Ultimate All-Stars #3

Baltimore, January 10, 1942
“Don’t you dare move, you rats!” came the commanding, powerful voice from above their heads. Swooping down on them like an avenging angel, the Hawkman brandished his mace in both hands and swung at the first of the saboteurs, powerful arms and a steady aim ensuring that the thick metal head struck dead center of the back.

Instead, the Hawkman was stunned to find the weapon sailing through the miscreant, and causing him to spin from the momentum. Laughter erupted from the darkened airfield, and he growled as he felt the ground reach up to strike him. He overextended himself in his overconfidence he realized as he picked himself back up from the concrete strip. That won’t happen again.

Hawkman twisted around, trying to pinpoint the source of the laughter, only to see dozens of men dashing around the nearly completed facility for the Ferris Air Motors Company, as if taunting the Feathered Fury. He lifted into the air, feeling the familiar sensation of warmth flooding his powerful, bared chest from the metallic straps. His eyes darted around, the hawk-headed helmet allowing him to see the slightest flurry of motion, and he dashed in, this time maintaining control as he jabbed the mace forward to take a knee out, only to get the same result…thin air. He swooped back up high and circled back. They had to be real, he mused, because a door had been blown open before his arrival, and phantoms couldn’t do that.

“Confused, my fine feathered friend?” taunted a disembodied voice from the night sky. Hawkman spun about in response, failing to locate the source of the sounds. “Isn’t that just too bad. You’re right you know,” the strange voice continued. “Some of these people are here. Some have actually planted explosives in this nice new business venture. In fact, while you’re trying to find out which of my little ghosts are real or not, the explosives are ticking away!”

“Show yourself, you little coward!” Hawkman cried out as he streaked down towards the opened doors. Explosives, sabotage! Damn, he thought. Losing sight of the goal again, why do I let myself get distracted? Basic tactics you developed millennia ago, you fool!

As he reached the building, he hesitated, something touching his instincts and he pulled up hard, the strain on his back and midsection from the speed and sharp angle making him grit his teeth. But it was wise, for suddenly, the main building exploded, waves of force and a wall of debris crashing into Hawkman and flinging him away as he then crashed hard into the ground.

“And let you hit me with that oversized billy-club of yours, Hawk? I don’t think so. Farewell!” the voice faded as the world spun around the hero’s eyes, and he just slumped to the ground to recover. His ears were still ringing a half-hour later when the authorities were helping him to his feet.

Gotham City, January 12, 1942
Hawkman stood at the head of the conference table, gavel in his hand, his other hand gripped the head of the gavel so tight his knuckles were white with anger and his fist shook.

“So that’s what happened at Ferris,” he finished reporting. “The police and the Bureau of Investigation turned up nothing as yet, but they’re still investigating. And the company has been set back about three months minimum before they can open up.”

“Sounds like what happened with me,” Hourman reported, his voice grim. “Almost exactly. About five days ago, the FBI answered my paper ad, asking for help. They had a tip that a supply train was going to be targeted by saboteurs. The train was filled with weapons and ammo, really important material for the first few waves of our boys going overseas. Problem was, the Bureau had its hands full investigating reports of u-boats lurking off the East Coast. The Coast Guard, Naval Intelligence and Hoover’s boys are all working overtime on that, so they asked me to guard the transport.”

“Didn’t go well?” Atom asked, as he drummed his fingers anxiously on the table. The look in Hourman’s eyes told the story, and he balled the small fist up and crashed it into the table. “Damn! Same with me. I’ve been doing some part-time work at this iron foundry outside of Brooklyn. Making guns for the effort, business is really picking up. I started, and caught wind of some bastards planning on hitting the foundry, and I decided the Atom would put a stop to that.”

“Wow!” Johnny Thunder looked amazed. “I feel better now, knowing that you three got messed up with this.” He put a thumb under one of his red suspenders and slid it up and down beneath the ever-present sheriff’s badge. His pale yellow shirt was baggy, and clashed with the checked green trousers. “I mean, when those rats got away with putting down the transport ships in the harbor, I thought I’d just been a screw up again.”

