We Were Soldiers

127. Something Big

It was too quiet. Normally, the hotel that housed the Commandos, along with a variety of other American troops and support staff, was a bustle of activity first thing in the morning as the men headed down to breakfast. It was only now, with the hotel all but empty, that Bucky realised how eerie it was with nobody else around. No stamp of footsteps in the rooms above, no booted feet to squeak the third step on the staircase near his room, no muffled conversation through the walls, no laughter or banter of men outside below his window. The noise of daily life was replaced with quiet groaning from the building's water pipes, the incessant cooo cooo from the pigeons nesting in the blocked gutter above, and the quiet hum of motor engines travelling on the streets outside.

It wasn't just his hotel. All the hotels that housed Allied staff in the area had been all but emptied over the past week. The Fiddle had never been so quiet. A guy could hop on a streetcar… tram… whatever… and not have to wiggle for elbow room. It was just like what had happened at Last Stop, the day before the 107th and some of the other army groups had been ushered onto the Monticello, and it could mean only one thing: something big was goin' down.

Nobody knew what the 'big' was. Or nobody was tellin'. Mr Stark was working overtime in his lab, and had Miles turn away all visitors at the blast door. Agent Carter was all terse and irritable, which meant she didn't know anything, because an Agent Carter in the know tended to be cool and enigmatic, and less likely to bite a man's head off for asking a simple question. Nobody, not even Steve, dared to ask Phillips, so that left the Commandos with almost nothing to do except drink and train.

Bucky rolled over in his bed and pulled his blanket up to his chin, trying to force his mind to latch onto sleep. Steve had promised them a ten-kilometre run around London this morning, and soon enough he'd come knocking on doors, waking the Commandos up and chivvying them out onto the streets. The last time they'd done the 10k run, it hadn't gone well for everyone. Bucky had set a new personal best time and could've done another ten at the end, which in itself was a bit worrying. Falsworth and Jones had managed well enough, crossing the finish point sweaty and panting but otherwise without any problems. The others, however…

At the half-way point, Dernier had borrowed a child's bicycle and cycled the second half of the run. Morita had simply hopped on a tram and rode the system for a half-hour before hopping off near the finish line. Dugan gave up even before that, and simply disappeared into a bar; it had taken the Commandos all morning to find him.

Steve struggled to see the funny side of the Commandos' antics. He was also struggling with some invisible demons that he just wouldn't talk about. Ever since Italy, since he got a chewing-out from both colonels for freeing German soldiers from Schmidt's facility, it was as if he felt he had something to prove to the world. As hard as he pushed the Commandos to be smarter, faster, stronger, he pushed himself hardest of all. He spent three hours a day doing physical training. Two hours a day poring over maps and strategy books and old mission reports. An hour a day learning how to speak French from Dernier. And on the nights when he came to the Fiddle with the rest of the team, he only had one drink. One!

Bucky rolled over again. Trying to get back to sleep just wasn't working. His brain was too active. Stupid brain. Might as well get up and make a start to the day.

After throwing on his training uniform and tidying his room, he made his way to the hotel's dining room and loaded his plate up with a cooked breakfast. The sausages were getting more and more unidentifiable every week, but he was pretty sure they were still pork. Or something very close to it, at least. He tried not to think about it too much as he finished off his plate and then went back for seconds. If he was gonna run a 10k, he was gonna need fuel. Maybe with enough fuel, he'd be able to set another new personal best. Steve still lapped him, but the point at which the lapping occurred was coming later and later each time they ran.

"Good morning, Sergeant Barnes." Looking immaculate as always even in a training uniform of her own, Agent Carter slipped onto the seat opposite him and gestured to his plate. "Are you sure you're going to be able to run with all that in you? I was always taught to avoid strenuous exercise on a full stomach. It's not good for the gut."

"I'll be fine," he assured her. Probably best not to mention this was his second plate. "Besides, I need the energy, and Mr Stark hasn't had chance to make up a new batch of those high-protein, high-calorie ration bars that he insists I need to eat despite them tasting like feet."

