Chapter Text
Jay Garrick nodded in approval as Barry and Bart sparred around the South Dakota badlands. At first, Jay had been able to spar with Bart himself, but as the boy grew faster, he’d turned to Wally, and after the arctic, Barry. Bart was keeping up well, even though Bary was on a more advanced level. The experience would do Bart good if he ever, God forbid, had to go up against Thawne or Zolomon. After Wally- died, Jay had been doing everything he could to make sure that Bart was ready for anything, and that included going up against a more powerful and experienced speedster. Suddenly, Barry stopped, Bart stopping a little bit later, and Barry nodded as he received direction from the League over his earpiece. After Barry gave a hand motion to Bart for him to stay with Jay, he sped off, leaving his grandson in the dust. Bart appeared at Jay’s side, obviously annoyed. “Stupid League,” he muttered.
Jay laughed heartily, “Ah, it’s nothing, Kid. I was just about to call it a day anyway.”
“What now, then?” Bart asked.
“Now we go home, Kid,” Jay returned, and sped off, leaving Bart to catch up quickly. They returned to Jay’s home in Keystone City, where Joan had cooked them up a dinner worthy of two speedsters, which is to say, very very big. As Bart returned from his room, now in civilian clothes, he noticed an old black and white photo on the Garrick’s mantle, depicting about twelve or so people, all heroes, standing in a line, obviously posing for the photo, under a banner that said “JSA 1st Annual Meeting.”
“Hey, Jay,” Bart asked, “Who are all these people?”
“Oh, that?” Jay asked, walking over to look at the picture, “This is my old team! The Justice Society of America. Ah, I remember when they took this picture, it was just after the war ended, in 1945.”
“The Justice Society?” Bart echoed, “Never heard of them. What was fighting crime back in the 40s like? I bet it was a lot less weird than it is today.”
“Oh, no, plenty weird,” Jay smiled, “I once fought a time-travelling super nazi from the future who, in an attempt to kill me, may or may not have accidentally made me immortal.”
Bart stared at him, mouth hanging open. Jay laughed, then started to explain, “I guess I should start at the beginning. It all started during the Dunkirk evacuation…”
June 6, 1940
Dunkirk, France
The Flash
Artillery shells boomed as Jay raced down the beach, swerving to avoid the craters. A French soldier had twisted his ankle while running to the docks, and none of his squadmates were able to help him. Jay scooped up the soldier as he ran, and deposited him at the dock, waiting for the next British Destroyer to London. “Merci, Flash!” the soldier called as Jay sped away to help others.
“Damn Nazis,” Jay muttered as he swerved to avoid another shell, “they’ve been keeping this up since last week.” Thankfully, as he ran up and down the beaches of Dunkirk, there were no other stray soldiers to be seen. No living ones, anyway. Jay ran back to the docks, and picked up two uninjured soldiers, and began to run across the English Channel.
“Don’t worry, boys,” Jay said, “I’ll have you to London in no time.”
“Thanks, Flash,” one of the soldiers gasped, slumping against Jay’s shoulder. After about an hour of running, Jay hit dry land, and deposited the soldiers safely in Dover, England. As the two soldiers lined up for the train, Jay fell to his knees, gasping. He had been running since 6 in the morning, and it was now 3 o’clock in the afternoon.
Then, as he lay there, gasping he heard the foghorn of an English destroyer, bringing the last of the French and British troops to Dover. Jay, along with all of Dover, whooped and hollered with joy as the destroyer pulled up at the docks, and hundreds of troops set foot on the safety of the British Isles.
Satisfied that his work was done, Jay ran to Wales, where he was staying in a hotel. He vibrated into his room before anybody saw him, and took off his helmet and suit, stashing them safely into his bag, and then promptly collapsed onto his bed, and slept like a rock.
Jay woke up at about 3 am, ate all he could, then put on his suit and ran to London. As Jay arrived, he tuned in just in time to hear Prime Minister Winston Churchill give the speech that would define the rest of the war:
“We shall fight on the hills, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the fields, and on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the streets, and we shall never, surrender!”
