A/N: So, so sorry about the delay! I have a litany of excuses not the least of which include getting swamped with work; then leaving said job; and moving to Colorado for my husband's work! To say it's been a totally insane few months is an understatement. As a result all of my writing sort of fell to the wayside.

I really struggled with this chapter. It's quite a lot of set up, detail, and tries to solidify certain relationships outside of just Bucky and Sadie's. As with previous chapters, a lot of research went into this so I hope I got most of the historical details right!

Fair warning – this chapter (and most future chapters) will contain strong language!

Thank you so, so much for the review, favorites, and follows. You guys are the best! I hope you enjoy this chapter…it's a set up for the real action and some great Bucky/Sadie stuff that happens next chapter!

Disclaimer – if it's Marvel's I don't own it. If it's not, then it's mine.

Chapter Three – Field Hospitals and Foxholes

Italy was hot.

There was just no getting around this obvious and unassailable fact. The pulsing temperature and humidity permeated every aspect of the rocky terrain. It was the sort of sticky heat that weighed down a man's lungs and yet left him thirsty and thinking with longing for the comforts of home. Mosquitos rose from pools of standing water left from the last of the May and June rain, following soldiers in swarms and causing even more misery. But there was one sentiment that each man in the 107th seemed to share. At least they were off the floating cesspool that carried them to Africa and out of the dry heat that sucked the moisture out of everything it reached in Tunisia. There were worse things than suffering the heat humidity of Sicily, and spending another day aboard the Queen Victoria or in the unbearable dryness of Tunisia were two of them.

Bucky tried to keep those small blessings in mind as the oppressive sun shone down on the convoy he rode in. The bad weather that accompanied the landing cleared up some hours ago, leaving nothing but endless blue sky and the harsh afternoon sun as it tracked across the sky.

"I swear to God I'm never getting on a boat again for the rest of my life," said Dum Dum, squinting into the early afternoon sun.

"Forget the boats, I'd settle for never setting foot on a beach again," muttered Private John Nixon.

A small smile tugged at Bucky's lips as he pressed his elbows into his knees, leaning forward. He could feel each and every small bump in the dirt road race through his booted feet, reverberating through his already rattled chest. He rode on the same convoy as Dum Dum and John Nixon, driving away from their thankfully anticlimactic and successful invasion of Europe. Privately he thought Dum Dum and Nixon were getting ahead of themselves. There were worse things to come, but nobody wanted to think about that right now. Instead he rerouted his mind to where they'd been so far.

Eight days after the Queen Victoria embarked from New York, she dropped anchor in Bizerte, Tunisia. It took two days to unload troops, supporting personnel, and cargo. By the time Bucky emerged from the main hold of the ship he felt as though he'd aged eight years. Bedraggled, exhausted, and still feeling the ill effects of the ship rolling on the Atlantic waves, the 107th drug itself from the bowels of the ship and onto large trucks that carried them to their base camp. From there they set up tents and began preparing for the impending invasion.

F Company spent most of its time studying the invasion map, memorizing each maneuver it would carry out upon landing in Sicily. In addition, each man learned all of the other maneuvers of every other company down to the last detail. Bucky immersed himself in more map-reading lessons, language and customs reviews, tactical training and shooting. As a leader of the third rifle squad in the second platoon, Bucky was responsible with ensuring that his men were competent marksmen and soldiers, all while being a master marksman himself.

Bucky supposed this excellence came from years of practicing with slingshots, shooting spitballs at kids he didn't like, and his excellent hand-eye coordination. He'd never fired a gun in his life until he joined the military, but it came as easy to him as breathing. His body seemed perfectly attuned to the mechanics of a rifle and it became very apparent very early that he was made for sharpshooting. As such, he served as one of the unofficially designated long distance shooters in the company, able to hit snipers from the ground if the need arose. Bucky eyed the trigger of his rifle and wondered how many rounds he would blow through. His stomach turned at the thought of taking another life, enemy or not.

"Hey Buck!" Dum Dum's booming voice cut through his reverie. Snapping back to attention, Bucky nodded his head towards Dum Dum. The Bostonian held out a pack of cigarettes but Bucky waved his hand.

"Nah, but thanks."

"Not a smoker?" John Nixon asked, surprise coloring his voice.

Bucky shook his head. "Nope, never picked it up. Don't see the point in starting now."

"Well more for us," said Nixon cheerfully.

With his head bowed, the sun beat down on the exposed back of Bucky's neck. Rivulets of sweat slipped down his skin, cutting tracks through the fine layer of dirt and sand that clung to him. He'd showered plenty of times in the days between disembarking from the Queen Victoria in Tunisia and storming the beach at Licata, but that hardly mattered now that he'd sloshed his way onto the shore, crawled across sand, and took refuge from potential enemy fire in the dusty grass.

