Post by dans on Jun 26, 2017 16:51:07 GMT
This story is written for a shared universe that hasn't been implemented yet. The Justice Machine comes from a parallel universe where a planet named Georwell exists, and in their later adventures, the Justice Machine ends up in a different universe on a planet named Earth - for now, let's call that Earth G (for Mike Gustovich, who created the Justice Machine). Even before the JM arrived, there were super heroes on Earth G, both at the time when the Justice Machine arrived there (in the mid-80s) and also earlier - in fact, the adventures of some of the Earth G heroes are recorded in World War II era comic books and are now part of the Public Domain. This is a story of 2 heroes, currently considered in the Public Domain, from the World War II era on Earth G - the Owl and Lady Owl!
Chapter 1
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Terry.” The speaker was a short, pudgy man with thinning blonde hair, combed over, dressed in a cheap black suit. He was accompanied by a much taller man whose posture, demeanor, very short haircut and particularly his combat fatigues virtually shouted ‘Military!’ In fact, he was so clean-cut and handsome that he should have been featured on a recruiting poster. The shorter man continued, “My name is Mr. Wily, and I work for the War Department. This is Army Ranger Captain Stevens, currently detached to the War Department."
Mr. and Mrs. Terry arose from their seats and shook hands with each of the gentlemen. Mr. Nick Terry was even taller than the soldier, and had an equally impressive physique. He had dark hair and a long face that had never been more than plain, even before he’d collected all the scars and bruises that marked him as a fighter. However, he was handsomely dressed in dark, well-tailored suit, pocket square in the jacket, ascot, a fedora and two toned oxfords. When he spoke, his voice matched his appearance – a deep, rough bass that rumbled like thunder.
Mrs. Belle Terry was about 5’7” and in perfect trim, with long blonde hair framing her cheerful face. Unlike her husband, she was extremely attractive; like her husband, she was elegantly dressed, in a tight off-pink pencil skirt suit, heels which brought her head to her husband’s shoulder level, and the blouse under her blazer revealed a lot of lace. Nick carefully kept his grip relaxed – even with a man as powerful as Stevens, experience had taught him that more likely than not, his full grip would cause pain and often injury. He would later find that thought to be slightly humorous.
The encounter was taking place in a meeting room in an expensive hotel in Washington, D.C. Mr. Wily, or rather the people he worked for, had paid for the room and also paid first class round trip plane fare to bring the Terrys to the capitol. Wily was still speaking.
“As you know, I work for the Department of War. And before we get down to cases, the Department has asked me to express our sincere thanks to both of you for your service as the Owl and Lady Owl.” Neither of them bothered to deny their secret identities. They knew the government wouldn’t have made such extensive and expensive arrangements for this special visit to the Capitol by a special investigator for the Yorktown Police Department and a girl reporter for the Yorktown Morning Eagle.
“It is difficult for all of us who remain at home when so many are overseas, battling the Axis, but even so, someone has the maintain order and keep things operating as closely as possible to business as usual. In addition, I’d like to add my own personal thank you. You are helping keep Americans safe on the home front, so our men in uniform can protect our freedom on other shores with their hearts and minds clear of worry about the safety of their loved ones back home.”
This was actually an uncomfortable subject with the Terrys, as they had both often thought that they might be doing more good in the military. Belle thought that Wily sounded smarmy rather than sincere. Still, he was from the War Department, and with a war going on, it made sense to listen to what he had to say.
“We both appreciate the thanks, both from you and the Department of War,” Nick responded gravely as Belle nodded her agreement. “Why don’t we get right down to business, so you can get back to the business of running the war?”
“Certainly, sir,” Wily nodded in appreciation. “I appreciate practical people who cut to the chase. I represent the War Department’s Program E – and I’m here to offer the two of you super powers.”
“Woah!” Nick replied cautiously, totally taken aback. He spoke slowly. “I assume that since you are from the Department of War this is a serious offer, not some kind of joke.” Wily nodded again. “So, you are referring to super strength, or other exotic abilities perhaps, such as controlling fire or impenetrable skin?”
“Exactly, any or perhaps all of those. In fact, Doc Strange is a great example. He was a normal man before he accepted the benefits offered by Program E.” Doc Strange was a man of Herculean strength and prodigious intellect who had only recently burst into the public eye. Virtually everyone was stunned after viewing the newsreels of his astounding adventures and unbelievable feats, the most well-known of which showed him catching a sabotaged B17 Flying Fortress bomber on the infield of a jam-packed Yankee Stadium, which he then set down safely and gently, spoiling the ball-game and a Bund plot to kill thousands of people.
“Oh, Nick!” Belle was almost breathless. “Just think of how much more good we could do! We could clean up Yorktown for good, instead of having to take care of an unending river of crooks every night!” Nick somehow remained blithely unaware that Belle was growing increasingly uncomfortable facing criminals every night who were always armed and usually stronger and much more skilled in fighting than she was. There were some situations where her ability to outwit almost any criminal was just not enough, and she was tired of having to count on Nick for a rescue. And equally as telling, she was used to having a social life, but the Owl and Lady Owl were on duty seven nights a week, week in and week out.
“Now look here, I’ve heard that Strange gets his powers from an almost-magical potion called alosun – which he discovered himself, after years of painstaking research.” Nick was very skeptical.
“That’s the cover story,” Wily agreed smoothly. “But Dr. Strange has been working for Project E for years, and he was one of the first to receive powers. It was actually our process and the drug Machtedicine that transformed him from a frail, sickly scientist into a virtual superman. Just imagine the results when one of the strongest men in the world, such as yourself, undergoes the process!” In Nick’s case, this wasn’t flattery – he had never in his life met a man who was stronger than he.
“As you might have surmised, Stevens, here, is also a ‘graduate’ of our process. After my presentation, I’ll ask him to demonstrate some of what you so eloquently called ‘exotic abilities’.”
“It’s an… interesting offer, and it hardly seems believable. Please give us more details.” Nick was unable to see the look of enthusiasm that crossed Belle’s face, but Wily saw it and his phony smile became even wider.
Chapter 2
“I’d like you to watch a slide show,” he proposed. Stevens silently moved to the projector and got settled.
The slide show was professionally created, expertly narrated, and almost totally fabricated. While there WAS a secret government super powers project, Program E was totally fictitious and only had 2 members; both in this room. And while Machtedicine gave some people powers, rather than being carefully calibrated and controlled, it had random effects ranging from providing astounding powers to being totally ineffective, to turning the subjects into monsters, to very painful death. When Wily saw how fascinated Belle was with the Lady Luck slide – Luck had received exceptional coordination, agility and reflexes – he secretly signaled Stevens who added two more fledgling superheroines: Super Dame, who was strong and could fly, and Lady Wonder, who could run fast enough to break the sound barrier and had reflexes to match. Belle’s face lit up at the description of Lady Wonder – super speed, that’s what she wanted!
What Wily didn’t tell them was that Super Dame had uncontrollable hemophilia and was in deadly danger from even the tiniest cut, and Lady Wonder had become dangerously reckless and developed heart arrhythmia. The success rate of the compound he was pushing was considered by the government to offer enough value to offset any collateral damage that developed.
