We Were Soldiers

120. April Fools

The morning sun crept through the cracks in the blackout curtains and danced across Bucky's face until he woke with a groan. In that first instant after waking, he hung his arm down from the bed to let Blue know he was getting up and didn't need to be jumped on. It took almost a minute for him to remember Blue wasn't here anymore. He was back home, or at least en route, soon to be snuggling up with Bonnie next to Janet's bed. There was nobody he trusted more than his little sister and his parents to take care of the pup.

The thundering of America-sized feet predicted the pummelling on the hotel room door mere seconds later. Steve's voice followed instantly. "Bucky! Wake up! Hurry, you gotta get up right away! There's a morale-boosting royal procession happening two streets away—Phillips says the King wants to meet all the Commandos in ten minutes! This is our one and only chance to see the King of England in person! To shake hands with royalty! You gotta get up, pal!"

Bucky half-clambered, half-fell out of bed and nearly tripped over his own boots in his haste to reach the door. He flung it open to the sight of Steve grinning like a madman. For some reason, he was wearing his Captain America combat outfit, instead of his regular officer's uniform.

"Happy April Fools!" said Steve.

Bucky slammed the door in his so-called friend's face and let his feet carry him back to bed where he flopped down onto his back and contemplated the strange stain on the ceiling. Back home, he and Steve pranked each other—and anyone else they considered fair game—good and proper every year. Out here, on the front line… or at least, a hundred miles and a Channel crossing behind it… it was easy to lose track of time. This was his first April First with the Commandos. He had to find a way to not only prank Steve, but to prank them all. Because they sure as hell would be thinking up ways of pranking him first.

Well, maybe Jacques wouldn't try to prank him. Did the French even celebrate April First like normal, civilised people? Their idea of pranking probably involved cheese that was mouldier than normal. Vinegar instead of wine. And lots of garlic.

Yeah, they were all due a pranking. It was a shame he didn't have the 107th to back him up. Between them, Gusty and Wells would've come up with a prank that was on a whole other level. And Tipper had his youthful sense of humour. If they'd been together last year, they probably would've pranked Danzig together. But that was a melancholy musing for another time.

Whatever prank he pulled had to be so epic that it was talked about for years. He couldn't fake his death; that sort of pranking just wasn't cool anymore. Not after so much of it happening around him. Not after seeing friends die.

Could he maybe get Phillips to tell them they were all up for medals? Honour or Valour, or one of those other nice-sounding words? Nah, Phillips wasn't the kinda guy to go along with shenanigans like that. In fact, he'd probably court-martial anyone who even mentioned April Fools. But what about Carter? She had a wicked streak, she might be willing to play along.

Problem was, Carter liked all the Commandos equally, and their leader most of all. Any one of them could've approached her already and solicited her help. Not Steve, though. That whole 'meet the King' line didn't feel like something Carter might suggest.

A smile crept across his face as a thought came to him. He knew just the person to help him prank his team-mates.

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

Steve wasn't the only one to have gotten an early start on April Fools jokes. It was only when Bucky tried to pull on his boots that he realised somebody had liberally glued white feathers to them, so that he looked like he was walking on two very unlucky eiderdown ducks. No amount of pulling would fully divest his footwear of their new avian look, so he was forced to head out with his formerly black boots looking less than immaculate. He would have his revenge on whoever had done this.

Howard Stark's blast door was open, and the laboratory was humming. The humming intensified when Bucky stepped through the door, and it seemed to be coming from a strange contraption that was as tall as a man and comprised almost entirely of copper coils. The device was suspiciously unattended.

"Uh, hello? Anyone around?" he called.

"Over here," came Stark's voice. A moment later the top of his head peeped around from behind a grey lead screen the size of a blast door; he was wearing a particularly large pair of goggles along with an overcoat that looked padded with more lead. "Ah, Sergeant Barnes. What brings you over here at this hour?"

"Uh, is it safe for me to be standing here?"

"That depends. Were you planning on having children one day?"

"Er—"

"Hah, don't worry, I jest. You should be fine; we're only behind this screen because we deal with radiation on an almost daily basis. Casual exposure like what you're experiencing now is no worse than standing in the sun for a few hours. But just to be safe: Miles, kill the power to the generator."

