They'd been working on bad intel. Of course, that had been a risk going into it. Concerns had been raised, but as usual, the powers that be had decided the risks were worth the reward, and their unit had been sent of as sacrificial lambs on Churchill's alter once more. They'd been successful thus far, and Churchill wanted them to push past the Gothic Line and join a battalion force to invade Germany from the south, since the Siegfried Line to the west was proving so troublesome. If they could get past the Gothic Line, they'd be able to bypass the Siegfried Line completely. If they could get control of the Gothic Line, then they could get entire Regiments marching into Germany. They just needed someone to make it happen, and again, that fell to them.

To be perfectly honest, Bucky was really getting sick of it. It'd been much the same in North Africa. From the moment his company had touched down in Algiers and started pushing east, they were working on mostly blind intel. Twice their company had ended up in battles that weren't even supposed to happen. They'd pulled through each time, but Bucky couldn't help the rather disturbing feeling that their luck was running out. All of them had lost a little faith in the ones calling the shots, especially given how far away the powers that be were from the lines. But, they did their jobs, for better or worse. They pushed through Northern Africa and then up through Italy, where they joined a British company and slogged through rather miserably, fighting as they went. By the time they were nearing the Gothic line, Bucky wasn't even surprised when they stumbled across an entire HYDRA army when they'd been told the only forces suspected in the area was an Italian holdout thirty miles northeast.

They'd rallied, of course. It was by no means their first rodeo, and while they had been given a new group of privates a few weeks ago, most of their mixed British and American unit were seasoned by this point, and used to surprise battles. They pulled together and fought well. They might have even won if not for those ridiculous blue guns. Bucky had almost dropped his own gun in his shock when the private three feet in front of him was shot and reduced to literally nothing in front of him. He'd been wiped out of existence with one shot, not even leaving a body behind. He'd been too much in shock to process the horror of his comrades being vaporized into thin air. The only thoughts in his mind were a vague understanding that they were definitely going to die, and a frustrated, What else didn't they tell us?

When the shooting stopped and they were given the option to surrender, their Captain and the leader of their British comrades accepted immediately, ordering them all to drop their guns. Bucky could hardly blame them, even as he reluctantly relinquished his own gun. This was an enemy they were completely unprepared for and completely unequipped to fight. Surrender was the only chance of survival. Still, Bucky didn't necessarily like delaying the inevitable. They were going to die, he was fairly sure of it. Now, it was only a question of when.

The HYDRA soldiers surrounded them and laughed mockingly at their guns as they collected them. Bucky grudgingly figured they had that right. It was rather obvious which of them had the superior weapons at this point. Didn't mean he had to like it though, and as he watched a German soldier laugh and carry off his gun, he had to fight the impulse to snatch it back and club him with it. That was his gun. He liked that gun. And now it was gone and he was feeling fairly grumpy about it all, because how on earth were they supposed to win a war when things of this magnitude were being kept from them. How on earth were they supposed to stand a chance against forces like this, when they weren't even being told about forces like this?

Honestly, he really hated this war.

"Alright, dogs," one of the HYDRA soldiers spoke in a heavy accent as he paced before them, a malicious glint in his eyes, and a pleased twist to his mouth. Bucky scowled at the obvious gloating. It seemed bullies were the same the whole world over. The guy could be any number of the grade school bullies he'd fought with growing up. The same prideful set of the shoulders, the same false sense of superiority as he paraded his strength, seeking to intimidate the weaker kids. Steve would hate this guy. No doubt he'd mouth off and get himself knocked on his ass, then Bucky'd have to step in once again, and then they'd probably both end up dead.

