Back to the Fuhrer

Clucking her tongue, Pluto backed into Barbara’s apartment and returned to the revolving wall. She regarded the step-ladder separating the two halves of the wall. After a lengthy pause, she raised her long leg and kicked the ladder from the wall frame.

She sighed. “Although Doctor Shaw’s motives were self-serving, the Deep Freeze is Gotham City’s destiny.”

Pluto shook her head at the senselessness of it all. She leaned over and flicked the switch underneath the makeup table, then - POOF! - abruptly vanished. The wall’s steel axis hummed to life, promptly completing the wall’s revolution, and, in the process, connecting the key-box to the brain.

Somewhere in Gotham City, Batman was composing the keynote address for the upcoming International Law Enforcement Convention.

Eight miles to the south, the airliner carrying several illustrious detectives to the convention city was just rolling to a stop on the runway. After the murder of a couple of famous detectives in Britain, secret agent John Steed and talented amateur Emma Peel were aboard to clandestinely keep any eye on them. Some reporters from The Daily Planet waited on the tarmac below, eager to interview the detectives.

Twelve miles to the north, the Riddler was pondering whether to start assembling a team of super-villains - people like Doctor Sivana - then remembered that Sivana had reportedly gone missing because he’d allowed himself to get frozen inside a giant bubble. ‘Have to be pretty foolish to allow that,’ the Riddler thought.

Nine miles to the east, the pop group the Monkees was quarreling over whether it was really the Penguin they’d seen in a restaurant.

Seven miles to the west, the Joker was just launching into a description of his idea for booby-trapping the Batmobile. He was interrupted by Queenie, who rushed in to report she’d gone to retrieve the box and key, only to find them missing.

The Joker’s lips parted and his features formed into an outraged scowl.

He held the expression for awhile.

From the helm of the cabin launch Indistinguishable Commonplace, Colonel Wilhelm Klink gazed out at the rolling, distant coast of North America. He missed the Fatherland, but was pleased to be assigned to this espionage mission. There was risk involved, as the Allies were actively searching for them, but he preferred this to awaiting trial in jail with his camp-commandant colleagues.

His non-monocled eye blinked as something streaked along the horizon. He was sure it was too small to be a boat. Fetching a telescope, he made out a scantily-clad young woman. Her speed was such the gown she was attempting to put on was flapping around crazily in her hands. Klink wondered if she had somehow found a trail of ice on the ocean to skate across.

His pointer finger swooped up in triumph. “Of course! She must be on water skis, with a submarine beneath providing her momentum!” He returned his full attention to the curvy figure in the telescope. “That undressed girl must be moving 80 miles per hour! Unbelievable!“

“’Unlikely’ would be more accurate,” said an irritated voice.

He heard the unmistakable boot heels of Doctor Otold Shivel clicking up from below. Without further comment, Shivel muscled Klink aside and held out his hand for the telescope. Klink meekly acquiesced.

Klink couldn’t resist offering a suggestion. “That poor girl, exposed and all alone. Shouldn’t we go after her . . . to help her?”

Shivel peered into the telescope, did a double take, and pressed his eye back to the eyepiece. “Turn zis boat around!”

The Wizard peered into his viewer, did a double take, and pressed his eye back to the eyepiece.

Footsteps outside his hideout had activated his cave’s buzzer alarm. His tabletop viewing device revealed a meek-looking woman standing outside his secret entrance. Clutching her by the shoulders was a man in a costume identical to his.

The Wizard picked up a pistol, activated the automatic door-opener, and concealed himself behind a corner. On the opposite side of the wall, Elizabeth Shaw watched as a secret doorway in the rock surface opened. Her captor roughly shoved her inside the gadget-filled room.

“There’s no need to be concerned, Wizard,” the kidnapper called out. “I know that you’re hiding behind the corner to the right.”

Outraged at the imposter’s ability to anticipate his moves, the Wizard stepped into view and leveled the revolver at the suspicious pair. “Don’t think that hostage will keep me from filling you full of lead, buster.”

“Tell me something,” said the costumed figure. “If you had to choose, would you rather be part of the most successful burglary team in recorded history, or be paralyzed for a decade and a half?”

“You’re wasting my time,” complained the Wizard.

“I am from the future, and I’ve come to make sure you don’t make a grave mistake.”

“Really. And who’s she?” The pistol gestured at Doctor Shaw.

“She’s from even farther in the future; someone who traveled back in time to get her hands on Adolf Hitler’s brain.”

The gun barrel dropped. “They saved Hitler’s brain?”

His doppelganger jabbed a finger at him impatiently. “See, that’s exactly the kind of talk that will get you petrified like a redwood. You’ll soon receive an invitation to go work on Hitler’s brain. If you wise up and toss it in the trash, you can make a bundle.”

The Wizard motioned to Doctor Shaw. “Let’s hear what you have to say, lady. Is he on the level?”

Shaw answered quickly, “Of course not. He’s deceiving you.” Her captor cuffed her in the back of the head.

Seeing the original Wizard fingering the gun, the kidnapper reached up and dramatically removed his hood. His face was unmistakably that of Carter, the butler.

“Look familiar?” he said. Although he had come from almost two decades in the future, he’d effectively aged only a few years more than the man he faced. Under their hoods, the two looked nearly identical.

“It’s a trick,” said Elizabeth. “He can assume other people’s appearance-smmmm.” A hand clamped down over her mouth.

“As I told you,” the kidnapper growled, shaking her muzzled face, “since she’s a thief, she’s not the most reliable source.”

“Then again, maybe she is,” said the original Wizard. “Maybe this is some trick by a competitor . . . or by Batman.”

“That’s easy to prove. You’ve got a remote control machine, right?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Don’t play coy - it’s sitting right there.” He gestured at a large black machine occupying the cave wall. “Now, the machine’s ray can cause disintegration, and the neutralizer you’re about to steal from Professor Hamill can stop disintegration. If you were to cross both beams with each other, any object in their path would become invisible.”

The original Wizard stared in amazement. “H-How did you figure that out?”

“You would have figured it out by tomorrow morning, anyway.”

The original Wizard considered his options for a moment. “Very well. Where do we start? Finish off the dame here?”

Wizard #2 glared at the stifled competitor in his grasp. “No, for the time being, she’s the only one who can operate the time machine. I’ll take you to it if you’ve got a cage we can throw Miss Bigmouth in. The contraption’s sitting just a couple of miles away in the woods.”

“I’ll have Neal get the truck, so we can bring it back.”

“I’d prefer we kept the existence of the time machine to ourselves. If we stash it upstairs behind our secret entrance to Hamill’s estate, the hired help will never see it.”

As she zipped across the Atlantic, Barbara concluded the painstaking task of changing out of the Batgirl suit. Acutely aware of how exposed she was, she’d put off the mandated change for almost an hour. Naturally, the moment she bent over to step out of the costume, a boat came into view. With no idea how to slow the hoverboard down, minutes had now passed since she’d passed the distant vessel.

As she succeeded in tugging her mother’s evening gown down her hips, Barbara gave thanks for the hoverboard’s built-in balance compensator. Crouching, she thrust her fingers into the heavy spray of water and fiddled with the underside of the hoverboard. Experimenting with the board’s buttoned underside revealed how to moderate the speed.

Lo and behold, another ship soon presented itself on the skyline. At her current velocity, she found herself buzzing rapidly up on it. She coaxed the board’s controls into slowing, cutting the power completely before she’d pulled even with the vessel. As she coasted up to it, she saw an American flag and realized it was a WW-II era naval boat.

“Woman overboard!” a sailor’s voice cried out.

“Woman overboard?” exclaimed Lieutenant Commander Buchero. He (and every other male on board - which was every other person on board) rushed to the port side of the vessel. Bobbing in the waves was a shapely vision in an evening gown. She was crouched down, clinging to the smallest driftwood raft Buchero had ever seen.

He started to order his second in command to render assistance, but Peevish and another half dozen sailors were already jumping from the deck into the ocean. A circular life-ring attached to a line was flung down. Numerous rough hands grabbed Barbara and eagerly assisted in fitting the tube over her head and shoulders.

‘So much for not attracting attention,’ thought Barbara ruefully. ‘I might as well have stayed suited up as Batgirl!’ She felt herself being lifted and hauled up towards the deck.

"Wait! I need that!" she cried, reaching down towards the floating hoverboard. The sailors all kept their eyes trained on her dangling legs, taking no notice of the board drifting right past.

"It's okay! You're safe now, ma'am!" Peevish called out cheerfully.

The last Barbara saw of the hoverboard before being hauled topside, the small time travel device was bobbing perilously amidst increasing waves.

“Welcome to the PT 63, little lady!” an officer said proudly. By the time she'd convinced him to pay attention to her words instead of her dripping form, the hoverboard was already lost to view, consigned to the briny deep.

"Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Buchero, at your service! You can call me Benny."

‘Can’t use my real name,’ she thought, cognizant of her temporal responsibilities.

"My name is . . . Annette Funacello,” she replied.

The brown German cruiser plowed through the ocean, in search of their seafaring Lady Godiva and her magical transport. Finding an American military vessel directly in its path, the Indistinguishable Commonplace reluctantly veered off and headed away.

First mate Peevish rushed up to inform Lieutenant Buchero that an unidentified craft had reversed course upon coming within visual range, and was now building a head of steam in the opposite direction. Sensing the boat contained the fugitive Nazis they’d been assigned to capture, Buchero authorized the firing of a warning shot – preferably a lethal, debilitating one.

The mighty deck guns boomed, unleashing a barrage at the fleeing craft.

A shell came ripping through the sky and exploded as it glanced off the hull of the German vessel. Shivel and Klink stumbled and grabbed for the railing as the deck lurched sharply under them.

"We haff been hit!" Captain Hermann called out.

"Damage?" asked Shivel.

"There is some smoke coming from the engine room, but we are maintaining speed.”

"Ach du lieber, we vill not outrun them,” Shivel decided. “Cut our power, but keep those swine occupied for a few minutes."

Klink clutched his swagger stick anxiously. "We mustn’t be caught wearing these uniforms."

"Unt ve must conceal ze Fuhrer’s brain. Schnell!"

The German vessel heaved to and in short order, the PT 63 pulled up alongside. The big deck guns kept a bead on the mystery ship, but Barbara was still surprised when Buchero chose to board the vessel accompanied only by his first mate. To her relief, the two soon returned from their search below decks.

During the few minutes it took them to descend to the dinghy and return to their waiting ship, a face popped up briefly on the Indistinguishable Commonplace.

Barbara gasped. “That looks like Mister Freeze!”

Although black smoke still billowed from the crippled boat, Barbara was certain it was Shivel she glimpsed before the face dipped out of sight.

Buchero hauled himself over the railing of the PT 63. “Big waste of time,” he declared. “That wasn’t the guy we were looking for.”

Barbara was certain she’d spotted the future Mister Freeze. She couldn’t imagine how Buchero had been suckered, even given the wily nature of the frigid fiend.

“Let’s get out of here,” Peevish said, waving the men to activity.

Barbara stayed at the railing, staring after the Indistinguishable Commonplace until it was completely out of sight.

That night, unable to sleep, she snuck out of the private cabin Buchero had made available.

“Something just doesn’t smell right,” Barbara muttered, referring to more than the aroma below decks.

Besides the helm, the only man-made light was emanating from Buchero’s cabin window. Barbara snuck over and risked peering in the porthole.

Benny and first mate Peevish sat around a table piled high with money. Benny counted it deliberately into two piles.

“The kraut was pretty eager to pay us off,” Peevish noted. “Hope he doesn’t go and blow up something now that he’s off the hook.”

“Nah, he’s just some rat scurrying off to save his hide,” Benny said. “Those war crime trials don’t mean nothing to me.” He counted an extra hundred out for himself.

Barbara’s ears burned at what they heard. ‘Bought off!’ she thought. ‘Mister Buchero uses his rank as an opportunity to exact payola!’

Unbeknownst to her, she would one day know this man by the name “Benny the Butcher” and not be at all surprised by such behavior.

Tuesday, August 30th

The Original Wizard dusted off his hands, his task complete. The time machine booth was now concealed behind Professor Hamill’s wall, and their houseguest was stashed away in her new accommodations.

