The wounded had been injected with sedatives, temporarily freed from their pain before drifting into a groggy sleep. Aside from the howl of the jet engines beyond the reinforced glass, the only sound in the Quinjet was everyone's breathing. The radio crackled with requests from the German Air Force and civilian air traffic control towers to establish communications, but after the stealth submersible system was activated, those voices never returned. Since leaving German airspace, silence had blanketed the cramped cabin. The Quinjet found a direct route through civilian airliner corridors to what had once been Romania and was now the Romanian Province of Latveria.
Although the autopilot had been engaged, Natasha Romanoff still refused to leave the single-seat cockpit. The cabin behind her was a mess of blood and bandages, and the Quinjet's emergency medical kits simply could not help everyone.
Fortunately, whoever had prepared this Quinjet seemed to have anticipated such a situation. In addition to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s standard field emergency medical kits, the aircraft carried synthetic skin freeze spray for covering open wounds. It could disinfect injuries and form a fragile protective film over them. Combined with large quantities of painkillers and small disposable surgical instruments shaped like spiders to set shattered bones and stitch blood vessels and muscles, the wounded were temporarily out of mortal danger.
"Their conditions have stabilized." Steve Rogers walked over and spoke in a low voice. "I'm worried about Colonel Rhodes."
"He's a lieutenant colonel now," Natasha Romanoff reminded him. "And he doesn't need our help. The treatment plan provided by that armor's life-support system is far more useful than an emergency medical kit. The Wakandans are still following us. They're going to Latveria with us. They have a cooperative relationship with our Old Friend, though I have no idea when that began. I