.
Chapter 2
The Return
May eighth, 1997,
Bay of Mackellar, the Arctic
Holder wiped his sleeve across his face, sopping up hot coffee as he glared toward the cabin. He considered shouting, but even with a megaphone, he wouldn't be heard over the sound of the McDonald Douglas's twin-turbine engines, let alone the gale force winds that were buffeting the plane like a kite in a thunderstorm. With a grunt, he unsnapped the safety harness and got to his feet, struggling to keep his balance. He turned to the agents in his command.
"I'm going to check this out."
The two men nodded. Holder made his way forward. He was a tall, lean man, with slightly thinning brown hair, neatly combed. Everything about Oliver Holder was neat, meticulous to a fine point. The slight crease in his trousers offended man deeply, never mind that this flight was stretching into its tenth hour. The spreading coffee stain on his coat did not improve his disposition, and he opened the cabin door in a huff.
"What's happening up here Captain? Feels like the plane's about to rip in two."
"Not quite, sir," the pilot shouted. "Just a hell of a squall—nothing she can't handle." He patted the instrument panel of his DC 40 Army transport. "Storm will ease up once we drop below 10,000 feet."
"Which will be?"
"'Bout ten minutes. Be landing in twenty—should go smooth enough," the pilot said, looking back at Holder. "All the same, you might want to hold off on the coffee."
"You think?"
"Army doesn't pay me to think, agent Holder. That's what the CIA's for."
Holder headed back to the passenger area, the turbulence already having eased considerably. He stopped to speak with the final member of his team, who was sitting away from the others. The man was wholly unremarkable, his face a blank cipher. In his lap was a large black leather bag. The only excitement in his librarian-like demeanor was in how he clutched that bag: the knuckles of his hands were bone white.
"We're landing soon, doctor. Are you ready?"
Doctor Lerner looked up, his eyes leached of color by his thick-lensed glasses. "I have been preparing for this moment my entire professional life. I only hope that you and your men are as ready as I."
"Let's not count our chickens just yet. This could be another false alarm."
"No," Lerner answered. "It's him. I am certain of it."
"A leap of faith doctor?" Lerner did not answer, but kept staring forward. Holder returned to his seat and his waiting men.
"Let's go over this again. Who are we dealing with at this station? Give me the names and particulars."
Agent Jones keyed his laptop, scrolling to the proper file.
"Science Station Brown/Engelmann. They've been operational for five years, monitoring ice-flow, glaciers, global warming. It's a six-person detail. Orin Danvers, graduate student, does the cooking and odd jobs. Doctor's Adrian Kline, William Purvis, and Linda Harris, research assistants. They're the ones who actually found the body—"
"The what?" Holder glared at Jones.
"I…I'm sorry, sir. I meant to say 'item'. They are the ones who found the item in question."
"Reportedly, found. Isn't that what you meant to say, agent Jones?"
"Yes sir, that's correct. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, be precise. Now continue."
"Yes sir. Next is Ossi Umanania, technician, keeps the place running. He's the one who made the initial radio report about the...item in question."
"American?"
"No. Kenyan. He's here on a student visa."
Holder sat quietly for a moment, thinking. "Go on," he said.
"Last up is the head honcho, Doctor Hanna Carrington. Nobel laureate."
Holder took the laptop out of agent Jones's hands, closed it, and handed it back to him. "I don't give a damn if she's won the Nobel, the Oscar, or the Irish Sweepstakes," he said deliberately. "Once this plane touches down, the CIA will be in charge of this enterprise. Those people will be debriefed, the facility shut down, and the item in question will be taken into our custody. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir," Jones answered.
"What about you, agent Kelly—is that clear with you?"
"Crystal, sir."
"Good. I chose you men because of your excellent records and because you follow orders. I expect you to follow mine to the letter. This situation may turn out to be nothing. It could also turn out to be a matter of the highest national security, so be prepared for anything. Now, check your weapons. Remember—the cold up here can make the firing pin stick. Keep your firearms in their thermal holster, inside your jacket…until I order otherwise."
Seven minutes later the plane was rolling to a stop, its engines throttling down. Holder was going over the details a final time when the co-pilot stuck his head into the cabin area.
"Mr. Holder, you might want to take a look at this. We have company."
Holder raced to the cockpit, telling his men to be ready.
