Happy New Year!
From last time:
She smiled faintly. A reporter really was only as good as her next story. “I’ve been trying to follow this conflict in Kinwara.”
“Central Africa?” Perry asked. “The civil war?”
“Well, that and a famine and it’s starting to look like ethnic cleansing.”
“But there are UN forces there, right?”
“Not many,” she replied. “Anyway, Ultrawoman is going to start paying closer attention to what’s going on.”
“Be careful,” Perry cautioned sternly.
“I’m still invulnerable, remember?” she chided.
“We both know that’s not what I’m talking about. I know you’ve seen a lot, but these things have a way of getting under your skin.”
Lois bit her lip and nodded. “I’ll be careful,” she replied quietly. She hung up the phone and pulled the folded up airmail envelope out of the pocket of her jeans. Gently, she pulled the tissue-thin pages out of the envelope and reread the letter -- sent from a refugee camp -- that had planted the idea in her mind. Somewhere in that camp, a young woman, a schoolteacher, had sent her this letter as a last-ditch, shot in the dark measure. Perhaps she’d spent much needed money on the postage and the paper, perhaps she’d used the stationery she’d brought with her as she’d trekked hundreds of miles to the relative safety of that camp in order to write to Lois, instead of writing to family. There were a million possible permutations of the story, the bare skeleton of which Lois could draw out of the desperate letter. But while her story was muted and unfinished, her message rang through like a clarion bell. This woman was beseeching Lois, as someone with influence and interest, to deliver the help that was so direly needed.
New stuff:
********
Clark rubbed his wrists, irritated by the heavy cuffs worn over his bandages. His ponderous robes did little to cover how thin he’d become. He stood shakily, hoping he would be able to walk without the assistance of his cane. He felt like he couldn’t project an image of strength and confidence if he was too weak to stand under his own weight. It wasn’t the most sensible of assumptions; no one thought Zara to have been weak or no longer in control after she was injured. But he had the additional burden of still being an outsider. He had to prove that even though he had not been raised his entire life for this task, he was still equal to it.
There was a soft knock at his door as Zara entered. “Are you ready to go?” she asked. He nodded, taking a small step forward, trying not to limp on his injured ankle. She moved toward him and he was afraid she was going to retrieve his cane. Instead, she extended her arm to him. She looped her arm through his as she usually did when they walked, but she pressed her arm underneath his, providing much needed support. He smiled faintly at her. They walked out into the hallway, a bit more slowly than usual, but otherwise, the fact that Clark was leaning heavily on Zara was unnoticeable.
Surrounded by guards, they entered the Council Chambers to low whispers and murmurs of Councilors surprised to see the First Minister walking around. If he’d still been possessed of his superhearing, Clark would have overheard numerous comments on his gaunt figure, on the slight limp in his slow stride, and on the quickly fading scars on his face. Silently, they took their seats behind Shai. Shai brought the meeting to order. “The civil war that has threatened to tear our world apart continues without end in sight. In many ways, we have failed the people of this planet. We have failed to protect our communities and we have allowed ourselves to be divided by petty infighting. We must be held to account and we must allow the people of New Krypton to judge our actions. I have assembled this special session of the High Council in order to call a General Election.” A murmur rose up among the councilors.
“Elections will be held in four weeks’ time,” Shai continued.
Gai Jin, who had never been sympathetic to Kal El or his supporters, stood up. “Is this an attempt to intimidate those who have criticized the execution of this war?” he demanded angrily.
“Not hardly,” Shai snapped back.
“This is a bully tactic!” Gai Jin retorted. The Council dissolved into nervous and angry whispers.
Clark stood up, his jaw squarely set, his expression resolute. He waited for a moment until the din subsided. “This Council has been slow to accept Nor’s role in the rebellion, or the danger that rebellion poses to you and your way of life. The rebels have killed civilians, children. They have burned your crops, destroyed your settlements, and intimidated your people.” He took a long, shaky breath, feeling his injured leg tremble under his weight. Clark took a moment to steady himself before continuing. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow.
