A small cluster of men, most of whom he recognizes from the first cell he opened, are waiting around a small discrete fire. The quiet rumble of their chatter dies off immediately as Steve gets closer, all of them watching him expectantly. Steve's never been a commander of anything. He's not entirely sure how he's meant to handle this.
"You needed me?" He says, restating the obvious, hoping one of the men will take over where he's left off.
A big man with an equally big moustache regards him interestedly.
"You're that Captain America guy, aren't ya? I saw the comic books back in Limey Town."
There's an irritated grunt from a little further down the line. The big man chuckles at the withering glance he's getting from the British officer seated next to him. "Sorry, sorry. I'm tryin' to behave, Fallsy. Honest."
The other man just rolls his eyes and goes back to warming his hands over the fire. This is clearly an old argument, and not one he feels like getting back into now.
"Where'r your tights? Don't wear 'em in the field?"
"Uh… yeah, actually. I'm him… and yes, unfortunately, I'm still wearing the tights." Very unfortunately. They bind after a while. "Didn't really have time to change before… y'know."
Steve shrugs self consciously. No point in lying about it.
"So...About the supplies?"
"Right. Just a minute on that." The big man continues, completely unconcerned. The others don't seem fazed by this conversation in the slightest. He'd lay money this was discussed at some length before they went to find him. "First, how's Jimmy doin'?"
"Who?" Steve blinks. Was he meant to be keeping track of the status of all the other wounded? He feels a brief flash of guilt that he has no idea who they're talking about.
The big man rolls his eyes. "Sarge? Barnes? ...Bucky? Y'know, the guy you were just talkin' to?"
"Ah... Bucky's- " Steve hesitates.
Is he talking to Bucky's friends, or are these guys a cluster of bullies? Should he trust them with private information? ...Is there any such thing as private out here?
They don't seem to much care if Steve outranks them (however technically) and he's already seen them bickering amongst themselves. Maybe Bucky can't stand these guys. Maybe they're looking to get back at him for something… And he's honestly amazed Bucky hasn't throttled this guy for the nickname by now.
Bucky has ALWAYS hated being called 'James' or 'Jim', but he especially loathes 'Jimmy'. He once threatened to end their friendship when Steve was 10, all because he called Bucky by that name. Steve's fairly sure Bucky didn't mean it, but it was still a pretty dire threat for an 11 year old to make.
...Does he want to trust people who use a name Bucky hates?
It doesn't seem malicious… And the guy does look genuinely concerned...
It does no one any good to create rifts when they'll need everyone pulling together to get out of this alive, Steve reasons. He decides to give them the benefit of the doubt.
"Buck's… um… He's… Well he's awake. I'm not sure beyond that. He'll probably need to be checked out when we get back."
"Look - we'll be straight with you, Cap." A man that Steve would guess is at least partly Japanese pipes up, with a thick Californian accent. He thinks he remembers the guy saying something about Fresno during the escape. "We're trustin' you mostly because Sarge trusts you. I don't know what your deal with him is, but he's one of us, and we never thought we'd see the poor bastard again when they dragged him out." The others nod at this. "You seem like you're on the level. And, y'know springing us from that shit-hole helps your case a lot."
"I think what both of these… gentlemen… are trying to say, " the Brit interjects, actually joining the conversation for the first time, "is that we all appreciate your rescuing Barnes. We truly believed he'd been killed when they took him out of the cells. What we don't know is who exactly we're now following through… wherever this is."
"Italy." A friendly looking black man supplies, working on finishing up the last of a plate of tinned beans. "About 8 and half miles from hell, give or take."
"Yes." The Brit nods acknowledgingly. "Italy. At any rate, we're well aware you're not actually an officer, Captain. So we'd really quite like to know what you're doing here and why you're the one leading this interesting little adventure."
Steve considers this for a few moments, then takes a chance and settles himself in a vacant seat beside the fire. No one voices any objection.
"My name's Steve. Steve Rogers. And I grew up with Bucky in Brooklyn." he says, accepting a mug of what can generously be called 'coffee' that's handed to him. "He's my best friend, and always has been. I heard his unit was captured and I came looking him. What else do you want to know?"
Everything, as it turns out.