'We' turned out to be Stark and four assistants. They piled out from behind the screen like clowns out of a car. One of them dashed to a large switch on the wall and flipped it down. The machine fell silent.

"What does that thing even do?" Bucky asked as Stark stripped out of his lead-lined coat.

"Not what it was supposed to," came the reply. "But we see a potential market as a rotisserie meat cooker. Um, when we scale the size down, of course. As it is, you could probably cook an entire cow with it."

"Huh."

"So, what can I do for you? More animals to transport without paperwork? Or have your shakes and hunger returned?"

"No, nothing like that. It's, well, kinda private." He eyeballed the lab assistants. They didn't look the type to go running off to warn the Commandos of impending pranks, but one could never be too careful. "Can we talk alone?"

"Sure. Clear the room, guys. Go take a hot shower, wash all that background radiation off."

Bucky shook his head. He was pretty sure you couldn't wash radiation off like dirt, but the lab folks filed out of the room without complaint.

"I was hoping to get your help with a little project I'm working on," he explained when they were alone.

"Ah, a very sensible option to seek out scientific input on any project. I can't tell you the amount of things I could've improved if I'd been consulted in the design phase. Toothbrushes, for example. Woefully inefficient. What's your project?"

"April Fool's pranks."

Stark's face took a swift trip to frown-town. "You had me stop my rotisserie experiment for practical jokes?"

"Not just practical jokes." Time to channel some of his inner-Wells and churn out some quality bullshit. "A chance for you to engage in a fun and friendly activity and reciprocal bonding with the team."

"Hmm." Stark paused to stroke his chin, and Bucky could see him teetering. He always complained that he never got invited to do stuff with the Commandos; this was the perfect opportunity for him to be seen as one of the guys. "What did you have in mind?"

"I dunno yet. I was hoping to brainstorm."

Stark grinned. "We could fake your—"

"No. No faking anyone's death. I've had enough of the real thing to last me a lifetime. I want to embarrass the Commandos, but not humiliate them. So whatever we do has to be light-hearted and kinda fun, but also slightly humiliating."

"Is that what happened to your boots?" The man couldn't entirely suppress the smirk on his lips as he glanced down at Bucky's feathery footwear.

"I will figure out who messed with my shoes. Mark my words, they will pay."

"Are you sure you wanna keep this light-hearted and fun? You sound pretty pissed to me."

"I'm sure. I was thinking maybe we could get them in a compromising position, then take a photo to commemorate the occasion."

"Why do you need my help? I don't recall you having any problems causing minor annoyance back with the 107th, when you and Sergeant whats-his-name would steal my stuff, or break my stuff, or drink my stuff."

"That was all entirely accidental!" he protested. "And this is different. It's April First. Everyone will be expecting pranks, so nobody will believe anything I tell them. I need someone like you, who they're not expecting, as an ally in this. C'mon Mr Stark, April Fools is a time-honoured tradition, and it won't take too much time out of your day."

"All right, fine, you've twisted my arm! As it just so happens, I do actually have an idea that might work. But we'll need the help of my lab assistants, too."

Bucky grinned. With multiple people helping him, this plan couldn't fail to be epic.

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

"All right," said Dugan, as the Commandos assembled in the Fiddle for their mid-morning drinks an hour later. "Which one of you bastards is responsible for this?" He pointed at his boots, which had been almost entirely stripped of feathers. In fact, all but one of the team were in the same boat.

"The ol' tar-and-feather gag," said Morita. The self-satisfied smile on his face was just beggin' to be wiped off by a prank of equal measure. "You're lucky I decided to restrain myself and draw the line at feathering your boots, otherwise you'd all look like giant chickens right now."

"How did you even manage it?" asked Monty. "I know for sure I locked my hotel room door last night."

"Heh. Mr Chipperton was ever so grateful when I offered to deliver the next round of mail," Morita gloated. "He gave me a full set of keys last night, and it was just a matter of waiting till you all fell asleep."

"How come you didn't get Cap?" asked Dugan.

Steve was still wearing his spangly Captain America combat costume. At Dugan's words, a flush heated his cheeks.

