Seven Soldiers of Victory #14

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#14: A Star Walks Among Us!
Written by Don Walsh
Cover by James Stubbs
Edited by James Stubbs[/center]





Raw force coruscated from Plastique's hands, as she directed the powerful blasts into the stark-white sands of the missile base. She'd been at this for a few minutes now, carving at the ground with intensity. She knew she had limited time to reach the target depth before the facility responded, and with a furrowed brow, she renewed her efforts; more power pulsed from her hands as dirt and rock showered up into the sky.

“There's it is,” she muttered to herself and shrugged some of her copper-red hair out of her face. She stared at the block of black metal she unearthed. “Just a little more...”

“Hey there, why don't you just back away nice and slow?” Firebrand called out from above as she streaked into the area, a blaze of flickering orange-red light against the black night. She threw a pair of fireballs that burst against the ground on either side of the terrorist-for-hire as warning shots, and swooped around the edge of the crater. “No need to get hurt.”

Dammit, if one of them is here, the others have to be closing in, Plastique realized as she brought her hands together, narrowed her eyes, and began to generate a pulsing ball of power. She held it a second longer than usual, then released it into the metal she'd bared. She couldn't see the results as seconds after, a curtain of searing flame erupted in front of her and forced her back.

“Get away from me, you bitch! Don't make me kill you, you don't want to die a nobody! Get some time under your belt first!” Plastique snapped back as she unleashed her power upward.

“Time under my belt?” Firebrand laughed as she dipped under the blast and tried to encircle Plastique with the fires. “Don't try to think, honey, it's just going to hurt your brain.”

Plastique blasted the ground under a part of the fiery curtain and opened up a narrow space she could leap through, then ran from the crater as fast as she could. The old man better have my transport like he promised. If this bimbo is here, the others can't be far behind.

“No more smart aleck remarks?” Firebrand said as she swooped in and let loose with a dull red jet of flame that scorched Plastique's lower leg.

“God damn it!” the terrorist cried in pain as she clutched her leg and stumbled to the ground. The leg of her suit had burned away and a nasty red mark started to appear on her calf, as Plastique rolled over to her back and lobbed a large ball of energy that exploded over a larger radius.

Firebrand saw the attack and pivoted to the side; her fiery aura erupted into a brilliant blue-white, the waves of heat buffeting against the concussive force of the explosion to limit its effects.

“You're not some newbie, are you?” Plastique grumbled as she picked herself back up and swept the ground under Firebrand, sending a geyser of rock and sand up into the heroine to douse some of the fire. All the while, she backpedaled, continuing her retreat and waiting for the comforting beep of her transponder when it picked up her incoming escape route.

“Been doing this since the Big War, honey,” Firebrand answered with a smile as she backed off from the curtain of sand. “Firebrand's the name, Soldiering's the game.” As she said that, Plastique could see the woman's allies as the crested a nearby rise, a number of infantry following in their wake. “Don't make me hurt you worse than a first-degree burn, please.”

It was then that the ground was rocked by a massive explosion. A pillar of white light erupted from off in the distance, from where Plastique had been working, and everyone stopped to stare. Sound and fury was followed quickly by a cry of relief as several of Firebrand's teammates turned to answer the mysterious eruption.

“Holy...” Plastique mumbled as she continued to slowly back away. “What the hell did the old guy have me do?” Then she felt the tingle of her datapad and smiled. She glanced over and saw the slim, rounded skyship zoom in over the dunes. “Looks like my ride's here, and you're busy with other things, 'honey', so we'll chat later!”

Firebrand turned back to Plastique and cursed herself for not paying attention. She started to chase after her, and watched as the woman in the purple catsuit leaped onto the open side of the strange sleek ship. “We'll meet up again, and then you can tell me what you use to keep the gray out of your hair!” Plastique saucily blew her a kiss as the vessel lifted up and started for the horizon.

Firebrand continued the pursuit, but as she gained elevation, she could see her companions as they surrounded the familiar black figure at the source of the explosion. She was torn, but dropped back down to help her friends as she watched their first few attempts fail to slow him down.

“Whoa, who's this guy? Where'd he come from?” Gimmick asked as she saw the black-suited man step away from the metal coffin he'd been encased in moments earlier. He glittered in the starlight, and his eyes and mouth emitted a soft golden glow like sunlight.

