Disclaimer: I don't own nuttin, or no thing, except for some minor soldiers...and who wants minor Nazis anyways? Ahem....all characters are copyright DC Comics. Don't sue me, because not only am I broke, but my car died today, so I'm also transportationless.
Comments and criticisms welcome and appreciated
Archive: Let me know, then sure.
Rated.....hrmmm.....hell, why not? R, for language.
A TIME FOR WAR - A STORY OF THE BATMAN
February 11, 1947
Gotham City, Occupied Zone
Captain Hans Naujocks slid his fingers through his hair as he took a drag from his cigarette. Somebody had sure torched the fuck out of this bar. He stepped closer, poking at some of the blackened debris with the toe of his boot. The bar had burnt down four days ago - after the heat had died down, investigators had found ten skeletons, dental records all matching missing soldiers from the 43'rd Panzergrenadier, quartered in the city. Weird. Not to mention the...note, message, whatever...found on the lamppost outside. Naujocks held it now. He looked at it again, and wondered, not for the first time, what exactly it meant. Who the hell would draw a silhouette of a bat and leave it here?
February 11, 1947
12 miles outside Gotham City
The German troop trucks rumbled down the highway, billowing black smoke from their tailpipes. Sixteen. Sixteen trucks, 10 soldiers per truck - 160 soldiers. Five companies' worth. A decidedly wonderful target.
Captain Dick Grayson, OSS, adjusted the bazooka on his shoulder. Parachuted in, along with sixteen crates of rifles, bazookas, machine guns, and ammo a month ago, his mission had been simple - establish resistance groups and strike in any way to damage the German war effort. The fact was, that the US had very nearly lost the war in the first few weeks, and was in no position to counter- attack anywhere on the eastern seaboard with anything like strength. So, someone had decided the OSS would get inside, and make life hard for the Germans. Grayson liked that. The first part had been easy - he'd found a precinct's worth of cops who were doing well for themselves in the woods outside Gotham, but Grayson showed them more. Now, after two unqualified successes, he had 16 former cops behind him all aching for a piece of the enemy. He imagined Donovan would be pleased.
The troop trucks had a rather narrow route available to them. Out of four lanes, three were clogged with slagged cars, trucks, American and German tanks, even planes. Only one lane had been cleared for through traffic. Bad for Germans, but good for Grayson.
He drew a bead on the lead truck and signaled with his free hand across the road. The signal came back affirmative, the second team was ready. Time to see if these damned things really work, Grayson thought, as he stabbed the trigger.
The snub-nosed rocket streaked out, and slammed into the lead truck's engine compartment. The thin plating did nothing to protect the engine and the truck exploded brilliantly, grey-clad bodies flung into the air. Seconds later, the second team's bazookaman fired, engulfing the last truck in a ball of fire. Perfect.
"Open up!" Grayson yelled as he stood, yanking the pin out of a grenade and lobbing it into the second truck. The four machine guns, two on each side, opened up, spitting death in a murderous crossfire. Grayson's grenade exploded as the machine guns raked the sides of the trucks, the bodies of Germans spasming violently, then slumping forward in pools of blood. Grenades sailed from the forest, exploding in the trucks and around them, keeping the Germans from thinking too seriously about exiting the trucks. Those that did soon found themselves the victims of rifle fire, concentrated from both sides, cutting the troops down.
After ten minutes, Grayson stood again and flashed the all clear signal. Almost instantly, 10 of his men appeared and cautiously made their way onto the interstate. Five would find and kill any survivors, while the other five would gather up whatever rifles grenades, or ammo could be salvaged. Grayson allowed a small smile as he leaned against the bullet-scored side of one of the troop trucks. Score another one for the Nightwings.
February 12, 1947
National Guard Armory
Gotham City, Occupied Zone
Batman crouched as he looked through the binoculars at the soldiers across the street. The Germans had taken the old armory and made it an ammo dump, even parking a tank company in the old colonial stables. Fifteen soldiers on guard duty, perhaps six more inside for inventory and repairs. Yes. This would be a quite suitable first strike. The bar had been an exercise in overzealousness - burning it had been a gut wrench reaction to the name of his parents' murderer. He had to control himself better. No sense taking this quest and doing it inefficiently or hotheadedly. Cool, calculating efficiency. That was what he needed. To strike fear because he was not human - not feeling, only coldly and methodically fighting his war. He shifted, and continued his vigil. Eleven minutes until the front guards changed. Roughly forty second window. More than enough.
Looking down, Batman's fingers ran subconsciously over the grappler. Appropriated from WayneCorp, as all the tools of his quest had been. Dad's research department had been in high gear for months...he had been busy.
Six minutes. Batman adjusted his position as he leaned against the rough brick. His mind raced backwards, reflecting on his high school years...the years that had laid the foundation for the ROTC in college. Without that, and without the sports his father had mercilessly pressed on him, he would have been an impotent avenger, at best bumbling about, at worst, a piece of trash, shot into the gutter. Whatever providence had made him strong, he thanked it now.
