We Were Soldiers
37. Family
CRACK!
The loud report of a firing rifle tore Peggy's mind from a dream of her childhood. As memories of Michael slid away, she reached for her uniform and was half dressed before the rest of the women had even fully woken.
"What's goin' on, Peg?" Marielle yawned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Meanwhile, Nurse Madeley was reaching for her uniform; she obviously knew what gunfire this late at night might mean.
"I don't know," Peggy replied. She pulled on her boots and fastened them by the dim light of the oil lamp. Dressing with speed was something she could do in the dark. She'd practised a thousand times or more. Always be prepared. "Get to your stations, and don't leave the hospital unless somebody sends for you," she instructed.
She grabbed her pistol and her jacket, and left them to do their job. Just as she had to do hers.
As soon as she stepped outside the tent, her eyes were scanning the camp, searching for signs of a fight. There were none. That was good. If enemy troops were attacking, there would have been more shots fired by now. Alarms would have been sounding. Men would have been scrambling for weapons. All around the camp, lights were coming on, but there was no alarm. No panicked cry for help.
She moved with a confidence borne of experience, her feet carrying her towards the command tent. If this is some bloody misfire, whoever fired the shot is going to get the sharp end of my boot. There could be few other reasons for a single shot fired.
At the command tent, she found bedlam. Colonel Phillips was awake and alert, one of the sentries from the foxhole already offering a report. Colonel Hawkswell was only half dressed, and looked half asleep to match. Captains of the 69th and 370th appeared just after Peggy arrived, and a moment later, a runner brought Sergeant Wells, who'd managed a better state of dress than Colonel Hawkswell. As they all descended on the tent, she picked up part of the conversation.
"—we only got a brief glimpse of him, sir. Thought he was an enemy soldier making off with our weapons. I heard a rumour that there's German spies in the camp, sir. I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't even come close to what you'll be tomorrow, Private," Phillips barked at him. The man visibly wilted. "Agent Carter! Good. We have a problem. It seems Sergeant Barnes has somehow slipped his restraints and escaped from the camp. He took one of the SSR-01 rifles with him." His steely gaze swung swiftly to Sergeant Wells, who was trying to button up his jacket in the semi-darkness. He didn't seem to realise he'd buttoned it lopsided. "How the hell did he get away with that rifle, Sergeant?"
Unlike the Private, Sergeant Wells didn't wilt as he responded.
"He'd given his rifle to Stark for servicing, since we didn't need it on the last mission. I guess he must've snuck into Stark's tent and retrieved it. Sir, if you're sending a search party, I'd like to join it."
"And I'd like to be sipping daiquiris on a beach in Hawaii," Phillips shot back. "We don't always get what we want." He looked around at the assembled men. "Sergeant Barnes is on the run. He's armed, and he's dangerous. God only know what he'll do if he gets to a town or village. Agent Carter will lead a team to recapture him. That team will consist of—"
"Me," Sergeant Wells interrupted. He stepped forward, oblivious to the thunderheads growing on Phillips' face. Or perhaps simply uncaring of the brewing storm. "Sir, if you send a team of armed men to try and bring Barnes back, all you're going to end up with is a lot of dead men. Let me go unarmed, alone. Or at most, with Agent Carter. I think I can talk him down."
"And if you're wrong?"
"Then you'll still have men to send."
Peggy held her breath at the standoff. Sergeant Wells, she was sure, was not going to back down. If the colonel didn't let him go, he would probably try to go anyway. They'd end up with a second man restrained, just to prevent him from running off after the first.
"We have news!" a new voice cried. Howard appeared, dressed in his multi-stained lab coat, with Dr. Peacock in tow. The latter looked exhausted; spending any amount of time around Howard tended to do that to a person. "And it's not good news, I'm afraid."
"Just spit it out," Phillips ordered. Peggy could read his anxiety like an open book. With every moment they delayed, Sergeant Barnes was getting further away. If they didn't set off soon, they might not catch him.
"There is a foreign compound in the blood sample we took from Sergeant… what's his name?"
