We Were Soldiers

18. Matilda

Steve's never gonna believe this.

The thought hit Bucky as he reached the camp's perimeter in the late afternoon. Since leaving Plymouth, he'd been either too busy or too dog-tired to write letters, but the next time they made camp, he would make the effort. He couldn't tell Steve where he was, of course, but the tale of how he'd found Matilda might make it through the army's censors. And in a few months, that letter might reach an official post point, clear the V-mail system and eventually reach Steve. He could already picture his friend's expression as he read the letter; a dry smile, accompanied by a thought of 'I should be there.'

I wish you were here too, pal. Everyone here's crazy. I'm the only sane person in the company.

The trio weren't challenged as they crossed the camp's perimeter, but they received some open-mouthed stares from the men in their foxholes. One guy's cigarette even dropped right outta his mouth, and he didn't realise until it started smoldering on his pants.

A short way in, they came across a group of 69th Infantry playing a game of hoop toss. They were using tent pegs as a base, but Bucky had no idea what they'd salvaged for hoops. As his team passed by, Dugan looked over and offered them a wide grin.

"Wow, you boys move fast. It takes most women nine months to make one of those, but you've only been gone a few hours."

Wells halted briefly to reply. "In the words of the wise and learned Pliny the Elder: 'Fuck you, Dugan.'"

The 69th merely continued laughing until Bucky's team were out of hearing range.

"Wells, you can't use that sort of language around Matilda," he admonished. Mom was always real adamant about Dad not using bad language around Bucky and his siblings when they were kids. Said it wasn't a good thing for young, impressionable minds to hear. Swearing like a trooper was okay for actual troopers, but it had no place in the family home.

"She's a f—" Wells quickly changed tack when Bucky scowled at him, "—that is to say, she's a darned baby. She's not gonna remember this."

"You don't know that. Even if she doesn't remember the words, she might remember the sentiment that goes with them."

"I would be extremely happy if the first words out of Matilda's mouth were to tell Dugan to go fornicate with himself."

"Um, Sarge, what are we gonna tell the colonel?" Gusty asked quietly. The team was drawing more stares. It wasn't every day a guy walked into camp with a baby in his arms.

"Leave that to me, Gusty," said Bucky. "It was my mission. I'll go and report back, while you and Wells take Matilda to the hospital tent. Better gimme those slugs you pulled from the bodies, too. The colonel might want Stark to take a look at them."

"Right."

They stopped to switch packages. Finally, Wells had his M1 back, Bucky had his SSR-01 back, and Matilda was quietly sleeping in Wells' arms. Bucky took a second to rearrange the triangular blanket around her face, then issued some instructions to his friends.

"Tell the nurses that she's been fed and changed, but she'll probably need a bottle of milk right away. She's likely dehydrated—tell them what we gave her back where we found her—and they might want to keep an eye on her temperature, in case she's got heat stroke. Oh, and—"

"Barnes, I'm sure the nurses will know exactly what to do with her. They're dames. This is what they do." Bucky saw a thousand new ideas flicker behind Wells' eyes as one corner of his mouth quirked up into a half-grin. "Hey, do you think Agent Carter likes babies?"

"You can't use Matilda to increase your chances with dames. It's unethical."

"You're just envious you didn't think of it first."

They really are all crazy, Steve, Bucky thought to his absent friend. Must be something in that New York water. The Eagles never seemed as crazy as the guys I gotta serve with. The 69th seem pretty normal. Is it me? Am I just a crazy-people magnet?

"I'll come by and check on Matilda as soon as the colonel's done chewing my ear off," he promised. "Stay with her until then, okay?"

Wells rolled his eyes, but didn't otherwise object, and Gusty gave a reluctant nod. Bucky left them, and wondered how much of his instruction would reach the nurses. Probably not a damn word, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Opening his hand, he looked down at the tiny, deformed blobs of metal. Hard to believe that something this small could end a life. That one day, real soon, he'd be shooting these things into people. Hurting them. Killing them. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he resumed his walk through the camp.

