The military grade plane was jostled by a mighty gust of wind. Sky toying with the metal bird, teasing its fall.
Bucky woke due to the sudden motion, he inhaled sharply, head jolting up right. His metal hand clasped the edge of the bench of seats he was sprawled across. Arms having been crossed peacefully on his chest prior to his awakening.
"We're an hour out." Sam's voice brought Bucky back from his moment of panic, grounding him to reality.
Sighing deeply Bucky pulled himself up right. His old, tattered dog tags settling into place around his neck against a washed out blue long-sleeved top, which was rolled up to his elbows.
He ran his hand through his dark brown hair before grabbing at the back of his neck, stretching his head from left to right. Trying his best not to yawn.
Looking up Bucky found Sam standing by a secured cargo crate, netting keeping the object firmly to the floor of the plane.
Sam was assembling the final pieces of his new tech. The red, white, and blue of the suit stood out in the grey interior of the small cargo plane. The plane itself was more of a troop transport aircraft than a cargo plane, almost a hybrid of the two.
Steve's shield was strapped to Sam's back already. Exactly where it was meant to be.
"Any new intel?" Bucky rolled his human shoulder, having slept poorly on the uncomfortable bench.
Sam wasn't looking his way, too busy reading the digital display on his gauntlet, his red tinted goggles and white cowl already pulled over his face.
"Last report only sates a distribution increase."
After the death of the original founding members of the Flag-Smashers, loyalists had quickly risen from the ashes. Some just jumping onboard for the excuse to cause chaos.
Even though the GRC was rethinking their border relocation program, there were those who didn't see that as an end.
Karli and her fellow radicals had just become martyrs for their cause. Symbols of a better world. Or for some, an excuse to spread disorder.
John Walker's previous actions in the Latvian town of Riga didn't help. The shields legacy was bloodied; America's reputation dragged further through the dirt.
"Weapons?" Bucky stood, dog tags jangling from the movement.
"Probably." Sam handed Bucky his gear, the blue jacket almost matching the top he already had on.
Stripping himself of his top, he exposed his muscle carved torso temporarily, his lean build then concealed by a black t-shirt.
Bucky tugged on his singular sleeve jacket, zip gliding to the top in a single satisfying motion.
Sam offered him is ear peace, a communicator that would allow them to commune at distance. He took it with two fingers, shoving the device into his ear.
"Where operating under the radar. Canadian government doesn't know a thing."
This was news to Bucky, Sam getting a curious look from him.
"How long do you think we can go 'under the raider' in the capital of Canada?"
Ottawa was their destination, an industrial park to the east, on the outskirts of the city.
"We're in and out. Anonymous tip to the local authorities will deal with the rest." Sam was clearly confident, addressing Bucky directly without fault.
Sam and Bucky weren't officially working for the United States, they were ex-soldiers in a grey area of legal debate.
"So, things go south we're on our own?" Bucky had a funny feeling he already knew the answer to his own question.
"Yeah. Basically." Sam approached the opposite bench taking a seat, prompting Bucky to follow his lead, sitting down beside him. "We touch down far enough away to go unnoticed; we head for the border once we're done."
"No extraction." Bucky wanted to clarify, not really a question of sorts.
"Not this time." Sam was lent forward, elbows on his knees, the shield and jet on his back slightly restricting.
"We should split up after." Bucky suggested. "I can lay low, get to the boarder without drawing unwanted attention." He could see Sam nodding in agreement from the corner of his eye.
"I can guide you from the sky."
With boarders being flexible this day and age, crossing into America wasn't going to be an issue. Doesn't mean they have justification to operate a mission within Canada, especially if something went wrong. Without a country to back them, they had no jurisdiction or diplomatic reason to tackle affairs pretty much anywhere.
Sam was playing the plan out in his head, every step flowing smoothly into the other.
It was a plan; a plan Steve would have happily followed through with.
