72.
London, United Kingdom
May 1st, 1945
On the morning of May first, Dugan comes into the mess hall, looking slightly unsettled. He doesn't even go to the kitchen to get himself a plate, which is his usual first stop over talking to anyone, instead just sitting down at the table between Monty and Denier. The rest of the Commandos barely look up when he sits down, even though a few raise an eyebrow when Dugan doesn't eat. They're eating their watery eggs and soggy toast for breakfast at the early hour before another day of searching for Hydra, not that they're expecting to find them.
"What's wrong, Doog?" Monty asks, immediately sensing his friends' mood, nudging the man's shoulder with his own.
Everyone looks up at that, eyes flicking to Dugan. It's unusual for him to be upset, or at least to show some form of discomfort. He's usually the comedian of the group, always bright and happy and smiling. A frown truly doesn't suit him.
"Nothing's wrong, per se," Dugan says vaguely, still looking… bewildered. "Just surprising. You listened to the radio this morning?"
A few shake their heads in answer.
"Read the paper?"
"No," all the Commandos say carefully, looking confused and worried.
"Why, what is it?" Jones asks.
"Hitler's dead," Dugan says, his tone a mix of triumph and solemn.
There's a loud crash as everyone abandons their pitiful breakfasts, spoons and forks clinking heavily onto plates as they drop them in shock.
"Holy shit," Morita hisses, voicing what's on everyone's minds.
"Yeah," Dugan breathes. "Shot himself in Berlin. Found him yesterday."
Everyone shares a look of bewilderment, excitement, solemnness and disbelief, their eyes wide as dinner plates. They can't believe what they're hearing. Falsworth's mouth has dropped open. Jones is frowning in thought, trying to wrap his head around the news. Dernier even looks shocked despite his limited knowledge of English.
"Are you sure?" Falsworth asks.
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Dugan retorts, a small smile slowly growing onto his face as he gets over his initial disbelief, replaced with triumphant relief.
Jones hurries outside into the hallways and offices to locate a newspaper from that morning. Everyone in the base seems ecstatic, hugging one another and shaking hands. A few are even pouring themselves alcoholic drinks, despite it not even been nine in the morning, clinking glasses in celebration. Jones finally locates a paper on someone's desk and snatches it up, reading the front page for himself as he moves back into the mess hall. He sits back in his spot, wide eyes scanning the words.
"Hitler is dead", Jones reads aloud, only the title. "Fell at Command Post in Chancellery, says Hamburg radio station. Fuhrer chooses Admiral Doenitz as Successor. Doenitz goes on radio to say: I am your new Fuhrer. Germany will fight on. American troops speeding across Austria."
He looks up then, and everyone is listening intently. "Well, go on," Falsworth says hurriedly.
"The Hamburg radio announced tonight that Adolf Hitler was killed in his command post at the Reichschancellory in Berlin. The German dictator fought "up to his last breath against Bolshevism", the announcement said. Admiral Karl Doenitz, commander of the German Navy, has succeeded Hitler. Within the broadcast, Doenitz released a proclamation and an order for pledging continuance of the war, demanding the same loyalty as previously sworn to Hitler. The Hamburg broadcast was preceded by playing Wagner's Goetterdaemmerung – The Twilight of the Gods – opened with a ruffle of drums and closed with the Nazi and German anthems and more Wagner. The broadcast implied, but did not directly state, that Hitler was slain in battle with the Russians. The British Broadcasting Company has reported that Hitler actually died o by suicide alongside his wife, Eva Braun. The death, but not the circumstances or time, has been confirmed by the British foreign office."
"So, it's true. He's really gone?" Morita mumbles after a long silence of contemplation.
"Then, is the war over?" Isabel asks quietly. She's got a hopeful glint in her eyes.
Jones consults the paper again. "Peace by week's end hinted by Churchill. British Prime Minister Churchill has hinted today that announcements of peace in Europe might come before Saturday but told a packed House of Commons that he had no statement at this time," Jones continues to read. "Technically, no. Doenitz could lead the army. But Churchill obviously knows something is in the works."
