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Captain America

The Last Campaign

(This story is a work of fan fiction, written solely for the pleasure of writing. Characters owned by Marvel Comics.)
Captain America created by Joe Simon and Jack Kirby

Author's Notes

Thank's for reading, truly. My story (based on the comics) stays true to the SPIRIT of Captain America...but I have my own twists on Cap's cannon. Here's my take:

- Steve Rogers was no 90-pound weakling. He was weak, due to being afflicted with Polio, but I've retired the cliche of daily beatings by the neighborhood bullies. Steve was a champion before he took the Super Soldier Serum, blessed with a sharp mind, a drive to excel, and a strong moral center. He deserves a little dignity: he had girlfriends (no way Cap fought WWII as a virgin!), and he was nobody's punching bag. That's just how I see him.

- Peggy Carter wasn't the love of Steve's life. 'Sacrilege!' fans of the movie shout…but truthfully? The comic book Peggy (like Batman's Vicki Vale) was a generic girlfriend with no personality. The writers of the movie agreed; instead of the American Peggy of the comics, their Peggy is British. I think this was to make her more like Jacqueline Falsworth. For me, Jackie IS Steve's true love (well, Jackie and Sharon Carter. It's complicated.) In the comics, Cap led the Invaders, the WW II version of the Avengers, and Jackie was the hero called Spitfire. I always felt she and Cap should have been a couple. Now they are. Frank Miller did the same thing when he wrote Daredevil, ditching DD's longtime girlfriend Karen Page, and introducing Electra. So allow me to "introduce" Jacqueline Falsworth. I think you'll love her.

- The Red Skull has supernatural power, and vast strength. For years, Marvel didn't know how to handle Johann Schmidt. He was just a guy in a mask, a Nazi doing his best to kill Cap and destroy America - but still just a guy; one punch and the fight was over. Eventually, Marvel figured out that this sucked, and changed the story to Schmidt also taking the Super Soldier Serum. It was a big improvement, but still, I never loved the idea. To me, the Skull has to be more than just a good villain…he has to be the ULTIMATE villain. In my story Schmidt finds an occult talisman, the kind of thing Hitler was obsessed with, and is transformed from an evil man into EVIL INCARNATE. It takes all Cap can muster to survive him, let alone defeat him. That's what I call a super villain!

- Bucky is dead. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the Winter Soldier; the comics and the films did an amazing job with that storyline. But when I started to write MY Cap story, I discovered James Barnes just wasn't there. Cap's partner fell to his death in 1944, and nothing I did could revive him. So I follow what was once the one, inviolable law of comic books: no one stays dead except Bucky.

I hope I've whetted your appetite to read on. The Last Campaign is my epic love letter to Cap. I try to portray him in a fresh, realistic manner…but at heart he's still Captain America, the greatest hero of the Marvel Universe. I hope you enjoy!

Book I
(The past is)
PROLOGUE

December 31, 1938
Office of Research and Development, United States Army

Washington DC

Across the country Champagne corks were set to pop, streamers were ready to be thrown, and horns were laid out, all to welcome in the New Year…everywhere except in this office, Steve Rogers figured; here, time seemed to stand still. Einstein must have a theory to explain it, surely. A check of his wristwatch told Steve he had only been sitting in this lobby for ten minutes. It felt closer to an hour. Across from him, an army secretary was busy filling the staid office with the steady clack of her typewriter. He considered reviewing his notes a final time, but decide against it. There was such a thing as beating a dead horse. Steve was as ready for this meeting as he would ever be.

