by Alex Irvine
The click of heels on the ground made Steve look up. He stifled a groan. Peggy Carter was walking toward him. He hadn’t seen her since he had gone out on his “tour of duty,” and he really didn’t feel like seeing her now. She probably thought he was a joke, too. And he didn’t want to see the disappointment in her beautiful eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Officially I’m not here at all,” she replied. She took a seat next to him, and he met her gaze. He was surprised to see compassion there instead of disappointment, and his heart jumped in his chest. “That was quite a performance,” she said, her voice gentle.
Steve shrugged. “The crowds I’m used to are usually more, uh…”
“I understand you’re America’s new hope,” she said, quoting one of the many newspaper headlines about Captain America.
“Senator Brandt’s idea,” Steve said. “At least he’s got me doing this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.” Then he sighed. He shouldn’t take out his frustration on Peggy.
“And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey?”
“You know,” he went on, “all I dreamed about was coming overseas, being with the men on the lines, seeing you. And I finally get everything I wanted… and I’m wearing tights.”
For a moment, Peggy didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Steve’s words had made her heart beat faster. He had wanted to see her? Did that mean what she thought it meant?
Shaking her head, she smiled at Steve. “I thought you looked dashing, but I rather did have a thing for Errol Flynn in Robin Hood,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.
“The worst part is,” Steve said, so lost in his own misery that he missed Peggy’s obvious flirtation, “I was starting to buy it.”
“None of us thought it would turn out like this,” Peggy said. “But you’ve done well.”
Steve knew that Peggy was only trying to help. Still, he was tired of thinking about Captain America, because every time he did, a fresh wave of humiliation rolled over him. Changing the subject, he asked, “What about you?” He had been kept vaguely informed of what Peggy and Phillips had been doing since Kruger attacked the lab. He knew that they’d been chasing Hydra. But he also knew that they had had little luck. From the look on Peggy’s face, he knew the reports were right.
“We got word that Schmidt was moving a force through Azzano, testing some kind of new weaponry,” she said after hesitating. “Two hundred men went in,” she went on. “Fewer than fifty came back. Your adoring crowd tonight contained all that’s left of the One Hundred and Seventh.”
Steve sat bolt upright. “One Hundred and Seventh?” he repeated.
Peggy nodded. “Yes, why?”
He didn’t bother to explain. Pulling her up, Steve began hurrying her down the bleachers, heading toward the tents. He had to see Colonel Phillips—now. The 107th had been his father’s unit in the Great War. It was the unit he’d always wanted to get into, before he’d gotten sidetracked into this Super-Soldier business. But there was a more pressing reason for Steve’s reaction to finding out that he was with the 107th now.
The 107th was Bucky’s unit. And he hadn’t been in the audience. Steve felt panic grip him. Had Bucky been captured? Or worse?
A few minutes later, Steve burst inside Phillips’s tent. The colonel had arrived with Peggy after their last unsuccessful attempt to find Hydra. Now he had the miserable task of going through the paperwork to see who had survived the Azzano attack. There were a lot of names to go through.
When Steve entered the tent, Phillips’s eyes narrowed. He took in Steve’s ridiculous costume and wondered, not for the first time, what Brandt had been thinking. “Well, if it isn’t the Star-Spangled Man with the Plan,” he said.
“I need the casualty list from Azzano,” Steve demanded.
Phillips raised an eyebrow. Then he pointed at the insignia on his collar stating his rank. “You don’t get to give me orders, son,” he said. Was this kid for real? Did he think that even with a fake title like “captain,” he could order him around? But Steve wasn’t going to be dissuaded.
“I don’t need the whole list,” he went on. “Just one name. Sergeant James Barnes. From the One Hundred and Seventh.”
“You and I are going to have a conversation later that you won’t enjoy,” Phillips said.
“Please tell me he’s alive, sir. B-A-R…”
“I can spell,” the colonel said. “I’ve signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count.”
He began to leaf through the giant pile of papers in front of him. Each paper had the name, title, and contact information of a man who had been killed in the line of duty. “The name does sound familiar,” he finally said. He couldn’t find the paper now, but he was sure that Barnes was one of the casualties. “I’m sorry.”
Steve paled. Bucky had died fighting while Steve had been playing a clown. It wasn’t fair. Turning, Steve’s eyes fell on one of the maps that Phillips had tacked to the wall. It showed aerial footage of a Hydra facility. Given that the SSR had just lost men in the same vicinity, Steve figured this was where the prisoners of war were being held.
“What about the others?” he asked, turning back to the colonel. “You’re planning a rescue mission, right?”
The colonel started in his seat, as though about to stand up and hit Steve for insubordination. But a glance from Peggy stopped him. Instead, he just said, “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.” The men from the 107th were a lost cause. Sending in a team to try to rescue them would only result in more casualties that the army couldn’t afford.
“But if you know where they are—” Steve started to say, but Phillips stopped him.
“They’re thirty miles behind the lines,” he said. “Through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save. Now if I read the posters correctly, you’ve got someplace to be in thirty minutes.”
Phillips meant the next show, but when Steve said, “Yes, sir, I do,” he meant something else.
