James Bond In WW2(MCU x DC Comics)

Happy Valentine's Day.

More advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.

(General P.O.V)

A week later, Steve Rogers arrived at Camp Lehigh with the selected Super Soldier recruits. Colonel Phillips immediately made his disapproval known.

"You call this one Super Soldier material, Erskine?" Phillips asked glaring at Steve's lacking physique. "The others were handpicked from the best of the best. But Rogers? Eh!... I've seen stronger twigs."

Erskine merely smirked. "Sometimes it's not about size, Colonel. Give it time and he might surprise you. What he lacks we can grant through the Serum after all."

But Bond, standing behind them wasn't interested in waiting. It was clear Erskine had made a mistake and he would prove it.

Over the following week, he pushed the recruits hard, singling out Rogers for the most grueling tasks.

"Move it, Rogers! My grandmother runs faster than you, and she's six feet under!" Bond barked during a running drill.

Steve, gasping for air, responded, "I'll get faster, sir!"

"You'd better, or you'll be the first to wash out," Bond snapped.

(Bond's P.O.V)

I stood at the edge of the training yard, arms crossed, watching the recruits slog through another round of drills.

My eyes narrowed as Rogers fell behind again, his scrawny frame struggling to climb the rope. Even after two weeks, he was still lagging behind.

The other men were well ahead, their larger builds giving them a natural advantage. But Steve? He was all grit, no muscle. And that pissed me off. You can't win a war, let alone survive bullets with grit.

He hit the ground hard, panting but determined, pulling himself back to his feet with that same look of stubborn defiance that I'd come to associate with him.

It was familiar. Too familiar.

I didn't yell this time, though my fists clenched instinctively.

Instead, I turned away, jaw tight. There was no point. No amount of shouting or pushing would change what Rogers was—fragile. And fragile things break.

I'd seen it before. In me.

Hell, my friends—the ones I'd fought beside—they'd had the same fire in their eyes that Rogers had now.

Good people. Brave soldiers. Men and a woman who believed in something greater than themselves.

But when the bullets started flying, all the fire and conviction in the world couldn't stop them from falling. One by one, they went down, and I couldn't stop it.

I wasn't strong enough.

I'd carried their bodies back to camp, bloody and broken, and swore to myself I'd never let that happen again. Not if I could help it.

And here was Rogers, walking the same damn road.

Every time I saw him push past his limits, fail but refuse to give up, I saw their faces. Her face.

I saw the way they smiled before we left for the front. I saw the way she looked at me for help when she realized she wasn't coming home.

And then I saw myself—what I became after.

War didn't just break me; it remade me. Turned me into something harder, colder. A man who didn't hesitate when pulling the trigger. A man who hunted his enemies with a purpose that bordered on obsession.

A man who didn't regret it—not a bit—but who knew deep down he'd lost something he couldn't get back.

But Rogers? Rogers wasn't like me in that way. He wasn't built for that kind of vengeance driven life. He was good, kind. Too kind.

And that made me scared for him more than anything else.

I didn't say any of this, of course. Not to Rogers, not to anyone.

Instead, I pushed him harder than the rest, hoping—no, praying—that he'd break.

That he'd quit. Better to walk away now than to step into a world that would destroy him, Super Soldier or not. Death was loss and loss was pain.

But the stubborn little bastard refused. Every insult I threw, every impossible task I gave him, he met it head-on. It got to the point I almost wanted to cheer him on.

"You're too slow, Rogers!" I barked during the morning run.

"I'll get faster, sir!" he shouted back, his voice unwavering despite the strain.

And he did. It was barely noticeable though. And he still lagged far behind. And with the experiment scheduled for the following week, things didn't bode well for him. Not when Carter, Phillips and Erskine had entrusted me to pick the first candidate.

---

That evening, Peggy found me in the mess hall.

"You're being a bully," she said, her voice sharp as a blade.

I didn't bother looking up from the reports in front of me. "If he can't handle it, he has no business being here, Lieutenant Carter, Ma'am."

"You're not testing him, Bond. You're trying to make him quit. Why?" She demanded, slapping the table.

I met her gaze, my expression hard. "Because he'll die out there. That's why. You think this is a game? It's not. It's war. And war doesn't care how brave or noble you are. It chews you up and spits you out."

Peggy's eyes softened, but her words didn't lose their edge. "You don't think I know that? But that's not your decision to make. Rogers has the heart of a soldier, and if you stopped trying to break him, you'd see it too."

"I've already seen it. Seen him trailing behind, seen him struggle to hold his rifle steady." I hit back.

"He's older than you when you started." Peggy pointed out stubbornly.

"Inconsequential."

"We need people like him. Especially now. Please Bond, you cannot be this blind!"

I shook my head, biting back the words I wanted to say. She didn't understand. Rogers had the spirit, sure, but spirit wasn't enough.

"He's not ready," I said finally, my voice low.

"And neither were you dammit!" she countered. "But you found a way. He too will."

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

Because she was right.

---

The next morning during training, I tested him. Really tested him.

I reached into my belt and pulled the dummy grenade, my mind already imagining what would happen. Rogers would panic. Run. Prove me right.

I tossed it into the middle of the recruits and yelled, "Grenade!"

The reaction was instant. Men scattered, diving for cover, their instincts taking over. But Rogers didn't move.

Instead, he threw himself on the grenade, curling his body around it to shield the others, "Run! Go! Get to safety!"

Time seemed to stop.

I stared, my breath caught in my throat, as this frail, scrawny guy did the one thing none of the others had the courage to do.

For a moment, the yard was silent. Then the recruits started laughing nervously when they realized it hadn't exploded.

But I wasn't laughing. How could I? It felt like the whole world was pushing against my judgement. And darn it all to hell, I knew when to listen.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Turning to Erskine and Phillips, I gave a sharp nod. "I think we've found our man."

---

Later, I watched Rogers as he sat behind the barracks, staring at the horizon. He looked... peaceful. Like he didn't have a care in the world.

I sat down beside him, the words coming out reluctantly. "You did good today."

He looked at me, startled, then smiled faintly. "Thanks, sir."

I snorted at the absurdity of it all. Ranks made age useless. Technically I was the one supposed to call him sir.

And yet I was convinced even if he knew of my true age, Steve would still respect me out of sincerity. I couldn't help but study him for a moment longer than necessary, wondering how someone so small could have a spirit so big.

"You're a better man than I'll ever be," I said quietly, almost to myself.

He frowned. "I don't think that's true, sir."

But it was.

"Stay true to your ideals Rogers. And do your very best to protect those you consider friends. Even if it kills you."

I patted his shoulder, leaving him with a confused expression on his face.

And as I walked away, I realized something: maybe he was what this world needed. Not another soldier like me, but someone better. Someone who could inspire people to be more than what they were.

Maybe Steve Rogers wouldn't survive the war.

But if he did, he'd change it.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd change me too.

That was the answer to my question of what a true Super Soldier was. A man like Steve Rogers.