At last, the big escape scene! Not gonna lie, I was looking forward to this chapter the entire time I was writing. I hope you enjoy it too. :-)

Thanks to everyone for following, favoriting, and just reading. You have no idea how much it means to me.

Chapter 10 - November 2-3, 1943 - Kreischberg

The two women crouched beneath the trees, contemplating the blocky, concrete building that squatted in front of them. It was composed of two wings, one larger, with huge bay doors and smokestacks - clearly the factory - the other wing off to the side, probably where the prisoners were kept when they weren't being used as slave labor. Floodlights bathed the facility in harsh white light, leaving the treeline deep in shadow. Peggy and Stevie had circled the building, scouting for the best point of entry, and now they were looking at it - a small door at the rear of the factory wing, close to the trees, watched by a solitary guard. Seeing the lack of security, Stevie could only assume that Hydra hadn't expected anyone to break in.

"What's the plan?" Stevie whispered as quietly as she could. "Sneak in?"

"Stealth would be easier if you hadn't brought that along," Peggy replied, pointing to the star-spangled shield Stevie carried on her back.

"Shields can be very useful in hand-to-hand combat," Stevie said defensively. "And I don't think we would be able to disguise ourselves as guards anyway." She pointed to her own ample chest. "We don't seem the type."

Peggy grinned. "The old washerwoman trick is probably right out as well."

"Here's my idea," said Stevie. "I'll make some noise, lure him out here. Then, you can drop him from behind."

"I like it," said Peggy. "With one alteration - I'll lure him out, you drop him." She held up her hand to forestall Stevie's objection. "You're stronger than I am. More likely to knock him out with one blow."

Stevie hesitated, then nodded. Peggy slipped into the trees without a sound. A minute later, Stevie heard a rustling in the undergrowth. Somehow Peggy managed to make the exact amount of noise someone would if they were trying not to make any noise at all - a slight crunch of dry leaves, the whisper of fabric against branches. The guard at the door looked around, and stepped closer to the trees. Like all the guards they had seen, he wore a full face mask and goggles, which gave him the look of a giant insect.

"Wer ist da?" He called, voice slightly muffled by his mask.

There was another furtive step from Peggy. A branch cracked. The guard raised his machine gun.

"Ist jemand hier?"

Stevie stepped out of the shadows on his left side. "Guten tag," she said, and punched him in the face. He dropped like a sack of coal.

Peggy emerged from the trees and gave Stevie a wry look.

"It's all I remember from high school German," Stevie said.

At first glance, the inside of the factory looked like Stevie would have expected the inside of a factory to look. Machinery of unknown purpose, half-assembled tanks, curved sections of metal that brought to mind rockets and missiles. Then, Stevie saw the...she guessed they were batteries of some sort - circular bundles of cables the size of truck tires, lying on tables and set into the workings of engines. Each bundle was studded with what looked like small glass boxes, boxes that glowed with a strange blue luminescence, like captured starlight. Creeping closer to one of the batteries, Stevie pulled at a blue box and it came free in her hand. It was about the size of a pack of cigarettes, smooth and cool to the touch, but with a tiny buzz that vibrated in her fingertips.

Stark will love getting his hands on this, she thought. She slipped it into her pocket and, with Peggy, continued to advance into the building.

They crept around the perimeter of the factory floor toward the doors that would lead them to the prison, concealing themselves behind large curving sections of tank armor. Stevie felt as edgy as a stray cat, looking around constantly for guards, but the women reached the other side of the factory without seeing anyone. There were four doors, two at ground level, two partway up the wall, accessible by a metal staircase bolted into the concrete. Peggy gestured that she would take the ground floor, and Stevie the stairs.

Stevie drew the pistol Peggy had given her and walked up the stairs as quietly as she could. The door at the top had a glass panel at eye level, and she peered through cautiously into the prison - at her level, a catwalk ran all the way around the large room. The cells were below the catwalk so the guards could look down into them - bare metal and concrete, no beds, no blankets, the men inside huddled together against the chill. A guard came around the corner suddenly and Stevie ducked out of view. When his back was to her, she waved at Peggy and mouthed "I'm going in." Peggy nodded.

