Chuck Vs The Balls Of Steel
Summary: It's early 1940. Europe is engulfed in war. In the Isolationist USA, forces are at work to make sure that they do not fall victim to the invincible appearing Nazis. A new breed of spy is needed. Brave, resourceful, cunning with skills that will set him apart from other men. His name? It's not Chuck.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Chuck', the TV Series or the characters. I don't own DC Comics or any of their characters, either.
AUTHORS NOTE: I have decided that the language, slang and jargon used in the 30's/40's USA is pretty much same as it is in the early 21st Century. I think I would lose the 'Chuck' factor if I called him a 'wet sock' rather than a Nerd.
Chapter 1: Chuck vs An Intersect.
February 1940
Burbank, Los Angeles
"Aw, dude," the short, Hispanic young man with the close-cropped beard groaned with a sense of awe. "This guy is so cool. Look at the way he handled those heavy bad guys."
"And look at his clothes," the taller, clean-shaven man with the short dark brown, slightly curly hair nodded with enthusiasm. "The man looks so cool, even when he isn't beating on the villains."
The two men, both appearing to be in their early twenties, sat huddled next to one another on the edge of a bed in a small bedroom, looking at something that the smaller man was holding on his lap.
"I'll tell you this for nothing, Chuck," the bearded man agreed. "He is one awesome hero."
"That he is, Morgan," Charles Irving Bartowski, affectionately known as Chuck smiled. "That he is."
"How cool would it be if we could be like him, huh?" Morgan Grimes, Chuck's best friend inquired.
"On a cool factor of one to ten?" Chuck raised his eyebrows with an excited grin. "One being totally not cool..."
"Like us," Morgan interrupted with a resigned nod of his head.
"And ten being..."
"Coolest of the cool," Morgan finished with an stabbing of his finger for emphasis. "The coolest of the coolest... of the coolest. I mean, the man has gadgets, brains, gadgets, brawn... did I mentions his gadgets? "
"Then I think we're talking a fifteen here, Morgan."
"That's super cool!" Morgan grinned. "And when the guy can't beat the perps with his fists, he uses the old brain power. Kind of like us, huh, Chuck?"
"Kind of like us, little buddy," Chuck gave Morgan a huge smile. "Except that we never studied boxing and Jiu-Jitsu and other neat stuff, like he did."
"Because neither one of us has much in the way of muscles," Morgan's voice tailed off as he turned his head away.
"Yeah," Chuck gave a long, drawn out sigh of regret.
"But, hey! Chuck!" Morgan bounced back. "You know you have something else in common with the man, don't you? You both lost both of your parents at an early age!"
"I don't think mine were murdered, like his, Morgan," Chuck shook his head. "And I still had Ellie to bring me up."
"Right, right," Morgan nodded. "You know, ever since he appeared in issue number... number..."
"Number twenty-seven, buddy," Chuck looked up at Morgan. "May, 1939."
"Man," Morgan grinned. "I love it how you can remember all that stuff and just... have it at your fingertips. But you know what? I bet those Nancy dudes over in Europe right now would never mess with our man, right?"
"The word is Nazi, Morgan," Chuck shrugged. "Nazi. But, you're right. Herr Hitler and his henchmen wouldn't stand a chance against him."
"Do you reckon they're going to come after us?" Morgan turned and looked at Chuck with a worried frown. "Because I heard that those... Nazi guys are into that sort of thing. You know, world domination."
"Not gonna happen, Buddy," Chuck shook his head. "Not only do they have to cross the Atlantic Ocean, but there are like, millions and millions of Americans and there aren't nearly as many Nazi's. Plus, we have our secret weapon."
"Which secret weapon would that be?" Morgan narrowed his eyes."
"Jeff and Lester," Chuck grinned.
"But if we had more like Bruce," Morgan returned to looking at the picture that he was holding.
"Right," the taller man nodded.
The door behind them opened, causing the two young men to jump, frantically trying to hide what they were looking at.