Outside the command tent, he halted and took a deep, calming breath. Sure, he hadn't technically completed his mission, but there had been a good reason. Colonel Phillips would understand.

He pushed himself into the tent, where Phillips was in quiet conversation with Stark and Hawkswell about something tank related. Phillips looked up as Bucky entered and swiftly saluted; the man's face was a craggy but blank mask.

"Sergeant, either you're the fastest soldier I ever laid eyes on, or you're about to give me bad news. Which is it?"

He's not gonna understand. Shit.

"Sir. We reconnoitred approximately half of the distance you indicated, but then we hit a… minor problem."

"How minor a problem are we talking here, Sergeant? A washed out bridge is a minor problem. An entire German armoured brigade marching in in this direction is a somewhat larger than minor problem."

Bucky hesitated for a moment, waiting to see whether Phillips sent Stark away. Stark was a civilian, and regardless of whatever clearance he possessed, he probably wasn't supposed to hear the minutiae of every mission. But Phillips didn't seem to care what Stark heard, so Bucky ploughed on.

"We found a couple of civilians who'd been shot, sir. They'd been dead at least a day, and there was a baby with them. Still alive."

"A baby?"

"They're tiny little people, Colonel," Stark explained.

"I know what a baby is, Stark," Phillips shot back. He returned his gaze to Bucky's face, and it did not look pleased. "This story's gonna end with my battalion having one more mouth to feed, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." He straightened up as much as he could. "The only choice we had was take the baby with us, or leave it to die. I chose the former. But there was no chance of completing the mission with a screaming kid along for the ride. We came back as fast as we could, and I'm prepared to take my team back out there to finish the job, sir."

Phillips glanced to Stark, who offered a tiny shrug.

"Gimme eighteen hours and I'll have the Nautilus operating under its own impulsion." Nautilus was the nickname Stark had given to the tank that had fallen into the Rhône. He was determined to prove he could salvage it. Until now, it had been towed by one of the other tanks.

"Alright, you got your eighteen hours. Sergeant, did you find anything else of note? I'll send a fresh team, but there's no point them covering the same ground twice."

Bucky leant down over the map on the table and pointed to where he'd found the bodies.

"The map up to this point was pretty accurate. There wasn't anything worthy of note. About here, the forest gets thicker. I figure those people who were shot must've lived somewhere close by, but I didn't see anywhere obvious."

"What about German patrols?"

"Not a single sign of them, sir." He pulled the bullets from the pocket where he'd stashed them and held them out. "We extracted these from the bodies. I thought we might be able to find out where they came from. If they're German ammunition, we'll know there's hostiles close by."

"Stark, take a look and see what you can find out," Phillips instructed.

"Hardly a challenge, but sure," the scientist said, taking the slugs from Bucky's hand.

"Is there anything else, Sergeant?"

Bucky opened his mouth to say 'no sir,' but stopped. So far he'd avoided the angry and sarcastic chewing-out he'd been expecting. Discussing what had happened further might be akin to poking a sleeping bear, but he needed to know if he'd done the wrong thing. Nothing in boot camp had covered anything like this.

"Sir, is there an… ah… official policy, on how to handle this type of situation in future?"

"No, Sergeant, there is no official policy on leaving babies to die versus completing your mission. Lucky for you it wasn't a life or death mission. Lucky for you, the entire war didn't hinge on your reconnaissance. As for how to handle this sort of situation in the future? Pray that you never again have to. You're dismissed, Sergeant. And on your way out, please send a runner for Sergeant Haven. Maybe he can finish the job you started."

"Sir." Bucky saluted, relief washing over him. That could have gone worse. Much worse. At least the colonel hadn't shouted.

He stopped the first Private he came across and instructed him to bring Haven to Phillips, then put all thoughts of his failure out of his mind. All was quiet around the hospital tent, and when Bucky stepped inside he found Gusty and Wells standing aside as a group of nurses clustered around the baby, which was currently being fed a bottle of formula milk.

"How's Matilda?" he asked.

