Phase One: Captain America

by Alex Irvine

  Stark was about to turn the dial down when over the microphone came Steve’s voice, faint but determined. “No,” he said. “I can do this.”

  Erskine swallowed. They had chosen Steve because he had heart, and it seemed he was determined to see this through. The doctor hesitated and then finally nodded at Stark. The other man gave the dial a final turn. One hundred. A sharp whine split the air, and the chamber flashed from orange to white.

  Then everything went dark.

  Silence filled the lab. The heart monitor stopped beeping and no sound came from inside the chamber. Up in the booth, Brandt looked down at Erskine, his expression a mixture of disappointment and anger. Everyone in the room held their breath in anticipation.

  Then, suddenly, the heart monitor came to life. Beep, beep, beep.

  Anxious, Erskine took a step forward. Had it worked? Was it possible?

  There was only one way to tell. Stark opened the chamber.

  Scientists peered through the smoke and machinery as the chamber cleared of the last rays. And then, Erskine smiled.

  Steve was still strapped into the chamber. But it wasn’t the same Steve who had gone in. No longer was he thin and frail. Instead, he was now a model of human perfection, standing a foot taller than before, with muscles rippling all over his new body. Project: Rebirth had worked!

  “You did it, Doctor!” Stark shouted as he unstrapped Steve, who was momentarily weakened from the ordeal. “You really did it!”

  As Stark helped Steve over to a chair, everyone rushed in, eager to see the results and congratulate one another. In the middle of the excitement, Steve sat, taking everything in. He felt different. He couldn’t tell what he looked like, but from the reactions of those around him, he figured it was good. And from the reaction of Peggy, he figured it was very good. “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Taller,” he said, looking down at her as he smiled.

  Peggy smiled back. At least his spirits hadn’t changed.

  And then everything started to go downhill—fast.

  While they were talking, one of the men who had been in the observation booth made his way into the lab. He wore glasses and went by the name Fred Clemson. Ignoring Dr. Erskine and the others, he made his way to the chamber—and the last remaining vial of serum. Glancing quickly around to make sure no one was looking, he pulled out a lighter. With a flick of his thumb, he opened it, revealing a button instead of the usual wick.

  Erskine heard the sound through the chatter in the lab and turned. He knew that sound. His eyes grew wide. He also knew that person. His name wasn’t Fred Clemson. His name was Kruger, and he was a Hydra agent. Erskine saw Kruger at the same time the other man saw him. An evil smile spread across Kruger’s face, and his thumb pressed down on the lighter. Then he threw it.

  “No!” Erskine shouted. But it was too late. The observation room exploded.

  CHAPTER 5

  Everything was going according to Hydra’s plan. Kruger had infiltrated the Strategic Scientific Reserve’s headquarters just as he’d been instructed. And he had at least partially destroyed their lab, just as he’d been told. Now he needed to get his hands on the last remaining vial of serum and make his escape.

  Through the smoke, Kruger saw Erskine, who was still seen as a traitor by the Hydra organization. Pulling out his pistol, Kruger aimed and fired. Erskine went down. Grabbing the vial, Kruger headed for the door.

  Hearing the shot, Steve looked up. He was still shaky from the experiment—and the explosion—and his limbs felt out of sync with the rest of his body. But when Steve saw Erskine fall, he jumped to his feet and raced over to his friend. But it was too late. Erskine was mortally wounded. He locked eyes with Steve and tried to speak. One of his hands came up, like he was going to grab Steve’s shirt… but then he tapped Steve hard just to the left of his sternum. Right over his heart.

  Steve nodded. He thought he understood.

  Erskine’s eyes moved toward the door. He was having trouble focusing them, Steve could see that. Erskine managed to whisper the name “Kruger,” and then his eyes closed.

  For a moment, Steve didn’t know what to do. Erskine was dead. The lab was in shambles. And a spy was racing off with the last vial of serum. How had everything gone from so good to so terribly bad in such a short amount of time? Shaking his head, Steve saw Kruger heading for the second door. Kruger turned his gun on the old woman behind the counter. She was reaching for her machine gun, but the Hydra agent was faster. He made his way out of the antiques shop.

