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Batman 1939: Swimming In the Styx
Chapter 29: The Vergency
Río Gallegos, Argentina.
Batman wasn't a military analyst. He didn't schedule time to study cannon calibers and navel tonnage and which battalions used what boot polish. His passion, at its most distilled, was to protect his neighbors from his other neighbors: local, civilian problems with local, civilian solutions. Most criminals lacked the war chest for actual war, and he paid good taxes to delegate those to other people.
Still, Batman was a know-it-all. Indeed, he had been a know-it-all before he became Batman He drank knowledge like a storm drain in a flood and then inferred the world from scratch. Batman wasn't a military analyst, but his galaxy of ideas was usually comprehensive enough to infer cannon calibers and navel tonnage and boot polish from other trivia.
In this way, when Batman reached the windswept Patagonian hilltop outside the city of Río Gallegos, he looked down at a small Army siege camp and guessed confidently at its equipment and doctrine. Knowing that an army was Latin American and subtropic and wealthy and schooled by German advisors was as descriptive as knowing that a painting was Pointillist or that a building was Neoclassical – it brought probabilities into much clearer focus.
From Batman's distant hilltop, their site appeared as shadows, but Batman was fluent in shadows. He could see this camp was a rushed affair, more an unpacked baggage train than a finished encampment. Perhaps the Fascists had expected only token resistance to take the city; they may not have planned to stop at all. He guessed they housed two or three companies of men. Given the field of trucks in the rear, at least one company was motorized. He saw a few aircraft parked there as well. There was also a screen of light artillery flanking both ends of camp. Batman doubted how useful those aircraft would be at night, though he acknowledged that he had nearly drowned thanks to one of them.
Thoughts of that plummet reminded him of Diana. When Batman had staggered nearly-frozen out of the river, he briefly feared for her life. But those loose emotions were soon replaced with skepticism at whether she was even in danger. Diana had suggested that falling out of an aircraft wasn't a concern, and it sounded like she spoke from experience. What could threaten her then? The cold? The biting atmosphere would be miserable on her bare arms and calves, but windchill wouldn't be the end of her. Batman was no closer to explaining what material exactly she was composed of, but he swore that if they ever met again, he would steal a hair or skin flake to take back to his microscope. He didn't expect that reunion would be anytime soon: the winds could have carried them ten miles apart.
Batman decided that worrying about her now was a luxury. The cold numbed his strained muscles, but he still felt tired and nauseous. Lying prone, continued to inspect the siege camp through binoculars. He noticed that among the slapdash lean-tos were permanent buildings. The camp had been built around a village. They would use genuine buildings for a planning rooms, field hospitals, and most importantly, holding cells.
It occurred that Batman that he could leave. Even on a broken ankle, he could retreat before dawn. He had no pragmatic reasons to stay, and whatever vows he had sworn were, if not expired, at least brought into doubt. But if he went forward, he might obstruct a fascist insurgency that would mutilate thousands and oppress millions. There was justice in that. Nuanced, speculative justice of uncertain utility, but justice nonetheless. Or, if not justice, perhaps an even more ambitious virtue, altruism. It was hard to argue that the group lobbing artillery shells at their own citizens weren't the bad guys.
And in the process he might save a man from cruel, semi-justified captivity. That was something.
Capitán Mateo Vega commanded the the 7th Rifle Company, the vanguard of the assault on Río Gallegos. Capitán Vega was known as a responsible, brave officer, so he had expected more consideration when he pled to delay their attack until morning. His ranks were thinned from the bloody fight at Rio Apiculata. A mishandled assault here might doom the campaign, and support fire at night would be worse than useless (if artillery and aircraft were any good in the near-polar winds to begin with). But Coronel Romero had been fanatical, accepting no delay. He would capture Río Gallegos before the fleet at anchor could escape. With that fleet half the country would be firmly in their hands.
Capitán Vega's 7th Company and what remained of the 5th had spent much of the day struggling to break through the city's outer fortifications. They finally entered in the late evening, and the enemy line had since been pushed back to a rough arc around the naval base. Save for a few pockets cut off elsewhere, Vega's men had the run of the city, and he was starting to believe the mission might end neatly.
But he couldn't rest. Both sides shared a uniform, and skirmishes popped up so suddenly in the dark that combatants were tripping over each other. In such conditions, the battle could turn against them any minute. Capitán Vega felt it prudent to place extra security around his own post. Some infernally lucky band of locals might stumble across him even now. The center of that security was Manfried. Five of the Germanic giants had been attached to 7th Company. If they had ranks or surnames, these were not shared with Capitán Vega. They had arrived with their own armor and weapons and enough pidgin Spanish to take orders. Vega and the other commanders were still experimenting with the right way to deploy their large guests in combat. Vega's plan wast to embed them equally among his platoons as regular infantry, but some of his peers were using them in special teams or even as bodyguards.
Vega was inspired by this last idea and kept Manfried in reserve tonight. The pale, enormously-muscular man had been shot in the leg and the jaw in the attack on Rio Apiculata. His leg hadn't fully healed, and half his mouth was still missing, but otherwise it had been an extraordinary recovery. Now Manfried stood at attention, indifferent to whatever pain a man felt with most of his teeth absent.
The Capitán's command post was a small schoolhouse well behind the front line. As the Capitán studied his maps, there was a desperate knocking at the door. Manfried opened it. An exhausted young soldier entered and saluted. The young man tried twice to report, but each time he had to stop to catch his breath.
Capitán Vega watched impatiently. "What is it?"
The soldier finally answered, "Capitán, the south bridge is lost! Our squad is in retreat!"
Capitán Vega was outraged. "The Communist gangsters have pushed south! How many men did they send?"
"None, sir!"
"What!"
There was yelling and the rapid pop of rifle fire outside. The young soldier dived to the floor and cried, "She's here!"
The Capitán growled and picked up a rifle from a table. "Out!"
He rushed from the room, with Manfried and his other guards and assistants close behind.
The command post was one of the few illuminated sites in the city. Lanterns had been hung in the schoolhouse windows and from the eaves of surrounding buildings. The four men posted in the street were firing at something at the hazy edge of the lamp glow. Capitán Vega watched several rounds spit downrange. A few caused a flash of sparks like struck flint followed by the hollow sound of a ricochet. The Capitán peered ahead as his eyes adjusted to the night. The wind picked up, making the lanterns swing and casting the target into view.
