"At the core, the American citizen soldiers knew the difference

between right and wrong, and they didn't want

to live in a world in which wrong prevailed."

- Stephen Ambrose

Santa Fe, New Mexico; April 3, 1943

Tony pounded his fist against the PO box, sending a reverberating clang throughout the tiny Santa Fe post office. Knuckles smarting, he rested his forehead against the cool metal of the shelves.

Weeks of digging through government documents and cracking codes had led to this? A tiny, useless mail box in the middle of the desert? Had he broken a score of laws, infiltrated military databases and compromised the security of the government for nothing?

He had uncovered some information about Howard's mysterious trips, but nothing that would somehow get him off the hook with the Germans. From all that he could figure, Howard was doing perfectly mundane business with Clinton Engineer Works processing raw materials. Very vague, but very legal. Nothing surprising or exciting to show Roth and Schwarz, and it was his neck on the line for this one.

"Looking for something?"

Tony's fists clenched, he turned his head to the side and looked to see Howard standing at the end of the hall of boxes, hands in his pockets and tie loosened. That in and of itself was a small miracle – Tony had always thought his father would rather starve than loosen his tie – but now Howard looked totally at ease, a wide smile on his face. Taunting him.

"I know all about it," Tony bluffed, nudging his briefcase with his toe. Above the compartments for his suit were reams of paper he had stolen, desperately trying to connect the dots for Howard's strange activities. "I know about everything. You think you can get away with this?"

"No, I can't. Nearly a half a million people in the program and not a single one gives a peep? Impossible. I didn't know my own son would be the one blowing the whistle on us, though." Howard leaned back on his heels, still grinning broadly in a mood Tony had never seen him in before. He felt destabilized, like the ground was trembling beneath his feet, confusion gripping his mind as he tried to process his father's words.

"Yep, I sure am. You and your cronies are made." Tony crossed his arms, daring Howard to make a move. Leaning back his head, Howard burst into deep laughter, his shoulders shaking as his guffaws echoed down the hallway.

"Tony, my boy. You have no idea what you're talking about, do you?"

Tony felt a flush of anger rising up his neck. "I do too. Offices in Manhattan, Clinton Engineer Works. Nuclear power. And this PO box. It all makes sense. Why so isolated, though?"

Reaching forward, Howard placed a hand on Tony's shoulder. There was no warmth in his grasp, no fatherly affection, like a hand of a dead man. "If you knew what was going on, Tony, you would know why we're located here. Must I spell everything out for you?"

"Spare me," Tony growled, pulling his arm away. "Why are you here?"

Howard's expression turned slightly sour. He reached into his lapel pocket and pulled out a few envelopes, flipping through them casually and looking up at Tony from the bridge of his nose.

"When I found out you were colluding with the Fascists, I was upset, and rightfully so. A government ally whose son is a full-blown traitor? What would happen to the Stark reputation?"

"God forbid I tarnish the Stark reputation."

"Then your trips across the globe nearly end your life in the ocean. Next you're hopping all over occupied Europe. Arrested in Berlin?"

Tony bristled. "How do you know about that?"

"You're not the only one who has contacts in the Gestapo," Howard raised an eyebrow. "And then you try to infiltrate the most secret operation of the war. Rather clumsily so, if I do say so myself. Although getting into the Pentagon was quite impressive, I still don't know how you did that."

"Yeah, good on me for breaking into the Pentagon. You're some parent, y'know?"

"You have mail back at home, you know. If you'd ever stop by and give your dear mother a hug – your narrowly escaping death makes her so worried."

"Don't bring my mother into this."

"Let's see here... A party in the Cotentin, you're invited. And what do we have here? A letter from the Army!" Howard brandished the envelope like it was a weapon, quivering in the air clutched between two of his fingers. "I forgot to wish you a happy eighteenth. You're a man now, Tony."

A knot of fear rested at the bottom of Tony's stomach, as cold and dense as steel. "What are you talking about?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Howard chuckled lightly, but there was no flash of amusement in his dark eyes. "You've been drafted, son. 291st Engineer Combat Battalion. You'll do you your old man proud."

The ground seemed to spin beneath Tony's feet. He placed a hand against the wall of mailboxes to steady himself, unwilling to meet his father's eyes.

He couldn't fight. He couldn't lift a rifle against his greatest business partner, couldn't take part in a war he didn't believe in. Fighting was for the less-thans, the Bartons of the world. Tony was destined for something greater, and they were going to stick him in a uniform and make him march?

"The discipline will be good for you," Howard insisted, that same sleazy smile on his face. "Teach you a lesson or two about respecting authority."

"You're trying to ship me off?" Tony growled between his teeth, his nails biting into his palm

"Ship you off? No, of course now. Straighten you out – well, maybe."

"I'm your son!"

Howard scoffed, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if beseeching some heavenly power to give him patience. "So now you want to hearken to family ties, when it's convenient? You'd divorce this family in an instant if you could. I've had enough of your lies."

Turning away, Tony squared his shoulders to the lockers and inhaled sharply. He could get away. He had the suit, he was practically untouchable. Howard didn't know this, so Tony had the upper hand. But it was that clever gleam in his father's eyes, that sharp hint of knowingness, that chilled him.

"If you don't care about our reputation, don't you at least care about the greater good? I make weapons for our country so that Germans no longer have to live under the swastika. Boys your age are killing themselves because they can't enlist. Have you no decency?"

"Don't lecture me about decency. You're getting rich off of Axis blood yourself."

"I suspect your record is equally dirty," Howard frowned, his mouth a drawn line. Tony ducked his head, closing his eyes against the images assailing him. Jet engines and missiles, glossy Kripo photographs of ruined Russian towns. His father was right – Tony was just as crooked as he was.

I'm just like my father.

Tony turned on his heel and ran, feet pounding against the slick floor as he raced put everything behind him. The freedom of the suit called to him, but Howard loomed over him as he left, his voice thundering in Tony's ears even when he was out of sight.

"You can't run forever, Tony! You can't run!"

(Any idea what Howard's shady dealings are? Thank you so much for reading!)