Chapter 15: Charge of the Churls
Wildcat puffs a cigar and whiffs smoke rings into the wind. They fly high over Fox Street and phase into oblivion. The smoke's odor outdoes neither Gotham's auto exhaust from four stories below nor the city's ubiquitous trapped rain growing fetid in every skyscraper cranny above while the sun bakes the vicinal roofs' tar to a tart aroma.
Still, Dr. Charles McNider deliberates whether to wise-up Wildcat or not. Tobacco use tends to produce problems in healthy people, such as superheroes have to be. Here, in 1948, medical science increasingly says so.
However, Dr. Mid-Nite decides not to mention anything. Here in the late '40s, Americans believe in freedom. They celebrate self-reliance and choice. And, they have honor. So, no one, especially an exemplary hero, is going to be a hypocrite. Let Wildcat savor his stinkweed while Hourman similarly has a cigarette (to give him a boost) across from the feline crimefighter. Let Green Lantern enjoy his second glass of gin while Mid-Nite sips some jolting java-mud, which is still better than medical cocaine. Let Hawkman have his hamburgers and fries, hardly eating like a bird, and let Atom ogle the attractive sunbathers across the way. Every man needs his particular poop, poison, and pabulum to keep him sane and productive. It would be bad psychology, illiberal, unprogressive, and un-American to have it otherwise. And, any astute 20th-century physician knows that. Let people have their imperfect habits and idiosyncratic foibles, whether in '48 or about eighty years after.
Mr. Terrific gavels the gathering to order while glancing at his tip sheet for today's thoroughbreds. He says, "Okay, welcome to our assembly outside. Our usual meeting hall is a mighty-fine meeting hall, especially after recent renovations. However, the JSA headquarters top is a good summit area too, allowing us to blow-off steam from our stogies and such."
Charles blows coffee vapors, "Amen to that."
Wildcat casts his Cuban off the rooftop, "What is our first order of business?"
"I believe that we must discuss missing members," answers Hourman, "They may be in dire straits out in space after their Venusian venture."
"Or actually," attests Atom, "the five could be flung across time, like in H.G. Wells lore."
"Indeed," affirms Hawkman, "Dr. Mid-Nite reports that Per Degaton's time discs met Mr. Mind and Dr. Sivana's hands after Martians hijacked the items from here. Captain Marvel's usual playmates managed to hurl a quintet of heroes across the cosmos and chronology."
"Okay, sure," replies Rex "Hourman" Tyler, "But, has anyone seen or heard anything? Have any Justice Society heroes returned via Marvel or otherwise?"
Alan "Green Lantern" Scott sums, "So, Wonder Woman? Do we still wonder where she is? Are Spectre and Phantom Lady still faded into thin air? Is Flash still flown? Is Starman, Ted Knight, nowhere to be seen? Have even Icky Mudd and Captain Midnight aired a message to our home broadcast office?"
"Dr. Mid-Nite manifested in mid-air mere days ago. That's about it," acknowledges Atom.
"And, I grabbed him before he hit Gotham ground," agrees Green Lantern.
"Glad you did," deems Ted "Wildcat" Grant.
"Gosh though, how did Doc escape when the others did not?" queries Carter "Hawkman" Hall, "Per Mid-Nite, Sivana mostly scattered Societarians all over hell and gone."
"Except Starman," interjects Charles, "He activated something called a 'hyperdrive' and hurled himself to who knows where. Mungo, maybe."
Terry "Mr. Terrific" Sloane theorizes, "I have a theory that a designated disc, the one adorning Doc, had an autopilot aimed upon this particular point in time and space. Per Degaton, the discs' original designer, would likely have at least one device rigged to deliver henchmen to JSA HQ. That way, he might sack the Society."
"The aspirant conqueror set the time disc like a clock," Hourman notes.
"So to say," assents Terrific, "One could also aver that the ovoid executed a 'program' like a contemporary computer can. One could say that it was 'preprogrammed'—if such a word existed." The word won't exist—outside of JSA HQ—until 1959, eleven years hence.
"Hmph," Hawkman sighs, "I sure would like to see a computer. I guess it is like a Rube Goldberg machine that takes up an entire room."
"Sound amusing," grants Green Lantern, who appreciates the gaudy, "However, a man will have to see it after attending to other business such as missing JSAers."
"Where do we start looking?" wonders Wildcat.
