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CHAPTER FIVE – FALLOUT

PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER: "Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." Napoléon Bonaparte – Corsican-born French General, political leader, First Consul of the French Republic and Emperor of France – 1769-1821

Last Updated: 09-21-2021

LOKI'S PRIVATE CHAMBERS, ÍSSTÓLL, TONSBERG, NORWAY, MARCH 21st, 2012 – MORNING (GM+2)

Lady Sif was not happy.

No one liked to be roused from a sound sleep, especially after a good feast and magical ritual. Her mood wasn't made better to learn of Fandral's death and of Volstagg's disappearance. For centuries the Warriors Three was more often than not actually the Warriors Four as she was usually in their company adventuring or doing the All-Father's commands.

Now, however, Sif's ire was that Loki was raging and it was expected for her and Þrúðr to just stand there and take it all while the prince ranted and raved.

"I am gone not a quarter of a day and things fall apart!" Loki fumed. He turned and pointed at Þrúðr, "And you! Why weren't you here? As a princess of Asgard, it should have been your duty to be here in my stead!"

It was obvious to Sif that she wasn't the only one unhappy with Loki's anger being directed at everyone but himself. Þrúðr face might have been made of Uru metal like her father's hammer for all the emotion she was showing. Sif knew this meant Þrúðr was furious.

"I was not here, my lord prince, because I was with Lady Sif. I felt she would appreciate the company to help her get through what is supposed to be a joyous time when she was still grieving for lost Hogun," Þrúðr said tightly.

Before Loki could continue, she added, "Even so, if not for that, I would not have been here anyway. I would have led one of our armies in their celebrations to help boost morale. With all of the noble lords here, and Fandral and Volstagg as well, my being there would have done little else but be another person filling a seat the feast table."

Loki's eyes seemed to burn, "Is that so? Perhaps if you'd been here, doing your duty, there might be more of Dashing Fandral! Instead, there is barely aught left of one of Asgard's greatest heroes to fill a bucket!"

"Be that as it may, my lord prince," Þrúðr said, her voice tinted with anger. "I refuse to apologize for seeing to Lady Sif in her time of mourning. As one of the greatest generals of this host, it would bode ill for her to be distracted in the face of the foe."

"Distracted?" Loki practically shouted, "You mewling quim! The halls of Valhalla are filled with warriors Lady Sif has outlived! You dishonor her by implying that even the death of such a boon companion would keep her from doing her duty! No! Yesterday's debacle might have been averted had you been here! Instead you were off cavorting with the enemy before rushing off to hide behind Lady's Sif's skirt!

In a flash, Þrúðr had Járnbjörn off her back and brandished towards Loki, "Have a care, uncle. I am just as much Æsir royalty as you! More so as I have a direct, blood-tie to the All-Father! I will let no one, not even you, slander me so! I might not be my father, but my blood can burn just as hot and like my father, I can bring low a God of Mischief!"

"Enough! Both of you!" Sif bellowed as she moved between the two. She was grateful the three were the only ones in the room at the moment. "Loki! Your words are beneath you!" She turned to Þrúðr, "And you forget your station!"

Loki sneered, "It is you who are forgetting your station! I should have the both of you broken for this!"

Sif turned back to Loki, her eyes burning as much as Þrúðr's had. "Lie-Smith, you forget who you are talking to if you think I am afraid of you. I've proven myself against you and your trickery since we were both children. Yet more importantly, you have no hold over me or Princess Þrúðr!"

"I am king here!" Loki all but sputtered. "The All-Father agrees as well."

Sif shook her head, "That may be true. However, you forget that I and my warband were already on the way to Midgard to seek redress for Thor's death. Seeing you gathering the host, I agreed to delay my wrath so as to show a unified front. I never agreed to put myself or my people under your direct command. I offered up my services as general. If you find that agreement not to your liking, then by all means dismiss me from this duty I took up freely. Then I and my warband will leave along with Princess Þrúðr as she had come to me asking to join my oath-sworn to avenge her father's death."

Loki's face was like that of a man drinking what he expected to be sweet honey-mead only to find vinegary wine instead.

Sif poked him in the chest, "And she was not cavorting with the enemy. She was there on my orders to settle the debt of honor between her and the Captain. A debt which needed to be cleared so she could strike him down and avenge her father. For you and I both know if she had not done so, tongues would wag that she was just as dishonorable as her mother. So if you wish to rage about her being there, then rage at me for doing my job to ensure my people can fulfill their oaths and not stain their honor doing it!"

Before he could do much more than take in a breath before speaking, there was a loud rap at the door which then opened and a very grave faced Guðmundr entered. He had his hands before him as if holding in an insect.

Sif quickly returned to Þrúðr side who was just as quickly stashing her axe to its resting place on her back.

Loki let out a tired sigh, "Guðmundr, you have the face of one who bears ill news."

Guðmundr stopped to Sif's left and gave a bow from the waist while keeping his hands before him, "I do, my lord. However, at least this ill news answers one of the mysteries of yesterday. We finally found the fate of Volstagg. His fate was…easy to miss, sadly."

Loki's face brightened slightly. As bad as the news might be, it was better than the mystery they had been left with given Volstagg's axe was the only thing of him which had been found. "I take it that all of the Warriors Three have been gathered to their ancestors? What is that you hold? Some token left by those wretched Midgardians to taunt us over the death of our heroes?"

Guðmundr looked to his right and licked his lips. Sif's heart sank at this. Whatever had happened had to be bad. Especially given how horrifically poor Fandral the Dashing had been brought low.

"Nay, my Lord. It is…well…" Guðmundr took his left hand away, revealing the right hand held a small…something."

"Well? What have you?" Loki asked impatiently.

His impatience quickly vanished as Sif gave a moan of utmost horror and grief and almost fell to her knees. "By those that Sit Above in Shadow! Oh poor Volstagg! My most boisterous and boastful of friends! Curse the whim that made the All-Father send Thor to this wretched place that would lead us to this horror!"

