The Centre Cannot Hold
September 1, 1941
Sandra Knight shifted her legs back and forth, wary of having them stiffen up from being crouched for so long. She was careful to move slowly, all the better to maintain a low profile. The outfit she wore more closely resembled a military uniform at this point, the yellow and green dulled to reduce visibility. She ditched the cape most of the time. The pinup-style costume had its uses, but Sandra preferred the practical when out in the field. The main remnants of it were her tinted visor and the black light projector she wore over her sleeves. Sandra and the Soviet soldiers with her were in a dense patch of the treeline, but there was no telling when one of the Germans might glance their way. All they could do was stay quiet and still as they waited for their lead scout to return. They were just outside a small village, in Ukraine, one that the German invaders had occupied. There was no activity on the outskirts, the only sign of the Germans an unattended troop truck parked by one of the farm houses.
The Freedom Fighters were part of another backwards scramble, this time in the Soviet Union, as the German armies surged over the borders, first in Poland, then into Soviet land. The reports she heard were grim. Entire defensive groups overrun, thousands dead or captured. Though the officers Sandra conferred with wouldn't say it outright, the thrust into Ukraine was headed for a similar outcome. They were nearly surrounded in Kiev.
One of the soldiers, a lanky corporal named Yakiv, crawled next to her. Sandra's Russian wasn't great, nor was Yakiv's English, but they talked in a mismatched pidgin of the two.
"Your man. Been gone for too long," said Yakiv. He was nervous. The others hid it well, but Sandra knew they had good reason to be. This was supposed to be a basic scouting mission, to figure out where the German's were massing, where they had their artillery set up. Any engagement risked bringing down a truly awful amount of firepower on their measly squad. She wished, not for the first time, that she had brought Ray, Roy or Hugo with her.
"He'll be back."
Yakiv shook his head. "We leave. Captain Pimenova expects us."
"He'll be back." Sandra glared at him, till the man assented, though he did so with obvious disgust. She couldn't fault him. The rank and file were often perplexed as to why her team was a part of their operations. Sandra suspected it was as much for morale purposes as any real faith in the Freedom Fighter's ability.
A few minutes passed, when there was the rustle of leaves. Some of the soldiers jumped as Doll Man returned to normal size. Yakiv let out what had to be a series of expletives. Darell Dane's face was pale, his hands shaking.
"What's the story Doll Man?" said Sandra.
"They've got a lot of the villagers rounded up…making them dig..dig their own graves."
"Who, who does?" said Sandra.
"There's a group of Germans that are overseeing it. The others are going through the farmhouses, looking for anyones that's hiding. They already shot a few that resisted." Their squad had heard a few distant gunshots a whole ago.
"How many?"
"Thirty. Maybe more."
"Any artillery? Armor?"
"There's a half-track. No artillery guns."
Darell looked rattled. Yakiv rejoined them, more impatient than before.
"Your man back. We have report. Now we leave."
Doll Man grabbed Sandra's forearm. "Wait," loud enough Yakiv grew agitated, before quieting down, "We can't leave those people. You know what they're about to do."
Sandra did the size-up. Their squad numbered ten. They weren't carrying much ammunition or heavy explosives. Thirty plus Germans. A half-track. Who knows what else close by… Still, all it took was one more look at Darell's face to make up her mind.
"Come on," said Sandra, as she crept toward the village. Doll Man shrank down into her palm.
"What?" hissed Yakiv. "No. No, do not go."
Sandra didn't spare a glance back at him. "Leave if you must. We're getting those villagers."
The edge of the village was clear of Germans. They must be assured of their safety if they failed to put any guards. Maybe the front line had already shifted further back. It wouldn't be the first time they tried to return to a forward base only to find it overrun. They made it to an inner cluster of buildings, the core of the village before Sandra heard Germans barking out orders. Beside one of the larger homes, there was a group of Germans observing a large crowd of locals, many of whom had shovels, which dug into the earth. Villagers wept, mothers covering the eyes of fearful children. The Nazis for their part appeared bored, some smoking and chatting, only a meager few with their weapons trained in the direction of the villagers. A handful of locals seemed to be getting special treatment, standing outside the bunch, talking to their occupiers or observing solemnly from the steps of their dwellings.
"This won't be easy," whispered Sandra, as she noted where all the Germans were. There would definitely be a few out of sight as well. It was liable to get ugly even if things went their way.
"How do we do this?" said Doll Man.
Sandra pointed to the half-track, resting idle. A soldier leaned on the door, smoking, but it was otherwise unmanned. "If you can man that gun, we can clear out most of them. I'll take the ones on the perimeter, you clear those in the lead up to the vehicle."
"And when the shooting starts?"
"We hope we get them before they get us."