It was a tall woman in a metal swimsuit. She approached at a brisk walk and carried a sword with its edge smeared black. All the men opened fire. The woman moved her arms. It must have been a trick of the light, but no one could track the motion between her initial and final poses. A blink, and suddenly her forearms were across her chest, then a blink, and they covered her face, then a blink, and she had turned to the side.
As she grew close, the soldiers could see her grim smile. Two threw stick grenades. These tumbled through the air. One went high, but the woman kicked up like a line dancer and punted the grenade skyward. The other landed short. Two seconds later, it detonated.
The blast knocked her off her feet, a peppering of shrapnel sunk in her skin and clothes. The men continued to fire. She curled tight and tried to stand, continuing to deflect bullets with her free arm. But she missed one which struck her in the leg, and she fell over again. Another round struck her armored ribs. Most of the rifles ran empty then, and the men paused to reload. One soldier tossed another grenade instead. With uncanny speed, the woman rolled to a knee, snatched the grenade out of the air, and tossed it back.
The men scattered. Most dodged the blast, but Manfried was slow and toppled to the ground. Now the woman was on her feet. She found her sword and sprinted forward. Some men stood their ground and finished reloading, but many ran. Capitán Vega shouted for them to come back, but it was no use. He gave up and started climbing to the roof of the schoolhouse.
The woman reached the nearest soldier with a flying kick that shot him into a wall. Two others nearby turned to fire, but she flipped over their heads and cut both mid-leap with a swing of her sword. A forth soldier, several paces away, gave up on fumbling with his rifle and went for his pistol. The woman was quicker, but instead of a pistol, she drew a golden lasso and snapped it from the hip. The lasso loop caught the soldier, pinning his arms to his side, and she tugged hard. He flew towards her until she intercepted his chest with her blade.
Capitán Vega reached the schoolhouse roof and started to unsling his rifle. The woman caught sight of him silhouetted against the moon. She picked up the dropped pistol at her feet, and, with a horrendously incorrect grip, fired. Capitán Vega flinched as pistol rounds licked past him. Then the fire stopped. Vega realized every single round had missed. He and woman stared at each other for a moment. She glanced at the pistol, still trying to pull its trigger. He shouldered his rifle and fired.
Three bullets struck the woman in the chest. They bounced off her shining armor but knocked her backward. Before she steadied herself, she was grabbed from behind. Manfried was standing again, He swiftly lifted her up and whipped her into the ground. She landed on her back, and he straddled her and seized her throat. She reached up and grabbed his throat as well. Both squeezed.
To their mutual surprise, neither neck broke. However, both Manfried and the woman began to wheeze and their faces turned red. Manfried gave up first. He released her throat and tried to pry away her hands. The woman felt his imbalance and rolled him over. She picked up her sword and brought it down at his face, Manfried caught the blade barehanded and pinned her arm in a wrestler's lock. She didn't expect this and fell forward. He leaned into the lock, pressing hundreds of pounds against her shoulder joint.
Her arm felt like it would snap off, but then the pressure disappeared. She twisted away and saw that he was cradling the bloodied hand. There was a large, ugly cut across the palm, nearly bisecting it. The sword had also grazed his arm, and that long gash was shedding blood as well. He tried to grab her once more, but she caught his bad arm, tucked her sword around, and finished the job.
Wonder Woman finally stood. She saw no men around: all were slain or fled. She wiped her sword on the giant man's pant leg and continued onward, picking shrapnel out of her skin.
The motor pool behind the Fascist camp had, near its center, a stacked pyramid of fuel drums. Though the camp was surrounded by sentries, manpower was at a premium, and command was sure that the enemy was bottled in the city and amateurs to boot. Consequently, the night watch along the rear of the camp was thin and less than attentive. However, when the stacked pyramid of fuel drums near the center of their motor pool caught fire, they noticed. This instant bonfire reached high into the night, a star come to earth.
Some men thought that the drums had been struck by a shell from the distant navel cannons. Others disputed this, claiming they would have heard a blast. Regardless, much of the camp dropped their tasks and sprung to action, moving parked trucks and storage crates before they too ignited from the million embers on the wind. No one bothered attempting to extinguish the fire; it was far too large, but a few men did check around it for anyone injured. The motor pool was thought deserted, but someone might have been passing through.
Those brave searchers found no one injured by the fire, but their search took time and news passed slowly to the rest of camp. Meanwhile, a hunched figure draped in a soot-stained cloak hobbled into camp. He used a stick for a crutch and wore an enlisted man's cap, and his hands and face were wrapped in sooty bandages. Some men racing for the fire stopped to aid him, but he begged them to pass by. He could walk, he said, and there were those hurt far worse still caught near the flames.
Eventually, this bandaged figure neared the commandeered village in the camp's center. There were more guards stationed here, guards who hadn't run to help with the fire. The figure slowly circled to the far side of the village, opposite the fire which cast a blinding glare even here. The light worked to his advantage here, offering a wealth of shadows and ruining the night vision of those ahead. Working through the shadows, he reached a one-room cottage on the periphery and found the door unlocked.
The room was dark. An officer snored in a dirty bed, half-undressed. The figure quietly removed his cap and pulled the bandages down his face. It was Batman. He found a flask from the floor. It sloshed, half-full. Batman crept to the officer's side. In a motion, he smothered the man's mouth and nose with a hand and poured water over his face. The officer woke immediately and struggled to free himself, shaking and punching, but Batman's grip was iron. Batman dropped the flask and carefully placed his other hand around the officer's throat. He released the officer's mouth. The officer drew breath and tried to yell, but Batman used this delay to carefully tighten his grip on the officer's throat, silencing the cry.
Batman leaned in close and demanded to know where the prisoners were kept. The officer resisted. He hissed that Batman was a communist and a degenerate radical and a Jew, and that the gallows was too good for him. But Batman was persistent and eventually earned the answer he wanted. He took a syringe from his belt and pricked the officer's arm, delivering a sedative. Batman waited to see its effect, then pulled on his cap and bandages. He exited the cottage, visible for a moment in the hot light of the bonfire, and disappeared.
