Seven Soldiers of Victory #12

Orange-white fire arced through the dark of night and tore into the pavement with a thunderous echo. Melted concrete blasted out from the blow, and the street cracked for several dozen feet as the gathered heroes scattered away from the attack. The armored figure calling himself Vulcan watched as the Law's Legionnaires dashed around him, sought out an opening for attack, saw how they worried despite their facile attempts at confidence and inane chatter.

“What do we know about this guy besides the big flaming ax?” Skyman asked as he spun up into the air and fired bolts of energy at Vulcan. The rampaging brute blocked a couple of the blasts with his weapon, as the rest crackled uselessly against his armor.

“Do we need to know more? I'll carve him out of his tin can and the rest of you can put the hurt on him,” La Garra said as she bounded toward Vulcan. She launched herself into the air and crashed into the solid mass of a man, claws clattering off the metallic barrier as he started to glow under her. “Yeeowch!” Yolanda screeched in pain as she quickly kicked away from him and clutched her hands. “And we know he's caliente maldito!”

“And that's why we need to know more,” Stripe said as he came up behind La Garra to check on her hands and helped her to her feet. “Do admire your backbone, girl, I have to say.”

“Mmm, do you now?” she purred and leaned into him suggestively as they watched Skyman drop down and his hands flared with power enough to stagger Vulcan.

“Um, yeah, well...” Pat stepped back uncomfortably now as Gimmick dashed up to them.

“Here's some cable, see if you can trip him up, I'll see if I got anything for heat suppressant,” the young woman said as she tossed them the line and then started to rummage through her pouches.

With a shrug, Pat and Yolanda charged back toward Vulcan with the cable stretched between them, as he dueled with Skyman. Sylvester Pemberton darted around above them, and continued to fire more bolts of energy, testing Vulcan's defenses as he stayed out of reach of the wicked fiery weapon. “Don't think you can keep away from my wrath, false icon!” Vulcan roared and lashed out with his arm. The double-bladed ax spun in a wicked circle and smashed into Skyman, who was tossed backward by the force of the blow and plowed into a building to vanish from sight, while the blazing ax spun back to Vulcan's hand.

By that time though, La Garra and Stripe had flanked him, raced by and crossed paths to wrap the cable tight around Vulcan's legs and knock the brute off his feet. A resounding crash heralded is fall as Gimmick locked a couple of small canisters into a makeshift handgrip and trigger.

“Let's give this a look-see,” Hayley said as she dashed up close and fired her jury-rigged extinguisher.

“Stupid girl!” Vulcan snarled as the cable around his legs bubbled away and he stood again. The huge weapon hurtled down at her as the chemicals splashed uselessly against the overwhelming heat of his powers.

Gimmick spun in the same direction as the weapon, her back bent like a bow as the vicious blow narrowly missed her, and she sprung back from him on one hand with a grin. Her other hand was already busy at the small of her back, and snatched out a new device as she laughed. “Gotta be quicker than that, hothead, for a girl who can act like she's got multiple brains!”

Stripe leaped forward now, interposing his thick body between her and where the ax struck, tearing up slagged pieces of pavement that burned into him like bullets. He cried out in pain as Hayley heard the sizzle of flesh, and smelled the burnt meat. Her smile vanished in a moment, her face paled instead and, without even looking at her foe, she chucked the cylinder. A number of spinning fireworks streaked from the container to orbit Vulcan's head as they sprayed sparks to blind him.

“Use one of those...brains to...pay attention to what the villain's...doing. Got it, kiddo?” Pat coughed out as Gimmick used all her adrenaline-fueled strength to move him away from the battle, her heart pounding and face stricken. “Direct attack isn't always...the only one...” He tried to smile and instead flinched in pain.

“Just...just stay here, and don't move and...and...” Gimmick panicked as she saw the burn holes in his back, but she also remained calm as she dug out a small antibacterial spray salve she used on the wounds. “You can't go doing that! Don't you understand? You can't go being so...heroic! Not now, not anymore, not now that you're back, don't you understand?” She jammed the spray in his hand and turned back to the fight, leaving Pat dazed by the pain and her reaction.

