We Were Soldiers

89. Shiver

Through a pair of binoculars, the world was brought closer. The craggy, snow-covered mountains. The deep green spruce trees. The gated facility outside which several unmarked trucks were parked. The stone bunker was small, but Bucky suspected it extended underground. He passed the binoculars to Leif; Steve didn't seem to need them.

"What is this place?" Steve asked.

"It used to be a storage facility for mining equipment," said Leif. "The mine dried up decades ago; this place hasn't been used since the end of the Great War."

"Well, it's being used now. Are they your people?"

Leif shook his head. "I would know." He peered through the binoculars and was silent for several minutes. "We can't afford to get any closer to perform a near reconnaissance. Our tracks would be too easily seen. How much of this plastic explosive did you bring?"

"Enough to put a serious dent in that building."

"Unless we can collapse the underground shaft, there will be little point in destroying the building's outer shell."

"A small team could get in," said Bucky. "There's an elevator shaft, right?" Leif nodded. "So, a team sends one lot of plastic down the shaft, and then we blow the building right above it. Hopefully, the force of the blast will cause enough damage underground to kill most of the Nazis down there, and by collapsing the entrance we can prevent any survivors and undamaged equipment from being dug out."

"As sound a plan as any," said Leif. "Have you done this before, Sergeant Barnes?"

"Something similar." It was nice to have his suggestions appreciated by someone who did this professionally, so to speak. Especially since before, he'd just been winging it. Nobody had given him a handbook, or special training, on how to sabotage or capture enemy facilities.

"We will come back after dark," said Leif. He turned to face Steve. "You should choose from amongst your men which will form part of the team to infiltrate the building, and which will be in charge of setting the external explosive."

"Alright. Will you lead the way back to camp?"

"Of course."

They strapped on their skis, and Bucky, sensing his friend wanted to talk alone, hung back. When they finally set off, it was side by side, just as if they were strolling down a street back home.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"What makes you think I've got something on my mind?"

"Your frown. You always get that that wrinkly forehead look when you've got something on your mind."

"Ever think we've spent too much time together?"

"Why, because I can read your mood from your forehead-wrinkles?" Bucky couldn't help his grin. "Yeah, but Mom could do exactly the same. Now, tell me what's got your stars and stripes underpants in a twist."

Steve squinted into the pale winter sun. "I can see what needs to be done to make this mission a success, but there's one thing I forgot to account for: what to do with prisoners."

"Prisoners?"

"Prisoners are—"

"I know what prisoners are." And poor, innocent Steve still didn't understand that in war, tough decisions had to be made. Sometimes, there could be no prisoners. All Bucky could do was try to phrase it as gently as possible. More gently than Phillips had to him and Wells. Steve was a sensitive soul, and he wouldn't take an instruction to not take prisoners well at all. "It's not like we're in England anymore," he said. "There's not some convenient facility nearby where prisoners could be housed."

"Maybe we could take them back to England with us," Steve mused. And Bucky could see what he was doing. He was looking for some way, any way, to get out of killing.

"The more passengers, the more fuel the plane uses. If we take prisoners, we might not make it back to England." He felt bad as he closed off another escape route, but it had to be done. The sooner Steve was rid of this idea of war being honourable and fair, the easier it would be for him to fight and kill.

"Maybe Leif will have a suggestion," said Steve, grasping for any lifeline within reach. "After all, the Norwegian resistance have to do something with the men they capture, right?"

Bucky bit his tongue. Steve probably had a good idea of what activities were involved in armed resistance, and he probably already knew that it didn't involve very much taking of prisoners. Perhaps this mission would be the eye opener Steve needed. Sooner or later, every new soldier had his dreams of glory dashed upon the shores of reality.

"Hey, Leif," Steve called. "What will you do with any prisoners we take?"

Leif slowed his pace, allowing them both to catch up. When he spoke, his blue eyes were as cold and harsh as ice. "Do not take prisoners. If you bring me prisoners, I will shoot them."

For one brief moment, Steve was shocked into silence. Then, anger began to find its way in. The beginnings of a scowl crept its way along his face. "I won't let you do that."

