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 sound of light footsteps was caught by the trees as they landed on the soft forest floor, a little later being followed by a group of much angrier and heavier footsteps. The sky was grey and it would soon be turning dark, it hung above them as if it was a huge mass of smoke.
His heart was in his throat as the lonely pine tree branches marred his tanned and tight face. The leaves slapped against his helmet as he tried to fly underneath them, making sure not to stumble and fall, yet they managed to scratch him underneath his eye.
As they panted, clutching their rifles and keeping heads low, they could hear the dogs barking in the distance, angrily trying to herd them like sheep to butchering. William slowed down, his chest going up and down at a fast pace. It wasn't that he was getting tired, it was more likely the fear fueling his anxiety. He realized Theo was falling behind. "Come on, come Theo!" he gasped out, still stumbling forwards, the clothes and gear suffocating him as he tried to jump over a deeper part of a muddy moss, fearing his heavy equipment would make him stuck.
Yet he flew swiftly over the grounds, trying to shake them off.
But Theo was falling behind, and William would not allow it. He halted, gasping for oxygen and waiting for the taller male to catch up. He grabbed his shoulder, pushing him forward as he kept glancing behind anxiously, seeing the dark forms in the distance and the perked up ears of furious German shepherds as they flashed their teeth and angry eyes.
“Shut up and shoot them!” Theo gasped out, trying to load his rifle as he was running blindly. William grabbed it from him, knowing it was just slowing him down. ”I got it, go, I'm right behind you.” William said, and Theo ran.
He tried to even his breathing, eyes wide as he pulled the trigger to shoot the ground the dogs were running over. They whimpered, halting for a second as Willian started running again. He could not see Theo anymore, which was probably a good thing.
He could hear bombs going off in the distance, making him believe that they were attacked. It was no use trying to mislead them, so, not knowing which way Theo had ran off to, William headed towards the camp.
He yelped, falling headfirst into moss that seemed to swallow his whole foot. Theo's rifle flew from his hand, landing with a clink against a rotting tree. He groaned, trying to pull his foot free from the sticky surface. He gritted his teeth, groaning under his breath as he tried to crawl out.
The footsteps got nearer and knowing they were closing in on him, made William snatch one of the small, stolen knives that were tucked into his belt. He turned his body into an awkward angle and with all his might, threw three knives at the heavily armoured bodies.
They fell with a thud, the loud sound of firing bullets making William snap his eyes shut. He waited for the pain that would alarm him of an injury, but it never came.
“You're such a git. Come 'ere you bloody idiot.” John growled under his breath, grabbing William from his shoulders and hauling him out of the muddy pit with a grunt. John panted, cheeks red underneath the dark layer of dust and grime. His brown curls stuck onto his forehead with the sweat that glistened on his skin. “Th-thanks John.”
