Post by adrini on Nov 27, 2015 16:14:04 GMT -5
Ultimate Justice Society of America
Chapter 2: Taking Flight
By Adrini
Chapter 2: Taking Flight
By Adrini
Temple of Luxor, Egypt. January 1, 1942
When Carter Hall had arrived in Luxor to begin his investigation of the writing of the site the world had made sense. It was a simple matter of buying the national license and making sure his supplies came in, then getting to work.
Sitting in the dark tomb, surrounded by artifacts and scrolls hidden so that the bootsteppers would never lay hands on them, Hall leaned back on the hand carved fourth dynasty bed and tried to figure out how he was going to eat that day. While it had once been unthinkable the sealed jars of phaoric honey was looking really good. He was already using their bed of the afterlife after all.
He had to be careful as he moved, but he settled by the hidden door and listened. If the local krauts were seeing anything they weren’t stopping. His false refinishing of the internal walls was working so far, with any luck they’d stay away for a few weeks this time so he could cover more. In any case he would wait till night fall and sabotage their supplies again, and take a portion of the supplies for himself.
It wasn’t long before night fell and the familiar ghosts of peoples past came awake. Looking at the shadows he knew no one else would believe he shook the feeling that he knew all of this. With the books and translations he read daily the scenes in his head had to be inventions of boredom and focused effort. Visions were the stuff of physics and frauds, he was a man of science.
The night was fairly still, the bootjacks had left only a handful of men, and they were content to drink and goof off. Carter carefully worked to remove kay parts of the machines and stashed a few of the food stuff for later, noting that they had good things this time. He was taking the west way back into the temple when he felt the sand shifting under him, stone crumble under it, and finally the gravity of falling into the earth.
The Catacomb of Fate, location unknown.
Captain Scott could feel every bone in his body ache as he forced himself to move. He was on a hard stone floor, the air was whatever existed beyond musty. It was also dark, pitch black. With how stiff he was he knew he had been there for some time, what he didn’t know was if the others were even there.
“Speak if you’re not dead.” He said into the darkness. He heard one sarcastic groan.
“Not funny, sir.” The engineer said. “Not funny.”
Forcing himself to stand the officer found a wall, full of bumps and crevices, to find his way around the room. His feet ran into a form and he knelt down, shaking the form. It slowly began to move.
“Any idea where we are?” It was the medic, he sounded out of it. “Or how to get some light? I’m hit with something, but I need light to work. I think the kid is by my feet, he might be hurt to.”
“Chime in, Tyler. How do we stand?” The pitch blackness was oppressive. Made it hard to work. There was a sound from a few feet away.
“I’ll live.” Tyler said from a good distance away. “With all do respect, sir, where the hell are we?”
“Luxor.” It was a new voice, groggy and still coming back. It sounded hurt like the medic, it was also slightly british. “Or so it was last I checked. It’s dark, let’s see if my torch has any juice left.”
The torch, it seemed, did have juice left as the flame jumped into light and the room became visible. Tyler was getting up, bruised but generally solid. He felt okay, if sore. McNiter was obviously injured, the worst of it being the gash in his head and the way his arm was visibly broken. He had fAlan into the stone fountain on impact and seemed to be in and out.
“Why didn’t you say you needed a bit of a fix up?” The new man looked at the walls and put the light into a wall decoration, the light then spread and the whole area was visible now. “Internal oil lines, 7th dynasty. Borrowed from the Sumerians we think, that or the Indus, brilliant. Any of you lads have any water to spare? Poor man needs help.”
The egg head moved the medic to the floor, clearly using his own experience in field medicine. Taking the offered canteen he cleaned the wounds and got the man a drink before getting to the wounds proper.
“Some ill luck landing where he did.” He said, first working on the head wound. Cleaning it out and then trying to form the skin back together. He gave Tyler a rather nice flask. “Give him a shot or three, will you? Man will need a bit of stiffening.”
McNiter stiffened in pain but the man quickly sewed the gash closed and treated the outside. It was when he forced the broken bone back into place with an audible ‘snap’ that the other two couldn’t help but wince as the man screamed. That had to hurt.
