Seven Soldiers of Victory #4

Somewhere, Somewhen:[/b]

Do you feel that?

A sense of terrible foreboding, as if an alarm bell were going off deep inside you, telling you that something was going horribly wrong in the universe.

It’s not your imagination. It’s real.

The world is teetering on the brink, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But don’t worry. Other events have been set in motion, a counterbalance to stop this descent into darkness.

So be still. Be quiet. Wait and see.

It will all be over soon...



When Alan Scott materialized, he found himself falling towards a ship’s mast. Luckily, he managed to recover himself before impact, skirting inches above the unfurled sails. Okay, looks like it worked, he thought. Now I just have to figure out where Stripe is in all this. He gained some altitude to get a better view, and saw that the ship he almost collided with was an ancient Viking vessel, complete with a fierce dragon’s head carved into the bow. It was docked in a primitive harbor along with a couple other ships of a similar design, and upon the decks were more than a few Vikings, who were staring up at the Green Lantern in awe. Unfortunately, Stripe didn’t appear to be among them. Better try my luck inland, and hope that these guys don’t take me as a threat. He flew towards the shore, where he could see the edge of a village, along with many more Nordic men and women who froze upon seeing him. A couple called out to him in their native language, but the words meant nothing to Alan, though the message sent by the weapons many others brandished came through loud and clear. Afraid of being attacked should he come down any lower, he hovered a good fifteen feet above the village, calling out, “Pat! Pat Dugan! Can you hear me? It’s Alan!”

There was a commotion near one of the huts, and he soon saw a man in a familiar striped shirt emerge from a knot of Vikings. “Hey, Alan! Down here!” Pat yelled, laughing and waving up at him. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”

“I wish I could say the same for your new friends,” Alan replied. “Any way you could tell them to stand down so I can land?”

Stripe turned to a blond-haired man who’d been following close behind him, saying, “This is my friend...friend, get it? He won’t hurt anybody. Make them lower their weapons.” He pointed to the sword hanging from the blond-haired man’s belt, then gestured towards the ground, saying a word Alan couldn’t make out.

The man looked at Stripe, then up at Alan, still hanging in the air above them. After a moment, he spoke to the other Norsemen in a strong, clear voice, until they’d all lowered their weapons and backed away from the area beneath the Lantern, giving him more than enough room to descend. Once he’d touched down, the blond-haired man approached Alan and, placing a fist over the hawk sigil stitched onto his rough-spun tunic, bowed deeply and spoke at length in his native language. After he was done, Alan looked over at Stripe and asked, “Do you have any idea what he just said?”

“Nope...but Jon’s a good man, so I’m sure it was nothing but nice things.” He laughed and clapped the Green Lantern on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Alan. I know it’s only been a couple days, but I was beginning to think I was stuck here.”

“It’s good to see you too.” He looked the man over, still amazed to find that Pat Dugan was still alive after his disappearance sixty years ago...not to mention that, from Pat’s point of view, only a fraction of that time had passed. There were bandages peeking out from under numerous bloody tears in Stripe’s uniform, as well as a few cuts and bruises on his face and hands, but the man still looked like he was ready to jump back into the fight. Which we’ll be doing soon enough, Alan thought, then said aloud, “I hate to be so abrupt, but we’d better get going. I don’t know how long it’ll take to gather up the others, but...”

Alan was cut off as a woman pushed her way through the crowd, running up to Stripe and throwing her arms around his neck. She sobbed and kissed the man, who looked absolutely mortified over the display of affection. “For pete’s sake, Helga, will you get a hold of yourself?” Stripe pleaded as he tried to pry her off.

“I see you’ve been, um...busy,” Alan said. “Are you going to introduce me to your new girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Stripe replied, blushing. “This is all a big misunderstanding. From what I can piece together, I bear a decent resemblance to this lady’s husband...only he’s been dead for a few years. So I guess they think I’m him returned from Valhalla or wherever.” He nodded towards the blond-haired man. “Jon’s the only one I’ve been able to convince otherwise, which was no mean feat, considering the language barrier.”

Helga let go of Stripe long enough to position herself between him and Alan, speaking to the Green Lantern in a harsh tone. “Judging by the way she’s acting, she must figure I’ve come to take you back there,” he said.

“Well, she’s not exactly far-off, is she?” Stripe gently took hold of Helga by the shoulders and turned her around, saying, “I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta go with him. I don’t belong here, don’t you understand that?” It was obvious that Helga didn’t, as she laid her hands on either side of Pat’s face and gave him a long, deep kiss, then wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m really sorry...”

Jon had stood silently by during all this, and though he couldn’t speak English, he could read the situation well enough. He leaned close to Helga and spoke to her in soft tones, gesturing first towards Alan, then in the direction the Green Lantern had flown in from, until the woman loosened her grip on Stripe. Jon spoke to her for a moment more, then she departed, albeit slowly.

“Thanks, Jon,” Stripe said to him, then looked at Alan. “I guess that’s it, then. We’d better get going before...” He stopped as the Viking put a hand on his chest, saying something that was totally lost on him. “What now?” Pat said.

“I think I know.” Alan pointed off the way Helga had gone -- she’d returned now with a sword and leather shield, both of which had seen their fair share of battle. She approached Stripe and, though her reluctance was obvious, held the weapons out towards him. “If I remember my Norse mythology properly,” Alan said, “in Valhalla, they fight all day and drink all night. Your friends here want to make sure you’re well-prepared.”

