Thanks. Done, soon.

10

London, at the Global Defense Force world headquarters, in Colonel Casey's spacious, glass-walled office-

The uproar of battle had been tremendous. They'd picked up the noise and tremors at three GDF Antarctic weather stations, and over in Tierra del Fuego. Weren't sure what to make of all that, so those low-ranking techs did the smart thing, and called up the line for assistance. Whatever was happening down there on Ross Island was big, ugly, and far more trouble than they had the teeth for. Besides, when in doubt, just pass it along. Somebody else's problem, right?

But… about thirty buck-passes later… Colonel Casey hesitated. There had been no official distress call, and surely, International Rescue would have informed them of any developing 'situations'. So, instead of dispatching troops or a flying fortress, she temporized, and redirected a couple of satellites for a closer look. Pinged John Tracy, as well, for wasn't this sort of thing his business?

Jeff was out of the office on family leave, but Linda Casey pinged him, as well. If they'd all gone fishing, or something (she'd been out to the ranch, before) it was time that they got back to work. Except… no one replied to her hails. Not Jeff, John, Scott, Brains or even Miz Tracy. Nobody home, and that was quite odd.

Scowling, the tall, dark-haired colonel tapped an electronic stylus against her smoked-glass desktop, producing a light, rapid clicking noise. Not precisely a beautiful woman, she had command presence in spades, inspiring awe in all those who met her. Or, nearly so. Truthfully, she'd always hoped to generate something softer than awe in Jeff Tracy. Only, she didn't know quite how to lower her own defenses, and accomplish all that. Didn't know how to "flirt".

Outside, far below, tourists and traffic swirled round the parks and moving walkways; pointing, commenting, wondering. Inside, Linda Casey bit the top of her lip, and waited for that Goddam satellite intel. Just to be on the safe side, however, she ordered a very fast shuttle.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Ross Island, Antarctica, not far from the beach-

All the world had been his; had stretched out before him, cowering in fear. Just so, must Gilgamesh, Alexander the Great, Atilla, Napoleon and Richter have felt, gazing over their conquests. Soon, history would have added 'The Hood' to that glorious list. He would have been worshipped! That stinking, wind-swept island would have become a shrine to his greatness and power!

Then Jeff Tracy, his helpless puppet, had been hurled at the erstwhile Kyrano, snapping his concentration. Not by Virgil. That hulking idiot's mind had been firmly under control. No, the big man's exo-suit had done it, somehow; sending the stunned astronaut crashing into the Hood with bone-snapping force, wielded like a club by machinery with the strength to shift mountains. Momentarily, he'd blacked out. Less than a second, perhaps, but that was enough.

Clouds of droning, stinging hornet-mechs descended upon him, pouring out of the sky like carnivorous locusts. Someone began shooting from overhead. Then another, from rocky cover, off to the right. Those d*mned cyborgs joined in, as well, weaving a textile of red, flaring lasers and howling particle beams.

Stumbling backward, the Hood tripped over the massive, cyber-locked form of the Mechanic, and crashed hard to the rocky ground. His niece, Tanusha, tried to attack him, next. But would-be world conquerors do not go down easily.

Ignoring a wave of nausea and searing pain, the Hood blocked her pathetic stabs, then expanded his reach. For a thousand miles and spreading, ship captains heeled over, sending their vessels on course to ram the nearest port or research facility. Pilots put their planes into roaring power-dives, aiming like missiles for the closest city. Submarine crews opened their hatches and released all their nuclear fuel. GDF peace officers turned upon helpless civilians. While, nearer to hand, the cyborgs began shooting each other, and the Tracys.

Through blood and fury and broken teeth, the Hood snarled out,

"Cease this ridiculous assault, or I shall release global chaos! You will save the world, only to watch it burn!"

He now had Sentinel, after all, and could… watch in shocked rage, as the Mechanic's hive ship unzipped like a long metal brush case, dumping Sentinel right into the ocean. Fractured sunlight and steam clouds swirled and sparkled at the weapon's brief descent and loud, ringing plunge. A vast sheet of grey water rocketed into the air, breaking up into millions of glittering rainbow droplets, then launching a tidal wave onto the icy beach.

XXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile-

Partly mud-and-ice flavoured seawater, partly that volcanic noise, partly his buzzing wrist comm woke John. Automatically checked systems, and... right. His body was one giant, burnt-feeling ache. Several big chunks of rock and shrapnel made themselves understood beneath him, jagged and hard where they poked at his ribs. So, yeah… time to get up. Call was from Colonel Casey, who could d*mn well leave a message.

Got to his feet, in rapidly rising, very cold water. Beside him, Virgil was picking dad up off the ground, while Grandma shouted for help as she tried to wrestle Alan and Gordon clear of the flood. Saw Lee racing their way, weapon held over his head to keep the prism dry. Would have rushed in to help, only Scott jerked him around by grabbing one arm, pointing at… the Hood? Here?

John stifled the urge to be sick or ask questions. Just followed his brother in tackling that bald, raging maniac, whose mouth gaped wide open in curses and shrieks of pure rage.

Noticed too late when someone… a skinny, small kid… reached the Mechanic, and snapped off that flashing red cyberlock.