Trebuchet

Note: In our MidGuard campaign, at the time this story takes place in February 2000, supers have not yet gone public although some have been operating "below the radar" for a number of years.

 

 

 

For what she expected would be the last time, sixteen-year-old Elena Alekseyeva turned for a moment to look at Saint Petersburg. The city of both her birth and earliest childhood, it was still the true center of Russian culture. It had taken her nearly seven hours to run from Moscow to Saint Petersburg, where she had spent a tearful hour with her Uncle Dmitri and Aunt Katya to mourn her father's unexpected death and say goodbye before continuing her flight from Russia. It was now three o'clock in the morning and she had to be out of Russia by dawn, it would be much more difficult to escape during daylight hours. Her eyes lingered upon the tall golden spire and dome of the Peter and Paul Fortress overlooking the river Neva for a long moment, then she sighed and headed north without looking back.

 

She would travel on foot northwest to Finland; she knew the northern road out of Saint Petersburg led there after passing through the city of Vyborg. At an easy half of her maximum running speed, the young metahuman could reach the 150 kilometer distant border in just over an hour if all went well.

 

Just after passing through Vyborg, Elena heard a distant throbbing sound behind her. At first she thought it was a train enroute to the Finnish border, but then she realized it was gaining on her. Russia hadn't a train in the entire country could even approach her current velocity of about 140 kilometers per hour. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw three sets of running lights about fifteen kilometers back and gaining rapidly. She could make them out easily with her extraordinary night vision. Attack helicopters, armed with cannon and multiple rocket launchers, and probably carrying an infantry squad as well. I've certainly seen enough of them at May Day Parades in Moscow with Papa. This can't be a coincidence, they must be after me. Although the aircraft were slightly slower than her own maximum running speed of 324 kilometers per hour, they were still a serious threat, as she could not run at her maximum speed for more than a minute or two. In any case she could not run much faster than 160 kph for any significant length of time, which meant the helicopters would eventually catch her if they spotted her.

 

Off to her right she could see the railroad right of way, and abruptly altered course to follow the tracks instead of the road. It would still get her to Finland, perhaps even more quickly since it was a shorter route.

The pursuing helicopters probably also meant that the Border Guards had been alerted as well, which was most unfortunate since she'd hoped to slip across the Russian border when most of the guards were sleeping or shivering at their posts in the subzero winter night. Elena was immune to the effects of subzero temperatures, her unusual physiology generated tremendous amounts of excess heat when she operated at high speeds, hence she was wearing only denim jeans and a light windbreaker. Elena shifted her rucksack and accelerated up to her maximum sustained running speed of 162 kph. Looks like this might be more difficult than I thought. I didn't count on pursuit so soon.

 

With only about twenty kilometers left to the border, Elena glanced back and saw only two of the Mi-24s still following. One of them must have followed the road as she had hoped. The remaining two were less than five kilometers away, clearly visible to her ultraviolet vision in the clear night sky. If they were using any type of thermal sight she knew she must be easily visible, shining like a beacon in the sparse coniferous forest around her. I wonder what the maximum range of their weapons is, surely at least a kilometer? I doubt they can easily hit something as small and fast as I am, after all their weapons were designed to engage armored vehicles. But they could get lucky, or have heat-seeking missiles, and the woods here don't offer much in the way of concealment.

 

Five kilometers, less than three minutes, from the border and her pursuers were now less than a kilometer behind her. Elena adjusted her rucksack and began to zigzag as she ran. It slowed her down a bit, but she wanted to present as poor a target as possible. She settled down to serious running, accelerating occasionally to higher speeds for a few seconds. Alongside the tracks she rocketed past a railway repair crew in several trucks. I wonder what they'll make of this strange procession of a girl and two attack helicopters?

Just ahead about two kilometers she could clearly see the lights of the border check station reflecting off the snow.

 

Her two pursuers were now less than 500 meters behind her. Elena started as the lead helicopter fired a quick burst from its nose-mounted 23mm cannon, the tracer rounds impacting twenty meters off to her right like laser pulses. A few seconds later the trailing Mi-24 fired several rockets, the explosions tearing up the railroad tracks a hundred meters ahead of her. They were warning her to stop. She increased her speed, leaping nimbly over the craters left by the rockets even before the flying dirt had fallen back to earth. She hoped the hotly pursuing aircraft wouldn't risk violating Finnish airspace. The Finnish border guards were surely aware of all the activity on the Russian side of the line; the Kremlin would have a difficult time claiming pilot error.

 

Now less than one kilometer from the border fence, the speeding fugitive could see an entire company of armed Border Security troops deploying, and three BMP armored personnel carriers parked side by side in front of the railroad gate. She had to pass through the gate, the areas to the sides of the track were certain to be mined. But how? If she slowed enough to maneuver around the tracked vehicles the soldiers might shoot her. So just how to get around them safely? As she approached she studied the triple rows of fences carefully, then smiled grimly as she suddenly saw a way across. This would require split second timing and accuracy. She altered course slightly and decelerated rapidly down to only 80 kilometers per hour. She heard an officer order his men to prepare to fire. No matter, in another few seconds I'll either be safely in Finland or dead. Behind her she heard the rotor noise from the helicopters change pitch as they slowed to a hover barely 100 meters from the border.

 

A split second before she collided with the BMPs, Elena leapt up onto the sloped glacis plate of the left hand vehicle and launched herself towards Finland from the top of the vehicle. She heard a number of rifle shots as she vaulted nimbly over the line of Russian soldiers standing just in front of the chain link fence. She somersaulted gracefully as she easily cleared the first section of minefields and landed crouched on the strand of barbed wire stretched on top of the center fence thirty meters away from her takeoff. She sprang again in a powerful leap that carried her an additional twenty-five meters in another athletic flip over the second belt of mines and clear over to the third fence. Elena once again bounced off the barbed wire, executing a triple gainer over the heads of open-mouthed Finnish soldiers standing near the gate. She giggled at the expressions of astonishment on the men's faces. Attempting an elegant landing with a flourish, she slipped on a patch of slick ice, and instead fell ignominiously on her rump and slid to a stop, safely in Finland.

 

Mentally and emotionally exhausted, Elena pulled herself up into a ball, put her head down on her knees and cried, mourning the loss of her father, her family, and her country all in less than 24 hours.

 

A score of excited Finnish soldiers surrounded her until finally an officer arrived a few minutes later and quieted the men. He scrutinized the diminutive fugitive for a moment, looked 75 meters across the fences both at his Russian counterparts and the hovering pair of attack helicopters which had clearly been pursuing her, and finally back again at the quietly sobbing girl before asking in good Russian, "Pardon me, miss, but just who are you and how can we help you?"

 

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Elena looked up through reddened eyes and declared proudly, "I am Elena Yurievna Alekseyeva, and I wish political asylum!"

 

 

 

 

 

Nine days later Elena was returning home late after attending evening services at the Russian Orthodox cathedral in Helsinki, enjoying a late evening walk through the picturesque streets. She had found a room with some other Russian expatriates. She passed a huge dark bearded man in a fur greatcoat and hat smoking a pipe and smiled at him. He grinned broadly around his pipe and winked at her. The Finns had been very kind to her, but she could not speak their language.

 

Just ahead on the narrow street she could vaguely see a short blond haired man in a thick wool sweater standing near her building. His face was obscured by the evening fog and light snow flurries; her normally exceptional night vision was seriously degraded by such weather. Behind her, she heard the pipe smoking man knock out his pipe on the side of a building and begin to follow her. Something was wrong, but Elena couldn't figure out just what. She paused at the corner under a gas streetlight, feeling vaguely uneasy.

 

She heard the heavy booted footsteps of the man behind her echoing down the dimly lit street. Ahead, the man near her building began to walk slowly towards her, whistling tunelessly. Muggers? In Helsinki? She chuckled at the very absurdity of the idea. Elena had just about decided that she should continue on when then the blond haired man addressed her, "Elena Yurievna, State Security requires that you return to the Rodina. You will please come with us."

