Booster Gold #17 - The Bluff (★Society, Part X)

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Author: ScarecrowSid

Book: Booster Gold

Arc: ★Society

Set: 17

★ Now

    Booster Gold grinned back at the soldiers, but found only confused faces. It was as if they didn’t recognize the genius of his plan, as if they thought they were going to die. In fairness to them, some, perhaps more than a few, would certainly die, but most of them would last the day. Probably.

    Miller approached, glancing up at the small campfires on the hill, then back at Booster. “Sir, you don’t really expect this plan to work, do you?”

    Booster frowned at him. “And why wouldn’t it work? This is a great plan.”

    “It’s not,” Miller replied. “The men running the distraction will-”

    “They’ll die,” Booster said flatly. “Yes, I’ve realized that.”

    Miller’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to swallow his reply. He gave Booster a turse nod, then spun and saluted to the approaching Lieutenant. Richards returned the salute with a casual one of his own, then stepped past Miller and came to stand beside Booster.

    Miller had sharp ears, Booster would need to be mindful of that. Miller looked that them both, scratching absently where his nose would once have been, then stepped away. Curious, that, but Booster had never really understood unspoken social queues.

    “I’ve briefed the men,” Richards said, his eyes still fixed on the hilltop. “I don’t think they’re happy.”

    “They don’t need to be happy, they just need to get it done.” Booster wasn’t sure where this persona had come from, but channeling the Batman seemed to help him fake his way through these situations. “How long will the salvage take?”

    “A few hours,” Richards replied. He looked up, past the hill, to where the sun hung high. “Midday now, we might be able to get one up and running by…” Richards scratched his temple, then shrugged. “Early evening.”

    Booster nodded, then glanced back at the German encampment. A few sentries watched him, but he could make out the expressions on their faces well enough to see they were bored. It was understandable, as Richards had been careful to keep his men well back from the treeline. The entire plan hinged on two things going off without a hitch, the first was the salvage and the second was Booster himself.

    Richards, it seemed, had continued talking. “... Private Miller will oversee the salvage. I had him inspect the line a week ago and he was able to find some usable parts, but there will be no ordinance to speak of.”

    “So long as he can get one to lumber its way over to the hill, we’ll be fine,” Booster said. “Put a man here and have them stare at the Germans, I need to prepare.”

★ ★ Now

    Roughly three hours later, Booster Gold stepped into the open field between the hilltop and the treeline with a large coat fastened tightly at the waist. It ended halfway between his knees and ankles, but provided enough coverage to mask his suit. A branch and strip of white cloth fluttered in the evening breeze, and his arms were raised high over his head.

    The Germans barked orders across their lines, and one of them retreated into the encampment. Several tense moments passed, the wolves stalked the edges of the German camp in small packs. Their ruby eyes followed Booster, and their low growls added a further air of dread.

    Booster knew he could beat down the soldiers, and he knew he could do it rather easily, but the wolves were a problem. It seemed that too many of them had survived the previous battle, and the dozen or so that remained were more cautious around him than before. In a way, that worked in his favor when it came to a plan like this. It was obvious that they recognized him from a distance, as they could likely smell him, but the soldiers assumed he was a simple infantryman coming to discuss terms of surrender. He had removed the goggles from his suit and kept them hidden in a coat pocket, and his suit was further masked by a pair of pants he had borrowed. In addition to the coat, he set the suit to its black stealth pattern to give the illusion he was wearing simple gloves and a balaclava. All things being equal, he looked very unheroic at the moment.

    “Halt,” called one of the Germans. His accent was so thick that Booster scarcely managed to make out the command, stopping halfway into his next step and cocking an eyebrow in their direction.

    “Flag of truce,” Booster called out, trying for a tone that landed somewhere between confident and concerned. He missed it entirely, instead skirting the edges of confused. “I’m here to talk.”

    There were a few loud remarks in German, and Booster regretted not having Skeets around to help him with this part of the job. While his own suit was capable of translating other languages, he needed the goggles on hand to actually read the translation. It was a ridiculous loophole, and he felt the need to scowl at whoever limited their use to such a degree.

    “Approach,” called another of the Germans.

    Booster did so, stepping brusquely toward them and suppressing the urge to grin. No, he needed to look worried, not elated. Anything else would give away the game. He followed two German soldiers, one of whom had searched him briefly for weapons in rather intimate areas, with the flag held overhead. A few of Richard’s soldiers glanced at him as he walked past, their grim expressions falling to pieces when they saw the white flag. They were already prisoners, and the expectation of rescue had been the only balm to their wounded will.

    Now they looked broken. Booster wanted to tell them the plan, but he couldn’t risk signalling them in any way. Richards had indicated several hand signs that might alert them to the situation, but Booster had decided they were all too indiscrete to use. Any attempt would alert the guards and throw the entire plan into jeopardy.

