Fort Condiga
July 6, 2019
1000 HRS ZULU

The Team arrives at the military installation, and they are greeted by the sounds of artillery and tank fire; as well as the sounds of ground support fighters and A-10s streaking overhead. Above the constant humming of diesel and electric engines, the Team hears the voice of Corporal Graves shouting orders over the radio.

Upon catching sight of the Team, he shouts, "Cease Fire! All units, cease fire! V.I.P.s on deck! Good work, everyone."

With that last order, the field falls silent. The silence is pierced by the sound of two, twin electro-turbine engines. The engines of one F-485 Spitfire. The craft lands a fewfeet away, and the occupants dismount.

"Ah, Wallace," the decorated artillery officer starts. "Glad you and your girlfriend could join us. Of course, only you can make a hypersonic fighter jet lose in a race against a Sea Hawk."

Wally just scoffs at the comment, while the others chuckle and laugh.

"At any rate," the officer continues. "Welcome Cadets! To your first and only day of long-range attack and mobility training. You all using state of the art, high end equipment to fulfill your requirements. Whose first?"

Arsenal steps forward.

"Ahh, the man with the bionic arm," Tom states jokingly. "This way please."

They walk over to a nearby table. Here, there is a varying assortment of weaponry. There are pistols, long-range rifles, rocket launchers, etc. Arsenal's eyes stop on a replica of his arm. He picks it up and examines it.

"That there is the X-487 bionic arm replacement. It is dual-functioning. As a limb, it acts as an arm but can also hack as electronic device it touches. It transforms into hand-held railgun, that can fire anything, as well as a high-energy plasma canon. The canon's projectiles have a yield of about 0.2 kilotons and a range of about fourteen miles."

"Impressive," Arsenal says. "May I?"

"Be my guest," Corp. Graves replies. He orders his second in command to set up some targets, as Arsenal readjusts his hardware.

Tom gestures toward the target: an outdated Patton tank, positioned about two or three miles away.

"Fire at will, cadet!" Tom exclaims.

Without hesitation, Arsenal lines up his sights and fires a plasma bolt at the '50s era tank. The bolt whizzes through the air at blinding speed, and strikes the tank's broadside. It erupts in a giant ball of fire, leaving nothing behind but a heap of smoking metal. Some large shards of metal are scattered around the field. Unbeknownst to them one of the shards got itself lodged in the side of a general's car on the far side of the field.

"Yeah! Now that is I'm talking about!!" Arsenal exclaims in excitement.

"I knew you would like it," the Corporal states charmingly. "For why have satisfaction when you can have retribution."

"This is good and all," Arsenal starts, "but when do we start training with those?" He gestures toward the artillery pieces lined up next to them.

The Corporal's second in command gets angry. "Oh no. No no no no! You are not going anywhere near tha--"

"Calm down, Private," the Corporal states calmly. "He just wants to take it for spin."

"Yeah, just a test drive," Arsenal teases, as he makes his way toward the high-caliber piece if military hardware. He takes the gunner's position as the second in command, Private James Polasko, cautiously instructs him how to operate the piece of machinery.

While the Private disgruntedly does what he is ordered, the Corporal's eyes look over the Team. His gaze falls upon a certain female archer.

"Artemis step forward," he commands calmly.

The blonde archer steps up to the table. Her eyes stop on a quiver filled with state of the art arrows.

Corporal Graves picks up one of the arrows and hands it to Artemis. She takes the arrow, and he gestures to a simple wooden target set up down field. She knocks the arrow, pulls back on the bow string, and aims for the target--which is a good two or three miles down range.

She takes a breathe.

She lets go, and watches the arrow fly. It streaks across the field and impacts the target in less than a second. After a brief two second pause the target explodes violently. Artemis smirks proudly.

Before the Corporal can explain the features of each arrow in the quiver, a loud explosion occurs in the foreground. After that, Arsenal is dragged back to the main group by a couple of MPs.

"Someone explain why this young man is in handcuffs," Corp. Graves says annoyed.

One of the MPs speaks up. "This man disobeyed direct orders and fired upon an unauthorized target."

"What did you hit?" Tom asks Arsenal.

"Oh, a Porshe," Arsenal replies nonchalantly.

"A Porche?" The higher officer questions. His face is a look of confusion as he thinks for a minute. It then changes to a look of fear as he exclaims, "You me that small four-door sedan on the other side of tree line on the far end of the field! That Porsche."

"Uh yeah."

"That's the General's car!"

"I hope he has good insurance," Arsenal jokes.

"Take this man away," Corp. Graves orders.

The MPs drag Arsenal away, and Tom turns to face the rest of the Team. His eyes fall upon a certain red head speedster.

"Private West!" He shouts. "Front and center!"

Wally does as he is told, and stands next to the Corporal. He turns and faces his team.

"Now, we shall begin the mobility portion of the training," the Corporal states. "Your task is to catch or take down the rogue speedster standing next to me."

"Is that it?" Robin asks.

"The first person to subdue Private West will get a front row seat at Arsenal's sentencing hearing and court marshall. Trust me, it will be very entertaining."

---------------------------------------------------------

After almost half an hour of chasing a red headed buffoon around an artillery field, the Team's quarry is caught in several nets and bolos. He is dragged to the far end of the field by his girlfriend, who releases him from her net.

"You know if you wanted some time alone with me," the redhead starts, "you just had to ask."

"Shut up, Baywatch," the archer replies sternly. "Now stay still."

Tigris pulls out a pocket knife and cuts away at the net. After being freed, the two are ushered off the field with the rest of the Team.

"What now, Colonel?" Nightwing asks.

"Now, you and your team will go home and rest up for the coming battle," Tom states confidently.

He hands Nightwing a list of names--stating that it is the seating roster for trip home. It goes as follows:

Jay-One:

Nightwing

Superboy

Kid Flash (WW)

Blue Beetle

Tigris

Wonder Girl

Rocket

Zatana

Jay-Two:

Miss Martian

Aqualad

Batgirl

Impulse

Guardian

Jay-Three:

Arsenal

Corp. Graves

Lt. Domingo

[A/N: Names of Artillery Gunners and Commanders]

Jay-Four:

[A/N: Anyone Else on the Team]

After breaking into the designated groups, the gather crowd mounts up. The Jayhawks take off and streak across the sky. After a few silent moments, the helicopters start to break off.

"For your safety, and to avoid enemy tracking," the pilots tell them.

Jay-One swoops low and passes under the other three, turning to travel in the opposite direction. Jay-Three performs a similar maneuver. The other two split and criss-cross, the lead pilot stating that they will rendezvous at a later point.

A soldier at the radar tracking station at Fort Condiga tracks the crafts' movements on his console. The base commander stands over his shoulder, also, observing the small screen.

The man, General Frank Rock, thinks to himself:

I hope Mr. Graves is right about these kids.

For if not......

......Then we all will be living in Hell.