Gimmick spun around in time to see Yolanda's latest flurry of leaping kicks fail to slow the armored maniac, and she was bodily hurled from him by a vicious backhand. With the Soldiers cleared from his path, Vulcan continued on his path of destruction through the town, and beyond.

“We need back-up,” Gimmick muttered as she headed out for La Garra, and checked on her friend, as Skyman slowly pulled himself out of a jagged pile of wood and plaster rubble with a groan.

“You can say that again, kid,” Syl said as he limped over to his old friend, and watched the women approach. “With luck, she's on her way though,” he added with a determined smile.

A few miles to the west
Flames raged around Brenda Martin as she shook off the wave of despair that crippled her. The heat reddened her skin as she looked around desperately at the walls of fire, and the crumpled heap that was her rescue helicopter; now just a coffin for her crew, and it filled her heart with a calm anger. Captain Devante might be a victim in all this, or not, but she was going to find a way to bring him in. Fires be damned.

She gingerly slipped into the hull of the craft, past the sharpened shreds of metal, and dug out jugs of water and protective clothing and blankets. As the flames closed in, licking out for her hungry and mean, she doused the material in the water she could find. She stared out into the distance, picking out as clear a path as she could, the brilliant flares of fire and thick black smoke stinging her eyes; it blinded her with light and darkness, the smothering inferno coating her lungs and making her cough harder and harder, but she refused to acknowledge it. The fires made her blankets seem red as she pulled them tight around her like a cloak, and buried her body under the wet layers. Her eyes never wavered, memorized the path, and then worked her way back out of the broken metal tomb. She took a deep breath, covered her face, and then dashed into the blaze.

The heat bombarded her despite the makeshift protection, but she pressed onward. Flames lapped at her poor man's shield, drying it, trying to make it catch alight, as she pressed onward. She coughed up ash, and she blinked out sludge and sweat from her eyes, as she pressed onward. The uneven ground made her stumble and trip, as she pressed onward until a cool slip of air made it to her overheated body. Then she let herself fall to the ground and roll slowly to the side. Then she pulled herself out of her smoldering heap of clothes and rubbed her eyes hard.

The flashes of light still blinded her as tears rolled down her cheeks, and in those flashes was a face: a woman's face, strong and confident, calm and determined. A reflection of her own determination, but so different; it looked so different from her, and it encouraged her onward. Finally the cool air and dark night returned to her eyesight as the face faded from view. She saw vehicles headed her way and she pursed her chapped lips tightly. She headed out to meet them, ready to take any one of the vehicles that presented her the opportunity, and then, she was going after the murderous Devante.

Gotham City
There it stood, in a quiet corner of Greenway Park, in this tucked away section of the city. Wing Travis could hear the traffic behind him on Dozier Boulevard, but otherwise, things were still. The park was quiet, a small splash of green against the rust-red and ashen-gray backdrop of this forgotten middle-class neighborhood. The decay and corruption that ran rampant over the rest of Gotham seemed driven from this small area, at least from what reports and statistics he and his people had uncovered. Sixty years, and a few more now, had passed since he was here, and this statue had gone up in memory of that time, and the crime rate had dwindled while the rest of Gotham became a synonym for 'cesspool of crime'.

“That's who I was?” Sally Bonner asked timidly, as she tugged on the collar of her duster, and shivered in the cool evening air. She stared at the bronze memorial, worn but well-tended. No weeds crowded its base, no ivy or moss threatened the gallant figure of the Crimson Avenger as he peered out from under the brim of his hat as if to stave off the evil that would threaten this section of the city. “That's who was in me? How I looked?”

“That's the Crimson Avenger,” Maya answered as the exotic woman rested a gentle hand on Sally's shoulder. “That's who you were, who you carried, and as I understand it, you made a dashing feminine example.”

“Thanks,” Sally answered with a blush as the two women looked at Wing, and watched him kneel at the base. “So what's with the memorial?”

Wing's fingers traced the words on the plaque, reading each one as if it were a holy text.



“When was this guy in Gotham City? I never heard of that,” Sally asked as she watched Wing study the statue and the letters so carefully. “Do they even have statues of the Bats?”