"Thought I knew every make of bird there was," the captain said, pointing out across the runway. "But I'll be dammed if I know what those are."
Out in the pitch-blackness of the arctic night were two large helicopters, landed right next to the main building. Although the DC 40's running lights were providing some illumination, the blowing snow made it hard to see any markings.
"No way they belong to those science geeks," the co-pilot said. "Those choppers are specially outfitted to fly in sub-zero temperatures, must have cost a fortune. By the look of them, I'd say they're military."
Just then a call came over the radio.
"Attention, army bird US-niner, niner, eight-oh-dash seven…would you please be so kind as to put agent Holder of the CIA on the line?"
The pilot and co-pilot looked at one another, then back to Holder. With an expression that was equal parts outrage and bewilderment, Holder reached for the receiver, taking a moment to compose himself before asking: "Who is this?"
"Hi agent Holder. This is Deputy Director of field operations Nick Fury, special agent of SHIELD. Welcome to my party."
. . .
Inside the main building, Holder and his men were escorted to the dining hall, where SHIELD had set up its command post. Unlike the CIA men, the SHIELD operatives stood out, wearing high-tech jumpsuits and carrying sidearms that looked almost like Star Wars props. Holder had been hearing more and more about these people over the past two years. Founded in the early eighties, SHIELD was a specialized intelligence group, concerned mainly with the phenomenon of super powered humans. Lately, as more and more of these super-freaks kept popping up, SHIELD's role was expanding. He'd heard of them all right, Buck Rogers wanabes, still small time players in the world of espionage. This Fury was in for a rude awakening. As he approached the table where Fury was working, Holders anger was at a fine, cool edge.
"Are you Fury?"
"That's what the name tag says," the dark haired man answered, smiling. Fury was heavier built than Holder, though not quite as tall. Both men carried about them the same formidable presence of men who traded in life and death. Fury's smile dimmed somewhat as he spotted the little man with the black bag. Holder spoke.
"Under National Security protocols, I am taking charge of this situation. This is a CIA operation, and I want you and your people out of here. Don't make me ask a second time."
"Hey, Holder, relax a little," Fury said, thumbing through a stack of files. "You'll live longer."
Holder laughed. "That's good. I hope you're this funny when I bring you up on charges. My orders come straight from the Director of Central Intelligence, signed off on by the head's of NSA and Justice. That makes this my show, do you read me?"
"Is that so? Well my orders come straight from the President of the United States, how do you like them apples? Or haven't you figured out yet how I knew your name, or how you were on that plane? You boys are officially on the sidelines. This is SHIELD's gig now. If you don't believe me, talk to your boss." Fury passed Holder a phone. "He's been holding for you."
The conversation was short and to the point—and very one sided. Holder handed the phone back to Fury, his face crimson.
"I have been ordered to stand down and relinquish control of this situation to you, Fury. I have been told that my men and I can stay on in an advisory capacity. If you are agreeable."
"I'm agreeable," Fury said, standing. "Ah, don't let it get you down Holder, we're all professionals here. Get your men and meet me in the main lab. We'll have a look at what brought us up here in the first place."
As Fury and Holder were having their meeting, the junior agents were talking over by the kitchen area. A smiling SHIELD agent, who could have passed as a GQ model, was playing host.
"You sure I can't get you agency boys anything? Coffee, hot chocolate, tea?"
"No," Kelly said, standing like a man steeled for interrogation.
"I'll take a coffee," Jones said. Kelly shot him a look. "What? I'm cold."
"Here you go," the SHIELD agent said, handing him a steaming mug. "There's cream and sugar on the table. I'm Quartermain, by the way. Clay Quartermain."
"Jones," the CIA man answered, shaking hands.
"What are you doing?" Kelly said through grit teeth. "Don't give him your name."
"Lighten up, will you. Jesus, you're worse than Holder. They're Americans. What, should I swallow my poison tooth now?"
"No shit? Do you guys still have those?" Quartermain asked, delighted.
"Um…I'm actually not allowed to talk about that." Jones took a couple of sips, and cleared his throat. "So, are those things for real?"
Quartermain un-holstered his sidearm. "Kirby 2.0, standard issue for field agents. Fires ten rounds of pulse-bolts, equivalent to a rocket propelled grenade, and forty rounds of plasma energy beams, which can do anything from knock out a man, to knock out a rhino, depending on the setting."
