The plane touched down in Curacao.
“Bring the specimen,” the leader said dismissively.
“We have not the numbers to—“ one of the others began.
“You forget, we have friends, even in this squalid place. By design.”
“It’s not enough—“
The leader whirled on him. “Shut, up, now.”
The other lowered his head.
The leader went on, “You have any other comments to make? About the simplicity of our motivations, perhaps?”
The other said wearily, “I have never questioned the—“
“Good. Let’s have no more whining shall we?”
The other found his spine. “I’ll stop whining when you develop sound, long term planning! Sound like a deal?”
“Could we save this debate for another time,” the third said wearily, leading their charge on a long line with power dampeners attached. “Even in this mongrel place we might attract attention.”
The other two glared at each other, then moved on in silence.
*****************
Westwoods Delaware, seventeen years ago-“Ow, stop it. Josh!”
“ ‘Awwww, stop it, Joshhhh!’ “ His brother mimicked.
They were ‘wrestling’ in the living room. Fighting, more like. And Josh was beating on Paul rather severely.
Eventually, Paul shoved him off.
“C’mon, Paulie boy, show me what you got!”
Paul surprised Josh by shoulder charging him right into the couch, smashing into it hard enough to knock it over.
“All right, bro! Finally, some guts!”
“What are you two doing in there?!?” their mother screamed. She came in and her face went white. “You knocked over the sofa! What are you, animals? I raised you better than that!”
“It isn’t broken,” Paul offered meekly.
“Then put it back up,” she hissed, bending forward. Both brothers twitched. They knew the game was up when their mother used the ‘quiet’ voice.
They grunted and strained and got the sofa back upright. She looked it over, grunted in satisfaction, and walked away.
Josh said in a low voice, “She hasn’t been the same since dad—“
“Shut up,” Paul hissed.
“I can talk about it, lil bro,” Josh scowled.
“Not if she’s listening,” Paul shot back.
Josh’s mouth shut like a steel trap; he paled, and gave a glum nod.
They sat gingerly on the sofa, hoping it wouldn’t break, and
watched TV.
“Should we watch wrestling?” Josh asked uncertainly.
“…..No.”
*****************
Electrocutioner anxiously and gingerly helped his brother’s gurney up through the base, where the glowering British girl was still standing in the corner, shoulders hunched. The other toughs stood around and smirked.
Vixen and Manhunter helped him. Frost didn’t, but this was not callousness; had she touched the gurney, she might have cooled it and Joshua down dangerously. Electrocutioner knew that all too well from many nights in bed with her.
Getting him back to the plane was awkward and time consuming, giving their enemies more and more of a lead, more and more time to prepare them.
But neither Manhunter nor Vixen pressed the issue. Theoretically, they could go home now; Joshua Buchinsky was not the source of their trouble, and they had him in custody. He was, however, involved; and if they could take out the root of the problem now, rather than later, so much the better.
It did make sense to get Joshua secured safely on board their jet.
“Do you think we’ll catch them?” Vixen murmured.
“Oh, no doubt,” Manhunter answered. “The question is how long it will take. How many more trips. How many more countries we will have to go to. I really hope we catch them in Curacao. Thank God the Government’s paying the gas bill.”
Vixen chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I feel tired. I feel old. And the worst part….”
“What?” Manhunter raised an eyebrow.
“The worst part, is I know that’s nothing compared to what Paul feels.”
They watched as the Electrocutioner fussed over his brother in the back of the plane.
“Yeah…” Manhunter sighed.
*****************
Baja California Sur, Three years and Seven months ago….“I appreciate what you’re doing,” said Josh, still wearing the
costume of the Electrocutioner. “But I take on all the scum,
regardless of race.”
“You must eliminate the vermin before dealing with the actual human criminals,” the leader of the triumvirate responded. He was an old, mostly bald man with tufts of gray hair fading to white around the ears. His accent was thickly South African, but his diction was clear. His eyes were ice blue chips of hate.
The first Electrocutioner shook his head. “No difference. Scum knows no race.”
“We will not debate reality,” the second man of the supremacist triumvirate said. He was younger, blonde, and with a much thicker Dutch accent. “You will do as we order, or you will die.”
Josh actually laughed. “You’re not serious.”
The old man gestured, and the guards brought their machine guns to bear.
The first Electrocutioner let fly with arcs of lightning that sheeted through the entire room; tricks they themselves had taught them.
