Of course, it occurs to me that Greg Fishbone, my former editor, children’s author, and man about town, might well have a copy of the file sitting on a zip disk somewhere. On the other hand, I think he has better ways to spend his time than coming up with my old crap for these purposes.

Anyway, here then is the third chapter in our story. I hope you like it. And yeah, I know full well there’ll be theories on what the All American Lad could have done differently. Just keep it to 1946 technology, if you will. ;)

I sat on the ground, staring at Victoria Esterhaus, who was lying next to me. I’d gotten the helmet off her face – it was her all right. The same black curly hair. The same delicate features. She looked like she should be playing the Queen of the May in a Junior College play. Not wearing a ton of metal and flying around the city, burning criminals.

I was good at first aid – you kind of have to be, in that line of work. I got her bandaged, and I got a blanket from my motorcycle – sneaking around. I didn’t want to talk to the police right now. There was too much I had to figure out.

She probably had some cracked ribs, but none of them seemed broken through. That armor shell might have been shattered by Browbeat, but it also cut the blow enough to keep her alive, if unconscious. I wrapped her up, and I started for Topaz City Mercy Hospital…

And I coasted to a stop.

I couldn’t take her in the front door. Oh, sure, she’d had her name published. But no one knew what “V. Esterhaus” looked like, and pretty much everyone assumed Lieutenant Blockbuster was male. If I blew her identity….

I couldn’t do that. No matter how much I resented Lieutenant Blockbuster, you didn’t mess with a Mystery Man’s secret identity. You just didn’t.

Besides… it was easy to hate the iron soldier rocketing over the city so smugly. It was harder to hate a girl who’d saved your life and nearly gotten herself killed doing it.

I sped off again, heading for home. I didn’t know what else I could do. I had to talk to Sam… I had to get Blockbuster under cover.

I had to figure out what to do about Browbeat — a man who flung cars like baseballs. A man I shot in the eyes eight times and didn’t even scratch.

I got her up the fire escape and through the back window. My mother was shocked. “Lad,” she half-shouted — she was great when it came to keeping my identity, just in case — “who–”

“Lieutenant Blockbuster,” I snapped. “She’s hurt. Get Sam up here — and we need to get her a change of clothes before we can take her to the hospital.”

My father blinked and ran for the door, to go and get Sam. I brought Blockbuster into my room, and laid her on the bed. I started examining her to work out just how badly her ribs were cracked — which made me glad my mask covered my face, I was blushing so much.

“You’re good at that,” she said weakly.

“Huh? Oh. Thanks.” I kept working. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since… since the motorcycle.” She closed her eyes. “I finally… got to ride with the All-American Lad.”

My mouth dropped open… just then the door burst open and Sam came in with Dad, carrying his first aid kit. “So, this is the famous Blockbuster,” he asked?

I nodded. “She took a hit — some guy who bounced bullets like raindrops. I’ve never seen anything like it–”

Sam frowned. “So not all the Gods are good ones,” he murmured.

“We’re not Gods,” Blockbuster half-moaned. “Have to… get home….”

“Nuh-uh,” I said. “You need to get changed, so we can get you to a hospital. You’ve got some banged up ribs, and you’re lucky you don’t have a punctured lung. You have to get checked out.”

She opened her eyes and mouth to argue, then closed them and nodded.

Sam and Dad took her. They were going to claim she got smacked by a door in Sam’s shop. I watched her go, then sat at the kitchen table.

“Was it bad,” Mom asked.

“It wasn’t good,” I said. “He shattered that metal shell she wore with one punch.”

Mom nodded. “And you’re going after him?”

“It’s my job.”

She nodded again. “Lenny?”

I looked at her. “Yeah?”

“Don’t worry about fighting fair. Just stop him.”

I looked down. “I already shot him eight times in the eyes. It made him run, but it didn’t hurt him. I don’t know how much dirtier I can fight.”

Mom frowned. “Well then. I guess you’ll have to find something better than shooting him in the eyes.”

#

The Ninth Precinct wardroom was somber when I walked in. They knew me there — no one questioned me walking in.

“Hey Sarge,” I said to Desk Sergeant Carlotti. “Any word on Browbeat?”

He snorted. “No. And I hope it stays that way.”

“Good. We can start planning how to take him down, then.”

He gave me a long look.

I frowned, and looked around. Six or seven cops were all staring at me. “Come on, boys,” I said. “The city’s counting on us.”

“Then the city made a mistake,” Officer Gerber said sullenly, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey!” I looked around again. “I know how it looks–”

“C’mon, Lad,” Carlotti said. “These are good cops, but you saw that monster. We can’t stop him.”

“He barely noticed us,” Officer Rossi said. “I emptied two clips into him, and I was just an annoyance.”

“Yeah, you shot him in the eyes!” Gerber said.

“And that drove him off! He’s not invulnerable, guys!”

“Drove him off but didn’t really hurt him. It just stung him,” Carlotti said. “Besides….”

I looked at him. “Besides what?” I asked quietly.

He shuffled, hands in his pockets. He looked like a little kid instead of a veteran cop. “You saw what he did to Lieutenant Blockbuster,” he said. “He killed him with one punch!”

“Blockbuster isn’t dead,” I snapped. “I took care of he-him. Got him to medical attention.”

“He might as well be dead,” Gerber said. “We have what’s left of that metal shell he wore? It looks like a couple guys took it apart with jackhammers! I’m just a cop! What do I do–”

“Hey!” I shouted. “Stop it, all of you!”

That got their attention. And not in a good way. But I stuck to my guns. “Look, Lieutenant Blockbuster’s tough. We all know it! And Browbeat scares you. Well he scares me too. But he’s not all powerful. We don’t need superpowers to stop him. We need each other and we need our brains and we need to have a plan! We know he’ll be back. And we have to be ready for him, once and for all!”

“Geez, Lad — how are we supposed to do that?” Rossi asked. “Blockbuster–”

“Blockbuster had firepower. God or science gave Blockbuster abilities we don’t have. But that doesn’t mean we can’t level that playing field. Gerber — is your brother still stationed up at the National Guard base?”

“Well, sure — but we can’t call out the Guard! That would take the Governor, and if we call the Governor’s mansion and tell them we can’t protect Topaz City from–”

“We’re not gonna call out the Guard, but can your brother get his hands on some ordinance for us?”

“They don’t just hand out machine guns, Lad,” Carlotti said. “Gerber’s brother could get in a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe — but I know the Colonel.” He was one of the few who knew why Second Lieutenant Len Davis was awarded a Silver Star. “I don’t think I could get him to authorize some heavy firepower — that’d call attention to himself — but I bet I can arrange some unofficial blind spots for Gerber’s brother to get us the gear.”

Rossi frowned. “You really think it’ll work, Lad? Against Browbeat?”