"Very dehydrated," one of the nurses accused, before either of the men could even open their mouths. She made it sound like it was his fault.

"Will she be okay?"

"She's a little underweight, but she should be fully recovered, in a few days."

"Great." He watched the nurses cooing over her. Mary-Ann had done the same over Janet. Must be a dame thing. Matilda certainly didn't seem to mind the attention, but then, she was so fixed on drinking her milk that she was probably oblivious to anything else. "Can I give her the rest of her bottle?"

As one, the heads of the nurses came up and looked at him as if he'd just asked if he could use her in Dugan's hoop toss game, in lieu of actual hoops.

"C'mon, I know what I'm doing," he promised. "I used to do this for my brother and sister all the time." And surely it can't take six of you to feed one baby.

"Oh, very well," the nurse holding Matilda sighed. "But be sure to support her head."

"I know." He accepted the baby, and Matilda barely even batted an eye when she was transferred into a fresh pair of arms. As long as the milk kept flowing, she was happy. "Where did you get the milk from, anyway?"

"We always carry a small supply of formula, in case of emergencies."

"What did the colonel say?" Wells asked. He pointedly stared at the nurses, leaving no doubt that this was important top-secret soldier business, until they retreated to the other side of the tent.

"Not much," Bucky said. "He's sending some guy named Haven to finish the recon."

"You're lucky. If it were me reporting that, I would'a got chewed up and spit out all the way across other side of the camp."

"What did he say about the bullets, Sarge?" asked Gusty.

"He's having Stark take a look at them. For now, it sounds like we're gonna be here until tomorrow."

"Can I go sleep now, then?" The corporal let out a fake yawn for emphasis. "I could really do with forty winks. Or sixty."

"Sure, go get some sleep. Will you take my rifle back to the tent, though?"

"And mine," added Wells, tossing his M1 over. "I'd rather have food than sleep, and it'll be dinner time soon."

"You wanna hold Matilda?" Bucky asked him, as Gusty departed with their weapons.

"Pft, no."

"Y'sure?"

Wells rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm sure, Barnes. That thing has had so much milk put in it that I bet it explodes real soon."

"Yeah, she'll probably be a bit gassy."

He watched the baby as she drank contentedly. Now that her face wasn't scrunched up in a scream, he could see that her eyes were blue. It was hard to tell whether she was focusing on his face, or his hand. He liked to think that she recognised him as the guy who'd picked her up and fed her her first meal, but he knew that his face was probably just an indistinct blur to her tiny, new eyes.

A furtive noise by the entrance made him look up. Carrot, Tipper and Hawkins had crept into the hospital tent, and were clustered together, their body language oozing conspiratorial guilt. They approached with poorly concealed grins, and stood in front of Bucky with much shuffling of feet, looking for all the world like a group of schoolboys being forced to talk to dames for the first time.

"What is it?" Bucky asked them.

"Well, the thing is," Carrot began, and Tipper let out a snicker. Hawkins shushed him, a foolish grin on his face. "Y'see, we just wanted to say…" Tipper stepped forward, and brought out a large bunch of wildflowers he'd been concealing behind his back, "...congratulations on your new arrival, Mrs. Barnes."

All three burst out laughing. They slapped each other on the back and hugged their sides in pain until they finally managed to exert a little control. But even then, they looked like they might burst out in hysterics again at any moment.

"You guys are goddamn hilarious," Bucky told them drily.

"And on latrine pit duty for the next week," Wells added. "If you've time to pick flowers, you've time to dig trenches and bury sh—" Bucky glared, "—excrement. For godssake, Barnes."

Not a single one of them objected. Apparently, the punishment was worth it. And they were still grinning like idiots.

"Sarge, can I hold the baby?" Carrot asked.

"What do you wanna hold it for?" asked Wells.

"Samantha wants lots of kids when we're eventually married. I figure this will be good practise."

