Jason Booth paced the waiting room for what seemed to the nurse handling the reception desk the hundredth time...that hour. Jason, a man of great girth and graying hair, folded his hands behind his back again and marched back up to the receptionist.

"Do you know anything yet?" he demanded of the pretty blonde girl behind the desk. She frowned and set down her magazine.

"For the last time, Mr. Booth...when I hear something about how your wife is doing, you'll be the first one I tell. Now sit down. You're making people nervous. Smoke a cigarette or something."

Jason looked about the waiting room, just noticing for the first time that the other people waiting there were eyeing him nervously. He smiled and drew a cigarette pack from his coat pocket and began to fumble about for a pack of matches or a lighter. He swore not quite under his breath, drawing more apprehensive glares from the other waiting people as he marched back up to the receptionist.

"Mr.Booth...I told you I'd let you know when I heard about your wife..."

"I...um...was going to ask for a light actually." Jason grinned sheepishly. The nurse rolled her eyes and handed him a pack of matches as she shooed him back to his seat. Jason sat down and lit his cigarette and surveyed the room. He wondered to himself why Elaine's parents weren't there yet. 'You'd think those old bags would want to be there for their first grandkid!' he mused to himself.

There was an old man in hunting clothes seated next to Jason. The man clutched an old fishing magazine, trying to pretend he didn't notice Jason sizing him up.

"What are you hear for, old timer?" Jason demanded as he exhaled a cloud of smoke in the elder man's face. Booth smiled as the other man turned to face him. The smile revealed several gaps where Jason once had teeth.

"My wife had a heart attack last night." the elderly man said, his voice a low creak, like a tree being assaulted in a wind storm.

"Shoot...is that all?" Jason laughed. "MY wife is having a baby! Little shit better be a boy, too. I ain't having no sissy ass girls in MY family. I'm gonna teach him to hunt and fish and fight. He'll be a REAL man, yessir! Won't take no guff from any niggers either, let me tell you!" Jason beemed.

"Congratulations." the older man mumbled, turning back to his magazine. Jason smiled and took another drag from his cigarette as he became lost in his fantasies of the real man he was going to raise.

"Mr. Booth...Mr.Booth!" Jason was shaken from his reverie by the receptionist. "I have news about your wife."

"Shit...well, be out with it then woman!" Jason snarled.

"There's...um...been complications."

"Mr. Booth...your son is alright." the doctor said as he laid his hand on Jason's shoulder.

"What about my wife, doc? You geezers are hiding something. Now, tell me. I'm a man. I can take it, dammit!"

"Your wife..." the doctor said, looking down, desperately trying to avoid Jason's piercing eyes.

"God damn you!" Jason hollered as he lifted the doctor from the ground and pinned him to the wall. "Out with it old man...Now."

"Elaine...Elaine will never walk again."

"No! You're lying! You're lying, damn you!" Jason screamed.

"I assure you, Mr. Booth, we did everything in our power to help her."

"SHUT UP!" Jason howled between his tears as he laid the doctor out with a stiff right. Both the doctor and Jason fell to the ground at the same time, the former in an unconscious heap and the latter with his head in his hands, trying to hide the flood of tears.

"Alright, men. Huddle up."

Coach Booth hollered as his team rallied around him. There was Runny Runnington, so named due to his ever constant stream of mucus oozing from his nose. Brickhouse Baker...the field was named for his great granddaddy Joe. Both of these boys were there, but the one that mattered most to Coach Booth was his own son, Jeremiah, the star quarterback.

Of course, Jeremy didn't really want to play football, but he just couldn't tell his father that. He had to make him proud. Jeremy saw how his dad got when his mommy made his daddy mad. Jeremiah shook his head and tried to focus on what his dad...the coach was saying.

"OK, Jeremiah...you know the play?" Coach Booth demanded of his son, the star. Jer nodded, hoping to hide the befuddled look on his face from his father's ever observant eye.

"Alright then, men...go out there and win this game! Make us all proud."

The Rennington Lumberyard Redwoods took the field, lining up against the Savannah Central Bank Rams. Both teams had endured an entire season unbeaten, as well as throughout the playoffs. The Redwoods had done it almost entirely on the shoulders of one boy...Jeremiah Booth.

Jer looked across the field quickly sizing up the opposition. He knew he had this one play to score a touchdown. Otherwise, the Redwoods could kiss the hopes of an unbeaten year goodbye. The score was 21-16...the Rams' lead. The ball was on the Rams' twenty-nine yard line, with four seconds left. It all came down to this one last play.

Jer took a deep breath and called for the ball. He dropped into a pass position deep in the pocket, looking for an open reciever. Unfortunately, all of his men were too heavily guarded. Jeremiah began to scroll to his left, trying to find an opening to scramble through. He never saw the Rams' guard slam him from behind.

Jason Booth pulled his son, Jeremiah into the house. The elder Booth had a strong, firm grip on the boy's hair and showed no signs of releasing his son any time soon.

"You idiot! How could you blow such a big game like that? It's all your fault!"

Jason threw Jer into the wall hard. The eight year old slammed into the wall and slumped to the ground. Tears welled up in his eyes and began to streak down his face, much to the ire of his father.

