Chapter 95
Hydra Facility [Classified Location]
October 2011
“ETA six minutes,” JARVIS said.
Sam settled his wingsuit more snugly on his shoulders. Tony had taken it for tune-ups after the fight against Hydra and given it back with a few upgrades. It was lighter than before, only by a few pounds but enough to notice, and even though Sam had been training he still noticed the difference.
So far, working with the Avengers had been pretty awesome.
He was still living in his flat down the street from the VA, and working there most days–not the most glamorous or high-paying job, but he liked it–but he spent a few days a week at the Tower. They’d been planning their assault on Hydra or flying out with Tony and a rotating cast of the others to work with his wings and some of their upgrades, courtesy of Tony, on a property outside the city owned by Stark Industries. And now here they were, seven people and an AI in a jet. Sam was enjoying being back in the fight.
And it helped that he genuinely liked most of them.
“How’s it feel?” Tony asked.
Sam turned around. Tony wasn’t yet in his Iron Man suit, but Sam knew it only took seconds to get the thing on. “Haven’t quite adjusted to the new weight,” he admitted.
“I could line it with lead or something.”
Sam grinned. “Nah, it’s cool. Just takes some getting used to, that’s all.”
“ETA four minutes.”
Tony glanced up toward the cockpit, and Clint flying the plane, when JARVIS spoke. “Guess I better suit up.”
“You’ve got the easiest job of any of us,” Sam pointed out.
“That’s because I’m the smartest.” Tony headed toward the right front section of the jet, where his suit waited in its compartment.
Towards the tail, Steve and Barnes talked in low voices. Steve was ready, except for the helmet still sitting on the bench next to him, and Barnes was busy adjusting his tac vest. Tony had changed its design beyond the standard military make, and even without the metal arm, Barnes cut a terrifying figure. His mask rested on the bench next to Steve’s helmet.
Maria sat up front, next to Clint. Occasionally Sam had seen them talking quietly, but mostly they sat in silence, hands resting on top of each other in the space between their seats when Clint didn’t need both hands for flying.
Natasha, the last person on the jet, wasn’t talking to anyone. She was just sitting in the left side of the central space, where the fuselage began to taper into the left wing, twirling her fangs around her fingers. They were black weapons about a foot long and an inch in diameter, and each one delivered brutal shocks from either end. Controls in the middle let Natasha change the setting from what she called “mild sting” to “barbeque”. Sam had taken a hit from the “mild sting” setting and it wasn’t mild. At all.
“ETA two minutes.”
“Everyone get in position,” Steve called.
Sam rolled his shoulders again, tugged on the cuffs of his thermal suit, and joined Steve and Barnes at the back of the craft. Barnes was checking his guns, and Steve deftly slid one into the holster on his left thigh. His shield was already settled over his back.
“Ready?” Steve asked.
Sam grinned. “I was born ready.”
“Must’ve been a difficult delivery,” Natasha said with a grin, joining them. Her hair was hidden beneath a black hat, and her thermal suit–another one of Tony’s inventions, barely thicker than denim but impossibly warm–hugged her body, layered with pockets and weapons.
“You’ve no idea,” Sam said. “I was a super ugly baby. Mom said she thought the hospital did a switch.”
“So did mine,” Steve said, also smiling.
Barnes shook his head. “Have you seen pictures of him as a kid?” he asked Sam and Natasha, and Tony, who had walked over with his suit on and faceplate up. “Skin and bones. Always covered in bruises.”
Natasha poked Steve in the stomach. “Howard Stark definitely did you a favor.”
Steve postured, hands on his hips and chest thrust out. “I am Captain America,” he boomed. “Scourge of Hitler and Hope of the Free World–”
“Did they actually call you that?” Sam interrupted, laughing.
Tony rolled his eyes. “You have no idea. It was ridiculous. And of course I heard all the damn nicknames growing up, dear old Dad never shut up about Mr. Glorious here–”
“Better than you, who never shuts up about himself,” Natasha interjected. Tony looked fake wounded while the others laughed.
“Drop in sixty seconds,” Clint called from the front.