"Barnes," sighed Sergeant Wells.
"Right. The compound is very complex, but as it breaks down it produces a psychotropic effect on the mind. Audio and visual hallucinations, vivid colours, synesthesia… the effects probably vary from person to person. It would certainly explain why he thought he heard people speaking German, at least."
"Can you cure it?" Phillips asked.
"Yes, I believe so."
"And how is that not good news?" Sergeant Wells prompted.
"Because, Sergeant… Sergeant," Howard continued, "a second, unpleasant side-effect of this compound's breakdown is a trigger of the adrenal gland. It basically puts the body into an extreme fight-or-flight response. Adrenaline is released, heart rate goes up… but that trigger doesn't switch off. Adrenaline continues to be released, in larger and larger doses. Heart rate continues to rise. Strength increases, along with aggression. That's probably why he attacked the nurse in the hospital ward. Paranoia alone wasn't enough to tip him over the edge, but the massive dose of adrenaline? Yeah, that'd do it."
"What are the long term repercussions for his health?" Peggy spoke up. Almost everybody turned to look at her, as if they'd forgotten she was there. Which was just bloody typical, because most of the time, she couldn't get men to stop paying attention to her.
"Well, if he wants to continue living, not very good," Howard said. Not for the first time, his blasé attitude stoked her inner fire of annoyance. To Howard, live or die, it was all one. "Simply put, the body can't sustain that sort of adrenaline level for very long. The stress is too great. Organs start to fail. The brain begins to shut down. His heart will probably be the first to go. The strongest muscle in the body can be remarkably fragile under stress."
"So you're telling me he's a dead man walking if we don't get him back here in time to be treated?" Colonel Phillips asked. Peggy could see what he was thinking. That maybe it would be best to just let him go. Save the lives of whatever men he would've sent after the sergeant. It was cold, but it was a tactically sound choice… if only he could be sure Sergeant Barnes would reach the point of no return before reaching a town.
"It may already be too late," Howard said. "But I have created this, to buy him some extra time." From his pocket he drew a long metal cylinder with a coat of plastic around the head. "It's basically a quick-and-dirty syringe. All you do is jab this end into the thigh muscle—hard—and a needle shoots out, releasing… well, you don't need to know the scientific term. It will temporarily suspend adrenal activity. Give the vital organs a chance to recover. He'll still be paranoid, but without adrenaline, he'll be weak. Hopefully not too weak to make it back. This will buy him a few hours. By the time you get him back here… if you get him back here… I should be able to neutralise the compound that's causing all this havoc."
"Sir, I volunteer to go after Sergeant Barnes," Sergeant Wells said immediately.
"Of course you do," Phillips sighed. "Fine. Carter, you'll go too."
"Yes, sir," she agreed. Howard handed the adrenaline suppressor to Sergeant Wells, who stashed it his jacket pocket.
"Private, go and show Sergeant Wells the direction you saw Sergeant Barnes run off in," said Phillips. "Stark, go work on that cure." Just in case more men come down with whatever this is, he didn't say. Didn't have to. "The rest of you, go stand your men down and assure them the camp is not under attack. Colonel Hawkswell, would you give me a moment alone with Agent Carter?"
Peggy stood a little straighter as the tide of men parted around her. As soon as they were alone, Phillips wasted no time on pleasantries.
"Agent, I don't have to tell you what's at stake," he said, pacing the tent. Colonel Phillips pacing was never a good sign. He only paced when things were truly bad. "With Sergeant Barnes in his present frame of mind, there's no telling what he'll do if he reaches a town. I'm not just talking about blowing our cover and destroying any chance we have to carry out our mission covertly; I'm talking about collateral damage. We don't need that kind of exposure. It would be a PR nightmare. If Sergeant Wells can't convince Barnes to stand down, you're authorised to do whatever it takes to protect the mission and the civilians of this country. Understood?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes, sir." It was a hard call to make for any CO, and whilst a large part of her hated that she had to even consider shooting one of their own, a smaller part was secretly pleased that Colonel Phillips trusted her with such an important and grave task. If he'd thought Sergeant Wells was capable of carrying out the order, he wouldn't be giving it to Peggy.