“But I’m not...” Stripe started to say, then he saw the look in Helga’s eyes. “Okay, I’ll take them...but only to make you happy,” he said to her. He tucked the sword beneath the belt on his uniform and slipped the shield over his arm, muttering, “I feel ridiculous doing this.”

“Just think of them as really big souvenirs,” Alan said with a smirk. “I hope the rest of the Soldiers landed in as good of hands as you did.”

“You mean you don’t now where they are? You don’t know if...” He let the thought go unfinished. “We’ve gotta go after Sylvester next. The Nebula Man banged him up pretty good before...”

“We’ve already got somebody on it, trust me.” He slipped an arm around Stripe’s waist and began to lift off. “We’d better not dawdle any longer. I’m not sure how much time is passing between now and where we’re going, but if Fate’s correct, we’re gonna need every minute we’ve got.”

As they flew overhead, the Vikings drew their weapons and let out a shout, a fitting salute to a fellow warrior. Pat waved a hand to them, his eyes going to Jon, who was comforting Helga. “I wish I could’ve made her understand,” he said to Alan.

“At least she’ll take comfort in thinking her husband’s going to Valhalla.”

“Yeah...yeah, I guess that’s not such a bad thing.” As they neared the spot where the Green Lantern had materialized, a glowing portal in the shape of an ankh began to appear. “Of course, we really are heading towards an endless fight, aren’t we?”

“That we are.” The portal’s light reached out to engulf them. “And if we survive this, I promise that the first round of beers is on me.”



Katar Hol looked about the wooded glade that Fate’s magic had deposited him in, wondering just where in Earth’s past he could possibly be, and how long the search would take before he found the hero known as the Shining Knight. Then he heard shouts and the sound of clashing swords coming from the east...not to mention the flapping of great wings. One could not grow up on Thanagar without becoming familiar with that sound. Spreading his own wings, Katar flew up above the trees and found Sir Justin standing in the middle of a rutted dirt road that lay not far from the glade. The knight was facing off on foot against a half-dozen men -- Roman centurions, if Katar recalled his study of Earth military history correctly -- while nearby, two other men had managed to secure a rope around the knight’s horse, Winged Victory, and were attempting to keep it grounded as it beat its wings furiously.

Katar tucked his wings back and went into a dive. One of the Romans spotted him and called a warning to his fellow men, but it came too late as Katar’s mace clanged against a centurion’s helmet, knocking him flat. The remaining Romans now found their attention split between two fierce warriors, but they pressed on in their assault, even as they began to falter beneath the blows wrought by winged newcomer. Eventually, the Romans realized that their superior numbers were no match for the heroes’ skill, and began to retreat, the two centurions charged with holding Winged Victory abandoning their task and following close behind.

As the Romans ran off, Sir Justin waved his sword in their general direction and shouted at them in a language that sounded vaguely like English to Katar, but many of the words were unfamiliar to him. Once he’d gotten all that anger out of his system, the knight turned to Katar, saying, “Forgive my outburst, Carter, but encountering those addle-pated Roman dogs stirred my blood up. Their kind had nearly been crushed in my day, and I certainly did not relish seeing them once more.”

Katar was about to ask what Sir Justin was referring to, since he thought the Roman Empire had fallen long before the 20th Century, when he realized the man had addressed him by his father’s name. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but...I’m not Carter Hall,” he said, and removed the mask covering his head. “I’m his son, Katar Hol.”

“Truly? When I first saw thee, I thought that Carter has merely changed his costume, as he has done before.” He looked the Hawk-Knight up and down. “His son, thou sayeth?” Katar nodded, and Sir Justin let out a sigh. “Once more, it seems that Time has decided to have its way with me. I presume that the era thou comest from is not the one I left but a few hours ago?”

“It’s 2008 now...about sixty years later. I’m sorry, but I don’t think there’s any way for us to bring you or the other Soldiers back to the time you came from.”

“In all truth, the land hither lies closer to my true time than the one we shall be returning to.” Sir Justin went over to Winged Victory and removed the rope the centurions had tried to bind it with, then said, “But it matters little to me now. I long ago laid to rest my old life at Camelot, and have made a home in thy future with my lady Danette. So long as she is by my side, the time around us is of no consequence.” He mounted up, and his horse immediately took wing. “Lead on, Katar, son of Carter! Show me the way back to my lady fair and my friends in arms!”

Slipping his mask back into place, Katar flew up and began to head over the trees once again, the Shining Knight following close behind as the portal opened up for them.



Well, Cyril, you said you wanted to be involved...maybe next time, you’ll be more careful what you wish for. Speed Saunders sat up, brushing bits of straw from his hair. Doctor Fate’s magic had hit him so fast that, by the time he’d realized what had happened, he was flying headlong into God-knows-where before coming to a sudden stop in what appeared to be a large stable. Luckily, there had been no one present to witness his arrival, save for some horses, which were nickering nervously as he climbed to his feet. “Don’t worry, I come in peace,” he told them, then headed for the stable door.

As Speed stepped out into the bright sunshine, he didn’t notice the man in a flannel shirt and jeans leaning against the stable wall just a couple feet away. The man glanced up briefly from the newspaper he was reading, then did a double-take upon seeing Speed exit the stable. “How in blazes did you get inside there?” he asked.

“It wasn’t easy,” Speed replied. Looking about, he was surprised to find the stable was located off a paved street...not the best-paved street, mind you, but judging by the buildings he could see just a block away, it was near a well-developed section of town. “But which town is it? And when?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t know who you are, mister,” the man said, ignoring Speed’s musings, “but if’n you messed with them horses any, I’m gonna skin you alive.” He tossed down his paper, then shoved past Speed and headed inside the stable.

