WONDER WOMAN: The Senator’s Crisis by marat
Chapter 6
Olga was waiting for Senator Carlton when he
arrived home. ‘Did you see? My power is stronger
than hers!’
‘This will be well worth this fee,’ he said,
mostly to himself, as he dropped a bag of coins on the
table. ‘Can you teach me the methods to control
her?’
‘What kind of witch would I be if I did that?’
Olga was incensed. ‘Besides, it is my power, not the
words or the stirrings. Even if I did tell you
what to do and say, you wouldn’t be able to hold her.
She would be too strong for you.’
‘Very well.’ The disappointment was evident in
the Senator’s voice. ‘Then, let’s get to sleep.
Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.’
*****
A Saturday afternoon in late spring is always
tide for tourists in Washington, D.C. This was a
particularly warm Saturday, so many young
people, in various stages of undress, families with
children of all ages, and retired couples
spending their children’s inheritance were wandering on the
mall. There were softball games there as well,
couples and families picnicking, watching the games,
or, too self-obsessed to watch, simply making
out. Large numbers walked the well-worn paths from
the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial
or crossed the mall between the museums: Air
and Space, Natural History, the National Gallery
of Art. It was one of those days that reminds people
that Washington is, in reality, a southern city.
The sky was clear and blue, dotted only with
occasional puffs of clouds. Temperatures by noon
were already in the 80s, heading for a
late-afternoon high of about 90. Already, many
of the ball players were stripped to the waist, in a
few cases a rather poor decision, if what they
wanted to do was to impress the female observers.
Diana and Penelope had come to the mall to get
away from the apartment and to actually spend an
afternoon together. They hadn’t really done so
since Penelope had moved from Delaware. Diana’s
job kept her away much of the time, so here was
an opportunity that did not come frequently. They
were watching a game opposite the Air and Space
Museum, so there was heavy foot traffic behind
them as the tourists made their way to see ‘The
Spirit of St. Louis’ and the Wright Flyer. But the
game was a good one, between some workers in the
Department of Agriculture (always a
power-hitting team) and the Secret Service (who
relied more on speed). Both teams had a large
contingent of supporters surrounding the field
and every run that was scored was greeted with a
swelling of cheers from sections of the crowd.
There had been lots of cheering thus far.
‘Do you want to take in the Renaissance
Exhibition at the National Gallery?’ Diana asked.
‘Oh, yeah, you just want to see naked Greeks and
replay your own personal family photo album,’
Penelope shot back. ‘Why don’t you ever want to
see the Moderns?’
The Department of Agriculture batter hit a hard
line drive into the gap in right-centre. The Secret
Service outfielders chased down the ball,
another run scored and the batter had a standup double.
Diana cheered with the rest, then turned,
smiling, to Penelope. ‘I prefer representational art. You
can’t mean that you prefer Mondrian and Jackson
Pollack to Michelangelo?’
The two went on like this. It was the sort of
mental fencing that characterized much of their
relationship. It was the one thing that Diana
most loved about this new lover, something that she had
never been able to do with Steve.
The two continued smiling at one another as they
crossed intellectual swords and parried their way
across the centuries, Diana highlighting the
balance and symmetry, the idealization and the
universalism of classical and Renaissance art,
while Penelope advocated the philosophical ennui and
the clean sharp lines of the modern works. It
was a debate neither would win, but which they
expected to take up again when they debated
music over dinner.
‘So, instead of art representing man’s
quandary-‘
‘And women’s quandary,’ Penelope added.
‘-and women’s quandary-in the contemporary
world, art is more important in defining our
aspirations and the fulfillment of ourselves,’
Diana went on. ‘It’s more about leading us, rather than
simply reflecting where we are.’
‘But can’t that reflexion offer a way out of
where we are philosophically? Someone has said that in
the post-Holocaust world there is no need for
representational art. Art needs to offer a way of
looking at an existential universe and finding
meaning for ourselves….’
The sound of gunshots behind them cut off
Penelope’s argument. Someone was firing automatic
weapons at the Museum of Air and Space, just
across the street. Immediately, Diana turned to rush
to change into Wonder Woman. Penelope grabbed
her wrist firmly. ‘No. Don’t,’ she said, looking
deeply into her friend’s eyes. ‘Please don’t.
Let the police handle it. You don’t have to be the
heroine all the time.’
‘But my darling, I’m here. Now. I didn’t go to
the other incidents earlier today because they were a
good distance away and the police would have
responded as quickly as I would. This is right here on
the mall. There are crowds of people who might
be hurt waiting for the police. I have to. You were
talking about Meaning in an existential
universe. This is my Meaning.’ Penelope dropped her hand.