“Right, let’s just keep that arm in place and we’ll call it a day.” The style of wrap was old, but it worked. “ I learned this from my grandfather, he was a medic in the Afgan war. But it’s been a time since I used it. Hall, Carter Hall. Archaeologist, formerly of Luxor. And you are Yanks.”
“Captain Scott, Private Tyler and that is Private McNiter. We were driving out of Ft. Sheridan and wound up here.” McNiter was still in and out but at least he wasn’t actively bleeding. Tyler moved to hold him up, already soft on the coward after a few wounds. But it let him talk to the new man. “We’re in Luxor? Like in Egypt? That’s not possible, this is the east coast.”
“The Pharoh Menkaukor Kaiu, the lady Isis, the ankh of power and the right eye of – no, the left eye of the past to. I thought this was a temple, but in the left eye is present then it might be a tomb.” Hall’s focus changed, and he began to look at, and read, the inscriptions. “It’s fifth century upper Egypt but I have no idea what the purpose was. The walls are grandiose, almost royal. Almost certainly religious-“
“Professor!” The man was in his own world, they didn’t have time. “I have a man down and no idea of our location. Unless you have something to offer here.”
“He’s gettin’ pale, sir.” Tyler said behind him. “We need somewhere for him to rest.”
“Which I was just getting to. If this is based on the upper Egyptian design of temple structures then the temple garden should be right over here.” He took McNiter’s other side and continued down the hall. “Hurry on, Captain. The medic is the last man any unit can afford to lose.”
Luxor Main Treasury Room. Luxor, Egypt.
Hans Godsten had long suspected that the French had been hording the treasures of the orient, a smaller market would make them more money. Surrounded by crates and moving pads he know knew himself to be correct. They would now make the money off this, but only when his search was done.
He and his troop were in the French stores near Luxor, where the men were only being told that they were to report any gold items to the commandant. He knew it would be hidden well, but the texts from their archaeological experts had pointed to this location.
“Gold! Es ist Gold! Herr Commandant.“ The young private was looking over a box, at a staff wrapped in paper and for a moment he was excited, it looked to be it. The young man got out of the way and let him open the wrapping the rest of the way. It was the right shape, the right size, the gold looked to be the right age. The war would now be theirs.
“Verdammt“ It was a jeweled ceremonial peice, not the plain, gold anhk staff that he needed, that would ensure that the Furer would stand for a thousand years. Not the staff of Fate.
“Augen offen halten!” He screamed and the men obeyed, hurrying to open more boxes. It had to be here.
Catacombs of Fate. Location Unknown
“He’s out, sir.” Tyler was worried, McNiter wasn’t just out, he wasn’t moving at all. Even his breathing was getting thin. “Do we have his bag?”
Scott and Hill where walking around the room, Scott trying to determine what of Hall’s university information might be useful. Neither were paying much attention to the Privates. Hall was good enough to point out the bag, leaned against the wall, before going back to their conversation.
“The oil shouldn’t have been there.” Hall said, looking at the shallow reservoir. “It’s a combination of oils, brilliant for its time, but would have been dried out by now. If fact-“
“What are you onto, Doc?” He was wide eyed, looking at the room as if seeing it for the first time. “You crack it?”
“It’s all new.” Scott could tell Hall wasn’t breathing. “The paint, the reliefs, even the scenes are…that’s not possible.”
“Guys, this is getting bad. Does anyone know any medicine?” Tyler, now seeing McNiter’s skin begin to go pale, was glancing at the bag and starting to panic. The bottles were labeled in French, he couldn’t read them. He was still unheard.
“There weren’t planes in the, whatever century were there?” Scott was now wide eyed as well.
“No, this is off. European culture didn’t exist in this time. The Ottoman empire only fell a few years ago.” Hall was reading the walls, and even Scott knew enough of the symbols to get the general idea. Both were tuning the private out.
Tyler was about to scream at the two men, going on about long dead peoples and colorful pictures when he felt a soft hand on his.