As Doll Man ran off into the underbrush, Sandra took a few deep breaths. Movement in her peripherals caught her eye. Yakiv and the others were hidden behind buildings and in clumps of bushes around her. The corporal looked no more enthusiastic, but he gave her a grim nod all the same. Sandra returned the gesture and flicked on the black light projector. Over the past year, she had made it her mission to better understand the device, bestowed upon her in a frantic rush by the scientist Abraham Davis. She needed to be able to repair it and if possible replace it. In her studies, Sandra had found that its capabilities were beyond just blinding anyone that was struck by the beam, but also to wrap her in a veil of disturbed light, an effect which made her difficult to see. Not true invisibility like her fallen companion the Invisible Hood, but a cloaking that worked for the most part. It was this form that Sandra used to creep closer to the Nazi sentries. As she slipped the knife from her belt and drew it near the man's throat she had a brief flash of her old life. The parties and suitors, the dresses and the glamor and how distant that all felt. How stranger her parents, her friends, her cousins would see her now. By the time the knife reached the man's throat, Sandra was past all that. She caught his body before it could make a noise, lowering it to the ground. He wasn't the first Nazi whose throat she had slit and he wouldn't be the last.
The sound of incoming artillery had become such a constant that Captain Ionna Pimenova no longer responded to it, even when shells struck nearby, sending gouts of earth and debris cascading through the air. The window on her command station rattled incessantly, to the point where that rattle had infiltrated her dreams. Ionna stared out that window, as she waited for the last of her scouts to return.
The Soviets army was in a pocket, one that the Germans had nearly sealed. In spite of what her superiors told her, Ionna was certain they would be completely surrounded within the week. There was talk that Stalin was angry with their leader, Marshal Budyonny. He had led them to their defeat at Uman, where the invaders pulverized their forces and wrecked most of the Soviet armor. The remainder was facing a similar fate here at Kiev. Other officers supervised as conscripted civilians dug trenches and hauled tank traps. The panzers would be here within days and there was no reason to make their journey a pleasant one. Clusters of mines were planted, often with such haste that retreating troops risked stumbling across fresh minefields.
Her own forces were dug in to the northwest of Kiev, near an old mill. They had laid down sandbags and carved ditches into the earth, setting up what cannons and machine guns they had left. Her subordinates told her every day that they didn't have enough ammunition for the coming fight, but the Marshal's commands were clear. They would make their stand here.
The ground shuddered, not from artillery, but the foot falls of the giant. He had been with them for close to a month and still her men could not help but gawk at him, with his spiked helmet, like a figure out of a fairy tale. Ionna watched as Jotun moved the hulks of broken down trucks as if they were children's toys.
Ionna found one of her lieutenants, Nikodim Kosma. "Quite the show, huh captain?" He was young, too young for this war like many of her men. She wasn't sure he could grow facial hair if he wanted to. How he had become an officer was beyond her. Ioanna had taken a liking to the young fool, if only because he was one of the few that didn't bristle at being commanded by a woman. Too many of her supposed subordinates resisted her authority. The same as the institute.
"Tell him to stop that. I don't want the Germans to see him from the skies."
Kosma left to perform that task. The giant was only one of several eccentrics that had been foisted upon Ionna in the last month or so. It wasn't entirely underserved considering her reputation.
It was late in the day when the last of the scouting parties returned. With an extra surprise. The American woman that they called the Phantom Lady crossed the front line with a column of civilians. They were short three men, with a fourth carried. Ionna left her command post to meet them.
"What is this? Where is Sergeant Yakiv?"
Phantom Lady lowered her eyes. "He didn't survive."
Ioanna eyed the mass of civilians who huddled behind the soldiers. A handful were clearly injured, nursing wounds or walking with a limp. A mother held a child with loose bandages wrapped around their head.
"Who are they?"
"We found Germans in Slakoy. They were prepared to execute them. Einsatzgruppen."
The Nazi death squads. There had been reports of mass killings anywhere the Germans held control. Political commissars, priests, Jews. Especially the Jews.
Ionna yelled out commands to the soldiers around her, had them lead the civilians away. They would need to be inspected for infiltrators. She held up Phantom Lady and her companion, the one they called Doll Man. Had them deliver their findings.
"You recognize the risk you took in saving those people?" said Ionna.
"We couldn't leave them to die."
"Why not? We have left so many to die. I have left so many. What's a few more?"
Doll Man appeared angry with Ioanna. She didn't care. These freaks would be the death of her.
"If you hadn't have returned then what? Another scouting party lost? We cannot afford to be blind, not with the enemy this close. I need to know when they intend to attack," said Ionna.
"I made the choice," said Phantom Lady. "Let its repercussions rest with me."
"That is the problem. Our enemies do not distinguish in such matters. The consequences come for us all."
Ionna dismissed them and went back to her preparations. The flying man, the golden one known as the Ray descended as twilight encroached, with news of a buildup to the north, a massing of armor. He spoke of a town completely flattened by the fighting, of Soviet tanks crushed. He was valuable, as was Black Condor. They were harder to spot than a plane and the Ray in particular could shoot down German craft with ease. The problem was he weakened in the dark.
The map did not tell a comforting tale when combined with all the intelligence she could gather. An assault was on its way, the only variable being when. Even if they held their ground, it no longer mattered if they were encircled. The Germans could afford to starve them out. Ioanna considered the other plan, the one she hadn't spoken aloud, the one that had been simmering in her mind for weeks. The scouts had confirmed one thing that she scarcely dared to hope for. There was a small crack in the German lines. Not enough for a counter-offensive. The capacity for that was beyond her authority and their readiness. No, it wasn't victory Ionna dreamed of for her and her company. It was survival.