"Actually, he did get me. My whole uniform, in fact. Why do you think I'm wearing this thing?"

"Well, I couldn't let my CO off lightly, could I?" Morita explained. "Besides, I wanted the challenge of feathering your whole uniform without waking you up. It wasn't easy, you're a hell of a light sleeper. Totally worth it, though."

"Here you go, boys," said Lizzie. She arrived with a tray of drinks and a dish of peanuts.

"But we haven't even ordered yet," said Jones.

"First round's on me. You all deserve a little treat after all the hard work you do out there."

Dugan grabbed one of the jugs and raised it up in toast. "To hard work, and to us!"

Everyone followed suit with calls of "hear hear" and "hard work!"

As soon as the first mouthful of ale hit Bucky's tongue, he spat it out across the table, almost drenching Jacques in the process. The liquid was disgusting! As if somebody had emptied an entire salt cellar into it! The rest of the Commandos were also regurgitating their drinks—all except Dugan, who held a hand to his belly as he laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Hoo, that was easier than I thought! My compliments, Lizzie. I hope you boys enjoyed your salted ale."

Lizzie gave a small curtsy then disappeared to fetch their real drinks.

"Dugan, you bastard." Morita's eyes were watering, though not with tears of laughter. "I think I'm gonna puke."

"If I'd known it was you that did my boots, I would've gotten Lizzie to put something worse than salt in your beer."

"At least I didn't wake you up at the crack of dawn to meet the King." Morita rolled his eyes; Steve merely grinned. "I walked around for almost an hour trying to find that procession."

Huh. So Steve hadn't told the other Commandos that it was a prank right away. The benefits of being best friends with the pranker. It almost made him wish he was going easier on Steve with his own prank. Almost.

"What about the rest of you?" said Dugan. "Whatever you've got planned, let's have it now. You know that pranks done after midday don't count, and we're less than two hours away."

With a casual shrug, Jacques reached into his coat and pulled out a waxed parcel that smelled like the illegitimate love-child of Stilton and Gorgonzola. "Can I offer anyone some cheese? Apologies mes amis, but we do not have this 'April Fools' in France."

"A very sensible sentiment." Monty offered a firm nod of approval. "All this 'pranking' is simply juvenile nonsense."

Dugan's rebuttabal was cut off abruptly as two men strode into the Fiddle and straight over to their table. One was a local man, a labourer judging by his clothes, and the other an American MP. The local glanced at each of the Commandos in turn, then pointed directly at Jones.

"There he is, officer. The American pig who's gotten my poor, sweet Beatrice with child and broken her heart! I demand justice, sir!"

It was hard for Jones' dark skin to pale, but he managed it as his mouth worked overtime. "But—Never—No Way—Mistake—Swear I didn't do anything—"

"There is only one thing I have to say to you, American pig," the man spat. Suddenly his face changed, a huge grin splitting it. "Happy April Fools, from England."

"What the—?"

"Well done, Tom." Monty looked far too smug for his own good. "Apologies for singling you out, Jones, but I received fairly short notice of your American custom of pranking people on April First and I only had the opportunity to think up one prank."

Jones wiped away the beads of sweat decorating his brow. "And you picked this as your prank? I thought for sure I was going to end up in front of a lynch mob of locals and white soldiers."

"Yes, in hindsight I admit it may have been in fairly poor taste," Falsworth admitted. "And given Dugan's prank, I wish I'd opted for him instead. But time was of the essence. Better to have pranked and erred than to have never pranked at all, correct?"

"Yeah. Sure. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm just gonna pass out on the table from a minor heart-attack."

"You can't pass out until you've enacted your prank," said Morita. "Come on, let's just have it."

Jones shook his head. "Revenge is a dish best served cold."

"How about you, Barnes?" said Dugan. "You're running out of time to deliver your prank, whatever it is."

"Sorry guys, but with everything going on with Blue over the past couple of days, I didn't even realise it was April First. Even if I'd known, I'm not much in the mood for pranking right now."

Even to his own ears he sounded insincere, but the guys merely nodded in sympathy. As if on cue, the door to the Fiddle opened and Miles, the young bespectacled, switch-flipping lab assistant from Stark's team nervously insinuated himself in at the table.

