Tales from the Stronghold

(featuring Panzershrike)

“Restraining the Beast” by Martin Maenza

Welcome to ‘Ground Zero’.

That’s the nickname of this place, a nickname it got from its previous usage as an underground bomb testing facility in the forties and fifties.  Sure, it was dangerous work but it was necessary too.  We had been forced into the Second World War with the Japanese raid on Pearl Harbor, and we weren’t about to just let that roll off of our backs.  World politics everywhere were changing, and the U.S. government needed to change with it to keep the country safe. 

The folks that were directly involved with the work here were very proud of the advances they were making at the time.  In fact, there’s even a commemorative plaque around in one of the offices that lists the names of the scientists who worked here back then.  I’m pretty sure Oppenheimer’s name is there; he must’ve come here after the Manhattan Project completed over in New Mexico – just a hop, skip and a puddle-jumper flight away.

All it took was a few A-bombs in strategic places were enough to make most of the world sufficiently afraid of the might of the Red, White and Blue.  The big brains must’ve figured they learned everything they could from test detonations, and the government must’ve felt their arsenal was sufficiently fortified.  Not surprising really.  So, they locked the doors and gates, giving the vultures a quiet place to perch while waiting for the next jackrabbit to come along.  The place gathered dust for about twenty years after that.

But it didn’t stay abandoned permanently.  No, the government would never do that.  Someone in Washington eventually got the bright idea to reuse the foundational structure for a meta-human holding facility.  The presence of meta-humans was growing a lot during the 70’s; they just seemed to be getting more and more difficult to handle.  The bigwigs in Washington must’ve figured that if this place could withstand the detonation of an atomic bomb or two that it could surely hold some of the nastiest powerhouses that ever walked the planet, the ones that seemed intent on taking over the world or doing as much damage as inhumanly possible.

It took some renovations though to whip this place into shape.  Some of the country’s finest scientific and technical minds came together to develop security systems and other needed equipment that would be put to use here.  Finally in 1980, this little plot of land in the Arizona desert about twenty-five miles west of Phoenix became the nation’s first Stronghold prison facility. 

Every day of work you just never know what might happen.  I should know.  I’ve been here since the first inmate was shipped in over a decade ago.

My name’s Eric T. Steele, but around here I also go by the name of…

“Panzershrike, sir,” a young man called out to me.  He had blonde hair, but in a standard issue army crew-cut.  It still didn’t make him look that much tougher.  He was of an average build and wore glasses.  Definitely more of desk-jockey type rather than a fighting soldier like some of the guys I served with back in the day.  “I have today’s arrival schedule.”  In his hand was a clipboard with many sheets attached.

I took it from him, flipped a few sheets over and glanced at the third page.  “Fifteen-thirty,” I said aloud.  “Good, good.”  I glanced at my watch, noting the current time.  “That gives me plenty of time to take care of my business in town, Corporal Peterson.”  I handed him back the clipboard.  “You know the drill, right?”

“Page you if anything comes up,” Mike Peterson responded in a by-the-book fashion.  Then he quickly added a “sir” to the end.

I had to smile.  You’ve got to love that military training; once it’s engrained into your system you have a hard time flushing it out again.  Still, he was a good kid, in his mid-twenties or so.  A little bit on the jittery side sometimes, but still a good kid.  Lousy at playing poker though.  Can’t bluff to save his life.

“That’s fine,” I said.  “Carry on then.”  And with that I walked out of the command center offices, turned left down the hallway that led past the visitor’s suite and the reception areas and then out the door of the main building.

The compound was broken up into various structures.  The main administrative offices were a single floor structure in a rectangular shape.  Flanked on each side of it were large octagonal shaped structures which appear to single story structures as well.  That was really deceptive though. 

In fact, what could be seen on the ground was in fact the upper most level of each of those buildings  Those first floors housed a reception area, break rooms, visitor suites and offices.  The higher ranking officers had quarters on those levels as well as barracks for the security troops and staff.  There were some labs and computer rooms on those levels as well.  A central elevator in the center of those floors led down to four additional levels underground.  It was on levels two through four that are housed the actual prison cells, converted over from the underground bomb testing facilities.  Level five of each structure housed the large turbines that generate the power for the facility.  We’re actually on our own power grid, separate from the surrounding area.  We needed to insure that we have juice twenty-four/seven, three hundred sixty five days a year.

