Heroic Measures (continued)

#

June 10, 1986 . . .

The four heroes were well outnumbered by their attackers. The assailants had clearly intended to ambush the men, planning on their numbers to overwhelm the four heroes. It was possible, Walter thought, that they had not known exactly how many heroes they might be face, only that there be many more of them.

They nearly succeeded in surprising the heroes by not gathering too noticeably together and staying to the shadows, but one of their number—it was no longer clear which one—had dropped prematurely from the overhead supports. Fallen seemed to be more accurate, for the man’s landing—at least Walter assumed that it had been a male, but the dark clothing and masks that shrouded their faces made it difficult to know for certain—appeared to have not been part of the plan. He had landed awkwardly, his legs sprawling out beneath. Walter thought he heard the sharp crack of bones breaking, but his attention shifted to far more immediate matters as the other members of the fallen figure’s group gathered and attacked.

Accustomed to fighting as a team, the four heroes formed a tight knot, their backs to each other. The dark-clad attackers moved in, sporting a variety of hand weapons. Most carried clubs or metal rods, but a few brandished firearms. Walter knew that those carrying guns would be frustrated, and so at disadvantage, being unable to fire for fear of hitting one of their number. The hesitation would not last, Walter knew, but it would aid him and his companions for the moment.

None of the heroes suffered any immediate injury. They were able, together and singly, to simply avoid or toss aside most of those who lunged at them. Increasingly, though, their attackers grew more organized and hostile. Walter saw a dark gash appear on Pulsar’s cheek when one of the thugs managed to connect with a narrow rod. Pulsar winced a moment later, but did not relent. The attackers continued to press at them, forcing them into a tighter and tighter knot. A few, feeling they were close enough not to miss, fired their weapons. Walter felt the impact as the bullets made contact with his body armor. He forced himself to ignore it, confident in the protection provided by Thomas Raynes’ new design.

Walter felt the sting as edge of a thin metallic whip snapped by his head. For an instant, he imagined how it might have felt had its owner managed to make contact. Enough, Walter decided. He had a dread-filled sense of what would happen if one of them did not take more immediate and drastic action. Better me, he thought, than . . .

“Get ready!” he shouted, trying to pitch his voice so that it would carry only to his companions. He did not know whether any of them had heard him. They were each intently engaged in their own defense, so could spare no effort to respond. Still, Walter knew that he could not wait much longer to act.

A moment free of being assailed presented itself and Walter wrapped his arms tight around his body. He activated a hidden control on his belt and waited. A moment later, he felt the telltale tingle of his skin. He flung his arms outward, releasing the electrical energy that flowed throughout his suit. Forced to build beyond the capacity of the suit’s circuitry to contain, it leapt outward, seeking a path through which to flow. It found many. Blue-white arcs crackled and flared, and the attackers around them went rigid. Some convulsed, and others fell immediately limp, as the energy released them.

Walter sagged slightly, breathing hard. He forced himself to remain standing even as his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. The effort from this mass method of defense, while usually very effective, drained him severely. He would recover in time, but it was not a condition that could be easily remedied by the consumption of food or aided by simple rest—although the latter did help somewhat.

He looked up weakly, nodding to let the others know that he was okay. A flicker of movement caught his attention and his eyes looked past the other three heroes. One of the larger thugs was still conscious and attempting to flee.

“Always at least one asshole with insulated boots,” Jade snarled.

“I’ve got him,” Iron-Clad growled. He took a large, bounding step in the direction of the fleeing attacker.

“No!” Walter called out weakly.

His shout came out hoarse and faint. He lifted a trembling arm, trying to direct a blast that might disable the escaping assailant; he knew he could do nothing to effect the massive hero’s charge. His remaining strength failed him as Iron-Clad closed in on his pursuit.

Sensing the hero’s pursuit, the darkly-dressed hoodlum turned and, to Walter’s surprise, decided to make a stand. He began firing his automatic weapon at the advancing metal-clad hero. Bullets rang with sharp metallic echoes as they ricocheted off of the hero’s metal armor. Iron-Clad raised his thick metallic staff, closing the last few feet of distance.

Walter cried out again, but it was choked off. He raised his arm again, but it was too late. Iron-Clad swung the staff with both hands. A deep roar sounded from the hulking hero. It was followed a moment later by the sickening sound of the shaft’s impact against the attacker’s head. The staff carried him along its arc before he finally flew onward, stopping when he crashed against the cinderblock wall.

The attacker’s body slid like a limp ragdoll to the concrete floor. He was almost certainly dead, Walter concluded, or had suffered a severe concussion and devastating damage to his jaw and cheekbones.

Iron-Clad did not give the fallen thug another glance. Instead, he just made his way easily back to the other heroes. The casual way in which he carried himself sickened Walter. Certainly, the man had attacked them, but he had trouble reconciling the amount of force that Iron-Clad had displayed with the minor threat that he had represented to the heroes.

Walter glanced toward Pulsar. The red-and-black-clad hero, while not meeting Walter’s eyes, stood tight-lipped as he watched the massive hero return. Jade’s expression was impassive, but his eyes were bright in a way that made Walter uneasy.

“That’s one less we’ll have to worry about,” Iron-Clad announced, grinning tightly.

Walter looked beyond the metal-clad hero. The body of the attacker remained still. If he was not already dead, Walter considered, he would be soon. A part of him almost wanted to put the man out of his misery, Even if he lived, he would be a long time recovering—if he ever did. Certainly, the man was a criminal, but there were rules of decency that should be followed.

“Is there a problem, Knight?”

Iron-Clad deep tone penetrated his reverie. His eyes turned to the towering hero. He characterized an imposing figure, but Walter found that he was not intimidated by him—he simply did not want to deal with him. He simply looked away and glanced around them at the collection of their still-senseless assailants.

Without another word, he turned and walked away. Let them clean it up.

#

Present day . . .

Walter watched as a hero dressed in a deep blue and red outfit shook hands with the governor. Both were shown in profile, the hero’s cape appearing to shift color as it flapped behind him in the wind. Both men turned to face the camera. The governor wore a wide politician’s smile; the hero’s face bore a lesser, more stoic one.

Good to see that they’re still appreciated, Walter thought, granting his silent approval. He did not know the name of the hero, but that did not really matter. As long as heroes were still receiving some recognition for their efforts, that was what was important. A moment later, though, Walter’s optimism was replaced by despair.

The camera zoomed in on the hero, shifting to become a still image backed with the patriotic color scheme of red, white, and blue. Words dissolved into the screen: I Support Joseph Pendleton for Governor. And then, in smaller, but still readable type beneath it: Endorsed by the Coalition of Justice. The image shifted to a photographic portrait of the governor.

Walter raised the remote control and angrily turned off the display. Its image quickly faded to a reassuring blank darkness. We never would have done this. Never. While they might have worked with those in positions of political power, even be honored by them, the heroes of his day never would have dared to engage in an activity that could potentially compromise their integrity as a symbol of impartial justice. Undeniably, some had failed to live up to the image, but the vast majority of them had managed to uphold it.

In the end, they remained human underneath the outfits, capes, and armor. This meant that they were vulnerable to the same weaknesses of spirit that the rest of humanity suffered. It was that sense of decency and honor that separated the heroes from those that society considered to be villains, although even Walter had to admit that the area that divided the two groups was often very gray indeed.