We Were Soldiers

155. Deep

It was a sombre team who regrouped in the medical bay. Steve filled everyone in on what had happened over the past half-hour, and Kessler listened on the radio. Bucky wished he could think of something to say. Some encouraging words. Something positive for them all to cling to. But he just couldn't summon the energy to do it. This mission had been doomed from the start. The brass should've let the sub sink. All they had to show for their work was one man infected and dying, and the rest of them trapped on a submarine that was sinking into the ocean.

"We apprehended your spy as requested," Kessler reported."But he had some sort of fit when we plucked him out of the water, started foaming at the mouth. We tried to resuscitate him, but he died before we reached the shore. We suspect it was poison."

"Cyanide. That's too bad," said Steve. "He had a lot to answer for."

"We've got bigger problems right now. Our engineers can't repair the external damage to the engines without causing more damage to the hull, and that could possibly make you sink faster. Even if they could repair the damage, from what Major Falsworth and Sergeant Dugan have been able to ascertain, there isn't enough oxygen left aboard to start the sub's diesel engines."

"Solutions?"

"You need to evacuate. You have an hour to get everyone out. After that, it will be too late for you to safely return to the surface. You'll have to find some way to open the hatch."

"It's locked from the outside," Bucky told him. "Can't your engineers get it open?"

"Everybody strong enough to open it is unfortunately on the sub with you already. We could blow it open, but the shockwave might cause more damage to the hull and—"

"I know, I know," Steve said. "Make us sink faster."

"I was going to say 'explosive decompression', but yes, you would sink faster as well."

"Steve, Howard here," came Stark's voice. "I've been— … not sure if you know— … get out— … torpedoes."

"What's wrong with his radio?"

Kessler responded. "You're approaching the Mesopelagic Zone— … reaching a depth of 200m— … died shortly after he surfaced."

"Oh, I really don't like the way this conversation is going," said Monty. "I'm supposed to die jumping out of a plane, not sinking into the ocean. My father will never forgive me for dying a sailor's death."

"… range …" said Stark. "… first … repeat … launcher…"

The radio fell silent. Jacques picked it up and shook it, but that didn't help. Now they were well and truly on their own.

"Nobody panic," Steve instructed, because he could clearly see that Monty was about to lose his shit. "Take five minutes. Think on everything we've seen while we've been aboard. Is there anything that could help us escape? Fregattenkapitän Howaldt, I don't suppose you have any explosives on this sub which might help us blow that hatch open?"

Howaldt, who'd been sensibly quiet for most of the time, shook his head. "We are primarily a research vessel."

"Stark mentioned torpedoes. Do you have any?"

"Yes, but they won't help you open the hatch. The U-boat cannot fire at itself."

"Alright. Jacques, how is Morita doing?"

"He sleeps fitfully," Jacques said. He'd found some water and a cloth, and was using it to mop at Morita's brow. "He is no better, but since we put him on that drip, he has not gotten any worse."

Bucky looked at the face of the dying private and racked his brains. This was a tight spot. Probably the tightest spot he'd ever been in, except for Krausberg. That was the only other time that he'd had no options to explore. Until then, he'd always had a way out. He'd come up with one, or Wells had come up with one, some completely insane way of carrying out the mission and getting away without gettin' killed. But this sub… it was so tricky that he suspected even Wells wouldn't be able to BS some way out of it.

"Gah!" Dugan turned and punched a wall. The metal dented on impact, but it was the inner-wall, so nobody lectured him for it. They all shared his frustration.

Howaldt shifted on his feet. "I may have something. A way that you might get out. But you will not like it."

"I like anything more than being stuck down here until we run out of air or the sub implodes," Steve replied. "Let's hear it."

"Your Mister Stark mentioned something. Launchers. I think he may have been referring to the torpedo launchers. You see, when we fire a torpedo, it first has to be manually loaded into the firing tube by the crew. The tubes are closed when not in use, but I can release the water-locks on them from the control room by faking a launch. The tubes are just about wide enough for a man to squeeze through."

Monty threw his hands up in the air. "We're saved!"

"What's the part I won't like?" Steve asked.

"The torpedo tubes are in the section of the boat that is flooded."

Monty dropped his hands. "We're doomed."

"Is there a way around it?" Bucky asked. "There must be a way for us to get in there, otherwise you wouldn't have mentioned it."

