"I once asked Uncle Bing about the most difficult thing he ever had to do during his entertainment career… He said in December, 1944, he was in a USO show... They did an outdoor show in northern France… he had to stand there and sing 'White Christmas' with 100,000 G.I.s in tears without breaking down himself. Of course, a lot of those boys were killed in the Battle of the Bulge a few days later."
December 24, 1944
Christmases were hard on the front. Steve missed home. He missed the feeling of being home on Christmas. Christmas had changed after his Ma had died, but they weren't as lonesome as he'd once feared. The Barneses folded him into their clan, and his yearly traditions grew with theirs.
Things were different now. The first year he had spent Christmas away had felt strange. He and the Commandos had been stationed on the Italian warfront. The approaching season had been heralded by dropping temperatures and freezing mud that mixed with snow to form an unpleasant slush that froze overnight and melted in his boots. Christmas had felt far away while slogging along badly worn paths during the day and huddling for warmth at night.
He'd only realised the day was even approaching when Ma Barnes' letter had come in. He and Bucky had sat next to each other, both hunched over their respective letters as they read about the Barneses and their efforts to prepare for Christmas despite rationing.
Becca and I are volunteering with the Red Cross, she'd written. You would not believe the number of socks we're knitting. Becca is getting much better at turning a heel. Some of the other ladies are making scarves and sweaters as well. If what you boys tell me about the miserable weather over there, you will certainly need them.
There was something inherently comforting about reading about the everyday life of Winnifred and the family. It offered a shred of normality in the midst of the tedious monotony that only got broken up by planned raids and unexpected attacks.
Even with the letters and the small gifts shipped from home, Christmas had felt far away. It was hard to feel the homey warmth he craved when he was all the way across the world risking his life and never knowing when or if he would make it home.
This year felt similar. They didn't talk about it much, but Steve knew the Commandos all felt it. They were away from home again and they didn't know when they would be back. It was his second year away from home and the fourth year of the war. Who knew how many more would come. None of them wanted to think about spending another year overseas.
There was hope on the horizon that the war might end soon. They had made the landing in France in June and worked on liberating the rest of it ever since. It had been a rough and treacherous venture. The Commandos had spent the time invading France with the rest of the allies while periodically peeling off to take down Hydra bases.
As the months had progressed into December it was hard to feel any Christmas spirit. The Nazis had made an unexpected and violent push into the Ardennes midway through the month. The allies had been forced back with heavy casualties and the Commandos had had more than one close call during their raids.
Christmas eve found them hunkered down behind the front line, the bitter winds stealing their breath and sneaking under their collars. The ground was too frozen to pitch tents, so they cut down pine branches to lay over the snow and covered themselves up with the canvas of their pup tents. Even the water in their canteens froze. They had no way to melt anything and the lakes were contaminated with dead bodies, so they were forced to eat snow to stay hydrated.
It didn't matter how many layers they put on, the cold creeped deep into their bones and numbed their fingers and toes. Some men got frostbite and hypothermia, and even though the serum made Steve run warm, there were mornings when he could see it healing his reddened, stiff fingers. The locals claimed this was the worst winter they'd had in sixty years and Steve didn't doubt that for a second.
Despite the weather and the looming threat of Germans, the army tried to boost morale and celebrate Christmas the best they could. They didn't have much for decorations but some soldiers saved the foil and tin from their rations to cut them into crude stars, while others got little trinkets from relatives back home.
Cards and letters had begun to arrive a few weeks ago, and even gift packages had managed to make it through. He and Bucky had decided to save their packages to open them closer to Christmas and they sat with them now, huddled with the Commandos and another group of soldiers from the unit they were with. The snow was too frozen to hollow out for cover, so they sheltered behind a supply truck, the wind whistling angrily in the trees.
Steve's enhanced hearing could hear sounds of fighting in the distance, but it was far enough away that they were safe for now. They had had some heavy fire yesterday, but now had a few hours of respite.
He rubbed his hands together, trying in vain to warm them up as he watched the Commandos start to pull out their rations for the night.
"Mmm," Gabe hummed, his face nearly fully concealed by his hood as he ripped into his K-ration. "Cold meatloaf, my favourite."