“I think we need to try. He’s still human, no matter how thick his skin is. And if he’s human, he can be hurt.” I looked around. “I know. It’s scary. It was a little awe inspiring to think about heroes with these weird powers, and now it’s frightening to think of criminals with them. But no matter what they can do, they’re still people. The law still applies to them. And when they break the law, we go in and stop them. Right?”

There wasn’t any response.

“Right?”

This time there was a half-hearted ‘right’ from a half-dozen or so of them.

“Okay. Then let’s get to work. We’ll take this bruiser yet!”

The organization and setup were surprisingly easy. The Colonel was more than happy to help, and even loaned us a couple of Guard soldiers to actually use the equipment. Which looking back I’m pretty sure was illegal about six different ways, but this was a new world for him, too. When we actually began organizing, enthusiasm built up. I mean, I get it — it’s hard not to feel helpless, sometimes. But when you actually knuckle down and start doing, it shakes you out of it.

We set up a loose network, beat cops staying close to their callboxes. If they saw someone matching the description — or, you know, throwing a bus or something — they’d call it in. Dispatch would get our new “Anti-Browbeat” squad dispatched. The plan was I’d go in ahead. I’d stung him — a little — in our last encounter, and so we hoped I’d be good bait. We’d tangle a bit, while giving the squad a chance to set up, and then?

Then the Colonel’s help would kick in. That help was a couple of privates and what was officially called the Rocket Launcher M9, but what most people just called a bazooka. These things took out German tanks — I had to believe they’d take out Browbeat.

Of course, Lieutenant Blockbuster was known for being able to take out German tanks too. But I wasn’t thinking about that. I was pretty actively not thinking about Blockbuster in any way, really. Which probably makes sense. On the one hand, I felt guilty. I’d had such a hate on for her. On the other hand, I still resented her for all the same reasons. And on a third hand, she’d saved my life. Sure, I was grateful, but I’m given to understand some Japanese words for ‘gratitude’ can also translate as ‘resentment,’ and that’s what I was feeling. I resented Victoria Esterhaus for saving my life — for being able to save my life when there was little or nothing I could have done to save myself. It took me out of the role of hero and into the role of victim, and I didn’t like that.

Irrational? Sure. I mean, if you think about it I also saved her life. But I was feeling better now that I had a plan to stop that behemoth with normal men and a normal, if powerful, weapon.

It was a day and a half before the call went out. He was seen on Forty-third, heading for the bank. Me and the boys rolled out almost immediately.

I swear, he looked bigger. His hair was wild, almost like an animal’s, and his eyes were wide. He looked like he was on uppers, staring every which way, his back almost vibrating as he walked.

“Browbeat!” I shouted. I know. I’d had a day and a half to come up with witty repartee and all I could say was ‘Browbeat.’ Sue me.

He turned to face me. His face contorted and he hunched down. “You!” he spat. “You shot me in the eyes!”

“You should thank me — you look better with your hands covering your face.”

“Funny man,” he said. “So funny.” And he scooped up a ’42 Packard and threw it at me. Just like that. He reached out, grabbed the back of the car — I think it was a 160 Family Sedan? You know the ones, with the long body in two tone? Sort of wagonish?

I guess you don’t really care. It was a big car, and his fingers gripped into the metal like it was butter, and he heaved it up and at me in one fluid motion, like he was scooping up a baseball. If I sound amazed, it’s because I was then and I still am now. The ease of it. I kept forgetting this guy wasn’t like me.

I dove to one side and the car smashed behind me, skidding, I fired four quick shots, two from each revolver, bouncing them off his skull. He was being cagy enough that getting another eye shot would be hard, but I didn’t care. I was trying to keep his attention while the privates got the artillery ready. He charged at me, growling like some kind of animal. I dove to the left and rolled — waiting until the last second so he wouldn’t have a chance to wheel around, and I tossed a gas grenade at him. I didn’t normally carry these, but I knew where to get ahold of them and I wanted to hurt him.

My luck, he didn’t seem to care about the gas. He didn’t cough, his eyes didn’t sting — he just whirled and leaned down and tore a chunk of pavement out and threw it at me. This time he caught a piece of me, too — I was doing another leap to dodge but a chunk of the pavement separated on his throw and tagged me in the leg. Even through the thick leather it felt like I’d been clubbed, but I ignored it and did a forward roll, coming up with guns hot and firing another couple of shots. I swear they almost sparked as they bounced off his skin, it was so hard.

“You’re just trying to get me mad,” he growled at me. “Don’t you get it? You’re nothing but a bug to me, ‘All American Lad!’ This is my town now, and no one’s takin’ it away from me!”

“You never had it to begin with!” I snapped. “If you keep this up, you’re going to get hurt — is that what you want?”

He stared at me for a moment. And then he chuckled. “I’m going to get hurt?” he asked. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Better believe I am.” And the boys fired from the roof of a brownstone.

It was a beautiful shot — nailed him in the back, halfway down, the shell exploding on impact. He screamed something as the explosion threw him forward, rolling, the remnants of his shirt burning before he hit the Western Auto storefront, shattering the window and sliding to the ground.

I grinned. “Yes!” I shouted, running to the side, covering him with my guns and keeping out of the way of the bazooka fire–

Browbeat pushed up onto his feet. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” he asked.

I blinked. “That was a bazooka,” I said. “That’s not possible. I was a little worried it would kill you!”

“Yeah, I’d stop worrying about that,” he said, and rushed me.

The boys fired a second shot, but he was running now, so they just managed to take out that Western Auto — fortunately, everyone in it had run when he threw the car. I dove to the side, but this time he swung an arm like a hook, snagging my left leg and hurling me across the street like a ragdoll. I felt blind panic for a half-second, and then I felt the bricks I smashed into. Bullets began bouncing off Browbeat as the cops began shooting. Some of the bullets sounded high powered. Rifles of some sort. They might as well have used spitballs.

I didn’t make it back to my feet before he got hold of me. The guns went silent as he lifted me up. He pulled me close and looked me in the eyes. “You talk and you talk and you talk,” he said, very quietly. Almost like he was hissing. “But you don’t listen. Your little toys can’t hurt me. I don’t care if they go pop or they go boom. They can’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me. I didn’t want to cause trouble during the war — that was big. It was a war. But it’s over now, and this town is mine now, and you need to remember that.”

I didn’t answer. I was scared, and in a lot of pain, and there was nothing to say. Tough talk would have just sounded stupid.

He leaned close, and almost crooned. “I want you to think about this, All American Lad. I want you to go home and think all this over. I want your policemen friends to think about this. I want everyone down here to think about this.” His nose almost touched mine, we were so close. “You can’t. Hurt. Me. All you can do is get hurt yourself. And to be honest, I’m sick of you trying. So I’m going to go away for one week. One week, ‘Lad.’ And then I’m going to come back and make a day of it. And anyone who gets in my way or tries to stop me is going to die. Do you understand me?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth, boy?!” he roared.

“Yes!” I snapped. “But you better be ready to kill us, then.”

