Only the winners decide what were war crimes.
Gary Wills

Vietnam
1969

Drops of rainwater fell on the boy, awakening him from his slumber. Each drop felt like a razor against his face and he shrieked. Stumbling as he got to his feet, he threw his arms over his face and ran through the jungle. The last thing he remembered were the Americans slaughtering the people of his village. A grenade fell by him and there was a bright flash, an explosion. And then he woke up here.

The boy tripped over a tree root and stumbled forward, landing face-down into a stream. He screamed, pulling his face out of the water. When he tried to touch his face, it caused even more pain. As he slowly got used to the pain, he finally looked down into the now-still water and could see his reflection.

Except the face that stared back at him was not his own. It was bloody and burned. The Americans had twisted his face into something the boy could no longer recognize. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. His family, his entire village, they were all gone.

As the rain came down heavier, the boy ran for cover, hiding under a small ridge with an overhand. He pulled his legs close to his chest, his arms wrapped around them and waited for the rain to stop. He weeped the entire time, for the loss of everything he had ever known, and his sobs eventually rocked him to sleep.

A few hours later, the boy was awakened by the sound of footsteps. He huddled deeper under the ridge, thinking that the Americans had come looking for him. To finish what they’d started with his family and his face. His heart pounded against his chest, seemingly ready to burst free. The boy thought it just might, he thought his heartbeat would be loud enough to draw their attention. After all, how could they not hear it?

He tried to hold back his sobs but he couldn’t. His fear was too great and it wasn’t long before a noise escaped from his lips. The footsteps halted and then there was a rapid shuffling. Someone reached into the ridge and grabbed the boy’s arm, pulling him from his hiding spot. The boy screamed and cried in protest, saying the only words he knew in English: “NO VC! NO VC!”

The man who pulled him away knelt down before the boy and finally the boy looked at him. The man wore a non la hat and carried a rifle slung over his shoulder. When he spoke, he spoke to the boy in his native Vietnamese tongue.

“But we are,” he said. “What’s happened to you?”

The boy was afraid to answer at first, fearing this may be a trick. He looked to the other men, also wearing the same hats as the man who knelt before him, also carrying rifles. The boy looked again at the man who spoke to him and finally answered.

“The Americans came. They were shooting and shooting. They shot my brother and my mother. My brother told them, ‘no VC!’ but they shot him anyway. And then there was a light and I woke up here.”

The man glanced over his shoulder and quickly said something to his fellow soldiers. They nodded in response and the man turned to the boy again. “It’s okay, my boy. You’re with us now. We’re going to take care of you.”

WAR CRIMES

Part II

By Scott Redmond and Dino Pollard

New York
Present Day

During the fight, Batroc had made a reference to Sharon Carter before making his escape. Captain America knew it couldn’t have just been a coincidence and so he raced over to her apartment as fast as he could. But when he arrived, an explosion came from her unit.

Josiah wasted no effort, quickly using his Avengers communicard to put in a 911 call. He then ran inside the burning building. The flames were quickly spreading and the other tenants were coming out of their units. If Sharon was even there, she would be able to take care of herself. Captain America instead concentrated on helping get the others out.

Halfway into his own evacuation, the FDNY showed up, turning their hoses on the building. Josiah watched from the side as they worked, doing his best to stay out of their way. He was a soldier and an Avenger and while those skills were effective, ultimately he left this job to the heroes who were trained to handle it.

Once the flames had subsided, one of the firefighters approached him. “You know what caused this?”

“I may have a lead,” said Captain America. “Any fatalities?”

“Doesn’t look like it. You got here right in time.”

“Yeah right,” scoffed another firefighter. “Right in time my ass. One of his al Qaeda buddies probably planted the bomb to make him look like a hero.”

“The hell’s wrong with you, Jenkins?” asked the man who’d been speaking to Josiah.

“What’s wrong with you, Thompson? Think it’s coincidence that Captain Islam is at the scene of a New York bombing?”

