6

The next day, Colonel Phillips and Senator Brandt were in the middle of a heated discussion. Phillips paced back and forth, his expression furious. They had been attacked on their own soil by an enemy spy who had managed to sneak in with the senator’s entourage. It was a disgrace. And now, on top of it, Erskine was dead, and with him any hope of creating more Super-Soldiers. If Hydra had gotten their hands on that one vial...Phillips shivered at the thought. The SSR had only one option—go after Hydra before they came back after them.

As Phillips paced, Steve entered the headquarters. He had changed into a clean set of clothes that actually fit, but he looked tired from the events of the past few days.

Seeing him, Phillips grew even angrier. “I asked for an army!” he fumed. “All I got is you. And you are not enough.”

Steve’s head dipped as shame rushed over him. He felt like a failure. Everyone had put their faith in him, and he hadn’t been able to keep Kruger from killing Erskine or taking the cyanide pill.

While Phillips fumed, Senator Brandt remained silent. Whereas the colonel was a ball of nerves, Brandt seemed eerily calm. He wasn’t convinced that the experiment had been a failure. As if to prove it, he held up a copy of the day’s paper. “You’ve seen Steve here in action,” he said. “But more importantly, the country’s seen it.”

Walking closer, Phillips looked at the headline. It read: MYSTERY MAN SAVES CIVILIANS! Below it, there was an image taken of Steve the day before on the piers. He was using the cab door as a shield while Kruger fired.

Brandt waved the paper. “You don’t take a soldier—a symbol—like this and hide him in a lab.” Turning to Steve, he flashed his trademark smile, the one that had made him the successful senator he was. “Son, do you want to serve your country?” Steve nodded. “On the most important battlefield in this war?”

Of course Steve wanted to help. That was the whole reason he was in this situation in the first place. “It’s all I want,” he said.

The senator’s smile got larger as he walked over and clapped Steve on the back. “Then congratulations. You just got promoted.”

It didn’t take long for Steve’s promotion to go into effect. But it wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting.

A few days later, he found himself backstage in a small theater. His palms were sweaty, and he looked as if he was going to be sick to his stomach. One of Senator Brandt’s aides stood next to him, running through what was about to happen. Steve barely heard him.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said softly. When Brandt had promised him that he would get to take part in the greatest battle of all, he had pictured being on the front lines, battling the enemy and saving his fellow soldiers. Not standing behind a curtain on a stage, preparing to do a song-and-dance act. But that was exactly what he was doing.

Before Steve could get any more nervous, the show began. The curtains parted, and a bugler walked onto the stage. He tilted his head back and blasted out reveille. Then, as the final notes faded, a band joined in and line of girls danced across the stage, legs kicking high in the air. As Steve watched with a mixture of horror and embarrassment, they began to sing: “He’s the star-spangled man with the star-spangled plan. He’s Captain America!”

As they sang out the last word, Steve took a deep breath and moved forward. The aide had told him what to do. He was supposed to just walk through the flag and say his lines to the audience. But he felt like a fool.

He was dressed in what Senator Brandt had decided made him look most like “Captain America”—the war’s newest hero—red boots and gloves, a pair of blue pants, and a shirt covered with stars and stripes. To top off the look, he had been given a mask with wings and a cheap red-white-and-blue shield. Steve had refused to look in the mirror, but he was mortified anyway. How was he supposed to inspire people to support the war looking like a kid in a Halloween costume? And what if the audience realized he’d never even set foot on the front line?

A shove from the aide reminded Steve that he hadn’t moved. He stumbled forward past the flag and saw just a handful of kids sitting in the audience. So much for the big crowd Brandt had promised , Steve thought. Taking a deep breath, he eyed the cue card he had pasted on the back of his shield and began to speak. “Hello...uh, folks,” he said. “Who here is ready to sock evil on the jaw?”

The kids let out a cheer, and Steve felt his shoulders relax. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

For the next few months, Steve traveled all over the United States performing his Captain America show. At first, the crowds were small and Steve messed up—a lot. But slowly, things got better and the stages got bigger.

He went to Buffalo and tripped as the girls pulled him into their dance. In Milwaukee, he stayed on his feet and even managed to pose for photos with babies and their mothers. When he got to San Francisco, the stage was the biggest yet, and Steve felt proud when he walked through the flag and bent a pole into a red cross. With a smile, he handed it to a nurse in the audience and blushed when she batted her eyes at him.

The tour continued. Steve went to St. Louis and Chicago, where film crews recorded his act. Later that night, he saw himself on the big screen, and for the first time he began to believe that maybe Senator Brandt was onto something. Steve had never actually fought in the war, but what the public didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

In Philadelphia, a young boy came up to him with pen and paper in hand. “Hey, Cap,” he said, his eyes wide as he took in his hero, “my brother says you took out four German tanks all by yourself.”

Steve patted the boy on the head. “Sorry, kid. Tell your brother he’s wrong.” The boy’s eyes filled with disappointment until Steve added, “It was eight German tanks.” As the boy cheered, Steve grinned.

He was beginning to believe his own hype. There were Captain America comics and photos. He was on the big screen, and he played to sold-out theaters. He was a bona fide hero. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

And then Steve was sent to the front line.