Stone Soldiers 4: Shades of War (8 page)

"Colonel?" Atlas asked, watching his commander. "Who was that?"

"Someone I killed a long time ago."

April 10, 1995 was the day it all fell apart. Years of planning, all gone in one fell swoop.

Clint Kerrick had been on set, hosting his new television show, S
ea to Sea,
when the alarm on his wrist watch had gone off. His producer had rolled her eyes and called for a pause in the filming. But Clint was more than put off. He never set that alarm. It wasn't reminding him to do something- it was warning him.

The bearded host excused himself, asking for a brief break from filming. He rushed back to his dressing room as fast as his spindly legs would carry him. Once locked inside, he stripped off his shiny silk suit and changed into something more sheer. A white body stocking with red and blue lines and a bold "S" over the left breast. Then he changed his body.

Where Clint Kerrick was a skinny, knock-kneed man with a long, unkempt beard and a thin frame that the body stocking hung on loosely, his alter ego was for more impressive. His limbs swelled as muscles grew rapidly into place. He filled the body suit, stretching it to the point it was ready to split apart. His beard shortened to something far more manageable and even his hair shortened- pulling free from a band that had held it back in a ponytail behind his head.

Lifting off from the floor, he floated up to a well-oiled skylight, opened it, then was off like a flash, streaking over the City of Los Angeles faster than the eye could follow.

Flying just under the speed of sound, he was only a few miles from his destination in seconds- his apartment on the 20th floor of a high rise building in downtown that had an excellent ocean view. It had cost him a fortune. And then it was gone.

The explosion was seen and felt all over the city- strong enough to shatter windows for over a mile. Clint had planned it that way- he'd put enough explosives into the home to vaporize anyone who broke in and discovered his secret identity. True, the blast more than likely obliterated the three floors below his, but that was unavoidable. His secrets were more important than his neighbors.

Feeling a pang of regret that he was now going to need a new home, Clint continued his flight, shifting his perception back to that of his gray eyes. And gasped.

A man was falling from the sky. Or more likely, from Clint's twentieth floor apartment. He fell quickly, rotating in mid air and spreading his arms and legs out- as though he were falling backwards into a swimming pool and not leaping to his death.

The fact he had survived the blast was incredible. Clint quickly reasoned the man must have somehow discovered the explosives and leapt out a window just before they detonated.

Clint wondered who he had been. No- who he
was
. As in, who he currently was.

Despite falling twenty stories and crashing onto a car, crushing its roof and shattering its windows, the man was getting back up. He dropped off the mangled car and brushed his gray suit off, then walked calmly away.

With Clint's secret identity, no doubt.

Clint rocketed down to street level, momentarily breaking the sound barrier. The boom would have shattered nearby windows if the booby-trap in his apartment hadn't already done so.

The man in the suit reacted quickly. He dove to his right and rolled. He came up in a kneeling crouch, a large, silver automatic in both hands and fired off two quick shots.

The large slugs slammed into Clint's chest, startling him and causing him to veer off. Otherwise they did no damage, as they were, after all, just bullets.

Clint landed, and spun to face the man who had just blown up his apartment.

It had to be him- the one they'd warned him about.

"Howdy," the man said, still holding the pistol. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Clint's eyes flashed red and streams of pure heat leapt out, ionizing the air in their path and striking the automatic in the man's hands. The pistol broke apart and the man calmly stepped to his right. He held his hand up to his face, revealing his thumb and forefinger were missing.

"That wasn't very friendly," he remarked.

Clint raced forward, intent on knocking that smirk off the man's face. But again, the man sidestepped and the rocketing parahuman swept past.

"Toro!" the man in the tattered gray suit said. He formed a pistol with his right hand- his thumb and forefinger regenerated, but stone-colored. "Bang."

Burning red beams struck Clint in the eyes- high intensity lasers that reduced his eyes to liquid in a millisecond. Throwing an arm up to shield himself, he switched to his clairvoyant, psychic vision. The beams were coming from a black sedan parked on the side of the street. Two small projectors had extended from panels under the front corners of the car. These had fired the lasers.

The driver's door to the car opened. By itself. Clint looked around, but the man in the gray suit was nowhere to be found.

"Let's not do this here," the gray suited man said aloud. What was his name again? The name he'd used in West Virginia? Doe. John Doe.

The door to the car closed and all four wheels began spinning. There was a brief screech of rubber on asphalt and then the car rocketed toward Clint.

