The Brave and the Bold: Doctor Mid-Nite and the Sandman

Times Past, 1943

Assignment: London

by HarveyKent

 

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 1

“But Dr. McNider,” Myra Mason said pleadingly. “This award dinner has been planned for months. The American Mystery Writers are honoring you as the best writer of the year. You can’t just cancel!”

“I’m afraid I have to, Myra,” Dr. McNider said firmly. “Please extend my sincerest apologies. Something vitally important, something unavoidable, has come up.”

And it had, for the coded message Dr. Charles McNider had received commanded his presence at a special emergency meeting of the All-Star Squadron.

That evening, as Dr. Mid-Nite strolled up the walkway to the Perisphere headquarters of the Squadron, he chanced upon his JSA comrades, Starman and the Atom, chatting as they stood in the doorway.

“Evening, Charlie,” Atom said amiably. “Ted and I were just wondering what the big emergency was.”

“Yes, Charles, have you any idea?” Starman asked.

“I’m as much in the dark as you, no pun intended,” Mid-Nite said. “However,” and here the Man of the Night glanced inside at the meeting-room, “my prognosis is that we have a mission in occupied territory.”

Starman raised an eyebrow. “What brings you to that conclusion?”

“Take a look inside,” Mid-Nite said. “Whom do you see?”

“I see our fellow All-Stars,” Atom said. “There’s Wildcat, and Vigilante; over there’s the Guardian, Green Arrow and Speedy, Robotman…”

“Anyone missing?” Mid-Nite asked.

“Well, I don’t see Superman anywhere,” Starman said. “Green Lantern’s missing too, and Spectre… Wonder Woman… Johnny Thunder…”

“I get it!” Atom ejected. “No magic-users!”

“Correct,” Mid-Nite said. “All our friends who use, or are vulnerable to magic — which, for some reason, includes Superman — are absent. This leads me to the conclusion that we have a mission in Axis-occupied territory, where those heroes would fall under the sway of the Spear of Destiny.”

Starman shook his head, marveling at Mid-Nite’s deductive powers. “Excellent hypothesis, Doctor. I couldn’t have come to a better conclusion myself.”

“Shall we go in, and see if my theory bears out testing?” Mid-Nite asked. He and his fellow scientist, Starman, entered together; Atom excused himself to get a Coke before the meeting began.

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 2

“I want to thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Liberty Belle said, addressing the company of heroes. She and her co-chairman, Hawkman, stood before the auditorium seats of the meeting room. Nearly every non-magical member of the All-Star Squadron had answered the emergency call and was hanging on her every word.

“As some of you may have guessed, by the conspicuous absence of magic-based heroes, we have a mission in occupied territory. Or at least very close to it,” Belle went on.

“We received a communiqué from British Intelligence this morning,” Hawkman continued. “They intercepted a coded message between members of the Abwehr, the Nazi spy ring. It seems they’re planning a big strike in London, to commence shortly.”

“MI-5 was unable to decode the entire message,” Belle said. “They have determined that the Abwehr intends to kidnap a British citizen and take him or her back to Germany. To assist them, they have hired an American super-criminal, with apparently no patriotic scruples. The identity of both the intended kidnap victim and the hired criminal are unknown.”

“Due to the exotic nature of the threat, IE the super-criminal, British Intelligence has asked for our help,” Hawkman concluded.

“What about the Shining Knight?” Firebrand asked. “Isn’t he in London now?”

“Sir Justin is away from the city at the moment,” Belle answered. “Prime Minister Churchill is making a tour of the shipyards in the coast towns, and the Knight is accompanying him as bodyguard.”

“The Brits have asked for two of us to go to London and tackle this problem,” Hawkman said. “As London is so close to the Spear of Destiny’s influence, for safety’s sake we’re not asking any magic-users to go. Do we have any volunteers?”

Every hero in attendance raised their hand.

“Thought so,” Hawkman smiled. “OK then, our two representatives will be chosen by lot.”

When the selection was over, two heroes had been chosen to go to London. The Sandman and Dr. Mid-Nite would leave the following morning.

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 3

“You say this is for the Daily Mirror?” the middle-aged shopkeeper asked the young man who stood before him with notebook and pencil.

“A special Sunday piece on how the shortages and rationing have affected the typical family,” the young man replied. “Any insights you can give would be appreciated.”

“Well, ‘ere’s a funny. Just Monday last, old Mrs. Thompson tried to sneak a carbon-copy ration ticket by me, t’get extry eggs. Can you imagine the cheek?”

