Chapter 2: Doctors Duly Duel
Meanwhile, on Earth. . . . .
Dr. Mid-Nite mashes some mug's face. The crimefighter's fist flattens a crook's schnoz and lays the lout out. Another goon immediately charges through the night—swinging a huge monkey wrench. Mid-Nite ducks, and the dope dents a fellow thug assailing the hero. Posthaste, the Master of Darkness decks the wild wrench wielder to the dock. Then, Dr. Mid-Nite's flying fists put several more toughs asleep this evening.
At the Brooklyn Army Terminal, the considerable tumult continues. The Brooklyn Army Terminal sits along the Narrows between the Upper New York Bay and Lower New York Bay. Nearby, the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge overlooks the active military base. The U.S. military has used this locale through two recent world wars for moving freight and personnel. The former has likely attracted this brazen bunch of burglars this night.
Dr. Mid-Nite has been tracking this gang, for their leader is the nefarious Dr. Light, arch-nemesis of our hero. Ever on-guard, Dr. Charles McNider, lay crime journalist, has been monitoring the East Coast underworld. Ever wise, blind justice has kept an eye on Dr. Light since foiling the thief last year. The crimefighter discovered the two parties parlaying. He tracked their plans. This morning, he listened in on a phoneline. Tonight, Dr. Mid-Nite shadowed the gangsters here.
The Justice Societarian just wishes that he had better known the brigands' brazen numbers. He did not expect so damn many of them. They brought two squads to attack the battalion at Brooklyn. Of course, the gangsters are not confronting the entire battalion at once. Rather, the louts execute a localized attack while an alarm summons more soldiers.
Briefly before this particular moment, three boats brought a bevy of brickbats to loading dock B. Dr. Light led them, and his ray gun brilliantly blinded the area's Army staff. Then, certain thugs opened fire, and soldiers fell.
From nearby Owl Head Park, Dr. Mid-Nite and his avian ally Hooty sprang into action. A barrage of blackout bombs preceded them like artillery. Smoke like shellac stymied the invaders' advance, and the Master of Darkness marched into the thick of the thugs.
Which brings us to present circumstances. Bad guys circle and swarm our superhero. He slugs them flat as fast as he can. But, his synonymous smoke dissipates, and a dozen thugs still sinisterly stand, ready to rend Mid-Nite limb-from-limb.
Luckily, a Loser looms in the vicinity. Everyone winds up somewhere, and this (DC) universe sometimes has great coincidences. Thus, Cap. William Storm, of WWII's the Losers, raises his M1 Garand at the dock's guard post. The yard guard engages the invading enemy, and he aids Dr. Mid-Nite thusly. The rifle cracks, and a round rips through a ruffian's rutabaga. Dr. Mid-Nite salutes the headshot then throws another haymaker. Carefully, Cap. Storm selects another hoodlum along the hub-bub's hem. His bullet blasts through a thug torso. Surveying the battle, Storm attaches a bayonet. The brawlers are too bunched for any more clear shots, safe for Mid-Nite. The Loser will have to lunge in.
As Storm charges, Dr. Mid-Nite manages the melee well. His mitts move like a maelstrom. Mobbing foes fall in multiples. A man of many experiences, the doctor uses new-fangled fighting from the Far East. His feet fly through the air and find foe faces in fancy style, although most "men" do not kick in this era. Four foes fasten to Dr. Mid-Nite's uniform temporarily. But, with ingenious jujutsu, the Justice Society scuffler chucks two, chops another, and chokes one to cherry color—all in six seconds. Still, foes assail like on a Ford assembly line. The good guy crosses his gauntlets and tosses two glass spheres from his gloves. Glass and acid shatter and splatter respectively upon soon screaming faces.
Hooty steals a hood's hat. Then, he scratches and pecks passionately a bald pate.
Cap. Storm surges in. He savagely swipes and sticks a sucker right through.
"Much obliged" Mid-Nite stands amidst a circle of fallen thugs, "Now, let's find Dr. Light, the lot's leader!"