She sat back and tapped her chin with one finger. "You've been spending quite a lot of time with Howard, lately."

"Yeah, as his lab rat," Bucky scowled. "He thinks that… Schmidt and Zola… you know, at Krausberg, they were trying to replicate the Super Soldier Serum that Dr Erskine gave to Steve. Judging from what some of the guys have said about their time there, a lot of men before me were taken into the back room and never came out. Guinea pigs, Stark says. He thinks that by extracting and isolating the compound, he can gauge how close HYDRA are to a workable serum."

There was no denying it anymore. They hadn't done what they'd done to him on that table in Krausberg for simple torture, or basic medical experimentation. They were testing a new version of the Super Soldier formula, the one that had peeled the skin right off of Schmidt's face. Stark was adamant HYDRA was nowhere close to a working serum, since they lacked the finished product to analyse. All they had was the serum in Schmidt's blood, which was imperfect and incomplete.

But Bucky wasn't so sure about Stark's assessment. He'd changed, and not just in an emotional or mental way. Not just simple growing up. He was… different. Physically. He'd known for a while that his eyesight had improved, and he could make out details at a much greater distance than anyone else on the team except Steve. His aim had always been good, but now his hands were steadier than ever—except on the increasingly rare occasions he got the shakes. His cardio fitness had improved, which was how he kept being able to beat his own 10k personal best, and other than when he was hungry, he didn't feel fatigue in the same way as before. Hopefully, nobody else had noticed. Improved fitness and aim were things he could pass off as natural improvements as he trained hard and gained experience with his rifle, and he was real careful not to slip on the eyesight thing now.

The changes had come gradually, and looking back, it seemed that each time he had a bout of the shakes, he'd gotten fitter a short time after. Steve had told him about his own experience, about the injections into his muscles, and the Vita Ray machine. He said it felt like every inch of his body was being ripped apart and put back together. There had been no Vita Ray machine at Krausberg; at least, none that he could remember. Did that mean Schmidt could never make a successful Super Soldier serum, or that he'd just had to find a different way to make it work?

"Well, you're in very capable hands," she said, offering a reassuring smile. "Howard won't let anything happen to you."

"Unless he's the cause of it, I'm sure."

"Have a little faith, Sergeant."

"Oh, I do." He shovelled a final mouthful of beans in his mouth, and pondered going back for thirds. "What's with the get-up, anyway? Don't tell me Steve managed to twist your arm into joining in with his new training regime."

"Very little arm-twisting was required, actually. It always pays to be prepared, and I was quite good at track and field activities when I was in school. I'm looking forward to this morning's run."

Her sentiment might change after the first five kilometres, or when she passed the finish point all sweaty and red-faced, but she genuinely did seem to mean what she said. And for now, it seemed like she wanted some small talk, so he asked, "How're things at home?"

"Hard to say." She offered a casual shrug, but the frown on her face betrayed her concerns. "Now that I've decamped to the city centre, I don't see my family as much as I'd normally like. I know my father works himself too hard, and is rarely ever at the house. My mother keeps busy with her volunteer work, organising clothes drives and stripping what can't be repaired down into bandages to be bleached and pressed into service. And… well… I know you don't like hearing anything about Michael and Antje…"

He quickly waved her concern away. "I'm over it," he said. "She's a sweet girl, but looking back… well, she's the same age as my little sister. I think that fact would've wormed its way into my head, eventually. Plenty more fish in the sea." In truth, it did still sting. Just a little. But meeting up with the 107th again, it had put things into perspective. And it had helped him to realise something. That stinging feeling came because he'd never lost a dame to another guy before. Even though there hadn't really been anything between him and Antje, she'd still picked someone else over him. He'd gotten too used to being picked first for everything. From dames, to dodge-ball, it had been a long time since anyone had over-looked him in favour of somebody else. And Agent Carter picking Steve didn't count, because she was in love and he was Captain America

"Huh," he said. "I just realised that 'Agent Carter' has the reverse initials of 'Captain America'. Sorry, you were saying something about Michael and Antje?"

