.
The following two weeks were spent in flight simulation for the first four hours of the day. They would break for lunch, and then the next six hours were spent devoted to training in hand-to-hand combat. Only Fridays were any different: those days were spent in class learning military tactics and the art of war.
As for the fatigue April had been worried about, Tim had been accurate in his assumption. By the following morning, all signs of fatigue had dissipated; in fact, all the pilots felt completely rested and energized.
During one particular session with the plasma sword, someone asked an interesting question that made Liam wonder about the limits of their new enhancements. As the Necros were practicing, Darren “Wraith” Driji turned and spoke to a Meshtrell who had been standing to the side, watching Liam.
“What good will these swords be against one of the Shenkar’s energy rifles?”
The Meshtrell cocked its head to the side for a few seconds before it spoke.
“Well, if the bolt is going to hit you, then simply deflect it away with the sword.”
All the pilots looked at each other, smiling, everyone thinking it was a joke. When the Meshtrell didn’t elaborate further, all the pilots’ smiles slipped from their faces.
“How is that possible?” asked Steven.
The Meshtrell again looked at Steven for a few seconds and then turned and walked over to a storage locker. Steven stared after him, then looked at the rest of Necro Squadron.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked everyone.
Before a
nyone could reply, the Meshtrell’s voice called out across the room. “Mr. Barrows, here is your answer.”
Steven turned, and the smile that was on his face immediately fell at what he saw. The Meshtrell was standing next to the locker, holding up a Shenkar energy pistol, and it was aimed directly at Steven.
“Please ignite your sword, Mr. Barrows,” said the Meshtrell
Steven glanced around at his fellow pilots, a disconcerted look upon his face. Slowly, he started to raise his sword, igniting it as he did. As soon as the blade came to life, the Meshtrell fired. It happened quicker than Liam thought possible. Steven’s hands seemed to move on their own. The blade came up quickly, moving into the path of the energy beam, neatly deflecting the blade up into the ceiling. Then the Meshtrell fired three more times in succession. Steven’s blade was a blur as it again deflected the shots harmlessly away. The Meshtrell gave a slight nod of its head as it lowered its weapon.
Returning the pistol to the locker, the Meshtrell then walked back over to the mat, speaking as it walked.
“As you can see, the nanites in your body transmit the trajectory information of the shot to your brain. Therefore, naturally knowing the trajectory, you can simply deflect the shots away. Now, any further questions?” The Meshtrell asked this in a tone that sounded slightly annoyed--if that was possible for a Meshtrell.
Dimitri was the next to pose a question. “Well, what if we are shot by just a normal gun? Bullets are awfully small.”
Making a noise that this time definitely sounded as if it was annoyed at even being asked that question, the Meshtrell spoke: “Your body armor is more than sufficient to protect vital areas against any light to medium kinetic weapons.” And with that, the Meshtrell turned and walked away.
August 14, 2012, 10:30 a.m. ESTWhite House Oval Office, Washington, DC
“The networks have been told that a major announcement will be given tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. It will be held at FedEx Field with all of the major governments in attendance,” said the President’s aide.
“Thank you, Jane,” replied President Sheehan.
Adam Sheehan waited for his aide to depart before turning back to the assembled group.
“So all preparations are set for tomorrow, and we have put together a slight demonstration for the public. We will introduce the soldiers with a squadron of Scorpion fighters flying in overhead. Who is currently the number-one-ranked squadron, Mr. Johansin?”
Milton Johansin glanced through his notes, then looked up. “That would be Necro Squadron, sir. They outperform the other pilots by a significant percentage.”
“Okay, so they will be the squadron for the demonstration . . .” President Sheehan trailed off when he noticed Colin Denshire, the Prime Minister of the UK, put his hand up in an attempt to get the President’s attention.
“Yes, Colin? You have a question?” asked Adam.
“Yes, I was curious--can we continue to just refer to these men as soldiers? I mean, don’t they deserve a title?”
Looking taken aback for a few seconds, the President sat in silence as he mulled it over in his head.
“Good point, Colin; it would be inappropriate and an injustice to continue referring to these men and women in such an insignificant manner. Does anyone have any ideas?”
“Actually, I have been thinking it over for a while now, and I believe I have an idea,” said Colin.
August 14, 2012, 6:48 p.m. ESTHanscom Air Force Base
Liam watched his opponent as they both circled the mat. Second after second ticked by, but neither made a move to close the space in between. Suddenly, his opponent lunged at him, swinging his blade upward. Liam sidestepped narrowly, avoiding the blade that came to occupy the area his head had just left. His opponent stepped back as he gathered himself for another attack. Three times his opponent had tried this maneuver, and every time Liam had simply sidestepped away from him.
Weeks of this type of training had worked his body, speed, and hand-eye coordination into a finely tuned organic machine. True, he hadn’t really been out of shape before, but he couldn’t think of ever being in better shape than he was now, including his days on the police force. Along with packing on twenty pounds of muscle, he also noticed how he appeared so much younger. Yesterday, he had been looking in the mirror when for the first time in many weeks he had taken a closer look at himself. If he were to guess, he would say that he now looked twenty-one.
