A/N: Warnings for this chapter including violence, incarceration, starvation and disease, discrimination and Anti-Semitism considering that the plot of this chapter deals with the consequences of the Holocaust. It may be confronting to some readers, but it was very real, and it happened to such an extent, it would be disrespectful to portray it in any other way. Read with warning, see chapter end for more notes on the historical explanation of the chapter's events.
58.
?, Poland
December 22nd, 1944
The Commandos hang around the small Polish village for a few days to help them recover from the rogue incident and clean up the town. Steve and Bucky particularly help to clear the rubble from the explosions whilst Isabel and the others assist in cleaning out the pub, which will likely need to be balled over and rebuilt from the foundations up.
After a few days and a few hardy meals courtesy of the understanding and thankful townspeople, the Commandos move on, wary of the fact that a blizzard was supposed to roll in by the end of the week and that its nearing closer to Christmas, a date they hoped to be back at the base for. The group moves off early in the morning to tremendous applause and waving from the townspeople, making their way across the rolling landscape in search of a fight or a way they can help. They haven't been specifically requested for a battle or a mission, but in the middle of Europe, there's a high chance they'll run into some more trouble at some point.
They walk the first half of the day in close quarters for protection and warmth, rugged up tightly in their coats and jackets to shield themselves from the blisteringly cold wind. It blows toward them out in the open, hitting them hard in the face as though it were slapping them. Walking into the wind means every step requires twice as much effort and they all, with the exception of Steve and Bucky, quickly grow tired. The muddy terrain doesn't help, all of them slipping and sinking in the thick brown sludge.
In the distance they spot the beginnings of a forested area that will provide adequate cover for them to stop for a rest. Steve leads them onward and into the thick trees, all of them immediately feeling a little safer and less of a target amongst their thick trunks and branches. They walk until they find an area where a few trees have fallen, providing the perfect support to lean against. Steve and Falsworth dig out the maps and attempt to find a route toward an area of conflict, whilst Bucky, Isabel, Dernier and Gabe collapse to the leaf-littered ground and dig out a pack of rations. Dugan, however, seems to be bouncing on his feet with energy.
"I'm going to go on a patrol," he tells them decidedly. "I'll be back, twenty minutes tops. Hopefully I'll find something."
Gabe offers to go with Dugan, and the two set off into the trees together, disappearing quickly into the dense greenery. Surprisingly, Dernier doesn't follow Jones, considering Jones is the only person who can fluently converse with the Frenchman. Instead he stays and pulls a cigarette from his pocket, splitting his time equally between the smoke and the chocolate from his rations. Isabel moves a little closer to Dernier and Bucky, not liking being on her own, and starts up a conversation with Dernier in rickety French. The Frenchman smiles at her obvious attempt to make conversation, concentrating very hard to understand her.
"C'est ton anniversaire bientôt, oui? (It is your birthday soon, yes?)" Dernier asks, smiling at the younger woman.
"Oui, dans deux jours, (Yes, in two days)," Isabel replies.
"Quel âge allez-vous tourner? (How old will you be turning?)"
"Vingt-quatre, (Twenty-four)," Isabel says, having to stop and think about it for a moment.
"Oh, si jeune. Je me souviens quand j'avais vingt-quatres ans. C'était l'année où j'ai rencontré ma femme. (Oh, so young. I remember when I was twenty-four. That was the year I met my wife)."
It takes Isabel a moment to translate, and she gets the rough idea. "Vraiment? Wow! Parle-moi d'elle, qu'est-ce qu'elle aime? Comment vous êtes-vous rencontrés? (Really? Wow! Tell me about her, what's she like? How did you meet?)"
"Lorsque je l'ai rencontrée, nous étudions tous les deux sur le même campus universitaire, (When I met her, we were both studying at the same university campus)," Dernier begins, speaking slowly so that Isabel can somewhat keep up. Bucky listens to the conversation, offering an interpretation when Isabel gets noticeably stuck if he happens to know the word. "Elle était très calme, le type de personne où peu de gens savent qui ils sont. Elle était très studieuse et intelligente, si intelligente. Elle peut se disputer avec n'importe qui et sortir toujours en tête. Mais elle a un coeur gentil. (She was very quiet, the type of person where not many people know who they are. She was very studious and intelligent, so smart. She can argue with anyone and always come out on top. But she has a kind heart)." Dernier stops and pulls her picture from his breast pocket, smiling down at her with a twinkle to his dark brown eyes. "Je savais au moment où je l'ai vue qu'elle est et sera toujours la plus belle femme de toute la France. Ma petite fleur. (I knew the moment I saw her that she is and always will be the most beautiful woman in all of France. My little flower)."
"C'est beau, (That's beautiful)," Isabel manages to say, feeling her throat get a little choked up with happiness for the man.
"Et sappy, (And sappy)," Bucky adds, earning a smack from Dernier, who waves him away with a grunt.
"Vous l'aimeriez, (You would like her)," Dernier tells Isabel.
"Je suis sûr que je l'aime, (I'm sure I'd love her)," Isabel promises.
Suddenly, they hear footsteps pounding back toward them through the trees. Steve immediately jumps up from where he'd been knelt on the ground over the map, standing in front of the men and woman on the ground with the shield raised. Gabe and Dugan sprint into the campsite seconds later, arms raised in surrender. Steve lowers the shield and Bucky puts his rifle back on the ground.
"We found something," Dugan pants. "We, uh… We came across this… this…" Dum Dum seems stumped for words, rubbing his head as he searches for the words to explain what he's seen.
"What? What is it, Dugan?" Steve pushes, frowning into the woods as though he may be able to see it.
Jones and Dugan look at each other. Dugan raises his hands in the air in search for an explanation. He shrugs his shoulders, coming up empty. "We dunno, Cap."
Steve leads his men through the woods in the direction Dugan and Jones had come from. They venture deeper into the forest, the trees getting denser with every step. The terrain gets harder to pass through, larger rocks to trip on and uprooted tree roots that make them stumble. They push onward, working hard to keep pace with the Captain and two men who lead the pack.
After ten or so minutes of walking, the trees suddenly begin to thin out into a large clearing. Close to them, there's a tall rickety fence that extends far away into the clearing and around the edge of the trees, enclosing something within its confines. A guard tower sits abandoned at the closest end of the fence. The air feels heavy, tense, something they've all come to consider a part of the war. There's also a stench on the wind, the smell of human waste, blood, and death. Isabel and Bucky share an uneasy glance.
They all look around at the open space. What draws their attention, though, is the men in dirty, striped uniforms leaning against the fence, gripping it as they watch the odd-looking group of Allied soldiers inch into the clearing, looking around in confusion.
Steve motions for his men to stay by the tree line and slowly walks forward into the open, Bucky on his flank. Isabel watches with furrowed brow, her eyes scanning all of the men within the fence like sheep on a cattle farm. They're all extremely thin, skin and bone and nothing left of them; malnourished, their skin a deathly pallor, their eyes dark, their heads shaved.
Steve walks right up to the fence, staring in at the mysterious men. Up close, he can see the bones of their chests sticking out from the gaps in their shirts, their hats too big on their heads. Some of them look curious of the men before them, others are heading away from the fence toward their boardings further in, looking terrified of the intruders. The rest hang to the fence like a lifeline, too weak to stand.
They all immediately know what it is.
"A concentration camp," Bucky whispers behind Steve, his voice barely audible. Steve turns to look at him, and Bucky's gone a deathly shade of white, his eyes glassy as he looks at the men. The men who are just like he and his own family.
"You sure?" Steve whispers back.
Bucky gulps noticeably, before nodding to Steve. "What else could it be?"
Steve turns away and takes a deep breath before forcing his legs to walk him down the fence to a gate. Behind the imprisoned men, just before the treeline begins again, he can see a row of small tent-like huts that they must be living in stretching along the edge of the clearing. They're all out in the open, impacted by the weather. There are more men coming out of them, looking curiously out at their visitors. Steve has no idea how all of these men could possibly take shelter in a dozen or so tiny huts.
