Marvelous Pals #52

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the desert terrain. I, Clint, and Dugan were crouched behind a rocky outcrop, a safe distance away from the Ten Rings camp. The camp lay at the foot of a mountain, sprawling around the entrance to a network of caves.

Tents and crates dotted the area, with armed terrorists patrolling in disciplined patterns. Through the binoculars, I surveyed their numbers and frowned. There were more people than we had anticipated.

Dugan glanced at me, concern etched on his face. "There's more people than we expected," he said, lowering the binoculars. "How do you want to handle this?"

Hawkeye, inventorying his arrows with practiced ease, shrugged. "We stick to the plan and improvise along the way if necessary."

Dugan nodded, unbuckling his pistol holsters and loading a bullet into his rifle's chamber. He was prepared for action. But I interjected before they could move.

"Fuck the plan," I said, my voice firm. "There are a lot more people than we anticipated. Over a hundred with enough firepower to wipe out a battalion."

Dugan and Hawkeye exchanged puzzled glances. "That's why we stick to the plan," Hawkeye insisted. "Sneak our way in, try to stay unnoticed. If everything goes smoothly, we get to Stark and call in an airstrike to wipe out the bastards outside."

I shook my head. "I don’t have a problem with that, but sneaking in through so many people will be difficult. We need a distraction, and I’m willing to play that role."

Hawkeye, who wasn’t familiar with my abilities, turned to Dugan, leaving the decision to him. Dugan frowned, eyeing me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Are you sure you know what you’re doing, son? That fancy armor might save you from bullets, but they have bloody missiles."

I shrugged, trying to project more confidence than I felt. "I just have to avoid being hit. You and Hawkeye just have to quickly get to Stark. Everything will go well."

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "I thought you said you were only in this to make an impression... suddenly feeling heroic are we?"

I smirked, the adrenaline already surging through me. "That’s exactly why I’m playing the distraction. What makes a bigger impression? Sneaking along the fringes or going in guns blazing?"

Dugan shook his head in exasperation, calling me a smug bastard. "Alright, we’ll do it your way. Just... just try not to get yourself killed."

I gave him a dismissive wave, confident in my plan. "Relax, I know a thing or two about getting out of sticky situations."

With that, I materialized several Pal Spheres in my hand, their smooth surfaces glinting in the fading light. "Gimme some space, will you?" I instructed, my voice steady.

Hawkeye opened his mouth, probably to ask a question, but Dugan just squeezed his shoulder, and the two stepped back together, watching with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

I hurled the spheres into the ground, and from within them emerged my loyal companions: Grizzbolt, Vanwyrm, Tombat, Chillet, and Penking. The sight of the five beasts caused Hawkeye to stare, eyes wide and mouth agape. Even Dugan, usually unflappable, looked slightly taken aback by some of the pals he didn’t recognize.

Ignoring their reactions, I leisurely climbed into Vanwyrm's saddle, feeling the familiar texture of the creature's feathers beneath me. "Kill everything that moves outside the cave except these two," I commanded, addressing the pals.

Before Hawkeye and Dugan could fully process the situation, the pals instantly split up, sprinting towards the encampment with deadly precision. I tightened my grip on the Vanwyrm’s reins as it took to the air, the rush of wind and the beating of its wings filling my ears.

From above, the camp looked like a chaotic anthill. Tents and crates were scattered around, terrorists scrambling in response to the sudden attack.

Grizzbolt charged through the ranks, his electric fur sparking as he mowed down enemies with powerful swipes of his claws. Tombat darted between the shadows, his sharp fangs and claws tearing into the terrorists with silent efficiency.

Chillet froze anyone in her path, the icy shards from her breath killing enemies in seconds. Penking, with his massive stature and strength, bulldozed through the camp, unleashing powerful jets of water and icy javelins.

The terrorists were caught completely off guard, their coordinated patrols turning into disarray. The element of surprise was working in our favor. From my vantage point atop Vanwyrm, I could see the chaos unfold.

I guided Vanwyrm lower, just above the heads of the terrorists, raining down arrows and projectiles with lethal accuracy. The Vanwyrm’s fiery breath added to the devastation, setting tents ablaze and exploding ammo and weapon crates, causing further panic.

...

The makeshift workshop inside the cave was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of metal and burnt circuitry. Ho Yinsen worked methodically, his hands deftly securing the final plates of the Iron Man prototype onto Tony Stark's body.

The suit looked bulky and shoddy, with soldering marks crisscrossing its surface, a testament to the rushed, desperate work they had done with the meager scraps provided by their captors. Despite its appearance, the technology within was anything but primitive; the heart of the suit was a mini-arc reactor, a marvel Stark had created using nothing but the odds and ends given to him to build missiles.

"Hold still," Yinsen said, his voice calm despite the tension in the air. He used a screwdriver to secure the last few plates, the sound of metal on metal echoing in the confined space.

Stark, strapped into the suit, tried to steady his breathing, wincing as the cold metal pressed against his skin.

A sudden, deafening explosion rocked the cave, the trap they had set at the door springing to life. The shockwave sent a cloud of dust and debris flying, and Stark instinctively turned his head away.

Yinsen paused, glancing towards the door that was now nothing but a gaping hole, shards of metal and stone scattered around the remains of two terrorists who had come to check on them.

"Oh my goodness, it worked," Yinsen breathed, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and disbelief.

Stark, despite the situation, managed a grin. "That's what I do."

Yinsen nodded, picking up the screw gun to put the final touches on the suit. Exclamations in different languages echoed from the distance, the sound of hurried footsteps growing louder. The terrorists were coming, drawn by the noise of the explosion.

"Initialise the power sequences," Stark urged, his voice tense.

Yinsen, his hands trembling, rushed to the laptop. He fumbled with his glasses, his nerves getting the better of him. "Okay, okay," he muttered, trying to focus.

Stark's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and forceful "Now, Yinsen! We don't have time!"

Yinsen took a deep breath, his hands steadying as he focused on the laptop. "What do I do?"

"Function eleven," Stark instructed. He paused for a brief second, then continued, "Tell me when you see a progress bar."

"I see it," Yinsen said, relief washing over him as the bar began to move.

"Good. Now, come here and button me up," Stark said.

Yinsen gulped, grabbing the screwdriver and hurrying over. Stark watched him work, his eyes intense. "Every other hex bolt, nothing pretty. Just get it done."

Yinsen gritted his teeth, working as fast as he could. The shouts and rapid footsteps outside did nothing to soothe his frayed nerves. "They're coming," he said, his voice a strained whisper, as he finished securing the suit and turned back to the laptop.

Stark glanced at the progress bar, which still hadn't crossed the halfway mark. He winced, knowing they needed more time. "Make sure all the checkpoints are clear before following me outside."

Yinsen shook his head, panic in his eyes. "We need more time." With surprising calmness, he turned to face Stark. "Hey... I'm gonna go buy you some time."

Stark's eyes widened. "Yinsen, no! Stick to the plan!"

But Yinsen's resolve was unshakable. He ignored Stark's plea, running to the door and picking up one of the terrorists' rifles. Stark's heart pounded as he yelled again, "Stick to the plan, Yinsen!"

Yinsen didn't look back. He raised the rifle, firing into the air to draw attention as he began to run. Stark, trapped inside the suit, could do nothing but watch in helpless fury.

"Yinsen, damn it!" Stark shouted, his voice echoing in the metal confines of the suit. The progress bar inched forward, agonizingly slow.