For the hundredth time, Bucky felt relieved that Steve wasn't here with him. He'd thought it the first time they'd seen combat and he'd been thinking it ever since. This was no place for Steve, who was all good and pure and idealistic. Idealism didn't fare so well on the ground, and that wasn't something in Steve that Bucky wanted destroyed. Sure, Steve could stand to be a bit more realistic at times, but he'd always liked Steve's idealism; his ability to see goodness in places Bucky never could. Not to mention, there was no way Steve would have survived that first winter. But he didn't have to worry about that now. Steve was home and he was safe, and thanks to the army letting him split half his service pay (half for Steve and half for his mother), Steve had enough to eat decent and keep warm. He'd be fine at home. That was likely the only peace Bucky would get before he died. It was enough.

"You're going to come with us," the German bully continued. "Anyone who resists will be shot. When we reach our destination, you will be put to work. Anyone who resists will be shot. Anyone who isn't useful will be shot," he said, widening his malicious grin. "You don't want to be shot."

Because all of them had wanted to get shot before they saw those blue guns. Right. Bucky couldn't help it; he rolled his eyes. And of course, with his rather stellar luck, the HYDRA soldier saw, and sensing a challenged to his authority, he stalked over.

Bucky hid a sigh.

The HYDRA soldier stopped right in front of him and glared, but Bucky met his gaze evenly. He wasn't afraid of him. He was a little afraid of the crazy blue gun in his hands, but he wasn't afraid of the soldier. "You. At your knees," the soldier demanded loudly and right in Bucky's face.

It took real will power not to roll his eyes again. "It's on your knees, you German asshole."

There was a loud snort somewhere to his left that he'd bet all he owned belonged to Dugan. Behind him Jones hissed out a warning, "Don't do it, Sarge." Bucky just watched the soldier's face darken a shade or two and thought maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say to the man. Still, he didn't believe in delaying the inevitable, and if he was going to die (which was extremely likely at this point, with the soldier staring him down with a crazy gun in his hands), then he would do it on his feet, not on his knees. Idly, Bucky wondered just how he'd become the unluckiest son of a bitch to ever leave Brooklyn.

"On your knees," the soldier spat. "Now."

Bucky contemplated it for 0.2 seconds, tossed it aside, and then quickly and suddenly drove his head directly into the soldier's nose. The soldier yelled in pain and Jones shouted out a warning right before something very solid struck him on the side of his head.

His vision went black.

When he came to he was very aware of exactly why pissing off the soldier had been a bad idea. His head hurt, and every little movement made it pound harder. And he was moving, that much he was sure of. Though he couldn't speak to how.

He let out a groan.

"Oh, you're alive, huh, asshole?" Dugan's gruff voice demanded, sounding a bit labored.

"What's your problem, Dum?" Bucky grit out, wincing as he tested out opening his eyes. He blinked down in confusion at his feet dragging the ground then closed his eyes again, giving up on the idea.

"Your ass is heavy and I've been dragging it for two hours now; that's my problem," he grumbled.

"Yeah, Sarge," Jones grunted from his other side. "Maybe you should think of skipping some rations."

"You first," he grumbled, finally understanding his position. Dugan and Jones each had one of his arms slung over their shoulders and they were dragging him along.

"You done napping?" Dugan asked.

"Don't know. Wouldn't mind another hour or two," he remarked as lightly as he could manage with the pounding in his head.

Dugan swore grumpily and Jones asked, "Can you walk, Sarge?"

"Let's find out," Bucky replied. They paused a moment letting Bucky get his feet under him to try and support his own weight. They didn't release his arms though, and instead started moving again carefully, letting Bucky move with them. He stumbled a little bit at first, but his steps quickly steadied. Only then did they gingerly return his arms. He grimaced as he stretched them out. They were sore.

"I'd apologize for making you carry me, Dum Dum, but I think we all know you could use the workout," he ribbed, because they were all a little too solemn at the moment while they were being marched deep into enemy territory, and Bucky didn't like it. Not to mention he could see the traces of deep worry on both of his pals, and he felt a little bad for causing it.

