From last time:
"Has there been word from General Command, sir?" she asked, turning at last to look at him. Her expression was guarded, as it always was, but her concern was evident, nonetheless.
Clark shook his head. "I'm afraid not."
"If they are in danger, we are too far away to help, and Terian still needs our assistance," she mused. "We have no choice but to go forward."
New stuff:
********
"Lois Lane," she said into her cell phone as she cradled it between her shoulder and ear. She wiped the dust off her hands and cautiously made her way out of the nursery and toward a quieter part of the house. She didn't imagine she would have a problem hearing the person on the other end, but she didn't want to compete with an electric drill to be heard.
"Lois, how are you?" She recognized Perry's voice immediately.
"Fine, Perry, you?"
"Good," he replied. "I, ah, got your column here."
She waited for the other shoe to drop. The column hadn't been her best work, she knew that. It was a passable piece on campaign finance reform and the impact of money on politics – it was an election year, after all. Yeah?" she said at last, wishing he'd just get the upbraiding over with already.
"It's well written and well researched, it's just that…Lois when you were an investigative reporter, I had to remind you daily to keep your personal feelings out of your stories. Objectivity, you know? Now we're paying you to have opinions and I just don't see any of you in this piece."
"I know, I'm sorry, Perry," she admitted glumly as she paced in the hallway. After all these years, it still hurt to receive even gentle criticism from her mentor. She rubbed the small of her back, more out of uneasiness than any actual aches or pains.
"Honey, your whole career, you've poured yourself into everything you do. You write with more passion and more talent than anyone I've ever known. You have to find your angle, find what you're passionate about and write that."
"I know," she said again.
"If you need to take some time away, until after the baby is born…"
"No, Perry," she replied firmly. "I can't stop writing. But you're right, about everything else. I just need to find…I don't know…I just…"
"Take a few days; think about what you want to do with this assignment. And then give me one of those Trademark Lois Lane pieces that has half the town talking for a week," Perry said enthusiastically. She smiled slightly to herself, knowing that Perry's faith in her and her abilities was entirely genuine. He wasn't merely humoring her.
"I will," she said.
"Take care of yourself, darlin'," Perry said before hanging up.
She hung up the phone, Perry's words slowly sinking in. How exactly was she supposed to find her passion? Ever since Clark had left, she'd just been going through the motions – getting through one day and then the next, clinging to the hope that each passing day would bring her that much closer to seeing him again. She tried to remember what it was like before he came to Metropolis; her personal life had been nonexistent, but she'd been a damn good reporter back then. Sure, she and Clark were better as a team than each was alone, but that was because they each brought a lot to the equation. Before Clark, she'd been a top investigative reporter; heck she’d been the youngest Kerth winner in history. She had a shelf full of Meriwethers. All she needed to do was find that Lois Lane again. Find the Lois Lane who could sense a story when no one else could. The Lois Lane who could beat every other reporter in town to a scoop. The Lois Lane who was never out of her league, out of her element, or in over her head.
Where the heck was she?
Lois stifled a sigh. Maybe a nice flight would clear her head.
********
Jonathan pulled back the covers and slipped into bed beside his wife. Martha had her reading glasses perched on her nose and the latest popular science book in hand. Without looking up, she asked, “How is she?”
“She seemed okay.”
“Out on the porch still?”
“She just got back from flying,” he replied with a nod.
“I just wish there was more we could do.” Martha placed her bookmark in the book and put it on the nightstand. She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She moved closer to her husband and he put his arm around her slight shoulders.
“We’re doing everything we can,” Jonathan assured her.
“I think it’s the keeping busy that keeps me from falling apart,” she confessed.
“I know.” And he did; he knew exactly what she meant. “I spend all my time worrying about Lois and the baby and the harvest and the nursery. There isn’t enough time for us to worry about us.”
“Not during the day anyway. There isn’t enough time for us to be afraid of him not coming home, or to be angry about what he’s missing, or so scared that something will happen to him. That he’ll need us and we won’t be there for him and we won’t even know.”
Jonathan could hear the tears in her voice and held her just a little bit tighter. “Shhh,” he soothed, feeling a lump form in his throat.
“Oh god, let our boy come back to us,” she whispered.
