World War II, the
greatest armed conflict in the history of mankind! Out of these times come the
greatest heroes of the Golden Age—Captain America, Bucky, Human Torch, Toro,
Sub-Mariner, the Whizzer, Miss America, Spitfire, Blue Blaze and the
Destroyer—to fight against
the forces of tyranny and
oppression, and to bring peace to a world at war! They are the...
#36:
THE COMING OF THE DEATH
DEALERS
CHAPTER I:
“Death in Ivory!”
By
Jeff Melton
WHAT HAS COME BEFORE: The Invaders, going to Atlanta for a war
fundraiser, had to fight off an attack by mechanical beings, with the help of
Captain Terror, Marvex, and Zephyr Jones! The Super-Axis are preparing for an
invasion! Baron Zemo is conducting experiments!
PROLOGUE
|
S |
an Francisco, California. Two armed guards stand
before a locked door, leading to an office at the docks. The sound of water
striking the base of large docked ships is the only thing to break the silence
of this foggy, dark night. The scattered lights, spread out ever thirty to
forty feet along the docks, do little to cut through the dense fog, which has
settled along the water, and spread up to the guards themselves, giving a damp
chill to the already cool night.
Sam Miller has been working the docks for
twenty-seven years. He’s seen a lot in that time, from drunken fights among
sailors of the ships to espionage. Yet, in difficult financial times, he’s
always been thankful to have a steady job like this one, to keep a roof over
his family’s head. He’s also thankful for his pension, and has been looking
forward to his retirement in three years.
The younger guard to his right is Howard Rosen, a
young man of twenty-five, who has only been working on the docks for the past
three months. Sam has enjoyed working with him, and seen him mature over time.
Rosen has a law enforcement background, but was a victim of a government
cut-back. Like the older Miller, he’s happy to have steady work. Neither of
them even knows what lurks behind the door. They are only here to make sure
that no one gets in.
“Looks like another quiet night, Sam,” Rosen
comments, looking around and only seeing ten feet on any side, due to the dense
fog.
“Yeah,” the older Miller agrees. “We had the drunk
sailors going at it this weekend. Things have calmed down again.”
A sudden breeze causes an involuntary shudder in the
younger man, who pulls his jacket tighter around himself. “Whoa!” he exclaims
through chattering teeth. “Did you feel that?!”
His partner, however, makes no response. The silence
of the night is shattered by the sound of a loud ‘THUD!’. Instinctively, he
looks over to his friend. The young guard looks stunned, as he sees his
friend’s vacant eyes, staring off into nothingness a split second before he
falls face-first to the wooden dock below. The young guard leans over, seeing a
trail of blood leading from his friend’s neck, pooling down under his face.
“What the…?!” the guard utters, as he shifts,
starting to get to his feet, reaching towards the gun in his holster.
“Not fast enough, boy!” a figure dressed completely
in white, with a white hood, responds. With a fast movement, he sweeps his hand
forward, as a gleaming of metal can be seen. The young guard’s head jerks back,
as a stream of blood erupts from his neck, and he falls to the ground, the back
of his head slamming against the boards.
The White Death* steps forward, kicking the young
guard’s body out of the way, as it rolls across the dock. He then slams his
foot into the wooden door. It splinters under his first kick. When he kicks it
again, it breaks in half. Smiling under his hood, he walks into the room, the
now-useless lock clamoring against the metal hinges.
End
of Prologue
|
D |
allas, Texas. Today, a local football stadium is
prepared for a special event. This is a football town, and it is not uncommon
for the stadium to be filled with the sounds of two competing teams on gameday.
However, today, the stadium is being used for an altogether different purpose.
The results are quite similar. The bleachers in the stadium are filled, and no
empty seats can be found. The parking lots are filled with people hoping to get
a peek at the honored guests today, even as the familiar tailgating goes on
with those enjoying a warm spring day.
Within the stadium, a platform sits on the fifty
yard line, centered in the middle of the stadium. On the platform are three
colorful figures, each standing beside the governor of Texas, who is even now
at the podium, addressing the crowd. These figures are familiar as well—Captain
America, Human Torch, and the Sub-Mariner. Captain America holds his shield at
his side, as he looks across the distance, his eyes scanning from the security
personnel posted at each of the entrances upwards to the cheering masses. Human
Torch, in his human form, looks over at the chairs lining the podium, which
carry with them high prices. He glances down at a young child, straining to see
the heroes in front of him. Human Torch smiles, as his hand erupts into flame.