"No need to look! Here I am!" Light shouts from sixteen yards over the shipping yard, atop crates. Dual doctors stare each other up and down.
In truth, the villain really wants the trio—Dr. Mid-Nite, Cap. Storm, and Hooty—to look. He is about to ambush them. In a flash, his diabolical device directs a blinding burst at the meddling do-gooders. Light's remaining ruffians and the doctor have donned sunglasses and welding goggles.
The concentrated glow grates the group of good guys. For example, the Loser greatly grapples with its grand glorious effects. However, never green, the old soldier hits the ground and keeps his head down, Garand at the ready. Grousing, Dr. Mid-Nite goes forward, somehow functional in the gratuitous gleam. He guides himself unerringly as though he could gain on Light and gang with his eyes closed, which—you see—he can. Guardian Mid-Nite is secretly blind and, therefore, like a man without fear in the face of gross luminescence. Beside his master, Hooty—though he may use all three strigine eyelids—hurtles ahead.
Suddenly, nefarious Dr. Light flicks his gizmo's knob and aims antagonistically. An angry laser fires forth as though Dr. Light were Flash Gordon or Ming the Merciless (he does grope his goatee with his free hand). The bolt blasts off Cap. Storm's left leg and sets the stump ablaze. The old sailor squalls in consternation. What Loser luck!
On the other hand, Bill Storm has already lost his limb to the enemy a long time ago. He has a wooden leg! So, the amputation and mutilation is humiliation. It doesn't hurt. Unless he lets the flames get too high.
From high overhead, Hooty divebombs dastardly Light. Like Bulletman, the gallant bird biffs the bad guy's gun arm down. With tenacious talons, talented Mr. Hooty takes the gun from grievous grip, and he goes away with it. Dr. Light curses for being foiled. Headlong, Hooty heads for New York Harbor to drop the deadly, devilish device of Light into dark depths.
Sans assistants Storm and Hooty, Dr. Mid-Nite daringly nears the super-villain. However, Dr. Light does have auxiliary, and his men aim their Tommy guns at arriving Mid-Nite knight. The superhero stops and sternly assesses. Instantly, the evil genius agrin adjusts his belt buckle, and he generates two more images of himself. The three Lights stand abreast—until they whirl about. "Which is which after they switch?" is an apt question for a crimefighter to consider.
Dr. Mid-Nite considers his first hologram—nascent science in 1948. Mirror Master is not even a gleam in anyone's eye currently, so the champion has never met the like. He has, however, encountered stage magic at carnivals and the like, and the good doctor is no slouch at optics. Plus, sharp-minded Charles McNider is no slouch in general. Thus, Dr. Mid-Nite closes his eyes tight behind his obscuring goggles, and he concentrates to sort the area's sounds. In theory, the real Dr. Light will make some noise and his illusionary doubles will not.
"So, what now?" Dr. Mid-Nite stands seemingly frozen before the goons' sub-machine guns. He has his hands raised.
Like any good bad guy, Dr. Light commences gloating, "Well, in the past, you have thwarted my terrific plans thrice. Which wasn't very nice. The first time, we fought twice before you stopped my burglary streak, putting me on ice [see All-American Comics #82]. The second time, my vice was selling smuggled antiquities, and I paid the price [see All-American Comics #89]. The third time, by my spicy device, I enticed common plants to rebel, wantonly enlarge, and trice-up captives like vises [see All-American Comics #91]. Yet, my finest machinations did not suffice."
"Those were all terrible plans that I thwarted," Dr. Mid-Nite deems.
"Dr. Light always has brilliant plans!" Light boasts, "This time, I have given myself the precise advice apt the Zeitgeist. The Brooklyn Army Terminal holds wonders confiscated from World War II such as Black Dragon Society surplus laser guns and the Monocle's laser-blasting eyepieces. Hawkman bested his adversary again recently. Dr. Light's lads would each look sharp with such spiffy accoutrement."
