Captain America: The Shield of Sam Wilson E-Book

Sheree Renée Thomas

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Seitenzahl: 395

Beschreibung

The new Captain America has a big shield to carry. Is he up to the task? Find out in these subversive, exciting and uplifting short stories inspired by the Marvel comic book universe, written by celebrated Black authors. The new Captain America has a heavy shield to hold. As a black man in America, Sam Wilson knows he has to be twice as good to get half as much credit. He must be a paragon of virtue for a nation that has mixed feelings towards him. In these thirteen brand-new stories, the all-new Captain America must thwart an insurrectionist plot, travel back in time, foil a racist conspiracy, and save the world over and over again. As the Falcon, Sam Wilson was the first African-American superhero in mainstream comic books. Sam's trials and tribulations reflect the struggles many Black Americans go through today, as Sam balances fighting supervillains and saving the world with the difficulties of being the first Black Captain America. This action-packed anthology inspired by the Marvel comic book universe, will see Sam team up with familiar friends like Steve Rogers, Redwing and Nomad, while fighting HYDRA, Sabretooth, Kingpin, and other infamous villains. These are stories of death-defying courage, Black love and self-discovery. These are the stories of a super hero learning what it means to be a symbol. These are the stories of Sam Wilson. Featuring original stories by L.L. McKinney, Maurice Broaddus, Jesse J. Holland, Gar Anthony Haywood, Nicole Givens Kurtz, Kyoko M., Sheree Renee Thomas, Gary Phillips, Danian Jerry, Gloria J. Browne Marshall, Glenn Parris, Christopher Chambers, Alex Simmons.

Leseprobe

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Dedication

Introduction by Jesse J. Holland

Lost Cause by Kyoko M.

Everyone’s Hero by Maurice Broaddus

Exclusive Content by Sheree Renée Thomas

By Any Means Unnecessary by Gar Anthony Haywood

The Way Home by Nicole Givens Kurtz

Surreptitious by Gary Phillips

The Maltese Connection by Glenn Parris

Uniform by Jesse J. Holland

Chaos Rules by Gloria J. Browne-Marshall

Plug In, Plug Out by Danian Jerry

No Time Like The Present by Alex Simmons

About the Authors

About the Editor

Acknowledgments

NOVELS OF THE MARVEL UNIVERSE BY TITAN BOOKS

Ant-Man: Natural Enemy by Jason Starr

Avengers: Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Dan Abnett

Avengers: Infinity by James A. Moore

Black Panther: Panther’s Rage by Sheree Renée Thomas

Black Panther: Who is the Black Panther? by Jesse J. Holland

Black Panther: Tales of Wakanda by Jesse J. Holland

Captain America: Dark Design by Stefan Petrucha

Captain Marvel: Liberation Run by Tess Sharpe

Captain Marvel: Shadow Code by Gilly Segal

Civil War by Stuart Moore

Deadpool: Paws by Stefan Petrucha

Doctor Strange: Dimension War by James Lovegrove

Guardians of the Galaxy – Annihilation: Conquest by Brendan Deneen

Loki: Journey Into Mystery Prose Novel by Katherine Locke

Marvel’s Midnight Suns: Infernal Rising by S.D. Perry

Marvel’s Secret Invasion Prose Novel by Paul Cornell

Spider-Man: Forever Young by Stefan Petrucha

Spider-Man: Kraven’s Last Hunt by Neil Kleid

Spider-Man: The Darkest Hours Omnibus by Jim Butcher,Keith R.A. Decandido, and Christopher L. Bennett (forthcoming)

Spider-Man: The Venom Factor Omnibus by Diane Duane

Thanos: Death Sentence by Stuart Moore

Venom: Lethal Protector by James R. Tuck

X-Men: Days of Future Past by Alex Irvine

X-Men: The Dark Phoenix Saga by Stuart Moore

X-Men: The Mutant Empire Omnibus by Christopher Golden

X-Men & The Avengers: The Gamma Quest Omnibus by Greg Cox

ALSO FROM TITAN AND TITAN BOOKS

Marvel Contest of Champions: The Art of the Battlerealm by Paul Davies

Marvel’s Spider-Man: The Art of the Game by Paul Davies

Obsessed with Marvel by Peter Sanderson and Marc Sumerak

Spider-Man: Hostile Takeover by David Liss

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse – The Art of the Movie by Ramin Zahed

The Art of Iron Man (10th Anniversary Edition) by John Rhett Thomas

The Marvel Vault by Matthew K. Manning, Peter Sanderson, and Roy Thomas

Ant-Man and the Wasp: The Official Movie Special

Avengers: Endgame – The Official Movie Special

Avengers: Infinity War – The Official Movie Special

Black Panther: The Official Movie Companion

Black Panther: The Official Movie Special

Captain Marvel: The Official Movie Special

Marvel Studios: The First Ten Years

Spider-Man: Far From Home – The Official Movie Special

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse – The Official Movie Special

Thor: Ragnarok – The Official Movie Special

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CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE SHIELD OF SAM WILSON

Print edition ISBN: 9781803363875

E-book edition ISBN: 9781803367712

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First hardback edition: January 2025

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

FOR MARVEL PUBLISHING

Jeff Youngquist, VP Production and Special Projects

Sarah Singer, Editor, Special Projects

Jeremy West, Manager, Licensed Publishing

Sven Larsen, VP, Licensed Publishing

David Gabriel, VP, Print & Digital Publishing

C.B. Cebulski, Editor in Chief

This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

Sam Wilson created by Stan Lee & Gene Colan

© 2025 MARVEL

Cover by R.B. Silva & Jesus Aburtov

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

This book is lovingly dedicated to all of the individuals who protect and symbolize the United States of America, but especially to those Black men and women who have loved, fought, and died for this country both at home and abroad but whose contributions have never truly been acknowledged by their fellow citizens. Your sacrifices are appreciated.

