Resistance

May 26, 1940

Libby Lawrence was in Dunkirk the day that the leaflets fell from the sky. She wasn't the first to notice them. A young soldier pointed upward and called out. Some of his companions dropped to the ground, accustomed to death falling from the sky at this point. Instead, they were met with thousands of small white papers, fluttering to the earth like butterflies. They held a grim portent. They told the soldiers and Libby, what they already knew. That they were surrounded.

As was so often the case in Libby's long and winding escape, she reached France too late. A few days past her border crossing, the German army stormed into Belgium and Holland, their invasion of the West in full swing. She crossed France with the enemy at her heels, watching as the French and their allies were pushed back mile by mile. Even the British Expeditionary Force, as she learned they were called, wasn't able to turn the tide.

She arrived at Dunkirk with the columns of weary soldiers, beaten and battered. The roads were choked with abandoned cars and heavy machinery. A stream of refugees fled the other way, running off to relatives and locales less likely to be the site of major slaughter. The bombings that afflicted the town in the past week gave credence to their fear, as many of those remaining were left dead in the streets or buried in the wreckage of their homes. It was Warsaw all over again.

On the day of the leaflets, Libby retired to the measly bit of shelter she had found, a home on the edge of the beaches, cleaned out by the family that lived there, save for a lone photograph of a girl and her mother when they stood on ta cliffside overlooking the sea. After her first night at the house, Libby put the photograph face down.

From her shelter, she could see the vast beaches, though they crawled with the shapes and forms of the soldiers. Thousands upon thousands of them were on the beach, milling about, anxiously awaiting how this might end.

The soldiers said that the navy would come for them. That an evacuation was in the making. Libby didn't allow herself the luxury of hopeful thinking. Too much had gone wrong on her journeys. Too much still depended on her to give up either.

Late in the day, she was joined by a pair of soldiers. They met on the march into the town, kindred in their desperation. Once they gleaned she was an American on the run they were intrigued by her. Percy and Douglas liked to bring her food and drink that they could scrounge. Libby knew that Percy was trying to flirt with her, but she enjoyed his company. It did enough to stave off the worry.

"Enjoying the view?" said Percy, as he pulled up one of the few remaining chairs to join Libby at the small coffee table she had dragged from another bombed out building.

"It gets better every day," she said.

"I can promise you, the view's better from the other side of the channel," said Douglas. He was around Percy's age, but he seemed a decade older in his mannerisms.

"Hopefully we get a chance to show you that," said Percy.

"I'd like that," said Libby.

Percy put a bottle of wine and three mismatched glasses on the table. He poured it out with mock finesse.

"For the lady, our finest bottle of French vintage," he said.

They raised their glasses.

"To living long enough to see England once more," said Douglas.

"Here, here," said Percy.

They drank the bottle, then another Douglas had. Libby's face grew flush, taking on a pleasant buzz. Enough to dull the worry. The boys talked about the usual, their families back home, what they would do when they saw them, how this wasn't the end for the British army.

"You know I saw something odd today," said Douglas.

"Stranger than thousands of men lying on a beach?" said Percy.

"Aye. One of the captains, he was talking to a pair of strange looking folk," said Douglas.

"Strange how?" said Libby.

"One of em was a lady. She was in a yellow outfit, like something you'd see in one of those stag magazines. I wasn't the only one staring at her. Half the boys on the sand nearby couldn't look away," said Douglas.

"You start your drinking earlier than the rest of us?" said Percy.

"What about the other one?" said Libby.

"Wasn't quite as.. memorable shall we say as the dame, but it was a black fella. He had some sort of cape that looked like feathers on it."

Percy tried to interrupt, but Libby gave him a look.

"The captain looked all worked up talking to them. They were pointing things out on a rolled out map. I never got close enough to hear what it was about, but I haven't seen them since," said Douglas.

"We'll have to keep our eyes peeled for any feathered capes or pin up girls, huh Libby," said Percy.

"Uh huh," said Libby.

"The girl is in the town," said Vandal Savage. "That much is certain."

"There are thousands of soldiers and civilians in Dunkirk," said Major Schneller. "It will be impossible to find her amongst the crowd."

