Chapter 7
Insurgent Encampment
Eastern Ghudaza
1800 Hours, Local Time
Rhodey watched the video feed from one of the external cameras while Barnes got ready for the drop.
The quinjet was cloaked, hovering a hundred or so feet over the center of Achebe's compound. Unlike the old turbofans, the repulsor engines Tony retrofitted to the craft made little noise, so the jet was virtually undetectable to the insurgents below.
On the holographic display, Rhodes saw the blockhouses Farouk had told them about, the guard tower next to them, and the guards milling around the perimeter. Other soldiers were at various positions: eating, sleeping, cleaning, performing maintenance or repairs. One of the big T-72 battle tanks that had attacked the crash site was sitting near the eastern fence, having its engine checked by some mechanics. The "camp" was a great deal more complex than their intel had suggested. It was a major base, with serious defenses.
Barnes pulled a heavy-looking duffel bag over his shoulder, and moved toward the hatch. Sam eyed him strangely as he passed. "Isn't that gonna slow you down?"
Barnes didn't look back. "No."
"What exactly is your plan, here?" Coleman asked, watching the assassin suspiciously.
"I'll hit the guard tower first, and set up a distraction. Then, I find Steve while you keep them busy, and bring him to the west side fence."
"Easy as that?" Coleman said darkly.
Barnes didn't look at him, either, just kept his eyes on the hatch. "Yes."
"When do you want us to move in?" Barton asked from the cockpit.
With a last look at the video monitor, Barnes punched the button to open the lower hatch. "You'll see."
Then he was gone.
Coleman groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You guys are freakin' cowboys."
Eyes on the display, Rhodes shook his head. "Pretty sure cowboys were never like this."
He watched Barnes on the projection as he dropped in on the unsuspecting guards in the tower, straight through the wooden roof. One got a metal elbow to the face, the other was bludgeoned with the duffel bag. Both were down in seconds. Rhodes wondered idly if that's why Barnes had needed the bag.
The setting sun cast deep shadows around the camp. Barnes used them. He dropped out of the tower onto the back of another soldier below. The man didn't get up. Rhodes watched the assassin move down the length of the first blockhouse, pausing only to incapacitate a guard or passerby.
Where Steve was an artist in combat, Barnes was a predator. His prey rarely saw him coming. In a space of three minutes, ten soldiers were rendered unconscious—they were the lucky ones. Two made the mistake of raising weapons at Barnes. When he left them, they didn't move again. None managed to raise an alarm.
Barnes paused near a fuel dump along the north side of the compound, pulling something out of the duffel bag. Afterward, he disappeared inside the westernmost blockhouse.
Rhodes shared a glance with Tony, who stood beside him watching. "Now we wait."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
James entered the building silently, dropping his duffle in the door to prevent it from closing and potentially locking him inside. The interior was a long hallway, with concrete walls and ceiling, and doors along both sides. More than he could quickly check if he wanted to stay unnoticed.
He had tools for such work, though. Reaching into a pocket in his armor, he withdrew two silver, spherical bombs. Two clicks set the timers for three seconds; one more activated them. He crouched and rolled one down each side of the hall.
Thick—harmless—white smoke soon filled the corridor down the length of the building. The caged light fixtures mounted near the tops of the walls were too dim to compensate. Within a few seconds, the people inside took notice. They didn't seem to understand, but their shouts of alarm revealed their location to his well-attuned ears. There were six—maybe seven—men inside the rooms.
Two came out of the first door on the right, carrying AK-47s. James moved straight for them, his eyes picking out movement in the smoke far better than theirs could. He snapped the first man's neck immediately, then pulled his knife. The second reacted quickly, spinning in the direction of his comrade, gun raised. James dropped, swept his feet out from under him, then drove the knife into his throat.
It was hard not to think of Steve's face on the news, bloodied and beaten, barely aware eyes. James stayed crouched for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to quell the murderous urge that filled his veins. These men had been torturing his friend for days, parading their work on television proudly.
He wanted to kill every last one of them.
But, if James took the time to quietly dispatch all the soldiers in the building, he ran the risk of them summarily executed Steve before he got to him. That was assuming Rogers was even in that blockhouse. He'd picked the one that didn't have the command post, on the grounds that the rebels wouldn't want prisoners—especially ones possibly capable of escape, like Steve—under the same roof as their communications gear and leaders.
He hoped his logic was sound.
As the voices of the others grew louder, James used the dead guard's pant leg to wipe the blood off his knife. As much as he wanted to exact some vengeance, he would restrain himself. Rendering them unconscious would be faster.
