As the groups began to separate, Peter fell into step beside Steve, Ted, and Azzuri as they headed deeper into the facility. "You know," Peter said, his photographer's instincts already cataloging their route, "I got to say, Steve really did it. Actually became the hero we always knew he could be."
"Yeah," Ted replied, checking his Signal Corps equipment one final time. "Only took him getting turned into a super soldier and traveling halfway around the world to figure it out."
Azzuri glanced at them both. "You've known Captain Rogers for a long time?"
"Since before the serum," Peter answered. "Back when he was just Steve Rogers trying to enlist for the fifth time. Guy was always the first to stand up when someone needed help, even though he was ninety pounds soaking wet and couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag."
"The heart was always there," Ted added. "What got me was watching him keep trying, you know? Every time the world knocked him down, every time someone told him he wasn't good enough, he just got back up and tried again. That takes a different kind of strength."
"Dr. Erskine knew what he was doing when he picked him," Peter said. "Steve was already a hero. The serum just gave him the body to match."
Steve shook his head, but he was smiling despite the gravity of their situation. "Come on, you two. Let's go get Bucky."
The HYDRA factory sprawled before them like a mechanical beast, its smokestacks belching dark smoke into the Austrian night. From their position on the ridge, Steve could see the layout that Azzuri had described during their approach—concentric defensive rings, guard towers equipped with those blue-glowing energy weapons, and at the center, the massive industrial complex where hundreds of Allied prisoners toiled under floodlights.
"Remember the plan," Steve whispered to his team. "Diana's group creates the distraction and gets the main body of prisoners out. We find the isolation ward, get Bucky and whoever else is in there, then rendezvous at the tree line."
Azzuri crouched beside them in the Black Panther habit, the vibranium weave making him nearly invisible against the darkness. He tested his claws one final time.
"The isolation ward is in the central building, third floor," Azzuri said, his voice slightly muffled by the mask but carrying the authority of someone who had infiltrated enemy territory before. "My people's intelligence suggests it's where they keep their most valuable prisoners."
Peter checked his gear one final time, wishing he still had the custom pistol Kane had given him. HYDRA had confiscated it when they were captured, along with his camera. "And if we run into trouble?"
Steve reached for his sidearm and handed it to Peter. "Here, take this. I've got the shield—that's all I need."
Peter accepted the pistol, checking the chamber with the smooth efficiency Kane had drilled into him. "Thanks, Steve. Feels better having some backup."
"You sure about that shield?" Ted asked, looking skeptically at the lightweight prop. "It's just painted steel, isn't it?"
Steve hefted the triangular shield, feeling its familiar weight on his arm. "Maybe, but it's what I trained with. It's what feels right." He looked down at the factory, thinking about his friends somewhere in that maze of concrete and steel. "Besides, it's not the shield that makes the hero."
"Let's go bring them home," Steve said.
The first explosion came exactly on schedule.
Jim Hammond hit the motor pool hard. His flames melted through HYDRA vehicles, turning trucks and tanks into burning wreckage. Ammunition cooked off in secondary explosions. Guards scattered as fuel tanks went up one after another.
Diana kicked down the barracks door and went to work. Her sword took the first guard's head clean off. The second got her shield in the face, crushing his mask. She grabbed a ring of keys from his belt and started opening cells.
"To me!" she shouted to the prisoners. "Fight for your freedom!"
The men poured out. Months of rage boiled over as they jumped the nearest guards. Fists and stolen weapons settled old scores fast.
"Surrender your weapons!" a HYDRA squad leader shouted as reinforcements arrived, their energy rifles aimed at the escaping prisoners.
Alan stepped forward, his ring blazing. "How about you surrender yours instead?" A green shield wall erupted between the prisoners and HYDRA forces. Energy blasts bounced off harmlessly.
"Impossible!" one of the guards yelled. "What is that thing?"
Alan shifted the construct into a battering ram. "Something you're not ready for." The green energy slammed into their line, sending guards flying in all directions.
Jay appeared behind a HYDRA communications officer. "Looking for this?" he asked, holding up the man's radio before it sparked and died in his hand.
"What the—where did you come from?" the officer spun around, reaching for his sidearm.
But Jay was already gone, reappearing next to another guard. "And this?" The soldier's energy rifle vanished from his hands.