 

Us? Elena looked around quickly. The big man was standing ten meters behind her, lighting up another bowl of his sweet smelling tobacco and eyeing her intently. The sweater-clad man was no more than five meters away. Elena drew herself up to her full 145 centimeters. "Nyet, I will not go back to Russia. I will resist if you attempt to force me," she said with false bravado. Her stomach churned as she realized she would probably have to fight these men; she'd never been in a real fight.

 

The blonde man looked disappointed, and his handsome Slavic face seemed strangely sympathetic. "You obviously have courage, girl, but do not be foolish. We have heard the tales of your escape and they are most impressive, but we are Spetznaz operatives. I am Major Mikhail Nikolaevich Kershenko, and my large friend behind you is Sergeant Gregoriy Petrovich Nabarov. You must return to Moscow with us. Consider carefully your answer."

 

Elena looked back over her shoulder, the bearded giant grinned and saluted her casually with his pipe. Spetznaz? The almost legendary Russian Special Forces? She accelerated her metabolism to full speed; confident her superhuman abilities should allow her to easily evade even these soldiers. She turned to face the Russian officer squarely, her fists tensely clenched. "Major, my father taught me that a soldier must fight bravely no matter what the odds. I will not go willingly."

 

"Very well, Comrade Alekseyeva, things will go more harshly for you then. But we must do our duty." His hand reached behind his back and returned bearing a short metal cylinder. With a flick of his wrist he telescoped it into a half meter long steel baton, the metallic sound ringing harshly down the cobblestone street. "Defend yourself, Elena Yurievna!" He leapt forward suddenly and struck sharply at her head with the metal baton.

 

Startled by his unexpected speed and aggressiveness, Elena flung herself backward. The baton actually touched her head, but she rolled with it and avoided the main brunt of the blow. She somersaulted backwards as Major Kershenko advanced after her, spinning around and swinging the baton as he advanced. Each time he swung she flipped backwards until they had both traveled almost twenty meters down the street performing their strange dance. Her opponent cursed as he realized the girl was even faster than he had feared; in fact her moves seemed so casual it appeared as if she wasn't even purposely evading his blows. There was simply no sense that she felt at all hurried such as he normally got when he used this particularly rapid spinning attack. Blast, this is going to be tougher than I thought.

 

Abruptly he stopped; time for a change in tactics. Kershenko reached behind his back again, then snapped his arm around, hurling five sharply pointed metal throwing stars at her. To her superhuman reflexes the weapons appeared to be moving in slow motion and she simply leaned her torso parallel to the street back out of their flight path. "Lenin's Ghost, you are quick!" Down the street Sergeant Nabarov laughed heartily, obviously amused.

 

He leapt at her, hoping to catch her off balance as she was leaning backwards, but she extended her hands above her head down to the street and delivered a fast kick under his chin, his head snapping back from the unexpectedly powerful blow as she continued into a handstand. Momentarily caught off balance, he watched his diminutive opponent suddenly swing her torso down and split her legs parallel to the street. Then she abruptly swung both her legs around in tandem and swept his feet out from under him in what he recognized as a perfectly executed men's gymnastics routine.

 

He rolled and came back to his feet in a ready stance. It takes enormous upper body strength to perform that move, in fact even many men can't do it, so how in the world can she? So far her maneuvers had all reflected her gymnastics training. He watched as her legs swept around again and then changed direction upwards into a partial somersault as she was suddenly back on her feet facing him. A faint smile flickered across her face.

 

My God, he thought. What would she be capable of with actual training in martial arts? Never mind, I don't really want to know. In fact so far she was giving better than she got. His one advantage so far seemed to be that she did not follow through on her successes; she seemed to view each maneuver almost as a separate entity. That showed her lack of fighting experience, instead of closing for the kill after knocking her opponent off balance she stepped back like she was counting coup. He was no longer at all confident that he could tackle her alone; but then he didn't have to. He had both a team and a mission to perform. But first he would try to use that inexperience against her.

 

What do I know about Elena Alekseyeva? She's almost seventeen, an Olympic gymnast, she won two Bronze Medals in 1996, and has been competing most of her life against other gymnasts. She's used to pushing herself to excel against the very best. She is proud. Then he remembered the brief smile after she had swept him off his feet. Of course! She's setting herself in competition against me! Why else would she still be here when we know she can run over 100 kilometers per hour? She's assuming that I'm one of the best fighters Russia has, so she wants to test herself against me. She wants to prove her superiority. Now I know how to bait her.

 

"Gregoriy, my sticks!" His sergeant reached into the vast pockets of his greatcoat and tossed him three fifty-centimeter long sticks connected by ten-centimeter lengths of chain. He quickly assumed a fighting stance with the three-sectional staff, and the girl looked at it curiously but without recognition. Good, that was exactly what he had hoped for. It was an unusual weapon; even most experienced martial artists had never actually faced one of the tripartite staves.

 

Elena had already realized that Major Kershenko was superhumanly fast, although not nearly so quick as she was. State Security called me a metahuman, she remembered, and she had wondered at the time if they might have other metahumans as operatives. Could Major Kershenko be one too, and perhaps his large comrade as well? This is really exciting, State Security has actually sent super powered agents to capture me. She felt she had more than held her own against the Spetznaz officer up to this point. He had now assumed a fighting stance with some sort of strange weapon, whirling the end in a complicated figure-eight pattern, and she watched it carefully.

 

Major Kershenko advanced, swinging the end of the three section staff to give his novice opponent sufficient time to analyze the pattern. Then he abruptly broke the pattern and swept to strike at her legs, but she leapt with great agility to avoid the staff. He whirled about and attempted a higher attack, but again her phenomenal reflexes enabled her to easily duck beneath his attack. He began his pattern again, pleased that she had done exactly as expected. If he'd guessed correctly she would try to intercept his next blow. Perfect! Come on, girl, block the next one!

 

Elena had pretty well decided it was no serious threat when he abruptly spun around, swung it up and brought it back down directly down at her head. Just as he had expected she decided to actively block his third attack and focused her full attention on the staff. Her right hand shot up to seize the center section and immobilize the staff, she gasped in pain as the third section swung down and struck her unexpectedly in the back. She stumbled forward and was thus perfectly placed for him to release the staff and deliver a lightning fast kung fu strike to her jaw. Elena reeled back with a bloody lip and dropped the staff as he advanced striking with alternating fists as rapidly as he could. She managed to block or avoid many of his blows, but enough still connected that for the first time she had lost the initiative.

 

He lashed out with a sidekick and was almost surprised to see it connect. She flew back three meters, rolled and came back to her feet staggering visibly, and Major Kershenko paused for just a second. He was frankly amazed she was still standing, most normal men he had beaten like this would have long since been unconscious. But then there's seemingly nothing normal about this girl at all, is there?

 

Elena had been growing increasingly frantic as her stronger and more experienced opponent attacked without letup, she needed to clear her head and find a way out. All she needed was a couple of seconds, and Major Kershenko's tiny hesitation finally gave her the opportunity she needed. As he stepped forward to resume his attack she put her left hand on the hood of a parked car, pivoted and struck him solidly in the chest with a spinning kick. As he staggered back she suddenly landed on her hands in front of him and thrust her legs into his stomach with incredible force, throwing him backwards into the air nearly four meters to land flat onto the cobblestone street, knocking the wind out of him. So much, he thought ironically, for her not following through.

 

Elena sprang back onto her feet and looked around for someplace she could retreat for a moment, and with sudden inspiration she realized she could take refuge on a rooftop. She vaulted easily to the roof of the parked car, landed in a crouch and then jumped up, bouncing of a nearby lamp post and finally landing with a backwards flip onto the roof of the nearest house three stories above the street. She began to run quickly along the row of peaked rooftops heading for the far end of the block.

 

The prone Russian officer had watched her escape to the top of the three-story dwelling with astonishment; he'd heard the border guards' stories of her incredible leap to cross the border. I had assumed they were exaggerating. Apparently not, he realized, but even so he couldn't let her get away. "Stop her, Tasha," he croaked, still unable to draw breath enough to shout. Fortunately the command was unnecessary, Natasha was a good soldier who knew her mission.