Steve chuckled humorlessly. Their rations were intended to be heated, but their fuel tabs didn't have a chance in this weather. He can't remember the last time he'd had a warm meal. Definitely not since the snow started falling.
He shivered and pulled out his own rations, double the amount for the rest of the soldiers. And double the cold meatloaf, he thought glumly as he keyed open his first can. He also had some biscuits and chocolate candies, and a pack of cigarettes which he stored away to trade later. The supper rations came with a packet of bouillon powder too, but they didn't have any water to mix it in. If he were to try to eat it straight he'd have to freeze his mouth with snow to choke it down, so he didn't bother. He'll go to bed hungry tonight, but that wasn't anything new.
"How much you want to bet I break a tooth on one of these?" Dernier spook up, holding up one of the chocolate toffees. Bucky snorted, his mouth already full as he sucked on his own candies, trying to soften them.
"Wouldn't be so bad," he quipped from around the bulge in his cheek. "We'd finally get some peace and quiet 'round here."
The Commandos broke into laughter, and Steve smiled, mindless of the burn of his cold cheeks. "That'd be one heck of a Christmas present, Dernier."
Dernier scoffed and rolled his eyes fondly and Steve could see some of the other soldiers they were eating with smirking, they're eyes brightening as they watched his back and forth with his men. As miserable as they were right now, his smile grew. He always liked the moment soldiers started to realise that Captain America wasn't quite as untouchable as they first thought.
"Might wanna give Private Casey some of that," a young soldier piped up, a Private Campbell if Steve remembered correctly. "He'll talk your ear off any day."
The comment sparked an uproar and Steve sat back to listen, munching on frozen pork and rock hard crackers all the while.
"Fine," Private Casey finally announced. "If ya don't wanna hear me talkin' then we should listen to somethin' else." Before Steve could wonder what he meant, Casey unfolded himself from his crouched position and tugged his jacket tighter around him, ducking his head as he headed for the back of the supply truck. He came back a few moments later, a familiar olive drab metal box under his arm.
Beside Steve, Bucky grinned and bumped his knee, a few pleased whistles coming from the group as Casey hunkered back down and began setting up the military phonograph. "Here, block the wind a bit," he muttered to the soldiers next to him as he opened the lid and adjusted the needle arm on the v-disc already inside.
Steve relaxed, leaning against the wheel of the supply truck as he unwrapped his first toffee. V-discs were always a treat. Each kit came with about twenty discs and new needles for the spring-wound phonographs. The records themselves could be anything ranging from jazz to swing music to concert recordings, and the music industry strikes back home meant they got the newest songs even before some people stateside.
He and the Commandos didn't carry a phonograph with them, and they were too small of a group to get the monthly shipments of records, so it was always a morale boost to hear one of the discs.
"Bing Crosby," Casey announced once he finished setting up the phonograph. "White Christmas."
He set the needle down, and like usual, the track started not with music, but with a personal message from the musician. Most discs had a greeting of some sort at the beginning and Steve turned his head to hear better over the wind.
"This is Colonel Bronson," a voice started up. "Chief of the Music Branch. We know what a great many of you will think when you see the Christmas appearance of this package of V-Discs, because a lot of us have been overseas too. We have included Christmas selections in this seemingly early release because, in past years, some outfits received them a little late." Steve imagined that his unit was probably one of those groups.
"This year," Colonel Bronson continued. "We want to make sure that every one of you, all the way out to the end of the line, have them for the holiday season."
Bucky shifted next to him and leaned back against the wheel well, his shoulder brushing his as he continued to work away at his toffee. He looked more relaxed now and Steve found he could ignore the distant sound of artillery better.
Colonel Bronson finished off by wishing them a Merry Christmas, before the deep voice of Bing Crosby began to filter through the speaker. The familiar stains of White Christmas almost brought tears to his eyes. Steve had actually been in a crowd of thousands of soldiers while Bing Crosby had performed this very song only a few weeks ago, before the Battle of Ardennes. Crosby had come for a USO tour, much like Steve had originally, and he doubted there had been a dry eye in the place as he'd sung the nostalgic words 'I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know'.