"Err, Captain Rogers, sir?"

"Yes?" said Steve. It really was quite hilarious seeing him sat there in his spangly costume. Morita had outdone them all.

"I have some, err, news from Mr Stark. Captain Stone has been put into medical isolation following an… um… incident."

Jeez. Luckily, the guy's nervousness made him seem all the more sincere. Clearly he hadn't done much lying—or pranking—in his life.

"Captain Stone? Is he okay? What sort of 'incident' are we talking about?" Steve's face was a map of worry-lines. So far, so good.

"Well, it seems there was a radiation leak on his plane, during the last mission he flew for you. He's had cold-like symptoms for almost a week now, but it was only when a medic checked him over that we discovered he has radiation poisoning. Quite a severe case, I'm afraid. Mr Stark is treating him as we speak."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But shouldn't you be reporting this to his superiors in the RAF? He's not under my command."

"I know, but Mr Stark said that anybody else who was on that plane has likely been exposed to the same radiation. He said you all need to come to the lab immediately for testing and treatment."

"But I feel perfectly fine!" said Monty.

"For now, sure," said Miles. "But you won't be feeling fine when your hair and teeth start falling out."

Monty paled beyond his usual British paleness. "Oh dear."

"I suppose we're better safe than sorry," said Steve. "C'mon guys, the pranks will have to wait for now."

To make the dilemma appear more realistic, Stark had arranged for a couple of SSR cars to transport them to HQ. Bucky hopped in with Steve, Jones and Dernier, and it was a very muted journey to Whitehall.

"Maybe your new super-physique will make you immune to radiation poisoning," he offered to his best friend.

Steve merely nodded. "I was supposed to have a date with Agent Carter tonight."

Little did Steve know, Stark had twisted Agent Carter's arm. Somehow. She was already waiting for the team at the lab. Another player on the stage to give the prank life. None of them would ever top this.

Carter herself met them outside the blast door to Stark's lab, her face a mask of worry. A small pang of guilt stabbed at Bucky's stomach. Stark had said he would get Carter to help, but what if he'd actually made her believe that the prank was real? What if she wasn't in on it? Was her worry genuine, or was she simply the best actress he'd ever seen in his life?

"Peggy?" The surprise in Steve's voice was definitely real. "What are you doing here?"

"Steve!" She reached out to touch his arm, then seemed to think better of it and withdrew her hand. "Howard already sent word to Colonel Phillips. You've been taken off the active duty roster until we can be sure you and your team can be treated. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. "I… I just wanted to see you. To let you know that you're not alone. I'll be here the whole time."

Steve's face softened. "You have no idea how much that means to me. But maybe Stark is wrong. We all feel fine. Perhaps whatever's happening to Stone won't affect us."

"Let's hope so. Come this way, all of you. Howard is waiting."

She led them into the lab, maintaining a discreet yet obvious distance from the team. As they passed a windowed room, she stopped and gestured to the glass. "Poor Captain Stone. If he lives, I don't see how he'll ever fly again."

Bucky joined the others in peering through the window. He had to hand it to Stark; he really was a genius. Through a very careful and realistic application of makeup and prosthetics from one of his new spy kits, Stone had been made to look as though his skin was falling off. The captain's hair had been pulled through a scalp mask painted with fake blood and crusty scabs, giving him a leper-like appearance. His hands and part of his face had been wrapped in bandages; what was left exposed was raw and oozing. Lying on a hospital bed, he looked one step away from death. How the hell had Stark even managed it?

The Commandos fell silent. Jones paled. Monty looked like he was about to pass out. Dernier searched desperately for a bucket to vomit into. Steve reached up to run a hand through his own luscious head of hair. Even Bucky's mouth went dry at the awful sight of the pilot.

"I… suppose we better speak to Stark," said Dugan. He'd wrapped his arms around himself and looked half his normal size. Bucky would've had sympathy for him, if not for that disgusting salted ale.

"Yes. Please come quickly," said Carter. "Howard is just this way, preparing your treatment."

