DCL's Brave and the Bold #12: The Red Torpedo

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- Part One -

1941: Somewhere over the Pacific...
The Japanese zero dove, guns blazing.
Neon the Unknown clutched at his chest as he plummeted towards the water, blood staining his blue tunic.
“Oh my god,” The Red Torpedo gasped, desperately working the controls of his namesake mini-sub.The Torpedo quickly surfaced to give whatever help he could to his injured teammate. He popped the hatch and clambered out, peering frantically at the ocean for any sign of Neon.
Up above, heroes and planes swooped and dove in a graceful, brutal dance of war.
“Okay, deep breaths,” The Torpedo muttered, peering anxiously out at the ocean. “Can’t do anything for the ones in the air. Let’s just ...Oh god!”
He’d been so intent on finding his downed teammate that the Torpedo had failed to notice the second diving Zero. It raced towards the mini-sub, trailing black smoke. Whether this was some last defiant act by a desperate pilot or just bad luck, the Torpedo couldn’t tell. Not that he really thought it made much difference at this point.
All thoughts of saving his teammates vanished with the realization that his chances of saving himself had just plummeted drastically. The Torpedo dove for the distant hatch. His fingers brushed the rim of the opening. Then the Red Torpedo was slammed against a wall of fire and pain...

Jim Lockhart woke with a gasp and sat up, peering fearfully around his dark bedroom. He got out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts and padded through the cluttered cottage.
Traces of red were just starting to dance around the edges of the sky as he went outside and leaned against the porch railing.
“Made it to dawn,” He muttered, running a hand over his sleepy features. “A new record.”
It had been six months since Jim had washed ashore on Kinja, and the locals had gotten used to him. The tiny Caribbean island was still a British possession, the population was mostly black. Too small and out of the way to be of any military use to either side it was also not a scenic enough spot for the rich folks choosing to sit out the war in the tropics.
So, a quiet stranger more interested in fixing up his ‘boat’, than he was in women, drinking, or the War was a godsend to the local gossip telegraph.

After throwing thrown on a shirt and sandals, Jim shuffled over and claimed his usual table at Ginny’s Eats. It was one of several squat wooden buildings jammed together to form the town’s main street. Main street was still just another dirt road, like every other road on Kinja. It was just slightly wider and more firmly packed.
A small dimly lit room, decorated with a half dozen tables and a bar, Ginny’s was the place to go for meals, drinks, mail service and gossip.
“Mis-ter James,” greeted Ginny, dark and round as a bon bon. “You late this morn.”
“Decided to sleep in,” Jim replied, dryly. “Coffee, please.”
What Kinja might lack in mail service or road maintenance, it more then made up for in the quality of its coffee.
“So, what am I today, Ginny?” Jim asked, stirring his coffee. “Gun runner or fugitive?”
“Last I heard, Mis-ter Jim, you was a Hollywood actor what had a nervous breakdown.”
“I like that one.”
On Kinja they didn’t ask questions. Not directly. If Ginny wondered who he was, she kept it to herself, though she was always more then happy to update him on the newest theories. So far, nobody had guessed washed-up, second-string superhero.
“Got some messages for you,” Ginny announced from the counter. Not that she was ever quiet or came over to your table talk to you, even when her place was full.
“Messages?” Jim asked, trying not to sound anxious.
“Yeah. Robbie’s sister say he can’t come till past noon, out helping on his brother’s lobster boat and the constable’s office want you to stop by.”
“Ellis?”
“What you think?”
“Not again,” Jim muttered, gulping down his coffee as he headed out.

Ellis, like Jim, was a drifter who’d found himself a quiet corner in Kinja. An old navy man (though he’d never been too specific about whose navy) Ellis knew enough about fixing up any vessel that traveled the ocean to make it worth Jim’s while to bail him out of the local drunk tank two or three times a week.
The Constable’s office was a cement bunker of a building, part of a British garrison built in the 1800s. Jim came strolling out an hour later, followed by Ellis.
The officer at the door gave them a wave and a cheerful, “Come again.”