The young child involuntarily jerks backward, but is soon smiling and laughing
with pleasure.
Sub-Mariner stands, his hands crossed against his
chest, as he looks down at those beneath him, a haughty expression on his face.
“What’s the matter, water rat?” Human Torch asks,
jokingly. “You look like you belong here as much as a bull in a china shop.”
“I have no liking for this, it’s true,” Namor
responds calmly, his expression unchanging. “This is yet another bond rally. I
fail to see the benefit of begging your subjects for revenue.”
“I don’t like it either, Namor,” Captain America
responds. “I realize that the people have been through a lot in the past
several years. The depression has deeply hurt a lot of families, and they are
even now trying to get back on their feet. But, unfortunately, it takes money
to finance the war—and we still have a lot of catching-up to do, especially in
the Pacific.”
“He’s right, Subby,” Human Torch replies. “I’ve
never been the one to ask for things either, but this is important. There’s
nothing more important now than the war effort. Thousands of American families
have their sons overseas, fighting to keep tyrants from getting over here.”
Namor nods. “Yes,” he comments. “That I understand.
We have always had our share of enemies at my home—the Lemurians and others.
Still, the surface world has an abnormal share of such. And, it is my
experience from studying your history that one tyrant rises to replace another,
even those who are temporary allies of your government.”
|
W |
hile Captain America prepares to take the stand, and
address the crowd with a rousing speech, Bucky stands at one of the entrances
to the playing floor. He stands at a tall gateway, even as the crowds roar
overhead. He nods to Toro, who is opposite of him at another such gateway, on
the opposite endzone. Bucky holds a walkie-talkie in his right hand.
Bucky looks down, his walkie-talkie buzzing. He
reaches down, holding down a button on the walkie-talkie, as “Knuckles”
O’Toole’s voice, radiating with a Brooklyn accent, comes through. “These things are amazing,” Bucky silently
considers. “Jeff*
really did a bang-up job of extending the coverage of these walkie-talkies way
beyond anything I’ve ever seen before.”
[*Jeff is Jefferson Worthington Sandervilt, the Young
Allies’ resident millionaire and inventor.]
“Bucky!” Knuckles’ voice comes through, albeit with
some static. “We gotta problem!”
“What problem, Knuckles?” Bucky asks, pushing the
button again, then releasing it.
“There’s a bank robbery goin’ on right down the
street!”
Bucky shakes his head with disbelief. “That’s pretty
bold!” Bucky remarks, looking at Cap, who is now speaking to the crowd.
“Running a daytime robbery when the big three are here making a speech for war
bonds!”
“I hear ya!” Knuckles responds through the
walkie-talkie. “But I’m ready for some action. My knuckles’re itchin’, Bucky!”
“Okay, pal!” Bucky says, smiling. “I’m on the way!”
Bucky nods to Toro, who nods in return. Having his
own walkie-talkie, he heard the conversation, and is doing what they agreed to
before they set up security at this event—staying behind to keep his eyes on
things. Bucky quickly turns and disappears through the gateway, rushing towards
the exit!
INTERLUDE
|
B |
erlin, Germany. Strom stands, with his hands on his
hips, as Baron Zemo speaks with a young recruit. He has seen the young recruit
around. He is only eighteen, and has close-cropped blond hair. As he watches,
Zemo straps the young recruit, who is wearing only a sleeveless t-shirt and
black pants, to a seat. Directly in front of the seat is a machine that appears
to have a projector attached to it.
“Are you prepared?” Zemo asks, standing over the
young recruit.
“Yes, herr baron,” the young recruit answers back.
There is no hesitation. He is doing what he is doing for the Reich. Strom
watches with interests, remembering how he, not too long ago, was in the same
position as the young recruit.**
[**Which is where he was in Invaders #1.]
Without another word, Zemo gets into place behind
the machine. Flipping some switches, energy erupts out of the projector-like
device, bathing the young recruit, who struggles against the leather bands
holding him in place, his head jerking back in pain, as his body undergoes a
remarkable transformation. His muscle structure increases in mass, as veins
bulge against increasing biceps.
Strom looks on with interest, as Zemo stands back,
observing the spectacle with scientific curiosity, something resembling a smile
materializing under his attached mask. “I have metastasized the energy found in
the black warrior we fought in northern Africa,”***
[***As we remember from Invaders #30-31.]
