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Issue #3 by Steve Crosby
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“WAR CRIMES - Part One: Innocent Until Proven Guilty”
"Please lay down your weapon and surrender. Nobody else has to get hurt."
Would I have given the warning if people had gotten killed? Maybe I would have, because those deaths I would have blamed on myself. The police car had been flipped, knocking both officers unconscious, but the gas leak had been minor and I had had all the time in the world to pull them out. When the car finally did explode the surrounding area had been cleared, the officers were being treated by paramedics, and I had been on the pursuit of the Wrecker.
For all of the Wrecker's strength, he wasn't a very fast runner. Before long I had him in view. Without missing a step I threw my shield, and it caught Wrecker behind the knee. This wouldn't injure him in the slightest, but he'd at least know who was after him. Hopefully he would remember.
Wrecker did. He stopped and turned around and glared at me as I was taking the shield back in hand. We had fought once before, at Avengers Mansion when he was at full power and I'd been beaten half to death. In close quarters he'd swung that crowbar at me, and without my shield all I could do was hit and move. Still I managed to get the best of him, and to men like the Wrecker that can be taken personal.
"You're the one who's gonna get hurt," Wrecker growled at me in that hoarse voice you can only get from shouting lame threats every other day. "I promised I was gonna make you eat this bar." The crowbar in question is raised over Wrecker's head, just about where I want it. "Wrecker's a boy that keeps his promises."
Before Wrecker could come at me like a lumbering oaf, I threw what some people would call my mighty shield. It struck Wrecker on his crowbar arm, just below the wrist, then ricocheted off as thought it had hit a lamp post. Wrecker just laughed as his arm moved the slightest of an inch to exactly where I wanted it. He didn't notice the power line my shield had just cut through.
"That's the best you've got? Boy, I'm going to enjoy shoving this up your a-aarrgh!" A trail of burnt air and the hinting smell of ozone followed the severed power line as it swung free. That sparking tip caught the tip of Wrecker's crowbar. I had already covered my eyes. The sound of his screams and the stench of his cooking flesh I experienced full-on, but at least I didn't have to see Wrecker stiffen up like a corpse.
With his strength, granted by the Norn Queen of Asgard, Wrecker wasn't killed. Close, maybe. He was certainly out cold for a long time. Long enough for the police to properly secure him. I stuck around to help with that, and also made sure that nobody went near the loose power line. Eventually the electric company had sent a team to repair the damage I'd caused.
"Send the bill to Avengers Mansion," I told the team's supervisor. "Every watt wasted, I'll pay for it."
She nodded and agreed to comply, but I suspected that the amount charged would be less than the actual. There wouldn't have been any point in pressing the issue, so I walked away feigning satisfaction. That was when the message board caught my eye.
On the street where I had faced Wrecker, a VFW building stood. In front of the building was a message board, listing upcoming events. What had caught my eye was the name of a guest of honor for a dinner to be held later that month. In remembrance of World War II. That was what made the name stick out. Without that as a marker I likely never would have placed the name. I probably never would have thought about that day again.
# # # # #
Over fifty years ago, but I remember that day like it was only ten years past. It's disrespectful, how little I think of that liberation. There had been so few before I left the war, mainly small POW camps in Western Europe. Of those few liberations I'd only participated in one or two, and even then I was only around for after the camp had been taken. For show.
No ranking German officers of particular worth were stationed in the camp. What few I saw were aged veterans of the Great War, men relaxing away their days up to retirement by tormenting captive soldiers from the early fighting. The sight of a man in a colorful costume didn't frighten those men. Because all of the captives were Europeans taking prisoner long before America got involved, it was doubtful any of them had ever heard of me.
Maybe that was why I never thought of the liberation of Fort Breendonk much. At the time I felt useless. Remembering that, that was most likely the reason I reacted to the sound of gunfire. In the aftermath of any battle, sporadic gun-shots were to be expected. Craving action, I ran off to investigate while more experienced soldiers didn't give it a second thought.
Four years of war, and I hadn't seen much combat to write home about. Oh, there had been battles and firefights, but nothing like the average soldier went through. One of a kind, I was used sparingly, sent to investigate mad scientists and to counteract any super-men the Nazi's developed. The brutal conflicts for every inch of blood-soaked ground were fought by regular men, real soldiers who weren't given half the recognition they deserve.
Except for the soldiers I caught firing rounds that day. Shooting into a shallow pit they were, horrified and sickening expressions on each of their faces. Hot cases spat out of the rifles pointed at the hole. So close, I could hear the death screams that accompanied the gunfire.
