We Were Soldiers
102. Broken
Bucky had never had a fried breakfast containing hotdog sausages before, but with the Brits rationing everybody and everything, all establishments that housed or catered for American troops were supplied by the US Army's kitchens, so he guessed they'd all be getting used to eating odd food combinations. At least the Strand's cooks hadn't actually tried to fry the hotdog sausages; they were just dumped unceremoniously on the edge of the plate, as if included as an after-thought. Probably English snobbery.
Halfway through his plate of delicious hot food, a familiar figure sauntered into the dining room with a spring in his step. Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve hadn't come to speak to him last night about his date, but he'd heard his friend return to his room about one in the morning… in fact, with Steve whistling some jaunty tune that Bucky didn't recognise, probably everybody in the hotel had heard him return to his room.
"Morning, sunshine," he said, as Steve took the opposite seat at the table. "I take it your date went well?"
"I didn't put my foot in my mouth even once," Steve grinned. "I would've told you about it sooner, but we got back later than intended, and I didn't wanna wake you."
"Wake me? Pal, you just about woke the whole hotel. What was that tune you were whistling?"
Steve's cheeks pinked a little. "Oh, I don't even remember."
"Well, I hope from your perky mood, that means you at least got in a goodnight kiss."
"Nope."
"Sometimes I despair over you."
His best friend offered a reproachful look. "C'mon, Buck, it's not always about the action."
"It's always about the action."
Before Steve could offer another objection, Morita dashed into the dining room and made a beeline for their table. "Cap, Sarge, we just got a message from HQ. Phillips wants us to report for duty ASAP: he's got some action for us."
Bucky shovelled half a fried tomato into his mouth and grabbed a slice of toast for the road. "See? It's always about the action."
An hour later, the Commandos—plus Agent Carter and Howard Stark—had assembled in Phillips' office, keen to get their next mission underway. Steve had even managed to wipe the goofy, in-love smile off his face. It would probably be back as soon as Carter said two words.
"Men," Phillips began, "we've finally gotten a strong lead on one of the HYDRA bases Captain Rogers found marked on Schmidt's map in Krausberg. Now that we know exactly where it is and what it's being used for, I think it's time we put it permanently out of operation. I'm not going to bother telling you that this will be a dangerous mission. They're all dangerous missions; that's why you're here. This time, you'll be heading into Luxembourg. Agent Carter, please educate the men about Luxembourg."
Carter stepped forward and pinned a map of the area onto a corkboard beside Phillips' desk. "Luxembourg is a landlocked country occupying an area of approximately one thousand square miles. Bordered by France, Belgium and Germany, the country is currently occupied by Nazi forces. Because it has no coast, a naval incursion into the country is out of the question. This time, you'll have no choice but to parachute in."
"Just what I wanted to hear," Dugan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Me too," said Monty. And he really meant it.
"The facility," Carter continued, "is located about a mile south-west of a town called Kayl, within a commune of the same name. We do have one ace up our sleeve; we have operatives lying low within the French town of Ottange, barely a mile from the France-Luxembourg border, and they will secure you two cars, which you can use to travel by night to the HYDRA facility. Because the facility isn't located too near to any civilian populations, and it's staffed only by HYDRA personnel, it should be a fairly straightforward mission."
"Way to jinx it," said Morita.
Steve stepped forward to gesture at the circle that had been indicated on his map. "What does this facility do?"
"It's a refinery," Stark spoke up. "Refining what, we're not sure, but chatter across the comms network suggests it's an important part of Schmidt's plans. I've already procured a healthy amount of plastic explosive for Mr. Dernier to play with once you get there."
"Très bon!"
"Wouldn't it be great if we could blow this place up with Schmidt inside?" asked Jones.
It would definitely be a coup for the war effort, if their next mission resulted in Schmidt's death, but Bucky was hoping for something more personal for Schmidt and his flying monkey, Zola. He wanted to see them suffer before they died. A quick death was far too good for them, after what they'd done to him.
"Gentlemen," said Phillips, "you fly at five o'clock this evening"—I hate rush-hour flying, Morita whispered to Falsworth—"and will arrive at your drop zone roughly two hours later. You'll be extracted from a pre-determined rendezvous point at seventeen-hundred hours tomorrow, giving you twenty-four hours to meet your contacts in Ottange, cross over into Luxembourg, blow up the refinery, and make it to your pick-up zone. Good luck, and Godspeed."