Dugan gave him a furious look and Bucky chuckled, a bit weak due to the pounding in his head, but definitely amused. Jones looked amused as well, because most of the time it was Dugan getting under everybody's skin, and it was always fun to see that turned back on him, when the bastard took such great pleasure in pissing them off. When Bucky and Dugan had first met, they'd come to blows in less than five minutes. It took them till that first unexpected battle in North Africa for them to bury the hatchet. It was also the battle that had gotten him promoted to corporal, and shortly after, Sergeant. Dugan had clapped him on the shoulder proudly, and shoved a flask in his face. They'd been pals since, but they both still liked to piss the other off. Jones put up with them both with heavy sighs, and long winded speeches about being the responsible one of the three.

"Not that I'm complaining, but I'm a little surprised I woke up at all," Bucky stated frankly after a few moments of silence. "How'd you convince him not to kill me?"

"Didn't have to convince him. He seemed to think you'd suffer more wherever they're taking us." Jones answered.

Bucky just snorted, utterly unimpressed with the sadistic bastard. "Did I break his nose?" he asked, hopefully as he gingerly probed around his right temple. It hurt like hell, and when his fingers came away, they were sticky with drying blood. He grimaced and gingerly rubbed it off from where it had dripped down the side of his face.

"Hell yeah. Asshole 's already got two black eyes. Was beautiful, Jimmy," Dugan praised, ignoring the glare Bucky shot at him for the nickname.

"It was stupid," countered a rather irate Brit.

Bucky turned slightly towards their British comrade. The two companies had been fighting together for almost a year now, but there was somewhere around four hundred men total, and they tended to stay within their own squads and their own companies when working. There were still Americans he didn't really know, and they'd been together over a year now, so it was no surprise he knew so few of the Brits. The Brit in question was scowling beneath his maroon beret, and Bucky was pretty sure his name was Falsworth.

"Who asked you, limey?" Dugan demanded, making the man growl.

Jones heaved a sigh and looked at Dugan, "Really, Dum? Why can't you just make friends like a normal person?"

"Cause he ain't normal," Bucky drawled.

"Watch it, Jimmy," Dugan warned.

"Just telling the truth," Bucky said, trying to ignore how his head was pounding in a steady beat with every step he took. It wasn't really working. The soldier he'd pissed off was up front somewhere, and it was probably a good thing, because his head couldn't handle another blow like that. He was feeling fairly nauseated as it was, and there was no telling how much longer they'd have to march. He highly doubted their captors would be offering breaks either, which meant he had made the march exponentially harder on himself. Bucky was mature enough to realize when someone else was right.

"Besides, he's right anyway, Dum," he admitted. The Brit looked slightly mollified at that and muttered, "Damn bloody right."

Dugan looked like he wanted to argue on the principle of disagreeing with the brit alone, but the desire to berate Bucky himself one out. "Yeah, alright. It was hella stupid, Jimmy. What were you thinking, you idiot?"

Bucky grumbled, "Stop calling me, Jimmy, Dum Dum, or so help me."

"I'll stop calling you Jimmy when you stop acting like a dumbass kid."

Bucky rolled his eyes which turned out to be a bad idea with the vicious headache. Still, he had never taken Dugan's crap, and he wasn't about to start now. "Jones, I do believe the Corporal needs a reminder of our current score. Would you care to do the honors?"

"It's three and a half to one, Dum Dum," Jones reported immediately.

Dugan scowled, "I'm counting this in my favor, Jimmy, since they'd have killed you if Jones and I hadn't been willing to carry your ass."

"Well then it only counts as half since you shared it with Jones," Bucky reported immediately. "Which was your rule, by the way. Three and a half to one and a half. If you want to change it, I'd be happy to make it four to two."

Dugan slid him a look, that let Bucky know that he wasn't giving up quietly, "You're a pain in the ass, Jimmy, you know that?"

"I'm warning you, Dugan," Bucky said, annoyed. "I hold the rank here."

"You gonna pull rank, Sergeant Jimmy?" Dugan challenged.