INTRODUCTION

JESSE J. HOLLAND

WHEN I first heard that Sam Wilson was going to be the next Captain America, I was furious.

I wasn’t angry because Marvel Comics was sidelining a beloved character like Steve Rogers, the Star-Spangled Avenger, and giving his title to the African American man who was created to be his sidekick (though many other people were upset by this). I wasn’t even upset because Marvel was retiring one of the first African American heroic identities in the comic-book industry and turning Sam Wilson into just another replacement for a World War II-era white super hero.

I was mad because I thought this would be an ignoble end to a great character like Sam Wilson.

You see, I’m a longtime comic-book fan. I started reading comic books as a child, and five decades or so later I still have a pull list—digital, not paper—and I’m a longtime devotee of Marvel Unlimited, the electronic catalog of Marvel Comics, so I read backward into the past as well as forward as I keep up with the most recent adventures of my favorite heroes and teams. And there’s one thing I know for a fact, given all of my years of reading comic books:

The status quo always returns.

And that’s where I thought they were going with Sam Wilson. He would be Captain America for a while, his falcon, Redwing, on his arm, but Steve Rogers was going to be back, and he was going to be Captain America. Which meant Sam was probably going to have to die, break his back, lose a leg, or go insane, and probably at the hands of Steve’s greatest enemy, the Red Skull—all to inspire Steve Rogers to remember and prove to the world that he was the one and only Captain America.

And Sam Wilson deserved better.

I’ve always been a fan of Sam’s. He and the Black Panther were the first characters of color I encountered in my early days of reading the Avengers, and unlike T’Challa—who was very proudly Wakandan and not American—the Falcon was the only Black American super hero that I knew of for a very long time. I would eventually discover Luke Cage and Monica Rambeau, but Sam for the longest time was the only super hero who looked like me and was from a real place that I recognized—Harlem—instead of a made-up country from a continent that I had never visited. That gave him a special place in my heart, and I always paid attention when he showed up.

Gene Colan, the artist on that issue and co-creator of the Falcon, described what was going through his and Stan’s minds when they came up with the character in the introduction to Marvel Masterworks: Captain America Volume 4 (2008):

“In the late 1960s, [when news of the] Vietnam War and civil rights protests were regular occurrences, and Stan, always wanting to be at the forefront of things, started bringing these headlines into the comics … one of the biggest steps we took in this direction came in Captain America. I enjoyed drawing people of every kind. I drew as many different types of people as I could into the scenes I illustrated, and I loved drawing Black people. I always found their features interesting and so much of their strength, spirit and wisdom [was] written on their faces. I approached Stan, as I remember, with the idea of introducing an African American hero, and he took to it right away. … I looked at several African American magazines, and used them as the basis of inspiration for bringing The Falcon to life.”

It was only when I was older that I discovered how special Sam Wilson actually was. Not only is he a cool super hero and an awesome character, but he also holds a special place in the pantheon of characters of color in the comic-book industry’s history books.

Many comic-book and movie fans now know that the Black Panther, King T’Challa of Wakanda, was the first Black comic-book character in mainstream comic books, debuting in Fantastic Four #52 in July 1966. But T’Challa wasn’t the first African American comic-book super hero… because he wasn’t African American. That hero was Sam Wilson, the Falcon.

Sam Wilson was introduced by Stan Lee and Gene Colan in Captain America #117, which hit stands in September 1969. And from the beginning, Sam was a hero. He didn’t have to lose his parents to murder (that came later in the rewrites). He didn’t have to avenge the fridging of a girlfriend or wife. He didn’t even start out fighting racism or running from corrupt cops or Klansmen in the United States.

Sam started out his career as a hero fighting for freedom for natives in a foreign land in the tropics, for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. Steve Rogers came along and gave him a costume and some training, but Sam was already a falcon-wielding hero when he met Captain America. Steve Rogers—and later the Black Panther—only gave him the training and, eventually, the mechanical wings and flight suit to make him a better-equipped hero, not a hero. Sam did that all by himself.

That, for a teenaged and young adult me, was very refreshing. Sam Wilson didn’t need a tortured backstory of pain and sorrow to usher him into the world of heroics. He was a Black American who saw injustice and was fighting it not just for his own personal interest but for others, using whatever he had on hand. To quote him from his debut issue of Captain America, #117, “We’ll make weapons! Out of sticks ’n stones if we have to! Anything’s better than not fighting back!”