 

Elena heard a faint ultrasonic buzz behind her and instinctively dodged, narrowly avoiding a lance of brilliant violet energy that passed through the air where she had been less than a half second before. What the Devil was that? It looked like something from an American science-fiction movie. Half blinded by the dazzling beam, she moved haphazardly across the rooftops, caroming off a chimney before suddenly feeling herself start to go over the edge of the roof. She twisted to get her feet down and came to a safe if somewhat artless landing in the next street over.

 

After waiting a few more seconds for her vision to clear completely, she then moved quickly away before coming to a stop two blocks away. Elena carefully peered around the corner and scanned the street. There faintly visible on the roof of the corner building was a dim figure holding some type of rifle with a faintly glowing tip. Major Kershenko was back on his feet; he had retrieved his weapon and was conversing with his huge subordinate in front of her apartment.

 

She waited for a minute to allow her head to clear and catch her breath. Confident because she had so far been able to successfully counter nearly all of their attacks, she contemplated her next move. She was rather proud of herself, and she was enjoying testing herself against the Russian super soldiers and found herself wondering if this was the very team she would have been forced to join. True, she was bruised a bit, but she figured she had only gotten into trouble because she had allowed the Spetznaz officer to surprise her. She would not allow that to happen again, after all if she could get out of that last scrape she assumed she could handle pretty much anything Major Kershenko could throw at her.

 

Sergeant Nabarov, on the other hand, didn't seem to her to do much besides stand around. Elena decided to attack him first; he seemed both slow and not too bright. He should prove easy to defeat with her vast superiority in speed, she'd already seen that the others couldn't hit her if she was careful. After that she would deal with the mysterious sniper. Her course of action decided, she raced out from under the canopy and around the block, snatching up a stout stick from a woodpile en route as she came up sixty meters behind Sergeant Nabarov, who was now moving purposefully towards her previous position a block away. Major Kershenko was still standing in front of her building.

 

Elena accelerated rapidly towards her intended victim. She struck him forcefully with her improvised club as she raced past him; the stick splitting as the force of the impact shot up her arm and the broken stick flew from her grasp. She looked back and was stunned to see that not only was he still standing, he didn't even appear to be hurt. She stopped ten meters away in a doorway, momentarily at a loss.

 

"Ho! Well struck, zaichik! But Gregoriy is not so easily brought down, eh?" Elena's eyes narrowed angrily at being addressed by the child's nickname 'bunny'; she took it as a deliberate insult. Then upon further reflection she giggled, after all compared to him she certainly was tiny. Well over two meters tall and massively built, the full bearded giant looked like nothing so much as a 200 kilogram Cossack. He clasped his hands high above his head.

 

Elena watched him closely, puzzled by his seemingly meaningless action. Surely he doesn't think he can actually hit me, does he? She would be gone long before he got anywhere near her. An instant later she received her answer as the burly sergeant brought his hammer-like fists crashing down onto the surface of the street with tremendous force. The impact rippled the cobblestone road like gelatin, shattered stones flying for ten meters in every direction, and Elena was hurled from her feet as the shockwave passed under her. A Volvo parked next to the giant flipped over onto the sidewalk and windows shattered in houses all along the block. "See if you are so swift now, comrade!" he chuckled.

 

Still lying on her back, she heard a whistling sound and turned to see five more of Major Kershenko's throwing stars hurtling towards her, and he was following rapidly. Unable to step aside, she rolled desperately to avoid the razor sharp projectiles. The missiles narrowly missed and stuck deep into the wooden door next to her. Elena quickly examined the shuriken; it suddenly occurred to her that these people could cause serious injuries attempting to capture her. Suddenly this fight just didn't seem quite as much fun as before. She sat up and plucked the stars from the door, quickly stuffing them into a jacket pocket.

 

Up on the roof, she could see the figure on the roof aiming for another shot with his rifle, the tip of the strange rifle now glowing brightly. Major Kershenko was charging at her and was now only a few meters away, clearly hoping to catch her while she was still prone. Without thinking, Elena snatched up a walnut sized piece of broken pavement and hurled it at her assailant with all her might. The rock pierced him through the abdomen; gore exploding out his back as he crumpled literally at her feet with an agonized scream that was abruptly cut short. The terrible exit wound looked as large as her fist.

 

Oh my God, what have I done? Elena was horrified. She hadn't intended to kill Major Kershenko, only to knock him down. It had never occurred to her that anything thrown as fast as a bullet would cause injuries like one. She began to move over to see if she could help.

 

Another ultrasonic buzz warned her just in time as she rolled right, the beam grazing her left shoulder and nearly making her black out with pain. She staggered to her feet and stumbled around the corner, narrowly avoiding another shot by the energy weapon. Thirty seconds later she stopped in an alley half a kilometer away, where she removed her jacket and opened her shirt to examine her shoulder wound. Fortunately it was minor, the beam had barely touched the skin, although it was still quite painful and bleeding profusely. The corresponding holes in her nylon windbreaker looked melted from the blast. Fortunately she had not taken a solid hit, and probably her body's protective vibratory field had protected her somewhat as well. Elena tore several strips from her blood-soaked blouse to bandage the wound, then tugged the jacket back on. Tears sprang to her eyes and she fought down nausea at the recollection of the puddle of blood by Major Kershenko. So much blood, how can he possibly survive? Oh Lord, she prayed, please let him live!

 

This whole affair had seemed almost like a game until mere moments ago, now it was suddenly deadly serious. They had her on the run, uncertain even of their numbers. The remaining members of the Russian team could attack her as they pleased, eventually one of them would get lucky. And with their commander either dead or seriously injured, they would be out for blood. She must take the offensive; running away would do her no good. They'll just track me down again, and the next time they won't give me a warning. Her only choices were to soundly defeat them or return to Russia as their prisoner, and that was no longer a viable choice now that she had mortally wounded a Russian officer.

 

Departing the alley, Elena raced back to do battle. As she approached her apartment she could hear the giant hurling invectives into the night." Curse you, Elena Yurievna! You have killed Misha! When I catch you, I will grind your bones to paste! Yob' tvoyu mat! I will crush you! Filthy traitor bitch!" He ranted on hoarsely. It appears, Elena thought bitterly, that Sergeant Nabarov doesn't find me quite so amusing anymore. From the sudden crash of metal it appeared he was also hurling things other than curses. It occurred to Elena that the massive Cossack could probably survive anything she was capable of hitting him with. Perhaps I had the right idea when I first attacked him, but simply needed to hit him harder. But how?

 

As she neared her opponents, Elena slowed to a stop just around the corner a block away and peered carefully around the building to ascertain her opponents whereabouts. Sergeant Nabarov was pacing back and forth angrily, nearby were several smashed and overturned cars as clear evidence of his earlier berserk anger. A black haired woman in a dark form fitting costume was kneeling next to the still form of Major Kershenko, apparently administering first aid. She watched as the woman hurriedly applied a number of bandages to her fallen comrade, so the Spetznaz officer might not be dead yet as Elena had feared. Near the woman lay the strange rifle Elena had seen used by her rooftop opponent. I suppose this woman must be the sniper.

 

Elena scanned the street carefully, looking for any other surprises, but saw only her three opponents in the street. From a number of windows she could see several Finns peering timidly out at the violent tableau in their street, and in the distance she could her the high-low wail of approaching sirens. Both her conscious opponents had their backs to her, and suddenly a possible method to hit the giant occurred to her.

 

She moved around the corner and rapidly accelerated directly towards his huge form. He would be very heavy; it would take all her strength to accomplish this certifiably insane maneuver. She crouched slightly as she ran and slammed her right shoulder directly into his lower back at just over one hundred kilometers per hour, lifting his feet clear of the ground as she straightened and pushed. The tremendous impact made her head spin but she continued, pushing herself and her adversary directly at a stone building, the 191 kilogram sergeant letting out a hoarse yell as he smashed headlong completely through the twenty-five centimeter thick stone wall. The instant before the collision, Elena slowed and tucked herself into a ball, rolling right along behind him and coming to a stop just inside the building with only a few more cuts and bruises. Sergeant Nabarov slammed with a resounding crash against the opposite wall of the room, then toppled backwards like a felled tree to the floor covered with stone and other debris. Call me 'bunny', will you? 'Stop the presses, rabbit takes out bear.'