Again, his opponent attacked, and again, Liam sidestepped, but this time as he stepped aside, he brought his blade up, knocking the blade farther to the side, and stepped inward toward his opponent. Once in close, Liam spun, bringing the back of his elbow around, arcing it upward. With a satisfying thud, Liam felt his elbow connect hard with the head of his opponent. His opponent crumpled to the mat, unconscious from the looks of it.
“ENOUGH!” commanded the voice of Major Yasakai.
Liam stepped back, shutting down his blade as he looked at the crumpled form of his opponent. Cheers rose from behind him from his fellow squad mates, as well as the cheers of several other squadrons who had been watching. Many had been waiting to see this matchup for the past few weeks. All had been cheering for Liam--well, all except his opponent’s squadron. Pierre Petiot lay in a crumpled heap, still not moving. Liam began to fear he might have killed him. But before long, paramedics managed to revive him with smelling salts. Once he was sure Pierre was okay, he then turned to the congratulations of his fellow pilots.
“YEAH! That was incredible; I knew you could best him,” said Steve as he clapped Liam on the back.
“You were incredible, mate; you moved faster than I thought anyone possibly could,” agreed Callen.
“Well, that should shut up that French asshole about who is the best,” said Evan as he shook Liam’s hand.
“Lieutenant Brennan and the rest of Necro Squadron . . .
ATTENTION!” came a voice from behind them.
“Hey, I didn’t know Samuel L. Jackson was here!” whispered Evan.
Turning, Liam saw General Kelvin walking toward him. He had never formally met the man, but from what he had heard, he was not someone to cross--although he had to admit that Evan was right, Kelvin did look like Samuel L. Jackson. The General was one of very few African Americans in the armed forces who had risen to the rank of General, and he was known to be harder on other African Americans under his command than any other race.
Liam snapped to attention, saluting the General once he came closer. Barely sparing a glance to the moaning form of Pierre, Kelvin returned the salute. Looking first at Liam with a measuring gaze, he then surveyed the men and women arrayed behind him who were similarly standing at attention and saluting. Kelvin then once again looked at Liam before he spoke.
“It has come to my attention that you and your squadron are the best. I have a need for the best in a little demonstration we have prepared. Tomorrow, we will announce to the world what is coming. With that, we will introduce you all and the sacrifice that you are all prepared to make. You will be happy to know that tomorrow you will finally get to fly a real Scorpion fighter. Please don’t crash it--it would be very embarrassing if we told the world you are our only hope between life and destruction, and then you went and crashed your fighters doing something stupid.”
That last part seemed to be aimed at Evan as the General focused his gaze directly at him.
August 15, 2012, 1:30 p.m. ESTCarl’s Electronics
Leah scanned in the returns, oblivious to those around her, her mind lost in thoughts of Liam. It had been just over two months since Liam had disappeared with the FBI. Where could he have gone? She regretted their last time together, how she had lashed out at him that way. She had been angry, but more with herself. She was aware she cared very much for Liam, but she severely doubted she was in love with him. If she was in love with him, what would her friends and family think? He was sixteen years older than she was; when she was thirty-four, he would be fifty.
Yet she knew that t
hose arguments held no weight. If you loved someone, then age didn’t matter, so what was she so afraid of? She missed him terribly. He had always been there to make her smile, and she liked the way he looked at her. Lately, when he looked at her, she could see the love in his eyes. She knew he would never let her down and that he would go to the ends of the Earth to protect her. His looks filled her with a warmth she had never experienced with anyone else. Sitting there, deep in thought, Leah became aware of someone speaking to her.
“Leah? Hello, Leah? Anyone home in there?” said Erica, a friend and coworker.
“Oh, sorry, I was just thinking,” said Leah.
“Yes, I noticed--what is with you lately? Ever since Liam disappeared, you have been in your own world,” asked Erica.
“Yeah, I am just worried about him. He’s had a tough past couple of years with his wife, son, and most of his family dying.” She paused for a few seconds, then said, “We have become good friends, and I would hate for anything to have happened to him.”
Erica looked at Leah, searching Leah’s face, and then smiled. “You love him! I can’t believe I never saw it before. I knew he cared very much for you--it’s evident by the way he looks at you--but I never dreamed you felt the same way,” she said excitedly.
“Love him? Get serious. I care very much for him, sure, but I am not in love with him. I mean, just look how much difference in age we are! My family would have a fit, never mind the harassment friends would give me about dating such an older guy,” said Leah.
“You get serious . . . since when do you care what your family thinks? And speaking as one of your friends, I can tell you that I sure wouldn’t harass you about Liam. He is a great guy, and I have seen how he looks at you . . . he loves you. I remember when he first started here. He had such a lonely hollow look to him, but you changed all that. You breathed new life into his dead soul.”
