Beyond Midway

May 31, 1942

The world was nothing more than the tossing of waves, a shifting, directionless cacophony of hostility. Sea water fought to enter Captain William Storm's mouth, as he was thrown about by the power of his namesake. His eye stung, blinking away the water in time for another wave to send him tumbling through the white capped terror. He strained his voice through leaking mouthfuls of water.

"Buddy! George! Nate!" His companions, his boat nowhere to be seen, all sense of place and permanence lost in the primordial chaos around him.

Tired limbs clawed for the surface as he was thrashed about. He could feel his wooden leg threatening to detach. Let it. Maybe he could float on it.

Another wave, a truly mighty one stole the sky. Captain Storm flailed forward, resisting the urge to flee it. Better to break through before it crashed. Too late. His body was lifted by the wave, carried along with its fury. His last sight before he was brought down was the foul beast returning to its watery domain.


Storm awoke to heaving coughs and someone vomiting water. It took him a moment to realize that he was the one doing this, his entire chest shaking with each shudder. The inside of his mouth tasted of salt and vomit, his skin pink and raw. Someone was crouched beside him.

"There, there...Almost there," said the man, as though he were urging a child along.

He fell to his left, reaching for a sidearm that was no longer there. Storm could now see that the other man was a fellow in a red and yellow suit, like a swimmer, with a trident symbol on his chest. He was dark skinned, like those that lived on the islands that dotted the Pacific, with long, wet black hair.

"Glad to see you've still got fight in you. Even if you won't be needing it," said the man.

Captain Storm sat up, remaining tensed. The man allowed him to retain his distance, giving Storm a chance to see where they were. It resembled a cave, though the walls and ceilings were reinforced with concrete and metal. The floor was laid with black stone. There was what appeared to be medical beds laid out in a row, one with ruffled, wet sheets. He got up.

"You've got questions," said a man behind him, who was built like a prizefighter, with a white streak through the center of his black hair. "We'll do our best."

His hosts had queer names. Neptune Perkins was the man in the red. He had plucked Storm out of his watery grave. The other one, the one whose island they were on, was named Iron Munro.

"Not familiar with this island," said Captain Storm. He felt his pockets for his pipe, to no avail. Another loss.

Iron Munro grinned. "That's by design. My father wasn't fond of guests."

"Changed that policy eh?"

"You're not the first sailor we've saved," said Neptune Perkins.

The only one from his boat though. He though of bodies as they twisted like rag dolls through the ocean's jealous clutches.

"Your turn to talk," said Iron Munro.

So Storm did. His was a PT boat, a nimble craft, armed with torpedos and spite, that was sent out to harry the Japanese fleet. His vessel was on the hunt for transport ships, ferrying men and supplies when a storm rolled over them.

"That storm was why we found you in the first place," said Iron Munro. He gestured to a complex set of instruments and dials. "There was no warning it was coming."

"Aye. It was the same for us. Blue skies turned dour within minutes," said Storm.

"It was the storm that capsized you?" said Neptune Perkins.

Captain Storm shook his head. "This is where our tale takes a turn for the decidedly strange. Though, you two should have a higher threshold for that."

"Go on," said Iron.

"The waves were fierce, the winds cruel, but we'd have stayed the course had it not been for the beast and her brood."

"Beast?" said Neptune.

"Aye. The biggest fish I've ever seen. Bigger than any ship too. Only its scales were of no natural provenance. They were metal."

"An artificial fish?"

"A leviathan. With eyes as red as the depths of hell. We were caught in its path. Tried to steer clear, but a mere glancing collision was enough to scuttle my boat. Enough to kill my men."

Iron and Neptune shared a glance. Storm realized he had been shouting.

"It was no act of nature. This was the work of man's terrible hands. I saw as my ship crumbled, as the beast sank into the waves, that it was not alone. A fleet, small, but capable was party to its wicked advance. A Japanese fleet."

Neptune went to one of the nearby walls, one that held a map of the ocean laid out upon it. He tapped the spot by the island Midway.

"We've seen a Japanese fleet headed for Midway, right Iron?"

Iron didn't respond, staring instead at one of his devices. It was an electronic screen, one that let out a pulse every few seconds, revealing pinpricks of light across the display.

"What is it?" said Storm.

"This is what we use to track weather fronts." He drew Storm's attention to a dot that appeared in the upper right corner. "This is the storm that hit you."

"The one with the leviathan." Captain Storm studied the wall map. "Can you predict its path?"

Iron dug through nearby drawers, finding a ruler and pencils. He referenced the display, going back and forth from the location of the island to where the blip continued to appear. Iron drew out a line from the path of the blip.

"Has it deviated at all since you started tracking it?"

"No," said Iron.

"It's not going to Midway then," said Storm. "It's going to…"

"Oahu," finished Neptune.

Captain Storm had grabbed Iron's shirt before reason could challenge him.

"We've got to warn them. Can you send a signal? A message?"

Iron calmly, but firmly broke his grip. "Nothing that can reach them, not with the securities they've put in place."