When the presentation was over, Wily suggested a demonstration. Sitting in a corner of the room was a crude bronze sphere the size of a basketball. It had palm prints smashed deeply into the solid metal, and there were a lot of jagged edges sticking out. "Doc Strange did that. He needed a projectile against a battleship that was firing against him, so he ripped the flanges off the propeller of a smaller ship he had just wrecked and molded them together into this ball. He recovered it later to keep as a souvenir, but we borrowed it for today." He paused and looked at Nick speculatively. "Do you think you can pick it up?"
Nick walked over to the ball. "I've been wondering what that was. I certainly couldn't throw this thing, or sculpt bronze with my bare hands. Let's see what I _can_ do." He looked it over, and found some hand prints driven deeply into the solid metal on opposite sides of the ball. He squatted, fitted his hands, and attempted to straighten his legs. The ball rocked a little but didn't come up. "I have to say, this Doc Strange's strength is incredible! I could probably lift it a few inches, but I'd wouldn't even want to attempt it until after I got pretty much warmed up, or I might sprain my sacroiliac." He whistled appreciatively. "Any other heroes that strong?"
Wily turned to his partner. "Stevens?" The big man walked to the ball and used the same handprints Nick had selected. With a strained grunt, he raised it to his chest. "Stevens isn't a super hero yet, but he we are working on a name and costume now. The department favors something patriotic." Stevens was starting to labor, holding up the ball, so Wily motioned him to put it down.
"I do get to choose what powers I get, right?" Nick asked.
Belle looked annoyed at being left out. "Or me? I would love to be faster than a bullet!"
"The compound works a little differently on everyone,” Wiley said evasively. “It seems to enhance your existing strengths. So in your case, Mr. Terry, we would expect great strength, and for Mrs. Terry, highly heightened athletic abilities. There would also be secondary abilities in both cases." This assessment was partially true, but it was designed to give the impression that the success rate of the process employed by the almost-fictional Program E was much higher than it actually was. And minimize the very high failure rate, which Program E refused to even acknowledge.
“To be totally frank, Mr. Wily, I don’t trust you, and I’m surprised that the War Department can’t find an agent who exudes more trustworthiness. This makes me doubt the whole program,” Nick spoke very bluntly. “This doesn’t seem to be a mature program; it sounds more to me like you are still using heroes as guinea pigs, with no real idea as to what the results are going to be. I don’t think I want to be part of this. We have always been successful with our natural abilities and our Owl gadgets, Belle’s brains and my brawn. Come back to us when you have a list of powers and can say ‘pick the ones you want’ and guarantee that’s what we’ll get. Until then, gentlemen, please peddle your pages elsewhere.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Terry. You are turning down the chance to perform a great service for your government in this time of war, and your choice would lead many to question your patriotism.” It was clear from his tone of barely suppressed anger that Wily was one of those ‘many’. “I hope you don’t regret it.” Stevens had finished packing the projector and screen as they spoke, so the two headed for the door. As he was stepping out, Wily turned and snapped unconvincingly, “Good day to you.”
Once the door was closed and the War Department agents had walked several yards down the corridor, Wily stopped for a second and whispered harshly to his companion, “Convince them.”
Chapter 3
A week or so later:
The well-appointed den was a little too crowded with 6 people; two cops, Nick Terry and Chief of Police Murphy, Belle Terry and Mr. Prendergast Van Allen, the owner of the den and the mansion around them. Nick and the Chief were closely examining an open, empty wall safe, Belle was talking to Van Allen, writing notes on her pad as she did, and the cops were trying not to look bored. Nothing here for them today…
“So, Mr. Van Allen, today is the servants’ day off and you’ve been home alone all day? What have you been doing?” Belle asked again, a little annoyed at Van Allen’s lack of responsiveness so far.
Van Allen, a frail old man with scraggly white hair, was sweating profusely and wiping his face often with a towel. He mumbled almost inaudibly in response. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Terry – for some reason, I can’t remember anything about today after I dismissed the help. I have no idea how the safe got opened – but I’m the only one in the world who knows the combination.”
Nick and the Chief were comparing notes about the safe.
“One of his own,” the chief observed, pointing to an embossed tag on the inside of the safe door. “Van Allen Safe Company, and it’s their top of the line model, with the combination set by Van Allen himself in secret.” He shook his head dejectedly. ““Didn’t do him much good, though, did it? Whoever did this, didn’t give us many leads, did he?”
“Even if Van Allen built this one himself, there must be some master locksmiths who work for him who would be able to open it,” Nick mused. “So we could start with them. But I don’t think that’s it.”
The Chief looked askance at his special investigator and great friend. “You’ve got a hunch, don’t you? Let me in on it!”
“If you don’t mind, Chief, I’d like to follow up on this one alone for a while,” the big guy replied slowly. “Something about this case is nagging at my memory.”
The Chief was used to Terry’s maverick methods, and he was almost always pleased with the results. So: “OK, Mr. Special Investigator, I’ll leave this one to you. You’ve got two days, and you better not let me down! And make sure you wrap it up before the Owl figures it out. I’m tired of that guy always showing up my force in this town!”
Nick tried to hide his chuckle in a cough – the Chief really meant ‘I’m tired of that guy always showing ME up in this town!’ He looked his friend in the eye. “C’mon, chief, you know he just wants to help out.”
“If he really wants to help out, he’ll go on a vacation and leave police work to the police. You just be sure and break this case without his help.” The Chief was emphatic.
A little later, in the car, Belle spoke worriedly to Nick. “You know, Nick, this case is starting to give me the creeps. Does it remind you of anything?”
“You, too, eh? Yeah, this theft follows the same MO as the night the Pantherman robbed Carson.” The big guy shuddered – they had never met anyone as evil as the Pantherman.
“Then we better race back there in a hurry, Nick! That awful Craig person, Pantherman’s servant, murdered Carson right after he talked to the police. Van Allen might be dead already!”
“Don’t worry,” Nick replied reassuringly. “I vouch for the safety of the house. I checked it out while you and the Chief were grilling Van Allen. No secret passages, no hidden pits opening into the sewers, absolutely no trace of the Pantherman, his cat Sin or his servant Craig. Plus I convinced the Chief to take Van Allen into protective custody. So he’s safe for a while, at least. Long enough for us to figure this case out and wrap it up, I hope.”
“We’ve got a lot of figuring to do, then – starting with what we know.” Belle was again the keen investigative reporter, direct and incisive. “The Pantherman committed suicide in prison – we saw the body.” She shuddered; they had been shown a grotesque lump of charcoal that had a vaguely human shape. “Doused himself with kerosene and set it afire. Died screaming in agony. Just to avoid the electric chair!” She blinked and her face twisted in reflection of the imagined pain. “If I had to go, I’d take the chair over incineration any day!”
“So maybe the suicide was staged and that body wasn’t his?” Nick mused. “After all, it was burned beyond recognition.”
“There were half a dozen witnesses, and the body was definitely in his cell. How could it have been anyone else?” She paused for a moment, thinking it over.
“Wait a minute, all the witnesses were the cons in the nearby cells, weren’t they? No guards were nearby at the time, no authorities as witnesses. I remember, nobody really pressed the questioning. And nobody ever bothered to find out how Pantherman got all that kerosene into his cell. In fact, nobody seemed interested in investigating the death at all. ‘He was going to the chair in a week anyway,’ they all said. ‘Saved the state the cost of the execution,’ they all said.” Now she was starting to look seriously alarmed. “Nick, we better get to work on this one, now! The Pantherman is the most deadly killer we ever faced.”