“I recognize this guy, Sky,” Pat Dugan said as he stopped at the rim of the crater and watched the man stagger forward, struggling to get his bearings. “Um...damn, what was his name?”

“Forty-two, right? That's when we met him?” Skyman said as he grumbled about the run it took to get him here. “God, I wish the flight emitters were on-line!”

“Getting soft from the super-powers, Unc?” Gimmick teased him with an elbow to the ribs.

“Black Star,” La Garra answered the first question as she crouched, ready to pounce. “The Army stored him here after your fight with him. I was wondering why Vulcan was so loco about getting here.”

Black Star looked up, golden eyes staring at his old foes. The heroes were illuminated by optical searchlights as the strange man snarled. “Stripe! I don't know the other people, but you I remember, Stripe! You and your damned Legionnaires! Burn!” He opened his mouth wider and unleashed a gout of flame for the old Soldier.

“I got the save on this one!” Miguel Devante cried out as he jumped forward and let the fire burn into him. He laughed as the human-generated solar flare crashed into his chest, and seared away his shirt. “Let's see if I can play with other people's fires too.” He put his hands up and wrapped the last of the fiery discharge into a spear that he then threw back at Black Star.

“A useful gift, young sirrah,” Bradamante stated as she watched from the young man's side. Her golden breastplate gleamed in the firelight, and she clutched the sword tight in her hand, ready for battle.

“Thanks. Can't wait to get a better handle on it.” Miguel grinned as the spear crashed into Black Star.

“Not a bad chest, either,” Gimmick murmured softly as she adjusted her goggles to get a clearer look.

“Too young for me, he's all yours.” La Garra grinned before she leaped away from the side of her friend and headed for Black Star, who had been staggered by the returned solar attack. “As for you, walking sun or not, I'm cutting you down to size!”

Black Star heard none of it though. The modified blast of his own power had torn into him, and he dropped to a knee. He coughed, flecks of molten sunlight spattering on the sand beneath him as if like drops of blood. He glowed brighter, trembled hard, and the glittering black costume started to crack. He looked up and the brilliant flare from his eyes caught La Garra full on and she screeched in pain as her eyes seemed to burn.

“It burns!” Black Star screamed now as he hugged himself. He forced himself back to his feet as Firebrand swooped down, pulled her flaming aura from her hands and grabbed Yolanda Montez to pull her to safety. “What did you do to me?”

Everyone watched as his chest swelled, and he opened his mouth wide to scream in pain as flares of solar energy erupted from him. “What's...happened?” He roared and intense heat surged from his hands to tear at the edge of the crater, engulfing it and obliterating it into chunks of molten glass.




Gateway City
The fire swept over the rest of the ranch house with a vengeful hunger. The sounds and the flames stirred the neighborhood, and somewhere else in the city, the 911 switchboard lit up with cries for the fire department. They responded quickly to the alarm, and fire engines roared to life. The powerful vehicles careened through the streets, and veered around the corner of the normally quiet, outlying residential street. The flames and smoke had been spotted in a plume some distance away, and the firefighters' attentions were riveted to the destination, so few of them, if any, paid any heed to the woman that marched away from the conflagration.

A scarlet duster swirled about her body, fedora and domino mask of the same hue shadowed her features, and black gloves gripped a brace of pistols tightly. Black boots clacked on the concrete, sharp and staccato sounds to signal her determination, as she ignored the death behind her. Only one thing burned in her mind now: revenge on the men who humiliated her, killed her husband, destroyed her life. The distance at the end of her street helped to dim the chaotic battle raging behind her, and with a pivot of her heel at the corner, she put the last of that old life behind. She wasn't alone though, she knew that. There was a voice within her, it told her how she can gain justice, how she can bring down the evil that ruined her, how to do the things she'd need to do when the time came.

The screech of tires startled her from her reverie, and the woman who had been Lynn Trahn quickly glanced over her shoulder to see the source. She was tense, wary, and alert, her body more alive then she'd ever felt, and she lifted a gun up in readiness, but there was no preparation for what greeted her.

“Lee!” Wing Travis called out from the dark sedan. He popped out of the passenger's seat before the vehicle had even fully stopped, and Lynn could only stare at the garb he wore. Somewhere inside, it resonated with her awareness, and she lowered the gun. “Do you recognize me?”