Carter stepped towards the group. "Captain, Major, I have intelligence to pass on to you in preparation for the mission."
"Mr. Dernier, Private Jones," said Stark, "if you'd like to accompany me down to my lab, I'll get you kitted out with all the explosives you'll need, plus some upgrades to the spy kit. I call it, Spy Kit Mk. II. Barnes, you might wanna come as well; I have some new flavours of high-energy ration bars for you and Captain Rogers to try out."
"Guess that leaves Morita and me to head down to the quartermaster and requisition some ammo and equipment," said Dugan. He gave one corner of his moustache a twirl. "My favourite part of any mission."
"You should all meet in the Strand lobby for two o'clock this afternoon," Carter added. "I've arranged transport to the airfield."
The group split up to perform their various tasks, but not before Steve managed another goofy, calf-eyed smile at Carter. Bucky merely shook his head. Good help his lovestruck friend.
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The flight over France was more turbulent than the one over Norway. Every time the plane dipped, Bucky's stomach lurched horribly. Dernier had already been sick several times, and other than Monty, nobody looked particularly happy about being in the air.
"At least they're only short flights," said Steve. He gingerly patted Dernier on the back as the Frenchman closed his eyes at another aerial dip. "When I flew from America to Sicily, it was hours."
Denier vomited into a bucket again. When he'd finished, he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief donated by Monty and said, "From now, I travel only by car."
"Will you be okay, Jacques?" Steve asked. "I'd ask you to sit it out, but I kinda need you on this one."
"Oui, oui, I will be fine when on solid ground."
The co-pilot shouted back from the cockpit, "Captain, we'll be at the drop point in one minute."
"Alright everyone," said Steve, "this won't be like Norway. We're jumping straight into the heart of enemy territory. When you land, hide your chutes and make immediately for Ottange. Don't wait around. Now, let's synchronise our watches."
Bucky pulled his sleeve back to reveal the face of the watch his dad had given him before he headed off to Last Stop. The hands read five-thirty-five; the time they'd roughly been over the English channel. That couldn't be right.
He tapped the face, in case the hands had lodged, but nothing happened. As a mechanical watch, it wound itself to the movement of his body, but he tried the manual wind-up anyway… and still the second-hand didn't move.
"We gotta turn back," he said.
The rest of the group looked at him as if he was mad. "What's wrong?" Steve asked immediately.
"My watch has stopped working."
"I'm sure we got enough watches between us," said Dugan.
"You don't understand: this is the watch my dad gave me before I shipped out. The same watch he wore during the Great War. This thing has been ticking for nearly thirty years. The fact that it's stopped now is a really bad omen." It wasn't that he was particularly superstitious, but he did believe things happened for a reason. The watch breaking now was no coincidence; it did not bode well for the mission.
"C'mon, Barnes, do you wanna lose your man-badge forever?"
"Hey, maybe Barnes is right," said Morita. Bucky silently thanked him for the support. "This morning, as I was getting dressed, I popped a button on my shirt. Probably a bad omen, too."
"Yeah," Jones added. "And as I was boarding the plane, I broke a nail."
"The hatred that I have for you all cannot be defined by mere words," he told them. "But sure, you all go ahead and synchronise your watches. I'll just exist forever in five-thirty-five. Send me a postcard from the future, and don't blame me when the mission goes to hell."
"You can jump right ahead of me if you like, Sergeant Barnes," said Monty. "My watch keeps the time well enough for the both of us. Fear not; I shan't let you get lost in the past."
"Thank you, Major. At least one of my teammates is showing a little concern for my welfare."
"We'll get your watch fixed as soon as we get back to London," Steve assured him. "Your dad'll never know there was ever a problem with it."
"Probably just got overloaded with feminine emotion," sniggered Dugan. "Be sure to stick close to Monty if you start feeling faint, Barnes."
God, he wished the 107th were there with him right now. Wells and Davies and Gusty would've been full of ideas to wipe the smirk off Dugan's face. Ideas like replacing the sugar cubes he used in his morning coffee with cubes of salt. Or dying his bowler hat bright pink. Hmm. Perhaps when he got back to London, he'd have words with Stark.