But she hoped desperately that it wouldn't come to that.
"Good. Keep an eye on Sergeant Wells, too. Until we know how Sergeant Barnes got sick, we can't rule out some sort of transmittable infection. And judging by how fast Barnes went downhill, if others have the same compound in their blood, we need to get them treated as quickly as possible."
"I understand."
"Than get going, Agent. Your target has a head start, and something tells me he won't be taking a pleasant stroll."
: - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - : - - - — — — - - - :
She caught up with Sergeant Wells not far from the sentry foxholes. He'd set a ground-eating trot that could be kept up for hours, and was scanning the ground as he jogged.
"If you're looking for footprints, you won't find any," she told him as she kept pace, glad that she'd had the presence of mind to dress in her pants, rather than her skirt, when she'd heard gunfire. "The ground is too hard and dry."
"I'm not looking for footprints. I'm looking for blood. That idiot private shot at Barnes. He may have been hit."
She didn't speak her thoughts aloud. That it might be better if Sergeant Barnes had been shot. That it might slow him down. Give them a better chance of catching him. But then, there was another side to that. An animal fought more viciously when it was wounded. Became more dangerous, if it was in pain.
Peggy saw no sign of blood on the ground, but it was hard to see anything with only the moon to light the darkness. The night air was still, and even the insects were silent, as if holding their breath for the outcome of the chase.
Through some probable act of divine providence, Sergeant Wells managed to stay quiet as they jogged through the sparse forest. When Peggy glanced at his face, all harsh planes and shadows in the silvery moonlight, it seemed focused, grim. Whatever was going through his mind, she suspected it wasn't pleasant.
"I wish you hadn't brought that," he said, after ten minutes of jogging. His gaze danced down to her hip, where her pistol was securely holstered.
"It may be necessary to use it. Given Sergeant Barnes' recent behaviour and level of aggression, talking may accomplish nothing."
"Agent Carter, I was raised to be respectful to dames, and I'd never lift a hand in anger to a woman. But if your fingers so much as even brush against that gun, I swear, I will take it off you and shoot you with it."
She'd heard about Sergeant Wells' reputation, but right now, hearing his tone of voice, seeing the cold, silvery gleam in his eyes, she didn't think he was bullshitting. Of course, he didn't understand how serious the situation was. He probably hadn't even considered how much damage Sergeant Barnes could do with that damned rifle.
"This mission is bigger than one man, Sergeant," she said, suspecting her logic—Phillips' logic—would fall on deaf ears. Still, she could lead Sergeant Wells to water. Perhaps he might surprise her, and choose to drink.
"You got a brother, Agent Carter?"
The question came so out of the blue that Peggy's feet faltered. She increased her pace to catch up again.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Even to her own ears, her question was sharp. She couldn't help it. Even though she'd come to accept the loss of Michael, thoughts of him still hurt. She suspected they always would.
"Just wondering."
"I did have," she admitted. "Michael." A flash of laughing brown eyes and a cheeky smile, even when he'd been an adult. "He died early in the war."
Sergeant Wells slowed to a walk, giving them a breather. His jacket was still comically skewed, but there was nothing comical about the expression on his face.
"What if it was your brother out there? Sick. Confused. Afraid. Seeing enemies everywhere. Trying to get away from what he thought was a threat. Would you still be willing to use that gun if it were Michael, and not Barnes, who needed help? Would the mission still be 'bigger than one man' if that man was your brother?"
"It's not the same at all. For a start, Sergeant Barnes isn't your brother."
Sergeant Wells let out a dry, darkly humourous laugh as he looked at her. "Boy, you really don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?" she snapped. She should've known this was a bad idea. Should have insisted on coming after Sergeant Barnes alone.