"You bet your ass, I'm pulling rank," Bucky declared hotly, because if there was one thing that got under his skin, it was being called "Jimmy." "You just earned yourself third watch for a month, Corporal."

"What?!" Dugan snapped loudly, garnering attention. Bucky didn't care though. He would be ruthless in enjoying his victory. Dugan was naturally a bit of an early riser, which made it extremely difficult to go back to sleep after third watch when there was only an hour or two left to sleep. Bucky, on the other hand, had years of experience of catching sleep whenever he could between working multiple jobs and sitting death vigil by Steve for weeks at a time through hard winters. He could drop to sleep whenever for however long there was time. It was something Dugan was extremely jealous of, and it was also why Bucky usually took the third watch on a normal four watch night. It was just harder on almost everyone. Second watch was alright, because there were still four hours left to sleep if they were lucky. If they were regulated to three watch nights, Bucky would take the second. Now though, he was going to enjoy forcing it on Dugan.

"You heard me, Corporal. You're on third watch, or second as the case may be," he declared authoritatively.

"You're a right bastard, Sarge," Dugan scowled.

Bucky grinned and the Brit, Falsworth, looked at them confused. "Isn't that a bit of an abuse of authority?" Bucky, Dugan, and Jones slid him blank looks, and he shook his head, looking less irate and more amused than he had before. "Americans."

"Don't be jealous you're not one of us," Jones declared.

He snorted. "Hardly," but he really was looking amused now, and since his fellow company men were still scowling in that vastly superior way they had, Bucky moved aside slightly so he could join their line. He was supremely unhappy with their current circumstances. They all were. But they weren't lying down and giving up, and they'd keep laughing and joking because it was better than the alternative. And when Falsworth stepped into their line, Bucky knew he got that too.

"James Buchanan Barnes," Bucky said, holding out his hand. "Bucky or Barnes is fine. Don't call me Jimmy though," he warned, "or I'll find other ways to abuse my authority."

"Barnes then," he said. "Bucky is just ridiculous."

Bucky shrugged, "You say that, but I met one of your pals named Alastair the other day, and another named Eadric, so you Brits have no room to talk."

"You met the Braddock brothers? My sincerest apologies. James Montgomery Falsworth, by the way. Pleasure."

"Nice to meet you too, Monty. And don't feel bad for wanting to punch this one in the face," he said, clapping a hand on Dugan's rather large shoulder, and earning himself a glare in return. "We've all done it once at this point, except for maybe Jones, here, but he's a saint who gets along with everybody." And it was true. Jones was a generally upbeat, amicable guy, and he didn't know a single person in their company or the British forces who'd joined them that didn't like the guy. Which was probably why he'd started hanging around him and Dugan as soon as they'd become friends. He followed after them, smoothing the feathers they ruffled. Bucky sort of wished he'd been around in Brooklyn. With Gabriel Jones trailing after Steve, he'd probably never gotten into a physical fight.

Jones shrugged easily, "He speaks the truth."

Falsworth arched a brow in that supreme way all Brits were probably taught before grade school and asked, "That everyone bashes Dugan or that you're a saint?"

"Both."

He smirked.

Bucky could see Dugan sizing Falsworth up. The wheels were turning in his head as he took in the proper British aristocrat. Falsworth hadn't said, but Bucky was willing to bet he was a Lord. Many of the Brits were pompous bastards, in his opinion, but none quite had the bearing of Falsworth. That sort of natural authority wasn't taught after just a year on the ground. That was something you were raised into. The only question Bucky had, was why he didn't have a higher rank. He'd been under the impression that any nobility automatically entered the war as a commissioned officer.

Dugan could see all of the same things Bucky saw, and he just knew Dugan was gearing up to start his dirtiest and bawdiest jokes and stories in an effort to make Falsworth as uncomfortable as possible. Bucky smirked and decided he wouldn't mention the other day when he overheard Falsworth tell the dirtiest joke Bucky had ever heard. He'd let Dugan figure that one out on his own. It'd be more fun that way.