"Alright, it's time," Steve shouted above the hum of the engines. "I'll see you all ground-side."
He punched the cargo ramp button—not literally, because that would've broke it—and was the first to jump into the murky darkness. Typical Steve. He didn't stop to listen to whether AA guns were targetting the plane… probably thought that by jumping first, he'd be taking any potential fire away from the rest of the team.
Dernier went next. Other than Steve and Monty, Bucky had never seen a guy so eager to jump out of a plane. Maybe Dernier's stomach was happier when he was free-falling. It certainly couldn't get any worse than it already was.
After Jones and Morita leapt in turn, it was Dugan next in line. Monty still insisted that at least himself and one other person remained to help 'encourage' Dugan out of the plane, and Bucky was more than happy to be that person. Hearing Dugan's "Waaaaaahhh!" of terror as he was pushed from the craft was happy payback for all the mockery.
"You're up next, Sergeant," said Monty.
Bucky pulled his goggles down over his eyes and took the leap out of the plane. Once, a lifetime ago, he'd worried about the jump. The chute deployment. The landing. Since then, he'd come to realise that the worry was worse than the jump itself. He trusted that his chute would deploy and that he'd land safely on the ground. If something was gonna go wrong, it would've gone wrong during his first jump. No, this mission would have different setbacks. Probably when they were least expected.
He fell through the air until and counted in his head. When he reached the count Monty had given him, he pulled the cord and was jerked unpleasantly as the chute caught the wind and slowed his rapid descent. In the darkness, he could just about make out the outlines of two of the other parachutes, floating slowly down like expansive ghosts. It begged the question… why didn't somebody design black parachutes, for use at night? White ones were essentially giant targets in the night sky.
He filed the question away for later discussion as the ground approached. This time, there was no deep snow drift to swallow him whole, just a good ol' boring French field. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd first set foot on French soil. Hard to believe it was less than a year ago. Hard to believe he was the same James Buchanan Barnes, the same stupid kid who'd stood in line outside the recruitment office and wished for glory and adventure. Less than a year since Wells had bullshitted him about all the inoculations they'd have to receive, and Gusty had earned his nickname. They'd come to Europe to fight the good fight… and some of them would never leave it.
His landing went as smooth as his jump and his fall. As soon as he'd found his ground-legs again, he detached himself from his parachute and folded the thing up as small as he could get it, before shoving it into the first deep ditch he came across. Hopefully it wouldn't be found until well after he and the team had returned back to London.
"That was some fine parachuting, Sergeant!" Monty's voice called out. Monty himself appeared from the cover of a sparse woods, sans parachute.
"Well, I had a good teacher."
Monty chuckled. "I have to agree with you there." He patted absently at his pockets. "Now, which way to Ottange?" he pondered aloud.
Bucky squinted at something in the distance, then pointed to the north. "That way. About two kilometres."
"How the devil do you know that? You haven't even consulted your compass."
"No, but there's a road over there, with a sign on it."
Falsworth peered in the direction of the road, then shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't see anything, but that seems as good a direction as any. Let's head that way and see if your sign makes itself any clearer to read."
As they walked, Monty continued patting at his pockets; not just those of his jacket, but also the front and back pockets of his pants. Finally, the temptation was too much.
"Any particular reason you're frisking yourself so thoroughly, Major?"
"Well, yes." In the darkness, Bucky couldn't see the guy blush, but he could feel it, in the tone of voice. "I seem to be missing my compass."
"Ah."
"Not to worry; Captain Rogers still has that very fine compass you got him for Christmas. I heard something small and metallic drop in the plane, before I jumped. I thought one of the pilots may have dropped a coin. I do hope it was my compass; I might still recover it. If I lost it while falling… well, I'll never get it back. First your watch, now my compass. We are having a spot of bad luck, aren't we?"
It suddenly struck Bucky that he knew very little about Falsworth. He'd had chance to speak to Jones, Morita and Dernier about their families and their homes, and a summer spent traversing France with Dugan and the rest of the 69th had taught him all he wanted or needed to know about the bowler-hatted madman… but Falsworth had never seemed as approachable as the others. Or perhaps, less generally available. Time to rectify that.
