The Price of Freedom
-Chapter One-
Mission Malfunction
I run forward, feet splashing through the mud, spattering me and my companions racing alongside me. Gunfire, and the cries of dying men ring in the air, but they seem far away behind the pounding of my heart in my ears, and my panting breaths, loud from fear and exertion.
I fire, then fire again. I am near the front of the pack, and there is no danger of me hitting my fellow troops. Behind is safety, ahead is the enemy and danger.
But I don't let my fear show.
Instead I let it give wings to my feet and fuel my courage. Around me, I can tell by their grimly desperate but controlled expressions that the others are doing the same. Suddenly we are among the enemy, and the fighting intensifies, some of it hand to hand. We press our way through the lines, but then something goes very wrong. More men spring from hidden positions, in buildings and trenches. People are dying all around me. Some are far enough back to run for safety, but for many of us there is only one course.
We run through the town, shooting on sight, and press our way into the woods, not looking back. I am trembling. I shot two men coming through the town, and I still remember their cries, and feel again the warm spatter of blood on my face from the one I shot point blank. My own blood too runs down my cheek, I have no idea what it was cut on.
We regroup in the leafless forest, early morning fog drifting among the bomb craters and shattered trees. Two hundred of us set out to combat what we believed to be only a company of Nazi HYDRA troops. Poor intelligence can be a deadly thing, and it is now clear that there was at least a battalion, and possibly an entire brigade, holding the town. Now only one hundred of us are left.
As the realization that we are trapped behind enemy lines, up against hopeless odds finally sinks in, I walk to the trunk of a fallen tree and sit heavily down. I find myself between my best friend Don, and Sergeant James Barnes. Technically I should greet him as a superior, but something tells me he isn't going to care about the botched formality now. We are all so tired, and wondering what to do next.
That question is decided for us as the drone of planes becomes intelligible, and they aren't ours. Bombs start falling and we run, not an organized charge, but a blind dash of self preservation. Sergeant Barnes grabs my arm and pulls me off my feet, down into one of the shell craters. I look around wildly. Don isn't with us. I stand and there he is, standing at the edge of the shell crater, staring open mouthed and momentarily paralyzed out at the violence around him.
But a moment can be enough to get you killed. I grab him and pull him down with us, none to gently. He gives a grunt of pain, and I realize he's wounded. A bullet has pierced his upper arm. There's no time to analyze the severity though, and we scuttle underneath a tree that has fallen across the crater, just in time. A bomb lands feet away, and I can hear the sound of shrapnel thudding into the wood above our heads.
"If we stay under here, only a direct hit can kill us," Barnes says.
I nod, not particularly reassured. With the sheer amount of ordnance raining down, it wouldn't take much for just that to happen.
Though it can't be more than a few minutes, the flying dirt and unbelievable concussion in the air and ground make it seem like hours before the bombs cease. We remain under our log, unwilling to believe that it's over. I'm beginning to understand the meaning if 'shell shocked'. An ominous silence takes over, then a low hum begins, growing in pitch and intensity. I barely have time to wonder what it is before the first tank rolls into view.
The hum grows behind me and I whirl to face two more tanks rolling up behind us. In a matter of seconds, whoever is left is surrounded. A few try to run: it doesn't do much good. The tanks are armed like none I have seen before. They shoot blue beams of light that vaporize what they touch on contact.
I duck back down. "Crawl out into the crater and play dead," I say. We do it, and hopefully we're beat up enough to look dead if we just stay still. My cheek is a big enough mess I could pass for shot in the head. Don lies across my legs, making us into a realistic-looking jumble of death. The guard's feet fill my vision as he stops above me.