“Is that any way to treat a tourist?” He picked up the paper and scanned the masthead, saying, “The Opal Daily Mirror...well, at least it’s a place I’m familiar with.” Then he took a look at the date. “1895...not bad, Greg. Between your revolvers and your Vigilante getup, you could keep a decently low profile. I just hope it’s not too low.” Speed dropped the paper where the man had left it, then headed towards what looked like the busier end of the street. As he got closer, he could see horse-drawn carriages making their way down the thoroughfare, along with many people passing by on foot. After taking a moment to get his bearings, he began to move along with the crowd, hoping that no one gave his khaki pants and cable-knit sweater a second glance...though he was sure that, if anybody looked down and got an eyeful of his Nike sneakers, there’d be some explaining to do. Then don’t give them any reason to look, he told himself. Keep your head down until you find Greg, then grab him and scram before anybody notices.

The big question was where to start looking. Speed knew that, even in 1895, Opal City was pretty big, and he had no clue as to how long his cousin had been there so far. According to Doctor Fate, Speed should have arrived not long after Greg, but “not long” can be a relative term -- minutes, hours, possibly even days might have already passed between them. As he walked down the street, he kept his eyes on every man he passed, hoping for a glimpse of the Vigilante’s distinctive togs, but there wasn’t a trace of him to be found. Then after a few blocks, Speed recognized one of the establishments nearby as The Peacock, one of the fancier restaurants to be found in modern-day Opal City. At the close of the 19th Century, however, it appeared to still have the status of saloon, albeit a high-class one. Speed took its presence as a good omen and decided to head inside.

A dark mahogany bar with brass fixtures dominated The Peacock’s main room, and through the dim glow of the gaslights, Speed could see small tables lining the walls, many of them currently occupied. Unfortunately, Greg was nowhere to be found. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been in here at some point, though, Speed thought. Time to start plying that old Saunders charm. He made his way over to the bar and caught the attention of the man behind it. “Excuse me, but I’m looking for somebody. I was wondering if maybe you’ve seen him.”

“I see lots of folks in here,” the bartender replied. “What’s he look like?”

Speed was about to begin describing his cousin when a patron a few feet down the bar yelled, “Hey, Jimmy! I need ‘nother whiskey o’er here!”

“Forget it, Morris, you’re pickled enough,” the bartender barked back. “Go on home and sleep some of that off first.”

“Don’t you tell me what t’do.” Morris stumbled towards their end of the bar, his eyes locked on the bartender. “I got money, so’s you keep makin’ with the booze, y’hear?” He tried to wave a fist at the man, but only succeeded in losing his balance and nearly fell on top of Speed. “Hey, you watch where you’re goin’, old man!”

“Where I’m going is nowhere fast, if you don’t stop interrupting.” Speed placed his hands on the drunk’s shoulders in an effort to steady him. “Just let me finish my business and...”

“Get your paws off!” Morris gave Speed a good shove, knocking him into a nearby table. The patrons sitting there got up in a hurry as their drinks splashed everywhere, and one of them yelled for somebody to get the sheriff.

Oh, great, Speed thought. The last thing I need to do is to explain myself to a lawman. He straightened himself up and said to the drunk, “Mister, if I wasn’t already preoccupied, I’d clean your damn clock. But things being what they are, I’m gonna let you slide on this one, okay?” Speed soon realized that the amicable approach was the wrong one to take with this guy, because the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back in a puddle of spilled booze, with Morris the drunk right on top of him, readying another blow. Well now, isn’t this just jim-dandy? Speed thought, and immediately slammed his own fist into the drunk’s jaw, knocking him silly.

The two men traded a few more blows before the sheriff and one of his deputies showed up. The sheriff was a tall, broad-shouldered man with long gray hair, and he easily inserted himself between the brawlers, saying, “Okay, you two, fun’s over.” Once he had them separated, he turned towards the bartender. “Which one started it, Jimmy?”

“Morris, same as always. He done got sloshed again, and when I cut him off, he started to take it out on that old fella.”

The sheriff scowled at the drunk man. “We had an agreement: you can come in here for a couple belts, but when Jimmy says you’re done, then you’re done. You can’t learn that, I’ll lock you up until you do.”

As Morris and the sheriff argued over the finer points of their agreement, Speed tried to slip out the saloon door unnoticed. Before he could reach it, however, the deputy grabbed him by the collar and said, “Sorry, old-timer. I know you ain’t the cause of this fracas, but it’d still be proper if you hung around ‘til Sheriff Savage has a talk with you.”

Speed began to ready an excuse about how he needed to catch a train, but as he turned to face the deputy, he soon abandoned it in favor of a slack-jawed expression. The man before him was dressed in a white shirt with a dark vest and trousers, not too dissimilar from what the sheriff was wearing, but it wasn’t the clothes that had left Speed speechless so much as it was the deputy’s face...a face which, unless Speed was going senile, looked nearly twice as old as he remembered. “Greg?” he finally managed to say, staring at his cousin’s salt-and-pepper hair. “Is that...you can’t be...”

“Are you okay, mister? You look like you’re gonna faint.”