*See Crackajack Funnies #31, January, 1941 for the story of the Owls and the Pantherman
Chapter 4
A couple of nights later, at exactly midnight, the Owl and Lady Owl compared notes as they climbed into their high powered Owlmobile. Their destination was a manhole cover on the other side of the city which opened into the sewer. The Pantherman had been in the habit of having his enemies killed and their bodies left in the sewer where they had been eaten by rats. Several unsolved murder cases had been closed when the Owl discovered and exposed the bone pile of the Pantherman’s enemies in a wide, slightly drier spot in the sewer tunnels that Nick called the “Corpse Chamber”. They suspected that this section of the city’s sewer was again being used for unthinkable evil, and tonight they were going to end that evil.
Bell started her rundown. “About 2 weeks after the Pantherman’s suicide in prison, a single con escaped. He was never tracked down. According to the report of some guards, he used a whip he’d somehow made from some scraps in the prison shop as a weapon – just the weapon Pantherman favored,” she reported enthusiastically. “I’ll bet it was him.” Then, darkly, “I can’t believe they kept the escape story so secret – there must be at least one of his men working at that prison!”
Nick nodded in agreement. “You remember that his panther Sin was given to the zoo, and they had to put him in a separate cage because he kept attacking the other cats? Supposedly one night a month or so ago the attendant who was feeding him left the cage unlocked, and Sim got out. The attendant will never be able to tell – he was clawed to death and a lot of chunks were missing. This was a guy who had been caring for big cats for almost 40 years, with never a problem. Seems unlikely to me.” He shrugged. “And nobody has managed to track down Sin, since then, either.”
“So we’re going with my plan?” Belle wanted to be sure they were both prepared. “If it’s really the Pantherman, he hates you and me more than anything in the world, and he’s got an ambush set up.”
“Ambush, shmambush! Your plan,” he agreed. “And a mighty good plan it is, m’dear! He won’t know what hit ‘im!”
Once they reached their target block, they parked in an alley and spent a short time dragging gear from the car. Then they reviewed the plan one more time, and, sure they were as ready as they could be, went into action. Both donned full face cowls with Owl SeeInDark™ visors built in, connected by cables to flat batteries secured in the small of their backs. Belle used an air pistol to shoot out the single streetlight on this block while Nick hooked two lifting tools into the cover. Then he carefully lifted it out and set it aside, seemingly handling the 350 pound disk as easily as he would have lifted a large hubcap – if there were had been any cars with hubcaps right then, due to war shortages. Two flashlight beams flared to life and were swept across every square foot of the large room now exposed through the manhole shaft. The subtle scents of the sewer floated out into the night air, and the only sound was the faint burbling of the running sewage-filled water, deep below the street.
After the probing flashlights revealed nothing, Nick dropped a rope, and shortly the large man was descending carefully into the cavernous room, followed quickly by a much smaller woman. As soon as she was well clear of the manhole, a hail of bullets from silenced pistols slammed into both heroes. They wriggled and writhed for a couple of split instants, and then plummeted to the floor, landing with audible thumps. Both bodies continued to jerk and twitch for several seconds, as the Pantherman’s men pumped additional shots into them, to make sure that their foes were dead.
About a minute after the last shot, a half dozen electric torches with handkerchiefs fastened over the lenses were switched on, and the ambush team cautiously approached the dead bodies, pistols in hand and still pointed at the heroes as if they might suddenly rise from the dead.
“Looks like we got ‘em, Craig!” a gravelly whisper crossed the room.
“Pantherman wants ‘em moved to da ‘Chamber’,” another whisper responded. “Bennie, get up dere and fix da cover before da coppers show. Stump, you’n No Thumb take da big guy, and Ralphie, you bring da dead dame.”
As they approached the corpses, there was a brief muffled “Whoomph!” and the Owl’s body exploded, releasing an opaque black cloud which was laced with tear gas. The mobsters fell to the floor, screaming and clawing at their eyes. From above, the Owl and Lady Owl watched the whole scene play out, as their SeeInDark™ visors easily punched through the opaque smoke. Gas masks built into their cowls protected them from the tear gas.
“Love that stuff,” the Owl said proudly about the black smoke as he started down the line. “One of my best inventions!”
He didn’t see Belle nod in agreement above him, but she quickly followed his descent into the Stygian darkness that was to them as light as day. It only took a few minutes to insure that the gangsters were unconscious and well-trussed, then the two moved cautiously into the tunnel that led to the abattoir that Craig had just referred to as ‘the Chamber’, and then past that to the fetid room the Owl thought of as ‘the Panther’s Throne Room’.
When they reached the 'Corpse Chamber', Nick glanced in cautiously, and then prevented Belle from looking on the grotesque scene. He had counted at least 7 different bodies, most of which were unidentifiable after the attentions of the sewer rats, but he did recognize what appeared to be the most recent addition to the grisly collection.
“What a repulsive sight!” he whispered urgently to his partner. “And thanks again for the gas masks, Belle. Good planning.” He stopped speaking while his body shuddered and he fought to keep himself from retching. Belle was becoming seriously alarmed when he shook himself and began speaking again. “Pantherman's muscling in on the gangs again. We've just solved the disappearance of “Dutch” Dijkstra and probably the other bosses who've disappeared recently.”
As they moved deeper into the tunnels, their caution and advance planning helped them escape from several deadfalls and traps, as well as another ambush. They were on the last hundred yards to the Throne Room now, and though they were still cautious, they no longer bothered to hide. Either the Pantherman knew they were coming by now, or he wasn’t even down here. They hadn’t been attacked by any more of Pantherman’s men for quite a few minutes – Nick was of the opinion that they had all been subdued already.
The ‘Throne Room’ was only dimly lit, but even without infrared goggles, both Owls and Panthers can see in minimum light. Nick stood outside to the door without revealing himself to the room’s occupant and slid his tiny periscope out past the door frame. As expected, at the other end of the room, seated regally on a chair, his leashed panther held in one hand and his vicious whip in the other, was a human figure in a silk evening robe with the brown-furred head of a jungle cat – The Pantherman! Without waiting for the Owls to reveal themselves, he spoke.
“You birds are formidable and worthy foes. Still, the Pantherman is triumphant!” he snarled, in a deep rumbling voice that seemed to owe more to a feline throat than a human one. “You can’t escape NOW!”
A spark leaped from the wall to the Owl, and he was knocked backwards on his butt on the slimy floor. By the time he climbed back on his feet, the Pantherman was close enough to flog him with the whip, and again, some kind of shock blasted Nick off his feet. This one was less intense, but even still, simple electricity should have been totally blocked by his costume. The whip flicked out again, this time to wrap around his wrists and then draw them tightly together like a noose of some kind.
“My whip is now discharged, Mr. Owl, though it hardly matters, as you will be unable to burst free from its unbreakable tongue. I compliment you – I had been led to expect that you would be dead or at least rendered unconscious by now by my incompetent underlings.” The Pantherman strode closer, and kicked the struggling Owl in the side of the head, temporarily stunning him.
“I see that your beauteous partner managed to escape during our ever-so-brief struggle, but she’ll soon find there is no way out of the Pantherman’s Domain – all the exits are sealed.” He roared, sounding exactly like the battle cry of an enraged wild panther. Even Sin looked cowed after that thunderous bellow.
“What now, Sir Beast?” the Owl had managed to reach a seated position, and was straining mightily against the cord around his wrists. He could feel just a little play – it wouldn’t be long before he could tear free. “I'll find a way to escape and stop you if it's the last thing I do!” he growled as he continued to strain against the cords.
