We Were Soldiers

136. Reunion

"Barnes, wake up. Hey Barnes. Baaaaarnes. He's out of it. Jacques, bring some of that cheese over here, stick it under his nose."

"Gerrof me," Bucky mumbled, swatting away the hand that was poking at his shoulder. When he squeezed his eyelids open, Morita grinned down at him. "Why are you poking me? We took the supply depot, the Resistance have it all under control, it's time for sleep."

"Actually, it's eleven in the morning, and it's time for a new mission."

He groaned and pulled his blanket over his head. "But we only just finished the old mission."

"Yeah, but we got guests."

With considerable reluctance, Bucky left his bed—a nest of two blankets atop a pile of rubble, and it was amazing how standards could slip after a month in the field—and followed Morita outside. Yesterday's grey was today's drizzle, one of those fine misty rains that wasn't obviously wet until you'd marched in it for hours and discovered yourself soaked down to your underwear. But the sight before him more than made up for the promise of damp. Three jeeps rolled into the town, and when they came to a halt, out hopped Steve, Dugan, Gabe, Freddie, and Captain Stone. The first four were dusty, their boots unpolished, and Dugan seemed to have lost his bowler hat along the way, but they were alive and well. The team was finally whole again.

"Long time no see, pal," said Bucky, not even trying to fight the grin on his face as he pulled Steve into a shoulder-slapping hug. "How are you doing?"

"As well as anyone can be, I expect," Steve replied. But there was a weariness in his voice, and when he pulled back from the hug, there seemed to be tension in his face, and a tightness around his eyes that hadn't been there before. As if he'd aged years in just a single month… or seen something that had caused a considerable amount of pain.

"What happened?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Something bad happened, didn't it? Don't try to B-S me, I can tell."

Steve shook his head. "Tough fighting. We lost a lot of men. That's all."

"Cap's still kicking himself over the Parker kid," Dugan said, butting in to shake Bucky's hand in one of those 'glad to see you're still alive' ways.

"What's he talking about, Steve?"

A defeated sigh escaped his best friend's lips. "There was a Private we picked up, right after we landed. Little more than a kid. Probably not much older than Charlie. Everything was chaos. I told him to stay close. Told myself I'd make sure he stayed safe. Then… I lost him."

Bucky's heart ached for his friend. Steve had his own Private Tipper, and it had ended no better for him. He would've given anything to spare his pal that pain.

"Couldn't even find a body," Steve continued, a tiny spark of hope flickering in his blue eyes. "So there's a chance he's still alive, but missing."

"We have a saying, in the 107th," Bucky told him. "No tags, no death. If nobody saw him die, and you haven't recovered his tags, then he's not dead. If you want, I'll help you look for him when we get back."

Steve shook his head. "We're not going back. New mission from Phillips." The tips of his ears went slightly pink. That meant the orders had been relayed by Carter, no matter who they actually came from. "There's a Hydra base about thirty klicks from here, and apparently we've gotten too close to it. They have orders to burn it down, so whatever's inside is potentially valuable."

"Great, let's go see what we can recover!" They needed a win. After the struggle of landing and securing northern France, a success against Hydra was just what they needed to lift their spirits. Especially Steve.

"Captain Stone," said Monty, "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you loathed the very concept of ground-based combat."

"That I do," the pilot agreed. "But it seems you fine fellows are needed for another mission directly after you finish this Hydra nonsense here, so Colonel Phillips is sending a plane to collect you. Naturally, as your pilot, it's only right that I accompany you on this mission, so that I can return home, demand a new plane, and ferry you along on your next voyage."

"That's fancy-speak for he saw us arrive, heard we were leaving France, and clung to the jeep so tight that not even Steve could pry him off," said Jones.

"And of course, everyone is happy to see Freddie safe and sound," added the photographer.

"I had no doubts for your safety, Mr Lopresti," said Falsworth. "With all the missions you've accompanied us on, you're practically a Veteran by now."

Freddie stroked his chin. "Hmm. Maybe I could be an honorary Commando. It's sure to be popular with the ladies. I might be invited to parties. There will undoubtedly be scandals. Imagine all the incriminating snaps I could get!"