"There is." Howaldt made a so-so motion with his hand. "But it too carries risks. And a problem. The way for you to get in there would be to stand in the adjacent section with your rebreathers on and the door behind you closed and locked. Open the door to the flooded section, and let the water come in. Once both sections are equally flooded you can swim through to the tubes and evacuate through them."

"But we're short a rebreather," Steve said as understanding dawned. "Because Wagner, or whatever his real name is, took one. So one of us is not gonna be able to use a rebreather to escape."

"What about you?" Bucky asked the Kraut. "We don't have a rebreather for you, either. And if you have to stay to unlock the tubes, you won't be able to come with us."

"I don't intend to. This is why I destroyed the Drägers in the first place. All I ask is that you report our fate to the Kriegsmarine commander. I want them to know that the crew and boat were lost due to treachery, not because of mechanical failure or incompetence."

"We can try, but they may not believe us," said Steve. "We might be seen as trying to foment distrust amongst our enemies."

"I will write a letter, addressed to my wife, mentioning things only she would know, and ended with my signature. I'll tell her of what has happened here. If you can get the letter to her, she will make sure it is passed on."

"It's a deal," Steve agreed, and Bucky let out a quiet sigh.

"I will need fifteen minutes to write the letter and prepare the torpedo launch system. I suggest you use that time to plan the details of your escape. Excuse me."

Howaldt left to write his letter, and the team gathered around Steve. Before he could even open his mouth, they came out with their own suggestions.

"Captain, I volunteer to be the one to surface without a rebreather," said Monty. "I'm a good swimmer, I can make it on one breath."

"To hell with that, I'll go without it," said Dugan. "I probably won't fit through the torpedo tube with it attached to me anyway."

"It's gotta be me," Bucky said. "I'm the best at holding my breath. Remember when we were kids, and we had those hold-your-breath-competitions?"

"Guys, stop trying to tout your own altruism; I'll be the one going without a rebreather," said Steve. "No, don't argue," he added, when they all opened their mouths to object, "whether you like it or not, I'm the best option. The serum Dr Erskine gave me has enhanced my physiology considerably. I can go for longer on one breath because my muscles are optimised for metabolising oxygen. There are a couple of other factors we need to consider as well. Like how when we open that door to the flooded area, water is gonna come pouring in. Maybe the second door holds, maybe it doesn't. But extra water means extra weight, which means sinking faster. In seconds the speed at which we sink may accelerate, making it more dangerous for us to surface. As well, we're gonna have to find a way to get Morita out without killing him. So, listen close, because this is what we're gonna do."

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

"Psst, Barnes." Dugan sidled over and made like he was helping to check the oxygen rebreathers while Steve, Monty and Jacques brought Morita and his intravenous iron bags down to the flood-adjacent section of the ship. Jones was busy salving whatever intel he could get his hands on from the kommodore's room. "This plan of Cap's… it's stupid. He shouldn't be the one going without a rebreather. We need him. The war needs him. He's the only one with the strength to stop Schmidt, and he's risking his life when one of us more expendable types could be doing that in his place."

"Then maybe you should be tellin' this to Steve."

"What's the point? He won't listen." Dugan eyed him up as if weighing a prized pig for auction. "You've bulked up a bit recently. I reckon between you and me, we're strong enough to make sure Steve doesn't get his own way on this. If we take him by surprise, we could probably get an oxygen rebreather on him and get him ready for bundling up into one of those torpedo tubes before he knew what was happening. He can't struggle against us both underwater, right?"

The scenario played out in Bucky's mind, and he immediately quashed it. "No."

"No? Whaddya mean, 'no'? This is your best friend we're talking about! Your very stupid, soon to be very drowned, best friend!"

"If I use physical force to make Steve do something that I want him to do, to make him do something that he doesn't want to do, then I'm just another bully, and I take away my friend's right to make choices. I won't do that to him."

"Not even if it saves his life? Pah! Some friend you are."

Bucky let his hand curl into a fist as a flicker of anger ignited inside him. He turned to Dugan, and tried to resist the urge to let the fire grow hot enough to consume him. "Back with the 107th, when we were tramping through France with the SSR, Sergeant Weiss gave me a piece of advice. He said I had to stop taking all the risks on myself. That I had to let my men experience their share of missions. That I could not be both a good man and a good sergeant. So I listened to him. I sent men on missions in my place. Some of them died, and I felt bad about it. But I let them go again, because they needed to learn. They needed me to be a good sergeant. And every time somebody didn't come back from a mission that I sent them on, a little piece of me died with them as well. Knowing that I sent men to die when I could have gone myself… that is the hardest part about being a good sergeant.