“You should have said '… or I'll die trying', because THAT is the last thing you'll do,” the man with the cat face chuckled. “And then your lovely partner...”
“I escaped from you last time, and captured you easily as you ran like a scared rabbit!”
“Fool! Last time I counted on a trap, but this time I’ll just shoot you. Only enough to disable you, then I’ll hunt down your partner and kill her in front of you. Only then will I finish you forever!”
“You aren’t the first punk to say that, and you won’t be the last!” Behind his Owl mask, Nick's eyes grew wide. Over his foe's shoulder, he could see Lady Owl moving quietly and smoothly up behind the villain, a heavy rock in her hand. She would have to move fast! And he had to keep the Pantherman’s attention.
“You know, in a fair fight, you wouldn’t have a chance against me. Your little shock stick, there,” he waved his bound wrists, “is hardly the tool of a brave man.”
“Why, you…” the enraged criminal snarled – and then spun around as a sharp noise behind him alerted him of Belle’s approach. She lunged and slammed the stone down on his head; she managed to hit him with a glancing blow on the side of the head that then slammed into the villain’s shoulder, and he got off a wild shot that hit her in the stomach. She fell to the floor with a screech and moaned “Too… slow… Sorry Nick.” and then passed out.
The catman was at her side in a stride. He kicked her hard in the head, then turned back to the Owl. “Yes, she was too slow, and you are too weak, to threaten the Pantherman. Perfect epitaphs - “Too Slow” and “Too Weak”; a well-matched pair!”
Nick surged to his feet and strained desperately against the cord wrapping his wrists together. Even his supreme effort was not enough to burst free, though. The Pantherman yanked on his whip and the Owl stumbled forward a step and fell on top of his partner.
As she screamed in pain, he tried to apologize. “Not strong enough… sorry, darling…” The villain pulled the trigger again, and a bullet slammed into his rib cage.
Nick realized he was about to pass out. “Not yet!” he whispered out loud. With a supreme effort, he managed to trigger the police radio built into his cowl. “Owl calling Chief Murphy. Pantherman underground, help!” And then, all he could do is stare in a daze at the wavering image of his killer, looming above him.
At that moment there was a tremendous explosion nearby, and the Pantherman was knocked down by the shock waves in the confined volume that he had sealed off, and one of the steel doors that closed to make this space a prison was blown out of its frame. Even before the sound had stopped echoing, there was a whoosh as of a heavy wind, and some loud whacks and a sickening crack, all occurring so closely together that only the one who made them would be able to tell which came first. The Owl and Lady Owl were yanked apart and left in seated positions, thrown around with no concern for their injuries or the agony such abrupt, violent movements caused.
Then, a form that had been nothing but a blur an instant ago solidified into a human figure. In front of them stood a woman, clad in black leather with navy blue highlights – a black bomber jacket, breeches which came down to the knees, black leather knee high boots, navy blue gloves, and a World War I flying helmet with goggles.
“I’mLadyWonder!Iheardyourradiocallandcametohelp.” It sounded like a single word, so quickly did she speak. She disappeared, reappeared next to Sin. “Ivealwayswantedacat!” She hoisted the panther over her shoulder and disappeared. Both heroes stopped holding on to consciousness…
***~~~***
The next day, Mr. Wily was sitting at a cluttered desk in the tiny janitor closet cubbyhole deep in the bowels of the Pentagon that Program E used as an office. His door opened and closed, though no one was visible. Slowly, like an image on a piece of film being developed, Army Ranger Captain Stevens became visible. He saluted and gave his report.
“Mission accomplished. I outfitted our lackey the Pantherman with one of the biolectric batteries we appropriated from Tesla, which he then used to shock and weaken the Owl. Terry’s strength failed him in a situation where his failure led directly to the injury and almost death of his partner.” He handed a flat metal case the size of a deck of cards to his boss. “And I made a noise that alerted Pantherman that the dame was sneakin’ up on him, so he dodged, and she blamed it on being too slow.”
“And then, Lady Wonder took care of the Pantherman for us – broke his neck, so he’ll never say a word. And the crazy $!^@# even took the panther off our hands – wants to keep it as a ‘Pet’!”
“Good work, Captain Stevens,” Wily was nodding in appreciative agreement. “Indeed, I have a message from the Terrys, asking me to visit them in the hospital at my earliest convenience.”
Epilogue
Midnight: Two people stood close together on the roof of a penthouse home in the center of Yorktown. One was the Owl and the other, his wife Belle, conspicuously NOT wearing the costume of Lady Owl. A short distance away, their butler Soto was loading a small grip into the cargo hatch on the Owlplane. Belle was gesticulating wildly, and yelling in anger, while the Owl stood passively and attempted to speak rationally.
"Belle, we've discussed this before. I've been given a mission by Program E and I am going to undertake that mission. It's for the good of the country."
"Damn you, Nick Terry!” Belle snarled in rage. “After all the failed promises we’ve had from Program E, you owe them NOTHING! You served ‘the good of the country’ during the War, and now it's time for someone else to serve the damn country. Your duty now is to your pregnant wife! To ME and our unborn child!”
Nick was having trouble maintaining his temper. She knew his mind was made up, and he needed to get going. And he’d heard it all before, and explained it all before. He tried again.
"Look, Bell, you know there is nobody else that can do what we four can. We’re a team and I can’t let the others down. We owe it to the country and the program that gave us our powers - and besides, Wily promised this will be the last mission.” He paused, this next bit seemed to fan her anger more than anything else. “By the time we get back, Program E will have a new cadre of super powered agents trained and ready to deploy in our place. And DON’T tell me that the mission can wait for the new agents - we HAVE discussed this and you know it can't wait. Those neo-Nazis in Brazil are ready to explode from hiding and start a new World War any day now! Any delay could cost millions of lives." Nick remained steadfast in his resolve to accompany his teammates on this mission, three others also given super powers by Program E - Doc Strange, Lady Luck, and Lash Lightning.
Belle had finally had enough. She hadn’t issued her ultimatum before, hoping that he’d change his mind without it. But now… “OK, Mr. Nick Terry, Mr. Super Heroic Owl, you go with the rest of your so called "Force Four" and clean up those nasty old Nazis. But I'm not going to wait around until Captain Stevens calls on me with you death notice in his hand. If you go on that mission, don’t expect to find me or our child waiting for you when you get back!"
Nick’s voice was rough with the misery he was feeling as he was torn between love of country and love of family. "Belle, please don't do this to me!” he begged. “This mission is going to be dangerous enough, and worrying about you is going to keep me from operating at my peak."
"Then, dammit, stick around at home and keep me safe!"
There was no time left – his teammates were expecting him. He steeled himself, he wasn’t going to change his mind now. "I’m very sorry you feel that way, Belle. I have to leave. It's my last mission, I promise."
"And it really will be, Nick, I feel it in my bones..." Since she had taken the Machtedicine, even though she hadn’t seemed to gain any physical super powers, Bell's intuition had become much stronger and more reliable. She knew she was right. "Please don't go!"
"Nothing more to talk about then," he replied sadly. He held out his arms. "Hug and a kiss for good luck?"
She considered just walking away, but Nick was her beloved husband, after all. At least, until he climbed into the Owlplane this night. And she knew it would be the last time. She stepped into his arms for a brief embrace, but it felt to her as if she were embracing a corpse, and she pushed free almost immediately.
