Foreword

  I’ve taken the liberty of slightly changing the world we live in to make the world where the Master Force operates. When you are writing superhero stories, you can’t aim from vraisemblance, only merely… verisimilitude. For instance, there are no actual NATO troops. All NATO militaries remain under their respective nations’ authority while participating in NATO-led operations and are only inserted into an integrated command structure for the duration of specific operations. Unfortunately, trying to play around this to generate the “loyalty status” that is a core element to the Master System was proving to be a bit too complicated and contrived, so I’ve had to alter the way NATO operates by having armed forces “permanently detached” to duty, for story purposes. Consider this an alternate history of sorts.

  I’ve assumed that the usual number of troops involved in NATO operations would fall under that status, so “my” NATO is a supra-national organization in charge of around twenty-plus thousand troops dedicated to its specific operations (vs. the two millions-plus that are under their respective countries’ direct command, any of which can potentially get involved in any NATO operation).

  There are no doubt other intentional and unintentional changes made to the way NATO and other military forces operate. And I hope they would almost certainly not behave the exact way I write them. But the usual disclaimer applies: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance with actual events or people would be pure, unintended coincidence.

  Prologue: Supremacy in Poznan

  If you’re plotting to reshape the world, you should do it from an underground base on an extinct volcano island. Not a dingy apartment on the second floor in the suburbs.

  Cyrek Borkowski looked up the old apartment.

  Unsurprisingly, there was a face just looking down as he stepped out of his decrepit car. No doubt Marek had twigged on his approach. The Level 2 Steward Overseer would have tracked him with absolute precision while driving to the meeting.

  Cyrek climbed the dimly lit stair toward Marek’s home. That wasn’t the first time the former gaming group had met there. But, if Marek had called all of them now, then today would be different.

  A year ago, none of the principal members of the game guild Polish Supremacy had any idea they would end up there. The group had formed itself nearly a decade ago as a bunch of spaceship addicts in a massive space empire game, where they hunted their designated opponents relentlessly – Russian gamers. It was a good time, bringing together a few Polish youths yearning for more than their boring real world. They had their enemies. They were underdogs, but they had their dedication. And the Russians’ holdings blew – virtually – often.

  Since then, they’d done tank simulations, first-person shooters, everything. As long as it was online and had Russian groups in it to shoot down. Germans might do if they couldn’t get enough targets.

  Players drifted in and out depending on which game was popular at the moment, but the core of the guild remained steadfast. Right now, they were mainly doing Wizardry Wars, a Harry Potter knock-off RPG-shooter from Korea, of all places. The Polish Supremacy had earned itself a righteous name in that game.

  Bartosz Tarnowski was the current Guild Leader when Oskar Kowal appeared on the guild’s online chat system. He was surprised – and very happy to see the avatar icon pop up in the connected list. After their previous real-life meeting, Oskar and his brother had all but vanished two months ago.

  “Hey, man! I was starting to think you were a goner. Even the Russians were starting to miss you!” Bartosz typed.

  “Nah. I had… other things to think about,” Oskar replied.

  “Life first, man.”

  “It’s complicated. Can we talk about it IRL?”

  “You and me?”

  “No, the whole core.”

  “You want a guild meet? Why?”

  “I need to show you all something. Online isn’t enough for that.”

  Marek Rataj had been online and, as usual, offered the services of his apartment. You needed a good walk from the nearest tramway station, but most of the others had smaller apartments around Poznan, none suitable for a guild meeting.

  Over half a dozen of the main guild members had made it. Most of the rest were far from Poznan and would have needed an earlier warning to organize a trip. Oskar and his twin brother, Janosz, arrived first. The two had joined the guild at the beginning and usually played together unless work hours interfered.

  A handful of glasses were put out, and vodka was poured while everyone was debriefing the last Wizardry Wars raid on a minor Russian group. Success had been so-so, and Cyrek was trying to convince everyone to harvest more consumables in-game to fuel the next fights. Exotic alchemy potions could be key between mere victory for the Polish Supremacy and the humiliating, abject defeat – of the Russians.

  Finally, once everyone had settled and mellowed, Oskar stood and called for attention.

  “OK, I have a big question. How would you like to be wizards?” his question was.

  “Those wands are a pain in the ass.”

  “Hey, just because you didn’t loot an epic one yet.”

  Oskar raised his hand.

  “No, I mean, what if you were wizards? For real.”

  “Wizards are fun. But I’m not doing Pig Latin incantations. I’d rather speak Russian.”

  There were a lot of catcalls following this outrageous proposition.

  “I’m not saying live Wizardry Wars. I’m talking about real magic in the real world, which is different,” Oskar elaborated.

  “You obviously got more vodka before coming, Oskar.”

  Oskar shrugged.

  “I’ll let Janosz show you something.”

  All eyes turned on Janosz. Both brothers were interchangeable, save that Janosz had a big scar above the left eye from one of their youthful capers. Janosz raised his own glass for everyone to see. Then, without warning, the vodka froze, and an ice sheen formed all over the glass.

  Everyone stared at the glass. Bartosz was the first to frown. He reached out his hand toward Janosz. The man dropped the frozen glass in it, and Bartosz yelled in shock, dropping the glass.

  “It’s fucking burning!”

  “It’s colder than liquid nitrogen if you want to know exactly”, Janosz explained.

  “How did you do that?” Bartosz asked.

  “I’m a Level 1 Freezer,” he replied.

  Bartosz was confused.

  “You’re a refrigerator?”

  “No. A Freezer. My magic ability right now is freezing things”, Janosz added.

  Marek had watched the exchange. He rose and went to the kitchen, returning with a simple potato. He handed it to Janosz.

  “Ok. Now, do it again.”

