*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, and if there are any others, I still don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*The Borovian language used here is actually Slovak.

*For those who didn't know, the Nazis tried to terminate more than one race.

* Sorry sorry! I've got no excuse for taking so long...just...trying to make things good... ____________________________________________________________________________ _______





The massive bronze doors opened with an ear splitting squeal.

Zartan took one step into the throne room...and balked.

This was not what he had been expecting.

His sister and his daughter took advantage of his surprise to adjust their eyes to the stony room's darkness. A bit of torchlight from the hall illuminated the plush scarlet runner carpet leading into the room, the opulent red velvets draping over the threshold, but nothing else. Shadows cloaked most of the room in blessed darkness. The only other light came from the just descending summer sun as it streamed through a high narrow window, puddling at the end of the runner like a glowing pool of fresh blood.

At the sight of the accursed sunlight, Zartan sternly fought the urge to flinch, the memory of his unpleasant HALO jump through the summer sun still fresh in his mind. Though his skin condition was no longer critical, he still had his 'little problems' with sunlight.

His host often took malicious pleasure in using that problem to Zartan's disadvantage.

But not today.

Today there was only one window uncovered, the barest hint of an obligatory threat.

A soft, almost metallic sounding chuckle rolled from Zartan's throat.

This was a good sign.

Flanked by his sister and daughter, Zartan continued to march into the room, followed by six Crimson Guards carrying a steamer trunk topped with a bow of Dreadnok green and purple.

The whole procession stopped just before the patch of sunlight. As one, the Crimson Guards bowed deeply from the waist and gently lowered their burden.

Zartan crossed his arms and swaggered around the sunlight, avoiding its direct rays. "Greetings," he said smoothly, dipping his head once. He twirled a hand, gesturing to the darkened room. "The ambiance of the room has been greatly improved since my last visit." A smile bordering on a smirk slid across his face as he placed a hand on his chest. "You did not have to go through such trouble on my account."

There was a soft hiss of silk on silk, the hushed creak of fine leather in the darkness just beyond the sunlight. "Such considerations are trivial between...friendss," a man's dry, scratchy voice said loftily from the shadows. "IF they please me."

"I think you will be pleased with this purchase," Zartan said smugly.

"Then let me see," the man hissed impatiently. There was a sense of him leaning closer. "Show me!"

Zartan snapped his fingers. The Crimson Guards laid one end of the steamer trunk on the ground, tilting the other end up, bracing it steadily. A motion from her father and a stern glance later, Zanya grudgingly passed Zaranna a golden key. Smirking, Zaranna slowly inserted the key into the lock...and twisted sharply.

The trunk burst open, the lid and walls unfolded like a bloom. A bound, limp figure stuffed into a drab jumpsuit slid from the trunk, landing feet first squarely in the middle of the pooling sunlight. He immediately fell to his knees, his torso slumping forward until his forehead came to rest against the scarlet ground.

Hair several shades shy of platinum reflected the sunlight back in a wash of gold.

The man in the darkness inhaled sharply. "Stormshadow," he whispered hoarsely.

Like the approach of a snowy tiger, the white clad ninja flowed silently from the shadows and into the light. Zanya took one quick protective step towards her father, but the Cobra bodyguard ignored them. Instead, Stormshadow reached down and grabbed the kneeling man by the scruff, hauled him into an upright position, and roughly tilted his head up so his master could see his face.

The amber sun burned away any doubt.

There was a sense of movement in the dark, then the slither of silk over velvet, punctuated by muffled, quick steps over the plush runner. The light caught the mirrored sheen of bright metal where a man's face should have been. "You have him," the man breathed, his voice a mixed caress of loathing and excitement. Hands sheathed in black suede reached into the sunlight and tightly gripped the pale gold skull. The veins at the temples fluttered against his hand like the beat of trapped wings. "Tomahawk," he hissed.

"So tell me, Cobra Commander," Zartan asked, his voice silky. "Are you pleased?"

For a moment, there was no answer, no movement.