"Good bye, Nick. Good luck on your mission," she said flatly, turned away and walked to the door of their mansion. She stepped inside and closed the door without another glance back at her departing husband... and then collapsed against the door, only her death grip on the knob keeping her from crashing to the floor, and began wailing in mourning.
Late Summer, 1942
Washington, DC
Washington, DC
Chapter 1
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Terry.” The speaker was a short, pudgy man with thinning blonde hair, combed over, dressed in a cheap black suit. He was accompanied by a much taller man whose posture, demeanor, very short haircut and particularly his combat fatigues virtually shouted ‘Military!’ In fact, he was so clean-cut and handsome that he should have been featured on a recruiting poster. The shorter man continued, “My name is Mr. Wily, and I work for the War Department. This is Army Ranger Captain Stevens, currently detached to the War Department."
Mr. and Mrs. Terry arose from their seats and shook hands with each of the gentlemen. Mr. Nick Terry was even taller than the soldier, and had an equally impressive physique. He had dark hair and a long face that had never been more than plain, even before he’d collected all the scars and bruises that marked him as a fighter. However, he was handsomely dressed in dark, well-tailored suit, pocket square in the jacket, ascot, a fedora and two toned oxfords. When he spoke, his voice matched his appearance – a deep, rough bass that rumbled like thunder.
Mrs. Belle Terry was about 5’7” and in perfect trim, with long blonde hair framing her cheerful face. Unlike her husband, she was extremely attractive; like her husband, she was elegantly dressed, in a tight off-pink pencil skirt suit, heels which brought her head to her husband’s shoulder level, and the blouse under her blazer revealed a lot of lace. Nick carefully kept his grip relaxed – even with a man as powerful as Stevens, experience had taught him that more likely than not, his full grip would cause pain and often injury. He would later find that thought to be slightly humorous.
The encounter was taking place in a meeting room in an expensive hotel in Washington, D.C. Mr. Wily, or rather the people he worked for, had paid for the room and also paid first class round trip plane fare to bring the Terrys to the capitol. Wily was still speaking.
“As you know, I work for the Department of War. And before we get down to cases, the Department has asked me to express our sincere thanks to both of you for your service as the Owl and Lady Owl.” Neither of them bothered to deny their secret identities. They knew the government wouldn’t have made such extensive and expensive arrangements for this special visit to the Capitol by a special investigator for the Yorktown Police Department and a girl reporter for the Yorktown Morning Eagle.
“It is difficult for all of us who remain at home when so many are overseas, battling the Axis, but even so, someone has the maintain order and keep things operating as closely as possible to business as usual. In addition, I’d like to add my own personal thank you. You are helping keep Americans safe on the home front, so our men in uniform can protect our freedom on other shores with their hearts and minds clear of worry about the safety of their loved ones back home.”
This was actually an uncomfortable subject with the Terrys, as they had both often thought that they might be doing more good in the military. Belle thought that Wily sounded smarmy rather than sincere. Still, he was from the War Department, and with a war going on, it made sense to listen to what he had to say.
“We both appreciate the thanks, both from you and the Department of War,” Nick responded gravely as Belle nodded her agreement. “Why don’t we get right down to business, so you can get back to the business of running the war?”
“Certainly, sir,” Wily nodded in appreciation. “I appreciate practical people who cut to the chase. I represent the War Department’s Program E – and I’m here to offer the two of you super powers.”
“Woah!” Nick replied cautiously, totally taken aback. He spoke slowly. “I assume that since you are from the Department of War this is a serious offer, not some kind of joke.” Wily nodded again. “So, you are referring to super strength, or other exotic abilities perhaps, such as controlling fire or impenetrable skin?”
“Exactly, any or perhaps all of those. In fact, Doc Strange is a great example. He was a normal man before he accepted the benefits offered by Program E.” Doc Strange was a man of Herculean strength and prodigious intellect who had only recently burst into the public eye. Virtually everyone was stunned after viewing the newsreels of his astounding adventures and unbelievable feats, the most well-known of which showed him catching a sabotaged B17 Flying Fortress bomber on the infield of a jam-packed Yankee Stadium, which he then set down safely and gently, spoiling the ball-game and a Bund plot to kill thousands of people.
“Oh, Nick!” Belle was almost breathless. “Just think of how much more good we could do! We could clean up Yorktown for good, instead of having to take care of an unending river of crooks every night!” Nick somehow remained blithely unaware that Belle was growing increasingly uncomfortable facing criminals every night who were always armed and usually stronger and much more skilled in fighting than she was. There were some situations where her ability to outwit almost any criminal was just not enough, and she was tired of having to count on Nick for a rescue. And equally as telling, she was used to having a social life, but the Owl and Lady Owl were on duty seven nights a week, week in and week out.
“Now look here, I’ve heard that Strange gets his powers from an almost-magical potion called alosun – which he discovered himself, after years of painstaking research.” Nick was very skeptical.
“That’s the cover story,” Wily agreed smoothly. “But Dr. Strange has been working for Project E for years, and he was one of the first to receive powers. It was actually our process and the drug Machtedicine that transformed him from a frail, sickly scientist into a virtual superman. Just imagine the results when one of the strongest men in the world, such as yourself, undergoes the process!” In Nick’s case, this wasn’t flattery – he had never in his life met a man who was stronger than he.
“As you might have surmised, Stevens, here, is also a ‘graduate’ of our process. After my presentation, I’ll ask him to demonstrate some of what you so eloquently called ‘exotic abilities’.”
“It’s an… interesting offer, and it hardly seems believable. Please give us more details.” Nick was unable to see the look of enthusiasm that crossed Belle’s face, but Wily saw it and his phony smile became even wider.
Chapter 2
“I’d like you to watch a slide show,” he proposed. Stevens silently moved to the projector and got settled.
The slide show was professionally created, expertly narrated, and almost totally fabricated. While there WAS a secret government super powers project, Program E was totally fictitious and only had 2 members; both in this room. And while Machtedicine gave some people powers, rather than being carefully calibrated and controlled, it had random effects ranging from providing astounding powers to being totally ineffective, to turning the subjects into monsters, to very painful death. When Wily saw how fascinated Belle was with the Lady Luck slide – Luck had received exceptional coordination, agility and reflexes – he secretly signaled Stevens who added two more fledgling superheroines: Super Dame, who was strong and could fly, and Lady Wonder, who could run fast enough to break the sound barrier and had reflexes to match. Belle’s face lit up at the description of Lady Wonder – super speed, that’s what she wanted!
What Wily didn’t tell them was that Super Dame had uncontrollable hemophilia and was in deadly danger from even the tiniest cut, and Lady Wonder had become dangerously reckless and developed heart arrhythmia. The success rate of the compound he was pushing was considered by the government to offer enough value to offset any collateral damage that developed.
When the presentation was over, Wily suggested a demonstration. Sitting in a corner of the room was a crude bronze sphere the size of a basketball. It had palm prints smashed deeply into the solid metal, and there were a lot of jagged edges sticking out. "Doc Strange did that. He needed a projectile against a battleship that was firing against him, so he ripped the flanges off the propeller of a smaller ship he had just wrecked and molded them together into this ball. He recovered it later to keep as a souvenir, but we borrowed it for today." He paused and looked at Nick speculatively. "Do you think you can pick it up?"
