The next day, New York was still gloomy, with sporadic drizzles still falling from the sky.
Frank was inside the house, in the training room, hitting a punching bag, when the doorbell rang.
I walked over and opened the door. Puncher, still dressed in a gray and black hoodie, was standing at the door. He raised the large brown paper bag in his hand and asked, "Would you like to eat something together?"
Frank turned aside expressionlessly to make way for the door: "I've eaten."
Luke walked in and asked, "Do you want me to save some for your lunch?"
Frank just shook his head, closed the door, and they both sat back on the living room couch.
Luke casually pulled out a cheeseburger from the large paper bag and took a bite. “How was your rest?”
Frank: “It’s OK.”
Luke reached out for the remote control on the coffee table and pressed a button, and the window immediately became single-sided.
Throwing away the remote control, he pulled out a cell phone from his backpack and tossed it to Frank: "It contains a general description. Take a look first. If everything is ok, we can start the preliminary preparations."
Frank took the phone, found an "action plan" file on the desktop, opened it and started reading.
Luke walked slowly beside him, finishing a burger, picking up another, and eating five in one go before stopping.
Frank had just finished browsing the documents and looked up at him: "Are you sure that we have to protect citizens in Manhattan, New York, and plan how to resist tens of thousands of enemies. They also have fighter planes with technology far superior to the F4, conservatively estimated to be more than 500, and... um, an unknown number of aerospace carrier-type warships?"
Luke nodded calmly, "That's right."
Frank was silent for a moment, but decided to ask more clearly: "What is an aerospace carrier? An aircraft carrier?"
Luke nodded calmly again: "That's about it. They can fly into the sky and release a lot of fighter planes and soldiers."
Frank was so calm that he almost wanted to hit someone: "Are you sure you're not talking about a science fiction movie? Where on earth did the aerospace carrier come from?!"
Even with the United States claiming to be the world's best in scientific research, there is no news of such equipment.
Now saying that someone is going to use this thing to attack Manhattan, and there are more than one, is simply nonsense.
Luke thought about it, but still took out another cheeseburger and took a bite, "Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. might have one."
"Uh... what?" Frank looked shocked. "They still have this kind of thing?"
Luke: "Maybe. At least it is technically possible."
Frank said nothing more, his eyes flickering.
Luke didn't rush him and continued eating his cheeseburger.
Even dear Uncle Frank needs time to accept such an incredible thing, otherwise he would not be a human being.
After a while, Frank got up, walked to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of mineral water, opened it and took a sip.
After a moment of silence, he asked, "So that's why you came to me?"
Luke patted the burger residue on his hands and said, "Otherwise. Ordinary opponents don't need to send a superhero team to carry out this special operations mission."
Frank has also thought about this during this period of time.
If Batman hadn't been facing such a terrifying opponent, how could he be willing to be a soldier and let him command him.
You know, he and Batman don't even know each other.
Unless it is absolutely necessary, there is no way the other party would give his life to a stranger.
As for why I looked for him, the reason was very simple.
The opponent needs a commander who can find the enemy's loopholes and turn defeat into victory in an absolute disadvantageous situation.
He needs to lead a team of superheroes to carry out an operation similar to decapitation tactics.
Otherwise, even if he had more than a dozen superheroes at his command, it would be impossible for him to fight against tens of thousands of opponents who had complete air superiority and win.
Once they are exposed, the enemy can beat them into pieces with just a little manpower and firepower, and no superheroes will be of any use.
Special operations is not a magical weapon, on the contrary it is always a huge adventure.
One small mistake could result in the annihilation of all combatants.
Not to mention that the opponents are not weaklings, but an army with super-advanced technology, which will only further reduce the team's chances of survival.
He thought about it and looked at Luke: "What about the specific information? The distribution of the enemy's weapons and personnel. I need these things."
Luke finally smiled bitterly and spread his hands: “That’s the problem.”
Frank had a bad feeling in his heart: "What do you mean?"
Luke: "What I gave you is probably all the information about the other party. If you must explain it a little, you can understand it as... an alien fleet."
Frank's eyes widened: "What?"
He didn't expect to get such a ridiculous answer.
Luke confirmed it again: "Yes, they are an alien fleet capable of space travel, and they are definitely not new recruits."
"Ma'arafake!" Frank finally uttered this vulgar word.
…
Not long after, Luke took Frank out of the temporary safe house and headed for the real combat center.
The operations center is located in the suburb of North Bergen, New Jersey, where Elena College is located.
However, the two are located in the east and west, respectively, and the combat center is closer to Manhattan.
Luke started building this place a few months ago.
It was originally a machinery processing plant. After being acquired by Luke using a pseudonym ID as the new boss, it underwent a month of major construction.
But before it could reopen, it was announced that its capital chain had broken and construction could not continue temporarily.
After consuming a large amount of machinery and raw materials, the factory went into a state of suspension and waiting for production.
However, the new owner did not declare bankruptcy, so even though the factory was not in operation, it had very professional security guards.
These security guards are very familiar to Mr. Riddle, a person in charge who occasionally comes in and out of here.
Today, Mr. Riddle brought a new face, Mr. Hammer-Smith, and told the security that this was the new factory supervisor, responsible for maintaining everything here.
In other words, this "hammersmith" is the immediate superior of the four security guards.
Looking at the new boss with a poker face, who just nodded slightly and turned to walk away, the four security guards had a bad feeling: this Mr. Blacksmith doesn't look easy to get along with.
Fortunately, Mr. Riddle is always so understanding. He pulled the security team leader aside and gave him some instructions.
The gist of it was that Mr. Smith was just a little old-fashioned, and as long as they followed his orders, there would be no problem.
The security guard employment contract will last at least until the end of one year, and if the performance is good, it may even be replaced by a long-term contract of three to five years.
The security guards were relieved.
Compared to the panic-stricken New York, life in North Bergen is quite comfortable except that it is a little boring, and the salary as a security guard is also very good.
If I lose this job, only God knows whether I will get such good treatment next time.