It was a woman with large almond eyes, thick dark hair tied up with woven cords wearing a stone necklace with that symbol he kept seeing in the room around her neck. She looked briefly at the other two, smirking, before looking at the wounded man. She seemed to know what to pull and use from the bag. Working around her many layered skirt and thick metal bracelets the wounds began to heal and close. Color began to return. Feeling relieved he looked up to thank her but she was gone. The charm from her stone necklace now around McNiter’s neck.
“He does look bad.” Hall walked over, Scott behind. “It’s some kind of tradition, using the anhk as a center. If you look at the top there’s the arbor vita, that’s tree of life, branching to a number of people. Healers, generals, all types. They operate in the shadows, see the shading? Fascinating. It completely rewrites history if it’s true.”
Looking up Tyler felt a pull at his neck - the same charm now hanging off his dog tags. The decorations were of various peoples, the clothing made that clear. He even saw the multilayered dress of the woman who had helped. Hall and Scott were still talking archaeology and tactics but Tyler smiled. He knew what it meant, and he had a feeling that McNiter did now to. Fate would decide when to let the captain and the professor in on the joke.
“Captain, sir?” He said, loudly, and got his attention. “Door, sir. There’s a way out. I think we need to go.”
The door way, now open, was to an open field. Could be anywhere. A stretcher leaned against the wall. Scott was silent, just looking, but Tyler got the stretcher and enlisted Hall to move the still asleep man onto it.
“Head out, and find support.” Scott said, collecting himself and once again taking command. Tyler and Hall moved to carry the cot when a book fell out, and Hall couldn’t help but pick it up. “Useful, Doc?”
“I guess I’ll find out.” The scholar put the book in his side bag and resumed getting out. “Hospital first.”
Amines, France. Current Disputed Territory. January 2, 1943.
“Five thousand miles from home and I’m still getting coffee.” Zinda Blake said, carrying the antique mugs.
Standing at the desk, just as old, Diana Trever laughed but took a mug for herself. She was the flight teacher at their mobile flight camp for female pilots, a fancy way of saying she taught her hard headed class of one.
“At least I don’t have you in heels.” She leaned back in the chair and laughed at Zee’s face. The girl showed every expression. But she was allowed to wear flight gear, even if it offered false hope some days. “New planes are in. Ready to fly them over?”
“For the boys to fly.” Zinda whined, thought she did have a point. Diana herself had trouble getting airtime. “We need a plane, I don’t even care anymore. Not that crop duster.”
“Maybe one will come, keep flying. Though after we get the new birds over we need to look for a new location, krauts are catching up again.” Diana smiled as Zee sat down with her own mug. She was drifting, they didn’t have time. “You’re not in Kansas anymore Miss Blake, if you’re in France then be in France.”
The young woman caught herself and nodded, her mentor was right as usual. The girl would learn, life could be hard – cruel even – but you had to keep flying. Setting down was not an option, letting the darkness win only got you defeated.
She handed over the flight list for her companion to memorize, this was a two person job, and made sure her own paperwork was in order. They were about done when they heard gun shots from the east and ran out of the cave they worked in to look at the small French town. They were being attacked, the Germans had found them already.
Amiens, City remains. France.
“Get down, GET DOWN!” Scott screamed as he walked into a hail of bullets. Quickly moving to the nearest building the three fell to the floor and tried not to get shot, McNiter they tried to keep out of the hail. “This is not what the doorway said it was!”
“The door lied, sir!” Tyler responded. The professor was making sure the medic was covered and trying not to get shot himself. “You can’t trust it. Orders, sir!”
There were people screaming outside, screaming in french, which at least told them something of where they were. They stayed down for a time, they only had a few rounds between them, until they began to hear returning fire. A sound that perked all the awake people up right away. Whoever they were they were smart shots, mostly getting one shot kills. McNiter was waking up and covering his eyes with his arm, he was the only person there not really affected by the sound of gunshots surrounding him.
“Oh look.” The man said dryly. “You found the war, isn’t it everything you ever hoped for.”
