Vanguard: Seasons 1-3: A Superhero Adventure

by Percival Constantine

  “We’ve just been informed that the two MiGs approaching are to escort us out of Russian airspace.”

  “Can you out-maneuver them?” asked Gunsmith.

  “The Icarus is one of the most advanced aircraft ever developed and it is fully integrated with my system, enabling seamless communication.”

  “So that’s a yes?” asked Gunsmith.

  “You had best return to the cabin, strap in tightly, and inform the others to do the same.”

  “Right.” Gunsmith lingered for another moment, watching the radar as the MiGs grew closer. “We’re counting on you, Zenith.”

  Gunsmith returned to the cabin and Shift double- and triple-checked her belts to ensure she was tightly secured to her seat. She stared at the radar, the two dots representing the MiGs flanking both sides of the Icarus.

  “Hey Zen, when you were talking about the Icarus being so advanced and you being integrated with it and everything?”

  “Yes?”

  “Kinda sounded like you were…” She trailed off.

  “Like I was doing what?”

  “Well, y’know…bragging.”

  Zenith paused and checked some of the instruments on the dashboard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Shift grinned.

  ***

  “Strap in.” Gunsmith came around the partition and sat in his seat between Paragon and the aisle, immediately following his own order.

  “What’s happening?” asked Paragon.

  “The Russians aren’t too happy that we’re here,” said Gunsmith.

  “Really?” Wraith leaned across the aisle. “What’d you say to piss them off?”

  Gunsmith cast a side glance at his teammate. “If we let you on the comms, they probably wouldn’t bother with a warning.”

  Sharkskin was seated beside Wraith, and he tightened his harness and sat back in his seat. Wraith noticed the young Asian man’s eyes darting from side to side, moving up and down.

  “You’re starting to look a little green around the gills, Koji.”

  Sharkskin’s eyes fixed on Wraith. “That supposed to be funny?”

  Wraith sat back with a sigh. “Great, you get airsick, don’t you?”

  Sharkskin closed his eyes. “Just…shut up.”

  “So what are we gonna do?” asked Paragon.

  “Zenith thinks he can get rid of them,” said Gunsmith.

  “He doesn’t need any help?”

  “Hey, Anita.”

  Paragon glanced across at Wraith.

  “I know you’re all pumped after you knocked the crap outta Exemplar, but we’re talking fighter jets here, okay? Just let the robot do his thing."

  ***

  The Icarus slowed as the two MiGs approached from either side. Utkin piloted the MiG on the Icarus’ right with Roschin piloting the one on the left. Utkin spoke a message to the pilot of the Icarus.

  “Commence with a slow turn and we will escort you to the border,” he said in Russian.

  “Acknowledged,” was the response. Utkin was impressed with the pilot’s Russian. It sounded perfect—native, even—if with a bit of a hollow tone.

  Rather than turning, however, the Icarus throttled forward, firing like a bullet.

  “What the hell?”

  “After them!” Utkin pushed forward on his own throttle with Roschin keeping pace.

  The MiGs managed to catch up to the Icarus, and as they did, the larger craft abruptly and sharply banked left.

  “Shit!” Roschin pulled back on his stick, sending his MiG up to avoid a mid-air collision with the Icarus.

  Utkin continued his pursuit, trying to get a lock on the target. The Icarus was surprisingly agile for its size. Utkin had trouble getting a fix on it and just when he thought he had it in range, the Icarus shifted into hover mode and Utkin’s MiG flew right over it. “Dammit!”

  “I’ve got ‘em, Utkin.” Roschin’s voice came through Utkin’s headset.

  Utkin banked sharply, hoping to return to the combat. He saw Roschin descending from above, targeting the Icarus. “Locked on.”

  A missile disengaged from one of Roschin’s wings, its propulsion leaving a trail headed right towards the Icarus. But before it could reach its mark, a gun mounted on the Icarus’ underside pivoted and opened fire. It wasn’t traditional ammunition, but a blast of light that obliterated Roschin’s missile.

  “Did you see—? What was that?” asked Utkin.

