"Sea Wolves In Times Square"
"Sea Wolves In Times Square"
10/3/1942
I.
At the unexpected sound of a woman's voice from the back seat, Detective Jim Harkins yelped and dropped his keys by his feet. It was past eleven at night and he had finally stomped out of the precinct house to his Nash after a long brutal day. He twisted around violently. In the sideways light from a store window, he saw the imp face of Kelly O'Connor grinning at him.
"Why am I not surprised to find you hounding me?" he growled.
"Come on, big fella, all I said was 'hi there,'" was her reply.
"Shouldn't all good little girls be tucked in bed at this hour?"
"I happen to be free, white and over twenty-one." She leaned forward so their faces were almost touching. "You know, I think I could get used to your mug. You remind me of our old family basset hound."
"Oh no you don't," Harkins said, drawing his head away. "Out you go. No fast-talking trouble-making redheaded girl reporters allowed."
Not seeming to hear his words, Kelly drawled, "I saw a guy in uniform leave your cop shack. Officer, too..Second Looey I believe. He was with a palooka in a nifty tan suit. Are you boys in blue giving Army Intelligence a hand, what with the war and all that?"
"None of yer beeswax," he said but his tone had definitely softened. "Shouldn't you be assigned to covering flower shows and debutante weddings?"
Kelly laughed with a staccato trill that was funny in itself."You're a riot, Harkins. I go after gruesome murders and Tong wars and Axis sabotagers....saboteurs. Lay the dope on me, what's cooking?"
"Out I said. C'mon, Kelly..."
"Oooh. You called me Kelly. You're tumbling for me, aren't you?" She swung nimbly over and planted herself in the front passenger seat before he could draw a breath.
Now that he saw her more clearly, Harkins weakened even more. Kelly had thick red hair that reached her shoulders, insolent green eyes over an upturned nose and full lips that curved up at the ends. Just the way she was smirking at him made him feel funny. "Seriously, reporter or not, you get out of this car right now, Red."
"Don't be so gruff, buddy. Listen. How's about you giving me a lift? Isn't it a little late for an unescorted lady to walk home? I wouldn't mind a little dancing either, I hear the Blaize Club has a band that swings."
Despite all his intended resolve, Harkins started up the Nash and glanced around before easing out onto 20th Street. Traffic was sparse that night. "I guess taking you home wouldn't hurt. I might feel a twinge if something happened to you because I made you walk. But you go straight home and stop badgering me."
"That's my boy," she said. "Did I tell you we got a new editor on the city desk? I swear, the MESSENGER has a worse turnover than a chorus line. He liked my coverage of the new Tongs in Queens. But I have to stay hot, I need a big scoop to make me stand out from the riff-raff."
Heading uptown, driving slowly because of the lowered speed limit to conserve both gas and tires, Harkins sighed too heavily to be convincing. "We keep throwing you out of police headquarters and you keep sneaking back in. I am not going to tell you anything."
So he thought. But Kelly wheedled him into buying her a coffee and a slice of apple pie at an all-night beanery, and Harkins gulped two cups black himself. During all this, her voice got sweeter and sweeter and she started looking up at him with adoring eyes. He fell for it. Twenty minutes later, he was dropping hints that the recent blackouts had good cause. The captain of a merchant ship going past Ellis Island insisted he had seen a periscope."
"A U-boat? Hot dog, I see headlines with my name under them. I won't have to share a desk with old man Gaddis. What doesn't smell like rum stinks of cigars. And he steals my erasers."
"Whoa. You promised this was all confidential. NOTHING in print, remember."
Kelly was inspecting her plate as if hoping that somehow she had missed a second hunk of pie, then clanked her fork on the counter. "No fair bringing up what I said. Okey dokey, pal, I will sit on it. For now. So what're you doing tomorrow? Gonna dogpaddle out into the river and grab any stray submarines you find?"
"Ahhh, I think the chief is wasting my time but I'm on the graveyard shift tomorrow, 11 pm to 7 am. I'm stuck patrolling Times Square looking for someone. Do me a favor and be in some other part of town. You're a firecracker. I swear you stir up as much trouble as that Green Devil gal."
"Hah! Green Devil my foot," laughed Kelly. "If you ask me, these volunteer crimefighters in their masquerade outfits have all got a few screws loose. I bet the Green Devil isn't even real."
II.
The next day dragged unbearably for Kelly. The editor put her to work doing a stack of rewrites, including a boxing article that had more words misspelled than correct. It read as if the writer had taken few punches to the head himself. The other reporters were running out and advancing their careers while she tapped forlornly away at a battered Smith-Corona that was older than she was. Finally, the clock grudgingly admitted it was five o'clock and she breezed out of the city room and down to the street.
Despite being low on funds, she stopped to eat a Reuben at Grossman's deli with an egg cream and a couple of pretzels, She knew she was going to miss dinner. At the boarding house, she chatted by Mrs Hooper for a little while, then went to her room. Removing her makeup and changing into a nightgown took a few minutes before she climbed into bed and was asleep in ten seconds. This double life was wearing her out.
It was close to ten o'clock when she woke to a darkened silent room. No light from the street was coming in the windows. The radio in the parlor outside was silent. Stretching and yawning until her jaws popped, Kelly crossed the room and peered out into darkness. A blackout drill had been called, she saw at once. She must have slept right through the siren. The flashing neon sign at Wilbert's Tavern next door was off and no streetlights were visible on the corner.
A good night for criminals, fiends and enemy agents. Time for the Green Devil.
She liked this boarding house because Mr and Mrs Hooper invariably retired around nine and both of the other lodgers were also middle-aged and tended to turn in early as well. Breakfast and dinner times were the only periods when everyone was bustling about. At night, no one noticed Kelly sneaking out. A blackout curtain had been taped next to her window but since the blank brick wall of the Tavern was next door, there was not much chance any light from her room would be noticed outside anyway.
Her heartbeat sped up as the excitement began building. Kelly dropped flat to the carpet and reached far back under the bed to drag out a black trunk. There was only one key to it. Laying out the garments stored inside that trunk, she stripped down quickly to only her step-ins. Nude, Kelly O'Connor was slim and sleek, with small breasts and narrow hips. She relied on constant walking to
stay fit, although in warm weather she also went swimming as often as she possibly could.
In less than a minute, she was wearing her beloved outfit, all dark green, of boots, snug pants and a man's shirt under a waist length leather jacket. Every pocket held some useful item. On the back of the jacket, she had painted in white a vertical trident. Kelly tugged on wrist-length leather gloves and fought to keep from laughing out loud. All day long she dreamed of this moment.
Very quickly, she bent toward the mirror over her dresser and snapped on the lamp for a moment as she applied bright red lipstick in a way that disguised the fullness of her lips. Turning off the light again, Kelly tied on a black silk mask that left only her mouth exposed. Disguising the shape of her lips and nose had proven effective so far.
She couldn't wait to get going! Snatching up her modified crash helmet, she raised her window wide and saw no one was in sight before sliding out into the alley. This had been a major reason she had moved to this boarding house. Except when a patron of the tavern stumbled back here to relieve himself, the dead-end alley was a perfect place to park her roadster. And it allowed her to enter and leave the boarding house without being seen. She took a pair of license plates from the trunk and quickly attached them with wire over her genuine plates. The bogus ones, which she had swiped from a junkyard, did not match but that would only make it harder for anyone to track the Green Devil. Satisfied no one was watching, Kelly got behind the wheel and eased out onto the street.
By the time she reached 60th Street, her nerves were hopelessly on edge. Driving with headlights half-masked with tape, through a city where the buildings were darkened and the streetlamps either off or shielded, she was ready to snap. Twice, she had nearly collided with other cars rolling toward her out of the gloom. At 59th and Eighth Avenue, she pulled into an empty spot and got of her car. Were her legs wobbly? That would pass. Back with her feet on the ground, Kelly felt much more confident. During the past two years, she had spent many nights prowling the night and in her dark suit with the helmet on, she was hard to spot even by someone actively looking for her.
Keeping to side streets and cutting through alleys, the Green Devil trotted through a city which was holding its breath. By the time she reached Times Square, Kelly had shadowed four dim figures moving through the night. Each turned out to be harmless when she got close enough. She moved on. At the corner of 42nd Street, she froze into a doorway as a squad car crawled carefully through the intersection.
