Even so, I needed a big stick. The mini-gun was nice and I had already made a replacement for the one turned to stone, this one mounted to my left arm and was fed by suit power. But, it didn’t have the kind of oomph that would make someone like Ultraweapon think twice—something more was required. My exploration of the magical world wouldn’t give me anything useful for at least three years.
A quick review of my recent catalog was depressing, and showed a distinct lack of inspiration. The maul and the hammer both had potential, but fell dreadfully short of realizing it. Maybe I should stick to pumping electricity into my punches and have a pair of high voltage brass knuckles. In reality, I should avoid punching and stick to ranged combat. The pulse rifle I’d made, for the fight with the bug controlled Olympians, was better when I overloaded it and chucked it at Ares and Apollo. Floater and Roller both had their uses, and I was still loving the whole Dronemaster idea, but I’d need a genuine horde of drones to make Patterson take notice.
Roller was another addition to things that do damage when they blow up.
Wait just a damn minute! I should make something that goes boom! That’s how I made my name in the first place. The self-destruct that I’d used escaping New Orleans put Ares out of commission for a while. I could weaponize another powercell. That’s an expensive proposition, but I do have one or two to spare. If I make it the payload of a missile...
Yes! That would wreak havoc on his shields, and if I could focus it enough, I could drop a whole quadrant on his armor. It would probably be the most expensive shoulder launched missile ever built, but it would be glorious! The lovechild of Nicky Tesla and Robby Oppenheimer, or at least someone in the Oppenheimer family.
In my best Yoda voice I said, “Powerful, this will be. Build this, you must!”
• • •
“You think up some wild shit, sometimes,” Bobby said. “But I gotta tip my hat to you on this one. If I didn’t know any different, I’d never suspect that you’re not in your suit.”
“Thanks,” I said, and took a swig from my beer. He was in a chipper mood after successfully pulling another job. Technically, I was supposed to be on the lookout for him, but I was horrible at following orders. Also, I probably shouldn’t drink and operate my suit at the same time... sure enough; the arm emulated my motion because I forgot to disengage the puppeteer interface. It was something I needed to get used to doing and why I was here for a long weekend. After all, it would look odd if my suit is hanging around the base and suddenly walks into a wall because I’m not thinking, or simulates taking a dump.
I had one of those outfits on that was similar to what the green screen movie makers’ use. My Direct Neural Interface picks up my actions and transmits them to the armor. So far, it’s been easy as pie. Mixing science and magic has never been so simple! Sadly, I hadn’t been able to get back to my lizard magic translations yet, the drones I’d like to make, or any one of a dozen things I should be making.
With so much to do, I was spread thin. At least here, I’d have Bobby’s help with some of the heavy lifting; he wouldn’t ask questions, and I wouldn’t have to lie about the answers.
“I still need to make the powercell bazooka, but I’m glad I have the suit finished. It means there is a good chance I will never have to step foot in the Gulf Coast Guardian headquarters—ever again.”
“You seem happy about that,” Bobby remarked and gulped down the beer he was drinking and reaches for another.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but before you crack open another cold one, Cochise, do you mind going topside and letting me put the suit through its paces? I want to do a little combat practice.”
“So, you’re wantin’ me to mess up the paint job on your fancy new tin can? I can do that.”
His grin troubled me, but I figured it was better to have my shakedown run against a somewhat friendly foe.
One week, and a couple of alterations, later, I had the opportunity to try it against a considerably less accommodating opponent.
• • •
“Major Garner,” Wendy keyed the intercom. “What’s our ETA?”
The female Marine pilot, who was part of a flight team Uncle Sam assigned to us as Andy’s replacement, replied. “We’re thirty minutes from the airspace around St. Louis, but word is coming in that the fighting is getting close to the airport and they may have to evacuate the tower. If that happens, they’re leaving a runway empty for us, but we’ll have to go in with no assistance.”
