The Evil Long Forgotten

Chapter 2

By Christopher W. Blaine

(with technical assistance by Ms. Ley)

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DISCLAIMER: All of the characters and situations contained in this story are ©2003 by DC Comics Inc. and are used without permission for non-profit, fan related entertainment purposes only. This original work of fiction is ©2003 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced in any manner, in part or as a whole, without the express permission of the author.

Ra's Al Ghul sniffed the glass of wine. The scent was familiar enough, a vintage bottled in 1879, most likely with his own hands. That year had been a time of reflection for him as he pondered the approaching twentieth century. Now, that century had gone the way of the dinosaur, deep into obscurity and was only a footnote for historians to debate on the news shows.

His companion this night held a glass as well, but in a trembling hand. Wine already stained the blanket that covered the other man's legs and Ra's considered it such a waste that something of such rarity should be wasted so. Out of civility, he toasted his associate's good health and received a wheeze and cough as a reply.

Outside a Lazarus Pit was being prepared. The bath of sacred chemicals had kept Ra's alive and youthful for centuries. Occasionally, he felt charitable towards certain members of humankind and bestowed his gifts upon them. Tonight was one such night.

"Drink my friend, savor the sting of the grape as it travels down your withered throat. Relish the pain. In a few short hours, that pain will be nothing but a memory." He looked over and saw his companion sip with wrinkled dry lips at the glass. Even though the other man's body had failed him, the Head of the Demon could feel a strong presence radiating out.

The shriveled corpse of a man in the wheelchair, with the scarred face and spotted scalp, still seemed to project an air of authority. That authority and the man's general view of the world was what had endeared him to Ra's so many years ago.

The old man tried to speak, but the wine seemed to have dried out his tongue. Ra's raised a hand. "We will speak later, my friend, when you are whole again and ready to continue your work. You and I are very much alike; we both see that mankind needs to be weeded, like a garden. If the crop is to be good, then the dying and sick plants must be pulled out by the roots. Perhaps the bounty will be less, but it will be much more satisfying." He set his wine glass down and in an act so uncharacteristic of him; Ra's walked over and carefully removed the glass from the older man's hand.

As if on cue, the door to the study opened and a strikingly beautiful woman strode in. Her long dark hair and Mediterranean looks put an aura of the exotic about her. She walked up to Ra's and kissed him gently on the cheek. "May I take our guest now, Father?" she asked.

Without a word, he nodded his consent, but not before putting a gentle squeeze on the shoulder of the old man. When the woman and the man had left the room, Ra's set the wine glasses down and proceeded to the fireplace where he kept a box of cigars. Grabbing a large Cuban, he lit the tobacco from a gold lighter and found his favorite chair.

Glancing at the wall mounted Swiss clock, he saw that it was nearing midnight. It would be several hours before his friend would rejoin him and he wished for something to occupy his time. He supposed that he could formulate some new plan to humiliate the Detective, the Batman of Gotham City, one of his few worthy opponents.

He could also plan his revenge against the criminal Bane, the man who had traveled the world destroying several Lazarus Pits. It really didn't matter as he had far more pits than even he could remember.

Relishing his cigar, he decided instead to simply enjoy his vice next to the fireplace and leave it at that.

The man that walked slowly into the room several hours later was drenched in sweat, but was otherwise the picture of health. The dip into the rejuvenating bath of the Lazarus Pit caused temporary insanity and the man had been locked away for his own good until the effects wore off. The special room that had to be constructed had cost the Head of the Demon several million dollars, but it would be worth it if his resurrected companion could now complete his life mission.

Clad in a silk robe and matching slippers, he looked more like a Hollywood movie star than someone who was almost one hundred years old. Even his scars had healed, revealing a strong European jaw line and deep blue eyes. When the man spoke, it was with a voice of authority. "Ich weiss nicht, wie ich mich fuer Deine Guetigkeit erkenntlich zeigen kann (I do not know how I can repay you for your kindness)," he said, spreading his arms. "Ich stehe fuer immer in Deiner Schuld (I am forever in your debt)."

"English, please," Ra's said. "We need to work on removing your accent if you hope to ever fit into the 21st century society." Ra's moved over to the breakfast table that his servants had set up and invited his guest to eat with him. "You must be famished," Ra's said, grabbing a pastry.

"It has been decades since I could eat solid food," the man said, reaching for the pancakes. His English was good, but there was a hint of a German accent to it.

"Your English is very good," Ra's commented. He then said something in his native Arabic. The man smiled and gave him a reply that contained no hint of accent. "Your command of languages indicates the superiority of your intellect."

