We Were Soldiers
149. Seeing Red
"What do you think?" asked Morita. He proudly placed his prize in the middle of the breakfast table.
"I think it's a beer glass," Bucky said. "And it's dirty. Look, you can see fingerprints all over it."
"Shows what you know, Barnes. This is actually our victory trophy!"
"Still looks like a beer glass to me."
"Lizzie gave it to us," said Jones. "In lieu of a real trophy. Said she's going to speak to the Fiddle's owner about making the darts match a yearly international tournament. And we're the first winners of it!"
"Great. Now can you get it off the table? It's blocking my access to the ketchup," he complained.
"Jeez, what's your problem?" Morita asked.
"Headache." More specifically, hang-over. He'd forgotten how much Wells liked to play games, so Remember had gone on for hours, and just when he thought they'd remembered everything, he remembered something more. Each memory had been followed with a chaser of Scotch, and they managed to empty the bottle by the end of the night. He planned to have a double-helping of double-breakfast to mop up all the excess alcohol in his system.
"Oh right. Hangover." Morita chuckled. "By the way, did Carter find you?"
Ugh. That. "Yeah, she found me. Asked for you too, pal," he aimed at Steve, who was quietly moving the salt and pepper shakers in swirly movements across the table in front of him. "I covered for you."
"Thanks, Buck, I appreciate it."
"Speaking of appreciation, you could'a warned me that Antje and Michael aren't actually engaged. I put my foot in it big time last night."
Steve's hands froze, the pretend salt and pepper dancers falling still. His face exuded guilt. "I… uh… thought I had mentioned it. Didn't I? When we were talking about how date night went?"
"No, you were too busy gushing over kissing Carter to mention it."
"I am so sorry, Buck. I didn't mean to put you in an awkward position. What happened?"
"Oh, I'll let Carter regale you with that story," he said. "Honestly, I really don't want to get any more involved than I already am."
"I wanna get more involved," said Morita. "Someone tell me."
"Captain Rogers?" A private in a US Army uniform stopped at their table and saluted. "Colonel Phillips wants to see you and your team, sir."
"Must be another mission," said Steve. "Thank you, Private. I'll go round up Jacques, Dugan and Monty. Please tell Colonel Phillips that we're on our way."
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"Sir, what's the mission?" Steve asked a half hour later, as they all took a seat around the table in the big room. Carter was there, completely failing to meet Bucky's eyes, and for some reason she seemed to be Bucky's best pal, too. Very strange.
"There is no mission," Phillips replied. "Just an update."
"Oh. In that case, what's the update, sir?"
"I thought you'd like to know what intel we managed to get from your last mission. The map, Agent Carter?"
"Right, of course," Carter said, wheeling a stand-up map of the continent over. Maybe all this stuff with Antje was weighing on her mind. She wasn't normally so distracted during official meetings.
"This is where you tagged the trains with the radioisotope," Phillips said, pointing at a place from which five white arrows pinned onto the board emerged. "One of the trains went here." He pointed to the arrow that stopped at a place in Germany. "We already know from the intelligence MI6 has gathered that this is a Nazi munitions factory, so we're considering this one a miss. As is this one," he said, pointing to an arrow that went into France. "The train was still travelling when the detector on the blimp lost power and we lost our ability to track it. That said, knowing how much coal the train could carry, and its speed and direction, we've been able to guess at its end point with a relative degree of accuracy, and according to everything we know, it's headed to nowhere."
"Nowhere is often an interesting place," Dugan mused.
"I agree," said Phillips. "Unfortunately, the brass can't spare us even a single plane to do a fly-over right now. Mr Dernier, do any of your Resistance contacts know of anyone who might be up for a little reconnaissance mission to nowhere?"
Jacques inclined his head. "I will ask them, though it may take a few days for us to hear anything back."
"That's fine."
"What about the other three trains?" Bucky asked. His headache was finally starting to subside, but it would require a little more grease to fully go away. "We managed to tag five of them in total."