  Janosz simply shrugged, and then the potato whitened and cooled vapor rose from his hand. Marek pulled out a knife and tried to cut the potato before resorting to smashing it open on the table’s border. The bits of potato were hard to the touch, and the guild members had difficulty handling them from the extreme cold.

  Marek started to say, “I’d say cool, but that’s…”

  Multiple groans cut the joke before it was even finished. Marek contemplated his own potato bit before asking again.

  “Okay. How do you do it?”

  “I decide it’s going to freeze, and it does”, Janosz answered.

  “No, I mean, really. What’s the trick?” Marek pressed.

  “Zero trick. I can freeze anything you want. Come, watch this one; it’s even more fun.”

  Janosz moved to the kitchen, everyone piling up behind. He opened the faucet to let a small flow pour into the sink. Then he flicked his finger under the water flow. An ice shard pinged to the side of the sink. Everyone stared again as he flicked a couple more shards of ice.

  Back into the main room, Michalina Trusewicz, the only woman in the guild’s core, asked the next question.

  “Ok, so you say you’re… a Level 1 Freezer… what do you mean by that? You can freeze bigger things later on?”

  “That I am like, at first level, and I can use only one magical ability. My freezing touch,” Janosz said.

  “You have to touch something to freeze it, then?” Michalina asked.

  “That’s correct. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to project the cold around. That one would be very good to have. But I can freeze anything with my hand,” Janosz explained.

  “And Level 1 means…” Marek pressed.

  Janosz shrugged.

  “That eventually, I could get Level 2 and get a second ability, then Level 3, and so on.”

  “How do you know that? I mean… you freeze stuff, like that American mutant guy in the comics… so maybe you’re just a mutant. All those mutants have one single power, that’s all,” Bartosz conjectured.

  Janosz turned to Oskar, who had been silent during the demonstration, letting his brother explain. Oskar lifted his half-touched vodka toward the guild and shrugged as well before taking over the explanations.

  “That doesn’t work like that. I don’t know anything about mutant genes or stuff like that, but it’s… like a role-playing game. A real-life Dungeons & Dragons. You gain experience, you gain levels, but instead, you gain new powers. A different one for every level. If you ever got to Level 10, you’d have ten different powers available for use.”

  Michalina asked, “Are you one… what do you call it? Wizard?”

  Oskar corrected her.

  “Master. Yes, but I’m a Level 2 Oracle Lighter, not a Freezer.”

  “Oracle? You know the future? Can…”

  Oskar interrupted.

  “No, that means I can know… things. Things I shouldn’t know normally. I don’t predict events, at least like that. I’m not sure it’s not one of the possible abilities, but I wouldn’t bet against it. But being Oracle means I know lots about the Master System.”

  Oskar raised his finger, and a small light globe appeared, floating just above him, prompting more incredulous looks.

  “What the…?”

  Cyrek immediately understood.

  “The Lighter bit, you said? You have two abilities, and that’s the other?”

  Oskar smiled.

  “Exactly. I started with both. Unlike Janosz, who got only one, probably because he’s the youngest.”

  Janosz corrected him, “By 20 minutes!”

  “You were always a lazy boy!” Oskar countered.

  Marek waved his hands, trying to take the discussion back on track.

  “So, ok. You two are mutants…”

  “Not mutants. We were latent Masters, and we got our powers awakened by chance. Well, I got them by chance, then Janosz,” Oskar elaborated.

  “Still sounds like mutant to me,” Maciej added.

  “Whatever. Ok, I said that Master is like an RPG thing. You have levels, and experience, and factions, and…” Oskar replied.

  “And you have a small blue stat screen in your vision like the usual RPG?” Marek interrupted.

  “No. I just know things instinctively…” Oskar replied.

  He stopped and stared at Michalina.

  “And I have to ask you Micha… what do you see?”

  Michalina frowned.

  “What do I see? What do you mean, what do…”

  She paused.

  “That’s… what you just said… Master? Both of you?”

  Oskar nodded.

  “It looks like you just awakened. And that means you can now recognize a Master by sight. That’s us both.”

  “Wait a minute… are you saying I’m one of your… Master people? I’m some kind of witch?” Michalina asked.

  Oskar confirmed her intuition.

  “You are now. You were not when we came in, but I can recognize the… Master in you now. Every Master can recognize one when they see one. That’s not something you can turn off. It’s automatic and instinctive.”

  Michalina voiced her thoughts.

  “So… I can freeze stuff? Or…”

  “Or a different thing. Each Master is different. I have an advantage over you; I’m an Oracle. I couldn’t see your first power until you awakened, but now I can know yours. So… try doing something. Just on impulse,” Oskar suggested.

  Michalina shrugged back.

  “Like what?”

  “Anything. Just try… what you wouldn’t do normally. Come on. Just go with the instinct. I’d tell you more on how to figure it out, but it’s more fun when you find out yourself,” Oskar said.

  Michalina stood up, and hesitated. Every eye was on her. Then, without warning, she rushed toward the wall and jumped, landing in a crouch.

  On the wall itself.

  Everyone stared in silence. Then Cyrek started to applaud: “That’s a good show, guys. You really have to tell us how you do it. You’re in it, Marek?”

  “It’s not a show. Tell them, Micha,” Oskar replied.

  “It’s…”

  “No, really. You…”

  The conversation became confusing as everyone tried talking at once. Cyrek looked as Michalina carefully removed her ankle boots. Then, her socks, putting back naked feet on the wall. Then, she slowly climbed on all four up to the top of the wall, slid over to the ceiling, and moved back toward the center of the room, finally letting go of her arms. She remained there, suspended, arms dropping nearly to the table.

  Janosz waved at her.

  “Does it look like she’s got wires? Or sticky pads? Or something?”