"They really have this stuff now?"
"SHIELD does."
"You people are really set up," Jones said. "Those 'copters outside are like nothing I've ever seen. Big suckers."
Quartermain grinned. "You should see the new one they're building us."
This time it was agent Kelly who cleared his throat. He looked over his shoulder and quietly asked, "So, how's the pay?" Before Quartermain could answer, the call came out to assemble in the laboratory.
. . .
Minutes later, six SHIELD operatives, the four CIA men, and the six members of the science station, were gathered in the lab. Fury spoke.
"Okay, listen up. Agent Holder and I are going into the containment area, to examine the…item. I shouldn't need to say this, but I'm going to. This is a top-secret situation. You will not speak to anyone about what you've seen or heard here, until or if you get SHIELD clearance. There will be absolutely no recording devices of any kind allowed. Am I understood?" There was murmur of assent. "Good. Doctor Carrington, you're with us."
"I need Doctor Kline. She made the discovery, and she knows the science of cryogenics better than anyone here."
"Fine."
"One last thing," Carrington said, drawing herself up so that all the room could hear her. "I want to go on record as objecting to your presence here. This is a private facility and the government has no right to interfere with our work."
"Duly noted Doc. Now let's go."
"Wait!" called a voice from behind. "I must be allowed to go with you."
Fury turned to see the man with the black bag. Something about him put an itch in Fury's spine. He'd been in the spy game long enough to spot a spook who was trouble. "I don't believe I caught your name, mister..?"
"Lerner," he answered. "Doctor H.L. Lerner."
"Just what are you a doctor of, H.L.? What exactly do you do at CIA?"
"I hold PhD's in several scientific disciplines. As to the nature of my work, that is confidential. I don't answer to you, Colonel Fury."
"Oh? Well today you do." Fury turned to Quartermain. "He stays. Keep him out of my hair."
Quartermain stepped in front of Lerner. With that, Fury and his party moved into the containment area. A set of heavy plastic flaps separated it from the main lab. When the group walked in, the drop in temperature was noticeable.
"We call this area the 'cooler'," said Doctor Kline. "We keep it at 20 degrees Fahrenheit, in order to safely work on the ice samples. Among the things we do here at B/E is carve up big blocks of ice from the ice shelf—and from the nearby icebergs —for sample testing. That's how we found the body."
"The item, Doctor Kline," Holder said.
"Bite me, agent-man. I'm not one of your mind-controlled flunkies. I'm a medical doctor and I know a human body when I see one. That thing isn't an item, it's a body. A cadaver to be precise."
"Now look…" Holder started to say.
"Knock it off," Fury interrupted. "This isn't a debating society. We've got work to do. Doctor Kline, where exactly is the body?"
"In here."
They followed Kline into a sub-section of the cooler. There were several tables holding large blocks of ice. On the center table, there was something covered by a large plastic sheet. It looked like a human figure. Doctor Carrington spoke next.
"My people didn't notice anything unusual at first. The samples we take are very large and the ice here is not at all opaque. However, once we brought the sample into the lab, we were able to see something…unusual, frozen inside it. This is what we found."
She pulled back the plastic sheet. On the slab lay the figure of a man. The body was virtually free of ice, but appeared frozen stiff, and the skin that was visible was nearly white. Had the man been wearing only civilian clothing he still would have been a remarkable sight. He was very large, 6' 5'' in height, well over two hundred and fifty pounds, possessing a powerful physique. But he was not in civilian clothing. Rather he was wearing a type of uniform, and the remnants of a mask. Though tattered and dirty in spots, the uniforms red, white and blue design was nearly unmistakable. The large, concave metal disc strapped to his left arm completed the picture.
"Sweet Jesus almighty," Holder said. "It's him. It's Captain America."
"Well," Doctor Kline replied, sarcastically, though no less amazed, "it sure isn't Santa Claus."
Fury stepped forward, producing a small device, the size of hand-held radio. Carefully, he attached it to the metal disc, and switched it on. A quiet static sound emitted.
"What is that?" Doctor Carrington asked.
