Chapter 4 [Somewhere over the Arctic east of Greenland]
Even as Agent Carter scanned her notes and stoked her heart's furnace with Hope's logs, a lone aircraft flew low over the polar icecap. Over the previous three days, the transport had criss-crossed the terrain, waters and ice between Greenland's midway point, the Baltic, the North Sea and the Soviets' questionably friendly ports to the east.
As per his mission guidelines, Howard Stark charted the territory as his pilot pressed them onward. His advancements in navigation and sonar enabled them to eliminate potential routes as nonstarters. While not really chatting with the pilot, he directed the other man along areas parallel to minor shipping lanes and such.
To his credit, he'd charted three new routes for the Allies' consideration. He and the pilot clearly saw an advantage to their plans between England and Eastern Europe.
Now if the Allies could keep pushing east and maintain the Soviets' role in their affairs….
…That was the kicker in the whole deal….
His pilot, a slender forty-something man with salt and pepper hair glanced over at him. "Think we can head back now, Stark?" He struck a match and lit (yet another) cigarette. A couple of puffs wafted over the concerted look he now shot the industrialist.
"We still have twelve hours, Richards. There's something we still need to do," Stark retorted. As Phillips had deduced, he held firm to his inner commitment. Maybe he didn't believe in Cap's continued existence as Peggy had hoped. Maybe he was wasting military time and resources.
Frankly he could give a damn….
Stark respected Steve Rogers enough to find his body and give it a proper burial. For his service, Rogers deserved no less.
"Whatever, Chief. It's your funeral. I don't want to deal with Command over it…or the Wife for that matter. Some of us still have Christmas to get ready for," Richards retorted allowing more than a few wisps of annoyance into his voice. "I'm not disappointing my kids because of your damn obsession."
Stark returned the pilot's glare with one of his own. "And what about Captain Rogers' family, Richards? Maybe they'd like some closure? Maybe I should radio Agent Carter when we get back to London? Maybe you'd like to face her?" His mustache twitched with annoyance before returning to the readings. "The metal detector I've added to the sonar should pick up on the Valkyrie's hull."
"The damn thing's buried under ice and snow up here," Richards interjected (for the dozenth time).
"Ice and snow which is constantly shifting, my doubting friend. Take that down, will you?" Stark watched his instruments carefully. He knew they were close to the last recorded place where Cap had been sighted in the air. "We are not that far from the sea. And…"
Richards glanced at the industrialist's instruments. On the screen, a faint blip appeared. "You've got a bite, Stark. Wanna circle around and check your tip up?"
Stark rolled his eyes at the sarcastic ice fishing assessment. He glanced up from the tinkering project he had on his lap and over at the screen. He almost dropped the new technology.
A blip….a blip…at last….
After months of searching sea and air fruitlessly, a sign had appeared….
"Cross referencing now," Stark announced. He flipped on his second device and waited for results.
"That thing? Come on! Your radiation detector drains our batteries faster than a freakin' spider sucks a bug dry!" Richards complained.
"I'll only need a couple of minutes. Patience." Stark urged while studying the screen in front of himself. After finding the tesseract cube on the sea floor, he deduced that its radiation would still linger on the Valkyrie's hull and cabin inside. The weapons buried therein also contained the cobalt radiation as well. Consequently, if one wanted to hunt for an aircraft which practically crackled with that energy, maybe a device that could detect it might be in order?
A device like the one to his left. A device which would light up just as blue as its targeted energy if he was right….
"Yeah after we crash too. Then you can join your buddy. Some rich boy, I…." Richards started.
Stark's eyes went wide. He grinned and almost bounced out of his seat like a child might've three days later. "DAMN! IT'S A MATCH! DO ANOTHER SWEEP OVER THAT SPOT!"
Richards stifled his objection but banked the Beech into a loop and retraced their steps. He wanted the Quixotic crusade over with. He wanted his wife's ham and beans not to mention a warm hearth. "Readings?"
The genius saw the bright blue flash again. "It's down there! Set us down as close to it as you can!"