Outside, a light snow was falling against the blush of the setting sun. The city streets were mostly deserted for the holidays, which was a Godsend. This little dusting wouldn't raise an eyebrow back in Oregon, but this far south it might as well be a blizzard. Making it to Gail's place in Arlington was going to be an adventure. They had reservations at the Baldwin tonight, the Dorsey Orchestra (Jimmy, not Tommy, but still good). Steve reached into his breast pocket and felt for the ring he had been carrying around for the past week. This might not be the night for it after all, not with things so unsettled here at work. Being called in like this for an unscheduled meeting with the General seemed ominous. It had to be about Braxton. Steve could not seem to please the man, and lately he had stopped trying. Braxton just couldn't accept pesky things like facts interfering with his cherished notions. Steve shifted in his seat, casting another glance at his watch. He noticed the secretary staring at him, smiling slyly.

"The General won't be much longer," the attractive brunette said, gently tapping her wristwatch.

"He's a busy man, I realize."

She looked to the door of the General's office and began whispering to Steve as a conspirator. "If there's one thing General Rhodes believes in, it's busy. Even at five thirty on New Year's eve. I'm willing to bet this is the only office in the capitol with the lights still on."

Steve chuckled. "I think you'd win that bet. This is my first meeting with the General. If you have any friendly advice..?"

The intercom buzzed followed by a gruff voice calling for Steve Rogers. Steve smiled grimly and gathered his papers.

"Don't worry, you'll do fine," the woman said. "The Old Man's not as bad as his reputation makes out. Besides, you're a civilian. Legally, he's not allowed to have you shot."

"Thanks for the pep talk, corporal..?" Steve looked to read her ID badge.

"Carter," she answered. "Margaret Carter. My friends call me Peggy."

Steve smiled. "Thanks Peggy."

Steve stood, feeling conspicuous against the backdrop of these military surroundings. It wasn't his civilian attire, though he was obviously dressed for a night on the town. He was tall and very thin and younger looking than his twenty-two years, but that was not it either. In most every respect, he was an average looking, American man. He had blonde hair, yellow as straw, blue eyes, and was handsome in the way of people who are utterly unconcerned with their looks. None of this is what made him self-conscious. Rather, it was the almost imperceptible limp in his left leg. Even after all the years he had lived with it. Steve made his way to the Generals office where he was greeted before he could even close the door.

"Take a seat, Rogers."

Behind a plain and rather small oak desk sat General Rhodes. He set aside his paperwork, offering no handshake. Steve sat, taking note of the near total absence of ornamentation in the office. Everything was basic and functional, unusual for a decorated three star general. Rhodes had a crop of iron-grey hair and a deeply lined face, yet Steve was surprised to find that, up close, the 'Old Man' didn't actually look all that old. Rhodes pressed the intercom button on his desk.

"Miss Carter, is the office staff gone for the day?"

"Yes sir, except for myself."

"Good, go ahead and finish up. And corporal? Happy New Year."

Snapping the intercom off, Rhodes leaned back in his chair. "The best man on my entire staff," he mused, "and she wears a skirt. If half of my officers had even half of her brains and competence, this would be the best unit in the army." There did not seem to be an invitation for comment, so Steve kept quiet.

Rhodes appraised his guests evening wear. "I believe there are essentially two types of people in the world, Rogers. Those who make New Year's resolutions, and those who do not. I'm curious...which type are you?"

Steve thought of the ring in his pocket. "I guess the first type, General."

"Interesting," Rhodes said. A beat of silence passed. "Well, you must be wondering why I called you here. Major Braxton has expressed concerns about your work. He wants you to resubmit your recent reports, factoring in his recommendations."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir."

Rhodes narrowed his glance. "Perhaps you should explain that answer."

Steve paused. He was getting himself into hot water. He'd done it before, and would probably do it again. He had his mothers stubbornness.

"Respectfully, research must be accurate and free of bias. If I tailor my reports to reflect the Major's opinions, I'll be of no value to you at all."

"He thinks you hold yourself in rather high regard."

"No, sir. Just the truth."

Rhodes considered that comment. He reached into his desk drawer, producing a stack of paperwork. On top was a copy of Steve's most recent report, a plausibility study of armed conflict between the United States and Germany. Rhodes began to read, scanning many pages with barely a glance. Occasionally he would linger for a moment, writing notes next to certain passages. Twice he made a deep-throated 'hrum'—though whether this sound was an indication of approval or displeasure, Steve couldn't tell.

