Industrious: Engineering Marvels - Chapter 13 (Patreon)

I blinked slowly and released a jaw-cracking yawn as I looked down at the ream of papers still in front of me.

The Greece mission had been a trial run. The first official outing of the Howling Commandos, chosen mainly because it was so far away from central Germany and the Eastern Front with the Soviets. That meant the Hydra base in that region would likely have the least experienced forces and have the worst supplies and ammunition of any kind available. Blowing it up would also be a show of good faith for the Greek partisans and motivate them to distract the Axis forces in the more conventional conflict.

“That's it, I'm calling it for the night,” Steve sighed, dropping his pen onto the desk across from me and rubbing at his eyes.

“Oh come now, aren't you boys supposed to be supersoldiers?” Peggy asked, bringing over two steaming cups of coffee for him and Barnes and a pair of frosty cokes for myself.

“Supersoldiers, yeah. Sure. Not super-bureaucrats,” Bucky snarked before taking the cup gratefully.

“Agreed,” I muttered, taking one of my bottles and popping the cap.

Greece had also been chosen because, in the event of a clusterfuck, we'd be able to extract by sea and get home relatively quickly with a full report. It just so happened that, even with a complete and total success, we were still on the hook for that full report. As the trial mission, so to speak, everyone wanted to make sure that the Commandos had done their job and were worth the investment. Considering we had gear that was custom-made by Howard Stark himself, chartered our own transport, and were made up of a half-dozen nationalities, that was a lot of people who wanted to ask questions and receive timely answers.

Shaking my head to clear it, I turned back to Peggy. “How's Erik doing?”

Now with her own cup of coffee, the British officer sighed. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. His latest physical showed his health is still improving and that he's well on his way towards recovering to a normal weight for his age. All physical indicators seem to be on the incline.”

I hummed and drained my first coke, turning my head to release a blech. “Pardon me.” Peggy rolled her eyes at the request. “Then how about mentally? Emotionally?”

She pursed her lips. “He's been having nightmares, as most children would if they'd gone through what he has.”

I raised my eyebrows as she cut herself off.

Clearing her throat uncomfortably and taking a sip of her drink, she added. “It just so happens that a German bomb or two gets dropped every time he has one. It is the most logical explanation for why half the metal in the base rattles, shakes, and bounces around.”

I grimaced, Steve joining me and Bucky whistling lowly. All of us looking at him, the soldier shrugged. “Just makes sense why they wanted the kid if he's that powerful.”

“Yes, well... I've been remaining mum on the subject and all,” Peggy stated awkwardly, likely because the act itself involved some level of active and passively lying to her superiors. “And didn't particularly wish to bring it up considering you all will be redeployed in a week's time, however I've been looking into the possibility of moving Erik out into the countryside with a host family. It's just been a challenge attempting to find a trustworthy one capable of handling his... unique situation.”

I grimaced and nodded. “That might be for the best. As long as Erik agrees to it, at least. I'll talk to him about it tomorrow, maybe spend the day with him doing something.” I blinked and snapped my fingers. “I could take him on a tour of the British Museum. I'm supposed to collect my prizes anyway.”

Peggy winced, but nodded. “It might help him take his mind off things, yes.”

“I still can't believe some of the things you said about the Nazis,” Steve chimed in, still nursing his coffee as I cracked my second coke to sip. “I mean, invading the other European countries was one thing, but the camps you talked about...”

“You saw what was left of the people they'd been feeding to that thing, Steve,” Bucky replied, his tone harder as I glimpsed the tendons in his arm stand out in a fight not to crush the mug he'd been handed.

Steve grimaced, looking away, but nodding.

“Postwar, there's a general unwillingness to believe the Nazi War Crimes,” I stated, drawing attention back to myself as I nursed my second drink more slowly than the first. “For the exact same reasons Steve is talking about. The American and Canadian population especially, being so removed from the war, remembers a lot of the propaganda, hyperbole, and outright lies of the First World War. I remember a lot of talk in documentaries about the Kaiser's 'Corpse Factories' and comparing the two.”

Steve clicked his tongue. “Yeah, I remember that. It showed up in some old news archives I was going through for a report.”

“Share with the rest of the class?” Bucky asked, morbidly curious.