He was right, of course. It was only a few minutes before the two were trying to outdo each other with the dirtiest anecdotes. They were pretty impressive too. Bucky had worked a job down at the docks, and been in the army over a year now, so he'd heard his fair share of bawdy tales, but Dugan and Falsworth made it an art form. Falsworth was almost better at it, because his prim and proper bearing made them all the more outrageous. Before long, a whole cluster had grouped around them and were laughing quietly at the men's jokes, right until one of the guards vaporized Rawlings for laughing too loud.

They marched in silence for several hours after that.

"We still headed northeast?" Bucky eventually whispered towards Dugan. He was pretty sure they were, but Dugan was a bit of a human compass, and Bucky wanted to be sure.

"Yeah, Sarge."

"How long you think? Fifteen miles?"

"Since you woke up," Jones agreed. "Probably twenty total."

Bucky nodded. They couldn't do much with the knowledge, at this point, but Bucky still preferred to know where they were if an opportunity arose. "We must be coming up on Azzano then, right? They must have a base around there. That small Italian holdout probably doesn't even exist."

"Probably," Falsworth agreed.

They marched for another two hours. Bucky's feet ached in his boots. His whole entire body ached, but that wasn't exactly a new feeling since joining the army. In fact, it was a feeling he'd gotten used to when he picked up that second job working at the docks. He hadn't wanted to, and he'd made fairly decent money as a waiter at one of the nicer restaurants in town, but his mother needed help feeding his sisters, and then he and Steve had to pay rent, and there never seemed to be enough for Steve's medicine, when he needed it. Steve was sick so much, and working at the shop while he was sick just made it worse in the long run. Never stopped him, of course, but Bucky had ended up picking up a third job stocking at the shop Steve worked at, and even then, they only ever just made it. The army had been a bit of a relief in that sense. He didn't need any of his pay while on the ground, and even split between Steve and his mother and sisters, it was still more than he'd been able to give either of them before. It'd be a bit less if he died, of course, but they'd take care of his mother, and Steve was listed as his next of kin, so they'd take care of him too. At least for a little bit.

They were coming up on Azzano when they met up with more HYDRA soldiers who were holding a band of twenty angry Frenchmen. Bucky couldn't speak German, but he understood the main gist; more prisoners. The Frenchmen were forced into their group and they were told to keep marching.

"They must be part of the Free French," Bucky said, looking at the band of ragged looking men curiously. "But what the hell are they doing all the way out here. I figured they'd have their hands full in their own country."

"I'll ask," Jones said with a shrug before rattling off in fluent French. Bucky's eyebrows shot up. He'd known Jones over a year now and hadn't even known the man spoke French. He knew he was smart as hell, but French was something he'd failed to mention. Jones hadn't exactly been in the habit of flaunting his intelligence, though.

One of the Frenchmen looked at Jones, absolutely delighted he was speaking French, and replied enthusiastically. Jones laughed and replied, shaking his hand. He turned back to them and explained, "They were blowing stuff up. That's what they were doing in Italy."

Bucky gave the Frenchman a considering and rather impressed look before holding out his hand. "Good on ya. James Buchanan Barnes."

The man smiled and took his hand, "Jacques Dernier."

Dugan clapped him on the shoulder; his usual greeting. "Welcome aboard, Frenchie."

Dernier didn't seem to mind the nickname, just smiled and nodded.

None of them were smiling when they finally reached the HYDRA facility they'd be staying at. It was huge; a complete concrete fortress, and there were even more HYDRA forces moving out. They'd be outnumbered, even if they were able to get their hands on those crazy ass guns they had. Bucky looked at it grimly and with a profound certainty that he wouldn't be leaving this place. He didn't know how he knew that, but he knew it deep in his bones.

