Now this is Reverin' Ray Mckinley now hearken to me
While I tell you 'bout the parable of Normandy
The Devil said to Hitler
Why they wouldn't dare, there can't nobody land in Europe, at least not there
And even if they tried you could snag up the fare, you could shoot them from the beaches and bomb from the air
And just to make sure you've nothin' to fear
I've got the Emperor Hirohito to cover the rear
Accentuate the Positive by Glenn Miller Band feat Ray Mckinley and the Crew Chiefs
*Note, some period typical derogatory slang for Italians and Jews*
The tension in the bunker was palpable. Even those who did not know what was hours away felt anxious.
Emily spent as much time out of the bunker as possible. Howard, who had yet to look her in the eye after the break in, had given her the week off. She frequented tea shops and libraries, trying to keep her mind off of her conversation with Steve. The betrayal and hurt on his face when she had said no, when she had told him the truth about herself, was haunting her. They hadn't spoken again after their conversation in St. James park, and she hadn't received any letters since he'd left for Southampton.
She hadn't even been able to say goodbye. To tell him to be careful.
While she knew that things weren't going to start for a few days, she couldn't help but be terrified. What if she'd said something that changed the past? What if, knowing what would happen to his friends, Steve was hurt while trying to keep them safe?
What if…
What if…
What if…
The dread became suffocating on Monday, June 5th.
Em stood at the foot of the steps of St. Martins-in-the-Field and looked up at church. She'd passed it so many times during her excursions in Trafalgar Square but hadn't stepped inside - for some reason it felt taboo. With a steeling breath, she slowly walked up the stairs, other parishioners hurrying past her. Awkwardly, she stood in the doorway before making her way to an empty pew, feeling out of place in an Anglican Church. She knelt and made the sign of the cross before sitting.
It had been almost a decade since she'd been to church for anything other than a wedding or funeral. The Blacks were largely Catholic, as were the Harthorns, but after her parents had moved from Maine, they hadn't joined a new congregation. Emily had gone through her First Communion - given her first confessional and received the Eucharist - and remembered the white dress and shoes she'd proudly worn as she marched down the center aisle while her parents and grandparents looked on. She'd felt so grown up when she no longer had to cross her arms over her chest when she reached the priest and was given the tiny sip of wine.
But now? Emily didn't remember what she was supposed to do. How were you supposed to start a prayer? Are you there God? It's me, Emily?
Steve had told her about his visit to the local church in Oregon when they'd gone to visit Tim "Dum Dum" Dugan (god, she thought, he hadn't changed much except for his hair color) and how peaceful he felt, how it has grounded him to have that tether to his own time - this time. But religion didn't play a role in Em's life…
Emily tilted her head up to look at the ceiling. It looked the same as it had almost two years ago when she had entered that church with a few of her students, admiring the columns and ornate ceiling before going to the cafe in the crypts for the berry cobbler that Carter had insisted she try. The stones were still the same ones she had trod. The chandeliers were the empty but still hung. The pipe organ was silent but still gleamed with polished care.
History. That would be what grounded her.
Steve had always been reluctant to talk about Normandy. He'd only agreed to tell her about it after a nightmare, having shouted himself awake and scaring her in the process. She could almost feel his fingers twined in her hair and the rapid beat of his heart against her cheek. He had told her about the fear he'd felt not only for himself but for his friends. They'd thought they would parachute in with the other commandos but Eisenhower had thought that it would be good for the soldiers' morale if they saw Captain America storm the beaches with them. He told her how they had leapt from the sides of landing craft as bullets struck those in front of them, and slogged their way through the bloody water to the shore of Omaha beach. How he had felt the grit of the sand in his teeth and hair for days after, and the ringing in his ears from artillery fire had taken hours to fade.
Steve had told her about seeing men blown to pieces and screaming in pain. He'd seen them die and knew that their parents would never get their son's body to bury. About how he'd expected that he'd end up the same, only he'd be sent to Alamogordo, New Mexico to be studied by scientists who wanted to recreate her grandfather's formula.
Emily dug her nails into her palm to keep the tears at bay. Steve had made it out alive, just as everyone on his team had. There were injuries, of course, but they had all survived and pushed further into occupied France ahead of the invading Army.
With a sigh, she stood up and swiped at her eyes before turning to leave.
He would be okay. He had to be.
OOO
"It was him. He looked right at me and he didn't even know me."
"How is that even possible? It was like seventy years ago," Sam demanded.
"Zola." That was the only thing that made sense. Steve could still see Bucky strapped down to the table and mumbling his name, rank, and serial number as he burned with fever. "Bucky's whole unit was captured in '43. Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did, it helped Bucky survive the fall."