“You are Wing,” she answered slowly as she stared now at the woman who stepped out from the driver's side. This woman was black, with short curly black hair and a sleek but strong build. She noticed the scarred hands, and the way her eyes looked back at Lynn with concern and a hint of jealousy. “You are here to aid the Crimson Avenger in his quest. It is good to have you at my side.” She holstered her guns at the small of her back and reached out to shake his hand, as her dark eyes stared at the other woman. “You I do not know.”

“Um...Scarlet,” Sally Bonner said in a quiet voice. For some reason, at the very last moment, using her real name seemed like a bad idea. “I'm one of the people helping Wing.”

Crimson Avenger regarded the woman coolly and then turned back to Wing. “The Russian mob has cost a woman her entire life. Forced her to do things to keep her husband alive, while blackmailing him into embezzling millions from the company he worked for. The cowardly dog behind this must be punished!”

“Where do we start then, Avenger?” Wing asked, face grim at the words she spoke.

“I know one place that our target, Kosloff, used for most of the...meetings with Lynn Tranh,” Crimson Avenger said. “We can start there, and if we're lucky, catch them still packing up. They think that the Tranhs are dead, and will be in no rush.”

“Get in the car and let's get going then.” Wing headed back into the vehicle, Crimson Avenger following and slid into the backseat, as Sally settled back into the driver's seat.

“Scarlet, you'll stay in the car when we get there,” Avenger said. “I don't want any amateurs tripping up myself and Wing. And Wing, when we get to these bastards, Kosloff is mine!”

Sally started up the car and pulled away from the curb; occasionally she glanced back in the rear view mirror at the crimson-clad woman and watched the way she twitched, the way her lips curled into a vicious sneer. There was a coldness to the way she stared hard out the window. Wing merely agreed with the Avenger's words and prepared himself for the upcoming fight. He paid little heed to his old friend's words coming from the woman's mouth. But Sally noticed the little things: Lynn's hard eyes, her tense posture, her twitches and tics. Sally had no idea what she'd looked like when she was possessed by Lee Travis, but something felt wrong, and she intended to keep a close watch on the newest Crimson Avenger, amateur or not.




Dos Rios
“Ah, Victory, I've missed you greatly,” Sir Justin said as he hobbled into the stable and saw his faithful winged steed. The horse whinnied at the sight of its long-time rider and nuzzled its head against Justin's outstretched hand. “Do not press too hard, old friend. I am quite unstable these days.” He adjusted his stance on the crutches and gazed down in frustration at the cast on his leg. “I tell you, it was not an easy journey to get here. These jets of theirs fly fast, 'tis true, but for a man impaired as I am, they are far from a comfortable conveyance.” Victory neighed and bobbed his head in seeming agreement.

“Are you actually talking to the horse?” Oliver Queen looked at the exchange from the front of the stable, a bale of hay perched on one shoulder. “And did you two need some more time alone?”

Sir Justin turned half-way around unsteadily, and laughed. “A fine jest, archer. I had heard that Gregory was intending to, as he put it...'lasso you and drag you back to the corral.' It is good to see he was successful.”

Oliver walked over and set the hay down near Victory's stall, then looked back at the Shining Knight. “Why do I get the feeling I just got zinged back?”

Justin shrugged cryptically. “Gregory extended an invitation as well, to do my rehabilitation here, since Victory was likewise present and Danette is busy.”

“Danette? Oh, you mean Firebrand? The hot redhead with the...” he held up his cupped hands before his chest, “...and the really nice...” He moved his hands in curves near his waist, “her?”

“My wife, you mean?” Justin stared at Oliver.

“Um...yeah. Her.” Oliver tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Sorry. I wasn't thinking. It's not like we got a lot of time to get to know all the various relationships and connections and stuff while slugging it out with Wyrm Indigo.”

“I accept the apology,” Justin said as he continued on to the main house. “And aye, she does indeed have fine attributes. Her mental gifts are why she is with Sylvester and Patrick in their business endeavors in California, in fact.”

Oliver nodded and stayed silent as he followed the knight to the ranch house. I don't know these people very well, but I know that tone, Ollie mused as he watched Justin hobble along, hands clutched tight on the crutches. Dinah's used it a couple of times when I've come back from interviewing showgirls in Vegas. This can't be good. Greg, you jerk, this is supposed to make things better for me.

