November 1942
Konzentrationslager Buchenwald (Buchenwald Concentration Camp)
Ettersbberg, Germany
Major and Warden of Buchenwald Concentration Camp Rickard Loritz would not lose this camp. The German officer peered through a pair of binoculars as he watched the battle rage closer and closer to the Buchenwald's perimeter. From the inside of the camp's head office, he could hear the clamors of war. The crack of gunfire and the thundering of heavy artillery. In order to try and turn the tide of the fight, he'd deployed those new soldiers, if you could even call them that. Their abilities were a bit... unnerving. But they were necessary. At least two of the Allied superhumans had already been sighted and it would be impossible to hold them back without a bit of unconventional aid. He himself could see the hooded one through the lenses of his binoculars.
"I still can't raise anyone on any of the long range frequencies, sir." said a private behind him, sitting on a desk and adjusting the dial on a radio.
"We won't last long unless we're reinforced by someone. Anyone. Try again." The major replied.
He spoke calmly, but deep down he too was beginning to feel the slow spread of panic. This camp wasn't designed or equipped to deal with an extended conflict. They could hold them off for another hour perhaps, but not more. If they could just get some reinforcements from Leipzig or Dresden they might be able to push them back. Maybe. The camp in Natzweiler had been captured a week and a half ago and Vught had followed four days after. It was obvious that the Allies were attempting some sort of liberation, but that knowledge did nothing for him. He winced as he watched one of the new supers, a young man who'd possessed some kind of electrokinesis, fall in battle. They were dropping like flies.
"Sir Dresden still isn't responding and neither is Leipzig."
"Try Flossenburg."
"Sir they're too far away, they won't get here in time."
"I said try it."
"Yes sir."
Major Loritz listened to the faint static and the sound of the private's voice calling for aid as he watched the battle. Doctor Nucleus had just shown up. He grit his teeth as he heard the private's voice stop.
"Why did you stop? Did you get a-"
He was turning to check on the private and stopped mid-sentence. The young radio operator was gone. It took half a second for his eyes to find the operator's body crumpled up at the foot of chair, a neat bleeding hole in the side of his skull. Another half second and he noticed the door to the room was open and the guards who'd been outside were gone. Before he could even react, the world spun and something pushed his head into the radio's desk. The Major couldn't do much more than howl in pain and surprise as his vision flashed white and the wooden corner cut into his head. The world spun again and he was looking into a pair of blue eyes set upon a face marked with black camouflage stripes. His attacker spoke in English.
"Prisoners." He pressed a pistol with a long barrel up against the Major's bleeding forehead, "What buildings are they in?"
"What?"
Wrong answer in the wrong language. The world spun a third time and Loritz managed out a short scream as he was thrown onto a neighboring desk and he felt a lamp break against his back. He was wincing at the little shards of glass digging in behind him as the pistol came back and touched his temple. Scott Baker spoke in brief, badly learned German,
"Prisoners? Where in buildings?"
It was enough for the officer to get the message. He sputtered, trying to rattle off a few numbers. Reeling and confused from the sudden and violent succession of pain. Fearing another onslaught, he gave up and pointed at a map on the wall. Scott glanced at it, looked back at the officer and struck him one last time with the butt of his pistol. The weapon's hard frame against his skull was more than enough to knock him unconscious. He'd make a good source of information once the battle was over.
Scott tore the map off the wall and studied it. He scanned the map's legend, searching for the German word for prisoner. Gefa-something. He'd know it when he saw it. A little black square with the word Gefangene sat nestled between a white star and a black triangle. He took note of all the buildings with the mark as he sat on the radio the Nazi private had been using. He took few moments to adjust the frequency and match up with Doctor Nucleus' portable radio. That power suit he wore did a lot. Putting a radio on that thing hadn't been much of a leap from its initial design.
"This is Sierra Foxtrot 1-3 calling Sierra Foxtrot 1-4, do you read? Over." There were a few moments of static before John's voice came through,
"This is Sierra Foxtrot 1-4, I copy. Over." They were in business. Scott brought the map up. At the same time, he brought up a little mirror from his pouch and used it to reflect sunlight from the open window the warden had been looking through.
"Alright John, I'm in the administrative building, see me? Over." He moved the mirror, creating a tiny, twinkling beacon visible from the battlefield.
"I see you. Over."
