Chapter 6
Somewhere over the North Atlantic
1:20 AM, Local Time
Stark was very proud of his jet.
For the first time—that he could remember—James cursed his acute sense of hearing. Stark had been talking—and talking, and talking—about the aircraft since they'd departed New York. Grinding his teeth, James tried to focus on the papers in his hand.
Hiram's work with the computer had dug up pages of information on HYDRA bases in Europe. The trouble was the data was decades out of date. James still needed to sift through the list and pick out the ones worth investigating. He started reading where he'd left off while Stark prattled away.
"So, S.H.I.E.L.D. wrote off the wreck after Legolas here crashed it near the tower, and I—"
"I didn't crash anything, Stark," Clint Barton called back from the cockpit. "Loki shot us down."
"Potato, po-tah-to," Stark replied, putting exaggerated emphasis on the second word. "Anyway, it took me a year, but I replaced the entire..."
James had heard it all before, when they were getting ready for takeoff. The power plant, the comms, the flight controls, the engines, the video displays, all replaced with variations of the technology used in Stark's armor. Storage units for his and Rhodes' respective suits, new weapons, up-armored cockpit and passenger compartments, a new drop hatch in the bottom so the Avengers could deploy without landing—James rubbed his temples.
The only part James cared about was the suborbital flight capability, which lowered the flight time to Africa from half a day to a matter of a few hours.
"Oh, I forgot my favorite part," Tony paused, looking toward the ceiling. "Let's vanish, J."
"Activating retro-reflection panels, sir."
"All this," Barton said. "And the stick still pulls to the left. You could've fixed that, you know?"
"Work in progress." Stark shot back.
Wilson plopped down next to James on the bench seat by the rear boarding ramp. James spared him a glance but dropped his eyes back to his printouts before Stark saw anything that resembled interest in what he was saying. "Does he always talk this much?"
"Only when he's excited. Or nervous. Or showing off." Wilson replied. "So, yeah."
James shook his head, but resisted rolling his eyes. Stark sounded like Steve in front of a pretty girl—
He blinked, suddenly seeing Steve fidgeting and stuttering in his mind's eye, hopelessly tongue-tied when someone—Agent Carter?—said something remotely flirtatious.
Smooth Stevie, real smooth. I'm embarrassed for the both of us.
Shut up, she caught me by surprise is all.
Uh-huh. Just say the word and I'll gladly take her off your hands.
You shut your mouth, Buck.
James felt a smile tugging on his mouth even as a new headache flared to life behind his eyes. Damn it.
"You okay?" Wilson asked, watching him.
He glanced at the other man's concerned face briefly, but didn't answer.
After a moment, Wilson spoke again, switching gears. "If you don't mind my asking, what are you working on there?"
"Business," James replied curtly.
Wilson didn't let up easily. "Kinda surprised you aren't looking over the intel Tony found."
James arched an eyebrow, mildly offended at the suggestion that his mind wasn't on the mission at hand. But, then he saw Wilson's expression, and realized that the comment was meant to cause a reaction.
James smiled thinly. "Steve's helicopter went down 47.4 kilometers inside Ghudaza's northeastern border. Assuming they weren't immediately captured, there are two villages in that sector, but only one within walking distance if they have wounded. Abaya: population five hundred, mostly farmers and local militia. They have no known ties to the insurgents, and are unlikely to be a threat. That's where we start looking."
Wilson seemed impressed.
"I was listening when Stark's robot hacked into the Pentagon's files." James added firmly. He still wasn't a hundred percent sure what "hacking" was, but that was irrelevant.
"Um, technically, he's an AI, not a robot," Stark muttered quietly.
"Don't test me, Wilson." James gave Sam a warning look, then favoring him with an—almost—friendly smirk. "He was my friend, first."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Insurgent Encampment
Eastern Ghudaza
"N-no. No. I didn't say that—" Steve got a fist across the mouth for that.
"Rhodes, Coleman, Liufau, Farouk," the man said. "They survived the crash. Where did you send them?"
"You got it all wrong," Steve said, eyes rolling slowly back and forth. The drugs were strong. "No one s-survived but me."
