Chapter Title: The First Day of the Rest of His Life
Author: Sam
Story: The Omega Trials: 15 of ?
Series: The Omega Rights (part two)
xxx
Translation:
Sperma - Sperm - Polish
xxx
Setting: AU: Monday, April 19, 1943: Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, United States of America
Controlled chaos reigned on the military base as Bucky stepped off the omnibus that morning and looked around, gripping the handle of the small suitcase. Men in uniform seemed to work at every activity, from outdoor labor to group exercises, in different knots around the compound. Stone buildings rose up in a miniature version of a city. Taking a deep breath, the brunet stepped out of the way of the others coming off the omnibus, avoiding the horses that drew the conveyance. If he hadn't been traveling all night, too worried about the man he'd left behind, to sleep, this new sight would have been fascinating to the intelligent, normally curious brunet.
One blond man, slightly taller and stockier than Bucky, shoved his way to the fore of the group and dropped his suitcase with a thunk. Planting his hands on his hips, he surveyed the activities all around them - - and sneered slightly. "Why don't they just hand me a gun and send me over already? I don't need to lose weight or paint rocks or nothing."
"This way, men. We've got to finish processing you," a thin, dark haired man dressed in uniform complete with insignia and hat stepped over to the front of the group of new arrivals. He stood shorter than Bucky and the blond, only one other man stood taller . . a burly redhead with a rather impressive mustache and a bowler hat. The soldier gestured with one hand and clipped out, "move it, men."
Bucky stepped out immediately, as did the large redhead, but the blond sneered again and called "when are we getting our guns? I wanna go kill some Nazis!"
The soldier directing them looked over at the taller man and, impassively, looked back in the direction he led the group of new recruits, as if the man did not stand a good five inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. "When you've finished your training and proven you can follow orders and not get your platoon killed, you'll be sent to kill as many of the enemy as needed. But for now, you belong to me."
With a snort, the big blond asked, "and you're some sort of high ranking general?"
"No," their dark-haired guide replied evenly, "I'm Staff Sergeant Michaels, and on this base, I am your best friend or your worst nightmare." He stopped the group in front of a set of cement stairs in front of a long building. Turning the the blond, Michaels turned to the group, staring directly at the taller man. "You get to decide. But, a piece of friendly advice? The other guy's worse."
"What other guy," the blond sneered.
"That'd be me, maggot!" barked out a solid, six foot man in khakis and shaded glasses, hair cropped so close it was a mere buzz and the color couldn't be distinguished. Despite standing a couple of inches shorter than the blond, and the redhead in the bowler, this new soldier radiated confidence and displeasure. "I am Captain Sanderson. You will address me as 'Sir.' If I ask you a question, you will answer 'Sir, yes, sir!' or 'Sir, no, Sir!' I am not your pappy or your momma or your friend. I am your Captain! Am I understood?"
A chorus of "Sir, yes, Sir!" rang out.
The officer glared at the group of men and barked out "inside, maggots!"
The building proved to be assigned administrative functions, and for those like Bucky who had been traveling long hours to get to the base, yet another roadblock before sleep.
The next couple of hours were filled with signing more forms, assignment of equipment, measurements for uniforms, and a rather intense introduction to military life. The blond, a man named Jenkins, seemed to challenge authority at every turn, and wound up their first demonstration of how to properly do pushups, while still in his civilian clothes. Finally, just after a lunch of stew and thick bread they had to eat in less than twenty minutes, the men gathered in the barracks. By then, the only things they carried had been assigned by the military; everything else they owned had been shipped that morning to their homes. The only personal items they had been allowed to keep were their bibles and any prescriptions, including glasses, they might have come in with . . . though the medications were quickly confiscated by Maichaels.
"Alright maggots, put your gear on the center line. That's the center part of this barracks . . . the clear part. Then you are to count the lines on the floor from the wall. When you reach five, you are to stand still with your feet squarely on that line." Sanderson crossed his arms and glared at the group of nearly eighty men as they scrambled to do as told.
