LAST TIME: Bucky catches him as he goes to hurry away, looks him up and down. "Steve, please, please pick up a gun. Don't walk around without one." He says seriously.
Steve's eyes soften, "I will."
"I mean it Steve, you need a gun!"
"I'll get one!" Steve calls, running off.
Bucky prays to god the punk actually listens to him this time.
.
. . .
BUCKY
. . .
.
They travel fast, like Morita said, and the man was also right in that Bucky wouldn't have been able to keep up. The trucks are keeping pace with the men but it's not a crawl anymore and most of the able-bodied men are jogging, if not running. Anyone who walks risks falling further and further behind. He's looked over the cabin of the truck twice to see Steve both at the head and the back of the formation, forcing himself to run slower than he's able and encouraging the men; from Private to Major, to keep going - and taking as many heavy packs from them as he can. Occasionally Steve, and a few of the others manage to find some room on a truck or on the side of the tank to dump them when the men start flagging, and Jones has been by twice to double check if there's any room on Bucky's truck to dump some, even though he knows there isn't.
He's as see-through as Steve is.
Bucky is somewhat satisfied to see Dugan keeping his distance, even if Bucky's pretty certain Jones - the only other survivor from their smaller squad - is reporting back to him.
There is absolutely no room on his truck - another 'medic truck' two vehicles ahead of his blew two tires out on one side from a German trap around two hours in; and everyone in the vicinity raised his weapon at the loud pops - thinking it an ambush. Bucky, whose one hand has been clasped around his middle for hours over every single painful bump, whilst his other scratches relentlessly at his neck, doesn't quite realize what's happened until their truck jerks to a sharp stop. Nearly all the men in his truck had groaned and jerked forward with the movement, sliding across the bed of the truck. Bucky cracked the back of his head against the cabin when it snapped back. The men loaded as many of the wounded onto the remaining trucks, and as much food as they could in ten minutes, and left the blown-out truck where it stood.
He has another man crammed into the space between him and the man with the bullet in the side, so he's pressed up against the edge, and a second half-draped over his shins. In a lot of ways he feels trapped - strapped down again - helpless with the weight pressing down on him. His body aches deep and painful, and itches like there's insects running across his skin. He closes his eyes in the end, trying to imagine he's home in bed at sixteen on a Sunday, and Jenna and Lily are collapsed complaining about getting up early for church out of his father's earshot. It seems to work somewhat, allowing his body to rock with the bumps instead of tensing up so much. He checks his belly a couple of times slyly when everyone else near him is unconscious to see the area around the absence of the fourth staple clogged up with dry blood. He's just glad he's stopped bleeding and has managed to contain the stain on his shirt. He presses unhelpfully on where is knows the first staple is buried until he has to stop - and uselessly searches the wounded solider next to him for a knife. He's unsuccessful, and the man with the bullet in his side is staring at him warily when he catches his eye under the other's armpit.
He turns back to sitting straight and stares at the backwards moving landscape, men jogging ahead and to the side of him. He wonders how far away they are from the Austrian-Italian border and rocks his head back against the truck, closing his eyes and pushing past the lemonened candies in his pocket until he finds red and green.
He drifts off to the thrum of the vibrating engine, and Steve encouraging men older and younger than him to keep going in the background.
.
. . .
.
He wakes up to a familiar sound. A familiar sound he hasn't heard for a long time, and for a moment he forgets he's in a truck and not the trenches.
Bang! Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!
He ducks low, moving before he thinks, hands coming up over his head.
He stays like that for several seconds, ducked as low as he can, cringing as bullets fly over his head. He hears men choking and crying out before the return fire starts up and people duck to cover, swearing, but before he can look bullets rock against the side of the truck.
They pierce the metal and the man lying over his shins catches two to the gut.
"Shit! Shit!" Bucky yells, ducking and trying to get out from under the guy.
Bullets raze over his head again, kicking up dirt and splintering trees and metal. He's not the only one swearing. Several other men who have been jolted awake are scrabbling uselessly to get out of the trucks too, and soldiers taking cover on the other side are taking turns firing back and pulling those men over the side.
He can't see anyone he knows.
Not anyone who isn't the man with the bullet wound to his side and Bucky grabs him, also wild eyed, and tries to heave them both after he kicks the dead man off his feet. He's unarmed.
He's unarmed and men are trying to kill them. He's a sitting duck and he's unarmed - he knew this would happen. They should have given him a gun.
Right as he's managed to get traction and caught the eye of a man heaving the wounded men over the other side of the truck - the world turns - the truck with it. It flips with a loud crush of screeching metal and Bucky feels himself get flung over the side - loosing himself and the world into a wash of white then black.
He comes to on his left side after who knows how long, heart pounding and face scraped up. There's heavy returning fire echoing over the ringing in his ears from both directions and he rolls until he's back into cover of the overturned truck, coughing. The joint of his shoulder twinges painfully and there's blood in his eye.
The already wounded men are face down on the ground; groaning, dead, or crushed under the truck with some of the men who had tried to help. He slaps at his ears to get rid of the ringing and left-over buzz; then clasps his dog-tags for half a second.
32557038. Barnes, Sergeant.
He thinks of his mother's lucky talisman on a frayed string and on a gold chain.
It's enough.
He coughs and scrabbles again to his feet, keeping low, and runs to the man he made eye contact with - heaves his good shoulder against the broken truck bed with strength he knows he shouldn't have. His stomach screams but he ignores it and pulls the man out from under it with numb hands. The soldier coughs, gasping, as Bucky pats him down looking for shrapnel before he yanks Bucky down. Bullets and engine oil burst through the metal above them. The man, skinny and blond, is young with hollowed cheeks; the way Steve's used to be at the crux of his yearly sicknesses. Bucky yells at him without being able to hear what he's saying.
The soldier's face firms and he pulls a pistol from his belt and a Thompson from the dead man beside him. He hands the Thompson to Bucky; he has a gun. They move together to different cover before the leaking oil of the truck catches.
Bucky shoots four men, trying to preserve his ammo, and the man shoots two, one in the leg and one in the shoulder before Bucky see's someone he knows. Dernier and Morita, the dream team as they've dubbed themselves, are behind the main tank. Morita shoots cover while Dernier seems to spark something - a homemade grenade - and runs sharply right to throw it into the trees. Morita shoots a man in the chest who comes out from behind one to shoot the Frenchman. Dernier twists back behind the tank as the trunk swivels ninety degree's but doesn't fire, and starts again - tying and sparking.