"Alright, Carrot," Bucky agreed. "Make a cradle with your arms, and I'll show you how to hold her right so that her head's supported." He placed Matilda in Carrot's arms and handed control of the bottle over. The baby didn't even seem to notice she'd been traded again.

"Like this?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"She seems really hungry. Do all babies drink this much?"

"Most of them," he nodded. Charlie certainly had. "Several times a day. And sometimes during the night, as well."

"Well, I can't wait for all that stuff," Carrot said happily. "Even the sleepless nights. Samantha wants two boys and two girls. She's got the names picked out and everything."

"For what it's worth, I think you'll make a great dad," Bucky smiled at him.

"Thanks, Sarge. It means a lot that you think that."

"Ugh," Wells grunted. "If you guys are finished playing house, can we go stand in the queue for the mess? Dinner's in twenty minutes, and all I've had since breakfast is those horrible K-ration biscuits."

"I like those," objected Hawkins. "They remind me of something my great aunt used to make."

"Good cook was she, your great aunt?"

"Lord no! She was a terrible cook. But we had some good times at her house. Me, and Drew, and Betsy. I remember this one time—"

"Ah!" Wells halted him with a raised finger. "I'm not doing nostalgia until I'm in a queue for food."

"Fine, we'll go stand in the damn queue," Bucky sighed. Besides, Matilda was nearly finished with her bottle, and he knew from experience that babies usually brought up a little of what went in. Kids were well and good at this size when they were quiet or feeding, but when screaming or being sick, they were a whole lot less fun. And if Carrot saw how messy babies could be, it might put him off having even one. Poor Samantha would be forever disappointed.

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

Bucky pushed a piece of potato around his plate, watching it make waves in the too-runny gravy. Weasel piss, Weiss called it. Liquid brown. Gravy-flavoured water. And he wasn't far wrong. But, for once, Bucky didn't care that much about the state of the gravy. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw two dead bodies, and it was worrying him that he wasn't more worried about that.

Death was on his mind, and had been since leaving the hospital. Until now, he'd had something else to deal with. Keeping Matilda alive and quiet. Getting his team back. Reporting his failure to the colonel. Seeing that Matilda was okay. Now, when his body had stopped, his mind had started.

Should he have made an effort to bury the people who'd been shot? He assumed they were Matilda's parents, but with no ID on either of them, he would never know. If they were her parents, that meant she was an orphan, now. What would happen to her? Hell, Matilda wasn't even her real name. What was her real name? Had her parents lovingly named her in some family tradition? Or had they been waiting for inspiration to strike when they'd been killed? Did she have brothers or sisters out there somewhere?

His melancholy thoughts turned to home. Not to Steve this time, but to his own parents. In his mind, he saw them now as he had when he was younger: strong, unshakable, independent, timeless. His parents were like the sky, or the river, or the city itself. They were just there. They had always been there. And they would always be there.

Except… they wouldn't. He could recall with perfect clarity the day he had left home for Camp Shanks. The flecks of grey in his father's hair thick but receding brown hair. The crease lines creeping across his mother's cheeks as she hugged him goodbye and made him promise to take care. His parents weren't old, but they were older. With each day that passed, time would take another day from their lives, until eventually, they would have no more days left. Like Matilda's parents, they would be gone.

He'd always assumed that his mom's insistence on finding him a 'nice girl' to settle down with stemmed from some inherent need to be a busybody. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe, when she looked into the mirror, she saw time creeping up on her, too. Maybe she was simply all too aware of how finite time was, and wanted to see her children settled with children of their own before time stole all of her days for good.

The thought that one day his parents would not be there choked him up, sticking a lump in his throat that he couldn't clear no matter how much gravy-flavoured water he swallowed to try and wash it down. He tried to tell himself that he was fortunate. That he was lucky to have two healthy, happy parents. He was luckier than Steve, who'd never known his dad and had lost his mom years ago. Luckier than Matilda, who would grow up never knowing who her parents were.

A pity I can't send her home, he thought. Then mom could go back to having another kid to raise, and maybe she'd stop nagging at me to settle down.