She gave him one of those looks. "When I spoke to Michael a few weeks ago, he was planning to ask Antje to marry him. I don't know whether he's actually gone through with it yet, but I'm positive she'll say yes. They're quite smitten with each other."

"I'm happy for them," he said. And surprisingly, he meant it. "Michael has been through a lot. So has Antje. This war has caused so many people so much misery, that somebody deserves to find happiness in it."

"That's good of you to say." She pursed her lips as she studied him for a moment. "You know, I have a friend you might like. Helen. We went to school together. She's a secretary for her father's company."

He was so shocked by her offer that he could only stare dumbfounded. Who would'a thought that Agent Carter, of all people, would be offering to set him up with a dame? And after all the things she'd said over the past ten months about him being clueless and immature! Or was it simply that he now gave off such an air of pathetic defeat that even Agent Carter was willing to throw a childhood friend on the sacrificial pyre in an effort to cheer him up?

"Thanks, but I'll pass," he said at last.

"Oh?"

"I gave it a lot of thought, after Antje and Michael started spending time together, and I don't think it would be fair on any dame forced to wait at home for me every time I go on a mission, knowing that I might never return. I've already got my family worrying about all that stuff, I don't need to inflict that same worry on anyone else. Besides, what would happen after the war? I wanna go home, and it wouldn't be fair to uproot some poor girl from her life just to follow me back to the States."

"Perhaps the right girl would want to go back with you?"

"Yeah, I know we're not talking about me anymore," he said with a grin. "I think Steve would be happy being anywhere you are. Here, the States… he doesn't have the same family ties to home that I do. Not anymore. Pretty sure that he'll follow you anywhere in the world."

She stood up and left her seat, pushing it back under the table and offering him a stern glance. "I will allow the change of topic," she said, "but only because it's five to nine and we have to start training in a few minutes. Now come on, put your plate on the washing trolly and let's go and find out how many of your teammates are actually awake and ready to train."

He gave her a mock salute, dumped his dishes, and joined her as she made her way to the street outside the hotel. As it turned out, the entire team was awake and ready to train. But only because Steve was also there, watching over them like a mother hen clucking after her chicks. Of the group, only Falsworth looked fully awake and alert.

"Glad you both made it," Steve said to them as they approached, though the smile in his eyes was all for Agent Carter. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss the start."

"And pass up this chance to show up your team of crack Commandos by beating them in a ten-kilometre race?" Carter said, a too-sweet smile on her lips. "Not a chance."

"Personally," said Dugan, "I don't care if you beat me. In fact, let's just say that you already have beaten me, and I'll forfeit this race in favour of spending the day in the Fiddle helping to keep Lizzie in a job."

"Join le Resistance, they said," Dernier mumbled. "All I do is eat bad English sausage and run around London. Sacré bleu!"

Morita, meanwhile, stood mumbling something under his breath, eyes closed and hands held together in prayer.

"The hell are you doing?" Bucky asked him.

"Praying for divine intervention to stop this madness. It's Monday, for God's sake. Nobody should have to start a brand new week running ten miles on a hangover."

"It's only ten kilometres."

"Oh, well, if it's only ten kilometres, maybe you'd like to run mine for me!"

"C'mon fellas," said Steve. "Enough chit-chat. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can finish. And no cheating, this time, or I'll be assigning push-ups as well." With many a moan and a groan, the team lined up in two rows on the street. "Now, on your marks. Get set—"

"Captain Rogers! Agent Carter!" A sweaty-faced private came trotting up to them, like he was the one who'd just run ten-K. "I've brought instructions from Colonel Phillips."

Morita glanced up at the sky, and said, "Thank you, oh mighty Father."

