Wonder Woman was created by Dr William Moulton Marston in 1941 and is the © copyright trademark of DC Comics. My Wonder Woman stories are only fan fiction and based, primarily, on the 1970s CBS TV show (albeit, updated to the present time of writing). However, any resources from adaptations and the comics may be utilized. All characters are entirely fictional. With the exception of Diana / Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor, these stories and characters are my own creations, unless otherwise stated. In my stories Wonder Woman is the only known superhero.
01 In the Eye of the Storm
It might not be everyone’s ideal way to spend the holiday, soaring over the southern Atlantic in a rackety Twin Otter seaplane, on course to the US polar base in the Antarctic Peninsula, but if there is a chance of bringing one of America’s most wanted to justice, any I.A.D.C agent worth their badge would be doing the same. Besides, when peering out of the window with one’s fingers in one’s ears, its just possible to imagine this noisy aircraft as Santa’s sleigh, effortlessly, slipping through the air from Lapland. The vibrating buzz of Diana’s cell phone ruined the thought…
It was Steve Trevor calling from Washington D.C, “Hi Diana, I’m glad I reached you before arriving for the Christmas Ball at the Mayflower – I’m being chauffeur driven there now.”
“Steve, are you telling me you’re about to sip Champagne and dance the night away with some fair maiden, while I’m cold, famished and jet-lagged, somewhere between the Atlantic and the Southern Ocean?”
“Yes, that’s about right – but I know its exactly where you’d wish to be if this leads to the capture of our treacherous rogue agent, Marsha Cross.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Diana agreed, “Any update on how she managed to infiltrate the Palmer Station?”
“I can confirm Jo Brown never existed,” Trevor said, “Marsha must have created an alias several years ago, probably as an exit strategy, in case her extracurricular activities got her into hot water.”
“So the metaphorical hot water Marsha found herself in has led her to flee, literally, to the coldest place on Earth – she must have been desperate – as I recall her struggling to cope with cold rain!”
“Yeah, Marsha holidayed in the Caribbean every Christmas to escape the cold of Washington or New York,” Trevor added.
“A Jo Brown flew to Antarctica by a private chartered seaplane. Although her credentials checked out, suspicions were raised when she knew next to nothing about wolfology.”
“Wolfology?” Diana queried, “Why would they need a wolfolgist in the South Pole?”
“Steve … You’re breaking up … I’ll call you again when we reach the Palmer Station …”
Diana joined the pilot upfront. He was Texas Denton – a brash wings-for-hire – ironically enough, originally, from Denton in Texas. Denton plied his trade as a fighter-jet pilot in the US Navy. Taking orders never suited him, so when he assaulted a superior officer, it resulted in a prison sentence and his dismissal. Denton’s life had since spiralled, downwards, into the shadowy criminal world of people smuggling.
Diana Prince was all too aware Denton’s record when she hired him, at short notice, back in Buenos Aires. What she hadn’t bargained for was his manner.
“Lost contact, hey?” Texas said, “It’s not unusual around these parts, when in the eye of the storm.”
“You weren’t meant to be listening, Tex,” Diana reminded him.
He flicked a cigarette between his lips, “It’s a small plane, sweetheart!”
Flapping the cigarette smoke away with her hand, Diana said, “You also promised you’d give your lungs a rest from self-harm.”
Tex grinned, “My plane, my rules!” he retorted, stabbing his thumb against his chest.
“Not when I’m paying,” refuted Diana, snatching Tex’s cigarette out of his mouth and lobbing it out of the window.
“JESUS!” he exclaimed, “Somebody needs to get laid…”
Diana tossed her bright oceanic eyes with weary disdain, “Tex, please, kindly skip the pseudo-psychoanalysis and concentrate on getting us to Palmer Station in one piece.”
He grinned like a Cheshire cat. For all his sins, Texas was the epitome of rugged handsomeness; from his wavy unkept chestnut coloured mane down to his semi-professional attire of convenience. While Diana came properly prepared, dressed in blue thermals with a thick yellow fluorescent stripe along its sides, Texas stuck to his pilot overhauls and trusty sheepskin jacket.
The Twin Otter broke out of the clouds, over the Antarctic Peninsula.
“Luckily, we kept ahead of the storm,” remarked Diana.
“No luck about it, Prince, just real good flying,” amended Tex. “I’m putting her down in the bay. We’re lucky its summer, or else we’d be sliding on an ice sheet.”
The seaplane circled the rocky Palmer outpost, before descending into the bay.
“Brace yourself! This could be bumpy – especially if we hit an iceberg.”
“Somehow you don’t inspire confidence,” Diana told him.
“Get this – if we hit a submerged berg – they’ll be fishing us out in pieces, darling!”
The plane’s two floats began spitting water from the sea. Soon, the Twin Otter had etched a trail of surf behind it, eventually, giving way to the water resistance.
“Textbook, Tex,” praised Diana, a little sarcastically.
“All right, sweetheart, let’s get your friend and go – the weather’s still against us – there’s no time for long soppy goodbyes.”
The Twin Otter gently sailed over to the Palmer Station’s dock. Two men in bright orange thermal suits tied the craft’s mooring lines to bollards.
It was lightly snowing when Diana climbed down the plane’s ladders to greet them with a smile, “Hello there, Diana Prince of the IADC.”
The older of the two responded, “Agent Prince, I welcome you to Antarctica. I’m Gerry Goldman, the Director of the Palmer Station – and this is my esteemed colleague, Leon Pattison, our Head of Security.”
Pattison was a shorter, stockier, man with a bare teethed grin, “At your service, Agent Prince. Now about Jo Brown, she’s currently residing in my office, completely unaware of the situation.”
“Good, I’d like to see her right away,” Diana requested, “We’ll need to make the return journey, soon, to avoid the storm.”
“Sure, follow me.”
Texas remained standing on the nearside float of his plane when Prince and Pattison left. He immediately lit up for a smoke.
“Nice to see you again, Mr Denton,” said Goldman.
“Always the courteous diplomat, Goldman,” said Tex, dispassionately, “If only she knew the truth, eh?”
“I would appreciate if you’d exercise the up-most discretion when in the company of the IADC,” requested a stern Goldman.
Tex sniggered, mischievously, “I bet you would, Gerry, I bet you would!”
Constructed on rugged dark rocks, the Palmer Station was composed of two main metallic blue buildings with several smaller units surrounding them. At full capacity the Station caters for 46 personnel, but at present, only twenty occupied the small outpost.
Pattison’s office lay off a corridor to the main laboratory.
“I got to admit there isn’t much crime around these parts,” Leon lamented, “You could say I act like a sort of sheriff in the old Wild West, keeping everyone in check, but also keeping an eye out for foreign invaders.”
“It was I who first became suspicious of Jo Brown,” he added, “My suspicions were raised when Laing told me Brown knew nothing about wolfology.”
“And who is Laing?” asked Diana.
“I’m afraid Laing is dead,” softly lamented a tall, studious, good looking lady who awaited them outside Pattison’s office.
“WHAT?” Leon puffed, “How can this be?”
He bungled his way into his office, “WHERE IS SHE? WHERE HAS JO BROWN GONE?”
For Part 2: Click Here.