Happy Veterans Day!
We own the rights to nothing within this story.
A young Garfield Logan sat in the sleek, colorful vehicle built for racing, turning the wheel as he provided a rough imitation of the engine's roar and the brakes' screeches. He was alone in the large garage and, by nothing short of a miracle, not supposed to be conducting some sort of arduous training at Mento's insistence though he knew that would rapidly change if he was found playing in Cliff's old car instead of finishing the homework he had been assigned. The flight of fancy where he raced down the highway, zooming about the other cars, held more allure than such tasks or true flight, which grew commonplace to his immature mind when practiced so regularly. His fantasy was too vivid, its illusion too complete, for him to notice the soft footsteps approaching the car. However, the sudden knock on the vehicle's roof snapped him from his amusements and he gave a small jump before looking up to offer a toothy smile and an uneasy chuckle.
"Eheh . . . umm, hey, Larry," he said to the bandaged man.
"Kiddo," Lawrence Trainor nodded, his one arm propped against the car's roof and his other hand on his hip. "Coulda sworn that Rita gave you some homework to do."
"Finished it," he provided, immediately proud of his quick-wittedness and masterful deception.
Beneath the bandages, he could see his elder's brow arch before the hand on the roof flipped over to dangle the collection of unmarked papers.
"Really? I could've sworn you ran out of your jar of invisible ink last week," he observed dryly.
"Umm . . ." Gar bit his lower lip as he tried to conjure up another excuse. As his mind raced, his gaze flickered towards the garage door.
"Don't even think about it, kiddo," Larry said before rapping the roof with his knuckles. "C'mon. Outta the car. I'll give you a hand."
The lean man opened the door as the youth groaned but complied, sliding from the seat and trudging to the door, followed closely by his senior. They made their way to the command room and Larry cleared the table to the side as Gar clambered to the seat and hovered over the pencil cup before pulling out one that shared his coloration. As Larry settled into the seat opposite him, he pushed the papers towards the boy who focused a glare at the math sheet before him, hoping to activate some undiscovered ability to produce laser vision. His shoulders slumped in disappointment after a moment and Larry pulled a small page of notes from his belt and regarded his sloppy scrawl closely.
"Lessee . . . you've got math problems to figure out. Then Steve wants a written report on history's greatest tactician – you pick who you think that is and provide support to your argument. Next is a science worksheet, and you have to read three more entries from that animal encyclopedia."
"Couldn't I just watch Animal Planet instead?"
"Sure."
"Really?!"
"Yep. Right after you finish all your homework."
Gar slumped back in his seat, bumping his head against its back before sounding bounding to his feet, balancing precariously as he punctuated his statement with sharp jabs and gesticulations conducted by his pencil.
"This is tyranny! Despotism! I shall not prostrate myself before your fascist dogma, you soulless automaton! . . . Help, help, I'm being repressed!"
"Your 'soulless automaton' is in the kitchen, helping Rita with dinner. I'm the creepy mummy guy," he corrected with a sardonic lilt to his tone. "Now sit down before you hurt yourself."
The boy flopped into his seat and stared at the endless ranks of equations arrayed before him, prepared to wage war upon his already waning interest. Looking back up to his teammate and interim family, he asked, "What's thirteen and seventy-three hundredths times twelve and seven tenths?"
"Somebody really needs to talk to Steve about these problems," Larry grumbled as he produced a calculator from his belt and slid it across the table towards the now beaming boy. He eagerly plugged away on the device, and it bought the elder man several minutes of blessed tranquility that were too good to last.
"Hey, Larry, what did you do before you . . . you know."
"Before I got latched to the Negative Man?"
"Yeah."
Larry regarded the verdant boy suspiciously, glancing at the clock to confirm that there was still a half an hour before the dinner siren would ring. The kid was attempting to burn up time so that he could convince Rita to help him with homework after dinner and then plead and cajole her into doing the most of the work. Being the matronly sweetheart that she was, the former movie actress would, regardless of whether she was aware of her adoptive son's ploy.
"I mean, Rita was an actress, dad's got his company, Cliff's got all those racing trophies . . ." Gar continued, attempting to draw Larry into the conversation. After a moment of internal debate, he berated himself under his breath and reached into his a compartment within his belt to pull out a crumpled photograph that he slapped onto the table. Eagerly forgetting his homework, Gar leaned forward, putting most of his weight on the table as he looked at the trio of figures standing before a sleek fighter jet. They were all attired in flight suits, each stitched with their respective names. Trainor stood in the center, a lean blonde man with crystal blue eyes and a sardonic smile who stood slightly apart from his two comrades. Ferris, a beautiful woman with flowing black hair, seemed to lean into the widely grinning Jordan, a sturdy brunette with dependable features.
