Captain America
The Eagle and The Devil. Part One.
Number 1, As Written by AJ Figueroa.
An old man walks through the streets of Washington D.C. determined and with a slight grin on his face. He is celebrating the anniversary of his "coming home."
Amazing the curves and obstacles life throws at us. Who would've thought I'd be here today, now, living. Yes it takes me several hours on the bus to come down here from New York but it's the least I can do. Especially to see the man who saved my life.
The old man reaches Arlington Cemetery, a place where heroes are buried but not forgotten, a place for those who have given their lives to people like this man who is here today. A place for those to remember and honor those…those with the great spirit to do the right thing not because politicians tell them to but because of the loved ones they leave behind and their safety.
I'm getting too old! Definitely not a young lad anymore. Don't even know if I can continue anytime soon. The big Seven-Zero is near. But I do what I must. My name is Ernie "Mouse" Mazowski. Fifty years ago I was dashing and young, a kid who was drafted into the U.S. Army with dreams and foolishness that only a young mind could comprehend. I come down to Arlington once a month to see my buddies and to see the man who saved my life, and not just my life but that of many of my fellow platoon members.
I walk through the endless amount of tombstones and see the dates. Many of these remembered never even made it past the age of twenty-five. I am not lucky. We were not lucky. We were a miracle. Yes life can throw you curves and at your weakest moment it can kick you down. That was not the case when "he" arrived and like an angel from heaven he pulled us out of the fire and gave us reason to fight.
That man, a patriotic symbol of hope and a force to be reckoned with was none other than Captain America; An above average man that was something out of a comic book, and led a platoon of fifteen soldiers against a Nazi force of three-hundred. Captain America who would bring the majority of us home and continue to risk his life for others.
I reach his site and my ritual begins just like it always does. A salute followed by a prayer and then my talk about my life. And how my wife is ever so grateful for bringing me home, alive. I'm not good with words but all I can do is remember.
"Open Fire!"
The words are lost in the blaze of ongoing gun fire. Young men and old alike fight together in what seems to this date an unending war. A war between countries of power; a World War.
Bullets scream by like Irish banshees on a cold night. Trying hard to find their targets and in some instances actually finding them.
Grenades are thrown across to the enemy lines leaving nothing but devastation in their wake. Mortars and the Browning M2s are in a fight with the sounds of the enemies' MP40s and Hand grenades. Soldiers lose lives on both fronts. Leaving numbers dwindled, especially for the American forces that seem to be losing all hope of where they are stationed.
"Keep pushing them back! If you don't fight I'll shoot you myself!" The man with the big talk is the Executive Officer, scratch that he is now the Commanding Officer. A man who up until the Captain died none thought him to have any real guts. But then again when you had a company of one-hundred and seventy-five men and it dwindles down to a platoon of less than forty men, I imagine one doesn't have a choice if they want to live.
Bullets continue to glide through the air and then rip through a few more of the US soldiers. Few fall and begin to cry, others fall and not a peep is heard. They are the men who get out of this easy.
"Get me the damn bazooka!" A large man yells to the Private next to him. And with out hesitation he jets through the trench. Jumping over fallen bodies and avoiding debris from incoming grenades and enemy mortars. He reaches the end of the trench where a tent is set with a limited amount of boxes. He picks up one of the boxes and in such a rush he opens it revealing a big cylindrical weapon and a missile. He straps it to his back and begins to dart back through the way he came. A man drops right in front of him and he only has a second to glance at the man's eyes to see that he did not survive.
"Sgt!" the young Private un-straps the bazooka and hands it over to the big man. Sgt. Mazowski loads the weapon and reaches the top of the trench. He sets himself and fires. The small whistling sound of the bazooka missile approaches its target and what follows is a big explosion that ends the gunfire. For now.
The Lieutenant tries to look and listen through the smoke.
"Hold your fire, men! They are retreating for now." The Lieutenant holsters his weapon and begins to walk towards Sgt. Mazowski. He sees the damage done and sees the faces of the wounded men and the faces of those who have no more life left in them. He shakes his head and removes his cover.
"Good job Sgt. It would seem they have retreated for now."
"Sir? A word with you if you don't mind?"
"What is it Sgt.?"
Sgt Mazowski pulls the Lieutenant to one side.
"Sir, you should consider retreating. We have lost more than two-thirds of our men and we have maybe one or two more attacks before we are considered behind enemy lines."
"Your concern has been noted Sgt. But until we receive further instructions we will not abandon this post. And it doesn't matter how many men are sacrificed we are here to serve our country from a great evil. An evil that if it should win then everything you love will be gone forever. Sacrificing ourselves is for a bigger purpose. So stop being so goddamn selfish."
The Lieutenant stares at Sgt. Mazowski waiting for a response.
"Yes sir."
"Now see to the rest of the men. Help the wounded and start preparing for another possible attack."
"Yes sir!"
The Lieutenant walks back the way he originally came looking to either side. Watching the men grabbing bodies and removing them out of the trench; watching the few medics available helping the wounded. Screams are heard and Sgt. Mazowski can do nothing but do what he's told. He looks at the young Private who wants to break down into tears.