Wizard #2 glared towards a dark corner, where Elizabeth Shaw sat locked inside a cramped cage. “Comfortable, Miss Shaw?”

He noticed a scrap of paper listing a phone number scrawled in large print. “That number is familiar, but I can’t quite–”

“It’s the number to radio announcer Barry Brown,” said the Original Wizard. “I phoned in a challenge for the authorities.” The Original Wizard picked up one of several disks lying on the workbench, and hung it around his neck. He and Wizard #2 had spent part of the afternoon manufacturing the invisibility-activating devices. “I gave Brown a specific time for stealing the secret jet plans, so I must be off.”

He started out towards his submarine dock, then stopped. “Neal should be showing up soon to monitor the neutralizer.”

“Neal? He’s the one whose fingerprints you substituted when the officer wasn’t looking?”

The Original Wizard nodded. “Since Neal’s record is spotless, they won’t trace any unbecoming history back to Carter, the butler . . . but if we’re not telling Neal about you, you’d better make yourself scarce.”

From her vantage point in a dusty corner of the hideout, Doctor Shaw watched Original Wizard proceed out the exit. Wizard #2 approached her cage, a cloth in his hand.

“Don’t get your hopes up of sweet-talking the henchman into helping you. You won’t be doing much talking when he arrives.”

She shrugged in resignation. “As you like. At least I won’t get the blame for your missed opportunities.”

Wizard #2 scoffed at the claim, but she calmly examined her fingernails. “Someone didn’t do their homework. Don’t you know what event occurs this week?”

Wizard #2 racked his brain for the answer.

Shaw clucked her tongue. “I thought not. The U.S. military is turning all of its seized Nazi assets back over to the new German government. Today’s the cutoff date for collection; tomorrow, all the valuables will be on a plane bound for Germany . . . but I shouldn’t bother you with such trivia.”

Inside his mask, Wizard #2 licked his lips. “Prove your worth and you’ll be rewarded, Doctor. I’ll fetch the map. Provide the where and when this collection takes place, and I’ll cut you in for a percentage.”

She turned away. “Don’t bloody bother. I can’t read tiny map print in this murk. Not much of a partnership, if my role consists of squatting in a cage.”

“You didn’t earn any better.” Wizard #2 produced a set of keys and unlocked her cage. “There, you’re free to walk over to this map.”

“That’s more like it,” she said, stretching as she straightened up. “Partners, then?”

“Partners,” the Wizard said, smirking under his mask. ‘Returning to the past was sheer genius!’ he thought. ‘Before I’m through, I’ll be ruling this time period.’

He made a noise right out of a Three Stooges film, as Doctor Shaw toppled a large airplane battery off the counter onto his foot. He raised his foot to clutch his aching toe, which allowed Shaw to jab her fingernails into the eye slits of his cowl.

Finding no deadly weapons with which to exterminate her howling captor, she made haste for the remaining entrance. She raced up a narrow stairwell from which she’d seen the two Wizards come and go. ‘Aren’t you the clever one, Elizabeth?’ she thought. ‘At this rate, you’ll be controlling the 1940’s in no time.’

At the top of the stairs, she found the time machine sitting against the wall. She grabbed the door handle, but found the machine covered in chains and secured with a padlock.

Hearing footsteps below, she sprang for the large panel where one would logically expect a door. Her fingers came across a latch that allowed it to swing inward. She darted through the opening and found herself in an empty room in an ancient mansion. She raced out of one huge, un-maintained room and into another.

“You there!” barked an old man in a wheelchair. It was the mysterious Professor Hamill. The aging inventor was brilliant enough to create one mechanical marvel after another, but absent-minded enough to allow his butler (the Wizard) to steal most of them.

Overhearing his employer’s voice, the Wizard paused at the secret wall panel. If Hamill saw him in the Wizard outfit, the jig would be up. He rushed back down to the workshop and tossed a disk-bearing chain around his neck. He scurried back and forth between the remote control machine and the neutralizer, firing up both.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Hamill demanded, wheeling himself in Elizabeth’s direction.

Shaw considered and rejected possible responses, finally putting her hands on her hips. “Why, I’m here every week! Your butler hires me to . . . to . . . come over and spank him with a cane!” She turned and swaggered out of the room, leaving the speechless inventor staring after her.

“How much do you charge?” his voice echoed after her. Reaching the main hall, she broke into a sprint and raced from the mansion.

Hamill waited hopefully for the woman’s response. Instead, he heard footsteps race by, but saw no one to make them.

Having just turned himself invisible, the Wizard now pounded determinedly for the estate’s foyer. The front door hung wide open. He caught sight of his quarry disappearing over a rise in the lawn, headed straight for the woods.

Elizabeth sprinted several hundred feet into the forest before pausing to look back. She had a clear view all the way to the house, and was encouraged that no pursuit was in sight.

An odd pattern of foliage disturbance was the only warning she received. Recognizing signs of the Wizard’s approach, Shaw took off like a deer to the right. A hand grabbed at her arm, but she slipped free. A dense growth of bush suddenly flattened as the invisible man, moving too quickly to recover, plowed headfirst into it.

Heart pounding, Shaw ran deeper into the woods. For minutes on end, she fled as fast as her feet would carry her. Several times she heard twigs crushing under footsteps somewhere behind her, but farther back each time.

Realizing he was losing ground, Wizard #2 bellowed, “There’s nowhere you can hide!” Exhausted and furious, he came to a stop. “You won’t be able to get another minute of sleep! You’ll never know if I’m waiting just ten feet away! I’ll be behind every corner!”

“Is that so?” he heard her distant retort. “Why, I’d stay by my radio, were I you! There’ll be some late-breaking news that should hold your interest!” Elizabeth Shaw looked down at the slip of paper containing Barry Brown’s phone number, and slipped it back in her pocket.

Enraged, Wizard #2 plunged along after her. As he stomped through the brush, he remembered the Original Wizard would need to turn invisible very soon. Manipulating the disk around his neck, he materialized again, then resumed thrashing through the maze of tree limbs. He would get his hands on Elizabeth Shaw, and when he did, she would pay dearly.

The PT 63 pulled into dock, and none too soon for the incognito Batgirl. She’d already seen her mission’s timetable seriously sidetracked. An unexpected, high-ranking guest was waiting at the dock to greet them, Admiral Hull Ballsey. Barbara noticed Lieutenant Buchero seemed ill at ease as he welcomed the admiral aboard. They retired to Buchero’s cabin, the walls of which were lined with mementos from the recent war. The admiral listened to Buchero describe Barbara’s rescue from a watery grave.

The admiral set down his newspaper to offer Barbara his hand. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Funacello.”

“I don’t know how I can ever repay your men, Admiral,” Barbara said, shaking hands with the big man. Above a newspaper headline describing a reunion of the remaining Civil War veterans, she noticed a large advertisement. The accompanying picture contained a familiar likeness.

“What an amazing story,” the admiral exclaimed, “floating alone in the ocean, bravely clinging to life!”

Barbara continued expressing her gratitude, but couldn’t resist glancing at the newspaper.

Barbara nodded absentmindedly as the admiral offered her the assistance of the U.S. Navy’s vast resources. The face in the ad was definitely the same Ffogg she would face two decades later in swinging Londinium. The assistant also looked familiar.

‘The photo of the magician!’ she remembered. ‘Documents in the future describe this fellow as a known contact of Doctor Shivel’s - at a time when the FBI was scouring the country for him.’

In Gotham’s industrial district, the Original Wizard arrived at the site of the secret jet plane plans. Miles away, his assistant Neal entered the empty cave hideout. Per prearranged instruction, he activated the machines, enabling the Original Wizard to turn invisible. The Wizard then proceeded to easily breach the plant’s security.

He found the Dynamic Duo had practically barricaded themselves in with the jet plans, and even explosives weren’t enough to dislodge them. In the face of such stubborn resistance, the Wizard was forced to fall back. Just when he was settling on an escape route, he found himself suddenly becoming visible again. The plant’s guards immediately opened fire. Confounded that his invisibility-generators had failed so soon, the Original Wizard fled amidst the hail of bullets.

On the PT 63, the admiral declared his intention to make a ship-wide announcement. He escorted Barbara topside, while Buchero hurriedly assembled his men.

Ballsey started his address on a positive note, announcing the capture of SS Commander Heimlich, off the coast of New Guernsey. Although the Navy had hoped to find Doctor Shivel on board the same vessel, they were resolved to keep searching.

“Heimlich’s capture is quite a feather in our caps,” boomed Ballsey’s deep voice, “but we can’t let our guard down for one moment. The Nazi war machine is like a slithering snake: even decapitated, it delivers a fearsome bite! And this Shivel carries with him exactly that – the head of the serpent! He’s reportedly come into possession of the preserved brain of Adolf Hitler! If Shivel is allowed to set up operations on our shores, he’ll possess the means to single-handedly resurrect a world war!”

“Don’t you worry, sir!” Lieutenant Buchero said a little too exuberantly. “We’ll find this kraut and bring him to justice!” Barbara noticed Buchero was sweating visibly.

“See that you do,” said the admiral. “He’s a tricky one, but he’s underestimated us - thinking he could elude us by changing his name from ‘Shimmel.’

As the briefing broke up, Buchero frantically motioned Peevish over to his cabin. Taking notice, Barbara slipped away from the admiral and again crept over to the deck railing, just beneath Buchero’s porthole.

Buchero jerked his thumb back towards the door. “Did you hear that?” he hissed in outrage. “Shivel’s got the brain of Hitler on him! Do you have any idea what that would be worth?”

“Yeah,” Peevish agreed, “and we let Shivel off the hook for just 500 bucks and a few Lugers.”

Buchero growled like a bear. “Nobody makes a monkey outta me!”

Beneath the porthole, Sailor Pluto suddenly appeared, scaring the dickens out of Barbara.

The tiared woman crossed her arms. “As I promised, you survived the fall without suffer–”

“Shhh!” Barbara motioned urgently.

“Hey, what was that?” came a voice from inside the cabin.

Barbara and Pluto exchanged a worried look as footsteps approached the porthole. Pluto abruptly vanished.

On her own again, Barbara scurried away as best as she could in evening wear. Peevish saw nothing when he peered out the porthole. Buchero was simultaneously yanking open the door to his cabin and stomping out on to the deck. He glimpsed the shadow of someone disappearing down the walkway to the lower decks. Considering the curves in the silhouette, Buchero was confident he could narrow the number of suspects to one.

He re-entered the cabin. “That Funacello dame was eavesdropping on us!” he said. He pulled a Bowie knife from a drawer. “Grab one of those Lugers. If the admiral sees that on her, he won’t question our story.”

“What story?” asked Peevish, switching off the pistol’s safety.

“That we uncovered a Nazi spy and had to kill her in self-defense! C’mon!”

Concealing their weapons under their shirts, the two double-timed their way below decks. Rounding a corner in the corridor, Buchero saw the hem of an evening gown rustling into a cabin at the end of the hall.

Grinning like a crocodile, Buchero brandished the knife. His large frame filled the narrow corridor as he approached the cabin.

“Ever wonder why they call me ‘The Butcher?’” he whispered to Peevish.

He was two steps from the cabin door when it suddenly opened. Admiral Ballsey emerged, in the midst of small talk with the lady on his arm.

“I hate to be a bother, sir,” Barbara was saying, “but I’d give anything for a hot, cooked meal right now. Could you direct me to a nearby restaurant?”

“Why, certainly!” Ballsey said. “As a matter of fact, I insist that you allow me the pleasure of treating you.”

He noticed Buchero and Peevish pulling up short. “Commander, I’m taking charge of getting Miss Funacello home, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Ahh . . . very good, sir!” Buchero exclaimed.

Passing the would-be murderers, the admiral glanced back at them. “Oh, and top notch job on that rescue, man! Now keep a sharp eye out for this Shivel character.”

“Oh, yes sir! We will!” Buchero said energetically.

His expression soured as his target passed out of sight.

The original Wizard returned to his cave hideout and tried to solve the problem of his machines failing. When the bleeding on his cut hand wouldn’t stop, he ordered henchman Neal from the premises. Wizard #2 found him there, swearing up a storm, and helped bandage the handgun wound. The Original Wizard looked up and noticed the door of the empty cage hanging open.