"One stopped north, in Holland. One we lost in Germany, but it was still moving and we think, judging by its direction, that its final destination was somewhere in Denmark. The last one stopped in Austria."
Steve stood up and walked around the table to peer at the map more closely. Specifically, he looked at Holland, and Bucky silently agreed with his assessment. It looked like a juicy target, just slightly inland.
"What's stopping us from going here tomorrow?" Steve asked.
"Timing," Carter spoke up. "And intel. Just because MI6 didn't know about this place, doesn't mean it's not a regular Nazi facility. We don't want to waste the team's talents."
"The team's talents just spent a whole month in France kicking 'regular' Nazi ass," Morita pointed out.
"Because your skills were needed for the greater war effort," she replied tersely. "We need the element of surprise on our side when we do go for Schmidt and his facilities. Every place that ends in an arrow has one common denominator."
"They're all serviced by the train yard," Bucky said.
"Exactly. Once we start hitting these targets, it's going to be a warning beacon the other facilities. Their defences will be doubled, tripled or even quadrupled. We may only get to hit two facilities before they recognise the pattern and respond accordingly, which means we either have to be patient and pick our targets wisely, or else—"
"Plan a co-ordinated attack," Steve finished, and Carter smiled at him.
"That's right," said Phillips. "And it may yet come to that, but it will all depend on how quickly we can fully take France and press our advantage, and how swiftly the Russians can move in from the east. Once we get something back from Mr Dernier's contacts, we may have a better picture of where that train went. In the meantime, we'll try to find more intelligence on whatever's in Holland. If we do decide to move, it will be on short notice."
"Which means," said Carter, "that you're to keep the drinking to a minimum for the foreseeable future."
They all groaned. Especially Dugan. Steve merely smiled at Carter.
"If I may use a radio, Colonel, I will go make a call right now," said Jacques.
"Granted. Ask one of the operators to patch you in to a Resistance channel. The rest of you are free to leave."
There was a mad scramble for the door. Nobody wanted to stick around the colonel longer than necessary in case they ended up being volunteered for something. The exception was Steve; Bucky heard him ask Carter if they could grab lunch together, but her response was lost on him as he darted out of the Big Room.
"So, poker in the Fiddle tonight," said Dugan. "You game, Barnes?"
"Sure." Wells said he had to work, Miles was still busy building a peanut launcher, and Stone wasn't back from Scotland yet. Or maybe he'd died in a fireball. That pretty much summed up his friend list, and it seemed a little bare. Maybe he should try to make more friends. But then, hadn't he just told Wells that he didn't want people worrying over him? Not that Miles or Stone would worry. And friends worrying wasn't the same as a dame worrying. It was a different type of worry.
He shook his head. He was definitely over-thinking this. A night of poker was exactly what the doctor ordered.
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The café was a quaint little place on a quiet street corner within easy walking distance of Whitehall. It oozed old-world charm, it walls decorated with old, framed maps and polished dark oak beams gracing the ceiling. Like many places in London, it was small. Most of its old buildings, Steve realised, had probably been built for Hobbits. Or by Hobbits. Maybe both. Even Peggy seemed large in comparison to the low ceiling and narrow tables.
"Will it be your usual table, Agent Carter?" the proprietress asked.
"Yes please, Aggie. And Captain Rogers will be joining me."
Aggie, a short, matronly woman with a full head of grey hair, gave him a very frank appraisal before saying, "I'll pull up an extra chair for you, then. Will it be tea for you, Captain, or coffee?"
"Coffee please."
Aggie nodded to herself, as if she'd already guessed. Maybe she had. He'd never been a big tea drinker, but that first cup of coffee of the day was often what truly woke him up, even now.
The little table by the window afforded a pleasant view of the street outside, and Steve watched as a tram pulled up to deposit a group of travellers. If you didn't know there was a war going on, you wouldn't be able to guess it. The crowd from the tram dispersed as people went about their daily business without even glancing at the spot further down the road where a row of houses had been turned to rubble.
