𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗿, no one is searching for love. especially those who would rather have one night stands, and those that are too busy trying to prove their worth.
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝟭𝟬𝟬𝘁𝗵 𝗳𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽, nicknamed the bloody 100t...
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MARILYN PLAYED WITH HER DOG TAGS THAT hung loosely around her neck. Fidgeting with them always seemed to calm her in the most stressful situations. Her fingers soon abandoned the cold metal as they started to run along the side of an envelope. She stared at her mother's writing, her mind recalling the best moments in her life. "What's that, darling?" Bucky whispered into her ear, leaning over the back of her chair; the small action sending a shiver down her spine.
"Mother's letter, it just arrived yesterday." She muttered, keeping her voice down as the men amongst them chatted about what was going on in the world at the moment. "Where's the Vistula River?" Buck unknowingly interrupted. Bucky turned his head to find a map quickly, scanning across it as he looked for his target. "Vistula, Vistula.." He spoke to himself, sucking in a breath through his teeth. At last, he finally found it. He placed his index finger by it as he announced where it was located.
"That's what, 450 miles?"
"No, it's less." Bucky responded. Marilyn let go of the letter as it was now discarded on the table amongst other papers. "Hitler's worst nightmare, a two-front war." She stated sharply. "Well the krauts will slaughter us before they let us go." The Colonel called out. "We need to make more weapons. Whatever we can." Crank pitched in, his eyes looking to Marilyn's as she nodded in agreement. "There's one other scenario. They force-march us out of here before the Russkies can set us free." Buck blurted out, his own anxiety starting to get the best of him as he realized his chances of getting home to Marge were slim.
