Post by liquidsword34 on Sept 13, 2012 7:30:35 GMT -5
All-Star Punisher Noir #4
First Week In Hell Part 3
First Week In Hell Part 3
8:00PM, September 2nd, 1939
Unknown location
"Wake up, Frank", Nick Fury growled while pulling the sack off the confused cop's head. The two were sat in a dark basement with a distinct smell of wet paint and small puddles of water on the wooden floor. Between the two was a wooden table with a single light bulb hanging down from above. "Sorry I had to bag you like that, but we can't have anybody knowing about this place", Fury explained while puffing his cigar. "Only used for top business you see". Nick was a veteran of the first world war, and from there had risen through the ranks of both the military and government. Frank had met Nick on very few occasions and mostly knew him on reputation alone. Nick wore a white shirt with suspenders, a brown jacket and matching pants, as well as his eye patch from where he lost an eye to shrapnel.
"Why am I here, Nick?" Frank asked. Frank had barely got off his shift when he'd been lifted off the street by Nick's men.
"You wanna get straight to it, huh?" Fury chuckled while slamming a file down on the table. "As you know, things are getting pretty heated all over. Germany's back to its old tricks, they invaded Poland last night. Then there's..."
"I get it Fury, you like your own voice," Frank joked, making Fury laugh slightly. He wasn't used to people having the guts to interrupt him. "The short version, please. Whadda yah need me for?"
"The US, Britain, France and the Soviets all have shared interests, if and when it all goes to hell. The French think they're next, the Kremlin are almost certain the Germans will rip up that treaty they signed at the first chance, and then it'd be off to Britain. In the interest of cooperation I've been charged with putting together a team. Not for the big battles, for the ones nobody else seems to give a fuck about. The places we can't always get the best soldiers and equipment".
"And, knowing what I can do, you want me to be the first member?" Frank said cockily.
"Actually the last. The other three are all capable in battle, but we both know an army's only as strong as its leader. I've got a seventeen year old kid from Scotland that doesn't want to go to jail for beating the snot out of half of Glasgow without breaking a sweat, some tough as nails Soviet that appears in Stalin's boys dreams from the sounds of things and this weird French con man slash assassin slash who the hell knows. Left on their own devices those three would just massacre their way through wherever I sent them. I need you to stop that. You're a young man, you'll be going to war anyway no doubt, so why not?"
Frank sighed quite loudly after throwing the proposition over in his head. "I'll regret this, won't I?"
---
4:30AM, February 1st, 1946
Top Chunk Dog Chow, Manhattan
"Ma, Barracuda's here to see you", Eddie called into his mothers office. Ma Gnucci sat behind her desk with a shotgun slung across her lap and clenched in her bony fingers along with one of her usual dresses. A dim lightbulb hung down from the damp ceiling as the only source of light in the room. As usual, armed gangsters flanked the walls silently. The hulking Barracuda stepped into Ma Gnucci's office with a broad smile spread across his face, his suit as pristine as ever and with an eye patch over the right side of his face.
"Sorry it took me so long to get her ma'am, but eye patches and late night dry-cleaning ain't easy to come by in this city!" Barracuda proclaimed without a hint of sarcasm. He grabbed one of the flimsy wooden chairs at Ma's desk and sat down across from the crime boss before slamming a piece of cloth down onto the table. "The Punisher's mask, ripped it right off his face with my own hands".
Ma Gnnuci's face suddenly dropped and she tightened her grip on the shotgun. "You ain't got his body?"
"Naw, why?" Barracuda chuckled while putting his feet up on Ma's desk, an offence while would usually result in him losing his one remaining eye.
"Because yah moron, how'd yah know he ain't dead!?" Ma screamed at Barracuda, who didn't even flinch.
"I beat him to a pulp, shot him through the head 'bout half a dozen times and then dumped him out in the ocean, ma'am. I'm a professional!" Barracuda lied through his teeth. "Frankie's up there wit' his brat and broad right now ma'am, trust me".
Ma Gnnuci slowly relaxed and put her gun down. She took a few seconds to breathe before letting out a quiet chuckle in celebration, one of the few times she'd shown any sort of emotion other than anger in possibly years.
"The money'll be at the same spot as normal, I'll have Eddie deliver it", Ma said to Barracuda while pulling a cigar from her draw.
"Thanks ma'am. Speaking of your sons, there's somethin' I've got to mention," Barracuda muttered in a feigned attempt to sound half hearted or threatened. "I mean anything else I'd stay out of it but..."
"After your most recent favour I've got a lot of patience for you, 'Cuda," Ma replied while lighting up her cigar and leaning back. "What is it?" Barracuda took a folded up piece of paper from his pocket and slammed it down next to Frank's bloody mask.
