Disclaimer: None of the characters herein are mine, with the exception of Schreiber... and soon, he won't be. You'll see what I mean.....<g> All recognizable characters are copyright DC Comics. Sorry for the delay in this part, life caught ahold of me.

Rated R for language, and stuff..

E-Mail: MetalliBats@prodigy.net. Comments, criticisms, etc. welcome

Archive: Sure, tell me where


By Battman



March 3, 1947

Gotham City, Occupied Zone

St. Sicili Memorial Hospital


Major Schreiber leaned back in the doctor's chair, his back ramrod straight as the surgeon slowly unwrapped the bandages from his face. The doctor's hands trembled as he wrapped the gauze slowly, methodically, around the cardboard tube. This was definitely beyond the realm of the ordinary, the surgeon mused, even for a man thirty years in the German Wehrmacht. The gauze continued to wind around the tube, the doctor's skilled fingers quickly wrapping it. Finally, the last strands were wrapped, and the doctor held a mirror up...and gasped.

"My...my mouth is...still smiling."

"Yes, Major Schreiber. The American must have severed the facial muscles pulling your mouth up when he cut you. It froze your mouth into the position you had it last..." the doctor trailed off as his eyes again scanned Schreiber's face. Light white scars crisscrossed his face, and one deep gash in the right cheek...and his damned smile. His lips were pulled back, his teeth unnaturally white, in what should have been a friendly, disarming expression. On this man, though...it was frightening.

"You have done well, Doctor.....as well as a man could, given the circumstances." Schreiber rose, seemingly at ease with his face, his features. Tucking his black cap under his arm, he swiveled on his heel, turning to leave the hospital room. The doctor leaned back into the chair recently vacated, and sighed.

"God pity whoever that man is after."


March 4, 1947

Caves beneath Wayne Manor

Gotham City, Occupied Zone


Bruce leaned back in his father's chair, and sighed. The papers strewn before him, some English, the majority German, were all the intelligence he'd been able to gather in his war so far. Couriers had provided these, but they were useless to him -- telling of armies that he wasn't fighting, battles he was no part of. He needed information on the Germans in Gotham, not the Romanians in South Carolina. Standing, he slid his cowl over his head, the cape pulling slightly as it rose off the floor of the cave. There was one place he was bound to get answers...but going there was akin to suicide, and he definitely intended to keep living to continue his war. So he needed a plan. A very good one. Turning, he traced the lines of the city streets on the Gotham map absentmindedly. Yes. Yes, that would do very nicely. Almost ironic. Turning quickly, the Batman rose for the surface, and the city.


March 4, 1947

German East Coast Command Center

Gotham City, Occupied Zone

Bruce pulled the dark grey helmet lower onto his head, and hunched himself further into the greatcoat. A German soldier had been ...accommodating enough to let him borrow them for a few hours. Bruce figured in this weather, it'd be the last thing the swine ever accommodated in this lifetime.

The former city hall sat like a grey keep, battlements and Gothic spires jutting into the grey March sky. Snow was falling rapidly, and the temperature plunged, all combining to make as many Germans that could swarm for the barracks or headquarters where at least a semblance of warmth beckoned. Bruce slid into a line of soldiers, all grumbling or stamping their feet with the cold. He strangely remained silent as his line snaked into the headquarters. The Germans in Gotham had a horrible time with housing, and as such had to resort to billeting the enlisted men with the officers, just to keep the soldiers indoors. For all Bruce cared, they could stay outside and freeze, but he doubted OKW would entertain his suggestion. Finally, he reached the head of the line, where a bored and very cold looking sentry was checking identification. Bruce shot out the passbook with his free hand, keeping his face down. He reasonably resembled the soldier, but not precisely...and this was not the time for him to be drug into the Gestapo's basement. Luckily, the sentry was anxious to get out of the weather, and simply checked to make sure the passbook belonged to a breathing human being. Satisfied, he shoved Bruce through, and he stumbled into the German East Coast Headquarters.

A self-important looking captain stood in the center of the hall, pointing and gesticulating frantically.

"Proceed directly to your billets. No loitering!"

Bruce ignored him, and shouldered his way up one of the dual marble staircases to the upper levels of the headquarters. He'd been to City Hall once, and he had a vague recollection of where the city records had been kept. He imagined the Germans would use the premade records room, and so thinking, he turned left, pushing his way through increasingly thinning layers of soldiers. Ducking behind a corner, he walked into a darkened hallway, with a steel door set into the marble. Two guards kept watch. Jackpot.

Bruce straightened his back, and started forward purposefully.

"Halt!" the first guard called as both raised their rifles slightly.

"Here for General Halder." Bruce said, all the while walking closer.

"General Halder?" one said as the other looked to the first.

'Now!" Bruce thought as he dropped into a dead sprint. Colliding with the first in a football tackle, he turned and punched the second in the jaw, watching as his eyes went glassy and he slumped to the floor. A cursory try at the door handle told him it was locked. His eyes scanning quickly, he spotted a keyring on the first guard.

"How convenient."

Sliding the keyring off the guard's belt, he slid the first key in and turned. The lock clicked, and the door swung open a few centimeters as Bruce pushed it back further. Dragging the guards into the room, and dropping the borrowed greatcoat, Bruce pulled his cowl over his head, and buckled his belt. Sliding the keys around his belt, he looked around.

"Helpful of them."

Signs in German detailed the contents of the shelves, one said 'Personnel', the other 'Maps', the other 'Citizen Registration', and yet another 'Logistic Support'. Turning, Batman stepped into the 'Personnel' shelves, his eyes scanning the letters on the shelves. It was finally time to find out about his parents' killer.


