Direwolf: Cold Iron & Hot Steel - part 4 "I have a bad feeling about this...."
by Direwolf
Direwolf moved through the shadowed building. The interior had long since been looted of everything of potential value. Then the vandals came through, ripping into the walls and floors for the sheer enjoyment of destroying something weaker than themselves. There were signs squatters used the ruin, the remains of fires, heaps of trash, and the sour reek of human waste. In some places the walls were bright with graffiti. Direwolf paused. He saw another of the bright blue slogans proclaiming ‘Cold Iron Rulz' with the stylized snowflakes on either end.
"I wonder what that is all about?" Jason mused. Then he heard the faint ring of metal on stone. Something else was moving through the abandoned building.
He moved out of the gutted apartment into the hallway. A massive figure nearly seven feet tall loomed into view from around a corner, its feet ringing on the exposed cement floor. Direwolf stopped and examined the armored man as he paced closer, the black finish on the metal suit gleaming faintly like well-used cast iron.
"Who are you?" Direwolf asked. His senses were screaming a threat warning but he ignored it, puzzled by the new arrival that walked at him, a sledgehammer in hand.
"I'm Cold Iron." The male voice echoed slightly from within the helmet. "I defend The Devil's Kitchen. You squeeze Sergeant Joe Joe, he squeezes the beat cops, and they squeeze the locals. That's not the way it works any longer."
"What are you...?"
The first hammer blow cut off Direwolf's question.
It was shift-change time in the Freedom Fortress. Iron Ox had just finished the afternoon watch on the Energy X monitors and had turned the chair over to Minute Man for the evening. The huge ex-boxer stood, stretching his back and shoulders, the tight muscles popping like broken branches.
"I say, that chair's a spot on the small side, don't you think?" Iron Ox hadn't lost the accent he acquired from his years in England. "Wonder if Mentor could bodge something up for my backside? Got a few of those Energy X blips in The Devil's Kitchen, old boy. Nothing too large, but could be our Direwolf chap making a show."
"Thank you, Iron Ox. I have a bad feeling about this..."
Minute Man's voice was cut off by a squawk of alarm from the sensor panel. It had just detected a spike of Energy X activity in the Devil's Kitchen. It was followed by another, even stronger flair.
"Bullet," Minute Man snapped into the communicator, "we have Energy X activity registering in The Devil's Kitchen, looks like the corner of Lexington and Bunker Hill."
"I'm already there," Bullet answered, slightly exaggerating.
"I say. Looks like quite a dust up," Iron Ox noted. The board was showing a series of bright purple flares going off like a string of firecrackers. He adjusted the focus with a massive finger. "But only one source by the look of it."
"Quite true." Minute Man's eyes narrowed behind the bark blue mask while his mind examined the tactical situation. It looked like one target but that target was using a lot of Energy X fueled abilities. Bullet could be outgunned.
Minute Man made a snap decision. He glanced at the status board, confirming who was in the Fortress at the moment and who was away. "Diablo, Alche-Miss, Microwave and Order, get to the Freedom Flyer right away. I'm transmitting your destination to the flyer now."
All four heroes confirmed they were heading for the hanger. Minute Man sat back in his chair and watched the board. Iron Ox was right, something major was going on in The Devil's Kitchen and Minute Man wanted to be prepared for the worst.
Direwolf ignored the feeling that he was in danger right up to point when Cold Iron struck. Then it was too late. The sledgehammer lashed in sideways, a two handed swing that had the full weight of Cold Iron's armored body behind it. The blow struck Direwolf on the left shoulder with crushing force. The impact would have crippled or killed a normal man. It drove Direwolf back into the wall and smashed the muscles in Direwolf's shoulder. And there was more then just the power of the impact. Bone numbing cold radiated from the hammer's head. Frost iced Direwolf's coat as he reeled from the blow.
Cold Iron swung again. This time, he hit Direwolf's thigh knocking Jason down. The third blow came towards Direwolf's head but this time Direwolf heeded his danger sense, snapping his head to the side at the last moment. The hammer hit the concrete floor, blasting out chips that peppered the side of Direwolf's face as the frigid aura iced the cratered floor.