Steve was clearly torn between receiving the instructions and setting the team off on their run. He looked like the kid who'd been told he could have cake, but not eat it. Finally, he said. "Alright, let's have the colonel's orders."

"You're to pack your bags, gather any equipment you have, and meet the Colonel in his office for immediate mission briefing."

There was a mad scramble for the hotel door as the team leapt at the opportunity to escape a gruelling run. Bucky offered his friend a consolatory pat on the shoulder. "Better luck next time, pal," he said.

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

Colonel Phillips' office was cramped at the best of times, so today he'd emptied the SSR's command centre of all staff and invited the team to sit at the big table. And they weren't the only ones there. Agent Carter took a seat on Steve's left, while Bucky sat to his right. The rest of the team spread out, and incorporated into their ranks were Howard Stark and his assistant Miles, Freddie Lopresti, Captain Stone of the RAF, and some guy Bucky had seen hovering around Steve from time to time who introduced himself as 'Kevin'.

There was no Private Lorraine. There was no coffee. There was only Colonel Phillips, a few supply boxes, and a small pile of sealed envelopes. The team didn't need to be told that this was important. There was an air of gravitas in the room, and as soon as they took their seats, they settled without any of the usual banter.

"Men," said Phillips, clearly making no distinction for Agent Carter, "tomorrow is the beginning of the end. Over the past twelve months, significant Allied forces have been committed to planning for the liberation of France to allow us to gain a foothold into continental Europe, with the eventual goal of pushing Hitler back into Germany. With the Russians pushing the Eastern Front hard, and with many long months of intelligence and bomber operations leading to a successful weakening of German defences, the time has finally come to make a concerted push into France."

Bucky knew he wasn't the only one whose stomach churned with both excitement and dread at the thought of the upcoming incursion. The Commandos were more animated, and Dugan seemed ready to leap out of his seat and spring into action. Dernier already was out of his seat! They were both nuts.

"Tomorrow morning, a large-scale aquatic invasion of France along the Normandy beach will begin. This invasion will consist of American, Canadian, British, and other Allied infantry forces supported by artillery fire from the naval forces along with fighter-bomber support from the sky and ground support from tank divisions which will be transported across on ships and unloaded onto artificial harbours. At the same time, considerable numbers of troops will be parachuted into France behind the German lines to capture key targets and disrupt local supply lines, while members of the French Resistance will offer logistical support and sabotage of Nazi installations. This incursion, which will go down in history as the largest ever tactical invasion ever planned or carried out, is codenamed Overlord, and you have all been tasked to join in the campaign."

"Yes!" said Dugan, punching the air with his fist.

"At last," said Dernier. "My country will soon be free." Jones high-fived him.

"Are we expecting HYDRA interference with the plan?" Steve asked. Like Bucky, he had a score to settle with Schmidt.

"Expected, no," said Phillips. "But this is Schmidt, so we can't entirely rule it out. However, this team is too great an asset to be left on the side-lines on this one. To that end, you will be splitting into two groups. Captain Rogers, Sergeant Dugan, Private Jones, you'll be joining the American infantry forces at the invasion point codenamed Omaha. Once this briefing is finished, you'll be taken by car to the port where a transport ship is awaiting your arrival. Your ultimate goal is to support the offensive to retake the city of Cherbourg on the Cotentin Peninsula, so that supplies can be brought in to the deep water port located there without the need for artificial shallow-water harbours. You'll be under the command of Major General Lawton Collins, who is in charge of VII Corps, and will take your orders directly from him.

"Major Falsworth, Sergeant Barnes, Private Morita, Mr Dernier, you four will join one of the parachute regiments and be dropped into the country as part of a second-wave of airborne assault. Captain Stone will fly you and a number of other airborne troops to your drop zone."

"And you will kindly provide Mr Dernier with a bucket," Stone interrupted.