Coming to the last page, Rhodes paused, reading the summation in detail. He snapped the file shut and looked up, as if weighing the words he had just read against the man who wrote them. Steve had heard about Rhodes's formidable intellect. Now he was feeling it, bearing down like sunlight through a magnifying glass, to a pinpoint. It was less than pleasant.

"The Major claims you are fixated on the idea of war with Nazi Germany. He believes your work to be highly flawed, full of alarmist conclusions."

"Not exactly, sir. He says my work contains flawed conclusions based on an alarmist premise. The part about the Nazi's is correct."

Rhodes leaned forward with a look that could wither paint off a fence post. He locked eyes with Steve. "Are you being flip with me mister?"

"No sir…"

"I think perhaps you are." Rhodes took a cigar from the humidor on his desk, lighting it. Clamping the cigar tightly in his teeth, he leaned back in his chair. Outside, the snow had settled into a deep, noiseless downfall, and the glow of the street lamps became a frosted haze. The quiet hum of the office furnace made a pleasant drone, filling the office, until Rhodes spoke.

"Let's get down to brass tacks. The Major wants me to fire you. Convince me otherwise."

Steve shifted in his chair, taking a moment before he replied. "Sir...you graduated from West Point at the top of your class. In 1917, as a lieutenant colonel, you disobeyed a direct order, took charge of a disastrous retreat in the Somme, and turned it into a victory."

"And your point is?"

"You didn't achieve those things without knowing your own mind. You've already decided if you intend to fire me."

Rhodes sat, the smallest of smiles on his face. "I see. Than what, do you suppose, is the point of this meeting?"

"I don't know, sir. I think maybe you're...testing me."

The room grew silent. Rhodes stared at Rogers, searching his face, for what, his young guest could not fathom. Rhodes took a draw on his cigar, releasing a thick cloud of smoke. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused, and probing.

"So, war is coming? Most of the world hails Chamberlain's peace agreement with Hitler as Peace in Our Times."

"Then most of the world is wrong. It often is. I'm afraid we're facing some hard choices, General."

"Everyone else is wrong, and you are right? Tell me, Rogers, how do you account for your remarkable insight concerning the German Chancellor?"

Steve's features tightened at that. "I read his book, General."

"Good answer," Rhodes said. "Give me your assessment of German military capacity."

"It's troubling, sir. They've made great strides in weapons, tactics, manpower…the Nazi's have dismantled the treaty of Versailles. The exact figures are in my report, but it all points to the same thing. Adolf Hitler is building the greatest war machine in history. He's militarized German science and technology, with the greatest threat being their advances in atomic research and biochemistry."

"Ah yes," Rhodes said. "The Major took special exception with you there. As someone who works on his staff, what's your assessment of Major Braxton?"

"I…I'm not sure how to answer sir. The Major is a good man, but—"

"But he is an idiot. Would that be a fair statement?"

Steve groped for a reply.

"All right," Rhodes continued, "I will answer my own question. The Major is an idiot. Braxton couldn't find his asshole if he had a map and a three day head start. Unfortunately, he is the nephew of Senator William Braxton, chairman of the military appropriations committee, and so I am stuck with him. He has his uses though. If the Major is completely opposed to an idea, I can usually be certain that that idea must have some merit. Your ideas, Steven, have a great deal of merit. May I call you Steven?"

Not waiting on a reply, General Rhodes produced another file and began reading.

"Steven Grant Rogers, born nineteen seventeen, New York City…only child of Joseph and Sarah, both deceased. A top athlete and scholar as a boy, some petty scrapes with the law as a juvenile. Upon the death of your parents, you went to live with your uncle in Oregon. You studies improved, but, at age fifteen you contracted polio, leaving your body weak and ravaged." General Rhodes looked up from the file. "Am I accurate so far?"