“Indeed not!” the young man smiled, making notes in his book. “Tell me, have you had any unusual requests recently? Anyone looking for things you don’t normally carry? Sometimes the shortages drive people to desperation.”

“Funny as ‘ow you mention it, squire,” the shopkeeper said. “Just this mornin’, a bloke was in ‘ere askin for somethin’ called ‘Dr. Potter’. I think it was; mebbe ‘e said ‘Pepper’, come to think. Anyway, I didn’t know what ‘e was talkin’ about. ‘E explained it was a drink, fizzy, like ginger beer. I told ‘im I didn’t ‘ave none. ‘E thanked me and went on ‘is way.”

“Did the fellow have an American accent?” the reporter asked.

“Matter o’ fact, ‘e did,” the shopkeeper said, mildly surprised. “‘Ow did you know that, squire?”

“Oh, I’ve been to America on journalistic assignments. This soft drink the chap wanted is an American product.”

“Oh, that explains it, then. Say, when will this be in print? Want me missus to see me name, y’know!”

“We’ll let you know. Thanks for your time, Mr. Bingley.”

“Anytime, squire.” The amiable shopkeeper insisted the reporter take a free cigar, which the reporter seemed not to want, but accepted to spare the shopkeeper’s feelings. Then the reporter left. After tossing the cigar into a dustbin, he rounded the corner and ducked into an alley, already darkening in the setting sun. He met another young man with notebook and pencil there.

“Any luck?” the second man asked.

“I think so,” Charles McNider said. “I found a shopkeeper who had a request for Dr. Pepper this morning.”

“An American drink,” Wesley Dodds said. “That means an American nearby.”

“And no American military units anywhere in the area,” McNider affirmed. “Most likely the Abwehr’s out-of-town talent.”

“Narrows the search, anyway,” Wesley said.

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 4

The mantle of night was fully drawn when Dr. Mid-Nite and Sandman, now in full costume, approached the darkened Campion Theatre. For the stealth of the occasion, Sandman had opted for his original gasmask and cloak outfit.

“This is the most likely place,” Sandman said. “It’s been closed for over two years now; and yet it has blackout curtains in the windows, to keep what’s inside hidden from prying eyes.”

“And it’s an easy walk from Bingley’s Grocers,” Dr. Mid-Nite added. “Yes, I’d say it’s a likely candidate for the Abwehr’s hideout.”

“Shall we look further?” Sandman asked. Mid-Nite nodded, indicating with a pointing finger that they should go around the back. The two caped figures crept around the theater, sticking to the shadows. As they emerged in the rear court of the theatre, they saw a young man with close-cropped hair standing on the back stairs, smoking a cigarette. He spied them out of the corner of his eye, and was about to raise the alarm, when the Sandman’s quick hand came up holding his gas-gun. A stream of violet-scented gas issued forth and swept into the young man’s face; he went down almost immediately, without making a sound.

Sandman and Dr. Mid-Nite examined the man’s possessions, and found a Luger pistol. They nodded silently, their suspicions confirmed.

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 5

“Let’s go,” Dr. Mid-Nite whispered, as he fitted charcoal filters into his nostrils, to protect him from Sandman’s weapon. Their plan was to darken the close quarters with Mid-Nite’s blackout bombs, then flood the room with Sandman’s gas, to take out as many of them as they could. What remained could be handled with fists.

Through the back door they crept through a storage room crowded with props and costumes. They emerged in the backstage area, and saw a folding table covered with papers. Crowded around this were six or seven men in nondescript black clothing. One of them, a bit older than the others, looked up to see the two American heroes. His shock was momentary; he began barking orders in German. Sandman saw guns being drawn before Mid-Nite’s blackout bomb plunged the room into darkness. Sandman fired his gas-gun into the dark cloud. The two JSA champions, working closely with Rex Tyler, had formulated their gaseous weapons to combine readily with one another, to spread a thick cloud of sleep-inducing darkness.

Sandman and Dr. Mid-Nite, protected from the gas, waded into the cloud, fists flailing. Sandman could not see in the darkness and lashed out blindly, now and then connecting with a German jaw or stomach. Dr. Mid-Nite’s blows were delivered with surgical precision, as he could see his targets as though it were daylight. Ted Grant had given Mid-Nite some basic boxing tips, and he used them to their utmost potential.

The leader kept out of the fight, still barking orders in German. Mid-Nite, who understood a little of the language, heard the man yell, “Someone get the damned American!” Mid-Nite communicated this to Sandman, who nodded at the voice he could not see.