“He’s Captain America.”

“No, no he’s not,” said Jenkins. “Steve Rogers was Captain America. You ever watch Todd Keller? He’s got it right, said that this guy is a terrorist plant who killed the realCap! Probably plans to start enforcing Sharia Law!”

Thompson shoved Jenkins, who shoved back. Josiah stepped between the two men, forcing them apart and keeping a hand planted on each of their chests to keep them that way. First, Josiah looked at Jenkins.

“Steve Rogers chose me specifically to take over for him. I went after and apprehended his killer personally. For national security reasons, I’m not at liberty to divulge any more information than that, and that’s under orders from SHIELD. I was born and raised in this country and I was fighting for American freedoms when you were still in diapers, so don’t even think of questioning my patriotism.” Then he looked at Thompson. “I appreciate your intentions, but a brawl isn’t going to solve anything. Now the two of you stop fighting amongst each other and do your damn jobs.”

Captain America lowered his arms and the two firefighters continued to stare daggers at each other. Jenkins threw a dirty look at Josiah next. “To hell with this and to hell with you. Speeches aren’t gonna change my mind about you. I know what you really are and I’m gonna throw a big party the day you’re thrown in Gitmo.”

Jenkins walked away. Thompson shook his head. “Sorry about that, Cap. Jenkins isn’t a bad guy. He just listens to that idiot Keller too much.”

“Then try talking to him instead of throwing punches. Fighting is only going to make the division worse,” said Josiah. Thompson nodded and walked away. When Josiah turned back towards his motorcycle, he saw Nick Fury wearing a trench coat over his SHIELD uniform sitting on it, casually smoking a cigar.

“Nice use of diplomacy.”

“They were fighting because of me, I had to say something,” said Josiah.

“We all knew from the start you were gonna have a rough transition,” said Fury. “Any sign of Carter?”

Josiah shook his head. “She wasn’t in the building.”

“I’ve got more bad news, unfortunately.” Fury reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Wilson’s gone missing, too. An’ the nurses found this on his pillow.”

He handed the paper and Josiah unfolded it. It was an old Viet Cong propaganda leaflet featuring a photograph of a young child with a badly burned and scarred face. From the photograph alone, it was impossible to tell if it was a boy or a girl. Josiah shut his eyes and handed the leaflet back to the SHIELD Director, who kept his good eye fixed on the Super Soldier.

“You know something about this, don’t you?”

“Batroc was just a distraction—someone’s trying to get at me through my friends,” said Josiah. “Someone who knows about my part in the massacre of a town in ‘Nam.”

“Your court martial mentioned nothing about this.”

“It was swept under the rug. I didn’t have a large part in it, but it was large enough. I killed two defenseless people under orders from my CO.”

“The one you later rebelled against,” said Fury.

Josiah nodded. “Exactly. I finally got to the point where I had enough and I turned on him.”

“Let’s get to the Helicarrier. We might have some luck tracking Sharon through her SHIELD coms.

Vietnam
1979

The boy was now fifteen years old and sat in a car taking him to the outskirts of the city. The men inside said nothing to him, and whenever he asked a question, they remind silent. The car finally stopped at a bunker and the men escorted the boy inside.

The room had armed soldiers standing at attention and a single table with papers scattered over it. Behind the table sat a larger man, smoking a cigarette. A single lamp hanging overhead provided the only illumination in the small room.

“Please sir,” said the smoking man. He handed the boy a leaflet. It featured the boy ten years previously, a photograph taken shortly after his face had been disfigured. “This provided a lot of support for the Viet Cong. Unfortunately, it looks like time could not heal your scars.”

“You are not Vietnamese?” said the boy. It was a statement but phrased something as a question because of the man’s skill with the language. “Who are you?”

“My name is Zhang Chin, I am a scientist from The People’s Republic of China. And The People have a proposition for you.”

