168 Hours Chapter 2
U.S.S. Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN-69)
Somewhere in the Red Sea
1800 Hours, Local Time
The Greyhound shook and shuddered as it landed on the aircraft carrier's flight deck. Despite Ramirez's assurance that it was all quite normal for a carrier landing, it had Steve thinking about those rickety transport planes he'd been in during the war, and all he wanted to do was get out as soon as possible.
He had been in two plane crashes, after all, and in one of those had ended up asleep for seventy years. Steve had a right to feel uncomfortable.
Once the aircraft came to a stop and the rear door lowered, Ramirez led Steve and Natasha out and down the ramp, where an officer in a leather flight jacket greeted them.
"Captain Rogers?" He had to shout over the wind and deafening sounds of aircraft moving around the deck. "I'm Commander Singh, Executive Officer. Welcome aboard. Would you come with me?"
Steve and Natasha followed as Singh led them toward the carrier's tall bridge. All around the flight deck, crews were tending fighter aircraft and helicopters, and airport-style utility tractors were crisscrossing the area. But, Steve's attention was drawn beyond the deck, to the seas around the ship. There were almost two dozen warships in formation all around the carrier, far more than usual for a Navy task force. Cruisers, destroyers, a couple of frigates, and in the distance, Steve spotted the slab-sided hulls of Marine Corps amphibious assault ships.
Whatever mission the Pentagon wanted him for, clearly it was big. The force assembled there was not quite comparable in numbers to the enormous naval forces he'd seen at Sicily or Normandy, but with modern weapons, the firepower they carried was many orders of magnitude greater. Probably enough to overrun a small country.
Oh. Steve frowned but kept his thoughts to himself. What had the Army gotten him into?
Singh led them into the tall bridge tower and then down several flights of steps. The inside of most navy ships was akin to a labyrinth, but an aircraft carrier was worse: all steel bulkheads and low hanging equipment. hundreds of manholes, ladders and hatches, more than enough to get most people hopelessly lost. Finding his way around S.H.I.E.L.D'.s Helicarrier had been remarkably easy by comparison.
Singh ushered them through a hatch and into a small but comfortably adorned wardroom. Steve's eyes noted the maritime decor and the painting of President Eisenhower along one wall, but his eyes quickly landed upon Rhodey, who was standing by the table with two naval officers-the ship's captain and an admiral, judging by the uniforms-and an Army captain. A dozen others were scattered around the room or already seated at the table. The ship's captain stepped away from the group when he spotted Steve.
"Captain Rogers, I'm Captain Tom Mooney, welcome aboard the Ike." He shook Steve's hand before turning and pointing out the others by the table. "This is Admiral Connelly, task force commander, I believe you already know Colonel Rhodes, and this is Captain Coleman, Army Special Forces, and his team."
Steve acknowledged them, and clapped Rhodey happily on the shoulder. When Mooney eyed Natasha, Steve hoped his poker face held up under scrutiny. "This is Lieutenant Roman, Army Intel. She was assigned at the last minute before I left."
All technically true, he supposed. Rhodey made a face where none of the others could see and after that just kept his eyes on Steve.
Natasha saluted convincingly, flashing one of her disarming smiles. "I am Captain Rogers' DoD liaison, sir."
With the introductions out of the way, Mooney asked them all to be seated and handed the floor to Connelly, who moved over to a large video screen mounted against the bulkhead near the head of the table. A multicolored map appeared on the monitor. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure you're all curious about why you've been assembled under such secrecy. This is the Kingdom of Wakanda. I'm sure you've heard about it on the news recently. Three years ago, insurgents based in a neighboring country, Ghudaza, here, along with elements of the Wakandan Secret Police, staged a very bloody coup that deposed the Royal Family. King T'Challa and his wife and children managed to flee to the U.S., and set up a government in exile.
"All of this didn't get much attention in the media, because around the same time, aliens invaded New York City," Connelly added, throwing a knowing look at Steve. "Then the Mandarin attacks started. But, eventually, T'Challa rallied enough of his military and some of the neighboring countries to fight back. For the last fifteen months, the country's been engulfed in a violent civil war, but the loyalists have finally gotten the upper hand.