"Roger, the prisoner's barracks are..." the buildings on the map had little numbers on them, but those wouldn't be visible from John's location. Instead, he'd have to relay the buildings' locations relative to the one he was in. John would be able to see them through binoculars and make the calculations for the artillery coordinates. They'd known this going in and John had already prepared firing plans for every building in the camp. In theory, they already had firing patterns for every point in the camp. It was just a matter of what not to shoot.
"45 meters east. 37 meters southeast. 45 meters northeast..." he went on, giving John the distance between their buildings and his. Hitting the camps so suddenly meant that the troops inside didn't have time to move the prisoners. They'd all be locked up in their bunks. "62 meters north is the last one. Also, there's an armory about 48 meters northwest of me, avoid hitting that, we don't wanna blow this place sky high. Once I stop shining my beacon, wait 60 seconds and then hit the building I'm in. Over and out."
He spun the frequency dial and pocketed the mirror. He was in the process of sliding the unconscious Major Loritz over his shoulders and carrying him out when something kicked him in the back of the head. He had barely seen it coming and stumbled, dropping the officer. He turned, raising his gun and knife, muttering off a quick, "What the fuck?" He'd briefly sensed something appearing and then disappearing as it hit him. Like a blink.
He spun around. He didn't sense anyone else. But what the hell had-
He caught this attack in time, just as it popped in behind him and swung something at his neck. He ducked, turned and raised his weapons. He just barely caught the flash of a small blade before something disappeared from the room. He wasn't going to give this any more time in a building 50 seconds away from becoming a pile of rubble. He slung the officer over his shoulder again and walked out onto a balcony when this thing popped back in and swung that same little blade at his back. He dropped the officer and parried, feeling an arm land against his wrist as he stopped the blow. Before he could make an attack of his own, the figure was gone again. It had definitely been a human figure. He was running out of time.
He turned and waited another second. He kept his senses on a razor's edge, but they couldn't pinpoint and react against something that didn't even exist. It came again very briefly. The figure was already in the middle of its swing and Scott couldn't dodge the attack completely. He could only try and get away as much as possible and the knife's blade grazed against his forearm before it vanished once again. If that attack had been made against anyone else, that blade would've sunken itself into its victim.
Scott had less than 40 seconds. He turned, trying to think of a way to get himself and his German prisoner away from the building. If push came to shove, he'd have to leave the officer behind. He figured he needed quick action and that the major wasn't completely vital anyway, but he might survive this. He hoisted the officer up and pushed him off the edge of the balcony. It was only two stories high, and he'd probably break a rib or something, but he'd live. He didn't have time to watch the man fall when his attacker came again, blinking into reality in the middle of an attack like before. After being busy with the warden's body, Scott didn't have much time to dodge. The best he could do was position himself to take it in the arm. He felt the cold steel blade sink into his shoulder and the attacker was gone. He left his knife behind.
Scott grunted in pain and before he could assess the severity of the wound, he was kicked in the back and then in the arm, and just barely dodged a kick to the head. He wasn't going to beat this guy if he kept this up. He needed to catch him and in order to do that, he needed to focus. He grit his teeth and pulled the knife from shoulder, tossing it aside and holstering his pistol. This guy's speed wouldn't let him get a shot in anyway. He tore a strip from his sleeve and wrapped it around his eyes. Blinded and in pain, he stood there, focusing his reflexes and waiting. He took slow, deep breaths. He could feel his perceptions start to slow down even more than they usually did. They went slower and slower until time seemed to crawl by. He felt every detail of this building and buildings next to it. He had about 30 seconds before they called artillery down on the building.
Then it came. Just as he'd suspected, his opponent was able to pop in and out around him. The human form simply popped into existence behind him, leg outstretched in a kick. Scott reached out, taking hold of the attacker's shin before he could complete his kick and slammed his fist the teleporter's maw. Scott felt the every curve and bump of the teleporter's jaw as well along with the slight wiggle as it threatened to dislocate. He hit the ground and hastily teleported away before Scott could rain down another strike. Scott waited again. He was gone a little longer this time. This super could toss you around so long as he wasn't getting hit in return, but now that he was on the receiving end he was starting to get clumsy. Scott could tell. The guy hit the ground before he could teleport. Even someone who can cease to exist at will still feels pain.
He came again and it was easier to block his attack. The teleporter's aim was less accurate, less direct. Scott took hold of an arm that was meant to strike him and pulled, delivering a knee to the stomach. The attacker was definitely clumsier. He hesitated to teleport and as he doubled over in pain, Scott dropped an elbow onto his back. He fizzled out of existence once more, but he'd definitely slowed down. The pain was getting to him. Scott had 20 seconds.
