Issue 01

The Soldier

He marched through the wilderness in silence. He had no name, or at least one that would be recognized as such. His heavy coat was caked in dust, as his boots were clad in dried mud. The sun was beaming far overhead, visible through the gaps in the canopy, a brilliant yellow eye in the blue face that was the sky, unmarred by clouds.

He was dead.

But still he marched, his weapon shouldered as he vaulted over a fallen log. Everything was so…green. It was alien to him as anything else since had left his home world. It reminded him of the stories the chaplains had told to him and his kin when they had been but children. Stories of great fields and wondrous forests full of animals. Stories of a world long since burned to ash by atomic fire. Now it was a world of rain and dust, of duty and conviction. Some had called it nightmarish. Maybe it was. But to him, it was and always would be home. One he would never see again. He felt no sorrow. He was dead, as was right. They were all born to die in His name. That was their duty. To die so that they may be forgiven.

And even in death, he would serve. But he did not know how. So he did what all of them had been trained to do, on the blasted rad-plains of home. He marched on. Twigs and leaves crunched beneath his boots as he moved, his gaze fixed forward. He had been walking for a long time, or so he assumed. His chronometer had been broken before he had died, and it was as dead as he was in this strange place. Was this…home? Home before the war? Had he been granted the honour of seeing the simply beauty of his distant home world by Him on Earth?

He did not know. So he did what he had always done. He marched. Soon the light began to fade, but still he marched on. When in doubt, advance. And he was filled with doubt at that moment, though none showed on his face. The impassive lenses stared fixedly forward before he slowed as the forest before him suddenly cut in twain. He stared before turning to look one way, then the other. It was a road. Pitifully small, but probably enough for civilian use. It wasn't a dirt track either. He stared at it for a while, somewhat puzzled.

A road. He stood there, amongst the trees, looking at it. Then he heard it. The guttural low growl of an engine. He slowly turned his head until he saw it, coming down the road from what he assumed to be the east. It was a truck, small and flimsy. Faint music could be heard above the sounds of the engine, the growl turning into a throaty roar. He just stood and stared as the vehicle sped by. It reminded him of the haphazard engines the Directorate had used to harass their lines, though this one lacked a weapon on the flatbed.

It sped by on the road and continued heading west. He watched it go before looking back east. There was no sign of anything else coming. But he had found something of interest. Others. He turned back to face the way the vehicle had gone and began to walk along the treeline, heading west.

Night had fallen by the time he spied the lights of a settlement. A small collection of buildings, very much like the villages the regiment had marched through only three days before. Before he had died. That one had been a scorched and blasted ruin. This one however, was still alive. He walked in silence as he approached, his dark trench coat blending him into the night. He stopped short of the dim light that came from the settlement, staring at it. It…was at peace. There was no curfew from what he could see. There was no blackout. A small buzz of noise pervaded the air, a multitude of sounds blending together within the town. It was…oddly comforting. It reminded him of the various regimental camps that had been setup during the muster. His regiment had been as silent as stoic as ever, but the Cadians and Catachans had been quite vocal in their pleasure at having survived another campaign, singing and drinking. They had mingled freely with the other regiments stationed alongside theirs.

No one from his regiment had taken part.

He stood and stared in the dark for a long time, the lights of the town slowly fading as the night moved on. He did not know what to do. He was the highest ranking member of the Korps present, so command was his. And he had no idea what to do. His head lowered as he pondered his options. What had the Watchmasters always made sure of whenever they were deployed?

Resources. Food, water, filters. All consumable goods. His own supplies wouldn't last. He did not know if he could starve to death after dying, but then what was certain about death? Maybe this was the final test from Him. After a lifetime of war, what could he do when confronted with peace? Or maybe it was all an illusion, a trap laid out to ensnare his soul at the last moment? He didn't know. So he would continue as he always did. He raised his head and resumed walking.

Soon, he was walking amidst the dim pools of light cast by streetlamps. Now and again he would come across a crossing with signs. He would raise his head to study them. Though written in a script similar to gothic, the letters did not form any familiar words. He could make out what appeared to be distances however. It seems the numerical system was at least the same. It wasn't much, but it was another comforting reminder of home. The buildings around him were mostly homes, or so he assumed. They were of human design, and that comforted him further. There was no one outside to challenge him as he travelled deeper into the town, the homes being replaced by what could only be buildings of commerce and administration. Blocky, solid shapes lined the streets, all dark and empty.

He let his gaze wander from one to the next. No signs of damage. The town was at peace. Voices reached his ears and he looked ahead, noticing a bright set of lights. When in doubt, advance. He walked onwards. The lights resolved themselves to be advertisements at some facility. The vehicle he had seen earlier was parked by what he assumed to be a refuelling station. The emblems of fire hazards bedecking the various pumps and stations reminded him of the runes and sigils the Mechanicus had used at the promethium refinery they had set up to keep the armoured regiments supplied with fuel.