"By this point, I'm sure you're all curious as what this has to do with us. It's recently come to light that the insurgents received most of their support from-and we think were spurred on in the first place by-American intelligence services. Specifically, S.H.I.E.L.D. and its subordinate agencies. We think they gave them advanced weaponry in addition to large sums of money. In light of this, the President has agreed to King T'Challa's request for American military aid in fighting Ghudaza and the insurgents. Which is where Colonel Rhodes and Captain Rogers come in. HYDRA has made major inroads into East Africa, and they have significant forces in Ghudaza, backing the rebels. The Wakandan military hasn't been able to gain any ground in over two months. We're here to tip the scales in their favor. Colonel?"
Rhodey stood and took the admiral's place at the screen, which switched to a blurred image of an African male, wearing a Nehru jacket and rallying a large crowd in a public square. "This man is the Reverend Doctor Michael Ibn al-Hajj Achebe. He is Public Enemy Number One in Wakanda. He began the ethnic wars that tore Ghudaza apart a decade ago, and used that violence as a springboard to launch his coup into Wakanda, with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s urging. He's a focal point for the insurgents' cause, and from what we can determine, is personally responsible for over six thousand deaths in the past five years alone. He is our target. The Pentagon and the State Department believe that unless he's taken off the board, the fighting will only get worse.
"His insurgents, known locally as the 'Volcan Domuyan,' are a small but very loyal group, and form the core of the forces fighting against Wakanda. Decapitate them, and it's believed the other factions on their side will splinter apart, giving T'Challa an opening to solidify his front and stabilize his country."
Coleman raised a hand. "Is this a kill mission, Colonel?"
Rhodey frowned, shaking his head. "No. As much as he may deserve it, the President and King T'Challa want Achebe captured and brought to trial. After that, I imagine they'll want to drop him in a deep, dark hole somewhere, but that's not our prerogative."
The map display on the monitor changed, with multicolored symbols and arrows representing movements appearing. Rhodey pointed to a large blue arrow coming in from the northeast toward Ghudaza's capitol city.
"In the confusion that follows, the 3rd Marine Expeditionary Force, which you have probably seen embarked in those ships behind us, will kick in the front door, capture Ghudaza's airport, and hold it while the Army's 25th Infantry Division flies in from the Middle East. Once American forces are on the ground, they'll push south toward Wakanda, and catch both Achebe's troops and HYDRA's forces between them and T'Challa."
"That sounds simple on paper, Rhodey," Steve piped up, watching the animated display with mild interest. Military planners loved turning national maps into football playbooks, right down to the big arrows, X's and O's. Reality rarely met with their grand ideas.
Rhodes favored him with a smile. "It's also above our pay grades. Our mission is to capture Achebe and turn him over to the international authorities."
One of Coleman's men, a thickly built Hawaiin named Liufau, raised his hand. "Excuse me, Colonel? May I ask, why does our team need...reinforcements for this op?"
Steve covered his mouth to keep from smiling. That was a polite way of asking why Captain America and the Iron Patriot were along for the ride. He also looked at Rhodes, because he was wondering much the same thing. The mission didn't seem like one that needed a super-soldier or a man in an armored combat suit, however helpful they might prove.
Rhodey didn't seem offended. "Captain Rogers and I have spent the last year hunting HYDRA cells back home. Given HYDRA's presence in Africa, and the fact that they've been supplying advanced weapons to Achebe's army, HQ doesn't want to send your Detachment-any Detachment-in without heavy support. This isn't a PR stunt, in case that's what anyone is thinking."
Liufau didn't seem any happier, but he turned his attention back to the mission details on the screen.
Coleman spoke up next. "What kind of resistance can we expect?"
Rhodes keyed another display, a close-up with terrain details and landmarks flagged. "Achebe's main camp is here, in a valley in Southeast Ghudaza, about a hundred miles from the front lines. Satellite and drone passes haven't shown any heavy defenses, and Achebe's army is heavily engaged with Wakanda's, but we shouldn't expect him to be wide open. The chopper will drop us in here, about five klicks from the camp. Enemy patrols will be light that far out, getting heavier the closer we get to the hills. From what we have seen, there are about thirty men in groups of five scattered across the area at any given time. At night, that number usually drops to about twenty."
"Unfortunately, you'll be too far away for our fighters to provide effective air support," Captain Mooney added from his seat near the end of the table. "General Eilertson's Marines already have a forward base set up in Ethiopia, but even after they've left their ships and gotten into position for the invasion, they'll be hours away from where you'll be operating."
