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Stan Lee Presents : The greatest heroes of the post World War II era...Captain America, Sentinel of Liberty...The Whizzer, Fastest Man Alive...Miss America, Strong and Beautiful Heroine...Sub-Mariner, Prince of Atlantis...and the Human Torch, the fiery android...they are The All-Winners Squad!
October 1st, 1945. Midnight. Washington, DC, capital of the free world, was asleep; the politicians and bureaucrats, lay in their beds, asleep and secure in the knowledge that they bills and laws they worked on and passed, and the governmental departments they supported and helped operate, were running smoothly, and that a great new era was ahead for the United States. The men and women who worked the bars and restaurants and police and fire stations and hospitals - everyone who made sure the city itself worked, so that the politicians could do their part - were home as well, sleeping the sleep of the rightfully tired. Only the third shift workers in the hospitals and fire stations were awake, and on this Monday night, when things seemed so still and quiet and the city enjoyed the last gasps of summer, even the police could find little to do except walk their beats and - at least figuratively - cry "Midnight, and all's well." Even the regulars in the bars could find little to complain about; although the nation's economy was suffering, everyone knew that, with the end of gas rationing and the imminent return of the troops, business would pick up - why, the automobile manufacturers were predicting up to three times as many job openings at the factories as they had now! And even if there were some labor troubles, nobody thought them serious. Everyone knew that good times were just around the corner for the good old U.S. of A. Good will was everywhere this Monday night, and the only despair felt was from the Cubs fans, for whom the World Series was further confirmation of the curse against the team. But even they felt some hope; with Borowy pitching, next year had to be the year.
Three men and two women, however, did not share in the hope of the Washingtonians. What they felt was a combination of anger and determination. They were crouched in the darkness of Lafayette Park, across the street from the White House and a block down from Blair House. In the darkness they lay, silent, as they waited for the signal. They had come a very long way for this mission, and as they lay on a hillock, watching the White House, Pennsylvania Avenue, Blair House, and the park through their infrared binoculars, one thought was common to all of them: that death, in their mission, was preferable to failure, but that either would result in agonies for their loved ones.
The leader of the five, a slim woman of Ukrainian extraction and of the Koniev class of Soviet metahumans, said nothing, but continually fingered a small locket at her throat. In her gut she knew she would never see her husband or child again, and she was afraid of what would be done to them after her death; the Twelfth Directorate was not kind or merciful to those who failed, nor was Beria understanding of any shortcomings. Worse...the woman (she was working now, and thought of herself as Koniev-12, her Directorate designation, rather than as "Katya," what her darling Nikolai called her) had heard...even in her thoughts she whispered this...the bad old days were returning. Stalin was getting worse and was beginning the putsches again. Koniev-12 was an honored veteran of the war - that was why she had been granted the privilege of leading this mission - and she knew much about the Politburo and the upper levels of the Soviet government. If the stories were true...it might be better to die now.
No - she had Nikolai and Aleksandr to think of. She must succeed. She must.
She spared a quick glance for the others. Vladimir...no, she must not call him that, not while they were working. He was Katyusha-9 now. She knew he felt as she did. They'd both heard the rumors, during their training for this mission. She knew he had a little girl of his own. Would she, too, be given to Abakumov and the butchers of Dzherzhinsky Square? Koniev-12 hoped not; she had known Vlad...Katyusha-9 for years, fought beside him in the war...even shared a night together after Kursk. They were, she thought, friends. She very much did not want to see him hurt, or his daughter.
The other three Koniev-12 did not know as well. The hulking one, Kutuzov-6, was well thought of by the Directorate, which was why they had ordered Koniev-12 to take him with her on this mission, rather than her usual team. Kutuzov-6 had the deformed chest of those products of the Novaya Zemlya zavod; he was one of many in the Black Hundreds that she'd seen with that disfiguration. Kutuzov-6 must have been a veteran of the war, too, but she did not know him - not that she should be surprised by that. There were many places she hadn't been during the war. She would never have admitted it, but something deep inside her found him, and those from the zavod, deeply repellant. Whatever was done to them left a large mass on their chest, bulging in odd places and showing purplish veins. She found it disturbing. Koniev-12 had gotten her powers honestly, from a chemical injection, alongside the other volunteers. Yes, many of them had died, but it had been 1941, and the Germans, driving on Moscow, seeming invincible - it had been her patriotic duty to volunteer, and she had. She'd been one of the lucky ones, and had not only survived but gained special abilities.
