Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  Arbiter strode closer toward the walking tank, fists clenched. “Your führer’s twisted vision ends here!”

  “Is that so? I offer a different proposition: either the Teutons shall rule…” The arms of the battle suit rose in a ‘V’ moments before the cannons twisted and locked more rounds into their chambers. “… Or the world shall burn!” With a dozen whumps of compressed air and the crack of shells leaving their casings, rockets and bombs shot skyward, then spiraled downward, straight toward where they stood. “Heil Hitler!” The Nazi’s laughter reverberated, filling them, trembling inside their chests.

  “What-do-we-do-what-do-we-do?”

  One Shot stared up as the missiles grew closer. “He’s going to do this until there’s no resistance…”

  Arbiter ran toward Desecrator, then leapt. In a moment, he grabbed one, two of the rockets and flung them at the machine. He managed a third and threw it as he was slammed in the back by Emerald Dash carrying One Shot. The other rockets detonated behind them, fiery blasts ripping up the street. The concussion wave crashed over them, burning at their clothes and skin. Then, they were on the ground, rolling. Arbiter heard something snap and Dash let out a whimper.

  One Shot was the first to move, rolling Arbiter off of Emerald Dash. “Dash, Dash? Get up!”

  “I don’t think that’s happening, Shottie.”

  “Don’t call me that. Get up!” She looked down at his leg and grimaced at the bone sticking roughly out of the elastic suit.

  He ripped off his mask. One eye was smashed in while the other glinted like gold under a swelling lid. “Call me crazy,” he looked at her, drunk with pain, “but I’m fairly sure that there bone is supposed to stay in me.”

  Arbiter walked toward Desecrator’s suit. It had been partially knocked down, three sparking, blackened holes in its chest. The damage seemed superficial, but the pilot had to know now that he could be harmed, however slight it may be. The Nazi also had to deal with the knowledge that his own ordnance could be used against him.

  “Desecrator!” Arbiter shouted, his voice clear despite the pain. “You are no match for Arbiter, Lord of Justice!” He neared the prone and creaking hulk, his fingers twitching in anticipation of tearing the last of Hitler’s famed Eagle’s Talon out of his monstrosity. The Eagle’s Talon, Bestowed Nazis so dedicated to eradicating all humanity deemed unworthy, un-Teutonic, that they managed to preserve the War for months. Decimating soldiers, turning Berlin into a crucible of fire and steel, remaining steadfast to their cause in the face of nuclear fire…

  A whir of motion caught Arbiter off-guard in his anticipation as a rock was hurled at the hero, smashing him to the ground. The arm which had thrown the boulder planted itself down and supported the giant as it rose. The static burst penetrated the air, but murkier than before. “I. Am. Not. Desecrator!” A metal foot rose in the air. Arbiter looked up as the heel seemed preserved forever above him. “You will fear Der Ritter!”

  The foot slammed down, covering Arbiter in its shadow for a moment. In the instant before what should have been agony, a blinding light washed over him. Shimmering into reality beside him, a dark grey costume flickered into existence. Red and blue gloves were held aloft, projecting a shield of translucent white light which sparked underneath the colossal heel. The masked face turned to Arbiter, and over a speaker, a familiar, high and raspy voice called out, “Are you okay, boy?” He nodded in response. The masked figure knelt low, the light shield flexing downward with his movements. “There’s nothing to fear…” he shouted, the speaker in his suit crackling at the increased volume. With a mighty heave, he stood upward, casting off the foot and sending Desecrator to the ground. “… But fear itself!”

  The Nazi slammed his walking weapon upright. “The great murderer returns! You dare show yourself to me after what you’ve done?” he bellowed.

  As though at the will of its owner, the mask of Photon split vertically and pulled back with a snap to reveal the face of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, war-weary and aged beyond his Bestowed time. “I never wished to kill him. He was to be tried for crimes…”

  “What crimes?” The mech hunched low in an effort to intimidate the super hero. “For trying to perfect humanity? I see no crime!”

  Photon remained unfazed. “That is just one aspect where we differ.”

  “Regardless, it is so good of you to come to me, FDR.” Desecrator rose the machine to its full height, pointing an arm at him. “It saves me the trouble of digging you out of whatever hole you had crawled into.”

