Greg Cox - Man of Steel

Only a single heartbeat could be heard beneath the wreckage. Superman knew it wasn’t the pilot’s.

“Guardian, Thunder-One-Two,” the pilot of the second jet reported, his shrill voice unable to hide his shock. “Lead is down! I repeat, lead is down!”

Faora looked eager to bring down an enemy of her own. Flames rose from the burning wreckage as she flung herself through the fire at the remaining Warthog, only to be intercepted in midair by Superman. He clipped her with his shoulder, sending them both tumbling down through the elevated sign of the pancake house and into the dining area of the restaurant.

Chairs and tables went flying as the battling Kryptonians struck like twin cannonballs, leaving a ragged hole in the ceiling. Dust and debris rained down. Superman spotted Pete Ross, of all people, hiding behind the checkout counter. He remembered his mom saying that Pete was the manager here.

To his relief, he didn’t see any other customers or employees. He guessed that they had escaped out the back when all hell broke loose, leaving Pete to hold down the fort. Superman wished he had cleared out, too.

But Faora didn’t care about innocent bystanders. Recovering quickly from their crash landing, she assailed Superman with a flurry of jabs and kicks to his vital areas. Her vicious hands and feet blurred as they lashed out at his knees, neck, and solar plexus. It was like being beaten up by a schoolyard bully again, except this time he could actually feel it.

“You’re weak, Son of El,” she sneered. “Unsure of yourself. But I am not .”

A spinning kick knocked Superman’s legs out from under him. She stood over him, gloating.

“The fact that you possess a sense of morality—and we don’t—gives us an evolutionary advantage. And if history has proven anything—”

She grabbed onto him and hurled him through two full blocks of solid brick and concrete buildings. Only the reinforced steel door of the Kansas National Bank’s main vault arrested his momentum. Dangling electrical cables spewed sparks. Superman braced himself against the dented steel door as he caught his breath.

“—it’s that evolution always wins.”

Her mocking voice rang out as she and Nam-Ek dropped through the roof of the bank. Nam-Ek remained unscratched by the crash that had destroyed the downed A-10. His lumbering tread crushed fallen chunks of masonry to powder. Faora grinned sadistically through her visor.

Outside in the street, army helicopters touched down in three designated landing zones. Uniformed figures swarmed out of the Little Birds, fanning out to evacuate the endangered civilians. The soldiers kicked open doors and climbed through busted shop windows. They hustled trembling families out into the street and toward the waiting choppers, where door gunners manned M2130 chain guns and GAU-19 Gatling guns.

Faora and Nam-Ek converged on Superman, just like the bullies who had ganged up on him on these very streets when he was growing up. But there was a big difference this time around.

He didn’t need to hold back anymore.

Like a missile, he shot past Nam-Ek and powered into Faora, driving her out of the bank and into a garbage truck, tearing a hole in its side. A second later, he flung her out of the gap into the imposing stone façade of the bank. The impact cracked the solid masonry.

He took a different route out of the ruined truck. Defying gravity, he shot straight through the roof and into the contested airspace above downtown Smallville. Army choppers shared the sky with him. He heard Colonel Hardy barking orders to the troops below.

“Check fire! All players, ensure clear lines of fire before engaging!”

Superman wasn’t worried about the soldiers’ bullets. He zoomed down from the sky to strike Faora squarely with both fists. The collision rattled her, but she fought back furiously. They traded dozens of blows, each of which would pulp an ordinary human. Thinking on his feet, Superman deliberately targeted her helmet, which was starting to sputter and spark like Zod’s had.

Good, he thought. I can work with that.

Nam-Ek burst through the front of the bank to join the fight, even as the Special Forces opened fire on all three Kryptonians. Snipers took up positions on nearby rooftops and joined in the attack on the alien combatants. The choppers blasted away with their airborne artillery. A symphony of percussive gunfire drowned out the thunderous blows of Superman and his foes.

All-out war had come to Smallville.

Observing the battle from above, Hardy received word from Sergeant Rick Vance, the ground commander.

“Guardian, this is Badger 01,” Vance reported. “We’ve engaged targets. Negative BDA! We’re not even plinking the paint off them!”

Hardy’s own eyes confirmed Vance’s assessment. Despite receiving enough firepower to take out a small army, the three aliens were still standing—and fighting amongst themselves. Superman’s colorful uniform was easily distinguishable from the intimidating black capes and armor of the other two. And from what Hardy could see, he was barely holding his own.

But he was doing a better job fighting Zod’s people than anyone else was. Hardy watched as Superman ducked beneath the giant’s armored fist, while jabbing his elbow in the visor of the woman’s helmet. She staggered backward, affected more by Superman’s strike than by the blistering hail of gunfire targeting all three of them. Then she lunged at him again, murder in her eyes.

They sure don’t seem to be on the same side.

Maybe that reporter was right? Maybe Superman wasn’t the enemy?

Hardy made a judgment call.

“All players,” he ordered. “Do not target the guy in blue! He is friendly. Repeat: friendly!”

Impossibly, the female Kryptonian seemed to hear his command. She turned her face to the sky, spotting Hardy’s helicopter. She nodded at the giant, who turned away from Superman long enough to pick up an abandoned UPS truck. He hefted the heavy vehicle with no effort whatsoever, and hurled it at the hovering ’copters.

The big brown truck sailed through the air, almost nailing a chopper, which pulled up and out of the way with only a second to spare.

“We’re breaking right!” the pilot shouted over the radio. “Breaking right!”

The airborne truck flew straight at the helicopter that was carrying Hardy. The Little Bird banked sharply to one side, but the truck grazed them anyway, sending the chopper out of control. A door gunner tumbled out of the Little Bird, into the empty air.

The dislodged soldier fell toward the battle-scarred street dozens of feet below.

“Fallen angel!” the pilot barked into radio. “Fallen angel!”

The man was about to splatter all over the sidewalk when Superman intercepted him. Zipping through the air, he scooped up the endangered soldier before he hit the ground. Then the Kryptonian flew off, carrying the man to safety.

Thank God, Hardy thought.

But the fallen gunner might have been the lucky one, because the wounded ’copter was going down.

“Hold on!” Hardy shouted to his crew. “We’re auto-rotating! Brace for impact!” Racing against time, he fired off one last radio communication. “All players, Guardian’s going off the net—”

The chopper crashed into the parking lot in front of Sears. Superman wanted to check on Hardy and his crew, but knew that he had to deal with Faora and Nam-Ek first. Nobody would be safe as long as Zod’s ruthless lieutenants were on the rampage.