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Batman 1939: Swimming In the Styx
Chapter 28: The Styx
Alabama.
It was evening when the Douglas DC-2 landed. The Gulf of Mexico had been visible during its final descent, but through a window. Wonder Woman had forgotten what it was like to travel by air and arrive while still inside the aircraft. It was a very pleasant experience. Batman had not moved in hours. She presumed he was asleep, though it was impossible to say with much of his face covered. Since they first met, she had been curious whether he had regular human eyes under those white lens. Perhaps those were his eyes. If they ever managed a casual conversation, that would be her first question.
As the DC-2 taxied toward a hanger, the co-pilot came out of the cockpit. He looked ready to speak, but he hesitated when he said that Batman had a cloth wrapped around his mouth. He glanced uncomfortably at Wonder Woman who shrugged. The co-pilot took a step toward Batman and prepared to speak again when Batman suddenly removed the cloth from his head and unbuckled his seatbelt. "What's wrong?"
The co-pilot was taken aback at this sharp question. "Uh, sorry, we just got word that the next leg of your trip is canceled."
Batman and Wonder Woman both stood. Batman asked, "Why?"
"We've had good men trying to book any flight we can find into Argentina, military or civilian, but no luck. Word's come out from Buenos Aries that the country's experiencing some sort of revolution. All Americans have been barred from entering the country, and they've grounded all incoming flights indefinitely just in case. No airline in the hemisphere is chartering flights there now, and we'd need orders from the President if you want us to go in their airspace."
"And you just learned this now?"
"We've been trying to figure out a solution half the flight, but we didn't want to wake you."
Batman rubbed his jaw. "Could you fly us to Columbia?"
The co-pilot scratched his head. "Sure. Once we refuel. But I'm telling you, no pilot there is going to land in Argentina."
"Do it."
"Okay. You're the boss." The co-pilot returned to the cockpit, muttering, "Somehow."
Wonder Woman turned to Batman. "Perhaps Der Wehrwulf has been similarly delayed."
He shook his head. "The Fascists are behind this flight restriction. If she's with them, she'll get through."
"What are you planning in Columbia?"
Batman crossed his arms. "I have friends in Bogotá who can get us Argentina faster than anyone."
Wonder Woman looked impressed. "You have friends?"
Bogotá, Columbia.
It was after midnight when the DC-2 landed in Columbia. Batman and Wonder Woman took clothes from the plane into the small airport's restrooms. They emerged from their respective restroom at the same time, nodded mutually, and left.
Both carried a bag. Batman wore large aviator sunglasses, a blue suit, matching gloves, and a white panama hat. If he had difficulty seeing at night through sunglasses, she didn't notice. Diana was impressed that the outfit managed to cover nearly the same portion of the man as his caped costume. It only jeapordized his nose, and it wasn't a remarkable nose. Meanwhile, she wore a blouse and skirt in pastel reds, almost in a proper size. It wasn't from her bag; the variety of fine women's outfits stored in the military craft was nothing short of astounding.
Batman led her to a street car which brought them to a fruit market. Tucked off the main avenue was a restaurant that was lit inside but closed for the night. He entered through a rear door into a large kitchen in the late stages of the nightly cleanup. The chefs stared at them but said nothing. They walked to a staircase leading down, but it was blocked by a surly teenager in a gaudy yellow suit.
The teenager eyed him and Diana and puffed out his chest. Batman asked in capable Spanish, "Is Abuela home?"
Diana was as surprised by this as the boy, as Batman's voice hadn't merely turned Spanish but smoother and friendly.
The boy growled. "Who wants to know?"
Batman smiled. "Forgive me. Tell her Esteban Bacardi is in town."
The teenager sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Wait." He eyed them both again, then stomped down the stairs.
Diana eventually looked at Batman. "Esteban Bacardi? Is that your true name?"
"It's one name."
"Are you from here?"
"I've visited."
"Who is Abuela?"
"Hopefully our ticket south."
"From a chef?"
"Consider the restaurant her side job."