As the Commandos fell into some good-natured ribbing coupled with mission prep, Steve took Bucky by the arm and led him to one side. The worry-lines on his forehead had deepened. Steve had always been a worrier, but it seemed the worry-stakes had gotten higher since joining the war for real. He definitely needed to get back to London for a relaxing dose of Agent Carter real soon.

"There's something else," Steve said quietly. "I don't want you to overreact, or worry. If you can't handle it, you can stay in the jeep with Stone while we investigate the Hydra facility. There's no need for you to be there, if you don't want to."

"Nothing makes me worry more than someone telling me not to worry," he countered. "Just spit it out."

"The place we're going to check out… there's a chance Doctor Zola was there. Might even still be there, if we get there fast enough."

"Good." Conscious that his fist was clenching, he relaxed his hand. "I have something for him."

"Oh? What?"

He patted the Colt holstered at his hip. "A half-dozen bullets. I have to deliver them personally."

The worry-lines became worry-canyons. "Buck, you know that we can't kill him, right? He's one of Schmidt's top guys. If not the top guy. We need to take him in for questioning. That's the real reason Phillips is sending a plane for us. If we can get our hands on Zola, we need to get him to England as fast as possible."

Bucky nodded. If he was gonna kill Zola and make good on the promise he'd made, it would have to be now, before he got on that plane. Conventions said you weren't allowed to kill prisoners, which meant if Zola made it to England in custody of the Commandos, he'd be safe from harm. He would escape the justice he so desperately deserved, and the ghosts of the men he'd killed would never rest easy.

"Yeah, you're right," he said. Odd, how easily the lies came to his lips. How easy it had become to lie to his best friend, when once he would not have entertained even the idea of lying to Steve. "We need to figure out what Schmidt is up to. Having Zola to question would give us valuable intel." As if anything the guy said could even be trusted. Phillips was a fool if he thought Zola would tell them anything useful.

The lines of worry on Steve's face quickly smoothed. They didn't disappear entirely, but they weren't as obvious. "Glad you understand. How soon can you and the others be ready to head out?"

"Give us ten minutes to pack up, and we'll be ready." He nodded to Dernier. "You might wanna speak with Jacques, though. I know he's always said that he'll stick with us till the end, but we're in France now, and making a good start on kicking the Krauts out. He may have changed his mind."

"I'll talk to him before we get on the plane," Steve agreed. "I'd be sad to lose him, but he's not military, and he has the right to choose for himself."

Bucky left Steve to it and returned to the place his half of the team had bunked overnight. He packed his bag without truly seeing what was in front of him. The only image before him was one played out in his mind; Doctor Zola with a bullet through his skull.

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

As the scenery rolled by, it was easy to forget that France was still an occupied country. Heading out towards the countryside, away from the front lines, the German presence was smaller. With all troops diverted to the defensive effort, there were fewer patrols to dodge, and no checkpoints to pass through. A few thousand soldiers, parachuted into the south of France, could've discretely taken key positions and cut off the Nazi supply lines. Unfortunately, the Allies didn't have a few thousand paratroopers to spare. Everything they had not currently deployed elsewhere was invested in the big push, and it had to succeed before the Krauts could divert reinforcements from the Eastern Front.

The thoughts played through Bucky's head as the miles passed by. Sometimes you had to commit to a course of action, and stick to it. Like the Zola thing. He'd promised himself and the souls of the men who'd died on the table before him, the souls of his friends in the 107th who'd lost their lives battling Hydra, that he'd put bullets in the men responsible for so much pain and suffering. He couldn't just let evil men off the hook because they were scientifically valuable. Once you started to make that sort of justification, it allowed any atrocity to be overlooked. Well, so long as Bucky Barnes was alive, nobody was going to sweep Dr Zola under a rug and conveniently forget about what he'd done. The doctor would pay; he'd make sure of it. And if that meant going up against Steve… well, perhaps Steve had forgotten that you couldn't have a bigger picture without the little details. Right now, those little details were dead men. Dead soldiers. Dead friends.

"We should be there in a few minutes," said Dugan. He was driving the jeep that had Bucky and Freddie in it, while Steve drove Jones and Stone, and Monty drove Dernier and Morita. They'd spaced the vehicles out at fifty-metre intervals, because land mines were still a thing. "You okay, Barnes?"