"It's called a tri-analyzer. It sends a small electric charge into the metal and tests the composition. The real Captain Americas shield was a unique alloy of vibranium and steel. Never been duplicated. If that's what we've got here, the analyzer will let us know." Seconds later, the device made a series of beeps, and then went quiet. Fury removed the device and read the findings.
"I'll be dammed. It's him all right. People, you're looking at a page of American history here."
Holder snapped into high gear. "Fury, we've got to get this body out of here, immediately. We need to put these people into federal custody, and fully debrief them."
""Now wait just one minute," Carrington said. "We have rights! You can't just—"
"Pipe down," Fury shouted. "Doctor, nobody is going to lock you or you people away—your rights will be respected, I assure you. But this is a matter of national security, so a little patients, please. And Holder? While I appreciate the free advice, I'll be making the final decisions here. Got it?" Holder bit his lip and angrily looked away. Fury went on. "Doctor Carrington, some information please. The body looks so well preserved, almost life-like…how is that possible? Captain America disappeared fifty two years ago."
"Yes, it's remarkable. We assume that when he fell into the ocean, the water temperature must have been well below freezing. Where did it happen?"
"In the North Atlantic, off the coast of Norway. December 23rd."
"That makes sense. The water temperature would have been 18 to 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Factoring in air temperature, it would be analogous to say, forty below zero. His body would have frozen almost instantly. In cases of controlled, laboratory-induced cryogenics, such preservation of the body tissue is normal. But the real expert is Doctor Kline. She can—"
Kline cried out suddenly. "He moved! He—the body, I mean, it, it moved. His eye just twitched."
"Get hold of yourself Doctor," Holder said, looking to see that the body was unmoved. "This is no time for hysterics."
"God, you are an ass-hole. I am not hysterical. I'm a scientist, I've probably dissected more bodies than you've shot, and I'm telling you, his right eye just twitched."
As Holder and Kline argued, Doctor Carrington checked the monitoring equipment next to the body. "Oh my God," she said, seeing the readout.
"What is it Doctor?" Fury asked. Carrington looked up, amazed.
"We attached sensors to the body, purely for research data, but… my God, this can't be right. His core body temperature—it's eighty degrees…and rising."
At that instant, the previously lifeless right hand of Captain America shot up, clutching the wrist of Doctor Carrington, who screamed bloody murder, then fainted.
Outside, Clay Quartermain and the other agents were chatting casually (Quartermain filling in the CIA men about SHIELD's benefits package), when all hell broke loose. As if shot out of a cannon, the unconscious body of agent Holder came flying through the plastic sheeted doorway, landing in a sprawling heap some fifteen feet outside the containment area.
"—Holy shit! Draw your weapons, stun only," Quartermain shouted. "Follow me. Two-by-two cover."
They headed towards the cooler, but stopped dead in their tracks a moment latter. There, coming through the doorway, impossibly, was the mythic figure of Captain America. Cap took two faltering steps then dropped to one knee. Fury came up behind, shouting at his men.
"Hold your fire! No weapons—no weapons! We've got to restrain him, without injuring him."
Fury knelt and put his arm around Cap's shoulders, partly to help him up, partly to hold him back, in either case, a futile gesture. An instant latter, he was hurtling down the same path that Holder had just traveled, plowing into Quartermain and his men, scattering them like ten-pins. Cap was on his feet and on the advance again. Jones and Kelly charged him next, one going high, the other low. It was like hitting a brick wall. Jones got the worst of it, taking a blow from Cap's shield. He crashed into an instrument panel, his jaw fractured. Kelly was holding on to Cap's right leg, being dragged like a leaf in a whirlwind. Fury blinked back to consciousness and got to his feet.
"Cap, you're among friends. We're trying to help you."
Once again, Captain America seemed to grow faint. He stopped, teetering, his eyes glazed and searching for focus. When he spoke, his voice was a cracked whisper.
"…Where? Where…am I?"
"You're on an American research base. You're among friendlies soldier, do you copy that? Friendlies!"
For a moment, Fury thought he was reaching him, but the moment was lost. Kelly jumped on Cap's back, throwing a chokehold around his neck. Cap pried his arm loose, breaking the man's wrist in the process, then flung him forward, knocking Fury into a row of filing cabinets, and back into unconsciousness. Cap steadied himself, then headed out into the complex, flattening three more SHIELD agents on the way. Standing off in the shadows watching the scene play out was Doctor Lerner, still clutching his bag. His mouth was agape, a perfect 'O' of amazement, and his eyes shone behind his spectacles like those of a zealot, beholding for the first time the holiest of icons.