He suspected that if he were to smell the air, it would carry the same reek of the substance. But all he could taste was the recycled air being pumped through his face. Strangely, the refinery had great windows, displaying bright colours within. He walked closer curious, ignoring the empty vehicle parked outside. More details became visible. A counter. A young woman behind it. Two men, owners of the vehicle he guessed, wandering around looking at the wares. A shop then.

He had never shopped himself. Everything he had required had been provided by Him on Earth and the Munitorium. Surely if he were dead He would continue to provide what was necessary? The thought was immediately crushed. Such thinking led to arrogance, led to jeopardy. Do not ask what the Emperor can do for you; rather ask what you can do for Him. But he was aware of the practice of shopping, having witnessed the soldiers from other regiments partaking in it. He had always been content to remain in camp unless ordered otherwise himself, during which times the watchmaster had overseen their patrols into whatever nearby settlements there were.

Whereas the other soldiers were welcomed and cheered, the Korps were feared and avoided. That was the way of things. They were already dead after all, and the living should not associate with the dead. He looked as the two men approached the counter, with all the confidence that the youths of other worlds so commonly displayed. There was no confidence where he had come from. Only certainty.

They were talking. About what, he did not know. Maybe haggling over prices, or inquiring after certain items. And then one of the men pulled a gun. It was a small thing, reminding him of an autopistol. A projectile weapon. He was waving it at the woman, who was clearly nervous, frozen in panic. Typical civilian. So he had come across a crime. An affront to the Emperor. Humanity had enough foes that it could ill afford to turn on one another. A pity that even death did not seem to change that, though in his heart he was beginning to doubt that fact.

His lasgun was in his hands, raised and ready at eyelevel as he sighted the weapon down its length. He slowed his breathing as he had been taught. Normally, the korps partook in massed volley fire, though snipers also had their part to play in the sieges. The ability to pick of one man amongst hundreds was a wonderful psychological tool. It reminded the enemy that no one was safe. A breeze pulled at his coat as he squeezed the trigger, and a beam of red light shot out, melting a hole through the glass window before going on to hit the man in the shoulder. His clothing smouldered and his flesh sizzled as skin and muscle was cooked. His faint words turned into all too audible screams of pain as another beam of crimson light hit his compatriot in the chest, the youth turning to see what had happened.

They were both on the ground as he entered the refinery store. He assumed they were shouting obscenities, but the words eluded him. The sounds were right but their inflection, their order, was wrong. But there were similarities with gothic that he could detect. The soldier silenced the two men with another two shots, one to each of their heads. The woman behind the counter was cowering against the far wall, arms raised over her head. He shouldered his weapon as he spoke.

"You are safe now." The usual response that had been drilled into him since he could wield a weapon. Reassurance of civilians was not one of the Korps' strong points, but even they recognised the benefits it brought about. The woman did not respond so he repeated himself in High Gothic, and then in the native dialect of his home world. She seemed to recognise that, but not understand the words, looking at him fearfully. Fear was nothing new to him. The Korps were meant to inspire fear.

He stood there for a moment, unsure how to proceed. He eventually settled on making the sign of the aquila before turning away. He paused only long enough to pick up a pair of bottles of water and two tins of food, placing them in his bag before nodding at the woman and departing. It seemed like a fair exchange to him.

"Oh this is just wonderful," groaned Agent Roberts, rubbing his eyes. It was far too early in the afternoon to be dealing with something like this. He could swear he felt a headache coming on. He had received the call to investigate only ten hours ago, at two in the morning no less. It had taken him most of that time to get here, some backwater little town in the middle of nowhere.

And since he had got here, things just got worse and worse. Firstly, there was the briefing he received over the phone in his car. A disturbance that warranted further study. Something so vague as to be practically useless in informing him what he was actually supposed to do. The day only got worse once he actually arrived at the location indicated on his GPS, some small gas station near the town centre. Local law enforcement had shut the place down, though he easily gained entry thanks to his status as a SHIELD agent.

SHIELD, or to give it its full name, the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, was the espionage and law-enforcement organisation that dealt with a variety of issues. However, a vast majority of those issues tended to stem from supers. The world had changed. No longer were terrorists with top secret weapons SHIELDs top priority. Now it was the whole slew of superbeings that had filled the world. Mutants, aliens, gods, magicians, irresponsible genius', the list was long and varied. Roberts couldn't help but sigh somewhat as he pondered where this little investigation would lead.

There hadn't been much for him to see, so he had caught one of the local cops and had him describe exactly what they had found. A pair of bodies, with sever localised burns. A traumatised cashier. Two holes melted in the window. And of course, surveillance footage that showed exactly what had happened. Roberts had watched it in silence in the backroom of the gas station. A pair of cocky young punks rolled into town and thought to try their hand at robbery. Only to get shot by lasers for their trouble.

