Chemistry

Chapter 1 Moping

AFGHANISTAN, SOMEWHERE

"KENT, WHEELS IN 30, GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED!" Captain Wilson shouted as he made his way through the barracks of the forward base in western Afghanistan. Journalist Clark Kent had been embedded with the troops for 7 months, and had 5 months to go in this current assignment. But Captain Wilson had observed that the usually gung-ho Kent had been strangely reserved since his return from the States. Something seems to have happened when he was stateside accepting that prestigious award. But Kent was not sharing.

Groan . . . 'why did I sign up to accompany a reconnaissance junket this morning?' Clark Kent thought. 'Because you are an award-winning journalist. And you have not posted even a short story since you returned in theatre,' the other voice in his head smugly inserted into the cerebral conversation.

"KENT, WHEELS IN 20 . . . AND NO, I AM NOT GOING TO SHUT UP . . . GET OUR ASS OUT OF BED NOW!"

Kent swung his legs over the side of his lower bunk, ignoring the one-eyed stare of his top bunk mate who was not going on this mission but was nevertheless awakened by the obscene wake up calls of the Captain. Kent was not the most popular man in this part of the camp this morning. Clark jogged (slowly) to the locker room where he did a hasty, shortened morning hygiene and then dressed for the armored Humvee ride out in the desolate country side. They were going on what was assumed to be a routine patrol into relatively safe territory. 'Why were they even going there' he thought. No patrol into this region had ever met any resistance let alone any trouble. But, you never know.

45 minutes out all hell broke loose. They had just passed through a rather narrow passage into a box canyon, normally a place they would avoid. But since this area had never been troublesome, it was felt to be safe. Not today! The 4 Humvees started taking fire as soon as the last vehicle had cleared the passage. Lots of small arms especially AK-47 fire, some 50 caliber machine gun rounds, and several RPG came at them. They were forced to fight their way to the 2 exit gaps ahead f them. 1 Humvee rolled, fortunately the occupants were able to scramble to the other vehicles and were safely taken aboard. Kent was one of those scramblers; he suffered a severe ankle sprain and a few facial cuts. Back at camp his cuts were attended to and his ankle put in an air cast. The area maps were updated to note the enemy activity where none had previously been reported. What had changed for the enemy to show up where they previously had not been? That's a job for the intelligence guys.

DAILY PLANET

Back in the states, at the Daily Planet newspaper in Metropolis, another award-winning journalist was struggling through her days. Lois Lane was moping along . . . though she wouldn't admit to moping (never), and her editor Perry White was at his wits end.

Finally, Perry was going to address the issue with her directly – his usual style. "LOIS, MY OFFICE, NOW!"

When she entered, head drooping, he motioned to a chair in front of his desk. She quickly sat down.

"Lois, what's going on with you? You are acting like a sick puppy. And don't give me that 'I'm fine' crap. YOU ARE NOT FINE! Ever since that weekend in Smallville for a family birthday celebration, you haven't been your usual vivacious self. What's up?"

"Well . . . ah . . . you see . . . I guess the aftermath of that weekend is hitting me harder than I expected."

"You guess?" Perry wondered.

"Yeah . . . you see I had a fabulous weekend . . . ah, I met somebody and we really hit it off, but now . . . he's back to . . ."

"What the hell, do you mean Clark Kent?"

"Ah, yeah, sort of." Lois admits.

"Sort of? Don't you know that Mr. Olsen and I are taking a run at Kent, trying to bring him on board here at the Daily Planet?"

" Yes, I am aware of that. It's just hard, we had a great time together and it will be at least 5 months before he will be stateside. Or wherever his next assignment will be. May I ask a favor of you?" Lois hopefully inquires.

"Go ahead, no promises."

"Could you and Mr. Olsen see your way clear to get me and Clark each a satellite phone? That would significantly enhance our communication with each other. Call it an Rx for moping." She grins at Perry. "And raise the stature of the Daily Planet in his eyes. Chalk it up to recruitment."

"I'll see what we can do," Perry responds. "Now get back to work!"

Lois turns to get back to her desk then pauses; "Perry?"

"Yes?"

"If you say anything, to anyone, about me . . . you know . . . moping around lately . . . you are a dead man walking!"

Perry smiles, then nods slightly. After all this time working together, they understand each other very well.

TWO WEEKS LATER

The after-action report for the reconnaissance mission on which Clark Kent sustained his injuries showed a) 1 civilian journalist with miscellaneous facial cuts and bruises and a moderately sprained ankle, b) 1 marine with a broken left fibula, c) 1 marine with a broken right wrist (both bones) and NO fatalities. All personnel were healing nicely without complications to date.

Clark had his air cast removed today, his final stitches were removed 5 days ago. The facial cuts were healed nicely with no scarring expected – the base surgeon had done an excellent job of repair.

He had been invited (ordered) to a meeting to discuss the mission and its aftermath. This puzzled him as he had never been involved in a meeting like this, these meetings were for military personnel only. That factor caused some concern, but he tried to not get overly anxious as he strode to camp HQ. He entered and sat at the table, joining 3 others – all high-ranking officers.

The first thing he noticed was a small package on the table in front of his assigned seat. The package had been opened and inspected per protocol. It was shoddily re-wrapped and placed on the table.

"That package is for you to take back to your quarters," the camp CO informed him. "A present from someone stateside, I believe."

"Thank you, sir," Kent responded.

"Not a problem."

The CO continued, "Major Morales of the DIA* will you present the issue that brings us together today?"

"Yes, Captain. We have analyzed all the intelligence that was gathered during the mission in question, as well as everything gathered since then. An unusual, interesting and troubling set of data has been gathered. All of which leads us to the conclusion, Mr. Kent that . . . THERE IS A PRICE ON YOUR HEAD!

DIA = Defense Intelligence Agency.