Fury came out of the darkness, staring into the face of Doctor Carrington, who was anxiously shouting something to him.
"Slow down a minute, doc, and help me to my feet."
"There's no time, Fury. You must stop him, his life is in danger."
"What do you mean?" he asked, shaking the haze from his mind.
"He's heading for the exit—if he makes it outside in his weakened condition, in this sub-zero temperature, the shock will surely kill him. You must stop him!"
Fury switched on his communicator, kicking his less injured men awake.
"Carter, this is Fury, come in."
"This is Carter."
"Don't ask any questions, just listen. Captain America is heading your way—"
"Captain America?"
"I said listen! Captain America is alive and he's heading your way. He's not in his right mind, disoriented, confused. The doc says if he gets outside, the cold will kill him. Stop him Carter. Whatever you do, do not let him get outside. I'm sending you backup. Fury out."
In the main corridor of the science station, Cap was trying to sort through the confused jumble in his mind, feeling drugged, unreal to his own senses. He shuddered, a deep, aching cold racking his very bones. His vision was grey and blurred and his ears were buzzing. From time to time, he had to stop and steady himself against the wall. Sheer instinct was driving him on. He had to find a way out, and so he pushed forward. The last thing he remembered was…nothing. He could remember nothing at all. His mind was a total blank. Except…yes, he and Buck—they were on a mission. He remembered now. They were on a mission to raid a secret Nazi base in Norway. Another super weapon of Hitler's. He had to find Buck. He had to stop that weapon.
Captain America pushed forward.
"All right you goldbricks, let's move," Fury shouted. He turned to Carrington. "Doc, in that case over there you'll find a hypodermic loaded with 20 cc's of trioxin. Bring it. We may need you to sedate him."
"That could be dangerous."
"Don't have a lot of options here, doc. In case you didn't notice, the man just tore through nine professional bad-asses like we were the Girl Scouts. I need you to be ready. Let's move it people!"
Out in the north end of the complex, Captain America turned a corner and saw the exit. He quickened his pace. Suddenly, a woman stepped out of the shadows, into the middle of the hallway. She was pointing a weapon at him. Cap raised his shield, slowing his advance. The woman called out.
"Captain, my name is Sharon Carter. I'm an American agent," she said, holstering her weapon. "I'm here to help."
Hearing was getting better. He caught most of that. He kept advancing. "Out…of my way. Don't want to hurt…a woman," he croaked, his voice a little stronger.
"Captain, we're on the same side," the woman said, her hands raised.
Her accent was perfect, but he had run into that before. He continued to advance, the exit near. The woman held her ground. At the last instant, she dropped, throwing a leg sweep. She was fast, catching a piece of him. He started to fall and so turned it into a tuck-and-roll, popping up into a defensive crouch—just in time to see the woman aiming a kick at his chin. She was very fast. Caught a piece of him that time as well, and with her follow-ups, a strike to the solar plexus and a chop to the nerve cluster at the side of the neck. He was surprised; very few people outside the Orient knew these techniques. The woman stepped back, her hands raised, but loose.
"Captain, please, I don't want to hurt you."
"Don't worry. You didn't."
Cap stepped forward with all the speed he could muster, bringing a right hook up and in, bopping the woman as lightly as he dared—she was too good to play games with in his present condition. She fell backwards, out before she hit the ground. 'Dammed Nazi's, he thought. 'Even the beautiful ones are deadly bastards'. There it was—the exit. He had to get out, reconnoiter with Buck and find that weapon. He almost made the door when someone tackled him from behind.
"Cap, no! Listen to me," Fury yelled, locking him in a full nelson. "You can't go outside, it'll kill you! Listen to me!"
Captain America wasn't listening. Instead, he was applying pressure to the hold. Instantly, Fury felt the bones in his arms grinding. Four more agents piled on to Cap's back, but even under all that weight, he was rising to his feet, moving towards the door.
"Doc," Fury shouted, "the trank—give it to him!"
"I don't know what it will do to him!"
Cap was moving faster, his hand on the door. Fury's tendons began to pop.
"Goddamn it Doc, trank him! Trank him now—Do it!"
