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next to the others. Reach for each other’s hands.
    Their bodies shake, convolute. Electricity like a living thing, coursing through them, surrounding them in a haze of blue, cold fire. They point in unison, forming an arrowhead, and aim. They discharge a lightning bolt, it leaves the tips of their fingers and cracks like a whip across the distance, hitting a German tank. There is a massive explosion as the tank blows up and the camera shakes wildly. When it settles it lingers, for a moment, on the remains of the burning tank, before returning to the Electric Twins. Their hands are back at their sides. They look into the camera. For just a moment. That self-satisfied look in their eyes. Then look away.
    Americans , Fogg thinks.
    It’s one big fucking show, he thinks.
    On screen, the announcer: The Greeeeeeeeeen Gunman!
    Who’s not even green. He’s black. He steps off the ramp. Measured steps. A little older than the others. Wide-brimmed cowboy hat. Boots with spurs on them. Balls that clang as he walks, Fogg thinks. That swagger. The outfit must be green. Can’t tell. Patterned with leaves. The boots, the belt buckle. Gun holsters each side of the belt. Unlit cigar in his mouth. Surveys the scene of battle. Takes his time. The camera pans out. German snipers taking aim. The Green Gunman smiles. Draws. Fires.
    Not bullets.
    Shoots. Vines. Green tendrils. Growing at an enormous speed. Sprouting from the Green Gunman himself. Looping around the German snipers. Taking root. They bloom flowers. They extend big, fleshy leaves.
    Vegetation swallows the men. A hillside transformed. The Green Gunman holsters the guns. Not guns at all, Fogg realises. Props. The Green Gunman smiles. Fires up his cigar. Steps down the ramp. Stands with the others.
    The League of Defenders.
    Fogg shakes his head. Coughs. Drops the spent cigarette on the floor. Grounds it with his heel. Watches the screen. Announcer: Girl Surfer and the Frogman!
    Last to the party. Girl Surfer first, board gliding on the water, over the waves, American soldiers watching from the beach, cheering.
    Girl Surfer in a bathing suit, doesn’t feel the cold. Holds twin machine guns, fires them, blonde hair cut short, a fringe, cold grey eyes like an alien sea. Out of the water bobs the Frogman, a toad-like human creature with scaly skin, in his deformed flipper hands a German diver. The Frogman crushes the diver in a hug. He dives back down, dragging the German diver with him. Surfer Girl lands on the shore. Pins the surfboard in the sand. The Frogman rises, dragging the German diver’s bloodied corpse behind him. He deposits him on the sand. Steps over him. Joins Surfer Girl and the others. A line in the sand.
    Announcer: Fritz can never stand in the path of the League of Defenders! The tide of war has turned, and right has might!
    The camera turns, pans, the seven in their garish costumes stand, looking into it, a group photo, American power: Tigerman Whirlwind Electric Twins Green Gunman Surfer Girl Frogman. The image freezes, then disintegrates, the screen flashing, and Fogg sighs out, relief, a breath he didn’t realise he was holding – the film’s about to start, at last.

19. THE OLD MAN’S OFFICE the present
    Remembers the film, now. The Outlaw , from the previous year. Holding his breath when Jane Russell walked onto the screen for the first time. Makes him smile, now. Watched it again with Oblivion, at some American camp halfway to Berlin, before the fall. Oblivion had made a comment, later. They were drinking the Americans’ whiskey. Something about them being like the characters in the movie, Fogg and him. Doc Holliday and Billy the Kid. Fogg wasn’t sure which was meant to be which.
    Things he and Oblivion never talked about.
    Too many things unsaid. One of the things they taught them on the Farm. Speak little. Say even less.
    That had been Jane Russell’s first screen appearance. Remembers watching her later. After the war. Hiding in that same darkened