Direwolf punched up. He felt his muscles healing but he was still flat on his back and had to reach up to hit. The blow stuck Cold Iron in the midsection, ringing off the metal armor and driving the man back into the far wall with a crash. Direwolf pulled himself up, his fingers digging into the wall.
"What is thi...?"
The hammer clipped him on the side of the head. Direwolf went down, his senses reeling. Cold Iron hit him on the back and pounded him against the floor. With a low growl, Direwolf caught the armored man's leg, lifted and shoved. Cold Iron flew back, smashing through the hallway wall. Direwolf pulled himself up again and shook his head in an effort to get rid of the ringing in his ears. Then Cold Iron came back through the wall, hammer swinging.
The hammer smacked into Direwolf's abdomen, forcing the breath from Direwolf's lungs. Direwolf managed to clip Cold Iron on the shoulder but it didn't faze the armored man. The two-handed counter stroke hit Direwolf square in the chest, throwing him back into the wall.
Direwolf sucked in a deep breath and howled, a long quavering cry that seemed to startle Cold Iron. Lips skinned back into a snarl of rage, Jason sprang forward as his world seemed to dissolve in a red tinted haze.
Jenny Weathers reached the 16th Street station a half hour before sundown, looking for a follow-up to her Direwolf story. She'd already gotten an official statement for Freedom Force confirming that Direwolf was not on their roster. And while a headline like "Freedom Force Denies Responsibility for Direwolf" would work, she hoped to get a little more to run with. And this time, she'd brought a staff photographer with her on the chance Direwolf came by the station. A photo of the masked man would be just the thing for the thing front cover.
Jenny climbed the stairs to the 16th Street station, and flung open the door, hoping to spot Direwolf. Behind her Jimmy Stanton tried to keep up. He was having a bit of trouble mounting the stairs and checking his camera. There was no sign of the mysterious Direwolf. She walked briskly to the desk sergeant and rapped on the counter.
"Is Direwolf here? If not I want to talk to Joe."
The desk sergeant looked at her with a carefully neutral expression. "Mr. Direwolf isn't here, Ms. Weathers. I'll call Sergeant Wojosky and let him know you wish to see him. Wait here."
There was no missing the icy tone. Jenny felt a hot retort rise in response, she wanted to light into this desk cop but she managed to hold back her temper. If the cops of the 16th wanted to give her the cold shoulder, she could live with that. Jimmy was still examining his cameras and muttering to himself. The photographer was actually a journalism major form City University and had been assigned to Jenny by her editor. At twenty-four, Jenny thought of herself as a hardened streetwise reporter, not a baby sitter for a college kid.
Time trickled by as Jenny fumed. She knew a run-a-round when someone pulled one.
Another cop she vaguely recognized ran in the front door and up to the counter.
"We got some sort of disturbance down at the intersection of Lexington and Bunker Hill!" the new arrival shouted.
"What sort of disturbance?" The desk sergeant reached for a note pad.
"The word on the radio is that it sounds like someone or several someones are trying to tear the place apart from inside! Car 54 was going past and heard a lot of crashing."
"Interesting, let me let Sergeant Joe Joe know and I'm sure he'll want to send someone over..."
The bang of a door closing surprised the desk sergeant. He looked over and saw the entry hall was deserted. Stormy Weathers and Jimmy Stanton were gone.
The red haze ebbed from Jason's vision. But he was still disoriented. He tasted blood and cement dust. There was something wrong with his left shoulder. And he was battering an old fire door with his right fist. He lowered his hand and stepped back from the door. There was no sign of Cold Iron.
"What the Hell happened?"
The last thing he clearly remembered was a rising tide of rage as he hurled himself at Cold Iron. There were flashes after that. The feel of a cement wall crumbling as Cold Iron knocked him through it. The impact of his fist on the metal armor and it giving way in a scream of tearing steel. Cold Iron under him as he battered the armored man with his hands. And the taste of hot blood in his mouth....
"Did I bite him or what?" He rubbed his face and blood flaked off from his nostrils. With a sense of palpable relief, he realized that his nose had bled, nothing more. Dim light filtering through a hole in the wall a car could have driven through only a few feet from the door he'd been battering. It was enough to see by. Direwolf took stock of himself. The only sign of damage was his left shoulder. He could tell it was dislocated.