"I admit that I'm somewhat blind," confesses Dr. Mid-Nite self-consciously. With chagrin, Charles can only guess that Jay Garrick is again a gleam in his daddy's eye and that Phantom Lady now lives somewhere in the 1950s, for example. The remaining—Starman, Wonder Woman, Spectre—are just somewhere over the rainbow.
"Dr. Mid-Nite, we may need to put Dr. Fate on search detail," Carter comments, "His magic has found a missing Spectre before [see All-Star Squadron #27]."
"So," Rex remarks, "we may find our allies lost in time. Or, they may show-up in the near future. But, at present, the Justice Society has another pressing topic to discuss. Isn't that true, Mr. Terrific?"
Chair Sloane assents, "Yes, those disappearances are a dilemma. However, a developing disaster has equal weight. Indeed, it could be a dire dilly."
"Dale Carnegie would recommend dealing with which worries that we can control," muses McNider, prodding the mystery men to manage the latter pickle.
"I've met Dale. Nice guy," adds Atom.
"Anyway," tells Terrific, "I yield the floor to Alan for a magic lantern presentation approximating a newsreel."
"Thank you," Scott steps forth such that Societarians' sight centers on him. In a certain spot, a scholastic-sized screen appears and starts showing a movie sans film projector.
The sound is of Batman's voice, "My fellow JSAers, I have asked dramatist Green Lantern to assemble an overview of my recent investigation, after I debriefed him in the Batcave."
In his secret identity, the Emerald Crusader is an actor.
The unconventional kino continues, "Criminals from Gotham—Two-Face, the Riddler, Crazy Quilt—strike across this country, inexplicably outside their typical turf. They are joined by JSA adversaries such as Icicle, Sportsmaster, Rag Doll, the Mist, Psycho-Pirate, and Tigress. Heading them all is evil genius Jeremiah Jennings, general jerk, who accompanied the Kriglo on their recent raid of JSA headquarters.
"Jennings and crumbs' mischief commenced in Morningside Heights, Manhattan. They jimmied a window or two at Dr. Terry Curtis' joint residence and research facility. As you know, the estate is abandoned since noble Curtis—as the costumed Cyclotron—died denying Ultra-Humanite world domination [see All-Star Squadron Annual #2].
"Before that untimely event, ingenious Terrance split the atom in the late '30s and gave himself superpowers thereby. Essentially, he knew nuclear science like nobody's business. And, his home was a nave for extraordinary secrets and advanced theoretical knowledge. Knaves, such as Jennings' crew, might find it enticing.
"And, as divulged, they did. Thus, said deviants did a break-in—after Doiby Dickles, cab driver, dropped them off. Don Dickles was warned to stay dumb about their deeds. However, by great coincidence, he is often Green Lantern's eyes in the streets. The cabbie spots sinister activities, and he alerts an All-Star vigilante via phonebooth. So many of GL's adventures occur."
The feature presentation freezeframes. "I'll take the tale temporarily from here," states Green Lantern, "After Doiby's telephone call, I transformed into costume and clipped through the clouds toward Queens to fetch Atom and Firebrand from their Flushing Meadows residence. Atom befriended Cyclotron before the end; Firebrand knew him too. And together, they raise Terrance Curtis' orphan Teresa. I knew that they would want to join me in rebuffing the burglars."
"I'll aid exposition," interjects Atom, "When we heroes arrived, five bad guys were leaving. The thieves were Jennings, Two-Face, Tigress, Crazy Quilt, and Icicle. Immediately, Two-Face suggested that Tigress and he double-team me. The terrible two were troublesome and almost too much for me."
"And, Icicle nettled Firebrand, nigh naturally," Lantern interrupts Atom because Alan Scott will not be upstaged, "Concurrently, Crazy Quilt confronted me with his cockamamy projected colors. He was like fighting a conscious kaleidoscope, and I became too confused to aim my ring well. Hypnotic strobes had me reeling. Icicle had Firebrand similarly on ice. And. . . the crooks got away—taking Doiby's taxi."
"A gangster and a she-goon got me on the ground," explains Atom, audibly embarrassed (his solid mask solidly mutes blushing).
"It was not Societarians' proudest moment," mentions Green Lantern.
