28.03.1944
Military Cemetery Near New York
POV: GARP
The day was somber and overcast as Dr. Abraham Erskine's military funeral took place. I stood in the back row, my Marine coat draped loosely over my broad shoulders. The air was cold, and a brisk wind swept across the cemetery, causing the flags on the masts to snap sharply in the breeze. It seemed as though even the weather reflected the heaviness of the loss felt by everyone gathered.
Ahead, mourners had assembled—men and women in uniform, standing stiffly at attention, their faces solemn and eyes downcast. Up front, I could see Steve Rogers, who looked small and out of place in his military dress, even though he was officially a soldier now. He stood like a man still coming to grips with the weight of his new responsibilities.
Next to him was Colonel Phillips, as stern and unyielding as ever. He was the picture of a seasoned veteran, but even he couldn't entirely mask the sorrow etched across his features.
Agent Peggy Carter stood beside them, tall and composed, though her eyes betrayed the grief she tried to keep hidden. She was someone who rarely displayed her emotions, but in this moment, the pain and respect she felt for Dr. Erskine shone through clearly.
In my months at the camp, I'd seen firsthand how Abraham's kindness and warmth won over those around him. He was more than just a scientist; he was a visionary, a man who truly believed in changing the world for the better. But above all, he was a friend to many, always ready to lend a hand or offer a kind word.
The coffin lay draped in the American flag, and the honor guard prepared for the final salute. The sound of the bugle echoed across the cemetery, a melancholy tune that seemed to resonate in the very bones of everyone present. Each note emphasized the finality of the moment as I looked over the gathered soldiers, all standing silent, hats pressed to their chests as a sign of respect.
Tears welled up in my eyes again.
"Rest in peace, my friend," I whispered.
When the rifles fired their salute, it was as though time stood still. I felt a lump forming in my throat—a sensation I rarely experienced. I had seen many comrades fall, attended countless funerals, but this one was different. Dr. Erskine had been special.
He wasn't just a friend; he was a genuinely good-hearted man. His ideas, his vision—they were extraordinary. And now, in his absence, the emptiness he left behind seemed almost palpable.
I scanned the faces in the crowd one last time, watching as Steve struggled to keep his emotions in check while Peggy placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Phillips met my gaze and gave me a solemn nod—a wordless acknowledgment that conveyed more than any spoken condolences ever could.
Just as I was about to turn away, I noticed a man in a sergeant's uniform approaching. He was tall, though not nearly as tall as me, with broad shoulders and dark skin. His expression was steady, his eyes locked onto mine as he drew closer.
"Vice Admiral Garp, sir," he said in a deep, composed voice, offering a salute. "I'm Sergeant Nick Fury. I believe we have some business to discuss."
"Ah, my future superior… you should know that 'Vice Admiral' is just a fancy title. So why the respectful greeting, Sergeant?"
"Have you looked around, you motherfucker?" Fury cursed, then continued, "People here know you as the 'Hero of the Marines.' The President himself ordered that you be addressed with the utmost respect in public! Do you even realize how much propaganda out there revolves around you? Everyone here would practically crawl up your ass if they could, especially after that stunt you pulled on the open street last week!"
I looked at him, puzzled, and then took a closer look at the other guests. Sure enough, the soldiers' eyes seemed to glow with respect when they saw me. The politicians looked at me like I was worth millions of dollars.
Sergeant Fury elaborated, "The army's painting you as one of the greatest heroes of the war… not to downplay your achievements, but according to my intel, you've seen combat exactly twice in this war. Yet, from the military's stories, you've apparently fought on every front and have personally battled Hitler at least ten times in a fist fight ! That's politics for you. Every American knows your name by now. You're America's big war hero… If you hadn't volunteered for the front again, and if your friend Rogers hadn't shown up, I'm pretty sure some politician would've sent you on a nationwide tour to spread even more propaganda."
"What does any of this have to do with Rogers?"
"Ah, so you haven't heard yet? Rogers isn't allowed to leave the country. That's an order from the highest of tops… He's their only hope of somehow recreating the SSS. You know Erskine didn't keep any records, afraid they'd leak to Schmidt… A wise decision if you ask me, but unfortunately, the people upstairs aren't too happy about it.
Senator Palpatine watched the whole experiment, and now that you're heading back to the front, he wants Rogers to be the poster boy for war bonds and a figurehead on the home front. Word is, he'll be touring the country as the glorious 'Captain America.'"
