She had flown higher. Her flight had been a joy to her.

A trio of whipcords wrapped around her extremities, throwing her off-balance. She fought against the pull, and felt the grip beginning to give way until a charge of electricity through the cord at her left ankle made her cry out. She crashed to the ground, up righting herself with more than human speed.

A barrage of bullets made her grunt in pain as they ricocheted off her skin. She focused through the pain and charged forward, feeling the satisfactory sensation of diamond-hard fists striking most human flesh. She grabbed at one of her attackers and pulled him to her face, only to see her own image reflected back to her in a spherical helmet of silver glass.

The next thing she saw was darkness, and she felt a terrible cold. She saw the face of Jeff Mace flit through her mind's eye, and then all there was, was darkness.

"She's one of us."

The Crimson Commando eyed the body sprawled against the Italian farmhouse. "You recognize the costume?"

Miss Patriot nodded. "She called herself the Queen. Her real name was Aryana; before she came here she was a member of an alien race called the Ch'Tunn. She ... " through gritted teeth, " ... was briefly a member of the Liberty Legion as well, back when the Whizzer and Miss America were on the team. Since then she'd been operating below the radar, though maybe she'd been working undercover in the European front."

The Human Top shuddered. "I remember seeing newsreels of the Queen in action. She was something. What could have done this to her?"

The Crimson leaned down and examined the corpse. "Burns on one ankle. The corpse is desiccated, though it can't be that old. This mark," he pointed to the sigil of the spider which had been chemically burned into her forehead, "appears to have been applied after death."

Stonewall folded his arms. "Wasn't there a crime-fighter who used to do that, back in the 30's?"

The Crimson shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time the fascists have imitated one of us. The question is, why in this case?"

"It's a mystery," said Miss Patriot. "But I remember when the Thin Man once told me about an Invaders case, in which that Nazi creep who goes by Master Man had disguised himself as the Mighty Destroyer, in order to make it look as if the Destroyer had changed sides. Could they be doing something similar here?"

"Most of those 30's folks haven't been around so much during the War," the Crimson said speculatively, "whether they just couldn't take it, or signed up in mufti, I don't know. But there doesn't seem to be much of an advantage to making one look like a traitor, does there? They're yesterday's headlines."

"Maybe he's actually gone traitor," Stonewall grunted.

The Human Top shook his head. "I just can't believe that."

"Whatever the case, there are a new host of fascist mystery-man around, and it's a clue to be on our guard. That means you, Mary."

Miss Patriot nodded to the Crimson. "Are we still making our appointment?"

The Crimson paused for a second, which Miss Patriot thought an unusually long time by his standards. "The Italian anti-fascists? Yes."

The Human Top said, "Good ... there are too few from the Axis countries who have chosen to fight the good fight, we have to encourage any we know about."

At the hidden offices of L'Italia Libera, the man of mystery known only as Ace of Spades, looked out the window. "The Americans ought to be here soon, Gio."

"I hope so." The heavyset man paced around the printing presses in the hidden basement, moving with an ease which seemed to belie his bulk; one could tell he'd been athletic in his youth, and that the walking stick he carried was more affectation than anything else. His eyes glittered with a dark intelligence which also gave the lie to his features which suggested nothing more than a voluptuary. "Our clandestine newspaper won't be so for much longer and too many of our comrades have already been disappeared."

Ace of Spades grit his teeth between his mask. "Monstro and I are too few and far between to protect all who need protecting, and his great strength is often called to battle at the war front."

Giovanni Rumori placed his hand on the other man's shoulder, "I sought to imply no slur, old friend."

"I inferred none," Ace of Spades said. "I just wish there were enough of us to form an association, such as the Americans have so many of."

"Today what are the Italian people? Nothing. What should they be? Everything." Giovanni sighed. "There are never enough to fight for liberty."

"Mussolini will hang and burn for what he has done to our country," Ace of Spades said. "You have my promise on that account."

From the doorway came a third voice. "Assassination threats. I see we arrived here just in time."

Ace of Spades whirled around to see Baldini, a man bald as his name and with a brutal face, dressed in a formal military uniform of a style not commonly seen since the previous great war. "My allies and I will put paid to your evil plans," Baldini said, removing a blood-red scarf from around his neck as he was joined by a septet of gaudily clad men.

Ace of Spades reached for a hidden pocket and pulled out a set of playing cards, edges filed razor-sharp, as Giovanni Rumori backed away behind him, raising his staff into a defensive posture. The terrifying cry of a llama filled the air, followed by a bone-chilling laugh.