He took a crowbar to the midsection for that. Steve wasn't sure which he hated more right then: the crowbar, the bat, the cattle prod, the syringe...or the men that wielded them. He supposed all was equal in a back alley. He chuckled to himself, but he wasn't sure why that was funny.
I can do this all day.
Why don't you pick on someone your own size?
I think you like getting punched.
Steve sobered. Bucky wasn't there to pick him up, this time.
"Lies are counter-productive." Zola's voice cut into his thoughts.
Steve cracked his sore eyes open, despite the glaring lights, and sneered at the glowing green face on the screen. "I wish that missile had finished you off, Doc."
"Pettiness is unbecoming, Captain." Zola retorted. Steve could hear the retaliatory sneer in its voice.
"After what...what you did to Bucky...you deserved to die." Steve said tiredly. He couldn't hold his tongue, either from the drugs or the exhaustion, he wasn't sure. Zola brought out his rage.
"Seventy years is a long time to hold grudges. Sergeant Barnes was a masterpiece of science. We accomplished much with him."
"You butchered him!" Steve shouted, yanking against the restraints so hard he broke the skin on his wrists. "Turned him into a monster!"
"Scientific advancement requires sacrifi—"
"He'll never be the same," Steve said, mainly to himself. It was far past time he admitted the truth. He'd been chasing Bucky for a year, holding on the glimmer of hope that his friend was just a few words away, a little hard work...but the Bucky he knew was probably gone. Tortured beyond recognition by HYDRA's so-called scientists. Butchers. Monsters. They'd stolen his best friend and stripped him down to nothing. A nameless soldier...
Steve was only distantly aware that the room had gone still.
"Explain." Zola demanded. There was an edge to the electronic voice that hadn't been there a moment before.
"What?" Steve blinked. He wasn't sure what he was being asked. Had he been speaking?
"HYDRA records that the Winter Soldier died, April, Two-Thousand Fourteen. Is this date not accurate, Captain?"
Steve hesitated, fighting the drugs that were making his blood rush and urging him to speak. He couldn't tell Zola about Bucky. HYDRA had to believe he was dead. Steve shook his head. "I...I don't know what you're...t-talking about."
He saw the fist coming, out of the corner of his eye. There was no dodging it.
Keep your hands up, I said.
Good! Come on, keep it up! You're getting it.
Steve huffed softly. Bucky had used kid gloves back then, when he'd tried in vain to get Steve in shape to Army's fitness tests. He'd taught Steve to box, made him run laps, the works. Not that it mattered in the end. Even Goldie's Gym was gone, replaced by apartments.
Bucky's fists inside those tattered boxing gloves, all those years ago, hadn't hurt nearly as much as his bare hands on the Helicarrier the year before. Bucky had held back. The Winter Soldier hadn't.
You're my mission!
"I'm sorry..." Steve murmured. More to himself than them. He wasn't going to get to finish his search for Barnes. There'd be no making up for his mistakes. It was already too late.
"Does the Winter Soldier still live, Captain?" Zola's voice cut into his thoughts.
Steve ignored him, but the drugs coursing through him were getting stronger. Pushing him to answer. To tell the truth. He sighed. "I'm...so sorry, Buck."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Village of Abaya
Northeastern Ghudaza
1330 Hours, Local Time
Natasha was late. Damn it.
Damn it. Damn it!
Rhodey beat his fists together as he paced. Natasha had gone out to recon the village and see if she could pick up any chatter. The jammers were still in effect, so they were still in the dark about...well, everything. Coleman hadn't gotten anything from Daki except long quotations from the HYDRA bible. She was making rounds, circling back to give brief checks at their hideout. Two knocks on a window or the door if everything was all right. She didn't stop to talk, just knocked on the way past.
Romanoff's check-in was ten minutes overdue.
Rhodey growled. He stepped over to the Patriot armor. "Open."
Coleman and Liufau, who were sharing a salvaged MRE from their packs, abruptly stood when they saw him suit up. "Colonel?"
"Romanoff's late," He explained, closing up the suit around him. "I'm going to go che—"
Two knocks at the rear door of the house stopped him mid-sentence. He deployed the wrist mounted guns on his arms and marched toward it.
