We Were Soldiers

134. Endgame

…the line between middlegame and endgame is often not clear, and may occur gradually or with the quick exchange of a few pairs of pieces…

Joe stopped outside the medical tent at quarter to seven and quickly took a moment to straighten his jacket and make sure his boots hadn't picked up any extra dirt between his tent and here. So far, so good. All that was left was to collect Nancy, escort her to the movie, execute an elaborate deception, and make it back to his tent in one piece. God, if he got this nervous over something like this, it was probably a good thing he didn't have to go into combat.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside the large tent and scanned the faces for one in particular. Nancy spotted him and gave a little wave from across the makeshift ward. "I'm just finishing my rounds, I'll be with you in just one moment," she called. "Take a seat, if you like."

So he perched on the edge of one of the waiting area chairs, too nervous to settle. Nancy had a calm and confident beside manner; she smiled at the soldiers as she went around checking their dressings and refilling their cups with water, and offered reassuring words to men who'd seen better days. At the end of her round, she handed off her clipboard to the nurse taking the next shift, put her used apron and hat into a laundry bag, and made her way over to the waiting area. Joe quickly took to his feet.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Lieutenant," she said. "I hope you don't mind that I haven't had time to freshen up."

"Not at all. I've just come straight from my desk as well." He offered his arm. "Shall we, Nurse Shaw?"

She slipped her arm through his. "I'd be delighted."

When they stepped outside, he made sure to pick the least muddy paths to the movie showing area. Part of him mentally cursed Sergeant Wells for getting him into this whole mess; because of their plan, it didn't feel like a real date. He'd been given prompts, things he had to mention, to get the ball rolling on their deception, but Joe felt bad that Nancy was just a piece in the game. Maybe after this, if she didn't hate him, they could have a do-over. Start again. Go on a real date together, not one manufactured by a master manipulator.

"You know, I never really figured you for a Captain America fan," she said, as they dodged yet another muddy patch on the path. "Up until a few weeks ago, I don't recall seeing you at any of the movies."

"Ah yes." Joe on his own would've fumbled this one. Joe prompted by Sergeant Wells knew exactly what to say. "To be honest, I prefer to watch movies in a quieter environment. The men can get so noisy and distracting at times. I only started coming to them because Sergeant Wells seemed very down after he arrived here; I figured he could use a bit of cheering up. Did you know, he didn't even realise Captain America had made movies, until I dragged him along to the first one?"

"I'm not surprised," she agreed with a firm nod, as if confirming something to herself. "He can't have had many opportunities for watching movies, while hiding out with the resistance. Which is your favourite movie?"

"The one where he rides a camel."

She smiled. "Mine too. It always seems so exotic. Part of me wishes I was here during the campaign in North Africa. Imagine, seeing the pyramids in person!"

"It does sound incredible," he agreed. "I was stationed in London until the invasion of Sicily, but I always regretted missing out on that."

Of course, Sergeant Wells was full of thoughts about that sentiment, too. "Nothing is ever like in the movies or the books, pal. They gloss over the bad parts so you don't know what you're getting yourself in to until it's too late to back out. You think France is all about cheese and grapes and wine, until it's suddenly about swamps and land mines and chiggers. Egypt? I can tell you what that's really like right now. Scorpions. Poisonous snakes. And sand. Sand that gets everywhere, so that it locks up your gun's firing mechanism, and shuts down your jeep's engine, and you're picking it out of your scrambled eggs every single morning. And on top of that, you've got Nazis shooting at you. Egypt is one of those things that sounds good on paper but you should never, ever visit in person, because you'll inevitably end up disappointed. Or dead. They didn't actually film the movie in Egypt, you know. It's just a stage backdrop."

Probably best not to repeat any of that to Nancy.

The men responsible for organising the weekly movie nights had made considerable advancements to the area since the army had stopped marching and camped down to await new orders. At first, the area had been a patch of open ground with a few stools to sit on. The stools had, over time, been upgraded to chairs. Now the front row was mats, followed by the stools, followed by the chairs, which were invariably the best seats in the house. The back rows were tiered benches, covered by raised tarpaulins. The projector screen had been upgraded, too, so that now it was almost the size of an actual movie screen and could be viewed from much further away. Movie night had become so popular that it was a now a twice-weekly affair, with a selection of non-Captain-America movies shown on Tuesday evenings. All in all, it was very professionally done. A little slice of civilisation out in the middle of nowhere.