And all at once, Captain America's world went black again.
Clay Quartermain headed back to the mess hall to pick up the food. The Danvers kid, grinning ear to ear, met him at the door.
"Here you go. Fixed up the quickest stuff I had. We got tomato soup, two grilled cheese sandwiches, crackers and some Jell-O. Didn't know what he'd want to drink, so I gave him one of everything." The tray had four different types of soda's, along with water, orange juice, and coffee.
"Looks good," Clay said.
"If he doesn't like that stuff, ask him what he wants. I'll make him anything we got."
"Kid, the man hasn't eaten in half a century. I'm sure he won't be too picky."
Quartermain made his way back to Doctor Carrington's private office, stepping over piles of debris yet to be cleared. He passed the infirmary, filled with men and women seeking attention. No one was seriously injured. Agent Jones of the CIA had it worst, with his fractured jaw. Quartermain himself was nursing two cracked ribs and a hell of a shiner—of which he was taking perverse pride. 'I just got a black eye…by Captain America' he kept telling himself. It still didn't seem possible. He knocked on the door, and then stepped inside.
"Colonel Fury? I've got some food for Cap," Clay said, all the while thinking 'There he is, sitting right in front of me. That is Captain America sitting in that chair'.
Unreal.
Fury had him put the food on the desk, and leave. He closed the door thinking: 'That was Captain America I just saw in there'.
Un-freaking-real.
"How is he?" said a voice from behind. It was Carter. Clay stopped and put on a thoughtful air.
"Well, he's just spent fifty-odd years frozen in a block of ice—and he just found out that most everyone and everything he ever knew is dead and gone. To top it off, he's had the ten of us beating on him for all his troubles. I'd say he's doing as well as can be expected."
"It's just so…unfair," Carter said softly. "For a man who did so much for his country, for the entire world, to have something like this happen. It's tragic. It's unfair."
"Wow," Quartermain said. "13, the toughest, deadliest, agent in the game—and I've finally found your one weakness. Your heart. I actually didn't know you had one. Don't worry, it'll be our little secret."
"Clay, do you remember when you asked me out last year, to that State Department reception? And I told you I didn't want to go because I was afraid it might affect our working relationship?"
"Yes…"
"I lied. It was because you're an ass."
"How nice," Quartermain said, smiling. "Better have the doc take a look at that chin. Got a real goose egg coming in."
"Take a walk, ass." Carter said, walking away.
Inside the office, Cap was coming to grips with his new reality. It was something he could only take in a bit at a time.
"Tell me again Fury. What year is it?"
"It's 1997. May ninth, in about two minutes," Fury said, looking at his watch.
"1997. May 9th," Cap said, softly. He took another drink of coffee, pushing the tray of food away. "Fifty two years. Frozen…like a piece of meat in the ice box."
"I'm afraid that's about the size of it."
"And you say we won the war?"
Fury nodded. "I hope you believe me," he said, handing over a stack of newspapers and magazines. They were several weeks old, but the most current reading material the remote science station possessed. "Tell me what more I can do to convince you. This is no Nazi trick, I swear. Please believe me."
"I believe you," Cap replied in a quiet, even tone. He sighed, a small sound of regret. "We won. Would have liked to have been there for that." A look of fresh concern crossed his features as he turned to Fury. "What about the mission? My team was in Norway. The Nazis finally developed a working atom bomb. The target was New York. Did we stop it?"
"You did. You saved a million people that night—maybe the whole war. But Cap, there's something I haven't told you yet…"
"You don't have to. I remember it now." Cap slumped back in his chair. "Buck was still on that plane. I saw him as it burst into flames."
Fury picked up a file and began to read. "'Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, United States Army, Special Forces. Killed in action on December 24th 1944. Awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, for service above and beyond the call of duty'." Fury set the file down, and spoke quietly. "He was a hero."
Cap sat in silence. It was a moment before he spoke again. "He was. There were a lot of heroes. And you're wrong, Fury, I didn't win that war. We did. Every last one of us." Captain America reached up to the snaps that held his tattered mask in place. "Do me a favor, will you?" With a tug, the mask came off. "Belay that 'Cap' business, at least for awhile. My name is Steve."
"I know. Steve Rogers, from Brooklyn Heights. Not far from where I grew up. It's good to meet you, Steve."