“No, I’m fine, it’s just...” Speed leaned close and said, “Greg, it’s me. It’s Cyril. Doctor Fate sent me back in time to get you.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who...” He stopped talking as Speed’s words sank into his brain, then all the color began to drain out of Greg Saunders’s face, until he looked like the one about to pass out. Speed reached out to steady him, just as he’d done with the drunk earlier, and Greg stared down at the hands touching his shoulders in disbelief. “You’re really here,” he said quietly. “After waiting so many years, I’d just about written it off as a lost cause, but you’re really here...”

“Years? But Fate said that...” Speed then recalled that the mystic had still been in the process of casting the spell when the Neh Buh Lah attacked. Between that and me getting zapped instead of Jay, the timing must’ve gotten fouled up, he thought. I suppose I should count myself lucky that I made it back here at all.

“Everything okay, Saunders?” Both men looked up at the sound of their shared surname to see the sheriff approaching them. He took in the sight of the two of them standing so close together, then said, “Do you know this guy or something?”

“He’s my cousin,” Greg replied in that same quiet tone, then paused a moment and started laughing -- not a laugh born of humor, but one of relief. He turned away from Speed and yelled to the patrons still inside the saloon, “You hear that, everybody? This here’s my cousin from back home! I’m finally goin’ home!”

The sheriff turned to Speed, saying, “Is he serious? Did you really come all the way from the future to take him back?”

Speed’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “You know he’s from the future?”

“Of course he knows. All my friends do.” Greg had composed himself again, though the joy of the moment was still dancing in his eyes. “Maybe not all of them believed me, but I told them anyhow. Kept me from losin’ my mind all these years.”

“I’m sorry about that, Greg,” his cousin said, “but we didn’t know where you were, not until a few hours ago.”

“That’s what I always figured...and there ain’t no need to apologize. I had a lot of lonely times, but I had a lot of good times too.” He grinned at the sheriff. “Remember that stunt me and Lash pulled when we was fightin’ the Iron Thugs?”

“Do I? Lord, I thought for sure you fellas were gonna get yourselves killed!” The two men laughed, belying the implied danger of times past, as well as making Speed feel like the odd man out. Then the sheriff gestured towards the back of the saloon, saying, “What say the three of us take a seat and knock back a few before you all disappear? If I have to lose one of my best men, I’d rather be drunk enough not to mind.”

“No can do,” Speed told him. “When I left our time, the man who sent me was being attacked by the same creature that chucked Greg back here in the first place. I don’t want to know what’ll happen to him if we waste too much time getting home.”

Greg had gone pale again. “You mean the Nebula Man survived that blast too? What about everybody else? What about Stuff? Do you know where he is?”

“Stuff’s okay, don’t worry about him right now. Let’s just concentrate on getting you home.” Speed walked out of The Peacock and began to head back down the street, with Greg and Sheriff Savage close behind. “I popped out of a stable just a couple blocks away,” he explained. “If we can get back inside, there should be a portal waiting.”

“Couple blocks...sounds like Grant’s Livery,” Greg said, then suddenly turned around and started running towards the other end of the street, yelling over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you fellas there! I’m gonna go fetch my gear!”

Speed protested, but the sheriff cut him off, saying, “He’s waited twenty years for you to show up. The least you can do is give him five minutes.”

The two men continued down the street, making their way back to the stable and, just as Speed feared, the still-angry owner. “Sheriff, I want you to arrest that man!” he said, pointing at Speed. “He done broke into my livery and...well, I don’t know what he was doin’ in there, but I don’t like the look of him.”

“This fella’s just fine, Grant, trust me. He just got a little lost is all.” Savage hitched thumb behind him and said, “Why don’t you take a walk around the block and cool off? We’ll talk it over when you get back.” It didn’t look like Grant was going to oblige him at first, but then the stable owner muttered something under his breath and started walking. Once he was out of sight, the two men stepped into the stable. “I don’t see any portal. Do you have some sort of gadget that turns it on?” the sheriff asked.

“It won’t show up until Greg gets here.” Speed cocked an eyebrow. “Y’know, sheriff, you seem to be taking this whole time-travel thing pretty casually.”

“Call me Brian...and if I seem casual about the whole affair, it’s because you and Greg aren’t the only future-folk I’ve ever met. First time was the summer of ‘78, back in my Scalphunter days...and believe you me, that was no cakewalk.” He scratched at his graying beard, saying, “Met Greg about two years afterward, so between that and a few other things I’d seen by then, his tale didn’t sound all that far-fetched to me.”

He stopped talking as something thumped on the outside of the stable. The two men turned to see Greg leaning against the doorway and breathing heavy, a rifle in one hand and a large knapsack slung over his shoulder. “That’s settles it, I’ve gotta drop a few pounds,” he gasped, then stepped into the stable proper. Just as he crossed the threshold, a shaft of golden light began to form near the back wall, spreading out until it formed a large ankh. Greg blinked and said, “Guess that’s the way home.”

“It better be.” Speed shook hands with the sheriff. “Nice meeting you, Brian. Sorry for disrupting things around here for a bit.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just another typical day in Opal City.” The sheriff then turned to Greg, saying, “And you...dammit, I’m gonna miss you.” He smiled broadly.

“I’ll miss you too. Jesus, I never thought leavin’ this place would be so hard, but...” Greg threw his free arm around Savage for a moment, telling him, “You give Annie and your boy each a kiss goodbye from me, okay?”

“I will...now get your ass on home before they decide they don’t want you back.”

They laughed together one last time before Greg turned away from his friend and walked over to the portal. “You ready to do this?” Speed asked.

