Steve retrieved his shield and glanced over the fallen mercenaries. Once he confirmed they were no longer a threat, he turned and moved on.
He sprinted along the side deck toward the interior of the ship. Every pirate he encountered was either knocked unconscious or sent tumbling into the sea. None of them stood a chance. Some were taken down in a single clean motion.
Reaching the central deck area, Steve leapt from an upper level, shield raised before him, and slammed down onto a mercenary. The man let out a muffled grunt and collapsed, fate unknown.
Steve surged forward into the cluster of enemies.
The mercenaries barely had time to react. Some hadn't even raised their weapons before they were dropped one after another.
One pirate, clearly terrified, threw down his rifle and bolted, hoping distance might save him.
It didn't.
With a sharp crack, the shield smashed into his back. He felt his lower body go numb instantly before collapsing face-first onto the deck. The force of vibranium combined with Steve's strength had shattered his spine.
Steve had already held back.
Otherwise, the man might have been split in two.
With full force, Steve could cleave through aircraft hulls—even Helicarrier armor.
As he retrieved his shield and turned—
A mercenary appeared behind him, rifle aimed at his head.
"Don't move!"
Before he could finish the sentence, a sharp crack echoed across the deck.
The mercenary dropped, a bullet hole blooming in his forehead. Blood and bone fragments spilled onto the steel surface.
Rumlow descended beside Steve, parachute collapsing behind him. Smoke curled faintly from his rifle barrel.
"Looks like you needed backup, Captain."
He smirked.
Moments later, the rest of the strike team landed. Natasha among them.
"Captain," Natasha said casually as she walked beside him, "what about that girl who lives next to you? She seems nice. Good match, maybe."
"Let's take the control room first," Steve replied flatly.
"Fine. Your call."
Natasha vaulted over the second deck railing and disappeared toward the engine room.
---
Galley – Hostage Area
Inside the kitchen, the technical staff were bound hand and foot. Several armed mercenaries stood guard.
"I told Batroc—we need to start sending bodies if we want S.H.I.E.L.D. to pay," one said. "They won't take this seriously otherwise."
"I agree," another replied. "Make it clear we mean business."
They paced slowly before the hostages, rifles swinging lazily as they selected a victim.
---
Bridge
Steve moved swiftly up toward the bridge, scaling the structure with fluid agility.
He fired a listening device onto the captain's cabin window.
Voices filtered in.
"I'm done waiting," Batroc said from the captain's chair. "Call below. The moment the ransom clears, we sail."
A subordinate contacted the engine room.
"Start the engines. Prepare to move."
In the engine room below, a mercenary acknowledged the order and hung up.
He turned—
Natasha was already behind him.
Her foot shot forward.
The man's scream echoed through the machinery chamber as she looped a garrote around his neck and used the momentum to descend the stairwell.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
As she rappelled downward, her pistols barked with clinical precision. Every shot found its mark.
One mercenary per level.
No misses.
She reached the lowest deck, where the engines roared.
More resistance than expected.
She flipped forward, legs scissoring around a man's head—
Crack.
She landed, rolled, and tackled another, delivering a high-voltage shock through her wrist-mounted taser.
More rushed in.
In the tight confines of the engine room, her flexibility became lethal advantage. She moved like liquid, striking, disabling, eliminating.
Within minutes—
Silence.
She exhaled.
"Engine room secure. You're clear, Captain."
A mercenary groaned behind her, attempting to rise.
Without looking, she grabbed a crowbar and smashed it across his skull.
He dropped.
She tossed the tool aside and left.
---
Exterior – Kitchen Assault
The strike team split into two units.
One descended along the outer hull with grappling lines.
The other, led by Rumlow, positioned at the kitchen entrance.
Charges and a grappling hook mechanism were affixed to the door. The system would blast and yank the door outward simultaneously for a clean breach line.
"Team Two in position," came the whisper over comms from outside the kitchen windows.
"Captain, ready to extract hostages," Rumlow reported.
On the bridge, Steve observed Batroc attempting to contact S.H.I.E.L.D. over open radio channels.
No response.
"Natasha?"
"Ready."
In the galley, Sitwell caught sight of strike team silhouettes outside the window.
At the same moment, the mercenary who had proposed executions raised his rifle.
"Time's up," he said coldly. "Who wants to die first?"
On the bridge, Steve's voice came over comms.
"On my mark."
The operation moved into its final phase.
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