"Hitler isn't the only enemy, and the armies can continue on without him," Falsworth agrees. "Infantries still have orders to move out. It isn't over until everyone's surrendered."
"Allies will be taking Berlin any day now, though. Won't be long," Jones contemplates. "Should've killed himself three years ago and saved us a lot of trouble," Jones says, half-joking and half-deadly serious.
"Yeah, he should've," Falsworth agrees. "But he didn't. And after all, we still would've had Hydra to contend with."
London, United Kingdom
May 8th, 1945
It was not for another six days that Germany officially surrendered.
The administration under Doenitz, known as the Flensburg Government, did not last so long. Their preliminary act was of military surrender, and was signed on the seventh of May in Reims, France. The final document was signed on May eighth in Berlin, signalling the end of the war in Europe.
As the news spread through every newspaper and broadcast, the streets of London steadily filled with millions of people who cheerfully celebrate the end of the war in Europe. They drink and cheer and dance and kiss and hug, running through the streets to celebrate their freedom.
The Commandos, plus Peggy Carter, who's joined them in their search for Hydra intel, hear the ruckus from inside the base, the sounds cheering and music and chattering wandering down below, mixing with the growing excitement of the agents inside. Dugan, ever a partier, gets them all up to investigate. They clamber into the elevator and then out of the lobby into the streets, and it's almost as though a parade were passing through, people dressed in their best or in their military uniforms, moving through the city toward Trafalgar Square.
"Come on!" Dugan yells.
He grabs Peggy's hand and dragging her into the crowd, despite her protest. They blend quickly, and the others lose them amidst the hundreds of bobbing heads. Everyone looks at each other and shrugs before mingling with the crowd, allowing themselves to be pushed and herded toward the square.
The longer they walk, the more excited people gather around them. The crowds get bigger and cut off the streets, stopping the drivers. Eventually, they get wrapped up in the excitement, even if they don't feel it all the way down to their core, and they find themselves joining in on the cheering and whooping.
Men all around are grabbing women, whether they know them or not, and planting kisses to their cheeks and lips, or dancing them around in excited circles. Isabel feels a hand on her wrist and then she's twirled around in a circle by a man she's never met, danced around for a few moments while they laugh before the man lets her go, moving off to the next dame. She laughs in surprise, about to head back to the Commandos, when another hand lands on her waist and she's dipped backward, squealing in surprise. A man in uniform presses a kiss to her red lips, passionate as ever with his excitement, before Isabel can even think to stop him. He pulls away after only a second, smirking at her.
"Happy VE day, doll," he tells her, before he lifts her back up and leaves her behind without another glance.
Isabel wipes her mouth, somewhere between laughing and insulted, her cheeks flushed. She hurries back to the safety of the Commandos before someone else can copy similarly, and Falsworth protectively puts her in the middle of their group so she can't be touched. It makes her smirk at their protectiveness. She's almost surprised none of them came over and socked the man in the jaw in honour of their Captain. Up ahead, they pass a man rubbing his bleeding cheek, having been punched. They wonder if he'd met Agent Carter's right hook.
Morita slings a rough arm around Dernier's shoulders. Jones and Falsworth get out their smokes and light them up. Isabel just walks, smiling around at everyone. She hasn't seen an entire nation this happy in… well, ever. Back in Brooklyn, before the war, there was the Depression. She doesn't remember all that much before the Depression, she was too young. To her, there's always been someone upset, something to be solemn or sour about, someone penalised or oppressed. It feels good for there to be a moment when everything is turning out good.
They make it to Trafalgar Square, but the crowds don't stop there. They cross the road, halting the traffic and cars, and pass under the elegant gates at the beginning of the Mall toward Buckingham Palace. It's a long walk down the Mall, past the tall trees of Hyde Park, a small lake to their left.
They reach the crowds that have gathered around the Palace long before they reach the Palace itself. It's still only small in the distance, though they know it's a massive white-stoned building, the large gates in front of it topped with gold hardly visible because they're so far away. But the crowds in front of the gates are dense, filled with patriotic British citizens who cheer and chant, praising the Lord and their monarchy for their assistance in winning the war.
