We Were Soldiers
26. Redress
The rhythmic patter of rain woke Bucky in the early morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise. He lay on his back on his uncomfortable camp bunk, listening to the sound, watching the light start to creep through the cracks in the canvas. For the third night in a row, he'd slept restlessly, haunted by dreams of Tipper falling into an open grave, calling out for help. Bucky had asked Colonel Hawkswell if he could send back a personal missive with the official condolence letter, and Hawkswell had agreed… but finding something to say about Tipper wasn't as easy it had been for Danzig. He'd been closer to Tipper. Felt protective of him. So far, he hadn't been able to find a sensitive way to express his deep sympathy for the Tipper family's son stepping on a mine.
Light spilled into the regiment's tent as the flap was pushed open, and the head of a soldier was outlined there. "Sergeant Barnes? Sergeant Wells? Colonel wants to see you in the command tent, ASAP."
"Okay," Bucky replied, and the head disappeared. "Hey, Wells—"
"I heard," came the voice from the bed next to his.
Bucky slid out from beneath his blanket and dressed in his off-duty uniform. Around him, a few other soldiers stirred, but it would be another hour or so before hunger drove them from their beds. Whichever colonel had sent a runner was clearly having an early start today.
Outside the tent, they set off towards the command centre, which today was situated slightly uphill of the 107th's barracks. The company had travelled for five hours in total darkness, making their way through a treacherously narrow and rocky pass, and had set up camp on the first piece of ground that was soft enough to drive pegs into.
"Did you get my letter okay?" Wells asked, as they trudged uphill.
"Yeah." Since Agent Carter had read it to him, he'd managed to avoid talking to Wells. Not because he was still angry—hell, he could barely even remember what he'd been so angry about—but because he felt a burning shame over the way he had acted and the things he had said to his friend. He really had acted like a child throwing a tantrum. He knew he was at fault, and didn't know how to make it right. Didn't deserve forgiveness, after the things he'd said.
"How's your face?" he asked. He'd gotten the full story from Biggs, after hearing the letter read aloud.
"Still smarts," Wells said, rubbing gingerly at the bruise on his cheek. "Agent Carter does definitely not punch like a dame. In fact, she punches like a guy. Did she manage to put enough tone of genuine regret into my apology, or did she deliver it in a smug, Britishly superior tone? Because that wasn't my intention."
"She did pretty well," he replied.
They reached the command tent before Wells could ask another question, and entered with swift salutes. It was Colonel Phillips who was waiting for them, and he wasted no time on pleasantries.
"Sergeants, I have a new mission for you. Do you remember that communications bunker you captured last week?"
"Yessir," they both agreed.
"Good. Because now I'd like you to do it again." He gestured them over to a map, on which a small red 'X' had been marked. "This target has been designated… hell, it doesn't matter what it's been designated. Our intel suggests it's pretty much the same setup as the last one; a handful of soldiers and an MG. Go there, kill Nazis, take the bunker intact. Let me know when it's done."
Bucky glanced at Wells, and saw an echo of the confusion swirling around in his own gut.
"Sir? Who's our CO on the mission?"
"You need a commanding officer to tell you how to do a job you've already done once before?"
"No sir," he replied, because any other response would have been stupid and suicidal.
"Good. Before you go, let me make one thing very clear." Phillips stepped up in front of them, his weathered face creasing into a deep frown. "I don't want prisoners. We are here on a covert mission, and we do not have the luxury of cells, or extra rations for feeding men who are nothing but dead weight."
"Sir," Wells spoke up, just before Bucky could, "Army regs state that enemy soldiers who surrender should be taken as prisoners of war and treated with—"
"I know what regs state, Sergeant. Regulations say you've got to take prisoner any hostile soldier who surrenders his arms. But regs don't state you have to give him a chance to surrender. Hostiles who have no opportunity to surrender, can't. Don't come back here and tell me you've taken prisoners. Understood?"
"Yessir."
"I'm glad to hear it. Before you head out, go see Stark. He's got some new toys for you to play with."
They saluted and about-faced, hurrying from the command tent before Phillips could tell them to break any more regulations. If there had been any doubt in Bucky's mind about what had really happened to the last prisoner they'd taken, that doubt now fled. Part of him saw the wisdom in not taking prisoners… but shooting men who'd thrown down their arms broke regs. Laws. Conventions. How could Bucky kill an unarmed man, and ever hope to go home and face his family again? His last act of perfidy was bad enough.