Here was a Black man who did good because he was good. That’s Sam Wilson, especially when compared to the streetwise, down-with-it, ghetto-dwelling, Afro-wearing, blaxploitation superstar that was Luke Cage.

Cage, aka Power Man, holds his place in history as being the first African American to have his own self-titled super-hero comic, Luke Cage: Hero for Hire, which debuted in June 1972. Luke was created to be a stereotypical man of his time, a jive-talking, disco-shirt-wearing, muscle-flexing convict who bemoaned the evils of the Man who set him up and kept him from being his true, authentic self. Luke didn’t want to be a selfless hero working for the betterment of mankind and his neighborhood; Luke did good because it paid better. Oh, he wanted to do the right thing—and eventually would—but he would also let you know that the right thing came at a cost as he flexed his biceps and complained about how hard life was.

Sam, meanwhile, did good because good needed doing. He had a selfless job (he was a social worker in Harlem), palled around with Captain America for years, and even became a member the mighty Avengers, although Falcon became an Avenger solely because they needed a minority member to satisfy U.S. government regulations—not because they needed his skill or power but because they had a “Black” hero slot, and Black Panther didn’t want to fill it. I was embarrassed to read that. The Avengers were reluctant to have Falcon forced on them, and indeed Sam Wilson had enough pride in himself to walk away from the Avengers a few issues later because of that situation.

But I digress. Since his inception, Sam has been beloved. Eventually, he became so recognizable that, while he didn’t get his own comic book like Cage, he gained a co-credit in one of Marvel’s most popular comic books, which was renamed Captain America and the Falcon, a title pairing that lasted so long that today people are just as likely to say “the Falcon” as they are to say “Bucky” or “the Avengers” if you ask them to complete the phrase “Captain America and…”

That’s why I was mad when I found out that Marvel Comics were going to make Sam Wilson Captain America. I figured it would be yanked away from him through his death, his maiming, his insanity, or some other stupid thing that wouldn’t honor all of the work done by his character and all of the writers who had crafted him into the righteous, courageous super hero that he was. I, in my position as a journalist back then, even put the question directly to Axel Alonso, then editor-in-chief at Marvel Comics.

Alonso, who was steering Marvel through a significant cultural shift, assured me that Sam Wilson’s tenure as Captain America was not a mere placeholder until Steve Rogers’ return. He emphasized Marvel’s commitment to reflecting the evolving world and diversifying its roster of super heroes. But while his words provided some comfort, my skepticism remained.

However, as time went on, my perspective began to change. Sam Wilson’s Captain America was not just a fleeting gimmick. The storylines explored the way he struggled with the mantle, not just due to his race but also through the weight of carrying such a significant legacy. It delved into what it meant for Sam, a Black man from Harlem, to wield the shield and represent American ideals that had often failed people like him.

One of the most poignant arcs appeared in All-New Captain America, where Sam faced enemies old and new, including a resurgent Hydra, while dealing with public perception, a key aspect being how different communities saw him. For some he was a symbol of progress while others viewed him as an impostor. This duality added depth to his character and the narrative.

Sam’s interactions with Steve Rogers were also telling. Steve supported Sam, acknowledging that his time had passed and that it was Sam’s turn to lead. This mentor–mentee relationship was heartening and demonstrated a passing of the torch that felt genuine and respectful.

In the broader Marvel Universe, Sam Wilson’s Captain America became a symbol of modern heroism. He wasn’t just fighting super villains; he was addressing social issues, standing up for the marginalized, and making Captain America relevant to a new generation. This was a departure from the traditional super-hero narrative and was something only Sam could bring to the iconic role.

Looking back, my initial anger was rooted in a deep respect for and protectiveness toward Sam Wilson as a character. I didn’t want to see him used as a narrative tool only to be discarded. However, Marvel’s treatment of Sam has, for the most part, been respectful and forward thinking. He wasn’t just a replacement; he was a redefinition of what Captain America could be.

Sam Wilson’s journey from the Falcon to Captain America represents a broader shift in the comic-book industry toward more inclusive and representative storytelling. It’s a testament to the evolving nature of heroism and how legacy characters can be reimagined to reflect the times. Sam Wilson didn’t just become Captain America, he redefined him, and in doing so he earned a permanent place in the pantheon of Marvel’s greatest heroes.

In the end, my fears proved unfounded. Sam Wilson has proven himself a worthy successor to Steve Rogers, not by mimicking Steve but by bringing his own unique strengths and perspectives to the role. He embodies the ideals of Captain America in a way that is relevant and inspiring for today’s world, ensuring that the legacy of the Star-Spangled Avenger continues to evolve and inspire future generations.

Each author who contributed to this anthology has infused their narrative with personal insights and cultural nuances, offering a multifaceted portrayal of a hero who transcends traditional boundaries. The stories herein not only celebrate Sam Wilson’s role as Captain America but also explore his origins, challenges, and triumphs. His ascension to the mantle of Captain America is more than a change of guard; it symbolizes the breaking of barriers and the broadening of what it means to be a hero. Through these narratives, the authors examine how Sam navigates the responsibilities of his new role while staying true to his roots and values. His journey is a reflection of the broader struggle for equality and recognition faced by many in the African American community.