They stood in a tent near the German command post, part of the array of units that had encircled Dunkirk. The British and French were trapped, but they were putting up a fight to delay the inevitable.

"Difficult, not impossible. She possess information incalculably valuable to the success of the Reich. To have it fall into enemy hands would be catastrophic," said Vandal. He towered over Schneller. To his credit, the major did not cower like so many others would have.

"She could have given it to the British or French already," said Schneller.

"No. Lawrence is an American operating under last wishes from her American father. She intends to deliver the documents to her homeland," said Vandal.

"What do you propose then?"

"I have a small unit of experimental assets at my disposal. They will infiltrate Dunkirk, capture or kill the girl and retrieve the plans."

"With you at the head?"

"Not this time. Our esteemed leaders would prefer me away from the front at this moment. Captain Reiter will lead them."

"That man is a savage dog. I thought we put him down years ago."

"He is a man in need of an enemy. We have provided him with one."

The major did not appear pleased by the outcome of these talks, but Vandal cared little. Gaining his approval was a mere formality, a way to show his "superiors" that he followed their chain of command. That he respected their hierarchy. It served to maintain that illusion and until it didn't he could stomach the disgust that meant dealing with these lessers.

"Fine. Do as you must."

Not for the first time in the past month, Sandra Knight felt like giving up. More than that she wanted to curl up into a ball and cry till she was out of tears, till her lungs were empty. Either that or run, swim and jump till she was back in her silken sheets, being gently urged out of bed by her mother for sleeping in late.

There was no point in dwelling on it. She stood in the hollowed out cafe where her team had set up for the night and took in the people she now called her companions as they gathered to hear what she had to say about their situation.

"What's the score?" said Magno. He absentmindedly floated a coin around his hands as he waited.

"Should we wait for the others to get back first?" said Roy. His voice was always muffled through the thick layers of his containment suit. His name in the field was the Human Bomb, but Sandra preferred to think of him as Roy.

"No. Richard and Thurston are needed for recon. They'll let the soldiers know if the Germans have decided to make a move," said Sandra. "We can fill them in later."

She paused at the distant clamor of artillery, on the outskirts of Dunkirk. With luck it wouldn't get closer.

"The evacuation's starting properly tomorrow. The boats are sailing in early, the sooner the better. They'll load up as many as they can, dump them in England and come back.

The problem is the Nazis aren't liable to let this go off smoothly."

"Which is where we come in?" said Roy.

"Precisely. The Brits want us to help keep the pressure off of them. Especially if they make a push on land."

"It's going to take them days to get everyone," said Magno. "If they even can."

"It won't be pretty," said Sandra. "But it's that or wait for the Germans to have their way with us."

They let that linger for a moment.

"There's some anxiety among the French. And the Belgians," said Neon. He was a Foreign Legionnaire before he put on the mask. "They're worried the British are going to abandon them."

"There's little we can do about that," said Sandra.

"Just be ready for the possibility of panic," said Neon.

Sandra unfurled a map that a British captain had given her during their discussions earlier in the day. It was marked up with positions of note.

"Here's what we worked out. Thurston, Roy, Magno and I will work these perimeters. Keep an eye out for unwanted guests. Neon and Condor will be our eyes in the sky."

"I wish Ray were still around," said Roy. "He woulda been a big help with that."

"You and me both," said Sandra. The Ray was shot down during the retreat through France. Sandra hoped he had survived, but the war taught her that being a realist about such matters was a better tactic.

"Red Torpedo will assist with the evacuations. Grab anyone that's drowning, keep an eye out for U-boats."

Red Torpedo gave a solemn nod.

"This isn't just about how much we're helping. Those boys on the beach see us out there with them, it could raise their spirits. That could make the difference."

The others agreed. Sandra finalized the plans, then left them to their rest. It would be a long day ahead.

In the room she had claimed for her quarters, she examined the black light box that had become her signature, the tool of the Phantom Lady. Half a year ago and her biggest worry was not wearing the same outfit twice or what she had drunkenly blurted out at the last party.

She thought of back in the states, where her parents waited for any word. She knew her father was doing everything he could to find her. They had been hesitant about her trip to France. Diplomatic concerns her daddy had said. He was a senator after all. Sandra sweet talked her way into going regardless.

