We Were Soldiers

116. Voices on the Wind

Italy was so much prettier than France. Bucky had thought so the first time he'd led a team on an excursion across the border, and he thought so again now. The Alpine countryside was all snow-capped mountains and crystal clear lakes. It was too early in the season for wildflowers, but before too long they would carpet the fields and meadows in hues too rich for the imagination to comprehend. At least when he went home, after the war was over, he could truthfully say he'd seen some beautiful sights. Freddie must've agreed, because his camera never stopped snapping.

This was just like old times, in a way. He carried his SSR-02 rifle, and behind him Gusty and Biggs followed with their M1s at the ready. Another half-dozen members of the 107th walked out in a line—because only idiots clustered together when there might be mines lying around—most of whom Bucky had led on previous missions in the past. They'd danced to this song enough times to know what they were doing, and how HYDRA operated. Even Stark was silently lost in thought as they undertook the eight-mile march to their target.

Gusty caught up to him as they reached the edge of a forest, but didn't cease his appraisal of their surroundings. "You finish the book yet?"

Bucky shook his head. "Haven't even started it. Things have been… chaotic. We bounce back between England and Europe a lot, running missions for Phillips. Plus, I've got a puppy now."

"Heh, that's nice. Audrey and I are thinking about getting a dog when we get back. Or maybe a cat. We haven't settled on one or the other yet. Anyway, I was just askin' in case you wanted to sell it back. Little did I know when I sold it to Wells, but that was possibly the only copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in the entire US Army Editions library. I've had a fair few requests for it, could probably get a small fortune for it in barter."

"Sorry pal, it's back in England with the rest of my stuff."

"Don't worry about it. I'll find another copy somewhere. Somehow. Even if it costs me a whole chicken." He shot a speculative glance at Bucky, real side-eye-like. "I remember the two of you fightin' over that book, back in that mine. Right before the cave-in, when we lost Franklin and Davies."

It hadn't been real fighting. Not like how he'd fought with Wells over Franklin and Davies' graves. He'd spent as much time in Europe fighting with his friends as with his enemies. The irony wasn't lost on him. Nor was what Gusty was trying to do.

"I don't wanna play, Gusty."

"But Sarge, you remembered Tipper. And Carrot, and Davies and Franklin and even Sergeant Weiss."

"That's different. This is different. Hawkins and Wells… we didn't get their tags. We don't know that they're dead." But in his heart of hearts, they knew they were dead, along with Corporal Jones, and Martland from the 9th. It had been months. If they were alive, even injured, they would've found their way back long before now. "They could still be out there. It's not right, rememberin' guys like they're dead when they might be alive."

The look Gusty gave him suggested he didn't believe that any more than Bucky did, but he let the matter lie, and that was just fine. Thinking of Wells… it was like thinking of Krausberg. Somewhere along the way, a piece of him had gone missing. Or a piece of him had died. Something had broken inside of him, and when he'd put himself back together, he'd been somehow less than whole. That was the only way he could think of it. Something that had always been there was gone, ripped out of him when Wells died, and ripped out of him on that cold steel table. The worst part was, he had no idea what piece he was missing. It was just a feeling, that something wasn't quite right. It would never be right. It was like… like when his dog, Bingo, had been hit by a car and died. It was that sort of broken that he felt now. So long as he didn't dwell on it, he could pretend that he was fine. But the moment he let his thoughts wander there, to Bingo, to Wells, to the table in Krausberg… that was when he started looking into a cracked mirror at his incomplete reflection.

He turned away from the mirror. "So, on a scale of one to ten, how insufferable is Hodge gonna be about his promotion?"

"About six. He's had a couple of weeks to simmer down. Right after he got Corporal, I had to give him an entire week of foxhole duty just so the guys in the tent could get some peace and quiet."

"You make an excellent Sergeant, Gusty. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

Gusty grinned. "Thanks, Sarge. Coming from you, that's a real compliment."

