The arrow sailed through the night air, splintering on the face plate of the Excalibur’s helmet. The pilot’s aim was thrown, his gun arm going wide as Greenhood sprang away in search of safety.

Greenhood felt two of the bullets tear into his leg as he dived backward, crashing through a window of the nearby building. He scrambled for cover, ducking away from the window and behind a tall metal filing cabinet. He heard the Excalibur, maneuvering through the air outside the window. He checked the wounds in his right leg; both bullets seemed to have passed through, so he was not worried. He'd been shot before and knew that his wounds would heal quickly, in a couple of days at most. In the meantime, two such superficial wounds wouldn't even slow him down that much.

He had no idea why he was different from everyone else he knew, but he was. He was faster and stronger than anyone, and he could see much further and in poorer light than any man. His ability to heal was equally advanced, and his tolerance for pain was extraordinary. Finally, and perhaps most remarkable of all, his skill with a bow was nearly beyond belief.

He had gone up against several gunmen at once, and on more than one occasion, armed only with his bow, and he had come out on top each time. The Excalibur was different, though; the armored suit had helped keep the skies of England clear of Nazi planes. He didn’t think he had much of a chance against that.

“SURRENDER AND I WON’T HARM YOU!” the pilot said, his voice filtered through the electronic speaker of the helmet.

Despite his history of opposing the English, Greenhood was here to help them. Getting into a fight with their greatest champion was not in his or their best interests. He crouched and then lunged for the nearby hallway, seeking escape.

Another hail of gunfire from the Gatling gun tore through the room, destroying much of the wall around the window. He managed to avoid it and duck into another room.

“I’m here to help you, you feckin’ limey prick!” he shouted as he took cover once more. The Excalibur’s engines cried as the pilot moved through the air.

Against normal men, he knew he could win. Against what he had expected to face here, he was not sure, but he thought he had a chance. Against England’s greatest weapon, a flying suit of armor that could resist machine gun fire and take down Nazi fighter planes…he had some serious doubts. The one time his abilities had truly been tested was only a week before…and that encounter had left him nearly dead…

*****

Greenhood had walked into Conner Fitzpatrick’s quarters on shaky legs. He didn’t know if he had really taken in all he had just learned. His head spun with the implications. I’d be no better than them, he kept thinking over and over again. No better than the bastards that slaughtered my family.

“Hello, Danny, my boy,” Fitzpatrick said to him. “How’re ye?” The plump man eyed him intently from his chair at the table. “I was just speaking to Mister Krieghelm about our progress on the operation.”

Greenhood turned to face the other seated man. Krieghelm was a strange man, slender to the point of gauntness, and with eyes that were so dark you could not tell where iris ended and pupil began. His hair was equally dark and slicked back from the sharp features of his face. Krieghelm was Fitzpatrick’s German ally, supplying their IRA outfit with guns and other supplies. What the Nazis wanted in return was aid against the English…aid that came from within the British Isles.

“By this time next week,” the man said in his thick German accent, “we will have removed the key to England’s defense and turned it to our advantage.”

Greenhood eyed the two of them for several moments. Fitzpatrick did not seem to notice that something was wrong, but he would swear that Krieghelm knew. I think the fucker can smell it on me. “Everything is all set with the Duke, then?” he asked, trying to appear as if all was normal.

Fitzpatrick nodded enthusiastically, kicking his chair back to balance on the rear legs and stretching his arms behind his head. “Oh, yes, the Duke and the Lady Herrschaft are all set to proceed. With the men our German allies have provided as his personal guard, their success is all but assured.” Fitzpatrick chuckled, enjoying their oncoming victory.

Krieghelm continued to stare at Greenhood. His eyes were pools of shadow.

Fitzpatrick went on. “And Doctor Von Gruber insists that he can do for our men what he has done for the Duke’s. Can you imagine, Danny? A group of men with abilities like yours, all on our side against the English. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.”