Bucky wound up standing right between the two larger men, the blond Jenkins and the still unknown redhead who seemed practically bare without that bowler hat he'd been wearing most of the morning. A couple of the men, including the redhead, wound up on the wrong line, and the Captain proceeded to yell at those unfortunate souls for a good five minutes. The Captain insulted and nicknamed each of those men in turn.
"What's your name, Dum Dum?" Captain Sanderson barked at the solidly built redhead.
Eyes meeting with the Captain's, the redhead straightened even further and shook his head firmly, "No, Sir! Sir, Timothy Dugan, Sir!"
"No, it's Dum Dum Dugan, Soldier! Welcome to the United States Army! You better learn to count, Dum Dum! Now get your ass on the line!" Sanderson turned and strode to the next man who'd miscalculated around the bunks, standing dressers, and footlockers.
Attention finally off of himself, Dugan allowed his shoulders to sag somewhat, but still kept his spine straight. The redhead let out a small breath of relief.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Bucky whispered, "hi, I'm Bucky."
Snorting softly at the strange name, Dugan replied, "Guess I'm Dum Dum, now."
Their soft conversation was interrupted by the Captain shouting, "Now that we're all on the same line you will note that from this time forward, when you are told to get on the line . . . that line under your feet is where you get." He planted his hands on his hips and barked, "Michaels! Take 'em!"
The Sergeant never moved from where he stood next to the Captain. Somehow, without the same shouting the officer had done, the enlisted man made himself clearly hear in the vast barracks. "Look to your right, men."
To the right of Bucky stood Jenkins. Only one man stood on the right of the big, troublesome blond.
"Now, look to your left," Michaels called.
Bucky looked directly at the red-haired Dugan.
"Eyes front." When everyone obeyed, Michaels called, "by the end of the war, one of you three will be dead."
A shocked gasp drew through the entire crowd, and Bucky narrowed his eyes in determination. He would not be the one who died. And he wouldn't let any of the men with him die. The brunet fully intended to defy those odds.
"You are to count off, one . . . two . . . one . . . two, until you reach the end. Each man gets one number. Start."
The count became muddled somewhere in the middle of the group, ensuing in Michaels silencing them and Captain Sanderson handing out more degrading nicknames. They began again and finally got around the room without a problem. The Sergeant nodded once. "The 'one' on the right match up with the 'two' on the left."
Immediately, Bucky could see how that order had been deliberately muddled. And the result was some small mix up with men trying to triple up or pair up, depending on how they took the words. Bucky merely shuffled a step closer to Dum Dum and side-whispered, "don't move, Dugan."
Eyeing the lanky brunet with apprehensive eyes, Dugan nodded and followed Bucky's suggestion.
Sanderson seemed enraged even more by then and yelled at the entire group, calling them general insulting names as a whole. When the Captain wound down, Michaels had those who had become confused sorted out and the group of new recruits found themselves in pairs.
With a nod, the Sergeant called out, as calm as ever, "the man that is number 'two' sleeps on the bottom. Number 'one' sleeps on the top. Get your gear and stow it on your bunk, men, then get back on the line."
Bucky found his newly assigned dufflebag full of new clothing, toiletries, and other stuff . . . more than he'd had in a long time . . . and pushed it easily onto the top bunk of the assigned bunk-bed. He turned as Dum Dum slid his own bag on the bottom bunk - - the man wasn't as stupid as he'd seemed. The lanky brunet could tell the solid redhead felt as tired as Bucky did; without sleep, they were all bound to make stupid mistakes.
This time no one messed up their orders, and a sense of relief washed over the room as Sanderson stayed quiet while Michaels called out, "When you are told to form up, you will stand on the line in front of your assigned bunks if you are in the barracks. If you are anywhere else, you will get into formation, which you will be taught as soon as we leave this barracks. When we form up outside, we will go to the infirmary where you will get the remaining medical checks you need."