"When will they be in position?" Steve asked.
"Two days," Rhodey answered. "We go in tomorrow night."
"That's not a lot of time," Steve said, frowning. Military operations weren't something to be rushed or improvised. This seemed to be both.
"The invasion planning's been going on for a couple of months," Rhodey said. "But given how deep HYDRA's tentacles were in the intelligence community, the President wanted our involvement to be kept secret as long as possible. The last thing he wants is for HYDRA to close ranks around Achebe." To the other soldiers, Rhodes added. "I know you have a lot of questions. I suggest Captain Coleman's team go over the operational details tonight. Captain Rogers and I will do the same and we can meet again tomorrow morning to hash out any other concerns and cover any bases the boys in Washington didn't think about."
When Coleman agreed, Admiral Connelly dismissed the group and invited them to dinner in the Officer's Mess. The group filed out, leaving Steve, Natasha and Rhodey alone at the table.
"Nat, what are you doing here?" Rhodey asked quietly, double-checking to make sure the door was closed.
"I was hoping the hair and the glasses would throw at least one of you off," Natasha smiled innocently. At Rhodey's frown, she continued. "You both left town so abruptly, it made...some people worry. I was asked by those same parties to investigate. I had no idea it involved this kind of insanity."
Rhodes smirked. "Tell Tony his concern is appreciated, but he can't forge official military documents any time he feels like it. I find it offensive."
Steve was impressed. Natasha hadn't even flashed her fake orders, yet. She acknowledged Rhodey's statement with a respectful nod.
"You've been awfully quiet about all this, Steve." Rhodes said, turning to him.
Steve stared at the map on the video screen for a moment, then shook his head. "This...seems incredibly improvised. Why are they just springing this snatch and grab on us now? I saw the Navy's contribution when I was topside, you can't assemble that many units overnight, so they've obviously been thinking about this op for a while...."
Rhodes frowned. "I know. They only roped me in two weeks ago. They were talking about getting you involved, and I insisted they do it right then, so we could have time to prepare for all this. I even suggested you, me and Sam go in without the spec ops team, but the Pentagon wasn't willing to hand it all over to just us. Then they didn't want the media getting wind of your assignment, so they waited until the last possible moment to call you. Then the Marines objected so the Army had to-need I go on?"
"Turf wars," Steve muttered, shaking his head. For all the problems he'd had with Nick Fury's methods of doing business, at least the bureaucratic internecine strife had been kept at a minimum. "Now we're scrambling in twenty-four hours to set up an op that should have been planned over weeks or months."
"If it makes you feel any better," Rhodey countered with a rueful smile. "Coleman and his men seem really happy that we're sticking our noses in their sandbox, too."
Steve leaned back in the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wonderful...."
He felt Rhodes' eyes on him even with his shut.
"Steve, may I make a friendly observation? You look like crap."
"It was a long flight out," Steve grinned wanly.
"That's not what I mean, man." Rhodey said, not smiling back.
Steve sat up with a sigh, but endeavored to put a genuine smile on his face. "I'm fine, Rhodey."
Rhodes didn't look convinced, but thankfully didn't pursue the matter. "Why don't you get some sleep? The marine outside can show you to your quarters."
"Nah," Steve shook his head. "Why don't we find Coleman's men and see if we can't smooth some feathers? Any chance of finding some beer on this tub?"
"I've heard of 'beer days' from a few sailor friends. We can ask the X.O."
Steve smiled, with only a faint touch of sadness. "Someone told me once that if you're going to ask a guy to walk into Hell, you buy him a drink first. Let's go see if 'Captain America' can scrounge up some goodwill."
Natasha rolled her eyes, but seemed amused. "I will ask the marine for my room. See you boys in the morning."
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Montclair, New Jersey
The Next Day
8:00 PM, Local Time
"At this point, he's barely even human, anymore."
They don't think he can hear them. The IV in his flesh-and-blood arm isn't adjusted correctly, the valve not letting enough of the drugs into his bloodstream. The sedative cocktail they usually administer during the maintenance periods on his arm never completely puts him out-his metabolism is too high for that-but he's rendered semi-conscious and unable to stand or walk effectively.
Except today.
