San Francisco Supers
Disclaimer: Same as before…
"Bob," Helen replied, as Bob came home from work, "There's something the whole family needs to discuss."
"Are we moving again?" Bob replied, "Yeah, I definitely want to tell Bluey Truscott he really goofed with this one."
"No, Bob, we aren't. This city has its share of problems." Helen began.
"One of them being the fault of a certain Australian who dropped us into this mess to begin with." Bob replied.
"It's in the newspaper, Bob." Helen replied, handing Bob the Bay Mirror.
"Hmm, Mutant Hostility Rising in San Francisco." Bob replied, "Preteen Beaten By Mutant Hating Gang..."
"Bob," Helen replied, "I'm saying that our help may well be needed in this city, regarding this 'Friends of Humanity' gang."
"Help, how?" Bob asked.
"Help of the Super variety, Dad." Violet began.
"Honey, you've seen just how ungrateful Normals can be." Bob said, "For years we protected Metroville, and what do they do, they retire us firstly. Then they don't stand up to Syndrome when he takes power. And now the Soviets are invading…"
"Bob." Helen replied, "I know you're frustrated, but we can't just abandon helping people. We can't abandon hero work."
"Helen…" Bob began.
"Those mutants that keep getting attacked around here by the Friends of Humanity are like us, Dad." Violet added.
"They have powers like we do." Dash added, "We have to help them."
Bob said, "Honey, kids, I understand where you're coming from, but this isn't our city. This…"
"Bob," Helen replied, "Like it or not, San Francisco is going to be our home for the foreseeable future…"
"We are going back to Metroville." Bob replied. If the Soviets don't completely destroy it. God forbid they use tactical nukes…
"That may be true; Bob, but San Francisco may just need us right now." Helen replied.
"Helen, I don't think San Francisco is going to support Supers nearly as well as Metroville used to, if the Friends of Humanity are any indication." Bob replied, "But, I did see a kid thrown out of his foster home because he was a mutant today. He was in pretty bad shape…"
"Bob?" Helen asked.
"We'll start patrolling for FOH scum tonight." Bob replied, "Kids, grab your Super Suits."
Anthony Carlyle hung his gray trench coat on the rack in his office as Bruce Underwood and Thud MacKinley followed him in with the intelligence report that they had awakened him on.
"Alright, what have you gentlemen found?" Carlyle asked.
"Based on satellite imagery and our automated listening posts, the border areas of Metroville fell within a few hours of the initial Soviet assaults." Thud began.
"This was largely due to the chaos and disruption the Soviets had carried out behind the lines beforehand." Bruce added, the Australian suppressed a yawn and scratched at three days of beard growth before continuing, "A presently unknown number of spetsnaz troopsmost likely members of the professional athletic services, were active behind the lines. The Union Carbide fire, the explosion of the Polish supertanker, numerous 'accidental' and 'inexplicable' deaths among senior officials all over Metroville was the work of the spetsnaz."
"There was a term 'Decapitation', in one of the radio transmissions we decoded. Almost immediately, large scale assaults occurred over Metroville." Thud replied, "We believe the Russians are trying to knock off the senior leadership of Metroville's defenses."
"FIO Director Womack was found dead in a drainage ditch three hours ago, according to Metroville communications data we downloaded." Bruce replied, "Recent communications interecepts have been spotty, due to Soviet air and ground assaults on communication facilities."
"How far have the Soviets advanced?" Carlyle asked.
"So far the Soviets have advanced seventy-eight kilometers past the borders, but since Metroville has mobilized its forces, the Soviets are meeting stronger resistance. The Metroville defenses are giving ground slowly, and causing immense casualties among the advancing Warsaw Pact units." Bruce replied.
"Syndrome seems to have a two front war on his hands." Thud continued, "He's got to contend with the frontline Soviet forces advancing steadily into Metroville, and he also has to deal with marauding spetsnaz detachments behind the lines stirring up trouble. Not to mention there are pockets of Soviet paratroopers dropped into Metroville the night before the assault began, holding key bridges and small towns to allow the tank and motorized infantry regiments to cross the rivers."
"One of the larger bridges is the Municberg Bridge, it's heavy enough to support T-72 main battle tanks. The Soviets definitely want to maintain control of it. So they've sent paratroopers into the area, reinforced by Mil Mi-24 gunships and VDV Air Mobile units." Bruce added.