In a hurry to get inside and scope out the situation, Steve busts the lock on the gate with his shield and opens the massive double doors, stepping into the loading zone. There's a second gate, the only thing separating these men from the Commandos.
Steve takes one more look around, not seeing any guards or enemy soldiers. "Let's open it up," Steve mutters solemnly, sure that they'll be safe inside.
The imprisoned men hurriedly back away from the gate as Steve approaches. He breaks the lock on this gate, too, the loud metal clang filling the air. The men's eyes seem to lock on the shield, on the colours painted onto the metal, the colour of Steve's uniform, of the rest of the Commandos' clothing. Their eyes light up in recognition, a sense of relief washing over their faces. Others still look unsure.
The gates open into the confines, and the men move aside as the doors open toward them. Steve slowly steps inside, removing his helmet as he does to show them his face, to reveal his identity. He raises his hands in the universal sign for peace, offering them a sympathetic glance. His eyes are still hard, though, wary of what's happening. Bucky steps in behind Steve, putting the strap of his rifle over his shoulder to free his hands, which he holds up as well.
There's a moment's hesitation from the men before suddenly, Steve and Bucky are surrounded by hundreds of curious, relieved and fearful eyes. Then, the men are reaching out tentative hands and placing them on their shoulders, arms, touching their hands. Some of them manage a smile, and Steve and Bucky smile back at them, just a little.
One man comes in front of Steve and puts both hands on his chest, thanking him in German. The man is elderly, barely a skeleton, but he manages to beam at Steve nonetheless, blubbering what Steve assumes is his thanks.
By then, the rest of the Howling Commandos have approached the gates and have hesitated at the entrance, looking inside with furrowed brows.
"Maybe Baby Barnes should stay out here," Dugan suggests, looking worriedly at Isabel. "All these men… who knows how they'll react…?"
Isabel's eyes snap to Dugan. She frowns at him angrily, her mouth a thin line. "I won't let you put me on the bench just because I'm a woman. I'm helping," she berates.
"Fine," Dugan gives easily, holding his hands up in surrender. "Just… be careful, please?"
"Of course, I will be," Isabel says, a little softer.
Then, the rest of the men follow Steve and Bucky inside. They manage to herd Isabel into the middle of their group to protect her, her heavy medical kit clutched tightly in her hands. They find out very quickly that there is no need for her to be protected. The men are not the enemy, aren't even a risk. Nevertheless, the Commandos wear steely expressions, looking around with wide eyes and furrowed brows at the inhumane conditions these poor men have been living in for God knows how long.
"Gabe, you speak German, right?" Steve calls backward to the rest of his men as he moves forward past the imprisoned men and further into the cage, still being hailed.
"Yeah, a little," Gabe replies dismissively, not taking his eyes off his surroundings. He dutifully walks up to Steve and Bucky, conversing with the two men about how to approach communicating with the prisoners.
Meanwhile, Isabel and Morita look at each other and nod. They've got a lot of work to do.
"Alright, boys," Isabel says loudly, getting the attention of Falsworth, Dugan and Mortia, as well as a few of the surrounding prisoners, not that they most likely understand her. "These men are going to need a lot of care. We need to keep them centralised so that we can monitor them until they're taken somewhere, like a field hospital or into town."
"On it," Monty says, closing the gate again behind them but leaving it unlocked. A few of the prisoners cry out at that, but the fact that the lock is not refastened seems to appease them. Morita puts a hand on the arm of the closest man, reassuring him with a nod.
"We'll give them water and any spare rations we have, but don't let any of them eat too much," Isabel continues. "They're all starving, and if they're given the opportunity, they'll eat themselves sick or even to death. It's called Refeeding Syndrome – it's a real thing and we don't want to inflict it on them."
"Not too much food, got it," Dugan says.
"Not like we have a lot to give them, anyway," Monty adds.
"Right," Isabel says in agreement. "Falsworth, can you radio base? We need to get organise for supplies here right away. Water, clothing and medical evacuation. Until then, we'll find some blankets, anything we can to keep them warm. But they mainly need water."
Falsworth hurriedly complies, radioing back to base in search of supplies. Colonel Phillips promises to contact the closest Army base to their coordinates and have the requested necessities delivered as soon as possible. He promises an hour, but they can only hope.
"Oh my god. Steve?" They hear Bucky's voice call out, and all eyes snap up.
Bucky's standing at the far end of the fencing past the handful of huts where they'd thought the camp returned to forest. But now that the men have cleared out from the group they'd made to watch the newcomers, they can see that there's a long gravel path stretching into the trees, the tents lining either side. Hundreds more men are filing out of these hidden huts, many of them stumbling weakly from starvation, a few falling to the ground unable to manage the short walk.
What seems to have gotten Bucky's attention, however, is the young man that approaches him, holding in his arms an elderly man with greying hair, so malnourished and skinny that he resembles a gaunt skeleton rather than a man. The younger man is pleading with Bucky in German, and even though Bucky can't understand, it's clear what he wants. Bucky's eyes well with tears as the man drops to his knees in front of him, unable to hold himself up as well as carry the man in his arms. Bucky hurriedly unclips his canteen from his belt, holding it up so that the man can drink. He's barely got the strength to sip from the bottle and swallow, and Bucky feels his heart break even more.
"Jesus Christ, can you believe this?" Bucky hisses, looking up at Steve who's hurried over to him and stands behind him.
Steve's got multiple of the men hanging off of him, relying on him to stand upright. He holds them all as they clutch to him, crying with relief and pain and a bundle of emotions none of them will ever comprehend. "No, I can't," Steve says, looking around.
Bucky eventually pulls away from the men after giving them a portion of the rations, unable to do much else. Steve steers Bucky toward a group that look less sick, trying to give him a break. Dugan seems to take Bucky under his wing in place of Steve as the Captain tries to control the situation, keeping Bucky by his side and steering them away from any distressing experiences. The whole situation is extremely traumatising, but anything they can do to lessen it for each other is appreciated.
A man stumbles up to Dernier as he breaks apart his rations of chocolate, knowing the sugar will do wonders for them. He grabs Dernier's shoulders and presses a kiss to one cheek, and then the other, breaking down into tears as he clutches to Dernier like a lifeline. Dernier holds him back, looking terrified himself, and rubs the man's back comfortingly.
"C'est bon, ça va. Tu vas bien. (It's okay, it's okay. You're alright)," the Frenchman comforts, his words going unheard by the blubbering man.
Isabel works quickly on the men surrounding her, passing her canteen of water around to them and breaking up her rations into small portions. She doesn't have much, but she has enough to at least feed a few of them without making them sick. The men seem to divvy up the food toward the weakest of them, anyway, giving up their own portion to pass it to someone sicker or weaker.
While Isabel works, patching up a few of the fixable wounds on the men, she listens to the conversation going on beside her. Jones is standing with one of the prisoners who looks better off than some of the other men. He's attempting to translate the man's German to Steve, who stands nearby to understand what the camp is intended for, if it truly is a concentration camp. He's a little preoccupied helping the men around him get water and some sort of food from his pack.
The German man speaks slowly, pausing so that Jones can translate to the Captain. "He says the guards left weeks ago," Jones translates. "They burned some of the huts before they left… with the weaker prisoners still inside… alive."
"Jesus Christ," Steve swears.
A mutter of German. "Some of the prisoners tried to stop it, and some of them got killed… But they didn't have enough ammo for all of the prisoners, so…" The man begins to cry then, his voice growing hysterical. "They took as much as they could to the execution area and killed them… And then they left the camp… Locked the gates behind them and headed south."
Jones asks the man where the execution area is, and the man points down the gravel path through the woods, past the huts. "He says they heard every gunshot. Jesus…"
"Will you ask him, um…" Steve begins, hesitating. "Ask him what kind of camp this is? Uh, why are they here? I mean, we have an idea, but… Just so that we know for sure."
