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Tony Stark’s home was a sprawling, ultramodern mansion atop a tall bluff on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, with a commanding view of the surf far below. Tony wasn’t admiring the view, though. As usual, he was working in the huge laboratory-garage beneath the mansion. This morning, his project was tuning up one of the cars in his collection, an old ’32 Ford. He looked up as Pepper entered the workshop.
“Boss,” she said, “you still owe me five minutes—”
“Just five?” he asked, cutting in. “We really should spend more quality time together.” He smiled at her, but she merely sighed.
“Focus,” she said. “I need to leave on time today.”
“Why the rush?” he asked. Tony gazed into her eyes. “You have plans tonight, don’t you?”
Pepper lifted her perfect nose just slightly. “I’m allowed to have plans on my birthday.”
“It’s your birthday again?” Tony said.
“Yep,” she replied. “Funny—same day as last year.”
“Well, get yourself something nice from me,” he said.
“I already did,” Pepper said, smiling indulgently. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Potts.”
James Rhodes paced the tarmac. “Where is he?” he grumbled. Behind him, Tony’s private jet sat waiting.
Just then, a sports car roared up, a limousine right beside it. Tony’s chauffeur, Happy Hogan, popped open the trunk and pulled out Tony’s overnight suitcase. Tony hopped out of the car and headed directly toward the jet. “You’re good,” he said to Happy. “Thought I lost you back there.”
“You did,” Happy said. “I had to cut across Mulholland.”
Rhodey followed Tony to the plane, fuming. “I was standing out there for three hours!”
Tony stopped at the top of the stairs to his plane, a custom-built jet bearing the company slogan: stark industries—tomorrow today. “Waiting on you now,” he said. “Let’s go. Wheels up! Rock and roll!”
Shaking his head, Rhodey followed Tony.
The flight attendant shut the cabin door as Tony and Rhodey settled into the jet’s plush leather seats.
After dinner, Rhodey and Tony got into another argument. “You just don’t get it,” Rhodey said, annoyed. “I don’t work for the military because they paid for my education; it’s a responsibility to our country.”
Tony regarded his friend coolly. “All I said was, with your smarts and your engineering background, you could write your own ticket in the private sector.” He flashed a smile. “And working as a civilian,” Tony continued, “you wouldn’t have to wear that military straitjacket.”
“Straitjacket?” Now Rhodey wasn’t just annoyed. He was angry. He unbuckled himself and got up to move away from Tony. “You know, the heck with you,” Rhodey said. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”
“Hot sake?” Tony asked as one of the flight attendants brought a tray with a bottle and two glasses.
“We’re not drinking,” Rhodey insisted. “We’re working right now.”
“I’m just talking about a nightcap,” Tony said. Rhodey accepted. After a while, he wasn’t as angry anymore. Tony was Tony; what could you do?
The next morning, they touched down in Bagram Air Force Base in Afghanistan. Once there, a convoy of Humvees took them from the base to a fortified test site in the desert. As Rhodey settled in among the generals and VIPs, Tony went to work. He walked up and down the makeshift stage, boasting the virtues of Stark Industries’s latest equipment.
“The age-old question,” Tony said, “is whether it’s better to be feared or respected. I say, is it too much to ask for both?”
His eyes gleamed as he walked over to a Jericho missile perched atop a mobile launcher.
“With that in mind,” Tony continued, “I present the crown jewel of Stark Industries’s Freedom Line of armaments. This is the first missile to incorporate my proprietary Repulsor Technology—or RT, as we like to call it. A breakthrough in energy control and guidance.”
He pressed a button on a remote, and the missile streaked into the air. The rocket arced gracefully toward a nearby rocky mountain peak.
“Fire off one of these babies,” Tony said, “and I guarantee the enemy is not going to leave their caves. For your consideration...the power of Jericho.”
He pointed as the Jericho missile divided from a single weapon into a swarm of minimissiles. The missiles smashed into the nearby peak. With a deafening roar, the mountain exploded into a shower of debris.
Dust washed over Tony and the generals. Tony continued smiling, unfazed by the sudden blast. When the smoke cleared, much of the mountaintop was gone. The generals and Afghan officials nodded and muttered among themselves, impressed.
“Gentlemen,” Tony said, “Stark Industries operators are standing by to take your orders.” He walked off the stage to where Rhodey stood waiting.
“I think that went well,” Tony whispered to his friend.
Rhodey started to say something, but Tony was already answering his satellite videophone. He punched a button and Obadiah Stane’s weary face appeared on the screen.
“Obie, what are you doing up so late?” Tony asked.
“I couldn’t sleep until I found out how it went,” Stane replied. “How did it go?”
Stark grinned. “I think we’ve got an early Christmas coming.”
“Way to go, my boy,” Stane replied blearily.
“Why aren’t you wearing those pajamas I got you?” Tony asked.
“Good night, Tony,” Stane said, and hung up.
Tony passed the phone to Rhodey, and then walked over to a row of soldiers waiting by the group’s Humvees. “All right,” Tony said, “who wants to ride with me?” Reading the name tag of a young soldier nearby, he asked, “Jimmy?”
Jimmy’s young face lit up. “Me?” The two soldiers with him—Ramirez and Pratt, according to their name tags—nodded as well. Tony and the three soldiers piled into the vehicle. Rhodey was about to get in as well, but Tony stopped him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is the Fun-Vee. The Hum-Drum-Vee is back there.”
The look he got from Rhodey was part bemusement and part irritation. “Nice job,” Rhodey said.
Tony accepted the compliment like he deserved it. “See you back at base,” he said.
As Rhodey headed for another vehicle, Tony slammed the door shut. Ramirez cranked up the stereo, and their Humvee roared off into the desert.