Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  Originally published by Booktrope All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  eISBN: 9781503991989

  This title was previously published by Booktrope; this version has been reproduced from Booktrope archive files.

  To my lady friend and an old friend

  Even if you did take away my elevator

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE: TALIA

  CHAPTER TWO: ARTHUR

  CHAPTER THREE: THE SUPERVILLAIN AUTHORIZATION COMMITTEE

  CHAPTER FOUR: THE ROOMMATES

  CHAPTER FIVE: JULIA

  CHAPTER SIX: GOOD INTENTIONS

  CHAPTER SEVEN: DOMINO

  CHAPTER EIGHT: PARALLEL

  CHAPTER NINE: BREAKING POINT

  CHAPTER TEN: ESCAPE

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: REPRIEVE

  CHAPTER TWELVE: ASCENSION

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: NORMALITY

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PANOPTIC

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MAFIA

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CORROSION

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ROLLING BLACKOUT

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: LOCKDOWN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: PLANS

  CHAPTER TWENTY: DECISIONS, DECISIONS

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: INFILTRATION

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: CONTAINMENT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: PANDEMONIUM

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: COUNTDOWN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: SINGULARITY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: INTO THE NIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: BRUSH FIRE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: OVERTIME

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: SHATTERED

  CHAPTER THIRTY: PIECES

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: THE HANGED MAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: TEMPERANCE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE WORLD

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: EMPRESS

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: HIEROPHANT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: DEATH

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: THE MAGICIAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: TOWER

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: THE HERMIT

  CHAPTER FORTY: THE FOOL

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: STRENGTH

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: JUDGEMENT

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: NORTHWOODS

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: WHISPERS OF SUMMER

  EPILOGUE

  APPENDICES

  APPENDIX A: CHARACTERS

  APPENDIX B: GLOSSARY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JANUARY 14TH, 1965

  MORNING

  ‘HAPPY 1965!’

  The January air whistled past his limp body. The clear blue sky conspired with the freezing wind ripping into his face to blind him as he barrel-rolled above the mid-morning streets of New York City. The blow had rendered his mind numb, barely cognizant of the cars and fleeing pedestrians below, the towering well of smoke and flame he was ejected from, or the seeming safety he was approaching.

  ‘Happy 1965!’

  There they were again; words pulling at him, trying to yank him from his airborne stupor. Printed words, solid and real. Black, hard lettering on a bright, white banner. A call to focus, to force himself to rally against the dizzying attack that had sent him skyward.

  His body slammed into the wafting streamer, snapping it free of its restraints and instantly wrapping around him. The man’s mind reeled at the sensation of cloth smothering his numbed skin. Even as he fought to pull himself back to reality, he landed with a crunch. Momentum bounced him off the concrete, once, twice, before he rolled to a stop.

  He heard himself breathe, the raspy noise magnified by the banner wrapped around his head. Get up, he demanded, his identity returning after the crash landing. You will not be swatted like a fly, his brain hissed. Body protesting, he fought to push himself onto his stomach before slamming his armored fist into the ground to push himself up.

  The mountain of a man brought himself to one knee, the banner falling to the road as sections tore from the movement of his body. With only a hint of pain, he forced himself to his daunting six-four height. The sunlight glinted off his silver helmet, his face masked behind the metal. A battle-scarred pale chest plate shimmered above his bare mid-section and arms. A shredded blue cape wafted gently in the morning air, terminating where his silver greaves began. The man wobbled as he became aware of the blood thundering in his ears, a side effect of his unplanned flight.

  A few terrified civilian neutrals ran by him, their morning clothes providing no protection from the frosty air as they slipped on the icy streets. A child stopped to stare at him in wonder, eyes flitting over his imposing frame before the earth shuddered. Shrieks of panic erupted from the fleeing crowd before an adult scooped the little one into their arms and disappeared.

  “Arbiter!” he dimly heard a civilian cry out. He turned as a police cruiser rocketed toward him, hit the ground, then went into a spin. The man – the hero – known only as Arbiter, Lord of Justice, sprinted toward the vehicle. He leapt, arms outstretched, and barely skimmed over the top of the hurtling car. His fingers ripped into the metal frame as his momentum carried his body into a somersault, bringing the cruiser over and above him before he slammed it into the ground.

  The sound of metal crunching had barely faded when another car hit the ground and rolled into a heavyset civilian before continuing to a stop a dozen yards farther. Arbiter walked around the automobile he had smashed into the pavement and faced the source of the chaos.

  Sirens flashed as police ineffectively fired their guns into the pluming dust. Several were backing up as they discharged their weapons. Occasionally, someone would dart through the haze, much higher than a human could jump. Others ran in at ground level, heedless of their safety. These figures were ejected erratically, hitting buildings and the road, some stirring afterwards while others lay motionless. With a flash of movement, a giant, gun-grey metal leg – akin to a human’s but distinctly alien – pushed forth from the miasma and crashed down on a cruiser. Arms, equally massive, shot out and gripped the buildings on either side of the avenue. The fingers flexed and dug into the mortar, sending bricks tumbling below. In a swift movement, the buildings’ facades were pulled down, crushing the line of police cruisers. The leg bent low, then propelled the hidden mass upward. Human figures were expelled from the dust and cast off in all directions.