The Crimson Commando swore as he entered the room, seeing the broken body clad all in white, the playing card insignia plainly visible on the mask and chest emblem of his tattered costume. "Too damn late," he said. He looked around the room with disgust as he saw the ruined printing presses.

Miss Patriot took his arm. "We've been followed," she said, motioning her head behind them at the closed door. The Human Top became a whirlwind, drilling his way through the wooden door and seizing the person on the other side. A woman's voice screamed as she was dragged in and tossed at the Crimson Commando's feet.

"Who the hell are you?" he said.

She glanced up at him, Stonewall at his side, arms folded impassively. She was an attractive woman in late middle age, her blonde hair tinged with grey, her features lined with worry. "I ... I ... uh ... "

"She's American," Miss Patriot said in surprise, and the Crimson Commando nodded. "Why were you following us?" he enquired.

The woman cringed, "Please ... I wasn't following you ... I don't even know who you are."

Miss Patriot leaned down and offered the woman a hand to upright herself. "We're American mystery-men, working on the front lines." She glanced up at the Crimson Commando, who nodded. "We were here to meet someone, but it looks like the fascists got to him first. You can see why we'd be suspicious. Can you tell us who you are, what you're doing here?"

"My name ... " the woman swallowed, "is Margo Payne. I ... I came to Italy looking for my fiancé, Lamar Canfield. He disappeared many years ago, and I've been following every lead I could."

Miss Patriot looked up at the Crimson, "Her heartbeat didn't jump, I think she's telling the truth."

The Crimson Commando said, "We came here to smuggle a man named Giovanni Rumori out of the country, before the fascists found him. He's missing and his protector is dead. Now you've shown up on some fool's errand. What's the connection between these events?"

Margo Payne sighed, slumping. "The Silhouette," she said.

The Human Top raised an eyebrow. "The what?"

She bit her lip anxiously. "I was Lamar's constant companion and the only one who knew his secret ... he was the adventurer, the Silhouette."

Stonewall shrugged, "Never heard of him."

She looked confused. "Well ... it was some time ago ... he didn't tend to collaborate in many of his cases, except just once with that brutal thug, Dominic Fortune. Lamar made Fortune look the fool when he managed to solve The Case of the Santa Claus Killer, despite Fortune's interference."

The Human Top glanced at the faces of his companions, whose bemusement seemed to match his own. "I ... see ... and what brings you here?"

She said, "I came across reports of someone who fit his description working in Italy, so I came here."

"Maybe we can help each other." The Crimson looked down at her, "Tell us what you know."

Giovanni Rumori grunted in pain. Baldini coiled the long scarf in his hand again, doubling up the knot in the weighted fabric, and struck him again. "Where are your partners?"

The man tied to the chair glared at his captor silently. Baldini shook his head. "Your recalcitrance is not amusing." He backed away from Giovanni. "This is a versatile tool," he said. "I can increase the size of the knots so much that a strike from them will destroy your internal organs." He untied the knot, "Or it can be used to sting, rather than thud. Less damage, which allows me to prolong the interrogation if need be, but much more pain." He flicked his wrist and cracked the scarf forward, and the man screamed.

"You used to sign your editorials with a legionary's helmet, no? Perhaps you fashioned yourself something of a Caesar amongst the rebels? How many times was Caesar stabbed?" Baldini's scarf whipped forth repeatedly, twenty-three strikes which tore through Giovanni's flesh. The door opened behind him, to reveal a slender, professorial-looking man. Baldini turned his head. "Signore Scharrolla?"

Scharrolla looked at the semiconscious Giovanni, clearly uneasy. "Our American friends are become restless," he said quietly. "Most of them do not approve of this ... form of questioning."

"We are grateful for your research into 'super soldiers' which allowed us to retrieve the Americans after you and Dr. Groitzig put them into suspended animation," Baldini said, "which is why you were allowed to live after your earlier failure. But they are your responsibility. My responsibility is to our leaders, and nobody else."

Scharrolla sighed. "They still think things are as they were during the last Great War which they had all known, and that Italy is still their ally. Fascist tactics will make it difficult to maintain that illusion."

Baldini scowled, "You act so superior, but you are simply a hireling, in business for yourself. I believe in the unity of fascism ... you believe in nothing but making money for yourself."

Scharrolla attempted to formulate a response, when the sound of a hurricane was heard outside the window. "What the devil?" he said, running to the front door, just as it was shattered by the immense fists of Stonewall. He cringed back as the American mysterymen strode through the wrecked door, but soon his eyes widened in a revelation which overpowered his fear. "Mary Morgan?"

The Crimson Commando glanced at the distaff member of his team. "You know this man?"

