Somewhere in Afghanistan:
James Cavanaugh had spent hours in the interrogation room and each passing minute was exponentially more soulcrushing than the last. The light was bright one moment and dim in the next, his chair wobbled, and on a clean steel table sat a glass of water that he hadn’t touched. All he could only stare at the two-way mirror across the side of the room and hope that the several men behind that glass were prudent.
He saw through their tricks; adjusting the lighting to loosen his focus, messing with his chair to keep him uncomfortable, and hoping that he would drink their water so he would have to ask them to use the bathroom. Both Gotham and New York’s finest had used these same tactics on his uncle, it didn’t work then and it won’t work now.
They were hoping his story would change but it didn’t, James stood his ground and replied with the truth, hoping it wasn’t naive to believe that the truth still mattered. He could tell that they weren’t convinced and he understood their skepticism. Even James wouldn’t have believed himself if he wasn’t there to witness the events firsthand. He could still picture their faces: Wu, Hayden, Walt, Redding, Schaefer, and of course, Sergeant Taylor. They were the closest thing he had to an actual family; now they were dead.
James grinded his teeth, annoyed more by his superiors’ hesitations than their prejudices. These men beyond the glass have already made up their minds, the only question that remained was: Where do they send him now?
Suddenly, a man entered the room. This man was tall, dark-skinned and possessed a stern face. He appeared to be in his late 50’s, with slight graying in his hair and his stubble. His most noticeable features were the scars on his neck and hands. Though it looked like someone once tried to garrote him, his physique made it doubtful that whoever tried was still able to discuss the experience. His eyes had an exhausted look and his disposition read that he was in no mood to waste any time.
“Lance Corporal James Cavanaugh?” he asked.
“Yes Sir!” I replied.
“Due to the recent circumstances, The United States Government feels that your services would be better utilized in the Department of Extranormal Operations.”
“Wait--that doesn’t make any sense” James said, “I still have two months left on my tour, and I don’t remember signing anything with the DEO!”
“Well that’s why I brought these documents” he said, pointing at the folder being held in his right hand. “All you have to do is sign the papers to start your transfer.” He explained.
“But I don’t want to leave the Marine Corps!” James protested.
He sighed, placing his fingers on the bridge of his nose. “Look kid, the Marine Corps doesn’t care if you want to leave; it wants you to leave, so please just sign the damn forms so we can both get on with our lives.”
James finally understood what was happening to him. Staff Sergeant Winters didn’t believe his story but he also knew he didn’t have enough evidence to dishonorably discharge Cavanaugh. All he did know was that James was a metahuman who had a flawless record until last night. Rather than trying to put his subordinate in a cell he threw James into an agency that was looking for expendable metas.
“So, what happens if I don’t sign?” James asked.
“You face a tribunal, you’ll probably escape conviction but your reputation will be ruined and no marine will ever trust you again.” He said sincerely.
James sighed, briefly weighing my options “Got a pen?”
“Of course,” he replied.
James signed the documents and handed them back to the agent.
“Welcome to the DEO! I’ll be your handler.” He exclaimed joyfully.
Before they proceeded through hallway James asked “So what do I call you?”
“Charlie Brown…or Agent Brown if you prefer,” he replied.
“Seriously?” James sighed and fought the impulse to facepalm—it was going to be a long flight home.
**
After the papers were processed, James and Agent Brown entered the flight hanger to board the Brenner TX-19, or as Agent Brown liked to call it, “The Black Betty.” Black Betty’s exterior resembled a large stealth bomber. The frame of the aircraft was shaped like an arrowhead except for the rear, in which the tail and the wings formed an M pattern. James and Charlie entered the jet’s lounge room. The interior was decorated glamorously with white walls, suede seats, a gray carpet and mahogany furniture.
“Wow! Pretty high end for a government aircraft” James exclaimed.
“We make full use of the resources we are given.” Agent Brown replied.
“So nice to see our tax dollars at work” James mused, barely hiding any sarcasm behind the statement.
Agent Brown hovered instinctively towards the minibar, pouring a small glass of scotch. “Take a seat Cavanaugh, we have a lot to talk about.” He took a long sip from his glass before taking a seat across from the new recruit.
James sat down and asked “Where should we start?”
“Why don’t you tell me about what happened last night.”
“What would be the point? You’ve already read my statement.” James protested.
“I don’t doubt the truthfulness of your statement, If I thought you were lying I wouldn’t have bothered recruiting you” Charlie said in a reassuring tone. “I just think it would be helpful if I heard your full side of the story.”
“Fine” James reluctantly conceded. “Let’s just get this over with.”
24 hours ago, James point of view:
I was cleaning my sidearm when Corporal Hayden passed through the barracks. We all stood upright, by our bunks to greet our C.O.’s presence.