On that optimistic note, Jay ran to various shelters, helping soldiers restock ammunition, gather food, and prepare for the inevitable Battle of Britain. Soon, a Captain of the guard stopped Jay before he could leave, saying he was to report to Westminster Abbey at once.
Surprised, Jay ran to the iconic building, where right outside, Churchill himself was waiting. “Hello, Flash,” the Prime Minister said, smiling, “I have a proposition for you.”
April 24, 1934
Gwynedd, England
Alan Scott
The rails blurred into a haze as Alan drove his train. War with Germany seemed imminent more and more each day, and if that was so, Britain would need its supplies, transported by his railroad. His shoulders ached as he shoveled more coal into the fire, and as he replaced the shovel and straightened to a standing position. Peering into the setting sun, Alan noticed that the upcoming bridge’s guard rails were bent at awkward angles. “That's… odd…” Alan started to say, when he realized the bridge was out. Alan turned and ran for his life leaping between train cars and reaching the caboose. As the final car started to go over the edge of the broken bridge, Alan clung desperately to the green lantern hanging from the wall, and felt gravity lose its hold on him. His vision was blocked by a swath of green light, and he felt himself get flung sideways into the meadow bordering the canyon.
Alan was blown back by the impact, and he landed face down in the dirt. A booming voice sounded inside his mind, ALAN SCOTT OF EARTH, it said, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO WIELD THE STARHEART. COME FORTH, AND RECEIVE YOUR RING OF POWER.
“Come again?” Alan asked, staggering to the crater the impact of the lantern had formed.
COME FORTH! It echoed.
Alan tumbled into the crater, hitting his head on the train lantern. “Ow!” He exclaimed, sitting up and rubbing the wound. As soon as he took his hand away, he inspected the lantern. It was like any other, but this metal was a peculiar shade of bright green.
Suddenly, a green flash flew from the lantern, lodging itself on Alan’s outstretched finger. The green ring emitted a powerful glow, and the voice from the lantern spoke again: GOOD. NOW REPEAT THIS OATH:
IN BRIGHTEST DAY,
IN BLACKEST NIGHT,
NO EVIL SHALL ESCAPE MY SIGHT.
LET ALL WHO WORSHIP EVIL’S MIGHT,
BEWARE MY POWER!
GREEN LANTERN’S LIGHT!
Alan tentatively reached out his hand. “In brightest day,” he repeated, “in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil’s might, beware my power, GREEN LANTERN’S LIGHT!!!” and in a blinding green flash, Alan’s clothes had been replaced by a loose red shirt, green pants, black and red boots, and a high-collared cape that was black on the outside but green inside. Emblazoned on his shirt, an image of the lantern shined, in the middle of a plain, white circle.
WELL DONE, ALAN SCOTT. YOU HAVE BEEN DEEMED WORTHY BY THE STARHEART. NOW GO FORTH, AND PROTECT THIS PLANET CALLED EARTH. And with that, the voice of the lantern fell silent. Alan could feel the power coursing from the ring. Curious, he willed his costume away, and he was back in his railway uniform. He willed it back, and he was once again this powerful being.
Delighted, Alan willed his ring to fix the bridge and restore his train’s cargo. And after a while, it finished every spike and cross-beam, and any salvageable cars were put back onto the tracks. Alan leapt with joy, causing him to soar several feet into the air. And stay there, hovering. “Am I… flying?” Alan asked himself, mystified at his newfound abilities. "Yes, Alan Scott. Flight is a standard ability of the Green Lantern," said a new, almost emotionless voice.
“Who-Who was that!?” Alan asked, alarmed.
"Do not be alarmed, Alan Scott. I am the voice of your power ring. I am here to assist you in discovering your abilities as the new Green Lantern of Sector 2814 B."
“Ok then,” Alan said, staring down at his ring, “Shall we get started?”