Miss Patriot cried out in surprise, flashing back to when Groitzig and Scharrolla abducted her as a test subject. At their lab, they'd injected her with the serum which induced her enhanced perceptions. "Scharrolla? I thought the Nazis who'd hired you gunned you down after the Patriot rescued me ... "

He shook his head, entranced by the sight of her in her patriotic garb. "We were only wounded ... Groitzig was sent to Berlin to continue our cryogenic research in Projekt Twelv, and I was brought back home."

She balled her hands into fists, "You won't find me a victim this time; I'm a mystery-woman now."

Scharrolla began to back away, "I see we had not failed as was originally supposed ... but fortunately we have our own mystery-men now." The Crimson stepped forward and grabbed him by the lapels, lifting him into the air. "You're yesterday's news, Scharrolla," he said, before a bullwhip lashes out, striking him on the shoulder. He dropped Scharrolla with a grunt, and he and the others turned to face their attackers:

Arachnid, a man with a shock of blond hair and a wide, grim smile. He was wearing a blue shirt and trousers with red boots. Concealing his movements was a violet cloak with a hood and an eye-mask, and he also wore a matching waistcoat. A pair of .45's rested in low-slung hip holsters attached to a leather belt at his waist, and on his right hand was a ring bearing a scarlet spider in alto relief;

Black Night Owl, a man wearing dark glasses, carrying a white cane. He was clad in jet black trousers, coat, and shoes, and a black cloak formed the rest of his regalia;

Diabolo, a man clad in a scarlet costume and mask, a bullwhip held in his right hand;

Green Llama, a man wearing light green tights, a green llama-hair ankle-length robe with a green hood, and a long red scarf;

Luna Head, a man wearing a long, voluminous black robe, black gloves, and a spherical helmet of silver glass;

the Red Masquer, a man dressed in blue breeches with a green shirt, a purple cowboy hat and gloves, and brown boots. Around his neck was an orange kerchief. His identity was hidden behind a red masque;

and the Silhouette, a man tall and lean to the point of gauntness, huge curved nose like an eagle's beak, his suit, slouch hat, and red-lined cloak a shade of purple so dark it was almost black. On his right hand was a ring bearing a large opal which seemed to glow with an inner light.

The Human Top reacted first, wrists crossing to send him whirling around at incredible speed towards the newcomers. The Green Llama swallowed a tablet of radioactive salts which caused him to radiate a bright blue light, after which he emitted a llama-like cry; he also unbound his own scarf to use as a bullwhip. From behind him, Baldini entered the room, his own scarf catching the Human Top from behind. Diabolo lashed out a second time using his own bullwhip; with his left hand he distracted his antagonist with magical tricks: an endless scarf, an American flag, a bowl full of goldfish, bouquets of flowers, a rabbit, a flock of pigeons, all from his sleeve.

The Arachnid drew forth a specially-designed hand-weapon and fired a long cord, knotted into a web, at Stonewall. As his antagonist was bound, he and the Red Masquer drew forth their revolvers, aiming them at the helpless mystery-man.

The Crimson Commando swore and lunged at the Silhouette, but the man's bone-chilling laugh clouded his mind, and he found himself lost, flailing within the shadowy black cloak. Luna Head assisted his ally, the man's reflective, spherical helmet adding to the Crimson's disorientation as he saw his confusion reflected back on himself.

Miss Patriot lunged for Scharrolla as the scientist tried to escape into the house, only to find her way blocked by the Black Night Owl's cane. From a hidden pocket in his cloak he drew forth a small device which exploded onto the ground, filling the room with darkness.

The Human Top winced in pain at the trio of whipcords lashed to his extremities, and struggled to cross his wrists once more. The Blue Llama sent a surge of electrical power through his line, and the Human Top laughed ... able to conduct the electricity through his body, it empowered his ability to spin once more, and he transformed into a miniature twister, pulling The Green Llama, Baldini, and Diabolo off their feet.

"Death to the bringers of death," rasped the Arachnid, as he and the Red Masquer fired at their hapless foe, only to find the bullets ricocheting off his impenetrable skin. Stonewall shook his head and in disgust and used his immense strength to tear through binding web, then advanced on the pair and swatted them like a pair of bugs.

The Crimson Commando narrowed his eyes, attempting to focus his mind. He'd been in more disorienting situations, lost in the worst battlefields imaginable. Gauging the timing of his opponent's movements, he managed to reach up and slam their heads together, the impact forming a lightning-shaped crack across Luna Head's helmet.

