RED CODE

Chapter Two

The Camp.

The smell of dust and sweat clung to the air at the training camp. Soldiers lounged in folding chairs or stood in uneven rows, waiting for the promised "big show" that had drawn them away from drills. I tugged the brim of my cap lower against the sun, my uniform stiff from travel. I hadn't expected much—just another speech, another song-and-dance to keep morale high.

Then the music started.

A brass band blared as a man in red, white, and blue leapt onto the stage. The crowd of soldiers groaned, a few even booed, but the star-spangled figure smiled gamely and launched into his lines.

"I'm Captain America, here to bond you boys to buy bonds!"

The audience was restless, mocking, but I couldn't hear them. My eyes were fixed on the man beneath the absurd costume. The square jaw, the posture, the voice—different, deeper, stronger—but familiar.

My breath caught in my throat. Steve.

I pushed through the crowd as he wrapped up his act, ignoring the laughter around me. By the time he stepped off the podium, shaking his head at the half-hearted applause, I was there—right in front of him.

"Steve?" My voice cracked between disbelief and wonder.

He froze, the stage lights catching in his blue eyes. For a moment, he looked like the same boy I'd walked through Brooklyn with, the boy who never stopped fighting no matter how many times he was knocked down. But now... he wasn't a boy at all.

"Elena?" His voice was warm, disbelieving. Then his face broke into a grin. "You recognize me?"

"How could I not?" I managed a shaky laugh, looking him up and down. "You're taller, broader... but you still stand the same way. Like you're bracing for a fight you shouldn't pick."

He chuckled softly, but the warmth in his smile faltered. "I'm glad you're here. I—uh—thought you should know. Bucky shipped out last week."

My heart sank. I'd expected it, but hearing the words still stung. "He didn't even get to say goodbye?"

Steve's expression tightened. "He didn't want to worry you. Said he'd write when he could."

I looked away, blinking back the heat in my eyes. The war was swallowing all of us, one by one. But as I looked back at Steve—my best friend, now carrying the weight of something far greater—I felt the first spark of hope.

"You're really gonna change the world, Steve Rogers," I whispered.

And for the first time, I almost believed it.

The cheer of the show was gone in minutes. The brass band packed up, the stage lights dimmed, and the soldiers filed out of the makeshift arena with little more than muttered jokes about "Captain America and his tights." I stayed close at Steve's side, my heart still trying to catch up with the impossible truth—my best friend, small and fragile Steve Rogers, now stood taller than almost anyone in camp.

A low rumble spread through the crowd. I turned and saw the line of soldiers trudging back through the gates. Their uniforms were torn, faces streaked with dirt and smoke. Medics swarmed, pulling the worst onto stretchers. The men marched in silence, hollow-eyed, the weight of loss heavy in every step.

Steve froze, staring. I felt it too—the missing spaces between them. The empty rows that should have been filled.

My stomach dropped. The 107th.

"Bucky..." I whispered, already moving. Steve was right behind me, his jaw set. We pushed our way through the noise and chaos until we reached Colonel Phillips' command tent.