‘Please be careful,’ she said softly as Diana
raced away.
*****
There were four men with models of the Army’s
new rifle, the M-16, standing, spread out over the
plaza in front of the Air and Space Museum. Two
leveled their rifles at the crowd while the two
others seemed to be looking and waiting for
something, or someone. They were dressed all in black,
their faces covered by ski masks, certainly
uncomfortable on such a hot day.
When Wonder Woman ran up, the two who were
watching and waiting turned their M-16s on her.
‘Well, Wonder Woman. You finally showed up.
We’ve been trying to get you to come play with us
all day, first over at Union Station, then at
the Jefferson Memorial. What’d ya do? Sleep in this
morning?’
Wonder Woman looked questioningly at the man who
was talking. What was he saying? That this
was some sort of trap? If so, it was unlike any
she had ever been lured to before. Usually traps were
in dark houses or deep woods, not in broad
daylight and in the middle of a crowd.
‘Put the guns down and none of you will get
hurt,’ Wonder Woman shouted at the men. She was
concerned about the two men who were pointing
their weapons at the crowd, but maybe she could
talk them out of whatever they had in mind. At
least until the police arrived.
In answer, one of the men leveled his M-16 at
the Amazon and fired a short three-second burst,
about eight rounds. The Princess’ bracelets
flicked the bullets out of the air. This was the most
difficult thing about bullets and bracelets. Not
actually catching the bullets on the Amazonium
bracelets: anyone from Paradise Island could do
that. The trick was to make sure that they fell
harmlessly. Often people forget about shooting
up into the air: What goes up must come down.
Ricocheting bullets, deflected by Amazonium
bracelets, have to go somewhere. The Princess of the
Amazons made sure that all eight of these
bullets wound up falling to earth harmlessly.
‘If you’ve been trying to get hold of me all
day, you surely know better than to shoot at me,’
Wonder Woman taunted the black-clad shooter.
‘You know that gun is of no use against me. Put it
down!’
The two men who faced Wonder Woman were huge. As
the Amazon Princess approached them in
an effort to take their guns away from them,
ever her impressive height looked petite compared to
these brutes. I’ve dealt with men this size
before, Wonder Woman said to herself. As long as no one
starts shooting into the crowd, everything will
be all right.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the Amazon called out,
‘please step back. Please don’t get involved in this.
Please keep out of the line of fire and stay
away from the men who are holding the rifles.’
As Wonder Woman was saying this, Penelope rushed
up to the scene. Fearing for the safety of her
friend, she pushed her way through the crowd,
drawing an occasional curse, treading on an
occasional foot. Towards the back of the crowd,
people were drifting away, and after Wonder
Woman’s warning, many people were willing to let
her pass, as determined as she seemed. When
she got to the front, the sun-splashed plaza
looked like a scene from the OK Corral. Wonder Woman
was nearest to her, the high, hot sun glinting
off the gold of her breastplate and her girdle. Marking
the four corners of a rectangle were her
adversaries, two of them on the plaza at about eight and two
o’clock from where she stood, the other two
keeping a watchful eye on the crowd, at about four and
ten o’clock from her position. My God, the men
facing Wonder Woman were enormous. They
looked like football linemen. Although fearful,
Penelope was proud of her lover as she slowly
approached the centre of the plaza and a
position halfway between these two men. Her boots were
about shoulder width apart, her arms bent at the
elbows, her body slightly bent at the waist. The
Amazon was a study in concentration as she
prepared to deal with the situation. There was still no
sign of the police.
*****
Setting up communications was the most difficult
part of the trap. Olga was back in the library at the
Senator’s house. Senator Carlton was in the room
with her, his ear glued to the telephone. He was in
contact with William, who was sitting in the
limousine, parked on a driveway near the Capitol.
Using binoculars, William was watching the
Museum of Air and Space, but he was mainly relying
on the walkie-talkie that connected him with still
another observer who was actually on the plaza. It
was a good thing, too, because thanks to the
crowd and the trees, he couldn’t see what was
happening there.
‘She’s here.’ The sound of the short burst
sounded both through the walkie-talkie and across the
mall. ‘She deflected the bullets. She’s moving
toward Scott and Al.’
‘All right, Olga, here’s where you earn your
money. First, slow her down.’
*****
Wonder Woman moved forward toward the line
defined by the two men who were confronting her.