"Being a soldier," he said. "What it's all about. What it means to be a part of something bigger. Family isn't something that's restricted by ties of blood. You know where I learned that? From the man you're willing to shoot. You wonder why you can't get any respect from the troops? Why they can't see you as anything but a pretty doll in a soldier's uniform? It's because of stuff like this. Because every soldier understands without needing to be told that you look out for your family. You don't hurt your brothers, and you never leave a man behind. The mission is never more important than the men, because without the men, there is no mission."
She bit back a scathing response to the 'pretty doll' comment. "And if Sergeant Barnes is so far gone that he shoots you with that sniper rifle?"
"I'm hoping there's enough of my friend left under the paranoia that he won't do that. But if not… at least he'll still be alive to regret it, when Stark fixes him," he glared.
He jogged on again before Peggy could say anything else, and she let out a quiet vexed hiss as she followed. He probably thought his sentiment about sacrifice and family was noble, but Peggy had listened to soldiers talk often enough to know one thing; they held a childish view of war. They signed up with the belief that war was somehow glorious, that they were fighting a good fight, and fighting it with men who shared their beliefs. In boot camp they were taught to work together, and never adequately prepared for the reality of war; that even when working together, they would inevitably be pulled apart.
She took no enjoyment from the idea of shooting a man, especially one on her side; one who didn't deserve it. But she'd been doing this long enough to know that 'save every man' was a morality that would eventually cost them the war. Not every man could be saved. She'd seen good men die; some had been close to her. And she was as willing to sacrifice her own life as she was the life of anybody else. If the soldiers couldn't respect her because she could see the bigger picture… well, that was their problem, not hers.
"Do you have any insights into where Sergeant Barnes might be going?" she asked, her breath a steady pant as she jogged through the warm darkness of the night. "You are his friend, after all."
"Not a clue," he said, managing a small shrug even as he ran. "For all I know, he's just looking for someone who'll believe hi—"
He stopped dead, and Peggy had to slam on the brakes to prevent herself running right into him. Immediately her eyes went forward, to the trees ahead.
"What is it?" she whispered. "Did you see something?"
"Huh? Oh. No. I was just thinking about something Barnes said, when he first got sick. He said he wished his best friend from back home was here. That Steve would believe him."
Steve?
Her face must have shown some measure of surprise. "That mean something to you?" he asked, as thoughts of Steve Rogers ran across her mind.
She shook her head. It was a common name. Just a coincidence. She was fairly sure Steve Rogers wouldn't be friends with somebody as annoyingly irreverent as Sergeant Barnes. "You think he's trying to find his friend?"
"I think he's trying to get home."
"But we're in France!"
"He may not fully realise that," said Sergeant Wells. "If what Stark said about hallucinations is correct, then who knows what he's thinking or seeing?"
She pursed her lips in thought. If that was true, if Sergeant Barnes really was trying to return home, Colonel Phillips could order teams of men to set up checkpoints along the road to all major towns and cities. Monitor the roads to any nearby ports. If Sergeant Barnes wanted to go home, he'd have to show himself eventually. If he didn't die first.
"Perhaps—"
Her words were cut off something whizzed past her face so fast that she only felt it passing by the swirling movement of air caressing her cheek. The trunk of a tree behind her made a 'plink' sound as a bullet lodged itself deep in the trunk. Open mouthed, she stared at the hole in the wood as the blood drained from her face.
"That was a warning shot." There was excitement in Sergeant Wells' voice when he spoke. He seemed not to care that the bullet had missed her head by a matter of centimetres.
When Peggy finally found her voice, it came out in a whisper. Not that it mattered how loudly she spoke; she knew how far a person could see with that SSR-01. Sergeant Barnes could be half a mile away, or more.
"What makes you think that?"
"Because if he wanted you dead, he wouldn't have aimed for the tree."
Aimed for the tree! As if he hadn't just missed her by two inches!
"I'm going on," Sergeant Wells said. "I suggest you go back, for your own protection."
"How very chivalrous of you," she chided. And she certainly would not go back. It wasn't as if she hadn't been shot at before, and she'd been in more difficult situations than this. "But I came to bring Sergeant Barnes back to camp, and I'm not leaving until my mission's complete."