Batman had expected that if the camp did have stockades, they were likely in one of the larger stone or brick buildings, structures with several rooms, or even better, a basement, that could be fashioned as cells. His expectations proved true. The officer confessed that the camp did hold one prisoner, and he was locked away in the cellars under the largest building around, an old brewery. Furthermore, the camp commander, Coronel Romero, had decreed that no one but himself was to visit the prisoner.
Batman found the brewery easily enough. Its main hall was the camp's busy headquarters. Batman found a secluded spot across from the brewery and studied the patterns of the occupants. He considered infiltration routes, but he was distracted by a dizzying rush of nausea. This tempered him, and he decided to hold back. Batman was certain that the initial panic around the fire had turned to suspicion: the camp would be hunting infiltrators. No, he would wait for the heat to die down.
When Wonder Woman had fallen from her plane, she had judged that the edge of Río Gallegos was perhaps four miles from the invader's camp. She had neared that edge, facing west over that crater-pocked road when she saw the flame. A column of light appeared ahead, lifting to the heavens, casting shadows that stretched acres. In an instant, she recalled the Batman's predilection for fire, and she felt no doubt. Yes! Yes, he had survived. Of course he had. Wonder Woman grinned, flush with battle. It was the grin of a predator joined by her pack. It was cathartic and eager. The Amazons praised the glory of war, yet her kind had not fought a man in centuries. Endless young warriors grew old yearning for glory they could never touch. But tonight, if the shackled passion of ten generations could be freed in one heart, Wonder Woman felt it released in hers.
Wonder Woman pressed on, hindered but not mightily by the wounds in her legs. Some minutes later, a column of fresh soldiers approached on the road. Most came on foot, but they followed a line of vehicles whose headlights found her at a far distance. Voices called at her to move. She walked forward. A warning shot hit the dust at her feet. Her walk sped to a run. Orders were yelled, and a row of guns barked but failed to slow her. Reaching a sprint, she hopped over the hood of the lead truck, crashing headfirst through the windshield and landing on the driver. She disposed of him and tore through the cabin's rear to the bed of the truck where twelve men sat. The rearmost eight scrambled out onto the dirt, but the first four weren't quick enough.
Now the other trucks and cars were swerving off the road to make space, and their passengers rushed out to join the others on foot. As Wonder Woman engaged the nearest foes, a line of soldiers near the end of the column began to set up machine guns. She hacked through the panicked crowd as she came, causing five to scatter from her path for every one she slew. Gunfire buzzed from all directions now, straining her reflexes. She saw the machine guns a moment before they attacked. Two jets of metal spit at her. With extraordinary speed, she kept the jets at bay for an entire second, then bullets began to slip through her guard. Her chest and legs were sprayed, each round pounding like a hot hammer. Then two large rounds hit her forehead and nose, and she tumbled to the ground blind.
Another round hit her arm as she lay, but only by luck. The night was still dark this far from the bonfire. The gunners' aim was hindered by the flash of their own weapons, and they were reluctant to hunt too wildly for a target when their comrades lined the road just beyond. Wonder Woman headed this respite and crawled through her pain into the grass. She rested here, cowed by the fiery welts in her face. She heard soldiers dare each other to search the grass. Most refused.
When her mind unfogged, she saw that she was near a car. Wonder Woman crawled further until she was only paces away. An older soldier stood outside the car snarling into a radio handset. There was a lively madness in his eyes. She continued close, almost close enough to strike, but his nerves made him keen, and he spotted her. As she stood, he reached into the car and pulled out a fat pistol. Wonder Woman prepared to protect herself, but he pointed the weapon skyward and fired a flare. Its cool red light arced across the stars, making the landscape clear for fifty yards around.
Of course, Wonder Woman's sword cut open the old soldier before the flare reached its apogee, but it was too late for her to stop it. Under the sudden light, a dozen rifles turned to her and fired, now with commendable accuracy. She sprinted away from the road, chasing the night.
The commander of the Fascist rebels assaulting Río Gallegos was Coronel Santiago Romero. His long-serving staff knew him as a loud, fiery man – a 'character' as the yanquis put it. But in the past few days, the Coronel had acted cool and cautious, even shy. Most of the staff believed the difference was a reaction to their bitter victory at Rio Apiculata. Perhaps the chains of command must chafe at any sane man after such butchery. Though none yet admitted it aloud, a few staffers had feared the change was proof that the Coronel had lost his nerve.
But even these skeptics admitted he was in his element tonight. Coronel Romero had stood all evening at a large table in the brewery-turned-command post. No uncertainties could frustrate him nor bad news make him flinch. No, he issued calm orders hour after hour, steady as a rock.
He wasn't without opportunities. His planners had not heard from the front in some time, and some grew nervous. Silence alone wasn't proof of tragedy: their forces in the city had only three radios and broadcast conditions were miserable. Still, if the battle was proceeding well, someone ought to have reported by now. The Coronel was confident in their situation, but he had recently deployed one of their last fully-manned reserve platoons to be safe. They estimated that the platoon would still be on the road, but it would report from the city within the half hour.
A technician at a nearby radio began arguing into his machine, drawing the attention of the room. He continued for a brief conversation, raising his voice with every line to ask for more details and clarity. Finally he was nearly shouting, but there was silence on the line.
All staff officers in the room eyed him expectantly, and the technician answered, "Sirs, that was Teniente Primero Lopez of the reserve platoon. They are under attack, though he was not clear about the attacker."
Mummers filled the room. Coronel Romero ordered, "Capitán Garcia, muster what remains of Sosa's platoon and wait at the first milestone." An officer saluted and left the room. The Coronel then asked, "Soldier, what did Lopez say?"
The technician sputtered. "He- he said a wild woman was coming at him with a sword."
Coronel Romero shook his head. "What of the other attackers. How many did he see against the platoon? Did he know anything?"
"Forgive me, Coronel, he said they were all attacked by a woman with a sword. He spoke of no one else. Machine gunners struck her down, and he claimed she was gone, but then he screamed and the call dropped."
A stupefied silence fell on the table. Before anyone spoke, a messenger ran in and announced that camp spotters had seen a flare above the road halfway towards the city. His announcement was interrupted by another rush of conversation at the radio. This speaker was more coherent, as the technician was able to pursue questions at length. Finally, he reported, "Sirs, Teniente Primero Lopez is dead! One of his men says the platoon has suffered nine casualties. The woman was indeed alone, but all who saw her claim she could swat bullets like flies. Only the machine guns stopped her, but not for long. Then Teniente Primero Lopez fired that flare in his last moments, and the flare finally scared the woman away."