"Little baby. Stop your crying now or else I'll give you something to cry about!" Jason growled as he unbuckled his belt and slid it out of his loops.

"Jason, stop." the boy's mother, Elaine pleaded as she pulled her wheelchair to a halt in the den, directly between father and son. "Whatever happened at the game isn't Jer's fault. He's only eight years old for god's sakes!"

"Get out of the way, Elaine. The boy needs to be shown how to be a man. Crying is for women and faggots, and Jason Wilkes Booth ain't raising neither!"

Elaine held her ground, locking eyes with her husband. It was clear that she wouldn't let a little thing like being crippled stop her from protecting her son.

"I mean it, Jason. Lay off him. He's just a boy, and he's your son." Elaine pleaded, tears of her own streaking down her face and smearing her makeup.

"Oh for the love of Pete!" Jason bellowed. "Now I see where he gets it from, the little brat, crying just like his mommy."

Jason wrapped his belt around his fist and tried to step around his wheelchair bound wife. Elaine deftly moved into his path no matter where he tried to go.

"God damn you, I mean it Elaine. Get out of my way or else." Jason snarled, the rage quite evident on his face.

"No."

Jason grabbed his wife by the shoulder and threw her to the ground behind him, wheelchair and all, and advanced on his son.

Jeremiah Booth sat in front of the radio, transfixed by the sounds that eminated from the appliance.

"Captain America stopped another Nazi spy-ring this afternoon," the announcer said. "The Sentinel of Liberty and his young partner, Bucky, had no comments on the matter other than to say that espionage against the States would no longer be tolerated."

"Damn it boy, get dressed. We're already late for the ceremony."

"But Dad, Captain America is on! He's the greatest!"

Jason switched the radio off and threw his son a white robe.

"I don't care if it's the friggin' President declaring free pie for everybody! We're late for your initiation, boy. Now move."

Jeremiah grudgeingly pulled his robe and hood on and followed his father.

"We're gonna burn us some niggers tonight, boy!"

"Pass the potatoes, boy." Jason Booth demanded of his son, Jeremiah, in between mouthfulls of steak. "And get your attention to the dinner your mother cooked, not that blasted radio!"

Jason was about to turn the old radio handed down from his father when a new bulletin caught his attention.

"This just in..." the announcer began. "The Axis Powers have released footage that implies that America's champions against the Reich, Captain America and Bucky, are dead at the hands of a Nazi plot.

General Eisenhower denies these claims, pointing to Captain America and Bucky's involvement in several raids against Nazi strongholds in the past few days.

When we have more details, we will report them immediately."

"Humph." Jason grunted, switching off the radio. "What do you think of that, kid? Your hero cheated death. Not bad for a pretty boy soldier type!"

"I don't know, dad. I saw Cap on the newsreels yesterday, at one of the Nazi busts that they mentioned just now. He looked similar, but I don't think it was the real Cap." Jeremiah replied before swallowing a piece of meat. "I think that maybe the Allies realize the importance of a symbol like Captain America and took steps to insure they don't lose a valuable icon like him. They probably trained a replacement or had one of the other Liberators take over as Cap."

"Ahhh, what do you know? You're just a dumb kid." Jason snorted. "If the government says Captain America is alive, then he's alive and ain't no seventeen year old kid going to make me believe any different in the matter."

Jeremiah turned to his mother for support, but Elaine had her head bowed to her plate. Jeremiah sighed and returned to finishing his meal in silence.

"Oh, Jason, I'm so proud of Jeremiah! He's done what neither of us ever did!"

"Humph," Jason grunted. "So what? You think just because he graduated from high school that he's a better man than me, is that it?"

"Jason, I didn't say that..." Elaine said, trying to calm her volatile husband before he caused a scene that she, for one, didn't want nor need.

"Shut up, Elaine. I'm sick of you putting that boy before me. I'm your husband, damn it! Show me some respect!"

"Jason, Jeremiah's on stage now..." Elaine interjected.

Jeremiah walked across the stage of the school auditorium, pausing to shake hands with the president of the school board, the vice-principal, the principal and then the superintendient before being handed his diploma and leaving the stage.

"Jeremiah Booth, highest honors and valedictorian." the announcer called out. Several of Jeremiah's friends stood and applauded at the mention of his name and accomplishments.

Jason scowled in the back row of the auditorium.

Jeremiah laughed with his friends on the front lawn of the house. The yard was decorated with blue and white streamers and signs congratulating him on his graduation. Jeremiah sat on the picnic table he'd built with his father the summer before last and sipped a cold beer.

"Hard to believe it's all over and on to college, isn't it?" Suzie Laughton asked.

"Nah. I'm glad it's done. High school was boring anyhow. College is going to be one big party!" Nathan Richards replied as he polished off another bottle of beer.

"Maybe for you, Nate, but Jeremiah got into Princeton. He's going to have to work hard!" Suzie replied. placing her hand on Jeremiah's shoulder.

"It's all worth it though," Jeremiah said. "A degree from an Ivy League school will help me get a good job. I won't have to be like my dad, stuck in a dead end job for the rest of my life."

"Say, where are your parents, anyhow, Jer?" Nate asked as he scanned the yard. "They were here just a second ago."