"The paras secondary objective seem to be airfields and airports with intact runways and fuel sources to extend the reach of the Red Air Force's tactical air arm." Thud added, "Heavy fighting around the Municberg Airport has been reported."
Konstantin Korvachenko glanced around the corner of the concourse. Seventy-two hours ago, he had parachuted into Metroville with his stick. He wished the damned political commissar and his camera man would back the hell away. Half the Municberg International Airport was still in enemy hands even after three days of fighting.
Stacked outside on a wall were eight paratroopers, including Korvachenko himelf. Across from the entrance to the small shop kiosk were Yuri Marazov with his PKM light machinegun and Arkady Galinkov with his AK-74. Both men took grenades from their belts, pulled the pins and tossed them inside the shop.
"Davai! Davai!" shouted the sergeant in charge of the squad.
Instantly commands rushed to Korvachenko's feet as he rushed inside, the second man inside after Mikhail. Mikhail took a burst of gunfire that hit him in the legs from one of the surviving enemy soldiers, a half wounded man that had barely survived the grenades that killed two of his comrades.
Korvachenko acted entirely on instinct and squeezed the trigger of his AK-74, emptying almost half the thirty-round magazine into the enemy soldier who fell dead. From a hole in the ceiling, another Metroville soldier flung a grenade down at the advancing Russians. Korvachenko dived behind the cashier's counter before the grenade exploded. Mikhail wasn't so lucky, as he absorbed several of the fragments.
Yuri ran inside and fired a burst from his machinegun into the ceiling, practically obliterating the erstwhile attacker. "Room secure!" Yuri shouted.
"Hold on Mikhail." Korvachenko replied as he helped drag the wounded man from the room.
Explosions and bursts of gunfire together with screams and orders shouted filled the airport concourse. Down the concourse, alongside the now defunct airport belt ramp, lay two dead paratroopers, cut down in a counterattack from Metroville Defense Force troops. Behind Korvachenko three soldiers were working to smash into the maintenance tunnel through a wall with a sledge hammer.
Korvachenko loaded another magazine into his weapon after ejecting the mostly empty and sticking it down his camouflaged smock. He joined the squad, as they readied to go into the opened maintenance tunnel to try and take the hallway...
Darryl Morris sipped at his mug of coffee, his second one in as many days. He walked over to Officer Mike Kohl, one of the clerks for the San Francisco Police Department, who handed Darryl some reports.
Kohl began, "Word on the street is that some vigilantes in red costumes have been running around…"
"Is this connected to the Misfits by any chance?" Darryl asked, "Or Shipwreck1?"
As he spoke he could feel another headache coming on. "Not this time. But they were also sighted in the incident at Quake last week." Kohl replied.
"Next time I see Shipwreck, please call a unit to arrest me for murder." Darryl replied, "Those guys are responsible for more than their share of destruction around here2."
"You have to admit that the sight of that crazy bearded sailor beating up on the Friends of Humanity goons was hilarious." Kohl replied.
Darryl said, "Keep me posted on anything to do with these guys in the red suits."
"It sounds like a damn Christmas cartoon gone bad. Santa Claus, Mrs. Santa Claus, and two elves." Kohl remarked to himself, chuckling.
"Kohl, spare me the commentary." Darryl began.
"Yes sir." Kohl replied.
As soon as Lieutenant Morris was out of earshot, Kohl dialed a number on his cell phone with a text message.
An hour later, after his shift ended, Kohl was on a walk in Golden Gate Park where he met his contact.
Marian sat at a park bench as she waited for her contact. Mike Kohl was on ACME's payroll, specifically to report whatever police reports concerning the relocated Supers surfaced in the SFPD.
"What have you got for me?" Marian asked.
"Reports that Santa Claus has gone vigilante." Kohl replied, using the codename for Mr. Incredible.
Trust Bluey Truscott to invent such a codename for Mr. Incredible. Marian thought, and added, "How bad?"
"The whole family. Mrs. Claus has gotten into the act with two of three elves." Kohl replied.
At least I'm in no danger of forgetting the codenames for this group of relocated Supers. Marian thought. "What happened?"
"The Balletto beating3." Kohl replied, "The poor kid got beat up just because he was a mutant. Santa and his elves decided that was the last straw and went after the FOH thugs. Darryl booked them last night."