September 8, 1941
It was getting hard for Roy Lincoln to remember what life was like without looking through the lens of a helmet. What his voice sounded like when it wasn't filtered through the containment suit. How it felt to touch anything with his bare skin, to be able to roll it around, to bask in the tactile. Anything he touched, he destroyed. He was the Human Bomb, after all.
It was early, early enough that the sun hadn't risen, but he was already awake, helping the soldiers carry boxes of food and medical supplies from a row of trucks. This would be their last delivery for some time, maybe for as long as they were in this predicament. There were also bundles of ammunition, which Roy thought it was best he stayed away from. Accidents did happen. His Russian was poor, so he didn't know what the soldiers said, only followed their gestures and the general flow of the goods. That didn't mean Roy failed to notice their stares or the mocking voices they took on when he left them.
He worked until sweat slicked the inside of the suit, each drop enough to blow half the camp sky high. When the last of the trucks were unloaded, Roy found an embankment to rest on, as he watched the sunrise and the rest of the camp wake up. There was a faint quiver of hunger in his belly. One of the few benefits of his present condition was a dramatically reduced appetite. Something about his powers slowed his metabolism, to the point where Roy could go weeks without a meal. Helpful when supplies were scarce.
Nearby, Hugo and Genevieve exited their tent. Darell and Miselda followed soon. They went by other names, Jotun, Crimson Cavalier, Doll Man and Doll Girl in front of the soldiers, but Roy found it better to think of them as they were. Hugo sat down next to Roy, sliding a plate of green mush to him.
"You're up early."
"Not as early as Richard and Ray. They're already off on patrol." Black Condor and the Ray were their best bets to spot an incoming attack, a pressure the two men bore as best they could.
Genevieve joined them, while Darell and Miselda came later. The latter two were often inseparable, bound by the formula that gave them their powers.
"Where's Sandra?" said Roy.
"Still sleeping I imagine," said Darell. "Yesterday proved arduous."
Roy had heard about their rescue efforts. He tried not to dwell on the horrors their enemies were undoubtedly carrying out elsewhere. It had to be enough that they saved some people this time.
Genevieve spoke up, with a glint in her eye. "I hear our fearless leader and Danette have been sharing a bunk. Perhaps that's why they are so late to wake."
Hugo shook one of his meaty hands. "Psh. Who cares what they do? We could all be dead today. Why not let them have some pleasure."
Roy stared at his bowl. He couldn't eat it with the others around.
"Right Roy?" Hugo nudged him. He was one of the few that was unafraid to touch Roy.
Roy nodded.
"Ah, yes, an expert on the subject," said Genevieve. Roy felt his cheeks flush beneath the helmet. He had only been with one woman, and based on his current condition that would not change.
"Really Genevieve, must you be so unpleasant?" said Miselda.
"It's fine. Leave it there," said Roy. The concern she showed for him was almost worse. The pity on her face.
Without another word, Roy left his companions for a measure of privacy. He gulped down the meager breakfast and watched as the Russians and Ukrainians fixed their defenses. There was a guilt Roy felt about this war, a guilt that hurt more than any barb Genevive tried to throw his way. A man like him wasn't much use in peace, but here, against this enemy, Roy could cut loose. He almost didn't have to feel guilty when he was finally allowed to unleash his powers. He thought there should be more to it. More to the taking of lives, even lives that threatened his own and those of his friends. But, all he felt was relief. And that relief turned to guilt. An absurd thing.
Miles away, on the other side of the front lines, in a railway station converted to a command post, Baron Blitzkrieg listened to the forward observer confirm what the other scouts and recon pilots had told him. There were enemy superhumans in the area. He frowned beneath his golden helmet, puckered skin tugging uncomfortably with the expression, a constant reminder of the wound dealt to him in Dunkirk. A wound inflicted by this very same group.
Major Faerber spoke. "The golden one has been shooting down aircraft. He's become a real nuisance for our pilots."
"All the more reason to strike soon," said Baron Blitzkrieg.
"In due time." The Major pointed to the lines drawn on the local map. "We've moving in together. A gradual pinching of the pocket."
"Leave their position to me. The colonel wants the prototype to be deployed here."
"Here? For such a small gain? Surely there are better…"
The baron got closer to the major, allowed the lesser man to understand who he was talking to. Everywhere it was the same lesson, instructing his lessers on their role.
"Colonel Klepper has given me explicit instructions where these superhumans are concerned. If that remains a problem for you, I have other instructions for how to deal with impediments to our plans. Even if those impediments are internal in nature."
He could practically hear the major's heartbeat. The swine dabbed his brow.
"Do you understand me major?"
The major offered a weak affirmation.
"Inform your men we advance within the hour. Have the forward observers give us a walking barrage for cover. Remind them that they answer to me."
Baron Blitzkrieg left the command post and the weak man within. He found Siegfried lounging by the mess hall, his great blade dug into the grass.
"Come, the assault is underway."
Siegfried hopped to his feet, resting his weapon on his shoulder. It glowed a silvery light along its edge. "At last."
"Summon the war wheel."