The parahuman lowered his arm, bracing for the impact. Then his eyes widened in surprise. A cloud of smoke had erupted from the rear of the car, followed by a micro missile, barely three feet long, that shot out, curved around and headed toward him. At well over twice the speed of sound.

Clint tried to dodge the missile that swept past the approaching car, but it was too fast. It hit him and detonated- a considerable blast for such a tiny device

When the smoke had cleared, the car was long gone.

Clint took to the air, soaring above the height of the buildings and looked around. He spotted the car right away- weaving in and out of traffic, headed southwest, toward the ocean.

Clint shot after the car, furious at the turn of events. For twenty-four years no one had discovered his secret identity. He had kept his costumed life separate from his personal life, yet used both to achieve success in the other.

True, he ultimately wouldn't need a secret identity once his plan came to fruition, but up until now it had proven useful. Without it, he could never have formed the network of operatives his plan required. The network this John Doe had been dismantling for the past few days.

Another missile erupted from the end of the car. Clint was ready and this time dodged to the left and again used his pyrokinetic ability to superheat the weapon. It exploded long before it could get to him. He wondered briefly how many more of these the car had.

And what kind of car was it? The car was nimble. Very nimble. Tires barely screeched as all four wheels pivoted, each wheel grabbing at the pavement and slinging the car from side to side as it raced along the streets of Los Angeles at over sixty miles-per-hour. Slower traffic presented no problem for the car, which whipped into on-coming traffic and slid back out of the way at the last moment.

The sedan then raced up an on-ramp, merging onto westbound I-10. Doe was definitely headed for the ocean. Running seemed oddly out of character for him.

Three more rockets launched from the rear of the car- in quick succession. Clint was able to see as they fired that they actually came from the trunk. The rear lid had raised slightly, revealing the flat edge with six holes for the missiles. That would leave one more after this.

Clint again directed his eye beams at the approaching missiles. As he scored a hit, he noticed two things. First, there was no traffic on the highway, and second, the two other missiles from the volley had broke away from each other, circling around to strike him from the sides.

Clint dove for the pavement, intent on punching through the concrete of the elevated freeway. But he wasn't fast enough. The missiles exploded on either side of him, hurling twin clouds of shrapnel his way. He felt it rip through his suit and tear his dense, enchanted flesh.

He hovered in the air for a moment, to heal his wounds. The sixth missile then struck him square in the chest.

The blast sent Clint flying, tumbling through the air before he crashed down onto the pavement. He blinked several times, his vision spinning from the concussive shockwaves of the missiles. But he had more than enough energy reserves to heal that kind of damage. Conventional weapons were of no use against him. This John Doe should know that.

Clint's heightened hearing then detected a new sound- coming from the east, behind him. He looked up as he stood, and was surprised for the fourth time this afternoon. A helicopter was headed for him. An attack helicopter, flying over the city, headed west, like Clint and John Doe.

This was not any helicopter Clint had seen before though. It was angular and all black, with no tail rotor. Wide blades chopped through the air and small, stubby wings extended from the sides, behind the cockpit, supporting a variety of ordinance. Dark windows hid the aircrew from view. And it had a large, multi-barreled gun on the front of the aircraft.

Still a mile away, the strange, black helicopter began to fire that gun. The six barrels spun quickly and glowed blue and purple. The rounds they fired raced toward Clint, the first few striking the pavement twenty feet away. But there were hundreds of them- fired in rapid succession, and ripping through the concrete toward him as the craft corrected its aim.

Where each shell hit, metal burst and blue-white gas billowed out. Plasma- heated to several thousand degrees. Concrete was reduced to dust or outright vaporized with each shell's hit.

Clint threw up his arms to protect his face and took to the air. But the vulcan cannon of the helicopter was spewing out rounds by the thousands now. Several struck his legs and back as he streaked away. The thin metal of the projectiles ruptured on impact and he felt the pain of the plasma from within the shells burning holes through even his body.

Clint swerved in the air to his right and accelerated past the speed of sound. The helicopter continued firing, the stream of plasma projectiles narrowly missing him. Now he knew why Doe had fled west- so that the helicopter could fire with no fear of hitting the city. Rounds that missed him just arced out to sea.

Some kind of stealth helicopter with next generation weaponry and a clear care for civilian casualties? That clinched it- Doe was working for the government. And America had just declared war on Clint Kerrick.