"I guess now we know what happened to Uberlieutenant Wossname," said Wells. He looked as queasy as Bucky felt. "Shit. You know how wrong it is to kill someone who's surrendered, right?"
"Yeah." Bucky set off downhill, towards Stark's tent. He ignored the rain which pattered against his clothes as he carefully picked his way over the rocky ground. Though, maybe 'careful' was the wrong way to do it. Maybe he oughta walk without care for where he put his feet. Maybe he would fall and sprain his ankle, and then he wouldn't have to go on another mission and kill people.
"Okay. New question. Are you still pissed at me? Because you've been kinda monosyllabic up to now. If you're pissed at me, and don't want to do this mission with me, then I can ask Weiss to go instead, if you want. Phillips doesn't care who goes, as long as it gets done."
"I'm not pissed at you."
"Oh. Good. So… you forgive me for being a jerk?"
Bucky stopped and turned to face his friend. Four weeks ago, getting an apology out of Wells would have been harder than getting blood out of a stone. Now, the guy was apologising for things he had no reason to apologise for. Four weeks ago, Bucky would have been glad of the change. Now, he felt bad that he'd made a friend feel guilty about something that wasn't his fault.
"I can't forgive you," he said, and pressed on before Wells could object, "because there is nothing to forgive. You did exactly what I asked: you told me the truth with no sugar coating, but I didn't want to hear it. I guess maybe we see different truths, and I didn't wanna see it from your angle. I'm the one who owes you an apology. Not for all those things I said when we were filling out the forms, but for accusing you of not knowing what friendship means. I heard what you did for Gusty, taking the fall for him with Agent Carter."
"Just part of the service," Wells said with a casual shrug. "He paid me a lotta smokes to write that letter."
Bucky let the bullshit pass unchallenged. He didn't think his friend was ready to admit that he cared more than he let on, and that underneath all the blackmail and bullshit, he was actually a nice guy. For whatever reason, Wells had got it into his head that he needed to be aloof and kind of a jerk, and Bucky didn't think he had any right to try and burst that particular bubble.
"It's the only ship that can't be torpedoed by U-boats, you know," Wells continued, as they resumed their walk in the rain to Stark's tent.
"What is?"
"Friendship."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Jeez, that's just dire." Steve would love the cheesy humour in that.
"It was hilarious and you know it," Wells grinned. And just like that, it was as if the past three days of childish arguments and insults had never happened.
They found Stark hard at work in his tent. Or maybe faking being hard at work. In Bucky's last job, there'd been a guy who carried large piles of paper between the different offices in the building. For the first few weeks Bucky had worked there, he'd felt sorry for the guy with the piles of paper. It looked like exhausting and thankless work. It was only when he actually struck up a conversation with the guy that he discovered he wasn't actually working at all. Apparently, if you carried paper around and looked harassed, everybody thought you were doing something important and didn't give you any real work to do. The piles of paper, underneath the top two or three sheets, had been completely blank.
Maybe crazy inventors had their own version of that. Maybe if they tinkered with mechanical things for long enough, everybody assumed they were on the verge of some new scientific breakthrough and left them alone. Maybe all they were really doing was fine-tuning their radios.
"Jeez, don't you ever sleep?" asked Wells, when they found Stark tinkering over something on his workbench. The millionaire's hair was messy, as if he hadn't combed it in two or three days, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
"I don't sleep, I coffee. It's the price of genius." His eyes darted up, and the rest of him followed, straightening from the hunched-over tinkering position. "Ah, Sergeants… Sergeants…" Bucky waited for him to finish. Surely the guy couldn't be that bad with names, could he? After all, he probably had the Periodic Table memorised; how could two names be any more difficult than that? "…Sergeants! Glad you made it. Phillips said you'd be stopping by. Asked me to prepare a few bits and pieces for you. But these items are extremely volatile. I don't want them abused, or thrown around, or thrown at each other. So, with that in mind; have the two of you kissed and made up yet?"
They treated him to a shared stony glare, which Stark ignored.
"Can't believe you bought into Peggy's hackneyed claim I need help inventing things," Stark chuckled. "Talk about gullible. Really though, if I ever do start asking you guys for ideas, please shoot me with one of my own inventions."
"Trust me, I'm already seriously considering it," Bucky told him.
"Excellent! So. Let's see what I've got in my toolbox for you today." Stark reached down under his workbench, and came up with… a long piece of two-by-four. Wrapped around the length of the wood were a bunch of colourful wires, and they were attached to a contraption at the top. When Stark turned the thing over on the workbench, Bucky found himself looking at the facial likeness of a middle-aged man with a grey, receding hairline. "I call this the Auto-Gun Foil."
