At Jones's advice, Steve led them to a small village. Morita said that the village held a moderate tactical advantage. A few major roadways passed through it. Not so many that it would be fought over like a turning piece in the war, but enough that they could expect to find some resistance — and supplies. It had been the plan to steal German and Italian transport as they found it. After two weeks in the field, they were ready to get some more supplies.
And Steve was confident they could take these guys. The Germans were dug in and probably had some good defences. But they were also far enough behind the current front lines that there wouldn't be more than fifty guys here. The few skirmishes they'd had in the woods only did more to solidify Steve's confidence. He'd practised these kinds of things all the time. At Great Dunmow, Bucky had made Steve plan his attacks on situations like this. Phillips had had them run field manoeuvers on how to manage exactly this sort of thing. By all accounts, assaulting a small number of unsuspecting enemies was old hat.
As they moved north, they made contact with enemy forces more frequently. Word may have been spreading that a group of commandos was slicing through Axis-held lands like a hot knife through butter. Steve was almost proud. Let them come. Let the Germans throw everything they have at them. Steve's men could take it; they could take and then they could throw it all back tenfold.
Not even Bucky's episode back in the woods dissuaded Steve. It had only happened the one time, whatever that was. And it's not like anything bad had happened as a result. True, Dugan and Jones said it had never happened before, not to Bucky. They'd never seen Bucky go all funny and then tense up, staring off into space for a full minute before jumping back into action as if nothing had happened. That had never happened, especially not during active combat. Dernier had been the only one to actually see the episode. The Frenchman seemed to think there was more to it, but Bucky swore he was fine and didn't know what everyone was making a big deal about.
So Steve let it go and gathered his men around to brief them on the plan of attack he had in mind for the small village. He sent Bucky, Falsworth, and Morita — Team James, the name had stuck — out to scout the town. Bucky and Falsworth set up in the place with the best lines of sight. Morita returned with the sitrep. After that, Steve had Dernier and Jones set up a machine gun nest on the west side of the village. If any of the troops tried to escape, they'd run right into the two of them. That left Steve, Dugan, and Morita to sneak into the town. The three of them cleared out the bigger buildings as quietly as they could. Once the Germans cottoned on to their presence, Bucky and Falsworth opened fire. Bucky sniped or assisted Falsworth with the mortars — his choice. Obviously, Dernier and Jones fired once the element of surprise was exhausted.
The plan worked exactly as they had anticipated. Steve, Dugan, and Morita cleared out about twenty men before the defences even realised they were there. Somehow, not a single mortar round dropped where Steve and the others were. It was truly a brilliant feat on Falsworth's part. Bucky nailed the CO of the unit right in the middle of his chest. The whole assault didn't take more than an hour.
Steve had the guys bed down in the village that night. They had a real building to shelter them from the elements. And there was a healthy stock of food in the village; being at the merging of a few routes always came with that perk. They all ate food that wasn't packaged in a can that night. Morita whipped out that godforsaken camera and took pictures again. Steve stuffed his cake hole so hard his jaw was aching. Being Captain America made him hungry all the time, and it wasn't always helpful. You know, like when there wasn't a lot of food to be had. Though they still took turns with night watch, it was almost like being back on base. Except there was no Colonel Phillips breathing down their necks, no Howard Stark pestering anyone with new weapons they just had to learn how to use for their next mission.
There was no Peggy.
They didn't stay in the village for long. They collected supplies off the bodies they dropped, stuffed all their pockets and free spaces with food and ammunition, siphoned all the fuel they could find into spare cans, and then hopped in a German truck. They left via the road Jones and Dernier had blocked the day before. Dugan drove the truck, as always, because he looked the most German among them (which wasn't very German at all). Bucky rode shotgun and grumbled about how he didn't look Italian one bit. In the bed of the truck, Morita cracked jokes about hairy arms all day long.
They didn't run out of gas this time. Instead, the canvas covering the bed of truck was shot full of holes. They'd been on the road with the truck for only a day before they had a tail firing at them. It was terrifying to be in car chase while bouncing around the bed of the truck. Jones recovered himself first, setting up the bipod for his Browning and shooting out the back of the truck. The rest of them slid from side to side in the bed as Dugan jerked the wheel, trying to avoid incoming shots. To be fair, he was preventing anymore bullets from piercing the canvas of the truck (and everyone inside the truck). That wasn't enough to prevent a lucky shot from flying right between the flaps of canvas. The bullet grazed Jones's hand and he flattened himself to gauge the damage.