"You won't let me?" Leif asked. If he was angry, it didn't show. His pale face was a blank mask, his voice measured and calm. "You are in my country, Captain Rogers. My country, which is occupied by murderous fascists. Are you familiar with the concept of reprisal? Last year, the people in the village of Telavåg hid two members of Norisén, men I had personally recruited into the SOE, from Nazis. When the Gestapo came to arrest them, a fight broke out, and two Germans were killed. In reprisal, the Gestapo executed or sent to concentration camps every man over the age of fifteen years within the village. They burned every boat in the harbour, reduced every building to rubble, and imprisoned the women and children. Even now, they languish in German cells. And you know the worst thing? My people are lucky. Lucky that the Nazis consider our blood 'pure' and our people 'Germanic.' The people of Lidice, in Moravia, were not so lucky. The people of Ležáky were not so lucky. When men like you and I dare strike at our enemy, it is not we who pay the price; it is the innocent men, woman and children who have no means to defend themselves. If you are not comfortable doing what needs to be done, I suggest you put down your weapon, return to your comfortable life in your comfortable country, and await the day when Hitler's reach extends across the Atlantic. Perhaps when it is your own people who pay the price for their freedom, you will be more willing to put aside your lofty morals."

Leif didn't hang around for a response; he resumed his original direction and speed, leaving Bucky and Steve to swallow those harsh words. Finally, Bucky cleared his throat.

"He's right, Steve. Norway is crawling with Nazis. We hand prisoners of war over to civilians, and we'll be signing their death warrants. I've got enough on my conscience already; I can't live with a massacre of innocents as well."

"And if any of the men in that facility surrender?" Steve asked, his jaw clenched so tight that the tendons in his neck stood out like ropes. "You expect me to kill men waving a white flag?"

"No. You're better than that. But I'm not."

Nobody did troubled blue eyes like Steve, and right then, they were about as troubled as Bucky had ever seen them. "Don't say that, Buck—"

"Why not? It's true. That's why I'm here. That's why I agreed to join the team. Because I've done things and seen things that you haven't. I've done things and seen things that I don't want you to do and see." Strange, that he should feel some gratitude for the things he'd done with the SSR. The men he'd shot coldly from a distance. The men whose throats he'd cut silently up close. The friends he'd lost and the graves he'd dug. The hard choices he'd made. Without that, he couldn't be here, now, doing it again. Doing it to save Steve from that same pain and heartache. Perhaps, when the war was over, at least one of them could go home without blood on his hands and a head full of nightmares. "And if Colonel Phillips was here, he'd tell you the same thing. You focus on the mission, and let me deal with any mess we leave behind."

"I don't want you to be the sort of man who's okay with killing." Steve's words were so quiet that Bucky had to strain to hear them.

"I have to be the sort of man who's okay with killing," Bucky told him. "Otherwise, I couldn't be a soldier. When I first got out here, I told myself that I was doing it for my family. That I was protecting them. But they deserve more than that. I don't kill for them. I do it because it has to be done. Because we're at war, and it's kill or be killed. If I thought my death would end the war today, I'd go to it gladly. But it won't. So, until the day that I die, I'm going to use every last ounce of my strength to take out as many enemy soldiers as I possibly can. I won't enjoy it. I won't like it. But I'll accept it. It's just what I have to do."

"Don't think that you have to take on everything alone, Buck. We're a team. Not just you and me, but the others, too. Whatever we do, we do as a team."

Bucky gave Steve a not-so-gentle punch on the arm. "I swear, if you say 'one for all, and all for one' I will mock you mercilessly for the rest of the mission."

"I love that novel," Steve said, his thirteen year old self grinning at Bucky from across the years.

"I know. And I understand what you're saying. All I'm saying is, the mission has got to come first. If you, or anyone else on the team, is distracted or concerned about doing things they'd rather not do… it doesn't need to be that way."

"Alright. But I don't want you breaking international law and committing perfidy," Steve warned. "If enemy soldiers surrender to us, I'll take back to England as many as our pilots say is safe to carry. Any we can't take I'll leave here with Leif. What the Norwegian resistance does to its prisoners isn't gonna reflect on your record. Got that?"