At the house, Greg Saunders gazed out of a kitchen window and watched the two men slowly make their way. “Why do I get this feelin' that those two ain't bondin' quite the way I hoped,” he said to his guest without looking back at him.

“Because the reputation of the Green Arrow precedes him,” Daniel Leong said with a soft laugh. “Fortunately, Justin is a good man, and not given to temper. I just hope you can get our Shining Knight back into action quickly.”

“Me too,” Greg said as he turned away from the window and walked over to the stove. He picked up the battered coffee pot and poured out two cups, handing one to his former sidekick. “Got one of them therapists comin' up first thing tomorrow to get him under way. Now, aside from bringing our injured knight here, what brings you to the Saunders Ranch?”

“What? You don't believe me when I said I'd come down to check out your restaurant?” Daniel grinned as he sipped the black liquid. His face cringed and he put the cup down quick. “I have got to introduce you to French press.”

“Percolator works perfectly fine for me, Stuff,” Greg answered as he sat down. “And no, I don't buy the inspection story. What's the burr in your saddle?”

“You need to know about Wing,” Daniel said with sudden seriousness, his hands wrapping around the coffee cup for the reassuring warmth if not for the taste. “You need to understand what has brought Travis to his current state, and that of his family. The Line of Wing has grown to become a small...secret society, almost. Agents loyal to the cause scattered across the country to aid the Wings in their mission.”

Greg stared at Daniel in disbelief as he absorbed what was said. “That's plum loco. What in tarnation could have happened to make any of them behave like that? Wing How seemed like a pretty okay fella when we worked with him back in the day.”

“I have to admit, even I'm not really sure what happened, but I have my suspicions,” Daniel said as he dared another sip of his coffee. “What I can tell you is that, since the Soldiers disappeared, the Line of Wing dedicated themselves to finding Lee, and atoning for their stained honor when the Avenger was recovered. When I made my own little fortune in the restaurant business, I helped Travis' father out financially.”

“That still doesn't explain why you came down here to tell me all this,” Greg pressed. “This is a simple phone call, and we talk once a week, so tell me somethin' that makes you haulin' yourself down here make sense.”

“Fine, Greg. Remember, you asked for it. It was...1957. Yeah, '57.” Daniel took a deep breath, recollected memories and pieced it back together into words, then continued. “How came to me, and told me his beliefs, his plan. The two of us set out to start the Line. For How's plan to work, there were things we'd need to learn, and we turned to another, a woman with knowledge of rites of tracking people. There was an incident, and others, and things became...difficult.” Daniel continued to explain what had happened that day half a century earlier, and by the time Ollie and Justin had entered the house, Greg had recovered enough to keep his guests from being alarmed. As Ollie reported in that he'd baled the hay and gotten feed to the other horses, Greg merely looked at the archer with a new appreciation, one shared by his oldest friend and former sidekick, as Stuff's words of destiny weighed heavily on his mind.




White Sands
The advanced airship swooped low over the desert terrain and circled back in a wide arc, as Plastique bandaged up her wounded leg. “Are you crazy?” she asked as she limped to the cabin and figured out where the pilot had turned the vessel. “You're going back? What in Hell for? I did what you wanted, you did what you were supposed to, now let's high-tail it out of here!”

Number One glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the woman. “Oh calm down, Plastique. They're all going to be much too busy with Black Star to notice us. And I want to see them struggle, to burn and bleed.”

Plastique dropped into a seat and shook her head. “You have issues, pal. Real issues. I know you're not happy about the Soldiers cropping back up suddenly, but this is not healthy.”

“You know nothing, Bette,” Number One said as he guided the craft back to the missile range and then started to climb into the sky. “You have no clue to the lengths I've gone to for the money and power I've accumulated. The years spent selling and buying and stripping down until I'd reached this point.”

As they flew over the battle below, he flipped some switches and adjusted the lenses to show the Law's Legionnaires in their duel with Black Star.

“So tell me. Make sense of it for me. I don't mind all the 'need to know' stuff when I'm being paid, but you aren't paying me to hang around and watch nine rounds of super-hero slugfest,” Bette Sans Souci shot back irritated.