For a second Bucky forgets what he's just seen him throw, then he remembers the staircase with Lohmer and what Dernier managed to make with two wires, a recycled switch, an empty shell and a couple of ounces of engine oil. He pulls the blond down as it goes off. Three trees splinter and quite a lot of Krauts die. There's a hole the size of a two market stalls in the treeline and Bucky can see them scuttling like cockroaches as they realize their main cover is gone.
Dernier's sparking another one while the tank itself is occupied, and they seem to know it too.
Bucky hits the ground low on his knees, raises the gun and picks them off, shoots cleanly through two unlucky sods. He rolls as soon as he's done to avoid return fire and fires again as soon as he's up and moving, adrenaline pumping. The blond solider is right behind him, and shoots a Kraut coming up unseen on Bucky's right.
He sucks in a breath, clutching his pulsing stomach as he feels the staples shifting as soon as he gets back to cover - forces his awareness out again.
"You good?" The solider yells, glancing at Bucky hunched over, firing around the wheel of the food truck they're behind. Bucky huffs out a breathy nod but lets himself sink lower; makes himself forget about his stomach and aching muscles like he forgot about his feet - lets more than adrenaline take him.
"He'll throw another one in a minute." Bucky yells back, motioning to Dernier who they can see more clearly now at this angle. "When he does it's gonna' be an open field, you understand?" The man nods sharply. "Take as many down as you can, doesn't matter if you kill them, if the Krauts see enough of theirs go down when they're supposed to be covered they might pull back and retreat."
He still doesn't know how many there are - it's impossible to tell with them hiding behind the trees and hidden low in armed dig outs.
"What if they don't?" The man questions.
He laughs harshly, "Then it's still an open field, and you get to shoot them instead of them shooting you." Bucky orders; "Get ready!"
"Yes sir!"
Dernier throws another; it's not as powerful as the last and it's a closer call for him, but it's still effective. Bucky in particular aims for the one whose bullet just seared a line down Dernier's arm and keeps going; an open field. He ducks down again and grabs a new magazine from the blonde's belt as he's still shooting, and reloads. Then they switch, Bucky shooting while he reloads his pistol again. Later he leans across and snags another Thompson from a spilled out crate nearby and passes his current companion a more effective weapon. The soldier's gun runs out; he takes it without looking. A German grenade pings of the tank, then explodes and showers it with soil.
Dernier and Morita hit the ground coughing from the force; the distraction giving the German's a chance to regroup.
Come on.
The main trunk of the tank swivels thirty degrees suddenly. The ringing in Bucky's ears fades to the background; catching on something else; he can hear the men inside switching from curses to yelps of success. He hears something click, spark; the tank powers up with a familiar - unwanted - swwwiiiissshhh sound and blue light bursts out of the muzzle.
"Yes!" The solider behind him cheers as they get it working; Bucky, flinches and ducks lower - feeling inexplicably flushed at the sound. He can hear the Krauts yelling in panic as the tank starts firing at their soldiers and they start disintegrating. These men have clearly never seen this before - like the one's at Azzano they're regular Krauts - not Hydra. Bucky doesn't know if that's better or worse for their side.
Dernier and Morita are back on their feet and Dernier has a shotgun now, seeing as he no longer has to cover the tank on his own. Bucky shoots some more - ignoring the Krauts shouting in the too far distance about losing all contact with their Eastern flank with no major gunfire in that direction - and glances to the left to see his old truck burning.
Then he sees Dugan fall; the blow back of a German grenade. The German's start to break cover and run forward into the now stationary march. A pair aim for Dugan's head as he turns back onto his knees - Bucky see's his eyes widen from where he is - he can't get his Winchester out from under him in time.
Blood and brains splatter into and down the insides of their helmets, followed by the one behind them who Bucky hits in the chest. Dugan's head swivels in his direction and he does a double take - glancing from him to the burning truck and back again.
"Get up you goddamn asshole!" Bucky yells at him, shooting another two. The blond soldier's still back to back with him. Dugan grins and lets out a long boasting laugh, stands, shoves his bowler hat back on - because that's the priority, of course it is - and picks up his shotgun.
"For Gods sake," Bucky curses and goes to force himself to move forward, then hears Jones yelling at his supposed - laughing - superior officer before he can get a chance.
"Dugan! Get to cover, seriously!"
"Dugan!" They both yell together after and the guy finally moves, falling back to Jones.
"Jesus Christ!" Bucky keeps yelling, mainly at him.
Dugan laughs - yards away. "Jesus Christ? I could say the same to you, what a shot Bucky!"
"I swear to God!" Bucky and Jones yell at him again, in sync. They both jolt to look at each other before ducking and Jones joins Dugan laughing.
"Didn't think we'd ever get into another firefight like this altogether again, did you Sarge?"
"Is this really the time?!"
Dugan keeps on laughing as the Krauts start to flee.
"Where's Steve?" Bucky yells at him instead, because he hasn't seen any sign of his friend since this started.
"Heading to take them out at the wing last I heard. To make their command falter and get a proper look at numbers!" Dugan breaks off to yell.
Bucky freezes and the blond solider kicks at his knee to drop him onto his backside as a Kraut armed with a Browning falls with his finger still on the trigger. He grunts sharply but doesn't feel his stomach twinge this time. He does remember what he heard the German officers say over the radio in the distance. "What wing?!"
Not the East. Not the East. Not alone.
"The East!" Jones yells.
Goddammit Steve.
.
. . .
STEVE
. . .
.
Steve's running again.
This time he's not running through a burning building or outside one, but through trees. It's no less a war-zone. He'd seen five men fall near him during the initial assault ten minutes ago, and two more since he managed to get the others to cover - and that's enough.
He'd listened to Bucky and taken a pistol from a moving truck an hour ago, and thank god he had - thank God he listened even if it had taken him nearly four hours to do so. Without it and the cover fire he was able to provide more of the men under his charge could have fallen - and he'd be dead.
He'd shot a man moments before the German solider pulled the trigger aimed dead centre at the white star on blue at the centre of his chest. Without his jacket both his burnt-out shield and outfit is a clear as day bullseye, which isn't helpful because while it draws attention to him it doesn't draw attention away from the other men laying defensive fire.
The heaviest assault seems to be aimed at the centre and back of the march from the right side - targeting the main supply trucks and the stragglers; the weakest; and Steve's furious at the strategy even if he understands it.
He'd tried to get closer to where the men needed it the most, but as a blue and red eyesore and with the German semi-machine guns punching holes through cover and the air in between he realized it was impossible. Their men had rallied in seconds and reacted the way they'd been trained, but the Germans are undercover behind thick trees and digouts; and they're prepared. The men can't shoot what they can't see - and every missed shot is less ammunition for their already dwindling supply.