Because it saw so much use, the engineers had laid sturdy log paths around the edges of the movie area, interspersed with a few flat stones they'd been able to find. The only thing missing was a popcorn machine, but Wells assured him that was a work in progress. Where anybody could get popcorn from out here was a complete mystery, and one Joe was very comfortable not thinking about.

"Over here, Nurse Shaw," he said, when she started to head for the tiered benches. He led her towards the chair section, which was packed out, and scanned the faces there for two familiar ones. Sergeant Wells had introduced him to the two privates earlier in the day, and they had—without any requirement for bribery or blackmail—promised to do everything he asked over the next few days, without question. In fact, they seemed positively excited to be involved in whatever Sergeant Wells was planning.

He spotted them in the middle of the group, and cleared his throat to get their attention. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to move to allow the lady and I a seat."

The tiny, cynical part of him that had been ignored for the past eighteen months half expected them to laugh in his face despite their earlier assurances. Instead, they graciously offered up their seats and quickly made their way to the back of the makeshift theatre. So far, so good.

"That was very good of you," Nurse Shaw said, her smile warm. "You didn't have to make the men move just for me, I would've been happy in the benches."

Again, the voice of Sergeant Wells offered some pre-mission advice.

"Don't flex your rank at dames. It's fine to do it to the enlisted men, because they gotta obey you even if they think they don't; they just need reminding of it. Dames don't like that sort of Hodging—yes, it's an actual verb, and I'll tell you all about that guy some other time—so just be humble and nice with her. Make it seem like you're sorry she even needed to see that display of rank-pulling. I'm pretty sure this is the part you won't screw up, 'cos you basically just gotta be yourself here."

"Well, I happen to think that the nurse who makes the best post-blood-donation coffee deserves the best seat in the house," he offered. "Plus, you always give me an extra cookie, so a nice seat for the evening is the least I can do."

She tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "Well, you always look so overworked whenever I see you, I figure if you're being generous enough to donate blood, you at least deserve something nice in return."

"And it's very much appreciated."

He led her to her seat and momentarily regretted the presence of the hundred other servicemen around them. They were a rowdy bunch, and shouted loudly over each other to their friends in the audience. Should he have let her sit in the benches after all? The top bench, right at the very back, might be quieter, even if the view of the screen wasn't as good. A moment later, a corporal sidled over carrying two cups and a tea pot, of all things.

"Good evening Lieutenant, can I get something for you and the lady? A cup of tea, perhaps? Some chocolate to eat as you enjoy tonight's movie?"

Even though Wells had arranged it, it still came as a surprise. "I'd love a cup of tea and some chocolate," he said. "Nurse Shaw?"

"Oh, that would be heaven! You know, I haven't had a single drink since the start of my shift. I didn't even know we had any tea left in the stores!"

"Ahh," said the corporal, as he handed over the cups and began pouring, "it's not about what you know, but who you know. There we go, two cups of tea. Apologies there's no sugar for it, but you could always melt a bit of chocolate in, if it needs sweetening. Enjoy the movie, Lieutenant, ma'am."

Nurse Shaw stared at the cup of tea in one hand and the strip of chocolate in the other. "It seems you're very well connected," she said, and took a sip of the tea. "A little bitter perhaps, but definitely the best hot drink I've had in days! Do you always get preferential treatment at movie night?"

"Truthfully? No," he admitted, because even when scheming he found it hard to lie outright. "Strings were pulled, but I wanted this to feel as un-war-like as possible. Besides, it's not every day the most beautiful nurse in camp agrees to accompany me to a movie."

On the verge of replying, the was interrupted by the whirr of the movie projector, which suddenly spilled light onto the bleached canvas screen that had once been somebody's tent. As the small pair of speakers did their best to convey the music of the opening credits, the show-runners dimmed the lights in the area, plunging the audience into darkness. As soon as the image of the pyramids flickered to life, the audience let out a huge cheer.

By now, almost everyone in the entire camp had seen every Captain America movie at least once, and Joe was no exception. So, as the movie played out before his eyes, he let another scene play out within his mind's eye, and memory took him back to earlier that morning.

