Chapter 18: The Bat Cha-Cha
The black car, with its black hats, clips past the Berkeley campanile. Behind it, the black Batmobile barrels in pursuit. In the lead's backseat, Ultra-Humanite sits thinking. To his side, Psycho-Pirate sits astir as Sportsmaster speeds and steers the escape auto west and, the Almighty willing, away from the treble avengers approaching ever closer. The criminal can consciously tell that Hourman could leap from the Batmobile's sideboard to the bad guys' bumper at any time. His blue peeper pair stares pensively out the rear glass. Then, anxious eyes look to headman Ultra-Humanite for tuition and instruction.
Insouciantly, Ultra-Humanite simply stares back and stews—as the sedan bounces overland. Sportsmaster has run out of South Drive upon which to drive, so he has shot through Sather Gate onto sidewalk and lawn. Fortunately, few faculty and students occupy the unorthodox escape route. Otherwise, Sportsmaster would but run them over, and Batman might too. Although, unsurprisingly, the hero's hansom careens with more caution. Crusher crisply whips the get-away car onto Bancroft Way without rolling it.
Chewing his lip contemplatively, Ultra-Humanite looks into Psycho-Pirate's Medusa Mask. He gazes at his reflection in the golden surface. Dr. Rafe Smedley's face stares back at him. The indwelling mad scientist studies his present shell. He sees the steel-rimmed bifocals and bushy, silvery beard hedged in pilose blond head hair, like a pileus, above a cocoa-colored, conservatively-cut suit coat with a charcoal tie and ten-karat clip. And, Ultra-Humanite considers how he got here to California. . . . .
A piece back, the Great Depression struck the land. And, U.S. citizens suffered—including young Gary Shugal of Civic City, Pennsylvania. So, post-Crash of '29, a callow genius concluded that he should conquer and control his country, America. After all, as Plato posited in The Republic, only the brilliant belong leading a nation. Thus, the nascent Ultra-Humanite commenced neurological experimentation with arcane, advanced energies that evolved his mind exponentially. Over years, he became—theoretically—the smartest man in the world, and his will wielded fantastic psychic abilities from telepathy to telekinesis. Tragically, the fantastic treatments also obscenely aged his anatomy, for his flesh could not brook the fires with which he forged himself. Thus, the early Ultra-Humanite enervated into an elderly invalid, wheelchair-bound, by the late thirties. Still, from his seat, the mastermind oversaw "a vast ring of criminal enterprises" (see Action Comics #13) allowing him to threaten every American institution and establishment.
Propitiously, Superman swooped in to save the day (although Ultra-Humanite hated his interference). Again and again, the Man of Steel spoiled sinister plots until Supes grew so sick of the insane scientist that he seemingly successfully slayed him (see Action Comics #19). However, extraordinary Shugal stubbornly survived after apparent death ray incineration.
Ultra-Humanite had developed a devilish transcendental trick, turning him effectively immortal. He could transfer his consciousness into another being. And, whether in the Bowery or on Broadway, he found washed-up actress Dolores Winters who delivered an evil-doer some nice assets. Especially in '40, no one ever suspected a woman, so one could be as duplicitous as she wanted. Also, Winters had sufficient celebrity that she could be as secretly baneful and clandestinely criminal as she wanted. And, as an actress, she could be as dissembling as she wanted.
As Dolores, Ultra-Humanite dueled Superman one more magnificent time (see Action Comics #20-21) before bowing out. She kidnapped Dr. Terry Curtis and coerced him to build awesome atomic weaponry. Her seeming curtain call was into an active volcano. And, she apparently perished—again. And left 'em wanting more.