“Now, you’re not gonna to sulk, are ya?” Ellis asked, casually. He was thin and ropey, his skin tanned by years in the tropics, his hair and beard silver-gray.
“You would think I’d be used to this by now,” Jim replied tersely. “I should just plan my morning stroll past here.”
“Now...,” Ellis started.
“Even if it’s the rare day that you’re not here,” Jim interrupted, “I’m becoming good friends with the troops. Must be all that time we spend together.”
“You, my friend, need to relax. A bit less time and money spent on the ... ’boat’ and more on getting out and...”
“I’d have money to spend on ‘relaxing’, if I wasn’t spending so much on the rent they charge you for that cell!”
Both men stopped walking and glared at each other. Ellis laughed.
“Ha! Better. A month ago, you would have sulked till noon. I knew I’d wear you down.”
The older man clapped Jim on the shoulder. The corner of Jim’s mouth went up and he shook his head.
“So, what was it this time?” He asked
“Bit of harmless disturbing the peace. Cully convinced me that a midnight serenade would help me get back on Mandy’s good side.”
“Serenade?”
“Irish drinking songs at 2 AM,” Ellis shrugged. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
“Robbie won’t be round till later,” Jim said as the two men resumed strolling. “I want to finish the wiring and see about installing that new battery.”
“Aye, aye. To the ‘boat’.”

Now, hiding a twenty-foot long, scarlet mini-sub on an island where the population is barely triple digits and gossip travels at the speed of sound was tricky, but not impossible.
Luckily, Jim and the Torpedo had first washed ashore at night in one of the island’s less accessible coves. Plus, he was never sure if he even had the locals fooled about his ‘boat’ or if they were just being polite.
He’d then spent most of his money on setting up the cottage and stowing the Torpedo in the ancient, adjoining boat house. Then the repairs began.
Stumbling onto Ellis (literally) was a mixed blessing. Ellis was a master at making do with what he could beg, borrow or steal. Jim never asked which method he used to get parts for the Torpedo.
The two men and the mini-sub were a tight squeeze in the boathouse.
“That wiring’s good,” Ellis muttered, peering over Jim’s shoulder. “But we are going to need a new filter there.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be checking the seals?” Jim snapped, not looking up from his work. The close quarters, mixed with the heat and frustration over the slow progress of thier work had Jim feeling irratable.
“Did. Long as you don’t go too fast or deep, they should hold. It’s the electrical that’s got me thinking.”
“And there’s no other place you can go and do this thinking?”
“Testy, my friend, very testy. We need to find you a woman.”
“What we need to find me, “Jim said, sitting up and glaring at Ellis, “is some decent sealant and...”
“Mis-ter James?” A voice hollered from outside.
“In here, Robbie,“he replied, standing up and wiping his hands on a scrap of cloth. “What’s up?”
Robbie was brown as mahogany with a head that seemed too large for his skinny body. Like most of the population of Kinja, he survived on odd jobs and barter, and did more to help Jim than could be justified by the meager salary he was paid. Jim suspected Robbie supplemented his income by trading tidbits of gossip about the island’s newest arrival and his mystery boat.
“Spent the morn on my brother’s boat,” he announced with a gap-toothed , joyous smile and held up a bulging canvas bag. “Lobster for lunch.”

“Robbie,” Ellis said, pushing his chair back from the table and patting his stomach, “you are worth your weight in gold.”
The three men were sitting around the rickety table on Jim’s tiny back porch.
Ellis had claimed the only chair, so Jim dragged two wooden boxes from the boathouse. Robbie had cooked the lobster in a makeshift grill pit, Ellis provided the liquid refreshment, and Jim had reflected on the fact that maybe life hadn’t dealt him such a bad hand after all.
“So, what you gentlemen up to without me?” Robbie asked, popping a big chunk of lobster in his mouth.
“Well, I think we may be ready to put her in the water,” Jim mused, swirling the last couple inches of rum around in his glass thoughtfully.
“Really?” Robbie asked, looking over to Ellis.
The older man scratched at his beard and nodded.
“One or two little things to see about, but I say, three days at the most, she’ll be ready.”
“That a reason enough for another drink,” Robbie said, joyously clinking his glass against Jim’s.
“I can’t argue with that,” Ellis said, reaching for the bottle.