"What are you doing?!" I screamed, both angry and confused. Those men in the pit, they needed our help. Christ, they expected our help, not our bullets putting a final end to their misery. "Stop!"
The shield was spinning through the air before the word was entirely out of my mouth. Two rifles were knocked from the arms holding them, sent to the ground silent. One rifle turned towards me. I was on the soldier before more than one round could erupt inches from my torso. The rifle left his hands and became part of my own, aimed this time at the remaining armed soldiers.
By then, they recognized who had stopped their killing. At the sight of red, white and blue, every man dropped his weapon. It was too late, though. No sounds came from the pit. One look and those unmoving corpses told me everything there was to know. The killing was done.
"What in god's name is this?" I breathed, too softly for any of the murders to hear. "Tell me why!" I screamed, the rifle shaking in my hands.
"Half of them were already dead," answered the man I'd personally disarmed. On his uniform I could see the stripes of a sergeant. "The rest wouldn't have lived out the day, no matter what we'd have done. Some of them were begging, I think."
My boot stopped him from saying another word. A spray of blood and one tooth sailed into the pit, mingled with the mess of blood already there.
"Each and every one of you is hereby relieved of duty," I stammered out, trying my best to sound official and commanding. Several of those murderers were younger than I was at the time. "Line up. I'm taking you all to the MPs."
That day, nobody wanted to believe what I was saying. But there was no denying the Belgian POWs dead from American rifles. I gave my statement, then stepped back as real officials took control of the situation. They said they'd contact me for the tribunal.
Not too long after that, I took a plunge into the North Atlantic. That day had never again entered my thoughts until I saw the name of that speaker. It was the name of a murderer.
# # # # #
"-Vagabond is even an Avenger! Please explain to me how that happens?"
That was Cathy Webster making disparaging remarks about one of my teammates. Seated at the bar with her was Jack Flagg. Once upon a time they wore colorful costumes and had helped me fight colorful villains under the names Freespirit and Jack Flag. After I was nearly killed by Onslaught and disappeared for a year I forced them both to retire. Now Jack works for a Congressman, and Cathy attends Empire State University.
"So put the costume back on," Jack told Cathy as I approached from behind. "You don't need Cap's permission."
"No, I could just go be an unsanctioned vigilante," replied Cathy in a sarcastic tone. "I'm fine with the campus watch. Though it would be nice to beat on an attempted rapist than just reporting frat boy pranksters. Wow I miss the action though. It's just a good rush, you know?"
Jack shook his head. "Sorry, but for me the rush went away the night Drake got crippled."
Drake Flagg, Jack's brother. The two men used to work with a neighborhood watch program, until Drake got jumped. Now the older brother works for an internet company specializing in background checks. When I needed information it was Drake I usually called.
"Oh yeah?" Cathy turned her head to look at Jack. "So why is it you put on the costume after that happened?" Then she saw me, and flushed with embarrassment as I took the stool beside her. "Uh, hey Steve. We were just, you know, talking about the old days."
"Priscilla is an Avenger because she's shown she can do the job," I replied. "But if I had my way, she'd be in college, the same as you."
"Except it's not your say," Cathy had shot back. "I'm in college because I want to be, before I ever even met you. Gosh, you just like to be everybody's big brother, don't you? Oh, here's my drink. Please look on disapprovingly as I drink beer." At the end she makes a spooky sound.
Both Cathy and Jack received bottles of beer. I ordered a club soda, non-alcoholic. "You don't have a public identity and a long list of enemies. Feel free to cut down your response time."
"I certainly will." Looking at Cathy down that bottle and order a third, you'd never have thought she had entered college a shy little mouse. It had taken exposure to a Super-Soldier substitute treatment and brainwashing to change her into a real free spirit. Her heart is in the right place though. She genuinely does want to help people, particularly women.
"You're inner-monologing again, aren't you?" Cathy rolled her eyes, gave a slight giggle. "I swear, you watch too many old detective movies. Why judge me to my face when you can just think it? Now me, I speak my mind twenty-four seven." She turned around to face Jack. "That Congressman you work for is an ass, and I don't plan to vote for you."
"You don't live in his district," Jack reminded her.
"So I'll move and vote against him," replied Cathy quickly. "Oh, and I have a favor to ask you."
"You tell me you don't plan on voting for my boss, then you ask me for a favor?" Jack took a swig from his bottle. "Obviously nobody's told you how to properly beg."
"Well actually I'd be doing you the favor. You see, I know this great girl-"
"And she won't go out with you until you get a date for her ugly friend?" Jack cut in with a laugh.