A loud crack of gunfire sounded just to the side of the truck. Steve didn't need sight to know that Bucky had leaned out the window of the cab and was firing at their tail. There were about three more gunshots before Dernier was able to rip open his bag and fish out one of his homemade explosives. Morita tossed him a lighter. Dernier caught it, scooted his way to the back of the truck bed, lit the fuse, and chucked the whole thing at the truck behind them.
Dugan took a sharp right turn then, sending the five them into a heap on one side of the bed. Jones's Browning scraped along the bed with them, the barrel still hot. Dernier's explosive detonated not a second later. The heat was immense; Steve put his shield up. Now off-road, Dugan didn't let up on the gas pedal. It was a bumpy ride, even for Steve's enhanced ass. Thankfully, it didn't last more than a few miles. Steve suspected that some internal mechanical part had been damaged in the chase.
As soon as the engine cut out, all seven of them were out of the truck. Steve pointed them in a single direction and hung back until they were all out of sight. All except Bucky, who simply stood there with his rifle ready, scanning the trail they had just come down for any followers. Steve caught his friend's eye and nodded. Bucky lowered his rifle and ran after the rest of them, Steve followed. Steve watched their backs and shot a single round over his shoulder when he heard the snarl of a small engine. Nobody else heard it. Nobody else knew that Steve had just killed a pursuer without even looking.
They stopped about a mile and half away from where they left the truck.
Steve jogged up to the rest of them. His breath wasn't even close to laboured; it was something he didn't think he'd ever get used to. It was something he'd never take for granted.
"Map," he said.
Jones pulled it out of his jacket and unfolded it, handing it over.
Steve flipped opened the compass Bucky had given him for Christmas and leaned toward the map. Jones and Dugan watched over his shoulder as Steve tracked their path from the last marker on the map. He'd always had a good memory, but this was something else. Steve remembered every turn, every bump that had brought them to the place they were now. He could orient himself and his location on the map in seconds. Marking the place, he held the map up for Dugan to see.
"Find our new heading?" he said.
Dugan nodded, looked at the map, pulled out his own compass, and muttered some. "OK," he said after twenty seconds.
"Good?" Steve said to Jones, who nodded. "Move out."
And so they were on the road again.
The weather was beginning to get really fucking cold. Dugan looked forward to the times where they got to ambush Axis-held towns. It usually meant they slept in something approaching a house and found a truck or a jeep to ride in for the next few days. The transports usually never lasted longer than two days, but they were good days. Well, it was nice to sit in the heat of the cab anyway. Their arrangement was always the same: Dugan and Barnes in the front, everyone else bouncing around like sacks of potatoes in the back. Maybe he took some turns a little sharper than he meant to, but, hey. Nobody could prove it.
They were a few days out from the HYDRA base, and Dugan was on third watch. He was sitting on the ground, back against a skimpy tree, Thompson in his lap. Jimmy was sitting beside him. It wasn't the kid's turn to be up, but he didn't sleep much in the field. Never had.
Dugan watched the kid shrug deeper into his coat. The place where a bullet had almost hit him was repaired with black thread. Stitching was good, but the repair was obvious.
"How long we been out here?" Jimmy said.
"Let's see," said Dugan while counting backwards in his head. "Three weeks? Almost four?"
"Jesus."
"I know."
Jimmy was quiet. But then, "I think we're pretty good."
Dugan hummed and twitched his moustache.
"I mean, none of us have really been wounded on the mission. It's gotta be a miracle. Three weeks in the field, no support, behind enemy lines. You'd think one of us would have taken a hit by now."
"You complaining because one of us hasn't bled yet?"
Jimmy shook his head. "Not complaining. Just impressed."
"You'll jinx us."
Even in the low light Dugan could see the smirk on the kid's face.
"Don't believe in jinxes," he murmured.
Dugan snorted through his nose. "I'll know who to look for when we come out of the base looking like Swiss cheese."
A few more minutes passed without any words. The creaks and shifting of the wilderness around them were the only sounds. Icy winds kept slicing through their camp.
"I'm going to try to sleep some," Barnes said quietly.
Dugan let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
The kid added, "You gonna be OK here?"
Dugan nodded. "See ya in four hours, eh?"
"See you."