"If you're going to cry make sure it's not for yourself but for those who gave their lives today. You got me?"
"Yes, Sgt." The young soldier wipes his snot from his upper lip and begins to grab gallons of water and a cup.
Sgt. Mazowski looks around and removes his helmet, wiping his brow and letting out a snarl in the process. He would retreat his men if he had the opportunity, he would rather live another day and rebuild his force than die like a wounded horse.
"Mazowski! Get your head out of your $$ and help Callahan move those sand bags."
"Yes sir!"
Corporal Jerry Callahan, a comedian any other day, is the lifter of spirits around here.
"So Mouse, what are you going to do once you get back home?"
"I don't know. Maybe ask cute little Katie Peterson to marry me? Start a family move out of the city and into the country."
"Sounds like an amazing life."
"It will be. When my time is up I'll have enough money to provide for her and maybe start a farm."
Callahan laughs openly.
"I'm glad you find this really hilarious, Callahan."
Another man comes by and begins to throw sands bags and piling them along with the others. El Williams also known as Rev, is a kind and God-loving man, a reverend with no choice but to be here.
"Oh come on Rev. If I were to let the stress of this war get to me I'd shoot myself."
"You should look to prayer. God will give you the answers."
Sgt. Mazowski continues to pile sand bags and just grins at Callahan's ranting.
"Mouse, you should convince Callahan to join us in prayer."
"Mouse you do that? Man, if God intended for us to be safe he would've never let this war happen in the first place."
"Or maybe he depends on the fact that we have free will and would do what we have to to protect those we love?"
"Hm. Whatever. So what did the Drunkard tell the Bartender?"
"Nice way to change the subject Callahan."
The Rev looks at Mazowski who just continues to work. Mouse, a strange nickname for a man of such big size, picks up the sand bags with ease. The men look up to him because he is calm but yet he looks like he can beat any man senseless. And many of times he has saved many of them. Most of them continue to fight only because he continues to do so. They believe he is more than a man.
"So anyway, the drunkard says 'You're an angry drunk.' Get it, the drunk tells the bartender he's an angry drunk."
Mazowski stops for a second looks at the Rev. "don't give up your day job, Corporal."
"Ha-ha. No one can appreciate an artist."
Callahan decides to leave the two men and asks the Private for a drink of water. The two men talk amongst themselves and then out of nowhere a loud shriek is heard through the air.
"Mortars! Everyone grab your weapons!" Sgt. Mazowski's words barely heard as the mortar rounds hit right behind the trench covering the men in dirt and debris. The Lieutenant moves quickly grabbing a fallen soldier's Tommy gun. He begins to fire like a madman at the distance.
Mazowski looks down the trench to see who is available and realizes the Private is down. He rushes towards him and grabs him to find him bleeding out of his head. Shrapnel from one of the mortars upon impact must have hit him. He's losing a lot of blood
"Medic!" Mazowski cradles the kid and begins to cry.
The Rev calls for Mazowski. He leaves the kid in the care of the medic.
Mazowski reaches the reverend to find him with his gun in hand and reciting the Serenity prayer. The men begin to shoot back and find themselves outgunned and outnumbered more so than before. In war there is never a break for rest.
"Mouse?"
"Yeah, Rev?"
"This is probably it. I hope you have accepted the lord Jesus as your savior."
"I have Rev. It was nice knowing you."
The men all continue to shoot without realizing that the fire from the enemy line has ceased. A few moments later upon reloading their weapons Mazowski notices the silence.
"They have stopped their fire?"
"Don't assume anything. They're probably hounding us." The Lieutenant continues to shoot until he is out of ammo. The axis soldiers begin to speak their native tongue and fire single round shots. It sounds as if something is out there with them.
"We need to fallback to the next post while they are occupied!"
"Negative Sgt! We will hold." The Lieutenant makes his point with a sneer.
"This has become a suicide mission. We would be wasting our lives here!"
"Stand down, Sgt!" The Lieutenant, a man who always seemed collected is only a shell of what he was. He is now a liability to these men. A man who cares not what happens. Sgt. Mazowski with the Rev begins to walk towards the officer.
Lieutenant Wilson holds his sidearm towards the approaching soldiers. The gunfire from the other end begins again this time less than what it was. The two men continue to walk towards the officer who is not hesitating at all to shoot if he has to.
"Are you men ready to go home?"
A voice unfamiliar comes from above the top of the trench. The Rev puts his hand on Mazowski's shoulder, while he still focuses on Wilson holding his weapon at them. Wilson distracted by the voice. And then the Rev says the strangest thing.
"Mouse I hope you believe in angels..."
Mazowski looks up towards the top of the trench to find a man silhouetted by the sun, revealing no physical features except for a big white star on his chest and an "A" on his G.I. helmet.
"I'm here to take you soldiers home."
Mazowski is without words and Lieutenant Wilson drops his gun as the gunfire continues and sees this man unaffected by it. He stands there with the outline of the sun behind his head giving him a halo-like look from below.
"I do believe."
To Be Continued…