"Warum bist du hier? Was ist das für ein Ort? (Why are you here? What is this place?)"
The man replies in German, growing steely.
"It's a war camp," Jones translates, "for unerwuenschter (undesirables). I'm not sure what that word means, Cap. Maybe slight? Unwanted?"
"Criminals?" Steve suggests.
Jones shakes his head. "No, I don't think criminals. Verbrecher? (Criminals?)"
The man shakes his head as well. "Nein, nein (No, no). Schauspieler, musiker, lehrer, angestellte, bauern. Alle normale leute."
"Actors, musicians, teachers, farmers. I mean, they're all normal people, Cap. Not criminals. I don't see a reason for them to be here–"
"Juden. Juden. Juden," the man says repeatedly, nodding his head along with a sad smile.
Jones licks his lips, taking a shaky breath. "They're Jews. Poles. Gypsies..."
Steve's eyebrows rise in recognition, but it isn't something that surprises any of them. From the moment they'd seen the campgrounds, they'd known what it was.
Suddenly, the man speaks rapidly again, pointing away from them toward the forests. Jones turns and looks too, squinting through the thick trees in search of what the man is pointing out before turning back to the rambling man. Gabe replies, a mess of letters to the rest of them, before they both fall silent.
"Gabe?" Isabel asks for a translation, having been listening to the conversation.
"He says the women's camp is at the next railroad stop," Jones says slowly. "Women and children."
The Jewish man steps away from them, letting out an anguished cry of agony. He wails as he walks to the fence, calling out a woman's name between cries.
Isabel looks away, tears forming in her eyes. The man she's attending to puts a hand on her shoulder, then another on the top of her head, patting her hair comfortingly. She looks up at him and smiles, wiping away the tears. It's then that she notices a marking on his arm and takes a closer look. It's a tattoo of a number along both of his bony wrists, and on the side of his right hand, there's a Star of David imprinted on the skin. She gently takes the wrist of a young man sitting next to her awaiting attention, finding similar tattoos, though with different numbers.
Isabel looks up at the older man in front of her. He's elderly, old enough to be her own grandfather. His hair entirely is a light grey, his eyes a similar colour, but there's no harshness to them - his eyes are kind and comforting, despite all he's been through. Isabel points her finger to her own chest before pointing to the star tattoo on his hand, and then gently poking him in his own chest, right over his heart.
"I am like you," she says, though she doubts he'll understand.
The man looks to his own hand, before his eyes widen and he looks back at the young American in front of him. Recognition dawns, and then his expression softens into one of sadness. He takes Isabel's hand and squeezes it gently, smiles at her, and the nods. Isabel nods back, squeezing his hand back just as tight.
As per Falsworth's call, food and water does arrive. What they don't expect is for an entire unit of Allied American soldiers to also walk into the caged living area in aid of helping them clear the camp. They arrive in large Army trucks with the truck beds emptied to fit in as many men as possible, and they quickly begin to load the men into the back and drive them as far away as possible to a field hospital that's awaiting their arrival for medical treatment.
The camp suddenly becomes a flurry of activity, uniformed men running here and there carrying the Jewish men to safety, medics flooding those waiting to attempt to stabilise them and take away the pain.
"There's an execution point at the end of that path," Steve tells the squad's sergeant. "It won't be pretty, but from what we've been told, there are bodies that will need clearing."
"I'll send a group, Captain," the man reassures. "We'll get them all out of here."
Steve tags along with the group, walking with narrowed vision down the path. The rows of huts end and they're walking through the dense trees for a moment, before it opens up slightly and they meet a red brick wall. Red, not only for the colour of the bricks, but for the blood that has been splattered all over the wall, that runs down toward the crimson pool on the ground. Also, on the ground are at least fifty bodies, the men dressed in their striped uniforms, piled up on top of one another. Their bodies have only one bullet hole each, considering the guards had been attempting to make the most of their last ammunition supplies.
A few of the soldiers vomit at the sight and at the eventual smell. They've been here for a couple weeks, if their informant had been correct.
"We'll take all of the bodies back to the trucks," the sergeant instructs, his voice solemn. "But we'll take them last. Those men out there, the ones fighting for their lives, they don't need to see this. Don't need to see their friends and family treated in this way, not after everything they've been through. I'll give the word when it's time."
There's a murmur of recognition before the troop head back to the main camp, unable to get the image from their minds, burned permanently onto their retinas.
Steve returns to the camp, and Gabe gives Steve a questioning look. Steve nods his head, his eyes flicking away. Gabe nods solemnly, his arm wrapped around a crying man sitting in front of him.
Over the hours, slowly but surely, the crowd of Jewish men peters. All that remain are the few who seemed better off than others, who had allowed the sickest to be taken first. The remaining soldiers give them water and food and wrap them tightly in blankets, sitting with them while they wait to be loaded into the trucks.
Deciding to do a final sweep of the camp and ensure all of the survivors have been found, Bucky and Steve set off through the camp, rifles at the ready. They head toward the aisle of huts, and immediately the stench hits them, a smell they both recognise as the smell of burnt flesh and of decomposing bodies, as well as faeces and urine. Bucky very nearly vomits, covering his nose with his sleeve so that he can continue.
He needs to continue, needs to search the entire camp. They need to find every last survivor and get them out as soon as possible, and preferably before nightfall that fast approaches. The blizzard is due to roll in the following day, and the cold alone will be enough to take down most of the men. Bucky can't leave any of the men behind to perish like that, not with all the evil they've already witnessed.
So, he hurries onward. Bucky makes his way down the row of huts, Steve beside him. Steve lets Bucky lead so that Bucky can walk at his own pace, won't have to feel pressured to continue. Steve can't even begin to imagine what it must be like for Bucky to experience this, to see people of his own religion, or half of it anyway, being persecute so inhumanely for such an insignificant thing. Truthfully, Steve thinks none of them will truly understand what's been happening in Europe, how an entire race could be killed and imprisoned and turned into caged animals.
As they pass one hut, a frail man walks out, leaning heavily on the door. He salutes them as they pass and Bucky and Steve salute back, offering the man a nod. Steve turns and catches the attention of a waiting Allied soldier, pointing them toward the hut. The men run to collect the lone Jew, taking him toward the trucks. It goes like that for a while, scoping out each hut for survivors, directing those survivors to safety, the men crying tears of gratefulness and relief and giving them a string of indecipherable German or Polish or Russian before going off with their saviours.
Many of the huts have been torched, as their informant said. Inside are hundreds of dead bodies, mere skeletons due to how sickly and starved they were. Their faces are unrecognisable. The fact that they'd all been alive and too weak to move when they'd been set alight makes Bucky's stomach flip, and he stops in the doorway of the first hut to puke up his rations, the sight and smell too much to handle. Steve sends him back outside and inspects the hut, ensuring none of them are alive. Steve closes the doors on those huts and mark them so that the teams know where to go to recover the bodies.
"There are some things, Buck," Steve says solemnly, putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder, "that a man just shouldn't have to see, shouldn't have to carry on his own back. We'll let the other men deal with these, alright?"
Bucky nods and swallows hard, his eyes stinging.
They go into every other hut with their flashlights on, thankfully finding most of them emptied and dark. The smell is horrendous, and they both cover their noses against it, trying to ignore the watering of their eyes. The living quarters and small, damp and dark, barely enough room for ten men inside, but they know well enough that each hut would have housed at least thirty. It reminds Bucky somewhat of the cages that had housed him and the one-oh-seventh before Steve had liberated them, right at the beginning of this mess. How small and damp those cells had been at the Hydra factory, how they'd been starved and overworked and tortured. Bucky gulps, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He's still got a job to do, and a sound emitting from the next hut reminds Bucky of this.
The next hut, and a few following it, are still full, men lying inside like sardines on the bunk beds. They groan and vomit and cry and scream, unable to move because they're so sick and weak. Some of them deceased, lying beside their friends and family with lifeless eyes, staring up at the ceiling. As Bucky and Steve walk inside, they all look to them, their eyes watering as they cry for their liberation. They seem to regain a spark that they'd been missing only moments before, the human instinct for survival, of keeping faith, of hoping for saving.