"Chuck?" a tall, attractive brunette demanded. "What are you doing?"
"That would be hiding," Chuck had a look of guilt on his face.
"Hi, Ellie," Morgan stared with open admiration and affection at the woman.
Chuck's older sister, Eleanor Faye Bartowski, ignored the bearded man, her eyes fixed on her baby brother.
"Chuck, it's a party," she stated. "I have even invited a date for you. A real woman, Chuck. She's a nurse from the hospital where Devon and I work. And where do I find you? In your room, with Morgan, reading comic books."
"Not just any 'comic book'," Morgan protested, holding the front of the comic up so that Ellie could see the cover art. The background was yellow, with a red banner backing the white text that stated 'Detective Comics'. A picture of a man in a gray suit and a huge voluminous black cape, scalloped to resemble bat wings was swooping down on a car with two villains looking up in shock. "Detective Comics number thirty-three. It's the one that explains the origins of the Batman. You see, he..."
Morgan caught the frosty look that Ellie was shooting his way.
"You're not interested," he nodded, looking away. "Shutting up, now."
"You stay here, Morgan," she spoke in tense voice as she took Chuck's arm. "Chuck, you come with me."
"Wish me luck, Buddy," Chuck cast his friend a backwards glance as Ellie dragged Chuck out of the room.
"Luck," Morgan gave his friend a half-hearted wave.
-oOo-
"Now just remember," Ellie, her arm looped through Chuck's, whispered in his ear. Her voice was warm and soothing. "You're a great guy. You're smart, you're funny and you can be quite charming. She's single and she already thinks you're cute."
"Oh, gee," Chuck gave his sister a wry grin. "Cute, huh? What am I? Eight?"
"I'm your sister, sue me," Ellie smirked. "So get out there and be your charming self."
"Easy for you to say," Chuck groaned as he stumbled into the courtyard of the block of apartments he and Ellie lived in.
"Hi," a perky redhead appeared in from of him, clutching the thin tie that he still wore around his neck. Although Chuck was still dressed for work, most of the other partygoers had changed into less formal clothing. "Are you in costume?"
"Uh yeah," Chuck nodded, his face burning with embarrassment. "Kinda. Uh, I work at Buy More Gas and Go."
"That is so cute," the wide-eyed, Bambi faced redhead giggled. "So, do you like, pump gas there or something?"
"Uh, sometimes," Chuck nodded, his voice raising an octave higher than he would have liked. "But I mainly fix car electrics. You know, lights, radios..."
"But Ellie said that you went to Stanford."
"I did," Chuck nodded with a little embarrassment. "Yes, I did."
"Oh my god!" the perky woman enthused. "I knew this great guy from Stanford. He ran track, played football and studied electrical engineering."
"Bryce Larkin," Chuck gave a sigh of disappointment. "My roommate."
"I wonder what he's doing now?" the girl wondered, her eyes going distant while a faint smile crossed her lips.
"I think he sells insurance in Seattle."
-oOo-
February 1940
An Undisclosed Location
The tall, athletic and ruggedly handsome dark-haired young man moved quickly and silently through the narrow vents, a sheen of perspiration caused his face to almost glow in the poor light. Periodically, he would stop moving and listen before starting his journey again. Bryce Larkin was not an Insurance Salesman and neither was he in Seattle. His current location was classified while his current employer was like the proverbial secret wrapped in an enigma.
After what seemed like hours of twisting, turning, counting intersections and mentally measuring distances, Bryce came to a narrow vent. From a pocket on his sleeve, he produced a small screwdriver. Squeezing his hand through the slits in the vent and bending his wrist back on itself, he managed to slot the screwdriver into the head of the screw. Working blind like that, it only took him a dozen attempts. After some initial resistance, he finally managed to remove the first screw. He carefully pulled his hand back and removed the offending article from the magnetic head.
"One down," he smirked, "three to go."