Stevie waited for the guard to circle the prison. Would she have to shoot him? She looked at the pistol in her hand. I don't want to kill anyone, she had told Dr. Erskine long ago, before watching him die. She still didn't want to. Not if there were another way. Stevie put her gun back in its holster. When the guard rounded the corner again, she slipped through the door and dropped him with a haymaker as soon as he turned around.

Piece of cake.

She fumbled in his pockets, and - yes! - there was a set of keys. Below her the pale ovals of faces peered up through the metal grating.

"Hi, fellas," she said with her best chorus-girl smile.

"Who are you?" One of them said, voice a blend of hopeful and hostile.

"Um…" Sal had been right. In the middle of such an act of derring-do, she couldn't introduce herself as 'Stephanie Grace Rodgers.'

"I'm Captain America."

On the ground level, Peggy and Stevie opened the cells with the guard's liberated keys. In every cell, Stevie looked for Bucky, but he wasn't there. When she asked the men, they told her there was some kind of lab on the floor above them. Sometimes prisoners were taken there by the doctor - Zola. Stevie's neck prickled at the name. In Peggy's story, she remembered, Zola had been interested in "the limits of human potential." She wasn't surprised when the men told her that those taken to the lab never returned.

Stevie and Peggy reunited in the middle of the room, the crowd of freed prisoners all around them, hushed but eager.

"What's the plan, Cap?" One of the men asked. He was as tall as Stevie and built like a refrigerator, with a big ginger mustache and a battered bowler hat that bore a sergeant's bars.

"The tanks and trucks are outside the northwest corner," she said. "From there, the treeline is eighty yards away. Capture as many tanks as you can, hit them as hard as you can, and then get the hell out of Dodge."

"My kind of plan," said the man.

"I don't like leaving all this behind us," said Peggy, pointing over her shoulder at the factory.

"You suggesting sabotage?" Stevie asked.

At the word, an exclamation in French came out of the crowd - a small man with a black mustache and disheveled, curly hair pushed himself in front of the rest, delivering an earnest monologue of which Stevie caught about one word in four. Peggy responded fluently, and the man laughed and clapped his hands.

"Luckily, we have an expert in sabotage right here," Peggy said. "Monsieur Dernier worked with the Resistance. Demolitions."

"Okay," Stevie said to the group. "Here's the plan. Agent Carter, take Dernier and any other men who want to go with you. Sergeant..."

"Dugan," said the big man.

"Sergeant Dugan, lead the team going out the front. Agent Carter's team will wait until you engage the guards - that way, they won't be able to come back and defend the factory."

The prisoners murmured as they passed the information from man to man and started to shuffle around into Dugan's group or Peggy's. Stevie turned to go.

"Wait," Peggy said. "Where are you going?"

"To clear the lab upstairs," Stevie said. "There might still be men up there." Bucky might still be up there, she thought. If Peggy guessed at Stevie's motivation, she gave no sign.

"By yourself?" She asked, frowning.

Another man stepped out of the group, scruffy, with a patchy beard and a shapeless knit cap. His eyes were almond-shaped and so dark they were almost black. Stevie thought he might be Japanese.

"Take me with you," he said. "I'm a medic - if anyone's hurt up there, I can help. And I can watch your back."

Sergeant Dugan scoffed. "Oh, you'll watch her back? Sure you won't stab her in it?"

The shorter man pulled his dog tags out of his shirt and held them up under Dugan's nose.

"I'm from Fresno, Ace," he said challengingly.

"Hey," Stevie said, stopping the men in their tracks. "We don't have time for this now. Dugan, take the outside team. Carter, Dernier, take the sabotage team. We only have one chance, so give 'em hell."