Those, who are able, the Allied soldiers help them outside and to the medical teams that take them away in the trucks. Steve and Bucky work tirelessly, as do the other Commandos and soldiers, until all of the huts are cleared, even of the dead. The dead are loaded into separate trucks to the living where they'll be taken to a morgue-like set up to be identified, they can only hope. They try not to think of how many of the deceased there actually are, how many men will not be returning to their families and friends, to their lives. How many men may forever be "missing", buried in an unmarked grave because it just wasn't possible to decipher who they once were, what their name is and their date of birth. It seems wrong, so wrong. They hadn't deserved death, or torture, or such humiliation – the least they deserved now was closure and a proper burial. Bucky fears they won't be granted that either.
They do one final sweep of the huts in search for any last survivors, but they find none. The final troops go in to each of the huts and to the execution area, clearing out the deceased on makeshift stretchers and piling them into the trucks as gently and with as much dignity for the deceased as possible.
Steve takes Bucky and any others of his men away, exploring the guard's houses in the far corner of the camp for intel. They find nothing of importance, the cabins almost completely cleared out of anything except the basic furniture. The guards who left clearly took all of their possessions with them, so it must have been a planned abandonment.
The men who follow Steve spend a little longer than maybe necessary in the cabins, not only because they're warmer than outside, but because it's a pleasant change of scenery to the outside world. Bucky plans on even staying in here until every last man has been taken off to a hospital. He feels a wave of relief rush over him at the thought that he won't have to see another body or corpse of wailing skeleton of a man, at least not for today. All of the men have been liberated, freed, saved, and Bucky can finally let himself relax. He even takes a seat on one of the stripped beds, the mattress rather soft under him. He puts his head in his hands and just sits, forcing his mind to go blank. He doesn't move until Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, telling him they're leaving.
They work their way back to the main entrance gates where the rest of the Commandos wait, conversing with the Allied soldiers. Only one truck load of Jewish men remains to be taken to a hospital, the rest having already been driven off toward safety, leaving mainly only a mass of soldiers. Everyone can only pray they all make it out alive, though it seems doubtful. Many were past saving, and many had lost the will to be saved. It's all up to them, now.
Evening begins to fall over the wintered landscape, the sky turning a shade of pink that seems too bubbly and bright for their situation. It casts a dim orange and pink light over the camp, the shadows illuminated. Finally, as the temperature starts to drop, the trucks of Jewish men roar to life and putter off toward the field hospital down the beaten track. The men in the back wave as they leave, smiles on their gaunt faces, and the Commandos wave back. It's the last time they'll ever see them, most likely. It makes Isabel's heart clench, but she knows it's for the best. Those men need to be recovered and then to return home, and the only way that will be possible will be if they win the war.
"Captain?" A voice says, and Steve turns to find one of the Allied sergeants behind him, the man leading the men who had come to help. "Are there any more?"
Steve nods solemnly, looking out toward the trees in the direction the man had pointed earlier in the day. "Yeah. There's a camp at the next railway stop for women and children."
"So, are we liberating it? Tonight? Before the storm?"
Steve looks back to the man, nodding sternly. "We are. We can work in darkness, if need be. Prepare your men."
"Copy, Captain. I'll radio the drivers and get them to bring the trucks to the next location."
"And radio the field hospital, inform them they'll have another wave of patients. If they can't handle it, we'll need to send them to another hospital," Steve instructs.
"Copy," the sergeant says with a nod, salutes, and then scurries off to ready his men.
The Allied soldiers group together for a debriefing before there's a chorus of affirmatives and salutes. They all look ready, determined, albeit very solemn. The mass of khaki starts off in a march through the forest toward the railway line, which they'll follow to the next station and the next camp.
The Commandos are the last to leave the facility, exiting the camp gates and entering the free world again. They take up the rear of the soldiers that leave the camp, and Bucky grabs the gate door on his way out, pulling it closed behind him. He turns and looks back at the camp, saddened grey eyes looking at the moonlit huts and fields.
"You okay, Buck?" A voice asks from behind him.
He turns to meet Steve's eyes, the blonde looking incredibly worried for his friend. "Yeah, I… I shouldn't feel this way, it isn't me that was locked up in there," Bucky berates himself.
"But, it kinda is," Steve says with a shrug. "Those people are a lot like you. You're all connected in some way that none of us really understand. You said it yourself, long before you ever came to fight, that you felt connected to them." Steve puts a hand on Bucky's shoulders, squeezing. "It's okay to be upset," he reminds Bucky, pulling his friend in for a hug.
Bucky clutches Steve a little tighter than he would admit, patting his back before pulling away. "This is why we fight," Bucky mumbles, his eyes darkening with determination. "This is why we fight."
"Yeah, Buck. We fight for freedom."
"And we fight for humanity," Bucky finishes with a deciding nod.
Freeing the women's camp is no easier task, mentally or physically.
The soldiers leave a truck for the Howling Commandos to ride in, driven by one of the soldiers. The man races them through the darkening forests, dimly lit by the candyfloss sky above, toward the train line. They swerve out of the trees onto the open tracks and race along, the next station just visible ahead. They pass the group of soldiers who walk just within the concealment of the trees.
The truck skids to a stop at the train station and the Commandos jump out onto the gravel of the train track. Steve, ever the gentleman, turns and helps Isabel out of the truck bed, putting her safely on her feet. He tucks a stray piece of hair from her face, looking at her with worried eyes.
"You sure you're okay to do this?" He asks, holding her close.
"Yes," she promises. "I… I need to do this."
Steve nods to that, seeming to understand.
The small group heads into the trees toward the camp they can just see in the distance, knowing the soldiers will be along any moment to help. It's starting to get worryingly dark and the Commandos are instantly on edge, fearing an attack from any side by guards that may know they're coming.
When they get to the fence line of the woman's camp, there are a handful of German soldiers patrolling the camp, their guns trained on the people inside. They bark German at the women and children, yelling and screaming at them. There are clumps of women and children in the camp, wearing the same striped uniforms as the men, but there's considerably less of them than there were the men. The guards seem to be herding them into packs, threatening them with their rifles, grouping them all together in the middle of the camp grounds. The prisoners are terrified, crying, wailing, pleading to be set free.
"They know we've been at the men's camp and that we're coming, they're going to kill them all," Bucky gasps, and then he's running out before anyone can stop him.
Everything happens in a blur. Steve hurries after Bucky and the closest guard hears Bucky's thundering footsteps, turning with his rifle raised. Steve just manages to stick the shield in front of Bucky as the guard shoots, the bullet ricocheting off the vibranium. Shots come from above them to their left, the guard tower sniper aiming at them. Dugan takes one shot, hitting the sniper in the head, the body flopping forward out of the tower to the ground below.
There's a whole lot of screaming going on, the women and children's cries filling the once silent air. It echoes loudly through the woods, far off into the distance.
Bucky shoots ahead of him as he runs, landing a shot on the closest guard, who goes down with a scream from the women and children who were almost victims to the guard's weapon. From the safety of the tree line, Monty and Dugan shoot at a handful of the other German soldiers who were caught off guard by the approach of the Howling Commandos.
Steve throws the shield ahead of them to the second guard tower at the other end of the camp, knocking the sniper from his post. The man's body falls with a heavy thump, and the shield ricochets uncontrollably over the fence into the camp grounds, landing beside a group of Jewish women, their children clutched tightly in their arms. One of the children sees the shield, his eyes lighting up.
"Kapitän Amerika!" The child cheers, his eyes quickly landing on the star-spangled soldier running up to the front gates of the complex.