Ultra's encore was against the Justice Society and Superman too (see All-Star Squadron #21-26). Back in '42, the Big Blue Boy Scout brought the Powerstone—almighty relic—to the All-Star Squadron for safekeeping after stifling Lex Luthor's sordid schemes (see Action Comics #47). In a surprise attack, Ultra-Humanite and her merry men—Deathbolt, Cyclotron, and Amazing-Man—assailed the avengers. Cyclotron was secretly a conscripted Terry Curtis. Purloining the Powerstone, cold Winters and the rest went on a robbery spree snatching Thor's hammer, Dr. Fate's helmet, five superheroes (Liberty Belle, Batman, Commander Steel, Tarantula, and Atom), and sundry U.S. military hardware, from hand grenades to howitzers to weird war weapons. Worsening the situation, for Societarians, the future Ultra-Humanite had somehow figured-out time travel, so he sent shock troops from 1982 to forty years before: a brainwashed Infinity, Inc. and a quintet of super-criminals (Psycho-Pirate, Rag Doll, the Mist, Monocle, and Brainwave II).
Despite Ultra-Dolores' stacked deck, the Justice Society prevailed, for Cyclotron slew the Humanite—seemingly. The strange scientist survived—albeit in sorry shape.
Six years later, languishing Dolores Winters lie on her death bed in Manhattan's Mount Sinai. With her remarkable wiles, she had wrangled her acute radiation poisoning down to chronic cancer over a half-decade. But, Ultra-Humanite was dying—again. And, his enhanced phrenic activity—normally a blessing for a bad man—only exasperated things. The iniquitous savant sought solace somewhere elsewhere in somebody else's body. Tepid telepathy traipsed forth to find another human form.
Then, Despero appeared (see Justice League of America v.2 #8) from another dimension. Despero, despot of planet Kalanor, said that Mr. Mind sent him and that he was the Wickedest Worm in Reality's white rook. Delores mumbled that she did not know what the hell the savage, draconic visitant meant.
Despero declared that "in exchange for your undying loyalty, Mr. Mind and I offer you Dr. Rafe Simeon Smedley in St. Mary's Hospital out in San Francisco as your next vessel."
Wan Winters reacted, "Rafe means 'wise wolf', so I like this man already. And, I recognize the name from the nation's most-distinguished professoriate. He is perfect for my planned persistence."
"Hmmm, somewhat," Despero purses lips, "You should know that he has cancer too, just not as advanced. Indeed, your Smedley shell shall only last so long-but long enough to serve Mr. Mind's machinations."
Ultra-Humanite languidly laughed, "After the academic, I shall have to find a host hearty like King Kong."
Since switching, Ultra-Humanite has been sage Smedley in the Golden State. At Berkeley, the wise wolf teaches and writes more brilliantly than ever before. He only paused his pedagogy and research one recent day when the radio reported something most interesting. Supervillains had violated and burgled Terry Curtis' residence on the East Coast. Ultra-Humanite investigated. He discovered hubristic jackanape Jennings' hijinks. Piqued, he decided to direct the Norfolk project in his own way.
Leaving reverie and recap, Ultra-Humanite lurches into Psych-Pirate when their hurtling limousine takes a hard left. Carriage leans, and rubber laments. The Oxford Street light is red as well, so that adds to the squealing wheels. To his credit, Sportsmaster keeps it skillfully on the road. Ex-quarterback Crusher Crowder may have a keen recent concussion, but he has driven a team with a concussion before. He darts Ultra and Psycho down University Avenue as he hectically honks the horn.
To his credit, Batman stays right behind his escaping adversaries. The Knight nimbly navigates the upset Oxford and University intersection without an accident. Hourman even stays attached to the breakneck auto on the outside. And, the Batmobile blows impressively past Berkeley's bystanders and buildings. But, of course, the driver is Batman.
"Under two minutes to our departure!" shouts Sportsmaster. The engine roars.
"And, we aint' flying outta Oakland!" Psycho-Pirate quips. Apparently, Pirate knows the escape plan.
"Outrun them!" Hourman coaches the Caped Crusader at the passenger window. Robin perks-up at the person screaming in his ear.