"How does it work?"
"I'm glad you asked, Sergeant… Sergeant," said Stark. "This incredibly complex piece of technology is based upon a cell-sized chemical reactor which sends thermal energy along these insulated copper wires, and which builds up a slow charge in the coiled thermal element in the top. The temperature is regulated to approximate the body heat of a human being, and thus fool any heat detectors into believing they have picked up an enemy soldier. If those detectors are wired to MGs, like the last one was, it will reveal the gun's position without any loss of life, and might draw enemy forces towards it."
"So you're basically saying," Wells replied, "that we wave the long, warm, battery-powered stick around to draw gunfire and use as a decoy?"
"If you want to put it in layman's terms, yes."
"If your best idea for counteracting machine guns which can automatically aim at targets is to wave around a big stick, maybe you really should be considering asking the troops for assistance."
"Who's this guy?" Bucky asked, pointing to the likeness that had been drawn onto 'head' of the stick.
"Hugh Jones. A pal of mine, but no less a greedy cretin because of it," Stark explained. "I put that on there to help you guys figure out which end of the stick to hold, and which end to wave. Plus, it might come in useful if you ever have to pass unnoticed through the festivities of Día de Muertos." Stark held the stick up to his face, peering through the eyes, which had been cut out to make a mask. "Tell me the sunken eyes and deathly pallor doesn't remind you of a corpse." He waited for a response, and received only silence. "Right. Shouldn't expect you two chuckleheads to speak Spanish. Moving on."
This time, Stark brought out a large, dome-shaped metallic object which had only two buttons on the front. Bucky picked it up and turned it around a few times, but couldn't see anything that might indicate what the damn thing was designed for. Couldn't even see any entry points into the casing.
"New helmet design?" he guessed.
"No. But I've been working on one of those, too. This handy little contraption should help you get into any German communication bunkers. You got lucky last time, and the Nazis were careless; they left their door unlocked while they came out to shoot at you. It would be a stroke of good fortune if the next bunch made the same mistake. Just in case they don't, you can use this."
"I'm almost afraid to ask how it works," said Wells.
"Magnets may be involved. Let's just leave it at that. You hold it against the door, press the button, and voilá. Couldn't be easier."
"Why the two buttons?" Bucky asked.
"The green one unlocks doors, the red one locks them. Neither of you are red-green colourblind, are you?" They both shook their heads. "Good! Then you shouldn't have any problems with this. I've been calling it the Patented Stark Industries Mobile Magnetic Door Locker And Unlocker."
"Can't we just call it a Universal Key?"
"Ugh, fine, if it helps your brain to retain information, go ahead and give it a short name."
"Wait a minute," said Wells. A glimmer of something sprang into his blue eyes for the first time in days. It might have been hope. "Didn't you threaten me with some drug to stop me talking?"
"No, you must be mistaken. Threatening isn't really my style. Inferring, on the other hand… But you don't need to worry, I fixed that days ago. It works as it should, now. At least, that's the theory. I need to test it in a real interrogation situation."
"Do you think you could unfix it? And weaponise it?"
"I can weaponise anything," Stark said, radiating smug. "However, unfixing that particular serum and weaponising it will take days, at least. The chemical mixture is very unstable, and I'd have to design a whole new delivery system. Why? What do you want it for?"
"To make our jobs a little easier," said Bucky, following his friend's train of thought. A pity Stark couldn't make it a viable option within the next hour; he would have dearly loved to have a way of stopping German soldiers from surrendering.
"Well, I'll see what I can do for next time."
"Just how many of these damn comms bunkers are there?" Wells asked.
"I meant hypothetical next time," Stark evaded. "Anyway, don't you two have somewhere to be?"
Taking that as a dismissal, they grabbed the stick and the Universal Key, along with the jammers and the short-range radios, and stepped out of Stark's tent to his call of: "Don't break my stuff!"
"So," said Wells, resting the stick over his shoulder like a rifle, "who do you want to take on the mission?"
: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :
The rain persisted.