In many ways all that kept her going at this point was the others. They relied on her. It had been like magic, coming together in those early days of the invasion. That magician in the top hat, the chant he uttered, like some nonsense language. He said it would ward off the great evil that blanketed the continent. Sandra had no idea what he meant. But it gave them purpose. Even when the Germans rolled across the country side, their tanks trampling any resistance. Even when Ray was shot down and they lost Doll Man in the chaos. All they had left was the fight. It made them the Freedom Fighters.

May 27, 1940

Libby fled through the streets, the echo of her footfalls drowned out periodically by the roar of explosions. She ducked into a side street littered with chunks of stone and splintered wood. The only illumination was from the flames that spread through the town, unconstrained, the locals out of water to fight them.

There were people coming to kill her.

The evacuation had begun in the small hours of the morning with the mist heavy on the beaches. Naval vessels awaited them well off the shore, unable to come too close due to the shallow nature of the beach. The docks were ruined by strafing runs, so the soldiers were forced to use the mole, a reinforced platform of stone and concrete that ran out into the cold water. Some waded and swam. Others were offered rowboats.

They made their own piers out of abandoned trucks, driven out into the surf, to give the men a chance to get further out before they were forced to wade through the water. They prioritized the wounded, working through the droves of soldiers. It only compounded the anxiety of everyone left on the beach, as each wondered if they would get their turn. They feared they would join the heaps of bodies, some covered with sheets, others laid beside their comrades. Libby didn't even try to leave today.

After the sun had left the sky, when she tried to settle in for the night, Libby became aware of a presence near her shelter. A crackle of broken glass gave her pursuers away, granting her enough time that she fled into the clutter of the town. Whoever it was remained persistent. She debated running to the beaches, to find help amongst the soldiers, but her foes anticipated this desire, cutting off any such routes.

It was on the street by the husk of what looked like a school yard that they caught up with Libby. A sudden bank of fog curled around her ankles, filling the air till she felt like choking on it. Soon she realized she was actually beginning to choke, as the coils of fog raced into her nostrils. Libby fell to her knees, trying in vain to suck in air.

Someone spoke out in German. The choking ceased, but she was on the cobbles, too weak to get up. A conversation carried out near her. She could see a pair of jackboots next to a swirl of mist.

Something interrupted her pursuers. There was the sound of a brief scuffle. Gunshots rang out. The man in the boots was knocked to the ground. The fog swirled chaotically, before it retreated. Libby was being dragged to her feet.

"Come. We don't have long," said her rescuer.

She realized with a start that there was no one in front of her. She could feel a hand on her wrist, but there was nobody there.

All at once the space in front of flickered and a man in a green hood and cape appeared.

"Quickly, this way," he said.

She waved away her misgivings and followed the man. They wound their way through the streets, only pausing to check for danger around the corners. His upper body would fade from view as he looked.

It was beneath the looming tower of the church that the fog returned. The man stiffened.

"Can you fight?" he said.

Libby nodded.

He blinked out of view, into the mist. She heard two people grappling, but she was unable to witness it.

A curtain of darkness fell around her, so dense it was as though someone painted over her eyes. All sense of depth was gone. What's more, her hearing was distorted, like it was through thick walls. Her body was cold, disconnected, every movement unsure. She stumbled about in the blackness.

All at once the curtain withdrew. A woman in a yellow outfit that bared a shocking amount of cleavage and a green cape stood with one foot on the back of another lady with curls of pitch black hair.

"I thought blacking people out was my trick," said the woman in the yellow outfit. She brought down her foot on the other woman's head hard, enough to put her out.

"Who?" said Libby.

"I'm the Phantom Lady. If these people are after you you're in for a world of hurt," she said.

Down the street, the fog still rippled and surged with whatever fight was underway.

A loud crack sent Libby and the Phantom Lady ducking for cover, as a man in an SS uniform unloaded his pistol in their direction. It was the man with the jackboots.

Phantom Lady pointed her wrist at the man. Libby noticed it was adorned with a yellow bracer, that ended in a cylindrical barrel. A wide beam of black cut out from the barrel, striking their assailant. He yelled out in confusion.