The Soldier doesn't say anything, just sits with his eyes fixed straight ahead and listens. Most of what the technicians talk about is meaningless. Random observations, excitement over high-tech equipment that the Soldier can't begin to identify, let alone understand, the occasional comment on his medical condition...nothing remotely of interest to him. He doesn't really know if he has interests, but he knows nothing the two men have said qualifies. They prattle on, oblivious to his musings.
"...heard he used to be a soldier, but I don't know if that's true. Seems kinda..."
Something in his mind seizes on the word "soldier." Immediately, he begins examining the room, quickly and without moving his eyes or changing his facial expression. One door, locked from the outside. Four guards, one M4 carbine each, one sidearm each on their belts, possible bladed weapons concealed, threat level high. Two technicians, unarmed, threat level negligible. If ordered, he can make it to the door in four strides, disable the first two guards in close-quarters combat, use a captured weapon to-
The electronic probe the technician is using touches something sensitive in his arm's inner workings, sending a jolt up through his nervous system and into his brain, shattering his situational analysis. His fist clenches, causing the plates along his forearm to shift and snap shut with a loud shhnnnnk. The technicians flinch and roll back in their chairs, alarmed. He senses their fright, but still doesn't move his eyes. The jolt was more distracting than painful.
"It's all right. Just a reflex. He's still out."
The Soldier makes no move to contradict the man or ease the other's palpable fear. He wonders what they would do if they realized he was wide awake. Some part of him wants to find out....
"Hey...James? I think I found an image gallery."
James blinked out of the memory, grunting softly at the sudden throbbing in his temples. Recapturing memories was less painful now than when Steve first freed him, but he still suffered headaches. The more intense or deeply buried the memory, the stronger the headache. Hiram had recovered schematics of his arm on the hard drive. Staring at them over the boy's shoulder had led James to the new memory. Hardly anything noteworthy, but he filed it away nonetheless. He never knew what might be useful later.
He focused on the boy again, noting the interested tone of voice. Hiram had proven very useful, and after some prodding, had taken to the project James had given him with enthusiasm. Still, after two nights of work, they'd only scratched the surface of what information was stored on the damaged drive.
"I just need to unlock...this...and...."
"Your mother sleeps a lot." James interrupted, glancing toward the closed door of the boy's room. The woman had retreated to her room soon after eating dinner. She'd been asleep since before James entered the house.
Hiram hesitated for a moment, glancing in James' direction before returning to his work. "Yeah. Ever since Dad died, she, uh...she's got some pills that help her sleep."
James processed that. Addiction, more than likely. It meant that the mother would not be a threat, but he noticed the strain in the boy's voice. He wondered if he should say something to comfort him, but James had no idea what. Hiram, ultimately, went back to typing and clicking the computer mouse.
"Ah-ha, got it. Ooh, lots of pictures..." Hiram used the mouse to scroll through the images. James stepped closer to get a better look at the...what had Hiram called them? Thumbnails?
The boy sat up straighter in his chair. "These...these are pictures of you." He clicked a few keys on the keyboard. "The earliest one on here is marked 1948." He swiveled his chair to stare at James with a mix of incredulousness and suspicion.
"Who-? Who are you?"
James frowned. He didn't want to discuss his situation any more than he had to, but the teenager's curiosity was probably going to-
"Wait a minute..." Hiram was staring at one of the older, black and white images. It was James, unconscious on a lab table-already missing his left arm, so likely during one of the many surgeries he remembered enduring after the Russians first found him. His hair was shorter, he looked more like the version of himself he'd seen in the Smithsonian. Hiram jumped up and grabbed a book off his bookshelf. James noticed a picture of Steve on the cover, and smothered a sigh with his palm. The kid was too smart for his own good.
After a moment of flipping pages, Hiram stopped and stared at something in the book, then looked up at James. "Are...are you Bucky Barnes?"
James frowned. There was little to be gained by lying, since he still needed the boy's help. "Yes. I was."
Hiram glanced to the book and back at him, then at the computer screen. "That mechanical arm in the files...is that yours?"
Wordlessly, James tugged the sleeve of his hoodie up, revealing the gleaming metal plates of his forearm. He flexed his fingers, making the servos whine and click, confirming what he was sure the teenager had already put together. James idly wondered what kind of reaction he would get now. Fear, probably. Revulsion, maybe. He wasn't sure how children reacted to things in this day and age.
