Earth-717: Captain America Vol 1
Chapter 2: The Call
His face pressed against his right fist, Steve took another sip from the straw that led into his glass bottle of Coca-Cola. Blinking in disinterest as another group of patrons entered the diner, he then scratched his forehead for a couple of moments. Looking back and forth from the inside of the building to out the window, he found that he wasn't really looking at anything in particular, but rather just noting things that he saw out of boredom.
He called out the manufacturers of the various automobiles that drove down the street in his mind. He counted the number of women walking on the sidewalks with yellow clothing. He kept track of all the baseball cards the set of teenagers at the nearby table traded amongst each other. All the while, the sound of the music playing over the radio flowed through his ears. He smiled as a new song started.
"Of all the boys I've known and I've known some,
Until I first met you I was lonesome,
And when you came in sight, dear, my heart grew light,
And this old world seemed new to me . . . ."
Nodding his head to the rhythm, he then looked back down at his plate.
There was a half-eaten sandwich there. It had an assortment of sliced ham, lettuce, mustard, mozzarella cheese and pickles all stuffed between a baguette style bun. Gripping it with both hands, Steve sighed as he took as generous of a bite as he could. He quickly realized his mistake, struggling to chew what he had taken. Groaning and shaking his head, he dropped the sandwich back on the plate and hurriedly pulled the straw to his lips.
Sipping down more cola, he swished it around the inside of his mouth, helping to soften and break down the food. After swallowing the whole lot and coughing once he forced it down, he pounded his fist against his chest a few times to try and mitigate the pain. Draining the last of the cola, he looked at the remainder of the sandwich and sighed.
"I could say 'bella, bella' even 'sehr wunderbar',
Each language only helps me tell you how grand you are,
I've tried to explain 'bei mir bist du schön',
So kiss me and say that you will understand!"
Holding the plate in one hand and the bottle in the other, Steve walked to the counter and placed them in front of the chef. He was a rotund man with a bald head and a grey moustache.
"Defeated again?"
"Sorry, Ron. Guess I'm just not up to it yet."
Ron laughed.
"Don't worry about it, boy. We'll bulk you up yet."
Steve rolled his eyes in a humorous manner.
"Might need some help for that one. See you later."
"Hey, say hi to Buck for me, will ya?"
"Can't. He shipped out on Wednesday."
Ron threw up his hands.
"Awh, shit. Already?"
"Yup."
"Damn. The years just keep blasting past me. Have a good one, ya hear?"
Steve nodded in response before turning and walking out of the diner. As he did, a woman wearing a blue jacket and sitting in the back corner got up, and after a few moments, exited behind him.
His hands in his pockets, Steve walked down the halls of the museum. Various exhibits and displays showed pieces of army memorabilia and other such trinkets. He stopped in front of a roped off section with several mannequins wearing uniforms of multiple nations, all in combat stances. As he started reading the golden plaque in front of the display, his ears perked up upon hearing a discussion taking place between a couple standing near him.
"I tell you, Linda, those damn Jerries have to be put down," said the man. "They already tried to take over the world once. Now they're at it again. Bratwurst bastards."
Steve looked over at the man, holding up a hand.
"Actually . . . ."
The couple turned to look at him.
"The Germans weren't the cause of the last war," explained Steve. "Not directly. You see, they got dragged into it via the chain of alliances, which was the real reason the conflict got out of hand. It's very different from what's going on right now."
The man scowled at him.
"Who asked you, grandstand?"
The woman rolled her eyes.
"Come on, doll," said the man.
Steve sighed as the couple walked away from him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he then looked forward at the display again. Staring at the white, featureless face of the closest mannequin, he spent a few moments pondering.
"Don't feel bad, Jerry," said Steve. "We all get misunderstood sometimes."
As he was speaking, a woman in a blue jacket walked up to and stood beside him.
"Talk to statues often?" asked the woman, speaking in a distinctively English accent.
Steve looked over at the woman in surprise.
"What? Oh . . . . oh, no, not really. Trying it out. Didn't do much, really."
"Well, it is an inanimate object."
"Heh, yeah. Not the most talkative type."
The woman regarded the display for a moment, and Steve took the opportunity to get a good look at her. She had curly brown hair, thick ruby lips, and a blue civilian jacket made of expensive material. He opened his mouth to say something, but then returned to looking at the display.
"You're not the most talkative type either, are you?" asked the woman.
Steve shook his head.
"Not really, no. Especially not to beautiful dames who follow me around town."