"After the movie, go for a walk or something," said Wells. "Get to talking. Find a way to bring up how down I've been lately, and how you're trying to cheer me up but the movies just aren't cutting it anymore. With a little luck, she'll pry, and you can bring up Nurse Ramsey."

"Which one's Nurse Ramsey?" he asked.

"The short one with the big—"

"Got it." He'd seen her around the medical tent, but never really paid much attention to her. "What then?"

"Then you can tell her how I was planning to surprise Nurse Ramsey with a romantic jeep trip to a classy picnic location, but it got shot down by the motor pool."

"But Nurse Shaw doesn't work in the motor pool. I don't think she's going to be able to help us out with that."

"Course not. Listen pal, dames talk. Once the nurses get wind of this, they'll find a way to make it happen. You just have to make it real clear that you'd sign a requisition form to authorise my jeep use if one was to somehow find its way across your desk, no questions asked. On account of what a good pal you are, and all that."

And this was where most of Wells' plan came down to supposition and conjecture. Planting the idea that Joe might already be part of the Syndicate, or at least be willing to bend the rules considerably to help out a friend, all via womens' gossip, seemed highly suspect, and it would be a miracle if anybody actually believed it. Still, Sergeant Wells had managed to conscript three servicemen to help them. Their job, as well as providing seats and refreshments for the movie, was to spread a few low-key rumours that Joe had been the source of the tea and the chocolate, along with a few other items they'd somehow accrued along the way.

It was all very convoluted, and he got the distinct impression that this wasn't the first occasion that his newest sergeant had been involved in this sort of intricate plotting. Despite the sergeant's grumbling at all the rumours and threatening to punch people for spreading them, he'd actually wondered a few times if they might really be true. This seemed like the sort of elaborate plan Captain America and his team might be involved in. The only thing that stopped him from following that train of thought was the fact that he suspected if Captain America wanted a man on the inside of this army, nobody would actually know about it.

No, Sergeant Wells was exactly as he seemed; an over-achieving enlisted man with a heavily redacted file relating to missions nobody could confirm carried out by an operational branch that had more funding than oversight, who just happened to know three Howling Commandos and was currently working to infiltrate a clandestine black-market network within the army to bring down a two-star General. And if Joe should ever happen to mention that to anyone, they would likely have him committed, because it sounded like lunacy.

A loud cheer brought him back to reality. The movie had just reached the part where Captain America had to commandeer a camel to chase after a pair of Nazis who'd stolen a top secret weapon from a top secret Allied lab under the pyramids. Watching these movies had always left him feeling a little in-awe of the man, and a little unheroic himself. Pushing paper around a desk couldn't compare to chasing down Nazis. Now, though… Sergeant Wells was right. It wasn't real. When you started to look more closely, you could see the pyramids wavering a little in a breeze. The Nazi car seemed to be moving, but if you watched the backdrop, it was obvious one particular pair of palm trees was repeated every few seconds. The guns weren't even firing blanks; they were props, with a fake gunshot sound added in after. About the only real thing in the movie was Captain America himself. Somebody had created a fantasy world for him to play in, and everybody loved it.

The movie ended the same way every time; Captain America retrieved the prototype weapon, his team helped capture the Nazis, and they returned home to a hero's welcome. So why did the men come back and watch it over and over again? They already knew the outcome; most of them could quote the one-liners. Was the desire to think about something other than their own situation, even for just a short time, what drove them here every Friday night?

"Well… your father did start out as an enlisted man… and he knows about the Syndicate, which means he was probably in it at one point. Hell, maybe he was even running it…"

The morning's conversation had weighed heavily on him throughout the day. His father had always been a beacon of honour, a strong and honest figure beyond reproach. Could he really be the one behind this 'Syndicate'? The Syndicate's leader and General Grant—two near-irreconcilable thoughts. Had he gotten it wrong? Had he gotten so caught up in Wells' witch-hunt that he was seeing links where there were none?

As the movie concluded in its usual way, with Captain America once more saving the day, Joe stretched his legs as much as he could and tried to work some feeling back into his toes. Perhaps more leg-room was a suggestion be could make before the next movie…

"I never tire of seeing that one," said Nancy, a beaming smile on her face. "When he climbs the sphinx and then jumps off the top of it to catch that Nazi scientist off-guard, my heart always leaps right up into my mouth!"

