There was a lot Steve missed about being an active member of the army. The camaraderie and friendship within his unit were one thing.
Having bombs exploding over his head were quite another.
It was even worse because the two Americans that he had been sent to break out of the terrorist's prison were quite capable of getting themselves out. In fact, they already had when he got there.
"Hurry up Rogers! You're going to get us all killed!" one of them, the woman, called.
"Run, dammit!" the man called after her.
Steve gritted his teeth and ran. Or rather, ran faster. This is worse than basic training, he thought.
"Oh, hell," the man said with a distinct Irish accent. "We've got company!"
A wave of deja vu hit Steve as remembered all the times Dugan had said the same thing. It was gone quickly, however, as a group of soldiers began raining bullets down on them. That was stupid, Steve thought as he turned around to throw a grenade, never breaking stride. Although they would have been worse off if Peggy were here.
"This way!" called the woman, dodging into a well-hidden path that Steve would have run right past. As they went further, it widened out so that all three of them could run side by side. Steve marveled at the endurance of the pair he had been sent to retrieve. Not many civilians who had been cooped up in a jail cell for 10 months could match the pace they were setting. And yet they had been running for at least 10 minutes.
"Walk now. Act mad. You're our prisoner," she said after a few minutes. Slapping a pair of handcuffs (Steve had no idea where she had gotten them) onto his wrists, she pulled the scarf she had been wearing around her neck up to cover her face. Normally, Steve would have asked what was going on. But this woman reminded him a bit of Peggy Carter, and one thing that Peggy had taught him was to never question a woman when she was on a mission.
About five seconds later, Steve was glad for that advice. A hundred yards in front of them was a guard tower. He assumed that it belonged to the base they were escaping from.
"Who goes there?" the guard called out. (At least, that was the best translation that Steve could come in with. The man spoke in one of the native languages of the region)
"Friends of one who serve many," Steve's escort called out in the same language. He noticed that the woman, who had held herself so proudly earlier, was now following him subserviently, her head bowed slightly out of respect. Steve felt a fierce flash of anger that she had to act like that- that ANYONE had to act like that here.
"Your business?"
"Found my wife with this scoundrel last night. Have to get off base so I can deal with them." The woman was the very picture of shame and remorse.
"An American?" the guard questioned.
"American or not, I owe him for last night."
"Very well. But you owe me lunch tomorrow." Steve resisted the urge to laugh. Soldiers were motivated by the same things everywhere, and food topped the list.