Suicide Squad

by Marv Wolfman

  She screamed in shock as he tossed her through a second-story window halfway down the block, then roared with monstrous delight. Flag, Lawton, and the others stared at him wondering, human or animal? Right now, it didn’t much matter.

  Deadshot took a gun from the hands of a dead thing that used to be a cop, and emptied its mag into another EA. The thing careened back and fell. Flag stood over it as it squirmed on the ground, and fired two more shots into its brain. The thing stopped twitching.

  Lawton paused to take a break.

  Flag looked around. “No targets,” he said to everyone in the vicinity. “Cease firing. Conserve all the ammo you can. Pick up any you find.”

  Katana was off to one side, and she sheathed her sword, her chest heaving with exhaustion. At her feet were eleven dead creatures, all cut up and served, a feast fit for Croc.

  The SEALs surveyed the area, but nothing was moving. One spotted Deadshot sitting on a mound of dead EAs, catching his breath. He walked over, and Lawton instinctively let his hand slide to his gun, but the SEAL stuck out his hand.

  “I’ll fight alongside you any day,” he said. “Good job, man.”

  Deadshot stared at him, stunned. This was the first civil thing anyone had said to him in a long time. He reached up and took the SEAL’s hand.

  Flag watched from across the way. He still wasn’t a big fan.

  * * *

  Catching her breath, Amanda Waller sat in the ops center. She was reacting to the violence she’d been watching, experiencing it as if she had been in the fight, and not relatively safe, high above the city. With trembling hands she poured wine into her thermos cup and took a long sip.

  This may not go south after all.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Harley held the bat, both hands firmly gripping the handle, and slammed it down as hard as she was able on the creature’s face. She kept hitting it until the head split open, then watched as it stopped quivering, waited a few seconds more, then nudged it with her foot. It didn’t move.

  “Filleted like a chicken cutlet,” she chirped, and she laughed, but she still wasn’t fully satisfied.

  She swung the bat again, even harder this time. She waited a bit longer, then hunkered next to the EA and inspected it. Finally she made her disgusted face, flicked her tongue over her lips, and swung the bat down one last time.

  She looked up and saw Deadshot staring at her.

  “What?”

  “How dead are you going for?” Deadshot asked.

  She glared at him. “Hey. I saw it move. See? It just flinched again. I think.” Swinging the bat, she smashed the EA’s face, then gave the thumbs up sign. “Now he’s really, really dead. Wicked-witch dead.” She tossed the bat aside and turned back to Lawton. “And I feel so much, much better.”

  About twenty yards away Boomer was bent over, hands on his knees, and he spat out a chunk of blackened crust. He’d taken a few nasty shots to the face. Diablo was standing near him.

  “You were some help, Princess,” Harkness said.

  Diablo shook his head. “It’s better this way. Trust me.” He held out his hands and a fiery skull materialized between his outstretched fingers. He closed his fist again and the skull disappeared.

  “Who needs you anyway?” Boomer said dismissively, pulling out his lighter and flicking it on. “Lookee that. Ooooh, fire.” Disgusted, he sneered at Diablo. “We are what we are, mate. Why fight it?”

  “What if what we are isn’t what we should be?”

  “Different strokes. I say if it feels good, do it—and for me, being bad feels very good.”

  Deadshot fit a new clip into his gun as he stared at Flag.

  “We pissed away a ton of ammo,” he said, “and for what?”

  “Don’t forget I took that one down with my bat,” Harley said, holding up her weapon, grinning then blowing it a kiss.

  “Hold on, Colonel,” GQ shouted as he ran up from behind. “We need to talk.”

  “We?” Flag repeated without looking. “I think by ‘we’ you mean you need to talk. Because I sure don’t need to say anything to you except ‘keep killing those bastards until they stay dead.’”

  GQ grabbed him by the shoulder. Flag glowered at him, but GQ wouldn’t let go.

  “Colonel, I lost ten men,” he said. “Ten good men. I don’t know if they’ve been killed or what, but they’re gone.”

