Part 27
by DarkMark
Martial law had already been declared in some big cities across the United States, not that it seemed to help much.
Revolutionaries, some of them armed with AIM weaponry, battled cops and National Guardsmen. Casualties rose on both sides. Kent State was a sneeze compared to what was going on.
Fidel Castro called up Leonid Breshnev and begged him to use nukes against the Americans. Breshnev replied that if he didn't shut up, he'd be the first to feel them. Fidel hung up, sighed, looked towards Miami, and hoped for the best.
In Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh stepped up attacks against the South and their American allies. The embattled defenders fought back, even, in some cases, saying to hell with it and striking back into Laos and the North itself.
The European intelligentsia debated the debacle in salons, rethought the existential imperative of superheroes, and made plans to write stage productions about the whole thing once it was over. It was agreed that the part of the Hulk would have to be played by a woman.
Mao Tse-Tung remained above the conflict, waiting to see what realignment of power would come after America's crisis. The Prime Minister of Israel offered what help she could, but her nation had its own troubles. Various Arab nations watched the conflict eagerly, wondering if a great prop was about to be knocked out from below their enemy.
Secretly, the president of the United States pressed some very covert associates of his, who usually wore crimson hoods, for information. They responded that they didn't know a hell of a lot more than he did. He broke off the call and erased the tape over and over again.
And everybody waited for the next act in the play.
-M-
PARKER
So. Let me tell you kids something about the Green Goblin.
He was really Norman Osborn, a chemical company owner who had a larcenous streak, originally, as well as a brilliant mind and a son named Harry, who turned out to be one of my best friends and my roomie. Norman got his mind warped, and maybe his intelligence and strength increased, in a chemical accident. That made him think of turning to crime, of making another identity for himself, and, well, becoming the Green Goblin. Sure, it sounds far-fetched to me, too. But who am I to say? I spent ten years running around in blue and red long underwear, in public.
I don't know that the Goblin was the strongest or physically the deadliest bad guy I ever faced. Lots of them outdid him in the strength department, and Doc Ock was more brilliant, by a sight. But the Goblin had something more than the rest. Maybe it was incipient madness. I don't know. After I found out who he was, I never faced him without feeling a chill.
Anyway. The Goblin kept his i.d. secret from me and everyone else, and we fought four times before the main event. That was the time he learned that Spider-Man was yours truly, Peter Parker, trailed me to my house, and captured me. He unmasked in front of me, and it was only by reminding him of his son Harry and prompting him to tell me how he got green and goblinish that I bought enough time to break free and fight him.
But even that wouldn't have been enough if he hadn't been shocked by electricity and chemicals in the fight. That gave him amnesia about everything since the accident that gave him the mind and strength of the Goblin. I found out he wasn't faking it, and I got Osborn out of the flaming wreck of the place we'd fought in. For a long time afterward, Norman was one of my biggest boosters, and a better dad to Harry.
Then he started having flashbacks.
A couple of years after he'd stopped being the Goblin, Osborn relapsed, remembered his past, and tried to lure me into a trap. He used psychedelic pumpkins, loaded with a gas that was related somehow to LSD. I managed to spring the trap, shoved one of the pumpkins under his nose, and got him to forget about being the Goblin again. He went back to being plain old Norman Osborn.
But when Harry dropped acid himself, and not from any psychedelic pumpkin, the strain of learning it turned Norman back into the Goblin again. Deja vu all over again, the third time in a row. I managed to bring him back to normal again and made him forget his Goblinhood.
As you might have guessed, Norman's amnesia was in no way permanent. Every few years, he'd regain his memory, and I had to find a way of stopping him. He knew who I was, and not only could he threaten me, but everyone I cared about. Everyone I was related to. He'd also made it very clear that he'd do just that, to get to me.
Why didn't I kill him? Because I wasn't a killer. Pure and simple. Spider-Man was a vigilante, not a murderer. No blood was ever going to be on my hands. Besides, Norman Osborn was the father of my best friend. He was also a very good man, when he wasn't being the Goblin. But there's only so much Dr. Jekyll you can count on, when there's a Mr. Hyde lurking under the surface. I'm not talking about the guy Thor fought, either.
But right now that morality of mine was about to be tested in the crucible. The Goblin wanted it that way. He'd taken Gwen, and he and I knew that one of us probably wasn't going to make it out of what was about to come down.
I promised myself that, if there was a way, I'd spare his life. Provided I could beat him.
But I couldn't promise myself that I could find a way.
I just knew that there was no other way out.
That was all I could think about, all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge.
That, and Gwen.
-M-
Outside the cathedral, cops and emergency workers had massed, and the Falcon and Sharon Carter were being treated for their wounds on the spot. But both of them refused to be taken to the hospital. Falc had even tried getting up from the stretcher on which he was placed, with Redwing circling above him, watchfully. He managed about three steps, and collapsed.
"Cap," the Falcon muttered as the ambulance boys got him on the stretcher and strapped him in. "What's happening to Cap?"
The head of the emergency team nodded, and the crew finally bundled both Falc and Sharon into the ambulance. The Falcon was yelling with what little volume he could summon, telling them to put him back. Sharon was crying, but her tears were not from pain.
The ambulance pulled out, and the red-winged falcon above followed.