“I don't know. I don't think so,” Maya answered as she glanced around the park now, dark almond eyes taking in what details there were to be seen. “I think Green Lantern perhaps, somewhere in here.”

“I thought he was over on Coast City,” Sally countered as she rubbed her gloved hands, twinges of pain acting up.

“Wrong Lantern.” Wing finally spoke as he stood up and looked at the women. “She means the original one, the one with the Justice Society. From World War II.”

“So any clues, Travis?” Maya asked as she saw the thoughtful gaze on her employer's face.

“Not really. Not even a feeling.” Wing looked frustrated. He turned to Sally now and saw how she tugged on her hands. “Hurting again?”

“Yeah, a little. I'll take a pill when I'm back at the base, maybe a little rest,” she answered. She traced her fingers along the edge of the metallic cloak now. “This was him, huh?”

“The Line of Wing has immaculate records of all the Crimson Avenger's cases until he was lost in time with the other Soldiers,” Travis explained as he stepped up behind Sally and put his hands on her shoulders. “There is not a single battle in Lee's war on crime that we do not have recorded in our archives.”

“Except what he did here, to earn this statue,” Maya filled in as she kept a respectful distance from the two. “Lee refused to talk about it to anyone, and Wing How had...”

“My great-grandfather had left the Avenger's, and Lee's, side by this time,” Travis said bitterly. “Claudia Barker was also gone from her post as Lee's secretary, and from his life as his lover, at this period. The only person we know who knows what happened here is him.” He pointed to the enigmatic statue and sighed. “We will canvas the neighborhoods in the area, and see if there are any who might know as well, but after all this time...our odds are not good.”

“Good or not, it will be good practice for you, Sally,” Maya said as she stepped up to the young woman's other side. “If you're still certain you want to do this?”

Sally nodded and the stared up into the statue's face. “Most of my life, I've been used by some guy or another. Friend, support, bank, easy lay...spirit of vengeance.” She shrugged with a chuckle. “This is something I want to do, to actually get out there and do. Not be a tool.”

“Then let's get going, there is a lot of ground to cover,” Travis said and led the two women onto Dozier Boulevard and onto the search of the Crimson Avenger's lost case.

A mile outside White Sands Missile Range
Trucks squealed to a stop along the lonely desert road, dozens of soldiers leaping out to establish a defensive position against the impending intruder. They moved with speed and precision, a pile of sandbags three high barricading the pavement as heavy machine guns were mounted onto tripods and other infantry stretched prone with their automatic weapons. Commanders urged their troops into position as they maintained radio contact with the monitors back at the central base, reports streaming back steadily of the encroaching fiery brute called Vulcan.

“Who's the ranking officer?” Skyman called from high above as he left his crimson contrail in his wake. His hands were outstretched and he floated down slowly in his approach.

“Captain Burnley, and you're the Star-Spangled Kid?” responded a younger man only a few years older than Sylvester. He motioned to the soldiers around him to continue their focus on the road and leave the incoming hero to land in peace.

“Skyman now, but it's nice to know I'm not a total stranger anymore,” Syl replied with an easy smile and put his hand out to shake the captain's. “Several of my fellow So--” He glanced at the real soldiers nervously bracing for the invasion ahead, the low burning glow now visible on the horizon. “Law's Legionnaires are on their way to help, and I'm here to coordinate if you'll have us.”

Burnley gave an approving look at the black-haired, earnest young man and nodded. “Thanks for the help, Skyman. From what I've been told, my people are outclassed. From what I've heard, your people are too. What can you tell me?”

Skyman was about to answer when he saw a fiery trail streak down toward them from a different direction. He grinned wider now and said, “The odds have gotten better.” He nodded toward the woman who approached, and then introduced Capt. Burnley to her when she alighted. “Capt. Burnley, this is Firebrand. Nice to see you make it. Not used to seeing you with a sword. Sir Justin's leg still on the bum?”

“Yeah, he insisted I bring this along. I didn't understand it, but what could I do?” Danette Reilly-Arthur replied as she shook Burnley's hand. “Where's the others?”