Bucky offered a regulation salute. "Sir, yes sir." Steve punched him back for that.

They covered the four miles back to their camp quickly enough on skis. There, the rest of the team were preparing another meal of elk-steak and double-checking their gear before the mission started in earnest. Steve gestured them around the campfire after he, Bucky and Leif had taken off their skis, and they discussed the plan over a meat-rich lunch.

"We'll form two teams," said Steve. He gestured to the map of the area Leif had produced. "Alpha team will consist of myself, Dugan and Dernier. We'll infiltrate the structure, take out any guards, and rig the elevator with a block of plastic. Bravo team—that's Falsworth, Morita and Jones—will follow and set a charge on the external surface of the bunker. Once both charges are set, we'll retreat to a safe distance and detonate both explosives simultaneously.

"Bucky, I'm gonna need you up on that ridge where we performed our recon from, so that you can take out any perimeter forces we may have missed on our way in. The last thing we want is Nazis flanking us."

"You can count on me."

"Where do you want me, boss?" Freddie asked.

"Here, in camp, waiting for us to return."

"Aww, but Captain—"

"But Captain nothing," Steve said, putting Bucky very much in mind of their stern sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Cummings. "From hereon, this is a combat mission, and I don't want you in the middle of anything that might go sideways."

"Can't I at least stay up on the ridge with Sergeant Barnes?"

Steve aimed a questioning look at Bucky, who shook his head. It wasn't that he didn't want the company, but if Freddie was there, he'd see things that kids ought not to see. Let Freddie be a kid for a while longer. It wasn't as if his camera was working anyway.

"The plan is a sound one, and we should begin as soon as it gets dark," said Leif. "Until then, you should all get a few hours of rest. I will keep watch."

They paired off and settled themselves into their two-man pup tents. Bucky paired up with Morita, because he was pretty small, and they hunkered down in their sleeping bags. It felt strange, sleeping through the day—or at least, trying to—and it wasn't as if he even had jet lag to help him along.

"You nervous about the mission?" Morita asked, after a while.

"No." It was the honest truth. After France and Italy, after HYDRA and Krausberg, this felt like the shallow end of the kids' pool. A way of testing the waters after his several week alcohol-heavy convalescence. "You?"

"A little. It's our first real mission together, and I got a lot riding on this succeeding. Who knows, we do enough good, make a name for ourselves, maybe I can find a way to help my folks. Maybe get them out of that internment camp."

"I hope so." Sometimes, he forgot that his fellow Commandos had their own reasons for joining. That they weren't all here out of loyalty to Steve. Not that it made Morita's sentiment any less noble. Whatever happened, and whatever their reasons, they were a team. Together, they would make a difference. Eventually, Bucky could return home with a clear conscience.

At thoughts of home, his hands began to shake. Pins and needles prickled his fingers, so he tucked his hands into his armpits to try and keep them warm. The sooner this mission was over, the sooner they could get back to England. He never thought he'd hear himself say it, but he was actually starting to miss London… just a little.

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

"Hello, Sergeant Barnes." Zola appeared, a face floating above the cold metal table where Bucky lay. "I'm pleased with your progress. Stage three is over, and we can finally proceed to stage four."

"Please, no more." Bucky's cries were rasping, desperate pleas to his own ears. "I can't take any more."

"Nonsense! Everything we have done in the previous stages has been to prepare you for what comes next. Stage four is the final stage, and once it is complete, we will have what we need to win this war."

The war. Yes, there was a war. America and her allies against… against who? Hitler? Goebbels? A man with a red skull? Did it matter? There was a war to be fought, and Bucky knew that the 'we' Zola spoke of did not include America.

Filled with a terrible sense of foreboding, he began to shiver.

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

Bucky shivered as cold crept into his body. It wormed beneath his skin, seeping through his muscles and down to his bones. A thousand tiny icicles peppered his skin like pinpricks, and the sound of his teeth chattering was like the rattle of dice inside his own skull. He wasn't just cold, he was weary with it.

"Barnes? Hey, Barnes, c'mon, it's time to get up."