Then, from the darkness, came what sounded like a dry cough.

And another.

Like the shriek of nails on chalkboard, Cobra Commander let loose a gale of maniacal laughter and screeched, "He's mine! MINE! I'VE WON!!"





The last of the sun's rays caressed the tallest of the three church towers, casting shadows of deepening purples and blues across the surrounding treetops as it finally slipped beyond the foothills and into the night. For most in the Borovian village of Rojnica, dinner had long since come and gone and the emergence of the Evening Star through the swaying trees a signal for parents to shoo their children into their beds.

Quickly.

No one in their right minds went out after dark. Doors and windows were barred, and the men and their older sons were all armed with shotguns, even automatic rifles. More often than not, the automatics were damaged and useless, discards found in the foothills by people collecting crude oil from puddles in abandoned mines for their village's rough little refinery. Some rifles only required minor repair to work once more, but most were beyond the villagers' abilities to fix. Still, the broken weaponry brought some amount of comfort to families. Should the situation arise, a moment of bluffing could grant the children time to escape.

But if any screams were heard...

No. No one in their right minds went out after dark.

Not for anyone's screams.

Not even the parish priest's.





The thin elderly parish priest stood in his home with his hand clamped over his mouth, the corner of his eyes crinkling as tears began to pour down his cheeks.

"Easy, easy," Steve said soothingly, holding out his hands in a gesture of comfort. Fury barred the door as Lady Jaye quickly turned down the kerosene lamp at the table then went around the rustic wooden room drawing curtains shut, careful not to been seen from the outside. Duke took aim at the door with his sidearm as he spoke tersely into his comm, telling Low Light to stay in the bell-tower, that everything was fine in there.

Mostly.

"Great idea, Cap," Fury snarled as he took an identical position next to Duke. He twisted his voice into a mockingly accurate imitation of Steve's. "'Parish priests knows everyone and everything in the area, Nick. Of COURSE he'll be happy to help, Nick.'" His voice dropped back into a gravely rumble. "The Padre's blown our cover. Someone's gonna come running---"

"Nick, shush," Steve said in a gentle voice, never taking his eyes off the priest. "Jaye, tell him we're not going to---"

To everyone's utter shock the priest grabbed Steve's hands and fell to his knees, kissing them profusely. "Kapitan," he sobbed softly between kisses, "Kapitan Amerika!" He let one of Steve's hands go so he could cross himself and lift his pale hand to the Heavens. "Svaty Otec, d'akujem Vam. D'akujem Vam vel'mi pe---!" Too overcome with emotion to continue, he lifted his rosary to his lips then pressed it against his forehead, weeping.

"Oh...HELL," Duke exploded, stomping into the kitchen area.

The new Joe Leader looked at Jaye blankly. "Ah..."

She looked back, her face just as blank. "He said, 'Captain, Captain America! Holy Father, thank You. Thank You very much.'" She shrugged helplessly as she looked down at the praying man. "That's all he---" She stopped herself suddenly. "Sir," she said softly. "His arm."

The older blonde craned his neck. The sleeves of the priest's black robes had fallen back to his elbows, exposing his wiry forearms.

Faded and fuzzed with age, the tattoo of black numbers could still be seen on the priest's arm.

The mark of a concentration camp survivor.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut briefly before looking back at the bowed silvery head. "Get up." He crouched down and slipped his free hand under the priest's elbow. "Get up, please get up." Steve tried to get the man to rise but it as if he was rooted to the ground by the knees. Steve couldn't lift him without wrenching the priest's arms. "Please, Father...please don't do this. Please get up."

Jaye knelt next to the priest and put her hand on his bony shoulder. "He doesn't understand you, sir," she said. She slipped her hand under his other elbow and looked at Steve. "Repeat after me; 'Prosim, Otec. Vstat.'"

"Prosim, Otec," Steve softly repeated. "Vstat."

"Keep going," Jaye said encouragingly.

"Prosim, Otec. Vstat. Prosim..."