As she stood there motionless, two bulky forms loomed up in the murk. There was the flash of a match being struck by a thumbnail and the smell of a cigarette being lit. A man's voice growled something in German, too low for Kelly for catch. She carefully moved closer toward them, scarcely breathing, quiet as a cloud passing overhead. Then a different voice replied, "Verstehst du, was ich sage?"
Her command of German was barely adequate for asking directions, but she got 'Do you understand?' from it.
"Bestimmt. Wir treffen uns am Drei," came the answer. Most of that meant nothing to Kelly but she knew 'meet' and 'three.' Her heartbeat accelerated as she realized her luck. Well, she thought, I am Irish on both sides. Then she moved a little closer and knocked over an umbrella someone had left propped up in the doorway and which she had not seen. The clatter sounded deafening in the hushed street.
Immediately the two men wheeled toward her and one lit another match. In its flare was revealed a slim figure in dark green leather, wearing a helmet crested by two short curved horns. Kelly dove forward and tried to pass between them before they could react but a beefy hand clenched the back of her jacket and brought her up short. She wriggled free and straightened up just as the enemy agent threw a sharp hooking punch right at her face and she deflected it with a slap. The German swung twice again and each time the Green Devil redirected his blows with her open palms.
This was her wild talent, something no one could explain. Kelly was somehow able to swing her hands and deflect any attack from a punch to a thrown rock to a bullet, without being hurt in the least. It didn't even sting. She didn't understand this weird gift but she was certainly grateful for it. The Axis spy tried once more but had his looping roundhouse right slapped so far forward that he lost his balance and fell.
The single word which the man snarled did not need to be translated.
"Zur Seite treten!" shouted the other agent. Kelly had no idea what that meant but the muzzle of a Luger being thrust toward was clear enough. A blinding white flash and the sharp crack followed... and again the Green Devil whirled her hand around in a tight circle and the bullet veered off to slap deeply into the first German's left eye.
With a strange sighing exhalation, the dying man slumped to the sidewalk as Kelly plunged straight at the gunman. The Green Devil planted her feet and blasted a right hook that twitched the man's head to one side. But he didn't fall. Instead he retaliated with a stiff arm to the chest that knocked her over backwards. Even as she took that tumble, Kelly was angry that she just couldn't hit hard enough to duke it out with men much bigger and heavier than she was. Maybe brass knuckles..? All that flashed through her mind in a split-second as she landed sitting up on the sidewalk.
The German spy said in perfect English, "My friend is dead because of you, witch." He aimed his Luger and abruptly a gout of blood spurted from his chest as a gunshot echoed from behind him.
For a second, Kelly O'Donnell blinked and tried to figure out what had happened. She had been ready to try and deflect the gunman's next shot and somehow he was lying face down next to her with a hole in the back of his jacket. Then she saw Jim Harkins running across the street toward her, service revolver in hand. Her heart sank.
This was a moment she had dreaded. So far, the Green Devil hadn't encountered anyone who knew Kelly O'Connor. She had no confidence in her mask fooling a man who had been studying her face across restaurant tables and in the squad room. Not to mention her voice being distinctive if she had to talk. If he recognized her... Whirling on one heel, Kelly sprinted away as fast as she possibly could, confident she could outrun the bigger heavier Harkins if he gave chase. She heard him yell for her to stop but ignored it. Swinging right at the next block and then left, the Green Devil raced uptown through the darkened city like an apparition.
As her lungs began to burn and her ribs ached, Kelly reached her roadster and dived in behind the wheel. In an instant, she had swung the powerful little car around and was heading home. Enough excitement for one night. When she neared her boarding house, Kelly turned her headlights off completely and slowed to a crawl. No police cars in sight. Good. She had been dreading the possibility that Harkins might have radioed a cruiser to meet her, but she finally realized that he had barely got a glimpse at her from a block away. She backed her car into the dead-end alley next to the tavern and turned off the engine. As far as she could tell, no one had seen her. Yanking off the helmet and silk mask, wriggling out of the leather jacket, the Green Devil was put away for the moment as Kelly bundled her gear and snuck back into her rented room.
The boarding house was almost silent. Somewhere upstairs, a radio was softly playing big band music but the windows had all been darkened because of the blackout. Kelly stowed her helmet and jacket away, quickly wiped off her make-up with some Pond's cold cream and felt some of the tension ease out of her body. I must be screwy, she thought, because God help me I really love this life. Before she turned in, Kelly took down the blackout curtain and raised the window to let in fresh air. She stuck her head out to took a deep breath and that was when she saw it.
Passing overhead, barely clearing the rooftops, was a strange black aircraft. Not a plane. It looked like an autogyro but it lacked a front propeller. Eerily silent, showing only one small blinking light on the nose, the weird craft swept overhead and was gone in an instant. She had no idea what it was.
III.
For once, Kelly had gotten home early enough to grab a decent amount of sleep. At the offices of THE MESSENGER, she was so unbearably chipper and energetic that her editor quickly sent her to police headquarters to find out about the rumors two Axis spies had been shot to death the night before. "That Harkins galoot is a sap for you," old man Bianchi grumbled. "I figure you can bat your eyes and get answers a dozen seasoned reporters wouldn't budge outta him."
"So I'm good at getting people to confide in me, huh? It's my honest little face."
"He doesn't know you like I do, kid. Gowan, get outta here." Bianchi picked up his blue pencil and began doing corrections on a story. Kelly nearly pranced out of his corner office, snatched up her handbag and was out into the hall before anyone could even ask her where she was going. The elevator operator wasted an ingratiating smile on her. Kelly's mind was boiling that day as she turned over the previous night's events. That strange autogyro.. if that's what it was... couldn't have anything to do with her. Could it?
And what was the meeting at three that the one German had mentioned? Even more worrying, had Jim gotten a good enough look at her to realize she was the Green Devil? So much to digest.
Taking a taxi down to 20th Street, Kelly asked for Harkins and was hustled into the squad room where she found the big guy slumped on a bench against one wall. He wasn't doing anything in particular, which worried her because he was not one to waste time. He looked like he had not been home yet, he had five o'clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes.
Dropping down lightly next to him, she chirped, "Why so glum, chum? You're packing overnight bags under your peepers."
"Huh? Oh. Hi, red. What are you up to today?"
"Holy Hannah, you sound beaten down. Spill the beans, pal, what's crushing you underfoot?"
Harkins let out a sigh after trying to repress it. "Ah well, it's police business. I got a hearing at eleven, then I'll be off duty for a few days. The new Commissioner is a stickler for following the rules."
Leaning in closer, which always seemed to make Harkins perk up, Kelly whispered, "Word is that two Axis skunks were sent to the bad place last night. Reporters are running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to get the lowdown. So it was you who snuffed those rats? I think you deserve a medal instead of getting chewed out."
"Thanks, sweetie. But when an officer fires his sidearm, he goes through the mill even if no one got nicked. Considering that a spy cashed in his chips last night, it's a serious matter." He lowered his voice and caught his breath as he noticed the tiny yellow specks and spokes in her green eyes. Then he straightened up and got stern again. "This is not for print, but the War Department is cutting in. They can pull rank and our NYPD will back away and let the Army brass take over."
"That stinks to heaven," Kelly said. She asked how he was bearing up and if he might as well get some rest as long as he would be off duty for a while. They chatted like old conspirators. Kelly's presence cheered Harkins up, if only by her energetic zest for life rubbed off on him as little. For a few minutes, they gabbed about inconsequential things, then Kelly got up.
"Thanks, big fella. I promise your name is not going to go through my typewriter about this. I owe you more than that. Oh, wait. I almost forgot. One of my sources says she saw something strange last night. An autgyro without a front propeller, quiet as a kite, flying low over the city last night."
"The Archangels!" Harkin rumbled. "I mean... Aw hell, their presence in the area can't be kept secret for long. You know about the Archangels, I s'pose?"
"Just what I see in the newsreels," Kelly replied. "Air pirates. Seven of them, pulling raids deep in occupied territories and rescuing prisoners and such like noble deeds. Supposed to be guys from different nations, led by a man known only as THE Archangel. I didn't think they were real."
