Hello, beautiful readers!

Lately, I've gotten some guest reviews that I wish I could respond to in a direct message. Let me just say, thanks for reading - and thank you very much for sharing your personal stories with me. I'm glad my little story has touched you in some way.

Interlude - January 2, 1945 - Bucky

The Germans had pulled out of La Gleize on Christmas Eve, abandoning their artillery - including a 70-ton Tiger tank stuck halfway through a wall. The boys took a picture of the Howling Commandos standing around it - Stevie sitting on top, flashing a broad grin and the "V for Victory" sign. While Allied soldiers cheered and sang raucous carols, the citizens of La Gleize crept out of their basements to see what was left of their lives. The answer was - not much.

As the locals tried to dig out their houses, they were joined by refugees from surrounding villages - first a trickle, then a flood. Pinched-looking women, carved away by fear and fatigue; boys with darting eyes and sharp cheekbones; wizened old men - they came wearing every piece of clothing they owned, carrying everything they couldn't stand to lose. They had heard the La Gleize was "safe".

The GI's did what they could, and the Commandos helped - Stevie especially; shifting rubble, dragging artillery pieces out of town, cutting and hauling huge timbers to brace walls and rebuild roofs. She wore her jacket open to show the star on her chest, and reassured people in her bad French and worse German, telling them not to worry - they would be taken to safety, and the war would be over soon.

For his own part, Bucky put on his most charming smile and helped settle the civilians in makeshift shelters - any barn or stable sound enough not to fall down on top on them.

Now he was helping a new arrival - a white-haired grandmother who barely reached his shoulders. The woman had walked through the mountains all night, with a cane, to reach the town. When Bucky hauled her rucksack to her new quarters, a farmer's canning shed with a stone floor softened by clean straw, she had kissed his cheeks, dampening them with her tears.

"You're alright, now. C'est bon." He murmured, and patted her gently on the back until she stopped crying.

He emerged from the shed into the farmer's stubbled fields, half-frozen ground crunching under his boots, and walked the few minutes back to the town proper. It was strange to see it coming back to a sort of life - smoke curling out of chimneys, soldiers striding around, trucks driving down the streets they'd managed to clear, dogs barking at everything and everyone. A handful of children were even playing an improvised game of soccer with a ball made of rags. Bucky let his feet carry him, giving little half waves to people he passed. He turned a corner, and there, in an open square was Stevie. He'd been looking for her without even realizing it.

She was playing with a chubby toddler in a hand-knitted scarf - tickling his nose and making him squeal with laughter. She'd always been so good with kids - probably because she wasn't afraid to make a complete fool of herself. Bucky felt his whole face soften as he looked at her. When was the last time he smiled without hiding some little splinter in his heart? He felt like it was a long time ago.

We could have a kid, Bucky thought, suddenly. If they got married as soon as they got back home, they could have a baby of their own as soon as next year. The realization made him dizzy with fear and excitement.

He'd be a good dad, he told himself. Not like his father. He'd teach the boys how to play ball - and the girls too, why the hell not? In his mind's eye, the chubby boy became a little girl, with dark hair and Stevie's blue eyes. He felt a lump rise in his throat.

Stevie noticed him, and passed the boy back to his mother.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked, when she reached him. "You were making the weirdest face."

"Nothing," he replied. No one was watching them, so he wound her braid around his hand and brought it to his lips. Her hair smelled like woodsmoke and snow.

"Captain!"

Bucky dropped the braid, pretended he had been adjusting his jacket.

It was Private Jones, with a thermos of hot coffee and news from the Colonel.

"Word is, Adolf's not the only one on the run," the Private said with a sly smile.

"Hydra?" Stevie asked. "Schmidt's pulling back?"

Jones nodded. "The good Doctor's being moved out of Austria - him and a train full of heavy artillery."

"Zola," Bucky growled. Even after a year, the Doctor's name till made his whole body clench with revulsion.

"We've given HItler a black eye," Stevie said. "Let's give Schmidt a bloody nose!"

She clapped Bucky on the shoulder, and he could feel her excitement.

"Looks like we're going back to Austria, Buck. What do you think?"

He smiled wolfishly.

"I think Arnim Zola and I have a lot of catching up to do."

The Tiger tank is real! You can see it at the December 44 Historical Museum in La Gleize, if you ever go there.

Cool quote from the same museum's website: "It is often said that if the Americans won the Battle of the Bulge at Bastogne, the Germans lost it at La Gleize."

Next time: You all knew it was coming...