Which was fine- he'd declared war on America weeks ago.

If she could have gotten the door open while the plane was still moving, Josie would have leapt from the aircraft already. They were taxiing up to a hangar off the runway far too slow for her taste. Jimmy was hurt and she needed to see him. Now.

Colonel Kenslir had briefed her and Dr. Olson as they flew into Georgia. He'd related the results of the spectral battle at Chickamauga in short detail, saving Jimmy's condition for last.

The plane finally rolled to a stop and an airman hurried over and opened the hatch, then unfolded the stairs. Josie ignored the hand he offered her and hurried down. Colonel Kenslir and Pam Keegan were standing nearby, waiting for her, their faces grim. Of course, they both always had grim faces. Josie wasn't sure who smiled less.

"Josie," Pam said first. She was a short blonde, with a large chest that threatened to burst out of the low-cut blouse and unbuttoned jacket of her own dark suit. She had shoulder length blonde hair and was fairly attractive and clearly in her late thirties. Despite her small size, she was tough as nails. She and Josie had become good friends over the summer.

"Where's Jimmy?" Josie asked, almost in a panic.

"I'll take you to him." Pam said, taking Josie by the elbow and steering her toward a waiting car.

"No." Kenslir said quietly. "I'll take them. I want you to secure the prisoner."

Pam shrugged. "Suit yourself." Then she gave Josie a hug.

"Hey, good lookin'," Laura Olson said, stepping off the plane after Jason. She put a hand on Jason's elbow and led him over. The teen nearly jumped at her touch.

When they walked up to Kenslir, Olson kept going, stepping in for a hug.

The Colonel held up a hand and pointed toward a waiting car. "Please wait in the car, I'll be along in a moment. You too, Josie."

"What, no kiss? I thought you'd miss me," Olson said, smiling devilishly and walking toward the car. "Have fun with my little buddy, here- he's a handful."

Jason watched as the vampire and Josie went to the nearby car.

"So you're their boss?" Jason asked, gulping. Where Jason had always thought himself tall, he had to look up at Kenslir, who had wide shoulders and an imposing presence. The Colonel was dressed all in black, wearing holsters, ammo pouches and a pair of oversized goggles pushed up on his forehead. He regarded Jason with dark, almost black eyes that showed just a hint of green.

Mark Kenslir finally extended his hand. "Mark Kenslir."

Jason cautiously took the hand- he hadn't been able to see Kenslir's teeth well enough to know if he was a vampire or not.

The instant his hand touched the large Colonel's, green light flared. Jason jerked his hand away and stepped back, a little panicked.

"Are you a vampire too?"

Kenslir frowned. "You're charged with etheric energy," Kenslir said. "I have a natural resistance to it. Hence the green discharge."

"Etheric...?"

"Magic. You're charged with magical energy. It seems you can absorb it. I cancel it out."

Kenslir motioned and four airmen in camouflage, with M-4 carbines and dark blue berets walked over.

"These Airmen, and Agent Keegan, are going to escort you to secure quarters for awhile."

"I'm a prisoner?" Jason asked. "Where are they taking me?" he was feeling panicked again.

"You'll be fine," Pam said. "The boss has some other stuff to attend to. He'll get to you later."

Pam put her hand on Jason's elbow and led him to a large SUV waiting nearby. The Airmen fell into step around them.

***

Kenslir drove them across the base to a hospital. Josie was finally able to see where they were- Dobbins Air Reserve Base was written on the wall of the small base hospital.

They went to the second floor, past armed guards and finally entered a large room. Jimmy was laying in a bed, various tubes sticking out of him, a heart rate monitor dutifully beeping beside him as he slept.

"Jimmy...." Josie said, tears welling in her eyes. She rushed to the bedside and gently touched his hand.

Kenslir had told her on the phone he was injured. Josie had imagined the worse- that Jimmy had been broken apart again. But being flesh and blood, and on life support? It was shocking.

"How?" Josie asked.

"The shades were under the command of a para who could absorb etheric energy," Kenslir said.

At the foot of the bed, Laura was reading Jimmy's chart.

"Like Jason," Josie said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

Kenslir nodded. "As improbable as it sounds, the two events seem linked. The para at Chickamauga more than likely killed Jason Trumball's parents."

"And took his father's body," Laura said, looking up from the chart.