"I'm not sure. I'll go find them. Wait here, alright?" Jeremiah said as he threw his empty beer bottle into an already growing pile.

He walked across the yard, looking in the crowds of friends and relatives in hopes of locating his parents, but it was to no avail. He was about to return to his friends when he caught a glimpse of movement behind a curtain in his house. 'There they are.' he thought as he bounded up the steps and went inside.

"I've had it with your bull shit, Elaine!" Jason hollered, standing over his wife. He had knocked her from her wheelchair and obviously had hit her a few more times, as evidenced by the growing bruises on her face and the blood that trickled down her lip, eminating from her nose.

"Dad! What are you doing?" Jeremiah demanded as he shut the door behind him. "Leave my mother alone."

"You stay out of this, boy. You'll get yours soon enough, you can count on it."

"No, Jason, take it out on me, not the boy. He's our son, damn you!" Elaine pleaded between sobs.

"Shut up, woman!" Jason yelled as he kicked Elaine in the head. He raised his fist for another strike but found himself removed from his feet. He crashed to the ground in a heap and rolled over, rubbing his jaw, to see his son standing over him.

"I've told you once, dad. I'm not going to tell you again. If you ever lay a hand on my mother again, you will regret it, I promise you."

"Tough words from a little punk like you."

Jason roared as he leapt at his son. Jeremiah side stepped the lunge and brought his elbow down, hard, on the back of Jason's head. The older man squealed in pain and fell to the floor but he quickly regained his vertical base and went at his son again. The two Booths traded punches for several moments, the younger Booth clearly getting the better of the elder. In desperation, Jason grabbed a lamp from an end table, smashed it and lunged at his son. Jeremiah side stepped, grabbed his father's arm and threw him to the ground. Jeremiah stood, waiting for his father's next attack for several minutes. Jason didn't move. Elaine crawled over and rolled her husband over. The broken lamp had punctured his chest and throat. Jason Booth was dead.

"Thank you, Jeremiah." Elaine sobbed as her son cradled her into his arms.

"This is quite interesting, Jeremiah." Professor Ross declared. He set down the folder in his hand and continued. "When I'd assigned the class to do their thesis paper on any important figure in American history...well, I must be honest. I expected papers on Washington or Eisenhower or the like. Your paper on Captain America caught me off guard. I must say, however, that it's quite well written and obviously thourghouly researched. You've raised points even I wasn't aware of, am I'm quite well versed in the exploits of the Liberators and their predecessors in World War II."

"So, then...you like my paper, sir?" Jeremiah asked, the apprenshion he felt unhidden on his face.

"Yes, Jeremiah. An excellent paper, as always. I wouldn't expect anything less from you, son. Your work has always been head and shoulders beyond that of your peers." Ross replied, drawing out a red marker from a drawer in his desk. "I'm giving you a grade I seldom give out, save to you...an A++."

Ross jotted the grade on the cover page of the paper and handed it back to Jeremiah. The young man's face lit up with joy as he shook the professor's hand.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!"

"My fellow students," Jeremiah Booth began. "I was honored when you selected me as your student government president my freshman year, and I was deeply honored each year thereafter, when you voted me into the same office repeatedly. I hope and feel I've served you well in said office and can only hope you agree with me." His last statement brought on much applause and cheers from the assembled student body. Jeremiah let them applaud for a few moments before raising his hand as a sign that he wished to continue.

"We stand at a great threshold in our lives now. The threat of Nazi Germany has been vanquished, but a truer, more covert threat looms in the shadows...Communism.

"It is the anti-thesis of everything this great nation of ours was founded on. If people like Mao or the Kremlin had their way, Democracy and freedom would be words stricken from dictionaries across the world and ideals no longer held dear or practiced by man.

"It is our duty as Americans to fight to preserve the ideals and theories such great men as Washington and Jefferson fought so hard for.

"We must work in our lives and chosen professions to keep the American dream alive. I for one will do my part, for today, I am now qualified to become an American History professor.

"I will work in the field of education to see that the spark of freedom and democracy never falters in the hearts of the young.

"America may not always live up the standards and ideals it sets for itself, but that's because we've set our limits so high above the other nations of this world. Though we have many faults in this nation, I think we are still the greatest collection of men ever to grace this earth."

Jeremiah bowed and walked off the stage and returned to his seat with his fellow graduates. Several moments later, he collected his degree and felt the greatest moment of pride in his entire life, save for one occasion.

Jeremiah Booth followed the old man who had been assigned to him as a guide down a long hallway. They rounded several dark corners until finally stopping in front of a dark office.

"This, sir," the old man began in heavily accented English, "is Major Kerfoot's laboratory. It was recently discovered that he was trying to unravel the secrets of your ubermensch, Captain America. It is believed that he was successful, yet never had the opportunity to bring his revelations forth to Hitler."

"Good. Who knows what atrocities Hitler would have unleashed on the world if he could have had a regiment of men like Captain America." Jeremiah said through gritted teeth.

His guide nodded and fumbled in his hands for the keys to the office. He produced them and unlocked the door and bid Jeremiah to enter. The old man closed the door behind the American researcher and stood guard at the entrance.