“Where’s the limey doctor?” he demanded.

Wizard #2 cleared his throat before answering. “That lying witch tricked me and escaped.”

“What!?” The Original Wizard yanked his partially bandaged hand free. “How could she get out of the cave?”

“She went up the staircase and found the secret panel into the mansion . . . but I’ll get her back.”

The Original Wizard made no attempt at diplomacy. “Oh, really? And how do you plan to do that?”

Wizard #2 groped for a convincing answer. “Well, she’s bound to attempt to regain access to her time machine.”

The Original Wizard threw his glove on the floor. “So you’ll just sit here and wait until she becomes stupid enough to show her face here again!”

He pounded his fist on the workbench. With difficulty, he managed to reign in his temper.

MEANWHILE, ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF TOWN . . .

Barbara sat in a delicatessen, attempting to map out a course of action. Beyond locating two people she knew nothing about, she wasn’t all that clear on her objectives, and even less about the motives of Sailor Pluto.

Admiral Ballsey had been summoned away from his meal to deal with Navy business, leaving Barbara alone with her cup of tea. Wondering if she had time to finish her drink without Benny the Butcher or Mister Freeze barging in, she glanced warily around the establishment. All the women patrons were wearing long skirts and all the men had hats.

Her spoon spun impatient circles in her cup. “At least in the future, I had allies shepherding me along. Here, I’m completely on my own,” she said (out loud, a byproduct of owning a parrot that demanded constant talking to.)

A woman in a waitress uniform approached with a pot of tea. “Care for a refill, ma’am?” Without waiting for a reply, she dropped into the booth across from Barbara. Barbara gazed into a familiar pair of large green eyes.

“Pluto!” Barbara exclaimed.

“Keep your voice down.”

“Keep my voice down? Your last entrance almost got me killed! Now, you tell me what you did with that brain-trap after you pushed me off my balcony!” Unable to contain her outrage, Barbara leaned forward until she was practically standing in the booth.

Pluto placed a hand on her shoulder. “Calm yourself. In the original timeline, Hitler’s brain was part of an elaborate device that froze the entire city for years. Repeating the Deep Freeze was an unfortunate necessity.”

“But you can’t expect me to sit by and let that happen!”

“From my perspective, it’s already happened. Besides, no one was permanently harmed in the freeze. In fact, the headlines out of Gotham City had become so routinely bizarre, the federal government wasn’t sorry to let the city sit out part of the century.”

“So all these visits, all this running around I’ve been doing, was just to help refrigerate my city?”

Pluto sighed and tucked a stray lock of green hair back under her waitress cap. “In the proper historical sequence, Lord Ffogg stole Hitler’s brain from the embassy before you apprehended him. Around the same time, the Bookworm purloined the Joker’s key from the Boy Wonder and turned it over to Ffogg. After he was extradited to America, Ffogg made contact with the Joker in the penitentiary. From his jail cell, he arranged to have the items delivered to the Joker’s surrogates.

“But there is an alternate timeline, an illegitimate one created by Elizabeth Shaw’s attempts to dabble in history.” Pluto produced an 8" X 10" of the villainess and slid it across the table. Barbara studied the deceptively soft facial features as Pluto continued.

“Shaw’s attempts to procure the brain resulted in Ffogg opting to sell it to the highest bidder. A variety of criminals set off for Londinium to attend the auction, while others, notably King Tut and the Joker, broke out of prison too late to attend, but earlier than they would have otherwise.

“In the corrupted timeline, the Joker’s plot bore fruit, but on a much smaller scale, and without use of the brain. The freeze affected only several city blocks for several months. It created a future where most Gothamites aged at a normal progression.”

“How is my presence in the 1940’s going to affect any of that?”

“The Wizard from your era has already made contact with the 1940’s version of himself . . . thanks to your leisurely, little ocean cruise.”

“Well, I didn’t program the hoverboard to deposit me miles out at sea.”

Pluto tilted to look under the table. “Speaking of which, I do not see the hoverboard with you.”

Barbara sighed. “Last I saw, it was bobbing around on a wave in the ocean. So either I can drop my other tasks and try to get a boat to take me back out there, or you can consider that your primary task. Let me know when you’ve completed it.”

Pluto’s passive expression cracked for a moment, but quickly returned. “Just listen. The most urgent aspect of your mission is to remove the duplicate Wizard and Doctor Shaw from this time period. Undoing whatever changes they’ve now created in the original Wizard’s life story is just as critical.”

“That sounds like an insurmountable task, but I’ll do–”

“Adding to the complexity of your mission is the fact the Deep Freeze was not the only period the Dynamic Duo spent frozen in place.”

“Ohhh! Why does that not surprise me?” Barbara said, shaking her head.

“They are due to begin a long cryogenic hibernation two days from now, on September first. This event must occur as scheduled, or else all of history will become hopelessly unraveled.”

Pluto shoved a list of names across the table. “These are the people who are due to spend the next sixteen years petrified with the Caped Crusaders."

“I assume Mister Freeze is behind this Deep Freeze?”

“Otold Shivel does indeed engineer this calamity, but this is not the Deep Freeze. The Deep Freeze was caused by the Joker and was about to occur at the point you departed the 1960’s.”

Barbara rubbed her head. “I’m feeling worse by the moment. What’s the event taking place in two days?”

“It will remain such a closely-held secret, that it is never given a name. One added wrinkle to this dilemma–”

Barbara threw up her hands in surrender. “No more added wrinkles!”

“. . . is the increasing danger the 1960’s Wizard’s activities will lead the Marmaduke Ffogg of this era to take the Wizard’s place in suspended animation.”

“How can I possibly fix all of that?” Barbara asked.

“History suggests you are quite inventive when presented with a problem. Here.” Pluto slid two more pages over the Barbara. “These directions to the Wizard’s address and Doctor Shivel’s hideout should prove helpful.”

Barbara squinted at the tiny lettering along the bottom of the directions. “What is . . . ’Map Quest?’”

”Oh, one additional detail. Due to your little water skiing excursion, Benny Buchero has encountered Doctor Shivel and vowed to procure the brain. This too must be prevented.”

Pluto slide one final paper over to Barbara. “I know you see this as a hopeless task, Batgirl, but for the sake of the entire space/time continuum, you must do your very best.”

Barbara turned the paper over; it was the check for the meal.

BACK AT THE PT 63 . . .

Benny the Butcher and Peevish stood grim-faced in Buchero’s bland, grey quarters.

“Half the countries on earth would pay a mint for Hitler’s brain,” Peevish noted.

Benny paced back and forth in the cramped room before coming to a halt. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Shivel’s boat still has a smoking hole in the side of it, right? So it’s not going to reach shore until tonight . . . and we’ll be waiting for them when they pull into port.”

His expression darkened. “This time, Shivel won’t get off so easy. Once we have the brain, he and his boat’s going right to the bottom of the sea . . . and I don’t know what Miss Funacello’s story is, but she wasn’t floating out in the middle of nowhere by accident. She’s gonna tell us what she’s up to. Then, she gets a one-way trip to Davy Jones’ locker, too.”

“Hey, Benny, look. She musta ripped off a section of Ballsey’s newspaper.” Peevish pointed to a jagged tear next to a story on Civil War veterans.

Buchero’s eyes narrowed. “Go out and fetch me another copy of this morning’s edition. Find out what’s in that missing article and we’ll know where to find her.”

Several hours later, as darkness fell at Amoeba Inlet, the PT 63 lay in wait. Moored just off shore, it sat concealed in shadow under an overhanging cliff. The deck’s big guns pointed expectantly at the entrance to the small cove.

Three quarters of a mile upstream, a wooden rowboat floated quietly through the dark water. It was loaded with boxes of equipment and three passengers.

Doctor Shivel looked down fondly at the container sitting next to him. Moonlight glistened off its glass surface, inside of which sat a human brain.

“Zey would very much like to get their hands on you, mein Fuhrer,” Shivel said, “but we vill not allow that, will we?”

Captain Hermann paused his rowing to glance back at the nearing shoreline. “Zis change of plans is most inconvenient, Herr Shivel.”

“Zat boorish Naval commander was bribable and stupid, but he will soon hear of the treasure he passed up,” Shivel said, patting the jar. “He surely disabled our ship so zat he could return and plunder it at his leisure.”

Unable to keep his mind on topic, Klink clasped his hands together. “I still can’t get over the wondrous sight of that female streaking across the ocean’s surface!”

Shivel looked up. “You may be interested to know zat zis girl you are so fond of was later seen on board the American military vessel.”

Letting this revelation sink in, Klink’s eyes widened. “Then . . . she must surely have crossed our path as bait . . . meant to lure us!” He gasped. “And with her mysterious propulsion abilities, who can say when she will pop up again?”

“And if she does,” Shivel asked, “tell me, what shall we do?”

With great resolve, Klink’s lower jaw extended. “I think we must kill first and ask questions later!”

The response was a raised eyebrow. “If you kill her first, what questions will you ask later?”

“I will ask ‘Who is the foolish one now?’” Klink shook his finger at an imaginary foe.

“Mmm. How do you suppose she would reply?”

“I do not think she would have a convincing answer.”

Shivel sneered. “Another thrilling victory by the ‘Iron Eagle.’”

Klink polished a medal on his chest. “Well, I do have something of a reputation for my debating prowess.”

Shivel gestured at the jar beside him. “Yah. Perhaps we should just throw this old brain overboard, since we are fortunate enough to be able to rely on your intellect.”

Klink tried to appear modest. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far – although there is some basis for your suggestion.”

Through a break in the trees, they could make out a road running parallel to the shore. They drifted along in silence, searching for a concealed spot to make their landing. Spotting a large billboard, Hermann rowed up behind it, beached the rowboat and dragged the boat to shore.

Taking their “Yankee” attire with them from the boat, they strolled onto the roadway. The large billboard proclaimed the benefits of Kellogg's Crumbles Cereal – “those crinkly, sort of sweet and mellow, rich threads of good, whole wheat.” Next to it stood several smaller signs, advising motorists of local businesses. One of the signs contained two male faces.

Shivel pointed at the sign. “Marmaduke Ffogg . . . this name I know. Several letters he has sent. He claimed to have some scientific expertise, and vas interested in the results of my research. I told him nothing of our cargo, of course. Considering zat I have not heard from herr Wizard, Ffogg may prove of use.”

They saw a pair of vehicle headlights approaching and hustled behind the Crumbles billboard.

“I say, there’s one of our adverts!” Marmaduke Ffogg exclaimed, tapping his driver on the shoulder. “Jolly good job I did on those!” He broke off as he noticed three figures scurrying off the road into the darkness.

They craned their necks at the window as the trio whisked out of sight, then exchanged a puzzled look.

One mile later, they came across a woman on the edge of the road. Her form-fitting clothing seemed strangely unique.

“Rather late to be hitchhiking, wouldn’t you say?” Ffogg said. The driver, Jack Napier, grinned as his mind conjured up entertaining scenarios involving this woman fate had dropped in their laps.

Elizabeth Shaw held her thumb aloft, but as the truck drew nearer, her expression changed from hopeful to concerned. Napier could see her trying to make out their faces through the glare of the headlights. He pulled off the road and came to a stop.

“You aren’t really going to pick her up, are you?” Ffogg asked as Napier opened the driver door. Napier quickly closed it so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“If you’re too timid to make a play for her, just watch and maybe you’ll learn something.”

From Elizabeth Shaw’s viewpoint, the driver-side door had just opened and shut, as if an invisible man were emerging from the truck. Her heart instantly pounded in alarm.

Ffogg and Napier cut off their discussion as the lass turned and raced back into the darkness of the woods.

Ffogg appeared amused. “Well, that new cologne of yours certainly seems to make an impression.”

Napier scowled as he restarted the motor and pulled back on to the road. “Perhaps his Lordship could lay off the jokes; I’m not in the mood.”

“All in jest, old boy,” Ffogg said, slapping him on the back. “Why so serious?”