He'd thought his eyes were open to darkness, but it wasn't until he opened them again that he realised they'd been closed. Morita's voice was distant, as if he was shouting across a chasm, and when Bucky's shoulders were shaken, the icicles in his muscles turned to razor-sharp knives. A whimper escaped his lips, one that he couldn't have contained even if he'd wanted to.

"Barnes, are you okay?"

"C—Cold," he managed to stutter. So, so cold. Cold deep inside, like the last of the Earth's warmth had fled, and even shivering was an exercise in futility.

"It could be hypothermia. Hold on!"

There was noise, like the swish of fabric, but he was too far removed to fully understand it. Too deep within himself, within the freezing cavern of his mind, to understand what was happening around him.

A bright flash of light was followed by a pair of hands touching his face. He squinted against the light and just about made out a familiar pair of blue eyes watching him, full of fear and confusion.

The mission.

Yes, the mission. He had to get up. Go to work. Nazis to kill, and all that.

"I'm okay," he managed to gasp. "I'm good." But he wasn't. Even as he gave voice to the lie, he knew it for what it was. He was cold to his bones, shivering so violently that his muscles were clenching in spasm. He needed an excuse. Couldn't let Steve and the others know Zola had been here. That the evil scientist had done this to him. That Bucky hadn't fought harder. "Think… think that steak I ate wasn't quite cooked. Food poisoning."

A new voice cut through the pain and the cold, an unfamiliar voice. "This is not like any food poisoning I have seen before."

Bucky wanted to object. To tell the voice that it was food poisoning. Just food poisoning. Nothing out of the ordinary. Could've happened to anyone. But he couldn't get the words out. He was too cold. Too stiff. His mouth wouldn't open and his tongue wouldn't move. Everything was hard and painful. Even staying awake was too difficult. So, he let go. He released his grip on wakefulness, and dropped into a frozen slumber.

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

Steve had never felt so lost. Bucky was deathly pale, and shivering so bad that the whole tent shook with the force. He didn't think it was food poisoning, but what else could it be? He'd had a lot of illnesses in his life, but none of them had ever looked like this. Bucky was so cold that his lips were a pale shade of blue. Whatever was wrong, it must be bad.

Falsworth turned to him, a frown etched onto his face. "Captain, what do you want to do?"

He grasped at the lifeline thrown to him by his second in command. For a moment, faced with the mystery illness plaguing his best friend, he'd been lost. Now, he could remember his purpose. The mission. The bigger picture that Bucky, had he been awake and well, would have reminded him of.

"We continue as planned," he said. "We have a mission to complete. Freddie, will you take care of Bucky?"

"Of course, Mr. Rogers. I'll make sure he's safe. You can count on me."

It was a weight off his shoulders. Whatever was wrong with Bucky, it was clearly beyond the ability of field medicine to cure. Bucky's best chance was for the team to complete the mission and call in the extraction as urgently as possible.

"Keep him as warm as you can," he told the young man. "Pile our sleeping rolls onto him. Build up the fire, and if you can get him to drink warm water, do."

"Don't worry, boss, I know what to do. You just leave it to me and go kick Nazi ass."

Steve nodded. There was no time to lose. "Get ready," he told the team. "We leave in fifteen minutes."

They prepared themselves in the semi-darkness. They'd each brought a sidearm with them, and Leif had supplied them with rifles, which they strapped over their backs to keep their arms free for their ski-poles. The plastic explosives were carefully stashed in backpacks, and everybody strapped on a pair of skis. As soon as they were ready, Steve told Leif to take the team out. He stopped beside Bucky's tent as the rest of the Commandos disappeared into the snowy night.

Bucky wasn't a sickly guy. The few times he'd ever been seriously ill, it had plunged an icy knife of terror into Steve's chest. What if Bucky didn't pull through? What if Steve lost his best friend? This time was no different. In fact, it was worse. This wasn't some New York apartment with a hospital just down the road and a physician to call out on a whim. This was the middle of nowhere, it was so cold that the nearby lake was fully frozen over, and the only medicine the team possessed was what was in their field first aid kits. There was nothing in there to treat food poisoning—if that's what this was—or worse.