“Not this time, Johnny,” Flash said in support. “Someone is working overtime to put a crimp into the American build-up, and if we don’t figure it out soon, we’re all in big trouble!”

Sandman was running the brim of his hat between his gloved fingers, rolling the hat in circles as he listened to the words around him. His voice echoed out through his mouthpiece as he asked, “Could you give your stories please, Johnny? Hourman? Atom? The smallest clues could give us a big edge, and Jay is correct. We need to unravel this fast.”

Brooklyn, January 11, 1942
The Atom moved swiftly through the darkened spaces of the Henry Iron Works, as he eyed the tall, heated vats of liquid metal. He darted about, his blue leather cape flaring behind him from time to time, his blue eyes peering from behind the full leather hood as he sought out his targets.

He finally found them, up on the catwalks above, four men carrying what looked like two large machine guns between them. They set up the cylindrical tubes, more narrow then bazookas, but he could clearly tell now that they were not machine guns.

Regardless, he raced up the stairs as the four men got into position. “Freeze, you pencil-neck geeks!” he cried out as he continued towards them. He loved this moment, when they would look at him in his yellow shirt and brown leather and his short height and laugh, and then he’d kick their asses, and he smiled beneath the leather hood.

Though the smile vanished as he ran through the quartet of saboteurs. “Wha--?” he cried out as he crashed into a rail and started to spin over the side. He caught himself with one hand, thickly corded biceps straining to hold himself from falling to the concrete floor below.

“Ahh, poor Atom!” came that taunting voice floating in from nowhere. “Small in stature, smaller in mind. You sad little sap. Time to watch your efforts float away like so much smelted iron!” The laughter made him furious, and he turned red-faced beneath his mask as the quartet of men appeared on the opposite side and fire projectiles from the tube-like weapons. Metal projectiles, like thick javelins, spun swiftly and streaked through the air, burrowing into and through the metal vats, and causing a flood of heated iron to start spilling across the floors. “Time to go, my diminutive enemy! I do so hope you enjoy a nice, hot bath!” With that, one of the pairs of men reloaded the weapon and fired at the Atom’s catwalk. The projectile crashed through a support and it began to wrench from the wall and dip toward the floor below.

“Oh man! When I get my hands on you, whoever you are!” the Atom shouted back out as he started to swing himself up onto the catwalk, feeling it give away further, the heat below starting to spread out and make him sweat. “Damn you!”

He scrabbled up the falling length of metal floor and finally leaped ahead, grabbing the more secure sections against the brick outer wall of the room as he watched the rest of it crash into the floor, and then start to become covered by the flood of red-hot molten metal. He leaned against the wall, and stretched his right arm out, rubbing the knotted shoulder. “Damn.”

Virginia Countryside, January 11, 1942
Rex Tyler was a man alive, as his grin showed to anyone who might have been able to see him. Of course, perched atop the speeding rail car, that was no one right now. But it didn’t matter. He had just taken a Miraclo, and felt the flood of adrenaline surge through his body, charging muscles and strengthening sinew. He crouched on the roof of the train car, his yellow cloak fluttering in the breeze, his black bodysuit blending into the pre-dawn sky. He stood and began to run forward, powerful legs racing him along as he felt his heart pound in excitement.

He had seen movement up ahead, and he was now running toward it full-tilt. As he reached the front of the train, he could see the engineer and his crew pinned against walls as fiery figures leaped from the direction of the engine itself. With an arched brow, the Man of the Hour leaped down into the locomotive. “Okay, time to put you in your place!” Hourman said as he moved to grip one of the fiery monsters. He gritted his teeth, prepared for the pain sure to come, and instead found himself clutching thin air.

“Hourman? What’s going on?” the engineer called out as suddenly, a terrible explosion sounded from somewhere behind them. The train lurched and began to buck and hurl from the tracks, as the first explosion started off the rest of the ammunition.

“No time now!” Hourman cried out as he grabbed two of the men round the chest with one arm each. “Hold on to me!” he commanded the third man as the train started to pitch wildly, flaring lights and rumbles of explosions shook the area. When he felt the third man’s arms on his neck, Hourman raced toward the left window, which was spinning up into the air. He kicked through it and a section of the metal wall and hurled himself into the air, struggling to control his mad leap. Below him, grinding metal, tearing wood and rock, and crashing explosions rattled the early morning countryside, but Hourman ignored it all.