  “Well, you’re the ones doing the trick. You tell me how you got her to do it.”

  Oskar sighed.

  “Pick me, I’m dropping down,” Michalina warned.

  Both Bartosz and Cyrek moved to catch her. She dropped from the ceiling, and they flipped her back to the upright position. Cyrek looked carefully, but there was no trace on the ceiling of whatever the brothers had made for their accomplice. But then, she moved next to the couch, put her feet flat on the side of it, and sat on her haunches. The sight of her in that position, feet glued to the couch, felt a bit surreal.

  Michalina looked at the guild.

  “OK, now see if you can find something.”

  Seeing their incredulous looks, she sighed, “OK, I’m… what? Oskar?”

  “A Level 1 Sticker. You should know that by yourself. It’s not like there’s a game user interface or something showing up; it’s instinctive. You just know, without being told or shown anything,” Oskar explained.

  Michalina shook her head.

  “I wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider, though. Or I don’t remember it.”

  “No, but you saw Janosz and me demonstrate our abilities. And that was apparently enough to awaken your own first ability,” Oskar elaborated.

  “I have more than one?” Michalina asked.

  “Potentially. If you can acquire experience, you can reach Level 2 and unlock a new one. And since I’m an Oracle, I can tell your next ability, but not the one beyond. That one could be anything,” Oskar said.

  “And my next magical ability is…?” Michalina asked.

  “Burning Hand,” was Oskar’s answer.

  “No way! She can burn things with her hands?” Marek asked.

  Oskar amended his claim.

  “Not yet. She’s a fresh Level 1. She needs to gain… experience. Then, at Level 2, she’ll be able to make a flame around her fists and burn anything she touches.”

  “And you didn’t know she was a… how you say… Master?” Cyrek asked.

  “I knew she was possibly one, even if she had yet to awaken. Part of being Oracle. Just like I know most of you are latent ones as well.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute…”

  Maciej opened the door before Cyrek could even knock. It looked like everyone was already there. Cyrek tried to find a place to sit and settled on the side of the old couch. Marek didn’t waste time.

  “Ok, everyone made it. Thank you all. Today is the day.”

  Bartosz asked: “You have a target?”

  Marek confirmed: “I have a target. That East Germany/West Poland District has begun activating, and the location of that Control Base is now detectable in advance.”

  Everyone took a deep breath. This was what they had been waiting for the last few months. An active District in Europe. The first active District ever on Earth, possibly. And it was next door.

  Marek completed his explanations.

  “If the Polish Supremacy can claim the District, we’ll be the ones to shape how Earth will face the Master System. Poland will have all the power and legitimacy. Not even the EU or the USA will be able to gainsay us. And once we leverage the District, we’ll have recruits to bolster us.”

  Maciej raised his hand.

  “How hard is that going to be?”

  Cyrek saw Marek’s face dropping. That meant the claim wouldn’t be easy. Marek pointed toward the topographic map on the table.

  “It’s going to be tricky. Very tricky.”

  Maciej saw the circle drawn around the designated location, and his eyes widened.

  “You’ve got to be shitting us. A NATO base?”

  Marek downplayed the complication.

  “A minor NATO supply depot. Oskar and I have always guessed Control Bases would be… attached to military or leadership structures. So it’s not entirely a surprise.”

  Maciej pressed on.

  “You want us to take on NATO? Really?”

  “So what? If we control the District, we get a massive advantage. And without Masters on their own, NATO will quickly realize they have to talk to us. If they want to counterattack, they’ll get slaughtered once we bring in our recruits and start awakening them. They can’t just drop a WMD on us in the middle of a District in Germany; they need a conventional attack… and if we have enough level 2 and 3 – or higher, with luck – we’ll be too much for them,” Bartosz countered.

  Michalina raised her hand.

  “While I think Bartosz is optimistic about how easy it can be, it’s not as if we have another option. Say we don’t move. So, NATO finds itself with an active Control Base to study. They’re going to figure out sooner or later about the Master System. And then, Poland will be forever a small cog in the machine.”

  Marek turned to Borkowski.

  “Cyrek, you’re going to be the vanguard if we move. What do you think?”

  Cyrek took a deep breath.

  “I’m close to Level 4, I’m sure. But unless we can get more recruits awakened, that won’t happen fast enough. Certainly not in time for this… activation. We’ve done all we can for now.”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “But can you do it?” Marek checked.

  Cyrek voiced his thoughts, “Even if I’m ‘only’ a Level 3 Plasma Kinetic Freezer, it’s a very, very strong combo for combat. And I have a reasonably fast recharge for the plasma. And you’re no slouches either, most of you.”

  Michalina raised her finger and started a flame going along its length, grinning. She had been a Level 1 Sticker but managed to get her Level 2 Burning Hand last month. According to Oskar, she’d be even more powerful later, but that wouldn’t be possible for a while, just like Cyrek.

  “So taking over the district is possible,” Maciej prompted.

  Cyrek was feeling more confident now.

  “Certain. Unless they have, like, a brigade waiting for us. And even then. We’ll mow them down.”

  They all turned to Janosz. He was the other Level 2 heavy hitter of the group, and his opinion weighed a lot.

  “It’s a gamble. But we’ve known that for a long time. Depending on how the first Bases were coming, we would have to face opponents. And it might have been better if the East Poland District was first. But we know it’s easier to awaken in an active District, and we do have candidates to join us once we have it.”

  Marek pitched in.

  “The real job is to convince the government of Poland that we are the legitimate arm of Poland in the System. If they agree, we win.”

  “And old man Mordecai will do it.”

  All of the Polish Supremacists looked at each other. In the end, there was no doubt about it. They would move on to that NATO depot at Bergholz as soon as the dome went up and then get Poland officially involved before NATO escalated their response to kick them out. And their names would live forever in Poland's legend.