Jeremiah sifted through the various folders and papers for nearly an hour until he finally found his goal...the secrets of the Super Soldier Serum. He smiled and slipped the folder into his brief case, shut off the office light and exited the room.

"So what are you proposing to us, Mr. Booth?" General Thompson asked, eyeing the young man seated before him.

"I've watched the news, sir, and I've seen what's going on in Korea. There's something missing in our efforts there. And I know what that something is."

"Oh, do tell, Mr. Booth." Colonel Roth sneered. He had been against seeing the young man from the start, yet he yielded to Thompson's view, as always.

"You need a symbol, a champion, like you had in the Second World War. You need Captain America." Jeremiah replied.

"But son, Captain America has retired." Roth relied, the disdain for Booth evident in his tone of voice.

"The third Captain America. The first is dead and I don't know what happened to the second, though I have proof that leads me to believe he died in action as well."

This comment drew stares of astonishment and bewilderment from General Thompson and Colonel Ross.

"That's classified information, Booth. How did you come into possession of it?" Roth demanded, his anger shining in his eyes.

"That's not what I'm her to discuss, Colonel. I have something that may of great use to you in the Korean Conflict." Jeremiah said, clutching his briefcase to his chest.

"Alright, Booth. Out with it, then." Thompson said. "What's your purpose for coming here?"

"I have the Super Soldier formula, and I want to be Captain America."

"A rather odd order, wouldn't you say so, General?" Doctor Normasson asked as he looked over the surgical orders that arrived in his office that morning, along with the general and his patient-to-be.

"No, I wouldn't say so, Doctor." General Thompson growled. "You have your orders. Now get to it."

Normasson sighed and turned and walked down the hall to the operating room. He prepped himself for surgery and entered the room. His patient was already on the table, unconscious from the sedatives administered to him by Normasson's assistants.

"So what's the deal, Doc?" one of the nurses asked.

"We make this man an exact duplicate of Steve Rogers, Nurse Withers."

The staff slowly began the long and difficult procedures.

"What are you trying to say, General?" 'Steve Rogers' demanded, the rage flaring in his voice and face.

"Mr....Rogers. The United States' involvement in the Korean Conflict has drawn to a close. We no longer have need of your services." General Thompson answered in a calm, level voice. It perturbed him that Booth had insisted on getting surgery to be a virtual duplicate of the original Captain America, Steve Rogers. He had even had his name legally changed to Steve Rogers. Thompson had met the first Cap, and he had to admit that if he didn't know better, he'd swear that the real Steve Rogers was standing before him. The face, the voice...it was uncanny.

"Now, on to more pressing matters, Mr. Rogers." Colonel Roth interjected. "The Super Soldier serum. Turn it over to us, now."

"Hold it right there, Roth. You aren't getting your filthy hands on my serum, so erase that thought from your head right now." Rogers growled, his fists clenched.

"Now, now, Rogers. That serum is property of the United States Army...and that means us. Now give it here, boy." Roth hissed through clenched teeth.

"I don't think so." Rogers answered before storming out of the office.

"Welcome to your first day in my American History class." Professor Rogers said to his assembled class. "This is my first day here as well. I hope we'll get to know one another quite well before the year is out."

The class eyed him suspiciously. They sized him up, wondering if they'd be able to use the same tactics they'd normally used on new teachers and substitutes. They decided the better of it, however. Professor Rogers seemed like the kind of man who wouldn't take any guff from a bunch of kids. They all sat quietly in their chairs, trying to seem as though they were paying attention.

"So, your first homework assignment..." Rogers was saying. "...will be to write a research paper on the one figure in American history you admire most. It'll be due two weeks from today. Three pages, maximum. Two minimum."

Professor Rogers propped his feet up on an end table in the teacher's lounge. His class schedule left him two hours open today, so he decided he'd get started grading the papers he'd assigned. He flipped through the stack, looking for one that sounded interesting.

"Babe Ruth...George Washington..." Rogers mumbled, setting those papers aside. Suddenly, he came to one that caught his eye.

"Well, now...what do we have here?"

Rogers opened up the folder and began to read. It's cover read 'Captain America, by Jack Monroe.'

"And now we have come to another important figure in the legacy of Captain America...Jack Monroe, the third young man to assume the role of Bucky and the third Nomad. Let us examine the events that brought him into contact with 'Steve Rogers.' It is a tale almost as interesting as 'Rogers' own..."

"Mr. Monroe, let me congratulate you. You're the father of a healthy baby boy." Dr. Nauslant smiled, extending his hand to Monroe.

"Thank you, doctor." Monroe grunted, refusing the older man's handshake. He walked past the old doctor and entered his wife's hospital room.

"Isn't he beautiful, Amos?" Julie Monroe asked, holding her newborn son out to her husband.

"Indeed he is. He is beautiful, but what else could you expect from such Aryan stock as ourselves? He will make a fine Nazi."

"Amos, no! I won't let our son follow that madman in Germany. Get that thought out of your head right now!"

"You forget your place, woman!" Amos hissed between clenched teeth as he slapped his wife. "Your role in this world is to bear and care for children, nothing else. You will show me the proper respect as your superior."

"Amos, where's Jack? You were supposed to be watching him while I fixed supper!" Julie Monroe demanded, her wooden spoon still clenched in her hand.