Loki came closer and he too couldn't help to give out a gasp. In his aide's hand was the shrunken corpse of what had been the much loved Volstagg the Voluminous. A famous warrior now crushed as if an ant under a boot.

Þrúðr face was ashen, "My lord prince, have you such magicks which can return him to his rightful size? How can we honor him when his funeral byre would be aught but a candle flame?"

Loki was silent for a moment before his niece's question penetrated what he was looking at, "What? I…I am unsure. Still, if not I, certainly my mother should be able to make it so. If that fails, I am sure Queen Freya or perhaps her vassal, Queen Karnilla should be able to bring him back to himself before his warrior's funeral."

Sif looked to Loki and gestured to the body, "May I have leave to attend to this…and to that of Fandral's…remains? In life, we had saved each other many times over. I owe all three to see they are dealt with honor in death."

Loki nodded, "You have my leave to depart." He was well aware of how badly Hogun's body had been mutilated. It even now was encased in magical ice he had conjured. It was felt best to hold his funeral till after the Ostara rituals. What would have been one funeral rite now would be one for the Warriors Three together. It seemed fitting, however, that those inseparable in life would all join each other together in death.

Sif knelt on one knee before taking Volstagg's tiny corpse from Guðmundr. The two quickly left, leaving uncle and niece to stare at one another.

Finally Þrúðr asked, "I wish to speak freely, uncle."

Loki sighed and sat down in his chair he spent far too much time in reading reports. He realized that Odin's study was probably more of a cage to the All-Father than Loki could have dreamed possible. He had always loved that room as a child. Now he could see that Odin spent less time there for his own amusement there but instead doing his kingly duties away from the eyes of the court.

He poured himself a stiff drink popular in Vanaheim, "Very well. At least you asked. Your father rarely ever gave me the same courtesy."

Þrúðr's face didn't flinch at the slight against her father, "Then why do you continue to act like him?"

Loki looked up with a blink of surprise, "I beg your pardon?"

Þrúðr crossed her arms, "You heard me, uncle. Yet let me make my mind clear for I can see the forces which conspire to make it so. You grew up different than my father and most of the nobles. While so many others were out on the pitch, honing their war arts, you were with my grandmother, learning the mystic arts. A fine thing given Asgard is filled with proven warriors but few sorcerers."

Loki was surprised at this odd topic, "Yes. I will admit there be truth in such."

Þrúðr nodded, "For all that my father slew of our Jotun kin, he might as well been a giant in that his shadow was long. You and many others were always in that shadow. My mother may have died because too many thought she brought disgrace to someone of my father's stature. So I know more than most how you must have felt growing up. Always having your worth being weighed not for your own worth alone but always in comparison to that of the Mighty Thor."

Loki's eye's almost slitted closed as anger rose up in him. Still, Þrúðr's words were true. Little he did was ever good enough for the nobility or for Odin. "How does this relate to you thinking I am acting like your father?"

Þrúðr gestured to the room around here, "Look around, uncle. To this palace and the like. I do not deny that as King of Midgard that you do not deserve such, but why rush to build it before you were sure of your rule? No. Others would simply say it was your pride and vanity being expressed. I, however, feel you needed to show others that you could be a king like they expected. A king like the All-Father. A king like how my father might have ruled."

Loki didn't respond because he realized she was right. While his vanity certainly had been a factor, in the back of his thoughts, ensuring the nobles and warriors saw him in a kingly manner had been important.

"My lord, I've watched you as you have attempted to rule over Midgard. You have done so more in the manner of my father. You meet every challenge with force of arms. You are quick to anger. Your anger tonight might as well been an echo of many such tirades I saw my father make when I was just a small girl in pigtails. This makes me sad for you are not my father and it pains me to see you act like him," Þrúðr explained.

"And how would you have me act, dear niece," Loki couldn't help but have a sneer evident in his words.

Þrúðr was unfazed, "I would council you to act as you are. Not who you think you should be. Not what Odin or the nobles might think of how you should act. More to the point, all that you are my father's brother in all by name, you are not truly an Odinson. No, you are Loki Fárbautison."

Loki felt anger flare up in him. To learn he was not truly the son of Odin and Frigga was not something he had even come close to coming to grips with. Still, his niece was of Jotun blood. She would be the last to join those in Asgard who had whispered, "Oh course! It explains so much!" when his true parentage had been revealed when he took up the Cask of Ancient Winters before his generals."

Þrúðr went on as she hadn't notice Loki's spark of anger, "Being raised in Asgard cannot remove the fact that you are of Jotun birth. You are the God of Mischief and guile and misdirection are your trade. As heir to the icy realms of Jotunheim, you would do well to remember that deception was very much in keeping with your ancestors ways. Like the ice can baffle those with tricks of light, confusing them, distracting them of the danger of the cold till their corpses litter the icy plains."

Þrúðr walked to the wall that held a map of Midgard. She gestured to it, "They are many and we are few. Yet in years long past, the ice came grinding down from the north. Slow but unstoppable. That is what path I feel you need to take, uncle. To tune out the cries of the warriors who want quick, bloody victory. Let my own Jotun family history show how force of arms often leads to nothing but ruin. Ironic that the last two members of the various Jotun royal families were both raised in Asgard."

Loki nodded at that. Their Jotun kin had, in the end, done more damage in fighting each other than the Æsir had ever inflected on them. He made a gesture for his niece to continue.

Þrúðr patted the knife at her belt, "It is the nature of the Æsir to reach first for the blade. Instead, work your own brand of mischief to baffle our enemies. Let our forces slowly, inexorably grind down our foes like glaciers. Till now, you have played that part as my father would have. It has not worked. So now I counsel it is the time to remind the host and the Midgardians how you came to be the God of Mischief. One whose lies and trickery are known throughout the Nine Realms. Take Midgard as your kingdom through your own talents and not try to be something you are not."

Loki had to smile. He knew his niece well enough to know she was not trying to stroke his ego. Like Lady Sif, she was always as blunt as a sharp blow to the head. "Do you have any suggestions to make this happen, General Þrúðr?"

