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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Will clutched the iron pole that was under the truck, locking his muscles to prevent falling on the ground as the heavy vehicle kept dragging itself over the road that seemed to be used regularly.
He grunted, almost slipping after the first left tire sunk into a deep hole in the road, immediately dragging its heavy iron body out. The engine roared, the smell of oil and smoke thick in the air as Will tightened the hold with his legs, briefly comparing himself to a snake.
He made sure his rifle was in an iron grip, afraid of losing the only firearm he had. Sure he had plenty of knives on his person, but he had gotten used to carrying the rifle around. At this point it was like a second hand, it gave him some sort of solace.
He pulled his body up as the trucks rolled to a stop, the engine still deafeningly loud. He craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of what happening in the front. The large iron doors opened slowly, making the first truck lurch forwards. The dark navy green helmet that had been tightly sitting on top of his mop of blonde hair was loose, sliding back slightly and strangling him a little. He grunted, trying to unclip it while still trying to keep himself attached to the underside of the vehicle. He let out a strangled cry as the helmet fell, landing on the dusty road.
He tried to grab it with his free hand, almost falling off the metal pole and under the large tires of the heavily armoured vehicle. Startled, he pulled himself even more around the pole, ignoring the ache in his muscles and grumble in his empty stomach and dry throat. He blinked as the trucks were slowing down, driving inside the base. He saw plenty of dark, well-polished boots standing near the walls.
He didn't even doubt this place was buzzing with Nazis.
A cold shudder ran down his spine as the sound of engines intensified in the closed environment, the large doors falling shut and cutting off the daylight. He was briefly blinded by the darkness and deafened by the dying of the motors after the trucks had rolled deeper into the base and parked into a neat line. He heard the distant speaking of soldiers, mumbling to each other in a foreign language that made Will flinch, reminding him how far away he was from home. He pulled himself closer to the underbelly of the truck, straining his muscles as he gritted his chattering teeth, the buzzing in his ears dying out a little as the foreign words started sounding more and more clearer. "Es lebt niemand" someone chuckled loudly, leaning against the truck William was hiding under. He could feel a heavy drop of sweat forming above his weath coloured brow.
German voices echoed in the cold tunnels as the soldier tried to peek around, making sure he would not drop the rifle and cause any commotion to attract any unwanted attention to himself. He saw two ends of the tunnel, one was a dead end, the twin doors that he was not quite sure how to open just yet. The other end seemed to widen and lead deeper into the base.
The soldiers buzzed around, collecting their belongings as they started heading deeper into the underground. Will was alert, watching keenly as the feet of the soldiers marched into the unknown. He watched the last one go, still hesitant to let go and lower himself on the floor.