At its heart, this anthology underscores the importance of legacy, exploring how, by taking on the role of Captain America, Sam Wilson not only honors Steve Rogers but also forges his own path. The stories reflect on the weight of this legacy and how Sam makes it his own, blending the old with the new. The authors explore how Sam’s unique experiences and perspectives enrich the legacy of Captain America, making it more inclusive and reflective of today’s world.

The diverse voices in this collection ensure that each story offers a fresh and compelling perspective on Sam Wilson’s character. The authors, with their varied backgrounds and storytelling styles, bring a richness to the anthology that mirrors the diversity of the world we live in. Their contributions are a testament to the power of storytelling in shaping our understanding of heroism and representation.

I am proud to present a collection of stories that explore the diverse and powerful legacy of Sam Wilson’s Captain America, written by some of the best up-and-coming African American authors, each bringing their unique perspectives and personal connections to Sam Wilson. These stories delve into different facets of Sam’s character and the impact he has made as Captain America to create a rich tapestry of narratives that honor his legacy. This anthology is a testament to the enduring power of representation and the ever-evolving nature of heroism.

Jesse J. Holland, Editor

LOST CAUSE

KYOKO M.

SAMUEL THOMAS Wilson knew how to make an entrance.

It was a scorching-hot day in Colorado. It felt like the sun was trying to cook him sunny-side up as he rounded the last turn that put the Pueblo Memorial Airport firmly within his sights. He’d already been cleared to land by the faithful ground-control staff, spotting his final destination through the heads-up display in his goggles. When he reached the last leg of the flight, he let his body naturally straighten out for wind resistance and righted himself to land on his feet in front of the prison bus and the small throng of people waiting on his arrival.

The first man he spotted was one he knew all too well: a bald middle-aged Black man with perfectly straight posture, his leather duster flapping in the wind every so often, a black patch over one eye, the rest of his attire all black as well. He had a gun on his hip and a no-nonsense look on his face, though Sam knew S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Nick Fury had an actual sense of humor when he felt like it.

The second man was tall and lithe, wearing a white button-down shirt, jeans, and brown cowboy boots with a light blue sport coat over the ensemble. A shiny silver star winked out at Sam on the approach, proclaiming him to be a U.S. Marshal. He had brown hair and a goatee, his blue eyes sharp and observant as they watched Sam descend.

The last person on the tarmac was a Black woman with her hair in a bun, dressed in the uniform of the very institution he’d be supporting today—the USP Florence ADX, aka a federal supermax prison from which no convict had ever escaped.

Not yet, anyway.

Sam’s boots touched down a few feet from his welcoming committee, a broad grin on his lips as he stepped forward and offered his hand to Nick Fury. “Morning, sir.”

Fury offered a small but genuine smile as he shook it. “Morning, Cap. Nice flight in from the hotel, I see?”

“Except for this heat,” Sam agreed. “I know Harlem gets hot in the summer, but man. This is something else. Not used to this Midwest heat.”

“We’ll make sure you don’t melt,” the marshal said with an easy smirk, offering his hand. “Marshal Franklin David Robertson, sir. Call me FDR. Good to meet you.”

“Same to you.”

“I’m Alcina Cirillo,” the Black woman said, shaking Sam’s hand as well. “I’m the ringleader for this veritable circus.”

“Good to meet you, ma’am.” Sam turned to the direction the group was facing to size things up. There was a small plane already on the tarmac with the inmates being transferred from the Raft to ADX for their permanent new digs. There had recently been a prison break perpetrated by the super villain Shocker, meaning that most of the Raft’s security was now compromised, and it would be weeks or months before it could be restored.

“What’s the final head count?” Sam asked.

“Six prisoners,” Alcina said. “We tried to keep it small to lessen the work. And the hot tamale himself has a habit of converting people into his corner, so the fewer, the better.”

Sam’s brown eyes narrowed as he caught sight of said hot tamale exiting the airplane. He was a man of insurmountable stature, seeming to tower over everyone not just with his height, but with his presence. Naturally, he wore a burgundy prison jumpsuit, his arms chained to his waist, his legs shackled to one another. He had brown eyes and a bald head, with small beads of sweat falling forward onto his forehead. A shark’s grin formed on his lips as the four guards walked the six criminals toward the bus.

“Well, if it ain’t Discount Captain America,” Brock Rumlow aka Crossbones said, his beady eyes beaming down unpleasantness. “How’s it going, sucker?”

“Even my worst day is better than your best, smart-mouth,” Sam replied with a cool, unbothered look.

“Don’t worry,” Fury said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “That smart mouth won’t be so smart after he gets a load of his new digs.”

Rumlow shrugged. “Iso ain’t bad. I’ve had worse.”

“That’s what you think.” Fury showed his teeth.

Rumlow gestured to Alcina. “Who’s the babe?”

“Your new best friend,” Alcina smiled, removing her night stick and pointing to the bus.

Rumlow licked his lips and winked. “I like the sound of that.” He then turned and started to shuffle for the bus.

Sam shook his head. “Good to know he’s still as charming as ever.”