"Thank you for the information, Officer." Marian replied.
"I try." Kohl smiled.
In the truck with the survey logo on it, Bluey Truscott and Jan Shimoda were ready if anything were to go bad in Golden Gate Park, they would go in shooting. Underneath their light jackets were police vests bearing the ACME logo and their 9mm Sig Sauer handguns ready for use. Through a wire worn under Marian's blouse they could hear the entire transaction.
"Santa Claus? Brilliant." Shimoda grinned, "You know that if Mr. Incredible finds out you nicknamed him Santa Claus he's going to tear your head off and punt it through a field goal."
"I'm well aware of it." Bluey replied, "But the red costumes and the slightly rounder body shape are consistent with Santa Claus."
"Well he did lose the weight." Jan Shimoda replied.
"Well he did act rather snappy towards Marian when we first met him." Bluey replied, with a grin, "Call it an Australian sense of humor."
"I call it you being overprotective. Marian's a grown woman and she can take care of herself." Jan replied.
Marian walked over to the truck just then and knocked on the window. Bluey opened the door and moved to the middle seat. Marian lifted up her blouse, revealing the microphone hat was around her waistline.
"I know someone can't help but look." Marian remarked.
"It's certainly a rather lovely midsection. Who wouldn't resist staring?" Bluey replied.
Shameless the way you flirt, Truscott. Marian thought. I know you since we grew up together, and still you're about the most mysterious person I know. What are you hiding from me? I can tell you feel something about me, but what? And why aren't you saying anything?
Marian smiled and then turned towards Bluey, "It's confirmed, the Incredibles are carrying out hero work here in San Francisco."
"As if San Francisco needs any more super beings running around." Jan Shimoda replied, "Ever since the incident with the Misfits and X-men coming into the play two months ago4."
"Not to mention Zartan and his lot being active around here." Bluey replied.
"Either way, HQ is not going to be happy with the actions of the Incredibles." Marian replied, as they walked up the front steps of the SOG Safehouse, "I've got to make a phone call to Headquarters…"
"HQ's got other worries." Papa Louie said as he came down the steps, "Apparently the Soviets just invaded Metroville."
Marian's pale Scottish complexion went paler still, "Mercy Mother of God…"
"They didn't go nuclear." Papa Louie said, "However, the Russians committed a full third of their military might into the first wave alone."
"This conflict could easily escalate. Especially if Syndrome manages to launch an Omnidroid or two at the Soviet Union." Marian replied.
"Metroville could easily turn into a self lighting glass parking lot." Papa Louie replied.
"I'd best call HQ anyway." Marian replied.
"They'll probably tell you to handle the situation yourself." Papa Louie replied.
"I was afraid you'd say that." Marian replied as she walked inside to use the phone.
"Sorry I'm late. The County had me out on a longer project." Aron said, as he kissed Jana lightly on the lips. Not really a lie. There was that surveillance operation that I was tactical backup for.
Jana returned the kiss, "Marcus, it seems like they love doing that to you. You should tell them they have other surveyors and that you have a life of your own to attend to…"
Aron pulled Jana closer, "Believe me, love, I'd like nothing more. However, I guarantee we're still on for Saturday afternoon to watch the Giants."
"It will be an experience for you." Jana replied, smiling, her arms around his shoulders, "All those screaming fans. Watching the pitcher at the mound…"
"Not to mention a very lovely resident expert to coach a somewhat ignorant South African the rules of the game." Aron replied.
"It's simple. You catch the ball. You hit the ball, you run from base to base…" Jana replied, as they sat down on the couch in Jana's apartment. Aron wrapped an arm around her waist as she leaned her head against his chest.
Aron slid a hand down Jana's back, to the top of her skirt. "There's another very simple sport that I really am good at." Aron whispered into her ear.
"You are incorrigible." Jana replied, with a mock pout, "Especially when begging for cuddle time."
"I'm doing nothing of the sort." Aron replied.
"And what, honey…" Jana demurred, "Is this simple sport you're good at?"
"It's of the contact variety." Aron replied.
"It sounds dangerous." Jana replied, "With or without pads."
"A bit of protection might be required…" Aron replied as he planted another kiss on the bridge of her nose.
"And clothing is optional, I presume." Jana replied, fiddling with the top button of her blouse.