I tried to dislike the brunette woman on principle, but Janine had one of those “difficult to hate” personalities. On the other hand, I had an easy to dislike personality and though she was polite and professional to me, I could tell that I was being tolerated as part of her assignment.
Our leader replied, “I have every confidence in your ability to get us down safely, Major, but Mechani-CAL and I will do a combat deployment over the combat area and carry our teammates.”
“Understood,” our pilot acknowledged. “I’ll contact the FAA and get priority clearance to drop to a lower ceiling. Good luck to you all.”
“Okay, people,” Wendy said. “The major will get us as close as she can to where the Silicon Sisterhood is getting their ass handed to them by Earth Quaker.”
“They must be in a bad way if they’re calling us for help,” Anemone said.
Wendy bounced Sanford Acojo a reality check. “The Olympians are in Europe, and the other teams won’t get there before we do,” Wendy answered. “Earth Quaker isn’t going to wait for anyone else. It’s time we hero up and show the world what we can do!”
Earth Quaker was a heavy hitter. A coal miner from the western part of Pennsylvania who’d left his religious order to go and make “real money”; he was buried in a cave in before he got his first paycheck. It was weeks before the recovery team made it down there to find what they thought would be his body. He should have died down there, and maybe he did. The rumor mill said he made some kind of unsavory bargain with some power that shouldn’t be dealt with.
The recovery team didn’t make it out alive.
“Charmer, you catch a ride on Mechani-CAL and use your chains to carry the rest of the team. When we get to the ground, we take the fight to him. He’s some kind of earth elemental, so keep moving and don’t stay still for too long. Cal and I will pound him from above. He’s tough, but not invincible. We just need to lead him away from the civilians so there is less collateral damage. Try to get him close to a place with enough water, and I’ll drench him in a waterspout. Water jacks up his powers and makes him weaker, but he is aware of that, so it won’t be easy.”
An oversimplification of the problem, but she certainly has the enthusiasm.
“Cal, do you want a beer?”
I click off my external speaker so I can answer Bobby. “No, we’re about to take on Earth Quaker. I shouldn’t be drinking!”
Flipping up the flat screened helmet that allows me to see what the suit does, I shot Bobby an annoyed look.
What used to be the prison area was now just open space. The place could use a paint job, but it was an improvement over what used to be here. Coming from the viewpoint of an ex-convict, I never liked the idea of having cells of my own. My skills as a warden were somewhat lacking, and I’d rather not do that again... ever.
“Try not to interrupt me when I’m about to fight a supervillain.”
“Well, shit!” He exclaimed in a drawl. “Excuse me for trying to be helpful!”
In my earpiece, Wendy was asking me if I’m ready. Flipping down the faceplate, I replied. “Sorry, I was just running a quick diagnostic on the armor before it goes into combat.”
“You’ll be fine, Stringel. Let’s get moving.”
We all followed Wendy into the rear of the jet and I checked my instrumentation. We were descending to a reasonable level. Even so, Chain Charmer and the others grabbed oxygen masks. On the external display, I saw two of his shorter chains wrapping around me and seeking anchor
points. Our Amazon wrapped him in a hug while the Manglermal on our team grabbed on to another set of chains. We’d left all six of the José clones back in New Orleans. Not a whole lot the Six Pack could do in this situation.
In my base in Alabama, I pulled up the local news channel footage on one of the external monitors. The Sisterhood was already out of action. Andy’s sisters would probably have to be rebuilt again. The only thing left fighting the thirty-foot tall man inside a golem was Sherman, The Haunted Tank.
Haunted Tank was one of those odd heroes that was tough to figure out. It had a mystical element. Hell! It’s been blown to scrap metal hundreds of times, but the next day it is back on a concrete slab outside of a nearby VFW that brought it back from one of the Pacific islands looking just fine. The details were kind of sketchy, but there was a battle at some ancient and abandoned shrine between the Japanese, the tank crew, and something that they disturbed. Best anyone could tell, all three parties lost. Fifty years later, some explorers found the site of the battle and a pristine M-4 Sherman tank that was sort of alive. They identified it by the serial numbers, which brought the son of the tank’s commander to the island. The tank followed him like a giant steel puppy back to St. Louis, and has been protecting the city ever since.
