I Loved You First | Not Easily Conquered ▸ [STUCKY]

Ch. 4

1966

In 1943 then-Captain Rogers was called upon to lead an SSR-sanctioned rescue mission for the captured 107th Division of the US Army behind enemy lines in Austria. The mission was successful, and Rogers returned to allied territory with 200 of the 243 captured men. From these soldiers he selected a team of specialists known as SSR Strike Unit One (see "Howling Commandos", page 255). This was the rescue mission that not only launched Colonel Rogers' military career, but is also recognized as being one of the most courageous operations that occurred during the Second World War.

(Cochran, Stacey, and Randall Cross. A Boy From Brooklyn: The Authorized Biography of Captain America. Reprint. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1950. Print.)

-

Steve crosses the Red Square briskly, the reflection of the Kremlin looming behind him in the window of the cafe he approaches. He opens the door and spots Agent Sanchez, drinking from a tiny espresso cup in the corner. He weaves through little tables and chairs to sit across from her, not bothering to take off his coat or gloves. He pushes his horn-rimmed nonprescription glasses up his nose as he pulls his chair in and drinks from the coffee she's bought him, black and too hot, with a little sugar.

"Recon complete," he reports lowly. "We'll be back by 2100 at the latest. Let Director Carter know that I'll be in for a debrief within the hour."

Sanchez nods. "Noted," she says, but keeps looking at Steve instead of redirecting her attention to her book the way she's supposed to.

"What is it?" asks Steve, immediately on watch.

Sanchez evaluates him for a moment and finally says, "I wanted to let you know before we get back that there's a situation with a number of media outlets."

Steve, whose body has tensed for confrontation, is confused. "What?" He says.

"Mr. Stark has been calling through SHIELD for the last hour. He said it wasn't urgent but that he'd like me to tell you to, and I quote, get your ass back to the States for damage control ASAP."

Steve drinks his coffee, which is cool enough now. "Do you know what happened?"

"I..." Sanchez's brow wrinkles. She seems young and confused in a way that she never has before, and Steve looks at her as her gaze drops. Her eyeliner is drawn on neatly, her hair curled, the scar bisecting her left eyebrow filled in with pencil. She seems, suddenly, softer.

"Sanchez?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," she finally decides. She raises her head and looks at him again with a stare that is piercing and sure. "But Colonel Rogers, I do want you to know that no matter the fallout, or the truth of the accusations, I know where my loyalties lie. And they lie with you."

-

In 1943, Steve, rain soaking through the worn soles of his boots, his hair dripping against his forehead, watched inside a command tent as Phillips' face fell into a look that was apologetic but matter-of-fact. In 1943 Steve panicked, defied direct orders, and enlisted the help of a civilian engineer to fly him into Nazi territory on the sliver of a chance that Bucky was still alive. Quite incidentally he freed 200 men. He should have gotten a court-martial. Instead, through dumb luck alone, he ended up the captain of his own team.

B-A-R-N-E-S. Steve had spelled it out a million times, to his employers, in the hospital; yes ma'am, he'd gasp between coughs, that's my next of kin. He never really thought of all the times Buck himself must have spelled out Steve's name, to his manager at the docks, to the officers at the recruitment office and, later, Basic. R-O-G-E-R-S, that's right, Steven G., yes sir, he lives in Brooklyn. Yes sir, mark him down.