"He's everywhere!" a guard screamed. "How is he moving so fast?"
"Fast enough," Jay said, appearing behind the man and sweeping his legs.
Meanwhile, Amaya found herself surrounded by six HYDRA soldiers, their weapons trained on her.
"Put your hands up!" the squad leader ordered. "Now!"
Amaya slowly raised her hands, her fingers moving to the animal totem necklace at her throat. "As you wish."
"That's it, nice and easy," the leader said. "No sudden movements."
Amaya's totem began to glow. "I wouldn't worry about sudden movements," she said calmly. "I'd worry about being trampled."
The necklace pulsed with spiritual energy, and suddenly a massive spectral rhino appeared behind her, its ghostly form towering over the HYDRA soldiers. The spirit animal's eyes glowed with ancient power as it merged with Amaya, filling her with its strength and unstoppable momentum.
"What is that thing?" one of the guards whispered, staring at the rhino spirit.
"Your worst nightmare," Amaya replied, and charged.
She hit them with the force of a two-ton battering ram, bodies flying in all directions as she plowed through their formation. Her human form moved with impossible strength and momentum, the rhino's power coursing through her.
"Did you see that?" Jim Hammond called out from above, his flames flickering with amazement. "There was a giant ghost rhino!"
"How many powered people do we have on this team?" Jay asked, reappearing beside the scattered HYDRA soldiers.
"Apparently more than we thought," Alan said, his green constructs shifting to provide cover for the advancing prisoners.
In the compound, the Howling Commandos had commandeered a HYDRA half-track. Dugan wrestled with the controls while Jones worked on the weapon systems.
"Hey. Not exactly a Buick," Dugan muttered.
"That one. 'Zündung,'" Jones pointed to a control.
"Zündung?" Dugan looked confused.
"Get this thing going, Dugan!" Pinky shouted from the back.
"I didn't know you spoke German," Dugan said, working the turret controls.
"Three semesters at Howard, switched to French, girls much cuter," Jones replied.
"Didn't ask for the resume," Dugan said with a grin, swiveling the gun toward a group of HYDRA reinforcements.
Nearby, Morita and Dernier had just finished taking down a HYDRA guard together. Jacques picked up the fallen soldier's energy weapon, studying its alien design with a frown.
"You know how to use that thing?" Jim Morita called out.
Dernier shrugged, still examining the weapon. His finger slipped on the unfamiliar trigger mechanism. Blue energy erupted from the barrel, completely vaporizing a section of the compound wall in a brilliant flash.
Both men stared at the smoking hole in shock.
"Okay," Morita said, blinking at the destruction. "Maybe be more careful with that."
The battle was moving fast now. Diana led a charge of freed prisoners toward the main gate, her sword cutting down guards while her shield deflected energy blasts.
"Keep moving!" she shouted to the men behind her. "Don't let them regroup!"
Jim Hammond swooped overhead, raining fire down on HYDRA positions. "Diana! More reinforcements coming from the east!"
"I see them!" she called back, adjusting her charge to meet the new threat.
In the HYDRA command center, alarms blared as red lights bathed the underground facility. Johann Schmidt stood before a small monitor, watching his prison fall apart.
"What is happening?" Schmidt snapped at the room.
Ares stepped closer to the screen. The feed showed a dark-haired woman cutting through HYDRA guards like they were made of paper. His expression changed. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
"Well, well," he said quietly. "Look who finally left her island."
Zola hunched over his control station, sweat beading on his forehead. "The prisoners broke into the armory. They have our weapons now. And there are... enhanced individuals with them."
"That woman," Zemo said, staring at the screen. "She moves like the old legends."
"She is an old legend," Ares said, his smile turning cold. "My dear sister. Time for a family reunion."
He turned and walked toward the exit, his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.
Mephisto brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "How sweet. Nothing like family drama during a prison break." He checked his watch. "Well, this has been fun, but I have appointments to keep. Souls to collect, despair to spread. The usual evening activities."
He disappeared without fanfare, leaving only the smell of sulfur.
Schmidt watched them both go. He'd known from the start they were using him. Fine. Two could play that game.
"Sir," Zola called out. "Movement in the main factory. Someone's heading for the isolation ward."
