by Alex Irvine
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
CHAPTER 1
Steve Rogers stood nervously in line at the recruitment center in Bayonne, New Jersey. Ahead of him, men stepped up one by one. And one by one, they got approved to join the army. Steve sighed and waited for his turn, which seemed as if it would never come. Looking around, he noticed several newspaper headlines about a brutal attack on a small Norwegian town that had left civilians hurt and homeless.
America was at war. Across the ocean, Europe was full of gunfire and explosions. Men, women, and children were losing their lives and their homes as enemy forces invaded country after country. It had been going on for two years before America got involved, but then Pearl Harbor had happened. Now soldiers from the United States were flooding Europe, hoping to help the good guys win. But it wasn’t going to be an easy—or a short—fight.
Steve felt the now-familiar rush of anger—and frustration. He wanted to be over there fighting more than anything in the world. But try as he might, he couldn’t get past anyone in the recruitment centers, no matter how many attempts he made.
Steve had never been a big guy. Growing up on the streets of Brooklyn, New York, he and his best friend, James “Bucky” Barnes, had gotten into their fair share of fights. But it was usually Bucky who managed to keep them safe. Steve was scrappy, but physically he wasn’t anything to write home about. He was skinny and frail, and because of his asthma, he couldn’t even do enough exercise to add some muscles. He also had other health problems. The list was so long doctors usually thought he was making some of them up. But that was the last thing in the world Steve Rogers was going to do. He would have done anything to be fit for the army.
Not every soldier had to be a muscleman, like Johnny Weissmuller or Charles Atlas. You could win wars with brains and heart. Steve had enough brains, he figured, and he had a big heart. Some army recruitment center would eventually give him what he wanted most—a 1A stamp. Then he could be a US soldier, like his father had been. Which is why he now stood in line in the fifth recruitment center in the fifth city, hoping this would be the day. He knew it was not exactly legal to try to enlist in multiple locations, but so far, no one seemed to have caught on.
“Rogers, Steven?” a voice called out, startling Steve.
He stepped forward, wiping his hands nervously on his pants.
The doctor opened his file and began to scan it. “Father died of…?”
“Mustard gas,” Steve said. He wasn’t sad about it anymore. He was proud of his father’s service, and he kept his head high as he said it. “He was with the One Hundred and Seventh Infantry. I was hoping I could be assigned—”
“Mother?”
This one hurt a little more. “She was a nurse in a TB ward,” Steve said. “Got hit. Couldn’t shake it.”
Not that anyone ever shook tuberculosis, not really. Steve had been an orphan for a while now. But he was doing all right on his own.
The doctor kept going through the file, his eyes growing wide as he took in all the ailments that had been checked off. The paper looked like it had been attacked by a red pen.
“Just give me a chance,” Steve said.
“Sorry, son,” the doctor said, looking up at him. “You’d be ineligible on your asthma alone.”
He didn’t say it, but Steve knew what he was thinking. You’re a fool, kid. The war is for strong men. Not for guys like you. Not for guys who can’t even breathe right.
“You can’t do anything?” Steve asked anyway, hope in his voice.
“I’m doing it,” the doctor answered. “I’m saving your life.”
Then, as Steve watched, the doctor pulled out the dreaded stamp. With a resounding thunk, he pressed it down on the file, marking it with a big black 4F.
Steve had failed—again.
A short while later, Steve was back in Brooklyn, inside a darkened movie theater. Up on the screen, images from the front lines flashed by in a newsreel. There was a picture of a bombed-out town, followed by images of soldiers pulling wounded men out of the line of fire. Another image showed the enemy marching into an undefended town, knocking down people and buildings as they went.
Nearby, Steve heard the unmistakable sound of someone crying. So many people had already lost loved ones or were about to send them off to the front lines. Steve didn’t have anybody who would miss him if he went. His parents were gone, and his closest friend, Bucky, had already enlisted and was being shipped off the next day. Bucky would be over in Europe in no time, doing his part for the war effort, while Steve stayed behind. Useless.
The sound of an angry voice broke through Steve’s thoughts. “Who cares? Play the movie already!” someone shouted from behind him.
Steve’s eyes narrowed. What kind of guy would say something like that at a time like this? He turned in his seat and tried to see who had spoken, but the screen had gone dark for a moment and it was difficult to make out anyone in the shadows. “Can you keep it down, please?” he asked quietly, hoping that the person with the bad attitude would hear him.
But apparently he didn’t, because a moment later the guy called out, “Let ’em clean up their own mess!”
Steve shot out of his seat. He had had enough. “You want to shut up, pal?” he asked, turning around. Then Steve’s eyes grew wide. In the light of the screen, he could now see who was talking. The guy was huge, and he looked way too eager to fight.
Steve gulped. What had he gotten himself into?
In the alley behind the theater, Steve stood with his fists in front of him. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he bobbed and weaved from side to side, trying to look tough. But the other guy was easily double his size, with fists the size of Steve’s head.