"This is going to hurt," he told himself as he sat on the rubble-strewn floor and set his hand between his feet. He got a grip on his left arm with his right hand, gritted his teeth and pulled as hard as he could. With a muffled pop, the joint reset. He was right, it did hurt. But the pain was already fading as his body rebuilt itself.
Direwolf stood up and rocked slightly on his feet. His shoulder sent a dull roar of pain through his body. And he was hungry and thirsty. He stepped through the hole in the wall and found himself in what must have been a parking lot for the tenement building. It was full night. The fire door was barred from the outside, a metal beam twisted through the door handle.
That sort of made sense, Jason realized. If he'd been following Cold Iron in a blind rage, then it was possible the armored man ran out the door and sealed it, knowing that Jason wouldn't see the obvious way out but would waste his time trying to get through the reinforced door. The more chilling thought was that he'd lost control. What sort of damage might he have caused in that state?
Confused and frightened of his own power, Direwolf picked his way around the heaps of rubble and rubbish heading for the street. He didn't feel much like jumping right now. He caught a flicker of movement and the rush of wind just in time to look up as a silver clad figure raced into view.
Minute Man kept Bullet apprised of the progression of the Energy X flares by way of mental link. He also knew the Freedom Flyer had been dispatched with back up, but he was the first one on the scene. He slowed down as he approached the empty building where the flares were registering and, moving at what he considered a snail's pace, started circling the building. Half way around, he saw the tall man in the long brown coat walking towards him. There was a thick layer of concrete dust all over him and Bullet assumed he understood what was going on. This man had been testing himself by destroying part of the building.
Dwight Arrow sprinted over and stopped beside Direwolf.
"Enough of that, big fella', you need to come with me," Bullet said, grabbing hold of Direwolf's left shoulder.
If the meeting had happed a week or so later, it might well have ended differently. But it didn't. Direwolf was shaken form his battle with Cold Iron and still coming down from an adrenalin rush. His left arm ached from dislocating then popping the shoulder joint back into place. He was edgy from the realization that he had lost control in the middle of a fight and had no idea how badly he might have injured Cold Iron. For his part, Bullet was more deeply affected by what had happened to Man-bot in the realm of the Celestial Clock then he wished to admit. And on the way over, he'd received a stream of updates from Minute Man about the power of the Energy X flares. And Dwight Arrow wasn't the most slow to react person either. A fighter pilot who had survived the deadly skies over Indochina, he was used to making snap decisions. Now, his thinking speed was accelerated just as his metabolism had been. So what happened was inevitable.
Direwolf winced in pain. Reflexively, he turned and swept with his good arm. Still unused to his strength, he hit Bullet with enough force to tear the silver speedsters grip free. The blow would have broken the arm of a normal man, but Bullet was far tougher. None the less, it hurt and knocked him away.
"Fine! We do this the hard way!" Bullet was up and on Direwolf, his fists blurring into a series of strikes.
The blows rained in on Direwolf. He felt the stinging impacts but they weren't doing much damage. Still, enough of them were landing that Direwolf knew that in time they would knock even him down. He tried to dodge, protecting himself with his arms, but Bullet was too fast. Even though Direwolf sensed where each blow was going to land, he couldn't evade them all.
"Will you knock it off?" he snarled.
Bullet responded with a solid shot to Direwolf's face. Jason felt his nose start bleeding again.
"Had enough?" Bullet asked, still punching.
Direwolf growled and bore in, taking Bullet's blows to land one of his own. It caught Bullet in the pit of the stomach, lifting him from his feet and knocking him into a brick wall.
With a grunt, Dwight recovered his balance and bounced to his feet, the last time he'd been hit that hard was when he'd been sparing with Order.
"Target is hostile, I repeat, target is hostile!" he sent to Minute Man over the psychic link.
"Back up is in-bound, Bullet! Hold on until then my friend!"
"Easy for him to say," Bullet thought. Direwolf was stalking towards him, wiping the blood from his face and didn't look happy.
Bullet spun in a tight circle and a whirlwind coiled into existence. With a twist of his arm, Bullet directed the path of the whirlwind. The wind engulfed Direwolf and lifted him a good twenty feet into the air before it dissipated. With a cry of surprise, Direwolf tumbled to the ground. But Bullet didn't wait to see if he got up. The silver speedster had sprinted to a broken light pole on the street. He grabbed the pole, grunted with effort and pulled. It tore free. Bullet turned just as Direwolf was starting to stand up from where the whirlwind had dropped him.