Cathy gave him a hard stare. "Yeah, you wish I liked girls. That way you could get your brother to hack my web cam so you could watch all the hot lesbian action. I'm talking about my sister, pervert. She's moving to the city, won't know anybody, and you're the only decent guy I know she might actually like."
Immediately she turned to address me. "Sorry, Steve, but you're a little old." Then she spoke again to Jack. "Plus we've established that you're a little scared of me."
"I'm not scared of you."
Cathy pointed her finger rapidly at Jack, like she was shooting a gun. He flinched. "Hey, you know you are. And that means you won't sleep with her right away. Danielle's cute and fun and all, but kind of slutty."
"Wait," I interrupt. Something she said, I just couldn't let it pass. "Your sister's name is Danielle Webster?"
On the other side of Cathy, Jack chortled a laugh. Cathy blushed, then gave me a mean look. "That I'm getting that just now, shows that I have spent way too much time around you."
"Oh, now I just have to meet her," Jack said.
# # # # #
Spending time with Jack and Cathy had been just the thing I needed. It took my mind off Fort Breendonk, allowed me to relax until more information could arrive. Perfect timing, there was a message on my cell phone when I returned to the loft.
"Mr. Rogers, uh, Steve, hi. This is, um, it's Jessica. We met…oh jeez, I'm not good at this. You did give me your number and all but, wow, I can't believe it's real. Anyways, you said if I was in the neighborhood I should give you a call. No I'm not, well, I'm not there now but tomorrow, there's a coffee shop I'll be there and I noticed it's in your neighborhood so I figured, why not call? I'm kind of meeting somebody, work related, but I'll be there about an hour early. So if you get this in time and, you know, if you can make it. That'd be nice. Something to pass the time. So, okay, maybe I'll see you. Bye."
Very nicely done, Jessica. Just like I'd asked you. Nobody listening in would ever have suspected that I was the work-related meeting. Hopefully you'll have the information I need.
The next day I walk into the coffee shop on the corner. Sitting in one of the booths is a young woman, only a few years younger than I am, average looking only because she doesn't put much work into her appearance. Still, her mousey brown hair is straight with a nice sheen, and those brown eyes of hers are soft in spite of the hardness she tries to build around herself. That's the big reason why she usually wears sunglasses, but that day she didn't want to appear conspicuous.
I slide myself into the seat across from her. "That was good work you did. With the message."
A faint blush rises to her cheeks. "Oh, thanks. Uh, how do you want to handle this? I mean, they could be watching us. May even be reading my lips now." As though this had just occurred to her, she brought a hand up to her mouth.
"We're alone." The assurance is genuine. "Nobody would want to admit on their report to watching Captain America going on a nervous lunch date."
"Yeah, okay but," she pauses a little, wondering if perhaps she was about to go too far. "One of your ex-girlfriends, she's a government agent, right?"
Close, but not quite too far. "She wouldn't want me to think she was jealous." All I do is reply straightforward, not even bothering to ask how she knew about Sharon. It'd be her job to know.
"Right," she had said as though she considered herself an idiot for not knowing that. "Which she probably is. Even after she'd find another guy, you wouldn't be allowed to move on."
"Do you have the information?" I asked, a little too curt. My private life isn't part of the business.
A manila folder was dropped onto the table. "Three are still alive. One lives in the city. Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
No, I didn't. In fact, I even answered what she was likely to ask.
"There may have been a cover-up. If certain people know what I'm looking into, they could hide things even further." Opening the folder and glancing through records, I saw no mention of Fort Breendonk. The first discharge was honorable, and occurred shortly after the war was over. One man even went on to become a commissioned officer, with records going into Vietnam.
It was that bit that got me wondering. My memories had played tricks on me before. How could I know it really happened like I recalled? There were other ways of finding out, but I would have risked showing my hand.
"Thanks," I told the woman as I closed the folder. "How much?"
"I'd rather a favor." She slid a piece of paper across the table. "A group of people hired me for something. They're all related to victims of this, this real nutjob. He confessed to killing a lot of folks, except for the names on the list. Their families, they just want some closure."
"You could make him talk."
She shook her head. "It's Purple Man."
With complete understanding, I accepted the paper over while digging out a pen. She didn't need my help. Just some advice. "There would be traces of a chemical in their brains, even after years a good forensics lab should be able to find it." I wrote two words on the paper and slid it back towards her. "That's not worth the information. How much?"
Before taking the paper, she sipped up the remains of her coffee. The paper was shoved into her jacket as she stood up. Handle the check. If you still feel obligated," she shrugged. "Someday I may ask you for help again."
