We Were Soldiers
103. The Watchmaker's Daughter
"Let me think." Monty rubbed his chin as he considered his options. "Oh, I know, we'll encounter a Nazi roadblock en route to our target."
"The explosives don't detonate," countered Morita. "My money's on that."
"Cap?" said Dugan. "You want in on the action?"
"I'm not going to bet on how we're going to fail," Steve replied. He took a sip of tea from the delicate China cup, pinky-out and everything. Just when Bucky thought he was making progress with his friend, he went and did something like this. It was as if he'd learnt to drink tea from a dame. Or Monty. "Because I don't believe this mission will be a failure."
"We're not saying that we'll fail, per se," said Jones. "Just that if something does go wrong, it'll give us the chance to rise to the opportunity to overcome it."
"I've had enough of overcoming the odds, thanks. I'll pass this time."
"Fine," Dugan huffed. "C'mon Barnes, you started this whole doom and gloom thing. Since you're the one who suggested something would go wrong, what do you think it will be?"
Soldiers didn't need much reason to gamble, but it was hard to gamble when you had an unlimited number of variables.
"Oh, I dunno." It would be just his luck that whatever he said would come to pass. Winning the bet was no fun if the team suffered. Unless… there might be a way to find a happy compromise. "I think we'll get captured by Nazis, successfully fight our way out, but then Dugan will be knocked unconscious in the fight."
"I bet the same thing," said Dugan, "except it's Barnes who gets KO'd. From a single punch, too."
"Y'know, stealing another guy's ideas just shows how boring and unoriginal you are."
"Hey, Jacques, you wanna place a bet?" Jones called.
Dernier, who'd been sitting by the window wearing a pensive-face that he could'a borrowed from Steve, glanced around at the Commandos and shook his head. "Mission is perfect," he said. "No problems. They never see us coming."
"Is everything alright, Jacques?" Steve asked him.
"Oui, oui. Is just, being back in France makes me realise how far is yet to go… and how much I miss my home."
Bucky could read uncertainty in Steve's entire being. The guy had never been good at asking for things from others. Finally, he said, "Y'know, once this mission is over, if you wanna stay in France, I'd understand."
The suggestion roused Dernier out of his melancholy. He straightened up and gave Steve a convivial slap on the shoulder. "And then who will make your explosives, eh? I promise to join your team, and I stay until war is won. Besides, SSR pays better than Resistance."
"Excuse me." Mariette stepped into the room, putting an end to their round of gambling. "Clement has arrived with your vehicles. If you are refreshed, you should continue your mission."
"Of course, ma'am," said Steve. "And thank you for your hospitality."
Mariette gave him one of those smiles. Bucky could remember a time when he used to get those smiles from dames, while Steve hung back, afraid of putting himself out there. Too bad he would never appreciate those smiles. Not from anyone other than Carter, at least.
Outside the house, they found their new rides; two Traction Avants that had seen better days. One seemed to be held together by rust and hope, and both front windows were missing. The other held large dents in the hood, and an ominous spray of bullet-holes decorated the entire passenger side of the chassis. Desperate times…
The wind had picked up over the past hour, and the windows of the house rattled with the force. Jean, standing in the open doorway of his home, had to shout to make himself heard. "Best of luck to you and your team, Captain Rogers. Our thoughts go with you. Oh, and don't worry about returning the cars once you are done with them; it is unlikely they will see further missions." He turned to Dernier and said something in French, to which Dernier responded in the same.
"What was all that about?" Bucky asked their explosives expert, as they hopped into the back of the bullet-ridden car being driven by Falsworth. The other Commandos rode with Steve.
"He offered to pass message along to my family," Jacques explained. "I want them to know I am still alive. Still fighting."
It was a tough gig that Dernier had. So close to his family, yet still so far away. An entire ocean separated Bucky from his family, but at least he could get letters to them, and they to him. Back with the 107th, letters from home had been the highlight of the day. Something innocent and familiar to look forward to.
They rolled out of the tiny little town and headed down the road in a northerly direction. Both cars were driven without headlights, to minimise the chances of them being spotted. This wasn't like the south of France that the 107th had previously trekked across; the area here was more populous, more familiar, less wild. At the first sign of another vehicle, they would have to turn off the road and hope they would be passed by.