"Hold up, everyone," Steve called from behind. Bucky stopped and turned. He knew what was coming. As Steve explained his plan, there were no objections, not even from Monty, who was supposed to be the sensible second-in-command.

"I think we'd all struggle to sleep, knowing we'd left men to die at the mercy of floodwaters," the Major offered, by way of approval. "But are you sure you don't need backup, Captain?"

"Positive. I can't afford to wait on anyone else. The rest of you have your orders, and I trust you all to carry them out. Once I've got the prisoners free, we'll rendezvous back here. I expect it'll take me longer to get back, depending on what state the prisoners are in, but the rest of you will almost certainly face tougher resistance."

"Don't worry about us, Cap," said Dugan. He tipped his ridiculous bowler hat and rested his shotgun against his shoulder. "Those Nazis won't know what hit 'em. You just make sure all our guys get out safe and sound."

"I will. See you soon, and good luck."

Everybody saluted, because Steve was still a Captain even though he was wearing a spangly outfit, then resumed their trek into the forest as Captain America went off to save a bunch of men in need. Again.

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

Little Winter had come and gone. The snow that had plagued Castello Lavazzo for the past four months was well and truly melted, with almost no chance of it returning. Danny had spent the past two weeks mapping out the forest to the north of the village, and now he thought he had a pretty good handle on the lay of the land. He'd always gone north, because Switzerland lay in that direction, and Switzerland was a nice, safe, neutral country that probably wouldn't shoot him on sight. Today, however, the first thought that crossed his mind as he woke up in his comfy bed, was 'I will go south'.

There wasn't much for him to do at the house today. The forge was quiet, so Matteo and Ludovico could handle the few jobs they had on the go. Paolo still went to school every morning, when he wasn't skipping off to go fishing with his friends. Rosa and Adalina were taking the goats and their kids up to the high pastures, where there was better grazing. The first time they'd gone, Danny had asked why they went together, when it was only a small flock to be tended. Rosa told him about the golden eagles nesting in their eyries with growing chicks of their own to feed. Only when the kids were too large to be carried off by the eagles could the flock be tended by a single person. Right now, two were needed, and they both carried big sticks.

Once everyone had gone, Danny packed a bag with a few bits of food for snacking on, and one of his many water canteens that Rosa let him keep hidden in the cellar. Into his bag went his paper and drawing equipment, along with his compass and a few bandages—just in case. The day was sunny but not overly warm, so he threw on a coat, stuffed a pair of gloves into his pocket, and donned an extra pair of socks as protection against cold and blisters both. Feeling more carefree than he had since gettin' shot last year, he stepped out into the world.

The southern road, little more than a dirt track, led straight to Castello Lavazzo. This time, Danny avoided the village. He was still Pierre to everyone there, and he didn't want them wondering why Pierre was heading straight outta town. Pierre, Matteo's newly orphaned nephew, was a respectable young man who helped out in the forge and carried Rosa's heavy shopping basket for her. Pierre had no reason to be going south today.

When he was clear of the settlement, and the church spire no longer in sight, he took out his compass, paper and a pencil and began mapping as he walked. If he'd ever held any notion that a career in cartography might be for him, his experience in Italy swiftly knocked that idea right outta his head. Mapping stuff was hard work. He counted out paces and drew in height contours as best he could. Onto his maps went various symbols for landmarks such as notable trees and interesting-shaped rocks, sheer cliffs and river bends. But the going was slow, and by the time he sat down to have a drink and a bite to eat around midday, he'd done less than three miles.

Now that the roads were no longer clogged with snow, news was starting to travel, borne by visitors and passing traders. The Allies still held Sicily, and were making a slow push north. But the Nazis weren't for giving up their prize. Mussolini had been overthrown by his own people, and his replacement had switched sides, but the Germans kept an occupying force within Italy that was strong enough to considerably slow the Allied northward advance. All was quiet now, but eventually the fighting would reach Castello Lavazzo. At some point in the future, either the Germans would be forced back here, or the Allies would break through. Danny would be found by one side or the other, so he had until then to decide on how convincingly he could be Pierre. If he couldn't be a convincing Pierre, he'd either be shot by the Germans for being an enemy soldier, or shot by his own people for going AWOL. Neither option was particularly appealing, though at least if he was shot by Germans he could finally do something his dad would be proud of.

