Nisour Square, Baghdad
September 16th, 2007

He didn’t know how it started.

A convoy of US vehicles had entered the square, escorted by private security vehicles. The security forces had opened fire on a sedan that ignored an Iraqi police officer’s whistle to clear a path. The security firm would later claim the sedan was driving towards them, consistently ignoring calls to stop and that they feared it was a vehicle bomb.

The Blackwater guards opened fire, killing both occupants of the car as well as the police officer. Other officers in the square then opened fire on the security team, who responded in kind. He had just been standing among the crowd with his brother, watching the entire incident with shock and horror in his eyes.

Others joined in the fighting, including insurgent forces. He and his brother ran in the chaos, trying to avoid the crossfire. The Blackwater guards brought out grenade launchers in addition to conventional firearms, now turning their weapons on the civilian population. Several unarmed men and women were caught in the hail of bullets.

A grenade went off nearby. He was thrown from his feet, skidding along the pavement. His ears were ringing, his vision cloudy. He tried to get to his feet and felt instant pain. There was a growing pool of blood nearby. He checked his body, but found no serious wounds.

He called out to his brother, but could receive no answer. Even if there had been one, he wasn’t so sure he would have been able to hear it. Pulling himself up to his feet, he staggered and looked around in a frenzy, pushing through the crowd and tripping over a body. Looking at the corpse, he had realized whose blood it was he had landed beside just seconds ago.

His brother’s lifeless eyes stared at him, a gaze that the young man would remember for the rest of his life. And he could still hear the banging of the gunfire, as his brother lay there motionless.

The banging continued, waking him from his sleep. Except this time, the banging was from a heavy hand on the metal door. He sat up on his cot, rubbing his eyes. The door to his cell opened and one of the guards stood there, armed. The man locked eyes with his captor, wondering if this was the moment when he would be executed.

The guard kept his gaze as he stepped back. A white man dressed in a black suit entered. He had a black goatee and short hair to match, which was gray above his ears. His eyes were cold and dark and he kept his hands behind his back. He entered the cell and nodded to the guard, who closed the door after him. The man brought his arms from behind his back and the prisoner could see a smartphone in his hands.

“Abdul al-Rahman,” he said. “I understand you speak English, yes?”

Abdul nodded. “I was studying to be a translator. Your accent…you are not American?”

“Russian.” The man extended an offer of a handshake. “My name is Aleksander Lukin.”

“What brings a Russian man to a prison like this?” asked Abdul.

Lukin smiled and changed the subject quickly. “Your brother was killed in the Blackwater shooting in Nisour Square, was he not?”

Abdul glared at Lukin. “You already know the answer to that.”

“A United States judge dismissed all charges against Blackwater in late 2009,” said Lukin. “They continue to be employed by the State Department.”

“I know.” Abdul’s voice dropped an octave.

“I imagined so, as shortly after that ruling, you joined the…” Lukin squinted slightly at his smartphone before continuing. “Tanzim Qaidat al-Jihad fi Bilad al-Rafidayn organization. Did I pronounce that right?”

“Not quite.”

“My apologies, then perhaps I should simply refer to them as the name they are commonly known as in the west—AQI or al-Qaeda in Iraq.” Lukin’s cold stare fixed on Abdul. The Iraqi didn’t even flinch.

“Let me guess…ex-KGB? Hired by the CIA to handle their dirty work?”

“Things have not been so good for your kind lately,” said Lukin. “The current administration has managed to decimate the leadership of not only the AQI, but al-Qaeda itself. And as the recent movements all across the Arab world have shown, your people need a symbol. Something to rally behind. I believe I can help you become that symbol.”

Abdul chuckled. “You want me to serve as a puppet of the Great Satan?”

“Quite the contrary,” said Lukin. “You and I have a common enemy, Abdul.”

“Who would that be?”

“America,” said Lukin. “You were right, I am former KGB, but I do not work for the CIA.”

“How did you get in here?” asked Abdul.

“Because I have some very good connections, and those connections led me to you,” said Lukin. “Tell me, have you ever heard of the Super Soldier Serum?”

HOLY WAR

Part I

By Dino Pollard

Shabazz Mission
Little Mogadishu

The car pulled up in front of the Muslim mission located in the heart of one of the worst neighborhoods New York had to offer. The driver with the short, red hair wore a dark, green suit and a pair of glasses. His appearance and his car made him look like an easy target in a neighborhood such as this. Across the street at a liquor store, two young men clad in gang colors took notice. They started to approach.

