“Good. If things go as planned, we should get into Kennedy Airport in New York around seven in the morning. I’ve got the company jet there, and we’ll fly right out.”
“You want me to light up the barn for you?” asked Helena, referring to the old barn on the grounds of Wayne Manor that disguised the underground airplane hangar used by her father years before.
“I just might,” replied Dick. “Give Bruce our best, and tell him we’ll be there for brunch.”
“I will, Dick. Safe journey.” Helena hung up the phone and scurried around the townhouse, packing an overnight bag. She looked at the oversized shoulder bag she had taken to carrying for the last year or so, shrugged, and slung it over her shoulder as she headed out the door.
***
“Not coming, eh? I was afraid something like this might happen,” murmured Bruce Wayne after hearing the news from his daughter. “Hard to get upset about it, considering the number of holidays I missed around here.” Bruce gave her a hug and continued, “Well, we’ll just muddle through, as Alfred would say. How about an early, light dinner, with a smorgasbord of cheeses and such later in the evening, dear?”
“Sounds great, Dad. Let me put my stuff in my room, and I’ll help you get it together.”
Three hours later they were sitting in the dining room, talking about the latest happenings in Gotham. Most of the discussion centered around crime, since Bruce had assumed the mantle of Police Commissioner two years earlier.
“Having the JSA meeting regularly here in Gotham has helped keep criminal activity down. But then, I’m sure you and the rest of the JSA already know that,” said Bruce with a smile.
“Me and the rest — what are you talking about, Dad?” asked a startled Helena.
“Come on, Hel. How long did you really think it would take me to find out?”
Helena gave in to the inevitable. “So, how long have you known?”
“Three months,” said Bruce, sitting back and pulling a pipe and tobacco pouch from his shirt pocket. “You’re very good, you know. It took me a year to be sure that it was you, even with the obvious homages to your mother and myself in your costume.”
“Wow. I thought you might have figured it out as soon as I went public after battling the Strike Force with Wildcat and Star-Spangled Kid.” Helena took a final bite of the mince pie, then looked over at her father. “You’re not mad, are you?”
Bruce chuckled as he lit his pipe. “Mad? Hell, baby girl, I’m proud of you. If you had asked me first, I probably would have objected, but there’s no mistake about it — you were born to be the Huntress.” Bruce cocked his head as the police band radio in the living room came to life.
“All units in vicinity of Brooklawn and Levitz, fire in progress at the Brooklawn Apartments. GCFD requests assistance with rescue and traffic control.”
Bruce looked over at Helena, who was already starting to rise from her chair. “That’s not far from here,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “I’m going to–”
“You have your working clothes?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Meet me down in the cave — three minutes,” said Bruce, a grim smile on his face as he rose from his own seat.
“You mean–?” said a startled Helena. Then a smile broke over her own face as she dashed off to her bedroom. “Can I drive?” she called as she ran.
***
Fire Battalion Chief Larry Gilbert stood at the curb of Brooklawn Drive watching the men and women under his command fight the blaze that was engulfing a four-story apartment building. He saw a truck from Gotham Gas and Electric pull up and directed a team of firefighters to assist them in getting the gas service to the building shut off. “At least we’ll have that out of the way,” he said to Captain Mike Todd, who stood next to him relaying orders over the radio.
“Too late for the folks in the back apartment, though, Lar,” said Todd, shaking his head. The initial report was of an explosion at the back of the building. A jet of flame shooting up around the back wall when the first firefighters arrived was enough to signal that a gas line had ruptured in the building.
“Maybe, or maybe we’ll get lucky. Have to concentrate on getting the other floors evacuated; they still have a better chance of being alive.”
“Weldon and Abington Companies are making their way up now, and–” Mike Todd hesitated as he heard a new voice coming over the radio. It came through on the headset worn by Chief Gilbert as well.
“Gotham Fire, this is Huntress, inbound on Levitz. What’s the situation? Over.”