The investigator walked away. A little fast, as though she thought I may have argued with her. Instead I paid the modest price with a twenty. Of course I still felt obligated. If what I remembered was true, if this information helped to make a wrong right, then I was going to owe Jessica Jones for the rest of both our lives.
# # # # #
One look at his eyes and I knew I wasn't crazy.
There are two types of criminal in the world. There are those who want to be caught, and there are those who spend every moment terrified of being caught. The look in the old man's eyes was one of terror. Good, I though to myself. After what he'd done, what he'd put me through, he should have been afraid.
It was with a final terrified glance at me that he had hurried back into the house. It had been smaller than I expected. I suppose that, after a lifetime of dealing with criminal masterminds plotting from their castles, you grew used to that sort of thing. Not all criminals were like that, after all. Not even most criminals, just a fraction of a percentage.
Most criminals were just like the frightened old man I had watched from across the street in full costume. In every person's life there came a moment where you would find yourself breaking the law. Generally, normal people are either horrified by their actions, however small, or they enjoy a slight thrill at getting away with doing something wrong. With that old man I knew it was the former, had known it sixty years ago when the crime had occurred.
Whatever they may have been thinking at the time, that old man and his brothers had committed murder. Other people may have been willing to leave the past behind, but one of the cornerstones of the United States is its justice system. I wouldn't have been Captain America if I didn't do everything in my power to see justice served, no matter the circumstances.
It was time that another skeleton from World War II was removed from the closet.
# # # # #
When I arrive at the waterfront he was there, smoking his cigar. The sun was just rising, but already a number of ships were out on the water. Even though his back was to me, I knew that Colonel Nicholas Fury was aware of my approach. Knew by the curl of smoke wafting up over his head, marking his breathing.
Very few things make me uncomfortable. That even Colonel Fury would be nervous in my presence was one of them.
"What is it you wanted to talk about?" Fury asked as I came up beside him. "And make it quick. The way SHIELD is being run now, I don't like being away too long."
"Fort Breendonk." Those were the only words I said. Surprisingly, Fury's reply was to spit his cigar out contemptously into the water.
"Thought you'd made up your mind about that a long time ago. Not that I agree, but it was your choice. Past is past, Steve, and I've been sickened enough for one lifetime."
"What are you talking about, Nick?"
The sneer I receive when looking at Fury's face was more than unsettling. "You had the chance to make things right ten years ago. Now another two of them are dead, buried with full military honors. What you told me, if that's the way it happened, it just ain't right. But like I said, you made your choice."
Apparently, Fury thought I had been keeping quiet all these years. "I don't know why, Nick, but I hadn't thought about that incident at all until only a few days. If I'd remembered when I first…things do need to be made right."
"Not much point to it now." A second cigar was in Fury's mouth, in the process of being lit. "Almost everybody involved is dead."
"Only three of the soldiers. I know."
"Not just them." The contempt seemed to flow out of Colonel Fury. "Everybody that was involved in hushing things up, they're gone. The officers you spoke too, the brass and the politicians, everybody who knew about it. There's no paperwork, Steve. Just your word, and after keeping quiet for ten years that's bound to be questioned."
"Why the hell weren't things settled sixty years ago?" I asked. Frustration was building inside of me. "Even without me, they had my statement. The bullets in those bodies…a case could have been made."
"They were hesitant about going forward even before you disappeared. Politics runs wars, Cap, you know that. The enemy was evil and we were good, and that was that. Folks at home were sacrificing a lot during the war. Right there at the end, the brass didn't want anything to spoil our good image. So things got swept under the rug."
"And those men weren't even forced out." Disgust laced my voice.
"Things had to be kept quiet. Silence was bought."
"One of those men became an officer in Vietnam."
At this, Fury lowered his eyes. There wasn't anything he could say to justify that.
"Consequences be damned, I'm speaking out." Fury didn't say anything as I turned to walk away. "People need to know that not all of us were heroes."
# # # # #
Standing outside her door, I hesitated before knocking. Finding the address was easy. Being right there, about to face her after so long, that proved more difficult. It had taken over an hour for me to just walk into the building. At that moment, I still considered waiting until morning. Speaking to her at work may be better.
No, I'd finally decided. Whatever the past, the situation couldn't be delayed any longer. For over sixty years the truth had been hidden. No more.
I knocked on the door. After less than a minute, the door opened. She stood on the other side, a beauty I hadn't seen in several years.
"Steve, what…?"
"Bernie, I need your help."
