February, 1945. An underground bunker, just east of Nuremburg, Germany.

By the time the guard leading her through the cold stone passageways stops, the girl feels as if she's been walking for a fortnight. Her back aches, a stabbing pain has manifested in her side. It wasn't so long ago, she reflects, that she had servants to do all of her walking for her. The thought would spur a sad bitterness in her if she had enough heart left for such things.

The guard fumbles with the key in the lock of the steel door for a moment, then pulls the massive portal open and gestures inside. "In," he says simply.

Nodding, the girl hobbles through the door. The room is well-lit, and tastefully arranged. A comfortable-looking bed, big enough for 2, sits in one corner, and a bookshelf full of well-bound volumes stands next to it. A wood-burning stove, with a narrow pipe leading to the surface - and probably bafflers to dissipate the smoke so as not to give away the bunker's position - is opposite the bed, and a fine, cushioned chair adorns the wall in-between. The room is very obviously a jailcell... just a well-appointed one.

The door swings shut behind her, and she hears the guard's key in the lock again, followed by his shuffling feet as they return down the hall whence they came.

The aristocrat she used to be is hesitant to foul the fine chair by touching it with her dirty clothes and skin, but her bare feet and thinly-clothed back hurt to such an extreme that she doesn't wrestle with the problem for very long. She has a seat, and the only question that concerns her overwhelmed mind as relief sweeps over her is how much more comfortable that bed will be.

With a mixture of relief and terror, the young German girl puts her head into her hands and weeps, her blonde hair falling over her shuddering face like a veil.

Today. Berlin, Germany, on what was once the west side of the Wall.

<"Pig! Government fed pig... lackey! Got what's coming to you now, ja?">*

(* Translated from German -- Russ)

The alleyway is narrow, barely enough shoulder room for the 10 young men standing over and beating the garishly clothed man at their feet. One thug uses an empty bottle to pound on the victim, another has a billy club, much as a Berlin constable might carry, but most of them rely on their feet and hands to deliver the blows. The figure huddling down beneath the onslaught is nearly invisible from outside the circle of men, but occasionally there's a flash of yellow, a shock of blue.

<"Stop it. Step away from that man and put your hands where I can see them.">

First one, then two, then all of the young men look up, turning toward the open end of the alley, where a tall figure is standing, in a costume nearly as silly as the one worn by their victim. The interloper is draped in bright red, white, and blue, and though this new arrival is not a German, there isn't a person in the alley who doesn't instantly recognize him.

"Hauptmann Amerikaner!" one of them cries. Captain America. And the owner of that title knows, even as the words leave the German man's lips, that he won't be able to do this the easy way.

Even as the punks facing him begin to reach for guns, or just charge down the alley at him, Captain America lifts the disk on his good right arm and hurls it. Years of fighting with the star-spangled shield as his sole weapon have made him an intuitive genius at spatial geometry, and the disk flashes down the length of the cul-de-sac, ricocheting back-and-forth across the narrow stone passageway, cutting down 6 of the 10 men before they have a chance to attack. Impossibly, the shield reaches the end of the alley and bounces off the back wall, returning over the heads of the Germans to it master's hand.

<"Anyone else?"> the American asks. He does not smile when he says it.

In answer, one of the punks - the one closest to him - roars in frustration and rushes him. Cap sidesteps the clumsy thrust of the man's switchblade, grabs his wrist as he sails past, and turns it. Dropping the blade, the young man howls in agony as his bones twist, then grunts in more pain as Cap bends his arm up behind his back - still with just one hand - and slams the German face-first up against the stone wall.

<"The rest of you stand down!"> Cap orders, pointing at the 3 remaining young men. <"Hauptmann, are you alright!">

"Nein," the figure rising to his feet says, clutching his side. His yellow and blue uniform is muddied and torn in places, but for the most part whole. Like Captain America, he wears the colors of his homeland proudly, and serves under the name Hauptmann Deutschland - or Captain Germany. "I am very much not okay, Captain. I thank you... for the help."

"My pleasure," Cap replies, slipping smoothly and with a little relief back into his native English. "What's the story here?"

<"American dog!"> the man pinned against the wall shouts suddenly. <"You are not fit to stand on German soil, you western hypocrite!">

"Did I give you permission to talk?" Cap twists the man's arm, effectively shutting him up once he stops howling in pain.

"Let us find a police officer to take these thugs into custody," Hauptmann Deutschland suggests, rubbing his aching skull. "Then I will gladly explain."

"The woman's name is Gladys Schonbein, 52 year-old mother of 3. A Berlin seamstress. Her husband, Arik - a locksmith - was forcibly abducted from their home 2 nights ago. The kidnappers wore plain black bodysuits, no distinguishing marks. Stormed into their home, stunned both Schonbeins with a taser and left with Herr Schonbein."