James checked the room the two men had come out from, finding nothing but a table and half-eaten meals. He moved to the next door, keeping one ear tuned to the voices, tracking their movements. The second and third rooms moving down the hall were empty. Another guard stumbled out of the fourth room, straining to see in the smoke. James silently choked him out. The room was a supply closet.
The fifth was a weapons locker. He closed the door and snapped the outside handle off so that no one else could easily get inside. The remaining three voices came from the last room. James edged quietly down the wall to the doorjamb. A quick glance established that the smoke had filled that room as well, leaving the three men inside blinded and stumbling around, speaking to each other in apparent confusion. One was fumbling with a window.
James charged him first, yanking the man's AK out of his hands, flipping it, and driving the rifle butt into his face hard, knocking him cold. He turned, seeing one of the others moving toward a red lever on the wall by another door. James drew his knife and threw it. The blade found the man's right shoulder with pinpoint accuracy, dropping the man to the floor with a stunned cry.
The third guard appeared at James' left, brandishing a combat knife. The blade came down on Barnes' shoulder, almost dead center of the red star. James glanced down at the now-bent point of the knife blade, then up at his attacker, who was staring at the useless weapon in almost comical disbelief. James snatched the weapon with his metal hand, snapping it in two, then clocked the dark-skinned man with a right hook.
Moving toward the door at the far side of the room, James found the other guard flailing, trying to push himself up with one hand. As he passed, James grabbed the man by his combat harness with his cybernetic arm and flipped him up into the air, smashing him face-first into the concrete ceiling. The man dropped into a heap without another sound.
The door led to a locked stairwell. James disabled the lock easily and descended the stairs silently. At the bottom, he found a much heavier steel door, with only a small window inset high up. Another, smaller and less imposing wooden door with a peephole flanked it on the right.
There were no cameras or apparent alarms in the stairwell, so James moved up the big door and peered through the window. There was a suite of rooms inside, five doors, all closed. The one just inside and to the right was another heavy metal door, obviously also leading to the security room. James smirked, happy to see better precautions down here than above. He'd almost lost respect for the enemy.
He decided on the direct approach, moving to the wooden door, and knocking softly. A voice called out from inside. James recognized the language as Farsi.
"Finally. What kept you, Amiir? We are starving!"
James heard a second voice, but it was too low for him to make out the words. He knocked again, a little stronger, more agitated, like someone carrying things. Watching the light shining through the peephole, James waited until a shadow passed over the tiny lens, then punched through the wood with his metal arm. His fingers wrapped around the person's clothes. He gripped the fabric and pulled back, smashing him against the wood twice, then yanked the door open.
The first guard was unconscious on the floor. The second scrambled out of a chair, struggling to get his feet under him as he awoke from what seemed to be a pre-dinner nap. James didn't give him time to compose himself. He raced forward and slammed the man down onto the floor, then pressed his booted foot down on the stunned man's throat.
The wall in front of him was a security console. A video monitor showed feed from cameras in the small suite of rooms, along with a small diagram of the suite, showing which rooms were being filmed. One covered the short hall, which was empty. A second showed a larger room across the hall with two doors, and several cameras and lights arranged to focus on a draped over platform. It was the room where Steve's hostage tapes had been filmed. The next room was some kind of lab, but no one was inside.
The last room was right next to the security booth. Steve was there, shackled to a chair in front of a small table. Two men were with him, talking quietly and looking over notes on an electronic pad. Barnes' blood boiled. He knew interrogators when he saw them. He reached down and touched the camera controls, shutting off all of them.
The door leading from the booth into the suite had an electronic lock with a keypad. James looked down at the last guard, who was gurgling, trying to push the foot off his throat. James shifted his weight, removing his foot, but immediately catching the man's neck with his metal hand. He looked at the man's face carefully, realizing that he'd seen him before. This was one of the guards James had seen kick Rogers' legs out from under him on television.
James closed his hand until the man started scrabbling at his neck, face turning deep red. James pulled him close. "Make a sound, and you die."
The guard nodded as vigorously as he could given James' unrelenting metal grip. James hauled him to his feet and pushed him toward the door. "Open it. Quietly."
The man obediently typed in a four-digit code, which James memorized. When the door unlatched, James pulled it open with his free hand, then growled into the guard's ear. "Thank you for your cooperation."
He flung the man into the metal door hard enough to leave a dent, letting the man's limp body prop the door open. Stepping through, he sidled up to the closed door, listening to the men inside. They didn't seem aware of his presence.
James reached into his pocket and grabbed the remote detonator. He'd almost forgotten. He pressed the red button.