"Nick…I wish I could say the same."
Fury smiled grimly. "Look, Ca…Steve, let me have the doctor come in and look at you, please. It's a dammed miracle you're even alive. Let's not push it."
Rogers said nothing. The thoughts and emotions behind his weary expression, Fury could only imagine. Finally, he nodded in agreement.
"Send him in—after he takes a look at you," Steve said, pointing to Fury's right eye, which was swollen shut. There was a trickle of blood coming from the corner of it.
"It's fine, just aggravated an old injury. I'll go get the doc, who's a lady, by the way. Remind me to tell you about women's Lib later."
"Fury, tell your people I'm sorry for being so rough on them."
"They already know, but I'll tell them anyway."
"Who was the woman? I remember fighting a woman, blonde. She was good."
"That was Carter. We call her 'Agent 13'".
"Thirteen?" Steve said. "Why thirteen?"
"Because she's one tougher than the Dirty Dozen."
"The dirty-who?"
Fury laughed. "I don't even know where to start. Some things you're just going to have to learn as you go. And you will, soldier."
As the doctor was examining Cap, Fury stood outside the door, watching the clean up. The place looked almost new again. His people were good. For ten years now, quietly and under everybody's radar, Nicholas Fury had helped build SHIELD (Super-Human, Intelligence, Espionage & Logistics Division) into the most efficient organization in the spy business. They had the best people, the best training, and starting next year, the deepest pockets of any intelligence organization in the world. They had a mandate to protect the nation against all threats, specifically those involving meta-humans, people who were blessed (or cursed, as the case may be) with extraordinary powers and abilities. SHIELD accomplished this by coordinating with the 'good guys' and triangulating against the 'bad guys' of the superhuman community. There were getting to be a lot of both types running around out there. Fury was working hard to keep his people ahead of the curve.
And into the middle of it all comes Captain America, the first and unquestionably greatest superhero America ever had. What his miraculous return would mean in the overall scenario, Fury didn't know, but he had to figure it out in the next twenty minutes, before his call to the President. Fury looked to his right. Holder, his arm in a sling, was making his way over, trailed by his men.
"Fury."
"Holder."
"I'd like to see him."
"Doc's with him. After that, he needs some rest."
Holder's jaw tightened. "I am a senior officer in the Central Intelligence Agency. That man is a high agency priority, and I want to see him. Now. You can't do this Fury."
"Watch me."
"Do you really think this is going to stand? You come on so hard, just because you've caught the Presidents eye. SHIELD is a shiny new toy, that's all. We are the top dog in this yard, Fury. CIA has been around since the Second World War…and we're not going anywhere."
"That's right, you're standing still—it's SHIELD that's moving forward," Fury said, jutting his face inches away from Holders. "It's a shame we can't boast the success CIA's had over the years; Bay of Pigs, Kennedy, over throwing third-world regimes, death squads. Yeah, you guys are the shit, Holder. I guess we'll just have to get by on competence."
Holder glared at Fury, clenching his good fist. Then he relaxed, and smiled.
"This isn't over. I will see him. Hell, he's practically government property. Do you really think SHIELD can keep him all to itself?"
Fury Grabbed Holder by his jacket, slamming him against the wall.
"That man is not government property! And it'll be a cold day in hell before I let you sink your claws into him."
Holders' men, despite their injuries, jumped to his defense, pulling their sidearms, taking aim at Fury. Carter stepped around the corner, instantly drawing down on the CIA men.
"Drop them," she warned. "Or I drop you."
Jones and Kelly held their ground. Three other SHIELD agents raced to Carters side and the situation teetered on the edge of mayhem. Just then, the door to Doctor Carrington's office opened...and Captain America strode forward. His mask was once again in place and his shield securely strapped to his left arm. This wasn't the disoriented and faltering figure they had seen earlier. He now stood tall and ramrod straight, his gait swift and certain. All eyes were on him as he came to a stop directly in front of Kelly, who suddenly found his revolver pointed at the legendary hero. Cap's eyes narrowed. His expression was stony as he spoke.
"I'm only going to say this once. Holster that weapon."
Kelly weakly looked to Holder before following Cap's order. Jones followed suit.
