Chapter 3: Azzano
The two did the tours for months on end, until some PR guy thought it was a good idea to send them overseas to some place in Italy called Azzano. The soldiers sneered at them, but wolf whistled and cat-called the girls, who at this point in time had claimed Steve as their goofy little brother. Liberty hung her head low, not even growling at the jerks who had bullied Steve through Basic. They were oblivious to her sharp claws and fangs that can rip them to ribbons if necessary.
Steve was in front of a crowd of G.I's, who were tossing rotten tomatoes at him, booing him off the stage. He managed to deflect most of them with his shield, even though it was just a prop. He walked down the stage, sulking. A low purr was behind him. It was Liberty. The golden scaled dragon gave a low, purring cooing sound as she nuzzled her head in his arms.
Little one, what's wrong? She asked, tilting her head side to side.
I never wanted this, I'm not an actor. I just want to serve my country, that's all, he cried, burying his now well-muscled body against Liberty's soft and warm belly scales. The dragon made a low, cooing sound, nuzzling her muzzle in his golden wheat colored hair.
"Steve?" a voice asked. Both Liberty and Steve recognized the owner of said voice. Peggy walked to them, wearing her brown bomber jacket over her crisp army uniform with the SSR symbol pinned to it. Steve gave a sad smile and tried in vain to hide the sketch book he was currently doodling in. Peggy walked over, and looked over his shoulder.
"These are you only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey?" she asked, arching one of her eyebrows. Then Peggy paused, " Your audience contained what was left of the 107th,"
"The 107th?!" Steve half yelled and half asked in disbelief.
Liberty let out a low rumbling growl, her anger showing with her tawny belly scales glowing a bright, fiery orange. He hoped that Liberty didn't burn down the base in a fit of rage. One of Liberty's personality flaws was her fiery, volcanic temper.
One of the rumors about Liberty's father was that he was half wild and her mother was a wild dragon, passing that trait down to their offspring. Sometimes, Liberty's wild and free nature flared up in a firestorm, or in a flare of her nostrils or the curling of her lips. Or in the narrowing of her cat-like pupils. Or in the fierce bellowing roars that she is known for.
"Come on!" Steve yelled beckoning Peggy to follow him, with Liberty galloping behind them. The three of them reached Colonel Phillip's tent. Steve barged right in, much to the soldier's shock and surprise, followed by Peggy, who was soaking wet by now.
"Sir, I need the causality list from Azzano," Steve asked, trying to mask his worry.
"You don't give me orders, son," Phillips barked.
"I just need one name; Barnes- B-A-R-N…" Steve started to say, spelling out Bucky's last name.
"I can spell," Philips interrupted, annoyed by Steve's presentence. Then he walked over to a basket, shifting through a basket of letters to the families of the soldiers.
"I've signed more of these condolence letters than I care to count, I'm sorry, the name does sound familiar," Phillips answered, dejectedly. Steve's eyes darted to the map. He saw the line between the allied forces and what appeared to be HYDRA.
"I don't expect you to understand just because you're a chorus girl," Phillips grumbled, dismissing him.
"Yes, sir, I do," Steve growled out, his eyes still on the map. Peggy opened up her jaw a little bit, still in disbelief at Steve's stubbornness. Steve ran out of the camp, and grabbed his dragon riding gear.
Dragon riders have a saddle, designed to fit between the large gap between the last neck spine and the shoulder spine. The saddle had a girth and two straps that went around the spines, to keep it in place. Long, leather flaps went down to the sturrup. Dragon scales were hard and rough, they could scrape off the skin of someone's legs, he still had the scars as proof. A more flexible piece of leather whent underneath the saddle, preventing brush burn, like the saddle pad for a horse saddle.
Steve tightened the girth, making sure that it was snug, not tight or too loose. He was wearing the typical dragon rider gear. A thick leather bomber style jacket with wool inside of it. A thick, warm scarf; big, baggy pants, heavy combat boots. A pair of thick, warm, leather gloves. The goggles hung on the helmut he was borrowing. He looked ridiculous, the faded leather and green uniform clashed horribly with the bright red, white and blue of his uniform from the USSO tours that he did.
The leather jacket and pants helped hide his 'Captain America' uniform from prying eyes. He looked like a paratrooper. He tied his prop shield to his belt and his father's whistle was on his neck. Dragons had a higher frequency range than humans. He did not expect to be greeted by Howard Stark and Peggy Carter. Howard held something in his left hand.
"Here, it's a transponder. Turn it on, and the signal will lead us straight to you," Peggy explained.
"Does it work?" he asked, because he remembered the failed flying car showcase at the World Fair.
"It's been tested more than you, pal," Howard snarked back, smiling.
Steve laughed for what felt like forever. He ran and jumped on Liberty, clambering into the saddle, as she started to gallop across the base. The wind underneath her wings started to move the tents and cars that were stationed there. Liberty's wings snapped open once they started to gain altitude.
She pushed the wings upwards, using her powerful muscles. The skeletons of dragons were shockingly light-weight, yet strong and sturdy. Once she gained the height she needed, they were coasting over the wind currents. The night sky had fallen around them, sealing them in darkness like a warm blanket.
Then a loud BANG echoed through the darkness. Followed by flashes of light and gunfire, it was the first time that they heard gunfire and not from a movie. The loud cannon fire drowned out their thoughts. The missiles and shells exploded in midair, missing their target. The force of the explosions rocked Liberty side to side.