Steve and Falsworth know this because they counted, even if the majority of the men don't and are reacting the only way they know how - firing blindly at the enemy in a panic.
At his fourth attempt to breach into the centre of the march, a whole corner chunk of his stage shield explodes outwards; forcing him back, and he realizes the German's strategy in it's entirety. It's an insurgent separation with a flare of attrition warfare - like in his books - aiming full force at the centre and flank whilst forceably separating and blocking reinforcements from the front until the advantage is taken.
He, nor any of the others can get past the twenty metre separation the German's are peppering with continuous gunfire and grenades . They can't reinforce their centre and from the lack of blue energy or the sound of it powering up the men haven't been able to get the Hydra tank up and running - so they don't have that advantage either.
It'll be a massacre, Steve knows, if he can't bring down those MG42's and if the enemy doesn't falter. That's what makes his decision, and that's how he finds himself curving round the other side - brown tarp tied at his neck to cover the red and blue - to break past their defences where they can't see him a quarter mile ahead before running back.
Some of the others saw him and know, and Falsworth has his orders - it was half his idea after all - targeting the main command and communication. Steve's to bring down the MG42's in the dig outs before moving onto the protected command and communication areas, and quite simply; cause havoc. No one had contradicted his plan, not once, not after the watchtower.
He's running, tree's flying in and out of his vision as he breaks world records once more and shoves the first Germans he sees into the sides of tree trunks. He doesn't break pace - knows they're down for the count from the cracks he hears loud and deafening, and takes out eight more before someone finally realizes he's there. The man see's him but can only get half a yell out before Steve's on him, and he doesn't make it to the radio's - none of them do. He counts only nine shots that go off - none from him yet - but they all miss or he dodges and the men still fall.
He keeps going silently, tarp tied around his neck like a cape. He feels ridiculous - but it's working - he blends in and even when he doesn't he's too fast and the men around him go down without the rest of their squad noticing until it's their turn. He skids to a stop behind an oak as he hears Falsworth's shouted orders sixty meters away; he's back where he started just twenty meters behind the German front-line. He ducks down and curves around the tree, letting his hearing narrow down to which dig-outs have the MG42s.
There are several men hidden low behind trees closer to the opening of the clearing - but he can see camouflaged dig-outs hidden under tarps from the flashing muzzles poking out. Of the two closest to him; the second is armed with FG's over the MG42s, which are the real targets and the ones keeping the reinforcements apart; and also the gun that nearly shot his arm off when he attempted it. The rest of the men are firing potshots at his, taking them out whereever they can but not moving forward. Compared the racket he can hear just over half a mile away at the centre and back of the march, there's not much gunfire going on over here in comparison.
Steve peers around the tree again at the men he'll have to cross to get to the dig-outs and picks up two heavy stones from nearby instead of his gun. If he shoots it could give away his position before he's ready.
He throws both at the two soldiers the furthest away as he breaks from the oak tree and punches three more bare-handed. One rockets back into the first dig-out from the force, collapsing the twiggy tarp onto those beneath. He kicks another as the German tries to come out from under it and drops a live grenade in. He drops another as he jumps the second dig-out, lands and keeps running - punching and shoving men with his shield before they can raise their guns. He thinks he hears men start to panic as the grenades land in the dirt before they blow to high heaven but he can't be sure.
That gets the German's attention, for sure, as all heads turn to the explosions. The fight is suddenly more furious and he's having to impossibly dodge bullets coming at him from all directions, and his hearts pounding like it did when he jumped up three flights of stairs in that watchtower with one leap or when he jumped above that inferno - it's exhilarating in a way he's never felt before and he knows Peggy was right - he's worth more than just playing at being a dancing monkey.
He draws his pistol and two more grenades from the belts of Germans when the shots become too frantic to dodge and the men too far away - and he throws the grenades in both directions; flings himself into another German dig-out. He takes out the men there before he ducks low to avoid the searing heat of the grenades he just set off above. He smashes the MG42 and the two FG's there before letting himself listen above the pounding of his heart.
Falsworth's moving with squads from the front, heading South to reinforce their own in an attempt to pincer the German flanks.
Come on Steve, keep going - part two.
He sucks in a sharp breath, picks up another gun and a couple of knives from the incapacitated Germans under him and peaks out over the top. He ducks sharply as six different kinds of bullets pepper the edge of the dig-out - kicking up dirt into his hair and eyes. Well, that's great. They know he's here now. He slides his flimsy stage shield to his front and pulls the clips on four grenades. He tosses them in the general direction of the shots.
Men yell - boom - and he's off - shield only catching a sprinkle now. Steve hisses through his teeth as one cuts through the metal and narrowly misses catching him in the side, and starts firing back over the top of the striped starry shield. His aim's okay - he's a decent shot though not overly experienced as most boys are when they're first shipped out he supposes - and he misses a couple of times but the rest make contact. He zigzags both ways and reverses it, ducking and jumping unexpectedly to avoid direct shots, even though he's moving too fast for the others to come close to him.
He smashes both radios he sees as he passes, and shoots another twice as a solider reaches for it to keep the German superiors blind to what's happening on this wing. There's only a few left in this area - the rest he can see moving out of the treeline and into the centre of the ambush. There's a lot of smoke.
He grabs the last one by the collar and disarms him in one swoop; slams him into a tree. The man groans from the back of his throat and tries to hunch over. Steve keeps him upright and off the ground, and glances over his shoulder as his mind flicks back through his German phrasebook and Mrs Bakker shouting at her husband through the walls.
"Where is your command based?" Steve barks in lousy German, "What's their position?"
"Hail Hit-" The solider tries to stutter.
"What is their position?" Steve yanks the helmet off the mans head as he snaps out the question again. The man, if you could call someone so young a man - he can't be more than eighteen surely, Steve thinks, looks at him with terrified eyes and short sworn hair. His eyes dart to the right, and his hand shakes in the direction of south-east.
"Zurück…" He stutters again, and switches to mumbling in slow accented English instead, "Back…Don't kill me…Please, please don't-"
Steve knocks his head against the back of the tree trunk and the boy sinks unconscious to the ground.
"Stay down, kid." Steve mutters, and takes off in that direction. It's as Falsworth thought - the Lieutenants and the Captains are commanding from the back of the ambush.
If I bring them down surely the assault will crumble.