Dum Dum and Nixon bantered back and forth about what could possibly be worse than being stuck on a troop ship and Bucky was content to filter the argument into background noise. He sat near the end of the convoy, the butt of his rifle resting on the metal floor between his knees. Shifting his gaze away from his own boots, Bucky stole a furtive glance at his comrades.

Each man seemed to be handling their impending campaign in their own way. Dum Dum relieved his tension by being louder than usual while Nixon settled on egging his friend on. Further down the row Bucky could see one of his riflemen, Frank O'Connell rubbing his thumbs over the beads of a rosary and his friend Richie Juarez stared blankly ahead, the sleeve of his uniform slightly torn from the rough terrain up the beachhead to their rendezvous point. Other men diverted one another with conversation, cigarettes hanging from their mouths, puffing smoke as they spoke.

Bucky focused on the rumbling truck turning his eyes back to watch Dum Dum entertain those nearest him with tales from his sordid youth in Boston. Absently, Bucky drummed his fingers along the barrel of his rifle. He'd have to clean it later to get the sand out of the firing mechanism but it had thus far gone unshot in the combat zone.

The convoy was taking them to a narrow band of trees headed up a rocky ridge overlooking a small, German occupied down. They'd be taking the town first thing in the morning, but before then they would have to survive the night. Bucky's first sergeant had gathered his squad leaders before getting on the convoy to tell them to expect heavy shelling and no air support through the night. It looked like F Company would be getting their first taste of battle and Bucky was dreading it. He was seldom ever jealous of Steve, but in those moments as the convoys trundled towards the drop off point, Bucky had never been more jealous of Steve who was far away from the war.

Loud laughter distracted Bucky again.

"And then, if you fucking believe it, good old Nix here looks Captain Liebert right in the eye and he says 'missing bottle of scotch? I don't know nothing about no scotch.'" The men surrounding Dum Dum and Nixon howled with laughter. "And the whole time the bottle is sitting in the bottom of his footlocker."

"Liebert didn't even look?"

John Nixon shook his head laughing as Dum Dum thumped him on the back. "Nope. Bucky was there too! He saw the whole thing."

Bucky grinned and nodded as the attention shifted to him. "Captain Liebert took one look at Nix, called him a waste of goddamn oxygen and marched out. That was the worst hangover of my life, waking up after we drank that scotch."

"Man I can't believe we were one barrack over during training camp and missed all of this shit," said one of the other privates in Dum Dum's squad.

Dum Dum opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as the truck rolled to an abrupt halt. Calls and shouts rang through the air as F Company began to hop off the convoys to assemble.

"Second platoon on me!" First Lieutenant McAllister yelled from the truck over. Henry McAllister served as F Company's second platoon leader. He was a tall, blonde man in his late twenties. Bucky learned somewhere along the way that he'd played football for Georgia and came from southern money. A group of forty men began to gather around him. Bucky and the two other Staff Sergeants in charge of the rifle squads made their way to the lead. "Alright, listen up men. Second platoon is going to dig in through the center of the tree line, flanked by first and third platoons. Intelligence thinks we'll be targeted by German artillery in the town below so dig your foxholes deep and provide good cover. Staff Sergeant Taylor take your rifle squad to just below the ridge, Staff Sergeant Webster you men will take the middle and Staff Sergeant Barnes your squad will take up the rear.

"E and G companies will flank our position and line continues on down from there. We need to move fast and efficient, the 80th field hospital and clearing platoons are right behind us and need time to set up to take of your scrawny asses. Understood?"

A chorus of 'yes sirs' came from all around. Lieutenant McAllister gave them a short nod. "Alright then let's get it done."

"Second rifle squad, you heard the man. Grab your gear and let's move out!' Bucky shouted over the din. One by one, eleven men fell in with him. Ahead of them lay open ground. "Spread out and stay on alert."

They began walking forward and looked back only once when the trucks drove away. Bucky could see the other platoons and squads spread similarly, rifles at the ready. Each step they took drew closer to the front line and further into the war. Bucky swallowed his fears and kept his line moving forward.

X X X

During their brief tenure in Tunisia, the nurses and personnel of the 80th field hospital learned all the skills necessary to erect and dismantle an entire mobile hospital in record time. Each member of the hospital had a specific job she or he was tasked with all while knowing the exact role of every other member, allowing them to trade positions and pick up slack should the need arise. Nurses were in charge of unloading the convoys, helping erect the large tents, setting up patient cots, operating areas, and exam spaces. When the hospital was ready to ship on, each nurse knew her role in dismantling the entire operating and packing it away for their next post.