Falsworth is squinting toward the Palace, at one of the balconies above the main entrance, where they can just make out five figures standing before the crowd. Three are noticeably female and they're all waving slightly, an odd wave of the wrist rather than a usual wave of the whole hand.
"I think that may be the King and Queen, and possibly the Princesses. Accompanied by the Prime Minister," Falsworth notes, taking another whiff of his cigarette.
"Wait, who's the King, again?" Isabel hears Morita ask behind them.
"King George the sixth, and Queen Elizabeth. The Prime Minister's Winston Churchill, in case you forgot that, too," Falsworth supplies, sarcasm rolling off his tongue.
Jones fiddles around in his pockets and protrudes a pair of binoculars. Falsworth uses then, confirming that it is indeed the Royals on the balcony. He then passes them to Isabel, who looks at the Royals. She recognises them, from left to right, as Princess Elizabeth dressed in her Army uniform, Queen Elizabeth in a white number, the Prime Minister in his usual black suit, the King, and finally Princess Margaret wearing a grey dress and pink cardigan.
"They look beautiful," Isabel says, a small smile on her face as she admires the women.
"If you like that sort of thing," Dugan allows suddenly, making them all jump. He's appeared from somewhere after he'd run off with Peggy. They have no idea how the two managed to find the group again in such a crowd, though they do suppose Peggy is an agent. He takes the binoculars from Isabel's grasp and looks for himself. He lets out a low whistle. "That Elizabeth will make a pretty queen."
"I'm sure she doesn't want you eyeing all up on her," Peggy notes, appearing on Isabel's right. She snatches the binoculars from Dugan to take a look for herself. "She could have you hanged if she wanted."
"Probably not the kind of hanged I'm thinking of," Dugan retorts, a sly smile on his features. "What do we all say to getting drunk?"
The Commandos end up at the Stork Club, of course, because where else would they go?
The reconstruction of the bar has commenced after it was heavily damaged in a surprise Baby Blitz. The walls have been rebuilt and repaired, though they haven't been re-wallpapered. The hole in the ceiling has been repaired, and all of the rubble has been swept from the floor. From what they can tell, the bar has also been restocked.
The bar wasn't set to reopen for a few weeks yet, but the manager opened early in light of the celebrations filling the streets, expecting to earn a massive income for the night. And do so, he would. When the Commandos get to the Club and walk in, it's packed with men and women. The air is thick with cigarette smoke, peoples breathes are laced heavily with alcohol, and the back room is lithe with dancers, the music in full swing.
It feels almost like the Club used to before the Commandos were torn apart – full of life and fun, the music loud and energetic, the alcohol strong and bubbly. It's almost easy to pretend. Almost.
The ladies move to a seat in one of the corner tables, snagging a few extra chairs from the surrounding tables to seat the large group. Meanwhile, the men go to the bar and order themselves their drinks of choice, putting it all onto their usual tab, the one the Captain opened for them on their recruitment night to his task force. They'll pay it at the end. They'll split it. They've already promised.
Dugan returns carrying his own beer as well as two glasses of white wine, which he hands to the women. The rest of the men sit, finding that they always sit in their usual order, only there are still two figures missing from the formation. They don't leave a space for them, as tempting as it is. The bar is already much too full to reserve two unused seats.
Morita comes back to the table with his scotch, but in his hands is also a newspaper from the bar, one from the evening. The front cover has more news regarding Hitler's death from seven days ago, and it reveals not that he died from stroke or in battle as the first papers had read, but that he had killed himself, along with his newlywed wife, Eva Braun. A shot to the head and a lot of blood and he was gone.
Morita reads the report aloud before putting the paper down with a thud. "Fallen means died in active combat. We've been told a big lie," Morita says sourly. "He's as damn cowardly as the Skull was. He can dish it out, but he runs as soon as anything is turned his own way."
"They wouldn't admit that he committed suicide because that would mean the end of the war right away. If we'd known how truly vulnerable Germany was, we would've attacked with more force rather than weaselling our way into Berlin. We would've won the next day, rather than a week later," Jones reasons.