After lunch, they got back to work.
Jim made his money as the island’s unofficial fix it man, mostly getting paid in trades of food or parts for the ‘boat’.
He tinkered with some broken clocks and apliances, and got Ellis back working in the boathouse. Robbie went off to check in on his wife and run some errands.

As the sun set, Ellis and Robbie joined Jim for a quick drink on the porch. Robbie had to head back home and Ellis needed to get back to town before someone took his favorite stool at the bar.
“Sunday,” Jim smiled. “We take her out.”
“I hate to be the responsible one,” Ellis said, then waited for the other two to stop laughing. “But, unless you can do better than fixing radios and fans, this maiden voyage is also gonna be the last.”
“I know,” Jim said, nodding somberly.
“This is going to use up the last of the fuel, not to mention...”
“I said, I know,” Jim interrupted. “One step at a time, okay?”
“Okay,” Ellis said.
“I know,” Jim continued, “that lovely as it is, Kinja is hardly the land of plenty and since it would take money to go somewhere else to get money...” He drifted off and took a sip of his drink.
“Round and round,” Ellis muttered. “and not much hope in sight.”
“You know, Mis-ter James,” Robbie said. “this boat a yours, it goes under the water right?”
“If we did our job right,” Jim replied.
“Well, my brother, he was fishin last year and pull up an old lantern, from some boat that sink, like a hundred years ago, and some fella from the museum give him seventy five dollar for it.”
“You know, he may have something there,” Ellis added. “These islands were thick with pirates and slavers in the 1700’s. Stuff is always washing up on the shore...”
“You two want me to become a professional beachcomber?” Jim asked.
“No, you thick clod,” Ellis explained. “If one rusty lantern was worth seventy five, imagine what’s still sitting down there at the bottom...”
“Just waiting for somebody with submarine to come along.” Jim finished. “That is just crazy enough to work. We find a wreck, grab what we can...”
“And I have some friends that’ll help us turn it into spending money,”Ellis added. “with no questions asked.”
“Why did I know you would,” Jim said, smiling. “Robbie, you are a genius as well as a good cook.”
“Ah, me Mother tells me that everyday,” Robbie grinned back. “When we gonna do this?”
“Sunday,” Jim said. “We’ll use the ‘test run’ as a bit of a treasure hunt. The James and Ellis salvage company is open for business.”
The three men clinked glasses.