The supremacists writhed and wailed under the electric onslaught. Several bullets in the guard’s guns exploded, turning them either into cremated corpses, or live screaming effigies.
Joshua turned and blasted the door open, and ran for it.
The third member of the racist triumvirate got up first. He was American, his hair jet black, smoldering hate in his brown eyes. “Find him and kill him!!”
He helped the other two up.
“We will…” the old South Afrikaner gasped. “…will have to find a new stratagem. Take him alive if possible.”
“What?!?” The Dutchman protested.
“
Alive, I said.
Not unharmed. We will…experiment on him.”
The other two grinned.
*****************
Curacao, six years ago-Some in the organization had found it odd that they would make their secondary lair amongst the squalor and filth they hated so much, especially given the first was already in Mexico, as it was.
The obvious reason was, of course, that it was the last place anyone would ever think to look for them. The next reason was they could best study the enemy’s ways up close. Last but not least, the leadership acknowledged that the majority of the world was crowded with the stench of their enemies, and trying to avoid them outright was simply not practical.
All of these reasons the membership understood, eventually. What galled them beyond all reason was being forced to walk out in the open with those they despised, pretending to accept and embrace the nightmarish lie of multiculturalism.
But such sacrifices had to be made for the Cause, and ultimate victory.
*****************
Now, the troopers stood assembled, more than forty of them, in their base.
They had been called, urgently, some having to drop their cover jobs amongst the filth of this Caribbean cesspit. The officers, the lieutenants, the common soldiers of the cause. Mostly from Eastern Europe, but there were Americans, Canadians, and of course the original white South African cadre.
“I wish we had more metahumans,” the American muttered.
“You know how much it cost just to get this one,” the Afrikaner responded.
“I know, I know. It’s just, they’re bringing a whole team!”
The Afrikaner nodded. “We are not without special weapons. Recent activities in criminal circles have gained us some unique blasters and ammunition.”
Knowing better than to make the point that they themselves operated on the wrong side of the law—it was for the
Cause, after all, and to the old man such distinctions were everything—the Dutchman said, “I think this may be personal for them. At least the lightning-wielder amongst them.”
“Of course,” the Afrikaner said. “He is obviously a relative of the original host.”
“What?” the American gasped.
The Afrikaner grinned condescendingly at him. “You need to do more research. Now hush.” He turned to address their troops, raising his voice. “I will not lie to you, my brothers. This will be the gravest challenge we have ever faced. The ‘superhero’ community has noticed us, and will be coming for us.”
There was a serration of nervous noise amongst the troops; even some of the officers looked uneasy. The old Afrikaner put out his hands placatingly. “Yes, I know. But our experiments on our own metahuman are complete; he is ready.” The other two didn’t bother wasting any time contradicting him. He went on, “And we have our new weapons, and we know they are coming. They know not our numbers or strength; we will take them down on at our leisure. We will define the conflict, not them. And always remember, we are superior. For all their powers, they are vermin, mongrel half-breeds and outright race traitors. They cannot stand against our purity.”
Now there were nods and clenched jaws of determination. The old Afrikaner smiled. “They have only pride and foolishness, we have superior numbers, intellect, and technology. The least of you, I remind you, is greater than ten of them!”
Now there were shouts and cheers, and the Dutchman began to lead the troops in a rallying song for the cause, ‘Tomorrow Belongs to Me’.
The American leaned over to the Afrikaner. “You do know that song was written by a pair of Jews as part of a musical to warn the world against us, right?”
The Afrikaner gave him a long-suffering glance. “Of course I do. And it is actually far more effective as an anthem for our cause than propaganda against us. The irony makes those Jewish in the know writhe in agony and frustration. When the enemy gives you a weapon, take it and use it against him. Now be quiet.”
The American shrugged and joined along in the singing. The Afrikaner smiled.
*****************
The Suicide Squad arrived in Curacao.
“How do we find them?” Malthus asked. “No disrespect, but you are not a detective, Manhunter.”
Manhunter smiled thinly. “I don’t need to be. All we need to do is check for any other unscheduled arrivals, charter planes like our own.”
“And if the airport doesn’t cooperate?” Electrocutioner asked. “We can’t exactly bribe them.”
“I’m sure Enchantress and Killer Frost can provide the appropriate…motivation.”
The girls chuckled at that. Somehow, Electrocutioner was more disturbed by Enchantress than by Frost, and not just because he was sleeping with the latter.