In the darkness of the tent, Steve couldn't see his best friend, but he could hear the shallowed, laboured breaths escaping Bucky's lips. You didn't grow up the son of a nurse without learning a thing or two, and he knew that this type of breathing did not bode well. It was a tense and fitful breathing, and just listening to it made Steve feel short of breath and claustrophobic.

A hand came to rest gently on his shoulder, like a leaf upon a boulder. "I'll take care of him, Mr. Rogers," Freddie repeated quietly. "You gotta go be a hero."

Steve didn't feel much like a hero. A hero didn't leave his sick friend behind. But a hero also didn't leave his team to rush into danger while he hung back to take care of the ill. Before him was a rock, and behind him, a hard place. There was no single correct thing to do. Just a choice between the lesser of two evils.

He pulled off his glove and reached out to lay his hand across Bucky's ice-cold forehead. "Hang in there, pal. I gotta go take care of business, then I'm gonna get you home. I'll take you to the nicest hospital with the prettiest nurses. Just hold on."

The mention of pretty nurses failed to stir Bucky. Steve hoped that his mind was off in some pleasant, far-away dream. A dream of sunshine and home. Something warm to hold onto in the cold and the dark.

With his glove back on his hand before the winter air could start to burn, he followed the direction the rest of the team had taken. Urgency lent strength and speed to his serum-enhanced muscles. He cut effortlessly through the snow, as if borne on wings of great need. After only a couple of minutes, he caught up with the rest of the group. They moved at a snail's pace, so slow that they seemed to be barely moving at all. Steve bit his tongue to stop himself calling out to Leif to go faster, hurry up, do better. Leif was just a regular guy. The Commandos were just regular guys. They didn't have Steve's speed, and strength, and stamina, and he knew that they were already going as fast as they could. Leif was pushing them hard… Steve just wished he could push harder.

Concentrate, Rogers, he told himself. Not an easy feat. Every time his impatience grew, his mind went back to the tent. He knew Freddie would be doing everything he could for Bucky, but thinking of his friend so ill, so helpless… it made the panic in his stomach rise like the incoming tides, ebbing and flowing in waves that he knew would eventually drive him mad.

It was a relief when they finally reached the place where just a few hours ago, Steve, Bucky and Leif had lain observing the Nazi facility. At the time, Bucky had shown no signs of being ill. Could it truly be food poisoning, after all?

He pushed the thought away and turned to address his team. Concentrate. The last thing he wanted was more men down. "Alright, we don't have our sharpshooter to cover our backs, but the plan remains the same," he told them.

"I will keep an eye on the perimeter while your teams infiltrate and prepare the explosives," said Leif. "The Nazis will not have chance to surprise us."

"Is everybody clear on what they have to do?"

A round of nod and yessirs met his question. And there, crouched in the snow, he felt a moment of deep pride for how far his team had come in so short a time. Their faces were pinched with cold and tension, but they knew their jobs and weren't afraid to stare death in the face. They were the pride of the free world, and he was going to make sure everybody knew it.

"Alright, then let's go."

Alpha team—Dugan and Dernier—sprang up and followed Steve down the shallow embankment. When a pair of sentries popped their heads above a sandbag foxhole, their guns only a heartbeat behind, Steve didn't hesitate. He opened fire at the same time as the others, and the guards sank back down amidst a spray of red. He would set aside some time, later, to feel bad about the lives he had just taken. But it was something he would do when Bucky was safe and warm in an English hospital, complaining about the quality of the food.

Bravo team—Falsworth, Morita and Jones—took the flanking position. They came at the bunker from the side, and as Steve's skis carried him at speed towards his target, he swiftly lost sight of the second team. Dugan and Dernier spread out beside him, to avoid the trailing snow spray from his swift descent, and if it weren't for the fact that his best friend was lying deathly pale in a tent just scant miles away, Steve could've smiled at the thrill of the approach.

Their first volley of fire had taken away the element of surprise. As Steve's team drew nearer, guards spilled out from the building and into the gated compound. They took up positions behind trucks parked within, and Steve turned swiftly to avoid a storm of bullets. But his plan came to fruition; the guards had only seen Alpha team; Bravo team came at them from the side, and they had no shelter from that. Falsworth, Jones and Morita were all decent shots; in short time, the compound was littered with bodies twitching in their death throes. Something else to feel bad about… later.

