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Chapter 18 - April 8, 1944 - East of Mechelen, Belgium

The rumble of the approaching caravan broke the silence of the spring morning. The Howling Commandos couldn't see it from their ambush point - concealed behind a small hill and a convenient bend in the road - but they knew what it contained: three cargo trucks full of energy cores for a Hydra weapons factory outside of Mechelen. The Howling Commandos were going to steal those trucks.

Stevie sat on her Harley, with Peggy behind her, pressed to her shield; Falsworth at the wheel of a jeep with the rest, waiting for her signal. The noise of the trucks grew closer, until it was a vibration they could feel coming up through the road. Stevie held up her hand. The men in the jeep nodded. She clenched her fist, and, with a roar of engines, kicked her motorcycle to life. Dugan gave a battle cry, Falsworth threw the jeep into gear, and the Howling Commandos smashed into the middle of the Hydra line.

The jeep slammed broadside into the central truck, trying to push it off the road, while Stevie pulled out in front of the caravan's rear escort, two guards on sleek, black, motorcycles. She twisted a knob, and caltrops spilled from a pair of panniers at the back of her bike. Too close to stop, one of the motorcycles hit the spikes at full speed and flipped end over end, flinging the rider like a ragdoll. Meanwhile, Peggy, ignoring everything else, carefully aimed over Stevie's shoulder and shot the driver of the rearmost truck.

The guard in the passenger's seat fought to regain control, swerving from one side of the road to the other, the driver slumped bonelessly against the door. Stevie brought the motorcycle up level with the weaving vehicle, and Peggy fired again, then leapt from the bike, pulling herself into the truck through the window.

Now it's time to do my job, Stevie thought. And take care of those motorcycles.

Putting on a burst of speed, Stevie passed the jeep. Falsworth was holding it steady while Dugan laid down covering fire. Morita and Dernier were crouched to spring at the lead truck - Bucky and Jones already clinging to the footboard of the second. As Stevie passed, Bucky wrenched the door open and pulled the driver out by his collar. Stevie barely had the time to whisper a prayer for his safety before she had to attend to her own. Two more guards on motorcycles were circling back toward toward the trucks, perhaps hoping to bring their own guns to bear on the jeep.

"Ladies first," Stevie murmured, and let rip with her gatling guns, handlebars shuddering in her hands like a jackhammer. The bullets caught one guard in the side, knocking him off his bike. The other motorcycle veered to the side and looped around the trucks joining the remaining rear guard on Stevie's six as she sped down the road, long braid streaming behind her like a banner.

"Come and get me!" She called, over the noise of her engine. Your boss would be so happy if you did.

Stevie risked a quick glance behind. Yes. The two Hydra motorcycles were following her. That would keep them off the men's backs. She veered sharply off the road, weaving between the trees in a nerve-wracking, high-speed slalom. The guards were gaining on her with a strange, high pitched whine - experimental engines? Stevie didn't have much time to wonder about it - safely away from the trucks and their potentially explosive cargo, the guards began shooting. Blue bolts of energy smashed the trees on either side of her, sending an explosion of splinters into her face.

Stevie shielded her eyes with one arm, barely keeping the bike under control. This better work, she thought, as she pulled a trigger under her left handlebar.

A harpoon shot from the front of the bike, embedding itself in the trunk of the nearest tree and trailing what Stark had called an "ultra high tensile carbon filament." Stevie pulled hard to the left, cutting in front of the outriders and stringing the wire through the trees directly in their path. The lead rider caught the wire right in the neck, but the second rider was luckier. He flattened himself over his handlebars and wrenched his bike around, spraying dirt, to come after Stevie.

Just one left.

Stevie released the wire, racing back towards the road - she could see the trucks in front of her, through the trees. The guard couldn't use his energy gun so close to the caravan, but he fired his pistol at Stevie's back, bullets pinging off her shield. An idea flashed through Stevie's mind - it could take out the guard, but she'd have to remove the shield. It'd be her shot against his.

But I'm faster.

As they came up on the rearmost truck, Stevie unslung her shield and hurled it directly at the metal cargo doors, ducking as the shield passed over her, close enough to ruffle her hair. This time, the guard didn't dodge - he had been lining up one last shot, and the shield hit him square in the teeth.

Peggy drove the lead truck with Stevie in the passenger seat - hair tucked up under a guard's helmet, patriotic body armor hidden for the moment under a black jacket. The rest of the Howling Commandos were similarly dressed at the wheels of the other trucks, their more distinctive features hidden by Hydra-standard goggles and masks. The disguise wasn't perfect, but all it had to do was get them through the gates. Then they would storm the factory and rescue the prisoners, distributing them through the Comet Line to safety. Stevie imagined the moment when she'd take off her Hydra disguise, and they'd recognize her - the guards with horror, the prisoners with joy. The moment when all her preparation would pay off.