“For one thing, we’ve probably got the entire Silsby police force looking for us by now,” Jack said. “You heard that gent say he was the mayor, yet you went ahead and gave him your fizzy water. When I saw those figures behind the billboard a mile back, I thought it was coppers.”

“Come, come,” Ffogg said, waving off the concern. “Haven’t I kept us at least three steps ahead of the bobbies? If you’re so worried about being recognized, just dye your hair and shave the mustache.”

“Not an option.” Napier shook his head vehemently. “Nobody will buy me as an inventor if I shave it off. How old do you think I am?”

“Mmmm, late thirties?” Ffogg guessed.

“I’m twenty-six! Would you buy the wonder cure-all of the century from someone in their twenties? This mustache makes me look mature . . . responsible.”

“I’m not all that older and I have no trouble convincing our clientele.”

“Yes, but you’re British. Americans think anyone in a suit from England is either brilliant and/or related to the Queen. They don’t know you’ve actually been blackballed from British aristocracy.”

“Only temporarily,” Ffogg said, gesturing with his pipe. “Dear Father can’t outlast his various ailments much longer, and then I shall be welcomed back, lone heir of the Ffogg Estate!”

Behind them in the woods, Elizabeth slapped her head in frustration. She had seen two figures sitting inside the truck as it drove by, neither of whom were her pursuer. After hours traipsing through the woods, she had just passed up a ride to town.

“Oh, cripes!” she cried, stomping her foot in the damp sand. She stumbled across a short piece of driftwood that had just washed ashore. Ignoring the uniquely uniform, rectangular shape to the object, she kicked it angrily back into the ocean.

Wednesday, August 31st

Wizard #2 sat in a wooden chair, tearing up a stack of unopened letters. Each envelope was addressed from Doctor Shivel, and each contained a letter requesting technical assistance on Hitler’s brain.

Clumping footsteps from the staircase foretold the arrival of the Original Wizard. Garbed in his ‘Carter, the Butler,’ persona, he kicked aside a chair blocking the path to his doppelganger.

“Why is Professor Hamill asking me questions about some girl?” he demanded.

Wizard # 2 lowered his head before replying. “On Shaw’s way out, that harlot told him that you’re in the habit of having her . . . er . . . spank you.”

The Original Wizard stiffened in rage.

“Now keep in mind,” said Wizard #2, making calming motions, “Hamill barely saw her, and thanks to our machines, he didn’t see me at all.”

There followed a long pause. Carter’s scarred hand slowly rose to point at his hooded twin. “So . . . the reason the devices overheated, the reason I was exposed during the heist, the reason I got shot, was that you sucked up the machines’ energy!?!”

“Catching Shaw was as important as those jet plans,” insisted Wizard #2. “I’ve been thinking about how we can lure her to us.”

Carter slowly looked around the dank cave. “This plan involves Barry Brown?”

Wizard #2 shook his head. “What makes you say that?”

The Original Wizard pointed to a bare spot on the workbench. “Because you took Brown’s phone number.”

Wizard #2 slapped his head. “Oh, no!! Shaw has Brown’s phone number!”

“You imbecile! She undoubtedly knows who the number belongs to!”

“Yes, she did make some remark about the radio news.”

Carter shed his white jacket. “Here. Put this on and go tend to Professor Hamill.”

“Why? You’re the one familiar with his preferences. I haven’t butlered in decades.”

“Do you wish to challenge me?”

“Don’t get melodramatic with me. I’m not your hired stooge.”

“You’re going to play butler for the Professor because you’re going to deal with any questions arising from Doctor Shaw . . . and because I’m going to be busy all day fixing your mess. Now go!”

“All right, no need to shout,” Wizard #2 said, pulling off his hood.

Barbara’s first stop on her mission was the Gotham City fairgrounds. She observed men coming and going with heavy crates, but saw no sign of Doctor Shivel. As long as he was on track to cryogenically freeze himself the following day, she had no reason to interfere.

Her uneasiness increasing, Barbara decided to find out what the Wizard was doing. She made her way across town, concluding along the way that the speed and availability of late 1940’s public transportation was truly deplorable.

Finally arriving at the estate, she monitored Carter the Butler’s activities as best she could through the mansion’s large windows. A dilemma dawned on her: she had no way of distinguishing the 1960’s Wizard from the 1940's Wizard, and thus, no way of determining which to leave alone and which to drag back to the 1960’s. One nagging aspect to her dilemma was every action the 1960’s Wizard took was now outside the proper timeline. With additional degradation occurring by the minute, the situation demanded urgent resolution.

Inside, the service-attired Wizard #2 was trying to recall when he was expected to bring Professor Hamill his medication. He showed up in the study at what seemed like the appropriate time, only to have Hamill give him a blistering dressing-down.

Left alone in the room, Wizard #2 poked through the papers on Hamill’s desk. The door to the study opened, revealing the hooded Original Wizard. The revolver in his hand was pointed directly at the butler.

Wizard #2 was sufficiently cognizant of his own moral character to realize he had a problem. “I know why you’re here. You think I’ve failed . . . but I can still help you.”

The Original Wizard’s only reply was to grimly shake his head.

Wizard #2 broke out in sweat. “Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot!”

The deafening blast of the handgun stopped the pleas. Wizard #2 grimaced as one bullet after another tore into his chest. He tried to compose one last appeal, but the Original Wizard was already off to plot Barry Brown’s extermination. Wizard #2 was all alone as he crashed backwards to the floor.

Hearing the gunshots, Barbara raced up to the side of the mansion. She located an unlatched window on the ground floor and managed to jimmy it open. She hauled herself in over the window ledge and darted from doorway to doorway.

The smell of smoke alerted her the moment she opened the door to the study. Carter was lying on his back, dark red stains spreading on his jacket.

He coughed and tried to speak. “He . . . he shot . . . himself! How stupid is that?”

Barbara laid a hand on his arm. “Please tell me, before it’s too late. I need to know where Doctor Shaw is.”

Despite the pain, the Wizard managed a crooked smile. “That’s . . . for you to find out.”

“Then at least tell me which Wizard you are.”

“You’ll never know . . . but I know you . . . Barbara . . . or should I say, Batgirl?”

He made an evil chuckling sound, which deteriorated into more coughing. Barbara studied him.

“You’ve told me what I need to know,” she said. “The 1940's Wizard would have never heard of Batgirl and placed no value on the information. You’re the renegade Wizard from the 1960’s.”

Absorbing a final blow to his ego, an embittered expression clouded Carter’s features. It eased only slightly as his head lolled to one side and he breathed his last.

Realizing nothing could be done for the man, Barbara furtively searched several rooms for signs of Doctor Shaw. She halted in place as a sedan pulled up in the circular driveway out front. At the steering wheel sat the legendary Batman himself!

“This Batman doesn’t know Barbara Gordon . . . except as James Gordon’s toddler! If I’m caught at the murder scene, he’ll hold me for questioning!” she exclaimed.

She ducked out of sight as the car door opened and tried to quickly complete her search for Liz Shaw. All too soon, she heard footsteps and Batman’s voice echoing off the high-ceilinged foyer.

“. . . be on our toes. Assuming Carter is in fact the Wizard, he’ll have access to all of Hamill’s eccentric devices.”

“Holy smokes! I smell gunpowder!” said Robin, his voice slightly higher pitched than to which Barbara was accustomed.

She hugged herself against the wall as the footsteps clumped past.

With her assignment concerning Wizard #2 unexpectedly resolved, Barbara slid open a side window and lowered herself to the ground. Sparing a wondering glance at the disappointing vehicle the Dynamic Duo of the era used, she crept back to bushes at the property’s edge.

By now, Elizabeth Shaw was at last convinced she’d eluded her pursuer for good. She emerged from hiding in the woods and hitched a ride from a passing motorist. Using a tale of urgently needing to reach her dying uncle, she was taken straight to the downtown hospital. She located a phone booth on the ground floor and plunked in a nickel (which she’d borrowed on the pretense of notifying “Aunt Mabel.”)

“Radio station WGIV,” said a voice on the other end of the line.

“Barry Brown, please,” Doctor Shaw said.

“He’s about to head home for the day. May I take a message?”

“Oh, you can rest assured he’ll want to talk to me. Tell him you’ve someone on the blower with a scoop for him. It’s about the mysterious Wizard.”

Barbara gazed around the spacious clearing at the throng that had turned out for Marmaduke Ffogg’s presentation. Several hundred people milled about the grass turf, waiting to hear of the advertised cure-all. One giveaway the event was less than official was the tattered fencing around the field’s perimeter. Barbara saw Ffogg and a mustached man emerge from a truck and proceed towards the back of the elevated stage.

The shady pair pulled up short as a sinister-looking man in an overcoat blocked their path. Napier instinctively reached for the blackjack in his pocket.

“Can’t talk now, I’m afraid,” Ffogg said, waving the man off. “If you’re inquiring about our fabulous discovery, kindly listen along with the others . . . and if this concerns some legal matter . . . .”

Doctor Shivel spread his arms as if he were ready to embrace the Englishman. “Herr Ffogg, it is Otold Shivel, of the Third Reich cryogenics program! It is zo wonderful to finally meet you.”

An intrigued smile spread over Ffogg’s features, but Napier retained his tensed posture.

“We’re on – let’s go.” Jack tugged on Ffogg’s sleeve.

Insistent, Shivel continued. “I find myself in need of assistance on a most sensitive project . . . unt ze man who was recommended has not responded to my inquiries. So to you, my friend, I extend the opportunity to study the liffhing brain of Adolf Hitler. Have you any interest?”

“I should say so, old boy,” replied Ffogg. “Can’t very well pass up a chance to study an artifact of such significance!”

“Wundervol,” Shivel replied. “Zhall we say tomorrow at noon, zen? You have something on which to write?”

Ffogg gave Napier a nudge. Jack dug into his satchel and came up with an old publicity photo of himself. He handed it to Shivel, blank side up.

Shivel scribbled out instructions on how to reach his Gotham City hideout via the spooky amusement park ride. “Disembark at the wax figure cave man, unt knock on the rock wall. My friends, you have chosen well. Zis brain will make wealthy barons of us all!”

Barbara watched the exchange helplessly from a distance. She well remembered Pluto’s caution against the Englishman becoming entangled in the upcoming hibernation. As she watched Ffogg take the stage, Barbara brain-stormed for a way to reverse this unwelcome turn of events.

As if the predicament weren’t already bad enough, she now spied a group arriving in military uniform. It was Commander Benny Buchero and his brawny subordinates, determinedly making their way to the center of the field. As Ffogg spun a glorious tale about discovering a wonder formula while on expedition in the Yucatan Peninsula, the sailors split up and circulated amongst the crowd.

Marmaduke waved a clear, glass flask around for all to see. The brilliant, blue fluid inside fizzed and popped. “. . . and I’d like to request one stout soul from amongst you to help us demonstrate this sensational elixir’s effectiveness.”

Barbara spotted a burly sailor approach, gazing into every face he passed. She suddenly understood what had brought Buchero here. ‘They’re trying to get their hands on me!’

She sidestepped several yards to remove herself from the sailor’s line of sight. Only now, she found herself in the path of another Navy man, methodically closing from another direction.

Off to one side the stage, Peevish stood on his toes, trying to see over heads of surrounding bystanders. “If Funacello’s here, she could be anywhere,” he muttered.

“Ahhh – can’t see a thing,” Benny growled. He fixed his gaze up at the well-dressed Englishman. “I need to get up there.”

“Come, come, don’t be shy!” Ffogg called. “Who here has some painful ailment?”

Benny waved his hand. “Hey, mister! I’ll be your volunteer!”

“Splendid! One can always count on America’s brave servicemen!” Ffogg motioned Benny forward.

The two sea dogs were within seconds of spotting Barbara. As they converged on her, Barbara squeezed in between two stout men wearing gas attendant uniforms.

“What is your ailment, fine sir?” Ffogg asked as Buchero joined him on stage.

“Ahhh . . . bad back.” Instead of facing Ffogg, Benny turned to the audience and scanned the sea of faces before him. Barbara realized what he had in mind. She moved behind a woman with a large hat, but Buchero was already pointing excitedly.