He laughed. “Kid, I’m ready to kill you right now.” And he threw me halfway down the block, into a pack of cops.

The throw hurt. My shoulders hurt from where he squeezed them. My whole body hurt from slamming into the brick wall. I felt nauseous. I felt humiliated.

I felt small.

But I pushed up. The cops around me were getting up, too. “Jeez, Lad,” Gerber said. “What’re we gonna do?”

“Plan B,” I said.

The privates were running across the street. “We couldn’t get another shot,” the P.F.C. in charge of the detail said. “I didn’t want another miss and then he was holding you and then he jumped off–”

“It’s all right,” I said. “Next time, we just have to be smart. I’ll try to get him in position and then you need to shoot for his eyes. I know they can at least sting him when I shoot them, so–”

“Aim for the eyes?” the Private said. “Jeez Louise, Lad — this is a bazooka. At even short ranges it’s hard to aim at a tank and hit it. You think I can do rifle sharpshooting with it?”

“There’s not going to be the next time,” Carlotti said. “I was talking to the Captain before this came down. He said if it failed, he was going to call the Governor. This is the National Guard’s problem.”

“Hey, we weren’t even supposed to be here today,” the second private complained. “What, you’re going to have the Governor declare Topaz City a state of emergency for one guy?”

“This one guy threw a car like it was made’a balsa wood!” Rossi shouted. “This ain’t a normal situation!”

“It’s going to be,” the P.F.C. shouted. “Don’t you get it? It’s one guy today, and then another tomorrow, and another after that — are you gonna put the city under Martial Law every time one of these freaks show up?”

“If we got more gear, and better training,” Carlotti said.

“Oh no way,” Gerber said. “When the War ended, I got outta the army. I’m not gonna stick around for a new one.”

I rubbed my brow, tuning out the fight. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

It was Sam. He must have heard about the fight on the radio and come down to see it. “Hey,” I said.

“You did good,” he said quietly. “Very brave. I was very proud.”

“I got my butt kicked,” I said. “I couldn’t hurt him.”

We walked to where I had my bike parked. I was limping. I know he wanted to offer me a hand — some support, to let me lean on him — but he didn’t. He knew the All American Lad had to walk on his own, without a civilian’s help. “You didn’t give up. Next time, you’ll find a way.”

I shook my head. “You don’t understand,” I said. “The gas didn’t stop him. The bazooka didn’t stop him. What, next time I’ll carry a grenade and try to get it on his eyes? Or acid or something? Sooner or later, I’m not being a hero. I’m just finding more and more brutal things to shoot at him. And who knows if any of them will work.”

“I liked your plan,” he said. “The one about shooting him in the eyes with the bazooka?”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “I liked it too, but the soldiers are right. Bazookas aren’t designed for precision aiming, but nothing we have that can be aimed that precisely would hurt Browbeat. I mean, maybe if we got a high enough powered sniper rifle, but I’m not sure even a fifty cal to his eye would stop him.”

“There must be a way to have a sniper’s precision with a shell’s power, Lad. You just need to figure it out.”

And then it hit me.

“Lad?”

“Excuse me, Sam,” I said softly. “I have to go.”

I got into civvie clothes before going into the hospital. I managed to get her room number, and headed up to see her. We needed to talk before visiting hours were over.

As it turned out, my timing was about perfect. She had put on a pair of slacks and a blouse, and was clearly waiting to be picked up. I knocked on the door frame.

She turned. “Yes?” she asked.

“Victoria, we need to talk,” I said.

She cocked her head and looked at me. “Do I know you?” She seemed so petite, standing there.

I took out the silver star badge I wore. We’d always worn badges — the whole western thing, after all. Mine was silver now because I was the sheriff, and because I’d been awarded a Silver Star, and even though I couldn’t officially make the connection, it meant something to me.

She looked at it, and comprehension flashed in her eyes. She blushed and turned away. “I meant to thank you,” she said. “You saved my life.”

“You saved mine first,” I said softly.

She shrugged. “I should have stayed out of it. Let you handle him. I’m sor–”

“I couldn’t have handled him. I can’t handle him, Victoria. He nearly killed me today.”

She stopped, and turned to look at me.

I looked down. “He’s not my enemy, Victoria. My enemies were guys like Desperado Dan or Dapper Boy Thompkins or Doctor Hans Konrad. Normal guys. Maybe a little smarter or a lot more evil than their neighbors, but normal guys. This is your enemy. And we need Lieutenant Blockbuster.”

She looked at me for a long moment. “You’re out of uniform,” she murmured. “I don’t know what to call you.”

“Len,” I said, softly. “Len Davis.”

“Well, Len Davis… you have a problem.” She looked down. “Lieutenant Blockbuster is dead.”

I like “Homecoming.” I like it in part because it examines heroism, and in part because it examines transition, and in part because it shows a very heroic person having very unheroic thoughts. In a way, if a lot of Justice Wing is informed by DC Comics, then “Homecoming” is informed by Marvel. Human beings with human frailties doing the best they can to overcome their flaws and do the right thing.

This part also makes the ‘historical record’ nature explicit, which I think fits The Home Front, as I’ve mentioned before.

I hope you enjoy!

*** *** *** ***

-hope these interviews help you with your movie. I’m just not sure anyone will much care about me and how my vigilante career ended. There must be more important stories to-

No, no. I don’t mean to tell you your business. I’m sure you’ve got everything taken care of. Well, let’s go back to 1946, shall we? I told you about that first night I went solo – that first night I met Lieutenant Blockbuster, the new kid in town. The super hero.

I looked up the good Lieutenant’s career when I went home. The papers had covered him, all right. He was in Life’s “America Powers in Europe” article, on the fourth page. Just a short caption about “America’s One-Man Exploding Shell,” and references to the war in Italy. The newspaper listed him as Lt. V. Esterhaus, and he was indeed from Topaz City. Which frankly made me angrier.

Mom and Dad were really understanding. They listened to me rant about “that nut in the metal shell” for a good hour, and never said a word about how unreasonable I was being.

Sam finally came upstairs and calmed me down. He asked me what was wrong, and I started to go off again – but he interrupted me.

“So,” he said. “One of the gods lives in Topaz City, and you’re feeling very human?”

I blinked. “Lieutenant Blockbuster’s no god-”

“Really? I don’t know how else to describe him. Destroyed a car with a gesture from two hundred feet in the air? Set fire from the heavens at his will, and flew off without a care in the world? I think maybe we need a better word for him than – what did your mother say you said? A ‘nut in a metal shell?’”

I looked out the window, still fuming. “So he’s got powers. So what. That doesn’t make him a god, or anything else. He-”

“Oh Len… Lenny Lenny Lenny. What will we do with you, hm?

“This isn’t about me” I snapped back. “I mean – who knows what that guy is capable of. What if he starts lording it over us? What if he starts-”

“He served well in the War, didn’t he?”

I didn’t answer.

