We Were Soldiers

153. The Fearless Vampire Nazi Killers

"I'm no good at this waiting around stuff, Cap," said Dugan. He and Monty had returned a half-hour earlier, having safely delivered Jones to the hatch of freedom. Morita had finally grown quiet, though what looked out from behind those eyes did not seem to be Morita anymore. Strangely, every once in a while he licked the floor, gnawing at it with his teeth. Not that it did any good; it was metal, after all. "Let me be useful. If we can't bring the sub up until we've dealt with those Nazi sons of bitches, let me fix that problem for you."

"It's not safe for anyone to go wandering around alone," Steve objected. "I can't risk anyone else getting bitten, and no offense, but you acting like Morita is gonna be harder for us to contain than Morita acting like Morita."

Bucky stood up. The waiting around was insufferable. "I'll go with him," he offered. "Dugan's right. I saw that crew manifest; there were forty-five names on it, and we've only been able to account for five of those. If there are uninfected crew left who can tell us what happened here, we need to find them. And if there aren't, we need to start thinning their numbers before forty infected Nazi-zombies decide to rush us en mass."

"It does sound like a sensible idea," Monty agreed. "Surely it doesn't take five of us to look after Little Jim."

"Alright." Bucky opened his mouth to object, then stopped when he realised he didn't need to. "Here's what I want you to do. From here, work your way to the fore of the vessel. I don't know if we should move Morita, but I think we need to decamp back to the hatch. Firstly, in case we need to make a speedy withdrawal. But also in case Jones comes back; I don't want him trying to make his way back here on his own. I probably should've thought of it earlier, but I was still trying to figure things out. After you've cleared the fore section, lock as many doors behind you as you can, and join us at the hatch. If we haven't heard anything back, you can sweep aft, but check in with us first."

"Roger that, Captain Rogers," Dugan grinned happily. He was a madman. Always had been. Only now did Bucky appreciate just how truly mad he was. "C'mon Barnes, we've got a stop to make."

"Take care, pal," Bucky told his best friend.

"You too. If I don't get you home in one piece, your folks'll kill me."

He followed Dugan out of the medical bay and down several corridors. Part of him wanted to find something more appropriate to change into. The rubbery suits were fine for swimming and the like, but they were awkward for combat, and did not exactly allow for easy perspiration. He felt like he'd been cocooned inside a shell of hot rubber; he'd be shrivelled as a prune by the time he took the thing off.

But on the other hand, Steve was right. They might need to make a swift retreat, and they couldn't waste time on changing into wet suits. Awkward as it was, and as hot and uncomfortable as it made him, the suit was the most practical thing to wear in the situation. Plus, it was a more effective barrier against bites than cloth.

Dugan stopped at a weapons locker and threw back both doors. A number of sidearms and rifles were stacked neatly on their shelves; he'd wisely left the rifles alone. Too inaccurate for use in a pressurised container like a sub.

"Help yourself," he said, gesturing to the ammo clips. So Bucky made sure he had a full clip in his gun, then took a few more for good measure. He had no pockets and no bag, but his utility belt was just about large enough to hold three clips. It would have to do for now. "Glad you decided to come along," Dugan offered. "Steve's got some strange ideas about not using guns. I'm not sure he likes all the killin'."

"He's a good man," Bucky said absently. He hefted the sidearm and sighted down it, imagined pulling the trigger. It wasn't his Colt, but it would do. He'd already seen how effective it was against the infected crewmen. "Too good, I think."

"You might be right." Dugan patted the gun, which seemed tiny in his hand. "Let's see how much safer we can make this boat. You want point?"

"No, you take it. But we'll switch every five rooms. Keep us fresh."

They made their way out of the room and into the next corridor. Most ships Bucky had been on tended to involve more corridor than deck, and this U-boat was no exception. They passed a bunk room and gave it a quick sweep, but it was empty. The bunks were bolted to the floor above, but pillows and blankets had fallen loose, along with a number of personal effects. Pictures of soldiers with their families. Letters from home. Packets of cigarettes. Exactly the same sorts of things he'd expect to find in a U.S. serviceman's locker, which was pretty crazy. Men were killing each other, dying, for nothing more than ideas and ideals. Was there any other creature on earth that did that?