Batman believes that he knows better than rambunctious Rex. He tromps the gas, but not to pass. Rather, the Batmobile's huge figurehead, of this golden age, approaches the fleeing hoods' bumper. Purposefully, Robin presses a dashboard button. Abruptly, twin chain slings shoot from the figurehead's flanks, and two fetters fix to a fast-moving sedan by strong clamps. Now, the Batmobile need only apply the brakes and bring the bad guys to a halt. A jerking stop (of jerks) and justice!
But, the joke's on the Dynamic Duo. And, the Clown Prince isn't even around! Sportsmaster flicks a dashboard switch that Ultra-Humanite purposely advised be installed. The back bumper detaches and flies like debris! It dings the bat figurehead (without damage). Then, it deftly dips beneath Batmobile tires, which should avoid puncture (Bruce paid enough for them). Then, the detached metal magnetically attaches upward! And, the avengers' auto has an armed explosive on its undercarriage.
"Oh boy! we have a magnetically-attached armed explosive on our undercarriage," ascertains Batman adeptly.
"Holy USS San Diego, Batman, the Huns ahead of us mined our hull!" exclaims Robin.
"Yes, Boy Wonder, World War I waters claimed the San Diego when a German mine secured to her," Batman banters, "Good job remembering your history." Now, the heroes need only avoid becoming history.
"Good job, boss," Crusher compliments his captain, "You really are smart for psychically sending schematics to Crazy Quilt, who has some mechanical savvy. He refit this sedan well."
"Thank you," Ultra-Humanite often has the utmost manners, even with idiots.
"It is too bad that Crazy Quilt cannot see us now," comments Psycho-Pirate about captured comrade.
Ersatz Rafe Smedley simpers, for he almost snipes snarky about Paul Dekker's bad sight. But, Ultra-Humanite tries to quip more classily than crude cuts.
The cads' car courses past parked vehicles contributing customers to University Avenue cafes, quaint shops, and apartment living quarters. Crowds and individuals cry out and gawk when an obsidian machine and the Batmobile blur by, their engines boisterous off the bricks. They bounce and buck dangerously down Berkeley's normally bucolic main boulevard toward the broad, beautiful San Fransico Bay. Bewildered beholders pray that the pell-mell pair of maniacal motorists manage to miraculously avoid mashing someone.
"Holy Holstein cow, Batman! The bumper bomb beneath the Batmobile hasn't blown us kablooey yet!" the Boy Wonder blurts, "It must have a timer."
"Yes, otherwise, it would have concussed and combusted on contact," confers the Caped Crusader.
Hourman stoops on the sideboard, "Shall I rip free that booby-trapped fender? I have the super-strength to do so."
"Otherwise," indicates Robin, "I could hop out the window and curl under the car. Utility belt implements might freeze, melt, or dissolve the deleterious device."
"Too risky, Robin," responds Batman, "The chassis hasn't the clearance. The road would rapidly rend you to ribbons."
Rex reaches into the racing roadster, "What about this dashboard switch saying 'rubber raft'? Does the device inflate under the auto? It could pop off the problem."
Batman shakes his chin, "No, the dinghy deploys out the back, not below the Batmobile. Similarly, I can create an oil slick from the aft but not under this auto, so there isn't an oil leak to be found on the Batmobile."
"Blimey!" declares Dick Grayson, "Could we bottom-out on a bump and dislodge the bomb thereby?"
"Well, chum, the bomb charge would likely blow," states Bruce Wayne, "Then, we would rely on the Batmobile's armor. So, let us do nothing but rely on this wagon's battleship steel. The armor will likely preserve us." To tell the truth, Batman exaggerates. The Batmobile bulwark is more like a Sherman tank than a South Dakota-class.
Through the rear windshield, Psycho-Pirate and pseudo-Smedley watch the Society chase toward them. Through the backseat, they hear Dr. Mid-Nite's boots thump the barrier between them and him as though he would create folding rear seats. Ultra-Humanite is not too concerned about their abductee, for he defeated Doc before and can again, in theory. So, the maleficent mastermind concentrates on the tailing trio.