Larry nodded for Mike to answer. “Gas explosion on first floor of four, one family evacuated from first floor; we have teams on the second floor, and they’re on their way up to the third and fourth floor, with possible victims stranded in rear apartment of first floor.” He broke protocol to add, “I hope you’ve got the rest of the Justice Society with you, ma’am.”
“Sorry, just myself and one other. But we’ll do what we can, sir. We’ll be approaching from the back. Huntress out.”
A block away, the Huntress put the microphone back on its clip and looked over at her father as he drove the big, midnight-blue car up over the snow-covered curb and pulled up behind the burning building. A wall of flame reached from the ground, up past the second floor despite the efforts of three hose squads. “You sure you’re up for this, Dad?” she asked.
“I’m not as young as I once was, but I still keep in shape, Hel. You have your headset on?” Bruce tapped his ear to indicate what he meant. When she nodded, he continued. “Stand by; I’m opening the top. Stand up on your seat and ready a line.” Her father flipped a toggle switch on the dashboard, and the glass dome over the front seats of the vintageBatmobile lifted up and back. As one, they stood up as he counted down. “Four. Three. Two. One.”
WHOOOMPH! Compressed air tanks under the seats were released, and the seats themselves rose three feet into the air. Father and daughter were hurled into the air, each of them swinging a weighted silken cord up ahead of them to wrap around outcroppings on the building.
A dozen firefighters looked up in awe as, for the first time in too many years, Batman took to the air of Gotham City.
“I think I see her, sir. Up on the roof.” Mike Todd pointed to where he saw a violet cape billowing in the heat of the fire. “There’s someone with her; looks like — no, it can’t be!”
“Who is it, Mike?” asked Chief Gilbert. “I can’t see them from here.”
“Naw, it can’t be him. I can’t see them now; they must have gone inside already.”
At that moment, a voice came over Chief Gilbert’s radio. “Sir, you’re not going to believe who just showed up to help us out!”
Inside the building, on the fourth floor, the Huntress kicked open the door to one of the apartments. “Anyone here?” she cried, coughing on the smoke that was making its way up from below.
“In the bathroom,” came a response. Closing the door behind her, the Huntress crossed the living room decorated sparsely with old-fashioned decorations, some homemade, and slipped down a hallway. Two bedroom doors stood open. She stopped at the third closed door.
“I’m here to get you out,” she called. The door opened, revealing an elderly couple. “Come on — I’ll get you up to the roof, then we can lower you down in the front of the building.”
“Oh, thank God! We heard the explosion, and the stairwell was full of smoke. Paul thought he saw flames down below, then when we tried to get out to the fire escape in the back, it was hanging loose from the wall.”
“I saw that. Looks like the initial explosion caught the bottom of it and pulled the supports loose,” said the Huntress as she led the couple out. “Was there anyone else here with you?”
“No, it’s just the two of us,” said Paul as they emerged from the apartment into the now-smoke-filled corridor. “But the Ingrams, across the hall — they’ve got four children.”
“Let’s see if we can get them now,”
said the Huntress, kicking the door on the other side of the hall. It opened onto a room full of people gathering up clothing, bedding, and a few wrapped packages. “Leave that! Let’s get you all to safety,” she said.
“You heard the lady, kids,” said a heavyset woman in her late thirties. “She’s gonna get us out of here.”
The Huntress touched a hand to her belt buckle, activating her radio. “Gotham Fire, have you got an aerial truck that can reach the roof?”
“We have one running two hoses trying to keep the fire below the third floor, Huntress. A second one is arriving now for rescue operations.”
“Copy that. I’m bringing people up to the roof now.” As she spoke, she led the group of residents toward the stairs leading up to the rooftop. She turned when she reached it. “Can you make it up on your own? I need to check downstairs.”
Paul and his wife nodded. “I’ve got it from here, ma’am. I would have tried going up sooner, but I had no way of knowing if it would do us any good.”