There was one other rectangular building that runs along the back between the two main prison structures.  This housed the cafeteria and other service facilities.  Unlike the main prison structures which require security access, the services building are staffed mostly by civilians who pass successful government background checks.  Today was chili day and Conchita, one of the heads of the kitchen staff, made some of the spiciest beef and beans chili this side of the Grand Canyon.  Sadly, I didn’t have time to partake in any.  As I had said to Corporal Peterson, I had business in town and nothing was going to keep me from it.

So, I crossed the grounds to the parking lot and made my way to the spot reserved for my vehicle, a black, four-by-four pickup truck.  Parked next to it were a number of jeeps from the vehicle pool.  I pulled out my keys, hopped into the driver’s seat, cranked the ignition and put the truck into reverse.  After backing out of my spot, I shifted into drive and headed for the gate.  One of the guards, old Scott MacDonald, gave me a quick nod as I passed on through.

I headed down the long, winding road that lead from the prison down to the main highway.  Except for the occasional light pole, this road was pretty sparsely traveled at this time of day.  The Stronghold sat on part of a huge bunch of land owned by the government, and the only ones who traveled it were those that worked at the prison or who had official business there.  There was a secondary guard post at the end of the road, along with a second perimeter fence that also had mounted security cameras.  I soon passed all of that as well and was on the highway into Phoenix.

The Greyhound was late, so I had enough time to pick up a to-go coffee on my way.  I leaned up against the telephone pole on the street, taking periodic sips, as I watched people climb down off the bus to retrieve their bags from the underside compartment.  The bus wasn’t a choice for travel which I preferred, but there was hardly and option. 

Jennifer couldn’t afford the cost of the airline ticket, and she refused my offer several times over to cover it.  Just like always.  She was independent like that; that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with her all those years ago.  By the same token, neither she nor I could take the time off from our jobs to do the driving, even to meet halfway.  So, it was the bus or nothing. 

I was a bit leery about that, but she convinced me that we had nothing to worry about.  After all, our little girl was growing up.

When she stepped off the bus, I realized how true those words actually were.  It seemed like Molly changed so drastically between every visit we had together.  At age sixteen, she was growing into quite the young woman.  Her shoulder length, wavy brown hair reminded me a lot of how Jennifer looked back in high school.  I had to smile.

Molly’s face lit up when she saw me.  She took that last step off the bus with a leap and ran towards me, throwing her arms about my neck.  “Daddy!” she exclaimed with a great big hug.  “So good to see you!”

“You too, kiddo,” I said as I hugged her with one hand while holding my Styrofoam cup off to the side with the other.  “You too.”  I leaned back.  “Let me get a good look at you.”

She obliged my request and did a quick turn, just like she used to do when she was taking ballet classes when she was seven years old.  Her short white skirt spun about in the breeze.  “Well?” Molly asked.

I had to force back a tear.  She was growing up too fast.  “It’s like you’ve grown three inches taller since your Easter break,” I said with a bit of a laugh.  “They putting giant-growth potions in the water in Nevada these days?  Before you know it, you’ll be headlining the women’s NBA.”

“Oh, Daddy,” Molly laughed.  “You’re always such a kidder.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” I replied.  “So, where’s your bag?” 

“That one.”  She pointed to a large blue suitcase that looked like it had been through a war. 

As I picked it up, I noticed one of the clasps was missing a screw.  I made a mental note to fix it while she visited and to consider getting her a nice set of luggage when she graduated from high school.  “You hungry?”

“Starving,” Molly replied.  “We didn’t have much of a stop this morning.  The driver wanted to quickly fuel up so we wouldn’t loose much time.”

I glanced at my watch.  It was getting close to Thirteen-hundred, and I was hungry myself.  “Come on,” I said as I guided her and her bag towards the truck.  “I know just the place that shouldn’t be too crowded at this time.”

The Rusty Skillet – it might not sound like much from the name or even look like much from the nondescript front of the building.  But inside, the place was covered wall to wall with items that invoked the days of the old west.  The table tops were made from actual old wagon wheels and then fitted with clear, half-inch thick plastic to provide for a solid surface to eat from.  On the walls of one side of the room were framed pictures of old cowboy movie stars, some even autographed by those who occasionally frequented the place in days gone by.  There were old lariats, branding irons, calve skulls and the like mounted on the walls as well.  And on the far side was a large mural, one which took up the whole side, that depicted a cattle drive; it was painted by a local artist named Jeremy Pitts.  I’ve met him once or twice – a really nice guy.