"Batter up!" Bullet shouted as he swung the light pole.
The metal pole snapped over Direwolf's back but the force of the blow knocked him into the tenement wall. The concrete slab cracked and Direwolf rebounded. Bullet bore in, still swinging the remains of the pole. Direwolf got his arm up in time and took the hit on his forearm. This time, Bullet lost his grip on the dented metal but a quick hard punch to the throat dropped Direwolf to his knees. Direwolf fell, clutching at his throat. Bullet pressed in to finish him off.
It wasn't until Direwolf's arm shot out, catching Bullet's ankle that he realized the black masked man had been at least partially faking weakness.
"Uh, oh," Bullet thought, "I 'm in trouble."
He tried to spin free himself but this time, Direwolf reacted in time. He simply lifted Bullet from the ground. With out leverage, there was no way for Bullet to employ his amazing speed. Direwolf grabbed his other leg and spun him around, smacking him into the side of the building. Then he did it again.
Bullet's last thoughts were a warning to Minute Man.
Though the mental link, Minute Man felt Bullet slip into unconsciousness. Instantly, he concentrated on El Diablo.
"Diablo! Bullet got in over his head and is down! He needs help right away!"
"We're just about there, amigo. I can see the building. I'll head out and let the rest catch up."
"Be careful, friend. This one is dangerous!"
"Not to worry, El Diablo is on the scene!"
"I say, " Iron Ox rumbled, "that's the blooming emergency line!"
Minute Man reached for the blinking phone with the sudden conviction that the evening was about to get a whole lot worse.
"Freedom Force," he said, lifting the receiver. Very few people had this direct line.
"Minute Man, thank God it's you. This is General Armstrong of Camp Iroquois. Nuclear Winter has broken out and is heading for the fence line. I don't think my men can stop him! We need help and we need it now!"
"I'll do what I can, general," Minute Man said, looking over the roster monitors. He could divert the Freedom Flyer, but that would leave Bullet and Diablo alone against Direwolf, and Bullet was already down. But the army base was so far away!
He couldn't leave Bullet and Diablo, there was too much risk. "I'm sending what help I can. Freedom Force out!"
Once he hung up, he signaled Man-o-War and Black Bird, the only two members who could fly fast enough to have a chance of reaching Camp Iroquois in time. But he knew it was a slim chance at best.
"It'll take a bloody miracle for them to get there soon enough," Iron Ox observed.
"I know," Minute Man said past clenched teeth, "but we can't abandoned Bullet and Diablo!"
"Pity they both happened at the same time."
Sudden realization blossomed on Minute Man's face. "Stars and Bars, what if it isn't a coincidence? What if this was all a diversion to cover Nuclear Winter's escape?"
"That would mean..." Iron Ox began.
"Direwolf is in league with Winter!"
"Take over, Sparky!" El Diablo shouted to Microwave as he threw a switch on the Freedom Flyer's control panel. The canopy slide open and wind tore through the craft's cockpit.
Diablo slapped the center buckle on the harness holding him in the pilot's chair while Microwave took hold of the copilot's control yoke. The slipstream of air lifted Diablo free of the aircraft. For a moment, he tumbled in the wind, reveling in the sensation of wild flight. Then he ignited his own flames and jets of fire sprang from his feet. Diablo stabilized and shot ahead, out-pacing the Freedom Flyer.
Below, the bleak cityscape of The Devil's Kitchen sped past, the ruined streets and dilapidated buildings a blur in darkness. Ahead several blocks he saw the crumbling tenement where he knew Bullet had fallen. That was his target. He swept low over the rooftops and scanned the battlefield.
Emerging around the corner of the building he saw a massive human form in a long dark brown coat, a mask covering the upper part of his face. The limp form of Bullet was slung over his shoulder.
El Diablo's eyes narrowed. There was his adversary. He started to dive, feeling his anger coil like living fire in the pit of his stomach. There was a brief, bright flash from across the street that distracted him for a moment until he realized it was only a flash bulb.
"Smile for the camera, Wolfy," El Diablo hissed. "You're about to go down in flames!"
To be continued...
