Act IV

Scene 1: For God and Country

Wind and the ever present dust that came with it made the tent billow a little more forcefully than was comfortable to Clark. It was yet another typically windy day at the Tora Bora cave complex. So it was with a face covered by a length of cloak that Clark exited the tent and looked about at the various local guerilla fighters scurrying to and fro in their preparations for the next inevitable barrage of artillery fire from the Russians.

Clark was greeted with a few smiles and curt bows from some of the passing men. Most were delighted to see a representative of their American allies actually on the ground alongside them. Many more were just glad to see another day. For Clark, he would have given anything for a cheeseburger. He had been camping out in the region for so long he had practically gone native, wearing a long, light brown cloak, a gray turban, and an especially long beard. Of course, Clark figured his appearance to be deference to the customs and appearance of the people he had been living and fighting amongst for so long.

Clark ducked back inside his tent. His minder Khassim was there by the fire in the center of the tent, tending to a pot of stew. He was a grizzled old veteran of the war and only spoke to Clark in Pashto which Clark understood not a word of, but Clark had grown to like the toothless old man and they regularly played chess every evening. But as Khassim lifted his spoon to test the flavor of the stew, smacking his lips in that irritating way of his, Clark was instantly transported back to another time when this particular irritant played upon his nerves.

The unceasing chewing noise coming from the bubblegum-occupied mouth of Miss Wells was enough to set Clark's teeth on edge. He liked to think he was a tolerant person without too many pet peeves, but for some reason the sound of other people chewing anything at all really bothered him. The candy policy was there for quickly becoming one of the few things Clark actually disliked about his friend the President, and Clark started to come to this very realization when he reflexively turned down the typically offered jar of jelly beans the last time he had been in the Oval Office.

"Suit yourself," the old man replied as he popped a jelly bean of his own before reaffixing the glass lid on the brightly multicolored jar. "Well I guess that's enough chit chat. We had better get down to the reason why we wanted you here today."

"Of course, sir," Clark agreed. "Anything for my adopted homeland."

The President gave a familiar if oddly timed chuckle at this statement. Perhaps it was another sign of the President's drifting mind. Needless to say, it was something Clark refused to dwell on.

Instead, Miss Wells cut in and said, "As you may know, Mr. Kent, our operation in Afghanistan has been humming along rather smoothly for the past few years and we've seen some great results. The cost of the conflict on the Russian economy has been catastrophic and we had predicted their full withdrawal from the region within the year."

"As it happens, I was not aware that things were going quite that well," Clark pointed out. The warning words of Bruce Wayne were just starting to echo in his head, and try as he might, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something more to this Afghanistan story that he wasn't being told. He hated doubting his friends' sincerity and had never had cause to until recent events. He wanted to believe that it was all some elaborate conspiracy to turn him against his country, but Clark knew Bruce as a practical man who wouldn't have taken the time to personally air the suspicions he had unless he had a very good reason to believe that they were true, and Clark couldn't readily recall a time when Bruce had ever been wrong before.

So it was with a raised eyebrow that Miss Wells responded, "I'm sorry. I'm simply an economic advisor. I can only guess has to who gets briefed on what. You'll pardon my mistake. In any case, we have the Russians on the ropes and we were under the impression that they were willing to come to the table and work with us as our long term forecasts predicted."

Clark couldn't help but frown a little at the mention of any cooperation between the United States and Russia. It was just that kind of cooperation that he had been warned about, but Clark decided to play along for the moment and see where this conversation was going. "You keep using all these phrases like 'had predicted' and 'under the impression' as though things are actually not going according to plan, so I'm forced to ask, are they not?"

Miss Wells slowly shook her head. "Indeed they are not, Mr. Kent. That's why we need you to step in and give them a little extra persuasion."

Clark's frown grew genuine, but he listened intently when the President stepped in with an explanation. "Son, we have it on good intelligence that the Russians are planning to withdraw from Afghanistan, but this is only going to be a faint. The true intent of their pullback is to get their troops out of missile range."

Clark's eyes went wide. "Missile range?" he parroted inquisitively. "What, you mean as in… nuclear missile range?"

The President gave a weighty nod. "That's right son."

Clark leaned forward in his chair, barely resisting the urge to leave it, as he exclaimed, "Why in God's name would they resort to such a drastic step? They're fighting a bunch of peasants hiding in caves, not some organized nation state! I thought the purpose of our negotiations with the Russians was to prevent just this sort of thing from ever occurring."

The President let out a weary sigh. "So did I, kido. But it turns out the Russians' intentions may have been less than genuine. You're right to point out that the Afghans aren't organized, but the Russians don't see it that way. They've been so beaten down by Islamic terrorism and guerilla wars for so long that they want to send a message. Continue on your current course and we will reduce you and your families to irradiated ash. Typical Russian power doctrine. Which is why I'm left with no choice. I know you have plenty of responsibilities with your League and all that, but I'd like to ask you a favor and have you make your way to Afghanistan…"

Clark already knew what the President was about to say before he even said it.

