Some background on this fic, first.

One: You may get offended by some characters (not naming names, but they're Hitler). This is an AU fic that I decided to have fun with, so don't sue me.

Two: The technological advances on the Americas put them on par with the 2010s in some areas, but the 1980s in others. Culturally, the United States is the same as it was in the real 1920s.

Three: Keep in mind that it's very likely that I'm going to screw something up. OoC is going to be very common, so... yeah.

Four: This is considered a parody because of Team America.

Five: Enjoy!


April 29, 1926
German Airspace


"Copy, Guardian, we are approximately thirty-two hundred feet above ground. Fog is severely limiting our ground visibility, over."

"Roger, Alpha-One. Attempt to get closer to the ground and survey the landscape, over."

"Wilco, Guardian. Lowering altitude to twenty-one hundred feet, over... Altitude at twenty-one hundred feet."

"Anything, Alpha-One?"

"Negative, Guardian. Lowering altitude to one thousand feet. Alpha-Two, follow suit... Altitude at one thousand feet."

"Alpha Team, can you see anything? Over."

"Guardian, this is Alpha-Two. Negative, visibility is still low. Lowering altitude to three hundred feet."

"What the hell...?"

"Guardian, this is Alpha-One. We are at an altitude of three hundred feet. The ground is visible, and- holy... Mother of God, what the fuck is that?! Shit, I'm hit, I'm hit! I'm going dow-"

Static.

"Alpha-Two, come in. What's going on?"

"Guardian, this is Alpha-Two. I'm not sure what is going on, over."

"Well, find the hell out! And no voice procedure!"

"Roger that, Guardian. There's a tall hill about five hundred yards out, it might rise to about two hundred feet... Something's on that hill, something big. I'll make a pass... Oh, holy shit! Is that a person? That's not normal, that's fucking huge! Shitshitshitshit, I'm hit! Guardian, I'm going down! Tell my wife-"


The State, War, and Navy Building, Department of War War Room

Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America


"Sir! We have lost contact with the U2s sent to Europe."

"And their last location?"

"Outside the town of Altensteig, or at least where it's supposed to be."

General Frederick Hughes of the United States Army, a tall man with rugged features, green eyes, and graying brown hair, shook his head. The mission was going without a hitch until now.

"Did they get low enough for a visual on any of Europe before we lost contact?" Hughes asked, scratching his chin.

"Yes, sir," the communications officer in front of him replied. "However, it was only for a few moments and they weren't able to relay anything verbally."

"Goddammit!" The General pounded his fist onto the table with a groan. The missions to the British Isles, Saharan Africa, eastern China, western Russia, and the isolated Empire of Japan were all failures, so it shouldn't have been surprising that a mission into Germany would have failed. "Corporal, get General Dempsey on the phone!"

The Corporal looked at the General with wide eyes. "The... The Marines, sir?"

"Aye, that's an order, is it not?"

The soldier held his hand up and saluted hastily. "Right away, sir!"

General Hughes wiped his brow as the communications officer began calling the Marine General. Months of failed Army Air Force missions had taken their toll. As much as he didn't want to do it, he had to call in the best. The Navy would just scoff and blast Europe into hell, but the Marines... The Marines like to get shit done.


"General Dempsey speaking."

"General Dempsey, this is Corporal Lewis of the Army, speaking on behalf of General Hughes."

"Continue, Corporal."

"General Hughes would like to meet with you in person."

"Ugh... When?"

"I'd assume ASAP, sir."

"I'll be down."

"Goodbye, sir."

The General grunted in reply before hanging the telephone up. He spun around in his chair and hopped up to his feet, assuming an upright position. Cuba was going to have to wait, especially if Hughes needed him. Dempsey, a man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and an ever prevalent five o'clock shadow, had seen his share of battle over the years, though his service record was relatively short.

Dempsey walked out of his office and down the hall, entering the elevator. He hit the G button and the doors closed, the lift descending via pulley system. He sighed and paced around as he waited to get to the ground floor.

"Fucking Hughes," the General grumbled. "Always dicking around, I swear."

The elevator came to a halt, the doors opening with a ding, and Dempsey walked out as a servicewoman walked in. The General did a double take, checking her out before the doors closed. With a boyish grin, he turned around and walked through the halls, making turns when necessary. He came across the stairs to the basement and started walking down, passing a couple of Marines who were walking up. They nodded and collectively said, "Sir," which the General replied to with a nod.

He walked down another corridor in the basement, whistling as he walked. Cuba was really calling his name. Cuba and all of her beautiful broads.