Þrúðr bowed her head, "I would not presume to tell a Trickster how to trick. However, I would say this. Many Midgardians do welcome your rule. Too many live in lands which were treated as mere cows to be milked with little to show for it. Instead of raging at the rebels, look to those who would join our cause if the proper story was sung to them."

Þrúðr gave Loki a sly look, "I am told that you have a lovely singing voice."

Loki could not help but laugh at this.

Þrúðr smiled but then her face turned serious again, "You can never hope to match my late father in force of arms. Yet there is no doubt that even the Mighty Thor would be blundering in the dark to work it so that today's foes could become tomorrow's allies. I know from my travels so far, many see the rebels as not fighting for their freedom. Nay, they seem them as wanting to remove us so they can put the shackles of slavery back onto them again. I am but a royal shieldmaiden but it seems the soil here is fertile for the right farmer to till with the proper finesse. Who better to till such soil than God of Mischief himself?"

Loki's face broken into an evil smile. Who indeed?

XxXxX

SECRET LAB, HARLEM, NEW YORK, UNITED STATES, APRIL 16th, 2011 – EVENING

Dr. Samuel Sterns adjusted a dial and looked at a nearby screen. Seeing the numbers match up to the specs he wanted, he grunted in satisfaction. He turned to the woman strapped to the table. This was something he wasn't quite satisfied with even though he'd agreed to it.

Stern walked over and looked down at the woman, "Jennifer, I know we've gone over it many times but we're reaching the point of no return. I cannot guarantee anything. You are most likely to die here on this table. Worse, you could become some horrible abomination. The world can't afford a mindless Hulk who fights friend and foe alike. Please, reconsider."

Jennifer Walter's eyes flashed, "Sam, can we not do this again? I am committed. This whole thing came about because Loki took advantage of his brother's death. Well to get his revenge for his kin's death, his forces have killed all of mine. Well, Pym killed Bruce but it's all related. I'm the last of both sides of my family. The Asgardians made sure of that. It's up to me to avenge my family's deaths. Even if my family and all the others should have known better to trust the word of a man named Skurge the Executioner."

Another woman came up to the table, "Sam, let it go. Jennifer's right. Besides, if it wasn't for my contention that the similarity in her DNA to Bruce's makes her the ideal candidate for this, I'd be the one strapped to the table." Betty Ross' face was impassive but there was fire in her eyes. "Like Jennifer, I'm the last of my family too. Those Asgardians need to know what it means to let the daughter of Thunderbolt Ross escape his death at their hands. Jennifer will be my stand-in to get justice for my family and so many others."

Jennifer smiled at Betty before turning back to Sterns, "Sam, I'm not a big believer in Fate, but it does feel like I was meant to be here for this. I was only in New York due to a last minute change of venue of the convention I needed to attend when the Asgardians came. Or how things always came up which prevented me from getting back to Los Angeles."

Jennifer's smiled faded and she looked away from both of them. "What are the odds that literally bumping into a blind man led to me falling in love? To think that perhaps there was a silver lining in all of this only to watch him die in the Battle of New York?"

Jennifer turned back to Sterns, her eyes blazing, "Furthermore, what are the odds that I, the Hulk's cousin, would find love with a secret super-hero? The devil of Hell's Kitchen no less. The one who died there trying to help people as always. It's not just my family I have to avenge. Hell's Kitchen lost their protector that night. Plus, with Luke and Jessica gone off with the rebels, Harlem is already sliding back into the hands of the crime gangs. For them and for Matt's memory, I need this to happen."

Sterns sighed, "I understand, Jennifer. I'm just worried this might not work out as you hope. However, it's obvious your mind is made up so then let's do this. Betty, if you'd step back again. All it takes now is just a press of a button to begin. Now Jennifer, I cannot stress enough how important it is to maintain total focus. While Betty brought in the critical component of Bruce's blood, it's her experience with the Hulk that shows emotion is the key element here. Save your rage and anger for the Asgardians. Right now you need to concentrate on Jennifer Walters so you hopefully won't end up a mostly mindless rage monster like the Hulk was."

Jennifer nodded, "I will, Sam. I don't want all those hours of meditation I've gone through of late go to waste. Besides, I'm a lawyer. I know how to stay on task."

Betty laughed, "Don't say that. You being a lawyer is a point towards you becoming an evil abomination like Sam said!"

Jennifer stuck her tongue out at Betty before she closed her eyes and obviously centered herself. After some minutes, she quietly said, "I'm ready."

Sterns pressed the button, "Good luck, Jennifer."

Minutes later, it seem to Sterns that luck wasn't in the cards as a green, muscular woman stared down at him from the wreckage of the table and some of the lab. Her eyes filled with rage, her chest heaving with deep breaths and fists clenched. Betty too was looking on, waiting to see if this new Hulk would be their deaths.

Suddenly, the green giant closed her eyes and took a deep breath and held it. She let it out and opened her eyes and looked at her reflection in a mirror-like section of polished metal which made up one of Sterns' machines. In a deep, but pleasant voice, she said, "Well, I always wondered what my hair would look like black."

"Jennifer?" Betty cautiously asked as she ventured nearer.

"I'm still here, Betty. Even if I'm somewhat of a She-Hulk at the moment, I'm still me." She looked down at her nude form with only a few scraps of her previous clothing still clinging to her. "In fact, there is a lot more of me now."

Sterns tore his eyes off the nude woman's body. It was difficult as a scientists and a healthy male. While the Hulk had been almost cartoonish in proportions, Jennifer (or perhaps he should say She-Hulk?) still looked like a normal, well-muscled woman.

As long as one ignored she was green and towered over them.

Her musculature remind Sterns of pictures of how Steve Rodgers had looked before and after undergoing the process which made him Captain America. Jennifer had barely reached 5'2" and been petite to match. Now she towered at just under 7" tall with muscles which fit her frame but did nothing to take away from her beauty. Trying to get the images of those green breasts out of his mind, Sterns quickly went to look for something she could wear.