Through the rotted wood of the door, he heard Natasha's voice. "It's me, Rhodey."
Rhodes waited for the agreed upon All Clear phrase.
"Tony still owes you an F-22."
Releasing a silent sigh, he raised his faceplate and called back. "Come on in, Natasha."
The door opened, and she stepped inside. "Sorry for being late fellas, but I found some friends."
Four figures appeared from behind her, filing in. The first clomped past her in his red and gold armor.
"It's not my fault Congress shut the program down before I could pay for one!" Tony cried indignantly.
Rhodes laughed, clamping his armored hands over Tony's. "You're a sight for sore eyes, man." Looking past Tony's shoulder, he nodded to the next two men.
"Barton, Sam." He stopped cold as the fourth man's grim face came into view. "Um..."
Tony followed his look. "Oh. Right. Introductions are in order..."
The Winter Soldier closed the door behind them and gave the room a quick, silent inspection before he settled against the stone wall. Rhodey looked from him back to Tony. "Okay, I didn't see that coming."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Insurgent Encampment
Eastern Ghudaza
"I still say we should try the water again."
"Why? He can hold his breath longer than we can pour. You can't waterboard someone who doesn't need to take a breath as often as we do."
Steve listened to the men argue. Bizarre, listening to people talk so nonchalantly about torture. Especially when he was the one being talked about. He groaned quietly. They didn't notice.
It was hard. The drugs pumping into his arm pushed him to answer questions. Even when he didn't want to, it was hard to keep his mouth from opening. Steve had been beaten up before, many times, before and after his transformation. Hell, Bucky hit harder than the men who were questioning him. Especially the metal hand...
A bucket-full of water hit him in the face again. Steve wasn't sure why they bothered—it wasn't like he was asleep. He inhaled a little of it that time, making him cough.
"See? Water works fine as long as we catch him by surpr—"
"Gentlemen." A new voice entered the room. Steve didn't look up. What did it matter? Probably just the night shift.
"I would like some time alone with the prisoner, please."
There was a pause. If the two men answered, Steve didn't catch it.
"Now. If you please. And turn off the IV."
Steve heard some muttered words, but then he felt a hand touch the tube on his arm, and then he heard footsteps moving away. There were sounds of scraping...it took him a moment to identify it as a chair being dragged. A hand cupped his chin and lifted his face. He flinched when his eyes cracked open in the glaring lights.
"Captain Rogers?"
It took longer than usual for Steve's eyes to focus. A tall, bald African man stood over him. Once his brain collected itself enough, Steve recognized the face of the man he'd come to apprehend.
"Michael Achebe, at your service." The man said, adjusting his glasses and rolling a lab stool over so he could face Steve at eye level. "I felt we should talk...before the end."
Steve frowned. "Why...?"
"Because we have much in common, Captain." Achebe said brightly. His accent was soft, buried under a mix of Queen's English and New England English. Made sense, since he'd reportedly spent many years studying abroad. Didn't make his words any less preposterous.
"We have...nothing...in common," Steve said. His energy was waning after days of...how many days had it been? Two? Three? There were no windows in the room for him to gauge the passage of time and his tormentors never seemed to tire.
"Nonsense," Achebe chided. "We are both strong, proud men. Patriots. We would both die for our countries. Of course, you already have."
"I wouldn't...kill for mine," Steve countered weakly.
Achebe seemed amused. "Come now, I studied history, my good Captain. You have killed many during your service. Germans. Italians. Russians. Greeks. Austrians. Even some Americans in recent months."
Steve growled. "That was war. I'm a s-soldier. You're a...a butcher."
"I am a warrior, my friend. Just like you." At Steve's look, Achebe huffed a laugh. "Do you think my freedom fighters and I just walked across the Wakandan border and started murdering school girls and choir boys? Wakanda strangled our trade for decades, reduced our economy to ruins. Looked down their noses at our 'human rights abuses' and made us pariahs all over the region. Even when their sanctions lifted, no one would trade with us. T'Challa's father the king made certain of that."