"…Yes," Steve managed.

"Received a scholarship to Notre Dame, from which you graduated last year, a double major in world history and political science. First in your class..."

"Yes."

"Attempted to join the ROTC, but was rejected due to physical infirmity. You were pursuing your master's degree when approached by my office. You accepted the position, seeing it as a chance to combat the threat of fascism. Fluent in French, Spanish and other romance languages, speak passable German…"

"Yes."

"With the death of your uncle, you have no immediate family. For the past eleven months, you've been romantically involved with a Miss Gail Anders of Arlington, Virginia…for whom you recently purchased a modest engagement ring. The one in your pocket, I imagine."

Steve's eye went wide. "General, what is this? Have you been spying on me?"

"Yes."

That answer shocked Steve into silence. General Rhodes quietly got up from his desk and walked over to the window, looking out at the snowfall.

"The information I am about to share with you is classified, and I remind you of your oath of secrecy. I am extending an offer to you, one you are free to reject with no dishonor, to take part in a secret army experiment. Tell me, in your research work, have you heard anything concerning a project Super Soldier?"

Steve's look betrayed him; he had heard something.

"Please," Rhodes said, "Tell me what you know. I'd like to see how top-secret our top-secret actually is."

"Well, my security clearance is only 4-B, so I haven't heard much. The chatter is that the army is developing some new wonder drug, for treating battlefield injuries. Like penicillin, only better. I guess that's not it?" Steve said, seeing the pleased look on General Rhodes face.

"No, it's not. It's good to know that some things work the way they are supposed to. We've spent months flooding the system with a lot of false information, some of it with tiny bits of truth, but all leading down various dry holes: Project Rebirth, Achilles, Grandstand, Reinstein, among others. The real thing is Super Soldier—and even it has many covers and levels of protection. You were correct, the Germans have made some startling advances in biochemistry. Now it's our turn."

Rhodes smiled at his young guest. "Incidentally, your security clearance is now level 2-A. That's all I can tell you—unless you consent to participate."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you are free to go. As I said, the choice is yours. Your research position is gone whatever you decide. I'm sorry, but its part of the cover we're preparing for you."

"And if I say yes?"

"Then things get interesting," Rhodes said, a wry look in his eyes. "I won't snow you son, this requires a big sacrifice on your part. You'll belong to the army for at least the next four years. The risk to life and limb is substantial...but if this project succeeds, you'll have done your country a great service."

"Serve my country, sacrifice my personal life. Quite a choice, sir"

"You said it yourself. The time for hard choices has come."

The General stepped forward, a pleased look creasing his broad features. "I've thrown a lot at you this evening. You haven't flinched once. That's good. I never trust a man who can't look me in the eye."

"I'm not as confident as I may seem, General."

"Good. I'd be worried if you weren't concerned."

"But…why me, sir? Of all people, why me?"

"Not just you. You'll be joining nine other men as part of the initial test. As for why I've chosen you…let's just say you meet certain criteria I'm looking for, starting with how you think. As it happens, I agree with you about the danger Hitler poses. Or rather, you agree with me. I've been warning about the Nazis for years now, not that the top brass has cared to listen. They decided the best way to shut me up was to bury me here, overseeing research and intelligence programs."

Rhodes took an enormous draw on his cigar, his eyes glinting with quiet pride. "Well, I've managed to stay busy. I want you on my team, Rogers. You'll enter service a commissioned officer, the rank of Captain. America needs you, son. Will you answer the call?"

In the years to come, those words would often echo in Steve Rogers' mind—'Captain America…will you answer the call?' but that was in the years to come. Today, he was still a young man, full of uncertainty.

"I'm honored by your faith in me," Steve finally answered, "but you just read my medical history. I'm physically unfit for army service."

Rhodes smiled. "Trust me. If this experiment delivers even half of what it promises...that won't be a problem."