Coronel Romero asked, "Where did she run?"
The technician repeated the question into the radio. After a pause, he answered, "South-east. They have lost sight of her and request orders. Should they give chase?"
For the first time that evening, Coronel Romero hesitated. His staff noticed a mean gleam enter his eyes. He looked around the table. "That fire in the motor pool. Was it perhaps started by lightning?"
His officers tried not to look puzzled by the question. Finally, his most senior advisor said, "No, Coronel. There were no accounts of lightning."
Coronel Romero looked unconcerned. "Hmm. Not likely in league with him, anyway."
The senior advisor blinked. "Pardon, sir?"
"Order the reserve platoon back to camp at full speed. Muster every idle man in camp, whether infantry or cooks. Go!" Another two officers hurried from the room. "How many machine guns have we?"
His quartermaster answered, "They are all in the field sir."
"How many lights?"
"Uh, lights? At least forty lanterns and flashlights."
"And flares?"
"Two dozen perhaps."
"Ready the men into blocking units. Don't waste time finding rifles, but provision them as much lighting as possible. Make cloth torches if you must. I want a line of men half a kilometer long to approach the city in formation. If they spot this woman, they will wait until she is close and then fire a flare. Our artillery will saturate the flare's location immediately. Is this understood?"
His staff officers, all of them hard, solemn men, were taken by surprise. Some blanched, none objected, but none moved.
The Coronel's face contorted and he screamed, "Now!" And they ran to work.
Only his senior advisor stayed. After a few moments, he asked, "Sir, emptying the camp leaves us almost defenseless."
Coronel Romero seemed about to sneer, but restrained himself. Instead, he said, "Set up a pair of large fires around a platform at the road in front of camp. If our line does meet this woman, I'll prepare another defense."
Batman had expected to hide across from the brewery housing the camp's command staff for an hour or more until its defenders grew complacent and let him enter unobserved. To his surprise, only minutes after he settled in to wait, he heard a commotion inside the building, and a group of officers and their adjutants spilled out. They spread across the camp, crying questions and orders. Batman noticed that they took most of the brewery's visible guards away with them, leaving only one at each entrance, and none at the cellar door.
Batman was hiding in the loft of a maintenance shed. His ankle had quieted to a modest burn while he lay in wait, and he descended the rope from the loft with his hands alone to spare his injury. He couldn't walk faster than a brisk limp on a broken ankle, and people were frequently traveling by; he wouldn't make it across the brewery lawn unseen. Batman puled his hat down and continued on, hugging his cape tight like a cloak. Fortunately, every cold army in history respected warmth over protocol, and men hustled around in every sort of coat or wrapped in sheets and blankets.
Batman made it to the cellar door, cast a final glance around for onlookers, and climbed in. He was surprised to find the cellar wired with electric lights, though the rest of the space was as he expected. The ceiling was low, and the air had a strong scent of wood and beer. The walls had no cover, just wooden framework exposing the bedrock like the sides of a crude mineshaft. Stacks of fat barrels divided the space into three narrow paths. Batman felt uneasy, and it took him three steps to realize why: he didn't see anyone. The camp was desperate for shelter – they were under bombardment – and here was a sturdy underground room with electric lighting, not to mention enough beer to satisfy an army. Why wasn't there an army? Why reserve it for one prisoner?
Batman paused to consider this. There was constant muffled noise above, but he couldn't hear anyone else in the cellar. There were still two paths he hadn't seen yet, and that hadn't seen him.
An old-fashioned switch was mounted near the staircase. Batman turned off the lights.
Through the darkness, a man's scratchy voice cursed, "Was zur Holle!" Then it called out awkwardly, "Ehhh … Hola?"
Batman heard enormous feet clomping towards him. He trained to see in the dark, but obviously that meant the partial dark, the euphemistic dark which still carried faint moonlight or a similar cheat. In the actual dark, like a sealed basement, Batman was as blind as anyone. He limped quietly into a different row then the approaching footsteps. In the tight space, there was nothing he could do to get the drop on someone except to hope they passed his row at the intersection.
Fortunately, the stranger passed by to reach the switch. Batman crept up behind.
The light turned on. It was an enormous soldier, pale and shaved bald, hunching his chin so far to fit under the ceiling that his chin was below his shoulders. He began to turn, but he only made it halfway around when Batman whipped him with his stick. There wasn't enough space for a proper baseball swing, so Batman swung like a golf drive, torturing his strained back to smack the stick across the big soldier's jaw. It was a strong piece of wood, two inches thick and limber, and it snapped on impact.
The soldier swayed back and blinked, perhaps bothered most by wood chips in his eyes. But he only blinked twice when Batman stepped around and smashed his head into the bedrock. Then Batman turned off the lights again and slipped an arm around the soldier's throat. As was common, it took a moment for the soldier to realize he was in a chokehold. Batman nearly had to climb his back to secure the hold, and when the soldier straightened up to respond, it lifted Batman's heels off the floor and sandwiched his head against the ceiling. This didn't deter Batman, nor did the soldier's thick neck.
However, the soldier knew some wrestling. He wasted no time on useless motions but quickly hunched his shoulders and worked to pry a hand under the attacking arm. He was extraordinary strong, inhumanly strong, but sometimes knowing a sport just means knowing you've lost. Without space or leverage or even sight of his assailant, the giant had no counters. Yet the struggle pressed on – three seconds, then five, then eight, then ten, then twelve, lasting longer than any chokehold Batman ever tried in a dojo. And still Batman's arms tightened like an anaconda, shifting to evade the earnest defenses until they stopped.
Batman knew the fight was over when his feet touched the floor. He tripped on his bad ankle and felt a moment of horror when he sensed the enormous body was going to fall on him. But the limp giant turned sideways, bounced off a barrel, toppling it, and rolled to the floor with relative grace. Batman switched on the lights.