 

Elena lurched unsteadily to her feet, her ears still ringing from the impact. Her head was spinning, her shoulder felt like she had just rammed a locomotive, and she was prepared to either fight or flee as necessary. But one glance told her that her colossal adversary was out cold. Good thing too, I don't think I could beat a kitten right now. She slumped heavily back down to the floor, resting for a few seconds on hands and knees until the room stopped moving. Then she stood with fists clenched and advanced purposefully toward the sniper, who stared open mouthed at the bleeding, bedraggled girl who had just knocked her massive teammate through a solid stone wall. The woman slowly picked up her weapon and stood, but did not point it threateningly.

 

The sniper glanced at Elena's blood soaked left shoulder, the melted hole from the charged particle beam clearly visible in the girl's thin jacket. I was right, I did hit her. My God, she suddenly realized, it's twenty degrees below zero and she's not even wearing a winter coat. She looked stone faced at Elena. "I am Corporal Natasha Ivanova Nabarova. Is Gregoriy... Sergeant Nabarov dead? He is my husband."

 

Your husband? Elena realized with a start that the woman was only a few years older than she. "I did not... Nyet, but he is unconscious." Elena pulled the throwing stars from her jacket pocket and glared at the woman, who glanced at the weapons and blanched, visualizing the terrible wounds that would be caused if they were thrown at supersonic speeds. "Throw me your weapon."

 

Corporal Nabarova nodded acquiescence and tossed her rifle to Elena. Although she was herself a more than competent hand-to-hand fighter, she had no illusions of her ability to defeat this girl after watching her fight Mikhail Kershenko.

 

Elena examined the strange rifle briefly, and then touched the crude bandage over the still painful wound it had caused on her shoulder. She pointed the weapon at the woman and saw sudden fear in her eyes, raised it over her head and spun it like a propeller until it blurred, and hurled it down to the street with all her might. The high tech rifle shattered, the synthetic stock splintered and the metal parts themselves twisted almost beyond recognition. Then she turned back to Sergeant Nabarov's wife, "I will take the Major to a hospital."

 

"That will not be necessary, I have a car only a half kilometer away," objected Natasha.

 

Elena smiled mirthlessly. "Don't be foolish, the nearest hospital is almost four kilometers away. I can carry him there in less than two minutes."

 

"Why would you do that? We tried to arrest you, and we very nearly killed you."

 

Without answering, Elena went over to the comatose man and began to pull him up so she could carry him, and Natasha hurried over to help lift him and wrap his arms around Elena's neck. She straightened up with him slung across her shoulders, warm blood seeping from his wounds trickling down her back, and pointed. "The hospital is down that way ten blocks, then turn left and go another two kilometers. I will take him to the emergency room." She turned and ran rapidly down the street with her human cargo.

 

 

 

Almost an hour passed before Natasha Nabarov and her husband entered the hospital, Gregoriy Nabarov had a bandage around his forehead and his left arm was in a sling. The couple looked at each other in surprise upon finding Elena standing in a corner of the waiting room, her shoulder wound covered by a sterile dressing and mechanically eating a sandwich given her by the hospital staff. They quietly crossed the lobby over to her.

 

"How is Misha?" asked Natasha. "Will he live?"

 

Elena looked down and took a deep breath before replying, "His heart stopped due to blood loss just after he got here to the emergency room, but the doctors got it started again and then rushed him somewhere upstairs for surgery. The doctors told me the prognosis was guarded, but that he appeared to be in excellent health and that should improve his chances for survival. I told them I was his sister and we had been in an automobile accident so they would tell me." Her eyes came up to meet the taller woman's, and the genuine concern in them was obvious.

 

Natasha scrutinized the tiny shorthaired girl in tattered clothing who stood before her covered in blood and bruises, her lower lip badly swollen, who had fought them so forcefully and with such determination. She had never seen anyone who looked so utterly exhausted, and she suspected the teenager was standing on sheer willpower alone.

 

"He would have certainly died if you had not helped him. We are in your debt." Now what are we supposed to do with you?

 

"You were soldiers doing your duty. My father taught me about duty, he was a soldier all his life." Naked grief suddenly flashed across Elena's face, and tears welled in her eyes as his death was unexpectedly brought home again. Her chin quivered for just an instant before she abruptly clenched her jaw.

 

Natasha looked away quickly; her own eyes moist. She had read the Alekseyeva girl's arrest warrant and classified file before starting on this assignment and knew Marshal Alekseyev had died less than two weeks ago in a suspicious plane crash. The wound was still obviously very fresh for his only child, now an orphan. How can I reconcile this girl's obvious pain with the report alleging she is suspected of somehow arranging her own father's murder with a bomb, or the fact that she risked her own capture or even death to save one of her intended captors? It just doesn't make sense; more likely headquarters is wrong about her. She looked over at her husband and met his eyes inquiringly, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

 

"I hope he survives, and I will pray for him, but I must be going now."

 

As Elena turned to leave the hospital, Natasha Nabarov spoke again. "Moscow was wrong about you, Elena Yurievna."

 

Elena looked back, startled. "What?"

 

"They told us you were just a girl, but they were incorrect. Your father would have been very proud of the woman you have become."

 

 

 

Note: I first published this story on the Hero boards in May 2006. This is a very minor revision. (For you old-timers, yes, Elena will become the character formerly known as Zl'f. I have retconned it so her Russian superhero name has always been Sil'f, the Russian word for Sylph.)

 

 

 

 

 

I'M SORRY BUT THIS FORUM'S SOFTWARE APPARENTLY CANNOT DEAL WITH FOREIGN LANGUAGE SYMBOLS SO IT HAS SCREWED THIS STORY UP QUITE BADLY. IT MADE LITERALLY SCORES OF ERRORS SO I DON'T HAVE TIME TO CORRECT IT ON THE FORUM, SO IF YOU WISH TO READ IT PM ME AND I WILL GLADLY E-MAIL YOU A COPY OR FOLLOW THE LINK BELOW.

 

 

You may read the story on our campaign website here: http://home.earthlink.net/~jeffspur/id7.html

 

 

Note: I first posted this story on the Hero boards in July 2006. This is a minor revision; mostly involving retconned names. (For you old-timers, yes, Sil'f is the character formerly known as Zl'f. I have retconned it so her name has always been Sil'f, the Russian word for Sylph.)

---

Cassandra Johannsen

Sixth Grade English

Mrs. Castillo

My dad owns the J Bar J cattle ranch and we also take guests in the summer. Usually these are fat old men or sometimes married couples with kids. This year was different. When the first dudes arrived Friday morning they were pulling a horse trailer of their own and they were two women! I watched them stop and get out of their SUV. One was a blonde woman with glasses. The other one was a blonde girl as tall as me with two braids down to her waist. I walked over to say hi. The woman introduced herself as Sarah and the girl as Line. I said that's an unusual name, and she told me it was short for Pauline. I thought they were mother and daughter but they said no they were just friends. Sarah said she was 36, and Line was 21. I've never met an adult my size before. Sarah and Line were from Norway! Norway is in Europe. They flew all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to ride horses on our ranch!

 

Pauline and Sarah stepped out of the big rented silver Suburban and Sarah looked around doubtfully at the picturesque ranch just north of the Lincoln National Forest. “I don't know, Line, it seems sort of small.â€

“Small? It is perfect! We wanted someplace out of the way so we could relax, did we not? And what could possibly be more out of the way than 'historic Lincoln County, New Mexico, where Pat Garrett lived and Billy the Kid died'?†She grinned enthusiastically as she quoted the tourist brochure and bounced on her toes, as usual a bundle of barely constrained energy. “And unless I am mistaken, here comes our welcoming committee.†The women watched as a pony-tailed girl of about twelve exploded out of the ranch house door and scrambled towards them across the graveled driveway.