He’d recognized the sneering countenance of Otold Shivel lurking near the back of the crowd. Gesturing madly, Benny bellowed down at Peevish. “Shivel! Shivel!”

“Gesundheit,” said Jack Napier, taking Benny by the arm.

Hearing their commander holler, Barbara’s two stalkers looked in the direction he was pointing. Doctor Shivel realized he was being pursued and made haste for the exit. The sailors took off after the fleeing Nazi, unaware they’d just missed running into Barbara.

“Come with me, sir.” Napier led Buchero back out of the spotlight as Ffogg’s address continued behind them.

“Buy now while the price is low! We are mere days away from selling the formula to a large pharmaceutical firm!”

Jack used his tall frame to shield Benny from the view of the audience and gazed into the officer’s eyes.

“Now, I want you to concentrate on my words.” As was standard procedure at every show, Napier utilized carefully cultivated abilities to hypnotize his volunteer of the evening. With some shadow in which to work, his trusty (fake) gold watch, and his dupe’s undivided attention, he had the whole process down to just under a minute.

“You are uncommonly athletic,” Napier intoned, passing a hand before Benny’s face. “You have the ability – and the desire – to leap around acrobatically. You will do so immediately after consuming the contents of that flask.”

Upon witnessing the event’s decrepit volunteer suddenly prancing around the stage, the crowd would invariably surge forward, demanding to be sold several bottles of the stuff. In reality, the wonder potion (Ffogg gave it a different name at every show) was merely sugar water to which he’d added carbon dioxide and a pinch of copper sulfate.

The fleeing Doctor Shivel reached the edge of the field, only to find several sailors guarding the exit. They instantly spotted the Nazi’s clumsy attempt to blend back in the crowd and gave chase.

Barbara’s relief at avoiding detection was fleeting. She could see Shivel had little chance of making it out of the clearing in one piece. While he likely deserved whatever punishment was forthcoming, she couldn’t help recall the list of individuals due for hibernation the following day. Not only was Shivel amongst them, he was supposed to be the architect of the whole affair. Barbara had zero chance of squaring history if Buchero got his hands on the mad scientist.

A desperate plan occurred to her, but one that risked revealing her presence. She squared her shoulders and stepped out into the open.

“Boy, you’ve got that sap completely hypnotized!” she called out at the top of her lungs.

Buchero’s men came to a halt. Napier stiffened as if he’d been struck by lightning. He looked around, wondering which victim from his past had suddenly resurfaced. By turning and backing away, he revealed Buchero slack-jawed features to the audience.

“Commander?” Peevish called out, squinting up at the unlit section of the stage. “Benny?” As if in a stupor, Buchero just stared blankly.

Peevish placed two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Like attack dogs, the sailors whirled in his direction.

“Those two are scam artists!” Peevish yelled, pointing up at Ffogg and Napier. “They’ve got the Commander under a spell! Sailors, attack!”

Innocent audience members found themselves bowled over as servicemen surged towards the stage. Shivel watched as even the pair guarding the exit vacated their post to avenge their superior. He wasted no time in getting while the getting was good.

Ffogg and Napier exchanged unhappy expressions, as a wave of blue figures converged on them. Ffogg tried to reason with the first sailor up on the stage, but a set of knuckles split his lip before an excuse came to mind.

Napier had no hesitation in kicking the first Navy face he saw coming over the edge of the parapet, but within seconds, he, too, was surrounded. The two charlatans were beaten and kicked, to the confusion of the audience.

By the time Peevish had arrived on stage, two distinct piles of thrashing limbs had developed, a swindler at the bottom of each. Peevish ordered his men to, “see what’s in these scoundrels’ pockets.”

Ffogg and Napier were yanked to their feet and held as their jackets were practically ripped to shreds. One sailor presented a wad constituting the combined contents of the swindlers’ pockets. Peevish went through it, tossing aside one useless item after another.

“This is absurd! Release us at once!” Ffogg demanded.

“Go ahead and break a few limbs, boys,” Peevish said, not looking up from the pair’s possessions. The elixir salesmen found themselves subjected to more punches and kicks from every direction.

Peevish snapped his fingers under Buchero’s nose. The big man blinked several times before managing to focus on Peevish.

Spotting the crouched and pummeled figures, Buchero became alert again. “You got him? That’s Shivel?”

The seamen all paused, suddenly aware their victims weren’t Buchero’s specified targets.

Peevish slid his cap back to scratch his bald head. “Uh, he got away, Butcher . . . but we got these two hyenas that was about to swindle ya’!”

“Shivel was right over there!!” Benny shrieked. “What were you thinking?!”

Sensing a chance to save his neck, Napier hurled himself forward. The remnants of his jacket shredded and remained behind in the grasp of three flummoxed seamen. Jack lowered his head and stampeded towards the wall of bodies between him and the audience. The torso he randomly plowed into happened to belong to Marmaduke Ffogg. The Englishman was propelled backwards with Napier to the edge – and off – the stage.

Buchero’s follow-up question froze his men like deers in the headlights. “Well, where’s Funacello? You did get her, right?” The sailors could only look at each other and shrug.

Bloodied and bruised, Ffogg and Napier pulled themselves up, to find their customer base deteriorated into a panicked mob. Now concerned with more imminent harm than halitosis, the spectators were running into each other in their haste to find a way out. The two swindlers crouched and let themselves get carried along with the crowd movement towards the exit.

Peevish came across one page he’d discarded on the floor. “Wait a minute, Commander. I think I just figured out where we can find your Nazi,” he said, waving the document under Buchero’s nose.

The photograph’s blank side was filled with oddly-flourished handwriting. The verbiage began with the name “Otold Shivel,” and concluded with directions that would lead one to an underground carnival ride.

Buchero looked at Peevish and his crocodile grin returned.

Thursday, September 1st

The sun rose again over the humming, bustling city. The first morning of the new month found Batgirl crouched in a long alley, the length of which was plastered with faded placards in Japanese. She peered over at the entrance to the fairgrounds. This was the day the skirmish was scheduled to go down: Shivel’s life-altering accident and the long-term immobilization of a few of Gotham City’s most influential figures.

She’d changed into her Batgirl outfit, anticipating action might be required, which would be hard to accomplish in evening wear. Since neither Batgirl, nor Barbara Gordon, could afford to be seen by the Caped Crusaders, she grabbed a discarded, young girl’s blue rain slicker and wore it as a second cape and head covering. She planned to stay out of sight and pray events played out close enough to match the existing historical record.

She had delivered a forged letter to the Wizard’s henchmen, Neal, ostensibly offering a large monetary reward if the Original Wizard would show up to work on the brain, hoping that would be enough to entice the two.

Captain Hermann found Colonel Klink listening to the radio in their hideout’s drafty conference room.

“The Doctor is with the brain in the basement,” Hermann reported. “He left strict orders not to be disturbed until Marmaduke Ffogg arrives.” Klink nodded, obviously paying more attention to the radio.

“We interrupt this program to bring you an important news bulletin from Barry Brown,” an announcer’s voice echoed off the walls.

The following voice conveyed an urgent tone. “This is for the attention of the authorities. They are wrong in thinking the Wizard is dead. He is very much alive.”

“Why are you always listening to the American radio?” Hermann asked.

“You see,” Klink answered, wagging a finger, “this is why you will never attain my level of achievement, Hermann. To defeat one’s enemy, one must know his enemy.”

A buzzer sounded, declaring the arrival of someone outside their cave-door secret entrance. The former owner had equipped his subordinates with palm implants that could be read from within the conference room. The new Nazi tenants, though, had no high-tech method to determine visitors’ identities.

“I will reconnoiter the tunnel, discover who it is, and report back,” said Hermann.

“Nonsense,” declared Klink. “It is obviously the Englishman we are expecting. Were it an enemy out there, the statue guard would deal with them, yes?”

Marmaduke Ffogg lay in a large, lumpy bed five miles away, with Jack Napier beside him. In dire need of discrete recuperation, the pair had used their remaining funds to bribe an old acquaintance to take them in. The man, a rough and tumble sort named Hay Maker, fancied himself knowledgeable in medicine. Their wounds received makeshift dressings at the hands of Maker’s daughter, Mary. The blonde girl spoon-fed the two doses of a foul concoction Maker was convinced would mend contusions.

The big, brown radio sitting on the dresser was also tuned to Barry Brown’s broadcast. “. . . must be taken with the utmost seriousness. The Wizard is a desperate criminal who has the ability to make himself invisible.” At this bit of information, Ffogg and Napier glanced at each other with interest.

There was a dramatic pause before the report continued. “And now . . . at great risk to myself . . . I am about to reveal the Wizard’s true identity. He is–urkkk!” Brown could be heard choking, as if someone invisible had walked up from behind and throttled him.

Ffogg stared at the radio as it broadcast an unintelligible series of gasps and gargles before going silent. “Poor chap must’ve allowed members of the U.S. Navy in his studio audience,” he observed.

Beside him, Napier groaned. “Would you knock off the jokes?”

Ffogg’s eyebrows rose. “Why so serious?”

“And quit saying that!” Napier snapped. “I’m not exactly shedding tears over this partnership dissolving early. I don’t know what possessed me to go along with this scheme in the first place!”

“Come, now. We both share an acute affection for misdirection, an abiding interest in chemical mischief. We are, as they say, two peas in a pod.”

Napier bitterly tugged on his bed covers. “We were this close to getting a cut of the action on Hitler’s brain.”

“To which you were opposed.”

“You’ve since convinced me of the brain’s potential. Besides, I didn’t know the hideout would be at the fairgrounds.”

“Why is that relevant?”

“I never pass up a chance to hang around a carnival . . . but now, instead of being part of a world-class mob, we’re stuck in an old bed together – beaten up and penniless.”

“We might well be dead, if not for your quick thinking last night, old boy. I daresay I’m in your debt.”

Napier blinked, realizing Ffogg thought he’d intentionally come to his rescue. “Well, keep that in mind if this legendary brain ever falls in your lap. I’ll still be interested.”

“You have my word,” Ffogg assured him. He studied his colleague’s bruised countenance. “Feeling ready to shave that mustache and dye your hair now?”

Napier scoffed. “Not likely . . . but there’s no chance I’ll be risking any more public appearances with this name. Assuming I stick to a legally-dubious career path, maybe I’ll have to start wearing a red hood or something.”

At Doctor Shivel’s hideout, the mystery guest had turned out to be, not Marmaduke Ffogg, but a balding man in a Nazi uniform.

“Commander Heimlich!” exclaimed Colonel Klink. “How ever did you find us?”

“I have stayed in close contact with Berlin, of course. They advised I seek you out here.”

Klink handed a glass of sherry to the visitor. “I am so relieved you managed to avoid the American authorities!”

Peevish grinned agreeably as he accepted the drink. “Danke. Your shelter is most impressive, Colonel, considering your brief occupancy. How did you construct these intricate mechanisms so quickly?”

Klink pressed a hidden button underneath the table, causing the rock door to briefly open and close. “Most of them, such as this secret entrance, were left behind by the previous owner. The man was a Tokyo spy, imbedded in Gotham City at the height of the war.”

Peevish tugged at the tight collar of the captured German uniform. “Doctor Shivel is well? I am anxious to see him.”

Klink clapped his hands together. “Unfortunately, he is currently occupied below with a secret project of utmost importance.”

Peevish nodded slowly. “Ahhh, the brain of Hitler! Then it is here? I must see it for myself.”

Again, Klink gave his closed-eyes smile. “Well, the doctor will be elated to see you, but for now we mustn’t . . . .”

Peevish’s smile disappeared and he took a step closer to Klink. “Colonel, you do not really believe I need ask you for permission?”

Klink carefully weighed whether he would endure greater wrath from the SS commander or Doctor Shivel, and decided it was high time to try and pass the buck. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go order Captain Hermann to check with Doctor Shivel and report back to you.”

As soon as Klink had hurried from the room, leaving him alone, Peevish dug a slim walkie-talkie from his snug Nazi jacket. “Commander Buchero, come in.”

His commander dispensed with formalities. “You in, Peevish? Did those directions pan out?”

“Yes, sir. Send the men into the tunnel of terrors and have them positioned at the caveman wax figure in five minutes.”

“Got it. Buchero out.”

