“Standard procedure, sir,” said the soldier. “If you don’t have ID someone here on base will have to vouch for you.”
Twin lines of smoke curled out of St. George’s nostrils. “Well,” he said, “I forgot my wallet about a year and a half ago, so I guess somebody’ll have to vouch for me. Is Freedom around?”
“Captain Freedom is in a meeting,” said another soldier. This one was pushing fifty and had a fair amount of gray in his hair. Again, the hero saw only one chevron. If memory served, it meant the man was a private.
“Look,” St. George said. “Can I be blunt?”
They shuffled on their feet.
“I just flew close to four hundred miles at top speed. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and none of you is carrying anything that would even slow me down if I decided to walk into that building over there.” He pointed at a random office. “So could somebody please find Captain Freedom or Agent Smith?”
They exchanged glances and mouthed a few silent words. The gray haired soldier stepped away and turned his attention to his radio. The first soldier gave St. George a polite bow of his head. “It’ll just be a moment, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his flight jacket and looked around. He’d never been on a military base before, but Krypton looked a lot like what he expected from watching movies. Most of the buildings looked like they were designed for function more than form, and they all felt just a few years out of date.
Of course, everything was starting to get a few years out of date.
St. George turned his head and noticed one of the soldiers, the youngest one, was staring at his forehead. He reached up and tapped the goggles. “For flying,” he said. “It can’t hurt me, but getting a bug in your eye at a hundred and fifty miles an hour is still pretty gross.”
All of them grinned. “It wasn’t that, sir,” said the private. He was nineteen, tops.
“What then?”
“I just... nothing.”
“What?”
The private shrugged. “Well... I always thought you were green. With a big fin on your head.”
St. George smiled. “That’s the Savage Dragon. I was the Mighty Dragon.”
“Was he your partner or something?”
“No, he’s a comic book character. I’m real.”
“St. George? That’s like, a knight, right?” One of the other soldiers gestured with his chin. “Is that why you’ve kinda got one of those page-boy haircuts?”
He sighed. “No, we just don’t have any good barbers left back in Los—”
“St. George,” called Freedom. The officer strode out of a building, towering over the woman who followed him. The hero recognized her from the Mount.
The soldiers around St. George stepped away and fell into a line. The officer crossed the gap in a few quick strides and grabbed the hero’s hand in a grip that would’ve cracked bones in a normal man. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”
“Good to see you, captain.” He tried to return the grip and realized Freedom had done that damned macho-leverage thing to lock St. George’s fingers.
“Your people are waiting for you at Doctor Morris’s new workshop,” said Freedom, releasing the hand. “It’s about a ten minute walk from here if you’re up for it.”
“Sure. Good to stretch the legs after all that flying.”
“As you were,” Freedom told the soldiers. They snapped off a set of salutes and he turned to the woman. “I’ll meet you back at the office, First Sergeant.”
She handed him the bundle she’d been carrying. Then she gave a salute of her own and a quick bow of her head to the hero.
“I’m never quite sure how things line up between officers and enlisted,” said St. George. “Is she your assistant or something like that?”
“First Sergeant Kennedy?” He shook his head and gestured in a direction to walk. “Easiest way to think of it is I’m the one in charge of the Unbreakables, but she’s the one who runs everything.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve got a small welcome gift for you,” said Freedom. He handed over the bundle. “I noticed your jacket was a little ragged. This is the newest Army Combat Uniform coat. Reinforced with a triple-layer Kevlar weave. A bit more durable than what you’ve been wearing.”
The hero shook out the coat. “Thanks.” It was a blur of tiny squares. Someone had stitched up a velcro nametag that said DRAGON in bold letters.
“Let me know if it doesn’t fit. Sergeant Johnson estimated your size.” They walked in silence for a few yards before Freedom spoke again. “I also hope you’ll accept my apology, sir, for our hasty actions back in Los Angeles. It wasn’t our intention—definitely not mine— to start our association by throwing punches.”
“Tense times,” said St. George. “I guess it wouldn’t’ve been that out of the question for someone to take a shot in a situation like that.”