Disclaimer: Marvel Entertainment owns everything, with the exception of Cat who is my own creation and various others who I will indentify as this progresses. This is a work of fanfic, no

Copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: this story was inspired by a tale in Captain America, Red, White and Blue. In the tale a young member of the Hitler Youth is caught at School reading a Cap Comic. He is sent to the headmaster (the red Skull), who orders him to either kill the one who gave him the comic or himself. He kills Herr Grynszpn, the school's cook. I enjoyed the story, but hated the ending (sorry great believer in the good guys always win), so decide to expand the story into this. Hope you like it. Please review if only one word if you are reading this, especially if you want me to keep it up!

The Nazi

Jakob POV

When we set off this morning, my wife, Joana, complained that it was raining. I think I must be the only person relived at the weather.

The Follies of youth remain with us for life, though rarely are they as visible as mine. If I ever forget who or what I was, my left arm rises to greet me.

They call me Jakob, but that is not the name I was born with. Nor is the name that the angel, or devil that if many knew the truth would believe, that calls me home will use. It is however the name that my headstone will bear, to protect them.

My true name, that stays with me, and here among the relics of my past the ghosts of it rises to greet me.

"ULI!"

It is nearly 60 years since his death, but Professor Stumpf voice still fills me with dread. For a moment I am back there in the school, gazing at the blackboard. The chalk proclaims it to be the 22nd August 1942. The day Uli will live.

I am seated in my desk, middle row, 3rd from the black board. I look, as Herr Fury will later tell me, like Boiled crap. In the two months since Herr Grynszpn death I haven't slept much. The food, always bad, now turns to ashes in my mouth. The headmaster's face swims before me, whether waking or sleeping. The horrendous red skull, who still even now can cause me to wake in a sweat, his voice echoing though my head.

"One bullet for your own Uberworm. Slay the worm Siegfried."

I do not remember the Professor question, his reprimand or indeed anything of the remainder of that day. I knew what I had to do

Several hours later.

The wind rustles the leaves and brings the voices to me. They talk in a language I do not understand, yet I remember every word.

"We have to cut across here."

"Hence my advised that we should have gone the other way. Supposing someone looks out from the Factory."
"It's well after Curfew."
"Your point?"

"The other route is twice as long"

"And twice as safe."

The gun slips from my cold fingers, hitting the autumn leaves.

"Shh!"

"What?"
"I heard something."
"It's just the wind." A twig snaps and the second voice is softer and more urgent this time.

"No! It was metallic."

Silence reigns for a few seconds, before a voice, not one I've heard before calls softly,

"It's O.K."

Hands steal across me, a woman's voice, the second voice speaks



"One bullet discharged. No other ammo. Not much doubt about what he came out here to do." Footsteps travel across. Compared to theses two silence they sound like a herd of elephants.

A different hand strokes my face, and an angel's voice asks softly.

"Who is he?
"Uli Engel, according to his papers." There's a rustle and I realise she has passed them to her companion.

"Think we can make use of them?"
"What are you doing?" the Angel's voice is offended.

"Jo, he's dead. I don't think he'll mind!"

The angel's hands continue stroking my face.

"He's so young," she says dreamily.

"Start them at 10 in the Factory." The girl's companion replies.

"No different to the Boy Scouts." The woman said, who, having finished her search of my bag, hands were now searching my pockets. She moves me slightly and a soft moan escapes me.

"He's still alive!" the angel is as amazed as anyone.

"Not for much longer." The sound of a gun being cocked and aimed echoes softly in the forest.

"You can't shoot him!"

"Jo, he's a Nazi" the man's voice has the tone of an older child explaining something very simple to a much younger one.

"And," added the woman, in answer to a silent appeal by Jo, "he'll be dead by the time they find him. Better do it now. Make it easier for all involved"
I feel the angel's hands grip mine.

"Will he definitely die?"
"Jo!" the man is now frustrated.



"Will he?"
"Jo, our resources are stretched to their limits. We can't put our own guys at risk by caring for this..."
"What's going on?" another voice enters the discussion. It is soft, but still audio able and sounds older than the others.

Jo and the girl rapidly brief him, Jo pleading for my life. The new comer nods. "Will he die?" he asks.

The woman's voice is full of defeat as she answers with a strong degree of annoyance, "not necessarily."
"Then we take him with us."

I feel myself been lifted, as the man's voice declares,

"Hope you know Steve if the circumstances were reversed, he'd have no hesitation about putting a bullet in your brain.

"I know." The new comer's voice is calm, as though they were merely discussing the weather. "But we're better than them."

The darkness then claimed me.

How long I was unconscious, I do not know. I know how ever that it was some weeks and that my life hung in the balance for many of them.

My next clear memory is a conversation.

"Nazi are claiming 30-40,"
"halve that and you've probably got nearer to the true number." The girl, whose name I would later learn to be Cat straightened up. "Best get the big guns. He's coming around."

The guy moves off, and the girl remains, regarding me like I am a caged tiger. The others, top brass, return. One of them is a man on whose face the lines of every battle he has ever been in. His name is Nick Fury and in a few days he will threaten me with a gun, but later on I will be proud to call him friend. Right now he looks at me like I am "shit on the chariot wheels" as the others will later teach me.



The other however is more mysterious. His face is hidden behind a mask, his body behind the flag of our enemies. His eyes however that rest on me are kind, and unlike the other's in the room, trusting. He smiles softly as he holds out his hand.

"Welcome back to the living." He says.

I try to get up, try to ask why they helped me, but the woman forces me back. Another woman smiled down at me.

"Lie still." She said. "You're safe now!

And I believe her. And for over forty years I've loved and believed her.

Joana hand is on my arm, and I draw strength from it. I hope that he found something, someone who cared that much about it.

Then I look around and see them, all here. I know. There are more people who care about him than anyone else.