  The thing landed with a terrible crash, splitting the pavement beneath it as tremors rippled through the city. The mechanical creature hunched for a moment before straightening to its full, four-story height. A metal battle suit, larger than anything Arbiter had ever seen before, glinted despite the thick layer of dust and the few humans who had managed to hold on during the jump and landing. Vaguely anthropomorphic in outline, the machine’s back bristled with cannons and antennae while the head whirred and twisted, cameras feeding visual data to whomever was commanding the steel terror. It hunched forward and roared, a cross between metal twisting and a man shrieking. Flames and smoke erupted from the cannons on its back, volleying shells high into the air. The echoes reverberated
into the distance, leaving a ghastly quiet in their wake.

  Arbiter’s arm instinctively shot up to cover his face as the explosives plummeted to the earth behind the beast, razing buildings and shattering the street. The entire battle had lasted for hours, increasing numbers of heroes throwing themselves into the fray as more and more of New York City was leveled in this thing’s wake.

  What does this villain want? The walking tank had appeared out of nowhere in the dawn sun, mere minutes after a thunderous crash had brought down the Statue of Liberty. As onlookers were drawn to the plume of smoke offshore, a metal hand erupted from the water. Within seconds, it pulled itself up as screams were drowned out by a twisting roar. Minutes later, it began a slow march, firing rockets that gutted distant buildings while other armaments and its metal fists tore apart those within its steely reach. Hundreds of the Bestowed, granted abilities beyond other men and women, had been slain in its rampage. Countless neutrals, civilian, military, and police alike, had been slaughtered. Tanks were cast aside, the newest fighter jets blown to cinders by the shoulder-mounted flak-cannons.

  As the shockwave of the mortar strikes dissipated, Arbiter cautiously lowered the arm shielding him from debris. His pulse quickened in panic as he scanned the clouds of powdered structures: up the street, disastrously close to the machine, a teenage girl had run out to the side of a fallen… what looked like a costumed heroine. The girl’s cries, unheeded by the corpse, did not go unnoticed by Arbiter and, to his horror, the behemoth. With a casual motion, it extended an arm toward her. Its hand bent down, and several long shafts of metal extended from where the wrist met its arm.

  The girl looked up and stared. “Move, child!” Arbiter roared, voice hoarse from war cries and shouts to his fellow heroes. She didn’t react, and before Arbiter could move, he saw the first flash from the machine guns. “No!”

  A green burst erupted from behind the slowly-settling cloud of detritus. Even as Arbiter reached to grab the up-ended police cruiser behind him, the emerald blur reached the girl and, without stopping, picked her up and carried her away. As the tracer rounds tore up dead flesh and concrete alike, Arbiter flung the car toward the machine guns, a valiant effort that, made on its own, would have been wasted.

  Not to be denied his kill, the director of the machine responded quickly, tracking the rescuer and the girl with terrifying accuracy.

  The blur was almost to Arbiter when the rounds met with the airborne vehicle, tearing through it and igniting the contents of the gas tank. Thick black smoke obscured the air as the wreck fell to the ground. Now the speedster had slammed into Arbiter, lifting him off his feet moments before the bullets hit their mark.

  Arbiter had only just caught his breath when he realized he had been dragged into an alley by the unknown rescuer. “Hey-Arbiter-if-you’re-gonna-try-to-be-the-hero-you-gotta-be-quicker-than-that,” the rapid voice of the Emerald Dash lilted.

  Arbiter shoved himself away from the villain and thrust a finger into the green fabric covering Dash’s chest. “Do not touch me, scum.” He fought off an urge to wipe his hands off on his cape to convey his disgust. The petty thief seemed completely unfazed, running his free hand through his shaggy blond hair.

  “Whoa-buddy-scum-don’t-save-girls-when-you’re-too-busy-hurling-cars-to-bother,” he smirked as he let the girl down off his shoulder. In a flourish of movement he adjusted his identity-obscuring goggles.

  “Mom!” The redheaded girl leapt for the alley entrance in the moment he had been distracted by his own preening.

  “Whoa-there-girly,” the Emerald Dash cried out as he sprinted after her and snagged her wrist in one blurry movement. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but she ain’t comin’ back.” His voice had been rendered raspy by the effort it took to speak at half-speed.

  “But… why?” Tears streamed down her freckled cheeks. “She didn’t hurt anyone.”

  Dash looked like he was about to say something, but stumbled over the words. Two explosions dully thundered in the distance, followed soon by several pops. Sirens started wailing, no doubt from both fire engines and reinforcements to the decimated police battalions alternating between ferrying other neutrals to safety and trying to stop the attack. Arbiter realized, suddenly, that Dash was looking at him for assistance.

  “If your mother was a hero, young lady, she shall be remembered for her valiant sacrifice,” Arbiter said coldly as he moved back toward the street.

  Emerald Dash looked appalled as he threw his hands up in disbelief. “What-is-your-problem?” he sniped as the girl heaved into hysterics.