  “I saw it, but I haven’t a damned clue!” said Roschin.

  “Command, what the hell are we dealing with?” asked Utkin.

  “Look!”

  Utkin didn’t need Roschin’s urging, because he was already watching as the Icarus’ rear hatch opened and something flew out. Or rather, someone. A woman in a red and white costume with matching cape emerged from the Icarus, flying towards Roschin and drawing the attention of both him and his guns.

  Utkin could have sworn he saw the bullets strike her, but they didn’t seem to deter her in the least. She reversed course and flew directly at Roschin. Utkin couldn’t believe what he saw next, but he watched as the woman tore Roschin’s guns from his MiG, followed by the missiles.

  “Command, she’s tearing apart Roschin’s plane!”

  “Engage,” came the order.

  “She’s too small, I can’t get a lock!”

  “Target the MiG.”

  “What? But Roschin—”

  “Lieutenant, there’s no other option!”

  Utkin targeted the MiG, his finger grazing the trigger. He hesitated, holding off on firing, but saw that the woman was almost finished with her handiwork, stripping Roschin of his weapons. Utkin took a deep breath and when he exhaled, he pulled the trigger, launching the missile.

  It was obliterated by an energy blast. Utkin looked back to the Icarus and saw it rising to engage him, its energy gun now directed at his fighter.

  The hollow voice of the pilot came through in Russian once more: “You have two options: leave now or end up like your weapons. You are hopelessly outclassed, Lieutenant.”

  The woman flew from Roschin and approached the Icarus, stopping to hover alongside. But she looked poised to strike at Utkin’s MiG next.

  “Roschin, abort mission.”

  “What? But—”

  “I said abort!”

  ***

  Gunsmith, Wraith, and Sharkskin watched the monitor mounted on the partition between the cockpit. On it, they saw as the two MiGs broke off from their interception and left them alone. A few moments later, the sound of the interior alarm came through the cabin, indicating that the rear hatch was opening.

  Paragon stepped back into the cabin from the hatch area, a smile on her face. She stretched out her fingers and her hands, clapping off the debris from the weapons that had gotten on her costume.

  “I think we’re in for a smooth flight from here to Iskander.” She walked down the aisle and tossed a triumphant grin at Wraith. “What was that you were saying about fighter jets?”

  Wraith snickered. “I’m startin’ to like you, Anita.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The Icarus dipped low, moving into the mountain valleys before finding a secluded spot. The plane’s VTOL system took over, moving into hover mode and slowly lowering down onto the ground. The hatch lowered to form a ramp, and Vanguard emerged from the craft. Once on the ground, Zenith looked back at the Icarus. His eyes flashed and the ramp rose, shutting the hatch.

  Gunsmith held his left arm out in front of him and a component on the top of his forearm flipped open, revealing a touch screen. He entered some information with the forefinger of his right hand, and the suit transmitted the data to his eyepiece, flashing it over his retina.

  “Okay, we’re just a few klicks outside of Iskander and—”

  “What is that, anyway?” asked Sharkskin. “I always hear that, what is a klick?”

  “A klick is a kilometer,” said Gunsmith.

  “So why not just say, ‘kilometer’?”
>
  Gunsmith sighed. “Fine, we’re a few kilometers outside of Iskander.”

  “What’s that in miles?” asked Wraith, grinning beneath his mask.

  “Shut up,” said Gunsmith.

  “Zenith and I could fly ahead, scope the place out,” said Paragon.

  “No, not yet.” Gunsmith closed the panel on his armor. “I want us to go in as a team. Try not to draw any undue attention to ourselves. Or at least not draw any additional attention. I figure the Russians already know why we’re here and won’t hesitate sending someone after us, so let’s see what we can find before they get here. Zenith, do a continuous sweep of the area, make sure we don’t have any surprises.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Gunsmith shot a look at Sharkskin. “Keep your senses on alert, too.”

  Sharkskin nodded and triggered his transformation: his body bulked up and his skin turned gray. His hair retreated into his scalp as the skull structure shifted, his teeth sharpened, and his eyes turned black.

