Batman: Revenge, Chapter 5

 

BATMAN: REVENGE

                     

Chapter 5

        At the airport an incredible situation unfolded. The unmanned, F-27 “Intimidator” emerged from its hangar with military personnel hanging on to the wings, tail and fuselage, desperately trying to find a way to stop the experimental plane’s progress. One by one they fell off until one, lone individual clung to the canopy, hammering on it with his bare hands in a futile attempt to get in and take control.

      The deafening, high-pitched whine and searing exhaust of the engine kept all those who fell off from attempting to remount the runaway jet. It turned away from the hangar and headed toward one of the airport’s runways. Approaching from the distance, the lights of multiple airport security and Air Force vehicles blinked and twirled as they rushed to try to block the rogue warplane.

      In the Airport tower, the greatest imaginable nightmare for air-traffic controllers unfolded. With large commercial planes waiting to land they were unable to establish contact with whoever might be responsible for the movements of this accident waiting to happen.

      The door to the controllers’ area burst open and a hoard of Air Force personnel rushed in. “This is a military matter. We are taking control of this situation,” shouted a tall, thin man with a gray mustache and a New England accent. "If you cooperate with us then it is our fondest wish that nobody on the ground or in the sky will be hurt. I am Colonel Avery Edmondson. I'm in charge, I say again, I am in charge, kiddos, and I will not allow interference in any way of the orders I may give. Interference will immediately be met with lethal force, is that abundantly clear?” Then again, for added emphasis he repeated, “Are we Windex clear? I don’t want to see a bunch of bobbing heads like in the back of some broken down jalopy, chugging along in the slow-lane, I want to hear voices ringing out loud and true, boys and girls. Do you understand? Say you understand, so that I will know it, without a doubt!” He raised a pistol in the air as if he would use it unless he got the right response.

    In a matter of seconds, the air controllers’ emotions ranged from anger, over the interference and arrogant attitude of this man and his troops, to outright fear. They saw it in his eyes as he snapped his head back and forth assessing the situation and immediate surroundings. This nutcase wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who didn’t do as he said. “We understand!” came the unified answer from all eight of the air traffic controllers.

    They said it with conviction and Colonel Edmondson appreciated the fact that they were genuinely scared out of their wits. A wide smile spread across his face as he clapped his hands. “Halleluiah, and praise Jesus! It appears as if everybody here might just live to see tomorrow. Corporal Four Eyes,” he barked sharply, as his eyes locked on a young, dark-haired soldier with Drew Carey glasses, “have you been able to reestablish contact with the F-27, or have you been able to determine what is blocking our transmissions to it?”

    “Negative, Sir,” came the quick reply. “I tried remodulating frequencies and increasing signal strength and have not been able to raise a command verification receipt signal, Sir. It‘s just not hearing us. Someone else has her under their control, Sir.”

    Edmondson turned once again to the controllers and ordered them to tell all incoming traffic to abort current plans to land at Gotham and to head for another airport. “There’s going to be some hellfire and brimstone around these here parts, if things don’t get a whole lot better real fast! I don’t figure the passengers in any of those planes would prefer to land here and dodge bullets, rather than go elsewhere and land safely. Lookie out there, boys and girls!” He pointed to the runway. “This oughtta be mighty interesting and we got ourselves ringside seats!”

    The airport security vehicles, accompanied by several military jeeps with mounted guns had all lined up in front of the F-27 to block its further progress. The airport police and soldiers stood in front of their vehicles waving their arms as if they felt someone might see them from the plane.

    “Those idiots, don’t they know the plane is unmanned?” Edmondson wondered aloud.

    “Sir, the plane is equipped with surveillance cameras. Someone could be watching...”

    Without warning, the F-27 opened fire on the blockade in front of it. Less than 5 seconds later the blockade was gone. In its place was a smoky haze with a few twisted pieces of burning metal. Those that were not instantly killed, lay mortally wounded. 

    The silence in the tower was overwhelming as the horrified spectators gaped at the carnage below. The Colonel, however, was not at a loss for words. “Four eyes, get me those F-16’s now!”

    “Roger, Sir. Eagle one, Eagle two, come in. Eagle one, Eagle two, come in. This is tower control at Gotham Intercontinental, command code alpha, tango, foxtrot, 3-2-3, do you read me? Come in, over."