“It was a persistent piece of... well, I'm not sure I'd call it folklore, but-” Peggy started.

“Urban mythology,” I interjected.

Peggy blinked, her lips working silently before she nodded. “A useful turn of phrase, Ray. Yes, 'urban mythology.' There was a general allegation that the Entente blockade of the Central Powers was so effective that the Kaiser and his forces resorted to rendering down human fats from corpses on the battlefield to produce things like tallow, grease, or boot dubbin.”

“It was a complete lie,” Steve told his friend. “There were investigations after the war and absolutely no evidence was ever found. But, yeah... I can see why people wouldn't want to believe what the press says about this initially.”

Bucky shook his head. “What about the stuff the Germans actually did? Like, the... um, Rape of Belgium or whatever? They did that, right?”

“Totally different scale,” I replied, cutting off whatever Steve and Peggy were going to say. “Even going with the highest estimates, the Germans likely killed fewer than thirty-thousand Belgians over the course of the entire war. Even if you expand that to people deported or unilaterally sentenced to hard labor, you're 'only' looking at an additional hundred and twenty thousand. Belgium had a pre-war population of a little over seven and a half million people, if I remember correctly, so only a tiny fraction of one percent – something like zero-point-two-percent – who were actively and intentionally harmed by the kaiserreich's forces.”

“Can I just say it's incredibly weird that you can pull all of these facts and figures out of your ass?” Bucky asked, his eyes cutting towards Peggy. “Pardon my French.”

“You're excused,” the British officer rolled her eyes. “But, yes. As loath as I am to admit it, Ray makes a good point. Even if it was a tragedy, the so-called 'Rape of Belgium' was magnified by my own nation's propaganda offices. Much of what occurred was... well, I hate to propose that there are such things as 'normal' wartime atrocities, but...”

“Violence against partisans, reprisal attacks for injured or killed occupying soldiers, sexual assault of locals, friendly fire incidents, acts undertaken while inebriated, and general confusion and misunderstandings caused by the fog of war,” I ticked off my fingers. “Again, while very bad from an absolute position, certain deprivations on a populace during wartime are simply a function of moving large groups of armed young men through a given territory and not being able to control each and every one of them perfectly.”

“It's still awful and shouldn't happen,” Steve agreed, closing his eyes briefly. “But the numbers you're talking about...”

“The Nazis killed millions,” I stated in no uncertain terms. “Each year. Regional areas lost ten percent or more of their populations. It's the kind of systematic and ruthless violence conducted at every level against an entire society that you have to go back to ancient times to really see. The only other real contenders in the modern era at this point would be the Ottoman Empire and Stalin himself.”

“The Ottomans?” Bucky asked, frowning. “I thought you said that World War One stuff was garbage?”

“There's a grain of truth to every accusation,” Peggy stated uncomfortably, then sighed. “What Ray is talking about does sound rather uncomfortably like the events that played out late in the war as regards the Armenian people.”

“And the Anatolian, Thracian, and Pontic Greeks,” I interjected, causing her to blink at me in confusion. “And the Assyrian and Chaldean populations. And the Kurds.”

All three of them stared at me as I drained the last of my drink.

“I wasn't aware of those,” Peggy stated, frowning.

“I'd tell you to look them up, but information on them is probably hard to find in this day and age.” I drummed my fingers on the table thoughtfully. “They're a group of forgotten atrocities largely because Turkey successfully maneuvers it's position of geopolitical importance to make it impossible for most nations to recognize them. It's kind of like how, post-war, the United States kind of white-washes Japanese war crimes in the name of having military bases on the islands and using them as a staging ground for interventions in southeast Asia.”

Inwardly, though, my mind lingered on the topic of the Ottoman Genocides. The fact that the perpetrators had gotten away clean, even if some of the central architects had been brought to justice and punished by the Turkish state, always made me angry. There were a great many individuals who could stand a bit of justice. I'd have been willing to let that little historical grudge die with the Ottoman state, but its successor Turkey had turned getting away with the crimes into a point of nationalistic pride.

Maybe I can take a vacation after the war. A quick little trip to Anatolia. I always wanted to see the Hagia Sophia. I'd have to be careful, but...

“But that won't happen this time around, right?” Steve asked, almost plaintively. “You told the President about the Nationalists needing support to fight the Communists.”