He looked at his cousin, cocking the rifle in his hands -- after two decades of dealing frontier justice, it was the only answer the Vigilante felt necessary. Then the two of them stepped towards the portal and let it carry them far away from the 19th Century.

* * * * * *

Slate tiles clattered beneath Batman’s boots as he tired to get his footing on the roof. It was nighttime, with a full moon shining overhead, illuminating the vast countryside all around the manor house he found himself perched upon. Presumably, if Fate deposited me here, then Firebrand must be inside, he thought, and started to make his way towards a window set into one of the nearby gables. As he skirted the edge of the roof, he could hear voices coming up from below, which made him pause. It wasn’t so much out of fear of discovery, but more because of the harsh tones being used. Crouching in the gable’s shadow, Batman peered down to see a crowd gathered before the front door -- some bore torches or colonial-style tin lanterns, while others were brandishing muskets and sharp farm implements. This doesn’t look good, he thought.

“You cannot hide the witch forever, Tobias!” shouted a man dressed in Puritanical garb. “One of your own servants told us of her presence!” He pointed to a young woman with bruises on her face being held fast by other members of the crowd.

“I do not deny the presence of a stranger in my house,” another man (presumably Tobias) replied. Batman couldn’t see him, and figured that he must have been standing within the doorway directly below. “I do, however, refuse to submit to the lunacy that has overtaken my fellow countrymen as of late. She is no witch, and neither threatening me nor my servants with bodily harm shall change that.”

“He is in league with the witch!” someone in the crowd shouted. “Kill them both!” At that, the crowd began to surge forward, an angry murmur rippling through them. Before they could get their hands on Tobias, however, great clouds of smoke suddenly appeared before them as Batman let loose with a handful of tear-gas pellets. Many fell to their knees, coughing and crying, unable to comprehend what was going on. Then they saw Batman himself drop down off the roof, his cape billowing out behind him, and the situation became quite clear to the colonials.

“The Devil...the Devil has come for us all!” a man shouted, and full-on panic seized the crowd. They nearly trampled each other in an effort to get away from the house, weapons and illumination dropped everywhere in their haste. Even the servant girl was forgotten, and she lay on the ground curled up in a ball, sure that she would be dead within moments. Batman, of course, had no intentions of hurting her as he knelt down beside her, trying to make sure she was all right once the mob had fully dispersed..

“What a superstitious, cowardly lot,” a voice behind him said, and Batman looked to see Tobias still standing in the doorway, calm as could be. “They claim to be doing God’s work, but the moment they come face-to-face with their proclaimed enemy, their sense of duty vanishes.” He tilted his head at the Dark Knight. “Not that I believe you to be an agent of Satan, dear sir, despite your appearance. I take it you have come to claim the woman who calls herself Firebrand?”

“You’re quite correct,” Batman said. He moved aside as Tobias came over and calmed down his servant, helping her to her feet -- despite his reassurances, the girl clung to her master for dear life. “I’m sorry that our presence has brought all this trouble to your doorstep, literally.”

“Doomsbury Hall has seen its share of grief before, sir, due to the sheer ignorance of my neighbors.” He began to walk towards the house with the girl, Batman following behind. “They tend to see logic and reason as the work of the Devil, and for that, my family has always been shunned to some degree or another. Luckily, my desire to better understand the world led me to investigate the fiery object that descended upon us three nights ago, while the people you just drove off cowered beneath their beds in fear of the ‘bad omen’.” Once they were inside the house, Tobias talked softly to his servant for a moment, then sent her to her quarters to rest before continuing. “As I’m sure you can surmise, your compatriot was the source of the conflagration, and I spirited her back here so that she could recover from her ordeal.” The man went over to an innocuous-looking wall and took hold of a candleholder attached to it, pulling it out and turning it to the left at the same time. A portion of the wall swung open slightly as he did so. He turned to Batman and explained, “As I said before, my neighbors are not the most learned people, so I have found it necessary to take extreme measures when it comes to safeguarding certain possessions.” He swung the rest of the wall aside, revealing a hidden library. Books and other esoteric objects lined the shelves, and standing in the middle of the room were Firebrand and another woman, both of whom looked at Batman with surprise when he entered behind Tobias.

“Are they gone?” the woman asked, concern plain to see on her face as she went to the man’s side. “We could hear such a commotion...”

“The danger has passed, my love,” Tobias told her, “thanks to the intervention of Danette’s compatriot.”

Firebrand approached Batman, saying, “I’m glad for that. I’ve recovered most of my strength by now, but I still didn’t relish the idea of possibly having to defend myself from an angry mob.” Then she leaned close so the others wouldn’t hear and said to him, “Forgive me for sounding ungrateful, but your costume’s not ringing any bells in my memory. Did the JSA send you?”

“This mission is sort of a joint effort,” Batman replied, just as quiet. Now didn’t seem like a good time to go into the fact that she’d been lost for six decades. He then looked over at Danette’s rescuers and said, “We’d better get going before those people get their nerve back and try to break into the house.”

Tobias shook his head. “I doubt that they will. In fact, I dare say that your sudden appearance upon my doorstep this evening may keep the zealots at bay for a while, out of fear that you might descend upon them once more should they return.”

“Still, you should be careful,” Firebrand said. “As a matter of fact, it may be better if you and your wife moved away from here. Even in my time, they remember the brutality of the witch trials.”

“I appreciate your concern, my dear, but Tobias Thirteen will never let the unfounded hysteria of his fellow man drive him from his own house.” He took hold of his wife’s hand and said, “We shall weather whatever storm may come, safe in the knowledge that truth shall always prevail over superstition.”