  But Steve wasn’t going to let him get away. Jumping to his feet, he took off after the agent. When Steve burst out onto the street, he was just in time to see Kruger pulling the driver out of a taxicab. He threw the poor man to the ground and jumped into the cab. Peggy, who had also chased after Kruger, pulled out a gun and opened fire. Kruger returned fire, hitting a car behind Peggy, causing it to explode into flames. Then, with a squeal of tires, Kruger peeled out and raced away.

  Peggy thought the Hydra spy would get away. Until she saw Steve.

  Steve Rogers was now very fast. Superfast. He charged after Kruger, running as quickly as his new legs could carry him. Kruger drove down an alley, then turned and kept going, with Steve just a few feet behind. With a huge roar, Steve launched himself at the taxi, landing with a thud on the roof. Behind the glass, Kruger’s eyes narrowed and he raised his arm. He still held his pistol. With a smile, he fired, shattering the cab’s window. Steve ducked to the side. His grip loosened and he fell, clinging with all his might to the cab.

  The buildings rushed by as Kruger drove on, heading toward the Brooklyn piers. Suddenly, up in front, Kruger saw a truck roaring toward him. He jerked the wheel, but it was too late. The truck sideswiped the cab, sending it—and Steve—into a roll. The world spun upside down as the cab flipped over and over again, finally coming to a stop, its hood smoking.

  As Steve struggled to his feet, Kruger stumbled out of the wreckage, gun firing. Steve ducked, but the bullets were flying too fast. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a cab door that had been knocked loose and held it up in front of him like a shield. The bullets bounced off the metal, ricocheting harmlessly. Kruger kept firing.

  Their high-speed ride had taken them right down to the piers, which, on the sunny day, were filled with civilians catching the sights and enjoying the afternoon. Seeing the commotion, some of them began snapping pictures of the gunfight, mistaking it for entertainment. Then Kruger turned, shoving pedestrians aside as he ran.

  Seeing a young boy among the gathering crowd, Kruger grabbed him and pulled him to his chest, holding the gun to the boy’s head. Steve slowed down as Kruger began moving backward toward the water. When he was close enough to jump, Kruger threw the boy into the water and pulled out a small device. He clicked a button and a small one-man submarine surfaced a few feet away. Kruger gave Steve an evil smile and then scrambled into the Hydra sub.

  Steve looked down at the water. He couldn’t let Kruger get away, but he also couldn’t let the little boy drown.

  “Go get him!” the boy shouted, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “I can swim.”

  “Great,” Steve muttered, more to himself than the kid. “I can’t.”

  But he had no choice. The boy was okay and Kruger had to be stopped. Taking a deep breath, Steve ran to the edge of the pier and jumped, landing in the chilly water. The cold knocked the air out of Steve’s lungs, and for a moment he wondered if he was going to drown in spite of his newfound superpowers. But then his legs began to kick of their own accord, and before he knew it he was slicing through the water with long, powerful strokes. In no time, he had caught up to the sub. Reaching out, he grabbed its tail fin. Pulling himself forward, hand over hand, he made it to the cockpit. Through the glass, he saw Kruger’s eyes widen at the sight of him. Then Steve pulled back his fist and punched the glass over and over again. With a mighty crack, it broke, allowing water to rush inside.

  Reaching into the cockpit, Steve grabbed Krug
er and yanked him free of the now-sinking sub. Then, with another mighty kick, he headed toward the surface.

  Back on dry land, he threw Kruger to the ground. But the Hydra soldier wouldn’t give up. He pulled out a knife and tried to stab the American. Steve effortlessly kicked the knife aside. As he lunged at Kruger, the vial of blue serum broke, the fluid spilling onto the stones of the wharf.

  “Who are you?” Steve yelled.

  “The first of many,” he said cryptically. Then Kruger pressed his tongue against a false tooth, triggering a cyanide pill. “Cut off one head and two more shall rise.” His body began to shake and his mouth started to foam. Right before Kruger died, he said, “Hail Hydra.”