After more corridors, they came across another room. It was something technical, and it was filled with Nazis. As soon as Dugan's flashlight shone into the open space, they swarmed. Dugan fired the first shot, but Bucky wasn't far behind him. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. One by one, the Nazis fell. Each of them was like the others; pale-faced, red-eyed, groaning in some agony he couldn't fathom. They came without plan or coordination, and fell to bullets just the same. After Bucky had put down five, they did a head count. Eleven in total. Twenty-nine left on the ship.

"Look at this," Dugan said. He rolled one of the corpses over and pointed at its belt. The Nazi's sidearm was still in its holster. In fact, several of them carried sidearms.

"It's like they didn't even realise they were carrying weapons," Bucky mused. "They just rushed at us, trying to tear at us with their hands, like animals." This didn't bode well. The gun was probably man's most sophisticated weapon. That these Krauts had even forgotten the purpose of them, reverting instead to a mode of attack that was much more primal, more visceral… it was troubling. Just how far gone did a man have to be to forsake the technological edge that he had over his enemies? And how close was Morita to that point?

They moved on. After another empty corridor, Dugan attempted to dredge up some nostalgia, "Just like old times, eh?"

Bucky offered him a blank stare. "We've never hunted vampire Nazis together before."

"The vampire element is new, I'll give you that," he conceded. "But not the Nazis."

He thought back to the previous year. Most of his missions had been with the 107th, but others had been joint. Liberation of the work camp where so many men and women had died. A lot of the action in Italy, after the SSR had been redirected there. All the infantry units assigned to the SSR had been involved in that, even the heavily depleted 9th.

"You mean Como? Baiting those Panzers?"

"Yeah. As I recall, the 69th took more of them down than the 107th."

"Because you cheated."

"Cheated?! How can anyone cheat at destroying Panzers?!"

"You had more men left by that point," Bucky pointed out. "You took advantage of the odds being in your favour. Hence, cheating."

"That's not cheating, that's just having more men!" Dugan's moustache quivered with affront. "But if you wanna settle it, let's settle it now. I bet I can kill more Nazi vampires than you."

Bucky shook his head. "I don't care about beating you in some stupid competition, Dugan. You can have this one. I don't need to be Van Helsing."

"Van whosing?"

"Y'know, from Dracula? Abraham Van Helsing? Basically the hero?"

"Never heard of it. Great name, though. Maybe I can get it inscribed on the medal I'll get for surviving this mission and killing the most vampires."

Van Helsing. Dracula. It took his mind back to a time when he'd asked an army chaplain for some holy water to help Wells get over some vampire nightmares. In reality, Davies wanted the water for his chickens. Or for some other purpose that would eventually lead to Carrot making Gusty a birthday cake. There had been a lot of BS, back then. A lot.

He wouldn't've mind a little of that holy water right now.

"Hmm. Y'know," he said, "maybe the myth of vampires actually stems from people being infected by rabies."

"Whaddya mean? Oh, hold that thought a second, I hear footsteps."

They took shelter behind a wall with an open door, then peered around it. One of the Nazis was roaming. He seemed to be alone, and not aware that he was being watched. He lurched down the corridor, one leg twisted at an awkward angle. Broken? Perhaps when the sub rolled over? Was that before he got sick, or after?

After a couple of lurches down the corridor, he turned suddenly and grabbed something on the ground. It was a fancy eagle-emblazoned cigarette lighter, of the type that officers normally carried, metal embellished with silver. As the pair of them watched, the Nazi put the lighter in his mouth, crunched it a couple of times, then swallowed it.

"What the hell?" Dugan said quietly. But not quietly enough. The Nazi's head swivelled around, and Dugan raised his gun.

"Wait, don't shoot him!" Bucky holstered his gun and drew his knife, quickly advancing before Dugan could open fire. When the Nazi rushed forward to meet him, he stepped aside, crouched and slashed downward to take out his hamstring, then drove his blade deep into the back of the Nazi's neck. Mindless creatures that they seemed to be now, they weren't hard to kill, but they were strong, and their numbers made them dangerous.

"Why'd you stop me shooting?" Dugan demanded. "I had him in my sights!"

"Yeah, and he'd just swallowed a lighter full of lighter fluid. What if your bullet ignited it and caused it to set on fire? We can't risk an explosion in here, not even a small one."

Dugan stroked his moustache as he studied Bucky. "Y'know, you spend so much time sulking and acting like a princess that I forget sometimes you do actually have a brain in your head. Now, what were you saying about vampires and rabies?"

He swapped his knife for his gun and accepted the weird, back-handed compliment. "Well, rabies is spread by animal bites, right? Like wolves and coyotes and bats? Vampires make more vampires by biting them. And vampires are afraid of holy water. You saw how Morita reacted to the taste of the water we gave him? And a stake through the heart will kill them."