“No one said it was a vacation, McNiter.” Scott replied, brusk to the man’s sarcasm. “We have enemies and friendlies. Who are they?”
“I think the baddies would be the Nazi’s, this being France and all, but I could be wrong.” Hall filled in, causing Scott no end of frustration at the also sarcastic tone. He was getting nothing but lip from these people. As though knowing of the conversation a nazi’s body fell in the nearby doorway, cementing the tone.
“Right, friendlies then. I’m open to ideas.” Scott had to admit the Nazi’s had been the easy bet. The professor and Tyler looked at the body, like him disturbed at the sight of their first corpse. McNiter mindlessly crawled from his cot to check for a pulse and confirmed the man had passed. He had clearly done it before.
“A few options. Local resistance, traveling resistance, allied agents sent ahead, or local that’s cracked.” McNiter had crawled back. “All possible.”
“Okay, McNiter. We’re having a talk sometime. We need to find out which, a quick look around the corner should-“ Scott began to say when a French man rushed into the same room for cover, cursing he was out of bullets. But he was carrying an American gun.
“Que? Ah, qe’e a les balles- American! More Americans! I knew you would come! I told them all you would not leave us forever!” He was American looking, aside from the French fashion. And his English was excellent, if sounding of hollywood. “Are you with the women? We will save this town yet!”
“Friendlies are American women.” Scott said, getting the feeling that nothing would be ‘normal’ again. “Where are we?”
“Amiens.” The man replied, understanding. “Or what is left of it. It was only a SS advance group, if we take them out and hide the bodies this can end.”
“He’s right.” McNiter said, looking like he was still in pain. “At least so long as this is concerned. They’ll look for the remains, if they aren’t found here they’ll keep looking. Ce va, mon ami? As-tu blessure?”
“Ce va, ce va.” He said, brushing off the question. “I am fine, you are not. There is a hospital here that can help when this is done. But there are a few left, who can help take them out?”
“That’s us, Tyler. Doc, stay with the Doc.” Scott pulled Tyler to get ready.
“Doctors! We will need you, if you can help. There will be people hurt from this.” The man looked for a moment. We will go out soon, I see a good shot.”
The three followed the man and took positions at another door where a group of the SS were dragging people into the streets. The man, who had well-worn but cared for Colt M 1887, was taking single shots to take them out. He and Tyler were entirely outclassed.
There were only two SS agents left after, both running at first. They stopped and fell to their knees though, and two female pilots finished the job with shots to the back of the head. The two dropped.
“Avez besoin enterrez!” The older of the two said to people now coming out of their homes. “Cache, maintenant!”
“Peace” Scott said, coming out of his door. The two looked up, surprised. “American, see? Uncle Sam.”
“Apple Pie, Gretta Garbo, Fred Astaire. “ Tyler said behind him. “Please don’t shoot us.”
“Always preferred Douglas Fairbanks myself.” The woman smiled and put her gun away. “Welcome, Yanks. Strange place for you to be. Diana Trever, this is my student, Zinda Blake. What unit are you with? Had no idea anyone was here yet.”
“It’s complicated.” It was the best Scott could do, no one would believe them. He didn’t believe them. “Captain Allen Scott and Private Rex Tyler. We have two more, one hurt.”
“A doctor, but he is injured.” The Frenchman walked out. “He will still help.”
“Yours?” The second woman asked, Zinda. They shrugged, who knew? Maybe he would be. “And you are, stranger?”
“Hawke. Bartholomew Hawke.” He was aggressive, talking directly. Entirely unphased by the recent scene. They were not. “Pilot in the French Armée de l’Air. I’ve been on the run, you need pilots. I want to fight.”
“We do, you’ll need to meet the Skipper. He makes that call. We’ll be heading over tonight, you can fly with Zee.” Diana seemed to have caught on something, but didn’t say anything. “Be ready to move out by eight.”
“Can you get us to an army base, I need to get in touch with my CO, let him know where we are.” All three of them were going to be drummed out of the army, McNiter would be sent to Leavenworth for desertion.