The small group chuckled. Alcina gestured to the four guards, all white men forty or older dressed in identical guard uniforms. The shortest stood at the end. He had blond curls and blue eyes, freckles dotting his nose. The one beside him was over six feet tall with his sandy-colored hair in a buzzcut, his eyes a rare shade of green. The third man was heavyset with brown hair and brown eyes. The last man was average height and weight, shaved bald, with dark blue eyes. “These are my men that will be backing you up.”

She started from the left. “Robert Pettengill, Quentin Bell, Matthew Collins, and Justin Brandt.”

Sam nodded to them respectfully and they nodded back. He gestured to Pettengill—who, like all the other guards, had a semiautomatic rifle strapped to his back. “I thought prison protocol was for non-lethal weapons?”

“We were given the go-ahead for a little more firepower considering the circumstances,” he replied. “It’s Rumlow.”

“You’re not wrong. Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point. Thanks, fellas.”

With that, they went back over to the bus to make sure the inmates filed in.

“What’s the word on the distance we’re covering?” Sam continued.

Fury pulled out a tablet and tapped a few things, showing him the highlighted route. “It should be a forty-five minute drive. The perimeter will be monitored by S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel using drones; they’re small enough to avoid most detection by any party crashers and they’ll ping you if there’s incoming.”

Sam turned to the marshal. “What kind of resources do we have if there’s an attack?”

“We can call in a chopper for backup if things get hairy. There will be Fremont County SWAT officers on said chopper.”

“Roger that. What’s the last thing we heard from our intel?”

Fury sighed. “That’s the trouble. We caught word of a jail break, but S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t able to narrow down a source. There are plenty of people who want Rumlow out, starting with the Red Skull and working through a lot of the criminal underbelly. The guy’s a valuable mercenary and so having him loose benefits too many entities stateside for us to give you a dossier on who might be the culprit. We have to assume any hostile force that’s used Rumlow before could be on their way.”

Sam whistled. “That’s an ugly thought. If I had to guess, though, I’d agree that Red Skull would want Rumlow bad enough to cross swords with us. Baron Zemo or Taskmaster might too. They’ve got the best toys, enough men to make it a successful jailbreak, and the motivation to git ’er done. I’ve crossed paths with them enough to know this is a golden opportunity they won’t want to miss. I read the file on our perps, but there is one last thing I want to ask.”

He turned to Alcina. “Our other five prisoners… I’ve read their rap sheets and psych profiles, but you’ve spent time among supermax convicts. I want your perspective on the other prisoners we’re transporting.”

Alcina blinked in surprise. “Hmm… well, ADX Florence is reserved for basically two kinds of criminals: the truly violent lost causes and the high-profile criminals that the authorities want to make absolutely sure never see the light of day again. It houses mostly terrorists and men too dangerous to be sent anywhere else, as well as those who sold U.S. secrets. Our other five prisoners consist of two bombing terrorists, an ex-C.I.A. officer, a serial killer, and a former Mexican cartel enforcer.”

She peered at the bus, pausing in thought. “Their mentalities are certainly mixed. I would say of the five, the one most likely to gravitate toward Rumlow would be the serial killer, Wayne Clayton. Clayton has yet to make any escape attempts, but he hasn’t displayed any psychological indications that he accepts his fate. I think he’s biding his time, waiting for a chance to strike.”

“Meaning we’ve got our work cut out for us,” FDR said with a sigh. “We can expect non-compliance if someone does attack the bus.”

“If given the opportunity, do you think all five would try to bail if someone hits the bus to get Rumlow out?” Fury asked.

Alcina nodded. “They may not think they’d get far, but I think all five would take the chance.”

Fury regarded Sam seriously. “Then you make sure you watch your back, brotha.”

Sam grinned. “Already got that covered.”

He whistled again—but a short, loud blast this time. A moment later, a shadow cast itself over the group. They squinted into the blue sky as they spotted a falcon circling above, then descending like a torpedo. His wings opened at the last second and then he landed neatly on Sam’s left shoulder, cocking his head as he observed the newcomers. “Redwing’s ready to rock and roll.”

FDR glanced at the others, mystified. “Uh, how’s a falcon gonna help?”

Sam lightly petted the front of Redwing’s feathers. “We have a special bond.”

FDR grinned. “Oh my God—are you like Ant-Man, but for birds?”

Sam shrugged, slightly miffed at the comparison to the tiny hero. “More or less.”

“I can’t believe that rumor is true. This is amazing. Just wait ’til my kid hears.”

“Text him. We’ve gotta get moving.” Alcina shook Fury’s hand and nodded to him, then raised her voice. “Let’s get this show on the road, boys!”

The other guards filed into the bus, with Alcina and FDR bringing up the rear. Fury shook Sam’s hand a last time. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Fury. We’ll keep you apprised.” Sam stepped back and nodded to Redwing, who took flight first, then he followed. The bus coughed itself to life on the tarmac and then began to follow the signs and directions from the flight crew to exit Pueblo Memorial Airport and enter the forty-five-minute route to ADX Florence.

*   *   *

FOR THE first fifteen minutes of the ride, everything was fine.