  Steve sat there for a long time after Kruger died, his mind racing. What sort of organization would send someone like Kruger to kill Erskine and harm innocent people? And now that they had failed to get their hands on the serum, would they also come after Steve?

  Later, back at the SSR HQ, Peggy sat down with Steve to brief him on the situation. He’d known it was bad because they’d lost Erskine, but after talking with Peggy for only a few minutes, Steve started to understand just how bad.

  “All of Dr. Erskine’s research and equipment is gone. Any hope of reproducing the project is locked away in your genetic code.” She put her hand on Steve’s shoulder. “At the moment, you’re the only Super-Soldier there is,” she said.

  It was a strange feeling, to go from the skinny kid nobody wanted to the only survivor of some kind of crazy science-fiction experiment. What would happen next?

  CHAPTER 6

  The next day, Colonel Phillips and Senator Brandt were in the middle of a heated discussion. Phillips paced back and forth, his expression furious. They had been attacked on their own soil by an enemy spy who had managed to sneak in with the senator’s entourage. It was a disgrace. And now, on top of it, Erskine was dead, and with him any hope of creating more Super-Soldiers. If Hydra had gotten their hands on that one vial… Phillips shivered at the thought. The SSR had only one option—go after Hydra before they came back after them.

  As Phillips paced, Steve entered the headquarters. He had changed into a clean set of clothes that actually fit, but he looked tired from the events of the past few days.

  Seeing him, Phillips grew even angrier. “I asked for an army!” he fumed. “All I got is you. And you are not enough.”

  Steve’s head dipped as shame rushed over him. He felt like a failure. Everyone had put their faith in him, and he hadn’t been able to keep Kruger from killing Erskine or taking the cyanide pill.

  While Phillips exploded, Senator Brandt remained silent. Whereas the colonel was a ball of nerves, Brandt seemed eerily calm. He wasn’t convinced that the experiment had been a failure. As if to prove it, he held up a copy of the day’s paper. “You’ve seen Steve here in action,” he said. “But more importantly, the country’s seen it.”

  Walking closer, Phillips looked at the headline. It read: MYSTERY MAN SAVES CIVILIANS! Below it, there was an image taken of Steve the day before on the piers. He was using the cab door as a shield while Kruger fired.

  Brandt waved the paper. “You don’t take a soldier—a symbol—like this and hide him in a lab.” Turning to Steve, he flashed his trademark smile, the one that had made him the successful senator he was. “Son, do you want to serve your country?” Steve nodded. “On the most important battlefield in this war?”

  Of course Steve wanted to help. That was the whole reason he was in this situation in the first place. “It’s all I want,” he said.

  The senator’s smile got larger as he walked over and clapped Steve on the back. “Then congratulations. You just got promoted.”

  It didn’t take long for Steve’s promotion to go into effect. But it wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting.

  A few days later, he found himself backstage in a small theater. His palms were sweaty, and he looked as if he was going to be sick to his stomach. One of Senator Brandt’s aides stood next to him, running through what was about to happen. Steve barely heard him.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” he said softly. When Brandt had promised him that he would get to take part in the greatest battle of all, he had pictured being on the front lines, battling the enemy and saving his fellow soldiers. Not standing behind a curtain on a stage, preparing to do a song-and-dance act. But that was exactly what he was doing.

  Before Steve could get any more nervous, the show began. The curtains parted, and a bugler walked onto the stage. He tilted his head back and blasted out reveille. Then, as the final notes faded, a band joined in and a line of girls danced across the stage, legs kicking high in the air. As Steve watched with a mixture of horror and embarrassment, they began to sing: “He’s the star-spangled man with the star-spangled plan. He’s Captain America!”

  As they sang out the last word, Steve took a deep breath and moved forward. The aide had told him what to do. He was supposed to just walk through the flag and say his lines to the audience. But he felt like a fool. He was dressed in what Senator Brandt had decided made him look most like “Captain America”—the war’s newest hero—red boots and gloves, a pair of blue pants, and a shirt covered with stars and stripes. To top off the look, he had been given a mask with wings and a cheap red-white-and-blue shield. Steve had refused to look in the mirror, but he was mortified anyway. How was he supposed to inspire people to support the war looking like a kid in a Halloween costume? And what if the audience realized he’d never even set foot on the front line?