"After landing ground-side," Phillips continued, "you'll meet up with the British forces of I Corps, under the command of Lieutenant-General John Crocker, who will be landing his forces at the invasion points nicknamed Juno and Sword. Once you've joined them, Mr Dernier is to make contact with local Resistance groups and ensure all intelligence they have is passed over as swiftly as possible. You'll also help select military targets for Resistance sabotage. All four of you will assist I Corps with capturing the city of Caen, so that we can establish an Allied airfield directly outside it.

"Here." He picked up the envelopes and slid them across the desk to each man on the team. "Your official orders. Names of contacts and notable locations in your landing areas. Memorise them, because those envelopes don't leave this room."

"What about me, Colonel?" Carter asked. "You did ask all of us to pack our bags."

"You are being temporarily moved to Bletchley Park," Phillips said.

"Surely my skills are better used—"

"Before your assignment to the SSR, you worked as a successful code-breaker at Bletchley," said Phillips. "Right now, the Nazis don't know that we've been able to read their Enigma codes for years, but once this invasion begins, they're going to find out pretty damn fast. We expect them to completely change all of their ciphers, which means we're going to need every experienced code-breaker working towards countering them. If you don't like that option, you can stay here and help Private Lorraine make coffee."

"I understand, Colonel." It was possibly the first time he'd ever seen Carter looking contrite.

As one, the team opened their envelopes and started reading through the information inside. Names of people and places, what sort of resistance they could expect, enemy defensive emplacements, last known troop movements, suspected caches of arms and munitions… the level of detail was astounding. Bucky had always thought that the SSR's incursion into the south of France to hunt down HYDRA was the extent of the Allied presence there, but this information showed that intelligence-gathering had been going on for some significant time. He wasn't the only one impressed.

"How did we get this level of information?" Carter asked, just as Steve opened his mouth.

"Aerial photography," said Phillips. "Information passed by the Resistance. Our network of Double-Agents. Hell, the British even had their citizens send in holiday postcards from their pre-war visits to France, so that we could get an accurate lay of the land before committing our forces."

"Wow," said Morita. "Who could've guessed that something as innocent as a holiday postcard might one day help us to kick Hitler in the b—backside."

"I don't like that the team is being split up and given different mission objectives," said Steve. "We know each others' strengths and weaknesses. We do better when we're together."

"It's out of my hands," said Phillips. "We have two big targets to hit, and not enough Howling Commandos to go around. You're not just out there to fight, Captain, you're out there to boost troop morale."

"Please tell me you don't expect me to go into combat wearing tights," said Steve, his voice flat.

"Actually," said Stark, "I've been working on a new uniform for you. It retains the patriotic design that has so captured the attention of our troops, whilst conveying additional combat benefits. For example, I've increased the flame resistance by ten percent, and increased waterproofing by five. Your back-piece now includes additional protection for your spine, and I've upgraded the tread on the boots to give you better grip over slippery terrain. Plus, a bigger utility belt! With more pockets!"

"It is important to Senator Brandt," said Kevin, "and indeed to the President himself, that we remind our troops what they're fighting for. America! And its allies," he added as an afterthought for the benefit of Monty and Jacques. "Captain America is not just a soldier, but a—"

"A symbol. I know." Steve sighed. Sometimes he happily embraced being America's dream boy, sometimes he fought it tooth and nail. It was as if he couldn't quite make up his mind who or what he wanted to be. Soldier. Symbol. Didn't he realise that he could be both, and not lose any of what he was?

"It's not just you," Kevin said. "All of the Commandos are famous now. Sales of your comics are up six hundred percent on this time last year!"

"Wait," Bucky interrupted him, "we're in comics?"

Kevin nodded. "And a radio show. Back home, of course. The broadcast doesn't reach England."

"Funny," said Morita, "I don't feel very famous. I always imagine famous guys to have droves of dames following them around, asking for autographs and dates. The last date I got was because of a cute dog."

"Trust me, you're very famous with the troops!"

"I for one can't wait to start boosting some of that morale," said Dugan. "With us in the ranks, how can we lose?"