“You lost?” asked one of them.

The man in the suit turned, bored annoyance apparent on his face. “No.”

“Not the right part of town for you t’ be in,” said the other.

The man opened his jacket, revealing a handgun holstered under his arm. In his free hand, he held identification. “I’m a federal agent, you morons. Now back off or I’ll find a way to make your lives even more worthless than they already are.”

The two men exchanged questioning glances and then decided silently he wasn’t worth the trouble. “You lucky we’re in a good mood, man.”

“Yeah, real lucky. Now get out of my face, you degenerates.” He turned back to the mission and walked up to the doors. He knocked a specific number of times and an older woman opened it for him. “Irenia, sorry I’m late.”

“Saw what happened out there, was startin’ to think I’d have to come out and show them boys some manners,” said Irenia.

“What would you’ve done?”

Irenia smiled. “Never mess with a nun, Mr. Gyrich.”

Gyrich chuckled. “Suppose not. Everyone else here?”

Irenia nodded. “Downstairs. Go on and get yourself settled.”

Gyrich smiled at the old nun and opened the door leading down to the basement. The only light came from the room below and he descended the staircase and saw three other individuals seated at a table. One was Sharon Carter, Agent 13 of SHIELD. Across from her, albeit not in his usual red and white costume, was Sam Wilson, the Falcon. And at the head of the table was the man who ran the Shabazz Mission—Josiah X, Captain America himself.

“You’re late,” said Sharon.

“Had to make sure I wasn’t being tailed,” said Gyrich.

“You’re supposed to be our inside man in Control, and they don’t even trust you?” asked Sharon.

“Stow it, Carter, I’m being cautious.” Gyrich sat in the empty chair across from Josiah. “And I’m not your man inside.” He gestured to Josiah. “I’m his. If I had my way, we wouldn’t have involved any SHIELD types in an operation this sensitive.”

“Surprised you don’t have any objections about me, Gyrich,” said Sam.

“Who said I didn’t, Wilson?”

“All of you, enough. We don’t have time for this,” said Josiah. “Gyrich, did you manage to find anything that can verify the Iron Patriot’s story?”

“Like I said, we already know the armor fell into the hands of the DoD after Onslaught,” said Gyrich. “Beyond that, I’ve taken the surveillance tape from your encounter with him on Avengers Island—voice and facial recognition confirm he’s a match. And unless the suit’s been modified, it’s keyed to Rogers’ DNA. Of course, that doesn’t rule out the possibility of clones or time-displaced versions.”

“What about your contacts in Control, do they know anything about this?” asked Sam.

“Hard to say, they’re pretty good about not looking surprised. But from what I’ve been able to gather, they seem to be in the dark about this as well,” said Gyrich. “And what he said on Avengers Island tracks with my own suspicions about Fury.”

“Why should we believe you about Fury?” asked Sam. “At least Nick’s never tried to wipe us all out before.”

“I was being controlled, you half-wit!” said Gyrich. “But think about this for yourselves, okay? Fury is the master spy that master spies stand in awe of. He’s been working counter-intelligence for decades. Control sprang up around the same time as SHIELD. Howard Stark was integral to the founding of both. Do you think this is all coincidental? It wouldn’t surprise me at all to discover that Fury is in deep in this.”

“That’s just ridiculous, Nick wouldn’t—” Sharon stopped herself.

“You’re holding something back,” said Josiah.

Sharon nodded and drew something from her pocket. It was a folded piece of paper. She handed it over to Josiah. When he opened it, he saw only one word written on it. “Croatoan?”

“It was left in an envelope in my apartment, found it behind my couch while I was cleaning up the other day. Covered in dust, had to have been there for months.”

“What’s it mean?” asked Sam.

“During the Anglo-Spanish War in the late fifteen-hundreds, a group of colonists on Roanoke Island disappeared. The only clue left behind was the word ‘Croatoan’ carved on a tree,” said Sharon.

“I don’t get it,” said Sam. “What’s this have to do with anything?”

“It was a code Steve and I had,” said Sharon. “As a SHIELD agent, there are times when my cover story could necessitate faking my death. Since protocol forbids me from informing anyone, Steve and I came up with this code as a way of letting him know that I’m okay. I think Steve left this for me before he supposedly died to let me know he was alive.”