“Him,” the man said as he moved the camera to focus on Skyman. “He's the problem. Sylvester Pemberton, the Star-Spangled Kid, now Skyman, I guess. The more he tries to rebuild his family's former corporate empire, the closer he gets to me, and I won't let that happen, not at this stage.”

“Why?” Plastique bent forward and stared hard at the screens as she watched the young man throw up walls of energy to block Black Star's solar assault, confident and daring, a smile on his face despite the danger. “Hey, he looks kind of familiar.” She looked over at Number One.

“Arthur Pemberton,” Number One said. “I'm his nephew. The money I've built up was through dismantling Pemberton Industries after...liberating it from his step-sister.”

“Oh ho, this makes more sense now,” Plastique said with a laugh, as she leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up. “And, if he's trying to recollect the old business, he's likely to stumble over the old financials and dig up the truth.”

“Not when Black Star goes supernova and takes out this chunk of Arizona,” Number One chuckled.

“Whoa! That's...that's what this is about?” Plastique sat back up fast. “You...created a meta-rampage in Vulcan to free Black Star to go nova and blow up...who knows how much, just to--?” She looked at him as he chuckled at the sight of Gimmick being hurtled from a nearby explosion. “Isn't that awfully complicated? Unnecessarily so?”

“My uncle is brilliant, to engage him properly takes labyrinthine measures,” Arthur growled and looked at her.

“You're...” Plastique trailed her words off as she gazed into his eyes and saw exactly how demented her pilot, rescuer and employer was. She swallowed and looked back at the monitor, and pointed to Skyman's power suit short-circuiting on his forearm to distract Number One. “A mastermind. Your uncle'll never see it coming,” she said. He's a loon! I gotta get my money and get off this crazy thing as fast as possible.

“Don't worry, when my sensors reveal that Black Star is about to reach critical mass, I'll get us safely away,” Arthur said in a soothing voice. “There's a bottle of brandy in the back. Why don't you get it?”

Down on the ground, Stripe watched helplessly as his teammates did their best to slow down the now fifteen-foot tall Black Star. The villain's skin was suffused with a radiance, and he struggled with every word and movement he made, as he left fused glass footprints in his wake. “Hayley, get back here!” Pat Dugan cried out to his great grand-daughter in a panic as he watched her hurtle through the air and crash hard into the white sands.

“We're running out of time!” Sylvester yelled as he released a stream of energy to batter Black Star's chest and halt his advance until several circuits popped and melted in protest. “What have we got?”

“Nothing!” La Garra snarled in frustration as she dashed to his side, her suit burned away at her hands, the skin reddened. “I'm going to start looking like Wing's chica if I keep trying to slash him.”

Firebrand swooped down and stood next to Miguel, then unleashed a massive burst of flames. “Do something with it, kid!” she called out and Miguel stuck his hands into the fire. He molded it and shaped it into a flickering brick-looking wall, solid enough to Black Star to give him pause for a few moments before it was battered through.

“Help! Me!” Black Star cried out hoarsely as he staggered to one knee as a flare coruscated over his thigh. “I'm not fighting! I'm out of control! Stop me, please, Firebrand! Kid! Please! It's! Building!” He screamed in pain and a gout of flame tore up where Danette and Miguel stood, and even they could feel the heat now.

“I'm fine, Pat, just a little shaken up,” Gimmick said as she picked herself up and brushed the sand from her arms and legs.

“My sword seems able to injure the monster somewhat, but it does little good as each slice allows more of his inner furnace to escape,” Bradamante said as she stepped up next to Pat and Hayley. “Fortune smiles that my armor and shield guard me from the worst of it, but it leaves more ways to injure the rest of you for not enough hindrance of our foe.”

Hayley listened to the warrior woman and focused her goggles at one of the rents she had talked about. “Maybe not, but it's given me a plan. C'mon, we're gonna need Syl to pull this off!”




Mapleville
Nicholas Collard wasn't used to receiving out of town visitors, especially here of all places. Mapleville was a quiet enough little town, with its biggest claim to fame being the trailer park of freaks that lived at the edges. Many of those who made their living in circuses and carnivals, on reality television or rock concert 'palooza sideshows, would make their way to this trailer park outside of dull, mundane Mapleville on the “off-seasons” to rest, recover, trade show secrets and stories, and find companionship with those who shared the physical defects that separated them from normal people

Nicholas Collard's father and grandfather had been numbered among these freaks, and the motor home had been passed from them to him, and had long since lost its mobility. It was comfortable, and Nicholas had refined tastes that showed in the elegant furnishings within. But not in a long time had he had a reason to show this side of himself off to others. But when the infamous Dummy showed up at his doorstep with another man in tow, Nicholas Collard was intrigued enough to make the exception.