June 22, 1938
Yankee Stadium
New York City, New York
Wildcat
The fight was ferocious right up until the end. Ted Grant, aka The Wildcat, was currently fighting for the title of Heavyweight Boxing Champion against Max Schmeling, the greatest boxer in Europe. The two seemed evenly matched, but Wildcat pulled ahead in the third bout. Grant listened to the announcer as he frantically tried to follow the fight.
“And Schmeling comes in for a right, Wildcat dodges and retaliates with a devastating uppercut! Wildcat presses the offensive, Schmeling is on the ropes, and Wildcat knocks Schmeling down! 10, 9, 8, 7, I don’t think he’s getting back up, folks, 3, 2, 1! Wildcat’s done it! Wildcat, the masked fighter from the US of A, has just defeated Max Schmeling, the greatest boxer in the world! What’s this, Wildcat is reaching under his shirt, he’s pulling out some sort of necklace, and- Holy Guacamole, it’s the Star of David! Wildcat turns out to be a Son of Solomon, fighting for his fellow jewish brethren in Europe! This is incredible!”
Ted replaced the Star of David under his shirt, and turned to leave the ring. Behind him, Max Schmeling was tearing off his gloves, and pulled something from the back of his shorts. “L’Shannah Tovah, jüdischen schweine!” Max yelled charging to stab Ted from behind.
Ted quickly sidestepped, then hand-chopped the back of Schmeling’s neck, knocking him out for good. The crowd held its breath in an astonished silence, then cheered even harder and louder than before. Ted walked off the stage, and out into the wings, where he left the stadium without any questions, and drove off to his home in New Jersey, to live the next years of his life in peace, never to return to the ring again, and never accepting the Champion’s Belt.
August 3, 1940
Al'azraq-Sikrab Dig Site, Bialya
Daniel Garrett
“Dr. Garrett! I found something!” Alexander Kord yelled, waving to the archeologist.
“What is it, Alex?” Garrett asked, jogging over.
“I think it’s some sort of cave entrance,” Alex said, pushing away some moss, “I’ve never seen this beetle-like symbol before, but all the other hieroglyphs say things like, ‘Enter’ or ‘Beware’, and… I think that one says ‘Purify’.”
Dr. Garrett and his team had been searching for the lost Egyptian city of Al’azraq-Sikrab for years, and they had finally found it just two years ago, in a southwestern region of Bialya that had once been part of the Egyptian Empire. Ever since, they’d been excavating the ancient ruins, looking for the fabled Caves of the Blue Scarab, and it looks like they had finally had a stroke of luck. “That’s perfect, Alex!” Garrett laughed, “This has to be it! We’ve done it!”
Alex sat back smiling, “The Caves of the Blue Scarab. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Quickly, search for some type of entrance trigger. An indented hieroglyph, a loose stone, anything!” Garrett said urgently, and the two archeologists began searching. After several minutes of no luck, Garrett sat back, defeated. Then, he took a look at the beetle symbol in the middle, and looked at his companion. “You don't think…?” He asked.
In response, Alex pressed the scarab. The wall opened, and the floor below them flipped up, sending them tumbling down into the cave. Garrett flipped and rolled for about a full minute, until he finally came crashing to a stop of cold sand. “Ow…” he muttered, rubbing his head. “Alex?” he called.
“Over here!” he called back, his voice oddly strangled, “I’m stuck!”
Garrett ran over, shining his flashlight, and gasped. Alex’s fall had somehow triggered a boulder-trap, and now it was crushing his legs and waist, leaving only his upper body unscathed. Blood pooled out from underneath the boulder, and Garrett realized that the boulder must have crushed the arteries in his thighs. “My god…” he breathed.
“It's bad, isn't it?” he said. Garrett only nodded. “Well, promise me one thing… my wife, Maria… take...care of… her.” And Alexander Kord died, holding out a now bloodied picture of his pregnant wife.
Garrett knelt down and took the picture, closing his eyes, “I promise,” he breathed, then he stood up. “But first I have to get out of this damn cave.”