The big guy advanced toward Steve, who leaped forward, hitting him with an uppercut and then getting a good punch into his kidney. The hit made the man flinch—but only for a moment. He came back at Steve, swinging his meaty fists. Steve ducked one punch and then another. He stepped lightly back and out of the way as the guy swung again. Smiling, Steve tried to get another hit in.
But then his luck ran out. He tried to punch the guy but got too close, and in one quick move, the big man knocked Steve flat with a roundhouse right. Steve got up and came after him again, and the big guy knocked him down again. This time Steve had a split lip. He spat blood on the alley bricks and got his guard up again.
“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” the big guy said.
“I can do this all day,” Steve panted.
Struggling to get back the wind that had been knocked out of him, Steve unsteadily got to his feet. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision. The guy let out a mean laugh. He made a fist, pulled back his arm—and just as he went to swing, someone grabbed his bicep, stopping him and momentarily saving Steve.
“Hey, pick on someone your own size.” Steve opened his eyes, which he had shut in anticipation of the punch, and smiled. He knew that voice. Bucky had arrived. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had bailed out his best friend. He smiled as he spoke to the meathead, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. When he let the guy’s arm go, the guy took a swing at him. Bucky slipped the punch and decked him, careful not to muss up his spotless dress uniform. The smile never lef
t his face. The guy headed for the mouth of the alley. Bucky gave him a swift kick in the behind to make sure he went a little faster. The grin on his face got more friendly as he took in Steve.
“Sometimes I think you like getting punched,” he said.
Making his way over to Steve, Bucky helped him to his feet. Then he reached down to pick up a slip of paper that had fallen out of Steve’s jacket. Seeing what it was, he stifled a groan. It was another recruitment slip. He knew how much his friend wanted to be a soldier, but he also knew that it was probably not going to happen. And while Bucky would never say anything out loud, it made him sort of mad. True, he wanted to help his country win the war. But he was going to be shipped out tomorrow, and he was nervous. He didn’t know what to expect across the ocean, and a part of him wished he had the same excuse Steve did.
Sighing, he handed the slip of paper back to Steve. “Now you’re from Paramus?” he asked. “You know it’s illegal to lie on an enlistment form, don’t you?”
Steve shrugged. “You get your orders?” he asked. Bucky couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be him. Even now, standing in the dirty alley, Bucky looked like a hero—something Steve could never be.
“Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.” He saw that cut into Steve a little, and he felt bad about it.
Seeing the sadness in Steve’s eyes, Bucky decided to drop the subject. Time was precious now, and it seemed silly to waste it being in a bad mood. He had another idea.
“Come on, man. My last night. Gotta get you cleaned off.”
“Why?” Steve asked. “Where are we going?”
“The future,” Bucky said. Holding up a newspaper, he smiled. On the front page was a picture of the fairgrounds with a headline that read: 1942 WORLD EXHIBITION OF TOMORROW.
Steve raised a curious eyebrow. Bucky wanted to go to a fair? Now? Shrugging, he followed his friend out of the alley. Maybe going to see an exhibition about “tomorrow” would help him forget all about today.
CHAPTER 2
A few hours later, Bucky and Steve made their way onto the fairgrounds. At some point, Bucky had managed to find two young ladies to accompany them and was busy trying to get Steve to talk with one of them. But it wasn’t working. Steve was too busy taking in the sights, particularly the Modern Marvels pavilion.
The fairgrounds looked like something out of a science-fiction novel. Huge, futuristic buildings had been erected, and they stood alongside smaller tents and pavilions. High above the ground, a monorail silently glided by, carrying passengers from one end of the exposition to the other. People of all ages wandered around, their eyes wide open at the various sights. Steve had to admit it was pretty amazing.
Making their way farther into the fair, Steve and Bucky noticed a commotion over to one side. Walking closer, they saw a big sign that read: STARK INDUSTRIES. Standing on a raised platform next to a very expensive car was a man Steve recognized from the papers—Howard Stark. He was a millionaire inventor and notorious playboy who was always photographed out on the town with a beautiful woman on his arm. Right now he was giving some kind of spiel about “gravitic-reversion technology,” whatever that was. “What if I told you that, in a few short years, your car won’t even have to touch the ground at all?” he called out over the crowd. There were some catcalls and some cheers.
As they watched, Stark smiled and pulled a lever. Suddenly the car lifted up off the ground. It was floating and its wheels moved so they were parallel to the ground! The audience oohed and aahed, taking in the sight of the car of tomorrow. But then a series of loud pops and a shower of sparks came out of the wheel wells and the car dropped back to the ground, shaking the platform. Stark just smiled again and began talking about how not even he was perfect. “Well, I did say a few years, didn’t I?” he said, spreading his arms and with the kind of smile that said he’d be right back at it again tomorrow.
Turning to say something to Steve, Bucky noticed that his friend was no longer by his side. Even Steve’s date didn’t know where he had gone. Sighing, Bucky went to look for him.