"Hmm," Dr. Mid-Nite consoles his mates, "The Huntress, a.k.a. the Tigress, habitually gives Wildcat a hard time on her own, and Two-Face can be twice as hardy (just ask the Dynamic Duo). There is no shame in them successfully slipping away briefly. The Society shall secure them yet."
"Huzzah," Hourman affably affirms.
"What did the frightful five filch?" Doc the detective inquires.
Alan answers, "After deactivating the abode's advanced alarm system, set there by our group's geniuses, it is obvious that Icicle destroyed the basement's vault door. Inside the vault, the villains got to Curtis' most precious papers and recordings. The rascals ran them outside and encountered us. Firebrand flashed flames wide, and the fight was on."
"Say, where is Danette today?" asks Charles. Her input and voice could assist the conversation.
"The little lady is at home watching toddler Terri," tells Al, "A wee unfairly, family first when you're female." Atom feels for his All-Star Squadron fellow and friend. But, we all have our fates and duties, in 1948.
"Women are natural nurturers," affirms physician McNider, "I often find my Myra that way." In any era, even the supermen have a certain astigmatism, and the forming future is but fuzzy.
"Shall we continue?" Carter Hall suggests to Alan Scott.
The Jade Knight nods. The movie restarts and speeds through the Curtis heist. An establishing shot of Chicago appears.
Batman's baritone chronicles, "After New York, Chicago suffered a sacking while Pittsburgh simultaneously suffered the same." The picture goes split screen to include the Steel City.
The left side shows Prof. Jennings, Psycho-Pirate, Two-Face, the Mist, and Rag Doll on a Chicago sortie upon the U.S. military along Lake Michigan. The Great Lakes Naval Station bootlessly resists the raiders. Sporting a "Chicago typewriter", Two-Face shoots and slays seamen until his tommy gun exhausts. Psycho-Pirate simply scares "stalwart" sailors off. Swiftly, Mist and Rag Doll slip into secure locations and open them. Jennings surveys the U.S. surplus and suggests certain assets to take. They are galvanized steel gear and gadgets in U of Chicago crates, a quintet in total, weighing close to three-quarter ton. One wonders how the Mist and all miscreant men will have the muscle to move such "merchandise".
Curiously, Two-Face fires a couple flares skyward. Over the water, a small ship clips in, and twenty-two thugs brazenly disembark onto the Great Lakes dock. A theatrical title card appears. It announces "The men of Boss Zucco, Windy City crime boss. Borrowed by Two-Face". Zucco's men zip toward Jennings and his treasured take. Jennings exhorts them to what he dubs "ground zero"; read his lips. Zestfully, zoot suits assemble their steal and zig-zag back to the boat, dodging U.S. Navy bullets. The noted brigands, from Jennings to Rag Doll, escape with the bunch. All goons get away over Lake Michigan.
On the right silver screen (or, green screen since Green Lantern provides it), the Allegheny River appears. A party of palookas plunders a Pittsburgh steel facility that smelts, shapes, and stores product. The pugs are Sportsmaster, Tigress, Crazy Quilt, Icicle, and the Riddler. They streak through the steel mill. They are a charge of churls kindling chaos.
Side-by-side, Sportsmaster and Tigress dash in the lead. Like a Pittsburgh Pirate, "Crusher" Crock pitches hardballs hardily at hardhats, beaning them into a heap. When his burlap bag is exhausted, he robs tools from tables and rings bells that way. Beside him, Tigress takes down those men brave enough to rush the invaders. Her flying boots brusquely break faces; her claws quickly cut crimson across thick coveralls.
Behind the committed criminal couple, Crazy Quilt comes calling with his colorful laser cannons atop his cranium. His helmet fires combined red, green, and blue streams at catwalks and ceiling girders—collapsing them onto unfortunates below. Sneering, Paul Dekker destroys miscellaneous machinery and mill structure—from staircases to continuous casters. The insane artist enjoys making a mass masterpiece of mayhem. The complementary carnage, work crews, matters not to him. It rather amuses the madman. Mashed mortal meat as an outré medium.
However, a mob of metal workers are not as amused, at all. They assemble and attack Crazy Quilt en masse. The motley evildoer issues polychromatic pulses to blind people. But, many of the laborers wear welding visors and such. So, they surround, slug, swat, and deck Dekker as he hysterically screams. His crown commences strobing so that he might hypnotize the hostile horde hammering him. However, their eyewear again insures them. On sooty cement, steel toes stomp and kick the "snot" out of the super-stooge. Coughing body crud, Crazy Quilt quickdraws pellet guns costume pockets and pops pastel paintballs over visors and goggles. Sans hesitation, a blinded bunch's bootheels batter and bruise a bozo's body, baring blood and bowing bone. Poor, proud Paul Dekker almost blurts for help.