  “What do you expect me to do about that? I lost men, too. And they were good men, too.”

  GQ pulled back, still angry. “Yeah. I know, but the question is why. The briefing we got said terrorists were attacking Midway City. Unless the enemy started to recruit monsters, those things were definitely not terrorists.”

  Flag rested his hand on GQ’s, then slowly lifted it off his shoulder. “Don’t,” he said. “I might forget we’re friends.”

  GQ pulled his hand back, but otherwise he didn’t move.

  “I’m waiting, Flag. My men—the ones who’ve survived, and your survivors, too—they deserve the truth.”

  “You joined to serve at the pleasure of the president,” the colonel responded. “Wherever the hell he decides to send you. I don’t recall seeing a contract that said you could pick and choose what you will or will not do.”

  “I didn’t say we wouldn’t follow orders. I said we deserve the truth about what we’ll be fighting.” Edwards stood his ground. “Those were not terrorists, and some of them were our people. Only changed. Like I said, sir, we deserve the truth. What are those things?”

  Flag looked away.

  “I don’t know.” He mumbled the words, as if he didn’t want to state what was quickly becoming obvious. “I don’t know. I don’t think Waller knows, either. I’m not sure anyone but Enchantress knows. And surprise surprise, she’s not talking.”

  Boomer shook his head. “Hell. One of them was wearing a suit. A three-thousand-dollar suit.”

  “And a Rolex,” Harley added, lifting the dead thing’s arm. “Unless this spud’s got an urgent meeting he has to attend. These things were people, weren’t they?”

  “They were. That’s obvious,” Flag acknowledged. “Now they’re not, but we don’t know how or why.”

  Harley dropped the EA’s hand. “Tell me it’s not contagious,” she said quickly. “Is it?”

  “There’s no biohazard,” Flag answered. “The CDC boys pretty much guaranteed that.”

  Harley still looked worried. “Yeah. Still… anyone got baby wipes? I should probably clean my hands.” She looked around, hoping someone would come to her aid, but nobody did. Grimacing, she rubbed her hands on her t-shirt, then looked down. “Hey! Harkness. Get away from there. I found that. It’s mine.”

  Boomerang was kneeling over the downed EA, removing the Rolex from its crusted wrist.

  “Losers weepers, little Sheila.”

  “Harkness, don’t,” Flag said, stepping closer. Defiant, Boomer checked out the watch, decided he liked what he was seeing, and pocketed it.

  “He’s got no use for it.”

  “That isn’t the point, not that you’d ever understand,” Flag said before turning back to the SEALs. “Okay, look. We don’t know a lot of hows and whos, but you’ve seen what we’re up against, so you know the kind of job we’ve got to do. We’re linking up with second squad. GQ, you’re Tail-End Charlie. C’mon, people. We’re moving out. Now.”

  Edwards didn’t say anything, but he moved. The SEALs peeled off like a formation of jet fighters. Flag’s Squad reluctantly followed suit. Deadshot hung back with him and waited for the others to get out of earshot. The colonel shot him a look.

  “What’s with the scowl, Flag? You wanna say something to me?”

  “Yeah,” Flag growled. “You will never be one of us. We follow orders. You bastards only follow paydays.”

  “That’s exactly what we are, Flag—bastards,” Lawton replied. “And that’s why you and Waller wanted us. You weren’t looking for gentlemen soldiers. You were buying killers, and you got exactly what you pai
d for. Don’t go regretting getting what you asked for.”

  “Lawton, the goddamn world’s at stake here, and last I looked, you live on this planet, too.”

  “We fought just as hard as you did. So give the cranky-old-guy bit a rest.”

  Flag didn’t reply. He strode past to join the others. Deadshot stood back, smiling. He held up his hand, made a pistol with his fingers, and pointed it at the man in front of him.

  “Bang!” he said.

  * * *

  The SEALs were in the lead, sticking to the sidewalks and avoiding the middle of the street, pressed as close as possible to the blown-out husks of Midway’s former skyscrapers. They kept to the shadows, out of sight as they advanced toward their goal.