Achebe abruptly stood, his rant picking up steam. "I studied Law in your country, Captain. I wanted to be a leader, to help ease my country's suffering and start to rebuild. I came home in time to see the starving lower class rise up and dismember our dysfunctional government. What use for an educated man when everything I wanted to serve was laid wasted? What use for a man, whose wife and daughter had been killed in the uprising? I came home to nothing."
The story didn't match the bio the Pentagon had on the man. Either they had it wrong, or he was lying. Steve opened his mouth, but Achebe was practically debating himself already.
"Do not feel sorry for me, Steven Rogers. I made a new life for myself."
The warlord had it all wrong. Steve didn't feel sorry for him at all. Steve sneered at him. "You and HYDRA, you mean."
"HYDRA sees our potential. We share a common enemy in Wakanda and their hypocritical aristocracy. HYDRA will make us strong. And, soon, we will rebuild my people on the ashes of those who tried to strangle us."
Steve's adrenaline was kicking in, pushing back against the constant buzz of the drugs in his brain. "You tell me you're the hero here...but you're just another bully. What about the ashes of your own people? What about the...the thousands of Ghudazans who died during your purges?"
Achebe's back straightened, but he didn't seem at all phased by the accusation. If anything, he looked proud. "Some must be sacrificed, if we are to bring forth a new order."
Steve shook his head, exasperated. Hitler, Schmidt, Loki, Pierce, now Achebe. It was always the same song. He sighed. "You...don't care how many you kill, so long as you end up on top in the end."
After a moment, Achebe's grim expression broke into a wide grin. The switch was jarring. "I like this! This reminds me of the YDA. We would spend hours trading arguments between classes."
He clasped his hands behind his back, sighing softly. "I am sorry I waited so long to speak to you. It was nice to meet an optimist once again. This land has a way of...burning that out of a man."
"Glad I could help," Steve muttered, looking away. He wasn't glad, he was disgusted.
"I respect you, Captain. I am honored to have met you. That is all I wanted to say, really." He stepped toward the door, but paused before exiting the room. "You should answer their questions. It will make your remaining life easier to bear."
Steve sneered again and turned back to his captor. "You—you think I'm ever gonna b-betray my friends?"
Achebe shrugged. "You already have."
That brought Steve up short. "What?"
The other man tilted his head, as though Steve should know what he was talking about. "Your missing friend? This...'Winter Soldier,' whoever that is. You told Doctor Zola that he was alive. From the reaction, I am guessing that was not information they had."
Steve's blood went cold. "No..."
Achebe nodded sympathetically. "It is not surprising that you do not remember. You were barely conscious at the time."
"You're...you're lying." Steve could only shake his head. No, no, no. I didn't— I—
"I have to leave. The men will come back." Achebe almost sounded remorseful, and Steve almost believed it. "It serves no purpose for them to continue hurting you...but they will. I am sorry, sir. But, then, we have all made our choices, yes?"
The warlord turned and disappeared through the door. A few seconds later, Steve saw his interrogators walking back. But, all he could think about was what Achebe had just told him.
He'd betrayed Bucky.
He reeled. No. It wasn't possible. He'd never—
You already have.
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Village of Abaya
Northeastern Ghudaza
1445 Hours, Local Time
"He hasn't given us anything useful." Captain Coleman said with clear disappointment on his face. "Just a bunch of HYDRA-worshipping BS."
James observed the prisoner. When looking at the others, the young soldier was the definition of arrogant defiance, but whenever his eyes glanced over James, something in his face flickered. He was nervous. Good.
He kept one ear to the discussion, but focused on Farouk.
"They knew we were coming...we need to know exactly what he told them."
"They don't know we're here. We can take them by surprise."
"Too risky. We need to get Steve first. If we go in blind, they might kill him." Rhodes said.
"I'll get his cooperation," Natasha announced coldly, stepping toward the bound man. James reached out and gently gripped her elbow as she passed. She turned to him in surprise.
"Let me do it." James addressed her, but kept his gaze on Farouk. The prisoner squirmed slightly before he caught himself and stilled.