"You got any long-term aspirations, Major?"
"You mean beyond stopping Hitler's tyranny before it can reach my homeland and overrun it and the rest of the world?" He scratched his chin in thought. "Well, when I was younger, I thought I might make a living as a professional cricketer. I'm quite handy with a bat and ball. But not a racquet. For some reason, I'm absolutely useless at tennis. And badminton."
"What happened to those plans?"
"War, mostly. You have to understand, we've been at this since '39. When the majority of your adult life has been spent with your country in a state of total war and under constant threat of invasion, you have to put aside your own plans. Countless millions of British and Commonwealth men answered the call to arms… I could hardly sit idly and play cricket while the world burned around me. What I'll do when the war's over… I haven't even thought that far ahead. How about you, Sergeant? What are your grand plans?"
"Live the American Dream, I guess. Before the war, I worked for a small printing firm, mostly doing copy-editing. Always figured I'd get married and start a family, maybe start up my own business if I could get enough money behind me."
Had that been his dream? Or had it been his mother's? She was always going on at him about settling down and finding a wife. He'd found more fun in getting to know women than settling down with any particular one. He's assumed that the wife and family stuff would just happen, and hadn't made any real effort to work at it. He'd been more interested in watching moving pictures, hanging around with Steve and his other friends, and sparring at his dad's boxing club. There hadn't been any need to rush the wife and kids stuff. When he was young, he imagined he'd have forever. Now, he knew how short forever could be.
"Well, hopefully what we're doing here today will mean you have a home to go back to," said Falsworth. "That those of us who still have homes and families can one day go back to th—I say, you were right, it is a road-sign. How the devil did you see that from all the way back there?"
"I have good eyes." A smile tugged at his lips. "Why do you think I'm the sharpshooter?"
"I assumed it was because of your steady hand, but I guess good eyes are something of a prerequisite for the job as well." He straightened his jacket and set his gaze on the road. "Very well, on to Ottange we go! But perhaps we should walk beside the road, rather than on it. You never know who might be watching."
"Good idea." A moment later, he asked, "You got a girl, back home?"
"No, but my mother has about six lined up for me."
Judging from Monty's tone, his mother took a very Bucky's mother approach to finding girls for her son. Maybe with Bucky away, she'd transfer the match-making to Charlie. Though, he had just broken up with his long-term girlfriend, so maybe Mom wouldn't try to get involved too soon.
"Know what's strange?" he asked, as much to himself as to Monty. "My mom's the same; always telling me about this girl she met, or such-a-body's daughter. But for some reason, she never seems to have guys lined up for my sisters. I can't remember a single time she ever suggested setting Mary-Ann up on a date."
"Women are indeed mysterious creatures," Monty agreed. "And mothers even moreso."
A few minutes after passing the road sign for Ottange, they encountered another figure making his way along the road. Dernier seemed a little wobbly on his legs, but given the fact that he'd thrown up just about every meal he'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours, that was understandable.
"How's your stomach feeling?" Bucky asked him.
"Better" said Dernier.
"Jacques, I know you're as dedicated to the cause as any of us," said Monty, "but are you sure you want to keep putting yourself through this? England is an island; the only way off it is by sea or air, and your stomach seems to take exception to both."
"Is a small price to pay for my country's freedom. I will live."
"In that case, let's pick up the pace a little. We don't want to keep the rest of the team waiting."
They found the team on the outskirts of Ottange, waiting within the cover of a small wooded area. The town was quiet, with martial law and curfew in effect. Steve gestured them over, and quietly issued instructions. "We're looking for a house set back from the main road, with a dark blue door and a knocker in the form of a bull's head. We knock five times, and somebody will ask, 'Who's there?' Our counter is 'Just simple tradesmen from Panama looking for a place to rest for the night' and that's how we make contact with the SOE agents here."
"What if there's more than one house with a blue door and a bulls-head knocker?"
"Pe—I mean, Agent Carter assured us there's only one. Now, spread out in pairs and keep your heads down. Just because this place is quiet doesn't mean there aren't eyes watching the road."
Bucky paired up with Monty, and they took one of the small side-roads to explore. Dernier and Morita headed towards the main road, while Dugan and Jones took a path that wound its way towards a small woods.