"Just get your ass back in that damn kitchen and cook that roast. I'll find the boy."

Amos rose from his seat on the couch and began to hunt for his son. Jack wasn't in the playroom, kitchen or living room. Amos checked every room in the upstairs of the house, the fear beginning to grow in his breast. He ran down the stairs and began to search the rooms there when he heard a noise coming from the basement. Amos found the basement door open and he stormed down the stairs.

"Jack!" he hollered, finding the boy wrapped in a Nazi flag. "I've told you not to play down here. This is daddy's office!"

"But daddy, I wanted to play Superman! I needed a cape!" little Jack explained.

"A cape?!" Amos growled as he slapped his son to the ground. "How dare you sully the Nazi flag like that!"

"But...but daddy..." Jack mumbled between sobs. "I was just playing."

"Damn you boy, I told you not to talk back to me." Amos seethed as he unloosened his belt. "It's about time I showed you the meaning of respect, boy."

Upstairs, Julie Monroe's sobs grew more intense with each slap of leather and every cry of pain her son screamed out.

"Alright class. Settle down." Ms.Swrtic called out, clapping her hands three times, her signal to the class to stop what they were doing and pay attention to her. "As we discussed yesterday, today is our first 'show and tell'. Go to your cubbies and get what you've brought and meet me at the circle rug."

The class scrambled to their 'cubbies', small trays that lined the back counter of the classroom. Each student in the class had their own cubbie. Most used it to store toys for recess or their library books. Now, a new use could be added to the list: Show and Tell items.

Eventually all of the students retrieved whatever object they'd brought in for show and tell and arranged themselves in a circle around the teacher. One by one, each of the students took their place on Ms.Swrtic's lap and proudly showed what they had brought to the rest of their classmates, explaining the significance of what they'd brought and then returned to their seat. Most had brought a favorite toy or storybook. Most.

"Jack? It's your turn. Come here and show us what you brought."

Jack Monroe stood up, clutching a brown paper bag and walked to Ms.Swrtic.

"What's in the bag, Jack? What did you bring?" Ms.Swrtic asked as Jack sat down on her lap.

"I brought one of my daddy's favorite things." Jack announced proudly. He opened the paper bag and pulled out a small statuette of a swastika.

"Now, miss, are you sure that the boy brought this thing from home?" Sgt.Willis asked as he looked at the swastika statue.

"I'm positive, Sergeant. He said his father has a bunch of them in the basement."

"I've known Caroline for six years, Sgt.Willis," Jeffrey McKraed, the school's principal, interjected. "I've never known her to lie. If she says the boy brought it from home, then the boy brought it from home."

"Hmph." Willis grunted. "Hell of a thing for a little kid to bring into school for a show and tell, ain't it?"

"C'mon, Jackie," Sgt.Willis asked, pushing another root beer float to the boy. "Tell me about your father's basement."

"OK," Jack said between gulps. "He has lostsa stuff down their. Pictures, flags, statues. He says that the Aryans will rise up and throw down the inferiors. I think inferior is a bad word, but I'm not sure."

"Tell me, Jack...have you ever seen anything like this?" Willis asked, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. He drew a small swastika and handed the paper to the Jack for his inspection.

"Sure. My daddy has them all over the basement. He says it's a symbol of Aryan power. I'm not allowed to touch them. I sorta sneaked when I brought that one to school. He hasn't found out yet, though."

"Oh, he will soon enough, Jack. He'll know real soon."

"Mr. Monroe, you have the right to remain silent..." Sgt.Willis began. All around him, police officers had spread out Amos Monroe's Nazi paraphernalia.

Amos Monroe glared at his son. Jack was standing next to a case worker for the city Social Services department. Amos spit at Jack as the police officers led him to the waiting squad car.

"This is all your fault, boy. I'll get you for this, you little bastard. Someday, somehow, I'll get you for this!"

"I have your papers graded. You can pick them up on the way out." Professor Rogers announced to his class as he set a stack of papers on the corner of his desk.

A few moments later, the bell rang and the class began to file out, taking their paper from the pile before exiting. The hall was full of noise as the children discussed their grades with their friends. When Jack Monroe came to the desk, Rogers grabbed his arm.

"Can I speak with you after the others are gone, Jack?"

Jack looked to his friends waiting for him at the door. They all snickered at him, obviously under the impression that Jack was in some sort of trouble.

"Um, sure, Professor. Anything you say."

Rogers shooed the remaining boys from the room and closed the door. He sat down behind his desk and handed Jack his paper. It was emblazoned with a large red A+ across the top of the cover page.

"I must say, Jack, that I was quite pleased with your paper. Most of the other students wrote about the typical people...Lincoln, Truman, Washington and other people like that, dead presidents, some sports heroes. There was even one on a professional wrestler...Gorgeous George or something like that. It's just that I didn't expect a paper on Captain America at all."

"So...you...um...liked it, then?" Jack asked.

"Most definitely. In fact, I'm overjoyed. I've been a big fan of Captain America since he first appeared. I wrote my thesis in college on him, actually."

"Wow. That's really swell. What's a thesis?"

"Never mind that. As you know, I live at the school, the same as all of you. I have a huge collection of Captain America memorabilia, books, posters, toys and the like, in my room. If you're interested, you can stop by any time you like and see them."