Next Issue: With the help of ex-girlfriend Bernie Rosenthal, Captain America will make public a dark chapter of WWII. Not everyone will thank him for it.
Would I have given the warning if people had gotten killed? Maybe I would have, because those deaths I would have blamed on myself. The police car had been flipped, knocking both officers unconscious, but the gas leak had been minor and I had had all the time in the world to pull them out. When the car finally did explode the surrounding area had been cleared, the officers were being treated by paramedics, and I had been on the pursuit of the Wrecker.
For all of the Wrecker's strength, he wasn't a very fast runner. Before long I had him in view. Without missing a step I threw my shield, and it caught Wrecker behind the knee. This wouldn't injure him in the slightest, but he'd at least know who was after him. Hopefully he would remember.
Wrecker did. He stopped and turned around and glared at me as I was taking the shield back in hand. We had fought once before, at Avengers Mansion when he was at full power and I'd been beaten half to death. In close quarters he'd swung that crowbar at me, and without my shield all I could do was hit and move. Still I managed to get the best of him, and to men like the Wrecker that can be taken personal.
"You're the one who's gonna get hurt," Wrecker growled at me in that hoarse voice you can only get from shouting lame threats every other day. "I promised I was gonna make you eat this bar." The crowbar in question is raised over Wrecker's head, just about where I want it. "Wrecker's a boy that keeps his promises."
Before Wrecker could come at me like a lumbering oaf, I threw what some people would call my mighty shield. It struck Wrecker on his crowbar arm, just below the wrist, then ricocheted off as thought it had hit a lamp post. Wrecker just laughed as his arm moved the slightest of an inch to exactly where I wanted it. He didn't notice the power line my shield had just cut through.
"That's the best you've got? Boy, I'm going to enjoy shoving this up your a-aarrgh!" A trail of burnt air and the hinting smell of ozone followed the severed power line as it swung free. That sparking tip caught the tip of Wrecker's crowbar. I had already covered my eyes. The sound of his screams and the stench of his cooking flesh I experienced full-on, but at least I didn't have to see Wrecker stiffen up like a corpse.
With his strength, granted by the Norn Queen of Asgard, Wrecker wasn't killed. Close, maybe. He was certainly out cold for a long time. Long enough for the police to properly secure him. I stuck around to help with that, and also made sure that nobody went near the loose power line. Eventually the electric company had sent a team to repair the damage I'd caused.
"Send the bill to Avengers Mansion," I told the team's supervisor. "Every watt wasted, I'll pay for it."
She nodded and agreed to comply, but I suspected that the amount charged would be less than the actual. There wouldn't have been any point in pressing the issue, so I walked away feigning satisfaction. That was when the message board caught my eye.
On the street where I had faced Wrecker, a VFW building stood. In front of the building was a message board, listing upcoming events. What had caught my eye was the name of a guest of honor for a dinner to be held later that month. In remembrance of World War II. That was what made the name stick out. Without that as a marker I likely never would have placed the name. I probably never would have thought about that day again.
# # # # #
Over fifty years ago, but I remember that day like it was only ten years past. It's disrespectful, how little I think of that liberation. There had been so few before I left the war, mainly small POW camps in Western Europe. Of those few liberations I'd only participated in one or two, and even then I was only around for after the camp had been taken. For show.
No ranking German officers of particular worth were stationed in the camp. What few I saw were aged veterans of the Great War, men relaxing away their days up to retirement by tormenting captive soldiers from the early fighting. The sight of a man in a colorful costume didn't frighten those men. Because all of the captives were Europeans taking prisoner long before America got involved, it was doubtful any of them had ever heard of me.
Maybe that was why I never thought of the liberation of Fort Breendonk much. At the time I felt useless. Remembering that, that was most likely the reason I reacted to the sound of gunfire. In the aftermath of any battle, sporadic gun-shots were to be expected. Craving action, I ran off to investigate while more experienced soldiers didn't give it a second thought.
Four years of war, and I hadn't seen much combat to write home about. Oh, there had been battles and firefights, but nothing like the average soldier went through. One of a kind, I was used sparingly, sent to investigate mad scientists and to counteract any super-men the Nazi's developed. The brutal conflicts for every inch of blood-soaked ground were fought by regular men, real soldiers who weren't given half the recognition they deserve.
Except for the soldiers I caught firing rounds that day. Shooting into a shallow pit they were, horrified and sickening expressions on each of their faces. Hot cases spat out of the rifles pointed at the hole. So close, I could hear the death screams that accompanied the gunfire.
"What are you doing?!" I screamed, both angry and confused. Those men in the pit, they needed our help. Christ, they expected our help, not our bullets putting a final end to their misery. "Stop!"