The get-away auto tilts past Berkeley's Moby Building, a short stretch from the Pacific shore. Surely, the supervillains are running out of escape space, so they must perhaps plan to hook hard onto U.S. Route 40 north or south along the ocean. So suspects the World's Greatest Detective pursuing them. Within the Batmobile, Bruce's smug smirk bears witness.
To the right, Robin readies two "razorangs" to whip at right-side rear and front tires simultaneously. Dick is a damn good shot for a kid his age—or anyone else.
On the running board, Rex Tyler readies too. Tensing mighty legs, he may jump the ten-yard length to the reprobates' roof where he will wreck some sedan steel. A blue boot presses the gas, and a turbo-charged engine advances Hourman toward his goal. Batman would not mind ramming the runaway villains while his cohorts "unleash hell".
At six meters away, the Man on Miraclo makes his move. Hourman hops hardily, and his soles alight soundly on speeding sedan's roof. Psycho-Pirate saw the superhero coming but still startles. Empath Hayden can be a bit emotional and high-strung. Hourman kneels and sets ferrous fingers into carbon steel. With a firm flex, Rex fissures the fleers' auto body. Sportsmaster swears a swift blue streak.
However, Smedley-Humanite simply sneers snidely at the intrepid encroacher as Hourman's arm enters the interior. The limb swings low at Psycho-Pirate, who shrilly screams. Suddenly, Ultra-Shugal slaps a button secreted beside the backseat sill.
To Rex Tyler's tremendous surprise, the sedan top pops precariously loose for one ominous second. Then, the car's cap completely springs sky-high! Incredibly constricted chromed coils in each car quarter, the cruiser's four corners, help it do so. Ample elastic energy catapults a hero up, up, and away over a Southern Pacific railroad crossing. Hourman's brow rises, and his jaw drops.
Below, the Batmobile bears down on the bad guys. The Boy Wonder rancorously whizzes whetted 'rangs. They both tag a tire squarely. But. Boing! Unbelievably resilient rubber bounces the blasted, bladed Batarangs perfectly back! Like a line drive, the looping blades lop off twin locks of a bemused boy's black bangs.
In the advanced auto, Ultra-Humanite quips, "Now those are some vulcanized tires, tee-hee." You see, he had occasional henchman and scientist's helper Vulcan, Son of Fire (see All-Star Squadron #26), design them.
From on high, Hourman hurtles head-over-heels toward the highway beside the train tracks. Concerned, he canvasses the rail crossing. No locomotives lick along the line, and the sailing superhero contentedly counts his blessings. Rex looks left to the roadway lanes and pursues a smooth landing. He tries turning the cartop just right just above the pavement.
Then, a tall semi-truck hits Hourman and takes him southbound set for San Francisco! The shocked teamster, slashed by shattered windshield, slams the brakes, and the big rig skids and shimmies along the asphalt. It suddenly successfully stops. Hourman scuds into the adjacent sea, the Bay.
Back at the chase, the makeshift convertible motors ahead instead of turning at U.S. 40 as Batman expected. The Caped Crusader persists in pursuit though. Right straight, his hot rod rushes to ram the runaway rapscallions from the road. Robin chirrups bellicosely.
Then, the bomb below the Batmobile goes boom. The blast bats the Dynamic Duo topsy-turvy. And, briefly, Berkeley's beachfront and western boundary blur past in blips and bits. The Batmobile's battle armor gets grandly tested.
But, the body bears well. And, remarkably-resilient wheels rap blacktop and bounce big thrice. Within the chiropteran roadster, Batman and Robin remain resolved to reach the wicked. Their engine revs, and they rocket over the remaining ground of the Golden State. Berkeley Yacht Harbor, the city's marina locale, holds but six hundred yards, one-third mile, before San Francisco Bay, the Pacific Ocean.
Okay, that last sentence is not quite true. There is an abandoned pier stretching three miles out-to-sea toward the City by the Bay. However, in 1948, it is progressively rotting wood, warping and weakening over a decade with entropic asphalt atop it. The fixture has not been fully fit since ferry service (to San Fran) departed in 1937.