His eyes tracked Barnes all way into the heart of their camp. The kid took up his place beside the captain. Barnes lay down on his side and curled up so that Rogers's frame blocked the wind. An hour later, when Dugan shook Monty awake for forth watch, Barnes was asleep.
Seven days later, they were downwind of the HYDRA base. Dugan wasn't impressed. It was a barn on a hill. Really, that was it. The group had been delayed a day because they had to sneak through some devastated city's excessive rubble. And the place had been crawling with snipers and "nutters," if Monty was to be believed.
Thank God for Barnes and Jones. Jones asked the citizens where the snipers were, and Barnes took them out. The process took hours. The five of them would hang around for an eternity, chewing their fingernails and waiting for Jones and Barnes to come back. Their hearts leapt into their throats every time they heard a gun fire: Was that Barnes scoring one for them, or was it one of the enemies catching an innocent? It was amazing, the number of Italians who stayed in the city despite the devastating bombings. Without Barnes and Jones, they would have been stuck in the city for weeks, or been forced to go around.
Anyway, that wasn't the case. They'd taken a beaten-up truck from the outskirts, siphoned as much fuel as they had time to collect, and headed out for the base. Rogers picked up a motorcycle in the city, so he rode separate. Poor Jimmy glowered so hard at the motorcycle that it looked like he gave himself a headache. Dugan was still waiting for that moment when either Barnes or Rogers was going to get themselves shot up for the other. That moment was coming; Dugan could feel it.
The captain had them give the actual city of Novara a wide berth. Monty and Jim reported that it was crawling with guards, mostly German ones. Dugan could see in their faces that they were holding back more information. He suspected something worse existed inside that city. It was a partial dump, just like all the cities in this country — all the bombings had taken their heavy toll. But a lot of the place still stood. Besides the city, there weren't a whole lot of defences nearby. Rogers suspected it was because of the HYDRA base. The building was small, so whatever was in there must have packed a big punch.
After several days of observation, the plan was laid out.
"OK. We know they have no anti-aircraft guns," the captain said over a sketch Monty had drawn of the barn and its defences. "There's little to no heavy weapons. We're going to run this show under the assumption that the big guns are inside the barn. That's what's stopping anyone from attacking them.
"We haven't seen any movement in or around the place so far. We had expected a lot stronger defences, which there's no evidence of. So I think we'll just go knock on the door and see what they're up to. Standard formation. Jones, suppressing fire once I get the doors open. Then break up into groups of two. One group goes to the back of the barn left, the other right. One stay back to clear the front."
"And you?" said Barnes. His voice was heavy with an emotion Dugan couldn't quite place.
"I'll go right through centre field."
"Naturally," said Gabe.
Rogers smiled. "Then get ready."
Dugan shed his pack and flipped it opened. He tossed aside aid kits and ration containers, pulling grenades and spare ammunition from the bottom. His bayonet went into a pocket on his jacket. Around him, everyone was doing something similar; Jim had nearly thrown the radio down in his eagerness to relieve himself of its weight. (Why did they make the smallest guy carry that thing around again?) They'd leave the heavy, non-assault items here and only take what they needed. If they all weren't dead, it was the captain's turn to retrieve their belongings.
Dugan patted down all his pockets and checked his belt to make sure he had everything he might need during the assault. There was a crinkle of paper when his hand hit his breast pocket. Letters from home were stored there. Dugan was even working on one for his old lady, if he could just think of the right words to say to her that could explain everything. Anyway, those letters were important for the assault. They were mission-critical.
"Ready to go," Dugan said. He wasn't sure if he was announcing his preparedness or asking if everyone else was ready. Either way, the six others straightened up and looked ready to go. So they left.
It was so goddamned weird just walking up to a base they had spent a month preparing to assault. Nothing but their footsteps and the wind could be heard until they were right outside the goddamn door. Then they could hear metallic shifting and tinkering. The captain caught Gabe's eye and kicked the door to the barn opened. Immediately, Gabe fired his Browning from the hip. Dugan advanced on the captain's right, Barnes on the left. They broke off — Jim followed Dugan to the back of the barn, guns blazing.
There was a surprise: There was a fucking ton of people inside. And they were all armed with variously sized blue-light guns. Dugan kept his back to the wall and took out anyone he could see headed toward them. Beside him, Jim was making sure no one followed. Rogers's damn shield constantly banged against bodies and machinery. The noise was reassuring, but the echo was awful.
Frenchie's voice filled the barn: "Grenade!"