Natasha glanced from James to the others and back, then started to protest. "I don't think—"
"They're military," James said, nodding to the others. "They'll be held responsible for anything they do to a prisoner. The same for your Avengers. I don't have to worry about that."
Natasha blinked, clearly processing the cold reality of the situation. James could tell she knew he was right. She looked to the others, who seemed uncomfortable.
Coleman spoke up. "What are you going to do?"
"Get answers," James replied, watching Farouk. "Wait upstairs."
No one moved. James looked at the group. "Please."
Stark, Rhodes and the Army men hesitantly moved away, to the stairs. Wilson lingered, watching him. "Barnes..."
James met his gaze. "They've had him for almost three days, Sam. He's running out of time."
Wilson looked as though he wanted to argue, or spout some optimistic wish...but he just grimaced and walked up the steps. Natasha was close behind, watching James as she went.
Alone, he turned to the prisoner. Farouk's wrists were tied around his legs, palms flat against his thighs, and rope wrapped around his waist, knees and ankles. He wasn't going anywhere. James moved slowly, circling around so that he was in front of the man.
With exaggerated slowness, he reached up and withdrew one of the combat knives from his black body armor. The whirring servos in his arm were loud in the silence of the basement. When Farouk's eyes landed and stuck on the gleaming metal of his arm, James was glad he'd shed his civilian clothing on the jet. He'd been laying low for so long, he'd almost forgotten how intimidating the arm could be.
"You're going to tell me about the camp where they're holding Captain Rogers."
"W-why would I know anything about that?" Farouk stammered.
James switched the knife from his metal hand to his right, moving closer. "You were in contact with them. You told them about your route, your objective, who was on your team...you couldn't have given them what they needed to know without knowing what they wanted."
Farouk was shifting in the chair, pulling futilely against the ropes holding him. With impressive fortitude, he blew out a breath and stared James down. "HYDRA will win. Cut off one head, t-two more take its place!"
James favored him with a smile, reached out with his metal hand and grabbed the back of the man's neck, forcing Farouk to look down at his lap. With his flesh hand, he tapped the flat of his knife blade against the man's knuckles. "Who said anything about your head?"
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
1540 Hours, Local Time
Sam beat his right fist against his left palm, shifting his weight back and forth. He didn't like this. Barnes had been downstairs with the corporal for an hour. About forty minutes earlier, they'd heard the distinct sound of a man whimpering. Every few minutes, there was a anguished shout. The others looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. Except maybe, Captain Coleman...but, Sam understood that. Farouk was directly responsible for the deaths of most of Coleman's squad.
Natasha didn't look too bothered either, but she was difficult to read on the best of days.
He was about to ask Rhodes how much longer they should wait, when Barnes appeared on the stairs and joined them.
"What did you do to him?" Sam asked.
Barnes glanced over his shoulder, then shrugged. "Nothing."
Sam frowned at him, but Barnes just pointed down the steps.
"Look for yourself."
Hesitantly, Sam did just that. He walked down the stairs until he could see the prisoner. Amazingly, Farouk didn't appear to have a mark or bruise on him. The HYDRA agent was just sobbing quietly on the chair, tears streaking his face.
"Jesus, Barnes," Sam murmured. He came back upstairs, shrugging when Rhodes and Stark looked at him questioningly.
Barnes was standing with Coleman, making marks on a map of the area. "He didn't know the exact location, but there are two permanent blockhouses...here, and here. He knows there's a command post in this one, and a lab of some kind right there. If Steve's being held anywhere, it's probably in that building."
Sam joined the others, looking at the map. Rhodes tapped a point near the buildings Barnes described. "Guard house is close. Going to be tough getting in there before they raise an alarm."
"Won't be a problem." Barnes said. He turned to Stark. "How close can your jet get without being seen?"
TBC
A/N: Achebe was a villain in one of the early Black Panther comics. He staged a coup that overthrew King T'Challa and ignited a bloody civil war. He did, in fact, encounter Captain America after fleeing that country.
Daki, and you can't make this up, was Achebe's hand puppet, which he spoke to after going insane. Obviously, I used Daki differently, here.
YDA = Yale Debate Association.