He found Steve standing in front of the one nonfuturistic pavilion in the entire fair, the US Army recruitment booth. It looked empty. No one wanted to think about the war now, not when they could think about all the amazing things the future held. No one but Steve Rogers. He stood staring at the tent, enraptured.
“You’re really going to do this now?” Bucky asked, walking over to stand next to him.
“I’m going to try my luck,” Steve said, nodding.
“As who?” Bucky said, his voice harsh. “‘Steve from Ohio’? They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you.”
That was it. Bucky had had enough. He was leaving for England tomorrow, and his best friend in the world wouldn’t take the night off to have some fun with him, talk with some pretty girls, and maybe have a dance or two.
It was the first time Bucky had ever voiced his fears about Steve fighting in the war. Steve was taken aback by his friend’s honesty.
“This isn’t a back-alley scrap, Steve,” Bucky continued, his voice softening. “It’s a war.”
“No,” Steve corrected. “It’s the war. The war we can’t lose. This is the one that counts—and I mean to be counted.”
Steve took a step toward the tent, and Bucky put a hand on his arm as one of the girls called out, “Hey, Bucky, are we going dancing or what?”
“We sure are,” Bucky called back. “Come on,” he said to Steve. “It’s my last night.”
His friend turned and gave him a wry smile. There was nothing Bucky could say or do that would convince Steve to leave that pavilion. Holding out his hand, he and Steve shook. It was time to say good-bye.
“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” Bucky said.
“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,” Steve said. “Don’t win the war ’til I get there.” Then he walked away toward the tent.
Bucky watched his friend go, his heart heavy. He hoped, for Steve’s sake, that he would get what he wanted. He just wasn’t convinced that when Steve got it, it would make him happy.
There was a part of Steve that knew he was being ridiculous. How many more times could he fail? And it was Bucky’s last night. But if there was even the slimmest chance that his luck could change, then he had to take it.
Walking inside the recruitment center, he was directed to an examination room. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark. Where outside it was all bright lights and noisy crowds, inside it was quiet and somber. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw an older man come in. He looked tired, as though being there took all his energy.
The man made his way slowly over to Steve. “So. You want to go overseas? Be a hero?” he asked in a German accent. Steve just looked at him. He wasn’t sure what to say. Was this some kind of test?
“Dr. Abraham Erskine,” the man said, introducing himself. “Strategic Scientific Reserve, US Army.”
Steve had never heard of the Strategic Scientific Reserve but figured there were a lot of things he hadn’t heard of. Shrugging, he gave Erskine his name and looked on as the man found his file. Steve tried not to grimace when he once again saw all the red x’s, marking each and every one of his ailments and weaknesses.
“Where are you from?” he asked, to draw the doctor’s attention away from the file.
“Queens,” Erskine said. He paused, then added, “Before that, Germany. This bothers you?”
Steve was momentarily taken aback. Was this place legit? He hadn’t expected a German national to be inside a US Army recruitment center.
Then again, wasn’t Einstein German, too? “No,” he said, but he hesitated first.
It didn’t seem to bother Erskine. Probably he’d heard it all before. He finished reviewing the file and then looked up. “Where are you from, Mr. Rogers?” he asked. “Hmm? New Haven? Or is it…” He glanced down at the file again. “Paramus… Newark… five exams in five tries in fiv
e different cities,” he said. “All failed. You are very tenacious, yes?”
How did he know that? Steve wondered. He’d thought that by going to different cities, he could stay under the radar and the army wouldn’t see how desperate he was to enlist. Maybe this Strategic Scientific Reserve, whatever it was, had more intel than the other branches of the army.
Outside, a pair of men wandered by and turned when they heard Erskine’s German accent. They took a step forward as though to do something, when Steve held up a warning hand. Figuring it wasn’t worth it, they moved on.
“A fella has to stand up,” Steve said, turning back to Erskine. “I don’t like bullies, Doc. I don’t care where they’re from.”
The old man nodded thoughtfully. “So you would fight, yes,” he said. “But you are weak and you are very small.”
Steve was about to protest, when Dr. Erskine did something unexpected: He laid out Steve’s file on the table and picked up a stamp. Steve’s heart began to beat faster.
“I can offer you a chance,” Dr. Erskine said. “Only a chance.”
Then, as Steve watched with growing excitement, the man pressed the stamp down on the file. Holding up the file, Steve saw a big 1A.
He couldn’t believe it. After all this time, he was actually in the army. His luck had changed. Just like he told Bucky it would.
As Erskine began talking about next steps, Steve tried to pay attention. But his mind was spinning. He had no idea what kind of group the SSR was or why they would okay someone like him. Should he be worried? Was Bucky right when he said the biggest danger would come if someone did let him in? What if this was all some sort of joke? Maybe when he got outside he’d see Bucky laughing, having pulled a fast one on his old friend.
Shaking off those thoughts, Steve focused on Erskine. Whatever the SSR was and whatever the reason they had for taking him, Steve didn’t care. He was in. Soon, he would be a real soldier, and maybe, someday, he’d even be an American hero.