After a silent moment, Michaels called out "in orderly lines, you will walk from this barracks. Outside you will form lines of six across. Once you are in your group, you will arrange yourselves from tallest, in the back, to shortest, in the front and tallest on the left with shortest on the right. There will be less men in the back than the front."
He paused a moment. "Am I understood, men?"
A chorus of "Sir, yes, Sir," rang out and Michaels frowned. And for the first time since they'd met the calm, quite Sergeant that morning, Michaels barked at them in true military fashion.
"What did you call me? Do you see bars on my shoulder? I work for a living! You will address me as Staff Sergeant or Sergeant!" Michaels' hands had clenched in fists at his sides and he sent a venomous glare over the men. "You will answer me 'Yes, Sergeant' or 'No, Sergeant.' Am I understood?"
A chorus of 'Yes, Sergeant!" rang out and suddenly Michaels relaxed, hands easing, neutral expression returning, as if he'd never screamed at them or appeared upset in any way.
Bucky turned and began to take a step, and suddenly Captain Sanderson called out "what the hell is your problem!"
Flushing, Bucky looked back to the Captain and called out, "Sir? We were told to form up outside, Sir!"
The Captain studied him for a long second or two then barked out, "What's your name, recruit?"
"Sir, James Barnes, Sir," he responded promptly wondering just what derogatory name he'd earned.
"Barnes, you have just been promoted to Recruit Sergeant. You will help the Staff Sergeant keep these maggots in line! If they fail, you will be punished. Is that understood?"
'Damn!' Bucky certainly hadn't wanted to stand out from the crowd, and taking punishment for the group's failures set him up for some nasty days ahead. Instead of protesting, however, he called, "Sir, yes, Sir!"
"Well, you heard the Staff Sergeant. Get your asses outside and form up! The infirmary can't wait on you lowlifes!"
Fortunately, once the group arrived at the infirmary, they were permitted to sit, in formation, on a wide tiled floor outside under an extended roof. Michaels called out, "keep your voices down to a whisper and you may speak to each other while you wait your turns. Listen for your name. If you don't answer the first time called, you will be considered 'Absent Without Leave', AWOL, and you can be shot for desertion for being AWOL. When you hear your name, you will stand and answer 'Yes, Doctor.' Then you will do as instructed. Once you're finished, you will assemble back here in your seat until everyone has been seen. After that, you might get chow. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Sergeant," the chorus sounded.
Michaels nodded. "Recruit Sergeant Barnes. You are in charge. Anyone goes AWOL on your watch, and you will be punished. Pick another Recruit Sergeant and come up here to keep an eye on everyone."
Bucky stood and called "Yes, Staff Sergeant. Dugan, you're Recruit Sergeant. Let's go." And without looking at the stocky man he'd selected for sheer size and impressive looks, Bucky strode up to the doorway of the patio and stood as they'd been shown earlier, at parade rest.
Dum Dum's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly rose to his feet and followed Bucky.
Once the taller redhead had positioned himself next to Bucky, the brunet smiled barely and whispered, "so, you from around here, soldier?" Laughter laced his tones.
"Nah . . . born and raised in Boston," Dum Dum answered with a slight, tired chuckle.
"Brooklyn," Bucky responded. "So, you and me were probably on the same train . . . but you had to leave even earlier than me."
Snorting quietly, Dugan nodded, his eyes felt heavy. "I can't wait to go to sleep . . . feel like I'm about to pass out."
"Yeah, I'd give up dinner for some shut eye," Bucky agreed softly. "But this is what war's gonna be like, I s'pose, no sleep and lots of standing around waiting to get shot."
"Don't know why anyone would volunteer for this," Dum Dum grunted.
Sadness welled in Bucky's light eyes and he whispered back, "my best friend tried to volunteer right after Pearl Harbor took the hit."
