A/N: Hello, my pretties. I'd just like to mention this chapter skips over a lot of time quite quickly. I think I've managed to make it clear, but if not, please let me know and I'll try to explain it in a different way :)

Big thanks to: BlackravenRedrose, FireChild24, Grandwrex and Anavy Jacobs for following/favouriting. :)))

Review Response(s):

Lara Barnes: There may be a few moments in the future where you want to give Bucky/James a hug. Just warning you now.

TMNTGirl: I'm glad you're loving it so much, but I'm still saying nothing. You'll just have to wait and find out. ;)

angelAnabiel: Yeah, Bucky's gonna come into the story in about two chapters, and the next chapter has a 2014 scene as well. Glad to hear you're enjoying it :)

10 - The Anamaria

Peggy got sent to rescue Erskine a week after that day, while Phillips told me to stay at Camp Lehigh and help train the newest recruits. Since the announcement of the war in Europe, more and more men were signing up, no doubt anticipating being sent overseas to fight.

Eight months later and Peggy still hadn't returned. That was June of 1940. News of Germany's Blitzkrieg was making everyone a little bit more antsy. More and more men from all over the country were being sent to Camp Lehigh. My first group had contained forty men, split easily into two groups of twenty. By that summer, I had 77 men under my command, which was... well, not exactly helpful. I'd split that lot into two groups of 26, and one group of 25. They learned well, but it wasn't easy teaching so many.

Hydra had also become an increasingly prominent name in military news. Schmidt was growing more aggressive, using highly advanced technologies to wipe out whole regiments in mere hours. Phillips approached Howard Stark after Hydra made an attempt on his life, and from there, the Strategic Scientific Reserve was founded, with Howard, Phillips and I as its leaders. Peggy would, of course, become a member. And, with time (and a little effort on my part), so would Doctor Erskine.

It was June 24th when Peggy and Erskine finally returned to Camp Lehigh. It took two days for them both to sign up to join the SSR. Peggy signed immediately. Erskine required a little persuasion, but not much.

That was almost a year and a half ago.

Now, I was with my twelfth group of training, my last one having been sent to the front lines not three days ago. But today, I was distracted. Everyone could see it. But I couldn't help it.

Because today was December 7th 1941.

"Moore!" Phillips barked, drawing me from a daze (for the fifth time that morning).

I looked at him, feeling completely drained. "Sir?"

The man eyed me for a second, but then suddenly his whole stance shifted, and it looked like the world had come crashing down onto his shoulders. I knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth. "I've just had word. Pearl Harbour was attacked by the Japanese. Roosevelt's going to formally declare war tomorrow. We've already got recruitment stations being erected all over the country."

"How bad is the damage?" I asked.

Phillips shook his head. "At this point, it's difficult to tell - the attack only ended around two hours ago. Most of the fleet is gone though. Along with many men."

I nodded slowly, that heaviness forming in the pit of my stomach. "What do you want me to do? I assume you didn't simply tell me for the sake of it."

Slowly, the Colonel nodded. "You're right. I need to ask you for a very big favour, Moore. One you have every right to decline."

"That doesn't sound good," I mumbled. "Well, what is it?"

"The guys on the front need help. I've recommended you. We've got men from over a dozen different locations who have requested you come. By name. You're very well known out on the field, Moore. Your men remember you, and so the commanders out there have come to know of you."

"You want me to go to the front?" I questioned, confused. "Why?"

"Because you're capable," he said simply. "You're more than capable. And most of those men need a familiar face they know they can trust."

"How long?"

He sighed. "A year. Maybe half a year if you're as efficient as I expect you'll be. It all depends on how bad the fighting is when you get there. We've already got troops being moved to Europe. You're going to be joining them, if you accept. You'll have to move between 18 divisions."

I pondered for a second, then said slowly, "Fine. But only if you tell me when you're in the final stages of Project Rebirth. I want to be back here when that happens."

"Of course."

"I want your word, Colonel."

Phillips' lips tightened, but he let out a long breath through his nose and nodded. "You have my word. As soon as Erskine thinks the serum is nearing completion, I'll send the order to have you brought back."

I nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Phillips. When do I leave?"

"As soon as you're ready. There's a ship heading for Britain in three days. It's a two day trip from here to the boat."

I nodded, feeling a slight thrill of nerves in the pit of my stomach. Combat was a familiar thing for me. War was not. It would be a change of pace, that was for certain. "I'll go get ready," I told him, and he nodded approvingly before I spun on my heel and marched away, trying to determine whether the churning sensation in my stomach was from fear, nerves, or excitement. I figured it was probably a mix of the three.