“They're going to come up behind Vulcan when he reaches the next battle point,” Skyman explained to both her and Burnley. “Hoping to catch him in a flank. The problem is, you and I are the heavy hitters, and I don't know how much your powers are going to hurt him. He's all heat and fire as well. Good news, at least you can blunt the damage he can do.”

“We'll let you fellas do what you do best, Skyman, Firebrand,” Burnley said. “But I can't give your team a lot of room to operate. That Vulcan lunatic can cause more damage than you can imagine if he reaches the facility. If your team goes down, for a moment, I'm opening up. Everything I've got. Understood?”

Firebrand and Skyman gave each other knowing looks and Syl answered. “Of course, Captain. We appreciate the opportunity, actually. If you know us, you've heard the rumors, and they're true. We've been through Dubya-Dubya Two. We're used to soldiers having to do what they need to. Don't hold back.”

“We're used to it, but what about La Garra and Gimmick?” Firebrand asked as she gripped Syl's forearm. “You can't just throw them in the middle of a war zone, think about this!”

Skyman glanced back as Vulcan started to come into clearer view now. “We'll warn 'em, do what we can, but he's not going to give any of us much choice.” The two of them looked back to the captain, and with knowing nods among the three of them, the two heroes lit up and flew down the road to confront the enemy.

“Must reach base! Have to get back!” Vulcan cried out as he saw the two glowing figures approach him. “And as for heroes, there are none! You're liars and corruptors, and I'm not going to let you hurt people anymore!” Beams of light issued from his eyes, lanced at Skyman, whose shield absorbed the attack as the hero pulled up short to act as a shield. Vulcan continued to unleash his withering assault as he paced closer and closer, Syl's force field giving off greater and greater sparks as it blocked the attack.

“Does this guy even make sense?” Firebrand asked as she lobbed a number of palm-sized fireballs at him, each splashing against the burnished gold and red armor impotently. “What is he talking about?”

A car came barreling up from behind Vulcan and Stripe leaped from the driver's side at the last moment. He bounced like a heavy sack when he hit the road, as the vehicle wrapped up in a cocoon of fiberglass and metal around Vulcan, but did nothing else to the villain; instead, Vulcan cleaved and melted through the debris and continued to focus on Skyman.

“Not a clue what he's up to, he just keeps saying the same things like a broken record,” Pat called out with a wave at his teammate. “Nice to see you could make the party. He talks about having to get to the missile range, and having to make sure the heroes go away.”

Skyman hurtled himself into Vulcan with all the speed he could muster, and then let the suit hum and emitted a powerful stream of cosmic energy from his hands into Vulcan's chest, his suit alarms shrieking as the power levels ramped up. “C'mon, c'mon, go down!” he growled as the energy flowed through his arms and into his foe, while Vulcan stared back unflinching and drove his fiery double-bladed ax into Skyman's stomach.

“I will not fall! I was supposed to be a hero, and I crashed and burned and more people will crash and burn because of what I tried to do!” Vulcan screamed as the heat rolled off of him in all directions, pavement liquefying, paving tar beneath it catching on fire slowly. “How many people have crashed and burned because of what you've driven them to do?”

Firebrand dropped down behind Vulcan now and threw her arms out wide. She closed her eyes and focused intently, drawing the heat into her, dousing the flickering tongues of fire, and cooling a path to Vulcan.

“Wait, wait, just a minute,” Gimmick said as she grabbed one of Yolanda's wrists. The Hispanic woman glanced at her young friend and watched as Gimmick painted her nails, quickly but thoroughly.

“Chica, this is a bad time for manicure,” La Garra grumbled, tugging at her limb.

“No, no, this is a derivative of the nano-wash I use in my hair, Kitty-cat,” Gimmick replied as she ran alongside the quicker woman, struggling to keep up with La Garra's long, lean, muscular legs. “Just let me...last nail...got it... now to run the power glove...” she muttered as she swiped the painted fingers with her gloved hand.

La Garra felt static electricity caress her hand and she shook it. “What?”

“You'll see, now go kick some ass, babe,” Gimmick answered with a wink as she dropped the small vial back into a pouch.