    The speakers above crackled into life as the two pilots awaiting instructions responded, “Roger tower control, Eagle one and two here. We read you loud and clear, command code alpha, tango, foxtrot, 3-2-3, over.”

    Colonel Edmondson grabbed the microphone and mashed the send button; “This is Colonel Avery Edmondson in tower control. The Intimidator is on runway 23 readying for takeoff to the southwest. You must not allow that to happen, do you read me? Over.”

    Again the crackle came from the speakers overhead, followed by the response, “Roger, Colonel. We read you. Runway 23, headed southwest. We will prevent takeoff, and will neutralize the threat. Over.”

    Edmondson literally frothed at the mouth. His eyes bulged as if they would explode as he screamed, “Blow the son-of-a-bitch up, boys, what the hell are you waiting for?”

    “Roger Colonel, we are on approach now. Target acquired. Awaiting computer lock sequence...”

    Everyone in the tower, including the Colonel and his crew, cheered as they saw the approaching lights of the F-16’s. Then they held their breath as the words came over the speakers. “Computer lock achieved, firing missiles, goodbye Intimidator.”

    Orange sparks of light appeared in the night below the wings of the incoming fighters, followed by thin trails of smoke as the heat-seeking, laser guided missiles zeroed in on the stationary target. They flew straight and true as the anticipation of the onlookers grew with each millisecond. The explosion was an incredible burst of blinding light and sound that rocked the tower and cracked two of the huge Plexiglas windows. All four of the missiles detonated exactly on target. Cries of joy rang out as the jubilant Colonel felt like the head coach of the football team that just won the National Championship. 

      Everybody clapped and pounded each other on the back. The only thing missing in this celebration was champagne, but as the smoke began to clear a crater became visible, and then the shape of the Intimidator F-27. unbelievably, through the smoke, it seemed unscathed by the impact. The cheers stopped, replaced by a collective gasp and then silence as the realization hit. The F-16’s weren't successful.

    “Oh my God.” the Colonel whispered, almost reverently. “Sweet Jesus in Heaven with the Holy Ghost... They know how to use it. They implemented the experimental protective shields. Ladies and gentlemen I need you to follow my next order to the letter and without question. We are going to try this one more time, and if it doesn’t work, then there is nothing on God’s green earth that is going to be able to stop that thing. Now get down low and stay down until the shockwave from the forthcoming explosion has passed. These windows are already weakened and could break and shatter, sending shards of glass everywhere.”

    The speakers overhead crackled again, “Tower control, Tower control, can you verify what we are seeing from up here? Is the target still intact and a threat? I repeat, is the target still intact and a threat? Over.”

    Again, Edmondson grabbed the microphone. “You’re damn right it's still a threat. The attack had no effect, repeat bucko, no effect. You boys may not know it but the Intimidator has an experimental sonic shield that has never before been combat tested. Evidently, whoever is controlling her somehow activated  that shield. Over.”

    “Seems like it must work as intended sir. In my estimation, we are wasting the government’s gas and ammo. Eagle one breaking off...”

    “How about one more run, son?” Edmondson demanded, rather than asked. “There ain’t no quit on this team, boy. Eagle one, I think that shield might fail if we hit it again! Show me you’ve got more balls than a Chinese ping-pong tournament, Eagle One. You and Eagle Two have a go for a second run. Hit it with everything you’ve got left. If it’s still there after you’re through, I suggest you keep flying to the nearest crop dusting field and try to get a job flying there, because the lives of about 7 million people in Gotham City are riding on what you can achieve in the next few seconds, son. Do you read me? Over.”

      “I read you Colonel, We’ll get it done this time, sir, or die trying. Over.”

      The two jets banked hard and bore down once again on the intended target. “Target acquired, beginning computer guidance lock sequence...”

    Through the clear night sky two bursts of energy that resembled lightning bolts shot out, but it was hard to make sense of what was being seen. The lightning bolts, rather than coming from the sky, came from the nose of the F-27. They arched upward into the air, straight into the path of the incoming F-16’s.