His appetite waned at thoughts of home, and he quickly put the thoughts and food aside to resume his exploration. If only he had a camera, like the one Sergeant Murphy of the 101st Airborne had possessed, back at Camp Shanks. A camera would be much better than mapping by hand. If he had a camera, he'd have material to take back and reference, not to mention some great shots of the pristine Alpine landscape.

He arrived at the edge of a large forest area and studied it carefully for a moment. Head in, or head back? His watch said it was almost one o'clock, but Rosa wouldn't be back from the high pastures until after four, which meant no food till five or six at the very least. Plus, if Danny was a little late back, he might even escape another evening of chopping onions. Onions were to the Italians as potatoes were to the Irish, and he was slowly coming to wish he'd never see another onion again in his life. It wasn't just that they made his eyes water; the smell of them lingered, absorbed into the skin no matter how much it was scrubbed with hot soapy water.

That did it. It was definitely not going back yet. Besides, Rosa said it would probably rain tomorrow, and she was rarely wrong about these things. Exploring in the rain was pointless, because he couldn't draw his maps. He'd already come this far today. He'd give himself an hour to check out the woods. After that, he'd turn back. Just one hour.

It was a typical Alpine forest, all tall, slim conifers that grew in large clumps and were interspersed with thick layers of leafy ferns that blanketed the ground. Matteo said the region was home to wild goats and wild boar, but assured Danny that no wolves had been seen in several generations, and there were no bears in the Alps at all. It was a relief to know that he wasn't going to lose his life to the local fauna.

Snap.

He froze, heart pounding in his chest. That snapping sound was the kinda sound you got when you stepped on a dry twig, only there were no twigs anywhere around Danny. Was it a wild goat? Maybe a wild boar? Matteo said the wild boars had ferocious tempers, and were known to rush past intruders in an attempt to frighten them off. Gorings were not unheard of. Well, if it was a wild boar, it was definitely doin' a good job of frightening him.

A human voice came drifting through the air. Poised mid-step, Danny's mouth went dry. Someone was close. Not a traveller; he was too far from the road to come across a traveller. But what would Germans be doing in a forest like this? It had to be one of America's Allies. Maybe even the SSR itself. Who else would be tramping through a forest like this? Phillips had often used forests to hide the troops and equipment from dive-bombing Stukas. That had to be it. All he had to do was step forward. He could be back in the barracks tent by nightfall. Back with his friends. With Barnes.

But his feet wouldn't move. If he went back now, all of this would be over. The quietness, the tranquility, the not being shot at. Not having to dig foxholes or piss into a pit. No more forced marches and days without bathing. No more combat ops and nights spent sleeping on muddy ground, and no more chiggers. Plus, he would entirely avoid having what he was expecting to be one extremely awkward conversation that would probably lose him his best friend and net him a Blue discharge to boot. If he was going to be forced to spend the rest of his life as a dishonoured civilian, it would be better to stay here, with the strangers who were more of a family to him that his own family ever had been.

Still… if he didn't go back, they'd never know for sure that Hawkins and the others were dead. Who would be there to help keep the troops in line? Who would be left to provide Howard Stark with fantastic yet vitally important ideas for new inventions? And who would keep pulling Barnes' ass out of all that trouble he kept getting himself into with his nonsense like collecting babies and baking birthday cakes? Besides, there was a chance—however small—that his letter hadn't been read. There was also a small chance that they were all dead. That the SSR, and the 107th along with them, had been caught up in the heavy fighting, or been in the wrong place at the wrong time when those idiot pilots dropped their bombs. It was an extremely tiny chance, of course, because he would've heard about it even out here if Howard Stark had perished in Italy, but it had to be considered.