A few of the cops had tried to penetrate further into the cathedral. But they ran into some of the Dust of Death scattered by the Red Skull. The policemen behind them saw each face of the men in front wither, turn red, and become skull-like instants before they fell. The man in charge told the squad to pull back, and got on the horn to the commissioner. The commissioner tried to contact the Fantastic Four and the Avengers, but they were out. SHIELD wasn't much help. FEMA said they'd get back to him with a chemical weapons team. But, so far, it hadn't happened. Maybe because there wasn't enough time.
There were two helicopters circling the upper stories and spire of the cathedral, both equipped with sharpshooters, but no clear shots could be gotten as of yet. Whenever the battling Captain America and Red Skull got near a window, their positions changed too quickly. The Commish had made it clear: anybody who fired on Captain America was going to hear about it for the rest of his life. And none of it would be good, or conducive to further employment.
Within, Cap and the Skull, both bloodied, had separated. Neither was within range of a window, and both were breathing very, very hard. The hate that ran between them in a circuit, if converted to electricity, could have powered the Bronx for a fortnight.
"Why, Skull?" said Cap, in a low voice. "Why?"
"Why, Captain?" replied the Skull, breathing deeply. "Because it is finally, finally, the end of our age. Is that impossible for you to see?"
"I see nothing but a disease I'm sworn to eradicate," Cap replied. "The disease of Naziism."
Leaning against the wall, the Skull smiled. "Ah. But do you not see, Captain? That is a disease you will never wipe out. Naziism is the Strength of Man. The will to be strong, to conquer, to dominate. The very will that led your pioneers to conquer this country, to subdue its inferior races—"
"Shut your mouth, Skull! I'm warning you."
"Warning me?" The Nazi laughed. "Of what? How much of your history do you really know, Captain? If your Red Indians wrote your history books, or the Chinese immigrants, or the schwartzes whom you took as slaves, the ones who are now at your throats, or even the damnable Jews...do you think they would read in the same fashion? Those races are rising up against you now, Captain. And America is too weak to consider the final solution. That is because you have no strength."
For answer, Cap leapt forward and smashed the Skull across the room. He leaped upon his foe, shield pressed against the Skull's windpipe. But the crimson Nazi doubled his legs, put his feet against the crusader's chest, and thrust him to the other side of the room. Cap impacted against the wall, hard. It was difficult not to underestimate the Skull's own physical strength.
"No strength," said the Skull, between bloodied lips.
"You've felt this strength before, Skull," said Cap, rallying. "You've felt it every time we've met, from the Forties till today. It's the strength of America, Skull. The strength of democracy, of compassion, of the ability to recognize our mistakes and strive to correct them. Our history's there, all right. We've made as many blunders as any other nation. But none of those minorities, those 'inferiors', as you call them, are trying to leave. Every one of them knows of the greatness of America, of its freedom and opportunity. Despite whatever disadvantages they may have here, they're staying, and fighting for their rights. And I stand with them. I've met the ones you spoke of...the Indians, the Asians, the blacks, and yes, the Jews. Every one of them has accepted me as a brother. None of them rejected me for being a white man, a Christian, or an American. All right, maybe it is because I'm called Captain America. But that name means a lot, Skull. It stands for a lot. And it'll always stand for something better than yours. No matter what happens today, it'll always stand."
"Hah!" The Skull spread his arms against the wall behind him, steadying himself. "Oh, Captain, you truly amuse me. Look at us. Thesis and antithesis. Each of us was no more than a symbol, Captain. A symbol our governments created to spur on the ones who fought for them. Did you know there were fiction magazines devoted to my exploits in the Fatherland, Captain? Not unlike your cheap pamphlets of colored paper over here, fictionalizing your battles. The Red Skull was their hero, Captain. He was the fearsome foe of the enemies of the Reich, the upholder of truth, justice, and the Aryan way, the only one strong enough to stand against the damnable traitor, Hauptmann Amerika, who slaughtered the flower of Deutschland's youth! That was what I was, Captain America. That is what I am. I am no less a hero than you.
"Do you think I am innocent of anything the Reich did? I shot down partisans and Allied soldiers. I tortured captives. I supervised operations, at times, in a concentration camp. My hands are as red as my skull, Captain. I would do it again. If I triumph, I will."
"You will never triumph." Cap stated it flatly and without possibility of rebuttal. "I will die preventing that."
"Perhaps I already have, Captain," the Skull asserted. "Do you not see the role Fate has assigned to us? When each of us was gone, slumbering away for two decades, our parts were not unfilled. Understudies took your costume, your identity, and a substitute shield. And was it long before a new Red Skull arose, this time created by the Russians, who learned the advantage of having such a symbol of their own? Then the ersatz Captains fell, and with him, the ersatz Skull, for which he may be grateful. If I had located him, the death I would have given him even Hell would shudder to imagine. With no Captain America, there was no need of a Red Skull.
"And then, you returned, thawed from a block of ice. You resumed your crusade against the enemies of a new era. But what of myself? Less than two years after your resurrection, I rose as well. We resumed business, Captain. And what a business it was."
"You lost every time, Skull."