“Adds credence to the Iron Patriot’s story,” said Sam. “Maybe he really is Steve. Question is, what now?”

“He said he went undercover to find out more about Control and that Fury and Nomad’s actions have forced him into coming back,” said Gyrich. “First step seems to me, find out just what Fury and Nomad have been up.”

“Then we get in touch with him and—” Josiah paused. The basement door slammed open, followed by rapid, panicked footsteps down the staircase. “Irenia…?”

The older woman was out of breath as she leaned on the banister. She gave herself a moment and then, “it’s terrible…all those people…”

“What’s happened?” asked Josiah.

Manhattan
Upper West Side

Sharon’s SHIELD-issued air car lowered amidst the chaos surrounding the burning sanctuary that served as the First Baptist Church in the City of New York. Falcon flew alongside and Gyrich sat in the front passenger seat. Captain America was in the back, but climbed out onto the trunk.

“What are you doing?” asked Sharon.

“Whatever I can.” Captain America leapt from the car, holding his shield over his arms. He crashed through the sanctuary’s skylight, landing on the ambo in a roll. The Falcon flew in after him, hovering above. Smoke and flames were everywhere, and it was difficult to make sense of the chaos.

There were a few people still hiding, trying to find refuge from the flames. Josiah broke through the benches, trying to reach them. He found two young children huddled together and, after sliding his shield over to his back, picked them both up. Captain America took the children over to Falcon.

A small explosion and the sounds of screaming. “Get them out of here! I’ll see who’s left!” shouted Captain America. The Falcon nodded, cradling the children in his arms as he flew back up through the skylight.

Captain America listened for the cries, one hand covering his mouth, the other trying in a futile manner to clear the smoke. He finally found the church’s pastor, lying under a fallen beam. Captain America crouched low, finding a grip beneath the wood. The beam was hot, even through the insulation of his gloves. He strained against it, muscles tensing. The pastor tried to help in some way, but his assistance seemed fruitless. Josiah pushed his muscles, feeling them begin to tear, and finally threw the beam off just enough.

There was flaming debris blocking their exit. Josiah held his shield in one arm and hefted the pastor over his shoulder with his free hand. “Now might be a good time for you to pray, brother.”

The pastor began muttering the Lord’s Prayer. Captain America ran for the exit, jumping over another fallen beam and holding his shield beneath his legs to avoid being singed on the land. He raised the shield again, just as another piece of debris broke loose from the ceiling and fell towards the pair. Shaking it off, Josiah saw a clear path to the door and ran towards it, shield held out in front. The two men burst through the entrance, onto the intersection of Broadway and West 79th Street. Paramedics rushed in to attend to the pastor. They escorted Josiah towards an ambulance and gave him some water and a bit of oxygen. He only required a few breaths, but happily took the water bottle and finished most of it in a matter of seconds.

The Falcon, Sharon and Gyrich joined him shortly. “Do we know anything about what happened?”

“Apparently someone set a bomb,” said Gyrich. “We also found something else you might wanna look at. This was left on the windshield of one of the squad cars.”

Josiah accepted the pamphlet from Gyrich. It was a program for the church but scrawled across the front was a symbol.

“You know what that means?” asked Falcon.

Josiah nodded. “It’s Arabic. Kuffar.”

“What’s that mean?” asked the Falcon.

“Infidels.” Josiah crumpled the pamphlet. “This was a hate crime.”

“They’re bringing the war to us—again!” Todd Keller pointed directly into the television camera to emphasize that last word. “They see what’s happening—they see the mockery we’ve made of the office of the President, and by allowing one of them to serve as ournational hero!”

Keller’s face displayed an expression of sadness and he hid his eyes with his hand. “My friends…we can’t allow this to continue! We are standing idly by as our country is being ripped away from us! What more will it take before we stand up, as one, and tell the liberals and the atheists and the terrorists and the illegals and the rest of the Blame America First crowd that we will not stand for it any more! We will not allow you to co-opt our country! We will not go down without a fight!”

Keller walked over to a chalkboard. “Next week, I will stage a demonstration at New York Harbor, protesting not only the Avengers but also our illegitimate Captain America. It’s time to take America back!”