He didn't finish his dinner. He couldn't. For the first time since leaving home, he wished he'd hugged his mom a little longer. That he'd taken a moment to tell his dad how much he appreciated everything he'd done for him. That he'd told Mary-Ann and Janet how much he loved them, and Charlie how proud he was of his brother's achievements. What if something happened to them, while he was gone? He'd never doubted that he would return home from the war, but he'd also never considered that they wouldn't be there waiting for him.

After dinner, he left the mess with a group from the 107th, but hung back as they set off towards the regiment's tent.

"I'm just gonna check on Matilda before turning in," he said.

"Why?" Wells asked. "It's not like she's going anywhere."

"I just wanna make sure she's okay."

His friend shrugged. "Alright. I'll come too. I don't trust you not to tell her tall tales about her Uncle Danny in my absence."

"She's a baby, Wells. Even if I told her tales, she wouldn't remember them."

"Then why'd you have me drop the cussing around her?"

"Common decency, that's why."

The darkness inside the hospital tent was kept at bay by several slow-burning oil lamps dotted here and there. Two nurses were on duty, one of them tending to a soldier's blistered foot. So far, blisters, sunburns and bee stings were the worst they'd had to see to. So far, they'd been lucky.

Matilda was sleeping quietly in a small cot that had been made out of a trough of some sort. She'd been washed and wrapped in a grey blanket, and lay sprawled in that unique way only babies could manage, limbs out at angles that would have been worrying on an adult. Maybe he really could send her home. After all, nobody knew who she was, or where she came from. It was impractical for a baby to travel with an army that could come under attack at any moment. And his mom had already raised four kids; how difficult could one more be?

Wells perched himself on the edge of an empty hospital bed while Bucky stood beside the cot. "Glad we stopped by; I think she's grown a whole millimetre over dinner," Wells quipped. "You really had to go through all of this with your brother and sisters?"

"Yeah." He hadn't seen it as a chore, at the time, except maybe when he would have preferred being outside, playing with Steve, or at the park, tossing a ball for his dog. And even then, it had been a labour of love, as much as a burden. Younger siblings might be a pain in the ass at times, but he was their big brother. It was his job to look after them, and always had been. "Don't you wish you had younger brothers or sisters?"

"No." The answer came out flat, with no room for compromise. Bucky was prevented from questioning his friend further by the arrival of Sergeant Weiss. The grizzled man strode into the tent and made a beeline for the cot. He looked ready to trample right over anyone who stood in his way, so Bucky decided it was prudent to step aside.

"Where's this baby I hear you've collected?"

"Err, here," Bucky said. "Why?"

"Because I wanna look, that's why. You gotta problem with that?"

"Um, no."

Weiss strode over and peered down into the cot. Then he reached down and picked Matilda up, cradling her in his arms before Bucky could even open his mouth to tell the guy to support her head.

"Go on then," Wells sighed, "let's hear it."

"Hear what?"

"Whatever joke you think is funny. Between Dugan and the 107th, we've heard a few of them today."

"Y'know why those other guys take the piss?"

Bucky hazarded a guess. "Because they're jerks?"

"No. Well, yes. But no. It's because they've never had kids. Nobody who's had kids would make jokes, because they'd know what it's like to be in your position." It was odd. Weiss' face seemed to actually soften as he gently rocked Matilda in his arms. It was like seeing rock morph into a slightly less hard rock. "Colonel chewed you out?"

"Just a little."

"Hmph. Don't listen to him. You did the right thing, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If it were my kid out there, and somebody just walked on past and left her, I'd punch him for it." Bucky nodded. Punching people seemed to be Weiss' answer for a lot of hypothetical scenarios, but he'd never seen the guy actually punch someone. "What's her name?"

"Matilda."

"Nice name."

"I picked it," Wells added.

"I fed her," Bucky countered.

"She likes me better, though. I can just tell."

"Wells, you don't even like kids," he scoffed.

"It's not that I don't like them, per se, it's just that I don't have any experience of them."