“And I know first hand what Nor’s involvement in all of this is. When I was held prisoner, there was no attempt made to conceal the identity of my captor. He had no intention of letting me survive. If you believe Nor is innocent and you think the insurgents pose no threat, you’re free to put your theory up for a popular vote, but you can no longer play both sides of the game. Nor must be stopped. He must be brought to justice and made to answer for his crimes. And that isn’t possible if this body isn’t committed to the task. To those who have thrown their support to Nor in hopes of achieving safety, men like Nor are not appeased by simply being given power. They will exercise it, ruthlessly, and mercilessly. Nor will destroy this world and everything you hold dear, unless you stop him.” Clark stepped back and took his seat once more. He tried not to show the exquisite relief of no longer having to stand. Zara’s hand settled on top of his and gave a gentle squeeze.
Many of the councilors sat in stony silence, but far more rose to their feet with thunderous applause. Clark let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. His heart was pounding in his ears, but he showed no reaction to the councilors’ response.
********
Lois descended through the fog and mist and found herself surrounded by lush, rolling green hills and verdant fields. Small stands of trees jutted above the low, even landscape. On her right stood dense forests, deep in the valley between the hills. She swooped low over the plains past a herd of goats and their young caretaker. The slender young boy, no more than twelve or thirteen, looked up as she flew overhead. He shielded his eyes from the glare reflected off the clouds as he watched her pass.
She followed the wending course of a river west from Lake Regina. Its crystal blue waters cut a meandering path through the green hills up to the provincial capital and the peacekeepers’ headquarters of operation. She crossed over a mountain range, surprised to see the dramatic change in scenery on the other side, demonstrating starkly the rain shadow effect. Green fields were replaced by dry, dusty expanses that stretched to the horizon in front of her. Small, stubborn bushes poked out of the rocky soil in haphazard clumps. A poorly paved road replaced the river as her guide toward the city. In the distance she could see the clusters of mud brick and corrugated tin houses, surrounding the more permanent structures of poured concrete. She swooped down toward the bright blue UN flag flying over a well guarded compound. A small group of soldiers in camouflage and blue berets crowded together and watched her descend.
“I’m looking for General Jean Rapin,” she announced.
No one said anything. They merely stared at her, as though they couldn’t fathom a single reason why she should be there. One of the soldiers, a kid she generously guessed to be twenty, with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips pointed coolly toward a cinderblock building in the center of the compound. The group of soldiers parted as she walked by them. She could hear them chattering in languages she didn’t understand as she left.
A trim, middle aged man with hawk-like eyes, a sharp nose, and a neat, gray mustache walked out of the cinderblock building and headed directly toward her. The sleeves of his camouflage uniform were rolled up to his elbows and his blue beret covered most of his shortly cropped gray hair. He extended his hand to her as he approached.
“Ultrawoman,” he said in thickly accented English. “You are not the armored personnel carriers I have been requesting for months, but you are quite a welcome sight. Lieutenant General Jean Georges Rapin, Canadian Army, UNPROFIK commander,” he introduced himself, using the common acronym for the UN Protection Force in Kinwara. Lois shook his proffered hand. “Did the Secretary-General ask you to come?” he inquired. He started walking toward the gates to the compound. Lois fell into step beside him.
“No,” Lois replied, shaking her head.
“Well, I know it wasn’t the Security Council. They cannot agree on what to have for dinner, let alone what to do about some poor, backward country slowly sinking into hell.”
“Actually, I came because of a message delivered to Lois Lane, a reporter for the Daily Planet,” she explained.
“Well, some press exposure and the attention of a superhero could both be very helpful here.” He stopped to survey the compound behind him. The men she’d seen just a few minutes ago had scattered. A group of weary looking soldiers passed them in a Jeep. They were about the only signs of life in the drowsing base, which seemed as though it had settled in for a long, mid-afternoon nap.
“We haven’t got enough men, guns, or supplies. And I’m trying to work with a straitjacket for a mandate. They have us headquartered here because it is far from the violence. How can I run a protection force if protecting innocent people isn’t part of my job description?” he asked disgustedly.