"Did I? I survived. In my own way, I thrived. Fate would not let me go, Captain. It would not let me die. Not, perhaps, until you die yourself. Can you not see it? We have been thrown together, as gladiators for the gods. The only way to break this loop of Fate and Time, Captain, is if we perish together. Can you not see that, Captain? Can you remain so ignorant of that, at last?"
For once, Captain America was silent.
"You see my point, Captain," the Skull said, quietly.
"All I see is a devil who can cite Scripture," Cap replied.
"Then let me show you a bit of the world below, my friend," said the Skull. "Or, perhaps, only tell you about it. Within this cathedral, at its lowest level, is an incendiary device."
"A fire bomb!" Cap tensed into action.
"Do not worry yourself," said the Skull. "Less time remains than you would need to reach it. No man remains alive in this structure, other than ourselves. Within seconds, no man will be alive in it at all. I have taken the opportunity to retire us both from battle, Captain. The conflict is ended. Farewell."
Before he got out the last syllable, the Skull felt Captain America's hands at his throat. The power of the American Avenger smashed them both through a wooden wall, tumbled them over and over, crashed their heads and upper bodies through a window.
The sharpshooters, the newscopter camera crews, and all in a position to see it below saw their struggling forms.
The Skull bit Captain America's hand. In his teeth were secreted elements of the Dust of Death. Cap felt the flesh of his face beginning to tighten.
Shield on his good right arm, the sentinel of World War II gave a mighty effort, felt vertebrae separate, and heard the Skull's neck snap.
"For America," Cap whispered.
Then both of them overbalanced, tumbled through the broken window, and began to plummet towards the crowd below. Their arrival was anticipated by screams and scattering.
They didn't have a chance to hit before the cathedral exploded.
-M-
The Battle of Atlanta had been won. The Avengers were on the winning side. No lives had been lost and very little blood had been shed. That was the good part.
The bad part was that the airport had been torn to smithereens, for the most part, and all the air traffic was going to have to be rerouted for a good long while. But people were, if not totally accepting of the carnage that super-hero / super-villain fights created, at least resigned to it. Even though Tony Stark paid for a lot of it, the damage still raised taxes exponentially. Plus there was the bringdown of adjoining property values, the danger of people being hurt by wreckage at the sites and so forth...
...but that was just part of the game.
Hawkeye looked tired, and was. Hank and Jan Pym were beside him. They were coordinating mop-up operations. The Masters of Evil had to be disarmed, neutralized, placed in special lockdown, and then Con Aired to Ryker's Island. In many cases, that meant they had to be sedated until they got back to Ryker's super-cells. They'd gotten used to the drill by now.
"Gents," Clint said, "the operation has been a success."
Ant-Man, at full size, smiled. "Ready for some of that old Avengers Assembling?"
"Let's leave that out for now, Hank," said the Wasp, also full-sized. "The crew is too tired right now."
"They ain't the only ones." Hawkeye leaned on his bow like a walking-staff. Not too far off on the asphalt, he saw the lead-wrapped form of the Radioactive Man, the handcuffed Melter, the Porcupine stripped down to his underwear and similarly cuffed, and a few other malefactors. "Think this is the end of it, then?"
"Well, Kang the Conqueror hasn't jumped us in the last few minutes," opined Hank, "so, yeah, I'd guess we're safe for now."
"The Kree-Skrull War, the Olympus War, and now this," sighed the Wasp. "Even if I wasn't in on the first one and much of the second, it's frazzling. Like my hair in this damp."
"Your hair's fine, Waspie," said Clint. He looked in the other direction, where Thor, Hercules, and the Asgardians were standing guard over the Executioner, the Enchantress, Hyperion, and several other toughs; where the Black Knight, Red Wolf, the Scarlet Witch, the Vision, and so many of the others were keeping watch over the beaten Mr. Hyde, Grey Gargoyle, Cobra, Phantom, and the rest of the overbloated Masters of Evil. It had been a tough fight. But once the big guns among the bad guys were subdued, the "gods" among the Avengers' crew had efficiently helped their teammates plow through the remainder of the foe.
"It's nice of you to notice for once, Clint," said Jan Van Dyne. "What's our next move?"
"Get back to the Mansion after we dump these guys off and get a good sleep," said Hawkeye. "Pray we hear from Shellhead and Cap before we turn in, too."
"Just want you to know you did a heck of a job as leader on this trip," said Ant-Man, putting out a hand for Hawkeye to shake. "I think Cap's going to have some competition for the spot once he comes back."
"Pull the other one, Pym," suggested Clint. But he stopped when he noticed the Black Panther, bent intently over a communications device he was using to contact Wakanda. Hawkeye could read body language fairly well—he'd had to, growing up in a circus and coping with the Swordsman—and he could tell the man in black was stiffening, as if he'd heard something akin to a meteor having destroyed his homeland. Clint couldn't see the masked man's eyes, but he didn't need to.
"S'cuse me, guys," said Hawkeye. He shouldered his bow and trotted over to T'Challa's side. The Panther put out a hand to halt him. Clint stopped, listened closely, but couldn't hear much more than a couple of yeses and noes. Finally, T'Challa said, "All right. All right, Taku. Thank you. Out."
The archer was at the Panther's side as the latter turned off his radio set. "Okay, T'Challa. Give. Tell me it's just the price of Vibranium falling on the Dow-Jones."