  “Photon…” Arbiter got to his feet and moved closer to his fellow hero. “You can’t possibly… you’re too old for this fight…”

  “Arbiter…” he began calmly as the metal mask re-connected over his face. “I’m finishing what I started twenty years ago.” Photon’s hand flexed. In a burst of light, a beam of energy solidified in his grip. The beast’s machine guns opened fire, and the hero’s free hand shot out, forming another barrier of light energy. The bullets splattered off of it, the rounds falling shriveled and useless to the shattered pavement. A crack, and a shard of the shield fell to the ground with the tinkling of glass before fading from existence.

  “You can’t take him on alone! Let me help you!” Arbiter roared.

  “No! We both know you need him out of that shell.” Another chunk of light evaporated with a pop.

  “You need back up!”

  The former President gave an airy laugh. “I have it.”

  Raucous laughter erupted over the suit’s radio. “Tin hats on, lads!” a British voice slurred. “Let’s show Jerry and G.I. Joe a thing or two about flight school!” Laughter crackled again from the speaker.

  “You enlisted Spitfire?” Arbiter said, bordering on rage.

  “He helped Britain outlast the Blitz.” Photon shot Arbiter a glance. “He can help us outlast ours.” He buckled as the hail of gunfire continued on the shield.

  Arbiter grunted. “Villains can’t even trust one another.” The sound of machine gun fire was joined by a propeller as Spitfire strafed Desecrator. The machine squealed and stopped the assault on Photon, breaking away to fire on the plane as it arced back toward him. As tracer rounds fired through the air, Spitfire spiraled through the hail, returning fifty-caliber rounds straight into the still-sparking hole Arbiter had blasted into the armor.

  Desecrator raised his arm to swat the plane out of the sky as a blanket of bombs exploded on his back. Several of the cannon towers were warped as the payloads expanded, scoring the metal as it went. Another screech as the modern jet fighters arced overhead.

  “Take that, you damn Kraut!” There was a sharp clank of glass against metal. “Cheers, Photon! You’ll always be my president! Ha ha!” The flak towers on Desecrator’s back thundered, blasting one of the jets from the sky.

  “Do not equate villains with the irredeemable, Arbiter.” With that, Photon sprinted toward the pivoting foot of Desecrator.

  Without stopping, he brought the shimmering blade up and raked it against the thinly-armored ankle joint. The impact was more solid than Photon had expected, the alloy reverberating with pulsing energy, but the crackling blade still ate through it with an eager ferocity. With a pop and hiss of liquefied metal, he was through, the metal foot detaching from the leg. The bipedal construct stumbled onto its knee as another hail of gunfire raked across its back. As Spitfire led the American jets over him, Desecrator reached upward, its fingers wrapping around a fighter’s wing before pitching it to the ground.

  The explosion licked at the tips of the machine’s fingers as the propeller plane doubled back. Inside the cockpit, Jack Cleese, the villain known as Spitfire, wiped the scotch from his chin. “Right, Jerry, prepare for the Victoria Cross!” Desecrator spun and hunched over, bringing the flak-cannons about. As he unleashed a volley of anti-aircraft fire, Photon leapt onto the thing’s back and swept the energy blade through the towers as he charged toward the shoulders. Clouds of shrapnel filled the sky, Spitfire nimbly evading them w
hile one, two, then three of his American escorts were blown asunder. The plane grew closer and then unleashed the machine guns, peppering the head with bullets.

  The plane pulled up as Photon reached the shoulders. The behemoth rose to its full height, shaking dangerously. Steadying himself on the shifting machine, the hero sprinted the last few feet and leapt, jamming the blade into the mechanical shoulder. It squealed in what could be construed as agony as Photon worked the blade downward. He looked up, and the other hand was moving toward him now, preparing to dislodge him.

  “Photon!” Arbiter shouted and leapt toward the distracted Desecrator, landing on the walking armor’s knee. He glanced upward, and saw the shoulder devoid of the hero. “No!” Arbiter leapt, rebounding off the beast’s chest plate and landing on the shoulder. The sparking gouge where Photon’s blade had been glowed blue-hot. With a scream of fury, Arbiter punched at the weakened metal, widening the hole by inches with every blow.