The sun rose on Sunday and shown off the scratched and pitted surface of the Red Torpedo.
“How you doing, Robbie?” Ellis asked between sips of coffee. “Still want to come on this little ride?”
“If I tink bout it too much, Mister Ellis, I may scare myself out of going,” Robbie replied, watching as the rising sun colored the waves. “but this gonna be somethin I’ll tell my grandkids, eh?”
“That’s the spirit, Robbie,” Jim said joining them. “All aboard, guys.”
The interior of the torpedo was about as roomy as a station wagon stuffed full of electronic equipment. Jim climbed in through the top hatch and made his way to the front. Ellis and Robbie would push it into the water to save energy, as the batteries and fuel were low. Jim squeezed into the narrow pilot area, equipped with a chair on a thick metal post welded to the floor, a steering yoke in front of the chair, an oval window above the yoke and instrument banks on either side. He settled into the chair and starting flicking switches.
“Damn, I’ve missed you, ol girl,” Jim muttered, laying his hand on the steering yoke. “Despite everything, this just may be where I belong.”
The torpedo wobbled then slowly moved forward. It came to a halt, and Ellis stuck his head in the hatch.
“Water’s bout half way up the hull,” he said. “ How’s it looking in there?”
“So far, so good,” Jim replied. “Let’s go see what’s out there.”
Ellis grinned, then leaned out and hollered for Robbie to join them. Once settled, with the hatch closed and sealed, Ellis moved to a shelf that folded down from the wall. It had several charts and maps pinned to it. He got to work figuring out their best course. Robbie stored the picnic lunch he’d brought then sat on the locker looking around in smiling wonder.
‘It’s like that Captain Nemo book in here,” he said.
“Except Nemo had more elbow room,” Ellis said, not looking up from the charts.
“Everything looks good,” Jim said. “I’m going to take her out about twenty feet, see if the seals hold, then we go looking for treasure.”
“Arrrr, me hearties,” Ellis muttered.
“How’s it lookin?” Robbie asked as they drifted out into the water. He peered nervously out the small porthole at the clear, blue ocean.
“No sparking,” Jim said, “and the pressure’s good, so the seals seem to be holding.”
“Gauges all in the green still,” Ellis added, peering over Jim’s shoulder. “I said we did good work.”
“Okay,” Jim said, turning the yoke. “Let’s do some sight-seeing.”
The mini-sub made a slow arc, her engines humming softly and headed out to deep waters. The ocean soon filled all portholes and all three men’s expressions were full of nervous wonder.
“Sure is pretty down here,” Ellis muttered.
‘Yeah,” Jim agreed. “We are down to fifty feet and heading west. Sonar’s out, so speak up if you see something worth checking out.”
“West’ll take us towards the reef,” Ellis said. “Once we get there, let’s see if we can touch bottom.”
“The bottom?” Robbie asked, looking away from the porthole. “Bottom of the ocean?”
“We’re only going down bout one hundred fifty feet tops,” Ellis told him.
“Still, that’s an awful long way to swim,” Robbie replied, peering anxiously out the window again.
“He’s got a point,” Ellis said.
“We’re fine and at the first sign of trouble, I’ll take us up. What’s that?”
“What?” Jim’s two passengers asked fearfully.
“There. Over to the left.”
“That’s the reef,” Ellis grumbled. “Landlubber.”
“I know what a coral reef looks like,” Jim snapped back. “I mean further out.”
“I see it too!” Robbie announced. He ended up tapping against the glass. “Looks like a piece of a ship.”
“Holy Christ, it does,” Ellis breathed.
“Everybody relax,”Jim cautioned. “It’s great that we found something in the first hour, but the odds of it being packed to the walls with doubloons is pretty slim. I’m taking us around. Let’s give it a once over before we break out the shovels.”
The Torpedo maneuvered around the reef, slowly edging towards the shipwreck.
“Sturdy looking,” Ellis muttered. “Some kind of merchant ship would be my guess. Could have been hauling anything from farming equipment to sugar cane to Robbie’s great-grandfather.”
“Well, I’m going to edge up against it, then whoever’s feeling brave can strap on an air tank and give the interior a peek. Even if we just get a couple pieces it should...”
“Mis-ter Ellis and James,” Robbie muttered anxiously. “There something moving over there.”
“Where?” Ellis said, craning his neck to peer where Robbie was pointing. “I don’t ...um...”
“Talk to me fellas,” Jim said. “What do you see? Nobody’s going for a swim if there are sharks....oh my god!”
Jim’s hand’s trembled as he brought the mini-sub to a halt against the side of the ancient wreck and the massive bulk of a Japanese submarine passed slowly over head.
To be continued.....

History Lesson:
In 1941, the patriotic, costumed adventurer known as Uncle Sam brought together a group of ‘Freedom Fighters’ to stop a Japanese air strike on the California coast.

(see All Star Squadron #’s 31 and 32)

This group, while succeeding in their mission, paid the ultimate price: The deaths of Neon the Unknown and Magno the Magnetic Man as well as the mysterious disappearances of Hourman, the Red Torpedo, Miss America and the Invisible Hood.
The Red Torpedo resurfaced in 1951 as one of a group of heroes that stepped in to help defend Opal City, when Ted Knight, the original Starman, was suffering from a nervous breakdown and unable to watch over his city.
The Red Torpedo retired after that adventure in Opal and no one ever thought to question where he’d been during those ‘lost’ years...

Okay. I’m a sucker for obscure and slightly goofy characters.
I was interested in doing an ‘American Century’ style story (minus the cursing and maybe using some likable characters) with a DC 40’s hero. The Torpedo seemed tailor made. Very few appearances since showing up in the 40’s, big gaps in his history to play with, not exactly a character I’d have to fight to get dibbed and he owns a cool mini-sub that could also fly for short distances.