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you. And remember what I said about that gun of yours. You try to shoot my friend, and he won't be the one you have to worry about."
She bit back the words 'I do not take kindly to threats,' mostly because if there was ever a time for tactical silence, this was it. The situation was too delicate to risk an argument with the company's most irritating sergeant. And she hadn't failed to notice that she was the one Sergeant Barnes had aimed his 'warning shot' at.
As Sergeant Wells set off walking, she followed cautiously. Every once in a while he called out, "Barnes!" and "Come out!" There was no way of knowing whether Sergeant Barnes was even close enough to hear the calls, but that didn't stop Sergeant Wells from trying. Every so often he'd intersperse his calls with something different. Once, it was, "Hey, Dorothy, this isn't the way to Oz," and another time, "C'mon, pal. We're late for a very important date."
Peggy would be very surprised if Sergeant Barnes wasn't two miles away by now, completely oblivious to Sergeant Wells' inanity.
A rustle of low bushes ahead stopped Peggy dead in her tracks, every muscle frozen still. A few feet in front of her, Sergeant Wells was similarly immobile, and as they watched, a figure emerged from the trees. Peggy's mouth went dry. Sergeant Barnes wasn't the only reason she'd brought her pistol; there might be others out here. German patrols, or French Resistance who adopted a 'shoot first' policy when it came to strangers tramping through their country.
When the figure stepped from the shadows enough to be illuminated by the silver moonlight, a giddy wave of relief washed over her mind. It was Sergeant Barnes… and he looked terrible. Pale-faced, skin clammy, hair a shade darker where sweat soaked it through. In his hands he held his rifle, but she could see his muscles trembling. For a moment, her heart went out to him. Then she saw the feral, murderous gleam in his eyes, and she swiftly retracted her previous feelings of sympathy.
"What are you doing out here?" Sergeant Barnes asked. His voice was hoarse, as if it pained him to talk. As if he'd gone for so long without a drink that his throat had lost all moisture. "Meeting up with your Nazi buddies?"
"We're just looking for you, pal," said Sergeant Wells. He had both hands up, showing he was unarmed. Peggy wished she could ape him, but every instinct in her body told her to keep her hands by her side. In easy reach of her gun. "We're worried about you."
"You should be more worried about her," Sergeant Barnes said, jabbing his rifle in Peggy's direction. She swallowed the lump in her throat. At this distance, his SSR-01 might be more of a liability than a help, but that didn't mean he couldn't kill her with it. Just that he'd be shooting blind. "She's a German spy."
"She's worried about you too, Barnes," said Sergeant Wells. His voice was low and quiet, pitched to soothe. Peggy wasn't sure anything was capable of soothing Sergeant Barnes right now.
"She's trying to kill me. She brought a gun. She wants to shoot me."
"Maybe," Sergeant Wells agreed, and Peggy suddenly wished he was within kicking distance. What the hell was he doing, playing into Barnes' delusions like that?! "But you know I won't let her hurt you. Right?"
Barnes closed his eyes briefly, shook his head. "No. I barely know you!"
"Sure you do." Sergeant Wells took a step forward. Sergeant Barnes was so fixed on watching Peggy that he didn't notice the step. "What's my favourite breakfast food?"
There was a pause. Then, reluctantly, Sergeant Barnes said, "Fried eggs."
"And my favourite book?"
"A Tree Grows in Brooklyn."
"And what's my favourite atmospheric phenomenon?"
The silence that followed told Peggy that Sergeant Barnes knew the answer; he was just refusing to give it.
"See? You know more than you think," said Sergeant Wells, as he stole another unnoticed step. "Now, the thing is, you're sick. I know you don't think it, but you are. In my pocket I have something, some medicine that will make you feel better." Yes! Peggy thought. Get close enough to inject him with the serum. "I'm going to put the medicine on the ground so you can pick it up and decide whether you want to use it." No, you idiot, don't give him the bloody thing!