But, "doomed" Dekker doesn't have to. Tigress has swiftly circled back to save him. Her crossbow bolts bail out clownish Quilt. A guy of his time, Paul has the gall to grouse about being saved by a "girl".
Over yon, Icicle has better luck generating general bedlam. His cold gun aims overhead, unleashes, and quick-freezes calescent metal. A ladle—the big bucket holding molten iron—catastrophically cracks and dumps its deleterious contents. Faux hellfire rains upon innocent workers, destroying them, as giggling Icicle beams before the infernal fire and glow. Like a pixie, pleased Icicle prances toward the building's blast furnace. Oh, what chaos he might cause there!
Through the raid's rigamarole, Riddler simply saunters snootily simpering at the destruction and suffering. He seems to seek some specific spot to reach in the steel mill. As Sportsmaster and company clear his path, Riddler casually snags a rivet gun. He goes to the elevator underneath a suite of offices in which unsettled suited and skirted professional workers look on through windows.
Twelve dozen yards distant, Sportsmaster roller-skates very well through steelers trying to tackle him. Spinning skillfully, he follows the signage pointing toward storage several chains (i.e. sixty-six feet spans) away.
By the blast furnace, Icicle glazes the ground all-around, and mill men—both escaping and assailing—slide unsteadily, slip up, and slam supine. Sadistic supervillain smiles. Settling his seat slightly, Icicle takes his stance to shoot the red-hot smelting structure. Blowing-up the blast furnace should incinerate and obliterate everyone—and everything—in the area. Except Icicle. His cold gun can quickly construct an icy aegis about him. In theory, he survives. So, Icicle takes aim to execute an unholy explosion.
However, Armstrong Steelworks has Alan Armstrong looking on from overhead—after just arriving. With his little eye, Spy-Smasher sees scoundrel Icicle set on despicable sabotage, something Alan oft smashes. Seizing electric ceiling line, the swashbuckler snaps a section free. It sparks and extinguishes all light above Icicle, who spooks slightly. Spy-Smasher swings through the darkness. His bootheels hit hoary hoodlum hard and send Jack Frost skidding.
Spitting ice water, flattened Joar Mahkent makes a frowny face and mists freezing drizzle wide. Maybe, some will crust and chill his obscured assailant.
From a safe distance, Spy-Smasher lobs an explosive ampule of liquid helium. It bursts and disperses amidst the mist. Instantly, a thick sheet of snow slams upon surprised Icicle. Ingenious Armstrong has ascertained how to flash-freeze water even more quickly than liquid nitrogen or dry ice might.
The captured Joar juts his pistol from the powdery pile. But, Spy-Smasher crisply flings a flechette at the wrong-doer's wrist. With a stifled wail, Icicle drops his weapon.
Lamentably, a pigskin plunges into the scene from four football fields away. The poisoned pigskin—propelled by mini-motors-pops upon impact with the ground. Sleeping gas surrounds surprised Spy-Smasher; he slumps to the smutty steel mill cement. Ignoble Sportsmaster has a hell of an arm, impeccable aim, and Otto Graham's gaze (aided by binoculars). He was even skating toward storage when he threw such a bomb.
Above the foundry floor, Riddler terrorizes a tweed-suited executive trembling beside a desk in an office illuminated intermittently by the ironworks' fiery, freaky flicker. In fact, Riddler has riveted the man's hand to the oaken escritoire. In a corner, a consternated secretary cowers. Grinning Riddler, aptly, poses the miserable man some questions.
Outside the scene, Carter Hall coughs and nigh hawks with concern for the imperiled captive, a quarter crucified. The assembled Societarians intently observe and analyze Alan Scott's cinematic simulation.
Viewer can basically read lips.
"Location?!" bellows Riddler.
"Go to Hell" spits the suit—free fist shaking.
Riddler raises the rivet gun to the guy's eye. "Location?!" reprobate repeats.
Armstrong of the Army (see Star-Spangled Comics) answers not. Interestingly enough, the august former U.S. intelligence officer oversees an American ironworks now.