“So you knew my great-grandfather,” the resident said as he poured out three cups of earl grey tea to his guests.

“I did, and while he was no great shakes as a super-criminal, he had a keen sense of humor,” the grotesque man called the Dummy said in reply as he passed on his tea. “I understand that his powers have passed down the family line. That his son and grandson were humiliated by his lackluster criminal career and life spent in and out of prison, and sought out a more...'honorable' profession.”

“Yeah, you heard right, and yeah, I got his little gift too. I'm even better with it, I've trained real hard to make my powers as tough as I can,” Nicholas answered as if challenged.

“My friend was even able to turn up the fact that you have begun to rebuild the real reputation of the Needle, and indeed, prepare to exceed it, make it a name to be feared,” Dummy continued to say.

“Maybe. Why?” Nicholas glanced over at Dummy's companion, who did sip his tea and listened intently. He was a scrawny man with a pallid complexion and greasy brown hair combed straight back to accentuate the high forehead. Watery blue eyes looked back up at Nicholas.

“I want the Needle in on my project,” Dummy answered. “Needle and Doc Merlin. I want you two to take up where I and your great-grandfather left off so many, many years ago.”

Nicholas narrowed his eyes and gulped at his tea. “Doc Merlin? I don't know that name.”

“I wouldn't expect you to,” said the other man now. “I am a true pioneer into the realms of science. Not the puling, constrained, limited science of the followers of Einstein, or Watson, Curie or Newton. But of true Science! that forever presses past the comfortable bounds of the normal, rational mind.”

“Right,” Nicholas spat and looked back at Dummy. “Okay, you got a mad scientist and a rubber man. What for?”

“My enemy has returned, along with his fellows. I want them all dead to torture my enemy, and to do this, I am going to give you all the resources you need to form a new group to replace your great-grandfather's,” Dummy said as he lifted a briefcase up onto the table and slid it to Nicholas. “The Needle and Doc Merlin, at the forefront of the Five Fingers of Defeat! What say you?”

Nicholas ran his fingers softly over the leather case and weighed the options. “Resources?”

“Money to fuel your endeavors. Candidates to fill your ranks. Contacts to equip your plots,” Dummy said. “This and more if you need it.”

“Think of the possibilities that come in the formation of a powerful organization without restraint of common moral foolishness,” Doc Merlin said with a mad twitch in his grin. “Needle, the possibilities are endless for those of us with grander ambitions.”

Nicholas nodded and pulled the case closer to him. “Okay then. Sure, let's do this the right way. Make the Needle scary, make my father miserable for the miserable life he gave me.”

He flipped open the case and pulled out some folders, and the three villains began to consider who else to gather.




White Sands
Black Star slagged the outer fence of the military base, on a steady, staggered march toward the nearby town, unable to stop himself as he cried out in pain with each tremor in his body.

“Can you believe he's making me feel sorry for him?” Firebrand said as she flew after the villain. “I remember him from back then, and he was a mean, nasty piece of work, and I cheered when we were able to trick him into that absorbing cage Syl worked up, and the military went and buried him for life. And now, he's beginning to get to me.”

“I understand, Firebrand,” Bradamante said as she rode nearby on a borrowed Army motorcycle. “It's because you're a good person with a good heart. I must admit, I am uncertain about our plan, but it does seem the only feasible solution.”

“Feasible or not, I'm more uncertain about it because there's just way too many ifs in it for me,” La Garra called out as she rode her own bike next to the warrior woman.

“If Syl says it should work, then it'll work,” Firebrand replied with confidence in her voice, though she too had misgivings about the nature of the plan. “Let's get moving into position, ladies!” Her aura flourished brighter and louder and she streaked past the giant glowing man, and he lashed out at the cycles that streaked past his ankles. He tore up concrete into molten chunks, but failed to strike his targets as they roared ahead of him.

“You got all the connections in place back there?” Pat asked as he drove a borrowed humvee after the Black Star. “We don't have a lot of time left.”