Without his shield, Steve has no choice but to rip the lock with his bare hands, snapping it open. He and Bucky push the gates open, breaking the second lock, and sprint full speed into the camp toward the remaining few guards. The Howling Commandos follow, behind them a rush of khaki as the rest of the American troops catch up through the darkness to the dimly lit concentration camp. Immediately, the men filter inside and spread themselves out between the groups of women and children, shielding them from the remaining guards and starting to tend to them with the remaining supplies they'd used at the men's camp.
Steve rushes one of the two remaining guards. The man is letting out a string of terrified German, yelling at the women in front of him, screaming at Captain America to stay away. In his panic, he empties the barrel of his rifle into the women and children in front of him. They go down with bullets to their frail bodies, not moving again. Steve yells out, but the man doesn't stop shooting until his gun clicks empty, and then Steve's body slamming him at full speed into the ground, the two of them hitting the mud with a massive thud. The soldier yelps, squirms, cries and groans underneath Steve as the American Captain pummels him with punches, incapacitating him. Steve sees red for what the man just did before his eyes, and he only just manages to stop his fists flying, to halt his attack before he kills the man with his bare hands.
Bucky apprehends the final guard, raising his rifle to the man's head. "Lass deine Waffe fallen (Drop your weapon)," Bucky demands, his voice a deep growl in his anger. "Sprichst du Englisch? (Do you speak English?)"
The man doesn't hesitate to comply, dropping his rifle to the ground and raising his hands in surrender. He shakes his head no. "Nein, nein, ich spreche kein Englisch, (No, no, I don't speak English)," he cries, over and over. Then, he speaks rapid German, pleading with Bucky with his eyes, clasping his hands in front of him and dropping to his knees. Bucky sneers at him, his glare icy cold, and the man quickly ends his pleading behaviour in favour of crying silently for his own life and mistakes.
Steve grabs the man he apprehended, roughly throwing his limp body over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Bucky grabs both wrists of the second guard in his hand, forcing him to stand and poking his rifle threateningly into the guard's back and pushing him forward to follow Steve. They take the guards to one of their own guardhouses, leading them inside and closing the door behind them. Gabe squeezes in just before they close the door to act as translator if need be. Steve dumps the guard he carries unceremoniously into a chair, the man yelping again, cringing at the blossoming bruises forming on his face and body, and at the blood leaking down his face from his bloodied nose. Bucky shoves the second into another chair pulled out from the kitchen table.
Steve grabs the collar of the man Bucky apprehended, who looks a fair less wounded than the one he'd slammed into the ground. He gets a good two handfuls of the cloth of his uniform and pulls them man toward him, getting close with an intimidating glare that the guard gulps, his light blue eyes widening in fear.
"Du hast gesagt, du sprichst kein Englisch? (You said you don't speak English?)" Steve confirms, glaring at the man.
"Nein, ich nicht. bitte, bitte töte mich nicht, (No, I don't. Please, please don't kill me)," the man begins to plead again.
Steve looks to Gabe, who steps forward slightly, glaring down at the man in Steve's fists. "Kommt drauf an, was weißt du über das Camp? (Depends, what do you know about the camp?)"
The man stares wide eyed at the three Commandos for a second before he starts to cry again, apparently accepting his fate. "Nichts, ich weiß nichts. Ich habe erst vor einer Woche angefangen. Ich bin der niedrigste Rang (Nothing, I know nothing. I only started a week ago. I am the lowest ranking)."
"Dann nützt es uns nichts (Then you are of no use to us)," Jones says after a nod from Steve. Bucky raises his rifle and points it at the man's forehead, right between his eyes. He begins to cry harder, tears streaming down his unremarkable face. Bucky clicks off the safety, moves his finger to the trigger, and begins to squeeze it–
"Wait! Captain, wait!" A laboured voice calls out, and Bucky pauses, looking up at the man sitting in the other chair.
Steve stands upright, walking over to the man he'd beaten up just before. "Oh, so you speak English?" Steve asks unhappily, eyeing the man.
"I do. I will comply. But do not hurt him. He is telling the truth. He is of the lowest rank in the camp, he was told nothing," the man continues, his English a little lacking but enough to be able to communicate.
Steve nods at Bucky and the brunette moves away from the crying man, lowering the weapon.
"Talk," Steve demands. "Is this a concentration camp as well?"
"Yes. For the undesirables."
"What do you have them do here?" Steve questions. "We didn't find any extermination chambers. I thought that was the preferred method?" Steve mocks.
"Not all concentration camps use extermination and gassing, Captain. There are other ways to kill masses of undesirable people. Starvation, disease, working them to death. These men work themselves until they drop with no food. One of them gets sick, they infect everyone else. We have merely sat back and watched the destruction occur."
"And do you make the women and children work, too?"
"Of course. They must pay for their sins," the man says off-handedly, unfazed by their actions. Still, his blue eyes betray the fear he feels at being harassed by the Americans.
"They haven't sinned. And if you supposedly sit back and watch, why were you going to kill all these women and children?" Steve demands his voice menacing and terrifying.
The man gulps. "Sometimes we shoot them, when they are unruly. We knew you were coming, Captain. We k-knew you had liberated the men from the camp nearby. We were planning on killing as many as possible before evacuating. You did not take as long as we assumed, considering you acquired reinforcements to help you."
"Why'd you leave the men?"
"We didn't have the supplies to keep the men's camp running; we ran out of food, clean water, and clothing supplies. The men were getting weaker and were not producing food like they were at the beginning for our army. It was taking more to feed them then we were getting from them. We had to make a decision. There were more men than women and children, so we took the remaining supplies to the women and left the men to starve."
"Why couldn't you call in for more supplies?"
"The Fuhrer does not allow it. He wants them… uh, what is the word… exterminated. Once they run out of necessities, they are to be left."
"You'd leave all those hundreds of men to starve? To die? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Steve growls.
"We were doing them a favour," the man says, equally icily.
"By incarcerating them? Starving them? Killing them all?"
"They are sick. They–"
"They aren't the ones who are sick. You're the sick bastards," Steve decides, shaking the man's collar for good measure.
"If that is what you believe, Captain, then so be it," the man says dismissively.
Bucky points his rifle at him in warning. "Why do you do this?" Bucky asks. He looks a little unhinged, his eyes wild, hair ruffled, face streaked with sweat and dirt and blood.
The German guard veers away from Bucky in his seat, eyeing him carefully. "The same reason you all fight for your own country. Patriotism."
"This isn't patriotism," Steve argues, standing back from the man to get a good, disgusted look at him. "Patriotism taken too far is fanaticism. No matter who you are or where you're from."
"They are filthy. Undesirable," the man argues back, sitting forward in his chair with a wince of pain to look Steve dead in the eye above him. "And you foreigners are no better." With that, he spits on Steve's booted foot, a wad of thick saliva.
"The Jewish aren't the enemy. Foreigners aren't the enemy," Steve argues, standing at his full height over the man in the chair, who noticeably shrinks away. "Foreigners are who populate our civilisations, who make us who we are today. You think we all came from Germany or America? No, we came from all over. We're made up of people from all over. Both Sergeant Barnes and I are the sons of immigrants. When I was a kid in America, it was my father and mother's people, the Irish, who were looked down on. Called filthy foreigners, discriminated against. Bucky's mother was from Russia, and she pretended her whole life to be American so that she could fit in without judgement. All because of people like you, who judge them and discriminate against them. And now, you're all doing that to the Jewish, only you take it so far its inhumane."
The German guard's mouth opens and closes as if to save something, but ultimately no words come out. He just stares dumbfounded at Steve above him.
"Is that the xenophobic world you want? No. It's what they've made you think you want. It's what your precious Fuhrer has convinced you is what's best for the world. But the truth is, all religions and all nationalities, we all want the same thing: to see our children grow strong, to provide safety for our families and to live in quiet times. Peace. I don't know about you, but that's why we became soldiers. To fight for a peaceful world."
The man stares at Steve for a moment, eyes wide with shock, before he begins to laugh; a hearty laugh, one that echoes through the cabin to outside, making the rest of the Commandos look up from where they're helping the woman and children to stare confusedly at the wooden building.
