The Last Drink

The operations room was stifling, thick with the mingled smell of smoke and sweat.

Chu Hang leaned against the wall in the corner, watching the Howling Commandos as they all wore grim expressions.

He knew why.

A blueprint of a black aircraft hung on the wall, labeled "Valkyrie." Beside it was a world map, with New York, Washington, and Chicago circled in red.

Red Skull's plan.

"So, boss," bearded Dugan said hoarsely, "the mission is to sneak into the Alps, find that madman's nest, and blow this thing and the base sky-high?"

Everyone looked at Peggy Carter.

"That's one way to put it." Carter's voice was level.

"How do we get in?" explosives expert Falsworth rubbed his hands together. "Parachute in? Their anti-air fire has to be dense. Ground infiltration? We don't even have a map."

Carter gave only two words.

"We don't."

No one spoke in the operations room.

"We only have a rough coordinate range," she added. "We know nothing about the internal layout, defensive deployments, or troop strength. All we know is that it's Hydra's most heavily defended core fortress."

"A suicide mission." In the corner, Logan retracted his Bone Claws and spat out the words coldly.

A man entered carrying a glass of liquor, dressed in a three-piece suit with a small mustache. Howard Stark.

"Hey, don't be so pessimistic, gentlemen!" Howard walked to the map and flicked the blueprint with a finger. "In Howard Stark's dictionary, there's no fortress that can't be blown open!"

He paused, staring at the plans. "Still, Schmidt's red skull does have some skill. This aircraft design... it's far ahead of its time."

"But no matter how advanced the design is, it still needs energy!" He picked up a photograph. In it, a blue cube glowed with light.

The Cosmic Cube.