It grew heavier, drumming steadily on Bucky's steel helmet like a percussionist in a marching band. The drumbeat set a steady tempo to which he marched and the others followed. Fifteen men in total, as grim-faced and damp as Bucky. They'd donned their khaki-green waterproof ponchos early in the trek to their target, but the waterproofs didn't keep out all of the water, and Bucky had been feeling it trickling down his neck for the past fifteen minutes. If the circumstances had been different, he might have enjoyed the soaking. Though the large company tried to camp beside a flowing source of water at every new stop, it wasn't always within easy walking distance, and there were times when he'd gone longer than he would have liked without bathing. The water they carried with them was designated essential-use only, to be used first for drinking, cooking and medical reasons, not for frivolous washing.
"We must be getting close, now," said Wells, above the drumming.
Bucky nodded, and found a slightly sheltered spot beneath the trees. He called a halt and ran his eyes over the men. Though they looked like drowned rats, they didn't seem tired by the seven klick march, nor daunted by the prospect of another combat op. Other than Biggs, who'd had to stay behind because of his recently injured leg, they were much the same team as the last time. Bucky had considered leaving Hawkins behind, too, but the young private had asked to be included, promising he would do better this time. It seemed a good day for second chances, so Bucky had acquiesced.
"Carrot, go scout ahead, see how far that bunker is and get the lie of the land. Tex, Franklin, go with him. And be careful; don't get too close, or those detector things might pick you up."
The three men disappeared into the brush, and the rest of the team squatted down to take a short break. A few checked and re-checked their bandoliers beneath their ponchos, to make sure they hadn't gotten damp inside, while others broke out their canteens and packets of hard biscuits.
"Last time we did this," Wells said quietly, "those soldiers appeared pretty quick after Danzig got shot."
"You think we tripped some kind of alarm?"
"Or the sound of gunfire alerted them to intruders."
"So, even if we use Stark's decoy stick to trigger the gun, we're still gonna have a bunch of soldiers come rushing out into their trench," said Bucky.
"I have a crazy idea," said Wells.
"Not another!" he groaned in semi-jest.
"I think Danzig was on the right track. He wanted to take the machine gun position, but those damn detectors meant nobody could get close without being targeted. What if we could take out the detectors, climb up to the gun turret, put a couple of guys on the roof, then manually fire the machine gun so they think they're under attack? When they come running out of their rabbit holes, we're waiting for them."
"It's a terrible plan, Wells. What if the detectors aren't just tied to a gun, but to an internal alarm, and taking them out triggers the alarm and sends everyone running? Or what if the gun is manned this time, and whoever tries to get up there is seen? Or what if—"
"Why do you always have to expect the worst? You're raining on this parade even harder than the weather."
"I'm trying to present realistic problems we might encounter so that we can minimise the risk by having contingency plans. Didn't you cover this during your advanced training, before they gave you your chevrons?" Bucky asked.
"Yeah, but I mostly slept through that class. I scored pretty high on creative problem solving, though. You know, coming up with solutions on the fly, trial and error, and that sort of thing."
"I scored better on critical thinking and planning."
"Personally, I think there's a point where critical thinking becomes over-thinking," Wells shrugged. "But maybe that's not a bad thing. You come up with the plan, and if it goes wrong, I'll come up with a solution. If it goes right, then all the better."
The scout team came back a short time later, to report on what they'd found.
"It's similar to the last one, Sarge," said Carrot. "MG 42 on top of a bunker, only this one has a trench all the way around it. We had a good look at the gunner position and couldn't see it manned, so there must be more of those detector things. We made sure to stay a good distance out, so the detectors didn't see us."
"Any cover in the area?" Bucky asked.
"No, the forest's been cleared at a radius of about twenty feet around the building."
"And the building's the same size as the last one?"
"Yeah, Sarge. It's like they made it from the same mould."
"Hmm."
"You've got a crazy idea, don't you?" said Wells.
"Yes," Bucky agreed. "What if we didn't lure those Nazis out of their rabbit warren? What if we sent the ferrets in, instead?"
"Why do I get the feeling you just called me a ferret?"
He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Because you're a smart guy, Wells. Now, here's my plan," he said, looking around at the whole group, at their open, trusting faces. What would he be getting them into if his plan went wrong? In a way, it was even madder than Wells' plan. "Tex and a couple of others get a location on that detector that's gonna trigger the MG. We wait till late night and take it out. A small team is standing by to take the gunner position, using Stark's decoy stick in case there are other detectors in play. Once we have the gun, another team heads into the trench and uses the Universal Key to open the front door. We then quietly infiltrate the bunker, eliminate any soldiers inside, and secure the comms room."
"That's actually crazy," said Wells. "Instead of drawing soldiers into the open, you wanna fight them in confined quarters?"