"But Steve doesn't have to be a good sergeant. He's too good a man for that. Yeah, he's risking himself. And if he dies because of the choice he made, of course I'll be crushed. Of course I'll know that his death will be on me. But if he made the decision to let me or you or any other member of the team go without a rebreather, and we died because of it, Steve would blame himself, and I know first hand how the weight of that guilt can break a man. So I'll keep being a good sergeant, so that my friend can keep being a good man. I'll live with the blood and the loss and the difficult choices. It's the only way I have left to protect him."

Any rebuttal Dugan was ready to make was cut off by the return of Steve's team carrying Morita between them. They laid him down on the floor and hooked up the final bag to the drip. The plan was to keep him on it until the last possible moment; the necessity of fastening up his wet suit would require them to take the needle out of his exposed arm, and nobody wanted to risk waking him now that he was quietly comatose. If he woke and started to struggle he might fight the oxygen rebreather they were tying to his face, and make ascent a much risker event.

Jones returned as they were halfway through prepping him, and shoved whatever documents he'd managed to get his hands on into the plastic wrapping Stark had provided. Nobody spoke, and Bucky didn't need to be a mind reader to know that they were thinking about everything that might go wrong, and how the team that had survived jumping out of multiple planes might not all make it back from swimming out of a sub.

He wasn't worried about Steve. Steve had battled his way through Krausberg to fetch Bucky out. He'd stormed the beach at Normandy, brought Michael Carter out of a German stalag, and knocked out Adolf Hitler over 200 times. No, Steve would be fine. He'd always liked swimming, even when he wasn't very good at it. This would be no problem for him.

It was Morita he worried most about. The strain on his body must already be immense. What if he couldn't handle rapid ascent? What if he roused from his sleep part-way up and managed to rip off his rebreather? Or worse, what if the men on the surface decided he was too much of a risk and shot him on sight?

When Howaldt arrived, the mood seem to grow even more tense. The man carried with him two envelopes, one significantly larger than the others. "This is for my wife," he said, handing the smaller one to Steve. The larger one he held in his hands for a moment, as if it was some rare treasure he was loathe to part with. "And these are letters to the families of the crew. I had time on my hands, these past days as I waited for the U-boat to sink, and so I wrote the letters despite having little hope of them reaching their destination. I would be grateful if you could see them delivered as well."

"I promise they'll get where they need to go," Steve agreed.

"Thank you." He handed it over and straightened up, suddenly all business-like. "We must time this well for your escape to succeed." He consulted his wristwatch, and nodded to himself. "At precisely ten-fifteen, I will release the locks on the torpedo launch tubes. One minute before this, you must open the door to the torpedo room. This room will flood quickly; at first the force of the water will be intense, and it may knock you off your feet if you are not careful. But as it fills, and the pressure between the two equalizes, the force will become more tolerable. As soon as you can move without being pushed back, make your way into the torpedo room. There are two tubes, and I recommend you send your weakest swimmers and the injured man through first, because we will start to sink faster with the added weight of the extra sea water. Your strongest swimmers should go last. You will have to breathe shallow at first, because the pressure of the sea around you will make breathing deeply difficult. But do not panic and hyperventilate, as this may cause you… I don't know what you call it in English… a type of oxygen sickness. It can be fatal."

"Understood," said Steve. "Anything else we need to know?"

"Yes. If the U-boat cannot withstand the additional flooding, its hull and inner walls may buckle. If this happens, all the remaining air will be released in a large bubble, but the sinking vessel will likely cause underwater turbulence. If you feel something tugging on you from below, the boat has been crushed by the pressure of the sea, and you must swim hard to avoid being sucked down by the force."

"I feel like the is the moment that Private Morita would usually be praying to God," said Monty. "I think I'll do it in his place. Just this once, of course. He can resume regular prayer duties once he's recovered from this ordeal."

Steve offered him a reassuring clap on the shoulder. "I'm sure he'd be happy to know you're covering that duty for him."

Bucky turned to the man who'd made their potential escape possible. In the fight for survival, it was almost possible to forget the guy was a Kraut. "Fregattenkapitän Howaldt, are you sure you don't wanna take your chances with us? You could open those torpedo tube locks now, and try holding your breath. I'll bet you've practiced for it more than once. You don't have to die here."

"If I return home and report this failure, I will die anyway."

"You could always surrender as our prisoner. You'll spend the rest of the war in a cell, but at least you'll be alive."