"A stake through the heart will kill anyone, to be fair. But those are some good observations. Perhaps you're right; perhaps Europe had a really bad rabies problem at one point, and the villagers started telling each other stories as they huddled around the fire at nights. Maybe I should start reading more," he mused. "Lizzie likes reading." He gave Bucky the side-eye. "Got any recommendations on where to start?"

"Yeah, there's one I like, it's called the dictionary."

"Har har. Don't quit your day job, whatever that is."

"C'mon, it's my turn to take point," Bucky said. "Let's see if we can clear the front section. We still have twenty-eight more vampires to find."

: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :

Peggy's face looked up at him, and he could already hear her words of admonishment inside his head. "You better not miss our date on Friday. In fact, if you're not back by Thursday, I'll have to come down there and bring you out myself, and a fine story that will make for the top brass, won't it?"

I wish you were here, Peg, he thought back. And at the same time, I'm glad you're not. I don't know what I'd do if you got this sickness that Morita has. I'm trying not to think about it. I'm not a doctor. I can't do anything except keep him safe and comfortable right now. But… I'm worried that if he doesn't get help soon, we might lose him.

"Here, Steve," said Jacques. He held one of the canteens out. "You must drink. It is too hot in here, even for you, non?"

He snapped his compass closed, stored it safely in his belt, and accepted the flask. The water was warm and tasted like it had been in the bottle for days or more, but Jacques was right. Even he needed to stay hydrated.

"You know," said Monty, the emergency lighting giving his face a sickly green tinge, "I always thought I'd die because of a parachute failure."

"And you will," Steve assured him. "I mean, I hope you don't, but you'll have the chance to. Nobody is dyin' down here. Not on my watch."

The Major smiled. "I do appreciate your optimism."

"It's not optimism; it's a promise. We've drunk their water, breathed their air, and been spattered with their blood. Amongst other things." He shuddered. "I think if we were gonna get sick, it would've happened by now."

"What about Jim?"

He glanced over to Morita. The shorter man was sleeping fitfully. Or maybe the pain had finally caused him to pass out. Either way, he looked like death was knockin' on his door.

"We all came in together, and we'll all go out together," he replied. And if he couldn't save Morita's life, he could at least take his body back. Send him back home to his family, if the doctors would allow it. In not, then send his ashes back. But he wouldn't be left behind.

Monty smiled grimly, understanding that Steve wasn't promising to save his life. That was a promise nobody could make. "Nearly seven in the morning," he said, after consulting his wrist watch. "Hard to believe we've only been down here three hours, isn't it? It feels like an eternity. My family will probably be sitting down to breakfast right about now. My father likes to read the morning paper while he drinks his first cup of the of the day."

"Does he eat cold toast, too?" asked Jacques.

"Yes. It's the proper way to eat toast, after all. What about you, Jacques? What will your family be doing as we sit here contemplating our watery demise?"

"Gaspode, he will be going to his job at the bakery; the biggest bakery in Marseilles. He is saving, so that he may one day dream of owning his own bakery shop. But for now he works long and hard. Céleste… I have heard nothing since we left her in France with her Nazi lover." He looked like he wanted to spit in disgust, but thought better of it. "If she lives, I hope she lives happily."

"L… Lucy." The croaked word came from Morita, and the rest of the team were immediately on their feet. Steve rushed to kneel by his side.

"What did you say, Private?"

Morita opened his eyes a tiny fraction. The white were more reds, now. He'd stopped sweating, and his dry lips were starting to crack. "Sister. Lucy. You… can't date her." He licked his lips and moaned. "Dying."

"You're not well, I'll give you that," Steve agreed. "So save your strength. You might need it for the swim back to the surface, if we can't turn this tub over."

"No surface. Too much pain. Kill me now."

"Nobody's going to do that," Monty spoke up. "You need to get better. When we get back, I plan on setting Jacques here up on a date with your sister, so you need to recover your health if you want to put a stop to it. So no more quitter talk, okay?"

Morita's eyelids flickered closed as he fell back into his sleep.

"That's a good sign, right?" Steve asked. "That he's still in there. He can still think. Talk. Reason."

"It's a good sign," Jacques agreed. But he didn't sound convinced.