Storm paced back and forth, fighting the urge to kick the consoles, the chairs, anything. He ended up kicking a nearby wall, before cursing and hopping awkwardly on his wooden leg. He had long ago learned there was no catharsis in using his unfeeling limb for such stupidity.

"Good lord man," said Neptune, hurrying to support his balance. Storm shoved him off.

"Does no blood beat in your heart? The Japanese are going to catch them off guard. Again! That monster could ruin us all," shouted Storm.

"I never said we were out of options," said Iron, beckoning them to follow.

"We have a ship," said Neptune.

Captain Storm spat. "There's no chance we'd beat them. Not at this point."

Iron Munro was undeterred. He led them to an enclosed cove, complete with docks and a full suite of maintenance equipment that would put the boys back at Pearl and San Diego to shame.

"My father had more than just this island constructed. He was a restless man and I inherited that from him."

What was resting by the docks nearly took Captain Storm's breath away. Boat was not the first thing that came to mind. No, this resembled a race car, a rocket ship from the pulp strips, some Flash Gordon miracle vessel more than a boat. Not an inch wasted, a single angle or curve out of place.

"I see you can appreciate it," said Iron. "That's good because we need you to pilot it."

His surprise was obvious as Iron continued, "Neptune and I can do it, but not with the requisite skill. If we're beating the Japanese fleet, we need a true expert."

"How do you figure that's me? You did save me from a watery grave."

"How many skippers are missing a leg and an eye and are still in the navy?" said Perkins.

"Speaking of the leg, I could give you a better one. Made of sturdier material," said Iron.

"Wood floats."

They packed what few supplies they had at hand and settled into the boat. The interior and its controls didn't disappoint after the beauty that was its exterior. Captain Storm eased her out of the cove.

"All you need to do is get us to Oahu and we can handle the rest," said Neptune.

"Not a chance lad. I've a few words for whoever's in command of that wretched beast."

"You understand we're liable to all be killed?" said Iron.

Captain Storm chuckled grimly, as he felt the boat come to life in his hands. This was the only place a man like him belonged.

"Then call me Ahab."


It was on her morning swim that Miya Shimida heard the voice, the one that she had come to dread. It made sense that he would approach her here, north of the city, on an isolated strip of beach.

"Enjoying yourself?" said Sea Wolf, his furry head cresting the bright blue waters.

Miya didn't answer, instead reaching out to the energy that coursed around them, ready to will it to her aid.

"I was sad when you didn't take up my last offer." She had seen the German twice more since his first meeting with her.

He observed her with his dark eyes, the most human aspect to his features, beyond his voice.

"Yet, you have not reported me. Which means my words have found purchase."

"We cannot speak here."

"I understand that turning on one's country is difficult. A terrible thing. But America has turned on you and your family first. You know for certain that they will not change their mind."

Miya began swimming back to shore, carefully, keeping her eyes on him. He kept up with her casually. The waves bobbed them up and down as he spoke, a playful quality that felt entirely out of place here.

"I am afraid that the window for your liberation is closing. If you do not join us soon, my compatriots and I cannot help you and your people."

Miya's feet brushed up against sand. Sea Wolf swam closer.

"I will give you a point of contact. Think of it as your salvation. A means to truly use your gifts for a just cause," said Sea Wolf.

She tried to place her feet. A wave knocked her off balance, causing her to fall backwards. Sea Wolf lunged.

Through pinched eyes, Miya saw that he had shot forth to catch her, an unneeded gesture, as the water shifted to cushion her fall, propping her back up.

"Such casual mastery. You are a wonder," he said in a hushed voice.

Miya took to the beach. "I must leave now."

"Do not let this slip by you fraulein."

He was gone when she looked back.


It took Miya a couple of hours to walk into the city proper. Normally, she just swam back, but she was unwilling to do so with the German nearby. Each of their encounters had stirred more turmoil than the last. The sinking guilt of keeping these meetings from the Squadron ate away at her, an unwelcome companion to the guilt already present over her interned family. Miya thought her letters, unanswered. Security or a lack of interest? Either answer bode poorly. A truck full of sailors jeered at her as she walked down the streets, some whistles mixed in with the abuse. Miya mulled over what to do. The promise of freedom was enticing. But it rang hollow, no matter how earnest the German sounded. She could only envision disaster. The one Japanese superhero discovered as a turncoat. Better to prove your loyalty through action.

There was nothing quite as uncanny as the experience of watching your city abandon you. The Japanese were never fully welcome in San Diego, kept perpetual outsiders by laws that bottlenecked immigration and prevented land ownership, used as laborers on fishing boats, in orange groves and in the canneries, unable to marry outside your kind. Still, the Issei and Nissei had forged a home within this place, a community that balanced the Japanese with the American, at times precariously. All those carefully cultivated roots gone with the notice of internment.

It was another half an hour to find the call box, the special one that Agent Faraday marked down for her. The box was nestled off the sidewalk, by the courthouse. It routed specifically to the All-Star Squadron. Faraday had bragged that there was one in every major city. And a couple minor ones. Miya put in the combination that unlocked the box. She spoke the code to the operator, who routed her through to the West Coast division. Maya ignored the sneer a passing woman gave her as she waited for the call to be put through.