"They all got out," Peggy said. She'd followed his gaze with her own, to the rubble pile. "Aggie told me that all the families who live along this street went to their nearest Underground point when the air raid sirens sounded. Only a cat was left unaccounted for."
"Poor cat," he said. Back home, that probably would've made the headlines. Hitler Murders Cat.
"Indeed. But you didn't ask to speak to me about cats. At least, I hope you didn't."
"No. You're right." He took a deep breath. "I just wanted to apologise if I've put you, or Antje, or Michael, in an awkward position. I didn't tell Bucky about what happened on our date because I was a little preoccupied with thinking about other things. To be fair, I didn't expect you to track him down to talk about it. So, if I could've helped avoid whatever situation it was, and my lack of communication made things worse, I'm sorry."
She reached out to lay a hand on his and squeeze it gently. "You don't have anything to apologise for. I didn't know that Antje still had feelings for Sergeant Barnes, and I only told him about the proposal in the first place because I thought it would help him move on and stop moping."
"Bucky didn't exactly give me a lot of info on what happened last night. Can you tell me? So that I don't contribute to any further mess?"
It wasn't a gossiping. If he wanted to gossip, he could just go and get the full story off Miles. And, like Bucky, he didn't want to get overly involved in something that wasn't truly his business. But if it affected his girl—his head still whirled when he thought of her like that—and affected his best pal, then technically it affected him.
"I suppose you have a right to know. Just in case Sergeant Barnes does start moping again." She toyed with the little bowl of sugar cubes in the centre of the table. "I suspect he won't, though. He seems to have matured since I met him a year ago."
Aggie arrived at that moment with their drinks accompanied by tiny rich tea biscuits. She seemed to spend forever positioning the cups and saucers just so, then laying out the teaspoons, then slowly pouring a cup of tea for Peggy from the little teapot. Meanwhile, Steve's cup of coffee simply got deposited on the table in front of him. He tried to be patient and not drum his fingers on the table. Peggy's face suggested nothing about this service was out of the ordinary.
"Please enjoy your drinks," the woman said at last, before retreating with her little serving tray.
Steve took a sip of his drink and the deep, rich flavour exploded over his tongue. "This is amazing," he told Peggy. "I didn't think English people appreciated coffee this much."
"Aggie is a connoisseur of all hot beverages," she replied. "You should try the malted milk some time." She dropped a sugar cube into her tea and stirred it for a moment while a secretive smile slowly crept across her face. When she glanced up at him from her stirring, she asked, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Better than anyone else in the world," he told her.
"The few times when Lorraine has been sick and I've had to cover some of her duties, whenever the Colonel asks me to make coffee, I bring the pot here and get Aggie to make one up for me. Then I take the entire pot back to HQ, by which time it's just the right temperature for drinking."
"Peggy Carter, how very diabolical of you!" he laughed. "I like your initiative. Though the cat might be out of the back if Phillips ever comes here for a drink."
"Hopefully he'll approve of my initiative as much as you do," she smiled. "Anyway, I was telling you about last night. It seems Antje still has some feeling for Sergeant Barnes… or did have, anyway. And she was under the impression that he might still ask her out. I don't think she fully understood that Michael was falling in love with her, so the proposal came as a surprise. She wanted to speak to Sergeant Barnes personally, to try and determine if he had any feelings for her, before making a decision. Which she also felt pressured into because of everything my family has done for her."
"Sounds messy," he mused.
"Indeed. I fear everybody involved has mishandled the situation which has contributed to a much larger overall mess with Antje right at the middle."
"If I know Bucky, he would've let her down gently."
"He did, thank God. I just wish… well… several months ago, I discouraged him from speaking any further with Antje. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. If I'd not interfered, maybe she would've learned much sooner that he didn't want to pursue a relationship with her."
"Sometimes it's hard to know what the best choice to make is, in any given situation. When you look back with the benefit of hindsight, it always seems much easier."
"Very true."
"By the way." Might well drop it in casually now, before it could surprise her. "Michael has invited me to a book reading of his at your home. In October some time."