"Where they're least expecting us," Bucky nodded. "Where they may be sleeping, relaxing and, hopefully, unarmed and unarmoured."
"Even a quiet infiltration is gonna draw attention as soon as the first shot is fired. Those sniper rifles of yours might have noise suppressors on, but our pistols don't."
"We have knives, and they don't make any noise at all. We'll have pistols to fall back on, but maybe we can thin the herd a little first."
"Okay. Could I speak to you in private for a moment?"
Bucky instructed the group to try and find somewhere relatively dry to settle down for the evening, then allowed Wells to lead him a short distance away. He could already see a thousand objections etched across his friend's face… far more objections than he'd presented when faced with the prospect of leaving Matilda in Aureille.
"It's a sound plan," he said, before Wells could open his mouth.
"I'm not saying it's not sound, but you want to send men to sneak into an enemy installation to catch the Germans with their pants down and assassinate them without a fight?"
"Of course not. I would never send the men to do that. It's gonna have to be you and me." He rushed on as Wells prepared to object again. "You heard what Phillips said: no prisoners. We can't ask the rest of the team to do that. It's not fair. Hell, it's not fair that we have been asked to do it."
"A week ago, I shot someone dead for the first time, and now you want me to do it with a knife? To slit some guy's throat while he sleeps?"
"If it's a problem for you, I'll do it myself," Bucky told him. The thought made him feel sick to his core, but if it kept the rest of the team safe, if it meant they could go back to camp and not have to bury another member of the 107th, he would do it. A firefight might be easier to live with, but there could be no doubt that the Nazis in this bunker had to die. Maybe cutting their throats would even be the kinder option. It could take a guy minutes or hours to die from a gunshot wound; a slit throat would be swift, and probably less painful than being shot.
"If you think you're gonna take on a bunker full of Nazis on your own, with nothing but your bayonet knife, you're even more full of shit than I am," Wells scoffed. "We have a job to do, and I'll do it with a gun, a knife or my bare hands, if I have to. But why are you doing it like this? We managed just fine in the last shoot-out."
"I don't want anyone caught in the crossfire," said Bucky. "The rest of the team can hang back outside in case any Krauts try to rabbit. We can have a guy on the MG, and Tex keeping an eye on the area with his SSR-01. Cover all our bases."
"Alright," said Wells, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. "We'll try it your way. Just wish I'd thought of sharpening my knife before coming out here."
They returned to the team, finally united behind a single crazy plan.
"Four teams," said Bucky. "Tex, Carrot, Hartley, you're Alpha Team. Tex, you'll need to locate the detector attached to the MG and take it out from a distance. After that, hang back and keep watch, just on the off chance there's a patrol out here. Bravo Team will be Jones, Franklin and Hawkins. Once the detector's out of the picture, you'll take the gunner position atop the bunker. Wells and I are Charlie Team, and the rest of you are Delta Team. Both teams will enter the trench around the bunker and open the door. Charlie Team will enter and eliminate any hostiles, whilst Delta Team stands by to deal with any enemy soldiers who might try to make a run for it.
"The first thing that has to happen, is we set up Stark's radio blockers around the facility, just like last time. Once that's done, Tex will give the word when the detector's out of play, Jones will use Stark's stupid decoy stick to ensure the gun is really out of action and that there are no additional detectors, then everything else will happen simultaneously. Questions?"
There were none.
"Good. Tex, Carrot, I'll go with you both now to take a look at the bunker and see if we can spot that detector. Wells, set a guard until we're ready to move; we don't want to be caught unawares by any wandering Krauts. Everyone who isn't doing something, take it easy until we're ready to move out."
As Bucky followed Tex and Carrot in the direction of the bunker, it never occurred to him that the mission wouldn't succeed. He never once considered how much danger his own life would be in. His greatest concern was living with his actions after the event. If he felt bad about shooting a guy who had no idea he was there, how much worse would he feel when he had to take a life within arm's reach?
Author's note: Happy Gregorian New Year, everybody, and welcome to 2017! Sorry I had to kick things off with such a grim chapter; we'll get to something lighter and fluffier very soon. But first, we have a bunker to capture. I'll post the outcome of that on Wednesday. Also, thanks to guest-reviewer "Y"—happy to hear you're enjoying the story! And guest-reviewer LolWhaddup—I have indeed seen Rogue One. I don't normally write fanfic after only a single viewing of something, but I do have an idea for how a small, one-shot gap-filler with Jyn and Cassian might go, so I'll post that tomorrow (Monday). I generally don't do Romance, so don't expect miracles.