"Shhh!" Weiss scowled at them both. "Keep your voices down. You wanna wake her up?"

"Ah, forget this," Wells grumbled. "I'm going to bed. C'mon, Barnes, Matilda will still be here in the morning."

"You go ahead, I'll catch you up."

"It's been a long time since I held a kid this small," said Weiss, after Wells had left. He put Matilda back down in her cot, and the baby didn't even stir. "Sometimes it feels like they'll be tiny forever. And other times, it feels like they grow up so quickly that you'll miss it all if you blink. Especially the girls. Christ, they grow up twice as fast as boys. Don't ask me why, or how, they just do. Matilda here will be breaking hearts while we're still tramping around what passes for the French wilderness."

Bucky nodded. He'd never been a parent, but he'd been an older brother. Watched Charlie and Janet grow up right before his eyes. Now Charlie was leaving for college, and Janet was as much a woman as a girl. He could still remember the long, sleepless nights of colic, but those times felt like a lifetime ago.

"Do you miss your family?" he asked.

"Every damn minute of every damn day. But if my being here means they get to spend another night in safety and freedom, it's a sacrifice worth making. Duty, honour, patriotism; they're a boy's ideals. They're something to fight for when you're too dumb to realise what you've really got to fight for."

Bucky merely nodded. When he'd first signed up, he'd used the same reason as everyone else standing in that line at the registration desk. It's my duty. It seemed the right thing to say, because everybody else was saying it. Serve my country. But underneath it all, beneath the clichés, he'd seen one thing in his mind, over and over again. Pearl Harbor, on a larger scale. He'd seen those Japanese suicide planes hitting New York. Destroying his home. Killing his family. The Pacific Theater was a tough gig; everybody knew it, and yet everybody wanted it. Sure, Hitler was a Jew-hating fascist, but it was the Japanese who'd prodded the sleeping dragon. Everybody in that line had spoken of getting out there and paying them back, Bucky included. But for him, it wasn't just about revenge. It was about keeping his family safe. About stopping the enemy before they could strike closer to home. Before they could destroy everything he loved.

Before leaving, he took one last look at the sleeping Matilda. Just a baby, only a few days old, and the war had already destroyed her life. How many more would be destroyed, before it was finally over?

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

"What are you fighting for?" he asked the next morning. Lying supine on his camp bed, arms cushioned behind his head, his view was of dull khaki above. Dim sunlight filtered in through the small, plastic-covered tent windows, but the gentle patter of rain on canvas eradicated any desire he had to move from his bed.

"I see it as my duty," Carrot said immediately. It was the answer Bucky had been expecting. It was a very Steve answer. And it made him a little sad.

"Duty to what?"

"To, erm, fight?"

"He means, what are you fighting for?" Wells elaborated in a bored tone. He had a book out, but didn't seem to be paying it close attention.

"I'm fighting for… duty?"

Bucky rolled over onto his stomach and fixed the corporal with his stare. "But you have a beautiful girl waiting for you back home. Don't you have a duty to be with her, too?"

The puzzled frown on Carrot's face was swiftly replaced by a look of relief. "Oh, I get it. This is a test. Don't worry, Sarge, I'm not goin' AWOL. Not me."

"What about you, Gusty?" Bucky asked, giving up on Carrot. The guy just didn't get it.

"I figured it would be a good way to learn some new skills," Gusty replied. "'Course, I also figured I'd get some cushy assignment. Maybe the Quartermaster Corps, or Signals. Never thought I'd end up as Infantry. Kinda too late for regrets though, right?"

"Hawkins? Why'd you sign up?"

"Well, this might sound stupid, but growing up, I always wished I had more in common with Drew. I figured signing up would mean we'd have plenty to talk about. You know, common ground. And maybe if I'd been through some of the same stuff as him, he'd finally stop treating me like a little kid."

"That doesn't sound stupid at all," Bucky assured him. "How 'bout you, Wells?"

"Travel the world on someone else's dime and get paid for doing it."

"Bullshit," he scoffed.

