Chapter 55
Anneliese once thought that war was just that. War.
War was a word to describe destruction. The stories parents tell their children as a bedtime story as they narrate how they "protected the mother land". It was what men desired and kings won. To a girl listening to a fairytale at bedtime, it was how the princess ends up in a plight that requires a prince to save her. It was the romance of soldier's coming home to kiss their wives cherry lipstick until their was nothing left to kiss. It was supposed to be the glory of a country.
She never expected war to be so human, so inhumane, so intrenched in the suffering of men and women.
War bleeds; it seeps into the ground like fertiliser. The open wounds fester with infection, yellow oozing pus leaving a message that this man is certainly not going to make it home. Bullets litter the trees like cherry blossoms in springtime, and then they fall against the bodies of men closer to their graves than a warm meal. When snow finally arrives, the clouds are black by the industrial tanks storming the homes made homeless from the death of their inhabitants.
She watches soldiers fall and get pulled up by another - only for them both to fall back down again. They shiver; frostbite tickling their lips blue. Winter is an ugly thing for men with ripped uniforms and leather jackets scarce. Some do not wake up again on the first night. Anneliese only finds out when the men mutter prayers to any God that would listen, begging to keep them from a similar fate.
Some have families, their wives' pictures dangling next to their dog tags as Anneliese listens to them question if they will ever get to see them again: their smile, the sex, or even the taste of their cherry lipstick. War humanises soldiers. It is all grit and dirt, but never about the severed leg by a man who only did a semester of medical school before volunteering. It's all bravery until Anneliese watches another man kill himself; a bullet in the head and twelve more in his chest as soldiers react as if it's an attack.
They're in shock. They're terrified. And there is nothing pretty about any of this.
But they carry on. They somehow find the will to carry on.
Anneliese doesn't know if she can carry on.
She's been limp in Steve's arm for well over a day now and Anneliese cannot bring herself to move. The muscles in her body screams to move as her burnt back hisses in pain from it rubbing against the leather hydra jacket she still wears. Anneliese's heart races, never finding a second to calm down as the pain does not slow, it does not settle, and it does not subside. But she doesn't move, she doesn't make a sound. She's scared and she's in pain. She is just a girl surrounded by men who hate germans, who miss their wives, and underwent slave labour and inhumane experiments by her own family. She is everything they hate: a german, a women who is not their wives, and the niece of the man who enslaved them.
Grief stricken her heart at the sight of the multination of the soldiers: some are missing arms, some are covered in red bandaged and many are left clutching at their wounds praying they make it to camp in time before infection sets in. Anneliese feels accountable for all their pain and misery, almost as if she was the one behind every command.
She think's she ought to suffer in pain, to let her back become infected and refuse treatment. Isn't that how the world works? The women will always take the blame for the men in her family. This instance is no different: it is a duty she did not want to uphold. But grief is a heavy thing, but seemingly all this grief is still not too heavy for Steve.
Steve has been carrying her since they left the castle, not even taking a break to use the bathroom or to let his arms rest. He doesn't let anyone else carry her, does not let her stay in the back of the truck with the other injured soldiers. Steve carries her as if she would disappear if he was to let go of her. She wished she would.
It has been six hours since she faced her uncle. Six hours she's stayed limp in Steve's arms, and six hours that will stay with her for the rest of her life. How was she meant to keep going? Keep finding a reason to want to survive the next few hours until they reach camp? Did she even want to stay alive for her father to say I told you so?
So she doesn't move, she doesn't talk. She thinks. Anneliese is a tight ball of yarn that is forgotten about, found only when no yarn remains in the basket. She is knotted in the guilt of betraying her father and Howard on the truth of why she came to Europe. She is covered in dirt as her face shows the misery she feels, the guilt she has for leaving her family.
Steve doesn't beg her to talk or to walk. Anneliese knows if Howard was here he would beg for her to speak about what has happened. He would yell and shout and scream and beg and cry and ultimately come to blame himself. But Steve is unlike Howard, he seems to understands why her eyebrows are knitted together and why she hisses in pain as she clutch at her body hand.
He understands this complicated grief. Grief that she doesn't quite understand. The guilt she refuses to admit in the secrecy of her mind - the truth that even with her bloody and batten, she feels guilty for what she did to Oskar and Herbert. The sizzling of pain, the high she felt when she felt swinging the rod at Herbert, not stopping until he dropped to the floor - his eyes lulled back. She was no better than her cousins and she felt sick to the stomach.
The sun slowly begins to peaks past the forest trees and Anneliese doesn't cover her eyes from the sun but stares right back at it. She can't stop seeing the blood gushing from Herbert's cracked cheek as she felt swinging and throwing and hitting the rod at him. The crack of bone, the large red alarms matching the blood spluttering from his lips. She can't stop thinking about the crunch of Oskar's knees falling on concrete or the way he took a few seconds to look back up at her in joy.