"Who wants to admit that their leader, the one who promised them freedom and wealth, would kill themselves once the going gets tough, anyway? Hitler just proved, in one act, that everything he said was false; that everything he promised was falling through. What hope do his people have now?" Falsworth asks, looking thoughtful.
"At least they have a new leader," Morita says, his voice tinged with solemnness and a hint of sour. "They aren't utterly alone in all this."
Everything falls silent as the meaning behind Morita's words sinks in, their own group without a leader.
Suddenly, a round of hushes goes through the Club. The music turns off with a scratch of the record and everyone looks around in confusion. The bartender turns up the dial on the radio on the bench and the familiar voice of the British king fills the bar as he presents his Victory Day speech for England.
"…Germany, the enemy who drove all Europe into war, has been finally overcome. In the Far East we have yet to deal with the Japanese, a determined and cruel foe. To this we shall turn with the utmost resolve and with all our resources. But at this hour, when the dreadful shadow of war has passed far from our hearths and homes in these islands, we may at last make one pause for thanksgiving and then turn our thoughts to the tasks all over the world which peace in Europe brings with it. Let us remember those who will not come back: their constancy and courage in battle, their sacrifice and endurance in the face of a merciless enemy; let us remember the men in all the services, and the women in all the services, who have laid down their lives. We have come to the end of our tribulation and they are not with us at the moment of our rejoicing."
Dugan turns around in his seat to face Isabel and Peggy, who both look extremely solemn. Isabel's eyes are a little glassy. Dugan throws an arm around Peggy's shoulders, since he can reach her, and reaches his hands across to pat Isabel's shoulder. She turns and smiles at him sadly before grabbing up her wine glass and taking a large gulp, emptying half of the very full glass in one go.
"…Then let us salute in proud gratitude the great host of the living who have brought us to victory. I cannot praise them to the measure of each one's service, for in a total war, the efforts of all rise to the same noble height, and all are devoted to the common purpose. Armed or unarmed, men and women, you have fought and striven and endured to your utmost. No-one knows that better than I do, and as your King, I thank with a full heart those who bore arms so valiantly on land and sea, or in the air, and all civilians who, shouldering their many burdens, have carried them unflinchingly without complaint."
"With those memories in our minds, let us think what it was that has upheld us through nearly six years of suffering and peril. The knowledge that everything was at stake: our freedom, our independence, our very existence as a people; but the knowledge also that in defending ourselves we were defending the liberties of the whole world; that our cause was the cause not of this nation only, not of this Empire and Commonwealth only, but of every land where freedom is cherished and law and liberty go hand in hand."
"Isn't this the King that speaks with a stutter?" Jones asks Falsworth quietly.
If it is, they can hardly tell. The man speaks so confidently, with such conviction, and without any trace of stuttering. His words are perfectly pronounced. It's almost as though he'd practised it a million times, though he couldn't have, not in the few hours since Germany's surrender. The adrenaline, the gratitude, the unitedness of his country must be fueling him.
"Yes, it is. He never makes public speeches. Never. For him to speak in this way, without stuttering… It means a lot to the British people," Falsworth says, proud and touched and thankful.
"In the darkest hours we knew that the enslaved and isolated peoples of Europe looked to us, their hopes were our hopes, their confidence confirmed our faith. We knew that, if we failed, the last remaining barrier against a worldwide tyranny would have fallen in ruins. But we did not fail. We kept faith with ourselves and with one another, we kept faith and unity with our great allies. That faith, that unity have carried us to victory through dangers which at times seemed overwhelming. So, let us resolve to bring to the tasks which lie ahead the same high confidence in our mission. Much hard work awaits us both in the restoration of our own country after the ravages of war, and in helping to restore peace and sanity to a shattered world."
"This comes upon us at a time when we have all given of our best. For five long years and more, heart and brain, nerve and muscle, have been directed upon the overthrow of Nazi tyranny. Now we turn, fortified by success, to deal with our last remaining foe. The Queen and I know the ordeals which you have endured throughout the Commonwealth and Empire. We are proud to have shared some of these ordeals with you and we know also that we together shall all face the future with stern resolve and prove that our reserves of will-power and vitality are inexhaustible. There is great comfort in the thought that the years of darkness and danger in which the children of our country have grown up are over and, please God, forever. We shall have failed, and the blood of our dearest will have flowed in vain if the victory which they died to win does not lead to a lasting peace, founded on justice and good will."