"If there's one person in the world capable of preventing a nuclear holocaust, it's you. I need you to step and attempt to disarm the missiles when they start flying. You're our number one nuclear deterrent, and now your country needs you in that role in a more real way than ever before."

The President's final words echoed in Clark's mind as he sat there in the lightly billowing tent next to the gently chewing Khassim. It wasn't long before a steaming bowl of the frothing stew that Khassim had prepared was thrust before Clark's face. He turned it down with a polite smile and an awkward laugh before deciding to head back outside once again. It was probably because he didn't want to sit next to a man who chewed his food like a horse, but maybe it was because Clark had never felt comfortable inside the stuffy surroundings of the tent.

Clark wasted no time in taking a stroll about the camp. The light of the day was starting to fade to a brilliant orange that spilled out over the mountains giving Clark no small amount of pause. Given the oppressively flat landscape of his native Smallville, Clark figured he'd never get used to the sight of mountains in the distance, and it was an object of fascination to him that such sights were an everyday part of life for these people he was trying to protect.

He had to turn down an enthusiastic invitation from a one eyed Afghan to play that horse game they were always so fond of playing. As far as Clark could discern, it was something not entirely unlike polo that he had seen being played by a member of the royal family the last time he had visited Great Britain. In fact, given the history of the British Raj in the region, that was likely where they had picked it up, but Clark had no wish to end up as one eyed as the man who had wanted him to play, and besides, all Clark wanted to do was head to the top of the mountain, take in the sunset and clear his head of thoughts.

The way up was long and treacherous as always, and it left Clark wondering if he'd end up spending the night on the mountain top as he had a few times in the past given the already late hour. The only companions he had on the way were a few boys herding goats along the narrow path, although they were all headed back down to camp for the night. The only companion he had who was actually headed up was a gray cat who loyally followed him until it lost interest and went chasing after some small prey.

Upon reaching the summit, Clark assumed his usual seat atop a small pile of stones. He assumed his meditative position as he stared off into the distance. The landscape of the Afghan hinterlands looked a spotty brown as it spread out before him. It had taken so long to get to his destination here that the sun had almost set completely by the time he sat down. And then he straightened his back, fixed his gaze on a randomly selected stone and channeled all his concentration into it, obliterating all memories and thoughts of the President, of Bruce Wayne, of conspiracy and danger.

A sound entered the range of his enhanced hearing that was not expected. It was outside the usual distant noises of livestock and earnestly chattering people. It was a hissing noise like that of an aircraft, but it sounded off somehow. Clark averted his gaze from his stone and focused his enhanced vision into the distance. His sight passed beyond the valley, across the distant mountains and into the horizon beyond. There he saw the dreaded sight of what he had come for; a trio of Russian missiles descending from the sky on a vector for the camp. They would surely devastate the surrounding landscape and render it uninhabitable to anyone and anything, just like the President had predicted.

Clark took a deep breath and then shot into the sky after his targets. Within seconds he was flying alongside the missiles. He used his laser vision to slice open the cone of the warhead where the then unscrewed the massive metal device. He hurled it into the distance and blew it up harmlessly with his laser vision while the rocket dropped harmlessly out of the sky. He repeated the process for the next two missiles and heaved a sigh of relief as he watched the third and final rocket plummet to the ground.

Then… confusion. The sound was still there, but Clark couldn't quite pinpoint where it was coming from until it was too late. He spun around in midair as he was descending back to the ground, a look of horror etched on his face. He only just barely had time to shield his eyes from the blast that would have surely blinded him, and then all he could do was watch in despair as a trio of mushroom clouds took shape over the camp that he had just come from. All the while Clark's mind was racing with how he could have possibly missed the other missiles until he heard the sound of yet more missiles on their way to another nearby population target.

He sped to the missiles and saw with shock that they were not Russian, but American! He was forced off his flight path when one of the missiles veered from its general course to come after him and Clark was forced to race away. Moments later and he had barely managed to disarm the missiles. Maybe there had been a malfunction with the early warning system and the American missiles had been fired from a nearby submarine automatically? Clark couldn't fathom how that could be though since their firing mechanisms were usually manual.

Once again his thoughts were interrupted when he heard the noise of more missiles. They were Russian this time but they all came straight for him when he approached. He disarmed two but a third smacked into him and detonated in a great green blaze. Clark fell from the sky and cratered into the ground below. He could feel the cold sweat and loss of limb control usually associated with intense Kryptonite exposure. Then another trio of missiles flew in. They were American and they were headed straight for him. A quick scan with his vision and Clark just had time to see that they were filled with yet more Kryptonite. He wanted to know why he had been betrayed, but the answer was all too quick in coming. Just before the missiles struck, Clark wheezed, "Bruuuuce… I'm sorry."