With one hand holding on to the vent, Bryce managed to undo the fourth and final screw. Holding the vent fins firmly with both hands, he pushed down, lowered the vent from the gap. Twisting and then angling, he managed to pull the vent back up into the tunnel. He dropped into the room below. Landing in a low crouch and then rolling to nearby cover, he quickly scanned the darkness for any guards hiding in the shadows. Seeing none, he moved low and quick to a row of filing cabinets.
Swiftly and surely, he picked the lock with a set of tool hidden in his belt. He opened each drawer and ran a small, narrow beamed flashlight across the tabs that protruded from the file slots. Finally, he came across the file he was looking for and pulled it from the drawer. After confirming that the contents were what he was after, he slid the papers into a hidden pocket inside of his jacket. From the other side, pulled a small, solid tube, attached to which was a small dial and an assortment of wires. He twisted the dial and using a piece of putty, stuck the tube to the side of the filing cabinet.
"It's time to say goodbye," he grinned before sprinting, hell for leather, toward the large wooden door at the end of the room.
His timing perfect, Bryce leapt into the air just as the wave of energy hit him and he 'rode' it, like a surfer, his feet aiming at the door. The wooden structure could not resist the power of the blast and exploded off the hinges as Bryce made contact. Rolling away, he quickly backed up against the wall, sheltering from the heat from the explosion. He then bolted down the corridor, taking out two guards who had just appeared around the corner, rushing to see what was happening. Still moving, Bryce slid down on the polished floor, sliding like a baseball player into another guard who was even now levelling his gun at the intruder. Knocked over like a bowling pin, the guard's shot went wildly into the ceiling. Bryce was on his feet and running before the now unconscious man hit the floor.
As he burst through the main door and into a courtyard, two more guards appeared from a side door. As they paused to raise their weapons, Bryce had already tumbled into their legs, knocking them both over. Two swift waves of his hand across the backs of their necks rendered them unconscious. As he climbed back to his feet, two shots rang out in the darkness, sparks jumping from the cement ground close by. Not waiting to locate them, Bruce took off.
"He's heading for the roof!" someone called out as he started to leap up a staircase, taking three steps at a time.
At the top of the stairs, a guard appeared, pulling a pistol out to level at the intruder. Bryce dove headfirst between the man's legs, sliding behind him and rolling to his back. Bring his foot up hard and fast, the guard collapsed to the floor in agony, his hands clutching at his groin.
Bullets ricocheted from around him as he ran along the top of a low wall. At the end of this wall, he jumped into the darkness, landing on a rooftop below him and rolling like an acrobat to leap back to his feet. Sprinting across the rooftop, he leapt at a drain pipe and used this to slide lower still. Back on the ground again, Bryce ran hell for leather for a small truck that had parked at the end of the parking lot. As he neared, the back opened up and Bryce Larkin leapt inside, half a dozen pairs of hands helping to pull him up. The truck, however, did not pull away. Bryce looked up at the others inside the truck with a questioning look.
"Well?" he asked.
"Not bad, Larkin," a tall, thin man in a dark 'G-man' suit nodded. "Not bad at all. Where did you learn skills like that?"
"Stanford, mostly," Bryce Larkin shrugged. "Track and field, Gymnastics... and spending the last year and a half working for the British SIS in Spain while Franco, with the help of his Nazi buddies overran the country."
"Your file says that after the civil war ended in April of last year," another suited man spoke from a seat at the back of the truck, "you went to England where you performed a number of missions for them, checking on Nazi infiltration in a number of European countries. Then, in December of last year, your left their employ and returned to the United States. Why was that?"
"You know why, Mr. Kay," Bryce turned to look at the other man. "I know that the current administration dictates that we pursue an isolationist policy, but after what I saw at Guernica, and what I witnessed first-hand in Poland, when I saw what Nazi Germany is capable of... The Spanish Civil war was just an appetizer for them, a rehearsal. Poland was just opening night. They were planning something big back then and I don't think it's going to stop at Eastern Europe. We have to prepare ourselves because these guys mean business. We need to set up our own single espionage and counter espionage department. Not lots of little ones, run by various departments and competing for resources like we have now. And competing with each other. We need one department that will share all the data with everyone. Mr. Kay, we need some kind of centralised intelligence agency."