Molly and I continued to catch up while we took a seat and looked over the menu.  Actually, I didn’t need to spend much time.  I knew I was having the half-pound Angus burger with cheese and smothered with onions and a side of steak fries.  “So, how’s your mom?”

“She’s doing good,” Molly said.  “Working a lot.  How’s the salad here?”

“He wouldn’t know,” a voice said from over my shoulder.  “I’ve never seen him order a salad the entire time he’s been coming in here.”

I turned about though I knew the voice too well.  “Hey, Sal.”

“Hey, Eric,” the woman said.  “Couldn’t get enough of the coffee earlier that you’re back again so soon?”

“You know I love your coffee,” I replied.

Sal was a dishwater blonde in her early fifties.  With her full, naturally curly hair, and her striking looks, she easily could have been a model or something.  Somehow, though, she never really made it out of town – not that you’d ever hear her complaining or having any regrets.  No, she was a people person and waitressing suited her well.

“So, who’s this little lady?” the waitress asked.

“Sal, this is my daughter Molly,” I said.  “Molly, this is Sally Rogers.”

“Nice to meet you,” Molly said as she put her menu down.

“Eric, you’ve got a daughter?  And one this pretty to boot?  She must take after her mother with those gorgeous looks.”  She laughed in a deep way, much the product of years of smoking and the occasional whiskey with the guys down at Murray’s Bar on her nights off.

I smiled.  “She sure does.”

Sally pulled out her notepad from her apron pocket and took a pencil from behind her ear.  “So, what’ll it be?”

“I’ll have my usual,” I said.

“I figured as much,” Sally said.  “How about you, sweetie?”

“Oh, what the heck – I’m on vacation,” Molly replied.  “I’ll have the fried chicken platter with mashed potatoes and gravy.  Oh, and a coffee as well, with cream and sugar.”

Sally smiled.  “Yeah, now I see the resemblance.  I’ll put the order in and bring you your coffees.”  And with that she left for the kitchen.

“Since when do you drink coffee?” I inquired.

“Oh, Daddy,” Molly evaded the question.  “I’m not twelve any more, you know.”

She definitely was growing up too fast.

“So, your mother’s good, huh?  Still dealing black-jack at the Desert Flower?”

“She moved over to the Oasis Dunes.  They offered her a little more money and every other weekend off.”

I nodded.  That was good to hear, though I would have preferred Jennifer have a bit more of a conventional job.  Then again, who was I to talk?  “So, is she seeing any one?”

Molly wrinkled her upper lip.  “Yes, this guy named Alan.  They’ve been going out for a few months now.”

“She meet him at the casino?”

“No,” Molly said.  “He’s an accountant.  They met when he did her taxes in April.”

“An accountant?” I repeated just as Sal was putting down our coffees.  I glanced up at her and said, “thanks.”  I turned back to Molly.  “Seriously?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “He’s a nice guy.  He makes Mom smile.”

I guess that’s all I could ask for.  If I couldn’t make Jennifer happy any longer, at least it was good to hear that someone else could.

We continued our father-daughter chat all through a leisurely lunch, allowing me a chance to hear about how the rest of her school year went, about the tennis team, and about what schools she was thinking about applying to.

Sally was just coming back to the table to clear our dishes and suggest desert when the pager attached to my belt suddenly started to vibrate.  I unclipped it, glanced at the number and hit more.  The code concerned me!  “Sal, can I use the phone?”

I was already on my feet and moving when she said, “Behind the counter, you know where it is.”

I quickly dialed the number and got the office.  “Got your page,” I said.  “What’s the situation?”  My face grew more concerned with each word I heard.  In less than a minute, I heard all I needed to know  “Okay!  Here’s what you do - try to keep him sedated!  And have someone grab my gear from my office and head out the highway to meet me!  I’m on the way!”

I hung up the phone and rushed back to the table where Molly and Sally were talking.  “Sorry, I’ve got to run,” I said.  “Sal, put lunch on my tab.  I’ll be back later to settle up and leave you a nice tip.”

