Scene I: Soldier's Poem

September 12, 1943, South of Azzano, Italy

The third thump sent a shockwave through the soft earth on either side of him. Soil tumbled down over the lip of the trench and Bucky tried not to acknowledge the sharp edge of panic that thrummed along his nerves. The fear that one of those shells could bury him alive was a visceral burning in his chest. He hated the trenches more than he hated anything else about this godforsaken war. But he had men to think about; men who were relying on him. He was the sergeant and he had to keep his head.

The squad he was in charge of had changed over the course of the last two days. The Italians had retreated but German forces had poured into the gap in the line and shattered the advance of the 107th. Bucky had lost his radioman that morning and would no longer contact Colonel Phillips or anyone at the SSR basecamp. Half the men he'd started with were dead and half of those who remained had scattered to the winds. In their place he now had what remained of a Negro unit and the battered survivors of a front-line platoon of Japanese-Americans. He knew there were British paratroops nearby but he had no way to contact them or even be sure of their position. The only member of his original command still with him was Corporal Timothy Dugan.

"Well at least the night's not boring. Right, Sarge?" Dugan remarked.

"Oh, yeah. Thank goodness for that," Bucky returned, dry and snarky. He checked his remaining ammunition and resisted the urge to pull a face. Things had looked a lot brighter that morning, no pun intended. Thankfully they seemed to have acquired the most level-headed person Bucky had ever met in one Private Gabriel Jones.

"Hey, it could be worse. We could be in Russia," Jones said. Dugan snorted and Bucky glanced over at Gabe.

"If that is all you can come up with as a silver lining we really are screwed." As if to emphasize his point, another shell exploded nearby, showering them all in dirt. Pebbles bounced off Bucky's helmet with musical pings and his heart leapt into his throat again. "We really need to take out those mortars."

"Try finding one," Dugan yelled over another explosion. "Unless one of you guys sees real well in the dark."

Bucky laughed. "Yeah, I wish."

"We could try making a run for it." Gabe offered. "Use the craters as cover."

It sounded like suicide but anything was better than sitting in the trench waiting to die. Might as well do something the Germans wouldn't expect.

"You ever done that before?" Bucky asked.

"Once or twice," Gabe replied. "Seems to throw 'em for a loop. Mortars don't do well against moving targets."

"Machine guns do," Dugan added.

Bucky shrugged. "They can't see any better than we can. And I haven't heard a machine gun in over an hour. Maybe they're out of ammo."

"Or they're waiting for a target."

Bucky couldn't argue with Dugan's logic, and he knew the safe thing to do was to wait out the shelling. But they were losing men and morale was slipping. Somebody had to do something, and he was the sergeant. And if it meant getting out of the fucking trench then he was willing to risk it.

"You don't have to come with me."

Dugan sighed. "What the hell am I supposed to do? Sit on my ass?"

"Command the squad if I get blown to bits."

Dugan slung his shotgun over his shoulders and strapped on the pack with their ammo. "And let you take all the glory? I don't think so. Not like we're doing much commanding without a radio."

Gabe pulled a stick from the mud at his feet and held it up over the lip of the trench with Dugan's bowler hat on the end. Nothing happened and Gabe grinned.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Bucky replied.

Dugan snatched back his hat and slammed it down on his helmetless head. "What the hell; might as well live a little."

Bucky counted down from three and on his "Go!" they vaulted over the lip of the trench and ran. Bucky's heart raced the whole way. Mortar shells screamed past them and there was no way to tell how close they were until they exploded. It was nearly impossible to see the ground under his feet in the dark but he grew thankful for the blackness when they reached the first shell crater without so much as a shout from the Germans.

They were all breathing hard when they collapsed in the relative safety of the impromptu foxhole. Bucky's skin buzzed with adrenaline. He hated this. He hated all of it. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to his job on the docks. He wanted to go back to Steve.

"Okay, I'll admit," Dugan panted. "That was kinda fun."

I knew he was fuckin' insane, Bucky thought, letting his head drop back against the cool earth. Beneath the acrid stench of gunpowder, blood, and his own sweat, there was the crisp, wet scent of cool air. He did his best to concentrate on that, to let it anchor him in some semblance of reality.

"Ready to do it again?" Gabe asked, far too enthusiastic. So much for level-headed.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

A few crater hops later and they found a radio. By some miracle, the shrapnel that had killed its carrier had left it intact. Gabe got it working in short order and Bucky was able to order the rest of their men to follow them up. Unfortunately the charge caught the attention of the Germans and flares started going up. In their phosphorescent glare Bucky could see all the way to the German lines. A few quick grenade tosses took out a couple of the mortars, but seeing the Germans meant the Germans could see them. Not long after the flares lit the field, machine guns roared to life.