Though his expression remained stoic, inwardly Roberts grimaced. A vigilante with laser weaponry. How fun. And not a bad shot either, going by the distances and the behaviour of the shooter. Then the figure revealed itself by entering the store and Robert's day got infinitely worse. Dark trench coat. Gas mask. Germanic helm. And a golden eagle emblazoned on one shoulder pad. He recognized the imagery. German. World War era. Add laser weapon to that and you got one very unpleasant result.

Showing none of the discomfort he felt, he just nodded at the policemen as he emerged from the gas station. He got into his car and let out a heavy breath as he dialled a number. "This is Roberts. I'm going to need a seeker squad. We have potential HYDRA presence."

The water was rich and full of flavour. Completely unlike anything he was used to. Then again, he usually drank decontaminated water whilst on campaign. He had never tried the water the civilians had access to. Civilians had other drinks as well, some that the guards had taken to with great relish. Mostly they tended to be alcoholic to some degree.

He was sat in the shadow of a great tree, resting. He had chosen against starting a fire, unwilling to draw any local predators to himself. But he had come across no trace of anything in the forests that could harm him. Mostly just small herbivores. His face lay on the ground as he drank sparingly from the bottle, rationing himself. He poured some the liquid into his canteen before placing the drink back in his pack, fishing out one of the tins he had taken. Drawing his trench knife, he stabbed the lid and sawed through the thin metal to open the container. Some sort of sauce with seeds. He ate the cold food slowly, his eyes lost in his memories.

When in doubt, advance. That was the way of the imperial Guard. But he could not advance forever. And he was pretty sure he wasn't dead. He was lost. He was somewhere where he shouldn't be. He was apart from his regiment. He had to go back. It was his duty. Until he did, he was in command. How to achieve his objectives was down to him. He felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders like a mantle made of lead. He would bear it with the stoicness expected of the Korps.

Besides, his goal was clear. Find a way home. Failing that, do what was expected of all sons and daughters of Krieg. Die in the name of the Emperor. His meal finished, he put his face back on, the comforting feel of it settling on his face fortifying his resolve. He carved a rough aquila into the bark of the tree against which he had rested, and muttered a quick prayer to Him before settling in to rest, his lasgun cradled in his hands.

The sun was already setting by the time the team he had requested had turned up. One of those new patrol groups that Fury had set up. They basically wandered the world, ready to respond to any situation that came up. A solid idea, and one that Roberts was thankful for. Now he could hand this entire matter off onto someone else and not have to worry about getting his head blown off by some nutjob who probably still though World War 2 was going on.

They had arrived in a pair of black SUVs, probably equipped with some highly confusing gadgetry, and wanted his report. He was more than happy to give it to them. The team leader, a dour woman of what he supposed was Japanese descent, stood before him, arms folded as she listened.

"-so basically, we don't know who he is, where he's from, or what he wants," Roberts finished with an apologetic shrug. There wasn't much he could have achieved on his own.

"And what about the HYDRA connection?" she asked, and Roberts could swear he could hear the cogs in her brain turning as she put the various pieces of the puzzle together.

"Just a suspicion, not a fact," he pointed out. "He spoke German, and certainly looks like some of the regular HYDRA mooks the Captain had to face back in the day but…well, he seemed more like part of the Wehrmacht than HYDRA."

"Regular army?" the woman replied, eyebrow raised.

"Regular army if HYDRA had stayed loyal, perhaps," Roberts corrected himself with a shrug. "An attempt at replicating their successes?"

"Possible," she conceded, eyes narrowed. "Only way to be sure is to ask him ourselves. He's well educated though, I'll give him that."

"Huh? What makes you say that?" the other SHIELD agent asked, somewhat surprised by her sudden declaration.

"He spoke Latin."

"Oh, was that it was? What about that third language?"

"No idea. I'll be having my analyst check it though. Thank you for your assistance." And with that she nodded her head and turned back to her SUVs, leaving Roberts just standing there for a moment before he shook his head and shrugged. Well, none of this was his problem now.

"So what have we got?" asked Jules, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Bertha sat in the back seat, her laptop in her lap as she continued to cut apart the footage she had been sent, combing through all the data she could get her hands on.

"Some vigilante soldier with laser weaponry," Agent Natsumii replied, taking her seat in the front of the car and buckling her seatbelt. "Roberts suggested a HYDRA connection."

Jules raised an eyebrow at that. "A HYDRA vigilante?" he asked, his disbelief evident in his voice as he ignited the engine.