  Gomez was still trying to make sense of the things they’d killed. Grey was at his side.

  “What do you think? There’s no way those things were human. Is there?”

  “Wrong question, Gomez.”

  “Really? So what’s the right one, Mister Stickler?”

  Grey said nothing, almost afraid that if he actually said what he was thinking, it would make it come true. Gomez prompted him again.

  “Okay, okay,” Grey finally said. “The right question? The right question is if those things were once human, can the spuds turn us into them, too?”

  Both men found themselves walking in silence as they hurried to join up with second squad.

  * * *

  Harley chewed her gum and blew a large pink bubble. She saw Boomerang sauntering just ahead and rushed to catch up.

  “Hey, Harkness. Hold on.”

  He walked even faster. Get me the hell away from her, he thought. I want zero to do with that fruitcake.

  “Harkness!” she said, reaching out and grabbing him by the shoulder. “I wanna talk.”

  He turned back to face her. “I am not your Puddin’, you Looney Tune. I don’t care what you want.” He started walking again, but she ran in front of him and made it impossible for him to get around her.

  “Alright. What?” he said impatiently. “You got thirty seconds. Better make them count.”

  “Okay. Sure. I want the Rolex.”

  He stared at her, surprised. “That’s it? That’s what you want? We’re at war with things that have a million eyes, and all you care about is a damned watch?”

  “Well, there was more, but you only gave me half a minute. So I narrowed it down to the Rolex. Give me more time, I’ll give you my laundry list.”

  “No more time, little girl, and no watch. Next time scrounge faster.” He took out a razor-blade boomerang from his pouch and angled it sharp side toward Harley’s neck. “Words of advice. Don’t speak to me again. Your voice gives me headaches.”

  She stood quiet but raised her chin, showing more of her neck, making it easier for him to slice. Boomer shook his head, spat out an angry growl, and took off to find the rest of the team.

  Idiot, he thought.

  * * *

  She watched him go and allowed herself a wide smile.

  Men. They always take the bait.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Flag arrived at the alley designation point, but was unable to locate the second squad. GQ dispatched his men to reconnoiter the immediate area. One by one they called in.

  It was all a big zero. GQ relayed the intel to Flag.

  “Where the hell are they?”

  “They’ve got to be here,” GQ said, his concern growing.

  Flag took out his radio and again punched in a number.

  “Havoc for Slayer Two. What’s your loc, Slayer Two? Radio check?”

  His comm frequency was stuck on static.

  “We’d’ve heard gunfire if there was an attack, wouldn’t we?” he said.

  “My team would not have surrendered,” GQ responded. “If they were able to mount a counterstrike, they would have. If they couldn’t, they’d pull back as ordered.”

  Flag tried his radio again. Same result. Zip. He wasn’t sure if the local cell towers were down or—as he was beginning to fear—nobody was alive to hear him.

  * * *

  Deadshot walked the perimeter beyond where the SEAL team had checked. Not a single building was intact.

  He passed the Midway City Jewelry Mart, and for a moment thought about the trays of diamonds, emeralds, and more that were—if time permitted—locked away in so-called burglarproof safes; easy pickings for someone like him. He knew he could do a Boomer and forage for valuables, but then wondered what good that would do him if Planet Earth was taken over by those walking barnacles.

  Maybe later, he decided. After we do our job, and before the city reclaims itself. Right now let’s blow those bastards to hell.

  He circled the corner and found a dozen trucks stacked in a pile, all on fire, the stink of diesel fuel smelling up the street. There was something else, too. He stared for a long time then reached for his comm.

  “Flag,” he shouted. “Get your ass over here. Right now.”

  Moments later the colonel made his way to where Deadshot was waiting.

  “This better be good, Lawton.”

  Deadshot pointed to a doorway, just beyond the burning trucks. Slumped across it was one of GQ’s SEALs. His equipment, weapons, and extra mags were scattered on the ground around him. Flag raised GQ on his comm line, then they hurried over.

  “He’s dead,” Flag whispered as he checked the man’s pulse. “We’ll bury him later, but give me a hand getting him out of there.”