Kevin reached over to clap him on the shoulder, then winced and shook the feeling back into his hand. Served him right. Dugan wasn't as big as Steve, but he wasn't far off, and despite his bulk, he was mostly muscle. "That's the spirit, Sergeant. Try to keep that up in front of the camera."

"Wait. Are you saying Freddie is coming with us?" Steve demanded. Freddie, who'd wisely kept quiet until now, offered a small wave. "This is a bad idea. If what I'm reading in this envelope about enemy fortifications is true, it's not gonna be easy to establish a foothold in France, and it's probably going to be bloody. Maybe one of us should carry the camera. I've seen Freddie use it, it doesn't look hard."

"Ah yes," said Stark. "The camera got upgraded, too." He picked out one of the boxes from the pile and opened it up. What he took out and handed to Freddie did not look like any camera Bucky had ever seen. "It's a motion camera," he explained. "For making moving pictures. The Howling Commandos are about to be immortalised on film. And real film, this time, not like those fake movies."

"Wait, there are movies about us?" Bucky asked. When had all this happened? Why had nobody told him? And more importantly, how much did they reveal about what he'd been through in Krausberg?

"They're not about you guys," said Steve. "They were made before I came over here, and they weren't very good. Don't worry about it."

"Steve, what are you saying? The movies were excellent!" Poor Kevin looked heartbroken.

"Gentlemen," Phillips interrupted. "Back to the business at hand. Freddie will be going with your team, Captain Rogers, and I trust that you will keep both him and his camera safe. It seems his work is important to the top brass back home."

"And what will you be doing during all of this, Howard?" Carter asked pointedly.

"Continuing R&D on the many highly classified science projects to which I'm already assigned," he said, winking at her. "Maybe by the time everyone gets back here, I'll have a few surprises ready. Speaking of which…" he patted the rest of the boxes he'd brought with him. "Presents!" The first one he opened and handed to Dernier. Jacque's eyes lit up at the contents. Mostly just looked like a bunch of wires and boxes. "If these work as planned, they should double your detonation range," Stark explained.

"Oui." Jacques took one out and turned it over in his hands. "Oui. These will do nicely."

"Glad you approve! Sergeant Barnes, here's your gift," he said, handing over a long, relatively slim box. Inside was a rifle. "The SSR-03, my newest and most beloved baby. Take good care of her. She may be a prototype, but she's at the cutting edge of technology. Now, Steve, your uniform is boxed and waiting for you here, but I'm guessing you won't wanna actually wear it until you're heading into combat. Don't say anything; I can tell by the look on your face that I'm right.

"Major Falsworth, Private Morita, Private Jones, these are all for you." The three identical boxes contained new rifle models. "I've reverse-engineered some of the HYDRA stuff we've been getting from your raids, and managed to improve weapon stability considerably. Finally, for Sergeant Dugan, a newer and more destructive shotgun. Enjoy."

"Men," said Phillips, interrupting the excited murmurs before they could become too distracting. He stood, and circled the table as he talked. Was it Bucky's imagination, or was that regret on Phillips' craggy face? Surely not regret that he wasn't going into combat with the rest of them; that was just mad! "Intelligence estimates that we will defeat the Krauts within twelve to twenty-four months, but only if we can establish a secure foothold on the continent. We've already made headway in Italy, but it's not a viable area from which to launch a counter-offensive. I cannot stress how important Operation Overlord is to the war effort. Succeed, and by this time next year you might be back at home with your loved ones. Fail, and we lose more men and resources than we can afford. You'll be making London your permanent home for the foreseeable future. Is that clear?"

And just like that, the mood turned deathly somber. How long could England hold out on its own, if it lost all the resources the Allies had committed to this operation? Looking at the information in the dossiers, that included hundreds of tanks. Thousands of planes and ships. Hundreds of thousands of men. It was gonna be chaos out there. Bucky glanced to Steve. Was he ready for this? Steve was a lot more experienced now than he had been six months ago. He'd seen a lot of combat. He'd seen men killed, and he'd killed men. But he hadn't lost people he'd cared about. He hadn't watched friends die.