Garrett started his walk through the caves, the path twisting and turning, until it finally opened up into an antechamber, hieroglyphics lining the walls. But, the main attraction sat in the middle of the room, being a dusty blue scarab sculpture, dull and lifeless. Garrett went over to inspect it, and reached out to touch it. When he did, nothing happened. No booby traps, no curses, no reanimated mummies. To be honest, Garrett was a little disappointed. He fully picked up the scarab, and it sprang to life. It crawled up his sleeve and into his shirt, biting into his back as he cried out in shock and terror. Then, it transformed into a suit of armor, encompassing his entire body.
Hello, Daniel Garrett. I am Kahji Da. I was sent here long ago, but I do not remember why… do you remember? A voice said.
“I ah, um, what just happened!?!” Garrett responded, panicking.
My apologies, Kahji Da responded, As I said, I am Kahji Da. I am a scarab issued by [ERROR] to help [ERROR] this planet. Are you able to fill in the blanks, Daniel Garrett?
“I think so…” Garrett said, inspecting the hieroglyphs on the walls. “According to these hieroglyphics, the Ancient Egyptians thought you were sent to them by the god Khepri, to be their champion for battling the Greeks when they attacked. But, your host was horribly corrupted, and you had to be purified for 20 days and nights, by a great magician named Nabu. While you were out of commission, the Greeks invaded, and both you and Nabu were sealed away so you wouldn't fall into enemy hands.”
I see, Kahji Da said, I seem to remember this. These Egyptians… I remember my host. He was evil, but Nabu freed me from him, allowing me to assist others. What assistance do you require, Daniel Garrett?
“Well,” Garrett said, “let's start by getting out of this cave.”
October 2, 1934
Albany, NY
Rex Tyler
Rex carefully lifted the beaker, being sure to not let any drop of the new medicine spill. He emptied it into a syringe labeled “MIRACLO TEST 27”, and went over to the test rat.
Scrubs XXVII had been with Rex for the past two weeks. Now, it's going to make him a fortune. He injected the rat with the Miraclo formula, and as twenty-six other rats before him, Scrubs XXVII keeled over, frothing at the mouth.
Rex sat back and rubbed his eyes, grabbing at a tape recorder. “Pharmaceutical Log of Dr. Rex Tyler,” he sighed, “Miraclo Test 27. Results: As expected. The rodent brain simply can't handle the stress of the formula. A subject with a more advanced brain, such as a gorilla or an octopus, is required for a truly successful test. But, due to my dwindling funds, that is seemingly increasingly unlikely each day.” He stopped the recording, staring mournfully at the dead rat. “‘A gorilla or an octopus’, ha! Who am I kidding, eh, Scrubs? You and I know damn well that only the human mind can handle this stuff. But, I’d never get a human test subject after what happened to you!” The rat did not respond. Rex sat back, thoughtfully, “Unless…”
Rex then set to solidifying Miraclo into a pill, labeling it “Vitamin M”. Then, he held a pill in his hand, contemplating. “On one hand, I’m right, and this will turn me into a super-man. On the other, I’m wrong, and it will kill me by overloading all my brain-cells at once, and force my brain to literally commit suicide,” he thought aloud, staring at the Miraclo. “Whatever. I don’t want to live as a disgraced pharmacist anyway.” and without further hesitation, he downed the pill.
Rex immediately felt a surge of power, and accidentally crushed the portion of the desk he was holding on to. “Whoa,” he said, holding up the chunk of his metal desk, “These results, they’re unprecedented!” Then, as a test, he ran to the other side of the room. He was there so instantly, he almost went through the wall. And with his new abilities, he did not mean that figuratively. “Amazing!” he cried, leaping for joy. Then, he went sailing upward, going through the ceiling and sailing above Albany. And for a long while, he stayed at that altitude, simply by willing himself to. “Excellent!” Rex said excitedly, staring at his hands, “As I thought, Miraclo is both capable of increasing the durability of the human body, and repelling gravity for a short time!”