He nodded. Last time he'd watched the movie, he'd mentioned to Sergeant Wells that Captain America's stunt double was a brave man, and Wells' reply had simply been a mumbled complaint that Captain America probably did his own stunts, and that he was a jerk with stupid hair. What that had to do with jumping off the sphinx was anyone's guess.

"Mine too," he agreed. It was good to know they had so much in common, even if this 'date' secretly was a farce. "You know, if we were back home in the States, I wouldn't hesitate to suggest dinner at a nice restaurant after the excitement of the movie. Since all we have here is a mess tent, I'd think nothing of it if you preferred to skip that part of the evening. Playing 'guess the lumpy brown' with what's on your mess tray isn't exactly the most romantic activity…"

"Actually, it's been a long shift; I'm so hungry I could probably eat both our shares of lumpy brown." She let out a quiet laugh. "It's an accurate description of what I had for dinner last night, anyway."

That was a relief. He'd been half afraid that she'd want to skip the meal, and he'd have to rush the next part while walking her back to her tent. Dinner gave him a bit of breathing room.

One of Sergeant Wells' pawns came to retrieve their empty tea cups, and offered a smile for Nancy and a salute for Joe. "Good evening, Lieutenant," he said, as Joe offered his date his arm once more. Perhaps after this, he'd ask Sergeant Wells how he'd managed to command the mens' respect so quickly and thoroughly.

The mess tent was quiet enough when they arrived; most people preferred to eat before the movie, then head back to their barracks tents to relive the action scenes over and over again in their heads. No doubt they went to sleep dreaming of being in Egypt themselves. At this time of night, only a few other diners were present, so Joe picked an out-of-the-way table in a corner of the tent and went to the serving counter for the both of them. As feared, the meal tonight was still lumpy brown.

Nancy didn't seem to mind. She prodded at the lumpy brown for a moment, then said, "I think it's supposed to be meatballs in gravy."

"In that case, I'm going to go with very poorly carrots."

His comment earned a genuine laugh that went all the way up to her eyes, making them sparkle. Joe quickly tucked into his lumpy brown and tried not to think about how beautiful she was when she smiled like that. He had a job to do here. A mission to complete.

Only… if he was successful in his mission, he wouldn't go home to a hero's welcome. He'd return to a heartbroken mother, a father disonourably discharged without the benefits of a pension, a family reputation in tatters.

Could he really go through with this? If the cost of the truth was his father's career, was that a price he was willing to pay? Perhaps this had been a mistake all along. But it was a mistake he could fix. He could make this all go away by saying nothing to Nancy about Sergeant Wells. He could go back to Wells and pretend like he'd said what needed to be said, and then wait. Nothing would happen. The plan would fall apart, and his father would be safe.

Only… Wells was very resourceful, and he didn't seem the type to give up easily. In fact, he seemed the type to fight harder with increasing challenge. If the plan failed, he'd take it as a personal failure and only be more determined to succeed next time. He would find another way, maybe one that didn't involve Joe.

Besides, as much trouble as his father was in now, he'd be in even more trouble if the army's losses continued. What if the brass sent someone else to investigate? What if they just replaced his father entirely? At least this way, Joe would know for sure. He could try to protect his father from whatever punishment might come his way. Take the fall for him, if necessary. He owed his dad that much and more, and his mom wouldn't have to worry about that pension later on.

"You're awfully quiet, lieutenant," said Nancy. Her eyes seemed to bore into his skull. "Dollar for your thoughts?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about home, and family," he said. "I miss my mother." Way to sound like a whiny momma's boy, Grant, said the voice of Wells inside his head. "I mean, I miss not being able to pick up the phone and speak to her, to reassure her that I'm okay."

"I understand," she said. "I miss my family too. My little sister is planning to get married next year, and I'm worried I'll miss it."

"It's hard, isn't it, being away from the people you care about?"

"Hardest part of the job," she agreed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up such a melancholy subject." He pointed to her tray with his knife. "How is your lumpy brown?"

"Edible. But definitely not meatballs. Do you think the cook would actually tell us what it is if we asked him?"

This seemed like a potential in-road, a way to steer the topic back towards the mission. "Maybe. But perhaps we should take bets on it first. I'm sure we could get a nice little pool going."

"Oh? I didn't take you for the type of man who likes to gamble."