When he had heard the soldier yell in German, Batman remembered Waller's warning about the Pena Dura subjects. Even before seeing her records last year, Batman had heard the urban legend around the fringes of the medical research community - some mad scientist attempt at turning normal men into Hercules using drugs or radiation or animal grafting, depending on who told the story. The mainstream consensus said such a project was impossible. Batman had learned lately to take the impossible with a grain of salt. He speculated that if such a program was possible, it would enhance a body in the way a body usually improved through good exercise, just moreso. And human anatomy had very little muscle protecting the throat again a properly-applied chokehold. Even if a man's neck strength doubled or tripled, Batman's arms were still stronger. And every brain needed a blood supply. No measure of toughness would change that.
Of course, it could have been a regular German supporting the Argentine rebels, one with uncommonly loud footsteps, but Batman's response would've been the same, except perhaps without the stick.
He inspected the giant's glassy expression. Contrary to its common name, the victim of a "sleeper" hold was usually unconscious for a less than a minute, and often only a few seconds. This was a problem. Batman had packed two more doses of sedative. But sedatives were a delicate, dangerous science. His doses were conservatively measured for a typical man, and Batman was still reluctant to use them on the world's most typical men. How would a dose might affect his current 'patient'? One shot might do nothing, and two might be lethal. However, he also needed every advantage in securing the soon-conscious human weapon. There wasn't much here he could improvise into restraints.
Batman made due with the tools at hand. He administered one dose of sedative, and used almost all of his rope to bind the giant's wrists and ankles. Even if his captive stayed bound, he was in plain sight of the door. Anyone who entered the cellar would see him immediately. However, the ape was well past three hundred pounds; Batman couldn't move a load like that with a bad back.
As usual, when everything else might go wrong, Batman's only guarantee was speed.
In the rear of the cellar, where the oversized guard had been, was a strong wooden door with an old iron lock. Batman managed to stave off his headache and trembling arms long enough to pick it open.
The room beyond smelled like it once stored hops, but now it was empty save for a small bed occupied by a gaunt blond man who watched Batman with mild interest.
Batman walked to his bedside. "Steven Trevor?"
Steve squinted at the bandaged stranger wearing a soldier's cap. "Uh-huh. Who're you?"
"I'm Batman."
Steve sighed. "Fine, don't tell me."
Wonder Woman raced through the dark, pressing her weary legs to ever greater glory. It was not in the nature of an Amazon to retreat, but Wonder Woman considered what she had performed to be more of a lateral move. After all, her objective wasn't to strike down every villain in this country individually: that would be prohibitively time-consuming. No, her objective was to make it to the camp, and there was nothing shameful in arriving by a slightly circuitous route if it meant fewer obstacles. That was just being smart.
As Wonder Woman neared the camp, she could observe it in the sharp contrast provided by the glorious skyflame. She ran darted across some figures in the dark. They saw her and objected, but she was already past. Then she heard a familiar whistle and saw her shadow on the ground. Wonder Woman looked over her shoulder and found two flares launched in high arcs overhead. These meteors were so striking that Wonder Woman slowed to watch them. They didn't seem harmful. Unless they were alive, perhaps: some species of bird sent to chase her. Though the last one hadn't. They weren't birds, or at least they were lazy birds. Perhaps they were just illumination. That was just as well: otherwise Men might learn to fight in the dark. Well, more men, anyway. She knew the art wasn't lost on all of them.
Seconds later, twenty small artillery shells detonated above the men she had run past. Several thousand shrapnel pellets rained down from the sky, skewering the earth and everything on it – a colossal shotgun from the heavens pointed down. Wonder Woman heard brief cries and saw silhouettes fall in the dim of the distant skyflame.
She ran. But she wasn't quite fast enough to outrun the next burst. Five lead pellets struck Wonder Woman from above. Three bounced off her bronze armor, but two hit her ear and neck. She hissed and stumbled, but even on her knees she didn't stop, crawling a few paces until she could return to her feet. Her tiara was askew, but she didn't care. The next burst struck her again, but she endured.
Batman quickly unlocked the shackles holding Steve Trevor to his bed. Steve rubbed his skin and sat up. Batman pulled him to his feet. "I'm with Amanda Waller. I'm getting you out."
Steve nodded. "Where am I, anyway?"
Batman didn't answer but stood very still. There was a noise in the main cellar. Someone yelled in Spanish. They heard a crowd of footsteps. Batman firmly gripped the shackle chains and pulled, tearing the chains out of their mounts on the bed frame. He swung the free chain at his side and flicked it upward, breaking the room's sole light bulb. Now only a shaft of light came through the doorway which Batman quietly hid beside.
The shaft of light was almost obscured as another giant soldier jogged into the room. He saw Steve standing beside his bed and called out. "Der Häftling!" Another giant and a regular-sized officer entered after him. The small room was almost full. One of the giants turned and accidentally elbowed Batman. "Euh?"
Batman tossed down a flash bomb, blinding the others who were packed at the center of its brilliance. Batman swung the chain, striking the officer in the chest, then he caught the chain and wrapped it around the nearest giant's throat. It was a wild struggle in the dark as bodies bounced off the walls and each other. Batman pulled and the giant gagged. The other giant pawed around and caught Batman's cape. He gave a simple tug and Batman crashed to the floor. The pain stunned Batman, but when the giants clumsily felt for him, Batman pulled out his thermite applicator, ignited it, and swiftly jabbed their hands and arms. They squealed at their sudden burns, pulling their hands back. But one gritted his teeth and body-slammed Batman. The flame pressed into the giant's armor and smoked, but the impact knocked the tool out of Batman's hand and knocked the wind out of Batman's lungs. The giant sat up and hit Batman once in the face, knocking him senseless.
As Wonder Woman reached the camp, the artillery long behind her, she finally saw the site as more than an outline of shadows. As she looked from end to end, she could finally discern tents and buildings, and her attention was drawn to an obvious entrance at the main road. Here, she saw two large fires, not nearly at large as the great flame in the rear of the camp, but large enough to roast a steer. She knew at once that these were made for her to find. A tower of crates and sacks had been set up between the fires. There were two men at the top of this tower, standing for all to see like a surreal stage play.
Wonder Woman walked towards the tower. A few soldiers crept cautiously out of the camp and circled around her, but they kept their distance. Finally, she was close enough to see the faces of the two men. Her breath caught in her throat. One was Steve Trever, weak and unshaven. A cloth gagged his mouth, and his hands were tied. The other man was an officer pointing a pistol at Steve's head.