"Is it just me," Bucky asked after a few moments, "or is this car kinda… shaking." His teeth were chattering together, and it definitely wasn't because of cold, or nerves.
Falsworth gave him a quick side-glance before turning his gaze back to the dark road. "I don't know whether to be pleased or not that you can feel it too. I think it's the suspension… or what's left of it."
Something white suddenly flew out of the missing window of the car in front and tumbled past their car on a swirling wind. Bucky got a brief glace as it blew past, and the sight made his heart sink.
"Erm… was that the map?" asked Falsworth.
Steve's car slowed to a stop, and Monty followed suit. It was a very sheepish-looking Captain America who stepped out of the vehicle.
"Please tell us you did not just lose the map," Bucky aimed at his friend.
Steve's guilty head-scratch was all the confirmation he needed. "I was handing it over to Dugan, so he could navigate, but our car doesn't have any windows in the front, and the wind kinda snatched it from Dugan's hand…"
Bloody Dugan! "That's okay, I'm sure Monty has a back-up map. Right, Monty?"
"I will absolutely bring a back-up map along for the next mission," Monty nodded fervently.
Steve groaned, and Bucky reined in the I-told-you-so that so desperately wanted to come out and play. Maybe next time he warned the team about bad omens, they'd listen to him.
"I'll run back and get it," Steve said. "It can't have blown too far. I think I saw a dirt track up ahead leading off into the trees… get these cars off the road and conserve the gas until I get back."
"I have bad feeling in stomach." Dernier patted his tummy as he watched Steve jog off down the road back towards town.
"You and me both, pal," Bucky sighed. "Guess we better do as Steve said."
The 'dirt path', while conveniently located, was little more than a muddy track that probably led to some cow field. To conserve fuel, they killed both engines and waited for Steve to return. When he finally did, he was empty handed.
"It must've blown high; I couldn't find any sign of it," he explained. "But don't worry, I got a good look at it earlier, I'm pretty sure I know the roads we need to take to reach our target. Just follow us closely, and I'll get us there."
It wasn't ideal, but old-Steve had a pretty good memory, and new-Steve's memory was even better. He'd been able to mark HYDRA bases from a map he'd glimpsed only for seconds; this would be much easier.
Steve returned to his car, and Monty started up the engine of theirs. It shuddered to life with a sigh, as if the mere act of starting was almost too much effort. Thank God they didn't have far to drive; these things were even worse than the battered old Czech truck that'd been their chariot through Prussia and Poland.
For a full minute they sat there, waiting for Steve to lead the way. After the minute, Dernier leaned forward from the back seat, and asked, "Que?"
"Good question," Falsworth replied. He rolled down his window—it only went halfway before jamming—and stuck his head out as far as he could manage. "I say, Captain, are you having any difficulties over there?"
Steve's head appeared like a spectre through the windowless door. "Err… well, the engine isn't exactly starting."
"Should we tow you?"
"Umm, probably not the best idea to try that," Bucky told him. "We're not exactly driving a jeep, here. Our car can barely pull its own weight, much less another vehicle's… plus the team inside."
"I see your point." He raised his voice and shouted, "Should we give you a bit of a push? Maybe we could bump-start it."
"Just give us a minute," Steve called back. "Morita's gonna take a look. His dad used to own a motor yard, and he's picked up a few things about cars."
"Alright, I'll keep our engine running. Just in case."
Bucky sat back and wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. He missed the sweltering heat of southern France, and the muggy dampness of London. Still, at least it wasn't as cold as Norway…
Out of habit, he checked his watch. Still five thirty-five. Officially the longest night ever.
"How long as Morita been working?" he eventually asked Monty.
"A little over half an hour. Give him time. Cars are tricky things. Or so I assume. I've always been more of a bicycle man, myself."
A short time after that, Morita came trotting over, hands covered in oil. The team clustered around the second car, where Bucky, Monty and Dernier were still sheltering from the icy gusts.
"The short of it is, the head gasket has blown," Morita explained.