“Len… I understand. Really, I do. We all want to make a difference, but even more, we want our differences to stand out. To be recognized. You’re a very special man. You serve this city and you served this country. You’re good at it, and you worked very hard to become so. The idea of this man appearing and doing the same thing so effortlessly… well, it hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I guess…” I said.

“You’re a proud boy. But don’t let your pride color your feelings. Don’t let it turn to jealousy. You do your best. You help people. That’s why you’re doing this, right? To help people?”

“Right,” I said.

“Not for headlines or to be the number one guy in Topaz City?”

“I said you were right.”

“All right, Len. Now then. Did this Lieutenant Blockbuster stop the criminals from escaping.”

I snorted. “Yeah. He stopped them.”

“But after you got them out of the liquor store, and protected Mister Miller?”

“Yes.”

“Well then. It sounds like you both did good work tonight. You should be proud of that – not angry because you’re not the only man in Topaz City with a secret identity.”

I nodded.

“Good. I think maybe you should get some rest. Go out again tomorrow night. See how things change.”

“All right,” I answered, and let him pat me on the back and head out of the apartment. Mom got me some hot cocoa, and I went to bed.

And got to thinking. ‘Not the only man in Topaz City with a secret identity,’ Sam had said. He was right. This Lieutenant had to be from around here – otherwise, why come here? I mean, I might have been kind of irrational about having heroic competition, but I didn’t honestly believe he’d shown up in Topaz City just to ruin my solo career. He was probably young – just from his attitude, he had to be close to my age, in one direction or another. In his twenties at the latest.

It was time to track down any V. Esterhauses.

The next few weeks I really busted myself. I wanted to prove I was every bit as capable as Lieutenant Blockbuster. From sundown to the deep morning I roared around the city on my motorcycle, stopping crimes and muggings and what have you.

And, to be honest, Lieutenant Blockbuster was out and about too. He stopped a bank robbery, and got the cover of the Topaz City Courier. I was in that edition too – I was on page fourteen, under “Public Crime.” I’d stopped a holdup of a restaurant.

Yes that stuck in my craw. Yes it made me mad. Look, I’m not sitting here claiming I was rational or justified. In my day, a guy with a marksman’s eye and a good right cross could dent crime. Now? The city’s hero flew. How do you compete with that?

In James Buchanan High’s graduating class of 1943, there were two V. Esterhauses. A twin brother and sister. Vincent Esterhaus’s picture wasn’t in the yearbook – it had the service stars of an enlisted soldier. His sister Victoria was pretty, with curly black hair.

Lieutenant Blockbuster first went active in Europe in 1943. I had a match. I checked the phone books and learned that Vincent Esterhaus lived on North Conroy. I took a ride up there one day, in my dad’s Coupe. I just sort of rode around, not really knowing what I was looking for.

And then I saw them. Brother and sister in the Coffee Pot Cafe. Two years hadn’t changed Victoria Esterhaus very much. And Vincent? He was her twin, all right. Not identical, obviously, but very similar. The same delicate features. The same curly hair. He looked like a Zoot Suiter except he was wearing a grey-blue business suit. He looked very young cocky businessmanish.

I got out of the car and went into the cafe. I… hm… what did I have? Seems like it was pretty good coffee, and I had a egg sandwich and a piece of toast. Not sure, but it sounds like what I’d have.

I watched them out of the corner of my eye, careful not to get caught looking. They were laughing a lot, and not paying much attention to what was around them.

He was too good looking, I thought at last. Not rugged enough. I could deck him and he’d thump with the best of them. He wouldn’t be so handsome then, not with a shiner on his eye and his coat all torn.

And you could tell, in the way he fought, too. He wore that metal carapace, and flew out of reach of everyone and everything. Of course, he didn’t have to mix it up, hand to hand. Nuh-uh. He could stay all nice and clean, floating above it all. He was probably scared someone’d hurt him if he got too close.

Heh… this tape won’t get me reelected, I don’t think. But it’s how I felt. You wanted honesty, right? Not lies to cover things up?

I left there feeling pretty good. I’d found him out! I knew his dirty little secret – that under the metal and fire he was some momma’s boy in a suit. No matter how much the crowd ooooed and ahhhhed at him, I knew he wasn’t anyone special.

And maybe that would have been enough for me. Maybe I could have gone on my petty little way, feeling like the real hero of Topaz City, if it weren’t for the message waiting for me at Sam’s when I got in. It was from the Mayor, via good old Sergeant Thomas at the Eighth Precinct. The Mayor wanted to see me.

I suited up, and took a ride to City Hall. The letter got me in the front door. I walked the four flights of stairs to his office – it didn’t seem right that I’d take the elevator. Maybe Blockbuster flew, but I walked and I was proud.

The secretary stood as I came in, and smiled. She looked at me like I was some kind of movie star. Well, to her maybe I was. I introduced myself with a smile.

“Oh, I know,” she said. “I’ve read about you for what seems like my whole life! It’s an honor!” I smiled and nodded, and took a good look. Yeah, eighteen or so, so she’d have been twelve or thirteen when I’d started. That was about right.

And it puffed my chest up a little more, I admit it. She let me into the Mayor’s office.

Mayor Leamer grinned broadly when he saw me, walking around his desk to shake my hand. “Lad, this is truly an honor,” he said, pumping my hand firmly and smiling a politician’s smile.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, shaking his hand back. “I’m just proud to serve.”

“I know you are, I know you are. Proud service indeed, too. Years of it. You should have a medal, do you know that? A medal!”

“Thank you, Sir. I don’t need a medal. I’m just proud-”

“Yes yes, I know. Commendable attitude, Son. And I’m sure you’ve been wondering why we called you out here, hm?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well… have you heard about our new Financial Exchange?”

“I’ve seen the construction of it, Sir. It looks like it’s going to be pretty impressive.”

“Oh, it is, it is… they’re already calling it ‘little Wall Street,’ you know. Heh. Little Wall Street. That means something, Son.”

I kind of bit my lip, wondering if he’d ever get to the point. My time was better spent on the streets, not listening to him ramble. Still, he did call me in. A threat to the new Financial Exchange?

“…anyway, we’re going to be opening our doors on the twenty-third of this month. Which is where you come in.”

I frowned. “There’s been a problem?” I asked. “Some kind of threat? Some attack-”

“What? Oh, no no. There’s been-”

“Then you just want someone there – someone to guard the door, just in case?”

The Mayor looked perplexed. “No, Son… nothing like that! What do you expect? Racketeers storming in with machine guns? What would the point be? No, it seemed to me that nothing would liven the affair up nearly as much as getting Topaz City’s own Mystery Man to officially open the Topaz City Financial Exchange’s doors! Think of it! The All American Lad – veteran of Franklyn Delano Roosevelt’s own Liberty Brigade, cutting the ribbon on the brightest star in Topaz City’s financial crown!”

I stared at Mayor Leamer, stunned. “You… want me… for a ribbon cutting ceremony?”