“What if they didn’t use a plane? What if they came by boat?” Cavalier frowned.
“Not likely. And if so, we’re here ahead of them, and will be ready for them.”
*****************
The supremacist base wasn’t hard to find, located in the northwest of the island, at the foot of Mount Christoffel.
It was disguised as a tourist trap, a business highlighting the history of New Zealand. They were easy to spot. They pretended to befriend the locals, and even went so far as to help with local causes, but they still creeped out those they ‘befriended’. It was obvious that this group of mostly shaven young and middle-aged white men (there were a grand total of two women amongst them) were not normal. They covered well enough for the locals not to guess what they really were; those they talked to suspected them of being some sort of cult. Apparently they spent as much time as they could in the capital city of Willemstad; but they always came back here to their base.
And indeed, the officials at the airport had confirmed their hasty arrival a little less than six hours before the Squad.
“Probability in excess of eighty percent that it’s a trap,” Malthus noted.
Manhunter and Electrocutioner exchanged a look, and then stared at him. “Of course it’s a trap. If they’re any good at all, they’ll be waiting for us, armed to the teeth.” Manhunter shook his head. “For a mad scientist mastermind, your follow-through needs some work.”
Malthus smiled thinly, but his eyes flashed. “That is probably why you caught me.”
“Strategy?” Vixen interrupted.
“No charging in,” Manhunter warned Electrocutioner.
The murderous vigilante shrugged. “Charge in where? The compound is too big.”
Resurrection Man, who had been silent for some time, spoke. “Split into teams?”
Manhunter shook his head. “That’s exactly what they want. So we’ll be easier to pick off. Let’s try to draw them out.” He turned to Electrocutioner. “Your brother, your show; so long as you can keep it under control.”
Electrocutioner smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. He unleashed a torrent of lightning, and blasted the front door off its hinges. There was no response, at all. Not even a cry of shocked protest from an ‘innocent’ cover organization’s employees.
“You don’t think they ran again, do you?” Vixen asked uncertainly.
“No,” Enchantress said, eyes staring at nothing. “They are here.”
“And now they know we’re here too,” Manhunter said. “So let’s not go in the front door we just blasted, eh?”
*****************
There was no back door that they could find; the place was built right into the base of the mountain. Certainly there was a backdoor passage somewhere. But they had no time to find it. So Manhunter quietly cut open the window closest to the rear, and they slipped in one at a time.
“Not below,” Enchantress whispered. “That is where we would expect them to go. Above.”
*****************
The triumvirate that ruled the cadre waited patiently, guards at the ready with all sorts of advanced weapons.
They had no other metas besides their pet lightning-wielder, whom they had given the rather unimaginative name of ‘White Lightning’. But they had advanced weapons, bought from the new criminal consortium that was so successful; laser rifles of various types, more conventional machine pistols with strange, advanced and unusual ammunition. And four of their guards were wearing advanced power armor that was at once clunky, yet sleek in how it fitted. Alien, almost certainly. It chafed all three members of the triumvirate to use the technology of alien scum, but like the old man had said before, it was no shame to take a weapon of the enemy and use it against them.
“They will have to come up the stairs,” the old man said.
But they didn’t.
A hole suddenly, magically appeared in the middle of the floor. Three troopers shouted in fear and horror as they fell into it.
“Magic,” the old man spat. “I can hardly believe it. “ He turned to the remaining solders. “Well, what are you waiting for?! Shoot!”
The Dutchman and the American shared a weary glance as the troopers fired into the hole. The soldiers needed no urging to risk their fellows lives; they were all committed to the cause, and the mongrel enemy had probably already killed them, anyway.
For a moment there was silence. Then the Suicide Squad came floating up through the hole, unscathed, supported on the magic of the Enchantress.
Electrocutioner smiled unpleasantly. “Let’s play….”
*****************
Electrocutioner noted with bemusement that Cavalier seemed more than happy; for the first time since he’d joined the team, he seemed truly alive.
The swordsman leapt and dodged and slashed amongst the paramilitaries, yelling in berserk joy as they fell before him.
Frost was laughing on his other side, freezing the uniformed goons left and right.
Resurrection Man was blasting everything in sight, as was Malthus, awkwardly using the laser he had inherited from his erstwhile partner. Vixen was calling upon the power of a mountain lion as she ripped into one of the power-armored goons.