A mile south-west he hears a familiar tank powering up - Steve grins. There we go boys, that'll do it. If anything will send the German's running it's that thing. He hears them before he see's them - barking and shouting about a loss of contact with the North-Eastern flank. That's on me - Steve thinks and slams himself into the side of a carefully concealed ammunition truck so it rocks violently into another four feet away. There's flashes of blue in the distance to join in with the grenade explosions. He rocks back as soon as he's hit it; shoves his hands under the frame and heaves until it flips and takes half the command area out. There's suddenly a lot of shooting, at him instead of around him and he has to duck and dodge again, his gun in one hand half-forgotten as he uses the shield as a weapon - shoving and slamming it into gun barrels and men alike.
Someone grabs the back of his brown cape and yanks, and more from the shock of the knot tightening around his Adams Apple than the pain, he almost falls backwards. He forces himself to twist as he falls, trying to make it deliberate with a move he's never seen nor done before and manages to get a hold of the cape himself. Steve rips it from his neck and bodily tosses the German Lieutenant on the other end over three rows of men trying to line up.
Note to self: no cape.
He rolls and kicks several off their feet until he's back behind a large rock, jumping down and firing behind him. Shards of stone scatter over his hair as they keep shooting and he thinks, here we go.
They'll throw a grenade. This is how you die; and this time there's no priest to stand over you and give you last rites like when you were two, four, five, and fifteen. Bucky had refused outright, stubborn and selfish to call for Father Matthews when he was twenty in the Winter of '39.
Steve had wanted to slug him for it for weeks once he was better for denying him that Sacrament, despite his friend's faith in his survival.
Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.
May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.
Oh Lord, oh holy Father, I've sinned these past few days - these past few weeks - I confess it. I've taken human life and disobeyed those above me, I've stolen and I've lied. I've slept with another outside the sanctity of marriage. Dominae lesus, forgive me my sins, save me from the fires of Hell. I am deeply sorry, lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy.
Dominae lesus -
Bright blue - flash - hissing and cleaving through the trees. The centre of two trees to the right of him disintegrate the same way a man would - leaving the stumps and heavy branches above. They drop with heavy gravity onto those below.
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Steve ducks to his stomach as an entire ten foot branch snaps off on the way down, cracks down the middle as it hits the rock behind him. Then he darts to the right to avoid it crunching his skull in two, and catches his leg on left-over shrapnel from another explosion. There's a sharp snag of pain, like there was on his arm in the factory, enough to make him wince, but he's not going to ignore this miracle - and the advantage it gives him. He's up from the rock - whatever is left of the command is minuscule at best. There's more blue flashes further back - targeting specifically now - the other one must have been a missed shot that just kept going the distance until it hit something. The gunfire on their side is louder too as the German continue to move in, but it's less controlled without continuing orders at their back. Steve spies two smoking gaps in the tree line a quarter mile south and somehow knows that wasn't the tanks work. It's the size of two market stalls, and there are men on the ground and scuttling back into the trees for new cover.
Someone - one of theirs - is picking off the runners with stunning shots.
They're not always shots to kill but they're deliberate - and every time one goes down with a shot to the shin, kneecap or small of the back Steve knows they aren't misses or less than perfect. Whoever it is is aiming to incapacitate, so the German's go down in full view of their men; one after another. Steve huffs an inconceivable breath at the obvious strategy; at this ace shot with a rifle attempting to draw more out from cover to help the wounded.
It's not Falsworth or the other officers' strategy - it can't be - there's no way they've made it this far down the formation for it to have anything to do with them - but it's working. In the few seconds he allows himself to watch and think as he starts moving - a squad of soldiers behind a thick elm jerk as another goes down feet away, followed by one more attempting to help whose bullet to the side deliberately has him fall closer to where the gunman must know they're hiding.
There's no way this is anyone but a trained sniper, Steve thinks, there's no way - he's got to be.
Steve throws his shield at three men and dodges some more bullets from the left, spins to pick it up from the ground and shoots with his pistol until he's out of bullets at any remaining in the command area. The German assault is faltering - there's no more orders coming from command and Steve see's the lower SS officers pull themselves up and try to take charge in the meantime.
He moves on, speeding closer to the treeline and the clearing their men were attacked in, aiming to literally take them from behind - one by one. They start going down, and Steve can see the men suddenly start panicking as their smaller group takes shots in both directions. Four men run at him at once from all sides once he dodges one too many bullets with only a sear to the arm and he fights them off the same way he saw Bucky try to fight off all the Midgley brothers - both large and small. He blocks like he saw George Barnes do when sparring with his best friend during training, protecting his head and chest. After ducking another swing and slugging a solider in the jaw, he realizes, damn - he's out of practice, but his footwork has improved drastically.
A sixth that he doesn't see slashes at his arm with a wicked knife - tearing the fabric but missing his skin (barely) in obviously trained movements. Steve tries to back up but there's more behind him - and he hadn't even seen the knife until it almost cut him. A seventh is also armed, and goes for his side as he dodges the sixth's second and third slash.
A bullet sears through the seventh's forearm and he screams out a curse as he drops the knife - takes another to the other shoulder after barely a beat. It sends him to the ground, hard.
Shocked, Steve focuses back on the sixth but that one goes down too with a shot to the switch at the back of the head. Steve tracks the trajectory this time; the bullet speared through a half foot spacing in the forest from somewhere below on the ground. Steve spies the muzzle of a gun and a scratched up hand holding the barrel steady from underneath a truck with sunken blown out tyres, but is otherwise invisible. No wonder the German's can't work out where the shots are coming from.
Steve hits the last of them before the man has to waste another bullet on saving his life, while still unsure on how the solider even saw his predicament from this far away. It must have been the eyesore that is your costume, you mook - he excuses, you lost your cape, you're a walking bullseye.
Thank god the sniper recognized the costume from this distance - there's no way he has a scope on that gun to make out Steve in detail. He darts back to cover and pulls the shield off the ground and onto his back again, picks up his stolen gun and palms a knife he's never used before. Behind him, the tank turns twenty-five degrees - it has a new target and Steve's probably in the way.
He starts running again; from the German's coming at him and the energy he can hear powering up behind him. He leaps sideways and the soldiers coming towards him catch the unlucky energy blast. He keeps moving, shooting from behind the German's lines to confuse them, further South, then back North so they can't target where the shots are coming from. Men are fleeing through the forest as their Sergeants and other SS officers pull them back, running frightened as the blue energy shells pick up the pace.
They haven't seen this stuff before either, Steve realizes, it's as new to them as it is for the Allies. That's interesting - Hydra aren't sharing their technology. He remembers Jones telling him that the 107th thought the tank was one of theirs because it shot apart the German charge first before it turned on them. What were these people playing at?