Though she had been awake for nearly an hour, Sandra remained in her cot, crowded as it was with the other body crammed onto it. She traced her finger along Danette's back, feeling her skin, still soft in spite of all it had seen. The other woman stirred, though she seemed as hesitant to get up. She wasn't the only woman Sandra had been with. There were others, a handful back in the States, a couple in Europe, but there was a difference this time. Her other liaisons were furtive, scandalous. The need to keep them a secret carried nearly as much thrill as the act itself, in a way that her being with a man didn't amount to. Here, in the midst of the war, with so much at stake, Sandra didn't care as much about that. Having someone was enough.
"Should we get up?" mumbled Danette.
Sandra continued to run her finger over the woman's shoulder blades. "Only if you want to."
"If it was up to me, we'd spend the whole day here."
"Sounds fun."
"But, you know we can't."
Sandra sighed. She leaned over Danette and planted a kiss on her cheek, then one on her lips as she turned to meet Sandra. She savored Danette's warmth.
They got dressed and emerged from the tent. A few soldiers loitering nearby whistled, but they ignored them. Danette headed off to find the others, while Sandra went looking for Captain Pimenova. On the way, Sandra saw a handful of the villagers from Slakoy. They helped to dispense breakfast to the Soviets. One of them raised an uncertain hand to Sandra as she passed, which she returned in kind. The captain was at the motor pool, inspecting the vehicles, ordering around a gaggle of mechanics.
"Captain," said Sandra to no response. The woman was still sore at Sandra's actions from yesterday. She waited for a few minutes, as the captain finished the inspection, at last granting her attention.
"Have you come to get more of my men killed?"
Sandra ignored the bait. "What's your plan here? The Germans will be here any day."
"We stand and fight."
Sandra took in her surroundings. They had manpower, yes, but there wasn't enough ammunition, enough firepower to repel what the Germans had prepared. They were fodder, meant to slow down the advance.
"You're not dumb.."
"Kind of you to notice."
"...you know as well as I do that we're nearly surrounded. What then? What happens when you can't escape?"
"I am not moving until I have other orders."
"Your men are going to die here."
"May their deaths serve a purpose."
"That's it?"
Captain Pimenova shot Sandra an ugly look. "This is the scourge of your homeland. This bourgeois self-importance. Here, we know that our nation lives and dies by the strength of the masses. If we are to make it through this invasion, it will not be because we put ourselves above our country."
Sandra tried to manage her frustration, not let it bleed into her voice. "There's supporting your country and there's throwing your lives away. Wouldn't you and your men be better suited where you can continue to fight?"
"That is not for us to decide. We have been told to make a stand and we shall make it."
Pimenova began to walk away, then paused. "I once made the mistake of putting my own work, my own ego above my country. I know better now."
Sandra didn't watch her go, instead turning back to the villagers. Had she saved them? Or merely delayed their execution?
Miselda Moon crawled through the wires of the radio, putting the components back in place while Darell traded words with the group of Russians that gathered to watch her work. Bicycle, food, yesterday, tend, all kinds of words, passed between English and Russian. One of the privates, a boy named Yularen, spoke decent English, a holdover of time he spent in England.
"Small," said Darell.
"Malen'kiy," repeated the soldier.
Miselda finished up her current radio and started on the next one. Much of their equipment was damaged from the retreat. Even more of it had to be abandoned in the scramble to new defensive lines.
Yularen puffed on a cigarette. "I hear the Red Lantern is up by Leningrad. His flame burns so bright the Germans mistake it for the sun."
The others added their own to the discussion. Many echoed the idea that if he had been here in Ukraine, the Germans would already be retreating. Miselda only knew of the man through news reports, propaganda posters. The Soviets had precious few superhumans.
"We don't need him here," said Yularen. "Not when we have our own Captain Pimenova." The men laughed. The captain had a strange status, one Miselda couldn't quite figure out.
When the radios were done, Miselda joined Darell on a tree branch, too narrow to support the weight of any full sized person, but perfect for their reduced stature. They chatted about everything and nothing at all, trading stories of their youth, jokes, anything to ignore the current predicament. He was a meek man at times, but that belied the strength of character that compelled him to fight in this war. It was that strength that persuaded Miselda she could keep going.
"What would you have done if not for the war?" said Darell.
"Probably stayed with my family."
"No, I mean what would you have liked to be, to have done with your life if you had a chance?"
Miselda considered her answer. A time before was so distant already. A time after seemed impossibly far away.
"A librarian. Or a school teacher."
"Really?"
"I enjoy books. I think a job where I could make use of books all the time would be nice." She ran fussed with her hair, aware of the banality of the answer.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound bad. I was just surprised."
"Not as exciting as your research?"
"That's not it. I think..I think that seems a fitting job. You're a..contemplative sort."
Miselda smiled, but it faded. It wasn't a grand vision, yet it was no less easy. Her people, the Romani, weren't welcomed many places. Securing a stable job was often difficult.
They could've gone on for longer, but something fell from the sky, on the edge of the rows of trenches. It was a body, one that blunted the impact by throwing up its wings. Richard.
Miselda and Darell rushed to their friend, who was struggling to his knees, his black wings torn. He coughed violently.
"Richard. What happened?" said Darell. "Easy, easy." They helped the man to his feet, though he remained unsteady.