  Photon heard the scream as he dangled from the back of the monstrosity’s hand. The smaller energy blades he clung to were buried deep in the metal, supporting his weight while dragging deep lines along the armor. Desecrator held out his hand and shook, trying to remove the meddlesome hero. “So now you cling to me like a parasite? How fitting!” Its other hand moved up, shakily at first, then more deliberately. When the hand lay directly beneath him, Photon released his grip, falling to the open palm below as it rocketed upward. Once he touched down, he leapt away, toward the metal chest as the hands smashed together. On impact, Photon kicked off the surface into a backflip, summoning an energy blade in mid-flight and bringing it down as he fell.

  The blade tore through both hands. The hero began to work the sword violently, melting the metal and circuitry together. Gunfire erupted again as Spitfire descended in a full dive. Inside the cockpit, the pilot merrily patted his flight stick. “Finally getting the taste of Nazi out of your system, eh, girl?” He took a swig from a new bottle of scotch as he pulled out of the dive. Desecrator, flailing wildly, struck the wing of the plane. The engine sputtered as Cleese tried his best to keep his craft under control. “Stay together! You survived the Blitz!”

  Spitfire’s plane spiraled away, leaving Photon to return to the task at hand. He removed the blade from the beast and sprinted up the trembling arm toward Arbiter. “I told you to stay away!”

  Arbiter looked up from the greatly enlarged hole in the armor’s shoulder, rage ebbing from his face only slightly. “I thought you were dead!”

  “It’ll take more than…” With a great screech of metal, Desecrator’s hands were free. Photon shoved Arbiter off the machine as a palm whipped toward them. The remaining hero fell to his stomach to dodge the sweeping blow. The hand slowed and then slapped down, denting the armor and crushing Photon’s legs. The hero screamed as the fingers worked themselves into the screeching metal, further grinding his bones to powder. Through the haze of suffering, he summoned another blade and jammed it inside the shoulder again.

  Arbiter returned to his feet as the dust from his impact was just falling. Without thinking, he leapt at the nearest building, rebounding off of it and grabbing onto the titan’s arm. He used the surface as a springboard and, again, leapt toward and off the building. Finally, he reached the shoulder, watching as Photon slowly wormed the blade further down the armored surface. The hero looked up.

  “Arbiter!”

  With human-like flexibility, the very arm that Photon was trying to remove swept up, snatching Arbiter in its hand. The Bestowed growled in pain as the grip tightened around him.

  “I will do what no others could! I will kill both the American Lord of Justice and their mightiest leader!” The colossus straightened as its pilot laughed, the thunderous waves of sound washing over the street. “Hitler shall–” He stopped, the whirring head transfixed on something.

  Spitfire had torn off the cockpit glass and was one foot in, one foot on the frame as the plane’s engine spewed smoke and flame. He took a swig of scotch and wiped his chin. “You were my one true love, girly!” He tightened his parachute strap. “Let’s show this Kraut how the English give head!” Spitfire dove from the plane, the struggling, dying vehicle still aloft and under his control.

  His Bestowed ability, limited in scope as it was to propeller aircraft, spiraled the plane past Desecrator’s fist as he tried to deflect the missile with the hand wrapped around Arbiter. Despite the engine’s protest, it even soared through his other hand’s fingers and slammed against the whirring, robotic head. With a tremendous explosion, the robotic skull detonated, sending shrapnel and bursts of flame into the air.

  Arbiter found himself hurled to the ground as the limp body of Photon thumped unceremoniously at Desecrator’s feet. With a whine of twisting metal, the towering war machine stumbled and reeled before tripping up completely and smashing to a stop in a building. It remained still, bricks clattering around and casting pulverized mortar into the air, mixing with the black smoke billowing from what remained of the goliath’s head.

  “How… how did that work?” Arbiter coughed as he rose again to his feet, shakily. He limped, a sensation altogether new to him, toward the gently writhing form of Photon. His legs, damaged from polio and only enabled to walk with his suit coaxing the muscles to work, were now irreparably smashed. Blood had worked its way out of the suit through numerous holes, no doubt provided by the shattering blow Desecrator had dealt him. Arbiter knelt by his compatriot’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder, rolling him gently to face the sky. “Photon…”

  His helmet had been partially torn away, exposing his ghastly white, but determined, face. Blood streamed from his mouth, nose, and eyes, grimly adding color to a white canvas. “Arbiter… you have to stop him…”

  “But while he’s in that suit…”

  Photon weakly waved his hand. “The suit… was only indestructible… without coordination…” He coughed, a gush of fresh blood escaping his lips. “The armor vibrated, dissi… dissipating energy across the whole…” The walking tank stirred, hefting itself up with its one functional arm, the other dangling limply and sparking at the shoulder. “Focusing an attack on one location… made the rest of it vulnerable… like with Spitfire’s plane… the missiles…” Spasms wracked his body.