The young man’s leather bonds rip apart, and he
falls back from the chair, landing on the ground. As he gets to his feet, he
radiates with energy. His face has been transformed to rage, as he swings his
hand back, slamming into one of the SS agents in the room. When his backhand
connects with the SS agent, it effortlessly lifts him from the floor and sends
him flying across the room, where he slams into the wall, bouncing off and
landing in a heap on the ground.
Baron Zemo stands his ground, looking over at the
young recruit, whose face reflects both pain and rage. “Fascinating,” he
remarks casually. “The sudden increase in strength and mass has had a direct
impact on his intellectual functioning. I do not know if this will be a
temporary condition, but he will be of little use to us unless he can function
without the intense rage. A German soldier must practice
self-discipline, or he cannot be…”
The young man continues to move menacingly towards
Zemo, who is lost in his own thoughts, although he sees the young man approach.
Suddenly, Zemo’s eyes narrow under his mask, as his own anger starts to
surface.
“”Mueller!” he calls out, authoritatively. “You will
stop now!”
The young man leans forward, swinging towards Zemo,
who instinctively ducks under the swing. Mueller’s fist rushes forward,
smashing a big hole in the plaster wall, as pieces of plaster and dust erupt
from the wall!
Strom rushes over, grabbing the young man’s arm, and
ducks down. He quickly puts the young man in a full nelson wrestling hold,
holding him in place. As he does so, the young man’s face contorts into a mask
of pain, as his head rears back. Strom struggles to keep the man held tight,
but can feel less resistance, as the young recruit’s head lowers towards his
chest.
Within moments, Strom is able to loosen his grip
sufficiently to let Mueller go, because the latter has stopped struggling.
However, when he does so, Mueller falls to the ground, not even catching his
fall with his hands.
Baron Zemo rushes over, bending down to check on
Mueller. He reaches to a spot along Mueller’s neck, checking for a pulse. His
eyes flare with rage, as he slaps Mueller’s face repeatedly, trying to revive
him.
“Is he dead, Herr Zemo?” Strom asks.
“Yes!” Zemo exclaims angrily, as he gets to his
feet. “But I do not understand why the treatment has this effect on him.”
“I could see that there was trouble as soon as he
reacted the way he did to the surge in his power,” Strom points out.
“Yes,” Zemo responds, nodding. “Of course. There is
so little we know about the source of our black captive’s power. However, we
were able to transfer his strength into the body of a test subject. It affected
his mind…”
“His aggression, even towards you…” Strom points
out.
“I expected a short period of adjustment,” Zemo
responds, turning away from Mueller’s body, stretched out on the floor beneath
their feet. “It is not uncommon for someone who has undergone such a complete
metamorphosis to have difficulty adjusting to the changes. Disorientation,
rage…these are all common symptoms, and could be expected. However, he was not
able to calm down. His aggression would be beneficial when fighting those
Russian curs on the western front, but not if he cannot learn to re-channel
it.”
“The SS said that they tested him fully,” Strom
explains. “Both mentally and physically. He was said to be in perfect health.”
Zemo nods, but dismisses Strom’s comment with a wave
of his hand. “Yes, yes, they did. However, those fools at the SS are hardly
experts on such scientific matters. I suspect that his heart was unable to take
the strain.”
Strom shrugs. “What now, Herr Zemo?”
“Tell the SS to remove the body and get us another
subject,” Zemo responds matter-of-factly.
End
of Interlude
INTERLUDE
II
|
N |
orth Atlantic
Ocean. Two large ships make their way through standard shipping lanes, two
hundred and fifty miles off the coast of the United States. Each of the ships
bears the United States flags, and each equipped with various shipping items,
bound for the British coast. These two ships sail together, some carrying
armaments and some carrying consumer goods for the British and their allies in
Europe.
The captain of the lead ship looks out over his bow.
The seas are a bit rough this afternoon, and the waves crash up against the
ship, at times creating splash that lands on the ship’s deck. Yet he navigates
it through these icy waters, as he has done now for thirty years. However, in
all his years as captain, he has never seen what he is about to see.
Outside of his field of vision, a hand grasps the
railing on the side of the ship. The hand, dripping with sea water, is soon
joined by another, as a powerful figure pulls himself onto the deck of the
ship. That figure is none other than Master Man.
As he makes his way onto the deck, the crewmen spot
him. One of the crewmen recognize him, and yells to the others. “Master Man!”
he exclaims, as he stirs the other crewmen into action. Five others rush over
to where he is standing, and make their way over to Master Man. Two of the
crewmen pull out revolvers, one has a knife, and the other two merely have
sticks in their hands.