While he did that, Jennifer idly reached down and brought up the steel rails from the ruined lab bed. She crushed it easily. She looked to where Betty was watching, a smile of triumph on the other woman's face.

"Well Betty, it looks like I get to go avenging for us both!"

Sterns had to shiver at the cackling laugh from both women as it echoed through the lab.

XxXxX

UNDERGROUND SECTION, CAMP LEHIGH, NEW JERSEY, UNITED STATES, APRIL 18th, 2012 – MORNING

Steve groaned as the door to his hospital room opened, "Fury, I already gave a report. I'm sort of busy trying not to feel like my guts aren't going to pop out."

Peggy gave fury a scowl as well, "Really Nicholas? If you had but just asked me earlier, I could have gotten anything you need over the course of the next few hours. Steve has never been able to not tell me how a mission went."

Fury gave Peggy Carter a flat look even as he was amazed the magical apple Rodgers had given her was continuing to make her younger. Currently she looked about how she did in the SHIELD files regarding when Pym had stormed in to SHIELD, punched Mitchell Carlson and resigned back in 1989. Give it a few more weeks and she'd be back to looking like she had in her twenties.

"Look Peggy, I'm sure you could. However, I don't have those few hours. We've got three teams going out and I need to know how the enemy is adapting. I need to hear Captain Rodger's perspective."

Steve groaned again, the pain burning through the medication. He hadn't been kidding about his guts. Even though his team got him out, Steve knew it had been close. If Bucky hadn't showed up when he did, Steve knew he'd be dead.

Peggy looked concerned as she saw Steve shut his eyes and shudder. She could easily guess what he was thinking about. The video they had been able to upload from one of the dead agent's body-cam had been chilling. Seeing Steve being held by a group of warriors, trying to keep him still while their leader struck Steve in the stomach. Beyond the blunt trauma, the third strike had cut through enough of his armor that Steve would have died if it hadn't been for Sharon. If not for her grand-niece Sharon having a full field surgery kit to use on him after Bucky rallied the team to save Steve, Peggy doubted he would have survived the trip to the nearest medical facility.

Finally Steve wheezed out, "Look, all I can say is remember how I said if it wasn't for my fame, I'd rather do this outside the Captain America role?"

Fury nodded, "I do."

Steve winced again, "Well I think the Western worlds want for cheap stuff is what bit us in the ass. Loki's gotten smart. He's using our old grievances between nations against us. He's making it seem like we're not fighting to free everyone. We're just wanting to kick the Asgardians out so we can go back to running the planet. Our op was burned by the locals, Fury. The Asgardians had time to prepare."

"Director Fury, I must ask you and Frau Carter to leave. I realize the good Captain has vital intelligence. Yet it will do you no good if he is dead. I need to sedate him before we can begin the process."

Fury didn't need to turn to know the voice. While it came from a robotic body, it sounded almost exactly as Dr. Arnim Zola had sounded when he was alive. Of course, Fury had heard the heavier footsteps approaching. He might be missing an eye but his hearing was still good.

Now, however, he was a man-sized robot as if one of Tony's suits had been designed to look human. The body was mostly smooth and lacking any overt mechanisms. Any there might be were covered by the white lab coat Zola wore. Only the face was striking. Instead of a human face, it was just a smooth surface with Zola's face (even with glasses!) projected onto it.

Steve looked pained, "You sure about this, Zola?"

Zola made hand motion towards his face before quickly bringing it back down as if he had been caught doing something naughty. Both Fury and Peggy tried not to smirk as it was amusing to see Zola unconsciously falling into old habits. Peggy had told Fury that the former HYDRA scientist had had a habit of pushing his glasses back up before lecturing.

"Am I sure, Captain Rodgers? No. However in science nothing is sure. I do believe the chances are excellent that the Paragon Serum will keep you from a very long convalescence. The models show very low risk of any other symptoms. While it will bolster the Serum already in you, it is subordinate, if you will, to it.

"That's good, I guess," Steve mused, the pain on his face still evident to all in the room.

Zola brought his hand up to his chin, "Perhaps you might see a slight increase in strength, speed and endurance. However, given your time in the ice, your abilities may have been degraded. Unlike everyone but the good Frau Carter here, I remember what you were like in the War. I believe you are not what you were. Thus I do feel the Paragon Serum will not only speed up your already formidable healing ability but to correct you back to what you once were."

"Interesting," Peggy said thoughtfully. "I had felt Steve seemed somewhat slower in footage after he came out of the ice. I thought it was just me being old and not remembering things right."

After a pointed look from Zola before he began to work on Steve, Peggy got up and motioned Fury to follow her. Once in an empty office, she leaned up against the desk, folder her arms and sighed. "You don't need Steve to give you the run-down. Frankly Steve is too soon out of the ice to realize how bad it actually is."

Fury cocked his head to the side, "And how is it that bad?"

Peggy frowned, "Fury, you and I both had our fingers on the pulse on the world. We worked to keep it safe. Yet we both know that 'safe' was a relative term. Many places in the world suffered greatly due to the Cold War. Afghanistan is but the most recent and visible examples. Steve doesn't know that it just wasn't the Cold War. It was also the economic exploitation that never stopped simply because countries like Britain lost control of their colonial empire."

Fury sighed. He had been afraid it would be something like this, "Shit. I should have seen that coming. The Congo was ignored by pretty much everyone while competing corporations fanned tribal flames to keep things in chaos. Or when that wasn't working out, well there were always plenty of mercenaries willing to do some dirty work. All so they could come in and grab all those sweet, sweet, rare minerals everyone needs for their iPhones and Play-Stations and not have to pay triple what they cost now."

Peggy nodded grimly, "Exactly. I believe Loki realized that his armies are limited and he's outnumbered by the huge population of Earth. So, why not use those numbers? Make use of those who the Western World had treated poorly. Countries that had been used in the proxy war between NATO and the Warsaw Pact for so long. We both know the end of the Cold War did nothing to hoover up all the weapons both sides had given out to their allies as bribes."

Fury put his hands to his hips and sighed, "And now along comes King Loki promising to do right by them as well as shower all sorts of goodies on them. Goodies they are desperate for."