His feet finally came unstuck. He took a step forward. A guy could drive himself mad with what-ifs and maybes. The best thing for him to do was to see who he was dealing with. If it was the 107th, or someone who recognised him, then he'd go back. If it was some other Allied force, then he would have a moment to decide whether he wanted to be Pierre or Danny. Hell, he could even be Ludovico, if he wanted. His Italian was passable now, though still not as good as his French. Good enough to fool a few Americans, at least.

When the voices grew louder he ducked down behind a fern and slowed his pace, creeping through the undergrowth as quietly as he could. Lucky for him, he'd always been pretty light on his feet. Whether boxing, dancing, or sneaking through foliage, he could move with both speed and silence. Relatively speaking.

Was that a blur of olive-drab, up ahead? Heart pounding in his ears, he crouched low to the ground and slowly pushed aside a large fern leaf obstructing his view. Not olive-drab, but dark blue. Three Germans had stopped up ahead, their collar insignia and blue uniforms denoting them as members of the Luftwaffe. Several boxes lay at their feet, and one of them was fiddling with a circle on a stick. The hell were they doing out here?

Rosa had mentioned several times that the Nazis had an airfield some twenty klicks from Castello Lavazzo. Or was it twenty miles? Well, it was twenty of something. Surely he was still a good distance away from their base; he hadn't been walking that fast during his mapping.

Their equipment… it looked like the sort of stuff that could be found lying in one of Howard Stark's boxes in his tent. Science stuff. Possibly engineering? The circle on a stick thing looked like the kinda measuring wheel they used to measure out the lines for repainting the football field back in high school. What could they possibly want to survey out here?

Maybe they were looking for a site for a new airfield landing strip. Or somewhere to build a labour camp, though why the Luftwaffe would be involved with that he had no idea. At any rate, the longer he stayed here, the greater the risk that he would be caught. If they saw him, or heard him, no amount of running would save him; they all carried pistols on their hips, and he was living proof of German accuracy. Rosa would kill him if he let himself get shot again.

Slowly, carefully, he put the fern leaf back into place, then backed away. One step at a time. Slowly, making sure there were no inconveniently placed twigs to snap, until he was far enough from the Germans that he dared turn and jog. He definitely didn't run, though, because nobody worth a damn ran from Germans.

Back at the edge of the forest, he took several deep gulps of air. He'd dodged the proverbial bullet. Pierre could not have explained the compass and half-drawn maps in his bag. The Nazis would've assumed he was a resistance spy come to map out the way to their base. They would've taken him back for interrogation, or just shot him on sight. Clearly, going south was off the menu now, and he would have to be more careful around the village too.

With one last look over his shoulder, he set off back to Rosa's house. Maybe she could help him figure out what the Luftwaffe were doing in the forest.

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

Gusty had been right. When the 107th and the Commandos reached the lookout point being manned by Mex and Hodge, Mex greeted Bucky with a friendly slap on the shoulder. Hodge issued an immediate salute, followed up by, "Corporal Hodge, ready to follow your orders, Sarge."

"The guys told me about your promotion, Hodge. Congratulations; I've no doubt you'll make Sergeant by the time the year's out."

Hodge's chest puffed up with pride, but Mex merely rolled his eyes and said, "Ugh, don't encourage him."

"Ah, my firstborn child!" Stark stepped forward and snatched the SSR-01 rifle from Hodge's free hand. The gun was just how Bucky remembered it, cold metal and all. The first time he'd ever taken a human life, he'd done so with that gun. That was the day that war had become real. They'd lost Lieutenant Danzig, and Bucky had shot a guy.

He dragged himself out of the memory and gestured to the dam's control building, just about visible across the other side of the wide expanse. "How are we lookin'?"

"All's quiet so far, Sarge," said Mex. "We've clocked about twenty soldiers moving about the place, carrying out rotational shifts. No sign of a machine gun position; can't even see an AA gun. I guess they think this place has been decommissioned for so long, nobody would even think of looking to see if it's in use."

"What about the factory down below?" asked Monty. "Have you been able to monitor any activity down there?"