"I understand you've performed missions here in France before," Monty said quietly as they searched for the elusive blue door.
"Yeah, back when the SSR was attempting to infiltrate HYDRA's communications network. But it was in the very south of France, and it was the middle of summer." He glanced around at the gloomy, dark town. "It was quite different to this." And he was still amazed that they'd managed to get the whole outfit across France without encountering major opposition. Carrying those tents for mile after mile, scurrying for cover every time a stuka came by… and the tanks with their perilous bridge crossing! It had all seemed like a grand adventure, at the time. But that had been before their first real engagement.
"Say, there's a blue door," said Monty.
Bucky's gaze followed the direction in which he pointed. "Yeah, but it has a regular ol' door knocker. Not a bull-shaped one."
"Confound it. Let's keep looking."
In the end, victory went to Morita and Dernier. Morita's quiet call of, "Hey guys, we found it!" drew in all the Commandos from their own searches.
"This looks like the right place," said Steve. "Good work, you two."
"Dumb luck, more like," Dugan scoffed.
"You're just sore that you owe me two bucks now." The grin plastered on Morita's face said he as already spending that money.
"Mission heads on, guys." Steve stepped forward and knocked five times on the blue door.
Bucky held his breath. So many things could go wrong on a mission like this, the worst of which was their contact being picked up by the Gestapo and replaced by German spies. It sounded like something out of a flick, but Casablanca had nothing on the realities of war.
He heard the patter of footsteps on the other side of the door.
"What if nobody's home?" Jones whispered.
"They're in there," Bucky told him. "Can't you hear them?"
"Uh, no?"
"Who's there?" a voice called through the door.
"Just simple tradesmen from Panama looking for a place to rest for the night," Steve replied.
Bolts were slid back. Keys were turned in locks. A face peered around the door that opened by a few inches.
"Come in quickly," the man said. His French accent wasn't as strong as Dernier's, and his English sounded pretty fluent. "One can never be too careful about who may be watching."
One by one, they filed inside, following the dim light to a spacious sitting room. There was no sign that this was anything other than a normal French home… all their equipment must be pretty well hidden.
"Ah, our guests have finally arrived!" A dark-haired woman stepped into the room, her plain grey dress belying her naturally pretty face. "Welcome, welcome. I am Mariette; the un-mannered man at the door is my husband, Jean. Please, be seated, I will make us some tea."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Steve. "But we really can't be staying."
"Nonsense! My cousin, Clement, is out there right now, securing you two vehicles. Until he returns, you can be comfortable and civilised, can't you?"
"What Captain Rogers meant to say," Monty spoke up quickly, "is that we'd be delighted to share a spot of tea, if it's not too much trouble."
"Of course it's no trouble! I will go and prepare it now. Please makes yourselves at home."
"Hey, where's Jacques?" asked Jones.
The Frenchman appeared before a search could be mounted; he was deep in conversation with Jean, a rapid stream of French passing between the two. Bucky couldn't even catch a single word, despite his recent attempts to learn more of the language.
The conversation stopped, and Jean look around the Commandos. "I will go and help Mariette with the tea," he said.
"What was all that about?" Steve asked Dernier, when Jean was out of earshot.
"I ask about Marseilles," said Dernier. "I know it's… long shot? But I hope for news of home. So far, is quiet."
"Surely quiet is good," Bucky pointed out.
Dernier shrugged. "Maybe. We shall see, later. Now, there is mission, no?"
Bucky could only look at the Frenchman with envy. His home country was occupied, his family were in constant danger, and he still carried out missions with as much poise as his stomach would allow. In Dernier's place, with Mom and Dad and Mary-Ann, Janet and Charlie in danger, Bucky wasn't sure he would've been able to do the same. He just hoped that someday, soon, they'd be able to help Dernier—and all the French people—rid themselves of the Nazis for good. If the Allies could take back France, then victory was theirs.
But for now, there was a mission. And Bucky was still waiting for something to go horribly wrong.
Author's note: thanks guest reviewer for the song rec, I find it very apt. In fact, it should be renamed to Danny's Song, and made to replace the actual song titled Danny's Song by Kenny Loggins.