For the seventeenth time that day, Batgirl checked her watch. It was now 10:50 a.m. – just over an hour before the bizarre hibernation was due to commence.

She’d phoned Picture Magazine, with a concocted story designed to entice Vicki Vale to the fairgrounds. The subterfuge wasn’t needed; Vale wasn’t at her office. In what she assumed was another encouraging sign, the phone went unanswered at stately Wayne Manor.

The noise of a lone motor gradually became audible and a Mercury sedan rolled into view. Vicki Vale, followed less eagerly by Alfred Pennyworth, alighted from the vehicle.

Batgirl stifled a cheer as she saw the pair make their way towards the fairgrounds. She quickly checked her list. With the Vale/Pennyworth team accounted for, and the Nazis presumably already in place under ground, she was only lacking the Wizard, his henchman, and the Dynamic Duo.

She spotted a figure creeping from the mouth of an alley farther down the street. The woman took quick strides in the direction of the fairgrounds. Although several hundred feet separated them, Batgirl could discern that the stranger’s garb was out of place for the late 1940’s. The cut and color of the material didn’t seem to suit 1960’s sensibilities, either.

She jumped at the sound of boot soles slapping pavement nearby. A team of five Navy men, armed to the teeth, were pouring from the back of a truck and into the street.

Barbara’s jaw dropped in dismay. “Benny Buchero! Oh, not now!”

Vicki and Alfred came to a stop and watched as Benny bellowed orders at his men. He pointed towards the fairgrounds and his sailors charged off, guns at the ready. Not wishing to interfere in an official military operation, Vicki and Alfred hung back to see what would transpire. The mysterious woman, on the other hand, waited only until the uniformed group had rushed past, then sprinted after as fast as her high heels would allow.

“Elizabeth Shaw! It must be!” Batgirl said. She quickly checked her list of names, trying to figure how the just-elapsed thirty seconds might conceivably square with history and the specific roster it required.

Paying no mind to the protesting carnival barker, the five servicemen raced up onto the platform and vaulted over the turnstile. Eschewing the track-mounted carts, they barreled on foot down into the underground chamber of horrors. The noise of ten boot soles smacking the train tracks echoed through the narrow, murky corridor. They passed one grisly wax display after another, until they came upon the caveman statue for which they’d been instructed to watch.

They found the statue surprisingly animated. “Rauugh!” bellowed the half-naked figure. The brawny caveman raised his heavy club and rushed at the invaders.

>CRACK!< went a rifle report. The big sentry fell, a bullet in his leg.

Inside the council chamber, Doctor Shivel had just presented himself to the insistent “Commandant Heimlich.” Klink had gotten Shivel’s consent, grudgingly, to bring along the infamous brain of Hitler as a badge of German perseverance.

Upon first laying eyes on their visitor, however, Shivel had instinctive doubts about the fellow. These worries were confirmed when, at the sound of gunshots outside, the man turned and reached for the hidden button underneath the table. Shivel leapt across the room at him, but was too late to prevent Peevish from activating the rock door. The wall swung open, revealing armed American troops on the other side. A second too late, Shivel slammed into Peevish, sending the first mate toppling to the hard floor.

“Come to me, shwein,” Shivel hissed, glowering at the young Americans.

Guns at the ready, they strode determinedly towards the man who’d just body-checked their superior. Shivel’s thin lips spread in a grim smile as he allowed the entire group to breach the chamber’s interior. He punched a second button beneath the table – and the floor dropped away beneath his enemies!

All five plummeted beneath the trap door, their rifles clattering off a hard stone surface below. The alligators once concealed in the pit were long gone, but the seven-foot drop was still sufficient to stun even the sturdiest of men.

Doctor Shivel chuckled. He was tired of running from these inferior Americans, and now he was going to provide a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget. He dragged a heavy metal urn from the corner of the room and unscrewed its wide circular top. Giving it a wide berth, he allowed it to slam to the floor, unleashing a sudden splash of a purple fluid onto the floor. Hissing liquid gushed out of the rocking urn in waves, each one sending the trail farther across the floor towards the trap door.

Batgirl reached the doorway to see the lethal stream developing, and gleaned its intended destination from groans echoing up from the pit. She raced over to what was once a bright red Asian wall-hanging and ripped the tapestry from its perch. Gathering the dusty material in her arms, she took a running start. She vaulted over the chasm, lifting her knees up to her stomach, and threw the tapestry before her. The thick material landed on the bubbling, purple stream, followed a split second later by her boots. Her body straightened out as her heels hit the wadded mass of material, the two combining to form a giant mop. In one skidding motion, she swept the deadly potion back up to its source. She somersaulted over the spinning urn before the acid could eat into her boot heels the way it was devouring the tapestry.

She was confronted by a trio of Nazis. Fortunately for her, one of them was occupied protecting the precious brain of Hitler, and the second was taking a swing at the third. Peevish had picked himself up and let Doctor Shivel have it, right on the mouth.

Batgirl performed some quick calculations. The Dynamic Duo were presumably well on their way here. Vicki Vale’s desire for a scoop was bound to bring her and Alfred along very soon. She had no idea about the Wizard’s plans, but Lord Ffogg’s absence was a good sign in that regard.

All her plans started to fall apart as Benny the Butcher vaulted the chasm behind her. A rough elbow (his considerable weight behind it) descended on her neck. The blow laid her out flat on the cold floor.

Buchero’s boot lifted high, poised directly over her disoriented skull. Pausing in his moment of triumph, Benny found himself distracted by a tantalizing sight. Colonel Klink, one hand clutching the jar of bobbing brain matter, the other futilely attempting to reach the revolver wedged under his armpit, was backing away.

Bypassing the pair of dueling, bald Nazis, Buchero quickly overtook the fleeing commandant. It only took one punch from Benny’s meaty fist to send Klink down for the count. Petrified with fear, his fingers wedged a grip on the sloshing container that outlasted his alertness.

Shaking her woozy head, Batgirl lifted herself from the floor. She saw Buchero bending over the precious container, as his deep voice chuckled, “Come to Pappa.”

MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE IN THE CORRIDOR . . .

Through the twisting chamber of horrors raced two perfectly erect figures, their identities concealed under colorfully-contrasted costumes. Their steps fell in perfect unison, their churning broad shoulders oblivious to the long capes flapping in their wake.

The shorter of the two glanced over at another wax depiction of atrocity. “Gosh, Batman, you don’t think it could be Doctor Daka up to his old tricks?”

“No, Robin,” replied his mentor. “That’s one rat we shouldn’t have to worry about further . . . but the person behind this brain business spells trouble, that’s for sure.”

“Look!” Robin cried out, pointing as energetically as the best of Irish Setters. “There’s an secret entrance hidden in the wall!”

The Dynamic Duo leaped into the room and stopped dead in their tracks. A perplexing scene greeted them. Sailors were fighting Nazis. Nazis were fighting Nazis. Sailors were fighting a costumed, purple woman. A wounded caveman lay at their feet.

Batman’s sweeping gesture encompassed the entire room. “The jig is up, hostile foreign forces!”

A slim woman appeared unexpectedly from behind him and darted around him into the chamber. In from the opposite doorway rushed Captain Hermann and a Nazi soldier.

“Destroy them!” Shivel ordered his subordinates. Wielding a chair like a baseball bat, he sent Peevish reeling with a wicked swing. The two junior officers leapt at Batman and Robin.

The brawl was on! Blows were exchanged, henchmen were tossed, furniture was devalued.

Benny swung wildly at the revived Batgirl, his fists whistling over her darting cowl. He wasn’t prepared for her high kick to his chin, and apparently too slow anticipate the second, third and fourth ones, either. The strikes left his angry puss snapping around like a bobble head. With a final jolting sidekick, she sent the crooked commander sailing into the wall.

Robin tagged Captain Hermann hard on the jaw. “Say hi to Max Schmeling for me, herr goose-stepper!”

He turned to see Peevish rising up behind Batman. “Try this boot on for size, Commandant Nickelgruber!” the plucky lad said, imbedding his foot in Peevish’s posterior with sufficient force to send the disguised Yankee somersaulting.

Batgirl saw Doctor Shivel pulling an exotic piece of weaponry from a long box in the corner. ‘The Freeze Gun prototype! But he’s about to use it on the wrong lineup!’

She raced forward and attempted to snatch it from his grasp. The two squared off in a tug-of-war, so intent on the weapon that neither noticed Captain Hermann tumbling by, courtesy of a Bat-uppercut. Batgirl managed to duck and spin around, putting her back against Shivel. Thrusting upward and forward, she pulled the doctor off his feet and hurled him over her shoulders.

Shivel’s grip proved more tenacious than his wrestling talents. When he came crashing to the floor, it was still with the prototype in hand. A malevolent grin spread over his brutish face as he rose, leveling the weapon.

“Such excitable children chust need to cool down,” he said, his finger locating the trigger.

A blue boot kicked the weapon askew.

“Not today, friend,” Batman vowed. “As you should know already, attacks against this great nation never prove fruitful!”

As Batman delivered the lecture, though, the wily foreigner snatched a beaker from a table.

“Something for your luffhly complexion, mein liebchin.” He hurled it at Batgirl. She whacked the container away, but a trail of droplets splashed her cheek. She felt the side of her face going numb.

Batman’s sock to the jaw sent the mad scientist back-pedaling across the room into a rack of beakers. Shivel managed to avoid falling over backward onto the glass tubes, but the rocking shelf tipped forward and dumped its chemical contents on him, anyway. A weird, orange stain spread over the back of his jacket.

“Not Formula X!” he howled, experiencing a burning sensation he knew would spread over his entire body. He felt his heart clutched by the icy fingers of fear. Concerned for the wretched saboteur’s fate, Batman knelt over the fallen doctor and pulled a Bat-tranquilizer from his utility belt.

Batgirl patted her numb jaw and reflected on the inescapable conclusion that events hadn’t gone according to history. Save for a repeat of Shivel’s accident, this critical temporal juncture was a shambles.

Another worrisome thought struck her and she looked over to her left. Klink still lay fallen on his back, but Hitler’s brain was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Elizabeth Shaw.

She raced for the exit. Batman turned from the fallen scientist, calling out, “Hold on, Miss!”, but she kept going. She knew if she stopped to explain, she’d still be answering questions an hour later.

Batgirl estimated Shaw’s lead to be surmountable. She was banking on the long length of the tunnel, the added weight of Shaw’s prize, and their comparative fitness as all working in her favor, which proved correct. The farther she ran, the louder the sound of Shaw’s footfalls became.

Then the footfalls stopped. With her quarry not yet in sight, Batgirl maintained an urgent pace around one twisting corner after another.

She was zipping past a wax depiction of atrocity when Shaw leaped out from behind a fake Japanese solder. Brandishing the soldier’s rifle over her head, Shaw plunged the blade of the bayonet into Batgirl’s side!

Unfortunately for her, the bayonet was a rubber replica and did Batgirl no harm.

“For God’s sake, why are you chasing me? I’m a kidnap victim!” Shaw protested, stabbing away repeatedly.

Batgirl knocked the rifle from her hands. “Then why try to murder me?”

“Because you were chasing me!” she replied, tackling Batgirl and trying to dig her fingernails into the eye holes of the cowl.

The Dominoed Daredoll twisted to avoid the jabs and rolled back to face Shaw, backhanding her as she did. “Don’t play Miss Innocent. I know you’ve just made off with the brain.”

Thrown from her foe, Shaw scrabbled over to where the jar of brain lay behind the wax display.

“Come any closer, and I’ll smash this open!” she threatened, raising the container high over her head.

Without hesitation, Batgirl strode towards the doctor. “Thanks to you, history is already scrambled beyond repair. Here, I’ll help you destroy the thing.”

Shaw’s eyes widened and she backed up. “No, are you insane? We can still fix history! I’ve been trying to repair the timeline!” Her back brushed up against the rock wall. “All right, I’m going to level with you. Ever since I’ve started this endeavor, it’s been as mad as a box of frogs, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Grant me immunity and I’ll do everything in my considerable ability to square history and return us to our correct time!”

