AUG 2003 - #11

Suicide Squad: Acts of War part two by Toby Kernan

[Terrance, Sorenson. Known as: Equinox. US Citizen. Apprehended: June 1992. Released To Taskforce M Custody: July 1992. Completed Missions: Four. Status: Deceased, Sept. 1992. Explanation: Killed by mutated animals during mission to Animus Island, attempting to stop Doctor Fredrick Animus illegal experiments on living creatures.]

Alan Scott clicked 'back', then clicked upon another name.

[Bradford, Angela. Known as: Synario. US Citizen. Apprehended: September 1994. Convicted: December 1994. Released To Taskforce M Custody: December 1994. Completed Missions: Zero. Status: Deceased, January 1995. Explanation: Killed during mission to Vietnam to apprehend criminal lord Tran Coy Mahn, shot in the head by Coy Mahn.]

Alan took off his reading glasses and rubbed the swollen bridge between his eyes. The list on the screen went on and on. The list of those killed on missions for Taskforce M/Suicide Squad went on and on. Fifteen years of violence and death. Alan could do little but stair in shock and amazement. Sure, some, such as Leonard Tippit, had been killers, and society was better off without them, but others, such as Angela Bradford were little more than petty criminals. They could have served their time, got out, and straightened their lives, become productive members of society. But, they never were given the chance. The United States Government used them, gave them flowery promises of quick releases and clean records, and then sent them straight to their deaths. Taskforce M played God with these lives, and did it with glowing endorsement from the administrations that commanded over them.

As President Scott scrolled farther down the long list, he soon discovered that the list contained more than just criminals killed in the 'line of duty'. There were other lists as well. Lists containing the names of heroes and military personnel and worst of all, civilians who had died as a result of Suicide Squad missions. President Scott looked at the list, picking names at random to view.

[Sheridan, Carolyn. Profession: Geneticist at Anderson Bio-Technic. Killed: September 1997. Explanation: Caught in cross-fire between Suicide Squad and terrorists from Silicon Dragons during Dragon assault at Anderson Bio-Technic, Los Angeles.]

So many lives lost, thought President Scott, as he continued down the list.

President Scott pulled his weary eyeballs away from the screen, wondering what it was he needed to do. He wasn't blind, and had begun to notice that someone seemed to be doing his task of dismantling Taskforce M, and Suicide Squad, for him, but definitely not in the way he had intended to do it. Like the history of Suicide Squad, someone was doing it messy, with lots of fire and explosion, blood and bodycounts.

Last night someone had blown up Belle Reve, in Louisiana. Belle Reve had been the main hub of Suicide Squad for many years. Reports he had received this morning indicated they were still pulling burnt corpses from that wreckage, although many seemed to be security and cooks and cleaning crew - innocents, not the criminals, of course. A few bodies, such as that of Squad mainstay Janus, had been pulled from the wreckage, but most of the criminals and regulars appeared to not be at the building that evening.

The most frustrating thing about the entire thing is that President Scott couldn't get any answers. He needed to talk to one of the central figures in Taskforce M, but nobody was findable. he had put out the word, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted Henry Gyrich and Sarge Steel and Valerie Cooper all found, and brought to his office ASAP. So far, hours later, none of them had been located. With the murders of Thomasina Jefferson and Alec Swan, he could hardly be surprised though. The way President Scott saw it, either the trio were part of the this plot to destroy Suicide Squad, to cover their own misdeeds, or they feared themselves targets, and were on the run. Or maybe, they were already dead as well.

"Mr. Gyrich," said the man, placing all the items, upon the desk. "sir, the President's office has called once again. It seems the President wants you in his office quite badly."

Gyrich didn't move his gaze from the sets. "Did you tell him you didn't know where I was located?"

"Of course, sir," said the man.

Gyrich sighed, then turned his attention from the screens, to the man.

"We screwed up bad, son."

"Sir?" asked the man.

"This whole Suicide Squad thing. I knew it would only be a matter of time before it all blew up in our faces. Ever since that fat pig Waller corrupted the whole thing, and nearly got everybody killed, this whole thing has just been a stick of dynamite with a real short fuse.

"Damn super-powered freaks. Always ruin everything. Can't trust any of them, if you ask me. Doesn't matter if it is those Avengers Leaguers or criminals looking for an easy way out or whomever. They all can't be trusted."

"Is that why you have been working so hard to get Checkmate back up and running, sir?" asked the man.

"Indeed it is son," said Gyrich, proudly. "Those are the boys I am looking for. Hard working, military boys. Full of discipline and character. Not a bunch of costumed kook-jobs running around in silly tights with lasers blasting out of their eyes or turning invisible or whatever.