"It's started. The attack."
"What?" said Miselda, but she knew.
"They'll be here soon. I..I don't know where Ray is."
As they walked him away from the front, the ground began to rumble. At first, Miselda thought it was an artillery barrage, till she glanced back. There, so large in seemed to crest the horizon, was an enormous red wheel that rolled in their direction.
Then the artillery barrage began.
Captain Pimenova made it out of the command post only a few seconds before an artillery shell reduced it to rubble. The blast slapped her to the ground, where she lay till the ringing faded, as the thud of her troops returning fire rose again to a roar. There was some great and terrible machine on the horizon, trawling over the nearby woods without a care, while a line of panzers approached, infantry on their flanks. Planes overhead added to the barrage, strafing and bombing their defensive lines. Ionna shouted commands at anyone nearby. Her radioman was already calling in to nearby companies. The offensive was happening everywhere, the pocket being pinched down.
She hurried through the bombardment to the bunker, the one they had installed below the mill, the remains of which burned from a direct hit. Ionna came through the entrance to the locker in the back, the one where her pride and glory waited. Normally, it took two people to put it on, but she had practiced over and over for the possibility that wouldn't happen. Her skin was tugged and pinched by the cables and straps as she fumbled with the suit, till it coated her as an armored shell. She twisted the nobs on the hip and locked them into place as power flowed through it.
Rocket Red was operational.
The reason Ioanna Pimenova was no longer at the Research Institute in Moscow, why she had been banished to the front lines, a rare fate for a scientist, even rarer for a woman. The suit was the culmination of years of research into metallurgy, electrical systems, ballistics, rocketry and more, but its downfall was its inability to be mass produced. The Soviet command had little use for a one off weapon, so they threw Ioanna into the war with the one and only prototype. Better for it to kill a few Germans before she died than languish in a lab.
Out of the bunker, she found Lieutenant Kosma and demanded a report.
"Down to three AT guns, lost our remaining T-34. One of the medical tents was hit, they've target the motor pool as well. None of the panzers have reached the lines yet, but it's that giant wheel that worries me."
"Leave that to me and the freaks. Keep those guns firing on the tanks. Have troops ready to lay down AT mines at a moments notice."
A flare of light cut through the blue sky as the golden hero sliced a German plane in two. Both Ionna and the lieutenant paused for a moment as they followed his trail through the air.
"If they breach the front?"
"They won't. And if they do, fall back to the next position. If I'm not there, you're in charge."
Before he could protest, Ionna thumbed the trigger on her left hand, triggering the thrusters in the suit. Her body lurched into the air. To call it flying would be generous. Using targeted bursts of the rockets, Ionna bounced over the ground, toward the encroaching enemy. She lined up a panzer with her metallic sights and pressed the trigger on her right hand, which sent out a volley of ballistics that sliced through the ground, running up the tank's plating. For a second, she thought it was ineffective, till a cough of smoke and flame coiled out the barrel.
She hit the earth with a grunt, the suspension of the battlesuit absorbing the majority of the impact. Still, she had accidentally bit her tongue and the metallic tang filled her mouth, as bullets began to rip up the ground around her. Ioanna returned fire.
Sandra helped the soldiers and volunteers dig through the collapsed walls, where one of the medical posts was located. Infrequently, they dragged out a living person, though too often it was another body. She grimaced when it was a number of the villagers within. All she bought them was a few days more.
It was Genevieve, Crimson Cavalier, who pulled her out of her stupor. "They're getting slaughtered out here. That monstrosity is tearing up the front."
The woman meant the titanic wheel, dark red and several stories tall, bigger than any vehicle Sandra had ever seen. The exterior was marked by staggered spikes, meant to churn the ground as it rolled, while the sides bristled with cannons and machines guns, seemingly all of which were currently discharging a hail of fire at the Soviet positions. Sandra and Cavalier scurried to one of the trenches, falling into the relative cover, as bullets sprayed on the ground they once stood.
"Where are the others?" The only one that had a chance of punching a hole in that thing was Roy.
"I lost Miselda and Darell in the shooting. Roy was by the motor pool when it went up."
"Danette? Richard?"
"No clue."
Sandra found a submachine gun by the body of one the defenders, pocketing the extra magazines. Grisly, but she needed it more. She hazarded a peek over the lip of the trench. Out on the field, was a bulky suit of armor, bigger than Genevieve's firing back at the Germans, sending out a pulse of red light that sparked and flashed when it hit something. The person fired at a panzer and the tank exploded.
"Is that the captain?" said Sandra.
The world had turned into shades of red and orange, when the motor pool went up in flames, all the remaining fuel in the tanks ignited. Roy wasn't much bothered by fire or heat these days. He pulled out the bodies of anyone he could find in the inferno, moving with as much care as he could manage. A few were still alive, though grievously burned. After he got them to a medic, Roy hustled toward the defensive lines. The remains of the mill were also burning, black smoke blown down over the camp by the wind. Soldiers and civilians ran through the murk as Roy moved to the sound of the fighting. When he pierced the smoke, he was greeted by the sight of defenses falling fast. Germans were nearly at the trench line, and while the steady roar of mines going off continued, there were too many. Panzers had nearly reached the trenches, with crews of engineers running ahead to remove the blockades. Towering above the fight was a massive construct, a wheel that dispensed death from every gun. What little had remained of the Soviets armor was blown away, with only one AT gun in sight still active, its crew frantically loading and firing shells. In the middle of the cacophony, Roy spotted Jotun and Firebrand. He joined them behind a cluster of sandbags.