He clenched his fists in the reinforced cuffs they'd forced on his wrists. Bucky's scream rang in his ears, and Steve felt a wave of shame wash over him - he hadn't reached for him, in that moment where the twisted metal buckled under his weight, he had grasped it with both hands while his friend fell to his death.
"They must have found him."
They hadn't looked for him. Steve and the Commandos hadn't gone back to look for his body. Dugan has stepped into the NCO role and marshaled the team, forcing them to push past their grief and meet the Army at the rally point. They had to get Zola back to London. And Steve… he'd gone along with it.
He'd listened when Dugan had grabbed him by the neck and told him that there was no way he could have survived that fall, and there was no way they would have been able to find his body. That Bucky wouldn't have wanted him to jeopardize the mission on a fool's errand.
"None of that's your fault, Steve," Natasha said, a glazed look on her face. Blood still oozed from her shoulder wound, and she tipped her head back, frowning in pain.
"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."
OOO
Emily rolled onto her stomach and punched her pillow into shape before flopping back onto it. She tried keep her mind off of what was happening in the Channel. Whatever happened, she knew that Steve would make it through. He had to. History told her so.
She took a deep breath and let out slowly, imagining the comforting weight of Steve's arm slung across her waist and his solid heat pressed against her back, mumbling in his sleep. His sleepy smile as he made her a thermo of coffee before she hurried out to catch the train to work. His strong fingers digging into her shoulders to sooth away the tension as she told him about her day at work before his lips pressed against her neck.
It had been his left shoulder that he'd been shot in. Steve had said how much it had hindered his ability to use the shield defensibly but at least it hadn't kept him from throwing it or shooting.
Sighing, she reached for her clock and lifted the blackout curtains just enough to let some light in. Four thirty. The amphibious invasion wouldn't start until six, that much she remembered, but the paratroopers had gone in first. Which meant that they were landing in Germany already. And the bombers had probably began their attack. But after that?
She set the clock back onto the bedside table and closed her eyes, trying to think of anything that would help her fall asleep. But all she could see was Steve's face when she told him the truth. Huffing, she rolled onto her back and threw an arm across her eyes, turning her thoughts to their stroll on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade the night he'd tried to propose with the house. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the memory - "You're the only Lady Liberty in my life, Doll."
Unable to stay in bed any longer, Em stood up and grabbed her robe and water glass before creeping out into the hallway. She felt a thrill of anxiety as she passed the door to the basement; it has been rehung but there was little that could be done for the split frame. The bruises on her throat had mostly faded but her memory of the attack was still fuzzy.
Howard had fought her tooth and nail about coming back to the house. Steve would kill him for sure if anything happened to her, he argued. It would be safer for her to be in the bunker, surrounded by military guards. They still didn't know what had happened to the Midnight Oil, and he didn't know if they would come back.
While it made her nervous to step foot in the place, she knew it was the only way that she'd be able to hear the first news broadcasts coming in. The bunker may have been a safe haven, but it was below ground with thick walls - it would be difficult to pick up any radio signals other than those from the BBC. So, rather than allowing her to stay there by herself, Howard had escorted her back to the house and stationed himself in the living room, between her bedroom and the doors.
Emily felt her way through the kitchen and refilled her water before making her way to the living room. Howard was snoring softly, hand dangling off the couch by his pistol. She suppressed a shiver - while she appreciated the safety of the gun, it still made her uncomfortable - and huddled by the radio. She turned the volume to as low as possible before clicking it on, hearing to the soft humming of the tubes warming up. Slowly, she turned the tuning knob, frowning in concentration as she listened for voices in the static.
"S'early," Howard grumbled, glaring blearily at him from the one eye he'd opened. Emily jumped and turned to look at him. "Wa'time is it?"
"It's nearly five. Go sleep in your room if the radio is going to bother you." He let out a sleepy sigh before turning and burying his face into the back cushions, pulling the blanket higher over his shoulders.
Having located a station, Emily curled up in one of the armchairs and closed her eyes. Music played softly, interspersed with advertisements for candy, soda, cigarettes, and reminders to buy war bonds. She'd just dozed off when the music was interrupted - "CBS World News, Bob Trout speaking." She scrambled from the chair and knelt in front of the radio, pressing her ear to the speaker.
There were unconfirmed reports that Germany's radio was announcing that there was an invasion occuring. They caution listeners - it may be a fake story in order to draw French resistance fighters out. There was a German report from Berlin Radio about paratroopers landing and bombardment of Normandy. The Office of War Information said they knew nothing about the attack. The BBC had sent out a message at seven AM warning citizens to move away from the coast, but there had been a report that the Royal Air Force had been over enemy territory the night before.
A glance at the clock showed that it was just past 7:30. She listened for a few more minutes before searching out the BBC for the 8 o'clock news announcement.
