Disclaimer: I own none of the characters portrayed herein. I wish I did though- then I could sell them for a lot of money. This is my first foray into fan fic, and I sorta combined it with another love of mine, alternate history. I'd love to have some feedback. I mean, even if I don't get some, I'll keep writing, but hey, a guy needs to feel loved...=)
E-mail: METALLIBATS@prodigy.net
Oh yeah, rated R for disturbing imagery and language.
A TIME FOR WAR - A STORY OF THE BATMAN
PART ONE
May 25, 1940
Gotham Gazette
GERMAN ARMIES ROUT ANGLO-FRENCH FORCES AT DUNKIRK
May 27, 1940
CHURCHILL GOVERNMENT FALLS. LORD HALIFAX ELECTED PRIME MINISTER
May 28, 1940
BRITISH SUE FOR ARMISTICE. ENVOYS SENT TO MUNICH
May 31, 1940
ARMISTICE SIGNED, WAR IN EUROPE OVER.
April 2, 1942
GERMAN ARMIES INVADE USSR, RUSSIANS UNPREPARED
April 18, 1942
MINSK FALLS. RUSSIAN ARMIES IN RETREAT.
April 29, 1942
KIEV, SMOLENSK FALL TO GERMANS. RUSSIANS SEEK BRITISH AID.
May 11, 1942
KALUGA, KURSK FALL. FINNS ENTER WAR AGAINST RUSSIANS, TAKE MURMANSK.
June 27, 1942
MOSCOW FALLS. RUSSIAN GOVERNMENT FALLS, RED ARMY SUES FOR PEACE.
June 29, 1942
FINNS TAKE LENINGRAD
July 4, 1942
ASIAN WAR ENDS, USSR SURRENDERS UNCONDITIONALLY TO GERMANY.
January 11, 1947
Gotham City, USA
Bruce Wayne squinted into the winter day's sun. Adjusting the strap of his bag, he stepped onto the hard concrete of the Gotham Trainyards platform. Home from college, Bruce glanced as 32-point type blared from headlines at the newsstand.
MEXICAN FRONT COLLAPSES, GERMANS ENTER MEXICO CITY
Bruce sighed inwardly, and turned his head. Walking slowly, he slid away from the throngs of travelers and businessmen, his eyes subconsciously seeking the familiar black Rolls Royce. Slipping by a woman and her children, he spied the car, and raised a hand in greeting. His wave was recriprocated by Alfred, the family butler for - as long as Bruce could remember.
"Master Bruce. Harvard's treating you well, it would seem...though it's been too long since your last visit home."
Bruce allowed a smile to creep onto his face. "It's good to see you too, Alfred. How are Mother and Father doing?"
Alfred grimaced. "Your father's...well, as is your mother."
Bruce raised an eyebrow, and Alfred responded to his unspoken question.
"He's had some...confrontations with the War Department. They refuse to even talk to him about buying, or even testing any of WayneCorp's technology."
"Afraid to provoke our...colonial neighbors to the south?" Bruce asked.
"Apparently so. They contine to assert that the Germans are no threat
whatsoever to the U.S. Your father feels differently."
Bruce smiled as he dropped his bag into the trunk. "I'll bet he does."
"Your mother's expecting us soon...we'd better leave now, so we won't upset her. She does get dictatorial around dinnertime."
Bruce stepped into the back seat, nodding. "Wise move, my friend."
Alfred closed Bruce's door, and opened the driver's side, stepping in. The car started with a deep hum, and Alfred pulled away from the curb smoothly, the engine almost purring. Bruce leaned back against the plush seats, and exhaled. It HAD been a long time since he was home...and in that time, things had gone from bad, to worse. A new president, the repeal of the Monroe Doctrine, and the subsequent German 'police action' in Mexico. People should be worried, should be scared...but they weren't. They contined to believe that the Germans wanted only peace, that they respected the United States, and had no ambitions against her. People are naive, Bruce thought. Stupid, and naive. The pitch of the engine changed, as the car slowed, then turned. Burying such weighty thoughts, Bruce peered out the window, at his home. As big as ever...The car stopped, and Bruce opened the door on his own as the trunk swung slowly upward. Scooping up his bag before Alfred had time to protest, he followed the butler through the huge front door.
"Alfred?" a sweet feminine voice cried out. "Is it you?"
"Yes ma'am." Alfred replied.
A moment later, Martha Wayne appeared. Bruce met her eyes, and dropped his bag, as he stepped forward to hug her.
"Mother. It's so good to see you."
"You too, Bruce."" She squeezed him tight, then let go, looking up at him, smiling. "You certainly LOOK more intellectual."
Bruce laughed, as he kissed her on the cheek, following her into the cavernous living room. "Father."
Thomas Wayne looked up, and smiled, setting his pipe down on the table. Dropping a pile of papers on the floor, he stood, extending his hand. "Bruce! Good to have you home, son."
Bruce took his father's hand, and shook it warmly. "Good to be home. Getting a bit tense at school these days."
"I can imagine." Thomas replied, still smiling. "Like a drink?" Bruce nodded, and his father poured two small glasses of brandy, handing one to Bruce.
