A/N: Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/followed or sent me these prompts! I hope you all enjoyed them :)

Keep Dry in Wartime

It was raining. They were camped out in Italy, and it hadn't stopped raining for days. The mud was thick and made it impossible to move camp, at least not without leaving a significant amount of their supplies. The horses were cranky and hungry because finding grass was difficult, and the men were restless. The delay might have been appreciated if anyone was wounded, but no one was. Some were sick, however, and would have to be moved in carts if they ever go out of there.

One of those who had fallen ill was the officer in charge of the camp, Colonel Chester Phillips. He was brusque at the best of times, and was downright abrasive now. His aide was very pleased to be dismissed while the colonel took a nap. He couldn't make himself too scarce, but at least he didn't have to be snarled at for a while.

A commotion at the edge of the camp brought the attention of those lucky enough to be off-duty, and a crowd gathered to welcome the distraction. Initially vaguely interested, the feeling of excitement soon ran through the assembly as they realized who it was – the Howling Commandos had returned!

"I'm telling you, Cap, it's just my job to arrange the transportation, not make sure we go the right direction," Private Timothy Dugan, better known as Dum Dum, was explaining.

Steve Rogers, even more impressive in person than the posters had conveyed, just smiled at him a little tiredly. "Well, we've got the job done. Circuitous route or no," he replied. The crowd seemed to make him self-conscious, and he glanced back to his sergeant. Rumor had spread that James Buchanan Barnes, called Bucky, had been friends with Steve Rogers long before the war. It was said that, if you wanted some really great stories about the super soldier, you should get Barnes a little tipsy.

"Pretty sure bringing enough gasoline is part of your job, though," Barnes grumbled under his breath, frowning at his feet.

Dugan grinned at him. "Come on, man, you like it."

"Slogging through the mud for miles? Not particularly, but thanks for the consideration," Barnes shot back.

Phillips' aide came forward to meet Rogers, interrupting the exchange. "Captain," he said, and they saluted each other. Dugan seemed amused by this, though there wasn't much that didn't amuse him. "The Colonel is a little under the weather."

"I'd say we all are," Dugan put in, and some of the fellas laughed.

"Seems like home," Lieutenant James Falsworth quipped.

Corporal Jacques Dernier said something that sounded like agreement in French, and Private Gabriel Jones laughed.

Rogers gave them all a look, and they settled back, not into ranks exactly, but at least didn't seem likely to interrupt again. "Alright, did he leave orders concerning our accommodations?"

The aide nodded. "Follow me, sir," he said, and led them away. The other men watched them go, in much better spirits than they had been.

After they were shown to their tents, the Commandos set about removing their dwindling supplies and changing into dry clothes.

"I'm going to need to bring a lot more bandages next time if Dernier isn't going to give us a better warning," Corporal James Morita grumbled, looking into his med pack.

"Don't take it so hard, Jimmy," Dum Dum told him with a grin. "We got those guys and none of us are more than scratched."

Morita rolled his eyes. Jones turned to Dernier and must have passed along Morita's sentiment because he looked very serious when he answered.

"Says the equipment is faulty out here. Hopefully we can get some good stuff from the SSR," Jones interpreted.

"Glad to see our communications specialist is always on duty," Falsworth said lightly.

Jones grinned. "Of course, sir," he answered genially.

"Everything alright in here?" Rogers asked as he stepped into the doorway, brow furrowing when some of the water on the edge of the tent dripped down his neck.

"Just fine, boss," Dum Dum replied. The others nodded.

"Good. Get some chow. The debrief is in an hour."

"You think the Colonel will be up by then?" Falsworth asked.

Rogers shrugged. "Hope so," he retorted as he turned away.

An hour later, Colonel Phillips was rudely awoken by seven of the best soldiers in the world standing outside of his tent. Mostly complaining about the weather.

"What the hell is going on out there?" he demanded, turning over and wishing it were possible to get comfortable in the field.

"The Commandos are back, sir," his aide explained, standing at attention by the doorway.

He swore several more times, which had no effect on his aide, and dragged himself over to his desk, bringing his blanket with him. "Send the damn fools in," he growled.

"Yes, sir," the aide responded.

The men filed in, making less noise about it than usual but significantly more than he would have preferred. "Captain Rogers," he said by way of greeting.

"Sir," Rogers responded.

"A success?"

"Yes, sir."

Phillips narrowed his eyes at the too-innocent looks on the men's faces. He scanned them carefully. "A success because you followed the plan we discussed," he said flatly.

Rogers shifted forward slightly on his toes. "No, sir."

Biting back a curse, Phillips fixed him with a glare. The effect was spoiled by a violent sneeze, and all of them hurried to bless him. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, waving his hand at them as he pulled out his handkerchief. "So, what the hell happened out there, Captain?"

"Dugan got us there as planned, and we followed the plan of attack Falsworth provided to the letter, sir."

"Until?"

"Until it became necessary to improvise, sir," Rogers explained, staring straight ahead.

Phillips narrowed his eyes, preparing to do whatever was necessary to beat some sense into this kid.

"It wasn't his fault, sir," Barnes offered to forestall the lecture.

"It wasn't your fault either, Buck," Rogers told his friend quietly.

Phillips looked hard at the sergeant, thinking that he hadn't heard the man speak out of turn before. At least not in a formal setting. "What happened, Sergeant Barnes?" he asked.

Barnes looked like he wanted to glance over at Rogers, but would not break his posture. "We entered the facility as expected, but there were more locals taken captive than our intelligence reported. HYDRA was… working them to death. We had to deviate from the mission to get them out of there first," he explained without emotion.

Sick though he was, Phillips could certainly understand what had caused these men to immediately change plans. They waited in silence while he sneezed again, hard enough to set off a coughing fit. When it finished, he leaned back against his chair and looked up at them appraisingly. "How'd you leave the damn thing?"

"Completely destroyed, sir," Rogers reported.

Phillips nodded slowly, scowling. "Do you men realize that is the last HYDRA base we know about?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused, sounding pleased with themselves.

"Do you think that's the only one left?"

The good spirits diminished a bit. "No, sir," they answered.

"Well, then, it seems like you gentlemen have a lot of work to do, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

He surveyed them, each looking like horses chomping at the bit. They were well-chosen, he reflected idly. It was a good team, for all the arguing they did. "Well, men, we will ship out at 0800. See if Agent Carter's made any headway on identifying HYDRA's last stronghold. Take the night off, but try not to let my camp end up like your enemies' did today," he added dryly.

The men grinned as they saluted and took their leave of him. He hoped he could get some sleep before the men got too riled up.

"You okay, Buck?" Rogers asked Barnes quietly as they left the tent.

Barnes didn't look at him. "Just fine. Bad assignment today. I'm ready to go home, Steve."

"Me too, Bucky, me too," Rogers agreed, looking out at the muddy campsite, considering how much longer it would take to finish this. One more place, maybe two, and then HYDRA would be defeated once and for all.