Captain America stands with his arms crossed, gazing through the one-way glass at the elderly woman sitting alone at a table in a plain, rectangular room.

"That's tragic," Cap says, "and I'll be happy to help in any way I can, but I'm not sure I see how this involves me, or why you would call me all the way across the Pacific to help."

The Hauptmann sighs, placing a hand against the glass and resting his forehead against it, his eyes still locked on the woman on the other side. "Frau Schonbein claims to have heard one of the kidnappers speaking over some sort of communications device while she lay stunned on her kitchen floor. She says she distinctly remembers this kidnapper calling the person he was talking to 'Master Man'. Not 'master', nor 'man'. Master Man."

"I see..." Cap says, recalling the brawny Aryan uberman who acted as one of Adolf Hitler's super-powered lieutenants during World War II. "But last I knew, Master Man was dead."*

(* See Marvel's Namor, the Sub-Mariner #12 for the whole story -- Russ)

"Yes, we believed him so as well, but certain incidences over the last 48 hours have led myself, at least, to think otherwise. Those young thugs you saved me from are part of a gang of hoodlums called the Sons of the Skull. They do not call themselves Nazis, not in front of anyone who matters, but that is what they are. I've had my suspicions about them for a while, ever since one of their number was arrested and started spouting gibberish to the arresting officers about the return of the Red Skull."

"The Red Skull," Cap repeats softly. "Someone else who's supposed to be dead."* The possibility of Master Man being alive and stirring up trouble is disturbing, but not nearly as much so as the thought of the Red Skull being back among the living. Captain America's rivalry with Adolf Hitler's protégé had become the stuff of legend during World War II, and that dispute hadn't tapered off in the least after the two enemies had - through separate means - joined the modern world after spending nearly 50 years in suspended animation.

(* The Red Skull supposedly died for the 432nd time in Marvel's Captain America Vol. 3 #19... Lazarus ain't got nothing on him -- Russ)

"Understand, Captain. Most present-day Germans are not proud of our country's actions in the first half of the 20th Century. We spend every moment of every day denying the horrors our forefathers perpetrated. Did you know that this salute" - Hauptmann Deutschland snaps to attention suddenly, his arm locked out at an angle in the classic Nazi heil - "can earn you imprisonment in this country? We have worked hard to expunge the evils of the Third Reich... but there is a school of thought that believes the best way to do that is to forget about it, to bury it and deny it ever happened."

"You're saying that you've been ordered not to pursue this matter."

The Hauptmann nods miserably. "Ja. I don't know why someone would kidnap Schonbein - there is nothing remarkable in the man's past, that much I know. I also do not know what this may have to do with the Sons of the Skull or the supposed resurrection of the Red Skull. And I have been ordered not to try to find out."

"But I haven't," Cap says. "My U.N.-chartered position as an Avenger allows me to look into the case as long as the German government isn't actively pursuing it."

"So... will you?"

Captain America looks through the glass at the woman at that one bare table in that stark, cold room. "You have to ask? Let's go speak with Frau Schonbein."

One day ago. Somewhere in Germany.

Arik Schonbein wakes to the ministrations of a pretty young nurse. She is taking a sample of his blood when his eyes flutter open, so it takes the girl another moment to realize her patient is conscious.

<"Ah... you're awake,"> she smiles. <"How do you feel?">

<"Dry,"> the older man answers. <"I'd like some water please. Where am I?">

<"A bunker, east of Nuremburg,"> a new voice replies, attached to a towering Aryan man who appears over the girl's shoulder. <"That, of course, is the literal answer to your question. Figuratively, and much more importantly, you stand on the cusp of your own destiny, Arik Schonbein.">

<"Who...?">

<"Thank you, Helga,"> the big man says. <"You may go now."> Nodding, and giving Arik another pretty smile, the nurse turns and departs with her blood sample. When she's gone from the small clinical room, Arik's host helps the older man rise into a sitting position. <"How do your legs feel? The taser shouldn't have caused any lasting discomfort.">

<"My legs are fine,"> Arik replies, beginning to get a little impatient with this towering hulk of a man. <"What am I doing in Nuremburg? Where's my wife?"> <"Your wife is safely in the custody of Berlin authorities. If you are well enough to stand, please follow me. All of your questions will be answered in short order, I believe.">

Relenting, Arik follows the younger man out of the room. A corridor stretches to the left, and as they begin to follow this hall, Arik watches with interest as several separate groups pass them, going the other way. All of these people salute Arik's escort... and all of them wear swastikas on their arms.