“We can do better than that.” She said and Zinda pulled out a pad of paper to write down information. “Who and where. What are the names of your men. We can send it on ahead. Let them know you’re with the Blackhawkes.”
Make Shift Hospital, Amiens.
“No, this one was too late.” Charles pulled the sheet back over the form, careful to keep his voice down. A trained surgeon, he was a rarity in the remains of the town. Before they had only had the local healer, the bombs had taken out anyone more. He was still barely able to work. However he was the one chance to save the people here, or as many as could be. He felt like his head was going to explode, it was making his sight fade in and out.
“Fifteen ccs of penicillin, the next one has an infection coming in.” Tyler was there, the needle already filled as the new patient was put down. He leaned over spoke quietly. “Maybe not having to read will stop some of that pain, my family is in the pharmaceutical business. I’m solid. Keep working, you’re saving lives here.”
“So are you, Private.” McNiter had a feeling he was right, not reading would help. Looking at the gash he resigned himself, this was war. “Antiseptic and gauze, this will need stitches.”
“This I can do, and it’s Rex.” Tyler set up the supplies, quickly getting ready. “If you knew this was waiting for you I get why you didn’t want to come. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did. These people are to. None of them would have a chance if you were back stateside.”
“War is hell, one man doesn’t make much of a difference.” McNiter didn’t seem too effected, though he did smile slightly. “And it’s Charles, if you want to use it.”
Song Bird's Bar. Amiens France.
“Good news, Yank.” Diana walked in, carrying a file of forms. Scott was in the bar, the last few days had given him reasons to drink. “Hey, one of the same. You’re in the clear. You’re CO didn’t know why you were out here so I told him that we had you pulled, Blackhawk duties. ”
“And that is one piece of good news.” Scott raised his glass, the bar singer behind him started a new song and he toasted that as well. “Join me, we have an hour’s peace to enjoy, right?”
“Now you sound like me, how about a sad one Song Bird? Nice and slow.” Diana knew the performer, who nodded and began a sad love song to the accompaniment of the piano long past its prime. “I’ll actually have to find you somewhere to go after this but that can be done easily enough. But I’ve been wondering, why are you out here anyway?”
“If I knew I would tell you, but I don’t know so I can’t. Here we are.” Scott finished his drink. “My turn, who are these hawks?”
“Not your first one, I’ll have to up my game. We’re a team, pilots.” Athletic and vibrating with energy she had blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, she leaned back and took in the room. “The more counties fall the more people who want to fight back but can’t, we take in pilots that have the skills but not the bird. Take out high value targets, drop spy posts, get allied personnel out of places they shouldn’t be. Our part of the fight.”
“That I can respect.” Scott nodded dramatically. “What can we do to help?”
“You’re medicine man already is, man is doing an amazing job. And he’s taken on the second private as a helper.” She sipped her whisky, something she seemed to do regularly. “Your brain man is pouring over a book at the old book shop, onto something. And you are sharing a drink with me, which I very much like. The rest will take care of itself. Just clear that head of yours for the flight tonight and I’ll call it even.”
Alan Scott looked at his empty glass and flipped it. If he wanted to be sober for the flight he needed to stop now.
Song Bird's Bar. 2 am. January 3, 1943
It was after two, and bitterly cold. The wind was harsh, ice mixing with snow for the greatest pain when it hit you.
Rex was crashed at the ward, but they had treated everyone. Sleep would have been welcomed but he knew better then to try. Hall was still reading his book, fair for the man. The Captain was off with the pilots getting things clear. He was going to get a drink.
The bar was as blown up as the rest of the town. The back wall quickly filled in with blocks to stop the wind from getting in. It was almost entirely empty, small candles offered what little light there was to find. The bar was by the left wall but no one seemed to be there. The deep hues of the liqueur sat on the shelves behind it, many in antique bottles.
“After today I am sure you can have what you want.” It was a feminine voice behind him. Turning he saw a singer, about twenty, with a tight fitted shirt tucked into a wide belt over very curvaceous hips. She seemed to know she was attractive, sauntering more than walking as she walked behind the bar. She leaned forward before she spoke again. “What can I get for you , Soldier?”