Ten minutes and more passed. The inky cloud began to dissipate. Figures were becoming visible to the Sandman. Bodies lay on the floor around them, robbed of consciousness either by anesthetic cloud or gloved fist. On the other side of the room stood the leader of the Abwehr band, with two more of his soldiers, who had kept out of the fight. Another was with them, one obviously not of their group. He wore a stylish American suit, obviously pre-war cut, of shining blue sharkskin. His bald head set off his evil eyes and grinning leer. But the most surprising feature about him was the brilliant yellow glow that shined from his body, blazing forth from every part of him.

“Doc,” Sandman gasped, his eyes growing wide behind his gasmask lenses. “That’s Dr. Glisten! Hourman told me about him once! He–”

But the Sandman did not finish his soliloquy. He halted in mid-sentence, dazed into submission by the hypnotic power of Dr. Glisten’s aura. Such was the power of this evil man, that any who looked upon his glow were his to command.

“Sandman, Dr. Mid-Nite,” Glisten said in a sibilant hiss. “Kill each other.”

In instant obedience to the command, Sandman fell on Dr. Mid-Nite, fists hammering. Mid-Nite threw up his arms to block the blows. Dr. Glisten and his Abwehr companions smiled at the spectacle.

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 6

“Wes, snap out of it!” Dr. Mid-Nite pleaded, as he struggled to hold his old friend’s hands away from his throat. Dr. Glisten’s hypnotic aura had bewitched the Sandman only. Dr. Mid-Nite supposed it had something to do with his unique vision; his optic nerves had not received the glow in the same way as a normal man’s. But that mattered little if he were killed by the Sandman.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dr. Mid-Nite watched the Abwehr men and Dr. Glisten preparing to leave. Such of their fallen comrades as they could rouse to consciousness, joined them; the others were shot in cold blood, not to be left behind to talk. Mid-Nite’s teeth gritted at the callous disregard for human life. Master race, indeed!

A right cross from the Sandman snapped Dr. Mid-Nite out of his reflections. He had to stop Wes without hurting him, then go after those Nazis. Sandman lunged at Mid-Nite. Doc whipped off his cloak and unfurled it in front of the charging hero; the hypnotized Sandman became tangled in it. Mid-Nite reached in and whipped off his old friend’s gasmask. He then dove for the gas-gun, which Sandman had dropped in his daze when Glisten’s aura first overcame him. Muttering a brief apology, Mid-Nite discharged the gun. Sandman instantly dropped into unconsciousness, for the first time a victim of his own weapon.

Doc ran to the planning table the Abwehr men had used. They had torn off the last page of the writing tablet they had used, but Doc saw faint pencil impressions on the top page. Picking up a pencil he lightly scribbled over the page, making the impressions stand out. A name and an address became visible. Doc gasped. That was their target? He raced for the door, in a mad dash to intercept the Nazi kidnappers.

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 7

In a richly-furnished library, walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, an old man sat in a plush upholstered chair reading a magazine. It was one of those lurid-covered magazines the Americans referred to as “pulp” magazines. The man was reading a science-fiction story by a young writer named Isaac Asimov, and clucking his tongue at points in the story. The drivel that passed for scientific fiction these days!

The man’s reading was disturbed by a knock on the door. His housekeeper, Mrs. Kipps, was gone home for the night, so he rose to answer the door himself.

“Herbert George Wells?” the man asked as the door was opened to him. H.G. Wells found himself staring blankly at a glowing halo of light. He felt his will drain away from him. “You will come with us, Mr. Wells,” a voice declared in a thick German accent. The old writer nodded agreeably.

The men marched down the side street, Wells walking with them like an automaton, eyes glazed and staring forward at nothing. The leader spoke on a portable radio transmitter, signaling a Nazi submarine waiting offshore to pick them up.

Suddenly the moonlit night was plunged into deep blackness. A black thunderbolt struck among them, delivering blows left and right. Men fell like tenpins before the hurricane fists. In the midst of it all, H.G. Wells stood and stared, oblivious.

“Doctor Mid-Nite, hear me!” the leader’s voice cut through the darkness. “I cannot see you, but I know you can see me and know I speak the truth! I have a gun at Mr. Wells’ temple! Surrender instantly, or I shall shoot him!”

Mid-Nite tried to call the Nazi’s bluff. “You came all this way to kidnap him, alive. Your masters in Germany wouldn’t like to hear you killed him.”