Frederick Allen's voice rang out - "Here is the 8 o'clock news for Tuesday the 6th of June." Quickly, she turned up the volume, making Howard jerk awake. He turned to glare at her and opened his mouth to say something but stopped as the broadcast continued.
"Supreme Allied Headquarters have issued an urgent warning to inhabitants of the enemy-occupied countries living near the coast. The warning said that a new phase in Allied Air Offensive had begun."
Howard sat up as Allen continued, reading a warning that anyone within twenty-five miles of the coast should be prepared to flee, and that planes would drop leaflets to let them know when it was time.
"Shortly before this warning was broadcast, the German News Agency announced that German Forces were in action. It specified four phases of the action reporting: 1 - that Allied airborne troops have been landed in the area at the mouth of the Seine. 2 - That Havre was being heavily bombed. 3 - That German naval forces were engaged with Allied landing-craft in the same area. 4 - that Calais and Dunkirk were being attacked by strong Allied bomber formations."
When Allen switched to the other daily news - an update about the Italian campaign - Emily turned to face Howard.
"Damn," he whispered, rubbing a hand down his face.
Emily was glued to the radio for the rest of the day. Her only break was when Howard had driven them back to the bunker but even they they'd had the car radio on.
The news was repeated over and over again, with first hand accounts from newsmen embedded in the Army and civilians who had seen the preparations and launch run between official updates.
Even Howard, who could usually block out everything when he was focused on a task, lingered by the radio, waiting to hear what would be said next.
The hallways were busy with people rushing messages back and forth, running intel from one side of the building to the map room.
It stayed that way for a week, when the beaches were finally connected, and on the 13th the Allies captured their target - Carentan. The US invaded Saipan on the 14th.
On the 15th, Germany launched an air attack and struck London, killing 6 people. Howard made Emily stay in the bunker for a week.
And then came the news from Finow, Germany, where Howard's stolen Midnight Oil was deployed.
OOO
"What happened?" Emily asked. Howard had demanded that the military fly him to Finow to see what happened. "Howard?"
He flung his briefcase across the room, where it struck the wall and burst open before turning to face her. "We're leaving."
"What happened to your eye?" she asked, walking over to him and cupping his face. His right eye was nearly swollen shut and bruised, and a cut spanned the bridge of his nose. Her hands darted down and picked up his, taking in the split knuckles.
"McGinnis. He's the one that sent his thugs to the house to steal the Oil."
"McGinnis?" Emily echoed, frowning as she tried to put a face to the name.
"We're packing up and heading back stateside."
"What?"
"I can't work for them, not with what they want to do with my inventions," Howard said, tears gleaming in his eye. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Guns are one thing but the Oil...It was…"
"Okay," Emily breathed, squeezing his hand gently. "Okay, I'll figure something out."
"I want my plane back, and I want to be out of here as soon as I can secure my things. I can't leave anything here for them to take."
"Alright. Why don't you sit down while I go get you some ice for that eye, and we'll start making plans?"
With a handkerchief full of Ice in hand, she made her way back while making a mental list of the things that needed to be done prior to leaving. Raised voices in the lab drew her attention, and she hurried back towards it.
"You don't think it's your patriotic duty to stay here and work on this?"
"Don't pull that shit on me, Phillips. It's him or me. I won't stand for someone taking my designs and using them like that. The Oil wasn't ready! I hadn't been able to test it!"
"I can't make that decision Stark. He's a General for Christ's sake."
"It's scientists that are going to win this war, not Generals trying to make their next rank. So if Roosevelt want me to continue to work with you on this, he's gone. I've neglected my company long enough, and I'd be happy to go back to running it in California."
Em stepped into the lab, her heels clicking on the floor. Colonel Phillips was leaning over one of the tables, palms laid flat and his shoulders hunched. Lieutenant Colonel Sherod, a 'Good Ol' Boy' recently arrived from South Carolina, stood beside him. His eyes darted to her and quickly dropped from her face and ran the length of her body before he raised an eyebrow and smirked. She felt her lip twitch with annoyance at his appearance - Sherod was more than happy to throw his rank around and was handsy with some of the girls.
Howard wordlessly accepted the proffered ice pack and lifted it to his eye as she placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I'll see what I can do but I can't make any promises. In the meantime, you need to get the hell off of this installation. Oppenheimer wants you in Alamogordo."
Howard set his jaw before giving a perfunctory nod. "As soon as I get my plane and designs back."
"Those designs are property of the US government," Sherod drawled, a slow smile appearing on his mouth.
"You might want to reread the contract. Everything in here is proprietary research," Howard said, a hint of suppressed humor sneaking into his voice. "You didn't think I was working for the government for free, did you?"
Phillips let out a deep sigh before straightening. "I'll make some calls to see about your plane and what can be done about all of… this."