At last the priest nodded his understanding and finally let Steve and Jaye help him up and into a spindly straight back chair at an old wooden table. He looked at the Captain again, tears of joy rolling down his cheeks. He tried to speak but no words came forth.

"Dychat pomaly, Otec," Jaye said soothingly, rubbing his back.

The priest nodded again, drawing deep, slow breaths, trying to calm down.

"Moje meno je Jaye," she said, introducing herself. "Ako sa volas?"

"Drozd," he answered her hoarsely. "Otec Drozd."

"Everyone, this Father Drozd," Jaye said softly.

Steve managed to drag up a smile. "Please to meet you."

Father Drozd's chin trembled as he beamed at the Captain, a new spate of tears threatening to spill forth.

"Move over," Duke's voice ordered briskly from behind the Captain. Steve shifted to one side, making room for Duke, who held a steaming porcelain cup. "Hot tea and sugar," he said, jerking his head towards the kettle on the wood-burning stove and some nearby tins. "Good remedy for shock." Visibly reigning in his impatience, Duke gently pressed the cup into the priest's trembling hands and helped him hold it steady as the old man gingerly drank. Father Drozd moved to put the cup down but Duke held it firmly to the man's lips. "Tell him to drink it all, Jaye."

"Drowning him won't help Hawk," Jaye said sharply.

"We don't have time for this," Duke hissed, but he eased up. The hooded blue eyes raked the Captain critically from head to toe. "You're wearing a Greenshirt uniform. How'd he recognize you?"

"Padre must've been from one of the camps Cap snuck inta wearin' Gestapo duds," Fury mused. A twinkle gleamed from his eye as he looked from Duke to Steve and back again. "Guess not all blondes look alike after all."

Steve closed his eyes. "We shouldn't have come here."

Fury squinted at him. "Come again?"

"You were right, Nick. We shouldn't have come here." Steve opened his eyes, staring at nothing. "He shouldn't have to relive those memories. We shouldn't have come."

"Well, we're here now," Fury pointed out pragmatically. "And since we've already riled up the Padre, we might as well get the intel we came fer." He cocked his head at his friend. "'Sides, in case ya haven't noticed, winghead, the Padre's HAPPY yer here."

Duke gave a grunt. "Any happier and I'd have been doing CPR."

Father Drozd drained the last of his tea and let Duke take the cup away with a murmur of thanks. He dabbed at his eyes with his black sleeves and took a deep breath. "Kapitan Amerika?"

Steve stepped closer. "Jaye, translate for us please?"

"Of course, sir."

The priest held his hands out to the Captain. "'I am not dreaming,'" Jaye asked, translating the priest's words into English. "'It really is you, Kapitan?'"

"It's me," Steve said gently, taking his hands and crouching. "I'm surprised you recognized me."

The priest blinked as Jaye repeated Steve's words to him in Borovian. "'Not recognize you? How can I not when you haven't changed! Look at you!'" The priest laughed as he slipped a hand free to reach out and pat the soldier's cheek. "'Still as young as the day you and your son freed us from that pit of Hell! Ah...I cried then too, I remember. We all did, we were so happy.'" He chuckled. "'Your son felt so bad for us---he didn't know they were good tears---he gave us cookies to stop our crying. The sweetest thing I had ever tasted!'" His eyes twinkled at the memory. "'For many of us who were children then, the taste of freedom will always be chocolate chip cookies.'"

The ghost of a proud smile hovered on Steve's lips. "Kid..."

"'Tell me,'" Father Drozd went on. "'Is he well, your son?'"

The question startled Steve from his thoughts. "He wasn't really my..." Steve stopped himself and sighed, rubbing a knuckle against his eyes. "He's gone."

The light in the priest's eye dimmed. "'Forgive me,'" he said quietly, squeezing Steve's hand as he crossed himself. "'He was a kind, brave boy. If there is anything I can do---'"

"There is," Steve said, gratefully latching onto the offer. He squared his shoulders and clapped a hand over Father Drozd's. "We need your help. Very badly."

