soldiers. No, their moment was interrupted by bigotry personified, their commanding officer, Lt. Gage. Gage strutted into the room, bellowed that the civilians must have saved themselves from the Nazis. He was utterly unwilling to listen to Andy, who attempted to correct Gage about who actually saved the day. Lt. Gage’s feeble mind was incapable of accepting two Black men as heroes, so he put Andy and Ulysses on report.
In our current time, it can sometimes be very hard to read scenes like this—particularly for an old Army soldier, like myself. All of Lt. Gage’s treatment of Ulysses violates the value of loyalty and flies squarely in the face of Army values, which proclaim that you must stand up for your fellow man and fellow soldiers. The blind hatred and fear of Ulysses and his abilities is bewildering. Ulysses took the oath and he defended it. His honor is valid and true—just like every other soldier. Simply because of the color of his skin, Ulysses was pre-judged by the white men in the Army and found to be lacking.
In many cases, Ulysses is a better soldier than Captain America. In the previous chapter, I explained how Captain America was almost more of an ideal than a man. Ulysses, on the other hand, represents the man: a man’s drive to push through and be accepted because he knows he is the equal, if not the better, of every other soldier in the Army. He believes he is the best, and he proves it by winning a battle with only a shovel. I’d like to see Lt. Gage try this same gambit. Gravedigger is the perfect representation of adversity versus privilege. As in every superhero’s origin story, it’s Ulysses’ original obstacles that mold him into a powerful soldier.
His legend only grew when, during another mission, the grave-digging unit discovered another opportunity to stand up. A Nazi buzzard (plane) flew a sneak attack on their unit. In a split-second leap of heroics, Ulysses’ pal Andy pushed their commanding officer, Lt. Gage (remember him?), out of harm’s way. Simultaneously, Ulysses scooped up a bazooka and fired off an extremely difficult shot at the evading plane. If you remember, Ulysses had trained himself to be the best soldier. A shot that should have been difficult for a normal man was child’s play to him. Of course, he made the shot and took down the Nazi plane. However, Ulysses discovered his fellow gravedigger, Andy, did not survive the attack. His fallen comrade’s sacrifice, and the amazing one-in-a-million shot he had made, boosted Ulysses’ confidence enough that he demanded the Army move him to a combat unit. With his help and skills, the war would be over sooner, he boasted—and with a soldier as talented as Ulysses, this was no exaggeration.
His request was denied, of course, because the 1940s could not be as progressive as we would like to rewrite them to be. It’s at this moment in his story that Ulysses takes another step toward his destiny as Gravedigger, the ultimate comics soldier.
He invades the Pentagon! I did not miswrite that sentence. Ulysses Hazard became so fed up with the bureaucratic and bigoted responses to his service that he decided to seize his destiny by the horns and force the bigwigs in the Pentagon to give him his due. Can you imagine the guts it would take to make this choice? You would have to be so convinced you were right that invading the headquarters of the most advanced and powerful military in human history would seem like a logical decision. Like the powerful heroes of myth and many superheroes before him, Ulysses proved that he was not going to wait for his destiny. He would take it by any means necessary.
In a move that could be considered patriotism or madness, Ulysses, like a bull in a china shop, fought through every level of security at the Pentagon. No one could stop him. He had a purpose. No man could stand in his way. Though my prose may make it seem like Ulysses carried out this act with the drive of a madman, his actual attack was far from uncontrolled. It was crafted with the intelligence of a smart Army commander. Throughout his assault, Ulysses had several opportunities to kill his fellow soldiers—and. in every instance, he did not. This was his intention. How could he convince the armed forces leaders that he was to be trusted to lead the fight in this war if he so casually assaulted his brothers in arms? The decision to respect and preserve the lives of his fellow soldiers would turn out to be the linchpin of his destiny.
Then Ulysses blasted through the door of the war council and came face-to-face with the Secretary of War! He threw a live grenade on the table in front of the secretary and asked, if he could do lethal damage to the security of the Pentagon, what might he be able to do to the enemies of the Pentagon? Needless to say, the Secretary of War was intrigued. He could imagine.
You may be asking yourself: Could something like this happen in real life? Could a human being who felt discriminated against as a result of their race, sex, or sexual orientation break into the Pentagon and force the Joint Chiefs of Staff to implement change by recruiting them into the current war based on a display of the havoc they caused? The answer is—unequivocally—no. That insane patriot would be locked up in the military prison at Fort Leavenworth faster than you could say “Hurrah.” But this is not the real world we’re examining; this is a comic book: a medium of determined men and women destined to seize opportunities in grand ways—ways that make us cheer them on.
Now, my struggles to join the Army were nowhere close to the hardships Ulysses had to endure, and I respect his character so much for never stopping, never giving up, and making it through, even if he had to make his desires happen with a grenade and a grand gesture. With the loud thud of an explosive device on a table, Ulysses changed his destiny. (It would not be responsible of me if, at this point in the book, I did not mention that grenades cannot solve problems. Sure, they may seem flashy and all the rage, but these small explosive devices do more harm than good. Grenades should not be used as problem-solving implements. Safety rant is now over.)
Fortunately, the Secretary of War was impressed by Ulysses’ gambit, noting that, during his attack, he could have easily killed many of his fellow soldiers, but he did not. The secretary offered Ulysses the position of a “doomsday commando”: a man who can handle the dirty jobs, the impossible assignments, and gives him the codename “Gravedigger.” Behind Gravedigger’s back, however, the Secretary boasts: “With the tasks I have planned for our brash young sergeant, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him very long.”
The racial implications and trickery which accompany the very moment Ulysses Hazard finally gets what he wants are not something I am even remotely qualified to write about, and I understand that. Needless to say, this is another instance of the story proving my point that Ulysses is a pure, good soldier. All of his assumptions about the leaders in his military are right. Due to their racial bias, they will never see him as equal. They will never see him as a soldier, in spite of knowing he is their better in every way.
Gravedigger’s first mission as a combat soldier led him back to France, and straight back to his old unit. Outside a small French village, Gravedigger’s unit was pinned down by sniper fire. Through a feat of extraordinary gymnastics (a proud DC Comics tradition, especially when you consider Dick Grayson, the first Robin), Ulysses was able to leap up to the enemy’s position through a physical feat he figured the Nazis would never dream of: leaping up over twenty feet to grab the ledge of an unguarded window by bouncing off walls and a tree! He sprang inside and made quick work of the enemy soldiers. Here the narrative stops for just a beat. The panel goes dark and the caption reads: “Gravedigger stands surveying the carnage he’s just wrought, trying to convince himself that the blood-puddling corpses aren’t men, but merely the enemy. He’s almost successful.”
This moment stands out to me. It’s something all service members have to face during their careers, unless they’re very lucky. For all of Ulysses’ bravado, his courage, and his pure gumption, he’s still a man. He still has morals, and he still feels the loss. This is powerful. It takes him beyond a caricature of the most badass soldier of all time and makes him real. How do these things change you once you make the decision to act on them? Can you live with it? Can the greater good of protecting your squad and your mission overcome the future guilt? One panel in a comic book can feel like an eternity. So can this decision for all service members. The brief second the story pauses for speaks volumes. This is a quandary all service members might have to face during the course of
