When their plane landed in England, there were trucks waiting for them. All the performers were ushered into them and within minutes they were off. Soldiers in other vehicles accompanied them, brandishing large automatic guns, and Amelia idly wondered if their little troop was so important that they would pull troops from the fighting just to escort them and act as bodyguards. Some of the other dancers in the truck with her were wondering the same thing aloud.

Every show they did went similarly; they would do their bit, minus some of the flashing lights and showy tricks they did in New York, and then Steve would talk to the soldiers. They first few shows went well, but then again they were entertaining men who were building bridges and railroads and who were nowhere near the front lines. As their tour moved along Amelia couldn't stop herself from scanning the faces in the crowds, hoping to see Bucky among them.

They travelled further into Europe, and as the weather grew colder and harsher, so did the receptions they were met with. The men were much less eager to participate when Steve asked for a volunteer and eventually Thomas had to be pulled from the routine because too many men had taken offense and thrown rotten vegetables at the poor guy. Thankfully Thomas hadn't put up a fight about it; he simply shrugged it off.

"It was going to happen sooner or later," he said. "These guys are the ones who've seen the war for real. Someone was bound to get mad about a guy in tights punching 'Hitler' as if ending the war was that easy."

By the time November rolled around they were well into Italy. Every time she filed onstage with the other girls she was shocked by what she saw. These men looked so tired and worn down, their sunken eyes peering out at them from sallow, dirty faces. They responded well to the dancers but as soon as Steve walked out they usually started laughing and jeering.

"I can't blame them," Steve said to her one night. "I must look like a fool to them."

"It's just because they've been through a lot," she said, taking his hand. "You're doing your best here, given the circumstances."

"I should be fighting with them."

"Oh, Steve, not this again," Amelia groaned. "I know it may not seem like it, but you are making a difference."

"Boosting bonds sales, funding the war," Steve said with a wave of his hand. "I know, I've heard it before. I just wish there was something more I could do."

A few days later they had the worst show yet, just five miles from the front. She immediately noticed that their audience was much smaller than most of their previous ones. The men seemed almost angry as they sat there, as if they'd rather be prisoners of war than watch the show. They clapped a bit for the dancers, but as soon as it was just Steve on the stage they fell into a stony silence.

"How many of you are ready to help me sock ol' Adolf on the jaw?" she heard Steve ask the soldiers. Nothing.

"Come on," she said under her breath, clutching her coat around her tighter as a gust of wind made her shiver.

"Not very lively, are they?" Caroline muttered while Steve floundered around on stage, trying to rally the soldiers and lift their spirits.

"Would you be?" Nancy asked. "We must seem despicable to them." Amelia nodded in agreement.

"Girls, you're back on," Charles told them. "Get out there and someone get Rogers off the stage."

A collective groan went up. "What else does he even expect us to do?" one girl asked as they all untied their coats and located their helmets. Amelia shivered and mentally cussed out whoever had the brilliant idea to send them out in tiny dresses in the middle of autumn. But she plastered in a smile all the same and waved and blew kisses as the men cheered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Steve storm offstage, and she desperately wished she could chase after her friend.

The performance was a disaster since they didn't have Steve giving them their cues and they were all trying to follow each other, but the men didn't seem to mind at all. One dancer, Eve, threw in a few acrobatic tricks that normally Charles would yell at her for adding in, but Amelia was relieved that at least there was something to distract the men from the fact that it was the same song and choreography and she suspected Charles would overlook it just this once. When they finally stumbled through the end of the song the soldiers applauded enthusiastically, a few even jumping to their feet.

As soon as the applause died down, all the dancers were herded offstage and into the trucks. Amelia heard Charles yelling that they were behind schedule due to their encore and within five minutes they were on the road again.

"That was horrible," Julia said, taking her heels off and massaging her feet.

"The worst yet."

"We really ought to learn at least one other song," Amelia agreed. "It's boring to sing the same thing over and over."

"I just can't wait until we get back to the states," Barbara chimed in. "At least there we're not left onstage wondering what to do."

Many of the girls nodded and hummed their agreement. Amelia wanted to go home too, but she was also holding on to the hope that she'd see Bucky at one of the camps they stopped at. She hadn't heard from him in almost two months at that point, and she wasn't sure what to make of that. She hoped with all her heart that he was okay and not injured in any way.

The truck they were in rolled to a stop eventually and everyone in her truck quickly climbed out and ran through the light rain to the tent that had been set up for them. Their manager charged in, telling them they had five minutes to get ready. They all scrambled to fix their make up and costumes then grabbed their helmets and lined up behind the stage.

"Caroline, where is your helmet?" Charles demanded as he went down the line inspecting their costumes.

"I don't know." The girl sounded on the verge of tears.

"Go find it. You have five minutes." Caroline nodded and scurried off. "Amelia, have you seen Rogers?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Not since he ran off the stage, sir."

"Whose truck was he in?" Charles asked. The company only glanced around at each other. "Well? Were any of you in a truck with him?" They all collectively shook their heads and Charles' face turned an alarming shade of purple.

"Of all the things…. Fallon!" Charles' assistant appeared in front of him. "Take a truck and go back to the last camp for Rogers. I'll deal with this situation here."

"Sir," Amelia called, stepping out of line as Charles began walking away. "Let me go with him. I don't have an important part, and Steve will listen to me."

"Fine," Charles snapped. "Go." She nodded a thank you and ran to the truck Mr. Fallon had started.