Chapter Text
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition. And gentlemen is England now abed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks. That fought with us upon Saint Crispsin's Day." -William Shakespeare.
December 7, 1941, America entered the war against Japan and soon joined the war efforts against the devil, Adolf Hitler. Every man between a certain age group had their name put into a draft and when their number was called, they were shipped out to fight the war. Whether it was the European theater or the Pacific Theater was merely the luck of the draw. Either side had their advantages and disadvantages, no man was lucky. Luck was never apart of war, luck never had anything to do with war. Fate. Fate controlled who succumbed to war and who didn't. Soldiers wondered who was next to be taken into Fate's grasp. Would it be the man on your right? Left? You? Anticipation killed their bones and anxiety burst their hearts. If the enemy didn't kill them, battle fatigue eventually would. However, before any man goes and fights a war, he trains. Vigorously and relentlessly until they're ready to take on whatever is thrown their way.
Steve Rogers, 25, was physically built by the time he received his commanding officer stripes of a Captain. When he first joined the war in 1941, he weighed less than 100 pounds and suffered from more asthma attacks than the Japanese dropped bombs on Pearl Harbor. He was under direct orders from General Chester Phillips to train a new recruitment team that had been drafted into the United States Army. Steve held no regret against not having been in combat since March 1942 when he was asked to come back and train, but sometimes he wanted to be back. Steve was just like the new 9 men that had been drafted to the Army, he had become brothers with his company and yet, they were no longer brothers. His closest friend at the time was a man by the name of James Rhodey who had also become a Captain but was shipped to the California coast in pursuit of the war against Japan.
Steve stood in front of the 9 men, properly dressed and standing at attention. Steve liked them already. His Staff Sergeant handed him a clipboard and he read the names allowed. "I'm going to call out your names, I want you to respond with 'Sir.' I'm I clear?"
"Yes, sir." They shouted in unison.
"Private Juniper." Steve called and he answered. "Private Dugan." Again, he answered and Steve continued down the list, "Private Jones, Private First Class Pinkerton, Private First Class Sawyer, Private Morita." Steve then proceeded to smile at a few familiar faces, "Men, this is Corporal Falsworth and from the France, Corporal Dernier." He hugged them and laughed a little. "I'm missing a Private First Class Barnes."
"He's taking a shit, Captain, Sir." Morita snickered as Jones spoke up.
"Get to your barrack, soldiers." Steve shouted back, "We eat at o'six hundred."
"Yes, sir." The soldiers marched to their barrack and began to chose the beds and talk among themselves. Steve let out a deep breath as his S.S. came and collected the board and any notes Steve has collected. 'Kid's gonna get his ass thrown into the fire if he ditched.' He thinks to himself as he opens the door and sees a boy, older than him by at least 3 years washing his hands. He's out of uniform and his dog tags hanging out of his shirt. Steve coughed to get his attention, "Private Barnes?"
"Fuck off, Sawyer. M'tired of your fuckin' queer talk. I ain't gonna blow-" Barnes stopped dead in his tracks when he realized it wasn't Sawyer. His eyes looked down and then back up at the young Captain and his built body. Barnes studied his blue eyes, their piercing gaze defeated by the images he had seen from the war. "M'sorry... I- I"
"No apologies needed. We all make mistakes and this is your first day." Steve chuckled and held out his hand, "Captain Rogers."
"Buchanan Barnes, but everyone 'round here called me Bucky." Barnes replied shaking the blonds hand.
"I'll be your Captain for the rest of the war until I die or you get shipped to another company." Steve's comforting smile never faded. "Your barrack is marked with a number 9, take your bags set up what you want. Dinner's at o'six hundred. Don't be late or I'm revoking any passes that come next weekend.
"Yes, sir." Barnes replied with a salute and Steve saluted back. Bucky rushed out of the bathroom and into the barracks only to be bombarded with questions. You see, the Company may have been mostly men that had been drafted, but they were all scared. Most had families back home, children, and others had a girl back home. Training for war was the easy part, just pass the obstacles, the firing shots, hand to hand combat, etc. and you would survive the months of training. The questioned that remained was, would you survive the war?