"'Ah...'" Father Drozd wrapped the dignity of his calling around him and nodded grimly. "'I did not think that this was a social visit. But I am grateful for this chance to repay you in some small way.'" He released Steve and gravely folded his hands in his lap. "'Ask your favor, Kapitan Amerika. If it is in my power to grant, it will be done.'"

"The fort on the hill," Steve began.

Father Drozd's face darkened. "'The snake men,'" he spat. "'We tell the government that dangerous men are here but do they listen? No! They tell me to stop wasting their time with an old man's imagination and save it for the gullible who come to hear me preach!'" He spat again. "'The soldiers won't stir a finger to help us!'"

"Intrestin'," Fury rumbled thoughtfully.

Steve pressed on. "The snake men kidnapped a friend of ours."

"'And you come to me in the hopes that I know of a way to the fort, for a rescue,'" Father Drozd concluded. He immediately crossed himself with a great sigh. "'I warn you, Kapitan, you should prepare for the worst,'" he told them sadly. "'The snake men have many women, both old and young. We find them in the hills, when the snake men are done with them. The villagers bring what they find to me.'" He flicked his eyes to Jaye. "'Far better, I think, it was for the old ones.'"

She looked back at the priest and asked him a question.

"'Because, daughter...from what I could see, all that were taken from them was the labor of their hands and their lives,'" he said as delicately as he could. "'Evil men such as those take much more from a young woman, especially a young woman such as yourself.'" He looked at Steve mournfully. "'I...recognize the signs.'" He touched his tattoo. "'From long ago.'"

The Captain's hands tightened into fists as he gave Jaye a quick look. "What about the men," he asked in a tight voice. "Did they take any of the men?"

The priest sighed. "'Some men tried to rescue the women...'" Father Drozd shook his head again and crossed himself. "'God rest their poor brave souls. I would find the men within two days, all horribly dead, propped outside my church.'"

Steve was less than pleased with this statement. "Duke, are any of our Covert Ops in the fort yet?"

The Second grimaced. "No," he sighed, frustration lacing that single word. "They're maneuvering themselves into position as fast as they can without blowing their covers, but..." He shook his head.

"Nick?"

"Fer the last time, SHIELD ain't got no spies in Cobra," Fury growled. "They all tend ta die."

The Joe Leader drummed his finger pensively against the tabletop, feeling the eyes of his troops on him. "We need to confirm Hawk's presence in the fort," Steve said. "If he really is there, we need to know where." He let his eyes rest heavily on Jaye. "We can't wait for the Covert Ops. We need to get someone inside. Now."

"I believe that's where I come in," Jaye said.

Steve looked grim. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this---"

"But ya expected it, didn't ya," Fury rasped. He eyed her curiously. "Was wonderin' why ya'd pull a gal this shade shy of bein' a widow from---"

"FURY," Duke barked. "Watch your damned mouth or I will---"

"Both of you, muzzle it," Steve cut in sharply, standing. "I need focus here, people, not snide comments or threats. Lady Jaye, can you do this?"

She straightened up and lifted her chin. "Who's the Jay Bird in this coop? Of course I can do this, sir."

The Captain gave her a tight smile. "Good girl."

A flicker of worry crossed Fury's face. "I don't like this."

"We don't have a lot of choice," Duke growled. He reflexively looked in the direction of the fort. "We used up a lot of time getting here. No telling what's happening to Hawk now."

The SHIELD Director's pebbly eye narrowed at Duke. "That so?"

Duke's hooded eyes locked onto the spy's, trying to bore past the shadowed brown stone of Fury's eye.

"Is there something you two want to share," Steve asked with deceptive mildness.

The two broke eye contact. "Nope," Fury said.

"No, sir," Duke said evenly.

"THEN FOCUS!"

While Fury and Duke still burned from that admonition, Jaye asked, "Once I'm in, sir, what do you want me to do?"

