In a war-torn future, a mysterious man has been dug up in the Saharaâsomehow alive, buried for who knows how long, wearing an indestructible helmet that cannot be removed. He is a man with strange abilities and an even stranger personality.
He is captured and held prisoner at a remote facility where future soldiers are trained. Shortly after, the daughter of a dead corporate tycoon shows up and begins snooping around.
This attracts the attention of dangerous enemies, and those about to get caught in the crossfire will need the help of the Helmet Man if they are going to survive.
In a war-torn future, a mysterious man has been dug up in the Saharaâsomehow alive, buried for who knows how long, wearing an indestructible helmet that cannot be removed. He is a man with strange abilities and an even stranger personality.
He is captured and held prisoner at a remote facility where future soldiers are trained. Shortly after, the daughter of a dead corporate tycoon shows up and begins snooping around.
This attracts the attention of dangerous enemies, and those about to get caught in the crossfire will need the help of the Helmet Man if they are going to survive.
The sun would soon be no more.
But for now, it beat down upon Henry. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He wiped it off with a dirty work glove. He just needed to dig for another hour. Then he could head back to the Bunker, where there was air-conditioning and water that wasnât lukewarm.
He stabbed the ground with a shovel again and barely got a handful of dirt for his efforts. He had dug the square hole six feet deep and eight feet wide over the course of several days. Now he needed a stepladder just to climb out.
Henry had always been a little spacey, but ever since heâd joined cadets it had only gotten worse, resulting in numerous punishments for incidents not quite his fault. It sometimes got so bad that he had to go see the nurse. But he only needed to remember three things today.
Dig. Throw. Repeat.
He jammed the shovel into the ground, expecting tough soil, but the shovel hit a solid object instead. Henry looked down at his handiwork and saw that he had struck gold.Â
Or, rather, silver.
Henry sighed. âSure hope that isnât the septic tank . . .â
The silver glinted in the sun. He put his shovel down and began to push the soil off the shiny surface with his hands. The object was somewhat spherical in nature. It felt smooth and polished despite being in the ground for who knows how long. He started to pull it out. As he tugged, he realized that the base of the object was attached to something, a heavy something, a fleshy something.
A human body.
The cadet jumped back and stared at the object with fascination and dread. It was some kind of silver helmet. His scattered mind also focused upon the inanimate figure wearing it. He spent half a minute hyperventilating before forcing himself to take a deep breath. He leaned forward a little to examine the body, keeping his distance.
The body convulsed.
âWaa!â Henry yelped. The body convulsed again. And again.
Then it went still.
Any composure Henry had left vanished. He screamed, ran for the stepladder, and began to unfold it. He had just set it up when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
âHey there, scrawny boy!â
Henry shrieked. The hand spun him around, forcing him to face its reanimated owner. The figure standing before him was about six feet tall. It wore tattered clothes, old combat boots, and gloves covered with holes.
The body then grabbed Henryâs throat with one hand. Henry gagged. He clawed at the limb, but the body didnât react even when his nails drew blood.
âPlease . . .â Henry croaked. âLet go . . .â
The body complied. Henry fell on his backside and gasped for breath, feeling the dry air fill his lungs.
âI . . . Who are you . . . ?â he asked.
The body scratched its silver helmet. The helmet was smooth and wrapped completely around its ownerâs head. It also had no eyeholes or any distinguishing marks. Henry didnât know how its wearer could breathe, let alone see. The helmet seemed to go underneath the jaw, all the way to the neck. It looked impossible to take off. The silver surface gleamed. It reflected back Henryâs petrified face.
âAre you scared?â the body asked, sounding constipated. âIs it because Iâm bald? Donât worry. Bald people creep me out too.â
Henry got on his feet, gingerly touching his neck. âMy throat . . .â
âWhoa, no need to whine. You were the one poking me with a shovel. How was I supposed to react?â
Henry snatched up his shovel. He pointed it at the Helmet Man. âBy theâthe authority of the Western Union . . . youâre under arâarrest . . .â
The Helmet Man put his hands on his hips and laughed. âOh, please. Donât hurt me. Iâm no match for a dehydrated teenager with a shovel.â
Almost on pure instinct, Henry hit the Helmet Man in the leg with the shovel.
âOw! You actually did it!â The Helmet Man collapsed and tried to crawl away.
âYouâre not getting away from me!â Henry yelled, not stuttering this time. He raised the shovel and hit the Helmet Manâs torso repeatedly.
âAh! What kind of parents raised you?â the Helmet Man cried.
Henry was on autopilot. He didnât know he had it in him. A small smile materialized on his boyish face. He couldnât wait until Gilda heard about this.
But the Helmet Man grabbed the end of the shovel just as it was coming down for another hit. He tore the shovel out of Henryâs hands and smacked him right in the jaw with it. Henry fell to the ground. His eyes rolled back.
âHa, the tables have turned!â the Helmet Man yelled. He got up and walked over to Henry, holding the shovel above him. âPrepare to die, piggy!â
A gunshot interrupted his attempted murder. A soldier in a dark green uniform appeared on the edge of the hole with his rifle aimed at the Helmet Man.
âUh . . . I mean prepare to live a long and prosperous life.â
The soldier cocked his weapon.
âWhat? What did I do?â
This is a novel version of a superhero movie, and it pretty well ticks all the boxes for a YA Action/Adventure. Beings with magical powers and names like âSandtrap, â âIncognitoâ and âCloak.â Disregard for coincidence and continuity of plot. Lots of great action.
The story has the required amount of comedy and quips to keep the story light, but the author knows when to get serious and  keep the tension strong. There is also just enough serious thought to give the characters dimension and the story meaning. Itâs a bit heavy on the ârah-rah democracy and freedom,â but once again, that is expected in this sort of book.Â
A good deal of thought has gone into the world building. A very plausible future time line gives the political conflict clout, as it is rooted in problems in present-day international affairs. The sympathy the story evokes for the downtrodden of the developing nation resonates with us, and even some of the worst villains get their moments of explanation of how neocolonialism destroyed their lives.Â
The best action sequences are the one-on-one battles. Magical characters have closely restricted powers, and the author is careful to keep them on script. So, the man who shoots electrical charges has no other weapon, and when he is matched against a woman who throws bolts of pure energy, the battle becomes a ballet of mayhem as they each duck the otherâs attacks.Â
However unsophisticated the target readership is, an author canât be allowed to be negligent of standard writing conventions. Use of passive voice takes the immediacy and power out of the action.  Poor control of point-of-view breaks our emotional contact with the characters. Plot jumps cut into our concentration.
But these are all minor details, and the average young reader wonât care. This book is not great literature. Itâs an easy, entertaining read, recommended for YA readers, especially fans of Superhero movies.Â