Bucky unlatched the buckles of his parachute; the grey canopy having gotten caught up in some shrubbery behind him. The fabric flapped slightly in the soft breeze; the harsh winds having been left above in the overcast sky.
The parachute bag thudded to the ground against the long grass, the soil hard, not having seen rain recently.
Bucky had landed in a small clearing, an audience of tree's standing tall around him. Leaves swishing to one side, their whispers being carried to the others by the wind.
"Head west." Sam's voice buzzed in his ear.
Bucky looked around on the spot, trying to get an understanding of his position. It quickly became apparent he had no clue where he was.
"Your left." Sam clarified.
Bucky looked up but there was no sign of the man, Sam remaining strategically concealed by the grey veil draped across the sky.
He proceeded forward as directed, weaving in and out of trees, boots trudging over uneven ground and protruding roots, requiring little effort.
The woods eventually ended abruptly; industrial park having terraformed the land.
From the treeline Bucky could make out quite a few warehouses, all rectangular, constructed out of either a boring grey metal or classic red brick. The ware of time told their age, how long they had been stood, some buildings age standing out against the rest.
Bucky strafed back behind a tree, a lorry leaving one of the closest buildings to him. The whirling of the engine and hydraulics had signalled its departure.
"Which warehouse?" Bucky asked for further direction, not having fully understood the scale of the industrial district previously.
"Red bricks, on your right."
Bucky looked over, beside the building in front of him was the old red brick warehouse Sam was talking about. Staying within the treeline Bucky advanced towards it.
Twigs snapped beneath his feet, leaves rustling in protest as shrubs were brushed aside. Thankfully, no one was in earshot to discover him, his movements not silent by any means.
Reaching the back of the building the trees had grown distant from each other, there was more room to manoeuvre, however it was easier to be seen. Bucky crouched behind a dense section of foliage, peering over the leaves to get a visual on the building.
There was no activity, not a soul in sight. Only two lorries were docked at loading bays, and they were driverless, seats in the cabins empty.
Bucky was surprised when Sam landed directly in the open a few meters in front of him, the trio of colours on his suit unnatural in the landscape.
"No heat signatures outside. Or inside." Sam announced, something already not feeling right about the situation.
"That doesn't line up with the intel." Bucky emerged from his hiding place.
"So where did they all go?" That was the question that plagued their minds.
There was footage, pictures, evidence of Flag-Smasher loyalists working out of this very warehouse for a few weeks now.
"Think we're compromised?" Bucky threw the idea out there, a mole in the works would explain the unusual situation.
"Let's check it out." Bucky couldn't tell if Sam was avoiding the question or just didn't have an answer for him.
Sam led, Bucky following behind, eyes scanning their surroundings diligently. All he had was a pistol, which he held in his right hand, finger ready on the trigger, his metal hand keeping the weapon steady in his grasp, cupping the front of the grip.
With their guard up, they found a place of either side of what appeared to be a fire escape. The single door came across as being newer than the rest of the building, most likely a change that had to be made for safety regulations.
Shield fastened to his arm; Sam gave Bucky the signal.
Stepping in front of the door, Bucky planet his boot dead centre, sending the metal door flying off its hinges, clattering and banging to the floor somewhere inside.
"Subtle." Sam commented. He had gestured for Bucky to open the door, but he didn't expect him to do it like that.
Bucky shrugged off the remark, being the first to enter the warehouse.
It was immediately clear that people had been here recently. The place even though old, had its fair share of packaging equipment for modern distribution.
It was as messy as you would expect an operating warehouse to be. Flattened carboard shoved into tall cages on wheels, plastic waste in another. The odd piece of packing foam on the floor.
"I don't like this." Bucky expressed.
He held his gun at his side with just the one hand, stepping up to a stack of sealed packages. The boxes were large, taped shut, stacked three high on a wooden pallet.
Using his free hand, he pulled a box down, prying the lid open in a quick motion, tape ripping.
Bucky reached down, retrieving something from the box to show Sam.