"This is Mr. America," came the voice over the line.

Not Kilbride then. He was the one who typically managed this part of the country.

"This is Tsunami. Is Agent Kilbride there?"

"He is not. Away on business."

"Oh. I'll have to call another time then."

"Wait. It's obviously important whatever you have to say. I can pass it along."

Miya rubbed her thumb against her middle finger, mulling it over. He was one of the more prominent members of the group. He always spoke with such confidence in their meetings, had such a commanding presence in action.

"Alright.." said Miya. Should she tell him the full truth? Or pretend that she had only been approached once?

"Speak up then."

"I've been contacted by a German agent. A superhuman one."

There was a pause, a scraping on the line.

"Mr. America?"

"Only getting my notepad. Continue."

Miya told him the whole story, however unflattering it made her look. He was steady, reassuring, only interrupting her for clarification or support. At the end of it, Miya heard Mr. America take a long inhale.

"That was mighty brave of you Tsunami. I understand your reservations and I can assure you that I will make that known to Kilbride and the others."

"Is there anything more I should do?"

"No, not yet. Sit tight for now. We'll be in contact once we have more information on this Sea Wolf and his peers."

Miya felt a weight slide from her shoulders. "Thank you. Thank you dearly."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. She headed to her apartment. At least that was the intent. Instead, Miya found her way to her uncle's hotel. It was a humble establishment, but his all the same. Her aunt helped him keep the books, while her older cousin worked in the kitchen, alongside another few men from the neighborhood. She expected to find it empty. To her surprise, it bustled with activity, the lower floor covered by tarps, with men dressed in workmen's clothes coming in and out, carrying supplies and debris. They were a mix of Mexicans and Filipinos. Some white men.

"What?" she murmured. If anyone saw her, they paid her no mind, carrying on their task. The sign, in English and Japanese, was laid on the sidewalk, partially cracked through the middle.

She finally flagged down one of the workers, who directed her to the pharmacy next door. A familiar man, with suspenders and wire frame glasses swept the floor. He appraised her with dim surprise.

"Aren't all of you folks gone?"

"Not me. What's going on next door?"

"Huh. Didn't know they let any of you stay." He kept sweeping the floor. A younger man minded the counter, where a middle-aged woman looked askance at Miya. She didn't care.

"What's happening to the hotel?"

"I'm renovating it. Expanding this part of the shop. Figure I can keep the top two floors as a hotel, if I can find someone to manage it."

"That's not your business.." she said weakly. Her head began to throb.

"As of this week it is. Oh, of course. I'm being dull." He leaned his broom on one of the shelves, giving her his full attention. "You probably knew the poor sap that owned this place didn't you?"

Miya nodded. "My uncle."

"He's not using it now. It would be a shame to let it sit unused. No telling when you folks will come back." Maya thought she heard an "if" whispered out, but the room was wobbling. Her head ached more.

"You're a thief," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"A thief," she said firmer now.

The man's face twisted, not into anger, but dismay. "That's uncalled for miss."

"It's not yours."

"I can show you the deed of ownership. I don't know why you're getting so cross."

"Everything alright Ross?" cried the man at the counter.

"We're fine," he said.

"This wasn't yours to take," said Miya. Something on the shelves rattled.

"Don't blame me. I didn't choose to send your kind away. I'm merely being a sensible businessman. Now, I must ask you to leave. You're upsetting my customers."

Miya didn't know if she screamed or if the roar was the sound of every bottled fluid in the store exploding, along with the bathroom sink and the pipes in the floor and the roof. Water and medicine and various liquids sloshed onto the floor, mixing and sliding around. The owner fell over, unable to regain his footing. The woman screamed, while the man behind the counter cursed and yelled. Miya didn't wait for the aftermath, storming out, as the workmen gathered to see what had transpired.

No sirens materialized. No angry mobs hunted her down. No excuses for further outbursts. She shuffled up the stairs of her apartment building. It wasn't the man's prejudice that had wounded Maya. It was his indifference. The lives of her family, her people were an afterthought, a circumstance, a business opportunity. A growing part of her wished she could take Sea Wolf back up on his offer.

Something pricked Miya's shoulder as she entered her apartment. She was only another three steps in when she collapsed, her vision going fast. A shade shifted by the window.

"You should have called us," said a German voice.


June 1, 1942

"There's still time to go back in your cage," said Al Pratt, circling around his opponent, arms outstretched, upper body hunched down in a grappler's squat.

Wildcat was unbothered, dancing on the balls of his feet, hands by his chin. "That the best you got pipsqueak?"

From the sidelines of their training gym, Dinah sighed. Shiera shook her head next to her, palm on her forehead. Rex, Terry (Mr. Terrific) and Ted Knight were more enthusiastic about the bout.

"Give it to him Al," said Rex.

"Aren't you always giving him grief?" said Ted.

"Rex here doesn't want to lose to just anyone," said Dinah.

"Precisely. Which is why my buddy is about to show this overgrown house cat what's what," said Rex.

Al went in for a hold on Wildcat's lower body. The boxer sprung away, peppering hits on the smaller man's back. "Sloppy kid, sloppy," he chastised.