Peggy frown deepened, "And so when we show up to stop the Asgardians, it's easy for them not to see us as the good guys."

"Damn!" Fury swore, "It's Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq all over again. The optics are always against us. No matter how good our intentions are, we always end up the bad guys."

Peggy sighed, "Of course they are. Our mission is to protect the world. Yet we weren't allowed to protect the world from the likes of greedy capitalists."

"Careful there, Comrade Marx," Fury quipped with a sly smile.

Peggy laughed, "Please! A lot of us Europeans have tried to walk back from the evils of capitalism. Yet here we are, reaping what we sowed that we could not pay a decent wage to foreign workers for their nation's wealth or for their worker's labor. Loki doesn't have to be the God of Mischief that much to paint us the villains. We already cast ourselves that way by declaring we were the good guys."

Fury nodded, "All the while they only saw us when we were in their house, being the bad guys. This is going to really roll us back. Loki's going to be able to get into the places we had hoped they'd stay away from."

Peggy shook her head, "It's far worse than that. Now it will be almost a recruitment area. How long before some greedy Quisling steals or copies our armor designs? Or some rogue HYDRA cell switches sides? Given their love of all things Teutonic and Aryan, being ruled by the Asgardians might seem a better thing that letting the likes of us win the world back."

The one-time SHIELD director felt liked he'd been punched in the gut. Carter was absolutely right. It was a very real danger. For all his vaunted cynicism, he still have had been foolish to think that humanity would unite against the Asgardians. Fury felt like he needed a drink. A very stiff drink. "Motherfucker;" he said under his breath, "I'm getting far too old for this shit."

XxXxX

LAL QILA (RED FORT), OLD DELHI, INDIA, APRIL 19th, 2012 – EVENING

Lady Sif looked out at the city from one of the fort's many balconies. The sun had set and the air was rapidly cooling. Below her, the lights of the city were coming on and the hustle of the day time was becoming the hum of the night-life. She couldn't help but wonder how many of her enemies were out there, staring back at her? They were there, Sif was sure. And how not? The literal millions of mortals provided the perfect cover.

Lady Sif's lips quirked at that. Þrúðr had done something seemingly impossible. Whatever she had said to Loki had made the would be king of Midgard to change his tactics. Tactics which caused grumbling among the ranks. This grumbling was not echoed by the various leaders and generals. Within days of new proclamations and interviews via Midgardian media, Sif had seen a change. In fact, it was shocking how quickly so many had turned on the rebel fighters where previously there had almost been a strong undercurrent of outright approval.

Captain America had gone from being hailed as the hero who best represented the chance of freedom from Asgardian rule to quickly being pilloried as the representation of the old ways of predatory capitalism and Western Imperialism. It did not help his name and uniform was synonymous with one of the more predatory of countries in the eyes of many.

So much so that within a week, scores of mortals began to volunteer to help, to give information and to watch for the rebels. Sif liked to think that the rebels had probably had it easy time spying on her amongst the faceless masses of Delhi. Now? Now she was almost certain they were hiding out more from their own people than Sif's warriors.

Let the young warriors grumble about the change in tactics. Sif knew that victory was never shamed after the fact. Those same men discounting the current tactics would be the first to boast being a part of it back in Asgard after Loki truly became King of Midgard.

Sif looked down at the various vendors which had sprung up around their base. Where once the mortals had kept their distance, now they flocked around their bases. With just the right honey-tongued words, Loki had swiftly turned the tables. Þrúðr's advice to be true to himself had been the correct one, Sif was sure of it.

Maybe Loki had been right after all. It was in the Midgardian's nature to kneel. For it was apparent they turned on each other at a whim and thus instinctively knew they needed a firm hand from above.

Sif cared not one way or another. Loki would be hard pressed to be a worst ruler to the mortals than most of the ones the Midgardians had suffered under for centuries. Even Fimbulwinter Friday had been a swift death with none of the lingering suffering, disease and famine so prevalent in war.

Sif looked up to the waning gibbous moon overhead. No; all she cared about now was to discharge her duty enough that she could in good conscience take her warband home. Midgard had already taken Thor and the Warriors Three along with many of the best warriors of the Nine Realms. She would be happy to be shot of it.

The door behind her open. Her ears told her that her main general had come to find her. "Please tell me you are not here bearing bad news, Björn. It seems one cannot have a moment to themselves without an ill wind blowing in."

Jarl Björn came up and stood next to her. His smiling face gave Sif's heart a lift. "Nay, my Lady. I do come with good news. We have just gotten word from one of our warbands in the African lands that they have repulsed an attack by rebels led by the Captain. While they took heavy losses in doing so, they managed to gravely injure the Captain before his fellows rescued him and broke contact. A retreat seen by the locals and obviously almost a rout by our forces."

Sif nodded, "That is good news indeed. Were they surprised or had they some warning?"

Björn's smile grew wider, "They had warning, my Lady. Many of the locals sent word of the rebels coming. Without such, I fear our forces would not have prevailed."

"Be sure to spread the word of this," Sif ordered. "Too many of our host mutter into their beer about our new tactics. I would rather let the mortals do our work for us. There will always be chances for our warriors to gain honor. Sadly, our losses here will surely tempt Asgard's enemies to take some action. That will give the younger ones all the opportunities they could ever wish for."

Björn nodded, his smile fading, "Aye and we will need to be swift in putting down such probing actions to prove that the Realm Eternal will not stand for such and has the power to keep the peace."

Sif looked back up at the moon. Her thoughts drifting back to Asgard. A thought struck her and she turned back to Björn, "Do you know if Princess Þrúðr has heard this news?"

Her general nodded, "She has, my Lady. She saw me on my way here. She asked me why I looked so happy."

Sif raised an eyebrow, "And her response to the news?"

Björn laughed, "What you would expect. She simply said it was good that the Captain had survived. She didn't want some other to steal her chance to avenge her father's honor by killing the Captain before she could."