********
The sun dipped down toward the horizon, taking with it the pathetic bit of warmth it had provided. Clark looked around. They had descended out of the mountains and their claustrophobic rock formations and into a large valley, which had once been intentionally flooded by the New Kryptonians. An artificial waterway, carefully carved, wended its way lazily through the valley. By New Krypton standards, it was positively fertile; grass grew on the ground in sparse carpeting. Small plants sprung up in clumps. The ground was damp, almost as though it had rained recently. The valley was still and silent.
“We will rest here for a while,” Talan said to the assembled group. “It is only a few hours to Terian. We will make our move under the cover of night.” The soldiers dutifully set up a perimeter and made camp.
Clark tried to think of things to do and ways to be helpful, but what could he do? He may have spent years being Superman, but he didn’t know anything about wars and battles. He disarmed bad guys safely and quickly; he wasn’t G.I. Joe.
“Kal El.” Clark didn’t hear Ching come up behind him. “Are you prepared sir?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” Clark said.
“I asked you once before what you believe and what you are willing to sacrifice for it.”
“You’re asking me if I’m ready to kill. I’m not.”
“To save innocent life. You will not kill to protect the innocent,” Ching said.
“There has to be another way.”
“And what if there is not?”
“There’s always another way!” Clark exclaimed. Ching remained impassive.
“Of course there is, when you are all-powerful and invulnerable. This world is not that simple.”
“I won’t kill.”
“Then it is better that you not go with us. Do not put yourself in harm’s way if you cannot make that choice. I will not risk the lives of my men and women any more than I must and if they have to worry about you because you will not defend them and you will not defend yourself, you are a liability that I cannot accept on the battlefield.”
Clark turned away. He didn’t know what to say. He knew that everything Ching was saying was true. If he wouldn’t fight, others would be unnecessarily risking their lives to protect him. But could he send others to do what he couldn’t? And could he sit back and do nothing while the innocent people in that settlement were attacked and slaughtered? What did he believe? And what was he willing to sacrifice? Clark looked over his shoulder, but Ching was no longer there. It was now dark and the soldiers all around him were quietly preparing.
For war.
He walked around the perimeter of the camp aimlessly. He felt his insides tie themselves up in knots. A wave of nausea hit him like a dump truck. He doubled over and unceremoniously lost the contents of his stomach. Very Superman-like, he thought derisively to himself.
The hours managed to pass too quickly and too slowly. The waiting was intolerable, but he certainly didn’t want the battle that was to come. He sat quietly on one edge of the camp, looking back at the mountains they’d recently scaled, jutting out into the thin atmosphere. The sky was black and the stars looked exactly the same from New Krypton as they did from Earth. That seemed wrong somehow. He didn’t know how the stars were supposed to look here, but it didn’t make sense that New Krypton’s sky would be like the sky that stretched out over Kansas or even Metropolis. There was no moonlight, and so the night was much darker, but were it not for the absence of crickets chirping, he could have been in a field anywhere on Earth. He picked at the sparse grass that grew under his feet. It wasn’t Kentucky Bluegrass, or crab grass, or Bermuda grass, but it was still just plain old grass. Like home, but not.
A slight commotion rose up in the camp behind him. He turned around. Talan solemnly exited her tent, stooping to pass through the opening. The same serious yet inscrutable expression was on her face that was always there. A group of junior officers gathered around her, most of them significantly shorter than she, awaiting her command. “It is time.”
Preparations began immediately for their departure. No one said very much, but in the quiet, the fear and the anxiousness of the young men and women around him were apparent. They were trained and experienced and they believed in what they were doing. That didn’t mean that rushing headlong into a battle wasn’t a frightening experience. He looked at the rifle in his hands. A horrible, ugly weapon of death he never had any intention of using. So why carry it, he wondered. He thought again about what Ching had said. He couldn’t reconcile the fact that the man was absolutely right with his own beliefs. He couldn’t kill. It wasn’t in him to do so. He’d spent months on the ship on the way from Earth training with Ching to be prepared in the event he found himself in a fight and here he was. It wasn’t about the training, though. All the training in the world couldn’t have changed his mind.