They were marched through the complex, and with each step they grew more and more grim. It was as much of a fortress on the inside as it was on the outside. Sure, a small group of men could probably get in or out, but it would be difficult as hell to get all of them out. They'd have to take the base, which with enough time and planning, they might be able to do. Being able to coordinate with everyone on the same page would be the tricky part. He glanced about looking for their captain. He was a bit of a bastard, but he wasn't a bad leader. Bucky would have done things differently, but he wasn't in charge of some two hundred rowdy asshole Americans, so what did he know? And they were assholes. Every last one of them, including himself. Well, not Jones. Every one of them but Jones. Bucky was directly over forty of those assholes, most of whom were around him now. Not all of them were present though. He didn't know who'd been killed and who'd successfully pulled back when the captain had given the order. He counted up quickly. He was missing thirteen. He really hoped all thirteen hadn't been killed.

"Everyone paying attention?" he whispered to the men around him.

"Yeah, Sarge," they replied back, and that was good enough. They'd need quite a bit of planning to pull off the op, and most of his men wouldn't even be involved in the planning, but every single one of them needed to know as much about the layout of this place as possible.

"Good. You pay attention and you learn every damn thing you can," he told them quietly. "Got that?"

He got back several, soft affirmatives, but he knew that was only because they were being watched. Every single one of them had hard, observant looks in their eyes, and he knew they were paying attention.

They were stopped inside what looked like a huge factory and they were surrounded by soldiers and those blasted guns. Up on a catwalk above the factory floor stood a man, and Bucky's attention focused in on him immediately, knowing without a doubt he was the one in charge here. Beside him stood a shorter, round man in a white lab coat with round glasses. The second in command, though not an obvious choice.

"Good evening, gentlemen," the one in charge spoke, when they were all assembled. "I'm General Johann Schmidt. Welcome to my facility. Now, I believe there are two companies represented here; American and British. Where are your captains?" he asked.

Bucky stood a little straighter as warning signals shot through his brain. Their captain and the captain of the British forces both stepped forward out of the throng of men. Bucky automatically took half a step forward, because if he was in charge of this place, he knew exactly what he'd do, and he didn't want that to happen. But Dugan grabbed his shoulder in an iron grip, keeping him in place.

Sure enough, Schmidt raised his hand and the captains were vaporized.

He grit his teeth.

"Now that that's taken care of I think we will have a good working relationship," he continued calmly and easily. You will be fed and allowed rest, because we need you strong enough to work in our factory. If you are not useful, you are disposable. I suggest you all make yourselves useful." With that he looked at his soldiers. "Show them to their accommodations. Rest tonight. You start in the morning."

Bucky fairly scowled as they were marched through the place and down to a an area full of what looked like glorified bird cages, barred and open on all sides, including the top where the top bars operated as grates so that the men walking guard on the upper floor could watch them from above as well. Their gear was taken from them and they were all searched for knives, picks, or anything else that could help them, and then they were pushed into the round, barred cages in groups of five or six. Bucky couldn't help but give the guard searching him a look and ask, "How's your friend's nose?" He was pissed, and he always got mouthy when he was angry. That part, he wasn't sure if he'd gotten from Steve, or if Steve had gotten it from them. They were probably both born with it.

The guard scowled and forcefully shoved Bucky into the pen with the butt of his gun. Bucky stumbled, but managed to stay upright as the door slammed behind him and locked definitively. He'd gotten Dugan, Jones, Falsworth and the Dernier guy as pen-mates. Not too bad, considering. Most of his men were within view as well, so that was also good.

Jones sighed, distracting him, "You and Dugan. Making friends, wherever we go."

Bucky shrugged, unrepentant. "We're Irish. This is how we make friends."

"Here, here," Dugan agreed.

Falsworth looked at them, "You two are Irish? That explains everything," he spoke in that wry British tone that made everything he said sound condescending.

Bucky just chuckled, "You've seen nothing till you've seen the Irish of New York. Bastards, the lot of 'em. Myself included."