The shield was spinning through the air before the word was entirely out of my mouth. Two rifles were knocked from the arms holding them, sent to the ground silent. One rifle turned towards me. I was on the soldier before more than one round could erupt inches from my torso. The rifle left his hands and became part of my own, aimed this time at the remaining armed soldiers.
By then, they recognized who had stopped their killing. At the sight of red, white and blue, every man dropped his weapon. It was too late, though. No sounds came from the pit. One look and those unmoving corpses told me everything there was to know. The killing was done.
"What in god's name is this?" I breathed, too softly for any of the murders to hear. "Tell me why!" I screamed, the rifle shaking in my hands.
"Half of them were already dead," answered the man I'd personally disarmed. On his uniform I could see the stripes of a sergeant. "The rest wouldn't have lived out the day, no matter what we'd have done. Some of them were begging, I think."
My boot stopped him from saying another word. A spray of blood and one tooth sailed into the pit, mingled with the mess of blood already there.
"Each and every one of you is hereby relieved of duty," I stammered out, trying my best to sound official and commanding. Several of those murderers were younger than I was at the time. "Line up. I'm taking you all to the MPs."
That day, nobody wanted to believe what I was saying. But there was no denying the Belgian POWs dead from American rifles. I gave my statement, then stepped back as real officials took control of the situation. They said they'd contact me for the tribunal.
Not too long after that, I took a plunge into the North Atlantic. That day had never again entered my thoughts until I saw the name of that speaker. It was the name of a murderer.
# # # # #
"-Vagabond is even an Avenger! Please explain to me how that happens?"
That was Cathy Webster making disparaging remarks about one of my teammates. Seated at the bar with her was Jack Flagg. Once upon a time they wore colorful costumes and had helped me fight colorful villains under the names Freespirit and Jack Flag. After I was nearly killed by Onslaught and disappeared for a year I forced them both to retire. Now Jack works for a Congressman, and Cathy attends Empire State University.
"So put the costume back on," Jack told Cathy as I approached from behind. "You don't need Cap's permission."
"No, I could just go be an unsanctioned vigilante," replied Cathy in a sarcastic tone. "I'm fine with the campus watch. Though it would be nice to beat on an attempted rapist than just reporting frat boy pranksters. Wow I miss the action though. It's just a good rush, you know?"
Jack shook his head. "Sorry, but for me the rush went away the night Drake got crippled."
Drake Flagg, Jack's brother. The two men used to work with a neighborhood watch program, until Drake got jumped. Now the older brother works for an internet company specializing in background checks. When I needed information it was Drake I usually called.
"Oh yeah?" Cathy turned her head to look at Jack. "So why is it you put on the costume after that happened?" Then she saw me, and flushed with embarrassment as I took the stool beside her. "Uh, hey Steve. We were just, you know, talking about the old days."
"Priscilla is an Avenger because she's shown she can do the job," I replied. "But if I had my way, she'd be in college, the same as you."
"Except it's not your say," Cathy had shot back. "I'm in college because I want to be, before I ever even met you. Gosh, you just like to be everybody's big brother, don't you? Oh, here's my drink. Please look on disapprovingly as I drink beer." At the end she makes a spooky sound.
Both Cathy and Jack received bottles of beer. I ordered a club soda, non-alcoholic. "You don't have a public identity and a long list of enemies. Feel free to cut down your response time."
"I certainly will." Looking at Cathy down that bottle and order a third, you'd never have thought she had entered college a shy little mouse. It had taken exposure to a Super-Soldier substitute treatment and brainwashing to change her into a real free spirit. Her heart is in the right place though. She genuinely does want to help people, particularly women.
"You're inner-monologing again, aren't you?" Cathy rolled her eyes, gave a slight giggle. "I swear, you watch too many old detective movies. Why judge me to my face when you can just think it? Now me, I speak my mind twenty-four seven." She turned around to face Jack. "That Congressman you work for is an ass, and I don't plan to vote for you."
"You don't live in his district," Jack reminded her.
"So I'll move and vote against him," replied Cathy quickly. "Oh, and I have a favor to ask you."
"You tell me you don't plan on voting for my boss, then you ask me for a favor?" Jack took a swig from his bottle. "Obviously nobody's told you how to properly beg."
"Well actually I'd be doing you the favor. You see, I know this great girl-"
"And she won't go out with you until you get a date for her ugly friend?" Jack cut in with a laugh.
