Mortal Gods: “Counterstrike” is an original, flash fiction story set in a universe where superhumans exist in a real-world setting, and act accordingly. (For instance, they don’t dress up in tights and call themselves superheroes. Or if they do, they soon answer to the law.)
As for the inspiration for this tale? Nothing in particular. Most definitely not any real-life story that is in the news currently.
Here now in 1,000 or fewer words is “Counterstrike.”
*****
“She made a youthful mistake and now she wants to come back!” Abdul Abdallah said to the journalists and other fans. He held up his daughter’s photo. “Rashida is just a child, and it is shameful America is preventing her from escaping from the danger she’s in! Bring her home to Austin!”
The crowd went wild. And the journalists started a riot, their second one of the week.
—–
“Austin authorities have no desire to stop the rioting. Texas officials are hesitant too,” the chief of staff told the president. “She’s become a folk hero. So we don’t really have a choice. We’re going to have to bring Rashida back to the U.S.”
“Well, we’re going to go a different route with this noncitizen refugee and her supporters,” the president replied. “Have you contacted the Texas governor?” he asked Amanda Langli.
“Yes, sir. He now understands he needs to crush the rioting,” she said.
“That’s only going to make them madder!” his chief of staff cried.
The president picked up a thin, blue, file folder. “Is the foreign operation on track?” he asked Amanda.
“Yes, sir. Our superhuman assets are in position. Everyone is awaiting your order to start the final phase.”
“I’ll give that right away.”
—–
“ETA approximately one minute,” the officer said after Christina York had given him the ten-digit grid coordinate.
“Good copy. Out,” she replied, ending the radio transmission.
She was in Ninewah Province in northwest Iraq. Specifically, she was in Mosul, in the part that had once been the biblical city of Ninevah.
Thirty-six hours ago she had brushed against a man in the streets, implanting him with the biological nano trackers her superhuman body produced. She had followed him to his contacts, and then she followed them to the safe haven of a company-sized element of Islamic terrorists.
She now sat near the middle of a room in a high-rise, positioned behind a table on its side and with a clear line of sight out the window. Her field glasses kept Rashida Abdallah in sharp focus 1,500 meters away.
Rashida stood in the center of the terrorists, wildly gesticulating and shouting. She was revving them up to kill more American troops. She was very good at it. Probably their best propagandist. And if she was allowed back into the U.S., she would use her skills to recruit more terrorists there . . . for foreign or domestic operations.
Forty-five seconds until arrival.
Rashida had emigrated from Syria to America ten years ago. She and her family had claimed refugee status, saying that they feared for their lives from both the Syrian regime and Islamic terrorists.
Five years ago she had returned to Syria so she could cross the border and help Islamic terrorists kill American troops in Iraq.
Rashida raised a poster, showing a photo of dead American troops. She screamed and pointed at it. Her fellow terrorists raised their arms and shouted with her, some of them fired AK-47s.
Thirty seconds.
Someone handed her a rifle. Others set up a dummy, dressed in American military gear, a few meters away from her. Everyone cleared her a path. She fired a full magazine into the dummy, creating an even greater frenzy.
Christina scanned the skies. Nothing there.
The terrorists climbed onto five Humvees and two Abrams main battle tanks that they had either captured from the Iraqi armed forces, or that the Iraqi armed forces had outright given to them. They danced on them and made an even bigger spectacle.
Fifteen seconds.
A faint boom echoed in the heavens. The terrorists didn’t notice it. Christina smiled.
A tiny black blip appeared in the air, growing larger with a light red glow surrounding it.
The object moved parallel to the ground until it was directly over the terrorists, and then it started going straight down at them. The red glow turned bright, and a brilliant red streak trailed behind the object.
A handful of terrorists spotted it at the last moment.
Blood-red fire streamed out of the object, slamming into them with fury. It created a massive impact crater and sent a shockwave outward. Bits and pieces of the tanks and Humvees went up and outward along with flames and smoke; parts of the terrorists too.
Christina ducked, closed her eyes, covered up her ears, and opened her mouth. The shockwave reached her, roaring into and through her, and freeing bits of the ceiling to dance down upon her.
She waited for ten seconds before opening her eyes. Her eye protection kept them safe from all the debris. But the dust made it impossible to see the impact area for a good thirty seconds longer. Adam White slowly appeared like a black wraith in the middle of it.
The superhuman warrior swiveled his head. No other signs of life near him. And then he leapt back into the air.
Christina raised the tactical operations center officer on the radio. “End of mission. Rashida and terrorists neutralized, estimate 120 casualties. Out.”
She rushed from the building, instantly blending into the panicking crowds of the city.
—–
Amanda, the president, and his aide finished watching the video feed the unmanned aerial system captured of the Mosul operation.
“Okay,” the president said. “Let’s move to the domestic part of the counterstrike. Is everything prepared for that?”
“This is outrageous!” his chief of staff raged. “We must compromise! You just made her a martyr! We cannot antagonize them any further!”
“Get out of here,” the president told him. “But stay close for some business after this.”
His chief of staff sulked out of the room.
“Sir, to your last question, ICE is ready to round up all of her family members for deportation,” Amanda said.
“Execute that operation immediately,” the president ordered.
“With pleasure, sir.”
Artwork © Paul Hair, 2019.