"Really, sir? That'd be really great! How about now? Classes are done for the night, and you're the only one who assigned homework today."

"Alright then, let's go."

"This stuff is really swell, Steve." Jack said, admiring a recreation of Captain America's costume and shield hanging on the wall. "This costume is incredible. Where's you get it?"

"I had that made for me in New York." Steve answered, taking the shield down from the wall. He paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts. 'Damn those pompous jerks at the Pentagon! I can't believe they wasted the money to have this made, only to renege on our deal!' Steve breathed in deeply and then slowly exhaled. "This isn't nearly as good as the real Cap's shield, but I'd wager that it'd stop a bullet or two. It's solid steel. The costume is a chain mail knit, just like the real Cap's. It'd stop a handgun at least."

Steve walked over to the bookshelf next to his dresser and pulled out a large book. He tucked it under his arm and placed the shield back on the wall. Once he was satisfied that it wouldn't fall, he sat on the couch next to Jack.

"This is my scrap book. I clipped every newspaper and magazine article I could find on Captain America." Steve said as he began to flip through the book. "Let me show you something, Jack. I noticed this a long time ago. Look at this picture here. It's from very early in Cap's career, back when he had the triangular shield. Look at his face." Steve flipped ahead in the book and presented another photograph to Jack for examination. "This one is from just after the end of the war. Look at his face closely. What do you see?"

"Why, they're two different people! How can that be?" Jack exclaimed.

"It isn't well known, but the Nazis had released film footage of Captain America and Bucky being killed by one of their agents, towards the end of the war. The United States government denied it, of course, pointing to Cap's involvement in a raids on Nazi spy rings."

"So, you think they hired another guy to take over?"

"Exactly. I think he was originally the Spirit of '76, another patriotic hero during the war. They were teammates in the Liberators. I compared the photos and it's a perfect match. But wait, there's more." Steve flipped ahead again and presented a third photograph to Jack. "This Captain is different from the first two."

"So, the second died or was put out of commission, too?"

"It appears that way. I figured out who the third Captain America was as well." Steve flipped back in the book and presented another photo to Jack.

"I remember this guy. The Patriot. I wondered what happened to him. The Spirit I never really heard of though. So why didn't the government bring out a new Cap when the Patriot retired?"

"Good question." Steve scowled.

"Steve," Jack Monroe said as he burst into his teacher's room. "Turn on the television, quick!"

Steve Rogers set down the book he had been reading and clicked his television set on. The screen filled with the image of a reporter in front of the United Nations building. Police cars separated the reporter from the building. Officers were moving through the crowd, guiding them back away from the building.

"At approximately noon today, a masked man took the entire UN assembly hostage. He's identified himself as the Red Skull. Whether or not this is the same Red Skull who fought Captain America throughout the Second World War is uncertain. It's not clear what his intentions are, but you can be sure it isn't good."

"Jack, I have something to show you." Steve said as he shut off the television set. "I discovered this earlier this year." Steve said as he pulled a folder out of his briefcase. "It's what made the original Captain America the man he was. He was a frail, weak man until he took this formula. It transformed him into the perfect human being. It's called the 'Super Soldier' serum."

"Oh my god. What are you going to do, Steve?"

"I'm going to take the serum and become Captain America. The Red Skull has to be stopped, and I'm going to be the one to do it."

"Count me in, partner." Jack exclaimed, his excitment evident in his eyes.

"Now wait, Jack. This could be dangerous. I found it in the files of a Nazi researcher. I'm not even sure if it works or not."

"No way are you leaving me out of this, Steve. You need me and you know it. Otherwise, you wouldn't have even told me about it in the first place."

"I...I guess you're right."

"You know I am. Besides...you can't have Captain America without Bucky!"

"I'm surprised that the school had everything I needed to do this." Steve said as he poured a blue liquid into two glasses. He picked them up and handed one to Jack. Man and boy looked one another in the eyes, each fully aware of the importance their actions would have on the world.

Without a word between them, they both drank the concoction and waited. In a few moments, each felt a burning sensation ripple through their entire body. The pain of it brought Jack to his knees, but Rogers kept himself on his feet. Five minutes of sheer agony later, the pain slowly ebbed and then faded. Jack and Steve looked down at their bodies and saw a dramatic change.

"It worked. It really worked!" Steve gasped. His arms bulged under his shirt, torn by the sudden growth of his body.

"Gosh! This is incredible! I can't believe it actually worked!" Jack cried, leaping about the room.

"We'll celebrate later," Steve said as he disposed of the glasses and the beakers he'd used to mix the serum. He stuffed the papers containing the formula back into the folder and grabbed Jack's arm. "We haven't much time. We need to hurry."

"We appreciate your assistance, Mr. Koenig. You do your nation a great service today. You'll be a hero in the morning."

"Shoot, hero nothing! You two's the ones who're heroes! I can't believe I'm flying THE Captain America and Bucky to New York!" Koening replied. He was a small but muscular man in his early twenties. He switched his small plane's controls to auto-pilot and took a seat next to his passengers.

"Do you think it's the real Red Skull, Cap?" Koenig asked.