"Things are going to be different with Checkmate, you better believe. This time, it will have no ties to any Taskforce or Sarge Steel or any of those super kooks. I'll make sure it gets it right this time."

" . . . and about the President sir?"

Gyrich thought for a moment. "Keep stalling him, son. Hopefully, soon, Sarge Steel or Valerie Cooper will appear, and they can be the ones who take the brunt of the President's ire. They are the scapegoats, as far as I am concerned. I have made it very clear my stance on these super-types, and I ain't gonna change it now, even if our President in one of those liberal spandex super-type.

"Besides, we have that other problem we need to deal with. Have they been located yet?"

The man adjusted his glasses, and opened the folder, which he held in his hand; "Yes, well Triumph was seen yesterday in Seattle. The agents we had following Mystique were discovered, and she lost them at the airport, but we suspect she was headed for Seattle as well. Killer Wasp, Phantasm, and several of their cronies have appeared to disappear as well, and sources seem to indicate they are all heading for Seattle."

"So," said Gyrich, disgust on his face, "even more betrayal by the spandex types. At least these ones are not anything unexpected, I knew I couldn't trust McIntyre or Mystique farther than I could see them. The contingency plan is in place, and that information needs to be retrieved. Is 'Project: Heavy Metal' ready to go?"

"Indeed, sir. General Synge indicates that the entire team is in place and trained and ready to go whenever you need them."

"Excellent," said Gyrich, a smug smile slowly crossing his face. "Then tell Synge to get them prepped and ready to go to Seattle . . . "

Valerie decided to stand, then noticed that she wore little more a flimsy nightgown she had never seen before. She looked around the room, and noticed a large wooden closet. She opened it, and marveled at the selection of clothing inside. Long, luxurious Versace dresses and Dior outfits. Expensive Italian shoes. On a shelf lay a selection of diamond jewelry. Valerie inspected some of the clothing, and discovered that everything was her size. She opened one of the jewelry boxes, and discovered a little note reading 'Please dress for dinner, and join me in the Foyer.'

Valerie was more than a little overwhelmed. Luxury had never been a hallmark of her existence. Her family had been lower middle-class from Minnesota. The only time she had seen Dior or Versace was on television or in magazines before she moved to New York. Even once she was here, she was a working-class government bureaucrat, whose job at Taskforce M had taken every waking minute of her life. She had to admit, despite the unusual circumstances, the outfits were beautiful, and seeing no other alternative, she might as well put one on and play out whatever this game was she was unknowingly playing.

Valerie finished dressing and made her way through the only door, which exited the room. Outside the room was a long stone corridor, every few feet lit by an old-fashion wooden torch. The whole place had the appearance of a medieval castle, the kind, which you just didn't find in New York City. Valerie was at a complete loss as to what was going on.

Valerie left the corridor and entered a huge dinning room. Before her sat a large wooden dining table. The table had one chair at the end closest to her, also over-sized and wooden. She looked at the table, and it was filled full of food of all types-piles of fresh fruits and bowls of steamed vegetables and puddings and roasted chickens and much more. She looked along the table, and finally at the end, saw a man sitting there. She gasped in shock.

"Please," said the man, "Ms. Valerie Cooper, sit down and have dinner. I am sure you must be hungry . . . "

"I don't know who the hell you are . . . " yelled Valerie, angrily. She scrutinized the man carefully. He looked to be middle-aged, with long flowing white hair and wrinkles that betrayed a life of hardness. It was his eyes though, that captured Valerie. Their smoldering blue screamed passion and intelligence and much more that Valerie could comprehend.

"Calm down, Ms. Cooper," said the man. "I mean you no harm. In fact, it was my people who saved you from harm. Had you made it onto the street, you would have been killed by an assassin named Deadline. He was waiting for you on a rooftop across the street. It was very smart of you not to use your car though - it was indeed rigged to explode when the ignition turned on."

Valerie sat in the chair, confused. "Who are you? How do you know all this?"

The man smiled slightly, although it looked like it pained him to do so. "I know these things because it is my job to know these things. I am known as Dharma, and I am head of Shadow Cabinet."

"What the hell is Shadow Cabinet?"

"We are a very . . . old . . . organization. We existed long before Columbus ever set sail to 'discover' the Americas. There is a long-standing battle between good and evil that is being waged across this planet. We are the good guys."

"Well," said Valerie, still not understanding, "thanks for saving me, Mr. 'head of the good guys', and excuse me for seeming impudent, but why did you?"