"See for yourself," said Hodge, gesturing to the cliff edge.

As one, the Commandos edged forward to look down at the enormous concrete monstrosity and the controlled spill of water that thundered down mid-way into the river below. On the opposite bank, something metal gleamed in the bright spring sunlight. A chain fence, though the main par of the building was obscured by tall trees and jutting rocks that had been carved by the river long ago.

"Where's Rogers?" Hodge asked. "He decide to sit this one out?"

"No, he's down there." Bucky pointed down towards the factory, and Freddie took the chance to take a quick snap. "He's gonna rescue the prisoners being forced to work for HYDRA while we do what's needed up here. Which reminds me." He pointed across the dam, to the control centre. "If we need to go across the top of the dam to get to the control room and the turbines, how are we gonna do that when 617 Squadron blow it up?"

"Glad you asked, Sergeant Barnes," said Stark. Either the guy had finally managed to remember his name, or he'd given up pretending that he couldn't. "I was wondering how long it would take someone to point out that particular conundrum. The answer is quite simple." One by one, the Commandos drifted away, leaving Bucky and the 107th to listen to another Howard Stark science rant. "Y'see, the bombs being dropped aren't your average eggs. Most dam facilities are protected by anti-torpedo netting which prevents explosives from reaching the vulnerable dam wall. A thief called Wallis stole the idea from one of my early prototypes and came up with a bomb that is spun in the belly of the plane before being released. It hits the water with back-spin, skips over the anti-torpedo nets, collides with the dam wall, then sinks. Only after it's sunk for a certain length of time does it explode. The result is a low breach of the dam wall, with the upper portion remaining intact. Unless something goes horribly wrong, we should still be able to access the control room."

"Why go I get the sudden and inexplicable feeling that this mission's about to feature a whole lot of 'horribly wrong'?" Morita asked wryly.

"Because most of our missions do," said Dugan. "For some reason, they're never straightforward, even when they ought to be."

Stark nodded along with the sentiment. "It's Murphy's law. But don't worry; I'm with you on this one. If something goes wrong, I can fix it."

"What if 'what's wrong' turns out to be you dying, or gettin' knocked unconscious?" Jones asked. "How will you fix that?"

"Don't even joke about stuff like that, Private. It's crass."

Bucky consulted his watch. As promised, Antje had fixed it under Ruben's guidance and it once more kept perfect time. "I make it thirteen twenty-two," he said. "We shouldn't have long to wait. I want everyone in position, ready to advance once the Squadron's done its job. As soon as the dam's breached, HYDRA will be on full alert, so expect heavy resistance. I'll take Stark and Freddie, accompanied by the 107th, to the communications room in the control centre. Major Falsworth and the rest of the Commandos will escort Jacques to the turbine room, so that he can set demolition charges. Hodge, Mex, I want you to stay on this side of the dam in case there are HYDRA forces over this way that we're not aware of. We'll be counting on you to stop any unexpected surprises from behind."

"Anything to add, oh fearless second-in-command?" Dugan asked Monty.

"No, I believe Sergeant Barnes has just about covered it all," the Major replied.

"Sorry, Monty," said Bucky. "Old habits and all that."

"Never fear. From what I understand, the 107th are highly experienced at battling HYDRA forces. I'm more than happy to leave the minutiae of this mission in your capable hands, Sergeant."

"Appreciated. All right guys, anybody wants a last minute smoke, have it now. It's thirty-five minutes until showtime."

Author's Note: Is the story back on? Possibly! In August 2021 I'd almost finished writing chapter 118 when my laptop crashed and I lost every word. I started re-writing the chapter, got near 2500 words in, and it crashed again. Extreme despair. It seemed like something was telling me to give it a break, and when I looked again at a calendar I realised nearly two years had passed! Still got loads of plans for this, plus motivation to write a little more now that I'm scaling back my business a bit. I'll be poorer in money but richer in time. I haven't written a single word of anything, not even a lowly haiku, in two years, so I may be a little rusty. Let's find out!

Welcome back, readers! :)