He took slow deep breaths, the dark green strip of cloth wrapped tightly around his head over his eyes. The teleporter was hurt, but he'd try one more time. Scott knew he would. This guy, whoever he was, wasn't giving up just yet. He ignored the pain in his own shoulder, keeping his focus through the stinging throb. Pain tolerance had been one of Yeng's many lessons. The teleporter came again. He had another knife, but the pain still made him slow. The blade didn't even come close to Scott before he caught the arm, twisted so that the elbow pointed up, and dropped his own elbow into it. The teleporter's arm snapped underneath a textbook Nightwatch disarmament. The teleporter screamed, dropping the knife and tried to pull his arm free out of kneejerk reaction more than anything else. It was now or never. Scott drew the pistol and brought it up to his attacker's head as quickly and accurately as he could. He fired.
And hit air. The teleporter had regained his senses at the last second and disappeared just as a bullet tore through the space his head had previously occupied.
He wouldn't be coming back. Not with a broken arm. Scott still had about 15 seconds before the artillery guns fired. He pulled the cloth strip down to his neck and swung himself off the balcony rails. With a controlled descent, he dropped from ledge to ledge until he hit the ground, rolled, and scooped up the officer's body. He ran, but he didn't need to run, he needed cover. He swore under his breath as he heard the distant boom of artillery. He trudged away from the building and threw himself and his prisoner into the nearest piece of cover he could find. An outhouse. A prisoner's outhouse. Little more than four pieces of wood arranged around a hole. He slammed the door closed and swore out loud when it didn't have a latch and settled for turning his back to the incoming fire and covering his head. He threw the German officer over himself for good measure. Then came the whistle. At first a murmur before it got louder and louder as it neared.
The administrative building blew its insides out of its walls as a few shells scored a direct hit. With John's calculations, he should've expected nothing less than a direct hit. The walls of the outhouse were blown away with Scott and the officer behind them. Pieces of wood and plaster rained down for a few seconds. Everything was still. An onlooker would see a motionless scene punctuated only be the sound of falling debris. Until, of course, Scott swore loudly and pushed a few smoking pieces of wood off of himself.
"Grrah... Son of bitch!"
He kicked the splintered remains of the outhouse walls off of his legs and stood. All the artillery targets had been destroyed at once. Of course John would coordinate the guns so that all the shells landed simultaneously. Scott shook the ringing from his ears and looked around for the officer. He found him underneath a few chunks of what used to be the building's walls. He was fine, surprisingly enough.
...
Once the Allies pushed their way into the camp, they found no resistance. All of the soldiers that had stayed to guard the camp had been taken care of by the infiltrating Nightwatch. Just the way they'd planned it. Scott was searching Major Loritz when the first troops stormed through the gates. He pulled the Major's dog tags from his chest and stripped the man of his sidearm. Duke was the first member of Freedom Squad to walk through the gates of Buchenwald.
"Who's your friend?"
"Warden." He held the dog tags up, "Rickard Loritz, apparently."
"Good job. Let's get those prisoners out."
"You go on ahead. Rickard and I need to have a conversation about a super that just fucking jumped me."
"You too? We saw some out in the field, Sacrifice got one."
"Yeah well mine got away. Teleporter or something. Loritz is gonna tell me all about him."
Unfortunately, the following hour would reveal that Loritz didn't know much about the supers. They'd just been sent here from Berlin and their origins weren't privy to even the camp warden. As the prisoners sat around receiving the food, water, and medical attention they'd been denied for so long, Scott pulled John away, speaking in a hushed voice. He didn't want to let on that they had a problem.
"Warden's a dead end. He doesn't know any more about these new supers than we do."
"Darn it. I was really hoping for some answers on this one."
"Yeah me too."
"We're going to need to find something soon. David and Evelyn are being diverted after this."
"I know, I know. We'll find something."
They kept the conversation short and Scott stepped away after giving John a clap on the armored shoulder. These new supers were concerning. The Germans didn't have supers at the start of the war and suddenly a large amount of them were cropping up. Most were low-rate or untrained, but a few were causing problems. On his way to find a good place to sit and have a cigarette (a habit Eve still insisted he should drop despite being in wartime) he glanced at a couple of the prisoners. They were looking at him. They could tell he was something different than the other soldiers, like the one in the robe or the one wearing a tank. He wasn't as obvious, but he sure didn't look like infantry. Or maybe they were just staring because they'd seen him slap the warden around earlier. As he passed a particularly bright-eyed but thin teenage girl sitting beside her mother, he slapped Major Loritz's tags into the her hand.
