Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 182: Ch.181 Journey to Enlistment

Chapter 182: Ch.181 Journey to Enlistment

The journey wasn't too long. Pennsylvania was right below New York, and Philadelphia was only 155 kilometers away from New York City. However, since there were no highways yet, the fastest way to get there was by train, which normally took about four hours.

Now, during wartime, trains transporting military supplies were given priority, and the train Steve was on had to yield to nearly every other train they encountered. By the time Steve arrived at the Philadelphia station, it was already the next morning.

Throughout the journey, Steve couldn't sleep. His heart was full of excitement and anticipation for the boot camp. He simply stared out the window into the dark night, his eyes bloodshot from staying awake.

At the Philadelphia train station, there was indeed a military vehicle waiting, just as had been arranged. Steve only needed to show his orders and was allowed onto a truck, which would take him to the training camp.

Unsurprisingly, the truck was full of tall, muscular men radiating testosterone. Steve, however, needed help from the military personnel just to climb aboard, which made him feel a little embarrassed.

The other recruits mostly gave him a quick glance and nothing more, but one bulldog-like man sneered at Steve, spitting on the ground in disdain.

The truck soon started moving. The canvas-covered compartment was mostly empty, with only about twenty new recruits, including Steve.

With the green canvas blocking the view, they couldn't see the surrounding scenery, only the yellow dirt road behind them, with some sprouts of grass and budding green leaves on the branches of nearby trees.

The bumpy, jostling ride made Steve feel like he was on a tiny boat in a storm. It wasn't long before his face turned pale, and he felt something rising from his stomach that he could no longer hold back.

"Blargh!"

Using the last of his strength, Steve rushed to the back of the truck, where he vomited out last night's dinner like a rocket, spraying it all over the road behind them.

It was just instant noodles and some other food, but it certainly didn't leave a good impression on his fellow soldiers.

"Hey, man!"

"Ugh..."

"That's disgusting."

Though none of the other recruits said anything directly, Steve could see the meaning in their faces.

Bringing along a weakling with tuberculosis was bad enough, but now it seemed like this guy might die before even reaching the battlefield. That wasn't exactly a good omen.

The man who had spat earlier immediately started yelling.

"Damn it! I thought I was joining the U.S. Army, not a team full of losers!"

The contempt on his face was obvious. He enjoyed bullying people and often picked on those weaker than himself.

He was tall and muscular, with a face so hard it seemed like it had muscles of its own, like a bulldog. He had earned a 1A rating during his enlistment and had been selected by the Strategic Scientific Reserve.

"Hey, enough of that. We're all going to be comrades. On the battlefield, your target will be a lot bigger than his," said a deep voice from the dark corner of the truck, a place where no one had noticed anyone sitting before.

The bulldog-like man, Hodge, turned and squinted through the darkness, barely making out the silhouette of the person speaking. He spat again.

"What's that? You wanna stick up for him, Blackie? You can call me Lord Hodge, but only after you lick my boots and let me have a little fun with that black ass of yours, ha!"

The surrounding soldiers stifled their laughter. They were used to this. If this weren't the army, Black men would have to sit at the back of the bus. They wouldn't be allowed to sit alongside white men.

But where else could you see this kind of entertainment if not in the military?

"Oh, you want to mess with my black ass? Well, let's see if you've got what it takes," the Black man said, standing up. He wasn't as tall or muscular as Hodge, but his expression remained calm, as if nothing could shake him.

He walked over to Hodge with the same steadiness as if the bumpy truck wasn't moving at all. Looking down at Hodge, he asked, "You piece of..."

Before Hodge could finish his sentence, the Black man raised his knee and slammed it into Hodge's chin with enough force to knock his head against the side of the truck. Hodge's eyes rolled back, and with a single hiccup, he passed out.

The rowdy atmosphere in the truck instantly turned silent. All that could be heard was Steve's retching and the sound of the road flying by behind them.

The Black man adjusted his curly hair, looked around at the soldiers, and dusted off his pants, even though there was no dust. He asked coolly, "Anyone else interested in my skin color... or my ass?"

Of course, no one responded. That lightning-fast strike had made it clear that he was not someone to be trifled with.

The other men in the truck were civilians. There was no way they could handle someone who was clearly well-trained. Even though they didn't like seeing a Black man act tough, they kept their frustrations to themselves.

"Good, we're done here," the Black man said, then walked over to Steve, who was still slumped over at the back of the truck, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

Steve didn't even dare open his eyes; he was feeling that dizzy.

"Hey, you okay, buddy?" the Black man asked, crouching down beside Steve and patting him on the shoulder. He turned his head slightly, given the unpleasant smell of vomit.

"I'm fine. Thanks. I heard you speaking up for me earlier," Steve muttered between gasps, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace.

The Black man tilted his head dismissively. "Hodge is just a thug. You're getting picked on because of your health. I'm getting picked on because of my skin color. We're both in the same boat."

He leaned in closer and lowered his voice until it was nearly drowned out by the truck's engine.

"If you ever want to take him out on the battlefield, count me in."

"What? No! I wouldn't do that," Steve stammered, horrified by the thought of shooting a fellow soldier in the back. That was too extreme.

He turned to face the Black man, eyes wide in shock.

The Black man remained expressionless, as if he hadn't said anything at all.

"Just kidding. See? Scaring you like that got rid of your motion sickness, didn't it?"

Indeed, Steve no longer felt carsick, but he wasn't sure if the man had truly been joking. He certainly hadn't shown any signs of humor.

"Uh, okay. I'm not great with battlefield jokes, but thanks anyway," Steve said, getting up from the floor and returning to his seat. The Black man casually sat down next to him.

The Black man's clothes were old and worn, indicating that he didn't come from wealth, but he sat upright, as if he were wearing the finest suit.

Steve was curious about him. Wiping his hands on his pants, he extended one toward the Black man.

"I'm Steve, from Brooklyn."

The Black man reached out, shook his hand, and gave it a slight shake. "A New Yorker, huh? You're lucky. I don't even know where I'm from. But at least I've got a name. I'm Nick Fury."