"I don't, normally, but sometimes a little risk adds an element of fun to things. I was even thinking about asking Sergeant Wells to set up an inter-regiment darts competition. It might pull him out of his current unhappy mood."

"What's he unhappy about?" she asked, taking the bait so smoothly that Joe almost sighed with relief. "I don't see him very often, but he always seems to be doing alright for himself."

He made a dramatic noise of hesitation, pretended to wrestle with his conscience. Hopefully didn't look constipated while doing it. "Ohh, I'm not sure if I should take about it, it's perhaps a tiny bit personal."

"Well, you're in luck; I am great at keeping secrets," she smiled.

Not too great, I hope. "Okay, you've convinced me. Sergeant Wells is feeling a bit lovesick at the moment. He's got a crush on one of the nurses, but he's worried she doesn't even realise he exists. He's been in quite a mood about it."

"Ooh, which nurse?" she asked, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially. "I promise I won't tell!"

"Ah, let me think… what was her name?" He tapped his chin for a moment, then feigned his best eureka. "Ah yes, Nurse Ramsey."

"Really? That's so sweet," she beamed. "Emma is convinced men don't notice her because she's short and has a big nose. We keep telling her that her nose isn't big; it's just that she has such a delicate face. But she won't hear it. I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know Sergeant Wells has got a thing for her!"

Guilt returned for a moment, reminding him that it was never far away. How many peoples' feelings would they have to toy with to carry out this plan? Nurse Shaw, Nurse Ramsey… who else would Wells use to achieve his mission?

"Why don't you advise him to ask her out? Perhaps we could have a double-date next Friday," Nancy continued.

"I've already suggested that," he said. This bit he had practised over and over again in his head. "He doesn't want a double-date as his first date with her. In fact, he had his heart set on taking her on a romantic picnic—and that's part of why he's been in such a low mood."

"I don't understand. What's the problem with a picnic?"

"He wanted to take her to a spot a couple of hours away, with a lovely view of the Alps. But his request to borrow a jeep was denied, and he won't settle for a location closer to camp. He really did have his heart set on the perfect spot he found."

"Oh, that's such a shame," she said, oozing sympathy. "I didn't know he was such a romantic."

Joe nodded, and hoped his lies wouldn't condemn him to some fiery hell after he died. "I hate seeing Sergeant Wells so upset over this. Heck, if it were up to me, I'd give him that jeep in a heartbeat; sign any requisition form that crossed my desk. All the man wants is to take a lady on a picnic, it's not like he'd be going into combat. Unfortunately, the motor pool would never allow it." He sighed. "I guess there's nothing to be done about it. I'll keep trying the idea of that double date with Sergeant Wells. Maybe, in time, he'll settle for that."

"I hope so," Nancy said. "I know Emma would have a great time."

She turned her focus back to her tray of food, but not before Joe saw the wheels of thought turning behind her eyes. Sergeant Wells had been correct; she was going to try to make it happen. The rule of I Know A Guy… Wells called it. A desire to do good for her friend would turn into a favour, which would generate another favour, and then another. Using the Syndicate against itself to expose its leader. Until this moment, Joe had doubted it would work, but he finally had to admit; it was a good plan.

o - o - o - o - o

Lieutenant Grant was the twitchy type. He jumped at shadows, imagined shadows were none existed, and was convinced somebody was following him. Technically he was correct, because Danny had one of the Stooges tail him at all times he was away from his office tent, but only so he could be sure the guy wasn't gonna say or do anything stupid. Now that he was aware of the political undercurrents in the army, his mind ran heavily to paranoia, and nothing said 'guilty' more than a guy who acted paranoid for no good reason.

Keeping up an air of normalcy was the most important thing right now. It would take days for the fruits of their laborious deception to ripen for the plucking, and until then, it had to be business as normal. Danny did make a few observations which indicated events were progressing in the right direction, at least. For a start, the nurses glanced at him more often since Grant's date with Nancy, though Nurse Ramsey didn't seem to be in on it. It was a shame he hadn't been able to rid himself of his pesky feelings for his friend yet, because Nurse Ramsey seemed his type, and her nose wasn't too hard to overlook. Maybe after all this was done, he really would ask her out. Just because he didn't feel anything for her right now didn't mean feelings couldn't develop, right?