It doesn’t need fuel, or ammo, but it’s only as effective as a World War 2 tank. Non-supervillain crime rates in St. Louis were at record lows. However, most supers could handle an old tank; it was one of the reasons Eddy used to operate out of this area.
HT’s 76 mm main cannon and two animated machine guns chipped away against the golem’s body, but the cracks sealed themselves too quickly for the damage to accumulate, while an attached loudspeaker boomed static-ridden patriotic music.
The blocky humanoid made of earth, asphalt and concrete advanced against the much smaller tank, and hefted an abandoned pickup truck. The Chevy S10 smashed into the ground next to the evading tank.
To HT’s credit, he/it was trying to lead it toward a park, where it’s slightly better maneuverability would help it, but Earth Quaker must’ve recognized the tactic, because the next vehicle landed behind the retreating tank and the elemental began blocking the escape path. The tank slowly pushed the truck aside, but by that time, Earth Quaker added a city bus that completely blocked the way.
Haunted Tank must have realized the jig was up and stood its ground, firing as fast and furiously as it could until the monster was on top of it and began hammering away like a battering ram.
As the siren blared and our jet’s cargo ramp began to lower, I wondered if a possessed relic of a long ago war could feel pain.
“He’s taken out Haunted Tank,” I announced and activated my jets with most of the team clinging to me.
There was still an oddness attached to the suit flying while I’m not in it—almost a phantom feeling that I should be moving, but wasn’t. It would take some getting used to as the Mark III Build II suit descended onto the battlefield.
Delivering my cargo a block away from Earth Quaker, I left the other Guardians and accelerated toward our opponent. He kind of resembled a walking Easter Island statue. A mental command spun up the mini-gun and I raked the elemental with pulses of blue-white energy as I strafed him.
The M-19 responded to my next set of commands and I pumped out a trio of 40 mm High Explosive Armor Piercing grenades into the head to get his attention.
Detonations, like tiny pops, didn’t generate what I hoped for, but I’d expected that. Haunted Tank was throwing bigger shells his way and it hadn’t been effective, but it did grab Quaker’s attention.
Too bad I hadn’t finished the powercell bazooka. It was twenty feet away from me in Alabama, half assembled. Earth Quaker would have been the perfect test subject.
The city street and the stores surrounding it were a war zone. The concrete and the asphalt were being sucked into the golem’s body, repairing the cracks I’d just created. My base would run out of power before he ran out of St. Louis. That’s where Wendy came in. I glanced at where she hovered over the retention pond, pulling the water up into a waterspout. Water and earth were opposites. Once Quaker gets wet, it becomes harder for him to repair himself.
The Sisterhood tried using a fire truck against him. It didn’t work out so well for them. We had someone with a little more going for her.
Concentrating my weapon fire against the left leg of the villain, I hit him with the minigun, the helmet mounted blaster and the grenade launcher, and immediately began wishing that I’d added twice the amount of weaponry to the suit.
“Here I come,” Wendy’s voice yelled though the static coming across the communication channel. Her approach reminded me of when I helped her against Imaginary Larry in Charlotte. Her twister was tightly focused and a credit to her ability to concentrate. She was trying to deliver her payload and do as little damage as possible to the city, at the same time.
Even with my jaded morals and questionable ethics, I had to give her props for that. I can’t say I would be nearly as careful if our positions were reversed.
The man inside the golem figured out what was coming, because he attempted to reverse his direction. Unfortunately for him, Chain Charmer had used all our distractions to get into position. His two forty-foot chains snaked around one of Earth Quaker’s ankles while the other four chains anchored the hero to the ground. I added a pair of grenades and more pulse bolts. The combination caused Earth Quaker to tumble to the pavement.