Instead, he focused on landing, feeling his legs power into the ground, burying on up to his knee in the soft dirt of the surrounding woods and the other digging a furrow into the ground as he struggled to stay upright as the sounds of the wreckage continued behind them. The other three men stepped away from the mystery man.

“Thanks! Wow!” “Yeah, no kiddin’! I was sure we were goners!” “You’re the best, Hourman!” Rex could hear from around him as the grin returned, and his chest swelled.

He pulled himself out of the ground and nodded to the three. “Thanks for the kind words, but I have to make sure things don’t get worse. You three go get help, okay?” With that, he started to run back towards the ruined train, mind already racing over ideas to contain the fire, dirt spraying up from his wake.

New York City Harbor, January 10, 1942
Johnny Taine loved to walk along the docksides. He loved the boats, he loved the smell of the sea air, and he loved to watch the birds dance and dart around. He smiled that wonderfully goofy grin of his, as he leaned on one wooden piling to look out at the horizon. He ran a hand through his blond crew cut hair and then put his thumbs under the red suspenders as he straightened out his back.

As he stood and took in the scenery, his eyes caught movement over at one pier. A large ship sat there, docked in place and waiting for the troops that would soon be arriving. But the figures moving across its bow now were not soldiers, nor sailors, nor the dockworkers. They were smaller, and scrambled like monkeys, and had long slender arms.

“Gremlins! This is a job for Johnny Thunder!” he said excitedly as his thumb rubbed the silvery sheriff’s badge. From above a dark cloud appeared and thunder rumbled and a purplish lightning bolt streaked down to stop next to the young man. A figure now hovered next to Johnny Taine, dressed in a red shirt and blue jeans and tall boots and a white hat, gun belts strapped to his waist, the very image of a classic Wild West cowboy. He tipped his hat at Johnny and smiled, while purple and blue arcs of electricity coursed over his form.

“G’day, son! What’s the story?” asked the spirit of the lawman, his blank white eyes filled with sparks of power.

“The gremlins, on that ship there,” Johnny pointed to the ship. “Go get ‘em, stop ‘em, find out what they’re up to! We can’t let them hurt that ship!”

“You betcha!” the cowboy spirit answered and started to fly towards the ship, legs blending into a single bolt of purple-pink. Johnny raced after him along the dock, arriving at the ship after his magical partner, near the rear where he could see the giant screws that moved the huge craft. “Um, son? John? What gremlins?” the spirit asked as he looked around, and pushed his hat back for a clearer view. He continued to hover, now over the water, floating along the entire length of the ship.

“What do you mean, what gremlins?” Johnny repeated as he tried to point to the creatures he could see tearing open the hull. “Those gremlins! Right there!”

Suddenly, a powerful explosion tore open the hull on the other side of the ship; water now pouring into the wounded vessel, and flames erupting on deck. Johnny was rattled and knocked backwards as the genie streaked to his side.

“John? You okay?”

“Fine! But what’s going on?” Johnny asked. “Go put that fire out, quick!” he commanded, and with a blink of an eye, the spirit had soared over and was calling down a powerful rainstorm over the fiery deck, dousing the flames.

“Ah, poor Jonathan,” came a voice from somewhere behind Johnny. The young hero wannabe stood up and spun around, but could only see a dim shadow down a distant alley. “I’d say confusing you was child’s play, but let’s face it…why state the obvious?” Johnny could see the figure remove his shadowy top hat and bow and then sink into the surrounding shadows.

”John? Fire’s out,” the spirit said as he reappeared next to Johnny. He also peered in the direction his young master was staring. “What is it?”

“I think I messed up bad,” Johnny Thunder said softly.

JSA HQ, January 12, 1942
“I was actually worried about telling my story until I heard yours, Hourman,” Johnny said with a sound of relief. “I was sure you guys would razz me no end with my tale of gremlins.”