They were nodding. Wow, Stevie thought. They're listening to me. They're doing what I say. Weird.

She turned to the medic. "What's your name?"

"Morita," he said. "Corporal Jim Morita."

"Alright, Corporal. You're with me."

Morita led Stevie to the second floor, which was dark, silent, abandoned, and decidedly eerie. They walked down a long, broad corridor - Stevie on the left and Morita on the right - opening each door in turn and shaking their heads at each other as one room after another turned up empty. The corridor ended in a t-junction, and Stevie gestured to Morita that she should take the left path and he the right - meeting back here when they were done. Morita nodded.

Stevie crept down the left path, checking the rooms. Empty. Empty. Empty - wait, there was something on the wall, a map. Stevie paused for a second to look closer. It was a map of Europe, studded with little black flags.

Interesting, she thought.

There was no time to spare. Stevie stepped back into the corridor - and froze. Someone was there, at the end of the hall, silhouetted against the light that streamed in through the windows - a short man, carrying a valise, the light glinting off a pair of spectacles. He saw Stevie and broke into a shuffling run. She began to run after him, knowing she could catch him easily - until a voice coming from behind a half-open door brought her up short.

"Sergeant...32557038...Barnes...James Buchanan...Sergeant...32557038…."

Hardly daring to believe her own senses, Stevie pushed the door open. Lying on what looked like a padded dentist's chair, bathed in sickly green light, was - undoubtedly, in the flesh - Bucky Barnes. The surge of relief Stevie felt was so powerful she nearly buckled at the knees, and if the situation were any less dire, she probably would have. She covered the distance between them in two quick steps. Bucky stared blankly up at the light, mumbling his name, rank and serial number over and over, his wrists and ankles strapped down with heavy leather cuffs. Stevie's imagination skittered off in several unpleasant directions.

"Oh my God, Bucky," she said breathlessly. She tried to unbuckle the straps holding him to the chair, gave up, and tore them off. They parted in her hands like paper. "It's me; it's Stevie."

It was like Bucky was coming back from somewhere deep inside himself - his sea-green eyes focused slowly, found Stevie's face, and he smiled so sweetly that it almost broke her heart.

"Stevie," he said, his voice hoarse.

She helped Bucky up from the chair, holding onto his arms to make sure he didn't fall. Out of the green light, she could see the half-healed bruises running down one side of his face, the split lip, the boxer's cut over one eye. Someone had beaten the hell out of him.

What did they do to you?

Without thinking she reached out and touched his cheek. He winced and she drew back.

"I thought you were dead," she said, tears stinging at the backs of her eyes.

"I thought you were smaller," he replied, staring at her. He seemed confused, woozy, maybe drugged.

Stevie laughed, but stopped before it could turn into a sob. "Come on," she said, pulling his arm over her shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

When he had hugged her that night at the World Expo, before he left, Bucky had felt strong and solid, like a wall that would always protect her. Now, leaning against her, he felt shrunken, fragile. Stevie could feel his ribs through his tattered shirt, and for an instant she wanted nothing more than to pick him up and carry him all the way back to Brooklyn where he would be safe.

"What happened to you?" he asked as she half helped, half dragged him from the room.

"I joined the Marines," she said.

"Did it hurt?"

He seemed to become more present, more aware with every step they took.

"A little," she lied.

"Is it permanent?"

"So far."

Morita was waiting at the junction with two other men, who looked the worse for wear, but not as bad as Bucky. Seeing them, Bucky stepped away from Stevie to stand on his own, swaying slightly.

"Zola was keeping them in cages, the sick son of a bitch," Morita said. "Barnes, good to see you, man."

The two other men were named Brooks and McDaniel, Brooks a young man who still had acne scars on his cheeks, McDaniel a grizzled father of two. Stevie was shaking hands with them and accepting their thanks when she heard Bucky growl.

"Get your hands off me!"

Morita held up his hands as if calming an injured animal, and no wonder. Bucky - jaw clenched, teeth bared, hands in fists - looked moments away from attacking him.