"I'm not sure." Steve replied, adjusting his mask. His Captain America costume had fit him perfectly. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he had to admit...he certainly looked the part. Now all that remained to be seen was if he could live up to the legacy he'd claimed for himself.

"We'll find out soon enough, Cap." Jack interjected. He wore a Bucky costume Steve had made from fabric in the Home Economics department. Unknown to either of them, Steve had mistakenly reversed the color scheme from the waist down. The trunks of the costume were red as were the boots. The leggings were the same blue as his shirt. Not that it mattered. Jack looked good in the uniform either way.

"OK, guys. I need to head up front again. That blinking light means we're close to our landing site."

"Thank you, Mr.Koenig. We couldn't do this without you." Captain America answered as he adjusted his mask yet again.

The crowd assembled around the United Nations building seemed to grow with each passing hour. It sickened Captain Kane, the FBI agent in charge of crowd control. He was disgusted at people's fascination with other's misfortune. There were innocent people inside there for Christ's sakes! He noticed a group of boys trying to jump the boundary and hurried over.

"I've already told you boys twice now." Kane growled, grabbing the lead boy by his shirt collar. "Three strikes and you're out." He waved several agents over to him. "Book these guys. Interfering with police business."

Kane walked back to his car and grabbed his thermos. His daughter, Lily had filled it with nice, hot coffee that morning. It was still pretty warm now. He took a sip, savoring the warmth. New York was mighty cold in the fall.

"Bill? You busy?" Sgt. Cunningham asked. Cunningham was a young man in his mid twenties. He hadn't been with the Bureau long, but he was a hard worker. Kane was sure he'd make a name for himself, given time and luck in his case assignments.

"Not really, John. What's the problem, assuming there is a problem."

"No, no problem, sir. A little help, actually."

"Great. Which branch of the military has decided to take the case from us this time? It better not be those damn Green Berets again."

"No, sir. It's a costumed type. A couple of them 'super-heroes'. Like back in the war."

"Great. A pajama party. Alright, send them over so I can tell them to go home and get real jobs." Kane mumbled as he set his coffee mug on the roof of his car.

"Sorry, Captain Kane. This isn't a job. It's a way of life." Captain America said, walking over to Kane's car. Bucky followed close behind.

"Holy mother of shit! Are you for real?"

"I am Captain America, if that's what you mean. I've come to help."

"Wait," Cunningham interrupted. "Where have you been for the last year or so? We heard you'd retired."

"I...can't divulge that information right now, Sergeant. All that matters is that the Red Skull, or someone claiming to be the Red Skull is holed up in there," Cap waved his arm in the direction of the UN building. "And we're here to stop him."

"Well, I guess you know about that better than anyone. He is your 'arch-enemy' after all. OK, get in the car and I'll explain the situation. Cunningham, you're in charge."

Kane slid into the driver's seat of his car while Cap sat down in the front and Bucky hopped into the back. Kane slid his keys into the ignition, started her up and drove down the street towards the UN building.

"Here's the deal, Captain. The Red Skull stormed in there around noon today. He's armed, well armed, in fact. He's got the main assembly room sealed off, with all the delegates inside. He's threatening to kill them all, one by one unless we turn some strongbox of Hitler's over to him. It's believed that the box contains all sorts of weapon designs and research that Hitler was developing."

"Where's the box now?" Bucky asked, leaning up from the back seat so that his head was between the two older men.

"Somewhere inside the UN building, actually. Lucky for us, the Skull doesn't know that...we think."

"Oh, you can be certain, Captain Kane. If the Skull had known the box's whereabouts, he'd have it already. That doesn't mean he wouldn't be holding the delegates hostage, though. He takes pleasure in showing how weak other people are. But, he didn't count on us, did he Bucky?"

"No way, Cap. We'll crush that stooge, no sweat!"

"Well, then," Kane said, pulling his car to a stop at the steps of the United Nations building. "Here's your stop, gentlemen. Good luck."

"Thank you, Captain, but somehow, I don't think we'll need it."

Kane sat in his car and watched Captain America and Bucky race up the steps and burst through the doors of the UN building. He pulled out and drove back to his earlier position. He didn't even notice that he'd begun humming the 'Star Spangled Banner' to himself.

"You are all weak!" the Red Skull screamed, waving his arms out over all the delegates. He stood at the podium in front of all the delegates. He'd been making speeches almost from the moment he'd entered the room. "Democracy, Socialism...PHAAAH! It is all pointless. It makes the weak and poor moreso and the strong and rich even more strong and rich! Communism is the only true way!"

"So, you've turned Commie, have you?"

"Who?" the Red Skull demanded as he turned around. The man he saw gave him a chill down his spine. "Captain America! It can not be!"

Cap vaulted over the balcony, somersaulting in the air until he came to a landing on the floor a few feet from the Skull's position.

"I beg to differ, Skull. I'm Captain America." Cap answered as he strapped his shield to his forearm. It's weight felt...natural to him somehow. "You can bet all the borscht in Moscow on it. Why don't you just save us all a lot of trouble surrender now, before you get hurt?"

"Correction, American Swine!" the Skull bellowed, leveling his gun at Captain America. "It is you who shall be hurt! You will die...slowly, so that I may savor each and every moment of your agony."