Schmidt glanced at the screen, but the figures were too far away to make out.
They reached the factory floor, and Steve stopped. Hundreds of crates filled the vast space, some containing completed bombs, others holding unfinished weapons. Assembly lines stretched as far as the eye could see, with clusters of strange cartridges nestled in straw-filled containers.
The blue glow caught Steve's attention immediately. It was the same light he'd seen from the energy weapons outside, but here it was concentrated.
"Jesus," Peter breathed. "How many weapons are they building here?"
Near the loading dock, HYDRA guards were struggling to secure a large reinforced crate onto a truck. Steve could see the fear in their movements—they kept their distance, weapons trained on the container. One guard had bandages wrapped around his arm, another sported a black eye and cuts across his face.
"Careful with that thing," one of them muttered. "It already killed fifteen men getting it in there."
Sounds came from inside the crate—scratching, snarling. Then a voice, twisted with rage but unmistakably human, roared from within.
"JIMMY! JIMMY, WHERE ARE YOU?! LET ME OUT OF HERE! I'LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU BASTARDS!"
The guards flinched. A clawed hand suddenly burst through a gap in the wooden slats, fingers extended with razor-sharp claws. The nearest guard jumped back.
"Jesus Christ," the bandaged guard whispered. "What did they do to him?"
"GET ME OUT!" the voice screamed again. "JIMMY! JIMMY, I KNOW YOU'RE HERE SOMEWHERE!"
The crate shook violently as whatever was inside threw itself against the walls. The guards raised their weapons nervously.
"What the hell is that?" Ted whispered.
Steve approached one of the open weapon crates, studying the blue-glowing cartridges inside. They pulsed with a light that seemed to respond to his proximity. Without fully understanding why, he pocketed one of the smaller cartridges. Phillips needed to know about this.
Two HYDRA guards emerged from behind a stack of crates, weapons raised. The first one fired. Steve dropped low, his triangular shield coming up to deflect the energy blast. The beam ricocheted off the painted steel and into a support beam.
The second guard closed in. Steve whirled and caught him with the edge of his shield. The man dropped.
In the command center, Schmidt watched Steve dispatch the guards on his small monitor.
"Doctor, prepare to evacuate," Schmidt said.
"I'm sure our forces can handle—" Zola started.
Schmidt pressed a button. Alarms blared inside the factory.
"No, no! What are you doing?" Zola protested.
Zemo stepped forward. "The self-destruct? Are you insane?"
Schmidt flicked switches on a line of timers marked SELBSTZERSTÖRUNG. Each one started counting down from five minutes. "Our forces are outmatched." He watched Steve on the monitor heading up the stairs. "You have five minutes to get what you need."
Zola went pale. "Five minutes? That's not enough time for all the research data!"
"Then choose what matters most," Schmidt said. He turned to a titanium case behind smoked glass where the Tesseract pulsed with blue energy.
Zemo grabbed his adhesive weapons and research notes. "This is madness, Schmidt."
Schmidt lowered the case over the Tesseract. The facility lights went out. "Now go. Four minutes, fifty seconds."
Zola hurried out clutching his files. Zemo headed for his lab to gather more equipment.
Steve and his team climbed through the facility. Steve took down three more guards, his shield work getting better with each fight.
In his lab, Zemo stuffed research documents into a bag when he heard footsteps in the corridor outside. He ducked behind a bank of equipment, staying hidden as voices approached.
They reached the third floor corridor just as Zola burst out of a room at the far end, arms full of files. The doctor spotted them and immediately turned to run.
"Let him go," Steve said. "We're here for the prisoners."
Steve pushed into Zola's experiment room. Scattered files and specimen jars covered tables. He caught a glimpse of technical drawings—some kind of robotic suit with a television screen for a chest. But his attention was drawn to the examination table in the center of the room.
A man was strapped down to the metal surface, leather restraints holding his arms and legs. He looked dazed but not broken, like he'd been drugged rather than tortured.
"Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557038," the man recited automatically.
Steve's heart stopped. "Bucky?"
Silence. Then the prisoner's head lifted slowly.
"Who... who is that?"
Steve raced to the table. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking that face. Bucky looked tired and confused, but still recognizably himself.
"Is that..." Bucky squinted, unable to focus properly.