Lois frowned as she let his words sink in. She’d had no idea just how hamstrung the international relief effort was. She crossed her arms over her chest in a subconscious imitation of Clark. “I want to help, in any way I can. Why don’t you tell me about the worst problems you’re having and anything else you think my skills would be useful for. I’ll also make sure you get the press coverage you need. If it’s all right with you, I’ll bring Lois Lane out here to interview you.”
He frowned, his brow knitted, as he scratched at his square jaw. “I’ll do it,” he replied. “As for telling you where we need the most help, I think it’ll be easier for me to show you.”
“Just point the way,” Lois replied before picking up the general. They flew over Parumbara, the provincial capital city, with its odd mix of makeshift shanties and drab looking but solid concrete buildings constructed in the early post colonial period, when there was so much hope for a more prosperous and stable future. They traveled across wide expanses of grasslands before descending to follow the hard packed road as it twisted between hills.
In the open valley ahead of them, a chaotic city of tents stretched out. The squall of crying infants and arguing adults filled her head. She tuned out the worst of the din as she gently touched down, replacing the general on his feet. They began to walk into the camp, drawing curious stares. All around her she could see people fighting over food and medicine, children weeping piteously, their expressions blank and dull. People wandered around, looking lost. Perhaps searching for loved ones who’d been separated on the journey. How anyone could expect to find someone else in this crowded jumble was beyond her. And from all around, more were pouring into the camp, carrying what few possessions they had left. The air was thick with the smells of burnt food and damp garbage. It seemed that sanitation was only one of many inadequately addressed problems.
“Who’s in charge here?” she asked General Rapin.
“No one,” he replied with a sad shake of his head. “The UN was coordinating a relief effort, but this is outside the purview of the High Commission for Refugees, because these people are technically internally displaced, and not refugees. Until they get to Malawi or another neighboring country, the world acts as if these people are not its problem. A few charitable organizations and aid groups have set this camp up, but they don’t have the power to police it. To keep the bandits and marauders out, or to keep them from stealing the food and medical supplies.”
As they walked through the crowded pathway between rows of tents, Lois looked around at the people on either side of her. They looked at her with stark, pleading expressions, silently begging for her help. “And you said you don’t have the manpower to protect them.”
“There are a dozen camps like this across the province. They plead with us for help in protecting their convoys and guarding the camps, but I cannot even provide enough men to protect a quarter of the aid convoys that move through the country. And everything we don’t protect gets stolen. It ends up in the hands of warlords, instead of these people.”
“I’ll take care of moving the supplies,” she said simply.
General Rapin’s mouth turned upward into a slight smile under his bottle brush mustache. “I will contact Rafik, our logistics chief.” He continued walking deeper into the camp and she followed, a half step behind him. All around her, people stopped whatever it was they were doing to stare at her as she passed them. They watched her in muted silence. She smiled wanly, but the pain and desperation that hung heavily in the air weren’t going to be dissipated by breezy optimism.
Rapin weaved through the crowd to duck under an expansive, white canopy tent. Row after row of canvas cots lined the inside of the tent, their occupants nursing broking bones, burns, dehydration, malnutrition, and bevy of ailments Lois was hard pressed to guess at. Children sniffled and cried miserably and mothers attempted to soothe unhappy infants. The pungent stench was reminiscent of the rest of the camp, but with the added smell of rubbing alcohol wafting in the air.
A single dark complexioned man in a white lab coat so old it was beginning to look gray, presided over the chaos. He gave instructions to his staff of nurses and orderlies, whom Lois guessed were mostly able-bodied people he’d managed to conscript into working in the camp’s medical facility. She watched as he examined a boy, holding his stethoscope against the little boy’s small back and listening to the child breathe. The doctor, a tall, fine boned man with slightly graying hair and small spectacles removed a syringe from its wrapper. He wiped at the boy’s arm with a cotton swap before giving him a quick injection. She could see fat tears rolling down the little boy’s face, but he looked too exhausted to cry. His mother, an equally weary looking woman, picked him up and carried him off and another small child was placed before the doctor.