"That's what I would have said about the Green Devil." Harkins fixed a curious quizzical gaze on her. "I saw the Green Devil last night. Helmet with little horns, a white trident on her jacket. It was her, all right. Funny thing, she was about your size, honey."
"Imagine that," she scoffed. "Now I know what to dress up for next Halloween. I gotta make tracks, Jim. But keep your chin up. The mess will blow over for you, the brass knows you're a good man."
Harkins rose to gaze down into her upturned face and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. Not that she would mind. Instead, he smiled and said, "If I get a better look at her, I'll check to see if she has green eyes. Like yours."
Kelly stammered awkwardly and said, "This town is crawlin' with mystery men these days. Next thing you know, we'll be having lunch with Mark Drum or the Sting. Well, see you. Don't be a stranger."
Watching her stroll out of the room, Jim Harkins let a chuckle escape his lips. Life got more interesting every day.
IV.
Stepping down the wide concrete steps to the sidewalk, Kelly spotted a tall man in a tightly belted black trenchcoat waiting for her. For a second, she thought, 'Oh rats, it's some Army guy who's going to warn me to mind my own business.' But when their eyes met and he raised a finger to the visor of his military cap in an informal salute, she knew this was something entirely different.
Several inches over six feet tall, wide-shouldered, the man had a fierce hawklike face with dark intense eyes and a beaked nose over thin lips. The square jaw added to the forceful impression. As she drew near, he said quietly, "Miss O'Connor? I must speak with you."
Now she was hooked. Although his English was fine, that strong Polish accent roused her curiosity. Besides, there was a lunchtime crowd all around them, so she felt relatively safe. "Do I know you, buddy?"
"No. But I know you. I saw where you were and what you did last night." He gestured for her to follow and they began walking slowly up Lexington.
"You're spinning moonbeams, friend," she began but her words died in her throat. "Wait. It was you. In that funny autogyro...?!"
"The SERAPH is a true gyro," the man replied calmly, watching her with eyes that memorized every detail. "Some designers are starting to be create helicopters but they are years away from being practical."
"Except for you, that is?"
"Yes. Our SERAPHS are the most advanced aircraft in the world. They can hover motionless, they can rise straight up, they can fly circles around any Spitfire or Jap Zero. You might as well be honest with me, miss. I watched you park your car and climb in your window last night."
"Yeah, sure," she scoffed. "In a blackout. With no moon. Come on, you're no owl."
The tall man slowed his pace and turned to regard her sternly. "You may not have heard of ultra-violet projectors or treated goggles. That doesn't matter. What's important now is that we share our information. The spies said something to you, but I was too high up to read their lips even with binoculars. What was said?"
Kelly O'Connor felt a cold jolt in her chest. This man was the first who scared her. "You. You're the one called the Archangel."
"Do you want the police to learn you play-act at night in a devil costume? I don't think so. Tell me what was said."
Despite the imposing manner of this man, Kelly was never intimidated easily. She started walking again, taking a slight advantage by making him follow. "Tell you what, here's a counter-offer. Let's trade some information, that's how the game usually works."
Was that the faintest hint of amusement in those stern eyes? Archangel said, "Fair enough. You are a reporter for the MESSENGER. I'm sure you have heard gossip that the recent blackouts were prompted by U-Boat sightings in New York Harbor?"
"You bet your buttons," she said. "Could be gospel. I get a feeling you know more about it than the average Joe."
"Your feelings would be right," Archangel replied. He took off his billed cap to reveal a thick head of jet black hair brushed straight back. She noticed he had thin leather gloves tucked into the epaulets of his trenchcoat. "It's a new type of submarine, smaller than usual and with a smaller crew. G2 information indicates that this miniature sub does have a retractable cannon for firing on ships but mostly it is used to ferry spies and saboteurs."
"And you and your team of flying knights are out to nail this U-Boat?"
"Yes. We Archangels serve no one country. Our members come from occupied lands like Poland, France, Sweden and the Philippines. We live only to fight against tyranny and oppression."
"Uh-huh." Kelly was studying the man's clear-cut profile as they reached the lower edge of Central Park. "How do you feel about a poor lil American gal trying to help her country out?"
Archangel snorted. "You mean well. I can see your heart is in the right place. But you do go unarmed against enemy agents and gangsters. Sooner or later, you'll be killed. If you're lucky, it'll be a quick death with no torture."
"Aren't you going to tell this is no job for a mere woman?"
"I've worked with too many brave partisan ladies in France and Italy. They knew they were giving their lives but they never hesitated. Brave as any man."
"Oh. Okay," she mumbled. "Sorry. So give me one more piece of information and I'll spill what I know. Whereabouts would this midget U-Boat turn up to unload the German vermin?"
For a long tense moment, the Archangel did not respond. He was staring at Kelly, judging, scrutinizing. But finally, he said, "The northern shore of Long Island. There's a rocky stretch that has not been developed. Ten miles past Lewiston, where a finger of rock stuck out into the ocean. Your turn."
"Okey. I caught the words 'meet' and 'three AM.'" She flashed what she hoped was a winning smile at the infamous airman. "Seems like we had two pieces of a puzzle that fit together, right?"
"Yes. Thank you. Miss O'Connor, I may be wasting my breath but be advised not to venture out to the area hoping for a scoop. There will be trouble."
"And by trouble, you mean..?"
"Death. Gunfire and bloodshed. There's a war on!" With that, he placed his military cap back on, turned and strode quickly off in the opposite direction. Left behind, Kelly could hardly restrain herself from hopping up and down with glee. Her first meeting with a genuine no-fooling mystery man! The Green Devil was making progress.
V.
By two-thirty that morning, Kelly pulled over off the rudimentary dirt road and wondered what was wrong with her that she did things like this. She was hopelessly out of her familiar territory, more than ninety miles away from Manhattan on back roads that did't even have signs. The last house had been six miles back and it hadn't even seemed to be inhabited. For the first time in his career as the Green Devil, doubts and misgivings forced their way in through cracks in her immense self-confidence. Long Island was starting to get built up after the Depression had stopped development, but still there were extensive stretches of not much but rocks and dirt.
Even more than the imminent confrontation with murderous German spies, Kelly was fretting over being able to get back home. With her crummy A-sticker, getting enough gas for crime-fighting was always a problem. Her calculations were that keeping her speed down should let her return as far as the bridge. After that, well, she'd figure something out. She hopped out from behind the wheel and reached in the back seat to fetch her helmet.
Wearing the dark green outfit, she was difficult to spot in the gloom. Kelly stretched from side to side, swung her arms in windmills and decided she was ready. To her left, she could hear the ocean and sniff the salt air tang. Kelly scuttled down a steep incline and started trotting lightly along the rocky beach. One advantage to working at the MESSENGER was that plenty of reference books were on hand. She had studied a few maps on her lunch break and even wrote down directions in a sort of shorthand to help her find this place.
As she jogged through the darkness, Kelly went over what she had learned in the MESSENGER's clippings files the notorious Archangel. It sure wasn't much more than rumors and speculation. In the back of her mind was the vague thought that maybe, if she helped out tonight, even the taciturn Archangel might grant an interview. Her name in a byline on the front page, offers from rival papers that paid more, maybe even an interview on the radio... Kelly had talked herself into believing her future included a Pulitzer Prize in Journalism.
With happy images of fame and fortune dancing around inside her head, the Green Devil approached a cluster of three straggly birch trees. She slowed and peered through the gloom. What was that? A bundle of something. Kelly drew nearer and made out the shape to be a folded up coat. Almost holding her breath, turning to look all around, she bent over the garment. What did this mean? Were the spies that close?
And a man's voice from the trees whispered, "Hold very still, cherie. This is a moment of great peril for you."
Her heart sinking, Kelly froze into position and saw a man in a dark uniform swing out from behind the trees, aiming a Colt .45 automatic at her. He was wearing high polished boots, jodhpurs and a front-flap tunic, with a billed cap on his head. All she could discern of his face was a pale oval in the darkness, with a pencil-thin mustache. "Suckered again," she grumbled.