    Booster was led back to the pavilion, then led through the flaps into a large, sparsely decorated space. There was desk at one end, a cot at the other, and maps hanging along the walls. In front of one of these maps, one that looked to be the of the Italian peninsula, stood a man in resplendent armor with his hands clasped behind his back. The Axeman.

    Booster Gold was led to a round table at the center of the room and seated on one side. The Axeman nodded to the soldiers, who then saluted and took two steps back and offered audible clicks as their rifles were checked and readied. The Axeman stepped forward and pulled out a chair directly opposite Booster, then sat down and placed his folded hands on the table.

    “You are here to surrender, Herr….?” the Axeman asked, his accent so thin in was nearly imperceptible.

    “Sergeant Wayne,” Booster lied. “I’m here to discuss how we might bring this engagement to an… amicable end.” Booster paused, then added, “Sir.”

    The Axeman smirked, his cool eyes narrowing behind the slits in his helmet. “I am not in the military, Sergeant. I am simply a Hunter.” The soft, clipped tone did more to unsettle Booster than what he had expected. Booster had expected the commander to be more gruff, based on his appearance. Instead, he found the man to be almost genteel and well spoken.

    “An amicable end,” the Axeman repeated. “A noble request, but why would I sue for peace when I have the advantage? Surely I only need to wait for your men to starve, and they’ll charge the hill.”

    “That would lead to a slaughter,” Booster said, keeping his tone even. “I doubt either of us want that, given what’s happened the last few days.”

    “My wolves are hungry,” the Axeman said. “They saw their brothers and sisters die, and they’ve been living on scraps for days. I need to keep them sated, and your company will be the main course.”

    Booster frowned. This wasn’t really going the way he had hoped, and it seemed their conversation would be over far too soon for his plan to be in place. It seemed that most of this was going to come down to chance, and timing, but he pressed on.

    “We have reinforcements coming, they’ll be here by nightfall. If we have an agreement in place, I can assure you that your men and your pets won’t come to any further harm.” Booster kept the man’s gaze, not wavering as he spoke.

    The Axeman snorted, then gestured for one of the soldiers to approach. He said something to him in slow, quiet German and gestured again toward the front and rear of their camp. The soldier saluted, then left the tent at a near jog.

    “That was a poor bluff, Sergeant,” the Axeman said. “We have been watching the perimeter, there have been no such movements from your army. The nearest of your allies is days away.”

    “That’s true,” Booster said evenly. “But were lucky enough to encounter two full companies on patrol.” Booster stopped, grinning widely at the man. “Oh, and they brought a little something else along with them. Something I don’t think you’re quite prepared to deal with.”

    The Axeman snorted again, then stood and walked toward the back of the tent. He pointed at one of the maps, his finger resting atop a small red circle. “We are here, Sergeant. The nearest of your comrades is…” his fingers traveled south, skating down the western coast, and settled upon a small black cross. “Here. Fifty miles south,” the man’s grin was vicious now. “And they are not coming here. I would hear them before they did. Do you want to see why?”

    Booster was ready to reply when a two pairs of hands hoisted him from the chair and led him out of the tent. He tensed, but allowed it. Booster could escape at any moment, or so he hoped.

★ ★ ★ Now

    Booster stood at the edge of the cliff, which had once been a town, and stared down at the pit below. The Axeman stood beside him, three or four feet to his right, and looked out at the pit.

    “This was a rather dramatic display on my part,” the Axeman said. “I didn’t mean to destroy the town, but these things happen in the heat of the moment. I expect a few of the neighboring villages saw the light and heard the rumble, and I further expect they carried that story south.” His grin returned, wide and wicked. “No one is coming for you, Sergeant, because no one thinks you are alive. Your commanders will think your position was bombed, and you were killed.”

    Booster put on a horrified expression, one he didn’t entirely need to fake when looking over the carnage one swing of the man’s axe had created, then swallowed. The reaction seemed to please the Axeman, and he continued, “You see, I have won. You should go back and tell your commander to surrender. If he does so before nightfall, I will allow the officers to-”

    His terms vanished as shouting came from the lines behind them, and several soldiers ran toward the front with their rifles ready. The Axeman turned, grabbing a nearby officer and barked something in German. The man stuttered a reply, with few words that Booster could hear, but one rang clear and true: panzer. Armor.

    The Axeman pulled the man in close and shouted orders at him, then shoved him away and rounded on Booster. His cheeks and mouth, visible beneath the warrior’s helm, were red with rage as he approached. He held his arm out to the side, and shimmering light erupted from his palm and coalesced into a dense haft. The battle axe was nearly as tall as the man wielding it, over six feet from end to end, and glowed a violent blue.

    He raised the axe overhead, but Booster was ready. In the seconds of confusion, he had drawn out his goggles and strapped them into place, bringing up his heads-up-display just as the axe appeared. Booster shot forward and struck the Axeman in the face, his fist coiled with rings of static charge.