The muted sound of an explosion reverberated through the blockhouse. Without hesitation, James kicked in the door to the interrogation chamber. The two torturers were caught completely off-guard. James' first punch knocked the closest man senseless, his second dropped him completely. Rearing back, he swung his metal arm, picking the second man completely up off the ground and sending him flying. He slammed into the far wall like a ragdoll, and didn't get up again.
He turned to Steve, who was staring sightlessly at an array of flashing lights, eyes wide and wild like he couldn't look away. James frowned, smashing the lights with his left arm and stepping over to find the lock on Rogers' shackles. The table in front of him was covered in tools: scalpels, a hammer, pliers, a cattle prod, a bloody crowbar and a red-stained baseball bat.
Steve himself was in bad shape. The dark red, white and blue upper half of his Captain America uniform had been removed, leaving only a thin blue undergarment, which was torn in a dozen places and stained with blood. Steve healed quickly, so the burn marks along his chest and abdomen—likely from the cattle prod—were clearly recent. Probably from the last few hours.
"Can't stay out of trouble..." He muttered softly. Steve was completely out of it, head rolling loosely as Barnes checked his pulse. He froze when another voice called out in the room.
"Sergeant Barnes."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Hawkeye raised a hand to block the glare as the fuel dump erupted in a massive explosion. He cackled in delight. "Barnes has got style."
"Just like one of those stupid eighties movies you love so much," Natasha said, watching over his shoulder as the collection of oil drums and fuel cans went sky high.
"That's our cue," Rhodes announced. He and Tony lowered their faceplates and stepped out through the lower hatch. They hit their afterburners as soon as they were clear of the jet. Sam was out right behind them, silver wings snapping into flight mode.
"Set us down over there," Natasha pointed to an open area close to the blockhouses. She nodded to Coleman and Liufau. "Let's go."
Hawkeye maneuvered the quinjet closer to the ground, and toggled the aft boarding hatch. "Uncloak us, JARVIS. No point in hiding now."
"My pleasure, Mr. Barton."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
"I see the reports of your death were greatly exaggerated."
James spun, looking for the source of the strangely artificial voice. The wall opposite the door was covered in electronic equipment of various types and ages. Near the center, however, a video screen flickered to life. A grainy, distorted image composed of green and black lines formed on the screen. Barnes frowned. It looked almost like a face.
"I cannot express how pleased I am that you are here, Soldier. The thought that HYDRA's greatest asset had been lost was deeply troubling."
James stared at the image...he knew that voice. He knew the lines of that face— "Zola. How...?"
The computerized voice sounded pleased. "Survival is an act of sheer will. You, of all people, know this to be true."
Barnes stood there, looking at the garish green patterns moving on the screen, recreating one of the faces that haunted his nightmares. He had to clench his right hand into a fist to keep it from shaking, as the rage boiled over inside him. There was barely time to register that his metal arm was moving, before he smashed the video screen into pieces.
The glowing face reappeared on another, smaller screen below the first.
"Emotional outbursts do not become you." It mocked. "Though, I am pleased with the integration of the new appendage. When last I saw you, you were still equipped with the inefficient Mark Two model."
"Why are you here?" James demanded. He'd leave the 'how' to another time.
"Scientific curiosity."
James scowled, glancing back at Steve. A cold chill washed over him that had nothing to do with the cool air in the room. He knew Zola's "scientific curiosity" all too well. "I think you mean 'torture.'"
"Scientific advancement can often be a painful process."
"I remember," James sneered. He remembered those words. He remembered the pain. He remembered begging for it all to stop.
"You were my greatest achievement," Zola said, managing to sound proud even through the bizarre electronic cadence of his voice. "A masterpiece."
James glanced back at the array of torturous implements on the table by Steve, and wondered how much of Steve's torment over the past few days had been at Zola's urging. Maybe all of it. He swore to himself that he'd find a way to kill the monster called Arnim Zola. It might take time, but James would see it through, as much for Steve as for himself.
Zola was still prattling on, oblivious to James' growing anger. "Astounding, is it not? Two prime specimens, found at the same time, from the same place, and both have survived to see the same future. HYDRA's future. Herr Schmidt's belief in destiny and Fate may have been more profound than even he realized. You have provided such excellent service to us, Sergeant. Perhaps it is destined that Captain Rogers will as well?"
Looking around the bank of equipment, James found an electrical box on the wall just to the right of the monitors. "Never."
He reached down and yanked it out of the wall. The computers went dead in a shower of sparks and smoke. His metal arm caught a jolt from the electricity, but he'd had worse. Zola, eerily, faded out a moment after the rest of the machinery went dark.
"Are you so cert—?"
James hurled the mangled junction box to the floor, and turned back to Steve. He'd let Zola distract him for too long already.