  1. No Plan Survives Contact

  Al “Main Man” Varanson got his nickname because one of his squadmates was a fan of B-flicks. Carl “Baseball” Johnson swore up and down that he looked like some alien bounty hunter from a 2000s movie. Of course, once the squad tracked the actual movie, they agreed that if you stripped the Kiss makeup, maybe it would be his adopted brother or something. Besides, the idea that Varanson would be the guy hired by the Easter Bunny to assassinate Santa Claus was far too funny to let go, so the nickname stuck.

  At least, that squad was composed of buddies. After six months in Afghanistan, they sometimes managed to forgive him for being a simple lieutenant and all. Afghanistan had been his first deployment after the grueling training for a brand new special forces officer, and it had been a good one. Getting a platoon command immediately, instead of waiting to get promoted further, was its own reward.

  Afghanistan, in the now third decade of the War on Terror, was a weird mix of boredom, show of force, and the occasional cleanup of insurgent caches, and that lasted until the bi-annual force rotation for NATO. The USA regularly detached forces to NATO, rotating them in and out, and his unit had been designated as the next on this rotation. So, he and his company were moved last month to NATO’s armed forces roster, Special Forces Division. That meant out of the usual Afghan policing duties that were a USA-exclusive operation and probably into the Middle-East mess that the Alliance itself tried to manage on behalf of Europe.

  Of course, once that was decided, nothing happened. The entire company had been stuck in the usual administrative limbo that accompanied a change of affectation decided according to a spreadsheet in the Pentagon. Three weeks stationed next to Kabul, with its wonderful nightlife, and nothing in the way of distractions, not even a patrol through pacified areas. Then, his platoon had been split in two, and he had been told to head to Germany, of all places, with only half a dozen special forces snake eaters.

  Landing in Eastern Germany, his commander – who had managed to be sent with them as well – had finally figured out the whole problem. As most NATO units, they’d be formed as an integrated unit – meaning mixing squads from various nations – and so, while the great shuffling occurred, troops were pulled out of NATO and others replaced them, and people waited.

  Varanson thought the whole thing completely bonkers, and the reform of NATO from a paper organization to an actual autonomous military force that perpetually churned units was an exercise in stupidity, but that was because he was a lieutenant, not a 4-star general.

  So, the plan was that, over the next week or so, several other special forces, including some French Foreign Legion of all things, would merge into a battalion, following which they would have a massive exercise to get them to work together, and after that, they might get deployed back on the field… somewhere, for the next two years. His own understrength platoon was going to get some British SAS guys. As soon as someone upstairs figured out which ones.

  Meanwhile, the only thing left was R&R. In a civilized country – as much as Eastern Germany could be for an American. And that meant sampling the bars and gasthaus and all the various ways Germany could accommodate semi-bored elite American – now NATO – special forces on half-leave with accumulated money from Afghanistan to burn. He and the team looked forward to that one, after the boredom of Kabul.

  This evening’s outing came courtesy of Hector “Legs” Nories. The unofficial recreational officer of the squad had cross-referenced all of the various tourist and culinary guides and picked a small gasthaus near Prenzlau, not too far from Berlin. The local menu boasted an unofficial triple–star rating and “French-inspired German cuisine,” which looked awfully lovely on paper. And a large choice of locally brewed beers.

  Besides, if the team didn’t like it, Hector would be the one paying, so he took the risks. So the seven of them loaded in two Humvees from the base and headed toward their latest watering spot. They just had settled in and started sampling the wares when things went wrong.

  The smartphone buzzed. Al looked at it, seeing a simple “secure, callback” text from the major.

  “Call from upstairs, guys. Be right back.”

  Al went outside and picked up the secure satphone from his pickup. He dialed the major’s line, and the call was immediately connected.

  “Varanson?” Major Mackay asked.

  “Aye, major,” Varanson confirmed.

  “We have a problem. And it looks like your team is the closest to the site,” Mackay opened with.

  Varanson felt a sinking feeling mixed with the prospect of an ending of last month’s boredom.

  “End of R&R, then? What’s the problem?”

  “We got a call from a small supply depot out in the boonies not too far from your location. They were reporting that they were under assault. The local detachment is a small garrison, like twenty people, with most of the staff being day civilian contractors. It’s not heavy military weapons, more like vehicle parts and sundries,” Mackay explained.

  “Under assault? We’re not in Afghanistan; how can we get under assault? Rabid Germans?” Al answered, feeling confused.

  Mackay ignored the rhetorical question.

  “The point is, the depot no longer answers. So, we have an unknown force moving in, and apparently, they did neutralize the garrison.”

  “Counter-terrorism for the rescue,” Al perked.

  “You guessed it. Extraterritoriality rules. We have forces inbound, but you’re our front-line scouts for fast reaction. You have your kits, I assume,” Mackay confirmed.

  Varanson mentally checked his memory and confirmed, “Always prepared. Not a full kit, but good enough. Good to recon, assess, and intervene, or at least report back.”

  Major Mackay gave him more details. The depot was at a place called Bergholz. Administrative personnel would have left for the day, leaving only a small military police cadre as guards, twenty men tops.

  “Move. Mackay, out.”

  Al went in to announce the bad news that the Leipzig Carrot Cake would have to wait another day.

  The two Humvees were streaking through the night. Hector was the driver for the first one, and while they were now in a hurry, he wasn’t going to drive too fast across the unknown (and largely unlit) German plains and forests. Meanwhile, the rest of the team was checking their light kit.