"My family ensured that I had the best education," the man commented in between bites. "I attended several schools before I received my commission. I was immediately promoted through the ranks based more upon my knowledge of foreign peoples then my political standing. However, my family's government connections did serve me well."

"Ah, yes, your family background. Prussian aristocracy wasn't it? There are not very many of those pedigrees around anymore. Reminds me of more civilized times." Ra's reached for another pastry and some coffee. "Will you be using your family name in your second life?"

The man reached for the blueberry syrup. "No. I will use another name. My estates were long ago transferred to the government. I have pride in my ancestry, but there is no need to use it anymore."

"Have you tested to see if your powers have returned? I understand you lost the use of them when you had your first stroke." Ra's was very interested in this because it would further document the effects of the Lazarus treatments. Normally, any person who was exposed to the chemicals would see old wounds heal; metahumans often reacquired old powers. The Black Canary, a one-time lover of Ra's, had her Canary Cry ability returned to her.

"I fear that it will be sometime before I can even try as I have not only been out of practice, but I need to eat and gain my strength." It was obvious that the man was as anxious as Ra's was, but his answer made sense. It had been at least forty years since the man had tried to even fly, let alone use any of the other abilities he had.

"If I may be indulged with presenting you with another gift," Ra's said as he picked up a silver bell. He rang it once and the man protested, stating that his host's attentions were embarrassing him.

"I am a pauper, come to kneel before your throne; I am unworthy of your gifts," the man said.

Ra's smiled, appreciating the genuine humbleness the man was displaying. The door opened and a man dressed in servant's clothing came in with a large bundle in his arms. Approaching slowly, he laid the bundle down on the floor just in front of the two men and after bowing, left quietly. "Please, my friend, open it."

The man set his fork down and wiped his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief. Getting up, the man walked over and opened the bundle, slowly peeling away the brown wrappings. When he had it opened he gasped and Ra's saw him trembling as he reached in. When the man turned, there were tears in his eyes. "I thought it destroyed so many years ago…"

"It isn't the original, but I had my operatives find the original designs in the KGB files. You would be surprised what the Russians collected when Berlin fell." Ra's invited him to continue his repast. "I'm not sure if it will fit, so please do not hesitate to ask to have it altered."

The man dabbed at the tears in his eyes and ran a hand over his scalp. It would take some time for the hair to grow back. "Please, tell me what I can do to repay you. Give me any task, any wish…"

"All I ask is that you continue your work. You simply had a run of bad luck…"

The man snorted. "Bad luck named Wonder Woman! That Amazon whore!"

Ra's tilted his head to the side. "I don't think I've ever heard her described that way. She was the last hero you battled?"

The man nodded and reached for some coffee. "Yes…she destroyed my armor and beat me senseless because I underestimated her."

"It happens. For all of my amassed knowledge and power, even I underestimate the heroes at times. It does make the game interesting." Ra's finished his meal and stood up to walk out on the balcony. "Please, continue to eat, my friend. You must regain your strength so that you can get to work."

The Head of the Demon looked at the sun rising over the German horizon and inhaled the morning air. Today he was staring a new path and he was looking forward the seeing where it led. He turned to his companion. "You never did tell me the full story of you humbling defeat."

"Berlin had fallen," the man began, his mind drifting back to the horrible days when Soviet rockets rained down on the capital of the country he had loved so much. Germany had been so strong only a few years before, full of life and vigor. Babies were being born by the literal truckload, flowers were blooming seemingly all year long and every German citizen had a small hop in their step.

All of that had changed so quickly. The air raids became as common as the sunrise and Germany soon found itself alone. Italy had fallen and Japan was once again sinking into its isolationist way of life. Germany had been left, once again, to the whims of the allies.

He was reminded, briefly, of a conversation he had once had with a former Gestapo officer in Chili. It had been some years after the war and Odessa had managed to smuggle many officers and their families out of Europe to South America. The two men had been relaxing under the shade of a tree, sipping the local coffee. The man had started talking about the siege of Berlin.

"Stalins Raketen waren wie Sperma und Berlin war das Ei (Stalin's rockets were like sperm and Berlin was the egg)," he joked.

In a way, that had been exactly the case. It was from those assaults that the bastard twins of East and West Germany had been born. The reunification of his beloved homeland in the latter half of the 20th century had brought him great joy.

He continued his tale. "I had managed to secret myself out of Europe. Thanks to my ruined visage," he said, rubbing the new pink skin on his face, "I looked like a war veteran. I used a French accent."

"Nobody ever suspects the French," Ra's said, smiling. "Did I ever tell you how an entire French army surrendered to me, a leper and a donkey? No? I digress, please continue."

The man sat back, full of pastry. "I was hoping to simply disappear into America until I could contact you, but I ran out of funds. I was reduced to common thievery."