But she'd gotten hers with rows of volunteers watching, not behind closed doors and in secrecy, as the Kutuzov had. And he was Karachay, and all knew they were only steps above animals anyhow.
The shot, thin one, the Mikoyan...Koniev-12 was a Ukrainian, and had the Ukrainian's traditional distaste for Russians. The Mikoyan was from Tula, which in Koniev-12's eyes made him a Muscovite. He had the Muscovite's smugness, and obeyed her orders too slowly. Koniev-12 knew she could do nothing about him; the ADD were too fond of their rohzahs to discipline them for no reasons (and Koniev-12 had heard stories of what the rohzahs had done in Poland and Germany and Turkestan, things that even the MVD would could not stomach - but they were rohzahs, and so it was tolerated). But someday she would see his sneering Muscovite face with a different expression.
The last member of Koniev-12's team was one of the White Cossacks, and Koniev-12 could barely suppress a shudder even thinking about them. Everyone in the Twelfth Directorate knew they'd born the brunt of the German super-men's attacks - they'd been where the fighting was worst, where Krasny Barada and Smyehrt Vyehteer had been, and they had suffered terrible wounds and done terrible things, all to win the war. But, great God - and here Koniev-12 caught herself - Moscow does not admit of God - great Lenin, at what cost! They were...
Koniev-12 caught herself. Best not to think of such things.
But still...the Cossack was a Karakalpak. In Kiev, where Koniev-12 lived - used to live - they were not nekulturny - they knew that the Karakalpak did not eat babies. But Koniev-12 had seen things in the war...
Koniev-12 shook her head. She shouldn't think of such things. She was a soldier, and she had a mission to complete.
A red light flickered twice from a second floor window in Blair House. Koniev-12 whispered, "<That's the signal - move! By the numbers!>"
The five left Lafayette Park, running across Jackson Place and rushing towards the door to Blair House. Koniev-12, glancing at the darkened windows of the Executive Office Building (they'd been advised by their MGB contact at the Embassy that this night would be a good one for the assault), sent a fervent prayer up (shuddering on a deeper level - she must stop that - others in the Chohrnihy Sohtihy caught praying were sent to Dzherzhinsky Square, and had not returned, and no one in the Sohtihy spoke of them) that, somehow, they would get out of this alive. Success was too far-fetched to hope for.
The Mikoyan launched himself into the air and hovered outside the window from which the signal had come, while the other four paused outside the front door to Blair House. Kutuzov-6 looked at Koniev-12, who impatiently nodded her assent - what was he waiting for, a telegraph from Beria? Kutuzov-6 struck the door with one massive fist. The door was steel with an oak overlay, but it had not been designed to withstand metahuman strength, and it flew off its hinges. Katyusha-9 instantly darted through the opening. The Secret Service agents inside Blair House, in what seemed to be a lobby, grabbed for their guns, but Katyusha-9 pointed both hands and beams of heat were projected at them.
A sudden strong wind filled the room, and suddenly the Secret Service men were gone. In their place stood the yellow-clad form of the Whizzer, fists held clenched and his face contorted in a snarl. "Damn Commies - you think you can come in here and--"
Katyusha-9 aimed and fired again, but the Whizzer easily avoided the beams, running forward and slugging Katyusha-9 hard on the jaw. The Whizzer seemed surprised when the Russian didn't fall, but instead rocked backwards and then fired at the Whizzer again - this time with eye-beams, and at such close range that the Whizzer didn't have time to dodge. His chest was raked by the heat beams, and he went down, suit in flames and face twisted in agony.