"Which was why we engineered this simple test, Mr. Larkin," Mr. Kay shrugged. "We wanted to see if a trained... 'agent' could indeed, breach top security and get away with information we would rather not have someone get away with. The, uh, bomb was a nice touch."
"Prove it, you said," Larkin nodded. "And I proved it. The bomb was both a diversion and a means of hiding what I actually took."
"As you are aware, due to Nazi Germany invading Poland, both Britain and France have declared war on Hitler. Europe is now at war and that means it will be difficult to obtain certain materials that we will need for our future defence. If you are agreeable, Mr. Larkin, we have a little job for you." Kay leaned forward again, his hands clasped between his knees. "How is your German?"
-oOo-
Burbank, Los Angeles
"So, do you have a girlfriend?" the bubbly red asked Chuck.
"I did," he nodded with a look of wistful reminiscence. "Her name was Jill. We met at Stanford. There was a whole group of us. Me... Jill... Bryce..." Chuck took a deep breath as he prepared to tell his story.
"How's he doing," Ellie asked her fiancé, Dr. Devon Woodcombe.
They both knew the question was rhetorical. Chuck was sinking.
"Not awesome," Devon looked up from his conversation with one of his old Fraternity buddies and gave a disappointed glance in Chuck's direction. "The guy's still hurting, babe. It's going to be some time before he can bring himself to trust another woman."
"...and there I was," Chuck sighed. "Me on a bus heading back to Stanford while Bryce and Jill..."
He fell silent after finally noticing that he was alone. Looking around him, the girl who had been eager to talk to him earlier had gone.
"Can I give you a tip?" Ellie approached him from a crowd of the partygoers. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him to sit on the edge of the fountain with her. "Even though we might ask, we don't want to hear about past girlfriends."
"Right," Chuck shrugged, his head dropping.
"Stanford was two years ago, Chuck. It's time to forget it and move on."
"How can I forget, Ellie?" Chuck's voice grew a little weary. "Bryce was my best friend. We did everything together. And he goes and steals my girlfriend? I mean, if it hadn't been for Bryce Larkin, I would probably be happily engaged, just like you and Captain Awesome are. I proposed to her, Ellie. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. And I would have had a great job at the aircraft plant here in Burbank, designing airplane electrical systems and radios and this new radar stuff and, and... But then I found her in bed with Bryce and I was so screwed up, I missed the interview. So instead, I'm still single and I pump gas, fix car radios and sell soda's at Buy More Gas and Go."
"She wasn't the one," Ellie placed her hand on his arm. "There's someone out there for you, Chuck. You just need to be prepared to grab her and never let go."
"And when I find her," Chuck sighed, "she'll probably be more interested in Bryce. Even your friend you set me up with liked him. They always prefer Bryce."
"Then maybe," Ellie squeezed his arm as she started to head back indoors. "You should just turn around and steal one of his girlfriends."
"Hello-o!" Chuck called to her. "This is Bryce freaking Larkin we're talking about!"
-oOo-
March 1940
Geneva, Switzerland
"Bryce freaking Larkin!" the young man shook hands with the dark-haired spy as he entered the room. "I haven't seen you since the Frat House in Stanford. Welcome to the United States Embassy, Geneva, Switzerland."
"Todd," Bryce smiled back as the two young man shook hands. "It's good to see you. So this is where you wound up?"
"Diplomatic Service," he grinned, taking a grandiose look around the reception hall. "I'm a Deputy Assistant to the Assistant Under Secretary."
"That's great," Bryce nodded. "You've certainly landed on your feet."
"You too," Todd nodded. "I hear you are some kind of hot shot trouble-shooter now? I hear that you are going into The Reich with some trade delegation to make sure we keep our trade going?"