The officer saw her and called down in English. "I think you know who this is!"
Wonder Woman stopped at the foot of the tower and responded. "Yes, Fascist. Release him!"
The officer raised an eyebrow. "… No."
Wonder Wonder frowned but said nothing.
The officer said, "As you see, your Captain is unharmed, but that depends on your cooperation. Drop your sword."
Wonder Woman looked down at her sword and narrowed her eyes, but the officer interrupted her thoughts. "Ah, you are thinking to throw the sword at me. I suggest otherwise. Even you are not faster than this trigger."
Wonder Woman grit her teeth and tossed the sword aside. "Now what, coward?"
"Now you remove that gilded lasso from your side and hold it out. Yes, there you go. We Argentines know how to use a lasso."
Four soldiers approached her like an angry mare loose from its stall. One paused in front of her, flinched at her stare, then took two quick steps and grabbed the lasso out of her hand. The other three grabbed her arms. Wonder Woman watched the pistol pointing at Steve and didn't resist. The soldiers pinned her arms behind her and bound them with several loops of the lasso. They led her into the camp.
The officer called to his guards. Two giant soldiers stood in the shadow of the tower. One climbed up and carried Steve down. The other waited as its base and offered the officer a hand as he descended on his own.
This strange parade - Wonder Woman bound, her four handlers, Steve Trevor, the officer, and his two enormous armored bodyguards - walked through the camp to its largest building. They passed the front doors and climbed down into a cellar full of barrels that smelled of beer.
The officer led them into a room in the back where three lanterns had been hung from the ceiling. Wonder Woman gasped. In their flickering light, she saw Batman, bruised and ragged, chained to a metal ring in the wall. He sat on the bare floor, and two more soldiers guarded him. The officer gave his soldiers curt orders in Spanish. They tied the ends of Wonder Woman's lasso to another metal ring nearby, providing hardly enough slack for her to stand. Steve Trevor was tossed onto a bed, and the rope holding his wrists was quickly quickly tied to its frame.
The officer ordered all his men to leave the cellar. They hesitated but complied. The officer shut and locked the door behind him. Then he turned and smiled at Wonder Woman, offering a short bow without letting his pistol dip. She stared daggers at him.
The officer stood against the far wall. "I know what you're thinking again. That blessed cord won't tear, but with your strength, you could pull that fixture out of the wall. Yes, I suspect you could. And even tied up, you'd likely kick me to death, but pulling free would take more than a few seconds, weak as you are, and that's ample time to shot your friends. You are too valiant for that, I imagine. Compassion is a dangerous virtue for a warrior."
Wonder Woman said nothing, but she glanced at Steve and Batman.
The officer noticed and nodded at Batman. "This one we found in bandages and a stolen hat. But I recognized him when those props were gone."
Wonder Woman couldn't hide a bit of surprise. "You did?"
"This is the great Dark Knight of Gotham, the Batman!"
Steve made a noise in disbelief through his gag. Batman tilted his head away, the first motion Wonder Woman had seen from him. The officer wagged a finger at Batman. "Yes, this one thought an exaggeration. Maybe he found a few lucky breaks here and there, surely! Yet he made it this far on his own. If it was luck, he has the Devil's own luck. I can't wait to hear the stories he'll tell."
Steve rolled his eyes. Wonder Woman sneered. "You underestimate his resolve, Fascist."
The officer feigned doubt. "Do I? Perhaps, but I have a gift for getting to know a person, Diana."
Diana's blood chilled. "… Der Wehrwulf?"
The officer doffed his hat. "That's been a good name. Though it's getting too popular, wouldn't you say? It might be time for something new. Speaking of which-"
The officer found yet another metal ring in the wall. He took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and in a practiced motion, cuffed one wrist to the ring. Then he crouched and tossed his pistol just out of reach on the floor. Then he faded into a mist.
The room's other occupants gaped as the mist formed into a slight woman with short blond hair and many tattoos. She stepped forward and picked up the pistol right as the officer behind her stretched to seize her. She turned and pointed the pistol at him. "Nein, Coronel Romero. You still have a part to play. Don't make me kill you now."
The officer, Coronel Romero seethed. "Te asesinaré, vaca!"
Der Wehrwulf stepped forward and slapped him. "Acalla!" She returned to Wonder Woman. "Forgive his poor manners."
Wonder Woman asked, "What do you want, Der Wehrwulf?"
"A great many things. From this pig in uniform, I want an army. His isn't very large, so I imagine I'll trade for a bigger one soon. From you, firstly, to learn how you're alive, and how your Waller survived. She led you to me yes? That's the only way I can fathom. From your good Captain Trevor, well, I wasn't expecting him either, but I suspect you know what I want from him. And that leads us to this brawny mystery." She strutted over to Batman and pressed her shoe against his chest. "This one is the biggest surprise of all. Waller fears him. You fought him and lost-"
"I didn't lose!"
"You certainly didn't win, don't be petty. No one knows who he is, and everyone hates him. Fascinating! Do you know how rare it is to meet a truly different individual? I'm something of a gourmet, and this will be a luxury. Yes, I'll start with him. What brings the Batman here?"
Wonder Woman opened her mouth but Der Wehrwulf shushed her. "No, no, Fräulein. I don't need a story. So tiresome! I'll know him soon enough."
With that, Der Wehrwulf dropped the pistol into Batman's lap and touched his cheek. She melted into him. Steve winced.
When she was gone, Batman remained motionless. Wonder Woman peered down with a frightened expression. "Batman?"
Batman twitched. His head lolled from side to side, then stretched around. "Ah!" He coughed. "Oh dear. He is very injured. Ugrr! I think his foot's broken. Can he even stand? And this headache!" Batman took the pistol and pointed it at the others, having just enough slack in his chains to do so. "Well, at least his hands work." He twitched again and his hands trembled. "Oh. He does not like that at all. Oh my." Batman tensed until his hands stopped shaking. "This is … refreshing." He grunted some more. "No, your name isn't actually 'Batman', stop resisting. Ahh!"
Wonder Woman, Steve Trevor, and Coronel Romero glanced uncomfortably at each other. Batman squirmed. "This is a challenge. Gut! I like a challenge. Ugh. But I must take it slow, yes." Batman took several deep breaths. "Nice and slow. In the meantime, let's learn more about you, Princess."