  Al would have very much preferred to have the full complement of body armor and weaponry, but even in a locked military vehicle, there was no way they would have been allowed to take their full kit for an evening restaurant excursion. Not that there should have been a reason to. Still, everyone had their weapon and a few ammo clips, and Jonas even had an armor vest stashed at the back that he’d put on as soon as they arrived. They were not supposed to have that out, but even the Major knew better.

  Al started the briefing.

  “OK, guys. We do recon, evaluate, and then figure out what happened. The major said that nobody is answering anymore.”

  Carl had a first question.

  “Has the police checked?”

  Al replied with the negative.

  “It’s a NATO base; the German Polizei has no jurisdiction there. So we didn’t call them. Besides, there’s a complement of troops to guard the depot, and those should have been able to handle a situation, even if they were surprised. But apparently, they got overwhelmed.”

  “Which is why they call us. Messy is our job,” Quintrell “Smoke” Dillard interjected.

  Al felt he should moderate his team’s ardor.

  “Still, be careful. We’re not Seal 666 or something. I have no idea why someone would want to attack a NATO supply depot unless they want to steal weapons. We get intel; then we figure out if we counter-attack.”

  “Coming up to base, according to the GPS,” Hector interrupted.

  Al stretched a bit.

  “Stop us at half a mile. We’ll finish by foot discreetly.”

  The depot wall had been breached by some kind of explosive. There was a large hole in the fence and burn and scorch marks all around. It did not look like the more classic charge demolition that Al had seen in use in Afghanistan. That was more… raw if anything. Al shook his head.

  “Ok, definitively hostile action.”

  Hector Nories scratched his brow.

  “Does not compute. If that were Iraq, I’d expect that. But this is Europe. Who would do that? What you think, Main Man?”

  Explosive breaching entrance into a NATO Base was some serious fecal matter hitting the rotating impeller. Al started to feel a bit more wary than he ever had been in Afghanistan. The locals back then were a serious but known quantity. This one was a mystery.

  “No idea who or what their objective is, Legs, but that’s serious. I need numbers, weaponry, everything. Keep tight, and watch everything.”

  The team looked at Al. He went on.

  “Most of the lights seem still up, but there’s no sound. If there’s been a fight, it’s over. And since we were not notified that the alert is over…, looks like the bad guys won that one. Now, we do round two. I’ll call the Major to keep him informed.”

  Mackay didn’t waste time answering.

  “Mackay. What’s the sitrep, Varanson?”

  “On-site, can confirm hostile action. The base’s perimeter was breached with some kind of explosive device, but there’s no visible presence there. Hostilities appear to have ended. I’m assuming the guard force was completely overwhelmed and is neutralized or down,” Al answered.

  Mackay took that in stride.

  “We’re inbound on ground, four platoons on full alert. Air support is supposed to catch up, but it might not arrive before us. Two choppers are being prepped. Apparently, no one had anything on alert, peacetime Germany and all. ETA one hour.”

  “Will recon and assess the hostiles’ force. Varanson out.”

  The squad crossed the fence and spread out slightly, taking cover. They appeared to be next to a series of containers, blocking their view of most of the base. Hector signaled a clear line, no hostiles. Al signaled his troops to start progressing with cover toward the end of the containers.

  At the end of the first row, they stopped. There was a guy wearing some kind of runner’s tracksuit standing at the end of the row, facing to their right. The guy looked European but didn’t look military. So… one of the intruders, probably. He didn’t sport any visible weapon. Al gestured, indicating capture. They needed answers, and this hostile could be the one giving them.

  Some kind of instinct had the man turn his head. He spotted Jonas “Handle” Maxwell advancing and turned toward them. Both Jonas and Carl rushed immediately. The man raised his hand, and lightning danced across the space, striking Jonas in the face. Carl Johnson tackled the man who fell, hitting his head on the wall of a barrack-like building behind him.

  Al rushed toward Jonas. The private had a horrible grimace across his face, his body slack. A burn mark next to his left eye indicated where the lightning arc had entered. Al put his finger on the carotid, trying to feel for a pulse. Nothing.

  Hector slid toward him, whispering: “What the fuck? That looked like an electric arc or something. Taser?”

  “This guy fully electrocuted Handle, not a taser.”

  Al gestured toward Carl, who came around.

  “What was he using? Never seen such a weapon”, Varanson asked.

  “That’s the thing, Main Man. His hands are empty. He didn’t drop anything, either. No taser gun or anything”, Carl replied.

  “I thought I had missed something when it happened. You’re saying he really didn’t have anything? He shot… lightning from his fingers?”

  “Looks like. What about Handle?” Carl asked.

  Varanson made a negative sign.

  “No pulse. Handle is dead, I think. The tango?”

  “Knocked out. He’s bleeding from the head. Nasty fall,” Quintrell confirmed.

  Al didn’t take long to think.

  “Baseball tackled him good. Ok, secure him. We’ll have to leave him for now. Can’t wait until he wakes up, if he does. Legs, Farm, anything?”

  Mark “Farm” Hertzler answered: “Nothing moving so far.”

  “OK, don’t hesitate to use your weapons if there’s a risk, even if that gives up the alarm. One casualty is one too many. Let’s move.”

  There were two people across the road at the end of the barracks talking in low voices. The man was wearing the same kind of cheap tracksuit the first man had, but the woman simply wore faded and ripped jeans and a sweatshirt, with her hair pulled in a bun. They would have looked very ordinary in other circumstances, but there were three corpses in uniforms sprawled next to them, which didn’t seem to faze them. Al stopped his troops.

  “Ok, they don’t have guns either… but if they have the same lightning weapons, they’re still very dangerous.”

  “No good sniper position, but I can take any one of them,” Marco “Porridge” Carducci said.

  Mark grimaced.

