It took some time to decide, but in the end Rogers did not make a fire. The only kindling he had were the six Big Brother propaganda books, and Rogers didn't especially feel like needlessly antagonizing his prisoners by burning them.

Not when he was still so completely stunned.

1984…

When he was young, before the war, before the serum, Rogers had sometimes wondered how long he would live. If the average life expectancy of an American in the year 1940 was sixty three years then Rogers would live until the far off year of 1983…

He'd already crossed that distant barrier by a year. It was impossible to grasp.

In those distant days he had imagined what sort of life he might lead. Before the war he'd wanted to be an artist…or a teacher. Something calm and peaceful and fulfilling.

How far away it all seemed now.

Part of him wanted to get up and walk away into the white expanse that surrounded him. Until he collapsed. Until the rigor overcame even his perfectly enhanced body.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Not when there was still a mission on. Rogers stared down at his gloves, scuffed and battered but still holding together. Could remember the very first time he'd put a pair of gloves like them on, when the Army had kitted him out with a special suit. When they'd made him Captain America.

Years might have passed. The world might have changed…but he hadn't. He was still Captain America.

And Captain America didn't cut and run.

Rogers looked to the co-pilot again. Noted how the man flinched almost unconsciously away.

The Oceanians were frightened of him. Frightened of how he acted, how he spoke, of his ignorance of their ways. To them 'Oceania' was the world. And running across someone who didn't recognize that was a rebuke of everything they held dear.

"How long before reinforcements come?" He asked. The co-pilot blinked.

"What?" He asked.

"Reinforcements. You had to have radioed in to your headquarters…told them that you'd encountered me." Rogers said impatiently, trying to decide whether the co-pilot's wide eyed confusion was genuine or an act.

The co-pilot shook his head slowly.

"Ungood-"

Rogers cut him off with an impatient jerk of the rifle barrel.

"Speak. Normally." He growled.

"You…you're only one," the co-pilot said, "no one man can stand against us."

Rogers stared, momentarily floored by the arrogance in the co-pilot's words. This went beyond Nazi level megalomania, into something else entirely.

"Clearly you were wrong." He said, relaxing slightly. So reinforcements weren't imminent. That was good. All the same though, Rogers knew that eventually the Oceanians would notice the disappearance of one of their helicopters. Not for a while though, Rogers hadn't seen any military facilities marked on the Oceanian maps. The land around him was blank for miles and miles but for a few roads and cabins.

Rogers paced circles around the Oceanians, ignoring their glares. The medic had fed the wounded, the co-pilot was staring down at the snow, perhaps wondering if he'd said something wrong.

You need to find a way out of here, Rogers said to himself, destroy the radio in the helicopter if it's not already dead, leave these guys behind…they're not a threat anymore. Go south. Maybe there's still an America left.

Maybe…

Even the thought of his country not existing anymore sent pangs of nausea through him. Rogers gritted his teeth. Got up. Went over to the helicopter and examined the cockpit carefully. Many of the instruments had been damaged in the crash and there didn't seem to be any power, but he still put three rounds through the radio anyway…just to be sure.

The Oceanians watched this with blank, frightened faces. But none of them moved. What could they even hope to do against him? He'd thrown their weapons into the creek, taken their ammunition away, crippled most of them…

He rummaged through the rucksacks again, checking each pocket and flap carefully. Came away with a compass he hadn't noticed before. Opening it up, he was unsurprised to find that its face was emblazoned with a great big red V.

"What does the 'V' mean anyway?" He asked, going back over to the co-pilot, "victory? Vengeance?"

"Ingsoc." The co-pilot muttered.

"Ing…sosh…" Rogers mimicked, trying to determine what that meant.

The co-pilot sighed, clearly offended by Rogers' ignorance.

"English socialism." He said, fixing Rogers with a contemptuous glare.

"Is that what your 'Big Brother' dictates?" Rogers asked.

"Big Brother doubleplusgood," the co-pilot snarled, "anteRevolution ungood! All ungood!"

Rogers shook his head slightly and turned away. There was no getting through to these people. The instant some sort of progress was made they flew into a rage at some perceived slight against Big Brother or English Socialism or whatever.

All of it was dreadfully confusing.

"I'm going to leave now," Rogers said, deciding that his fitful attempts at extracting information out of the Oceanians weren't getting anywhere, "goodbye. Your people should be here soon enough…" He shrugged, supposing that the Oceanians could make shelter in the downed helicopter if their forces didn't arrive before dark.

"Criminal." Growled the co-pilot at him. Rogers ignored him, instead taking one of the rucksacks and stacking the Oceanian ammunition inside before adding a number of ration tins and the Big Brother books. The Oceanians seemed aggrieved to see him do this (doubtlessly they knew he would burn them before too long) but none of them said anything.

"Big Brother doubleplusgood," the medic said to Rogers as he passed him, "Oceania doubleplusgood. America ungood. Canada ungood. AnteRevolution doubleplusungood."

Rogers just chuckled. The medic said nothing more.

He set off, rifle in hand, rucksack bulging with supplies, with one final look back at the huddled Oceanians. They watched him go, warily, clearly suspecting some sort of trick.

That was good, Rogers decided, it would keep them honest for a while. And by the time they realized that he was really gone, it would be far too late for any of them to do anything.

All the same he looked back over his shoulder every few paces, just to make sure. The Oceanians remained still.

Until he was gone.

Who knew what they did after that…