"Tried?" Dugan asked, "How'd he not get in? They're takin' everybody who has a heartbeat."
"Not Steve's heartbeat. He's got heart problems and asthma. I figured they wouldn't care, as long as he can hold a gun. But apparently they only wanna ship healthy guys off to get killed." Bucky rolled his eyes.
"Hope your friend realizes how lucky he is," Dugan grumbled, "This is hell."
With a shake of his head, Bucky whispered, "nope. Steve's so mule headed he got mad because I wouldn't volunteer. I told him they'd have to drag me kickin' and screamin', and boy did I prove that. They had to telegram me at work to get my attention." He turned his head to grin at Dum Dum. "And even then, I spent half the afternoon arguing with them since I needed to stay home."
Dugan quirked an impressed eyebrow, "Because your sick friend?"
Suddenly flushing, Bucky realized how easily he'd nearly given everything away. So, he carefully went back to the story he'd told his boss. Lifting his right hand to display the ring, Bucky said, "not exactly. I've got a lot of people that depend on me. Steve's one of them. But, I'm kind of married . . . though it's not legal."
Dugan eyed Bucky for several long moments, eyes narrowing slightly as he concentrated on the words the brunet had just said. After nearly a minute, Dum Dum grunted again, "Shame . . . must be hard on hi . . . her."
Catching the change of pronoun, Bucky silently swore to himself that he'd been sloppy. He couldn't protect Steve if he blurted out their relationship to the world. With a soft sigh, Bucky merely nodded. He met Dum Dum's eyes and softly said, "for both of us." He tried to figure out how this big man would react to the idea that his bunk mate was queer.
Leaning in closer to Bucky, and lowering his voice to avoid being overheard, Dum Dum muttered, "Don't worry, Barnes. I ain't gonna say nothin' . . . although you may want to be more careful. Most guys ain't like me. Don't want ya or your wife gettin' hurt or nothin'."
Just as softly, barely audible, Bucky asked, "why aren't you gonna tell?" He knew he'd judged Dum Dum's intelligence perfectly earlier. The loss of sleep had been the reason both of them had made such mistakes so far. He'd have to learn to work through exhaustion.
Shrugging his large shoulders, Dum Dum shook his head, "Ain't my place to judge who someone loves . . . you seem like a good man, Barnes. I've got your back."
Turning to face his bunkmate, Bucky nodded seriously. "An' I got your's, Dugan."
Apparently the medical staff, though calling everyone else in alphabetical order, had been warned just which recruits were in charge. Bucky and Dum Dum were skipped until last, when Michaels returned to take over monitoring the men. Fortunately, none of the near eighty men had disappeared, though several had asked to go to the commode and been granted individual permission, ordered to return before the next could go. When Bucky and Dum Dum finally got called, evening was beginning to settle and a chill seeped through the patio air.
The brunet followed the medic into the infirmary. The pair of recruits sat through even more blood tests, a thorough eye and ear exam, an odd test in which they had to identify certain colors or figures inside a blur of colors, and a check for vitals, parasites, and flat feet.
Sitting in his trousers and shirt sleeves on a cot next to Dugan's cot, Bucky held his arm out while a medic drew yet more blood. He felt like a pin cushion. Shaking his head in confusion as to why they'd need to draw blood at each stop he'd made, Bucky merely let them.
"Why are we gettin' more medical tests? Thought we'd already been cleared," Dum Dum asked, wincing as the medic pulled out the needle a little too fast.
One of the medics shrugged and intoned, "Army's got reasons, recruit. Don't ask questions or you'll wind up on restriction."
Finally, they were allowed to return to the group on the patio. As they slipped back to the last row, which held only Jenkins, Dum Dum, and Bucky, Michaels called out "Attention!"
The entire group scrambled to their feet and came to attention as they'd been taught earlier in the day.