"If we don't break the struts off first." Richards used three circles of the area to diminish their airspeed before setting them down on the ice flow as gingerly as possible. He managed to wheel them up beside what had seemed like an icy outcropping at first.
The winds however had blown off the accumulated snow. The shifting ice had left its quarry exposed for the moment.
Stark hurriedly unstrapped his seat belts. His heart beat faster with each passing second. His devices had done their job—a task which would be noted to the Allied commanders upon their return to London. Now though came the second part of the mission. He almost ripped open the supply closet and grabbed the heavy weather gear.
"You want us to go out there?" Richards wondered. He shook his head while undoing his own belt. "That's nuts!"
"Maybe, Richards. I came prepared." Stark produced two thin outfits resembling a cross between flannel underwear and an infant's pull ons. Each had a glittering appearance. "The insulators. Here put one on." He tossed one to his pilot. Then he took his own boots off and slipped his feet into the shoe shaped coverings.
"This is going to keep us warm?" The pilot had serious doubts about his passenger by now. He considered the glittering suit in his hands with trepidation. He glanced through the window toward the chill Arctic wastes outside. He shivered at the cold pressing in already.
"I tested it in a room chilled with liquid nitrogen. Not a scratch on me or the suits even after a morning's worth of exposure. Confidence, Richards, write that down," Stark assured him while securing the snaps down the covering's front. Then he slipped his boots and parka on. "Don't forget the hood or gloves." He finished covering himself while adding a set of goggles for good measure. As Richards followed his lead, he pulled a tank about a foot and a half long in length, an accompanying torch and a duffel bag. "Our means of entry. It's time to crash the Good Captain's party, eh?"
"I suppose you tried those in your whacked out icebox too?" Richards queried aghast.
Stark fought back his indignation choosing instead to smirk mischievously and get the other's goat all the more. Besides, in light of the odds, better to maintain some swagger for show if nothing else. "I wouldn't be taking them if I hadn't. Let's go, Richards. Sooner we get this done, the better." He slipped the tank on his back and put the torch over his shoulder. "Get the bag please? It's time to go."
"What's in this? More party favors?" Richards gibed half-seriously.
"A few things we'll need. Now can we?" Stark queried impatiently.
It's time to die. Christ, help us! Richards murmured a few Hail Marys and crossed himself before following the inventor outside with said duffel bag in tow.
[An hour later—Inside of the Valkyrie]
After a ten minute trek across the ice flow, a effort filled climb up the terrain and ship's hull and four attempts by Stark's 'super torch' to cut through Hydra's best material, the duo punched an entrance through the outside for themselves. They quickly lowered themselves to the metal siding underneath by means of a pair of well knotted ropes.
"We're in. We're really in here!" Richards realized aghast. He was beginning to think his passenger actually knew what he was doing. He unzipped the duffel and grabbed the portable lantern. Turning it on, he discovered a powerful spotlight that lit up a good chunk of the area on its own. "Wow!"
"I am prepared," Stark interjected with another goodly puff of sarcasm. He took the other lantern and swept it around the area. He beheld a variety of smaller biplanes in differing conditions but all wrecked beyond repair. The catwalk in front of them was twisted but still looked firm enough. "Watch yourself. We must press on."
"Got to hand it to you. These suits are warm too. Thanks," Richards admitted.
"No trouble at all. Follow me and bring the gear," Stark pressed while leading his pilot deeper into the ship itself.
[Another hour after that]
Fresh off of two dead ends, Stark tried to contain his own misgivings. He checked his wrist chrono several times to see that they were getting on for 2:30 local time. Only another hour before we have to leave. What rubbish!
"Sure you don't have a map in the bag?" Richards supposed.
"Hydra doesn't give out travel guides, my friend." Stark found an open door. "What's this?" He shone his wide light beam into the abyss beyond.
The lantern's beam revealed a huge cockpit area. It showed what seemed to be miles of mechanical instruments and dials. Levers and buttons lay smashed below their former bases.
"It's like a spaceship!" Richards presumed in awe.
Stark, although he didn't want to admit it, was just as impressed if not more so than his companion. Hydra had constructed a masterpiece. Based on what he'd seen thus far, there was no way he could even begin to duplicate the craft…at least not at that point.