Turning back North again he almost runs straight into Falsworth's squad of available men - successful in taking out men from the flanks in a pincer move. He slams a German solider, as he's learnt to do, into falling seven feet away as he reaches the squad.
Falsworth sees him - and yells. "It's working Captain!"
"Seems like! We're not done yet though!" Steve calls back, jogging to a halt in front of them. "Keep going - all the digouts are gone and the men are falling back in groups with what's left of the officers. Just keep driving them out. And be careful about a quarter mile down - near the tank - for that and the sniper."
"Sniper?!" One of them snaps out, "Where?"
"About a quarter mile South." Steve repeats, "one of ours, covered under a truck. He's been taking out the men strategically - the officers especially. He's making long range shots though, without a scope, and with no radios on our side he or the tank might not know we've breached the treeline as well."
Falsworth nods, "They'll see men moving in fatigues and think we're the Jerrys' too, they could shoot us without even realizing it."
"What, our own men are gonna shoot us now too?" One of the stronger of the prisoners bites out, brow creased and voice sharp.
Steve ignores the comment, "I'm going to try and get word to them and sort communication out now you squads are through but keep flushing them back, just be careful. I don't know how long it'll take to get word to them."
"Ha!" Falsworth laughs, then scoffs as he begins to move forward again. "How long it takes? You've just taken out all of the dig outs and the Jerry's eastern command in under five minutes, somehow, getting word to our own side doesn't seem like it's going to be much a problem."
He moves off with the others, and Steve takes his new assignment in hand - and pelts at full speed to the centre assault of their formation.
"Captain!"
Several men shout at once, Sergeant Dugan among them, as he kicks and stabs at German soldiers still stubbornly moving forward from behind. Multiple men immediately move to cover his approach, moving forward or switching their aim so he can make it near Timothy Dugan and Private Gabe Jones.
"Who's in the tank?" He yells above the continuing stuttuctto of gunfire.
"No idea!" Jones shouts back, "we were too far away; nearer the front when the bastards hit us. We only got back to this area not too long ago."
"They took their bloody time getting it running though!" Dugan shouts over his shotgun barrel, without taking his eyes off the treeline. "'thought they'd never get that thing working with how they were going on about it - it's only in German for Gods sake!"
Jones barks out a laugh, "You swore up a storm and had no idea when you first got in Dugan; I was the one who could read it!"
"Well every squad needs a Jones then, don't they?" Dugan shoots back automatically and Steve see's Jones do a double-take at him.
Originally, Jones wasn't a part of the 107th, because of course the US Army wouldn't dare mix up white and coloureds in one unit - they aren't even supposed to be in combat. US laws state instead that they are to be assigned to combat-support roles such as cooks, quartermasters or to the unlucky job of grave digging and registry - and those are always Segregated units themselves too. The 92nd Infantry Division is the only All Black Division to see combat - which was Jones's unit, but in a close battle before Azzano, Steve's heard, Jones threw himself into the thrall, and saved Dugan and three other men that day. Their units were positioned alongside each other until Azzano, larger and three times worse than that first skirmish, took them all prisoner. In their months of capture, only one of four black men of the march, they've grown close, and has more than gained Dugan's loyalty. Steve's inexplicably pleased at Jones expression and the comment, because at first glance hadn't considered the heavier-set man to have the unpopular liberal opinions he did after the Japanese comment made by the cells.
He switches back to the priority before they get distracted. "The tanks up and working now; but we need to get word to them and the others - we have men in the trees now - be careful who you shoot!"
Dugan swears and mutters "friendly fire" to himself.
"There hasn't been any kills yet," Steve continues, vividly remembering his close escape with the blue energy beam, "but that doesn't mean there won't be - especially with whoever is in that tank - they're just shooting at anything!"
"Right. We'll try and get word to them - Jones, pass on to the rest of them. If they say shit about it, tell 'em 'Captain's orders.'"
Jones blinks at him, then gives him a small smile with a determined set to his brow. "You got it."
"Morita - the Jap-" He's not a Jap, Steve thinks, "might have a better chance at getting word to the tank - he and Dernier were blowing holes in the trees with homemade grenades until the idiots started pulling their weight - 'ey seemed to have some sorta' understanding. I'll try to-"
"Don't!" Steve cuts him off. "Let me, you stay here and keep passing the message round."
He turns to do exactly that and freezes at the burning husk of an overturned truck. This is the first time he's let himself notice the devastation around him; the burnt out pits, the small fires, the shells and the shrapnel littering the ground; the bodies. There's over thirty at least; a good cluster of them the wounded men - crushed and dead under the overturned truck or shot to hell in the other. The overturned truck he knows well.
No. No, no, no. I don't see him, I don't see his body-
He's halfway to hissing in a breath-
"Barnes is good!" Dugan calls from behind him and Steve spins to see the man with his eyes away from the treeline and looking serious for once.
"What?!"
"Barnes! He's good - fuck me if I know how - he must have got out of the truck before it flipped - he's with another Private just along the way. Gotten hold of a Thompson and a rifle last time I saw him; covered me when I thought for sure I was a goner." Dugan suddenly grins, "Trust me, Cap, I was more surprised than you are."
"Where?" Steve snaps out quickly once he's caught his breath.
"Over that way," Dugan nods south, "where the tank was before it started moving; he's sticking close to the trucks and the ground to reload. He and that other Private are covering each other and taking out the runners."
Steve blanches a little, "Taking out the runners?"
Dugan laughs again, "Who do you thinks been picking two off with one bullet at a time down there?"
"That's Bucky?!"
"What? You didn't know he was a sniper?"
Steve half-laughs in bewilderment. "No. No, I didn't."
"Crack shot he is." Dugan says like he's talking about the weather. The man turns to start firing again, then he starts yelling at the rest of the men to watch out for their own in the trees - and that he'll box anyone who he catches shooting at theirs. Steve takes that as his queue to leave.
He runs and ducks between each bit of cover he sees, ordering the men the same as Dugan, and looks actively for Morita behind the tank. He spots him, and further down sees a blonde headed solider firing around the deflated wheel of a truck with someone's legs sticking out from under the truck behind him. Three more men go down in the forest, all the men now actively falling back. Steve shakes his head in bewilderment again.
He opens his mouth to yell, about to jump between cover again - he's almost at the tank. He jolts back from a spray of hot bullets. The men nearest to him see it and start firing furiously in his defence. Steve's still a little astounded by that attitude.