"Do not fret, my dear. This is not the end for you" said the man with a noticeable French accent. His 'this' came out as 'zhis.' With one hand, he picked up the coat and draped it over one arm. "The chief expected you to come here tonight and I was placed in your path. Those dainty hands are playing with most dangerous toys, you know."
"The chief?"
"But of cuss.You spoke with him today." The man tapped the forefinger of his free hand to a symbol high up on the left side of his chest. She could just discern a white upward-pointing sword flanked by widespread wings. "My name is Marcel. You are dealing with the Archangels now."
"Oh. You're supposed to be the good guys, so how about pointing the heater somewhere else?" she responded with tentative relief.
"In a world at war, there are no good guys," he said, but he did lower the automatic. "We Archangels are men who have lost our families and our homes to the forces of dictatorships. We are bitter, yes, hard and unforgiving. But we fight to restore freedom to our lands and for the rights of the oppressed. I think, my dear, you would place yourself on our side?"
"I'll tell the world I am!" she blurted with too much eagerness. "Your boss made quite an impression on me. So. Where's the rest of your team?"
"Ah, do not trouble your head over that," he said, returning his sidearm to the flap holster on his belt. "Our concern is that a boat of the Boche scum will be turning up in this vicinity soon. Here, take this," he said as he handed her a long metal cylinder.
"A flare? Wait, a little cartoon light bulb went ding! over my head. We're here to signal your chief, right?" She swung her head to take in the overcast sky.
"It is so. And I must sadly admit, ma cher, that you and I have slim chances to carry out our mission and live to tell the tale."
"Yikes. Oh well. I can't let U-Boats start shelling New York. All my friends live there. I'll do whatever I can, Marcel."
"You assistance is most welcome.. Green Devil. Hush! Listen..."
Against the rhythm of the waves lapping up against the rocky shore, another sound was getting clearer. Faint but noticeable, it was the noise made by oars being stealthily dipped in the water and drawn out again. Marcel shrank back into the shadows of the trees and Kelly squeezed in next to him, which he did not seem to mind. Bumping up against a large jagged boulder protruding out over the ocean, a round rubber lifeboat bobbed while a man inside grabbed the boulder to hold the craft steady. Another hopped out and immediately all five men were hauling the boat up onto the land.
"Gut gemacht," grunted one. "Herr Strasser, heute Nacht ist die Nacht!"
"Aussehen," said an older one with pride in his voice. "Der Wolfling abfliegen... Abschied, Junger Wolf!"
"The Wolf Cub is leaving," Marcel whispered against the Green Devil's helmet. "We must act now." With the last word, he twisted the cap and flung the brilliantly sputtering flare out toward the shore. Kelly did not hesitate and her toss sent the second flare to roll up against the very feet of the German agents. As soon as he had acted, the Archangel drew his automatic and raced toward the Germans, firing as he went. Kelly was right beside him, unarmed but caught up in the heat of the moment. All five Axis spies recovered instantly from the surprise of that blinding light. They each whipped up a Luger and began shooting as fast as they could.
V.
Even though she had no idea how her weird ability worked nor what its limits might be, Kelly did not have time to worry. In the pitiless glare of two sputtering flares, she lunged forward and got in front of the Archangel as a burst of gunfire exploded right at her. Both her arms whirled in tight circles, beyond her conscious control, and the bullets whined away in all directions. Her hands blurred as they moved and the attack was diverted away from her and her new ally. As chance would have it, two of the slugs were deflected right back at the Germans and one man sagged to the ground with a hole punched in the center of his face.
Taking a marksman's stance, holding his own 45 in both hands, Marcel fired quickly but with deliberately aim. Just like that that, it was over. Five corpses sprawled where they had fallen, several still clutching their guns in lifeless hands. The Archangel stepped forward suspiciously and even prodded one body with a boot toe to check for signs of life. Finally, his shoulders lowered and he swung around to smile at the Green Devil.
"I have heard wild tales of your strange gift, little one," he said. "But of cuss I was of the skeptical mind until these eyes of mine saw for themselves. It is miraculous! Superb! You slapped away bullets as if swatting annoying horseflies. How is this even possible?"
Kelly tried to sound brash and confident, although at the moment she was severely on edge. "Darned if I understand it myself, to be honest. Even as a little girl, I could do it but I tried to keep it to myself." She examined her hands gingerly. "My palms aren't sore in the least, they don't even sting."
"I would take it as a gift from the Good Lord Himself," Marcel seriously intoned. "So that you may help free peoples stand up against tyranny in this dark hour."
Before Kelly could reply a deep explosion out on the ocean thumped and a geyser of water shot upward. A second one quickly followed. Kelly's nerve snapped. "NOW what?" she yelled.
Marcel had taken a small pair of binoculars from a pocket of his outer coat and looked through them. "It is good news, mon ami. Behold! Here, see for yourself."
As the Green Devil adjusted the focus, she saw a bright beam of white light snapped on out on the sea. The light shone down from that strange aircraft she had glimpsed the night before, a craft without wings or front propeller, with four blades spinning on its top.
The spotlight showed turmoil on the ocean surface. A black greasy stain spread rapidly, and then metal parts and a single corpse floated to the surface. Kelly swallowed with difficulty and her voice sounded very small. "I.. I guess your boss finished out that U-U-Boat...."
"Ha ha. The chief was carrying two depth charges tonight. He was waiting only for our signal to point him toward the target." Marcel sounded gleeful. "The Archangels are well named, my friend. We are an avenging sword of justice indeed."
For another few minutes, the strange aircraft hovered over the destruction, looking for survivors or any sign that the Wolfling craft had escaped. Finally, the beam shut off and Kelly saw the SERAPH swing around and head toward them. She should have felt elation and even excitement at meeting these mystery men but a hollow weariness came over her instead. War. Death and destruction. She couldn't find any joy in it.
The SERAPH descended vertically, nearly noiselessly, touching its lowered landing wheels fifty feet away from them. As the top rotors slowed, the hatches slid open and two occupants leaped out to stride quickly toward Kelly and Marcel. One was the leader, Archangel himself, marked by the large winged sword emblem boldly on the front of his tunic. The other member of the team was a huge burly blond man with a lantern jaw. He held a Thompson submachine gun at the ready.
"I see you two have done your part," announced the Archangel in his confident baritone. "Good work, both of you. The Sea Wolves have lost their new cub tonight and I think they will be cautious before trying a second one."
"You were right about this young lady, chief. I would certainly have been killed by those scum but she batted away their gunfire as if it was a mere nuisance. An amazing sight. Perhaps she could join us in our mission."
"NO." The Archangel continued in a less stern tone, "We are all ace pilots, skilled at aerial combat. The SERAPHS are tricky to fly, it is like juggling knives on a galloping horse."
"Oh, and there is a fact I'm a mere girl, too," she observed tartly.
"We live in barracks on our secret island," Archangel continued. "None of us have friends or family left alive from our former lives. All we do is train and practice and fly out to the kill the enemy. Could you live like that?"
Kelly shrank back a step. "Welllll, nah. I've have a career when I'm not in this masquerade outfit. I have friends and a sister. And besides, I have never taken even one pilot lesson. I'm not even a good driver, to be honest."
Surprising everyone, Archangel gave a sharp barking laugh. "Very good. But you have enough courage and initiative to any two soldiers.
I think we will work together again, Green Devil. It's going to be a long war and victory will be costly."
"Okay then," she said and started shaking hands with them in turn. "If I write for the READER'S DIGEST column, "The Most Unforgettable Person I Ever Met,' I'll mention you lads."
"We'll be going then. Do you want a lift back to Manhattan, miss?"
"Thanks but no. My roadster is down the road a ways. I only hope I have enough gas to make it home."
Archangel jerked a thumb at the big blond, who put down his Tommy gun and went over to the sharklike outline of the SERAPH. He opened a rear panel, dug around and came back holding two five gallon metal cans with handles. He placed them in front of Kelly.
"That's high-octane gasoline," Archangel explained. "Not what we use in our SERAPHS but we do have Jeeps and other vehicles on our missions. Think you can carry them by yourself?"
"Oh HECK yeah!" she squealed, clapping her hands. "I'll tell the world, that's a better present than a diamond ring these days. Whenever I can help, Archangel, just give me a call."
The leader of the air pirates touched the brim on his cap before turning away. "We know where to find you."