  “Wh-what?” the girl cried. “Sh-she wasn’t a hero!” At this, Arbiter looked at her, studying her features. With a sneer, he recognized some family resemblance.

  “Delia the Thief, I presume?” he coldly asked. The girl nodded, choking back tears.

  After a pause, he grunted. “You’d do well to stay away from her example.” He turned again, sparing himself the sight of the girl, shocked, falling to her knees in grief.

  In a moment, the Emerald Dash caught Arbiter and slammed him into the wall. Larger than the lithe villain, Arbiter snarled at the audacity. “Caesar’s-ghost-man-the-girl…” The smaller man took a calming breath. “The girl just saw her mother murdered.”

  “Let me go,” the hero growled.

  Dash hissed and flinched. Undeterred, he put his elbow on Arbiter’s throat. “You’re a damn hero, and you treat a girl like that?” As a thick red blotch spread on Dash’s own neck, he released the larger man. “That thing out there is killing everybody, Arse Biter,” he shouted as he pointed to the street. A police cruiser sped past the alley entrance.

  “Are you upset that your importance has dropped?” Arbiter shoved him back. “Worry not. You’ll be back to the top of the garbage heap soon enough.” With a flourish of the remnants of his cape, he left the alley.

  Vaguely, he could make out the girl’s cries: “Kill it, Arbiter! Kill it!”

  He emerged onto the street and walked toward the metal beast as it grabbed a Bestowed from the sky and squeezed. With a flick of its wrist, it sent the body careening into a group of police officers. Just up the road from Arbiter, a heroine clad in grey and heavily modified tactical armor, One Shot, struggled to her feet. He ran forward and hefted her upright.

  “Thanks,” she said, ripping what remained of her ski-mask off and releasing her short-cropped red hair. Her heavier gear had sustained numerous burns and cuts, while the lighter sections were almost entirely torn away. A grazing bullet wound on her leg streamed blood, and road rash had shredded her normally beautiful face. “Nothing we’re doing is even slowing it down.” Debris, embedded in her ashen flesh, glittered in the sunlight. She gestured to a medical kit on her belt. “Could you help?”

  Arbiter nodded and tended to her numerous wounds. “The armor… it deflects everything, kinetic or otherwise.”

  With a feral cry, a distant Bestowed leapt from a nearby building and started gliding around the menace. Amber energy charged along his hands before spraying at the thing’s head. Gracefully, the machine swatted him higher into the air, hunched over, and fired one of the flak towers. The hero dissolved into red mist in an instant, the thunderous report of the cannon echoing as, in another motion, a fist slammed into the earth, smashing a cluster of Bestowed.

  “Can you reach the pilot?” One Shot winced as Arbiter yanked a shard of glass out of her hand.

  He shook his head as he wrapped her hands in gauze. “As long as it’s in that thing… no matter how hard it hits…” His voice trailed off with his thoughts.

  “What could it want?” The moment Arbiter finished, she adjusted the sniper rifle on her back, grunting at the pain.

  “Did-you-think-that-maybe-all-it-wants-is-to-kill-every-last-human-being-on-the-planet?” Emerald Dash had appeared next to her. She looked at him, gave the slightest hint of a smile, then returned to looking at the hulking monstrosity. Arbiter felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of the traditional
enemies speaking. She had been the perfect hero to dispose of him – as a military tracker during the war, it wouldn’t matter how fast her quarry was… he’d tire sooner or later.

  “Doubtful,” Arbiter muttered as he squinted back at the now-hunching machine. “It could have been more thorough than this, caused greater damage faster… it is sowing chaos, fear…”

  With an ear-splitting, static discharge, a pulse of energy was released from the metal monster. It bowled neutrals over and upended a few Bestowed, though Arbiter, One Shot, and the Emerald Dash stood their ground. The air seemed to grow heavy for a moment, then a sound rumbled forth… a melody… no, an anthem.

  “Impossible…” One Shot shook her head in disbelief.

  “No-damn-way-is-that…”

  Arbiter took a step forward. “Deutschland Über Alles.” His fists clenched in fury. He screamed out, “Desecrator!”

  “Do not sully my name!” The sudden, thunderous roar shook the street. The machine groaned under the reverberations as the one the Allies knew as Desecrator continued: “Der Ritter is not some base monster! I am one of the few true Germans, driven to restore honor to his führer!”

  “The führer is dead, whatever you wish to be called.” Arbiter stepped forward, pointing. “Germany is at peace with the United States, and has come to understand…”

  “Traitors!” The behemoth rocked, stirred by the resentment in the voice of its master. With a metallic squeal, the metal warrior rose to its full height. “There can be no understanding between the pure and the vile! Only those who ally with the Teutons could ever hope to stay our hand!”

  “What’s-your-end-game-here-Arbiter? Piss-him-off-even-more-so-he-nukes-the-whole-city?”

  One Shot shook her head and stepped beside Arbiter. “Give yourself up. You’re one against thousands of American Bestowed, villain and hero alike,” she shouted. Had she turned to see it, she would have caught Emerald Dash’s lopsided grin.

  “I have killed hundreds already.” Something whirred and clicked audibly on the massive metal construct. “Your greatest hero hides behind a criminal before my eyes!”