"Morita!" He yells from his position instead. The man snaps to attention. "We have several squads in the trees - tell them to watch their fire!" The last part he yells harshly as the tank fires from it's regular machine gun with no restraint - wasting ammunition and making one of Steve's squads drop to the floor ducking four-hundred feet away. "Watch their fire!"
"Yes Captain!" Morita yells back, understanding immediately even if he can't see what Steve's just seen. Both he and Dernier start banging on the tank and Morita screams at those inside through the small holes. There's some kind of argument - a racial slur that bristles Steve as much as it does Morita and the man screams back at them even worse. "Captain's orders!" He shouts at last - and that seems to do the trick somehow.
There's suddenly a furious burst of machine gunfire - not from their side - the blond solider jerks back yelping and ducking with hot slices on his palm and cheek. He yanks on the man's - Bucky's - legs from his other side - forcibly pulling him out from under the truck as the bombardment of bullets continues in a wave from left to right. They've worked out where the shots are coming from.
"Hey!" Steve yells angrily and starts forward - not caring about loosing his cover. As he does the blonde haired man pulls the other solider out and rolls backwards just as the truck's engine fuel catches fire.
Dernier shouts, "Sacre bleur!" The Frenchman starts shooting at the area it's coming from while banging on the tank to get it to alter it's priority.
Steve missed a dig-out. How did he miss a dig-out? He had them all, he was so sure he had them all. His head switches back to the two men still rolling backwards - fiery sparks spitting at them - before they slow to a stop. He can see - it's definitely his friend - he's grunting again.
"Is he hit?!" He yells at the solider.
"Are either of you hit?!" Morita yells straight after.
The man clumsily searches his friend, fingers bloody, as Bucky turns on his back before turning to Morita and shaking his head. Steve forces his eyes away and squints at the treeline as he dodges, still running - trying to draw their fire away from the other men and what's left of their supplies.
"Captain, what are you doing?!"
Steve squints at the treeline again until he see's the hidden muzzle flashing, he ducks behind the tank as the bullets follow him.
"Give it to me!" Steve snaps once he's next to familiar men and Dernier hands over the Hydra powered shotgun he took from the Hydra base. "How do you-?"
Dernier flicks several things on it on and off, motions him to lever it against his shoulder when he fires and points to what must be the trigger on the contraption. "Pull." He says in accented English.
Steve levers it against his shoulder, and crouches just over the lowest point of the tank. He searches, then fires at the target only he can perfectly locate. He pulls the trigger and blue light bursts out of it - half the size of the main barrel of a tank - hits the dig-out squarely in a way Steve's proud of himself for.
There's some sort of explosive in that dig-out with them - Steve can hear it in the minuscule of a second as the energy sets them off. They ignite with a blue-orange blast. The stuttering gunfire cuts off in all directions for a moment. The tank then continues on, more wary now at least. Steve lets himself breath deeply for the first time in twenty minutes - though it feels like an hour - letting his body slowly lower it's defences. He lowers the gun, passes it to Dernier - glances at the men around him and then turns in the direction of his friend.
Bucky's sat up, thank god, if hunched over, holding his sleeve up against the line scored across the Private's cheek while the other circles around his stomach. He's turned in Steve's direction and the look on his face is half-disbelieving and half furious. He probably saw you deliberately use yourself as a moving target. There's a Thompson he's deliberately left within reach, and a abandoned rifle still lying under the burning truck.
He suddenly remembers the sixth and seventh men armed with knives. Bucky nods back to him, grimacing and turns back to plugging the blood on the soldiers face. He hears Bucky telling the man that it'll probably scar - but not to worry - some girls like scars.
"Some girls?" The guy murmurs back, "What about nice girls?"
He knows Bucky's scrunching up his face even if he can't physically see it past the other soldier's head. "Nice girls aren't as fun." He says instead, and the man tries to laugh through the pain.
"Your stomach okay?" The man asks him, "I saw you before, when you-"
"Captain!"
Steve snaps into focus as the men start crowding round, coming out from behind trucks and trees from the other side - and he loses the rest of Bucky's response.
Steve heaves in a breath - puts his Captain America face back on.
. . .
Falsworth and the three other squads return, missing one member they left with but are otherwise unscathed. He wishes he could say the same about the rest of the men, who have replaced nearly all of the already wounded men they lost when the medic truck took a grenade to the side.
Falsworth comes to a halt in front of him and some of the other men briefly salute him before going off to find familiar faces in the survivors. The soldiers from the Northern position and those from the South are all conveying at the centre, still on guard at the base of the main assault - it's getting crowded and the most diligent men have already started to collect dog-tags.
There's no gunfire.
"They retreated back over two miles - there was cargo trucks camouflaged there and took off to the hills. We didn't see any higher officers - just main infantry."
The Italian Resistance member, Mario, says "If we are where I think we are we're at least two to three hours by truck from the main supply line - and the nearest checkpoint."
"So if we move quickly we might actually have a chance of loosing them-"
"But they know our path now. Surely they'll be surveying the area now they know we're here - and weaker than we were before . We've lost half our trucks -"
They men start to argue amongst themselves, some looking to Steve - and he - he doesn't know what to do. His adrenaline is still pumping with dull thuds at the back of his skull and he doesn't know what to do.
"I know another route."
The nearest men fall silent around him at Mario's quiet comment, who turns to look nervously at Steve. "It's further out, in a wider arch but it's more covered. I didn't suggest it before because it's longer and a tougher terrain which would have slowed us down with the wounded-"
"Not many of the wounded still left." Steve hears someone mutter at the back.
Mario continues, having not heard them, "-And I thought this route would be safe this far out. But…" The man swallows, "but obviously my information wasn't up to date."
He stares at Steve as he finishes, as the others are, like he's expecting Steve to berate him or ask questions he can't for the life of him think of right now. Steve stares back dumbly for a second.
"Would the Krauts-The Germans," Bucky corrects, appearing at his side, "be able to track us through the other route if we turned onto it from here?"
Mario shakes his head, "No, its away of the main track, mostly wild and completely under cover, winding further up the main valley - if we turned onto it now we'd have to travel uphill for a time but once we're past the ruined cottages we'd disappear completely until twenty miles over the border - and then it'll only be another…10 miles until your Amer-i-can base - I know where it is."
"There's no way they'd know about it like they did with this one?"
Mario shakes his head vehemently. "No," he says again, "only my sister and the old women know this route, and we only know it because we grew up on these lands at our grandfather's mountain farm. They won't know, we'll disappear from sight by land and air if we take it."