I waggled a hand. “I give it even odds. The Nationalists are just really bad at waging war. It's just that the Communists are even worse at waging peace.”

Bucky squinted. “I don't think that's a thing.”

I chuckled darkly. “You have to understand communism to understand it, but trust me. They wage peace like most nations wage war.”

“On that incredibly ominous note,” Peggy interjected. “I think it best we adjourn for the night. I was here to collect your reports, but if you're not done...”

“Peggy, we're trying, but there's only so many ways to say that we saw a giant armored spider monster with a tail that spit acid and blew it up,” Steve complained, holding up the pages. “The notes Ray stole should tell you way more about the thing than we know.”

“So Ray should be the one to fill out all this stuff,” Bucky added.

I flipped him off.

“Boys,” Peggy sighed. “The notes were very helpful and we've had a group of academics going over them. They concur with Ray's claims that it was some kind of ancient creature the bronze-age Greek identified as a mythological monster, but-”

“That's not exactly what I said,” I interrupted.

Peggy twitched and rubbed her forehead. “Technical-Sergeant Winston, I appreciate your expertise, but it is already an uphill battle attempting to convince my superiors of the threat of Hydra's super-science experiments. As long as they take this seriously, I do not see a need for them to admit the existence of magic. Especially that of divine origin.”

I rolled my eyes. Arbitrary suspension of disbelief was kicking in, I see. Science-magic with a lot of fancy words and technical-sounding terms was okay, but magic-magic was a step too far!

Regardless, I was sure of my assertion. Whatever that spider-monster was, it wasn't a creature of normal biology. While it could have been of alien origin, there was the simple fact that my blade mostly just skated off its armor. Even, especially, when I knew I had a clean hit that should have taken a chunk of armor off. The ability to casually no-sell my sword like it had spoke of a conceptual defense. I'd almost gotten to the point of using one of my limited chakra storage seals on it before managing to run into the rest of the unit. Some part of me lamented the fact that I hadn't resorted to such a thing sooner, as if it had worked, that would have been a clear indication of the supernatural.

As it was, though...

“Honestly, I'm just glad that my superiors are shutting down any complaints that you didn't bring back one of the live specimens,” Peggy stated, openly shivering. “We have quite enough to worry about without some sort of outbreak of giant acid-spewing armored spiders.”

Steve cleared his throat. “We were only told to return with technological samples if possible. We already went above and beyond in bringing back preserved biological samples.”

Discreetly, I gave the captain a thumbs up and he winked back.

The line was something I'd given him when we'd had a short disagreement about dumping diesel fuel and setting fire to the clutch of eggs we'd discovered. As I'd told the squad, 'If the monster is an insect, there's always a nest and there's always eggs.'

They'd called me crazy! But I'd shown them!

“And everyone outside of the scientists agree with you,” Peggy nodded, looking thankful for that fact.

Thankfully, at the woman's urging, we were able to finish out our reports before handing them over.

…

“I probably should have guessed that they'd have everything in storage,” I sighed as we walked through the massive dusty corridors of the huge basement beneath the British Museum. “What with the Blitz and all. Sorry for dragging you out here just to look at rows and rows of crap in boxes.”

Erik shook his head. “No, it is... interesting? I think, that word. Yes, good to get out of base.”

It really did seem like he'd perked up once we'd gotten out of the underground base and had a walk about town. I'd sat with the kid a few times since we'd gotten back, but outside of showing me a few new tricks he'd picked up with paperclips and ball bearings he'd been pretty... depressed? No, just... kind of melancholy or morose. Something like that.

I flicked at his dark hair a bit and he shot me an irritated look. “Have to get it cut if you want to keep it short. You could grow it out, if you wanted to, though?”

Erik frowned, running his hand through his hair self-consciously as his dark eyes looked away. “I will... think about it. Not sure. Mother always-”

He cut himself off and I bit back a sigh. “Your English is getting better, at least.”

Erik nodded, accepting the change of subject easily enough. “Yes. Peggy helps. Has me read German things for her. Says I am native speaker. Good, um...”

I waited a moment, looking around at the various crates and not feeling any of my metaphysical senses tingling. “Resource?”

“That, yes,” Erik nodded, irritation giving way to satisfaction. “After English I will learn Spanish.”

