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 utilised. 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 Lion’s Den
We are all governed by time; we’ve no choice in the matter. In the West, we’re slaves to our tick-tock clocks, tasks, schedules and timetables; but out on the African plains some still drum-a-beat to the sun and stars. The sun burns bright, here, during the day, giving a false reassurance of a leisurely pace of life. A calm, ahead of the spectacular night fall, which fills to the heavens with the universe and illuminates the shadows, where danger always seems to lurk. Time is never so precious as it is in the watchful hours of this shadow play. When the glorious dawn finally breaks, creatures sing aloud in triumph of making it to another day; for they know, as sure as time itself, the night will follow.
Ripping across the turquoise sky like a pair of giant scissors, cutting smoky white incisions in the pale blue vista, Texas Denton circled Table Bay in his new Twin Otter sea plane.
“Come in, beautiful! Do you copy?”
Stepping out from Table Bay Hotel on to the sleepy seafront at Breakwater, Cape Town, Diana Prince spoke into her concealed mic piece, “Tex, as glad as I am to hear you’ve finally arrived, I’d appreciate it if you could address me by my title.”
“Which title’s that?” Denton, inquired, facetiously, “Miss Goody Goody, Miss Rule Book, or Miss Diana Prinsloo of the Wild African Protection Agency?”
Diana mildly adjusted her sunglasses with agitation, “The latter is preferable, if you can manage it. After all, having one of us keep anonymity is sensible in these dealings.”
“Sure, whatever you say, darling!”
“Calling Texas Denton, do you copy?” A German voice came through the radio.
Denton spoke quickly, “Making contact with the Luftwaffe now. Would love to hear more about another of your hang ups, but time’s money – hey, add this conversation to your list, sweet face! Out.”
“I’m more interested in hang outs,” Diana said, thoughtfully to herself.
“Calling Texas Denton, do you copy?”
“This is Denton, receiving.”
“This is Captain Kruger of FRSA Limited. We are awaiting your arrival in Table Bay to escort you ashore to our unloading facility.”
Denton did one last 360-degree circle of the villa, before dipping the twin propellered sea plane down on the jostling waves of the bay. For all his arrogance, Denton wasn’t ignorant to the dangerous liaison that awaited him; he was fully aware that he’d be surplus to requirements as soon as the Fourth Reich got their hands on the plane’s cargo. It was a case of go along with the I.A.D.C plan or face charges for people smuggling (see Wonder Woman in Antarctica).
The waiting committee was all too predictable. They greeted him on speed boats within a minute of his touch down. They came across from a sporty silver yacht, called Erich Raeder, which appeared to be surveying the operation while anchored out at sea.
“WE’LL TOW YOU INTO OUR PRIVATE CARGO BAY,” bellowed Captain Kruger in a superficially jovial manner, “DO NOT BE ALARMED IF IT APPEARS WE’RE HEADING ONTO ROCKS!”
“Sure, it suits me fine to hand over the helm to someone else, after flying all the way from Bueno Aires.”
“Ah, VERY GOOD!”
A stocky deckhand looped a rope around the plane’s tow bar on the bow. He hung onto it; and the speed boat tugged the sea plane.
They headed towards the imposing stony capped mountains of Table Bay National Park. Denton stoically chewed mint gum; an oral habit he had recently acquired since inexplicitly feeling unable to light up. The only time Denton’s poker face showed any passing concern was when the wings of the plane looked as if they were about to be clipped by two large rocks, which they narrowly manoeuvred between, on entry to a channel. The channel must have been dug out, Denton noted, as they made their way up the beach into the cliff face. Then into the blackness of a cave tunnel. This went on for about a quarter of a mile, until they cut the motor. The headlight beaming off the boat’s bow revealed waves lapping up against the cave’s dead end.
After a few minutes, the cave’s ending fell away, sloshing beneath the water, as if it never existed, and brighter lights beckoned out before them.
They had arrived at a secret subterranean port, situated in a steep, narrow, cavern. It was reminiscent of a train station with two platforms, only with water passing through between them, rather than rails. The flowing stream disappeared down an unseen waterfall, under a low arch, into darkness. The motor boat towed the sea plane portside. On the other platform lay a sleek grey yacht, by the name of Karl Donitz.
Denton barely noticed any of it, but was alerted to the armed gathering on the platform, particularly the short-cropped blond in a tight, black, elastic jumpsuit who appeared to be in charge. She wore an accompanying belt, attached with many silver stars, right around her waist. In her dark high heeled boots, she was over six feet tall, and of a robust, muscular, frame.
She led six mean guardsmen, wearing white shirts and green combat pants. Their shirt sleeves were badged with FRSA, in bold black print with a diagonal cross, depicting elephant tusks exploding out, underneath the lettering.
Denton opened the plane door to greet them, “Hiya! The box is all yours. I’ll take the cash now, if you don’t mind?”
“You’ll be paid on my orders, when I am satisfied the cargo has reached us in good condition,” was the lady’s stern reply.
Although she had a hard-military tone, Denton noted her easy symmetrical features with approval, “Relax, honey, the stiff is as good as new!”
“I shall be the judge of that,” she bluntly retorted. Then the agent softened rather unconvincingly, “The deceased meant a lot to me. I trust at no point you opened the coffin?”
“Without the combination lock code, I’d be surprised if you could even blast that casket open – whatever you have inside, I haven’t seen it, sister.”
“How honest,” she replied, dismissively.
“You must be tired and in need of refreshments?” She presumed. Turning to a couple of guards, “See the pilot is fed and has somewhere to rest in the holding bay.”
“Yes, Agent Rocca.”
Near the top of the lofty cavern, resting on a ledge, Wonder Woman secretly watched the guards escort Texas Denton through a metallic door, which had been carved into the rock. She observed another two enter the sea plane, followed by Rocca herself.
“Serena Rocca,” Diana said quietly, “Let me give you something to remember me by.”
She felt the cavern around her for a fist full of rock that she could break off. Lifting away a piece about the size of a domestic cat, Wonder Woman took aim, and slammed the missile over the opposite side, at a weak spot where loose debris were likely to fall. The superheroine had hit her target with such force that the missile had punched a small crater through a bulging graphite structure, which was leaning outward over the underlying yacht. The first fragments splintered and rock fell on the boat; enough to get the sailors’ attention, before the rest plundered below. Some debris crashed into the windows of the vessels. Larger pieces dented the bow on their way to the seabed. The almighty bangs echoed throughout the chamber with such thunder that even the hard-of-hearing would have received a nasty fright.
Agent Rocca and the two guards hastily emerged back out on the platform. Another man-sized boulder came down, but this time from the nearside wall. Eagled-eyed observers may have noticed the way it abnormally glided over the water, alongside the Twin Otter, before plummeting into the depths. Except in the hive of confusion and frenetic activity, there were no observers, as everyone was looking up, rather than down.
A gathering of operatives clambered either side of the port doorway. Some fleeing the Karl Donitz, were met by others hastily arriving to view the commotion.
“SECURE ALL DECKS!” ordered Captain Kruger, rushing over to the Karl Donitz with his crew.
“Must be some kind of earthquake,” Rocca said to the guards, “Remove the casket to the safety of the holding bay.”
The two guardsmen carefully wheeled the silver coffin off the Twin Otter on a bier. Once safely inside the holding bay, Agent Rocca typed the numerical code into the casket’s keypad. The top unlocked with a click. Agent Rocca lifted open the casket to her immediate satisfaction; for Wonder Woman lay inside, peacefully, breathing into an oxygen mask.
For Part 2: click here