Batman nodded in agreement, thinking that it was people like Tobias who would eventually put a stop to the witch trials, though not before those grim times had made their mark upon history. With the master of the house leading the way once more, Firebrand and Batman went back outside to see a golden ankh shining bright over Doomsbury Hall. “Doctor Fate,” Danette said upon seeing it. “I should have guessed.”

“We’ll need to get up on the roof to access the portal.” Batman unclipped his grappling gun from his belt and was about to slip an arm around Danette’s waist, but stopped when he saw the flaming aura already forming around her. She lit up the night sky with a fiery trail as she ascended, and the Dark Knight shot a line up to the roof, the portal’s light enveloping both of them the moment his boots touched the slate tiles again.

* * * * * *

“God, this place stinks,” Hal Jordan muttered, his voice muffled from his gloved hand pressing over his mouth and nose. Doctor Fate’s magic had dropped him off in the middle of a filthy alley, though he hadn’t determined yet where exactly that alley was located. He cautiously stepped over refuse as he headed towards the street -- he could have just flown over it with no trouble, but until he knew where he was, he didn’t want to attract attention to himself with any unnecessary displays of emerald energy. As he neared the mouth of the alley, he could hear indistinct voices speaking in what sounded like English accents. “Well, at least I’ve got that going for me,” he said, and peered out onto the street. It was around dusk, and there weren’t many people about, but he saw enough to peg that he must have landed around the Victorian era. Picking out one decently-dressed man walking by, Hal had his ring scan the man’s clothes, then replaced his Green Lantern uniform with a close approximation of them, albeit in shades of dark green and black. Suitably camouflaged, Hal stepped out into the street and began to take a better look around.

Like the alleyway, the gutters of the street were strewn with filth, and some of the people lingering in doorways didn’t look much better. A couple of nearby women in short, dark jackets and patched skirts eyed him as he walked by -- he thought at first that their stares were because he was a stranger to the area, then he caught the coquettish look one gave him, and the matter became a little clearer. “Not tonight, ladies,” he said to them as he turned the corner onto another street, a sign on a nearby building telling him that he was now on Whitechapel Road. Something about the name caught his attention, and he stood there for a moment, trying to figure out why it sounded so familiar. When it hit him, he said aloud, “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” then backed up into a deserted doorway and whispered, “Ring, scan the area for the nearest police station.”

After a few seconds, the ring replied, just as quietly, {Two blocks east of current position.}

“Can you tell if there’s anyone inside who fits the description of the Crimson Avenger?” Hal asked, and the ring quickly confirmed his suspicions. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry about the situation, Hal hotfooted it down the street in the direction indicated until he came to a large brick building, a trio of uniformed officers walking up the steps confirming to Hal that this was the place. He stepped out of sight for a moment and emerged seconds later in a ring-generated replica of a policeman’s uniform, then headed up into the building himself. Following the directions his ring whispered in his ear, Hal made his way deep into the police station, doing his best to act like he belonged there whenever he passed by a real officer -- luckily for him, he didn’t see too many, and if his assumptions were correct, he knew exactly why that was.

Hal eventually reached the lower level where the cells were located, with a bored-looking officer sitting at a desk just outside the area. The man glanced at his pocket watch when he saw Hal, then said, “Bit early for the shift change...you new here?”

“Just transferred in,” Hal replied, doing his best cockney accent. He then nodded towards the cell area, saying, “So...are the rumors true, then? Do we really got...”

“Cor, keep your voice down! You never know if those reporters from the bloody Police News are mucking about.” The officer got up from the desk and walked over the way Hal had entered, checking to see if anyone was there. Once he was assured they were alone, he said, “We don’t have a whit of evidence yet, but yeah, they picked up this odd fellow over on Bucks Row early this morning, not far from where they found that Nichols girl. An American, and dressed all natty like the descriptions say...had a cloak and everything. He couldn’t give us a fit enough reason what he was doing out there, and the orders say to bring in anyone who can’t account for himself, so...”

“Can I see him?”

The officer shrugged. “Not much to see, he just lays on his cot and groans. Says he’s sick, but I think he’s playing for sympathy.” He led Hal down the rows of cells to one that contained a man in a crisp white shirt and dark pants, his head hanging low as he sat on the metal cot. “Oi! Look alive, you!” the officer said as he banged on the bars. “One of the boys wants to have a proper look!” The man lifted his head, and Hal could see beads of sweat standing out on his pale face. “There you go,” the officer continued. “Wouldn’t think he was a murderer to look at him, would you?”

“I thought you said he had a fancy cloak?” Hal asked.

“All that’s locked up by the desk. Had some odd pistols on him too...not about to let him sit around in a cell armed, right?”

“Right...and thanks for letting me know where you stashed his stuff,” Hal said, dropping the phony accent. “Saves me the time searching for it.”

The officer stared at him. “What’s this about? Are you a bloody American too?”

“Hate to break it to you, but...yeah.” A bolt of green energy shot out of Hal’s ring, stunning the officer, and the Green Lantern caught him before he could fall to the floor. He then looked at the man in the cell and said, “Please tell me you’re not really Jack the Ripper.”

“No more than you’re really a cop,” Crimson Avenger replied, slowly getting to his feet. “I see the ring, but you don’t look like the Green Lantern I know.”