“We’ve also been looking for a way to evacuate the most seriously injured and ill to better facilities,” Rapin explained. “There are UN hospitals and clinics across the border, the problem has been getting people there.”
Lois looked around, trying to take in the immenseness of the problem. She squared her shoulders. “It looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
She saw the doctor look up from his latest patient. He gave quick, succinct instructions to someone Lois guessed was the child’s older sister before walking toward them. “Ultrawoman,” he called out in his liltingly accented English.
“How do you do, Doctor…”
“Konotey,” he supplied as he extended his hand. “I’m afraid I have been better. I have no nurses, no supplies. The militias intentionally attack civilians and leave them burned or maimed, or otherwise wounded. And to make matters worse, they steal the donated supplies and medicine and then sell them on the black market so they can buy more guns.”
“Why are they targeting civilians?” she asked.
“To frighten them mostly. This isn’t a war about politics, just greed, although now they’re making it about race as well. It’s so very stupid,” the doctor murmured with a sad shake of his head. “The people of Kinwara came from many tribes, but they have been living together and intermarrying longer than anyone can remember. There are no clear racial differences anymore. But the rebels, they aren’t even Kinwaran, although they do pretend.”
“Where are they from?” she asked.
“Mostly Togoro, just across the southern border,” General Rapin replied. “The Togoran president, Lawrence Sangara, wants control over Kinwara’s diamond mines. He has plenty of rich friends and backers who are investing in this war because they know they can make a fortune in blood diamonds.”
“They kill innocent people because they are trying to destabilize the state. Kinwara has a good government, Ultrawoman. Our president has done all he can to foster development, root out corruption, and help make this a modern nation. Sangara knows that the only way he can depose a popular leader like President Lancine is by creating the sort of panic that tears the country apart. So he sends his troops across the border to burn down our villages, kill the men, rape the women, and force the children into service in his armies.”
Lois listened quietly as the doctor explained the events. He grew more and more upset as he progressed.
“Lancine has asked for our help in stabilizing the state,” Rapin added. “But my hands have been tied. We’re not supposed to take sides in the conflict, but they won’t let us protect the civilians either. We’re little better than unarmed observers to the slaughter.”
“I’m going to get your supplies, Doctor,” Lois began. “Then I’ll make sure that someone tells your story, loudly, repeatedly, in every language, and every news source on the planet, and then…”
“And then?” Rapin arched a brow.
“I’m going after the militias.”
********
Clark rapped his knuckles on the table. He looked up at the vaulted ceiling high overhead. The walls of the library seemed to close in around him. The shelves surrounding him housed the largest collection of texts on all of New Krypton. Most of the archived works – histories, works of literature, star charts – were stored as digital media, but his was also this world’s largest collection of written texts. There were ancient written works, in manuscripts and scrolls that had been saved from Krypton. And all of the planet’s laws were bound and kept in this collection. The library was often where he found his lawyer, poring over obscure texts and analyzing the Council’s resolutions. She always seemed at home here. The most he could say for it was that it didn’t make him feel any lonelier or out of place than anywhere else on New Krypton.
“Sir, are you certain you are up for this?” Enza asked, her tone quiet and solicitous.
Clark nodded. “I just want to get this over with.”
“I understand, sir. The prosecutor is waiting outside. Shall I call him in?”
“Yes,” he replied.
Enza bowed slightly and stepped outside. She returned a moment later, a stern looking, middle aged man followed a step behind her. “Good tidings, sir,” the man said as he entered. He bowed slightly. “I am Mar Dov, Senior Counsel in the Office of the Prosecutor.”
The somber looking lawyer pulled out a chair at the table across from Clark. He gathered up the folds of his gray jurist’s robe as he sat down. “I am certain Captain Enza has explained that I need to ask you some questions about happened during your detention.”
“You want to prosecute Nor?” Clark asked archly.
Mar Dov nodded. “Of course. Well, that is if we succeed in capturing him. It is best if we obtain your statement while your memory is fresh.”