She needed to be as close as possible to them if
she was to use either her speed or her lasso to bring
the situation under control. The police would be
arriving soon; in the distance she could hear the
sirens. She needed to bring the situation to an
end quickly, or else she would leave it to them.
One of the big men facing her began to edge
toward her, keeping the M-16 leveled at her. This is
good. She wanted him closer. It’s not often
someone who sets a trap, as these men claim, is so
co-operative. She also noticed that the other
two men now took more interest in the spectators and
less in the events on the plaza. These two men
raised their rifles and pointed them directly at the
crowd.
Now the second man facing her took a tentative
step toward her. If they would get close enough
together, she could use her magic lasso to end
this. Wonder Woman held her ground, waiting to see
where this ballet would end.
It didn’t take long. The sun was beating down on
Wonder Woman and she noticed that she was
sweating profusely. She was having trouble
focusing her vision on her opponents. Her arms and legs
felt heavy. She tried to take a step forward and
realised that it required a great effort. Her eyes shot
from one black-clad figure to the other, as she
nervously now tried to gauge her next action.
About this time, the first police squad car
arrived. The officers were not prepared to deal with so
strongly armed an opponent, so one remained in
the car, calling for backup. The other watched the
spectacle from the back of the crowd.
Suddenly, the man to her left rushed toward her.
He was extremely fast for someone so large. Maybe
he was a football player. In any case, he was
very light on his feet. He rushed the powerfully built
Amazon from her left, cut sharply to his right,
and kicked her sharply in the ass. Then he danced
away like a boxer, giggling and cackling with
glee.
‘Heeee, he, he he. Gotcha, Wonder Woman. Just
try to keep up!’
Wonder Woman made a move to go after him, to use
her superhuman speed and round this guy up.
But she could barely take a step. It was like
she weighed tons. Her head moved from left to right as
she tried to keep an eye on each of her
opponents.
The, with equal suddenness, the man on her right
rushed her, cut a sharp turn, just as his partner had,
leaped gracefully into the air, and twiddled the
Amazon’s dark brunette hair with his fingers.
‘Gotcha!’ he laughed.
This sort of picador-activity went on for the
next few minutes. First one, then the other, leapt at the
Princess, who stood rooted to the ground
apparently unable to do anything, sweat running down her
face and body. They tweaked her cheeks, patted
her rear, stuck a finger in her ear, pulled her hair,
and anything else they could think of. And each
time they did so, they giggled, guffawed, yelled
‘Gotcha!’, and danced away. After a few moments,
the crowd, and even the police, seemed to get
into the innocent spirit of the taunting, and
began to chuckle. A few joined in on the ‘Gotcha’s’.
Penelope watched with growing emotion. Her
stomach was churning, tears were welling in her
eyes, her chest tightening as she watched her
lover undergo the public humiliation. This was worse
than what happened at the Lincoln Memorial on
Thursday. There she had obviously be captured and
drugged by her enemy. Now, however, she was the
object of ridicule. Here she was, a superheroine,
seemingly unable to perform even the simple act
of using her strength, so very well known, to bring
these two men under control. What was wrong with
her? Why didn’t she just take them down?
Finally, one of the big men danced toward the
grounded superheroine like Muhammad Ali, gave her
a little ‘Ali Shuffle’, then dropped down and
swept his right leg, powerfully striking the Amazon’s
red boots and taking her legs out from under
her. She fell to the sidewalk and seemed unable to
move.
The two men guarding the crowd now lifted their
rifles into their armpits and scanned the crowd.
The tone of the Princess’ humiliation was about
to change and they had to be ready for anyone who
wanted to be a hero. They pulled the loading
mechanism back and listened as a pronounced ‘Click!’
sounded as a round entered the chamber.
Lying on her back, the heroine struggled to
raise her head to see her attackers. She was barely able
to do so. The masked men moved like
well-conditioned fighters. Wonder Woman needed all her
strength to raise herself to her elbows, and she
could get no further. Then she realised that she had
lost sight of one of the men.
He was behind her! Closing to the helpless
Amazon and roughly grabbing her bare upper arms, he
dragged Wonder Woman to her feet. He pinned her
arms behind her back, wrapping his arms
around them. Wonder Woman made a move to toss
him off her, as she had done so many times in
the past. But with increasing horror, she
realised that she couldn’t do so. She was as weak as if her
bracelets had been chained! But no! She wasn’t
weak! She could feel the strength rushing through
her body. To toss the man aside, she would need
to make a large movement, twisting her body,
turning at the waist, dropping down, and surging
outward with her arms. Her body was simply
frozen. She stood, incapable of moving, her arms
pinned behind her back; but that didn’t matter: She
couldn’t move her arms anyway. It simply looked
like he was holding her arms against her will.