Sam had the video feed from Fury’s drones cast into his goggles’ heads-up display to keep an eye on the perimeter. Redwing had gone up to a higher altitude, letting Sam see through his eyes that it was all-clear for now. Sam had a comm-link to Alcina and FDR in the bus below and they’d told him everything looked normal from the ground level so far. They’d gone against the usual policy for a police escort in order to minimize how noticeable they’d be on the road.

Their surroundings, however, were the much larger problem. The route to ADX Florence wasn’t completely clear, it would have them passing by several smaller cities in the area. It left plenty of opportunities for enemies to camp out and spring a trap. The bulk of the drive would be spent on U.S.-50: a six-lane highway with a divider that would account for about half an hour of drive time. They’d already gone past modest houses and a few businesses, passing some empty fields and a train track that ran parallel to the highway.

At the sixteen-minute mark into the drive, Sam’s comm-link sparked to life. “Sam, it’s FDR.”

“Go ahead, marshal.”

“It may not be anything, but check Camera Four in your feed. I’m seeing some interference that looks suspicious.”

FDR and Alcina had live feeds to the drones as well, accessible from a tablet; a precaution in case Sam had to engage the enemy and couldn’t provide that information for them. He used the controls on the digital pad built into his right forearm to highlight Camera Four and bring the feed up.

The four drones formed a moving quadrant that followed the prison bus along, observing the general space along Highway U.S.-50, and Camera Four was south of them. When the feed filled the top corner of his vision, he could see why FDR flagged it as odd: the picture flickered every few seconds.

“What are the chances that’s just a random technology glitch caused by being in the middle of nowhere?”

FDR snorted. “Slim to none, Cap.”

“Yup, that’s what I thought. I’m calling Redwing to take my spot; I’ll go check it out.”

“Roger that. Be careful.”

Sam concentrated and reached out to Redwing via their telepathic link, and the falcon started to descend to Sam’s current altitude. Once Redwing arrived, Sam turned around and flew for Camera Four’s position bringing up the rear.

He slowed his flight to the same speed as the drone, then flipped upside down as he came within range. He let it fly above him and then checked the outside of the hull for anything suspicious.

And suspicious, he did find.

“There’s some kind of object on the bottom of Camera Four,” Sam told FDR and Alcina as he peered up at the bottom of the drone. “It’s mechanical and about the size of a silver dollar. Has a black interface covered with glass. Don’t see any numbers or identifying marks.”

“Crap,” Alcina hissed. “Someone’s probably tampering with it. We have to assume it might be compromised. I recommend we decommission it for now.”

“I can try removing it, but I don’t know what it’ll do. Might be worth the—” Sam fell silent as the previously blank face of the device acquired a red glow. Sam’s instincts and experience told him that was a bad sign. He boosted his flight suit to fly faster, away from it.

His instincts were right.

Camera Four exploded not three seconds later.

“Whoa!” FDR exclaimed. “Was that what I think it was?”

“Yep, the cat’s outta the bag,” Sam said, watching tiny pieces rain down on the pavement below. “We’re on, folks. Keep your eyes peeled. I’m gonna go check the other three cameras—”

Before he could finish the sentence, three explosions rocked the area simultaneously.

“All cameras down!” Sam shouted, twisting in the air to observe the gouts of smoke in the vicinity. “We’re officially under attack, people. Sweeping the area now with Redwing to find the culprit.”

Sam telepathically called to Redwing and the falcon joined him as they flew down to the top of the bus and then landed. Sam could overhear Alcina and FDR instructing the prisoners to keep their heads down and stay quiet as they tried to identify the threat.

Given that the tiny bomb had been attached to the bottom of the drone, Sam scanned the upcoming stretch of the highway. He had a hunch that someone had been carefully placed to wait for them to fly overhead and then shot the bombs onto the cameras, meaning multiple teams: one for when they’d already passed and another for trying to set up a blockade. They were now twenty minutes into the drive, the halfway point, and Redwing’s sharp eyes spotted the first assailant.

There was a cell phone tower not far from the highway, and perched at the top stood a Hydra agent with a jet pack. The prison bus veered to the furthest lane away from the tower, but it meant nothing as the Hydra agent blasted from his perch and landed on the rear of the bus, aiming a rifle at Sam when he landed.

“Morning,” Sam said in a faux-friendly voice over the rush of wind around them. “I see you’re someone who believes that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Only gonna tell you this once, Wilson,” the Hydra agent sneered as he peered through his scope. “Tell them to stop the bus and let Rumlow off. If you don’t, I’ll kill you and everyone in this bus and on this highway.”

“Charming ultimatum, but I think people might frown upon Captain America letting an international killer loose.”

He wrapped his wings around his front as the Hydra agent opened fire, flying closer. Sam did a front-flip over the agent’s head and landed behind him, kicking the back of his right knee. The agent stumbled and Sam grabbed the rifle, disarming him, and slammed his right wing into the man’s temple. The Hydra agent tumbled off the side of the bus and fell into a nearby ditch, unconscious. Sam unloaded the ammo and then chucked the gun into a ditch further up.

“Made contact with a Hydra agent,” Sam said into the link as he and Redwing continued scanning the route.

“Yeah, we heard the gunshots,” FDR said in a snarky tone. “They’re never alone, you know.”

“Never,” Sam agreed. “My best guess is that guy was the welcome wagon to see if we could be reasoned with. That means they’re gonna send the big guns next.”