Anneliese tries to distract herself. She's been successful for the past six hours - trying her best to not relieve what she has just experienced. She focuses on the elements. How the winter's breeze bites her skin. There are no gentle kisses against her exposed neck when the bitter frozen air arrives. She focuses on her cracked lips and try to humour herself on what lip balm she would buy first.
Anneliese tries to think about her body, ignoring her wounds. She's thirsty, she decides. Her mouth is dry and her throat is hoarse, but she won't ask for any water. She can't move.
She's too afraid to move.
Steve's horrified face covers her vision as she recalls him screaming her name, gently smacking her cheek as he ran through the hallway of the castle. The sirens are ringing and Anneliese can still feel the sickening feeling from six hours earlier. The flashing red lights and then sudden darkness and then red lights throws her stomach around, the sound of bullets flying towards them and the fallback of Steve shooting back. But Steve is still screaming at her to stay awake, to stay alive.
And she does.
But she can't forgot the face Steve made once they made it out of the castle and all the soldier's begun to retreat. In the moonlight, Steve's face is all terror as he realises quickly that she has little on under the coat, and what she does have on is soaked in blood. His eyes are wide and mouth is agape as he wraps the coat on tightly. He says no words as she met his eyes.
They carry on, six hours later and the only exchange between the two is Steve's occasional glance down at her and the soft whispers he exchanges with who she assumes is Bucky.
Those six hours, he plays Captain America.
So Anneliese remains limp in his arms as he directs soldiers to look for food, to swap station - that there will be no stopping for more than five minutes. Everyone sleeps. Anneliese probably sleeps more than the wounded. But Steve never sleeps.
The day fades quickly when every second is dedicated to not move: to not feel the stiffness in her bones, the flesh burnt off her skin, the deep cuts that will never heal completely. Anneliese wanted to die. She wanted her hands on a gun and just to die. She was in pain. She could still feel the flames licking at her flesh. She wanted to die.
Her lip trembles as she closes her eyes. Sleep had been peaceful as her body was far too tired to force her to think past being still. But she saw it all. The red of her eyelid quickly changed to the rose, and to the hot branding rod, and to the colour of red, red, red blood - she wasn't quite sure if it was hers or her cousins. She supposes the blood was all the same really.
"Miss Lorenz," Steve whispers. Anneliese resists the urge to jump as her eyes open to stare up at his. "Do you want to talk about it before we arrive?"
Talk about it.
It.
The sweet sent of roses fill her nose. It overwhelms her. Roses suffocate her as her fingers twitch, as if it could feel the shards of glass against her skin. She can hear glass shattering and a body falling to the ground. Breathing becomes difficult, and suddenly Anneliese is no longer limp. She's trashing. Her body screams at her to stop - her muscles scream and her wounds begin pouring red hot blood across Steve's hands and uniform.
Steve shouts for the rest to keep moving as he rushes to the back of the pack. She feels the wind rush against her cheek as she continues to trash, the feeling of rage blinding her controls her body. She can't stop: she remembers the taste of blood on her lips as she rewatches her use the stool and throw it at the soldier's body over and over and over again. She doesn't stop. She screams. She doesn't stop and the body keeps spluttering. She doesn't stop until the soldier is no longer moving and she feels the rough callous hands of soldiers pulling her away from the body.
"Miss Lorenz!", Steve shouts as he places her on the floor. "It is okay, you are safe-"
The taste of blood fills her mouth as her back screams from the friction of the jacket. Her stomach churns and it turns, and within a second she's gasping to breathe. Her palm screams as she holds herself up, her lungs begging for oxygen.
"I-" Anneliese begins. "I-"
Steve keeps his distance, not taking a step towards her. "You are alive and you are okay-"
"I killed him, I killed, I kill-", she doesn't finish before she throws up. It's made up of nearly nothing but blood and liquid. She can't stop; she keeps throwing up until her arms begin shaking.
Only then does Steve approach her and holds her up as her arms give way.
"Is it okay if I call you Ana?", He asks gently. Anneliese doesn't reply.
He picks her up, ensuring the balls of her foot do not touch the floor. She suppose that is to ensure they don't get anymore infected than they already are. He walks her towards a stump of a tree and places her down.
How was she meant to face it? How was she meant to explain what had happened? How was she meant to look at Colonel Phillips and trust anything from his lips? How was she meant to still have hope when she's see the men in charge? Their brutality and their strength?
It would have been a blessing if Anneliese hadn't woken up. In another universe, perhaps one where she didn't end up on the opposite end of Oskar's blade, she wouldn't have wished to be dead. She wouldn't have ended up in a Hydra coat carried by Steve as soldier's stared. Maybe had she listened to her father and never came to Italy and agreed to be bait she would have be sleeping soundly in her bed.