Dinah stretched her arms and legs. Training sessions with the team were less common, with the piling on of responsibilities produced by the war and the Squadron. In spite of many of her allies tendencies Dinah enjoyed them.

"Those two are going to hurt themselves," said Shiera. It was rich coming from her, considering how absurdly competitive she could be, though Dinah left that unsaid.

Rex waved his hand dismissively. "They're grown men."

"That's what worries me."

Al lunged again, his side pounded by a series of strikes from Wildcat, who continued to bounce around him. The smaller man was getting frustrated. Dinah could hear his angry grunts.

"Do Wonder Woman and Superman ever train here?" asked Ted Knight. He was still new enough that there were blindspots with the team, particularly with how it had changed. Dinah could see the researcher in him, the way that he examined everything with an analytical bent.

"On occasion. Superman is pretty rare. He's usually too busy, even by our standards. Diana does it when she can, though obviously she has to tone it down for most of us." That woman was probably the best fighter on the team, even without her speed and strength. Every time Dinah landed a hit on her it was a minor miracle.

"The others?"

"The only one I've never seen here is the Spectre," said Dinah. Ted nodded, satisfied with the answer.

Terry was taking in the fight in rapt silence. He was a mimic of sorts, Dinah had gleaned. Everyone had their own particular combination of fighting experience. Some were versed in special techniques like Batman and Sandman. Some brought operated predominantly on intuition and first hand application like the Flash and Green Lantern. Mr. Terrific was able to synthesize new styles faster than anyone Dinah had ever met. It was the same devouring impulse for learning he brought to everything.

"You can quit anytime kid," said Wildcat.

Al ducked a punch and seized the man's waist. Before he could exploit his hold, Wildcat drove an elbow onto the rear of his back. Al's grip buckled, along with his knees and Wildcat delivered a solid hook to his jaw, flattening Al on the mat.

Wildcat wiped off his hands, rolling out his neck. "Nice try kid."

Al leapt up, wiping his mouth. "It ain't over pussycat." He charged the man.

Wildcat side-stepped him, once, twice, a third time. "Come on, call it."

"Never," shouted Al.

"Maybe we should step in," said Ted.

"Maybe," said Dinah. She caught Shiera's eye.

Wildcat struck Al. In the chest, in the side, in the arm. He danced around the smaller man, laying in hit after hit. Al was slowing, from the pain or the punishment, but he was too stubborn to stop.

"Call it," commanded Wildcat.

"NEVER," said Al.

Dinah could see the knockout blow coming, an awful punch that Wildcat had slipped in past Al's defenses, preoccupied as he was with merely getting his hands on the man.

The punch stopped in Jay's hand, as did Al's advance.

"We're done," said Jay.

"Tell that to pipsqueak," said Wildcat.

"Enough Flash, let me at him," said Al.

Jay didn't budge. Rex and Dinah joined him, pulling Al away. "Come on buddy," said Rex. "It's alright."

Al bristled. "I don't need a wet nurse."

"Coulda fooled me," said Wildcat. Dinah thought Al was going to have another go at the man, but Rex steered him out of the room.

"What was that?" said Jay. His voice made no effort to hide its annoyance.

"A sparring match," said Wildcat.

Dinah shrugged, as did Shiera. "It started that way."

"Not my fault you've got children on your team," said Wildcat.

"Our team," said Jay.

Wildcat wiped his brow. Jay didn't press the matter, but he was fuming.

"We're ready for the meeting upstairs. Come on."

Dinah and Wildcat shuffled out the door together, following the others. "I didn't know we were in the company of so many eggs," he said.

"Takes one to know one."


Carter could tell there was something off with some of the team when he began the meeting. Al was stewing, his head nearly on the table, like a child that had been scolded. Jay seemed wound tighter than usual, while Wildcat was scarcely paying attention.

"We've done good work the past month or so," said Carter. "The business with the Octopus was resolved by Doctor Fate and Black Canary. The USO shows have gone smoothly."

A few people groaned. He knew some of them found that part of their new responsibilities to be tedious. Carter didn't enjoy it personally, finding it to be a waste of time. But it was the price of remaining within the loop of the All-Star Squadron and its handlers. He opened the discussion to everyone. Not everyone was present. Superman was busy. As was Batman. Typical. A number of them were on the West Coast at the moment. Carter couldn't help, but try to catch Shiera's eye, a fruitless task. She found everywhere to look, but at him.

Wesley spoke through an honest to goodness magic mirror, courtesy of Kent. His image shimmered every few seconds. Carter couldn't stare at it for long stretches, lest he develop a migraine.

"We'll be out West for at least another week, maybe two," said Wesley, referring to him, Liberty Belle and a number of Squadron members. They were in the midst of investigating an Axis team that had stirred up trouble in Coast City and beyond. "There's a couple of folks that might be worth considering for JSA membership. Johnny Quick is solid."

"We already have a speedster," said Rex.

"Always room for more," said Jay, clearly trying to sound nonplussed.

"If we were using that logic, pipsqueak would be out of a job," said Wildcat.

