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Post by arcalian on Mar 31, 2009 14:52:34 GMT -5
Duty Bound # 2 Witten by: Batkid Cover by: Zirron Edited by: Jay McIntyre [/i][/center]
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Post by arcalian on Mar 31, 2009 14:55:28 GMT -5
Alan Scott was not having a good time. He and a few other American prisoners were being taken… somewhere. The German soldiers didn’t seem inclined to answer any questions. He looked around at his surroundings and guessed it was a tennis stadium, from the look of the place. Silently marching, he looked around for an exit route, but there was none.
Except death.
His fellow prisoners seemed equally despondent, and he couldn’t detect even a flicker of hope in any of their faces.
Suddenly, he tripped over a tree root and fell to the ground, putting his arms out to catch him. Looking up, he found himself looking down the barrel of a German MP43. He stayed still, sprawled on the ground, until the other soldier began yelling. Alan, staring at the soldier’s boots, wished he could understand the man’s rapid German. Sliding back to his knees, Alan carefully put his hands up before standing, shifting most of his weight to one side. He jumped when the soldier sprayed bullets on the ground a few inches from Alan’s feet. Wincing, Alan muttered, “Okay, okay, I get it. Won’t happen again.” The man was already walking away, and Alan tested his weight on his left foot.
Ouch…
Alan glanced around wildly. He’d be shot if he stood still, but he also knew he wouldn’t make it more than a few steps if he went on. One German soldier came up to him and asked him something Alan couldn’t understand. He pointed to his foot and tried to show him how it was already swelling. The soldier nodded before putting a hand out to stop one American solider, gesturing that he wanted Alan to lean on his shoulder. Alan flashed the American a grateful smile as they continued the march.
As it grew darker and they had halted, Alan drew his knees up to his chest, rubbing his hands on his arms. He was freezing. Nearby, someone sneezed. Other soldiers close to him were lying on the ground, though Alan didn’t care to, because of the dampness.
He wished he had been able to tell who was winning—the Germans or the Americans. If he knew at least that much he would know whether he should even hope to be rescued.
As he finally trailed off to sleep, the gunfire in the distance grew quieter, until it finally disappeared altogether.
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Post by arcalian on Mar 31, 2009 15:06:18 GMT -5
Bruce glanced over his hastily packed items, assuring himself that he had gathered everything. Everything was packed as compactly as possible. He had only had a few moments to talk to Clark since the day before—they had been busy finding the last of the enemies—but had secured his promise to look after his few personal items. Bruce had been ready since yesterday, when the commander had told him the plan. The whole camp was brimming with excitement—Superman was coming to their camp. Bruce again scanned the letter from Dick, though the phrases he read were burned in his memory.
Bruce, Alfred’s hurt, the hurried script read. He fell down the stairs to the pantry and is in a coma…
Bruce glanced up as he heard yells, his hand going for his gun before he spotted a familiar blue-and-red figure. Relieved, Bruce gathered his letters and stuffed them in his front pocket before heading toward Superman. The hero was talking with several soldiers, shaking hands and discussing the war. The soldiers asked him question after question about things back in America, questions Clark answered as best he could. The commander, obviously flustered, chatted with him until Clark’s easy manner put him at ease.
“Well,” Superman scanned the crowd. “Who is it I’m supposed to give a lift to America?”
“Here,” Bruce nodded brusquely.
“All set?” Superman asked. When Bruce nodded, Superman turned to the soldiers, giving them a few parting phrases before leaving with Bruce.
Airborne, Bruce heaved a sigh. “How long?” His last word trailed off in the wind.
“We’re here,” Superman announced. People gawked as Superman set Bruce down on a bench. Bruce’s head swam, and he fought to get over his sense of vertigo. He stood a moment later.
“Good?” Superman asked. Bruce nodded.
“I’m fine.” He answered gruffly.
“Two-thirteen,” Superman called as he flew off quickly. He had to return to camp before anyone noticed he was gone. Bruce ran into the hospital, exchanged a few words with a harried nurse, and followed her to room two–thirteen. Bruce glanced into the room and saw the butler lying still on the hospital bed. He took off his hat as he entered the room.
“Has there been any change?” He asked the nurse.
“No, Mr. Wayne,” the nurse responded sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
Bruce managed a smile. “Thank you,” he told her as the nurse left the room. Bruce dropped heavily into a chair beside the bed.
“Hey, Alfred,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “It’s time to wake up, now.” The butler didn’t move. Bruce lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. “It seems like forever since I left,” he commented. He didn’t know if Alfred could hear him, but on the chance he could, Bruce intended to keep it up. “It hasn’t been that long at all, has it? Not as long as it felt…” His mind wandered to two days before he had left Gotham…
Bruce had greeted his latest guests jovially. “Trent! How’s it going?” He’d turned to Trent’s girlfriend, who was already adding up how much the furnishings were worth, alone. “I suppose this is Lola,” he’d asked with just the right amount of slur for being more than an hour into the party. “Lovely, perfectly lovely.”