Mayor Leamer blinked. “Er, yes,” he said. “Doesn’t that-”

“There are crimes going on out there right now,” I snapped. “Honest to Christ crimes where people are scared and in trouble, and you want me to open a glorified bank for the newspapers to take pictures of it?”

“You watch your language, young man,” Leamer snapped. “If you’re going to be like that, I don’t think you’re exactly who we want representing our city anyhow!”

I shook my head, spinning on my heel and storming for the door. “The next time you call me, there better be a damned good reason,” I snapped.

“Look – you’re upset,” the Mayor said, switching faces. I think it hit him that he didn’t want the All-American Lad to be seen storming angrily out of his office. Not good for the old re-election campaign. “I’m sorry. I should have mentioned why I wanted to see you. But honestly, Lad – what’s wrong with it? We’ll pay you, of course, and you’ll be seen lending your own personal seal-”

“Why not call Lieutenant Blockbuster,” I snapped, spinning to face him again. “This sounds like the sort of thing he’d eat up with a spoon.”

The Mayor blinked again, truly startled. “Don’t you think the Lieutenant has better things he could be doing?” he asked. “Honestly, Lad – have some perspective.”

Needless to say, Mayor Leamer lost my vote. I was furious. I hit my cycle and took to the street – not to patrol. Right then the Nazis could have attacked Topaz City and I’d probably drive right by them. I just wanted to ride… get out. Get away. I buzzed up Pine, heading for the suburbs….

And I heard it. I heard him. Over me, rumbling like a rocket. I looked up and he was pacing me. My first thought was to draw and shoot – Leamer’d called him after me!

But of course I didn’t. I wasn’t insane.

The jerk waved. I brought the cycle up short, waiting. See what he wanted, then get the Hell away from Mister “Doesn’t He Have Better Things To Do?”

“Hi,” he called down over his loudspeaker. “Is this a good time to have that talk?”

“What do we have to talk about,” I shouted back, not bothering to control my anger. Little wimp in a big shell…

That seemed to take him aback, though it was hard to tell. “I… just thought it would be a good idea,” he called down. “If this isn’t-”

“No, let’s get it over with,” I snapped. “The water tower on Ridgemont, overlooking the City.”

“Right!” he called back, and with a plume of red-orange fire, he sped into the dark night. I spun out and accelerated to the North, not bothering to watch him go.

He got there first, of course. He was looming next to the Water Tower. Eight feet of reinforced metal with arms sticking out. I pulled up, killed the engine, and got off next to him, checking my whip, lasso and guns.

“Hi,” he said.

“What is it,” I answered. “I’ve had a lot of my time wasted tonight-”

“Oh,” he said. “Are you on a case? I didn’t think I was interrupting anything – can I help? Or can we do this-”

I took a deep breath. “I’m not on a case,” I said. “Is this a social call?”

“Well… yes, it is,” he said. “You’ve done so much good in Topaz City, I just always wanted to meet you, and since we’re in the same business now, it would make sense we knew each other, right?”

“Oh, right,” I said. “I’m sure you’re worried about needing backup.”

He paused again. “Excuse me?” he asked finally.

“Look, you’ve made it abundantly clear that this is your city now. I happen to disagree. But you don’t have to dress it all up with a pep talk. No one can hear us here-”

“What have I ever done to you?“ he asked. “Look, I wanted to meet you – you did so much to guard Topaz City during the war-”

“That’s right,” I snapped. “I did. I was here, trying my damndest. Where were you, huh?”

“Where was I?” Blockbuster answered, getting angry for the first time. “I was in Europe! I was on the front lines of the war! I was blowing up tank columns and getting shot at! What is wrong with you? I volunteered because of you and Six Gun Sam!”

“Oh, well thank you,” I snapped back. “Look, if you want to come into Topaz City, I can’t-”

“I live here,” Blockbuster answered. “I’ve lived here my entire life. Who are you to sneer at me because I want to protect it, huh?”

“Tough talk for a man in a ton of metal, looking down on us.”

Blockbuster stared at me. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to fight stupid. I thought the object was to stop crime, not ‘fight fair.’ You don’t want to be my friend? Fine. I don’t need you, ‘All-American Lad.’ Just keep out of my way, and I’ll keep out of yours.”

“Fine.” I threw a leg over my cycle-

“All units, all units,” the Police Band radio crackled up. “Robbery in progress at First National Bank. All… oh my… it’s… one man. He smashed through the wall of the vault! He-”

I blinked, and started the bike. I roared down the hill – it was a hard ride to the First National, but I could make it in five minutes if traffic was clear.

There was an explosion behind me, and Lieutenant Blockbuster roared towards the city, taking the direct route.

Fine. Let him get there first. What did I care? I could go places he couldn’t. Sometimes, you couldn’t blow something up and win. Especially if there was one man down there, and he had enough explosives with him to smash through a wall into a vault. Fire bursts wouldn’t scare him.

I pushed it to the edge, coming close to going over three or four times, banking to either side. Adrenalin flooded me. I was racing, I realized. During the war, Sam and I would race against the Germans, or against sympathizers, or against criminals… now I was racing Blockbuster. I had to get there. I had to.

I swung into the city, and hit the sirens. People dove out of my way. I leaned forward on the bike, the wind snapping through my hair and tearing my eyes. I had to help. I had to stop-

I swung onto Fourteenth in time to see an automobile thrown through the air and smash into a cop’s car. I skidded to the side and threw myself off the bike, running. What was going on – what was Blockbuster doing? What-

And then I saw. It wasn’t Lieutenant Blockbuster. He was sweeping around, firing down and blowing chunks of macadam out of Fourteenth street. Straight at a man in a dockworker’s outfit. The man had to be seven and a half feet tall. The police were shooting at him.

He was ignoring it. He was ignoring their guns.

I froze, for just a second, and I knew what he was. Just like the costumed Nazis and nuts Sam and I put away… we had our opposite numbers.

This one was Blockbuster’s. A villain, with super powers as tough as the Lieutenant’s.

He grabbed a streetlight and ripped it up, swinging overhand so fast I could hear the whoosh of it all the way across the street. He slammed it into Blockbuster’s armor shell, spinning him end over end, and making him lose control of his flight, slamming him into the ground, hard.

And I ran forward, guns out and throwing myself over a police car. “Geez Lad,” someone shouted. “Get back! He ain’t human!!”

I fired four fast ones, bouncing the bullets off and distracting the thing. He spun, facing me. “You wanna fight Browbeat?” he howled. “I’ll crush you!”

I took another shot at him, and threw myself to one side, lasso out. He jumped – one jump took him forty feet right at me, but he missed and I got back and threw my lasso and got him! “Give it up,” I shouted.