“Hi! Are you the new dudes… er, I mean guests? I'm Cassandra Johannsen, but you can call me Cassie! This is my dad's ranch! What are your names? Did you bring your own horses?â€

The two women shared a looked of amusement before Sarah answered. “Hi, Cassie, it's nice to meet you. Yes, we're your new 'dudes.' My name is Sarah Richmond, and this is my friend Line Gråfeldr.†She extended her hand and the girl gravely shook it, then Pauline's hand.

“Lee-neh? That's a weird name!â€

“It’s short for Pauline.â€

“Oh, OK. Lee-neh? Am I pronouncing it right?â€

“That’s good.â€

“Sarah's not your mom? She's pretty old, like in her thirties! Almost as old as my dad. But you can't be more than a couple years older than I am. I'm twelve.â€

“No, actually I have nine more years than you. I am twenty-one years old,†Pauline replied. Pauline's slight European accent and precise enunciation confirmed her foreign origin.

“Hey! Thirty-six isn't 'old'!†objected Sarah.

“Where are you guys from?†asked Cassie.

“We live in Norway, but we travel all over the world. We are on vacation now; and I have always wanted to ride my horse on the open range.â€

“Cool! I've never seen a guest bring their own horse before. Let's get your horse unloaded and I'll show you the stables. Come on!†She ran over to the horse trailer and unlatched the rear gate. “Oh wow! An Appaloosa!†Cassie watched as Pauline expertly backed the spotted gray stallion out of the trailer, then looked him over appraisingly. “He's beautiful! Look at that deep chest! I'll bet he's fast! What's his name?â€

“Comanche.â€

“That's a good name! I have a horse too, his real name is ‘Lucky Y2K’, 'cause he's got a horseshoe shaped mark on his forehead and he was born in 2000, but I just call him Lucky! He's a registered Quarter Horse!†Cassie said proudly as her two guests began to wonder if she ever stopped to breathe. She let Comanche sniff her and gently stroked the spirited stallion's nose to calm him, then led him off towards the stables, singing happily as she went. Clearly the girl had a way with horses.

“Well, she's certainly energetic enough!,†exclaimed Sarah. “In fact, except for the auburn hair, she seems appallingly similar to someone else I know,†she observed darkly.

“What exactly are you implying?†Pauline asked with raised eyebrow, trying hard to keep a straight face.

“Oh, I'm not implying anything. That was clearly an explicit statement of scientific fact!†The older woman was often hard pressed to keep up with her best friend's nearly inexhaustible energy, but that was part of why they'd become so close. Left on her own, Sarah knew she tended to withdraw into her physics laboratory or the pages of a science fiction novel. But if Pauline thought her friend had been playing the Reclusive Geek too long she wouldn't hesitate to drag Sarah off to go swimming, horseback riding, or shopping. Sarah liked Pauline's joie de vivre and irrepressible enthusiasm. Pauline, on the other hand, admired the older woman's calmer nature and sense of purpose. Their relationship was more that of older and younger sisters than just friends.

“Do you think they'll have a gentle horse for me to ride?†Although Sarah often went riding with Pauline back in Norway, her riding skills didn't even approach her friend's. A spirited animal like Comanche was far too high strung for her to ride; Pauline by contrast rode her beloved stallion like they were two halves of a centaur.

“I am sure they will. Come on, let us get our gear unpacked.†She opened the rear door of the Suburban and started pulling out suitcases. Sarah shook her head in resignation. Saddled with two human dynamos for ten days, somehow she doubted this was going to be a restful vacation.

 

The other four guests arrived Friday evening and Saturday morning. They were all men. As usual the first day my dad assigned them all, including the two women, basic ranching tasks. That way he could see how well they worked and rode and what he needed to teach them.

 

Sarah was a pretty typical guest and learned ranching work OK. She liked to talk to me and play the piano with me after dinner. She didn't think the fact I liked math and science was weird at all. She said those were her best subjects in school too. When I asked what she did she said she was a scientist. When I told her I wanted to be a scientist too when I grow up she said that was cool. I liked her a lot. It was almost like having my Mom back.

 

Line didn’t stop with just learning to herd cattle and roping like the other dudes. She volunteered to do other work too, and it didn't matter if she was digging a fencepost hole, currying the horses, learning to repair a barbed wire fence, mucking out the horses' stalls, or tossing hay down from the loft, she acted as if doing ordinary ranching chores was the most fun she'd had in ages. After she left Dad said she was a better ranch hand than most of the men he paid to work. Pauline was also the first person since I was nine I didn't beat at chess. I found out later she was rated an International Grandmaster which means she's really, really good. She was also one of the most skillful riders I've ever seen. The only thing she didn't know was roping, and she picked that up really quick. She was more like a friend my own age than an adult even if it was pretty weird that she liked to do chores.

 

Richard Johannsen smiled contentedly as Cassie chatted merrily with the two young women Sunday evening after dinner. Since her mother had been killed in an automobile accident near Alamogordo almost three years earlier their house had been devoid of feminine influence, and had exacerbated what had already been a marked tendency towards tomboyishness on Cassie's part. But in three days these two young ladies – and they were ladies – had connected with Cassandra in a fundamental way her father simply hadn't been able to. Without being unfeminine in any way they had adamantly refused to allow themselves to be pushed around or manhandled either by the other guests or the ranch hands who worked for him. Richard couldn't imagine two better, if very different, role models for his young tornado of a daughter. Cassandra had even been spotted wearing a dress (undoubtedly borrowed from Pauline) for the first time since her mother's funeral. While Pauline GrÃ¥feldr was the only person he'd ever met who actually made his daughter seem slothful; Sarah Richmond exuded a sort of “eye of the hurricane†calm around her friend and his daughter which he found increasingly beguiling. When Cassie and Pauline ran out into the yard and started an impromptu game of tag, Richard and Sarah wandered onto the front porch and watched the sun disappear behind the Sacramento Mountains in a typically glorious wash of reds and purples, and he couldn't help admiring how striking his blonde dinner companion was in her yellow sundress. He grinned broadly as Cassie squealed in mock outrage when Pauline tagged her and thundered off in hot pursuit of her braided nemesis. “Your friend really likes to play with Cassie.â€

“She never really got to play when she was a child. She lost her parents when she was still a kid, but even before that she was working too hard. A Norwegian family took her in, and she still lives with them.â€

He nodded in understanding. “Cassie's mom died when she was eight, so I'm not surprised they've hit it off.â€

“This is Line's first real vacation ever. We've been friends for three years, but I must confess I've never seen her quite this… boisterous. I think they're a bad influence on each other.†Sarah shook her head fondly.

“She's a beautiful girl, but she's certainly quite a handful.â€

“Which one were you referring to?†The two thirtysomethings shared a mutual chuckle.

 

After a couple days of training the guests all knew enough to help the cowhands and my dad with the roundup. My dad doesn't normally let me ride the roundup, but I think this year he did because Sarah and Pauline were there. I was so excited that I'd be able to spend more time with my new friends! I hurried to get my sleeping bag and other gear ready. It normally takes about four or five days to round up and then move the herd fifty-five miles to the corral so we'd be gone just about a week. We finally rode out just after six o'clock in the morning Monday. It was cool outside so I wore a sweater under my denim jacket. Sarah was wearing a warm coat, but Pauline seemed fine in only a checkered flannel shirt. She had a really ugly brown hat so I gave her my tan Stetson with the braided horsehair hatband as a gift. It's probably hard to get good cowboy hats in Norway.

 

Cassie didn't have any particular duties to perform on the trail, so she alternated between riding around with either Sarah or Pauline and acting as a sort of gopher for the other guests and ranch hands. Not surprisingly she spent the majority of her unclaimed time riding with the two women. Late in the afternoon they reached the roundup camp. Except for Pauline all the guests were exhausted and saddle sore after nearly nine hours on the trail. Even the seemingly inexhaustible Cassie looked a bit wilted. Fortunately the chow truck had arrived hours earlier, so their tents were already set up and dinner was ready. A hearty meal of grilled steak, potato salad, baked beans, and corn on the cob reinvigorated everyone.