There was a pop of white light and a shock wave that sent Libby on her rear end. The SS officer screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in agony. A lumbering figure in a white bodysuit approached, slipping a pair of gloves back onto his hands. Libby caught a glance of gleaming yellow light before he finished.

"Got here as fast as I could," said the man. Libby saw a hint of his eyes through a narrow visor.

"You did good Roy," said Phantom Lady.

The fog washed over their ankles. It rose upwards, threatening to envelop them. The man she called Roy whipped off a glove and slammed his hand on the cobbles. There was that same burst of light and force as an explosion buffeted the fog bank. The mist responded by racing by, a river of fog, till it was gone. The woman in black and the officer were gone, a pool of blood the only remnant of the later.

"Oh hell," said Phantom Lady.

Slumped against a doorway was the man in the green hood. A knife was stuck right in his chest. Phantom Lady checked, but Libby could tell by the awkward angle of his neck that he was already dead.

"Those bastards," said Roy. "Bastards."

"Roy, help me get him. We need to find real cover," said Phantom Lady. She looked at Libby. "Come with us."

Sandra, Roy and their newfound companion, Libby, huddled in what appeared to be a bakery, though the shelves were cleared out. It was picked clean, emptied by the soldiers or the fleeing residents. Roy stood watch by the entrance, which they reinforced by piling the remaining tables and chairs to block. There could be more hunters after the woman they helped.

Thurston's body was on the floor of the backroom. They left his mask on. Sandra hadn't known him particularly well, but he had put his life in harm's way for her sake enough times over the past month that she felt the loss acutely.

"Why were they after you?" said Sandra to Libby.

"I don't know."

"No clue? At all?"

"None. They came for me at my shelter, near the beaches."

Lies undoubtedly. A town full of soldiers, including hundreds of officers, British, French and Belgian and the one person the Nazi operatives were chasing was this random American. She had to be a spy.

"We lost someone keeping you safe," said Sandra.

Elizabeth stared at the other side of the room, her knees drawn against her chest. She had a vacant look in her eyes. Not the first loss.

"I don't need to know everything, but we're here to help. You can make that easier if you give us a sense as to why those people were out to kill you."

"I have to get back to America," said Libby.

"It's already questionable if everyone's making it to Britain."

"All I can say is that I don't have a choice. I have to get to America."

"If they don't let you on a boat? They're going to prioritize their own, especially if you won't tell them what's so vital."

"I'll swim."

Sandra had misread the look on Libby's face. It wasn't fear or apathy. It was determination, raw and potent. The woman was driven.

"Let me see what I can do," said Sandra.

May 29, 1940

Libby stood with her feet sunken into the sand, amidst a great press of bodies, as she waited her turn to board a vessel. Periodically, a bomb would land somewhere on the beach, sending up a spray of sand, causing everyone nearby to flatten out, clutching their helmets for safety. The smell of the sea mixed with the pungent odor of men that had been left in the elements for too long.

The soldiers moved along the mole at an orderly, if plodding pace. There was a nervousness to this endeavor that made Libby on edge. It seemed as if at any moment discipline could snap and turn the shuffle into a mad sprint for safety. Percy and Douglas were nearby, occasionally offering up a bit of chatter to ease the wait. She was fortunate that Phantom Lady was able to get her passage at all. The soldiers in the column looked askance at her, but they did not protest.

She wished that Phantom Lady and her companions could be here to assist in the evacuation, but they had other responsibilities. Helping with the rearguard action that prevented the Germans from breaching their defenses.

It was an array of ships that evacuated the men, from large naval craft to small speedboats and civilian boats, many commandeered by sailors. Trouble awaited them on the horizon as trails of smoke and the distant sound of explosions told of the assault unfurling on the incoming ships. The whine of planes made the men scan the skies for unseen danger.

After an interminable wait, Libby neared the front of her line. She checked for the cylinder, fastened tight in a satchel on her waist. It's smooth surface reassured her. A burly sailor with freckles helped her into her craft, a humble personal yacht. They crammed it with as many soldiers as they could, including Percy and Douglas, before the officer on board yelled at the helmsman to depart.

"Cozy, huh?" said Percy.

"It'll do," said Douglas.