La Garra saw the way Pat directed her toward the cool path opened up by Firebrand and narrowed her eyes. She leaped forward with a vicious hiss, and raked the claws over Vulcan's back.

“Ahh! What the hell?” Vulcan yelped as he spun to face La Garra. Skyman could see the one of ragged slices down his back.

“A little ionization to harden up her nails, help her through that damned armor,” Gimmick said as she stopped next to Pat, and fumbled for more gadgets in her pouches.

“Nice work, but next time, with less swearing,” Pat admonished with a grin and a slap to Gimmick's back. “Got anything else in there?”

“Still trying to find a suppressant, but he's just so damned charged up,” she griped as she dumped a couple of components into Pat's large hands. “Darned...darned charged up,” she corrected herself as she stuck her tongue out at him. “Nothing I've got can counter that heat. I think, given time, he can get hotter than Firebrand, even. That solar charging of his.”

“Maybe you're looking at the wrong thing then,” Pat suggested.

“Maybe I'm...” She looked at Pat quizzically, and he used one hand to turn her head at the villain and then twisted the dials on her goggles. “Right. Sure. Solar energy charging him through the sail.” She gave a big grin, and dumped what was in her hand to seek out other components now. “If only we can get enough time, I think...I think...”

La Garra crashed into a heap close to the two gadgeteers, her arm smoking, barely moving. “Dios en el cielo que lastima,” she muttered as she clutched her shoulder.

“Okay, you stay out of the way, because when the rest of us drop, those soldiers are going to let 'er rip,” Stripe said as he passed the various tools he held for Gimmick back to her. “You figure it out, there's a sword down there that needs some swinging.” He dashed down to the fight as Skyman crashed to the ground, his power suit smoldering now, sparks dropping from various rents.

“Pat!” Gimmick shouted out as her hands continued to shove together different cylinders and chips. She knew he had to, and she ducked behind a boulder to continue. In order to keep her multi-tasked mind at work on the secret weapon Stripe would need, she had to keep from seeing him in certain danger. She sniffed and fought back tears and struggled with the materials, only barely catching sight of another car as it streaked past and raced for the battle.

Dos Rios, Texas
“Hey there, Danny, how's it goin', you ol' sunofagun?” Greg Saunders asked into the cell phone as he got into the car.

“Doing well, Greg, and yourself?” Daniel Leong replied.

“Not too shabby, I gotta admit,” Greg said as he started up the truck and prepared to pull out of the driveway. “What's up? Courtesy call, or there some business to discuss?”

“Business, Greg,” Daniel answered as he toyed with a pencil in his office back in New York City. “About Wing.”

“Ah. Got it. I was jest headed out fer the airport, got a flight I gotta grab,” Greg said as he idled in the pickup. He was just getting a handle on the cell phone, and modern cars. He wasn't quite keen yet on doing both.

“Maybe I should wait for a better time then?”

“Up to you, pal,” Greg said. “You know what ya got to tell me. Is this a good time?”

“Where are you headed? Perhaps I can meet you there?”

“Goin' up to Star City, and I think it's best I deal with things there alone,” Greg said. “This is gonna take a certain...touch. I got a loco horse to wrangle, and don't wanna spook 'im more than he is already.”

“I see. I'm going to gather up what I have here and head down to Dos Rios, if you don't mind some company when you get back? I have a lot of research, and a lot of things that need explaining that I think you've been settled in long enough to hear.”

“Sounds good ta me, Stuff,” Greg said. “C'mon down. 'Sides, I could use yer expertise with the ol' eatery.” He chuckled at that.

“Sounds good, Greg. Maybe I'll see if my head chef is interested in coming down too, then. See you soon.” He hung up his phone and looked at the papers spread out on his desk. He looked over genealogy for the Wing family, and bundled the papers up; then he looked over what the agents for the Line of Wing had uncovered about Neh Bu Lah, and slipped those into another folder; then he dropped them into his briefcase and stared once more at the phone. He chewed his lip as he stared at the tattered old piece of paper, the phone number taunting him. Do I call her? Now? After all this time? Or wait? Or...or...? He sighed heavily, and plucked the handset off his phone and stared at the buttons. Is it now or never, Claudia?