Nigma nods and smirks sinisterly. He sees the stubborn soldier's strength. So, his shoes shift toward the scared secretary. He strides over, and she screams skittishly. Raising her by the hair, Riddler wrenches her head and neck about brutally. E. Nigma asks again "Location?!" Fearful tears pour. An aquiver finger points to a map of the facility. As Riddler figured, secretaries typically know the same stuff as their superiors, so a psychopath should sometimes savage the "weaker sex" rather than her bold, boy boss. Nigma notes the effective (evil) expedient for possible future use. He slaps the secretary aside.
Retired Lt. Armstrong looks daggers at both the disloyal girl and the degenerate goon. He would reach for the revolver in his desk drawer—if Riddler had not reconnoitered it and removed it.
To both aggrieved Armstrong employees, their interrogator now asks "Combination? What is the vault door's combination?".
But, only stoic silence and stony stare come from the stapled war hero.
"I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!" ejaculates from the damsel in distress on the dirty deck.
"Damn," interjects Dr. McNider viewing and assessing events, "I would say, verily, everyone's vault is getting violated. Martians looted my manse's treasury and then ransacked the repository here. And, apparently, the 'Jennings gang', to give them an appellation, crash a series of caches."
On the screen, ol' odious Edward Nigma shakes his head and scratches his chin. He orders the wide-eyed assistant to stand. The mannerless lout slaps her almost from her stilettos and stockings. With sour scowl, Riddler paces the room rapidly. Then, he stops to study the office's details diligently. Codes—such as dials' combinations—often originate from individuals' everyday environments.
Tittering, Riddler taps his temple. "I am very good with puzzles" reads the title card.
The bleeding lieutenant and the blubbering lady look on leerily. Drumming his free digits, Armstrong deliberates how to dislodge his lanced and locked hand from the desktop. The soldier must do his duty, and the enemy intruder must die.
Adjacent Armstrong, the unsecured secretary doesn't do jack-drek except sit on her duff and drizzle tears. She could daringly dash for help, distract Riddler while he ruminates, defiantly attack him, or do something. But, she doesn't, and that disappoints an old Army man, or maybe anybody.
You see, not every woman is secretly Diana Prince just like not every man is either an admirable Armstrong or a reprehensible Riddler. That truth is right then, in 1948, and it is right now. That truth underlies legitimate literature and actual life.
For several shakes of a lamb's tail, the supervillain studies the office environs. Then, he suddenly tap-dances a tad.
"Eureka!" announces Edward, "I have the vault's combination."
"Yeah, you're the world's greatest defective," snipes brassy soldier. A strong arm flings a sharp fountain pen forcefully for Riddler's throat.
But, the jerk genius just agilely intercepts the incoming like a jackanape. With a silly and simian smile, Riddler strolls for a sheet of paper. He scratches a series of numbers on a notepad and, shoving said pad into Armstrong's mug, shows the lieutenant, who confirms nothing. Stone-faced, the stalwart ex-spy says nothing and shows no tell. He does not confirm that Riddler has the correct combination.
The next title card communicates Riddler's warning: "Hear me. If this likely combination does not work, and the vault stays locked, I'll be back to eviscerate you both".
E. Nigma seizes a letter opener. The gallant G-man defiantly guffaws. The aghast girl gasps. The self-pleased, sadistic supervillain skips from the office like a schoolkid. On his way out, the fop flicks an envelope fancy-like onto the imbrued desk.
"My next move, in riddle form—if you fools can ever figure it," Riddler relates razzing.
After the office scene, the setting shifts to an open chamber with a semi-truck backed into it. Five super-villains swipe and steal steel parts of substantial size. They commandeer cranes and press-gang proletarians. Soon, Sportsmaster and crew speed off after successfully pillaging Pittsburgh property.
Green Lantern's feature presentation pauses.
"My, my," muses Dr. Mid-Nite, "These thefts are most concerning. Seemingly, super-crooks are stealing America's atomic secrets speedier than Stalin's Soviets. The Curtis compound contained them. Great Lakes Naval Station had secured U of Chicago stuff. That institution centrally assisted the Manhattan Project. And, as for Pittsburgh, its industrial properties did not develop the a-bomb, but they did produce a lot of ordnance otherwise. I certainly dislike where this theft spree mayhap be heading."