"No. The gear certainly looks like the stuff HYDRA had back during the Second World War though. Doesn't mean whoever is wearing it is part of the group," the woman continued, folding her arms across her chest as Jules pulled away from the station, the second SUV following them. "Could be someone found a cache and took it out for a whirl."

"Or we could be facing another popsicle," countered Jules, keeping his eyes on the road. That would be certainly unwelcome. It was surprising how many of HYDRA's staff had survived into the 21st century. Why wouldn't there be another one? "Possibly some form of sleeper agent with a delayed activation?"

"Can't rule that out. Bertha, got anything to add?"

"Apart from the language thing? Yeah, I think the little salute thing he did was weird so I ran a check for that. Nothing. Doesn't match any signals or codes that SHIELD knows of," the analyst offered. Then again, what SHIELD didn't know could fill a few databases. HYDRA was really good at playing the shadow game. "Guessing it's not military though."

"That's a bold claim," Natsumii commented, looking at the other woman through the rear view mirror. "Proof?"

"Uhm...well no military salute that I'm aware of takes both hands. Always figured it was kinda practical you know? Like, in case something happened during the act you could always still grab your weapon?"

Jules and Natsumii shared a look. "Interesting idea, but I doubt that's actually right. No jumping to conclusions, alright?" said the team leader.

"Yes ma'am," chorused Jules and Bertha.

"Good. Bertha, tap into any surveillance in the area, look for anything that could show where our soldier came from. If there's some kind of HYDRA bunker out here, I want to know where."

"And what about the soldier?"

"A potential HYDRA base is of greater concern. Send a report to the Triskelion that our lead headed south from here and that they should send a tracker. He must be off the radar if we haven't come across him before," Natsumii ordered, eyes fixed forward on the road as they drove on into the night.

"Yes ma'am."

He had been walking for days. He had managed to hunt down some of the local wildlife for food, though each kill had cost him precious ammunition. He was going to have to replenish his stocks soon. But he had stuck to the road, and had soon encountered a highway. He never actually stepped onto the tarmac itself, always keeping a fair distance from it, cutting through forest and fields, but always keeping it in sight.

It was his guide. It would lead him. To where? He did not know. He just had faith that wherever it was, it was where the Emperor needed him to be. So he walked on, though the roads he followed steadily became busier and busier. He was heading towards some sort of hub or nexus. A larger centre of population. Good. It would be easier to make contact with some sort of authority that way. A faint suspicion had been building in his mind, one he wasn't quite ready to face yet.

But he had settled on a course of action. Find some kind of authority, and try to chart passage off world. If that proved impossible...well, he would figure that out when it happened. Knowledge was power, or so it was said. And he had to learn where he was and what he could do before he could make any meaningful decisions.

He walked on, the impassive face staring ever forwards as the trees began to thin out. He rested each night, and resumed his march each day. Soon the forest was left behind, and he was marching through fields. He felt exposed, walking alone through such open spaces. To a soldier of the Korps, the only time they moved through such open ground was in great waves whenever they were storming enemy defences.

Still, at least his arrival would be heralded. Whoever was in charge would know where he was going, and meet him accordingly. There was the chance that he would be killed out of hand of course. But if that is what the Emperor willed, then so be it. But no challenge came. So he continued to walk. More days passed before he finally caught sight of a city, it's towering buildings clearly visible on the horizon.

"Can anyone care to explain why it took you the better part of two weeks to find a man, on foot, heading in one direction?" asked Fury, his displeasure all to evident. The assembled agents were silent, unable or unwilling to admit the embarrassing truth. Only the soft thrumming of the air conditioning could be heard in the meeting room.

"Because it was one man, on foot, heading in one direction," replied Hawkeye evenly. The Avenger was sat at the table, his gear currently resting on his back. He looked somewhat bored by the entire ordeal. Fury's one good eye focused on him, but he showed no signs of being uncomfortable by drawing the director's attention. "There's a reason I do it myself so often," he added, and Fury seemed to grow more annoyed.

He knew that Barton had a point. Lone operatives travelling on their own were a lot harder to track. That and SHIELD had assumed nothing, so had surveyed the entire region before reports started coming in on a figure matching the soldier's description heading for New York. That immediately raised alarm bells. With the soldier's allegiances still unknown, he had been deemed a threat and SHIELD would react accordingly. And any potential HYDRA activity was automatically classed as high priority. "Alright. Barton, you're up. Just try to bring him in alive."

"Understood."

A/N: I blame Lord-of-Change for this. Seriously I do. He wrote a fun little fic "Death Korps of Justice" and I just knew I had to take a shot at a similar idea _ Go check his story out, it's quite a pleasant read though it does have a tad of a rocky start. Then again, most crossovers do. This tale in itself is only pegged to last three chapters by current estimates. A nice short little thing to let me have some fun.

Anyways, hoped you enjoyed it. And if not, please do share why!