Nick walked over to the ball. "I've been wondering what that was. I certainly couldn't throw this thing, or sculpt bronze with my bare hands. Let's see what I _can_ do." He looked it over, and found some hand prints driven deeply into the solid metal on opposite sides of the ball. He squatted, fitted his hands, and attempted to straighten his legs. The ball rocked a little but didn't come up. "I have to say, this Doc Strange's strength is incredible! I could probably lift it a few inches, but I'd wouldn't even want to attempt it until after I got pretty much warmed up, or I might sprain my sacroiliac." He whistled appreciatively. "Any other heroes that strong?"
Wily turned to his partner. "Stevens?" The big man walked to the ball and used the same handprints Nick had selected. With a strained grunt, he raised it to his chest. "Stevens isn't a super hero yet, but he we are working on a name and costume now. The department favors something patriotic." Stevens was starting to labor, holding up the ball, so Wily motioned him to put it down.
"I do get to choose what powers I get, right?" Nick asked.
Belle looked annoyed at being left out. "Or me? I would love to be faster than a bullet!"
"The compound works a little differently on everyone,” Wiley said evasively. “It seems to enhance your existing strengths. So in your case, Mr. Terry, we would expect great strength, and for Mrs. Terry, highly heightened athletic abilities. There would also be secondary abilities in both cases." This assessment was partially true, but it was designed to give the impression that the success rate of the process employed by the almost-fictional Program E was much higher than it actually was. And minimize the very high failure rate, which Program E refused to even acknowledge.
“To be totally frank, Mr. Wily, I don’t trust you, and I’m surprised that the War Department can’t find an agent who exudes more trustworthiness. This makes me doubt the whole program,” Nick spoke very bluntly. “This doesn’t seem to be a mature program; it sounds more to me like you are still using heroes as guinea pigs, with no real idea as to what the results are going to be. I don’t think I want to be part of this. We have always been successful with our natural abilities and our Owl gadgets, Belle’s brains and my brawn. Come back to us when you have a list of powers and can say ‘pick the ones you want’ and guarantee that’s what we’ll get. Until then, gentlemen, please peddle your pages elsewhere.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Terry. You are turning down the chance to perform a great service for your government in this time of war, and your choice would lead many to question your patriotism.” It was clear from his tone of barely suppressed anger that Wily was one of those ‘many’. “I hope you don’t regret it.” Stevens had finished packing the projector and screen as they spoke, so the two headed for the door. As he was stepping out, Wily turned and snapped unconvincingly, “Good day to you.”
Once the door was closed and the War Department agents had walked several yards down the corridor, Wily stopped for a second and whispered harshly to his companion, “Convince them.”
Chapter 3
A week or so later:
The well-appointed den was a little too crowded with 6 people; two cops, Nick Terry and Chief of Police Murphy, Belle Terry and Mr. Prendergast Van Allen, the owner of the den and the mansion around them. Nick and the Chief were closely examining an open, empty wall safe, Belle was talking to Van Allen, writing notes on her pad as she did, and the cops were trying not to look bored. Nothing here for them today…
“So, Mr. Van Allen, today is the servants’ day off and you’ve been home alone all day? What have you been doing?” Belle asked again, a little annoyed at Van Allen’s lack of responsiveness so far.
Van Allen, a frail old man with scraggly white hair, was sweating profusely and wiping his face often with a towel. He mumbled almost inaudibly in response. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Terry – for some reason, I can’t remember anything about today after I dismissed the help. I have no idea how the safe got opened – but I’m the only one in the world who knows the combination.”
Nick and the Chief were comparing notes about the safe.
“One of his own,” the chief observed, pointing to an embossed tag on the inside of the safe door. “Van Allen Safe Company, and it’s their top of the line model, with the combination set by Van Allen himself in secret.” He shook his head dejectedly. ““Didn’t do him much good, though, did it? Whoever did this, didn’t give us many leads, did he?”
“Even if Van Allen built this one himself, there must be some master locksmiths who work for him who would be able to open it,” Nick mused. “So we could start with them. But I don’t think that’s it.”
The Chief looked askance at his special investigator and great friend. “You’ve got a hunch, don’t you? Let me in on it!”
“If you don’t mind, Chief, I’d like to follow up on this one alone for a while,” the big guy replied slowly. “Something about this case is nagging at my memory.”
The Chief was used to Terry’s maverick methods, and he was almost always pleased with the results. So: “OK, Mr. Special Investigator, I’ll leave this one to you. You’ve got two days, and you better not let me down! And make sure you wrap it up before the Owl figures it out. I’m tired of that guy always showing up my force in this town!”
Nick tried to hide his chuckle in a cough – the Chief really meant ‘I’m tired of that guy always showing ME up in this town!’ He looked his friend in the eye. “C’mon, chief, you know he just wants to help out.”
“If he really wants to help out, he’ll go on a vacation and leave police work to the police. You just be sure and break this case without his help.” The Chief was emphatic.
A little later, in the car, Belle spoke worriedly to Nick. “You know, Nick, this case is starting to give me the creeps. Does it remind you of anything?”
“You, too, eh? Yeah, this theft follows the same MO as the night the Pantherman robbed Carson.” The big guy shuddered – they had never met anyone as evil as the Pantherman.
“Then we better race back there in a hurry, Nick! That awful Craig person, Pantherman’s servant, murdered Carson right after he talked to the police. Van Allen might be dead already!”
“Don’t worry,” Nick replied reassuringly. “I vouch for the safety of the house. I checked it out while you and the Chief were grilling Van Allen. No secret passages, no hidden pits opening into the sewers, absolutely no trace of the Pantherman, his cat Sin or his servant Craig. Plus I convinced the Chief to take Van Allen into protective custody. So he’s safe for a while, at least. Long enough for us to figure this case out and wrap it up, I hope.”
“We’ve got a lot of figuring to do, then – starting with what we know.” Belle was again the keen investigative reporter, direct and incisive. “The Pantherman committed suicide in prison – we saw the body.” She shuddered; they had been shown a grotesque lump of charcoal that had a vaguely human shape. “Doused himself with kerosene and set it afire. Died screaming in agony. Just to avoid the electric chair!” She blinked and her face twisted in reflection of the imagined pain. “If I had to go, I’d take the chair over incineration any day!”
“So maybe the suicide was staged and that body wasn’t his?” Nick mused. “After all, it was burned beyond recognition.”
“There were half a dozen witnesses, and the body was definitely in his cell. How could it have been anyone else?” She paused for a moment, thinking it over.
“Wait a minute, all the witnesses were the cons in the nearby cells, weren’t they? No guards were nearby at the time, no authorities as witnesses. I remember, nobody really pressed the questioning. And nobody ever bothered to find out how Pantherman got all that kerosene into his cell. In fact, nobody seemed interested in investigating the death at all. ‘He was going to the chair in a week anyway,’ they all said. ‘Saved the state the cost of the execution,’ they all said.” Now she was starting to look seriously alarmed. “Nick, we better get to work on this one, now! The Pantherman is the most deadly killer we ever faced.”
*See Crackajack Funnies #31, January, 1941 for the story of the Owls and the Pantherman
Chapter 4
A couple of nights later, at exactly midnight, the Owl and Lady Owl compared notes as they climbed into their high powered Owlmobile. Their destination was a manhole cover on the other side of the city which opened into the sewer. The Pantherman had been in the habit of having his enemies killed and their bodies left in the sewer where they had been eaten by rats. Several unsolved murder cases had been closed when the Owl discovered and exposed the bone pile of the Pantherman’s enemies in a wide, slightly drier spot in the sewer tunnels that Nick called the “Corpse Chamber”. They suspected that this section of the city’s sewer was again being used for unthinkable evil, and tonight they were going to end that evil.