Somewhere secret, somewhere hidden
Five men sat around the sleek, glassy conference table, images of the battle in New Mexico dancing over the crystal. The Soldiers struggling to battle Vulcan, stop him from his march as the five men stared intently.

One sipped from a goblet of mineral water to wet his throat and then looked at the others. “Are we sure he can reach ground zero?”

“These Soldiers are doing an admirable job of slowing Vulcan down,” another spoke as he chewed on the end of a cigar. “Are we sure they can't stop him before he can reach the target?”

“Pull that thing out of your mouth,” grumbled the man with the water. “Filthy habit.”

“It's not lit. That's as far as I'll go in acceding to ridiculous, PC demands, waterboy,” the second man snarled in return, jabbing the cigar in his direction.

“Task!” interjected a third man who sipped at a thick glass filled with Scotch. “We have this battle to monitor. Among other agenda items. Well, Number One? Do you have an answer for the two gentlemen?”

The man at the head of the table leaned back, steepled his fingers and stared down at the four business partners. “It doesn't matter if Vulcan reaches ground zero or not. Knowing how...persistent these super-heroes can be, I arranged for a man on the inside to set off charges, while internal security is at its weakest.”

“Well that's encouraging, on a number of levels,” said the fourth man, who had so far remained quiet. He scribbled idly on a pad of paper, then erased the doodle and stared down toward Number One. “Is there an extraction plan for the man?”

“Clean-up, actually,” Number One casually replied. “No reason to pay off a loose end with so many guns and super-powers flying about to...keep him quiet.”

“I want to know why we're worried about these old fogeys so much?” asked the man with the water. “There are far more dangerous threats out there, not even counting the biggest guns.” He pointed upward, indicating the sky and the group who laired up above the clouds.

“I have my reasons,” Number One snapped back. “Besides, we might as well start somewhere, and the Seven Soldiers are as good as any place. And their numbers grow, and they inspire. They're inspiring people these days like no other team has done of late.” He leaned forward on the table, staring down hard at the man with a glass of water. “They never were very good at accounting.”

“Fine, fine. You want to whack the Soldiers, that's who we whack first,” the man with the cigar said, still jabbing with the stogey for emphasis. “Does that mean you got someone ready to pick up the contract for phase two?”

“I have received some offers, and I was thinking of this choice,” Number one answered as he tapped a green square on the glass table with his thumb. He took the window that appeared and enlarged it with his fingers before “throwing” it out into the middle of the display.

“A woman?” The cigar-holder scoffed and leaned away, but the scribbler chuckled.

“Not just a woman. Plastique. She's good. Very good. She'll mess up Infinity, Inc. Skyman or no Skyman.”

“Just what I was thinking. Plus, her bid was lowest, since she's eager to get her name back out in front of other contractors.” Number One tapped another button to reveal the dollar amount she asked for.

“I approve,” said the fourth man, who spoke so little, but watched everything so closely.

“I agree,” the water-drinker added. Even the man with the cigar finally nodded in approval.

“Excellent. We'll meet up again in a week, to see how well the Black Star Phase went,” Number One announced. “In the meantime, I'll meet with Plastique and give her her marching orders. Good day, gentlemen.” With that, he hit another control, and the table went dark, and the figures stood and left one by one, none of them wishing to look at any of their partners.

Number One remained behind in his seat, and reached out for a cup of coffee. He sipped at the liquid and then struck a tab to call up the files on Skyman. “Should have stayed lost in time, Uncle. Look at the money I've got to spend now.”

White Sands Missile Range
“Bypass the left pectoral transfer box,” Syl muttered in desperation as his fingers tugged at wires and stripped away the charred insulation in order twist the metal fibers up in different ways. “Yank out the the right trunk leads,” he continued as he tugged away a cracked module and tossed it aside, “then reconnect at the upper hypochondrial line.” He felt the power starting to hum through his battered suit again and grinned. “And now, wonder why my head hasn't been lopped off yet.” He lifted shakily into the air and twisted about to see Firebrand's hands flaring brilliantly as Stripe pulled the sword from the sheath on her back.

