As the Ghost and John opened their eyes, they found them in a freefall towards the ground. Flak exploded around them and fireballed American B-17's fell from the sky like moths that had flown too close to an open flame.
"WHAT THE FUCK!!" Yelled the Ghost as he fell, the ground getting ever so close with every passing second.
He shut his eyes expecting to splatter on the ground in seconds. He waited, and waited but to his surprise, he was hovering just above the ground. The two had been stopped just before they met a splattering fate on concrete. As they stood themselves up on the ground, the two looked around but saw nothing but a haze of thick fog in front of them.
"Where are we?" Asked the Ghost, shaken after being dropped for such a height.
"This ain't the same land I built rails on... Also, what the hell were those things, some kind of giant metal birds or something?" John asked the Ghost as he dusted himself off.
"Those weren't birds.... those were bombers, B-17's in fact." The Ghost looked at John who was staring at him with a blank, "Really", kind of facial expression. "I forget you haven't ever seen an airplane before."
"It would be great if you quit doing that. Anyways...."
John was cut off by the intense eerie silence and stillness of the once loud atmosphere. However, that eerie silence was soon replaced by a thunder roar, and a screaming whistle above them. The fog seemed to lift and the massive rumble of a merlin engine replaced it. Several feet before the Ghost and John Henry was a P-51 Mustang. Its chrome and yellow paint glistened in the sun, bright red tail caught all of the Ghost's attention.
"That's.... That's a Redtail." Muttered the Ghost under his breath. As the massive propeller stopped spinning, the canopy opened and a figure emerged from it. He wore strange clothes John was unfamiliar with. However, the Ghost recognized every bit of the outfit. The khaki-colored coveralls, the sun-tarnished leather and woolen bomber jacket with accompanying faded yellow life vest and parachute harness, the leather flight hat and goggles, all of it commanded the figure's presence. As he walked, he seemed to command the very atmosphere around him. His yellow hue shrunken just around his body, was nothing like the red hue the Ghost saw when he met John.
"Hey, don't you two know any better? This is a taxiway not a walk...." The figure stopped as he saw John's red aura. "Well now, this is a mighty fine surprise." The figure said, lifting the goggles off of his face with a smile.
"Who are you?" Asked John.
"I'm Second Lieutenant Lemuel R. Curtis of the 332nd Fighter Group. Friends call me "Lem" though. Now I know of the red-hued guy here. Mr. John Henry, steel-driving legend of the mountain himself, here in the... uh.. spirit I suppose? Anywho, I do not know this guy standing beside you, John. Who might you be?"
The Ghost took a deep breath to claim his excitement. "I am called "The Ghost of Ottawa", just call me Ghost, sir."
"Woah now, none of that sir nonsense. Had some white-boy farmer... uh, what was his name..."
"Hans?" Asked John.
"Yes! That's it! Hans! He told me to expect some company. Thought he meant Germans but seeing as it's you two, I can assume you are his descendant then?"
"That's right. I have to say, I have fought tooth and nail to keep your stories alive."
"Attaboy. Now, allow me to..." Lem looked into the Ghost's eyes seeing the situation unfolding in slow motion. "Hmm, seems ole J.Henry's facet is a bit much on your body. Jesus kid, how much power are you tossing at these guys?"
"100-200% Willpower transfer, but I don't understand why it's hurting my body like this." Said the Ghost looking down visualizing the vast amount of bruises and scars he had.
Lemuel facepalmed himself and opened the cowl of the P-51 Mustang. "Look here. See that two shafts in there? One's a prop shaft, the other allows me to use Centrifugal Torque.
The Ghost understood most engines, just not this one. "Centrifugal Torque? I'm unfamiliar with this."
"It's really simple." Lemuel started to explain, "Seeing as I know you've handled a firearm, think of the recoil. Using John's Epicyclic Gear Strength as you have been is the equivalent of having a toddler fire a bazooka. You are strong, but look at the guy. He's six-feet and two-hundred pounds of pure, solid muscle. You need a way to invert the flow of the recoil to maximize your hitting power. You need my Centrifugal Torque Recoil, otherwise, you'll shatter every bone you've got.
The Ghost fired up both of his abilities and the two facet cores within both of them. His body began to glow a red and yellow hue causing the Canadian Dictator to hold his attack. The Ghost thought for a moment, then whispered an idea to both of them.
"That could work." Said Lemuel, looking at John Henry.
"If it does, that would change the way you go about utilizing your abilities."
The Ghost nodded. "We need to get back."
"Agreed, both of you, hang onto the wings of the Mustang, let's make some history happen." Said Lemuel as he climbed back into the canopy. As they left the ground, they headed back to where they'd fallen in from.
"This time," started John, "You'll have the Steel Driver's Might."
"And the Red-Tailed Angel's Fight in your corner." Said Lemuel as the three re-entered the Ghost's mind together.
As he stood up, the Ghost's body now felt like it was being driven by train pistons powered by a supercharged Packard-Merlin V-12 for one crazy combination. His body trembled from the intense power flowing into his veins. The Ghost smiled at the feeling of raw power, feeling like he could change the very fabric of the world.
"How fucking dare you claim we belong at the bottom." Said the Ghost as he caught the gauntlets thrown to him by Dr. Sue.
"Well it's...."
"Nah." Said the Ghost shaking his head after cutting off the Canadian Dictator. "All of you dictators see yourselves as some kind of gods, eager to force your wills upon those you govern. Well, allow me to show you how we, "Bottom-Dwelling Americans", deal with tyrants and dictators such as you and your useless boss."
The Ghost closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the Canadian Dictator rushed towards him. As he exhaled, he opened his eyes, now glowing red, yellow, and copper, he leapt into the air toward the dictator. He cocked his fist back, channeled the full extent of his willpower into his fist and shouted at the top of his lungs for all to hear, "ULTIMATE MOVE! STEEL-DRIVEN TORQUE ANGEL!"