On the pier, the villains are impressed. They thought that the bomb beneath the Batmobile would obliterate it, and the Dynamic Duo would "bite the dust", to use some slang. But, Batman and Robin haven't. However, the hissable hoodlums have a healthy head start along the wharf anyway, so they proceed with their escape plan. Properly, the evil-doers put anglers and other vulnerable dock denizens in great peril. Sportsmaster speeds ahead and plows people aside and over all along the pier until the black sedan smashes and splinters through the pine boards separating the main wharf from the unmaintained auxiliary.
Abaft Ultra-Humanite and men, Batman decelerates slightly to dispatch Robin out a moving window. The Boy Wonder rolls safely and smoothly along the boardwalk until upright. The Flying Grayson goes forth to aid the newly injured until ambulances arrive. That is his intention.
Dick dispatched, Batman Bruce engages higher gear and weaves wonderfully past remaining pier pedestrians. With a vengeance, the Dark Knight pursues and nears escaping Psycho, Sports, and Smedley along the narrow spit semi-spanning San Francisco Bay until ending (abruptly) at open sea. Wayne wonders where the goonish gang possibly goes, but between the Batman and the deep blue. Advancing, the Batmobile butts the black sedan's back where the bumper should be. The trunk lock breaks, and the boot lid rises a bit. Mid-Nite's goggles glint in the evening light.
Surprisingly, Rafe Smedley swivels his gray-haired head, and his grizzled mug gives a great wolfish grin. "Cease your pursuit, superhero, for I think of everything," psychically states someone inside Bats' brain.
Suddenly, the honored professor doesn't look like a hostage to the hero.
Suddenly, steersman Sportsmaster swerves the black sedan sharply starboard. The three scoundrels sail for two seconds above the Bay before nosediving into briny depths. Dr. Mid-Nite ejects out the opened aft for a seemingly millisecond before likewise landing in murky liquid.
"Curses! My kingdom for a Batboat," thinks Batman braking his car hard. Not every offbeat implement could come from Gotham to Berkeley.
Three fathoms down, Dr. Mid-Nite fights his ropes in silty obfuscation. Off Berkeley's shore, the Bay is so shallow that seafloor sand really unsettles when a sedan slams into it. Unbeknown to Charles, Sportsmaster swims past just to the right like Johnny Weissmuller. Ultra-Humanite also is nearby underwater. His ESP perceives all activity around him.
Ultra telepathically instructs underlings, "Pirate, plunge into the tripped trunk and take the breathing apparatuses. Issue them to us. Sportsmaster, snatch Dr. Mid-Nite from the swirling sands before he breaks his bonds. Then, give him the breathing gear meant for Crazy Quilt—before he got captured."
A jittery Jolly Roger, Psycho-Pirate asks, "Is Batman about to dive after us? He doesn't always give up easily."
"I calculate that he is about to," Ultra-Humanite calmly replies, "My third eye perceives him donning his scuba tanks presently. Fortunately, they are more ungainly than our compact masks. So, advantage us."
The more gainly gadgets are bows about four inches across that fit in the mouth and put a tube up the nose. They convert aquatic oxygen directly so that supervillains, and one hero, can simply breathe it as easily as Neptune Perkins underwater. With such respirators, treble rogues can await Batman perhaps to ambush him. But, they instead swim away from the roadway from which he now immerses. The nabob Knight is notably a better swimmer than even Sportsmaster, and he makes swift progress toward his target trio.
"Is she coming?" Psycho-Pirate asks Ultra-Humanite by psychic link and nervous look. He almost accidentally projects angst into Ultra.
"Tsunami strikes on schedule," Smedley's swiping hand shows a sudden stir in the water, "I think of everything—including our amazing means of escape."