“Don't need to see you to kill you!” Vulcan roared as he released a blast of heat in all directions, but Firebrand stood firm and continued to absorb it.

“Dann, you're glowing,” Stripe pointed out to her as he hefted Sir Justin's blade in his hands. “You doing okay?”

“He's reaching my upper limits, I think,” Danette gasped as she staggered back a step now, ducking the swinging of Vulcan's ax. “He burns hotter than I can, and it's starting to get to me.”

Stripe stepped between Vulcan and Firebrand, broad shoulders bringing the sword up to block the ax with a grunt. “No hurting the lady,” Pat declared as he put all his strength into pushing the ax back, both hands on the sword for best leverage.

“Very well, I'll hurt you first!” Vulcan declared as he twisted the ax and drove the haft into Pat's stomach. The older man fell back from the blow and desperately maneuvered the blade to block Vulcan's following blows. The enchanted sword withstood the powerful assault, but each strike rattled Pat's muscular but still oh so human arms, wincing each time.

“Gotcha!” Skyman cried out as he blasted Vulcan with beams of energy from his suit, battering the villain back from his long-time partner.

“Die!” Vulcan roared back in fury, as a fan of blue-white flames leaped out at Skyman. They bombarded the young man, slowly eating through his defensive shields until the suit again shorted out and he crashed to the ground.

“Enough of this! Die all of you! I must not be stopped!” Vulcan took a step forward as Firebrand flew into his back and used all of her momentum and strength to push him up off the ground.

“Don't let my team-mates fool you, pal,” Dann said as she shouldered into the armored villain. “I'm a lady, but no wallflower!”

“You die too then! You're a fire, but I'm powered by the nuclear reactions of the sun! Limitless power!” Vulcan roared and battered between her shoulders with the haft of his weapon as they soared above the ground. She grunted and then felt him increasing in heat. With a last surge of energy, she blasted him above her with jets of flame before his assault knocked her senseless and she crashed back to the ground.

Vulcan plummeted back to the ground after her, displacing rock and earth into a plume around him, but unlike Firebrand and Skyman, Vulcan quickly stood back up, fiery ax clutched in both hands, and screams of pain and anger echoing over the night desert landscape. He watched a new car come to a screeching halt, and the two noisy people who leaped from it as he stepped up to Firebrand, hefting the ax over his head.

“Dad, stop it!” Miguel Devante cried out as he ran toward his armored father, waving his hands in a desperate bid to stop the heroine's execution. “C'mon, please! What are you doing? This ain't you!”

Brenda Martin dashed from the driver's side of the car and looked around at the tableau illuminated by the headlights. Four costumed heroes lay scattered about in various states of injury, helpless before the same armored maniac that killed her rescue crew. She'd come across the teen-aged Miguel bicycling so hard from Las Cruces, headed this way, telling her that his father had come through his house, and he had to save the old man from whatever had happened. She saw the red-headed, thick-bodied man in a red and white striped shirt stagger to his feet and try to pull a beautiful sword up into a protective stance, wounds leaving him disoriented, woozy. The sword glittered in multitude of light sources; the car, the fires, the radiant heat from Vulcan, all glittered off the sword that drew Brenda's gaze. She staggered slowly toward it as she listened to the teen-ager confront Vulcan.

“Dad, put the ax down!” Miguel pleaded as he ran up to Vulcan, and stood over the unconscious Firebrand.

“Heroes...must keep you safe from these so-called heroes, Mikey,” Vulcan said. “Step aside...get out of your father's way!”

“Give me that!” Mike insisted as he jumped up and grabbed the ax without thinking. Stripe, Vulcan and Miguel Devante all stared in shock as the young man felt no pain from the fiery weapon, and it slipped into Miguel's grasp is if born to it. The teen stepped back and stared at the weapon as the flames flickered away, leaving only the radiant light to form the weapon. “Qué?”

“What did you do?” Vulcan asked, his voice dropped to a whisper for the first time in his rampage. As they all stared at the bizarre happening, only Pat noticed at the last moment that Brenda Martin had hesitantly reached her fingers out, to wrap around the sword.