: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :

"I meant to call my folks," Bucky said, as they continued down the corridor. They'd killed two more Nazis, taking the remaining total unaccounted for down to twenty-six. Almost halfway there. "After our mission in Czechoslovakia, I was gonna call them. But then I kept forgetting. Let myself get distracted with drinking, and the next mission, then drinking again." Between the mission to Belgium, discovering Wells was alive, all the drama with Antje, and then the girl gettin' stabbed, he'd been too preoccupied to make the call. "I'm gonna do it as soon as I get home. No matter what time it is."

"Nothing makes you long for home like a brush with death," Dugan agreed. "Call 'em. I'm sure they'll be relieved to know their little Snow White is alive and well."

Bucky stopped and turned to face Dugan, lowering his gun. "Did you ever think that we'd get along a little better if you stopped calling me by fairytale princess names?"

"Did you ever think that I'd stop calling you fairytale princess names if you stopped acting like a fairytale princess?" he countered.

"I don't even know that that means! Seriously, why do you even do it? Have I ever asked anyone to shine my shoes for me? Or shirked my duties? I spent months digging trenches for foxholes and burial detail and latrine pits, months marching through France and Italy, shooting Krauts, carrying heavy shit, burying friends. So what is it? Is my body count not high enough for you? Are my boots a little too clean? What?"

"You really don't know? Huh." Dugan used the muzzle of his pistol to scratch an itch on his cheek where a trickle of sweat ran down his skin. Lunatic. "Let me put it this way. You've never had to struggle for anything, have you?"

"I'm struggling to not punch you right now."

"That's not what I mean. You see the world from what I would call a position of privilege. You're smart. Athletic. And from what I've heard about your family, they're good folks. Raised you well. Provided for you. You're used to getting what you want. Even if times were lean on occasion, you never knew deprivation; not true deprivation. You never had to make the choice between being warm or being fed. Never had to fight for a scrap of bread. Never went to bed wondering if you'd be able to eat anything the next day. Never stood in line waiting for a job, only to be told there were no jobs for you. Now, I'm not saying you're not a hard worker. You are. You work as hard as anyone I know. Harder than many. And I've no doubt you were a diligent student and put full effort into everything you did in your life. But you've had things easy. Very easy."

"You call me princess names because I was fortunate? Because I had a good childhood, and parents who earned enough money to keep us well fed and well clothed?"

Dugan blew a snort of air through his moustache. "No, I call you princess names because when things don't work out the way you like, you act like a spoilt princess. Until you got to the army, I'm guessing you never encountered a situation that didn't work out in your favour, right?"

"And what's wrong with that?" He raised his chin defiantly. Dugan was coming dangerously close to insulting his parents. "My folks taught me that anything can be achieved through hard work and dedication."

"Which is all fine and dandy for civvie life, but this is war. Sometimes no amount of hard work can make a situation go your way. I have seen you continually fail to understand that, time and time again. Then you have a strop about it. Hence the nicknames."

"I don't strop." Did he? No. That didn't sound like him at all. Dugan was just not used to dealing with people who didn't solve their issues through arm wrestling. That was all. To be sure, he'd ask Wells, when he got back. Wells would not lie to him about this. Not that there was anything to lie about, because he definitely did not strop.

"Sure you don't. Anyway, let's crack on. We've still got a few pasty guys left to find."

Bucky resumed point, lifting his weapon before him. Maybe there was a tiny speck of truth to Dugan's words. A teensie, tiny speck. He and his siblings had been privileged. Dad was one of the first out of all his friends' dads to own a car. Mom successfully juggled working and raising a family with all the household chores. If Charlie had worn Bucky's hand-me-downs, and Janet had worn Mary-Ann's, it was because they were items that had seen little wear and still had many months or years left in them. Whenever he came home from school, he'd only had to ask, what's for dinner tonight? Never, will there be any dinner tonight?

Not everyone on the team had had things so easy. From the casual and not-so-casual racism experienced by Gabe and Jim, to the struggles of Dugan growing up as a young boy in a travelling carnival, to Steve's often bare kitchen cupboard, and Jacques'… well… criminal record. Of course, that did leave one team member who'd had a cushier life than Bucky.

"How come Monty doesn't get called fairytale princess names?" he asked. "Forget the silver spoon, the guy was born with an entire set of silver cutlery in his mouth."

"Because Monty handles adversity with dignity and grace, not sulks, and if you ever tell him I said that I'll break all your fingers."