"Exactly." Aron replied, and, taking her hand, helped her to her feet as they embraced, kissed, and headed straight for Jana's bedroom.
Several hours later, Aron lay awake, watching Jana sleeping peacefully at his side. The blanket slid down her slender frame and he pulled it up to the underside of her chin. He was rewarded with a sleepy smile, and he smiled and kissed the nape of her neck.
He gazed down at her happy and sad at the same time. The life of an ACME Clandestine Service Officer was a damn lonely one, and being able to meet a woman he was definitely serious about committing to was a rare thing. However, relationships are based on trust. And how can she trust you when she thinks your name is Marcus Culp and you work as a surveyor? Especially when your real name is Aron Munro and you're in Clandestine Services.
He watched her sleep some more, curled up and lying on one side, her red hair flowing behind her on the white pillow. He could hear the rhythm of her breath and thought some more. She's a smart woman. She's a journalist for Christ's sake. She'll put the pieces together somehow. And any day now she'll start asking questions. I've got to tell her the truth, but how?
"Mutie slime!" The FOH member yelled as he kicked the teenager, who couldn't have been any older than fifteen, in the stomach.
"Please stop…" The kid begged.
"How do you like that? Filth begging to be saved." Kyle Gaines, one of the FOH members sneered, as he hefted the crowbar in his hands.
"I'm a person too…Please stop hitting me." The kid begged.
"I'm a person too? Nah, can't be." Billy, the other FOH member, replied.
"You wanna do it, or should I?" Kyle asked.
"Shit, let's both do the hit." Billy replied, hefting the baseball bat in his hands. He was about to swing the bat down when an arm snaked down the side of a building and grabbed the hand.
"What the…" Billy began.
Dash came by speedily and grabbed the crowbar out of Kyle's hands. "You little punk! What are you? A mutie?" Kyle shouted and pulled a gun from his belt.
Billy let go off the bat and slashed out at the hand with a knife. He glanced up to see a long arm, coming from two stories up. It was connected to a woman in a red suit of some kind with an 'I' on her chest.
"What the fuck…" Billy began. But by the time his shock had recovered he was grabbed by the neck and lifted into the air.
"Don't even think of hurting my wife, buddy." Mr. Incredible said, as he held the wiry FOH thug in the air.
"Fuck you!" Billy shouted, slashing at Mr. Incredible's wrist with the knife.
Mr. Incredible said nothing and simply bashed the thug into the wall, making him drop the knife. Meanwhile Violet checked on the kid that the two thugs had been beating up on. "We should get him to a hospital." Violet said.
"Get him stabilized first, kid." Bob began, "Like you learned."
Violet checked to see if the kid's spine was messed up in any way. She patched up the cuts as best she could before she certified him as safe to travel and put him on Dash's back.
"Get him ready to travel." Violet began.
Dash ran like the wind towards the nearest Emergency Room while his parents brought the FOH thugs to the nearest police station.
Cerebro. A machine of great power, especially when harnessed by a powerful telepath could detect any use of unusual abilities anywhere on planet Earth. As Charles Xavier and Erich Lensherr's project, it was an eye of unimaginable potency for the X-men.
Charles Xavier almost wept with exhaustion. For the past two weeks mutant signatures had been appearing all over San Francisco. Almost as suddenly half of them were either killed or disappeared, into the hands of whom he didn't want to imagine. The Hellfire Club? COBRA? Trask? Whoever these Heartless were?
It appeared the Friends of Humanity had established a very strong presence in San Francisco, many of these dead mutants were attributed to the Friend of Humanity. Xavier went to a phone to contact the Misfits, and then awakened the rest of the X-men. This was something that concerned all mutants
Cerebro beeped yet again and it's programmed female voice echoed in the chamber, "Unknown signature reported. San Francisco Bay Area. Four signatures. Name Robert Parr, age 43. Name Helen Parr, age 40. Name Violet Parr, age 14. Name Dashiell Robert Parr, age 10. Location. San Francisco…"
Xavier moved his wheel chair out into the mansion. There was an important meeting to attend.
"The Russians have taken Municberg." Mirage reported, "However we've got the front stabilized. We can't guarantee how long it will stay that way."
"We have two fronts on this war," Syndrome said, "We have to deal with spetsnaz infiltrators and paratroopers behind the lines. The most problematic of which are the threat behind the lines. It appears I underestimated the Soviet special operations forces."