5/7/2019
10/3/1942
I.
At the unexpected sound of a woman's voice from the back seat, Detective Jim Harkins yelped and dropped his keys by his feet. It was past eleven at night and he had finally stomped out of the precinct house to his Nash after a long brutal day. He twisted around violently. In the sideways light from a store window, he saw the imp face of Kelly O'Connor grinning at him.
"Why am I not surprised to find you hounding me?" he growled.
"Come on, big fella, all I said was 'hi there,'" was her reply.
"Shouldn't all good little girls be tucked in bed at this hour?"
"I happen to be free, white and over twenty-one." She leaned forward so their faces were almost touching. "You know, I think I could get used to your mug. You remind me of our old family basset hound."
"Oh no you don't," Harkins said, drawing his head away. "Out you go. No fast-talking trouble-making redheaded girl reporters allowed."
Not seeming to hear his words, Kelly drawled, "I saw a guy in uniform leave your cop shack. Officer, too..Second Looey I believe. He was with a palooka in a nifty tan suit. Are you boys in blue giving Army Intelligence a hand, what with the war and all that?"
"None of yer beeswax," he said but his tone had definitely softened. "Shouldn't you be assigned to covering flower shows and debutante weddings?"
Kelly laughed with a staccato trill that was funny in itself."You're a riot, Harkins. I go after gruesome murders and Tong wars and Axis sabotagers....saboteurs. Lay the dope on me, what's cooking?"
"Out I said. C'mon, Kelly..."
"Oooh. You called me Kelly. You're tumbling for me, aren't you?" She swung nimbly over and planted herself in the front passenger seat before he could draw a breath.
Now that he saw her more clearly, Harkins weakened even more. Kelly had thick red hair that reached her shoulders, insolent green eyes over an upturned nose and full lips that curved up at the ends. Just the way she was smirking at him made him feel funny. "Seriously, reporter or not, you get out of this car right now, Red."
"Don't be so gruff, buddy. Listen. How's about you giving me a lift? Isn't it a little late for an unescorted lady to walk home? I wouldn't mind a little dancing either, I hear the Blaize Club has a band that swings."
Despite all his intended resolve, Harkins started up the Nash and glanced around before easing out onto 20th Street. Traffic was sparse that night. "I guess taking you home wouldn't hurt. I might feel a twinge if something happened to you because I made you walk. But you go straight home and stop badgering me."
"That's my boy," she said. "Did I tell you we got a new editor on the city desk? I swear, the MESSENGER has a worse turnover than a chorus line. He liked my coverage of the new Tongs in Queens. But I have to stay hot, I need a big scoop to make me stand out from the riff-raff."
Heading uptown, driving slowly because of the lowered speed limit to conserve both gas and tires, Harkins sighed too heavily to be convincing. "We keep throwing you out of police headquarters and you keep sneaking back in. I am not going to tell you anything."
So he thought. But Kelly wheedled him into buying her a coffee and a slice of apple pie at an all-night beanery, and Harkins gulped two cups black himself. During all this, her voice got sweeter and sweeter and she started looking up at him with adoring eyes. He fell for it. Twenty minutes later, he was dropping hints that the recent blackouts had good cause. The captain of a merchant ship going past Ellis Island insisted he had seen a periscope."
"A U-boat? Hot dog, I see headlines with my name under them. I won't have to share a desk with old man Gaddis. What doesn't smell like rum stinks of cigars. And he steals my erasers."
"Whoa. You promised this was all confidential. NOTHING in print, remember."
Kelly was inspecting her plate as if hoping that somehow she had missed a second hunk of pie, then clanked her fork on the counter. "No fair bringing up what I said. Okey dokey, pal, I will sit on it. For now. So what're you doing tomorrow? Gonna dogpaddle out into the river and grab any stray submarines you find?"
"Ahhh, I think the chief is wasting my time but I'm on the graveyard shift tomorrow, 11 pm to 7 am. I'm stuck patrolling Times Square looking for someone. Do me a favor and be in some other part of town. You're a firecracker. I swear you stir up as much trouble as that Green Devil gal."
"Hah! Green Devil my foot," laughed Kelly. "If you ask me, these volunteer crimefighters in their masquerade outfits have all got a few screws loose. I bet the Green Devil isn't even real."
II.
The next day dragged unbearably for Kelly. The editor put her to work doing a stack of rewrites, including a boxing article that had more words misspelled than correct. It read as if the writer had taken few punches to the head himself. The other reporters were running out and advancing their careers while she tapped forlornly away at a battered Smith-Corona that was older than she was. Finally, the clock grudgingly admitted it was five o'clock and she breezed out of the city room and down to the street.
Despite being low on funds, she stopped to eat a Reuben at Grossman's deli with an egg cream and a couple of pretzels, She knew she was going to miss dinner. At the boarding house, she chatted by Mrs Hooper for a little while, then went to her room. Removing her makeup and changing into a nightgown took a few minutes before she climbed into bed and was asleep in ten seconds. This double life was wearing her out.
It was close to ten o'clock when she woke to a darkened silent room. No light from the street was coming in the windows. The radio in the parlor outside was silent. Stretching and yawning until her jaws popped, Kelly crossed the room and peered out into darkness. A blackout drill had been called, she saw at once. She must have slept right through the siren. The flashing neon sign at Wilbert's Tavern next door was off and no streetlights were visible on the corner.
A good night for criminals, fiends and enemy agents. Time for the Green Devil.
She liked this boarding house because Mr and Mrs Hooper invariably retired around nine and both of the other lodgers were also middle-aged and tended to turn in early as well. Breakfast and dinner times were the only periods when everyone was bustling about. At night, no one noticed Kelly sneaking out. A blackout curtain had been taped next to her window but since the blank brick wall of the Tavern was next door, there was not much chance any light from her room would be noticed outside anyway.
Her heartbeat sped up as the excitement began building. Kelly dropped flat to the carpet and reached far back under the bed to drag out a black trunk. There was only one key to it. Laying out the garments stored inside that trunk, she stripped down quickly to only her step-ins. Nude, Kelly O'Connor was slim and sleek, with small breasts and narrow hips. She relied on constant walking to
stay fit, although in warm weather she also went swimming as often as she possibly could.
In less than a minute, she was wearing her beloved outfit, all dark green, of boots, snug pants and a man's shirt under a waist length leather jacket. Every pocket held some useful item. On the back of the jacket, she had painted in white a vertical trident. Kelly tugged on wrist-length leather gloves and fought to keep from laughing out loud. All day long she dreamed of this moment.
Very quickly, she bent toward the mirror over her dresser and snapped on the lamp for a moment as she applied bright red lipstick in a way that disguised the fullness of her lips. Turning off the light again, Kelly tied on a black silk mask that left only her mouth exposed. Disguising the shape of her lips and nose had proven effective so far.
She couldn't wait to get going! Snatching up her modified crash helmet, she raised her window wide and saw no one was in sight before sliding out into the alley. This had been a major reason she had moved to this boarding house. Except when a patron of the tavern stumbled back here to relieve himself, the dead-end alley was a perfect place to park her roadster. And it allowed her to enter and leave the boarding house without being seen. She took a pair of license plates from the trunk and quickly attached them with wire over her genuine plates. The bogus ones, which she had swiped from a junkyard, did not match but that would only make it harder for anyone to track the Green Devil. Satisfied no one was watching, Kelly got behind the wheel and eased out onto the street.
By the time she reached 60th Street, her nerves were hopelessly on edge. Driving with headlights half-masked with tape, through a city where the buildings were darkened and the streetlamps either off or shielded, she was ready to snap. Twice, she had nearly collided with other cars rolling toward her out of the gloom. At 59th and Eighth Avenue, she pulled into an empty spot and got of her car. Were her legs wobbly? That would pass. Back with her feet on the ground, Kelly felt much more confident. During the past two years, she had spent many nights prowling the night and in her dark suit with the helmet on, she was hard to spot even by someone actively looking for her.
Keeping to side streets and cutting through alleys, the Green Devil trotted through a city which was holding its breath. By the time she reached Times Square, Kelly had shadowed four dim figures moving through the night. Each turned out to be harmless when she got close enough. She moved on. At the corner of 42nd Street, she froze into a doorway as a squad car crawled carefully through the intersection.