Before Diana could ask more, the teenager returned. He told them to leave their bags and beckoned them down. The dim basement was much livelier than the restaurant above. Men and women gambled at round tables. In the center was a cockfight surrounded by spectators. The teenager led them to the end of this room where a curtain and two grim men isolated one corner.
One of the men began to pat her down. Diana's eyes grew large and her fingers bent into claws, but Batman shot her a stern look. She gave him a furious glare in return but resisted the urge to remove the offending man's arm. When he was finished, he patted Batman down as well, then opened the curtain. Inside was a old woman in a sequined pink gown fit for a stage diva. She stood over a short desk counting money and pecking at an old adding machine.
Batman coughed into his fist. "Abuela."
The woman looked up and smiled. "Esteban!" She circled the desk and scurried over in very tall heels. Batman leaned over and she kissed both his cheeks. She looked aside at Diana. "And you've found a Mrs. Bacardi. I was sure I'd need to marry you off myself."
Diana stared at them in blunt disbelief. Abuela remarked, "A good bit too tall, but I suppose that can't be helped. And she needs some food in her, this one."
Batman gently said, "Abuela, we need a favor."
Abuela snickered and waved them both to seats inside. "Always to business. What can I do for you?"
"I have a meeting in Argentina."
"I heard they aren't showing much hospitality today. You'll need to go on foot, Esteban. But don't worry," she placed her hand regally on her chest. "Abuela can recommend a guide!"
"No. I'm in a hurry, Abuela. I need to get in by air."
"Then you might as well have a meeting on the moon."
"The plane only needs to fly over. They don't need to land there. I'll parachute in."
Abuela whistled and slapped her knees. "This is quite a meeting then."
"It is. Do you still know that outfit in Santiago?"
"I do. They might have a stupid-enough pilot."
"Name your price."
"Oy, Esteban." She came around the desk and kissed his cheek again. "Seeing you finally settle down is payment enough." She rubbed Diana's stomach. "But I want to see babies next time, understand?"
An hour later, Batman and Diana were flying to a layover in Peru.
After saying very little for an hour, Diana finally asked, "When she said-"
Batman exhaled uncomfortably. "I apologize for that. You won't need to see her again."
"It was a mild offense. Is she-"
"She's an old friend, but she can be …"
"Too friendly?"
"Delusional. "
"Oh. Are all people who show care for you delusional?"
"She doesn't care for me, she cares for a fiction. In that sense, yes."
Diana considered this. "Do you have many fictions?"
"Just enough."
Gotham City. GCPD Third Division Headquarters.
The convoy to ferry Arturo Bertinelli to the border was a show of force not seen in the GCPD since the Vendettas. Detective Arnold Flass and six of his most trusted officers would drive north, taking a lead car, a van, and a tail car. Their arrangement was modest compared to some high-profile prisoner transports in the old days which stretched five vehicles or longer. But the war was over. Their trip had the clear blessings of the Families, and no credible force in Gotham would attack a project that City Hall and the Families both endorsed.
Except maybe the Batman. But folk wisdom agreed that if Batman was sure to tolerate one activity, it was a prisoner transport.
There was a staircase and two halls between Bertinelli's cell and the Division garage. These were cleared of all staff, then Flass' team formed a human ring around their prisoner – a wall of crisp blue uniforms around his frayed inmate's cottons - and marched him out. That vicious Bertinelli reputation had not been forgotten. The Family had always been the most openly violent of the Four Families, especially to the police, and especially when cornered. Over the years, four officers had been hospitalized and two killed by Bertinellis trying to escape custody. Arguably the most genius feature of the Peace of Falcone was getting the cops and the Bertinellis to a truce.
Under this cloud of animosity, Detective Flass had been picked to lead the convoy because he had a reputation for finishing dirty work. He wouldn't let grudges or scruples or sympathies distract him. And his boys would follow his lead. Joining Flass' crew was one of the juiciest positions for an ambitious young officer in the GCPD. It was the fast track to fame and promotions, since Flass had his pick of prestige jobs across the city, and it was a stunning doorway to riches, as Flass ran protection like no other cop.