But this isn't how the story goes, nor will it ever.
It didn't matter that they had Steve, that maybe he could tip the scales in their favour. It still wouldn't be enough
Her uncle and Oskar was enough - and if Herbert had survived, the three was more than enough. How is she meant to share the same fear towards Hydra as the soldier's who went to war? That her fears are not the same as theres? That hers is more selfish - she knows the world is going to end, whether the Allied forces win or not. How is she meant to explain that she regrets hurting Herbert?
How is she meant to explain that she misses Oskar, that she almost wished he had saved her out of his love for his baby cousin and not to make the match more fair? How is she meant to explain that she would stab Herbert again and she wants nothing more than for Oskar to choke in his sleep.
How was she meant to face Howard like this? Bruised, battered, and with bones nearly broken. Skin burnt and scarred with reminders of who she was meant to be? How was she meant to tell him that none of this was his fault - that it was all hers, only hers? How is she meant to live the rest of her life after this?
Her father was right. She shouldn't have come. She shouldn't have joined the war effort.
She didn't understand the consequences.
"Ana", Steve whispers again. "I only ask as we are an hour out from camp."
Had it really been that long? A glance at Steve's face certainly told her it had been.
"Things got a little personal," Anneliese whispered in a hoarse voice. "And shit happened."
Steve blinks one.
Than twice.
And Anneliese lets out a low laugh. She laughs as if the only other option is to begin sobbing. To start crying for her mother. She knows she's weak, that most women would be stronger than her - do a better job at being stoic whilst surrounded by soldier's who have faced worse terrors. But she is not them. She's enjoyed the docile life she had made-up in her mind with Howard, she enjoyed the calm of simply just being a wife with a job that doesn't require her to risk her life day-in and day-out. She enjoyed the thought that her future may consider children, that she may be able to live a life that is without the fear of a family reunion.
"Shit fucking went down," Anneliese mutters bitterly. Her tongue wiping over her tongue as her eyes drift from his face to the trees ahead. "They- They-"
Her voice fails her as she flex her fingers and a piercing pain shoots down her arm. A small cry leaves her lips as she slowly begins to move her muscles. First her toes that begged to stay still, next her wrist that hissed with hot blood, and then her neck that throbbed from pulled muscles.
Anneliese ignored Steve's protests to stop moving as she cranes her neck to watch the soldiers pause and watch them. They were far enough to be ants, but close enough to hear everything.
There is never any secrets in war. Only well kept conversations.
"The men will talk", Steve begins. "They say you were in a cage with a few of them for a while, that you were requested specifically by name. It doesn't take much to connect the two."
"Let's keep moving," Anneliese finally says. Neither agreeing or disagreeing with Steve. She didn't want to acknowledge it, it meant acknowledging the rest of it.
Steve sighs and picks her up. They catch up quickly and before she knows it, Steve is leading the pack.
Time did not pass quickly, but she knew she was safe when she heard a small gasp come from Steve.
"Are we home?", Bucky whispered, a grin forming across his lips.
Anneliese couldn't help but hold her breath as Steve also grinned back, "About as close to home as we can get pal."
Steve continued to march forward as the soldier's behind begun to whisper to each other as the camp came into sight - and so did those that remain. Anneliese watched as soldier's rushed towards the group and begun yelling.
"Look who it is!", one cried.
Anneliese closed her eyes tightly as she gripped the coat even more. She was on display first. They would all see her like this: muddy, broken, and bloody - in a Hydra coat. Anneliese hadn't planned this, she doesn't know what she should do or how they would react to her. It wouldn't take a genius to know they would praise Steve - congratulate those that escaped. But what of her? A woman beaten down by the devil she calls uncle? A niece walking side-by-side of the soldier's who lost their best mate in the prisons.
Opening one eye, she's shocked to see that the soldiers had made a path, with a well-washed man on each side clapping and congratulating the soldiers. Some look at her questionably, but it doesn't stop the roar of claps and soldier's yelling "They're back! They're here!"
It isn't until Steve marches the group to the middle of the camp sight does he stop. Somehow, he manages to raise his arm to salute Colonel Phillips without dropping her. Raising her head slightly, she can see Agent Carter and the Colonel but no sights of Howard.
Where is he? Is he alive?
Panic begins to set in, her heart is racing, thumping harshly.
"Some of theres men need medical attention," Steve yells. "I'd also like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."
"That won't be necessary-"
"Get out of my way!"
There is more yelling and shoving until Anneliese sees him: his hair is a mess, dark circles hide under his eyes, he's wearing the same shirt from days ago and it looks like he hasn't eaten or slept since the night they fought. He doesn't see her straight away, his face filled with panic.
"Where is my wife!", he screams as he reaches the front of the crowd. "Where is Anneliese!"