The men begin murmuring around them. Bucky sidles closer to him and says quietly, "We should take it." Because of course he knows Steve's at a loss for what to do. He knows his face too well not to. "We can't afford another firefight."
Steve looks around the convening men, the burnt out soil of the area from his taller viewpoint and silently, but subtly slides his arm around Bucky's back and takes some of his weight. After tensing once, looking at the others, Bucky allows it - leaning into him. The blonde solider is still with him on his other side - holding a ripped shirt to his cheek with his already wrapped up hand.
"It'd be tough terrain, up a mountain; with the tank and the wounded-"
"They'll have to deal with it and if - if we have to loose the tank then we have to loose it. We can't afford another fire fight, Steve." He repeats again firmly through the side of his mouth - hugging his Thompson close to him - fingers tight.
Steve grimaces, "I know, I just really don't want to have the fight about leaving the tank."
"We don't know that we will."
"Lets hope not, but you're right, its the safest option we have. The German's will be back."
Bucky shuffles his feet - Steve stubbornly but firmly take more of his weight as he stands taller and calls out orders that every man is to follow Mario's direction. That the trip will be longer, more strenuous, but safer. He tells them just as he told them miles back; that he's getting them back to Allied safety and that hasn't changed, they'd get there - so long as they kept pushing through the way he knew they could.
What follows after the immediate agreement and stubborn army pride is an uncomfortable time of counting their losses; food, weapons and people. There are sixty dead in total, twice as many wounded; they have the tank, about a third of their trucks and transport left and barely any ammunition or food. It's a devastating state of affairs. There's an awful argument about the bodies - Mario insists they need to move now if they want to reach the cottages before winter sundown, which means there's no time to bury their dead. Steve refuses point blank at first - they were giving their men a burial because these were sixty-four men in Steve's charge and he failed them. The least he can do is give them the respect and dignity they deserve and not leave them to rot. He'll dig every single one of their graves himself if he has to.
There's not enough time and they all hate it, everyone keeps telling him - there's not enough time - they need to leave now - they don't have the stamina - you can't do it all on your own Cap - there's not enough time. These men have had to leave their fallen comrades before, and its certainly not something they relish, but its been done and Steve doesn't have that experience. He quietly buried and prayed for any bodies he did find that weren't completely obliterated by blue energy at the factory, which wasn't many. He'd even prayed for himself and the other men who have killed that day - for God to not judge them all so harshly.
He carries on, and they keep telling him over and over again - there's no time, and he bites out that they already could have buried maybe three or four of them in the time they've been arguing.
Bucky says, "Steve."
He stops.
Bucky says, "There's not enough time - we need to leave now. I know you hate it - but we can't bury them.
Steve scrunches his face, "What if we take them with us-"
That idea starts a whole other commotion.
"We could load them on the trucks-" Steve continues, ignoring the disagreement around him.
"What trucks?" Bucky asks quietly again from Steve's side, to him and not the other men. He pinches Steve's arm to get his attention and repeats his question until Steve sees the logic in it. "There's barely any trucks left - and those that are will be stocked to the brim by the next minute."
"We're already having to leave ammo' behind," Falsworth reminds him respectfully.
Steve fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut in frustration and guilt in front of the soldiers. "Load up and lets get moving - the food and the wounded are the priority."
After several minutes when the men surrounding them have dispersed and Steve's looking at the stagnant blood sinking into the dirt, Bucky leans into him further. He says, "I'm sorry Steve."
"Yeah Buck, me too." Steve replies, still watching the devastation as the men begin loading and lining up. Mario's upfront. He should probably go help - no probably about it he absolutely should but he can't seem to move to make the effort. He twists slightly to look down at his best friend's head. Bucky's not looking at him anymore, but the blonde solider with the bleeding cheek is, still hanging close to Bucky.
Steve smiles at him, forced but grateful. "Thank you."
The man blinks bewilderingly at him; he looks young. "What?" He sprouts uncertainly, wincing.
"I saw you pull him," here he cants his head down in Bucky's direction, "back before the bullets and the blast caught at the end. You probably, no did, save his idiot life." Bucky nudges him sharply in the ribs at that and Steve winces a little. "So thank you."
"Oh." The younger, smaller man says uncertainly, "I didn't know you two were…"
"He's my best friend." Steve supplies, "since we were kids."
The man seems strangely mollified at that for some reason and Steve forces back a frown of confusion at it.
"Right, well I owed him." He looks at Bucky who seems comfortable staying out of the conversation, and continues. "He pulled me out from under-helped me when the truck flipped." Bucky glances up sharply at the correction and the man meets his eyes head on. Steve definitely frowns this time.
"From the medic truck?" He asks, eyes flicking behind him to the totalled smouldering truck. Someone's broken legs are sticking out from under the metal in a puddle of congealing blood. "Were you wounded too?"
The man shakes his head, eyes still on Bucky. "No, I was trying to pull the others from it when the Germans hit it." He sticks out his hand and says with finality, "Private Thomas Avery."
Bucky shifts his weight to free his hand between them and Steve watches his face for any flicker of pain as he shakes the Private's hand. "Sergeant James Barnes."
The man snorts, "I figured you were a Sergeant from how you were ordering me around."
Steve knows Bucky's face as well as Bucky knows his and can see the man is holding back from saying something that is probably snide and unhelpful. Instead he answers, "You welcome," with just enough of a twinge that Steve can hear the petulance in it.
"In that case," the man continues, eyes still on Bucky, "I'll see you around Sergeant, thanks for the bandage. Captain." He nods at Steve last and wanders off finally, though not without looking back over his shoulder.
There's definitely something fishy going on.
Steve turns himself and Bucky so that they're actually facing each other; unfortunately meaning Bucky as to take his own weight back.
"Are you okay?" Bucky shoots out before he can open his mouth and shoves his hand under Steve's armpit, then lifts his arm up and away from his side. Steve can't remember the last time either of them have respected each other's personal space, if they ever have.
"I'm fine." Steve answers, and moves to put his arm back down.
"I'm fine." Bucky mocks in an unfavourable imitation of Steve's voice and swats at him disagreeably. "Looks like blood to me."
"Only a little, I'm fine, honestly-"
"Humour me."
"When have you ever humoured me?" Steve shoots back.
"Were not talking about me - Christ you have to make everything an argument, don't you?"
Steve scoffs loudly at the irony then yelps as Bucky pinches him hard on the skin of his armpit in way he knows from ten years of boyhood wrestling will make Steve jolt his arm up. Inadvertently he does, serum or no serum and Bucky takes full advantage. Catching Steve's elbow and pushing it back and away with one hand he starts prodding at the cut on his side in a familiar manner.