As she stood there motionless, two bulky forms loomed up in the murk. There was the flash of a match being struck by a thumbnail and the smell of a cigarette being lit. A man's voice growled something in German, too low for Kelly for catch. She carefully moved closer toward them, scarcely breathing, quiet as a cloud passing overhead. Then a different voice replied, "Verstehst du, was ich sage?"
Her command of German was barely adequate for asking directions, but she got 'Do you understand?' from it.
"Bestimmt. Wir treffen uns am Drei," came the answer. Most of that meant nothing to Kelly but she knew 'meet' and 'three.' Her heartbeat accelerated as she realized her luck. Well, she thought, I am Irish on both sides. Then she moved a little closer and knocked over an umbrella someone had left propped up in the doorway and which she had not seen. The clatter sounded deafening in the hushed street.
Immediately the two men wheeled toward her and one lit another match. In its flare was revealed a slim figure in dark green leather, wearing a helmet crested by two short curved horns. Kelly dove forward and tried to pass between them before they could react but a beefy hand clenched the back of her jacket and brought her up short. She wriggled free and straightened up just as the enemy agent threw a sharp hooking punch right at her face and she deflected it with a slap. The German swung twice again and each time the Green Devil redirected his blows with her open palms.
This was her wild talent, something no one could explain. Kelly was somehow able to swing her hands and deflect any attack from a punch to a thrown rock to a bullet, without being hurt in the least. It didn't even sting. She didn't understand this weird gift but she was certainly grateful for it. The Axis spy tried once more but had his looping roundhouse right slapped so far forward that he lost his balance and fell.
The single word which the man snarled did not need to be translated.
"Zur Seite treten!" shouted the other agent. Kelly had no idea what that meant but the muzzle of a Luger being thrust toward was clear enough. A blinding white flash and the sharp crack followed... and again the Green Devil whirled her hand around in a tight circle and the bullet veered off to slap deeply into the first German's left eye.
With a strange sighing exhalation, the dying man slumped to the sidewalk as Kelly plunged straight at the gunman. The Green Devil planted her feet and blasted a right hook that twitched the man's head to one side. But he didn't fall. Instead he retaliated with a stiff arm to the chest that knocked her over backwards. Even as she took that tumble, Kelly was angry that she just couldn't hit hard enough to duke it out with men much bigger and heavier than she was. Maybe brass knuckles..? All that flashed through her mind in a split-second as she landed sitting up on the sidewalk.
The German spy said in perfect English, "My friend is dead because of you, witch." He aimed his Luger and abruptly a gout of blood spurted from his chest as a gunshot echoed from behind him.
For a second, Kelly O'Donnell blinked and tried to figure out what had happened. She had been ready to try and deflect the gunman's next shot and somehow he was lying face down next to her with a hole in the back of his jacket. Then she saw Jim Harkins running across the street toward her, service revolver in hand. Her heart sank.
This was a moment she had dreaded. So far, the Green Devil hadn't encountered anyone who knew Kelly O'Connor. She had no confidence in her mask fooling a man who had been studying her face across restaurant tables and in the squad room. Not to mention her voice being distinctive if she had to talk. If he recognized her... Whirling on one heel, Kelly sprinted away as fast as she possibly could, confident she could outrun the bigger heavier Harkins if he gave chase. She heard him yell for her to stop but ignored it. Swinging right at the next block and then left, the Green Devil raced uptown through the darkened city like an apparition.
As her lungs began to burn and her ribs ached, Kelly reached her roadster and dived in behind the wheel. In an instant, she had swung the powerful little car around and was heading home. Enough excitement for one night. When she neared her boarding house, Kelly turned her headlights off completely and slowed to a crawl. No police cars in sight. Good. She had been dreading the possibility that Harkins might have radioed a cruiser to meet her, but she finally realized that he had barely got a glimpse at her from a block away. She backed her car into the dead-end alley next to the tavern and turned off the engine. As far as she could tell, no one had seen her. Yanking off the helmet and silk mask, wriggling out of the leather jacket, the Green Devil was put away for the moment as Kelly bundled her gear and snuck back into her rented room.
The boarding house was almost silent. Somewhere upstairs, a radio was softly playing big band music but the windows had all been darkened because of the blackout. Kelly stowed her helmet and jacket away, quickly wiped off her make-up with some Pond's cold cream and felt some of the tension ease out of her body. I must be screwy, she thought, because God help me I really love this life. Before she turned in, Kelly took down the blackout curtain and raised the window to let in fresh air. She stuck her head out to took a deep breath and that was when she saw it.
Passing overhead, barely clearing the rooftops, was a strange black aircraft. Not a plane. It looked like an autogyro but it lacked a front propeller. Eerily silent, showing only one small blinking light on the nose, the weird craft swept overhead and was gone in an instant. She had no idea what it was.
III.
For once, Kelly had gotten home early enough to grab a decent amount of sleep. At the offices of THE MESSENGER, she was so unbearably chipper and energetic that her editor quickly sent her to police headquarters to find out about the rumors two Axis spies had been shot to death the night before. "That Harkins galoot is a sap for you," old man Bianchi grumbled. "I figure you can bat your eyes and get answers a dozen seasoned reporters wouldn't budge outta him."
"So I'm good at getting people to confide in me, huh? It's my honest little face."
"He doesn't know you like I do, kid. Gowan, get outta here." Bianchi picked up his blue pencil and began doing corrections on a story. Kelly nearly pranced out of his corner office, snatched up her handbag and was out into the hall before anyone could even ask her where she was going. The elevator operator wasted an ingratiating smile on her. Kelly's mind was boiling that day as she turned over the previous night's events. That strange autogyro.. if that's what it was... couldn't have anything to do with her. Could it?
And what was the meeting at three that the one German had mentioned? Even more worrying, had Jim gotten a good enough look at her to realize she was the Green Devil? So much to digest.
Taking a taxi down to 20th Street, Kelly asked for Harkins and was hustled into the squad room where she found the big guy slumped on a bench against one wall. He wasn't doing anything in particular, which worried her because he was not one to waste time. He looked like he had not been home yet, he had five o'clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes.
Dropping down lightly next to him, she chirped, "Why so glum, chum? You're packing overnight bags under your peepers."
"Huh? Oh. Hi, red. What are you up to today?"
"Holy Hannah, you sound beaten down. Spill the beans, pal, what's crushing you underfoot?"
Harkins let out a sigh after trying to repress it. "Ah well, it's police business. I got a hearing at eleven, then I'll be off duty for a few days. The new Commissioner is a stickler for following the rules."
Leaning in closer, which always seemed to make Harkins perk up, Kelly whispered, "Word is that two Axis skunks were sent to the bad place last night. Reporters are running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to get the lowdown. So it was you who snuffed those rats? I think you deserve a medal instead of getting chewed out."
"Thanks, sweetie. But when an officer fires his sidearm, he goes through the mill even if no one got nicked. Considering that a spy cashed in his chips last night, it's a serious matter." He lowered his voice and caught his breath as he noticed the tiny yellow specks and spokes in her green eyes. Then he straightened up and got stern again. "This is not for print, but the War Department is cutting in. They can pull rank and our NYPD will back away and let the Army brass take over."
"That stinks to heaven," Kelly said. She asked how he was bearing up and if he might as well get some rest as long as he would be off duty for a while. They chatted like old conspirators. Kelly's presence cheered Harkins up, if only by her energetic zest for life rubbed off on him as little. For a few minutes, they gabbed about inconsequential things, then Kelly got up.
"Thanks, big fella. I promise your name is not going to go through my typewriter about this. I owe you more than that. Oh, wait. I almost forgot. One of my sources says she saw something strange last night. An autgyro without a front propeller, quiet as a kite, flying low over the city last night."
"The Archangels!" Harkin rumbled. "I mean... Aw hell, their presence in the area can't be kept secret for long. You know about the Archangels, I s'pose?"
"Just what I see in the newsreels," Kelly replied. "Air pirates. Seven of them, pulling raids deep in occupied territories and rescuing prisoners and such like noble deeds. Supposed to be guys from different nations, led by a man known only as THE Archangel. I didn't think they were real."