LIBERTY! Steve screeched through their mental link.
I'm fine, little one, just keep calm! Liberty yelled back, trying to keep him steady.
Steve saw a gap in the fire, and clipped on his parachute. He pulled the goggles down, and he jumped. Liberty kept an eye on the field for a canopy to be opened. She saw a single canopy float down to the forest floor below. She flew back to the base, dodging fire around her, coasting down to the forest floor below her. She would wait and be patient.
In Azzano's labor camp, a small group of men sat in an iron cell, talking amongst themselves. A masked guard shoved a large man in, Timothy Dugan, from Boston; but everyone calls him Dum-dum, for obvious reasons. He was the act first, think later type of person, and it drove his cell mates nuts.
"You know, Fritz, one of these days, I'm going to have a stick of my own," he said joyfully once his signature bower's hat was knocked off and he resetted it on his head. Even his moustache twitched upwards in a jovial smile. The guard slammed the iron gated door shut.
"Keep it up, Dum-dum, and you'll lose something else too, bub," a gruff voice spoke.
Everyone, even the guards, were scared of James 'Logan' Howlett. He was a large, well-muscled man with a wild set of side burns. He had bright, hazel-yellow eyes that seemed to scorch into one's very soul. His dark brown, almost black hair was swept back into something vaguely resembling the ears of a wolf or a wolverine. His lips were pursed into a permanent frown or a half-snarl, depending on the day of the week. He was laying back, his heavy booted foot pressed against the iron bars. He seemed to be in a strange sense of calm. His thick, tree trunk like arms were crossed over his broad chest.
"What did they do to piss my brother off?" he mused, making a motion with his mouth, as if he was chewing on an invisible cigar. They all turned at him and shot equally quizzical looks at the man. A not too distant animalistic roar echoed through the dark hallways. They froze, save for Logan who's smirk grew even wider.
The cell had Gabe Jones, a large black man from Philidelpha, who was a gentle soul and was his unit's medic. He was fluent in French and German, and quickly befriended Denier; a small, thin man with balding patches of hair that was once jet-black but now speckled with grays. The man only spoke in french, but he could understand english and german just fine, almost like his mother tongue.
He was an expert in explosives and knew every chemical formula out there to create the biggest boom. Give him a box of matches, gunpowder, and a fuel source and he could set all of them free, but he mostly used his explosive powers to delay HYDRA's mad plans for world domination. He was biding his time, being careful.
The next man over was Monty. He was the only Brit in the cell. His family was well off, but he wanted to serve. So he did, but there were some days where he missed his high class lifestyle, but he would give that up for the friends he made. Friends were worth more than all of the gold in the world, J.R.R. Tolkien said it best in his best selling novel, The Hobbit. He still had his copy of the book in the bottom of his boot.
He admired his cell mates, even if they were a strange, uncultured bunch of fellows. He wondered if Dugan would ever shut up, mabey in a million years. Or if Victor Creed would stop acting like a big cat, or quit his SPAM addiction. That man would eat anything. It was both disgusting and impressive.
He looked over to Jim Mortia. The american japanese man was quiet and didn't talk much, but he always looked like he was frowning. They all knew he was from Frezno, which was somewhere in California, if he recalled his geography correctly. He was good with communications, but his hard work was only downgraded due to his ethnicity. A white man with less work effort into his job would be considered better, according to the laws of a segregated America. What was up with that country?
They did not see Sarge, nor did they see the terrifying mass of muscle that was Victor Creed, but Logan told them he was his older brother. The fact that those two feral backwater Candaians were related was confusing to him. Logan was way more amiable than Creed on any day of the week. Come to think of it, Victor's sanity was barely hanging on by a thread.
Then they all heard a thud of a body slumping on cold, iron bars. They looked up and saw a man, who was dressed in the strangest paratrooper uniform ever. He tossed Gabe the keys to the cell. Once they got everyone out, Jones worked up the courage to speak to him, despite the unjust hatred against him due to the color of his skin.
"What do you want us to do, sir?"
"Get everyone out and give them hell, and I'm looking for a Sergeant Barnes,"
"There's a isolation ward two hallways down," Monty spoke, giving the strange looking man directions. He nodded his thanks and took off. The man gave his name as Steve Rodgers. Then he looked at Dugan.
"Can you lead them out?" he asked, the command in his voice evendent.
"Yeah, Rodgers, I can get these guys that were in my cell out, but I don't know about everyone else,"
"Good, get them out, get to the allies, 30 miles out. To the tree line, I'll catch up,"
Then he disappeared into the night. The rest of the prisoners banded together, grabbing HYDRA's futuristic weapons. Dugan went from a giant goofball from Boston to a commander of men. He was Bucky's second in command. He yelled at Monty who signaled to Mortia to move on.
Jones and Denier followed behind, trying to blow something up. They succeeded, and were running like rats to safety. Logan was dragging the two men out with his arms yelling like a grizzly bear who was shot in the rear. Oh, wait he did get shot in the ass. Logan had no idea he was not going to live that one down.
"Hey, Howlett are you okay?" Dugan asked, somehow mustering the energy to talk.
"I'm fine, bub, I just caught one in the hindquarters," Logan grumbled.
"He means in the ass, Dugan," Jones deadpanned.
Dugan soon howled with laughter, "Trust that guy to get shot down there!"
"Shut up, Dugan!" Logan roared, his temper flayed at the edges.