“A gin, and no. Not all americans are like that.” He was too tired to play cheap games. She poured a glass but didn’t look rebuffed, just pleasantly surprised.
“Fair enough, you’d be amazed how many men that works on.” Now walking, though the skirt required a little saunter, she put the bottle on the bar and poured a glass for herself before sitting as well. She was French, though she spoke English perfectly aside from a slight accent. “You are Charles McNiter, noted surgeon and draft dodger. And apparently the last gentleman in town.”
“There’s a sleeping one across the street, good kid. But I’d believe it.” He downed the glass and filled it again, it was the good stuff. “You’re the singer, patients were telling me about you. What is a ‘Song Bird’ doing in a war zone?”
“It is a job, and it is hard to find any work now.” She sipped the glass and smiled sadly. “In a war zone what it there but survival? What were you before the war?”
“I worked at the local hospital, developed new techniques. Good times, you?” She was playing with her glass, but listening. He couldn’t miss how her honey colored hair fell, strands shined in the candle light.
“I was an art broker.” She seemed sad to even speak of it. “In Paris. Mostly for the jewish collectors, though sometimes an artist would come from South America or the United States. That is all gone now. They are all gone now.”
“Paris in thirty-nine.” He said and she nodded. “I was there.”
“I know, with the Resistance moving east. I was moved west.” She smiled for a moment at his look of surprise. “We were told your group had an American medic, I was with the artists and collectors. They got most of us before we could get out.”
“Us to. We were day workers, factories and bakeries.” They were both haunted by the ghost of those lost, it actually meant something to not be alone in that anymore. He raised his glass for a toast. “To the ones we lost.”
“Pour ceux qu'sont perdus.” She raised her glass. “But I am glad to know one friend that survived. It will make the night less cold. I just wish I could offer you more than a glass of cheap gin on a terrible night like this.”
There was no reason for it, he has only walked into the bar minutes before, but he felt that he had known her all his life. It might have been the war, the shared horror of knowing what the SS and the Germans were really doing. It might have been exhaustion. But he, for the first time since being in Paris before the invasion, was happy. He also realized that he hadn’t asked her name.
“We could both use company, but I’ve been an idiot. Whose company am I enjoying?” She laughed, and he saw the jewel she must have been in Paris during the good times.
“Dinah Maria D’Couvier, but everyone here calls me ‘Song Bird’.” She was the first being he was able to talk to since the escape, and if it were possible he would have wished for the moment to never end.
“I don’t really sleep much anymore.” He said, and she seemed to understand the concept herself. He also noted that his headache was gone.
“With the dreams that come?” She did understand. “We will stay here, where the night is ours, and see where it goes. Oui, Monsieur McNiter?”
Jewish Bookmaker's Shop. 4 am.
Sitting in the old book shop, or what was left of it, Carter Hall was under the same spell he was been under for most of the day.
When the leather bound book had fallen out of the cot he had picked it up almost by reflex. Books simply did not belong on the floor. Getting to the town had been a matter of surviving the hail of bullets. Not being a commander or medically trained to any real degree he figured it was best he get out of the way.
He couldn’t read the earliest entries, they were in cuneiform which no one could read. Besides, it was basically a soap opera, servants loosing focus and making messes when it could least be afforded-
But he could read it, he could read all it. That had been in early evening, it was now late night. Maybe early morning, using the military grade light it was hard to tell. In the winter It was dark anyway. But he read, and couldn’t stop. Sumeria, Persia, the lands of Greece and China. Egypt seemed to have been a golden age. But it didn’t stop. Family lines, mentors and students – the goal seemed to be order. Peace and growth. Sometimes the battle was won, sometimes it was not.
But the book wasn’t finished, it might never be. Nearing the final page he saw himself, this team, being chosen. It had wanted him to know, whatever this was had wanted it.
It was nearing dawn, the day would start soon. They needed to move. Fate was at stake.