With a policy of business as normal firmly in place, and Grant under round-the-clock surveillance, Danny went about his usual routines. Threatened people who annoyed him, pressed the mess staff for the best way to poach eggs, kept up with his usual workload, and attended all the poker games he could make. He dropped another hint about wanting a jeep, just to keep up pretenses, but otherwise let the wheels of the plan turn without any attention from him. He had to let Grant appear to incriminate himself, so this particular mission required a slightly hands-off approach, which suited him just fine.

By some act of providence, Nurse Shaw agreed to go on another date with Grant, which meant that even while sticking largely to a script, he couldn't have made too shabby an impression. Their second date was planned for Friday—another Captain America movie, followed by a game of guess the lumpy brown in the mess—and at times it seemed Grant was more nervous about that than he was about their secret mission.

"What if I put my foot in my mouth?" Grant mused, as he and Danny went over the records from the medical stores. It had taken a lot of arm-twisting to get ahold of them.

"Have you ever put your foot in your mouth with a dame before?" he countered.

"Well, no. But the situation here is more complex."

"Then uncomplex it." Danny scowled a warning when Grant opened his mouth. "It's a word. Anyway, it's only as complex as you make it. So forget about all this Syndicate stuff tomorrow night and just focus on having a good time. Which movie are they showing, anyway?"

"The one where the French Resistance smuggle him into a chateau in a laundry basket."

"Ugh. My second least favourite."

"Which one is your first least favourite?"

"All the others."

Grant set aside his stack of papers for a moment. "Can I ask you a question?"

"No."

"What do you have against the man? Other than some slightly wooden acting skills, at times."

A long litany of complaints immediately presented itself. "Where to start? The story-writing is childish. The sets are second-rate. The—"

"I don't mean the movies," interrupted Grant. "I meant Captain America himself. You insult his hair, and the way he holds his prop gun, and how tall he is. You call him a jerk every time you see one of the movies."

"That's because he is," said Danny, trying to keep the petulance from his voice.

"But you claim you've never even met the man. So why do you think he's a jerk?"

"Y'know, you really shouldn't listen to everything I say. I talk a lot of bullshit, you know." Grant merely stared and waited. He was definitely learnin' how to handle people better. "Fine, I guess it's because he gets to be out there doing all that stuff while I'm stuck here behind a desk."

"Two days ago you were complaining that combat is nothing like the movies, that it's dirty and bloody and tiring and one of the worst things a man will ever go through, and now you want to be back in the field taking part in combat operations?"

"I am an inexplicable enigma," he bullshitted. "Anyway, let's talk about—"

"Excuse me, Lieutenant Grant?" a voice called from outside.

Grant quickly shuffled the papers he'd set to one side and called, "Yes, come in."

It was a corporal who entered, one of the men from the motor pool. He glanced furtively at Danny as he stood to attention and saluted. "Sir, I was asked to give you this for signing," he said, handing over a piece of paper he carried. It was an ES-1 form. "Along with assurances that your request won't cause any problems."

To his credit, Grant didn't skip a beat. "Thank you, Corporal. I appreciate you bringing this to me personally." The soldier saluted and left, but Grant waited a full minute before showing the form to Danny. "So… this is it. I have to be honest, I wasn't sure it would work out this way. I guess I'd just convinced myself that it wouldn't play out as you hoped." He quickly manned up. "Right. We've got the requisition form. What now?"

"Now, it's time to spring the trap," said Danny, picking up Grant's pen from the desk and holding it out with all the gravitas of an athlete passing the Olympic torch. "Sign the form and submit it before the end of the day. Tomorrow, we'll move our final piece into position."

Grant nodded, took the pen, and quickly signed on the dotted line. Then he let out a deep breath. "Tomorrow."

Tomorrow, the Knight would move, and General Grant would find himself in check-mate.

Author's note: Happy New Year, Spacefriends! I hope you've had a not-unpleasant start to 2024, if you celebrate that sort of thing! Thanks for sticking with the story these past seven-ish years, and for putting up with my ramblings too! I'm glad that the story has touched so many people, and I hope it continues to do so for many more chapters to come. Fanfic was broken for a few weeks, so I wasn't sure if anybody was even still reading... but now the message alerts and statistics seem to be back to normal, and I'm glad to see plenty of folks still tuning in to the updates. Welcome as well to anybody reading this for the first time... I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far. May your 2024 be peaceful, productive, and filled with lots of Bucky.

- TUS