"Can it you bastard," snapped Al.

"Enough," shouted Shiera, preempting Carter. "Act like adults or both of you can pack it in."

Wonder Woman spoke calmly. "Friends, there is no need for conflict. We are here together."

"He's no friend of mine," said Al, a sentiment Wildcat echoed.

"Then behave like colleagues," said Alan. "We don't have room for infighting."

"Anything else Sandman?" said Carter. Wesley shook his head.

Diana was the next to go. "Hawkwoman and I have been discussing the need to act on an ongoing threat. One whose repercussions extend far beyond any single country."

The others listened closely. Diana continued, "There is a sorcerer, a villain, known as Wotan…"

"Wotan?" said Doctor Fate.

"One of your foes, I understand," said Diana. Kent nodded.

"He seeks to assemble an artifact of untold power, one that would beckon forth a reign of terror our minds could scarcely comprehend," said Diana.

"You've done your research," said Kent.

"I'm a bit lost," said Starman sheepishly.

"Yeah, make it clear for the folks in the back," said Wildcat.

"Wotan is a mage, like Doctor Fate. He's putting together a weapon of sorts that we can't afford to have on the loose," said Shiera.

"What kind of weapon?" said Carter.

"The kind that will be bad on a global scale," said Shiera, finally acknowledging him.

Rex leaned forwards, forehead scrunched enough you could see it through his hood. "Did I miss something? Has this been going on for a while? Because it sounds like a bunch of us are missing a step here."

"We've been handling it. Wonder Woman and me," said Shiera.

"The weapon is broken into six parts. Wotan has at least two," said Diana.

Carter pinched his nose. Another layer of withheld information. Another threat to pursue. "Do we know where the other four are?"

Diana and Shiera glanced at one another. "We suspect we know one of the sites."

"Only suspect?" said Wildcat. He whistled.

"Where is it?" said Mr. Terrific.

"It's a temple in Kahndaq. A hall of lighting, if the myths are to be believed."

"The hall.." said Kent, quietly.

Carter ignored him. "Do we have an exact location?"

"No, but it's in a valley that has been surveyed. That narrows it significantly," said Shiera.

"Kahndaq," said Jay, rubbing his chin. "Isn't that east of Egypt?"

Diana nodded. "We have limited information on the other locations, but with our combined efforts we can solve this puzzle."

"Are you proposing we head to Kahndaq?" said Starman.

"We must. Wotan is a threat to everything," said Diana.

"What about the war?" said Rex.

"The war will seem petty if Wotan gets his desire," said Doctor Fate. "Make no mistakes about that."

"Can we commit to that right now though? Especially after what happened in Bataan?" said Mr. Terrific.

"There's no choice," said Shiera.

"Meaning you and Wonder Woman are going to run off and do what you want anyway? Greece all over again," said Rex.

"If the rest of you drag your feet," spat Shiera.

"Easy people," said Alan.

Carter could feel things slipping away from him, the various grievances escalating. He only had this window to tamp it down.

"Wonder Woman, Hawkwoman, thank you for this information. We'll make a plan to act on that threat as soon as we can."

"If we don't go as soon as possible," started Wonder Woman.

"If we go in blind, we may play directly into Wotan's hands. If he's cunning enough to set up this scheme, he cannot be underestimated."

"A mistake I have made," said Doctor Fate.

Diana didn't look pleased, but she didn't continue. Most of the team appeared uncomfortable. The joys of compromise, thought Carter.


"How did the meeting go?" said Liberty Belle to Sandman.

Sandman sighed. "Well enough." He explained the various developments, namely Wonder Woman and Hawkwoman's revelations about a new, mystical threat.

"As if we didn't have enough to deal with," said Libby.

"That's why we're a team." He yawned. "I'm going to go over the case notes before I call it. Let the others know we'll have a fresh set of instructions tomorrow."

The others meaning their Squadron teammates. They were staying in an unused dorm at a Marine depot in Coast City. On the ever elusive trail of this Axis Alliance. There had been another act of sabotage, this time on a rail line, as well as a few nonsense reports. A significant minority of the people on this coast kept seeing Japanese planes appear out of thin air. The paranoia of another Pearl Harbor. This group of Axis agents was hard pin down, in composition and location. The membership and descriptions fluctuated with each report.

Most of her group were in a common room. Johnny Quick and Tarantula were playing a game of pool on a table they had "requisitioned" from one of the other buildings. Johnny shot her a wink as she came down the stairs. Libby nearly rolled her eyes, but she could feel a slight blush, thankful for her mask. Airwave lounged on the couch, while Dyna-Mite balanced on a stool, reading a comic book. "Jersey Bounce," by Benny Goodman played over the radio. It wasn't usually on this late at night, but Airwave could tweak the radio.

"Where's TNT?" Libby said to Dyna-Mite.

"Getting some doss. He always hits the sack early," said the young hero. The pair had seen real action today, stopping a crew of crooks from sticking up an armored car. They had powers reliant on one another, a capacity to manifest energy. Often explosively.

"Robotman?"

"No idea," said Johnny. He rarely held court with the group.