He blinked rapidly because he didn't want any tears to freeze to his face and he focused on fumbling with his gloved hands to unwrap another toffee.
Bing Crosby's voice continued to filter through the air, a chorus singing in the background as he sung the words "May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white."
Steve let out a shaky breath as Casey moved to flip the disc to the 'b' side. Steve ducked his chin into his coat, snow crunching underfoot as he shivered. "Well, looks like we've got the 'white' bit covered," he muttered to Bucky, wiping his nose.
Bucky huffed something close to a laugh, rolling his toffee around in his mouth as he stared into the middle distance, a far away look on his face. He shook it off a moment later and leaned forward, grunting as he reached for both their packages.
"C'mon," he said, handing Steve his. "It's close enough to Christmas. Let's open 'em now. Who knows if we'll have time tomorrow."
Steve nodded in agreement, clearing away the last of his ration as he accepted his gift. The opening message of Bing Crosby's second piece started up as he tore at the packing paper.
"Hey folks, this is Bing Crosby recording for your v-discs. This is a song I recorded last year. It was written in honour of all of you guys fighting out there, away from home. We miss you guys, and hope you can be home soon."
The first few notes of a trumpet fill the air as Steve ripped the last of the paper, his fingers numb and clumsy as he pulled the first item out. He smiled at a pair of thick wool socks as the first words of the song began.
I'll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree…
The words were plaintiff and drawn out, an achingly beautiful plea Steve could understand to the depths of his soul. Next to him, Bucky paused with his socks in hand, his focus on the staticky phonograph.
The next verse continued with the same longing tone, each word striking home.
Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams.
Steve bit his lip, his hand crinkling the packing paper. He thought of Christmas eves from before the war, the warmth of the Barneses kitchen, the smell of gingerbread, the way he and Winnifred would make his Ma's cookies every year, even when rationing started up with the war. That year had been their last all together. Bucky had been drafted and then Steve had been recruited by the next year.
He blinked his eyes clear and looked down at his package, his gaze settling on a pair of tightly woven gloves in shades of blue and white. The phonograph continued and Crosby's voice raised with the last line.
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams.
He could hear sniffling around him and he subtly wiped his eyes, pulling on the gloves gratefully. The socks he couldn't put on just yet, so he stuffed them in the collar of his coat for some extra layering. He could see Bucky doing the same, and he turned his eyes to the last item as a musical interlude filled the air.
He reaches for a metal tin, colourful Christmas characters smiling up at him as he pulled it open. His eyes glistened and he let out a choked sound as the smell of gingerbread reached his nose. A folded note sat on top, and he reached for it.
Merry Christmas, Ma Barnes' handwriting spelled out beautifully. We had to make these in October to send early, but they should keep. A little piece of home until I see you again.
Love, Winnifred
He swallowed heavily, glancing over to see Bucky open a similar tin. His eyes glisten as he stared down at it, his mouth tightly set to keep from crying. The phonograph played on, Crosby's voice full and wistful as he sang the last verse again.
Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams.
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams.
The last line was strung out long and slow, and Steve closed his eyes, breathing quietly. He imagined the Barneses listening to this song, all of them gathered in the living room, warm and safe and home.
He opened his eyes and reached for a cookie, the gingerbread cut into star shapes. Beside him, Bucky let out a shuddering sigh and wiped his nose on his sleeve, his own grey and white gloves firmly on his hands. He grabbed his own cookie before passing the tin to the soldier next to him.
Steve did the same, biting down on the cookie as he did so. The gingerbread was rock hard after weeks in the mail and days in the snow, but he didn't care. It tasted of Ma, and it tasted of Winnifred, and most of all, it tasted like home.
Next year for sure, he thought as he leaned more heavily against Bucky, the wind feeling just slightly less sharp as he chewed on his treat. We'll be home for sure. Next year.
AN: I've never written any holiday fics before, but a week ago I learned the history behind the song I'll be home for Christmas and I just had to do something with it for Steve and Bucky during the war.
I learned about V-discs along the way, which is super awesome.
While writing this it occurred to me that Steve has more reason to hate snow that just being frozen in the ice. Those nights during the war would have been absolutely horrible.