The Black Panther looked up at his old friend for a long time, not saying anything. "T'Challa," said Hawkeye in exasperation. "Spill!"
"It's Cap, Clint," said the Panther, his voice only muffled a bit by the full-face mask he wore. "It's Cap."
Clint's eyes widened. "What?"
By this time, Ant-Man and the Wasp had joined them. The Panther looked at the tarmac beneath his crouching feet, sighed, and drew a long breath. "I don't know if I want to tell you."
Hawkeye grabbed his shoulder. "You're going to. Now."
Gently, T'Challa removed Hawkeye's hand from his shoulder. "I was speaking with Taku, my communications chieftain. He has been monitoring world news broadcasts for our benefit. It seems that Captain America was lured to a certain cathedral in New York City by the Red Skull."
"Oh, God," whispered the Wasp. She had only met the Skull once, in a bizarre episode wherein Cap's mind had occupied the villain's body, but that was enough for her.
"And?" Hawkeye was sure he didn't want to hear the rest of the story. But he could not spare himself.
The Panther rubbed his brow with a gloved hand. "They were seen plunging through a window towards the ground only seconds before the cathedral exploded."
Hawkeye grabbed the Panther by both shoulders, looked him straight in the eye, tried to say something, failed. T'Challa just waited him out. Ant-Man held tightly to Jan, who was beginning to weep.
Finally, Hawkeye said, "You're in charge. I'm going to New York."
"Not alone," said the Panther.
"Like hell."
"Hawkeye." The Panther looked at Clint with firm resolve. "Captain America was the man I chose for my ally when I fought to save Wakanda from Zemo's pilot. He was the one who proposed me for membership in the Avengers. I knew him not as long as you, by far, but he is as much my friend as yours. And he is a brother in arms."
Hawkeye breathed in once, then let it out. "Come on. Hank, Jan, you see to things here."
"We...will, Clint," said Ant-Man, trying to keep his own voice steady.
"Don't tell them," said Hawkeye. "Whatever you do, don't tell them."
Then he and the Panther were off, sprinting to find an aircraft that had been spared the battle and enough of a runway to do a takeoff. If the Quinjets hadn't been melted, the search for transportation wouldn't be necessary. But that wasn't going to stop the Avengers. Clint Barton vowed that.
The Panther pointed to a northeastern part of the field. "Over there," he said.
"What's over there?"
"That is where the Magna-Ship from Wakanda will land in a few minutes."
Clint tried to say something, even make a grim wisecrack, anything to let his comrade know that he was still functional. But he couldn't.
On the way back to New York, he let the Panther drive.
-M-
The Puppet Master had been staying up on some of the best stuff Gary Gilbert's suppliers in the Movement could provide. That was to make sure he was able to control the Silver Surfer without falling asleep at an inappropriate time. The Thinker seemed to stay up just fine on his own. Or was he taking catnaps when his partner wasn't looking?
The problem now was that both of them knew they were in big trouble. The Surfer had broken their dominance, and there'd be hell, or perhaps Zenn-La, to pay.
"He's coming," said Philip Masters, nervously.
"Stay calm," advised the Thinker.
"Stay calm?" The Master, his face eerily suggestive of a puppet of the Howdy Doody stripe, turned in anguish on the Thinker. "With those four coming after us? Is this the reason why your androids fished me out of that burning wreckage and gave me plastic surgery? Made me look like my old self again?"
"You didn't look like much of anything human at the time," the Thinker assured him. "And it was no small trick using my escape pod to get free of my own rocket when Toro took it over and destroyed it. Now, stand fast, Philip. This gambit has a 99.99999678 percent chance of success."
"That's what you say about all your plans!"
The Thinker gave the Puppet Master a venomous look. But there was no time to craft a retort.
With a sound of dimensional barriers being rent, a hole in space-time opened. A bizarre nimbus of color briefly was visible, awing even the Thinker. The five who emerged from it were the most formidable collection of superhumans on the planet, and it didn't help that two of them had a great reason to bear a grudge against the Puppet Master.
Dr. Strange, the Hulk, the Sub-Mariner, Clea, and the Silver Surfer were in the sanctum of the Mad Thinker and Puppet Master.
"You," said the Surfer in a sepulchral voice. He thrust out a forefinger at the puppeteer. "You controlled my will. The trail of energy particles has led me to you, and the Silver Surfer never errs in tracking."
"Uh...er..." The Puppet Master tried to slink behind a lab table, or under it, or something. Nothing seemed adequate.
"Hulk smash!" asserted the Green Goliath, striding forward.
"Hulk," advised Dr. Strange. "These two are only human."
"Then Hulk only smash a little," the Hulk assured him.
The Sub-Mariner began advancing towards the Mad Thinker. "For the death of Toro, my fellow Invader, this one is mine," he promised.
Before he, or anyone else, could fulfill the threat, the Thinker pressed a button on the desk before him. Dr. Strange paralyzed him an instant later with the light of the Agamotto Amulet, but it was a bit too late.
A large door, about the same dimension as an average warehouse bay door, rolled into the roof speedily on servos. Two figures entered the room, one of them huge, both of them drawing the attention of the Defenders, as well they might.
One of the newcomers, the giant, had greyish skin and a head shaped like an oblong block, with no discernable features on it save a mouth. The Surfer felt a tingling sensation about his body. An instant later, a blast of the Power Cosmic almost pulverized him.