Arturo Bertinelli reached the Third Division garage and was secured in the back of the van. The van's rear compartment was a steel box with two benches on the walls. There was one small window covered in a thick grille, and the door was locked from the outside. Bertinelli was already handcuffed, and these were chained to ankle shackles once he found his seat, and the shackle chains were fastened to the bottom of the bench.
Then Arturo's only companion for the trip took his own seat on the opposite bench. Officer Leonard MacKenzie was one of very few young men who could stroll into Flass' crew without so much as a 'please'. His uncle was the Commissioner, and his success was preordained. MacKenzie was a big meaty kid who outweighed the trim Arturo by at least forty pounds. He had a body made for shoving matches. Prisoner escort was right up his alley. And MacKenzie was eager to do it. Even Family cast-offs like Arturo had a morbid mystique for cops, especially those too young to have served in the Vendettas. Riding in the van was the most desired role in the convoy.
The garage door opened, and the convoy moved out onto the streets. It would be a ten hour trip to their rendezvous at the border, and they would only make only two stops for nature. Bertinelli was told this last night with a laughing suggestion to go easy on the water, since they wouldn't make a third.
The pair stared at each other until the convoy reached the turnpike north. Bertinelli's bored face said nothing. MacKenzie's little sneer said enough. It said he knew Arturo was a scrapper. MacKenzie had heard the stores. How the Bertinellis always went down fighting. And maybe Arturo was dangerous back in the day, at least for a featherweight. But it knew Arturo was over the hill. And it said MacKenzie didn't need the billy club on his lap or the revolver at his hip, even if Arturo was out of those chains, he would rip that mustache off Arturo's little olive face and beat him with it. It said that might be fun.
Bertinelli didn't care. Tough guys had sneered at him since he learned to walk. This one was uglier than most, with his pug face and beady eyes, but that was all. Bertinelli had greater concerns. His cousin had shown no mercy. There would be no keys under his mattress. No looking the other way. They would take him to Canada and put him in prison. He might get out on good behavior in his lifetime, but good behavior had never been his strength. No, they couldn't put him in a cage. He would cut this short one way or another. He thought of Marie.
Chile.
Diana discovered upon arriving in Chile that the 'Santiago outfit' was an organization of wool smugglers. They usually operated by sea, but kept a few small aircraft handy for special orders. The existence of such vast and sophisticated wool smuggling implied volumes about the laws, markets, and sheep of Man's World which Diana had never suspected.
Amanda Waller had revealed that Steve Trevor had been taken from a Argentine border outpost in the southern Valdivian rain forests by Fascist insurrectionists. Waller had witnessed evidence that Steve's new captors planned to bring him east to the port city of Río Gallegos. The city was a major base of the Argentine Navy, and the Fascists planned to take it as a major step in their military coup. The Navy was believed to be staunch Loyalists, so Waller predicted that Río Gallegos wouldn't submit without a fight.
Batman, in his infuriating calm, had taken that as good news.
Diana asked him how.
Batman responded that Steve would be caught in a war zone.
Diana again questioned how that was good news.
He explained that the Fascists would be easy to find, as battles were loud, conspicuous affairs and typically stationary when one side was a city. Even better, an army at the front lines was focused on the front lines. Their sides and rear would have less security.
The smugglers did have a pilot who was willing to enter Argentine airspace for Esteban Bacardi once they discovered he was offering fifty thousand Chilean pesos for their trouble. Diana wondered whether he had taken that money from the DC-2's supplies or whether Estaban had the foresight to carry a bounty in Chilean pesos all the way from Gotham.
Shortly before leaving, Batman retreated to a storeroom in the smuggler's compound and returned properly as Batman – cape and cowl and white lens all in place.
He met Diana alone in the small mess hall. To his surpise, she was still in pastel reds. "You better go change."
"Indeed." Diana held her arms out to her sides, made a quarter-turn and began to spin. She turned like a top, faster and faster. On her third turn, there was a flash of groovy technicolor light and in Diana's place stood Wonder Woman.