  “Nobody sleep on the job.” Gunsmith waved to indicate the direction to head. “Move out.”

  Iskander was a short hike from where Vanguard left the Icarus, one the team managed in just under an hour. When they arrived, they found it to be a small town but nonetheless somewhat lively. People milled about on the paved roads, which were in need of maintenance. Some of the homes in the area had also seen better days, in a state of degradation.

  The presence of six costumed individuals immediately drew stares of varying degrees. Some were suspicious, others were fearful. A few, however, held a degree of excitement. But within those varying emotions, one was for certain—surprise.

  “Where do we start?” asked Sharkskin.

  “I’d like to have a look at the bodies,” said Paragon. “Maybe a post-mortem examination could turn up some additional clues.”

  “We should also talk to some witnesses,” said Gunsmith.

  Shift felt uncomfortable beneath the stares, shuffling her feet and moving closer to the group. “Should we have maybe tried coming here undercover or something?”

  “How good’s your Russian?” asked Gunsmith.

  “I don’t speak it.”

  “Then there’s your answer,” said Gunsmith. “Bunch of American tourists conveniently show up after some mysterious deaths, in a town that gets very few tourists, and you think questions wouldn’t be asked? At least this way, we’ve got some recognition after Chicago.”

  A voice in Russian came behind them and the group turned. What they found was a man in a police uniform with two stars on his shoulder speaking to them, a bewildered expression on his face. Gunsmith leaned in to Zenith and whispered, “Remember, you’re our translator.”

  Zenith stepped closer to the officer and he backed away, his hand reaching for his side-arm. But Zenith raised his hand in a gesture to calm the man, and spoke a response in Russian. The officer visibly relaxed upon hearing his native language spoken so fluently and he responded. They exchanged a few more words back and forth.

  “This is Lieutenant Tsert with the Iskander Police,” said Zenith. “I informed him that we are known as Vanguard, a global response team that handles unusual incidents. He said he saw coverage of our battle in Chicago on television and read about it in the paper. He’s relieved to finally have some help with the investigation.”

  “So he hasn’t heard anything from the Russian government?” asked Gunsmith.

  Zenith conveyed the question. Tsert shook his head, then added some additional information.

  “Men from the FSB took the bodies away, and when Lt. Tsert questioned them, they simply told him it was a matter of national security. He’s since made several attempts to contact them, but hasn’t received any response.”

  “Were they able to examine the bodies before they were taken?” asked Paragon.

  Once more, Zenith translated into Russian. Tsert responded and when he finished, Zenith turned to Paragon. “Nothing beyond what we learned from Dr. McCabe, I’m afraid.”

  Paragon huffed. “Great. So we’re stuck at square one.”

  Tsert leaned in towards Zenith and said something additional. Zenith nodded and turned to the group. “He said he can show us where the bodies were discovered.”

  “It’s a start, I suppose,” said Gunsmith.

  Zenith faced Tsert. “Da, puzhalsta.”

  Tsert nodded and gestured ahead of himself, leading the group on the path outside of town. They went on another short hike, moving into the forest outside of the village. While on the path, Sharkskin’s nose twitched and he paused. Shift spotted him out of the corner of her eye and turned.

  “You okay?”

  Sharkskin turned his head up and sniffed the air. His lips curled back in response to the odor. “We’re on the right track. There’s something…I dunno how to describe it.”

  “Can you try?” she asked.

  Sharkskin pivoted to her. “You ever find a dead rat in your house or garage or something?”

  “Not really.”

  “Hmm. Well, it’s kinda like that. But worse.”

  Shift cringed. “Ew.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Be glad you can’t smell it.”

  “Hey!”

  Sharkskin and Shift looked ahead and saw Wraith standing on a hill, hands resting on a bent knee. “You two wanna join us?”