“It’s Rex in here, guys,” Hourman replied as he tugged his cowl back to show the light brown hair and firm, broad face. He leaned back into his seat. “I love the action, but the mask gets a bit much, so I hope you guys don’t mind my sharing.” He smiled at them all. “And I know what you mean, Johnny. I mean, there I was, looking at fire people…demons…monsters. Whatever you want to call them. I was sure I’d been seeing things.”

“There are such things as demons and elementals,” Doctor Fate said, the deep voice echoing through the gold metal of his helmet. “But I suspect such is not the case here.” He looked over toward his fellow occultist, and could see in the very posture of the Sandman the fact that he had a theory, even if his face was hidden from view.

“Yes, you’re right, Doctor Fate,” Sandman answered. “I think I do know what’s happening here.”

”The Wizard, right?” Green Lantern suggested with a smile. “I picked it out right from the start, with Hawkman’s tale. And then Johnny’s mention of the top hat cinched it for me.” He sat back, and folded his arms across his chest, looking smug.

“Nah, it’s the Brain Wave, Alan,” Jay Garrick corrected him as he tipped the metal hat back from his brow, lifting the shadow from across his eyes. “I mean, fairy tale monsters? That screams Brain Wave. Remember his first crime wave, ‘the Fairy Tale Crimes’?”

“I’m having to agree with Jay,” Hourman agreed. “Fire…elementals, you called them?” Rex turned to look down at Dr. Fate, who nodded. “That’s gotta be Brain Wave.”

“Yeah, and gremlins. C’mon!” Johnny Thunder also added.

“You guys are all nuts!” Atom retorted fiercely. “When did Brain Wave use high-tech weapons, or simple gunsels? I gotta agree with GL. It’s the Wizard.”

“I don’t know about the weapons part, but the saboteurs sure ring true with Wizard’s first attempts to work for the Axis powers,” Hawkman confirmed. “I say we go and see what we can dig up on the Wizard.”

“Brain Wave!” Hourman shot back as he stood up. “You mean we gotta check on Brain Wave’s old hideout, see what happened to the runt!”

“No, I mean the Wizard, when I say the Wizard, Rex,” Hawkman said back, his voice deep and demanding. He moved next to Green Lantern and Atom. “And that’s what we’re doing, as chairman of the JSA!”

“You go on your wild goose chase, Hawk,” Flash said. Then his voice picked up from the other side of the table as a stiff wind marked his move around the far end of the table to stand next to Rex. “Me and Rex here, we’re going after the actual criminal! Coming, Johnny?” Flash turned to look at the junior member.

“You betcha!” Johnny jumped up and moved next to the two older heroes.

“Fine, you just go and do that!” Atom snapped as he stood also and moved over next to Hawkman and Green Lantern. “Meanwhile, we’ll go save the day, and the war effort, then at the next meeting, we can talk about insubordinate members and what to do about them!”

“You do that!” Hourman shouted back at the smaller mystery man, and all six parted the room in various ways, to run down their leads.

When the room was silent, only Doctor Fate and the Sandman remained seated, staring at each other through their faceless helmets. They nodded to each other.

“So we’re agreed then?” Sandman asked, almost able to read the sorcerer’s thoughts.

“Agreed,” The gold and azure wizard answered. “I’ll follow along Hawkman’s team, and you’ll go with Hourman’s?” Sandman nodded again.

And then the two heroes also left.

New York City, January 12, 1942
“Do you believe the nerve of those guys?” Sheira Sanders shouted as she hurled her hawk-headed helmet across the room. “I don’t believe those guys!” she cried out again as she slid the straps of her harness from her body and chucked the wings in the other direction. Despite their size, and the metal straps, they fluttered like feathers softly to the floor. “I mean, the nerve of those guys!” She turned around and shouted once more.

Liberty Belle gave her friend a smile and nodded in agreement through the shouts. She ran a red-gloved hand through her lustrous, shoulder-length blond hair. “Do you mind if I take a seat?” she asked Hawkgirl.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sheira answered as she nodded. “Go ahead.” She flopped hard on the end of her bed and looked around her room. “I mean, Carter and I, we’ve been partners for almost a year now, and even he treated me…us…I mean…” she started to sputter.