Libby hunkered down, her back against the cabin. The others leaned on the railing or made similar arrangements. The crew piloted the craft away from the mole, weaving carefully through the network of ships and men that covered the grey waters. They were accompanied by a number of other ships and small boats that were ready to evacuate.

Only a few minutes later, with the beach receding in the distance, they were beset by the onslaught of planes and other hazards. A large naval vessel burned cataclysmically beside them, split nearly in two by some unseen assault. Libby could see men leaping from the deck into the writhing waters, with bombs continuing to fall nearby.

"There's U-boats nearby," said the officer.

"Can we do anything?" said Libby.

"Pray they don't target us," he replied.

The men on a nearby vessel shouted, as a German plane dipped from the clouds, letting loose a stream of bullets that ran the length of it. Libby saw a few of them collapse or fall overboard. The ship's engine began to smoke. The scene repeated again, as more planes strafed and bombed their convoy.

"Where are our boys in the air?" said Percy.

"Look," said Douglas.

Libby followed his gaze to see a formation of British planes engaging the Germans. The air was filled with the frames of planes dancing their deadly duels. It was impossible to keep track of the specifics of the battle, between the distance, the clouds and the roiling of the sea.

"There's a man up there," shouted one of the other soldiers on board.

Amongst the planes flew a smaller, more nimble form. Libby watched as the man weaved his way about the battle on black wings. He appeared to rake them along a German plane, which plummeted to the sea.

"About time we got help like this," said Percy.

There was a cascade of sound from the head of the convoy. Flames raced to the sky, a thick cloud of smoke blanketing the other ships. Libby saw the other vessels peel off from their course, as they took a wider route around an unseen obstacle.

Another craft rocked, then started to sink with unsettling speed. The men on board barely had time to get off before it slipped below the waves.

"Something's not right," said the officer. "That's no U-boat."

"There. In the water," said another soldier.

Libby didn't see what he was pointing at, but she did witness the next boat go down, this time a larger naval craft. It listed to the side, tilting as if a great weight was dragging it down.

The men on her boat shouted. A furrow of water rippled toward them. Libby never had time to brace. Something smashed into the boat. The impact reverberated violently, sending Douglas toppling into the rough water. Libby smacked her head on the side of the cabin, and she felt blood run down her temple.

"We're going down," yelled the helmsman.

A screeching noise rang out as the nose of the vessel tore away. The men near the front vanished into the waves.

"Libby, get ready," said Percy.

Libby struggled to stand as another impact struck them. She was in the air for a moment, before the water swallowed her. The cold sunk deep, down to the bone.

She flailed to the surface, trying and failing to regain her composure. The smell of burning fuel made her sick. Percy wasn't in view. If other ships had survived the attack, she couldn't see them.

Soldiers struggled in the water all around her. Libby took a few strokes over and reached for a soldier next to her. Her fingers came away stained crimson. A plume of red water washed over her, carried by the tide. Other soldiers crying for help were silenced, only asplash to signify their disappearance.

She traced the path of their attacker by these absences. Man after man was pulled below, replaced by a stain of bloody water. Occasionally, rended bodies floated up. She couldn't decide where to swim to. Each direction promised death.

"Libby! Libby, I'm coming," shouted Douglas.

Her friends frantic splashes were cut short as Libby glimpsed a pair of clawed hands cut through the waves. Douglas never had time to cry out as they yanked him below.

It was her turn. The furrow of water raced toward Libby. She braced for what was to come.

A man darted past her in the water, crashing into the furrow. The space below the surface surged and dipped as an unseen melee took place.

At last, a man in a red bodysuit and mask emerged. His face was torn by claw marks, his left shoulder punctured deeply.

"I can't hold that thing for much more. Get out of here," said the man.

The man didn't wait for her response. He dove back down. A wave of force produced a spray of water near Libby as the aquatic battle raged somewhere below.

It took all her concentration to reorient herself to where the convoy had been heading. Libby ignored the fact that she couldn't be certain she was in the right direction. That the current could send her off track. That the beast below could win its fight and tear her to pieces. That the cold might kill her on its own. There was nothing to be done about any of that. She checked her satchel one more time for the cylinder. Then she kicked off her shoes and did the one thing she was certain she could do.

Libby swam.