"Regrettable; why did you not use the Odessa like so many of your comrades?" Ra's asked.

"I wanted nothing to do with them. I only went to South America because I tired of speaking the gutter-speak of America. After the Jews captured Herr Eichmann, I made good my escape back to Europe." He sighed. His life, since the war, had been nothing but running, running from a past that, had it not been in the hands of a madman, would be the gestation of the present.

"So, in your haste to get funds, you ran afoul of Wonder Woman?"

"Yes; you should have seen her face when I appeared before her in all of my splendor! 'Baron Blitzkrieg' she had cried out in disbelief. It was laughable. My defeat at her hands, however, was not." He got up and moved over to the window. The rising sun burned his eyes, but he continued to look anyway. He was a noble; the sun would have to avert its gaze from him.

"But you escaped her," Ra's offered.

"Barely, but yes, though I lost my armor," he said, but then he looked over to the gift that Ra's had presented to him. "Again, you have my thanks."

"It will serve you well, I hope." Ra's commented. He then decided to probe a little more. The Baron had come under his wing in the early 1940's and had remained a true ally through the decades. Though his body had ultimately failed him, the Baron had often times tried to use his tactical genius to aid the Head of the Demon.

Ra's recalled how he and the Baron had met in a small café in occupied Paris. Ra's had used his relationship with the former king of England, Edward, a supposed sympathizer of National Socialism, to get in good with many German industrialists of the time. New technology had always interested Ra's and in the 1930's, Germany had been on the forefront of such things.

Ra's was able to travel all around the world and though he was not blond-haired and blue-eyed, his money and influence allowed him to be free from harassment. Not that it had mattered anyway because he had operatives watching him everywhere he went. The French at that time feared the Gestapo; the Gestapo would have been well advised to fear Ra's Al Ghul.

At that little café, as the Baron, clad in his golden armor, surrounded by armed guards and the ever-faithful Hans had been sipping plain black coffee. Parisians would walk by and whisper and point until a guard pointed the muzzle of a machinegun in their direction. Ra's had braved the weapons and sat down, introducing himself.

From that point, the two men discovered that they shared a common goal and unique vision of the world. A new order was needed, one by which the strong ruled over the less strong, not the weak. Hitler had intrigued Ra's and enraptured the Baron, but as the war progressed, Ra's began to recognize that while Hitler's flame had burned brightly, it could not be sustained. It required fuel and the fuehrer had used poor wood in his fire.

Whenever Hitler had seen true genius in his followers, he did not cultivate it, he cut it out. The final straw for the Baron had been the elimination of his friend, Erwin Rommell. He realized then, that if he ever were successful against the American and British supermen, he would then be considered a liability. He had held no illusions that Himmler would personally come after him if given the order.

Together, Ra's and the Baron had begun to hatch a plan to use the scientific achievements of the Third Reich to promote their vision. They decided not to pursue other German heroes such as Captain Nazi and instead tried to recruit the best scientists and military minds the country had to offer.

Then came the Atoman Project.

"You will seek out your cousin, then?" Ra's asked. "You still believe him to be alive?"

The Baron nodded and went over to the golden armor. He ran his hand over it. "I know he is alive. Had the Soviets found him, then I am sure Stalin or Khrushchev would have employed the technology." He shook his head. "I cannot believe that the Americans would have taken him."

"There was that uproar over the super-heroes in the 50's," Ra's commented. "Perhaps their CIA has your cousin hidden away with Kennedy's brain and Elvis?" He saw the hurt look come over the Baron's face. "I do not mean to make light of your quest, my friend. Indeed, I am willing to provide as much support as I can."

"You have gotten the information, then?"

Ra's went over to a table and opened a drawer. He pulled out a package and examined it for a second. "You will probably be disappointed."

The Baron walked over and took the package and went back to the table. He slowly opened it and pulled out the contents. He reviewed it very quickly while Ra's decided to have an early morning cigar. "This is gibberish," the Baron finally said. "It looks like a cross between Hebrew, Japanese and Greek! Is this…is this Pig Latin?" He threw the papers on the floor. Ra's said nothing, but instead let the Baron have his fit of rage.

After a few minutes, the Baron regained his composure and took a cigarette from a case made from a human skull. He choked at first, realizing that his new lungs had never enjoyed the dark flavor of nicotine. He would get to go through the entire experience of becoming addicted all over again. "I should have guessed the good doctor would put his notes in such a manner. Only he would be able to translate them."

Ra's nodded. "Or else if someone, someone very learned and well-connected, spent several years researching the doctor and his work…"

The Baron's face brightened. All was not lost yet.