      As the lightning bolts contacted the fighters they began to glow an incandescent  bluish green. The lightning began to spread out along the fuselage of the planes, resembling a spider’s web being spun by a huge, invisible arachnid. Blue, green, and yellow sparks began to fly out in all directions, barely visible at first, then intensifying into what became a brilliant display. The F-16’s looked, for a few seconds, like flying Fourth of July sparklers, and then disappeared into thin air leaving wispy, curling trails of smoke from the jet engines that no longer existed. The speakers in the control tower crackled once and went silent, deathly silent. It was more than the mind could comprehend. Everyone just stared in silent, utter disbelief.

    Colonel Edmondson looked down and whispered again, “That’s it. Game over.”

    But that wasn’t it. The game wasn’t over, at least not in the minds of the rest of the people seeking shelter in the control tower. They still had one reason to believe that they and the people of Gotham City might survive this nightmare. That reason appeared on the edge of the runway, in the distance, shooting it’s way through the security gates that kept people from driving onto the runways of the airport. Their last chance came in the form of a black, long, low-to-the-ground vehicle with fins, that in the distance resembled a torpedo on wheels. They had all seen it in the newspapers or on television at one time or another. The Batmobile rocketed onto the runway. Batman was coming to their rescue!

    Everyone cheered and shouted encouragement to the caped crusader as the security gates collapsed and the Batmobile accelerated at breathtaking speed towards the F-27. The Batmobile sped across the tarmac like some brave knight on his galloping medieval charger, rushing towards the fire breathing dragon that terrorized the village.

      As he watched, Colonel Avery Edmondson tried and failed to cope with the enormity of his failure. He had been placed in charge of the protection of this highly sophisticated warplane, and it’s now, not-so-secret weaponry.

      There would be an investigation, followed by a military tribunal. The disgrace, after so many years of unblemished service, was overwhelming. His father, now retired and in ill health, had served meritoriously in Korea and Vietnam. His dad earned a chest full of medals and commendations during his time in the Air Force. His grandfather had likewise been a career man, having spent 40 honorable years in the service of his country. Now he would bring shame and dishonor to the Edmondson name. It would likely kill his father.       

      The Colonel had no wife and no children. He hadn't wanted to invest the time and effort into a relationship as unsatisfying and unlikely to last as marriage. He could count on the Air Force to be true, unlike a woman. Unlike his mother, who ran off with an insurance salesman when he was twelve. He had been severely affected by his mother’s infidelity and abandonment of he and his father. He had asked his father how she could have done it.

      The answer his father gave was to shape his life. “You can’t count on women, son. No matter how much you give them they always think it’s not enough. They always want more. More time, more money, more than you can possibly give. They want a slave, not a man. If women were as true and dependable as the Air Force, love would be a wondrous thing.”

    He never questioned his father’s advice, just as he never questioned the orders he carried out from those who outranked him, and never understood why anyone would question or fail to follow an order that he gave. He was a soldier. He respected authority. He understood the sanctity of the chain of command and lived his life in accordance with the ideals of the Air force and military conduct. Failure of this magnitude mandated punishment befitting the severity of the crime.

    Edmondson stared out through the cracked glass of the control tower at the point in the sky where the F-16’s disappeared and sank even deeper into the pool of despair where he drowned. Now he would be responsible for the death of the most loved crime fighter in the nation. He could no longer bear the weight of the guilt that bore down upon him.

      He began to lose touch with the actual events taking place in front of him as his mind sought solace from the potentially horrifying consequences of his failure to safely guard the F-27. He envisioned the attack that might follow on the city after Batman’s futile attempts to stop the unstoppable “Intimidator.” The loss of life would be immense, and what if the forces that now controlled the “Intimidator” didn’t stop there? What if they continued from major city to city?

    How could Batman be so blind? How could he imagine any chance of victory? His car was fast, and well equipped. It was a marvel of modern engineering, but this was like Don Quixote and the windmill. There would be no celebration for this man of La Mancha, tonight. It was insane to think the Batmobile could go toe to toe with any warplane, much less the most sophisticated one in world military history. This would be the most one-sided mismatch imaginable.

    An avid boxing fan, Edmondson had been encouraged in “the manly art of self defense” by his father. He did a good deal of fighting in the amateur golden gloves competitions as a young man. From time to time as a teenager he would challenge his father, who would, without hesitation and with a great deal of enthusiasm, administer a cruel beating to the youngster, leaving him bloodied and bruised. Each time he would admonish his son to learn who, how, where and when to fight, reminding him that wisdom was as important as bravery if you were going to be a good soldier.