Cathy gave him a hard stare. "Yeah, you wish I liked girls. That way you could get your brother to hack my web cam so you could watch all the hot lesbian action. I'm talking about my sister, pervert. She's moving to the city, won't know anybody, and you're the only decent guy I know she might actually like."
Immediately she turned to address me. "Sorry, Steve, but you're a little old." Then she spoke again to Jack. "Plus we've established that you're a little scared of me."
"I'm not scared of you."
Cathy pointed her finger rapidly at Jack, like she was shooting a gun. He flinched. "Hey, you know you are. And that means you won't sleep with her right away. Danielle's cute and fun and all, but kind of slutty."
"Wait," I interrupt. Something she said, I just couldn't let it pass. "Your sister's name is Danielle Webster?"
On the other side of Cathy, Jack chortled a laugh. Cathy blushed, then gave me a mean look. "That I'm getting that just now, shows that I have spent way too much time around you."
"Oh, now I just have to meet her," Jack said.
# # # # #
Spending time with Jack and Cathy had been just the thing I needed. It took my mind off Fort Breendonk, allowed me to relax until more information could arrive. Perfect timing, there was a message on my cell phone when I returned to the loft.
"Mr. Rogers, uh, Steve, hi. This is, um, it's Jessica. We met…oh jeez, I'm not good at this. You did give me your number and all but, wow, I can't believe it's real. Anyways, you said if I was in the neighborhood I should give you a call. No I'm not, well, I'm not there now but tomorrow, there's a coffee shop I'll be there and I noticed it's in your neighborhood so I figured, why not call? I'm kind of meeting somebody, work related, but I'll be there about an hour early. So if you get this in time and, you know, if you can make it. That'd be nice. Something to pass the time. So, okay, maybe I'll see you. Bye."
Very nicely done, Jessica. Just like I'd asked you. Nobody listening in would ever have suspected that I was the work-related meeting. Hopefully you'll have the information I need.
The next day I walk into the coffee shop on the corner. Sitting in one of the booths is a young woman, only a few years younger than I am, average looking only because she doesn't put much work into her appearance. Still, her mousey brown hair is straight with a nice sheen, and those brown eyes of hers are soft in spite of the hardness she tries to build around herself. That's the big reason why she usually wears sunglasses, but that day she didn't want to appear conspicuous.
I slide myself into the seat across from her. "That was good work you did. With the message."
A faint blush rises to her cheeks. "Oh, thanks. Uh, how do you want to handle this? I mean, they could be watching us. May even be reading my lips now." As though this had just occurred to her, she brought a hand up to her mouth.
"We're alone." The assurance is genuine. "Nobody would want to admit on their report to watching Captain America going on a nervous lunch date."
"Yeah, okay but," she pauses a little, wondering if perhaps she was about to go too far. "One of your ex-girlfriends, she's a government agent, right?"
Close, but not quite too far. "She wouldn't want me to think she was jealous." All I do is reply straightforward, not even bothering to ask how she knew about Sharon. It'd be her job to know.
"Right," she had said as though she considered herself an idiot for not knowing that. "Which she probably is. Even after she'd find another guy, you wouldn't be allowed to move on."
"Do you have the information?" I asked, a little too curt. My private life isn't part of the business.
A manila folder was dropped onto the table. "Three are still alive. One lives in the city. Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
No, I didn't. In fact, I even answered what she was likely to ask.
"There may have been a cover-up. If certain people know what I'm looking into, they could hide things even further." Opening the folder and glancing through records, I saw no mention of Fort Breendonk. The first discharge was honorable, and occurred shortly after the war was over. One man even went on to become a commissioned officer, with records going into Vietnam.
It was that bit that got me wondering. My memories had played tricks on me before. How could I know it really happened like I recalled? There were other ways of finding out, but I would have risked showing my hand.
"Thanks," I told the woman as I closed the folder. "How much?"
"I'd rather a favor." She slid a piece of paper across the table. "A group of people hired me for something. They're all related to victims of this, this real nutjob. He confessed to killing a lot of folks, except for the names on the list. Their families, they just want some closure."
"You could make him talk."
She shook her head. "It's Purple Man."
With complete understanding, I accepted the paper over while digging out a pen. She didn't need my help. Just some advice. "There would be traces of a chemical in their brains, even after years a good forensics lab should be able to find it." I wrote two words on the paper and slid it back towards her. "That's not worth the information. How much?"
Before taking the paper, she sipped up the remains of her coffee. The paper was shoved into her jacket as she stood up. Handle the check. If you still feel obligated," she shrugged. "Someday I may ask you for help again."