The guard wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes. "Oh, Captain. We have heard tales of your heroicness and inspirational speeches, but never did they mention how… pathetic you sound when you give them. And how wrong you are. You are deluded, the whole lot of you. You believe the world can be a fair and safe place for everyone, that humanity has any redeemable traits, but you cannot deny that–"
"He's a lost cause," Bucky notes, before raising his rifle and putting a shot through the man's skull, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. The man slumps forward with a sort of gurgle, sliding off his chair onto the ground with a sick thud.
The man on the other chair screams at the sight, until that's cut off by a second shot from Bucky's rifle, blood spurting out the back of his head onto the wooden floorboards behind him. He slumps backward in his chair, staying in his seat, his limp head hanging backward over the chair back.
Steve is dumbfounded, mouth hanging open. "Buck, we needed them to–"
"We weren't going to get anything else out of them," Bucky says, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder.
Steve and Gabe watch as Bucky walks himself from the cabin without another word, slamming the door shut behind him. Steve's watches with a solemn expression, a part of him pining for the man his best friend used to be, the parts of Bucky that the war had taken from him.
The blizzard rolls in a hell of a lot earlier than anyone expected.
The Commandos work through the night, finding every last prisoner within the maze of huts in the camp. It's a hard task, especially considering how dark it is in the clearing, but as dawn finally approaches, the land lightens just a little and makes their task slightly easier.
They are still busy evacuating the camp as the sun begins to rise over the horizon, bringing with it another candy floss sky. As it comes, the wind also picks up and the temperature drops dramatically. Their teeth chatter as they tend to the women and children, who themselves are dressed only in the thin striped uniforms provided to them. They wrap them in anything they can find, trying to block the wind from their freezing, frail bodies. The women clutch the children tightly against them, encircling them in a protective stance.
The Allies seem to work even quicker as it gets colder, hurrying the prisoners into the Army trucks and off to the next field hospital. The mass of prisoners gets smaller and smaller, with only a few dregs remaining, waiting for the final trucks.
Once most of the surviving prisoners have been stabilised, have had something to eat and drink, and have been taken to or are awaiting evacuation in the trucks that drive back and forth, Steve and Isabel leave the main area of the camp to search the huts one last time, giving them a final sweep. They, thankfully, find no one in their search, the huts empty of all presences, including the dead who have already been moved out.
However, as they move to leave the final tent, a small scraping noise at the back of the room gets Steve's attention. He motions for Isabel to stay by the door and tiptoes toward the back of the hut. He bends down and finds himself face to face with a pair of wide eyes.
Steve and the eyes stare at each other a moment before Steve's eyes adjust to the darkness and he realises the eyes belong to a little girl, no more than eight, with curly brown hair, sunken cheeks and pale blue eyes. It takes Steve a second for the shock to wear off, not that it truly every would, that children had been subjected to such horror. He can't even fathom how anyone could take a child from their home and imprison them, starve them, "exterminate" them. It makes him feel a little sick all over again, but he remembers where they are and that there is a little girl depending on him, maybe even as much as the woman who stands in the doorway depends on him.
That thought snaps Steve into gear. He tries to talk to the little girl, but she doesn't speak English, only staring at the kind-eyed blonde American in front of her. Steve doesn't want to reach in and grab her; he doesn't want to frighten or hurt her, and he knows she's been through enough suffering without fearing them. He turns and gives Isabel a look, pleading with his eyes for her to help.
"What is it?" Isabel eventually asks into the silence, her tone wary.
"I-it's a child," Steve stutters back.
Isabel complies quickly to that, her eyes widening. She kneels down beside Steve and looks in at the little girl with a small, strained smile.
"Hi, sweetie," Isabel says softly, though she knows the girl won't understand her. "If you just come out, we can help you. You can have something to drink, maybe some food, and then you can go home? Come on, honey, come out for me."
Isabel holds out a hand, inviting, and after an extended silence, the little girl shuffles forward and takes Isabel's hand. Isabel takes it firmly so that she can't run off and helps the girl crawl out from under the bed. She stands on shaky, weak legs, her small frame swimming in the massive uniforms she's wearing. She's about the size of a five or six year old – its hard to tell since her development could have been stunted due to the lack of nutrients and food, depending on how long she's been at the camp – but with the hardened eyes of a troubled adult. Her face and hair are covered in soot and dirt, turning her once chocolate hair dirty and limp. Her eyes are still widened, and she looks around in terror, sizing up Steve and Isabel carefully.
"Wie lautet dein Name? (What is your name?)" Isabel asks the little girl, trying to prompt some form of trust between them. She only knows such a limited amount of German that any conversations they can have will be extremely limited. It's best to stick to what she knows.
"G-Greta," the girl whispers, eyes still darting between the two strangers before her.
"Ich bin Isabel, und das ist Steve (I'm Isabel, and this is Steve)," Isabel tells Greta, gently tugging on the girl's hand still in hers.
"Will nach Hause gehen? (Want to go home?)" Steve asks the girl, gently moving a brown curl from her face to behind her ear. The girl flinches at first at the touch, but then moves closer into Steve's hand like a cat nudging its head against a person's hand for attention.
"Ja (Yes)," Greta says.
After another moment's hesitation, Greta takes a few steps forward and pulls her hand free from Isabel's. Surprisingly, she latches her arms around Steve's neck, allowing Steve to stand and pick her up. The girl looks tiny in Steve's arms, fragile and breakable, and Isabel's heart clenches at the sight. Greta tucks her face into the warmth of Steve's neck, quickly forming a wet patch on his uniform collar from her terrified tears. Isabel pats her hair down gently, rubbing a comforting arm on the girl's upper arm.
"You don't have to be afraid anymore, Greta. We're going to help you," Isabel promises, though the girl doesn't understand her. The words and Isabel's tone seem to calm the girl, who settles against Steve quite comfortably, allowing the strange but friendly American man and woman to carry her from the hut.
Steve and Isabel walk silently down the aisle of huts toward the main gates. Greta bounces slightly in Steve's arms as he walks, her head still tucked in his shoulder. She shivers against the freezing air outside and Steve's wraps her up a little tighter in his arms, blocking the wind. He's like a radiator and eventually some colour returns to Greta's pale cheeks and lips. Though the shivering continues, it isn't from the cold anymore.
Isabel keeps a sharp eye out, searching for any of the women who may recognise Greta; who may be looking for her themselves, a parent or relation, even a friend. But no one seems to notice the brunette child in Steve's arms, no one recognises her. Once they make it back to the Commandos with no sign of Greta's family, they start to lose a little hope.
"Gabe?" Isabel calls, getting the man's attention. "Can you please talk to Greta, here? Ask her where her parents are?"
"Hallo, Greta. Wir versuchen, deine Familie für dich zu finden. Kannst du uns sagen, wo deine Eltern sind? (Hello, Greta. We are trying to find your family for you. Can you tell us where your parents are?)" Gabe asks in a gentle manner, approaching the little girl carefully.
Greta lets out a wail, crying once again into Steve's shoulder. Steve looks up wide eyed at Gabe, his eyes solemn. He squeezes the little girl tightly, rubbing her back to comfort her.
"Ich habe meinen Vater seit Monaten nicht gesehen. Meine Mutter wurde vor Wochen getötet (I have not seen my father in months. My mother was killed weeks ago)," Greta cries into Steve's shoulder, her voice distorted by her sobs.
Steve and Isabel look to Gabe for an explanation, but the man's expression says it all. "Her father was probably taken to the men's camp. Her mother was killed."
"Oh, sweetheart," Isabel whispers, her eyes welling with tears. She puts a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder, hushing her quietly.
"She isn't the only one, Cap," Gabe continues. He points to a group of ten or so children of varying ages sitting on the ground beside one of the Army trucks, Bucky and Dugan sitting with them keeping them company. "All of those kids over there, we haven't been able to track down their mothers or any other female relatives in the camp. Most of them have been killed, and a few of the children identified their family as one of the deceased we collected. We're hoping that their fathers were in the male camp and are now waiting for them at the field hospital, but if not… We can only hope that they have relatives on the outside who'll take them in."
