Caesar Single eyes the young men assembled around the table before him warily. He's had little favorable experience with masked men in his past experiences as an agent, though this trio comes highly recommended, with scrupulous background checks and testements of their patriotism. He clicks the button on the projector, and the machine passes on to the next slide, showing a sinister, bearded face. "His name is Ivan Ilyanov," Single intones. "Soviet scientist and criminal, he was sentenced to five years' exile in the Central Asian republic of Kazakhstan in 1931. A year later he reportedly died, but then he resurfaced in America a decade and a half later, attempting to conceal his identity." A click, and the slide shows the man wearing a white and red mask. "He called himself the Scarlet Ghost, working on his own and also, for a brief while, collaborating with the American master criminal known as the Thinker. Some of your predecessors, the mystery men named Sandman and Sandy," click, "repeatedly foiled his plans during that era. Ilyanov was assumed, again, to have died, but we now believe these rumors too had been exagerrated."

Yankee Doodle furrows his brow beneath his face-concealing mask. "He'd be in his ...what, 80s by now? What do you believe he's been plotting?"

Caesar Single nods, "We believe that, possibly as a consequence of his biogenetics research, he's been able to retard his aging process. We also believe that he and his agents are behind a series of thefts of industrial coolent across the country, and that he has been transporting the coolent back to Kazakhstan."

Speedboy blinks. "He's shipping coolent to Kazakhstan? I suppose next he'll he shipping coals to Newcastle?"

Fighting American shakes his head, "Down, lad. It gets warm in Kazakhstan in the summers." Caesar Single says, "My own agency, the Competent Organisation Utilizing Scientific Investigation for National Fiend, Ruffian, and Evildoer Defense, has chosen to turn our research over to the Unusual Operatives Division, because so many of the thefts were from Pentagon facilities, and the UOD instructed us to contact you." Privately, he thinks to himself: my team could have handled this situation much more efficiently than these costumed clowns ... hopefully they'll prove to be less inferior than the others we've encountered in the past.

Yankee Doodle says, "Understood. Thank you, Mr. Single. We'll take it from here."

FIghting American grins broadly, "Those Commies won't know what hit them."

THE SUBSTITUTE LEAGUE OF AMERICA
Case Seven: "Cold War"

As the rented truck trundles up the rocky mountain pass, Richard Davis eyes the driver uneasily. "I still can't get used to how easily you speak Russian," he says, "not to mention that ... face."

The man who looks like Ivan Ilyanov chuckles under his breath. "When I'm working on solo assignments for the UOD, I'm much more commonly operating undercover. On the occasions I've collaborated with you and Johnny Flagg here, I simply haven't had the necessity."

Johnny Flagg stares out the window, keeping his own council. The man with the mind of Nelson Flagg is also wearing a face not his own, though that's a life he has long since abandoned. He gathers himself to speak. "Still," he says, "it was clever of you to use your disguise to figure out where the real Ilyanov might have located his base ... at least, lucky for us he sometimes still ventured into town for food and supplies. What do you think he's doing with all of those bananas, though? They're expensive to import."

The man who looks like Ivan Ilyanov shrugs. "We'll find out when we get there."

As the truck reaches the sharp crest of a hill, the trio spies a structure in the valley below. The architecture is gray and brutally modern, a massive structure crouched spiderlike in the base of the valley, with concrete tendrils thrust into the surrounding grounds. Armed guards patrol the premises. They park and dismount, and the man who looks like Ivan Ilyanov readies his binoculars.

Johnny Flagg raises a hand, "Hold on." He narrows his eyes, his sensitive hearing scanning the surroundings. "Horses."

The three men turn their backs to the truck, bracing themselves for the advance. A lone man on a horse arrives, reigning it to a halt, and Johnny Flagg narrows his eyes puzzledly. The rider turns his attention to the man who looks like Ivan Ilyanov. It was foolish of you to leave your headquarters, Scarlet Ghost he says in Russian. It is time to pay the price for your crimes to ... The Cossack. From a scabbard at his side he draws a glowing sword, and advances again.

His opponent ducks from the sword and slides underneath the truck, coming out on the other side. There's been a mistake, he entreats, I'm not the man you think I am. He reaches inside his jacket, withdrawing the special ballpoint pen which releases the gas that restores his guise to the blank face of Yankee Doodle. Taking his cue, his companions quickly change garb to that of Fighting American and Speedboy.

The Cossack's mount leaps over the truck with ease, and he circles around. I should have guessed you would have allied yourself with the Americans, he sneers. It will be a pleasure to bring you all in to face the Kremlin ... with or without your heads is up to you.

Yankee Doodle draws his gun, pointing it The Cossack. I don't think so. Why don't you come down here and we'll discuss matters?

The Cossack chuckles. I did not come here to discuss anything. He charges at Yankee Doodle again, sword at the ready. Fighting American leaps up and over, grabbing the man by the sword hand and tumbling him off the horse. The Cossack rises to his feet, charging at his opponent, who sidesteps to at the last moment just as Speedboy slams into The Cossack from behind, throwing him off-balance as his sword slices into the truck.

"Gas tank!" shouts Yankee Doodle, "duck and cover!" The truck explodes from the electrical charge in The Cossack's sword. A minute later, the trio approaches the wreckage. "Oh cripes," says Speedboy, "even for a Commie that's a nasty way to go."