"We'll be overrun soon," said Firebrand. She held a pistol in one hand, the other bristled with flame.
"We can blunt their attack. Look," said Jotun. "They've gambled it all on that monstrosity. They don't have many tanks. There's a lot of infantry, but we can turn them back if they lose their armor."
"How do you propose we bring down the wheel?"
Hugo turned to Roy. "Can your blasts penetrate that?"
"Only one way to answer that."
There was an awful lot of open land between the trenches and the wheel. Not to mention it peppered the ground with machine gun fire from every conceivable angle.
"We'll cover you, you get close," said Jotun.
Roy bobbed his head, preparing for the moment. As Jotun grew till he towered over the landscape and Firebrand unleashed a volley of flame, he clambered over the edge of the trench and ran into the madness.
Miselda and Darell had secured Richard in a place of relative safety, as safe as could be with the assault. They regrouped with Phantom Lady and Crimson Cavalier, who were holding a trench on the northern edge of the camp. The flaming wreck of a panzer churned acrid smoke nearby, the bodies of its crew half-escaped from the ruin. A lone figure in red armor unloaded on the advancing German soldiers.
"What do you need us to do?" shouted Darell.
Phantom Lady pointed to the wheel that was bombarding the camp. "That's the target. We're going to fight our way to it, see if we can bring it down." She showed them a bandolier of explosive charges looped over her shoulder.
"Over all that open ground?" said Miselda.
"I'll help with the distraction," said Cavalier. As if on cue, Jotun appeared, growing up from another part of the fight till he was nearly as tall as the red wheel. Miselda saw the giant toss a tank like it was a model toy.
"That's our cue," said Phantom Lady.
Cavalier vaulted into the field, the etchings on her armor humming as light around her coalesced into a red steed that she mounted. The others followed their leader through the trenches, winding their way as close to the front as possible. They had to step over the bodies of fallen Soviets, at times making frantic dashes over collapsed portions, being forced to brave the incoming gunfire.
"The artillery is dying down," said Darell.
"Their troops are close enough to our lines that they're afraid of friendly fire," said Phantom Lady.
Less than a hundred meters later, her assessment proved correct, as a pair of German infantrymen leapt into the trench. Phantom Lady didn't hesitate, letting her submachine gun pelt them till they were still. Miselda caught a gasp in her throat. Even after all this death so close shocked her.
Further on, as the earth rocked from the cannon blasts and Jotun's steps, Miselda could see Roy taking cover behind the remnants of a panzer. His destination was no secret, the path a clear beeline for the wheel. He was too far to hear their shouts, but as he got up to make another dash something fell from the sky sending out a wave of light and debris. Miselda and Darrell instinctively shrunk, while Firebrand and Phantom Lady crouched below the rise of the trench. By the time the shockwave passed, Roy was on the ground, a man in gold and red armor standing on the remnants of his cover. He bore an iron cross on his chest, his face covered by a metal helmet with only narrow horizontal slits for his eyes and mouth. The armored man leapt to Roy's prone body and kicked it with such force that Miselda's companion was sent skidding painfully over the ground. The aggressor maintained his offensive. Phantom Lady fired her gun at the attacker, but the bullets pinged off of the armor, earning only a disparaging look. Their foe raised a hand, palm out, with a lancing beam of red light that sent them diving for cover.
They were unable to send more fire downrange, as a man rolled into their trench, swinging a silver blade at them. Firebrand held off his assault with a wall of flame, while Phantom Lady tried to shoot him, with only the ring of bullet hitting metal on the other side.
"Roy's in trouble," said Phantom Lady to Doll Girl and Doll Man. "Help him. Get to that wheel and bring it down."
Firebrand cursed as their attacker charged through the fire, nearly taking her head off. He was screaming German at her with each slash of his gleaming sword.
"Go," shouted Phantom Lady as she loaded a new magazine and returned to her fight.
Doll Girl and Doll Man started their sprint towards Roy, alternating between full and small size, to avoid being mulched by the incoming fire.
The Human Bomb was unable to get to his feet, as the man attacking him continued to pummel him while he was down. His body, resistant to damage after the accident, was still feeling the pain as metal fists collided with him and armored boots struck his gut.
"Swine. Swine," said his attacker.
Roy managed to slap his bare palm on the dirt beside him, creating a blast that gave him some space. He barely made it to his knees before the man had rushed him and smashed him overhead, before throwing him further. In the background, the enormous wheel rolled towards their fight as it unleashed hellfire on the Soviet camp. The man seized Roy's wrist and the back of his neck, his strength too much to break from.
"Do you not remember me swine?" He slammed the Human Bomb into the ground, keeping his hold on him.
"Do you not remember what you took from me at Dunkirk?"
Roy's wrist throbbed. If it wasn't broken, it was close to it. The wheel was closer, the enormous spikes on it ripping through the ground. The noise was nearly deafening.