"Has he? I hope you enjoy it; he's very enamoured of his writing. I'm not sure whether it's good enough to be published, though. Did he tell you that he had father purchase a typewriter for him? Top of the line model, too. He thinks he has a career as a writer ahead of him."
"You don't?"
"I think it's very different to what he's done before," she said cagily. "Michael is often full of grand ideas, and they don't always come to fruition."
"Hopefully the agent that he's invited will enjoy what he hears." He cleared his throat. Peggy seemed to be oblivious to the point he was trying to make, and he couldn't be sure she wasn't doing it on purpose. "Of course, if it makes you uncomfortable in any way, then just say the word and I'll skip it."
"Why would it make me uncomfortable? It's not my book."
"No, but it is your home. And Michael said your folks would be there. Since I haven't met your dad yet, I didn't know if it would be… you know… awkward… to meet him that way…"
Her grin said she was enjoying every moment of his squirming. She could be quite nefarious at times. "You mean, would I prefer it if I introduced you to him myself, as my suitor?
"Well… you know… 'suitor' sounds so formal and official… and I mean, we've only just had our first kiss… maybe it's too soon to meet your dad…" Where was that giant hole in the ground to swallow you up when you needed it?
"Oh relax, Steve, you're going to give me apoplexy!" She laughed, a sound that sent tingles down his spine even as he felt a blush heat his cheeks. "If you'd like to meet my father before then, and do all the formal introductions, then we'll set something up for tomorrow."
Tomorrow? He quickly shook his head. Too fast. Much too fast.
"Or for before the reading," she added, and his heart stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest. "It won't matter how you're introduced to him; my father will love you." She sipped her tea, speaking quietly into her cup. "It's my mother you have to watch out for."
"I swear, this conversation has taken years off my life." Already he could feel the beads of sweat forming on his brow. If he was this nervous at the thought of meeting Peggy's dad, how much harder would it be to actually meet him? He'd never had to impress a father before. Maybe a call back to New York, for some advice from Mr Barnes, might be in order.
"Most men have had to impress a father or two by your age," said Peggy, as if reading his mind. "And most men have kissed a girl or two by your age as well. Consider this a fast-tracked catch up of all that you've missed out on so far. I'm glad that I get to experience so many of your firsts. And I will of course savor every moment of discomfort you experience as you dread meeting my father."
"You are a mean lady sometimes." But she was his mean lady, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
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Bucky stared at the cards in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. Looking back at him were the jack, queen and ace of hearts, the two of diamonds, and the ace of spades. The rest of the team waited patiently for him to consider his options. Some heckling was expected, but most of them would save it for the next round of betting, when they were more sure of their hands… or thought they knew what everyone else had.
A pair of aces was not a bad start. "Call," he said, and slid a chip towards the pot in the centre of the table.
Everyone else called too. It was a very straight or unadventurous player who folded on the first round. Sometimes you had to take that first risk and see what you could get. It was one of the reasons why poor Carrot had been such a terrible poker player; he was much too risk-averse. He couldn't bluff to save his skin. And when he had a good hand, he went all in. Poker was not an honest man's game; they rarely won.
The Fiddle was unusually quiet for once. The latest batch of arrivals had been shipped out to the ports, ready for the voyage to France, and the next batch hadn't arrived yet. It was a sort of eye of the storm feeling, where at any moment the door would open and another flood of green recruits would come rolling in.
He glanced at the door as the rest of the team began the task of exchanging cards. Firmly closed. No flood tonight.
First to exchange cards was Jones. He discarded a single card from his hand and replaced it with one from the deck, then gave a small, cold smile. He was a decent enough player. The single card swap meant that he either had a potentially round-winning hand, or he had nothing and was BS'ing.
Morita was next. He threw three cards away and picked up three more, making a disgusted tut when he saw what they were. He didn't even wait until everyone else had drawn; he tossed his cards face-down on the table and took a long drink of his tonic water. Then he made another sound of disgust. "I can't play sober. This is killin' me."