At the mention of the German doctor’s name, Krieghelm’s eyes twitched. Greenhood knew that his face had given something away. No sense in trying to hide it now.

“I doubt it, Fitzy,” he said, readying himself.

The front two legs of Fitzpatrick’s chair thudded to the floor. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Now why do you say that, lad? Sure and if he can do it for those limey poofs, he can do it for our men.”

“The doctor’s dead,” Greenhood said. “I killed him not ten minutes ago.”

He had expected a reaction out of Krieghelm, but the German merely continued to stare at him. The corner of his mouth twitched in a slight smile beneath his dark eyes.

Fitzpatrick, on the other hand, was startled, his mouth hanging open and his brows rising high on his forehead. He finally found his voice. “What the bloody hell are you talking about, boy?”

“I killed that sadistic pile o’ shite,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Krieghelm. “He ain’t fit to be called a doctor, and that’s bleedin’ true.”

Fitzpatrick didn’t seem to believe him. “Go on outta that, lad,” he said. “You’re feckin’ lying to me, ye are.”

“He’s not lying,” Krieghelm said, his voice nearly a whisper.

Fitzpatrick looked from Greenhood to Krieghelm and back again. Greenhood just stood as calmly as he could; what he wanted to do was get the hell out of there.

“Why the feck would you go and do that, Danny?” Fitzpatrick asked. “What’ve ye done?”

“What I had to, Fitzy. Von Gruber was tellin’ me about what they’ve been doin’ to figure out how to make people like me.” He remembered the church burning in Derby, his parents and their neighbors locked inside to die in agony. If only a fraction of what the doctor had said was true, then Derby paled in comparison. “He told me what they’ve been doing to people. I can’t be a part of it. I won’t.”

Krieghelm’s thin smile spread across his face. “Squeamish, are you? The mighty Greenhood?” He laughed a joyless laugh. “You are a hypocrite.”

“I don’t burn people alive,” Greenhood said, struggling to remain calm.

“No, of course not,” Krieghelm said, still seated at the table. “You blow them up with car bombs.”

In a blur of movement, Greenhood pulled the bow from his back and knocked an arrow. “I’m not like you!” he screamed and fired.

Even faster than Greenhood, Krieghelm spun from his chair, avoiding the arrow, and springing at him. His hands closed around Greenhood’s throat, and the two tumbled to the ground.

Fitzpatrick jumped up. “Stop!” he yelled at them. “Stop it, I say!”

Krieghelm paid the man no mind. His hands tightened around Greenhood’s neck, closing in an unbelievingly strong grip that belied the man’s slender frame. “Surely, with all we’ve shown you, you didn’t think you were unique, did you?” Krieghelm’s eyes blazed with a bluish light. Crackles of sparks appeared around his body, little arcs of blue electricity running down his arms.

Greenhood felt the electric current flow into him, and his body clenched with the shock. His mind reeled from the pain, and all thought fled from him.

Fitzpatrick grabbed Krieghelm’s shoulder, only to feel the jolt of electricity himself. It knocked him back and he crashed through the table.

Krieghelm whirled on him, taking one hand from Greenhood’s throat. “You fat Irish fool!” he said, and pointed his free hand at Fitzpatrick. “I am sick of your blather, and I don’t need you anymore!”

A bolt of electricity shot forth from Krieghelm’s hand and struck Fitzpatrick, burning a hole right through his chest. He died with a confused look on his face, the smell of his burnt flesh thick in the air.

Greenhood managed to gather his thoughts enough to act. With only one hand choking him, the electricity had lessened, and he focused all he had on his next move. He slid his hand to his back, where his quiver was pinned beneath him, and pulled an arrow free. Holding it like a knife, he swung his arm upward with all he had.

Krieghelm turned just in time for the arrow to jab into his throat. Greenhood then twisted the arrow and tore it away, leaving a vicious wound. Blood spouted from Krieghelm’s neck, and he fell back, his hands rising to stop the flow.