Howaldt shook his head. "I would rather die free than live in a cage."

Bucky nodded. Just like Krausberg. "Alright. I can understand that. I'm sorry we couldn't save any of your men."

"As am I. But perhaps you can save yours, and in doing so, find a way to prevent this sickness from happening again. Good luck, Americans."

Howaldt backed out of the room and shut the door behind him. When Steve locked it in place, it sounded with a note of grim finality. "Everybody get ready and into position," he said.

Bucky picked up his rebreather and fastened it over his back, then put the mask over his eyes and the air hose into his mouth. Finally, he attached the awkward frogman flippers onto his feet. Dugan did the same, and then they switched places with Monty and Jacques, who were joined by Jones in putting their own rebreathers on. Together, Bucky and Dugan fitted Morita's rebreather onto his back and used one of his bindings to fasten the air pipe in place around his mouth. They had no way of forcing him to breathe through it, or create a seal around it with his lips; all they could do was hope he would reflexively seek it out once his face hit the water, and that he didn't just breathe in ocean. Once the rebreather was in place, he pulled out the drip needle and shoved Morita's arm back in his wet suit, then zipped it into place. No point putting flippers on him; he wouldn't be swimming under his own steam.

Steve took up his position by the door and checked his wristwatch. "We've got a minute left before we need to go. Is everybody ready?" They all nodded. Bucky could feel his breath coming faster, his lungs sucking in oxygen from the rebreather, and he made a conscious effort to slow his breathing. Now was not the time to panic. Now was the time to keep calm and do exactly what had been asked of him. Morita's life depended on it. Steve's life depended on it. The team's captain would not leave until everyone else was clear, so every second they wasted evacuating the sub was another second that Steve had to hold his breath. He might have a new body, but that body was still very human.

He met Steve's eyes and gave him a firm nod, trying to convey confidence. This would work. It would. It had to. The Commandos were a team. Without Jacques and his stinky cheese and vomit bucket, without Monty and his chipper, stiff-upper-lip attitude, without Jones and his down to earth common sense, without Morita and his witty barbs, even without Dugan and his bowler-hatted arm-wrestling insanity, they weren't a team. They were just a collection of men, trying to do a job. Together they were greater than the sum of their parts.

"Door opening," said Steve, "in five…"

"Bucky, you'll go first. Go backwards into the tube. Pull Morita in behind you. Dugan, you'll push him through from this side. Getting Little Jim up to the surface for immediate treatment by Howard is our number one priority. I'm counting on you to get him safely there, pal."

"…four…"

"Jacques, you'll go first in the other tube. No arguments, please. I know you grew up in the city, and I know you're not a strong swimmer. Jones will help push you through, and then he'll follow. When you get out the other side, don't waste time; start swimming."

"…three…"

"Dugan, once Bucky and Morita are clear, get yourself through as well. Monty, you stick close behind Jones. I'll be watching you, and as soon as I see you enter the tube, I'll follow behind Dugan."

"…two…"

"If I spot anyone struggling on the way up, I'll try to give you a boost. Your greatest asset will be your frogmen flippers, they're the edge we'll need to gain distance from the sinking sub."

"…one…"

"Let's go home."

Steve threw his full strength against the door, and the lock that had refused to budge for Bucky gave way before his friend. It was like the dam in Italy all over again. Steve didn't even have to touch the handle; the second the door lock was lifted, the water came rushing in, a violent torrent that damn near knocked Bucky off his feet. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to stay upright, and he tightened his grips on Morita's arms while Dugan kept a firm hold of his legs. At the other side of the room, Jacques was knocked to his knees, but Gabe and Monty reached down and helped haul him up. Steve had it worst; cold sea water sprayed him in the face as it flooded into the room, but he merely closed his eyes and clung onto the door until his knuckles were white.

Take a deep breath, pal, Bucky thought to him.

As suddenly as the force started, it stopped. Or at least, it lessened enough that Bucky could move his legs against it without being knocked over. He nodded to Dugan. It was time to go. Together they inched forward, manhandling Morita through the bitterly cold water, and with every inch they gained, the water level rose by two, so that even before they'd reached the door Steve held open it was topping Bucky's shoulders. Please don't wake up, please don't wake up, he prayed in his head. And maybe for once, God was listening, because as the water finished flooding in, creeping up over his face and giving his hearing that muffled, under-water sound, Morita remained firmly unconscious.