“What sort of proposition?” asked the boy.

“The Americans took away your family, took away your face. And while I cannot give either one back to you, I can give you something else,” said Chin. “I can give you a path for vengeance.”

“How?”

“Do you know what a super soldier is?”

The boy nodded. “You mean from the war with the Nazis?”

Chin chuckled a little bit. “That was when it began, yes. But it has continued even now. And the western powers have programs designed to generate more super soldiers. Super soldiers who have killed hundreds of your fellow countrymen. I have developed a similar program for my country. And we believe you are an ideal candidate.”

“And then I can strike back at the people who did this to me?”

Chin nodded.

The boy stood and bowed. “I accept.”

New York
Present Day

Batroc arrived on the roof of an abandoned warehouse near the port. He entered through the roof and hopped down from the rafters before landing on the ground below. Glancing around and finding he was alone, he opened his glove slightly to check the time on his watch and scoffed. “Late. Of course.”

A ghostly figure wearing a trench coat, a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a briefcase rose from the ground right in front of the assassin. “Sacre bleu!”

“Not quite late, my friend.” The ghostly figure became solid and his feet lightly touched on the ground. Even with the shadow cast by his hat, Batroc could still see the scars on the man’s face.

“So you are him, the Man With No Face?”

“I am,” he said, while slightly tipping his hat. He set the briefcase down and Batroc knelt and opened it. Checking through the money, he looked at his employer with a scowl.

“This is only half. Where’s the rest?”

“You’ll receive the rest upon completion of the assignment.”

“It’s not over?” asked Batroc.

The Man With No Face smirked. “Oh no, my friend. We’ve only just begun.”

Todd Keller circled the name written on his chalkboard and faced the camera, keeping his hand pointed at it. “Senator Randall Crowne. Attacked in our own capital by unknown assailants. And who else was conveniently there at the time?”

He wrote another name on the board and circled it as well. “That’s right, the so-called Captain America! Is it a coincidence that Bradley was there at the same time as these assailants? In fact, how do we know he’s not connected to this?”

Keller drew several question marks around Captain America’s name. “How do we know he didn’t stage this entire thing as a way to kidnap the Senator under the guise of,” Keller made scare quotes with his fingers, “’protecting’ him? And what happened after that, huh? What happened?”

Keller took the rotating chalkboard and flipped it around. On the other side there was a picture posted of Crowne’s body. “That’s right! When Senator Crowne was next seen, he was dead! Now is this a coincidence? One minute, the Senator is safe and sound. Then after spending one night with Captain America, he’s dead!”

He paused and exhaled while rubbing his forehead. “Now our government tells us Captain America is absolutely innocent of any wrong-doing. That he did his best to protect the Senator. But can we really believe them? Can we? These are the same people who have been lying to us since Day One!”

Keller moved to another chalkboard which was blank and the camera followed him. He flipped this one and on the other side was a chart drawn up. Keller pointed to the first two words. “The current administration.” He then drew a line to another group of words. “A totalitarian state ruled by Sharia law. That’s the goal.”

He pointed to another one. “Steve Rogers refused to cooperate, so what did they do?” Then he pointed to Josiah X’s name and drew an arrow from it to Rogers’ name. Keller then crossed out Rogers. “They find a new Captain America, one who is willing to fight under the flag of Islam and they have him assassinate an American icon!”

Keller placed the chalk down and stepped closer to the camera, his eyes beginning to well up. “America, listen to me.” He choked a little and turned away for an instant. “These are very, very scary times we live in. And we need to be prepared to take back our country from those who would see it destroyed. We have to be ready to fight! We need to fight long and hard!”

He paused and took a breath. “I’m sorry, I just love my country so much…and I fear for it. Good night, ladies and gentlemen.”

“And we’re out!”