"But you can fix it," said Captain Optimism. "Right?"
"Sure. With the right tools, the spare part, and a couple of days, I could strip the engine down, replace the gasket, then build the engine back up again. But even if I had the part, chances are that this gasket's been on its way out for a while. If you don't get these things quickly, they have a habit of letting coolant leak into the engine. It's basically a death sentence, and given how much antifreeze these guys were puttin' in their cars to keep them running through winter… well, I don't think we're going to get it going again."
Steve eyed the second car. "How many of us do you think we can squeeze into there?"
A scene played out in Bucky's mind; the Commandos arriving at their destination and tumbling out of the car like circus clowns in an unending stream of bodies. It would certainly give the enemy something to laugh about.
"Five at a push," said Jones. He peered into the back. "Looks pretty cosy back there."
"I'm not sure the car could handle five," Monty said. "Sergeant Barnes and I have noticed the suspension is a little… shaky."
"Well. That's just fantastic," said Steve. With a sigh, he sat down on the hood. The car rocked and groaned in response, and he quickly stood up again. "Suggestions?"
Dugan stepped forward and pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. "We set a trap on the road. Ambush the first vehicle that comes along."
"It seems a pretty quiet road," said Monty. "And I suspect it's only going to get quieter as the night goes on. Besides, the first vehicle might belong to a civilian. I don't feel comfortable robbing an innocent person just to achieve our mission."
"We should go on foot," said Morita. "It'll take longer to get there and back, but if we set a fast march and cut across country rather than following the roads, we should be able to make it in time for extraction."
Dernier's nod of agreement was enthusiastic, and a familiar gleam shone in his eyes. "Oui, leave cars. We take fuel, I make better explosion."
"Y'know, I think you have an unhealthy obsession with making 'better' explosions," said Morita.
A proud, shameless grin crept across the Frenchman's face. "Hopefully Germans agree."
"Alright," said Steve, "maybe this breakdown is for the best. If we cut across country we can make a beeline for the facility. We'll be safer and less likely to be spotted than if we travelled by road. And Dernier can have his 'better' explosion to really put paid to HYDRA."
It took a little doing, but they transferred all their water to three canteens, and filled the other four with fuel. What gas was left they let leak out onto the ground, so that even if the vehicles were found by Nazis, they couldn't be used for pursuit. In short time, the team was packed up and ready to go. Following Steve, they set out in a northerly direction.
The forest was silent, as if the animals and the insects and the trees themselves were deep in a winter slumber. A city boy through and through, Bucky had never truly appreciated how the different seasons could affect a place. Sure, in Fall, the trees lining the city streets lost their leaves, and in winter, snow made driving a hazard. In summer, children sought welcome relief from the heat under the cool spray of bust fire hydrants. But for the most part, the days in New York passed much the same, with the shortening or lengthening days the greatest indicator of the passing seasons.
Being back in France, he realised what life must be like for those who didn't live in big cities. From the dry, rocky, south of France, to the damp, green north, he'd gone from one extreme to the other. There was no short walk to the convenience store, here. No streetcar to hop on, no tube to catch, no vibrant nightlife to indulge in to forget about the biting wind for a time.
Morita stopped so suddenly that Bucky almost went right into the back of him. Slamming on the proverbial brakes, he hunched his shoulders against the wind and said, "What's the hold-up?"
"Beats me," Morita replied. Balancing on tiptoes, he peered over the shoulder of Jones and called out, "Hey, what's going on up there?"
"The Captain can smell something," Falsworth called back.
"Probably his own oversized feet," Morita grumbled. "He's been complaining about smells since he pulled us outta Krausberg."
"And hearing things clearly since then, too," Steve's voice called back.
"Damn super-hearing," Morita complained, at the same volume.
Bucky sniffed the air, and a familiar scent tickled his nose. In an instant, he was back to being six years old, sittin' by the sofa, watching Dad pile the logs into the ancient wood-burning stove.
"I smell it too," Bucky said. "Burning wood. There must be a house near here."
"I think I see light up ahead," said Steve. "Let's check it out. If there are Nazis in these woods, we need to know where they are."