 

I chatted with Pauline and Sarah a lot while we rode to our base camp. When we finally got to camp I was pretty beat so Pauline took my saddle and gear off Lucky and curried and watered him for me. After dinner we sat around the campfire and sang songs and told stories. Dad played his guitar and Frank Gonzales had a harmonica. Sarah had a really nice singing voice. Pauline juggled seven rocks at once! I noticed my dad and Sarah seemed to be spending a lot of time together. When I mentioned it later to Pauline she just smiled and said “It is about time. For a brain, sometimes she can be pretty slow.†She wouldn't explain what she meant by that. I don't understand adults sometimes.

 

“She's very talented,†Richard observed as he and Sarah sat side by side watching Pauline juggle by the fire.

“You should see her ski sometime.â€

He laughed, then his expression turned serious. “I know who you are, Sarah.â€

“Excuse me?†Sarah turned to him in surprise.

“Dr. Sarah Richmond, recipient of the 2003 Nobel Prize in Physics for proving the existence of dark matter. I've got the January 2004 National Geographic with you on the cover. When you first booked your visit the name seemed familiar, so when you arrived I pulled out my back issue to be sure.†His tone of voice was clearly admiring.

“Oh,†Sarah replied in a small voice. She hadn't realized it would be so simple to find out about her.

“I try to keep up with the outside world. This isn't the nineteenth century any more; we've even got the Internet out here. I've got a master's degree in animal husbandry and a B.S. in chemistry from Texas A&M.â€

Sarah flushed as she realized of all people she should know that surface appearances could be highly deceiving. It didn't help that he bore a more than passing resemblance to her favorite movie hunk, Viggo Mortensen, the Swedish actor from Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Pauline was already teasing her about it; the wretch. She looked at Cassie's father, suddenly acutely aware of how awful she must look after a long day of riding. Their eyes met and Sarah blushed even more deeply. In her limited experience most men seemed to find her intellect intimidating; she wasn't sure how to react to a man who clearly found it attractive. Not that the attraction was entirely one sided, she admitted to herself.

 

Near sunset on Wednesday we finally got hit with a thunderstorm. It looked like it would be a real beauty as it rolled up from the southwest past the Sacramento Mountains. The lightning and thunder were amazing even from miles away. Dad had all the outriders gathering the cattle herd in as closely as possible to our hillside camp. Herds always scatter during storms because the thunder and lightning frightens them. Getting them close together would make it easier to round them up again after the storm had passed. Right when it started raining lightly I saw one of our cows over by a narrow arroyo to the south of the herd. I recognized her as one who had recently calved, but I couldn't see her calf. I thought he might have fallen into the arroyo so I rode over to look. Sure enough her calf was bawling twelve feet down. He looked scared but OK. I thought of calling for help but no one was close so I decided to do it myself. I rode Lucky west about seventy yards to a steep slope and took him carefully down into the arroyo. There was already a foot of water at the bottom. I'd just gotten to the calf when it started to rain hard and I knew I was in big trouble if I didn't get out of there fast! I roped the calf and started pulling him towards the exit as fast as I could. The water was rising fast and was almost up to his shoulders!

 

“Where's Cassie?†Richard asked Pauline and Sarah anxiously. “It's getting ugly out here.†Indeed, the looming black storm clouds had made the early evening skies almost as dark as midnight. Deafening thunder and gusting winds made it necessary for them to all but shout to be heard even a few feet away.

“She is probably still helping pull in the herd,†replied Pauline as she finished pulling on her oilcloth duster. Sarah had been wearing a waterproof poncho all day as protection from the wind.

“I saw her about fifteen minutes ago. She was heading to the southeast.†Sarah said. She paused as a few drops of rain hit her cheek, then rapidly turned into a frigid downpour. “I think we'd better find her, and quickly.â€

“We'll split up. Sarah, you go east. I'll look southeast, and Pauline you take the south.†He briefly considered summoning a couple more of his hands to help, but just as quickly realized he didn't trust any of them more than he trusted these two women. If anyone could find her, they would.

 

The stupid calf couldn't get up the slope to safety by himself, and Lucky couldn't quite make it up with me on his back and pulling the calf. I lashed the rope around the saddle horn and dismounted. The water felt ice cold! I stood in the water and slapped Lucky's rear hard. He ran right up pulling the calf behind him. They were safe! Then I tried to crawl up the slope but kept sliding back down the slippery mud. The water was getting higher and it was really strong. If I couldn't get out then I figured I'd better find something to hold onto. About a hundred yards away I saw an old fir tree on the south side of the arroyo downstream with some exposed roots hanging into the arroyo and figured I could hang onto those. I knew I needed to hurry because the water was over my waist and my legs were getting stiff from the cold. I moved towards the tree carefully. The water almost swept me off my feet a couple of times but I was able to grab the roots a minute later and pull myself partway up out of the water. I was soaking wet and wished I'd worn something warmer than a denim jacket.

 

Pauline had ridden over the low hills towards the south for only fifteen minutes before she spotted Lucky and two cows huddled in the rain near a deep arroyo, but she couldn't see Cassie anywhere. She urged Comanche to greater speed. She rode up right to the arroyo's edge a moment later, and her heart lurched as she saw the raging torrent below. Fast moving bits of wood and drowned animals showed how powerful the current was. There was no sign of Cassie. Figuring there was no way the girl could have moved against the flood from where Lucky was, Pauline turned Comanche east and jogged along the north bank shouting Cassie's name. “Cassie! Where are you? Cassie!†She wouldn't stop searching until she found her young friend, but she was beginning to fear the worst.

 

Pretty soon the water had risen almost to my shoulders and I couldn't climb any higher. My arms and hands were sore and cramped from hanging onto the tree roots but I was afraid to let go for even a minute to relieve the ache. I was shivering so hard my teeth were chattering. Then I heard someone yelling my name. I turned my head and saw Pauline riding Comanche along the opposite bank of the arroyo. I'd never been so glad to see anyone in my life! I called her name and she saw me.

 

Just then Pauline heard Cassie. “L-L-Line! O-over h-here!†She pulled up Comanche and looked across the arroyo at a scrawny tree. Then she saw Cassie clinging to some of the tree's exposed roots, the water over her chest.

“Cassie! Are you OK?â€

“I'm r-r-really c-c-cold, b-but I'm all r-right!†The relief on Cassie's face matched her own, but Pauline could see the girl was in more distress than she was letting on. Unstoppable shivering was not a good sign.

“Hold on! I will throw you a rope!†Pauline dismounted on a protruding section of earth just across from Cassie and grabbed the thirty-foot-long lasso hanging from her saddle horn.

“O-k-kay!â€

Pauline swung the lasso around and threw the end right over to Cassie, but Cassie didn't move a muscle.

“What is wrong?â€

“I c-can't let g-go! My h-hands are t-too c-c-cramped!â€

Pauline could tell Cassie was on the verge of panic. Having been raised in northern Russia, Pauline recognized the symptoms immediately – Cassie was suffering from hypothermia. Her muscles were cramping up from loss of body heat, and her strength, coordination, and even mental facilities were also diminished. That meant she not only needed to be pulled out of the water promptly, she needed to be warmed up soon or she could literally freeze to death. “All right, Cassie! Just hold on; I am going to come get you!†She tied one end of the lasso securely to Comanche's saddle horn, then held on to the other end and took a short running leap towards the edge. Incredibly, her twenty-five foot jump landed her precisely at Cassie's position, and Cassie’s eyes widened in astonishment. Pauline grabbed one of the tree roots to hang onto. Pauline quickly pulled off her duster and helped Cassie put it on, grateful that they were the same size. She hugged Cassie closely for a few minutes to help warm her, then started rubbing the girl's hands and arms to warm them up and get some circulation in them. “OK, Cassie, honey, I am going to carry you on my back. I want you to wrap your arms around my neck and hold on tight. Do you think you can do that?†When Cassie nodded, Pauline smiled. “Good girl!â€

 

Pauline tried to throw me a rope but I was too stiff to grab it. I told her I couldn't do it because my hands were cramped. She said she'd come and get me. A few seconds later she somehow managed to jump twenty feet across the arroyo to me! She gave me her duster and rubbed my hands to get some warmth back in them. Then she asked if I could hang onto her back while she pulled us back to safety. I said I could and so we started moving back across the stream. The water pressure swung us over hard against the north bank. I could hear Pauline grunting with effort as she struggled to pull us both up the rope against the powerful current. It was slow going but she was doing it!