She relayed Sandman's message to a muted reception. She got the sense that many of them were bored with the pace of the investigation. Libby didn't mind spending more time on assignment. Better than a few of the other groups on this coast. Mr. America, Vigilante and Commander Steel were in Los Angeles. Doctor Midnight and Red Bee were in Star City. Tsunami had been sent south to San Diego.

"Did Sandman partake in his meeting with your other team?" said Tarantula.

"Yes."

"That it?"

Libby shrugged. "It's internal business."

"How transparent," said Tarantula, sinking one of his last balls on the pool table. Johnny cursed.

Tarantula wore a brown and black costume dominated by a spidery symbol on his chest and mask. His hair was a similar shade to that of Johnny. He was a perceptive, collected individual based on Libby's brief time in his company.

Airwave on the other hand, was a jittery, scatter-brained fellow. He had more in common with the young Dyna-Mite than his peers. "How does one join the Justice Society?"

"Angling to get in?" said Johnny, teasing him.

"Only curious," said Airwave, fooling no one.

"I've wondered that too," said Dyna-Mite, peeking up from his comic.

Johnny leaned back from the table, pool cue balanced on his shoulders. "Only one person here with that particular insight."

"I got invited," said Libby. With a little help, she thought. "Wonder Woman reached out to me."

"Only Wonder Woman," said Airwave.

Dyna-Mite appeared ready to ask a flood of questions, but the need to seem cool won out. He went back to his comic, his faux disinterest not hiding the fact that he was clearly paying full attention to the adult's conversation.

"Is it fun being in the upper crust?" said Tarantula.

"What?"

"Being a part of the elite. The top tier. That's the JSA, isn't it?"

"I suppose. Not really how I'd put it…"

"That's cause you're in it."

Libby wasn't totally unaware of this distinction, but to hear it called out so plainly was unforeseen.

"What're you driving at Tarantula?" said Johnny.

"People want to feel special. The All-Star Squadron is enough for plenty of us. Especially the soldiers and cops." Commander Steel. Perhaps Mr. America. Guardian. Shining Knight. "But, there's always those people that see someone else enjoying something and want a piece of it. If they can't have it they make their own."

"Meaning?" said Libby.

"Star-Spangled Kid and Stripsey made their own private club. Calling it the Seven Soldiers of Victory."

"Who's in it?" said Johnny.

"Those two, that one who's dressed up like a knight, with the sword and all…"

"Shining Knight," said Johnny.

"Yeah, him. Crimson Aveng-"

"Crimson Avenger?" said Airwave, incredulous. Didn't strike Libby as a joiner. His participation in the Squadron smacked of necessity.

"That one got me too. Crimson, his buddy Wing, I think he's called, Vigilante, and Blue Beetle."

In the back, Dyna-Mite was counting on his fingers as Tarantula rattled them off.

"So they've got their own club? What's the matter with that, long as we all work together?" said Johnny.

"More groups means more agendas. More competition. More egos. We might be too busy comparing di-," Tarantula glanced at Dyna-Mite, "We might struggle to stay on the same page is all."

"That's an awful pessimistic way of looking at things. This whole endeavor is in the spirit of cooperation," said Libby.

"And I think that's darling. I just know how people work."

"Thanks for the boost there buddy," said Johnny, whiffing the final shot. "If it's all the same, I'll put my vote in her version."


June 2, 1942

Not for the first time, nor the last in her career, Lois Lane deployed every ounce of willpower she possessed to maintain an even keel on the outside, while internally her disgust and anger mounted. She channeled that anger into visualizing the story she would write, how it would look when ink met paper and she could hold it in her hands, with the Daily Planet title right at the top.

"-anyway, we couldn't let the buildings sit empty. Might invite vagrants or other folks of ill intent. We'll get more out of them than their prior owners ever did."

The man who sat across from Lois, with his bland desk and his bland looks wasn't a gangster or a thug or a mad scientist or a spy or any of the other salacious things she had dealt with in her time working for the Planet. No, he was a city clerk, one of those numberless gears in the machine, which made the country spin on its merry way. In its own respect, the banal manner that he described approving of the new ownership for Japanese businesses in San Francisco, white ownership, was more unpleasant than had he launched into a vindictive speech.

Lois wrapped up the interview, having Jimmy snap a few photos. She left without shaking the man's hand, worried she might slap it if she tried. They were in California on assignment, covering the internment. Everywhere she searched there were more men like the clerk. The neighbors that didn't think twice about taking businesses and apartments now that their occupants were gone. The policemen who were relieved at their absence, who wished the rest of the "coolies" would get sent with them. The laborers that were glad for the loss of their competition. Even some of the Chinese locals, who wore pins to distinguish themselves from their mistrusted peers. Not that it mattered, with drunken citizens attacking anyone that fit the mold.

The train station was a dead end, packed with passengers and delayed trains, the byproduct of trouble on the rail line. Lois and Jimmy were bound for Coast City to cover it there. She had been angling to go to one of the camps, to witness it firsthand, but the military was keeping most journalists at arms lengths. Not that it would stop Lois for long. They ended up on one of the highways headed out of San Francisco. Ordinarily, Perry would've fixed them with a car, but there were restrictions on gasoline usage.