Weapons were drawn as they crept forward. Nobody was laughin' or jokin' now. There was a time for levity, and this wasn't it. In the darkness, his eyes strained for every scrap of light, and the breaths of the Commandos were thunderstorms to his ears. If there were Nazis ahead, the team would either have to avoid them, or deal with them. He hoped, for Steve's sake, they could be avoided.
It wasn't a house. It was a campfire, the naked flames dancing violently as the wind tried to extinguish them. Tree-shadows were thrown around and, still a couple of dozen paces out, it took Bucky a long moment to spot the figures huddled around the fire. Two of them, one larger than the other. If they spoke, it was too quietly for him to hear their words.
Steve raised his fist and, like a pack of hunting dogs, the Commandos stopped and froze. One of the figures by the fire—the larger one—shifted, as if rearranging a coat. Bucky caressed the trigger of his pistol; since there hadn't been a foreseen need for a sniper rifle, he'd left the SSR-02 behind. Hopefully that wouldn't prove to be a mistake.
From his pocket, Monty pulled out a pair of binoculars. He peered through, then shook his head. "They've got their backs to the fire, I can't make them out. But I don't think they've seen us. You want to go around them?"
Steve squinted at the fire. Bucky could see his train of thought. Why would Nazis be camping out in winter? And if they weren't Nazis, who else—other than the Commandos—would be crazy enough to be out in this weather, and at this time of night? If it was the Resistance, maybe they could give intel on the HYDRA facility.
"No, let's go take a look. I'd rather know who's out here with us."
They crept forward, alert for a trap. As they drew closer, Bucky heard a few words before they could be snatched away by the wind. He asked Dernier, who was next to him, "What are they saying?"
Dernier simply shrugged. "Is Dutch. I not speak."
The figures by the fire didn't realise, at first, that they were no longer alone. When they finally did, their reaction was not what Bucky was expecting. The shorter figure ran to the side of the taller figure and, issuing a rapid stream of Dutch, physically dragged him by the arm around the other side of the fire, putting it between them and the Commandos.
"Please don't be afraid," said Steve. "We're not going to hurt you."
Only when they'd stopped moving did Bucky get a better look at the two people. The larger was an old man, lanky white hair hanging down from beneath his cap. Tall despite the stoop to his shoulders, he clung to the hand of the shorter figure and tilted his head as he focused on the ground. Judging by the white film covering his eyes, his vision had been failing for quite some time. Probably longer than he'd been wearing the dirty, threadbare trousers and faded, undersized jacket.
The second figure was much shorter and slimmer. Her blue eyes were wide with fright, and her blond hair had been cut short. She too wore a cap, and was dressed in the worn-out clothes of a boy. If she was a refugee, they were probably the only clothes she'd been able to find.
The old man said something in Dutch, and the young woman replied in kind.
Steve shot a helpless look at Jones. "Private?"
"Sorry Captain, I don't know what that is," Jones said. To the cowering figures, he asked, "Sprechen zu Deutsche?" The young woman shook her head. "Ou Français?"
"Oui, pas mal de Français," she replied. Then, she cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, it was in a slightly deeper tone. "We speak some English."
"Who are you, and what are you doing out here?" Steve asked.
His question finally seemed to rouse the old man. Letting go of the woman's arm, he took a step forward. "I am Ruben Moens and this is my grandson, Pieter. We are hiking in the woods."
"You mean 'granddaughter'?"
The old man—Ruben—shook his head and gave a dismissive wave. "No, no. Many people make that mistake."
"Yeah," said Morita, eyeing up 'Pieter'. "It's probably because he's actually a girl."
Not just a girl, but a girl wearing the worst 'boy' disguise Bucky had ever seen. Even Agent Carter had made a more convincing man than this young woman did.
"Look," said Steve, putting on his patient-voice, "you don't need to be afraid of us. We're here to help free Europe from Nazi control."
"Bah!"