Then, he floated gracefully back to the ground, and to his lab. He quickly patched the hole in the roof with a black plastic garbage bag, then laughed to himself. “Surely, I must put these abilities to good use? Back in the War, they would’ve been invaluable! But, I mustn’t go out there as ‘Dr. Rex Tyler, Disgraced Pharmacist’! No, no, I must go out there as someone else, something, else… oh, and Miraclo only lasts for an hour!” he said to himself, the speed of his words and thoughts ever-increasing. “Wait, wait, that’s it! The Hourman!......... but I'll need a costume…” he said, putting on his coat, and heading out.
September 29, 1918
The Battle of St. Quentin Canal
Pvt. Wesley Dodds
“Come on, Over the Top, Men!” Maj. Gen. Read shouted, urging his men against the Germans. Young Pvt. Wesley Dodds eagerly charged across the field, out of his trench and directly into the line of German fire. The Australians had called for assistance from the American 2nd Division, and that was exactly what Wesley was here to do. He raised his gun, aiming for the spike-headed soldiers of the German lines, when suddenly artillery slammed down next to him. He wouldn't have cared, it didn't explode, but it started oozing yellow gas.
Wesley cried out and ran back to the trench, fumbling with his gas mask and yelling, “GAS!” along the way. He wasn't fast enough. He fell to the gas, screaming in pain as it burned his skin and lungs. Luckily, an American and a Brit were there, shoving his mask on the rest of the way, and pulling him back to the trench. From there, medics took him to the rear, where as he was being jostled into an ambulance, he slipped into unconsciousness.
May 4, 1919
Paris War Hospital
Wesley groaned as he woke up, the bright lights hurting his eyes through the glass of his mask. Wait… mask? he thought, and all the memories of the battle came back to him.
A nurse rushed in, seeing he was awake, and called for a doctor in French. He sat up, and asked through the mask, “Where am I?”
The nurse answered in a heavy but kind accent, “You are in Pari, monsieur, you have been unconscious for several months.”
“The War! Is it over?!” He asked frantically.
“Oui, monsieur,” the nurse responded, “Thanks to you Americans, Germany, Austria-Hungary, and the Ottoman Empire were defeated. You can go home now.”
“Thank god!” Wesley cried, moving to take off his mask, when the nurse cried out.
“NO, no, do not remove the mask!!” She cried, “it is the only thing keeping you alive!”
Wesley stopped, deadly calm. “What?” he asked.
“When you were brought to us, monsieur!” she said, “The mustard gas poisoning was so extensive, the antidote in the mask was the only thing keeping you alive! We thought you would never wake up!”
“I see…” Wesley said, despair and anger flooding into him. He got out of his hospital bed, and knocked the nurse down. “I'm checking myself out.” he said, and stepped over her unconscious, body to leave. He snuck around the hospital until he found where they kept their sensitive gases, and stole the mustard gas antidote, a strong knock-out gas, and a gas gun. With his new arsenal, he jumped out of the nearest suitable window. After he climbed out of the dumpster, he ran from the hospital, and hid beneath a bridge until dark.
The sirens stopped at around dusk, and Wesley decided an hour later it was safe to move. He snuck through the city, coming upon a clothing store, and stole himself some new underwear. Then, he searched for a suit shop, and slipped in the back door. Thankfully, there was no alarm nor an employee. He stole a dark green suit, replacing his hospital gown, then grabbed a brown fedora and a riding cape. He threw them on, then went back to where he had stashed the gas. He clipped the antidote canisters to his belt, then set up the gas gun backpack, hooking up the knockout gas and slipping into the harness. Then, he went out onto the bridge, stole the nearest car, and drove off to the east. “The Germans used gas to take my face,” he growled to himself, “MY LIFE! So I'll use gas to take theirs.”