  “As soon as we fire, we’re going to get noticed. Baseball, can you…”

  Al raised his hand. The woman had turned and was heading toward the back of the base. If she left her accomplice alone, that would make the attack easier. Al immediately decided to adjust the plan.

  “If she leaves, I want you to knife the man. Don’t make sounds.”

  They all waited. As the woman reached one of the buildings, she simply put her hands on it, then jumped slightly and started crawling fast, like it was an easy-mode climbing wall.

  Mark nearly exclaimed, “What the?”

  Al shushed Mark. None of the two enemies had heard, thankfully. The woman was now on the top of the building and walking away. Hector voiced their common thoughts.

  “We have Spiderwoman? Who the fuck are those guys?”

  Al waved away their concern.

  “We’ll figure it out later. For now, we have one guy isolated. Baseball, take him.”

  Carl Johnson made his way around the barrack. The man kept under the only light of that stretch of the road still had on, which helped Carl get in position. He would have to rush over 30 feet to take the guy, but if he kept looking to where his accomplice had left, that would be doable. Despite his name, he was fast, but not as fast as Legs would be. Carl looked toward Al, which made an ok sign.

  He stood and sprinted. The target obviously noticed something because the man turned and his eyes widened as he saw the corporal running with a commando knife in hand. The man raised his right hand, which turned white while dodging. Carl feinted, and the man’s eye followed the knife. That was the wrong move, and Carl sliced at his legs. The man raised his hands as he fell, and Carl felt a rush of air as… something narrowly missed him.

  Al was already running. He saw a pair of… white streaks fire from the hostile’s left hand, nearly impacting Carl’s head. Al flicked his own knife and launched. The blade went true, entering the man’s shoulder as he hit the ground. He tried to turn toward Al, but Carl didn’t waste time and sliced upward with his own blade. A soft gurgle told Al that the threat was neutralized.

  They both looked over the target as Mark and Hector approached in turn, keeping watch toward where the woman had left. The left hand was empty, but the right was still covered in a white sheen. Al gingerly touched it and pulled back his hand.

  “Fuck, it’s cold.”

  Mark Hertzler reached and felt.

  “Looks like some ice cover.”

  “Ok, one guy throws lighting, this one has ice over his hand, and we’ve got Spiderwoman… what is going on?” Quintrell summarized.

  “I saw him firing something. Looked like silver darts,” Carl added.

  “He’s got no gun,” Mark replied.

  “Like electric guy. Do we have…” Carl continued.

  A scream of rage interrupted them.

  The squad looked up. The woman had come back to the top of the building. And she very obviously had seen her friend lying on the ground with a small pool of blood already spreading. She raised her fists… and flames started to pour out.

  As all the men were trying to shift their aim toward her, the woman simply ran toward the building’s border and then started to run vertically across the wall toward the ground.

  Al was the most surprised of them all. The woman running down the wall seemed… off. Not just the impossible running over a wall, but he somehow recognized something about her. Impossibly, he could tell she was… a Master? Even if Al had no idea what to make of that concept, he somehow knew that specific quality about her.

  The team spread out in all directions. Even if she had no visible weapon, that hadn’t stopped the previous two enemies. And she very obviously had something going on with the burning hand. Still, they held their fire, trying not to raise the alarm.

  Al didn’t think about his gun. He instinctively raised his left hand, aiming toward the woman rushing toward him. And he fired a streak of lightning. The woman was struck in the chest by the twisting electric arc and sprawled.

  Al looked at his hand in disbelief. Then he noticed the faces of his team looking at him.

  Marco was the first to ask, “What did you just do?”

  “I think… I used some lightning arc”, Al replied.

  “You can do that?” Quintrell asked.

  “I was going to say no, but I obviously did,” Al had to answer.

  Hector was squatting, looking at Al’s hand from all angles.

  “There’s nothing.”

  Al thought quickly.

  “Just like the first guy. I just… aimed and tried to hit her center. It came out of my fingers.”

  Carl turned the woman over. He pointed out toward her sneakers, which had a burn mark where the electrical bolt had discharged into the ground.

  “Looks like you electrocuted her. Like the guy did with Handle. Since when have you been a superhero?”

  “I frankly have no idea. But…” Al started.

  “But?” Marco prompted.

  Al tried to explain: “I… sort of recognized something in her when she came running over the building. Like I was aware that she was something more than some random terrorist woman.”

  Marco stated the obvious, “Well, she had her hands on fire.”

  “More fundamental than that. But, when she was there before we took her friend down, I didn’t have this impression. I think I just… awoke some kind of power,” Al countered.

  An instinct made him turn his head. A man was standing near the building, looking toward the squad. Just like the woman, Al could somewhat recognize him. A Master again… whatever it was.

  Al flashed toward his team, urging immediate caution. But it looked like it was too late to keep quiet, as the man screamed a bunch of Slavic-sounding insults and started sprinting straight toward Al with his hand raised in a grip-like gesture. Al raised his hand as well, trying to feel the same lightning, but he could feel only heat coursing through his tendons.

  A ball of fire formed in his palm and streaked toward the man. The blowup was loud.

  Everyone was looking at Al in utter disbelief.

  “Did you just throw a fireball at the guy?” Hector asked.

  Al was nearly speechless.

  “I was trying to get the same lightning bolt.”

  “Well, you failed,” Hector deadpanned.

  “Can you fly?” Mark instantly asked.

  Al could only answer, “No idea.”

  Varanson looked at the corpse. The fireball had exploded, leaving an arm with scorched marks and a mangled body whose head was bent at an angle. The fireball itself had left no residue, entirely dissipating after the explosion.

  “That’s even more destructive than the lightning,” Quintrell remarked.

  “None of the intruders had that one,” Marco added.

  “Or maybe they didn’t use it? I mean, if I have two different ‘weapons’, they probably have as well. Or maybe even more?” Al mused.