“Cavanaugh, Wu, Quinn! Sergeant Taylor wants us assembled for our briefing in ten minutes. That means be ready in five!” The Corporal barked.
“SIRYESSIR!” I shouted in unison with my teammates. Hayden grinned before heading off.
“Sounds like things are about to get interesting!” Wu smirked.
“Don’t get cocky Brendon; I can only save your life so many times.” I said with a grin.
“Oh please!” Brendon retorted while strapping on his helmet, “You would have never made out of basic if it wasn’t for me.”
Jessica chuckled while putting on her chestgear, “Boys and their egos.”
“Ready yet Quinny”, I asked impatiently?
“Almost there Jimmy” she teased back while retying her boots; she knew how much I hated being called Jim.
“That’s Lance Corporal Cavanaugh to you rookie!” I shot back in a snarky manner. I may have only had the higher rank for five months, but I was already infatuated with playing the seniority card.
Just before we exited our quarters Wu yanked our shoulders back. “Wait a minute, we’re not gonna do it?
“Do we really have too?” PFC Quinn asked reluctantly.
I shrugged, “Well it’s always been a tradition with our team.” I emphasized.
We huddled and each placed a hand in the center, “3, 2, 1, OORAH!” we all shouted before exiting the room.
**
When we entered the briefing the only people in the room were the Sergeant and all three Corporals. Like always we were the first team to show up, and Hayden, our team leader, delivered a self assured sneer to his fellow Corporals. Sergeant Taylor growled, he may have appreciated punctuality, but he loathed showboating.
One by one the other marines entered, each hoping they were not the last to arrive. Finally PFC Sinclair stumbled in, with his tail between his legs. Schaefer grumbled in frustration, knowing that even the new kid, Kilbourn, managed to show up ahead of Sinclair.
Sergeant Taylor roared “PFC SINCLAIR! YOU WERE TOLD TO BE HERE IN 10 MINUTES OVER 13 MINUTES AGO. DO YOU CARE TO EXPLAIN WHY YOU HAVE WASTED THREE MINUTES OF OUR TIME?” Corporal Schaefer could only shake his head in disappointment.
“MY APOLOGIES SERGEANT,” Sinclair yelped, “I WAS TRYING TO ADJUST THE SIZE OF MY HELMET--SIR!” I pitied Sinclair; his helmet was actually bigger than his head. It seemed cruel to put such a frail kid in the ground forces, he definitely had more brains than brawn and would have would’ve fared much better in one of the tech divisions. He probably would not have had so much to prove if his father wasn’t such a gung-ho politician.
After the Sergeant cooled off he regained his focus and began to fill us in. “Listen up Marines, we have fresh intel that an insurgent group has acquired a new stockpile of weapons. The cache is currently being held in a small fortress approximately 3 klicks east of COP (coalition outpost) Margah. Our task is to eliminate all insurgents in the area and deliver the weapons back to the nearest outpost. Understood?”
“SIR YES SIR!” we all replied.
**
The sun was about to set. After scouts finished up their recon we were all in position. The objective looked clean. All of the insurgents were either armed or in close proximity to a weapon, 12 guards outside only five of which were facing south, 3 guards were on the roof, 10 guards inside with the containers, and no civilians were in sight. Sergeant Taylor and fire team 1 held the high ground with a mortar in place to penetrate the walls; they were about 500 meters south of the target. Fire team 3 was able to prone within 400 meters southwest of the target. Finally fire team 2, my team, was located 475 meters southeast of the target. We waited for the Sergeant’s signal and the rest was second nature.
Fire team 1 fired the first mortar shell, killing 6 hostiles and caving in the south wall of the building. Fire team 3 provided suppressive fire while my team advanced 100 meters. A second mortar round was fired, killing only 2 hostiles this time. Within 2 and a half minutes the enemy had formed a line 50 yards south of the target area and our full rifle squad had mobilized itself around 250 yards away. At this point in the firefight it was 15 to 13.
As soon as the hostiles recovered enough to fire back we knew something was off. The enemy was using modified rifles we have never seen before, firing purple incendiary lasers that exploded on impact with any surface it touched. It became abundantly clear that cover was now useless so we all switched to prone. This only reaffirmed how crucial it was for us to recover the weapons.
Our opponents were clearly outmatched--no amount of tech could compensate for disorganization. Their sloppy formations and poor communication tilted the odds in our favor; within eight minutes the firefight was over. Aside from the injuries to Lance Corporal Redding and Corporal Fletcher the fire team was unscathed.
Corporal Schaefer, who had prior experience in combat medicine, was called over to examine the wound. “It looks like these wounds have already cauterized, but the damage still looks severe” he inferred. He examined both wounds before asking Fletcher to lift his arm. The Corporal could barely move the limb before groaning in agony; it takes a lot of pain to make a Marine scream so loud.