"I'm sorry."
James looked up at the boy with a frown. Hiram genuinely looked remorseful. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected.
"Did HYDRA do that to you?"
James nodded once. Hiram swallowed, but didn't move or look away.
"That why you want to get back at them?"
"Partly," James replied. "The less you know, the safer you are, Hiram." It was the first time he'd used the boy's name since finding him two nights before. It felt appropriate, somehow.
Hiram seemed to consider that, then nodded silently and moved back to his desk chair. "Let's see what else we can find on here."
James raised an eyebrow, somewhat puzzled by the boy's mild reaction. He moved to the corner of the bed and sat, so that he could watch the progress without hovering over the desk. He curled his fingers into his left sleeve and pulled the fabric back down over his arm, suddenly feeling self-conscious. James didn't remember ever feeling that way before.
CAP WS CAP WS CAP WS
Ghudazan Airspace
Fifty Miles from Landing Zone
0330 Hours, Local Time
The MH-47G Chinook raced above the tropical forests of southern Ethiopia, barely two hundred feet above the ground. The constant whump-whump sound of the chopper's large twin rotors filled the interior, like a rapid heart beat. Steve let the sound relax him as he sat on the canvas-covered bench near the rear loading ramp. The cargo netting strung along the sides of the compartment formed the back of the seat, and he swayed gently with the motion of the aircraft. It was almost enough to lull him into the sleep that had been eluding him the past few weeks. Almost.
The in-flight refueling over the eastern Ethiopian desert had gone off without a hitch. They were actually running a bit ahead of schedule.
He ran through the details of the coming mission in his head, hoping he, Rhodey, and Coleman-whom they'd agreed would be the mission commander despite the difference in rank-hadn't missed anything in their planning session early that morning. They'd decided to keep everything as simple as possible. Steve would sweep the area of their approach, taking out patrols as he found them. The Iron Patriot would remain mostly in a support role at first, but when Coleman's men had Achebe in custody, would attack the camp, creating enough chaos to keep the insurgents busy while they escaped with the prisoner.
Rhodey had wanted to fly alongside the chopper as an escort, but Coleman had decided against it. They didn't know what kind of detection equipment the insurgents had access to, and they might detect the armor's power emissions on the run in.
After they had Achebe, they would fly directly to the Marines' forward base in Ethiopia, rather than attempting a straight run back to the carrier. Any pursuit that Achebe's troops might mount would have to deal with the Marines.
It was a good plan, or at least the best they could develop given the Pentagon's rushed schedule. Coleman and his men certainly seemed up to it, and Steve had learned that they'd performed several similar missions in Afghanistan, so they had the necessary experience.
Certainly more than he'd had when he'd snuck into Schmidt's prison camp in '43. Steve huffed a small laugh at himself. He'd really been in over his head, then....
"Captain? All set?" Captain Coleman asked, moving to sit beside him on the bench.
Steve nodded, patting the blue helmet in his hands. "Ready as I'm going to get."
Coleman returned the nod, and went about checking his gear. "You ever get to Africa back during the war?"
"Once," Steve replied. "But only for a few weeks."
"Ah, of course, Operation: Torch, right?"
Steve smiled. "USO Tour, actually. We did about twelve shows in Algiers and Tunisia before heading to Italy."
Coleman's jaw dropped a bit, and Steve had to pinch himself to keep from laughing. Rhodey was standing nearby, in the Patriot armor. Steve's earpiece hummed to life as Rhodey activated the private channel.
"You love doing that to people, don't you?"
Steve grinned. He turned to Coleman to let him off the hook when an alarm started whooping loudly in the cockpit.
"We just got painted!" The co-pilot announced, checking the displays in front of him. A second alarm joined the first. "Missile warn-! Incoming!"
"Deploy countermeasures."
The pilot pulled back on the controls, and the huge helicopter lurched into a turn. The Iron Patriot lunged for the controls to open the rear loading door. Steve pulled on his helmet. They shouldn't have been spotted that far out from the target. Something was very wrong.
"Command, Stalker One, Command, Stalker One, we are under atta-"
Steve didn't hear the rest of the pilot's distress signal as the forward half of the helicopter exploded into a blinding fireball.
TBC