Miss Patriot focused her eyes. "You're up against the wrong girl," she told the Black Night Owl. "With my x-ray/telescopic vision and super-hearing, I can sense you plain as day." She grabbed the cane and, catching her opponent by surprise, pulled it from his hand. He grappled for her, and she backed down under his superior strength, before she brought her knee up hard between his legs. As he folded with a falsetto squeak, she brought her knee up against his nose and rolled him to the ground.

The Crimson Commando looked down at the fallen bodies as he gathered his team together. "Hardly the greatest heroes of their era," he sneered.

"Hey boss," Stonewall murmured, tilting his head to the room where Giovanni Rumori still sat bleeding, tied to his chair. Miss Patriot rushed in, and began to work on the knots binding his wrists and ankles.

"We'll get this man to safety," the Crimson Commando said. "Bravelle," he said to the Top, "we have … what the hell is that?”

From the semi-conscious form emanated a dark force which seemed to permeate the room. The next thing the quartet saw was darkness, and they felt a terrible cold.

Gravity seemed to leave them floating, and the void seemed to suck the life out of them. Even the Crimson Commando felt his battle-hardened sensibilities failing him in this environment.

It was only the touch of a hand on his shoulder which brought him back. He looked up. “Louis?”

Stonewall nodded. “Where are we?”

The Crimson tried to orient himself. “I don’t know. Someplace Canfield created, or summoned … you … it doesn’t effect you … “

His companion shrugged. “I am Stone Wall. Cold does not affect me. But … what do we do with him?”

The Crimson Commando looked at the floating body of the Human Top. Unlike himself and Miss Patriot who floated by their side, the unconscious Top writhed, his body crackling with electrical energy. “It’s … drawing the electricity out of him … maybe we can use this to our advantage.” He shifted over to Miss Patriot. “Mary,” he said as he tenderly placed a hand on her shoulder.

The woman was curled into a fetal position. She barely registered awareness of the man’s presence.

“Get up, soldier!” he shouted at her.

She whimpered. “Jeff?”

“Miss Patriot,” the Crimson Commando shouted, ““Mary Morgan, front and center!”

Miss Patriot forced her eyes open. “Commando … where are we … it’s so cold … “

The Crimson Commando nodded. “We need your enhanced perceptions, Mary. Is there a way out of here? Can you sense anything in our surroundings beyond us? If you don’t find anything, we’re going to die here.”

She bit down hard on her lip, and opened her eyes fully. Clumsily shifting about as she floated in the darkness, she said finally, “We’re not alone.”

The Crimson Commando nodded, “That’d be Canfield, is my guess. Where is he?”

“Hard to … get bearings of distance in this place … he’s … “ she shivered slightly, “27 degrees, North/Northwest, from where I’m oriented now.”

Stonewall nodded, “Got it.” He grabbed a-hold of the Human Top’s body, shielding his eyes from the glare of the crackling electricity, and cannonballed him in the direction Miss Patriot specified.

Their teammate seemed to disappear into the distance, and there was a flash of electrical light which filled their eyes; when their vision cleared, they found themselves back in the basement of the Italian house.

The Crimson walked over to the Human Top, “Bravelle? You still with us?”

The Human Top slowly rolled onto his hands and knees, still shivering. “What happened?”

“I think we discovered how they were able to defeat The Queen,” Miss Patriot said, “But we came through it … and you did your part, believe me.”

The Human top shuddered, and stumbled to his feet. “I’ll take your word for it. What now?”

The Crimson Commando looked over to the Top again, "We have a quid pro quo arrangement with Margo Payne, I think." He walked over and kicked the unconscious body of Lamar Canfield. "Let her know we found her man ... such as he is."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thanks to Ron Byrd for information on Miss Patriot's origin from Marvel Mystery Comics #50. This story was planned long before the announcement of The Twelve, but after the fact it seemed logical to tie them together.

For more information on The Silhouette, see http://www.marvunapp.com/Appendix/silhouet.htm and http://www.marvunapp.com/Appendix/byanhant.htm#Old

The Greatheart Silver story by Philip Jose Farmer, which appeared in Weird Heroes #1 from Byron Preiss Publications, featured a great number of satiric characters based on pulp and literary heroes. Among them were numbered Dick Windworthy/The Arachnid (Richard Wentworth/The Spider), Jed O'Hill/The Green Llama (Jethro Dumont/The Green Lama), The Red Masquer (The Crimson Mask), Donald Diabolo/The Vermillion Mage (Don Diavolo/The Scarlet Wizard), Esteban Hatcher/Luna Head (Steve Hatcher/The Moon Man), Tony Winn/The Black Night Owl (Tony Quinn/The Black Bat). They seemed like appropriate companions to The Silhouette.