Koniev-12 shouted, "<Forget him!>" as she heard the sound of breaking glass from outside and from upstairs, followed by a series of thumps and crashes. Koniev-12 leapt over the prone body of the Whizzer and began running up a stairwell, the Cossack and Kutuzov close behind her. As Katyusha-9 leapt over the Whizzer's body, the American's legs lashed out and tripped the Russian. In a flash the Whizzer was on him, and they rolled around together, trading punches and elbows and knees and heat beams.
Koniev-12 didn't spare him a backward glance; a clock was running on their mission now, and even though only a handful of seconds had elapsed, they could not afford any delays. Every one of them was expendable, but the mission had to go on. Koniev-12 would mourn Vladimir, if she had to, when this was over.
They reached the second floor, a long hallway with doors on both sides, to find it filling with Secret Service men, guns drawn. Koniev-12, first into the hallway, drew the attention of the Americans, who instantly dropped into firing stances and unloaded at her. She threw herself to the ground, rolled, and then back flipped into the stairwell, feeling the heat of the bullets' passage and being sprayed with plaster and dust from the impacts of the bullet in the wall. Kutuzov-6 jumped forward into the hall and charged the Secret Service men, bullets bouncing off his chest and head. As he ran down the hall, closely followed by the Cossack (Koniev, not being bullet-proof, was holding back until the firing stopped), the door next to the mass of the Secret Service men flew into the hall and hit several of the Secret Service men, quickly followed by the body of the Mikoyan, which pinwheeled through the air and slammed into the Secret Service men, followed by Miss America, who piled into the Mikoyan and then landed a right hook on his jaw. He responded by kicking her in the stomach and then the jaw. She reeled backwards, and he leapt forward, tackling her and carrying her forward, through the now-open doorway and into the room from which they'd come.
Neither Kutuzov-6 nor the Cossack looked at Mikoyan or Miss America as they waded into the Secret Service men, snapping neck and crushing bones with casual, practised ease. After they'd killed the eight Secret Service men in the hallway they continued running down the hall, headed towards the room at the end. The house shook with each of Kutuzov-6's steps. Suddenly he rebounded off of something in the hall. He and the Cossack and Koniev-12 (now only a few steps behind them) paused, and then two figures flickered into visibility in front of them. Feeling the skin on the back of her neck prickle (a sign of danger that she had learned early on - in Stalingrad - to always pay attention to), Koniev-12 turned around, to see two more figures phasing into view. The figures wore some sort of armor, but like none she'd ever seen; it was all smooth, rounded edges and shiny flat surfaces, with large helmets that seemed to be all faceplate and to cover the entire head and heck. A voice crackled from the one closest to Kutuzov-6, "We are Air Force One. You are under arrest for--"
Kutuzov-6, swinging his hand so quickly as to reduce it to a blur, struck the floor of the hallway. The floor, meant to stand the weight of 10-20 human bodies but never designed to withstand the stresses that metahuman strength might create, collapsed, spilling wood and particle board and steel and dead Secret Service bodies and both Air Force One and the Soviets on to the first floor.
Koniev-12, reflexes quicker than the rest, leapt and grabbed the edge of the hole of the floor as it collapsed, and then swung herself back on to firm ground. She looked down for a moment; Kutuzov-6 had killed one of the armored Americans and was using his body as a club against the others, who were finding their blows useless against him. Koniev-12 couldn't help but grin; Kutuzov-12 had survived the savagery of the Germans - how could the Americans--but no, here came the Human Torch and Toro - Kutuzov-12 swatted aside Toro, but the Torch was directing fire at Kutuzov-12's face, and he--
The Cossack drove her hand through the chest of one of the armored Americans and then jumped upward, landing on the other side of the hole in the second floor. She turned a sneer on Koniev-12, who took a few steps backwards, then ran and leapt across the hole in the floor. The two raced down the hall. The Cossack did not break stride, but burst through the door. Koniev-12 followed her, thinking that they had been fortunate so far - she and the Cossack could deal with whatever Secret Service men were ahead, and they had gotten the most powerful All-Winners--
Koniev-12 pulled up short, seeing the Cossack standing still, fists clenching and unclenching. Koniev-12 looked around the broad figure of the Cossack at the rest of the room.