He looked up, dazedly, to see that the Awesome Android was covered in silver, with a smoking hand pointed in his direction.
The other, a blank-featured figure, came quickly on his heels. As he did, his body changed. Bulkier, larger, more powerful, green in color, with wings growing on his ankles, a swirling cloak of levitation about his neck, and a green amulet holding it clasped at his throat.
Even the Hulk was taken aback by the sight of the Super-Adaptoid, and that was just what the Thinker had been counting on. He gave an order.
"Kill them," he said.
-M-
And then, it was in this way that most of the heroes of Earth were brought together:
A vision appeared to them in Seattle, Atlanta, and New York. This was a singular vision, and all of them saw it in the same way, and, remarkably, all of them saw each other seeing it. None of them were quite sure how, although some of them had more of a clue than others.
The vision was not the red-skinned android of the Avengers. Rather, it was of an incredibly majestic, incredibly powerful, incredibly tall humanoid. He was bald and dressed in a white toga-like affair, and towered probably over 12 feet in height. Some sensed that his stature might be variable. They were correct in that.
"I am the Watcher," he said.
Members of the X-Men, the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, and the Inhumans repeated his name. Of all of them, only the FF had actually met him before. But they all knew him by reputation. The Four had told them of the ultrapotent being they had met on the Blue Area of the Moon, in 1963. Since then, he had contacted them in times of greatest emergency. In the cases of the Molecule Man, or the war between America's heroes and villains during Reed Richards's and Sue Storm's wedding, or an attempt by Kang to strike in the past. Or the day in which Galactus had come to destroy the Earth.
The fact that he was here at all was a matter of great portent. Whether he was present physically or spiritually made no difference. The Watcher had come to Earth anew. That was the only thing that mattered.
"Behold," he said, and raised his hand.
The heroes were treated to another vision. It was one of combat: in an unknown lair, the Silver Surfer, Dr. Strange, the Hulk, the Sub-Mariner, and an unknown woman were fighting against a silver-skinned titan and a green-skinned, wing-footed, cape-wearing powerhouse. Somewhere in the background, the Mad Thinker and Puppet Master were visible.
Mr. Fantastic, still holding his wife Sue with one arm, said, "Watcher, what's the meaning of this? What's the Surfer doing with the Hulk and those others?"
"Permit me, Reed Richards," said Thor, who could hear and be heard by the man he was addressing even though they were hundreds of miles apart. "I myself and two other Avengers did battle with Namor, the Hulk, and the Surfer two years past, when they made an emergency alliance. We did not know they had remained together."
"I think I heard something of that," said Cyclops, wearily. "Don't you remember when the Hulk and Subby showed up on TV awhile back? Fighting Xemnu, that Saturday-morning TV character?"
"Thought that was just a show," said the Thing. "So what's up, Watch? The Thinker's the guy behind all this? Send us after 'im!"
The Watcher spoke again.
"He whom you call the Thinker is not the author of the present crisis. But the one called Iron Man has been sent to deal with that being. You must aid your fellow heroes—"
"Heroes?" The Black Widow had spoken. She had never met Dr. Strange, and knew the Hulk, Sub-Mariner, and the Silver Surfer only as outlaws.
"—or the great android, he who possesses and amplifies the power of the herald of Galactus, may wreak more damage than the author of your predicament." The Watcher didn't even acknowledge the Widow's interruption. "You must go. Now."
Iceman lifted his head, found his voice, and spoke. "We ain't going."
"Iceman," warned Havok, who sensed the power inherent in the Watcher.
"We ain't going, Havok! My God. We've just lost Professor X. He's dead. We're worn out. These other freaks can take it. We've done our part."
"'Freaks'?" The Human Torch burst into flame. "You want to talk 'freaks', Iceman? You want to talk death? We've just seen a massacre you wouldn't believe! Doc Ock, Kraven, Electro, hell, even Dr. Doom, and a whole lotta soldiers. All of 'em, dead. That's what we just saw, pal. Wanna trade lives?"
"Shut up, Torch," warned the Iceman, who had met and befriended Johnny Storm years ago, but didn't feel like talking any more just then.
"Oh? And I suppose we're not supposed to mourn?" The Wasp broke away from Ant-Man, and strode up to where she saw the Watcher's vision. "You want to tell them who we lost, big man? You want to...you want to..."
Janet Van Dyne realized what she was saying, and said no more. But the others about her began to react with curiosity, and not a little shock.
"Wasp," said Quicksilver, "you know more than what you're telling. Let us know."
"No," said Henry Pym. "Sorry, Pietro, but we can't tell."
"You must!" said the Scarlet Witch. "Only two of us weren't here, at the battle. This...Watcher says that Iron Man is still alive. That can...that can only leave one."
The Vision, with his sepulchral voice, said the name Wanda wouldn't.
"Captain America," he said.
Not only the jaws of the Avengers gaped open, but the other heroes who were linked to the tableau, as well. Their voices were heard: "Cap...it can't be, not Cap...not CAP..."
Ant-Man looked at his wife with anger. Jan had tears in her eyes. Thor, flanked by Hercules and Sif, spoke to his old teammate. "Henry Pym. Is this true?"