"I was a pilot. U.S. Air Force," Larry answered. "Pretty good, too. Did a lot of testing of experimental crafts and such. That's actually how I got attached to the Neg-Man to begin with."
"You got to fly planes? Dude, that's awesome," Gar beamed.
"It was pretty cool," he acknowledged. He regarded the fervent youth for a moment before leaning in and tapping a finger upon the photograph, indicating Jordan.
"Back further than I want to remember, I went to basic training with this lug. It wasn't what you'd call an easy experience. Kids who go through it today – they have it easy. I was ready to drop out, but Jordan – he kept me going. Egged me on. Reminded me why I was there. I probably wouldn't have made it if it weren't for him."
"Why were you there?"
"Hmm?" Larry lifted his gaze from where he had cast it down memory lane towards the curious youth who stared at him with wide green eyes. After understanding the question, he answered, "Same reason most of us were there. We wanted to serve our country. Even for all his showboating, Jordan was ready to lay down his life for this nation and its people."
"Weren't you guys scared? I mean, you guys were only human, right?"
"Sure," he shrugged. "Anybody with half a brain was nearly terrified out of it. Which, now that I think about it, is probably why Jordan wasn't."
"This Jordan guy was supposed to be your friend, right?" Gar asked with an arched brow.
"Of course. I wouldn't be mocking him otherwise," he responded. He paused and leaned in to impart his wisdom. "Listen up, kiddo. You know you've got yourself a true friend when you guys can trade insults you wouldn't shout at your worst enemy, when you take a rather disturbing glee in each other's misery, but are still always there for each other when the chips are down. Got it?"
"Got it," the boy nodded. He stared back down at the picture and licked his lips nervously before inquiring, "Did . . . did you ever have to kill anybody?"
The bandaged man didn't respond for a moment and Gar's ears drooped before finally answered, "Yeah. It's a fact that you have to make peace with if you're going to be a soldier. But, sometimes, it's what you have to do to protect people and your comrades."
"I don't ever want to kill anybody again," he muttered as he drew his knees into his chest.
Frowning, the bandaged man reached across the table to raise the morose youth's head and meet his eyes as he sternly stated, "You did not kill anybody. Not your parents, not those two idiots, nobody. Do you understand?"
He made a noncommittal sound with opening his mouth and Larry repeated, "It's not your fault. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," Gar finally said, his voice small. Satisfied, Larry returned to his seat and collected the photo seemingly in concert with the blare of the dinner siren. Gar bolted from his seat, his misery disappearing as morphed into a verdant rabbit that dashed to the door. The elder Doom Patrol member blinked behind his bandages as he regarded the blank pages that the youth had left behind. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and loped after the young boy, shaking his head with an affectionate chuckle.
Years later, Gar sat upon the floor of his room, his back against the foot of his bed and his knees drawn up for his arms to rest upon. Clasped in his hands was the old photo, now framed and protected, that he studied with a somber fondness. It had been a rare reminder of his comrade's past life, which he had usually preferred to leave there, and Gar had found it amongst his personal effects several weeks after the death of the Doom Patrol. He did not know what had influenced him to leave it behind, and he could not look at it without experiencing almost overwhelming grief and nostalgia, but he preferred it over being left with nothing of his former comrade. There were the original copies of Rita's movies, the trophies and car of Cliff, but the only thing of significance that remained of Larry was the rugged photo that Gar ensured to preserve.
There was a knock at his door and, without moving his eyes from the image, he called, "Come on in."
The door opened to permit Blackfire, clad in a lilac dress that fitted to her luxurious frame and ended midway down her thighs. Its one side swept under her arm while loose fabric hung from the other, reminding the shape shifter of a toga. Her wild mane reached down her back and her wrists and ankles were decorated with silvery bracelets, most of which were set with small amethysts. She lifted into the air and slid onto the bed directly behind Gar, setting her legs on either side of him and tilted his head upwards as she leaned down to capture his lips in a kiss, the curtain of her thick hair hiding them for a moment. When they parted, she ran her fingers through the tangle of his verdant mane and returned his soft smile.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked.