"That goes for everyone," Cap said, casting a look around the hallway. His disapproving gaze was painful to meet. One by one, they all complied. The last holdout was Carter, but finally she dropped her weapon to her side, though she refused to holster it. Cap walked over to where Fury and Holder stood.
"Let me straighten you out on a few things," Cap said, directing his look at Fury, "I fight my own battles. I don't need a nursemaid, mister." Though his words were harsh, Cap's expression conveyed a note of gratitude, and Fury nodded in recognition. He released his grip on Holder.
"Second," Cap said, turning to the CIA man, "I make my own decisions about who I talk to. And I won't be talking with you."
Holder straightened his jacket. "With respect, that isn't your call to make, soldier."
"But it's yours? I don't see any stripes on you Holder. Are you US army?"
"No…but you are, Captain, and your duty is—"
"I don't need you to tell me my duty. Fifty two years is a long time to be MIA. Are you telling me the Army didn't list me as being killed in action?"
"They did."
"Then my hitch is up. I signed on for the duration of the war. The war is over, and I think I've earned my discharge."
"That war is over, yes," Holder said. "But the fight goes on Captain. I'd like to talk with you about the organization I represent."
"Let me take a stab at it. You represent people who want to lock me away in a lab somewhere, so they can figure out how to make more like me. Am I getting warm?"
Doctor Lerner stepped forward, adjusting his spectacles. "Captain, try to understand. Science has been working to unlock the secret of the serum for decades, with no success. We now have a chance to examine the original test subject. You must allow us this opportunity."
"They tried that in my day doctor. I saw the numbers, though the army tried to keep them from me. Eight hundred men were administered that serum after me. Eight hundred. Four hundred and nine of them died. Another three hundred or so were left ill or disabled. The rest had no reaction whatsoever. Isn't that true?"
"It is."
"How many have died since then? Hundreds? Thousands?"
"Many thousands, I would say," Doctor Lerner answered. "Would you like to know how many of them were from foreign nations? Hostile nations, looking to develop their own version of the perfect warrior?"
Cap said nothing. He walked over to where agent Carter stood. So quickly that the motion could not be seen, he snatched the gun from her hand, bringing a collective gasp. "Is this it?" he shouted, scanning the room. "Is this all you've managed to do in fifty years? Bigger guns, better ways to kill people? Is this what we fought and died for?"
Cap began to squeeze. Instantly the weapons casing began to crack and the gun crumpled in his grip. He let the twisted remains drop to the floor and turned to Lerner.
"There's nothing perfect about war, Doctor. I've seen it up close and it's nothing but hell and misery. I was never comfortable with the government's plan to create an army of so-called 'Super Soldiers'. It smacked a little too much of the ideology we were fighting against. But my country needed me, so I answered the call. Well the job's been done. You can tell your bosses to count me out of their plans to restart the Super Solider Program. My tour of duty is over."
Holder stepped forward. "I can't believe I'm hearing Captain America talk this way. Where is your loyalty? Where is your love of country?"
"Love of country? I died for my country!"
Holder flinched and quickly regrouped. "That was a poor choice of words, Captain. We all recognize the great sacrifice you made."
"It's a sacrifice I'd make again, if needed. I swore an oath Holder, to protect America from all enemies—foreign and domestic," Cap said, pointedly. "So yes, I'd die for my country. But I'd rather live for her instead. I think she just may need me."
The room was silent. Cap turned to Fury.
"I'm not naïve, agent Fury. The day I first put this uniform on? I knew my life would never be the same, never really be mine again. I accepted that. But from here on out, I intend to serve America in my own way. Is that a problem for you?"
Fury shook his head no.
"Good," Cap said. "I noticed you have aircraft parked outside. If you have room, I'd appreciate a lift."
"Of course," Fury said, quietly. "Where can we take you, Cap?"
"…Home. I'd like to go home, Nick. I just don't know where that is anymore."
"Let's see if we can help you find it. And Cap? Thank you. I finally know what I'm going to say to the President."
The SHIELD people gathered their equipment. Cap headed to doctor Carrington's office and Fury went to make his call to the Oval Office. Holder and his men were gone before he was off the phone. An hour later, the SHIELD team was headed back to the United States, along with one very special passenger. After several days of rest and debriefing, the word went out. Once again, the world was about to meet the Champion of Freedom, and the Sentinel of Liberty.
Captain America had returned.