    As he slid further away from reality the Colonel saw this encounter as a prize fight between the young, powerful, unbeatable, heavily favored champion and the older, smaller, former champion who should have known better than to accept this challenge. In his mind he could hear Michael Buffer, the famous ring announcer, conducting the pre fight introductions of celebrities in attendance, giving the names of the honorable presiding judges and the well known referee, Mills Lane, who often worked as the third man in the ring for championship fights.

      Falling further into his fantasy Edmondson saw the famous HBO boxing analysts, Jim Lampley, Larry Merchant, and former heavyweight champion, George Foreman, all decked out in tuxedoes for this epic confrontation. Lampley asked Foreman who he thought would emerge from this battle as the winner.

    As was so often the case, George did his best to make it seem as if the heavy underdog had a legitimate chance at an upset. Smiling like the proverbial Cheshire cat, he said, “Let’s not forget that Batman has the edge, when it comes to experience, Jim. He still packs a powerful punch, as well. If the “Intimidator” thinks he can win on reputation alone, then this fight may well end up being a lot more competitive than anyone figures. There could even be an upset tonight! Ask Michael Moorer what can happen when a young champion gets a little too cocky with an old, experienced champion!”

    Lampley nodded, and said, “You knocked him out as we all remember, George, even though many people didn’t think you stood a chance.”

    George smiled, and said, “Jim, fifty is an age, not a sentence. Underdogs who still possess the will and the physical ability can win at any age, especially if the champion is too sure of himself. That’s a little lesson that Muhammad Ali taught me in the jungles of Zaire, Africa.

    “How could we ever forget the Rumble in the Jungle?” Lampley admitted. “But you’re not serious about saying that Batman has a real shot at walking away the victor here tonight, are you, George?”

    George flashed his famous grin at the cameras again, revealing an impressive display of teeth any dentist would be proud of, and said, “Yes I am, Jim. If he uses his brains he may think of a way to outsmart the “Intimidator,” just like I got outsmarted by Ali.”

    “Well, I don’t agree,” Lampley said. “And neither do the bookmakers, as the “Intimidator” is a solid twenty-to-one favorite. If Batman were to win tonight it would be up there with the great upsets, like Rahman versus Lewis, or Douglas versus Tyson, or Ali versus Liston. Let’s find out what our own expert analyst has to say about tonight’s encounter. Larry Merchant, I know you are fond of calling this 'the theatre of the unexpected,' but what chance can the aging Batman have against the “Intimidator?”

    Larry was known for coming up with stories from other walks of life and applying the principles they exhibited to the upcoming event. Tonight was no exception. “Well, Jim, this fight reminds me of the Achilles Heel story. Achilles was a warrior back in the days of the Trojans and the Greeks who remained undefeated after many fierce battles and had gained a reputation for invincibility. He wore a special suit of armor, virtually impenetrable. It covered his entire body, except for a small area over his heels. He was in the midst of yet another victorious battle, slaying his foes left and right as he rode through the melee on his chariot, when an arrow struck him in the heel causing him to lose his balance. He became entangled in the reins as he fell and was dragged to death behind his chariot. Batman's job here tonight is to search for, expose, and exploit the Achilles Heel of the F-27 Intimidator.”

    Jim Lampley nodded in total agreement, and said, “Let’s hear now from our unofficial scorer, Harold Letterman…”

    Colonel Edmondson opened his eyes and returned to reality for a brief moment. He cringed as he saw the Batmobile streaking forward from the left, heading straight at the front of the F-27, which had maneuvered around the crater left by the rockets of the two disintegrated F-16’s and picked up speed as it taxied down the runway from the right.

      What was this, a suicide Kamikaze attack by Batman, who felt he had no other way to stop the F-27? The guns of the Batmobile rose up from the top of the front fenders and began firing. The barrage of bullets pinged harmlessly off the green, glowing shield of the “Intimidator,” like BB’s from a child’s first gun off a metal bucket. Edmondson began to attract the attention and pity of the others in the tower as he yelled helplessly through the glass, “Go for the heel, go for the heel!”