Bucky swallowed his reply as they arrived at two doors, one that led directly ahead, and one to its left. Like all the other doors they'd encountered, they were upside down. But unlike all the others, they were closed and locked in place. "We didn't close any doors yet, did we?"

"No, we didn't. So who closed these? And more importantly, what's behind them?"

"Watch our six for a minute," he said. Dugan nodded, and Bucky put his ear against one of the doors. No sound reached his ears, but then, it was a solid steel door. Maybe sound wasn't able to get through. He tapped the door with his knuckles, and then with his gun. Yep. Definitely a door. Just for the sake of completion, he gave the other door the same treatment. Listened with his ear against it, tapped a couple of times. When he tapped with his gun, this door made a different sound. Lower. Deeper. "Hey, this one sounds different to the other." He rattled the handle, but it appeared to be stuck. "Come and give me a hand to get it open."

"Don't open that door!"

Bucky froze. The voice, clearly accented German, came from behind the other door, the one that he'd tapped first. If there was someone inside, why hadn't he answered at the knock?

"Who's in there?" he called out.

"Who is out there?" the voice returned. A man's voice. A terrified man's voice.

"We're American soldiers," Bucky replied. "We found your U-boat floating off the coast of England and came to investigate what had happened to it."

"England?! Mein Gott."

"How many of you in there?" Dugan called. "And are any of you sick?"

"I am alone. And not sick. You've seen the rest of the crew, then? The ones that were not killed for food? Wait, you did not let them off the boat, did you?"

"We've seen them," Bucky agreed. "Killed a lot of them. Haven't let any off the boat. Will you open your door so we can speak face to face? I don't know if you're aware, but your submarine is kinda upside down right now."

"I am aware. And I will open the door. But I warn you, I am armed. If you're not who you say you are, I won't hesitate to shoot you."

"That's fine, we're armed too. I'm stepping back so you can come out, but I want you to come out slowly. No sudden movements. It's been a long morning."

Both he and Dugan took a step back and raised their guns as the door handle began to turn. It opened to reveal a uniformed Kraut; the insignia on his arm said he held the rank of Gefreiter, one of the lowest ranks of enlisted personnel. He was also armed with two pistols, sweatier than Jacques in a plane, and judging by the dark rings below his brown eyes, probably hadn't slept in days.

"What's your name, sailor?" Bucky asked him.

"Wagner," he replied. "Gefreiter Karl Wagner."

"Well, Wagner, I'm Sergeant Bucky Barnes, and this is Sergeant Dum Dum Dugan. And today is your lucky day."

His eyes darted from Bucky to Dugan and back again. "It is? Why?"

"Because we're gonna give you the chance to surrender your weapons without shooting you."

"I prefer to stay armed."

Dugan took a step forward. "And we prefer you didn't."

"Look," Bucky spoke up. "There's only one way off this boat, and it's currently being guarded by the rest of our team, so even if you shot us, it wouldn't help you. Surrender your weapons, come with us, and we'll get an extra oxygen rebreather sent down so you can come with us when we leave. Or help us get your sub working, and we can all just sail to safety."

"I would not help you fix the boat even if I could." He turned over his weapons then sank down onto the floor, his eyes staring wearily at the other door, the one he'd warned Bucky against opening. "The engines are damaged and the hull is compromised. We are taking on water. So far, the door is holding, but if it fails…"

Dugan stepped back from the door, and Bucky was only a heartbeat behind him. "You mean there's water? In there?"

"Yes. The entire section is flooded."

"How. Why?"

"Wait a minute," Bucky said. "Start at the beginning. What were you doing off of Norway?"

Wagner took a deep, steadying breath and ran a hand through his ash-blond hair. It was very likely that what was left of his last nerve was close to fraying. "We were mapping the ocean floor; I don't know why. This is only my first mission, nobody tells me anything!"

"Odd to use a sub for mapping, isn't it?" Dugan asked. "Why not use a boat?"

"Boats are too exposed," the Kraut offered. "The British have many planes now, yes? An unterseeboot can operate without being detected."

"Okay, so you were mapping out the sea from Norway to Germany," Bucky said, and Wagner nodded. "What went wrong first? The crew getting sick, or the boat going upside down?"

"The sickness." The young man frowned. And he really was a young man, probably no older than nineteen or twenty. "The scientist fell sick first. We assumed it was sea-sickness; he was clearly not at home in the water."

"What scientist?"

"A last minute addition to the crew." Wagner shrugged. "I thought it unusual. We are not a passenger vessel, and we were not due home for two weeks, but this man came to our dock with papers explaining that he had to urgently board our vessel and go with us to Germany. He was on an important research mission for a man named Herr Schmidt, who is a close adviser of Hitler."