I raised an eyebrow, knowing where this was probably going. “Thinking of going into translating? Good diplomatic jobs there.”

He gave me a mild look of reproach. “You said they will hide in the South Americas, after the war. I heard you. They speak Spanish. I will need it, for later.”

Sighing, I nodded. “When you're older, if you still want to chase any that escape. I'm a man of my word, Erik.”

“Not to interrupt, but there are other things I could be doing with my time,” a young graduate student stated, looking miffed at the two of us as he led the way and pushed a trolley with a handful of things I'd already picked out on it. “It was my hope this wouldn't take the entire day.”

“It'll take as long as it takes,” I stated, letting his bullshit slide off like water off a duck's back.

“This would go substantially faster if you'd simply list off whatever criteria you have. Or tell me what we're looking for in specific. I haven't gone through seven years of university to act as some soldier's personal shopping assistant,” He grunted, fixing his glasses as he moved the cart along.

“We've already gotten five of the twelve,” I soothed the man, then took a look at my watch. Three hours. “Tell you what? We don't find enough in the next... two hours, I'll say I got called back to base and you can dump the job on someone else another day. How's that sound Gabriel?”

“Like the best idea I've heard since I was unfortunately awarded this task, thank you.” The student’s gratitude couldn't have been drier and more sarcastic had it been in the middle of the Sahara.

I blinked. “Ah, here we go.”

Erik stiffened to attention as I turned down one of the dusty isles and followed my 'nose.'

Hmm... no, no, oooh-interesting-but no. Let's see... there we are!

“This one,” I tapped the box before reaching out to lift it up. The crate wasn't all that large or heavy, about the size of four shoe boxes stacked in a two-by-two pile and weighing about the same. “So, what in it?”

Gabrield sighed deeply and pulled out the thick volume of lists that he'd been toting around next to the items I'd pulled out. “Let's see... item number 1042C, Ancient Egyptian Collection.” Muttering under his breath, he dragged a finger down a specific ledger and nodded. “Here. It's recorded as some kind of canister. Attempts were made to open it, but none succeeded and no one wanted to risk damaging the contents.”

“Extra mysterious, I'll take it,” I grinned, the man looking all the more irritated for it as I slid the box onto the cart next to an African war-axe of dubious origin and a spear-head of similar make. Once I'd gotten a feel for the metal from Cap's shield, it had been easy to pick out similar examples. Even with the minimal amount of chakra running through my body, I could still tell the difference between various materials and vibranium had a very specific signature. The spear-head was a bonus, but definitely one I'd be willing to take, even if it did eat another of my rewards.

Near-silent footsteps drew my attention down the aisle as I saw someone approach.

“Very good sir, would you like that in a gift bag or to tote it off as-is,” Gabriel muttered irritably.

“I think the young man can manage just fine by himself, Gabriel,” a smooth baritone rang out, clearly having heard our attendant.

My eyes skated over the burly, noting the old-style coat and ascot he wore, the neatly-trimmed dark beard and receding hairline atop it with a sharp widow's peak pointing down to a romanesque nose and dark, intent eyes. I instinctively took a small step away from Gabriel, both to remove myself from between himself and the other man out of politeness...

...and to put myself between whoever this was and Erik, to whom I gave a cautionary glance.

Something about him... is familiar.

“Ah, Director Shaw! Please excuse me, sir! I'm so sorry!” Graduate Student Gabriel squawked, flushing red in the face as he vainly juggled his ledger in an attempt not to drop it out of surprise.

The older man chuckled, looking exceptionally relaxed by all accounts even as his dark eyes pinned me rather than his underling. “Think nothing of it Mr. Simms. I just heard we had a VIP roaming around the archives and simply had to put a face to the name. Ray Winston, I presume?”

“Well, I'm certainly not Dr. Livingstone,” I replied amiably, extending my hand for a shake and cloaking the wince I felt as a tiny erg of energy slipped from my grasp at the point of contact.

Recognition lit up the other man's face immediately, if in a subdued way. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, then. My name is Sebastian Shaw.”

~~~

Here we go! Wanted to get this out a little earlier, but I saw some things that needed fixing. So I took the extra time to get it right rather than have to do major edits after posting.

Thank again for your support and I hope to have a chapter of The New Ron up by the end of the week!