Batman stared at her tight lipped.
She returned his stare proudly, hands on hips. "Now we are ready."
Batman stared a moment longer then walked out of the room.
Their hosts weren't actually in Santiago; they were well south of the city, which was useful, as Río Gallegos was even more southerly still, further south than all but a few settlements on the planet. They were headed for barren, cold country, an ocean on one side and low hills and glaciers on the other. Fortunately, they would be arriving at night; the dark would provide concealment where the landscape didn't. Batman was nearly certain that neither side in the battle would have anti-air weapons, but if they did, that further justified a night journey.
As the aircraft neared their jump coordinates, Batman and Wonder Woman donned parachutes. They could hear muffled explosions far below. He had asked earlier whether she had used a parachute before. She admitted that she had not, but assured him that it really didn't matter. He accepted her assurance. Before jumping, Wonder Woman picked up her bag. Batman seemed to wrestle with some private uncertainty, then he stepped in front of her.
"We agreed no killing."
Wonder Woman nodded. "Certainly. I honor the-"
He crossed his arms. "Diana, I know about the sword."
The surprise sent her into incoherence. Finally, she sputtered, "The bag was never out of my sight."
Batman sounded tired. "Resent me, but first tell me how you use a sword without killing."
Wonder Woman looked away then looked back at him. "I don't."
"Leave it here, Diana. Please."
Wonder Woman opened her bag and removed the sword. "Apologies, Batman. I will not."
"Why? What could you do with a sword that you couldn't do with your hands?"
She flicked the blade upward. It spun twice in the air, inches from their faces. She raised one hand with two fingers extended, and the sword landed balanced across her fingers like the pivot of a seesaw. "Such innocence." She caught the weapon by the grip again. "If one day you are blessed to see the sword arts of the Amazons, you will never ask that question."
"I won't fight beside a killer."
She looked at him curiously. "Would you stay on the plane? To retreat after coming this far for a righteous cause?"
"I'll still be on a righteous cause."
She inspected the sword's fine edge. "Your convictions are so well-ordered. Do you never suffer doubt?"
"I never doubt that death is evil."
The pilot shouted from the cockpit, "Prepárate! It is time!"
Wonder Woman pulled open the cabin's sliding door. A rush of frigid air pulled at them. The sound of explosions echoed through the clouds. She looked at him expectantly and spoke above the din. "War is chaos. What if I must take a life to save Steve Trevor? Or you? You would deny me this option?"
Batman stood rigid. "It's never an option."
They heard the pilot shout again, "Vayáis! Ahora! Get out!"
Wonder Woman grit her teeth and cursed. "This is nigh-heresy. May Hera spare her wrath." And with that, she tossed the sword to the far end of the cabin, plunging the blade through a seat.
A fighter craft sped overhead, raking them with machine gun fire. Two lines of brilliant tracers cut the dark sky, and their wing cracked and split with a tremendous noise. The plane flipped, and Wonder Woman was ejected into the void. Batman slammed against the ceiling as the cabin spiraled out of the sky. He struck another wall then bounced out the open door.
The State of Gotham.
The GCPD convoy made its first stop late that morning at a diner on the turnpike. Artruo Bertinelli was let out of his ankle shackles and allowed to stand. He declined to use the outhouse on the property. The cops in his escort relieved themselves or took a smoke break as the convoy's engines cooled. Radiators could only do so much under the August sun, and Lord help the cop whose ride breaks down during prisoner transport.
After a wait in the fresh air, Bertinelli was led back into the van and his restraints. Before the door closed, a policeman handed him and Officer MacKenzie bagged lunches. They set off down the road again, and MacKenzie quickly tore into his bag. He was a sloppy eater, demolishing half a corned beef sandwich and starting on a can of peanuts.
Bertinelli didn't have much of an appetite today, and seeing this didn't help. Still, he opened his bag and found a ham and cheese sub in wax paper. He shrugged, unwrapped the paper, and took a bite. This nearly broke his tooth. Bertinelli flinched. He glanced across the compartment, but Officer Mackenzie hadn't noticed, being too busy with the second half of his sandwich. Bertinelli glanced back down. The sub's bread and meat had fallen apart at the bite mark, revealing a sharp metal tip sticking through some cheese.