The man holding her leaned toward her and
whispered in her ear, ‘Surprise, Wonderslut! What’cha
gonna do when your powers abandon you?’ Then he
licked her ear.
Wonder Woman stood with her legs spread wide
apart, her body erect, her arms behind her back.
Sweat poured off her. The man behind her made a
show of restraining her, although the Amazon
knew that that’s all it was, a show. The other
man approached her directly from the front. ‘What’sa
matter, you cunt?’ he whispered viciously.
Wonder Woman ordered her body to kick him. Nothing
happened. ‘We got ya now,’ snarled the man
facing her. With that he drove his large fist and
powerful arm directly into her face.
The sound of fist striking flesh was loud enough
to echo across the plaza. Wonder Woman’s head
shot straight back, her hair wrapping itself
around her shoulders. Then, the powerful athlete began to
tear into the helpless Avenger, held in thrall
of a force she did not yet know. Alternating right and
left, her beat her again and again, wringing her
head on her neck, the raven hair splaying out to all
sides with each blow. Each time his heavy fist
struck the beautiful face of the Champion of All
Women, some in the crowd responded with an
‘OOOoooohh!’ or an ‘Aaaahh!’
Penelope was absolutely beside herself with fear
and horror. Wonder Woman was being beaten
senseless and no one could do anything about it.
Tears were flowing down her face; her mind was
absolutely beyond all reason. She took two
running steps toward the centre of the plaza where the
powerless Amazon was being pummeled by her
attackers, when…
BANG!!
A single shot from an M-16 cut her down. It
entered the outside of her right thigh and exited the
back. Someone behind her was struck in the foot
by the round. But Penelope went down, the pain
terrifying, but less bothersome than what she
continued to watch in front of her.
Wonder Woman felt herself losing consciousness
as a result of the beating she was absorbing. The
powerful man behind her was no longer holding
her. Rather, both of these muscular men were
working over the Amazon Princess, utterly
incapable of resistance. First one, and then the other,
took a free shot at the superheroine. Each blow
to the head drove her toward the other attacker. One
man struck a ringing blow right in front of her
left ear. Her head snapped to the right, her body
twisted in the same direction, and her left leg
crossed over her right. The clicking of her heels on the
sidewalk was now the only sound echoing across
the plaza, the shiny boots making a crisp, clear
staccato contrasting with the heavy thuds of the
fists on flesh. When she had taken that step to the
right, she ran into the other attacker, who
stayed her movement, lined her up and measured her and
landed his own powerful blow to the left side of
her jaw. Again the twisting of her head and of her
body, the clicking of her heels on the sidewalk,
the helpless movement of her body toward another
blow. She could barely see now, her vision
reduced to just small tunnels of light surrounded by deep
blackness.
Finally, one of the brutes drove his fist deep
into the pit of the Princess’ stomach. She doubled over
as the sweat flew from her face and hair and air
rushed out of her. Involuntarily, she took a step or
two forward. But her Amazon strength kept her
standing. The man now measured her for the final
blow. Stepping to one side, he drove his fist
downward, hard, to the left side of the Amazon’s face,
catching her right at the temple, just below her
tiara. While this happened, she simply stood, rooted
to the spot, her arms hanging uselessly at her
sides.
Wonder Woman fell to the ground, crumpled to the
sidewalk, and lay on her right side. The two men
stood over her. One of them took the toe of his
black boot, placed it against her bare left shoulder,
and pushed the Amazon Princess onto her back. He
then reached down and yanked her breastplate
down, revealing the ample tits that so many had
longed to see.
Sirens were screaming toward the Museum as the backup
finally arrived. The four men, all now
carrying their M-16s at the ready, moved in
military fashion toward the corner of the Museum. All
four fired into the air, scattering the crowd.
Then they disappeared.
Wonder Woman lay unconscious on the plaza. Sweat
poured off her face and shoulders soaking the
sidewalk around her. Exposed, her breasts rose
and fell slowly as her body came out of its
enchantment. The only evidence of the end of the
spell was the straightening of her leg, the sound of
leather on the hot cement.
Everyone who was there had just seen Wonder
Woman soundly beaten. She had been unable to
save the citizens from a determined group of
criminals. Two people had been shot, though not
seriously. The police rushed toward Penelope and
the young man behind her to examine the extent
of their wounds. At first, no one thought to
cover the fallen superheroine.
End of Chapter Six
Comments, questions, suggestions welcome::
contact the author at marat1793@comcast.net