The General shook his head and turned once more, the door to the Department of War's war room right in front of him. There were changes to the original design of the building within the past decade, but Dempsey wasn't in the building then to notice. He pushed the door open and looked around, the computers all lit up with airmen and soldiers either behind them or taking notes. The overhead lights were somewhat dim.

"General! Glad you could join us."

Dempsey turned to find the source of the voice, which he knew quite well. General Hughes slowly walked toward him. "What'd you want, Fred?" Dempsey asked irritably.

"Relax," Hughes said. "Cuba's not going anywhere."

"I should be going to it."

"Pfft. You can lose your money just as easily in Vegas or Detroit."

"Money's not the matter."

"Yeah, I forgot about how much of a horndog you are. You can get your dick wet just about anywhere, son. You're really too young to be a General, you know?" Hughes waved at one of the soldiers and motioned for the Marine to look at the large screen.

Dempsey sighed and walked toward the big screen. "Well, I didn't see you fighting in São Paulo or Rio de Janeiro."

"Those were black operations and you know it. I'm just surprised you got promoted as much as you did. Hell, I'm surprised you got promoted in general."

"I saw a lot of shit and did a lot of shit. I'm not keen on talking about either."

"Aye, and you shouldn't." Hughes motioned toward the screen, which had the image of a landmass on it with one red dot roughly in the middle. "What do you see, General?"

Dempsey scoffed. "That's Europe."

"What country?"

"There aren't any borders, so... I dunno, the German Empire?"

Hughes nodded. "Aye, it is."

Dempsey turned to the Army General and grimaced. "Listen old-timer, I don't need a geography lesson on a quiet continent."

It was Hughes's turn to frown. "Dempsey, this isn't a geography lesson, you damned jarhead." Dempsey nodded, his grimace not faltering. "Lewis, zoom in." The map of the German Empire enlarged and the single dot became two barely separated dots. "Those dots are where we lost contact with two U2s twenty minutes ago. Lewis, play the recording."

Dempsey looked back and saw a soldier salute earnestly. "Yes, sir!" He pressed a key on a keyboard and audio, plagued by minor static, played loudly.

"Guardian, this is Alpha-One. We are at an altitude of three hundred feet. The ground is visible, and- holy... Mother of God, what the fuck is that?! Shit, I'm hit, I'm hit! I'm going dow-"

"Next one, Lewis."

"Yes, sir!"

"Roger that, Guardian. There's a tall hill about five hundred yards out, it might rise to about two hundred feet... Something's on that hill, something big. I'll make a pass... Oh, holy shit! Is that a person? That's not normal, that's fucking huge! Shitshitshitshit, I'm hit! Guardian, I'm going down! Tell my wife-"

Dempsey shook his head. The Army Air Force was still doing these missions? Even worse, they were sending these men into unknown territory in spy planes?

"Why did you tell me about this?" the Marine asked, his head down in honour of the fallen.

"Well..." Hughes sighed and assumed a solemn expression. "I was hoping you could round up a battalion of some of the best Marines you know of. A joint team to see what exactly is going on in Europe. What's been going on for the last century, even."

Dempsey's grimace stayed firmly in place. "I'll need more to go off than this. Besides that, we need to get the President's appro-"

"The President's already approved of the missions."

"We still don't know what we're up against."

Hughes nodded. "All we can really go off of are the old stories from the Hermit Immigrants."

The Hermit Immigrants, or Hermigrants... it's been a while since I've heard that, Dempsey thought. They're old slang terms for Asians, Africans, and Europeans who migrated en masse to the Americas a century ago, and, since they're old, it figures this old-timer would use the term... If I'm right, they told of giant, naked humanoid creatures that devoured any human they saw, destroying entires cities in the process. British legend had it that London was taken down in a single day, one of the giants demolishing half of Westminster Abbey with a single kick. Japanese legend, the legend of the true Hermit Immigrants, told of Tokyo and Kyoto both being half-demolished with the samurai attempting to fight off the giants. Ultimately, they were all killed and only one giant was slain, supposedly by a wound to the back of its neck. Grandpa once said that the Japanese were basically thought of as crazy when they landed throughout Oregon Country. Some spoke Dutch, a rare few spoke English, and they all spoke Japanese... They had to be kept somewhere until Dutch-English interpreters arrived from Boston, though some of the English speakers interpreted, and, even then, they were considered off their rockers... Those are just stories, though.

"But those stories are just that: stories." Dempsey sighed and ran his hands through his short hair. "We need tangible proof. Did the planes snap any photos? Video, even?"

Hughes shrugged. "We didn't get any... but the planes are a little dated, so, I don't know."

"Shit..."

"General Hughes, sir," a different soldier said. "We've received something from one of the planes. Video, I think."