"I was a man once. You made me deformed. A freak." He slammed the Human Bomb again.
The officer, the one that nearly killed that woman, Ms. Lawrence. The one Roy thought he killed.
The man smashed him to the ground, this time placing his boot on Roy's skull and the other on his wrist.
"I was remade as Baron Blitzkrieg. Given a task to find you and your little band of degenerates. Jews and negroes and homosexuals. Scarcely worth the effort to kill you. But, I admit, this I will take pleasure in."
The pressure on Roy's head increased, his eyes bulged. He felt as though he was going to pop.
Something struck the baron, knocking him off balance. Then another impact at the legs sent him falling. A series of unseen blows rained on Blitzkrieg, giving Roy to rise to his feet. Doll Girl appeared in front of him.
"Thanks," said Roy.
"Thank us by staying alive."
A stark shout from Baron Blitzkrieg told Roy that their opponent was far from done.
The machine gun on Ionna's left arm was jammed. She didn't have time to clear it. The ballistic plating had held up under the errant shots that hit her, but from the ache in her side she knew it was an imperfect defense. That and the blood that swam down her temple, the gift of a bit of shrapnel that pierced her helmet. She had blown up four panzers and gunned down who knows how many soldiers. On the flank, Crimson Cavalier galloped on her steed, using her lance to penetrate any remaining German armor. The assault wasn't over, so much as slowing. The gargantuan wheel near her front lines made up for any loss of equipment in its firepower.
The gauges on the Rocket Red suit were giving Ioanna dire warnings that her power supply was near its end. The fuel for the thrusters was almost tapped, and it could manage at most one or two more energy blasts. Her guns still had ammo, but it it wasn't long for the fight.
She staggered over the freshly cratered field, unleashing spurts of fire at any Nazis that made their presence known, as she headed for the behemoth. The Freedom Fighters were engaged by a pair of Nazi superhumans, one a man in golden armor, the other a madman with a sword. Their giant, Jotun, was taking step after colossal step in the direction of the wheel, which seemed hellbent on crushing the one they called the Human Bomb, too caught up in his fight to notice its approach.
Jotun reached the wheel and grabbed it, though it was larger than him. His heels plowed up huge troughs of earth as the giant grit his teeth and pressed back against the machine. The wheel slowed, though it never fully surrendered its progress. Ionna could tell that he was trying to outright topple the machine, but it appeared unwilling to be wrenched sideways.
She ignored the insanity of the scene and lumbered closer to the battle.
Doll Girl sprinted below stamping feet as Baron Blitzkrieg tried to crush her, while much larger feet slid closer to the fight, as Jotun grappled with the wheel. Miselda and Darell were nimble, able to use their full grown strength in their small forms, slamming into the baron and keeping him off balance, while Human Bomb wailed on him with explosive force.
Still, the baron was a tough foe, weathering their onslaught and returning the punishment with superhumanly strong blows and blasts of red energy. She was certain that Roy only survived due to his inhuman durability. Doll Girl was less sanguine about her own fortitude.
"You are rats. Fit only for extermination," shouted the baron, along with other expletives.
He caught Human Bomb's punch, swinging their companion around in an arc and tossing him towards Jotun. An inadvertent explosion occurred when his body hit. The impact must have surprised the giant, for he let his focus slip for a moment. A moment too much as the wheel pivoted into reverse, escaping his grasp. One of the cannons fired point blank at Jotun's chest, causing a red mist to rain on them. Jotun let out a pained breath, his eyes rolling in his head, then took two awkward steps back, nearly crushing Miselda before he toppled. When his body hit the ground the force jolted through her bones.
"Hugo!" she shouted.
Baron Blitzkrieg took advantage of her distraction to kick her away from him. Doll Man struck him the back of the head, repeatedly, his punches ringing out as they hit the metal. The baron raised his hands up to the back of his head and let loose a surge of energy. Miselda heard Darell shriek. Doll Man returned to full size, crawling away from the baron, his skin marked by burns.
"You can't stand a taste of what was done to me," said Baron Blitzkrieg, mockingly.
Doll Girl's limbs didn't respond fast enough as she bolted toward them. Blitzkrieg sent another blast out, this one cutting straight through Darell's back. He straightened out for a beat then crumpled, his face in the dirt. Doll Girl was so distraught she paid no mind to the red flare that built in his other hand, aimed at her. Only the incoming gunfire from the armored woman stopped her from sharing Darell's fate, as she reached his body and held his head in her lap, while the baron dueled the woman in red.
"You should know you die by Siegfried's hand," said the swordsman, who continued to hack and slash at Phantom Lady and Firebrand. Their fight had left the bounds of the trench to the open and vulnerable ground on the boundary of the camp. Bullets ripped up the ground nearby, a reminder that he wasn't their only worry.
Sandra hit him with another beam of the black light projector, but he moved so fast it was tough to keep him in the spread. The sword's swings gave off an after-image of silver light that cut through whatever it touched. Her first gun was a casualty of that, forcing her to switch to her sidearm.
Firebrand for her part had hit this Siegfried with fire, but if it bothered him, he paid it little attention, even as painful looking burns coated his skin. He kept on lashing out, creating a whirlwind of death all around.