Wendy released her portable monsoon. Thousands of gallons of water flooded the area and I kept an eye out for Jin, to make certain he wouldn’t be washed away.
She-Dozer appeared from nowhere with a pair of makeshift rebar spears and performed an ad-hoc acupuncture session on the construct’s left shoulder.
Sheila should get her own personal weapons, I thought. Even Bobby has those stupid clubs! She relies too much on her MMA training.
Of course, if I had my way, everyone would have their own suit of powered armor—Chain Charmer’s would look especially cool. Then again, that would require me doing all kinds of free or pro bono work, and I’ve got enough going on without adding more to my plate.
While the golem tried to rise, we descended on him like a pack of wild dogs. Charmer’s longest unbreakable chains kept the legs wrapped up and the others smashed into the muddy creation time and time again, breaking away chunks.
Not actually being there left me detached enough to really analyze my team, as I used my weapons to smash the arm Sheila wasn’t mangling. Sheila was a liability. She was nowhere near as good as she thought she was and had pretty much peaked.
Wendy, even with her foul mouth, was the only real redeeming thing about this team. She had the intangible quality of greatness about her. Being around her made other heroes better by association. Watching her drench Quaker without mercy made me slightly proud to be her baby daddy.
Anemone, who was currently using one of those infrared cameras and calling out the humans location so we villain, didn’t accidentally kill them was a jackass. I just didn’t click with him. Other than his suit, he didn’t give a shit about technology. He liked soccer, rum, jazz, and flaunting his abilities.
Me? I didn’t really care for any sports. Rum was my second least favorite drink behind scotch. From my perspective Jazz is where drummers who couldn’t make it in a real band ended up.
Chain Charmer? He’s a loner, ill-suited for being on a team for an extended period of time. He didn’t like taking orders any more than I did. The death of his husband left him searching for a direction in life, and anyone with two eyes could see that it was only a matter of time before he walked.
Lastly, outside of a couple of magic spells, I had no abilities to flaunt except my mind. My creativity was an asset, but my decision making was a definite liability.
Earth Quaker was beaten, but even with our victory, it still took ten minutes for us to finally dig out the drowned rat of a man and let Sanford give him the paralyzing venom treatment. Most of th
e world, and me especially, short-changed the squad. It was a rare occasion when we were hitting on all cylinders, but when we did, we were actually an elite superteam.
Anemone asked, “Where do you think they’ll send him?”
“Probably Guam,” I replied. “They kept Amydillo there until she died fighting that sea monster, a few years back.”
In the aftermath, Wendy landed beside me as I was trying to figure out the best way to flip Haunted Tank over. “Nice work today, Cal. Are you happy with the way the armor is performing?”
“It works good. But, you know a guy like me is never satisfied with just good. Hey Haunted Tank, can you rotate your turret and use your barrel like a jack?”
The small machine gun mounted at the front of the chassis nodded. I was talking to a possessed piece of military equipment after fighting a golem. I no longer questioned how strange my life had become.
“Boss when he starts to get unbalanced, do you think you can give him a push?”
“Sure, why not. But let’s get Jin and his chains over here along with Sheila, and make this a team building exercise.”
“Guardians together?” I offered our lame battlecry in a half-hearted question.
She shook her head. “It just doesn’t sound right when you say it, Cal. Although, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever even attempted to say it.”
Ultimately, it took me and Sheila using Charmer’s chains while Wendy conjured an updraft to get the tank back on his treads. I noticed Wendy looking a little pale and unsteady afterward.
Watching the damaged tank roll away, I said, “The police just took custody of Earth Quaker from Sanford. That means the press will be here soon. Sheila, why don’t you warm the crowd up for the boss while she gets her second wind?”
Wendy glared at me. I wasn’t certain if it was for the pun or for calling her out. “I’m fine.”
Secrets of a D-List Supervillain Page 13