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Tony sent a repulsor blast into the legs of the machine gun nest, sending the gun mount and its crew tumbling to the ground. The battle was taking longer than he'd hoped, but Coleman had been right. Achebe had plenty of soldiers, and they were proving as fanatical as any HYDRA cell he'd helped bust up in the past months.
Checking his HUD, Tony changed course and hurried to the southern fence line to give Sam some cover. He tracked the course of the fight with the map display in his helmet as well as the comms.
"Three of them on the move!" Sam called out.
"On it. Standby." Hawkeye replied. He brought the jet past Tony, strafing a group of soldiers on motorcycles with the craft's forward autocannon.
"Sam, dive! Stinger!" Rhodey called out.
Tony saw it, the surface-to-air missile launcher mounted on the back of a truck. He sent one of his wrist-mounted missiles after it. "I got it."
A warning alarm sounded in his helmet, a red flashing indicator showing up on the map. Tony hit his afterburners and rocketed straight up just as a 125mm tank shell roared past him. The T-72 was in the action now, rolling through the middle of the camp slowly, trying to target them. Tony swung around to avoid another shot. "Rhodey, wanna help flank this guy?"
Before his friend could reply, the sky turned grayish-black unnaturally quickly, and thunder rolled so strongly that it vibrated his armor. Thor had finally arrived.
The thunder god came crashing down on the tank from above, using his hammer to crush the huge cannon with a single blow. Several Ghudazan soldiers opened fire, but their otherwise formidable human weaponry proved woefully inadequate. The bullets bounced harmlessly off Thor's armor, and the soldiers got a lightning barrage for their trouble.
"He sure knows how to make an entrance." Hawkeye observed. The jet swooped by overhead, targeting another machine gun nest.
"Thank you, my friend," Thor called out, gleefully engaging a group of HYDRA sentries that had entered the fray. Tony smiled. Apparently, the Asgardian had remembered his earpiece this time.
Tony checked the time. Barnes had been inside for ten minutes. He hoped nothing had gone wrong.
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Steve was heavy. James smirked as they struggled up the stairs. It wasn't that he couldn't carry the man: after all, he was quite strong himself. Instead, it was something else. A memory of another time, another staircase, and a much, much lighter Steve Rogers.
One foot after the other buddy...there you go. I'm not carrying you, walk!
S-s-sorry, Buck...tryin'. Ooh. I...oh boy...I think I'm gonna throw up...
This is the last time I take you out drinking, punk. I don't care if it is your birthday.
James paused at the first landing, letting Steve catch his breath. Whatever drugs had been in the IVs had left Rogers weak. Not to mention delirious. He'd spent most of their not-so-exciting escape so far muttering incoherently to himself. He wasn't making much noise, so James allowed it to continue.
Unfortunately, whenever Steve's lazily roaming eyes landed on James, he turned morose, and kept shaking his head, which threw him off balance even more.
"Sorry...I'm so sorry, Bucky..."
James patted Steve's cheek lightly with his metal hand, careful of the deep bruise along his right eye socket. "Hey. We're going to get out of here. Whatever they did to you, it's over. All right?"
Steve seemed inconsolable, however. "D-didn't mean to...never would have..."
James had no idea what he was talking about, but arguing wasn't going to get them anywhere. "I know. I know, all right? Keep moving. One foot after the other."
Rogers obeyed. He was wobbly, but he managed to keep his feet both beneath him and going in the right direction. "There we go."
They finally made it to the upstairs room with the three incapacitated guards. As they passed the closest guard, with the bloody shoulder wound and a broken nose, Steve's disoriented gaze locked onto him. He managed to point with one shaking hand. "Dead?"
James glanced at Rogers' bruised and battered face and body, and shook his head grimly. "Not enough of them." He pulled Steve along gently. "Walk, punk."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
"Damn!" Achebe slammed his hand down on the communications console. Mr. Bakshi was not answering. In fact, none of the HYDRA frequencies he had access to seemed to be functioning. He typed in the codes again. The screen showed nothing but static.
The Iron Patriot had shown himself after all, but with reinforcements. Achebe's soldiers had been caught unawares, in the midst of preparations for a new offensive scheduled to begin in a matter of days.
Thunder rolled outside, loud enough to shake the walls of his command post. Achebe had seen Thor on television and on websites, especially after New York and London. The self-proclaimed "god" seemed to be a formidable warrior.
How he had found Achebe's camp and was currently charging through it like an enraged rhinoceros was a mystery. The alien had to be there for Rogers.
The plan to force the West to stop sending aid to Wakanda had produced nothing. They had held Rogers for four days, and all they had received from Washington were a few press releases and demands for his release through diplomatic back-channels.