It took him several seconds to respond. The response was in a whisper, but it carried farther than it should have, somehow. "As far as we know."
Red Wolf was unable to speak. Even American Indians held Captain America as a symbol of courage and pride. The Black Knight held his breath. Even the Swordsman was awed. "I fought him," he said. "Fought him time and again. Even tried to kill him. But...he was the reason I am who I am."
If there were tears, they were hidden behind shielding arms, or concealed by downturned faces. But Hercules, the son of Zeus, raised the rallying cry.
"Send us where you wish," he said, his eyes blazing. "In the name of Captain America, we will triumph."
Cyclops said, "And in the name of Professor X, the X-Men will help."
"Amen," said Bobby Drake, finally. Lorna Dane gave him a look of reappraisal. Havok didn't miss it.
Gorgon had something to say. "The Silver Surfer fought us, not two years ago. We also battled the Hulk. Why should we bother to help them?"
Triton glared at his cousin. "Because Prince Namor is my friend. And anyone whom he stands beside is an ally of mine. What say you now, Gorgon?"
Before the hooved Inhuman could reply, Black Bolt made a singular gesture with his hand. Medusa interpreted: "Black Bolt says we will go to the Surfer's aid. It is decided."
The Watcher looked at them all, passively.
"You already know we're in," said Reed Richards, resignedly.
"Count the Avengers in, too," said Ant-Man. "But I think all the Asgardians except Thor and Sif should stay here and watch the bad guys. All right, guys?"
Volstagg sniffed. "Surely, the Lion of Asgard cannot be relegated to mere guardian duty."
Hogun said, "We shall stay. You may take Volstagg with you."
"On the other hand," Volstagg considered, "one would not presume to leave one's fellows doing such a perilous duty. I shall remain, Hogun."
"Good," said Hogun. Fandral cracked a smile. Hogun didn't.
Cyclops said, "On behalf of my team of X-Men, I'll accept. I can't answer for my brother."
Havok smiled. "Thanks, Cyke. We're all hurting. But if there's still a job to do...the new X-Men are gonna play their part."
"Then it is settled," said the Watcher, and lifted his massive hand. "Prepare yourselves."
With that, the three assemblages of heroes found themselves no longer in Seattle, Atlanta, or New York. Instead, they were elbow-to-elbow in the large lair of the Mad Thinker, where the Defenders were still trying to fight off their two android enemies.
"AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!"
"IT'S CLOBBERIN' TIME!"
"X-MEN, ATTACK!"
"Tippecanoe and Tyler, too!" offered Daredevil as he whipped the end of his billy club into the metal rafters and swung forward, grabbing the Mad Thinker in a scissors grip.
The Super-Adaptoid, who had been withering Namor and the Hulk with brute strength and mystic spells, looked up at the throng coming for them. He did not see Captain America, who was his programmed quarry. Perhaps it was that which undid him, in the end.
Hercules leaped at the green android, grabbing it about its massive head. "Have at thee, humanoid! Now test the thews of the Lion of Olympus!"
The Thing launched himself into the fray and landed with both fists in the Adaptoid's midsection. "Not to mention the mitts of Benjamin J. Grimm, idol of millions!"
The powerful android was staggered, and tried to formulate one of the magic spells he'd adapted from Dr. Strange. But the pair of Strange and Clea, having picked themselves off the floor where they'd been knocked by one of the Awesome Android's bursts, pointed their hands at the Adaptoid and encased his head in a spell of silence.
That was all it took for the Hulk and Sub-Mariner to recover and lend a hand. Within seconds, each of the four men of power had one of the Super-Adaptoid's limbs in his grasp.
Then they made a wish.
The android was left quadriplegic. He had little time to worry about that. Hercules's mace descended and smashed his head to flinders. The Hulk belligerently jumped up and down on his foe's chest, crushing the metallic rib cage and interior mechanisms on the first try, then crushing the pieces into even smaller pieces with every stomp. To him, it just felt good.
But the Silver Android was by far the deadliest threat. It lacked the Surfer's intelligence or finesse, but it exceeded him in raw power. Raising its misshapen hands, it launched a bolt of pure destruction at the heroes.
Said bolt was stopped short by a combination of Black Bolt's electron shield and Sue Richards's invisible force-field. Neither one of them thought it could withstand another blow.
The Surfer drew himself up and caught the attention of Thor. "Thunder god. When I lend you my power...throw your hammer."
Thor hesitated not a second. "Thou didst aid me in the battle with Durok the Demolisher. I say thee begin, Surfer."
The Zenn-Lavian raised his silvered hands and poured power into the god of thunder. Sif was awed to see it. Thor seemed to be gaining mass and bulk under the Surfer's ministrations, and a power that could thus affect an Asgardian was a power to be reckoned with, indeed.
The Silver Android was generating a ball of force between his hands.
"Throw!" yelled the Surfer.
Thor did.
Mjolnir flew from Thor's hands like a rocket. The uru hammer passed through the bolt of Power Cosmic between the Android's hands and smashed into its chest. It kept on going. Straight through the Android's interior, out its back, through walls and anything else in its path, until it was lost from sight.
There was a phenomenal outrush of power from the hole in the Android's body and everyone, Thor and Surfer included, hit the deck.