    The Axeman staggered back, but Booster caught him under the arm and flung him over his back, toward the pit. There was a loud, angry growl from the Axeman has his axe vanished into a puff of light and his hands grasped desperately at the cliff’s edge. Booster grinned, staring at the man and walking slowly toward the point his fingers peeked over the precipice.

    It was difficult not to feel a little confident in that moment, and no small measure of cocky. He had bested the man rather easily with his surprise attack, and now he would be rid of him for a time. Booster brought up a foot, preparing to stamp down on the Axeman’s fingers with his heel. A loud howl from behind momentarily drew his attention, and the whimper that followed was paired with a sharp thud in the middle of his back that sent him tumbling over the edge.

★ ★ ★ ★ Now

    Booster rolled at first, slow and steady after crashing into the gently slope of the rounded crater. The sheer fall had been bad, nearly hard enough to scramble his wits and ragged enough to send sharp pain through his joints. Skeets would have been a great help in a fall like that, triggering the correct dampeners in the suit to avoid grievous injury. As it was, his HUD flashed three warnings to highlight the greatest points of impact.

    He didn’t need to see them to know what happened. A hard landing on one knee caused him to nearly stagger as he tried to take a step forward. It bore weight, so it wasn’t broken, but he wouldn’t be running any time soon. His left arm lay limp at his side, and he knew very well that it was broken. The last, and least obvious, was the ringing in his ears and the slow trickle of something warm from the top of his head.

    A concussion? he thought. He hoped it was, a concussion would heal but a cracked skull would be a real problem. Well, you’re the one who didn’t want to wear a helmet.

    Michelle was right sometimes, his vanity was going to get him into trouble someday. It seemed that was here. He drew in a sharp breath as a took a step, the chill of evening air stung as he sucked his teeth. There was blood there too, he could taste the iron. He glanced around, noticing the other two shapes for the first time. The first dark mass was a wolf, bleeding from a would in its side. It seemed to glow, some sort of red glow from its chest cavity drew his attention for a moment before his HUD triggered an alert from his right side.

    The Axeman stumbled to his feet, clutching at his own forearm and muttering something in German. His hand was limp, and the fingers spasm under his intense focus, but failed to move in any meaningful way. Booster couldn’t help grinning at that, regretting the motion as the skin of his lips seared with pain.

    And a split lip, Booster thought, adding it to his mental list. Lovely.

    Still, he was pleased with that small development. His enemy was down his dominant hand, and the axe he like to use seemed too large to wield with one hand. A victory was a victory, even a small one. Booster further noted that several pieces of the Axeman’s armor were dented severely or missing entirely. His helmet appeared to have taken a solid blow, and now sported a dent on the left side that left the once symmetrical shape oddly askew. He wasn’t quite sure why that bothered him, but it did. Booster now had several places to strike the man, other than his face, if he intended to fight. The Axeman saw Booster, then scowled.

    He spat blood as he spoke. “You are no soldier. You are like me, gifted.”

    “Oh, I’m pretty special, but I’m nothing like you.” Booster’s HUD brought up a targeting display, then lined up a shot on the Axeman. His chest plate lay disheveled on one side, a perfect place to strike. Booster released his broken arm and brought up the good one to aim at the man.

    A beam erupted from Booster’s outstretched arm, but Booster’s stance faltered. His knee, unable to deal with the strain, buckled and the beam struck the Axeman in the pauldron of his right shoulder, knocking him from his feet. Booster cursed softly, gingerly brushing his wounded knee and trying to pull himself upright. The Axeman was quicker, and found his feet a moment sooner. He stomped forward, his pace uneven, and summoned his axe at his side. It looked unruly in his off-hand, but he managed to raise it for a vertical strike.

    Booster’s instincts took the helm and he darted left, rolling over himself and landing with a painful thud that aggravated both his arm and his leg. There was a soft call from his ear piece.

    “Sir!”

    Booster’s head shot up, and he looked about wildly for the source of the voice. “Skeets!” he hissed between clenched teeth. The spot the Axeman had struck was pool of sand now, soft and shimmering against the light of his axe blade. From the sand, a red light appeared and darted into the sky, hanging high over the combatants.

    “Sir! You’re injured!” Skeets exclaimed.

    Booster couldn’t help grinning. “I am indeed Skeets, your powers of observation serve you well. Did you perhaps notice I’m in a fight as well?”

    “One that you’re losing, by the looks of it,” Skeets replied.

    “That’s up for debate.” Booster drew a long breath, the hoisted himself to his feet. Trying to shoot the Axeman again would be a mistake, and that really only left one option: hand to hand. “I did throw him into this pit, it was pretty impressive.”

    “And then fell in yourself, by the look of it,” Skeets chirped.

    “Well,” Booster said, spitting blood from his mouth and grinning. “I needed to put on a good show.” He winked at Skeets. “Lights… camera…”

    Overhead, the sound of gunfire and howls echoed into the invading night.

    “Action.”