“Guess you could call me a distant relation.” After setting the officer down gently, he used the ring to pop the lock on the cell. “Come on, let’s get your things and get the hell out of here.” They headed back towards the desk, where Hal spied a heavy metal chest against one side of it. As he set to work on opening it, he heard Crimson cry out behind him -- when Hal turned around, he saw the man falling to his knees, a hand clutching at his back and his teeth clenched in agony. “Ring, what’s wrong with him?” he said as he went to Crimson Avenger’s side.

{Cancerous tumors present throughout lung tissue and in surrounding areas, pressing against nerves in spinal cord,} the ring told him dryly.

That was the last thing Green Lantern expected to hear. He figured that the police had roughed Crimson up before putting him in the cell, but this... “Is there...can you do anything to help him?” Hal asked his ring.

{Negative. Diseased tissue is too widespread. Chance of survival is minimal.}

“Pills...” Lee gasped, reaching out towards the metal chest. “In c-coat...” Without leaving the man’s side, Green Lantern ordered his ring to pry open the chest and find the pills in question. Moments later, an emerald hand deposited a small pillbox into Crimson’s shaking palm. He shook three out and dry-swallowed them, then leaned heavily against Hal as he waited from them to take effect. “Been begging for those all day,” Lee said after a while. “I can deal with the pain for a short period of time, but it started to flare up during the fight, and-d-d...” He paused, a shudder running through him. When it passed, he swore under his breath and said, “Kind of glad now that you’re not Alan...hate for any of my friends to see me like this.”

“How long have you known, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“About six months, maybe eight. I’d been having pains in my back and chest for years, but you know how it is in this line of work: You ignore the pain and go on. I did start to cut back after the War, but I never thought that...” Crimson straightened up, but didn’t attempt to get to his feet just yet. “After the doctor broke the news to me, I decided that I wasn’t going to tell anybody. I didn’t want people crying over me like I was already dead, and I certainly didn’t want to end up in a hospital with a bunch of tubes stuck in me. So I figured I’d tough it out, take the painkillers when it got too bad...and when it got so that the painkillers couldn’t cut it anymore, I’d just take more than the doctor prescribed, if you get my meaning.”

Hal didn’t know how to reply to that. Instead, he told Lee, “We’d better get out of here before anyone else comes down.” He helped the man to his feet, then stood silently by as the Crimson Avenger donned the rest of his costume -- it was obvious that Crimson was still in pain, but he seemed determined to not relapse. As the man was checking his guns, the sound of footsteps echoed towards the cellblock, and Hal recalled that the officer had said something earlier about a shift change. Looks like we won’t get away as clean as I was hoping, he thought, then looked over at Crimson. Despite the man’s determination, Hal knew that Lee might fall behind as they made a break for it, so he dropped his disguise and let his Green Lantern uniform manifest again. “Just hold on tight,” he said as he wrapped an arm around Crimson’s waist, then ordered the ring to retrace the path back to the alley.

All the policeman coming down the hall saw of their exit was a blaze of green light. He’d been too stunned by the sight to make out the two men engulfed within it, as were the other officers who caught a glimpse of the emerald apparition that flew out of the station house and down the road. A few of them had the presence of mind to follow, but when they reached the small alley off Plumber Street, all they saw was a fading golden glow shaped vaguely like a cross.

* * * * * *

“Holy...!” Wildcat stumbled backwards as a horse reared up in front of him, the heavily-armed warrior on its back cursing in what sounded like Chinese at the man’s sudden appearance. Ted did his best to get clear before he was trampled, but there was no place safe to go: everywhere he turned, he saw more mounted warriors galloping around, as well as numerous foot soldiers. Some were dressed in ancient feudal armor, while others sported furs and leathers. Great, it looks like I got dumped into the middle of a war zone, he thought, then delivered a right cross to the jaw of one of the nearby soldiers, who was about to try and cleave him in two with his sword. “Spider! Where are you?” Ted shouted, scanning the surrounding mob for anyone that looked even vaguely Caucasian. He didn’t find anyone fitting the bill, but he did find quite a few soldiers that wanted to add his body to the ones already sprawled out on the muddy ground. Luckily, he was a lot faster with his fists than they were with their weapons, and a steady stream of roundhouse blows began to clear a path through them. “Dammit, Tom,” he yelled after he’d knocked down close to a dozen men, “will you quit screwing around and get your ass out here where I can see you!”

Someone behind him let out a war cry, and Wildcat spun around to see a warrior running pell-mell after him, a pike of some sort in his hands. He avoided the blade, but the warrior switched up his attack and bashed Ted in the head with the pole end. He fell over, stunned, and the warrior moved to impale him, but before he could deliver the killing blow, the shaft of an arrow pierced his throat. The surprised warrior fell over himself, revealing to Ted a familiar, if disheveled, form. “Good timing there, Tom,” he said as Spider helped him to his feet.

“You’re just lucky I found a dead archer that still had a full quiver,” he replied. “I wasted what few arrows I had left within five minutes of arriving here.” He paused as a more warriors rushed towards them -- a couple haymakers and a few twangs of bowstring later, Tom said, “Sorry that blast didn’t dump me in a friendlier location.”

“Are you kidding? This is like a typical Saturday night at Findley’s Pub.” Wildcat looked in the direction he’d come from. “The real bugger is going to be fighting our way back to where Fate dropped me off. If we can’t reach it, we’d better start learning Chinese.”

“Actually, I think they’re Mongolian.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Wildcat quipped, then grabbed a handful of reins away from a passing mounted soldier. After wrestling the man out of the saddle, Ted climbed onto the horse, saying, “C’mon, I hailed us a cab.”