"Because I want you to join us here, and it seemed like the perfect time . . . "

"Want me to join," said Valerie. "why? I already have a job with the government . . . "

"My dear," said Dharma, leaning forward to steady himself upon the table's ledge, "that time of your life is over. I am sure you noticed that Taskforce M and Suicide Squad are on their way out of existence. Many of the major players are now dead. Belle Reve is gone. The President Alan Scott is even now taking steps to make sure nothing like Suicide Squad ever happens again. Those criminals that haven't already defected to Junta or some other faction are either back in jail or on the run. All of the military personnel have been reassigned to Checkmate, or one of the government's other organizations. Taskforce M is done. If the President gets a hold of you, you are as good as fired anyway.

"Here, at Shadow Cabinet, we want you, Valerie Cooper. We need you. Here, you can do some real good. You can fight the bad guys, and you won't have to surround yourselves with other criminals just to do it."

"I . . . I . . . " Valerie stammered, overwhelmed.

"I am sorry," said Dharma, concern on his face. "I can see I have overwhelmed you . . . "

Valerie looked at the man, and considered the situation. "No, you are right. That part of my life is finished now. I can't fix it, and I am not sure I even want to. What do you say we eat something, because this all looks and smells delicious, and then you can tell me a little more about your Shadow Cabinet."

Sarge was about to pour himself another glass when he heard a beeping to his left. He turned and checked his safehouse's security cameras. He saw shadows creeping around. He knew they were coming for him. Sarge picked up the pair of pistols from his desk and left the room. He may be going out, but he no intention of going out without a fight. He wasn't afraid to die, but he would go out just the same as he had lived, fighting every step of the way.

Sarge stood from his chair, making one last glance at the monitors to make note of where his assassins were coming from. He was starting to figure out what this whole mess was really all about. His first thought had been that this whole thing - the deaths and dismantling of his Taskforce M - had been the President's plan to eliminate him. He quickly dismissed that idea-because that just wasn't the goody-goody style of the current administration. President Scott had made it abundantly clear that the 'kill first, ask questions later' style of the former administration would no longer be acceptable. Then his thoughts led him to a rival governmental organization - such as DEO or Synge's Ultramarines, but that made even less sense. Those organizations, despite their ability to find out the classified information on Taskforce M, had no real reason to go after us. We basically just stayed out of each other's way.

Sarge opened the door and peaked down the hallway. He barely got a glance when the lights all went dark. Someone had cut the power. Sarge just shrugged, and grabbed the infra-red goggles he had with him. he was well-prepared to be something other than a sitting duck.

No, Sarge decided, this was an inside job. Someone from Taskforce M or Suicide Squad, past or present, was the perpetrator of this. He considered Junta - but he doubted that, they were more grand in their plans and were probably still licking their wounds from the incident in Wakanda. Sarge also doubted it was their allies in Jihad, as they were not very good at covering their activities. Whomever this was that was decimating Taskforce M, they were very brilliant, very calculating, and very good at hiding their tracks. They reminded him of . . .

Suddenly, someone appeared directly in front of him. They 'came' through the ceiling - literally. Sarge recognized him - an assassin, and former Suicide Squad flunkie known as Deadline. He had the ability to make himself intangible. He looked at Sarge, noticed the two guns pointed at his head, and simply took his intangible form back up through the ceiling floor, to the addict above. Figuring his position was being compromised anyway, Sarge fired several shoots through the ceiling, hoping to catch Deadline in tangible state. Then he quickly ran down the hall, to his den, where a real arsenal of weapons lay.

It all fit together now, and Deadline was the final piece of the puzzle. The knowledge of Taskforce M/Suicide Squad. The assassins. The excellent covering of the tracks. This was revenge, pure and simple. This was the destruction of Suicide Squad by its former leader, Amanda Waller. That big old bitch had never gotten over her ousting after she betrayed her country and tried to assassinate the President.

Sarge gritted his teeth, as he quietly walked into his den. He was in real trouble. Big Mama Waller headed the Assassination Bureau, a collection of some of the nastiest assassins in the entire world. It would be a miracle in he made it out of here alive.

Sarge walked into the dark room and made his way to the fireplace mantle. There, he pushed a certain stone, and a panel released from the wall, revealing an assortment of firearms. Sarge reached for one, but had to leap away when a spray of bullets came in his direction. As he leaped behind a nearby couch, he caught two figures in the dark.

"Hey there, Sarge," announced one, coming closer slowly. "Big Mama sends her regards."

Sarge recognized the voice. It was Floyd Lawton, the assassin known as Deadshot.

Shots were fired. Whatever Lawton was firing it was powerful, because it easily pierced the cushioning of the couch and imbedded itself in Sarge's side.

Despite the pain, Sarge leapt from behind the couch screaming. "I'll see that bitch in hell!" He fired his pistols, putting several shots in the person close to Deadshot, and one into Deadshot's left arm. Then the hail of bullets struck him, and he fell to the ground, his life passing from his body.

With that, the heart and soul of Suicide Squad/Taskforce M gone, the end came.