 

The two young women were about a third of the way up the length of rope when a waterlogged old fencepost, traveling nearly twenty-five miles per hour with the current, struck Pauline squarely on her right shoulder. The sledgehammer-like impact snapped her shoulder blade like kindling, and she screamed in agony and released the rope clenched in her right hand. Although only semiconscious she somehow managed to keep her hold on the rope with her left hand, but any possibility of her climbing that rope to safety was now over.

 

Then I felt a thump and Pauline screamed! She let go of the rope with her right hand and I knew she'd been hurt somehow! I heard her coughing like she'd swallowed some water wrong. A moment later she asked me in a weak voice if I was all right. I said I was OK. Then she wanted to know if I was strong enough to climb the rope myself. I told her I didn't think so. She said I'd probably better try because she didn't know how much longer she could hold on to the rope with only one hand. I thought about that and told my friend I wasn't going to leave her.

 

Richard watched silently as Sarah came galloping down from the north. The expression on her face said she didn't have good news.

“I ran into Frank and he said was certain she wasn't up further north, so I thought I'd come help you,†she said.

“I was about to look south. Let's go!†The two riders turned their mounts and headed south at a trot. Ten minutes later a flash of lightning lit up Lucky and Comanche and the pair spurred their horses to a gallop.

“Richard, look!†Sarah shouted as they got close. “There's a rope tied to Comanche's saddle, and it's pulled taut over the edge!â€

“They may still be in the arroyo!†Richard replied, simultaneously feeling both terror and a faint glimmer of hope.

They hurriedly dismounted near Comanche. Richard flicked on his flashlight and looked carefully over the edge into the raging torrent six feet below. About ten feet away they could see Pauline and Cassie; up to their necks in the cold water. Cassie was clinging to Pauline's back, but Pauline was holding onto the rope with only one hand and it was obvious something was wrong.

“Cassie! Pauline! We're up here! Are you all right?â€

“D-da-a-ddy! I'm o-k-kay, b-but L-Line's hurt-t-t!†Cassie's face was pale and her lips were blue with cold.

“Hang on, sweetheart! I'm coming down to get you!†Richard shouted, then turned in surprise as Sarah reached over and stopped him.

“No, Richard. It's much too dangerous. I'll do it.†In the darkness he couldn't see her face clearly, but strangely it now seemed blacker than the night and her eyes appeared to be glowing with an inner light. He gasped in astonishment as another flash of lightning briefly illuminated her and he realized he wasn't mistaken – her entire body had turned totally black except for shock-white hair and glowing white eyes. She leapt confidently into the maelstrom below with an impact that made the very ground shake, and his jaw dropped as he suddenly realized who Sarah and her friend Pauline must be: Silhouette and Sil’f of MidGuard.

“I'm here, Line. I've got you.†The raging water broke against her ebon back as if it had no more force than a garden hose, and she gently picked up both girls and flew them up to rejoin Richard.

“I knew you would save me, Sarah. You always do,†her best friend mumbled weakly just before collapsing into unconsciousness.

 

A few minutes later Sarah and my dad came and rescued Pauline and me. The paramedics came and took us to the hospital in Roswell in a helicopter! I had hypothermia, which means my body temperature got too low. They put me in electric blankets and gave me hot lemonade to warm me up. Pauline's shoulder was broken so the doctors set it and put it in a big cast. We both stayed in the hospital overnight. Sarah and my dad fell asleep holding hands in our hospital room. We were real glad to go home the next day. All I wanted to do was sit in front of the fireplace and drink hot chocolate. I can't wait for my friends to come visit again!

 

 

 

Note: I first posted this story on the Hero boards in May 2006. This is a minor revision; mostly involving retconned names. (For you old-timers, yes, Sil'f is the character formerly known as Zl'f. I have retconned it so her name has always been Sil'f (Сильф), the Russian word for Sylph.)

A wise man (Oddhat) once told me that you shouldn't put anything on the character sheet that you don't want the GM to play.

IIRC, Oddhat said that buying your character with "Healing; Regenerates Limbs" is pretty much an open invitation for your GM lop off an arm or leg so you can get some benefit from the Power you bought.

 

 

And I've always taken issue with that.

 

It could mean Regeneration is part of the character concept, or it could mean I expect that getting dismembered MIGHT happen and I am willing to invest points into "insurance" against the possibility. Just because I have a fire extinguisher doesn't mean I WANT my house to catch fire.

 

Oh, I agree in this instance, but sometimes weird powers are more than just concept. I also think that in many cases it's not a bad idea to have those odd powers come in handy on occasion. To take your fire extinguisher example into the superhero realm, doesn't it make sense that if a character spends points on Suppress: Fire to have occasions where he gets to put out the hotel fire and save the day? Or the character with Life Support: Immortality gets to sneer at Timemaster's signature Aging Ray, which has devastated his non-immortal teammates?

 

I can lick you with one hand tied behind my back!: (Total: 10 Active Cost, 3 Real Cost) Extra Limb (1), Invisible Power Effects (Fully Invisible; +1) (10 Active Points); Requires A Roll (Combat Tricks Skill roll; -1/2), Restrainable ((won't work if BOTH hands tied behind your back); -1/2), Costs Endurance (-1/2), Limited Manipulation (-1/4), Limited Power Only to fight one handed (-1/4) (RealCost:3)

 

Lucius Alexander

 

And the palindromedary you rode in on

 

I rather like that.

Whenever my players want to build a PC with a lot of their abilities in a Focus' date=' I always encourage them to also give the character interesting and useful abilities that aren't in the Focus, so if said Focus is taken away they still have something useful to contribute. [/quote']

 

Exactly! In one of our Champions game only two of the PC's had Riding, so the GM set an adventure which involved getting someplace remote on horseback and then penalized all the other characters -1 CV for sore muscles when we reached our goal.

 

Keep in mind that a GM doesn't have to take away a Focus to create a "fish out of water" scenario. A speedster hit with a significant SPD or DEX Drain or a brick whose STR fades when he's exposes to Unobtanium can be just as crippled combat-wise as the guy who loses his doohickey. Disadvantages can also be tremendous handicaps.

 

The best scenarios always feature the character triumphing in spite of the odds; Foci just give the GM more obvious hooks to work with. And really, the best players will play their own Disads rather than having them forced on them by the GM.

A special mention does frequently need to be made here on the OAF limitation tho. I warn my players against this one. It is a VERY common (to the point of being overused) limitation with a huge value (-1). I make sure they realize that every opponent with a lick of combat sense (which I take to be anything from an above average INT to skills like tactics, teamwork, etc) will understand the tactical advantage to be gained by targeting such a character with Disarms, Entangles, etc. Many "competent" villain groups (VIPER for instance LOVES this tactic) will frequently start a battle by trying to disarm someone with OAF. If a player is basically useless without his OAF I make sure he understands that this is going to FREQUENTLY be a problem for him (and even if he isn't useless it does paint a really big target on his chest). I then of course explain the other options. Of course in this situation "Disarmed" is frequently a temporary state as all they have to do is recover their Focus, so even if it tends to come up frequently its not as limiting to them as say "loosing" their IIF Amulet or getting their OIF Armor ripped off which balances the frequency out a bit. (I also generally don't have focus be damaged by disarm attempts. Only attacks that actually TARGET a Focus, taking a huge "Called Shot" penalty to do so, actually have a chance to damage/destroy one, and these attacks rarely wind up disarming the focus if they fail to destroy it unless the power build is designed to do so in some way (or it makes good dramatic sense for it to happen that way). )

 

Amen. We have an irregularly-played character in our 350 point base MidGuard Champions campaign who uses martial arts with her two fighting sticks. Not that I have an issue with foci, but even with her martial arts this character only does a maximum of 9d6 in HTH combat, and 6d6 of that is from her OAF foci. So if this character is disarmed she is essentially unable to fight anything above street-level mooks. Yes, she also has Find Weakness 13-, but that's not real effective with a mere 3d6 attack. I have literally begged the character's player to reverse this ratio, although even 6d6 is pretty puny. He has refused.

