Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 183: Ch.182 Agent Carter

Chapter 183: Ch.182 Agent Carter

Steve wasn't very good with words. Years of insecurity had made him somewhat introverted, and Fury wasn't exactly the talkative type either. Along the way, they exchanged only a few occasional remarks. For some reason, Steve could sense a certain darkness in Fury, as if his new friend had gone through many things—bad things.

The other passengers in the truck instinctively avoided Fury's gaze, as if he carried some kind of contagious disease. When they spoke, they would glance at Fury secretly, and if they noticed him looking back, their voices would grow quieter until they shut up entirely.

In this strange atmosphere, they arrived at Camp Lehigh.

The camp was built in a forest, covering a sizable area. Steve could see people already running drills, but by regular military standards, there seemed to be only enough personnel for one or two companies. The place felt somewhat empty.

"Clank."

The tailgate of the truck was lowered by a few soldiers standing below, and a sergeant glared up at them with a serious expression.

"Get down! Quickly!"

Steve was confused. Why was there a British soldier with an Indian accent on U.S. soil? How was he supposed to understand such heavily accented English? Was this guy going to be their drill instructor? Communication might be a bit tricky.

Fortunately, after some "translation" from the other soldiers, they understood that the sergeant was simply telling them to get off the truck quickly.

Fury jumped down first, followed by the others, lining up loosely.

"Wait, where is Hodge?"

The Indian sergeant, holding a clipboard, was counting heads when he suddenly noticed that one person was missing.

Looking inside the truck, he saw Hodge still slumped in his seat, completely motionless.

The sergeant's face turned red with fury. Hodge's behavior was a blatant sign of disrespect, and it reignited the prejudice he'd heard about Americans not being as respectful as British nobility.

He hated this kind of blatant racism.

The sergeant stormed up into the truck. Fueled by the curry he'd had for breakfast, he pulled out his baton and delivered a solid whack to Hodge's back.

Already unconscious, Hodge toppled to the ground, completely unresponsive.

The other soldiers quickly averted their eyes. Under Fury's cold stare, they turned their heads and pretended to chat among themselves or whistle at the sky. Someone even started whistling La Marseillaise.

The soldiers accompanying the Indian sergeant, however, looked at him with admiration, as if witnessing something impressive.

"Congrats, Sergeant, you've killed a man," one soldier remarked.

The sergeant, still a bit dazed, thought back. He had fought in the British army for over two years, participating in dozens of battles, yet he had never managed to hit a single German. And now, with one strike, he'd taken someone down?

Wait... Americans were supposed to be allies, weren't they?

The sergeant dropped his baton and felt Hodge's pulse. Relieved, he found that Hodge was merely unconscious and, by all indications, had already been knocked out before he hit him.

The real culprit, he realized, was one of the other soldiers on the truck.

"You, who did this?"

Having pieced together the mystery, the sergeant jumped down from the truck and glared at the lineup of soldiers, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized each one.

Steve was ruled out immediately—there was no way he could have done it.

Fury stepped forward. His mission had already been accomplished. Although he didn't understand what was so special about this small guy, as a soldier, he didn't need to ask questions.

"It was me."

The sergeant looked at Fury and then at the rest of the group. Some of the soldiers behind Fury were nodding frantically, confirming his admission.

"You're quite the tough guy, aren't you?"

"Of course," Fury replied calmly, standing at attention and staring straight ahead.

The sergeant circled Fury, sizing him up while stroking his beard and tugging on his turban.

"Good. We need people like you. Follow me."

Fury glanced at Steve, nodded slightly, and followed the sergeant, disappearing into one of the barracks after several twists and turns.

The rest of the soldiers took Hodge to the medical tent, while the rest of the recruits were led to their own barracks, where they were given lockers and bunks.

"There are uniforms in your lockers. Wear them tomorrow. Training starts at 7 a.m. Dismissed!"

With that, the soldiers left. Steve set down his belongings and immediately went out to look for Fury, but it was as if Fury had vanished into thin air.

Even after Hodge returned from the medical tent, Fury was still nowhere to be found.

Hodge, for his part, didn't dare mess with Steve anymore. After all, that Black guy could come back at any time, and Hodge had a feeling that Fury had blood on his hands. His gaze alone was enough to instill fear.

Exhausted, Steve lay down on his hard bunk and quickly fell asleep, not waking up until just before morning roll call.

The recruits dressed in their uniforms and gathered on the field. Steve wondered if the same Indian sergeant from yesterday would be their drill instructor. If so, he planned to ask about Fury's whereabouts.

After all, Fury had stood up for him, and if there was going to be a punishment, it should be shared between them.

But the person who came to address them wasn't the Indian sergeant.

"Recruits, attention!" A clear, sharp voice rang out. A tall, beautiful woman in a military uniform stepped into view. "I'm Agent Carter. I will be in charge of your unit."

Hodge smirked and snickered. "What's with that accent? Queen Victoria's English?"

Peggy stopped and looked at him calmly. She'd dealt with men like Hodge far too often.

"What's your name, soldier?" Peggy asked.

"Gilmore Hodge, Your Majesty," Hodge replied mockingly, rubbing his jaw and grinning cheekily.

"Step forward, Soldier Hodge. Take one step with your right foot," Peggy ordered, pointing to the space in front of her.

"What, you want to wrestle?" Hodge said, winking as he stepped closer. "I know lots of moves. I could make you—"

Before he could finish bragging, Peggy swiftly punched him in the face, knocking him out cold.

Maybe she'd aggravated the injuries from the day before, or maybe Peggy Carter had simply hit too hard. Steve had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Hodge really had a foul mouth, and now he'd been knocked out twice in two days.

"Agent Carter!" a voice called out. A jeep drove up, and a military officer climbed out, calling Peggy's name.

Peggy quickly straightened up, smoothing her uniform and hair before saluting the man.

"Colonel Phillips."

A fifty-something white man with a commanding presence walked briskly toward them. He glanced at the unconscious Hodge on the ground, looking slightly disgusted.

"I see you're already building rapport with our candidates. I'm pleased," he said dryly. "Medic! Get this man out of here and fix that mouth of his."