Seeing Alfred greet yet another guest, a young woman, he’d frozen his genial smile in place. He had taken a gulp of the wine he’d been holding. Then, he had turned to Alfred to greet the young woman behind him.
“Hello—“ The words had frozen on his lips. He’d smiled again—a real smile. “Hello, Diana.” Glancing around, he’d wondered what he should say to her next. He had shoved his half-empty wineglass at her. “Wine?” He’d begun to slip into a real easy mood, not one faked for the public. “Chardonnay. Alfred assured me it was the best he could pick up on such short notice.”
He’d been babbling, and had almost wished that he hadn’t invited the Amazonian princess to his going-away party. Of course, the ambassador had been a natural addition to the guest list, but she made him… well, he was in lo— No! He’d thought sharply. She likes Steve Trevor. I’ve seen them together—and he likes her!
Politely, Diana had sipped the wine and complimented its taste. After admiring the decorating job (supervised, naturally, by Alfred) they’d both been at a loss for words.
Bruce’s mind snapped back to the present. Diana. Bruce noticed for the first time that Dick was absent. Probably, Diana had taken him somewhere; she wouldn’t have left Dick alone at the Manor. He noticed an open book at the foot of Alfred’s bed and picked it up. On the inside cover of Moby Dick[/i] he saw Richard Grayson’s name carefully printed out. Glancing once again at Alfred, he began to read the story. His mind couldn’t stay focused on it, however, and flashed back to his going-away party.
While Bruce had racked his mind for something even remotely intelligent to say, he’d felt someone grip his arm. Looking down, he’d seen bright red fingernails resting on the sleeve of his Zoot suit. The hand they belonged to had clutched his arm possessively.
His forced smile had returned.
“Hello, Ms. Jackson.” He had glanced at Diana. “I don’t believe you two have been introduced. Di, this is Louise Jackson—one of my neighbors. Ms. Jackson, this is Princess Diana of Themiscyra.” He’d grabbed a drink from a passing waiter. “Can I get you ladies anything to drink?”
Diana had smiled and raised her glass. “You’ve already gotten me a drink, Bruce.”
Louise’s heavily-lined eyes had widened slightly. That other woman—that Princess somebody-or-other—had called Bruce by his familiar name? Bruce had gotten her wine? Bruce had neglected to mention the raven-haired beauty he apparently knew so well?!
“Yes, Bruce. I’m a bit parched. That would be nice, thank you.” Louise had said sweetly.
Bruce had nodded. He’d really been wanting to spend time with Diana, but there was no way he could have gotten rid of Gold-digger Louise, so he had gone to get the drink.
Diana had turned to Louise, smiling. “So how do you know Bruce?” No one would know it looking at her—her gentle face and easy smile hid it—but she had been nervous about the woman’s answer.
Oh, please don’t let him be in love with her!
The other woman had smiled somewhat frostily. “Why, I’m his neighbor, as he mentioned,” she’d said, her tone letting Diana know that she obviously thought it a stupid question. “I’m also his—“ she’d paused and faked a blush, smiling. “Excuse me.” She’d brushed past Diana, bumping her and causing the Amazon to squeeze the delicate wineglass she held a little too hard.
“Oh—!” The wine that was left in the glass had spilled down the front of her dress, leaving behind a dark stain. She stared at her once-fine native gown.
Bruce, on his way from getting the drink, had gone back to fetch some napkins.
“Here,” he’d said, offering them to Diana. She’d stooped down, grabbing the fragments of glass. He’d laid his hand over hers and put some of the napkins in it. “You go get cleaned up. I’ll take care of this,” he’d said quietly.
Diana had nodded, murmuring an apology. Bruce had seen one of the maids that Alfred had hired for the evening heading over to clean up the mess as he stood up. He’d realized with a wince that he was now alone with Louise. The rest of the evening had passed dully for Bruce, with Louise following him. He’d sought out Diana, but whenever he saw her she somehow disappeared before he could reach her…
Bruce shook his head. This was ridiculous. Alfred could die at any moment and here he was, daydreaming about a girl. A princess, nonetheless. And in the middle of a war—!
He glanced up as a knock sounded on the door. Opening it, he saw Dick and Diana.
“Bruce!” Dick exclaimed. “Diana said you were coming. Did Superman really fly you over?”
Bruce looked down at the young boy. “Yes, he did. Are you doing okay?”
Dick nodded somberly. “Alfred still hasn’t woken up, Bruce.” He looked up at his guardian, upset. “Will he… die?”
Bruce didn’t know what to say. Diana touched the Dick’s head, and said, “Hopefully not. You should pray he doesn’t.” To Bruce, she asked, “How are you holding up?”
Bruce shrugged. “All right. I should’ve been here for him.” Diana was already shaking her head.
“No, Bruce. This probably would’ve happened even if you’d been there.” She saw Bruce’s eyes travel to a large, bulky package tucked under her arm.