"Of course I'm okay," he said. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Well, you haven't said a word since we set off. I remember a time when shuttin' you up was more effort than it was worth, and now I can't even get a single word outta you." He straightened his helmet on his head, clearly wishing he had his more comfortable bowler hat up there. "Figured you'd be all abuzz with what you're gonna do to Zola when you get your hands on him."

"Doctor Zola is a strategically important asset and needs to be captured and taken into custody for questioning back in England," he replied.

"Heh. That he does." Dugan glanced back at him in the rear view mirror, a knowing look in his blue eyes. "But that doesn't mean he ain't a right mean bastard who doesn't deserve a few of his fingers breaking before he gets there."

"I don't see the point in torturing someone just for revenge. Hurting him won't bring back the men he's killed, or undo any of the atrocities he's committed." Neither would putting a bullet in his head, but it would prevent him from committing further atrocities.

"Might make you feel better, though. Y'know, tit-for-tat and all that jazz."

Bucky shook his head. Causing pain for the sake of pain just wasn't who he was, nor who he wanted to be. Zola would get what he deserved. Justice, not revenge. He wouldn't become that beast Logan described. He would kill Zola because the man deserved it, and that was all.

Probably wishful thinking to hope the guy had one of those cyanide pills the Hydra soldiers loved to chow down on.

"This doesn't look promising," said Freddie. He had the front seat next to Dugan, and was leaning forward to peer at a dark blur on the horizon.

Bucky leant forward as well, sticking his head and shoulders in the gap between the front seats. The blur on the horizon was a cloud of smoke drifting up into the sky and spreading out as it gained altitude.

"Wanna take bets on that not being our destination?" Dugan asked.

"Hard pass," said Bucky, and Freddie nodded in agreement. It seemed they were too late to prevent the destruction of the Hydra lab. Did that mean they were too late to capture Zola as well? Fat chance the guy had stuck around to watch the place burn. He was a coward, and had probably fled as soon as he received his orders. Pity.

Their small convey came to a halt at the end of the road, outside what had once been compound gates but were now nothing more than a twisted metal skeleton. Steve climbed out of his jeep and wandered over to the gates, giving them a gentle push that sent them toppling inward with a groan of complaint. "Guess we're in the right place," he called back.

One by one, the Commandos followed him. Captain Stone, confident there would be no combat, tagged on the back of the group as they picked their way across the brick-strewn ground. The remains of the building hadn't been completely destroyed; it was obvious where rooms had been from the way the foundations were laid, and here and there the remnants of walls stood precariously ready to topple if anybody so much as even breathed at them.

"Hey, I got something," said Morita. He knelt down to carefully pluck a small fragment of charred paper from the rubble. "It's in German. Take a look, Jones."

The dark-skinned Commando gave it a glance-over. "Shipping order for raw materials. Lots of steel. Almost as much copper. And this… I don't even know what this word translates to. We should take it back to HQ."

Steve stood in the middle of the rubble, hands planted on his hips, and looked around. Freddie quickly took a picture of him before he could object. "Just what the heck was Zola making here?"

"Robots," said Dugan. He'd found another scrap of paper and held it up for scrutiny. "Judging by the drawing here, I'd say they're giant stompey robots."

Bucky squinted at the picture. It did kinda look like a robot, and a giant stompey one at that. Only… there was a smaller figure inside, at the heart of it. Was that a man?

Flash.

"Ah, good, you are awake," said the nasally voice Bucky had come to fear and despise. A moment later, the face of the doctor appeared in view, looking down at him on the cold steel table. "Your bloodwork is promising. There is a chance you may survive the process, and I really do hope you survive. Once we have a working serum, Herr Schmidt will no longer require me to waste my days on this task, and I can return to my creations.