"Like that propaganda comic from WW1?!Poor kid… he did everything he could to get to the front, and now this... At least it should make keeping my promise to Erskine a bit easier," I muttered to myself as I watched Rogers, who was still standing by Abraham's grave with tears in his eyes.
"That's not all you wanted to tell me, is it, Sergeant?" I asked.
"No… I'd like to talk to you in private, if that's alright. I lead a special unit—a team of misfits and tough cases. Not trying to be rude, but that's the truth. So communication is key. But not here… How about you drive back to the army camp with me, and we can have a proper chat?"
"Of course, Sergeant. But I'd like to speak with my friends first," I said, nodding toward Rogers, Peggy, and Phillips.
"No problem, Vice Admiral… I'll be waiting at the parking lot," Fury replied before turning and heading off without another word. I, too, moved in the direction of my friends, stopping beside Rogers.
"How are you holding up, Steve?" I asked in a calm voice.
"It's just… why do the good ones always have to die? I mean, the doctor was so kind-hearted… He was the first to see more in me than a weak cripple. Not even Bucky believed in me like that…" Steve replied, his voice breaking as he began to sob.
"I don't know either, Steve. Abraham believed in a better future. He wanted a hero who would fight for all people. That hero was you. Abraham, you, and I share that dream—a better future where people can live in happiness. I'm going to keep fighting for that dream, and now that the doc is gone, I'll fight for him too."
Steve's expression hardened, and then he declared with fiery determination, "I'll fight too, Garp! Dr. Erskine… I promise I'll do my best to live up to the role you entrusted to me. Even if I don't know how yet… but Hydra better watch out!"
"So, they haven't filled you in either..." I said, and then explained my conversation with Sergeant Fury.
"They… they can't do this… I want to fight!" Steve shouted, clearly upset.
I thought for a moment and made a decision. I didn't want a friend of mine to suffer in this war; too many people were already paying that price. So I said, "This is your fight, Steve. I can't help you here. Go talk to Phillips. I'll be heading back to the front soon."
"You didn't say anything about this before?" Steve snapped, looking at me accusingly.
"I know… the decision was made before I even met you."
Together, we walked over to Peggy and Phillips, who were speaking with other military personnel. I said my goodbyes and mentioned my plan to head back with Sergeant Fury. As I walked away, I could hear Steve arguing with Phillips, his voice echoing across the cemetery.
I couldn't help but grin slightly and shake my head as I made my way toward the parking lot.
Just a few steps in, I was stopped by a man in a tailored suit approaching me. He was older, with pale skin, white hair, and sharp features that gave him a distinguished yet friendly appearance.
"Politician," I thought to myself, already looking for a way to slip away. But then he extended his hand and said, "Ah, Vice Admiral Garp, good to see you again. I hope you remember me… I'm Senator Palpatine. We spoke briefly on that sad day when Dr. Erskine was taken from our country and us."
My impression of him soured with every word he spoke, but I still greeted him politely.
"Good day, Senator. I'm sorry, but I—"
"Say no more. I understand, duty calls," he interrupted. "I just wanted to exchange a few words with the Hero of the Marines. And, if I may, could we take a quick photo?"
Sighing, I nodded, eager to get this over with. I turned to see a photographer already waiting, snapping a few pictures as we shook hands.
"Well then, Vice Admiral, I won't keep you any longer. But just so you know, in me you'll always have a friend in politics," he said with a smile.
I returned the smile, though inwardly I thought, "As long as it serves his agenda."
I was about to bid farewell when something occurred to me.
"Ah, Senator, there's one thing…"
"If this is about Soldier Rogers, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, my... "
He began, but this time I interrupted him.
"Hands are tied, I know. That's not what I wanted to discuss. I just wanted to give you a bit of advice. If Rogers resists his assignment, you only need to convince him how crucial his role is for the good of the people. I'm sure you're far better with words than I am, so that should not be a problem…"
The senator looked at me, surprised. "You're not trying to persuade me to send him to the front? Wasn't that your friend's dream?"
"It was," I acknowledged, "but there are already more than enough young men and women risking and ruining their lives at the front… I'd be relieved if one less had to go through that. Even more so when it is a friend. By the way...I'd appreciate it if you kept my advise between us… Goodbye, Senator Palpatine."