Steve pondered silently for a moment. "Father, does the village value the fort itself in any way," he asked suddenly.

Their host blinked. "'Why do you ask?'"

"It's ancient. I thought it might have historical or cultural value to your people," Steve said.

The priest snorted. "'Any value of the past it might have had pales to the evil it draws. First it was Napoleon's Army, then the Prussians, the Nazis, the Communists, now it is the snake men! We would only be too glad if it were to fall off the face of the earth---'"

Steve slammed the flat of his hand on the table. "Excellent!" He turned to Jaye. "Get as close to Hawk as you can, signal us, then dive for cover." The impossibly old eyes looked as cold as a glacier's heart. "We'll give you a very big distraction. Your job at that point will be to get Hawk outside the fort anyway you can, that includes throwing him out a window. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Father Drozd, I need maps," Steve said intently. "I need to know what routes the snake men use, the routes villagers use, and secret ways to get to the fort, ones that the other men didn't use."

"'I need to check the maps in the archives,'" Father Drozd said, inclining his head towards the door to the church.

"Get them then, please."

"Just how're ya gettin' the little lady inta the fort," Fury asked as Father Drozd bustled from the room in a flurry of black robes.

"Simple. She's getting captured," Steve said matter-of-factly.

"Oh really?" Fury slowly looked Jaye up and down, making her turn red under his scrutiny. "I'll bet that'll make Cobra's night."

Duke took one step forward as Jaye's chin rose, eyes flashing. Before either could do anything more Steve put a calming hand on their shoulders and patiently told Fury, "She's going disguised. Her car broke down on her way to see her grandchildren. She's been wandering the foothills for hours, hoping to find a village or a kind stranger. Instead she and her husband are going to have the bad luck of running into Cobra."

Duke looked at him in utter amazement. "With all due respect, sir, that has got to be one of the lamest cover stories I've ever heard!"

"Um, excuse me, sir." Jaye looked pained. "Did you say, 'husband?'"

"You know this country," Steve said. "Tell me honestly, how many old ladies drive alone in this neck of the woods?"

"Just about none," she admitted. "But---"

"But the Padre said that Cobra kills the men," Fury frowned.

Steve smiled grimly. "I know."

Duke quirked an eyebrow. "Cover story more believable if someone gets shot?"

"You got it, son."

"Well," Duke said, a pleased grin spreading over his face. "That's more like it."

"Yer all nuts," Fury grumbled as he shook his head. "So which one of ya poor bastard's takin' a bullet?"

"I'll do it," Duke said quickly.

"Oh no you're not," Steve said sharply. "You've still got a cracked skull. You are definitely not up to letting a bunch of Cobra goons kick you around and shoot you."

"I was Black-Ops," Duke scowled. "I can take it."

"Ooo, I love it when you get all macho and dumb like that," Jaye purred sarcastically.

"Don't start, Fairborne," Duke said in a threatening voice.

"Shelve the attitude, mister," Steve ordered. "You're not going with her and that's final."

The hooded blue eyes glared right back at the older man. "Then who? You?"

Steve grimaced. "Much as I'd like to, I don't think I'm the right man for this job. I wasn't made to let the bad guys walk all over me. No no, this mission requires someone else, someone who understands the necessity of a little pain for the sake of misdirection. A natural born trickster."

All eyes turned to Fury.

"Like a Raven," Steve said with a grin.

"---?---Oh hell no!" Fury glared back. "Owl boy---"

"Is plainly the best person to cover you and Jaye in the dark," Steve cut in. "On the other hand, he's the worst person to partner with Jaye."

"38's a SHIELD Agent," Fury protested. "A spy!"

"A Black Bullet," Steve corrected. "A sniper."

"He was our double agent in GI Joe," Fury pointed out.

Duke smirked. "And how long did THAT last?"

"Listen, ya punk---"

Steve raised his hand to forestall anymore protests from Fury. "Can you, his Director, honestly vouch for Low Light's abilities at Covert Ops?" He speared Fury with an intent blue glare. "Honestly?"