Diana sternly asked, "How do you know me, Fascist demon?"
"That would be telling. And I know enough about that cord that you will be doing the telling. Isn't that true?"
Wonder Woman pursed her lips, but eventually she had to say, "Yes. I must speak Truth when asked."
"That's useful. A shame it's been wasted on you. Not that I need the help, of course. So, our friend Waller sincerely believed you dead. Why aren't you rotting at the bottom of the ocean?"
Wonder Woman deadpanned, "I swam."
Batman giggled. "Indeed? Then what?"
"I returned to America."
"To do what?"
"Enlist aid to find Steve Trevor."
"And that's why you're here?"
Wonder Woman and Steve looked at each other. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Many reasons."
"Name the first."
"Because I love him."
Steve made a noise behind his gag. Batman sighed theatrically. "Oh, that's sweet. You fall in love with the first man you ever see. What are the odds? Do you even know what love is, girl? Of course not. How could you?"
"There's differe-"
"Yes, I meant romantic love. Obviously. That is funny, though. You're like a grand experiment: raise a girl from birth without ever seeing a man until she's a woman and record the results. Even the Nazis haven't tried that one yet. Ha ha. But he is a handsome one, isn't he?" Batman smiled approvingly at Steve, who recoiled. Then Batman's smile started to fade. He twitched again. "My, he's not happy. Mghhh." Batman bent over like he was suffering a stomach ache. He cried out, "Mein Gott!" and began shake like a seizure, then collapsed.
Der Wehrwulf believed that she was the only being alive who could occupy a mind. No one else knew how it felt, but if she had to describe the sensation, she would say that occupying a mind was a little like climbing a ladder and a little like searching a maze and a little like braving a haunted house. The act was fundamentally hostile, so even a dullard's mind resisted. But Der Wehrwulf had much more experience invading minds than any victim had in resisting. Once she decided to attack, she considered the outcome settled. Carmine Falcone had been intelligent and possessed of great self-control. When she invaded him, she found his ladder was more like a rock wall. His maze was a marathon of narrow passages. His haunted house was full of locked doors and accusations from the stormy voice of God. But she was eager for a challenge, and ultimately she conquered him. He submitted because he was just another man, softened with age, and his willfulness made her domination all the sweeter. Amanda Waller, likewise, was a true challenge, perhaps even more paranoid than Falcone. She too submitted in the end. And Steven Trevor, while not as feisty as the other two, weakened in spirit by his ordeal, still showed a heroic resolve. He didn't go without a fight, and she was convinced he still held secrets. Then Coronel Romero had been as ornery as a bear and twice as tough. All worthy adversaries.
But her intuition was correct: Batman was different. At first his ladder seemed merely tall and slick. A challenge. But then it began to sting, and she realized it was a ladder made of glass shards, and there was no end because it bent into a Möbius strip. Every surface of his maze was glass shards as well, and it traversed dimensions she could hardly perceive. All the rooms in his haunted house were on fire, and all the furniture called her names from childhood bullies she had forgotten, and the voices were also on fire. The walls compressed and melted, and the burning air turned to shards of glass as she breathed it, the splinters in each breath sharper than the one before. And she could sense there were far more miserable rooms yet unseen. Hundreds of them, each smaller and louder and hotter and sharper than the last.
Der Wehrwulf had tried to force Batman to his knees with all her strength and technique, but in the end he denied her satisfaction. Yet when she surrendered, it was not from exhaustion, not yet. She surrendered when she lost faith that there was a healthy mind under his defiance at all. She realized that whatever he hid in his mind might poison her. She had never used her power on madmen, and this was the reason.
Batman phased into mist, which rushed out of him and quickly formed into Der Wehrwulf. She lay on her side, struggling to catch her breath. Finally, she looked at Batman and exclaimed. "Mein Gott! You are nothing but a fortress of suppressed feelings. How do you function? Your mind ist unter such strain; it should gehen kaputt! Herr Freud would have a field day mit you."
Batman didn't respond, hanging limp from his chains, seeming dead to the world.
Der Wehrwulf shook her head to clear it, then stood and reached for her pistol. But Batman's grip had not gone limp. His fist had curled around the pistol, and she struggled to pry his fingers free. He was rigid. She attacked him, hitting his face for all the good it did. Wonder Woman discreetly laid a foot against the bedrock behind her and pushed. She leaned forward, and with a rasping sound, the metal ring holding her lasso started to pull from the wall.
Der Wehrwulf noticed her and pulled at Batman's grip all the more viciously. "Nein! Nein!"
But it was too late. The ring popped out of the wall. Wonder Woman was free. Der Wehrwulf dug her hand into Batman's glove and pulled out a sharp batarang. She lifted it to Batman's throat, but she wasn't quick enough. Wonder Woman hopped up and pistoned Der Wehrwulf in the chest with a two-footed kick. She flew across the room, toppling over the bed and landing in a heap. Wonder Woman landed much more elegantly on her butt.
Coronel Romero, seeing no immediate threat to his life, began to scream. "Ayuda! Ayuda! Guardias! Ayuda!" He had a very loud voice. Steve moaned in fear and annoyance. Wonder Woman heard yelling in the cellar. She looked around in panic, struggling to wiggle out of her lasso. Someone tried the doorknob outside. Wonder Woman almost freed a hand from the cord. Then a body hit the door, shaking it on its hinges. On the next hit, splinters caved in, and an eye peered though. Wonder Woman finally freed her hand, stepped forward, and punched the eye through the hole in the door. With her free hand, Wonder Woman grabbed one end of the lasso and willed it loose. The binds around her went slack, and she wound it and slung it on her hip in one movement. A body hit the door again, and it burst open.
Outside was one of the giant armored soldiers flanked by a squad of friends. Several guns fired, but Wonder Woman stood her ground and deflected every shot. Wonder Woman stood practically in the doorway, so the only direction for the rounds to ricochet was back where they came. Most of the soldiers ducked or dived to the floor, but the giant stepped forward and cocked an arm. Wonder Woman was too quick and kicked him in the nose. This distracted him but didn't move him, so she leaned in and shoved. The giant stumbled back, tripping over one of his fallen comrades and landing on another.