Sif merely nodded at this. She knew her daughter (and that is how she thought of her) mouthed the right words but Sif could still tell the Captain tugged at her maiden's heart. Not that this surprised her. Even to Sif's jaded eyes, the Captain was more than pleasing in form. That and after being roused from a death-like sleep, he had taken up and been found worthy of the power of Thor. His deeds since then have always been that of a hero. Even the meanest warriors of the host had to admit the Captain was an honorable foe.

Sif dismissed Björn and told him she would meet him and the other generals to plan on how this news could be taken advantage of at the striking of the next bells.

After her general left, Sif went back to the ledge of the balcony and watched the mortals below. Her sharp, warrior eyes caught sight of two mortals hugging, the man twirling the woman around before kissing her with obvious ardor.

Sif smiled at the sight. She knew Þrúðr would deny it but Sif knew in her heart that Þrúðr would give much to be in such an embrace with the Captain. She also knew the maiden would be grateful not to have to kill him, her father's honor be damned. In that, Sif could agree. She had known Thor her entire life and born his two sons. Even if they rarely saw eye-to-eye and he had been an absent father, Sif knew he would be secretly pleased the Captain had taken up his hammer in order to defend the people of Midgard. Thor always had such a soft heart for this wretched place.

In fact, Sif would wager the price of the best wine in Queen Freya's wine cellar Þrúðr hoped her uncle would succeed and that the Captain would flee to the Nine Realms to live the life of a warrior for hire. Perhaps taking some others of these Avengers with him to escape Loki's justice. There was plenty of coin to be had for a virtuous hero and his warriors. Even Odin's Peace did not reach all and many a people in the Nine Realms were in need of saving. With the Warriors Three gone, there would be a need for such adventurers who could be trusted not to exploit them in their time of need.

Sif chuckled softly to herself. She could well imagine how Þrúðr might dream of such a fate for the Captain. A fate which would allow her to meet up with him in peace. Especially since he himself had told him of how he would live a long life. Certainly Þrúðr dreamed of wooing the hero with such piercing blue eyes into her bed. If things were different, Sif might consider doing the same. Good bed-sport was hard to find, especially for a strong-willed woman such as herself. Most days she was content to lie with other shieldmaidens for they did not need their egos stroked or soothed. That and such woman rarely would boast of their deeds in bed. A habit far too many men she'd hope to have a pleasant night with were wont to do.

Sif chuckled again but then her face became melancholy. While a good story, such a life of a hero for hire was unlikely for one such as the Captain. It was in the nature of such men that they would sacrifice themselves for their cause. The star-spangled hero had done this once already and was saved from Death's embrace by chance alone. That and vengeful Loki would never allow such a thorn to him be allowed to live. Even if the Captain made it off Midgard, Loki's assassins would one day bring the man down. Loki's pride would demand it.

The daughter of her heart would have to find some other hero to give her love to for the Norns rarely let such a hero as Captain America survive to grow old and die abed surrounded by a loving family. Nay, a glorious death in battle or inglorious death from the shadows was all but certain for Þrúðr's secret crush.

XxXxX

OLD CITY, PHILADELPHIA, Pennsylvania, UNITED STATES, MAY 5th, 2011 – AFTERNOON

Captain John Walker felt cursed.

For the third time since the coming of the Asgardians, he had led troops against them. For the third time he was the only survivor. Or at least the only survivor until the fire which was coming closer to where he was trapped. He was pinned under debris from the building he'd been using as cover before it had been hit. He hoped the smoke inhalation would get him before the fire did.

As death crept closer, John found himself being surprisingly at peace given he had been a bundled of repressed rage for months. While it had been an honor to lead the men he had, it had always rankled John that he had been turned down to become enhanced. Winning a Medal of Honor for bravery apparently had worked against him. Instead of getting him to the front of the queue, he'd been told he was too good of a leader to become mostly a solo agent.

John gave a watery laugh. He was sure he had blood or some fluid in his lungs from his injury so the noise didn't rattle him. No, he found it bitterly amusing that Fury and the rest had praised his ability to command soldiers under fire only to send him out and have him loose those he had led.

It was something of a miracle John had survived the Battle of New York. He had been tasked to ensure certain VIPs were extracted safely. The Asgardians had just started really assimilating who possible threats to Loki's rule might be. So John and a platoon of Rangers had gone into Harlem to locate and rescue one Samuel Sterns, a noted scientists who had done work similar to Dr. Bruce Banner. Due to this connection, it was hoped that Dr. Betty Ross might be hiding with him. Her time with the same Dr. Banner made her a potential valuable asset.

John watched as the flames danced as they grew closer. It reminded him of all the fires in Harlem that night. Watching in horror as some huge Asgardian warrior had grabbed onto a burning brownstone at its corner and caused it to come crashing down on one of his squads. He had already, by that time, lost most of his platoon. He would have joined the rest as they were killed if not for the intervention of an enhanced John had been briefed about. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

He got John away but in the end even the Devil himself didn't survive. John had seen him struck down trying to get just a few more civilians to safety. John's injuries had kept him from helping. All he could do was hit his emergency beacon and hope for extraction.

And what punishment did he receive for this failure? He had been promoted to captain! Captain America himself had pinned his rank on him! The legend had told him how the post-battle analysis had shown the John and his men had the bad luck to run right into a main avenue of advance by the Asgardians as they worked to stop the rebels. How even Fury had been impressed how John had not panicked and had withdrawn in good order before things went south.

John laughed bitterly again. Withdrawn in good order. That was almost exactly what had happened when he led a company in a diversionary attack to cover getting specialized equipment and materials from a Roxxon facility and nearby Hammer Industries complex. They had attacked the Asgardian patrols in the area and had retreated as planned to lure them away from the real mission objective.

Only to have the damned Bifrost dumped Asgardian reinforcements almost right on top of his men! A huge, bald-headed Asgardian with head tattoos and a huge ax had swatted him away like an annoyance as John had unloaded an entire clip into the man's chest. Like John wasn't even worthy of being killed by the warrior's axe. In this case, that disdain had worked in John's favor. The force of the blow had tossed him into a drainage ditch which flowed into a nearby stream. The Asgardians either thought he was dead or just didn't care about one wounded mortal.