"I heard Captain Stone survived testing experimental aircraft in Scotland and is on his way back to London," Monty offered as he discarded two cards and picked up two in their place. He had a good hand. He often tried to use distraction techniques like that when he had a good hand and didn't want anyone to focus too much on what he was doing.
"That's good to hear," Bucky said. It was his turn to discard. Should he push the aces and try for three of a kind, or risk everything for the tiniest chance of the highest hand in the game? Dad had taught him how to play; Steve, too. Said that a lot of rookies made the mistake of being lured by high hands. Straights and flushes were hard enough when you were one card shy; two was much more difficult. Aces would be the safer option. But also less exciting. "I told him to bring me a good bottle of Scotch back with him," he said, as he discarded the two of diamonds and the ace of spades. "Though God only knows when I'll actually be able to drink it."
"You could always donate it to my shelf," said Lizzie. She wasn't playing, but Morita had bribed her to distract Dugan, so she was currently sitting on a stool beside him, stroking the back of his neck in a way that was making him go nearly cross-eyed.
"Yeah, not a chance," Bucky scoffed. He picked up two cards and held his breath as he moved them into his hand. It took all his self control not to open his eyes wider. The ten and king of hearts. He'd done it. Against all chance and hope, he'd got himself a royal flush. It was a beautiful lineup of red hearts in his hand.
"Not gonna lie," said Freddie, sitting on Bucky's other side, "I'm kinda glad I'm not military. Or on Phillips' payroll." He drank happily from his beer bottle, the bastard. "I'll take two cards, please." No telling either way what he had. Bucky hadn't played enough games with him to know his style yet.
"I'll take one," said Steve. He looked pensive. But then, he usually looked pensive these days, to some degree. Maybe he had a good hand, maybe he was bluffing, or maybe he just wasn't that interested in the game. His lunch with Carter had lasted two hours and, apparently, ended with another kiss. A much briefer one, whatever that meant. "Your turn, Dugan."
"Me? Oh. Right." He cleared his throat as Lizzie continued her stroking. "Gimme three, then. Might as well see if I can salvage this hand." Which meant he probably had a pair of something. A high pair, most likely; he was going for the three of a kind. He wouldn't get three aces, because Bucky had one and the other was in the discard pile, but if the two cards he kept were kings or queens, he might end up with a decent hand. Not that it would matter. Nothing except another royal flush could match a royal flush, and it was almost a statistical impossibility for two royal flushes to appear in one round.
"Ehh… I take three as well," Jacques said. Which meant he had nothing at the moment, because he tended not to make off-hand comments when he was actually trying to build a worthwhile hand.
"Okay," said Jones. "Round's twenty, and I'm in." He tossed his chip into the pot.
Morita had already folded, so Monty threw in a twenty, then added a ten. "Call and raise by ten."
"Call and raise by twenty," Bucky offered, tossing the requisite number of chips in. That took the bet up to fifty; it was always a risk, pushing the bet high, because it might spook the players who were bluffing into folding without betting, reducing the size of the pot. On the flip side, anyone who thought he was bluffing would match him just to see what he really had.
"Too rich for me," Freddie said. "I fold."
Steve smiled. "Call." He tossed his chips in. Likely knew that Bucky had a good hand, but either had a decent one himself, or really really didn't care about the game.
"I call too," said Dugan. "I don't think you've got anything, Barnes."
"I am out also." Jacques folded. "I am not sure who has what, but I am not willing to lose money to see it."
"Jones? Monty?" Bucky asked.
"I'll match it," Jones said.
The door to the Fiddle opened, and Bucky prayed that it wasn't the newest batch of recruits, come to ruin this perfect moment with their rowdy drunkenness. He didn't look around, because he was too busy watching Monty's face, but Lizzie's gasp grabbed his attention fast enough. Her face was pale, her mouth open as she stared at the door. "Dear God," she said.
Bucky turned his head. There in the doorway was Antje, her face as white as a ghost, her cream-coloured dress torn and stained at the hem, and her hands covered in blood. "Help me," she whispered. She took a step forward, stumbled, and collapsed against the wall.