Keller stepped off the stage and passed a monitor showing a commercial he recorded for GoldFarce. One of the aides came up to him and Keller glared at him, handing him a small bottle. “What the hell is wrong with this shit? I had to struggle to squeeze out those tears on camera!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Keller, but our people in Hollywood said this is what they always use in the mov—”

Keller threw up his hands and stormed away. “Oh don’t talk to me about Hollywood, you film school drop-out! Next time get me some real eyedrops and if you can’t find those, then get a goddamn peeled onion!”

He went to his dressing room and closed the door. Inside a man in a suit, a hat and wearing sunglasses sat in his chair. “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my goddamn dressing room?”

“Good show today, Mr. Keller,” said the man.

“Are you deaf or something? Who the fuck are you?”

“My associates and I have been following your work very closely. And we see that your ratings are very high. You have a…unique voice, Mr. Keller. And we think you’ve been doing a remarkable job of going after Josiah X.”

“You from another network? Because I’m pretty happy over here. But I am open if you have a better offer…”

The man chuckled. “No, Mr. Keller. You’re doing a great job where you’re at. But how would you be interested in getting in on the ground floor of a new enterprise?”

“And what sort of enterprise would that be?”

“A hero who lives up to the noble legacy of Steve Rogers. Someone who can reclaim the mantle of America’s Living Legend from this upstart.”

Keller grinned. “I’m all ears, pal.”

A trace on Sharon’s SHIELD communicator led Josiah to an abandoned warehouse near the docks. He found a side door and picked the lock easily, granting himself access. He took the shield from his back and slid it onto his right arm, resting his left hand on the edge and holding it in front of him as he slowly moved through the warehouse.

In the center of the warehouse, Sharon sat bound and unconscious. Josiah moved slowly out but before he could reach her, Batroc descended from the rafters. His foot slammed against the shield and he bounced off it, back-flipping and landing in a crouch.

“Who’s behind this, Batroc?” asked Captain America.

Batroc simply grinned. “That would be too easy, mon Capitan.” He jumped forward and Josiah barely ducked his kick. Batroc landed on his hands and sprung back towards Josiah, this time his legs striking him in the back.

Captain America stumbled forward and then threw his arm out, the shied flying towards Batroc. The assassin bent over backwards and the shield harmlessly passed overhead. He ran towards Captain America but once he heard the clang he knew the ricochet was coming. Batroc jumped just as the shield was about to strike him and landed on it, pinning it to the ground.

Josiah prepared himself getting into a fighting stance. Batroc crouched, still standing on the shield, and sprung forward. Josiah blocked one of his kicks with his left arm and countered with a right hook. He didn’t relent, moving in with a palm slam to Batroc’s chest but his attempt at a kick was too slow and Batroc countered it with his own kick. The assassin followed that with an elbow to the chest and from there his arm swung up and struck Captain America’s jaw.

Batroc backflipped away and once he was a safe distance, he bowed. “Thank you for an impressive battle, m’sieur. And now, I must sadly take my leave!”

He ran from the building but Josiah let him go. Instead he went to Sharon and checked her. She was still alive, just unconscious. He untied her and radioed Fury for a transport.

The Helicarrier

Sharon slowly sipped the water Fury handed to her. Fury sat on the edge of his desk and Josiah stood behind her, arms crossed. When Sharon was finished with the water, she handed the cup back to Fury and he set it on the desk. He picked up the leaflet left in Sam’s hospital bed and gave it to her.

“You know what this is?” he asked.

Sharon just shook her head and handed it back.

“We know Batroc was just a player, this leaflet confirms it,” said Josiah. “Whoever it is is someone who knows about my past. Do you have a name? Anything?”

“I have no name,” said Sharon, except the voice wasn’t hers. “Just like I have no face!”

‘Sharon’ lunged forward, her hand phasing into Fury’s chest. He cried out in pain just before she removed it. Josiah jumped at ‘Sharon’ but passed right through her. Her features shifted into those of a scarred man, his face completely unrecognizable.

“Who are you?” asked Josiah.