“Daddy, what’s wrong?” Molly asked.

“Problem at work,” I said sternly.  “Need to go.”

She bolted up from her seat.  “I’m coming to.”

I didn’t have time to argue with her or even process it all.  I was needed back at the Stronghold, and I couldn’t leave her in town on her own.  “Fine,” I said.  “Let’s go!”

It’s a good thing the highway patrol knows me and my truck, otherwise I probably would have had to explain why I was driving like a bat out of hell down the highway.  Traffic was still light so I didn’t have to do a lot of swerving between lanes to pass the tourists and the locals soaking up the afternoon sun.  All the while, I was watching the other direction for one of the jeeps.

When I spotted it coming the other way, just a bit more than halfway, I told Molly to hold tight.  I cut the steering wheel sharply to the left and took the pick-up across the dirt median to intercept the jeep.  He saw me and proceeded to turn off as well.

“Stay put,” I told Molly as I jumped out of the driver’s side of the truck, the engine still running.  “I’ll send someone back for you as soon as it’s safe.”

I ran to the jeep and saw my equipment case in the backseat.  I hated changing while travelling, but I had not choice.  I leapt up into the back of the vehicle and told the man behind the wheel “Drive!”

When we barreled through the inside gate less than eight minutes later, I was fully dressed in my black and silver armor with it’s bullet-shell shaped headpiece.  I was ready for action which was a good thing too.  All hell was breaking loose!

There was shouting as soldiers and staff were trying to surround the cause of the problem.  It was the afternoon arrival, which ended up arriving earlier than scheduled I might add – a large muscular beast with tan-brown skin and red-black hair, and with a huge wingspan, that went by the name of Wyvern!  While it staggered about from side to side, no doubt still a bit dazed, it was hardly in the mood to lay down and go to sleep.  It looked angry and it was fixing to get a little payback at whoever tried to keep it captive.

This wasn’t going to be fun at all.

No point in putting off the inevitable.  “Hey, ugly!” I shouted out to the beast.  “You looking for a wrestling match?”  And with that, I leapt from the back of the jeep and dove straight towards the monster.

I was rather surprised when Wyvern whipped around suddenly and brought its tail in to intercept my tackle.  The thick appendage slammed me hard, knocking me the few feet to the ground as if I were so much an annoying gnat.  I was getting mad as I spit some dust from my mouth.  It was bad enough it caught me off-guard, but the damn thing was now ignoring me and threatening my staff again.  That tore it! 

“Okay, ugly,” I said as I rose to my feet.  “Let’s try this again!”  This time I lunged forward and grabbed it by the tail, looking to avoid a repeat of the last few moments.  As I held firm, I could feel the appendage trying to break free from my grip to swipe at me again.  “Not this time!”

The Wyvern let out a high pitched screech and began to flap its massive wings at me.

I had to duck quickly to avoid being hit by the long, curved edges of them.  Still it squirmed about and started to move on its legs.  “No, no!” I shouted.  “You’re not going anywhere!”  I looked to my staff members who were circling about but keeping their distances. “Wasn’t this one sedated for the trip?”

“He was,” Corporal Peterson yelled out, clipboard still in hand as he flipped through the pages.  “But the initial dosages must have worn out just as the air transport arrived.”

“Didn’t you guys try and re-sedate him like I instructed?”

“We tried, sir,” Peterson said, “but his exterior hide was too thick to get any needles into!  He knocked away the medics and burst from the restraining harness!”

“Did you try the tranquilizer guns?” I asked as I dug my feet in.  Holding the tail fast, it kept the Wyvern from pulling away further.

“We were about to get them when you arrived,” one of the other armed guards replied.

“Well, what are you waiting for?  An engraved invitation?”  While I was pleased with my staff’s confidence that they thought I could handle the situation, I was a little annoyed too.  I guess I’ve made them too dependent on me as the resident super of the facility.  I’ll need to address that at Monday’s weekly meeting…assuming we all lived that long.

It was right then that my opponent decided to stop trying to get away.  I felt the tail go slack slightly as the beast stopped trying to move away from me and instead began to turn around.  Its red eyes glared at me, and it hissed through sharp fanged teeth.  Yeah, someone wasn’t a happy camper.