Steve looks at the group, watches as Dugan attempts to teach them some sort of card game and successfully presents a full house, making a few of them laugh and another throw down his cards in frustration.
"We can't just leave them and hope they'll find someone to look after them," Steve protests.
"We aren't, Cap. They won't be alone. But it isn't our job to make sure each of them gets back home, there are people out there employed to do just that." Gabe pauses, thinking carefully. "They're only kids, Cap. They're resilient. The fact that they've made it this far is accomplishment enough. It says a lot, not only about where they've been, but where they'll go."
Steve looks unconvinced, but he nods.
Steve and Isabel hold onto Greta for the remainder of the day, not that the young girl gives them much choice not to; she refuses to release her grip around Steve's neck, only when he's forced to pass her to Isabel so that he can direct a group of soldiers.
Isabel sits with Greta and waits for Steve to return, singing soft lullabies to the girl like she used to when Becca was younger. Becca had always loved to be sung to from when she was young. Normally, Isabel had volunteered her voice, giving Winifred a reprieve from the twins. Even Bucky had sung to them once in a while, but Becca had always loved to be sung to by her older sister. Even as she got older, Becca loved it. In 1941 when the Disney move Dumbo had come out, Isabel had taken Becca to see it. The girl has especially loved the song sung to Dumbo when he was a baby, and even though Becca had been nearly ten at the time, she'd insisted on singing it for weeks after seeing the film.
"Please, can you sing it for me?" Becca pleads, sitting on her single bed, wrapped up in thick, warm blankets. She has a twinge of colour to her cheeks, but overall, she's pale and cold.
Isabel grabs the rugs and quilt from her own bed and brings them over, settling in beside Becca to warm her. The radiator has broken once again, and the entire family is freezing once the sun went down, the world outside the window covered in snow.
"Again?" Isabel asks with some amusement, curling her arm around Becca's slight frame. "Can't you sing it yourself? Surely you know the lyrics by now."
"I like it when you sing it," Becca admits, looking at her sister with wide doe-eyes.
Isabel sighs lightly, smiling down at her. "Fine," she says, before clearing her throat.
"Baby mine, don't you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head, close to my heart
Never to part
Baby of mine
Little one, when you play
Don't you mind what they say
Let those eyes sparkle and shine
Never a tear
Baby of mine
From your head to your toes
You're so sweet, goodness knows
You are so precious to me
Cute as can be
Baby of mine…"
Isabel looks down and Becca has fallen asleep, her cheek resting against Isabel's shoulder. Carefully, so as not to wake her, Isabel manoeuvres them so that she's laying down, pulling the rugs up over Becca's ear to keep the warmth in.
"Night, baby," Isabel mutters, before closing her own eyes–
"Reminds you of Becca, right?" Bucky says quietly from beside Isabel, making the brunette jump.
She'd been staring straight ahead for Lord knows how long, the words of the song dying on her tongue, immersed in her own memories. The flashback had been so vivid, Isabel had truly thought she was back home, that she was four years younger, that Becca would have been four years younger. She blinks back to reality, looking around in a bit of disorientation. Quickly, it all comes back to her – the soldiers, the huts, the dirt, the bodies, the camp.
Isabel looks over at Bucky, who sits on the ground beside her, a worried expression on his face. He'd had time to sit beside her and listen to half of the song, then watch her silence before she even noticed him. Isabel sighs a little before her eyes flick down to the little girl in her arms, fast asleep with such a peaceful expression, one would never have believed where they were.
"Yeah. Becca made me sing that song to her every day after we saw the film," Isabel replies quietly.
"I remember," Bucky promises.
It makes her heart ache, not only for Greta but also for Becca. Her sister will be coming up sixteen soon, and Isabel feels like she's missed out on a major chunk of Becca's life. The years she's going through now are possibly the hardest of her life with so many changes, and Isabel isn't there to help her though it. Neither is Bucky, for that matter. Bucky can't help her with a lot of things, but Becca and Bucky have always had a deep and unrivalled connection.
Isabel's eyes well with silent tears. "I miss her, Bucky. Becca. The rest of them as well – Robbie, Ma, Dad, even the girls from work. I miss home. I want to go home; I don't want to be here."
Bucky shuffles over and puts a comforting arm around his sister's shoulders. "You will go home," Bucky promises. "Maybe not right now, but you will. I promise. Once all of this is over, once we've defeated Hydra and the war has ended, you'll go home, and you can see everyone and pick up your life where you left it off."
"But what about you?" Isabel asks, picking up on how Bucky had never mentioned his own return to Brooklyn. Or Steve's, for that matter. "What about Steve?"
"We live a dangerous life right now, Belle. I can't make any promises. But no matter what happens, we will get you home."
As the beginning dregs of the blizzard roll in over the camp, the entire camp is sprinkled with faint white splotches of snow. It falls from the sky in small flakes that land on their hair and clothes and covers everything and everyone in sight. The ground of the camp goes from a muddied brown sludge to a carpet of white snow, the huts resembling gingerbread houses. It would be pretty, maybe even beautiful, if they didn't know the use of the area and the horrors that had been witnessed there.
Greta awakens with a groggy expression, her eyelashes blinking rapidly. She smiles up gently at Isabel who still holds her, then up at the sky, watching with awe as the snowflakes fall from the dark clouds above them. Greta holds out a tiny hand, catching a flake on her hand and watching it melt on her palm.
Isabel watches, and it reminds her of her childhood during the snowy months of the year. She doesn't remember much of the winters at Long Island, since she'd been only young when they'd moved permanently to Brooklyn after the Depression hit them hard. But what she does remember is that George Barnes always rented a small apartment in Brooklyn for when he had multiple day business deals he was attending to save himself from driving in and out of the city every day. It had served as a somewhat holiday home in the city for a long time, George often bringing the children with him on his business trips. That had been how Bucky had met Steve, helping the young blonde after he'd gotten into a fight when Bucky had wondered around the streets while he was waiting for George to finish a business meeting nearby. They'd moved into the apartment after they sold their home in Long Island to cover the damage of the stock market crash, and so the neighbourhood, and its occupants, had been familiar to the Barnes' long before they moved there permanently.
Isabel remembers their first winters day in Brooklyn when they'd come in with George to a work conference, not long before they'd moved there permanently. They'd woken in the morning, watching with awe as the busy city streets were steadily coated in a blanket of pure white, the pavements and streets icy, the air cold, the people walking the sidewalks wearing bulkier layers as the days passed. It was cold and dangerous and a little restricting, but nonetheless beautiful.
Isabel and Bucky are so excited and entranced by the image outside the window, they immediately rush to the kitchen and ask their father to go outside in the freshly falling snow. Their father says a stern no at first as he made them all breakfast, claiming they'd get sick if they went outside, but after a good ten minutes of pestering, George gives in, allowing them twenty minutes outside. As per his request, the children rug themselves up in as many layers as they can fit into, scarves wrapped around their mouths to keep out the cold and waddle themselves down the stairs of the apartment building to the world outside. Isabel looks around with a wide-eyed expression, carefully peeling off her glove and touching the freezing snow with her fingers as though it were made of glass. She picks up a small handful, rolling it through her fingers and letting it crumble back to the ground.
Meanwhile, Bucky struggles to bend over in his multiple layers. He manages to roll a snowball up in his gloved hands and pitch it straight at his sister's head, his aim perfected since he'd been practicing baseball with some of the boys on their street in Long Island the summer before. Isabel attempts to reciprocate the act, but the ball falls short of its target considering Bucky runs and dodges to the best of his restricted abilities, cackling in delight as he continues to hit his sister accurately.
Eventually, Bucky's snowballs hit Isabel right in the face and make her cry, the cold snow melting and running down the inside of her coat. Bucky quickly hugs her and tells her it's alright, pleading with her not to tell their father. Isabel cries a while, as children often do, before wiping away the tears, her eyes red rimmed and her hair curling.