<"You have lived a good life, Arik Schonbein,"> the bigger man says, not turning toward him. <"A good life, but an unremarkable one. That is largely my fault. I knew of your existence - I was one of the few who did - but I was put into a state of suspended animation just before the War ended, and not roused until just recently.">

<"What war?"> Arik asks.

This time the bigger man turns his eyes - eyes suddenly cold - on Arik. <"You know very well which war, Arik Schonbein. The War. Now please, don't interrupt. Time is of the essence.">

They emerged from the corridor onto a catwalk overlooking an enormous closed chamber, easily as big as an aircraft hanger. More military equipment than Arik has ever seen gathered in one place is spread across the floor of the chamber. Tanks, anti-aircraft wearponry, mobile rocket launchers - literally hundreds of pieces of equipment that Arik didn't have a name for. All of it new, and all of it being tended to by scores of maintenance personnel.

<"This is the beginning of your army, Arik,"> the younger man says, his gibberish about 'The War' momentarily forgotten. <"With them - and the hundreds that will follow once word of your existence is circulated - you will crush all who oppose you.">

<"All who oppose me?"> Arik repeats. <"Who opposes me? I'm an old, unremarkable man, as you said. A locksmith. I have no enemies.">

<"But you will, Arik. You will have enemies by the thousand when it is revealed who you truly are."> The younger man looks out over the floor below. <"In 1945, 3 short months before the Allies took Nuremburg, a young woman of pure, Aryan stock and noble blood was brought to this bunker to act as a breeder for the greatest of Hitler's officers. Even then, this officer knew the end of the War was coming. The thousand year Reich was on the verge of collapse and he knew there was every possibility he might not live to see Hitler's dream made reality.">

The younger man looks back at Arik. <"That officer was the far-famed Red Skull, Arik... Ah, I see the name strikes the appropriate amount of terror in your heart. Let go of your fear, my friend. After all, a man should not fear his own father.">

<"What rubbish. My father was Carl Schonbein, a simple steelworker.">

<"Carl Schonbein raised you, but he was not your genetic father. Your mother escaped from this very bunker when the Allies took Nuremburg in April of 1945. She met Carl in a nearby village, and he took her in and eventually married her... to the horror of Carl's family. The two Schonbeins relocated to Berlin shortly before you were born in order to plausibly claim that you were Carl's son.">

<"Who are you? How can you possibly know all of this?">

<"I know all of this because my father was a pre-eminent Nazi who had his fingers in almost every covert plan and operation the Third Reich took part in. When I reached a certain age, he bestowed the 2 greatest secrets of the Reich to me. The first involved the resurrection of the great German heroes, Master Man and Warrior Woman. The second, and the greater of the two... was you.">

<"Master Man and Warrior Woman... yes, I've heard of them, of course. If those two are still among the living, though, why bother with me?">

<"First of all because the original Master Man, William Lohmer, is dead - killed by a reunited team of Invaders a few short years ago.* In his honor, I have undergone the treatments to make myself every bit as powerful as Master Man ever was, and taken his title for my own. Warrior Woman... was damaged in the resurrection process. She suffered brain damage and is of little use to my plans.">

(* Nacht is indulging in some artistic license here; he and Warrior Woman had quite a bit more to do with Willie Lohmer's death than the Invaders did. See Namor the Sub-Mariner #12 for details -- Russ)

Arik waves a hand at Nacht. <"I think I see where this is going, Herr Nacht. You wish to parade me in front of your troops, to show them you have the son of the Red Skull and use me to inspire. But utterly disregarding the fact that you have no proof of my pedigree, you forget that I am an old man, set in his ways. And those ways are not the ways of the Nazi. I was raised all my life in west Berlin, taught by example to hate everything on the east side of the Wall. I am as much a moral capitalist as any American, and I will never willingly help you create a new Reich.">

<"I anticipated as much,"> Master Man replies, with a disarming smile instead of the anger Arik had expected. <"You will remain as my guest for a time, though, Arik. I want you to give this matter some serious thought before dismissing it out of hand... as your world as trained you to do.">

<"So I am a prisoner?">

<"Not at all. A guest... with boundaries. I offer you your heritage, Arik Schonbein, and a chance to be a part of something truly great. I truly wish you to understand what that means. Now, Armand will show you to your room."> - Master Man snaps and a soldier appears from the hallway to take his place at Arik's elbow - <"Please make yourself comfortable. We will talk more on this at dinner.">

<"But...">

<"Good day, Arik.">

Grudgingly - but not knowing what else to do when so firmly in the zealous Herr Nacht's clutches - Arik allows himself to be led away. Behind him, Master Man leans against the railing and surveys his domain with a small, secret smile on his face.

<"All good things, Herr Schonbein,"> he whispers. <"All good things.">

NEXT ISSUE: The conclusion of "Son of the Skull"

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