I had little warning as Wyvern opened its mouth wide and began to spew forth a stream of glowing green fire.

I jumped back out of the way in surprise as the ground where I stood was suddenly singed.  “Peeyew!” I exclaimed.  That flame had the smell of sulfur to it.  If this creature wasn’t in some way hell-spawned, it certainly did a nice imitation of one that was.  Unfortunately, my grip loosened when I avoided the burning attack, and that gave my enemy the opening it needed.

Wyvern kept the flames coming a few seconds more as it began to flap its wings.  I guess it was thinking with a clearer head now and it was planning to make a break for it.  As it started to rise from the ground, it turned its head and sent a warning shot of fire at the guards to try to keep them at bay.

If it took off there’s no telling how fast this one could fly.  I knew I had one chance to take this thing down.  So, I ran forward, bent my knees and jumped into the air. 

Wyvern was continuing to rise up, its back to me. 

I reached out with both hands and grabbed its feet about the ankles, avoiding the sharp talons on the end of its toes.  “Sorry, buddy, but this flight is cancelled!” I said.

I was hoping that my additional weight would be too much for the thing to handle.  To my surprise, Wyvern still strained with its wings to keep aloft and continue to rise, albeit much more slowly.

From the ground, I heard Peterson shout, “Sir, we have the tranquilizer gun!  We’ll attempt to fire when we have an opening!”

Keystone cops.  I was working with the Keystone cops.  “Negative!” I shouted back.  “Let me try something first!”

I started to rock back and forth, in part to avoid any attempts of Wyvern’s to grab me with its clawed hands.  I figured too this would keep me out of a direct line of fire from that fire-breath too.  I kept swinging back and forth, working up my momentum.

After a moment or two, I went for it, swinging myself forward and bringing my legs up and around to connect a foot solidly to the side of the Wyvern’s skull. 

This act brought out cheers from the assembled below.

Still, Wyvern kept aloft, so I went for another swinging strike.  I figured one more should cause him to give up the fight.  As I swung my legs back up for another blow, this time he caught my foot in his hands.  “Aw damn!” I cursed.  I should have known better.  I kept thinking of this thing as an “it”, but it had the thinking brain of a man – or at least it did at one time.  I should have known he/it wasn’t going to let me keep kicking it in the head.  I tried to pull my caught leg free, but the Wyvern held strongly. 

So here we were, hovering in the air in some living circle of bodies.  Something had to give.

The Wyvern then started to claw at my leg, trying to puncture my armor with those sharp talons on his hands.  I wasn’t sure how strong they were, or whether my armor would hold, or if he had some kind of poisonous attack with them.  I needed to end this!

With my one free leg, I began to kick at the Wyvern, hoping to strike some place vital.  It just needed to be enough to get him to stop flying.  I kicked at his side and chest.  I even scored a shot to his jaw.  On that one, he released my captive leg and tried to ensnare the one causing the trouble.  I took that opening to kick again with both legs.  I was starting to get tired.

One more shot – and this time another score to the side of the head.

The Wyvern screeched in pain.

His wings suddenly went limp, and we started to plummet.

Man, I really hate uncontrolled flight!

I glanced about and saw the ground coming up fast!  I jerked Wyvern’s body around in the air, trying to position him between myself and the ground.  I figured that from this height and how durable he seemed to be that he could take it.  I knew I probably could too, but why take the chances.

We hit the ground hard!

I lay there for a second atop the beast, until Peterson and the others rushed over to us.  Peterson helped me rise to my feet while one of the other guards shot the prisoner up with some tranquilizers.

“Good job, sir,” Peterson praised me.

“Yeah,” I said as my head was starting to clear.  “Thanks.  Just make sure our guest is out cold until we can get him to his permanent cell.  I don’t need to go through that again today.”

Scott MacDonald from the gate house approached us quickly.  “Sir, we just got a call from the outer gate.  A young girl is there and she is driving your truck.”

Molly!  I must have left the keys with her!  “Tell them to send her up,” I said.  “The situation here is under control.”  I tried to recall if Molly had her license yet or not.  If not, it was time to trade the combat helmet for the parenting hat.

But first I’d need some coffee.  And, I wondered, if Conchita might have some chili left at the cafeteria.  All this action worked up my appetite.