  Arbiter hefted the former president. “I’ll get you out of here.”

  “No!” Photon shoved him, but the blow barely registered.

  “I need to get you to safety!”

  “Irritants!” The voice of Desecrator reverberated through the street. Arbiter looked up as a metal foot hovered in the air before plummeting toward him again. A burst of light blinded him. Before his vision cleared, the dome of light was already crumbling, glasslike shards breaking free from its surface. When his eyesight returned, the metal foot was melting and warping as it continued to bear down on them.

  “Get out!” Photon ordered, straining beneath the force of maintaining the wall of coherent light.

  “Not without you!” Sparks shot out of the construct’s ankle as the crumbling energy field buckled. Now, hydraulic fluid spurted free of its hoses, greasing the pavement and side of the machine.

  “I have nothing to fear, Arbiter… I served my country…” The old man looked up at Arbiter, his eyes flashing. “End this nightmare.”

  Arbiter’s vision filled with light, and a heavy thump in his chest threw him backward. He lost his grip on Photon as his body was propelled away. He blinked away the light and saw, in what seemed like slow motion, the foot smashing through the shield and slamming into the earth. A mixture of light and dust erupted from the crater, sparks wafting lazily in the air even as debris clattered to the ground.

  Arbiter hit a jagged chunk of displaced road and he crumpled, sputtering for air as the armor staggered into a slouch. The lopsided machine whirred and sparked before stumbling to its knees. “Your… heroes… die! They will always die! Your so-called Lord of Justice… runs while I crush the man who killed the greatest leader the world h
as ever known!” Arbiter struggled to his feet. The beast hunched further, the limp arm dragging forward. “I… will… never stop hunting the filth of the earth!” Desecrator screamed as his machine squealed upright.

  Arbiter leapt forward and latched onto the broken arm dangling millimeters above the road. Adrenaline and fury fueled him as he yanked and twisted, wrenching the shoulder about. The pilot roared as his armored shell was forced onto its back. Arbiter pulled ferociously, tearing the metal arm from its socket. The machine attempted to right itself and rose to its knees. Releasing the useless appendage, Arbiter braced as Desecrator swung the other arm toward him. It connected, Arbiter catching the fist and digging into the street, slowing and ultimately ceasing the blow’s momentum.

  Arbiter released the limb and leapt into the air and smashed downward, crushing the metal between himself and the pavement. Now partially embedded, the hand worked to free itself despite the smoking protests of its servo motors. Arbiter leapt into the air, flipping and then barreling down, the hero severing the elbow of the monstrosity.

  Suddenly free of what was pinning his vehicle, Desecrator stumbled backward and fell, twisting onto the mech’s front. Rising to its knees, it buckled over in a moment as the disembodied metal fist smashed with a horrific clang into its back. The damage was substantial, a sufficient dent just below where the left shoulder had been.

  It rose again, slower this time. The massive creation wobbled in place dizzily before something rocketed through its chest, right where the heart would have been. The thing went rigid, then fell to the earth, upsetting the dust from Desecrator’s earlier assault. A figure rose from the debris, yanking another upright.

  Arbiter held Desecrator aloft by the neck, the blond-haired and blue-eyed soldier squinting from the sunlight and pain. Releasing him, Arbiter sent a fist across Desecrator’s face. He felt the bone crack from the blow, and Desecrator reeled about and returned with a headbutt, the Bestowed gift of strength denting Arbiter’s helmet and smashing his nose. Desecrator slammed a fist into Arbiter’s gut, punched his jaw, and grabbed his arm. With a twist, Desecrator wheeled Arbiter around, straightening his arm, and then rammed his palm upwards against the hero’s elbow. With a snap, the bone gave, punctuated by Arbiter growling in pain.