He spun around – so fast – and snapped the rope of my lasso like it was paper. He grabbed the rope and yanked, throwing me forward and burning through my gloves in a second, giving me rope burns right through the leather. I stumbled at his feet, and tried to push up – he was over me with a rock-

An explosion of fire and light blasted him back away from me. “Get away from him,” Blockbuster shouted, having gotten to his feet. His P.A. was out, and his voice sounded shrill with the shriek over his blast.

Browbeat threw himself up and straight at Blockbuster. Blockbuster fired, but Browbeat kept pushing forward and swung.

The fist slammed into the center of Blockbuster’s shell like a cannonball, the impact’s noise smashing through the streets like a thunderclap. Blockbuster was thrown back onto the pitted scars of the street, the remains of his shattered armor shell crumpling around him. Maybe dead – how to tell….

Browbeat started for Blockbuster slowly, and I realized the thug was going for the death blow.

I hated Blockbuster. I really did. I don’t know why I ran forward. But I did. “Hey,” I shouted, grabbing my six-shooters with raw hands.

Browbeat turned. “Get outta here,” he snarled. “I ain’t got time for you!”

“Make time for this!” I howled, and fired eight more times. I was an expert marksman taking a risk. And I hit the mark – eight shots, one after another, right… in… his… god… damn… eyes!

That rocked him. He staggered back, and I ran past and dove, grabbing Blockbuster out of the remnants of his armor shell and running with him. I knew I couldn’t stop Browbeat. I could only save Blockbuster’s life.

I ran with everything I had into an alleyway, skidding to a stop behind garbage cans. I crouched there, panting and setting Blockbuster down behind me. I had a whip and two empty six-shooters. Browbeat could bounce bullets and throw cars. I couldn’t stop him.

But he wasn’t following. I heard shouting – I must have rattled him, because he was jumping off.

I turned to Lieutenant Blockbuster – I had to figure out if he was still alive. He was the only one with the sheer power-

And I stared at the body lying next to me. At the pressure-suited chest that slowly, painfully rose and fell with breath.

Lieutenant Blockbuster wasn’t Vincent Esterhaus at all.

It was Victoria.

So, we move on to the last of the Home Front stories instead — but not the last Home Front post.

This was actually the only serial in The Home Front. And it was also the only one of these that was written entirely for Mythic Heroes, with no Superguy antecedent. It had been tentatively picked up by Greg, though the magazine had suspended production even before it was scheduled, if I recall correctly.

It’s not as downbeat as the last one. And it has actual story and conflict. So, you know. We’ll see what you think.

And now, I pass out and, with luck, die. But before I do, I thought you might like to see one other thing. See, to get the serial sold to Greg, I had to send him a pitch document. And this is the first paragraph from that pitch document. And it may be as good a statement about The Home Front that I could make.

At the end of any play is a cast party. Generally, the set is struck by the cast and crew working together, symbolically returning the stage to a neutral state. There is a liberal amount of alcohol consumed. Someone has ill-advised sex with someone else. Two good friends will get into a loud fight that might involve actually hitting each other. A videotape of the performance will be watched, to the great embarrassment of all who are involved.

And, inevitably, there is the last person at the party. He listens to the music by himself. He seizes upon any passer-by, regardless of any connection to the play, and talks incessantly about it. He walks the stage by himself, listening to the hollow echo of the naked boards, staring out into the auditorium, and swearing he can still see the audience, accept their accolades, hear their laughter and feel their tears. He goes through “post-theatric depression” for weeks, the connection he feels to the play refusing to die along with that play. And, if he’s not involved with the next production, he inevitably resents it and compares it unfavorably to “his” play, regardless of its merits.

The year is 1946. The age of the Mystery Man — for better or worse — is over. The Age of the Super Hero has begun.

This is the story of the last person at the party.

*** *** *** ***

Do I just talk into this? Really? That’s really neat.

Okay… you want to talk about Nineteen Forty-Six, right? After the Liberty Brigade broke up and we all went back home? To our cities?

Great… no, that’s no problem. I can talk about that. This isn’t about me though, is it? I mean, I didn’t do anything that incredible in the war. I mean, if this is going to be a money-maker, you need some of the big names on the marquee, don’t you? The Quick, or Excalibur, or Spycracker or–

No, I really don’t have a problem talking about it. I know it wasn’t the most heroic event to come out of double you-double you double eye, but it’s who I was and who I am, so why not talk about it, huh?

All right — the quick and easy backstory. I first started as–

What? My name? Oh, for the tape. Gotcha. Sorry. I suppose you have to be careful, especially given my political career. You don’t want to get sued later, right? Anyway, my name’s still Len Davis, originally from Fall Creek, West Virginia, but my parents and I moved to Topaz City when I was about two years old. Dad was a radio engineer for R.K.O., and they opened up that huge broadcast center–

But you don’t really care about that, do you? I mean, what does it have to do with fighting spies or busting up gangs or anything? Nothing. And you can look up the Smithsonian archives and get a better description of most of those, right? The quick and dirty was this — I was the All American Lad. I worked with Six Gun Sam — Sam Bochioni, who was a greengrocer and the son of Sicilian immigrants. He had a real Western Thing going, wore a kerchief over his face and trickshot his way through crime and spies and stuff like that.

Here’s the thing, though. His cousin Alberto was still in Sicily, which means he was still Italian, which means he was in the Axis. He was kind of Six Gun Sam’s opposite number — an assassin.

Sam lived his career terrified that his family connection to the Black Stroke would be revealed. Alberto apparently felt the same way about Sam, according to letters and stuff we found later. Neither one told on the other, though, and Sam died without kids in ’52, so it’s all pretty safe to say now. Sam had a heart attack — that’s why he wasn’t in the army. He had a bum ticker. Strange, isn’t it? A man with a bad heart being a Mystery Man?

Anyway, in ’41 I was fourteen. Sam needed a real All-American with him, in case the connection to the Black Stroke came out — something to insulate him. Pretty naive, huh? Well, that was Sam. And me? I was a football hero and an ace student — math specialist. So what the heck, huh? Sam saw me every day because I lived in an apartment six floors over his store on East Forty-Fifth.

It was a good thing he did. Sam was all heart and western accent, but frankly he couldn’t figure out a clue if it shot back at him — which it sometimes did. Heck, the Autorepeating Rifle Robot of Doctor Hans Konrad would have aced Sam if I hadn’t shot the power cord leading to the wall. Sam just kept shooting it, “looking for a weak point.” But I always worked to make Sam think he’d figured out the mysteries and stopped the crimes. Why not? Sam deserved it, and I was having a ton of fun.

Anyway, in ’44 President Roosevelt called the Mystery Men to the capital, and formed us into the Liberty Brigade. That was a blast! Travelling around the country on train, hanging out with other people in the cape and mask business… it was like being in a Carnival, and what seventeen year old deep down doesn’t want to join the circus? And the crowd loved us. I mean, maybe we weren’t super human, like the Quick or Lieutenant Blockbuster or any of them, but we were heroes and we stood for something. Besides, there were some pretty girl ‘Mystery Men’ too, and the crowd loved that. Not that I ever did much more with the girls than neck one night with Solitaire — she was a lot older, but she loved to play the field, especially when her kid partner left the tour halfway through it.