It was dim in the back of the van; even so close to noon, that little window offered little light. Still, Bertinelli tried to mask his excitement. He casually lowered the sub back into the paper bag and pulled out the metal. It was a screwdriver, the blade just under five inches long, hand-sharpened to a fine point. He'd seen his share of these. Bertinelli slipped the screwdriver into his sleeve, taking care to not make noise rubbing against his handcuffs. He quickly took another bite of the sub, struggling to look normal. He could hide the handle so long as he kept his wrist bent, though the point pressed painfully into his skin. He just had to act casual.
When Bertinelli was nearly finished eating, he noticed a white paper note at the bottom of his bag.
It read: RUN AT 2ND STOP. FRIENDS WILL HELP.
Bertinelli read this note four times then ate it. He put the empty bag aside and rested his hands on his lap, carefully hiding the screwdriver in his sleeve. He pretended to take a nap, hardly resisting to smile. He thought of Marie.
Río Gallegos, Argentina.
Wonder Woman tumbled through the freezing air a minute before wresting some control from the elements. When her feet pointed down, she pulled the cord on her parachute and felt an fierce tug under her armpits. The horizon stopped spinning, and she saw the land laid under the moon like a table map.
Río Gallegos lay a mile ahead. Flashes along the streets gave a fair impression of its design. It was small, hardly a city, but it had a city-sized harbor. She recognized several hulking warships at dock. One was out at sea, and it occasionally fired back at land. Its shells were the largest munitions in the battle, and their detonations dwarfed the little pops of other weapons of the field. Some distance from the city's edge was a long, narrow camp. Grids of small artillery flashed from its corners. A few aircraft buzzed around the scene, though she couldn't discern their intentions.
Wonder Woman knew from experience that falling out of a plane meant wind, but she was surprised how much stronger the wind was here than near other planes she had fallen from, and how far the wind caused her parachute to drift. She wished to land at the camp, but she realized she was floating toward the city.
Wonder Woman finally landed in a cobblestone alley. One foot touched the ground, then a gust picked up and carried her sideways against a wooden fence, the parachute acting as a great sail. Now both feet touched the ground, but another gust whistled the other direction, knocking her into a house. Finally, she slipped her arms from the straps and watched the parachute fly away like an errant kite. She rested on her knees a moment then rose to her feet. Orange lights touched the sky here and there, but the street was dark. There was not a single lantern in the windows. Wonder Woman saw the outline of a church tower and ventured toward it, seeking the high vantage point. She soon found the church on the other side of a public square with some icy trees in the center. As she was crossing, a mortar lanced from above and struck a tree, igniting it.
Wonder Woman shielded her face from the blast. When she dared to look, she saw the burning tree made a strong glow throughout the square. In its light she noticed a strange piece of debris on the cobblestones.
It was a seat from an aircraft, and lodged in the center was her sword.
Batman woke with his face submerged in icy water. He tried to move, but his muscles were hot for lack of oxygen, and his body was wrapped in heavy cloth like a mummy. He wanted to thrash but resisted the urge. Instead, he produced a batarang and began to cut, methodically carving holes for his arms, then he shimmied and swam out of the cloth.
He found himself on the surface of a river shallow enough that he could stand. Membranes of ice floated around him. He was forty yards from shore. The cloth – his parachute – quickly sunk. When he reached shore, sensation began to return to his extremities. He learned that his ankle was broken and he had strained muscles in his back and neck. A concussion felt likely. He remembered having been thrown around the crashing airplane. He couldn't have been struck unconscious on any impact; he wouldn't have opened his parachute. It must have been the cold. He was far too familiar with the dangers of being cold.