Bell started her rundown. “About 2 weeks after the Pantherman’s suicide in prison, a single con escaped. He was never tracked down. According to the report of some guards, he used a whip he’d somehow made from some scraps in the prison shop as a weapon – just the weapon Pantherman favored,” she reported enthusiastically. “I’ll bet it was him.” Then, darkly, “I can’t believe they kept the escape story so secret – there must be at least one of his men working at that prison!”
Nick nodded in agreement. “You remember that his panther Sin was given to the zoo, and they had to put him in a separate cage because he kept attacking the other cats? Supposedly one night a month or so ago the attendant who was feeding him left the cage unlocked, and Sim got out. The attendant will never be able to tell – he was clawed to death and a lot of chunks were missing. This was a guy who had been caring for big cats for almost 40 years, with never a problem. Seems unlikely to me.” He shrugged. “And nobody has managed to track down Sin, since then, either.”
“So we’re going with my plan?” Belle wanted to be sure they were both prepared. “If it’s really the Pantherman, he hates you and me more than anything in the world, and he’s got an ambush set up.”
“Ambush, shmambush! Your plan,” he agreed. “And a mighty good plan it is, m’dear! He won’t know what hit ‘im!”
Once they reached their target block, they parked in an alley and spent a short time dragging gear from the car. Then they reviewed the plan one more time, and, sure they were as ready as they could be, went into action. Both donned full face cowls with Owl SeeInDark™ visors built in, connected by cables to flat batteries secured in the small of their backs. Belle used an air pistol to shoot out the single streetlight on this block while Nick hooked two lifting tools into the cover. Then he carefully lifted it out and set it aside, seemingly handling the 350 pound disk as easily as he would have lifted a large hubcap – if there were had been any cars with hubcaps right then, due to war shortages. Two flashlight beams flared to life and were swept across every square foot of the large room now exposed through the manhole shaft. The subtle scents of the sewer floated out into the night air, and the only sound was the faint burbling of the running sewage-filled water, deep below the street.
After the probing flashlights revealed nothing, Nick dropped a rope, and shortly the large man was descending carefully into the cavernous room, followed quickly by a much smaller woman. As soon as she was well clear of the manhole, a hail of bullets from silenced pistols slammed into both heroes. They wriggled and writhed for a couple of split instants, and then plummeted to the floor, landing with audible thumps. Both bodies continued to jerk and twitch for several seconds, as the Pantherman’s men pumped additional shots into them, to make sure that their foes were dead.
About a minute after the last shot, a half dozen electric torches with handkerchiefs fastened over the lenses were switched on, and the ambush team cautiously approached the dead bodies, pistols in hand and still pointed at the heroes as if they might suddenly rise from the dead.
“Looks like we got ‘em, Craig!” a gravelly whisper crossed the room.
“Pantherman wants ‘em moved to da ‘Chamber’,” another whisper responded. “Bennie, get up dere and fix da cover before da coppers show. Stump, you’n No Thumb take da big guy, and Ralphie, you bring da dead dame.”
As they approached the corpses, there was a brief muffled “Whoomph!” and the Owl’s body exploded, releasing an opaque black cloud which was laced with tear gas. The mobsters fell to the floor, screaming and clawing at their eyes. From above, the Owl and Lady Owl watched the whole scene play out, as their SeeInDark™ visors easily punched through the opaque smoke. Gas masks built into their cowls protected them from the tear gas.
“Love that stuff,” the Owl said proudly about the black smoke as he started down the line. “One of my best inventions!”
He didn’t see Belle nod in agreement above him, but she quickly followed his descent into the Stygian darkness that was to them as light as day. It only took a few minutes to insure that the gangsters were unconscious and well-trussed, then the two moved cautiously into the tunnel that led to the abattoir that Craig had just referred to as ‘the Chamber’, and then past that to the fetid room the Owl thought of as ‘the Panther’s Throne Room’.
When they reached the 'Corpse Chamber', Nick glanced in cautiously, and then prevented Belle from looking on the grotesque scene. He had counted at least 7 different bodies, most of which were unidentifiable after the attentions of the sewer rats, but he did recognize what appeared to be the most recent addition to the grisly collection.
“What a repulsive sight!” he whispered urgently to his partner. “And thanks again for the gas masks, Belle. Good planning.” He stopped speaking while his body shuddered and he fought to keep himself from retching. Belle was becoming seriously alarmed when he shook himself and began speaking again. “Pantherman's muscling in on the gangs again. We've just solved the disappearance of “Dutch” Dijkstra and probably the other bosses who've disappeared recently.”
As they moved deeper into the tunnels, their caution and advance planning helped them escape from several deadfalls and traps, as well as another ambush. They were on the last hundred yards to the Throne Room now, and though they were still cautious, they no longer bothered to hide. Either the Pantherman knew they were coming by now, or he wasn’t even down here. They hadn’t been attacked by any more of Pantherman’s men for quite a few minutes – Nick was of the opinion that they had all been subdued already.
The ‘Throne Room’ was only dimly lit, but even without infrared goggles, both Owls and Panthers can see in minimum light. Nick stood outside to the door without revealing himself to the room’s occupant and slid his tiny periscope out past the door frame. As expected, at the other end of the room, seated regally on a chair, his leashed panther held in one hand and his vicious whip in the other, was a human figure in a silk evening robe with the brown-furred head of a jungle cat – The Pantherman! Without waiting for the Owls to reveal themselves, he spoke.
“You birds are formidable and worthy foes. Still, the Pantherman is triumphant!” he snarled, in a deep rumbling voice that seemed to owe more to a feline throat than a human one. “You can’t escape NOW!”
A spark leaped from the wall to the Owl, and he was knocked backwards on his butt on the slimy floor. By the time he climbed back on his feet, the Pantherman was close enough to flog him with the whip, and again, some kind of shock blasted Nick off his feet. This one was less intense, but even still, simple electricity should have been totally blocked by his costume. The whip flicked out again, this time to wrap around his wrists and then draw them tightly together like a noose of some kind.
“My whip is now discharged, Mr. Owl, though it hardly matters, as you will be unable to burst free from its unbreakable tongue. I compliment you – I had been led to expect that you would be dead or at least rendered unconscious by now by my incompetent underlings.” The Pantherman strode closer, and kicked the struggling Owl in the side of the head, temporarily stunning him.
“I see that your beauteous partner managed to escape during our ever-so-brief struggle, but she’ll soon find there is no way out of the Pantherman’s Domain – all the exits are sealed.” He roared, sounding exactly like the battle cry of an enraged wild panther. Even Sin looked cowed after that thunderous bellow.
“What now, Sir Beast?” the Owl had managed to reach a seated position, and was straining mightily against the cord around his wrists. He could feel just a little play – it wouldn’t be long before he could tear free. “I'll find a way to escape and stop you if it's the last thing I do!” he growled as he continued to strain against the cords.
“You should have said '… or I'll die trying', because THAT is the last thing you'll do,” the man with the cat face chuckled. “And then your lovely partner...”
“I escaped from you last time, and captured you easily as you ran like a scared rabbit!”