"We could send one of the Shock Divisions to the rear to get rid of the spetsnaz and paratroopers." Mirage began, "But…"
"Do it. The spetsnaz are the greater threat. Mobile and relatively small yet heavily armed and highly trained groups behind our lines are disrupting everything else." Syndrome began.
"But then that will leave second and third rate troops to face the main Soviet Armies driving steadily into Metroville." Mirage said, "A war of attrition against the Soviets is a war we can't win. We do need the Shock Divisions to act as a mobile assault force to counter any Soviet breaks in the line."
"The second and third rate divisions should be able to hold long enough for the Shock Divisions to destroy the spetsnaz formations." Syndrome shouted.
"We'll need all the numbers we can get then." Mirage said, "If your plan is to work."
"Then sends some of the newer recruits, anyone with at least two weeks of military training to the front line." Syndrome replied.
"That should be enough to hold the line." Mirage began, "But the losses…"
"There is such thing as acceptable losses, Mirage." Syndrome began.
"You taught me that." Mirage remarked bitterly, "Especially when taking a life is as easy as breaking a toothpick."
"You survived, didn't you? I had everything under control." Syndrome replied.
"It's a bad risk." Mirage began. "Taking the Shock Troops out of our defense line to deal with the paratroopers and spetsnaz formations is a big gamble. Metroville's citizens are unhappy enough with the imposition of martial law."
"Send some of the troops returning from the front line and the convalescents to be the enforcers of martial law." Syndrome replied.
Mirage nodded and walked to a nearby telephone and called one of the military commanders, "Send all recruits with enlistment dates later than two weeks ago to the front line…"
Dan Rydinger stood under the blazing summer sun over the Oldenborough Training Station. He stood in formation with the other recruits of his training battalion, his helmet atop his head, his rifle slung on one shoulder, his battle rattle5 worn on his back and shoulders.
An officer, a major, stood before the unit. "Your training days are over." The major began, "They're ways may have seemed harsh to you, but you will thank your fine instructors for the lessons they taught you. You are soldiers now. Soldiers in service of Almighty God, Syndrome, and Metroville."
"Right face!" An NCO commanded.
As one the entire battalion turned right. "Forward march!" The NCO barked.
"Left. Left. Left." The cadence echoed across the courtyard as the soldiers marched out of the front gate. Behind the ranks of the soldiers followed several eager young boys of Metroville, swinging their arms and kicking out their legs in awkward, exaggerated imitations of marching troops.
"Forward march." Another NCO ordered three ragged ranks of civilians ready to be trained at Oldenborough to face the Soviets.
Dan and his entire company stood in line, as they waited to be transported by several five ton trucks toward the front-line. Nearby stretcher bearers carried casualties in various states of injury towards the Oldenborough Memorial Hospital.
Dan and his colleagues watched as wounded soldiers, crippled, blind, legless, armless and even insane were led towards the complex. Groans and cries echoed from the vehicles. A soldier, maybe nineteen at the oldest, the top of his head swathed in bandages, and his left eye covered with blood splotched gauze stared his semi-Oedipal stare at the ranks of soon to be soldiers heading to the front. His left arm was missing to the elbow, and his uniform bore scorch marks, unmistakable signs of fire damage.
A pair of stretcher bearers walked by, and Dan could smell the stench of gangrene and the copper scent of blood. The patient's eyes were intact and open, but glazed over, his breathing labored, a rattling in the inhaling. Bandages swathed his midsection, his left arm bound to his torso.
Dan Rydinger boarded one of the trucks with his platoon, the smell of sweat mixing with that of blood, vomit, and the stench of death. The 8th Infantry Division, his unit, was heading for the front line near a place called Dyson City, nestled in the foothills of the Arkalay Mountain range.
END: To be continued in the X-men Evolution Section in the fic: Meet the Incredibles…
1 The father of Althea, a.k.a. Wavedancer, a sailor with G.I. Joe whom the Misfits belong to. A major troublemaker.
2 See The Coming of the Foe, in the X-men Evolution section. Chapters Seven and Thirteen are most evident of it.
3 The name of the mutant mentioned in the news earlier, who got beaten up by a gang of FOH thugs.
4 See The Coming of the Foe.
5 Soldier's combat gear.