Howaldt had been true to his word; the retractable doors to the tubes were open, and a gentle nudge with his elbow was all that was required to swing it fully out. Now the hard part. Underwater, it was hard to go backwards, and visibility from the green emergency lighting was poor. He had to let go of Morita with one hand and grope his way around the edge of the torpedo tube, then try and get his flippers to go in first, which they really didn't want to do. It took longer than he'd been expecting, and even as his legs slid down the tube, he still had to drag Morita behind him.

The U-boat's second in command had warned them it would be hard to breathe deeply, but he hadn't expected just how hard it would be. Between trying to pull enough air into his lungs, and trying to go backwards whilst navigating Morita into the tube, and worrying that he was taking too long and putting Steve in danger, and trying to force muscles to work in the freezing cold water, he could already feel the panic starting to set in. Was this how Wells had felt, back in that mine in Italy? What had Bucky told his friend back then? Imagine being on the deck of the Monty. Yeah, that definitely wasn't gonna help right now.

With Dugan pushing Morita from behind, they were finally able to wrangle the private into the torpedo tube and Bucky made a concerted effort to slow his breathing. The hard part was done. Everything that followed would be plain sailing. It would.

With one final push-and-pull on the still-unconscious Little Jim, Bucky slid backwards and freed them both from the tube, releasing them into the cold, dark expanse of ocean. In his mind, he'd seen them floating as soon as they were free, rising rapidly to the surface like when he pushed off the bottom of a swimming pool with his feet. Instead they merely hung there as the weight of the water held them in place.

He wrapped both his arms around Morita's chest and kicked out with his legs. The flippers really were a God-send. He quickly found his rhythm, striking out with slow, powerful kicks that quickly gained him height through the water column. How long had it been since the water had completely flooded the room? A minute? It felt like an hour. Was Steve okay? Was he still watching the Commandos escape, or was he already in the tube and powering his way to the surface? Would he come rushing by any minute now?

The light above grew brighter with every kick. Daylight. The hours he'd spent down in the hot, dark sub had registered to his mind as days. Long, torturous days. In truth, it was still mid-morning, not even time for lunch. Would there be hot drinks and food waiting for them above? Now that he was almost free from mortal peril, his appetite had returned with a vengeance, and the hunger that had been suppressed by worry and concern now demanded to be acknowledged.

A few metres out from the surface, Morita's body suddenly stiffened, and he opened his eyes. A thread of panic shot through Bucky, chasing the hunger away again. Not now, not like this. Keep it together, pal, we're almost there, he sent mentally to the short man. But Morita wasn't hearing thoughts today; he began thrashing, his hands clawing at the rubbery wet suit around Bucky's arms.

When they crested the surface, a half-dozen pairs of hands reached down to help them up, but Bucky spat out his mouthpiece and said, "Stay back! Morita's awake, and if he bites you, you'll be infected too."

"Barnes! Bring him over here!"

The familiar voice of Howard Stark was a balm to Bucky's tired soul. He looked around and spotted the scientist on a much smaller boat than the Foley. Kicking out with his legs as he struggled to keep hold of Morita with his arms, he slowly made his way over to the little craft. Once he reached it, one of the soldiers with Stark leant down with a syringe and injected Morita in the side of his neck. Within seconds the flailing stopped, and whatever had been in the syringe sent Morita into some sort of comatose sleep. Another soldier stepped to the edge of the boat and helped the first haul Morita up and over the side.

"Great job," Stark said. "Get back to the HMS Foley, Barnes, she'll bring you and the rest of the team to shore. I have to get Morita to a lab ASAP, we can't waste another minute."

Bucky watched as Stark and the soldiers retreated from the bow and whoever was driving the craft started up the engine. Within seconds he was eating their wake.

Steve!

He'd done all he could for Morita, and put the man out of mind as he swam back to the place where he'd surfaced. Swimming was harder now. Why hadn't he noticed before how tired he was? How much his legs ached? How cold his hands and feet were? "Steve?" he called out, shouting down at the surface.

"Bucky, come up here," called Jacques. He was aboard the Foley, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a cup of something hot in his hands. His face was white and he shivered despite the blanket. "The sailors say you'll get hypothermia if you stay in the water much longer."

"Is Steve up there?" he called back.

Jacques shook his head. "None of the others have surfaced yet."

"You can't do any more from there, Sergeant Barnes," Sub-lieutenant Kessler called. "Let us help you up so you can get warm."

"There's lots I can do from here," he returned. "I can go back for my friends."