“Good. Godspeed,” said the Huntress as she started down below to join her father.
Batman: 1978: Merry Christmas, Mr. Batman, Chapter 2: The Guardian of Gotham City
by Immortalwildcat
On the third floor of the building, smoke filled the corridor, making it nearly impossible to see. Batman reached for the respirator on his utility belt and slipped it into his mouth. For now, it was simply filtering the smoke, but there was a small air tank in his belt if it was needed. He heard a loud crack behind him, then a crash. Looking back at the stairway, he saw more flames coming up through the opening. He looked down and saw that the stairs below had fallen in. “Anyone hurt down there?” he called, taking the respirator from his mouth.
“One man down, twisted ankle,” came the answer from below.
“Get him out. I’ll take care of the people up here.”
“You? But–?” A firefighter in full gear came into view and looked up, spying the distinctive cowl of the Batman. “Yes, sir!” he called out, then disappeared once more.
Batman felt his way along the hall and came to a door. He pulled off one glove and placed his palm on its surface. Not feeling any heat, he tried the knob and opened the door.
“Anyone here?” he yelled. He heard a commotion from down the hall. A bedroom door burst open as he approached.
“Get us out! Please, get us out of–!” The man who opened the door stopped as he recognized the tall man garbed in gray and dark blue. “Batman?!” He turned and shouted into the room. “It’s gonna be all right! Batman’s here to save us!”
The man known to some as the dark knight smiled. Even after all this time, he thought, there is still that total trust from the people of my city. He pulled out a flashlight and shone it around the room. In addition to the man, there was a woman, a boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen, and two girls who looked to be six and eight years old. He led them from the apartment toward the stairway, then stopped. “Wait here,” was all he said, holding up a hand as he stepped toward the stairwell. Flames were visible above the level of the floor, advancing quickly upward. “Let’s check the other apartment,” he said as he turned back.
“That’s Miss Turner’s place,” said the boy. “She’s got two girls there.”
Batman closed his eyes for a second as he got his bearings. “If I have these apartments figured out right, one of her bedrooms will be facing the front. That will be our best chance for getting out of here. Follow me.” He felt the door, then tried the knob. Finding it locked, he turned and kicked out sideways, striking the door just below the knob. It popped open.
“It’s OK — I’m here to get you out,” he said as he led the first family inside. He saw a thin woman shivering with fear as she held onto two toddlers. “Let’s go — we’re going to have to lower you down from the window.”
“We’ve lost the stairs, Batman!” said the Huntress, coming in from the hall. “I had to drop over the railing to get down here.”
“I know. You remember how to tie a shoulder harness?”
“Of course,” said the younger woman, already measuring out a length of cord as they herded the two families down the hallway. “What about the little ones?”
“You’ll take them down. I’ll stay up to lower the rest down.”
It took ten minutes to get the three adults and the first two older children down to the ground. The Huntress found sheets to wrap up the two babies and strapped them around her. “Fire’s through the living room door, Batman. Can you take him?” she said, indicating the boy.
“What’s your name, son?” asked Batman.
“Martin, sir. Martin Evans.”
“Well, Martin, I’m going to need your help. You need to hang on to me as tight as you can, all right? I’ll have a good hold of the rope, and we won’t fall. Do you understand me?”
“Yessir!”
“Huntress, get your line on that utility pole. I’m going to use the tree there,” said Batman, pointing to a bare maple tree thirty feet from the building as he shortened the harness he had been using, slipped it over the boy’s arms, then secured the harness around his own chest.
“Just be careful, all right?”
“Always.” He tossed a batarang with a line attached. It flew up and over the tree, circling a stout limb to anchor the line. The Huntress’ line circled the crossbars of the utility pole. They looked at each other, made sure the children were secured, and jumped.