"Now, come on, Todd," Bryce winked. "You of all people should know that I can't discuss that with you."
"Well, whatever you are up to, I hope you have time to come to dinner with Annette and me."
"Annette?" Bryce cocked an eyebrow.
"My fiancée," Todd grinned, unfolding his wallet to show Bryce a snapshot. "She works here, also."
"As a secretary?" Bryce gave a little smirk.
"How did you know that?" Todd frowned as he tucked his photograph back into his wallet. "Hey have you seen much of any of the others? Terrence? Bradley? How about Charles? You and Chuck still best buddies?"
"I haven't seen anyone since Stanford," Bryce shook his head. "And as for Chuck? Let's just say that we haven't been best buds since he caught me in bed banging his fiancée. So what was that about dinner with you and Annette?"
The lecherous grin on Bryce's face made Todd's stomach turn cold.
-oOo-
Bryce was sure that Mr. Kay, the G-man from the back of the truck on his exercise, was wearing the same suit that he had worn that night. He sat behind a desk on which sat a myriad of papers.
"Mr. Larkin," Mr. Kay looked up from a file he was reading. "I trust your journey was satisfactory."
"It was long, it was complicated," Bryce glared. "Why did you make it so complicated?"
"To make sure that you were not being followed," Kay shrugged. "We have invested a lot of time and money on this mission, Larkin. We do not want to see it fail because you crossed paths with someone you had already dealt with in Spain."
"Any enemies I crossed paths with in Spain would certainly not be anywhere other than in Spain where I left them. Six feet under."
"We can't be too sure," Kay gave a nod of his head. "There is far too much at stake and time is of the essence. Already, Poland has been crushed and the Wehrmacht is moving from one side of the continent to the other. France and the low countries will be next, and then Britain. Judging by the way they brushed aside the Poles, I can't see it being any different in France or in Britain. We must get those papers before the whole of Europe becomes a Nazi Fortress and they can then turn their attention to us."
"So why are we wasting time talking?" Bryce rolled his eyes. "Let's do this."
"The maps you requested are there," Kay indicated a table by the window. "Along with all of the equipment you requested. The timers, explosives, the two guns and the ammo. Naturally, we would prefer it if you could obtain those papers without the Germans knowing, but if you must destroy the evidence... We'll allow you some latitude on your planning. Are you sure you don't need someone to accompany you? Someone to watch your back? We have a number of fine candidates here in Geneva."
"I've got it covered," Bryce spoke from the table where he was inspecting his equipment. He lifted an Enfield no 2 pistol, and after pulling back the hammer, hi flicked the barrel, watching it spin. He checked the chambers and closed the hammer. A grin lit his face. "It's time to say goodbye."
-oOo-
"Are you sure you have everything you need?" Kay leaned against the side of the Mercedes Benz 540, speaking through the rear window to the passenger.
"I have everything I need," he nodded. "I'll see you at the rendezvous point in one month."
"And if you fail to make it?"
"I won't," Bryce grinned. "I'm Bryce freaking Larkin.
As the Mercedes pulled away and steered toward the mains entrance, the two soldiers on duty pulled the gates open. The Under-Secretary joined Mr. Kay as they watched the sleek, black car slip through.
"I almost hope that he fails," the Under Secretary smirked.
"Are you kidding?" Kay cocked an eyebrow. "You heard him. He's Bryce freaking Larkin."
"Is he that good?"
"Best you've ever seen."
From beyond the gates, there was a loud and sudden blaring of horns. A squeal of brakes was followed by the sound of metal crunching and an explosion. Mr. Kay and the Undersecretary ran for the gates in hot pursuit of the two soldiers who were also rushing out. A twisted wreck of metal and a fire was all that remained of the Mercedes and a Citroen. The soldiers were already pulling bodies from the tangled mess. One of them was Larkin. Kay was by his side in an instant.
"Bartowski!" Larkin gasped. "Get Chuck Bartowski!"
Bryce Larkin's body went limp.
-oOo-