Batgirl came to a halt in front of the doctor and mulled over her options. She didn’t trust Shaw at all, but was ready to admit she had no hope of jumpstarting the proper sequence of events by herself. “Besides this brain theft and assault on me, what other laws have you broken in this time period?”

“None!” Shaw insisted. “I’ve spent the whole bloody time locked in a cage or lost in the woods!”

Batgirl rubbed her chin. “Welllll, if what you say proves true, and we’re able to repair the correct history and get back to our own time, I won’t press any charges.” She didn’t mention that showing up in Shaw’s time period to get her prosecuted would only further deteriorate the timeline, anyway.

Shaw finally lowered the jar. “Very well. Deal.”

Batgirl took the brain away. “Don’t get your hopes up of keeping this.”

Shaw scrutinized what was visible of Batgirl’s face. “You don’t look well. Have you been vomiting?”

“No.” By now, the numbing sensation in her cheek had ceased.

“Well, you’ve a dreadful pallor.”

They heard footsteps rapidly approaching. “We’d better make ourselves scarce, or this could get even trickier,” Shaw suggested.

Batgirl nodded and set the brain-jar down. The two took off. The voice of Robin the Boy Wonder reached them from far back in the tunnel.

“Stop! In the name of the law!”

“Don’t worry!” she called back, not bothering to slow. “I’m a crimefighter, like you!”

“Who are you?” he hollered.

After a thoughtful pause, she blurted out, “Violet Canary!”

“Who?” the boy wailed, hopelessly confused. He turned to see Captain Hermann and Colonel Klink emerge from the cave door and take off in the opposite direction down the tunnel. He hesitated, torn on who to chase after.

As the two women reached the ride entrance and daylight, Batgirl passed a list of names to Elizabeth.

“This is the exact lineup that was supposed to be getting refrigerated in there right about now. We’ll have to figure some way to gather them all in one spot and recreate it.”

“Leave that to me,” Shaw replied.

A second exit out of the chamber of horrors was available to those who knew where to look, and Wilhelm Klink made it his business to know. Once up on street level, his Nazi uniform began to feel like a target painted on his forehead, though. He and Captain Hermann searched out some back-alley garbage cans and began digging through them with some urgency.

Klink shook his head as he searched through refuse. “Hermann! Why couldn’t you have stashed additional clothing outside the attraction, for just such an emergency?”

They both jumped as, behind them, someone called out “Heil Hitler!” One right after the other, they jerked up straight, only to be bashed on the head.

>BONG!< >CLONG!<

As the vile pair slumped forward, Batgirl discarded the metal pipe she’d found lying near the trash cans. Plucking each man from a receptacle, she heaved one after the other into the back of a military truck that had just pulled up. Batgirl went around to the passenger side and hauled herself into the cab.

“Told you I could hot-wire it!” Elizabeth Shaw boasted. She tromped on the gas and Benny the Butcher’s borrowed truck rumbled down the alley.

Before the sun had set, Batman and Robin had stormed the Wizard’s lair and seized control of it. At the end of his rope, deprived of access to his invisibility machines, the Wizard made a last ditch bid for freedom. Changing into his butler guise, he forced Professor Hamill to falsely confess at gunpoint. Even though the plot would have collapsed as soon as Hamill was out of his sight, the Dynamic Duo were already suspicious to find a supposedly-dead butler in conversation with the professor.

“I think you can lock this one up and throw away the key,” Batman advised Patrolman O’Hara, depositing the handcuffed Wizard next to henchman Neal in the back of the police car.

“Roight away!” the rookie said, tipping his hat and driving off.

O’Hara shook his head in wonder. “That was the Batman himself!” he reported to his unenthusiastic prisoners, “and I believe you’re the first super-villain I’ve had in me car! What an entry this will be for the ol’ journal! I’m keeping a log of observations from my first year on the beat. An officer I was in the war, but you start at the bottom again when you join the force.” The Wizard groaned and resigned himself to a long car ride.

“Attention all cars!” the car radio blared. “Be on the lookout for Otold Shivel, injured Axis spy, along with possible female accomplice of British extraction. The woman presented herself at Gotham City General, claiming to be a chemical burn specialist. Under pretext of protecting burn-victim Shivel from contamination, suspect persuaded hospital staff to vacate the room. She then smuggled the unconscious Nazi from the hospital.”

O’Hara was just considering what role he could play when a scream wafted in through the open car window. “Mother McCree!” he exclaimed. “Someone’s in trouble!”

He saw two female legs kicking desperately as their gown-clad owner was dragged out of sight. O’Hara hit the brakes and leapt from the car. Pulling his sidearm, he hustled over to the edge of the woods into which the victim had just been sucked.

A figure crept quickly out from the other side of the road. Crouching low, it tiptoed to the vehicle and assumed O’Hara’s place in the driver’s seat. The Wizard at first thought it was a second policeman, but closer scrutiny revealed the imposter was merely garbed in a dark jacket and cap. The car lurched forward, spraying dirt from the back tires. It sped off down the road, leaving a flabbergasted O’Hara in its wake.

With his female victim puzzlingly nowhere to be found, and the Wizard swiped out from under his nose, O’Hara realized his aspirations for a plainclothes assignment might take longer than he hoped.

Inside the bouncing vehicle, Neal asked the Wizard excitedly, “You had this all planned, boss?”

The cap came off, and long hair cascaded down around its owner’s shoulders. “Where to, Guv’nor?” Doctor Shaw turned around briefly and flashed a triumphant grin at her dismayed passengers.

A long, stunned silence followed. Then triumphant laughter roared from the dark hood.

“Afraid you’re a little too late to hop in your time machine, Lizzy. Come midnight, every last piece of equipment from my lair, including your machine, will have been hauled away by the police. I hope you’re enjoying your stay here, because the only way you’ll bid the 1940’s goodbye is when January 1st, 1950 rolls around!”

The Dynamic Duo met up with Vicki Vale at Police Headquarters. In celebration of the Wizard’s arrest, they offered to take her out to dinner.

Batman managed to dissuade Vicki from the notion he was Bruce Wayne through a ruse so brilliant and hilarious that written description cannot adequately convey its genius. The ploy required innovative use of a record player, Alfred the butler, and a recording of Bruce Wayne’s voice.

Vicki had only moments before set the receiver down upon its successful completion, when the phone rang again. She picked it up, but was immediately interrupted.

“Help me– help me–” pleaded Bruce Wayne’s voice. “Help me con–”

“Bruce?” Vicki said. “Help you what?”

Unbeknownst to Vicki, it was Elizabeth Shaw at the other end of the line, appropriating the record technique Alfred Pennyworth had used moments before. Accompanied by a handy list she and Batgirl had hurriedly poured over, the album contained the ninety-nine most common Bruce Wayne alibi phrases. Phrase # 9 – “Help me conceal my affair with Betty Grable, the married move star” - was repeatedly being played and, two words in, interrupted.

“Help me . . . ” the voice urged.

The line went dead. Vicki turned to Batman. “That was Bruce again. He just kept asking for help. I’m afraid something terrible has happened.”

“Let’s go!” Robin exclaimed, jumping from his seat.

Vicki grabbed her camera from the desk. “I’m going, too.”

Batman held the door open for the girl journalist, but whispered to his sidekick as he passed. “Something must have happened to Alfred. He’s signaling us the only way he can.”

In the large, spartan living room of stately Wayne Manor, Batgirl patted the fallen Alfred’s brow. “You didn’t have to knock him out.”

“Serves him right, the snake. His role for that two-timer Wayne is just to keep all of Bruce’s girlfriends from finding out about each other. Give me a hand, and let’s cart the ol’ bugger out of here.”

Minutes later, they were depositing the unconscious butler next to the handcuffed Carter in the back of the police vehicle. Batgirl felt terribly guilty for turning on the people who would one day be her most trusted allies. First, she’d suckered O’Hara into coming to her aid, and then helped ambush this era’s Alfred Pennyworth. She’d shed the gown she wore to fool O’Hara and again donned the jury-rigged Batgirl crimefighting costume.

She turned to Shaw. “You drive the police car; I’ll drive the Nazis over in Buchero’s truck; and we’ll rendezvous at Professor Hamill’s estate.”

Racing to Alfred’s rescue, Batman’s Mercury sedan roared down the highway. Its occupants listened to police reports of the Wizard and Shivel escapes with mounting concern. Just as they were turning the corner that placed them in view of stately Wayne Manor’s driveway, a police car peeled off from where it had sat idling curbside.

“The Wizard’s in that car! So is Alfred!” Vicki called out, pointing wildly. Before she’d finished the statement, a military transport went tearing by, almost colliding with the Mercury in the process.

“And that one’s being driven by the Violent Canary!” Robin exclaimed.

“Hold for Bat-turn,” Batman warned. The sedan came to a complete stop, turned and backed up a little, moved forward a little, turned and backed up some more, then took off in pursuit of the stolen police vehicle.

“Got to work on that,” Batman noted to Robin.

Even with their lead, the pilfered official vehicles were easy to spot in traffic. The tires of the truck briefly left pavement as Batgirl crested a hill at top speed. She had to fight to maintain control as they slammed back to terra firma. She twisted around to make sure the maneuver hadn’t dumped Shivel from his gurney onto the hogtied Colonel Klink.

There followed a blinding flash of light and she found herself seated next to a glowing woman with a staff. Sailor Pluto looked around. “I doubt this plan will work, but I congratulate you on the unorthodox approach.”

A flustered Batgirl gave a toss of her head, indicating the rearview mirror. “As you can see, Vicki brought along the Caped Crusaders.” She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

“Oh, my gosh! Do I look . . . green to you?”

“You look fine,” Pluto assured her, sparing a cursory glance.

The roar of Batman’s car grew louder. Batgirl clung to the wheel, guiding the truck through a high-speed turn. “I don’t suppose you have any way to hold the Caped Crusaders at bay?” she hinted. The Mercury Coupe was rapidly whittling away their lead.

“I fear not.” Pluto said. She turned and stared pointedly at Batgirl’s altered costume. “I see you failed to heed my advice.”

Batgirl swerved to avoid hitting a jaywalker in the middle of the street. She jerked the vehicle back on to its original path. “Batman shouldn’t encounter either one of my identities for years, so civilian guise isn't any safer. Besides, why are you so concerned about the crimefighting costume now, after you didn’t say a peep when Batgirl was wandering around in the future?”

Pluto scratched her noggin with her staff. "If you must know, what happened in that 2010 made no difference. That entire timeline was a complete aberration.”

Batgirl had to remind herself to keep her eyes on the road. "You must be kidding!"

Like some mechanized wolverine snapping at their heels, the coupe surged forward and bumped the truck from behind. The women felt themselves first thrown forward then slammed back in their seats as the truck hopped wildly for several harrowing seconds.

Pluto resumed their conversation as Batgirl clung desperately to the wheel. "That timeline did not even exist before Doctor Shaw traveled to this era, followed by a visit to the 1960’s. When Lord Ffogg opted to auction Hitler’s brain instead of giving it to the Joker, a future came into being that contained no Deep Freeze."

In her side mirror, Batgirl saw Batman’s car sweep out from behind the truck and attempt to pull alongside. She tried to divide her attention between the view of her pursuit and Pluto’s continuing explanation. "Now that Gotham City’s hibernation should occur on schedule, all Gothamites will be considerably younger when the true 2010 rolls around."

"But...when you needed a volunteer to set everything straight, you went to the incorrect version of the future! Why go to a future that isn’t meant to be and send someone there back through time?" The front bumpers of the two vehicles were now see-sawing back and forth for the lead.

Pluto tamped her staff on the floormat. "Because that version of history had a time machine and the correct future did not. Access to a time machine was critical to achieving any temporal correction."

Liz Shaw’s police unit had maintained a several-block gap between the military transport and coupe up until now, but a fatal misstep erased her lead. Forgetting to turn left until she was already barreling through the intersection, she spun the wheel wildly. Tires squealed, the back end of the cruiser sliding out of control. By the time she’d braked her backwards skid and regained some forward momentum, Batman’s car had a bead on her.

Side-swiping the truck for some needed ballast, the Mercury Coupe careened off the military vehicle and vaulted through the intersection. It plowed into the front end of the police car before the cruiser had developed a new head of steam. The Coupe, the cruiser and the truck all collided and skidded for a good thirty yards. As one big squealing group, they slid to a bumpy halt on top of Professor Hamill’s mail box.