The compound gate was locked, and Steve didn't have time to wait for Leif to arrive with the wire cutters. He unclipped his skis from his boots and aimed his hardest kick at the point where the gate locked. He hadn't truly expected it to buckle on the first kick, but he continually underestimated his strength. Buckle it did, with a groan of complaint, the wires bending so that a foot-shaped impression was left behind.

"Well, that's one way of doing it," Dugan said. He patted Dernier's backpack. "Now, what say we go leave our Nazi friends a nice warm gift on this cold night?"

The passing of dozens of soldiers and trucks had compacted the snow in and around the compound. The rest of Steve's team took off their skis, and when Falsworth arrived with the others, they did the same. Steve checked his watch. Almost an hour since they'd left Bucky and Freddie, and it would probably be another hour before they could get back. It might take an hour or two for their extraction plane, and then a two hour journey back to England at best. It was time that Bucky may not have.

"We need to do this quick," Steve said. "We no longer have the element of surprise, and the Nazis inside may have radioed for reinforcements."

"You go," said Leif. He hefted his rifle. "I will keep watch."

As their Norwegian guide jogged off around the compound, Steve turned to Falsworth. "Set the explosive in the weakest, most easily exploited spot you can find. Then retreat back to the ridge. We'll be right on your tail."

Falsworth saluted. "Yes, Captain. And good luck."

They crossed the compound and found the door to the facility locked. Steve gave it the ol' boot treatment, but this lock proved sturdier than the compound gates; it took three strong kicks before it reluctantly gave way, and when it did, it collapsed inward with an echoing bang. Definitely lost the element of surprise.

Inside the facility, the main lights were off. Some form of emergency lighting cast a sickly green light over the equipment in the room. A couple of tables, a cooking area, a small weapons locker… a guard station, Steve realised. The compound's first line of defence in the event of intrusion. Now, it was empty, its occupants growing as cold as the ground on which they'd fallen.

"Looks like they put this place on lock-down." Dugan's whisper was swallowed by the silence.

Steve nodded, then realised Dugan probably couldn't see as well as he could with only emergency lighting to go by. "Yeah. Let's hope whoever's downstairs isn't as prepared. Look for the elevator."

Dernier found it. His call of, "Mes amis!" brought Steve and Dugan jogging. And when Steve reached out to pull the elevator's lever, nothing happened.

"Help me prise this open," said Steve. He inserted the tips of his fingers into the tiny gaps in the elevator doors, and began to pull. Dugan took the other door, and pulled the opposite way. Steve found a new admiration for the Sergeant's strength; he wasn't powered by science, but he was still stronger than any other man Steve had ever met.

The doors squealed open, and a blast of icy air came rushing up to punch both men in the face. Steve peered down the shaft; the elevator was at the bottom. No chance of sending the explosive down in it. But if they dropped the explosive down, would it still work? Would it detonate on impact, killing them all? He knew precious little about explosives, so he posed the question to Dernier.

"Non, non, is fine, all fine," the Frenchman said, waving away Steve's concerns with an air of nonchalance Steve wished he could share. "We throw down, no problem. Get away fine." And with that out of the way, he pulled his pack from his shoulder and made a start on the detonation device.

Peggy had explained it briefly. A simple radio transmitter connected to the detonator, allowing them to trigger the explosion from a hundred metres away. Dangerous enough, out in the open. Down there, in the confines of the elevator shaft and underground access tunnels? He could only imagine the destruction that would be wrought by the fireball. The men who were down there would be burned alive.

"Here," said Dernier. He held up a block of the plastic explosive with the detonator attached. The explosive looked like an innocent block of modelling clay. Hard to believe it could produce a powerful explosive force. "Is ready."

"Would you like to do the honours?" asked Steve.

Dernier bowed and stepped towards the elevator shaft. He bent forward, to drop the explosive down. Only Steve's enhanced hearing gave him warning enough to grab Dernier and pull him back. The sound of footsteps echoing up the shaft was only a split second ahead of the ratta tatta tat of automatic gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off the ceiling, right where Dernier's head had just been.

