Sebastian Stan Short Stories

Bucky Barnes [22]

If I was being rescued, I was going to make it easy for Bucky and whoever was with him. I holstered my gun, stuck the spare magazine in one of my empty pockets, and tried to steel away enough mental fortitude to get out of here. I had long since run out of endorphins and adrenaline and anything else that might dull the pain in my ribs, shoulder, and head. 

"Iskra, I'm moving. Do you have my position?" I asked quietly. The earpiece would normally transmit my location along with my voice, but I couldn't be sure it was still fully functioning. 

"Amherst is doing aerial recon," Bucky confirmed. "We've got clear coms but GPS is getting scrambled."

"Copy that," I answered. I readied the gun and opened the door to the room. Nobody was in the hallway, so I began limping in the same direction as the men who had run by. I knew they'd be going towards an exit of some sort, most likely wherever the intruders were coming in. I kept the gun at my side as I went, not wanting to waste the energy to keep it elevated. My head was spinning. 

Twenty feet from me, where the hallway became an intersection, a man stepped forward, into my line of fire. My head was foggy and my arms were weak, but I scrutinized his uniform, realized he wasn't a friendly, raised the gun, and fired a shot within the span of a single breath. He dropped. 

"Iskra, respond. I've got a bogey down," I called. There was no response, and I reminded myself he was probably busy with rescue efforts. I crossed the intersection of corridors, stopping long enough to kneel down and take the fully loaded pistol from the man I had shot, and continued in the direction he had seemed to be moving. I really wasn't sure where I was going. 

As I went I racked my brain for any schematics I had seen in my briefing meeting. Between a rough jump and landing a half mile from the target, a concussion and possibly subluxated shoulder, and taking three or four beatings, my brain was pretty much laughing maniacally every time I tried to think of anything. All I knew is that there were three or four smaller exit points on the ground floor, but I was on the third floor. That was a problem. I needed a window or a staircase. 

"Iskra, Amherst, whoever else is on the coms. I'm at max altitude," I mumbled. The words came out slurred and hushed. "I'm going to try a descent if I can."

"Amherst here. I've got your position, Claymore," Sam relayed. I had stumbled upon a staircase, but the door was jammed. I wasted too much energy on pushing and pulling at the door, attracting attention. "Iskra and Detroit are trying to clear out the lower levels. Stay--what the hell?"

A loud whistle and muted explosion sounded off through my earpiece. 

"Stay where you're at," Sam said. "I'm dealing with a bogey who's trying to--come on, man! Is that really necessary? Someone's trying to shoot me down with an anti-aircraft gun. Give me a second."

There was more cussing, most of it very creative, as Sam dealt with high caliber guns. I was going to take his advice until I heard slow footsteps coming through the hallways. They were sweeping the building, searching for anyone who wasn't supposed to be where I was. 

I lifted the gun and made my way to the nearest, hopefully open, door. I had my back pressed against it when voices called out for me to stop. I fired errant shots, hitting both of the men who had been talking the halls, and ducked into the empty room. There were several windows against the far wall; I needed to get one open. 

"This is Claymore. Two more bogeys down," I said. There wasn't an immediate reply. I holstered the gun and pulled the cord to open the window blinds. I was on the west side of the building, facing a sunset that was slowly being obscured by rolling grey clouds. Trees close to the building were being battered by the wind, and I could only imagine what kind of gales Sam was dealing with. "I've found an exit. I'm taking it."