Fortunately, his boots were thick enough that he could walk on a broken ankle. The other wounds amounted to distractions. There were no landmarks around, save the sounds of battle in the distance. He trudged to steep-walled gully at the foot of the nearest hill. It was a meager hideaway but better than nothing. He started a fire on the wet stones with kindling from a kit. He then laid on his side and curled around the fire, warming his suit. He fed the fire with torn-up fistfuls of grass which gave off harsh smoke but kept it going. He faded again to sleep.
When he woke again, the fire was out. He was being poked in the back by something sharp. Someone rolled him over. There were two men above him with rifles. They were debating whether he was dead. Batman's left hand was covered by the fold of his cape. He dipped it into his belt and pulled out a small glass capsule. He closed his eyes and flicked it at one man's chest. The little capsule shattered, producing a tremendous flash. Both men stumbled over, blinded. It was one of the most simple weapons Batman carried, essentially a zirconium flashbulb from a camera. A point blank flash at night would be like staring at the sun through a good telescope.
Batman rose and threw one man hard to the ground. Then he picked up his dropped rifle, removed the bolt, tossed the bolt, and plunged the rifle bayonet-down, pinning the man into the gravel of the gully by spearing through the gap in his bandoleer. The other man was stumbling around, clutching his face. Batman grabbed him by the arm and neck and marched him away.
In the moonlight, Batman recognized a military uniform. After they traveled a ways, Batman tried to interrogate the soldier but it wasn't much use. The information he needed most was directions, and the soldier couldn't offer directions blind. Batman let him go.
He hiked to the top of the hill toward the sounds of battle.
The State of Gotham.
It was a hot afternoon when the GCPD convoy slowed for its second stop. Arturo Bertinelli was still pretending to sleep. Officer Leonard MacKenzie was struggling to stay awake. The air was stale in the van. MacKenzie had long ago unbuttoned his collar and was fanning his flushed face with his hat.
They both felt the van turn onto a rocky side road. Officer MacKenzie quickly buttoned his collar and pulled on his hat. He saw Bertinelli was still asleep. "You! Up and at 'em!"
Bertinelli didn't move. Officer MacKenzie leaned forward and rapped Bertinelli's shin with his billy club. "Hey!"
Bertinelli gently flinched, but his eyes stayed closed, and his head sank against his shoulder.
Officer MacKenzie stood up from his bench and stepped forward, grabbing Bertinelli by the shoulder. He felt a pain deep and low in his gut. He hardly had time to see Bertinelli – eyes wide open – pull something out from under his ribs when he felt it again. MacKenzie let go and tried to move back, but Bertinelli had seized his belt. He rose up and stabbed him through the collar, nicking his throat. MacKenzie struck him across the face with his club. Bertinelli folded under the blow, nose and mouth bloodied. MacKenzie clubbed him again in the spine and arm, but he began to feel faint, and his next swing missed. His shirt was warm and wet. Bertinelli, bent over in his seat, hugged MacKenzie around the waist and stabbed anything he could reach in a wild attack, tearing into his hips and lower back and everything around. MacKenzie clubbed Bertinelli in the back of the head as he collapsed onto the bench next to him. Bertinelli was stunned; his vision faded. There was a concerned shout from the driver, but Bertinelli couldn't understand.
When his vision returned, he saw that Officer MacKenzie wasn't moving. They were both slathered in blood. Bertinelli had trouble moving his shoulders. He took a deep breath and pulled the revolver from the officer's belt holster. The chain securing his handcuffs and ankle shackles to the bench had only a little slack. Still, he managed to grasp it so a few loose inches stuck out of his fist. He held the barrel of the revolver against this loose chain like he was lining a hammer against a nail. He fired.
The bullet ricocheted twice around the steel compartment and hit him high in the back. Arturo Bertinelli cried out, but pain only pushed him forward. The chain had snapped. He crawled toward the door. There was yelling outside, through the gunshot had deafened what little hearing he had after his beating. He thought of Marie. A lock turned. The door opened.
Brilliant sunlight came in. Bertinelli fired twice into the light. He rolled out the door, landing roughly on his feet. But when he looked out, he didn't see friends. He didn't see a rescue. He saw lots of cops pointing pieces at him and screaming.
He lifted his revolver. The world turned bright.