Charging across the field, Bucky tried to keep his attention on the ground ahead of him. There wasn't much he could do to dodge bullets; there was no point even trying. All he could really do was hope to get to the next crater without tripping and falling. Or running into another soldier.

Grenades went off nearby and there were screams, though it was hard to tell whose they were. Something nearby cracked and spat a bright flash of sparks. Bullets whipped past his ears, one lodging in the soil dangerously close to his left foot, but he was there. He dove into the crater, Dugan crashing down right after him. Gabe joined them a second later. Bucky tried to look up over the edge but bullets thumped down around him and he ducked down again.

"There's got to be at least five more companies out there," Dugan called over the din.

"Radio B Company. Tell 'em we need cover." Bucky chanced another quick glance up.

"That might be tough." Gabe hefted his radio up—the one they'd only had for half an hour. It was belching smoke and Bucky could clearly see the ragged hole in the side. The pack had clearly saved Gabe's life, but it would never work again. God damn it. Not again.

"Bucky! Behind you!"

He whirled at Dugan's words, nearly taking shrapnel to the face as a mortar round went off almost on top of them. Dust flared in Bucky's eyes and Dugan's hat blew clean off his head. Fighting the dizzying surge of adrenaline, he raised his rifle and forced his eyes to sweep the field. Machine gun muzzle-flash lit the German line clear as day. They'd parked themselves up on the next hill. Streaming down the face of the hill was a sizeable pack of infantrymen.

"Here they come!" Bucky roared, hoping the men around him would hear. He tilted his head, settled himself behind his scope, and opened fire. His rifle kicked against his shoulder as enemy after enemy dropped. Each squeeze of the trigger sent another Wehrmacht soldier tumbling to the ground. It wasn't something Bucky was particularly proud of, but he consoled himself with the thought that any one of those men would have shot him just as easily. But no matter how many he downed, more swarmed down the hill.

"Fall back!" Someone yelled from somewhere to Bucky's left. He was tempted to order them to hold, but he waited. There was always someone yelling to fall back and people very rarely listened. There was no sense countermanding an order that he himself might give in a moment. He glanced up, surveyed the field, then returned to his scope. He was taking aim at the torso of the nearest German when the young man erupted in blue light and vanished. The man next to him suffered the same, screaming in pain.

Bucky looked up, watching as beams of light flared rapid-fire across the hillside. The Germans who'd been stampeding down the slope now turned back, retreating with desperate shouts. The beams mowed them down. Actinic flashes lit the night as soldier after soldier was reduced to ash. Somewhere nearby Bucky could hear the clanking sound of a weapon firing, though it didn't sound like any weapon he'd ever heard. All around him, Americans were rising from the safety of the craters, cheering like they'd been the ones to drive the Wehrmacht back.

"What the hell was that?" Dugan asked.

Bucky didn't have an answer for him. The fire had come from beyond another hill and in the inky darkness there was no seeing that far. Reluctantly, he stood and stepped clear of their meagre shelter, Dugan and Gabe following. More blue burst across the field, vaporizing a handful of Germans who'd waited too long to flee. As their screams died away they were replaced by a low, throbbing rumble. The sound settled in Bucky's chest, pounding like the growl of a distant rockslide or an oncoming stampede. Along with it came the squealing of grinding gears and the rattle of treads.

Bucky's tour in North Africa and been short but he knew the sound of a tank. He could tell a Sherman from a Panzer by engine sounds alone. This was neither. It sounded bigger. When it crested the hill, all Bucky could do was stare.

"That looks... New."

The monstrosity was like something out of a dime novel. Towering and solid, it would have dwarfed any tank, even a T-34, easily. He'd never seen anything as big. Armour plate like fortress walls, wheels taller than a man and treads as thick as his hand was wide... It was like looking at a dragon or a castle on wheels. It didn't look friendly and whatever hope the Germans' sudden retreat had given him fled, leaving a twisting, leaden dread in its place. Like some great, cyclopean eye, the gun turret on top of the beast turned to face them. Something in its depths began to hum, like it was charging.

Bucky didn't hesitate. "Down!" He dove back into cover as the world disintegrated. Light stabbed at the back of his eyes, a roar like a thousand thunderclaps deafened him. Something—a shockwave maybe—kicked him through the air and into the far wall of the crater. The air left his lungs and he gasped to get it back as great clods of dirt pelted him. So much for the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

"It's HYDRA!" someone yelled from another crater.

Bucky shook himself, tried to clear his head, and stumbled back to the front. The line had opened fire but every round bounced harmlessly off the tank's hide. He cleared his throat.

"Someone get on radio to HQ. Get me somethin' to throw at this guy."