Schaefer winced, immediately desiring to hasten his examination. He turned to Dale “What about your leg Redding?”
“It’s pretty bad, Corporal,” said Redding, “the muscles seem dead but I can still feel pain in it.”
Corporal Hayden stepped between Schaefer and Taylor “There’s no way that he can walk on that” he concluded.
“Private Kilbourn, you have family in the weapons industry, don’t you?” Sergeant Taylor asked.
“Um, that’s correct sir, my family owns a weapon’s factory--a family business.” Kilbourn confirmed.
Sergeant Taylor picked up one of the rifles and put it in Benji’s hands, “Have you’ve ever seen anything like this?”
Private Kilbourn studied it briefly, rotating the firearm between his hands. “It looks like it was modeled after an AK-47, but I’ve never seen an ammo system like this. Even Star Lab lasers overheat, but this seems to have a cooling system and liquid cartridges that slowly regenerate. It’s amazing!” Kilbourn shifted his eyes downward to suppress his fascination with the weapon.
“That’s enough Private!” Taylor barked. He looked at Redding and Schaefer, exhaled, and spoke: “Rifle teams 1 and 2, inspect the remains of the target building and search for as many of these weapons as you can find; Private Kilbourn, keep an eye on Redding and Fletcher; Lance Corporal Fuentes, search any undamaged vehicles then drive your team back to COP Margah--use extreme caution and keep an eye out for IED’s—I have to radio in a transport for the weapons shipment.
**
We searched through the rubble, gathering anything that looked suspicious. Besides more of these strange rifles, Wu and Quinn found a carving on one of the walls. It was written in foreign symbols.
“Weird….” Quinn turned her had back to Wu. “What do you think it means?”
Wu squinted closely and rubbed his palm on the engraving. “Dunno, but that’s definitely not Arabic.”
As my friends continued to exchange theories I clutched the laser tightly. Deep down I wanted to tell them about how the lasers reminded me of my own powers, but I couldn’t, I knew if they saw that side of me things would never be the same. Maybe I was selfish, or maybe I just wanted to be accepted.
Suddenly we heard shots fired. All of our remaining members (teams 1 & 2) advanced to the north side of the building to see eight men glaring back at us. Six of the men were wearing identical uniforms. They wore all black armor with glowing red goggles over their eyes. Each had a full black ballistic masks and purple logos on their foreheads. The armored men were equipped with the same customized rifles we just found. The other two men looked completely different. The taller man was wearing a black suit with charcoal grey pinstripes, a white dress shirt, and a matching tie. He was holding a black sword with purple vapors fuming from the dark steel. The shorter man was wearing a Guy Fawkes mask with a tattered long sleeve shirt and ripped jeans. He had throwing knives gripped between each finger.
The man in the suit moved forward a step. Although he was wearing shades it felt like he was looking through me. “You weren’t supposed to be here.” He said in a sincere yet patronizing tone. He spoke with a feint Scottish accent.
“How tragic,” said the shorter man in a British accent, “but we’re all born to die.” He said, quickly raising his knives.
“OPEN FIRE!” Sergeant Taylor commanded.
Back on the plane:
“After that, things got pretty hazy.” James said. “We fired our weapons but they were useless against these men. We were all dead or wounded before any of us could get to the special weapons. All I really remember is lying on the ground bleeding with the man in the suit standing over me. He was about to finish me when I blasted a hole through his chest. I thought I killed him but he just vanished and reappeared without a scratch. After that I passed out. When I awoke my wounds healed themselves and I was taken to an interrogation room where I eventually met you.”
“Damn,” was the only word Agent Brown could manage to say.
James nodded, equally unsure of where to go next. “Any more questions?”
Agent Brown was about to continue before a second look at James made him change his mind. “They can wait. Get some rest, James.”
At first the suggestion seemed offensive to James. How could he sleep knowing that his friend’s murderers were still free? In his mind, he didn’t deserve rest because he didn’t do enough to protect them and until justice was done no comforts would redeem him. However, James knew there was a silver lining to take away from this day. Rather than rotting behind bars he was joining a federal organization that had more resources at their disposal than he could ever have on his own. For Cavanaugh this was a means to an end. The first step might be taking a nap but the last step would end avenge his fallen brethren. Knowing that put his mind back at ease.
“Thanks Charlie, for everything. I don’t know what’s in store for me with the D.E.O. but if you’re calling the shots I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” James reclined his seat and shut his eyes.
“Sure thing Cavanaugh.” Charlie smiled drinking the last sip of his scotch. He was surprised how much James reminded him of himself at that age.
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