Greenhood scrambled away. His muscles were not fully cooperative, but he managed to get to his feet.

Krieghelm looked up at him, his face twisted with rage. “I’ll kill you, you Irish cretin,” he said, his voice a weak rasp. “I will kill you!”

He raised his hand and Greenhood dived for the doorway. He heard the crackle of electricity and the splintering of wood. Fragments of the doorframe showered about him as he rose and ran.

As he exited the large farmhouse that had served as one of Fitzpatrick’s hideouts, he heard Krieghelm cry out in anger. Flashes of blue light could be seen coming from the windows. He heard other people within yelling in confusion. Shadows moved through the blue light.

Greenhood turned and ran without looking back.

*****

In his brief struggle with Krieghelm, he had learned that against a foe of equal ability, a foe with powers such as he possessed, he was at best an even match. The process that Doctor Von Gruber had performed on the Duke’s Personal Guard made them stronger and faster than an ordinary man, but the Doctor had been quick to point out that people who were given such abilities were never as strong as those that were born with them, such as he was. When he came here to stop their plot to steal the Excalibur, he had hoped to avoid any direct conflict with the Duke’s Guard, but was confident that if he did face any of them, he could win.

He hadn’t counted on the English being able to deploy the Excalibur so quickly. And now his plans had gone to shite.

He crept to the other end of the small building. Several of the rooms appeared to be barracks, and he thanked God for that; it must have been the fear that some soldiers might be within that kept the Excalibur from leveling the building. He could hear the fantastic machine swirling about the air above the building, but the pilot had stopped firing after the two initial bursts.

His leg throbbed a bit, but he ignored the pain. He found an exit that faced the command center and he crouched low, looking up through the window in the door. His only chance would be a mad dash to the command center when the Excalibur circled back to the other side of the barracks.

“What the hell’ve ye gotten yerself into, Danny?” he whispered to himself. He knew the answer, though. Krieghelm’s accusation was always in his thoughts. No, you blow them up with car bombs. Since he had heard Doctor Von Gruber’s claims of what was being done in Germany, the idea that he could be even remotely similar had sickened him. He had killed or participated in the killing of many English. Each of those deaths meant there was someone out there as enraged as he had been at his family’s murder…he felt he was no better than the Black and Tan brutes that had killed his family. He could not have that. Shortly after fleeing Fitzpatrick’s farm, he had vowed to change his ways.

If he could help protect people from the madness that the German’s were ready to inflict on the world, then he had to do so. Coming to Esher to stop Krieghelm’s and Fitzpatrick’s English ally, the Duke of Cumberland, from removing England’s greatest defense had been his first attempt at redemption.

And now it seemed like it would fail. “How the hell’re ye gonna get yerself outta this one?” He heard the Excalibur swoop around to the back of the barracks. He pushed open the door and ran for the Command Center.

*****

March 28, 1941, 9:09 PM
One Mile outside Esher, England

Patrick Malone stared out over the small town that surrounded the Air Force Base. The town was barely lit, which only made the display going on at the base more noticeable.

“What the hell do you suppose that was?” he asked the others.

Dave Barry was checking his plane to make sure no damage was done landing in the rough field, and Sarah Klein was helping him. The small plane was a pure marvel, like anything that the man crafted. It had a counter-radar measure that kept them from getting blasted out of the sky by England’s defenders, who were always on alert due to the constant German bombings that had only recently ended. Malone had been impressed by the plane, and although he was not all that familiar with aircraft, he knew this one was beyond anything he had seen or heard of.

The young man called Champion moved up to the edge of the steep hillside that Malone stood upon. His dark blue fatigues rippled in the wind. From their vantage point, they could see the base clearly, a little more than a mile away. For whatever reason, Paradox had insisted that the base at Esher was where they needed to be.

The huge burst of flame that had just risen into the night sky seemed to confirm the strange young man’s beliefs.