Stark was indeed hard at work, ordering his minions around, adding various liquids to various other liquids, and generally giving off an air of being scientifically heroic. As soon as he spotted them, he grabbed Agent Carter's arm and pulled her towards him.

"You didn't touch any of them, did you, Peg?"

"I… no."

"Thank God. Certain types of radiation can be transmitted through touch, or even mere proximity. Without proper shielding, these men are a risk to everyone. Come with me; we need to change immediately into radiation suits. The rest of you, have no fear; Howard Stark will not allow Captain America and his team to die. At least, not from this." He gestured to a series of beakers on the bench, each containing a liquid that somehow seemed to be both blue and brown at the same time. "While Peg and I make ourselves safe, I want each of you to drink one of these."

"Que?" asked Dernier, peering into a beaker.

"It's a new anti-radiation concoction of mine," said Stark. "It will help to neutralise the damage done to your internal organs and prevent any further tissue degradation. I'm calling it, Arcanium. Trust me, it's going to win me prizes. And save your lives, of course. This way, Peg."

Stark and Carter left them alone, and Monty picked up one of the beakers. When he sniffed the contents, his face turned decidedly green. Stark had promised whatever he created would taste foul, but he had no way of making one of the beakers taste better—or ensuring Bucky got the better-tasting one. The price he had to pay for a good prank!

"Well," said Bucky, picking up another beaker. "Here's to our health."

He downed it as quickly as possible while all around him the team made gagging noises as they tackled their own beakers. There was no denying it; the liquid tasted like feet. Like one of Jacques' disgusting cheeses had crawled its way into a sailor's boot and stewed in seawater for a week. Then been given an infusion of boiled onion juice and old dishwater. Never before had he had to suppress such an urge to vomit.

"Mon dieu," Dernier whispered, wobbling on his feet. For a Frenchman, he sure did have a delicate stomach!

"A small price to pay," said Dugan. Though he didn't look like he truly meant it.

Morita belched, then covered his hand with his mouth. "I think I'm gonna puke."

When Stark and Carter returned, they were fully decked out in radiation suits. Two of Stark's assistants, similarly attired, followed on his heels. Spotting the empty beakers, Stark gave a satisfied nod.

"Miles, bring a Geiger counter. Let's make sure the Arcanium has done its job."

The lab tech shuffled over, a small box and rod nestled in his enormously gloved hands. He waved the rod in front of Steve, and the box emitted a series of loud, rapid clicks.

"My God," said Stark. He snatched the box from his assistant and peered at the counter. "The radiation count is far too high. The Arcanium hasn't been as effective as I'd hoped. We'll have to move onto the next stage of treatment immediately."

"Next stage?" Steve prompted.

"Vital, life-saving therapy. We'll bombard your body with super-hydrated positrons to neutralise the anti-neutrino lepticons in your tissue cells. Miles, please take Captain Rogers into the super-hydrated positron room immediately. Once he's undressed, bag his clothes for separate treatment or incineration. Don't worry, Captain, I'm confident this will work."

Steve's blue eyes widened in alarm. "Wait, what? Undressed?"

"It's the only option left available to us," said Stark. "Hurry now, we haven't a moment to lose!"

Captain America was led spluttering and stammering into the 'super-hydrated positron room'. AKA, the shower. The hot water had already been disconnected, so it was going to be a very refreshing shower. Stark had offered to put a blue dye into the water system, but Bucky had to play devil's advocate at that point. Phillips would have both their heads if they made the military's top covert team so much less covert. Olive-drab might'a worked, but blue would stand out too much in the field.

One by one the Commandos were tested and ushered off for the next stage of their treatment. Only when Bucky was the last one left in the room did Stark and Carter remove the hoods of their radiation suits.

"I have to say," said Carter, "that I found that considerably more satisfying than I thought I would."

"As far as April Fools jokes go, I thought it was quite the doozey." Stark gleefully rubbed his hands together like a kid about to cause a whole bunch of mischief. "Now, let's recover Captain Stone and prepare to pull back the curtain!"

Stark's assistants had already removed half of Stone's prosthetics by the time the three of them reached him, and he looked considerably more alive than he had a scant half-hour ago. Bucky couldn't help but admit his surprise that the pilot had been willing to go along with this ploy. After all, the guy spent a lot of time being stuffy and complaining about the Commandos using his plane as their own personal sky-cab.