Closing in, the Caped Crusader dually detects disturbance in the deep. The watery surroundings promptly shimmer and then shake into a blur. Straightaway, the sea shoves skyward, the Dark Knight its thrall. The wave turbulently tosses awash Batman in somersaulting circles and slings him about like salmagundi. With severity, the entire vicinity surges like Poseidon's spit. The swelling brine bucks Batman high against the settling sun. Then, the wall of water slams forward—like a tsunami.
Within the wide wave, Miya "Tsunami" Shimada soars ascendent with arms ostentatiously spread. She ogles the hero helplessly held hostage in her wave. The roller heaves and hastily hurtles north. In no time, the wave nears Robin, arriving rescuers, and wounded wretches, and the Boy Wonder can only exclaim "holy . . ." before an aquatic avalanche lashes the pier's population away.
The precipitous ponderance of Pacific plunges and powerfully plants itself into the Bay. Spray explodes in an enormous circle. Riding her wave underwater, Tsunami purposefully picks-up Psycho-Pirate, Ulta-Humanite, Sportsmaster, Dr. Mid-Nite, and Robin and plows away with a whale's wake.
Tsunami could take Batman too, but she is wary of such wresting. Telepathically, Ultra-Humanite admonishes that Batman is an escape artist. So, don't abduct him. Abscond with Batman's inferior imitations, Dr. Mid-Nite and Robin, instead. If possible, give Robin an air pocket lest Batman need to incessantly replace one Robin with others.
Others swamped and swallowed by Miss Shimada's wave surround Robin, Mid-Nite, the supervillains, and Tsunami. And, they are slack and still. But, they are "insignificant" civilians slain for a grand effort's success.
You see, Miya was until recently a Young All-Star—a hero. However, Dr. Rafe Smedley, like a wolf outfitted ovine, visited her Santa Barbara stomping ground, and he brought a friend simply dubbed "Roger". Rafe and Roger romanticized that they could slip an atomic bomb into Gotham, and they wondered if they could wrangle Miss Miya to somewhat support their evil effort. The noble heroine initially resisted and threatened to sic mystery men on these miserable miscreants. However, Roger Hayden, secretly Psycho-Pirate, subtly manipulated Miya's emotions such that he reawakened Tsunami's repressed resentments. Post Pearl Harbor, the nisei had been harried, so she harried the All-Star Squadron (see All-Star Squadron #33-35 & 42), on Imperial Japan's behalf, before seeing the error of an angry ingenue's ways.
Within, Tsunami still does not mind eliminating an American city—such as Gotham—as so many great Japanese cities were but a half-decade ago.
The demihuman dame's deluge through the depths desists a league and a half beyond Berkeley. And, she drops the three heavies and two hostages at a submarine sitting on the Bay's bottom. It is Axis military surplus, and it should sneak the supervillains to whatever plane or train takes them cross-country to Virginia. The bad guys have escaped.
Over near the Golden State shore, gasping Hourman surfaces in the disturbed surf next to Berkeley Harbor. Right quick, Rex reconnoiters the roiled waters for the Dynamic Duo, likely drowning. However, Hourman need not search and rescue near and far, for a befuddled and fatigued Batman scrappily swims for dry land. Hourman go gets him and hauls the Caped Crusader to the coast.
Nigh concurrently, Atom and the police arrive at the wrecked pier. Ever energized, Atom pulls the knackered Knight upright. The Mighty Mite asks about next moves, "what's the plan from here?". Bats blinks severally in succession and blows a briny brume from his interior.
Impressively, the woozy World's Greatest Detective deduces that the deviants may have had a sub hidden off-shore. The JSA should just keep chasing the churls. It is the dance that they intrepidly do.
Author's note:I am discontinuing this series for now. Our beloved site FanFiction has some issues (e.g. inactive traffic graphs) that hopefully will get resolved soon. Furthermore, fanfiction is great fun to write, but a person should pay some attention to other projects.
However, I have the notes for the remaining story, of course. I shall write, edit, and post those chapters if people request.
Thanks so much for reading my stuff. Have fun.