"One mass irradiated explosive can ruin your whole day," Atom affirms the astute sleuth's analysis. Insane as it may seem, the bad guys seem to seek the supplies to an atomic bomb.
"Hiroshima must not happen here. Heed my words," counsels Carter Hall.
"Agreed," adds Alan Scott who has foreseen such apocalyptic effects (see All-Star Squadron #20).
"Well, anyway, regardless of evil-doers' doomsday plans this week," wry Wildcat wonders, "Where will the villains strike next? Do we know?"
"Batman is pretty good with Riddler's puzzles," states Mr. Terrific, "He ascertains that Opal City, Starman's turf, is the thieves' next target. Of course, I, Mr. Terrific, double-checked the Dark Knight's deductions after examining the riddle myself. I concur with the Caped Crusader."
"Let's go, JSA," Hourman announces, "We have a mission to do for America and democracy."
Elsewhere, a thousand miles away, Prof. Jeremiah Jennings preaches upon purpose, and he prophesies the glorious future for his partners-in-crime. Blue Valley, Nebraska, provides the perfect abandoned bursary in which his bad company congregates. Cornelius Blue University's old building provides the ideal echoic environment to enhance Jennings' genteel voice in reverberating volume and affective gravity. To the continuing commentary, Crazy Quilt complements like a chorus. Riddler marks the words, and Rag Doll readily smiles upon them. Two-Face sits half-listening while Psycho-Pirate drolly hums battle hymns. And, Tigress, eyes closed, either treasures every utterance or takes a cat nap. Mist, Sportsmaster, and Icicle are absent and perhaps missed.
Master Jennings declares, "May Christ keep the Kriglo—if He even exists! Or, hell, if the Spider-Men of Mars even still exist after brashly invading Venus! I only know that, before they went, they left lovely notes in my office. And, those papers, promised by the Martians, provided the plans for an atomic bomb!"
"I thought you were half-crazy," Two-Face interrupts, "when you told the boys and I to take you to Keystone City from Gotham. You promised an implement of mass chaos, and your lab actually held the plans for one. Martians The Kriglo kept their end of a deal after you abetted the aliens' activities.
"A little voice in my head then said to trust you. And, that same little voice said that the Kriglo—and Curtis—nuclear fission notes looked legitimate. It could have been Harvey—rabbit or Dent—or whoever."
Psycho-Pirate simpers. Broadway buff Roger Hayden has seen Mary Chase's Pulitzer-winner Harvey.
Prof. Jennings feistily puffs. He does not suffer fools well. When they interrupt him. Or, when they simper during his lecture. Thus, he evinces his irritation but immediately curbs it, for the six savages present, proper supervillains, can get yet "testier" than him.
"I do not suffer fools well!" laments Jerimiah, "Thus, with your hearty help, we shall slaughter the citizens of Keystone City! Their sort and their charlatan champions seek to shackle exceptional men such as you and me. They do so physically after we send hostages to Mars or rob a bank or almost kill a Boy Wonder or briefly overthrow the government. They do so psychologically when they vilify us, dub us bad, and venerate themselves, call themselves normal citizens or super heroes. We are Nietzsche's real supermen, not one of them! As such, we have a right to raze an American metropolis, a right to raise our so-called 'villainous' voices, a right to uplift the Apollonian, a right to correct quotidian conditions, a right to raise radiant Hell on Earth!"
"Why wipe clean Keystone City, Kansas?" Crazy Quilt calls-out in charismatic concord. The crazed artist has a distorted vision, literally and figuratively, so he envisions an atrocious masterpiece. And, the little voice inside his head goads him too.
"Because we have the right to right a rapacious wrong," rails Jennings, "Keystone City is Flash's city. And, Flash is the thief who sacked my reputation. In recent years, I designed a rocket ready for interplanetary travel, and I requisitioned passengers for a fantastic expedition. Some would call it kidnapping. But, regardless, I took them to Mars—unaware of a mystery man stowaway. Flash confronted and foiled me on the Red Planet [see Flash Comics #24]. We returned to Earth, specifically the U.S. from whence we came. Criss-crossing the country, the contemptible Crimson Comet corrupted the scientific community against me. Ergo, I was excluded—despite my unmatched ingenuity—from our era's magnificent Manhattan Project. I shall advance the Atomic Age now!"