  GQ joined them and helped Flag pull the body from where it had been lodged.

  “Dammit,” he exclaimed when he turned the body over and saw his face. “That’s Dave Aparo. I was his instructor at the Academy. He was a good man.”

  Flag nodded. “They all are. Dedicated, no-nonsense, loyal—and kick-ass soldiers.”

  GQ nodded. “Kick-ass soldiers. Yeah.”

  Deadshot used his scope to check out the area. “Whoever did this is long gone. I’m not seeing anyone else. I’m thinking those spuds came and snatched up your boys. This one probably fought back and got himself killed.”

  GQ agreed. “Fighting back was his style. Never gave up.” He turned to Flag, eyes red with anger. “We don’t leave teammates behind. Let’s get our people back.”

  Flag shook his head. “Negative,” he said flatly. “We’re continuing the mission. They’ve been taken by those things, they’re already dead.”

  “Rick, you don’t know that.”

  Flag shot him a look that said, Yeah. I do.

  * * *

  GQ’s anger swelled suddenly. He saw images of funerals and broken families. Aparo was a personal friend, but then most of his boys were. It was the way buddies got after spending days huddled together in trenches on the field of combat. There was nobody closer to you than the people you knew who were watching your back, and expected that you’d be watching theirs.

  The other SEALs surrounded Flag, GQ, and Deadshot, and they were joined moments later by the rest of Flag’s Squad. The colonel looked them over. Nobody had ankled.

  “Okay, I want the Two-Forty on point, Diamond formation. Start picking ’em and putting ’em down. The objective ain’t walking to meet us.”

  GQ wanted to find his lost men and rescue them, but he was a special warfare officer to the bone. The mission, and his orders, always came first.

  “Yessir,” he said, saluting his superior officer. “Understood, sir.” His men started out, with GQ in the lead.

  FORTY

  The battle was a short one.

  The SEALs made their way to Devin Drive in an attempt to engage the enemy from behind, effectively cutting off their escape routes. The SEALs had expected to find well-armed soldiers, the enemy’s version of their own team, equipped as they were, with similar high-tech weapons.

  They thought the monsters, whatever their origins, were the grunts—point men sent out to test the enemy. The real enemies, they thought, would be men, just like them. Men who, when the war was over and done with, mi
ght someday become allies, like World War Two’s Germany and Japan. Like Cuba. Like Vietnam.

  Instead, they found themselves attacked by more of those things. The monsters weren’t an advance squad. They were the army. The first wave of creatures easily pushed through the SEALs as if they were little girls at a backyard tea party. Four soldiers were killed in the first seconds of combat.

  Whatever the SEALs were expecting, this wasn’t remotely it. The enemy downed Grant and Moore, then dragged them away. Their frightened cries chilled GQ to the bone. Brubaker and Lopez were hunkered in the remains of the Reed building, shooting at creatures as they scurried into view. The bullets slowed them down, even ripped out chunks of them, but they couldn’t stop them.

  The things turned to their attackers and squealed. Groups of them came together and scurried toward the SEALs. The screams could be heard from a block away.

  Sweating and frightened, the soldiers took position behind a stack of demolished trucks. The things rushed past, dragging away SEALs still alive and resisting.

  * * *

  Enchantress looked pleased as the SEAL was tossed down in front of her. His name was Joe Anderson.

  The captured SEALs stared at her, not yet believing what they were seeing. If the giant was a god, she looked like she was a goddess, breathtaking in her glowing crown and robe of light.

  Their briefing called her Enchantress. Perhaps she had godlike power, but she was also a murdering witch. They had heard Waller talk about this one, to Flag. Enchantress was evil, Waller had said.

  “Not the Goddess she claims she is, but definitely a devil.”

  A glowing septagram had been painted on the wall behind her. Its points were formed by seven gravity-defying creatures, hovering cross-legged in the air. Somehow the very sight of it emanated pure evil. Without warning Enchantress embraced one of the SEALs. He tried to pull away, but somehow she was too strong for him. She held him close and immobile.