Wells propped himself up, closing his book and aiming a questioning glance at Bucky. "Alright then; why'd I sign up?"

"I dunno. But it's gotta be something more than money."

"You overestimate my motivation."

"I can definitely see you signing up for the money, Sarge," Carrot said.

"See?" A gloating smile dawned on Wells' face. "Listen to the man. He might not be right about a lot, but he's right about this."

Bucky didn't get chance to argue the point any further. A face appeared from the tent flap; a private from one of the other regiments.

"Sergeant Barnes? Colonel Hawkswell wants to see you in the command tent."

Great. Just what he needed. Either a new mission or a new chewing out, and he hadn't even had breakfast yet. So far, army life was turning out to be grossly over-hyped.

"Alright, I'm on my way," he sighed, reaching for his shirt.

For once, his feet didn't kick up dust as he made his way through the camp. Despite the early hour, the most well-used paths were already halfway to being churned to mud. He wouldn't have minded the rain if it had brought a reprieve from the heat, but now it wasn't just hot; it was humid. Unpleasantly so.

Hawkswell was waiting for him in the command tent. Where Phillips was, and how Hawkswell had managed to shed himself of Dancing, Bucky did not know, and he didn't ask, either. He merely saluted and stood to attention, waiting to be told why he'd been summoned.

"Sergeant, you have a new… mission." The word left Hawkswell's mouth like it tasted bad, and there was a disdainful twist to his lips which made Bucky's hopes sink. "This baby that you found yesterday… it can't stay with the battalion. Even if we had the resources to care for it, our mission is too important to risk the distraction of a civilian presence."

"Yessir," Bucky agreed, as his hopes sank further. He knew it had always been a long shot, but he'd really hoped that he'd see Matilda grow a little, before this campaign, whatever this campaign was, was over.

Hawkswell walked over to a map on the table, directing Bucky's gaze to it. "About a day's march ago, we passed a small settlement." He squinted at the map. "Aureille. You're to take the baby there, and find somebody to take her in. In the meantime, we'll be packing up camp and marching to the next campsite, here. You're to meet us en route."

Bucky opened and closed his mouth several times. Thoughts flitted through his head like sparrows through the trees. Colonel Hawkswell wanted him to leave Matilda with strangers? To just take her to the nearest town and literally dump her there, like she was some unwanted dog, rather than a human being? It didn't seem fair. It didn't seem right. But military etiquette kicked in. It wasn't his place to question his orders. A successful army relied upon a clear chain of command. There could be no dissension.

"Sir. Can I take a jeep?"

Hawkswell gave a sharp nod. "And your team from yesterday. Try to keep a low profile. Go, find someone to take the baby, don't give away anything which might inform of our location or destination, then get out sharp. According to our intel, there's no permanent Nazi presence in Aureille, but that doesn't mean there won't be patrols. And under no circumstances are you to return with that baby. Or any other baby. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good. You're dismissed, Sergeant."

He saluted and about-faced, leaving as fast as his legs would carry him, and as slow as he thought he could get away with. It was stupid. He oughta carry out his mission without a second thought. Follow like a good soldier. But he couldn't help the feeling in his gut. The feeling that told him this was a bad idea. And he couldn't help feeling responsible for the tiny life that was about to be handed over to strangers. He'd taken Matilda from the arms of her dead mother, given her food, brought her to safety… saved her life. And now his would be the hands that gave her away.

But maybe that was for the best. He couldn't trust anybody else with this. Couldn't trust somebody else to do what was right for Matilda. Bucky could do what was right. He could scour Aureille for the best damn parents a kid could ever want. And he wouldn't let Matilda out of his arms until he knew she would be taken care of. Until he knew she would grow up loved and treasured, just as he had been.

Author's note: Thank you, recent guest reviewer 'LolWhaddup', for your kind words and encouraging feedback. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. Write a book? This is a book! ;-) Hope you're all enjoying this particular mini-arc within the story. Bucky isn't just a crazy-people magnet, he's also a crazy-events magnet. But, we knew that already.