“My primary orders were to bring Wells to Germany alive,” the Nazi agreed. “However, if I am unable to do this, my secondary orders are to make certain he is of no use to the Allies. The choice is yours, Doctor.”

Mid-Nite was afraid of that. He could never allow an innocent to come to harm because of him. When the dark cloud dispersed, the Nazi officer smiled to see Dr. Mid-Nite with hands raised in surrender.

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 8

Wells marched in a hypnotized stupor, and Dr. Mid-Nite walked at the point of a gun, as the procession continued to the sea.

“What a feather this will be in my cap,” the Nazi officer said. “Not only do I succeed in my mission to capture H.G. Wells for the Fatherland, but I also bring back one of the famous Justice Society of America, to stand trial in Berlin for crimes against the German people.”

“Just don’t forget what I’ve been promised,” Dr. Glisten reminded.

“Ja, ja, when America becomes a Nazi possession, you shall be made Bürgermeister of New York,” the officer agreed.

“How about settling my curiosity, Colonel?” Dr. Mid-Nite asked, reading the officer’s rank from his collar insignia. “Why go to all the trouble to kidnap an aging science-fiction writer? I mean, I know his Communist leanings put him on Hitler’s hate list, but still…”

“An excellent question,” the colonel said. “Tell me, Doctor, have you ever read ‘First Men in the Moon’?”

“One of my favorites,” Mid-Nite said.

“The Fuhrer’s, too. The idea of cavorite, the anti-gravity material, fascinated him. To bring the conquering sword of the Third Reich into space itself!”

“What? Don’t tell me you think Wells based that on fact?”

“Why not? Is a flying material so hard to believe, Doctor? Do not your own comrades Hawkman, Green Lantern, and Starman possess such materials? And has Wells’ writing not proven eerily prophetic a dozen times and more? Thirty years ago, did he not envision the atomic bomb both your country and mine now labor to perfect?” The Colonel let a beat pass; Mid-Nite had no answer for that. “If Wells does indeed possess some secret of anti-gravity, the Gestapo will wring it from his aged lips. If not, at the very least we have struck a blow against the morale of the British! And, too, the Americans, with your capture!”

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Part 9

Finally the procession reached the waterfront. The colonel marched them all out onto a pier, then settled down to sit on a packing crate. “Now we wait for the U-Boat,” the Colonel said. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“Less than you think,” came a voice from the darkness. All heads whirled to see the Sandman, swinging toward them on a pulley-rope using for hauling cargo. He landed with both feet in the chest of an Abwehr man. Dr. Mid-Nite took advantage of the surprise and wrenched Wells away from the colonel. In a swift flurry of fists, the remaining Abwehr agents went down.

“Glisten! Stop them! Use your powers!” the Colonel demanded. The American villain next to him nodded, and his body began to glow.

“Glisten again!” Sandman hissed. Then he remembered something Hourman had told him. Sandman’s hand shot out, and whipped Dr. Mid-Nite’s goggles off his face. Mid-Nite tensed, thinking Sandman had again fallen under Glisten’s spell. But he watched as Sandman held the goggles before him, angling them at the hypnotic glow. Glisten and the Colonel gaped in shock, and their eyes glazed over, their mouths hanging open.

“This how Rex defeated that glow-worm the first time,” Sandman explained. “Reflected his own glow back at him.”

Dr. Mid-Nite smiled in approval.

ASSIGNMENT LONDON: Epilogue

Later, after the British authorities had taken away the spies, the heroes sat in H.G. Well’s study, enjoying a brandy with the famous author.

“I want to thank you chaps again,” Wells said. “You’ve done me a great service. I can never repay you.”

“It was our pleasure,” Dr. Mid-Nite said, clutching the copy of “The Invisible Man” which Wells had autographed for him.

“I still don’t believe the Nazis really thought cavorite was for real,” Sandman said, shaking his head. “It sounds like a bad Republic serial.”

A while later, the heroes said their good-nights and left Wells’ home. The aging author, tired from all the excitement, prepared to go to bed. He spied the pulp magazine lying on a table in his study. Wouldn’t do to have Mrs. Kipps catch that in the house; he didn’t need another lecture about his fascination with “American piffle”, as she called it. Taking the magazine in hand, he reached for his belt buckle. Wells’ fingers slid the cover of the buckle aside, revealing a glowing blue material. The author began to rise off the floor of the library, floating nearly to the ceiling. He deposited the magazine on top of a bookcase, next to others of its type. He then replaced the belt buckle cover and floated to the floor, and walked off to bed.