Road to War Part I: Terrible Lie

I'm All Alone in a World You Must Despise

He stood in the ditch, staring upward.  His men were arrayed around him, also staring.  Everyone's focus was on the strange new weapon that had destroyed the others.  Recovering himself, he ordered his men to duck, diving behind the hill as he did so.  That was how he survived.  Many did not.  Pandemonium broke out, more so than he had ever experienced in battle up to that point.  And he'd had a lot of field experience by now.  He did what he could to save his men.  Which meant surrendering.

As they were marched along, prisoners of war, he considered his choice.  He knew his superiors would prefer to have their troops left alive, even if inconvenienced by being in a Nazi prison camp.  He knew his men would also prefer life to being destroyed utterly, as that horrifying lightning-weapon the enemy had would have done.  And he knew his family would be happy he was alive, and might survive the war.  Not all prisoners did, of course, but it was possible.  Still, making the decision to surrender to Nazi scum was not a pleasant one, and he hated that there were not enough high-ranking men left alive for that decision to be taken wholly from his hands.

He had no idea where they were being taken.  He knew when they passed over the line into enemy territory, and knew they walked deep into that area.  He supposed it wasn't preferable for prison camps to be in places where they might be rescued easily.  No, it was more effective if they were far behind the line, with no chance of rescue.  It would destroy morale to know that, even if the camp itself could be escaped, it was a very long way to any allies who would keep a prisoner from being immediately returned.  Or shot on sight, as was more likely.  There was no reason for an already strained war machine to keep useless prisoners alive.

So all he'd really done was buy them some time.  It was quite possible that they'd all end up dead, anyway, from sickness or starvation or a bullet to the head.  But it was the best choice he could make at the time.  He'd heard stories, everyone had, of illustrious prisoners who engineered creative and effective means of escaping the enemy, and returned to their countrymen only to reenlist.  He wondered, if he got out of this, whether or not he'd consider jumping back in.  He was a loyal American, the Nazis were clearly evil and must be stopped.  But maybe that wasn't his job.  Not anymore.  Some other young men could go.

The thought made him clench his teeth.  Steve would want to go, the silly bastard.  If he went home, he'd have quite the job keeping Steve there.  The intermittent letters he got from home didn't go into detail about what stupid plan Steve was hatching, but he suspected he was still trying everything possible to enlist.  He understood his friend's motivation, but not his fervor.  If he couldn't get in, if he wouldn't survive, there was no reason to send him to war.  No matter how it pricked his pride.  There were other things he could do for the war effort.

He thought of his last conversation with Steve, on the last night before he came here.  The fool had refused to even consider enjoying himself.  He'd stood up for people, as he always did, as the country refused to allow him to do.  And gotten his ass handed to him, as usual.  How could he possible think he'd last in a battle?  He'd just hold everyone back.  It wasn't fair, certainly, because no one wanted to serve their country as much as Steve Rogers did.  But that didn't change the fact that, physically, that just wasn't in the cards.  He wished his friend would consider some of the other options he had available to him to be helpful.  He wished he'd gotten more letters from him so he'd know how he was doing.  He got letters from his mother, his sisters, but only a few from Steve.  It was unfortunate that Steve didn't have a real older brother to keep an eye on him.  Though, he thought bitterly, it was entirely possible that such a person would also go to war and leave Steve alone and reckless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he tripped on a tree branch and fell on his face.  They weren't bound, but fatigue made his reaction time slow.  As quickly as he could, he got to his feet and brushed off debris from his uniform as he continued walking.  There was some fear that the equally exhausted men behind him might not notice they were stepping on a fellow soldier instead of the hard ground.