So why the heck had he demanded that he be allowed to go along on this mission? What exactly did he hope to achieve? Getting himself killed certainly wasn’t going to help anyone. Zara had been absolutely right – he had been brought here to keep the Council together, to provide political leadership, not to play Rambo. And yet, how could he stay safe in the colony, behind miles of maze-like corridors and sterile rooms while the people out here suffered and died. He may have been waging a war, but they were fighting it. It was their blood that was shed every time the Council made a decision. The strategies and objectives were decided by quiet, civilized men and women, dedicated to the greater good, but they weren’t the people who bled the ground red out here. Maybe it was that Clark couldn’t find it in himself to let them do that alone. He couldn’t stay distant when other people suffered. But what help could he offer them?
Clark had seen a lot of death in his life. More than any person ever should. He was not prepared to cause it.
********
After a few hours of marching, he was actually glad that he’d thrown up earlier. Now, it was merely the fact that his stomach was completely empty that kept him from doubling over again and being sick. His stomach churned painfully and a wave of nausea washed over him. He kept marching because there was nothing else to do. Talan silently brought the force to a stop. Gesturing wordlessly to her lieutenants, the group was divided into squadrons. Her officers knew what to do. Leading their teams, they disappeared quietly into the night. Talan fell back to Clark’s position in the column.
“Sir, I want you to lead the guard unit. Protect our position and set up a perimeter once we’ve retaken the settlement.”
He knew she was giving him a way out. She realized that he was of no use to them in a battle and she was giving him a way out of it that wouldn’t risk her troops. “Commander,” he began.
“Sir?” Her tone was curt yet not disrespectful. Her gray eyes narrowed. With a simple, deferential word she was asking him if he was challenging her command. He said nothing in response. Recognizing his tacit acceptance, she returned to organizing her own forces for the battle ahead.
The squads broke up and the guard unit found itself left behind. Ahead of them, Clark could hear the sounds coming from the settlement. They weren’t the typical sounds of life in a community. He heard men’s voices calling loudly, even drunkenly. Sporadic gunfire rang out – not loud enough for a battle, though. Terian was under siege and it sounded like Nor’s men were having a good time, Clark thought disgustedly.
They held their position on top of a hill near the settlement, looking down at the target. This wasn’t the pitched battle they were expecting. If forces had been sent from the main colony, it seemed that they hadn’t fared well. Given the difficulty they’d had communicating with General Command, though, Clark assumed that help had never arrived. The several hundred troops under Talan’s command were the settlement’s only hope.
He overheard the commands given by Talan and Ching over the communicators. Simple instructions were quietly given to ensure a coordinated attack. As the forces moved closer to the settlement, they grew more cautious. Scouting the area, Talan relayed the rebel’s strongest and weakest positions, reorganizing her plan of attack accordingly.
“On my order,” she said softly, though her voice was heard on every officer’s communicator. “Teams Three and Four strike the sentry positions. Guard unit, defensive position. Everyone else, you are aware of your orders. Attack, now.” It was almost perverse, Clark thought to himself, how calmly and easily she commanded an offensive. She was leading young men and women into a situation that would likely kill some of them and she did it without hint of fear or hesitation. Clark looked back at the twenty or so young soldiers, most barely older than children, who were his charges. He gave them a slight nod and they scattered to their positions, preparing to provide support for their comrades, just as they had been trained.
The sound of gunfire became louder and more insistent. The unpleasant din of occupation was replaced by the sound and fury of large scale fighting. The air around him seemed to explode with pain and rage and death. Brilliant flashes of light and smoke illuminated the night’s sky. The confusion hurt his ears and nearly blinded his eyes. In the mess, he could barely tell what was being attacked, let alone who the good guys and bad guys were.
The thick, acrid stench of smoke filled his nostrils. The explosions rattled the very ground beneath his feet. He could hear the cries of the wounded, and the confused orders being shouted. He and his team slowly moved forward to protect the advancing assault, drawing ever nearer to the circles of hell. He could now make out distinct voices in the din. Nor’s men cursed and raged in their panic, lashing out violently at their hidden attackers. Disorder and chaos easily overtook them. From his position outside the battle, gripping his rifle tensely, he could tell that Talan’s well-disciplined forces were carefully avoiding any attacks on the buildings where civilians could have been hiding.
