Love and War Aren't a Game

SALUTE

The boys had stormed the village and detonated bombs all over the place, leaving behind the most wreckage I had ever seen. Most houses were now missing half of their rooms, as though they had been sliced down the middle with a gigantic blade, and now only frail frames remained standing. Craters littered the roads, as did fragments of the tank Hydra had kept hidden here.

I had watched the destruction take place from the top of our jeep through my rifle’s scope, keeping an eye on the men in case they needed a helping hand during a brawl or a shootout. They all wore such tough faces that I couldn’t tell if any of them felt guilty over destroying the buildings that had once been homes to people before Hydra had forced them out. It was difficult to not think about what it would be like if Hydra came to my town and held my neighbours and friends at gunpoint until they left.

Steve ordering Bucky to split from the group distracted my depressing thoughts. The others were still scavenging amongst the debris, so why was Steve sending Bucky away? I kept my focus trained on the sergeant in the blue jacket until he disappeared inside a two-storey house near the edge of the town that was relatively unscathed.

Puzzled, I returned to my task of guarding the rest of the team for a few minutes before swinging my rifle back to the house. I scanned the windows and spotted the tip of another sniper rifle poking out a window that was now propped ajar. Bucky had positioned himself directly opposite me, allowing him to have a different view of the location and cover my blind spots. Steve had to have been concerned that not all of the Hydra soldiers’ lives had been taken. Recalling that I had to be scanning the area myself for any enemies, I ordered myself to stop thinking about the other sniper on the team and instead do my job.

My concentration didn’t last for very long, despite my best attempts. The village in ruins was quiet and boring, lacking any sign of remaining life, and my focus ended up drifting back to the window where Bucky was crouching lowly. I recalled the conversation around the campfire last night where Steve had been teasing Bucky in front of the others about the long list of women he had dated back home. It was all Jacques fault, for boasting about how pretty French women are, and after that had happened, the men couldn’t shut up about women. I had ignored the standard objectifying remarks but had found Steve’s tales of double dates with Bucky to be entertaining enough.

Something had bothered me since hearing those stories. It was how Steve had said that Bucky could make any and every woman weak in the knees. If that was even remotely true, why the hell was Bucky irritating me so much? Where was his charm and chivalry that Steve spoke so highly of? The only brief kindness I had received from him was when Steve was forcing compliments out of us or when we were dying from hypothermia while lying in snow. I squinted through the scope and watched Bucky, taking in his image and trying to place it outside of the war.

After replacing his military uniform with a casual suit and placing him on the streets of New York, I envisioned the new Bucky approaching me. I tried to imagine what I would think of him, if I’d regard him as handsome, if I’d willingly maintain a conversation with him, if I’d say yes if he asked me on a date…

I concluded that Bucky was attractive. Physically was a given, but he needed to adjust his personality, perhaps eat a slice or two of humble pie. Not because I wanted to date him, just so the team could mesh together a little better. Surely it wasn’t good for the others with their two snipers constantly bickering. While I tried to picture the exact shade of blue his eyes were, a glimmer of black moving behind Bucky caught my attention.

I shifted my rifle up a smidgen and quickly recognised the figure as a Hydra soldier, creeping up on Bucky with his gun raised. I gasped from fear but quickly swallowed those thoughts and took aim, squeezing the trigger without a second thought.

The glass in the window pane above Bucky splintered as the bullet passed through and he jumped with fright, scampering for cover behind the wall. At some point during his hasty actions, Bucky spotted the dead body across the room from him, a bullet wound on the man’s forehead leaking blood, and I saw Bucky visibly relax.

He glanced up to the fractured window and then followed the line of fire to where I was and saluted at me. I relaxed, relieved that I had saved Bucky’s life, then a surge of panic washed over me as I wondered whether or not I would be questioned about why I was focusing on Bucky instead of searching for enemies.
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Updating this for Jess and swimming.butterfly - thank you for the comments and love :)