In 1943 Steven Grant Rogers was enlisted to the United States Army.
Everyone knows the righteous, patriotic Captain America and his story. People might have heard of his mother, Sara, who was a nurse and died of tuberculosis. Perhaps some have even...
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The thing was, William Rogers had not gotten a wink of sleep that night. His emotions had gone haywire. He was... he was furious. He couldn't even imagine what Ruben had felt, Adamson had obviously been harassing him for a long time if the only solitude he could find was death.
They weren't close, not at all. But William knew Ruben only talked with him, everyone else, had pushed the young adult away. So, he had written another letter that night. The turmoil of emotions in him had been threatening to boil over. The letter was anonymous, it explained what Adamson's twisted ways had led Ruben to do, it was a warning that if people like Adamson were to train young soldiers, there would most likely be more cases like that.
He had slipped the letter under a officers door and left hastily to wait for the car.
His bag was light and the chain with the key had been ducked under his shirt. He stood in a group with others, he could tell they were all sleepy and dozing off on their feet, or quietly conversing with each other. But William was a stranger to that unit, and he didn't mind for the first time in his life. Agent Carter greeted them as the large trucks rolled closer, they were all commanded to climb into the back of them. Their bags were pulled close to them and there was barely any space.
Some were asleep, leaning on the back of the car or on the persons shoulder next to them. While others, the minor part of the young soldiers were deep in thought, looking out of the moving truck. The truck was so loud and shaky that William would have saluted those deep in sleep. A couple of men hit their heads against the armoured wall, grunting and waking up after hitting their heads the second time.
After some time, he stopped apologizing after pumping into the fellow comrades whenever they hit another bump in the road. Again, they were shoved into the train, William was anxious, so he did try to converse with some random people, but most of them just blinked at him and ended the conversation as soon as it started.
He watched the land roll by, wondering how many miles has he left behind already. As much as he wanted to express his fears to someone, his doubts and secrets, he didn't. Despite the urge to run up to someone and just ask them to take Will home, he stayed put.
He even refused the food they were given, which he knew was stupid, but he would not have been able to keep it all down. He was a bundle of nerves, a gigantic stress ball. Or at least that's how he felt while he was being squeezed in the middle of a group of soldiers. The salty air slapped him in the face, the crispy air making his tanned cheeks redden from the cold.
William had seen lakes and rivers, but nothing could compare to the dancing, raging sea that rolled open in front of him. He gaped at the amount of water, blue eyes bulging as he tried to keep from tripping over his own legs. He dragged his eyes away from a large amount of water, the grey skies giving the sea quite dark and dangerous look. He stepped on the bridge, following the line of soldiers onto the ship. He wanted to stop and just take in the view, but the man behind him kept bumping his bag into Wills back uncomfortably.