John had awoken to find himself alone, the area burning. It seemed to him that the Asgardians felt if the area was worth the rebels raiding, it was worth burning. There had been a lot of civilians in all those buildings. He didn't like to think of how low the chances were that they had gotten away. The Asgardians had already shown little hesitation in killing civilians they perceived as working against them.

Since his emergency beacon had been destroyed, John had to carefully look for transport. In finding a company van in good shape (except for the shattered driver-side window where a thrown axe had killed the driver) John had also found the remains of his company. Almost a hundred good men and women, left to rot without a proper burial.

John had hated having to just drive away but there was nothing he could do with broken ribs and a probable concussion. The only thing was to get back to base and get back into the war. Once again, John hadn't been raked over the coals for losing his people. John had wished he had been. It would have made him feel better. He knew it was survivor's guilt but he didn't care. Here he was with the shiny Medal of Honor, a great leader of soldiers who had so far led his people to their deaths only to be called a hero for it.

Some hero!

John tried one more time to get his legs free of the debris which pinned him to the ground. Yet he just didn't have the leverage. He finally sighed and thought that dying across from Liberty Hall wasn't a bad place for an American soldier to die. It would have been better if he and his troops had been able to save the building. Worse was he had watched in horror as a brute of an Asgardian had picked up the Liberty Bell and had hurled it into his troops like some ersatz bowling ball.

Another mission and another failure. At least this time he wouldn't have to write to all the families of the troops he had failed, John thought with a black humor. Doing so had almost broke him. To keep writing how sons and daughters, spouses and parents had fought bravely and died while he alone had survived.

John began to cough as the smoke was starting to get heavy. In a few minutes, John happily surrendered to unconsciousness, glad he wouldn't be awake to burn to death. Even if he did feel he deserved such an agonizing death.

OoOoO

"Soldier! Wake up! Help a brother out here!"

John began to cough as he regained consciousness. To his surprise he found an Iron-Monger suit looming over him, holding up the debris enough to free him.

Instinct kicked in and John got himself free. John found that as he had hoped, he wasn't really injured. He'd just been pinned. He looked around and saw Hammerdroids spraying fire suppressant foam on the nearby buildings.

He turned towards the Iron-Monger suit to thank whoever was driving it.

"Holy shit on a shingle! If it isn't Johnny 'Whiskey' Walker! I can't believe this!" boomed the huge, armored suit.

The helmet area retracted to reveal a grinning black man.

"Fuck me running! Lemar? I can't believe you ended up saving my ass again!" John cried out happily. He knew he was probably still in shock but seeing his old platoon sergeant filled him with happiness.

The NCO grinned, "Of course I did. It's what we sergeants do. Hell, without us officers like you couldn't find north with a map and a compass."

A not-so-distant explosion rumbled through the area. Lemar's grin faded, "John we need to get the fuck out of Dodge. You think you're up for a flight?"

John patted himself down, "I think so. I might be in shock and my lungs are shit right now from the smoke and I think there is some fluid in there as well. Beyond that, I'm go to go."

The Iron-Monger helmet came down with a clang. "Climb up on my back and hang onto my neck. I'll take it easy taking off," came Lemar's voice through the external speaker.

As John climbed on, he noticed the markings on his friend's armor, "Buffalo Soldiers, huh? Aren't you just a tad out of your AO?"

Lemar's laugh sounded tinny through the speakers, "Well we had to stray off the reservation for a while. Things were getting hot down Mexico way. So me and my team got shipped up here. Good thing to. You obviously have been lost without me."

John held on tightly as the Iron-Monger suit roared into the sky. "I think I have," John said to himself as they flew off to the extraction point.

OoOoO

Normally John would be at parade rest while briefing a Colonel even if he was Air Force. Yet he was content to just sit back in a Laz-E-Boy taken from some wrecked house. Lemar had flown them to one of the Philly suburbs that previously seen some fighting. A lot of the city of brotherly love was looking rough. Due to a convergence of factors, this was the second major battle in the city as well as a few minor dust-ups.

Colonel Rhodes was still in his armor with his helmet retracted as he digested John's report. While he did so, John checked out the armor he was wearing. Gone was the bright red & gold paint scheme of Tony Stark. Now it sported a digital camo pattern of various shades of greys. The armor now also sported new weapon pods and other add-ons which went with the name. War Machine. Rhodes had taken back his previous moniker after the death of his replacement. The suit matched the hard look on the Colonel's face.

Finally Rhodes looked over at Lemar who had come in half-way through the briefing. "Battlestar, your take on this?"

The sergeant had shrugged, "I concur with Captain Walker's assessment. While Loki's agitprop program works elsewhere, well we Americans aren't buying it. While bad for us on the ground, the level of…ferocity the Asgardians are showing is telling. I think Captain Walker is correct in feeling that many in the Asgardian ranks aren't onboard with the new touchy-feely program."

"It's not just the rank-and-file, sir," John threw in. "I saw it play out today. Their equivalent of officers and senior NCO's are obviously not even trying to reign their people in. Oh, there was some token efforts at the start of the battle but I think that was more for plausible deniability."

"The boys got their dander up," Rhodes mused.

Both John and Lemar recognized the quote from the movie Gettysburg. "Yes, exactly," John confirmed. "Although it's not just them, sir. When that video of what happened to Captain America hit online…well it might be a hit with collaborators but it's simultaneously pissing off the people here even as it's a big drag on morale. So they are pushing back against the Asgardians. We all know how the Asgardians respond to that."

Rhodes nodded, "Luckily Steve will be back in action sooner rather than later."

John shook his head, "That maybe but the people need their symbols now more than ever." He looked away and licked his lips before turning back with a face filled with purpose, "Sir, look I realize that you just one cog in this wheel like everyone else but I need your help. I can't keep doing this. This is the third time I'm the only survivor. I feel my Medal of Honor is a curse instead of an honor. I need you to help me break the cycle."