The enemy blasts were blocked by Enchantress, who was waiting for them to use up their ammunition before taking a more direct role in the fight. Power packs or bullets, eventually they could no longer fire.
*****************
Electrocutioner concentrated on the mostly naked, half-mad man standing across from him, wielding the lightning in his hands in a way he himself never could.
But he was relatively new in his art, and had almost no mind of his own, not even their racist programming. His use of the power was instinctive. This was both a good and a bad thing; it made him more dangerous but less focused.
They traded bolts of lightning, arcing between them. One other problem that was already clear was that this mindless maniac was immune to the lightning, at least to some extent, as he carried it within him.
So Electrocutioner would have to close in and beat him down the old fashioned way.
Around him, Vixen, Manhunter and Cavalier did what they did best, lashing out with hand and foot and fist and blade.
As he closed in on the metahuman lightning-wielder, the crazy gave a toothy grin and a field of lightning energy snapped into reality around him, a protective bubble the Electrocutioner could not cross.
But the Enchantress whispered a word of power, and that field was gone. The witch winked at Electrocutioner and turned back to turning enemy soldiers into pigs.
Paul grinned and lunged for the enemy.
To his credit, White Lightning was agile and vicious; he blocked Electrocutioner’s first three punches and got in a looping kick that staggered Paul, but eventually. Electrocutioner got a knee into his midsection.
After that he put his thumbs into the maniac’s eyes…..and
pushed.[/b]
*****************
The American and the Afrikaner came out of a hidden side door on the mountainside, gasping and sweating. The American had been shoving the old man the entire way. They had left their Dutch compatriot behind, expiring on the end of Cavalier’s blade.
“This….is a complete disaster,” the old South Afrikaner admitted bitterly. “It will take years to rebuild.”
“Rebuild? We’ll have to go underground first for months, maybe years!”
The old man shook his head. “We have escaped, they will not find us. There are sympathizers in your homeland….they will be easiest to reach….”
The American stared at the elder statesman of hate. They had clashed over the years, but this…this mindless determination when they had not even a plan to escape Curacao…..
“You’re….right…..in a way….we definitely need a new plan, to start over.”
“Of course I’m right,” the old man said huffily. “We will rebuild quickly, and this time—“
With one fluid movement, the American broke his neck.
The body rolled down the mountainside.
Looking around, the American blew a sigh of relief. None had seen him up here, at this remote altitude. He skulked continued to climb. He would stay here amongst the mongrels for months, maybe even a year, before leaving. And he would not return to the States. No, Germany would prove more fruitful as the old organizations remade themselves….but that was for later. First he had to avoid getting caught.
*****************
Belle Reve-Paul held Joshua’s hand in the infirmary.
Josh had survived the trip home without much fuss. His coma was self-sustaining, so long as he got nutrients. His brain activity was virtually nil. But Waller was not keeping him alive out of kindness or as any sop to Paul; she liked to have every contingency covered.
For a time, Crystal sat and watched her lover hold his brother’s hand. She felt she should say something, but she had no idea what. The sweet words that kinder people used for such situations were beyond her.
So, eventually she merely touched his shoulder. He nodded once, and she drifted away.
Paul held Josh’s hand for a long time.
*****************
Westwoods Delaware, Nineteen years ago-Joshua and Paul played in the yard, piping laughter carrying back to the adults.
The mother of the boys was joined by the father. He awkwardly hefted a rifle over one shoulder. He wore a quasi military uniform.
“You don’t have to go, you know,” she said.
“Yes, I do. It’s the only way our boys—and all others like them—will ever have any kind of future. You know that.”
She sighed and shook her head. “You never used to be like this. You used to be caring and nonjudgmental about people.”
“I was,” he agreed. “Then I opened my eyes. Saw what’s happening to our country, never mind the world. I have to do something.”
Tears began to form in her eyes. “This isn’t the answer. This will only make things worse!”
He smiled and shook his head, eyes empty. “This will save our boys. Save our people. Our way of life. You’ll see.”
He turned and walked away.
For a long moment she stared after him, wanting to call him back; but they had talked this over many times in the past few months. He wouldn’t’ listen. Arguing wouldn’t help. Screaming wouldn’t help. Pleading wouldn’t help.
She watched him until he got in the car and drove away. Then she turned back to the boys and watched them, playing innocently, not understanding what their father had done; what he was going to do.
She had no idea how she was going to tell them.
But for now, she sat and watched her boys play in that seemingly endless summertime of youth.