"You mother's making something absoultely delicious for dinner, but she refuses to give me the slightest clue." Thomas joked.
"You'll find out in good time." Martha replied, turning, and heading back to the kitchen. "It'l just give you two time to male bond."
Thomas and Bruce laughed, and Bruce took a seat on the long leather couch, facing his father.
"I talked to Alfred on the way in." he said. "Is it really all that bad?"
Thomas made a face, and sipped his brandy. "Worse. The governemnt refuses to even consider looking at my proposals, or prototypes. They won't even entertain the possibility that the Germans are hostile to us. Not to mention the Japanese, off the West Coast. The fact is, this country is surrounded by enemies for the first time in its history, and no one wants to believe it."
"Things around campus are the same." Bruce started, sipping from his glass. "We've got people saying the Germans are there to play nice, that the Mexicans deserved it, after blowing up their embassy-which in of itself reeks-, and that the Germans are doing us a favor, after that Pancho Villa business...noone recognizes the dangers."
Thomas nodded, and set his glass down as a knock came at the door. "Alfred..?"
The butler arrived, and refilled the brandy glasses, departing quietly as father and son continued their conversation. Suddenly, a high-pitched wailing, sounding distant, yet still distinct, floated across the Wayne grounds.
"Is that an...air raid siren?" Thomas asked, as he rose.
A sudden splintering sound, as the front door crashed to the ground, followed by shouted orders.
"What in the hell..?" Thomas asked as he turned....and then froze.
Ten German soldiers, the grey of their uniforms unmistakeable, stepped into the Wayne living room. Six covered Bruce and Thomas, as four more went into the kitchen. Bruce heard his mother scream, and stepped forward. A rifle butt crushed into his jaw, dropping him to the floor.
"Stay still." one of the soldiers remarked, with a smile.
The four soldiers escorted Martha into the living room, shoving her towards her husband. Thomas held her, and pulled her close, her tears still sliding down her cheek.
"You are Thomas Wayne?" Bruce, on his knees now, turned to the source of the voice....and gasped.
A huge man, with ice blue eyes, and the pure black uniform of the SS stood before his father. Pink scars criscrossed his face, and he held a pistol, almost casually in his right hand.
"Yes." Thomas answered. "I am."
The SS man's face lit up, as if someone had given him a gift, and he swung the pistol down on Thomas' head hard. A muffled thump, and Thomas hit the floor, bleeding. Standing over him, the SS man shot him, three times. Bruce, eyes wide with shock, watched as his father's head exploded all over the floor.
"You son of a bitch!" he screamed as he rose. His hand cocked back, balled into a fist, as he surged for his father's murderer.
The SS man reacted with clam indifference as he lowered his pistol, and fired.
Bruce screamed again, this time in pain, as te bullet ripped through his thigh. Sinking to the carpet again, he felt the hard kicks as the soldiers stomped his back, his head, his stomach.
"Bruce!" his mother screamed. "God, stop it!"
The SS man, flashed his smile again, as he knelt to Bruce's level.
"That was a very brave....and very stupid thing to do. For that....I'll have to make sure you get paid back in full."
Bruce closed his eyes, waiting for the bullet to come, to rip his brain forcibly out of his skull. When it didn't happen, he opened his eyes, and gasped again. No.
No, they couldn't. They COULDN'T!
The soldiers had his mother pinned to the floor. Her dress was in tatters, as she kicked and screamed, to no avail. It seemed to drive the soldiers on, as they ripped her underwear off, one tearing her blouse and bra, his filthy hands touching her, as others defiled her, running their hands over her violated body. The first dropped his trousers, and with an animalistic grunt, pushed into her. Her screams stopped them, replaced by whimpers, then by nothing at all, as the soldiers finished with her. Bruce, somehow unable to turn away, had watched. Had seen it all...the brutality, the contempt...the barbarism.
The SS man stepped up to Martha, and shot her in the forehead, not noticing Bruce flinch. "That's what brave little boys get." he spat, as he ordered the soldiers out."As you bleed to death, think about that. Think about it happening all over your pathetic country as Germany grinds it under her heel. Think about it, and weep."
He left then, swiveling with machinelike precision, and walking out of Wayne Manor. Bruce waited, eyes lidded, until he was certain he was gone. With a supreme effort of will, he rose to his feet. Staggering out, through the hall, and outside, he saw the lights as the truck departed. He heard the sounds of gunfire from the city, saw the orange glow of fire. Sinking to his knees, he looked to the heavens. A perfect, crisp white moon. His head cocked back, blodd mixed with spit ran over his chin. Two hours. In two hours, his world had changed...and collapsed. In five minutes, his life was over, the people he loved most murdered before his eyes. He closed his eyes, and screamed, an animal, primal sound. It echoed across the grounds, and disturbed a flight of bats, who took off, chittering. Bruce opened his eyes, and saw them, their dark shapes a perfect contrast with the moon. He shook his head, his palms sinking into the wet cold ground. He KNEW. He had been reborn....made into something other than a 20 year old college student. He had seen things in the space of minutes that people didn't see in lifetimes. He was changed. Burned, blackened....and forged anew, into a weapon. A weapon of revenge, a weapon of vengeance....an weapon of retribution.