Unfortunately, Sergeant Wells was not a mind reader. He couldn't hear her silent cursing. He took another couple of steps forward, so that he was within half a dozen feet of Sergeant Barnes, and took the injector from his pocket. Peggy hoped against hope that he'd take a lunge forward and use it on the sick sergeant… but he merely crouched down and placed it on the ground, whilst Barnes watched on, his rifle now trained on Sergeant Wells.
And there goes our only chance at saving his life, she silently lamented.
"Back up," said Sergeant Barnes. And when Sergeant Wells did, he made a quick grab for the injector, pocketing it without using it. "I don't trust her," he added, pointing the SSR-01 at Peggy's chest. "She's armed."
"What if I tied her up? Would that make you feel better?"
Peggy stared daggers at the back of Sergeant Wells' head. Tied her up? What kind of game was he playing at? He couldn't tie her up. He just… he couldn't. That wasn't supposed to be how this mission went! At no point was she supposed to be tied up.
"Yeah." Sergeant Barnes stepped back a few paces and reached down to something in one of the bushes. It turned out to be a backpack. Clearly, the rifle was not the only thing he'd taken from Howard's tent before fleeing camp. He tossed the pack over. "There's rope in there."
Peggy continued glaring daggers as Sergeant Wells opened the pack and began rooting through it. Her fingers twitched several times as common sense told her to go for the gun and even the playing field, in case Sergeant Barnes' madness was infectious and had already spread to the other man.
Sergeant Wells turned to her with a coil of rope in his hands, and he winked as he said, "C'mon Agent Carter, come and sit by this tree so I can tie you up."
She let her hands relax and stop twitching. This was all a ploy. He'd make it look like she'd been tied, to try and gain Sergeant Barnes' trust. To get close enough to get the rifle from him and use the injector on him. It wasn't how she would have done things—she probably would have just shot him in the foot to incapacitate him—but if Sergeant Wells thought he could get closer this way, then she would make that sacrifice. Besides, part of her was secretly pleased that Sergeant Barnes thought she was the greater threat of the two.
Lowering herself to the ground, she sat with her back against the trunk of a tree, and waited while Sergeant Wells slipped behind her and 'tied' her hands around the trunk. He tied them quite firmly. More firmly than she was expecting. But that was okay. Any moment now, he'd slip a knife into her hands, so that she could work on freeing herself whilst he worked on getting closer to Sergeant Barnes.
She felt a hand at her hip, and then her gun was gone, taken from its holster before she could even object. As she opened her mouth, another glare of daggers prepared, Sergeant Wells took the clip out of the pistol, then released the round from the weapon's chamber. It landed with a metallic 'ping' and then rolled away, out of sight.
"What the hell are you doing, Sergeant Wells?" Peggy demanded. She pulled against the ropes around her wrists, but they held fast. Suddenly, all the misgivings she should have felt before came crashing in all at once.
Sergeant Wells merely pocketed the ammo clip and tossed the useless pistol on the ground beside her. Dismissing her entirely, he turned back to Sergeant Barnes.
"Mind if I come along for the ride?"
"What makes you think I'm going somewhere?" Sergeant Barnes countered.
"Why else would you run? I figure you're going to the same place everybody wants to go, whether they're soldiers in the army or dames in a Technicolor wonderland: home."
A fleetingly thoughtful expression played across Sergeant Barnes' face. Or perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight. He finally shouldered his gun, and said, "Okay. But I'm in a hurry. Don't slow me down."
They disappeared under the trees, where the light of the moon couldn't touch them, and for a long moment the only sound Peggy could hear was two pairs of footsteps growing fainter and fainter.
"Sergeant Wells!" she shouted at their retreating backs. "Come back here and untie me right this instant! That's an order, Sergeant!"
But her cries bore no fruit. The night air fell still again, and she was alone.
Author's note: Been a while since my last author note, I think, so I thought I'd drop a quick line here to let you know how this story's progressing. Just started writing Chapter 70 (woo!) with plenty of exciting stuff—or so I hope—between here and there. Glad to see folks enjoying the 'Bucky goes crazy' story arc so far. The next chapter will be up on Saturday (25th Feb). See you there!