“Fool! Last time I counted on a trap, but this time I’ll just shoot you. Only enough to disable you, then I’ll hunt down your partner and kill her in front of you. Only then will I finish you forever!”
“You aren’t the first punk to say that, and you won’t be the last!” Behind his Owl mask, Nick's eyes grew wide. Over his foe's shoulder, he could see Lady Owl moving quietly and smoothly up behind the villain, a heavy rock in her hand. She would have to move fast! And he had to keep the Pantherman’s attention.
“You know, in a fair fight, you wouldn’t have a chance against me. Your little shock stick, there,” he waved his bound wrists, “is hardly the tool of a brave man.”
“Why, you…” the enraged criminal snarled – and then spun around as a sharp noise behind him alerted him of Belle’s approach. She lunged and slammed the stone down on his head; she managed to hit him with a glancing blow on the side of the head that then slammed into the villain’s shoulder, and he got off a wild shot that hit her in the stomach. She fell to the floor with a screech and moaned “Too… slow… Sorry Nick.” and then passed out.
The catman was at her side in a stride. He kicked her hard in the head, then turned back to the Owl. “Yes, she was too slow, and you are too weak, to threaten the Pantherman. Perfect epitaphs - “Too Slow” and “Too Weak”; a well-matched pair!”
Nick surged to his feet and strained desperately against the cord wrapping his wrists together. Even his supreme effort was not enough to burst free, though. The Pantherman yanked on his whip and the Owl stumbled forward a step and fell on top of his partner.
As she screamed in pain, he tried to apologize. “Not strong enough… sorry, darling…” The villain pulled the trigger again, and a bullet slammed into his rib cage.
Nick realized he was about to pass out. “Not yet!” he whispered out loud. With a supreme effort, he managed to trigger the police radio built into his cowl. “Owl calling Chief Murphy. Pantherman underground, help!” And then, all he could do is stare in a daze at the wavering image of his killer, looming above him.
At that moment there was a tremendous explosion nearby, and the Pantherman was knocked down by the shock waves in the confined volume that he had sealed off, and one of the steel doors that closed to make this space a prison was blown out of its frame. Even before the sound had stopped echoing, there was a whoosh as of a heavy wind, and some loud whacks and a sickening crack, all occurring so closely together that only the one who made them would be able to tell which came first. The Owl and Lady Owl were yanked apart and left in seated positions, thrown around with no concern for their injuries or the agony such abrupt, violent movements caused.
Then, a form that had been nothing but a blur an instant ago solidified into a human figure. In front of them stood a woman, clad in black leather with navy blue highlights – a black bomber jacket, breeches which came down to the knees, black leather knee high boots, navy blue gloves, and a World War I flying helmet with goggles.
“I’mLadyWonder!Iheardyourradiocallandcametohelp.” It sounded like a single word, so quickly did she speak. She disappeared, reappeared next to Sin. “Ivealwayswantedacat!” She hoisted the panther over her shoulder and disappeared. Both heroes stopped holding on to consciousness…
***~~~***
The next day, Mr. Wily was sitting at a cluttered desk in the tiny janitor closet cubbyhole deep in the bowels of the Pentagon that Program E used as an office. His door opened and closed, though no one was visible. Slowly, like an image on a piece of film being developed, Army Ranger Captain Stevens became visible. He saluted and gave his report.
“Mission accomplished. I outfitted our lackey the Pantherman with one of the biolectric batteries we appropriated from Tesla, which he then used to shock and weaken the Owl. Terry’s strength failed him in a situation where his failure led directly to the injury and almost death of his partner.” He handed a flat metal case the size of a deck of cards to his boss. “And I made a noise that alerted Pantherman that the dame was sneakin’ up on him, so he dodged, and she blamed it on being too slow.”
“And then, Lady Wonder took care of the Pantherman for us – broke his neck, so he’ll never say a word. And the crazy $!^@# even took the panther off our hands – wants to keep it as a ‘Pet’!”
“Good work, Captain Stevens,” Wily was nodding in appreciative agreement. “Indeed, I have a message from the Terrys, asking me to visit them in the hospital at my earliest convenience.”
Epilogue
Fall 1946
Yorktown, NY
Yorktown, NY
Midnight: Two people stood close together on the roof of a penthouse home in the center of Yorktown. One was the Owl and the other, his wife Belle, conspicuously NOT wearing the costume of Lady Owl. A short distance away, their butler Soto was loading a small grip into the cargo hatch on the Owlplane. Belle was gesticulating wildly, and yelling in anger, while the Owl stood passively and attempted to speak rationally.
"Belle, we've discussed this before. I've been given a mission by Program E and I am going to undertake that mission. It's for the good of the country."
"Damn you, Nick Terry!” Belle snarled in rage. “After all the failed promises we’ve had from Program E, you owe them NOTHING! You served ‘the good of the country’ during the War, and now it's time for someone else to serve the damn country. Your duty now is to your pregnant wife! To ME and our unborn child!”
Nick was having trouble maintaining his temper. She knew his mind was made up, and he needed to get going. And he’d heard it all before, and explained it all before. He tried again.
"Look, Bell, you know there is nobody else that can do what we four can. We’re a team and I can’t let the others down. We owe it to the country and the program that gave us our powers - and besides, Wily promised this will be the last mission.” He paused, this next bit seemed to fan her anger more than anything else. “By the time we get back, Program E will have a new cadre of super powered agents trained and ready to deploy in our place. And DON’T tell me that the mission can wait for the new agents - we HAVE discussed this and you know it can't wait. Those neo-Nazis in Brazil are ready to explode from hiding and start a new World War any day now! Any delay could cost millions of lives." Nick remained steadfast in his resolve to accompany his teammates on this mission, three others also given super powers by Program E - Doc Strange, Lady Luck, and Lash Lightning.
Belle had finally had enough. She hadn’t issued her ultimatum before, hoping that he’d change his mind without it. But now… “OK, Mr. Nick Terry, Mr. Super Heroic Owl, you go with the rest of your so called "Force Four" and clean up those nasty old Nazis. But I'm not going to wait around until Captain Stevens calls on me with you death notice in his hand. If you go on that mission, don’t expect to find me or our child waiting for you when you get back!"
Nick’s voice was rough with the misery he was feeling as he was torn between love of country and love of family. "Belle, please don't do this to me!” he begged. “This mission is going to be dangerous enough, and worrying about you is going to keep me from operating at my peak."
"Then, dammit, stick around at home and keep me safe!"
There was no time left – his teammates were expecting him. He steeled himself, he wasn’t going to change his mind now. "I’m very sorry you feel that way, Belle. I have to leave. It's my last mission, I promise."
"And it really will be, Nick, I feel it in my bones..." Since she had taken the Machtedicine, even though she hadn’t seemed to gain any physical super powers, Bell's intuition had become much stronger and more reliable. She knew she was right. "Please don't go!"
"Nothing more to talk about then," he replied sadly. He held out his arms. "Hug and a kiss for good luck?"
She considered just walking away, but Nick was her beloved husband, after all. At least, until he climbed into the Owlplane this night. And she knew it would be the last time. She stepped into his arms for a brief embrace, but it felt to her as if she were embracing a corpse, and she pushed free almost immediately.
"Good bye, Nick. Good luck on your mission," she said flatly, turned away and walked to the door of their mansion. She stepped inside and closed the door without another glance back at her departing husband... and then collapsed against the door, only her death grip on the knob keeping her from crashing to the floor, and began wailing in mourning.