Crazy Quilt nods with amity. Riddler whoops. Two-Face thumps his left, sinister, chest. Psycho-Pirate shakes with pseudo-rapture. Rag Doll raises a Bronx cheer. Still Tigress tacitly approves of plans—apparently. How catty.
Peter "Rag Doll" Merkel remarks, "We need only perpetrate our next robberies. Then, we can produce an a-bomb. Then, we use it. The entire republic—from the JSA to the Department of Justice—will know we possess it. In turn, we have almost unlimited agency for our forever evil activities. Also, Flash is my arch-nemesis. I won't cry when he fries."
"We'll be sitting in the catbird seat, per Thurber," Tigress perks-up, "if we presently strike Blue Valley as we did New York City, Chicago, and Pittsburgh."
"The Great Plains await our smash-and-grab," touts Two-Face, "Let us assail soon sans quarter!"
"Patience, pal," Jennings prays, "Our raiding party will pillage warehoused uranium within the hour.
"I only ask that we methodically and progressively follow my—our—masterplan. First, we cribbed Terry Curtis' complementary notes to the Kriglo, and they confirmed that the Martians gave good information. Second, we took trigger devices from Chicago. Third, we purloined bomb bodies from a Pittsburgh steel mill. They will house the whole shebang when we are done."
"Soon, our troop's mad scientists assemble everything in Norfolk, Virginia," interjects Riddler, "Aptly, there be the abandoned base of the late Nuclear, the Magnetic Marauder, killed once [see All-Star Squadron #16] or twice [see Wonder Woman #43] by Wonder Woman."
"Before the Old Dominion State," breaks-in Two-Face, "we hit Maryland and California."
"I adore the patchwork of places," cuts-in Quilt, "We are really seeing America, although, aside, (I struggle to see anything at all)." One may notice that super-villains interrupt each other quite oft-because etiquette isn't their purview.
Prof. Jennings grins behind his pointed goatee. His party has a plan.
A short piece later, Jeremiah and pals execute their plan. They "knock over", to use modern parlance, Stagg Enterprises storehouse and abscond a lot of uranium-235.
Surprisingly, the Star-Spangled Kid and Stripesy show-up from nowhere, here in Nebraska. But, the duo are no match for a sextet of downright devils. Two-Face, Tigress, and Rag Doll bat around the Kid like a, well, rag doll. Psycho-Pirate tells Stripesy "boo", and the big guy goes fearfully fetal. The battle is brief. The heist is successful. And, Pat "Stripesy" Dugan tells Sylvester "Star-Spangled" Pemberton afterward that Pat may not dream of retiring to an idyllic, "provincial" place like this one day after all. At least out east, they have five other Seven Soldiers of Victory to help fight such fiends.
Far from Nebraska, Norfolk hosts heavies Mist and Icicle beneath limestone bedrock below wave-beaten beaches and big cliffs. The Atlantic audibly crashes outside the cavern containing the two super-criminals. "Icicle" Joar takes a phone call and jokes with Jennings that the headman should have called collect and left a record. Curtly, the professor communicates that Blue Valley was a victory and that more freight reaches Norfolk soon.
Icicle replaces the receiver and ribs Mist about how Mahkent is the only man present who can manipulate the phone. The phantom fellow indignantly informs Icicle that his intangibility can be turned on and off. Besides, Mist mentions, Sportsmaster could have also handled the phone call.
Sportsmaster shouts from across the way that he is busy with security. He has bombshells and "science stuff" to oversee. He also supervises the villains' hostage hostess Joye Plazchek, sister of the late Nuclear. She owns the estate housing the villainous operations.
Joye jots down domestic economics notes at a desk. She needs to figure-out how to subtly increase the grocery, milk, bread, and other deliveries to her residence, for Sportsmaster has "sternly" warned not to possibly raise suspicions with anyone via "over-orders". Joye has warned the wags present that she isn't baking for all of them. She'll tell you that. In return, Joar joked that he could use a cold one, so do not neglect the beer wagon.
Looking over Miss Plazchek's shoulder, a seven-foot shape stands silent casting a caliginous shadow. Dumb Solomon Grundy seems too stupid to scrutinize her calculations, but Joye is still smart enough (and scared enough) not to try anything sly.
Sizable, sinister Solomon still smells of the sea—from which fellow supervillains fetched him. A little voice, in their heads, told them to do so.