 

That the character has not been disarmed and thus rendered irrelevant in combat on a regular basis is solely because she doesn't get played much.

 

Seems like a "SFX" for a "master" just not using all combat skill levels available to them.

 

Actually, it seems to me it's more of an example of the master using his superior levels defensively and not using his full attack capabilities.

 

"Ok so if that's the style of play and GMing it was priced for and I don't care for running it like that (ie. I don't really care for running or playing 'stories')' date=' I guess the value of the limitation should probably be less."[/quote']

 

Well, if actually applying Focus Limitations bothers you so much, just don't allow them. Simple enough.

 

I guess I can't understand the point of you asking how others handle Foci and then just dismissing the examples given. My approach is hardly unusual; it's how it's supposed to be done. Since all role-playing games are essentially stories where the players write their own dialogue and actions, if you "don't care for running or playing stories" then I can't see why you bother to play them at all. Or do you simply view Hero/Champions as nothing more than a tactical wargame where the opposing armies wear spandex and leather?

A wise man (Oddhat) once told me that you shouldn't put anything on the character sheet that you don't want the GM to play.

IIRC, Oddhat said that buying your character with "Healing; Regenerates Limbs" is pretty much an open invitation for your GM lop off an arm or leg so you can get some benefit from the Power you bought.

 

 

So is the price of the limitations based on the idea that the GM will more or less fiat that they be taken/broken' date=' or the risk that they might be broken/stolen 'naturally' in play? Is it supposed to be a risk that they might end up broken or stolen if you screw up or have some bad luck or is it supposed to be that they [b']will[/b] be taken from the PC for some time as a price you pay? Because the later really isn't how I'm used to running or playing RPGs.

 

I think it goes beyond that; I think it becomes incumbent upon the GM to play those Limitations. That doesn't mean that if the character has (say) an OIF it should be taken from him 33% of the time, just that there is some likelihood of that Focus being taken away during combat, malfunctioning, being immediately unavailable, or even stolen. It doesn't have to be the whole scenario, just during it.

 

As an example: a powered armor type in our campaign was once kidnapped while in his Secret ID after his helicopter was shot down; and was unable to put on the suit he was carrying in his briefcase because his kidnappers just left the briefcase in the wreckage. He ended up having to escape from the bad guys without his armor; which ultimately let the player experience one of his favorite adventures. So in that session he got hit with both one of his Limitations (OIF) and two of his Disadvantages (Secret ID and Hunted). Of course, the key to his escape was another DisAd, because the character's DNPC girlfriend was an expert SCUBA diver and it was only logical that our hero would have gone SCUBA diving with his girlfriend even if he lacked the TF. So he managed to swim to safety (he was being held on a yacht at sea), recover his armor, and fly back to stomp the badguys.

 

That's one of the advantages of building characters as opposed to stacks of numbers. The player was so enthused by the experience he ended up buying TF: SCUBA.

One question that we need immediate feedback on is what style of martial arts the character possesses. For Karate I have a particular practitioner in mind and for Kendo you have the full uniform and wooden sword. But what do other people want as the style ?

 

I think the style of martial art is mostly dependent on the character concept/origin. A Japanese guy named Hiro Takata being a master of kendo makes sense; his being a master of Chinese kung fu makes much less. I also prefer to either select a specific style such as Crane style kung fu or design my own from scratch. A character in our MidGuard campaign has a style called Cloud Dragon kung fu; which not only has martial maneuvers but also gives him some quasi-mystic powers like Clinging, Mental Awareness, and Teleport.

 

Personally I rather like STR 15 for MA's; it keeps them from burning too much END and also precludes them from doing absurd feats of strength like throwing motorcycles. Up damage with DC's and/or HA's.

Black Widow is very clearly a Martial Artist; arguably just a 200-250 point agent rather than a true super. If I were building her I wouldn't give any higher than a 5 SPD. She has some nifty gizmos, but nothing about her is superhuman.

It's a classic trope in kung fu flicks: A kung fu master, facing an inferior opponent, literally puts one hand behind his back and proceeds to defeat his opponent, usually as a way of demonstrating his superiority and with a certain air of contempt. There are of course other reasons to only use one hand, such as holding something which must be protected in the other - an infant or fragile antiquity for example. Or even just missing one arm.

 

Now the most obvious way to represent this in Hero is probably just to give said character a CV several points higher than his two-handed opponent or perhaps using more defensive Maneuvers from UMA such as Defensive Strike, but has anyone come up with something different?

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

It is the latest version of the Fabrica de Herois site

 

http://fabricadeherois.blogspot.com/

I remember that from a few years back. Is it a downloadable program, or does it work strictly through the browser?

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

I'd done a pic of Zl'f (excuse me, El'f) some time ago based on the original Animated/Timm-

style pic, and after seeing the new drawing of her that Storn did, I thought that I'd see if I

could come close to doing a F2011 version of her. I just got her pic back today, so here she

is...

I like it!

 

Did you you use some character-drawing software to do that? If so, what was it and where can I get it?

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

Just got confirmation that Эльф is pronounced El'f from another Russian language website. There is in fact no "Z" in her name at all; Russian has two letters Э and 3 which depending on the font can look almost identical and represent E and Z respectively. I must have transposed the two letters years ago even though I was using the correct one: Э

 

It is rather entertaining (and oddly humbling) to consider that even after 20 years one can still learn something new about one's character. Ah well; I should look on the bright side: at least nobody will need to ask me how it's pronounced anymore.

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

I was finally able to log in to Forvo and put in a request for the correct pronunciation of ЗлЪф (Zl'f). Hopefully some kind Russian speaker there will enlighten me within a day or two. I did get a correct pronunciation for her given name, Елена (Elena). Turns out there is a soft "Y" sound at the beginning of the name so her named is correctly pronounced more like Yil-ena. That may explain why I have often seen it transcribed as Yelena.

 

EDIT: I just now got a pronunciation of Эльф from a Russian speaker at Forvo. According to the MP3 he recorded, the "Z" in Zl'f is silent and so the word is pronounced Ᾱylf or Ᾱelf - almost the same as English and German "Elf." Hopefully I'll get a second opinion to verify that, but at the moment it looks like I've been mispronouncing my character's name for 20 years.

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

I get "Oops! Forvo is having difficulties."

Well that's more info than I got. I'll try them again in a day or two. Thanks!

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

I found a multi-language pronunciation site: http://www.forvo.com/ which looked like just the answer I needed. Alas, despite literally a dozen attempts to open an account (on two different devices) I could not establish an account, so I'm kinda stymied.

 

If you're feeling adventurous, perhaps you'd care to try your luck? The word is ЗлЪф

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

I took a little Russian once upon a time. I think what you're talking about is the soft sign (looks like a small lower case ' date=' indicating a following consonant is soft.[/quote']Correct. In Cyrillic her name is written ЗлЪф; with that very symbol you mentioned as the third letter. What I still don't know is if there is a vowel sound in the word or not. I want to know if it's pronounced Zil'f or Zl'f.

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

How do you pronounce "Zl'f"?

I pronounce it Zil'f with the accent on the first syllable. The apostrophe in Russian transliteration indicates a soft letter following. That may not be correct but I've been unable to find a Russian native speaker to give me the correct pronunciation. (I am currently playing two games of go online with a woman in St. Petersburg Russia but I was unable to explain to her exactly what I wanted to know.) It may well be Zl'f with no vowel sound at all but I honestly just don't know.

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

I like her very much !

May I use her as an European contact for my player please ?

 

Contacted Opale.

Of course, as long as she doesn't do anything inappropriate.

 

I have a several page writeup of her powers (in non_Hero terms) and personality if you're interested.

Re: Zl'f portrait by Storn

 

We try to get in a Champions game about every other month; the other months are taken up with our Pulp Hero campaign or Real Life. And of course some scenarios last more than one game session.