  “C’mon.” Sharkskin hiked up the hill, Shift following close behind. Wraith waited for them and when they arrived, he walked with them. The rest of the group was not far ahead, waiting at a hole dug in the ground. Tsert stood at the hole, hands at his side with Paragon and Gunsmith standing beside him. Zenith was in the hole, examining the soil. Shift stepped closer, bending over at the edge. But once Sharkskin approached, he instantly recoiled.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” asked Wraith, moving to Sharkskin’s side.

  Sharkskin looked up, his eyes watering. “God, the stench… You guys can’t smell that?”

  Wraith certainly couldn’t and when he glanced to his teammates for confirmation, he found the same confused expressions on their faces.

  “Is it that dead rat smell?” asked Shift.

  “Dead rat?” asked Paragon.

  Shift faced Paragon. “That’s what he said it smelled like. But worse.”

  “I don’t think I got a word to describe just how much worse it is,” said Sharkskin. “Jesus, what the hell?”

  Tsert said something that sounded like a question and Zenith responded quickly, offering an explanation. Tsert said something else. Gunsmith’s curious gaze prompted Zenith to elaborate. “I explained that Sharkskin’s senses detected a powerful odor. Tsert said Sharkskin’s lucky he wasn’t here when they found the bodies—the stench was unbearable. That was how they found this grave.”

  “Can’t even imagine what it would’ve been like for me,” said Sharkskin.

  Zenith climbed out of the hole to face Gunsmith’s questioning glance. “Anything?” asked the team leader.

  “Very little to go on. No traces of blood, which is consistent with both the report Dr. McCabe provided and Lt. Tsert’s testimony. The hole appears to have been dug by hand—large hands, but hands nonetheless.”

  Gunsmith folded his arms across his chest and sighed. “So we’ve got nothing to go on.”

  Sharkskin spun on his heel and moved into an attack stance—crouched, arms poised to strike, teeth bared. Wraith reacted by getting on the defensive as well.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re not alone,” said Sharkskin.

  “Indeed you are not.” The voice came from the direction Sharkskin faced. Two men walked down the trail, both of them dressed in black suits, their dark hair slicked back and wearing sunglasses. One was shorter and thinner than the other, with his hair graying at the temples. The other was larger and younger, looked as if he had been a body-builder.

  Gunsmith stepped beside Sharkskin, laying a calming hand on his teammate’s shoulder while looking at the new arrivals. “You spe
ak English?”

  The older man nodded. “Quite well in fact.” Both men reached inside their jackets and drew out identification badges. “I am Abram Zukov.” He tilted his head to acknowledge the larger man. “This is my partner, Timur Levitan. We are Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti.”

  “Bless you,” said Wraith. The joke drew an angry stare from Levitan.

  “FSB,” said Gunsmith. “Russia’s secret service.”

  “Correct,” said Zukov. “And you are Vanguard. American superheroes, yes?”

  “Nice to know we’ve got fans,” said Wraith.

  “Would not go that far,” said Levitan.

  Zukov removed his sunglasses, folded them and slid them in his suit jacket’s front pocket. “We heard about your entrance into Russia. You were ordered to turn around. You have no jurisdiction here, no authority. This is a Russian problem, it will be handled by Russians.”

  “You’ve got a situation here involving a rogue special. My team has some experience in that area. We’re just here to stop anyone else from being killed.”

  Zukov sighed. “I appreciate your gesture and I do not doubt your intentions. But please consider our point of view—Americans have a habit of making a mess.”

  “Big mess.” Levitan folded his burly arms, leaving his sunglasses on.

  “And given the current state of relations between our two nations, my government is not comfortable with American operatives invading our borders.”

  “We’re not American operatives,” said Gunsmith. “We have no affiliation with the United States government. We’re completely independent.”

  Zukov smirked. “Yes, of course you are. Your fancy suit, your metal friend over there, and a plane so advanced it trumps anything else in existence. If you are not with the government, then how do you afford such resources?”

  “Hidden Nazi gold,” said Wraith.

  “Amusing,” said Zukov.

  “Thanks, I thought so.”

  “Wraith, please,” said Gunsmith. “Agent Zukov, two people are already dead. And with all due respect, you and your partner aren’t equipped to handle a rogue special. We are. Just let us work together and we’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”