“Or start trying to distract us with civilian casualties. I’m having the driver pull ahead. Think we need to scramble the SWAT chopper?”

“Send it ahead to shut down the highway. That’ll keep any possible hostages out of their hands. Let’s see if we can keep it contained. I don’t want any cops or civilians taking a bullet.”

The next stretch of the highway consisted mostly of desert on one side where a local ranch made its home and some scattered houses on the other. Sam’s HUD lit up when it spotted an irregular heat signature up on top of a hill they were about to pass. “Redwing, move out.”

The falcon took off from his perch on Sam’s shoulder and launched into the air. Sam zoomed in until he could see more clearly, then cursed under his breath. He touched the link in his ear. “On my mark, tell the driver to take evasive action in three… two… one!”

Sam heard a sonic boom and the bus veered into the far right lane just in time. The missile missed, hitting the side of the road instead. Dirt and smoke kicked up into the air and the nearby cars all slammed on their brakes, swerving to avoid it.

“Alcina, FDR, I’m headed over to that hill. Get someone to watch the front and rear of the bus until I get back.”

“Roger that,” Alcina replied.

Sam took off just as a second missile hit the other side of the highway, and the bus switched to the center lane to stay out of its path. He smirked as he spotted Redwing go into a dive and hit the Hydra agent right in the face, clawing at his eyes with those sharp talons. It distracted him just long enough for Sam to get close enough to shoot a grappling hook at the missile launcher. He hauled on the other end of the line and snatched the weapon from the agent’s grip, then flew straight and true and front-kicked him off the top of the hill. The man tumbled head over foot down the rest of the hill and then sagged at the bottom, out like a light.

Sam landed beside the agent and knelt, poking a finger into his ear. He ripped out the man’s comm-link and put it in his left ear, listening in. He could hear someone speaking in Hungarian; they were asking for a status report of the bus’s current position. Sam picked up the man’s limp arm and checked the digital interface on it, seeing there were six other agents in the area, each in pairs. “From bad to worse. Hoo boy.”

He held out his arm for Redwing as the falcon landed. “I’m gonna go take these jokers out; I need you to head back to the bus and keep an eye out for me, okay?”

Redwing took off. Sam, his shield firmly on his back, did as well, having memorized the Hydra agents’ positions on the map he’d seen. The first pair were a half mile ahead of the bus, hiding behind an enormous shrub at the entrance to a nearby ranch. He heard them shouting over the comm-link on the approach and spun as they opened fire from behind the shrub. He flew straight for them and his wings took them both out before a single bullet could touch him. Sam paused long enough to unload their weapons, pocketing the ammo, and then flew for the next agents.

The highway had a small underpass where it formed a bridge. The agents were crouched underneath waiting for the bus to pass overhead, both equipped with grappling guns. They shot out cables that latched onto the roof of the bus and then rappelled upward.

Or, rather, they tried.

Redwing landed on the side of the bus where they were reeling themselves up and gripped the grappling hooks in his talons, snatching them free. The agents screamed as they fell from the top of the bus onto the burning, cracked pavement of the highway.

“Nice work, Redwing,” Sam said as he flew past the injured and angry Hydra agents. The falcon let out a fierce call and resumed his watch of the bus.

“Wait, does he actually talk to the bird? Out loud?” Alcina asked.

“I did say they had an Ant-Man thing going on,” FDR answered.

Sam grinned. “Hey, don’t hate. The bird just saved your butts, you know.”

“For which I am grateful,” Alcina said dryly. “But it’s still kinda weird that Captain America talks to birds.”

“We live in a world where gods, aliens, and mutants are real,” FDR reminded her.

“…Point taken.”

The last pair of Hydra agents were a mile ahead behind a cluster of shrubs, about to toss down caltrops to blow the bus’s tires. He knew he wouldn’t get to them fast enough before they’d lay them out, so he hailed his associates again. “How good of a shot are you, FDR?”

“Depends. What’s the target?”

“There are two agents behind a shrub coming up on your right. Any chance you can lay down some cover fire while I try to get to them?”

“Be happy to. Pettengill, can I borrow your rifle? Thanks, man.” Sam could see the bus’s double doors open and the barrel sticking out just as the Hydra men jumped out to toss down the caltrops. FDR opened fire, winging one of them in the right arm. They raced back to cover as he kept shooting, giving Sam just enough time to pull the Captain America shield from his back and fling it with the utmost precision. The shield bounced off one man’s head. He collapsed in the dirt. The shield broke the other man’s right collarbone before rebounding into the air. Sam caught it when it arced back toward him and then landed behind the solo injured man. The Hydra agent’s right arm hung limp, but he still threw a sloppy haymaker at Sam. Sam casually dodged it and just arched an eyebrow as the guy stumbled, struggling to stay upright from the pain.

“Really, dude? Hydra must pay extremely well.”

“Fogd be a szád!” The man tried to hit him again, but Sam just rolled his eyes, ducked the punch, and then grabbed his arm as it breezed by. He slammed the guy into the dirt with a hip toss that knocked him out and then disarmed him before launching into the air again.