"Superior man. Ha!" The doctor pushed his glasses further up his nose. They made him look like a cricket. "Men, even superior men, will always be fallible. The human body can take only so much punishment, and it succumbs eventually to the ravages of time. But machines? Not so. So long as they are properly maintained, my exoskeletons will never break down. They will not grow old and weather or weaken with age. It is the human brain, Subject 36, that is our true strength. Machines with the power of gods, but controlled by the minds of men. Even the weakest of men will possess such power when I have perfected my design." He stopped his work for a moment, his gaze turned inward. "Of course, I shall create the greatest exoskeleton for myself. All those who mocked me throughout my life, telling me that I was too short to serve, to weak to fight, will feel my wrath. I will show them what the power of the human mind can do, unfettered by shackles of flesh."

Bucky licked his lips, searching for even a drop of moisture in his parched mouth. "You're mad," he croaked.

"Mad, Subject 36? The low and uneducated will always confuse madness for genius; they are, after all, two sides of the same coin. No, true madness is believing that your morals of 'freedom' and 'justice' are worth fighting for, when they don't even truly exist to begin with. They are an illusion, an elaborate means of control, one which Herr Schmidt wishes to expose. And he will. To the nations of this world he will bring the glorious truth, and finally expose the deception of freedom. You will see."

Flash.

"Buck! Are you alright? What happened?"

The world as it was came rushing back. The dust. The rubble. The tattered scraps of paper that had once been a madman's plans. And the entire team clustered around him, concern etched across every face.

"What happened?" he echoed back at them.

"You just seemed to collapse," said Steve. "I thought you'd fallen, but you were out for almost a minute."

He nodded, tried to still his shaking hands. But when he attempted to stand, Monty pushed him back down.

"Take a minute, Sergeant," he said. "You've had some sort of shock. Get your bearings before you try standing."

"Yeah. Okay." He took a deep, shaky breath. Probably best not to be standing right now. But he had to convey what he'd remembered. It might be useful intel. And maybe if Bucky could give them useful intel, they wouldn't need Zola himself. That way, Bucky could shoot him with a clear conscience. "I had a memory, one that I guess I forgot. Of being in Krausberg. Zola talked sometimes. It didn't really make much sense to me back then, but seeing that design, it brought it all back."

"I know this is hard for you, Buck," said Steve. "But anything you can tell us will be a big help."

"Right. Could I maybe get some water?" Five flasks were thrust down at him, and he took the nearest one to drink from. The memory had been so real that for just a moment, he'd actually been back in Krausberg. All the old horrors that he thought he'd put behind him had come flooding right back in, a reminder that he was still weak.

Would he always be like this? Haunted by his experience in Zola's care? Afraid to confront the memories of that place, and what it had done to him? Would he go home another broken soldier with a thousand-yard stare?

"It's not robots," he said at last. "Zola talked about exoskeletons. Machines on the outside, men on the inside. Wearing them like suits, I guess. He said his exoskeletons would have the power of gods.

"If they're arming them with some of those weapons Stark's been trying to figure out, he may not be far wrong," said Steve. "Can you remember anything else?"

"Just that."

"Take your time. Maybe walk around. See if anything else jogs your memory."

More memories were the last thing he wanted, but he could hardly refuse his best friend. So he merely nodded, and managed to push himself to his feet to totter around while a couple of the team hovered nearby. Probably ready to catch him in case he passed out again. Fainting like a dame. What would the guys in the 107th think if they could see him now?

They'd think you're broken, said a small voice in the back of his mind. Like that soldier from the 9th who shot himself in the head. What was his name? Why can't I remember something as important as that?

He dismissed the voice and tried to focus on his surroundings. Sooner or later, Steve would want an answer. Maybe something else really would shake loose from his mind. God knew, he couldn't tell Steve the truth. Not about everything he'd thought on that table in Krausberg. If he did, nobody on the team would ever trust him again.

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

Steve watched from a distance as Bucky moved slowly around the ruins of the facility. He seemed entirely unaware of the world around him; every few minutes he would stop and stare at nothing, then shake his head, mutter under his breath, and move on. He hated to see his friend like this, but perhaps it was what Bucky needed. To confront the memory of what had happened to him back in Krausberg.

For months Steve had been trying to get his friend to open up about that time, but he'd been met with nothing but deflection and silence. Once, there had been no secrets between them. Now, his best friend was full of them. Without knowing what he'd been through, it was impossible to know what help to give, or how to give it.