Then, with a nod, Phillips dismissed Steve.
Turning, Steve left the tent. Phillips may not have had any intention of rescuing those men, but Steve wasn’t going to sit by and do nothing. Not anymore. He’d figure out a way to get to that facility. He had to. He owed it to Bucky.
“What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?” Peggy asked.
“If that’s what it takes.”
“You heard the colonel. Your friend is most likely dead.”
Steve would not accept this. He turned to Peggy. “You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”
“Every word,” she said.
“Then you gotta let me go,” he said.
Peggy thought about it. Come on, Steve thought. You know I’m wasted here. You know I can do some good. Let me prove it.… Please let me prove it.
“I can do more than that,” she said.
Steve grabbed one of the dancing girls’ USA helmets—the one with the A on it—and dashed off. It was time for action. Captain America was about to go behind enemy lines to rescue captured American soldiers. Steve Rogers was finally going to war.
CHAPTER 8
And so, later that night, Steve found himself inside the belly of a giant silver jet. On the bench across from him, Peggy Carter sat going over details of his seemingly impossible mission. In the cockpit, Howard Stark checked dials and instrument readings as he flew the plane farther and farther into enemy territory. He was the only pilot Peggy could find who was crazy enough to fly into enemy territory—and who didn’t have to answer to Colonel Phillips. “The Hydra camp is in Krossberg,” Stark was shouting over the sound of the engines. “It’s up between these two mountain ranges. We should be able to drop you around the doorstep.”
“Just get me as close as you can,” Steve said. He would handle the rest of it himself.
Only Peggy and Stark knew what
Steve was up to, and Steve shuddered at the thought of Phillips finding out. If discovered, he would surely be court-martialed and discharged from the army. But Steve wasn’t about to just keep sitting around. He had seen the map. He had superstrength. And if he failed, Phillips would probably be happy to have Captain America out of his hair. Steve just wished Peggy hadn’t put herself on the line for him.
“You know you two are going to be in a lot of trouble when you land,” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough to carry above the whine of the engines.
“And you won’t?” Peggy answered.
“Where I’m going, if anybody yells at me I can just shoot them.”
“And they will undoubtedly shoot back.” Peggy didn’t say it, but Steve was worth the risk. After all, she’d seen him try harder than anyone else back at Camp Lehigh, even when the odds were stacked against him. And now his best friend was presumed dead and others had been captured. Of course Peggy would help.… Plus this would be the first real test of Dr. Erskine’s Super-Soldier program. She had waited a long time for it.
Turning around in his seat, Stark smiled his charming smile. Unlike Steve and Peggy, he didn’t seem bothered by the late-night stealth mission. In fact, he looked more confident and charming than usual.
“Well, let’s hope this is good for something, Agent Carter,” he said, focusing his handsome grin on Peggy. “If you’re not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for late-night fondue.”
Heat rushed to Peggy’s cheeks as Steve raised an eyebrow. She grinned at the obvious jealousy on his face. “Stark’s the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen,” she said in response to Steve’s reaction. “And mad enough to brave this airspace. We’re lucky to have him.”
“So you two?” Steve hesitated, causing Peggy to grin even more. “Do you… fondue?”
He was cut off by the sudden sound of gunfire. The plane lurched to the left as more guns hammered at its side. They were close to the drop zone, and Hydra didn’t want them there. “This is your transponder,” Peggy said, handing him the small device. “Activate it when you’re ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.”
Steve eyed it skeptically. “Are you sure this thing works?”
“It tested more than you, pal,” Stark said from the cockpit. Pulling on his parachute, Steve opened the jump door.
The plane tilted left and then right as Stark executed evasive maneuvers. Still, the side of the plane was getting pummeled with bullets. Steve had to get out of there now before they all went down.
“Once I’m clear, turn this thing around,” he said, looking at Peggy, “and get out of here!”
“You can’t give me orders,” Peggy shouted over the howling wind.
Steve just smiled. “Yes I can. I’m a captain!”
And then, before she could say anything else, Steve jumped, disappearing from view.
The air rushed by, whipping Steve’s hair and pulling at his clothes. Somewhere above him, he was vaguely aware that Stark had turned the plane around and was heading toward safer airspace. The guns went quiet, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Peggy and Stark would be okay.
He had a set count based on the plane’s altitude when he jumped. Three, two, one… He reached it and pulled the rip cord. When the chute deployed, it slowed him so much that it felt like he was being pulled up—even though in reality he was just slowing down. When he felt steady, Steve looked down, trying to see if he could spot a clear landing place. But the only thing he could see was the flash of gunfire as bullets flew through the air.
The parachute had two steering ropes with wooden handles. They didn’t help much, but they were all he had. He hauled on them, trying to angle the chute away from the enemy fire, but it was no use. Bullets ripped through the chute, and Steve began falling faster and faster. Luckily, he had made it pretty close to the ground before the shooting started, and now the forest was only about twenty feet below. Unhooking himself, Steve used his shield to brace for impact as he plummeted to the ground. Crashing through the trees as they ripped at his clothes and scratched his face, Steve landed with a thud. The gunfire stopped. The enemy must have assumed the fall had killed him. If he hadn’t had Erskine’s serum, they would have been right.