“That takes care of this batch of Hydra agents,” Sam said as he started to close the distance between him and the bus. “All quiet on their comms, so I’m heading back to you. How are the inmates?”

“Chatty and twitchy, but fine for now,” FDR said.

“And the guards?”

“All quiet on the western front,” Alcina said. “Until the next batch of murderers comes along, at least.”

“Good.” Sam checked the route ahead. Just another ten minutes to the prison and they’d be home free.

And, of course, as soon as the thought flickered through his mind, Redwing told him about an approaching object.

The falcon had gone back up to a high altitude after Sam returned to stay with the bus. Redwing said he couldn’t identify it yet, but it wasn’t a jet or a drone.

Sam flipped on his back in the air and narrowed his field of vision at the sky, attempting to locate the anomaly where Redwing had approximated its approach. “Look alive. I think we have another party guest.”

“Just one?” FDR asked, sounding flabbergasted.

“Looks like. I’m going to try and intercept—”

Sam quieted as he heard movement through the comm-link and then FDR cursed loudly. “Whoa, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“Pettengill, what in God’s name are you doing?” Alcina snarled.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Alcina?” Pettengill replied far-too-casually.

“Robert,” FDR said through his teeth. “You need to think this through. If you don’t put that rifle down, we’re going to open fire. I know your colleagues don’t want your blood on their hands and neither do I.”

Pettengill let out a bitter laugh. “That’s just the thing, marshal. I’m pretty sure none of these men give a crap if I live or die. Why do you think I took the deal they offered me in the first place? I’m overworked and underpaid. So what if Rumlow’s loose? It ain’t like he’s gonna kill anyone who don’t already deserve it.”

“Hear, hear,” Rumlow said smugly.

Sam didn’t wait any longer; he flew down to the side of the bus, facing the doors, and rapped his knuckles on them. The bus driver, a portly white man in his fifties named Paul, hurriedly let him in and he closed his wings, stepping inside to see the current standoff.

Alcina had gone to the back of the bus to provide coverage of their rear. She stood with the rifle’s muzzle just under her chin, Pettengill’s arm around her neck to hold her in front of him. Most of the other prisoners had vacated the area since they knew he was in danger of being shot… except for Rumlow, who stood proudly beside them. FDR stood just inside of the gate that separated the riders from the driver, his service weapon pointed at Pettengill’s head. The other three guards stood in the bus seats nearby, their guns also pointed at him, keeping the aisle clear in case someone had to bum rush them.

It was then that Sam figured out what was likely going on; the second cell tower they passed had been a landmark for the person dropping in from a nearby plane. They had probably instructed Pettengill to wait until they’d reached that section of road and then he’d confirmed their position to whomever was airborne so they could take over the bus.

The question remained, just who had organized the jailbreak?

They were about to find out.

“Alright, I need everyone to just calm down,” Sam said firmly, holding his hands out in supplication. “This doesn’t have to end in violence.”

“Oh, but it’s so much more fun if it does,” Rumlow said, grinning.

“Well, no one’s asking you,” Sam snapped. “So keep your mouth shut or you’ll be swallowing teeth when I’m done with you.”

Rumlow sneered at him. “You’re pretty high and mighty for someone who had to get saved by a girl last time we fought.”

Sam stared at him blankly. “I dare you to call Misty Knight a girl to her face. I double-dare you, Rumlow.”

The mercenary swallowed hard. Sam could tell even he knew it had been a weak insult. Misty Knight was one of the two Daughters of the Dragon and was not to be fooled with by anyone with a brain.

Sam turned his eyes on Pettengill. “Come on, man. You’re smarter than this. I get it—this is a crap job and it’s hard and you don’t get the pay or the recognition you want.”

He took a step closer, his voice iron. “But this is not the way to get what you want. Even if your employer promised you money and an escape route, this is a federal crime. Not only will the feds be after you, but S.H.I.E.L.D. will hunt you down like a dog. Don’t do this.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Alcina hissed. “Shoot him. I don’t care if you hit me. We can’t let Rumlow out. You know what he’ll do.”

Rumlow stroked the side of her cheek. She jerked her head away, glaring. “Aww, that hurts, gorgeous. I was just starting to like you.”

He then tapped Pettengill. “Handcuff key.”

“Right pocket.” Rumlow dug the key ring out and unlocked all his cuffs, tossing the chains aside.

“So you gonna gimme a gun or what, moptop?”

“There’s a backup on my ankle.”

Rumlow crouched and plucked a .22 snub-nosed revolver free, checking that it was loaded before snapping it closed with a flourish. “Aight, here’s how this is gonna go. My ride’s on the way. You stay right there and don’t move and we’ll let everyone get to ADX Florence in one piece.”

Rumlow’s expression darkened. “If you try anything, Pretty Girl goes first, then I start poppin’ my fellow inmates. There is a lot of blood that I can shed today, Cap. Don’t try me.”

Rumlow raised his voice. “That goes for you too, bus driver. I can hit you from here. Just keep driving unless you want to breathe through the hole I blow out of your throat.”

“Franklin,” Alcina said, seething. “Shoot. Him. Now.”

FDR gritted his teeth, stepping closer to Sam and keeping his voice low. “Your call, Cap.”