The only sound Fury made was the grinding of his molars.

Steve turned to Duke. "What's your evaluation of Low Light?"

"Best damned night operative in the world," Duke said immediately. "Peerless marksman, great survivor, one hell of a poker face. Knows when to shut up and play dumb, which," he frowned at Fury, "I'm sure you know. But Covert Ops? Acting?" He shook his head. "He'd get himself and Jaye really killed out there." He sighed theatrically, his straight face betrayed only by his twitching lips. "No, Captain, you're right. There's only one man for this---"

A man's shout of surprise from the church snapped everyone's heads towards the door.

Steve whipped his shield pack from his back and hit the door like a battering ram. A beam of light hit him full in the face, temporarily blinding him before flicking away. "DROZD," Steve roared from the doorway.

"Kapitan, NIE," the Father shouted.

A voice like an October windstorm blasted through the dark. "STOP!"

Steve threw out his arms to the sides, blocking the others from running headlong into the darkened sanctuary. "Low Light?"

"Shhhhh..."

Blinking the dancing purple spots before his eyes into submission, Steve could see the flashlight's beam methodically sweeping the rafters of the staggered three-peaked structure. Judging from where the beam originated from, Low Light was cautiously descending from the bell tower's ladder-like stairs at the back of the church, off to one side of the main doors. He made his way to the sanctuary from the far side of the pews, shining his light up the central peak as he approached. Steve could just make out a heavy cloud of dust floating down from the conical ceiling over the pews.

In the silence, a curious, rhythmic slapping could be heard and the dry, weak rustling of something fluttering against wood.

Low Light stopped in the sanctuary area, shining his light directly above into the lower pyramid shaped ceiling. Almost reluctantly, he looked around, staring hard at the unbroken window above the altar, as if expecting it to shatter. "I...don't think anything else is coming down," he finally announced. "It's safe."

"Low Light, what happened," Steve demanded.

The beam flicked down to rest on a pale Father Drozd, who sat ungracefully in the aisle under a rain of dust, tightly clutching a pile of old, yellowed maps to his chest. Just in front of him, still thrashing against the side of a wooden pew, was a large snake, impaled through the head by a hunting knife. The blade had caught it below the lower jaw, piercing the brainpan, leaving nothing behind but the muscle spasms of death throes, giving it the illusion of life.

Father Drozd sneezed, then smiled weakly and waved a hand to show he was fine.

"Blunt-nose viper," Low Light told them as the others hurried to Father Drozd. "It gets too hot in the summer, so they hunt at night." He eyed the twitching snake respectfully. "This is one of the biggest I've ever seen."

"'The snake men find it amusing to leave us their pets,'" Jaye translated for the shaky Father Drozd as Steve and Duke helped him to a less grizzly pew to sit for a moment. "'The church is old, full of hiding places for these things. It is not the first time I was nearly bit...though,'" he glanced up, "'it is the first time one nearly fell on me.'" He looked at Low Light and moved his hand in a blessing. "'Thank you, my son.'"

"What the hell was that thing doing up there," Fury demanded, glaring at the ceiling.

"It's a rafter climber," Low Light told him as he passed Jaye his flashlight and crawled under the pews. After a moment he crawled back out, holding something very carefully in his hands. "A bird-eater," he whispered, showing them the snake's intended prey. It was small thing, no bigger than Low Light's hands. It's pin-sharp talons kicked out feebly and it's curved beak opened and closed silently. Blood pumped too rapidly from four deep gashes in its little chest. "Very poisonous."

"Poor thing," Jaye sighed as she looked at the small bird, its movements slowing. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah," Low Light said. "It is." He gently tilted the bird back, mindful of its pain.

"What is it," she asked.

"A kestrel," Low Light whispered, cradling it's little head on the web between his thumb and index finger. "A sparrow-hawk." With a touch as delicate as falling snow, Low Light curled his thumb and finger into the soft, warm feathers...and snapped the hawk's neck.

"A bad omen."