But as things stood, Captain America was alive and behind enemy lines, mere miles from the Hydra base.
It was time to go save some soldiers.
Moments later, Steve found himself outside the main gates to the Hydra factory. It was just where Peggy had said it would be. It was also just as heavily guarded, as she had warned. Searchlights swept from several watchtowers along the perimeter, while thick barbed wire sat atop the wall surrounding the compound. Steve could make out the main factory building, which was billowing smoke while heavily armed Hydra troopers marched back and forth across the grounds.
Steve needed a plan. Clearly he wasn’t going to be able to just waltz right in there and ask for the prisoners back. The dark was suddenly illuminated by headlights as a convoy of three trucks pulled up to the gate. This was his break. As the driver of the first truck stopped to clear his entrance with the guard, Steve snuck over to the last vehicle and—making sure no one saw him—jumped inside. All he had to do was KO a couple of guards inside and hide underneath a tarp. Piece of cake. A moment later, the truck started up again and drove through the gate. Steve was in!
When he was sure that the coast was clear, Steve got out and slipped into the shadows. Now that he was inside the compound, he could make out more buildings and even more troopers. His eyes grew wide when he saw two Hydra goons leading a long line of prisoners across the compound. Steve followed them to one of the barracks. As one of the guards brought the prisoners inside, the other stood at the door on watch. With one swift move, Steve took him out using a powerful roundhouse kick. Then he silently slipped into the prison.
As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dark, Steve’s mouth dropped open in terror. The barracks were something out of a nightmare. Dozens of circular cages filled the space and each one overflowed with prisoners. There had to be hundreds of them. That meant Hydra had captured more than just the 107th, Steve realized. He’d have to let Phillips know. But first, he needed to get them out.
There was a raised platform above the cages, and a guard was pacing back and forth on it. Quietly, Steve made his way up and then—CRACK! With a swift punch, he knocked out the guard, who then dropped off the platform and onto the cages below. The prisoners looked up, confused.
One of the men, a soldier by the name of Jones, watched as Steve stepped out of the shadows. He took in his helmet and shield. “Who are you supposed to be?” he asked.
“I’m Captain America,” Steve answered, ignoring the groans that went up from the cages. He knew they had a right to doubt him. But he’d prove them wrong. He grabbed the key off the unconscious guard and raced down the line of cages, opening each one. Hordes of men spilled out, shaking their numb limbs and stretching their sore muscles.
“Are there any others?” Steve asked when everyone was out.
“The isolation ward,” a British soldier named Dum Dum Dugan answered. “On the factory floor.”
Steve nodded. That was where he would go next.
Leaving the others to find weapons and a way to distract the remaining guards, Steve made his way to the factory. The Hydra troopers hadn’t noticed that they were under attack—yet. But they would soon, and Steve still had men to rescue. Staying in the shadows, he ducked past trooper after trooper until he finally made it to the front door. Using his red-white-and-blue shield as an offensive weapon, he smashed two Hydra guards in the face, knocking them out so he could make his way inside.
The factory floor was covered in weapons of war. There were hundreds of crates full of complete bombs and other crates with what looked like unfinished bombs. Inside even more crates, clusters of cartridges lay nestled in straw. Stepping closer, Steve noticed that the bombs and cartridges emitted a strange blue glow—just li
ke the Super-Soldier serum. Pocketing one cartridge, he reminded himself to brief Phillips on this when—or rather, if—he got back to the base. Steve then cautiously continued through the bomb-making factory, heading toward the offices at the other end of the hangar.
But, unbeknownst to Steve, the factory wasn’t just another Hydra base; it was also Johann Schmidt’s current headquarters. And he was watching everything Steve did over a closed-circuit camera. The Hydra leader heard a loud explosion outside and turned to look at another monitor that revealed four prisoners blasting a hole in the factory wall. As the alarm blared and guards rushed out, Schmidt turned his attention back to the image of Steve. He watched as he punched and kicked his way past dozens of guards, getting closer and closer to Schmidt’s office. It was an impressive—if annoying—sight.
“Doctor,” Schmidt said, turning to his lead scientist, Arnim Zola. “Prepare to evacuate.”
Zola, the finest mind in Hydra (with the exception of Schmidt himself, of course), nervously eyed the camera, shifting between the action outside and the action inside the factory walls. “I’m sure our forces can handle—” he began.
“Our forces are outmatched,” Schmidt snarled. “By one man,” he added quietly.
Looking down at the equipment panel in front of him, Schmidt flipped a switch and a countdown clock lit up. Then he slipped out the door and down the long corridor.
Steve had just made it into the corridor when he saw the scientist retreat and heard the door to the lab close. He didn’t know who the man was, but by the way he kept glancing back at the door, Steve figured something important was in there. When the other man was out of sight, Steve slipped inside and shut the door behind him.
The lab was full of files and paperwork. Specimen jars lined shelves and various monitors beeped. In the middle of the room, a large cage sat atop a rusty drain. And inside the cage, Steve saw the back of a man, who was slumped on the ground.