I could take down a dozen men without batting an eyelid. I could get shot several times and barely make a sound. I'd faced many dangers and experienced the worst things and come out the other side (mostly) whole.

But stick me on a boat, and I might as well be a sack of potatoes.

It had been decades since I last went on a boat - while with Hydra, James and I always used planes, or went by foot, or by car. Never by boat. So the last time I was on a ship like this was while I was still in my early teens. As it turned out, I got badly seasick. I wasn't the only one. I didn't feel the nausea so much when I was on the deck, so I stayed in the open as much as possible.

The ship - the 'Anamaria' - could cruise at a fairly reasonable 13mph on a good day. At a constant speed, it would take ten or eleven days to reach Plymouth port (which was our destination). But we were heading for a storm. So we were likely to be blown off course, and that would increase our travel time. Something which I was not looking forward to, because while we were going through the storm, I'd have no choice but to stay inside. Which meant I'd be facing my seasickness again.

For now though, I made the most of my time on the deck. I sat on the ground, my back against the bars of the ship, feeling the sea spray on my skin. I didn't have any of my usual ways to keep myself occupied, so instead I settled for singing the few songs I knew from start to finish over and over again.

I was going through 'Seven Nation Army' by The White Stripes for the fourth time when someone stopped me mid-sentence.

"I'm gonna fight 'em off
A seven nation army couldn't hold me back
They're gonna rip it off
Taking their time right-"

"Are you just gonna spend the whole trip doing that?"

I raised my eyes from the patterns on the floor and saw a man sat on the railing just a few feet away. That he managed to place himself there meant he was either extraordinarily quiet on his feet, or I was so far into my own head that my senses suffered as a result. I really hoped it was the former. Being distracted was not safe on a battlefield. The guy in front of me was only wearing half his uniform (he was lacking his hat and his jacket), his black hair neatly slicked back. He had a handsome face and was clearly a strong man. His expression was friendly, and the tone of voice he'd used when asking that question was curious, rather than annoyed.

I couldn't help but shrug. "A boat isn't exactly the best location for the things I'd normally do to pass the time," I said simply.

He smiled slightly. "And what would they be?"

"Fighting. Shooting. Yelling at the guys I train." I shrugged. "I work for the army," I said by way of an explanation. "I don't get much free time."

"Sounds like you don't really know what you enjoy doing," he said seriously, brows furrowing slightly. "All those things - they're work. They're not hobbies. What are your hobbies?"

"Reading. Playing the guitar (though it's been a while since I did that). I used to draw."

He shook his head. "You don't sound very certain," he noted. He dropped off of the railing and sat himself on the floor, keeping a respectable two feet between us. "When was the last time you went out and did something fun?"

I suddenly found myself feeling somewhat sheepish. "About four years ago."

His eyes widened to the size of golf balls. "Four years?!" he echoed, completely gobsmacked. "What did you do?"

"I went out dancing with my friends. It... didn't really end well."

"In what way?"

I hesitated, before answering with a half-truth, "The club was attacked while we were in there."

"Oh." He pursed his lips. He then held out a hand. "I'm Jared Wiley."

I took his hand and shook it. "Evelyn Moore."

Jared froze. "You're Evelyn Moore?" he asked in shock.

I blinked. "Um... Yes? Why?"

He chuckled. "I've heard a lot about you. There are some fellas on this ship who were apparently trained by you, and they've said a lot."

"Good things I hope," I responded teasingly.

He nodded. "Not a bad word, really. Only that you exhausted the hell out of them during training."

"They'd never improve if they didn't stretch themselves to their limits."

"Yeah, that's what they said you always told them." Jared chuckled. "They'll be glad to see you, I'm sure. A couple are sharing a room with me. Wanna come and see them?"

It didn't really take much consideration before I agreed, pushing myself to my feet. "I suppose that wouldn't be a bad idea," I commented idly. "Who's down there?"

"Francis Gooding. Linus Alsworth. Joel Benton. Um... Oh, and Charles Walsh."

I groaned. "Why did it have to be Walsh, of all people?"

Jared seemed surprised. "Why is that a problem?"

"He's made it his personal goal to flirt with me at just about every passing opportunity. It's... irritating, to say the least."

"Thought you were rationed," he said, only to suck in a sharp breath and look like he was mentally beating himself up for saying that.

I decided to let him go about the slip, and slapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, I am. Unfortunately, that knowledge does absolutely nothing to dissuade him."

