sand before him like the natural racetracks of Daytona Beach or the Utah Flats, Cap was able to shift his nuclear jeep into its top speed of 100 miles an hour for the three-hour trip to Fort Shahib, some 300 miles south.
It was the south-central Sahara, the most desolate area, spotted with just a few widely scattered Bedouin camps and crossed by only one long-unused camel trail of the old Arabian nomads. It was doubtful if anyone from the outside world had been here in fifty years.
Endless burning sand, rippling in the wind, stretched before Cap’s squinting, sun-dazzled eyes. He fumbled beside him and slapped a pith-helmet on his head; otherwise he’d go glare-blind in an hour.
Heat rose in invisible, suffocating waves from the shiny sands. Cap kept telling himself the temperature was only 120 degrees. He did not dare look at the windshield thermometer. If he found it registered 150 degrees, the shock might undermine his grim determination to endure the hell-hot inferno he was crossing.
He drank sparingly from his water supply, but when he picked up the canteen again and upended it, it was empty, dry. Hurling it down, he licked his leathery lips and drove on for what was another eternity, though his lying watch said only two hours had passed.
The noonday sun pitilessly poured its furnace heat down on him. Cap suddenly jerked up and swung the jeep around.
“A Nazi machine-gun nest!” he exclaimed. “What’s it doing here today, long after the war? They’re opening fire….”
As at the Avenger memorial ceremonies, Cap leaped out of the jeep, shield forward, and charged. Sand flew under his feet as he warded off the hail of bullets and hurled himself headlong, his fist cracking on…nothing.
He sat up, spitting the sand out of his mouth, dazed. “A mirage? Delusion? Take hold of yourself, boy. You’re cracking up.”
He drove on, but images again swam before his eyes…and faded. Once he glanced beside him in happy astonishment to see Bucky sitting there. But that image, too, faded….
“I’m an Avenger,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “An Avenger does not crack up, hear me? If I flip my lid now, I’ll let down my Avenger pals…and the whole world…and twenty thousand future worlds. Hang on… hang on!
He was singing “twenty thousand future worlds, baked in a pie…What will Karzz do with them? My, my, my!” when the ramparts of the fort rose over the horizon before him. His maniacal laughter choked off.
“Karzz’s hangout,” he muttered, and once again he was Captain America, Avenger, alert for danger and tuned for action.
Cannily, he drove up behind the screening palms of the oasis, cutting off a direct view from the fort, hoping to surprise Karzz. He belly-crawled through the sand, brushing aside lizards and other creatures of the desert. Soundlessly, he wriggled among stone debris where one portion of the old fort’s wall had collapsed.
Skilled in the tactics of unseen and unheard approach, Cap congratulated himself that he could have surprised a platoon of Nazis in the fort if they had been there, as he raced silently through the front gates.
“Bon soir, Captain America! Why did you go to all that trouble sneaking in?” a mocking voice greeted him. It was Karzz, pointing at a monitor screen atop an electronic box. “You have been under surveillance ever since your vehicle first approached the old fort.”
Cap conquered his first surge of disappointment. Swiftly his eyes took in the wide courtyard and the tall rocket standing on end with a gantry tower around it. Turning back to Karzz, Cap’s eyes narrowed. Was the faint purplish aura of his force-shield missing for some reason? Was he vulnerable?
Suddenly he plunged forward in a crouch, to find out.
Karzz stood unperturbed. “You are the incomparable man-to-man, face-to-face, toe-to-toe slugger that no other man on earth is a match for…except one,” he said.
He touched a stud on his belt and a figure dashed out of
It was the south-central Sahara, the most desolate area, spotted with just a few widely scattered Bedouin camps and crossed by only one long-unused camel trail of the old Arabian nomads. It was doubtful if anyone from the outside world had been here in fifty years.
Endless burning sand, rippling in the wind, stretched before Cap’s squinting, sun-dazzled eyes. He fumbled beside him and slapped a pith-helmet on his head; otherwise he’d go glare-blind in an hour.
Heat rose in invisible, suffocating waves from the shiny sands. Cap kept telling himself the temperature was only 120 degrees. He did not dare look at the windshield thermometer. If he found it registered 150 degrees, the shock might undermine his grim determination to endure the hell-hot inferno he was crossing.
He drank sparingly from his water supply, but when he picked up the canteen again and upended it, it was empty, dry. Hurling it down, he licked his leathery lips and drove on for what was another eternity, though his lying watch said only two hours had passed.
The noonday sun pitilessly poured its furnace heat down on him. Cap suddenly jerked up and swung the jeep around.
“A Nazi machine-gun nest!” he exclaimed. “What’s it doing here today, long after the war? They’re opening fire….”
As at the Avenger memorial ceremonies, Cap leaped out of the jeep, shield forward, and charged. Sand flew under his feet as he warded off the hail of bullets and hurled himself headlong, his fist cracking on…nothing.
He sat up, spitting the sand out of his mouth, dazed. “A mirage? Delusion? Take hold of yourself, boy. You’re cracking up.”
He drove on, but images again swam before his eyes…and faded. Once he glanced beside him in happy astonishment to see Bucky sitting there. But that image, too, faded….
“I’m an Avenger,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “An Avenger does not crack up, hear me? If I flip my lid now, I’ll let down my Avenger pals…and the whole world…and twenty thousand future worlds. Hang on… hang on!
He was singing “twenty thousand future worlds, baked in a pie…What will Karzz do with them? My, my, my!” when the ramparts of the fort rose over the horizon before him. His maniacal laughter choked off.
“Karzz’s hangout,” he muttered, and once again he was Captain America, Avenger, alert for danger and tuned for action.
Cannily, he drove up behind the screening palms of the oasis, cutting off a direct view from the fort, hoping to surprise Karzz. He belly-crawled through the sand, brushing aside lizards and other creatures of the desert. Soundlessly, he wriggled among stone debris where one portion of the old fort’s wall had collapsed.
Skilled in the tactics of unseen and unheard approach, Cap congratulated himself that he could have surprised a platoon of Nazis in the fort if they had been there, as he raced silently through the front gates.
“Bon soir, Captain America! Why did you go to all that trouble sneaking in?” a mocking voice greeted him. It was Karzz, pointing at a monitor screen atop an electronic box. “You have been under surveillance ever since your vehicle first approached the old fort.”
Cap conquered his first surge of disappointment. Swiftly his eyes took in the wide courtyard and the tall rocket standing on end with a gantry tower around it. Turning back to Karzz, Cap’s eyes narrowed. Was the faint purplish aura of his force-shield missing for some reason? Was he vulnerable?
Suddenly he plunged forward in a crouch, to find out.
Karzz stood unperturbed. “You are the incomparable man-to-man, face-to-face, toe-to-toe slugger that no other man on earth is a match for…except one,” he said.
He touched a stud on his belt and a figure dashed out of
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