His father had immigrated when he was three. His mother was born in America, but just barely. They'd both been raised in Brooklyn and the Brooklyn accent was dominant, and less likely to get you into any sort of trouble. Immigrants hadn't been the most popular people before the depression. During the depression, everyone was poor as dirt so it mattered less where you came from. The depression hit when he and Steve were twelve and lasted till they were twenty. Steve's mom was a nurse, so she had steady work, but she was a single mother and it'd been hard on her to get enough food on the table for the two of them. She'd died at the tail end of it. Bucky's dad had died a few years in and though they'd been a bit better off than the Rogers beforehand, by the time it was over, it was just as hard for him and his mom to feed all of them as it was for Sarah and Steve. His mother's teacher's salary was pittance, and his work options had been limited until he was out of high school. His mother had refused to let him drop out early, to help feed them, being the teacher she was. Even though they'd all been poor as dirt, Sarah had never begrudged him a meal whenever he was over, and his parents and then later his mother had always been happy to have Steve at their dinner table as well. Steve ate Sunday dinner with them every week after his mom died. Bucky hoped he still did. His sisters had always loved Steve, and his mother had treated him like another son.

"An Irish combined with an American," Falsworth said drily, breaking Bucky away from his thoughts. "Truly a terrifying notion. And I'm sharing a cell with two."

They all snorted and Dugan grinned at the man. "Don't worry. You'll learn to love it. People always do."

"I highly doubt that. On both accounts."

Jones snorted and translated for the Frenchman, who chuckled appreciatively.

"Alright," Bucky said, getting their attention. "Where's the lieutenant? I didn't see him earlier." With the captain dead, Harrison was technically next in line. He was a bastard, and they had very little hope of getting out of there, but it would still be good for morale if they had a first in command and the illusion that there was hope.

Jones shook his head, and Dugan replied. "Bastard didn't make it. He was killed in the initial attack."

Bucky swore. That left the sergeants. There were three others in their company, and Johnson for sure hadn't made it. Which meant three of them total for their troops, and who knew for the Brits. And they were all just sergeants. None of them more than a year or two on the ground, and none of them remotely trained to lead large numbers.

"They got us truly buggered, don't they," Falsworth declared grimly.

"Sure looks that way," Jones replied.

Bucky nodded, because it was true. And it wasn't like their side was going to mount a rescue mission. Numbers wise, it just wasn't worth the risk. And if the powers that be were feeling particularly like decent human beings and did decide to mount a rescue, they'd be completely unprepared to take on a place like this with these kinds of weapons. They'd be obliterated. Which meant they were well and truly fucked, and there wasn't a damn thing Bucky could do about it, but do his best to keep them alive and going for now.

"Let's set up a four man watch," Bucky declared. "They'll work us probably fourteen to sixteen hours a day, but if they want maximum efficiency, they'll give us eight hours of sleep a night. Which means two hours watch a piece, with one man getting a night off every four days. Dugan, you're permanently on third watch."

"Fuck you, Sarge," Dugan grumbled.

Bucky just grinned and continued. "Everyone else will rotate first, second, and fourth." He then looked around at his men in the other pens and said a little louder. All of you, set up a four man watch. I think we'll all sleep better with someone watching our backs."

"Yes sir."

Bucky nodded, satisfied. "Jones, first. I'll take second, Monty take fourth. Let him sleep," he said, gesturing to Dernier. "They don't look like they've slept for a while," he said, thinking of all the ragged looking free French now with them.

Gabe nodded and quickly translated for Dernier, who adamantly protested he was fine to watch tonight, but after Gabe explained they'd all be getting nights off from watch in turn, he assented. They settled in.

"Just think of it as one long training exercise," Dugan declared. "We'll be fine."

They nodded affirmation, but Bucky still couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't going to make it out of there. Even if the others did.

He shoved it out of his mind, and went to sleep.