"This could be a bust Lois," said Jimmy, as they walked along the road, Lois waiting for the first sign of a car headed in their direction.

"Don't have a defeatist attitude Jimmy. It's out of character."

"What does that mean?"

"Knowing you, we'd have been hiding in a rail car if that was an option."

"It's a long way to Coast City is all."

"Sometimes you act like you've never met me," said Lois, sticking her thumb out as a car passed them by. They were on their way within the hour, packed in the back of a truck with a group of marines headed for Camp Pendleton.


Kal-El's Fortress was no longer a blank slate of crystalline wonder, waiting to be imprinted upon. He had begun to put a more personal touch on it. A vast pair of sculptures loomed by the entrance, the likeness of his birth parents, distilled from the lifelike images of them that haunted this place. Beyond that, he was now using the Fortress as a repository of the many strange and wonderful artifacts, devices and ephemera he obtained on his adventures.

Whenever he had the opportunity, Kal-El spent his time in study, of all the knowledge and wisdom Krypton had to offer. At least the version of that his parents managed to rescue. Jor-El and Lara continued to appear to him in their translucent projections, an advanced form of a recording rather than any singularly willed entity. Sometimes he would replay their messages repeatedly, daring to glean something new from them. Krypton was a wonder in many respects, utopian by Earth standards in its approaches to science, medicine, art and philosophy. It was a hard earned standard, won through long centuries of the same fragmented dissonance that was present on Earth. Kal-El treasured the glimpses of other worlds, the knowledge that even Krypton was merely one speck in a brilliant constellation of life across the universe. He would seek them out one day.

Yet, there lurked a profound and troubling message within the bounty of wisdom that Krypton contained. One of stagnation, fear and implosion. An inability to recognize the danger, the doom that their civilization faced, a predilection to bury themselves in the dream of an imagined past. Was this the endpoint for every civilization, all that his new home could aspire to be? Was the current war, one that had spread its bloody hands to nearly every corner of the globe, a stumbling block on the way to utopia or the acceleration of that same slide into ruin?

There was also the bittersweet implication of his singular nature. Every step taken into the ghost of Krypton was a reminder that his home, his culture, his birthright was gone. Earth was a glorious, beautiful place, but it could never fully erase that pang of loss.


It was around noon, in the midst of Sandman's cataloguing of all the testimonies he had heard from everyone involved in the sabotage at the depot and the rail line, hunting for that critical bit of evidence that could tie it together, when Airwave summoned him. Wesley inherited the role of de facto leader of his Squadron teammates largely because of his skill at investigation. The group still lacked the cohesion of the Justice Society, its members comparatively inexperienced at teamwork, save for Liberty Belle and Johnny Quick. Wesley suspected they were romantically involved with one another, based on their rapport. He had Airwave on a monitoring detail, instructed to skim the radio for anything of interest. It was a use of his powers, but more than that, the man had little interpersonal skill with detective work.

Sandman found him in the common room of their current quarters, the radio on the counter. An anemic crackle of static spilled out. Airwave beckoned him over.

"I was doing what you asked...well, I think this may as well speak for itself."

The static congealed into a back and forth of voices.

"We searched the apartment, canvassed the neighbors. Nothing sir. One of the tenants on the first floor thinks he saw her come back two days ago, but that's the last sighting around here."

"Understood. We're going to reroute you check the neighborhood on Fourth and Market." Wesley was familiar with this voice. Agent Kilbride, Faraday's colleague.

"Got it."

"Miya Shimida, code name Tsunami, is to be considered a possible threat. If she is found, delay your approach until we have sufficient backup on scene."

"Copy that."

Airwave let another few minutes of similar correspondences play out, while Sandman rolled it around in his head. Tsunami was missing, already presumed to be a turncoat. He hadn't spent much time with the young woman, but she was diligent. Razor sharp. Had the internment of her people changed her loyalties?

"Did they ever say her address?"

Airwave nodded. "You want to go there?"

"Call it a hunch. Something isn't right here."

"What about the others?"

"We'll round up as many as we can." He checked his watch. They could reach San Diego by evening if they left soon.


Johnny Quick watched as Sandman defeated the lock on Tsunami's, Miya's, door. He fought his own impatience, his feeling that they would be caught in the act, even as he had already surveyed the entire building a couple times over before Sandman and Liberty Belle ever set foot in it, as well as the surrounding blocks. If someone was staking it out, they were damn good at it. Their other teammates were left outside.

The door swung open quietly, the three of them slipping inside. It was a modest, neat apartment. She favored floral and oceanic décor. Quite a few pots of plants lined her windowsills and shelves. Johnny examined a row of photographs, made up of family members, at home and presumably back in Japan. Sandman was going through her desks and drawers, while Liberty Belle was in her bedroom. Johnny saw a couple newspaper clippings that mentioned Tsunami, including a front page story of her rescuing a fishing boat that broke down out as sea. He wondered how many people in their profession did the same thing.

"No overt signs of a break-in," said Liberty Belle. "But, nothing is packed. All her clothes are still here."