Wonder Woman felt a rush of strength. She stepped back into the room, reached up, and grasped one of the wooden beams forming the simple ceiling. She pulled. Her arms shook and beads of sweat covered her skin. Finally the beam came down, and with it a curtain of dust and pebbles. She pulled at the next beam, already loosed from the collapse of the first, and when it broke, piles of clay and stone showered over her. The air was chalky white in a cloud of dust, but Wonder Woman set to tearing out a wall beam, then another, and half the room's ceiling sunk downward. It hung static for a moment, then something shifted and a cave-in blocked the doorway.
Until the soldiers could move a few tons of rock, they were alone again.
Wonder Woman clapped her hands clean and turned around. When the dust settled, she saw Steve Trevor standing on the far side of the room, holding a batarang to his throat, and Der Wehrwulf had disappeared.
Steve's voice had an eerie calm. "Well done, Diana. But this must end."
Wonder Woman glared at Steve with her arms akimbo. "You are finished, demon."
Steve smiled. "Finished here, perhaps. Soon."
Wonder Woman stepped forward. "Do not try my patience."
Steve stepped back and circled, careful to face Wonder Woman with every move. "Do not try mine. I have faced proud youths for many years, child. You know I will kill your love without a care. Now, you will tie your arm to another ring in the wall, and we shall see how-"
As Steve circled, he stepped in front of Coronel Romero. The Coronel reached out and grabbed Steve's arm, forcing it from his throat and spinning him around. The Coronel then launched a haymaker across Steve's face. Steve collapsed. The Coronel then spit on him. "Vaca."
Wonder Woman eyed the Coronel warily. "Gracis."
The Coronel spit at her as well.
Wonder Woman frowned but didn't answer. She lifted Steve off the ground and placed him on the bed. He was unconscious and had a new bruise, but otherwise seemed well. She brushed his hair off of his face. His head turned and his tongue fell out.
Wonder Woman took a loop of her golden lasso and wrapped it around Steve's hand.
She commanded, "Out, falsehood. You are an impostor. His actions are not true to him. Be gone."
A mist seeped off of Steve, and soon Der Wehrwulf lay beside him on the small bed. She seemed in agony. Wonder Woman took the loop from Steve's hand and swiftly tied Der Wehrwulf with a similar binding that she was trapped in not long ago. But with Wonder Woman's skill, it was much more secure. Her job done, she hefted the smaller woman off the bed by the arms and brought her around.
However, Der Wehrwulf was all lean muscles and heavy for her size, and she was shaking in pain. Wonder Woman overcompensated and swung her further than intended. This brought Der Wehrwulf right into the Coronel's reach. With impeccable timing, he launched another haymaker across Der Wehrwulf's face. She went limp. The Coronel spit at both of them.
Wonder Woman smacked him hard enough to daze him for a few minutes, but she still couldn't find it in her to rebuke him. If anything, Der Wehrwulf no longer seemed in pain. Wonder Woman lay her near a wall, well out of reach of the Coronel. Then she found the dropped batarang. She went to Batman, still sitting on the floor, still clenching the pistol. She crouched and gently pulled his fingers apart, took the pistol, and broke it. Then she snapped each shackle and guided his arms down. He didn't respond.
She touched his shoulder. "Batman?"
Batman's head moved. He muttered something
She leaned in. "Batman?"
He made a noise between a cough and a wheeze. "Can't-"
"Can you hear me?"
"-see."
"What?"
"Can't see. I need to see."
"Were your eyes injured?"
"I can't-" Batman paused, looking confused. It was an unusual look for him. "No. No optic trauma. But I can't see." He began to sound coherent and sat a little straighter. "Brain damage."
She gasped. "No."
"Probable concussion symptoms." He considered this and lightly shook his head. "But wouldn't be like this. No. This is-" He paused again. "Streaks. This isn't blindness. There's some faint light. Bring a lantern." Wonder Woman stood and took one of the two remaining lanterns off its hook on the ceiling. She held it near his face. "Now?"
"Show me your hand."
She waved her hand in front of his eyes. He nodded slightly, seeming encouraged. "I'm not blind, but something's blocking my vision. I need to see."
Wonder Woman took her hand away. "There's nothing on your eyes."
"Not outside the lens. Take it off."
"What?"
"My mask." He gingerly lifted his hands to the back of his cowl and pulled at something hidden. The top of the cowl loosened, and he pulled it off like a hood. Under it was a thin mask stretched tight over his head. Batman reached into his belt and pulled out a tiny bottle. Just this effort seemed to tire him. "Rub this along the seam and the mask comes off."
Wonder Woman took the bottle and opened the cap. She poured a few drops on a fingertip and rubbed it along the edge of the mask on his scalp. It the liquid seemed to soak into the fabric which unglued in seconds. As more of it pulled off, she began to feel uncomfortable, like she was transgressing something sacred. She paused, but he shook his head and said again, "I need to see."
She finished the edge of the mask. It nearly slipped off on its own, dragged down by the weight of the lens.
Under the mask, she found a man, bruised and cut, but most gruesome of all, his eyes were smeared in blood. She winced.
He frowned. "Blood?"
She nodded, then realized that wasn't helpful. "Yes."
Batman reached a trembling hand up and wiped his eyes with his thumb. She helped clear off the rest with her hands. He blinked.
She asked nervously, "Can you see?"
"He focused on her face and nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
"What caused," She pointed at his eyes. "That?"
Batman stared grimly in thought, looking exactly like she expected he would staring grimly in thought.
Finally he answered. "My best guess is hematidrosis."
"Blood ... sweat? I haven't heard of that."
"It's rare. Caused by extreme stress."
Wonder Woman looked at him with pity and whispered, "What did she do?"
Batman met her look impassively. "Lose."
"That was not a helpful answer."
He inspected his mask. The insides were smeared red-black. "I can clean these lens easily, and my vision's fine. Although, it blurred earlier tonight. That likely was the concussion." He touched his face, stretching his jaw from side to side. "And I've taken more hits since then, but I – what? What is it?"
Wonder Woman had leaned closer as he spoke and was staring intently at his mouth. He eyed her suspiciously in return, but before he could act, she reached forward and pulled his gums apart.
His eyes widened in shock.
She let go and grinned at him. "Your teeth grew back!"