"Clothes." Bucky didn't know what to make of his discovery, the box was filled with clothes, specifically scarfs. Each one packaged in its own little clear plastic bag.
He tossed the decorative neckwear back into the box.
"There were communications intercepted here talking details about the Flag-Smashers." Sam wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, Bucky or himself.
"I believe you." Bucky felt the need to say.
"We must be missing something." Sam tapped at his gauntlet, a display in his visor lighting up, scanning the area where he looked.
"Could be a front." Bucky then proposed. "If anyone came knocking. On an initial look around there's nothing to warrant any cause for concern."
He joined the search, Bucky making his way further into the warehouse. It was open plan, seeing everything within the building rather easy. Cheap white plastic tables were laid out in a line, packing supplies and a fresh stack of boxes ready to be filled at each station.
Sam scanned the walls, each one annoyingly leading straight to the outside, nothing being concealed.
"There's nothing here." Sam was frustrated, his plan crumbling at the first hurdle.
"You sure about that." Bucky suddenly chimed.
Glancing over Sam found the man kicking away the corner of a rug, a trapdoor unveiled.
"Trapdoor under a rug. How original."
Bucky had descended first, the ladder creaking under his weight. It was rusted, paint peeling off on his hands as he clambered down into the dark.
Upon reaching the bottom the space was narrow, a corridor stood in front of him. The old safety lights still were working but only barely, the faint yellow glow just giving him enough vision to get by.
Sam touched down, kicking up dirt in the confined space.
The display in Sam's visor was now distorted, flashing uncontrollably as the scanners went haywire. He switched it off, not able to stand the static flickering.
"Somethings messing with my tech." Even his gauntlet was playing up, screen not able to show any useful information.
"Explains why you couldn't see this from above." Bucky mentioned.
He pulled his gun from his thigh again, having holstered the firearm to take the ladder down. His hold on the weapon was clearly that of a professional.
Sam took the lead again, shield up in a defensive position. Bucky walked behind him; gun pointed at the ground, having only room to walk single file.
Passing through an open door the space expanded out. Botched lights hung from the ceiling, flickering, and stuttering over workstations much like the ones they had just seen.
The layout was cramped, not mimicking the floor above.
The carboard boxes upstairs had been replaced with heavy duty black crates in the basement.
"Weapon crates." Bucky unlatched the lid off one, pulling it up to rest on its hinge.
The box was filled with rifles and ammunition, and on the underside of the lid there was an all too familiar symbol.
"Hydra." Bucky hissed through a clench jaw.
Sam stood beside him, staring at the red symbol.
"Their supporting the Flag-Smashers?"
"A world without borders. Is a world Hydra can control." Bucky slapped the lid back down on the case, the slam striking in the structure's basement.
At this point Hydra was just a roach, refusing to die. Ready to reinfest the world.
There was the clattering of something somewhere ahead, at the back of the room beside a water tank.
Bucky's gun was braced with two hands out in front of him, pointing in the direction.
A rat scurried across the floor, squealing before vanishing.
"Not a fan of rats." Sam quipped; Bucky's reflexes having been unnatural to the human eye.
The soldier lowered his guard, ignoring Sam for the most part.
Sam took notice of another passage leading further back, the rat having drawn his eye in that direction.
"What's that sound?" Bucky had been consumed with curiosity due to the sudden acknowledgement of a low pitch beeping coming from a crate on the other side of the room. It took Sam a second to hear it too.
Sam walked up to the crate, it was just like rest, standing up to his waist. He neared the box, an unsettling feeling lingering for far too long.
Sam flicked one latch off and then another.
Bucky was peering over his shoulder, standing at his side, just a little behind him.
The lid was raised.
A blinding white light emitted from the box, a screeching sound making their hands go to their ears before the world went black.
Authors Notes
And so it begins!
This is the first story out of my post The Falcon and The Winter Soldier stories. Not sure how many chapters it will be, will most likely be like my others around four to five chapters, maybe more who knows. Hope you enjoyed this first chapter 3