"That was a dirty trick, what are you, eleven?"
"Go cry to a teacher then." Bucky shoots back, "This from a bullet?"
He pokes at the edges around the cut again. As the adrenaline fades away Steve's pain levels have been steadily growing.
"Would you stop?" He half snaps.
"Answer the question then."
"Yes it was from a bullet. It just skimmed me."
"I figured as much," Bucky grumbles quietly, and reaches down to the side seam on his shirt. "They skim you anywhere else?"
Steve stops him from ripping his shirt up as a bandage and catches his hands. "Buck. I'm fine. It'll heal up completely in a couple of hours."
Bucky makes a face Steve can't fully decipher. "That's crazy."
Is it? Your feet healed, and despite how your acting I know you know it too.
"Remember my arm in the base?" Steve says instead.
"No…what about your arm?"
Remembering how high as a kite Bucky had been, Steve lets the laspe in memory go, figuring he'll give that one to him. He pulls the ripped sleeve away from his forearm to show Bucky the unblemished skin. "Shrapnel from the explosion caught me here after we jumped. Look at it now, not even a scar really. It scabbed over after an hour and was gone by nightfall. It'll be the same with that one. Cease your worrying, alright?"
Bucky stares at his arm and numbly thumbs at it. "What about infection?"
Steve nudges him, "That's not something I have to worry about anymore, the serum saw to that too."
"How do you know? How do you know for sure?"
There's no way for Steve to answer that question in a way that will mollify Bucky, though he knows in himself that he's right; infection is a non-issue now.
"I just do, Buck. The serum fixed everything."
Just like that, Bucky's glaring at him hotly. "There was nothin' that needed to be fixed, Steve."
Steve stares just as forcefully back, "Yes there was and you know it." Bucky opens him mouth to retaliate but Steve doesn't let him get a word in: "Asthma, arrhythmia, scoliosis, heart trouble, 'nervous trouble'. The Winter colds and the Autumn colds and the summer colds. Those things can't kill me ever again Bucky, that's the point!"
"No. Now the war is gonna' kill you instead-"
"I thought you were happy for me?"
"I am happy for you!"
"Yeah, it sure sounds like it-"
"They nearly shot you half a hundred times Steve - two guys had knives inches away from your throat - I saw them - and you don't care! You ran out there without thinking - like you always do. All the goddamn time. This isn't a back alley anymore! You could have died!"
"Now you know how I felt before and when I found you on that table!"
"I didn't choose to be put on that table! You did!"
There's a long beat of silence.
Then Bucky says, more calmly, "How is dying out here any better than dying at home?"
"Here I can make a difference, and besides, I ain't dead and you ain't either."
Bucky opens his mouth to retaliate then closes it again, looking away; resigned. "We should get going." He says then, fidgeting as he turns away. Steve thinks that might be the first time Bucky's ever given up on an argument before.
"Yeah, your probably right." He says, and finally manages grasp the effort needed to join Mario at the head of the march.
.
. . .
THIRD
. . .
.
14th November, 1944. U.S Paularo Army Unit Base, Italy. 4.46pm
"Do we have any visual?" Peggy Carter asks those who have just returned on a fly-over. She prays to god they do.
"No ma'm."
She sighs, impatient. "Nothing? At all? That factory fire was large enough to be seen from a town two miles away from what's been reported; there must be path or some kind of sign of a direction afterwards."
"No ma'm. We saw nothing of the sort, no survivors. It looked like there was some left over smoke in a clearing in the trees fifteen miles or so from the line but from the uniforms we glimpsed they were a German battalion. No sign of escapees or….Captain America." The last word is said half dubiously and half mocking.
Peggy walks away, unhappy and annoyed - and worried. Philips is not going to be happy; maybe she would be better off tricking Howard to go up again for surveillance if she can push him so far. She does not want to go for more fondue, but she's also not ready to give up on Steve Rodgers just yet either.
There's got to be something. Where is he?
.
NOTES:
Damn, Steve and Bucky just can't escape trouble can they; but they had to get off a main track. Peggy explicitly says in the movie that several airbourne scouts have gone up looking for him and could see no sign of him - and thanks to Mario now no one will see them: Allies or German's. How is everyone feeling about Bucky's state of mind; is he jealous of Steve or just worried for him?
Is this the start of their new reversed relationship? Because, the thing is: Steve and Bucky's friendship wasn't just a "they grew up so they're as close as brothers," thing, it's way more dynamic than that. Their relationship may be symbiotic, but it was never particularly balanced. Growing up, Steve was sickly and physically weak but had precisely the same personality as he does now; unendingly hopeful and moral, with no concept of backing down from a fight. Hence why he's constantly getting beaten up, with Bucky having to wade in and finish those fights for him. Bucky is incredibly protective of him, which must have caused a fair amount of confusion when Steve turned into a near-indestructible super solider.
It's a classic partnership between idealism (Steve) and pragmatic cynicism (Bucky), with Bucky playing the role of Steve's protector and #1 fan. It takes the supersolidier serum for everyone else to realise what Bucky knew all along: that Steve is an inspirational figure, destined for great things. The tables have turned, and now Bucky is walking in Steve's shadow, rather than the other way round - which just throws a whole extra wrench into the works of his recovery!
REFERENCES:
TYPES OF GUNS:
THOMPSON - Bucky's gun that he picks up in the march. He later uses this as one of his many weapons in the film; notably in the dreaded train scene. The Thompson submachine gun is an American submachine gun invented by John T. Thompson in 1918 which became infamous during the Prohibition era, being a signature weapon of various organized crime syndicates in the United States.
WINCHESTER - Dugan's gun. The Winchester Model 1897, also known as the Model 97, M97, or Trench Gun, is a pump-action shotgun with an external hammer and tube magazine manufactured by the Winchester Repeating Arms Company.
MG42 : The Maschinengewehr 1942, or MG42, is a German machine gun, first manufactured in 1942 as the successor to the MG34. During WWII, the MG42 had the fastest rate of fire of any weapon, at 1200 rounds per minute (up to 1800 in some versions).
FG :The FG 42 (German: Fallschirmjägergewehr 42, "paratrooper rifle 42") is a selective-fire 7.92×57mm Mauser automatic rifle produced in Nazi Germany during World War II.
RELIGIOUS REFERENCES
LAST RITES SACRAMENT/PRAYER - Full use in writing: Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.
May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
This is usually given by a priest before death of a loved one to ensure there could be a Final Confession so the party can go to Heaven.