Raw was more like it, Clark thought to himself darkly. “Go ahead.” He didn’t make eye contact with the prosecutor, or look at Enza, seated right beside him. Clark stared straight ahead at the worn, delicate volumes on the shelf. Impressed along their spines, in angular Kryptonian lettering were their titles. Impressive sounding names like “The Unification of the Seventeen Tribes of Krypton,” and “The Songs of Times Now Lost.” He’d read in so few of these books, only enough to give him a glimpse of what Krypton must have been like. His thoughts drifted to a long dead world, with rose-colored skies, gleaming cities, placid lakes, and forests full of trees that soared to over a hundred feet high. He wondered if Krypton could compare in beauty to Earth. He wondered if its forests could make you feel as small and insignificant as the towering, ancient redwoods out west. Or if there were any places on Krypton as quiet and still as the Arctic. Could its cities compare to the energy and life of Metropolis? Then again, no place on any planet would ever compare to the city he called home and the woman who made it his home. It would never be clear exactly how much of Metropolis’s magic actually came from Metropolis and how much it was because of Lois.
In the back of his mind, he heard the prosecutor asking question and he heard himself answering. But his voice sounded so far away, and it didn’t even sound like him. It was like someone was talking – coldly, dispassionately describing weeks of starvation and cold, and seemingly interminable beatings.
“That’s all I remember,” he said at last, unsure whether three minutes or three hours had passed. “Then I woke up in the recovery room.” Clark looked at Mar Dov, frowning intently, his hands folded in front of him.
“Thank you for your time, sir,” the slightly graying lawyer replied in a clipped tone. He rose to his feet. “I will be in contact with Captain Enza, but I do not believe we will need anything further until Nor is captured.” He bowed before exiting.
********
The moment she opened the conference room door, the half dozen suits stood up. “Ms. Lane,” the first lawyer said with a stiff smile as he buttoned the coat of his gray flannel suit.
“Please,” she replied, motioning for them to remain seated. She pulled out the chair next to Perry’s and sat down.
The blonde lawyer across from her slid a contract across the table toward her. “I think you’ll find this in order, Ms. Lane. The terms are quite generous.”
Lois leafed through the document. She gently slid the contract back across the table. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Ms. Lane, perhaps you’d like a moment to consider it…” Blondie’s smile was more a grimace.
“I love this paper,” Lois began. “But if you can’t do better than that, the Chicago Tribune, the Boston Globe, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Washington Post, the Los Angeles Times, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer and at least a half dozen other papers are all waiting in the wings.”
“Ms. Lane, perhaps we can find some middle ground between your proposal and ours,” the first lawyer interjected.
“Three years, one more book, and an option on a third. At the salary I’m suggesting you’re getting a bargain.”
“A bargain we can’t afford,” one of the business people said.
“I’m syndicated in fifty papers in thirty five of the largest metropolitan regions in the country, my book has sold more copies than any other that the Daily Planet Press has published in seven years, I’ve won this paper four Merriweathers, three Kerths, and a Pulitzer prize.”
“Don’t forget the partridge in a pear tree,” one of the lawyers whispered to another in a voice she wouldn’t have heard were it not for her powers. She glared at them as she stood up.
“Ms. Lane, perhaps we can discuss this, let’s go through the contract point by point…”
“I don’t have time for this. I have to be in Kinwara.” She walked toward the door. The lawyers and business people all jumped to their feet as she reached for the knob. “Call me when you’re ready to discuss this seriously.”
********
“Clark, do you need anything?” Zara asked sympathetically after the door to their chambers closed behind her, granting them privacy for the first time all day.
“I’m fine,” he replied, his tone curt. He limped, leaning on his cane as he headed toward his room.
“Enza wishes to see you.”
Clark sighed. It was late and he was tired of meetings. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“She said it would only be a few minutes,” Zara replied as she slipped out of her long mantle.
Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stem the headache that was threatening to form behind his eyes. “Fine,” he acquiesced.
“I will not insult you by asking if everything is all right,” Zara began. “But is there anything I can do?”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, turning around awkwardly to face her.
“You are pushing yourself too hard. We should clear your schedule for tomorrow.”