"Opa," the 'boy' intervened. She—or he—whatever—took the old man's hand and rambled out a stream of Dutch. Such a strange language. Some words sounded so like English that he could guess their meaning, while the rest sounded like even greater gobbledygook than French. Hadn't Nurse Klein said her family was Dutch? A shame she wasn't here now, to translate. "Forgive him," she said to the team in English. "He is old and mistrustful of soldiers. My name is Antje. And as you guess, I am not a boy."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," said Steve. "And you too, Mr. Moens. I'm Captain Steve Rogers, with the Strategic Scientific Reserve. These are my teammates: Major James Falsworth of the British Army, Sergeant Bucky Barnes, Sergeant Dum Dum Dugan, Private Gabe Jones, Private Jim Morita, and Mr. Jacques Dernier, who is with the French Resistance."
"Enchanté," said Dernier, doffing his hat and offering a bow.
"I don't mean to pry," Steve said, "but what are you doing outside on a night like this? The winter is no time for a young lady and an… err… older gentleman… to be camping out."
"We are going to Switzerland," said Antje. Beneath the tired eyes and days-old grime, she had a pretty smile.
"That's enough, Antje," said Ruben. "They could be German spies."
"Oh Opa, they're not. I see their uniforms. Plus, one has black skin. I have seen men with black skin before, in Antwerp, but not since the Germans invaded."
"Antwerp?" Jones asked.
"It's in Belgium," Monty elaborated. "A bustling trade port… or at least, it was. Now it mostly receives German ships and U-boats."
"You're a long way from Belgium," said Steve. He'd probably memorised a map of the whole of central Europe before boarding the plane.
"And longer still from Switzerland," Monty added. "Why are you trying to get there?"
"We have heard there is safety, in Switzerland," Antje explained. "That we may be safe there."
"You're Jewish?" asked Steve.
"And proud," Ruben said, standing a little taller. "But just because we are proud of our heritage does not mean we are willing to be killed for it. The Nazis have taken so much from us already."
"Y'know…" said Morita, all sorts of hesitation written all over his face, "I don't want to burst your bubble or anything, but the official word is that Swiss borders are closed. They're also shooting down any plane that crosses their airspace, regardless of which side it's on. Switzerland might be a safe haven for any Jews already there, but I doubt they'd take in any more."
It was as if somebody had removed the only thing keeping the old man up. He sank to the ground before his granddaughter could react, his face ashen, tears spilling from his unseeing eyes. Steve stepped forward to help Antje move him closer to the fire.
"Then it is over," he said quietly. "There is no point travelling any further. We must stay in France or return to Belgium, and hope that we can avoid the Nazi patrols that plague both countries."
"Maybe not," said Bucky. He gestured Steve over, and said quietly, "there will be room on the plane for a half-starved girl and an old man. If we leave them here, they don't stand a chance." He couldn't help but see his own younger sister, Janet, in the face of Antje.
"I know," Steve whispered back, his eyes running over the pair by the fire. "But we can't take them with us to the facility, even if we knew exactly where it was; they'd slow us down and be in danger during the attack."
"What facility?" the old man asked. "Don't be surprised; when my sight left me long ago, my hearing improved."
Steve gestured to the Commandos. "Guys, why don't you warm yourselves up for a moment and have something to eat and drink?"
Bucky could see where Steve was going with his suggestion. Both civilians were underweight and probably malnourished. Military rations were designed to give the body what it needed.
As rations were passes around, Steve asked, "Will you tell us about the Nazis in Antwerp, and your journey so far?"
"It is a story no doubt repeated by many Jews in Europe," said Ruben. "We are no different to any others, though luckier than some."
"Still, I'd like to hear about where you come from, and how you got here."
Smart, Steve, Bucky thought to his friend. If they were to somehow get these two back to England, they'd need to make sure the pair weren't really German spies. And if they had any intel to give, Phillips would be more understanding of their presence. Probably. Hopefully.
Ruben sighed, but the ration bar he'd been given seemed to take the edge off his crankiness. "My family has lived in Antwerp for four generations, where we have a history as distinguished horologists."
"Horo-what?" asked Jones.
"Horology is the study of time and time-pieces, Private. My grandfather was the finest clockmaker in Antwerp, and my father followed in his footsteps. I myself studied for four years at the British Horological Institute, where I learnt the craft of watchmaking. It is a craft I taught to my son, who took over my shop when my sight failed me, and a skill I now try to teach to my granddaughter, so that she has something to make a living by when I am gone."