Steve started working on the restraints. "It's me. It's Steve."
Bucky studied his friend's face as Steve freed his arms. "Steve?"
"I thought you were dead," Steve said.
"I thought you were smaller," Bucky replied, staring up at his transformed friend.
Steve helped him sit up on the table. Bucky swayed slightly, whatever they'd given him still affecting his balance.
"What happened to you?" Bucky asked, staring at Steve's transformed physique.
"I joined the Army," Steve said.
"Did it hurt?"
"A little."
"Is this permanent?"
"So far."
While they talked, Azzuri had moved to a massive computing machine that took up nearly a quarter of the room. Banks of vacuum tubes glowed and mechanical switches clicked as data processed through the primitive system.
"What the hell is that thing?" Ted asked, staring at the room-sized computer.
Azzuri's claws extended briefly as he worked on the access panel. "Primitive computing system. Vacuum tube technology." He pulled out several components and began rewiring connections with practiced ease. "Child's play, really."
"You know how to work that?" Peter asked, amazed.
"Wakandan technology is centuries ahead of this," Azzuri replied, his hands moving quickly through the machine's guts. "This is like asking a pilot to fix a bicycle."
The computer's lights began blinking in different patterns as Azzuri accessed its systems. "Interesting. They're storing research data on enhanced human physiology. Something called 'Projekt Eisenleib.'"
"Project what?" Ted asked, trying to follow the German.
"Iron Body," Azzuri translated, his claws working through the machine's primitive circuitry. "Appears to be designs for some kind of biomechanical enhancement suit. Full body integration with the wearer's nervous system." He paused, reading more data. "Disturbing. They're planning to transplant a human consciousness into a mechanical shell."
Steve felt his stomach turn. "They want to put someone's brain in a robot?"
"More sophisticated than that," Azzuri replied, pulling up technical schematics on the vacuum tube display. "The suit would replace the wearer's failing organic components while preserving their mind and personality. Essentially making them immortal, but at the cost of their humanity."
"Can you copy it?" Steve asked.
Azzuri hesitated, his hand hovering over the small device from his suit. For a moment, the weight of kingship pressed down on him—his first duty was always to Wakanda's security, to keeping their technological advantages hidden from the outside world.
"Azzuri?" Steve pressed gently.
The Wakandan king looked at Steve, then at the exhausted prisoners they'd just freed, thinking about the four hundred men Diana and the others were leading to safety. He thought about how he'd tested this team earlier, expecting to find HYDRA infiltrators, only to discover genuine heroes willing to risk everything for their friends.
"My original plan was to take this intelligence back to Wakanda," Azzuri said quietly, pulling out the device. Its surface gleamed with technology decades ahead of anything in the room. "To protect my people first."
"Wait," Peter said, staring at Azzuri with new eyes. "Wakanda? You're not just some special forces guy, are you?"
"He's a king," Steve said simply. "I'll explain later."
Bucky's head snapped up despite his drugged state. "A what now?"
"King of Wakanda," Ted repeated slowly. "Jesus Christ, Steve, who exactly did you team up with?"
Azzuri's expression grew serious as he connected his device to the primitive computer. "But after seeing what you and your friends are willing to sacrifice, how you fight not just for your own people but for all who suffer... I realize I was being selfish." He began the download process. "This threat is bigger than any one nation. The Allies need to know what HYDRA is attempting."
"That's a hell of a thing to admit," Bucky said, studying Azzuri with new respect despite his confusion.
"A king's first duty is to his people's safety," Azzuri replied, watching the data transfer. "But sometimes that means ensuring the evil threatening them is stopped at its source, even if it requires sharing our advantages."
The computer continued processing as Azzuri worked, revealing more disturbing details about Projekt Eisenleib. Test subjects, failure rates, plans for mass production.
"Jesus," Peter muttered, looking over the readouts. "How many people are they planning to do this to?"
"According to this, it's designed for a single subject," Azzuri said grimly. "Someone important enough to HYDRA that they want to preserve him indefinitely."
Peter and Ted had been checking the other cells while Azzuri worked. "Steve, we've got more in here," Peter called out.
In the next cell, they found Logan sitting against the wall, his Canadian uniform torn but his eyes still sharp. Despite his injuries, he moved like a predator as they opened his cage.