But anyway, that’s still not what you’re here to listen to, is it?

In 1945, I volunteered and was made a Second Lieutenant in the army and kept right where I was in the Liberty Brigade. For right then, I was popular — a golden boy blond in a patriotic costume — wait a sec. I still have the costume. And the guns. Let me go get them.

–we are. I’ve put on some weight, so it doesn’t really fit any more, but I keep it anyway. Hey, it’s more fun than a varsity jacket. The wife understands, but she would, wouldn’t she?

Yeah, those are ivory handled. Yeah, I guess it is a little like General Patton — not intentional, but there you go. Sam gave ‘em to me. Which is where the story you want to hear starts, I think.

Anyway. I volunteered at 18, was commissioned, kept in the tour, and then the war ended and I was discharged. The only soldier in the history of warfare that shot at more of the enemy as a civilian than as an Army man. So Sam and I climbed on a train after long tearful goodbyes and a dinner and things, and rode back home.

Sam stared out the window the whole way, of course. He cried a few times, he was so happy. You’d think he stopped Hitler himself. And heck, why not? No one tried harder than he did.

“Gonna be nice to be home, huh?” I asked him.

“Shore is, pardner,” he said with a laugh. He never talked like that out of uniform before then — it was part of his disguise.

“Careful,” I said, “that voice got kind of famous in the War Bond movies.”

Sam shrugged. “Let someone recognize me,” he said with a grin. “Why not? The Germans have surrendered. The Japanese have surrendered. The war is over and there won’t be another one. So why not be recognized?”

Won’t be another one, he said. I nodded and agreed with him, even though I knew better. Human beings like to fight. They believe in it. They believe in war. It’s why our peacetime military budget’s so overinflated. I could get some numbers for you–

No, I guess you’re not hear to talk politics. Sorry. Guess it’s hard to get out of the patter, at least in an election year. Heh heh — yeah. Anyway, back to the story.

“Sam, you still need a secret identity,” I said to him. “I mean, come on — you don’t think the racketeers’ll be just as happy to figure out what store to shoot up?”

Sam stared at me, and started laughing. “Racketeers? What — we’re back in the twenties, are we?”

“You know what I mean–”

“I don’t think I do, quite. Len, what do you expect to do when we get back to Topaz City?”

“What do you mean? I’m going to College at T.C.U. in the fall, I’m–”

“That’s not what I mean and I think you know that.” He leaned back. “Shoot straight, pardner, whut do yuh think about Six Gun Sam and the All-American Lad?”

I sort of blinked at Sam. “I… think it’s going to be a lot easier to keep the streets safe without Bunds and spy rings blowing things up.”

“Easier, yes… very easy indeed. Len, the war’s over. The soldiers get to go home now, and get married and have lots of kids.”

I guess I looked shocked then. “Sam… you can’t be saying we’re giving up now?”

“What giving up? We won. We beat them. We did it, Len. I’m so proud of you, too–”

“Sam, I’ve been a vigilante since I was fourteen years old. You’re not telling me my career’s over now. You can’t do that!”

Sam looked a little startled, and a little saddened. “Len… I’m not as young as you. When the Nazis were threatening our very way of life… well sure. We all had to pull together and kick them right back to the Bosch. But they’re done now. The war is over.”

I stared at Sam, and I turned and sat back in my seat. I felt… wounded. Like I’d taken a bullet right in my heart. Not be the All-American Lad? That wasn’t what I wanted!

We rode together in silence for a while, the American heartland whizzing past us. I was thinking about all of it — running the streets in the night, the time we actually had to grab police horses and lasso the Cold Street Gang while they fled with the gold from a Brinks delivery… trying to keep my girl Holly from figuring out just who I was… the whole nine yards. Over?

“Len?” Sam said finally.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you have to retire just because I do?”

I turned and looked at him, stunned. “What?”

“I mean it — oh sure, I won’t be there to bail you out any more — but you’re not fourteen any more, either. You’ve seen me all these years, how I fight, how I figure out mysteries and all of it. So why not strike out on your own? Lots of mystery men don’t have sidekicks, you know.”

So that’s when the All-American Lad went solo. It seemed awfully weird to think about — sure, Sam wasn’t half the crimefighter he thought he was, but he was always dependable. And besides, he bought the bullets. Fortunately, he agreed to keep me stocked up. In fact, he said that if I were going to be on my own, as an adult, I’d need a new costume — that’s the one I brought out. It’s a beaut, huh? Leather coat with the shoulder buttons, the pants are tough, like bush-pants. And the coat has all the armor of a bullet proof vest — here, hold it. Heavy, huh? It was load bearing though, so it didn’t bother me.

Homecoming was weird, in the meantime. Mom and Dad were thrilled, and proud — they showed off my Silver Star to every one — that kind of embarrassed me. I mean, sure, I thought I earned it. Heck, we took out dozens of fifth columnists. But I wasn’t in the Army at that point. I’d never even seen combat. Besides, the honors weren’t the point. But it made them happy. Holly had, in the meantime, gotten engaged to Brett Wallace — kind of a smarmy kid who didn’t bother volunteering — he figured when the draft took him, he’d go. And heck, if the war ended before then, that wasn’t his fault.

That hurt. Holly going with that coward, when I was fighting for our country. I didn’t go overseas, sure – but there’s a huge difference between volunteering and letting someone else volunteer.

Yeah, I know my voting record’s pretty anti-war. I didn’t say I liked war. I sure don’t like the one we’re getting sucked into now, though I’m hoping maybe we can talk our way out of it privately. One Korea’s enough. Would War Two was different — we were sneak attacked, and then Germany declared war on us. We had to do something.

Anyway, it was still strange. I was eighteen. I graduated high school on the road with the Liberty Brigade. My girl was marrying someone else. My friends were spreading out, getting jobs — some few like me were getting ready for college. But most of the people I was close to had gotten into better schools than Topaz City University and were moving away or had moved away. I hadn’t had much of a chance to apply to college.

So, I went away a high school kid and came back to a city that seemed completely different to me. Even the places we loved to hang out had been taken over by… well, children. You’re laughing, but it’s true. The underclassmen were coming into age, taking over the spaces that had been ours for all those years.

But, finally, my costume came in.

Dad knocked on my door the evening the package arrived, and I asked him to come in.

“Son,” he said, setting a cup of coffee on the end table. “Can I bend your ear a minute?”

“Sure, Dad,” I said. “Seven to two you’ve been talking to Sam.”

“No bet,” he laughed. “He says you’re just about ready to start your solo career.”

“Yeah. It’s going to be odd, but I don’t think there’ll be–”

“Oh, you’re going to do just fine, Len. We both know Sam wasn’t exactly the senior member of that team.”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t have done it at all without him.”

“I know, I know. No, I just… wanted to have a few words with you.”