He could scarcely believe his ears. Just a few hours ago, his dad's trusted watch had stopped working, and now, in the middle of nowhere, he'd found someone who was capable of repairing it. If the watch breaking was a bad omen, then surely this was the exact opposite. What, other than divine intervention, could've placed an accomplished watchmaker directly on his path on this day, in this place?
"Would you be able to fix my watch?" he asked, before Ruben could continue his story. "It stopped working earlier today. It belonged to my dad, and he gave it to me when I shipped off for my basic training."
"Show it to Antje," said Ruben.
Bucky tugged his sleeve up, unbuckled the watch, and handed it over to Antje. The girl held it out to the firelight, turning it this way and that, running her fingers along the decoration on the back. As she did, she spoke in Dutch; probably describing it to the old man.
"I have never encountered this model before," said Ruben. "But mechanical watches like this are usually easy to fix. I have my tools with me, but wouldn't like even an accomplished watchmaker to try fixing a delicate piece of equipment in this darkness and wind. I can talk Antje through the repairs, but not here."
As Antje handed back the watch, Steve asked, "How long have you been running?"
"Since the Germans invaded Belgium."
"That's over three years!" said Monty. "How have you managed to survive for so long?"
"It has not been easy." Ruben rubbed at his hands; his knuckles were red and swollen with cold. Possibly with arthritis. Even if he had his sight, he probably wasn't capable of the precision work required for watch repair anymore. "When the Belgian army surrendered, we knew it would only be a short time before the Nazis marched on Antwerp. With my vision starting to fail, I knew I couldn't find our documents in time. My son went to our home, to secure everything we would need for travel. I managed to get to Antje's school, and took her straight out of class. My wife refused to leave without our daughter and her children, so she went to the southern side of the city, where they lived with my son-in-law.
"We were to meet in a barn outside the city. But the Nazis moved faster than we could've guessed. They had tanks, and many cars. Antje and I just made it out in time. At the barn, we waited. For three days, we waited, having nothing but water from the farm well to sustain us. On the fourth day, we knew that we could wait not longer. We had no provisions, no spare clothes, no money, and no identity papers. The longer we stayed, the greater the risk we would be caught.
"We travelled south, always at night. From time to time, we stayed with sympathetic people willing to hide us. Sometimes we stayed in a place for just a single night. Other times we were able to stay for weeks. I began to teach Antje my craft, and we were sometimes able to fix watches, and an occasional clock, in exchange for food and clothing. For three years we managed to avoid the patrols. Then, we heard a rumour that Jews were being offered sanctuary in Switzerland. Though I didn't know if it was true, I thought it was worth a try. I thought it would be easier to travel south through part of Luxembourg, than to skirt around it. Winter has been harsh. We have travelled slowly. And now we know we have travelled for nothing."
"But why'd you try to disguise yourself as a boy?" Bucky asked Antje. "No offence, but you're far too pretty to be a boy."
"We have heard stories," Ruben answered for her, "of soldiers forcing women against their will." They were definitely not leaving Belgium without the pair. Bucky wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to Antje.
"Dressing as a boy will still get you shot on sight," Morita pointed out.
A dark scowl marred Antje's pretty features. "Better to be shot than raped and shot."
Steve sat up a little straighter. "You have my word that nothing will happen to either of you while we're here. We can handle German soldiers. And once our mission is complete, we'll take you back to England with us. You'll be safe, there."
"Will you really take us with you?" There was a sparkle in Antje's blue eyes that hadn't been there before, and it warmed Bucky's heart to know that the young woman could still find some excitement, something to look forward to. "Opa has told me many stories of England. I have always wanted to visit there."
"I'm afraid you'll find England much affected by the war," Monty said, "though you will be considerably safer there than here. And perhaps our intelligence service can help you find out what's happened to your family."
"What is this mission you speak of?" Ruben asked. "Will you be here long?"
"Well, that depends," Steve explained. "Our mission is to destroy a refinery just over the border into Luxembourg. Unfortunately, we lost our map. We know the direction the refinery lies in, but not its exact location."