It was a large one, obviously an office of some kind. A large wooden desk sat on the right side of the room. On the left were several large filing cabinets. In the middle, standing in front of a large window with a commanding view of Pennsylvania Avenue and the Executive Office Building, were three figures. One, short and trim, wore a suit and tie, the lights were out, but Koniev-12's vision was good enough to make out his face. It was Harry Truman. Standing in front of him were two men: Captain America and Bucky. From what Koniev-12 could see, Captain America's face was grim, but Bucky seemed to be smiling. He said, "This look familiar?" He held something up in his right hand and flicked it, and a red light flashed. "We were on to you all along. Stupid Commies - you think you could catch us off-guard?" And with that he leapt forward, launching a sidekick at the Cossack.
She grabbed his foot in mid-air and threw him behind her, at the open doorway, and then, as his body hit the hall with an audible thump, she dashed forward, at Truman. Captain America moved in front of her, saying, "I'd advise you to surrender now; you're outnumbered and out-gunned, and there's no way you can escape." The Cossack swung her hand side-arm at him; Koniev-12 had seen a Black Cossack split a Panzer open that way at Kirsch. Captain America ducked under the blow, then struck the Cossack in the mid-section with his shield.
The Cossack rocked backwards, grunting, then swung at Captain America again. He leaned backwards, avoiding the Cossack's arm, then landed an uppercut on the Cossack. Her head moved slightly, but he involuntarily winced with pain and shook his hand. The Cossack grabbed his left arm at the wrist and tried to throw him aside, as she had with Bucky. Cap's left hand grabbed the Cossack's arm and he arched his body in mid-flight, coming down on his feet. He instantly swung his shield at her outstretched arm, bringing the edge down on her elbow and snapping it. She bellowed and, arm hanging limp, charged him. As she drew within range he grabbed the front of her shirt and fell backwards, putting his feet in her midsection and then flipping her over his head. The Cossack grabbed Cap's right foot as she flew over him, and her momentum carried both of them through the large window and out onto Pennsylvania Avenue.
Koniev-12 turned to President Truman and said, with something approaching relief, "<I am sorry, Mister President.>" (she'd heard somewhere that he knew Russian) and threw a kick at him - maybe she would survive this yet, and live to see Nikolai!
The kick took Truman in the jaw. Truman's head turned slightly, but that was all. As Koniev-12 stared - Truman should be dead, his neck snapped! - his head turned back to look at her. He said, in Siberian-accented Russian, ""<You should apologize. To assault a Prince of the Blood is a grave offense.>" He reached up and pulled off his face, and then seemed to straighten up...and up.
Holding his mask in his hand, Namor the Sub-Mariner fixed his glare upon Koniev-12. "<And most unseemly, for a woman>"
Koniev sighed, and her shoulders slumped. His face became kindly, and he put his hand on her shoulder, saying, "<It is a wise warrior who knows-->"
She swung her elbow again, hitting his square in the throat while trying to pull away from him.
"<--when to surrender.>" His expression did not alter. "<That was not honorable.>"
She sighed again and rubbed her elbow; hitting him had been like elbowing a sidewalk. She hung her head and, as she heard the sounds of feet approaching from the hall outside the room, held her hands up and said, "I...surren-der." Then she whispered, in Russian, "<I am sorry, Nikolai.>"
A few hours later, the All-Winners Squad shared an early breakfast with several Secret Service and FBI agents.
Captain America, rubbing his ached and bruised arms, chest, and ribs, said to Secret Service Agent Jones, "That was a good idea--Bucky, would you pass the coffee? Thanks--a good idea, warning us ahead of time. How did you find out about the spy on the White House staff?"
Agent Jones smiled and looked at FBI Agent Powell, who said, "They have men in our government; we have men in theirs."