He saw the wounded on the ground, calling piteously for help. He watched those who risked their lives to provide aid to the injured and comfort to the dying, out of gallantry or courage or shock or friendship for a comrade. The firefight quickly became a street to street urban battle as Nor’s men took to hiding in civilian buildings and alleys for protection. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a thick column of smoke appeared off to one side. Nor’s men had set fire to the crops. Terian was a farming settlement and they were laying waste to it. The fire roared as it cut through the fields, destroying these people’s livelihood and a main source of support for the entire population of New Krypton.
Now, a hundred meters from the gates of the town, he realized that he had orders to give. The rest of the way to the settlement was flat and open and exposed. A violent knot formed itself in the pit of his stomach. “Secure the entrances and stay together,” he said in a low voice. Crouched down, they moved quickly but carefully toward the gates. Nor’s men were too busy fighting within the city to attack the rearguard as it approached the settlement’s entrance, but Clark didn’t want to lose anyone out of carelessness.
It seemed like they were exposed on that long stretch of field forever, but the first of his troops made it to the gate and the rest quickly followed. With more relief than he’d expected to feel, he threw his back up against the hard masonry of the gate. His pulse thundered in his ears, louder even than the sounds of the battle. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to keep back the rising taste of bile in his throat.
He looked inward to the settlement and the chaos bubbling up within it. He hardly knew where to focus; there was so much going on all around him. He glanced across the town cum battlefield and tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. What he could do. A loud explosion shattered the air. Almost in unison, he and his troops all ducked in search of safety. Well, that answered the question of whether battle would be more terrifying without superpowers. At least, he thought, it meant he wasn’t dumb enough to think he was invulnerable.
He was afraid.
He had no interest in dying here, but more than that, he had a responsibility to protect the people who served under him, to not get them killed. He also had a responsibility to the people in this town. He wiped at his eyes, which had begun to sting from the smoke. In front of him he saw several soldiers carrying one of their own, moving toward them. The soldier they were carrying was badly injured and the other two weren’t in the best of shape either. The man had a deep cut on his forehead; blood covered half of his face. The woman was limping badly. They both struggled to run, anchored down by the weight of their comrade. Without so much as a thought in his head, he ran toward them. They looked up at him with the relief in their eyes that he’d seen in thousands of pairs of eyes as Superman. He took the unconscious man from them, draping him over his shoulders and carried him as quickly as he could back toward the gate.
Two soldiers he recognized as medics approached him and began to tend to the wounded. He gingerly laid the injured man on the ground and looked up at the rest of his forces. He glanced around quickly as he tried to formulate a plan. He needed to create a safe space for the wounded and for any civilians they could find. They could move back outside the gates, but then they’d be completely in the open. If Nor’s men advanced, he wouldn’t be able to protect against them.
He spotted the homes closest to the gates, still set back a ways from the heavy fighting. “Secure these buildings,” he told his forces. “We’ll set up triage there and bring in any civilians we can find.” The troops obeyed without hesitation. The houses were quickly swept and secured and the wounded moved inside. The soldiers moved from building to building in small teams, searching for civilians as well as Nor’s men who’d sought shelter in other people’s homes. Several soldiers maintained their posts by the gates.
Clark moved about fitfully, trying to both give orders and figure out exactly what was happening. On his communicator, he could hear Ching and Talan coordinating their assaults on the rebels’ strongholds, the chaotic exchange of information almost dizzying. The wounded began pouring into their makeshift hospital from all parts of the settlement. Teams of soldiers arrived, protecting large groups of civilians who’d been evacuated from the worst of the combat zones. Young men and women, trying to hide their exhaustion and fear, asked him for orders. He directed them as best he could, never really sure if he was doing the right thing.
Talan and Ching pressed forward, recapturing the settlement house by house and street by street. The area he was supposed to secure and the number of wounded and non-combatants he was supposed to protect grew. Fire from laser rifles exploded around him, hitting buildings and walls, sending bits of brick and mortar tumbling. Every now and then there would be a large explosion and he would feel himself jump, holding his own rifle a little tighter.