"We passed a… fabriek?" Antje shook her head, and said to Dernier, "La usine?"
Dernier nodded. "A factory. Quand?"
"Two nights past. I did not like the look of it. There was so much fencing, I thought it was a work camp. But I did not see any prisoners, and the flag on the post made me shiver."
"Did it look like this?" Steve pulled his notepad from his pocket and quickly sketched out HYDRA's emblem.
"Yes. It was like a monster, blowing in the wind."
"That's our place. Could you draw us a map to where you saw it?"
Antje shook her head. "But I could lead you there."
"Antje, no, it will be dangerous!" said Ruben.
"Every day that we stay here is dangerous," she countered. "And these men have put themselves in danger to help end the war and free our people. I am tired of being afraid, Opa. I want this to be over, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get you to safety. You're all I have left."
The old man reached out for her, and she flung herself into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder. This, Bucky realised, was true heroism. Not trained soldiers coming over here to shoot Nazis, but simple, ordinary people, standing up for themselves and doing what they felt was right. Taking risks without having the training. Being brave in the face of overwhelming adversity.
"Okay," said Steve. "This is what I wanna do. Falsworth, you take Ruben back to where we left the cars. Take a canteen of fuel, drive back to Ottange. Morita, go with them in case of mechanical issues. Ask Jean to get a message back to our people. Tell them not to send a plane for our scheduled pick-up. We can't risk it being shot down for nothing. Get a new set of rendezvous co-ordinates, and tell them I'll activate our transponder when we're ready to be extracted. The rest of us will go with Antje, and complete the mission we came here to carry out. Once we're done, we'll hightail it back to Ottange and meet up with Falsworth's team."
"As simple as that," said Dugan.
"As simple as that," Steve agreed.
Bucky knew it wasn't going to be as simple as that, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. Simple or not, he couldn't leave Ruben and Antje behind. No matter what it took, he would make sure they reached safety.
Author's note: Terrible news, dear readers! After Crazy amount of chapters, and Even Crazier amount of words, the unthinkable has finally happened: I have run out of pre-written chapters. While I do have outlines written for the next 20 or 30 chapters, I simply lack the time to write and edit them on a weekly basis. So, while I'll still try to update the story on Sundays wherever possible, it's more likely that my updates will be rather sporadic, at least until I can get sufficient time off work to allow me to write in advance, as I have been doing for the past 2 years. Therefore please, if you wish to be kept apprised of updates and haven't already 'followed' the story, this would be an opportune time to do that. Alternatively, if you could send typewriter-proficient helper-monkeys to assist me, that would be super awesome also.
Big thanks to Guest 101 for your kind words, and for the vote of confidence. However, how Bucky became the Winter Soldier isn't a story that particularly interests me as a writer or a reader. As an avid fan of the Torture Your Protagonist method of writing, I already spent far too much time doing that to Deadpool in my Deadpool fics, and have no desire to do it to Bucky in a story to bridge this one and Running To You. There are adequate flashbacks in Running To You to cover that particular topic, and I simply feel there is more fun to be had elsewhere. Besides, there are many Bucky-as-Winter-Soldier fics out there, and some will undoubtedly do a far better job at addressing Bucky's brainwashing than I ever could.
If you're short of things to do between my updates, I wrote a Voltron fic a while back and am in the process of publishing that (though it's not canon for season 7, as I wrote it before S7 came out) so you could check that out if you're a fan of the show (and if you aren't a fan of the show, shame on you!) Alternatively if you're looking for good Cap recs, go read You Will Call Me Friend by cairistiona7, Opposites Collide by Mellia Bee, Define Stupid by JayRain, or The Reconstruction by Qweb. They are all very excellent stories written by very excellent authors of Cap fics and will give you a good range of every emotion from angst to fluffy feels. I also feel the need to advise you to watch Stranger Things and Violet Evergarden (both available on Netflix) if you haven't already, because both of these things are worthy of spending time on. Stranger Things, in particular, gives me all manner of nostalgic feels, and proves that you don't need an iPhone to defeat interdimensional monsters. You really don't.