"Sir -" Sherod started, but Phillips waved him off. "Colonel, you're going to listen to this wop kike instead of your CO?"
There was a moment of silence. It took Emily a moment to decipher the derogatory slang - kike was common in her research, but wop…
Italian Jew.
Howard's hand tightened on the ice pack as his face flushed with anger. "Wop ki-" he started but was cut off.
"Lieutenant Sherod," Phillips said loudly to speak over Howard. "I do believe this is my lucky day. I was just saying this morning how the latrines needed to be scrubbed, and here you are. Extra duty. Ten days." Sherod gave him an outraged look.
"I'm an officer, sir. I don't do latrine duty."
"We're at war, Sherod. Everyone has to do their part."
Her fingers bit into Howard's shoulder to keep him from speaking - she could see his anger mixing with joy at the man's humiliation.
"But - "
"Fifteen days. Or would you prefer I dock your pay?"
Emily watched as he struggled to master himself before pressing his lips together tightly, snapping a salute, and marching out of the office.
"I don't believe I dismissed him," Colonel Phillips said while turning back to them. He leveled his gaze on Howard. "I'll give you fair warning - the US government is going to have you here in this lab for the rest of the war. It's your decision if it's as a civilian or in uniform, answering to some pissant like that. They'll put you through boot camp and I'll have you right back here."
"I'd like to see them try," Howard said defiantly.
"If you'd like to be labeled a draft dodger, that's on you. But this war is going to be over at some point, and I'm sure that wouldn't be good for business." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "Oppenheimer says there's something he needs you to look at with Thin Man."
"The bombs are going to spin," Howard replied after a moment. "It's the aerodynamics."
Phillip's eyes drifted up to meet Emily's and narrowed slightly. "That's a discussion for you to have in New Mexico. Miss Harthorn, I'd like a word."
"Alright," she said, a bit startled. He motioned for her to follow him from the lab and into the hallway.
"I don't need to tell you that the information you have access to through Stark's inability to keep classified information classified cannot be referenced outside of the confines of your working arrangement."
"Of course not," Em said, frowning at him.
"The information you passed us on Brandt wasn't dangerous - we would have found out eventually. But what you hear now can get men killed."
"I know that," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "'Loose lips sink ships' and all that."
"It'll also get you 20 years in prison," he said, eyeing her shrewdly. He must have been satisfied by whatever he saw, because he let out a soft grunt of approval and reached into his coat. "Next time you speak to Captain Rogers, you'd do well to remind him that the US Army did not send him out into the field with very expensive long range radio transmitters to send back love notes. Understand?"
Emily looked at the paper he held out to her and felt slightly faint. "Yeah, I mean, yes sir," she said before looking at him. "He's alright? And the team?"
"No casualties," he replied before pointing a finger at her. "You remind him. Next time he'll be on extra duties when he gets back to base."
"Any idea of when that may be?" she asked.
"Classified. But the sooner this damn war is over the better. Maybe he'll bring you a souvenir from Paris," he added.
Emily felt her heart sink. If he was right, that Steve wouldn't be back until Paris was liberated, that meant she wouldn't see him again until August.
"Oh," she said, nodding slightly. "Alright."
"You keep Stark on task," Phillips said. "You get him to Alamogordo and then back here when I say so."
"Emily!" Howard yelled. She shifted to look into the lab for a moment before turning back to Phillips and sighing.
"I'll help him to the extent that I can, but if you want him back you'll have to get McGinnis out."
"He's a General - "
"Yes," Emily interrupted, "but there's a lot of those. There's only one Stark." With a smile, she turned and slipped Steve's note into her pocket as Howard yelled for her again. "At least until Tony," she added under her breath.
It wasn't until later that evening when she was packing up her room that she was able to read the message Steve had sent her. It was six short words.
I believe you. I love you.
Author's Note: Soooo… it's been a long time since an update, so here is an extra long chapter to make up for it. This fic has been fighting me, as I've been drafting the 'Act Three' - if you would - over and over rather than being able to focus on the last few of 'Act Two'.
There isn't really any confirmation that Howard is Italian or Jewish that I've been able to find, but they are a pretty big fan theory. In Agent Carter he says that he's from the Lower East Side of Manhattan which was predominately Jewish, and Italians were the large immigrant population at the time. The opening song is kind of difficult to locate - I've only been able to find it on Amazon - but the US Air Force Orchestra did a cover of it for a Glenn Miller album. Most of the history in this chapter is covered in the chapter. Bob Trout's entire broadcast is available for download, as is Frederick Allen's 8 AM broadcast (Benedict Cumberbatch also read it for the anniversary). I may have been caught up in an evening of research comparing how CBS, NBC, and the BBC covered D-Day…
Anyways! Thank you all for reading and for your continued support. I truly appreciate it.