“What’s that?” Bruce asked to change the subject.
Dick could barely keep his excitement in. “It’s a radio! Diana didn’t want me to stay at the Manor alone,” he rolled his eyes, grinning. “So I’ve been spending most of my time here reading and stuff. But now I’ve got a radio to—“ he looked at the clock. “Golly, Bruce, it’s time for my program.” Grabbing the radio from Diana, he unwrapped it and set it on the bedside table, fiddling with the dial.
Bruce and Diana laughed. “The Lone Ranger,” they said together. Soon, the dramatic notes of the William Tell Overture filled the room. Dick was already listening attentively as the Lone Ranger yelled, “Hi-yo Silver, Away!”
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Post by arcalian on Mar 31, 2009 15:08:45 GMT -5
Clark hurriedly brushed his hair back as he walked towards his tent in camp, his curl falling obstinately back in place. He stopped when Johnson waved to him.
“Where were you?!”
Clark managed to look confused. “What?”
“Superman was here, and you missed it! How could you miss that?”
Clark looked sheepish. “I, uh… had to go…” He shrugged, his face flushed.
Johnson stared at him in disbelief. “No. Way.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. You missed seeing Superman to…” He walked away, still shaking his head.
Clark grabbed the items Bruce had left and added them to his own, then set down to write a letter to Lois. He had time to write only a few lines before the order to pack up and move out came. Tucking the letter in his pocket, he began grabbing bags and found the letter from Lois. Carefully, he slipped the letter in his pocket with the one he wrote.
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Post by arcalian on Mar 31, 2009 15:09:55 GMT -5
Bruce started when Diana walked in that evening. “Oh, hey…” he greeted her, yawning. He glanced at the clock. Diana must have just gotten off her shift.
“Dick,” Diana asked, eyeing Bruce. “Has he eaten dinner?”
Dick’s eyes twinkled. “No, he hasn’t. He needs to go pick out some new threads, too. Can’t stay in his suit forever,” he pretended to pinch his nose.
“I’ll have to grab him something to eat, then,” Diana replied.
“You can’t have had time to eat dinner, yourself,” Bruce objected.
Dick, with a sly wink at the uneasy Bruce, suggested, “Golly, that’s perfect then—why don’t you two both step out and get a bite to eat?”
Bruce glared at his ward. Smooth… “Um…,” he began. The offer had been made, though. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat, Diana? We can make it quick…” his words trailed off as he realized how it sounded. Diana laughed them off.
“That would be lovely,” she agreed. “You’ll be all right, Dick?”
“I’ll be just swell,” the boy drawled, fiddling with the radio. “Have fun.”
Bruce cocked an eyebrow at Dick as he walked out the door. He and Richard would have to have a talk later…
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Post by arcalian on Mar 31, 2009 15:12:02 GMT -5
Morning came long before Clark was ready for it. Once the camp was packed up and moving out, he found they only had a few miles to go before they reached what resembled a tennis complex. Once it was confirmed there were enemy soldiers inside, they attacked, gaining it in only a few hours. Towards the end of the battle Clark ran and ducked behind a tree, crouched and ready to shoot as soon as the hail of bullets that had followed him stopped. Finally, he and the others made it though; relief was evident on many of the British and American prisoners’ faces as they were freed.
“Oh, no,” one of them said, concerned. Clark glanced at the man—Alan Scott, according to his uniform. “You took a bullet.”
“Wha—?” Clark glanced down at his shirt. “Oh, that, I just… oh, no.” Gently, he pulled several sheets of ruined paper out of his front pocket. He sighed as he viewed the remains of Lois’ letter.
“Say, that’s too bad,” Scott said sympathetically. His eyes, quickly turned from the lightly-tinted stationary to Clark’s chest again. “Not even a scratch,” he observed, frowning.
Clark shrugged, uneasy. “Do we have to analyze it? It’s good enough for me to just know that it didn’t get me!” He walked on, Scott by his side, contemplating.
“So I guess they’ll send you home?” Clark surmised. An Air Force fellow would probably be sent back. “Got any kids?”
“Do I ever,” Alan muttered, not realizing Clark could hear him. “You?”
“Nah.”
Alan ran his hands through his blond hair as he glanced at Clark out of the corner of his eye. The man seemed so familiar…
At that moment Clark whistled, and Alan’s attention snapped to what his pal was looking at.
“That’s one of the things that attacked us yesterday,” Clark said, impressed. “A German Hetzer tank.” He looked over the vehicle, impressed. Alan looked over it interestedly; a pilot, this was the first time he had seen one.
“How many people can it hold,” he asked curiously. Clark shrugged.
“If it’s like our Sherman M4, it can probably hold a crew of four.” He glanced up as orders were shouted. “Guess I’ll see ya,” he said to Scott. Alan nodded.
“Somehow,” he began, strangely, “I think we will.”
Continued....
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