“Sure.”

He put an arm around me while we sat there, and didn’t speak for a little while. After a bit, he struck a cigarette and smoked it. “I guess I want to be sure you’ve thought this all through, Len.”

“Thought… what through, Dad?”

“Well… Sam’s attitude is the War’s over… the fighting’s done. And now he’s moving on with his life. Are you sure this is the direction you want to move into in your life?”

“Dad… I know it sounds weird–”

“Yes, it does. It’s a rare sort who elects Vigilante Justice as a job, you know.”

That made me laugh. “But Dad, I’m still going to go to College. I’m still going to prepare for a career. It’s just….”

“Just what?”

I looked at the wall for a while. “I lost most of high school to fighting crime and fighting Nazis, Dad. It was the most significant part of my life during the most significant part of my life. And… I can’t get back my school, or my friends, or Holly… I can’t go to my Senior Prom half a year too late. I… can’t lose the All-American Lad too. I have to have something left. And… I do good work at it. It comes so naturally to me. And I’m proud to protect Topaz City.”

“Does Topaz City need protecting?” he asked quietly.

“The Golden Swashbuckler and the Sleuth started years before the war,” I answered. “And they do good there. I can do good here.”

“All right… I suppose a world that can have someone like the Quick or Phalanx can have the odd Mystery Man or two.” He grinned.

“How does Mom feel about this?”

“Proud. She always understood, Len. More than I did at first, strange as that sounds.”

I nodded.

“I think Sam wants to talk to you now,” Dad said. “He’s been waiting in the living room since before I came in here.” He grinned.

I reflected it. “Sure,” I said. “Let’s see him.”

Dad nodded, and crushed his cigarette in my ash tray before walking out. I got up, and paced a bit before Sam knocked on the open door.

He was wearing his hat and his guns which seemed strange. But, if you haven’t guessed, Sam was something of a strange man. I still miss him sometimes, when I need someone to talk to who I know won’t tell anyone my secrets.

“You’re not wearing it,” he said.

“Haven’t had a chance to change,” I replied. “Want me to–”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’d like to see how you look in it.”

I nodded and got the box and went into the bathroom. I took off my clothes and pulled the new costume on. I remember, weirdly, how it smelled. New leather, dyed. The pants felt a bit rough inside. They had that new clothes shape to them too, like they were related to cardboard. The boots fit, and were comfortable. The mask kept my hair exposed, but covered the back of my head and the lower half of my face. I had thin metal disks over my ears — didn’t block sound much, but they helped protect them. Besides, your ears are a key to who you are. Their shape could identify you.

I walked into my room, feeling the clop-clop of the boots on the wooden floor. Sam turned, and looked at me for a long moment. His eyes glistened.

“You’re all grown up,” he said quietly, shaking his head with a smile. “I didn’t really believe that until now.”

“Sam… I–”

“No, Lad. Just listen for a moment. You hear a call. You’ve told me that. If this is what you want… I’m proud to have been a part of it.”

He drew his pearl-handled pistols, and handed them over to me. “And you’re going to need some straight shooters on your side. Your .25′s were nice, and you were good with them… but….”

He started crying for real now, with pride. And I felt a lump too, taking the pistols with a kind of reverence. Six Gun Sam was never the brightest mystery man… but he was the best shot I’ve ever known.

He gave me the belt, and I took mine off. The holsters that fit a gun like mine wouldn’t fit his. He also gave me the speedloaders he’d built for them — six-guns had a built in disadvantage in reloading.

I belted them on. I checked my gear. I made sure I had spare ammo. I checked the whip, and the lasso. I checked the small, compact camera the Minuteman gave me on tour.

I looked at Sam, and he gave me the thumbs up. I stepped into the hallway, and saw my parents in the living room, watching. I nodded to them, and I made my way to the window at the end of the hall. It was open to the sweet night air.

And then I was down the fire escape, and running into the night. The motorcycle I’d stashed earlier. It roared into life beneath me. The wind rushed through my hair, and I took to the streets, police band radio tuned.

As I swung down East Forty Fifth, there were shouts, and waves. Holly was one of them, and I saw something in her eyes for a half-second I knew Brett Wallace had never seen. Cars got out of my way. There was a catch in my throat as I rode into my city.

It was Mister Miller’s liquor store, and he was cashing out. There were six of them, with shotguns. They’d forgotten that Topaz City had a protector. They’d learn better.

“You know,” I said from the door, “temperance is a virtue.”

They spun, and I fast-drew and shot three shotguns out of their hands. “Against the wall,” I snapped, and they moved.

“You didn’t count on that, did you,” Mister Miller cackled, slapping his knees. “You didn’t count on the All-American Lad, did you? You didn’t — look out Lad!”

I threw myself down, spinning and firing even as the shotgun blast ripped over me and into the far wall, shattering bourbon bottles. There was a seventh. I’d missed of course — you shoot to distract them, but you weren’t trying to kill them. I put a bullet in the shotgun’s stock but took a club to the back — must have been a broom. I rolled, kicking, and got to my feet first, though my guns were down. They rushed me.

I was a football player. I could take a crunch. Besides, I was well armored. I took a shot to the chin that hurt , though. I punched one square, and kicked a second.

That was enough — they started to run. I snapped the whip out and cracked it, getting one around the ankles halfway out the door. He cracked his chin on the sidewalk and was out. I hopped over him, scooping up my nearer gun and running after them as they went for their car.

I grabbed the lasso — shoot the tires out and tie them up, I figured.

But I didn’t get the chance. I was beaten to that punch.

It was a whistling sound… and it looked like a burning comet that seared into the top of that car and exploded with the force of a rocket, throwing the gang back even at the distance they were at. They ducked and covered, yelling. In the air, we could hear a dull roar.

As one, we looked up.

He wore an olive drab solid metal piece over his shoulders and torso, with a pressure suit under it and armor pieces on joints and knees. The helmet covered his whole face. Burning fire rippled from his back, holding him high in the air as he panned over us.

“Give it up now, boys,” he said in a voice that was wired to some sort of megaphone.

“Who… are you?” Mister Miller asked in awe from his door.

He turned in the air and gave Mister Miller a thumbs up. “Lieutenant Blockbuster!” he called down. “Just here to do my duty, sir!”

There were others on the street… and the cheering started, and shouts of joy. Lieutenant Blockbuster turned his attention back to the crooks, and fired a ripple explosion from his hand, which impacted with a burst five feet from one who’d been trying to inch away.

I just stood there, staring at this… thing in the Topaz City sky. He slowly turned, and looked at me through thick lenses. He somehow managed to look amused, and gave me one of those thumb’s ups as well. “We ought to talk,” he said, and roared into the night.

“Did you see that,” Mister Miller asked, grabbing my arm. “One’a those Super types like in the war, right in our city!”

“I saw it,” I answered. “I saw it.”

Can we take a break? I’m kind of tired. Thanks.