“Zara, I don’t need you treating me like a child,” he snapped. He saw the wounded look in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he amended immediately. “That was completely uncalled for.”
“You do not need to apologize,” she replied softly.
“Yes, I do. I know you’re just concerned, and you’re right to worry. It’s like the littlest things set me off these days. I get frustrated so easily. I wasn’t like this, before.”
“I know,” she replied. “But you have not given yourself any time to recover, and the burden you bear would snap other men in the best of health.”
“Things will be better when the elections are over,” he said, verbalizing a thought he’d repeated in his own mind numerous times in the last few days.
“If fortune is with us,” Zara responded with a nod. “Enza will be here soon. I will be in my room, reviewing briefings if you need me.” With that, she retreated to her own quarters, leaving him alone in the large room. He hobbled toward the large chair behind his desk and eased himself into it. He was bone weary, but even more tired in mind and spirit than in body. Politically, the tide seemed to be turning. Jen Mai, the councilor most obviously aligned with Nor, had decided not to seek reelection. Others who were considered sympathetic to Nor’s cause were also likely to lose their seats. The fence sitters were finally choosing sides. With the military no longer expending its efforts and dedicating its best soldiers to finding and rescuing him, the commanders were preparing for a major counter-offensive. Even with things finally starting to look brighter, he was less patient than ever. The smallest things angered him and what he once would have accepted as thoughtful, reasoned debate made him irritable. He lost his temper so easily and he didn’t know how to make it stop.
He hated what he was becoming.
The chime startled him out of his dark ruminations. He picked up the communicator and listened to the monotone voice announcing the presence of his visitor. Clark eased himself out of his chair and grabbed his cane. He didn’t much care if Enza saw him limping awkwardly on his injured ankle. He left the quarters and made his way toward the reception hall. Clark was met not only by Enza, but Thia as well. The little girl smiled brightly as he entered the room. She started to get up from the oversized chair she was sitting in, but Enza quickly put her hand on her shoulder to slow her down. Enza stood and took Thia’s tiny hand in hers. They walked slowly toward Clark.
“Good tidings, Kal El,” Thia said as she looked up at him.
Clark smiled at her. “Good tidings, little one,” he replied.
“Good tidings, sir,” Enza said. “I am sorry to have come on such short notice. And I was unable to find anyone to stay with Thia.”
“It’s all right,” he replied. He hobbled slightly as he sat down in one of the chairs.
“Aunt Enza said you got hurt very badly,” Thia said as she retook her seat.
“That’s right,” he said simply.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Thia, let us leave Kal El alone. I am certain he is tired,” Enza admonished.
“It’s okay,” Clark replied. “It still hurts a little, but I think if you give me a hug, I will feel much better.”
Thia stood up and walked toward his chair. With arms outstretched, she allowed Clark to scoop her up into his arms. “I hope you feel better, Kal El, she whispered in his ear as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I already do,” he replied. He smiled faintly. For a brief moment, he did feel better, even though the warmth passed quickly. “Why don’t we get Lieutenant Parth to take you to the library? There should be some paper in there so you can draw me a picture.”
“I’d like that,” Thia said quietly. Lieutenant Parth stepped into the room from the doorway and smiled as he stretched out his hand. Thia slipped off Clark’s lap and took the young officer’s hand. As they left the room, Clark turned back toward his counselor.
“What’s wrong, Captain?” he asked.
“There has been talk in the Guild – rumors really – of some of the councilors’ high ranking advisors inquiring into the necessary conditions to relieve one of responsibility due to mental instability.”
“They’re trying to get rid of me,” Clark said flatly.
Enza shook her head. “I do not think they believe they will succeed. Their goal is to make you defend against the charge. They will try to distract you and divide your supporters. They might hope to cause you to slip up, to say the wrong thing, or to lose your temper.”
“So you don’t think they’re right?” Clark pressed.
“I trust your judgment, sir. Most people would not have survived what you endured, but if you feel as though you are well enough to lead, I am willing to follow.”
“For both our sakes, I hope your faith is well placed.”