A medium sized, grey haired man came in at that and he held several papers in his delicate looking hands. A full Colonel accompanied him. The pair looked over the men gathered. The plain dressed man looked at the papers and shuffled through them. Eventually he called out "Barnes, James?" His accent sounded German, but only a few men seemed upset by it, despite the war.
Surprised, Bucky called out "Sir, yes, Sir!" He straightened next to Dum Dum.
The doctor nodded, "Step forward, please, Son."
Bucky obeyed without looking to either side, stepping out of formation so that he could be clearly seen. "Sir."
The civilian man looked through more papers and called out "Ryerson, Jeffery? Calvin, Peter? . . . and Jenkins, Bernard?"
Ryerson, a medium sized brunet, and Calvin, a rather tall, thin, lanky blond, stepped out with the standard "Sir, yes, sir!" they'd been taught.
Jenkins, the tall, burly blond who'd already proven to be a trouble maker, sneered and muttered "I don't listen to Nazis."
A look of thunder crossing his face, the Colonel barked out louder than Captain Sanderson. "What did you say?"
Jenkins repeated "I don't listen to Nazis, sir! I'm here to fight Germans, not obey them!"
After staring at the tall blond as if he studied a bug, the Colonel barked out "then by all means, stay with the group, Jenkins." He turned to the man dressed as a civilian and said, "how about the redhead?"
The older man nodded once and cleared his throat and added one last name: "Dugan, Timothy."
Stepping forward quickly, not wanting to be yelled at for taking too long, Dum Dum made his way to stand next to Bucky.
"Please, if you four would come with me," the civilian man asked as he began to turn away from the other recruits.
Michaels called out, "the rest of you, form up. We're going to chow." And, as Bucky, Dum Dum, and the other two obediently followed the civilian and the Colonel, Michaels led the platoon away.
The civilian man and the Colonel took the four recruits back to medical. Glancing over his papers once more, the older man told them he needed yet another test.
Leaning in close to whisper in Bucky's ear, Dugan stated, " Hard to believe that a German would be treating us - - maybe this is some kind of military test to make sure we don't hurt civilians while in war or something."
Nodding, Bucky answered from the corner of his mouth, "Steve's best doctor was German, but he got taken to a work camp over in Germany a couple years back." Clearing his throat, however, Bucky asked loudly "another test, Sir? Something wrong with us?" He prayed that he and Steve hadn't gotten anything from their lovemaking - - the church and government often warned that homosexuals might spread some diseases.
The civilian doctor turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. "Goodness, no! I am Doctor Abraham Erksine and I am part of a program to help train elite soldiers. All four of you have met the qualifications so far. We are about to do the last test to reveal if any of you are physically what we need."
Bucky's mouth dropped open at the name he'd heard Steve refer to, a doctor that had been some sort of partner to Doctor Keilmeyer apparently. But, that doctor had been in a fertility and birth defect study . . . not working for the military. The brunet felt he must have mixed the doctors up . . . maybe there were a lot of men named Erskine from Germany. "I don't understand, sir."
Dum Dum shook his head, "Elite soldiers?"
The Colonel answered, "Elite Soldiers, son. Better than any other men we've got. Trained for special missions on behalf of Uncle Sam." Rather than angry, like he had with Jenkins, the older officer seemed tired.
Furrowing his brows in confusion, Dum Dum looked to the ground, thinking over the words that had just been spoken by the Colonel.
The doctor nodded. "You may all sit down." He gestured and someone came in to take some unfortunately painful tissue samples as well as more blood.
This startled the recruits, but they allowed it. Even on the first day of basic training, they realized that they had to obey the orders, even if painful, especially with the unintroduced Colonel standing right there. Bucky held the clean bandage against the small cut as a medic wrapped tied around his arm to hold it in place, as three other medics worked equally on the other recruits.