“Master Man! The German super-villain!” the captain
calls out. “What are you doing on my ship?!”
“You are carrying items of war to the enemy,” Master
Man responds simply, his hands on his hips, as he looks over to the captain.
“Your ship will be sent to the bottom of the ocean. You and your crew may leave
now.”
“You mad German!” one of the crewmen exclaims. He has
a noticeable Polish accent. He pulls out his revolver and fires two bullets at
Master Man. Master Man looks down as the two bullets strike him—one on the leg
and the other on his stomach. Both bounce off his invulnerable body. He merely
shakes his head.
“Swine!” he exclaims, smashing the mast head, and
throwing it at the Polish crewman, striking him in the stomach and sending him
flying off the deck of the ship. “I hope your fellow crewmen will not be so
foolhardy!”
The other crewmen rush towards Master Man, who shrugs
his shoulders, and sends the two who had their arms wrapped around his
shoulders flying back against the deck. He then moves his feet, and sends blows
that knock down two more of the crewmen, even as the captain looks on in awe.
Master Man then takes to the air, leaping twenty feet
into the air. He turns his body in mid-air, outstretching his fists before him,
as he falls back to the deck of the ship. He hits the deck with his fists and
rips a large hole in the surface, disappearing below with the momentum of his
fall. A moment later, a fountain of water is erupting from the deck of the
ship, as the bottom of the ship is breached by Master Man’s power!
The captain does what he knows he must do. He rushes
over to the lifeboats and orders the other crewmen to do the same. They all
scramble to find the means to free themselves, even as Master Man swims under
the doomed ship, making his way to the U-Boat, where his compatriots await his
return.
However, while he was sinking the lead ship, Warrior
Woman and U-Man were working on the second ship. While U-Man punched a hole in
the ship under the water line, Warrior Woman made her way up to the surface of
the doomed ship. As crewmen rushed over to her, she smiled a cruel smile,
cracking her whip at the approaching crewmen, using it to fling them in all
directions.
“You are enemies of the fatherland,” she remarks
coldly, as she makes her way to the lifeboats, tied onto metal railings. She
effortlessly rips away the tarp that covers them, seeing that there are only
two lifeboats. With a powerful blow, she karate chops both of the lifeboats in
half. “You will get the mercy you deserve!”
The first mate rises off the deck, even as the ship
starts to tilt in the water. He is horrified to see the lifeboats—their only
method of saving themselves—destroyed in such a callous fashion. One of the
last things he will ever see is Warrior Woman diving off the side of the boat,
and disappearing into the cold Atlantic waters.
End
of Interlude
|
M |
eanwhile, back in Dallas, Bucky and “Knuckles” have
converged on the three armed bank robbers. While Bucky chases after them, one
of the, still running, pulls his revolving and fires off a round of ammunition
at Bucky, who ducks and dodges to avoid the hail of bullets coming his way.
Bucky leaps into the air, tackling two of the
robbers with his outstretched arms, which wrap around their necks and bring
them to the ground. The other robber is taking the opportunity to re-load his
revolver while Bucky is distracted by the other two.
“Oh no ya don’t, ya dirty rat!” ‘Knuckles’ says, as
he slams his fist into the crook’s face, driving him back against the wall.
‘Knuckes’ is a born scrapper, and Bucky has trained him to be an even better
fighter in their time together. ‘Knuckles” is relentless in his attack,
showering his foe with blows to the stomach, before finishing him with an
upper-cut to the jaw that sends him flying back against the wall.
Bucky, meanwhile, is dealing with the other two bank
robbers. He leans down, slamming one of the robbers face first into the
concrete, instantly knocking him (and a few of his teeth) out!
As the other robber is struggling to get to his
feet, Bucky is quickly upon him, kicking him in the face. He spins around and
kicks his foe again, knocking him unconscious!
Even as Bucky reaches over to retrieve the money
bags scattered along the ground, some Dallas police officers arrive on the
scene. Bucky hands over the two money bags to one of the officers.
“I guess you’ve got it from here?” Bucky asks, with
a smile.
“We sure do!” he responds, even as ‘Knuckles’ walks
up behind him, carrying two more money bags, which he leaves at the officer’s
feet. “Thanks, Bucky,” he then turns to ‘Knuckles’, who he clearly doesn’t
recognize, “…and, er, you too!”
“Gee, thanks!” ‘Knuckles’ remarks, rolling his eyes,
as he and Bucky walk off.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, pal!” Bucky comments. “He
probably doesn’t read the papers much. Besides, we’ve got a bond rally to
finish.”