Behind closed lids, Dr. Mid-Nite rolls his orbs. His ears have astutely attended to every ambient sound as Light prattled. The hero is pretty sure that he has honed in on the heel who isn't a hologram. Mid-Nite opens his eyes and ogles the guarding goons with guns. They block their boss. The hero raises his palms as if he would surrender, and saps are slightly surprised, for a second. Surreptitiously, the Master of Darkness schemes to strike the actual Light among the likenesses. Then, with sleight of hand like Zatara, Dr. Mid-Nite deftly draws two blackout bombs from his cape nape. The pair of petards pitch through the air and aerate the area with pitch black smoke. Panicked gunfire escapes the ebon pall, but the veteran vigilante but veers below it like he were rushing German soldiers.
A solid shoulder rams one goon to the ground. A brown glove—with a strong grip—grabs a torrid Tommy barrel and yanks its muzzle downward into meaty legs, mangling them. A fink falls screaming. A superhero somersaults to his own full feet. From his cape, he casts throwing stars—from Japan just years ago. Nearly Batman's equal, McNider tags his targets, the next thugs, successfully. However, the howling hoods keeps firing, so our hero hits the deck. He low-crawls quickly to the duo dunces making such immediate din and destroying the surrounding freight. Puckishly, paladin Mid-Nite pops-up between the thugs. He caws loudly like a late-night crow. He drops immediately. Tweedles Dee and Dum mutually beset the same spot. They shoot each other dead.
"You're pretty well licked, Light," Dr. Mid-Nite announces, "You are by your lonesome at this point. Make your last desperate move so that I can knock your lights out."
The Master of Darkness leaves the cloud and enters open illumination. Overhead, fluorescent tubes glow and buzz in long rows far back into the warehouse. Against their irradiation, Dr. Light lifts himself on photons like the Ray. He leisurely levitates to the ceiling beams with his arms arrogantly outstretched, as if haloed, until alighting upon stacked crates again.
As if judging, the evil-doer juts a sanctimonious finger, "I am above you, Mid-Nite! I am the Apollonian to your Dionysian superman! Don't make me destroy you!"
The hero hollers back, "You aren't too bright are you, Light? Can't you hear the sirens by which the sentry summoned other soldiers? I'll take you to jail, not kill you! They will shoot you to Swiss cheese and put you in a pine box!"
For a moment, overhead illumination shines sharply on silent Light's bald head, and it emblazons his shiny scarlet costume of satin. Chin haughtily up, he motions to utter something clever.
Then, the ceiling collapses in. And, something humongous crushes him through the pine crates upon which he stands.
SMASH! CRASH! CRUNCH! BLOOD-CURDLING SHRIEK!
Dr. Mid-Nite surveys the wide hole in the roof and wonders what the hell just happened. He need not wait long to find out. Explosively, a box side erupts across the warehouse aisle. Iron odds and ends accompany the spraying splinters. Two tremendous white fists in ragged sleeves punch a powerful palooka to his freedom. Dr. Mid-Nite recognizes the dreadful dukes already, but the arrived ogre still shouts "Solomon Grundy!" upon leaping forth.
The superhero shakes his head vigorously. This villain is one huge challenge who can even do a slugfest with Superman or the whole All-Star Squadron. Dr. Mid-Nite sure could use Justice Society associates right now. The grimacing, growling Grundy steps forward. On the behemoth's boots, the good guy ganders some gore and feels bad for Dr. Light's likely fate. Fortuitously for Doc Mid-Nite, an ally abruptly arrives when Hooty swoops in and hovers at his handler's shoulder. Behind Hooty, Loser Cap. Storm hops one-legged forward to advance and to assist. Behind him, other soldiers march upon the monster.
Like a big bull, Solomon Grundy charges. Within, Dr. Mid-Nite hopes to remember well his judo. There is going to be an awfully big brawl.
Somewhere in the stratosphere, a flying saucer slips from the apex of its arc. Its occupants dropped Solomon Grundy exactly where they wanted him, and they can now raid Dr. Charles McNider's residence without interference—unless the unexpected happens.