Cruel Summer

Chapter 34

A/N: That's right folks, we've FINALLY reached THE chapter!! I wrapped up the story yesterday in my docs, so that means that I'll start working on fic three soon! And I finished my semester, so I'm still working out my work schedule. Updates to come on that! In the meantime though, let me know what you think! And I'd love to talk fic and plot and character stuff with you all over on Tumblr! My blog is @luminouslywriting
I'd really love to just chat thoughts with you all! So submit some anonymous thoughts or anything you'd like to chat about! Thanks guys :)

Chapter Text

April 1945

Bucky was tired . If the other Stalags had been bad, this was surely the worst. There were hundreds of them, crammed into the place and treated as though they were animals. But he wasn't broken, not yet. No, he had a small little spark in his chest—and it made him want to live . He was going to be a dad—he was already a father.

He had a little foal out there somewhere. Somewhere out there, he had a kid. The mere thought alone was enough to keep him breathing, to keep him hopeful, to keep him working to make it home. He wasn't about to just get shot—not when all of this was sure to be over soon, one way or another.

No, he'd take all of the hope that he was feeling and he'd keep it inside his chest like some sort of crackling fire that he would add to. And until it was a raging wildfire, he would keep it to himself.

At the moment though, he was sitting beside Alex Jefferson, trying to keep warm by the small fire that they had. "I'm guessing when this is all over, Alex, they'll send us home out of Marseille or Le Havre. I can't see 'em shipping us out of merry old England." He wasn't sure when he had become friends with the Tuskegee Airmen, but he was glad that he did. Alex Jefferson was one hell of a pilot and one of the nicest people around.

Jefferson didn't get a chance to answer. Something sounded, a low drumming thing in the sky—and he was glancing over at his CO. "Macon, that's a P-51!"

"It's the Yanks!" Someone shouted.

Bucky was on his feet in seconds, eyes locked onto the gun-tower where the Nazis were frantically turning their guns on an approaching plane. Everyone was watching with bated breath as the plane approached and then the machine guns began firing out at them. The plane continued its approach, shooting at the tower with a rush as it passed overhead—

Cheers went up from the crowd but Bucky just felt like his breath was stuck in his lungs. Come on, come on, come on—

The plane retreated into the distance, curving around. Jefferson's eyes lit up at the sight. "He's coming back!" He shouted. "He's coming back!"

The P-51 shot straight at the tower and this time, made direct contact with his target. The tower splintered and everyone ducked down as splinters and debris crashed down towards them. "DOWN, GET DOWN!" Bucky shouted at everyone. He had no sooner gotten to his feet that the roaring cheers of hope filled his ears.

Jefferson clapped him on the back and he grinned brightly. Bucky hugged Sully in excitement. "We're going home!" Sully exclaimed.

He had spoken too soon.

With the P-51 retreating into the distance, the Germans had turned their guns on the men inside of the Stalag. But they weren't going to take this anymore—Bucky certainly wasn't. Not when he could hear the tanks approaching the Stalag, not when victory was so close and he could almost taste freedom again. Pandemonium had broken out in sheer seconds, with Germans turning and firing on any man that got close enough.