  “Ok, we got four tango down. How many more?” Carducci pushed.

  Varanson grimaced.

  “No idea, but if we face some kind of supervillain team, they might be a small group. I assumed lots more to overwhelm the guards, but who knows what else they can be using.”

  Al waved his team forward.

  “We need to make sure of the force. If the reinforcement arrives with superpowered enemies, they might get into big trouble.”

  Carl Johnson couldn’t resist adding his usual old movie quip:

  “… in Little China.”

  The team moved smoothly, covering each other and checking every angle. The base was offering an environment not too dissimilar to what their urban warfare training used. They stopped when they spotted a couple more military police bodies.

  Al waited until the team had checked their surroundings. Now that they knew a bit more about what to look for, they noticed more details about the deceased.

  “Left body has a lightning burn. Second has a caved chest like someone used a hammer. Other two have some small holes in the throat,” Hector reported.

  “Hammer? Sounds like some more powers,” Marco said.

  “The small holes might be the dart-like projectile type the second guy used,” Al added.

  The team looked at each other, then shrugged as one man. Al spotted some variations in the lighting on the far edge of the path. Squinting, he thought he could see someone’s silhouette. He pointed.

  “Next target. Keep cover.”

  The barracks ended short of their next target. There were more buildings, but the part they would have to cross had no cover. Their destination appeared to be a small metallic communication dome, like a covered satellite antenna. To Al, the dome looked out of place. Normal domes were made out of plastic, usually grey or maybe white. A metallic covering would block the satellite links. The setup was definitively odd.

  There was no one moving around and no trace of whatever silhouette he had spotted earlier. Either he or she had moved or gone inside the dome structure. Al had to make a decision quickly: either get to the dome to check or set up an ambush and see if they could surprise the remaining enemies. Given that Major Mackay’s forces were probably not too far away, the latter might be the best option. If the hostiles showed up, they’d neutralize them. If they didn’t, they’d join up with reinforcements and sweep the base.

  Al took the time to assess his own state. The surprising turn of events and display of powers was completely out of the left field. That, and spotting that his enemies were something called Masters.

  But Varanson realized that he could tell the same about him. The same instinct that told him the enemy Masters told him something about himself. Apparently, he was a Master as well. And a bit more details… Something about being a Level 3. And the level 3 was explaining… some labels. Like Plasma, Lightning, and something called… Neurolyzer? What the fuck was a Neurolyzer? The first two were self-explaining since he’d seen them in action and matched what he expected. Lightning bolts and plasma fireballs. But it seemed like he might have some additional ability he hadn’t used yet. Something about neurons? A brain power?

  The ambush dilemma was broken by movement from the dome. The doors to the side opened outward, and a man stepped out. The casual demeanor and civilian attire left little doubt about him being yet another of the enemies. Then Al saw its face, lighted sideway by the halogen lampposts, and did a double take. It was the same man… no. That one lacked the scar that the man he and Carl had taken down. A twin?

  The hostile lifted a phone to his ear. Al strained a bit to listen, but the man wasn’t talking, only listening. At one point, however, he swore loudly in some Slavic-sounding language and threw his phone to the ground. Whatever he’d been told, it wasn’t good news. Al felt cold. The most likely explanation was that another hostile was still roaming around the base and had found one of the corpses left by the team. Which means the rest of the hostiles would now be expecting them.

  The enemy turned toward the door and spoke to someone who was still inside. Al couldn’t hear any answer, but the man was talking fast. He quickly turned aside, moved to the side, and started looking around. That confirmed Al’s theory; the enemies hadn’t heard the various fights but had been warned somehow.

  There was no time to dither, and Al took the only option. If the hostile was superpowered as well, as the mental Master label seemed to indicate, Al had the best chance of overwhelming him. Plus, it would be nice if they got a second prisoner to interrogate. He rose and started running.

  Oskar Kowal was trying to see any enemies. The news from Marek that Michalina, Bartosz, and Janosz were dead filled him with dread. Maciej was still alive somehow, though, even if he wasn’t answering, and he hoped he would come and reinforce them. Cyrek would keep guard while he stayed inside the Dome to keep the timer running. Both were Level 3, but there was no doubt about which one would be the fighter there.

  Movement from one of the buildings interrupted his planning. Someone was there… someone was running toward the dome.

  A Master. And not a Polish Supremacy one. He couldn’t see well the man himself, but his Oracle ability let him know the abilities of the runner. Those weren’t Maciej’s combo. Which could only mean one thing.

  NATO had brought in a Master to counterattack. Not only that, but they had reacted almost immediately. This meant they knew about Masters and had a large enough reaction force to deploy one anywhere within hours.

  At that point, things were looking grim.

  And there was no time left, and the man was barreling toward him.

  Oskar jumped up.

  Al did not anticipate the guy’s move. The enemy Master jumped and vaulted over him, a feat more worthy of the Olympics than anything he could have expected. Al braked hard and turned, but the man had twisted above him and was already throwing a punch. Al tried to block, succeeding only partially. He felt like he’d been hit by a hammer. The dodge might have spared him broken bones.

  The team had correctly interpreted the combat and held their fire, covering the close combat between him and the enemy. Al feinted, and the hostile turned. At least he didn’t look like he had any serious unarmed combat training. Of course, whatever power fueled his attack might more than make up for his weaknesses. Al’s shoulder still smarted a bit from the punch.

  Would Al’s third power let him overwhelm the guy? There was only one way to know, and that was to try. From the general instinct that came with each power, this one might require him to touch the enemy. Al feinted again and grabbed with his left hand.