"Are you sure about this, Captain?" Monty said quietly. He, too, was watching Bucky's progress - or lack of it. "Krausberg was tough for everyone; moreso for Sergeant Barnes. The men who were taken into the back room before him didn't come out again. He may not want to remember."

"And I don't want to force him to," he told his second-in-command. "But sometimes want and need go against each other. There's possible intel in Bucky's head, and we need to get it out."

"What if he can't handle it?"

"He can. He's strong. And he's got us, to help him through it."

"I hope you're right."

Monty moved off, and Steve glanced down at his watch. They'd been here a half-hour already. How much longer could they remain undetected? The smoke plume from the explosion was bound to be noticed sooner or later, and Morita had found a whole bunch of tyre tracks that suggested Zola, or whoever had been based here, had left in a hurry with a lot of equipment. That might be noticed, too.

The sound of a distant engine grew louder and louder, echoing through the sky. Dugan squinted up at the broken grey clouds, then pointed to a plane making its way overhead. "Looks like that might be our ride," he remarked. "They'll be on their way to our pickup point."

"You might want to hurry things up, Captain," said Stone. "Whoever's flying that plane won't want to stay on the ground very long. And the longer we wait, the greater the chance of being detected."

Steve took another glance at Bucky. He was still half-gone, wandering and muttering, his face troubled. "Alright. Dugan, take Freddie and Captain Stone in one of the jeeps. Rendezvous with the plane, tell them we'll follow in fifteen minutes. I just wanna give Bucky a little more time. We've missed Zola, but we might still have intel to take home."

"Roger that," said Dugan. "C'mon, fellas. Let's make tracks."

After Dugan and the others left, Steve forced himself to stay calm. Took a seat on a half-ruined wall and tried his best to be patient. This wasn't Bucky's fault. He'd heard about victims of terrible tragedies losing their memory of the event. A way for the mind to cope. For that person to keep living despite whatever horror they'd been subject to. On the hospital ward next to the TB ward where his mom had worked was a patient who kept wandering around trying to find his his wife and kids who'd died in a house fire two years earlier. Unable to accept reality, every day he looked for them still.

Maybe what Bucky was going through was like that. Maybe. Only, the man who'd lost his family had no memory of losing them. No awareness of what had happened to them, and what he'd lost. After gettin' outta Krausberg, Bucky had tried drinking very hard to forget something. If he had no memory of what was done to him, what terrible memories had he been trying to drown out with alcohol?

His friend had stopped walking and had sunk into a crouch, wrapping his arms around his legs and rocking gently back and forth. "He liked opera," he said almost too quietly to hear. "At least… I think he liked it. Maybe he just used it for torture. I just don't know. Maybe he hated it as much as I did."

"Captain," said Monty, taking him by the arm and leading him aside, "this has to stop. No amount of intel is worth breaking a good man's mind."

"That's not going to happen," Steve assured him. "Bucky is the strongest person I know."

Jones sidled up to them, one eye on the rocking team-mate. "Yeeeeah… maybe I should've mentioned this before, but back with the SSR, when we were chasing Hydra across France, Barnes went kinda… well, insane."

"What? That's impossible." He looked into the completely sober face of Private Jones. "Why am I only just hearing about this?"

"It was ages ago. And it wasn't his fault. Plus, Stark managed to fix him in the end. See, we had a couple of Nazi spies in the camp. One of them tried to kill Barnes by poisoning him, only, it completely unhinged him. He was seeing enemies everywhere, took a nurse hostage, then managed to escape his restraints and ran off from camp. Agent Carter managed to bring him back, but that was not a good time for us. The other spy managed to kill a few soldiers before we finally caught up with him. The 370th got off easy, really. The 107th and the 69th were in the thick of it, though. I'm surprised Dugan hadn't mentioned it to you before now, really."

More than that; why hadn't Peggy mentioned it? Hell, why hadn't Bucky mentioned it? It seemed like a pretty important thing to know about a member of his team. About his best friend.

"Anyway," Jones continued, "I'm just not sure how… ah… sensible it is, to continue to push Barnes like this."

"Is there anything else I ought to know about?" Steve asked flatly. He shouldn't get annoyed with Jones. He was just a private. There were probably half a dozen people more senior than him who should've told him about this before he let Bucky go into combat. Of course, Phillips had try to get Bucky sent home for R&R after Krausberg despite Steve's insistence that he stay… but that didn't really count.

