toxin ineffective. He would not allow her to synthesize it—and let the weak resist his warriors. “As for the woman, bring her to me alive, and you will be wealthy beyond your greatest dreams.”
8
Batman and Ivy had made it to West Broadway when one of Scarecrow’s tanks appeared behind a row of parked cars. With a squeal of metal on metal it reared up, crushing the vehicles beneath its massive treads.
Ivy tried to pull back, away from Batman, as the tank smashed car after car into twisted steel, but he firmly held onto her.
“Did you come here to rescue me or get me killed?”
“Neither,” Batman said as another tank rolled into sight. More appeared from other directions, six in all. All of their escape routes were blocked. Then he heard the whoosh of helicopter blades, and saw a police copter hovering above them—he recognized it as a WayneTech-467, designed by Lucius Fox for reconnaissance, not combat.
There were no weapons on board.
* * *
Lt. Adrienne Broome, with seven years on the G.C.P.D., was the chopper pilot. She’d flown in the last Middle East war, then retired from the military when the troops were brought home. But Adrienne lived for the adrenaline and after floundering a few years with jobs that didn’t come close to being fulfilling, she applied to the Gotham City Police Air Division and was quickly accepted.
The job required constant concentration, and where most found it daunting, she thrived in it.
Below, she saw Batman, headed for the Batmobile, which was parked about a block away. He was pulling a redheaded woman dressed in a tight uniform of some sort. It might have been a trick of the light, but her skin appeared to be… green. The tanks following them were moving closer. Maintaining her calm, she reached for the comm.
“Lt. Adrienne Broome,” she said. “Commissioner, I’ve got six heavily armored tanks on the ground in Chinatown. They’re targeting the Bat and a woman I don’t recognize.”
Gordon responded, and it sounded as if he wasn’t fully comprehending what she was saying.
“Did you say tanks?”
“Yeah. Batman and the woman are surrounded. They need backup, with offensive weapons. Armor-piercing weapons. Please advise.”
* * *
“Sir.”
Alfred Pennyworth’s voice suddenly came in over Batman’s comm.
“I thought you should know I’m detecting no heat signatures. I believe those tanks are unmanned, and being controlled remotely.”
Batman let himself smile. “Then I’m clear to engage?”
“Indeed you are, sir.”
Batman tapped his glove’s control panel, then turned to Ivy.
“Hold on tight, and do what I do.”
* * *
Broome waited for Gordon to answer, but the comm remained silent. After a long pause, she hit the button again. Its light blinked green—she was still connected to G.C.P.D. HQ.
“Sir, I asked for advice. What do I do, sir?”
After what seemed to be forever but was probably only a few seconds, Gordon responded, his voice soft and his words slow and measured.
“We have to help him. We can’t let him die.”
“Umm, things seem to have changed, sir. I’m not sure he needs help.”
“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”
She stared at the Batmobile, moving toward the tanks even as its parts seemed to shift and change.
“It’s his car, sir. It doesn’t seem to have a driver inside, but it’s heading toward him, and, sir, it’s, ummm, transforming.”
“Transforming? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m not sure I can explain it, sir, but it looks as if it’s becoming a tank. And I think the Batman is controlling it.” She watched in silence as the vehicle’s fenders tucked in under it. Metal sheathing unfolded and slipped over its chassis, covering it, as steel plates lowered to protect its tires.
Damn, we sure could have used that in the war
.
While she watched, Batman positioned himself in front of the woman, shielding her as he did something to his gauntlet—it had to be a digital control of some
8
Batman and Ivy had made it to West Broadway when one of Scarecrow’s tanks appeared behind a row of parked cars. With a squeal of metal on metal it reared up, crushing the vehicles beneath its massive treads.
Ivy tried to pull back, away from Batman, as the tank smashed car after car into twisted steel, but he firmly held onto her.
“Did you come here to rescue me or get me killed?”
“Neither,” Batman said as another tank rolled into sight. More appeared from other directions, six in all. All of their escape routes were blocked. Then he heard the whoosh of helicopter blades, and saw a police copter hovering above them—he recognized it as a WayneTech-467, designed by Lucius Fox for reconnaissance, not combat.
There were no weapons on board.
* * *
Lt. Adrienne Broome, with seven years on the G.C.P.D., was the chopper pilot. She’d flown in the last Middle East war, then retired from the military when the troops were brought home. But Adrienne lived for the adrenaline and after floundering a few years with jobs that didn’t come close to being fulfilling, she applied to the Gotham City Police Air Division and was quickly accepted.
The job required constant concentration, and where most found it daunting, she thrived in it.
Below, she saw Batman, headed for the Batmobile, which was parked about a block away. He was pulling a redheaded woman dressed in a tight uniform of some sort. It might have been a trick of the light, but her skin appeared to be… green. The tanks following them were moving closer. Maintaining her calm, she reached for the comm.
“Lt. Adrienne Broome,” she said. “Commissioner, I’ve got six heavily armored tanks on the ground in Chinatown. They’re targeting the Bat and a woman I don’t recognize.”
Gordon responded, and it sounded as if he wasn’t fully comprehending what she was saying.
“Did you say tanks?”
“Yeah. Batman and the woman are surrounded. They need backup, with offensive weapons. Armor-piercing weapons. Please advise.”
* * *
“Sir.”
Alfred Pennyworth’s voice suddenly came in over Batman’s comm.
“I thought you should know I’m detecting no heat signatures. I believe those tanks are unmanned, and being controlled remotely.”
Batman let himself smile. “Then I’m clear to engage?”
“Indeed you are, sir.”
Batman tapped his glove’s control panel, then turned to Ivy.
“Hold on tight, and do what I do.”
* * *
Broome waited for Gordon to answer, but the comm remained silent. After a long pause, she hit the button again. Its light blinked green—she was still connected to G.C.P.D. HQ.
“Sir, I asked for advice. What do I do, sir?”
After what seemed to be forever but was probably only a few seconds, Gordon responded, his voice soft and his words slow and measured.
“We have to help him. We can’t let him die.”
“Umm, things seem to have changed, sir. I’m not sure he needs help.”
“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”
She stared at the Batmobile, moving toward the tanks even as its parts seemed to shift and change.
“It’s his car, sir. It doesn’t seem to have a driver inside, but it’s heading toward him, and, sir, it’s, ummm, transforming.”
“Transforming? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m not sure I can explain it, sir, but it looks as if it’s becoming a tank. And I think the Batman is controlling it.” She watched in silence as the vehicle’s fenders tucked in under it. Metal sheathing unfolded and slipped over its chassis, covering it, as steel plates lowered to protect its tires.
Damn, we sure could have used that in the war
.
While she watched, Batman positioned himself in front of the woman, shielding her as he did something to his gauntlet—it had to be a digital control of some
Similar Books