"Your son still can't do cursive, even on the execution order for his own momma? What do they teach in school now a days?" Barracuda joked as Ma Gnucci's face turned bright purple.
---
10:00AM, May 13th, 1943
French Tunisia
Frank Castle, Yorkie Mitchell, the man known only as Fantomex and Ivan Vassilovitch Dragovsky, or simply "The Russian", surveyed the battle field from the roof of wrecked tank, weapons still in hand. Dozens of tanks laid smouldering under the scorching sun emitting towers of smoke into the air with several hundred dead Italian and German soldiers scattered across the rough terrain amongst the vehicles.
"That was fun, yes?" The Russian quipped. The Russians white and red striped shirt was dotted with bullet holes, but the man himself was alive as ever. "That short Italian one squealing as Yorkie punched him to death was like music to my ears, I must say" he continued. The Russian had an empty bazooka in his gigantic hands which made the anti-tank ordnance look more like a bread stick. "Is very hot here, but you still fight well young one".
"Yeah, thanks", Yorkie muttered back. "We should probably go down, see if there are any survivors left, you know?"
"And waste this view?" Fantomex snapped back. "Never!" The rest of The Cursed had slowly got used to Fantomex's various quirks, one of which was relishing his victories like a cat standing over a dead mouse.
"Yes, Fantomex", Frank ordered while climbing down from the tank. "You want one of them to just pop up and wipe us out?"
"It would be a change", Fantomex muttered while withdrawing his pistols from his coat. "These soldiers were not exactly the most stimulating of opposition."
The four slowly trekked amongst the various bodies littering the battle field like it was the most normal thing in the world. Yorkie had taken a bullet to the shoulder, but aside from that The Cursed had easily bested the Axis forces. After a few minutes the group came across an anomaly; a German tiger tank, seemingly undamaged, but completely silent with no signs of life.
"Playing possum", Frank stated matter of factly. "Or they've surrendered". Frank nodded to the Russian who climbed onto the tank and ripped open the catch before yelling something in German down the hatch. A few seconds later five German soldiers crawled out the tank hatch completely unarmed and clearly shaken up. One by one they slouched down by the side of the tank beneath the shadow of The Russian. Four of the soldiers were completely silent while the fifth, a tall slender pale man whom was clearly head of the group, exchanged words with The Russian in German.
"They agreed not to fight us, they didn't want to die", The Russian told Frank.
"Cowards," Fantomex spat. "Which shall we execute first?"
"Wait," rank grabbed Fantomex's gun as he tried to raise it. "We're not just going to execute POWs. That's not what we do".
"So, we march them across the desert? Let them go?" The Russian said to Frank while withdrawing his pistol.
"We don't just kill POWs, Russian".
"We're fighting for democracy, no?" Fantomex asked. "Ivan and I agree to execute them. Yorkie?" Fantomex turned to the young Scotsman while cocking his pistol like the decision was already made.
"I don't really...", Yorkie started. "Fuck it, sorry Frank" he finished while turning away from the prisoners. Even without understand what was said, all five could tell what had been decided.
"Fine, but not here. I'll...I'll bury them," mumbled while gesturing for the soldiers to stand up. The Russian tossed Frank a shovel as he led the soldiers away from the burning tanks and dead soldiers. After five minutes or so they reached a clearing. A high cliff face surrounded them, towering above and shading them from the sun. As if they had accepted what was happening, the Germans knelt down facing away from Frank. Frank simply stood for a few seconds staring at the soldiers.
A bird of prey swooped past, breaking the painful silence. Frank took aim, letting the butt of the gun rest on his shoulder gently. He heard one of the shoulders whispering and held off from firing for a few seconds longer. Frank could recognise the Lord's Prayer whatever language it was in. Soon after the man fell silent. With no more ways to procrastinate, Frank fired five shots, and then let his gun drop down to his side.
---
4:40AM, February 1st, 1946
Top Chunk Dog Chow, Manhattan
"THAT INSUFFERABLE LITTLE RUNT!" Ma Gnnuci roared while slamming her fists down into the table. "THAT ARROGANT, BACK STABBING NO BRAINED..."
"So I'm free to go?" Barracuda calmly replied while making his way to the door. "If yo..."
"WAIT!" Ma Gnnuci called after Barracuda. "Carlo comes here on the first of every month at about ten at night, likes to check everything and everybody is working just how he likes them to. A hundred grand in it for yah if you wack him for me. Kill the treacherous rat bastard".
"A hundred grand?" Barracuda turned back to face Ma. "I'm starting to love you more than my own Ma, you know?"