Spider mounted up behind him, nocking an arrow to aid in clearing the path. It wasn’t necessary, as the stampeding horse was enough to make the throng of warriors step out of their way. As they approached the spot, a golden ankh appeared in the middle of the battlefield, causing some of the men nearby to cry out in a mixture of surprise and terror. In Wildcat’s case, the sight of it just made him goad the horse into moving faster. “Um, Ted, shouldn’t we be slowing down? We’re gonna plow right into it,” Tom said.

“If we slow down, we’ll more than likely get mobbed again,” Ted replied.

“You mean you’re gonna...”

“Well. I’m gonna try, at least. Now hang on, and pray that this horse doesn’t get skittish easily!” He steered the animal directly towards the portal, forging ahead at a breakneck pace until the light from the portal seemed to reach out for them, sweeping the two heroes and their mount away from the raging battle.

* * * * * *

Snow seemed to pelt the Man of Steel from every direction, which concerned him. Not that the cold bothered him in the least, but according to Daniel Leong’s story, the Star-Spangled Kid had suffered injuries before he’d been tossed into the past, and the young man more than likely wasn’t in good enough shape to handle such harsh conditions. All the more reason to find him as fast as I can, Superman thought, then flew straight up from where he’d materialized. Once he reached a good height, he swept the area with his x-ray vision for any sign of color in this white landscape, as well as straining his super-hearing to catch the sound of a heartbeat above the howling wind. He soon zeroed in on a red-white-and-blue form huddled in a cave about fifty feet from his position, and he rushed over to investigate.

As he expected, it was the Star-Spangled Kid, tucked far down into the cave in an effort to escape the frigid winds outside. Next to his still form was a pitiful fire, which the young man had somehow managed to light using his mask as kindling. It wasn’t enough to keep him warm, though: his dark hair was rimed with frost, and his lips were beginning to turn blue. Worse yet, his breathing was shallow, and Superman could barely pick up his heartbeat, even standing next to him. Hypothermia’s setting in, he thought as he removed his cape and wrapped it around the Kid. I’ve got to get him warmed up, and fast. Looking around the cave, he saw a ledge of bare rock jutting out of the cave wall, so he carried Sylvester over to it and laid him out. Superman then focused his heat vision on the base of the rock until it began to glow a dull red -- the heat soon radiated throughout the rock, providing the young man some relief from the cold, as well as bringing a small amount of light into the darkened cave. After making sure there were no signs of frostbite, Superman carefully massaged the Kid’s stiff limbs in an effort to get the blood flowing again. He’d be better off in a hospital right now, the Man of Steel thought as he watched for any signs of consciousness, but I have a feeling that we won’t have any time for such luxuries once we go through the portal back to 2008, so I’ve got to make sure he’s ready before we get there.

The Kid’s heartbeat began to grow stronger, and soon, he took in a large gulp of air, followed by a groan and a string of coughs. His eyes seemed to be moving behind his still-closed lids, and Superman leaned over him and said, “Can you hear me, Kid? If you can, give me some kind of sign. Show me that you’re all right.”

In response, Sylvester shakily raised a hand and laid it against Superman’s well-muscled arm. Moments later, the young man’s eyes opened halfway, and he looked up at his rescuer bathed in the red glow from the heated rock. “Cap’n Marvel?” he slurred out.

“No, but thanks for the compliment. My name is Superman. Your friends in the Justice Society sent me here to find you.”

The Star-Spangled Kid smiled weakly. “Stuff came through for us...good kid. He’s a...” His eyelids started to droop, then they snapped back open. “Hard...it’s hard to stay awake,” he said. “Cold here...”

“I know. We’ll be in a much warmer place soon, but first, I need to know if you’ll be okay. Can you stand up?”

“I’ll try.” Holding onto Superman, he slid off the rock ledge and stood on his own two feet, albeit with a sharp hiss of air coming from between his lips. “Think I broke some ribs,” he said. “Cold numbed it, but now...”

A quick glance with Superman’s x-ray vision confirmed the diagnosis, and he replied, “You’ve got two broken, one fractured. No major internal damage, though. Do you think you can put up with the pain for a while longer?”

The Kid nodded and pulled the cape tighter around himself. “Are we...are we going to go find the others now?”

“They’re being looked after already, I promise. Now, let’s get you home.” He scooped up the Kid and flew out of the cave -- Superman could hear the young man’s teeth chattering the moment the wind hit them. “We’re almost to the portal, just hang on a few seconds longer.”

“W-w-where the heck are we, anyways? Antarctica?”

Suddenly, they heard a loud bellow above the roaring wind. Superman paused in his flight, and in the distance, they saw large, dark shadows moving through the snow. Sylvester couldn’t make out anything distinct, but the Man of Steel focused his vision fine enough to see a herd of wooly mammoths trudging along, seemingly oblivious to both the cold and the two men hanging in the air.

“Actually, I think we’re a lot further away than Antarctica,” Superman finally replied. He turned away from the mammoths and continued towards the portal, shining like a golden beacon above the frozen wasteland.

* * * * * *

Somewhere, Somewhen:[/b]

Do you feel that?

A sense of terrible foreboding, as if an alarm bell were going off deep inside you, telling you that something was going horribly wrong in the universe.

It’s not your imagination. It’s real.

The world is teetering on the brink, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But don’t worry. Other events have been set in motion, a counterbalance to stop this descent into darkness.

So be still. Be quiet. Wait and see.

It will all be over soon...