Steve got serious. “Comms check.”
Everyone reached up and fired up their earpieces. Levity vanished and they lined up along the back edge of the jet. Sam and Tony stood in front, as the two who could fly; Maria, Steve, Barnes, and Natasha lined up behind them with parachutes on their backs. To stay out of sight, they were dropping from way higher than even an enhanced human could survive without a chute.
“Check.”
“Widow’s good.”
“Falcon’s good.” Sam flipped his goggles down and the overlay lit up with red lines and words across the screen.
“I’m good.”
Steve sighed. “Tony–”
“My code name sucks,” Tony argued.
“Okay, his comm works. Winter’s good,” Barnes interrupted.
“Shadow’s good.” Maria shifted her feet.
“Hawkeye’s good,” Clint said from the cockpit. The jet decelerated to a hover. “Drop in five. Four. Three. Two. One.”
The rear bay door began to open.
Cold wind blew in around the edges, not as strong as if they’d been moving but still significant. The thermal suit protected Sam from the worst of it. Predawn sky gleamed between the patchy clouds that surrounded their jet, the nearest of which were churned like cotton candy from the engines. Sam had a second to take in the surreal view before he was leaping forward, in sync with Tony, and launching into a dive.
Wind howled in his ears. He blasted through one cloud after another, the portable short-range radar unit built into his suit sending out pings. It’d light up his overlay if he was about to hit something. To the left, the glow of Tony’s thrusters pulled ahead, faintly visible through the fog.
Sam was falling in a face-first pencil dive. He lifted his arms and the wind caught them, pulling him into a belly-down skydiver’s drop just as he burst out of the lowest cloud layer.
The light was weird down here, early morning rays filtered and diluted by the clouds. It was mostly dark, but he could make out the buildings down below, light gleaming in a few windows.
He brought his arms into his chest and snapped them out to the sides.
His wings followed. Sam’s cheeks rippled with G-forces as he decelerated abruptly, seventy feet above the ground.
Tony’d circled around to the south. “Ready, Falcon?”
“I’m go,” Sam said.
Steve’s voice filtered over the comms. “Chutes deployed. Touchdown in thirty to sixty seconds.”
“Roger that,” Tony said.
Sam heard the gunfire start.
He tipped into a dive, wings out, aiming for the north side and the guards there, highlighted in red silhouettes on his overlay. His job, and Tony’s, was to take out the guns on the roof so they wouldn’t turn the others’ chutes into Swiss cheese. Then the rest of the team would land, and they’d go in on foot while Sam and Tony distracted the guards.
Sam flexed his wrist in a practiced gesture. The highly modified gun on his right gauntlet expanded and clacked into place. Targeting vectors popped up on his overlay. This was new. This was a Stark toy, quiet and efficient. Sam liked it. He picked a target. Fired. Missed. Shit. Still not used to this. Aimed, fired again. This time the guard went down with two bullets in his chest.
It was a complicated thing, flying and aiming and shooting, and Sam quickly fell into the instinctive soldier mind. Things got easier when he wasn’t overthinking how to match his aim to the target vectors on his overlay. Just aim, see the green, pull the trigger, watch them fall.
Thirty seconds and the north side was clear.
Sam swung east, picked off the foot soldiers there. Against the still-dark sky, he was invisible, and they were oblivious to his presence. Even Tony was managing to keep things quiet. Shockingly. No one had raised the alarm yet.
When the roof and outdoor walkways were clear, he took off in a wide, swooping arc, scanning the rest of the complex for anyone outside. Six buildings, five of them auxiliary positioned around the main one. The glow of Tony’s laser cutter erupted below. He’d be carving the roof-mounted guns into scrap metal.
“Coming in for landing,” Natasha said over comms.
“Roof clear.” Tony’s thrusters lit up as he lifted up into the sky.
“So’s the rest of the complex.” Sam curved lower, readying a few grenades. His radar picked out the parachutes in the sky; he looked up and barely made out the dark gray fabric and his team’s small silhouettes against the sky. “You’re good to land.”