Sadie had lost count of the number of times her commanding officers ran through the procedure with the entire hospital. They'd practiced on the base in Tunisia at least a dozen times, simulating battlefield conditions as best as possible. On top of operations, all of the nurses learned to dig their own foxholes and slept in them to get their first taste of their coming life. Their white dresses and smocks were traded for the same standard issue uniform that the men wore from the olive drab field jackets right down to the leather combat boots. The makeup, stockings, jewelry, and other daily luxuries that field nurses brought along were left behind, taken up by extra morphine syrettes, rations, scissors, and bandages.

Somehow, they managed to find space in their gear for small tokens from home and little luxuries. Sadie kept a silver handled hairbrush in her musette along with pictures from home, and a pair of tweezers lest her dark eyebrows get out of control. She wore her dog tags and a second chain around her neck bearing three items: a Saint Agatha's medal, a Saint Christopher's medal, and her father's wedding ring. When she began restless Sadie rubbed her thumb over the shining gold, drawing comfort from the bittersweet memories of a life before the war.

Sadie's primary role was to unpack, inventory, and prepare all the medications and supplies for the main hospital tent. She carried the heavy crates into the tents as soon as practicable, setting up the makeshift cabinets and tables that held all of the supplies. At any given time she knew exactly how much of each type of medicine they had on hand, what patients were to receive what treatment, and how to triage incoming wounded in case of medicine shortages. The crates were heavy and Sadie noticed by the end of her short tenure in Africa her arms show the definition of muscles she had no idea she possessed.

At the moment, Sadie considered what she'd look like by the end of the Italian campaign as she ducked out of the hospital tent, jogging lightly to the truck for another crate. Other medical personnel were working as fast as they could to finish erecting and securing the other tents that comprised the 80th. As Sadie paused at the truck to wipe the sweat from her brow, Betty joined her.

"I still can't believe we're so close to the front line with only an aid station between."

Betty's complaint seemed to echo the sentiment of the four other nurses and several of the lower level technicians. Their commanding officer had gathered the hospital at the drop off point to announce that given the current plan to move the 107th as quickly through Sicily as possible, there was no need to set up the full chain of evacuation, favoring the strategy to get the wounded to the field and then evacuation hospitals as swiftly as possible. Thus, the 80th field hospital stood a mere ten miles from the front line with only an aid station in-between.

"Battalion HQ is just doing what it thinks is best. At least we're not the litter bearers," she said reasonably and jerked her head over to three kids that worked on securing stretchers to the jeeps that would run out to the the company aid stations at a moment's notice through the night. Although they'd all been assured that aid stations were relatively safe, they were still open targets for poorly aimed mortars or air raids.

"Still, we were promised thirty miles. Sometimes I think the Army is treating the 107th and the 80th like their own personal experiments." Sadie rolled her eyes at Betty's overdramatic statement.

"I think you'll make it," said Sadie and she grabbed the next crate of plasma. Once she had a good grip on the heavy box, she started back to the main hospital tent.

A small curse slipped out of her lip as she struggled to get past the mosquito netting hanging in the doorway of the tent. The additional layer came as a response to the rash of malaria that cropped up in Africa and looked to only get worse in the humid Italian summer.

"I barely made it off the ship alive," muttered Betty, following her with a crate of bandages and supplies in her arms.

"Now you're definitely over exaggerating," teased Sadie. She got the crate down with the others and paused to dig her knuckles into a particularly sore spot in her lower back. The humidity permeated through the canvas tent and sweat poured down Sadie's back, causing her undergarments to stick uncomfortably to her skin. She thought with longing for the pond near the farmhouse on her parents land and the large oak that shaded most of the picket-fenced back yard. "What I wouldn't give for a cold lemonade and a good book right now," she remarked offhandedly.

Betty snorted in poorly concealed, slightly sarcastic laughter. "Could you be any more innocent? I'd rather have a mojito and a spot poolside at a nice Miami hotel."

Sadie made a face. "Keep Miami. I think I'll stick with the country, thanks."

"You would, Miss Arkansas," teased Betty. The blonde gave Sadie a roguish wink as she took her bandages to a different supply area. Sadie rolled her eyes and started for the next crate, telling herself there was nothing wrong with wanting a slice of peace and quiet, no matter how childish and innocent it sounded to her more cultured friends.

Outside the late afternoon sun was starting to crest towards the westward horizon. It would be dark soon and already Sadie could feel the tension rising. The hospital had been informed that the 107th expected heavy shelling through the night and that they should expect to see their first casualties of the war. Everyone from the head surgeon right down to the lowliest private seemed to vibrate with a sick sort of anticipation.