Champion’s eyes squinted as he strained to see what was going on. His senses were enhanced, Malone knew, but he still did not know what Champion hoped to make out at this distance, and at night.

“A building is burning,” the soldier said. “And some vehicles. There’s lotsa activity about the grounds.”

Paradox came up beside the two of them. “We need to get down there. Obviously, something bad is happening.”

“Always seems to be the case when you’re around,” Malone said. He eyed Paradox intently. He didn’t like the young man, and barely trusted him, even though Mother Bones had said that he must do so. He couldn’t help it, though; the kid had secrets that he wasn’t sharing, and he knew about all kinds of things without any explanation as to how. Malone was a private investigator…a detective…he was determined to figure out Paradox’s secrets.

Paradox ignored Malone. “We need to get down there,” he repeated.

Malone smirked. “Who’s down there? The archer? The knight?”

This got a response. Malone had gotten a head start on learning Paradox’s secrets from the fortune teller, Mother Bones. She had told him their group would come to Europe and gather more allies, and she had given vague descriptions of each. It bothered Paradox to no end that Malone seemed to know some of his secrets.

The young man returned Malone’s gaze, but he was not provoked this time. “Both, I think,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And maybe one more.” He turned to see if Dave and Sarah were ready; the two had finished checking the plane and were making their way over to them. “One day, you are going to have to tell me how you know these things, Malone.”

Malone laughed. Champion was ignoring the exchange so intently that he might as well have been taking notes. “You tell me your secrets, Paradox,” Malone said, “and I’ll tell you mine.”

Sarah stepped up to them. “Are you two at it again? You need to stop this crap. We came here for a reason, and it sure seems like that reason is down on that base. We’d best get going.”

Paradox smiled at her. “I couldn’t agree more, Sarah.”

As they watched, a substance like liquid gold spread over Sarah’s skin and clothes, sheathing her in a protective coating. Even in the dim moonlight, she nearly glowed. “You want me to scout ahead? I can be there in a minute or two at most…”

Struggling to put on the Steelhawk harness, Dave interrupted her. “No!” he nearly yelled. “It’s better if we all stick together.”

Paradox shook his head. “It makes sense for her to go down ahead, to see what we’re up against. Perhaps Malone can go also…he can fly there just as quickly…”

Malone just shook his head. “Not unless I have to.” Even thinking about the creature that he could become if he lost control made goosebumps rise up on his arms. He would only change into Blackwing if it was absolutely necessary.

“The Steelhawk is silent enough,” Dave said. “I can go ahead, too, to watch over Sarah.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sarah said and rushed forward. In a few quick strides, she was down the hill and approaching the town. She slid along the ground on her golden skin like an ice skater would across a frozen pond, gliding effortlessly through the rough terrain.

Dave took one last look at the plane. “Do you think it’ll be safe here?” He switched the Steelhawk on and the machine hummed to life on his back.

Paradox shrugged. “Honestly, Dave, your plane is the least of my worries.”

Dave shot him an angry look, then activated the controls on the Steelhawk. He thrust up into the night sky, the jet-pack propelling him upward with nearly no sound.

Champion turned to face the two of them. “All right, let’s do this,” he said. He placed the back of his hands against the small discs that hung at either hip, and pulled them away. The little bucklers fastened to his wrists magnetically. He leaped down the hill.

Paradox looked at Malone, but the private eye chuckled. “After you,” he said, gesturing down the hill. “I insist.”

“Try and keep up,” Paradox’s voice floated back up to him as the young man ran down the hillside.

“Like I want you at my back,” Malone said. He hesitated a few more moments, watching these strange people make their way to the base. God knows what we’ll find there, he thought. His entire life had been strange; a series of investigations that involved the occult in one way or another. Still, what he’d been through recently was something new. Just as strange…but in different ways.

He checked his pair of pistols, hanging beneath either arm, then shrugged and followed Paradox down the hill.