…of course he wasn't about to admit that to anyone….
"Look for the radio!" he directed his pilot.
"Why's that?" the other man queried.
"Last thing Rogers did was to radio good bye. He may still be there!" Stark rushed around the cabin. He forced himself to ignore the technological wonders around himself. Once his goal was accomplished, he could record them for his own notes later.
The Captain was his primary focus at that point….
Come on, Rogers! Where are you? Stark wondered.
Richards slowly crept across the metallic flooring. He wanted to make sure nothing was going to shoot, stab or otherwise injure him. He waved his lantern's light around the command console area. "Radio's here! It's smashed up and…." He saw something against the left bulkhead glinting in the lantern. "Stark! Look!" He turned his beam toward the spot.
In the corner a familiar symbol caught the light and reflected a beckon back at them from under its icy prison…..
….a welcomed red and white circular pattern with a white star in its center….
Stark pumped his fists in the air with excitement. "I KNEW IT!" He rushed over to the spot. "Richards, the gear! NOW!" He stared in wonder; his senses awash in both triumph and awe over finding his friend's body after all of that time.
"On it!" By now the pilot had lost his doubts over this venture. He lugged the bag to the industrialist's side. "What first?"
Stark eyed the ice. He could see Steve's face under the clear covering. "Start chipping away on that side. We don't want to scar the body. We must be careful."
"I get it," the pilot agreed. He took short and pinpoint whacks at the ice.
Meantime Stark turned the torch on the ice prison's other side. Turning the setting to half power, he aimed the torch. "Soon you'll be resting in proper honor, my friend."
Even at a reduced setting, the powerful flame steamed its way through the ice. Melting cover rose through the chill air. If not for the torch's heat, it would've refrozen over its prisoner. Within fifteen minutes, it had cleared most of the ice.
"Stand back, Richards!" Stark directed as he finished the job.
Not for the last time did the pilot admire the other's genius. "Didn't think anything would cut like that through ice without this." He hefted the ice pick for emphasis.
"Such brutish tools. Really, Richards! Leave it to me," Stark affirmed. He checked over the fallen super soldier's body and puzzled over its condition.
The skin was still reddened and not bluish as he might've thought. Other than that, no signs of frostbite could be seen.
Cap's mouth remained in a perfect line with just a slight bit of opening.
"Amazing. He's…." Stark pushed his hand over his mouth to close it. Pulling it back, he saw something that made his eyes go wide.
A slight trace of frozen breath on the glove.
He pulled his face covering up a hair. He felt the Arctic biting chill but he had to try something.
"What the Hell? Stark!" Richards protested.
"Scientific method, my stubborn pilot," Stark affirmed while bending over Cap's face and put his exposed cheek close to it.
Sure enough a slow shallow breath moistened the exposed skin.
Stark backed up and yanked the mask back down. He cleared his throat as his mind sought to digest what had just happened.
"Stark! Hey, Stark! What's wrong?" Richards demanded. "You okay?"
Stark nodded slowly. He allowed a satisfied smile to cross his lips. "You know that salvage operation we're on?"
"Yeah? So I….We aren't just going to leave! No way!"
Stark glared at him. "Of course not! We're still on point, my good man. We're on a rescue mission now." He began rooting through the bag.
"Rescue mission? Why? I…Wait!" Richards demanded, "He's alive?"
"That is what rescue missions mean, correct?" Stark pulled out a rolled up cloth bundle. After untying it, he snapped a long heavy burlap bundle to its full length. His mind swam with details.
Somehow they had to get Cap out of there….
Somehow they had to get him back to the ship….
But Cap was alive!
Cap was alive!
Stark marveled at this occurrence. After everything, the puzzle was before them…
"You mean after the crash? And the ice? Damn!" Richards wondered.
"Yes, Mr. Richards. Now please help me while I lend my mind to this task please?" Stark affirmed while studying the area around themselves. He put his mind to work. Soon enough they would be free again.
It was just a matter of how.
And that is what he did best…..