The woman raised an eyebrow. Steve looked at her with a suspicious glare.
"You've been on my tail for half an hour," said Steve. "Women tend not to seek me out, so I'd like to know why."
The woman shrugged and moved her head back and forth for a moment before looking behind Steve's back. She noticed a man with blonde hair in the crowd moving towards them. He had one hand in his pocket, but not the other. Her eyes widened for a brief moment. She then reached forward and quickly wrapped her arm around Steve's neck.
"Hey, what . . . ."
"Get down!"
She pushed Steve to the ground and jumped back as the man from the crowd whipped a silver throwing knife towards them. It missed Steve's hairline by centimetres, instead impaling one of the mannequins in the middle of the forehead. The woman reached into the bosom of her jacket and pulled out a pistol, taking aim at the man as the majority of the crowd started screaming.
The man who threw the knife quickly leaped backwards as the woman fired a shot at him. Steve, who was crouching and hyperventilating, crawled around the display, taking cover behind a nearby counter. The woman backpedalled towards his hiding spot as another woman from the crowd, blonde like the first assassin, pulled a Thompson sub-machine gun from under her long overcoat and began firing in their direction.
The man who threw the knife got back up and stood at the side of his partner. The woman at Steve's side got behind the counter next to him after looking at the two.
"You alright?"
"You kidding?!" asked Steve.
"Have you been hurt?!"
"No! No."
"I'll give you some cover. Once they're distracted, you bolt for that door. Got it?"
"What? What is going . . . ."
"Move!" shouted the woman, as she stood up and fired several more shots from her pistol.
The two assassins dived to get behind the various displays as the screaming crowd rushed for the exits. Steve scrambled on all fours for a moment before breaking into a sprint and crashing through one of the doors. The female assassin scowled.
"He's outside!"
The male assassin jerked his head in response. The female then stepped out of cover and fired another burst of bullets from her gun. Steve ducked as the bullets shattered the glass doors behind him. An open top beige car then pulled up on the side of the road, driven by a man wearing a fedora.
"Steve Rogers?"
"Huh?"
"Get in! Now!"
Steve didn't move, instead looking back behind him. The woman in the blue jacket kicked open the door, blindly firing more pistol shots behind her as she ran towards Steve.
"In the car!" she yelled.
Steve nodded and jumped into the backseat, with the woman in the blue jacket getting into the passenger seat. Before she was even finished closing the car door behind her, the driver took off down the road. Steve was jostled by the sudden movement, smashing his face against the side of the car and grunting in pain.
"Who were they?" asked the driver.
The woman in the blue jacket dropped the magazine from her pistol and stuffed in another from the glove compartment.
"The Krugers."
"Them? Dammit."
"Krugers?" asked Steve. "Who are you? What's going on?"
"No time," responded the woman.
"People are shooting at me! I want answers!"
"The Krugers are Nazi assassins," said the driver. "Twins. Heinz and Hannah. They've been hired to kill you."
"Me?!"
The woman in the blue jacket turned her head around. She saw the Krugers were now in a car of their own. Heinz was driving, and Hannah was in the passenger seat, reloading her sub-machine gun. Hannah then poked her head out of the car door window and aimed her weapon at them.
"Turn left! Now!" shouted the woman, before looking at Steve. "You! Stay down!"
The driver yelled as he sharply turned the wheel, throwing Steve around the back seat again. Hannah fired a stream of bullets, barely missing Steve's car as it headed down an alley.
"Ugh!"
A police officer was standing on the road nearby and began running for his car. Hannah fired a small burst at him, putting three bullets in his chest. Bystanders screamed and scrambled to avoid the car chase. The driver of Steve's car held onto his hat as they headed down an alley and out onto another road, with the Krugers' car only metres away.
"Get to the docks," said the woman in the blue jacket. "Hopefully, Nivens has the boat ready."
Steve pushed himself upright again.
"Boat?"
The woman in the blue jacket took aim at the side of his head.
"I said stay down!"
Steve ducked again as she fired more pistols shots at the Krugers' car, piercing the windshield. Heinz lowered his head to avoid the shots as Hannah screamed at him in German. The woman looked forward again.
"Floor it. Go into incoming traffic if you have to!"
"What?!" exclaimed Steve.
The driver pressed hard on the gas pedal, speeding up as he weaved between lanes. Heinz followed suit in order to keep up. As they headed towards the waterfront, Hannah fired another burst of gunfire, missing Steve but striking the driver in the chest through his seat.
"Agh!"