Batgirl, Shaw, Vicki, Pluto and the Dynamic Duo jumped from their smoking vehicles.

Batman held high a warning palm. “As I surmised, you kidnappers headed straight for the Wizard’s hideout . . . and you almost reached your destination.”

“Almost!” Robin underscored.

Showing her empty hands, Pluto stepped forward. “Caped Crusaders, I summon your assistance. The intended course of history demands you today begin a sixteen-year period of inanimate, cryogenic suspension. I am charged with ensuring the sequence of events does not stray from what should be.”

Robin’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “What should be!? You call being frozen like a block of ice for a decade and a half–”

“Preferable, though, to being dead,” she added.

“. . . the way things should be?!”

“It is not my place to pass judgment on the timeline – merely to ensure that what happened stays what happened.”

“That cockamamie yarn wouldn’t fly coming from the lips of J. Edgar Hoover, let alone the Violent Canary and–!”

“Violet Canary,” Batgirl corrected.

“’Violet?’ But you’re completely green!”

Batgirl looked at Shaw, who seemed to take great pleasure in confirming the news. The hue visible on Batgirl’s face had indeed darkened to a deep green.

“I hope this washes out,” Batgirl muttered, wishing Shivel was conscious to explain with what he’d splashed her.

Pluto addressed Batman directly. “You must believe me. For the time being, you are meant to disappear from historical record. It is imperative you accompany me to a time machine.”

For a moment, the World’s Greatest Detective considered this in silence. “Yes. Your words ring true.” He turned to Robin. “I sense I can trust her.”

The decision made, Robin fell in at his mentor’s side. Batman untied the Nazis and connected them to the Wizard and Neal with his trusty Bat-Leg Irons. Batgirl lifted the senseless Alfred up onto her shoulder, using his body as additional camouflage to conceal her visage from the Caped Crusaders. On foot, the group made its way towards Hamill’s estate. The Boy Wonder pushed the heavily sedated Doctor Shivel on one hospital gurney, while Batman did the same for the wounded caveman sentry on another.

Pluto pulled Batman aside. “In the future, you’ll want to avoid discussing today’s events . . .” She shot Doctor Shaw a meaningful glare. “. . . particularly in relation to television interviews.”

“’Television interview?’ I’m not familiar with the term,” Batman said.

“Simply remember to keep this to yourself, except in emergencies.” She spied a policeman standing guard at the entrance to Hamill’s mansion. “What are the chances you could convince the police to let our group examine the dwelling in private?”

“If it’s for the betterment of mankind, ma’am, I expect I can call in a few favors.” The Caped Crime-buster approached the officer at the door.

Pushing aside concerns about her appearance, Batgirl mentally ran down their roster. “So, counting off backwards, Doctor Shaw’s era will be the time machine’s end of the line, I’m dropped off in the late 1960’s, and everyone else gets off in the mid 1960’s?”

Pluto shook her head. “We will not be stopping in the late 1960’s.”

“You need me along to keep an eye on Miss Shaw until the trip is concluded?”

“Not exactly. I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but . . . the timeline from which you come is also illegitimate.”

Batgirl was too shocked to reply, so Pluto continued, “I know how disheartening this must be: going to all this effort to fix the past, never realizing your present wasn’t meant to be.” Suspecting the dazed girl might drop the butler, Pluto helped prop Alfred up between the two.

“You were part of proper history up until your battle with Lord Ffogg. His announcement of the Hitler brain auction is where events jumped off the temporal tracks, so to speak. By the time you and the Caped Crusaders arrived in Londinium, you were already hip-deep in a contaminated time-stream.” Pluto saw the police officer shake Batman’s hand, tip his hat, and vacate the entryway.

As Batman beckoned them over, Pluto elaborated. “You see, the end result of Florence of Arabia’s trip to Londinium was a leftover land mine supply for King Tut. His decision to mine the Wayne property led to the capture of Robin the Boy Wonder, which gave Tut the idea to-”

“Oh, shut up!” Batgirl said, clenching her fist. “Do you really expect me to believe that, out of everyone in this group, I’m the one the 1960’s should do without?”

Pluto stepped inside the mansion’s spacious foyer. “Since you’ll never have existed, I’m afraid your opinion won’t carry much weight. Sorry about that.”

Batgirl took one more stab. “The world needs Batgirl! I’m certain of it!”

“This is true,” said Pluto, “however, the correct timeline will have a Batgirl on duty in the late 1960’s. There will be no gaps in her presence for you to fill. If your timeline were meant to be, then the Wizard’s death yesterday would have had catastrophic repercussions on the future.“

Batgirl gazed off into space, oblivious to the dwelling’s antique furnishings. In the tall-ceilinged living room, they found a man and girl unexpectedly waiting for them. He was dressed in a business suit, she in a loud, colorful mini-skirt.

Batgirl stared intently at the girl. “Aren’t you Mary McGuiness?! I went to school with your older bro–uh, I mean, what are you doing in this time period? You shouldn’t even be born yet.”

Pluto was not amused. “Yes, Calender Man. What are you doing here?”

Calendar Man tilted his head. “Oh, I thought I could be of some help.”

Doctor Shaw dragged the Wizard forward and threatened him with harm unless he guided them to his secret entrance.

Pluto whispered in Batgirl’s ear. “Once we step in the time machine and the Caped Crusaders’ mysterious absence from the 1950’s is recreated, the late 1960’s will play out according to plan, containing one Deep Freeze, one non-time-traveling Batgirl, and one very-much alive Wizard.”

Batgirl gestured around her. “So, none of these events will have happened?”

Pluto tapped her lip. “Not where they concern dealings with Robin Beyond. On the other hand, the last five days cannot be erased and are now permanently part of the 1940’s. So, you see, your expedition has not been without purpose.”

Batgirl pulled off her gloves. Her hand was also green.

Seeing her discomfort, Calendar Man patted her on the shoulder. “Fear not, ma’am. I think I can be of help here. I’ve got just the place for you.”

“If this idea involves me living with the Munsters, you can forget it.”

McGuiness put her hands on her hips. “Hey! Do I bad-mouth your friends?”

The Wizard reluctantly tugged at a wall lamp, causing the secret door to his lair to swing open. He pulled it wide open, revealing Shaw’s large time machine.

“Alll aboard!” Calendar Man called to his less-than-enthusiastic entourage.

Batgirl stepped back and watched the time machine rattle and vanish from sight. “Farewell, Dynamic Duo,” she whispered.

“You should adapt quite well here,” Calendar Man assured her. “From time to time, I come across people who’ve find themselves stuck in a section of history they were never meant to occupy. You’ll find them all here, along with a wide assortment of doppelgangers you may recognize. For instance, there’s an alternate Siren here, from a timeline caused by a 1930’s car wreck that wasn’t to be. She’s already established a substantial presence for herself, so you shouldn’t have to worry about getting bored.”

“Doctor Shaw’s three assistants were marooned in my version of the 1960’s. Do you know if they’re here?”

At his affirmative nod, she continued. “Then that’s one problem already. They know my secret identity.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Everyone gets a completely new identity when they arrive here.”

Noticing she was trying to rub the emerald hue out of her arm, he added. “Don’t worry. Your new skin color will fit in just fine.”

Looking out of place next to the newer models on the road, Bruce Wayne’s dinged-up Mercury Coupe sped down the highway. Steady at the wheel, Alfred Pennyworth listened as Bruce Wayne regaled Dick Grayson with the latest developments.

“Bruce Wayne’s bank accounts have just been collecting interest for the past sixteen years,” he said, folding his hands behind his neck. “Since the crimefighting expenses I set aside came in 100% under budget, we can now easily afford a car that will harness all the technology this decade has to offer.”

“It will be an honor to convey you about in it, sir,” Alfred piped up.

“I hope the house hasn’t been falling apart,” said Dick.

“Your Aunt Harriet took it upon herself to watch over the property for us the entire time. It’s a heck of a risk to our secret identities, but considering all she’s done for us, I don’t see how we can ask her to leave.”

“That’s swell by me,” said Dick. “You’ll like her, Alfred! She’s pretty cute!”

Alfred nodded. “The passage of time has no doubt made her even more beautiful, Master Dick.”

The Mercury passed a large billboard. It once contained an ad for Kellogg’s Crumbles cereal. Now, 437 coats of advertisement later, it described the joys to be had by tuning in to the program Shindig.

“My newspaper clears up that reference to a ‘television interview.’ Apparently, most households now have television sets that receive original programming from across the country.”

Dick’s jaw fell “You mean . . . we can watch a movie from our living room sofa?!”

“Yes, and while the majority of movies in our day were black and white, even low-budgeted television broadcasts in living color.”

“Wow! Living color! That Shindig looks pretty great!”

Bruce consulted his newspaper. “I’m afraid ABC decided to discontinue that program after only a few episodes to try something called a ‘mid-season replacement.’”

“Lame!” Dick declared, folding his arms. “Say, any word on whether current day medicine is able to help Doc Shivel?”

“Mister Freeze?” Colonel Klink said, not believing his ears.

“Yes, sir,” said Captain Hermann. “He now disavows the Nazi cause and says he instead declares war upon Batman.”

Klink scratched his head and looked down the littered street at what was left of the fairgrounds. Fortunately, wearing a Nazi uniform in public was no longer looked upon as treasonous; only evil and somewhat stupid.

“We must turn to other foes of America to make our allies. We may be forced to go our separate ways, Hermann. I realize this must concern you. Having the lower rank, you will naturally make a less desirable candidate–.”

A car horn honked, and they turned to see a thin, spectacled man leaning out the driver-side window of a van.

“Halloo! I am the Bookworm, an up-and-coming criminal genius. I’m attempting to fill a villainous henchman position. The individual would need to be well read and there is some heavy lifting involved.”

Both Klink and Hermann stepped forward and opened their mouths to express interest.

The spectacled man held up a finger to silence them. “Who was the author of The Great Gatsby?”

“F. Scott Fitzgerald,” Hermann answered promptly.

“You’re hired. Get in.” The Bookworm opened the passenger-side door.

“I hope you don’t mind the underworld moniker, ‘Printer’s Devil.’ I’ve already had the sweatshirt made,” Klink heard Bookworm say as the van drove out of sight.

As Sailor Pluto blinked out of sight, Clock King and Elizabeth Shaw looked at each other. She smiled, but his expression was decidedly stern.

“So, Elizabeth,” he said, the tapping of his foot echoing through the P.R.O.B.E. warehouse, “felt the need to do some time-traveling, did we?”

“It would have worked out fine, you know, except for those back-stabbing henchmen. You can be sure I’ll surround myself with more faithful lackeys next time.”

“Well, since it’s time travel you desire, I think a spell in the sixth century might prove beneficial.”

“No! Not the Dark Ages!” Shaw exclaimed, worry lines spreading across her forehead.

“Perhaps you’ll eventually decide you don’t really need Hitler’s brain that badly,” he said, guiding her back towards the time machine.

“Wait!” she pleaded. “The brain! Where on earth did it end up?”

At stately Wayne Manor, Aunt Harriet concluded her task of cutting out Batman newspaper clippings and organizing them in her scrapbook. Alfred helpfully gathered up the excess paper and added it to Mister Wayne’s considerable pile of junk mail. He proceeded to the paper shredder, hooked up to a sizeable grey, metal box.

Harriet got off the sofa and headed for the door with her scrapbooks. “I’ve never understood why we need a separate generator to run a paper shredder.”

Alfred bowed his head. “I’m sure you agree, Mrs. Cooper, we each must do our part to conserve energy.” He poured the paper into the mouth of the shredder, but nothing happened.

Glancing back to make sure Harriet had departed, Alfred picked up a small hammer and banged it on the metal box.

He shook his finger. “Now, Adolf, let’s not have another of your moods. You remember that’s how you would up trying to invade Moldova.”

>RRRMMMM!< The shredder almost seemed to growl back as it bitterly digested the pile of junk mail.

Back to Batgirl Bat-Trap stories

Back to the Batgirl Bat-Trap Homepage!