HYDRA's troops were fighting the intruders alongside his own, but Achebe was even less impressed with their commanders' support than he was with the West's actions. HYDRA was supposed to be his people's salvation...
"Kill Rogers. Immediately!" He shouted, pointing to one of the three soldiers who were guarding the door. If the West would not comply, their famous super-soldier would pay the price.
The soldier turned to obey, but did not get far. There was a high-pitched whine for a moment, then the door exploded inward. The loud popping of gunfire filled the room. Two soldiers went down before they even got off a shot. The third, the large man he had just ordered out, had only made it to the door when someone came barreling through the smoke-filled opening. It was a blonde woman. She moved quickly, leaping into the air and kicking the rifle out of the soldier's hand in one fluid action. She twisted herself onto his shoulders and then there was a flash of blue. The soldier dropped to the floor, unmoving.
Two American soldiers entered next. The man in the lead pointed back at the destroyed door, looking at the woman. "I need to get us some of those."
Achebe inched toward the concealed handgun he knew was below the console. He froze when the American's rifle barrel filled his vision. The man's voice dripped with contempt. "Do it. Please."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Sam angled his wings to gain some altitude. The camp was in complete disarray. Isolated soldiers and HYDRA troopers were still putting up a fight, but their vehicles were all smoking wreckage, and the camp's fixed defenses were shattered. Thor, Rhodey and Stark were dealing with the remaining fighters.
Satisfied that he wasn't needed, Sam toggled his earpiece. "Hawkeye, I'm headed for the rendezvous."
"Copy that," Barton replied. Across the camp, Sam saw the jet come about. "I'll put her down beside that searchlight tower."
Sam hit his jets and flew to the western fence line, as planned. He circled once, trying to get a sense of the situation. There were no soldiers visible, except two that were sprawled on the ground, either unconscious or dead, he couldn't tell. He spiraled lower, and that was when he spotted them.
Barnes was sitting against a wall, under the overhang of a storage shack, a gun held at the ready in his cybernetic hand. His flesh and blood hand was wrapped protectively around Steve, who was cradled against his body.
Sam grinned, and landed a comfortable distance away, so that Barnes would see him coming. His wings retracted into his jet pack, and he jogged over to where the two men were waiting. As he got closer, he realized that Barnes wasn't watching him approach. Instead, the assassin was using a canteen to force some water into Steve's mouth, and talking quietly into his ear. He looked upset.
"...I just want you to know that. Okay?"
As Sam got close, Barnes looked up at him, expression going back to the grim, unemotional look he usually wore. He stood, dragging Steve to his feet with him. "He needs fluids, and I don't think they fed him much."
The jet was landing just a few dozen feet away. The aft hatch opened as it settled to the ground.
Barnes handed Steve off to Sam. Rogers could walk, at least, barely. Sam started moving him toward the waiting quinjet, until he realized something was wrong. He stopped and looked over his shoulder.
Bucky was standing by the shack, duffel slung over one shoulder. A different expression was on his face, a sadder one that Sam had seen before. In Missouri.
"You're not coming with us." Sam said. It wasn't a question. Barnes shook his head once. Sam felt a little ill, knowing how his next lucid conversation with Steve was going to go, and already hating it. He tried anyway. "He needs you."
That got Sam a small smile in return, which surprised him.
"Right now, he needs you." Barnes said, adjusting the strap on his duffel.
Sam frowned, but knew arguing was pointless. "Anything you want me to tell him?"
He was getting used to being an intermediary for these two.
Barnes tilted his head. "Tell him I'm sorry."
The former assassin turned and bounded over the western fence, into the forest beyond. A second later, he was gone.
Sam resumed the trek toward the waiting jet. Barton met him on the ramp, helping guide Steve up the incline. He cast a concerned eye over Sam's shoulder. "Where's Barnes?"
Steering Steve into a seat near the back of the jet—it occurred to him a moment later that it was same seat Barnes had sat in that morning—Sam shook his head. "He left."
Barton frowned, but let the subject be. "Natasha will be here in a minute."
Sam nodded, then helped Steve lie down on the bench seat. Barton walked toward the cockpit, talking into his comm. "Stark, we're spangly here. Widow's incoming with the cargo."
Shaking his head at the agreed upon code words, Sam grabbed a first aid kit and tried to clean Steve up a little. He smiled ruefully, thinking about Rogers and Barnes, and how screwed up their situation was; one wouldn't stop chasing and the other wouldn't stop running. "Tell me how I got stuck between two drama queens from the forties? I was happy at the VA, man."
TBC