"I who have slain the mighty dragon Fafnir, what do I have to fear from the likes of you."
Phantom Lady backed off, shifting the black light projector to cloaking. Her appearance faded into the background. Somewhere beyond their fight she could hear her friends getting killed. It took all her will to bury that worry and focus on not dying herself.
Siegfried brought the sword down overhead, forcing Sandra and Firebrand to scatter. He pressed the attack on Firebrand, striking her cheek with a backhand, before a narrow miss with the sword. She paid him in kind with a fireball that wrapped his head. Siegfried's hair was nearly gone, the skin red and blistered on his face. He ignored it, caught up in his delusions.
"I slay you today for my fatherland. For the Reich eternal."
A diagonal cut caught Firebrand's side, not deep, but enough to make her grunt in pain. She tripped, falling on her back. Siegfried raised the blade to stab at her torso.
Phantom Lady put the pistol to his head and squeezed the trigger repeatedly. The first bullet didn't do the job, nor did the second, even giving him a chance to wound her with a frantic slash, but the third penetrated, as did the fourth, fifth and everyone after that. By the time she had exhausted her magazine, there was naught but a puddle left.
Ionna suppressed a cry as the Nazi bastard closed his hand, crumpling her left arm's plating in it. He held both her arms up, overcoming the power of her battlesuit with ease.
"Shoddy Slav craft here. Think of this as a mercy." The man tore off the plating. "It would've surely killed you in time."
Ionna rotated her palm to his head and let loose a beam which sent him back, spitting and yelling. That was the last of her reserves. The suit was more of a trap at this point. The baron recovered, the right side of his helm smoking.
"You will regret that."
He stormed at her, till something interrupted him. He began to clutch and claw at his helmet, screaming in pain.
The baron screamed as Doll Girl clawed and punched at the ruin of his face. She thought of Darell, still and lifeless, as she had climbed inside his helmet while he was busy with the armored captain. His fingers scrabbled on the exterior of the helm, but there was little he could do to her inside, as she unleashed all of her hatred on him. She didn't realize she was shrieking till her hands were slick with blood.
It was only when, in his desperation, Blitzkrieg turned his own energy blasts on himself that Miselda was forced to flee, before he could cook her. She jumped out of the helmet as he collapsed, his helm a smoking slag of metal.
The Human Bomb crawled through the guts of the titanic machine, the one he had blown a hole in while it rained death all around it. He pushed back the thoughts of his friends, including Hugo, who was dead from after his mistake. Their sacrifice would mean something if the wheel fell.
For such a large device, the interior was surprisingly stripped down. Beyond what seemed to be a stabilization system and ammo belts that fed into the many gun ports, the bulk of the wheel were the frame spokes that were attached to the metal sheets that made up its exterior. It was highly resistant to damage, taking numerous explosions to penetrate at all.
Roy continued his ascent, till he reached the cockpit. Whatever defenses it had, it was clear they hadn't planned on an intruder coming from the inside, as the German pilots were easily taken by surprise when he blew open their hatch. The Human Bomb slammed them into the console and rendered them unconscious.
He studied the controls. There was no obvious way to disable the craft. Only complete and total destruction would suffice. Roy did what he so rarely could. He removed his containment suit, ignoring the minor blasts that happened as bits of hair and skin fell from him. He thought of Hugo, of Darell, of all the friends and soldiers and civilians who had gotten him here. Then the Human Bomb did what he did best.
He exploded.
September 14, 1941
Sandra Knight marched with weary feet along with the exhausted column of Soviet soldiers and villagers. The survivors of the assault. Captain Pimenova had decided their lives were of more use to her homeland elsewhere and took the opportunity offered by their stalemate to slip through a gap in the German encirclement. Their column made for Moscow, where the Russians were massing for a defense against the oncoming German armies. Above them, the Ray skirted through the clouds, scouting ahead with Black Condor, making sure they could keep clear of the Nazis.
The relief at their survival was tempered by the losses. Hugo and Darell were dead. Miselda had a distant look in her eye that Sandra couldn't do anything about. Talking to her was like talking to a wall. Her fear that Roy had died in the fall of what they were calling the war wheel was preemptive. He had emerged from the smoky hulk in the tatters of his containment suit.
Genevieve caught up with Sandra in the march.
"Is this the best we can manage? Slipping from one disaster to another?"
Sandra had no answer for her.
"The war wheel was lost.
"The special element?"
"Unrecoverable."
The Ultra-Humanite clenched his fist. That was unfortunate. Their stockpile was growing thin.
"Baron Blitzkrieg and Siegfried?"
"The baron was badly wounded. He's recovering in a hospital. His face is even more disfigured if you can believe it."
"It will keep his hatred burning hot."
"Siegfried is dead."
"We can always make another." Still, it was a shame. The formula and the conditioning required to maintain that level of fanaticism took time.
"We recovered one of the fallen Freedom Fighters. The giant."
"Excellent. Have the body shipped to my lab for processing and refinement."
The soldier left the Ultra-Humanite. There were setbacks, this was only natural in the pursuit of new frontiers of human advancement. All would be in place with due time.