Sadie felt it too, wondering what injuries awaited them. She knew from nursing school that there was a massive difference between reading about wounds and studying pictures versus seeing the real thing in person. Often she found herself obsessing over whether she would be able to handle the real deal with it came before her or if she would crack under the pressure, unable to handle the nasty realities of war and medicine. Nobody could teach how to really mentally prepare for an operation of this magnitude and Sadie could only hope that when the time came she could handle whatever happened.

The comfort time was rapidly running out and as she grabbed another crate from the truck, she wondered what the infinite night ahead would bring.

X X X

"I've never been camping," said Bucky as he hauled another shovel full of dirt out of the dry earth. "But this seems worse."

PFC Gerald Meyers chuckled. "How come you've never been camping? You have a shitty childhood or something?"

Bucky paused and dropped his head back, letting out a half laugh. Dirt lined the undersides of his fingernails and he could feel his skin stretching and cracking over his knuckles. "I grew up in Brooklyn, the closest thing I got to camping was waiting outside Ebbets Field on opening day. Where are you from?"

He pushed his spade deeper into the earth and kept digging. "Eugene, Oregon. Spent my whole life camping with my dad and we never did anything like this. You said you've been Ebbets Field? To see the Dodgers play?"

Bucky had never even heard of Eugene, Oregon. PFC Meyers' town was just another pin dot on the empty expanse of his mental map. In Bucky's mind there was New York and, well, everywhere else. He hadn't realized just how expansive the country was until he started meeting men from all of its corners. "Yeah, it was just about the only thing we could afford."

"We? You got a brother?"

In his chest, Bucky's heartstrings tightened uncomfortably. He hoped that wherever Steve was it was better than a foxhole in one of the hottest places on the whole damn planet. "Something like that, yeah," he said noncommittally, unwilling to talk about it further.

They fell into silence, putting their full effort into getting dug in. By the time they finished, his Chino shirt was plastered to his body. Even at night the temperatures were warm and all Bucky wanted to do was lay down and get some sleep. After the weeks, he wasn't sure if he'd ever get a full night's sleep again. But at long last they were finished and started to settle in.

"Sergeant Barnes!" Bucky sat up to see the shadow of Lieutenant McAllister jogging towards him.

"Sir!"

Lieutenant McAllister crouched low. "We just got word, A and B companies suffered delays getting to their rendezvous points and are just now arriving at their spots on the line. Nobody has managed to connect with E Company yet. First platoon is sending a patrol to link up. We've only got one aid station a few hundred yards off the line and the 80th field hospital was forced up closer than expected, only ten miles out. That means only major injuries will leave the line tonight. Keep your men in their foxholes," McAllister cast a dark look to their surroundings. "I've got a feeling it's going to get real bad."

Meyers, who had been listening in, cast a dubious look toward the back end of the line where the trees thinned out into rocky terrain.. "Sir," said Meyers slowly. "The doctors and nurses are going to be that close to the shelling?"

"Looks that way."

For all of the army's planning, it seemed there were just some things it couldn't account for. The field hospitals were to remain closer to thirty miles behind the front line at all times. But now the 80th would be ten miles away, practically a stone's throw.

"Once we get past the first advance things should sort out properly," said McAllister. "Bucky, keep your men in their foxholes, I don't want any unnecessary casualties if we can help it."

"Yes, sir," said Bucky. He and Meyers watched as McAllister jogged off, staying low in the dusk.

"The doctors and nurses might as well dig foxholes in with us they're gonna be so close," muttered Meyers irritably. "What the fuck are we gonna do if they get hit?"

Bucky tried not to think about it. Without noticing, his mind drifted to Nurse Reid. Was she a member of the 80th? Or was she part of an evacuation or permanent hospital unit? He'd only ever seen her in a white nurse's uniform with nicely curled hair and makeup. It was almost impossible for him to imagine her or her friends out here in the middle of all this.

"Just in case you should keep your head down and try not to get hit," said Bucky. Meyers chuckled and they settled down into the foxhole, pushing cover over their heads. At length darkness descended. The air was unnaturally quiet, broken only by the occasional nervous laugh or distant gunfire. Every time Bucky heard it he started, his whole body tense.

"God, it's even hotter than hell at night," muttered Meyers.

Bucky rolled his eyes. Tipping his helmet to a more comfortable spot on his head, he started to retort but never finished his thought.

The trees and the air overhead literally exploded.

A/N: Minor cliff hanger! Sorry for the lack of Bucky/Sadie in this chapter but it's unavoidable…they can't be together every minute of the war can they? I promise that next chapter will see combat action, field hospital action, and Bucky/Sadie's next run-in.

Let me know what you think, parts you liked, predictions for the future, questions etc! Much love – Kappa.