Dugan doubled down and moved forward. He shot multiple rounds into two black-clad HYDRA goons before the grenade went off. The noise rang too loud in the enclosed space. The barn was full of long metal shelving units. There was just enough space between the boxes on the shelves for Dugan to take decent shots through. Slowing, Dugan let Jim take point so he could insert a new magazine into his Thompson. Sometimes he was jealous of Jim's grease gun. But Dugan knew he'd never be able to give up his Thompson. He'd been collecting pictures of the guns since Prohibition.
The aisle Dugan and Jim were running down suddenly became very narrow — the shelving unit to their left was being pushed over on them. Both of them flattened their bodies to the ground, arms over their heads as the shelf crashed into the wall and spilled its contents on top of them. There were several popping and snapping noises coming from the upset boxes.
"God, save us," Dugan growled. Pushing at Jim's shoe, he said, "Get up and move!"
A beam of blue light went whizzing by their heads and smashed into the fallen debris.
"Never mind!"
Jim fought his way out of the debris and shot at the HYDRA goon. It took three bullets to make the guy fall. Dugan cleared a way out of the debris in the meantime. They moved laterally into the next aisle, still headed for the back of the barn. It was so loud inside. So many guns and explosives were going off at once. That telltale engagement of the HYDRA guns made Dugan's stomach nearly fall out his ass. That charge-up time was the only thing that was really helping them now. It gave away their enemies' position and allowed the commandos time to shoot first.
Barnes and Monty were already at the back of the barn when Dugan and Jim finally ran in. There were about thirty HYDRA troops back there. Thankfully, not all of them appeared to be armed with blue energy. They shot regular old metal bullets. It was mayhem. Dugan squeezed the trigger of his Thompson and strafed the huddle of men.
"Frag grenade!" Monty shouted.
Dugan just saw the round little shell fly in the air before he was grabbing Jim and taking cover behind a shelving unit (which wasn't a good idea given what had happened last time something exploded while they were behind one). The detonation was echoed by the screams of their enemies. Dugan popped out from the shelf and shot up the bodies. A few HYDRA men had been able to take cover. Barnes dropped one that already had Dugan in his sights.
"Heads up!" said Jim.
The captain's shield smacked one HYDRA troop in the gut and ricocheted into a second before sailing back to its owner. Dugan didn't even have time to say something smart about the theatrics of Captain America because that whine of an energy gun vibrated in all their ears. It sounded louder than all the rest. Finally, Dugan located where the sound was coming from — the gun was huge, some sort of cannon that could be carried.
"Take cover!" Rogers shouted. He was already running towards Barnes, and Dugan thought, this is it!
Jim dragged Dugan behind a metal storage tank, they both covered their heads and prepared for death. It was so quiet for some reason. There were hurried footfalls; Dugan knew his teammates' treads — it was Frenchie. An impulse driven entirely by protectiveness forced Dugan to look up, words on the tip of his tongue—
Frenchie whipped something small and dark at the cannon wielder. Whatever he threw stuck to the man and forced him to take a step back, overbalance. Frenchie slid behind the same tank as Jim and Dugan less than a second before whatever he'd thrown exploded, followed a fifth of a second later by the discharge of the cannon. Dugan squeezed his eyes closed, but he still felt like the flash of the explosions had seared away his sense of sight.
The three of them stayed curled behind the metal tank and breathed as lightly as they could. Dugan smelt smoke in the air. Of course the barn would be on fire. But why weren't they dead? Frenchie loosened up first; Dugan felt it. He sat up and then pushed himself to his feet. Dugan opened his eyes and saw only white. It took a few watery blinks for any shapes to emerge from the whiteness. He saw Jim rubbing ashes off of his face. They both looked over to the center of the barn.
The roof was gone. Well, most of it. What remained was on fire. There was red all over the place. Long ropes of innards were splattered against the shelves, most of which had toppled over by now. No guns fired. Dugan got to his feet and tried to make sense of it all.
Frenchie's sticky bomb must have detonated before the cannon's shot got off. The force of the bomb sent the cannon discharge into the roof, saving all their lives. The bomb either helped implode the guy or disintegrated him into his main organ systems; Dugan was OK with either possibility.
Impossibly, Dugan accounted for all seven of them standing around the cannon man's insides. Frenchie's face was shining, happy. Jim's face was full of ash. Monty and Jimmy had little cuts on their faces and tears in their clothes; Dugan supposed they caught a shower of shrapnel. Gabe had a dark red spot on his knee. The captain's uniform had split along the right sleeve. Shiny, red flesh was visible. The seven of them simply looked at each other and released a collective sigh.
