Forging Steel

Under fire on the training field, Sal dodges, ducks and dives. Between the permanent advance he looses off rounds from his sidearm. It is the only weapon he currently has about his person, save for a string of grenades he purloined. Whether they were left on purpose or an accidental oversight by one of the staff he cannot say. Though, he would be inclined to lean toward it being the latter, knowing Doctor Vargas-Hines.

Breaking from cover, the super soldier dances with the bullets being hammered his way. He evades them all. To anyone else it would be remarkable, but to the man performing the feat it is of barely any note, for this is what he has trained for. He bears the scars to prove it.

They are largely a result of the dozens of medical procedures he has undergone during his short young life and yet he does not care about their presence. They are a price, one he has gladly paid, to be what he is today.

Tossing one of the purloined grenades, which arcs high into the air before plummeting back to ground, sees it explode at the perfect height. The detonation ending the hail of bullets from the one turret which is, as a result, little more than a black smoke emitting ruin of twisted and torn metal mounted to a pivoting base. That leaves two more for him to contend with.

Not wishing to drag this encounter, which he has purposefully extend the duration of as ordered, any longer; Sal pops out from behind cover and fires a string of well placed shots. The nearest turret stops firing, glitches back and forth and then falls silent. Its motors burned out.

A wry smile slides across Sal’s face while the soldier bursts from out from behind cover and into open ground. The turret tracks, as best it can, but try as it might it cannot keep pace with the super soldier who darts back and forth in a zigzag pattern until suddenly he leaps high into the air.

He is a fair ways from the turret but has no intention of leaping atop it in a single bound. He wishes he possessed such a capacity, but does not. Rather, he pulls the pin and tosses the next grenade he has claimed from the bandolier. It too sails through the air, but unlike the first this one explodes mid-flight.

Watching, Venetia raises an eyebrow unsure as to whether the turret is the cause of the mid-air detonation or whether it was strategic on the part of the young soldier.

Even from this distance, which is neither insignificant nor extraordinary, he looks suspiciously youthful to her eyes. Containing her queries while Doctor Vargas-Hines grins madly she continues to watch. The decorated woman is well aware of the rumours surrounding this project, what her predecessor allowed to slide unchallenged; she is not him. She will want answers, all of them. She doubts the project lead will agree with what she wishes to know but does not care. She is in charge; she calls the shots and will…

Sal lands, rolls three times and then continues his sprint once back on his feet. Venetia is staring wide eyed at the madness of the young soldier rushing the turret head-on. However, she cannot doubt that he has, as yet, managed to evade every bullet being shot his way. Not an easy feet, an impossible one really, regardless of the fact that the turret is clearly not operating on its normal setting of fully automatic or not.

“It’s firing single shot to better allow you a glimpse at the capabilities of what Project Honour has achieved. But if you wish I can order the turret to fire at its normal rate.” Samuel says out of the blue as if he has read General Barton’s mind.

Showing no reaction to what anyone else would hope to be coincidence, Venetia assures, “There is no need. This is sufficient, I assure you Doctor.”

There is a gleam of victory in corner of one of Samuel’s eyes which Venetia doesn’t like. Unwilling to reveal anything which might expand his ego she keeps knowledge of its existence to herself. Though, she makes note of it and files it away for later, if needs be that it is required at a later date that is.

Almost on top of the turret, Sal does not collapse upon its position. Rather, he takes a sharp right, toward a wall. Venetia wonders why. She soon finds out when the young soldier in battle armour several generations behind what is the current norm in the Systems Command military, runs up and across the face of the wall which curves round behind the turret.

Once directly overhead of the gun emplacement the young soldier drops down having pulled all the pins in the remaining grenades during his drop. Alongside the mounted weapon, he swiftly snakes the explosive bandolier around the barrels and then leaps up and out of the blast radius.

The turret is decimated by the ensuing explosion which is soon replaced by an excessively loud clap from Samuel who beams with pride and joy at the display that has been offered, as if it were part of some show. In his mind there could’ve been no better showcase of his project than this.

“You see General, impressive, don’t you think?”

“It is…”

“But… I feel one is coming.” The doctor’s utters, his smile having transitioned to an expression Venetia doesn’t have a word for.

It is certainly unlike any she has ever glimpsed previously in her life. Though, the feeling it brings forth in her is unease, to say the least. Because something about it…

“Is there not more to your showcase?”

The expression without a name vanishes, replaced by elation.

“So you are onboard with Honour then?”

“I never said that.” Venetia admits as the young soldier joins them.

It takes only a single glance at the combat able body for General Barton to have confirmed what she suspected. This ‘soldier’ is far too young for…

In a blink Sal is behind Venetia, his arms wrapped around her neck so that she is in a headlock. As you might expect the woman begins to struggle. Regrettably she is no match for this child soldier. Any regular she would be but not this… Should she call him a super soldier? She doesn’t know. Instead, what she does know is that the pressure being applied to her neck is crushing her throat, slowly. Clearly that is purposeful.

With her eyes bulging, the military woman stares at Doctor Samuel Vargas-Hines who admits, “Well, that is a shame General Barton. I had hoped that you might prove to be amenable, like your predecessor, but it seems my hope was misplaced.” There is a pause while the doctor, the head of Project Honour, pretends to consider his options.

If he were a more astute fellow he might notice Venetia’s hand having dived into a pocket in her military dress, in search of something. Luckily, he has not. Though, even if he did he would not understand what she is searching for. It isn’t a weapon. At least not in the conventional sense anyway.

“So, that leaves us at an impasse because I am not giving up my project, my work. And you clearly are not as enthused with it as you rightly should be. Which means one of us has to go, doesn’t it? And who do you think that one will be?”

Unable to speak, Venetia makes efforts she hopes will…

“Huh, you can’t speak. Petty Officer Damian Salazar, release your grip on General Barton’s throat, please. I want her to speak. One last time.”

Sal does exactly as he’s been ordered and though she would like to, Venetia does not react in the manner that her body demands. Rather, she smiles. It’s an expression which confuses Doctor Vargas-Hines. Until he takes note of her hand, withdrawing from her pocket. At the sight of it he goes to exclaim an order but does not get the chance as he simultaneously leaps forward hoping to wrench from General Barton’s hand what she has hold of. He fails miserably, while Venetia manages to not only break free of Sal, who offers no resistance, and spin around but block Samuel as she aims the beam of pulsing light into Sal’s eyes.

The pulse wipes the blocks on his mind. The final stage of his programming, that which turned him from child soldier to compliant weapon.

In a flash, Damian steps forward, protects Venetia and grabs Samuel round the throat.

Hoisted into the air, the doctor struggles against the crushing force of one of his participants, subjects, experiments.

“Damian, we need him alive.” Venetia assures as she rests a hand on the teenagers forearm to encourage rather than order.

“Do you remember me?” Are the next words out of the general’s mouth, hope shining in her eyes.

Turning his head he studies her face for a while and then nods, once.

Confused, Samuel’s only response is a gasp. He does not understand. It is not possible. There is no way they could know…

The lead of Project honour removes the zone blockers and demands Control’s attention. There is no reply.

“You’re surprised and desperate; even trying to request aid from Jacinta’s AI. Sorry doctor, it isn’t going to work. Your clearance has been rescinded. As for how I know Damian here, because I know you will be wondering, well… Why don’t you tell him who I am Damian?”

“General Venetia Barton is my grandmother.”

Samuel’s eyes go wide, meanwhile the General smiles knowing that as they stand here, like this, the other children are having the programming removed so they have freewill once more. And no longer will they have to fight and die as weapons for a psychopath.