"To that, then, let us turn our thoughts to this day of just triumph and proud sorrow, and then take up our work again, resolved as a people to do nothing unworthy of those who died for us, and to make the world such a world as they would have desired for their children and for ours. This is the task to which now honour binds us. In the hour of danger, we humbly committed our cause into the hand of God and he has been our strength and shield. Let us thank him for his mercies and in this hour of victory commit ourselves and our new task to the guidance that same strong hand."
Everyone is silent for only a moment as the broadcast dies out, before the Club erupts in a mass of cheers and whoops. Glasses clink together. The British national anthem is sung, loud and proud. Another round of men flit through the club, kissing the single women, thankfully staying away from those who are surrounded by men. Falsworth glares at only one who comes a little too close to Isabel and Peggy.
"No one else is coming near you," he promises, only half-joking.
"Am I missing something?" Peggy asks, watching the man go instead to another brunette in the corner. They kiss a bit more passionately and longer than the others, earning a raised eyebrow from the agent.
"Just some excitement before we got to the Square, nothing too interesting," Jones reassures, while Isabel's cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
"Well, happy VE Day," Dugan toasts, raising his beer into the air in the middle of the table.
"VE Day?" Morita asks.
"Since September of forty-four, in anticipation of victory. And we have victory, in Europe. Victory in Europe Day!"
"Not just in Europe," Peggy supplies. She pauses to join in the clinking of everyone's glasses and to take a sip of her wine. "Colonel Phillips also announced today that Hydra's strength has officially been diminished beyond repair, both here and in the United States. They're finally defeated."
"The defeat of Hydra and the defeat of Germany, all in one day. It ain't a bad one, all things considered," Jones allows.
Dugan looks contemplative, the way he does before he says something of importance. Everyone looks at him, waiting for him to speak. It isn't often that Dugan speaks anything sane of mind and free of cheek, and so they bask it up when they can get it.
"Can you imagine when we're old and grey, we've lived our whole lives. Our children and grandchildren, should we have them, are gonna say, Dad, Mom, did you fight in the Second World War? And we'll say that yes, we did. They'll ask what it was like, because children are curious like that, and we'll spare them the gruesome details because we love them too much to scar them like that."
Everyone nods in agreement.
"Instead, we'll say that we had the pleasure of living and working alongside the greatest group of men and women we've ever had the privilege of knowing, and we called ourselves the Howling Commandos. They'll know the name because, let's face it, we're going in the history books. We'll get out that book or our own photo albums and we'll show them photographs, point out each member, tell them funny stories about everyone, tell them about their best qualities. And we'll leave talking about the Captain and the Sergeant until last. We'll say that we were all held together by Sergeant Bucky Barnes and led by Captain Steve Rogers, and together, those two were so unstoppable and so inseparable, they couldn't bear to be apart for longer than three weeks. We'll miss them, but we'll also honour them, the way it should be."
Isabel wipes away a tear, but this time, she isn't alone. Almost all of the Commandos wipe at glassy eyes or subtly sniffle at running noses. Dugan puts an arm around Isabel's shoulders, while Isabel grabs Peggy's free hand and squeezes.
"To the Captain," Falsworth says quietly, raising his glass. "And to the Sergeant. Our compass and our heart."
Amidst the loud laughter and singing and music in the club, everyone dancing, the Howling Commandos are still and silent. They raise their glasses and clink them together in the middle, quietly, as everyone accepts the toast, a solemn darkness to their features. Everyone takes a small sip, but quickly it turns into downing the drink, leaving them all with empty glasses and slightly foggy heads.
Isabel takes a deep breath as she stares down at her glass, her mind racing. "When we go home, we'll tell everyone of them and say: for your tomorrow, they gave their today," she murmurs quietly, only just loud enough for everyone to hear.
"I think that's another promise, fellas," Peggy says. "Shall we never allow their names to die, nor the memory of their sacrifices. May they live on forever, through us."