There was a strange smudge of dried fluid on the floor, near the entrance, but Johnny couldn't make it out. All the windows were locked.

"I have something," said Sandman. He held up a journal. "This was hidden in her bed frame."

"Well?"

"All in Japanese."

"Don't look at me," said Johnny. Libby echoed his sentiment.

"I can read it," said Sandman, without even bothering to acknowledge their surprise. "There's a cipher on some of the pages. It'll take me a while to sort it out."


June 3, 1942

Captain Storm ran his metal cup along the bars of the cell, letting out an awful din.

"Get someone with brains in here to talk to us, you sorry excuses for sailors," he shouted. Men in other parts of the brig shouted at him to shut up, but he was undeterred. The MPs on duty were unmoved by the exchange.

Storm continued till his voice was hoarse, sliding down to a seat, his back to the wall. "Damn fools."

"Can't say you didn't try," said Iron Munro.

Iron Munro sat on one of the cots, while Neptune Perkins lay on the other, his face curled into an expression of nausea. His body was curled inward, as if pulled taut by an unseen force.

"What's wrong with him?" said Captain Storm. Neptune hadn't looked quite right since the soldiers that picked them up made him ditch his costume.

"He's got a salt imbalance. He has to be exposed to salt water every few hours. His costume has a way of regulating that."

Their trip to Pearl Harbor hadn't allowed for much in the way of small talk, with each man taking the controls while the others rested. A vain effort so far, as they were quickly detained for supposed espionage. As it turned out, tales of mechanical leviathans cloaked in storm clouds did not arouse much in the way of credibility.

"How long can he last like this?"

"He'll make it," said Iron, seeming certain. He was taking their setback remarkably well.

Storm had no such peace of mind. He was trapped, waiting for disaster to bear down on them once more.

"I suppose we should have rehearsed our story before we arrived," said Captain Storm.

"Perhaps."

It was another couple of hours before an actual officer arrived, a commander, accompanied by two stern MPs. He listened to their story with a blank expression. By the end of it, Storm felt as though he were a fisherman spinning a yarn for an audience of rubes.

"Alright then," said the commander when they finished.

"Alright? Do you understand how much danger this base is in? This whole island."

"I have to pass this on. For verification."

"You'll have your verification when that monstrosity arrives and catches everyone here with their pants down. You need to batten down the hatches and ready for battle man," said Storm.

The commander didn't respond, merely giving a nod, leaving their cell. Storm sank back down.

"For a soldier, you don't appear especially keen on the chain of command," said Iron Munro.

"There's a reason you found this one-legged, one-eyed sailor in the middle of nowhere."

"Don't sweat it. Either they come back and believe us or we handle it ourselves," said Iron Munro.

The telltale ache in Captain Storm's leg, the one that came with the weather told him it was fixing to be the latter.


June 4, 1942

There was a knock on at the door to Libby's motel room. It took her two rounds of knocking to get out of bad. She was halfway to the door when she remembered Johnny, back in the bed. Too late to do anything about that now.

It was Sandman, coming in as soon as she opened it, Miya's journal under his arm. If he noticed Johnny, he didn't comment on it.

"I finished deciphering it." He laid it out on the table, running a gloved finger along the pages. A smaller notebook had been tucked inside, with his own graceful handwriting on it.

"Someone was trying to recruit her. An individual that matches descriptions of one of the Axis Alliance members. Sea Wolf. No doubt about him being German."

Libby blinked away the last of her drowsiness, fully awakened by the news.

"Jesus. Was she receptive?"

"No. At least not based on what she wrote down. A lot of ink was spent on how much turmoil Miya was going through. Her family is in the camps."

It shouldn't have been a surprise, but Libby hadn't properly considered the gravity of that event.

"They approached her at least three times, starting in April," said Sandman.

"That would be risky. She must have been a valuable target." Libby pondered the subject. "How strong are her powers?"

Sandman stared at her, sending a chill right through her.

"So either she changed her mind…"

"Or they took her," finished Sandman.

The radio in the room came alive by itself, the dials spinning without a hand on them. Airwave's voice came through.

"Sandman?"

"I'm here, with Liberty Belle."

"You told me to reach you if I heard anything strange."

"Did you find her?"

"Not quite..no. I, uh, I was having no luck with the local area, so I thought I'd go wider. I found a station that could manage that."

No doubt Airwave was confessing he patched into military hardware without consulting them.

"Go on," said Sandman. Behind Libby, Johnny was awake, listening from in bed.

"Well, I went wide. Real wide. Let me play it for you."

A new series of voices crackled over the radio, a sequence of weather reports. The consensus was uniform: there was a massive storm on approach to Oahu, set to reach the southern coast of the island within the next handful of hours. None of the forecasts had predicted it. There was also a message that Libby couldn't make sense of, a stream of words in a language she didn't recognize.

"That's military code," said Airwave.

"Where did you pick that one up?" said Libby.

"Pearl Harbor."

Sandman met Libby's gaze. Even with the gas mask on she could sense a change in him.

"You think?"

"Alert the Squadron. Alert the Justice Society."