The first ten feet or so were always the hardest, thought Batman as he dropped, those brief seconds of worry that the line might not have caught right, or that it might snap when his full weight came down on it. This time was no different than the hundreds of times he’d jumped from buildings over the last forty years. The worry gave way to confidence as he felt the line tighten in his gloved hand, and he felt the fall checked and transformed into an arcing swing.
But there was a difference — a difference in the crowd below calling his name and cheering as the legendary guardian of Gotham City made his presence known.
Down below, Battalion Chief Gilbert’s face broke into a grin. “I thought those boys in the back were breathing too much smoke when they saidBatman was here,” he said with a laugh as he slapped Mike Todd on the shoulder. “Look at that, will ya, Mike? Just like he did that night at the Mercer Department Store fire in ’58!”
Batman’s swing took him out and around most of the fire trucks before he touched down. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Martin’s parents were running toward him. “You all right, son?” asked Batman as he released his one-armed embrace of the boy.
“All right? Are you kidding? That was cool!” Martin stepped back with his parents, sensing that Batman’s work was not yet finished. The older hero looked over to see his daughter unwrapping the girls she had carried down, and then he heard a commotion among the firemen.
“We can see them in the window! They’re alive back there!”
Batman ran over to the battalion chief. “What have you got?”
“Father and two kids in the back apartment on the first floor. We can see them, but we can’t get at them. Flames from the basement are coming up around the outside walls.”
The dark knight’s eyes narrowed as he looked over toward the window the firefighters were pointing at. “You can’t get to them, but I can.”
“They’re OK. I don’t think this one even woke up through it all,” said the Huntress, handing nine-month-old Samantha Turner over to her mother.
“I don’t know how to thank you. And Batman — I thought he was retired!” said Julie Turner. “Oh, what’s he doing now?”
The Huntress turned in time to see her father swinging back toward the burning building. Firefighters were waving their arms at someone in a first-floor window, trying to tell them to get away from the opening. “Oh. My. God,” said the Huntress slowly, as she realized what her father was doing. “Don’t go in there — don’t–”
It was too late. Batman soared through the air onc
e more on a silken line, this time into the window of the burning building.
Inside the first-floor apartment, flames were already licking around the doorway, and the carpets were starting to smolder. Batman looked around quickly, appraising the occupants of the room. There was a man in his late thirties or early forties, a boy of about the same age as Martin, and a girl of perhaps five years. They were in a bedroom, the door to the hallway closed, but with flames appearing from under the door and around the edges. There was another door, most likely a closet. He looked up, but the ceiling was solid.
“Can’t hand you out through the window till they get the flames from the basement under control,” he told the father. “But I might be able to rig a line to–”
Batman paused, listening. Over the muted roar of the flames and the sounds of water hitting the building, he heard a crack, then a groan. “Not good. Structure is starting to break up. He looked again at the closet. “Over here!” he yelled, motioning for the family to join him as he opened the closet door, then reached for the hinge pins.
Outside, Chief Gilbert brought more hose squads around to try to quench the flames around the area where Batman had entered the building. He watched with the Huntress at his side.
“Sir, part of the wall has started to buckle,” reported one of the firefighters over the radio.
“Got the people off the roof?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Aerial two is running all hoses now.”
“Good; keep at it. We’re in a race for time now,” said Gilbert, turning toward the Huntress. “We’ll get it knocked do–”
There was a rumble, then a crash as the back end of the building collapsed. Fountains of sparks flew into the air as four stories of wood and brick broke apart and came down in a heap.
“Dad!”
The Huntress started toward the burning apartment building even as several of the hose teams backed away from the back of the building where the wall had collapsed. The side window Batman had disappeared through was gone, lost under tons of brick and burning timbers.
“He’s your father?” asked Chief Gilbert. She nodded, unable to speak. “Look, I’ve worked with him in the past, and if anyone can survive that,he’s the one.” The Huntress just nodded again as she reached for the JSA communicator on her utility belt. Before she could activate it, her radio earpiece crackled to life.