The moment was shattered by the discharge of a firearm. Dugan's bowler went flying off his head. There was another bang and a clatter of metal. One of the bodies on the ground hadn't been all the way dead and had been within reach of a pistol. Gabe had finished the guy off, but not before he'd put a bullet through Dugan's bowler.
"That son of a bitch," said Dugan as he picked up the prized hat. He peered at his companions through the holes that had been punched through it. "I'm gonna kill 'em."
Rogers smiled and said, "Look for survivors. Let's try to get some information."
"Captain," Barnes said sharply. "A word?"
The falling of Rogers's face would have been visible from the moon.
"Yeah, alright."
The rest of them watched their CO and second-in-command head toward the door. Dugan was sure they'd end up hearing most of that conversation no matter how far away Barnes and Cap walked. Indeed, there was a slapping sound and they heard "what the hell, Steve" loud and clear.
"I can't believe he shot my fucking hat!" Dugan shouted.
The men found eight HYDRA operatives in the wreckage. All of them were either mostly dead or they cracked a cyanide capsule before Steve had a chance to ask any questions. As it was, there were no HYDRA survivors from the assault. They returned to their gear, loaded up their truck, and headed for a village filled with civilians several miles away. An old couple with a very young little girl let them sleep in their parlour. The village was small, but it had pretty impressively-sized houses in it.
Morita got the radio set up outside around 2000 and made contact with S.S.R. Steve gave a tech on the other end their sitrep. Morita handed over the summary of a full report he'd recorded in the hours between the assault on the barn and their arrival at the old couple's place. Steve added his own notes as he read it back to the technician. He described the amendments that had been made to their maps based on the defences they'd found around Novara.
"Just a moment please, Captain," the technician said. "I'm receiving some documents just now."
Steve said, "OK. That's fine." He and Morita caught each other's eye. Steve shrugged and sighed. He was exhausted and wanted to go to sleep. Well, he wanted to eat and then go to sleep. The house smelt amazing; their hostess was cooking them something real to eat. Steve just wanted to fill the aching void in his guts and sleep for days. Not to mention the stinging in his arm. The burn wasn't serious; Jones had cleaned it out and simply taped to Steve's arm a pad that wouldn't stick to the wound. The most painful thing about it would be the tape pulling out his arm hair when it came time to remove the bandage.
"Hello, Captain," said Peggy's voice.
Steve's head jerked up and looked left and right. Morita mirrored him, clearly thinking Steve had detected a threat. Steve gave his best apologetic look and said into the radio's headset, "Hi, Agent Carter."
The eye roll Morita executed could have rivalled Bucky's.
"I hear your mission went well."
"Um — uh, yeah. Yes. We, uh, we eliminated the base. Blew up what remained."
"And you've collected samples of what they were working on?"
"Yes, Agent. As much as we were able." Steve felt his chest shiver every time her voice spoke directly into his hear.
"That's good. I understand that Novara is well defended."
"That's what we gathered."
Peggy said, "Colonel Phillips was curious to know if you and your team are armed enough to make an attempt on the city."
"What." It didn't even sound like a question. Just a flat "what."
"Do you think your men could take Novara?" Her voice was steady, but Steve thought he could detect some strain there. Peggy kept her personal feelings close to her, but he was getting better at reading Peggy Carter's shades and inflections.
"Uh, yes, ma'am, I think we could definitely give it a shot," Steve said. Morita narrowed his eyes at Steve.
"The city holds a tactical advantage, you see," said Peggy. "Several routes intersect near the city. There is also a prisoner camp there. We've had reports of it since the armistice back in September."
"Sounds like there's something specific you need." Steve flapped his hands at Morita until the latter handed over pencil and paper.
"Yes, actually there is. His name is Galtem Fahroni. I can't tell you much more over the radio. Just know that his last known location was near Novara and that he was a friend of the S.S.R. since its conception."
"The city holds a tactical advantage," Steve repeated Peggy's words back to her.
"Yes, Captain."
"We won't let you down," he said. I won't let you down, Peggy.
Steve waited until after everyone was fed and cleaned — the old couple had allowed each of them to bathe, the saints — to announce that their stay in Italy had been extended by one more mission. There wasn't a whole lot of whining from the men. Maybe they were too exhausted to complain.