"Nope, I think that just about covers it."

"I can't do this," Bucky said suddenly. He stood up and made his way out of the ruins, if not at a run, then at least faster than a walk. Jacques moved to follow, but Steve waved him back down.

"I'll go make sure he's okay. This is my fault. The rest of you get those jeeps started, and prepare to leave as soon as we're back."

As the team made to depart, Steve followed his friend to where he'd stopped beside the ruined facility gate. Bucky's skin was pale and clammy, and beads of sweat covered his forehead. His eyes darted wildly too and fro, as if expecting a horde of Nazis to come pouring across the ground towards him. Or perhaps a horde of Zolas. His rifle was still in the jeep, but his fingers brushed against the Colt holstered at his side. Maybe letting him keep that had been a mistake. But then, nobody had warned him about the time Bucky had gone crazy and taken somebody hostage.

"Hey pal, it's alright, you don't have to think about Krausberg anymore," he said. Common sense told him to stop a few feet away.

"I can't go back there, Steve. I can't."

"It's okay, you don't have to. It's all in the past. Krausberg is gone, and you're safe. Okay?"

Bucky nodded. A little of the tension he'd been carrying in his shoulders melted away. A month in the field, and he didn't bat an eye. But just the memory of Krausberg reduced him to this. Schmidt and Zola had a lot to answer for.

"C'mon, our ride's waiting. Let's go home."

"Yeah. Home. Good idea. I could use a few minutes of sleep."

He looked like he could use a few days of sleep, but Steve said nothing as he led his friend towards the jeeps. Bucky would get his few minutes of sleep, but if he wasn't a hundred percent by the time they got back to London, he'd sit the next mission out. And on that, there would be no argument.

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

"Oh dear," said Monty, offering the understatement of the year.

Steve didn't need the binoculars to see just how far south their new situation had gone. The plane was a decent size, a little bigger than the ones Stone had flown them around in, though not so big as the Dambuster bombers. It seemed a fairly sturdy construction, and it was ready and waiting for them at the rendezvous point. The main problem was the thirty-strong group of Nazis surrounding it, the crew, and the three team members Steve had sent back. Crew and Commandos alike had been forced to their knees, a German rifle pointing at each one. Dugan's left eye socket sported one hell of a shiner; knowing him, he'd probably tried to fight the lot of them single-handed.

"Looks like they're going through the plane with a fine-toothed comb," Morita whispered. He was looking through his own binos at the Nazis coming out of the plane carrying whatever equipment they could.

"What should we do, mon ami?" asked Jacques. "We cannot go in guns blazing, as usual."

"The hostages would be dead the moment the Krauts spotted us," Monty agreed.

"It'll have to be parley," said Bucky. His face was still paler than normal, but the fierceness had returned to his blue eyes. "Call for talk. Lure their leader out into the open. I'll find a spot to shoot from. Hope the loss of their commander throws them into chaos."

"That's perfidy," Steve told him.

"I know." Bucky held his gaze for a moment before looking away. Just what had happened to his best friend? The Bucky he'd known all his life would never suggest shooting someone under the flag of truce, not even a Nazi.

"Maybe we can distract them," said Jones. "How about Jacques and I tear past them in one of the jeeps, draw some of them away? Then the rest of you can sneak down and rescue our men. Those two crew members must be the pilot and the co-pilot. With them, Dugan, Freddie and Stone, that evens the odds a little."

"Pass me the binos," said Steve. Good as his eyesight was, he wanted to be sure he hadn't missed anything, and the binoculars brought everything more clearly into focus.

"That's not a bad idea," said Monty. "However, it does rely on the element of surprise not surprising our own men so much that they don't know how to react. Perhaps if—"

"I don't believe it," said Steve. He'd found the Nazi kommandant through the binoculars. "Here, take these." He thrust the binos at Jones as he stood. "And no matter what, stay here!"

"Where are you going, Captain?" Monty hissed after him.

"Like Bucky said, to parley. I think I may have found a way out of this."