********
“We appreciate the help, Ultrawoman,” the weary looking doctor said in accented English as Lois placed the two large pallets of food and medicine on the ground before gently landing. Dr. Ingrid Heller reached out to shake the superhero’s hand. Years of working in the hot, harsh conditions in Kinwara’s northern desert had left the doctor sporting a deep tan and blonde streaks in her light brown hair. Tiny laugh lines had started to form at the edges of her eyes, betraying an otherwise youthful appearance. She smiled briefly, revealing perfect, brilliantly white teeth.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay long,” she explained. She was going to meet with Rapin’s forces to sweep the central valley and the paths used by the Red Cross to transport relief supplies. The previous night, they’d destroyed two munitions dumps and she’d cleared mines from the roads the relief workers used.
When the general outlined his plan to run patrols through the civilian areas, she’d crossed her arms and emphatically declared ‘I won’t kill.’
‘I know,’ he’d replied. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to. We can’t fight this war; all we can do is try to protect the people. We’re only here to deter.’
Their patrols had been exceptionally tense. The peacekeepers waited in anticipation of the moment when their guard duty could turn into a hot firefight. They remained in a constant state of readiness while Lois swept the area overhead. So far, they’d dismantled a few illegal checkpoints the rebels had been using to terrify and harass civilians.
With a hasty goodbye to the German doctor, Ultrawoman took off, flying south toward the peacekeeper’s base. She stopped in mid flight and put her hand against the transmitter hooked around one ear. “General, are you there?”
“What is it, Ultrawoman?” came the tinny sounding reply.
“Rebel raid on a village, about twenty miles south of Camp Galani.”
“My men are on their way,” Rapin replied tersely.
“I’ll meet them there.”
Lois burst forward at full speed, a tight fist punching through the air in front of her as she rocketed toward the nearby village. The wind whipped around her as she cut through dense jungle, snapping thick tree branches like tiny twigs. She darted between trees, staying low as she approached. She burst through the stand of trees, into the opening surrounding the village. Smoke rose from burning buildings. Children screamed, as marauders in jeeps and on motorcycles rode through the center of the hamlet. The air reeked of fire, gunpowder, fear, and death.
Lois brought her laser-like focus onto a jeep carrying a group of armed men, chasing a fleeing family. She darted behind the jeep, grabbing its bumper and bringing it to a startling halt. The driver turned back, wide eyed as he pressed down harder on the gas, causing the tires to spin pointlessly. Lois leaped up over the passengers of the jeep to drive an angry fist through the car’s engine block. It stuttered and died. The five would-be murderers inside looked up at her in horror. She stared at them through narrowed eyes before disarming them and destroying their guns.
She ripped the jeep’s roll bar off, and bending it like soft butter, used it to tie up the men. They shouted protests as she flew off, grabbing other rebels as they continued to terrorize the village’s innocent inhabitants. She pulled two unceremoniously off motorcycles by their collars, like a lioness grabbing erstwhile cubs by the scruffs of their necks, but with no hint of gentleness. She dropped them on the ground and bound their hands and feet with the plastic tie handcuffs she’d been given, like the ones riot police used.
Lifting off again, she tried, in a split second, to decide where to go next. All around her was chaos. Screams for help came from every direction. She turned from side to side, trying to gauge which situation was the most dire, knowing that the facts on the ground were changing constantly. The rapid burst of gunfire made the decision for her, and she took off in the direction of the shots. Over the hill, she could hear the U.N. trucks rumbling toward them, but there wasn’t time to wait for the cavalry to ride in and save the day. She tried to focus, despite the confusion and the noise, on saving as many people as possible.
The peacekeepers arrived on the scene just as the remaining rebels began to flee into the jungle. Lois started to give chase, but turned back to the scene unfolding behind her. Most of the attackers would make a clean escape, leaving behind a destroyed village, burned crops, dead children, and ruined lives. She wanted to hunt down the men responsible. To bring them to justice. But she was needed here, right now.
Ultrawoman!” one of the peacekeeping officers shouted to her, as though to punctuate the thought.