Kenslir glared at her briefly and Laura shrugged, then went back to reading.

"How bad is it?" Josie asked, looking back at Jimmy. She gently rubbed his hand.

"His kidney was punctured and his spine severed. He lost most of his blood and had to be resuscitated on the way here."

Fresh tears poured down Josie's cheeks.

"I can fix him," Laura said, putting the chart down.

Josie looked up at her, pleadingly. "You can?"

"Well, with a little help," Laura said. She walked over to the Colonel, slipping an arm through his and pressing up against him. "I need a quick bite, first."

Kenslir held up his left hand, palm out.

Laura pouted her lips. "A kiss is much more effective."

"Laura, please!" Josie said. She was still crying and clutching Jimmy's hand where he lay unconscious.

"Fine." The vampire grabbed Kenslir's hand with her right. Blue-green light crackled from between their hands.

Laura grinned and grabbed Kenslir's behind with her free hand. "Tasty as always, darling!"

The Colonel glared but said nothing. The energy flashed from between their palms, as Laura maintained her grip. Kenslir's neck began to lose its color, turning gray. The discoloration crept up, toward his face.

Josie glanced down to the Colonel's hand- it was losing its color as well.

Laura finally broke her grip. "Yes!" She exclaimed, breathing hard. "That's the good stuff." She leaned in quick and kissed Kenslir on his stone colored lips- his face was now a solid gray, up to his nose.

She then turned away, and walked around to the other side of the bed. The color began to return to the Colonel's face and hand.

Laura carefully propped open first one, then the other of Jimmy's eyes. "Good pupillary response," she said.

She then began to roll the blankets down, and pulled up the gown Jimmy had on. Josie gasped and turned away when she saw all the gauze and bandages, soaked with blood, taped over his stomach.

"This has got to go," Laura said, quickly pulling at tape and gauze. "The trick is to go fast, so they don't feel anything."

Colonel Kenslir was back to normal now, his color restored, and stood silently watching from the side.

"Such shoddy workmanship," Laura said when she had at last exposed the wound. "You should teach your soldiers to sew better," she commented.

Finally, the vampire laid her palm over the wound. Energy again crackled, this time all blue, sparking and flickering from between her hand and Jimmy's stomach. With her free hand she pulled out the breathing tube from Jimmy's mouth. "Won't need that anymore either."

After she dropped the tube to the floor, Laura rubbed the nails of her free hand on her lapel then examined them and blew. "I need a manicure," she said nonchalantly as she continued to pour energy into Jimmy.

Josie gripped Jimmy's hand tightly, eyes going back and forth between his face and the vampire's hand on his stomach.

"Now, you know I'm going to need a refill after this," Laura said, pointing at Jimmy. "For me. I'm simply, starving."

Finally, the transfer of energy stopped and Laura pulled her hand away. The injury on Jimmy's stomach was gone, the flesh mended, but still covered with blood smears.

"I suggest a sponge bath and two aspirin," Laura said, stepping away. She circled around the bed and walked back up to Kenslir.

Josie gently rubbed Jimmy's face. "Jimmy?"

Laura leaned in close to Kenslir and made a show of sniffing. "Mmm. You could use a sponge bath too. You smell all wolfy."

Jimmy's eyes slowly fluttered open. "Wha-?" he croaked. His voice was raspy.

Josie looked around. "He needs something to drink."

Colonel Kenslir pulled his arm free of Laura and pulled open a pocket on his assault vest with a tear of velcro. From it he pulled a small pouch of water and handed it over.

Josie tore the pouch open with her teeth and held it up to Jimmy's lips. He sipped at it then leaned back into his pillow.

"I feel awful," he said.

Josie quickly leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Laura once again grabbed one of Kenslir's arms. "Let's give the kids some privacy- and go find some of our own, sport."

Kenslir again pulled free of the vampire and walked over to the bed, leaning in behind Josie. "Welcome back, Kane."

Jimmy smiled weakly. He held a hand up and looked at it. "I thought you said I was going to be stone forever."

"Apparently, I was wrong."

"Did we win?" Jimmy asked.

"We're fine," Kenslir answered. He put a hand on Josie's shoulder. "See he gets plenty of rest. If you feel like joining us, the airmen outside will take you to the hangar we're in."

Kenslir turned back around to Laura. "C'mon, you've got some more work to do."

"Ooh. I love it when you get all bossy," she said, smiling.