The frantic whispered calls of his teammates were not lost on his ears, but he ignored them as he walked forward. As expected, it didn't take long for the Krauts to spot him. Dressed as he was in his spangled battle uniform, and currently the largest thing in the field other than the plane, he kinda stood out.

Several dashed forward, guns raised, but Steve held out his hands to show they were empty. "I need to speak to your commanding officer," he said, when four of them were in earshot. He understood enough of what they spoke to each other to know that they recognised him, and they were terrified he'd come to kill them. Apparently, it was well known amongst the German troops that 'Captain America' was a ruthless butcher. Hitler's propaganda, or Schmidt's; the effect was the same. "Look, I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to speak with your leader."

The man in question shouted out an order, instructing them to bring the new prisoner to him. The four with guns, whilst armed, seemed hesitant to get close. They flanked him in a box formation, made comical by the fact they all stayed at least ten feet away from him. If only his schoolyard bully, Danny Kavanagh, could see him now.

Thoughts of his old childhood bully pulled a wry smile across his lips which he promptly stifled as he led his escort to the man who'd issued their orders. Steve didn't know his name, but the last time he'd seen the man, he'd been disappearing into an Alpine forest with a group of German Hydra prisoners. His uniform was much cleaner, now, his blond hair perfectly coiffed. A few weeks out of a prison cell clearly agreed with him.

"We meet again, Captain Steve Rogers," the officer said. "I have yet to have the misfortune of meeting Herr Schmidt, but I have not forgotten your message to pass on to him should that day arrive."

Steve nodded. His four guards tensed up, but their leader instructed them to withdraw. They did, but not by very much. Apparently, Captain America could not be trusted. "I'm glad to see you made it out of the valley before it was flooded," he offered. "What about your men?"

The officer paused, his blue eyes troubled for a moment. "I lost two on the way back; their injuries were too severe. Upon our return, two more were taken by the Gestapo for questioning, and I have not seen them since." He held Steve's gaze for a moment. "So I'm classing them as casualties as well. I passed on a warning to my superiors about Schmidt's deception, but I am not sure how much they believed me… or how much they cared. All the talk recently has been about the Russian menace… at least, until your allied forces landed at Normandy."

"At least you tried. If Schmidt tries something else, your superiors can't say they weren't warned."

"Ja." The man gestured at the plume of smoke on the horizon. "So. If your forces have made it his far, may I assume the proverbial cavalry is right behind you? That our intelligence reports, of enemy forces bottled up at Caen, are incorrect, and that my men and I are now in the uncomfortable position of having to make a swift strategic withdrawal or face capture?"

"Not my doing," Steve replied. Sure, he could lie… but he was a terrible liar. Bucky had told him that time and time again. If this was gonna end in a fight, he would rather be fighting as an honest man. "A Hydra base. We were sent to investigate what they were doing, but they blew it to high hell before we got there. Nothing left but rubble and smoke."

"And the plane?"

"Our ride out of here," he confirmed. "We've got a lead on Schmidt, but it's not in France." Now, to see how far he could push his luck. "I'm gonna need the plane. Plus the crew, and my team."

The officer sighed. "Of course you are." He glanced over his prisoners. "Tell the big one not to try anything foolish, or my men will shoot him regardless of their orders."

"Y'hear that, Dugan?" Steve called. "No heroics."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Dugan grunted. "Can I put my arms down now? I've lost all feeling in my hands."

"But Oberst, this is Captain America, an enemy of Hitler!" one of the soldiers argued in broken English. "He single handedly captured Cherbourg from our forces stationed there!"

"Actually, that was the work of an entire army—" Steve objected.

"We should not allow him to go free!"

"This man saved my life," the colonel replied. "And the lives of many of my men, when we were taken prisoner by Herr Schmidt, a man who has betrayed all we stand for. Perhaps Captain Rogers was at Cherbourg. Perhaps he even captured it single-handedly. If so, is this a man you think you can stop? He walks in here unarmed, and you think he does not already have a plan of escape? You believe that, instead of allowing him to board this plane and leave the country, we should force him to remain here, in France, where he can do even more damage to our forces? Yesterday he took Cherbourg, what might he take tomorrow, yes?"