The sound of gunfire from within one of the houses cut through him. He stared in horror, his mouth agape. He’d just sent soldiers into that house to look for civilians.
He’d sent them into a trap.
He raced toward the house, several other soldiers joining him immediately. Clark moved toward the door but was forced to take cover. He closed his eyes and kept his head down as rifle fire burned through the air all around him. Inside, he could hear the moans of the wounded, begging for help. He glimpsed inside through a hole that had been punched in one of the walls. Several wounded soldiers lay just inside. A small group of soldiers joined him around the doorway, among them a junior officer.
His pale blue eyes darted around as he scanned the building. He wiped at the grime and sweat on his face nervously. “Sir, I can go in and help them, I just need cover fire,” the young officer said anxiously.
Clark nodded grimly. The soldier began to stand up, but Clark grabbed his arm. “I’m going with you,” he said. Clark looked at the other soldiers. They knew what they were supposed to do. He waited long moments for a break in the fire, drew in a deep breath and ran into the house, the officer right by his side. They crouched low as they approached the wounded, and rushed to drag them to safety. All around him, he could hear the gun fire. Bits of wall seemed to burst in clouds of mortar and dust. A burning pain tore through his shoulder, cutting flesh to ribbons. He gnashed his teeth and groaned as pain blossomed in the wound and radiated outward. His arm seemed to go numb, but he kept dragging the wounded soldier. He kept his head down as he finally stumbled back through the doorway and out of the hellish confines of the house.
Medics raced toward him and the wounded, who were quickly evacuated. More soldiers had gathered around the house. The young officer who had gone in with him, whose name he dimly recalled as Ev Mir, was already preparing an assault on the building. Clark wanted to stop them, to keep anyone else from getting hurt in that building, but he knew that if Nor’s men weren’t captured, they’d do further harm.
He walked slowly away from the building, hardly aware of the fact that he was still in a combat zone. The world around him began to sway slowly, and he closed his eyes in hopes that the dizziness would pass. He exhaled a long, ragged breath and felt the screws of pain twist deeper into his shoulder.
“Sir, you should let me look at that.” A voice intruded on his thoughts. He slowly opened his eyes to see the fuzzy outline of a young man standing in front of him.
“I’ll be fine,” Clark protested. He stumbled and nearly fell, but a pair of hands stopped him.
“Please, sir, come with me,” the voice insisted politely again. Clark merely nodded and allowed himself to be helped back toward the medics’ base of operations.
********
Clark grimaced as the young medic worked. He glanced at the wound several times – the rifle fire had cut across the top of his shoulder, leaving a deep wound that bled a lot and hurt like hell, but it wasn’t going to kill him. He looked around at the wounded and the medics trying desperately to help them. Among the civilian population of the settlement, they’d found a few doctors, who were tending to the most critically wounded. A chill passed through him as he spotted several bodies covered in sheets. Casualties of the battle.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood, sir, and suffered some nerve and ligament damage,” the medic explained as he bandaged the wound. “It should, however, heal.”
Clark flexed his hand painfully, the length of his arm stinging. “Thank you,” he said, realizing he didn’t even know the young man’s name.
“Rayid, sir. Ensign Rayid,” the young man supplied helpfully. The serious expression on his dark brow retreated momentarily and the young medic almost smiled.
“Thank you, Ensign Rayid,” Clark repeated. He began to stand up.
“Sir, you should stay here,” Ensign Rayid protested.
“There are more seriously wounded people who need our help,” Clark said. The Ensign merely nodded in understanding. With great pain, Clark pulled the sleeve of his uniform back into place over the bandage. He flexed his hand again experimentally. It hurt, but he could still use his arm.
As he exited the building he saw Ev Mir, leading several men in handcuffs and shackles toward the gates. “What happened, Lieutenant?” Clark called out to the younger man.
Ev Mir looked up at him and Clark could see the deep cut running across his cheek, his face covered in blood and grime. “We took the building and captured them,” he said, nodding toward his four prisoners. “We found two of our own dead inside and lost one more in the raid, sir.” Ev Mir turned away and continued walking. Clark felt his heart sink. People he had led, people he was supposed to protect had died because of the decisions he’d made. He felt the dizziness and the nausea sweep over him again.