The Skull opened fire on his red, white and blue foe, but Cap deflected the first volley with his shield and rolled under the second, all the while advancing on the podium. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky making his way through the terrified crowd of delegates. 'Good' he thought. 'Jack's sticking to the plan. If any of those people are hurt, he'll get them out of here and then join the fight when he can.'

"Your ideals are weak and outdated, Captain!" the Skull roared. "Just like you!"

The Skull kicked the podium over, sending it toppling at the Sentinel of Liberty. Cap waited till it was nearly at his feet before planting his hand on the podium and using it to propel himself at his Communist foe. He sent the Skull back with a hard kick to the jaw.

"I've warned you once already, Skull. This is your last chance. Give up...NOW."

"You are too confident, my friend." the Skull smiled. He aimed his gun in Cap's direction and fired. The shot went over Cap's shoulder, missing the Sentinel of Liberty. Captain America was about to chastise the Skull for his poor marksmanship when he heard a scream in the background.

"No!" Cap yelled. He'd wanted to get out of this without any injuries or casualties. He turned his head and saw that an older man wearing a turban lay on the ground in a pool of blood. Cap stood silent for a moment before crashing into the floor.

"You should not divert your attention from an opponent in battle, Captain." the Skull sneered, standing over the Captain's prone form. He trained his gun on the Star Spangled champion's head, aiming directly for the large white 'A' on his forehead. "Maybe you are going soft in your old age? Or maybe you are not the real Captain America?"

Cap looked up at the Skull. The shock he felt was apparent on his face. His mask didn't help to conceal it one iota.

"Don't be so surprised. We know your predecessor died at the hands of Heinrich Zemo in 1945. You are not the first to try and replace him."

The Skull crouched over Cap, still pointing his gun at him. The barrel of the gun now rested dead center on Cap's forehead.

"If it is any consolation to you, Captain, I am not the first Red Skull either. But I am the best. Schmidt was a fool. He followed a madman. I stand for a just cause!"

"You ain't standing, buddy! Not at all!"

The Skull fell forward, crashing head first into the podium he'd kicked over just moments ago. He quickly jumped to his feet and turned to see Captain America and Bucky both standing before him.

"So, you bring a boy into battle with you, just like your predecessor. No matter. When a boy tries to take on the role of man, he deserves death like a man."

"I think these people have had more than their fill of your god damn speeches. Do us all a favor and shut up, Skull." Cap replied, catching his opponent in the jaw with a stiff right.

The Skull staggered back, falling over the podium. He began to crawl back, away from his opponents. Cap and Bucky advanced on him, each ready to pummel him into submission. Realizing the desperate situation he was now in, the Skull produced a small black ball from his pocket and threw it to the ground, sending a cloud of thick, grey smoke into the air. He scrambled to his feet and began to head toward the exit.

"Cap, he's getting away! We need to do something!" Bucky hollered between coughs. He followed Captain America through the cloud of smoke, pursuing the man who called himself the Red Skull.

"Just what I was thinking, Bucky."

Cap slid his shield from his arm and looked at the Skull. He was nearly ten feet from the exit now. Cap looked down at his shield and then heaved with all his might. The shield whistled through the air and slammed into the Red Skull's shoulder blades with a loud thud. The Skull collapsed immediately. Cap sprinted across the aisle and caught his shield's rebound...barely.

"Nice throw, Steve." Jack whispered to his partner as they jogged to the fallen Communist agent.

"We definitely need some practice, though. I'll get us memberships at the gym downtown. I know the owner. I can get it late at night, so it's just us. I'll get the hang of this shield yet!"

Cap disarmed the Skull completely, picked him up and threw his over his shoulder. He and Bucky walked out to the front of the building and basked in the cheers of the crowd. Captain America and Bucky were back.

"Nice work, men." Captain Kane said. He ran up the steps and shook Cap and Bucky's hands. "If you two hadn't stepped in, we may never have gotten all of those delegates out of there alive. You're heroes...again."

"Not heroes, Captain Kane." Captain America replied. "Just two proud Americans doing what they can to serve their country. The same as you and your men here." Cap motioned towards the agents who stormed past them. Their orders were simple: the Skull had claimed that he'd placed bombs throughout the building. They needed to disarm them. But first, they needed to evacuate the building.

"Come on, guys. I'll buy you a Coke." Captain Kane said, motioning for Cap and Bucky to follow him to his car. Cap looked at Bucky and smiled.

"And so began the careers of the fourth Captain America and the third Bucky. Unfortunately for them, the Super Soldier serum they had ingested was impure, lacking the stabilizing effects of the vita-rays that the original Captain had been bombarded with. The impure serum began to affect their minds, slowly making them insane. They began to see Communist threats where they did not exist. To their credit, they also found real Communists where they weren't expected. But...that's a story for another day."

Sentences of Liberty

This issue is probably the longest I've written so far, and quite assuredly the most ambitious. The details behind Captain America number four's life have never really been explored, so I felt that since this is fanfic, and not accepted as 'real' by the establishment, I could create my own background for this particular Captain America.

Comments, criticisms, and concerns for this issue of CAPTAIN AMERICA 1958 accepted at mailto:%20captainamerica3@mailcity.com