Before anyone could object, he shoved his rebreather back into his mouth and dove down, kicking out with legs that complained loudly about how tired they were. He was risking muscle cramp, now. He knew it. Cramp had been on Kessler's list of things to avoid, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna worry a bit of cramp when his friend's life was at stake.

On his way down he passed Jones just a few metres out from the surface. The black man gave him an OK hand-sign, but Bucky didn't know whether that meant he was okay, or Steve was okay, or the sub was okay. He merely returned the sign and kept swimming down, back into the darkness, away from the light.

Dugan was the next to swim past, the big man powering strongly upwards. When he saw Bucky, he slowed his pace, but Bucky merely waved him on. No point two of them getting cramp when Bucky could handle this himself. So Dugan continued, and a few seconds later Monty came within view. The major wasn't swimming as strongly as Dugan, but he was still kicking, and still breathing, and he gave a quick thumbs-up when he saw Bucky approach. Too bad he couldn't speak, to ask Monty how far behind him Steve was, but out here, the only thing he could do was keep swimming.

He couldn't see the sub, but a lot of bubbles were rising from below. Was that normal? Was it because of the flooded section losing air? Or had the U-boat flooded entirely?

He got his answer a moment later. Steve appeared, a small black speck in his goggles that grew swiftly larger. Relief washed over him. His pal was okay. He was gonna make it.

Then something changed. A heavy tug pulled him down, and he had to fight against the force to stay in position. Steve, who was further down the water column, kicked just as hard as Bucky, but he made no headway. Panic replaced the relief. Howaldt had said this would happen if the sub sank rapidly, that it would pull anything in the water above down with it. Steve was stuck, pinned in place by a force too strong for him to swim against, and he had no rebreather.

Bucky kicked out, letting the force pull him down as he stopped fighting against it. Just before he reached Steve, he turned his body and used his flippers to slow his descent. Steve's wetsuit covered him head to toe, and he wore the flippers that Morita hadn't needed, but he wore no mask over his eyes, which meant he couldn't see as clearly as the rest of the team. Bucky's view was clearer, and it showed him that Steve was running out of air. His kicks against the downward force were flagging, and his face was as pale against the backdrop of the deep sea.

Reaching out, he grabbed Steve's arm, then took as deep a breath as was possible from his rebreather. He pulled the air hose from his mouth and stuck it in Steve's, watching as his friend breathed heavily out then drew in some much needed air. He took several deep breaths, and a little colour returned to his cheeks despite the frigid temperature of the water. Five breaths later, he nodded, and gave the rebreather hose back to Bucky.

Little by little, one kick at a time, they swam and breathed together, the one using the air supply kicking the hardest, while the one who held his breath let himself be carried to preserve their oxygen. The force of the sinking sub that had been too strong for Steve to break out from couldn't overcome them both, and after what felt like painfully long, cold, dark minutes, the light from above finally reached them. With one final switch of the air hose, they breached the surface, and Steve, who was holding his breath, let it out with a violent sigh and then sucked in the cool fresh sea air. Around them, a round of applause broke out, a loud cheer that filled the sky.

Steve offered him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Buck. I guess even Captain America can bite off more than he can chew, on occasion."

Bucky pulled his friend into a tight hug, afraid that if he let go for even a minute, the ocean would suck him back down forever. He spat out his rebreather hose one last and final time. "You know, back at the expo in New York, when I told you not to do anything stupid, this was exactly what I was talking about."

"I promise I'll never swim down to a submarine full of Nazi vampires again," Steve chuckled. "I've had enough underwater adventure to last me a lifetime." He gave the rest of the Commandos a small wave as they kept up their cheer. "Come on, let's get warm. We've still got one team member who needs our support."

Author's note: I've had this little story arc planned since literally *forever*. Pretty much since I started writing this story, back in 2016. At one point it was the ONLY Commandos-themed mission that I knew I would write about, but I wanted to wait until the timing was right. The inspiration for it comes from A+X issue #12 (2013) in which Captain America and Jubilee (who at the time suffers from vampirism) swim down to a WWII-era U-boat to take on a sub full of vampire Nazis. It's a heartwarming story about the power of free will and choice, and I totally wanted a piece of that vampire action for our heroes too. Because it's vampires. And Nazis. Nazi vampires! No WWII story is complete without them.

Sorry about the delayed update, but the website broke for over a day for me, I couldn't even access the site, much less upload a new chapter. Join me next Thursday for the conclusion of this arc and the beginning of what I call Party Time.