"I… don't see…"

"No, you don't." The colonel turned to face Steve. "The plane and your men, I give you. But they will remain kneeling until we have left. We will keep the supplies we have already taken from the plane, and consider it a landing tax."

"Sounds fair," he agreed. Because to do anything else was just plain stupid. "Will you get into trouble for letting us go?"

The colonel shrugged. "Perhaps. But perhaps news that you have departed the battlefield will bring more relief than regret that I did not try to stop you." He gave his men the order to withdraw, and they made their way back to their own vehicles, which were parked up under a sparse woods on the edge of the field. With them went ration kits and medical supplies, probably all the plane had been carrying. But that was fine. They'd have chance to restock when they got back to England. "Captain Rogers, since you granted my men their freedom when you could have condemned them to death, I have felt indebted to you. Now, I consider that debt repaid. Would you say that is fair also?"

"I would."

"This is a great weight off my chest. I cannot control the anti-air guns, but I hope they don't give your pilots too much trouble on your way back."

"Thanks. Maybe next time I see you, I'll let you know how it went."

The colonel smiled. "Perhaps. Happy hunting, Captain Rogers. I trust that when you catch up with Schmidt, your sense of mercy will be sleeping late in bed."

Steve watched him depart once more, and allowed himself the biggest, deepest breath he'd ever taken in his life. Only when the German vehicles were out of sight did he wave Monty and the others over. Dugan and the rest had already pushed themselves to their feet and worked some of the feeling back into their arms.

"Friend of yours, Cap?" Dugan asked. "Didn't realise you were pally with the Prussians."

"That man was one of those I freed from a Hydra prison cell, back in Italy a few months ago. You remember, that mission where—"

"I remember. Not many missions where you go rescuing Krauts. I swear, the big man up there is watching out for you. Outta all the German officers who coulda captured us, it was the one who owed his life to you. What are the chances?"

"Shame I couldn't get any pictures," said Freddie. "Would'a made for a great story back home. At least they didn't take my camera!"

"I say," said Monty, as he and the others arrived at the plane, "that looked awfully tense for a moment there. What happened?"

"Just a bit of good luck," Steve told him. "Seems talking really does work, sometimes."

"Captain Rogers," said one of the pilots, a sweaty-looking man who'd probably just seen his life flash before his eyes, "no offence, but can we do this in the air? I have no idea how we're walking away from this, but the sooner we're back in the sky, the easier I'll breathe."

"Yeah, of course. Sorry. Everyone on the plane, double-time. Before we have any more uninvited guests."

He watched as the Commandos filed aboard, and the pilot gave the outside of the plane a quick once-over. He was much less thorough than Captain Stone usually was… but then, he probably wanted to be away from this field in case the Germans changed their mind and came back. It was hard to blame a guy for being hasty at a time like this.

"So," said Bucky. He hadn't boarded with the rest, but stood beside Steve, watching the pilot. The colour had finally returned to his cheeks. "You were right to save that guy's life, back in Italy. If you hadn't, this probably would've ended in a firefight. I think we would've lost some of the team."

"Sometimes you've just gotta have a little faith in your own decisions," he told his friend. "Back then, leaving that man and his soldiers to die, it just didn't sit right with me. Maybe this is… y'know… a sign that we're on the right path. A reminder that good deeds do often come with their own rewards. But even if it's not a sign, even if it's just a huge coincidence, I'm still glad that I made that decision. I'd make it again, if I had to do it over."

Bucky seemed to chew on that for a minute. When he spoke, his voice was unusually quiet. "You're a good man, Steve. Never let anyone compromise your morals."

"You're a good man too, Buck. Don't forget that every time I went looking for a fight and got knocked down, you're the one who pulled me back up and gave me the strength to keep fighting."

"You've got your—"

"Excuse me, but we're ready to leave now," the pilot called. He opened the door of the cockpit and hopped inside while Monty hovered next to the loading ramp, ready to close it.

Steve clapped his friend on the shoulder. But gently, in case he was still feeling wobbly on his feet. "We'll talk later, Buck. Right now, we've got a flight to catch, and another Hydra lead to chase down."

"Lead on," Bucky offered with a chauffeurial bow in the direction of the plane. "I've got your back."