"I consider it payment for all the vomit," Stone explained simply, dabbing at a crusty scab on his cheek with one corner of a towel. "Plus, Agent Carter promised to try and get me a new plane to fly if I lent an air of realism to the prank."

"Didn't you just get an upgrade?"

"One can never have too many airplanes," said Stone, to which Stark nodded in agreement. Clearly they were both completely mad.

Together they made their way through Stark's lab, until they came across Miles. The man had already doffed his radiation suit and replaced it with a pristine lab coat. He pushed his glasses further up his nose as the group approached.

"How go our intrepid heroes?" Stark asked him.

"I gave them open-backed medical gowns and left them in the rodent quarantine room."

"How uncharacteristically mean of you!"

Miles scowled. "The big one stepped on my toe. And it hurt, even through my shoes!"

"Don't get me wrong, I fully approve," Stark grinned. "Oh, how I wish we had a window into that rodent quarantine room right now. The despair. The anguish. I can practically taste it. Oh well, open up the door, Miles."

Steve strode out first, his face a mask of worry. "Stark, what's going on? And where's Bu—Bucky?!" He stopped as he saw his friend, his girl, Captain Stone and the scientists. In fact, he stopped so quickly that Dernier walked right into the back of him and almost bounced back into the room. "Captain Stone? I don't understand. What—"

"You, my dear best friend and fellow Commandos," said Bucky, failing to stifle his grin, "have been elaborately pranked." One by one the Commandos filed out, their mouths dropping open when they spotted Stone standing fit and well. "Allow me to introduce you to your pranking team. Working out the logistics, we have genius Howard Stark and his exceptional assistant Miles." Stark offered a bow, while Miles simply looked sheepish and went red around the ears. "Adding some much-needed British realism to the prank, we have Agent Carter and Captain Stone."

"Stone, you bastard," said Dugan. He wisely avoided including Carter in the insult. "That's the last time I hold my breath to make myself lighter on one of your flights!"

"Now now, don't be sore about it. I'm certain you've been playing pranks on each other throughout the day," said the pilot.

"So, we're not actually dying of radiation poisoning?" said Morita.

"Damn, I should've recognised all that make-up and stuff from the spy kit," Jones said with a groan. "It just… it all seemed so real. I didn't think Mr Stark would get involved in something like this."

"That is because I am an unpredictable enigma, Corporal Jones." Stark made the claim with a little extra smugness than normal. "Perhaps I would've come to your aid, had you actually thought to request it."

"Actually, what was your prank, Jones?" said Steve. "You still haven't done anything—not so far as I can tell, anyway."

"Oh, you'll find out. You'll all find out. Especially Barnes, for making me drink that disgusting beaker."

"Hey, I drank it too!" Bucky objected.

"Yeah, but you didn't have to stand under a freezing cold shower for ten minutes. Bastard."

"Eh, this pranking is too much for me," said Dernier. "Next year, I go away. Maybe nice trip to Coventry. Was quiet there!"

"Well, I have to hand it to you, Buck," said Steve. "In terms of scope and scale, I think you win this one. Plus you actually drank that foul stuff to keep from letting on. I gotta admit defeat."

The Commandos all agreed that Bucky was the clear winner this year. The only problem was, with a prank of this size, how was he going to top it next year? It would have to be something really, really epic. Perhaps he shouldn't have set the standard so high…

So that there were no hard feelings, after the guys had reclaimed their not-so-radioactive clothes, he treated everyone involved to a drink in the Fiddle. With midday now past, it was safe to eat, drink and be merry, and now that the Commandos knew they weren't dying of radiation poisoning, they ended up getting very merry indeed.

Six hours later, Bucky fumbled in his pocket for his key and pushed open his hotel room door. A wave of putrid rankness rolled over him, physically assaulting his nose with the most disgusting stench he'd ever smelled in his life. It didn't take long to find the source; when he pulled back the bed cover, it revealed a pile of half-rotten fish right in the middle of his bed.

"Touché, Jones," he muttered to himself. "Touché."