I neither owned nor created Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Leslie Thomkins, Floyd Lawton, or Amanda Waller.

This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.

After Bruce gave an awake Lawton another dose of knockout drug in the Batsuit, he changed again as Alfred prepped their guest for travel. The Englishman then wheeled the gurney toward the chosen vehicle for that night's work. Bruce opened its trunk. This method of transporting the patient should keep anyone from growing as suspicious as a passed-out Lawton spied through a car window could. Of course, if the vehicle got stopped and searched on the way, this strategy would make things far, far worse. Bruce planned on being the most conscientious driver in the state on his way to the airstrip.

Lucious had assured him the area would be emptied of all personnel by 2 AM. Waller had assured him she and a team would be there ahead of time. Bruce hoped afterward he'd never have to see her or Lawton again.

Memories already surfacing due to his perusal of the photo-album swirled in Bruce's mind. Was there anything he could have done differently? Had he been doomed to appear on her radar? Would this partly satisfy her or keep him on the edge of her radar permanently. He shut the trunk down on Lawton. The man wore an oxygen mask connected to a 48-hour supply of air packed away with him. Bruce shut his own eyes and sagged.

. . .

(Five years before)

The engines of the jet behind him added to the heat of the already sweltering air. Sweat rolled down his neck and forehead. He didn't pause to wipe it away as he strode toward the jeep parked in the shade of some acacia trees.

She rose from leaning on the vehicle, raised her brightly colored, full-length skirts slightly, and ran to him. He opened his arms. She fled into them. They enfolded her. He breathed in deeply and realized they both smelled of sweat, stress, and fear and both their bodies felt tight with the same. His voice came out in a tight growl. "I'm sorry. I should have come sooner than this."

She pulled away and shook her head. Coffee-black eyes glared up at him. "They came out of nowhere, Mr. Wayne! They were a small tribe! I have thought of making them one of our 'areas of chief concern' several times these last few years! Then some of their young men exploded off their lands in jeeps, with guns and grenades! I have no idea where their weapons and vehicles came from, how they got them! I was in the city! I have just come from the school myself ..."

She trailed off and he could see in her eyes she was seeing the school as she'd viewed it hours before. He squeezed her shoulder tightly, but not as tightly as his jaws were clamping shut. "What did you see?"

Her lips tightened and eyes narrowed again. Even her nose wrinkled. Her voice rose in volume as she answered. "They took all the boys … and some of the girls! They left the teachers and a mess made from everything they did not steal! They took the food, almost everything metal, but left the books. And the new globe, with all the countries current names, it's smashed to bits!" She paused. Her chest swelled and receded in fast waves.

Bruce squeezed her shoulder again. Then he hefted his duffel bag onto his shoulder while watching Alfred and their driver load other luggage into the jeep. He turned her back toward the vehicle with the hand still holding her shoulder. Then he stepped up to walk beside her as he spoke. "Let's go."

. . .

Dust shot out from behind the jeep. The driver's fingers gripped the wheel. He squinted at the horizon with a set jaw. Bruce, Alfred, and their African Projects Administrator clung to the jeeps sides in anticipation of the wheels bumping over another rock. Their arms flexed with the effort. Bruce knew his choice of route would wear out the vehicle faster, swallow a large portion of their time, and further fray their nerves, but he didn't dare let them take the paved, more direct route. It was too well-known.

Half-way there, though, another sound broke over those of the jeep's engine and whipping air. A burst of dust and debris rushed over them as the jeep sped through it. As the driver stomped on the brake, Bruce shouted "Get down!"

Alfred was following his advice before it was given. Bruce shoved down the head of his other companion. Another sound burst through the air as the first faded away. Bruce guessed it came from the bunches of high brush he'd spotted growing a few yards on either side of the road. They'd found a good place to carry out their arrack, but the timing of the explosion meant they'd made a mistake or wanted to take them alive, which then meant the flying bullets might be for shock and show. Bruce grit his teeth together for a second before shouting, "Get out of the jeep!"

The unsettled dust provided cover as he flung his door open, and leapt out pulling his childhood friend forth with him. Alfred exited through his own door. Both men rolled beneath the jeep. Bruce pulled his friend first down and then in after him. The driver had joined them in less than a second. The four lay panting as the dust began to settle back onto the ground around them. Silence covered them for a few moments.

Then a bullet shot a hole through the hanging trim of the jeep. Sunlight poured through it onto the matching hole in the dirt road just an inch from the dark, long fingers of a feminine hand. His friend's chest heaved. She raised wide eyes to meet his gaze. But her mouth made no utterance.

Bruce's jaw tightened. Then he crawled atop his old friend, putting one of his hands over hers and using the other to gently press her face into the dirt letting her turn her head, so her nose and mouth were turned to the side as he did. She otherwise froze at his actions. The one eye still turned up at him just gave him a frightened glance again before looking back up to the bullet hole in the jeep's trim. Then he looked back down at her and saw her throat bob in a swallow. The driver whispered ahead of them, "Mr. Wayne, what will we do?!"

Before Bruce could glare at the man for breaking their joint silence, a voice called out from the same direction as the bullet had come. "Mr. Wayne … You and your companions do not have to die. Come back with us to our camp. We will make you comfortable until your business partners pay your ransom!"

Bruce moved his hands and pressed them into the dirt as he rose slowly to look out in the direction the voice had come from. He saw some of the roots, stems, and lowest branches of one of the patches of brush he'd noticed before, but couldn't see the speaker or anyone else who might be hiding behind them. He glanced down into his friend's face. The dark eye staring up at him was even wider than before.

Bruce glanced at Alfred. The Englishman's face had gone pale under its tan. Then he looked to the driver. He was nodding his head.

Bruce gave a soundless sigh. He might take the chance if their group was only made up of three men. They might all have a good chance at surviving a "short," fairly uneventful hostage situation. How though, would they treat a woman in her early twenties with symmetrical features, large eyes, and a reputation for intelligence and power in this region? As Bruce ground his teeth at the possibilities, the voice shouted again. "Mr. Wayne! We will not give you much longer to answer! Come out now or we will shoot again!"

He saw his friend's throat bob in another swallow, but the eye turned up at him remained hard and dry. He glanced up at the patch of brush and opened his mouth to shout something he hoped would buy them time. Then the sky screamed.

He thrust his friend's head back down before ducking his own over it. Alfred and the driver fell flat on their faces again. Explosions came from both the direction of the voice and the brush patch on the other side of the road. More dust rushed over them from both these directions. As those sounds faded away, Bruce thought silence should have returned. Instead, the familiar beat of helicopter blades echoed in his ears starting soft and growing louder. They passed over the jeep and then seemed to descend to the savanna on the road's left several yards ahead of it.

Bruce rose, slid off his friend's body, and crawled forward on his arms. He stopped behind the jeep's front, left wheel and raised his head to stare past it.

The brush he'd thought the speaker had hidden himself behind was now a depression in the earth. The helicopter still filling the air with its rhythmic beat was tan in color and higher-tech than his own. The machine landed gently. Then figures exited it. They were tall, broad-shouldered, and their muscles strained through their tan military uniforms. A few yards from their transport, they dropped into crouches before raising large guns to aim them at the jeep, but well over his and his companion's heads. After the first figures had frozen in these positions, another emerged from the helicopter.

This form was not quite as tall as the others, but wider in its girth. Its movements were slower and heavier. A deep feminine voice called to him, "Mr. Wayne. You and your companions are safe now. And we have to talk."

Here we go! Another update! I hope you enjoy it. :D Reviews are much appreciated and often replied to.

God Bless

ScribeofHeroes