The investigator walked away. A little fast, as though she thought I may have argued with her. Instead I paid the modest price with a twenty. Of course I still felt obligated. If what I remembered was true, if this information helped to make a wrong right, then I was going to owe Jessica Jones for the rest of both our lives.
# # # # #
One look at his eyes and I knew I wasn't crazy.
There are two types of criminal in the world. There are those who want to be caught, and there are those who spend every moment terrified of being caught. The look in the old man's eyes was one of terror. Good, I though to myself. After what he'd done, what he'd put me through, he should have been afraid.
It was with a final terrified glance at me that he had hurried back into the house. It had been smaller than I expected. I suppose that, after a lifetime of dealing with criminal masterminds plotting from their castles, you grew used to that sort of thing. Not all criminals were like that, after all. Not even most criminals, just a fraction of a percentage.
Most criminals were just like the frightened old man I had watched from across the street in full costume. In every person's life there came a moment where you would find yourself breaking the law. Generally, normal people are either horrified by their actions, however small, or they enjoy a slight thrill at getting away with doing something wrong. With that old man I knew it was the former, had known it sixty years ago when the crime had occurred.
Whatever they may have been thinking at the time, that old man and his brothers had committed murder. Other people may have been willing to leave the past behind, but one of the cornerstones of the United States is its justice system. I wouldn't have been Captain America if I didn't do everything in my power to see justice served, no matter the circumstances.
It was time that another skeleton from World War II was removed from the closet.
# # # # #
When I arrive at the waterfront he was there, smoking his cigar. The sun was just rising, but already a number of ships were out on the water. Even though his back was to me, I knew that Colonel Nicholas Fury was aware of my approach. Knew by the curl of smoke wafting up over his head, marking his breathing.
Very few things make me uncomfortable. That even Colonel Fury would be nervous in my presence was one of them.
"What is it you wanted to talk about?" Fury asked as I came up beside him. "And make it quick. The way SHIELD is being run now, I don't like being away too long."
"Fort Breendonk." Those were the only words I said. Surprisingly, Fury's reply was to spit his cigar out contemptously into the water.
"Thought you'd made up your mind about that a long time ago. Not that I agree, but it was your choice. Past is past, Steve, and I've been sickened enough for one lifetime."
"What are you talking about, Nick?"
The sneer I receive when looking at Fury's face was more than unsettling. "You had the chance to make things right ten years ago. Now another two of them are dead, buried with full military honors. What you told me, if that's the way it happened, it just ain't right. But like I said, you made your choice."
Apparently, Fury thought I had been keeping quiet all these years. "I don't know why, Nick, but I hadn't thought about that incident at all until only a few days. If I'd remembered when I first…things do need to be made right."
"Not much point to it now." A second cigar was in Fury's mouth, in the process of being lit. "Almost everybody involved is dead."
"Only three of the soldiers. I know."
"Not just them." The contempt seemed to flow out of Colonel Fury. "Everybody that was involved in hushing things up, they're gone. The officers you spoke too, the brass and the politicians, everybody who knew about it. There's no paperwork, Steve. Just your word, and after keeping quiet for ten years that's bound to be questioned."
"Why the hell weren't things settled sixty years ago?" I asked. Frustration was building inside of me. "Even without me, they had my statement. The bullets in those bodies…a case could have been made."
"They were hesitant about going forward even before you disappeared. Politics runs wars, Cap, you know that. The enemy was evil and we were good, and that was that. Folks at home were sacrificing a lot during the war. Right there at the end, the brass didn't want anything to spoil our good image. So things got swept under the rug."
"And those men weren't even forced out." Disgust laced my voice.
"Things had to be kept quiet. Silence was bought."
"One of those men became an officer in Vietnam."
At this, Fury lowered his eyes. There wasn't anything he could say to justify that.
"Consequences be damned, I'm speaking out." Fury didn't say anything as I turned to walk away. "People need to know that not all of us were heroes."
# # # # #
Standing outside her door, I hesitated before knocking. Finding the address was easy. Being right there, about to face her after so long, that proved more difficult. It had taken over an hour for me to just walk into the building. At that moment, I still considered waiting until morning. Speaking to her at work may be better.
No, I'd finally decided. Whatever the past, the situation couldn't be delayed any longer. For over sixty years the truth had been hidden. No more.
I knocked on the door. After less than a minute, the door opened. She stood on the other side, a beauty I hadn't seen in several years.
"Steve, what…?"
"Bernie, I need your help."
Next Issue: With the help of ex-girlfriend Bernie Rosenthal, Captain America will make public a dark chapter of WWII. Not everyone will thank him for it.