  The sensation was weird. He could feel something, but it was oddly muted like he was sticking his hand into sand. Whatever the mind-affecting ability of Neurolyzer was, it clearly failed to find purchase in his opponent’s brain. Which left Al with the option of trying to taser the guy. If he could knock the enemy without killing him…

  Two gunshot cracks sounded across the courtyard.

  Al saw his enemy crumpling. If his team had opened fire, then… yes, someone had come out of the satellite dome. His team had probably made the correct decision. With an additional enemy in play, trying to capture took second place to neutralize the hostiles. His first target was down, but they had missed the other guy, who had thrown himself aside as soon as he saw the combat going on outside.

  Another gunshot sounded across the place, but the guy twitched. It looked like he might be dodging fire. The man raised his hand, and a ball of fire launched, smashing into one of the buildings. Al saw Marco plunge and start crawling away.

  Al turned back toward the hostile. The enemy had raised his left hand, which was covered in white frost and giving a foggy smoke. Al took stock of the thing. It looked like the man had the same icy hand ability they’d encountered earlier, and he apparently had the same fireball attack Al had. So, at least two attack abilities.

  Al raised his own hand and tried to fire his taser. A small, barely visible arc sparked, grounding itself near his enemy. Al winced inward. It looked like this form of attack required a significant electrical charge, and Al’s… ‘internal battery’ was currently depleted.

  He tried and fired a plasma ball of his own instead. The ball barely missed the hostile, smashing into the dome behind him and throwing a massive billowing smoke. Just like before, a feeling of depletion and refilling came to him. So, the plasma attack had some cooldown and recharge period before it could be used again. Al tried to estimate the time required, but it felt like it would be a couple of minutes before he could try to fire again. At least, the other guy hadn’t fired either, so he had the same limitation.

  Cyrek Borkowski had come to the same conclusion as Oskar before him. The military guy in front of him was registering as a Master. And it very obviously had Plasma as well. And Lightning, but he had expended his charges and would be unable to shock Cyrek from range and probably be too weak on contact. At the very least, a Level 2 Master. NATO had sent one immediately, which meant that one of the guards had been able to identify a Master attack and notify NATO of that before Polish Supremacy finished the job.

  At that point, Cyrek already knew that it was effectively over. He might be able to overwhelm the NATO Master, who appeared to be solo – his inactivated support team didn’t really count. But NATO would almost certainly send a bigger team from their reserves if necessary. The plan of bringing in Latent Masters and getting them up and operational to guard the District against conventional forces while diplomacy worked out was doomed to failure. It always had been.

  All that was left was trying to neutralize the Master, hopefully escape, regroup... and without Oskar’s Oracle, it would be nearly impossible to find new recruits to regrow the Polish Supremacy, even outside the District. Poland would go down in the trash heap of history. Hopefully… he and Marek would try to live in the cracks of the Master System. Maybe some surprise would come. Maybe not.

  But first, defeat the enemy. Close the range and ice him if he wasn’t immune.

  During the instants where Cyrek elaborated his exit strategy, Al had moved back. He had no idea if his brain ability would finally work on the new enemy, and he was out of plasma for the moment. Better draw out the guy in the open and let the team shoot him. He sent a flurry of small signs to his team, signifying trying to incapacitate rather than kill. A second prisoner was still the best option.

  The hostile didn’t let him stand aside, though. He started running toward Al, which probably meant he was trying to use his icy hand attack. Al knew he had to avoid that while keeping him distracted until the team could deal with him.

  The man slowed down and spoke. For once, Al could understand his opponent. The man spoke English with a heavy Slavic accent.

  “So, NATO missed the ball. And you came alone?”

  “I’m good enough to deal with you. Plus, I have backup,” Al replied.

  The hostile shrugged.

  “They don’t count. Not Masters. Only you matter.”

  Al smiled, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, pal. Don’t worry; we’ll have plenty of questions to ask you later.”

  The enemy raised his middle finger, an amateur attempt at replying.

  “No questions. I deal with you and then with trash.”

  The man suddenly lunged while one of his team shot, trying to incapacitate the enemy. Al ducked, avoiding the iced hand. He tried to grab the hostile’s leg, but as soon as he reached, he felt a kick and got thrown a couple of feet away. He hadn’t seen the leg kick, but it smarted. Al rose back, backpedaling.

  The man looked at him, then shook his head.

  “You’re lucky. We would snatch your district Dome, and you’re just in time. But I can’t let you stop me.”

  “I will,” Al replied. “You’ve already lost; you’re just too stubborn to see it. Surrender, and we’ll work out a…”

  “As if you would. I’m not giving you a new Master. Let me go, and NATO will not lose one,” the man countered.

  The man turned and shot a new fireball toward the end of the square. Al saw Carl and Mark get thrown away by the explosion. Quintrell shot back, then ran to a new cover. Al would have shot back a new plasma ball, but he felt like it would require a minute or so. Whatever this enemy Master was, he could fire faster than him.

  While the man was looking away, he took the opportunity. He closed in again, and before the hostile could turn back, he kicked him. It felt like kicking a wall, but the leg slipped, and the man started to fall. From the corner of his eye, Al saw Hector shoot, but the bullet appeared to miss again.

  The enemy tried to turn on the ground to face him, but Al reached and tried to use whatever “juice” he could bring. The feeling intensified and took hold, and for a fraction of a second, Al could understand what he was pushing. Panic, fear, confusion, distraction, everything. The man’s eyes grew as the flow of sensations started to overwhelm him, but he kept trying to turn.

  At last, Al felt the electrical load within him take hold and run across his fingers. There was a small pop sound as the voltage discharged, and the man twitched twice.

  And Cyrek Borkowski’s brain, weakened by the conflicting impulses from neurolyzing, blew an aneurysm from the otherwise non-lethal current.

  Burning Hand. Way too many of my characters end up with it...