"Harry!" shouted the woman.
With Harry incapacitated, the car veered off the road and onto a wooden dock, crashing into a post. The woman in the blue jacket quickly kicked open her car door, aiming her pistol at the Krugers' car as it approached. Firing a well-aimed shot, she blew out one of the front tires, causing Heinz to shriek as he lost control of his vehicle, smashing the side of it against a stack of crates.
She took a moment to press her hand against Harry's neck, and frowned upon finding no pulse. Steve looked at her in shock.
"What . . . . what do we . . . ."
"To the edge of the pier! Go, go!"
Steve clambered out of the car and joined the woman as they ran down the length of the dock. Both Heinz and Hannah exited their wrecked vehicle and took pursuit, with Hannah growling as she was forced to discard her now broken sub-machine gun. As Steve ran, he noticed a small motorboat speeding towards the end of the dock.
"That ours?"
"Yes! Go! Fast as you can!"
Panting profusely, Steve put all of his remaining energy into his legs, sprinting towards the boat. It pulled up beside the dock, and he jumped forward, his arms in the air as he did so. Landing inside, he moaned as he crashed against the floor. Nivens, the man driving the boat, looked back at him.
"You okay?!"
"Not sure," replied Steve, holding his knee in pain.
The woman in the blue jacket stopped at the edge of the pier, turning around to face the two assassins barrelling down at her. Heinz pulled out another knife and tossed it, but the woman sidestepped just in time. As he charged forward, another knife in hand, she grabbed his arm and began struggling with him.
Hannah, a few steps behind, pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Steve. Nivens quickly aimed his own pistol at her and fired, hitting her in the shoulder. Hannah squealed in pain and took a step back. The woman in the blue jacket, wrestling for control of Heinz's wrists, elbowed him in the face before pulling the knife out of his hand. Before he could defend himself, she jammed it right into his throat, piercing the underside of his mouth.
Choking on his own blood, he fell to the floor. Enraged, Hannah charged forward and tackled the woman, knocking them both into the boat. Steve quickly rolled away to avoid being crushed. Nivens aimed his pistol at them but hesitated as they struggled on the floor, unable to get a clear shot.
The woman kicked Hannah in the stomach, stunning her. Pushing her off, she then whipped out her pistol again and shot her right in the chest. Hannah coughed at the bullet's impact, unable to move. The woman fired two more shots. Hannah staggered backwards, but did not fall.
"Get off my boat."
The woman kicked Hannah right in the sternum, sending her flying off the boat and into the water. Taking a moment to breathe and wipe some of the blood off her face, she then threw her pistol overboard. Steve's gaze was transfixed on her, in a mixture of awe and astonishment. Nivens nodded at her and got back into his seat, driving the boat away from the pier.
Once they were moving, the woman blinked and looked over at Steve, who was huddled on the floor. She walked over and held out a hand. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking it. After helping him to his feet, she began turning away.
"Wait!"
The woman raised an eyebrow.
"Who . . . . who are you?"
The woman shrugged.
"I suppose that's fair," said the woman. "My name is Margaret Carter. I've been assigned as your bodyguard."
"Bodyguard?"
"You and I have a lot to discuss, Steve Rogers."
Clicking his fingers against the armrest of his chair, Schmidt stared out of his panoramic window, showing a wide view of snow-covered mountains. His office was relatively bare aside from his desk. The decor was posh and elegant, with a mostly dark colour palette, which extended even to his finely-crafted, all-black uniform. It made the fact that the skin of his head was all red stand out even more.
Ophelia strolled into the room, stopping two metres away from the desk and standing at attention. Schmidt spoke without turning to face her.
"Report."
"The Krugers . . . . have failed."
"Explain."
"They're both dead. Our spies confirm they did not accomplish their objective. The boy still lives."
Schmidt growled, clenching his teeth as he did so.
"And Erskine?"
"They were unable to confirm the destination of the Allied agents. We still don't have a location on Erskine's secret lab."
Schmidt sat forward, looking around the edge of his chair at her. Roaring in anger, he stood and picked up his chair, throwing it at the corner of the room. After the chair smashed to pieces, he then swiped his hand across the desk, knocking over several of the items. Punching his fist into the desk and putting in a severe dent, he then rushed around it and stood directly in front of Ophelia, his nostrils flaring. During all of this, she did not move at all.
He snarled and furrowed his brow at her, but softened his face after a few seconds.
"Erskine . . . . must be found. And this boy . . . . must be eliminated."