Doctor Erksine cleared his throat gently and began to explain in a cealm, steady voice, "Science has made many leaps in understanding over the millennia. Sometimes these are contrary to what we currently believe, and some reinforces these beliefs. Recently a small team of scientists have put forth the theory that humans, like other mammals, have a natural hierarchy." And nodded as the four medics took their samples, clearly marked with numbers and initials, to a storage cart. The men wrote on files as the doctor continued talking to these four newly made soldiers.
"This hierarchy is referred to as the Fertility Nature, or simply put the natural chain of command, if you will. There are Alphas, those who lead. There are Betas, those who obey. There are Omegas, mates of Alphas . . . and the Gammas. This last group is the most contested in this theory, as most scientists cannot agree whether Gamma is it's own designation or just a part of the other classifications. Gamma's are sterile, infertile, but do show signs of being one of the other three categories. So, the question remains as to whether a Gamma is truly an Alpha, Beta, or Omega. Or if a Gamma is a fourth and separate category."
As the medic matched up his own sample, marked 'JBB 1984' with a file and wrote, Bucky concentrated on what the doctor said. Puzzled, but knowing a bit about the research since Steve had been a pioneering test subject for it, Bucky leaned forward to listen carefully.
Erskine's eyes flicked over to Bucky, curious as to why the soldier seemed so interested, and continued. "For this elite group, I need Gammas."
With a nod, blue-grey eyes still watching the doctor's every move, Bucky asked, "And these tests will tell you if we're . . . Gammas? If we're sterile? Uh, what if we've had sex?" He flushed a bit and knew instantly that this man looked for someone like Steve, but Keilmeyer's work had been in preventing birth defects, not in creating super soldiers.
Nodding, pushing up his glasses, Abraham Erksine answered, "Gammas are often unable to produce an erection but some can. We are still determining why some can become aroused while most cannot. However, arousal, and therefore intercourse, is not a defining factor of infertility. We will need semen samples from each of you as well, of course."
"Why the blood and skin tests?" Bucky asked again, despite the frown from the unknown Colonel and the confused looks of the other three recruits. Bucky couldn't help the curiosity; this was a chance to learn more about what Steve had participated in all those years.
"Oh, those are in case you qualify. These samples will be kept on file for later use. In the future when our science has hopefully advanced far enough, these samples might be able to be used for further research." Doctor Erskine shrugged. "But for now, they will be kept in cold storage to be used to match up your remains, if unidentifiable. We are on the verge of being able to match tissue but let us hope we never have cause to use them, eh?"
The medics stepped forward, each with a pair of specimen cups labeled with initials and numbers. Bucky was handed cups marked 'JBB 1985,' while beside him Dum Dum was given cups marked 'TACD 1985.' Then are shown to private, tiny offices where a single exam bed, a chair, and a stack of girly magazines sat.
With a sigh, Bucky didn't even bother to glance at the mags, since he knew the only thing that would get him excited enough to cum: his delicate, beautiful husband Steve with his vibrant blue eyes. When finished, Bucky stood, panting and with head bowed; he swore he wouldn't answer any questions about how he achieved ejaculation, even under brutal questioning, unsure if that might be part of the study or another test even. He'd already recklessly endangered Steve once that day; he refused to do so again. He also didn't prefer being arrested since being queer was illegal.
As the brunet finished getting dressed, the doctor slipped into his room, startling the soldier. He offered the specimen cup, clearing his throat. "Doctor Erskine? May I ask you something?"
Looking up from a file 'JBB 1984' in his hands, Abraham Erksine smiled and nodded gently, "Why of course."
"My . . . friend Steve went to a doctor by the name of Keilmeyer back in Brooklyn. He was part of this Gamma study. Keilmeyer told him he was a natural Gamma." Bucky shrugged. "I was just wondering if you were the Doctor Erskine Steve's doctor mentioned on occasion."
Doctor Erskine's eyes widened at the mention of his friend's name, a friend he knew to be imprisoned at Dachau, but the gentle doctor nodded slightly, "Keilmeyer is a good friend of mine. But to answer your question . . . yes, I am the doctor mentioned in your friend's appointments."