Hughes's face seemed hopeful. "Lieutenant Colonel Marshall, pull it up."

Dempsey turned to look at Lieutenant Colonel Marshall and realized that he saw the soldier, an aspiring statesman from Pennsylvania, once before, during the Favela Wars. The two locked eyes and nodded to each other before Dempsey's attention returned to the screen.

The video, labelled ALPHA-TWO in the bottom-right, played with the spy plane's engine loudly roaring. Nothing but a cloud of fog and another plane was visible at first in the dusk sky, but the pilot made several altitude adjustments, ending when they were a mere three hundred feet off of the ground. Trees went for miles in what Dempsey assumed was the German Black Forest, the second plane nearing a hill in the background. A giant blur suddenly swung at the second plane, which immediately burst into flames and fell out of the sky. Alpha-Two readjusted its path and flew toward the hill, the blur becoming visible as the pilot cried, "Oh, holy shit! Is that a person?"

"Holy shit..." Dempsey uttered.

Similar swears were uttered throughout the war room as the occupants feasted their eyes upon the sight on the screen: a giant, naked humanoid, a disturbing smile plastered on its face. The camera turned sideways, indicating that the pilot tried to avoid a hit, but the giant's hand swung out and swatted the plane out of the air. The pilot cried out that he was hit, and he crashed into the trees shortly after. The camera kept recording, however, and the nude giant walked toward the wrecked plane. The pilot, who ejected successfully, got stuck on a tree and rushed to cut himself free. The giant picked the pilot up, somehow not squishing him, and raised him to its mouth.

The pilot struggled and cried, "No, nonono! Please, no!" to no avail. The giant opened its mouth and kept raising its hand. Once the pilot's upper body was far enough in, the giant snapped its mouth shut, blood and chunks of gore squirting out. A bit of blood spattered on the camera and the view was obstructed.

Silence lowered itself into the room like a spider. Dempsey looked around and saw that everyone was frozen in place. General Hughes grimaced and thawed out. "George! Turn off the video. Everyone else, back to work!" The Lieutenant Colonel complied, as did everyone else. The General looked at Dempsey and placed his hand on the Marine's shoulder. "It's up to you, kid. After seeing that, I'd be wary, too."

The Marine shrugged the Army General's hand off and maintained a poker face. "They exist... We can't let this leave the Building. The public can not know anything about this, Fred."

"Of course not-"

Those things could become a threat to the Americas... We have to do something.

"I'll get some Marines," the Marine said, playing with the grip of the M1911 holstered at his side. "You need to figure out how to get these men and women to Germany without the public knowing."

Hughes winked. "Don't worry. I have a plan."

As he walked out, Dempsey growled, "You better, dammit."


Southern Germany


The heavy footsteps shook the ground all around. Trees' leaves shook, branches, sometimes entire trees, falling down on occasion. Rapid, uneven breathing permeated throughout the otherwise silent night. Alpha-One looked around, having reached a clearing. Close to half a mile ahead of him was a large stone wall, illuminated by the light of the moon and the torches scattered about on top. As he was flying in his spy plane, the pilot spotted a similar wall accompanied by an abandoned city of an older design, so he wondered if the wall ahead of him housed civilians as well.

But... These... things... The pilot paused, took a deep breath, and attempted to move forward. Shit!

The pilot's knee buckled, having sustained a severe injury from a botched ejection. He gritted his teeth, drew his standard issue sidearm, and pressed on. He broke into a discomforting jog, pain searing throughout his leg. The monstrosity seemed to have lost track of him, but the American pilot knew he didn't have long. He had to reach the wall.

He ran for twenty minutes, ignoring the pain as best he could. You can do it, he thought. You were through worse in Brazil.

Once he was within a hundred feet, Alpha-One felt a wave of relief surge through, despite the amount of giants surrounding the wall. He was nearing potential safety. Regardless of the gamble, it was likely better than staying out to die. However, the blood loss, constant pain, and fear of the huge humanoids took a combined toll on the pilot. He held his handgun up high.

He squeezed the trigger several times, emptying the magazine.

"Hey!" he shouted as loud as possible, reloading his M1911 in the meantime. "Let me in!"

One of the giants, approximately six meters tall, turned toward him, a dastardly grin planted on its face. Almost instantaneously, the giant swooped down and grabbed the pilot. The American, screaming the whole time, was raised up to the giant's mouth. The giant creature licked its lips and opened wide. In a panic, the pilot, whose right hand wasn't constricted, aimed his handgun at the giant's eye and squeezed the trigger several times.

He didn't take into account the five meter fall that accompanied those shots.