"Sir, I have a question," said Steve, breaking the muted silence. "What should we do if we get wind of Schmidt while out there?"

"You can pursue any such leads," said Phillips, "but only with the express permission of the company commander, and only if your absence doesn't put the main operation at risk. We need to take back France. All other objectives are secondary."

"Understood."

"If there are no more questions, you're all dismissed. There are cars waiting outside to take you to your debarkation points. Good luck, gentlemen, and Godspeed."

Three cars stood ready outside, just as promised. While the drivers loaded up all their bags and new weapons from Stark, the team clustered in the doorway and said their goodbyes. Agent Carter was the first to go. She gave Steve a long hug, and said, "Come back safe. The same goes for the rest of you, too. The team needs each and every one of you." She took the first car and headed off to her new assignment at Bletchley. Was there nothing that woman couldn't do?

The guys on Steve's team shook hands with the guys on Bucky's team. They clapped each other on the shoulders, bragged about how many Krauts they were gonna kill, and did it all with the general awkwardness shown by soldiers who weren't sure how many of them might come back. Then they withdrew to their respective cars, and that left Bucky alone to say goodbye to his best friend. Given what had happened in the 107th the few times people had gone off on missions without him, it left him with an uneasy, heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You ready?" he asked, before his unease could worm its way into his head and make him say somethin' stupid.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. Just… take care out there, alright? It's easy to lose yourself, when the bullets start flying."

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna let all this go to my head," Steve said. "Despite what Kevin said about symbols, as far as I'm concerned, out there I'm just another soldier. Granted, another soldier in a stupid suit that makes it easier for Germans to target me, but maybe that's the whole point of sending me out there in the first place. Be big, loud, and make some noise to direct attention away from the real soldiering."

Bucky thumped his friend on the shoulder. But gently, because he knew how hard Steve's shoulders were these days. "Hey, you may be big, but you're still the quietest guy in Brooklyn. And what you do is real soldiering. It's what you do that matters, not what you wear while doing it. Captain America isn't just a symbol; he's an ideal that everyone can aspire to be. And Steve Rogers… well, he's not a perfect soldier, but he's a good man. I think that between the two of you, you make a complete package. When you really start to use that, you'll be unstoppable."

"I never really thought of it that way. Up until now, I always felt like Captain America was something I was being shoehorned into. That I couldn't be a real soldier while wearing the outfit." He smiled. "Thanks, Buck. You've reminded me of something, something that I thought I lost during all of this madness. Maybe—"

"Hey ladies!" Dugan called, his head poking out the window of the rear car. "Can we do this touchy-feely crap after we've sent the Krauts crying back to Germany? We do have a war to get to, you know!"

"Take care, pal," Steve said. "I'll meet up with you over there, once our objective's complete, so stay safe until then."

Bucky nodded. "Count on it."

They parted ways and climbed into their respective cars. Monty shuffled over to make room for Bucky on one of the back seats, and he watched the car behind until it turned the opposite way at a junction and disappeared from his view. Be careful, Steve, he thought. And don't do anything stupid.

Author's Note: Back to these guys for a while!

Thanks Guest 101 for your thoughtful question! When I decided I needed to write a comprehensive Bucky WW2 story, there were some plot lines that I already had mapped out in my head - for example, dealing with Bucky's time after Krausberg, Wells trying to come to terms with his feelings, the whole of Project Lazarus (only very briefly encountered so far, will be a bigger part of the next 'book' after Overlord is over). So, definitely something planned from the beginning! I'm not opposed to reading romance entirely, but I struggle to find stories where I think it's done well. I have read a few amazing romance stories on this site, but I'm not very good at writing them myself. I've already had to kill one of my fics with fire because of it. So, this is my one story where I'm trying to play around with Big Feelings in a larger setting without hating every word that I write. Hope that makes sense :-)