"Here. A souvenir."
The young girl didn't speak English. Scott didn't want the tags anyway. He'd tried collecting dog tags at first but now he had too many, so he got rid of them whenever he ended up with one. When the girl looked up from the little glinting pieces, Scott was already some distance away under his breath swearing at an empty lighter.
Later that evening, as some of the Buchenwald's freed children fascinated themselves with Doctor Nucleus's armor, John and Scott sat a few feet away on a rickety bench. John had deactivated the armor now that they weren't in combat and the piece of machinery stood where it had been left like a guardian monument. Some of the children had begun to draw on it with crayons that the relief forces had provided. Meanwhile, the investigative pair of Freedom Squad went over their superhuman problem as they unwrapped their standard issue rations.
"These guys couldn't have been recruited. There are too many of them showing up too suddenly." Scott said as he peeled away paper.
"I've also seen two now who had the same powers."
"What?"
"The one Ridley got today. He used some kind of electrokinesis. Just like the one we saw in Vught."
"The one that gave us the slip, I remember him. Fuck. This doesn't make any sense. It's like the Krauts opened up a can of worms with powers."
John was silent for a moment.
"Scott. What if they're making superhumans?"
"Making superhumans? How the fuck do you make a superhuman? You can't make a superhuman. Can you?"
"It's a hypothesis. I don't know yet. I'd need to," John trailed off, "the one Ridley killed!"
Scott picked up where John left off, "Shit, his body! How good of an autopsy can do with what we've got?"
"An excellent one, it shouldn't be too hard."
"I'll get Ridley."
Later that evening, John's hypothesis was proven to be correct. The mechanism that provided the dead super's powers didn't look like it had developed naturally. His body wasn't adapted to use the abilities the way a natural superhuman's would be. But the biggest clue was evidence that he'd undergone several invasive medical procedures at one point in time.
The supers they were seeing were later revealed to be German attempts at engineering their own superhumans. Not all of these supers were stable. Freedom Squad saw a few more of them as the campaign continued and while some were captured or killed, there were a few that managed to evade each time and come back stronger. Those that came back time and time again tended to become recurring opponents, since their experience with Freedom Squad helped them survive the encounters and provide more of a challenge. Five German superhumans ended up playing this extended game of combat with Freedom Squad. The teleporter Scott had fought in Buchenwald would be one of them.
His codename was Wurmloch. In the days to come, Wurmloch would be chastised for losing and letting a weakness such as pain get in his way. His nervous system would be deadened and he'd come back into the fight. After that, he'd suffer a second defeat and the loss of an eye, only to come back once again. As he fought, but lived, his unstable nature would become evident as his powers slowly destroyed his body. By the time the war hit its peak, he was unable to survive outside of a life support suit and his mind would slowly succumb to hallucinations and psychosis. He was one of the five German supers that managed to live long enough to become both a major threat and unwilling carriers of powers that deteriorated their minds and bodies.
But at least the camp was freed and the Allies had moved up. They'd face this new threat when the time came.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Present Day
Mr. Baker arranged the weapons they'd received from the hardware store on the living room coffee table. Way back when he was still a crime fighter The Callaghan Hardware Store had provided a lot of the little odds and ends he'd needed. When he first started out as an unregistered vigilante, he'd go and purchase whatever he needed. Wire and rope for tying his catches to street lights or telephone poles (you can't turn in the criminals you've caught if you're an unregistered super since vigilantism is technically illegal), makeshift weapons like pipes or steel rods, and a revolver loaded with blanks in case he needed to scare someone. When he was convinced to come out and register as a super hero, he found himself striking a deal with the hardware store. Being the place where Nightwatch bought his odds and ends was good for publicity, so he was given a small card that allowed him to purchase what he needed free of charge. His purchases were less frequent at that point now that he had more permanent tools, but he still came around with strange orders and as usual the employees didn't ask. He returned the revolver, however. Freedom Squad's crime fighting days came before the war. They were super heroes at the time. They didn't kill. Duke had been very adamant about it. Either way, carrying a gun, regardless of whether or not it had live ammunition, was bad for publicity. It's weight only slowed him down anyway. Besides, he had better ways of scaring thugs.