“Don't worry about it, Pat,” Hayley said as she and Syl frantically worked on patches to his powersuit in the back of the jouncing vehicle. “I think we got the final connections in place, everything's going to be fine.”

“It better be,” Syl said with a grin. “This has got one shot and then I'm wearing the most expensive piece of fused silica I've ever seen.”

“It'll work, it'll work,” Hayley assured the two men, and then bit her lip as she continued the rewiring. Hear me, it'll work.

Miguel sat quietly in the passenger seat, and hugged himself not because he was cold, but from anxiety. He hoped he was up to the plan they had, but Hayley seemed certain about it, and his role, and she seemed cute enough—and smart, very smart, and he just focused on what he needed to do.

“We're in position,” Bradamante said over her radio. “Give us the sign, and we will begin our joust.”

“I'm set, you set?” Gimmick asked Skyman as she slipped her tools away.

“Let's do this,” Skyman answered as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

Pat stepped on the gas pedal and the humvee surged forward. It closed the gap with the gigantic Black Star, and even dozens of yards away now, the heat radiating from him could be felt.

Hayley adjusted her goggles and focused on Black Star's legs. “Remember, when I tap your shoulder, let 'er rip, Sky.”

Skyman stood up in the rear of the vehicle and pointed his arms forward, as Gimmick cried out, “Now!” over her radio.

Tires screeched and heavy, powerful motorbikes spun around as Bradamante and La Garra pivoted their cycles back toward the oncoming Black Star. They sped forward, engines roaring, hearts pounding.

Bradamante raced past Black Star, but struck out with her sword. The speed of her machine and the powerful resistance of the villain's flesh conspired to wrench her weapon from her, but she held her grip, the blade slicing deep and opened a vicious gash in his left calf. Cascading flame poured out after the warrior as she ignored the agony in her arm and continued forward.

La Garra's weapons were shorter, and so when her cycle was near enough, she pushed off from it, and sent it veering away from the lumbering giant. She slashed out with her claws, the special polish from Gimmick aiding in penetrating the dense matter of Black Star. Ten small tears so close together joined into a sudden burst of fire that scorched the cat-woman as her velocity carried her past the monster. She crashed into the heated, softened concrete but didn't let herself slow, just found her footing and dashed away, ignoring the searing pain that wracked her body.

Black Star fell to his knees at the double injury, and roared in pain as Firebrand flew up eye to eye with him. He looked back at her, and moaned, “Help me, please!”

Gimmick tapped Skyman's shoulder the second her super-fast brain registered the shift in energy levels and frequencies emitted by Black Star. Skyman released a surge of energy that shorted out his entire suit in a shower of sparks, and left him weakened. The surge crashed into Black Star's back, and his eyes bugged out wide as he faced Danette.

“Mikey, go!” Hayley said and Miguel leaped out and ran toward Black Star. His knees shook but he ran, passed Bradamante on her cycle and then La Garra on foot as the energy from Skyman arced and played havoc with Black Star's physiognomy. The magnetic force his body generated to contain his solar furnace shifted, and dissipated, and left only gravitic force to hold it in place now.

“I...I'm not...dense enough...” Black Star gurgled as he looked at Danette and molten tears started to roll down his cheeks as he understood. The furnace burned through is body now, exploded outward, but Miguel Devante and Danette Reilly-Arthur stood their ground, flanking him with gritted teeth and absorbing the energies.

Everyone watched as Black Star slowly shrunk, watched as his skin blackened, as his costume burned away and he shriveled and then fell face down into the liquefied street. He lay perfectly still as Firebrand streaked over, grabbed Miguel and roared up into the atmosphere. She moved so fast, determined to get them safely away to disperse the excessive heat, she barely noticed the sleek airship that had watched the struggle.

Plastique watched it all though: watched the Soldiers triumph, watched Arthur's face contort into fury, watched the brilliant points of light that were two people race to safety, and took a deep gulp of her brandy.

“Heroes! I made them greater heroes! Dammit, Sylvester should have been at the center of a catastrophe that would have blackened the Pemberton name forever!” Arthur roared in fury as the ship sped away from the scene. Bette Sans Souci, a.k.a. Plastique, finished her brandy, poured more, and remained silent in her chair, and reconsidered her contract with Number One of Strike Force.