~    ~    ~

   

      In another part of town in a darkened room that looked a lot like a broadcast studio, a man and woman sat in a booth in front of what seemed to be a video computer console. They peered into the screen of a large, flat panel monitor with intense interest. The thin woman, who looked to be in her early thirties with short black hair, wearing a Harley Davidson T-shirt and leather pants shouted, “Go ahead, Sammy, get that bird off the ground and get it to safety! Everyone’s waiting at the hangar!”

    “I love this thing, Harley, it’s like a computer game. When I think of all the times my teacher’s told me I’d never amount to anything because I played computer games instead of studying, and now look at me! I’m flying the world’s most advanced military fighter! Watch this Harley, this thing can go straight up, just like a helicopter or a Harrier jet! I’m gonn’a do a vertical takeoff right when that Bat idiot gets near!”

~    ~    ~

   

      When it appeared that the Batmobile would crash into it, the spectators in the tower gasped in awe as the “Intimidator” rose straight up in the air and hovered less than fifty feet off the ground. The Batmobile’s tires screamed in protest, laying long, black, strips on the runway as the brakes slowed the vehicle to a speed which allowed it to make a sliding, spinning turn, so that it once again faced its adversary. The F-27, had also turned and danced lightly on the night breezes, daring Batman to do something, anything, before it annihilated him.

    In the tower, Colonel Edmondson turned his head away sadly. He knew it was only a matter of time before the F-27 unleashed it's fury on the Batmobile and most likely the spectators in the control tower. The utter futility of the situation pushed him further away from the disappointing reality he faced. If he didn’t die now, the disgrace and humiliation that he would soon face would be even worse. Again the pain of his failure rose over him like a tidal wave over a canoe and crashed down upon him. He was totally immersed, drifting down with no lifejacket, buried in a sea of shame. Bitterly he slumped into the nearest chair, where he sat with his mouth partially open and his eyes staring off into nowhere. What was left of his tortured mind was filled with metaphorical visions of Trojan battles and boxing matches, mingled with memories of a childhood dominated by unfaithful, uncaring parents.

~    ~    ~

   

      “Let me do it Harley,” Sammy begged, “let me put this clown out of his misery!”

    “No, you fool,” she shouted, “we have strict orders to seize the “Intimidator” and get it to safety.”

    “Listen, I’m flying this thing and I’m gonn’a have some fun, watch this!” Sammy flipped a switch on the console in front of him, which activated the rocket laser guidance system. A bull’s-eye overlay on the monitor blinked on, with the center of the concentric circles slightly to the right of the Batmobile. Sammy pressed a small red button and shouted “Dance for me Batman!”

~    ~    ~

   

      Inside the Batmobile, Batman was pressing a few buttons of his own. The 15 inch flat panel computer screen, which rose from the center console displayed the Wayne Enterprises logo. One of the ten items listed in a vertical lineup, along the left side of the screen was, “Research and Development Projects,” He clicked on this, and on the subsequent screen located a line which read “F-27 Weapons & Shield Codes.” Again he clicked and saw what he was searching for. A picture of the F-27 appeared with the word “Shields,” and underneath were the choices to select from, “ACTIVATE,” and “DEACTIVATE.”

    An explosion rocked Batman in his seat, as a missile from the Intimidator struck the ground just a little to the left of the Batmobile. Batman glanced up at his foe, shook his head and said, “You never know when your own technology is going to fall into the wrong hands. It’s a good thing we keep those alternate access codes on file, although I imagine the boys in the pentagon will have a fit if they figure out how I did this.” He clicked on the word “DEACTIVATE,” and watched, with satisfaction, as the green glow that had surrounded the F-27 blinked and then disappeared. Next, he moved his cursor down to where “Plasma Weapons” was listed. Again, his options were to “ACTIVATE” or “DEACTIVATE.” With a nonchalant click, Batman removed the threat of the futuristic weapon being used against him.

~    ~    ~

   

      On the other side of town Harley was screaming at the top of her lungs, “You Moron! What the hell have you done? The shields are down! Put them back up you idiot and get that bird out of there!”

    “It wasn’t me, Harley! I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t turn off the shields! It must be a defect of some type. This thing is experimental, you know. Damn, I should’a nailed his ass with that missile, instead of just rockin’ his boat, but this time I’ve got his number.”