"Well, from what I've heard, you can beat them all in a fight pretty quickly, so you could always throw him a quick right-hook to remind him of his place."

I laughed. "You know what, Jared? I like you already."

"Glad to hear it. Honestly, you're not the sort of person I'd want to be enemies with. There are some fairly... radical stories about how you came to possess the skills you do."

"Oh? And what, pray tell, do they entail?"

He shrugged. "They range from being raised by a family of war veterans, to being trained by assassins, to being centuries old and having many more years of practice than your physical body would suggest." I tried to keep a straight face at that. Those last two were worryingly close to home. "Whatever you do, don't tell them the real truth. It's quite amusing to hear the crazy theories they come up with."

I gave him a sad smile. "The truth isn't a nice one," I admitted. "It's not something I'd ever want any of you guys to hear. I've only ever told one person."

Jared nodded in understanding. "Everyone's allowed their secrets," he stated simply, and then the conversation died down as we started to meander our way through the narrow corridors of the soldiers' floor. A couple doors were open, and a few of the men were milling about, but most were closed. Muffled voices could be heard on the other side of the doors. I also heard a few people throwing up. Which was nice.

Jared led me to the very last door on the corridor and threw it open without knocking.

"Oi, shut the bloody door!"

I grinned as I leaned against the doorframe. I'd know that voice anywhere. "Did your mother never teach you about manners, Gooding?"

Francis Gooding, who was sat with another man I didn't know on a bunk playing cards, froze at the sight of me. "This is a dream, right?" he queried slowly.

I chuckled. "I do hope I don't appear in your dreams often, Gooding. Because if I do... Well, that's a bit disturbing."

Gooding shook his head. "What're you doing here, boss?"

I sighed, moving to sit on the opposite bunk. "Same as you. I'm being sent to the front. The situation doesn't sound great."

"What about your work training new recruits?"

I shrugged. "I'll go back to that. Phillips thinks I'll only be out here for a year at most. I've got many different regiments to visit in that time, so at least I'll be kept busy."

Gooding stared at me, then cracked a crooked grin. "Walsh is asleep on the bunk above you," he told me in a conspiratorial tone.

I smirked to myself. "I don't suppose you have a bucket of water on hand...?"

Gooding returned the grin. "Unfortunately not. Pulling him off the bed works pretty well, though."

"If you dare, I will skewer you on your own spine," came a sleepy voice from above me.

I chuckled. "Nice of you to join us, Walsh."

"Always a pleasure, boss," he murmured in return, voice no doubt being muffled by his pillow. There was a beat of silence, then, "Holy crap, you're really here." I looked up and saw Walsh's head poking down from above. His face was still pale from sleep.

I raised my eyebrows. "Is that so unbelievable?"

"I'm surprised the army let you go. They love you too much."

"Something I hear is a common opinion," Jared piped up.

I shook my head. "They like me because I can fight," I corrected. "I still don't follow half the orders given to me."

"You followed this one," Gooding pointed out.

"This wasn't an order," I informed him, leaning back against the wall and trying to ignore how my stomach rolled when the ship hit a particularly large wave. "Colonel Phillips gave me the option of not coming."

"So why did you?"

"Because I'm needed," I said simply. "I wasn't trained to fight in a war. The Colonel knows that as much as I do. So the fact that he asked me to come and help out means it must be serious. I figured I'd probably be more useful getting in on the action, rather than just staying in America."

"You train sixty men each time," Walsh pointed out, sounding a little more awake now. "Sixty men are likely to be more use than one woman. No offence."

"I've had many more years of experience," I countered. "Besides, who are the Germans more likely to see coming? A platoon of soldiers, or a single woman? I'd have the advantage of surprise." With no more arguments, the group settled into a brief quiet. "So who's the stranger of this group?" I asked, nodding at the guy sitting opposite Gooding, who now had a cigarette in between his lips.

He took said cigarette from his mouth and turned to me with a straight face. He seemed like the kind of guy who'd cause trouble. One of those ones who were too firm on their belief that women were possessions to be kept safe at home. I knew in a single glance that he and I would not get on. "Stan Davis." His voice was about as curt as expected, and then he turned back to the cards in front of him, ignoring me completely.

I smiled wanly. "A pleasure." I stood up. "Well, I'll leave you gentlemen to it. Gooding, Walsh, it was good seeing you again."

"Same here, boss," Gooding said, with Walsh nodding along.

I clapped Jared on the shoulder. "See you 'round, Jared. Keep these guys out of trouble for me, would you?"

He chuckled and gave me a mock-solute. "Yes, ma'am."