"About time," Logan said, rolling his shoulders. "James Howlett, Canadian First Parachute Battalion. You guys are either really brave or really stupid."
"Probably both," Steve admitted.
In the third cell was a powerfully built man who immediately stood when he saw them. "Ted Grant," he said. "They called me Wildcat back home."
Logan looked at Grant and almost smiled. "Still sore from earlier?"
"You got a lucky shot in," Grant replied with a grin. "Next time I won't go easy on you."
"Next time? Hell, I was holding back too." Logan stretched his neck, which popped audibly. "Good fight though. Been a while since someone made me work for it."
"Likewise," Grant said. "For a Canadian, you hit pretty hard."
Steve looked between them. "You two fought each other?"
"Guards made us," Logan explained. "Entertainment for the brass. Wildcat here gave me some new scars to remember him by."
Grant flexed his hands. "Logan's tougher than he looks. Took everything I had just to put him down for the count."
"And I got back up," Logan pointed out.
"Yeah, you did. That was... unusual."
Logan's expression darkened suddenly. "Speaking of unusual, you guys see any other prisoners being moved? My brother Victor. Big guy, blond hair, attitude worse than mine?"
Steve thought about the crate they'd seen. "We saw something being loaded onto a truck. Had claws coming out of it."
Logan's face went white. "Claws? Jesus Christ, what did they do to him?"
"Your brother has claws?" Ted asked.
"He does now, apparently." Logan's hands clenched into fists. "That bastard Schmidt. Victor and I, we volunteered for this mission together. Whatever they did to him..."
Explosions began rocking the facility. Emergency lights bathed the corridors in red as alarms blared throughout the building.
"Azzuri, how much longer?" Steve asked.
"Thirty seconds," Azzuri replied, his device still connected to the primitive computer.
"We don't have thirty seconds," Peter said as dust rained from the ceiling.
"Twenty seconds," Azzuri corrected, pulling his device free. "Got it. Everything they had on enhanced human research."
"Time to go," Steve said.
As they made their way back through the facility, Peter spotted something that made him stop. In a pile of confiscated prisoner effects, he saw a familiar custom-made pistol.
"Kane's gun," he breathed, snatching it up and checking the chamber. It was still loaded.
They had almost reached the factory floor when a squad of HYDRA soldiers rounded the corner ahead of them, energy weapons raised.
"Halt!" the squad leader shouted. "Drop your weapons!"
The HYDRA troops had them dead to rights—six soldiers with advanced weapons against a group of exhausted prisoners and one man with a shield.
Then Peter stepped forward.
The squad leader never saw it coming. Peter's first shot punched through his chest before the man could blink. He was already moving, pivoting left as the second soldier raised his rifle. Two rounds to the chest, one to the head. The soldier crumpled.
The third soldier got his weapon up. Peter dove behind a support beam as energy blasts scorched the air where he'd been standing. He came out the other side in a roll, Kane's pistol tracking to the fourth soldier. Three shots center mass. The man went down hard.
Soldiers five and six tried to flank him. Peter spun, put two in the chest of number five, then swung his arm toward six. Click. Empty.
Without missing a beat, Peter ejected the magazine, letting it clatter to the floor as he pulled a fresh one from his belt. The reload was smooth as silk—magazine in, slide release, weapon up. The sixth soldier was still trying to aim when Peter put three rounds in his chest.
"Damn, I'm good," Peter muttered to himself, scanning for more targets.
The entire engagement had lasted maybe twenty seconds. Six HYDRA soldiers lay dead on the concrete floor.
The others stared at Peter in shock. This was the same guy who'd been taking pictures at the Stark Expo, who'd helped Steve fill out enlistment forms.
"Where did you learn to do that?" Steve asked.
Peter checked his weapon and holstered it. "I joined the fucking army."
The sound of boots echoed through the corridors as they moved deeper into the facility. Steve held up his fist, signaling silence. Around the corner, German voices and the clank of equipment.
"More prisoners," Azzuri whispered. "Large group, heavily guarded."
They found them in a converted laboratory turned holding area. Two dozen men in Allied uniforms sat against the walls, hands zip-tied behind their backs. HYDRA guards stood watch while a technician in a white coat moved between the prisoners, asking questions in accented English.