That store had been very useful. Nightwatch usually went out after criminals, but if he was ever given the chance to prepare and fight on his own terms, you can bet he'd have something set up. Scott didn't have much academic expertise, but that didn't mean he wasn't clever. He was very clever. He had to be. As a ground-level fighter without Duke's indestructibility or Dragon's super speed, he had to stay alive using either raw wit or raw skill. Having the most subtle, background powers on the team wasn't easy, but Scott trained himself to be just as good as the rest of the team. Maybe even better if it was possible. The powers helped a lot, but he didn't want to think he relied entirely on them. He used his powers as a supplement, not a crutch.
Back in the present, Mr. Baker was grateful that the card had still worked. The old employees were gone, all except for one. A pimply teenager back then was now a middle-aged manager. Funny how the reason it worked had been because at least one of them had gotten stuck in a dead end job. Officially, the card was no longer valid, but the manager was able to smudge a few records and get them their goods. A decent amount of raw materials for setting a few traps around the house and three guns. Two .45 caliber hand guns and a single double barreled shotgun.
The handguns, a pair of M1911's came with a total of four magazine with eight rounds each. That was 32 rounds in total between the two pistols or sixteen for each gun. The double barreled shotgun wasn't so lucky. The manager couldn't get them any ammunition, so all they had were the two shells in the barrel. Against a super human, a double barreled shotgun wouldn't work anyway. Fights with supers were often fast paced and guns were only useful until they ran dry. In a fight with a super there was almost never time to reload and when there was, that time was better spent doing something else. Having to reload after two shots made the gun useless in a direct fight. Mr. Baker had an idea for it though.
Before he could work on it, however, he needed to make a plan with the others. He had a few ideas, but he'd need to see what the others had in mind.
He wandered through the house on his chair, getting an idea of the building's layout. At the same time, he looked for John and hoped he wasn't upstairs. That was another problem. He was practically glued to a chair with wheels. He wasn't exactly agile.
"John?"
He called out, rolling through the hallways with both pistols on his lap. He found him in the kitchen looking a little lost in space.
"John." He snapped him out of his daze, "How well do you think you can use your powers? After I take a gun, we're gonna have another one left over. Think you'll need it?" He looked around,
"Where's Ridley? Call him over, I've got a plan."
He moved over to the kitchen counter and placed one of the firearms on the marble surface. It was heavy. An M1911. Just like the one that had been custom made for him during the war. He had to admit, he missed that thing. Everyone on the team had received military grade gear. John had built a power suit from what had been provided, and everyone else got a few useful things. His own equipment hadn't been as big as a power suit, but rather it was made up of many tiny little details that increased his efficiency. From the padding on his boots that muffled his steps, to the small wrist mounted grappling wire that he had to admit he didn't use as much as could have, and even all the little touches added to a pistol. That pistol had been the best gun he'd ever held. A balanced slide, adjusted barrel, and very well calibrated sights gave the gun smooth recoil control and accuracy. The built in silencer made the weapon a little long and difficult to draw, leading to a few fights where Scott had to stick with hand-to-hand combat, but the ability to mask the sound of his shots when he needed them made that price worth it. Even the paint on the weapon was designed for him, a matte black that was non-reflective in order to prevent it from glinting and giving him away. Every part of that weapon had been designed with the idea that Nightwatch would use it. He silently wished he had that gun in his hand.
"So here's what I'm thinking. We keep the fight indoors, have Ridley drive Aftershock towards us where we'll set up a choke point. We don't know what this guy can do, but we're better off indoors than out. If he can see us from a distance, then we don't stand a chance, but up close we'll have surprise on our side. If Ridley can drive him into a hallway, we can use the guns the fire from one end and he'll have nowhere to go except away or towards us. Either one gets him shot." He held up one of the guns, "Let's hope this guy isn't bullet proof. Either way, when we get him into the hallway, you can use your powers to slow him down. Make it hard to move or just hold him down, it doesn't matter. You just need to keep him in that hallway."
"I can set up a couple of traps for him. I'm thinking of rigging that shotgun behind a door, attach some wire to the firing mechanism so it shoots when he opens it. If there are kitchen knives lying around, and I think there are, I might be able to put them on a two-by-four and have them swing around a corner when he gets close. Probably won't do much, but it'll hurt and we'll need all the distractions we can get. We can put these on the entrances to our little choke point. Slow him down in case he makes a break for it. I can make a few other things, but I don't have a lot of materials. I'm thinking of using the hallway between the first floor bedroom and the living room. It's got a door on the side that leads to a bathroom, but we can board it up with whatever we have left after setting the traps."
He opened his hands and set them on the table, as if opening them up for suggestions, "That's what I can think of off the top of my head."