By the time it was finished, the hammer had crashed through the ceiling and returned to Thor's hand. The thunderer looked his normal self again, and was. The heroes and their two human enemies began to get up off the floor, or from behind whatever they used to hide. The Super-Adaptoid was still in very small pieces.
There were two legs which belonged to the Android, no longer silver, and shorn away from the calves up. That was all that remained.
Ant-Man said, "Nobody better start quoting 'Ozymandias', or else."
The Puppet Master tried to run through a hole the Android's power had blown through the wall. Dr. Strange, his cloak soiled by concrete dust, raised a gloved hand and made a mystic gesture. The puppeteer was stopped in his tracks.
Reed Richards elongated one arm out, located the Mad Thinker, lifted him off the floor, and dangled him before the assemblage. "We've got a lot of questions, Thinker," said Reed, softly. "Feel like talking, or should I just toss you to Namor, here?"
"He will talk," said Namor, grinding one hand furiously into his other palm. "Of his own will, or otherwise."
"How 'bout it?" said the Thing, stepping up and waving a huge orange finger at the man dangling from Reed's elastic fingertips. "You behind this? If you are, I sure didn't think ya had it in ya, Thinker."
The disgruntled genius sighed, still a couple of feet off the floor. "We were hired," he admitted.
"By whom?" asked Dr. Strange, not looking pleased.
Before the Thinker could answer, Sue Richards cried out. "Wait a minute! We're not all here. What happened to Johnny? Has anybody seen the Human Torch?"
Nobody had. A quick search was made of what remained of the premises while Reed, Strange, and a few others heard the Thinker's confession. While they were doing that, Ant-Man took the Sub-Mariner aside and explained something to him in subdued tones. Namor cried out in anguish, then turned, leaped, and tore the Thinker from Reed Richards's grasp.
"You!" he snarled, his hands compressing the Thinker's skull. "You slew the first Human Torch. You slew his partner, Toro. Now Captain America is dead, and you have a hand in the plot. One last Invader remains...to avenge them!"
Thor and Hercules pulled Sub-Mariner off and held him with difficulty. "Let me go, in Neptune's name! Blood cries out for blood. The Thinker must die!"
Clea stepped before the Sub-Mariner. "Peace, Namor. This day, according to those with us, many have died. This man called 'Thinker' had no direct hand in Captain America's death."
"He stood with them!"
Cyclops came to stand beside Clea. "Listen, Sub-Mariner. We've fought before, so I know your measure...and maybe you know mine. Today, I just lost a man who was my father, in all ways but by blood. The FF just told us about the carnage in Seattle. Over a score of soldiers killed, and about as many super-villains. Including Dr. Doom."
Namor's eyes widened in renewed shock. "Doom is dead?"
"He is, Namor," said Reed Richards. The Sub-Mariner and Dr. Doom had crossed swords several times over the years, despite the fact that they had both been foes of the Fantastic Four. Doom had sought to use Namor as a tool against Richards's band, and, once, had succeeded. "We've seen death enough, today. More than enough. If peace begins, if an end to killing begins, let it begin now. Thor, Herc, let him go."
Hercules looked at Reed, aghast. "Art thou mad?"
"Let him go," Reed repeated.
Thor looked at Hercules and nodded. The two immortals relaxed their grips. The Sub-Mariner stood, breathing shallowly. He did not move from where he was, but his gaze didn't waver from the cowering Thinker.
"Your life has been bought," said Namor. "But no man can say for how long. Tell me the name of your master."
When he could find his voice, the Thinker said, "Gilbert. Gary Gilbert."
"Where can we find him?"
"I, I don't know. He always found us."
"WHERE CAN WE FIND HIM?" Namor moved ahead a step. The Olympian and Asgardian tensed, ready to bring the Sub-Mariner down if he took another. The Scarlet Witch had quietly told Quicksilver to move the Thinker out of harm's way, if necessary.
But the Thinker himself looked ready to blubber. "I don't know. Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!"
Reed Richards looked disgusted. "Let's contact SHIELD and get this cleaned up. Can you get us all out of here, Surfer?"
"Indeed, Reed Richards," said the Silver Surfer.
Sue Richards grasped the silver-skinned alien by the arm. "Wait, Surfer. I know you have tracking powers far beyond anything we can imagine. Can you tell me where my brother is? The Human Torch?"
The Surfer paused, looked upward a moment, then said, "No. Not at present."
The Invisible Girl took a deep breath and went to the side of Reed Richards.
At present, there was nothing any of the heroes assembled could do.
-M-
"...This just in, we have a report in the field from Dan Rather. Dan, are you there?"
"Yes, Walter, I'm here, on the site of...what used to be St. Lucius's Cathedral here in Manhattan. As you can see...as you can see, the structure has been gutted by what appears to be a powerful bomb, an incendiary device of some sort. I've spoken...I've spoken with firefighters and police on duty here. They did confirm that Captain America and the Red Skull were both in the cathedral when it blew up. One police helicopter was knocked out of the sky by the blast...excuse me..."
"Dan. Are you still there?"
"Yes, Walter, I'm just moving to get out of the way of the emergency crew. They've...the police chopper did crash, there were several casualties there as well."
"Dan. Were there hostages in the cathedral? Were there hostages, Dan?"