Waving, I walked past the senator, confident he would keep my involvement in the hole thing to himself—at least as long as it suited him. Perhaps I had betrayed my friendship with Steve a bit, but it was worth it if it kept him from going to war.
Military Jeep
On the Road
POV: NICK FURY
'Damn, the motherfucker is huge,' I thought, keeping one eye on the road and the other on the new soldier in my unit. 'Why the fuck did i get the commando with all the freaks?!Who am I kidding? Of course, the only Black officer ends up stuck with all the problem cases and monsters. Naturally, we also get the toughest missions… wouldn't want to send some white bread officer to die out there. At least this new guy seems like someone you can actually talk to, unlike James and Victor…'
We dropped the titles pretty quick and just talked like men. I appreciated that he didn't seem to care that I was black, probably because this huge ass gorilla of a guy had dealt with his own share of crap because of his appearance.
Garp talked about his dream of making the world a better place. I scoffed inwardly. I never understood the whole "world-changer" mentality. Sure, everyone wants a better future, but is it really worth dying for? No thanks. I just want to make it out of this war alive and find a nice, quiet place to settle down afterward.
Still, Garp's dream made him easy to read, and in a way, easy to use. Not that I enjoyed doing it, but at the front, it's often every man for himself. Unfortunately, when it comes to physical strength, I'm one of the weakest in my unit.
I made up for it with brains and cunning—at least that's what I liked to tell myself. When Colonel Phillips came to me about Project Rebirth and offered me a chance to be a second- or third-generation supersoldier, I thought I'd finally get a physical edge. But that hope died a few months later, along with Erskine.
At least the second offer from Phillips worked out—the reassignment of the Hero of the Marines himself. Forget the propaganda; the stuff I'd read about the Vice Admiral's abilities was enough to make anyone sit up and take notice.
Monkey D. Garp was like a human tank—no, more like an entire tank battalion. When I met him face-to-face today, I even almost started to believed the propaganda.
"Where's the Howling Commandos headed next?" Garp asked.
"We're meeting a KGB contact in Sicily. From there, we'll join forces to assault the German defensive position known as the 'Gustav Line.' Our task is part of Operation Diadem, with the ultimate goal of smashing German forces in Italy and taking Rome. We'll also be holding German troops in place for another planned operation. You'll get the full briefing soon."
"Will Hydra be involved?"
"In Italy, probably just in scattered instances. The SSR is working on uncovering Hydra spies in our ranks. Some names linked to Italy have come up, so it's likely there will be Hydra operatives hidden among our and the German forces."
When no response came, I glanced at Garp. His expression was hard. It was clear this man had already been through the hells of war. I could see him mentally preparing for the terrible things that lay ahead.
My own mind began dredging up old memories.
'Motherfucker. Now I'm definitely not getting any sleep tonight.'
Silence settled over us, each lost in our own thoughts. For me, it was images from the last battles—shredded bodies carelessly strewn along the roadside, many of them torn apart by my own men.
But suddenly, I was jolted from my thoughts as two small trucks blocked the road ahead. I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could, coming to a skidding halt. The tarps on the trucks were thrown back, revealing men armed with assault rifles. I drew my revolver, ready to spill blood to protect my life. But before I could fire, Garp loomed in front of me, taking the first hail of bullets with his body. I ducked behind him for cover and returned fire.
But, as if on cue, the attackers tossed their weapons aside and charged at us. Twenty-eight men, all shouting "Heil Hydra!" in unison as they sprinted in perfect synchronization. A chill ran down my spine, and one word flashed through my mind: suicide bombers.
Johann Schmidt had ordered this tactic before, and now it looked like it might be the end of me. Each of these men was probably carrying several kilos of explosives on their bodies. Even if Garp survived the blast, I certainly wouldn't.
Just as I was about to shout a warning, Garp vanished like a bolt of lightning. What I saw next was the craziest thing I'd ever witnessed—and I've seen plenty of weird shit. Garp threw each attacker 30 to 40 meters into the air, where they exploded in a gruesome, bloody fireworks display of flesh and bone.
Garp stood calmly in front of the now-empty trucks, effortlessly lifting them off the road as blood and gore rained down on us. He looked at me and said calmly-no scrab that!-too fucking calmly:" Let's go!"
I felt my eyes nearly pop out of my head.
"MOTHERFUCKER!"
(TO BE CONTINUED)