"Yep. Sorry for moping around," he apologized as he pushed himself to his feet. Blackfire rose and he turned to face her with a brighter smile.
"It is preferable to the clown ruse you perform," she said as she gave him a small kiss. "I prefer it when your emotions are genuine."
"Maybe. Sometimes it's best just to grin and bear it as you take your knocks," he shrugged as he entwined the fingers of his hand with her own, creating a bizarre clash of gold and green. He led her from the room, pausing to set the framed picture on his nightstand, and wondered, "The kids already there?"
"Yes. They've staked out a spot for us."
Gar nodded and the pair walked to the roof in content silence where they released hands to take into the air, the shape shifter adopting the form of a verdant bald eagle. Lifting over the forest surrounding the base, they soared through the air towards the city, easily spotting the mass of people lining the road and they circled for a moment before spotting the rather unique coloration of their comrades. Blackfire descended regally while Gar dropped into a plummet, swooping over the crowd who gave an enthusiastic cheer. He spread his wings, drawing up in the air, as he shifted into a human form and dropped amongst his friends. His arm looped about Blackfire's waist and he smiled at Rose and Eddie, whose arms were hooked. The former was attired in a BDU jacket left open and the dog tags of Wintergreen, William R. dangled from a chain about her neck.
"We didn't think you were going to make it," she said, somewhat accusingly.
"Trust me, Rosie-Posie. I wouldn't miss it," he assured her before glancing about curiously. "Hey, where's Duela at?"
"Probably doing something that's all going to make us regret that we know her," Rose shrugged.
"Last I saw, she was applying some of that camo face paint to some kids," Eddie supplied with a small grin.
A whooping cry split the air and was followed by a sudden weight upon the shape shifter's shoulders, and he staggered before adjusting and looking up at the pale girl who sat atop his shoulders, hand to her brow as she used her new vantage point to look down the street. Her face had been decorated with dark green, brown, and black camouflage while her hair had been darkened to the hue of coal, held in two pigtails by streaming ribbons with digitized camo patterns. Shiny combat boots crossed over Gar's chest, helping to center the typically pale girl's gravity. The remainder of her attire persisted with her theme, but was otherwise identical to her regular costume.
"Hey, look," Rose observed drolly. "I found her."
"Did you see them from way up there? Are they coming? They didn't get lost, did they?" said Duela in a rapid fire of questions.
Gar looked towards Blackfire, who had crossed her arms over her bosom and arched a brow at her beau, with an apologetic grin. She looked towards Duela and cautioned, "Stop moving around so much, or you'll fall. And they looked as though they were about to start. Be patient."
Duela tried to obey, but her excitement was obvious and could barely be constrained as she fidgeted upon Gar's shoulders, trying to peer further down the street. The verdant placed a hand on the girl's boots, holding them in place as his other arm returned to looping about Blackfire's waist and pulling her in close. The golden woman was from a culture of warriors and she understood and appreciated the concept of the holiday. She knew that those who had been through war deserved recognition, and she was happy to give it as a distant march tune cut through the air. It was almost overwhelmed by the following cheer, but the drumbeats carried through, supported by the other sections. Blackfire smiled and glanced up as Duela nearly fell, overenthusiastic in her clapping, before she caught herself.
They watched the passage of the uniformed men and women of every race, shape, and creed with respect and gratitude, showering them with fervent applause and cheers. For a moment, the team was not the heroes, not the sentries of peace and justice. As they stood upon the crowded sidewalk, joining in the thunderous cries, they were merely bystanders welcoming and thanking those who had made sacrifices for their country and beyond. Soldiers who had risked and, in unfortunately high number of cases, lost life and limb to secure those sacred freedoms that all humans had a right to. As the soldiers from every branch of the military marched by, Gar gave a small, somber smile and thought of his old friend who had, even if not in an entirely conventional sense, continued to serve to the best of his ability and uphold the ideals he had learned while in the service.
His smile brightened as he pulled himself from his memories and he clapped his hands enthusiastically for the ranks of soldiers, simultaneously balancing Duela upon his shoulders.
This is a holiday very near and dear to our heart, due to the fact that we are very much a part of it. Normally, we encourage even negative reviews, but Ira believes that it is in your best interest not to disparage any of our, or any other nation's, veterans. A minor suggestion.
We were going to list all DC Comic characters that have served in the military, partly to show off our extensive knowledge of obscure characters, but we ran out of time.
Enjoy and please review!