  A shove from the aide reminded Steve that he hadn’t moved. He stumbled forward past the flag and saw just a handful of kids sitting in the audience. So much for the big crowd Brandt had promised, Steve thought. Taking a deep breath, he eyed the cue card he had pasted on the back of his shield and began to speak. “Hello… uh, folks,” he said. “Who here is ready to sock evil on the jaw?”

  The kids let out a cheer, and Steve felt his shoulders relax. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  For the next few months, Steve traveled all over the United States performing his Captain America show. At first, the crowds were small and Steve messed up—a lot. But slowly, things got better and the stages got bigger.

  He went to Buffalo and tripped as the girls pulled him into their dance. In Milwaukee, he stayed on his feet and even managed to pose for photos with babies and their mothers. When he got to San Francisco, the stage was the biggest yet, and Steve felt proud when he walked through the flag and bent a pole into a red cross. With a smile, he handed it to a nurse in the audience and blushed when she batted her eyes at him.

  The tour continued. Steve went to St. Louis and Chicago, where film crews recorded his act. Later that night, he saw himself on the big screen, and for the first time he began to believe that maybe Senator Brandt was onto something. Steve had never actually fought in the war, but what the public didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

  In Philadelphia, a young boy came up to him with pen and paper in hand. “Hey, Cap,” he said, his eyes wide as he took in his hero, “my brother says you took out four German tanks all by yourself.”

  Steve patted the boy on the head. “Sorry, kid. Tell your brother he’s wrong.” The boy’s eyes filled with disappointment until Steve added, “It was eight German tanks.” As the boy cheered, Steve grinned.

  He was beginning to believe his own hype. There were Captain America comics and photos. He was on the big screen, and he played to sold-out theaters. He was a bona fide hero. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

  And then Steve was sent to the front line.

  CHAPTER 7

  Captain America had taken his home country by storm, but Brandt wasn’t satisfied. He wanted Steve to go to where the action was and energize the troops. Full of confidence and sure that he would be a star across the ocean, Steve flew over to Italy.

  The US camp he was sent to was five miles from the front. When he got there, Steve took in the makeshift tents, the diverse troops, a
nd the trucks that drove in and out at all hours carrying soldiers. It was nothing like the theaters and events back in America, where they didn’t know the true horrors of war.

  After changing into his costume, Steve took his spot in the wings and waited for the dancing girls to do their part. Then, as he had done countless times before, he stepped through the flag and shouted, “How many of you are ready to help me sock old Adolf in the jaw?”

  He was met with silence.

  Dozens of soldiers sat in their seats, glaring at him. Their uniforms were dirty and their faces lined with fatigue. Some of them had old wounds while others had fresh bandages on, having just returned from battle. Not one of them smiled at Steve.

  Looking over his shoulder, he tried to find a way out. But there was no one waiting to signal him off the stage. So he forged on. “Okay,” he said hesitantly, “I’m going to need a volunteer.”

  “I already volunteered,” one of the soldiers shouted, his voice angry. “How do you think I got here?”

  Steve opened his mouth to respond, when another soldier shouted, “Bring back the girls.”

  The crowd began to boo and jeer. Steve was taken aback. He had never experienced anything like this before.

  As Steve retreated from the stage, the boos increased. Then tomatoes started flying. Holding up his shield, Steve blocked them. But it was a foolhardy effort. Even if none of the tomatoes hit him, he still felt like the biggest buffoon this side of the Atlantic.

  A short while later, Steve sat in the empty bleachers, his head cradled in his hands. The soldiers had left, probably to go find real entertainment or talk about the real war and laugh at the man in the silly costume. Shame washed over Steve in huge waves. What had he been thinking? All this time he had fooled himself into believing he was a hero, a man of the people. But he was nothing but a joke. The men in the audience today were the real heroes. They had put their lives on the line time and time again, while all Steve had done was cheat his way to being a star. He hadn’t even done anything with his superpowers since he had chased Kruger after the explosion. Had Erskine been wrong to think he was worthy? Had Phillips been right to doubt him?