"That's what I would have said about the Green Devil." Harkins fixed a curious quizzical gaze on her. "I saw the Green Devil last night. Helmet with little horns, a white trident on her jacket. It was her, all right. Funny thing, she was about your size, honey."
"Imagine that," she scoffed. "Now I know what to dress up for next Halloween. I gotta make tracks, Jim. But keep your chin up. The mess will blow over for you, the brass knows you're a good man."
Harkins rose to gaze down into her upturned face and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. Not that she would mind. Instead, he smiled and said, "If I get a better look at her, I'll check to see if she has green eyes. Like yours."
Kelly stammered awkwardly and said, "This town is crawlin' with mystery men these days. Next thing you know, we'll be having lunch with Mark Drum or the Sting. Well, see you. Don't be a stranger."
Watching her stroll out of the room, Jim Harkins let a chuckle escape his lips. Life got more interesting every day.
IV.
Stepping down the wide concrete steps to the sidewalk, Kelly spotted a tall man in a tightly belted black trenchcoat waiting for her. For a second, she thought, 'Oh rats, it's some Army guy who's going to warn me to mind my own business.' But when their eyes met and he raised a finger to the visor of his military cap in an informal salute, she knew this was something entirely different.
Several inches over six feet tall, wide-shouldered, the man had a fierce hawklike face with dark intense eyes and a beaked nose over thin lips. The square jaw added to the forceful impression. As she drew near, he said quietly, "Miss O'Connor? I must speak with you."
Now she was hooked. Although his English was fine, that strong Polish accent roused her curiosity. Besides, there was a lunchtime crowd all around them, so she felt relatively safe. "Do I know you, buddy?"
"No. But I know you. I saw where you were and what you did last night." He gestured for her to follow and they began walking slowly up Lexington.
"You're spinning moonbeams, friend," she began but her words died in her throat. "Wait. It was you. In that funny autogyro...?!"
"The SERAPH is a true gyro," the man replied calmly, watching her with eyes that memorized every detail. "Some designers are starting to be create helicopters but they are years away from being practical."
"Except for you, that is?"
"Yes. Our SERAPHS are the most advanced aircraft in the world. They can hover motionless, they can rise straight up, they can fly circles around any Spitfire or Jap Zero. You might as well be honest with me, miss. I watched you park your car and climb in your window last night."
"Yeah, sure," she scoffed. "In a blackout. With no moon. Come on, you're no owl."
The tall man slowed his pace and turned to regard her sternly. "You may not have heard of ultra-violet projectors or treated goggles. That doesn't matter. What's important now is that we share our information. The spies said something to you, but I was too high up to read their lips even with binoculars. What was said?"
Kelly O'Connor felt a cold jolt in her chest. This man was the first who scared her. "You. You're the one called the Archangel."
"Do you want the police to learn you play-act at night in a devil costume? I don't think so. Tell me what was said."
Despite the imposing manner of this man, Kelly was never intimidated easily. She started walking again, taking a slight advantage by making him follow. "Tell you what, here's a counter-offer. Let's trade some information, that's how the game usually works."
Was that the faintest hint of amusement in those stern eyes? Archangel said, "Fair enough. You are a reporter for the MESSENGER. I'm sure you have heard gossip that the recent blackouts were prompted by U-Boat sightings in New York Harbor?"
"You bet your buttons," she said. "Could be gospel. I get a feeling you know more about it than the average Joe."
"Your feelings would be right," Archangel replied. He took off his billed cap to reveal a thick head of jet black hair brushed straight back. She noticed he had thin leather gloves tucked into the epaulets of his trenchcoat. "It's a new type of submarine, smaller than usual and with a smaller crew. G2 information indicates that this miniature sub does have a retractable cannon for firing on ships but mostly it is used to ferry spies and saboteurs."
"And you and your team of flying knights are out to nail this U-Boat?"
"Yes. We Archangels serve no one country. Our members come from occupied lands like Poland, France, Sweden and the Philippines. We live only to fight against tyranny and oppression."
"Uh-huh." Kelly was studying the man's clear-cut profile as they reached the lower edge of Central Park. "How do you feel about a poor lil American gal trying to help her country out?"
Archangel snorted. "You mean well. I can see your heart is in the right place. But you do go unarmed against enemy agents and gangsters. Sooner or later, you'll be killed. If you're lucky, it'll be a quick death with no torture."
"Aren't you going to tell this is no job for a mere woman?"
"I've worked with too many brave partisan ladies in France and Italy. They knew they were giving their lives but they never hesitated. Brave as any man."
"Oh. Okay," she mumbled. "Sorry. So give me one more piece of information and I'll spill what I know. Whereabouts would this midget U-Boat turn up to unload the German vermin?"
For a long tense moment, the Archangel did not respond. He was staring at Kelly, judging, scrutinizing. But finally, he said, "The northern shore of Long Island. There's a rocky stretch that has not been developed. Ten miles past Lewiston, where a finger of rock stuck out into the ocean. Your turn."
"Okey. I caught the words 'meet' and 'three AM.'" She flashed what she hoped was a winning smile at the infamous airman. "Seems like we had two pieces of a puzzle that fit together, right?"
"Yes. Thank you. Miss O'Connor, I may be wasting my breath but be advised not to venture out to the area hoping for a scoop. There will be trouble."
"And by trouble, you mean..?"
"Death. Gunfire and bloodshed. There's a war on!" With that, he placed his military cap back on, turned and strode quickly off in the opposite direction. Left behind, Kelly could hardly restrain herself from hopping up and down with glee. Her first meeting with a genuine no-fooling mystery man! The Green Devil was making progress.
V.
By two-thirty that morning, Kelly pulled over off the rudimentary dirt road and wondered what was wrong with her that she did things like this. She was hopelessly out of her familiar territory, more than ninety miles away from Manhattan on back roads that did't even have signs. The last house had been six miles back and it hadn't even seemed to be inhabited. For the first time in his career as the Green Devil, doubts and misgivings forced their way in through cracks in her immense self-confidence. Long Island was starting to get built up after the Depression had stopped development, but still there were extensive stretches of not much but rocks and dirt.
Even more than the imminent confrontation with murderous German spies, Kelly was fretting over being able to get back home. With her crummy A-sticker, getting enough gas for crime-fighting was always a problem. Her calculations were that keeping her speed down should let her return as far as the bridge. After that, well, she'd figure something out. She hopped out from behind the wheel and reached in the back seat to fetch her helmet.
Wearing the dark green outfit, she was difficult to spot in the gloom. Kelly stretched from side to side, swung her arms in windmills and decided she was ready. To her left, she could hear the ocean and sniff the salt air tang. Kelly scuttled down a steep incline and started trotting lightly along the rocky beach. One advantage to working at the MESSENGER was that plenty of reference books were on hand. She had studied a few maps on her lunch break and even wrote down directions in a sort of shorthand to help her find this place.
As she jogged through the darkness, Kelly went over what she had learned in the MESSENGER's clippings files the notorious Archangel. It sure wasn't much more than rumors and speculation. In the back of her mind was the vague thought that maybe, if she helped out tonight, even the taciturn Archangel might grant an interview. Her name in a byline on the front page, offers from rival papers that paid more, maybe even an interview on the radio... Kelly had talked herself into believing her future included a Pulitzer Prize in Journalism.
With happy images of fame and fortune dancing around inside her head, the Green Devil approached a cluster of three straggly birch trees. She slowed and peered through the gloom. What was that? A bundle of something. Kelly drew nearer and made out the shape to be a folded up coat. Almost holding her breath, turning to look all around, she bent over the garment. What did this mean? Were the spies that close?
And a man's voice from the trees whispered, "Hold very still, cherie. This is a moment of great peril for you."
Her heart sinking, Kelly froze into position and saw a man in a dark uniform swing out from behind the trees, aiming a Colt .45 automatic at her. He was wearing high polished boots, jodhpurs and a front-flap tunic, with a billed cap on his head. All she could discern of his face was a pale oval in the darkness, with a pencil-thin mustache. "Suckered again," she grumbled.
"Do not fret, my dear. This is not the end for you" said the man with a noticeable French accent. His 'this' came out as 'zhis.' With one hand, he picked up the coat and draped it over one arm. "The chief expected you to come here tonight and I was placed in your path. Those dainty hands are playing with most dangerous toys, you know."