Liberty Belle looked over at Sheira, and continued to nod. Her chocolate brown eyes took in the slim heroine, and the daring outfit. Green leather pants, the red boots, those were okay, but her bare belly, that was something. And the red halter was strapless, the wings providing that little bit of coverage. Sure, Libby thought, Sheira’s petite, she can manage to wear such a thing without worry. I’m still amazed she’d wear something like that in public though.

“What did we expect, really?” Liberty Belle finally asked. “I mean, really? The Society is all men. That’s all it is, a men’s club for mystery…er, well…mystery men.” She shrugged her shoulders. “What can we do about it? I don’t like it either.”

“A women’s auxiliary?” Shiera looked up. She suddenly noticed the high-collared blue shirt Liberty Belle wore, dashed with an abstract liberty bell image over the full breasts. Her ocher trousers and red leather gauntlets and boots completed the outfit, and Sheira thought to herself how big and strong a woman this new friend of hers was. “Making coffee? Bond rallies? Doing the secretarial work while they bust up Brain Wave and Wotan and Solomon Grundy? We’re equal to any of them in the group, we’re not an auxiliary.” She crossed her arms over her chest, hands on her shoulders as she realized she was almost naked in front of this woman. A friend, sure, but a new friend. She stood up and found a robe, and slipped it on over her costume. “We’re better than just some weirdly-dressed DAR!”

“I agree, but I ask, what can we do about it?” Liberty Belle asked again. She loved to listen to Hawkgirl’s voice, the slight southern accent Sheira tried to cover up. “We have to prove ourselves to the boys. How do you propose that?”

“Solomon Grundy,” Sheira repeated as she picked up her helmet and put it on the stand by her bedside. “That’s how.”

“Excuse me?” Liberty Belle asked. She looked at the stand, and noticed only one place. Then she noticed the twin bed, and then the decoration of the room, feminine. “Hey, for such a rich guy, and a large mansion, isn’t this all kind of small for you two?”

Sheira spun around with a scandalized look on her face. “Whatever do you mean? He sleeps down the hall, in his room. We’re not married! This is my room! We’re just room-mates.”

“Oh, sorry,” Liberty Belle replied. She made a note of that and gave a very small smile. “Didn’t mean to offend you, I just noticed that’s all. That this room is yours. And like everyone else, I figured, well…you know.”

“Living in sin?” she shot back. She calmed down and shook her head. “Nah. None of that. Bad enough we’re two young, single people living together while we sort the Hawk thing out. That’s a long story. I’ll have to explain it to you later. While we head down to Slaughter Swamp.”

“Why are we heading down to Slaughter Swamp?” Libby asked, bemused.

“Because we’re going to bag Solomon Grundy and prove to those chauvinistic, pig-headed…men!…that we belong in the JSA!” She went over to a desk and fiddled through files and papers, finally finding the one she was looking for. “According to Green Lantern, Grundy’s still on the loose, and most likely gone back to the Swamp. I’m sure we can nab him, and then the guys won’t have anything to say about us joining! What do you say?”

Liberty Belle sounded unsure about the plan. She had read the various reports about Grundy’s power. But still, they were smart, and they were strong, and she nodded after a time. “Okay. Let’s give this a try.” She stood up and pulled the glove from her hand. She put it out towards Sheira and gave her a smile.

Sheira shook the hand warmly. “We’ll head out first thing tomorrow. Let me get you a guest-room for the night, and we can have the cook make us some dinner. We’ll get to know each other, Belle.”

“Libby,” the taller, blond heroine said. She pulled her mask off and smiled. “Libby Lawrence. Only fair you know me. And getting to know you better is a great idea.”

“Wow,” Sheira said. “The reporter? You swam the English Channel and escaped the Nazis! This is great! Now I know Grundy doesn’t have a chance.” She almost skipped to her bedroom door. “Come on, let’s get you settled in. This is going to be fun.”

Libby shook her head and chuckled at Shiera’s enthusiasm, and followed her out. She closed the door behind her, leaving the bedroom still in their wake, the file on Grundy sitting on the desk, the awful, chalk-white face staring up from the photo.