"We know who he is," said Dugan through clenched teeth. "Did he bring anything aboard with him, this scientist? Any animals?"

"No. Only a briefcase." He paused his explanation for a moment and a frown graced his forehead. "Now that I think more about it, I do not understand why he brought only one case. Where was his luggage? His fresh clothing and shoes? His personal effects? The briefcase was not deep enough to hold these things, and it was light enough that a gust of wind almost snatched it from his hand. That made him panic as he came aboard."

"Is he still alive?" Bucky asked him.

Wagner shook his head. "He was shot. It was about three days into our survey, and all was quiet. No sign of enemy ships above. The scientist—nobody told me his name—went to the medical lab complaining of cold and feeling unwell. Our medic treated him, but he returned the next day and bit the man. After that he was restrained, but it was too late. We did not know the doctor was infected until he had attacked several of the crew as they lay sleeping in their bunks." Wagner's voice cracked as he relived his memory. "Those crewmen started killing, using their fingernails and teeth to rip open the throats of their victims, drinking their blood as if it was water. Those that managed to escape with what we thought were only minor injuries were themselves infected. By the end of the third day of that, six days into our survey, fifteen of the crew had been ripped apart and killed, including our kommodore."

That took the number of crew unaccounted for down to eleven. With Wagner here, that made it ten.

"On the seventh day, there were not enough of us left to manage the boat. Oberstleutnant Howaldt was the only one who knew how to pilot it; the rest of us were lower ranks and untrained in day to day operations, and we still had many infected crewmen to dodge as we tried to move about the ship and help in whatever way we could. I think the oberstleutnant could not keep the boat on course, and we began to drift. On day eight, we hit a depth charge that damaged our engines and weakened several of the protective plates on part of the hull. We began taking on water, and the boat began to roll." He gestured to the door in front of him. "Three of my friends were in there, and I had to close it on them. I drowned them to save the rest of us. That was four days ago."

So. Three more dead. That left seven unaccounted for, one of them the ship's second in command.

"Tell me something, Kraut," Dugan said. "A couple of hours ago, we sent out a message over the ship's communication system. Why didn't you respond, or come find us? Why did you seem surprised to find a couple of Americans knockin' on your door?"

"Because I thought I was imagining it," said Wagner. "After I closed that door on my friends, I locked myself in the oxygen recycler room and have been on my own for four days with little food and less water, in this insufferable heat. Yours would not be the first voices I have heard speaking to me over these past days. My grandfather was particularly convincing; had he not been dead several years by now, I might even have listened to him."

"Speaking of the heat," Bucky said, "what's going on with the temperature controls. Why is it so hot?"

"I don't know. Several sick crew members complained of being cold. I assume one of them gained control of that system and turned the heat up as far as it would go."

"What do you know about the sickness?" He'd take anything that might help Morita, even the word of a Kraut.

"Little. It seemed to spread very quickly. Within hours of contracting the illness, the sick crew became violent. I saw one wrench the leg clean off a body and suck at the veins inside. Once, when I was moving quietly and trying to avoid them, I saw a group of them eating the boat."

"Eating the whatnow?" asked Dugan.

"They were pulling some of the sheeting from the walls, trying to eat it. I did not stay to see how successful they were."

Maybe that explained why Bucky had spotted one of them trying to chow down on the hand rail. Or rather, didn't explain it, but at least made it less of a one-off. Could they be trying to eat their way out of the sub? Surely there were better tools for the job than their own teeth.

"Earlier, you said you wouldn't help us even if you could. Why not? Don't you wanna escape this place?"

"Of course I want to escape!" Something like genuine anger flared briefly in the man's voice. "I have dreamed of it. But it's too dangerous to expose the rest of the world to this sickness. I joined the Kriegsmarine to serve my country, to help protect my family. I won't risk them by unleashing this sickness on the world."

"We should report back to Steve," Bucky told his teammate. "I know he'll wanna hear all this for himself. And he might have news from Jones."

"Yeah. You'll be coming with us, Fritz."

"My name is Wagner, not Fritz."

"Tell that to someone who cares, 'cos it sure as hell ain't me. This may not have hit you yet, but you're our prisoner now. If you don't like it, we can lock you back in that room, but you won't have your weapons this time."

"I will come," Wagner said. "I hope your leader will listen to reason."