Not long now.

But as soon as she saw the factory, Stevie felt her whole body tense - something was wrong.

"The gate is open," she said, a nameless dread rising in her. "Look, no guards."

"Shit," Peggy said, under her breath.

She brought the truck to a halt, and Stevie leapt out. The iron gates in the wall that surrounded the factory complex were wide open, an eerie hush hanging over the enclosure. The Howling Commandos formed up around her, all with the same question, unspoken, in their eyes. Was it a trap?

If there's any chance the prisoners are here...

Stevie nodded to the men and they followed her across the gravel drive to the main factory entrance, running in a crouch with their weapons ready, skin crawling, expecting to be shot any moment. Even with her enhanced eyes, Stevie couldn't see guards at any of the windows.

The factory's main door was open as well, just a crack.

Stevie brought the men up short.

No tripwires. She listened, straining her senses. No movement.

There was something though, something - off. Something like a scent that prickled at the back of her throat. What was it? She signalled the others, and together, they burst through the door.

The smell hit her first - a stink of blood and rot - so strong inside the building that Stevie was surprised she hadn't recognized it before. And then she saw the bodies. There must have been over a hundred of them, limbs akimbo, lying where they had fallen. Peggy gave a strangled sob, and Jones vomited against the wall. Stevie's gun and shield slipped from fingers suddenly numb and cold.

The guards cleared the place out, Stevie thought, strangely calm. They loaded up everything they could. Then they lined up the prisoners, and they shot them. And left them here, for me to find.

In the middle of the floor was a small table, something on it covered in a sheet incongruously white among all the carnage. Stevie walked to it carefully, pulled the cloth away. It was a film projector. Removing the cloth must have tripped something, because it whirred to life, and the black-and-white image of Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull, appeared on the wall.

"Greetings, Fraulein Rodgers." He sat in a leather, high backed chair, his voice just a little off from the movement of his shriveled lips. "You and your little friends have been very busy. You have made quite a lot of trouble for me here in Belgium. Not very nice at all!" He wagged a finger.

At the sound of his voice, Stevie felt her blood turn to ice within her.

"So I have left you this message." The Red Skull gestured out, as if at the charnel house around them. "And this warning - if I hear that you are planning to attack any of my other bases, if I get the least suspicion, I will kill all the prisoners, and you can carry their corpses home. Let the masses celebrate you then."

At some point, Stevie had clenched her fists - her nails were biting into her palms.

"There is a way for you to stop this, however, Fraulein." The man leaned forward in his chair, his terrible visage triumphant. "Give yourself up to Hydra. Then no one else will have to die...not even your friends. Simply turn yourself over to - "

There was a bang, and Stevie whirled around. Bucky, pistol in hand, fired again and again into the square body of the projector, until his gun was empty and he kicked the table over. The projector sparked and fizzled on the floor.

"What do we do, Captain?" Dugan asked.

They were all looking at her, Stevie realized - looking to her for guidance, for direction. She wanted to scream, to howl, to weep, but she crushed the feeling down inside herself.

"We're going to bury them," she said. "Gather up their dog tags, any personal effects. Dernier," she switched to French. "How much TNT do you have?"

"Enough," he said.

Stevie's hands were sticky and her armored shirt was stained by the time they were done. She and the other Howling Commandos had laid out the bodies in rows, all one-hundred-sixty-two of them, arms crossed over their chests, eyes closed. All the while, Dernier had been setting charges around the perimeter of the room. When they got far enough away from the building, he handed Stevie the detonator, and waited.

They expect me to say something, she realized.

"Oh, God," she began, trying to remember fragments from her father's funeral. The Commandos took their hats off.

"We commend to you these men, who fought and died in the service of freedom and decency, and we vow," her voice caught for a moment. "We vow that they will not have died in vain. Grant them eternal rest."

"Amen," the Commandos muttered. Dernier and Bucky crossed themselves, and Stevie pressed the button, bringing the factory down - a monument and a tomb.

As they walked back to the trucks, the dead men's dog tags jingled in their pockets.

There it is - the string of victories is broken. This week's chapter is a bit shorter than the last, but I felt this was a very natural endpoint and decided to stop for thematic and pacing reasons. Good news - this means Chapter 19 will be ready next Sunday and you'll finally read the story of that train heist I've been telling you about for the past, like, month now.

In personal news, I'm applying for a job, so send any prayers, good thoughts, positive energy and whatnot my way, please.