Rhodes looked to Lemar briefly. The sergeant looked surprised as well, "What do you think I can do for you, Captain?"

"I got denied entry to the enhancement program. I get it, I'm a good soldier and right now we're still top-heavy with SHIELD type agents instead of soldiers with actual combat experience," John explained. "However, three times I've gone out and three times now I'm the only one coming home. I can't do it anymore. Look, it's like I'm right back in Afghanistan and Iraq again. Both Sergeant Hoskins and I were part of the early missions. Back when we had to jury-rig hillbilly armor onto our vehicles and try to get our troops to up to speed with the mission. It was hard, sir. Our men had been trained as if the Soviets were still going to come storming through the Fulda gap instead for the actual mission at hand. I know you fight with what you have, sir, but right now you're asking soldiers like me and my troops to bring a knife to a gunfight.

Both Rhodes and Hoskins chuckled at that, "Don't you mean bringing a rifle to a magical sword fight, Captain?" Rhodes said lightly.

John blinked before also chuckling, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Even so, I've done the whole 'over-the-top' bit and just like back in the Great War, we're getting cut down every time. It can't go on like this. The people don't realize so many of these brutal tactical losses are actually strategic victories for us. All they see is a lot of dead troops and it's causing them to lose hope."

Rhodes looked to Lemar who looked grim and nodded his agreement to the assessment. "So how do you want me to help change that?" Rhodes asked.

John leaned forward eagerly, "I want to help take up the slack for Captain America. I don't care if I get the nastiest suit we have. I'll paint it up right and be the Iron Patriot and get out there and be seen."

Rhodes was silent so John pressed on, "Or I'll take whatever drug or enhancement process available regardless of the risk. I did a lot of research on Captain America at West Point. I've got some great idea for a U.S. Patriot uniform based off some rejected ideas for the original Captain America suit. I just can't go out there with some body armor and small arms and lead troops back into the Asgardian meat-grinder. I just can't. But I can't walk away from this fight either. Will you help me? Our fellow Americans need a bit of that old Captain America magic right now. I think I can give it to them till Cap gets back into the fight. Please sir, help me make that happen."

Rhodes stayed silent for a moment before nodding, "I don't know about the armor. We're sort of hitting and missing with that. Still with Zola in the mix, we are having more breakthroughs in enhancements. I take your request to Fury himself before some desk warming REMF throws you back into the thick of it, thinking they are doing you a favor."

John's shoulders sagged in relief, "Thank sir. All I'm asking is a chance to do my duty."

Rhodes clapped John on the shoulder, "I know, soldier. It's all a lot of us have left right now. I promise I'll try like hell to get you back in the game right this time."

Rhodes left with a nod to Lemar before leaving. The man gave John a calculating look before grinning, "Your white ass better not get a better suit than mine. Although it would be typical for a blond cracker like you to get the pimped out ride over us black soldiers. Although if you get offered an Exo-7 suit, take it. I got to go on an op with the Falcon and it's a great suit."

John smiled wanly, "Frankly, I'd rather go the juiced route. It's why I joined the infantry. Less machinery to break down on me when things are in the shit. No offense."

Lemar laughed, "Well while I may be sort of a tanker now, I'm more air cav. But yeah, I hear you man. Except for just getting out of the suits, me and my team are helpless without our tech guys. I love all the firepower but yeah, it's not like I can just whip out some duct-tape for a field-expedient fix if things go wrong."

John closed his eyes as the meds he'd been given started to hit him. "Hopefully the Colonel can come through. If they want me to lead from the front, I need a lot more than just a hooah attitude and the right motivational speech.

Lemar saw his old platoon leader slipping into sleep. He gently clapped a hand on his shoulder, "I hear you man. Rest up, Johnny. Maybe you can dream all about being Captain America-lite." Lemar quietly left hoping that when he finally hit the sack that he'd have such a pleasant dream instead of the normal nightmares he'd been having since the coming of the Asgardians.

XxXxX

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Beyond this story getting away from me, scene wise, it hasn't helped that I injured my right thumb right in the place that strikes the space bar. So typing has been painful and slow for that last few days.

Norse Names: Guðmundr is actually a funny name given if you put Guð mundr into Google Translate via Icelandic, it translates to God forbid! In Norse myths, he was a Norse king ruling in Jotenheim. For this story, I see him as being from a line of lesser kings who ruled lands that the Jotun had conquered at one time but then lost. Given how I'm sure that agreeing to be the vassal kings of the Jotun wasn't popular, I can see Guðmundr jumping at the chance to serve as one of Loki's advisors/tutors growing up leading to him finally being Loki's trusted aide.

Netflix MCU: Just a reminder, I've moved up the Netflix shows as mentioned last chapter. In fact, the next chapter will show what Jessica & Luke are up to as they end up in Sokovia. Helping them will be someone whose fate has been seriously changed with the coming of the Asgardians! Also, quick reminder. Given when the Hulk died, Sterns and Blonsky never were able to go through with the actions seen in the later part of the Hulk film.

Military Slang:

NCO: Non-Commissioned Officer. All of the sergeant ranks.

AO: Area of Operations. Pretty much the zone a unit is responsible for.

REMF: Rear-Echelon Motherfucker – Slang given to those who are safely away from the front lines whose mission, it seems, is to make it harder on the front-line troops to accomplish their own mission. An older, World War 2 version was Garritrooper or Garrison Trooper. Someone who stayed in the rear areas instead of being in front-line combat.

A more recent version of this is FOBbits. This OEF/OIF term came from troops who never left the FOB (Forward Operating Base) so except for things like rockets or mortars, weren't in much danger even with being in a war-zone. This especially applied to actual combat arms types.

Of course a lot of people's job (like mine) sort of required this. Still, I went on various inspections of our more forward bases to help integrate our intelligence gathering procedure. One of those mission ended up being high on the pucker factor (the tightness of ones anus in reaction to danger) but beyond a few of previously mentioned rockets lobbed at the base I was on; I never was in direct combat.