"Walter, as far as I can confirm, the only two hostages we know of were the Falcon and an unnamed woman. The only thing I know for certain at this time is that both were taken to a hospital by ambulance. They were not, I repeat not, in the cathedral when it exploded. At present we do not, repeat, do not know the fate of either Captain America...or the Red Skull. Now, we know of the erroneous report of Captain America's death that circulated in 1969, even resulting in a...even a funeral attended by the Avengers. That proved to be false. So many here are still hoping, and praying, that the Captain did indeed survive the conflagration. But we have no definite knowledge at this time."
"Thank you, Dan. We'll be waiting for further reports. As for...other events across the nation in this hour, bloodshed resulted from a riot between the Black Panther Party and the Sons of the Serpent in Oakland, California today...President Nixon is calling for activists on all sides to put down their weapons and observe a day of peace, but it is doubtful how many intend to comply with...that directive. The tragedy in Atlanta, resulting in the deaths of more than twenty American soldiers and a number of so-called 'super-villains', including the unconfirmed death of Doctor Doom, has apparently crested. Federal emergency teams are moving in to handle operations there. The Avengers have apparently restored order at the Seattle airport where the Masters of Evil had taken charge. Order has been restored in San Francisco and Dallas, sites of recent super-rioting.
"But a state of emergency still exists within the United States, and it seems certain that few can rest easy until more control can be restored. Both in the superhuman, and human, arenas of operation. Stay tuned to CBS for further special reports as events develop. I'm Walter Cronkite."
"This has been a CBS Special Report: Super-Crisis in America. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program."
-M-
Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Val de Fontaine, and a lamed Jasper Sitwell were at the side of Nick Fury in the SHIELD temporary HQ in New Jersey. Fury was observing things as well as possible from a spy satellite relay. It showed the form of a red-and-gold-armored Avenger hurtling through the California sky, closing on a single plane before him.
"Give us the word, Nick," said Dum Dum. "We've gotta knock it outta the sky."
"No way, Dugan," said Fury, his eyes not wavering from the monitor screen. "You know what cargo that baby's carryin'. We hit it with a missile, we shoot it down with a plane, it scatters all over the state. You've seen the demonstration."
"I sure as hell have. That's why I'm tellin' you to hit the thing!"
"Agent Dugan," said Sitwell, trying to interrupt.
Fury turned savagely from the monitor screen. "Both of you, shut it! If Gilbert was holdin' a nuke in that plane, we could knock it out and know it wouldn't blow up on impact. But that ain't what he's holdin'. Right now, the only chance we've got is that guy in the tin suit. You read me, Dugan? Sitwell?"
Dugan said, "I read you, Nick."
"Affirmative, sir," said Sitwell. "But if I may, I would like to register protest over this matter."
"Received and noted, Sitwell," said Nick. "The fighters are already scrambled. But if Iron Man don't come through..."
He didn't want to finish the sentence. Nobody else finished it for him. So they sat and watched the monitor, and prayed.
-M-
Yuri Brevlov, head of SWORD, the Soviet Union's version of SHIELD, turned to receive a message from an aide. He recognized the coding on it as legitimate and from the highest authority. "Comrade," he said. "This purports to be from the premier."
"It does, Comrade Brevlov," said the aide.
"It is an order to attack SHIELD outposts in Europe within twenty-four hours."
"That is what it appears to be, comrade."
"This smacks of adventurism and is quite unlike the level-headedness of our beloved premier. I suggest that this message has been garbled in translation, or, worse, sent by an agency masquerading as the premier. Please go back and get me a confirmation. From the premier himself."
"Comrade Brevlov, I..."
Yuri turned and gave him the eye. The apparatchik did a fast fade.
Brevlov turned back to his own monitor, from his own spy satellite feed. His own sources had told him enough of what his old friend Fury was facing in America.
Silently, he committed a counter-revolutionary act, and hoped God was listening.
-M-
The plane that AIM had supplied Gary Gilbert with was powerful indeed. Iron Man was straining his jets to keep pace with it. But he'd be damned if he'd let the thing get away from him now. Even if he had to drain power from other vital areas and leave himself substantially weakened afterward.
It wasn't as though he had a choice.
Tony Stark flipped some relays within his armor controls. A new burst of flame exploded from his boot-jets, and he shot towards the plane before him. It tried a few evasive maneuvers, but they were below his contempt.
The problem was, this thing was carrying a dangerous cargo. It had to be brought down safely, if such a thing could be done. Gilbert was bound not to be cooperative on that account.
Then, Iron Man saw the door blow out of the plane in a burst of flame.
He steeled himself, prepared for a further, larger explosion. But none came. The door, burning, simply fell towards the Earth.
With an aerial motion that a World War I pilot would have envied, the man of iron swooped out, came back in, matched speed, and, finally, thrust himself through the doorway of the plane, the slipstream and momentum slamming him within it, down the slim passageway towards the back, until he finally gained control of his motion and came to a stop. He was wedged against a brace of seats, in an awkward position.
He managed to lift his head and see the other occupant of the plane, standing near the controls—the plane had to be on autopilot—outfitted in red and gold armor not unlike his own, and looking confident. Damnably, inhumanly, confident.
"Good afternoon, Iron Man," said Firebrand. "Welcome to the Fire."
To be concluded....