One minute. Front guards getting antsy. Thinking about the warm guardhouse, the beer waiting on them. Minds not on the job.
Now. The Batman rose, his arm extended as he thumbed the trigger on the pistol-shaped grappler. A faint whissh and the cord snaked out, the tempered steel grapple burying itself in the vacant concrete guard tower of the armory.
He stepped once, twice, then out as he pulled on the cord and swung. He knifed through the cold night air, reaching the apex of his swing in seconds, and timing himself....now. He thumbed the release switch and somersaulted to orient himself as the cord snaked back quickly. Readying himself, he bent his knees to absorb the shock as he landed on the concrete almost silently.
'Not bad for a first time.'
Sliding the grapple into its' holster, he slid into the shadows around the corner of the armory. No alarm. Noone had noticed. The first shift lazily pushed themselves off the wall as the second arrived, then staggered for the guardhouse, numb from the cold. Batman watched as they opened the door to the guardhouse and pushed their way inside. Turning away, he walked silently along the wall, alert for any unseen guards. Stopping before the entrance, he cast his gaze around, peering into the deep shadows. Nothing. On a hunch, he tried the door, not bothering with the lock pick set in the belt. To his surprise, the door was unlocked, and further, the rusty old thing swung open almost silently. Slipping inside, Batman shut the door behind him, and cast his gaze around the armory. One cavernous room, ammo boxes, grenades, Panzerfausts, even tank rounds stacked to the high ceiling. Perfect.
Withdrawing the first explosive charge, Batman slipped behind a stack of grenade crates, and stuck the bomb to the middle one. Keying the timer to ten minutes, he ducked his head out. Noone. Stepping out, he stuck another charge to a stack of Panzerfaust rockets, another to a case of tank rounds, and another to crates of rifle bullets. Four more charges. He considered momentarily whether to expend them here or to hit the tanks parked outside.
"I'm telling you Jens, there's someone here!"
"The fluorescent lights flicked on, and Batman turned quickly, his gaze falling on the opened door, and the four soldiers standing there.
"Shit! Kill him!"
The first two soldiers raised their submachine guns and cut loose, hot lead scoring the concrete and far wall where Batman had been seconds before. Rolling behind a stack of rifles, Batman slid two of the bat-shaped shuriken into his right hand, before he jumped on top of a smaller stack of crates.
"Where the hell did he go?"
"I don't know, but watch the fire, jackass. This whole place is like a big fucking bomb."
Batman checked the time quickly. Three minutes. Shit. No time for this crap. End it now. Slamming the final four charges together in a lump, he leapt, letting the two shuriken fly. They both struck true, one slicing the hand of the soldier, the other sending one's gun clattering to the floor.
Batman extended his feet, and slammed into one of the still-armed soldiers. The man grunted, then collapsed, ribs likely broken. His companion swung his rifle around to fire, but Batman ducked, punching the man viciously in the stomach. The German bent over double, and Batman rose, knocking him across the floor with a powerful uppercut. Turning his attention to the two remaining, he dove, catching one in a football tackle. A quick motion, and he slammed the soldier's head against the concrete floor. The fourth almost whimpering, scrambled for his fallen gun.
Batman leapt, and kicked, his foot connecting with the Nazi's face. A wet crunching sound, then silence as the soldier crumpled to the floor, his nose broken.
One minute. Shit. Turning, the cape billowing around his shoulders, Batman sprinted, not bothering to be covert as he slammed the armory door open. Reaching for the grapple with one hand as he ran, he heard shouts behind him as the armory's contingent spilled out of the guard house. Rifle shots whistled past as he ran, none close, as he blended with the shadows. Raising the grapple, he fired, waiting the eternity it seemed to take for the cord to find a purchase. Finally, the line was secure, and he leapt, slamming the winch switch as he rose. Machine guns barked as yellow tracers stitched the night behind him. Swinging over the wall, bullets whistling past, he looked down.
A tremendous explosion shook the ground as the charges ignited, taking tons of highly explosive material with them. The massive shock wave buffeted Batman, and his muscles strained as he fought to keep a grip on the grapple, and to keep swinging. He arced up, and thumbed the release as he landed softly three roofs away. Even from here, he could feel the heat. The armory had been almost vaporized. Fires raged out of control, as the concrete which had been violently returned to dust fell to earth, like a strange grey snow. Leaping across the two roofs, he stood, facing the inferno he'd created.
Holstering the grapple, the Batman almost allowed a smile. Time to leave before the German fire companies, and the army investigators which would surely follow arrived. Only one thing left to do, though. Leave a note.
Author's Note: Yeah, it took a while, but here's part 3. I wanted to make it a bit longer, and introduce some more characters which will play a part in the future chapters. I also wanted a way to explain Bruce's obvious prowess, even though he didn't have years to train in my reality. I did the best I could.....be gentle...=)