Pale-faced, the Frenchman wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead as he stared at Steve. "Merci, mon ami. I owe you my life—again!"

"What now?" asked Dugan. His moustache was bristling; a sure sign of irritation in the team's second strongest man. "I take it we can't just toss the explosive down as initially planned?"

Dernier shook his head. "They may disarm detonator before we get to one hundred metres. We must detonate within a few seconds of dropping."

Steve had been afraid Dernier would say that. Bucky had been right, back in Coventry, when he'd lectured Steve about needing to be flexible with his plans. Sometimes, they just didn't work out as anticipated. Sometimes, you needed to think on the fly.

"Show me how this detonator works," Steve said to Dernier.

The Frenchman held up the small device. "Simple. Push green button to arm. Push green again to activate. Or push red button to disarm." He handed it over.

"Thanks. Now, get yourself back to the tree-line as fast as you can. Dugan, I need you to go outside and check with Falsworth that his explosive is in place. If it's not, tell him to hurry it up. If it is, tell him to get his team out of there, and then shout back to me that all's clear. I'll give you all a count of twenty to get as far away as you can. After twenty, I'll drop the explosive, and give myself five seconds to get out before I blow it."

Dugan borrowed one of Bucky's disapproving frowns. "Captain, five seconds ain't long enough for you to get clear. You'll be buried in rubble."

"Five seconds is long enough," Steve assured him. And if it wasn't, it was close enough. He was pretty sure he'd done a hundred metres in five seconds, while chasing down the HYDRA operative in New York. Of course, that had been on well-maintained concrete. In fair weather. No snow involved. Then again, the threat of imminent explosion might be a powerful incentive. "And you can buy me a drink when we get back to London when I prove I'm right."

"But if you're wrong, we'll be burying you in a frozen grave."

Steve reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not wrong. Not about this." If Bucky was willing to do the team's dirty work, then Steve would run the risks. "Now, go carry out your orders. I expect you all at a safe distance by the time I get out there."

Dugan saluted, and Dernier offered another bow. To give them time to carry out their orders, and to stop the Nazis below from getting any ideas about reactivating the elevator and trying to get to the surface, Steve aimed a few half-hearted shots from his pistol down into the shaft. Another heavy volley of automatic fire was the reply; they probably thought they had to prevent Steve and his team from getting down into the main facility and stealing their plans. They didn't know that infiltration wasn't the objective. If they'd known, they wouldn't have tried so hard to keep their aggressors top-side.

"Cap, Monty's team have set their explosive and are retreating back to the trees." Dugan's voice came echoing down the corridor. "But there's something you need to know."

"You can tell me later. Is everyone retreating?"

"Yes, but—"

"Get running, Dugan, I'm about to drop this explosive."

"But Captain—"

"Have we suddenly discovered the Nazis have got hostages down there?"

"No, but—"

"Then my plan's not changing." He fired a few more shots down the elevator shaft, and at the same time, heard the whir of something mechanical come to life. The lights in the facility jumped back up to full intensity, damn near blinding Steve. The Germans had restored power; they were going to try and come up in the elevator! "Dugan, I'm going to give you ten seconds, then I'm dropping this explosive. We're out of time."

Dugan's curses grew quieter as he disappeared out of the base. True to his word, Steve gave him a count of ten. From below, voices shouted out instructions in German, and the gunfire stopped. As soon as he reached ten, Steve dropped the explosive, and he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Down the corridors, out the front door, and he was halfway towards the compound gates when he reached five.

He didn't dare leave it any longer. It might take only a few seconds for the Germans to separate the explosive from its detonator. He quickly pressed the green button and, still sprinting across the treacherously icy surface, pressed the green button again. His world exploded in a fireball, and he was thrown back into Krausberg all over again.

Author's Note: A thousand apologies for the radio silence over the past couple of weeks. I've been suffering from one of those energy-draining colds, and it's taken me over three weeks to shake it. Please forgive any typos in this chapter; I was still finding them on my third re-read, but my brain's in a fog so I doubt I'll catch any more. Let me know if you do! Thanks for your patience, and I hope you'll tune in next Sunday to find out how Our Heroes are going to get out of this.