Miss America, fingering the bandages on her knuckles, said, "What will happen--Bob, pass the bacon--what will happen to them? The woman, she seemed so sad when she was being taken away. I know she's a killer, but..." A
gent Powell waited until Miss America's voice trailed away, then said, "We have a...holding facility for them out west, in Nevada."
Bucky ran his hand along the bandage on his head and said, "Well, I know one thing about them, anyhow."
The Whizzer, holding Miss America's hand and finishing off one of her slices of toast, said, "What's that, Buck?"
Bucky grinned and said, "There'd better be a lot of cheese in Nevada, or I know some Commie rats that'll be going hungry!"
The laughter of the All-Winners' Squad lasted a long time.
Author's Notes:
Obviously I'm inserting a lot of stuff into Marvel continuity here. But the truth is that the Soviet Union's past in this era hasn't been dealt with very much at all. Too, it makes sense - at least to me - that the Soviet Union would have made whole bunches of metahumans of their own, to compete first with the Germans and then with the Americans. This is my extrapolation of that. Where the metahumans come from will be dealt with, eventually. I
'm not going to complain - much - about the difficulties of finding a transliteration, in English, of Russian words, except to say that it's really goddamn difficult. I could download the KO12 cyrillic script, and print the Russian in that, but Van's web page wouldn't have it, and so it would show up as gibberish.
The names of the Soviet metahuman classes are either the names of famous Soviets, of various weapons, or of something culturally significant to Russian history. Koniev was a prominent Soviet general during WW2, "katyusha" was the Soviet rocket, and Mikoyan was perhaps the best Soviet fighter designer.
Koniev-12's repulsion at the thought of the cossack isn't really that strange; the average Russian and Ukrainian peasant had a lot to fear from the cossacks, and unless you were of the same cultural group as the cossacks, you'd have nothing but fear and hatred for them. Especially if, like Koniev-12's people, you lived near the Cossacks and were the subject of their raids for centuries.
The names of the classes are like policeman's badges: they are passed on to the next person when the previous person dies or retires. The designation stays the same, but the person behind it changes.
Abakumov was, in 1945, the head of the MGB, the Soviet Department for State Security. The MVD was the department for internal security. Dzherzhinsky Square was the home of the MGB, and later the KGB.
The Soviet military and security system is divided into Directorates. In real life, as far as I can tell, there are only 11 Directorates.
Russian Glossary: "zavod" means "factory;" ADD was the abbreviation for the Soviet Air Force; "rozhah" means "rose" [1]; "Krasny Barada" means "Red Beard"[2]; "Smyehrt Vyehteer" means "Death Wind" [3]; "nekulturny" means "uncultured," although "nekulturny" is one of those words that can't be precisely translated into English - it has all sorts of connotations and undertones - it's not just "uncultured," but also "ignorant," "rude," and "peasant-like;" "Chohrnihy Sohtihy" means "Black Hundreds" [4]
[1] Stalin called the Soviet fighter pilots his "falcons," and that became the unofficial name for them. The unofficial name for the Soviet metahumans is Roses.
[2] "Red Beard" is Barbarossa, perhaps the most feared of the Nazi metahumans.
[3] "Death Wind" is Autumn Fog, arguably the second most feared of the Nazi metahumans.
[4] The unofficial name for the Soviet metahumans, as a entity, is the Black Hundreds, after the nasty Czarist punitive raids & the secret police organization behind them.
The Karachay and Karakalpak are ethnic groups in, respectively, the Caucasus Mountains and in Uzbekistan along the Amu-Darya River.
Air Force One is the Secret Service contingent whose assignment is to guard the president at all times. One thing that's always irritated me about Marvel & DC is that there are superhumans everywhere, but the Secret Service men are always just humans. They'd be meat in the hands of a determined metahuman assassin. So I've given the Secret Service something more: power armor.
Agent Powell is actually a Golden Age character who will appear in the Liberators at some point.
Next Issue: The Skein of the Multiverse