"The chief?"
"But of cuss.You spoke with him today." The man tapped the forefinger of his free hand to a symbol high up on the left side of his chest. She could just discern a white upward-pointing sword flanked by widespread wings. "My name is Marcel. You are dealing with the Archangels now."
"Oh. You're supposed to be the good guys, so how about pointing the heater somewhere else?" she responded with tentative relief.
"In a world at war, there are no good guys," he said, but he did lower the automatic. "We Archangels are men who have lost our families and our homes to the forces of dictatorships. We are bitter, yes, hard and unforgiving. But we fight to restore freedom to our lands and for the rights of the oppressed. I think, my dear, you would place yourself on our side?"
"I'll tell the world I am!" she blurted with too much eagerness. "Your boss made quite an impression on me. So. Where's the rest of your team?"
"Ah, do not trouble your head over that," he said, returning his sidearm to the flap holster on his belt. "Our concern is that a boat of the Boche scum will be turning up in this vicinity soon. Here, take this," he said as he handed her a long metal cylinder.
"A flare? Wait, a little cartoon light bulb went ding! over my head. We're here to signal your chief, right?" She swung her head to take in the overcast sky.
"It is so. And I must sadly admit, ma cher, that you and I have slim chances to carry out our mission and live to tell the tale."
"Yikes. Oh well. I can't let U-Boats start shelling New York. All my friends live there. I'll do whatever I can, Marcel."
"You assistance is most welcome.. Green Devil. Hush! Listen..."
Against the rhythm of the waves lapping up against the rocky shore, another sound was getting clearer. Faint but noticeable, it was the noise made by oars being stealthily dipped in the water and drawn out again. Marcel shrank back into the shadows of the trees and Kelly squeezed in next to him, which he did not seem to mind. Bumping up against a large jagged boulder protruding out over the ocean, a round rubber lifeboat bobbed while a man inside grabbed the boulder to hold the craft steady. Another hopped out and immediately all five men were hauling the boat up onto the land.
"Gut gemacht," grunted one. "Herr Strasser, heute Nacht ist die Nacht!"
"Aussehen," said an older one with pride in his voice. "Der Wolfling abfliegen... Abschied, Junger Wolf!"
"The Wolf Cub is leaving," Marcel whispered against the Green Devil's helmet. "We must act now." With the last word, he twisted the cap and flung the brilliantly sputtering flare out toward the shore. Kelly did not hesitate and her toss sent the second flare to roll up against the very feet of the German agents. As soon as he had acted, the Archangel drew his automatic and raced toward the Germans, firing as he went. Kelly was right beside him, unarmed but caught up in the heat of the moment. All five Axis spies recovered instantly from the surprise of that blinding light. They each whipped up a Luger and began shooting as fast as they could.
V.
Even though she had no idea how her weird ability worked nor what its limits might be, Kelly did not have time to worry. In the pitiless glare of two sputtering flares, she lunged forward and got in front of the Archangel as a burst of gunfire exploded right at her. Both her arms whirled in tight circles, beyond her conscious control, and the bullets whined away in all directions. Her hands blurred as they moved and the attack was diverted away from her and her new ally. As chance would have it, two of the slugs were deflected right back at the Germans and one man sagged to the ground with a hole punched in the center of his face.
Taking a marksman's stance, holding his own 45 in both hands, Marcel fired quickly but with deliberately aim. Just like that that, it was over. Five corpses sprawled where they had fallen, several still clutching their guns in lifeless hands. The Archangel stepped forward suspiciously and even prodded one body with a boot toe to check for signs of life. Finally, his shoulders lowered and he swung around to smile at the Green Devil.
"I have heard wild tales of your strange gift, little one," he said. "But of cuss I was of the skeptical mind until these eyes of mine saw for themselves. It is miraculous! Superb! You slapped away bullets as if swatting annoying horseflies. How is this even possible?"
Kelly tried to sound brash and confident, although at the moment she was severely on edge. "Darned if I understand it myself, to be honest. Even as a little girl, I could do it but I tried to keep it to myself." She examined her hands gingerly. "My palms aren't sore in the least, they don't even sting."
"I would take it as a gift from the Good Lord Himself," Marcel seriously intoned. "So that you may help free peoples stand up against tyranny in this dark hour."
Before Kelly could reply a deep explosion out on the ocean thumped and a geyser of water shot upward. A second one quickly followed. Kelly's nerve snapped. "NOW what?" she yelled.
Marcel had taken a small pair of binoculars from a pocket of his outer coat and looked through them. "It is good news, mon ami. Behold! Here, see for yourself."
As the Green Devil adjusted the focus, she saw a bright beam of white light snapped on out on the sea. The light shone down from that strange aircraft she had glimpsed the night before, a craft without wings or front propeller, with four blades spinning on its top.
The spotlight showed turmoil on the ocean surface. A black greasy stain spread rapidly, and then metal parts and a single corpse floated to the surface. Kelly swallowed with difficulty and her voice sounded very small. "I.. I guess your boss finished out that U-U-Boat...."
"Ha ha. The chief was carrying two depth charges tonight. He was waiting only for our signal to point him toward the target." Marcel sounded gleeful. "The Archangels are well named, my friend. We are an avenging sword of justice indeed."
For another few minutes, the strange aircraft hovered over the destruction, looking for survivors or any sign that the Wolfling craft had escaped. Finally, the beam shut off and Kelly saw the SERAPH swing around and head toward them. She should have felt elation and even excitement at meeting these mystery men but a hollow weariness came over her instead. War. Death and destruction. She couldn't find any joy in it.
The SERAPH descended vertically, nearly noiselessly, touching its lowered landing wheels fifty feet away from them. As the top rotors slowed, the hatches slid open and two occupants leaped out to stride quickly toward Kelly and Marcel. One was the leader, Archangel himself, marked by the large winged sword emblem boldly on the front of his tunic. The other member of the team was a huge burly blond man with a lantern jaw. He held a Thompson submachine gun at the ready.
"I see you two have done your part," announced the Archangel in his confident baritone. "Good work, both of you. The Sea Wolves have lost their new cub tonight and I think they will be cautious before trying a second one."
"You were right about this young lady, chief. I would certainly have been killed by those scum but she batted away their gunfire as if it was a mere nuisance. An amazing sight. Perhaps she could join us in our mission."
"NO." The Archangel continued in a less stern tone, "We are all ace pilots, skilled at aerial combat. The SERAPHS are tricky to fly, it is like juggling knives on a galloping horse."
"Oh, and there is a fact I'm a mere girl, too," she observed tartly.
"We live in barracks on our secret island," Archangel continued. "None of us have friends or family left alive from our former lives. All we do is train and practice and fly out to the kill the enemy. Could you live like that?"
Kelly shrank back a step. "Welllll, nah. I've have a career when I'm not in this masquerade outfit. I have friends and a sister. And besides, I have never taken even one pilot lesson. I'm not even a good driver, to be honest."
Surprising everyone, Archangel gave a sharp barking laugh. "Very good. But you have enough courage and initiative to any two soldiers.
I think we will work together again, Green Devil. It's going to be a long war and victory will be costly."
"Okay then," she said and started shaking hands with them in turn. "If I write for the READER'S DIGEST column, "The Most Unforgettable Person I Ever Met,' I'll mention you lads."
"We'll be going then. Do you want a lift back to Manhattan, miss?"
"Thanks but no. My roadster is down the road a ways. I only hope I have enough gas to make it home."
Archangel jerked a thumb at the big blond, who put down his Tommy gun and went over to the sharklike outline of the SERAPH. He opened a rear panel, dug around and came back holding two five gallon metal cans with handles. He placed them in front of Kelly.
"That's high-octane gasoline," Archangel explained. "Not what we use in our SERAPHS but we do have Jeeps and other vehicles on our missions. Think you can carry them by yourself?"
"Oh HECK yeah!" she squealed, clapping her hands. "I'll tell the world, that's a better present than a diamond ring these days. Whenever I can help, Archangel, just give me a call."
The leader of the air pirates touched the brim on his cap before turning away. "We know where to find you."
5/7/2019