NEXT ISSUE: The Super Axis continue
their plans. Baron Zemo works to perfect the new formula. And who are the Death
Dealers? Answers, and action, aplenty in INVADERS #37!
WAR CORRESPONDENCE
This issue features the return of
another Golden Age group of young heroes—the Young Allies. This group was, with
the exception of Bucky (the leader) and Toro, without any super-powers. But,
they each had their niche. They existed at a time when the Dead End Kids were
quite popular, and had some stereotypical elements, but were endearing in their
own right. They have been ignored since their comic ended (although it lasted
for over twenty issues—not bad, by Golden Age standards). They also had
appearances in other titles besides their own, such as Kid Komics.
The group, created by Joe Simon and Jack
Kirby, consisted of (in addition to Bucky and Toro), the following group of
characters:
“Knuckles”
(Percival Aloysius) O’Toole: A tough kid from Brooklyn, with the thick Brooklyn
accent. He loved a good scrap, and wasn’t afraid to mix it up with anyone. He
also liked using a machine gun.
Jeff
(Jefferson Worthington) Sandervilt: The resident “rich kid” of the group,
he was also an inventor and a kid genius.
Tubby
(Henry) Tinkle: A bit shorter than the rest of the group, and
noticeably overweight, Tubby was also good with explosives.
Whitewash
Jones: The only black member of the group, his real name
was never given. He wore loud clothes, but was also liked to fight, and was a
good marksman.
There were a lot of stereotypes in the
Golden Age (Wing was certainly one of the most pronounced, over at D.C.), but I
think the best way to handle these characters is simply to re-draw them more
realistically, and write them in a more realistic manner. Stan Lee actually
wrote the Young Allies stories. Here, you’ll see them written as kids who like
adventure, and who work well together.
Hi
Jeff,
Nice story. I love all the obscure heroes; in fact, I prefer reading about them to the Invaders.
Quick note about your write up of Cap Terror: he fought in the Spanish Civil War, not the Spanish American War. And since he fought fascists in Spain and has a red starred costume, there has always been speculation that he was a communist. It would be really interesting if he were an idealist communist sympathizer. He fits the profile as a rich idealist (this is before Stalin gave communism a bad name).
Anyway, otherwise he’s a pretty generic character.
Great to see Marvex too, as well as el Gaucho.
Thnx,
Keny
from Prague
Keny, thanks for the comments.
Obviously, I meant the Spanish Civil War, and not the much earlier Spanish
American War. Thanks for pointing that out. I like the lesser-used characters
myself, and certainly enjoy using them here, as well as the Invaders. I think
Marvel really has a treasure trove of under-used, or forgotten, Golden Age
heroes out there, and I like having the opportunity to use them and develop
them in these pages. I wish I had time to write more Golden Age series, because
many of these characters deserve far more exposure than I can give them within
the limits of one title. As for Captain Terror, I certainly do not see him as a
communist, although your theory is interesting. Captain Terror was one of the
few Southern characters seen in the Golden Age. Many didn’t have a specific
home given, although most worked in big cities (largely either New York or a
New York-like city). This makes him unique, and also gives him some unique
cultural characteristics. Being Southern, I certainly don’t see him as a
communist. He was, like many of that era, aggressively anti-fascist.
Interestingly, the fascist dictators
were once welcomed, and spoken of highly by notable world leaders (such as
Churchill and Roosevelt). Both Churchill and Roosevelt had a special admiration
for Mussolini right up to the time that war broke out in Europe. And, of
course, Stalin was a real monster, just as Hitler was. In fact, he’s actually
responsible for more deaths. Communism and socialism (such as that practiced by
Hitler and Mussolini under the name fascism) are fruits of the same tree,
although Hitler always regarded the communists as his greatest enemy. I’d also
note that Stalin didn’t have to give communism a bad name. That justifiable bad
name was very much already in place. Stalin just took it to new limits with his
show-trails and other abominations, which ultimately resulted in the murder of
many people. That someone like Stalin could be called “man of the year” by Time Magazine, and that
his show-trails could be justified by the American press, speaks highly of
their arrogance and stupidity.
At any rate, enough about politics. I
think we’re all getting more than enough of that these days, with the clowns
vying for our votes. I hope you enjoy the issue, and I look forward, as always,
to hearing what you have to say about this issue. I can be reached at earth2jsa@yahoo.com.
Jeff Melton