---
10:20AM, May 13th, 1943
French Tunisia
Frank dropped down to the ground, leaning against the rock face. He looked over at the five German soldiers, who were slowly turning around to face him. "I've seen what all of this does to people," Frank started as he lit a cigar and put it in his mouth. "The killing. Makes them cross a moral threshold, where the number means nothing. Where killing is all there is," the soldiers stayed kneeling, not understanding most of what Frank was saying. "Yorkie, the little Scotish kid...I think he might not be there yet. He kills in battle but he's not like the other two. He's not a monster yet. That's why I'm letting you guys go, because if I become that, Yorkie has no chance. And if I lose Yorkie...I'll be alone with those two madmen. They only live for the killing, and without Yorkie to keep me sane I'll just become another one of them. I can't do that. You're enemies, but you're still human beings. When I start executing men in cold blood, I'll become just as bad as anything I'm fighting against".
Frank finished speaking and felt like he'd got a weight off his chest. "Schnell laufen" Frank called over, using the littler German he knew to send a simple message. He waved his rifle over towards the distance, sending the Germans sprinting away.
---
6:30AM, February 1st, 1946
The Punisher's Warehouse, Manhattan, New York
Frank sat on his bed. In front of him was his colt pistol, completely dissembled and then clean with a rag.
"Just thought I'd check in on you before my shift. You're feeling better?" Micro asked as he walked over to Frank.
"I'll live", Frank replied bluntly as he started fitting his gun back together.
"And you're not..."
"Having hallucinations? Flashbacks?" Frank didn't take his eyes off his gun. "None at all", he continued, finishing his own question. "I'll hit the dog food factory tonight, hopefully get at least Carlo, Eddie or the old hag herself".
---
11:00PM, February 11th, 1944
Cassino, Monte Cassino, Italy
After the 34th divisions failed attempt at taking the town, The Cursed was sent into Cassino to draw attention away from the retreating soldiers. The night was freezing cold and a torrent of rain turned the streets into a slippery, muddy death-trap for anybody who attempted to cross. Even if they avoided the various anti-tank mines or unexploded shells left by the retreating army, crossing the street would leave the whoever was unlucky enough to try open to a hail of gun fire. Because of this The Cursed had retreated into a make shift bunker in an attempt to force the Axis troops to come to them, instead of vice versa. The four knelt down in the rubble from where multiple buildings had been shelled and collapsed, giving them cover from enemy fire. Franks boots seemed to sink into the mud every time he tried to move around, making it harder and harder for him to continue repelling the attackers. The Russian was comfortably firing a machine gun at the various store fronts and buildings to stop any enemies leaving them while Fantomex was knelt down with a Springfield rifle, calmly picking off snipers and riflemen. Frank reloaded his rifle from a box of ammo and turned to see Yorkie laid on his back, bleeding from his stomach. A trio of bullet holes had opened the floodgates and allowed blood to pour from Yorkies gut as he tried to keep his inards inside him.
"Ivan, Jean, Yorkie's been wounded, we need to move!" Frank called out over the sounds of bullets whizzing through the air.
"I am not abandoning my post like a coward, Frank. There are still more men gunning for us and I think it best we return the favour", Fantomex calmly replied as he fired a volley of bullets. "Yorkie knew the..."
"He's fucking dying in my arms, stop thinking with your gun and help me save him!", Frank screamed out while pushing down on Yorkies shirt in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
"You are distracting me from killing, American", The Russian grunted. "Leave with the boy, or stand and fight".
"FUCK THE TWO OF YOU!" Frank roared as he picked Yorkie up over his shoulders, dropped his rifle and sprinted out down a back alley. Projectiles ranging from bullets to grenades followed Frank as he charged through the storm down side passages in an attempt to get out of the centre of the town. Every step Frank took he could feel Yorkie getting weaker
"L..leave me", Yorkie gasped out in an inaudible whisper, all the while feeling the blood leaking out of his stomach. Frank booted down the door to a tiny abandoned home and slammed Yorkie down on the wooden kitchen table. Most of the kitchen had been looted by fleeing Allied troops, leaving only the objects too big to steal. As soon as Frank laid eyes on Yorkie, he knew he was almost gone. His face was ghostly white and every one of his limbs was limp. Frank collapsed down into a chair and felt his hand sliding for his pistol.
"How much pain are you in, Yorkie?"
Yorkie could only shake and murmur, telling Frank all he needed to know. Frank gently put his colt up against the side of Yorkies head as Yorkie tried praying, only to find that he couldn't get the words out. "I'm...I'm sorry", Frank said, before pulling the trigger. In a second, Yorkies suffering ended. His whole body went limp, and his mouth fell closed. Frank closed Yorkies eyes slowly and then took the dog tags from around his neck.
"I'm so damn sorry," Frank croaked as he sat back down, his head in his hands. He'd protected Yorkie for so long, which made it even harder to take. Yorkie had told Frank about his girlfriend, his mother, his friends from the local football club. None of whom would ever see Yorkie again. Frank slipped his pistol back into its holster and pulled himself up, heading back out to punish the ones who killed his friend.