58. What's Your Status?

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Indian Ocean

"The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: The Lemurian Star. They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, 93 minutes ago." Rumlow explained, showing us on the screen in front of us.

All the STRIKE agents were congregated around him as he explained our plan of attack. Everyone was suited up as he tapped the screen displaying the coordinates of the ship we were saving.

"Any demands?" Steve asked.

"A billion and a half," Rumlow responded.

"Why so steep?"

"Because it's S.H.I.E.L.D's."

"So it's not off-course, it's trespassing," Steve concluded.

"I'm sure they have a good reason," Natasha spoke up, likely trying to stop Steve from asking too many questions.

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of being Fury's janitor," he protested.

"Relax, it's not that deep," I tried to calm him down.

"How many pirates?" he turned back to Brock.

"Twenty-five. Top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc," he displayed Batroc's photo on the screen, "Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He's at the top of Interpol's Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. This guy's got a rep for maximum casualties."

"Hostages?"

"Uh, mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell." Rumlow disclosed as he pulled Sitwell's photo up.

"What's Sitwell doing on a launch ship?" He asked himself before lifting his head to address the crew. "Alright, I'm gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you'll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to the life-pods, get 'em out. Sarge, I want you with me. Let's move."

"STRIKE, you heard the Cap. Gear up!" Rumlow ordered and the crew began to scatter grabbing weaponry and helmets ready to start the rescue.

I grabbed a parachute and walked over to the back of the jet. As we waited for the ramp to open Steve walked by, taking into his wrist comm: "Secure channel seven."

"Seven secured," I replied once I had my comm plugged into my ear.

"So Captain, you doing anything fun Saturday night?" I asked coyly as I strapped my parachute onto my back.

Natasha appeared next to me giving me a look making sure I was still on board with the mission. I winked at her to confirm that I was as I awaited Steve's reply.

He smirked as he placed his comm in his ear, "Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so... No, not really."

Natasha butted in, "You know, if you ask Kristen out, from Statistics, she'd probably say yes." She said.

"That's why I don't ask," he replied placing his helmet on his head.

"Too shy or too scared?!" Nat called out as Steve stepped back towards the now opened ramp.

"Too busy!" he finalized before leaping off the ramp.

"Was he wearing a parachute?" one of the STRIKE agents asked behind me.

"No. No, he wasn't," Rumlow smirked like a proud dad.

"He has a thing against parachutes. I don't know why," I said wryly before jumping off the ramp seconds after Natasha did the same. Rumlow followed close behind.

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