“Hey there, young...lady...” Pat started to caution Brenda, but shut up when he felt the weapon leave his hand and move into hers. In a golden glow, Brenda's wounds vanished, her ragged rescue gear and garb vanished to be replaced by silver mail and golden plate. “Who are you?”

“Bradamante,” she said in a strong voice. “Known by other names in history, but here and now, I will be called Bradamante, and I will stop this evil!” she declared and marched against Vulcan.

“Man, things are nothing but weird around you guys, I gotta say,” Gimmick called out as she jogged up to Pat. “I got it though. I got it, we just gotta cool him off a bit more, and I think I've...nah, I know I've got it!” She grinned and slapped Pat on the back and cringed as he cried out in pain. “Sorry! Oohhh...so sorry!”

“Don't worry. You just get ready to do whatever.” He gave her the okay sign with his thumb and forefinger, then dashed in to rouse Firebrand.

Miguel hefted the ax to push his father back from the other heroes. “Hmm...nah, let's try this, always was a sword guy in Craft of Warworld after all.” He frowned and the ax shifted to become a long sword, his gleaming blade of light on one side, as Bradamante battered Vulcan from the other with Sir Justin's sword. “C'mon, Dad, snap out of it!”

“I fear, young one, that until he is freed from the madness of this armor, he can not respond!” the warrior woman said, her next strike blocked by a fiery shield Vulcan generated. He crafted a mace of flame in the other hand and connected with Miguel, but there was no effect, which again rattled the armored villain.

“Keep it up...push him back,” Firebrand said as she got up to her knees and trailed after the pair, again drawing at his heat, as her body shook under the strain. “Keep...keep him using his power...”

Pat held Firebrand steady on her feet now as she drew in waves of heat, his own hands turning red as he did. “Gimmick, I think this is as cool as you get!” he finally called out to the teen girl.

Gimmick grinned as she pulled the trigger on what looked like a small toy launcher, a disc whirling out and screaming a high-pitched whine as he soared across the battlefield and crashed into Vulcan's chest. Slowly, the armor began to react poorly, cracking into long strands of gray polymer, breaking down, shattering as it did. The fiery shield dissipated, followed quickly by the mace as Julian Devante appeared, scarred and burned, hairless, crying out in pain as the cold night air struck his heated body. Gimmick's grin vanished as she heard the howling, and watched the once-powerful giant crash to the ground.

“What did you do to him?” Miguel dropped to his knees as he reached out for his father's head, fingers gingerly touching the ruined skin and he sobbed. “What did you do?”

“Canceled out the Van der Waals forces holding the basic solar sail material in place...that was...powering...” She shut up as she hugged Pat's arm and stared nervously. “He didn't really want to know, did he?”

Pat tousled her hair and let her hold on to him, as he bit into his lip to hold back his own pain where she gripped him. She needed the reassurances. Slowly, the other Soldiers gathered, as Capt. Burnley moved his troops in, the medics at the forefront.

“Nice moves with the sword, tough girl,” La Garra said with a grin as she limped up to Bradamante. “Where did you come from?”

Firebrand still leaned into Pat's chest, where he had held her during the end of the battle, enjoying the feel of him without really thinking about it. She glanced over at the warrior woman and smiled. “Justin said the sword needed to come out with me. I think I see why now.”

Slowly, the armor faded away, and left Brenda looking pale and tired with the sword in her hands, dazed by events, nearly as shocked as Miguel, who watched his father being tended to.

“Okay, there's a lot of questions that need a lot of answers,” Skyman spoke up. “The captain's agreed to bring us back to the facility's infirmary, give us all a once over, and then I think we can hit the hay and grab some grub after. And we can talk this all out.” The rag-tag group nodded, as medics approached them now, and Syl remained close to Pat as the others dispersed, to find transport back to the base.

“We can't escape it, can we?” Syl asked Pat as he helped his old friend to an ambulance.

“Oh? What can't we escape, buddy?”

Sylvester pointed out the other five people as they trailed off, and said, “It took seven of us to bring down the bad guy.”