June 1, 1918
Third Battle of the Aisne, Royal Army Field Hospital
Dr. Charles McNider
“Doctor! The Jerries!” cried an orderly as the gunfire drew near. Dr. McNider was an Irish field doctor brought in by the British to assist their forces. He had been shipped to the Battle of the Aisne to help put the Brits back into the trenches, and now Germany was knocking on his door.
Swearing in Gaelic, McNider put down his medical kit and picked up the pistols of the two fallen officers he was attending to. “Come on, laddie, keep your head on. You keep these men alive, I’ll go ‘n talk to Fritz,” he said, gripping his revolvers.
“Come out, Herr Doctorr!” A thickly accented voice cried.
“Time to get started, then…” McNider sighed, pulling down a pair of aviator’s goggles he had taken from and injured pilot. He raised the pistols.
“Come out, Doctorr, or ve vill fiyah!” The accent called again. BLAM! The accent fell silent. Several angry voices cried out in German, and McNider quickly side-stepped to avoid a rifle shot that buzzed through the tent, hitting a Jerry on the other side. McNider tackled his assistant down and covered his mouth, as above them, bullets flew all over, and it was quite a while until the Germans realized they were shooting themselves.
Letting go of his assistant, McNider brought a finger to his lips, indicating silence, and rolled the man underneath one of the cots, and whispered in his ear. “They’ll storm the tent, now. Stay down.”
Sure enough, a nervous German slowly entered the tent. McNider raised his gun, and fired into the man’s foreleg. The soldier cried out and fell, and was shot again by McNider before he could cry out again. Two more soldiers ran into the tent, stumbling over their comrade, and McNider shot them down, too.
More and more soldiers added to the pile of bodies, until eventually they just started firing through the canvas again. McNider sprang to his feet, moving patients out of harm’s way. This pattern repeated for quite a while, the Germans desperately trying to kill the psycho-doctor that was slaughtering them so easily. Finally, a different twang of gunfire was heard, and several swears split the air in both English and German.
McNider heard gunfire split the air, until thundering boots finally ran back towards the German trenches. “It’s alright, Doc!” an American called into the tent, “Jerries’ve gone and tripped over themselves to get away from us!” McNider carefully poked his head out, seeing the smiling faces of a battalion of American soldiers.
“‘Bout time you Doughboys show up,” McNider grumbled, lowering his guns, “They’ve been on me’ back since 6 o’clock this mornin’!”
“6 a.m.!?” The American cried, “Hell, Doc, it’s Midnight!”
“Is it really?” McNider answered, “Well, guess time really does fly when yer havin’ fun!”
June 7, 1940
London, England
The Flash
Jay sat there as the Prime Minister finished. “Why are you telling me this?” He asked.
“Because, Mr. Garrick,” Churchill said, “There is something that I very much need you to do.”
Jay stepped back, surprised that the Prime Minister knew his name. “Sir, I'm not-”
“Oh, come now. I'd know a Garrick anywhere,” Churchill smiled, “super-powered or otherwise. Your father saved my life during the war. I suppose it's only fitting for you to be here now.”
“I, um..” Jay stuttered, “Thank you, sir. But, this mission.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the Prime Minister said, “I’d like to not involve the ah, greener agents I just described. The one we found most suitable was Alan Scott, the so-called Green Lantern.”
“What about Wesley Dodds?” Flash asked, “Surely he’s the most experienced?”
“Yes, but, the scenario I just described to you was 21 years ago,” Churchill responded, “Ever since, Dodds has been running around the German countryside, blowing up buildings and gassing civilians in their sleep. He calls himself the ‘Sandman’. Not exactly prime material, don't you think?”
“I think I see the point," Flash said flatly, his hopes falling.
“Good. The mission is infiltration and investigation,” Churchill said, “We have lost contact with our inside man in Berlin, who was investigating something only known as ‘The Reich’s Might’. I want you to infiltrate Berlin, gather all the information you can, and retreat. Green Lantern is already on his way to the Eastern Front, so I suggest you start to run.”
Jay gave the Prime Minister a “You’ve-Got-To-Be-Kidding-Me” face, then ran east.