Chapter 76
Street Fight, Washington, D.C.
September 2011
Steve hunkered behind his cover. His shield was right there, but with two people up on the roof, he had no way to get to it without being shredded.
Another burst of gunfire had him ducking his head reflexively, but then the hail of bullets cut in half.
Steve tensed, ready to run.
Gunfire again, then–nothing.
“Steve, go!” Sam shouted in his ear, and Steve bolted without hesitation.
Bullets followed, but he saw at a glance that they were firing while hanging from rappelling lines, and their accuracy was shit. Steve dove, rolled, came up with his shield, and smiled.
Now he was back in business.
He turned and charged the base of the overpass.
Street Fight, Washington, D.C.
September 2011
Natasha’d seen Rumlow before. Around the old HQ and the Triskelion. There was something off about him. Too smooth and controlled in his movements. Inhumanly fast.
Enhanced. SHIELD had enhanced him too.
She smiled a bit and crept between cars, maneuvering carefully into position. A challenge. How kind of the Director.
Natasha steadied herself and flew out from behind her cover.
She took Rumlow out at the knees, got a grip on his tac armor, and launched him over the edge of the road.
His hand lashed out as he started to fall and caught her arm. Dragged her along.
Natasha twisted in midair. Didn’t bother scrambling for the edge; it was too late already. Broke his fingers, tore away, and kicked off from the edge of the overpass right before she fell past it.
The ground rushed at her face.
She barely twisted, rolled, popped up in a dead sprint. Rumlow’d fallen on a bus with a crunch. He still had a rifle hooked to his gear. She heard him open fire.
“Get out of the way! Move!” she screamed. Pedestrians shrieked and bolted like frightened sheep but at least they wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.
Natasha looked back once, smirking, and vanished into the chaos of abandoned cars on the road.
Street Fight, Washington, D.C.
September 2011
Sam leaned over the edge of the overpass. Three Hydra guys, almost to the ground. Steve was still fifty feet away and closing. Accuracy of the agents was shit but Steve’s shield was up and bullets sparked off of it.
Sam raised his rifle. Fired one quick burst, then another. Wondered at how easy, how familiar, the gun felt tucked into his shoulder.
Take the soldier out of the fight, but you can’t take the fight out of the soldier, he thought grimly, and fired again. One of the agents shouted and flinched. Shoulder shot. Damn. They were moving too much on the ropes.
They’d be on the ground in a sec, and stable.
Pain burst to life in Sam’s side. He shouted and ducked down with a wince. He was pinned down again. More Hydra agents, from where he didn’t know, advancing up both sides of the overpass.
He spun left, between two cars, and ducked down. There–a pair of combat boots thirty feet away. Sam twisted into an awkward angle, wishing furiously for his Falcon suit, and pulled the trigger. He was horribly inaccurate but at least one bullet found its mark; the agent went down with crumpled shins and an audible scream. Sam plugged a few more rounds into the agent and fell back.
The windows of the car above Sam exploded with bullets. Alarms wailed all over the overpass. Sam caught a glimpse of a terrified woman hiding in her car and furiously motioned her down with his hand. Her eyes widened and she stared, frozen. Sam realized his hand was covered in blood.
He looked down. A clean injury, straight through his oblique muscles. Not good, but could be worse–it was too far to the side to have hit anything major, and the bullet went cleanly through. Painful, potentially dangerous if he didn’t stop the bleeding soon, but it could be worse. He’d had worse.
Sam listened, figured out where they probably were, looked at the bullet impact sites, and made a guess. There was a lull in the shooting. He ignored the pain in his side, popped up, pulled the trigger, ducked again. The car shuddered and bullets slammed into the metal where his head had just been. Adrenaline flooded Sam’s veins and he was alive again. Fighting. It felt better than he’d expected.
Once more. He jumped up, fired in a different direction, ducked down. He didn’t think he’d hit anyone but he had a better idea where they were now. He’d have a better advantage if he could move without being spotted.
Sam got down on his belly, army crawled under the nearest car, and took off down the row. Boots walked in and out of view behind tires and overturned vehicles. Not wanting to give away his strategy, he breathed and resisted the urge to take them down that way. It wouldn’t work more than once or twice before they caught on and started shooting under the cars as well and he’d lose what little cover he had.
“Sam, more coming! I could use some cover!” Steve said. The comms crackled with interference.
Sam grimaced and whispered into his earpiece, “I’m pinned down up here, gimme a sec!”
“Gotcha,” Steve said tensely.
Sam reached an aisle. Cautiously checked up and down it. Crawled out into the open, rolled over twice, and slid under a car in the next lane. Much better. He was four spots down and about three lanes over from where he’d been in the street-come-parking-lot. Good enough.
Sam jumped up, took aim, squeezed off a quick burst, and triumph rushed his mind when a black-clad figure dropped. The other four he could see whipped around, rifles tracking, but he ducked and moved again. None of them fired. They didn’t know where he was.
Street Fight, Washington, D.C.
September 2011
It had been far too long since she did this.
Natasha was barely aware of the slight smile on her lips as she stalked Rumlow. She’d spent far too much time static, hiding. This would be a good fight.
She knew the instant he heard her. Rumlow’s head snapped up, and his eyes scanned the street slowly, steadily, looking for the source of the sound.
Natasha smiled wider when he took the bait. Rumlow dropped into a crouch and crept between vehicles along the side of the road. An explosion from behind them tugged at Natasha’s awareness but she brushed it off and focused. Her fight was here. Outgunned and unprepared though she was, she would take him down.
Her own voice played on repeat from the recorder, rambling about civilians and backup. Rumlow tensed even more when he made out her words and started moving faster. Natasha followed. Closing in.