"Easy, man," the medic said. "Just wanted to make sure you were ok. That's a bad shiner you've got."

"Don't," Bucky snarled. "Don't touch me. Just don't."

"Fellas," Stevie said. They quieted instantly. "Do you hear that?"

Coming up the hall, the smack of boots echoed on the tiled floor. The lab wasn't was abandoned as they thought.

"Go, go go!" Stevie hissed, taking her shield from her back and her pistol from her thigh holster. She pushed the others ahead of her down the hallway - reasoning that, if the short man had vanished, there must be an exit that way.

The men broke into a run as best as they could. The guards began running too; Stevie could hear them getting louder, calling out in German. The men slipped through a door at the end of the hallway, Stevie bringing up the rear. As the guards turned the corner and lifted their machine guns, Stevie snapped the knob off the door and slammed it behind her.

That'll take them a few minutes, she thought.

The door opened onto a catwalk - this one overlooking the factory floor, with a bridge to the opposite wall and, presumably, the exit. Behind Stevie came the thump of the guards trying to kick down the door, just as the noise of muffled shouts and gunfire came from outside. Dugan's team had engaged, which meant that Peggy's team would light up the factory any minute. It was time to get out.

"Ah, Captain America! How exciting," A voice called from the other side of the factory. German-accented, gloating and superior. "I am a great fan of your films."

The men around Stevie stiffened. The owner of the voice was a tall, lean man all in black leather - gloves, high boots and a long coat. He had a high forehead and a cruel, sneering mouth. At his side scuttled a man who could only be the figure Stevie had seen in the hallway - short and round, bald, with wire-rimmed glasses and a pinched, cringing face like some kind of rodent.

"Schmidt," growled Morita, which Stevie supposed made the shorter man Doctor Zola. Brooks and McDaniel were certainly looking at him with undisguised fear. Bucky, eyes fixed on the little man, looked like he might throw up.

"So Doctor Erskine managed it after all."

Schmidt swaggered up to the bridge and began to cross. Shield up, gun at her side, Stevie stepped onto the bridge as well, putting herself between this monster and her men. The two antagonists met in the middle, and Schmidt looked her up and down, lip curled into a derisive sneer.

"Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive," he said. "In a way."

"You've got no idea," Stevie said defiantly. This man was the architect of so much death. How dare he stand there passing judgement on Doctor Erskine's work - a man he had as good as murdered himself? How dare he even mention Erskine's name?

"Haven't I?" Schmidt chuckled. "You see, no matter what Erskine told you I was his greatest success."

He was close enough for Stevie to touch. Now was her chance - she could shoot him and put an end to everything. She raised her pistol, but Schmidt was faster - slapping her across the face before she could fire. The gun flew out of Stevie's hand and she staggered against the guardrail, head ringing. Behind her, the men cried out. She felt Schmidt step closer and raised her shield over her head just in time to block a strike like a hammer blow that would have caught her in the neck. The blow landed with a crack that shot all the way down Stevie's left side, and her shield split lengthwise down the middle.

Before Schmidt could recover from her unexpected block, Stevie knocked him off balance with a sweep of her cracked shield and gave him a hard jab right in the eye. He stumbled back from her, clutching his face, patting at the skin of his cheek like someone making sure a wig hadn't slipped. Under his hand, Stevie saw a line of red below one eye.

He was clawing at his skin, she remembered Peggy saying on their overnight drive long ago. There was something wet and red beneath.

At that moment, an explosion detonated directly below them - Peggy's team had succeeded. Stevie and Schmidt both fell to a crouch as the bridge lost a support beam somewhere and began to detach from the wall. Scrambling backward, Stevie barely made it onto the catwalk before the bridge collapsed.

"You are deluded, Fraulein!" Schmidt shouted over the shriek of tortured metal and overloading generators coming from below. He too had reached the catwalk safely, where he stood beside a terrified Zola.