"How come you told off Timmy down the street for hitting me with dirt from the pitch but you can hit me with snowballs?" She asks Bucky, a pout on her lips.
"Because Timmy is a bully, Issy. He bullies people in my grade at school, but he's also been pickin' on kids your age, and that ain't right. He wants to hurt you when he throws dirt at you. And no one is allowed to hurt you, ever. Mama told me it's my job as your big brother to always look after you and protect you from everyone else," Bucky tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"But the snowballs?"
"Throwing snowballs is supposed to be fun," Bucky explains, collecting up another snowball in his hands. "And it was right, until it hit you in the face? I didn't mean to hit you, I swear, it was an accident. But Timmy wanted to hurt you and make you cry."
Isabel nods at that, looking significantly less upset. "I don't like bullies like Timmy," she tells Bucky.
"You sound like Steve," Bucky tells her with a laugh.
"Who's Steve?"
"He's the new friend I made last year when we were in Brooklyn in the summer. I was walking around the streets and I found him in an alleyway behind the school, getting picked on by some older kids. I was walking past and stopped to help him, he was all beat up and sore. I helped him get back to his house and his Ma was so happy I'd helped him, she said I was welcome to come over whenever we were down from Long Island. I've gone to visit every day when we've been here ever since. I went there yesterday while you were waiting in the lobby at the office."
"So that's where you went!" Isabel accuses. "I was so bored there by myself."
"Sorry!" Bucky apologises hastily. "Maybe next time you can come play, too. He's real nice, I think you'd like him. He's sick though, so he can't come out to play real often and he told me he gets bullied a lot at school."
Isabel looks up at Bucky with eyes only a little sister can give her older brother, as though he held the entire world in his hands. "That's real nice, Buck," Isabel tells her brother. "What do you mean he's sick?"
"I'll tell you when you're older," Bucky says in the way that Isabel hates. "He has some trouble breathing and he gets colds and pneumonia all the time. I think there's more, but I haven't learnt about it yet. Stevie's ma is a nurse and she's telling me how to help Steve so that if anything ever happens when I'm down, I can save him."
"Oh. That's good then. Are we ever going to meet Steve?"
"Sure. Maybe one day he can come up to Long Island, or as I said, you can come over for a while. I'm sure he won't mind," Bucky says offhandedly. He looks up at the sky and the snowflakes floating down to meet them. "Watch this," Bucky says, changing the subject. He sticks his tongue out and points his mouth up toward the sky, a small snowflake flitting down onto his tongue and melting in his mouth. "Mm, yum! You try it!"
Isabel complies with a happy giggle, sticking her own tongue out and waiting patiently for the snowflake. She squeals with delight when the flake hit her tongue, smacking her lips as it melts.
They go over their twenty-minute play time as they stand outside, Bucky with his arm around Isabel's little shoulders, catching snowflakes on their tongues. They only go inside when George comes down to get them, calling them in from the warmth of the apartment lobby.
It had been another few months before they'd moved to Brooklyn due to the Depression, but by then, Bucky and Steve had been friends quite a few years, talking through letters and even on the phone. They'd meet up every time Bucky went down from Long Island, though Steve never had the health or the money to come up to see Bucky. Winifred and George had encouraged it, and Isabel wonders now, with hindsight, whether they'd been planning on moving to Brooklyn even before the crash to be closer to George's work. It would have made a lot more sense, and their oldest already having a friend would have made it all the much easier for him.
Isabel blinks away from the memory, looking down to see Greta looking at her curiously. Isabel has no idea how long she zoned out for. She looks around, spotting the other Commandos and soldiers working furiously to load the last of the prisoners into the final trucks and to escape the snow, which poses great danger to the sickly and weak survivors.
"Watch this," Isabel tells Greta, bringing the girl's attention back away from the goings-on of the camp.
Isabel sticks her tongue out, just as she had as a child, and catches a fresh snowflake on her tongue, letting it melt. Greta laughs, sticking out her own tongue to copy Isabel's actions. They spend the next few minutes catching snowflakes, which get increasingly larger and more plentiful as the snow begins to fall heavier and faster and the temperature drops further.
They only stop when a red-cheeked Steve comes back over to them, his blonde hair and the shoulder pads of his star-spangled uniform covered in a layer of snow.
"The kids are the last to load in," Steve tells Isabel. "We've got one last truck waiting to take them."
"So, it's goodbye?" Isabel asks quietly, her voice barely audible.
Steve kneels down beside the two girls, petting Greta's brown hair when she smiles at him expectantly. "Yeah, Belle. It's goodbye."
Greta shuffles out of Isabel's arms toward Steve, and Steve sweeps her up easily onto his hip, emitting a loud giggle from the girl. He reaches out a free hand to Isabel and pulls her from the cold ground, her legs stiff and frozen from the cold. He doesn't let go of her hand as they walk toward the truck sitting alone in the field on the other side of the concentration camp fence.
As they get nearer, they notice that Bucky and Dugan are lifting the other children into the back of the truck. Dugan hands one of the boys the deck of cards they'd been playing with earlier, and the boy puts it in his shirt pocket for safekeeping.
Steve walks right up to the truck before he stops, smiling up at the children waiting patiently in the back. Greta follows Steve's eyeline, looking to the closest boy in the truck. A few of them speak to her quietly, presumably telling her that they are being taken to a field hospital. Greta's eyes widen, and she looks affronted at Steve, who stares back with a sad expression.
"Ich verlasse? (I am leaving?)" Greta asks Steve, who nods solemnly.
Gabe steps up, prepared to translate the situation. "Du musst jetzt gehen, Schatz. Die netten Krankenschwestern im Krankenhaus werden sehen, ob sie deine Eltern finden können (You have to go now, darling. The nice nurses at the hospital are going to see if they can find your parents)," Gabe tells Greta, who clutches onto Steve's neck tighter at the mention of leaving.
"Aber ich möchte sie nicht verlassen (But I don't want to leave them)," Greta whines, reaching over and taking Isabel's hand whilst hiding her face in Steve's neck again.
"Du musst. Ihre Familie und Freunde warten auf Sie. Du willst sie sehen, ja? (But you must. Your family and friends are waiting for you. You want to see them, yes?)," Gabe persists, looking worriedly at Steve and Isabel. "Diese Jungs und Mädchen werden auf dich aufpassen. (These boys and girls will look after you)," Gabe promises.
Greta eventually nods, wiping at her eyes.
"Sei ein braves Mädchen, okay? (Be a good, brave girl, okay?) Steve tells Greta, giving her a tight hug. The girl hugs back, her eyes welling with tears.
"Ich werde. Danke, dass du mich gerettet hast, Captain. (I will. Thank you for saving me, Captain)," Greta says, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Steve's cheek. "Und du, Isabel. (And you, Isabel)."
Gabe translates, and both of the Commandos smile at the girl in Steve's arms. "Gerne Liebling. Sicher sein, (You're welcome, sweetheart. Be safe)," Isabel says, kissing the girl's cheek goodbye.
Steve easily lifts Greta into the back of the truck, and the little brunette takes a seat next to the oldest girl, who tucks her under her arm. Steve wraps his arm around Isabel's shoulders, pulling her against his chest. They watch in silence as the truck engine rumbles to life and the vehicle putters off along the road into the trees. The children wave wildly as they disappear, and Steve and Isabel get their final glimpse of Greta before she's gone forever.
"I didn't know it was possible to get attached to someone that quickly," Isabel says with a soft chuckle, wiping away a stray tear running down her cheek.
"She's seen a lot, and we saved her. It was only instinct to want to protect her. She'll be okay, honey," Steve promises, kissing the top of Isabel's head.
"Yeah. She will be," Isabel responds.
They watch as the dust from the truck's wheels settle back toward the dirt track and the truck winds along the road between the trees before disappearing from sight, taking the solemn eyes of the children with it.