With a relieved sigh, Bucky grinned wider. "Steve had . . . um . . . internal lesions show up sometimes, and lots of cramping and bleeding. He always said the doctor told him he was fine . . . is that normal for a Gamma?" Bucky's intense worry for his husband showed through.
The doctor's eyes widened more then narrowed as if he concentrated on something, "Tell me, Mr. Barnes. Is your friend in the military?"
"No, thank God!" Bucky let out a breath. "They wouldn't take him because of heart problems and asthma. But that makes him mad, since he's probably tougher than any guy I've ever met."
"He's a sickly boy?" Abraham mused, almost as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud.
"He'll be twenty-five on July fourth, Doc," Bucky corrected. "And he wants in so bad, but I'd rather he was more careful of his health. Just a few days ago he was in the hospital with an attack." He shook his head. "If he just wasn't sick, I guess I could get behind him going to fight against all the bullies he wants. But . . . he refuses to back down."
"Hmmm . . . you care for your friend, yes?" Doctor Erskine asked, eyes shining with curiosity. "I am sure your friend will be just fine. Now, if you'd excuse me . . . I have to run these tests." The doctor turned to leave.
"Ah, Doc?" Bucky held out the specimen cup again. "The semen sample?"
Letting out a small laugh, Erskine accepted the cup with a smile. "Ah! Please forgive me, Mr. Barnes. Old age and whatnot."
Laughing softly, Bucky called "Ah, you ain't so old, Doc. Age is in the mind." He saluted cheekily and opened the door for the doctor to leave.
"If only my body would agree with that sentiment, Mr. Barnes," Abraham Erskine laughed and stepped out of the examination room.
"If we meet again, you can call me Bucky." The brunet winked at the doctor then moved off to join Dum Dum and the other two recruits, who both looked at anything but another person . . . obviously embarrassed by the test they'd had to do.
Colonel Phillips suddenly barked out, "Wait in the hall, men. It only takes a few minutes for the testing."
Again showing his intimate knowledge with the procedure, Bucky snorted and murmured, "yeah, gotta count the sperma before it all dies." He led the other three into the hall where they stood at parade rest.
The minutes ticked by before the Colonel stepped out with Doctor Erskine. "Barnes, Dugan, and Ryerson. You may go back to your unit. Calvin, you qualify for Project Rebirth. You'll come with us to Camp Lehigh. No one is to speak of this project or the tests or you will be shot for giving away military secrets. Am I understood?"
Bucky barked out "Sir, yes, sir!" as did the others. Turning to Dum Dum, he shrugged and said "Hope they still have some chow for us sleep deprived."
Dum Dum laughed and clapped the brunet on the shoulder, "You and me both. Feel like I could eat a whole cow." Behind the tall redhead, the sleepy-looking Ryerson nodded in mute enthusiasm.
"Cow? Cow is good," Bucky agreed and offered a smile to Doctor Erskine as he started to pass the man on the way out.
"Bucky . . . Mr. Dugan!" Doctor Erskine called out as he looked up from his file.
"Doc?" The lithe brunet whirled around neatly and smiled for the doctor.
"Just thought I'd let you two know . . . you are both of the Alpha nature," the doctor reported.
With a nod of understanding, Bucky added, "That means we're the nature to lead and protect." He shrugged. "Guess if Steve wasn't a Gamma, he'd be an Alpha, too." He grinned for the civilian. "Thanks, Doc."
"It was my pleasure," Abraham smiled softly back, "Now, be safe boys."
Bucky saluted Doctor Eskine again and said, "Will do, Doc. I got a lot to go home for."
"Don't we all, Soldier?" Abraham Erksine nodded and then turned to walk away in the opposite direction of the two men, following the Colonel and the recruit.
xxx
Continued in Chapter Sixteen: Homecoming