March 4, 1947

German East Coast Command Center

Gotham City, Occupied Zone


Major Schreiber watched as troops continued to stream in against the cold. A blizzard. A damned blizzard was coming, in March of all times, and with the cold weather it brought halt to the German forces pressing into the United States. It also made the partisans go to ground, something that made Major Schreiber distinctly unhappy. As resistance fighters from Poland to Russia to France could attest, that was a very bad thing indeed. Turning, he lit another cigarette, and inhaled deeply. The only way to fight the stench of dirty soldiers suddenly shoved inside to heated quarters was to fill yourself with smoke. Raising a finger, he summoned two of his soldiers.

"Go down to the archives, and bring up the firearm ownership records to my office."

The two SS soldiers nodded, and turned to go. Schreiber exhaled and swiveled as well, walking in measured steps to his office. Might as well occupy himself with something marginally useful.


Batman's fingers ran over the file of Major Heinrich Schreiber. Waffen-SS in Poland, France, and Russia, rumored to have been the 'Butcher of Pskov', the rape and mutilation of a convent of Orthodox nuns. Knight's Cross with Swords, earned in the Battle of Moscow. Transferred to Mexico after the beginning of the police action. Part of the squad which had assassinated the Mexican president and his ministers. Came to Gotham with the first wave. Parachuted in along with 2000 other SS troops to sow confusion while the regular soldiers rammed into the harbor. All in all, a ruthless son of a bitch.

Placing the file back in the box, Batman turned suddenly. Someone was trying to get into the archives. Whoever it was didn't have a key.. which meant they probably didn't know there were supposed to be guards. Shit.


"Major, the door is locked."

"Ask the guards to open it, Hans."

"There - there are no guards, Major."

'Shit' Schreiber thought as he stood, sliding his Luger into its' holster. Stepping out of his office, he sent a runner to retrieve the other men of his squad. This reeked of trouble.


Batman kept his back to the wall as he peered out of the crack between door and wall. Two, both SS from what he could see...and they'd called a Major....could it be? No, that would be....freakish. Sliding two of the bat-shaped shuriken into his hand, he opened the door, allowing it to swing inward.

"Hello?" one of the soldiers asked as he stuck his gun inside.

Batman acted then, kicking the weapon away as he stepped into the light, flinging the two shuriken at the second trooper. Kicking swiftly, he caught the first in the abdomen. Giving no quarter, he followed up with a vicious right to the nose, dropping the first to the floor. The second cursed as the shuriken buried themselves in the skin of his hand, causing his to drop his gun. Batman leapt over his unconscious colleague and caught the man's shoulders, using his weight to slam him to the marble floor. The soldier whuffed, and struggled up, but Batman cut his efforts short, bucking his head back down into the floor. Standing, he looked around, hoping no others had bean around for the...altercation. Stepping out into the hall, he saw a black silhouette, pistol in hand, the faint light gleaming off his teeth.

"So, Bat, we meet at last."

That voice..the posture....even what he could see of the smile....it was HIM! With an almost animal growl, he leapt, hands outstretched for Schreiber's throat. The move seemed to surprise him, for he hesitated before raising his pistol and firing. The shot was off, however, and simply ripped a hole in his cape. Batman slammed into the German, knocking his pistol away as he screamed again punching him savagely. Schreiber's nose broke with a wet snap, as dark blood began to leak out. Batman stood, his teeth gritted together painfully as he began to stomp this demon, but he suddenly paused, for no reason he could discern. The bastard....the bastard was LAUGHING!

"Hard hit there, mein Freund. Of course, it confirms my suspicion. You are a man....and now -" Batman stepped back as eight more SS men clambered into the narrow hall "- you shall die."

"Not yet." Batman said as he leapt, over the bullets of the troopers. The hot lead screamed down the hall, tearing into the marble at the other end as Batman somersaulted over the group, planting his feet into the back of the trail soldier. A wet snap, followed by the soldier's anguished cry, were mere footnotes as the Batman took flight down the halls.

"Kill him!" Schreiber screamed, blood still flowing over his face.

The squad turned quickly as they opened fire at the retreating shape. Watching as he turned the corner, they took chase, as Schreiber slapped the general alarm button. Instantly, red lights flashed in all the war rooms in the cavernous headquarters, as soldiers streamed out, rifles, submachine guns, and pistols ready. This Bat-Man now had a few thousand soldiers to get through to escape.


Batman flew around the corner, bullets screaming after him as he sprinted down the marble corridors. He had had him! In his grasp, tasting his blood, and his fucking tin men had shown up, and ruined the entire damned thing. Vaulting over the banister, Batman gathered his cape and billowed it out, slowing his descent to a manageable level. The soldiers fired again, ripping his cape and pock- marking the floor. He ran again, the doors now fairly uncongested, when a hot iron ripped through his thigh. Gasping, he stumbled, but did not fall as he gained the door and was out among the snow. Blood, warm and sticky, poured profusely, and he gritted his teeth as he jerked his grapple from its' holster. Ignoring the pain and the cold, ignoring everything but the grapple, he raised his arm and fired, watching as the cord snaked out, then burrowed into the brownstone. He leapt and hit the wind stub as the soldiers burst out, at least thirty strong now and opened fire. He unclasped his cape quickly and let it flutter as he pulled the grapple taut, and swung. The soldiers, distracted and tired, fired at the cape, reducing it to tatters as Batman swung away, the ice cold wind feeling like an actual razor. Landing, his knee buckled as his wounded leg almost collapsed.

"Just a bit further.." he whispered to himself, his pain putting an edge to his voice.

Again the grapple line snaked out, and he swung, crossing a hundred feet in seconds. Landing again, he knelt, his breath ragged and vaporizing in front of his eyes. That had been stupid. Stupid and suicidal..but he had what he wanted. He knew the man now, and knowledge such as that was power.


Across the street, a shadowed figure smiled.