"You smile and strut for the cameras, but you are afraid to admit you have left humanity behind," he smiled manically. The light of the burning equipment gave his face a demonic glow. "I embrace it proudly!"

At that he gripped the back of his neck, and, to Stevie's horror, peeled off his face like a rubber mask.

"What...the hell?" Morita breathed.

No nose, no ears - Schmidt's face, his real face, was like tight red leather stretched over an animated skull, in which a pair of blue eyes glittered madly.

A red skull, Stevie thought inanely. It's a red skull.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky asked, voice choked with terror. But that wasn't possible. Bucky wasn't afraid of anything.

Another explosion rocked the factory. Zola pulled frantically at Schmidt's arm, and - although he didn't deign to look at the smaller man - Schmidt turned with a flourish and strode briskly out of the building, trying to make it look like he wasn't running for his life.

There was no other bridge to join the two catwalks - but a few yards along they found a beam running the width of the factory, part of a huge gantry, that the men could cross carefully one by one. Stevie insisted that the men go ahead of her - even Bucky, despite his objections - since she was the most able-bodied member of the group by far. When Bucky was about halfway across, and Stevie was about to begin crossing herself, the door behind her finally burst open, the three Hydra guards charging through onto the catwalk, guns raised.

"Erschieẞen!" The lead guard shouted, pointing at the men.

Oh, no you don't.

Stevie rushed the guards with a wordless cry. They shot at her, but not fast enough - Stevie had already ducked and rolled under the burst of gunfire. Coming up, she scooped her cracked shield under the lead guard's chest and her free arm under his leg, and heaved him over the guardrail - dropping him to the burning factory floor two stories down. She grabbed the second guard by the back of the head and slammed his face into the concrete wall with a sound like someone cracking open a lobster. As he fell, she drove the top of her broken shield up under the third guard's chin as hard as she could - so hard that it splintered completely apart. He dropped, twitching, and then was still.

I don't want to kill anyone, she had told Doctor Erskine. She had just killed three people without even breaking a sweat.

They would have shot me, and Bucky, and the rest, she thought. Then, I should take the guns - we'll definitely need those.

She had exchanged her splintered shield for the pair of machine guns and was running down the catwalk when the gantry, weakened by the fires and detonations below, groaned like a dying thing and fell, leaving her staring at Bucky across the width of the factory. She'd have to go back through the prison to get out, braving who knows how many guards.

"Just go!" She shouted to the men on the other side. "Get out of here!"

Morita and the others hesitated, but not Bucky.

"No!" He shouted, as if he could buoy her over the gap with the power of his words. "Not without you!"

Even across the factory she could see his eyes fixed on hers, body rigid, stubborn determination in every line. There were at least fifty feet between him and Stevie; could she jump that far? Might as well try, or he'd stay here and let the building burn down around his ears, the idiot. Stevie took a deep breath and back up to give herself a running start.

Here goes nothing, she thought.

One, two, three steps - and she launched herself into the air, pushing off the guardrail with a powerful leap. She soared in a way that would have been exhilarating if it weren't so terrifying - pinwheeling her arms and legs as if would help her push herself through the air. A ball of fire bloomed ahead of her, and she crossed her arms over her face, shutting her eyes tight. She felt the blast of heat, the end of her braid singing off, and then she was crashing into someone, rolling on hard metal

"Ouch," Bucky said. She had landed half on top of him. "You got really heavy, Stevie."

"Is that any way to talk to a lady?" she said, and, pulling him to his feet, dragged him out of the factory behind Morita and the rest, before the whole catwalk came crashing down behind them.

Notes: More minor plot changes in this chapter - to fix my pet peeves, mainly. :-)

Language notes:

You can probably guess these from context, but here they are, anyway.

Wer ist da? - Who's there?

Ist jemand hier? - Is someone there?

Erschieẞen! - Shoot them!

If I got anything wrong, I apologize to all speakers of German!