    Harley yelled again, to forget about the Bat, “You know who wants to deal with him, in person. If you kill him now, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

    Sammy’s eyes grew large, as he watched his monitor screen. He pressed the “Plasma Weaponry,” sighting and firing button, but got no response. He pressed it again with the same lack of results, then turned to Harley and said, “Uh-oh!”

~    ~    ~

   

      Batman saw the words, “Remote Auto Pilot,” and moved his cursor down one more time, where the words “DISENGAGE” and “ENGAGE” appeared. “This ought to do it, now let’s get out of here,” he said, as he clicked on “DISENGAGE,” and hammered the throttle of the Batmobile, in an attempt to put some distance between him and the mayhem which was soon to follow. The blue flames from the vertical thrusters that kept the F-27 aloft vanished, and as they disappeared the “Intimidator” tilted over on its side in the air and dropped like a rock to the runway with a sickening crunch. The following explosion again rocked the control tower and was seen from several miles away as it lit up the sky. The tower's occupants screamed and fell to the floor as the windows of the tower shattered and one of the fighter’s wings spun crazily towards them like some huge Australian boomerang, missing them by less than twenty yards as it sailed overhead and fell back to earth, sliding another four hundred yards before coming to a rest.

      In the tower, as those that were uninjured began to get back up, the Air Force personnel and air traffic controllers began cheering for their hero. They stared in wonder at the scene on the runway, where the twisted remains of the F-27 lay burning, destroyed by the founder of the company that had developed the weapons, and defense system that made it the most advanced warplane the world had ever seen.

      Fortunately the Air Force had never known that the Wayne Foundation had created and kept an alternate set of access codes for this project on file. But while the immediate threat was over, the Pentagon would never let this matter go without a thorough investigation. Suspicions would no doubt be raised by the means of the “Intimidator’s” demise. Allegations would be made and fingers would be pointed during the numerous meetings and military inquiries that would follow. Batman, and possibly some of his employees (although none of them knew him as Batman) in the Wayne Foundation’s Research and Development department would be called to testify. The finest military lawyers would grill Batman, on the witness stand, asking how he was able to defeat the F-27. His largely truthful answer would simply be that he was lucky to be alive. The criminals responsible for the theft of the Air Force access codes and the remote hi-jacking of the F-27 must not have been as good at flying it as they needed to be. They lost control of the aircraft and it crashed. End of story.

    The door to the control tower swung open and paramedics entered the room to attend to the injured. None of the injuries seemed life threatening. The majority were cuts and bruises and a few broken bones sustained when the glass had shattered and the tower’s occupants had been knocked to the floor. A young lady whose arm had possibly been broken and was now in a sling, looked at Colonel Edmondson, still sitting in the chair he had slumped into. A cut on the left side of his face was red and raw looking, but he sat there motionless, gazing out at the night sky. His lips moved as if he were trying to speak, but no sound ushered forth from them. The lady with the injured arm asked one of the paramedics who was approaching the Colonel, “What’s wrong with him?”

      The young man stopped, took a long look at the Colonel and shook his head, feeling compassion for the officer, “Looks like his cheese done slid off his cracker, if you know what I mean,” he said. He gently took Edmondson by the arm, got him up out of the chair, and began guiding him towards the door when the Colonel collapsed. Another paramedic joined the first and they lifted the fallen warrior as two other paramedics slid a stretcher under him. As they headed for the door, Edmondson weakly lifted an arm and tugged on the sleeve of the paramedic who carried the upper half of the stretcher.

    “Remember,” he said softly, but too low in volume for the young man to understand.

    The paramedic stopped and spoke to the other stretcher bearer, “Hey, wait a minute, the Colonel is trying to say something. Go ahead Colonel, what is it, what did you say?”

    The colonel tightened his grip on the sleeve and repeated himself, this time just barely loud enough to be understood, “Remember, remember what Larry Merchant said…about Achilles.”

    The two stretcher bearers looked at each other and shook their heads sadly, having no idea what the Colonel meant. The grip loosened and Edmondson’s arm fell back upon his chest as he was carried out to the waiting ambulance.

Batman: Revenge, Chapter 6  (18+) Wayne Manor and Vicki Vale #1468679 by George R. Lasher