Josiah received a message on the hotline’s voicemail. The informant said he had information on the church bomber and wanted to meet in person and alone. Josiah arrived on his motorcycle, clad in uniform. On the roof of the abandoned tenement, he could make out a figure standing watch.

It took mere moments for Captain America to get onto the roof himself. Once he arrived, he was greeted by a man clad in a red and black costume with brown skin and a mask. He smiled once he saw the new arrival. “As-salamu alaykum, my brother.”

“Who are you?” asked Captain America.

“You may simply call me the Colonel,” he said.

“What do you know about the bombing?”

The Colonel smiled. “I know everything. After all, I’m the one who set those bombs.”

“What?” Captain America instinctively reached for his shield at that comment. The Colonel held up his hands in a show of peace.

“Please, just listen to me for a moment. I think you will want to hear what I have to say.”

“Then talk, but make it quick.”

“I have seen you, brother. Watched from afar as the politicians and the opportunists and the infidels condemn you for doing the work of Allah. And I have a question to ask: aren’t you sick of it?”

Josiah remained silent.

“You risk your life for them and this is how they respond,” said the Colonel. “These immoral savages, placing themselves above an iman. It disgusts me.”

“I don’t do this for recognition, Colonel. I do this because I have dedicated my life to helping people—regardless of their gratitude or beliefs.”

“It’s a waste, Josiah. They will simply use you until you are of no further use. They will turn on you the first chance they get. Many are already rooting for your downfall.” The Colonel held out his hand. “Join me, my brother. Together, we can overthrow this decadent nation, in the name of Allah.”

Josiah looked down at the Colonel’s hand. In a swift move, he swatted it away. The Colonel grit his teeth. “You would side against your own people?”

“No, I’m standing with my people,” said Josiah. “Just because we worship the same god does not make us brothers. It does not make us allies. Innocent people died in that attack.”

“Infidels, not innocents,” corrected the Colonel. “‘And slay them wherever ye find them, and drive them out of the places whence they drove you out, for persecution is worse than slaughter…and fight them until fitnah is no more, and religion is for Allah.’”

“Quran, 2:191-93.”

The Colonel smiled. “Indeed.”

“You do realize it was a passage advocating self-defense, don’t you?” asked Josiah. “Personally, I prefer 5:32.”

The Colonel raised his brow.

“‘In consequence, we did ordain unto the children of Israel that if anyone kills a human being—unless it be for murder or for spreading damage on earth—it shall be as though he had killed all humankind: whereas if anyone saves a human life, it shall be as though he had saved the lives of all humankind.’”

“I do this to claim retribution for what was done to my country and my family,” said the Colonel. “I watched, helpless, as the American war machine brutally murdered my countrymen.”

“And you’d take your revenge on innocent people who had nothing to do with that,” said Josiah. “You’re a coward.”

“You dare?”

In a rapid motion, the shield was off his back and flying through the air, striking the Colonel in the chin. The shield hit its apex and returned into Josiah’s waiting hand. “You’re damn right I do.”

“Betrayer!” hissed the Colonel. “You will regret your decision this day!”

“Somehow, I doubt that!”

“So be it!” The Colonel swung out his arm and tiny smoke pellets flew from his fingertips. They exploded on the roof, completely obscuring the night. Captain America tried to go through, but it was no use. Once the smoke had cleared, the Colonel was gone.

Princeton Walk

The next day, Josiah walked down the stairs of his large home, entering the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and at at the table, slowly sipping it. He noticed Irenia standing in her robe, fixated on the television. Josiah just shrugged and then realized he could smell something burning. The stench came from the toaster and he hit the button, releasing the two charred, crisp slices of bread.

“Irenia? Everything okay?” He moved over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. In all the years he’d been living with his surrogate mother, not once was she ever so careless in the kitchen.

“I suppose you haven’t heard yet,” she said, patting his hand. “Look.”

Josiah focused on the television screen. “In case you’re just joining us, a costumed terrorist who has identified himself as the Colonel has claimed responsibility for the bombing of the First Baptist Church. In addition, this photograph was also discovered from a surveillance camera, depicting the Colonel with none other than Captain America of the Avengers, apparently shaking hands.”

They showed the photo on the screen. It was black and white and a bit blurry. It was taken at the moment Josiah slapped aside the Colonel’s hand, but due to the quality, it seemed to depict exactly what the announcer described.

“A set-up,” said Josiah, his eyes narrowing. “And I played right into it.”

To be continued…