"Tell me again about the mechanical soldier's power source," the technician said to a grizzled sergeant with a scar across his jaw. "We need those specifications."
"Go to hell," Sergeant Rock replied. He spotted Steve in the doorway, his weathered face remaining carefully neutral. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head and mouthed "keep talking" while maintaining eye contact with the technician.
"The mechanical soldier represents technology that could turn the tide of this war," the technician continued, oblivious to the silent exchange. "Think of what we could accomplish with an army of such machines."
Steve understood immediately. Rock was buying them time, keeping the guards focused on the interrogation. Among the other prisoners were faces he recognized from Easy Company—Little Sure Shot, Bulldozer, Wildman, Four-Eyes, Canary, and Bogman. They looked exhausted but unbroken, their eyes still holding the defiant spark that made them legendary.
Rock leaned back against the wall, adopting a more defiant posture. "You Nazi bastards can ask all you want. I ain't telling you shit about G.I. Robot or anything else."
Bulldozer caught on quickly to what Rock was doing. "Yeah, waste your breath, Jerry. We ain't saying nothing."
"Perhaps you need more persuasion," the technician said, reaching for something on a nearby table.
"Persuasion?" Wildman spoke up with a bitter laugh. "That's what you call torture now? Real classy."
Four-Eyes adjusted his glasses and added, "You're wasting your time. We've been through worse than anything you can dish out."
The Easy Company men were deliberately keeping the conversation going, Steve realized, giving him and his team precious seconds to position themselves for the attack.
"Intel gathering," Steve said grimly. "They want everything about G.I. Robot."
At the far end sat two examination tables. The first held the mechanical soldier, powered down but his optical sensors flickered occasionally. G.I. Robot's chest cavity was open, revealing complex circuitry within.
On the second table lay the golden-haired giant, conscious but restrained. Unlike the other prisoners, he wasn't struggling. Instead, he listened to the interrogation with growing confusion.
"These men think you're hurting people," Wilhelm said, genuine concern in his voice. "But you told me we were working together to develop medical treatments for wounded soldiers."
The technician paused his questioning, turning toward Wilhelm with barely concealed irritation. "Wilhelm, please. These soldiers have been traumatized. They don't understand the larger picture."
"But they're saying you're experimenting on prisoners," Wilhelm continued, distress clear on his perfect features. "They're saying you work with something called HYDRA to build weapons."
"Wilhelm, you suffered severe memory loss in your aircraft crash," the technician said patiently, though his tone suggested this conversation had happened many times. "These men are confused about our mission."
Rock's scarred face twisted with disgust as he looked between the technician and Wilhelm. "Jesus Christ, what did you bastards do to that poor son of a bitch? He really believes your bullshit."
"The subject has proven remarkably cooperative," the technician replied clinically. "Unlike some others."
Steve stepped into the laboratory, shield raised. "That's because you scrambled his brains."
The HYDRA guards spun toward him, raising energy weapons, but they were too slow. Azzuri flowed past Steve, claws extending as he took down the first two guards before they could fire. His vibranium claws sliced through their rifles, then across their throats in one fluid motion.
Ted and Peter flanked right. Ted grabbed a heavy microscope and brought it down on a guard's head with a wet crunch. Peter drew Kane's pistol and put three rounds into another guard's chest before the man could aim.
Logan and Grant moved left, surrounding the remaining guards. A HYDRA soldier swung his rifle butt at Logan's head. Logan tried to duck but wasn't fast enough. The steel stock connected with a sickening crack, tearing off a section of his scalp and exposing white bone underneath. Blood poured down Logan's face.
"Mein Gott," one of the HYDRA soldiers whispered, staring at the horrific wound.
Logan staggered, then straightened. The torn flesh began to knit itself back together, new skin growing over the exposed skull. Within seconds, the wound had completely healed, leaving only blood-matted hair as evidence of the injury.
"Unmöglich," another guard breathed.
Logan wiped blood from his eyes and looked at his hands. His face twisted with concentration, and suddenly bone claws erupted from his knuckles with wet tearing sounds. Six ivory-white blades, roughly eight inches long, extended from between his fingers.
"What the hell?" Grant muttered, backing away from his partner.