"Fortunately he didn't come alone," says a Russian-accented voice from above. They look up to see a pair of men descending from the sky. Working Man is wearing a yellow Soviet-style military uniform shirt with blue epaulets; blue riding pants; and yellow boots. Around his waist is a broad red belt, in the center of which is a hammer and sickle. Starfire is a teenage boy wearing a dark green short-sleeved shirt, trunks, and boots, with light green tights, collar, and gloves. On the center of his chest is a white circle in which is set a red star. He has reddish-blond hair and a striking, handsome face which is partially concealed behind a pair of green-tinted goggles.

"Who're you," snorts Fighting American, "The Brisket Brigade?"

"The Wrench Squad was dispatched to bring the Scarlet Ghost to justice," says Working Man, ignoring the jibe. "It's no surprise he is working with the Americans to invade our territory."

Yankee Doodle raises his hands. "Hold on a moment. We're not working -with- the Scarlet Ghost at all."

Starfire points to the burning wreckage, "I suppose our teammate The Cossack sacrificed himself just to send a flare to attract our attention?" He snarls, "What are you doing with the coolent, fools? Some plot to subject the Soviet Union to an endless winter?"

Those Commies sure don't care about much beyond following orders, thinks Speedboy. They hardly seem to care that a third of their team is dead and gone.

The three Americans look at one another. As they start to formulate a reply, a voice interrupts their train of thought. "Not just the Soviet Union ... the world, you hapless child." The colorfully garbed quintet find themselves surrounded by armed guards, grotesque half-men-half-apes clad in scarlet uniforms. From them strode the powerful, cloaked figure of the Scarlet Ghost. "Under a new ice age, the living war machines you see before you ... my own creations ... would have strode invincibly across the few survivors. It would have been entertaining to see you destroy each other, but I chose to let you see the world's future master before you died."

Yankee Doodle clicks his ballpoint pen again, and in a cloud of gas the mask he wears reshapes to the face of Ivan Ilyanov. He is not your leader, he shouts, he is an imposter. Lay down your arms.

The simian soldiers look at each other, confused, some of them lowering their weapons. The Scarlet Ghost screams, Don't listen to him, you stupid brutes, but by then the nonpartisan gang of five had exploded into a colorful barrage of fists and bullets.

Yankee Doodle fires with deadly accuracy, while Fighting American & Speedboy leap and tumble acrobatically through the army. Starfire and Working Man, with their metahuman abilities, plow through their foes.

Eventually however, numbers begin to tell. First the Americans, then the mighty Starfire fall under the weight of the apelike hordes. Only Working Man's abilities hold against them. The Scarlet Ghost approaches the man. You're a mutant, no? he says, as Working Man's fists pass intangibly through him. You generate a force field with the ability to repel any form of energy directed towards you. I wonder whether it also protects your internal organs? He reaches through Working Man's chest, clutching his opponent's heart with a solid hand. Working Man gasps in pain and falls to the ground.

The Scarlet Ghost beckons towards his retainers. Place him with the others. I will secure him more properly before he awakens. He strides over the the wreckage of the truck, climbing atop it to survey his captives.

Fighting American glares up at the villain. "You don't really think you can just make us disappear, do you? The Pentagon knows we're here. It's only a matter of time before ... "

The Scarlet Ghost scoffs, "In just a few weeks, the last of the coolent shipments will arrive on my doorstep. A new ice age will have overtaken the West long before they've had time to react."

Starfire laughs derisively. "The West, perhaps, but the Soviet Union has its own protectors: Octobriana, the People's Heroes, and the rest, will soon be on your tail."

"Weaklings and also-rans," smirks the Scarlet Ghost. "Their own constant defeats by the Americans shows that. Octobriana perhaps could have stopped me, but I have something very special planned for her, and -ack." He looks down to see a sword thrust upwards through his torso. "Now, that's just -" his words are silenced as an electrical discharge courses through his body from the sword, and he falls to the earth.

Starfire looks up at the skeletal, metallic form of what had once been recognisable as The Cossack as the latter unsheathes his sword from the Scarlet Ghost. "Welcome back," he says. The robot turns to him and nods silently, slicing through the device which holds the lad in place, then leaps on the remaining apelike guards like a terminator.

Pausing a moment, Starfire frees the Americans. "Ready to help us clean up?"

Fighting American grins, "Anything in the name of international cooperation."

Leaderless, the half-men-half-apes scatter under the sword, guns and fists of the remaining heroes. The quintet slowly advances on the structure below, carving their way through the defensive army. Starfire and The Cossack force the doors open, and they enter the warehouse-like central room.

"Oh my gosh," whistles Speedboy, as they see vast containers of coolent lining the long hallway, "What're we going to do with all this stuff?"

Yankee Doodle ponders. "I can see he's been collecting for a while."

The Cossack positions himself to face the Americans, extending his sword. "It is on Soviet land," his says with a voice like old telephone wire, "It belongs to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics."

Fighting American scowls. "Now hold on right there, pal, you want us to melt down the rest of you?"

Starfire intervenes. "Please, we came here as allies, let us not compromise on that now." He looks to the others. "We are all soldiers, and this is a job for diplomats. Let us notify our superiors, and they will ... what is the word ... divvy up the loot."

Yankee Doodle nods. "Fair truce." He tilts his head in the direction of Fighting American and Speedboy, never taking his attention off the swordpoint. "Agreed?"

Fighting American says, "Agreed." Speedboy says, "Yeah, I'll buy it."

The Cossack pauses, but then removes his sword from its position, tucking it under one arm. "Agreed," he rasps finally.