4th June, 1944, London, England.
"You've got your marching orders, Ads!"
Adeline turned sharply at Maria's trill from the doorway of the gymnasium.
The soldier facing her tried to take advantage of her distraction, swinging a fist at her, but she merely caught his wrist and threw him, sending him sprawling behind her. As she marched towards Maria, he let out a low groan.
"Show me." She muttered, and snatched it from the young woman's hand. She didn't seem to mind, and peeked over Adeline's shoulder as she read the lines of text quickly.
"Normandy? Gold Beach? But why-?" Adeline crushed the telegram in her fist, trying to keep the sudden rage inside. Her other hand flew out, slamming into the doorway. The cement cracked under the force, and Maria flinched away. "Adeline…"
"Where. Is. Phillips?"
"I don't-"
"Where is he?"
"The underground control room. But Adeline-"
Adeline was already running.
"COLONEL!"
Phillips and the rest of the room turned at the furious bellow from the top of the stairs. Adeline stood there, clenching the railing with both hands. The metal was warping under her furious grip.
She had received the telegram then…
"Yes, Commander?" he asked, turning back to the file he was examining. "Is there a problem?"
"You- arschloch- you know verdammt well there is a problem!" She stormed towards him, and shoved the telegram at him. "You're sending me to Normandy?! I thought I was a part of the Howling Commandos. When will you let me do my job?"
"Your job, Commander Wolfe, is to follow orders." He snapped the folder shut, and turned to face her. He was only just taller than she was, but looked down his nose at her anyway. "Not that you need to know, but the Commandos, and Captain Rogers will also be at Normandy."
Adeline's heart skipped a beat. "Steve- Rogers?" she asked uncertainly, voice suddenly very small.
Phillips sighed. "Yes. He and the Commandos are already on their way to Normandy. They will be assisting at Omaha beach, which is beside Gold. Once the beaches are captured, and the footholds secured, you will be linking up with Rogers and the Commandos, Commander, don't worry. You'll be with them soon."
Adeline bowed her head, clenching down hard on the remnants of righteous anger. "My apologies, Colonel."
"You're dismissed, Wolfe. Go get ready, you ship out tomorrow."
6th June, 1944, Gold Beach, Normandy, France. (D-Day)
"You a fuckin' jerry?"
Adeline hunched her shoulders, and didn't respond.
"I asked ya a question!" the man jabbed her with his rifle, and she turned to look at him.
"Yes."
She had never hated her accent more than she did now, stuck on an amphibious landing vehicle in-between a hundred hateful men.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill ya!" the man said, and there was a smattering of assent.
"OI! Shut your gob! You know 'oo that is? That's the Wolf woman. The one in the pictures, with Captain America."
"I 'eard 'e was over at Omaha. Just West of 'ere."
"That true, Wolfey?" the man who had threatened her poked her again.
"From what I understand. Yes."
"Youse a commander, ain't ya?"
"Yes."
The man who had spoken was barely a man, smaller than her, with wide brown eyes, and a helmet that was too big for him. He was looking at her in awe. "I watched ya, ya know. I saw ya at the pictures. Only for a moment, mind ya, when you was just doing the promotions wiv ya Commandos. But you was there. And you're in some of the comics."
"Com- What?"
"The comic books, Commander. You in'm. Not very much, mind, but you were in the issues bout the big Hydra base."
"What's your name?" Adeline asked him.
"Thomas Caverly, ma'am. Me mammy calls me Tommy."
"Alright, Tommy. And the rest of you!" she yelled. The men quieted enough, though she still felt open hostility. "Firstly, I am not here to fight you. I am here to fight with you. You and I have the same enemy, the same objective." The mutterings stopped. "Secondly," it was deathly quiet on their boat, "I will do what I can to help you. But you have to trust me if we are going to capture Le Hamel-"
"Shut up, Fritz!" someone yelled, and jeering broke out. She felt something hard ping off her helmet.
Someone's hand closed around her own. She looked up into Tommy's face. "I'll follow, ya, Commander. Just tell me what to do."
This was his first fight.
She could see it in his face, could see it in his naïve, determined stare.
It wouldn't be his last. She'd make sure of it.
"You do what I tell you. Stay behind me." She whispered fiercely, gripping his hand tightly, as the Sargent steering the boat called for silence. They were close. She noticed a few other men listening to her.
She figured that they assumed, considering she was a female, and still aboard, she held some merit. A few others may have seen her in those promotion shots she remembered doing, and whatever these 'comic-books' were. She had hated them, and hadn't smiled once. It had been humiliating.
The only consolation was that it had meant Schmidt knew she was still alive. Still alive and still hunting him.
"We're packed like fish in a barrel, and there's no cover. The second the gate lowers, throw yourselves over the sides, and swim away from the barge. They'll pick us off before we even leave the landing craft. At least in the water there's more cover. Ditch what heavy equipment you have – if it's too deep, you might sink." She spoke quickly and quietly, to Thomas and whoever else was listening, "Stay as covered by the water as you can, but be aware that the German bullets still hit underwater." She knew that first hand. "There's nearly zero cover. Use bodies if you must, and hedgehogs as much as possible. If you are injured, put pressure on it and keep moving to cover, resist the urge to stop, no matter how badly it hurts. If you die, know that it was not for nothing. I'll do my best to keep you alive."
"You're just a woman? What can you do, bub?" an older American man who had been listening to her piped up, looking more tired than sceptical. He was around thirty five, with dark green eyes, and scruff around his jaw. He had an odd hair cut, and was nearly as built as Steve – and looked like he'd given up.
"I can't die."
"Bullshit."
She slowly pulled her knife out, under the scrutiny of half the men, and drew it in a line across her wrist. Blood spilled out, and Thomas made a gasping noise, and hurried to press on the wound. She brushed his hand away, and wiped away the blood to reveal her healed forearm. The man with green eyes was watching her, face suddenly blank.
"Witch…"
She heard a mutter, and whispers broke out.
At least she knew why she had been given a month of medicated rest. For this… massacre.
A whistle blew and she shivered in the ocean water that slopped over the edge of the barge.
"I'm scared." Thomas whispered to her.
She gave him a small smile. "If you aren't scared, you aren't human."
He tried to smile back.
"Clear the ramp, boys. Twenty seconds!"